#bill skarsgard fic
Note
I know you have had a little writers block and not much time to write but in case this can inspire more tiger and Bill hear goes. So Bill is working on a movie that is a mess. He took the job because because he really loved the director, but lets so with rewrites and other politics that director quit. Bill was still in a contracted he could not easily get out out and he did not want to quit something he had already put work into.
Filming finally started back up with a new script and he was doing his best to make his character believable. But his neppo-baby co-star was not helping. Of course he was also considered a neppo-baby by the US press but he did not think he was not a brat like this woman. She wanted to change things in the script. She wanted special foods and no one could talk to her unless she was officially on set. He could not even get her to go over lines or how he could respectfully touch her during scenes since they were playing a couple.
He of course talked though things with Tiger as much as he thought he could but this was a very tough shoot. He would come home late and only get about 6 hours before having to be back on set.
His mind is wheeling one night when he has to do a love scene with this awful girl the next day. Tiger calms him enough for him to fall asleep. His brain has other ideas to fix the thoughts he has about the next day. He dreams of actually having an affair with awful girl. And the sex is just....he wakes in cold sweat. He was moaning in his sleep and he can not even look at Tiger. And boy does he not want to go to work that day either.
Ohhhhh I like this.
Look, I mean, with how many films actors do--every once in awhile, they must work with fellow castmates that they just hate. Abhor. Their hatred is so thinly veiled that it's incredibly palpable to the crew onset, but thankfully things rarely ever make it to the press because of NDAs and big ass scary lawyers and the like. But every once in awhile--we, the ever little-seeing public--we get wind of it. Think Don't Worry Darling. The drama surrounding that production, for the so many reasons it seems to entail, was just--unf, chef kiss to those of us that still love the thrill of a little celebrity drama.
And I'm sure Bill, in all of his perfectionist nature, was also hated on a few sets. His perfectionist nature. His insistence on trying the scene 100 different ways, for 100 different takes, until he was satisfied. Not everyone performs to that calibre nor do they hold themselves accountable to such lofty expectations as that big swedish talking tree, but that's just who he is. That's how he works.
But y'know, I'd even venture to say that it's quite rare that Bill actually likes his castmates and fellows actors he works with. That's not to say that he hates their guts--not at all. But rather he's just pretty...ambivalent about the whole thing. Neutral. He's the Switzerland of film sets. He's a pretty private person in general, a pretty guarded individual, and for him this is a job. Onscreen chemistry is far more important than actual chemistry in this line of work, and he's able to separate the two. He can have great onscreen chemistry with someone that he's not super friendly with, and he doesn't feel any inclination to add the to the inner workings of his closest social circle. Beers after a long day on set is one thing, the occasional celebratory dinner, gifts for the make up and costume crew. Getting to know everyone on a first name basis. But beyond that, Bill is more than happy to go back to his trailer between takes, or go back to his apartment at the end of the day, and cook dinner with tiger or have drinks with some of his friends who flew out to spend a few days with him.
And on that note, he's probably had to work with a lot of actors that he really doesn't like. People who either take themselves way too seriously (Bill thinks method acting is the most ridiculous fucking thing anyone could ever do), or the opposite--people who don't take this seriously at all. And if you call Bill a nepo baby to his face you'll likely be tackled violently from stage left by tiger--but it's also why he's ultra sensitive about those nepo baby actors who don't have any talent, and don't even have the work ethic to build it up.
It's still like pulling teeth to get Bill to admit that his laast name opened up a few doors for him, but he'll also be the first to admit that his initial acting jobs weren't....uh, they weren't great. But he worked at it, he honed his craft, he worked his ass off, and now nobody can say the opportunities he's gotten have been handed to him.
But y'know, the thought of nepotism--well, it doesn't really bother some people.
And maybe on a recent film set, Bill is living in his version of hell. His love interest in the film is a girl in her young to mid-twenties, the type who grew up with two famous parents and all of a sudden decided she wanted to act--so roles were handed to her. Bill's not quite sure how she even got the job given how their chemistry read went, with Bill nearly glaring daggers at her the whole time. She's just the type of person he can't stand. She's loud about everything. She comes with an entourage to everything. It's always over the top, all the time. She never learns her lines. She doesn't give him anything to work with in a scene, reciting her lines like a robot and not leaving anything to improv, natural reactions. She needs a million takes for one scene--not because she's a perfectionist--but because she forgot her lines, or didn't listen to the notes the director gave her. Bill is pretty convinced this entire film could have shot in half the time if she'd just be a little bit of a fucking professional about it.
The whole thing irks him at first, then just pisses him right the hell off shortly after. She's late for the call time, when the other actors are sitting in the transport car well before the ass crack of dawn waiting for her to come out her house. She comes into the makeup trailer blasting her music and yelling along with her entourage, while Bill is reviewing his scene changes and trying to get his head into his character for the day--they knock over his coffee, get in everyone's way, and just never shut the fuck up. Her friends--and her--are all filming all the time, and Bill spends most of his time between takes trying to dodge ending up on someone's instagram or tiktok.
But y'know, it's just so pitifully ironic that the only scene this girl is keen to rehearse--a little too keen, actually--are any of the kissing scenes, or the sex scenes. And with one scheduled in just a few days time, this little nepo baby has been all over Bill trying to find proper times--evenings, of course, with a little wine to loosen up--for them to uh, practice. Bill's gag reflex has been barely contained.
And like, tiger bears the brunt of his rants at the end of every filming day. Whether it's 2AM or 2AM or anywhere in between, he always FaceTimes her when he wraps the day and tiger always thinks that vein in his neck is real damn close to bursting.
"She just...she doesn't get it tiger," he rants, pausing to take a drag of his cigarette, "This is a fucking joke to her. This is my job, my profession, and it's a fucking joke to her."
"Has anyone told her?" she asks, "Maybe she needs to be called out on it."
"Her dad's studio is partially funding this one," Bill exhales, the camera shaking as he continues to walk.
"You're fucked then," tiger smiles sadly. Bill just makes a frustrated noise before continuing to rant for the next hour.
And like, maybe tiger goes to visit him on set right? And she's not it before, the whole rehearsing an upcoming steamy scene with him--but wait wait, I'm getting ahead of myself here.
So, tiger visits him on set and sees firsthand what a fucking nightmare this girl is. Tiger spends most of her time in his trailer but somehow, she still has to dodge what feels like a million cameras all linked to a hundred different kinds of social media, all from her entourage. They ain't shy about questions that are none of their damn business either--shit like who she is, how she knows Bill, what she's doing there.
"I'm his bodyguard," she cracks, except tiger is kind of scary when she's pissed off and she's not really blinking so suddenly the gaggle of girls don't really know what to think.
In any case, tiger can definitely see why Bill has been so pissed off lately. Everything is a joke to this girl, she doesn't take anything seriously, and suddenly she's just real excited about the scenes coming up in a few days.
"We should practice tonight!" she says gleefully, as both her and Bill are sitting in the makeup trailer getting all un-done after the day. Tiger quirks a brow from the back of the room where she's playing with one of the other actor's dogs.
"No thanks," Bill says immediately.
"You can come by, I'll get some wine, we can loosen up."
"No," he says again.
"We need to rehearse," she continues, "We need to practice."
"I've had enough practice."
And thankfully one of the make up artists--tiger makes a note to give her a big hug after--one of the make up artists sees every single hair on Bill's neck stand up.
"Bill, sorry--can you stop talking? It's getting the make up caught in the creases and making it hard to remove," she says kindly. Bill gives her a wide smile.
"Sure, sorry," he says softly.
And that's the end of that.
But like, look. It's plain as day. Bill is chainsmoking. He didn't sleep that night, he just rants and rants at how repulsed he is, and how much he's dreading the next 1.5 weeks worth of scenes. Tiger does her best to distract him--keeps his whisky glass full, hell she even gets him in the sauna and sucks his soul out from his dick just to try and get his mind off it. But the sun rises the next morning as much as we sometimes wish it wouldn't, and Bill has to go to work.
I'll be waiting for you in your trailer bud," tiger says reassuringly, "Remember, you can take as many breaks as you need."
But y'know, here's the thing. Bill is getting through it, because he's a goddamned professional. Is he having fun? No. Does he hate every second of it? Yes. But it's not that. It doesn't take him long to figure out that this girl...she's purposely fucking up the scenes, just so they have to do them again. And again. And again. The scene where he has to push her up again a wall, rip her shirt open, and kiss the hell out of her? Somehow, that scene took the entire day to shoot. 57 takes.
The actual sex scene, him on top of her, both of them wearing nothing but tiny little pasties? Somehow, that took two entire days to shoot. More than 100 takes.
On any set that Bill has been on, things like that could usually be shot in anywhere from 4-6 takes--maybe half a day, depending on lighting and equipment needs.
Bill was livid. He drew the line initially and demanded a closed set, after she brought her entire entourage to watch that day. It took a lot of negotiating, but Bill wasn't budging on it.
And every single day that Bill went to set and have to film that, when he'd get home--man, he took it out on tiger. The poor girl was ravaged. Bill just needed her, needed to completely wreck her, just to get the taste and feel and everything of that other pain in the ass as far away from him as possible.
But y'know, Bill's mind is a cruel place.
And maybe its triggered by something small. He has a long day on set so tiger goes shopping, and when he comes back to his rented apartment she has some stuff strewn everywhere and Bill spots a shirt on the bed. His blood boils.
"What the fuck is this?" he marches over to it, holding it up.
"It's....my new shirt?" tiger says cautiously, "I thought it was cute."
"Get rid of it tiger," he snaps. He grabs his lighter from his pocket, flicking it open and holding it to the shirt.
"Okay whoa," tiger jumps, grabbing the shirt from him, "Easy bud. What's going on."
"She has this shirt," he seethes, "I don't ever want to see it on you."
"Ah," tiger says, "Right. You won't see it again bud."
"Promise?" he puts the lighter away.
"Promise.
But it's enough to just...kickstart some part of Bill's brain that should have stayed dormant. And that night, he drifts off to sleep with tiger in his arms and his thumb in her mouth--except he dreams of her. And it's ~spicy~. A stupid ass, unreasonable sex dream that felt really good. Amazing sex, actually, and from the noises he was making tiger wasn't sure if he was in pain or having the time of his life but the piece of plywood digging in to her back gave her a small inclination.
That is, until he woke up and all but shoved her away with enough force that she almost went tumbling off the bed.
"Bill!" she shrieked, but he was already scratching at his skin and lightly smacking his own face.
"No no no no no," he muttered, "No no no god fuck no."
"Bud?"
His eyes snap to hers and they're wild, pupils huge, his hair sticking up all over the place and his chest heaving.
"You," he says, out of breath, "Here. Now."
"What--"
"Now."
And tiger doesn't have time to do anything before two long arms wrap around her waist and haul her up with force, slamming her into his chest.
"Fuck me," he growls into her neck.
"What?" tiger's still trying to get her wits about her because a second ago she was asleep and comfy and now this wild ass enraged beast has his hands all over her and she can't quite keep up.
