#marquis vincent de gramont
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Stay (Vincent de Gramont x reader)
Summary: Vincent would go to great lenghts to keep you by his side.
Note: Previously on... / I can't get enough of this dude. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button. I don't have a taglist.
You gave Vincent the silent treatment for the rest of the day, even refusing to breathe the same air as him. You locked yourself in your room, although all you could do was lie in bed and stare at the ceiling since he had taken away your phone back in New York. It was hard to be all alone here, especially knowing that your friends were in the very same city at the moment.
He tried to come in. He kept his manners in check and knocked instead of barging in, but since you refused to answer, he eventually gave up and left. Then later there was a soft knock again, one which was followed by a letter being slipped into the room under the door.
With a sigh, you picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed to read it. He invited you for dinner, and he wanted you to wear a dress he had left in front of your room. It wasn't a long letter, but you could feel his adoration through every single handwritten word. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to be so nice to you?
After opening the door a little to make sure no one was nearby, you brought in the box with the dress to take a closer look at it. You hated to admit it, but Vincent's taste was impeccable. This was the perfect color for you, the perfect silhouette, the perfect fabric. And the matching nude shoes were heavenly too. Everything was great, and you hated that you loved it.
Two hours later you walked down to the hall where Vincent was waiting for you, wearing another phenomenal suit and looking as dashing as always. And when his eyes landed on you, you could tell his breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, probably a compliment, but when you shot a warning look at him, he changed his mind.
He took you to a fancy restaurant, but instead of going to a table far from the rest of the guests, they led you to a private room in the back. Well, what were you expecting, really? That he would spend the evening among ordinary people? Vincent talked to a waiter in French once you settled down across from each other, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling.
Silence ruled the room when you were finally left alone, but you didn't feel like breaking it. You wanted him to suffer. You wanted him to understand that he couldn't always get what he wanted. And he got the message. As those beautiful green eyes were glued to you, you noticed the change in his expression.
“Marry me,” he said out of nowhere while he pulled out a ring from his pocket.
You almost fell off your chair. This must have been a mistake. Something was definitely wrong with your hearing. “I'm sorry?” you asked hesitantly, even though you saw the ring that proved it was way too real.
Vincent flashed a charming smile at you. “You heard me.” He stood up and walked around the table to stop right in front of you. “Marry me.”
“No,” you gave him the only reasonable answer.
“Why?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused. “I would give you everything your heart desires.”
You couldn't help but laugh at him. Did he just try to buy your love? “I don't want to stay here, I already told you.”
“You would seriously leave me for your life in New York?” he asked, a hand finding its way to your cheek as he spoke.
“Yes.”
Suddenly he crouched down and steadied himself by putting his hands on your thighs. “Wouldn't you miss me? Be honest with yourself. Wouldn't you wish I was there with you whenever you felt lonely?”
“Don't,” you warned him.
“You want me, mon amour, why are you trying to deny it?”
“Stop projecting.”
His fingers dug into your skin through the fabric of your dress, moving towards your core painfully slowly. “You kissed me several times on your own free will. You slept with me because you wanted to. Why are you acting like you didn't feel anything?” he asked.
It was terrible and wrong and damn it, he was right. You had given in too many times for your liking in the past few days. Winston was right, he knew how to charm a woman. When his hands reached your inner thigh, you put your hand on his to stop him.
But he didn't react the way you expected, because he was quick to lace his fingers with yours, raising your hand to his lips. “Stay with me,” he whispered against your skin.
“John will win, and when he does, I'm going home,” you told him plainly, hoping he would finally accept it.
Vincent let out a sigh, clearly trying hard to keep his composure, and stood up. He didn't say anything, instead he sat down and pushed a button on the little device the waiter had given him. Soon the wine and the food began to arrive, and the two of you focused on that instead of talking about his ridiculous idea.
The next day you were livid. This son of a bitch appointed Caine to be his representative in the duel because he didn't even care enough to do it himself. Or he was just sure John would easily kill him so he chose a way that ensured he would stay alive.
“You're nothing more but a spineless cockroach, Vincent,” you growled at him when you returned to his home.
For a moment he looked surprised to hear you talk to him like that, but it didn't seem to bother him. If anything, he looked calm and sure of himself, as if he had made the right decision by getting someone to do the job for him. “Darling, you don't seem to understand,” was all he said.
But before he could give you a speech to defend himself, you raised your hand to stop him. “I don't care. I don't want to hear your excuses. I'll be in my room,” you told him before turning on your heels and marching in that direction.
Before you could leave the room, you felt his arm sneak around your waist and pull you against his chest. “Don't go,” he whispered into your ear. “Stay with me until the end.”
Inhaling and exhaling slowly to calm yourself, you thought about what to say. You didn't want to be near him, yet you wanted to be by his side. Your brain and your heart wanted entirely different things, and it confused you. Feeling his body heat made you melt into his arms, but your brain kept reminding you that he was a monster.
“Let go of me,” you told him threateningly, expecting to feel him move away from you. But his grip only tightened, and he rested his chin on top of your head. “Vincent, don't do this. Please,” you said, trying a different approach.
“Stay,” he asked you quietly.
Gulping, you put your hand on his and stayed like that for a minute or two. It was nice to feel this way, knowing he cared so much about you, but this feeling didn't last long because you soon pried his arm off of yourself.
When you turned around to look at him, you were met by his disappointed gaze. “Don't give me this look,” you told him as you pinched the bridge of your nose.
Vincent only watched you in silence, clearly trying to come up with a plan to convince you. But then he nodded and walked away with his phone already in his hand, giving you space as you wished. A part of you, a small, quiet part of you felt disappointed that he left, but once you shook your head and went in the other direction to your room, you felt a lot better.
Just a few more hours and you will be free. You will go back to New York with Winston and John, continuing your life as if this didn't even happen. Sure, Charon's death would always remind you of it, but the pain will fade away with time.
As the day passed by, you eventually crawled out of your room, but Vincent was nowhere to be found. One of his men said he was working, and when he led you to him, you found him standing by a table with an angry look on his face.
“Is everything okay?” you asked cautiously.
He finally noticed you when you spoke up, but he didn't say anything at first. Just when you thought he would shut you out, he reached out to signal you to come closer. With a sigh, you did as he wanted, and once you stopped next to him, he leaned down to kiss you.
You weren't expecting this. It took you by surprise and you wrapped your arms around his neck without realizing you were doing it. “No. No, no, no, stop,” you mumbled once you came to your senses and pushed him away. “What's going on?”
He told you everything. He told you about his plan to get John killed before sunrise. You shouted, you pushed him, you told him what you thought of this stupid idea. It wasn't fair, and you thought he was better than this. He wasn't a good person, but you believed he had standards.
This time he didn't even try to make you stay. He let you leave so he could focus on the ongoing manhunt.
Hours later you went to the location of the duel, patiently waiting for John and Caine to arrive. You and Winston exchanged worried looks when you heard gunfire nearby, only minutes before the deadline. If he didn't make it, you would have to stay here. This wasn't good. No. This was nerve-racking.
But he arrived and you felt like you could finally breathe again. That's until John ended up on the ground, slowly bleeding out. You glanced over at your boss, but the corners of his lips curled into a barely visible smile. Before you could understand what was happening, Vincent jumped up and took the gun from Caine.
Did he really wait until John was vulnerable? This was a low you weren't expecting, but apparently he felt like ending the duel himself. But there was a catch, as Winston was quick to inform him–John hadn't shot in the last round yet.
“I'm giving you a chance here,” John suddenly said. “I let you go if you give us everything we want and promise never to come after us.”
“John,” Winston warned him.
You couldn't decide whether or not it would be a good idea to let him go. After everything he had done, it wasn't guaranteed that he wouldn't go after John anyway.
Vincent looked over at you, and you could see that he was still shocked. “Will you stay with me?” he asked you quietly. “Or at least will you visit me?”
John didn't seem to understand, and even Winston raised an eyebrow. But by now you were quite used to him asking you to stay with him, although this was different. This time it felt like he would rather choose death if you said you wouldn't meet again.
“I won't stay here. But,” you added before he could say anything, “I like this place, so I might come back for a few days. That is if you keep your word.”
He nodded. “All right. Anything you want, my love.”
#vincent de gramont x reader#marquis vincent de gramont x reader#vincent de gramont#marquis vincent de gramont#marquis de gramont x reader#marquis de gramont#john wick chapter 4#john wick 4
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le marquis et le moineau
Marquis de Gramont x f!reader
themes: angst, twisted business associates(?) to lovers, dubious morals, the Marquis has his eyes set on you and only you (but you don't know that ofc)
a/n: this bloody Frenchman has been plaguing my thoughts (thanks to a very sinister portrayal by one Bill Skarsgård). Mind you, I still haven't even seen the film John Wick 4, but I'm a fan of the series, and the morsels I've seen of the Marquis have been more than enough to give rise to a new lil fixation.
word count: 932 ▪︎ more of moineau ▪︎ other works
It started as a little game.
Just some passing fancy between yourself and the Marquis.
Or at least, that was what it was supposed to remain. Only that. A game.
But you should have known better. You should have known that any game played with Marquis Vincent de Gramont may eventually turn deadly.
Your high-risk job at the Continental usually also reaped the highest of rewards.
Tip off the right person and receive a gold coin. Deliver a message, without any bumps or bruises to all parties involved, and your reputation would be given a much-needed boost or two.
This business was danger wrapped in deceit wrapped in glamour. And you knew how to deal the right cards.
Although it seems, things are not as easy when it comes to the Marquis.
Vincent was every bit a menace as his reputation decreed. The Marquis tasked with restoring the authority of the High Table, he was nothing short of cunning and ambitious, prepared to take down any and all those who posed a threat to his objectives.
Dangerous. Deceptive. Glamourous as well, mind you. He was perfectly suited to this world.
He was also brazen, pretentious, snobbish.
And beautiful.
He knew just how to tug at your strings and make you bend. Or at least, he always tried to.
Like he was doing then, in one of the bigger rooms in his palacial estate, wherein only the two of you stood with only a few feet in between.
"What did we agree upon, mon moineau?" His silky accented voice implored.
My sparrow, he called you. The reason for which remained undisclosed to you, not for a lack of trying to wrench it out of him.
Why couldn't he call you something sweeter? Of the more classic French romantic sobriquets?
Chérie, perhaps. Mon amour. Mon coeur.
But no. You were stuck with measly ol' "my sparrow".
Of course, not that it mattered. Perhaps the Marquis reserved his sweeter words for those he actually cared for. At the very least, well-regarded enough to be associated with. Those impossibly beautiful and refined members of European aristocracy that he was so often rumoured to be wining and dining.
Unlike you. Renegade, foul-mouthed vagabond.
You stared up at his pacing figure. "I am fully aware of what we agreed upon, Vincent. What I have done does not breach that. I am perfectly capable - "
His head snapped to you menacingly. "You could have been killed, moineau."
You shrugged. "Consequences. I did not enter this damned line of work without considering the risks. As it goes, getting killed would not exactly be an uncommon occurence."
"Don't jest." He shut his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, in obvious annoyance.
You took a step forward, trying to find his gaze. "And if I were to... pass... so what? Everything would simply go on. The truth is that I'm already a ghost. Doing what I do in our world makes me some kind of spectre. I am already not there."
You knew this. You repeated this to yourself when you woke, and before you went to sleep. It was the only truth you could hold on to.
Until him. Until some buried, twisted part of you began hoping that he would care.
But hope is a dangerous thing.
You continued, as he kept looking away. "You would go on. Perhaps even find a new sparrow to play with."
You felt it. As your words hung in the air, his entire mood shifted. He straightened, and with both hands burrowed in the pockets of his impeccably tailored trousers, his eyes land on you.
He slowly took a step forward, and then another, until his figure loomed over you.
In all your shared moments, you learned to discern the quick switches in his temper and his expression. But not enough, not completely.
The look he was giving you then was impossible to read.
"You think..." His left hand drifted to the hem of your blazer, toying with it. "... that I..." His index finger then drifted upward over your silk shirt, stopping in between your collarbones. His tongue briefly darted out to wet his lips, catching your eye. "... would simply replace you?"
