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alphabetbill · 2 years

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Bill / Roman Imagines

Just a short list of things I've imagined Bill x Reader Insert doing and it makes me giggle. Little things that keep me up at night. This may be a multi part thing I do when I think of things.

Spontaneous Pillow Fights With Bill

Running away laughing like a maniac after smacking him square across the face with a pillow from the couch. At first, he's stunned, then the realization of war sets in and he stops what he's doing to join in the fun. Armed with two pillows, one more than what you have, it's an unfair fight and you know you've lost as soon as he gets up and chases you. He covers the living room and the kitchen easily and picks you up by the waist to throw you over his shoulder. He carries you back towards the couch and you make it as difficult as possible for him, until he's forced to put you down, unable to put up with your squirming.

He takes the pillow you've been wildly clinging onto and starts bashing you with all the pillows he can find within reach. You're laughing, he's laughing, you're clinging to him and trying to bring him down and he ends up flopping on top of you, tired and sore from laughing. He threatens to hold you down forever unless you stop hitting him with pillows every five seconds. You pinky promise him. He gets off of you, and guess what you do? Hit him with a pillow.

Lazy Mornings With Roman

You go to sleep cuddled up with each other, talking and whispering at all hours of the night. He holds your hands and kisses them when you cup his face and look into his eyes. He's always so at peace when he's lying next to you, you make him feel relaxed and it makes everyone feel at ease.

When you wake up, he's usually spooning you with his face smooshed into your back or shoulder, and his breath feels nice against your skin. He presses kisses to your body when he feels you stir, and he's always begging you to stay still and stay in bed with him for just a few more minutes. He plays with or fixes your hair which he finds an odd fascination with in the mornings, rubs your back or your neck if you slept funny, and he's actually very clingy. When it's his turn to get up early for work, he always kisses you on the cheek, strokes your hair and tells you he loves you before leaving. He always makes sure he kisses you and tells you how he feels before he goes, because it's a mood but any time could be the last time.

Ridiculous Hairstyles With Bill

Maybe he's reading a script or a book, maybe you're watching a movie together or maybe you're just chilling. You come up behind him while he's sitting on the couch and run your fingers through his hair. If it's long enough, you try to pull it up into mini pigtails and he always refuses your puppy-dog eyed request to go down the street with them in his hair.

"Okay. If you don't wear this down the street then you have to give me $20 and you get no kisses for the rest of your life".

You try to hide away while Bill tries to steal the kisses, and you end up giving in.

You will style his hair but you refuse to cut it no matter how many times he insists it will be fine.

Pet Names And Fun Games With Roman

He calls you Honey and you call him Husband.

"Honey i'm home!"

"Hey Husband, whatcha doing?"

You absolutely banter with it a lot and it's ridiculously fun.

"Worst husband ever" when he disagrees with you.

You sometimes reach up to adjust his tie only to completely pull it out just for funsies. Ruffle his hair and you get the look.

You play little tricks just to mess with him- move his stuff or try to run away with it and force him to chase you and catch you if he wants it bad enough. It's your way of testing if he's any fun anymore or if he's fully dead inside.

You tell really bad jokes and puns and he puts up with it. There will be eye rolls.

There will be moments when the two of you just can't stop smiling at each other. You're wondering how you got this man to fall in love with you, and he's wondering how he got so lucky.

Memory Lane With Bill

Bill loves hearing all about your friends and family and he's dying to meet them but would also be incredibly nervous. He adores the way you smile so much when you talk about them, and he cries with you when you reminisce about tough topics. He likes hearing about your family, it's a nice change of pace from his own which can get a bit hectic and loud. You lie in bed talking and he just listens so intently he can actually see what you're describing to him.

Funny and/or embarrassing stories and childhood nicknames are his absolute favourite things to hear from you. He may even straight up ask you if you have any other stories from your childhood, and when you're all out of stories, he wants to hear them again.

More might come when I think of them!

#bill skarsgard #hemlock grove #roman godfrey #bill skasgård #roman godfrey x reader #bill #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgård imagine #fanfiction #skarsgard #headcanons #preferences

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skarsgazing · 4 months

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Obsidian - Chapter 1

In the dimly lit corridor, as her footsteps echoed through the walls, Mia contemplated the distance growing between her and the only life she had ever known. It wasn't just a geographical shift; it was a plunge into the unknown, a journey she didn't choose.

“You’re late,” a gray haired woman blasted as the door swung open, her eyes scrutinizing Mia from head to toe with an air of judgment.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find a ta-" Mia started, only to have a pile of clothes thrown at her, landing on her and cascading to the floor. “The hell?!”