A hard spank lands on her ass and she squeals a little, but then he has his fist balled in her hair and his teeth biting at her neck.
"Fuck me," he growls again, "Fuck me into next fucking week."
"Bill, what the hell is going--"
But then suddenly she's in the air, and then she's pinned under his body as he looms--big and scary and totally wild--above her.
"Tiger, I just had a dream about her," he snaps, "And now you need to get it the fuck out of my head so that I never have to see it again. So I'm only going to ask you one more time."
He yanks her head back, licking up her neck before biting down hard on her earlobe. His other hand cups her harshly through her panties and she gasps.
"Fuck me," he growls.
Tiger is all too happy to oblige.
#bill skarsgard#bff!bill#bill skarsgard drabble#bill skarsgard fanfic#bill skarsgard fic#bill skarsgard fanfiction#bill skarsgard fiction
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Happy Birthday
Imagine you being in scream 5.
Y/N Skarsgård, credited professionally before 2010 as Y/N Ulrich, is an American actress. She was in the 1996 scream movie. She plays Billy's Loomis Daughter in Scream 5. She played Pam in HBO max Series True Blood. Also Played Miranda in the Netflix Show Hemlock Grove. She plays Chandler Bing's Daughter in the series F.R.I.E.N.D.S.
Born : January 20th,1990 ( age 32 years) Lynchburg
Va
Height: 5'11''
Spouse: Bill Skarsgård (m.2010)
Children: 1
October 1st, 2022
I can't believe that you are four today. You need to stop getting so big on me," You said with a smile as you pick up Oona and put her on your hip.
Oona looks at you with her big green eyes as she moved her little hands to your face.
Let's go see if your daddy is up yet ," You said as you walk into your and bill's room.
Hi. Happy Birthday my princess," Bill said with a smile as he takes her from you.
Oona looks up at him with her big green eyes.
You smiled at them.
Daddy," Oona said as she moved little hands to his face.
I love you so much baby girl ," Bill said as he smiled down at his daughter.
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can anyone help me find a bill Skarsgard fic where the readers nick name is tiger 😭😭 I can’t remember the writers name for the life of me !!! thanks y’all ❤️
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I took this concept from your inpso tag and adapted it but:
Roman Godfrey + choking you and whispering "you're mine." in your ear as he pounds you into the mattress. bonus points if there's blood.
LOVE YOUUU
playful poison
— roman godfrey x (f)reader
word count: 628
warnings: eighteen+ content, rough-ish p in v, choking, jealousy, dirty talk, mentions of creampie and blood.
note: me writing roman godfrey smut in 2023? embarrassing but hello i cannot be responsible for my actions when men are as beautiful as him ok.
Maybe it was childish of you to love the thrill of the game. No matter how one sided and deliberately rigged it was. The threat of the outcome ending in something gruesome or with your lungs burning from a fight that you started the minute you decided to bat your eyes at some sorry sucker at the bar. The thrill that shot through you when Roman’s eyes would scan the room with neutrality, his entire body growing stiff, an undeniable tick in his jaw, when his eyes fell upon you.
Upon the little scheme you had devised.
A scheme he knew all too well—a game he only allowed you to play on nights when he was in a good mood.
And thankfully for you, he was in a good mood tonight. A giving mood.
A mood that wouldn’t end in a screaming match but rather the reason you kept the game going. The outcome of a move you already had planned and hoped for even before your chess pieces had been put on the table.
“You’re mine.” His teeth graze your ear as he whispers the words with harsh restraint. The hot breath from his mouth heats your already hot body to something sweltering. Something that has you gripping his sides harder. “You know that, right? Your constant need for a reminder has my patience wearing thin,” he whispers, barely holding the bite meant to be within them. His thumb rubs the skin on your neck before he tightens his grip around your throat.
A gasp pulls from your lungs before he closes them completely. His hips languid and slow as he fucks you. As he takes his time to drive his cock into your aching pussy.
His teeth nip into your neck, “do I need to repeat myself?” Your body arches into his when you feel the light nick of a fang. “Do I need to drain you of everything until you’re begging for the life only I can give you? Do you need that reminder?” The swivel of your head is barely able to make the same impact as the whimper you let out does. “You do look so fucking pretty covered in your own blood, though,” he grunts.
The heat of his other palm grips the back of your thigh as he pulls your leg further up his body, driving his cock deeper into you. The head of his cock pushing against that part of your walls that makes you cry out until your throat is hoarse and you’re not sure if it’s pain or pleasure—or the lack of air getting to your lungs from the hand around your throat—that has you spineless and weak beneath him.
If there are two things you know for certain about Roman, it’s that he uses fucking as a tactic to get what he wants and to punish.
And with the harsh rut of his pelvis, the relentless pounding, you know that he’s getting off on your pain. Of your oversensitivity, of the need that he’s giving on the same stroke he withholds from touching and hitting the spots that would have you coming on his cock.
You haven’t earned it yet.
You know he’s thinking. That he’s testing you. That he’s playing a game with your pleasure, the same game you played with him earlier. The same game both of you are used to, but your body still has yet to not ache and mewl from the torment of it all.
“I can feel your cunt gripping my dick. You know what to say to get what you want. Or should we keep playing games, and I fill your hole and leave it dripping, and wanting for something you don’t deserve because you don’t know how to behave?”
#roman godfrey x reader#roman godfrey smut#roman godfrey#bill skarsgard x reader#roman godfrey imagine#bill skarsgard fanfiction#roman godfrey x you#roman godfrey fic#hemlock grove#bill skarsgard smut
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something wrong with me and you
Pairing: Marquis Vincent de Gramont x afab!reader. No use of Y/N
Word Count: 1.6K
Warnings: smut. slightly dub/con, including spanking, teasing, making the other beg, etc. Minors do not interact. +18 rating.
Author's note: who knew me going to the movie theater to watch john wick 4 was going to bring my fic writing era back from the dead lmao, maybe I'll finish other fics I abandoned along the way
I do not consent to any of my work being reposted on other websites.
At first, it was a night like any other.
Until he showed up, deciding that on this evening you were worthy of his time.
His lips reached closer to the shell of your ear while you struggled to hold in a sigh. He’d been at it for hours, tentatively running his nose on your neck, poking for a show of weakness on your part.
And you knew you were at the precipice of failure. The relentlessness of his continuous challenges made an inevitable dent in your resolve to deprive him of his wishes.
"I can give you everything, mon amour”, his full body pressed you down onto the mattress, fingers gripping your inner thighs, “everything you could ever want and more."
At this point, this had become a bit of a habit of his. Speaking these infamous words every single time you were with him. To the point of annoyance.
Be it in the low lights during a theater performance, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, or - as you were now - in his bed, draped in nothing but luxurious jewelry and the expensive silk of his sheets. It seemed he had become fixated on tantalizing you with unreachable realities.
"Isn't that what you want, darling?", he teased with a playful smile, just before nibbling your shoulder, teeth sinking into your skin followed by the soothing of his tongue.
His pleasure in the act of mocking you was palpable, even more so when you were at a point of nearly squirming underneath him, "It is no shame to admit it", he continued, "don't you want to be all mine?".
You could no longer hold it in anymore, fighting power running out.
A shaky nearly broken moan left your lips along with a tremble through your body, and you threw your head back as his left hand found your waist. The right one lowering down smoothly - from your waist to your thigh, teasing the idea of doing something about the mess he created - before moving on, with a caress, all the way to your calf.
His hand settled, wrapped around your ankle, as he moved away from you, getting up from the four-post bed.
You were about to voice disappointment when you felt a tug on your ankles.
A surprise noise was once again dragged out of you as Vincent yanked you closer to the end of the bed, where he stood.
His once perfectly pressed shirt hung open. The slicked hair was now messy as a result of the good work from your fingers, both in the back of the limousine and on the elevator that took you both to the upper levels of his home.
Still pliant from all the effort he had put into making you putty in his hands, you lifted yourself up on your forearms, noting the harness of his length, which he had been rubbing against you ever since before you left the private dining room.
You were often fascinated by how the regality of his every move seemed impossible to rattle, even on the most heated nights.
A person could easily mistake the coldness of his stare to believe it meant indifference, after all, the Marquis de Gramont was a hard man to impress.
But you knew better.
You’d seen him beyond his title, his wealth, his ruthlessness.
And he had seen you.
His eyes almost twinkled from pent-up desire and as if he couldn’t help himself, he forcefully grabbed your chin, bringing your lips ever closer
Merely an inch separated you from the kiss that would soon follow.
Though before you could seal the deal, you became entranced by the sight of him licking his lips and the raspy whisper that followed.
"Say it to me. Say that you want to be my little marchioness. I can't give you what you want unless you say it."
You couldn't help but reach forward, your teeth sinking on his lower lip, making him hiss. Both of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you in place.
A smirk on your lips was inevitable, "Who's doing the begging now?"
That would just about do the trick on him, his body stiffening immediately and you braced for what would soon follow.
“Well, the night is not over is it?”
He admired your defiance in the face of his authority. How most times, even if you stood before him deprived of a single stitch of clothing, you were still able to look him in the eyes, as if you held all the cards. As if he couldn’t - or wouldn’t - ever harm you in any significant way.
Refusing to back down, teasing him to react first.
Admit it first.
To say just how much he wanted you.
How much he craved for you. How he woke up and thought of you. How much he wished he was inside you all day, every day.
And sometimes, even more dangerously, how he saw a particular painting and thought of you. Wondered if you would like it. Played out in his head how he was going to tell you all about it and then show it to you. The same had been happening a lot with clothes. Gowns he saw and only pictured how you’d look wearing them, and the way he would go about getting them off later.
The look you gave him during dinner while sipping on the most expensive wine from his private collection…It was enough to make him want to stop the world. Bend you over the table and fuck you until you pleaded with him to let you finish.
Tonight, however, he was tired of your games. Vincent was no longer interested in making you squirm, he wanted to make you scream.
If you refused to admit your obvious desire when he was being so nice, he was going to make you beg out loud.
He flipped you around, sturdy hands on either side of you forcing you to go on all fours for him. Aware that you hated not seeing his face while he took you.
For a moment, he basked in that power.
Of how despite all your fight, your snark, your feigned indifference when he spent weeks without seeing you and suddenly turned up at your door, you were still pliable to his will.
One of his large hands maneuvered to make sure you couldn’t switch positions, holding your neck in place. The cold metal of his ring tingling against your skin. Demanding that you stare forward, towards the headboard, stealing from you even the mere possibility of catching a glimpse at what he was about to do.
A slap came down hard on your ass, earning him a choked gasp. His hand soothed the now pained spot for a second before another slap soon followed. And then continued his motions, one after another until you lost track of how many spanks you had gotten. Being only mildly aware of the prickling of your skin, and more consumed by the wetness dripping from your core.
A whine ripped through you as he finally placed his thumb on your pussy, caressing you thoroughly.
“Fuck…”, you muttered a satisfied near-sob.
“Mmmm…not yet, mon amour”, Vincent teased, “unless you’re ready to beg for it.”
