#de gramont x reader

[multific]

Yelling - Short

Vincent De Gramont x Reader

Summary: You were his, you had everything of his. What more could you want?

You hated yelling.

You hated arguing.

You hated this.

You hated the way both of your voices bounced off of the walls as both of you yelled the most hurtful things.

You weren't even sure what started the argument. Was it the date he missed? Was it the fact that he hadn't been sleeping at home with you for days now?

You weren't sure.

"You live in luxury!" yelled Vincent as you just stood there, frozen, taken aback by his words. "You eat the best food, wear the most expensive clothes, you sleep in silk! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?"

"YOU!" you yelled back and it was his time to stay quiet and listen. "All I ever want is you, Vincent. I don't care about the luxury! The dresses or the food. I just want you. I want you to be there with me, watch movies with me and sleep in the same bed as I do. I don't want money, I just want you." Vincent fell quiet. He knew you were right. He took a deep breath, letting a few minutes pass so he could clear his head.

You never cared about his money, you only cared about him.

"Amour. The pressure and-"

"I know. It's too much, you don't need me barking into your ears as well. All I want is for you to just sometimes, lean back a little and relax. Come home, have a shower with me, dinner with me. I can't understand what you are going through. But I can help you relax a little so you can start fresh."

"I'm sorry for yelling." he said as he sat back into his office chair.

"I shouldn't have yelled either. I'm sorry. But please, never say that again. I don't want your money, Vincent." you said as you moved to sit on his lap as his arms held you.

"I know. I truly do, I just wanted to hurt you because I'm insecure. I'm truly sorry, Mon Amour." he placed a kiss on your temple.

Vincent Taglist: @l4venderia

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead@thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[strawberrygothhh]

middle school me reading the most jaw dropping toe curling traumatizing fanfic at 4 am when i had to wake up at 6 am

[moonlight1030]

[twistedbloodstain]

I have two ideas for the marquis de framing that I think you’d do great writing!

1: where the reader is interrogating the marquis (meaning she kidnapped him) and through there, they start to get feelings for each other

2: reader (who had a relationship of some sort with the marquis) fakes their death because they couldn’t take the assassin world. The marquis is devastated (lots of angst hehehe). They meet again while the reader is trying to help someone (maybe John, lol)

3: reader who is part of the high table meets the marquis for the first time. Sorta like live at first sight.

vincent de gramont x reader: i could never give you peace | what’s meant to be is supposed to be

plot: the one where he finds you again.

warnings: the reader’s a medic/healer in here SORRYYY…, she knew john from before, he rats her out lolz, kidnapping except vincent doesn’t do it this time..(yay! cuz he forced someone else to do it!!!), anon im so sorry i focused too hard on one part, i will do an extra (i swear)

masterlist

“stay still.” you mumble.

mr. wick lets out a small grunt while you sew his wound back together, nothing too fatal (at least in his standards) but without the help of any anesthesia or alcohol to soothe the pain, the assassin had no choice but to follow.

“don’t worry, it's almost done.” you whisper almost finished with patching up the flesh on his back. “and..there..”

he immediately gets off his seat and reaches for his shirt stationed on a random desk scattered with medical supplies. he digs into his suit jacket and fishes out a coin and hands it over to you, you accept it eagerly and begin cleaning up.

“you need any help with transport?” you inquire while you discard your bloodied gloves and utensils.

“yeah.”

“on your way out turn left and find the guy with a gray jacket. he’s one of winston’s men, he’ll help you out. where are you headed?” you inquire while washing your hands. he hesitantly answers before offering a reply.

“paris.”

“oh.” you stop in your movements and look at him. he stands near the door way all dressed up with blood caking his temples, he still looks rugged and in no shape to do what he has to do in pairs but your opinion likely doesn’t matter to him.

“good luck, i guess.” you mutter.

“you’ve been there.” he says.

“i..have.” you hope he doesn’t press any further.

“what’s in paris?” he questions but doesn’t take a step further.

“for you?” you uneasily say, he doesn’t reply.

“a dangerous man. i..think you’ll die trying just to get what you want, mr. wick. but hey, who knows? maybe, it’s now him.” you explain.

“the guy who had the continental demolished, was it him?” he sternly asks.

“..yes, i think it was him.” you confess, avoiding his eyes.

it had been almost three years since you left that country.

three years since you left him.

you can’t even bear to say his name because if you do, all of it will spill out. how he met you, how kept you and how he loved you. 

he nods, “and for you?”

“an even more dangerous man.”

 ever since mr. wick entered and left your clinic. you've been in a constant state of anxiety. the mere thought and mention of him had you nervous, especially when you heard that he was in new york a few days ago. you thought it was all over, that he found you and was going to rip you from your freedom in this city.

the following news shocked you to your core, the new york continental being demolished was not in your bingo card as to why he’d be here. all because of an excommunicated assassin which you had tended to almost a day after the bombing.

although you’re horrified with the state of events, relief flooded you when you realized he wasn’t there for you. you’d still be safe from him.

but you can’t help but think what all of this means for him. at some point, you know that john wick will kill him, and you somehow played a part in it. you feel a tinge of regret for him but it’s quickly overshadowed with the horrors he’s done and you don’t feel as bad.

he did like you though, when you still worked at france for him as his estate medic. whenever he found himself wounded in the line of fire in an ambush attack, you were the one who tended to his wounds and saw him at his weakest. you don’t know why but a strong sense of trust was established between the two of you.

you thought it to be a friendship but fleeting glances of affection would seep through when you talked or when a large bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared in your clinic after patching him up. 

you toyed with a pin he gave you, his insignia. only he wore it proudly on his coat and truly, it warmed you to him. he did make you feel appreciated, small touches on your back and sometimes fiddling with your hands whenever you sewed his wounds, gave you butterflies in your stomach.

with you he was just…vincent.

soft words and touches with soulful eyes looking into yours, just gentleness and affection present in him. it made you indulge into it too, that he isn’t the cruel man people made him out to be. he isn’t heartless, that’s just how the world is.

a naive perspective.

a perspective that was easily shattered when you’d hear a bloodcurdling scream from the barn, and he walks out with blood on his hands and a disgusted look on his face from his clothes being stained. gunshots echoing beneath the servant’s staircases and thudding bodies being dragged into the secluded forests of the estate. you whisper to yourself those very same words even if all his actions sent chills on your spine.

but the truth of it is that, he is heartless. he is the man people made him out to be and you’re a fool thinking he could be better for you but at the end of the day, he is still the marquis.

it made you think. what if this is all a game to him? what if the moment he finds you uninteresting you become another stain on his suit? 

it’s not a secret that men like him love having delicate pretty things only to break them apart. that’s all you are his current delicate and pretty thing.

you decided to leave. you weren’t staying long enough to find out what would happen to you, feelings be damned when you’re easily replacable to him. you knew that the marquis was like a dog to a bone when he didn’t get the things he wanted, which only pooled fears into your stomach should he find you in new york.

he cannot have you.

you stare at the pin before chucking the pin somewhere in the room, you get up from your chair and begin closing the windows from your clinic.

a knock comes from the door, you chuck the remaining medical materials into a random desk and walk up to the door. wounded assassins aren’t a strange occurrence at this time of the evening but something…felt different.

your gut was telling you to ignore the person on the other side and stay still. you thought that maybe if you didn’t answer the person would go away. wanting to play things safe you don’t mutter a word that would alert them of your presence. it usually worked in some cases.

the knocking persists, much harder and louder now. your hands begins to shake and your eyes start looking around for an emergency firearm to help defend yourself, your actions frantically halt when you hear a voice through the door.

“doc?” a gruff voice asks.

you sight and put a hand on your chest. it’s just john wick. you eagerly open the door to let him in.

“john.” you greet, “come inside.” you invite him as you walk inside.

john doesn’t follow you and a confused expression takes your face, until you take a good look at him. for the first time, john wick doesn’t look wounded to you, his face and hands void of any blood, a new bulletproof suit adorning his body, a french one you notice but it still leaves you questioning things.

“i’m assuming france went successful.” you say.

“…it’s close.” he pauses before replying, seeming as if he’s finding the right words to say.

“what do you need?” you question.

“it’s winston. he’s been shot.” you freeze.

oh dear. you never really approved of the things he did but a soft spot was always present for him and charon. they helped you settle here in new york, but winston took you in even when he knew of your history with vincent. you swore to always help him in ways you could and now the opportunity presented itself.

the car sped down the street with you and john in tow. you hold your medical kit close to your lap, feeling uneasy with the thought of losing the old man. charon had been so recent and you don’t think you bear to lose the friends you’ve made along the way.

you glance at john and he looks calm and composed as usual, eerily so. a week earlier he was calm but you could feel his anger and determination simmering underneath his skin. now it looked like he was taking a walk in a park. you eye him carefully, uneasiness seeping in your stomach.

“did they give it to you?” you ask, he looks at you before clearing his throat.

“just an extension.” he answers, knowing exactly what you were referring to.

“to do what?” you ask again, john doesn’t budge and continues driving, ignoring your question. your eyes stay on him but he doesn’t look at you.

silence settles into the car and you lean back in your seat. you really wish your brought your gun with you right now. you don’t know why but you have a feeling that something is wrong right now, especially with john. he’s not telling you something.

or maybe it really is none of your business. perhaps he wanted to spare the bloody details of how he’s going to win his freedom back. you relax and try to forget the uneasiness, trying to remember that winston is the priority right now, you shut your eyes. all of your fears are gathering together and it’s making you overthink your interaction with john, everything’s okay.

the loud sound of drilling makes you open your eyes, you look at the window and you see a familiar street. 

the new york continental was being rebuilt.

your apprehensiveness returns.

“john?” you look at him once again, “who shot winston?”

“he got hit during the line of fire.” this time he replies.

bullshit. winston would have an emergency plan before the shooting started.

“in new york?” you press.

“yeah.”

another bullshit. you could see through his lies, he’s clearly fresh out of france. what was he trying to do? 

“j-john.” you voice shakes almost as if you’re begging. something happened in france, something that saved both winston and john.

he looks at you with regret in his eyes. not enough to save you for what’s about to come.

“where are you taking me?” you sputter, your heart beating fast in anxiety, “i’ve done nothing but help you, please don’t do this!”

“he took winston with him and he found out.” he quietly defends.

“please help me, i don’t want to go back!” you begin crying, tears rolling down your face, “he’ll kill me!” 

he makes no reply and continues driving. with no hope left with him, you try to open your side of the door. he immediately notices this and grabs your arm trying to stop you from leaving, you begin hitting him with your other arm.

you know that he doesn’t want to do this but it feels so unfair. you’ve saved his life only to throw yours away.

“let go of me!” you scream.

“i’m sorry.” 

you feel a prick in your neck.

you feel a heavy sensation pulling at your leg, your eyes feeling groggy still wanting to keep your lids closed. however the sensation persists and this forces you to open your eyes and sit up.

a dark room welcomes you, only a small lamp helping you take a small look of where you are. specifically, on a plush bed and a decorated room. your body feels heavy  from exhaustion which makes you lean back to the pillow behind you.

pondering what made you feel so tired when you haven’t done much for the night, you’ve sewn back together…a pair of assassins for the night? or was it three? two austrians and…who?a french? no…no..it was winston. 

that’s right.

wait.

only you didn’t treat winston.

you bolt up, your body seemingly sobers from the realization.

john brought you here in exchange for his freedom. 

you look around to see some sort of presence in the room but with the darkness it was hard to tell, nevertheless you hopped off the bed and bolted to the wooden door nearby. no wonder the place looked familiar, only the marquis would have a place as frivolous as this.

you need to leave right now. your hand reaches for the door until you find your body being slammed on the floor. a groan leaves your throat, in pain you massage your forehead and look around.

oh goodness.

a gasp leaves your mouth when you see a chain wrapped around your ankle, you inspect your foot before tracing the lines of chains, which were sourced on the thick foot of the bed you were on.

you tug it to check its strength and to see how long it actually goes. it was long enough to walk around the room but not long enough to reach the door. this is basically your fully furnished torture chamber. 

fuck. fuck. fuck.

a loud creak echoes through the room.

you really hate how things are right now.

he’s going to kill you. kill you for leaving him, how you easily made him look humiliated for being abandoned.

feeling your knees weaken you sit back on the bed and your hands shake in trepidation. the marquis’ simple presence made you scared of him, you felt tears falling down once again and you lowered your head, not wanting to look weak right now.

his footsteps are heard through the room, the door loudly closes shut, a thud echoing. he doesn’t say a word.

you feel everything leave your body. hope,freedom and life mostly.

he walks up to you until you see his shoes on the floor, a blurry sight entering your eyes due to the tears, he touches you, tilting your chin upwards and you do everything not to flinch. was he going to snap your neck?

you look at him and he still looks the same, slightly more mature.

but the same man you met a few years ago, if you jumped back into your rose tinted glasses, you’d probably see the vincent you cherished at some point if you weren’t so frightened right now.

he inspects you, his eyes wandering through your face. searching for something that’s supposed to be there, his lips part almost as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“i-i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” apologies spill out of your lips, wanting to take the chance of saving yourself, “i-i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to.” you cry. your hand reaches up to his hand that held your chin and you grip it for mercy, his hold on you weakens.

he doesn’t say anything and leans forward to you. you need him to say something, anything, whether it meant he’d simply say he wants yuu dead.

“please forgive me, just please don’t kil-“ he cuts you off.

with a kiss.

not a firm one but a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips.

he takes your hands into his and fiddles with it, trying to find his place in them just like before, he halts the kiss and leans towards your face. the man right in front of you wasn’t the marquis, it was vincent. 

your vincent.

the one with soft eyes looking at you with relief and adoration. the gaze that looked at you as if you were the most precious thing on earth, he wipes the tears on your cheeks and the next thing he says dissolves all sense of worry out of you.

“i could never hurt you.” he whispers.

author’s note: this kinda doesn’t make sense bc im so braindead rn to expand things but basically vincent finds medic!reader through winston and in exchange for the continental and john’s freedom, john brings medic!reader back to vincent. so basically she got ratted out lolz. this would work better if i made a vincent pov would be fun but i have a bunch of prompts to work on…(tempting) + he literally chained her down to him (hshshsh marriage allegory…) i kinda want to be funky dynamic of obsessed man + “ngl what’s wrong with this guy but i vibe with it” woman

[chiffxna]

A Love Too Dark (07)

The Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Reader

Chapter 07: Control Over Her

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.

Story Masterlist

PREV : Chapter 06

NEXT : Chapter 08

Chapter Summary:

The Marquis finally coerced her to return to the casino. However, what would happen when a VIP requested her service privately?

As the first rays of dawn filtered through the curtains, the room was bathed in a soft, golden glow. Yn’s eyes flickered open, and for a fleeting second, peace washed over her. She could almost forget. Almost. But reality crashed in swiftly, the weight of it smothering the brief tranquility. The Marquis lay behind her, his arm draped across her like a chain.

Her heart sank.

The air felt thick, oppressive, as though his mere presence poisoned every breath she took. She shifted slowly, careful not to stir him. Her body, stiff with discomfort, recoiled from the memory of the night before. Silently, she slipped from the bed.

Standing, she fought the urge to shudder.

She wandered to the window. Parting the curtains just a fraction, she gazed out at the morning sky. It was beautiful. Pale streaks of pink and orange bled into the horizon. But her heart, heavy with turmoil, barely registered the view.

A glance back at the bed. He was still asleep. Her resentment flared like a slow-burning fire. She despised him – his power over her, his manipulation, his arrogance. He had taken everything. Her freedom. Her choices.

But she couldn't show it. Not yet. Any slip, any sign of defiance, and it would spell disaster. Not just for her, but for her family. The consequences were too great, the stakes too high. So, she swallowed her anger.

With a deep breath, she got ready for the day. Quietly, she gathered her things. Slipping out of the room, Yn left the Marquis behind. She knew better than to wake him. For now, she had to bide her time and wait for the right moment to make her move. Today was not that day. He was dangerous, too cunning to make a mistake around. She couldn't afford to let her guard down.

First, she went to check on Sydney. She found her younger sister still wrapped in her blanket, a soft smile on her face, caught in a happy dream. Yn lingered for a moment. That innocent smile – it was the one thing in her life that gave her hope. She quietly closed the door and moved to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

The scent of eggs and toast filled the small apartment, and soon enough, Sydney emerged from her room, eyes bleary but filled with that sweet, childlike innocence Yn was so desperate to protect.

“Good morning, sissy!” Sydney chirped, rubbing her eyes as she padded into the kitchen, her face lighting up at the smell of food.

“Morning, sweetie,” Yn replied, forcing a smile.

As she set the plates on the table, she hesitated. What about the Marquis? Part of her wanted to leave him out, to send a silent message that she wouldn’t be controlled, that she still had some semblance of power in her own home. But the fear crept back in. The consequences of such defiance? They were too high.

With a deep sigh, Yn set a third plate for him. Her stomach twisted in knots as she did so. Sydney cocked her head to the side and asked innocently, “Is the prince still with us?”

The title her sister used cutting through her like a blade. Prince? The very word dripped with irony. There was nothing princely about him – at least not in the way a child would think. But how could she explain that to Sydney? She couldn’t shatter her illusions, not yet.

Yn mustered a weak smile, choosing her words carefully. “Yes, Syd. He’s our guest.”

Sydney beamed, seemingly satisfied with that answer, and returned to her breakfast, blissfully unaware of the storm that churned beneath the surface. Yn, however, couldn’t shake the unease. It sat in her chest like a stone, heavy and unmoving. She kept her movements steady, trying to appear calm, though every second felt like the tension in the room was growing, thickening the air around her.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the Marquis finally emerged from the bedroom.

The room seemed to shrink as his presence filled it. Yn's heart kicked against her ribs. He moved with a lazy confidence, the kind that only came from someone who knew they held all the power. Carelessly unbuttoned at the collar, his white shirt revealed a glimpse of his chest. Black pants hung perfectly on his tall frame, and though his hair was slightly tousled, it was clear he had paid just enough attention to his appearance.

Dominance. That was the only word to describe it. His mere presence dominated the space, like gravity itself had shifted in his direction.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice smooth, dripping with the ease of someone who had slept well. He slid into a chair, his gaze landing briefly on Yn before settling on Sydney.

“Good morning, prince!” Sydney greeted with a radiant grin, utterly oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around her.

“Morning,” Yn murmured, barely above a whisper, her voice tight in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze.

In her usual way, Sydney broke the silence with her innocent questions, her curiosity bubbling over. “Did you have a nice sleep?”

The Marquis chuckled softly. He looked at Sydney with an almost amused glint in his eye. “Yes, little mademoiselle. Your sister was very welcoming and hospitable.”

His tone dripped with layers of meaning that only Yn could detect.

She stiffened. It took everything in her to keep her face blank and her hands from trembling as she reached for a glass of water. She knew exactly what he was doing – asserting his power in front of Sydney, weaving his control into even the most innocent of moments.

But Sydney didn’t notice. She giggled and her eyes shone with pride. “Sissy is the best! She always makes sure everything’s perfect.”

“Indeed,” the Marquis said smoothly, his gaze sliding back to Yn, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “She takes great care of me.”

Yn swallowed hard; her throat dry. She wanted to scream. Wanted to throw something, tell him to leave and never come back. But she couldn’t. Not yet. The walls were closing in, and Sydney’s bright face kept her anchored. It kept her from breaking.

Once he swallowed a spoonful of his breakfast, the Marquis continued, his voice smooth and calculated. “But it saddens me to see you two live like this. If you want, you and your sister are welcome to stay at my mansion anytime you like.”

Yn’s stomach twisted at his words. She knew exactly what he was doing. An invitation wrapped in the guise of kindness, but the truth lay beneath it: control. Her gaze shot to him, sharp and full of warning. Her glare was meant to send a message, to make him understand that bringing Sydney into his world was out of the question.

But the Marquis merely smiled, his eyes locking onto hers with a dangerous glint. A challenge. He saw her resistance, and it only seemed to amuse him.

The rest of breakfast dragged on. Yn kept her responses short, barely offering more than a nod or a non-committal hum. She needed to keep her distance, both physically and emotionally. The last thing she could afford was to be drawn into his web, no matter how alluring his offers sounded.

But Sydney, completely unaware of the tension swirling between the adults, hung on the Marquis’s every word. Her wide, innocent eyes sparkled as he told stories of grand halls, gardens that stretched for acres, and rooms filled with treasures. Yn could see the excitement building in her sister, making her stomach churn even more.

She clenched her fists under the table, fighting the frustration and helplessness bubbling inside. How could she protect Sydney from the Marquis’s influence without revealing too much? If she spoke out, if she showed even a hint of defiance, he could retaliate. And she couldn’t risk that. Not when they were so deeply entwined in his game.

So, she smiled. She pretended. Just like she always did.

As breakfast ended, the Marquis dabbed his mouth with a napkin, his movements slow and deliberate. He leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving Yn. “Thank you for the breakfast.”

Yn nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak. She kept her eyes down, focusing on clearing the plates.

The atmosphere in the small apartment shifted abruptly as a series of muffled knocks echoed through the narrow hallway. The sound was soft, almost hesitant, yet it carried a weight that set Yn’s nerves on edge. It was the kind of knock that didn’t belong on a quiet morning like this.

The Marquis’s brow arched as his attention flicked toward the door. A flicker of something – curiosity or annoyance – passed over his face before he muttered in his low, accented voice, “It must be him.”

Something in the way he said it, the ease with which the words fell, made Yn’s skin crawl. He rose smoothly from his chair, his movements fluid, his clothing draping elegantly over his tall frame.

Yn’s eyes followed him, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t like this. Not one bit. Who was it? What did they want?

She instinctively moved closer to Sydney, placing a protective hand on her sister’s shoulder. Sydney, oblivious, was still humming softly to herself, engrossed in her teddy bear.

The Marquis reached the door and turned the handle. Standing on the other side was Chidi, the Marquis’s loyal bodyguard. His expression, as always, was unreadable. Stoic. The man was built like a fortress, solid and imposing, yet his movements were precise and controlled. Even now, his posture spoke volumes – ready, alert, as though prepared for whatever threat might come his way.

The Marquis exchanged hushed words with Chidi in rapid French. Yn strained to catch even a sliver of their conversation, her ears almost aching with the effort to understand. But the language barrier left her feeling helpless. What were they discussing?

As the conversation between the two men came to an end, the Marquis turned his gaze back toward Yn and Sydney. His eyes lingered on Yn a moment too long. It made her skin crawl.