You finally felt his touch on your face, his fingers delicately caressing your jawline.
He made a fleeting tsk tsk sound with his tongue, as if in disapproval.
"I believe you underestimate just how much you matter to me, mon moineau."
You did your best to remain unfazed. This was the game, wasn't it? Whatever you might think it can become, what you hope it can unravel into - set it aside as delusion.
Don't fall.
It's just a game to play.
Don't fall.
You took a deep breath, then smiled sweetly. Mockingly. "What makes you think I would even pay any mind to how much I matter to you? That line of thinking doesn't work for people like us, Marquis."
"People like us," he repeated, amusement furrowing his brow. "Non, mon moineau. There are no other people like us."
He leaned in, eyes not leaving yours, all but eliminating the distance between your faces. You could feel his breath on your skin, could count the faint spotting of freckles around his nose.
You wished to ask him what he wanted, but held back.
No. There was something better to say.
"What are you waiting for?" You managed to voice the words despite your very heart lodged in your throat.
He smiled, proud of his precious sparrow.
"Mon coeur... I've been waiting for you my entire life."
Ahhh! 🖤 Everybody say thank you Bill Skarsgård and the on-set stylist for the visual treat that is the Marquis.
I'm not even sure if this will find the right crowd - seeing as my lovely followers are of the HotD persuasion. But oh well, I had to get it out of my system.
Could be more of this... idk 🤷♀️ Rest assured I haven't forgetten about all my series works, even the ones I haven't started but said I would do...
#marquis de gramont#marquis vincent de gramont#vincent de gramont#john wick#marquis de gramont x reader#marquis de gramont imagine#bill skargard#bill skarsgard x reader#marquis vincent de gramont x reader#bill skarsgard imagine#john wick 4#marquis vincent de gramont imagine#bill skarsgård#bill skarsgård x reader#vincent de gramont x reader
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He lived, he served cunt, he died. An icon.
#bill skarsgård#john wick#john wick 4#bill skarsgard#marquis vincent de gramont#john wick fanart#john wick: chapter 4#marquis#marquis de gramont
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marquis de gramont fic
Y/n is sweet and kind and isn't part of Vincent world, but he fell for her anyway and although he's ruthless he has a soft spot for her as she's his wife. A fic of him killing someone and she accidentally sees and get scared and he comforts and cuddles her.
Thank you for the request! I found myself immediately inspired and I wrote it as soon as I could.
I am working on the other requests, too! It will just take a little time :) 🖤
Safe in his arms
Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont × you (F)
Rating: Teen & Up Audience
Status: Complete (one shot)
The first time he had seen you, truly seen you, was at the Louvre. On a January morning, when Paris was still cold and tormented by a wind blowing from the north, when the fog rose in the city's parks and around its splendid monuments, bathing everything in an intense white, you had waited for hours on those stairs, with your arms crossed, looking at one single work of art. At first Vincent didn't give it much importance. But when the crowd thinned out, around noon, knowing that soon the guests would arrive at his private event — yet another official HighTable lunch right there in Paris — and seeing you still there, fascinated, he approached.
"Madmoiselle, I am sorry. These rooms have been reserved for a private event. You should leave" he had said, coldly.
But you, you smiled. And your smile was sweet. "Can I just ask you for a minute? One minute, and I'll be gone. I've never seen her like this." You looked up dreamily at Nike — that marble statue at the top of the steps, as proud and silent as you'd ever seen it. “She is just so beautiful” you had commented under your breath, as if not to break that spell. "They deprived her of her arms, of her very face. They tore her to pieces. Yet no one has ever managed to take away of her wings."
Vincent, enchanted by your words, so simple and so true, lost himself in your face. His gaze filled with you for the first time. He watched you go, nodding at you when you wished him a good day, and he followed you with wondering eyes until he saw you disappear. He didn't know it yet, but you would haunt his days and his nights from now on.
He looked for you. He had his men search for you until he could find you. Your subsequent encounters must have seemed casual; a casual meeting in the park during your walk, a chat over a coffee, you even met in the library.
You laughed about it. “It almost feels like fate.”
Vincent nodded. Fate, sure.
He wooed you with expensive gifts, luxurious dinners, evenings at the theater, visits to the most prestigious private art collections — but you weren't as impressed as he expected.
“How can I make you happy, mon amour?” he asked you.
"I don't want your money, Vincent, only you."
And so, one spring evening, you found yourselves simply walking through the streets of Montmartre, laughing and chatting amiably, holding hands, exchanging a few kisses without realizing that the night had already passed; at dawn, on the steps of the cathedral, it was just the two of you, two hot cappuccinos and two croissants, watching the sun rise from the east, illuminating a new day.
Soon after, he asked you to marry him. And you said yes.
There was only one small problem. You knew nothing about him.
▪️▪️▪️
You were beautiful. Naked in his bed after yet another night of love, entwined with the ivory silk pillow, your cheeks slightly flushed and your lips so sweet, so languid. Vincent stroked your hair, watching you sleep. You had the power to unleash in him a tenderness that had long been buried, forgotten and drowned in an ocean of violence. There was nothing he loved more than taking care of you, spending hours listening to your stories so simple and yet full of emotions; he was surprised at how you were able to find beauty in the most mundane things. There was no art that compared to the perfect curves of your body in his hands, against his lips, kissed by his mouth, worshiped by his limbs. There was nothing he wanted more, at the end of a day, than to soak in your immense bathtub with you — a glass of champagne, a tray of mini pastries, macarons and fine chocolates, essential oils and perfumes in the warm water and his hand gently caressing your breast, listening to your heartbeat — before carrying you to bed and falling asleep in your arms.
You were his most precious jewel. And because of this, his biggest fear was losing you forever.
Yes, in his world you were a weakness. Vincent had taken every precaution to keep you away from the monsters that lurked in the shadows of his life, but on the other hand it was inevitable that sooner or later the Great Table would learn of your existence. With this, the problems had begun. Vincent was a powerful man and a powerful man always had enemies. Indeed, the more power he had, the greater the number of his nemeses.
House Bisset De Gramont was a peaceful, safe place, far from danger. Immersed in the Provençal countryside, surrounded as far as the eye can see by lilac fields of fragrant lavender, kissed by the sun, it was one of your favorite places to spend long summer weeks. You knew that Vincent was a Marquis, that his family had been extremely wealthy, and that his business took him all over the world... and nothing else. You enjoyed your holidays with a carefreeness that he envied. Vincent watched you tan by the pool, read your favorite novels lying on the green grass of his gardens, paint the spectacle of lavender swaying in the wind, and hoped that nothing would ever affect your happiness.
But that morning, that morning...
There was a knock on your bedroom door. Yet they knew — his men had been well instructed about it and it was forbidden for anyone to come near your bedroom! What the hell were they doing?
Quickly, he stood up and put on a robe, stomping out of the bedroom with frozen anger in his eyes. "What the fuck are you doing? What made you think you could—"
"Monsieur — Marquis. Please listen" one of them interrupted. "We have the man."
The man. Vincent took a deep breath. The son of a bitch who followed you. He had noticed that black sedan since your departure from Paris a week earlier. He was sure it was a hitman sent for you, the easiest target, most disarmed in the face of the capabilities of his enemies. Some had understood that if they wanted to destroy the Marquis De Gramont, they would have to destroy you first. You, who were his strength and purpose in life. His one true love.
Many had tried, that man was just one of many.
Vincent growled, grabbing his helper by the collar of his shirt. "You separated me from my wife at seven in the morning, on a Sunday, for yet another son of a bitch? At least tell me it was worth it!"
"He's here, sir, we thought you would—"
"He is here?!"
They carried him forward. Two other men had tied the hitman with tight ties around his wrists and legs, blindfolded him and were now dragging him forward, holding him by his arms.
Vincent was inflamed with terrible anger. "Don't you ever dare bring one of them into my house again! My wife - my woman, she's in the next room sleeping and you bring one of these worms into my house!" the Marquis grabbed the knife from his man's pocket. "Kill them and get rid of them! This is my order!" and with a mechanical gesture of the wrist, making it seem so simple, he threw the blade and it pierced the assassin's neck. He gasped for just a second. Blood ran down his wounded throat and, now dead, he collapsed in the arms of his captors. It was only when a trickle of blood reached the white marble floor that, with a short, anguished breath, you attracted attention. And with terror in his eyes Vincent turned away.
You had just woken up, you were wearing his shirt, you had walked silently barefoot to the ajar door. And you had seen it all. You had covered your mouth with the palm of your hand, but this was nothing compared to the terror you felt when you saw the blood. The death. A murder. Your Vincent, your sweet, caring husband, who had just killed a man. Stepping back, trembling, you risked fainting. You suddenly felt pale, weak, powerless, completely disconcerted. Cold shivers ran through every fiber of your body. But before you could fall to the floor, Vincent had rushed to catch you. Lifting you into his arms, he had carried you back to bed.
"It's okay, mon amour" he whispered, kissing your forehead. You were shaking and crying. "No one will hurt you, you are safe with me, ma chéri."
You pointed to the door, now closed. "That man — I saw, oh God, I saw that man! You killed him! Vincent, my God, oh no. No, no — you killed a man!"
He shook his head. The more you trembled, the tighter he held you against his chest. "He was an evil man and he would have hurt you if you had let him live. He had been paid for this, my love, for you."
"Me?" you exclaimed, horrified. Your face twisted into a grimace of disgust and terror. "What have I done wrong in this life to deserve death?!"
Vincent chuckled. It was really fun. “Oh dear, you married me.”
You tried to move away from him, to squirm, to slip away from his embrace, but despite managing to slide against the other end of the bed Vincent took your hand, your wrist, and dragged you towards him again. Laying back on the sheets, he held you down with his entire body. "I am a very powerful man. And powerful men must protect themselves, and protect those they love." He caressed your face wet with tears. He found them so innocent.
You stammered, still shocked at the sight of that blood, that death, that ruthlessness. "Then we should hide!"
Vincent laughed even harder. "There's no hiding from this! It will always be a part of me, darling. But I can assure you of one thing. If there is a safe place for you in this world, then this is right here, by my side." He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. He hugged you, rocking you gently.
" I love you" he whispered, "and I live for you. I am willing to kill — to die, if necessary, for you. I ask only that you continue to love me as you always have. I am still me, always your Vincent. You can do this for me, mon amour?"
He left the ghost of a kiss on your lips, and covered you both with the sheets, stroking your hair to help you fall asleep again. Before closing your eyes, answering his question, you nodded softly. "I love you, Vicent."
He smiled.
#marquis de gramont#marquis de gramont x reader#vincent de gramont#vincent bisset de gramont#marquis vincent de gramont#Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont × you#vincent de gramont x reader#Vincent de Gramont x you#john wick fandom
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something wrong with me and you
Pairing: Marquis Vincent de Gramont x afab!reader. No use of Y/N
Word Count: 1.6K
Warnings: smut. slightly dub/con, including spanking, teasing, making the other beg, etc. Minors do not interact. +18 rating.
Author's note: who knew me going to the movie theater to watch john wick 4 was going to bring my fic writing era back from the dead lmao, maybe I'll finish other fics I abandoned along the way
I do not consent to any of my work being reposted on other websites.
At first, it was a night like any other.
Until he showed up, deciding that on this evening you were worthy of his time.
His lips reached closer to the shell of your ear while you struggled to hold in a sigh. He’d been at it for hours, tentatively running his nose on your neck, poking for a show of weakness on your part.
And you knew you were at the precipice of failure. The relentlessness of his continuous challenges made an inevitable dent in your resolve to deprive him of his wishes.
"I can give you everything, mon amour”, his full body pressed you down onto the mattress, fingers gripping your inner thighs, “everything you could ever want and more."
At this point, this had become a bit of a habit of his. Speaking these infamous words every single time you were with him. To the point of annoyance.
Be it in the low lights during a theater performance, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, or - as you were now - in his bed, draped in nothing but luxurious jewelry and the expensive silk of his sheets. It seemed he had become fixated on tantalizing you with unreachable realities.
