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Me watching Barbarian
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twistedbloodstain · 1 year
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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.
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plot: the one where the marquis saw right through you.
warning: violence, gunshot, gunshot wound, doting
masterlist
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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
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mynameis-noe-body · 6 months
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Okay, for marquis de gramont we can get reallll toxic. Both the reader and Vincent are angry with each other and are tying to make one another jealous at the event. Because they’re very kinda delulu and possessive they kill the people they're using to make the other jealous and confess their feelings
Thank you so much for this request, my dear anon. I hope you'll love this. 🖤
I am your slave
Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont × you (F/GN)
Rating: Teen & Up Audience
Status: Complete (one shot)
Author notes: I used Google translate for the Russian and French sentences. Let me know if it's incorrect!
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Obviously. You muttered the word under your breath, chewing its bitter taste, testing its sound on the tip of your tongue as you watched, disarmed, as the Marquis made his triumphal entrance.
The most influential families of the High Table had gathered at the Hotel Mademoiselle de Condé for a gala and business evening. Those weren't rare events, but that didn't make them any less sumptuous. Money flowed freely, as did the champagne, the drugs, the caviar. And the lovers. Yes, they were purchasable too. Women and men of supreme beauty, unattainable, sometimes sons and daughters who were given away, exchanged, lent — everything, in exchange for favors.
But the Marquis — Vincent — never had to ask anyone for anything.
With a gallant gesture he opened the door of his 1970 Cadillac DeVille and offered his arm to a woman. And not yet another high-class whore that he would have refused to touch even with the tip of his little finger, no. The woman who accompanied him that evening was a creature of rare beauty, perhaps someone's protégé. Perhaps his protégé. She was graceful, elegant, she flaunted a cascade of golden curls that would make Venus herself envious. And you, you felt flooded with anger.
"Champagne" you ordered, snapping your fingers. They served you immediately. You too had your power, and you had never hidden it. You knew, deep down, that it was one of the things that attracted him. Your shy elegance fiercely contrasted the anger that could ignite in your heart. The strength of your hands, the fury in your eyes, the power you wielded ruthlessly. Yet, in his arms and in his bed, you were capable of the deepest love, the most total devotion. He was bewitched by it, and inebriated. Therefore, he loved to instigate every jealousy in you, just to have you desperate at the end of the night.
Vincent didn't even glance at you. He shook dozens of hands, ordered food and drinks, laughed with his colleagues and friends. And he ignored you. At least until, from the door of the luxurious hotel, taking off his Armani coat and handing the keys of his Ferrari Portofino to the doorman, Mr. D'Antonio entered.
"Santino!" you exclaimed, with a smile so bright it lighted the entire dining room. Many turned, if only for a moment, to watch you gallop towards the man, with a hem of your beautiful dress grasped between your fingers to reveal crystal heels that echoed off the walls.
Santino opened his arms, and welcomed you with a loud kiss on the cheek. "Meraviglia! Look at you — beautiful, you are beautiful."
Santino was warm, welcoming, purely Italian. And charming, in every aspect of his person. He knew how to make any woman feel like the most beautiful in the world. He gallantly offered you his arm and ordered for you. His laugh was loud, contagious. His exuberant nature amused you. You had been friends for years now. You had worked together, sometimes — often you had worked for him. And he appreciated you. He was generous in his payments. And above all, Vincent was morbidly jealous, because D'Antonio had no qualms about making blatant advances on you, even in front of all those people.
Vincent was daydreaming about murder. God, how he hated him. And yes, he had planned to take that beautiful Parisian home with him, one of the new acquisitions of his organization, now that he saw you... you were his favorite. Oh, bullshit — you were the only one. Since he had met you he had no longer been able to keep faith with his numerous lovers. One by one, they had extinguished his desire, and you had ignited his. Or they were fallen dead, because you killed them. Many of them, to be honest. And every time he learned of one of your murders, his desire to possess you — body and soul — violently took hold of him. He didn't want to give in, not that easily. But now he understood how difficult it was to resist you, while your hand caressed the muscular shoulder of that penniless Italian. That coward. The mere thought that you could enjoy yourself under his fingers made him vomit — so much that he poured what was left of the wine into the boulle and twisted his mouth in a grimace of disgust.
With my bare hands, he thought. He crossed his legs and wrapped himself in his double-breasted jacket, brooding. I want to kill him with my bare hands around his neck. He would have done it. He was Vincent Bisset de Gramont, the Marquis and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He could have attached Santino D'Antonio to a pole and set him on fire to make him feel a tenth of the physical pain with which, due to that jealousy, he himself was now burning.
The young woman he had brought with him caressed his face. Or at least, she tried. But he grabbed her wrist before she could touch his cheek. He looked at her with the same hatred. "Go take off that lipstick" he hissed, through clenched teeth. "You look ridiculous."
She obeyed, humiliated, and reached the bathroom. Of course, she didn't expect to meet you anytime soon.