He splayed his hand on your lower back, moving you closer to his cock, and you held your breath as you felt him gripping his length behind you.
“Are you ready, darling? Are you ready to beg for me?”
“Yes!”, you mewled, nearly adding a “please” after.
You knew he was shaking his head at you, “It is truly a pity you have not spoken the correct words.”
You hissed as he grazed the head of his cock on your entrance, teasing but not making any moves towards pushing inside.
Vincent smiled, if you wanted him you’d have to say it, and he knew you were close to breaking.
“F-uck, fuck, okay”, you relented, backing yourself up further against him, “please…please…fuck me, I can’t…I-I want you, I need you so fucking bad.”
He wanted to resist you, as you had resisted him. He wished he could.
Vincent liked to think of himself as a man with enough resolve to spare, but that was always a challenge when it came to you.
When he said he would give you whatever you wanted, you thought it was a tease, a joke, a lie. You were wrong.
Not another sigh from you was needed to make him plunge his cock inside you and set a fiery pace, embracing your warmth as he moved one hand toward your nipples, pinching them so hard you started screaming.
Time lost all meaning, and sounds felt far away as he pounded inside you, setting a relentless pace.
Neither of you spoke, but both panted in pleasure.
One of your hands reached out towards his own, the one that is holding your neck, intertwining your fingers in a way that allows you to finally move your head back towards him.
Searching for his lips.
Unable to deny you any longer - and consumed by his own desire - he complied. Draping himself closer and closer, as if he wanted to consume you fully. Covering your body with his own, devouring your mouth with vigor, until neither of you can hold on.
You’ve deprived each other for too long.
He waits for you to finish, a wave of ecstasy ripping through you, as he fucks you even harder, chasing his own release with a shout.
He soon lays down on top of you, and in your lightheadedness, your fingers intertwine with each other.
Holding on for as long as you can.
Unaware of the great lengths the Marquis will go to make you, his.
#marquis vincent de gramont#vincent de gramont#marquis de gramont x reader#bill skarsgard x reader#john wick fics#fics#mine#smut#bill skarsgard smut#marquis vincent de gramont smut
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vincent de gramont x assistant!reader: i made you my temple, my mural, my sky now i'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life. | the marquis wants more of what meets the eye.
plot: the one where the marquis has had enough of just a glimpse.
warning: unrequited?,vincent is down bad af, boss-assistant relationship
masterlist
your cries of pain are so soft but so loud in his ears. stupid, stupid girl. what have you done? it frightens him to see you so…helpless. he tries to soothe you from it but to no avail, he can feel the warm thick blood from your torso dripping on his trousers.
but what petrifies him to the bone was your silence. the moment you flutter your eyes shut and the whimpers of pain from your lips dwindle down makes his blood run cold.
what happened next was a blur for him but all he can remember was holding your hand as thomas drove through the thick of the city to bring you to safety. why had you done that? he clasps your hand even tighter when he can feel you take a sharp breath every now and then. it makes him hope. it makes him pray to any god out there to let you live. please…not her..not her. not when she did that for me. not when she just took a bullet for me, it cannot be. he doesn’t know why, but he does. he’ll beg on his knees to every god out there if it meant seeing you safe and alive.
when you're taken from his arms and placed on a stretcher, he can only stand in shock. it still doesn’t make sense to him, were you…not what he thought you were? no, no she was just in the way of it. she probably cursed me to death when she got shot. but she hadn’t said anything, and the way she looked at me. god it was full of fear and dread, she had gripped on him when he’d taken her to his arms, and it was full of the fight left inside her. the way she latched her hand on his wrist felt like the way you would grip a rosary for a prayer to god, he wonders to himself.
the marquis stands still in front of the door. behind the door, are skillful medical professionals working to keep you alive but it doesn’t feel enough. he feels fear pool into his stomach. what if she doesn’t recover? what if she doesn’t live through the night? what if she dies? what would he do?
his mouth sews shut and his throat goes dry. she’ll live. she has to, the marquis reassures himself. he cannot bear the thought of you gone, of you dead on a medical table all because of him.
the gods had been gracious. why? because right now, he’s sitting beside the bedside table on which he has his preferred drink; a pitcher of lemon water. other than that there’s the matter of you.
there you are in the least of your glory. tucked beneath the silk sheets in one of the guest rooms of his estate and your head laid on the large wooly pillows. the doctor managed to stabilize the wound on your torso.
“thankfully, the bullet hadn’t hit any vital organs, the main concern we focused on was the excessive bleeding from it.” the doctor explains to him. there are more he says to him, but he never hears the end of it. all he could focus on was you. your eyes still shut but your breathing was steady, he could hear the beeping of the vitals sign monitor as he gazed at you.
you looked so…innocent. as if you weren’t recovering from an injury but merely sleeping. your guard was down and you seemed so calm. something he never witnessed while you worked for him, not that he’s ungrateful for it but you always seemed rigid and always expected something bad to be thrown on your face all the time, to see you so relaxed and serene felt like a gift.
it felt like a privilege from the gods. oh they truly had been gracious enough to give this sight to him.
he wondered if he would see more of this once you woke up. he hopes he does, your sweet angelic face that was always nervous and alert was more delightful to see when you were peaceful. he wonders what your smile would be like, how the corner of your lips would curve when you were amused from something he said, you’d often hid it from him trying to remain professional when a you heard a jape from someone.
he wonders what your sweet laugh would sound like. that would be lovely to hear. how it could sound like music to his ears when it came from you, how precious it would be just to hear it once. he would be honored if you were ever to bestow that gift to him. lastly, he wonders how to make you happy. how to make you pleased whenever you see him, not that composed structure you give him when you greet him in the morning but something genuine. he wants to tear down the walls you’ve built in front of him so he can see you. what you’re truly like.
now, you’ve shown a glimpse of it to him. he wants more, he prays that when you wake up, you won't shut him out again. when you wake up don’t shove him out of what you’re like. when you wake up don’t hide what you feel for him, not from him, don’t hide it from him. don’t wake him up just to realize it was all a dream. a fantasy he thought that came to its reality. you’re many things but cruelty is not one of them. so don’t break him, for god’s sake don’t.
“how long until she awakens?” he interrupts the doctor in the middle of his talk, surprisingly still going on.
“i’d give it two to three weeks, sir. if her vitals remain stable.” the doctor answers dutifully,
he hums before replying, “you can go.”
the doctor nods and bows his head a little then obediently obeys his command. right now, it’s just you, him and that monitor.
he stares at your face in uncertainty, two weeks. before it was something that seemed short enough for him but right now it felt like a century. he wanted to speak to you, to talk to you. he had so many questions for you, why you’d taken a bullet from him. if you wanted to resign from your job. why you made him feel like this.
like a lovesick fool.
as if that wasn’t painful enough, the answers he wanted to hear cannot be said. it felt like you told him you loved him then fled, although unintentionally it’s not like you intentionally got yourself shot to avoid confrontation from him…did you?
he shakes that thought out of his mind, the truth can only be provided through you. who is unable to answer that for at least two weeks, it was itching him to know, to know what you’ve done to him. what magic or skill you’ve done to make him latch onto you like a bug.
most of all he wants to know where does that leave the both of you. he wishes you don’t flee from him, that you’ll take him for what he is and more. he doesn’t think he can handle the idea of you out of his reach. out of safety, the only comfort you can only seek in this world is from him.
albeit, ironic considering you’re passed out on a bed because of a bullet meant for him. but when you wake up, he’ll promise. he’ll swear to you, that nothing, nothing would ever get to you ever again. he would protect you with all his power and control over the country just to see you sheltered from harm. what good is his power if he can’t use it to protect you from his enemies? anyone that fucks with you, fucks with me mon amour. i promise. he promises to you and to himself.
he remembers a painting he saw in the louvre. the death of alcestis. a tale about how alcestis willingly dies in place of her husband, admetus. at first, he’d thought the pair, alcestis and admetus were a bunch of fools. why would you eagerly die for someone? if you truly cared for your wife why had you let her die in your place? that’s not love, it’s simply tragedy. not that he has much experience on that matter but he never understood it.
the evening he starts to understand,. alcestis dies for her husband because of love, because she cannot bear the pain of her love absent in this world. she cannot live without her lover. did you think the same when you took a bullet for him? did you think that no pain could compare if he were dead? although for admetus, he could not find a defense for him, ironically he is the admetus to your alcestis but he swears. he swears that will never be the case ever again.
he’ll bring you back from the dead if it meant he would die in your place.
the guilt surges into his guts, mixing with the pool of fear that rushed into his veins last night. he feels sorry, for his failure, for himself but most especially for you. he feels miserable that he’d failed you, that because of him you got hurt.
it’ll never happen again. i won’t let it happen again. he vows to himself. he has to, for your sake and his.
as he stands up to leave, he goes to your bed and gazes into your face once more. he lowers himself to your frame, setting himself on the edge of the bed. you make no sign of disturbance from his movement, still heavily asleep. he takes your hand and strokes the back of it, lovingly.
“i have to go mon amour, but i’ll be back. i’ll be here when you wake up, i’ll be the first person you’ll see the same way i was the last person you saw.” he whispers to your dozing face, he ponders if you could hear him. likely not, but it doesn’t hurt to wonder.
he leans forward and slowly presses a soft kiss to your temple. gentle and nothing harsh, meant to convey his care with how fragile you were right now. he lets his lips linger on the softness of your temple, relishing on the mellow texture of your skin. he wants to stay here, with you. just the two of you like it always was for the past two years, he should’ve urged you to come sit with him in the car on the way to meetings, should’ve spoken to you every chance he had and he should’ve confessed how he felt towards you. no point mourning time that has been spent, even if it meant years that were wasted.
when he pulls away from you it feels like a force urged him to stay and he hopes he could but he can’t. he has a lifetime for that now, and so do you. he lifts your hand to his lips then slowly kisses your wrist, also lingering so long but seems so short for the marquis.
he leisurely stands up, keeping his eyes on your face. he strides towards the door then takes one last glance before opening the door. i’ll be back and she’ll still be safe. i’ll only be gone for only a few hours, he murmurs to himself.
he opens the door and sees a pair of guards by your door, they stand straight and acknowledge him by nodding their head. he sees thomas walking up to him, likely bearing news.
“sir, we’ve carefully taken them. they’re chained up at the edge of the city, we go at your order.” thomas informs him diligently. the marquis simply nods his head, a gesture of affirmation. he turns his head to the pair guarding your room.
