#taketobeds

[redemptioninterlude]

SUBJECT: continued from here ! CONCERNING: willoughby tucker

when she'd talked about coming down to the river, she hadn't really expected this. how the night loomed over them, only realizing as they walked how the silvering blue of the sky now pitched itself BLACK, save the quiet hazy streaks of moonlight that managed to escape from the tight clutch of clouds that crowded over them from above. the river was calming... having found that she actually really liked the sound of rushing water. it was like, a habit to walk off her day, to come back refreshed, empty...

it was her little SPLASH to take off the edge of a worsening state of reality. she didn't want to be using all the time, and things like this at least formed somewhat of a distraction. there had to be a middle ground. she's really, fucking fooling herself. but tonight's taking the form of a bigger aberration from the usual, with willoughby's dare catching her off guard. wanna climb in? "isn't it cold?" she started, then - "we don't even have anything to swim in."

that's where he proves her SO, SO WRONG.

her jaw almost unhinges itself, watching him strip down, layer by layer. and worse, he knows it, the ego of him rolling off in waves, leaving his things behind in a pile, rue left coming up closer to the edge, as he walked right into the dark. the sound of water, moving around him... rue SHIVERED, but she sees him floating, a slant of white against the dark of the water. it looks haunted. it looks beautiful.

so much so that even though she hesitates, she's pulling her sweater up over her head, dropping it on top of the pile he's already started. the jeans, they move down her hips, as do the boxers, the bralette that did little to nothing. she should be more EMBARRASSED about the whole thing. but then she remembers. isn't she supposed to be remaking herself out here? she wades in, to her waist, the cold sucking at her limbs, she holds her breath, and ducks her head underneath to get it over with, coming up with a cry, and a laugh that shattered at the peace. "ffffffuckkkkk, okay yes, but these 10 seconds are...!!! terrible!" a shutter, sliding through her spine, as she finally caught up, a hand reaching out to splash him, hitting his arm.

★— ATTN: @taketobeds

[thatdumblamb]

@taketobeds cont.

The springs of the beaten-up sofa groaned as Willoughby adjusted his weight, his eyes squinting through a cloud of cigarette smoke at the flickering static of the television. The interior of the double-wide was dim, lit only by the crooked floor lamp and the blue-grey glow of the screen. Outside, rain hammered a steady, rhythmic cadence against the corrugated metal roof — a sound that usually lulled him into a stupor, but tonight, his skin felt tight with an inexplicable restlessness. A sudden, sharp scrape against the aluminum siding made him freeze. It was followed by a familiar fumble at the window latch beside his kitchenette. Willoughby didn't reach for the baseball bat leaning against the wall; his body recognized the rhythm of that particular clumsiness before his mind did. He stood up, his tall frame looming in the cramped space, and moved toward the window. He reached out to haul the window upward just as Bella's head surfaced above the sill. Reach out was all he ever seemed to do when it came to her — bracing her, steadying her, pulling her out of whatever storm she had decided to wander into. He grabbed her by the waist, his large hands nearly spanning her middle, and hoisted her upward. Even through the damp fabric of her jacket, he could feel how small she was, and the familiar jolt of protectiveness flared in his chest, hot and jagged. He sat her down on the linoleum floor with more gentleness than a man of his size typically possessed. "Bella," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that betrayed the sudden spike in his pulse. He didn't pull his hands away immediately. He let them linger on her hips for a heartbeat too long, his thumbs tracing the line of her denim jeans. The scent of rain and pine clung to her, mixing with the stale air of the trailer. He searched her face, his gaze intense and slightly guarded. He was constantly looking for a sign — some indication that the way her heart sped up was for the same reason his did, or if he was just the safe harbor she ran to when the rest of the world got too loud. "It's two in the mornin'," he said, finally dropping his hands and reaching for a dry towel on the counter, though he didn't step back out of her personal space. "You alright? What's goin' on?"

