hiii i don’t know if your still taking request but can you do an x reader story about micolash from bloodborne..
Maybe like micolash and reader are still attending school in mensis, and two low-key become evil together and just stay till the hunter gets them
pairing: micolash (bloodborne) x reader
Micolash swore upon this dream as often as he swore upon bringing you with him, becuse where's the fun in losing your mind alone?
another request !! 5 months later ,,,,, im rusty but at least i have a new laptop !!! unfortunately a j*b too so less time to write but im determined to do a couple more requests in my free time
Moonlight shone through the pristine windows of the study hall, assisting the oil lamp in illuminating the papers scattered about in front of you.
This is it, you mused to yourself over and over. This will be our ascension, the relinquishing of our cumbersome human qualities in lieu of a higher plane of thinking.
At least, that’s what Micolash had told you. You believed him, undoubtedly so, and were eager to see the results of what the scholars had planned: Line the brain with eyes, and what would follow in its wake would be something fantastically beyond your comprehension. It sure seemed good to you–though others would beg to differ.
Shortly after this were you made acutely aware of a troublesome split in the scholars, between those that shared your ideals, and those that believed they were founded in nothing but foolishness, that ascension should be reached via that damned blood. Nothing good would come of it, you were sure. Willem bid them farewell anyways; you supposed there was nothing else he could do.
“Let them leave,” Micolash said upon your sharing of the petty drama. “Once our eyes are open, those fools will be left with their blindfolds tied, feet bound to the ground like flightless birds!”
You thought it interesting that Micolash had so much faith in this method of elevation. You’d be lying if you said you’d never had doubts about it. Who wouldn’t? At first the idea seemed ridiculous, impossible, but with the convincing of a certain raven-haired man you’d warmed up to it wholeheartedly. He was always so persuasive, like the time–
“Oh-ho, my favourite scholar is up late again!…per usual.”
Your heart pounds as you whip around, eyes wide. You clasp a hand over your chest, eyes flicking back to your lamp to ensure you hadn’t accidentally knocked it over.
“Gods, Micolash,” you chide the snickering man, an amused grin plastered across his face. “I’ve told you not to do that.” You turn back to your papers, hunching over once more to inspect the scrawlings of your ideas and thoughts on the matter at hand. The parchment, interestingly, hadn’t had a single musing etched onto it for at least the past hour.
“And when have Mensis scholars ever listened?”
You hum in gruff agreement. Micolash leans over your shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back, as stringy black hair tickles the skin upon your face. You can’t see it, but you feel his eyes raking over your writings, not judging, but simply absorbing your handiwork. His breath is close upon the nape of your neck. Your arms shiver with the anticipation of conditioned touch that never sets itself upon your skin.
“Soon,” he says, pausing but a moment before straightening up. You’re mildly disappointed. “Aren’t you elated?”
You nod. “I imagine this will be the school’s magnum opus–the recognition and respect they deserve. Not that we aren’t already respected, but you understand what I mean.”
You gather up your papers and take hold of your lamp. The pendulum-adorned clock read precisely 5 past 2 in the morning.
“Surely you’re not retiring to the dorms so soon?”
“It’s just past 2. Can’t you see?” You nod toward the clock. Micolash flashes you a sly smile as you brush past him with the intention of finally resting, though he follows in your stead anyway.
“Typically you’re up much later than this.”
“So I suppose you’re granting yourself leisure time?”
You tread lightly so as to not wake the sleeping women behind the door you stand in front of. Gently, you slide your papers under the door, bound tightly with a piece of twine.
“Oh, I don’t know. I figured I would watch the lake for a bit.”
Micolash nods, his head cocked to the side. His eyes smile.
“And you would care to join me?”
His mouth follows. “Would I.”
The lake shimmers with sequins of moonlight cast over gentle waves, lapping up against the supports of the college with quiet creaks. It’s silent otherwise. So silent you can hear the man beside you muttering to himself, occasionally muttering to you, usually followed by a laugh, and you can’t help but ask him what he’s finding so funny.
“I’m just so ecstatic,” he chuckles, shaking you gently with an arm around your shoulders, “This is it. And I get to witness it with you, of all people!”