“make sure to call for me, the moment she wakes up and keep her here until i say otherwise. understood?” he sternly instructs with the cold tone they’ve known for years. the pair answer obediently with compliance.
the marquis leaves them then walks through the hall towards the exit of the manor with thomas trailing behind him, it was odd to no longer hear the clicking of your heels behind him but right now he had other concerns.
it was time to make the people who hurt you, pay for what they’ve done.
when the news reaches his ears, he’s astounded. almost three weeks after your operation, you were finally awake. it delights him, to finally know you were safe and awake. he immediately stands up from his chair and walks out of his office.
he was overjoyed with what he just heard, although he did everything in his power to not let it show on his face as he trudged through the halls of the manor. the dread and fear was gone, in its stead it was bliss and happiness, he felt lighthearted knowing that the threat of losing you from death was finally extinguished.
two weeks after the incident and you still haven’t woken from your slumber, it had angered him. so he had taken it out on the doctor responsible for your recovery, he had pierced his hand with a knife and his assistant nurse had to help him pry the knife from his hand, from what he heard. it can be said that it was an overreaction and ever since that occurrence everyone walked on eggshells around him.
now it was gone, he felt relieved to know that you’re awake but as he neared your room, he heard a door close, the sound echoing in the cavernous hall. soon after, he saw adeline, the senior housekeeper coming from the other direction he was headed. the housekeeper stopped on her feet and acknowledged him by lightly bowing her head. he wondered if adeline just visited your room, it was probable to happen considering she had been one of his spies during his “venture of getting to know you”. he shakes that thought, it wasn’t important but a mysterious feeling remained in his stomach.
when he saw thomas and another of this men guarding your door, he saw the doctor and nurse nearing your door. the doctor greeted him but he made no effort to do the same. the moment he enters through the door he sees you.
awake. alive. safe
he swears his heart could burst just by the sight of you.
he stays silent the entire exchange between you and the medics. he sat on another of the chairs, lounging and waiting for it to end so he way share a word with you. he notices the way you flinch while they rebandage your wound.
he wants to kill that entire family all over again, just for the way you flinch right now.
when the pair of medical professionals leave he gazes at you. it takes all his strength to keep his composure calm and professional when all he wants to do is take you into his arms and kiss you senseless.
he speaks the first word for the both of you, simple courtesies. how were you feeling and the situation of your injury, nothing important. you thank him for the measures he’s done for you to keep you alive. i’ve done more and i’ll do it all over again. he wants to say but doesn’t.
what makes his brain suddenly stop functioning for a moment was when you ask when you tell him you need to go home.
you are home. can’t you see? can’t you see?! he wants to tell you.
it was starting to happen. he was starting to lose you when he just had you. he walks towards the window and faces away from you, trying to remain composure.
“sir?” you call out to him.
i can’t let you leave. i cannot bear the thought of it, i felt like i was being torn apart alive knowing you almost died because of me. how much more knowing you’re alive but not within my reach? don’t be cruel, mon coeur. don’t do this.
“is there something wrong with what i said?” you innocently question to him.
“you cannot.” he finally spits out.
you’re shoving me away just like what i feared. but why? i’ve done good things and unspeakable things for you, you can’t simply abandon me like this. not when you’ve made me feel alive and loved.
“why? is there something wrong with me?” you worried ask him, “sir?” you add when he doesn’t reply to you.
“it’s not…safe.” he states to you, finally facing you. he stares at you, if it was a gift to watch you asleep, it was a pleasure to see you awake again.
“for…who? for you or for them?” you frown, trying to deduce everything he’s said to you.
“it’s not safe for you.” he finally clears it out, glad to have gotten rid of it.
your mouth falls open, “what? it’s you they were aiming for, not me. they wanted to kill you. it was you they wanted to shoot. you were the target. i honestly don’t think they’d go after the assistant to finish the job. right?” you begin to ramble.
tell me something i don’t know, my dear. i’m reminded of that every night i sleep and every breath i draw from this world. no need to rub that in, but i’ve made amends. you have nothing to worry about.
“yes, you’re right. they wouldn’t.” he disclosed to you, “i know that bullet was intended for me, the man was supposed to shoot me. god knows i know.” he whispers.
“and look what happened to you. what they..did to you.” he says as he slowly walks towards you. “you…you weren’t supposed to get hurt. i don’t think i can forgive myself for that.” he says softly as he looks back at you.
suddenly, everything finally sets into your head. he can see your eyes widen while he gazes into your face. the urge to hold you close and kiss you like a starved man to death was strong. especially, right now when you’ve realized the weight of his words.
he doesn’t need to say it out loud that he cares and loves you. when the words he said hinted at what he means to say and the actions he’s done spoke better than his words could ever say but he still tries. he knows that you already know but he wants to make sure.
“you’re right. it was meant for me, but you had it instead. you…you took a bullet for me. who does that for someone? how many people in the world can say that they’ve taken a bullet for me? one. there’s only one. and she’s sitting right in front of me.”
the heaviness on his shoulders feels lighter now, he’s finally said the words however merely a fragment of what he truly feels but he has his entire life to say all of them, he’s in no rush to say his love to her right now. he has his entire life to love her.
“believe it or not, mon amour. you’ve become more precious to me than anything this life has to offer, i want to keep you safe and right now the only way is to keep you here.” with him, he wants to keep you safe here with him, away from all the horror of his work, to stay only with him and to speak the words unspoken for years.
“for a while, until you regain your strength. do you understand, mon coeur?”
the marquis has gone fucking crazy.
first he expressed a confession of love to you, second he was watching you the entire time you were asleep and lastly, he won’t let you leave the estate.
it had almost been an hour ever since your conversation with him after you woke up. soon after, thomas knocked the door and peeped his head in, informing the marquis about a visitor in the drawing room. which you were eternally grateful for because you were speechless with everything your boss just told you.
you were still sat on the same chair ever since, you deduced you’ve been in a trance for about two hours and a half, you felt like your legs would give out of shock if you tried to stand up. you found it hard to process everything.
did the marquis feel something for you? certainly. you could tell his intentions from his words and his tone. oh god, the words were enough to catch you off guard but the way he said it, slowly chokes you alive from how stunned you are.
but it feels out of nowhere. in the two years you’ve worked for him, he has been nothing but cold and crass with you like any other interactions between a boss and assistant so this feels rather confusing rather than touching even with the fragility and regret oozing through his tone.
even more reason to go home. you need space, from your injury, from that night and in addition from him.
you need to process your feelings properly without the marquis hovering around you, especially when he made it clear that you weren’t going anywhere. but how in the world were you going to get out of the room? everyone in this estate would immediately inform the marquis and drag you back to the room the moment they see you outside. although you could make an excuse to see someone then bolt through the manor the moment you’re slightly a few paces ahead of them.
you were at a complete disadvantage though, the guards could easily overpower you with their strength and just like you they’re familiar with the nooks and crannies of the sizable manor. however, if you were lucky and stealthy enough, you could attempt to temporarily hide from some rooms until you manage your way to the back door exit without getting caught.
you trudge towards the door, unsure with the plan in your head but too exhausted to make a fool proof one. you slowly push the door with all your strength, you slowly step out and the guard to your right immediately spots you. that’s expected.
“ma’am? you shouldn’t be up and walking around, the marquis specifically instructed that you stayed in your room.” the guard reprimands to you.
“i need to get to the doctor right away. i need the prescription for these painkillers he gave me. you know, in case i need more,” you lie to him.
“we can call for him, so he may come back. easier that way, no hassle for you.”
“i can’t wait for him, it’s urgent. please, i really need this.” you plead to him.
The guard feigns a look of hesitation from your reply. you hold your breath, praying he falls for your folly. he lets out a sigh then answers to you.
“alright, ma’am. but I’ll have to accompany you.”
“thank you.”
the both of you began to walk towards the medic’s office, thankfully the back door was close to the office. silence ensues the walk towards the destination, as you walk you plot your escape. as soon as you make a left, you bolt and run. the pathway to the medic’s was a bit of a maze, hopefully it would confuse the guard and either make the wrong turns or slow down from catching up on you.
several minutes and paces pass by and you finally see the opening to your escape. as soon you made the turn, you ran. a grunt of shock exits the guard’s mouth before scurrying to go after you. then you encounter the turns required for your escape. you move around hastily and once you look back you see that the guard was no longer on your tail. but you couldn’t afford to slow down, sooner or later he might catch up to you or worse another guard captures you.
you could hear bouts of masculine shouts throughout the manor as it bounced off the walls. it filled your stomach with dread and veins pumped full of adrenaline as your heart beat with trepidation. anxious that perhaps the marquis was informed of your ongoing escape.
finally you see the lavish curtain adorned with elegant designs, you shove the curtain aside and search for the door with your hands. for a second, you thought you’d arrived at the wrong place until a soft click entered your ears and your insides warm from happiness. the door was just as heavy as the others and with all your strength you pushed it open half way. you turn to properly fix the curtain making sure no trace of your escape was visible then shut the door as it creaked loudly, cementing the success of your breakout.
you burst open through your door, quickly shutting and locking it. adrenaline and paranoia filled your senses, afraid that you’d been followed to your home and that soon someone was banging on your door until it fell down. you press your back against the door and sink to the floor and sigh in relief.
you take a deep breath and slowly close your eyes for a while, relishing in the comfort of your apartment. you look around glad to see the familiar sight of your home and the sudden purring of your cat. you glance as you see him making his way towards you, a small smile curves your mouth.
ah..one of the burdens are coming to comfort me.
as he nears, you scoop him into your arms and nestle him on your chest. you wish it could stay like this for a while, that you weren’t actively avoiding your slightly deranged boss (that is in love with you?) but merely coming home from a long day to seek comfort from your cat. the ball of fur purrs and vibrations are felt through his body.
you pull away from your cat and get on your feet, making your way to your room for a well earned rest from doing a five mile marathon trying not to get caught. the adrenaline and paranoia was finally long gone.
you needed this. you need to hide out for a while before you face the awkward and confusing truth of reality. the comforting sensation home has given you brought you to sanity. you need to leave.
the guards open the door for him as per usual. although, he can sense fear radiating from them, and due to the intensity of the previous occurrence they were walking eggshells around him again. he enters the room, your room specifically. a few hours ago, the both of you were here and now you were gone, again.
vincent was annoyed. the very people he instructed to keep you in this room failed to obey the task but also lost you as you ran from your escort. not only did you leave this room but you also escaped the estate. how in the world did that happen?
he had no idea you’d be this slippery even with the strict bodyguards instructed to protect and detain keep you in the room. he expected verbal resistance not bloody remus john lupin. isn’t this so sweet? you. the gift that keeps giving.
he doesn’t let his men continue the search, after all there was only one place you could’ve been. in that apartment you live in for the past years, he knows where it is and what floor you are due to the investigation he’d imposed upon you a few years ago. so no worries, he only has his men posted around the structure to make sure you don’t leave. it’s much more strict and controlled than before, this time if they saw you exit the building they’d immediately grab you and bring you back to the estate. so win-win.
although, he prefers to have you here right now, he tries to understand that you’re probably overwhelmed with the surge of events that happened ever since that night. so he lets it pass. as much it insults his pride but he’s not in a hurry to have you stay with him for the rest of your days now that you’re awake. you’ve kept all what you felt from hidden because of his power,his intimidation and his pride. he doesn’t want to lose you again because of it. so he lets it happen, a few hours without you was a price worth paying for a lifetime loving you.
after all love does odd things to people that even the normal human cannot comprehend, love has its mysterious ways and that he can understand for you, even if it wasn’t all going according to what he wanted, he can swallow that down for you. you’ll be all worth it.
he can imagine waking up next to you in the early mornings, grazing your soft palm then slowly kissing your pulse while you sat next to him during dinner and the sweet kisses the both of you would share in the privacy of his room. he can fantasize the sweet dreams and the sinful acts he can do to you when you are finally his.
he inhales the air inside the room, the scent of you evident in the room, like a bloody handprint in a crime scene, attempting to calm himself with the remnants of your presence.
oh..he really misses you.
why do you have to be so stubborn? why do you feel the need to resist him and his love? he’s simply doing this for your best, for your safety. why can’t you just let him do this for you?
this moment should be joyous and exciting between the two of you, because you’ve both found a chance at love. how often does that happen? especially in a workplace, how often does someone find the love of their life within close proximity with them? little to none. he wants to beg you to stay, to journey through the uncharted territory together. don’t leave him, don’t.
he’s finally realized that he loves you, let him show it. let that love melt all that fear you hold in your heart. because it’s all right now, he’s here, let him love you, let him protect you, let him yearn for you.
something vibrates in his pocket, it snaps him out of his trance. a notification beeps through his phone and he leisurely opens it knowing it’s probably a reminder for a meeting. he’s found it hard to arrive at his events on time even with a temporary assistant assigned to him. the latest one wasn’t as sharp and attentive as you, which he found irritating. he really misses you.
the message that laid before his eyes almost made his heart drop.