"Isn't that what you want, darling?", he teased with a playful smile, just before nibbling your shoulder, teeth sinking into your skin followed by the soothing of his tongue.
His pleasure in the act of mocking you was palpable, even more so when you were at a point of nearly squirming underneath him, "It is no shame to admit it", he continued, "don't you want to be all mine?".
You could no longer hold it in anymore, fighting power running out.
A shaky nearly broken moan left your lips along with a tremble through your body, and you threw your head back as his left hand found your waist. The right one lowering down smoothly - from your waist to your thigh, teasing the idea of doing something about the mess he created - before moving on, with a caress, all the way to your calf.
His hand settled, wrapped around your ankle, as he moved away from you, getting up from the four-post bed.
You were about to voice disappointment when you felt a tug on your ankles.
A surprise noise was once again dragged out of you as Vincent yanked you closer to the end of the bed, where he stood.
His once perfectly pressed shirt hung open. The slicked hair was now messy as a result of the good work from your fingers, both in the back of the limousine and on the elevator that took you both to the upper levels of his home.
Still pliant from all the effort he had put into making you putty in his hands, you lifted yourself up on your forearms, noting the harness of his length, which he had been rubbing against you ever since before you left the private dining room.
You were often fascinated by how the regality of his every move seemed impossible to rattle, even on the most heated nights.
A person could easily mistake the coldness of his stare to believe it meant indifference, after all, the Marquis de Gramont was a hard man to impress.
But you knew better.
You’d seen him beyond his title, his wealth, his ruthlessness.
And he had seen you.
His eyes almost twinkled from pent-up desire and as if he couldn’t help himself, he forcefully grabbed your chin, bringing your lips ever closer
Merely an inch separated you from the kiss that would soon follow.
Though before you could seal the deal, you became entranced by the sight of him licking his lips and the raspy whisper that followed.
"Say it to me. Say that you want to be my little marchioness. I can't give you what you want unless you say it."
You couldn't help but reach forward, your teeth sinking on his lower lip, making him hiss. Both of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you in place.
A smirk on your lips was inevitable, "Who's doing the begging now?"
That would just about do the trick on him, his body stiffening immediately and you braced for what would soon follow.
“Well, the night is not over is it?”
He admired your defiance in the face of his authority. How most times, even if you stood before him deprived of a single stitch of clothing, you were still able to look him in the eyes, as if you held all the cards. As if he couldn’t - or wouldn’t - ever harm you in any significant way.
Refusing to back down, teasing him to react first.
Admit it first.
To say just how much he wanted you.
How much he craved for you. How he woke up and thought of you. How much he wished he was inside you all day, every day.
And sometimes, even more dangerously, how he saw a particular painting and thought of you. Wondered if you would like it. Played out in his head how he was going to tell you all about it and then show it to you. The same had been happening a lot with clothes. Gowns he saw and only pictured how you’d look wearing them, and the way he would go about getting them off later.
The look you gave him during dinner while sipping on the most expensive wine from his private collection…It was enough to make him want to stop the world. Bend you over the table and fuck you until you pleaded with him to let you finish.
Tonight, however, he was tired of your games. Vincent was no longer interested in making you squirm, he wanted to make you scream.
If you refused to admit your obvious desire when he was being so nice, he was going to make you beg out loud.
He flipped you around, sturdy hands on either side of you forcing you to go on all fours for him. Aware that you hated not seeing his face while he took you.
For a moment, he basked in that power.
Of how despite all your fight, your snark, your feigned indifference when he spent weeks without seeing you and suddenly turned up at your door, you were still pliable to his will.
One of his large hands maneuvered to make sure you couldn’t switch positions, holding your neck in place. The cold metal of his ring tingling against your skin. Demanding that you stare forward, towards the headboard, stealing from you even the mere possibility of catching a glimpse at what he was about to do.
A slap came down hard on your ass, earning him a choked gasp. His hand soothed the now pained spot for a second before another slap soon followed. And then continued his motions, one after another until you lost track of how many spanks you had gotten. Being only mildly aware of the prickling of your skin, and more consumed by the wetness dripping from your core.
A whine ripped through you as he finally placed his thumb on your pussy, caressing you thoroughly.
“Fuck…”, you muttered a satisfied near-sob.
“Mmmm…not yet, mon amour”, Vincent teased, “unless you’re ready to beg for it.”
He splayed his hand on your lower back, moving you closer to his cock, and you held your breath as you felt him gripping his length behind you.
“Are you ready, darling? Are you ready to beg for me?”
“Yes!”, you mewled, nearly adding a “please” after.
You knew he was shaking his head at you, “It is truly a pity you have not spoken the correct words.”
You hissed as he grazed the head of his cock on your entrance, teasing but not making any moves towards pushing inside.
Vincent smiled, if you wanted him you’d have to say it, and he knew you were close to breaking.
“F-uck, fuck, okay”, you relented, backing yourself up further against him, “please…please…fuck me, I can’t…I-I want you, I need you so fucking bad.”
He wanted to resist you, as you had resisted him. He wished he could.
Vincent liked to think of himself as a man with enough resolve to spare, but that was always a challenge when it came to you.
When he said he would give you whatever you wanted, you thought it was a tease, a joke, a lie. You were wrong.
Not another sigh from you was needed to make him plunge his cock inside you and set a fiery pace, embracing your warmth as he moved one hand toward your nipples, pinching them so hard you started screaming.
Time lost all meaning, and sounds felt far away as he pounded inside you, setting a relentless pace.
Neither of you spoke, but both panted in pleasure.
One of your hands reached out towards his own, the one that is holding your neck, intertwining your fingers in a way that allows you to finally move your head back towards him.
Searching for his lips.
Unable to deny you any longer - and consumed by his own desire - he complied. Draping himself closer and closer, as if he wanted to consume you fully. Covering your body with his own, devouring your mouth with vigor, until neither of you can hold on.
You’ve deprived each other for too long.
He waits for you to finish, a wave of ecstasy ripping through you, as he fucks you even harder, chasing his own release with a shout.
He soon lays down on top of you, and in your lightheadedness, your fingers intertwine with each other.
Holding on for as long as you can.
Unaware of the great lengths the Marquis will go to make you, his.
#marquis vincent de gramont#vincent de gramont#marquis de gramont x reader#bill skarsgard x reader#john wick fics#fics#mine#smut#bill skarsgard smut#marquis vincent de gramont smut
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A Love Too Dark Masterlist
The Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Reader
Summary:
She was working as a bunny-girl in a casino when a mysterious VVIP arrived to ruin the peace in her life.
It's scary when someone like the Marquis de Gramont - ambitious, rich, and highly influential - took an interest in you.
WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC.
This story will contain 18+ mature themes, blackmail, forced kissing, dark romance, toxic behaviour, blood, violence, stalking, manipulation, a lot of smut, dubious consent, non-consensual content, non-consensual creampie, breeding, yandere Marquis de Gramont, power play, and power imbalance, obsession, dark Marquis de Gramont, and abuse of power. The list will be added more as the story progresses. Minors, don't read.
This story is also available on Archive Of Our Own (AO3) site.
Link
Chapters
Chapter 01: A Deal With The Devil
Chapter 02: Chaos and Risks
Chapter 03: He Grabbed Her
Chapter 04: Insatiable Need For Satisfaction
Chapter 05: Dark And Primal
Chapter 06: Lives In His Hands
Chapter 07
If you’re interested in being on my taglist to be tagged in the next chapters, please leave a comment here and mention the taglist.
#marquis de gramont#vincent de gramont#marquis vincent de gramont#marquis x reader#marquis de gramont x reader#vincent de gramont x reader#marquis vincent de gramont x reader#john wick chapter 4#female reader#reader insert#tw dubcon#tw noncon
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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!
“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.”
#marquis de gramont#marquis de gramont x reader#vincent de gramont#vincent de gramont x reader#marquis x reader#john wick#john wick 4#marquis vincent de gramont#vincent de gramont x you#john wick smut#bill skarsgård#bill skarsgard imagine#bill skarsgard smut#bill skarsgard fanfiction#bill skarsgard#bill skarsgard x reader#john wick series#john wick fanfic#john wick imagine#john wick movies#john wick franchise
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Heyo! Love your recent post on the marquis de gramont. Could you do a one shot where the reader manages to escape yandere marquis and manages to hide in another country for a few months before the marquis confronts them in a motel they were hiding in
No Escape
Pairing: Yandere!Vincent De Gramont x Fem!Reader
TW: General Yandere Behavior, Toxic Relationship, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Imprisonment, Mentions of Codependency, Controlling Vincent, Panic Attack, Cursing, Arguing, Forced Kissing (At first), Happy Ending. Reblogs are greatly appreciated!
Word Count: 1.5k
It took you months to earn his trust, which he scarcely showcased to anyone. The months you pretended you were finally falling in love with him, with lovely words and tender affections that gradually lowered his guard with each passing day.
There were privileges that came with trust, which you soaked up like a sponge. He eventually permitted you to roam around the mansion without him or a bodyguard, which led to him permitting you to spend time outside within the gates. Finally, you were allowed to sleep in your room without someone monitoring your door during the night.
However, you ultimately reached a breaking point when you recognized one day that those affectionate words and acts had transformed into something more…sincere. You'd lay awake in your room, your mind racing at the prospect of succumbing to Stockholm Syndrome.
Your altered phone, gifted by Vincent, lay in pieces on the bedroom floor when you made your escape. You crept out under the beauty of the moonlight, and your efforts during the day allowed you to memorize Vincent's men's routine patrols. You wore only the clothing on your back and a little satchel containing your monthly allowance, which Vincent would give you as a reward for your good behavior. The hardest thing was climbing over the fence, but you made it out with only minor cuts. Despite the joy of finally experiencing independence, you couldn't shake the sadness in your heart. You couldn't help but think you were doing something wrong.
'It isn't love; it isn't love.' Throughout your entire voyage to Canada, you would repeat those words in your head like a broken record. When the landlord handed you the keys to your flat, you couldn't help but feel awful. When you received your new cell phone a week later, you resisted the urge to call him.
You missed him terribly and despised yourself for it.
A month has gone by, and you weren't any better off than you were a few weeks before. You did, however, have a job interview coming up in the next month, and you were pleased that you were making progress toward regaining independence. You even purchased a new cell phone for amusement purposes.
Vincent had certain expectations for you as his lover while you were imprisoned. He wanted you to be entirely reliant on him, letting him make decisions for you and requiring his permission to do everything or walk outdoors. He promised to take care of you, to make you want for nothing, and to give you the wedding of your dreams. However, beneath the surface, you became less and less of yourself.
Sitting on the edge of your bed, you couldn't help but wonder if you would have been happier at ho-Vincent's mansion. Your eyes threatened to shed tears as you glanced at the screen of your phone.
Vincent's number was illuminated in the darkness of your room, casting a chilling glow across your face. The call button begged you to merely press it in order to make amends.
You tapped the button and placed the phone to your ear with a nervous exhale. As the phone continued to ring, your eyes were wide and stared into space. As you waited for him to pick up, your heart was racing in your chest, and you nervously chewed your nail.
'He'll be mad...'
The thought occurred to you, and you immediately regretted making the phone call. You were aware that Vincent had a temper, and while he never took it out on you, you weren't immune to his stern lectures when you got in trouble, or how he destroyed his possessions in front of you. Even his patience with you can waver, and you weren't planning on finding out.
When the person on the other end of the line picked up the phone, you hurriedly hung up, unable to handle the sound of his voice. You tried taking a few deep breaths, but your heart refused to stop pounding rapidly as you stared down at the phone.
Within the first five seconds, your phone rang, and you felt your heart was about to stop. When Vincent's number came across your screen again, you screamed and threw the cellphone against the wall. Your phone was scattered in pieces on the carpet, similar to the altered phone you left at the mansion. You prayed to whatever higher power that the call wasn't long enough for Vincent to track it down.
"Fuck!" You exclaimed, rising from your bed and walking about your room, your hands grasping the sides of your head, attempting to stabilize yourself. "Fuck, fuck!"
