Bill Skarsgård Imagines

let me | bill

Dedicated to radicalbradical

(Y/F/C) = Your/Favorite/Color
(Y/F/C/M) = Your/Favorite/Classic/Movie

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(Y/N) has known Bill for many, many years and now considers him her dearest friend. Through these years, they have been to many dinners and outings, traveled together, crashed at each others places, and stayed up on each others couches, getting lost in conversation through the night. When Bill insisted on taking (Y/N) out to dinner for her birthday this evening, why did something feel different? Like, when he asked, it was with a look in his emerald eyes that suggested at something deeper than friendship.

"Dress fancy, (Y/N), tonight you deserve something special," he had said the previous day on their walk in the park.

Now, she was stood before her mirror, wearing the nicest dress she could find in her closet (a black, spaghetti strapped, semi-tight dress that falls just above her knees) a little too revealing for her. However, every time she contemplates changing, Bill's words pop back into her head. Tonight is supposed to be special so she wants to feel special, for who? She doesn't yet know.

A knock then sounds at her door, breaking her away from her thoughts. Glancing herself over one last time in the mirror to make sure her makeup, hair, and choice of clothing are to her liking (not that she can change now), she sucks in a breath.

"Okay. He's your best friend, (Y/N), just fucking relax," she says to herself as she walks over to the front door, the growing nerves that she's never felt before bubbling in her stomach.

Her hand on the handle, she takes one last breath then swings the door open. There Bill stands, leaning against the frame in a ravishing black suit, his features sharper than she's ever noticed, his eyes greener. . . dreamier.

"Wow, (Y/N), you look. . ." He says then turns his head away to cough. "Stunning," he finished, his eyes falling down her body then back up to her face with a small blush. "Happy Birthday, my friend." He then hands her a small (Y/F/C) box, about the size of a basketball.

"Thank you," she says, taking the box and putting it down on the entryway table for later.

"You look stunning as well, Bill," she says and playfully punches him in the arm. Bill chuckles a little which soon turns to coughing. When he looks back up at her, she see's the darkening circles under his eyes.

"Oh my, god, Bill, are you sick?" She asks him, worry lacing her words as she reaches up and feels his forehead with the back of her head. Her eyebrows furrow in concern as his head is warmer than normal to her touch.

"Oh no, it's nothing (Y/N). Come on, this is your special day and I have quite the evening planned for us," he says, holding his arm up for her to hook hers through.

(Y/N) tilts her head up at him, her brows now curving into a frown. He nods his head a little with that charming smile that always wins her over, resulting in him getting his way. Besides, who would she be to counter him when he seems to have put in quite the effort in making her birthday one for the memory books.

With a sigh and a small half smile, (Y/N) reaches for her jacket then slides her arm through Bills'.

"Let's go," she says and then start their walk down the hall. "So, what's the plan for tonight?" She asks as they reach the elevator.