“I’m afraid I must take my leave,” he said.

Before Yn could fully comprehend what was happening, the Marquis closed the distance between them in just a few strides. His sudden approach caught her off guard, and for a moment, she stood frozen, her body stiff with uncertainty. She didn’t know what to expect. But the look in his eyes told her it wouldn’t be good.

And it wasn’t.

In one swift, shocking move, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was brief, but it caught her off guard. It wasn’t affection – it was possession. Pure and simple. A calculated display of dominance that sent an icy chill down her spine.

Yn’s entire body tensed, her hands trembling at her sides. It was over as quickly as it had begun, but the stain of it lingered on her lips, filling her with revulsion.

As he pulled away, his eyes locked onto hers, a satisfied smirk curling at the edges of his mouth.

“Don’t forget about tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with a menace that made her skin crawl.

Yn’s heart stuttered in her chest as his words sank in. Tonight. She knew exactly what he meant. The reminder slammed into her like a blow. The casino. The bunny-girl costume.

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and left the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. His departure left a vacuum, an uncomfortable emptiness that filled the room, thick and suffocating. The air felt heavier. Everything did.

Yn stood there; still, her mind racing to catch up with the flood of emotions that had overwhelmed her. Fear. Anger. Helplessness. And beneath it all, a burning desire to break free. But how? She couldn’t see a way out. Not yet. Not with the Marquis holding all the cards. Not with her mother and Sydney to protect.

Unaware of the tension swirling around her, Sydney looked up at Yn with wide, innocent eyes. “Is the prince coming back, sissy?”

Yn forced a weak smile, which felt more like a grimace beneath the surface. “I’m not sure, sweetie. But for now, let’s... go back to normal, okay?”

Normal. The word tasted bitter on her tongue. What was normal anymore? Their lives had been upended, twisted into something unrecognizable since the Marquis had forced his way into it. But for Sydney’s sake, she had to pretend. Keep the darkness at bay just a little longer.

She took Sydney to the park that afternoon. They laughed and played, and for brief moments, Yn lost herself in Sydney’s joy. Her little sister’s laughter was like a balm, easing the raw fear gnawing at her insides. But even then, the weight of what awaited her that evening hung over her like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over every smile, every carefree moment.

As the sun dipped lower, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Yn’s heart began to race. She had to return to the casino. The Marquis’s demand weighed heavy on her, pulling her back into that world she had fought so hard to escape. But there was no running from it now – not with her mother’s safety on the line.

Back at the apartment, Yn prepared dinner, her hands moving mechanically. She couldn’t let Sydney see her anxiety, couldn’t let her little sister feel the weight of the impending night. Sydney, so innocent, didn’t deserve any of this.

Once dinner was done, Yn excused herself and stepped into the bedroom to make a call. Yn called Barbara again, asking her to care for Sydney for the night. Barbara was surprised since it had been a while since she needed this kind of help. When she asked Yn what she would do that evening, Yn said she had some personal business to attend to.

Once Sydney was settled in with Barbara, Yn finally left the apartment. The evening air was cool and refreshing as she made her way towards the casino. As she approached the imposing building, she took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

As Yn entered the staff lounge room, every staff member was dumbstruck to see her. The news of her supposed resignation had spread like wildfire, and her reappearance was met with astonishment and curiosity. Her close friends at work – Emily, Emma, Amelia, and Sophia – rushed to her side, each eager to know what was happening.

Eyes wide with surprise, Emily was the first to speak, “Yn, we thought you had quit! What are you doing here?”

Yn smiled, trying to maintain her composure. She didn't want to reveal too much, so she replied vaguely, “I had some matters to attend to, but I'll be back for a while.”

Emma couldn't hold back her curiosity. “But why did you quit all of a sudden?”

Yn took a moment to collect her thoughts before responding, “I... I had my reasons, but things have changed. I guess I'm not ready to leave just yet.”

Amelia, ever the empathetic one, touched Yn's arm gently, “Are you okay, Yn? Did something happen?”

“It's nothing, really. Just some personal matters to sort out.”

With a knowing glint in her eyes, Sophia tilted her head. “Hmm. Well, you know we've got your back, right? Whatever it is, we're here for you.”

Yn felt a surge of gratitude towards her friends. “Thank you, Sophia. I appreciate it.”

“But you didn't have to come back, though.”

They all turned their gazes to Sabrina, approaching them with her arms crossed over her chest. Her nose was in the air, and she looked at Yn with a condescending stare, as if she were a pest in her way. “We were doing fine here. You should stay on your word about quitting.”

Yn frowned at her sudden display of hostility towards her. Emily was the one who spoke up, “Oh, shut up, Sabrina. You were hoping the Marquis would turn to you after she left?”

Sabrina's face flushed with anger. “Don't be ridiculous, Emily. I think it's strange that Yn suddenly decides to come back after causing such a big scene here.”

Yn's eyes blinked in puzzlement. “A big scene? What?”

Amelia shook her head. “It's nothing, Yn.”

Sophia intervened, trying to smooth things over. “Yeah, don't pay any attention to Sabrina. She's just jealous that you got the Marquis' attention.”

Yn frowned, still not fully understanding what had transpired in her absence. Suddenly feeling guilty that her departure had caused such a stir, she said, “I didn't mean to cause any trouble.”

Emily reassured her, “It's not your fault, Yn. Sabrina is just being petty.”

Sabrina scoffed. “I'm not being petty! I don't like people who make a big fuss and then change their minds. It's annoying.”

Emily looked at Sabrina pointedly. “Yn is entitled to change her mind if she wants to. It's her life and her decision.”

Yn took a deep breath, trying to stay composed. She didn't want to argue with Sabrina, mainly when her mind was preoccupied with the Marquis and her predicament.

“Look, I didn't mean to cause any trouble,” Yn said firmly but calmly. “I have reasons for returning, and I hope you can respect that.”

Sabrina huffed, clearly unsatisfied with Yn's response, but she didn't press further. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked away, muttering under her breath.

The tension eased as Sabrina left, and Emily immediately spoke to her, “Don't mind her, Yn. She's just worried that now you're back, the Marquis will only look at you and not her.”

Sophia said, “Yeah, she was trying hard to get his attention when you were gone.”

Emma apprised Yn, “That first night when we all found out about your resignation, most of us had left after finishing our shift, but Sabrina stayed back, and I saw her try to enter the Marquis' office in her bunny costume. But the bodyguards then yanked her out of the room. It was amusing!”

Yn couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at the image of Sabrina's failed attempt to get the Marquis's attention.

“Well, I guess she's determined,” Yn said, trying to lighten the mood.

Amelia grinned, “Determined or desperate, which one?”

Emily commented, “Desperate.”

Yn shook her head, still finding it hard to believe that her absence had caused such a stir. “I never imagined my resignation would cause so much drama.”

Emily reassuringly touched Yn's shoulder, “Don't worry about it. We're just glad to have you back.”

“Thanks,” Yn said sincerely, feeling a warmth in her heart. She was grateful for her friends' support and understanding.

“Come on, get ready, girl,” said Emily as she pulled Yn towards the latter's previous makeup table, “No one took your desk after you resigned.”

As Yn sat down at her old makeup table, a wave of mixed emotions washed over her. Returning to this space felt strange, surrounded by the soft buzz of chatter and the clatter of heels on the tile. On the one hand, she was grateful for her friends’ warmth and support, as if they were a small lifeline in this oppressive environment. But on the other hand, the weight of the Marquis’s control pressed down on her, heavy and unrelenting. She was back here not by choice but because she had been coerced. She had no way out.

Her fingers moved automatically, picking up the makeup brush and dipping it into powder. She began the process of transforming, painting on the familiar bunny-girl persona like armor. Layer after layer, she covered her natural face with the mask of someone who smiled, laughed, flirted – played the part perfectly. Her friends helped her, zipping up the tight costume, adjusting the fit, and joking lightly to ease the tension.

But none of them could ease what lay in her heart.

Once the makeup was done, Yn stood before the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at her. She looked polished and perfect – precisely how she was expected to look. Yet, beneath it all, she felt hollow.

Emily grinned as she handed Yn a black mask. “Don’t forget this.”

Yn took the mask, its meaning heavier than the simple piece of fabric it was. She tied it around her face, covering her nose and mouth, the final touch of her disguise.

As the soft fabric settled, Yn felt a slight sense of relief. At least with the mask, there was a barrier between her and the invasive eyes that would soon be watching her. But the mask couldn’t protect her from the real danger – the Marquis.

“Let’s go,” Emily said, pulling Yn out of her thoughts and toward the door.

The women left the changing room, their heels clicking against the floor as they made their way into the buzzing, neon-lit heart of the casino. The sound of slot machines, the low murmur of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air, but Yn barely registered it. She felt as though she were walking through a fog.

Yn took her place behind the roulette table. The game was already in full swing, and she immediately slipped into her role, spinning the wheel and calling out the results in a practised professional tone.

As Yn presided over the roulette table, her hands moved deftly, spinning the wheel with practised ease. Each spin of the wheel, each call of the winning number, was mechanical. Her mind was somewhere else—locked in a place where the weight of the Marquis's threats loomed large. But she couldn’t let it show. Not here. Not now. She had to stay focused, had to maintain the illusion that everything was under control.

Then, something caught her attention. A man approached, well-dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. His blue eyes were warm, and his dark hair was styled into the kind of cut that spoke of money and power. His smile was genuine and eager, and he touched her shoulder lightly as he approached.

“Yn!” he exclaimed, his voice smooth and confident. “I thought you were done with this place!”

Yn looked up, recognizing him immediately. Mr. Gabriel – a VIP client she had serviced in the private rooms before – one who had always been generous with his tips and polite with his conversation. Unlike many others who frequented the casino, Mr. Gabriel had never crossed a line.

“Mr. Gabriel,” she replied, her smile automatic, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So nice to see you again. I had my reasons for leaving, but... circumstances changed.”

He nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I’m glad you’re back. I’ve had a few sessions with the other bunny-girls, but... their hands aren’t as skilled as yours.”

Though modest, Yn smiled, her fingers guiding the roulette wheel expertly. A faint blush crept to her cheeks, but she kept her voice humble. “I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Gabriel, but that’s quite an overstatement. The girls here are all very talented.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice in an almost conspiratorial way. “No, no. That’s where you’re wrong. You’re different. You don’t do it for the same reasons as the others.”

His words caught her off guard, and for the first time that night, Yn felt a genuine warmth. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Gabriel glanced at the roulette table, realizing he had interrupted her work. His expression shifted to something more apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pull you away. I know you’re busy. But, once you're done here, I was hoping you'd join me in the private VIP room... as usual.”

Yn’s eyes blinked. Spending the night with Mr. Gabriel in the VIP room would mean avoiding the Marquis, at least for a while. The thought of not having to face the darkness lurking in the corners of the casino, of spending time with someone respectful, made her feel lighter, even if only temporarily.

The decision was easy.

“Of course,” she replied, her smile widening. “I can meet you after I finish this round.”

Mr. Gabriel grinned, clearly pleased. “Great. I’ll be waiting.”

With a nod, Mr. Gabriel walked away from the roulette table, leaving Yn with a strange relief. She had always found comfort in his presence, knowing he was one of the few clients who treated her with respect. Unlike the more predatory men who haunted the casino's corridors, Mr. Gabriel was safe. Kind. His company meant she could avoid the Marquis for the evening – an escape, however temporary.

As soon as her shift ended, Yn made her way toward the private VIP room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The deeper she ventured into the private section, the louder the sounds became – soft jazz music floating through the air, the murmur of voices, and the faint clink of expensive glasses being filled. The unmistakable smell of cigars, rich and sharp, curled through the hallway.

Yn reached the door and took a deep breath before she entered. As expected, Mr. Gabriel was already inside, seated comfortably in one of the plush chairs. He smiled warmly when he saw her, a lit cigarette hanging between his lips. The smell of burnt tobacco hit her immediately, and her nose wrinkled instinctively, though she quickly masked it with a polite smile.

Mr. Gabriel noticed. His eyes crinkled in an apologetic smile, and he raised one hand slightly.

“Ah, sorry for the smoke,” he said, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and extinguishing it in the nearby ashtray. “I forgot you’re not a fan of cigarettes.”

Yn shook her head, waving it off. “It’s fine, sir. Really.”

She appreciated his thoughtfulness. In her world, that kind of consideration was rare. Most men with his wealth and power didn’t bother with the comfort of others, especially not with the girls who worked here.

Mr. Gabriel’s eyes lingered on her face, unblinking, and for a moment, Yn wondered if she had said something wrong. The sudden silence between them felt thick, almost heavy.

“Yn, if it’s not okay, then it’s not okay,” he said, his voice taking on a quiet seriousness. His gaze remained on her as he settled back into the couch. “If it’s a no, it’s a no. You can be honest when you need to.”

The words hit her with a gentle force, unexpected yet comforting. In a world where her voice was often silenced or ignored, where her boundaries were blurred, his words carried a kind of weight she hadn’t experienced before. She wasn’t just a girl playing a role in front of him – she was a person. And he saw that.

“Thank you,” Yn whispered, her voice softer than intended. She looked away briefly, trying to gather herself, before meeting his eyes again.

Mr Gabriel’s smile returned, his entire demeanour softening at her response. “You’re welcome. In this line of work, you’re expected to please your clients, to ensure they’re satisfied. But your safety – your comfort – should always come first. If something’s wrong, if you ever feel unsafe... say no. Scream it if you have to.”

His words were a balm to the gnawing fear living in her chest for so long. The fear of the Marquis. The fear of what each night could bring. And even though Mr. Gabriel’s kindness couldn’t erase the danger she was still facing, it gave her a slight sense of hope. A reminder that not everyone in this world is cruel.

Yn nodded; her heart full but her voice steady. “I will. Thank you.”

“The smell will linger for a while, sorry about that,” Mr. Gabriel said as he shrugged off his blazer and loosened his necktie. “Now, if you don’t mind, the usual, sweetheart.”

Yn returned his smile, her movements calm and practised. She walked behind the couch where Mr. Gabriel had settled, his white button-up shirt still ideally in place. He seemed to melt into the plush cushions as she positioned herself behind him, her hands gently resting on his shoulders.

With practised ease, Yn began to massage him, her nimble fingers working over the knots of tension in his muscles. Her touch was a careful balance of firmness and gentleness, something she had perfected over time. The soft strains of jazz music filled the room, blending with the low hum of conversation from the far-off casino floor, creating a calm and intimate atmosphere.

Mr. Gabriel sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as he savoured the soothing sensation of her massage. “Hmm, like I said, no other bunny-girl here can massage like you. You’ve got the perfect balance of gentleness and firmness.”

Yn smiled softly at his words, though she focused on her work. “Thank you, sir. I’ve had plenty of practice. Used to massage my mom all the time.”

Mr. Gabriel let out another satisfied hum but soon grew quiet. Yn noticed the change immediately. Though still under her touch, his body felt heavier with the weight of whatever was on his mind.

“Now that you mention it,” he began, his tone laced with frustration, “it stresses me out whenever I think about my daughter.”

Yn’s hands kept moving, but she listened carefully, as always, when he opened up about his personal life. She had come to learn that, beneath Mr. Gabriel’s polished exterior, there was a man weighed down by the complexities of his world.

“She’s become so spoiled,” he continued, shaking his head slightly. “She’s in high school now, and just two hours ago, she called me. She said she was ‘stressed’ and needed money to go on a vacation to South Korea. A five-star hotel, no less. And then she hung up before I could even respond. I don’t know how to reach her anymore.”

Yn's heart went out to him as she massaged his tense shoulders. “That sounds tough, sir. Kids can be quite demanding.”

Mr. Gabriel nodded, his eyes still closed, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t mind helping her. My wife and I always spoiled our little princess. But it’s her attitude now that bothers me. She doesn’t seem to appreciate anything. It’s like I’m just a wallet for her to travel and post pictures on social media. That’s what kids care about these days, right?”

Yn's hands moved lower, working carefully on the tight muscles in his upper back. Her touch was gentle yet firm, as if she could soothe his physical tension and some of the emotional weight he carried.

“Maybe she needs to learn responsibility,” Yn suggested softly. “It’s a hard phase, but one day she’ll understand the value of things. She’ll realize she has to work for what she wants, to be independent.”

Mr. Gabriel let out a deep, weary sigh. “I hope so, Yn. I do. I don’t want her to grow up thinking life’s all about getting what you want handed to you.”

His hand moved to his pocket as he spoke, pulling out a well-worn wallet. He opened it slowly, revealing a photo tucked inside – a picture of his wife. His eyes lingered on the image for a long time.

“Maybe we were at fault for letting her be this way for so long,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “But it’s been hard... raising her alone. If my wife were still here, she would’ve known what to do. She was the one with all the wisdom, all the patience.”

Yn glanced at the photo from behind him. She had seen it before during one of their sessions, the warm smile of Mr. Gabriel’s wife staring back from the small square of paper. She already knew the story – how her passing had sent him spiralling into stress, how it had left him trying to balance a high-pressure job and a daughter who didn’t seem to understand the loss they had both endured.

Yn couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Mr. Gabriel. Losing a loved one was painful enough, but raising a child alone in the wake of that loss? Even harder. She continued to massage his back, her fingers moving in smooth, rhythmic motions, wanting to offer him whatever comfort she could.

“I’m sure she’d be proud of you,” Yn said softly, her voice gentle, trying to encourage him.

Mr. Gabriel smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “I hope so. I like to think she’d understand how hard I’ve tried.”

Suddenly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out several hundred-dollar bills, placing them on the cushion beside him. Yn blinked, her hands pausing momentarily as she stared at the crisp bills in surprise.

Before she could say anything, Mr. Gabriel glanced back at her with a small, knowing smile. “That’s your tip, sweetheart. You haven’t finished yet, so don’t stop, but I wanted to ensure you had it. As I’ve told you, you’re different from the other girls here. You’re... sincere. It’s rare.”

Yn’s fingers stilled again briefly, a wave of emotion catching her off guard. She hadn’t expected his words to affect her as much as they did. It wasn’t just the money but how he saw her. Really saw her. Beyond the bunny-girl costume, beyond the role she played at the casino. He saw her sincerity, something she had always tried to hold onto, even in a place where people were often reduced to objects, roles, or masks.

Her heart swelled with gratitude, and she let out a soft, appreciative laugh. “Thank you, sir. I don’t know what to say. Your generosity, your kindness – it means a lot to me.”

He nodded; his expression still touched with a quiet sadness. “You deserve it. And thank you... for listening.”

Yn resumed the massage, her hands steady, but her mind wandered. She was moved by Mr. Gabriel’s honesty and willingness to be vulnerable with her. It wasn’t often that her clients opened up like this. Most of them preferred illusion and fantasy. But with Mr. Gabriel, there was a realness that stood out. In rare, intimate moments like these, Yn realized how much she respected the trust he placed in her.

Suddenly, Mr. Gabriel's tone shifted. “Anyway, I hope you don't mind me asking, but... is it true this casino has a new owner?”

Yn’s stomach tightened at the question. The memories of the Marquis de Gramont surfaced like an unwelcome tide, and the chill of his presence seemed to wrap around her even now. But she kept her composure, forcing a calm nod in response.

“Yes, sir. There's been a recent change,” she confirmed, her voice steady despite the unease creeping into her chest.

Mr. Gabriel’s brow furrowed as he leaned back slightly, looking both intrigued and concerned. “Is it true... that the new owner is the Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont?”

Yn hesitated. Should she lie? Deflect? She wasn’t sure how much Mr. Gabriel knew about the Marquis, but the truth sat heavy on her tongue. She nodded again. “Yes, it’s him.”

A long, deep sigh escaped Mr. Gabriel. Not one of frustration but one filled with an almost weary caution. He muttered under his breath, “Damn. What does he want here?”

“Do you... know him, sir?” Yn asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. It wasn’t often she asked clients personal questions, but something about this conversation felt different – dangerous.

Mr. Gabriel’s expression darkened further. “I’ve heard of him. He’s... a ghost. Whispers of his name float in certain circles. Rumors, mostly. About his dealings in the underworld. People say he’s tied to things no one wants to talk about.”

Yn’s heart skipped a beat. “What kind of things?”

He shook his head. “No one knows for sure. But it’s bad. Very bad. How he became a Marquis is anyone’s guess. He appeared out of nowhere with money, power, and a title that didn’t make sense. Some say he bought it. Others... say worse.”

Mr. Gabriel’s voice grew darker, more deliberate. “But I’ve heard something else. Something that’s been making waves in the underground. There’s been a... shift. A big one. A high-ranking figure in the criminal world – one of the untouchables – was murdered. By a rogue. And everything started to fall apart. The whole network... it’s crumbling.”

Yn stayed silent, her fingers moving over his shoulders, but slower now. Her mind was miles away, focused on what he was saying. She tried to process it all, but it felt like she was hearing about a world that shouldn’t exist, a world hiding just beneath the surface of her own.

Mr. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, his tone cautious. “These criminals – they’ll hunt that rogue down. Every last one of them. But here’s the thing, sweetheart... they can’t do it recklessly. If they start acting out in the open, it’ll expose their entire network to the world. They’re everywhere, but they survive by staying in the shadows. That’s their rule.”

“Are they the mafia?” Yn asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing, but it was the only thing that made sense. The mafia was the only organized crime she’d ever known that worked this way – silent but everywhere.

“Not exactly,” Mr. Gabriel replied, shaking his head slowly. “They’re similar, sure. But what I’m talking about is bigger. More organized. Much more discreet. From what I’ve gathered, they have reached every country. They even have... safe havens.”

“Safe havens?” Yn repeated, her brow furrowing.

He nodded. “There’s a hotel in New York, a lavish place. It’s a sanctuary for hitmen, assassins, and other... members of this underworld. But even that hotel has rules. Strict ones. And if those rules are broken...”

Yn’s hands stilled utterly. Her mind raced, trying to piece everything together. This wasn’t just about the Marquis anymore. It was about something much bigger – something she didn’t fully understand, but she could feel its weight pressing down on her.

Mr. Gabriel's voice dropped even lower, as if sharing a secret meant only for her ears. “Anyway, these people... they want to find the rogue who killed their leader. They want him dead. There's a massive bounty on his head, no doubt. But the higher-ups – they don’t want chaos. So, instead of an all-out hunt, they’ve appointed someone. A judge, jury, and executioner all in one. They call this person the autem imperator.”

Yn’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t like where this was going. Not at all. She had no idea who or what this autem imperator was, but it sounded like something far beyond her control. And somehow, she could feel it pulling her closer to the man who loomed over her life like a shadow.