As soon as you saw her walking away towards the toilet, you took your chance, followed her and closed the door behind you with a sharp slam, waiting for her right there, outside her niche. She, surrounded by that shiny hair, those brilliant eyes, those scarlet lips, had raised a single eyebrow in an inquisitive manner.
"And you are?" she asked, passing a cloth over her lips, cleaning them from that bright color.
You inhaled deeply. "You know who I am."
She allowed herself an amused smile. "Ah," she had commented, smugly, "nomer dva."
You thought that, before speaking, she should have made sure that you didn't speak Russian.
▪️▪️▪️
"Dance with me." Vincent took your hand, intertwined his fingers with yours and dragged you before you could respond, or refuse.
He had chased you as soon as you left the bathroom. The Marquis had immediately noticed your flushed chest, your freshly washed hands, your disheveled hair pulled back with a mechanical gesture of your hand, your pupils as narrow as pinpricks. Magnificent. On the dance floor, he had first twirled you once, before grabbing you and holding you against his chest; one hand — the right one — on your back, the lower part, the other intertwined with yours and pressed against his chest, on the beating of his heart. And his face in the corner between your neck and your shoulder.
You huffed, trying to maintain composure. "They're all watching us" you whispered in his ear. He smiled against your skin. "You'll make us look ridiculous in front of the High Table."
"Mon amour. I am the High Table." Vincent left the ghost of a kiss on your neck before making you sway in his arms. Another pirouette, and there you are again in his inevitable grip. "I could order half the men in this room to lick the floor where you walk, and they would do it for me."
You barely held back a small smile. "I can not stand you." But you settled a little more against his chest. The soft, slow music lulled you gently. "And what do you think of Santino? Would he kneel for you too?"
His nails dug into your side, making you flinch. You met his icy eyes in mid-air. So cold, so beautiful. "The Italian. That's it then, you like him."
"He's a charming man."
"He is rude, and vulgar. So pompous."
"And you're not?"
You almost heard him growl. Vincent shot a terrible look at D'Antonio, across the room, who was watching you swing on the dance floor with dark, annoyed eyes.
"You shouldn't be here with me" you added, coldly. "Your woman? Where is she?"
He laughed heartily. "Oh, please. We both know she won't make it out of that bathroom alive. How long did it take you to kill her?"
But you didn't answer. You never responded to his curiosity... it was your game.
Vincent grinned. The kiss on your neck now became passionate. You felt his soft lips caress your skin from your bare shoulder to the tip of your chin with five deep, intense kisses. "You drive me crazy."
This time, you smiled happily. "You are sick."
Vincent looked deadly serious, hovering over you, his back straight and tall to tower over your beautiful figure. "I will have monsieur D'Antonio's raw heart served to me on a silver platter. I will kidnap you, lock you in a dungeon, make you die of hunger and thirst if necessary — anything, as long as you admit the truth."
He was scary. Exciting. Terrifying. Beautiful. You blushed, panting slightly. "What truth? What the hell are you talking about?"
He smiled. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. "That you love me, mon amour."
"I —" yes, you loved him. And you loved the way he made you feel. You loved that hateful jealousy you felt for him, and that he felt for you. You caressed his face with an unexpected sweetness. Your eyes were large, languid. Vincent felt his whole body tremble like never before... "I'll tell you. Not now, though. Tomorrow morning. Now, take me home, and make love to me."
He stopped. He smiled, looking younger than he was. So happy. With a ridiculous low bow, he offered you his hand. "Je suis ton serviteur."
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jhirowolf · 9 days
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The worst part of being a fan of The Crow? Noone gives a fuck about the comics and it's all "the movie, the movie, the movie, Brandon Lee, Brandon Lee" and like...i really like the movie and Brandon, he acted the fuck outta the role, and the movie is really good....BUT the movie is an adaptation of a comic book.
If we all shit our pants when a new adaptation came because "it's disrespectful of the original" or everytime we got a new Superman or Joker because it's "disrespectful to George Reeves/Heath Ledger" everyone would hate us.
I would be angry/dissapointed that noone reads the original Crow comics but basicly no fans of superheroes and the CBM genre reads the comics these days so that's just a general issue.
So seeing most peoples reaction to the new Crow trailer being "but the original, the original, it's disrespectful to the original and to Brandon" makes me feel like i am listening to a group of 5-year olds whine.
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neojojobot · 1 year
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REMEMBER PENNYWISE?
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imninahchan · 3 months
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Nina, escreve um headcannon com o Bill
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⌜⠀⠀ BILL SKARSGARD como seu namoradinho 𓂃 ഒ ָ࣪
Conteúdo sexual.
