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#bill skarsgård fanfiction
soohaaaleemeee · 5 months
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The Finer Things - Teaser
A Vincent de Gramont story
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What was he doing there?
And what the fuck was he wearing?
Ines looked at the tall man walking around in the white, bright gallery. He was dressed in a suit with a dark blue velvet dinner jacket even if it was just noon. She couldn't stop herself from giggling when she saw the man, obviously he tried to make himself more important than he was.
She looked through some paper for the next exhibition while the man walked around with a sour face. He was clearly not impressed but Ines didn't care. He was not their target group. Did he wear a costume? Was he a part of some sort of game theater?
With an eye roll she walked up to him. She expected to try to keep herself from laughing at him but that changed quickly when he looked at her. He had piercing green eyes that scanned her up and down like she didn't belong in her own gallery.
"Mostly trash here," he said with a french accent and looked her up and down. Ines couldn't say if he meant the art or if he meant her. She laughed a bit insecure while the man continued to look at her without blinking. He just stood with his hands in his pants pockets. It was clearly not a costume, it was fitted and in fine material but it still was strange, not even a prince would dress like that.
"So you haven't found what you're searching for then?"
He licked his lips and raised his eyebrows in an amused way and then smirked condescendingly. When he turned his back to Ines she took the moment to twist her face mockingly. He was a snob and clearly the sort of snob that didn't even think he needed to talk to express his standards.
"So what are you doing here? I mean… You're at a gallery in Brooklyn wouldn't… Europe be more fitting for you?" Ines said with fake interest. To be honest she just wanted him out. Many of the artists were her friends and she was sure he soon would say something mean about the art.
The man dragged a finger over a display and looked at his finger with disgust and then looked at her and held out his fingers towards her.
"Napkin, please," said he like she was his servant and for the moment she guessed she was. She also felt a bit embarrassed because it actually was dusty. She walked away with obvious irritated steps, heavy against the floor and searched after a napkin behind the desk. Was there none? Come on, she didn't want to give the guy the satisfaction of saying a comment about the hygiene.
"I want to talk to the owner actually," he said with his weird french accent and it made Ines look up. Now he stood with a man in a black suit next to him. He was beefy and she wondered how he could have walked into the small gallery without her having heard him. He stood and held out a box of napkins towards the tall man who wiped his hands with the same disgusted face. She hadn't forced him to touch the dust, so why did he even think it was so gross? She looked at the beefy guy again. He looked like a bodyguard and it made her wonder again who the man dressed in velvet was.
"I'm the owner?" Said Ines confused and got the man to look at her with furrowed brows.
"You?" He asked, voice full of despise.
"Yes? Do you think I'm too trash for that?" She asked and crossed her arms behind the desk.
The man put his hands in his pants pockets again and walked up to her slowly. It felt threatening and for a moment Ines wondered if she should hide in the back, lock herself in and wait for the man to disappear.
He pulled down the corner of his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. He looked at her for a few seconds and then gave her a charming smile that changed his face completely.
"Not at all… I'm here to see the Pivoine painting."
Ines dropped her face and swallowed hard. Few people knew about that painting. Few knew what a goldmine she had at home in her dining room.
"I don't know what you mean?" She tried but her eyes were glassy.
"Yes you do. The Pivoine of a woman eating an apple?"
She could feel sweat breaking out on her forehead and she looked around worriedly. She had been worried about this day for so long, the day someone had told the wrong person about the portrait of her grandmother made by her lover, the world famous artist Pivoine.
The tall man smirked and reached out a hand towards her.
"Let me introduce myself…" Ines took his hand reluctantly.
"My name is Vincent de Gramont and I will make you into a rich, rich girl."
Ines swallowed hard and let go of his hand.
"I know what museums and private collectors are prepared to pay for it but I don't want to…"
"I wouldn't sell it that way. I have other ways…" he interrupted her but looked her straight in the eyes. His eyes were really mesmerizing and it felt like she couldn't say no to him. He licked his plump lips and for a few seconds she admired his looks. Chocolate hair, flawless skin and those lips… She shook it off like the thoughts were something inappropriate and looked down at the desk.
"What would you win on that?"
She gave him a look again but lowered her eyes when she realized he watched her with the same intense stare.
"We can say like this, I need the distraction. And I love a good art deal."
×
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bill-skarsgalactic · 8 months
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so, I know the fandom's on the quieter side these days, but I'm working on a little roman godfrey fic... show of hands, who'd like to see it once it's done?
Edit: first part is up on my page now, it's called Tempest.
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alphabetbill · 10 days
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I’d be down to read alphabet one shots of the marquis!!!
Awesome! I'll definitely start writing down some ideas! Let me know if there's anything you'd be specifically interested in seeing included in the list of headcanons :)
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ill-skillsgard · 1 year
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But if I write the Marquis de Gramont he will be bisexual sooo. No way around that one.
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Baby Skarsgård #2
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Imagine you announcing on Instagram that you are pregnant again.
August 21st, 2022
Y/N Skarsgård and Husband Bill Skarsgård are expecting their second child together.
Y/N Skarsgård had announced on her Instagram that she and her husband are expecting their second child.
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Y/N and Bill welcomed their child back in 2018. They welcomed a daughter together but they never told us what they named her.
Mommy ," Four Year Old Lisa Marie asked?
Yeah honey ," You asked as you smiled at her.
How did my baby sister get inside you ," Lisa Marie asked?
Um ," You said as you look at bill.
We will tell you when you get older honey ," Bill said as he gave her a sly smile.
You look at him with a smile.
Why don't you go and play? I will have your lunch ready," You said as you smiled at her.
Ok mommy," Lisa Marie said with a smile before she runs off.
Can we handled a four year old and a newborn. " You asked as you gave him a sly smile.
We will be just fine ," Bill said as he kisses your head.
You sigh as you lay your head on his shoulder .
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anastasiaskarsgard · 2 years
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Happy destruction
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Gordon Merkel was not having a good night. Scratch that. The whole week had been an utter shit show. This was just the absolute most annoying way to end it.
“Why am I always chosen for these assignments? I’m not the youngest agent and I definitely don’t enjoy the music.” He complained into his phone.
Looking around, it was hard to believe that anything was going on. The endless warehouses in every direction, and sub par lighting hardly helped illuminate the area. Not that anyone would want to look at the gray block walls or dirty concrete, but it left a lot to be desired. If it weren’t for the pounding telltale bass, he’d swear he was in the wrong place.
“That’s exactly why you’re the best man for the job. You won’t get distracted by the pretty lights, and I don’t have to mention avoiding the scantily clad women as well.” His boss chuckled over the secured line. “It should be so loud, no one will even notice he’s dead till you’re long gone. I will be waiting on the confirmation.”
With that, the line went dead and Merkel stepped out of his vehicle. Glancing around, he lit a cigarette and took a deep inhale. Letting the nicotine calm his frazzled nerves, he closed his eyes, wishing for silence. He hated being an assassin. He’d much rather gather intel or get documents. He had no issue with being support for someone else that he knew killed people. He just never was able to not be bothered by being the cause.
He loved his job. It definitely wasn’t boring and he felt like sometimes he was really making a difference, but then jobs like this came along and he questioned if maybe he’d given up everything for petty bullshit.
In his line of work, he couldn’t have any attachments. No relationships or entanglements. He wasn’t allowed to get close to anyone or offer any type of transparency to anyone. He constantly was moving around and changing identities, so even if he did make the error of getting attached, he put that person in danger from the enemy and his own organization as well.
He’d always been a lone wolf and liked his solitude. Women were never a challenge and only interested him for shallow carnal interactions. He’d never been infatuated or obsessed over anyone with a pulse. Work was his entire universe and he rarely second guessed it.
Except when he had to go in a noisy night club full of sweaty people, and seek out a needle in a haystack. To add some more aggravation, he had to take out a target in the organized chaos, and then get out before the army of idiot meat head bouncers took notice.
“What look are you going for? Fucking mobster ?”
Merkel’s eyes popped open and he turned jerkily to an apparent fairy girl. Long silken tresses, elaborate make up, drawing attention to large blue eyes and full pouty lips only added to the glittery bra and skirt finished off with large purple wings. What this stunning girl was doing in this area escaped him a moment before realizing she was likely there for the same club that he was. L
Not able to stop himself, he laughed heartily at the girls expense before asking her what the fuck she was. “Let me guess! The tooth fairy? Sparkle fairy? Am I close?”
The girl crossed her arms and glared. “This is a happy hardcore event.”
“Obviously.” He stated, gesturing to her ensemble with his cigarette. “Thanks for your concern, but I hardly think a designer suit will be looked down on in a club.”
“It’s a good thing you’re so pretty, cuz you sure are fucking dumb. How did a guy like you even hear about this? I hardly think it’s your scene.”
Not comfortable with all the questions, he dropped his cigarette and turned to make his way towards the underground club in the warehouse district and get this over with.
“It’s just you’re really gonna stand out and look like a cop or something, and then no one will like you. I’m all about PLUR. Plus you’re a very pretty boy.”
Freezing mid stride, he had to admit she brought a great point forward. If everyone in there looked like Ms sparkle tits right here, he would stand out and that was never a good thing when you were trying to get in and get out with little notice. But he really didn’t want to know what the male counterpart of her get up was.
Cursing his superiors, and his profession, he turned around offering his most playful smile. “Well then I hope you have some idea of how to make me acceptable. Make over maybe? I’m all out of wings and glitter unfortunately-“
“Lucky for you, I always come preparede!” The fairy girl squealed, reaching out and snatching his hand. “Come to my car and we can make you presentable! I have the perfect vision if you trust me.” Pulling him along, he couldn’t help but smirk at her enthusiasm.
“I have a hard time trusting people.”
“That’s sad but it’s ok. I will fix that.” She smiled back at him.
Lifting a single brow incredulously, he did a scan of the area to be sure she wasn’t leading him to a dark corner to get robbed by some amateur.
Stopping at a large Mercedes SUV, the cars lights flashed as the car seemed to sense her near. Opening the tailgate with a push of a hidden button, the back revealed an assortment of brightly colored accessories. “Jesus you weren’t kidding.” He mused.
“Take your shirt off.” She demanded as she began to paw through her items.
“But you havent even bought me dinner.” He teased as he began unbuttoning his shirt. He hadn’t really had any fun lately, and eventhough this girl was bossy, she seemed pretty fun. The more he looked at her, the better looking he realized she was as well. Underneath all the make up and glitter and wings was a very nice body and gorgeous face. His target may just be gifted with a few more hours. “Seriously though, isn’t it dangerous to meet strange men, lead them down a dark alley and get them naked?”
Huffing indignantly, she turned scanning his torso up and down, “I’m an excellent judge of character and you’re harmless. Not exactly a gentleman, but a good guy.”
Merkel bit back his scoff and just nodded in agreement. She really was just too cute. Terrible fucking judge of character however. “What’s your name?” He asked before he could really think about it.
“Lark. Yours?”
“just Lark? No last name?” He stalled, as he went through his aliases and tried to decide on the most fitting one for the city that he also was willing to throw away since he’d never be able to use it again. He had 5 different IDs on him, and was certain this place would card.
“Lark Stark. I know, it’s horrible. My dad and his sense of humor.”
Gordon’s stomach dropped, but his smile never wavered. His targets last name was Stark. He owned the place along with most of the rest of the warehouses in this district. He hadn’t been told what he’d done to become a target, but none of the people he went after were upstanding citizens. They were the worst of the worst. Human traffickers, drug lords, serial killers for hire, weapons smugglers, enemies to their countries and the list went on. He instantly looked at her more cautiously now. No children of the evil elite were innocent. At least knowing that fact, would make it easier not to feel guilty when he ducked her over.
“My name is nearly as bad. Bruce Wayne.” He needed to get rid of that alias anyway. Seemed like a funny joke at the time, but it stuck out too much.
Lark burst into giggles. “No it’s not! That’s funny. We both have superhero alter ego last names. I think we’re soulmates.”
“Obviously.” Full smile.
“Ok now let me finish.” She said before getting back to drawing all over his face and body.
It appeared she was just going to put brightly colored black light paint all over him and hopefully call it good.
Not really able to see what she was doing to him, he just decided to let her have her way. Besides, the more shit she put on him, the harder he’d be to identify. He couldn’t help but admire her face as she made the cutest look of concentration. Every time their eyes met, she’d blush adorably. He really wanted to fuck her.
Finally stepping back to admire her work, before jumping up and down and clapping, he was all set to go dance his little heart out with the gorgeous glitter fairy, and maybe even get his rocks off with her in some dark corner or bathroom. Since her dad owned the joint, maybe there was a secret room he could properly fuck her in. She really was nice to help him like this, and she seemed like she was a ray of sunshine, even in the darkest places. He at least wanted to show her some kindness in return. Make her feel as beautiful as she obviously is.
Right before he killed her dad and never saw her again.
Grabbing his hand again, she swung their arms and started telling him about the DJs playing, and a bunch of music he’d never heard of. He wasn’t really listening, just watching her face as she spoke. She was so hot. Too bad he’d never see her again after this.
Coming to a halt at a non descript door, she knocked a certain pattern, and turned to him smiling.
“I think the entrance is actually around the corner,” he said helpfully. He figured she was aware of that, but he wasn’t going to act like he knew anything about anything.
“Not when you’re with a VIP.”
He didn’t know what came over him but he reached out and pulled her to him so they were nose to nose. “You’re really pretty.” He breathed out before kissing her passionately. The door opened, but he wasn’t done. Nipping at her bottom lip before pulling away and turning to the shocked door guy, he tried to will away his erection that was speedily making itself known.
“Hi Bruno!” She shouted happily before pulling “Bruce” along behind her. “This is my boyfriend Bruce. It’s pretty serious.” Turning back, she winked.
“Might as well just say fiancé and go all out. Your ring clashed with your fairy look.”
