#Blood Wedding and Yerma | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miheartsedthings · 1 month

Note

Idea - Billy spending his time with someone else while the reader is crushing on him from afar, sees their relationship unfold into something the reader wishes they had with Billy, but Billy's just doing it to distract himself from his elevating feelings for her while she's trying not to feel crushed by this massive crush.. happy ending :>

Thank you so much for being patient while I worked on this! Hope you like it! 😘

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.” ― Federico García Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma

SFW, Angst, Fluff, Hidden Desire

Backing away, trembling, eyes filling with tears as his mouth babbles softly ‘No, it’s not real. This can’t…it can’t be happening…please…’ but it is happening. It has happened. Billy Hargrove has fallen in love, and much to his despair.

He wakes every morning from a nightmare of this all-consuming feeling. It’s terrible the way your face lives in his mind. You’ve replaced so many darker images and for that, he’s so grateful, but now there’s the cloying need for you. The Flayer’s voice used to echo in his skull. In the years since leaving Hawkins, it’s quieted down and now only one message remains, tacked to the back of his mind in perpetuity. No one will love you it says No one will stay.

This is the strongest because it’s the one he already believed. The ‘truth’ he already knew about himself. His being unloveable. He thought he’d made his peace with it. He thought he was satisfied enough to have survived the Flayer and made it back to California. For a time he found a kind of happiness. A hollow, sugary calm that left his days empty. There was booze again, and a slow reentry to weightlifting. His appetite for women was slowly returning. He’d made a couple of friends and attended a couple of parties. He was creating a new normal and it was okay that it didn’t feel exactly right.

He could live with the waves of loneliness that came over him at night. He could handle those dark memories and the nameless sense of loss. He would’ve been fine with it, if not for you. He saw you in class one morning. The dawn of another semester, another summer left behind. His skin was still warm from days on the beach, his head ringing with a hangover. Then you spoke and it was like you’d called his name with just the sound of it. He looked at you and listened to you, and every next thing you said spelled out his ruin. Every day the feeling sank further and further until he was bashful of looking your way.

As if that wasn’t enough, you kept showing up all over campus. You were in the student center whenever he went, and at parties he attended looking so fucking good in everything you wore. You passed by each other on your morning walk to separate classes and you always waved. Always with that lovely smile of yours. It got to the point where the thought of moving around campus made him anxious about running into you. He thought of you when he picked out his clothes, for fuck’s sake. Things couldn’t continue this way. He had to find peace from you. So, when Lauren asked him out one day after the class you shared, he said yes.

You’re trying to ignore the twist in your gut when you see Billy and Lauren walk in together. They’d always sat together in lecture, so you suppose it makes sense they’d start dating. But that doesn’t make it easier. You’d noticed Billy on your first day in class. He sat near the back, classically handsome and easily the most interesting person in class. When he talked, everyone listened, not just because of the way he looks. The way he speaks is filled with intention, right down to the gestures he chooses to accentuate his words. Whatever he feels he means it and he never shies away from that.

At the same time, you get the sense that what he says isn’t useless fluff, but based on something. Whatever he’s been through has changed him. You find yourself wanting to go up to him after class and ask him where he gets his confidence. You’d listen to his whole life story if he cared to tell you. But every time you thought you’d worked up the nerve to speak to him, those pretty blue eyes turned your nerve into vapor.

You’d always been a little shy, but with Billy, it was a new kind of nervousness. Even boys you’d had crushes on in school hadn’t made you feel the heart-stopping terror of his full attention. Maybe it was for the best that Lauren had taken him off the market. Now, there was no need to be nervous because there was no chance anything could happen. So why doesn’t that make it easier? Why, instead of relief when you see the pair together, do you only feel a queasy swell of envy?

“Count off when I point to you. Evens will be one team, odds will be another.”

You think nothing of it when the professor presents the group project. Then, you realize that you’re number three and Billy is number seven, and you’re flooded with fear.

“Oh nooo,” Lauren whines, hugging Billy’s arm to her chest. Billy says something softly to her. He’s always gentle with her, paying attention to every little thing she says. If only he’d look at you with the same care. He wears a lot of denim and smokes so much you smell the leftover cigarettes on him when he walks by. He’s always lost in thought when you see him. Something dark and cloudy behind his eyes you find yourself curious about. The distance is what kills you.

