#marquis de gramont x you

[lonewolfwriting89]

GAMES WE PLAY

Vincent De Gramont “Marquis” x Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Smut.

A/N: Just a short little smutty drabble, saw John Wick 4 not long ago and yeah, I was suitably distracted. Anyways, another venture into another fandom! I hope you enjoy 😘 xoxo

————

Rejoining the conversation you stayed close to him, his arm around you as though you’d been that way all your lives. You waited until he was engrossed in conversation with a member of the High Table and then caught his eyes. Running your tongue over your lips, you smiled and his words faltered ever so slightly. Knowing you were having the effect you wanted you purposely ate slowly, eyes locked to Vincent’s. Soon his face was slightly flushed and he was clearing his throat. When you were sure you had his attention you drew the edge of your champagne glass down your throat letting it trail over your cleavage lightly before setting it down. His eyes followed the path of the glass with a predatory gaze and you excused yourself to the others.

Turning to whisper to him softly before standing you said huskily against his ear, “I want you inside me..now”.

Vincent sat upright in his chair and you laid a hand on his suit covered shoulder smiling softly as you stood and moved toward the corridor. You thought he would wait, give it a moment so it was less conspicuous and perhaps meet you there but before you could get through the door you felt his hand on the small of your back guiding you from the dining room firmly. No sooner had the door closed he turned, his body pinning you against them.

You smiled slowly in triumph and he arched a perfectly shaped brow. Gripping your wrist he turned and looked around almost desperately. You tried to suppress the laugh but it escaped and he growled tugging you down the hallway toward the first door he saw. You found yourself in a large butlers pantry, forced against the cool wall. His thigh pressed between yours lifted you onto your toes as his hands gripped your wrists pinning them to the wall. You could barely breath and the uncontrolled lust in his eyes was reflected in yours.

“You know I don’t like your little games chéri”.

You smirked, “Your actions say otherwise”.

Vincent took your mouth roughly. Desire like a demand as his tongue parted your lips fiercely. You met his need with your own, heated and urgent as your tongues explored and coaxed the flames higher between you both. Your hands went to his hair, curling into the blonde silken strands. Fingers gripping lightly as you felt him lift you off the floor swiftly. His hands moved up over your ass, drawing your skirt up around your waist to free your legs. He didn't take the time to remove the lacy thong, forcing it aside as you felt his long fingers bury themselves deep inside you for the second time that night.

Gasping you moaned, head falling back as his mouth moved lower over your throat, biting as he went, seizing your nipple through the silk. One arm wrapped around the small of your back like steel, the other hand working between your legs till yoi felt him shudder and moan unable to wait any longer. You reached down between you both, loosening his pants, drawing him free of them, your fingers encircling his thick shaft as you brought his other hand up to your mouth, sucking your taste from his fingers.

His eyes met yours and for a moment you heard his breath catch in his throat. Then he was inside you, no teasing no coaxing, one thrust buried to the hilt. You cried out in pleasure and wrapped your legs around his hips, arching your back to force him deeper. He laid his head in the crook of your neck and drove into you relentlessly, groaning as you tightened around him in response.

Your hips bucked wildly to meet his thrusts, hands moving down to his neck, aching to touch his skin but you were both too far gone. Lost in the sea of euphoric pleasure. Like a raging fire it consumed you both and you felt him surge inside you. He cupped your face bringing your eyes level with his and whispered gruffly, "Regarde moi".

Doing as Vincent commanded, you opened your eyes, trying to focus, your whole being alight and ready to flame. He met your eyes, holding your gaze and you saw his smile broaden as he watched you orgasm. You shuddered, tensing with a soft cry and felt him flood into you with a force that took your breath. Clinging and shuddering he held you so tightly you couldn't breathe properly. The room spiralled as you gave him your weight, still spasming around his cock tightly.

He set you on the floor supporting you with his body till your legs would hold you upright again. Leaning down he kissed you slowly, lingering as his hands smoothed your skirt back into place. Whispering against your temple his words brought you back from the warm tingly place you were dwelling.

“Don’t think that’s the end of it chéri”.

————

[quietlyinlife]

The Marquis’s Obsession

summary; You are a victim to a crazy love

---

warnings; death, gore, stalking, obsession, murder, abduction, horror, violent themes, unhealthy behaviour, obsessive Vincent

word count; 6,253

***

You sighed in frustration as you typed away on the laptop. The company you are currently in has always been serious and busy as usual and it makes you wonder how much energy your new colleagues have while dealing with this new exchange program.

Following your CEO's alliance with another from Paris, he announced that there would be an exchange program between the companies.