You couldn't sleep that night.
You were strolling to your apartment, finally entering the elevator with a spring in your step. A month had gone by with no occurrences, and your concern was fading, with your confidence progressively taking its place.
The job interview went well, and you were hired at the local supermarket in the little town where you resided. It was extremely discreet, and you preferred it that way. Anything too extravagant would have drawn Vincent's attention, which was the last thing you needed.
When the doors reopened, you proceeded to head towards your apartment door, fishing out your keys from your satchel. Sorting through your keys, you unlocked the door and walked into the dark apartment, shutting the door behind you. You walked over to the wall, flicking on the lights.
The next thing you heard caused a chill to run down your spine.
"Did you enjoy your interview, chérie?" A familiar voice spoke, prompting you to press your back against the wall in panic.
Vincent stood in front of the window, his back to you, watching the beauty beyond the glass. His hands were in his pants pockets, and his posture was rigid.
"V-Vincent I-" You stuttered but came to a pause when Vincent turned to face you.
His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his big lips formed a stiff line. He was clearly furious with you, but he tried to remain calm.
"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" He demanded, taking a few steps closer to you. His stature was imposing, towering well over six feet tall, and you hoped he'd keep his distance.
You could only stay silent; your eyes were locked on him.
"Do you?" He asked once more, his tone becoming darker.
"I-I'm sorry, Vincent, I just-" Your mind was blank, unable to generate a suitable explanation. Your heart was attempting to burst from your chest, and your breathing was growing shaky.
How can you explain your mixed feelings to your kidnapper?
Vincent's patience was clearly wearing thin as he strode towards you, seizing your upper arms and dragging you close. He disregarded your terrified yelps as you struggled to keep your distance. However, because you were close to the wall, Vincent quickly trapped you against it. Your faces were barely a few inches apart, and you struggled to keep the warmth from flowing into your cheeks.
"How could you do something like this? I thought we were happy together and that you finally accepted our love! Why would you run away and scare me to death?!" He yelled, shaking your body somewhat as he spoke. "Do you understand what you put me through?!"
Suddenly, there was a fire that was ignited in your heart that you'd never felt before. All those months poured through you and you didn't think before you opened your mouth.
"What I put you through, what about me?! You kidnapped me and kept me inside your stupid mansion like I was some doll to do your bidding! How dare you stand there and act like you didn't hurt me first!"
Before he could reply, you continued, "But, I fucking love you! Even after everything, I still fell for you, and I hate myself for it! So, I ran! I ran away from you-"
You were cut short as Vincent yanked you into a kiss, his body crushing you against the wall. As you struggled, his arm curled around your waist, and the other gripped your hair to prevent you from pulling away.
However, the longer the kiss persisted, the less you struggled and ultimately succumbed to your predicament. He's kissed you several times before in the past, but this kiss was different. It was the first kiss where you two were finally on the same page.
You returned his kiss, your arms wrapping around his waist. He growled slightly into the kiss, drawing away slightly and planting a gentle kiss on your brow. You leaned against his chest, tears welling up in your eyes as you understood what had transpired.
Vincent brought his lips to your ear, his fingers twirling in your hair as he murmured darkly, "You will never do this again, do you hear me?"
His words sent shivers down your spine, full of ownership, and you knew your independence was gone. You softly agreed, allowing him to bring you closer to him in an embrace that was everything but sweet.
"You'll never escape me; I'll always find you." He murmured again, planting a firm kiss against your temple. "Always, chérie."
Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked
Taglist: Comment to be added!!
@prettywhenibleed @britany1997 @bookworm-with-coffee @leiasolo77 @rottent33th @slaasherslut @bloodywickedvamp @daddy-issues-99 @kirishimasfiance @cynic-spirit
#marquis de gramont#vincent de gramont#marquis vincent de gramont#john wick#john wick franchise#john wick series#john wick fanfiction#john wick fanfic#john wick headcanons#vincent de gramont x reader#yandere!vincent de gramont x reader#yandere vincent de gramont x reader#john wick imagines#john wick x reader#yandere!john wick x reader#john wick x g/n!reader#yandere john wick x g/n!reader#john wick x y/n#yandere john wick x y/n#john wick x you#yandere john wick x you#yandere john wick#yandere#male yandere#yandere headcanons#yandere alphabet#bill skarsgard#john wick 4#john wick chapter 4
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Assassins aren’t great at motivational speeches.
#caine#marquis vincent de gramont#john wick#winston scott#john wick 4#john wick chapter 4#john wick 4 spoilers#my edits#Donnie Yen is hilarious in this movie
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faustian bargain - marquis vincent de gramont x f! reader (john wick: chapter 4)
synopsis: To clear your debts to The High Table, you agree to a proposal by the Marquis to live with him as his partner.
warnings: language, sexual content (p in v sex, choking), semi-toxic relationship dynamics
word count: 2.8k
a/n: the john wick lore makes my head spin!
You stared into the weathered face of the man on the portrait before you, tucked away in a private corner of the Marquis' expansive gallery. The wrinkles and creases bore the weight of years of suffering, the lines of his face hard set in permanent anguish. You often imagined them as a collection of sins etched onto his aged features. Sometimes, you found yourself likening the image to a Picture of Dorian Gray. You would wonder whether the Marquis' misdeeds had marred this painting instead of his own self, leaving his striking handsomeness intact, and he’d hidden it from view.
The portrait reminded you it was too late to regret the changes that had taken place; only to find a way to cope with them. You had become used to seeking refuge in your thoughts amidst the entrapment of your existence. You would conjure whatever you liked to make this engorged mansion seem less stifling.
You had made an off-hand comment to the Marquis once, that you felt like a cat in a cage without enough room to stretch its legs.
He had chuckled, with his own catlike eyes boring into yours. "Mon amour, you are only bound by your own pride and reluctance. Laissez-vous être libre."
In seeking freedom from The Table, you traded one form of enslavement for another. For some unknown reason, the Marquis had taken an interest in you upon your first meeting. So he offered you a choice: join the fruitless battle to kill John Wick or stay with him in his home until it was all over, in some sort of twisted romantic scenario. Whether he was driven by boredom, liquor, or pure schadenfreude, you were unsure. Regardless of his motivations, you knew there was really only one correct answer if you wanted to live.
"I'll live with you," you'd told him. "But what is it you really want from me? No bullshit."
"The companionship of a beautiful woman, is all. Is that truly so wrong?"
His full lips formed into a roguish smirk.
You should have known there'd be a catch. You didn't simply live in his mansion - you were confined to it. Even with supervision, you weren't allowed to leave the property. As a result, you desired his presence in order to fill your solitude, developing a sudden and unexpected connection to the man. It was shocking how quickly your resolve to spite him faded. He became your lifeline, your connection to the outside world. And despite your best judgement, the more time he spent away, the more you yearned for him.
You hated his brand of intoxicating hedonism, the luxury items and expensive food he lavished upon you to win your favor. But you wore the designer dresses he laid out on your bed and drank the aged wine that was served at dinner.
You felt like you were betraying what you stood for through your infatuation with him. You resented yourself for growing so dependent upon him. Every touch you shared, every pent-up moment of sexuality - and there were few and far between - sent a flood of guilt rushing throughout your body. You'd wanted to escape The Table, but had only gotten yourself in deeper by fraternizing with the enemy.
The worst part of all was that he assumed a total indifference towards you. He would only provide you with the occasional caress or kiss on the cheek and any coy allusion he made to romance or sex in conversation was carefully veiled. He was forcing you to make the first move, and you wished so strongly that you could shatter his confidence by refusing to make it.
But at the same time, your resolve was wavering - every part of you was consumed by a flaming desire for him, steadfast in its absolute power.
You knew you had to do something to extinguish it.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The clatter of silverware resounded throughout the dining room, forks scraping against fine china.
You'd been fixated on him all night. Your eyes were glued to the veins flexing in his hands as he grasped his utensils, the curve of his lips when he brought a forkful of food to his waiting mouth, the tensing of his sharp jawline as he chewed.
Every time he met your gaze, your nerves stood on end. The meal seemed to drag on, and no matter how much you ate, nothing could fill the gaping pit of anxiety in your stomach. It was just the two of you tonight, and the air felt charged with electricity.
"C'est fini," the Marquis commanded suddenly, pushing his chair back. It dragged across the polished floor with a squeal.
As you always did, you stacked the plates and carried them into the kitchen, starting to wash them until the staff refused to let you help any further. You wished they would allow you to do more- you hated not feeling of use, and you disliked others waiting upon you. Your sense of independence was unshakeable, even here.
When you left the kitchen, the Marquis had gone, likely retired to his chamber. You were counting on that. You hurriedly crossed the house, taking deep breaths for what you were preparing to do.
Standing in front of his door, you raised your right knuckle and rapped upon the wood. You heard shuffling within.
"Who is it?" he called.
"It's me," you replied sheepishly.
"D'accord. Come in."
You slowly pushed open the door and stepped into his room. His bare back was facing you, muscles rippling as he leaned over to unbutton his pants.
Your cheeks grew hot. "Um- you know, you could have told me to wait and gotten dressed first."
He turned around, stepping out of his pants and laying them next to his discarded shirt on the bed.
"I was not aware you were such a prude."
You scoffed and mumbled something under your voice about "public decency", trying to hide the anxiousness creeping into your tone. He strolled past you with an air of nonchalance, naked save for his boxers.
"So are you going to tell me why you're here?" he continued after several moments, folding his clothes with all the ease of someone who's never had to do their own laundry. He slipped a silk robe over his body before pivoting towards you, his eyes boring into yours.
You let out a breath of air. "Um... I need to ask. What's going on here? With us?"
He cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. What is it you want from this?"
He shook his head. "Déjà vu. You have already asked me this. My answer has not changed."
"Sure. My company, huh?" You replied in an insinuating tone.
"If you are implying that I expect you to do sexual favors for me, do not worry. I would have asked by now."
"What a gentleman."
"Mmm. When I say company, I mean company, chérie."
"Alright. Well..." you stepped towards him, shaking off any lingering feelings of hesitance. "I think you're a coward."
He moved closer, a dark look crossing his face. "Oh, do you?"
"Yeah. You know, I hear a lot around here. And I see how you pull the strings to ensure that everyone but you faces John Wick."
His jaw hardened. "It would be wise not to involve yourself in things that do not concern you."
"See, but you being a coward does concern me. I mean, it must be why you're just biding time until I make a move on you. Since you won't be the one to do it."
You were playing with fire, taunting him like this. You'd know him long enough to become immune to his attempts at intimidation, however.
He treaded backwards, barking out a laugh. It was strange to see him lose his perfectly-maintained composure even for a brief moment.
"You think you know everything, non?"
"I know more than you think," you countered. "You didn't deny it, after all."
"So this was the purpose of the visit? You have come to lecture me for not being man enough?"
"No. I came to ask you to be honest."
"I am not an honest man, chérie. You should know that. So what is it you want me to say?"
You were aware you were about to give away the upper hand, but fuck it.
"It'd like to know if you really do want me."
He shook his head, lips pursed together in amusement. "And did you not just boldly declare that I do?”
"Stop toying with me."
He let out a sigh of exasperation. "I cannot understand why you ask me this. If I did not want you, why would you be here? I have given you space, and you interpret this as a sign of cowardice. I did not think boldly pursuing you would go over well. My mistake."
"That's not what I'm saying," you retorted, an indignant cry escaping your lips. "I'm alone in this house most of the time, and when you are here, you treat me as if I'm invisible. I feel like the fucking toy that the spoiled brat refuses to play with."
"You believe this is how I see you?"
"Yes, I believe it," you spat.
He laughed again, the sound not as sharp as before, humorless.
"How wrong you are."
"Then tell me your side of the story.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on either side of him.
"I decided I would not send you to the front lines of this war with John Wick. I am confident I will win, bien sûr, but not without casualties. I did not want you to be one."
"Why?"
"J'sais pas. A feeling I had that I cannot explain. I just knew I wanted to give you a way out. I..." he trailed off. "I did not do it to taunt you, as you think. And I am not indifferent towards you. I thought that much was obvious."