The thunder had kept her up. That and nightmares of the tracker, the ballet studio, being left in the woods, being told that was wasn't wanted. She had woken up with a start in a damp sweat. She couldn't be in her room. In her house. It was like she was trapped. Her father was working the night shift and she was alone. She hated it.

Pulling on her hoodie and converse she headed out the door. It was raining, why she didn't take her truck was beyond her. It was right there but she wanted to walk. To run. She made her way down the dark, foggy streets, not really paying much mind to where exactly she was going, but she had to go.

Then suddenly she was at his place. Willoughby. A safe place. A person she knew she could always feel safe with and count on. She could have knocked. She really should have it would have been so much easier than clumsily climbing through his window. She swore under her breath, a mix of English and Spanish as she fumbled with the window.

His hands found her and he pulled her through the window, gently setting her down. She looked up at him in the dark, she let out a breath. "I know..." Bella muttered. "I'm sorry, I just. I felt like I was suffocating in my house. My dad is still at work. There was another missing camper." She explained.

Bella ran a hand through her wet hair, she was shivering now, she hadn't realized how cold she was before. The run here had distracted her from that. "I needed...something safe." She said tugging her lip between her teeth. "Is that okay?"

[redemptioninterlude]

[  hair  brush  ]  sender  carefully  brushes  receiver’s  hair  back,  slow  and  soothing / for rue <3

SUBJECT: taking care of you meme NOTIFY: @taketobeds CONCERNING: willoughby tucker

long nights, the pitch black of midnight soaking through the soil the same as the rain, today. they're caught up in that shit, coming back from the shop, where she visits him, hanging out and sitting inside one of the cars, the door open, so that they can talk as he works. the smell of oil permeates everything, SICKLY SWEET. she's gotten so familiar with it, lately, she almost misses her til it gives her a head-rush as she stands, her gaze squinting at the world that lay beyond the enclosure of the garage. it's been going all day, late into the night, as, willoughby finishes off of a job he said, in a way that held a finality to it, that it had to be done...

which is just fine. rue doesn't have loads to do, though she supposed she could be making runs for extra cash in the rain, but... nah... nothing comes through, and everyone seems as CONTENT as they do to be stuck inside, doing just about anything but living loud. rue feels it pressed into the edges of life here, like a silent request, or a plea of its residence.

oh, we're so, so TIRED, please let us be.

they drive back in that rain, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel, his other hand across the console, holding her own. like he missed the small things in this, which felt nice, she tells him then she's never really had anyone that cared to do that with her in the past. they don't talk about that too much, not wanting to obsess over a girl who's been left back in the sticky heat of the south, burying herself beneath dreams and expectations of a man that could never FILL OUT a dream. he could only ever really be himself, and, he'd felt that hadn't been enough. maybe out here, in a place that moved in such quiet measures, he'd find himself better situated. maybe, she's just hoping that this sticks.

he parks, and they run through that rain, feeling the deluge soak through their whole souls by the time they run into her room, the both of them laughing it off, hands held as she threw a towel in his direction, using one herself to dry the ends of hers. the hoodie she usually wore, lay in a wet, twisted pile against the back of the chair that the both of them had solemnly dubbed the cuck chair in the corner. rue, cursing about her hair, a little bit more than surprised when willoughby lifted the comb from her fingers, ASSURING HER he knew what he was doing.

well, ALRIGHT then.

[  hair  brush  ]  sender  carefully  brushes  receiver’s  hair  back,  slow  and  soothing

he's so much more gentle than she expects, talking him through how to do it. it's a wide comb, it slips more easily through her curls, the twists of it. "my mom used to do this for me sometimes. honestly, i used to love those moments, yanno? like. it was time where it felt like she was actually seeing me and talking to me, and not just like... ripping at all of the problems. and oh my god i gave her like, SO MANY problems, like..." rue's laughing, but... "... i miss her. i wish she'd pick up when i called her. i guess it's like, i already lost my dad, you know? i don't want to lose her too. i was just, like... not listening. i burned so much of her, i don't know if she'd be willing to look at me the same way. i dunno. sometimes, you really do just... burn the image of who you are to dust with some people." oh... "... sorry, i mean. this feels like. really nice. you're like, totally welcome to come here at any point to do this again." that grin, dawning, slowly. "wanna stay here? i think the run from here to your place is looking kinda treacherous right now."