The chosen employees will work in the CEO's company (the man your boss is allied with), while the CEO's employees will work in your boss's company. Each person is given a certain month on when you could leave to go back to the previous company you were in before.

And unfortunately for you, after 7 months, that is when you could leave. You had traveled to Paris from your home place because of this exchange program. You never liked this at all.

And what's even worse, many months ago? Somewhere in the middle of the month, you don't remember that, when you were adjusting to the new environment. You started to receive many gifts and romantic letters, which had a lot of French endearments. Of course, because you're currently living in France.

After hours in the office, it was finally time to go home. You quickly packed your things up and joined your friends outside the building. At least you weren't alone in this stupid exchange program you never wanted to be part of.

You spend your afternoon outside with your friends, strolling through the streets and visiting shops and other places. Chatting and buying snacks; you enjoy moments like this, forgetting all about your problems, including the whole secret admirer thing and just having a good time.

And when it was finally time to go home, due to how dark it was getting outside. You started to wait for your bus stop while scrolling through social media on your phone. A bit farther from the bus stop, you saw a familiar expensive SUV parked to the side. Your heart started to pound rapidly against your chest in fear as you felt your hands become sweaty and clammy. This is the same car you started to notice recently, either outside your house, at the workplace, or anywhere you go.

You start to wonder if you're the next target for human trafficking. You opened the messaging app and started to text one of your friends again like you always have about the car stalking you for these past few weeks. Just in case you disappear without a trace.

Finally, the bus arrives and you and the few people enter inside as you take your seat. Your troubled mind still rapidly thought about the car but it made you wonder why the person is not kidnapping you yet or maybe he is preparing to.

And what makes you even more sick is that you are aware you can't do anything about it. You're not sure if the police are willing to do anything and you can't just quit the job you worked hard for as well. Especially when it pays you well. You doubt that your boss even cares about you, considering how strict he is when it comes to business and working hard.

The bus stops and everyone including you leaves. You ran straight into the building and into the elevator. Pressing the elevator button, leading up to the 6th floor as you stood there inside. Catching your breath, it was only a matter of time before you were taken and silenced.

The door slides open and you stroll through the empty hallway. The sound of your heels echoes until you stop in front of your door to pull out your keys from your bag and unlock the door. Right before you were about to enter, your shoes collided with the objects on the floor; causing you to stumble for a bit but you still got inside the apartment you shared with your friend.

Nia who is also your roommate. She too had to come along to France with you. Such a shame she leaves earlier, around March or May.

Looking down, there were those expensive gifts all wrapped up inside a big white box with a pretty bow on top of it and roses next to them. You knew they were from that rich secret admirer as you gently shoved them inside with your hand before quickly shutting the door and locking it. 

Lifting the heavy elegant box and roses into your arms, you placed them on the dining table.

You were tired of these gifts, you don't know who sent them except the woman behind the receptionist’s desk. Who refused to tell you who it is and you noticed how scared she is whenever you confronted her about it, you're not sure if it's of you or the secret admirer. You didn't do anything to her so it's the creepy secret admirer.

Your room and the living room were littered with those expensive gifts that consisted of sparkly party dresses, high heels, high-quality makeup, and jewelry that looked so otherworldly due to how elegant and beautiful it was, and that probably cost billions of dollars. You didn't want too much so you gave half away to Nia who happily accepted them.

All tucked away inside their boxes. Romantic letters declare the admirer's love and that you will always be protected. You unwrap the box and discover many expensive rings, outfits, and hair care products. And a folded note too.

Your hand reaches to the note first, unfolding it.

To the most beautiful woman,

Mon amour, how are you? Do you like the gifts that I sent you?

Forgive me if this is too much for your liking but I can't help myself. I can't describe how much I love you with just simple little words, so I resorted to sending you many gifts that represent the love I have for you. And soon you'll feel the same for me one day. After I finished preparing for your arrival.

Your heart stopped beating as your eyes widened in shock, you continued to read the next line with a bad gut feeling.

Do be aware that you are not leaving me at all, watching over you through my men won't be enough to satisfy me. I will need to have you by my side physically, I have been patient for many months for you and now I will take what's mine. I do plan to marry you as well, I hope to get your opinions on how should our marriage be after you come home of course-

You didn't allow yourself to finish reading, you crumbled the paper and threw it inside the garbage. Sweat started to coat your skin as you struggled to maintain your heavy breathing; you glanced down at your shaky hands and clenched your fist to at least in some way stop shaking but it was hopeless. In an attempt to distract yourself, You started the process of wrapping the box back to the way it was before taking it in your arms again.