"How wrong you are," you imitated.
"You are one to talk, chérie. You walk around as if you hate me and everything I stand for."
"I wish I did,” you replied ruefully.
His expression was unreadable. You approached him, standing over his form on the bed. Tentatively, you reached out to untie his robe, your movements slow in the case that he'd want you to stop. He stared up at you with unblinking eyes as you slid the folds of his robe to the side, revealing his bare chest. He shrugged the rest of the garment off, allowing it to fall to the floor. You slowly ran your hand across his abs down to his happy trail.
"Do you like what you see?" he murmured, his eyes searching you for validation that you were surprised a man of his status would be asking for.
"I saw it before when you were walking around half-naked, but yes, I do."
Ignoring your sarcastic comment, as he tended to do, he gestured towards your own clothing. "Take it off."
You were too caught up in the headiness of the moment to protest that he'd phrased it as a demand. You pulled your nightgown over your head, and it joined the clothing pile on the floor.
Gazing at you intently, he placed his hands firmly on your waist and pulled you towards him. He took one of your breasts in his mouth and then the other in turn, swirling his tongue around your nipples. You dug your hands into his brunette locks as he peppered your chest with love bites, exercising his newfound lack of restraint.
It was hypnotizing to see his guard go down, a hungry, animalistic fervor overtaking him. He was feverish with his movements as he pulled you to straddle him, his hard cock pressing against you. You tugged down his boxers and let the member spring free, admiring it for a moment before moving your hand in front of you to pump it up and down. You adopted a slow pace to offset his sudden frenzy, determined to leave him wanting more.
He slid backwards across the bed and you followed, your hands still working around his cock. He laid his head down on the pillow, looking at you lazily with hooded eyes.
"This must be how all of your fucks go, huh? You just lay down while the other person gets you off?" you teased while suspecting there was some truth to the notion.
"I'm simply fulfilling the role you've already carved out for me, non?" he retorted, reaching out his hand to smooth your hair back.
You spit on your hand and lubed up his cock, feeling the intensity of his gaze burning your face. You pressed down on his shoulders for support as you lifted yourself up into a crouching position, lining him up with your entrance.
He sat up slightly, helping guide you onto his cock with eagerness. He sloppily buried himself inside you, and you began to create friction, bouncing up and down with your legs wrapped around him and your nails digging into his shoulders.
You relished in the effect that your ministrations had upon him. He was a silent lover beside the occasional soft breath or inhale, but his pleasure revealed itself through his body language; his mouth gaped slightly open, eyebrows furrowed, head arched back. You couldn’t help but admire him.
The two of you moved in harmony, soaking in your collective loss of inhibitions as your pace grew faster. You’d caught yourself imagining this a few times late at night, cursing yourself as your hand crawled down to the hem of your nightgown.
It felt so much fucking better when it was real.
You scratched deep marks in his skin as ecstasy washed over you, climbing closer to your high, your walls clenching against his cock. Suddenly he was trying to move you off him, and the spell was broken as you looked down at him in confusion.
"Lay down on your stomach," he instructed, and again you bent to his will.
You felt his arm snake around you from behind, his hand clamping down around your neck. You went lightheaded from the sudden loss of oxygen, and a moan escaped your mouth as you felt him enter you again.
"Is this man enough for you, chérie?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he rammed into you from behind.
He was pounding you mercilessly, and you knew that to tell him to stop was to reveal further weakness. You moved to brace yourself against the bed frame, but his hands were on your arms, pinning you down so you were entirely at his mercy.
"Tell me I'm a fucking coward now," he challenged.
"You're - not - a - coward," you managed to choke out, his thrusts continuing to increase in intensity, the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberating throughout the room.
He hummed his approval, before taking ahold of you and flipping you onto your back. His left hand moved to play with your clit as the other returned to your throat. Your back arched in anticipation, your body tingling from the combination of his cock thrusting into you and the movement of his fingers.
"I'm gonna cum," you cried out.
"Ouais, cum for me."
Your body trembled under the weight of your orgasm. As soon as you'd collapsed back down, he quickly pulled out of you, letting out a guttural groan as he shot his load over your tits and upper stomach.
He reached his index finger into the mess, drawing a heart in the sticky liquid and completing with an arrow through the center. The juvenile gesture caught you entirely off-guard until you looked up to see the amused, self-satisfied expression on his face.
He pressed his finger against your lips, gently nudging for you to open it. You took his finger into your mouth, sucking it clean.
The Marquis laid down beside you, his eyes roving over your body. You surveyed his in return, unused to seeing the skin that he always had hidden under layers of a suit. You half-expected him to tell you to get out, maybe even toss you a twenty-dollar bill, but he said: "Do you want to sleep here tonight?"
It took you a moment to process the question. "Uh- yeah, I guess I will."
"Très bon. I will get you a cloth to clean up.”
He rolled off the bed. As you listened to him rifle through the cabinets, you were hit with the realization that you'd crossed a line you couldn't come back from. You'd fallen into his trap and given yourself over to him, just as he'd always suspected you would.
He returned to your side, handing you a plush washcloth. You wiped off the evidence of your clandestine encounter, but as he turned off the lights and pulled you under the covers with him, you knew it stained you somewhere deeper.
When you closed your eyes, all you could see was the haunting portrait. And all that lingered on your mind was a deal with the devil. The Table still had its claws in you.
#bill skarsgard#smut#john wick chapter 4#marquis vincent de gramont#marquis de gramont#john wick#jw4#marquis x reader#marquis vincent de gramont x reader#the marquis de gramont#john wick 4#the marquis x reader
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marquis de gramont x assistant!reader: i breathe flames each time i talk | love’s not supposed to be easy.
plot: the one where he has you but at what cost?
warnings: kidnapping, coercion, dubious consent, guys this has went for a dark turn :(, none of them gets any peace
masterlist
shards of glass fly through the wall behind him, vincent bites his tongue from cursing, a slightly frustrated frown slowly making its way to his face. he stops himself from visibly sighing or showing any sign of his genuine worry over another expensive irreplaceable vase broken on the floor.
instead, he worries about the best possible way to diffuse the situation in front of him.
which is you.
you, who he is irrevocably in love with. the person he wants most more than anything in this world, you’re the sweet heaven placed on this earth that was meant to be cherished by him, you who gave him the captivating feeling of affection.
you taught him to know what it was like to find a piece of himself he’s yearned for in years, a part that he denied to have existed in fear of being weak and vulnerable oh but no, you make him feel the other way around. when he feels your presence and grace, he feels like salvation and strength has entered the room itself.
you make him feel safe, in a way. he feels at peace when he’s with you. all his heedless ambition stood no chance against having you in his life the moment you almost died for him in that fateful night. he felt the need to immediately shelter you from the cruel world, he wouldn’t offer the universe a chance to take you away from him ever again. vincent swore he would cherish you, make every second of your life a sweet memory for the rest of your lives together. he took you to keep you safe and happy, he swears even if you don’t realize that you need it.
which is why what faces him, hurts him as much as it hurts you.
you’re standing at least a few meters away from him next to the table filled with saccharine fruits and decorated cakes, your form shaking from fear. earlier you had just grabbed the nearest vase and threw it at him the second he stepped into the room to join you for a quick snack. tears were already slipping down your cheeks as small sobs escaped your lips, the soft satin gray dress wrapped around your body made you look like a goddess on earth. it was the first thing that entered his mind before he noticed the projectile being flung to his face, thankfully he managed to dodge it in time and the vase smashed into the wall behind him.
he doesn’t know why this is happening.
or maybe he does. vincent is not a blind man to the truth, he does not relish in the bliss ignorance offers. he thinks anyone who enjoys that form of bliss is a coward who refuses to deal with reality. after all, if you’re dealing with a rather difficult predicament you wish to resolve, you need to face the hard truths and all plausible cards at hand. ignorance cannot play a part into it.
but when he looks at you, he realizes why people place themselves into that situation. he asks the same questions and pretends he doesn't know why you’ve thrown vases at him, why your tears only seem to drip when he’s in the room for the past two weeks. all truths he spurns to know.
“my love? what’s wrong?” he begins, vincent takes a step forward and reaches his hand out to you, a shard cracks as it was crushed under the weight of his foot, you eye him warily and instantly flinch to step back.
“no. stay away from me.” you scream. “don’t come any closer.”
“you know i can’t even if i wanted to.” he whispers looking into your eyes, he doesn’t listen to your words and takes a step closer. it makes things worse as another sob leaves your body.
“don’t bullshit me! in all my years i’ve worked with you, i know if you wanted to, you would.” you reply, “you just won’t try hard enough!”
“why do you find it so hard to accept?” he questions, frustration getting the better of him. he walks straight to you, startled by his sudden movements, you stammer on your feet but he gets to you quick, he grips your arms and holds you close.
“mon amour, every man on this earth could attempt to pry you away from me but i would burn this world to the ground if it meant i could return to you. i want you, i love you.” he confesses.
probably for the 20th time of the week.
“stop. stop it.” you struggle in his grip as more tears collect on your face.
“why? you have no reason to refuse me-“
“you kidnapped me! you took me from my home and locked me into your estate, i can’t even move a single finger without the guards or the maids reporting everything i do!” you struggled.
“all to keep you safe, there are people out there who want you dead. i am protecting you, mon amour.” he reasons.
“i don’t want it, i want to go home.” you beg. this is what the both of you go through everyday, sometimes it occurs during meal times like right now, but more often than not it happens the moment he comes forward to greet you a “good morning” in bed or before the both of you get ready to sleep at night.
he prefers to deal with you like this when you’re both in the confinements of his bedroom, it’s much easier to lull you with his sweet words and hold you because for a minute or two you don’t twist against and grip but rather lean into it. you don’t spit out those incomprehensible thoughts of leaving him or begging for him to let you go.
he would rather die than lose you.
“please…vincent just let me go. i want to go home, you have to let me go.” you plead, you’re now holding his wrists close up to your body. in a different scenario, he would’ve been fucking delighted to have this, to have you touch him with such softness but your words do the opposite effect as the idea of being without you sink into his sick head.
vincent takes control of his hands and brings your palms up to his lips, placing a soft kiss. he watches your reaction slowly, tears weren’t as present as it was before on your face, he likes it when you look calm it reminds him of the days the both of you spent together as boss and employee. serenity was always a good look on you.
“you are home, you’re right where you need to be…with me.” he states, “what i have to give you, my love…it shouldn’t trap you. it’s meant to make you feel the same way you make me feel but i can’t love you if you won’t help yourself.”
“if you would just let me love you, you’ll see.”
your face contorts back to your former anguish. teardrops begin falling down again but you don’t fight to get away from him, his arms snake behind your waist as he guides you into an embrace with him.
no matter how big of a fit you throw or how expensive of a vase you fling at him, this is how it always ends. for the two weeks you’ve spent here, hopefully you’ve realized that there is no force in this world strong enough to separate you from him. not even your tears and not even you.
you fold the velvety blanket in a slow but precise movement, your gaze locked on the person asleep on the other side of the room, suddenly hearing a loud roar of thunder crack outside your vision redirects to the large window. you hold your breath in fear of the storm abruptly waking him, thankfully it doesn’t happen and you stop mid-chore to trudge your way to the window so you could shut the curtains.