Mr. Gabriel continued, his tone grim. “It’s rare. This position. Only appointed when things are desperate. But from what I’ve heard... they’ve chosen someone who rose through the ranks fast. Cruel. Ruthless. But respected. Someone with deep connections, influence, and... a personal army of assassins.”

Yn inhaled sharply, the pieces clicking into place. It couldn’t be. It had to be. Her mind whirled, racing toward the inevitable conclusion.

“And this man,” Mr. Gabriel added, watching her carefully, “is rumoured to have ties to foreign royalty. A Marquis, perhaps.”

A cold dread washed over her. Of course. It was him. It had always been him. The Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont – her employer, the man who seemed to slip into every corner of her life, and the one who had made it clear in his subtle, chilling way that she was under his watch.

But she couldn’t believe it. Not fully. There was a part of her that desperately clung to the hope that it was just a wild rumour, some twisted exaggeration passed through hushed voices. Because if it were true – if the Marquis was a powerful figure in the underworld – then she was fucked. She and her family were fucked.

BAM!

The deafening sound of the door crashing against the wall jolted her out of her thoughts. Yn’s heart lurched into her throat as she and Mr. Gabriel whipped their heads toward the entrance. The door, which had been sealed shut just moments before, was now thrown wide open.

The Marquis stormed in, fury radiating from him like heat off a flame. His tall, commanding figure filled the space, cutting through the room with an air that demanded instant obedience. His suit was immaculate, as always, but there was something feral in his expression. His eyes burned with an unsettling combination of rage and cold calculation, and they were locked onto her and Mr. Gabriel.

Behind him, Chidi, his ever-present bodyguard, entered in his usual silent, shadow-like manner. The contrast between the Marquis's explosive energy and Chidi’s controlled, disciplined presence was stark, but both carried an unmistakable sense of danger.

Yn’s breath hitched. The air in the room felt thick and suffocating, and her pulse quickened as the Marquis approached. She had never seen him like this before – so visibly angry. It was terrifying.

Mr. Gabriel stiffened, his earlier calm slipping just a fraction, though his face remained composed. He could feel it, too. This was no ordinary visit.

The Marquis halted just a few feet from them, his presence dominating the room like a storm about to break. Slowly, his arms lifted, resting his knuckles on his hips in a stance that exuded arrogance and control. His eyes were dark, assessing.

“How cute,” he said, his voice cold and mocking, the words dripping with disdain. His gaze flicked from Mr. Gabriel to Yn, like he was toying with them, waiting to see how they’d respond.

Yn’s hands trembled slightly as she withdrew them from Mr. Gabriel’s shoulders. Swallowing her nerves, she tried to keep her voice steady. “Sir... is there anything I can help you with?”

The Marquis’s eyes locked onto hers. His stare was like a blade, sharp and unyielding, filled with a ferocity that sent a cold chill down her spine. His expression had no warmth, only fury simmering beneath the surface – possessive, dangerous, and terrifying.

But then, as suddenly as the rage had flared, the Marquis’s lips twisted into a thin, mocking smile. He leaned in just slightly, his voice curling through the room like smoke, thick with his French accent. “Mon cherie, you have no idea how much you could help me.”

Mr. Gabriel had gone still, his expression carefully composed, but Yn could tell the moment something clicked in his mind. He knew. He finally understood who this man was.

“Marquis,” Mr. Gabriel began, his voice steady, though his eyes remained sharp, measuring. “It’s an honour to meet you, sir…”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” the Marquis interrupted smoothly, his gaze never leaving Yn. His tone was polite, but the dismissal was apparent.

Mr. Gabriel stiffened, but said nothing further.

Yn’s pulse raced. The Marquis tilted his head, still smiling that cold, predatory smile.

“I must admit,” he said, his voice dark and low, “I find your... dedication to your work fascinating. I didn’t think you would stoop so low.”

Yn’s throat tightened. This wasn’t just anger. It was something more profound – something personal. She wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or control, but she could feel the weight of his possessiveness suffocating her.

Yn swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump in her throat as she gathered her courage to speak. “Sir, please. Mr. Gabriel only requested a simple massage. I’ve known him for a while. He’s always been respectful, nothing more.”

The Marquis's expression tightened, his lips curling into a faint, dismissive smile. Clearly, he had heard her words, but they carried no weight with him. He refused to accept her explanation.

Slowly, he began to move toward her, each step deliberate and heavy with authority.

“Perhaps I’ve been too lenient,” he said, his voice low, almost a purr. His eyes glinted as they bore into hers, the words falling from his lips with an unnerving calm. “I’ve had a business that required my attention. Important matters that couldn’t wait. So, I missed the chance to tell you one important thing before you work.”

Yn’s pulse quickened; her breath shallow as he closed the distance between them. She lowered her gaze to the floor, terrified that meeting his eyes would somehow provoke him further. She could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on her, suffocating.

He continued, his voice taking on an authoritative edge, “I’ve decided on a new... rule. Just for you, ma lapine.”

By the time he reached her, the heat of his body radiated against her skin, and she could feel him standing close – too close. She stared down at the floor, her heart hammering in her chest, not daring to look up.

Then, without warning, his hand slid to her waist, fingers pressing into her side as he pulled her against him possessively. The touch sent a jolt through her, and she gasped softly, the air leaving her lungs in a panicked rush. She stood frozen, the fear and tension twisting inside her like a knot, and all of this unfolded right in front of Mr. Gabriel’s eyes.

“From now on,” the Marquis said, calm and commanding, “you are permanently unavailable to anyone else.”

His hand tightened slightly on her waist, his grip firm but not painful. Just enough to remind her that he controlled her in more ways than one. “If anyone asks for you, you will refuse. No exceptions.”

Yn’s breath caught in her throat. He wasn’t just talking about work. This was a claim, a mark of ownership he placed on her in front of a man she had considered a client, a confidant. She wanted to shrink away, to disappear into the floor, but the Marquis held her in place.

“If anyone questions you,” he continued, his tone dark and final, “tell them my name. If they persist... ask one of my men to handle it. They’ll bring the problem directly to me.”

Her head spun, her body trembling slightly under his touch, but she managed a slight nod, her voice failing her.

Meanwhile, Mr. Gabriel stood frozen, watching the scene unfold, and the blood seemed to drain from his face. Realization hit him like a wall of bricks. The bunny-girl he adored platonically was not just another casino employee. No. She was the Marquis’s sweetheart. The apple of his eye. And now, Mr. Gabriel realized just how grave a mistake it had been to bring her here. But since when? How long had this invisible thread tied her to the Marquis?

The Marquis’s smile was thin, an empty gesture that didn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes. He seemed almost amused by Yn’s compliance, but there was no warmth in his satisfaction – only control. His gaze shifted from her to Mr. Gabriel, who stood stiffly, jaw tight, face struggling to remain neutral.

“I believe we haven’t been formally introduced,” the Marquis began, his voice smooth yet dripping with something far more sinister. His smile remained, but it was a mask. “Your name?”

Gabriel swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a vice. Slowly, he extended a shaky hand. “It’s Gabriel, sir. A pleasure to meet you.”

The Marquis glanced at the outstretched hand but made no move to take it. Instead, he chuckled softly, the sound dark and mocking. “Is that all? I’m not a fool, Gabriel. We all have a last name. What’s your full name?”

Yn’s heart sank, horror creeping over her. She knew what this meant. If the Marquis learned Gabriel’s full name, if he connected him to any threat or offense – even one unintentional – then Gabriel’s life could be at risk. She could see it in the Marquis’s eyes. He was hunting now, ready to sink his teeth into anything that smelled like a challenge.

Mr. Gabriel hesitated, the fear evident in his eyes. “It’s Gabriel... Accetta.”

The Marquis’s eyes gleamed with something dark, and his lips curled into a mocking smile. “Why do you sound so uncertain, Gabriel? Are you thinking of a different surname? Or perhaps... a fake one?”

Gabriel’s face paled even further. “No, sir. That’s... my name.”

The Marquis stepped forward, closing the space between them. His movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. “You see, I tend to remember names. They mean something, don’t they? They tell a story.”

Yn watched in horror as the Marquis’s eyes bore into Gabriel, dissecting him with every glance. She could feel the shift in the air – the cold, creeping fear that sank more profoundly with every word the Marquis spoke.

Sensing the danger but too deep to back away now, Gabriel forced a weak smile. “I’m just a businessman. Nothing more.”

The Marquis’s smile widened, but it was all teeth now. “Businessman. Yes, I can tell you are. You got a wife?”

Mr. Gabriel's eyes widened, a mixture of fear and confusion flashing across his face as the Marquis’s question caught him off guard. “Yes, sir. But she passed away... a year ago.”

“Ah,” the Marquis nodded slowly, his expression almost thoughtful. “I see. So perhaps you came here tonight seeking... distraction? A little comfort, maybe? I do hope you’re not confusing my sweet darling with something like that.”

Gabriel’s face paled further, and he shook his head quickly, his voice rushed and insistent. “No, sir. I never saw her that way. I’m still very much loyal to my late wife. I refuse to... to be with anyone else.”

The Marquis tilted his head slightly, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips as if Gabriel’s response amused him. “How noble. Loyalty, even in death. I must say, I admire that.”

Gabriel forced a weak smile, unsure if the Marquis’s words were a compliment or another trap.

The Marquis’s smirk grew as he stepped back, his eyes never leaving Gabriel. “I like you, Gabriel Accetta. You have... principles. Please, take a seat. I’ll have another bunny-girl attend to you for that ‘massage.’”

Gabriel’s eyes widened further, and he shook his head, his words spilling out in a rush. “No, thank you, sir. I really must be going. It’s getting late, and I—”

“Nonsense,” the Marquis interrupted, his tone growing firmer, more commanding. “It’s still early. Sit. I have a surprise in mind for you.”

The tension in the air was thick as Gabriel stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he reluctantly lowered himself back into the chair.

Yn’s heart raced as the Marquis finally withdrew his hand from her waist, the brief relief she felt vanishing almost immediately when he clasped her hand in his, intertwining their fingers in a possessive grip. His touch was cold and calculated, and she could feel the weight of his control in how he led her toward the door. Chidi, his silent shadow, followed close behind.

As they stepped out of the private VIP room, the atmosphere shifted. The eyes of her fellow bunny-girls were already on her, their gazes sharp and knowing, as if they had seen something – or sensed something – before the Marquis had barged in. Yn felt her cheeks flush under their scrutiny, the weight of their stares almost as heavy as the grip of the Marquis’s hand.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle from the Marquis pierced the air. Yn followed his gaze. Sabrina.

The moment the Marquis whistled, Sabrina’s head turned in his direction, her eyes lighting up with elation and surprise. Without hesitation, she rushed over to him, her steps quick and eager, a flirtatious smile already playing on her lips.

“Yes, sir?” she purred, her voice dripping with playful seduction.

Yn watched, her stomach twisting with an unfamiliar feeling as the Marquis leaned close to Sabrina’s ear, whispering something only she could hear. Sabrina’s eyes widened, her expression shifting from astonishment to something almost like awe, though Yn couldn’t hear the words. But the Marquis’s grip on her hand tightened slightly.

Sabrina giggled softly, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she listened. She once glanced at the door to the private room. Once the Marquis leaned away, she nodded in response.

Sabrina’s eyes flicked briefly to where Yn’s hand was clasped tightly in the Marquis’s. Nevertheless, she purred, “Understood, sir.”

Without another glance at Yn, Sabrina turned and glided past them, heading straight into the private VIP room where Mr. Gabriel sat, likely too stunned to move. The door clicked softly behind her, but not before Yn caught the low, sultry words she offered as she stepped inside. “Good evening, sir. Lean back and settle down. I’ll show you a night of pleasure.”

Yn’s heart twisted. She glanced back at the door, worry bubbling up inside her. Mr. Gabriel didn’t deserve whatever was about to happen.

Before she could dwell on it further, the Marquis’s hand tightened around hers, tugging her forward with an unspoken command. She stumbled slightly but quickly regained her footing as he led her down the hallway without a word, his grip firm and unyielding. Her concern for Gabriel lingered, but the sheer force of the Marquis’s presence demanded all her attention.

The path to his office was a blur of lights and hushed voices, but Yn barely registered any of it. Her thoughts spun in a chaotic whirl as the reality of her situation pressed in from all sides.

Finally, they reached the large oak doors that led to his private space. The Marquis didn’t slow his pace. He pushed open the door and guided her inside.

The door closed behind them with a heavy thud, echoing in the room's silence. Yn’s heart raced as she stood in the centre of the opulent space, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the dark wood and leather furnishings. The air felt heavier here, thick with power and unspoken rules.

The Marquis released her hand, but even without his touch, the weight of his authority lingered between them. He moved purposefully, crossing to the large desk that dominated the room, his back to her as he adjusted something on the surface – papers, perhaps, or some file.

Yn stood frozen, unsure whether to move or speak. The tension was unbearable, her nerves on edge as the silence stretched.

Without turning, the Marquis spoke, his voice calm, but laced with the same possessive edge she had felt all night. “You’re concerned for Mr. Gabriel, I imagine.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. Of course he had noticed.

“I...” Yn’s voice faltered. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak. “He didn’t mean any harm.”

The Marquis finally turned to face her, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist. He leaned casually against the desk, his expression unreadable. “He made a mistake by asking you to service him privately.”

“He didn’t know,” Yn responded, her voice trembling slightly, but a spark of indignation stirred inside her. She couldn’t let this go. “You can’t blame him for that.”

The Marquis raised an eyebrow, watching her closely, but Yn pressed on. She could feel the frustration bubbling up – frustration that had been building ever since he’d forced her back into this life. The life she thought she’d left behind.

“You wanted me back here,” she continued, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. “You made me come back, to work as a bunny-girl. Assisting these men – personally attending to them – it’s part of my job. You know that.”

Her pulse quickened, heart pounding as she let the words spill out, each one a small rebellion against the suffocating control he held over her. “I didn’t want this. I never wanted this. But you – you – forced me to return.”

The Marquis’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something. Amusement? Annoyance? Whatever it was, it crossed his face. Still, he remained eerily calm. He straightened from the desk, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, voice smooth but with an edge, making the hairs on the back of Yn’s neck stand on end.

The Marquis’s gaze never wavered. Once he stood close, his hand lifted, fingers gently encircling her neck. Yn’s breath hitched, a jolt of alarm running through her. But he didn’t squeeze. He held her there, as if asserting control over her very existence, over every breath she took.

“But now you know. You’re the only bunny-girl who is off-limits to everyone else,” he stated.

Yn blinked, confusion washing over her features. She whispered, “Why? Why do you want me here? Please tell me the truth.”

The Marquis’s eyes darkened, and he tilted his head slightly, studying her. Yn became painfully aware of how close he was, the scant inches between their bodies. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the charged air. The tension was suffocating, a heavy blanket that pressed down on her, making her heart pound in her chest.

“This,” he said, his tone smooth yet unyielding, “is the safest place for you.”

Her eyes widened. “Safe? From what?”

The Marquis remained silent, his expression inscrutable, though the grip on her neck tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but just enough to remind her who was in control. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, like a dark cloud that swallowed every word before it could be spoken. The room felt colder, and Yn’s skin prickled as she tried to read the unreadable look in his eyes.

Then, without warning, he spoke. “Open your mouth.”

Yn froze, her mind spinning. The command caught her off-guard, and she hesitated, fear bubbling. She could feel the tremor in her own hands, and for a brief moment, she thought of pushing him away, of running. But where would she go? What’s the point?

Slowly, reluctantly, she parted her lips, a small act of submission. The Marquis’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he closed the distance, slightly tilting her head to the side. His lips pressed against hers, firm, and then he kissed her, his tongue slipping past her lips, demanding, dominating. She gasped, a soft, muffled sound swallowed by his mouth as he deepened the kiss, his free hand moving to cradle the back of her head, trapping her there.

Her thoughts blurred, a chaotic storm of emotions she couldn’t understand. Panic, defiance, confusion, all mingling together as his tongue explored her mouth, tasting, claiming. Her hands moved to his chest, but whether to push him away or steady herself, even she wasn’t sure. She could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, a stark contrast to the frantic pace of her own.

Finally, he pulled back, just enough to let her breathe but not enough to create distance. His breath was warm against her lips, and she could see the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, the faint curl of his lips. “As long as you’re here, no one else will ever hurt you.”

Yn’s chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, her lips tingling from the force of the kiss.

“I don’t want this,” she whispered, but the words felt weak, fragile. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to be here.”

The Marquis tilted her chin up, forcing her to look into his eyes. “No, you are the one not getting it.”

He released her neck, his fingers trailing down her collarbone, leaving a path of heat in their wake. Yn swallowed, trying to steady herself. His hand slipped away, only to return, fingers curling around hers. He said nothing as he turned, guiding her across the room toward his desk, which dominated his office, dark wood polished to a gleam under the dim lights.

“I’ll make you understand,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made her heart sink. There was no room for argument in his tone, no softness that suggested he might relent. As they reached the desk, he pulled her towards it.

“Now,” he continued, his eyes locking onto hers, the command in them unmistakable, “get under the table.”

PREV : Chapter 06

NEXT : Chapter 08

Story Masterlist

Leave a comment and like! I would love to know what you think!

If you’re interested in being on my taglist to be tagged in the next chapters, please leave a comment and mention the taglist.

Taglist:

Comment specifically if you want to be removed from the taglist.

@tagakalat @noodle81937 @urdarlingxx @l4venderia @aeryns--playground @straysugzhpe @naturalblondekiller88 @deliciousfestsalad @androgynous-lady @nope-nooope @blsmbr @erikasurfer @softlore23 @jamaicanqueen007 @darious @nazdaniels @1mawh0re @vienettacream @elleclairez @ninastyless @elizziebat @nmuanna @peanad03-blog @weepingwitchofthewest @nikkipea @notisabellax @starrgir1 @samurashari @baby-honeybunny @justathpught @4sta @cryotrain @elsa203 @shyfriendrebelwombat @lalunaluvrr @diaaaaaaaaa @at-midnight @october5veiga @dyyyyyyyyyyyyy @taeinar @cattycat-22 @fluffypinkfeasts @sigynbandraoi-blog @babypinkbae @skylermoyer @fallenanqel13 @strawberrygothhh @hottie-bishop-belova @joyfulyouthlover @darkangelkathiecookiesmith @horrorlover304 @britska-modra @haclyonnnnn @daemonwhore @angeljcca @thesimpybitch @rizunaur @carpathiannoirbarbie @litle17-blog @theghostofshadows @xbunny-k @mushy-mushroom04 @madkohi

[ilongfor-the-arts]

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.”

[rosevette]

·.༄࿔ TAKE ME TO PARIS pt. 1 my mlist

𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒌 & 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

💋ྀིྀི résumé : meeting the man of your dreams at an art auction in Paris isn’t too good to be true, right ? Well, your bodyguard thinks just the opposite.

1.0k words + tags : dumb, ‘naive’ !reader, manipulation, fantasizing, smut, age gap, pet names, fingering, slight non-con, evil intent ⭑

୭ৎ … this is lowk based on one of my bots with marquis here … this is my first little blurb, I don’t really write but this idea is too good to not share w yall. if u see any spelling or grammar mistakes , ignore !! part two here - sincerely, rose

IN THE HEART OF PARIS, amidst the elegant splendor of an art auction, you found yourself captivated by the beauty of the pieces on display. Adorned in a gown of midnight blue silk, you moved gracefully through the room, your eyes alight with fascination as you admired each exquisite masterpiece.

As you lingered before a stunning portrait, a voice broke through the murmurs of the crowd.

"A breathtaking piece, is it not?" Turning, you found yourself face to face with a tall, green eyed brooding man. Dressed in a tailored suit of charcoal grey, he exuded an air of effortless charm as he regarded you with a knowing smile.

"Yes, it truly is," you replied, unable to tear your gaze away from his piercing emerald eyes. Engaging in polite small talk, you found yourself drawn into conversation with the stranger, his wit and sophistication captivating your attention.

“Marquis De Gramont. And you?” He spoke with a thick French accent, his thin lips forming a smile as he extended out his arm, opening his hand for you to shake. Flattered by him already, you shake his hand, your other one clutching onto your purse as you introduced yourself.

How charming, he was, you thought to yourself. He was not only handsome, but was a gentleman as well. You could tell by the way he just suited himself, and that sparkle in his eyes you glanced at whenever you two conversed.

One thing you didn’t know was that in fact, this man was the complete opposite of charming and well, a gentleman. Yes, he held himself with impeccable style and his composure was kept controlled, but the thoughts that came across his mind were just pure sin. He thought of how pretty you would look with your dress rolled up to your stomach as he pounded into you in the back of his limousine, maybe even perhaps hidden in an empty aisle of this very art auction.

The way his hands are would just fit around that small neck, the pearls that would fall on the ground as he pulled it off of you, and finally, your watery puppy eyed face he’d enjoy seeing begging and pleading for him to stop , or maybe even for more.

As the auction commenced, you both found yourselves bidding on a magnificent painting—a Madonna and Child by Duccio. With each raise of the paddle, the tension between you grew, the excitement of the bidding war fueling your competitive spirit.

In the end, it was you who emerged victorious, the winning bid earning you the coveted artwork. As you basked in the glow of your triumph, the Marquis offered you a gracious smile, masking the flicker of his ulterior motives in his eyes.

Later that evening, as the auction drew to a close and guests began to depart, the Marquis De Gramont approached you once more, his charming smile never faltering.

"Ah, ma chérie, it seems fate has brought us together once again," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk as he took your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. A blush crept onto your cheeks at his bold gesture, and you chuckled softly in response.

"Perhaps our paths will cross again during your time in Paris," you replied, returning his flirtatious banter with a playful glint in your eye.

As you turned to leave, blowing a teasing kiss in his direction, you couldn't shake the feeling of his lingering gaze on your back. Climbing into the waiting limousine, you settled into the plush seat beside your ever-watchful bodyguard, John Wick. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he glanced at you.

"Was that the Marquis?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

You rolled your eyes, dismissing his worry with a wave of your hand.

"And what about him, John?" you retorted, feigning nonchalance as you closed the door behind you.

"You shouldn't be so friendly with strangers," John admonished, his concern palpable as he turned his attention back to the road.

Returning to the luxurious confines of the Ritz Paris, you found yourself lost in thought, the memory of your encounter with the Marquis lingering in your mind. Despite John's warnings, you couldn't shake the feeling that the Marquis's intentions were harmless. Little did you know, danger lurked just beyond the facade of charm and sophistication.