You smile gently and lean into him. “I’m aware. You’ve not stopped talking about it for months.”
He turns his head so his face is buried in your hair, and inhales deeply. He’s quiet, but the lake talks for him eagerly with the push and pull of the celestial body hanging above you–one that you unknowingly will become oh so familiar with in the coming weeks.
That was the last of him you saw–at least in the waking world. And, as you had feared deep in your gut, the ritual that was supposed to gently draw the scholars into a new beginning had only dragged them into a new nightmare, twisting and churning their corpses into a horrific mass of bodies before your very eyes.
You weren't particularly fazed, and neither was your partner in crime. Few scholars actually survived the ordeal–mostly because many of them had wanted to take part in the experiments–and stayed sane to tell the tale. You were one of those that were alive, and sane. Micolash was one and a half of those things. Not that you really minded. He wasn't exactly all there before the ritual, and now, it's almost as if he's just let loose. In fact, he seemed happier now than ever before despite the fact that most of his colleagues were technically dead.
However, in the few days you'd been stuck in this hellish landscape, you'd noticed your mind had been…deteriorating, for lack of better word.
You couldn't think straight. Maybe it was the fact that there were almost no other living humans here except for you and Micolash. Maybe it was the gory creatures that prowled the school day and night. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact you were stuck here with no real way of getting anywhere outside the school that the ritual had been performed at.
Eventually you'd get used to it. At least you could still study something, even if it was these grotesque creatures. Many nights were spent sitting by the window of a dorm you'd picked to take up residence in and draw the monsters that lurked outside your window on the 5th floor. It was nice to have new material, you figured.
And, of course, you also had your partner to entertain you. With every passing day did his mind deteriorate as well–just to a more extreme degree than your.
“This is the exchange we perform,” Micolash had said, “Our minds, in exchange for knowledge.”
This was said just before you'd finally given up on holding back your feelings. Perhaps the other scholars had known you'd fancied him, but if they did, no one ever said anything, and neither did he. However, that night, something stirred within you. That dangerous I have nothing, so I have nothing to lose mentality set in. One minute you were helping him decipher a rune, and the next your arms were around his neck and his hands clawing at your uniform.
You can still hear his breathing in your ear, feel his cold hands upon the soft, delicate skin of your neck. You had kissed him like your life depended on it, like you were devouring a delicious cake with a sickeningly sweet, syrupy icing adorning it.
When you pulled away, you vividly recall the wild frenzy that shone across his eyes. Hunger, longing, and adoration all contained messily between 2 black pupils began to spill out in the way he slid the heavy robe off your shoulders. Your arms were swimming in the sleeves, unveiled once he decided they needed to come off.
“If only you'd told me sooner,” he snickered between bouts of nipping at your neck, “I'd have studied and conquered you long before I did the dream…”
“You must have noticed by now you speak plenty for the two of us.” A hand had come up to grip his hair.
“It’s difficult not to,” he began, grinning at the shudder your body betrayed as his hands ghosted over your hips, “when you’re just the perfect listener.”
You jolted out of your feverish daze with a gentle grunt. The moon still sits as tauntingly as ever outside your window, watching you, judging you for the sinful thoughts that ran through your head. You sheepishly adjust the tie in your hair and cease your incessant staring at Micolash.
Now he sat beside you, scribbling notes into a journal he'd scavenged from the various rooms around the school. His eyes were pinpointed on his notes, occasionally glancing up out the window in deep thought. It was absolutely fascinating, the way you could tell exactly what he was thinking as he studied solely off his tiny quirks–the occasionally sly smile, the way he’d chew his lip as he stopped writing, the subtle–
“What, am I the specimen now?”
You had unconsciously resumed your staring. Now he was the admirer, gazing at you in a strangely affectionate way you hadn’t seen from his eyes before.
“Don’t be. Perfection is hard to ignore,” Micolash taunts, setting his fountain pen aside to turn to you slightly. You roll your eyes, but graciously move to push his bedraggled hair aside anyways. In the time you’d been here, he’d been preening himself noticeably less. His hair was matted in some areas, some days dry and brittle, others terribly greasy, and most of all, his eyes were so sunken in it had become concerning. He clearly hadn’t slept more than a night or two since you’d taken up residence in this dream.