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Você conhece BILL através do irmão dele, Alex. E a figura do mais velho é presente na relação quando se trata de um orgulho por ter sido o cupido, e fazer piadinhas quando a família se une em comemorações;
Mas BILL é incrivelmente discreto sobre o relacionamento de vocês, não compartilha nem mesmo com os pais. Não gosta quando você deixa escapar algum problema interno que tenham, mas respira fundo, porque sabe que você não tem a mesma visão que ele;
Vocês vão pra Suécia com frequência, frequentam a vida noturna com os amigos dele. Gosta de te levar em pontos turísticos, lugares que ele ia quando mais novo. Ama a nostalgia que Estocolmo traz;
É possessivo, odeia ver algum amiguinho dele sorrindo demais pras suas piadas. Não consegue disfarçar o ódio, rindo entre dentes, um certo quê de maníaco pra vê se o outro saca;
Kinks e fetiches que valem a pena ser mencionados — BILL é sempre o dominador, spanking como punição, breeding, size e strength kinks pois é absurdamente louco com o fato de ser maior e mais forte, tratamento de silêncio durante o sexo para punição, spit kink, cum play, jogar bebida no seu corpo e lamber cada gotinha, choking, tragar o cigarro e soprar na sua língua enquanto te beija, é o tipo que jamais seria exibicionista ou te dividiria;
Manias no relacionamento — te perguntar várias vezes se você acha o irmão dele bonito, morder o seu pescoço ou ombros quando estão deitados juntinhos, zanzar pela casa só de cueca e te incentivar a não usar muita roupa também já que estão dentro de casa, te ligar de madrugada quando está longe a trabalho e passar horas no telefone.
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Joe Hill’s "The Black Phone" (dir. by Scott Derrickson, 2021) as his dad’s stories.
Stephen King coded.
1) “It” (2017), dir. by Andy Muschietti.
2) “The Shining” (1980), dir. by Stanley Kubrick.
3) “Cujo” (1983), dir. by Lewis Teague.
4) “Gerald’s Game” (2017), dir. by Mike Flanagan.
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krofilms · 1 year
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It's impossible to describe the oddity of fans hating women their favs are in relationships with. It's been going on forever and will never stop. "Fans" will spend hours upon hours of their lives looking at 10 second clips analyzing how unhappy their male favs must be.
It's rooted in deep internalized misogyny.
These men are probably appreciative of their fans. But they do not know you.
You do not know them. Or who they are. Or what they do off camera. Or what they feel.
Your obsessive hatred for their partners is wrong.
You believing that you know everything based on a few pictures, interviews, or social media posts out of their 24 hours a day 365 days a year lives is wrong.
Your parasocial relationship is wrong.
Leave famous men's partners and children alone.
Their jobs are actors, musicians, artists, their private life is theirs and not something you know at all.
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the-frog-draws · 20 days
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I wanted to draw Pennywise, so I did.
Non-coloured under the cut:
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anastasiaskarsgard · 1 year
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I want to personally thank all the gif makers out there, working long hours to give us a few seconds of joy. I’m going to pick some of my fav gifs but that’s not necessarily all the gif makers. I don’t want to name them and forget anyone so I’ll use the gif button down by the photo button…
Please comment, reblog or tag (or all of the above) if you make GIFs or know of some so people can find and appreciate these wonderful contributors to the community!
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rainbowskittle · 10 months
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Aha I’m fucking shaking
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clownsofthefandom · 1 year
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Ain't it beautiful...
...watching trash support other trash 😂
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Howdy! Let's discuss a quick one today...
If you had any doubts at this point about these accounts and what they stand for, believe in, and what they support, now would be a good time to pay attention to what SimplestSimon is trying to tell you. And boyyyyy should you listen.
We're all more than well aware that Full-of-tricks has stalked, doxed, and harassed Bill, Alida, people in both of their lives, and other fans in the fandom. If you've been here long enough you've definitely seen this happen. And in case you need a reminder, go check out their blog, since they've gleefully bragged about doing all of this over the years (or scroll to the bottom of our post here to check out a few examples).
And, in case you still had any doubts about SimplestSimon's role in all of this, they are now honoring, for reasons only known by medical professionals, full-of-tricks, which means they are not only complicit, but fully support stalking, harassment, and doxing in the Bill Skarsgård fandom. Why? Because they love it, obviously, and participate in it too (let's not ever forget their participation in the doxing of a fan, which you can read about here and also check their blog for their bogus ass reply/lies). Why else would you passionately support a known toxic account like full-of-tricks?
There is no excuse for supporting these accounts at this point.
But don't you worry your pretty lil heads! Their support will never decrease on tumblr, because they've got the numbers baby! That's right, all 20+ of their alternates are armed and ready to like, reblog, and comment 💪 I'm sure those accounts feel very very real in their hearts though ❤️
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fandomcentralsposts · 2 years
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shhhh do you hear that?! its the it fandom rising from the dead after a pennywise backstory TV show called Welcome To Derry was announced 😃
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No one:
Bill Skarsgård 2022 hairstyle:
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*The picture in the right I took it from Full of tricks blog.
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alphabetbill · 1 year
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To The Grave
If anyone's interested, this is up on my wattpad. Just posted a new chapter after a ridiculously long hiatus from the project. But I'm back in action now so hopefully, it'll stay that way.
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