The next morning, as sunlight streamed through the silk curtains of your suite, you awoke to find John reading quietly on the sofa.

"I ordered some room service," he informed you, his gaze never leaving the pages of his book. You greeted him with a playful smirk, teasing him for his lack of a proper morning greeting.

While indulging in breakfast, your attention was drawn to a shiny box nestled among the pastries on the cart. With curiosity piqued, you opened it to find a stunning Van Cleef necklace in your favorite shade of sapphire blue. Your heart skipped a beat as you read the accompanying note, the words "for mon chérie" sending a chill down your spine.

Assuming it was a thoughtful gesture from John, you were taken aback when you realized the true sender. The Marquis's charm had ensnared you once again, his gift a reminder of the dangerous game he was playing. With a sense of foreboding settling over you, you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises the Marquis had in store.

End of part 1. Part 2.

© rosevette 2024 . do not copy !

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yay I was the anon who asked if you watch the new John Wick film, I hoped you enjoyed the movie!

Can I request some yandere marquis de gramont headcanons? (it can be romantic or platonic)

man was the biggest prick that i had seen in a while from a movie lol

Yandere Vincent de Gramont Headcanons

A/N:You read my mind Anon lmaoo - I was literally planning on writing some HCs for the Marquis <3

Despite the initial conception one may have about Vincent's dedication to a lover – that being none – he's actually surprisingly...loyal.

While he has the playboy exterior, enough money to soak up the oceans of the Earth and all the allure that comes with his occupation, he secretly feels as if he has nothing at all.

What he wants, what he really, truly wants, is to feel something new. Something he’s never experienced before.

Love.

Not just for himself - for someone else.

His brush with John Wick made him realise how empty his life was by comparison to the Boogeyman, who lived and almost died for the memory of love.

And that stuck with Vincent. Affected him more than he’d like to admit.

But, his heightened status above most others has left him isolated with few who wish to know him in a capacity beyond acquaintances for fear of incurring his wrath with a misplaced word or an overstepped boundary.

Thus, love is almost an impossibility for the Marquis.

And then he met you.

And grew obsessed intrigued. Fast.

He likely met you in passing completely separate from his usual crowd – which is to say hunters and murderers.

And he's taken aback by you; your beauty, your charm, your personality. In a way that, while many others have tried, have never breached Vincent’s superficial interest.

Or perhaps you nurse that same melancholy void he harbours; the desire for something more. Which, divulging it to him, a complete stranger, the Marquis finds oddly endearing. Vulnerable.

He’s enchanted. The void in his chest seems to tighten somewhat. Heal.

You’ve given him what no other has before. Genuine, friendly, interested conversation. All without even knowing who he is.

Now, having to rush off, apologising with a smile for taking up his time with “Trivial banter,” Vincent watches your retreating form.

He has his sights set on you.

Over the next few days, while conducting business and going about his everyday life, Vincent’s mind keeps crawling back to you, those fateful minutes wherein he felt he knew everything about you and nothing at all.

Though, he doesn't actually want to admit it at first.

While, yes, he does want to experience true love, he is entirely unwilling to acknowledge the disgustingly human need to feel something.

So, he tries to hide it. Bury it beneath his work, French desserts and luxuries you've never even heard of.

But, over time, you spring back up in the forefront of his mind when you are no longer content with being a voice in the background. A memory of a time where Vincent felt as if he’d truly been seen.

And Vincent, passing off his secret enthusiasm as boredom, a mere meandering of memories, ‘allows’ the odd thought of you to trickle in here and there.

You are a form of medicine. Whenever Vincent feels something undesirable brewing in his chest, he finds himself back with you on that bench in the park, your warmth and presence sun rays against his face as he’s transported from one of his many mansions to beside you once more.

And, even if he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, you scratch the right spot in his psyche that material gain just can’t. Not in comparison to the human touch you have.

Gramont’s so used to people regarding him with favour or fear that it still takes him aback now how kindly you treated him, not knowing who he is or what he does.

You had nothing to gain from your kindness. And yet you still gave it to him.

Healed him with it.

Vincent’s daydreams start to grow more intense the longer he thinks about you.

An emulated conversation. Additions and projections of the recollections of your encounter, no matter how brief. Anything to let Vincent feed off the feeling you gave him when he’s exhausted the phantom of your first encounter.

There comes a point, weeks after you first met, where Vincent spends more time in these memories, both real and fabricated, than in the conscious world. And they strengthen, pulling his focus from his work, from his duties.

At first, this manifests as a glazed look in his eyes, one which, to all those who knew of him, could pen as the typical, uninterested Marquis stare.

He wears the same one in the comfort of his private rooms, one where nobody can see what he’s thinking. But now, people can see Vincent couldn’t care less about the projected bounty of this one killer from Wales; he just wants to be left alone with his thoughts.

His men have started to notice, too.

And, one evening, Vincent decides to lay upon them a task.

“I need you to find someone for me,” he says, his chin resting atop clasped hands. There is no jest, nor leniency, in his stare.

The task itself sounded easy enough. But with only a physical description to go on, not even having gotten your name, Vincent, for the first time in his life, is anxious.

Anxious his men won’t find you, no matter how deep his connections run.

Anxious that, while he’s lived in his dream world for the last month, you’ve since disappeared. Been killed, perhaps, or exposed to some freak accident.

Vincent pains at the feeling in his centre whenever he considers this a possibility. It tears the scabbing void in his chest wide open again.

Sometimes, while he lies in bed, the thought that might have perished somehow, that his men will have misinterpreted his specific instructions not to interact with you, only report on what you’re doing, plagues him.

He knows his men are loyal – that they’ve never failed a task before now. And he clings to the hope that their winning streak won’t run dry one of these nights.

One day, sat in his office, glancing over a document he’d tried reading for the last half hour yet couldn’t because, surprise, you were distracting him, one of his men came into the room.

“We have them, Sir,” he said, the image of victory. Vincent couldn’t help but scan his suit for any sign of blood. Your blood.

To say Vincent was excited is an understatement of epic proportions.

At first, he’s just numb.

Then, a few minutes later, his chest burns and sparks with an electric passion one acquires when meeting an idol.

Vincent wishes to deploy himself immediately. But he knows this is a waiting game.

So, he remains far enough away from your life that you do not suspect a single thing is wrong.

You don’t even glance over at the guy who’s been tailing you for the last few hours.

You don’t think twice about the stranger who’s been sat in perfect view of you in the cafe for the last two weeks.

You don’t even consider that the guy you bumped into earlier is responsible for your house key going missing.

Now, with access to your inner sanctum and your daily routine burned into his mind like a holy scripture, Vincent makes his move.

He stages meetings between the two of you.

Starts ‘bumping into you’.

At first, you simply recognise him, ask him how he’s doing and what he’s doing in the area.

And, Vincent, the man with an answer for everything, finds himself doing something he never has before.

He fumbles.

Even when he imagined you in a most vivid detail, nothing compares to this moment, where what he says has consequences, where he has one shot at getting this right. Or risk your uncertain stare.

He can feel fear rising in his chest as he stutters. Only once, but enough to knock him down a few pegs in your mind’s eye. At least, that’s what he thinks.

But, he completes his task, albeit not as pristinely as he wished.

He asked you out to coffee.

And you, with a signature smile, accepted.

And now, your fate is sealed.

Vincent beats himself up over his ineptitude of speaking to you like he did in his head: suave, cool, collected.

And, given the fact that he’s never had to take accountability for anything he’s ever done, he tries to blame it on someone else.

Not you, though.

Never you.

Regardless of this minor hurdle, as Vincent sees it, he purses this…friendship with you.

He isn’t used to the concept. Not in a visceral sense, anyway.

The saying ‘It’s lonely at the top’ comes to mind when describing Vincent’s relationships.

There is always a power imbalance, no matter who he’s speaking with.

He is always above them, and they are always below him.

But that’s when they know him. Know his dynamic.

You, you have absolutely no idea who he is, or what he’s capable of.

To you, he’s just Vincent, the owner of a successful manufacturing business.

No, Vincent couldn’t quite ditch the theatrics. He still needed an out to impress you – to have a valid excuse as to how he owns so many nice cars, how he never wears the same designer suit twice.

He doesn’t tone it down with the suits, by the way.

He’s too enthralled by the fascinated look you wear when you’re taking in the patterns, the chains, the craftsmanship.

Which, to his surprise, makes his face warm.

People have only ever looked at the label of his outfit, never the ensemble itself.

That’s just another of the ways you make him feel seen.

You tell him so much of yourself, yet not enough to break your mystique.

Vincent knows more about you than you think, and he uses this to create another version of himself – one which likes the same records as you (though, he unironically does enjoy them. But, he knows he likely wouldn’t unless you listened to them, too), has the same preferences for how you fold your clothes, whether you should brush your teeth before or after breakfast.

And Vincent devours every detail you grant him like a meal, saving them, storing them, testing them out in his newest daydreams when he gets home, his heart thrumming and his breathing short as an unfamiliar feeling of wholeness and anxiety overtakes him.

And yet, there is little he can offer in return.

Nothing that isn’t a lie, anyway.

He keeps you as far away from his work as possible, hence he meets you in such public spaces.

His men are always stationed nearby, disguised as civilians. Should the need for bloodshed ever arise.

Eventually, your weekly coffee meet-ups evolve into something else.

Vincent, after asking one of his men (under strict confidentiality) ”What do you do when you…like-like someone…?” starts taking you to restaurants.

He tries not to scare you off with anything too fancy, but he can’t help but feel part of himself die whenever he thinks about how dull the food here in this 5-star restaurant is compared to his usual dining preferences.

But you’re happy, thanking him for the meal with a gratitude that isn’t borne from a life-or-death scenario.

You’re not paying for these dates, by the way. Vincent won’t let you.

“I brought you here; I’m paying.”

He also has a tendency to go overboard with the gifts.

You tell him your watch is broken ? Here are five designer timepieces imported from a selective brand whose clientele is vetted and chosen by the CEO himself.

Of course, you can try to refuse these gifts – tell Vincent that you “Can’t possibly take them from you; it’s too much !”

But he plays the guilt card well.

“No, I insist,” he says, pushing them into your hands. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

If you actively wear or use anything he buys you, he’ll be overjoyed. Prideful.

You’re wearing something he got for you. That basically means you’re saying you belong to him.

Of course, he does get a little carried away with his…delusions. But he means well !

He’s just territorial.

Vincent can be a gentleman when he wants to be.

And can also be a vicious creature when he doesn’t.

He only presents one of these sides to you.

The other is reserved for his more…private affairs.

When he started feeling more intensely about you, his mind wandered to some rather unsavoury places – places that, usually, VIncent would walk through without batting an eye.

But now that he, dare he say...liked you…he felt as if he’d been drenched in cold water whenever he imagined you doing anything risqué.

So, with the steadily growing number of these thoughts, these images of you, piercing his mind, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

He beds people who look like you. 

The two of you aren’t dating yet; haven’t even held hands (though Vincent agonises over finding the right opportunity to do so).

But he still feels wrong. Like he’s cheating on you.

His sanity tries to prevent him from thinking like this, tries to keep itself intact by urging Vincent to pursue another mindless conquest.

Your name does slip out between his panting, though.

Much to the chagrin of whoever’s beneath him right now.

He wonders what you’d look like, what you’d feel like in this same position. What your preferences are.

There’s only one way to find out.

He tries turning up the boyfriend factor after he decides now’s the time to pursue you. Properly.

He sits a little closer to you whenever you invite him over for movie nights, holds you for just a little longer whenever you engage in your traditional parting hug.

And he can’t help but think about how much he wants to stay with you like this forever.

And permanence is a rare commodity for people in his line of work. No matter how many bodyguards he has, or how skilled he is.

Nothing is certain.

Which is why, one evening, lying awake in bed, he decides to act.

He knows it’s a risky manoeuvre, but he can’t deny how careless he’s been with you these last few months.

Not that you’d know, but his men have intercepted five people who’ve tried to kill you, take you – or worse.

All just to get to him.

He can’t leave you in the wide open world like this. He can’t let you be at risk. Not because of him.

So, that night, his heart in his mouth as he commands his men to “Find (Y/N). Bring them to me.” Vincent awaits your arrival.

And, eventually, he hears you. Clamouring in the halls outside his office, screaming and fighting. Resisting.

Vincent can’t help but crack a smile, knowing how defiant you are – how stubborn you can be in your method.

As the heavy footsteps of his men come to a stop outside his door, your screeching is blunted only by the thick wood.

And, doors open, here you are, shoved into the room.

Your captor revealed.

You look at him with what you could construed as almost-neutrality, your bewilderment a damper to your anger, your fear.

“Vincent,” you say, breathless. You take a staggering step towards him. His men take a step towards you, reaching for weapons concealed by their coats.

Vincent raises a hand, and they retract.

He looks at you.

His eyes are filled with nothing less than adulation, misplaced happiness in a situation you view as dire.

“Sit,” he tells you, casting a glance to the seat before his desk.

With little else you can do, you obey.

And your world begins to unravel.

Vincent, in the lamest, most gentle of terms, explains that he is “Not who you thought I was,” – that he does “More for a living than make vases and luxury dishware.”

“I,” he says, watching your eyes carefully, glassy and holding no less potential for terror. “Am the Marquis.”

Vincent stands, and when he sees you flinch, something in him withers. Hurts.

He shoves it aside.

“I am responsible for making sure that the right outcome is brought to the right people.”

His hands behind his back, pacing the length of your field of sight, he swallows. 

You’re judging him now. In a way you never had, you’re judging him.

His desire to display how grandiose his lifestyle is doesn’t seem so forthcoming anymore, hiding, shy.

This is more difficult than he anticipated.

“What does that mean ?” you say, voice tight and quiet.

Vincent’s fist clenches. He doesn’t want you like this. You should be happy he’s rescued you ! Albeit from threats you didn’t know pertained to you, but still !

“I’m…” he starts. His gaze wanders to his men, who, with perfect understanding, leave.

You almost don’t want them to go.

“I’m a reaper, of sorts,” he says. He draws closer, taking a step in your direction. You bite back the urge to flee.

“A face to a cause.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, instead watching you with what you think is scrutiny (but couldn’t be further from it), you ask, throat dry, hoarse from your screaming. Crying.

“What cause ?”

Vincent bites the inside of his lip. And, for the first time, he can feel himself cracking under your gaze.

You’re scared. He knows you are. He just wished he didn’t have to see it painted so blatantly on your features, downturned with grief should everything end on this night.

Where was your smile ? Your crinkled eyes, your sonorous laugh, your upturned lips ?

“I fix problems,” he says. There’s no way he can put his occupation lightly. “I used to do it with knives. Guns, a pencil, perhaps – whatever was at my disposal.”

He’s closer now, approaching. His arms are at his sides. And he stands before you.

You don’t want to look up. You want to look – be – anywhere but here.

But Vincent doesn’t let you.

“But now,” he says, and he gets to one knee. His hands trap you, on either of the arm rests of the chair. Yet he does not possess the face of one who is a captor, instead a mask of total capitulation to a feeling he couldn’t even begin to understand before you showed him.

“I do it with diplomacy. With people who are much better suited to that life than I.”

His voice is soft, quieter than before. There is a hint of a smile at his lips, pulling the corners, beginning the total eclipse of his eyes from full to crescent. An offset to the anxiety bubbling in his centre.

Your hands in your lap, he takes them in his, slowly, gently, fingers resting atop yours.

And he squeezes them.

Holds them. Just as he’d always wanted to.

“Why–” you swallow a sob, turn your head so you don’t let him see your face scrunch into the epitome of fright. “Why am I here…?”

Vincent’s lips part. His hand slips up to your jaw, urges you to look at him.

He’s forbearing. A butterfly.

Nothing like how his men handled you.

That in itself could almost convince you that he’s not such a bad guy. Even after all he’s told you.

“Because–” your face in his hand, he looks up into your eyes. Barely contained tears fill them.

“Because you’ll be safe with me,” he promises. There’s an unencumbered optimism in his eyes. A dangerous one at that.

“Because I can’t trust that my men can protect you when you’re so far away – alone – in the city.”

“What do you mean, Vincent ?!”

You don’t mean to snap. But since you’d just been kidnapped and the truth behind the matter is no clearer to you, you can’t help it.

Vincent almost seems to flinch, his eyes narrowing just for a second. He returns to you with his puppy stare.

“There are people out there who know who I am. What I do.”

He squeezes your hand again, his other still wrapped about your jaw.

“The problem now is that they know you, too.”

He swallows thickly, looking down for a split of a second. Guilt.

“And it’s my fault. I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve just left you alone, let you live your life…but I can’t undo that now.”

He laces his fingers between yours. And you’re too frazzled to refuse.

“What I can do, what I will do–” his hand comes to the point of your chin, holds it gently between his fingers like glass.

His gaze falls to your lips, and you try to ignore it.

“Is keep you safe. Here. With me.”

You’d have laughed if you didn’t believe everything he’d just said.

It all just made sense to you.

The lavish gifts, the people watching you that you hadn’t dared notice before because you’re just being paranoid. The hard glares Vincent would grant to all that passed you by in the rooms of higher society.

And now, everything shatters. You cry.

“Oh, non, mon Cher, don’t cry–” Vincent moves to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but you pull away. Retract from his kindness.

"You're insane–" you’re breathless, gasping between sobs

"Not insane.” VIncent tells you. He stands so he’s perfectly level with you, his eyes piercing yours. And, just as he had many times before in your presence, he smiles. Genuine and heartfelt. Then, a statement. A declaration.

“Just… in love.”

[mynameis-noe-body]

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.

[kingkat12]

quelle jolie chose (marquis de gramont x reader)

WARNINGS: mentions of bodily harm, violence, intimidation, humiliation

summary: as the new owner of The Continental in Moscow, you should've known better before helping John Wick escape Russia-- what will the Marquis do when he finds out you've been in contact with the excommunicado he's been after all along?

word count: 1,714

a/n: this is chapter one of a quite long Marquis fic i'm writing, so don't you worry... there's much more to come!!! and there are some french words here and there, i am NOT french lol so do correct me if i'm wrong, and there is a vocab at the end!! enjoy<33333

I hadn't planned on facilitating John Wick's escape from The Moscow Continental-- nothing was going as planned, these days. That was truly dawning on me as the Marquis' guards gripped me harder, forcing me down on my knees in front of him as I glared up at the statuesque man before me. 

I was well-versed in the rules of the High Table, having grown up in the order. It was only recently that I had taken over the hotel, almost immediately after my father's untimely death. I had suddenly found myself at the center of the operation I had watched from afar my whole life, and had the truth about my father's work unveiled to me during a time when I should've been mourning him. It had been terribly hard, but I had gotten myself together for the sake of the hotel. For the sake of my life, my family, and our legacy.

However, nothing had been more important than the debt I owed John Wick. Funnily enough, that was exactly what had gotten me into this situation.

"You should've known better than to succumb to such foolishness," The Marquis took another step towards me, his eerily green eyes drilling into me with intimidation unlike anything I had ever seen before. "We know your father was weak when it came to Mr. Wick, but you? That you would be helping an excommunicado evade us? That was certainly unexpected from the newly instated owner of The Moscow Continental."

I hated that this was happening in my penthouse. Had I stayed at the hotel tonight to tend to business, I would've at least been sure he wouldn't kill me. The grip the guards had on me, the force in which my knees were being pressed against my newly polished wooden floors, nearly had me wincing-- but there was no way in hell I'd show him how scared I was. My gaze only hardened, trying to wry myself out of the strong hands holding me down; "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"

Letting out an exasperated sigh, the Marquis rolled his eyes. It was almost as though he was bored with me. "We have it all on video," he grumbled, unimpressed with my attempts of denial. "Him at the hotel, him in one of your cars, and videos from the shootout at Sheremetyevo airport. It seems you're good with a gun, miss... Actually, it's probably good to find out whether you have one on you right now." With a wave of his hand, the guard next to him stepped toward me, and it didn't take long before I was pressed face-down to the floor as I yelled out in protest.

With tears pressing upon my eyes, I could only curse as they managed to find the knife in my boot and continued to search me-- my eyes widened when they moved up my thighs, finding the gun I had stuffed down the side of my hip before having gotten dragged into this room, ambushed in my own home. I let out another yell, kicking with the best of my abilities, as my pants were dragged down my thighs and my hands were held tightly at my back.

I heard a hum coming from the Marquis, who had stepped away to make himself a cup of tea by the table I had set up a few weeks ago. Everything about his nonchalance angered me further-- I couldn't believe this was happening to me in the room I had set up to focus on the one thing that gave me a sense of purpose and peace; my paintings. They were hung up on the tall walls, and I caught a glimpse of Vincent admiring the one to his left.

My head pounded with fear, not used to this sort of humiliation. These feelings were new-- I knew I was the only one who could save me now that John Wick was out of the country. I looked away, pressing my forehead against the floor, still fighting my captivity. 

I didn't need to look at the well-dressed Marquis to know that he was watching the whole ordeal play out before him. Then again, I didn't know a single man who wouldn't watch a woman get undressed, unwanted or not. So there I was, splayed out on the floor of my atelier, the cold winter air of my penthouse hitting my bare thighs with my red panties on display. I wanted to cry, embarrassed beyond belief about being in my underwear in front of all of these men, but also scared like never before-- would they take it further than this? Would this be the moment where what I had dreaded all my life was about to happen?

Thankfully, my pants were quickly put on, but my favorite gun was confiscated. My cheeks were still bright red, remnants of tears pooling in my eyes as I was propped back up on my knees. "Aren't you supposed to be of nobility?" I asked, speaking through gritted teeth as my head hung between my shoulders in shame. "Did no one teach you to treat ladies with respect?" I couldn't remember a time when any other member of the order had been strip-searched-- sexist fucker. 

The Marquis let out a short chuckle, the arrogance evident even in his laugh. "What makes you believe you deserve my respect after helping John Wick? You're quite rightfully on your knees now, and hopefully, you'll start begging for your life soon. For your own sake, of course," 

"I would rather carve out my own eyes than beg you for anything," I said, a low growl building in my throat along with my anger. "And you know that you need me alive. The whole of Russia will go to war against you if you kill me, and you can count on Bratva and Rusko Roma to avenge me!"