It feels unnatural that you can’t just go up and ask him what he’s thinking about. But you can’t. You watch the gentle way he pulls away from Lauren, telling her she doesn’t need to miss him since she’ll see him after class. You can’t blame her for being clingy, if he was yours you’d regret every moment apart.

His eyes lift and there you are, making his heart race. You look down to your notebook. Your two other group members have already arrived at the two seats beside and diagonal to you, leaving the spot across from you for Billy. He plops down, his face the perfect mask of indifference. He doesn’t even look at you. Your stomach hurts.

The professor explains the assignment and you turn in your seat to watch and listen, but the words are going over your head. Billy gives off a blazing heat and you can’t ignore it to save your life. After class the four of you agree to go right to the library and talk about the assignment.

In the library, only you and Billy show up. Of course, Lauren is there, too.

“Y/n, how do you get your hair to do that? It’s so cute!” Lauren smiles at you, twirling a lock of her auburn curls around her finger. You try to be lighthearted, but your face is burning.

“Just practice. And Youtube.” You chuckle. Billy sits there looking down at his phone. He’s still yet to speak since the three of you arrived in the library. Instead, Lauren has been acting as his mouthpiece.

“Very cute,” she says again, then nudges Billy. “Isn't her hair so cute, BB?”

Finally, his gaze lifts and he looks at you. You awkwardly smile and look down at your paper.

“Sure,” he says.

Lauren chastizes him, saying he’s supposed to agree with her and always compliment a lady on her appearance.

“It looks like the others aren’t coming,” You say, breaking into the conversation, sufficiently embarrassed and ready to escape. “We should try again later this week.”

In your hurry to get away, you snatch Billy’s pen from the table, shoving it into your bag with everything else. You don’t notice until you get home and quietly curse yourself. The next day, you see him in the student center when you go there to study. You smile and wave like you usually do, but then, wave him over. He hesitates a moment, his usual cool demeanor chipping a bit as he saunters over. Damn, even the way he walks is hot.

“I took this on accident yesterday,” you say, producing the pen. He smirks, flashing the sharp tips of his canines.

“Shit, you could’a kept it. I didn’t even notice.”

Right, he didn’t notice. Your neck goes warm.

“Sure, of course, I just thought…it’s yours, so…”

“Right.” He says.

“Right…”’

An oppressive quiet falls over the two of you, while you’re still holding the pen out to him and he’s still yet to take it and sweat is prickling the back of your neck because you’re not sure what to say or do. You’re certain the wrong move would ruin everything. Finally, a flicker of awareness snaps you out of it and you pull back your hand, unfortunately, it’s at the exact same moment he decides to reach for the pen.

“Oh,” you say, and extend it again and at the same moment he pulls back his hand. Both of you produce an awkward chuckle and he shifts onto his other leg.

“Keep it,” he says with a handsome little grin.

“Alright.” you clear your throat. “Did you ever hear from our group members?”

“Shit, no,” the two of you share a laugh, more comfortable this time. “It’s probably gonna be all on us.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” You’re chewing your lip, considering a bit of honesty you’d never had the nerve for until now. “Ya know, if I’m being honest, I don’t even remember what the assignment was.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

“You don’t know the assignment? Little miss answers every question?”

“Oh come on, I only answer half. You get the other half.”

He rolls his eyes, a playful chiding.

“Alright,” he slides into the seat opposite you. “I’ll explain it once so you better pay attention.”

“Swear.” You say, smiling brightly.

The assignment is abstract. As Billy explained it, you both found yourselves chuckling at your professor’s philosophical nature. It was a communications class, yet the assignment required in-depth study of your group mates in service of a short, but thorough introduction. You were to present your classmates as if they were receiving something like a Lifetime Achievement Award. Your speeches were to be “thoughtful, informative, and intimate”.

Billy explained all this and you enjoyed the uninterrupted view of him so up close. You were getting used to the way your stomach fell flat against your pelvis when he laughed, and soon enough you were joking right back. You asked him a few things you’d always wondered. Where had he been before Cali? Did he live in the dorms or off campus?