“On set in 4 minutes. Third-floor room 7. Pick that up and bring the samples,” the older woman declared coldly before grabbing something and exiting the room.

Mia Hastings never quite fit the mold her family crafted for her. She wasn't easily defined, but it was clear what she wasn't: submissive and pliable. With flushed cheeks and a racing heart, she bit her lip while gathering the clothes strewn across the floor.

“Bitch,” she whispered, mentally adding Miranda to her growing grudge list.

Ten minutes behind schedule, Mia reluctantly reached room 7, encountering Miranda once again and receiving the same disapproving glare.

“Late again, Amelia,” she snapped, guiding Mia back into the hallway almost aggressively.

“I actually prefer Mia-”.

“Listen, I don't care about who you are or if you're here just to play around,” she gestured almost comically with her hands. “I have very strict orders from your father, you hear? Fuck this up and he will hear about it,” she warned before re-entering the room without a second glance.

Mia felt dizzy, she had this very real and urgent need to punch this woman so hard that it would create a time-space discontinuity. So she ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath before entering the room again, not without mentally cursing out her father at least a hundred times.

The moment Mia reentered room 7, chaos immediately seized her attention. She hadn't had a chance to process or inspect anything on her previous entrance, but now her eyes widened as the absence of yelling allowed her to fully absorb the bustling scene. Swarms of people were engrossed in various tasks related to set and costume design. Fabric, threads, samples, and mannequins were scattered throughout the space. Some were drawing, others were busy on computers, and a vibrant array of colors, designs, and concepts adorned almost every inch of the NY warehouse.

“You look like a lost puppy,” a voice remarked. Mia turned around to find a curly dark-haired young man with piercing green eyes, well-built and casually dressed in black jeans and a black shirt—seemingly the norm around here. Mia, in her fitted jeans, one-shoulder white shirt, and stilettos, clearly hadn't received the memo.

“If you weren’t buried in that pile of clothes you’re carrying, I would’ve thought you were talent,” he joked, widening his eyes for emphasis.

“Zak,” he introduced himself, extending a warm hand to Mia, who reciprocated with a smile and a firm handshake.

“Mia,” she replied.

“Oh, I know. You’re here from Rust, no?” Zak continued, starting to walk while tilting his head to indicate Mia to follow along.

An almost nauseating feeling surged from Mia’s stomach to her head upon hearing her father’s fashion brand mentioned. “Old piece of shit,” she thought and simply nodded at Zak.

She followed the British young man through the bustling room, skillfully navigating around the numerous people passing by. Amidst the crowd, Mia spotted the now-familiar gray head of hair belonging to Miranda in a more secluded area, engaged in conversation with two others.

Next to her, positioned on a podium in front of a tall mirror like a well-deserved trophy, stood a deliciously built dirty-blonde-haired man. All Mia could make out was his back—feet wide apart, as if unafraid to claim all the space in the world. He exuded a devilish height, seeming firmly rooted to the earth, and Mia resisted the urge to keep looking.

Mia felt a pair of hands gently squeezing her shoulders, and she realized she had been standing dumbfounded for longer than she’d like to admit, or would’ve preferred anyone to notice. Zak gave her a final squeeze before moving in front of her.

“Hem work, doll. You can help me with that,” he winked, taking the pile of clothes from her and strolling towards the other side of the room.

“H-O-T,” he silently mouthed, gesturing towards the tall man. Mia chuckled, a subtle gleam of light flashing through her eyes as she walked toward the podium after grabbing a bag of pins from the nearby work-station.

Her knees touched the ground before she could get a good look at the man in front of her, and her brows furrowed when she noticed that those pants really needed some work. With a pin in her hand, she carefully grabbed the remaining fabric and started folding it to estimate how much should be removed before even thinking about folding back and sewing down. She jumped a little when her pinky finger made contact with the bare skin of the man's ankle, accidentally poking him with the sharp pin.

Alexander gazed coolly down at her, offering a reassuring smile. Never in her entire life had Mia seen such a handsome man, and she had encountered her fair share of attractive people.

Collecting herself, Mia apologized, the obvious size difference making her blush even as she knelt. She looked up what felt like at least a whole four and a half feet to meet his gaze, smiling.

Picking up on the color in her cheeks, Alexander's eyes trailed over her features as she maintained eye contact. Her small frame starkly contrasted with Alexander’s massive size. Her hair, intentionally frenzied, framed the sides of her head and cascaded down her back to her waist with no particular order. Her tight clothes allowed him to paint a vivid mental image of her body. This little sweetheart was the last thing he expected to find when he looked down, and to say he was intrigued would be an understatement.