It didn't take long for the Marquis to change his mood once more-- his pompous sneer disappeared off his face with one twitch of his eye, and within the snap of a second, he threw the cup of tea across the room, shattering the glass against the wall with a crushing sound that echoed through the halls. "You will obey!" he yelled, coming towards me with loud, booming steps. Blinded by anger, he crouched down to grab my face in his hand, his grip on my cheeks making me wince. "It doesn't matter to me who your father was or how important you think you are, because you work for me!" 

"And that is where you're wrong," I continued to struggle around the grip his guards had on me, wanting nothing more than to be freed and strike him right across the face. However, a sense of calm washed over me when I realized he wasn't here to kill me-- he couldn't. "I don't work for you. I work for the High Table. You're simply a code in the software, and right now you're pissing off the highest-ranking official in the biggest country in the world. Are you trying to wage a war on Russia, Vincent?"

The mention of his first name had him squeezing my face even harder in his large, rough hands. But this time, I didn't react-- I simply stared back at him, watching the way his pupils shrunk as he focused on me like I was prey. Up close, I could see the deep scar on his cheek, the way his lips pursed with anger, and it suddenly dawned on me that he smelled like a mix of tobacco, amber, and leather. Very manly, very expensive; enticing. 

"War," he echoed, another twitch of his eye ensuing. "Pas de souci. That is not what I want. But what I do want, however..." The Marquis let go of my face, getting up from the ground. "I want John Wick dead, along with his allies. And since I can't kill you yet, it seems I have to make use of your friendship with the excommunicado." With another wave of his hand, the guards let me go-- I pressed my palms against the floor in relief, letting in a shaky heave of air. 

I looked up at him through my brows, feeling my anger pulsing through my veins. "He's long gone, Vincent. He's not coming back to Russia,"

The Marquis hummed; "Get him back, then,"

"He won't--"

"Do it, or I'll put your mother's head on a spike!" His voice boomed through the room, leaving behind an echo that made me want to wince once more. "If he's not here within a week, I will have you bound and forced to watch me rip her limbs apart!" 

My lips parted in shock, feeling as though my body had frozen over. Everything about his threat made me terrified out of my mind-- I couldn't risk it. I knew that the Marquis was dangerous and that he could easily follow through with his words; I needed to get myself together, for the sake of my family. It took a lot of power for me to get up from the ground, balling my fists as I met his threatening gaze. I watched as he stood before me, clad in a ridiculously expensive grey-ish suit, visibly ready for any fight I might want to put up. 

I wasn't stupid-- I realized I was surrounded by his guards with no other choice than to obey. I didn't even have my gun anymore, nor did I have my trusted bodyguard; I wondered whether his body still lay lifeless in the hallway, bleeding out all over my new carpet. 

I was cornered, and I knew it. Which is why I got down on one knee and put my hand over my heart, accepting my reality; "I will be of service,"

The Marquis snickered at my pledge, clearly pleased. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes rounding out in victory at the sight of me willingly kneeling. "Quelle jolie chose," he breathed, nodding to himself. "Good. Very, very good."

I wanted nothing more than to shoot a hole through his face. I couldn't wait for the day I'd get that opportunity.

vocabulary:

pas de souci: no worries

quelle jolie chose: what a pretty thing

[marquisedegramont]

Lighting Vincent’s cigarette for him

-🧸

eeeeeeeee quick drabble before i go back 2 working on my artfight refs | MENTIONED : established relationship between reader & vin, kinda idk but its implied vincent cant keep a bitch before hopping onto another

VINCENT stared out the window as drops of rain pelted towards the floor of the city of Paris. It was a gloomy night like any other, with the bright, warm light of the buildings that lined the Paris skyline often flickering from dark windows in the morning to their sunlight-like dots that shined in the night.

You open the door to his bedroom where he’s sitting on a chair, overlooking Paris in a penthouse high above common people. His hair is a mess, probably just woke up when you went to get a glass of water.

“Why are you awake, love?” Vincent glances up at you when you walk towards him, hand on the base of his neck, gently ruffling with the strands of brunette hair.

“Je ne dors pas,” I can’t sleep, Vincent says to you. “I have been restless for a while.”

“How come?” You ask him before taking your seat at the corner of his bed. While dating, you and Vincent didn’t really share the same bed. Vincent felt…. uncomfortable when it came to exposure to someone for a long time. People circulated in his life, changed; left and went, came back and stayed, got pushed away.

The Marquis doesn’t reply to you, he stares at you for a second or two, silence hanging in the air. Before his gaze turns back to the city.

“Stress?”

Vincent gives a half-assed sound.

“Perhaps.”

Your eyes flicker from the window, to the shape of Vincent as the lights outside frame his silhouette. It was well past midnight when you checked the clock in the room, each second ticked with utmost insanity. A sluggish second passed. And still, Paris didn’t sleep. Outside were cars, and here inside was both you, and the Marquis de Gramont.

“You know,” You say to break the silence. The silence wasn’t peaceful, neither was it tense. It was a strange in between of both peacefulness and tension. Something compelled you to speak, something to fill the air that wasn’t the smell of the Paris penthouse and the perfume you wore. “I never really believed in this whole ‘counting sheep’ thing.”

Vincent shifts in his seat, almost hunched over but really not at all. He looks over towards you. The faint glow of the light that comes from the vintage window barely even lighting one side of his face.

“Me neither.” Vincent replies. “It gets boring, and I don’t drift off to sleep. Instead, I lay awake, just counting. Hoping that I do.”

“Me too.” You answer back with. “My mum used to… read fairytales to me.” You say. “I guess it always worked.”

Vincent goes silent immediately afterwards. You don’t know wether he’s thinking or just refusing to reply. He was a confusing man. He never made intentions clear, unless you were smart and knew how to dissect him from skin to his bones, maybe his soul. But you don’t know his soul yet. You don’t think you’ve seen his heart. Well you’ve seen it.

To you, Vincent was art. A piece. Beautiful to look at, something that carried vicious history, yet cradled beautiful memories. But to be art, was to be looked at. Vincent was looked at, admired and feared. You don’t think anyone has come close to this before.

You blinked, there was a stick in between Vincent’s slender fingers that have never seen the work of the poor. A cigarette. There wasn’t a lighter anywhere.

Corpse silent, it was like a graveyard in the bedroom. A pretty, vintage bedroom fit for a noble such as the Marquis. Unable to contain your words and actions any longer, you stood up from your place on the corner of the bed. You scoured through your purse for something, then you felt the shiny, flat material on the pad of your fingers.

You held the lighter up near Vincent; he slips the cigarette, now pressed in between his lips. “Can I light it?”

“Oui.” He says.

You flick the lighter and the soft hiss and flicker of flame cuts through the previously quiet air. The match flared to life, casting a warm glow on Vincent’s face open with his gaze flickering over onto you, a hint of…something tender flashing in his eyes before a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

He takes a drag of smoke, dissipating into the cold air of Paris in the night.

[multific]

Small Kisses

Vincent De Gramont x Wife!Reader

Warning: mention of toxic obsession and kidnapping (not done by Vincent)

Summary: You loved the tickle of his lips on your skin.

Vincent loved to give you small kisses.

No matter the reason. He just loved doing it wherever you two were.

A formal event? 

A simple dinner?

A small date?

Or just staying in bed all day?

You swore the reason Vincent lived was to give you his sweetest kisses. A man so cunning and proud as him, yet he would be the proudest and calmest whenever he was with you.

You were his beautiful wife whom he loved with all of his dark heart.

But you didn't mind the blood, the murder and the insanity of it all.

Because every time he killed someone in the most brutal way, he would also come home to you, his gorgeous suit covered in blood, and give you such a sweet kiss.

It was honestly confusing rather than anything. 

Vincent was a very classy man. He enjoyed the luxuries in life. High-end products, and he always made sure that you lived in the same luxury.

On your last birthday, he gifted you an original Monét piece.

The painting is currently right above your bed.

If he could, he would buy you the Mona Lisa.

He would literally make sure that you are dripping in diamonds, much like how he did for his birthday when he got you a special gown, made out of diamonds.

Once he said: "I would change the Mona Lisa to a painting of you, you are far more beautiful, Mon Amour."

His sweet talking always worked.

No matter how angry you were because of something, he would always say the sweetest things and then give you a small kiss to your forehead.

“My Beautiful Wife, even stunning when she is mad at me.”

“I would kill any man for you, Mon Amour. You don’t have to ask.”

“I must apologise, I believe I have lacked in my duties as a husband, Mon Amour. I believe you forgot just how much I love you.”

He would always make sure that you are happy and protected.

Even when one time, he failed to do that.

Well, it was more like his men failed, not him. 

When you were taken, he was furious. Too furious to say or do anything other than rage. 

You were taken by a man. A man so insane, you never saw anything like this.

He kept on going on about how he knew you were in love with him, how he knew that you only married Gramont for the money and how now, you two can be together.

He scared you. 

His obsession with you was toxic, you could see just how crazy he was in his eyes. Every time he used the word 'love' it sent a shiver up and down your spine. 

When Vincent finally got to you, you were shaking in fear. The only thing that managed to calm you was Vincent's kisses.

The smallest little kisses he placed all along your body. He also spoke in French some calming words but you could only recall the tickle of his lips when he found a soft spot.

And when the next couple of days you woke up with a shiver, having nightmares about the man who abducted you, it was Vincent who calmed you down. 

It was he who kept waking up with you, never leaving your side, promising he would never leave or let this ever happen to you while placing kisses on your hands, knuckles and palm.

Vincent loved to give you small kisses on any exposed skin that you have.

But you loved the tickle of his lips on your skin even more.

His little kisses were the true proof of his love for you.

Vincent Taglist: @l4venderia

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[taintandviolent]

Rien ; Marquis de Gramont x Reader

summary: You get a new job as stablehand at the luxurious palace of Marquis de Gramont, and the job is everything you thought it be. Marquis, however, isn't.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 4.7K | French dialogue (translations provided), smut with a sprinkling of plot, fingering, female reader, dirty talk, degradation (name calling, spanking), humiliation, abuse of power / power play, manipulation, Vincent being an absolute asshole (because he is one), abuse of power, brief food play, uhhhh - I think that's it.

a/n: deepest apologies for any errors in the French; I studied it in briefly in college and speak like a child. I tried to use google translate as little as possible, so most of this is just... painfully scraped from the confines of my mind. banners by @/saradika and @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Exactly two weeks after you’d started working for him, you’d laid eyes on the elusive Marquis. Most of the time, you were ordered by other staff to ready and bring out a specific horse before returning to your duties, never interacting with the infamous owner. However, one afternoon, he, the Marquis, walked through the stables himself. You had been brushing Bellefleur, a beautiful mare with the temperament of an angel, when you heard his voice echoing through the paddocks. He was speaking angrily about a man whom you didn’t know, discussing matters that didn’t concern you. You peeked up over the edge of the stable as he approached. 

It had been audacious to speak to him at all, considering, but something in your gut moved your limbs without thinking. You took two large steps backwards, moving your body into the opening of the stable. 

“Bonjour, monsieur.” (Good morning, sir.) 

He stopped walking, hands in his pockets. He seemed to consider that he’d just been spoken to, but finally asked what your name was. You told him, albeit somewhat shyly, unsure of whether or not this would result in you losing your job. 

There was no reply, however before continuing on down the long pathway, his heavy, lascivious gaze lingered on your body for far too long to be considered accidental. You had looked down at your own image, wondering what it was that he saw. The tightness of your uniform, perhaps. To a man’s gaze, the way your breasts filled your blouse, the way your trousers hugged your soft thighs and rounded out over the curve of your rear could be cause for a persistent gaze.  

The visits to the paddocks became more frequent after that. 

Some days, he was very cordial, responding curtly, but acknowledging you all the same. He went to you directly to retrieve the horses, fulfilling you with a false sense of importance and power. Other days, he ignored you altogether, dismissing your existence as easily as hay on the ground. So, why had you been developing a lust for the man? With so few interactions and none of them tempting in nature, it was almost embarrassing. 

Today is not one of the days where he ignores you.  

“Rien,” he growls from behind you. (Nothing.) You hadn’t even heard him come in, nor had you heard his approaching footsteps. You turn abruptly to face him and like usual, are staggered by the way he looks. He’s dressed immaculately, this time, wearing a light grey suit. 

“Rien?” you ask, confused. The brush drifts away from Eclair’s neck as your hand falls to your side. “Monsieur?” (Sir?)

“That’s what you are. You are nothing. As much as they are nothing to me, you are nothing.” He gestured dismissively, you assumed, to the other stablehands.  

Your brows knit together, visibly offended. “I…” 

You blink, stopping yourself from continuing any further. Though the Marquis spoke perfect English, you’d been told that he preferred his employees to speak in French when addressing him. Something to do with respect. 

He continues. “And yet…” 

Feeling the need to swallow, you wet your throat and find your words. “J-je ne suis pas sûr de comprendre, monsieur… Je…” (I’m not sure I understand, sir.) 

You swallow again, and look up into his piercing green eyes. “Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire?”  (What do you mean?)

He grabs your chin hard between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it up towards him. The harshness of the action startles you and the brush goes clattering to the cement floor, echoing throughout the paddocks. The closeness, though laced with hostility, has you throbbing between your legs. 

“You don’t understand what I mean?” His French accent is heavy, dripping like cream from his tongue. 

You shake your head, wincing as his fingers dig deeper into your jawline. “Non, j-je suis désolée.” (No, I-I’m sorry.)

“I know it’s difficult for you to express yourself in my native tongue, ma petite.” (My little one.)  You furrow your brows; he was so insulting without even trying. So insulting, in fact, that you can’t even focus on the charming little nickname he threw in. Wanting to prove him wrong, you clench your jaw as you take a step back, weakly attempting to pull yourself from his grasp. Your father had taught you French from the time you were a baby, you spoke it very well, and you – 

“Look at you,” he starts, his eyes sweeping over every feature on your face. “Tending to my horses every day. Cleaning their shit from the ground on which they walk. Pauvre petite chose…” (Poor little thing) 

As he speaks, you’re at a loss for words, unsure of how to proceed, how to answer him. Your ego is bruised and your jaw is sure to follow; the harder you try to wrench your face from his grip, the harder that grip presses into you, digging into the bone beneath the flesh. He bends down, putting his mouth dangerously close to your face, close enough to feel the heat that radiates between you two.

“J’en ne pas stupide.” (I’m not stupid.) He snips, looking down at you with unbridled hostility. 

He repeats the words against the shell of your ear, which sends a vicious shiver down your spine. Your cunt twinges with heat again, and the shuddering doesn’t stop – as though you’ve been out in the cold, freezing from a winter’s chill, your body quivers deep within your core.

“Je sais...” (I know) You acknowledge feebly. A blush crawls up the column of your neck. 

“I see the way in which you look at me. It is not a secret, you know?” 

He takes a single step forward, closing in the distance between your bodies. With no indication, no warning, his free hand cups your cunt outside of your pants, fingers stretching down between your legs. You inhale to gasp, to ask him what he’s doing, but the hand that holds your jaw slips fluidly over your mouth, silencing it. You gaze up into his eyes, searching them for an explanation, but he’s too busy to look at you, to give you any sort of comfort. Instead, he’s locked on the mound between your thighs, watching as his own fingers explore over the fabric, already feeling the damp heat that penetrates the fabric.

At this taste of what’s beneath, Vincent’s long, lithe fingers then make quick work of your trousers, opening the front of them and deftly slipping inside. You freeze, knowing that your body is about to betray you. Violently. Cruelly. His digits dig past the warmth of your folds, slipping past your quickly swelling clit, delving deeper. The brief contact is enough to send you toppling into his arms, but somehow, you stay upright and instead, tighten your fists into fleshy wads. The pads of his middle and ring finger smear at your entrance, searching for the answer to a question he didn’t ask. He taps your leaking slit a few times with a lazy curiosity. Immediately, you can feel your slick stringing from your cunt, spreading easily over your folds.

“You’re wet,” he hisses. “Whore.” 

Somehow, you feel the word before you hear it. It lands like a crushing slap to the face, and your cunt responds by clenching hard, leaking more out into Vincent’s waiting fingers. They twitch against you, pressing to your entrance and slipping inside just enough to make your knees buckle. 

He walks you back against the wood, sandwiching you between Eclair and the door. You strain against his grip again, flitting your gaze towards the horse whose ears twitch but other than that small movement, doesn’t seem bothered by the altercation happening next to him. Almost embarrassed, you whimper softly and look back to the Marquis; his gaze is on you now, watching every miniscule flicker of emotion. Your brows knit together as you shake your head in disbelief, unsure of what is happening. 

“Hm?” He prods your entrance with his middle finger, inserting it to the first joint. Your mind buzzes, blanking on words – in any language. It slips in further with no resistance and your lids flutter helplessly, as the sensations take control of your body. Searching, scrambling for stability, you flatten your palms against the cool, smooth wood of the stable. A bridle hangs down next to your pinky finger, and you have half a mind to wrap it tightly around your hand.

Crooking his finger slightly, he pumps it slowly in and out of your wet cunt. “You like that, no?”

His slow ministrations have you reeling, shivering in front of him. Silently, you wonder what would happen if you said yes. You open your eyes to his, and swallow. Up until now, you stood on your tiptoes, trying to escape his lewd actions, but now, you let your weight down, pushing his finger in all the way to the knuckle. His finger curls, hitting a deeper spot within you that has your toes curling within your boots. Your eyes roll back in your head at this, feeling overwhelmed. Weakly and awkwardly, you stumble over your next words, mumbling them clumsily into his fingers. “… qu’est-ce que tu fais…?” (What are you doing?)

He chuckles through his nose – at what, you don’t know – but as quickly as his hand has slipped in, it disappears, leaving you to pitch forward slightly into his long torso. He examines his finger briefly, which glistens with your arousal. With no regard for your own pleasure, he shoulders you off, and retracts his other hand from your mouth, allowing your breath to tumble out. Wordlessly, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a white handkerchief, hastily wiping his fingers on it before tucking it back into the confines of his slacks. 

You collapse against the wood once more, your chest heaving with laboured, confused exhalations. This time, Eclair shifts away from you slightly, and huffs out a breath. The Marquis watches you, the hints of a smirk upon his shapely, seductive lips. Though you were still fully dressed, you felt unnervingly exposed. Humiliated, even. You reach forward to button yourself back up, doing your best not to fumble with the clasps.

“Follow me.”

Before you can blink, he’s already left the stable. You hurriedly exit, and grip the handle of the door, sliding it shut before securing the latch. The Marquis is already briskly walking away, his long strides carrying him farther and farther away from you, fully confident that you’re following him. As quietly as possible, you trot up behind him, not wanting to irritate him by being slow. The warm smell of wood shavings fills your nostrils as you run, but the second you’re behind him, you’re assaulted with the rich, expensive scent of his cologne. You inhale it deeper, wanting it to stain your lungs. 

As you follow him through the grounds, you take in your surroundings, head swinging to and fro to gobble up the visuals of unknown territory. You only ever got to see the stables and the fields behind it, which was necessary for riding and walking the horses. Naturally, your curiosity is peaked when he leads you both inside the towering, luxurious palace he calls home. Down opulent hall after opulent hall, with attendants opening each and every door that he comes to, you finally make it to your destination. 

The room is massive, and seems to glitter with all the gold details. You’ve never been to Versailles, but you assume the grandeur is similar. It’s sparse in furniture, save for a red velvet couch near the entrance. At the end of the room, sits a large table, adorned with every cake and pastry you could dream of; tiny crystal dishes of raspberries and strawberries, plates of cakes and cookies. They’re all picturesque, and the air is cloying, heavy with the scent of sugars and fragrant fruits. 

He beckons you with two fingers – a specific choice. A violent chill runs down your spine, feeling like there’s ice water cascading down the length of it. Once you’re standing next to him, looking at the dishes in front of you, you feel the weight of his aura, his existence. A few moments ago, you were merely a stablehand. Now, you were something else – you knew not what yet – standing inside the palace, a place where very few had the privilege of being. The tension between you two weighs heavy on your shoulders. 

Abruptly, the Marquis reaches over to pinch your mouth open, squeezing hard until your jaws pop apart. You wince, but succumb to his touch, albeit a little too easily. While watching intently, he brings a cream puff to your mouth, setting it carefully on your tongue. Instincts kick in, and you close your mouth, chewing carefully as cream oozes out from between the layers of fine puff pastry, and you swallow it down. 

He clocks your satisfied reaction, and smirks. “Delicious, isn’t it?” 

You nod apprehensively. It is delicious, of course, though your thoughts are tangled in the undisclosed eroticism of the moment, and the sickeningly unobvious reason why he’s brought you here. He picks up a macaron and carefully takes a bite, holding his other hand underneath his mouth to catch any crumbs, though none fall. 

“Comment dit-on… gourmand de sucreries?” (How do you say… greedy for sweets?)

“Sweet tooth,” you breathe, suspecting he already knew the answer. “You have a sweet tooth.”

“Mmm. I do.” The sound is syrupy within his throat. 

Surely, he hasn’t brought you here to enjoy some pastries. You swallow again, and muster up the courage to ask him: “Que voulez-vous de moi?” (What do you want from me?)

You brace for the oncoming response, half expecting him to say rien again. Instead, he finishes the macaron, and turns to you again, leaning forward. He reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from your cheek, combing it gently behind your ear, and hums, his fingers lingering on the softness of your jaw. His voice is hushed as he tilts his head down to look at you.

“Tout. Je veux tout.” (Everything. I want everything.) 

With your faces inches apart, the Marquis de Gramont captures your mouth in a searing kiss, one that oozes dominance, staking his claim in your core. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, prodding past your lips and teeth until it finds your own wet muscle. Instinctively, you kiss him back, but your frazzled nerves inhibit any true passion. Your lust is clouded by uncertainness, tainting the otherwise intoxicating experience at hand. His hand flies to the nape of your neck where he pulls you closer, deeper. You taste his essence and raspberry-flavored remnants of the macaron, and you swallow into the kiss, your lids fluttering helplessly. But no…

You jerk your head back away from him. Your tongue sweeps out over your bottom lip, cleaning up the mutual saliva that has spread across it. 

“J'en suis pas une pute.” (I’m not a whore.) 

With his hand still on your neck, he laughs, the sound vibrating in his throat. “You will be.” 

And again, his mouth is on yours, hungrily claiming it as though he deserved it. Which, in his mind, you knew, he did. He deserved everything he wanted, and perhaps, that was the essence of why you were here – he wanted you, so he’d have you. 

He continues to kiss you in such a way that leaves you gasping for air – literally – and every time you do, his mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, your ear. Refusing to remove his lips from your body, he’s ravenous, devouring you like he would the sweets on the table. 

