random character imagines (Requests Are Open)

Bill Skarsgard imagine: fluff

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This was requesteddd
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You stood in the kitchen, your eyes glazed over as you stared at the clock. Its hands ticked away the seconds with a mechanical indifference that matched your mood. The walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in on you, the air thick with the scent of leftover dinner and unspoken accusations. You had noticed Bill's peculiar behavior for weeks now, his late nights at work and his sudden need for "space." Your stomach churned as you replayed your last conversation in your head, his evasive answers and the way he avoided your gaze. You knew something was wrong, but you didn't know what, perhaps he was actually working later and not just making an excuse to go see another-.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Bill's footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you could feel his presence before you saw him. He looked tired, his eyes weary, but when he caught sight of you, a forced smile spread across his face. "Hey, babe," he said, trying to sound cheerful. You didn't return the smile. Instead, you folded your arms across your chest, a silent challenge. "We need to talk," you said, your voice firm and unwavering.

Bill sighed heavily, dropping his keys on the counter. He ran a hand through his hair and nodded. "Okay," he agreed, following you into the living room. He sat down on the couch, his posture tense, as if bracing for impact. You took a seat opposite him, the coffee table acting as a barricade between you both. "What's been going on with you?" you asked, trying to keep the accusation out of your voice. "You've been so distant lately, and I can't help but think that there's something you're not telling me."

He took a deep breath and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Look, I'm sorry," he began, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "I've just had a lot on my plate with work, and I didn't want to burden you with it." The words hung in the air, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, your fears were unfounded. But the way he avoided your gaze made your heart sink. "What kind of work?" you pressed, your voice tight. "Something big," he said vaguely, "something that could change everything."

Your mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. "Are you seeing someone else?" you blurted out, the question cutting through the tension like a knife. Bill's eyes snapped to yours, and for a split second, you saw genuine shock in them. "What? No!" he said, a little too quickly. "Why would you even think that?"

But you had your reasons, and you listed them out, one by one. The late nights, the secretive phone calls, the way he'd been so distant and cold. You watched as his expression shifted from shock to guilt, and finally, to anger. "You think I'd do that to you?" he said, his voice rising. "After everything we've been through?"

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and palpable. You felt your cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "I don't know what to think," you admitted, your voice shaking. "But you're not giving me much to work with here."

Bill's eyes searched yours, a storm of emotions playing out in their depths. He took a deep breath, and for a moment, you thought he might confess. But instead, he leaned back into the couch, his arms folded across his chest. "I'm not cheating on you," he said, his voice low and steady. "But I have been keeping something from you."

The room grew quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside the window. You felt your heart rate spike, the blood rushing in your ears. "What is it?" you asked, bracing yourself for the worst.

Bill took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I've been planning something," he said, his voice measured. "A surprise. I wanted it to be perfect."

Your heart skipped a beat. "What kind of surprise?" you asked, the accusation in your voice fading slightly.

Bill stood up, his movements quick and decisive. He walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook. "A road trip," he said, handing it to you. "To the beach. It's all planned out."