#heather;starter

msg: baaaaaaby msg: you’re nearly finished with your shift, right? msg: i’m home all alone and it’s spooky! msg: i need you to come scare the ghosts away with your spooky punk self msg: like what i bought today? 

pcm:

HEATHER: yeah i remember you! long time no see. what t-shirt?

JESS: maybe i left it in Liam’s room? it’s grey 

HEATHER: ooh, i think i know the one 🙈 

HEATHER: I thought it was Liam’s! funny, i didn’t think it smelt like him

HEATHER: i’m wearing it right now

“baby-” 

Stepping into the bathroom with a quiet creak from the door, Heather gently tilts her head as she gazes across the hunched, broad back of her lover, as he sits perched facing away from her on the edge of the roll top bath. Quietly her bare feet pad across linoleum tiles, skinny legs also bare, like the rest of her but for the large, white cotton shirt done up odd around her with the cuffs rolled up. She looks dwarfed in it, as small hands reach out to slide across his arm and short arms envelop him in a hug from behind. 

“Where are you?” She whispers into his ear, knowing that far away look with haunted shadows behind deep sunken eyes. Curling in closer, her brunette locks tumble down his chest as she tucks her chin and lips in against his neck, and eyes him cautiously. There were so many unhappy things in his mind, scary places and dark corners. He’s her broken boy, and as her fingers stroke across the stubble on his cheek, she gazes at him lovingly. 

Their last kill had been noisy. Perhaps too noisy. John didn’t like noise. They’d banged and screamed, crying and begging until he couldn’t take it any more. Heather loved the violent side of him. She’s reeled in delight as he’d beat them with his fists until there was nothing recognisable left of her pretty face... but John didn’t like it, so now the quiet. 

With the tip of her straw clasped between lip-glossed lips, filling her mouth with a fruity concoction of punch and vodka at the smallest suck, Heather lets her eyes roam the club as her and her gaggle of ‘gal pals’ dance in a circle. The loud, thudding base of the rhythmic, sexy tempo thumps in her small rib cage, bare back slowly rolling with slim shoulder blades oscillating and hips swaying. Long, tousled chocolate locks sit against her back, giving the illusion of skin with every sway of her head, as her black cocktail dress sits low and short. 

It’s only once her gaze settles on a pair of dark, deep eyes that her own stop wandering. She thinks she must be mistaken, and glances away, taking another sip through her straw, before curiosity has her glance back, and there they were. Staring straight at her. A small, bashful smile tugs at her lips as she flashes an interested gaze of her own in her direction, before turning back to her friends with a carefree laugh. Surely men that hot, sat in VIP booths, with an air of power and mystery around them are mistaken by looking at her. Yet still, daring to dream, her eyes glance back.