“Monsieur,” you plead, babbling senselessly. “Monsieur,… why?” 

“Because,” he hums into the crook of your neck. “Ahh, you weren’t listening, were you?” He clicks his tongue in disappointment before continuing. “As I said before, I see the way in which you look at me, watch me, desire me.” He presses a long, tender kiss just below your ear, and his hand ghosts up over your stomach, coming to rest on the fullness of your breast. “And because, I want it.”  

He’s unbuttoning your blouse before you can stop him. Not that you’d want to, anyway; you’d been dreaming about this for weeks. As he works to expose your chest to him, carefully slipping each  button from its slit, he murmurs into your collarbone, the feeling sending another convulsive shiver down your back.

“Tell me… Do you value your position?”

You nod hurriedly, hoping to convince him. A single, long finger ghosts your shoulder, trailing down your arm. “Then you agree to be my little slut, hm? For me to use whenever I desire, oui?” (Yes?)

While the realization hits you like a ton of bricks, you gulp down your words. There’s no sense in protesting to preserve your feeble morals; not when you want him the way you do, and not with your job at stake. He reaches around your back, undoing the clasp of the bra. Your tits fall free then, and his large comes to cup one of them, kneading the supple, pliant flesh while your nipple grazes the smooth skin of his palm. You whimper, your hand jerking up to grip his bicep. The stimulation entices your arousal further, warmth pooling between your legs again. He worsens your condition by rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling a pathetic sounding mewl from your lips. You roll your eyes to the ceiling, silently cursing him. 

His hands move away from your breast, up to your face, where roughly, he prods your mouth with his fingers, examining your teeth and tongue. Much like he would a horse, you realize. The sensation is terrifying, but erotic and you grip his arm harder. Wordlessly, he reaches behind him to the table filled with decadence, and with two fingers again, scoops up a healthy dollop of cream frosting from atop a cake. 

“Suck them,” he growls.

It’s a command, not a suggestion, and you obey it, drawing them into your mouth tentatively. Your lips – bruised and swollen from his assaulting kisses – tighten, closing around his digits, all while maintaining eye contact with him. As though you were starved for it, you suck gently, while your tongue begins to swipe back and forth, removing all traces of the cream. You weren’t an idiot – this was a test. A test which you pass with flying colours apparently, because the Marquis actually smiles as he withdraws his fingers from the warm confines of your mouth. 

Heat roils in your core as he disconnects from you, and you can do nothing but watch as he pushes the delicate dishes to the left, haphazardly clearing a space on the table. Your eyes sweep back and forth, watching as the cakes and pastries crowd each other. He doesn’t seem to care, single-mindedly only thinking of what he’s about to do to you. He turns back to you, his green eyes burning with arousal. Again, the Marquis unbuttons your pants, this time, aggressively pulling down the zip. He gestures to the table with a nod of his head. He doesn’t have to tell you what to do – you know what he wants. 

In silence, you take your place in front of the table, and hinge your body at the waist to bend over the ornate surface. Cruelly, he yanks your pants over the plush curve of your ass, exposing you to him. There is another rustle of fabric behind you as the Marquis frees his own aching arousal from his slacks. You hear him hiss through his teeth; you presume as he takes his dick into his hand. Your body jolts forward as you feel the pads of his fingers prod tease your leaking slit, smearing your arousal through your folds. 

His hand stretches over your ass, taking a fist full of it before drifting down. He reaches your cunt, admiring her from behind. With a hitched breath, he pulls apart your folds with the pad of his thumb, revealing your aching, wet center. 

“C’est parfait… mm.” (It’s perfect…)

Praise? From him? You swallow the lump in your throat.  

He shuffles behind you, bringing his body closer. That’s when you feel it; the searing hot head of his cock pushing insistently against your clenching slit. You whine and press your thighs tightly together, a desperate attempt to alleviate the building pressure. Futile, because the moment he notices this, he kicks your legs apart with the toe of his polished shoe. 

“Dis-moi que tu veux que je te baise.” (Tell me you want me to fuck you.) 

“Please…. Please.” 

A hand comes down upon your ass cheek, the sound of it echoing throughout the room like a gunshot. The pain sears through your nervous system as the skin swells up, blooming like a flower with the imprint of his hand. “You can do better than that!” 

You try again, this time in French. You knew he was condescending about you speaking French, but there was a deep rooted need to prove that you could. “B-baise-moi… baise-moi, s’il te plait, monsieur.” (Fuck me, fuck me please monsieur.)

He chuckles, and you just know he’s shaking his head, perhaps calling you The American in his mind. He presses the heavy tip deeper into your folds, smearing it down over your swelling clit and combining both your fluids. Your hips jerk instinctively, and your brain stutters as you try to speak. The arousal that leaked from your core had become too much. Much to your dismay, it was too difficult to think in another language and you whined desperately. He lifts his hand high and hardly pauses before he brings it down for another series of sharp smacks to your ass. You make a fist around nothing, wincing as the skin starts to flush an erotic, rosy hue. With each one, your cunt aches, confused by the melange of pain and pleasure that coursed through your body.

“Count them for me.”

You do. Your weak and tiny voice counts the resounding strikes, feeling the heat spread across your skin like fire. “One… t-two… three… four… five - ah! Six!”

He interrupts you suddenly to ask: “You know my name, non?” 

The assumption spoke volumes. You nod against the table, relieved that the assault on your ass had stopped. 

“Use it.” 

Almost uncertain, you murmur his name. “V-Vincent… please fuck me, I want your cock so bad. I have since… since I started working for you. Please.” 

A guttural sound vibrated his throat. It made sense; everyone called him Marquis. Marquis de Gramont. Monsieur. But no one called him by his birth name, and that, had become erotic to him, hearing it tumble off your lips in a desperate, wanton tone. 

He was rotten, cruel and terrible, and in any other situation, your last words would’ve been a lie. But here, they weren’t and you knew it. Despite all your trepidation, you knew they rang true. His cockhead lines up to your entrance, prodding it hungrily, and he leans his hips into yours. With a quirk jerk, he forces himself inside, breaching your aching heat. He bottoms out, sinking in until the flesh of his torso is pressed against your ass. The feeling is all consuming, immediately, filling you to the brim. 

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, unable to vocalize the staggering sensations that rip through your body as he splits you open. He finds a bullying pace quickly, fucking you hard against the table. Your hips bump into the ornately trimmed edge, no doubt bruising them. After a few deep thrusts, he pauses, withdrawing his cock to the tip, only to slam it all the way back in with a deep, strained groan. 

“Fuck,” you whine, your cheek smashed against the table. “Fuck, please.” 

Vincent pays you no mind, your plea serving only as fuel to continue his assault on your sopping cunt. His hands grip your hips tight, pulling them back towards him with each thrust. The room is filled with the lewd melody of skin slapping against skin, fine china clattering against each other, and the mixture of his grunts, moans and your desperate, pathetic whines. You can’t help them, try as you might, because the vicious way in which he fucks into you rocks your whole body.  

“Dis-moi,” he grunts, his accent heavy with arousal. “...dis-moi comment ma bite se sent bien en toi.” (Tell me how good my cock feels inside you.) 

You understand his words, but you’ll be damned if you can formulate so much as a yes in French at this point. Your gaze grows hazy, lids heavy as his dick pounds into you. “It feels… it’s so fucking good, Vincent! Fuck! Harder. Harder!”

His hand comes crashing down on your ass again with a thwack! You cry out, hot tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. 

“Don’t…” He breathes, struggling with his own words. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” 

Spoiled, you think. Spoiled brat. But, regardless of him not wanting to be told what to do, his hunger for your trumps his indignancy, because his hips buck into you with a newfound power, slamming his body against yours with abandon. The head of his cock bumps into your cervix over and over again, hammering it. You feel the coil in your stomach wind tighter around itself, a telltale pressure building deep within. Your walls clench around him warningly. 

As if he realizes that he’s just done exactly what you told him to – or perhaps he feels your cunt’s desperate tugging –  the Marquis pulls his cock from your wet slit with a shlick and roughly grips you at the shoulder, spinning you around. With no effort, he hoists you up into his arm, his cock bobbing below you. Your ass bumps against the table as he sits you down, dragging you to the edge of the table. He looks down at your cunt, already swollen and red, and brings his fingers to it, slipping them inside. He then brings them to his mouth, sucking your combined arousals from his fingers. You watch, enrapt. 

“Remember what you said to me earlier, about not being a whore?” 

You nodded, panting. 

“Do you still feel that way?” 

You hesitate, but ultimately, shake your head. You’re a slut for him, a slut for the way he fucks you, uses you. The concept alone is enough to make you come, but you don’t, eagerly waiting for his cock again. He exhales through his nose, smirking. “I didn’t think so.” 

With his hands bearing down on your hips, he sheaths himself inside of you again, burying himself. The new angle brings a strangled cry from your lips, echoing in the vastness of the room. It doesn’t take long for you to come back to the high of your orgasm, having been edged before. 

“Regarde-moi.” (Look at me.) 

You do. Your half-lidded gaze connects with his intense one, watching him. You reach up, allowing one hand to grip his shoulder, digging your nails into the fibers of his fine suit jacket, while the other lays atop the nape of his neck, feeling the damp, warm skin there. His fingers blindly find your thigh, slipping underneath it to pull it up to your chest, pulling your ankle atop one of his shoulders.

“Uhh fuck–!” he groans, shivering at the new depth he reaches. “Fuck!” 

All at once, his hips start bucking into you with a frenzied rage. You feel his muscles tighten against your thigh just before his cock jerks inside you, twitching as the first wave of his orgasm hits him. White, hot ropes of cum glaze your insides, coating you in pearlescence. The feeling draws you over the edge, and your cunt flutters around his dick, coating it in your own searing arousal. 

For a moment, he stays there, resting his sweaty forehead against your own. Your leg falls heavily back against the table, rattling the dishes next to you. The sound rouses him out of his post-coital stupor, and with a deep sigh, he slowly withdraws his softening cock from you, pulling a gush of his release out with it. You, completely fucked out, could do nothing but sit there, arms quivering as you hold yourself upright.

 He brought his fingers to your entrance, swiping up some of the excess cum dripping out of you, pushing it back inside your spasming cunt. "Hold this inside, ma petite. As a reminder.”

You shudder, feeling his finger enter your swollen cunt once more. You look down, watching as he makes sure not a drop is wasted. 

“Rien, huh?” you ask, with a biting tone.

“Oui, rien.” (Yes, nothing.)

[elorday]

— ✪ valerie's may fic recs

thank you so much for all of these writers for making me smiling with a lots of butterflies in my stomach, making my mouth hanging agape, or crying so hard and sweating hot. i really can't thank you enough<3

some fics contain nsfw (✦)

𖥔. SCREAM—

⭒ — ETHAN LANDRY

✦ title taken : @astermath

20/20 vision : @echnated

slyther-in to my heart?! : @ghostfacd

✦ “it's okay, i'll show you.” : @messylustt

sleepy : @corpsebasil

bejeweled : @xyzstar

𖥔. ENOLA HOLMES—

⭒ — SHERLOCK HOLMES

we'll be alright : @love-strawberry

✦ exactly what you need : @delicate-moon-princess

bewitched : @cinebration

what happens after death : @hannibals-favourite-meal

𖥔. HOUSE OF THE DRAGON—

⭒ — AEMOND TARGARYEN

would you love me if i were a worm? : @chiss-and-crackers

valentine's day : @vhagarlovebot

you belong with me : @mybeautifuldelirium

⭒ — CREGAN STARK

among dragons and wolves : @fairysluna

✦ dissolve : @vermithorn

the snow fairy : @wackapedia

⭒ — HARWIN STRONG

✦ i am his and he is mine : @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics

keep you save : @auroraborealyss

✦ princess : @faith-forgxtten-land

𖥔. BRIDGERTON—

⭒ — BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

drunk sketches : @delehosies

little things : @inpraizeof

⭒ — ANTHONY BRIDGERTON

✦ right in front of me : @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

✦ melt away : @healmydesires

𖥔. F1—

⭒ — DANIEL RICCIARDO

meet me at midnight : @fleetwooods

don't wipe away my love : @avisgrace

memories hold me hostage : @libraryofloveletters

it's okay, i'm here : @norrisleclercf1

still into you : @starkwlkr

⭒ — CHARLES LECLERC

when you're missing me : @silverstonesainz

name(s) of love : @kiwisa

𖥔. SPIDERMEN—

⭒ — TASM!PETER PARKER

lean in, lean out : @literaila

i know : @vivwritesfics

✦ hold you here, my loveliest friend : @p3mybeloved

clingy : @bruisedboys

⭒ — MIGUEL O'HARA/SPIDERMAN 2099

i need you to stay : @intoxicated-chan

mid night : @eyelessfaces

⭒ — PAVITR PRABHAKAR

dance with you tonight : @foreverwiththeunknown

⭒ — MILES MORALES

cheesecake : @ichorai

first kiss : @moralesie

𖥔. DC—

⭒ — ADRIAN CHASE / VIGILANTE

five times vigilante definitely does not have feelings (and the one time he does) : @tropes-and-tales

now or never : @whirlybirbs

⭒ — BRUCE WAYNE / BATMAN

talk : @ichorai

𖥔. JOHN WICK—

⭒ — JOHN WICK

one-sided love : @desoolate

remember me : @arece

⭒ — MARQUIS VINCENT DE GRAMONT

stay : @unreliablesnake

✦ something wrong with me and you : @fonteyn

𖥔. LOCKWOOD AND CO.—

⭒ — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

the language of longing looks and stolen glances : @fleetingvow

just another love song : @tangledinlove

public displays : @vi-trying-to-survive

ain't a life many splendored thing? : @wellgoslowly

[twistedbloodstain]

marquis x assistant! reader: back when i was livin' for the hope of it all. [ i’d do anything to make you love me ]

plot: the one where he wants you to stop.

warning: obsessed marquis, baby trapping 2x, yandere/dark themes, 1k words

masterlist

the boy babbles at your knee while you're seated on a soft cushioned chair, although this boy is your boy. your baby boy who has learned to walk and talk for the past year but he isn’t just only your boy, he’s his too.

you sip your refreshment as your baby boy tries to climb on your lap, holding your knee in place to steady himself from falling on the ground, he calls out a sweet mummy for a shred of your attention but you can’t bring yourself to think properly at the moment when vincent’s in the room speaking with the doctor.

”mu..mmy!” your boy cries from the floor with a cherubic smile on his face.

you wanted to shush him from his calls so you could hear whatever vincent was saying to the doctor, vincent notices your silence to your son’s words taking a brief moment to look away from the conversation to inspect his small family. you meet his gaze and scowl at him. he glances at your boy again, quietly urging you to comfort the child. you scoff and simply stare at him.

you do it then, you’re the one that wanted him. you thought.

a small smirk curves his mouth and continues his conversation to the doctor. annoyedly, you call out for the nanny. aurene rushes in and greets you, you instruct her to take the boy for an afternoon nap even if it's noon. the boy yelps when he is raised to the nanny’s arms, once leveled to you eye to eye, he giggles reaching out to you expecting to be cradled by his mother but is sorely disappointed when he is slowly distanced away.

the small child begins to kick and scream at his nanny, wanting to be within the presence of his mother’s embrace, his cries begin to lower as he is brought out of the room. clingy like his father, you observe.

you don’t bother to look at vincent knowing he is somehow taken back at your coldness towards your son, you know he’ll talk about it later. massaging your temples, you pour a glass of whiskey for yourself whilst you wait for vincent to hurry up with his conversation.

several minutes later, the doctor takes his leave and you’re on your third class of whiskey. the door shuts and vincent walks towards you neither warmly or coldly. you don’t bother to comport yourself in his mood and sink back into the chair, abandoning the glass, you take the bottle and begin to chug it down your throat.

a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls back the bottle spilling a few drops over your dress, you look up and glare at him.

”that’s enough for today, my love.” he whispers.

“can i leave now?” you spit out.

”and go where?” he laughs. fucking asshole, you curse.

you don’t bother to reply and look away from him as you lower the bottle from your mouth, vincent tilts your chin up and smiles, too happy you observe.

”the doctor has brought good news for us today.” he chuckles as he begins to kneel in front of you.

ever since the gunshot incident, vincent has insisted on monthly check ups for your health and for your boy ever since he was born. if things had been different maybe you would’ve teased vincent about it, but it’s not. as far as you knew you were in perfect health and so was your son with him, unless he wanted to get rid of you and a disease was going to render you dead. you hope there is.

fool yourself all you can but you know what it is. vincent was gracious with showering his affections on you from expensive presents and to his bedroom. 

this is another child.

another chain to tie you down to him, to make you love him as much as he loves you. 

he grins as he cradles your stomach and rests his head on your lap.

”i pray for a girl. a princess to spoil and a companion for our boy. how lovely is that, my love?” 

you don’t reply and you feel a retching disgust building in your stomach, you try to take another swig of whiskey but is stopped again by vincent.

”you must stop drinking that, it can affect our child. you know that. our marriage has been blessed by another child, why waste something gifted by the angels?” he sternly questions.

”get off!” irritatedly, you shove him off you to the floor, throwing the bottle at the floor next to him a loud smash crashes through the room.

”i fucking hate you!” you scream at him as he gets up from the floor, his clothes damp from the whiskey.

“don’t i fucking know it.” he laughs at you fueling your rage. you try to grab another thing to throw at him but is abruptly halted when he grabs your arm and grips your chin.

”i am getting sick of your behavior, mon cher. i can stand your disgust of me but i beg you to never direct it at our sweetly blessed son.” he growls at your ear, you push away from him but is harshly pulled back, his grip tightening on you.

”then tell your kid it’s your fucking fault. tell him and your daughter that their mother can’t bear to fucking love them as a mother should because his father imprisoned her in this fucking place!” you scream at him, “you can put sons and daughters in this body all you can, call them children blessed by angels but i assure you sir. the only blessing you will ever have from them is the one from below and i will never love them because of you.” 

vincent is shocked by your words, never in your marriage had you spouted hateful words that were harsh to him and especially towards your own children. for a moment he doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t let you go either. you start to pull away slowly to catch your breath until vincent yanks you towards the nearest table.

”vincent, get off me right now.” you yell at him, smacking his shoulder as he hoists you on the table.

vincent grabs your chin harshly and looks at you sternly.

”heed my words, my love. you will never mutter those words ever again to anyone, especially to our children, do you hear? or i’ll treat you like the rest of them. bloody and dead.” he threatens, hiking your dress up to get a feel of your warm skin.

you shove his hands away from your thighs and slap him hard, this disorients him for a while.

”when you die before me, and you will. I’m gonna have a big smile on your face while i feed your ashes to your children. go to fucking hell, vincent.” 

vincent’s aggression begins to fade and is replaced by an empty slate, you thought he was going to leave you alone until he lurches back at you and claims your mouth, his hand returns to your thigh before you hear the unbuckling of his belt.

”our children, mon amour. ours. not even you can change that.” he chuckles before he’s greeted by another slap.

author’s note: spontaneous drop…blackout got me so riled up bc it detaches me from socmed and acads sb. this for the anonymous anon, hope u enjoy it :) anyways enjoy! don’t forget to like & reblog <33

[chiffxna]

A Love Too Dark (08)

The Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Reader

Chapter 08: Wrapped Around

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.

Story Masterlist

PREV : Chapter 07

NEXT : Chapter 09

Chapter Summary:

After everything he’s forced on you, don’t you deserve something back?

“Now,” he continued, his eyes locking onto hers, the command in them unmistakable, “get under the table.”

Yn stared at him, wide-eyed with shock and disbelief. Her heart thudded heavily against her chest at his audacious demand. She breathed out incredulously, “What?”

“Get under my desk,” Marquis repeated coldly yet slowly – emphasizing each word so there would be no mistake about what he expected from Yn.

A shiver ran down Yn's spine as it dawned on her what he wanted her to do next. She was terrified. Humiliation began to course through her figure as she contemplated disobeying such an order. She did not want this. She was disgusted by the thought of it.

But reality soon set in as imagination of what could happen if she refused flooded in her mind. Yn felt trapped, caught between two impossible choices. Obey and debase herself, or refuse and face his wrath. She stood frozen, unable to move, as she held a bated breath.

Marquis's gaze bore into her, hard and unrelenting. He growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Now, ma douce. I won't ask again.”

The words ma douce were foreign to her, but the way he said them sent a shiver down her spine. Even if they meant something sweet or romantic in French, his tone carried a sense of danger and caution. Like a predator whispering sweet nothings before pouncing on its prey.

Yn’s legs trembled as she slowly lowered herself to the ground, her eyes evading Marquis’ penetrating gaze. The plush carpet felt rough against her knees as she crawled forward, each movement a surrender of her dignity.

Under the desk she went, enveloped by the dark mahogany wood – a cage of his power and control. She huddled there, making herself as small as possible, praying to disappear.

Her gaze followed the Marquis as he strode towards his chair, his long legs flexing with each step. As he settled into the seat, he spread his legs wide, positioning himself directly in front of her. The chair scraped against the floor as he slid it closer, obscuring his legs under the desk and trapping her in between them. She instinctively tried to avoid any physical contact with him, feeling a sense of discomfort and unease at his close proximity.

He peered down at her, taking in the space beneath the desk where she was sitting. She must have felt his gaze because she looked up at him with big, innocent eyes. A satisfied smirk appeared on his face before he said in his usual thick French accent, “Good girl. You will be rewarded for your obedience.”

She whimpered. “Can I get up, please?”

“Not yet, ma lapine,” he replied as he caressed the top of her head affectionately. “You will stay here until I say so.”

Out of the blue, the hand that had been gently stroking her hair now grasped the back of her head and yanked her towards his lap. Yn stiffened as Marquis pulled her closer to him, her body automatically tensing up at the thought of what would happen next. His hand on the back of her head kept her in place, keeping her face close to his crotch. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, smell the musky scent of his arousal. Panic began to rise in her chest as she realised what he wanted her to do.

She looked up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging for mercy. The Marquis met her gaze, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he savoured her helplessness. Her pleading eyes only served to inflame his desire further. He chuckled darkly, his fingers tangling in her silky hair.

“You look so pretty on your knees for me,” he purred, his voice dripping with mock affection. “Such an obedient little rabbit.”

His other hand moved to his belt, slowly undoing the buckle. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room, each click of the belt ratcheting up Yn's dread.

“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “It's time for your reward.”

The Marquis’ hand grasped the front of his trousers, pulling them down and revealing his erect member. It stood tall and proud, heavy with desire as glistening droplets of pre-cum adorned its tip. The veins along its length pulsated with arousal, and the heat radiating from it was almost palpable. He pressed it against Yn's soft lips, smearing the sticky fluid across them.