You talk about things you’ve overheard through dorm walls and about small towns. You tell him about friends back home and he tells you (In such vague terms that it only makes you even more curious) about his streak of trouble that almost killed him. He talks about the town he came from like it’s a dark blip on the map of his life.

“Should make Christmas fun, right?” You ask, joking.

“Fuck that,” he says. “I’m not going back.”

The mood turns somber and your smile fades. You take up the pen he gave you and take note.

“‘Hates Hawkins more than he loves Christmas’. Got it.”

He smiles.

“Nice. Very accurate.”

“Thanks,” you say “And if it makes you feel any better, I won’t be going home for break, either.”

For a moment the two of you are quiet, taken off guard by how natural it feels to be in the other’s company. You both let your eyes wander as you never had before. A small indulgence. Then his phone rings and you’re both reminded of the reality of things. It’s Lauren, asking where he is.

The next day, your group members still don’t show up to the library. Lauren’s meeting up with her own group, leaving you and Billy alone.

“What do you think she means by ‘intimate’?”

Billy looks up from his draft of your introduction. He looks extraordinarily handsome today and you've been having trouble holding eye contact. You try, of course, locking eyes and waiting for the rush of nerves to pass. His lids are tapered, and now that you think of it, every eyes you've ever admired have been tapered, just like his. His expression is thoughtful.

“Shit, I don't know. More than personal. Yeah, more than superficial. Something that lets em feel like they've known you for years.”

What would it be like to know him for years? You start to imagine the depth of understanding you'd come to have about this person and your heart starts to race. You're beginning to really appreciate this assignment.

“And the trick is doing it in two weeks.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “Well, I'll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours.”

He chuckles.

“So you can go blab about them in class? No thanks.”

“I wouldn't blab,” you say through a laugh, “I just wanna get a feel-” your nerves catch up to you right then. At the worst time. He cocks an eyebrow, making you cringe.

“You wanna feel.” He teases.

“No, no, not like that.”

“Uh huh.”

“I'm curious about you, that's all. You're interesting.”

“Hm.”

“Nevermind, forget I said anything.”

He's smirking, and writing something in his notebook.

“This is good,” he says “you're givin me plenty to work with.”

You groan, now fully embarrassed and he laughs again. Your eyes drop to your paper and you read over what you have so far.

“So,” he says, “Ask me something. If you're curious.”

You consider this invitation for a moment and decide it's now or never. You lean forward, folding your arms over each other.

“Well, in class you're always saying you don't like non-verbal communication. It's cheap and sneaky-”

“Lazy,” he corrects you. “It's the shit people rely on so they don't have to open their mouths.”

“Well…I just wonder if you might be oversimplifying things, and maybe if you don't like non-verbal communication from people because you don't know how to read it.”

His brows raise in a look of mock surprise.

“Yeah? What, you think I can't pick up on shit?”

“It's just a theory,” you say, laughing “But there's something to it. Non-verbals are valuable.”

“Depends on what they are,” he says.

“True. They're not all equal, but why hate them? I mean I know what you've said in class, they avoid the point, people use it as a crutch, but why do you think that?”

He sighs, leaning back in his chair, his eyes finding the ceiling behind your head. He sits there looking into the middle distance, pacing through thoughts. Making sense of something.

“You can't go through life...making people read your mind about shit.” He says, hesitating over a few of his words. You can tell this is harder for him to say. More honest. “People need to hear things…if they don't, they assume. And if you're stuck up your own ass trying to hold shit in, you never set it straight. What they think about you stays…”

You're watching him as he speaks, gesturing in order to help bring the words out. He brushes a curly lock of gold out of his eyes and as his voice peters out your gaze lingers on his parted lips.

“You are very non-verbal.” His eyes shoot up to yours, snapping you out of your spell. “Not in a bad way,” you add.

“In what way?”

You shrug.

“I don't know.” He doesn't look away, his eyes are fixed on you in a serious look of curiosity. “You talk with your hands. And to me that speaks to how genuinely you feel about things. Which is nice. You have an easy smile, it shows up as soon as you're amused and disappears the moment you're not. So, there's honesty in that, I think. You're very present.” He's watching you with a softness in his eyes that makes you warm. “And Lauren.” The mention of her name changes something in him. He looks away. “You uh…you keep your arm around her chair. It's protective.”