Laughing out loud, eyes sparkling, she danced as she lead him along towards a large bar. “What would you like?” She shouted over the pounding bass.
“Surprise me!” He yelled back. Taking a look around his surroundings, he noticed several people were watching them. So much for not getting noticed.
“Are you a slut?”
Merkel would of choked if he had been drinking something. “Excuse me?”
“Are you a slut?” She asked nonplussed, “it’s just I don’t want to be seen with some pretty man whore that half the girls in the room have fucked and look like an even bigger idiot.”
Merkel for the first time that evening, considered the feelings of the girl before him. She was trying to put on a brave face, but she had obvious tells he was trained to pick up on. She had bitten her lip a bit so it was slightly swollen on one side, her toe was grinding into the floor, and a piece of her perfectly curled hair, looked like it’d been chewed on at some point. He’d noticed earlier that her cuticles looked abused as well. All signs of anxiety or some type of insecurity.
Grabbing her hand and pulling her into a hug so she could hear him in the ridiculously loud club, he soothed, “I’m not a slut, I’m not a saint either. I travel a lot and cannot be a boyfriend, but I would love to spend the evening with you. You’re extremely gorgeous and I have no expectations, I’d just really like to know you.”
Pulling back to see her face, she offered the most breathtaking smile that literally took his breath away.
Later he would look back and realize that right at that moment, he should of turned around, run away, and never looked back.
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svenskakalleanka · 1 year
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https://www.wattpad.com/story/198511813?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=SkarsgardHeaven&wp_originator=8k7Uby2hqbxbhVUWtswwgCpJ0eazxsF1CViYIEmXQPP52yJSb7t4jBNTiYQ7x6hofundJi%2Bhu2%2FgW2KtgiZ9OtN3RKIWFcxYGOC%2FF%2BUBp6VyKLKuTAM5d%2BKTPt31L4X9
I did this years ago. But I never really published anything. But here it is. I am not active that much anymore. But who knows. Maybe I’ll write again soon.
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nyxvuxoa-writes · 8 months
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Hello, my love... so okay... yes... would you kindly do.... Prompt #176. “I’m going to fuck you against the windows, i want everyone to see how good you are.” This prompt is for Roman Godfrey...
👉👈Thank you 👉👈
Imma go hide in a dark corner now...
Excited to finally write something for you that is tailored for you and not having you just appeal to my obsessions. I hope you like this.
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𝑨 𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝑽𝒊𝒆𝒘
Roman Godfrey x Fem!Reader
#176. “I’m going to fuck you against the windows, i want everyone to see how good you are.”
◢ Genre: A touch of fluff, Kink, Smut ---- Suitable For Adults Only
◢ Warnings: PWP, dom!Roman, submissive!reader, exhibitionism, sort of window fetish, sort of public sex(?), some spanking, unprotected sex, p in v, sex from behind, hair pulling, biting, creampie, sexy time talk. slight praise kink, begging, mention of aftercare.
◢ Word Count: 2.6k
◢ A/N: Okay, so I have never written for Roman before, but I feel this will be pretty straightforward. I hope it hits all the right spots.
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You have become accustom to how your relationship with Roman had grown. There was a sort of mutual understanding on how things are with him. He is in charge, and you had a 'place' to be in, for lack of better terms. In some small way you had control, but not in the normal sense of things; you had the control that a submissive in a bdsm relationship would have it.
This is your relationship with Roman. You are his submissive and he is your master. But when you are asked to strip down and stand in front of floor to ceiling windows, you hesitate slightly. Your eyes gaze to the window, watching as people walk past it. You would feel and be rather exposed to anyone who had possible wondering eyes.
After a moment though, and wanting to avoid correction, you slowly manage to strip down to nothing. Kicking your clothes to side, you look down at them like you had just lost your security blanket. Instinctually you want to cover yourself with your arms. It was natural for you to keep yourself covered, feeling rather unconfident, but you knew he would correct you. A part of you hated it.
Slowly you take in a deep breath through your nose, your fingers pressing into the palm of you hand. Roman was always one to push those boundaries with you. He like getting you to try something new, even if it made you a little scared or uncomfortable. He damn well knew this was going to make you uncomfortable. A part of him questioned if you would need to use your safe word. He hoped not.
Walking around you like an animal observing a cornered prey, he couldn't help but smirk slightly, a small chuckle escaping him. His finger reach over and the tips of them so gently graze your skin, moving from the side of your thigh and up around your body as he walked back around to stand in front of you. He fingers come to your nipple and he pinches and pulls at it slightly.
You tense a bit, feeling a small bit of pain. For a moment your lips push out and your brow furrows, almost as if you are pouting at him for doing that to you. At least he knows that he has your attention. You're focused and not zoned out, or withdrawing too much into yourself. This was going to be a big step for you.
“I’m going to fuck you against the windows, I want everyone to see how good you are.” He states, cutting straight to the point for the reason he had you here right now.
Your eyes go wide. "What?"
"I'm going to fuck you against the windows." He repeated, his tone slowing down slightly as he is allowing the sentence to sink into your brain for a moment. He licks at his lips as his hands reach up and he starts to take off his suit coat, laying it over the couch. He doesn't opt to take off his shirt, instead he loosens the tie and rolls up his sleeves to expose his forearms.
You could have used your safeword at that moment. You could have stopped him dead in his tracks and kept it from happening. The choice was right there and for a moment you considered it. But at the same time, there was something appealing about the idea. How many people would notice? How many people could stop to watch to see what was going on in the window.
Watching as Roman turned around and slid his hands into his pockets, watching you closely, you could feel as your heart started to pound in your chest. This wasn't how you were expecting your night to go. It was scary, but exciting. A small part of you remembered that you could stop this at any point if it became too much, and you mentally reminded yourself of that.
Letting your body relax, you looked at Roman with a small smile before you nodded your head, giving him that sort of consent that you were going to give it a shot. Roman smiles slightly, approaching you to cup your chin in his hand as he lifts your head to gaze up at him. He leans in and kisses you, pressing his lips roughly against yours before he spins you around to the window.
Gripping your arms, he brings your hands up to the window and presses your palms against it as he bends you over slightly. His hands move to your hips and he brings your hips out slightly, bringing you to that perfect level for him. His hand move gently over your lower back, grazing against your ass as he gently grips at your left cheek, his fingers pressing for a moment before brings his hand up and smacks it down against your flesh.
You tense and jump slightly. You had been expecting the motion, but it still had caught you off guard. This only caused your heart to pound in your chest a little more. Why did you have to face the window? Couldn't he have just lifted you up and pressed you against it? By his logic, sure, and maybe at some point he will. But this way people could see the faces you make as he presses his cock into the dewy folds between your legs. Bonus points if there happened to be an ex that walked by at that moment, but he doubt he would get that lucky.
A small chuckle escapes him as he steps back and takes a moment to observe you and the people that were already glancing into the window. This was going to be satisfying. His jaw clenches slightly, feeling himself starting to quickly stiffen in the restricting fabric of his pants. He starts to undo his belt, a sound that causes your ears to hyper-tune into it with clashing of the metal buckle. But he doesn't take it off, he simply starts to unbutton his pants, letting them drop just enough with his briefs to free his growing erect self.
Keeping his erect self in one hand, he reaches forward wit the other and bring his fingers to graze against your lower lips. Roman can feel the dampness spread as he presses his fingers into the folds slightly and runs them against your clit. This causes you to lift your hips slightly, a wave of excitement rushing over you with that feeling of anticipation and being nervous. It was a lot to feel at once and it caused goosebumps against your skin.
His finger press into your hole, as if he was preparing you to be ready for what would come right after them. He slowly pushes them deeply, reaching the full length of the fingers and starts to do a back and forth motion. You moan softly, your legs spreading a little bit as your juices start to coat them. Feeling satisfied with how wet you are becoming, Roman removes his fingers from you and positions himself behind you.
For a moment, your eyes glance up at the window and you can somewhat make out your reflections in it. Your lips part in a heavy breath as you watch, your vision going from his reflection and the people outside. A few stood by to watch, acting as though they were just leaning against something. Others simply shook their heads and walked on. This caused your heart to race further. Could you get in trouble for this? Technically speaking, yes.
Your toes curl slightly against the floor as you feel the head of Roman's cock pressing against your hole and then slowly sliding into you. He lets out a heavy groan, his hands quickly moving to your hips as he grips on and presses his entire length deeply into you. Your body grips at him, taking him deeply as your muscles felt around him slightly, almost as if to pull him in deeper.
Your slow moan and gasp for air felt louder than you intended, as if it bounced off the window in front of you and back at you. Your suck in your stomach a moment, feeling you body tense as his motions start in. First he moved slowly, bringing himself back to tip before he pressed his length into you again. He relished in the moment of how you felt around him. He was the reason you were tight. He was the reason you were wet. That is a satisfying feeling to him.
His hands travel against your body, moving from your hips up your side and resting against your ribs. For a moment his fingers dig into you, sending a little pain to mix with the feeling of pleasure, and that causes you to moan a little louder and press your hips back into his. When your ass met his somewhat open pants and flesh, he groaned, tensing slightly. You were letting that wall down, exploring something new, and he was eating it up.
Roman starts to pick up his pace as he grips at your ribs, allowing for just slightly quicker motions into your wet fold. He keeps himself buried a little more, no longer letting you feel the full length, but instead letting you feel the slightly faster, forceful nature of his hips. His breathing starts to pick up as he hears your moans and for a moment he leans forward slightly.
One hand reaches forward, gripping at your breast. He squeezes it in his hand as he presses his entire length into you, holding it for a moment as he allows his hand to fondle with your chest. His lips start to wonder against your shoulder-blade, kissing at your skin with a sense of passion. It hadn't been just a moment into hearing you moan more that Roman starts his motions again, pumping his hips into you.
"You feel so good." He mutters. "So wet. So tight. Are you my good girl?" He asks, while still leaning over slightly against your back.
You nod quickly, moaning and breathing heavily. You had forgotten what your hands were pressed against, the feeling of the glass more slick under your palms with sweat. He smirks against your skin slightly as he presses his teeth into your shoulder, biting at you a little, as his motions become more rough. Screaming out, your head drops a little more as your body tense out in both pain and pleasure.
Roman comes from the bite, lifting his lips and teeth off your shoulder-blade to see deeply purple markings and a faint bruise already starting to form. What's his, is his and he has no issues with marking his girl. Feeling pleased with himself, his cock twitches and hardens a little more inside you, which causes him to bring his hands back to your waist.
He started to give rougher, more forceful thrusts into you. Groaning and moaning loudly with you. The occasional fuck or oh god leaving someone's lips in a breathy moaned tone. The louder you became the rougher his motions started to get. Eventually, Roman's hands were in your hair and he was pulling on it. He pulled you back slightly, arching your back a bit, as his knees bent just enough to give himself a different angle.
He pressed himself into deeply, finding that right length to insert that would hit your sweet spot. He causes your legs to shake, trembling under you and you feel like your about to give way and lose your self of balance. He knew what that leg shaking meant, that tremble that ran through your body was something he had memorized. He learned how to work you, to help you achieve the finish that you craved from from.
"Good girl. My wonderful girl. Does that feel good?" He ask. "Y-yes Sir." You stammer, your fingers and palms red from how hard you were pressing them into the window. "Would you like to cum baby?" He coos at you, pressing his length in deeply as he says the word cum.
You moan and nod, hoping that he doesn't ask you to beg for it. But it was instinct, and before he could even say it, you were already begging for that sweet release.
"Please, can I cum? Please? I'm right there." You manage to get out between moans and heaving breaths. Roman looks amused, and rather proud of you.
"Ask me again." He mutters, almost growling as he's trying to contain his own moans for just a moment.
"Please. May I cum? Please let me cum." You insist. "Alright. Cum baby. Make a mess for me." He says, as both his hands go to grip at your sides.
You start to take some sort of small control as you rock your body back and forth a moment, starting to bounce yourself against Roman's length. He doesn't stop you and you cause his body to tense and the pressure to build more and more. "Oh fuck..." He manages to mutter. "Don't stop baby. Keep going. Keep going." He says, almost begging you. "You've got me right there baby."
You pick up the pace, feeling that release right on the edge there. And as he speaks, that begging and slightly needy tone coming from him, you find yourself trembling with a finish. Feeling like electricity was moving from head to toe, your body tenses and you start to have a heavy tremble work it's way through you. You cry out, moaning loudly as you keep yourself bouncing back and forth against him.
The feeling of your finish drove him. The way you tightened around him and moved against his length with desire and need, worked him to release that finish. He let go, his own legs trembling slightly as his fingers press into your skin. At first his head hung back in a moan before it drops down and he starts to give you short, hard thrusts, making sure to coat your insides with his seed.
For a moment, you both stood there, allowing yourselves to come down from the moment. He couldn't help but chuckle, feeling as you press back once more against him. Roman gives a small thwack at your ass and another grip at it for good measure, before he slowly pulls himself from you. It feels like you have lost your sense of legs, they shake under you with a heavy tremble and you wonder if you are even able to walk right now.
Roman smiles, helping you a moment as he turns you back to him and wraps his arms around your waist. His lips met yours and he kisses you deeply before pulling from it, allowing himself a moment to simply look at your features. This man adores you, with every fiber of his being.
"I'm proud of you." He comments. "Why?" You ask quietly, gazing up at him. "You didn't need to use your safe word. You went with it." He tells you honestly before he kisses you again. "How about we get you into a hot bath and I order some food?" He suggests, reaching up to touch the side of your face. You smile at him, feeling almost shy about being praised, but it felt good at the same time. Hearing that you have done good, that you have made him proud, it sort of drives you. It keeps you going. It gives you the motivation to care.