“Sorry, it’s my first day,” Mia lied -about the reason for her nervousness-.

“Don’t worry, It’s my first day here as well,” Alexander joked, his gaze intent on her.

She licked her lips, seemingly contemplating a response, and he felt his pants tighten a little.

“Good fit?” Miranda interrupted.

“Yeah, just a few adjustments, I think,” Alexander replied, his eyes still on Mia even as Miranda spoke to him.

“Sorry again,” Mia apologetically smiled before taking a double take up at him, noticing a slight curl to his lips. It was so subtle that she wasn’t sure if it was just her eyes playing tricks on her. She resumed working on the hem, carefully folding and pinning it on the soft fabric. While Alexander conversed with Zak and Miranda, his voice resonated in Mia's ears, sounding soft yet deep, as if emanating from the depths of his chest.

However, Mia's tranquil moment was interrupted by the irritating sound of her full name. She looked up, more of a glare, and let out a big sigh as she rested her hands on her thighs, awaiting further instructions. Alexander couldn't help but notice Mia's fingers twitching on her lap as he observed her staring at the older woman, as if she were trying to contain herself. The subtle rhythm of her tapping fingers implicitly conveyed a growing frustration.

Miranda continued, motioning toward a pile of fabric samples that could easily be mistaken for a thousand little squares. "Zak will handle that. I want you to organize those, by fabric."

Mia shot a side-eye at Zak, who offered an apologetic smile, clearly finding the request ridiculous. Alexander's brows furrowed slightly, and then he raised them humorously as he noticed Mia's stilettos while she stood up -unusual. The air seemed to grow colder as she walked away, at least according to his perception.

For what felt like at least five hours, Mia found herself in another corner of the warehouse, meticulously touching, tagging, and organizing each small square of fabric. She attached them to a book, repeating the process over and over. The act of ordering brought her a sense of calm, much like cleaning and counting—a compulsion ingrained in her for as long as she could recall. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism, a small realm of control in a life that had always been tightly regulated.

While she worked, her thoughts drifted to her life back in Seattle, now seemingly distant. She reflected on the mistakes she had made this time, wondering if she could ever set things right. Despite her contemplation, her cheeks flushed, and her body trembled slightly at the thought of her father. He existed more like a distant planet in her mind, distorting everything around it with its own gravitational pull, rather than as a person.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the screen of Mia's phone lit up, displaying a message from him.

"Been trying to call in, pick up. Don't forget who's looking out for you."

Her attention shifted as footsteps approached from behind, and she turned just as the lights started going out, producing a loud noise. Zak's figure emerged, casting shadows as he walked toward her.

"So tell me, little heiress, what did you do to awaken Miranda’s wrath?" Zak inquired, his voice echoing. Mia's eyes adjusted to the dimming light and she noticed there were only a few people left in the warehouse. "It was like the third Reich over there," he joked, grinning.

Mia chuckled, gradually picking up on Zak's relaxed demeanor. She felt her shoulders loosen, realizing she had been holding back a significant amount of tension.

"It’s complicated. I made a very powerful person really mad," she confessed, leaning in towards Zak as if sharing a secret. Zak mirrored her posture, leaning in with his elbows on the table and head resting on his hands, his eyes filled with curiosity.

"Who?" he asked.

"My father," Mia replied with a slight smirk.

"Ah! I need to hear all the gory details," Zak exclaimed, straightening up and almost jumping from excitement. "But over some drinks, doll. The rest of the crew is going out cause, obviously." He shrugged, as if it were a given. "And you say?"

"Yes," Mia smiled, a surge of excitement coursing through her body after what felt like an eternity.

Mia's smooth skin caught and reflected the neon lights as she navigated through the bustling nightclub, her hand tightly intertwined with Zak's, who once again guided her through the crowd. He had enthusiastically spoken about this being the best nightclub in the city, shared plans of showing her around New York, and expressed his desire to fuck a guy named Jeremy – in that particular order.

His laughter resonated over the loud music as he conversed with the bartender. Four different types of alcohol were placed on the marble bar for them to enjoy. By Mia's third Tequila shot, her mood had significantly lightened, and she found herself giggling with Zak and a few other crew members.

“Look at him” Zak pointed, referring to some guy at the dance floor. “I need him on a fucking plate.” He chugged the rest of his glass and continued. “We could totally have a foursome, you, me, Jeremy, and our beloved superstar who you were eye-fucking earlier.” Mia almost choked on her drink, realizing Zak had picked up on her not-so-implicit attraction.

“Who is he, anyway? He looks familiar.” She asked, head tilting slightly to the side, her lips cold from the ice on her drink.