A moment passes where neither of you speaks, and you feel a quiet sadness settling over you.

“Anyway,” you continue, looking at your paper now, “Why hate it so much when it says so much about you?”

The longer you sit there in silence the more agitated Billy seems to get. He says he has to go and starts gathering his stuff. You assume it's because you've crossed a boundary by bringing up Lauren and you part ways with a gnawing guilt making your eyes water.

The next time you see Billy, you're at a party in the apartments near campus. People are crammed into the tight space, but the atmosphere is lively and warm. You and your friend stand in the kitchen, leaning against the island, cups in hand, already buzzed.

“Didn’t she say where he’d been?” Your friend asks. Her eyes are covered in sparkly purple eyeshadow and dark liner. Her signature look.

“You know my mom. She’s cryptic. All she said was my dad’s back and I need to come home over break.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Lame.”

“Lame is one word for it.”

You drain your cup of its contents and then refill it, not enjoying the thought of being around your parents for the holidays. It’s not like they’re bad people, they just expect a lot which can be hard to stomach when your dad disappears whenever he wants to. Your mom doesn’t make it any easier by demanding you be the perfect child to him whenever he decides to be home.

Your cup is mostly vodka with just enough cranberry juice to change the color. You slam it in less than a minute, making your friend laugh.

“Fuck,” she giggles. “That’s better. Let’s talk about that fine-ass classmate of yours.”

“Let’s not,” you answer, but your face is already warming thinking about Billy.

“Is he still with what’s her face?”

“Very much.”

“I don’t get that.”

“What’s not to get? She’s a nice enough girl and he’s about the most scrumptious guy I’ve ever seen.”

She shakes her head.

“Something’s off about it. Remember the episode of Catfish when it was really the dude’s cousin?”

You laugh.

“She was mad because he called her a fat-ass Kelly Price?”

“Yes! I knew, remember? I knew it was her all along! And when I think about you and this boy I get the same feeling, like the call is coming from inside the house.”

The two of you are laughing about this when you glance over into the living room and spot him. You can’t help gasping and your friend quickly follows your gaze. He and Lauren are just arriving, looking around, Lauren spots a group of girls she knows and goes shrieking over to them with her arms outstretched. You turn before Billy can catch you looking.

“Shit,” you mumble, taking another drink.

“No, this is good,” your friend says, “You have to get to the bottom of this.”

“There is no bottom of it,” you say, the reality of the situation hitting you again. “He has a girlfriend, there’s nothing left to do.” You glance over your shoulder and see you’ve lost track of him. “In fact. I’m avoiding him.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’ll be back and then we can leave.”

You don’t listen to your friend’s pleas to stay, you move away in search of the bathroom. It’s at the end of a short hall, but as you’re on your way there, you see a bedroom door cracked open and movement catches your eye. Curiosity gets the better of you so you peek into the room, noticing a little black cat licking itself on the edge of the bed.

If you hadn’t been drunk, you would’ve kept moving, but you were drunk, more than you’d realized a second ago, and you couldn’t resist. You pushed into the quiet bedroom, gently closing the door behind you. The cat gave a curious, curling meow and watched you as you sat down beside it.

“Hey kitty,” you called, softly.

It rose, curling its back into a stretch and then bumping its little head into your palm. It meows again, eagerly arching its body against you.

“So sweet,” you coo, “Such a little sweetie baby, huh?”

The cat meows and cranes up to sniff as you scratch under its chin. In your fuzzy vodka brain, it makes perfect sense to lay back and let the cat curl up on your belly, which it promptly does. It’s lying there purring when the door opens and you bolt upright, suddenly terrified that the person whose room this is has caught you. Instead, you’re terrified to see Billy.

You sit there with the cat in your lap, your body filling with warmth. As good as he looks at school, there’s something entirely different about him in this kind of setting. Something loosened. A sly smile spreads across his lips.

“I knew it,” he says.

“Knew what?”

“You’re the type to be at a party and go snooping around for the pet.”

You laugh at yourself.

“Well, this actually happened by accident.”