EMAIL 8:35 PM
SUBJECT: RESIGNATION LETTER
author’s note: this was long…plus i recycled some dialogue bc school’s kicking me in the ass and i couldn’t form coherent stuff for that. i will compensate for that…with another fic…
taglist: @dcgoddess @1mawh0re @davvydobrik @ilunapb @hesvoid3434 @heartrot666
part one part two part three part five
#bill skarsgard imagine#vincent de gramont#vincent de gramont x reader#marquis de gramont#marquis de gramont x reader#bill skarsgard#bill skarsgard x reader#bill skarsgard gif#bill skarsgard fanfiction#bill skarsgard icons#john wick#oneshot#john wick four#john wick fic#keanu reeves#yandere#obsessive#yandere x reader#yearning
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Not to be dramatic, but Bill Skarsgård had no reason to look this pretty in those amazing outfits.
#john wick 4#john wick#bill skarsgard#john wick chapter 4#marquis de gramont#give me the fics or i'll write them#this is a threat#marquis vincent de gramont
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Illegal
#tooo fucking hot#I want him in that hairstyle all fucking time#bill skarsgård#bill skarsgard#2022#clark#clark olofsson#fic inspo?
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I somehow didn't know that Bill Skarsgard was in John Wick 4 and holy fucking shit
I want him to step on me and spit in my mouth
#john wick 4#bill Skarsgard#marquis de gramont#has anyone written fic for him yet because id love to see it
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I am picturing Bill having this specific hobby/thing he likes (a book, a game, an album, etc.) and Tiger knows about it. it's not really Her Thing but she can dabble into it (learn it, experience it). and then one day Bill talks about it and Tiger just simply agrees with him, says a few points of her own about how she's grown to like it, and Bill is just a bundle of emotions. because it's a lot of things at once. she took the time to see what it was about? and then as he listens to her talk about it more it's all OF COURSE she'd get it. OF COURSE she understands the joy he gets from it, why it means so much to him, and so on. it's just a simple moment, but Bill feels so seen and it hits him like a truck. he is so in love. they end up snuggling. :'D
oh god, what if it's something so completely out there and something so not-on-brand that he's actually a little bit shy about it? What if it's something so absurd like....like crochet, nani.
IT'S CROCHET ISN'T IT.
And I'll bet tiger thinks it's real sweet right? Because maybe Granny taught Bill how to crochet. Maybe they'd kind of spend hours together over tea and madeleines, Bill would be holding the ball of yarn while Granny's hands went a mile a minute, and eventually Bill just kind of...well, he picked it up too. And tiger thinks it's so sweet, this big dude with these huge clumsy hands, but the thing is...Bill is kind of really good at it. Like, really good. So tiger also appreciates having all kinds of warm socks and mittens and toques all custom made. And Bill is pretty damn talented, so he crochets all kinds of fancy patterns with all kinds of colours and every once in awhile when a mutual friend compliments tiger's new cute mittens, Bill just sort of smiles shyly and lets himself be a little proud.
And like, he's also super into it, you know? Once he lets go of the initial embarassment. Maybe once tiger points out that literally thousands--if not millions--of people have seen his ween (And literally the ween of nearly every male in his family) on a big screen so a little crafty habit is nothing to be ashamed of. He's part of groups. Facebook groups, online groups. One is for troubleshooting, which he turned to when he couldn't figure out why his current project was just getting wider and wider or when his chain was too tight or he was only crocheting in the front loop. One is for inspo, all kinds of things he wants to create. And one is a legit little support group in the area that meet up every so often, and Bill wishes so badly that he could go but he just doesn't want the visibility. He knows he's the only man in the group, and he's...well, he's him. it would cause a stir.
So my girl tiger--ever the one to indulge her Big Dude in all of his adorable weirdness--maybe there are like, CONS for these things. A Crochet-Con. And she gets wind of one happening about 2 hours away, way in the country side. There's only about 100 people or so who attend, it's so niche, and after some careful creeping tiger realizes that the average age of the participants is like, 80.
Nobody will know who he is there.
It's a whole 2-day event. There's discussion groups to troubleshoot common issues. There's a workshop on crocheting complex patterns. There's a small trade show area where you can sell some of your goods. So tiger gets two tickets, prints them out, and gets all giddy.
Maybe she wanted to keep it a surprise for longer, but when she bounced into the living room she saw her big dorky dude there on the couch, his thick rimmed glasses on, a foot propped up on the coffee table. His tongue was poking out the side of his mouth in concentration as his gaze was fixed on the small crochet hook, the ball of yarn, and this dainty, intricate pattern between his huge hands.
"I have a surprise for you," she smiles, plopping down on the couch. Without missing a beat Bill passes her the ball of yarn and she instinctively unravels some of it as his little crochet hook bobs and weaves at an impressive speed.
"Oh yeah?" he smirks but doesn't look away, "What's that?"
She puts her hand on the small pattern he's creating but he squawks.
"I'll drop a stitch!" he shrieks, then inspects the little piece of fabric thoroughly. Tiger just quirks a brow, and waits.
"Crisis averted?" she chuckles.
"Barely," he snarks, then he softens. "What's up kid?"
Tiger pulls the tickets out from behind her back and hands them to him, and he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"Hooker Con?" he asks skeptically.
"Keep reading."
He scans the rest of the writing, and then his eyes light up.
"It's a crochet con?" he asks excitedly. She nods, smiling.
"It's two days?" he continues reading, "Troubleshooting, discussions, workshop--oh my god, the Jasmine stitch?! that one's impossible to do!"
"It's in two weeks," she says, "I thought it might be fun."
But then suddenly, his face falls.
"Tiger, what about--"
"They won't," she answers his silent question, "I creeped a few past...Hookers. They're all in their 80s bud. I don't think it'll be an issue. And if you're worried, we can glue a beard on you. Slap a wig on."
He smiles at her, leaning over to kiss her.
"There's two tickets," he mumbles, "You're going to come?"
"Of course," she chuckles, "I'd love to."
"But it's crochet," he says shyly.
"It's you," she tells him with another kiss, "And I love this little hobby of yours. I think it's sweet."
"You do?"
"Of course. And I want to...FOTH and frog and HOTH all weekend with you."
Bill laughs boisterously.
"I love it when you talk dirty to me," he chuckles.
#bill skarsgard#bff!bill#bill skarsgard fanfic#bill skarsgard drabble#bill skarsgard fic#bill skarsgard fanfiction#bill skarsgard fiction
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~ Surprise ~
Reader x Roman Godfrey
AU Hemlock Grove
Small Drabble
Trigger warning ; bad language.
Summary - After befriending Roman’s sister, Shelley, you decide to give her frequent visits, despite the fact that you also had a small crush on Godfrey, but whilst you enjoyed their company so much, you didn't know at all what was coming your way.
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You always felt like a burden when visiting Godfrey's home, and yet the only ever reason you visited really was for Shelley. To comfort her, be her balm and her friend. Amongst the painful regret of liking Roman Godfrey - He was insufferable, pig headed to be around, especially when he would come home from work and throw out all of his stress by acting so fucking bitter, along with opening a brand new bottle of wine to intoxicate himself and flood thoughts of the day away.
This wasn't all the time - most days were good, but it was the days where thing's didn't go according to plan that you would leave and go home, or simply hide within one of Roman's luxurious bedrooms.
You didn't even know why you were so damn scared - Maybe it was his intimidating demeanour, his looming six foot three height, his predatory eyes that would absorb you all every time you glanced over his way whilst being with his sister, the laughs you let slip with her had always fixated his attention... to you.
Shelley had been a saviour, to not only everyone, but yourself - The anxieties would flow away when being around her, and throughout the months that passed, she had become better at her speech, at conversing with people and damn right saying exactly what she wanted, in which you always praised and motivated her for it. She moved in with Roman and had invited you round most weekends, until this night had become...somewhat special.
"There you go!" You beamed, hands finally finishing the braid you made in Shelley's raven hair, the reaction she reciprocated you with, was priceless. And her she had taken a moment to process as she had admired her hair in the mirror.
"Thankyou Y/N" She spoke, meekly, cotton wrapped hands slowly stroking at the beautiful style you had made. Watching her eyes sparkle that reflected the dim lit lamp upon her bedside table. "Let's show Roman" Her excitement always had gotten the better of her, yet you knew Godfrey would always show kindness, patience and sentiment towards his sister, so this was probably an okay time.
Making way down the marbled stairs, You didn't know if the Upir had crawled into bed, or if he was still lingering with a beverage within the open kitchen, to Shelley's luck, he was exactly doing the latter.
"Roman!! Look what Y/N did" She exclaimed, twirling around with a euphoric smile that had plastered her soft features.
Godfrey had let out a small chuckle upon her introduction, and her excitement, admiring her hair before letting his slender hand gently stroke up at her arm "It's great Shell" He replied, taking in the way she had been so happy around you both. His eyes trailed from her hair, to now you - The smile still had remained though, which was better than the calculating ones.
"Thanks for doing all this" He muttered, hoping to make this moment seem intimate between you and him. "-Thing's have been rough with work and I get that I can be a pain in the balls to come home to and shit" He added, inhaling deeply before he motioned to Shelley.
"But seeing Shell this happy, makes me feel ten times fucking better. It's made a huge change having you in her life and all" His words seemed to make your expression softened, as though instead of treading on egg shells, you were resting upon feathers. It felt nice...
"Thanks Roman. It means a lot. And I hope you know it makes me all the more happy to keep her this way, to bring sunshine on the bad days, and on the good" You replied, not knowing what to say but the truth, you were too oblivious from sharing Shelley's excitement that you only just felt the heat flush to your cheeks, but before you realised you were gawking for far too long, you cleared your throat and simply reached to stroke Shelley on her arm.
