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Will there be another chapter of all your dreams come true? I really want to see what happens 😅
Yes there will be! Unfortunately life is coming at me hard right now and I haven't been able to write a word for the last 2 weeks 😕 I'm actually thinking of posting what I have written on chapter 6 and then seeing how I feel because right now idt there will be much more. I'll look at what I have and get it polished up for posting soon 💕
Hiiii I dunno if you're still doing prompts but i've been thinking about a drabble where Bill and Holden are at home and they're both a little tipsy and Holden talks Bill into slow dancing with him, I just need some cute domestic fluff tbh, thanksss
HI Ash! Sorry for the delay in answering this 😫 life has been so busy and stressful these past couple weeks, but I finally got a chance to sit down and write this little thing that’s been bouncing around in my head ever since you sent this message. Hopefully you are still yearning for the domestic fluff, because this is fluffy to the max! Enjoy 💕
When Holden wakes on Saturday morning, the mellow, morning sunlight creeping across the unoccupied side of his bed illuminates the vacancy in a way that makes his chest tighten. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine the dust motes sailing, hitting bare skin, the radiating warmth of body heat, hands winding around his waist to pull him closer. But he’s never liked feeling needy or dependent on anyone - not until recently.
He tries to set aside the lonely patter of his thoughts, but when he goes into the kitchen to put some breakfast together, his gaze settles nervously on the telephone.
Last weekend, it was Bill’s turn having Brian. The week before that, Holden was over at Bill’s house, and they were making out on the couch. It seems like a small eternity ago, almost unbearable. He wants to call and invite himself over, but Bill has never been the doting type. He doesn’t appreciate clingy behavior or other people invading his personal space. This thing between them is still too new for that kind of closeness.
Holden dispels the thought of calling, and turns his attention to making breakfast. Afterward, he busies himself by checking the contents of the refrigerator and deciding he needs to stop at the grocery store.
On the weekend, the store is fairly busy, and he takes his time shuffling down the crowded aisles and ticking items off his list once they hit the cart. He trolls the familiar shelves by rote, allowing his mind to wander and predict the rest of the day. Maybe he’ll go for a run later or settle in with a book. More than likely, he’ll end up pouring over the case files he brought home with him. Relaxing has never come easy to him, just like the vulnerability of missing someone.
When Holden gets back to his apartment, juggling two paper sacks of groceries and his keys, the shrill ring of his telephone reaches past the front door. Muttering a curse, he sets down one sack in order to unlock the door, and quickly drags the groceries inside. The telephone continues ringing as he knocks the door shut, stumbles past the grocery sacks into the kitchen, and swipes for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Bill’s voice reaches from the other end of the line, at ease and fond, shattering Holden’s dour mood in seconds.
“Bill, hi.” Holden says, a smile pushing unbidden at his cheeks.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, I was just coming back from the store. It’s okay. What’s up?”
“Nothing, I was just thinking about you.”
Holden turns to lean his hips against the kitchen counter, and bites back a growing grin. “Really? That’s funny.”
“Why?”
“Because, I was thinking about you.” Holden says, clutching the phone tighter as nervous butterflies rouse in his belly.
“Were you, now?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Well, it seems like we’re on the same page then.” Bill says, his tone modest yet holding a note of anticipation.
“About what?”
“You coming over tonight.”
The butterflies explode, not painfully but joyously. Holden purses his lips, but he can’t help the excited grin that stretches across his mouth.
“That sounds great.” He says, attempting not to betray his over-eagerness.
“Yeah?” Bill asks, the relief in his voice matching the warmth in Holden’s chest. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel. I know last week in New Hampshire was hard on you. I figured you’d want to rest-”
“No.” Holden says, quickly. “Not at all. I want to come over.”
“Great. We don’t have to do anything crazy.” Bill says, “Order some take-out, watch a movie …”
“Yeah, that all sounds good. When do you want me to come over?”
“I’ve got some chores around the house to finish up. How does five o’clock sound?”
“Good. Perfect.”
“Okay. See you then.”
After they hang up, Holden stands in the middle of the kitchen with a bewildered smile lingering on his face. His fears about coming off as too needy sink below the surface, leaving behind the warm hum of anticipation in his belly. The realization that Bill wants this - them - just as much as he does rises up slowly right next to the bubbling excitement, but Holden doesn’t try to dwell on the particulars; he has to seize this moment while it lasts.
~
Holden pulls his car into the driveway of Bill’s house at 4:45. He prefers to be early, but today’s punctuality exists more out of uncurbed enthusiasm rather than timely diligence. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from getting himself ready early and leaving his apartment ahead of schedule. He’s sure Bill won’t mind.
Getting out of the car, he jogs up the front steps, and raps his knuckles on the front door. He doesn’t have to wait long before he hears Bill’s footfalls approach and the latch click open.
Holden glances up from his shoes to see Bill holding the door open. He has a kitchen towel over his shoulder, and his cheeks are faintly flushed. Immediately, the mouth-watering scents of cooking dinner wafts from behind his shoulders.