“Sure.”

There it is again: that comfortable stillness you keep feeling between the two of you. How can he just stand there not saying a thing and make you feel at home? You remember Lauren and look down at the cat. Its fur is so smooth and ink-black. Its eyes are an uncanny emerald color.

“So, turns out I am going home for Christmas break.”

“Couldn’t resist.”

You smile at his sarcasm.

“It’s really a favor to my mom. My dad’s home so it’s…I don’t know, it’s stupid. But I’ll be there ‘cause it’s family.”

You don’t look at him, but if you had you’d see such conflict in his eyes.

“Figured out another thing I hate about non-verbal shit.”

You look up then, as he crosses the space to sit beside you. The cat is immediately curious, stepping across your lap to carefully sniff and then headbut Billy’s thigh.

“What's that?”

“It leaves it all up to the other person. You make em’ watch you and read into everything. They end up feeling like a stalker. Then if they get it wrong, it’s like, this whole fantasy they had is just empty bullshit.”

He’s tan, bringing his faint freckles into contrast. He smells like shampoo and cologne, and he’s warm. You can tell that when his hand brushes your thigh when he offers his palm to the cat.

“Funny,” you say, your voice has fallen soft and airy, but you don’t notice. You’re focused on his eyes “My introduction to you is all about how no-bullshit you are.”

He smirks, but it’s without the usual mischief.

“Better change that,” he says “I’m so full of shit I can’t stand it.”

You stare at him for a moment, and he comes into focus then, in a new way. You understand something new about him and just as you expected, it feels incredible.

“I get it now,” You say “The real reason you hate non-verbals.”

A little glint of apprehension passes through his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“You hate them ‘cause you-”

The door opens, and Lauren is there. Her smile falters into a lopsided grin.

“There you are,” she chirps. “Not in the bathroom.”

The two of them leave quickly, Billy tossing plastic parting words over his shoulder as he rushes away. You’re left in a stillness that doesn’t end when you get up to leave. It stays with you, burning and hollow.

You’re having trouble focusing in class on Monday. Your professor is more than a little surprised to see you being so quiet, and when she asks if you have anything to add to the discussion you quietly explain that you’re not feeling well. She asks if you’d like to leave early and you take her up on the offer. Anything to get away from Billy and Lauren.

She’s been all over him, even more than usual and it’s hard to stomach. You keep thinking back to the party and your encounter with Billy. What had it meant? You felt like it was on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t make anything crystalize into shape. Your head was drowned.

Later, in the student center, you stare down at your paragraph. Nothing about it seemed right anymore and you kept re-structuring it. The paper was clogged with scribbles and strikethroughs. Your head was down, your hands framing your eyes as you stared down at the page and you didn’t look up when he sat down.

“Finish what you were saying the other night,” he says.

“I don’t remember.”

“Of course you do.”

“I was drunk, Billy. Forget it. Please?”

You hear him sigh and adjust in his chair.

“It’s over with Lauren.”

You look up and find his eyes are stone-cold and focused. His brows pinched.

“Did you…?”

“I’m done with the bullshit, Y/n. Fuck bein’ scared. Fuck the non-verbal shit.”

A jolt of energy zips up your spine, pulling you straighter in your seat. Your heart is pressed against your lungs as you watch his eyes, full of a new determination.

“What does that mean?” you venture.

His eyes take in your features, slowly, savoring the look of you.

“I don’t have a fuckin letter of this speech written down because I’m such dogshit at explaining who you are. Maybe if I had a year I could get started but it’s impossible right now. So I’m failing this project. Which is fine. But I want that year, if I’m not getting the grade.”

You’re stunned for a moment, until a ripple of laughter breaks the quiet. You share the joy, his smile evidence of an understanding.

“Just a year?” You ask.

“Enough to get started,” he says “That’s maybe half a sentence.”

“How much time would it take?”

“How much do you have?”

You laugh again, a palm over your heated face.

“I can’t believe this,” you say, then look at him, astonished. “I was right. You’re total shit at saying how you feel.”

He smiles and shrugs.

“Told you.”

“Yeah," you say, "that you tell me.”

Dividers from saradika-graphics

Photos from Pinterest