“Suck,” he ordered, his voice a guttural growl. “Worship my cock like you love me.”

With a forceful thrust, he rammed his entire length past her parted lips and into the hot, slick cave of her mouth. Yn choked and gagged, feeling him hit the back of her throat and tears springing to her eyes from the force. But he showed no mercy, gripping her hair tighter and shoving deeper, his desire for control overpowering any concern for her comfort.

“That's it,” he groaned, his hips rocking slightly as he forced her head to bob up and down his length. “Take it all like the obedient little rabbit you are.”

The Marquis's face contorted with desire and dominance, his hand roughly gripping Yn's hair as he forced her head to move up and down on his erect member. Her tears flowed down her cheeks, creating wet trails on her flushed skin. The Marquis's cock stood tall and proud, the veins pulsating with every thrust into Yn's mouth. Her muffled sobs added to the soundtrack of his pleasure as he revelled in his control and dominance over her. The room was filled with the sounds of her choking and gagging, mixed with his guttural groans of satisfaction.

Abruptly, a succession of knocks resounded against the door. Yn's eyes widened in fear as she realised she was completely exposed to this humiliating position. She desperately looked to the Marquis, hoping for some form of mercy. The Marquis, however, merely chuckled at her terrified expression.

“Ah, it seems we have company,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards into a smug smile. “Don't stop, sweetheart.”

He then glanced to the door and spoke out loud, “Enter.”

Yn's body tensed as she prepared to push herself out from under the desk, but the Marquis leaned forward in his chair, pushing her further beneath the desk and shoving his cock deeper down her throat. Now she was completely hidden under his office table, shielded by the Marquis' body and chair.

The door swung open suddenly, startling Yn, who was currently occupied with the Marquis' member in her mouth. She froze, trying not to make any noise that would give away her position, afraid of being caught by whoever had entered.

“I did it, beau.”

Yn's eyes grew wider as she recognised the voice. It’s Sabrina, a fellow bunny-girl who fancied the Marquis.

With a commanding grip, the Marquis placed his hand on Yn's head and guided her up and down. The weight of his palm pressed against her scalp, silently urging her to start pleasuring him with her mouth. A mix of fear and submission furrowed her eyebrows as she looked up at him before finally giving in and complying with his demands. Her lips formed a tight seal around him as she began to suck, feeling the heavy weight of power pushing down on her.

“So, did you get anything out of him?” the Marquis asked Sabrina.

“None, just his cum,” replied Sabrina with an arrogant tone. “He just kept mentioning his wife’s name. Probably guilty that he cheated on her.”

Yn's face turned to a frown as she contemplated how Mr. Gabriel must have been feeling. She knew he loved his late wife dearly, but Sabrina had somehow convinced him to become intimate with her. It was likely that Sabrina had manipulated the situation, taking advantage of a massage to turn it into something more, just as the Marquis had instructed her to do with Mr. Gabriel.

The Marquis asked, “Did you try asking him about anything?”

His hand rested on Yn’s head, his fingers tangling in her locks as he guided her movements. Every so often, his fingers would tighten in her hair, silently urging her to move faster or deeper. Yn's face showed a mix of submission and discomfort as she complied with his commands, her lips forming a tight seal around him as she sucked. His other hand rested on the table, his grip tightening on the edge as he leaned back in his chair, enjoying the pleasure Yn was providing him.

“I did, but he said he didn’t know a single thing,” answered Sabrina.

Yn's face was focused, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked and her tongue flicking against him in all the right places. Her hands were placed on his thighs, supporting herself as she took him deeper.

The Marquis leaned his head back as he quietly harrumphed, “Hm…”

Yn tensed as she heard footsteps approaching the table. She hadn't anticipated Sabrina being so bold as to move closer to the Marquis. Yn desperately hoped that Sabrina wouldn't circle around the table and discover her servicing the Frenchman's member. Suddenly, a noise came from the desk nearby, startling Yn.

“Marquis,” Sabrina’s voice had turned seductive. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Anything?”

Yn slowed her bobbing motion on the cock and looked up at the Marquis, who was intently watching Sabrina with a raised eyebrow.

The Marquis replied, “No. You are dismissed.”

There was a moment of stillness as if Sabrina froze, astounded that she had been rejected. Then the sound of feet walking away echoed through the office, heading towards the door. Yn heard Sabrina's voice break the silence, saying, “If you ever need any help, sir, please don't hesitate to come to me. I can make sure you have an enjoyable, all-night experience.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, the room fell silent. Yn's pace in sucking the cock slowly increased as she realised there was still work to be done.

Suddenly, without warning, the Marquis slid back in his chair and stood abruptly, his cock slipping from her abused mouth. Yn gasped for air, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

But her respite was short-lived. The Marquis stepped forward, looming over her kneeling form. With brutal efficiency, he shoved his cock back into her mouth, not stopping until he felt the head lodged in her throat.

Yn's eyes were wide with fear, and her mouth was forced open, stretched around the Marquis's thick cock. Her tears mixed with the saliva and pre-cum that dripped down her chin, her face twisted in discomfort and distress. The Marquis’ hand was still tangled in her hair, controlling her movements as he roughly thrust into her mouth. The muscles in her neck strained as she struggled to accommodate his forceful thrusts, her gags turning into wet choking sounds. The sound of their harsh breathing filled the room, along with the wet slapping noises of his cock penetrating her mouth.

“Take it,” he snarled, his hips slapping against her face with each brutal thrust. “Take every inch, ma lapine.”

The Marquis’ hips moved with a frenzied rhythm, each thrust pushing his thick cock into Yn's mouth. His hands were tightly tangled in her hair, pulling her head towards him with each thrust. Yn's mouth was stretched wide open, her tongue flattened against the underside of his cock. The muscles in her throat bulged as she struggled to accommodate his forceful penetration. Her tears mixed with the drool and pre-cum that dripped down her chin, and the wet sounds of his balls slapping against her chin echoed in the room. Yn's eyes were wide with fear and pain, but she couldn't resist him as he continued to ravage her throat.

The room was filled with the wet smacking of flesh against flesh, the sound of his hips slapping against her face with each forceful thrust. The Marquis himself let out guttural grunts as he pushed deeper and deeper into her throat, his grip on her hair causing yelps of pain to intermingle with the sounds of their coupling. Yn's choked gasps and gags added to the cacophony, creating a symphony of rough and violent noises. Tears streamed down Yn's face as she tried to take in every inch he offered, her strangled cries muffled by his thick cock shoved deep into her mouth. The repeated slapping of his balls against her chin echoed through the room, a constant reminder of her helplessness and submission to the Marquis' brutal desires. And yet, despite the pain and fear in her eyes, she couldn't fight him off as he continued to ravage her throat mercilessly.

The mixture of saliva and pre-cum glistened in the dim light, dripping down her chin in thick strands and landing on the carpet below with a wet splat. The pool of bodily fluids grew larger with each thrust, staining the once pristine carpet with their mingled essence.

“I'm close,” the Marquis grunted, his hips pistoning faster. “Swallow it all.”

Yn's eyes widened in panic, her hands scrabbling at his thighs. She tried to pull away, desperate for air, but his grip on her hair was unyielding. She had no choice but to submit to his brutal face-fucking, tears streaming down her face as she choked and gagged.

The Marquis’ face contorted in pleasure as he forcefully thrust himself into Yn's mouth, his hips slamming forward and pulling back with a rhythmic motion. Yn's mouth was stretched wide open as the Marquis forced himself in, his own face contorted in ecstasy. His hand gripped her hair tightly, pulling her head closer to him. Yn's eyes were wide with fear and pain, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to take in the fullness of him. The Marquis’ cock was pulsing and throbbing, its veins protruding against Yn's lips and tongue. The cum shot out forcefully, filling her mouth and overflowing as she tried to swallow it all. Yn gagged and choked on the bitter taste.

“That's it, ma lapine,” the Marquis groaned, his hips jerking with each spurt of cum. “Drink every drop.”

Yn gagged and choked as the Marquis's cum flooded her mouth, the bitter taste overwhelming her senses. Thick, viscous ropes of semen coated her tongue and throat, making it difficult for her to swallow. She tried to pull away, desperate for air, but his grip on her hair was unyielding.

"Drink it all," the Marquis growled, his hips jerking with each spurt of cum. "Every last drop."

Yn had no choice but to obey, her throat working overtime as she tried to swallow the copious amount of semen. Some of it dribbled out the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin and onto her heaving chest. The salty, musky taste made her stomach churn, bile rising in her throat.

The Marquis held Yn's head in place, his cock lodged deep in her throat, as he savoured the sensation of her swallowing around him. Each contraction of her throat muscles sent jolts of pleasure through his body, drawing out his climax. He groaned in ecstasy, his hips jerking with each spurt of cum down her throat.

Yn gagged and choked, her eyes watering as she struggled to breathe around his girth. The bitter taste of his semen coated her tongue, making her want to retch. But she had no choice but to swallow, her throat working overtime to comply with his demands.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Marquis's orgasm subsided. He pulled his softening cock from Yn's abused mouth, a string of saliva and cum connecting them for a brief moment before breaking. Yn gasped for air, coughing and sputtering as she tried to clear her throat of the vile fluid.

“Good girl,” the Marquis purred, taking a few tissues from his desk to wipe his cock clean. “You swallowed every drop like I wanted you to.”

The Marquis carefully wiped his softening cock with a tissue, his movements slow and calculated. Yn remained on her knees, her face a mess of tears, saliva, and semen. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks flushed and damp. The thick white substance clung to her lips and dribbled down her chin, mixing with the tears on her face. She was still in shock from the ordeal, her body trembling as she tried to compose herself.

The Frenchman wiped his softening member clean with the tissues and reached for a few more. With a gentleness that seemed at odds with his previous brutality, he began to wipe the mess from Yn's face. He brushed away the tears, the streaks of mascara, the saliva and cum that clung to her skin.

As he cleaned her, the Marquis gazed down at Yn with adoration, almost tenderness. His look said he was pleased with her, satisfied with her performance, that she had pleased him and served her purpose.

Yn remained kneeling, her head bowed, as the Marquis tended to her. She didn't resist his ministrations, too exhausted and traumatised to do anything but comply. Her throat ached, her jaw throbbed, and the taste of his cum lingered in her mouth, a bitter reminder of what had just transpired.

When the Marquis finished, he tossed the soiled tissues aside and reached out to tilt Yn's chin up with his finger. She met his gaze, her eyes wide and haunted. There was no joy in them, no hint of pleasure or satisfaction. Only fear, pain, and a deep, simmering anger that she didn't dare express.

“As a reward, you may go home early,” the Marquis told her, his voice soft and almost gentle. He reached out, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Or if you want, you can stay. But remember, you are forbidden to service any men. Understood?”

Yn nodded meekly; her head bowed in defeat. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, her eyes still haunted by the trauma she had just endured. Her throat ached with every swallow, a constant reminder of the violation she had suffered.

“So?” the Marquis asked, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. His thick French accent was unmistakable. “What will it be? Will you stay, or will you go home?”

“I want to go home,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken.

The Marquis smiled adoringly. “Very well.”

He stood up and reached out his hand towards her. She looked at it with a puzzled expression until she realised he was offering it to her. Like a gentleman. As if he had not roughly fucked her throat like a fleshlight.

Yn reached out and grasped the Marquis's proffered hand. He pulled her to her feet with surprising gentleness, his grip firm yet careful. She wobbled slightly on unsteady legs, her knees still bearing the marks of the hard floor.

To her shock, the Marquis then took a few tissues and bent down before her. With tender motions, he brushed away the dust and grime from her knees and legs, his touch feather-light against her skin. Yn stood frozen, unsure how to react to this unexpected kindness after the brutal assault on her body and dignity.

When he finished, the Marquis rose and looked at her with those piercing eyes. He simply tossed the used tissues aside and spoke to her, “Now, go home. Or would you like one of my bodyguards to bring you home safely?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you, sir.”

A smile spread across the Marquis' face as he placed both hands on her jaw, gently holding her in place. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before pulling back to admire her once more with a pleased smile. He nodded in contentment and said, “Take care, ma lapine. Send me a message once you get home safe.”

Before Yn could comprehend what was happening, she found herself sitting on the bus, headed back to her run-down apartment. The usual commotion of her coworkers chatting and laughing surrounded her, but today, no one seemed to acknowledge her exhausted appearance. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own responsibilities in the casino and their own personal issues.

She arrived at her apartment, numb and exhausted. Barbara, her cousin who had been watching Sydney, greeted her with a concerned frown. “Yn, are you alright? You look tired.”

Yn forced a smile, not wanting to burden Barbara with the truth. “I'm fine. Just tired. Thanks for taking care of Sydney, Bar.”

After seeing her cousin out of the apartment, Rosie, her cat, padded over and nuzzled against Yn’s legs, her soft fur brushing against her ankles. Yn bent down, scratching gently behind Rosie’s ears, trying to find some small comfort in the warmth of her purrs. Rosie was blissfully unaware of her owner’s turmoil, and Yn envied her for it.

Yn went through the motions of feeding her, though her mind was still elsewhere. She filled the cat’s bowl and made her way to Sydney’s room to check on her. The small figure of her sister was curled up under the covers, fast asleep, her breathing soft and even. Sydney’s hair splayed across her pillow, and her small face held a peacefulness that seemed to ease some of Yn’s own tension. For a moment, Yn stood there, simply watching, her heart aching with a fierce protectiveness.

Her fingers brushed a strand of hair from Sydney’s forehead, careful not to wake her. She whispered, “Sweet dreams, Syd.”

With Sydney safely asleep, Yn slipped back into her own room and prepared for bed. She changed into her nightclothes, the familiar fabric a small comfort after the tension of the day. She let out a long breath as she slid under the covers, hoping to find some rest finally.

But just as her head touched the pillow, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message. The text, short and disturbingly familiar, appeared from an unknown number, but it didn’t have to tell her who it was.

“Did you get home safe, ma lapine?”

Yn froze, her fingers trembling as she stared at the message. The Marquis. It was like he was still watching her, like his presence lingered over every part of her life. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, pretending she hadn’t seen it. But she knew better. Not answering him meant risking his anger, and she couldn’t afford that – not when her family’s safety depended on her compliance.

With a shaky breath, she forced her fingers to type out a response. “Yes, sir. Thank you for your concern.”

She set the phone down, her stomach twisting with unease. She hoped that would be enough to end it for the night. But seconds later, the phone chimed again. Another message, bold and clear across the screen.

“I will be busy tonight, so I can’t sleep over or take you to my mansion. But I expect to see you tomorrow night. Don’t disappoint me.”

The words sat heavily in her chest, the “expect” as binding as any chain. She put the phone down slowly, her appetite gone, and lay back on the pillow, her mind racing with the familiar dread.

As Yn thought back to the Marquis’s last message, an odd sense of relief flickered in her mind. At least tonight, he was occupied. It meant, however briefly, that she had a night to herself, a small pocket of time to think without his shadow looming over her. It was strange, but she realised that on these rare nights when he was busy elsewhere, she felt the smallest glimpse of hope. If he wasn’t watching her every move, maybe - just maybe – she could start laying the groundwork for a plan.

Something. Anything to free herself from his grasp.

Sitting up, Yn grabbed her phone, her fingers hovering uncertainly over the screen as she tried to steady her thoughts. Where could she even begin? The idea of fighting against him felt impossible; the Marquis’s power extended into every corner of her life. He seemed untouchable, someone with influence that couldn’t be shaken.

But perhaps that was just the image he presented. Maybe there were cracks, secrets—things he didn’t want the world to know. She swallowed hard, fingers beginning to type as she searched his name.

“Vincent Bisset de Gramont.”

To her frustration, there was barely any real information about Vincent Bisset de Gramont. The few articles she found only mentioned his philanthropic gestures – donations to select companies, mostly efforts to support the arts or “improve communities.” The profiles were sparse, the details vague. And any mention of his title, “Marquis,” was treated as little more than an exotic label, a lingering remnant of French nobility without any real bearing. Nothing, absolutely nothing, hinted at the man she knew—the one who controlled her life with invisible chains.

She scrolled through yet another article that praised his contributions, his “quiet charm” and “respectable reserve,” and Yn felt a wave of irritation bubbling up in her. It was a facade, all of it. But she couldn’t tear down the walls around his reputation with frustration alone.

She leaned back, letting her mind drift. Maybe he was so careful with his image because there was something to hide. The thought brought her a sliver of hope. Men like him always had something – everyone had a weakness. Maybe his was hidden in the connections he kept out of the public eye.

With a few deep breaths, she started a different approach, digging into forums, old message boards, and anywhere that didn’t depend on mainstream news. She scanned through threads buried in obscure forums, focusing on posts from those who hinted at elite circles, the kinds of people who might cross paths with someone like the Marquis.

Eventually, she stumbled across an old post that caught her eye. One user left a cryptic, subtle comment that immediately caught Yn's eye:

“The underground world is crumbling. Thanks to Baba Yaga.”

Baba Yaga? Yn opened a new tab to search for what it meant. Boogeyman.

Yn sat still, her eyes widening in remembrance of Mr. Gabriel's words.

“There’s been a... shift. A big one. A high-ranking figure in the criminal world – one of the untouchables – was murdered. By a rogue. And everything started to fall apart. The whole network... it’s crumbling.”

She thought about it, letting the idea settle. Baba Yaga was behind the recent chaos in the syndicate. Sure, she didn’t have much to go on. But it was something. This mysterious figure – it wasn’t impossible they could be… well, good. A just and honourable person. Someone willing to stand up against the worst in this world, tearing down that dark empire from the inside.

After staring at the screen for a while, Yn felt a spark of something unfamiliar – a thin thread of hope. The “Baba Yaga” could be more than a mere myth or threat. Could this person truly be tearing apart the network of untouchable criminals? She sat back, processing the idea, her mind racing. Maybe this figure wasn't just another ghost in the criminal underworld. Maybe Baba Yaga was a vigilante. Or someone working in the shadows with the power to dismantle the syndicate piece by piece.

It was a far-off notion, but the thought refused to leave her. What if this shadowy figure could be... an ally?

She doubted herself almost immediately. After all, what did she really know about this Baba Yaga? He might have collapsed in the underworld, but he might also be a serial killer. He could possibly kill her. It felt foolish, even dangerous, to think that help could come from some unknown rogue in the criminal world.

Yn let out a heavy sigh, despair creeping in as she opened a new tab on her screen. This time, she wasn’t searching for information on the Marquis or the elusive Baba Yaga. Instead, her fingers typed in something else – a list of hotels in far-off cities, scattered across the country. She browsed through different locations, city by city, hotel by hotel. Maybe it was pointless, maybe even desperate, but if things got worse… if the Marquis grew even more possessive or dangerous… she needed a plan. A place to run, to hide. Somewhere she could take Sydney and her mother where they could be safe, even if just for a little while.

Aside from escape plans, Yn also found herself digging into something else: ways to hide her identity. She searched for anything that could help—how to alter her name, replace her information, even vanish from records altogether. Whatever it would take to keep the Marquis from tracking her down. The articles and forums she found were daunting, full of legal terms and methods that felt out of reach for someone with her limited resources.

Still, she skimmed through, taking mental notes, searching for anything that might actually be doable. Fake IDs. Disguises. She even looked into digital guides on changing up her online footprint. She needed to be careful; anything she left behind could be a breadcrumb, a hint leading back to her and, worse, back to Sydney.

After a while, it dawned on her just how hard it was to sift through all this information on her phone’s tiny screen. The small display made everything harder to read and harder to process. She needed a laptop – something bigger, faster, and more practical for her constant, quiet research. But she didn’t have one. And the thought of buying one was laughable, considering the little money she had tucked away.

Then, like a dark cloud, the Marquis’s face surfaced in her mind. Just ask him, a voice in her head suggested. Get him to buy you a laptop.

Immediately, she recoiled from the idea. No. She wouldn’t. She had fought him for so long, resisted every attempt he made to pull her closer, to buy her obedience or loyalty. Asking him for a favour now, especially something as costly as a laptop, felt wrong. It would feel like... giving in. Or worse, like using him for his money.

But as she argued with herself, another thought pushed forward, small but stubborn. After everything he’s forced on you - her mind whispered, don’t you deserve something back?

The next day, Yn found herself surprisingly free from any messages or interruptions from a certain Frenchman. She welcomed the silence, savouring each hour. It felt like she was living a slice of her old life, a day untouched by his looming shadow. She spent the morning caring for Sydney, chatting up her coworkers during her shift at the café, laughing a bit too loudly at Edric’s jokes, and letting herself relax. For once, she let herself breathe.

After work, she picked up Sydney and swung by the hospital to visit her mom, who seemed brighter that day, her face lighting up at the sight of them. It was one of those rare days Yn wanted to freeze in time, where everything felt almost… normal. But as they made their way back to the apartment, reality crept in again, reminding her of her other obligations.

The casino awaited her that evening like a haunting echo she could never escape. Yn got ready slowly, pulling herself back into that guarded version of herself, the one with calm smiles and cautious words. She made sure Sydney was settled, checking and rechecking that her cousin Barbara had everything she needed to care for the little girl. As she prepared to leave, Yn lingered at the door, pressing a gentle kiss to Sydney’s forehead before turning to Barbara with a grateful nod.

“Be safe,” Barbara called softly, concern laced in her voice. Yn forced a smile, offering her cousin a reassuring wave before stepping into the hallway.

Yn arrived at the casino and made her way to the dressing room, where the familiar scent of hairspray and powder filled the air. She went through the motions, slipping into her bunny-girl costume and sitting down in the mirror to start her makeup. Just as she was reaching for her eyeliner, her friend Emily sidled up beside her, a sly grin on her face.

“Hey,” Emily nudged her shoulder playfully. “So… what did you and the Marquis talk about last night? In his office.”

Yn’s hand stilled, her heart skipping a beat. She forced herself to keep her tone light, glancing at Emily in the mirror with a practised smile. “Oh, not much. Just some work stuff. The usual.”

Emily raised a brow, looking unconvinced. “Uh-huh. That’s all? You mean to tell me a man of royalty, a Marquis, who pulled you into his office last night, barely says a word to you outside of ‘work stuff’?”

She paused as she went to her make-up table beside her. “I thought he had dragged you into that room and made out with you. It was clear to everyone that he was jealous when he learned that you were with another VIP. He likes you that much.”