“Hi.” Bill says, his mouth fending off a smug smile.
“Hi…” Holden says, slowly, a frown tugging at his brow.
“Come on in.”
Bill stands aside as Holden creeps across the threshold, pinning him with a curious gaze.
“What smells so good?” Holden asks as Bill pulls the door shut behind him.
Bill’s hand clasps his hip as he leans in to plant a warm kiss on Holden’s cheek. “Dinner.”
“Dinner?” Holden echoes, his brows rising. “You said we were going casual.”
“I know. I wanted to surprise you.”
“I’m practically in pajamas.” Holden protests, haplessly. “I would have dressed up if you told me you were making me dinner and-”
“Hey,” Bill interrupts, his eyes twinkling. “Hush, will you? I’m not worried about what you’re wearing.”
Holden purses his lips, and gently leans into Bill’s chest. Peeking up past his eyelashes and the flush climbing his cheeks, he murmurs, “Right. Sorry. I should be thanking you.”
“You can thank me later.” Bill whispers, planting a fleeting kiss on Holden’s mouth before he turns to go back into the kitchen.
Holden trails behind him, his disbelief growing as he enters the kitchen to see the table set with the nice china dishware and a glass vase at the center that holds a large bouquet of purple and white flowers.
“Wow.” Holden says, pausing in the doorway to gather himself. “Bill, this is …”
“A surprise?” Bill asks as he leans down to open the oven.
“Yes. Very much so.”
Bill pulls the pot out of the oven, and sets it down on the top of the stove. When the lid comes off, the aromatic scent of seasoned pork roast makes Holden’s mouth water.
“Then I succeeded.” Bill says, casting him a smile.
Holden shuffles closer to the table, trying to curb his excitement as he bends over to smell the flowers.
“Are these for me?”
“Yep.” Bill says, sounding casual as he carves into the roast.
“Well, well. I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”
“I’m not. But I figured you would appreciate it.”
“Why’s that? I don’t consider myself a romantic either.”
Bill casts him a dubious glance over his shoulder.
“What? I’m not.” Holden protests.
Bill smirks, and turns his attention back to plating the food.
Holden sighs, and rubs one of the flower petals between his thumb and forefinger. “Well, I have to admit, they are nice. I hope you didn’t spend too much on them.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to ask how much a gift costs?”
“Yes. She also taught me not to kiss boys so …. We’re in new territory, aren’t we?”
Setting aside his fork and knife, Bill turns to catch Holden by the wrist and reel him in. Both arms wind around his waist, pulling him into a firm embrace. A shiver runs through him, leaving his knees weak and his hands clutching at the front of Bill’s shirt. The thrill of warmth ends in his belly when Bill’s eyes swallow him, then his mouth comes down to turn Holden’s world inside out and upside down. Dizzy, giddy satisfaction crushes through his veins at the first sweet dash of Bill’s mouth against his own, increasing to a dazed hum when the strokes deepen and Bill’s tongue slips against his palate.
Holden clings to Bill’s chest until the kiss ends with a slick disconnect of lips and panting breath. He opens his eyes slowly, shuddering.
Bill gazes down at him, a faint smirk resting on the damp corner of his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about doing that all day.” He murmurs.
Holden flushes hotly, and chokes on a reply.
Bill chuckles. “I guess your mom didn’t tell you how great kissing boys would be, huh?”
“Not in the slightest.” Holden whispers, offering a strangled laugh.
“Come on.” Bill says, nudging him toward the table. “Sit down. Dinner’s ready.”
I know you have a story for Holden’s birthday, but i’d kill for Holden surprising Bill on his birthday, whatever sort of scenario you like ❤️
I don’t care how busy or obsessed I am with my current longfic project right now. I have to put that on pause to do something for Holt’s birthday lol You can read forty-nine laps around the sun now on AO3! Thanks for the prompt 💛
I've had a prompt rolling around in my brain the past couple of days, I keep thinking of Holden's car breaking down in the rain, and he has to make his way to a payphone, and he calls Bill, because he doesn't know who else to call. I keep thinking about Bill being worried he'll get sick because he's soaking wet. Sorry if this is disjointed sending asks gives me anxiety >>
Nothing to worry about at all, hon. This makes perfect sense to me! Here you go, hope you enjoy 💕
Holden’s father had instilled a healthy respect for car maintenance in him from a young age, and he considers himself a responsible person when it comes to his possessions; but some things just can’t be foreseen. There were no warning signs, no little lights popping up on his dash to tell him that something was wrong, but still, as his car sputters out on the side of the road, he figures this is somehow his fault.
It’s late evening on a Friday, the ragged conclusion of a long week out of state on consult. It’s no more than a thirty minute drive between the airport and his apartment, but his little Nova, which up until this very moment had been trustworthy and faithful, couldn’t make it that far. On top of everything else, it’s raining. Not a mist or a drizzle, but a deluge that rolls from the rumbling sky in unrelenting gusts that don’t appear to be stopping anytime soon.