“everything is okay.” you shakily whisper to yourself.
your voice betrays you with that statement, you keep telling yourself that everything is alright, that you should be grateful that he isn’t cruel to you, that even in your rebellious and distasteful behavior for the past year he still showers you in finery and love.
it’s been awhile since you’ve thrown a fit at him.
you took some of his words into your behavior ever since your last squabble, you tell yourself that what he has to offer is good. that maybe you’re in the wrong in this one, so for the past months no matter how much you want to resist, you don’t swat his hand away when he touches you, you don’t shove him away when he holds you and you keep your head in place when he kisses you to please him.
and god it certainly did. he already seemed to glimmer brighter when he took you back to his estate but when you stopped shoving him away, his presence was impalpable, he looked like was a king that finally had his queen.
but you? oh dear.
all your reevaluation for your mindset did seem to work, there were moments when you enjoyed being with him. the late night dinners and touches that sometimes make your heartbeat a little too fast for your liking, his sweet words that move you which makes you think that it was too good to be true sometimes it makes you forget that he’s keeping you here against your own will.
oh.
it’s moments like these that make you stay still and cling to your fucking sanity, you want to get out of here. you do, but how? you are isolated in his home, no one in the staff treats you the same anymore they don’t listen to you unless you have a simple request. you have no one but the marquis, who is the last person that probably wants to hear about your desire to get out of here. your days are filled with him and only him, from the moment you wake up in bed he’s beside you, either in slumber or kissing you for the morning. you see him for meals three times a day until the sun sinks into the horizon where he makes love to you in the shadow of moonlight. not to mention the gallery viewing, watching operas and other superficial shit he likes.
you have no ally in here.
your form shakes and you cling to the table beside you, you want to leave so bad but every time you come up with an idea to leave it seems impossible. your former escape route has been rendered useless, you tried that the moment the marquis left you alone for the first time and it was barred shut with a guard stationed nearby. soon the marquis found out, he was livid and kept you locked in your room for a few days.
any chance of escape is hopeless even if you have no reason to want to stay here.
the storm brewing outside roars another loud burst of thunder, much louder than the previous one, the rain outside begins to shower even stronger. a cry erupts from the other side of the room and you sigh. you stare at the crib at the corner, a lamplight illuminating the dim room, you take a deep breath to compose yourself and make your way towards him.
your son.
with him.
it still makes you sick thinking about it.
you lift him into your arms and he immediately snuggles into your neck, his chubby arms slightly flailing around to feel your warmth. you shush him to sleep, whispering sweet nothings to soothe him. thankfully, his cries instantly die down and mumbles gibberish, slowly falling back to slumber. you found out you were pregnant around the time, you threw the vase at him. you felt frustrated and trapped, because how could this happen to you?
you hold him tight, and softly swaddle him around to calm him even more. you know the saying “if there’s a will, there’s a way.”, well you had so much of that if it weren’t for the child you brought out into this world you would’ve been insistent on getting out of here. you love your son, you do. but you find it so hard to go on when the weight of a child is pulling you down from what you want.
this is the only reason why you were willing to try being with him. as if things weren’t hopeless enough for you, maybe things shouldn’t be so bad for your child. after all, vincent was quite cheerful when he found out.
you press a soft kiss to his head, whispering a gentle affirmation before tucking him back into his crib.
pushing the door to enter the inside, you reluctantly walk in. you’ve done this several times before, yet when you do it, it still doesn’t feel natural. the room was dim, little illuminessence was present and the light from your bed lamp was the only thing keep things seen.
you walk towards the bedpost and something inside you makes you stop, a figure moves beneath the satin sheets and you hold your breath. he opens his eyes and sees you, confusion staining his expression. he immediately sits up and urges you forward.
“cherie? is something wrong?” vincent murmurs, his voice still hoarse from sleep. you don’t say anything but instead you abandon the bedpost and sit on the foot of the bed. you give him an empty stare and he stays quiet awaiting your reply.
“the storm woke him up.” you reply.
“oh? i’ll call for the nanny.”
“don’t. i already put him back to sleep.” you mutter.
“then what seems to be the problem?” he raises his eyebrows.
you eye him like he grew a second head, matter of fact he might as well have with what he did to you.
“how-“ you start but a cry leaves your throat. tears begin to gather on your eyes, vincent alarmed with your state leans forward, “how could you do this to me?”
“what do you mean, my love?” he asks puzzled.
“what do i mean? i meant how could you do this to me!” your voice gets louder but not loud enough to be yelling, the rain outside pours even harder.
“a year ago, i was just your assistant dealing with your meetings and setting your finery. you wouldn’t have even spared me a single glance unless you wanted a chef from monaco to cook you dinner considering i wasn’t significant enough to be known by you. i have to admit working for you was frightening but it was okay. i was alright with that.” you sob.
“this again.” he sighs.
“now, you locked me up here. a few months ago i was pregnant with your kid. mind you, even if you won’t say it i know you never wanted children. do you know how stupid this looks? how irrational and insensible this all seems? i’ve always known you to be cruel but this…this is torture. you’re playing house with my life like it’s some sick game” you reason not giving him a chance to speak.
“going through all these lengths because something in your sick head is telling you that you’re in love with me, acting like you wouldn’t discard me the moment you find me unworthy of your attention. ” you finish. he stays quiet from your little rant, dare you say a bit shocked. truth be told, it had been a while since you did this.
“what do you want me to do? tell me what to do, so i can make it better.” he demands, “i want you to be happy. i dislike seeing you miserable like this when you should be having the happiest time of your life. recently, we just had a child-“
“then let me go.” you cut him off, scooting closer to his side of the bed. you reach for his hands and he lets you, even when the expression on his face seems bitter.
“let me go home. i don’t want to be here, i feel trapped. at some point, you know that i don’t want you the same way you claim to want me. i don’t love you, i don’t think i can even if i tried my best. you need to let me leave, vincent.” you beg with all your heart.
vincent stays silent and wipes the tears on your face. he leans forward in resignation and delicately grazes his hand on your jaw making you look into him.
“my love. i don’t care how long it takes to make you realize that my feelings are genuine, that my acts aren’t based on flights of fancy, i’d spend the rest of my life proving it to you with a few more children around. you need to understand that i’m never letting you go, because i would simply die.” he whispers.
“you are mine. i am yours. not even you can deny that, you belong to me and i, you. you are my love, i am too far gone to lose you. how many people are lucky enough to say that?”
he kisses you after that, his lips softly envelop yours and it shocks you but the feeling and taste are so familiar to you know. you don’t get the chance to say anything in return as you feel his hand dancing around your nightgown, you could feel it slowly slipping down. vincent’s hand dances around your skin, going through your curves that he’s felt before.
“and this is alright with you?” you mumble as he guides you to your back, pressing kisses on your neck.
“what is?” he pauses slightly looking up at you before continuing to leave a mark on your neck.
“that i’ll never want you…ever.” you trace your palm up to his jaw, caressing it while giving the poisonous blow.
this makes him halt all his movements and looks into you as if you’re serious. you might be.
“then i’ll have to simply have to live with it. love is never supposed to be easy.” he chuckles before kissing you again.
author’s note: this was short but enjoyed it lots bc there’s drama hehe. assistant!reader getting her licks before he goes down on her was a last minute thing…anyways if you were expecting peace and hugs from this fic hell to the nah i want angst. marquis is relentless afff. thanks for reading and pls like and reblog :)) also send some of ur requests!!
#marquis de gramont#vincent de gramont#marquis de gramont x reader#vincent de gramont x reader#marquis vincent de gramont#bill skarsgard#bill skarsgard crackship#bill skarsgard smut#bill skarsgard imagine#bill skarsgard gif#bill skarsgard x reader#bill skarsgard icons#bill skarsgard fanfiction#bill skarsgård x reader#bill skarsgård#john wick#john wick 4#john wick chapter 4#john wick x reader#john wick imagine#john wick fic#keanu reeves
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Pregnant (Vincent de Gramont x reader)
Summary: You find out you're pregnant, and this little piece of information soon reaches Vincent as well.
Note: Part of the Vincent takes a liking to you series. Find it here. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button. I don't have a taglist.
Warnings: afab!reader, pregnancy
It couldn't be. It must be the stress from the wedding, you kept telling yourself, although you stopped believing it hours ago when you went to the pharmacy to pick up a pregnancy test. With each passing second it was getting realier, the possibility that you were pregnant.
Marrying a man like Vincent was one thing. You could always get a divorce and live the rest of your life free of him. But giving birth to his child, his heir, was a completely different matter. It made you feel uneasy, and you didn't know what to do to calm down a bit.
“Is everything okay in there?” the employee of the pharmacy–who kindly let you use their bathroom–asked worriedly.
By now, as you were sitting on the cold tiles with two identical tests in front of you, you were already sobbing. You didn't want them to be positive. No, they couldn't be. That would be too much to handle right now.
“Yeah, I'm fine. Give me three more minutes, please,” you called out, trying your best to sound calm.
The time displayed on your phone seemed to have frozen some minutes ago. It couldn't take this long to get the results, you'd been sitting there for what felt like at least half an hour. But according to the clock it had only been three minutes, and by now you'd already been through a nervous breakdown.
It must be a new record.
Then the alarm went off, and you finally got yourself to take a look at the tests lying in front of you. They were positive. They were fucking positive, meaning you were pregnant with the child of a man you weren't even sure you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.
Sure, sure, a few years of marriage sounded like fun, but the whole 'til death do us part thing wasn't something you wanted. Fun's fun, but who needs that in the long run? You sign the divorce papers maybe five or seven years from now and get on the first flight to New York.
Now your plans have begun to slowly slip away. You could never be able to leave your child behind, but you were also sure Vincent wouldn't let you take his only heir away from him. There would either be a nasty custody battle he would win with the army of lawyers he could afford, or you would be stuck here with him at least until the kid is old enough to go to college.
With a heavy sigh, you picked up the tests and tossed them into your purse, then looked in the mirror and took a few deep breaths. You were okay. Everything was okay. You couldn't let anyone see that you were upset, especially not the driver who was waiting for you outside.
If he noticed something was wrong with you, he would immediately report it to Vincent, and you hadn't figured out how to tell him the truth yet. You didn't even know how he would react, after all you couldn't just waltz in and start the conversation with it.
The drive home wasn't helping you. He knew. The damn driver knew something wasn't right, and you didn't miss the way he kept looking at you through the rearview mirror.
By the time you got home, you knew your dear lover would be there as well. And just as you expected, he was waiting for you outside, opening the door of the car to help you out of it. He didn't let go of your hand, and he didn't even say a word. He was just watching you with a quizzical look and waited for you to explain yourself.
“Mon amour?” he asked with an expectant look.
“Yes?” you replied, playing dumb.
Shaking his head, he swept a strand of stray hair behind your ear and said, “Something's wrong, I can tell.” But you remained silent, and the only reaction from you was a small smile as you looked up at him. “You do know you can be honest with me, right?”
Sure. Just not about this. “Of course I know. But there's nothing to worry about,” you lied. Oh, if you only knew. He would be livid, you were sure about that.
So you moved past him and walked inside, hoping he would finally stop bothering you with this. You had a lot to think about now, preferably somewhere away from. So you put your purse in the bedroom, then went to take a long, hot shower to clear your mind.
Things would be okay. First, you needed to see a doctor to find out how far along you were into the pregnancy, and to make sure the baby was okay. Everything else came after this. You had time to figure it out. You hadn't had any symptoms yet apart from being a little nauseous, so he sure wouldn't notice.
After you put on your super soft robe, you walked out of the bathroom as you dried your hair with a towel. But you came to an abrupt halt when you found Vincent sitting on the edge of the bed with the two positive tests next to him.
“Care to explain these?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
You were mad. You were really, really mad at him right now. “You seriously went through my purse?” you asked angrily.
He took a deep breath that he let out slowly, his green eyes never leaving your face. You couldn't read his expression, you had no idea if he was angry or happy or totally indifferent. It was hard to tell what was going through his mind and what he was about to say or do.
But after long minutes of deafening silence, he finally looked down at the tests and spoke up. “I was told you went to a pharmacy. I was worried about you so I sent someone to find out what you bought. When I heard you bought these, and that you used their bathroom to do the tests, I asked my man to check the trashcan in there. And what did he find? Nothing. I guessed you had them with you.”
Vincent signaled you to come closer, and you did as he wanted, taking enough steps in his direction to close the gap between you. He reached out to take your hands, pulling you between his legs. You didn't dare to speak up, instead you just watched him cautiously and waited for him to say or do something.
“You should have just told me, love. What did you think? That I would be mad at you?” he asked, his voice sickeningly sweet all of a sudden.
“I don't know,” you admitted.
Suddenly he let out a laugh, then pulled you down so your faces were on the same level. “We're getting married, and now we're starting our own family. Why wouldn't I be happy?” He placed a soft kiss on your lips while he waited for your reaction. “Are you happy too?”