[redemptioninterlude]

[ protective ] sender stays curled close even after receiver falls asleep / for rue <3

SUBJECT: taking care of you meme NOTIFY: @taketobeds CONCERNING: willoughby tucker

rue's not really sure when she falls into this habit. he talks about leaving the door unlocked, and the first night, she stood there, almost frozen, when the latch actually gave way underneath her palm, and she was left staring at a halfway confused willoughby. well. confused until he has that stupid smile on his face, and it's like, all DOWNHILL from there, at least. sort of. even if it feels kind of nice to be a fucking wreckage with someone that didn't expect you to dull your edges, your bleeding heart, your too much of everything that comes when attached to the kind of soul wound you've never recovered from.

the hours spent wondering if everyone in life was right, if you've wasted something, yourself, your potential. who are you? what do you want of yourself? those questions haunt her, make her wonder... because honestly, she's never known what she wanted to do. there was no AMBITION burning in her soul. but he's stained with the kind of sins she's committed on the other side, he talks of ethal like she was built to lead a nation. she wonders if jules felt the same kinds of pressures and pains the way he did, incapable of living up to the hero that they'd been built up to be.

how lately he'll come too, she locks her own door until, eventually, slowly, she finds enough regularity in this to know when or if he'd come knocking. sometimes they just talk, and smoke outside, their feet kicking back and forth in the pool. sometimes, it's walks out in the woods, their words stilled as they watched every step through the brush, the silent eating up the distance. or other nights, like this, he'd come by and touch the side of her head, as if recognizing SOMETHING there, before coming inside, and locking the door.

[ protective ] sender stays curled close even after receiver falls asleep

maybe she should have more CAUTION embedded in her bones for this, a word of warning, because this was likely something neither of them knew how to handle within it seemed their ever fragile state. rue doesn't even know how to talk about what this feels like, or how nice... her breathing slowing, her eyes heavy, that first time he spends the night, listening to the sound of his breathing. rhythmic, steady, calm. that closeness, the warmth, it reminds her of how long it'd been since she'd been able to do something like this... and not knowing how to name it as something she'd missing. already gone, and asleep, before the thought could take root.

[egodevths]

CLOSED for @taketobeds

shiloh had spent most of the night pretending she belonged there. she lingered at the edges of conversations with a beer sweating between her fingers, offering polite smiles whenever someone looked her way and laughing half a second after everyone else did. the party was full of people who already knew one another, from artists with old tour stories, to producers trading private jokes, to songwriters leaning close as though every conversation might become a future hit. she knew a few of their names, and more of their faces, but none of them knew hers beyond the songs that’d passed between strangers online. they knew the girl who wrote about dead-end roads, ruined churches, and loving people like an open wound. they didn’t know what to say to her once she was standing in front of them. it was strange, watching the thing she’d wanted begin to happen without ever feeling like she’d arrived. six months ago, she’d been recording demos in her bedroom while cicadas screamed outside the window and her neighbors’ dogs barked into the dark. now, people called her a rising star and invited her to parties where she spent most of the evening studying the labels on beer bottles. shiloh was considering leaving without telling anyone when she spotted willoughby tucker across the room. she recognized him immediately; everyone did lately. the newest country darling, all sharp features and carefully cultivated mystery, though he looked nearly as detached from the room as she felt. that was enough to make her move. shiloh slipped between clusters of people, dodging elbows and perfume clouds until she reached him, still clutching her beer by the neck. “you look miserable,” she said by way of introduction, her southern drawl curling lazily around the words. there was the faintest hint of amusement at the corner of her mouth as she glanced back at the crowded room. “do you hate crowds, too, or is brooding in corners part of the whole country star thing?”