Yn shook her head incredulously. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t understand why he became angry when I was just trying to do my job.”

Emily rolled her eyes, clearly amused. “Yn, the man’s used to getting what he wants. And right now, that happens to be you. He’s probably not thrilled seeing you pay attention to anyone else, even if it’s just part of your work.”

“But he’s got his pick of women,” Yn replied, a note of frustration in her voice. “Women with power. Real status. People in his world. Not… someone like me.”

Emily leaned in closer and said with a low voice. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Sometimes people with all that power want the one thing they can’t have.”

Emily paused to give Yn a pointed look. “Maybe you’re the mystery he can’t solve.”

Yn fell silent, her gaze fixed on Emily as she pondered the possibility that the Marquis' possessiveness towards her was due to what Emily had just said.

With their makeup done, the bunny-girls filed out of the lounge and slipped into their roles on the casino floor, each one assuming their stations with the practiced ease of a long night ahead. Yn took her usual spot at the roulette table, pasting on a smile as she welcomed the first players of the night.

An hour into her shift, she spotted a group of men striding into the casino. Dressed in black suits and dark sunglasses, their expressions cold and unreadable, they moved with a purpose, cutting through the crowd. Every step seemed calculated as they made their way directly toward the Marquis’s office, where Chidi, the Marquis’s trusted bodyguard, was already waiting by the door.

The tension thickened as the men exchanged brief, hushed words with Chidi. Yn glanced over at Sophia, who was standing nearby, greeting patrons.

She leaned in, keeping her voice low. “Sophia, who are they?”

Sophia’s eyes followed Yn’s gaze, and a frown crossed her face. “I don’t know. But they look like trouble. But if they came here to meet with the Marquis, then I guess it’s normal. It’s his type of people.”

Yn instantly remembered that the Marquis probably had ties to the underworld of crime, so these men were probably from that kind of world too.

“It’s better not to ask, Yn,” Sophia whispered. “Better to just do your job and keep your head down.”

As Yn stood behind the roulette table, she watched as Chidi signalled for additional bodyguards to join him. He knocked on the door and swung it open, motioning for everyone to enter the Marquis' office, including the suspicious-looking men. They disappeared into the room, leaving Yn to ponder the topic of their conversation.

The minutes ticked by slowly, each one feeling like an eternity. Yn kept herself busy, calling out bets and spinning the roulette wheel, but her mind was elsewhere, lingering on that door and the people hidden behind it.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of suspense, the office door opened. Slowly. Too slowly. Yn’s heart was in her throat as she tried to act casual, pretending to be deeply interested in the game in front of her, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting to the scene unfolding across the room.

The suspicious men came out first, still dressed in their sharp, dark suits, but there was a change in their demeanour. They were talking amongst themselves, quick, hushed words that Yn couldn’t make out, and their expressions were grim. Serious. Chidi followed them, murmuring something to one of the guards before stepping aside. And then, the Marquis appeared.

He was calm, almost eerily so. His suit was immaculate, not a hair out of place, but there was a sharpness to his gaze that hadn’t been there before. He looked around, scanning the room until his eyes landed on Yn. She felt a chill run down her spine. It was as if he could see right through her, right into the thoughts she was trying to suppress.

Out of nowhere, the Marquis raised his hand, a simple but unmistakable gesture, beckoning her to come to him. Yn's pulse quickened. For a moment, she froze, her feet glued to the spot, as if unsure whether to obey or pretend she hadn’t seen him. But there was no avoiding it. Not with those eyes on her. She took a breath, forcing a calm she didn’t feel, and quickly waved over another bunny-girl to cover her spot at the roulette table.

As she made her way across the floor, weaving through the crowd, her mind raced. What did he want? Why now, right after that meeting? She approached him slowly, trying to keep her steps steady, even though her heart was pounding.

“Yes, sir?” she said, her voice coming out softer than she intended.

The Marquis smiled. He stepped closer, and before she could react, he reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. It was a simple gesture, almost intimate. The way his presence seemed to command her attention, her compliance.

“So good to see you,” he murmured, his tone smooth as if they were simply exchanging pleasantries. “I have a task for you. Come.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the office, expecting her to follow without question. She hesitated for a split second, but then her feet moved, trailing after him.

The Marquis pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding it for her to follow. Yn’s breath hitched as she crossed the threshold, her eyes darting around the room. Not one thing was amiss. He closed the door behind them with a soft click. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He just stood there, studying her, as if trying to decide something. Yn shifted under his gaze, feeling small, exposed.

“Yn,” he said finally, his voice low, almost gentle. “I need you to do something for me tonight.”

“What is it, sir?” she asked softly.

“Sit down on the table.”

Puzzled, she glanced over at the massive mahogany table that dominated the room. It was littered with paperwork, a half-empty decanter of brandy, and a touch of dust in the corners. Surely, he didn't mean for her to sit on that?

She walked over to the table and gingerly hoisted herself up onto it, wincing as she upset a small stack of papers. The Marquis strode towards her in haste and said, “Wait.”

He wrapped one arm around her waist and swiftly cleared the table with his other hand to make sure she wouldn't sit on anything. As he moved closer to her, their faces almost touched. When he finished, he turned to face her with a smirk and asked in his thick French accent, “Are you comfortable?”

Yn could only avert her gaze to the side and nodded, “Mm-hmm.”

She was stuck perched on the edge of the mahogany table, her feet dangling above the ground. The Marquis stood before her; his hands went to rest firmly on the surface of the desk on either side of her hips. His face was close to hers, a small smirk playing on his lips as he looked down at her. The room was dimly lit, casting intimate shadows across their faces. Yn couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as she realised she was trapped between his hands and the intimidatingly large desk behind her.

“If it’s just us two together in a room,” the Marquis said, raising one hand to remove the mask on Yn’s face, “you can remove your mask.”

Yn did not have to do anything as the Marquis himself took off her mask and tossed it behind him without a glance. Her entire face was now revealed to him and that made her feel somewhat bashful, suddenly aware of her vulnerability and shyness.

Out of nowhere, he gently placed his hand on her chin and lifted her face towards his. She was unable to resist as he slowly leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. She stiffened, her eyes widening in surprise, and his warm breath, mixed with a hint of brandy, brushed against her skin.

His kiss was firm but gentle, demanding yet almost tender, a stark contrast to his usual cold, commanding demeanour. His thumb stroked her cheek idly as if to reassure her. It contrasted sharply with the intensity of their situation, and it took Yn a moment to comprehend what was happening.

As his kisses ran down her neck, she finally found it in herself to speak up, “Sir, you said… you have a task for me…?”

“Yes,” he answered breathily as he laid kisses around her neck. “Your task is to stay still.”

His lips made soft, featherlight noises as they travelled down her neck and along her collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses that sounded like tiny pops as they connected with her skin. Yn's breath hitched as she tried to hold back a soft sigh, her heart pounding in her ears in time with the gentle rhythm of his movements. She could also hear the slight rustle of his clothes as he leaned closer, his touch sending small shivers down her spine. It was a symphony of sensations, one that left Yn's mind in a blissful haze, to her surprise.

“I’m glad,” she heard the Marquis say. “You still wear the necklace I gave you. I assume you love it.”

His fingers trailed down her neck, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. Yn shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin despite the warmth of the room. She could feel his breath, hot and heavy, against her throat as he worked his way lower.

Lower and lower, until his lips brushed the swell of her breasts, peeking out from the low-cut bodice of her costume. Yn inhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. This was wrong, so wrong. She had never given him permission to touch her like this, to take such liberties with her body.

But she couldn't deny the way her heart raced, the way her skin tingled wherever he touched. It was a traitorous response, one that filled her with shame and confusion. How could her body betray her like this, responding to the attention of the man who forced himself on her again and again in the past? She wanted to hate him.

The Marquis’ hands slid around to her back, fingers splaying across her skin as he pulled her closer. Yn squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation of his touch, the scent of his cologne filling her nostrils.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, stop.”

But the Marquis ignored her, his mouth trailing lower, lower until his teeth grazed the sensitive skin just above the neckline of her costume. Yn gasped, her back arching involuntarily.

It was too much, too fast. She felt like she was drowning, suffocating under the weight of the Marquis’ attentions. Her mind screamed at her to fight, to push him away, but her body wanted to drown more in this pleasure.

Instead, she sat there, trembling and helpless, as the Marquis continued his relentless assault on her senses. Each brush of his lips, each nip of his teeth, sent sparks of unwanted pleasure coursing through her veins.

The Marquis grasped the neckline of her bunny-girl outfit and tugged it lower, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze. Before Yn could even think to protest, he had latched onto one rosy nipple, sucking it into his mouth with a ravenous intensity.

“Ah!” Yn cried out, her back arching at the sudden sensation. It was too much, too fast. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of unwanted pleasure, her body betraying her at every turn.

The next thing she knew, she was on her back on the table. The Marquis lavished attention on her breasts, his tongue swirling around each sensitive peak. He bit down gently, sending jolts of pain-tinged ecstasy shooting through her nerves. Yn's hands flew up to grip his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

It was wrong, so wrong. But God help her, it felt good. Too good.

The slurping, suckling sounds of the Marquis' mouth and tongue exploring every inch of her exposed skin rang in Yn's ears, a mix of pleasure and discomfort. The occasional moan or grunt escaped his lips, accompanied by the sound of Yn's sharp intake of breath or a whimper. The bite on her nipples elicited a faint gasp followed by a sharp cry of surprise and pleasure.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the Marquis continued his relentless assault on her senses. She could feel herself growing wet, her body responding to his touch despite her mind's protests.

Shame burned through her veins, hot and acrid. How could she let this happen? How could she allow this man, this monster, to violate her in such a way?

The Marquis pulled away from Yn’s breasts, leaving them glistening with his saliva. His eyes, dark with lust, travelled down her body, lingering on the curve of her hips. With a wicked grin, he hooked his fingers into the panty-shaped bottom of the bunny-girl costume and tugged it aside, exposing her thin panties.

Yn’s breath caught in her throat as the cool air hit her heated skin. She squirmed on the table, trying in vain to maintain some modesty, but the Marquis simply laughed at her efforts. He hooked his fingers into the centre of her panties and pulled them aside, revealing her most intimate parts to his hungry gaze.

“No,” Yn whispered, shaking her head in denial. “Please, don't...”

But her pleas fell on deaf ears as the Marquis lowered his head, his hot breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. Yn gasped as his tongue made contact, a jolt of unwanted pleasure shooting through her core.

He licked and sucked at her folds, his fingers spreading her open wider. Yn's hands flew to his hair, torn between pushing him away and holding him in place. It was too much, too intense. She could feel herself growing wetter, her body responding to his touch despite her mind's protests.

The wet, lewd sounds of the Marquis's mouth eagerly feasting on Yn's most private area echoed throughout the room, mingling with her soft moans and whimpers of pleasure and discomfort. Each slurp and suck was like a symphony of forbidden desire, suffocating any rational thoughts or protests Yn tried to make. The sound was both arousing and repulsive, a twisted melody that consumed both of their senses. It was wrong, so wrong, but she was powerless to stop it.

Just as she teetered on the brink, the Marquis pulled away, leaving her desperate and wanting. He grinned up at her, his lips shiny with her essence.

“Not yet, ma lapine,” he purred, his French accent thick with desire. “We're just getting started.”

With that, he dove back between her legs, his tongue delving deep into her folds. Yn cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily as he lapped at her most sensitive spots. It was too much, too intense. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of release, only for the Marquis to pull away at the last second, leaving her desperate and wanting.

He repeated the process again and again, edging her to the point of madness. Yn's body was on fire, every nerve screaming for more. But still, she fought against it, clinging to the last vestiges of her sanity.

“Please,” she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. “Please, stop. I can't take it anymore.”

But the Marquis just grinned, his lips and chin shiny with her essence. “Beg me, Yn. Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to fill you.”

Yn shook her head frantically, even as her body betrayed her, aching for his touch. She sobbed, “No. No, I won't. I don’t want that.”

The Marquis's eyes narrowed, his grip on her thighs tightening. He growled, “You will. You will beg for it, and you will enjoy every second of it. Deep down, you know you want this. You finally want me.”

And with that, he surged forward, his tongue spearing into her core as his fingers rubbed mercilessly at her clit. The Marquis continued his relentless assault on Yn's senses, his tongue delving deep into her folds, his fingers rubbing mercilessly at her clit. Again and again, he brought her to the brink of release, only to pull away at the last second, leaving her crying.

Yn thrashed on the table, sobbing. “Please. Please, stop. I can't take it anymore.”

But the Marquis just grinned, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. He doubled his efforts, his tongue swirling around her sensitive bud, his fingers pumping in and out of her dripping core. Yn's back arched off the table, a moan tearing from her throat as another orgasm was nearing, but the Marquis withdrew again before she could explode.

It was too much, too intense. She was drowning in sensation, in the wrongness of it all. And yet, even as her mind recoiled, her body craved more. More of his touch, more of his attention, more of the forbidden pleasure he offered.

Yn whimpered, even as her hips bucked against his face, “Give it to me. Please!”

But the Marquis was relentless and adamant. He licked and sucked and fingered her until she was a writhing, sobbing mess. Her body was on fire, every nerve screaming for release.

That’s when she recalled what Emily told her a few hours ago.

“I thought he had dragged you into that room and made out with you. It was clear to everyone that he was jealous when he learned that you were with another VIP. He likes you that much.”

“He likes you that much.”

Does he?

“Fine!” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “Please, fuck me. Fill me. I need it. I need you.”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, a betrayal of everything she stood for. But in that moment, lost in a haze of unwanted pleasure, Yn knew she would do anything, say anything, just to make it stop. To find some measure of relief from the torment of the Marquis' touch.

The Marquis's triumphant laughter echoed in the room as he loomed over Yn's trembling form. With a wicked grin, he crashed his lips against hers, his tongue forcing its way past her teeth and into the warm recesses of her mouth. To his surprise, Yn responded eagerly, her own tongue tangling with his in a heated dance.

The Marquis growled into the kiss, his hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He needed to be inside her, to claim her, to make her his. With a swift tug, he freed his throbbing cock, the thick length bobbing heavily between their bodies.

Yn's eyes widened as she felt the heat of him pressing against her slick folds. This was it. The moment she had been dreading, the moment she had been fighting against, but also the moment she had been begging for. Even as her mind recoiled, her body also seemed to welcome his intrusion.

The Marquis broke the kiss, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts. His voice was low and dangerous as he purred, “You want this, don't you? You want me to fuck you, to fill you until you're screaming my name.”

With tears rolling down her cheeks, Yn nodded her head, her hips canted upwards, seeking his touch. Her voice was small and broken as she whimpered, “Yes, please! Fill me, sir!”

With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her, stretching her walls to the point of pain. However, it also filled her in the most pleasurable, gratifying way. Yn cried out, her back arching off the table as he began to move, his hips snapping against hers in a brutal rhythm.

It was too much, too intense. Yn could feel every inch of him, could feel the way he pulsed and throbbed inside her. And despite everything, despite the shame and the guilt and the wrongness of it all, she could feel herself responding, her body welcoming his invasion even as her mind screamed in protest.

The Marquis's thick, throbbing cock was buried deep inside Yn's slick, tight folds. His hips moved in a brutal rhythm, snapping against her with each thrust. Yn’s back was arched off the table, her body fully exposed to his powerful movements. Her hands were laid on the table beside her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with both pleasure and pain. Her pussy juices coated his cock and flowed freely as he relentlessly pounded into her. Her breasts bounced up and down her body with each pounding.

Yn's breasts heaved with each powerful thrust, rising and falling with the rhythm of the Marquis's hips. Her nipples were flushed and hard, her skin glistening with sweat in the candlelight. They jiggled and bounced, almost mesmerising in their movements. Their size and fullness were emphasised by the force of his movements, and Yn couldn't help but feel a mix of pleasure and pain each time they bounced against her body.

Yn's legs were spread wide, her toes curling in pleasure as she felt the Marquis's forceful movements. Her skin was flushed and slick with sweat in the dim candlelight, the muscles in her thighs tensing with each thrust. Her legs swayed back and forth, following the merciless rhythm of his hips as he took her.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with Yn's sharp cries and the Marquis's low grunts, filled the room. The creaking of the table and the rattling of the objects on top of it added to the symphony of pleasure and desire. The wet sounds of their bodies joining and separating, slick with sweat and juices, echoed off the walls, creating a primal melody that consumed them both. Through it all, the heavy breathing and guttural moans of pleasure from both Yn and the Marquis could be heard, intensifying with each powerful thrust.

The Marquis, driven by an insatiable lust, maintained his brutal pace, his hips snapping against Yn's with each powerful thrust. The room was filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, mingling with Yn's sharp cries of pleasure and pain.

“Take it, ma lapine,” the Marquis growled, his voice rough with desire. “Take my cock. Take everything I give you.”

Yn could only sob in response, her body shaking with the force of his thrusts. She could feel him everywhere, could feel the way he stretched and filled her, the way he claimed her so completely. It was wrong, so wrong, but in that moment, lost in a haze of sensation, she couldn't bring herself to care.

The Marquis's hands roamed over Yn's body, gripping her hips, her thighs, and her breasts. He pinched and tugged at her nipples, sending jolts of unwanted pleasure through her core. Yn's back arched, a scream tearing from her throat as he hit a spot deep inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids.

“Please,” she begged, though she wasn't even sure what she was asking for. “Please, more. More!”

The words tasted like sin on her tongue, but Yn was too far gone to care. All that mattered was the feeling of the Marquis inside her, the way he made her body sing with pleasure even as her mind recoiled in shame.

And so she surrendered to it, to him, letting the Marquis take her in the most primal way possible. Her body was his to use, his to claim, his to ruin. And as the pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo, she knew she could finally get it. She could finally cum!

The Marquis's thrusts grew erratic, his hips slamming against Yn's with a force that shook the table beneath them. Yn could feel the tension coiling in his body, could sense the impending release that hovered just out of reach.

“Cum for me,” the Marquis growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Cum on my cock. Now.”

And then, with a final, brutal thrust, Yn's world shattered. Pleasure exploded through her body, so intense it bordered on pain. Her back arched off the table, her mouth open in a silent scream as her orgasm crashed over her in wave after wave of ecstasy.

The Marquis's expression contorted in pleasure; his eyes tightly shut as he reached climax. His fingers dug into Yn's hips, leaving red marks on her skin as he pulled her flush against him. His cock pulsated and throbbed inside her, spilling his seed deep within her womb. Yn could feel the hot rush of his release, could feel the way it filled her, claimed her, marked her as his own.

The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing, the only indication of their end of recent fucking. The Marquis and Yn remained locked together, their bodies still trembling from the intense climax they had just shared. The sound of skin sliding against skin could be heard as they tried to catch their breath, with the occasional low groan escaping from the Marquis’ lips. And then, as the moment stretched on, the soft sound of nuzzling could be heard as the Marquis buried his face in Yn’s hair, breath hot against her neck as he showed his affection for her.

“Mine,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

Yn heard it. She heard it all, even if he whispered. He sounded so possessive and so obsessive. So smitten. Emily’s words rang in her head.

“He likes you that much.”

She remembered a part of her had once told her. Get him to buy you a laptop. After everything he’s forced on you, don’t you deserve something back?

“I…” you spoke up, attracting the Frenchman’s attention.

In his weariness, he gently lifted himself off of you, yet still close enough to feel his warmth. He placed his hands on either side of your head and leaned in, towering over you with an intimate intensity. His gaze was filled with desire as he looked at you with a pair of bedroom eyes.

“What is it?” he asked.

You stared at him in silence, wondering if it was okay to ask him for something. Would he get angry? Would he look at you in disgust? Would he see you as an opportunistic and materialistic bitch?

“Say it, ma lapine,” he told you.

His sweet nickname for you convinced you to do it.

“I want… a laptop,” you meekly said. “That’s all…”

The Marquis's eyes glinted in realisation at Yn's request. Yn, the woman who had resisted him a lot in the past, just asked him for something. She had seen him as a provider. A reliable, dependable man to provide her with anything. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his features.

“A laptop, hmm?” he mused, his fingers trailing lightly over Yn's cheek. “And what do you intend to do with this laptop?”

Yn swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, that the Marquis was not a man to be trifled with. But something about the way he looked at her, the possessive glint in his eye, made her feel that she could do this.

“I... I want to do more,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to learn more on the Internet. It would be convenient for me and my family.”

The Marquis’ smile widened, his hand cupping Yn's chin and tilting her face up towards his own. “Oh, ma petite. You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you ask me that.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against Yn's in a tender kiss. It was a stark contrast to the brutal passion they had shared mere moments before, but no less intense for its gentleness.

“Of course, you shall have your laptop,” the Marquis breathed against her mouth. “And anything else you desire. You have but to ask, ma lapine. I have the money to provide you with everything.”

You glanced up at the magnificent ceiling above you, your thoughts empty as his words slowly sank in. Then, one thought surfaced in your mind.

You got him wrapped around your finger.

PREV : Chapter 07

NEXT : Chapter 09

Story Masterlist

Leave a comment and like! I would love to know what you think!

If you’re interested in being on my taglist to be tagged in the next chapters, please leave a comment and mention the taglist.

Taglist:

Comment specifically if you want to be removed from the taglist.

@tagakalat @noodle81937 @urdarlingxx @l4venderia @aeryns--playground @straysugzhpe @naturalblondekiller88 @deliciousfestsalad @androgynous-lady @nope-nooope @blsmbr @erikasurfer @softlore23 @jamaicanqueen007 @darious @nazdaniels @1mawh0re @vienettacream @elleclairez @ninastyless @elizziebat @peanad03-blog @weepingwitchofthewest @nikkipea @notisabellax @starrgir1 @samurashari @baby-honeybunny @justathpught @4sta @cryotrain @elsa203 @shyfriendrebelwombat @lalunaluvrr @diaaaaaaaaa @at-midnight @october5veiga @dyyyyyyyyyyyyy @taeinar @cattycat-22 @fluffypinkfeasts @sigynbandraoi-blog @babypinkbae @skylermoyer @fallenanqel13 @strawberrygothhh @hottie-bishop-belova @joyfulyouthlover @darkangelkathiecookiesmith @horrorlover304 @britska-modra @haclyonnnnn @daemonwhore @angeljcca @thesimpybitch @rizunaur @carpathiannoirbarbie @litle17-blog @theghostofshadows @xbunny-k

@mushy-mushroom04 @madkohi @aleemendoza2425-blog @scarlettvoidsmile @aegoniipascal @moochiesther @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27