"Hey shell? I've...got to go now. I'll visit again same time next weekend, or if it's okay with Roman? Tomorrow?" You asked, though you felt like you should of bit your tongue with that last bit. But his features didn't change, didn't drop or grimace, he simply nodded and folded his arms - That calculating stare was thrown in your direction again.
"Probably don't even have to do that" Came his reply, in which Shelley seemed just as confused as you.
"Sorry?" You canted your head at him.
"If it's alright with you, and by the looks of things, it's definitely okay with me and Shell, but you can go and pick a room..." Roman added, his sincerity was still in his voice but you didn't know if you were on the right track. Shelley gasped and held in more of her happiness, cheeks flushing the same colour as yours.
"Sleep over? I mean...Sure. It would be amazing. Only if I didn't impose and all on you Godfrey" You slightly teased him towards the end, but a small laugh that escaped your lips, something still didn't seem right within his expression.
He looked somewhat, amused.
"Not a sleepover no. I mean you can fucking live here. Pick a spare room, it's yours." He stated, wavering his hand and indicating to the rooms located upstairs, above him.
"Got way too many of them anyway" The smile that had spread across his sister's face couldn't of gotten any wider, it's like she was about to explode, as for you? You had to surely take a few days to process it all.
"It would be good company for Shell. And for me, I guess..."
That's when you knew. That not only Roman Godfrey could share some of his heart, but also throw the best surprise ever.
#Reader x Roman Godfrey#Hemlock Grove#Drabble#Fanfic#hemlock grove AU#Hemlock grove fic#bill skarsgard#{ Hope you enjoyed it. Be sure to give me some requests or just sit back and enjoy}
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Hi, I’m hoping one of you beautiful people has a copy of Your Precious Skin by Wonderrland from AO3.
#hemlock grove#fanfic#find fic#request#romancek#bill skarsgård#bill skarsgard#ao3fic#ao3 fanfic#ao3#deleted fic#deleted fanfiction
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seeing 2 of the first few posts in the john wick 4 tag are reader x fic with bill skarsgards character ………. i h8 u bitches
#YOU GOTTA TAKE OVER EVERY MOVIE TAG THIS MAN IS IN#jordan talks#yes his suits were nice but im trying to see fight scene gifs ……..#gonna blacklist bill skarsgard rip#i dont even dislike him hes a good actor but his fans make me insane#john wick x reader fic is fair he is the titular character#but i KNOW the marquis shit is because theyre obsessed w bill skarsgard regardless#like im not seeing any caine x reader fics and i think we know why#despite donnie yen being and attractive and PROLIFIC actor#its just like i cant look at the It tag i cant look at the Barbarian tag and now this? make the movie name last tag or something idk
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send me prompts/suggestions for marquis vincent de gramont, i want to incorporate them in the fic i’d (eventually) write for him!
#marquis vincent de gramont#marquis vincent de gramont x reader#john wick#john wick 4#bill skarsgard smut#send requests#requests are always open everyone !!#need ideas#open to suggestions#fic prompts
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I had a dream last night about Bill Skarsgard and I thought I'd share it with you.
I dreamt I was doing some kind of table read or audition with Bill Skarsgard and some movie execs. For some odd reason the script was in those blue Hilroy notebooks we used to use in elementary school? Lol anyway...
We were at this big conference table and Bill is seated very close on my right side. So close in fact that he is reading MY script over my shoulder instead of his own. He is acting very cool and aloof and not saying a whole lot. I'm sitting there just trying not to freak out at how close he is to me. I'm looking out the side of my eye at his massive hands and sharp jawline trying to keep my breathing steady.
At one point he leans closer to me so he can see my script which has a monologue for his character. He begins reciting the monologue IN SWEDISH and one of the producers tries to stop him and I practically shush him and say "let him finish" as my hand starts shaking. Bill then reaches out and steadies my hand with his own as we hold the script together and I let out a small whimper and have to close my eyes and purse my lips to contain a scream. I shift awkwardly in my chair and let out a heavy exhale, pull in a ragged inhale. Bill finishes the speech and I see a smile creep across his face. I let out a small moan and cover my mouth and drop the script on the table. I get up from the table and shakily say "I'm sorry excuse me a moment" and practically run out of the room to the hallway.
I make my way to the bathroom to let out my excitement properly and try to regain composure. I think for a moment about using the hand which is still warm from his touch to touch myself, but don't want to keep everyone waiting. I take a few deep breaths and shake off the horniness to the best of my ability before returning to the room.
I avoid Bill's gaze like the plague but can feel it burning holes into me. My face is cherry red. He knows exactly what he's done. The producer asks "you alright?" And I say "I'm telling you right now, you let him do THAT and you will make an extra million dollars on this movie EASILY. Trust me." Some of them look confused, others chuckle, I finally look at Bill and he is smiling ear to ear, almost embarrassed. "Do you know how many people watched Clark just for this guy? Yeah he's naked in it a lot and does crimes and both those things will bring the female audience to you, but speaking his native tongue too?" I shake my head and roll my eyes "That shit was something else."
Theres an awkward silence as I head back to my seat and look at Bill. He looks at me and nods thankfully. I nod back and bite my lip to try and hide the huge smile growing on my face, and fail to conceal it. "Are you going to be ok to continue Ms ___?" I chuckle and clear my throat "Yeah. Oh yeah." And grab the script again.
I see in my peripherals Bill literally eyeing me up and down with a smirk on his face. I've made a grave mistake. He knows the power he holds now and its SO SO EASY to get me riled. I can tell he is just waiting until we're alone to use it on me, see how far he can go to push me over the edge with the bare minimum. He takes a deep breath and we both return to the work at hand. He finally picks up his own copy of the script.
#bill skarsgard#dreams#it felt so real guys#it was embarrassing#but also great#bill skarsgard x reader#my fic
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vincent de gramont x assistant!reader: because i dropped your hand while dancing left you out there standing. | the marquis catches a glimpse through you.
plot: the one where the marquis saw right through you.
warning: violence, gunshot, gunshot wound, doting
masterlist
12:00 AM
you got into the right side of the passenger backseat, usually it was the marquis’ place but he’d gotten into the left side and god knows he’s not scooting over for you.
it was his car after all. you sighed to yourself, attempting to veil the proof of your exhaustion. you had gotten up at 3 AM that morning for work and now it was midnight and the work was still unfinished.
“one last meeting, then the both of you can go home. you can welcome your plush bed and the warm purrs of your sweet fluffy cat.” you assure yourself. the man beside you seems worn out as well, the pair of you had been chasing meetings and appointments all day long. each meeting took at least 1-2 hours but with the marquis’ firm insistence to see an opera play which took about four hours, you can’t help but feel annoyed that this man’s taste had gotten in the way of your sleeping schedule.
the two of you were on the way to an estate of a newly made ally of the marquis. it would take at least thirty minutes or an hour to get there, you pondered what time you’d be able to finally rest.
you glanced at the marquis, gazing at the car window with a drink in hand. he appears to be holding on to the cusps of consciousness, he needs to appear sharp and alert with the help of an alcoholic drink. he kept quiet and the roaring of the engine was heard inside the vehicle. and it’s going to remain that way, you tell yourself.
god what you’d give for a quick power nap for this very hour, although you’re quite sure you’d sleep through the next day. however, sleep shouldn’t be your priority right now, the marquis needs you to be vigilant and sharp as well, no matter how tempting it is to sleep through this entire car ride.
“fuck, i feel like i’m about to pass out.” you complain to yourself, the temptation presenting itself more sweeter than it had been a few seconds ago.
you steal a quick glance at the marquis and he’s still..occupied looking through the car window. you might as well indulge in a quick nap, hopefully he won’t mind…right? and even if he does mind, no amount of verbal chastisement can amount to a quick rest.
you lean your head against the window, catching glimpses of the city lights and few pedestrians on the street. your eyelids fluttering from the sudden burst of light from other cars, tucking your hands on your lap. you drift to the sleep you’ve been yearning for.
a shaking wakes you up from your slumber, jolting from the action, you open your eyes wide open and see the driver shaking your knee.
“we’ve arrived” he announces.
you fix yourself sheepish from your unconsciousness, you quickly glance at the marquis to make sure he isn’t annoyed and thankfully he doesn’t seem displeased. the alcoholic drink was absent from his hand and he was checking something on his phone. you glance at your watch to check the time.
1:20 AM
you hope that arrival time was only a few minutes before that and it didn’t take several minutes shaking you conscious. realizing that you dropped your journal on the flooring of the car, you hastily pick it up and fix your sleeved shirt into place.
“shall we go inside, sir?” you meekly inquire to the marquis.
he slowly faces himself to you then checks his watch. he meets your eyes then clicks his tongue.
“yes.” he shortly answers before unlocking the door.
you follow his lead and you unlock the door of your side of the car, you get out of the vehicle. the estate was rather grand but not as grand as any of the marquis’ properties. the entrance was classy and elegant, with a staircase leading to the main entrance of the grand mansion and the lights were numerous but weren’t all illuminated; you could count at least five working lamps in the round plaza. out of your instinct, you look back at the marquis to see if he was out of the car as well.
“christ i feel like a doting mother to her child.” you mutter to yourself.
you let him lead the way, waiting for him to walk in front of you before you continue walking. the tiredness seeps into your body and senses again. you wonder if this would take an hour or two. but before the marquis trudges in front of you. a gunshot echoes through the plaza, the bullet bounces off the ground next to where the marquis is positioned, missing its intended target.
your voice shrieks, filled with dread and volume. one of the guards screams for the marquis to get down but he doesn’t, he looks astounded from what’s just happened, that someone is attempting to kill him. instead, you are the one who folds onto the ground scared for your life, yanking the marquis through his coat to get down on the ground with you.
“jesus christ, get down! are you trying to get yourself killed?!” you screech at his face, forgetting yourself, the weight of how dire the situation was pulling your senses down. in a different circumstance, he might’ve screamed back at you but right now he was silent. from shock or he didn’t care at what you just said to him but he remained stuck to the ground.
more bullets begin to shoot from every direction, some of them you can hear bouncing off the ground and some hitting the car, where you and the marquis are taking cover from the line of fire. great, now you’d either die being shot by a ricochet bullet or just get shot point blank. amazing.
“oh god. oh god. i’m going to fucking die. i’m going to die here.” you begin to ramble, tears are pricking your eyes and the sound of gunshots overwhelming your senses. you lean your back against the car and ball up weeping.
you could hear the heavy sigh the marquis made beside you, feeling shame fill your gut because you’d displeased him. oh fucking god, you’re about to die and you’re concerned about the irritation your boss has for you right now, that you’ve shown yourself weak in this very moment. this is fucking stupid, i should’ve never applied for this job. you slightly glare at him because of that.