"A bath sound good." You state. It wasn't always easy to let someone take care of you, but right now, it felt right. It was going to be a good night and everything in your body told you that. Roman didn't hesitate, he takes your hand and helps you to the bathroom, making sure that you have fresh clothes and a big, clean, fluffy towel to dry off with. You are a good girl, and he was going to make sure you know it. After all, he's not the type of man to slack.
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ilongfor-the-arts · 8 months
Note
Just read the museum marquis fic and I love it. I wonder what would a fanfic where the marquis de gramont met a ballerina reader?
Poetry in Motion
Pairing: Marquis de Gramont x fem! Reader
Warnings: mild language
Summary: A tall and handsome man has been watching you preform for a while. What will happen when he finally chooses to introduce himself?
Word Count: 2.5k
I got multiple reqs for this! So, here ya go! Enjoy!
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“You’re late Y/N!”
I dashed into the locker room, tossing my bag atop the dressing room counter.
“I know! I know! I’m really sorry! My apartment door wouldn’t lock and there was traffic and then-”
My director held up a hand, silencing me.
“I don’t care. Please-just, be ready to go by showtime.”
I nodded vigorously.
“Yes, yes, of course. I will be ready, I promise.”
She quickly turned on her heels and began walking in the opposite direction. Her blue dress swayed gently as the dancers rushed around her. Her spine was straight, her posture rigid.
I don’t blame her. I'm just as nervous as everyone else to see how this performance goes. Unfortunately, I'm a dancer, so rigid posture isn't ideal. I'm forced to keep my anxiety bottled up inside my head.
“Y/N.”
My friend called my name, jolting me from my trance. She was fully dressed, with a full face of makeup. She stared at me, completely stunned.
“Y/N, you better hurry! Everyone else is ready to go!”
I moved rapidly, quickly opening my makeup bag, praying I had enough time.
“What took you so long?”
I slapped my palms against the table, annoyed.
“Oh, Clara, it’s been such an aggravating day.”
I stared at my reflection, watching as the foundation completely coated my face.
“Do tell.”
I took out my eye makeup.
“Well, first my apartment wouldn’t lock.”
I closed one eye and applied eyeshadow as quickly as I could.
“My key wouldn’t work! And of course I couldn’t just leave my apartment unlocked so I had to bother my neighbor to get the spare key I gave her.”
I moved on to the other eye.
“Then there was so much traffic. Then I couldn’t find a good parking spot because I got here so late. Then I had to walk almost six blocks.”
My eye makeup looked... alright. Sure, if I had an extra hour, I could make it look fantastic. But, due to my unfortunate situation, I had to settle for average.
“Wow girl, that’s rough. I’m sorry.”
I pulled out my blush.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think that cute guy will be here tonight.”
I scoffed loudly.
“He’s always here. If he goes four days without seeing a ballet, just assume he’s dead.”
Oh my goodness, that blush color was really clashing with my eyeshadow. Shit! I didn't have time to remove it and start over. Perhaps I could just add another color to my eyes, creating a strange hybrid color that would blend well with the blush.
“I don’t know Y/N. I’ve been here longer than you, and he only started going regularly once you got here.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, right. It’s probably just a coincidence. I doubt he’d spend a shit ton of money on fancy ballet tickets just to see some pretty girl dance.”
I watched Clara shrug from the corner of my eye.
“I dunno. He always dresses like he’s ready to meet the queen, and he sits in a box. He doesn’t seem short on funds. He definitely could be the type to buy ballet tickets just to admire you.”
Okay, the blush and eyeshadow looked fine. I could handle "fine." I could work with "fine.”
“I don’t know Clara. You know, when you watch a performance, faces and names blend together because there are so many people on stage. I doubt he picked me out of the crowd and decided I was going to become the object of his affection.”
I put on some red lipstick, trying not to be distracted by the fact that all the dancers I saw in the mirror were fully prepared.
“Besides, a handsome man like that?... he probably has a girlfriend.”
Clara perked up.
“Oh, so you admit you think he’s handsome.”
I rolled my eyes for a second time.
“I mean, come on Clara, look at him!”
Clara let out a loud and obnoxious laugh. My face turned hot. Thankfully, the makeup covered most of the natural pink that had begun to appear on my cheeks.
“Oh my God you have a little crush on him, don’t you!”
I held up my hands in defense.
“I am not having this conversation right now!”
I stood, rushing over to the costume rack.
“I’ve never seen him with a girl Y/N! I think he’s single and ready to mingle!”
Clara’s loud voice drew some attention. I swiveled on my heels and placed a finger to my lips.
“Sh!”
-
The show was finished, and the final bows were taken.
The roar of the crowd washed over me like a wave. I was moved to know that they were all applauding for this performance. As the entire company gathered for one final bow, I observed the crowd's faces contort into bright smiles. I felt moved knowing that at least one person in the audience was thinking about what a wonderful job I did tonight.
I hoped it was the man whose appearance I had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks.
The gold theater sparkled. The red seats gradually vanished as people rose to pay their respects to the performers.
I was unable to avoid glancing around at the various people in the crowd. I started in the box seats, hoping to spot a tall man with a penchant for fashion.
No luck.
My gaze was drawn to the floor seats. I scanned them all as quickly as I could. Maybe he sat closer? If he truly came to see me, it wouldn't hurt to get the best view possible in the front row.
No luck.
I'm not sure why I was so desperate for him to be here. Nonetheless, I felt my heart sink slightly as I considered the possibility that he missed tonight's performance.
We finished with a company bow. We waved goodbye, and quickly scattered off the stage.
“Y/N!”
Clara exclaimed as we walked back to the dressing rooms.
“You did so well! Jesus, I thought for sure you’d be all scattered from coming in late, but you really pulled it off well!”
I didn't notice her hands cutting through the air as she spoke. I didn't even bother looking at her. I kept my head down, stuffing various cosmetics into my black backpack.
“Thanks Clara.”
I said flatly.
“Alright, what’s going on? Who’s got you bummed?”
I grit my teeth.
“He’s not here tonight.”
Clara leaned in.
“What did you say?”
“I said he’s not here tonight!”
I snapped involuntarily. Clara retreated.
“Woah woah, how do you know this?”
“I didn’t see him in the crowd.”
Clara furrowed her brow.
“Come on Y/N, there’s thousands of people in that crowd! There’s no way you could’ve checked every seat for him!”
My lips were pursed. Clara wrapped her hands around my shoulders, soothing me. She leaned into my ear, lowering her voice to a whisper.
“I bet he showed up tonight. And if he didn’t, it was his loss entirely.”
-
The cold Paris air bit at my exposed skin. The chill penetrated my tank top, chilling me to the bone. I drew the sides of my peacoat together, attempting to conceal my torso and thighs from the wind.
I began to stroll, trying to enjoy the lovely Paris evening despite the fact that so much was less than ideal.
After about thirty paces, I was struck by an uneasy sense that someone was watching me. I initially ignored it. There were numerous high-rise apartment buildings. I'm sure that feeling came from being a window away from someone's living space, and the possibility that someone was watching me inadvertently.
I couldn't shake the feeling even after another thirty paces. The buildings in this particular neighborhood were completely dark. That is, everyone was sleeping, and if anyone was watching me, it probably would go unnoticed by bystanders.
I took a peek over my shoulder to ensure my intuition was correct.
About thirty feet behind me was a tall, lanky man in a black coat.
Alright, probably just a coincidence-
Wait.
I did a double take.
Holy shit.
It was the guy from the ballet!
This all is just one big coincidence.
I kept my head down, trying to maintain my composure.
His footsteps became audible. I focused on them, noticing that they were becoming slightly louder with every step.
Shit.
Shit!
God, this guy is a total creep! How could I be so stupid?!
I’m about to get totally kidnapped!
I started to move faster, trying to appear calm despite being aware that my heart was pounding in my ears. My blood rushed to my heart, leaving my face pale and cold.
God, he’s getting closer!
Jesus my stomach is in knots!
“Don’t look so frightened, darling.”
The man’s velvety accent pierced the air like a knife. My heart jumped.
I’m fucked.
“Really, I just want to talk with you.”
No way in hell was I stopping. My calves burned. My eyes were wide. My hands trembled within my pockets.
My chest came into contact with something solid. I stumbled back, looking up.
Oh my goodness, he was right in front of me.
How did he get there without me hearing?
The heat left my body.
I stood, wide eyed and perplexed.
The man's neutral gaze softened as he noticed my anxiety.
“I am very sorry to have frightened you, madame. I am simply a fan wishing to pay my respects.”
He placed a hand on his chest.
“I promise, I mean no harm. There is no reason to be frightened.”
He was considerably taller than me. In two seconds, he could pick me up and throw me into the back of a shady white van.
Nonetheless, his luxurious accent and courteous eyes made me believe he was telling the truth. So I allowed myself to relax ever so slightly.
“Did you come and see the show tonight?”
A smirk played on the corners of his lips.
“But of course. It would be foolish of me to disregard the opportunity to observe such talent.”
Wow, I'm going to give credit where credit is due. He’s a smooth talker. He speaks with such elegance. I'm unable to ignore his words. With bated breath, I await each sentence.
“Well, that is very kind of you to say.”
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his black overcoat, shrugging nonchalantly.
“I only convey the complete truth. In my lifetime, I have seen hundreds of ballets, operas, and plays. It is uncommon to find such a passion for the arts in the hearts of the prefromers. Few people allow creativity to encompass every aspect of them. But, I have noticed fire within you.”
He glanced deeply into my eyes, as if he wanted to capture some of the "fire" within me and preserve it for himself.
“I can tell by the way you dance and command the stage.”
The gentle breeze rustled the end of his overcoat as his pale eyes shone in the pale moonlight. He exuded a sense of mystery that beckoned me to embrace the unknown.
“Your blood runs red with creativity.”
He came to a halt, his piercing gaze catching my lips before darting back to my eyes.
“And, your beauty is unmatched.”
Forget about my face being cold; it was now scorching hot. I just hope I kept enough blush on my cheeks to hide the natural pink.
He extends his leg, the buckle of his pricey loafer catching the moonlight. He steps closer, the wonderful aroma of whiskey and bergamot wafting into my nose. The scent cloud muffles my brain, making me dizzy with anticipation.
“How long have you been dancing for?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Oh, well, my entire life. I started the moment I could walk and I’ve pretty much been in the dance studio everyday since.”
The enigmatic man nodded, pleased with my response. I took my hands from my pockets, as they were sweating despite the chill.
“And… Do you enjoy it?”
I nodded vigorously.
“Yes, I remember, um-.”
I took a deep breath, careful not to trip over my words and reveal that my heart was racing.
“I remember my first official dance class. I was- about four or five.”
I swallowed, a lump forming in my throat.
“All the kids were complaining. I mean, y’know, at that age it basically is just an excuse for the parents to get their obnoxious kids out of the house.”
He chuckled.
Yes!
“But I never complained, not once. I loved it from the start. And, it’s completely consumed my life since then.”
He took another step forward. The distance between us was almost non-existent now. To meet his gaze, I had to almost completely crane my neck back.
“I can tell. You don’t just dance, you float over the stage. It really is beautiful to watch.”
His voice dropped to a sultry whisper.
“You are beautiful to watch.”
My stomach flipped.
My breath caught in my throat as he cupped my face with his hand. His grip was gentle, as if he were coddling a baby bird.
My mind was empty, a void waiting to be filled by him.
He exhaled deeply, a breath fanning over my face. I instinctively leaned into him, craving his warmth, craving his scent, craving…
Him.
He ran his calloused thumb along my cheekbone. My face was burning. I knew he could feel it beneath his palm.
He grinned.
“You have a very bright future in the arts. Paris is only the beginning.”
I could sense the tension rising. I was on the edge of my seat, waiting for something magnificent to unfold.
A hug?
A proclamation of love?
A kiss?
“I hope and pray that you will allow me to be an integral component of your bright future.”
He slipped something into my empty pocket sneakily. He smiled broadly. My heart skipped a beat. His smile was enticing, so simple yet so effective.
“Call me, Ma chère.”
He took a step back, turned, and began to stroll away. My shoulders loosened. My chest gave way. My cheeks had lost their warmth. The tension had been released.
I could breathe.
I could think.
“Wait!”
I shouted. He glanced over his shoulder.
His figure looked very intriguing. Most of his ridges and curves were hidden by his long coat. It enticed one to venture into uncharted territories.
“What’s your name?”
He scoffed.
“When you call, I will tell you.”
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twistedbloodstain · 3 months
Note
I have two ideas for the marquis de framing that I think you’d do great writing!
1: where the reader is interrogating the marquis (meaning she kidnapped him) and through there, they start to get feelings for each other
2: reader (who had a relationship of some sort with the marquis) fakes their death because they couldn’t take the assassin world. The marquis is devastated (lots of angst hehehe). They meet again while the reader is trying to help someone (maybe John, lol)
3: reader who is part of the high table meets the marquis for the first time. Sorta like live at first sight.
vincent de gramont x reader: i could never give you peace | what’s meant to be is supposed to be
plot: the one where he finds you again.
warnings: the reader’s a medic/healer in here SORRYYY…, she knew john from before, he rats her out lolz, kidnapping except vincent doesn’t do it this time..(yay! cuz he forced someone else to do it!!!), anon im so sorry i focused too hard on one part, i will do an extra (i swear)
masterlist
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“stay still.” you mumble.
mr. wick lets out a small grunt while you sew his wound back together, nothing too fatal (at least in his standards) but without the help of any anesthesia or alcohol to soothe the pain, the assassin had no choice but to follow.
“don’t worry, it's almost done.” you whisper almost finished with patching up the flesh on his back. “and..there..”
he immediately gets off his seat and reaches for his shirt stationed on a random desk scattered with medical supplies. he digs into his suit jacket and fishes out a coin and hands it over to you, you accept it eagerly and begin cleaning up.
“you need any help with transport?” you inquire while you discard your bloodied gloves and utensils.
“yeah.”