"Alexander Skarsgard," Zak revealed, and Mia hung onto every word, it sounded as if the world's oldest secret had just been revealed to her like a divine prophecy. “Actor, model, pathological singleton.” he continued.

She hummed, emptying her cup, urgently needing another. Zak took no time in following her by emptying his glass as well and signaling the bartender for another round, his every move seemed so natural and casual, like if he just strolled through life without a care in the world.

"I got this one," Mia said, pulling out her wallet.

"No way—" Zak started, pushing her hand away.

"Yeah, it's the least I can do," Mia winked, a warm tingle buzzing through her head.

Her fingers skillfully pressed the card terminal keys, but an unexpected outcome unfolded.

“It declined.” The slim bartender pointed, apologetic. “Do you have another one?”

Mia almost took a step back as if she had been slapped through the face.

“It - it doesn’t- it doesn’t have a limit. It can’t decline.” She stuttered and began taking out the repertoire of cards she had in her wallet. Declined, declined, declined, declined.

Zak, finding the situation amusing, stepped in to help just as another guy offered to cover the bill. Mia, reacting to his presence, turned to see a tall man in a black shirt and classic blue jeans. He insisted on paying for Mia's drinks, heavily complimenting her as he did. Mia thanked him, and Zak, after emptying his glass, got lost in another conversation.

"Do you want to dance?" the stranger asked, pointing to the dance floor. Mia nodded, feeling a tingling sensation throughout her body, possibly caused by the alcohol. Maybe this was the break she needed—some good-old physical contact to ease the storm in her head.

He wasted no time, placing his hand firmly on Mia’s lower back, guiding her until they stood facing each other, moving to the rhythm. Her eyes, framed by long lashes, looked at him, subtly enticing. She rested her hands on his shoulders while he ran his own through her waist and the exposed skin on her upper back.

As the song progressed, Mia closed her eyes, turning around and moving softly with her back leaning into the man’s chest. His hands took the opportunity to travel through her abdomen. For a moment, or perhaps longer than a moment, behind her closed eyelids flashed images of Alexander. Her body tingled as she imagined his deep gaze, wondering if his hands were warm, how they would feel on her, whether he would be gentle or firm as he touched her, and how his long fingers would trace the skin of her body.

However, as with all things too good to be true, her phone vibrated almost violently, abruptly pulling her from her fantasies.

"Sorry," she quickly excused herself, leaving the guy half-turned on and with an invisible question mark above his head.

The floor trembled beneath her forceful steps, and the cold New York air hit her as soon as she pushed the emergency door exit to step out.

“You’re a fucking monster,” she said, answering her phone. “What the fuck did you do?”

A silence extended through the phone line, and a shiver traveled through Mia’s body, the familiar feeling of her heart shrinking into her chest.

“Watch very carefully how you speak to me,” a stern voice replied, characterized by a well-used tone, if that made any sense.

“You answer when I call you” he continued. “How are you?”

“How am I? I have no fucking money, and you banished me to one of the most expensive cities in the whole world,” she said, her voice filled with exasperation.

“You have enough money to get by. Just not for your usual spending sprees.”

“All my cards declined less than 20 minutes ago,” she spat, fighting the urge to throw her phone into the wall.

“You’re so fucking irresponsible, Mia,” her father replied.

“Don’t try to lecture me and be a father now, Luke. If I die, it’s gonna be on you,” she said.

“Quit the theatrics. I—”

“They’re not theatrics. You send me to this shitty apartment in New York, make me work for the reincarnation of Mussolini, and then cut off my money?” Mia huffed.

“Grow the fuck up,” she heard him say, just as she hung up on him.

On the other side of town, almost like a direct contrast to Mia’s night, Alexander sat on the balcony of his apartment. His hands were busy holding a thick script, and his eyes moved while his lips softly mouthed words as he read. A glass of whiskey rested on the table in front of him, his mind completely elsewhere.

He worked out his frustrations by tapping his fingers on the cold paper he held. Despite living in a townhouse in the wealthiest part of Soho, in true Scandinavian fashion, it didn't scream opulence but rather simple and comfortable living.

Little did Mia know, Alexander’s mind was filled with thoughts of her just the same. The little seamstress had stuck to his mind like sticky, sweet honey he couldn't wash off. He wanted to sink his teeth into her, claim her as if feminism never existed, and never let her go.

Slamming the script onto the table, he sat up, taking a deep breath and walking across his home into the master bathroom. Steaming away the ache in his muscles, he mentally went over the past day.

#alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard smut #skarsgard #obsidian fanfic #alexander skarsgard fanfic

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