“not everyone goes through this, you fucking asshole! sorry if i look fucking weak right now because i think i might die right now?! screw you and your french operas! screw that fucking painting you stare at the louvre! you can go fuck yourself if you think less of me right now?!” you wanted to scream at him, but decided not to, taking into measure it would only irritate him even more and wouldn’t do anything to help you.
your boss remained low to prevent stray bullets, he wasn’t sitting on the ground anymore but one of his feet was planted on the ground and his knee knelt on the floor. he looked at you, your face pale from fear and full of dread.
“you’re not going to die. we only have to wait this out. i assure you nothing bad will happen to you.” he attempts to reassure you but the tone of his voice is nothing but not assuring, it remains cold and firm as if stating a well-known fact. he was so sure that nothing bad would happen.
“you better be right, because if we die i’m going to search through the depths of hell just to strangle you for being wrong.” you think to yourself, “i might be dead but i can heal in hell.”
it continues on for several more minutes, you find it hard to know whether the gunfight was turning to your favor, considering you saw a few of the marquis’ guards dead on the ground but fewer enemies seem to shoot back as time progresses. finally, the gunshots start to dwindle until none remains, you look at the marquis wondering if it was safe to stand up. the marquis leans his hand against the car then calls out.
“thomas, are we clear?” your boss calls out, expecting the familiar voice of the captain of his bodyguards to immediately reply but there is none. silence ensues and dread slowly cements itself in your stomach, you pondered if thomas was already dead to answer the marquis.
“yes sir, the opening's clear. we’re good to get out of here.” thomas replies, his breath labored from the previous encounter.
relief floods your head and you let out a relieved sigh, glad that it is over. the marquis gets on both of his feet and looks around, his brain likely coming up with punishments for his new enemy for what he did tonight. you sniff then slowly rise in front of your boss, thankful the horrible occurrence was over.
for a moment you thought that everything was finally okay, but as you rose up, you caught a sight of your boss’ face stunned and alarmed while looking at you…except he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the person behind you.
before you could turn around to react, a final gunshot rang through the plaza and this time you couldn’t hear the sound of a ricocheting bullet to compensate for it. fuck, fuck, fuck. god please no. please no, a frail prayer to the above.
you look down and you notice a bright red spreading through your torso, the blood’s seeping through my shirt, you thought. you grasp your body and sink into the ground once again. god, it fucking hurts, you panic in your head. you hear another gunshot ring into the air, you pray that it wasn’t directed to you, when you look up you see the marquis wielding a gun, you assume he has shot the perpetrator, hopefully dead. you don’t often wish someone ill will, but right now it’s not fair for me to die and him to live. you let out a labored sigh and groan from the pain, as you try to lessen the blood loss. whimpering and tearing from the immense agony you felt from your wound, suddenly you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders. you look up and it’s the marquis, unscathed and safe.
well that’s not fair. i’m definitely hunting him through hell. you promise to yourself, trying to find amusement for this situation. the marquis on the other hand was someone you’ve never seen before.
he has repositioned your head against himself, attempting to find comfort for you whilst you bled on the ground. you could hear bouts of shouts from the guards that survived but couldn’t understand what they’d been saying. the marquis gazes at you with concern. an odd thought to your head, you must be imagining this with the both of you locked in a daze.
“you’ll be okay, mon amour. hold on for a little, it will be safe for you soon. you will live.” he utters to you, one of his palms rubbing circles to the pulse on your arm. it sounds like a promise, like a vow. an oath made during his frail moments. this sounded much more assuring than what he’d said earlier and it…
it sounded like he cared, like he actually cared about you because he does. not because of any loyal service you’ve given him but because he can’t seem to bear the idea of you gone. it almost sounded like he was assuring himself that you wouldn’t die right now, that he wouldn’t let it happen.
oh what has the world become? in a short span of time you’ve been scared for your life, relieved for safety, basically a clusterfuck of emotions, got shot by a dude that’s more dead than you are right now, slowly bleeding to death and most peculiar of all you’re dying in the arms of your boss and it seems like he cares about you.
you could feel black spots appearing in your vision, blocking the very lovely face of the marquis and the glimmer of the night sky. with your bones weary from work and your blood soaking through your clothes, slowly you flutter your eyes shut. the last thing you hear is the marquis barking an order, for you or for someone else, you could not tell. right now it didn’t matter, not when you’ve embraced the arms of death.
a sudden burst of light shines through your eyelids.
you open your eyes and it’s welcomed by the bright sunlight coming from the windowsill. you’re laid on a plush bed, likely not yours. you could only dream of having this bed. the room you’re situated in is regal and glamourous, you figure out that you’re in one of the rooms of the marquis’ home. wait, what?
then it all starts surging back to you, the gunshots from foe and ally, dragging the marquis to the ground with you and bleeding on the ground of the plaza. oh my god, i’m alive. i’m alive.
you thank whatever god that might exist out there, grateful that they’d spared you from dying. a gasp exists your mouth but rather labored, my throat is hoarse. i need water. a gleam beams at the end of your eyes, you look at glass and pitcher of water beside the bed, on the nightstand. you suddenly sit up and pain pierces through your body
“fuck!” you curse, wincing you lift your shirt and see bandages wrapped around your torso. it was bandaged properly but soon you’d need to get wrapped again, the blood was starting to show on the fabric.
slowly you scoot to the end of the large elegant bed, trying to minimize the movement that your torso might’ve done in normal condition. once your feet hanged over the bed, the nightstand was a bit farther than you expected from the bed, i’ll have to talk to the housekeeper about this, it’s called a nightstand for a reason. it’s supposed to be beside the bed not half a meter away from it! thankfully, there was a chair nearby you could grasp onto. you grabbed the pitcher and poured it on the glass, filling it to the brim. you drank it, greedily gulping the smooth liquid that served remedy for your dry throat. after finishing all of it, you set the glass back at the nightstand then scoot back to the headboard of the comfy bed, which was bombarded with pillows. the bed looked sweet enough for a princess like sleeping beauty, thankfully you woke up sooner than later compared to the fairytale princess.
you contemplate how long you’ve been out ever since you got shot, with the sleepiness and the severity of your wound, you pray it didn’t take longer than a few days, you had duties to fulfill and tasks to accomplish, of course but going home seemed more pleasant than doing some work. you missed the warm fluffy pet you had at home, you pray that the automatic feeder had provided enough food for your cat.
you decided to head home, you didn’t want to over-welcome your stay at the marquis’, surprisingly you’ve never spent a single night here for sleep. the only people who slept in the manor was the marquis, himself in addition to the household staff and his security team. sometimes the guests the marquis invited were offered to stay but it happened rarely and mostly out of ill contempt. you’ve entered some of the bedrooms but never laid on one, your boss’ home seemed more like palace than house and you often speculated he was picky with who stayed in his home.
you opt to get out of here, right now. maybe call for the person who bandaged you up, to get your wound treated again. you get up from the bed again and weakly trudge to the door, holding on to pieces of furniture nearby in case you fell.
you pull the door with all your strength, i did not realize how fucking heavy this thing was, how did the guards open it in such an easy manner? you might never tell. when the door was slightly ajar, peeking your head through the opening. you notice two men guarding the door, weird you think to yourself, but before you could say anything one of them notices you and jolt, his eyes wide,
“ma’am, good to see you awake. do you need anything?” thomas, the guard inquires to you.
now this is weird beyond levels, they’ve never spoken that polite to you. sometimes you occasionally joked with them but it was never this…formal. not to mention, this was thomas. he’s supposed to be protecting the marquis 24/7 not watching over the assistant.
“um…i need adeline, the senior housekeeper? i was just about to go to her for my stuff and then head home.” you answer to him, also weirdly polite.
“afraid, you can’t ma’am.” he replies, this perplexes you. why in the world not? a silence answers thomas, hopefully this wasn’t the marquis’ doing. you literally almost died and he won’t even let you leave…the recovery room? much less let you leave the manor and go home? anyways, it has rendered you temporarily speechless and annoyed,
“can i ask why, thomas?” you question him, trying not let your annoyance show.
“doctor’s orders. also out of experience, you just took a bullet to the torso, think you might need to be under observation for a while to make sure your gunshot wound doesn’t get worse, would hate it for you to die right now, ma’am.” he explains to you, it sounds just right but it feels weird the way he says it. normally there’d be a tinge of humor when he entertained your questions but it was nonexistent right now.
god what in the world happened?
“uh..okay. i appreciate that thomas, could you please send for adeline here then? and if it’s possible, the doctor too.” you reply to him with a weak smile. he simply hums in return and leaves you.
you let out a tired sigh and walk back to bed, you were getting out of here one way or another. right now, you need to process what the fuck just happened to you. you need to think if the amount of money the marquis pays you was worth dying for to stay under his employ. you sit on the edge of the bed and bury your face in your hands, hoping that adeline arrived first before the doctor.
you anticipated that adeline might help you get out of here through the back door of the house. the marquis’ house as armed and protected it was didn’t seem safe to you. i need the comfort of my home and a new job.
no matter how protected the marquis was, if you were going to die working for him. it might now be worth it, you might consider leaving france and heading back to your country. i also need a vacation. the only rest i got from him was 3-5 hours at best and therapy. i need therapy, preferably retail therapy. a cat works too.
a knock erupts from the door, you face the door and urge for the person to come in. thankfully, it was adeline. you slowly get on your feet as adeline approaches you.
“hey adeline, it’s so nice to see you.” you smile at her.
a moment of hesitation appears on her face, as if contemplating if she should’ve gone here or speak to you.
“it’s nice to see you, alive and safe ma’am.” she doesn't return a smile and meekly answers.
why was everyone so polite? adeline always welcomed whenever she spoke to you, is this usually what happens when you get shot? or do they know something i don’t? god did the bullet hit something fragile in my body? am i living on borrowed time?
you kept quiet, unsure how to continue the conversation. adeline doesn’t even meet your eyes. you feel upset and empty, this has never happened between the both of you. the last time you spoke to her, it was on good terms. both of you chattering gossip about the people in the manor. it was always good to talk to her and you presumed she felt the same. maybe it was entirely one sided.
“is there something you need? something to eat?” she probes to you.
“no, i think i’m good.” you quietly answer her. from what you’ve experienced with her, adeline had a soft heart and she had opened it you, why had she shut it close now?
“do you need someone to rebandage you? i can call the doctor for you.” she asks again.
“i already did.”
she looked up and you could feel her stare all over you. likely confused why you asked for her.
“then why did you ask the guard to call for me?” she demands. her voice felt harsh, she’d never spoken like this to you. cold and sharp enough to cut through skin.
“i was going to ask if you knew where my stuff were.”
“it’s safely stored in your locker downstairs. is there anything else? we placed some lemon water beside the bed in case you woke up.”
you hesitate, the last sentence pricked your skin. “how…how long was i out?”
“almost two weeks.”
“fuck.”
well that’s not good. you definitely need to get home to see if your cat’s still alive. hopefully he didn’t stay waiting for you at the door, you’d rather he escaped than have him starve.
“that sounds like a long time for a gunshot wound.” you mutter.
“it’s actually not.” she states matter of factly.
