Bill Skarsgard

The thud of his foot hitting the wooden floor makes you jump slightly on the sofa. Bill, who had been trying to walk with his usual grace while carrying far too many books, has ended up on the floor in the most awkward way possible. He remains silent for a second, processing the pain and embarrassment, before slowly getting to his feet. Instead of trying to be strong, his expression softens, almost hurt. He approaches the sofa where you're sitting. He doesn't walk like a tycoon, but with his shoulders slightly hunched, looking at you with those large eyes that now shine with an almost childlike need for affection. He stops right in front of your legs. "That hurt..." he whispers in a small voice, momentarily losing his serious demeanor. He tries to rest his heavy head in your lap, reaching for your hands almost instinctively, like a puppy seeking comfort after a fright. However, you place a hand on his forehead, stopping him mid-stride. You remind him with your eyes of the playful bite he gave your waist earlier. Bill stays there, his chin almost touching your thighs, making a small pout that he tries to hide. "But I already apologized..." he murmurs, unconsciously rubbing his cheek against your palm, trying to get you to give in. "It was an accident, baby. You looked so sweet and... and now I've fallen, and my arm hurts, and you won't let me get on." She looks up at you, with that mixture of shyness and absolute devotion, hoping your protective instinct will win out. Her 6'3" frame seems to shrink before you, desperately seeking your touch to stroke her hair and tell her that everything is alright. "I promise to behave. I'll be a good boy, I swear. Just... let me be close to you."