“on your way out turn left and find the guy with a gray jacket. he’s one of winston’s men, he’ll help you out. where are you headed?” you inquire while washing your hands. he hesitantly answers before offering a reply.
“paris.”
“oh.” you stop in your movements and look at him. he stands near the door way all dressed up with blood caking his temples, he still looks rugged and in no shape to do what he has to do in pairs but your opinion likely doesn’t matter to him.
“good luck, i guess.” you mutter.
“you’ve been there.” he says.
“i..have.” you hope he doesn’t press any further.
“what’s in paris?” he questions but doesn’t take a step further.
“for you?” you uneasily say, he doesn’t reply.
“a dangerous man. i..think you’ll die trying just to get what you want, mr. wick. but hey, who knows? maybe, it’s now him.” you explain.
“the guy who had the continental demolished, was it him?” he sternly asks.
“..yes, i think it was him.” you confess, avoiding his eyes.
it had been almost three years since you left that country.
three years since you left him.
you can’t even bear to say his name because if you do, all of it will spill out. how he met you, how kept you and how he loved you. 
he nods, “and for you?”
“an even more dangerous man.”
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 ever since mr. wick entered and left your clinic. you've been in a constant state of anxiety. the mere thought and mention of him had you nervous, especially when you heard that he was in new york a few days ago. you thought it was all over, that he found you and was going to rip you from your freedom in this city.
the following news shocked you to your core, the new york continental being demolished was not in your bingo card as to why he’d be here. all because of an excommunicated assassin which you had tended to almost a day after the bombing.
although you’re horrified with the state of events, relief flooded you when you realized he wasn’t there for you. you’d still be safe from him.
but you can’t help but think what all of this means for him. at some point, you know that john wick will kill him, and you somehow played a part in it. you feel a tinge of regret for him but it’s quickly overshadowed with the horrors he’s done and you don’t feel as bad.
he did like you though, when you still worked at france for him as his estate medic. whenever he found himself wounded in the line of fire in an ambush attack, you were the one who tended to his wounds and saw him at his weakest. you don’t know why but a strong sense of trust was established between the two of you.
you thought it to be a friendship but fleeting glances of affection would seep through when you talked or when a large bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared in your clinic after patching him up. 
you toyed with a pin he gave you, his insignia. only he wore it proudly on his coat and truly, it warmed you to him. he did make you feel appreciated, small touches on your back and sometimes fiddling with your hands whenever you sewed his wounds, gave you butterflies in your stomach.
with you he was just…vincent.
soft words and touches with soulful eyes looking into yours, just gentleness and affection present in him. it made you indulge into it too, that he isn’t the cruel man people made him out to be. he isn’t heartless, that’s just how the world is.
a naive perspective.
a perspective that was easily shattered when you’d hear a bloodcurdling scream from the barn, and he walks out with blood on his hands and a disgusted look on his face from his clothes being stained. gunshots echoing beneath the servant’s staircases and thudding bodies being dragged into the secluded forests of the estate. you whisper to yourself those very same words even if all his actions sent chills on your spine.
but the truth of it is that, he is heartless. he is the man people made him out to be and you’re a fool thinking he could be better for you but at the end of the day, he is still the marquis.
it made you think. what if this is all a game to him? what if the moment he finds you uninteresting you become another stain on his suit? 
it’s not a secret that men like him love having delicate pretty things only to break them apart. that’s all you are his current delicate and pretty thing.
you decided to leave. you weren’t staying long enough to find out what would happen to you, feelings be damned when you’re easily replacable to him. you knew that the marquis was like a dog to a bone when he didn’t get the things he wanted, which only pooled fears into your stomach should he find you in new york.
he cannot have you.
you stare at the pin before chucking the pin somewhere in the room, you get up from your chair and begin closing the windows from your clinic.
a knock comes from the door, you chuck the remaining medical materials into a random desk and walk up to the door. wounded assassins aren’t a strange occurrence at this time of the evening but something…felt different.
your gut was telling you to ignore the person on the other side and stay still. you thought that maybe if you didn’t answer the person would go away. wanting to play things safe you don’t mutter a word that would alert them of your presence. it usually worked in some cases.
the knocking persists, much harder and louder now. your hands begins to shake and your eyes start looking around for an emergency firearm to help defend yourself, your actions frantically halt when you hear a voice through the door.
“doc?” a gruff voice asks.
you sight and put a hand on your chest. it’s just john wick. you eagerly open the door to let him in.
“john.” you greet, “come inside.” you invite him as you walk inside.
john doesn’t follow you and a confused expression takes your face, until you take a good look at him. for the first time, john wick doesn’t look wounded to you, his face and hands void of any blood, a new bulletproof suit adorning his body, a french one you notice but it still leaves you questioning things.
“i’m assuming france went successful.” you say.
“…it’s close.” he pauses before replying, seeming as if he’s finding the right words to say.
“what do you need?” you question.
“it’s winston. he’s been shot.” you freeze.
oh dear. you never really approved of the things he did but a soft spot was always present for him and charon. they helped you settle here in new york, but winston took you in even when he knew of your history with vincent. you swore to always help him in ways you could and now the opportunity presented itself.
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the car sped down the street with you and john in tow. you hold your medical kit close to your lap, feeling uneasy with the thought of losing the old man. charon had been so recent and you don’t think you bear to lose the friends you’ve made along the way.
you glance at john and he looks calm and composed as usual, eerily so. a week earlier he was calm but you could feel his anger and determination simmering underneath his skin. now it looked like he was taking a walk in a park. you eye him carefully, uneasiness seeping in your stomach.
“did they give it to you?” you ask, he looks at you before clearing his throat.
“just an extension.” he answers, knowing exactly what you were referring to.
“to do what?” you ask again, john doesn’t budge and continues driving, ignoring your question. your eyes stay on him but he doesn’t look at you.
silence settles into the car and you lean back in your seat. you really wish your brought your gun with you right now. you don’t know why but you have a feeling that something is wrong right now, especially with john. he’s not telling you something.
or maybe it really is none of your business. perhaps he wanted to spare the bloody details of how he’s going to win his freedom back. you relax and try to forget the uneasiness, trying to remember that winston is the priority right now, you shut your eyes. all of your fears are gathering together and it’s making you overthink your interaction with john, everything’s okay.
the loud sound of drilling makes you open your eyes, you look at the window and you see a familiar street. 
the new york continental was being rebuilt.
your apprehensiveness returns.
“john?” you look at him once again, “who shot winston?”
“he got hit during the line of fire.” this time he replies.
bullshit. winston would have an emergency plan before the shooting started.
“in new york?” you press.
“yeah.”
another bullshit. you could see through his lies, he’s clearly fresh out of france. what was he trying to do? 
“j-john.” you voice shakes almost as if you’re begging. something happened in france, something that saved both winston and john.
he looks at you with regret in his eyes. not enough to save you for what’s about to come.
“where are you taking me?” you sputter, your heart beating fast in anxiety, “i’ve done nothing but help you, please don’t do this!”
“he took winston with him and he found out.” he quietly defends.
“please help me, i don’t want to go back!” you begin crying, tears rolling down your face, “he’ll kill me!” 
he makes no reply and continues driving. with no hope left with him, you try to open your side of the door. he immediately notices this and grabs your arm trying to stop you from leaving, you begin hitting him with your other arm.
you know that he doesn’t want to do this but it feels so unfair. you’ve saved his life only to throw yours away.
“let go of me!” you scream.
“i’m sorry.” 
you feel a prick in your neck.
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you feel a heavy sensation pulling at your leg, your eyes feeling groggy still wanting to keep your lids closed. however the sensation persists and this forces you to open your eyes and sit up.
a dark room welcomes you, only a small lamp helping you take a small look of where you are. specifically, on a plush bed and a decorated room. your body feels heavy  from exhaustion which makes you lean back to the pillow behind you.
pondering what made you feel so tired when you haven’t done much for the night, you’ve sewn back together…a pair of assassins for the night? or was it three? two austrians and…who?a french? no…no..it was winston. 
that’s right.
wait.
only you didn’t treat winston.
you bolt up, your body seemingly sobers from the realization.
john brought you here in exchange for his freedom. 
you look around to see some sort of presence in the room but with the darkness it was hard to tell, nevertheless you hopped off the bed and bolted to the wooden door nearby. no wonder the place looked familiar, only the marquis would have a place as frivolous as this.
you need to leave right now. your hand reaches for the door until you find your body being slammed on the floor. a groan leaves your throat, in pain you massage your forehead and look around.
oh goodness.
a gasp leaves your mouth when you see a chain wrapped around your ankle, you inspect your foot before tracing the lines of chains, which were sourced on the thick foot of the bed you were on.
you tug it to check its strength and to see how long it actually goes. it was long enough to walk around the room but not long enough to reach the door. this is basically your fully furnished torture chamber. 
fuck. fuck. fuck.
a loud creak echoes through the room.
you really hate how things are right now.
he’s going to kill you. kill you for leaving him, how you easily made him look humiliated for being abandoned.
feeling your knees weaken you sit back on the bed and your hands shake in trepidation. the marquis’ simple presence made you scared of him, you felt tears falling down once again and you lowered your head, not wanting to look weak right now.
his footsteps are heard through the room, the door loudly closes shut, a thud echoing. he doesn’t say a word.
you feel everything leave your body. hope,freedom and life mostly.
he walks up to you until you see his shoes on the floor, a blurry sight entering your eyes due to the tears, he touches you, tilting your chin upwards and you do everything not to flinch. was he going to snap your neck?
you look at him and he still looks the same, slightly more mature.
but the same man you met a few years ago, if you jumped back into your rose tinted glasses, you’d probably see the vincent you cherished at some point if you weren’t so frightened right now.
he inspects you, his eyes wandering through your face. searching for something that’s supposed to be there, his lips part almost as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it.
“i-i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” apologies spill out of your lips, wanting to take the chance of saving yourself, “i-i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to.” you cry. your hand reaches up to his hand that held your chin and you grip it for mercy, his hold on you weakens.
he doesn’t say anything and leans forward to you. you need him to say something, anything, whether it meant he’d simply say he wants yuu dead.
“please forgive me, just please don’t kil-“ he cuts you off.
with a kiss.
not a firm one but a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips.
he takes your hands into his and fiddles with it, trying to find his place in them just like before, he halts the kiss and leans towards your face. the man right in front of you wasn’t the marquis, it was vincent. 
your vincent.
the one with soft eyes looking at you with relief and adoration. the gaze that looked at you as if you were the most precious thing on earth, he wipes the tears on your cheeks and the next thing he says dissolves all sense of worry out of you.
“i could never hurt you.” he whispers.
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author’s note: this kinda doesn’t make sense bc im so braindead rn to expand things but basically vincent finds medic!reader through winston and in exchange for the continental and john’s freedom, john brings medic!reader back to vincent. so basically she got ratted out lolz. this would work better if i made a vincent pov would be fun but i have a bunch of prompts to work on…(tempting) + he literally chained her down to him (hshshsh marriage allegory…) i kinda want to be funky dynamic of obsessed man + “ngl what’s wrong with this guy but i vibe with it” woman
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soohaaaleemeee · 10 days
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The Finer Things
His Real World - Part 7
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Characters: Vincent De Garmont, The Marquis, From John Wick 4.
Setting: This story is set in my own universe, so not exactly the John Wick universe.
Warnings: 18+, prejudice and stereotypical thinking about nationalities, smut, violence, talk about death and more. This chapter can be triggering!
Ines looked at the Marquis’ violent behavior with a smirk. She hadn't realized what emotions took over watching him transform into a dark force. She bit her lip and wondered what he said to the man. Sexy threats. Showing off his power and maybe leading questions about what he wants to know. While her thoughts drifted away, the victim turned his face toward her. His face was bloody and swollen, but Ines looked at him like she didn't take in the awful sight. The man pleaded something that just made Vincent laugh and stomp him hard in the chest, so the man started to cough in panic for his life.
Vincent let the man cough while turning to Mylan and saying something to him, who gave Pierre a look instead. Ines looked at them interested until Pierre took a grip on her upper arm and started to walk to the door.
“Hello?? I want to stay!” She tried to push him away, but it was impossible. “Vincent? Baby??” Said she upset. The nickname had just slipped; feelings she hadn't felt before swirled around in her whole body and made her think like a worried girlfriend.
“Let me be here with you!!”
She looked back at him but didn't get any response; he had sat down on the lonely chair and looked at his nails with an inspecting face.
Pierre dragged her out of the room while she kicked to get free, but then he pushed her into their suite. Ines couldn't even talk with him; they didn't know each other's language, so she just stood and stomped in the middle of the hallway while Pierre closed the door.
She couldn't understand why Vincent had decided to push her out just when it started to get good. The man had even turned to her, and she felt like a part of the fun instead of just an audience. She had felt power and excitement floating like warm soda in her veins, as well as something that traveled down to her sex. She sat down on the couch and thought everything through, scene for scene. She thought about the man's face and felt another feeling creep up on her. This wasn't normal. This was psychopathic behavior, or even much worse, and she wished to be a part of it. It wasn't about Vincent. It was she who got a kick out of it and wanted to have a bigger one; see the man's eyes get matted and lifeless. She put her hands over her face and bent back on the couch.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” She exclaimed and hit herself in the head. This was just insane. Who had he made her to? She was just a normal Brooklyn girl. Almost. Almost.
When she had calmed down a bit, she took a big glass of Vincent's Jim Beam and then moved to her room to once again put on the Dr. Dre t-shirt. What surprised her also was how fast she actually calmed down. She had felt panicked fifteen minutes ago, but now, when she sat on the bed, a feeling of indifference sneaked up on her. She didn't care about the man. She didn't care about his life. Instead, she started to think about what had slipped out of her mouth. Baby.
She had called Vincent baby. Like he was her boyfriend. The embarrassment took over her body instead, and she shook her head in disbelief. She had really said it to a man like Vincent. He wasn't a baby.