What were you supposed to say to this? You were many things, but at the moment happy wasn't one of them. Confused, scared, uncertain. These words were better at describing your current feelings.
“Listen, I'm here by your side. I'll keep you safe. I'll keep our child safe. There's nothing to worry about,” he assured you before pulling you into his lap. “We're gonna be happy together, I promise you that.”
You rested your forehead against his, and he absentmindedly drew circles on the skin of your thigh. You believed him. You always knew he would protect his child, but he said you first. He really must have loved you.
Maybe him finding out so soon after you was for the best. You weren't sure you could have lied to him for weeks, making it look like everything was okay when it wasn't. But now that you knew he was happy, you knew things would get easier.
Maybe he would raise security whenever you went somewhere, but it would all show you that he truly cared about you. You could handle that. You could learn to handle that.
#vincent de gramont x reader#vincent de gramont#marquis vincent de gramont x reader#marquis vincent de gramont#marquis de gramont x reader#marquis de gramont#john wick 4#john wick chapter 4
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MORE MARQUIS MOREEEEEEE I LOOOOOOVED IT, L - O - V - E - D ITTT!!!!!!!
le marquis et le moineau - (ill)fated
Marquis de Gramont x f!reader
synopsis: one of several short stories, set up as a prequel to this oneshot of le marquis et le moineau. This is set in the early days, depicting the beginning of what would turn into a dangerous mutual infatuation.
more of moineau: le marquis et le moineau ▪︎ first dance ▪︎ other works
word count: 2.5k ▪︎ themes/warnings: slow burn, mentions of violence (it's the John Wick universe ofc), language
"Welcome to the New York Continental. How may I be of service?" Charon asks in his flawless genial manner.
You stand behind him, his shadow in training. After only 3 short months as the 'Assistant to the Concierge' - (a title you picked over 'Assistant Concierge', in reference to a certain beloved TV series) - you've come to learn the ins and outs of the Continental.
What makes it tick. The demands of its peculiar crowd of usual guests. What is required to keep such an establishment up and running.
In truth, it takes a lot of fucking work. Much and more need to be swept under the rug so as to not attract attention. Guests need to be kept satisfied, their particular requests adhered to. As long as it is well within the rules of the High Table, of course.
The only thing separating you from the animals.
As if everyone in this sort of life has not already become animal. Well, isn't ignorance such bliss.
The man who introduced himself as Chidi says, "I have come ahead of my superior, the Marquis de Gramont. Needless to say, we must ensure that everything is well-prepared for his stay here in New York. Wouldn't you agree, Charon?"
"Of course, sir." Charon tilts his head. "I will personally see to that, don't you worry. Is he still set to arrive tonight at the planned hour?"
"He should be here at 6 this evening. I trust that the... agitator is being dealt with?"
Charon walks in front of the counter, taking a parcel from a bellhop. He keeps his gaze trained on Chidi. "With compliments of the Continental, sir. The proprietor has ensured that the liability will be brought to the penthouse of the Marquis."
"Very good." Chidi taps Charon on the shoulder once, before walking away, a satisfied sneer on his face.
"Just remember, sir," Charon calls out to him, making his stop in his tracks, "that no business may be conducted on Continental grounds."
"Hmm."
After a moment, you move to stand beside Charon.
"So, sir, what was that all about?"
He turns his head towards you fondly. "I'm sure you've heard of Marquis Vincent de Gramont."
"Well, I've heard that he comes across as a pompous ass, if that's what you mean."
Charon simply raises his eyebrows at you, already accustomed to your blunt, sarcastic manner of speaking. "Well, he will be staying with us for a couple of days, as he has some... business to deal with."
"I won't even ask."
He moves to stand in front of you, finding your eyes. "Dear child, might I suggest steering clear of the Marquis and his associates whilst he is in residence with us here? It would simply be for the best. His reputation does preceed him."
You can't help but smile at Charon's nickname for you, one that heralds back to when your family first moved across the hall from him in one of the High Table sponsored apartment buildings in downtown Manhattan.
You had been only 12, but you were already well aware of your father's line of work. One that required him to be away on business to faraway cities each month, and caused him to rub elbows with the dregs of the underworld.
Not all of them were bad though. You grew fond of some of his associates, namely Charon, of course. And the one they called the Baba Yaga, but to you he was just Johnny.
John Wick hated the name, but he liked you, so the name stayed. Him and his then wife somehow became your second set of parents, with your dad never around and your mother usually drowning in her fancy liquor.
More than a decade later, your father met his end on one of his jobs. One that was only supposed to be "quick and easy". He promised he would be back to you in no time, with a box of your favourite chocolates from Paris.
But he never came. And neither did the fucking chocolates, which truthfully, you now hated. Your father lost his life in that city, so you grew to loathe everything about it.
And now comes the Marquis, the man practically in charge of all of Paris. Not to the public eye, of course.
If Charon asks you to steer clear of him, it must be for good reason.
But you've never been good at following orders. Or staying out of trouble. Or keeping your mouth shut.
"Whoever this Marquis is, I can handle him," you say determinedly. "I'll just act normal, do my job, go about business as usual."
Charon takes a deep breath, resigning himself. "Very well. Just try not to catch his eye." A tenant raises her hand, demanding his attention, so he starts to head her way.
"You know me," you call after him, an impish grin on your face. "I'm only a shadow."
The Marquis de Gramont stands in the ornate lobby of the Continental, surrounded by his posse. Clad in an impeccable three-piece cream suit, his hair perfectly coiffed, his polished shoes gleaming to the naked eye.
He is never beating those pompous ass allegations. You can't help but smirk from your post behind the concierge desk.
You look down briefly, smoothing out invisible creases on your black button-up shirt. Don't laugh. You roll out your shoulders. Compose yourself.
Winston and Charon had greeted his entourage upon entering, and they've been hashing out the details of his stay for the last minute or two. Apparently, the Marquis has some very specific demands. Of course he does.
Those in the group exchange some final words, nodding to each other, seemingly satisfied. Charon raises his arm, directing the Marquis. "Right this way, if you please."
Hands on his hips, the Marquis makes his way over to the private elevator. Which only means that he will have to pass by your post.
You try to keep your head down, as a practiced sign of cordiality. Also, so that you don't let out an impromptu sneer. But you can't help it. Right when he passes by, you raise your head.
And he is already looking straight at you.
The corner of his lips is in a downturn, as if he is judging you where you stand. Pompous prick.
You don't let it faze you. "Welcome to the Continental. We hope you enjoy your stay," you greet him, eyes not leaving his in some sort of defiance.
"Hmm." He walks by, slowly, and you only want to urge him on. But just when he is clear of the reception desk, he turns on his heel.
"What is your name?" He asks, a perfect brow raised in anticipation.
You answer him, keeping your voice steady. You've learned a long time ago not to allow men like him the chance to intimidate you.
A momentary pause, before he repeats your name. You want to hate the way he says it, as if he testing it on his tongue, seeing how it tastes.
But hell, that French accent can make anything sound heavenly.
"Is there a problem, monsieur?" Charon has moved to your side, wary of the attention from the marquis.
Marquis de Gramont barely acknowledges Charon with a sideways glance, before looking back to you. "Non, no problem at all."
He finally walks away. But of course, of course he has to drive a chill up your spine as he calls over his shoulder, "Have her come up to me in twenty minutes."
You grit your teeth in an attempt to maintain cordiality. "Excuse me, sir?" He could have at least addressed me himself.
Nothing. He doesn't even look back at you as he enters the elevator, head dipped in hushed whispers to his security team.
"So much for your being 'only a shadow', hmm?" Charon echoes your sentiment, which has just been apparently disproven.
Winston draws closer, worried look on his face as he says, "Quite a conundrum, dear one. I'm considering sending someone else in your place, however, he did ask for you markedly."
Your stomach churned. "Maybe he just needs some attending? Room service? Basic cleanup? I don't know..." Basic cleanup being clearing the blood of the surfaces of his penthouse, especially after he deals with the man the establishment had caught and presented to him.
Deals with. But not kill. Never that. Not whilst on Continental grounds, that is.
Winston responds, "Perhaps so. I trust that you will handle it? I know you can, child."
You straighten yourself. "Of course I can. He's just some overgrown French brat."
But what the fuck does he want?
"If anything," Winston adds calmly, "and worst comes to worst, your dear Uncle Johnny would surely be happy to lend a hand."
Of course he will. Feeling much lighter, you shoot a smile at Charon and Winston, before returning to your post behind the desk.
18 more minutes.
The Marquis stays in the biggest penthouse of the Continental. The most exclusive part of the property, made even more opulent per his request.
New pieces of artwork are hung on the walls, requested from some New York Baron's private collection. Not that he had a choice.
The man - the traitor - known as Laurent had been staying at the Continental in the week prior, stupidly believing that he is free of the Marquis.
It only took one phone call, and of course, Winston had to relent. They kept Laurent in one of their best suites, lulling him into a false sense of security, all while preparing for the Marquis' arrival.
Then Laurent's room was filled with nitrous oxide, and he was tied up and taken to the Marquis' penthouse.
Laurent sits in a lone wooden chair, nearly unconscious in the middle of the drawing room as you enter, a gash of deep red on his temple.
Chidi sits directly in front of him, seemingly carrying out the interrogation. His superior, on the other hand, lazily sits on the plush couch on the far side of the room. Looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but here. As if there isn't a man being tortured right in front of his eyes.
One of his men announces your arrival, but you sense the Marquis has already noticed your presence.
You clear your throat. "You asked for me, sir?"
"Mmm," he hums, and tilts his head. "Tell me, what was so funny?"
"I'm sorry?"
"When you first saw me in the lobby," he stands, stalking over to you, "you smirked. I wish to know what it was that brought you to react in such a manner."
This is why he asked for me? Because I smirked? Oh, for fuck's -
He steps forward, closer. "Cat got your tongue?"
"No, sir, I... I must admit, I don't quite remember what you speak of. I smirk to myself all the time. I've got plenty of inside jokes and all that."
"To yourself?"
"Yes."
"Are you... well in the head?" He twirls his fingers beside his temple. The bastard.
"Yes, Marquis." You take a deep breath, but you can't help yourself. "But I assure you I'm just as demented as you are."
A gloom falls over his face, and you sense his security team tense up. Preparing for him to say the word.
Your eyes trail around the room, and continue, "And everyone else in this world of ours."
The Marquis stares at you. Half-indignant, and dare you think it, half-amused.
His lips twitch, fighting back a smirk of his own, and his eyes rake your figure. From your uniform shoes to your hands to your lips. Then back to your gaze.
"Fair point." He shrugs, and the room settles once again. His men look away from the pair of you.
He turns, beckoning you to follow. A few feet in front of Laurent, he asks, "What do you make of this?"
Of this? You mean of him? The way the Marquis speaks, as if Laurent is merely a thing to be dealt with and not a person, bothers you. But such is the way of your world.
"Laurent Castillon. French-Italian sommelier. If I understand correctly, he cheated you out of what would have been successful dinner plans."
Sommelier, an arms dealer. Dinner plans, whatever you can concoct with the use of guns. You're more than accustomed to the language, having picked it up over the years.
"Excellent." The Marquis clasps his hands, pleased. "Now, what do you make of this? What would you do, if you were in my shoes?"
He is testing you, prodding you on. Seeing if you would curl back in your shell or flinch.
Is there a wrong answer here, or is this all just some game?
"I would set things right, I suppose."
"You suppose?" He repeats, dissatisfied. "We don't deal in half measures."
"I would - ," you look him directly in his eyes, "I would make him pay."
Something sparks in Marquis de Gramont's eyes. Recognition? Appreciation? Excitement?
"Won't that be a waste?" He takes a step closer, eliminating the space between you.
Stand your ground.
You shrug, "Such is life."
He smiles, "Indeed, petit moineau."
In a flash, without breaking your gaze, he takes a handgun from the inner lining of his jacket and shoots Laurent in the knee. He keels over, screaming.
The familiar sound rings in your ears, making you dig your nails in the flesh of your palm.