“oh.” you realize. “i think i need to get home right now, my family’s probably worried sick that i haven’t talk to them for weeks. any chance you could sneak me out?” you tinge your voice with concern and softness at the end.
she stays quiet, before answering to you. she’s hesitating what she’d normally say to me, she’s choosing her words carefully.
“i can’t. i assume you’ve been told what thomas knows about being shot? you need to recover.”
“adeline, i really need to go home right now…i-i don’t feel safe right here. i want to go home.” you reason with her, she had a hard exterior you prayed it could soften right now.
“i can’t.” she replies. clearly you were going nowhere when she’s firm in her decision. you decide to get petty in a way that often annoys her.
“adeline please, i need time to think, preferably away from this place.”
“you won’t get that. you’re staying here.”
“is that so? under whose orders did that come from? you’re being unreasonable here adeline, if it’s from the doctor or thomas who is sort of unreliable by the way, i’ve seen him get shot thrice but managed to beat up at least three dudes. i can get a doctor to help me treat this wound. so for god’s sake adeline who told you i can’t leave?!”
“the marqu-“ she screeches at you before cutting short. realizing she almost said that, she arranges herself and changes her answer. “the doctor. the doctor says you need to stay here.”
but you had heard it before it was finishes. the marquis. the marquis doesn’t want you to leave yet. why? god knows. likely he wants to speak to you, something about punishment or consequences if you ratted him out or something. you’re too tired to think something logical.
“no. you said the marquis. why does the marquis want me to stay here?”
she stays silent. as if her tongue had been cut at that very moment. you try to understand, but it’s hard to tell without the why.
“adeline…why? please answer me.” you pleaded.
she doesn’t say anything but looks at you. then at something behind you, like the answer was always in the room all along. you don’t follow her gaze too exhausted to play a guessing game.
“you can go now adeline. thank you.” you said feeling resigned.
adeline leaves the room and shuts the door. you slowly walk back to the nightstand pour another glass of water. your throat was still hoarse and dry from the lack of water for two weeks. you sipped the liquid, tasting a lemony flavor in the water. you remembered how the marquis wouldn’t drink anything but lemon water, he preferred it because of something about it’s health benefits but it always annoyed you because he would suddenly need a glass of it in the middle of nowhere. the first time he ordered you to fetch him one was in the middle of a meeting, he had refused to drink the bottled water on the table. you ran down for fresh lemons and plunged it into a glass filled with bottled water just to spite him. you chuckle at yourself at that, remembering the times you’d taken a shortcut at some of his orders.
wait. wait. you pondered why did they give you lemon water? you’ve never drank it here. hot water usually satisfied you, and adeline knew this. not to mention, when there was lemon water, either the marquis was near or he just left the room. it’s like he spawns out of nowhere. nevertheless, it was odd. the marquis ordering to keep you here and his precious lemon water in your room?
this is getting weird and suspicious. you decide to just call for the doctor, maybe once he clears me i can go home. odd he hasn’t arrived yet, deciding to either go to him or ask thomas to call for him again. the doors of your room burst open, you see a pair of medical professionals, a nurse and a doctor. not surprising, but what makes your forehead wrinkle in confusion and makes you frown was that the marquis was following right behind them.
you couldn’t bother to hide your shock from the marquis and stare at him as if he was the most eerie thing you’ve ever seen.
you sat on the luxurious chair, trying to listen to what the doctor was saying. he had mentioned something about avoiding vigorous exercise and constant movements to avoid ripping your stitches. while he lectured you on what to do, the nurse changed your bandages and by the end of his disquisition, the nurse was finished treating your wound.
the doctor gave you a bottle of painkillers in case you felt a sudden intense pain before he and the nurse left. you thanked the both of them for treating you before they left the door.
now, it’s time to face the elephant in the room.
the marquis.
he had sat there the entire time while the doctor rambled about the do’s and don’ts for your safety. he hadn’t spoken a single word ever since he entered the room, he sat across you on a refined cushioned chair. he seemed calm as ever, you wondered why had come here. if he was here to order you to appoint a reservation for an opera at 3 PM, you might strangle him right away wounded or not.
then again, the memory is still fresh in your mind. he had saved you, sort of. he didn’t get to prevent the perpetrator from shooting you but he did provide the medical treatment to keep you alive plus he shot the dude who shot you, so points for that.
as usual, he was staring at you. it’s become some ritual of his whenever you enter the room to the point you just ignore it. it hinted that it was harmless as you’ve observed for the past two years. but there was something different about it this time.
before, you’ve assumed that he stared to invoke submission and resilience from you, to establish himself as higher than you, but now his gaze wants to invoke a word from you. why? you wouldn’t know. the enigma that is your boss, is a puzzle too difficult to solve.
“how are you feeling?” he breaks the silence, gladly you look up wanting to get the conversation over with.
“i’m fine, sir.” you reply amiably.
“that’s good to hear.” he mutters. there was also something weird about the tone of his voice, he kept quiet after as if reliantly expecting a reply from you. but you don’t so he speaks up again.
“you’ve been asleep for almost two weeks, some of us have feared you might never wake up again.” he claims.
“glad that’s not the case for me sir.” you respond.
“yes, god was kind to you that night. the bullet missed any vital organs but you bled out, too much i might add.” he conveys as if it’s something humorous, you notice a slight tugging at the corner of his lips.
“yeah, that was really lucky.” you agree with him.
this needs to end. you could tell he was just being polite, his words were simply pleasantries as your employer. he might see this as a semblance of duty as your boss and maybe because he feels bad you took a bullet for him. emphasis on the “maybe”.
“i just wanted to thank you for what you’ve done for me. getting me treated until i woke up. so..thank you. thank you for saving my life. i owe you for it.” you graciously thank him, thinking of every event that you might have to thank him for. just to lay the foundation before you say what you actually want to say.
“you’re welcome.” he mutters, his eyes not meeting yours. you don’t know what’s going in that pretty head of his but..was he ashamed? ashamed. that word associated with your boss tastes different on the tongue. no, he can’t be.
“um..in addition to what i just said, i think i might head home now. like you said i’ve been gone for two weeks, my family’s probably going crazy worried about how i am right now. plus i think i got the wound covered, thank you for your hospitality.” you state to him in a gentle way, careful not to let your tone insult him in some way.
your effort to hide your weariness to achieve that polite demeanor in front him somehow fails, because after you said that the marquis looks back at you again and doesn’t say anything. was there something wrong with what i said?
he stares at you and doesn’t reply, he suddenly gets on his feet and walks to the larged illuminated window in the room. you follow your eyes on his frame, you’d assumed that he might’ve just agreed with you and left. you thought his visit was a mere courtesy so why had he stopped talking?
“sir?” you call out to him, the ticking on the clock appearing more dire than before. the same feeling you got during the car ride to the louvre two years ago, surges back to you.
but silence greets you.
“did you hear what i said?” growing more anxious by the second, you try a firm approach. still you were apprehensive on what he might have to say.
but no words answer you.
“is there something wrong with what i said?” you question, your tone laced with worry. this is bad. a quiet marquis is a pondering marquis. whatever thought he’s got cooked up was never good.
“you cannot.” he declares.
finally he answered, although not what you wished to hear.
“why? is there something wrong with me?” you firmly ask.
“sir?” you add, then the silent treatment flows into the room again. he stays quiet while you prod him with questions.
“it’s not…safe.” he states.
“for…who? for you or for them?” you reflect, someone might be out for his death right now, and perhaps torturing the assistant might get the required information they need, it’s also a possibility the marquis has sent out a bloodbath. it’s happened before and the times it occurred you’ve opted to reside a few hours in the manor, also to prevent being tortured for information, repercussions are still plausible. retaliation was always in mind.
“it’s not safe for you.” he faces you, the statement was like moisture on a window, blurry and murky. difficult to see what’s through.
your mouth falls open, “what? it’s you they were aiming for, not me. they wanted to kill you. it was you they wanted to shoot. you were the target. i honestly don’t think they’d go after the assistant to finish the job. right?” you begin to ramble.
“yes, you’re right. they wouldn’t.” he disclosed to you, “i know that bullet was intended for me, the man was supposed to shoot me. god knows i know.” he whispers.
“and look what happened to you. what they..did to you.” he says as he slowly walks towards you. “you…you weren’t supposed to get hurt. i don’t think i can forgive myself for that.” he says softly as he looks back at you.
everything in your body shuts down. what the fuck is happening? you remember the concern he had when he cradled you into his arms, assuming it was because he’d seen you as a work friend that’s really helpful to him. even if he could easily replace you with a few seconds whether you were alive or dead. but this? what was he saying? this is different. it doesn’t feel right but it’s happening.
it all starts to dawn upon you. the fancy bedroom. he wanted me to be comfortable, even if the selection of people he would’ve accepted to stay were little to none. the lemon water. he visited me while i was recovering, he sat by my bed waiting for me to wake up. what he called you that night while you bled on the pavement, on his arms.
“you’ll be okay, mon amour. hold on for a little, it will be safe for you soon. you will live.”
mon amour.
my love.
he called you his love that night.
you realize.
he leans down in front of you, you lean back from your realization. more questions are popping into your head, so many you want to ask but nothing leaves your throat. you look up at him and he’s been doing the same, looking into your eyes. you can see the regret,concern and affection that’s festering in his eyes.
“you’re right. it was meant for me, but you had it instead. you…you took a bullet for me. who does that for someone? how many people in the world can say that they’ve taken a bullet for me? one. there’s only one. and she’s sitting right in front of me.” he divulges to you, he says it like he’s been keeping it for thousands of years while he kept his mouth shut in anguish, like he was itching to confess to you the tender words as if they were the most sacred secrets known to man.
as if the words kept him trapped in a prison with no way out, but now he’d said it and he was free.
you were shocked. too speechless to say anything. this might be the most difficult thing to process so far into your life,that your boss is fostering affection for you, because you took a bullet for him.
“believe it or not, mon amour. you’ve become more precious to me than anything this life has to offer, i want to keep you safe and right now the only way is to keep you here.” with him he firmly states to you with affection and devotion which you could sense in his tone.
you wanted to object but he continued.
“for a while, until you regain your strength. do you understand, mon coeur?”
mon coeur.
a french endearment.
my heart.
he called you his heart.
author’s note: first time posting a fic that isn’t a bunch of headcanons, with this being posted the upcoming fics may vary from the reader’s pov or the marquis’. this took me at least three days and a cold to finish, (no regrets) but how come part two took three days but part three, a whole nighter?? ;) the next one’s a bit interesting. feel free to share your thoughts!
part one part 3 part four part five
taglist: @dcgoddess @1mawh0re
#vincent de gramont#vincent de gramont x reader#vincent de gramont x reader#marquis de gramont#marquis de gramont x reader#bill skarsgard x reader#bill skarsgard imagine#bill skarsgård#bill skarsgard fanfiction#john wick 4#john wick#john wick fanfic#john wick fandom#yandere#obsessive#yandere x reader#fanfiction#oneshot#fic#fanfic#bill skarsgard crackship
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