He wasn't anyone's baby, and because of his need to be a hard, elegant man, he wouldn't be pleased. She called him that in front of his security. They probably didn't even know he had let her come a bit too close.
It took time for Vincent to come to the suite, so she ordered up a burger to eat and tried to calm herself down by pouring Jim Beam in her coke. When she had eaten it all except for some fries that were laying dismissed on the plate, the door to the suite opened up. It was Vincent, dressed in a white robe, newly showered. He gave her a long look, and she looked back with interest at him, but he didn't say anything. He walked to his room and closed the door silently. Was he mad? Was he upset with her for the nickname? Her heart was beating hard in her chest, and she sat down on the couch, waiting for him to come out of his room. She didn't even know if he would come out, but she decided to wait there as long as she had energy.
An hour later, he came out to her, and to her surprise, he just sat down next to her. He was dressed in a loose-fit shirt and pants in beige linen, and his hair was still unstyled. He breathed deeply and looked in front of him for a while.
“To see someone die is something else... I didn't think you were ready,” he said, then looked at her. He laid his hand on her underarm, and it made her soften. She would have been angry if he hadn't looked at her so sweetly and dragged his fingers over her skin so softly. Ines nodded a little and licked her lips. It wasn't meant as a seductive move, but it made Vincent move closer to her and kiss her with perfect pressure. She would never push him away, especially after having built up so much energy from seeing him hurt that man. There is so much excitement.
Their kisses became deeper and deeper, like they searched for something inside of each other. Ines could feel his hands slowly move their way up her thighs, but he let her go with one hand to be able to fix his crotch. Ines released his lips with a smack and looked down curiously. It was embarrassingly obvious that he was already fully hard and probably didn't wear any underwear under the loose pants. Vincent tried his best to hide it; he probably didn't feel it suited his elegant ways to get erect by some kisses.
Ines looked fascinated by his stiff cock. She had believed his injury had made it impossible for him to perform sexually, but the impressive hard on that tried to escape his pants told her something else.
“I didn't think...” she said as a reflex and looked at his face. Vincent looked at her with heavy eyes and just shook his head. Ines didn't know what that meant, but the lust took over, and she attacked his mouth again. Vincent answered fast, and when she straddled his lap, he just took a greedy grip on her ass and encouraged her to grind against his crotch. Ines giggled, helped him take off his shirt, and then caressed his flat chest while moving over his cock. Vincent leaned his head back against the couch headrest and enjoyed how her lips traveled down his neck and chest.
“It was...” His voice betrayed him, and he cleared his throat. “It was a long time ago for me... Being with a woman,” he said when he realized Ines’ attention had started to glide down to his erection. “I can't even remember.”
Ines glided down between his legs and dragged teasing fingertips over his shaft, which answered with a light movement inside the pants. She giggled and kissed his head over the fabric of his pants.
“We will remember together, okay?”
Vincent looked down at her and nodded, then he himself unbuttoned his pants slowly. It felt like he wanted to taunt her, but it was because of nerves. His blushing cock slapped up on his stomach. Vincent had seemed nervous earlier, but he smirked proudly when Ines looked at his size.
“Like you haven't seen that I've always had an impressive bulge,” he said cockily, and it made Ines laugh and take his erection in her hand. It was hot and thick, in a lovely blushed color. Vincent made a liking sound and pushed his crotch out like he showed off his most prized possession. Ines dragged her hand over his thickness and let her palm roll over his tip to collect the pre cum. She looked at him with big eyes. The art work. He was completely naked in front of her while she was fully dressed, and in that moment all she did was to admire him—the perfect craftwork he was. If he was beautiful in his luxury suits, he was even more beautiful now, exposed and vulnerable in front of her.
Vincent looked at Ines intensely, but with heavy eyelids still. He breathed deeply and looked calm and pleased.
“Take your clothes off.”
He had lost the accent again and sounded just as American as herself. It was weird how that felt exotic for Ines, but she guessed she liked every surprise he could give her. On her wobbly legs, she stood up and pulled off her clothes with the help of Vincent, who pulled off her pants to her knees and let her do the rest. He looked at her with big, glassy eyes and dragged his thumb in the corner of his mouth, like the vision had gotten him to salivate. He leaned back and let her straddle his thick thighs. He laughed when he dragged her hands from her waist to her breasts, where he, with light fingers, teased her nipples.
“I've forgotten… This feeling...” he said and laughed again. His voice sounded much kinder and softer without the accent, and Ines liked how sensitive and soft he suddenly felt. She took grip of his cock behind her, and with some awkward struggle, they together succeeded in pushing his cock into her.
“Oh fuck, you're so wet... God,” he said, groggily. Ines moved rhythmically up and down his cock and rolled her hips extra skillfully when Vincent looked down at their connection. When Vincent noticed her rhythm started to fall, he flipped her down on the couch in one swift motion. She could feel his back tense in an alarming way but didn't say anything because Vincent pushed into her hard while kissing her in a way that made her wonder if maybe he had other feelings for her. She was sure she was in love with him, even if he was such a mystery.
×××
“Vincent Beaumont," he said with a raspy voice. He was calm and soft after their lovemaking, and maybe he spilled his real name because of post-sex hormones. Ines laid on his chest and looked up at him when he finally answered her question. He was pink in the cheeks, and his hair was messy with sweat.
“I lived in New Orleans as a kid. But I am French.”
Ines couldn't stop herself from looking at him skeptically. He had lied quite a bit.
“Like, because you want to be it?”
Vincent looked offended and furrowed his brows.
“No. Both my parents were French. They were just stupid enough to leave France and move to my dad's family. Cheap fucking Americans.”
Ines sat up, and now she looked offended.
“Is that what you think about me too?”
“No. If you had met them, you would have understood me. They were trash. My aunt's husband smoked some cheap cigarettes, and he needed to spit often because they were... cheap, but he spit in the same glass jar that stood on the table. Jar with his brown, fucking cancer spit.”
Ines made a disgusted face. She understood him. It didn't sound at all like his life now. He had really turned his life around.
“I moved here when I was fifteen, after my parents' deaths.” He gave Ines a pointed look and pushed away his sweaty hair from his forehead. She swallowed hard and looked away. She understood what he was saying without words, and it made her sit up awkwardly and look around in the room. Vincent dragged a hand over her naked back. Long fingers dragged over her waist and searched for her breast. He didn't seem to think much about what he had insinuated.
“I won't make a thing of this, so you shouldn't either,” he said, taking a soft grip around her upper arm and trying to drag her down over him again. Ines followed his movement and laid down on his hairless chest again. She could hear his heartbeat and smell his scent close. It was everything she had wanted for the last few weeks. Be close to him and get treated like she was worthy of his attention. It felt different now when she lay there. She was still as happy being close to him and still as attracted to him, but other emotions had also blossomed.
Her own heart beat heavily in her chest. There was something else there that she couldn't say she had ever felt before. There was potential. He wasn't like her ex-boyfriends—boring and wanting to hold her back. Vincent was menacing to society and didn't expect her to be a good girl; he probably didn't even really know what a good girl was; for him, it meant just manicured nails and good table manners. There was something there. It was something special. Ines kissed his cheek, buried her nose behind his ear, and breathed him in. Vincent made a little sound; maybe it tickled, but he stayed as close as possible anyway. Ines smiled and closed her eyes. This was special; maybe it was love.
They connected one more time before falling asleep. The first time hadn't she come, but that time she did to Vincent's luck. It was obvious he had covered up his bruised ego when she said she hadn't come, but he let it glow even more when he noticed her come over his dick. She wondered how he had taken it if she hadn't come at all and could picture him being childishly pouty and maybe even being a bit upset at her, like she could control it. She was happy she had come, not just to feel the ecstasy from an orgasm but also to escape from seeing Vincent in a sour mood. He was a kid when he was in a bad mood, and while she looked at him sleeping, she wondered if it was maybe because he had never really been a child when he was young. Just like herself. Both of them wanted to act out now, even if they were grown up and now play violently and messy.
×××
Maybe it was weird that Ines didn't ask him any questions about what had happened in the conference hall after she had left, but other things took all her attention. The relationship with Vincent. Their relationship actually looked more and more like a couple's relationship. It went much slower than she was used to; he was much more stoic than other guys she had been with, but he let her sleep in his bed. They kissed in the morning and had sex a few times more. They did things together; he had taken her to the ballet, the opera, and luxury restaurants. He never kissed her in front of people, but he always acted like a gentleman, treating her like a lady. The lady she obviously wasn't. She fantasized about making out at the opera, playing with his cock at the ballet, and getting fucked on the restaurants’ toilets. She knew it would never happen; he didn't even let her touch his hair in public. She had tried once, and he had ducked so fast, like her hand was filthy. She invited him into her world of hip-hop and Brooklyn art. He wasn't amused and didn't seem to listen to music at all when he wasn't at the opera to show off in front of rich people. After a while, he let her into his world. His real world. His glossy fashion magazines and violent movies. They weren't any expensive Hollywood productions; instead, they were cheap darknet productions of masked men torturing crying men, speaking in languages she had never heard before. Vincent could even laugh while looking at it. Ines didn't feel much; the blood was sometimes gross; otherwise, it didn't give her much. She wanted it for real.
Their relationship was probably strange, but when she laid in his arms at night, talking about cute cats they had met or stupid people they had seen that day, it was so normally safe and sweet. Ines liked it all. The darkness and mystery, but also his boyish charm and pouty mood.
×××
“I have a new speculator tomorrow," he said while they sat at the minimalistic restaurant with a view of the whole of Paris. Ines chewed her venison slowly and looked up at Vincent. He was dressed in a burgundy suit that made his eyes pop.
“Oh? I… I haven't thought about the painting in so long.” Ines laughed, embarrassed. “Almost forgotten it?”
Vincent looked at her. She was dressed in a silky black dress that ended under the knees. She had started to find her own classy style, much black and different textures. He liked it. It was sexy and fit her personality.
“This is a really important person. A really important person. I wonder if you want to see it all this time.”
Ines looked at him with big eyes and then smiled big. She took his hand that was lying on the table and hugged it into hers. Vincent answered by braiding their fingers together and smirking, pleased.
“Oh my god! Yes!” She giggled with heated cheeks and a beating heart. There were many emotions in her chest. She still felt a sense of shame for how much she liked the violence, but the excitement took over. She had dreamed about that day in the conference room and woke up with a broad smile on her lips.
“Maybe you even want to be a part of it?” Vincent said this and leaned back in his chair, twirling his red wine glass.
Ines swallowed hard. She didn't know if she dared to do that and looked out of the window. Vincent played with her fingers and exhaled.
“It would be special for me.”
Ines turned her gaze toward him with furrowed brows. She didn't really understand why he wanted her to hurt someone so much.
“Hm?”
Vincent licked his lips and looked at their hands.
“That man… He hurt me really badly, and it would just be amazing to see you kick his teeth in,” he said with a low voice, so no one would hear him. Ines gave him a small smile. It was warming how she was important for him that way, and she played with the necklace around her neck.
“God, I just want to kiss you. You're so sweet,” she said, looking at him warmly. Vincent gave her a similar look, and she wondered in silence what this was for him. They did really romantic things together; for three weeks, they acted like a couple.
“I want to suck that big cock when we come home,” she said, giving him a teasing smile. Vincent lowered his eyes, and she could see a blush on his pale cheeks.
“Not that sort of talk in a restaurant,” he said, shaking his head. He didn't give her the sort of scolding she had done before, but he still corrected her. Now she liked it, she liked to tease him.
“You just said you want me to kick someone's teeth in, but I can't talk about your third leg.” She continued to tease and made him close his eyes hard. It was always difficult if he got that way of feeling shame, hornyness, or a bit of both. He cleared his throat and continued to eat in silence. Ines giggled to herself and continued to eat too, but even then she thought about the suffocating feeling of his cock in her throat.
“How did he hurt you? Was it your back?” She spoke carefully when the hornyness had slowed down and she thought more about what he had said. Vincent looked up at her, but was silent. He turned instead to a waiter and ordered something. He didn't talk again until the chocolate fondants stood in front of them. He took a big spoon of it and chewed slowly.
“He's my ex.”
×
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bill-skarsgalactic · 7 months
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A/N: So, it's been a while since I've written anything, but I've had this concept rattling around in my brain for a few years and figured there's no time like the present to jump back into writing and posting regularly. If you've been tagged in this it's because a couple of you expressed interest in a previous post of mine - you're not obligated to read it (obviously) but if you do, your feedback would be appreciated. As I said before, it's been a while since I've written anything, so keep in mind I'm a little rusty. Apologies if the first part is a bit bland, I'm mainly just setting up the world and the characters.
P.S: If you interacted with my last post but weren't tagged, its simply because Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you :(
Description: Searching for a fresh start in the small beach town of Hemlock Cove, a young nurse takes a job caring for the recently paralyzed and exceptionally bitter Roman Godfrey.
(This takes place after the events of Hemlock Grove season 3, except Roman did not die and was instead paralyzed after his altercation with Peter. I'm not going to touch on much of the Hemlock Grove storyline and will instead be focusing on making this a standalone story)
Pairing: Roman Godfrey x OFC
Warnings: None for this part, but will update as the story progresses.
P A R T I
Hemlock Cove was meant to be a fresh start, a new life in a quaint sea-side town seemed like the perfect remedy to an aching head and a bitter heart.
I naively hoped the saline sea air would cleanse my hidden wounds, disinfect them until the scars healed pink and became nothing more than memories wrapped in scar tissue.
However, as I stood at the edge of the beach watching the black waves roll violently beneath the murky clouds, pregnant with the promise of rain, nothing about the briny ocean breeze felt healing. The air felt thick, weighed down and tasted acrid on my tongue as I inhaled deeply. I swallowed against the offending taste and cleared my throat, willing away the nausea that had accompanied it, before turning my back on the mercurial sea.