The Marquis does not even flinch, does not even look at Laurent who is writhing on the floor in pain.
"And what now?" He rubs an eyebrow with his thumb, still holding his gun carelessly with that hand.
"That depends." What the fuck did he call me? Moineau? "How gracious do you feel tonight?"
"Why?"
"Well," you say carefully, knowing the wrong word might set him off, "you could let the fool go. You've already taught him a lesson."
A long, torturous pause. He does not seem to like that suggestion.
"Take him away." He gives a sudden order, and all his men rush to obey. Seconds pass, and Laurent is out of your sight. Only Chidi and two other men are left hovering in the corner.
"Leave us," the Marquis finally says. Well, shit.
The door shuts behind the men, and you are left alone, with one of the most notorious men in the city. Perhaps the world.
"What's going to happen to him?" You find yourself asking, to fill the silence and also because you're genuinely curious.
He looks at you in confusion, as if the answer is the most obvious thing. "He dies, of course."
You swallow, a picture of forced composure. "Of course."
He rolls his eyes. "Sure, not here on the Continental and all that nonsense. But it does not matter. He dies anyway."
He dies. He says that so easily, like a life means nothing. It probably means nothing to him. Your father would probably have only been another life to spend, just another one in the roster, in his eyes.
"I hope you aren't busy," he says, walking to the other room.
"What did you have in mind?" Why can't he just send me away already?
"We shall dine together. I could use the company."
You grumble under your breath, "So much for being a shadow."
"Pardon?" He asks, just before reaching the archway to the dining room.
"I said, it would be my pleasure."
"Hmm."
Two can play at this game, Marquis.
And even more to come - taglist open!
Next in moineau...
More Marquis, just as it should be.
My HotD series works are not going to be discontinued. The next part to fire like yours will be up next, but don't hold me to it 🖤😉
#marquis de gramont#marquis de gramont imagine#marquis de gramont x reader#marquis vincent de gramont#marquis vincent de gramont x reader#marquis vincent de gramont imagine#john wick 4#bill skarsgård#bill skarsgård x reader#bill skarsgard imagine#vincent de gramont#vincent de gramont x reader#vincent de gramont imagine
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Marquis Vicent de Gramont | John Wick
#bill skarsgård#bill skarsgard#marquis vincent de gramont#marquis de gramont#john wick#movies#cinema#film#indie film#movieedit#cinematography#tv series#series#movie scenes
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Can you do a marquis one shot where the reader works as a tailor/assistant/spy for the marquis but they’re also really innocent/upbeat . As he gets to know the reader, he finds himself going from confused that they’re so cheery to loving them as they are to corruption kink?
Thank you for your patient, anon. 🖤 I hope you'll love this.
This add to a second request I recieved.
➡️ Also cause I saw you mentioned a corruption kink, one with the marquis de framing would be fantastic 🥹❤️❤️❤️❤️
I didn't quite understand, but here is corruption kink fo you. I hope you'll love this as well.
Little dove
Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont × you (F)
Rating: Explicit
Status: Complete (one shot)
“Oh, Marquis De Gramont — what a pleasure to have you here!” you exclaimed, seeing him enter your shop. You walked towards him, holding the door open and showing him your best smile. “I just got an absolutely cheeky outfit that you will love, exactly your size.”
Vincent smiled. By now he had gotten into the habit of frequenting your shop at least once a week. He didn't lack money, nor time; he loved spending a few hours on a Saturday afternoon exploring the embellished and sumptuous dresses in your shop. And most of all, he loved spending time with you.
So joyful, friendly, sweet — a little macaron. Such a lovely pastry. You were an extraordinary creature, in his eyes. He, who had seen so much death, who had held so much power—he looked at you and found such innocence in your gaze. It was a part of you that was impossible not to love.
He cleared his throat, with a wave of his hand he ordered his second to leave the shop, closing the door behind him and leaving the two of you alone. That was his moment of pleasure.
The first time he entered your shop, fascinated by the silk garments and elegant suits, the shiny patent leather shoes and the cashmere coats, Vincent believed that he would find the usual snooty shopkeeper who would try to raise the prices by realizing his status. But no, you were there. So excited to be able to show off your best suits and dress him up like a fucking prince. Vincent had to call two of his men and a second car to be able to load everything he had purchased and take it home. You had shaken his hand, you had thanked him, you had given him a discount (even!) and you had suggested that he come back soon; you would have been happy to have such a passionate customer in your shop. Vincent might have believed it was a matter of money... but upon returning, noticing the way your gaze lit up when it met his, he changed his mind. You had fun with him. You loved your job. You were excited, happy… innocent. So pure. A sweet, little pastry, in fact.
Once, arranging the collar of his shirt while he was looking at himself in the mirror, you had asked him with a certain veiled embarrassment: “Monsieur De Gramont, forgive my impudence, but I really want to ask. What is your occupation?”
He had laughed. “Are you asking me about my job?” You had blushed, you had apologized stepping back but he had turned around, taking your hand before you could move away. "No need to be embarrassed, cheri. I find your curiosity quite... charming." Your cheeks were colored the sweetest red. He had lifted your hand to his lips, leaving the ghost of a kiss on your fingers. "I am a businessman. Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont, at your service."
He had been absolutely lovely. And he, from that moment on, had wanted in the most perverse, craziest, most intense way, to ruin you completely.
Vincent had noticed the way you watched him, so constantly attentive to every curve of his body, the way his muscles filled your clothes, stretching the fabric, wrapping it in the most attractive way. Your intoxicating gaze devoured him, and he was dying to have your hands on him, your desperate eyes, your mouth praying for his benevolence. So submissive, and desperate. Corrupted by your own will, by the desire and pleasure that only he could have brought you.
That day, without exception, you stood behind him while he looked at himself in the mirror and admired himself. But soon, his blue eyes met yours in the reflection. He smiled.
“What do you think, my dear?”
You nodded, your face bright. “That shade of red is definitely your color.”
His eyebrow rose in mock surprise. He caressed the fabric of the jacket with his fingertips, but secretly watched the way your gaze only followed his touch. Bewitching, indeed.
“I like the jacket. I love it. This scarlet is... fiery. Don't you think?” Your eyes flickered up again, and you nodded without adding anything, attempting a shy smile. "And the pants? Do I wear them well?" It was impossible not to notice the way you blushed and swallowed slowly. He bit back a satisfied grin. With his hands on the belt, he gripped it, lifting it a little. “Look at me.”
He nodded. “Maybe I should sit down, and try to feel them.”
And you looked at him. He had them so tight — you could see everything. All of it. You had to fight against your instincts and force yourself to seek his eyes again. You smiled. “I think they are perfect, monsieur.”
Vincent sat gracefully in the armchair next to him, and sighed. There was nothing innocent about his smile. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, he spread his legs. His right hand, on his thigh, went up his leg, stopped right there, so close to his —
“Sweetheart” he interrupted you, laughing loudly. You turned your eyes, deeply embarrassed and red in the face, but he seemed almost happy with your obvious reaction. “Oh, don't get all shy now, my dear.” He made himself more comfortable in the armchair, spreading his legs in an almost vulgar, cheeky way. God, he loved that game. “Come on, look at me. I know you like it. I see you — the way you look at me — and I bet you're not as fragile and innocent as you want me to think, are you?”
Now you looked at him, with your mouth slightly open and your eyes large, wide and full of bewilderment, your cheeks scarlet, your voice trembling as you stammered an apology.
He shook his head, and his face darkened. “No. I will not accept your apology” he hissed. He raised his finger and motioned for you to come closer. “Come here, little dove.”
He wanted you to stand between his open legs, and immediately his left hand grabbed your hip, while with his right he was already unbuttoning his trousers. He licked his lips like a lion at his delicious meal, hungry, ravenous. “Keep looking at me, don't look away, I know you like it” he said.
And look at you, completely disarmed, dominated by that crazy and irrational desire that he wasn't offering to satisfy, on the contrary, it was fomenting your obsession. He was a fascinating man. And a very passionate one, from what you could see. Without any shame he pulled his hard length out of his trousers, stroking himself slowly, showing you all his virility, his silky skin, his intense hardness. He was perfect.
“And I thought you were so pure, innocent” he whispered, with a certain satisfaction. "But now I see how wrong I was, you little pervert. You like watching me, don't you? Ma petite voyeur."
But his hand suddenly slipped between your legs, he lifted your skirt without shame, found your panties already so wet for him and smiled — he smiled, the bastard.
“I — oh, Marquis, I'm mortified. I didn't mean to —”
“Don't you dare apologize again. I want to hear other sounds from your mouth.”
And his fingertips pressed against the little knot of nerves, right there, causing a vibration of pleasure throughout your body. If you were honest, that exposure and embarrassment only inflated your excitement.
“You're already shaking for me.” His voice was deep, controlled. “Tell me anything you want. I want to hear you pray. I know you can. Tell me, and I will satisfy your every curiosity.”
You breathed, your sigh became labored, panting. “Please, Marquis, I...”
He laughed. His hand continued to touch his member, so hard, up and down, and you could do nothing but watch as your intimacy became wet and your hunger grew without rest. "You what, my dear? Do you want me? Is that it? Do you want my hand, my mouth?"
You nodded.
“No — no, love. Tell me.”
You swallowed, searching for a small voice in your chest. "I want you."
“What do you want?”
"All of you!" his fingers moved the panties, you finally felt his touch on you. And, hungrily, they sought the little wet hole between your soft lips. You could hear the sticky sound of your arousal on his fingers.
“Again, tell me more.”
“Your fingers, they're so — oh, oh please. Inside!”
He licked his lips. “What a good girl. You know your manners. But I don't want you so innocent darling, we know how dirty you really are, don't we?”
You shook your head, but you couldn't deny the truth to yourself.
“Tell me you're mine, tell me how much you want me.”
On the verge of tears, humiliated and excited, you nodded. “I'm yours, all yours. I — I want you so bad.”
His fingers slipped inside you, sweet and intense, touching all those perfect spots that made you moan all your pleasure. And you closed your eyes, for a moment. He stopped.
“Nu-uh, eyes on me. You like to watch. Tell me you like it.”
Yes, yes. “I love it. You are...”
“What? Don't be afraid. I want to hear everything.”
“Perfect. Your body, your...”
Oh, you were still so embarrassed. No, he wanted more. Vincent stood up suddenly, mistreated you hard, pushing you onto the chair. So, still dressed, he knelt over you, tickling your pussy lips with the head of his hard cock. You were dying of pleasure, and you looked at him excited and scared at the same time.
“I know you want it — say it. Tell me you're my little slut, tell me you want my hard cock inside you. Say it!”
And you cried, pleading. “I'm everything you want! Your whore, your tight cunt, your little slut — just give it to me, fuck me hard, now!”
And Vincent finally obeyed.
He fucked you, hard and deep, with an unprecedented ardor, grabbing your hair, your neck, biting your lips, spitting on your tongue.
“More, use me!” you begged. "Yours, only yours! I love it! Fuck my cunt — my ass. Yes, spit on my tongue, and fuck me like you mean it!”
“Dirty, dirty girl” he growled. His fingers dug into your thighs. "I knew you were a slut underneath, all mine. My little voyeur, my bad, dirty girl. That's it, take it, take it all!”
The contractions of your orgasm milked his cock, every drop of his come inside you. And you panted his name, and every dirty thing, now corrupted by that pleasure and prey to a will stronger than you. Your every word was honey. He came inside you, on top of you, making you dirty inside and out.
And looking at you like this, ruined for him, Vincent understood that you were no longer the innocent, sweet girl he thought he had met the first time.
#marquis de gramont x reader#marquis de gramont#marquis vincent de gramont#vincent bisset de gramont#vincent de gramont#vincent de gramont x reader#smut
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BILL SKARSGÅRD as MARQUIS VINCENT DE GRAMONT on JOHN WICK: CHAPTER 4
#marquis vincent de gramont#bill skarsgård#john wick: chapter 4#john wick#john wick spoilers#jw4#jw4 spoilers#mine#gifs#*#aargh obssessed with his little suits#they're just sooooooooooo yaknow#and he's just soooooo yaknow
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