“You need to take care of yourself,” you finally say, glowering at him with the stern face of a mother.
“The dream needs more care than I do,” he huffs, smile unwavering, “Don’t you understand?”
“The dream can’t be hosted if you’re only barely surviving. When was the last time you ate?”
“Human necessities are a thing of the past, dear.”
You shake your head in disbelief. “I see you’ve gone mad.”
“So what if I have?” Micolash doesn’t face you head on, shooting you a smug, almost challenging side eye. You sigh. He’s won, and he knows it, with the way his hand snakes up your head to scratch at your head. You lean in like a pathetic dog.
Suddenly footsteps sound down the hallway. Your head shoots up, eyes darting to the door–were you dreaming? Your partner notices it too, though he’s less disturbed about it with his usual cheeky smile, and pauses alongside you. Your eyes widen. His grin only stretches further.
“Have we finally found ourselves some better company?” You don’t stop him as he rises from his seat eagerly, departing through the door left ajar into the main corridors.
You followed Micolash down the empty hallways, heart pounding. Sure, there were other scholars in this nightmare, but they weren’t typically…of the conversational sort. You would be lying if you said you weren’t just the least bit enthusiastic about meeting this newcomer, be it friend or foe.
“Oh-ho! It couldn’t be!” You hear from somewhere in the school. Micolash rushes down the stairs excitedly, and you just barely catch a glimpse of his coat fluttering around the corner. You call after him, a sharp slow down in irritation.
You can hear him muttering to himself, then speaking to whoever it was he had stumbled upon. Eventually, your eyes set themselves upon–
“A hunter is a hunter, even in a dream!”
A man, clad in a traditional Yharnam garb, spins and whirls around in an effort to find Micolash, who, as quick as you had found him, was already gone. The strange man barrels down hallways, chasing Micolash this way and that, and you can only watch from your spot upon the ledge you’d found to be a good vantage point for breath-catching. An anticipatory, nervous smile grows on your face–you’re more concerned for the hunter than you are for Micolash.
You follow them down corridors upon corridors until Micolash is cornered. His face flashes with a brief moment of panic, but quickly turns into determined spite. The hunter certainly has a will to live, because even with literal stars of energy upon him, he’s unrelenting, twisting around them with an arduous yet fruitful struggle. Micolash seems to be enjoying this, despite the strenuous moves he’s pulling against the foe. However, you eventually decide enough is enough. The man is getting much too close to Micolash for your comfort, and just as he leans back to deal a groundbreaking blow with that goddamned, stupid, oversized hammer of his, you unleash the trick up your sleeve, literally.
Summoning the power of Ebrietas herself, poor thing, I’m sorry, you knock him down with an irritated huff.
“That’s quite enough, bothersome hunter,” you grunt, watching as he helplessly churns into nothing but a faint memory, “Run along back to your dream, and leave us to ours.”
You pant with the effort, the realization of what you’ve just done setting into your reality. Micolash glances up at you. His face is unreadable, considering the man has the lightest eyebrows you've seen yet. A hand holds the arm that had just unleashed the power of a great one upon an innocent man.
An ‘innocent’ man that had just tried to kill your partner. How foolish can one be, to waltz into another’s domain and expect to escape unscathed? Had that hunter had his brains replaced with cold porridge? That meddlesome, mouse-brained excuse for a hunter?
Suddenly you scoff out a laugh. The situation now seems more absurd than tragic. Micolash stares, dumbfounded, then mirrors you gleefully. Your hoots and hollers echo down the hallways bouncing back with such reverb it’s almost like you’re at a bustling gathering, complete with chattering, guffawing women.
“That’s the spirit. No one can catch us, remember that,” He bellows, still cackling, as if this whole situation was just a terrible joke, and you do the same, “No one can stop us now!” He holds his stomach, grinning all the time.
You can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears, the beating of your heart, and the bone-chilling, delirious chortles that’ve erupted from your throat.