Weeks prior when I had conjured up images of what I imagined my new home to look like, I'd expected something vastly different to the gloomy wasteland that greeted me now. A quick Google search had described Hemlock Cove as a small, sea-side town, its cobbled main road dotted with colorful ice cream shops, humble beachwear boutiques and charming vintage stores, however, as I quietly surveyed my surroundings, it was not quite the fairytale beach town I had been promised. As it stood, Hemlock Cove was merely a carcass of what it must have once been, a ghost town filtered in gray-scale with an underlying tone of despair on its breath. If the vibrant ice cream shops and vintage stores filled to the brim with the nick-knacks of yesteryear had ever existed, they were replaced now with drab, sun-faded replicas of their former selves, their contents barely visible behind foggy, glass storefronts. Looking at it now, it was a wonder how the town managed to stay afloat.
A low rumble of distant thunder suddenly pulled me from my thoughts, and I cast a wary look over my shoulder at the looming, gray clouds on the horizon.
Time to go. A storm was approaching and I had no intention of being caught in it.
With my mood as damp as the impending weather, I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag on my shoulder and began the trek up the cobbled street towards number eighty-one Foxglove Lane.
As I trudged up the hill towards my destination, the town of Hemlock Cove appeared to be seeking my forgiveness. As though ashamed of its first impression, the formerly dreary facade of the town below began to slowly give way to lush greenery and between the beach cottages and holiday homes, tufts of brightly colored wildflowers sprung up, their stems waving gently in the breeze. The distant crash of the ocean was muffled now, obscured by evergreens and the ocean itself was now only visible in gaps between the branches and leaves that lined the road. Further up the hill, the more modest cottages became few and far between, suddenly replaced by more modern, stately homes that looked like they'd be better suited to the upper suburb of neighboring Hemlock Grove, here they just looked out of place.
Stopping to stare at one particular monstrosity, my brow creased as I took in the frankly odd design choices. While most of the houses in Hemlock Cove opted for more classic earth-tones and rustic stone walls, this one was painted a deep shade of charcoal. Everything about it was a grotesque display of modern hubris, all harsh lines and sharp angles, not even the kiss of natural, black walnut finishes were enough to save the home from looking alien amongst its counterparts. I couldn't help but roll my eyes, chuckling at the thought of the field day a psychologist might have with the eyesore before me, but my chuckle was cut short as my eyes landed on the metallic, black numbers fixed to the wall beside the front door: eighty-one. Eighty-one Foxglove Lane to be exact, my new home for the foreseeable future.
When I'd first scoped out nursing jobs in Hemlock Cove, the owner of eighty-one Foxglove Lane was the only one that came up, and while details of his condition were vague at best, the job listing described the client as a 27-year-old male, who had been paralyzed six months prior. The position itself required someone with nursing experience, who could stay on the property and see to the client's needs, as well as handle day-to-day chores - a relatively simple task considering food and accommodation came tacked onto a relatively decent salary. However, other than what had been detailed in the job listing, I knew little to nothing about my client... other than his inclination to have his home scream of its own spectacular opulence.
As if only to impress on me the wealth of my new employer, a large, black Mercedes Benz minivan say at the end of the stone driveway, which I skirted around gingerly, careful not to mar the pristine paint job as I made my way towards the path leading to the front door.
Swallowing a new set of nerves that had made their home in my throat, I gripped the strap of my duffel with one hand and rapped succinctly on the door with my other hand, hoping my knock would sound more confident than I felt.
Silence followed for what felt like an eternity, there was no jingle of keys in the lock of shuffling from beyond the threshold, just the crash of waves beyond the tree line and the occasional chirp of a sandpiper. Just as I was considering knocking again, a voice from inside stopped me before I could even raise my hand.
"Come around the side. Sliding door's unlocked."
The voice was that of a young man, I assumed my client, but it was neither friendly nor welcoming, in fact "irritated" was the first word that sprung to mind, and the misanthropic timbre of his voice turned my stomach to knots in its wake.
Unsure of the appropriate response, I settled for a shaky "Uh, th-thank you!", as my eyes wandered up the side of the house, my irises mapping a mental path to where I assumed the sliding door might be. After only a short amount of bush-whacking my calculations turned out to be correct, as I emerged from the foliage and found myself at the foot of a small set of steps leading to a wooden deck that overlooked the beach.
The view from the deck was magnificent and the house stood no further than 50 feet from the beach itself. Standing on that deck overlooking the vast expanse of ocean, the water churning beneath the ever darkening sky, it was hard not to feel like Poseidon himself at the helm of his war ship.
I could have stood on that deck for hours watching the waves crash and churn, but I was hesitant to annoy my client any more than he already seemed to be, so I turned and made my way over to the sliding door, easing it open gently as I reached it.
The curtains were drawn across four of the six glass doors, leaving only a small gap for me to enter through, and as I did, I stepped through into what appeared to be an open-plan living room.
Although I could not fathom why anyone would be inclined to rob themselves of the spectacular view just beyond the glass doors, I couldn't deny the living room was cozy. A small banker's lamp in the corner of the room enveloped the stony, suede couches and raw wood furnishings in a warm, orange glow, giving the room a homely feel. Most modern homes felt cold and unlived-in, but not this one. After a five-hour-long bus journey and an uphill climb, my aching body longed to curl up amongst the scatter cushions and thick, woolen throws that adorned the couch, and fall into a sleep as deep as the murky waters of Hemlock Cove.
A soft, electrical whirring suddenly disturbed the silence of the living room, and I looked up just in time to see a figure appear in the doorway to my right.
Despite the half-light cast from the lamp in the living room, the man in the doorway was somewhat visible to me. In fact, the shadows cast by the small banker's lamp only aided in highlighting his perfectly straight nose and high cheekbones. His thick, brown hair had been pushed back from his brow in a way that looked effortless, as though he'd haphazardly run his hands through it, only for it to settle perfectly. I'd have dared to call him handsome were it not for the look of absolute disdain on his face as he regarded me.
I shuffled uncomfortably before speaking.
"Uh- hi, I'm Faryn Freeman, we-"
"I know who you are," he cut in harshly.
His wheelchair whirred to life again and he backed out of the doorway, leaving me alone in the living room once more.
I guess he wanted me to follow him, so I did just that. Weaving between the couch and the coffee table, I cut across the lounge and towards the room he had disappeared into.
When I stepped inside, I realized we were in what appeared to be his study, and my client was now sitting behind a large, ornate desk, pouring over a pile of official looking papers, a thick silver pen clutched between his slender fingers.
I lingered awkwardly in the threshold, the strap of my duffel bag growing teeth and biting into my shoulder, as I waited for him to acknowledge me. When he finally did, he didn't bother to look up, his long dark lashes fluttered only slightly as he jerked his pen towards a manila folder perched on the corner of his desk.
"Everything you need to know is in the file, your room is upstairs to the left," he remarked clinically, as he scribbled something indiscernable in the margins of the document in front of him.
I charged forward to retrieve the folder, stumbling slightly as my foot caught the upturned corner of the Persian rug. I cursed myself internally, embarrassed by my behavior. I was no longer the shrinking violet I had been growing up, and even in college, I was a professional, a nurse, over-qualified for the job I'd just undertaken, with years of experience working with men who thought they new more than I did, so why in God's name was I allowing this man and his bad attitude to throw me like this?
The feminist in me begged to put him in his place, but more than that I wanted to be done with this awkward interaction and retreat to my quarters where I could unpack and decompress. A lot had happened in a short space of time and I needed a moment to process it all, so if my new boss had no intention of getting acquainted, then I was more than happy to take the high road and seize a few moments of alone time.
"Well, thanks for this," I smiled politely, pressing the manila folder to my chest, "I'll make sure to familiarize myself with all of this," I assured him, giving the folder an emphatic tap with my index finger.
Again, he didn't look up, it was as if I hadn't spoken, and for a moment, I wondered if he had even heard me. Pursing my lips, I began to slowly back out of the room.
"Okay... well, I'll just head upstairs then," I explained, a little louder this time in case he was hard of hearing, "If you need anything-"
"I'll call," he interrupted, punctuating his statement with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Resisting the urge to bolt from the room, away from my new housemate and the dour energy that hung over him like a storm cloud, I turned fully and exited the study at a leisurely pace until I was out of his line of sight.
The stairs were directly to the right of the study and I took them two at a time, my duffel swinging precariously behind me until I reached the landing.
Unlike the lower level of the house the second floor was lighter, the walls were painted a soft, dove gray and the floor was covered in plush, cream carpeting. Despite the gloomy weather brewing outside, a large skylight above my head illuminated the landing giving it an airy feel that wasn't present downstairs.
I drew what felt like the first real breath of air I'd taken in hours and my lungs filled with the scent of wood polish and carpet shampoo.
At the top of the landing to my right was a dark, wooden door and directly across from where I stood was a small, guest bathroom and from there the hallway snaked to the left. Surely my bedroom was down there.
As I walked, I noticed there were no photos on the walls, no family portraits to liven up the stark landing, only grim, moody artwork. A large floor-to-ceiling oil painting of a snake arched in an almost perfect sphere, its mouth agape as though readying itself to consume its own tail, sat opposite the only other door on the landing: my bedroom.
I shivered involuntarily, my lip curled in distaste and turned away from the offending art piece, opening the door to my bedroom.
Upon stepping inside, I was pleased to see that my client's peculiar art choices did not extend to his guest bedroom. The walls were blank aside from a large mirror, and the room itself consisted of a vanity, a double bed and a sage green armchair in the corner of the room. Ultimately, the room seemed as though it had never been touched.
Grateful to be rid of my luggage, I unceremoniously dumped my duffel at the foot of the bed and flopped down atop the covers, the manila folder still clutched to my chest. Now that I had a few moments to myself, I figured it was about time I found out a little more about my client.
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alphabetbill · 2 years
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Bill / Roman Imagines
Just a short list of things I've imagined Bill x Reader Insert doing and it makes me giggle. Little things that keep me up at night. This may be a multi part thing I do when I think of things.
Spontaneous Pillow Fights With Bill
Running away laughing like a maniac after smacking him square across the face with a pillow from the couch. At first, he's stunned, then the realization of war sets in and he stops what he's doing to join in the fun. Armed with two pillows, one more than what you have, it's an unfair fight and you know you've lost as soon as he gets up and chases you. He covers the living room and the kitchen easily and picks you up by the waist to throw you over his shoulder. He carries you back towards the couch and you make it as difficult as possible for him, until he's forced to put you down, unable to put up with your squirming.
He takes the pillow you've been wildly clinging onto and starts bashing you with all the pillows he can find within reach. You're laughing, he's laughing, you're clinging to him and trying to bring him down and he ends up flopping on top of you, tired and sore from laughing. He threatens to hold you down forever unless you stop hitting him with pillows every five seconds. You pinky promise him. He gets off of you, and guess what you do? Hit him with a pillow.
Lazy Mornings With Roman
You go to sleep cuddled up with each other, talking and whispering at all hours of the night. He holds your hands and kisses them when you cup his face and look into his eyes. He's always so at peace when he's lying next to you, you make him feel relaxed and it makes everyone feel at ease.
When you wake up, he's usually spooning you with his face smooshed into your back or shoulder, and his breath feels nice against your skin. He presses kisses to your body when he feels you stir, and he's always begging you to stay still and stay in bed with him for just a few more minutes. He plays with or fixes your hair which he finds an odd fascination with in the mornings, rubs your back or your neck if you slept funny, and he's actually very clingy. When it's his turn to get up early for work, he always kisses you on the cheek, strokes your hair and tells you he loves you before leaving. He always makes sure he kisses you and tells you how he feels before he goes, because it's a mood but any time could be the last time.
Ridiculous Hairstyles With Bill
Maybe he's reading a script or a book, maybe you're watching a movie together or maybe you're just chilling. You come up behind him while he's sitting on the couch and run your fingers through his hair. If it's long enough, you try to pull it up into mini pigtails and he always refuses your puppy-dog eyed request to go down the street with them in his hair.
"Okay. If you don't wear this down the street then you have to give me $20 and you get no kisses for the rest of your life".
You try to hide away while Bill tries to steal the kisses, and you end up giving in.
You will style his hair but you refuse to cut it no matter how many times he insists it will be fine.
Pet Names And Fun Games With Roman
He calls you Honey and you call him Husband.
"Honey i'm home!"
"Hey Husband, whatcha doing?"
You absolutely banter with it a lot and it's ridiculously fun.
"Worst husband ever" when he disagrees with you.
You sometimes reach up to adjust his tie only to completely pull it out just for funsies. Ruffle his hair and you get the look.
You play little tricks just to mess with him- move his stuff or try to run away with it and force him to chase you and catch you if he wants it bad enough. It's your way of testing if he's any fun anymore or if he's fully dead inside.
You tell really bad jokes and puns and he puts up with it. There will be eye rolls.
There will be moments when the two of you just can't stop smiling at each other. You're wondering how you got this man to fall in love with you, and he's wondering how he got so lucky.
Memory Lane With Bill
Bill loves hearing all about your friends and family and he's dying to meet them but would also be incredibly nervous. He adores the way you smile so much when you talk about them, and he cries with you when you reminisce about tough topics. He likes hearing about your family, it's a nice change of pace from his own which can get a bit hectic and loud. You lie in bed talking and he just listens so intently he can actually see what you're describing to him.
Funny and/or embarrassing stories and childhood nicknames are his absolute favourite things to hear from you. He may even straight up ask you if you have any other stories from your childhood, and when you're all out of stories, he wants to hear them again.
More might come when I think of them!
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ill-skillsgard · 2 years
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Can you write something angsty with Dane? Maybe you think he have been cheating.
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I love the Dane stuff lately and a good request combo!