As the engine clicks and dies on the gravel shoulder of the road, Holden leans his forehead against the steering wheel to brace back a wave of tearful dismay. Not only does he usually leave car repair up to knowledgeable professionals, but he’d also been looking forward to crawling into his own bed after an arduous week spent tracking down a pedophile and murderer.
A rift of anger rises up from his sudden despair, and he leans back to strike the wheel with the heel of his hand.
“Fuck!” The curse chokes from his throat, punctuating the steady drum of rain against the metal exterior of the car.
He breathes heavily into the silence for a long moment until the initial rush of panic and alarm fades. He tries to think clearly about his options. He should call someone. But who? It’s much too late for shops to be open, and he doesn’t want to call the police department and create a scene. He could call a cab, but that might take awhile. And before he can pursue any of those options, he has to find a phone to even call from first.
Holden rubs his tired eyes, and scans the street.
He knows where he is. Just think … Payphone. The corner of Mission Street and Jackson Road. Two blocks away.
“Fuck.” Holden says, aloud, again.
He’s exhausted, and he doesn’t want to walk two blocks in the pouring down rain; but what other choice does he have?
Gathering his collar up around his neck, Holden draws in a deep breath, and shoulders his way out of the vehicle. The rain is coming down so hard that he’s almost instantly soaked, his hair drenched and plastered to his head, his trench coat barely concealing his shivering body from the biting gust of cold wind and stinging droplets.
For a moment, he thinks about climbing back into his car and waiting it out, but he doesn’t want to face the possibility of the rainstorm persisting through the night. Putting his head down, he trudges away from his car in the direction of Jackson Road.
The shoulder of the street is washed out in the rain, creating a treacherous obstacle course of sliding gravel, loosened rocks, miry sludge, and muddy puddles, two of which he manages to step directly into. It’s difficult to see with his eyes squinting shut against the driving rain and the scarce streetlamps lining this particular strip of deserted asphalt.
If his car had broken down just two blocks later, he would have been in a much better position. There’s a tavern and gas station at the intersection along with the payphone, some sign of civilization that this forested stretch of road where he’s abandoned is absent of.
Holden clenches his jaw and drags his coat more tightly around himself as a fresh clench of frustration seizes his chest. Part of him wants to sit down on the side of the road just to rest his trembling legs, but he pushes on, determined to get to the payphone in as little time as possible.
Eventually, he approaches Jackson Road, a darkened street of shops with only the neon blow of the tavern sign smudged against the black sky in rain-drizzled reds and greens to light the way. Across the street, the gas station with two sad pumps is illuminated by a few overhead lights that attract more insects than people at this time of night. The phone booth stands like a beacon at the corner of the intersection, interior lit by a single, bare bulb.
Holden rushes to the payphone, relief washing through his chest. The sliding door protests on rusty, jammed hinges as he grabs the handle, and it takes a few forceful pulls to get it open far enough for him to slip inside.
The steady, cold patter of rain on his cheeks cuts off abruptly as he stumbles into the glass enclosure. Bracing a hand against one wall, he draws in a shuddering breath and tries to subdue the bone-deep, chilled shiver running through his body.
His relief lasts bare seconds. Now what?
Turning to the pay phone, Holden tucks his hand in his pocket to search for coins. As he sorts out the quarters, he bites anxiously at his lower lip. The booth has no telephone book, and he doesn’t know any numbers for a cab off the top of his head. Nervously jostling the quarters in his hand, he glances down at his watch.
10:35. Christ, it’s late.
Holden presses his eyes shut as a solution rises in the back of his mind. He can feel rain dripping from his hair and sluicing down his cheeks, absorbing through his clothes to chill his skin. His belly shudders from deep inside and his feet hurt, cold and miserable from the long walk in the storm. He’s stranded, and he doesn’t have any other choice.
Shoving aside his nerves, Holden feeds the quarters into the narrow slot and listens to them fall to the bottom with a metallic clatter. He picks up the phone, and slowly dials the number he knows by heart.
As he listens to the shrill ring of the phone, he feels a sudden wave of emotion crawl up the back of his throat. He’s thinking rapidly and all at once: Please pick up. Please don’t be mad. Please help me. And finally: Well, this is just fucking pathetic, isn’t it?
The phone rings six times, and he thinks about hanging up. He could call the operator and get a cab service. He could call the police and they would be more than happy to send someone out - it’s their job after all. His anxiety is about to overwhelm him when the repetitive tone cuts off, and the line rustles with movement.
“Hello?” Bill’s voice is muted and raspy with confusion.
I found your blog pretty recently but thank you for giving me something to read during quarantine, your fics are amazing ❤️
Thank you!!! Obviously the whole situation with this pandemic is terrible, but I'm trying to use my time off work in a positive way. Writing has always been something I do to provide comfort to myself, and now I'm glad it can help other people too 💫💝
👡
Ayyyyyy
15! (For the ask game) :)
“The future rewards those who press on.”
Hi there! Can I be Metatron in your Spn Family? ^_^
Of course:)
SPN Family?