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Life with Dane had been, until this point, a whimsical affair full of twists and turns. The lawyer's life was hectic, and he bounced from place to place with haste you soon realized was only his baseline energy. Dane shot around like a pinball; going to work, hitting the gym, meeting a client, paying the tailor, picking up the dry cleaning, visiting his mom or an old friend for lunch after Jiu-Jitsu. Then a seemingly random event he absolutely had to attend would pop into his schedule. He would drop everything to attend an impromptu poker night or snatch last-minute concert tickets. And he was always running between things like a headless chicken, forgetting his notes or keys or his sunglasses or suitcase.
But when it came to you, Dane was calm and attentive. He tuned out the rest of the world and gave you his unerring focus, took you on expensive dates. All of the people sending him texts were momentarily nonexistent, and he only had eyes for you. Questions, too, in abundance. He dissected you with wide eyes from across many club tables.
It took some getting used to. Dane wasn't like other guys you'd dated. He had a rich life outside of yours and made it clear his schedule was his bible, and anyone who didn't fit into the slots wasn't going anywhere with him. So, you made yourself available to Dane whenever he had a free block, and a few weeks later, he was carving out days on the weekend to spend on outings and nights alone with you in his apartment. You got used to Saturday nights and Sunday mornings buried in his bed, soft from sleep and buzzing under his physical attentions. Once in a while, a Tuesday afternoon would open up, and he'd invite you to take a walk with him or go to an art gallery or the library for an hour or two. You always jumped on every opportunity to see Dane since he always had some pressing matter to attend to whenever you invited him out.
But the important part was that Dane kept texting, then calling, then video chatting every chance he had. A few declined invitations were only a matter of coincidence...Right?
A few weeks became a few months, and his routine was your second nature. You knew where Dane would be and when on any given day. And yet, despite this knowledge, you still tried your luck at getting him to come out to meet your friends. They had their messy schedules, but the group always made a point to get together at least once a month for cocktails or brunch. The first few times, Dane declined your invitation with a solemn apology and a promise that he would find the right day to meet your closest girlfriends after he'd heard so much about them and vice versa. The girls wanted to meet the man who had captured your heart so fast after a long string of failed relationships. It was only natural. However, nothing ever lined up and soon, half a year of your friends questioning whether Dane was real went by. You quickly disproved their suspicions with photos of you and Dane taken just days before, but they still turned their noses up whenever you mentioned the elusive lawyer.
One rejection led to another, and then their trepidation became yours, and you started to wonder if Dane simply didn't want to meet the other people in your life. After all, you hadn't met any of his friends or colleagues, and he didn't seem pressed to arrange such a thing. Was he uninterested in anything but meeting on Saturday nights for sex in his apartment, Sunday morning coffee and the occasional walk through the park?
You tried to stifle the hunch that Dane wasn't taking your relationship seriously—at least not as seriously as you hoped. The thought of him losing interest drove your uncertainties to distrust. Your friends didn't help. They theorized Dane was using you for sex under the guise of exclusivity and didn't want to get too invested in your life. He was keeping you at a healthy distance, a placeholder for something better if it happened to slink along.
You couldn't let that seed take sprout. Dane was good to you, straightforward, and unfortunately, busy. He wasn't keeping you around for entertainment value. He liked you. Otherwise, what would be the point when everything else in his life warranted a slot of his precious time?
Your friends promised to stop ripping on Dane when they saw how awful it made you feel thinking of the possibility he wasn't that interested. They soothed you and offered more innocent assumptions about why Dane would never come out with you on Friday nights when he supposedly had nothing else but "work" to do.
One night, the seed you worked so hard to suffocate produced one small tendril of doubt. It happened when Dane was rushing you out the door for a special midnight screening of a new movie one of his actor friends was in, and could not be late.
While you put on your shoes, Dane was hopping at the front door, aching to leave.
"Do you mind if I go start the car, darling? Get it warm for you?" Dane asked.
"Sure, but I'll be right there. I have one more buckle."
Dane zipped out of the apartment, leaving you to lock up and calling out that you were too beautiful to be so tardy all the time. You laughed and situated your bag and coat but forgot to hit the lights before leaving. As you made your way over to the light switch panel, your phone rang.
"Yes, Dane?" You sighed.
"I'm an idiot," he said. "I forgot my watch. Can you be my doll and grab it before you come down?"
"What do you need it for? You have a phone that tells time just fine."
"I can't believe you even asked me that right now. But it's okay... at least you're pretty. Maybe you don't know about fashion and that a man's watch is like...like...his bra. You don't leave the house without it."
"Many women don't wear bras anymore, Dane. We're free of the old ways."
"Can you please just grab it? It's probably on my side table...Or dresser. Or maybe I left it in the bathroom."
"I'll see you soon," you said, shaking your head and smiling.
"But with the watch, righ—?"
You ended the call and made for Dane's bedroom. The room was up a flight of steps in the loft and took up most of the floor save for the bathroom. Dane's open concept apartment had taken a while to feel like home, but now, everything was familiar to you. His wide, king-sized bed with the oxblood sheets and the dozen pillows of varying sizes was the area you knew best. At first, it was strange he had several potted Monsteras and snake plants flanking his bed and the adjacent widescreen TV atop a deliberately crude brick fireplace. The retro porn-set vibe hadn't been your style. Although, Dane would argue your taste for design lacked anyway and defended his interior choices with the zeal only a rich man possessed. You got used to the silk covers, and Persian carpet plopped in the middle of a cold, concrete floor.
Now it all smelled of Dane, and you kind of loved it.
You went to the stack of drawers on the right side of the bed—Dane's side—and pulled the knob. The drawer flew forward on well-made slides, and bric-a-brac crashed to the floor, some items rolling away on the carpet.
"Shit!" You flipped the drawer right side up and stooped to throw Dane's belongings back in. A couple of books, some pens, keys, loose change and half a pack of gum went back in the drawer before you crawled to retrieve the items under the bed. You extended your arm and touched a broad, smooth rectangle with a handle, then found the escaped object to its right—a small plastic bottle. Dusting it off, you read the label, and your cheeks hollowed and burned.
It was a bottle of lube with a pump top and a chic label—none of the generic KY or condom-brand lube from the department store. This was pricy stuff. The bottle was three-quarters full and boasted natural, non-irritating ingredients and a thick, water-based formula for endless glide. You got the funny feeling you weren't meant to see it, as Dane had never introduced it in bed. Granted, wetness had never been an issue with his mouth, and it made you wonder all kinds of things.
Those things clouded your head as you peered under the bed once more and saw a couple of suitcases lined up like drawers. Still not something incriminating; Dane often used suitcases and switched them out depending on how he felt that week. But something about their location didn't sit right in your stomach. Tapped for time, you continued the search for the watch which sat atop the counter in the bathroom. You snatched it just as your phone rang, sprinting out the door to the car. Dane thanked you with a kiss and slid the timepiece around his left wrist, ready to drive.
Over the coming days, you couldn't stop thinking about the lube. You wondered if he'd purchased it before you got together, what sort of purposes it served? And the suitcases under the bed... It was difficult not to think about them too every night spent with Dane. You didn't tell your friends about your discovery for fear of the conclusions they would undoubtedly jump to—conclusions you had already considered many times.
The curiosity never went away, but you couldn't just ask him what the lube was for... Not when your relationship was so new and his privacy still so heavily guarded. This anxiety spread like a mould and soon infected your ability to trust him. The most minor things suddenly seemed insincere, and the next time you invited him out on a Friday night, and he declined, your suspicions clinched.
You noticed the amount of lube decreasing in the bottle. This sneaky observational maneuver was born of pure paranoia, and the amount of shame pouring into your limbs each time you snuck a peek while he was showering or downstairs making coffee made you queasy. It wasn't right to snoop, but how could you not when Dane made so many excuses?
One night, after a couple of drinks, you asked Dane what he did on Fridays, why he wouldn't hang out with you and seemed to avoid meeting the important people in your life. The answer he gave was more damning than you expected.
"I have a ritual, and I don't like to defer from my schedule. You know that."
The dismissal sat like lead in your chest, pressing down on your heart until you couldn't stand it. It was time to get answers, to find out if Dane was the playboy everyone said he was. So, you devised a plan to corner him.
You left your phone charger plugged into the socket in the kitchen and bid him farewell on a Friday afternoon, knowing that you would return unannounced to retrieve it before your night out. To rid yourself of a small measure of guilt, you sent a warning text one minute before returning to his building that said: "Forgot my charger at your place. I'm gonna swing by real quick to grab it then I'm off!"
Dane didn't reply, and as you rode the elevator up to his apartment, you kept your eyes locked on the phone screen to see if he answered with an excuse for why you couldn't return. As his girlfriend, popping by seemed innocent enough. How could he refuse unless he was doing something promiscuous?
As you reached his door to punch the code into the keypad, your heart slammed into your throat like a fist. The pad beeped, flashed green and unlocked. Your hands shook as you opened the door.
Sounds from the loft came first—two people moaning. You had never felt so weak in the knees. The adrenaline surged through your body, and though your bones rattled with anger, threatening to let you topple at any moment, you marched up the stairs, ready to catch Dane in the act. Tears blinded your eyes as you reached the top floor, prepared to scream. You expected to find her—whoever she was—tangled with the man you thought was yours. And what would you do if that were the case? Hit her? Attack Dane? Shriek your throat raw? It didn't matter, for once you cleared the top step and peered across the floor at the bed, the scene playing out robbed you of your outburst.
Dane stood on his knees, smiling, balls deep in a stroker while something else buzzed around him. The two moaning voices came from the TV—a porn video with the volume up so high you barely heard Dane greet you.
He pulled out of the toy and flailed his glistening cock from side to side. "You're here. I wasn't expecting company." Dane turned the volume down on the TV, and the buzzing noise became clearer. "Wanna come play?"
You stood rail-straight, eyes fluttering and landing on different objects—the stroker, the bottle of lube, the TV remote and the phone next to his bed. "Um... I'm sorry? I didn't know you were..." You trailed off. How could you possibly explain your sudden appearance and the tears brimming along your lashes?
Dane sat on his haunches, closed his eyes and chewed his lip. "Come, come. Don't just stand there."
You approached the bed, and he handed you his phone.
"Here, fiddle with this."
It was an app on which you could control the strength and function of the prostate massager inside him. Your blood drained from your face and pooled in your neck, making your pulse hammer.
"Is this... is this inside you?" You asked.
"Right now? Yeah. Yeah, it is."
"Why didn't you tell me this was what you do when I'm not around?"
"Man's gotta have his solitude. You're not upset, are you?"
Were you? This was so far-flung from the scenario you'd feared that it seemed ridiculous to begrudge him. After all, he was alone. Your suspicions had been unfounded.
Dane pointed at the controls on the app. "Just give it a little juice for me."
"Really?" You suddenly grew shy.
"Yes, please."
You increased the intensity, and Dane closed his eyes, moaning as the vibrations rumbled inside him. "Fuck, that's what I like."
"That feels good?" You asked.
"Oh, it feels fucking unreal. I love that. Makes me so goddamn hard."
Dane leaned back on the mountain of pillows piled against the headboard and spread his legs in a "V" shape. He ignored the TV and kept his eyes on you as he grasped the base of his cock and started pumping.
"I want you to tell me when I can cum," he said.
"That's a lot of power to have."
"What? You don't wanna play with me?"
"Kinda wish you had asked before, so I knew what I was getting into."
"I'm asking now."
"Okay... But we need to talk about this after."
"Yeah, yeah... After... Not right now, though. It would help if you took off your coat and then, uh, the rest of your clothes, too."
"Right," you said.
Once you disrobed, you stood at the foot of the bed, the explicit movie still playing behind you. Dane got comfortable on his throne of pillows, but his eyes widened, and his voice changed. It was as though he were staring up at God.
"You mad at me?" He asked, still teasing himself with quick hand strokes. "Am I a bad boy?"
"Yes, you're a bad boy. Keeping secrets... Playing with yourself when nobody's around. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Your words set off a fuse, and Dane's voice deepened. "Sorry, I can't stop touching myself. I'm just so fucking naughty."
Then, you felt the warm, prickly feeling of arousal clear your head. Suddenly, you weren't you, and Dane was a whimpering mess on the bed—nothing like the bold, confident man you knew.
"Yes, you're quite the dirty boy, aren't you?"
"Mm-hmm. So dirty."
"I want you to sit on your hands. No more touching. You're only allowed to feel what I want you to feel."
Dane obeyed, and you lessened the strength of his vibrator. He pouted at the loss of stimulation, though his erection did not suffer. "What're you gonna make me do?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe we'll see if you can cum without touching yourself."
"Oh, gosh," he moaned. "I like that."
"Let's start with the toy in your sweet little ass. Why don't you turn around and show me what you've been up to?"
Dane was eager to listen and flipped onto his stomach, bending one leg while the other remained straight. He looked back at you, adjusting his hard on to press against the bed and seeking your approval. The long lines of his body looked delectable, and you found it difficult not to jump on top of him.
"Is this okay?" He asked.
"Hmm. I don't know... Only good boys get to play with toys, and you've been so very naughty."
"I know. I'm so sorry. I just can't help myself."
"It's okay... But you might need a bit of a spanking."
Dane wiggled his hips, trying to stifle his delighted grin. You approached the bed and stroked his back, following the curve of his ass. The urge to bend over and kiss the supple flesh was too potent to ignore, so you did, and he let out a gasp before you slapped the same spot your lips had been.
"I'm a little offended you didn't tell me about your ritual."
"M'sorry. I just didn't think about it."
"You didn't think about me doing this?" You asked, ramping up the speed on the vibrator.
Dane shifted his hips back and forth, spine curling, eyes shut. He ground his hips into the mattress, aching for stimulation. You instructed him to flip back over and saw the clear web of pre-cum shining on his stomach.
"I don't think I can cum without something around my dick," he admitted.
"Is that right? Do you want your other toy too?"
He nodded eagerly.
"Are you gonna beg for it?"
He whimpered and covered his eyes with his arm. "Mmm, do I have to?"
"Let me think... Yes."
Dane hid half his face behind a pillow. "But... That's not fair."
"I liked it when you humped the mattress just then," you said. There was something so raw about Dane listening to you, not using his hands and getting shy. He never failed to surprise you with some hidden pastime and though it was unexpected, his broad body on display, ass plugged, lips rosy—how did you not see this coming?
"What else do you like in your ass?"
The question stunned him for a moment, but he grew comfortable with your audacity. Never one to pale before opposition, Dane smirked. He lived to volley and argue.
"I'd take a nice tonguing any day. But, um... Why? What do you think?"
"Ever taken a cock? Or a strap?"
Dane's cheeks fired. "Oh, I see where this is going."
"Answer."
"If I tell you, will you at least finish me off with the wank tunnel or are you gonna make me rub myself against your leg like a dog?"
"Maybe I'll see what other goodies you have hiding under your bed."
"Hey, wait—I don't think you're ready for that."
"What? I already saw your wank tunnel lube in the drawer."
"Oh, that's not for the faux pussy. That's for my..." Dane trailed off with a giggle.
"Your hole? Is that what you like to do by yourself when no one is watching?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You're so fucking dirty. Show me what else there is."
"Don't judge me."
"I won't!"
Dane pouted. "Yes, you will."
"If you have dildos it's nothing I haven't seen."
"Yeah?"
His dominating voice hushed and he became small. Dane let go and leaned into his mound of pillows, long arms spread, longer legs thrown wider. "Are you gonna fuck me with one?"
"For sure."
"Is that what you like?" You asked.
He nodded. "Give it to me, mistress."
You knelt and pulled one of the suitcases into the light. The glossy leather was well oiled and maintained, not a speck of dust on it. Two combination locks kept the silver latches clinched. Dane nodded.
"Should be open."
You popped the buttons and the latches flipped up. Inside, there was a lush display of items arranged on a pillowy red backdrop. Among ruffles of satin lied a sizeable dildo—nothing too large, but no tiny thing. It was realistic and equipped with a suction cup. Beside that was a blindfold, several sized glass butt plugs and a heavy suede flogger.
"Do you use this stuff on other people?" You asked.
"No, ma'am. My toys are mine. If you want me to use something on you, we can go shopping. Unless you have your own?"
Embarrassed, you shut the suitcase. "Um, well, kinda. I have a vibrating bullet."
Dane, still sitting with the massager on the lowest setting and leaking cum, groaned.
"A bullet! Come on. You need a good vibrator. Go in the next case over, and grab the wand. Should be a box of condoms, too. Slap one of those over it and plug it in."
You opened the next case, and as claimed, a large, bulb-headed massager was inside. After you dressed the head and plugged it in, Dane reached for it, refusing to move from his spot. You climbed onto the bed, and he took it from you and snapped it on. The pulsations were deep and loud.
Dane pressed the head between your legs, and the smooth surface glided, shooting your nerves through with arousal. You couldn't stand it for long.
"How's about a deal? You sit with me and watch this movie, I get you off with the wand and you stroke my cock and fuck around with the app? We have to complete the ritual."
"Aw, no sex?"
"No. Fridays are for toys. That's how it's always been."
"Okay. Pass me the stroker."
His arm crossed your body, situating yours against his torso while you eased his cock through the opening, a peculiar whine of suction tightening around him. He sighed, and flipped his hips up until he was fully encased. He then held the wand close to your opening, eyes large and appealing.
"You ready?" He asked.
"Mm-hmm, I'm ready."
"Okay, go nice and slow. I'm gonna tease you with it off first. Trust me, it's nice. Then I'll turn it on with warning."
You concentrated on the silicone lips contorting around his shaft. You pulsed between the legs, frustrated, wanting to skip to the good part.
"Ready? Time to turn it on."
The rumbles shot through you with astounding power, and Dane's mouth dropped as you moaned.
"Turn it up... Stroke it a bit faster. That's right," Dane breathed. "Oh, fuck, I'm not gonna last, baby."
"I want to watch you cum."
"Yeah, yeah, but you cum with me too."
He encouraged a little more, talked you through unbearable waves until the deep knot in your groin sprang loose and your clit burst under the vibrations. It turned Dane on to watch you shudder, and he soon tipped the edge after a series of short and fast strokes and a full serving of power on his prostate. The results were enormous.
You had never seen that amount of cum. Dane clutched the head of his cock and squeezed himself of the last milky drops and looked down at the mess clinging to his chest, webbed between his nipple hairs.
"Oh, fuck. What a mess. I need a shower. And can you turn this thing off, please?"
You relieved him, and he did the rest. While he toweled off his chest, you waited on the edge of the bed.
"Still wish you would have told me about this before. Why did you keep it a secret?"
"I didn't keep it a secret... I never thought to divulge. It's just something I do. I don't tell you every time I take a piss."
"But... Nevermind."
"Friday night, I like to stay in bed and masturbate. I hope that's fine with you."
"Of course it's fine, I just... Well, now I feel stupid."
"Don't feel stupid, you're too beautiful to be stupid."
You snickered as he came around the bed and invited you to stand. Dane wrapped his naked body around you, transferring some residual stickiness onto your skin.
"Sometimes, I'll do it on my own, and sometimes, I'll ask if you want to join. How's that?"
"Sure."
"We'll have to fit you for a harness so you can really give it to me next time, huh?"
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Parents at Nineteen
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Imagine you are pregnant with your and bill's second child.
Y/N Skarsgård, credited professionally before 2010 as Y/N Ulrich, is an American actress.  She was in the 1996 scream movie.  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 27 years) Lynchburg
Va
Height: 5'11''
Spouse: Bill Skarsgård (m.2010)
Children: 1
December 3rd, 2017
Mr. And Mrs. Skeet Ulrich. Everyone!
You clapped as you watch them walk down the aisle .
How are you feeling about this," Courteney asked ?
I'm happy for them," You said with a smile.
Champagne," A Waiter asked?
Yes ," You said as you grab it .
Thank you ," You said as you take a drink.
You turn around and spit it out .
No way ," Courteney said as she look at you .
What ," You smile at her.
You're pregnant," Courteney said as she smiled at you.
Fine. I am ," You said with a sly smile.
How do you feel ," Courteney asked.
Sick," You sighs.
Does Bill know ," Courteney asked?
Yes. He is excited about it even thought we waited eight years to have another baby after Olivia," You said.
I'm happy for you two ," Courteney said as she smiled at you .
Thank you ," You smiled.
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rafecameronsslxt · 1 year
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Shame
Soft!Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Wife!Reader
Synopsis: The people of France take your relationship with your husband to be described as loss of affection, but when you confront Vincent he becomes angry at you. Vincent takes his time to apologize with sex.
Warnings: SMUT, dry humping, p in v, fem receiving, and arguing.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
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France was a heavily ill-rumoured country but had the rumours of your relationship with the newly crowned Marquis been as bad as the mass was saying? That we looked estranged and angry anytime we were out together in public, which had been rare considering John Wick was running about killing, and we had security every hour of the day, sometimes even becoming a little too invasive.
   Our bedroom was remarkably dark. It was fitting and not what I had wanted, but Vincent decided I had no say. The people we paid did as he said, walls black with a pretty shade of gold, an elegant crystal chandelier, and a king-sized bed with a headboard made of the finest materials. As a natural, we also got black silk sheets that melted your body to the bed until you never wanted to get up. 
   Our relationship wasn’t exceedingly…estranged. Vincent never seemed to have time for you anymore. His wife couldn’t fit into his schedule, and when you tried to talk with Vincent about the situation plaguing your mind, he’d get angry and shout at you for any reason because he locks his feelings up, not daring to tell you his emotions. 
   Tonight you were feeling explicitly irritated at Vincent, making it more than apparent when you got ready for bed beside him in the massive bathroom, sighing, grumbling, or throwing angry glances his way that he wouldn’t acknowledge. So instead, he heads to his study like every other night. 
   You walked the large hall in a rose gold silk bralette and bottoms with a slit on both sides of the thigh but in a tasteful fashion. You walked in unannounced, fed up with the formalities with your own husband. His dark green eyes glanced up at you and quickly returned to the papers he was sorting out on the polished wooden desk.
   Your hands massage his shoulders softly like you’d done a million times before and attempts to leave marks on his neck, but he shrugs you off quicker than expected. You try gliding your hands under his robe, feeling his bare chest. “What do you need?” Finally, Vincent says something. You sit on the papers, seeing his face turn with outrage. “I need you.” You say, needy, watching him pinch the bridge of his nose. 
   Vincent picks you up by your thighs and drops you to your feet by the door. He plasters a fake smile at you and opens the swarthy wooden door. “No. I’m not leaving Vincent. You never make time for me. You don’t even touch me when we sleep in the same bed!” You raise your voice at him, being the only person who can actually shout at him, but he can get louder when he wants to. 
   His face falters at the change in your voice, and a pout becomes a complaint on your face, lips puffed out and looking up at him through your long eyelashes. “You always have to be so ungrateful for everything. I give you anything you want, and this is how I get thanked, sweetheart!” Vincent shouts at you, backing you into the railing outside his study. You flinch at his loud words in your ears, but they don’t just stop. He keeps going. “I’m trying to protect you and figure out John Wick before things fly off the handle. Do you want to go-” He stops mid-sentence, regret palpable on his face. “You’re going to do what. Kill me? Asshole, I can’t believe you right now.” You force his hands away from you, pacing back to the bedroom, slamming the door shut in his face, but he slams it harder, echoing throughout our home. 
   “You always act like a child!” His voice reverberated around the room. I throw my hands in the air. “It’s always me, Vincent! If you would just tell me what’s wrong with you. I mean, I get it, baby. You're not good with feelings, but please.” You were desperate, pleading with him to give in because you couldn’t handle another argument. The tears I was holding back slipped out slowly. He motions for you to sit on his lap as he glides a hand through his unusually dishevelled hair.
   Vincent’s complexion becomes soft. He kisses your plump red lips lightly and leans his forehead on yours. “I’m sorry.” You nod at his delicate words that you get to lavish in. This was almost new, a foreign feeling you’d missed. You softly grind your hips onto his. Vincent lets a deep chuckle flow into your ears. He’s got a little smile adorning his face while Vincent’s hands take off the silky bralette, but his tender lips take their time kissing your collarbone, nape of your neck (surely to leave pretty purple circles), and boobs, like he was re-remembering your body meter by meter. 
   His lips connect to your nipples, sucking on them and tongue running over your now extremely sensitive boobs while your hips move faster, feeling his hard-on pressing against your clit. You became so entranced at the moment that you started speaking French. “Je t’aime tellement.” You moan out into his ear. (I love you so much)
   Vincent hums out in agreement with you. He stops your hips, and you look at him, confused. His green eyes had brightened with the happiness you took advantage of before he’d been crowned. “Tu m’as manqué, ma chérie.” His face was as serious as ever, and his irises had a tinge of sparkle when you hid your face in the crook of his neck. (You are missing from me, sweetheart, or I’ve missed you, sweetheart)
   The spark left when he flipped your back to the silky black sheets, his fingers wrapping around the waistband of both your shorts and panties, pulling them off eagerly. Vincent’s hands run over the smooth shaved skin of your body, smelling of jasmine and lavender, along with the essential oils used to keep clear skin. He takes a deep breath and begins kissing your thighs, each delicate kiss placed until his mouth reaches where you need him the utmost. 
   His tongue glides up and down your slit, teasing you, but the littlest touch articulates soft whimpers falling from your parted mouth while he looks into your eyes. Two fingers slip inside of you with ease, and then his mouth sucks on your clit. Vincent had never been a soft man, nor had he ever claimed to be, but when he was, it was the best pleasure you’d ever experienced, his soft French accent rich in your ear, whispering sweet nothings and making up for the things he’s done. 
   His fingers pick up the pace, but not enough to be considered rough, and you were more than satisfied to be treated gently after his harshness this past week. His tongue was doing overtime because of the flicking and suctioning, and fingers moving in and out had your thighs clenching around his head, eyes rolling to the back of your head, loud moans resounding from wall-to-wall back to Vincent's ears, making him harder than he already was. You were on the edge of release when his mouth and fingers left your body, emitting a groan. You hadn’t noticed he was naked until now. His plunging v-line and defined abdomen and his thin body are surprisingly muscular too, as you’ve been manhandled more times than you could count, especially when he thrives off inflicting pain on others around him, so the soft side of him threw you off sometimes.
   He kisses you passionately despite tasting yourself simultaneously, pulling you by your thighs, and you feel his tip enter you, a gasp escaping your mouth. “It’s been this long?” His sentence is terse, and you nod, arms being thrown around his broad shoulders. Then, he bottoms out in you, and with pleasure comes pain because as much as it felt good, it’d take a minute to get comfortable. He moves in and out of you slowly, but even that was hard as you had been so tight that it was a problem to move, but eventually, he got into the rhythm, which was harsher than anticipated. 
   Your pedicured nails scratch his back, leaving red streaks that would satisfy the damage you have done to him, to remember tonight. His calloused fingers circle your clit quickly, and you don’t think you’d last another second. “I’m coming!” Tears fall from your eyes out of pleasure, and you hear his soft whispers, but he continues to thrust into you, becoming overstimulated. You then feel his hot cum cover your velvety insides. His grunts and curses fell from his kissable plump lips that you did kiss, and he pulled out, feeling his cum drip down your thighs. 
   Vincent enters the bathroom and returns with a damp washcloth, cleaning you up. He softly lies beside you, his arms around your waist, leaving no room for air, but you just wanted him to be close, and he was for once. It felt euphoric to have your husband back, kissing your shoulder until your eyes fall heavy and sleep carries you peacefully.
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