This is crazy, you thought as you set the box inside your room, in the corner. You sat down on your bed and started to email your boss through your phone, you were finally going to let your boss know despite the voice at the back of your head telling you it might not be a good idea. What if the stalker somehow finds out about it? What he will do? But you ignored those questions, insisting on letting your boss be aware of this dilemma. After you finish typing that letter– informing him about the scary situation you are in and that you are leaving France.

Your boss doesn't respond immediately but you know he will the next morning. So you took this time to quickly pack your belongings and stuff them inside your suitcase.

Your phone buzzed on the bed, thinking it was your boss; you picked your phone up and saw it was from your friend. Who suggested not to leave instantly, whoever is watching you might speed up the process and just kidnap you the moment you step a foot out of your building.

Frustration and hopelessness build within your chest as you plop down on your bed. Staring mindlessly at her text message, you knew that she was right as you responded with an okay before switching your phone off. You are dumb, but it is understandable considering you will need to get the hell out. Far away from the secret admirer and his men.

You gazed up at the blank ceiling, pondering what might the future bring and you hoped, you would still see the sun the next day.

***

On Saturday in the early morning, you got out of the building after making sure your apartment was alright and yourself too. You decided to take the offer from this guy at your workplace whose name is Allen to hang out. And also to keep your mind from constantly panicking each time you go out.

You received an email from your boss who wrote you a long paragraph on what you should do in this situation and told you to contact the police. Leaving instantly will cause the stalker to act instantly.

You feel flattered to discover that your boss cares and this causes you to feel guilt. After all, you never cared to learn about your boss. You hopped inside the bus and took a seat as the bus started to move again. Leaving you to your thoughts about yesterday's events and it made you wonder who it is.

You thought about all the men you encountered in your life but none of them ever showed any sort of interest in you considering they would disappear for a long time and you barely even interact with them or any guys in your life.

You also thought about Allen, he is a nice person who helps you with paperwork and goes far to pay for your drinks whenever you two encounter each other along the way to work. He even asks for your permission to hug you or slung his arms over your shoulders.

You liked how respectful he is towards you or anyone else he meets. The bus slowly comes to a stop and you see Allen waiting for you at the same stop you are about to get off of, his hand grasping onto the lilies he brought.

His face brightens when he sees you exiting the bus and in front of him. You tilted your head as you gave him a curious look at the lilies he had in his hands.

Allen snaps out from his trance, "Oh, I got this for you to have." He lifts the lilies to your face, avoiding your gaze with blood flooding his cheeks. You smiled at him despite Allen looking away. You took the lilies from his hands and inhaled their sweet fragrance.

"Thanks, Allen, they're beautiful!" You exclaim in happiness, he glances at you with a shy smile now adorned his face; nodding his head.

"So uh, should we go to a nice restaurant? Or to the park? Where do you want to go?" Allen questions, nearly stammering over his words but manages to complete his sentence. The two of you started to stroll through the streets while you wondered which place should you both go to.

"Let's go to a park, I don't know either." The corner of your lips forcefully lifts upwards in a small insincere smile, glancing up at Allen hesitantly before looking away.

"Yeah, that's fine by me." He nodded his head before peering at you, "How about we get some ice cream? It's all on me."

You gazed back at him with your brows furrowed, "Are you sure? I don't want you to waste your own money." Worry laced your tone, you didn't want to be the reason why he became broke.

"It's fine, I got a lot of money since I just saved up a lot. Only buy hair products, skincare, and food." He assures you, waving off your concerns.

"Oh okay." You said unsurely, nodding your head at him. You and Allen visit an ice cream parlor, you choose your type of ice cream and he does too. While you and Allen sat down on the empty chairs, waiting. You noticed in the corner of your eye, through the window, that same black expensive car with tinted windows right around the corner, securely parked.

You felt your heart jump from your chest as you quickly looked away to maintain your breathing and composure. Soon you and Allen both get the ice cream and the rest of the day was you being paranoid about the car stalking you, Allen being shy and hopelessly in love which made you feel bad since you don't harbor any romantic feelings for him.

By the end of the day, Allen offered to drop you off at home to which you agreed. During the entire car ride home, you and Allen kept on conversing until he started to bring up your sudden paranoia.

"Is everything alright? It's good to let it out sometimes." Allen glances over at you with concern before looking back at the road. The sun slowly sets, and you can see various colors showering through the sky. It makes you appreciate the beauty.

"Well, it's...Complicated." You answered with hesitation, you searched for the right words to describe the current situation, it was easy emailing to your boss but why did it become so hard to explain it in person?

"It's okay, I don't mind if you don't tell me everything. I'm just worried for you." Allen says, his brows pull downward together as he makes a left turn, avoiding the traffic ahead. "But I don't mind lending a hand if you need one."

You pressed your lips together in a thin line before finally speaking, "So, I'm being stalked...By this rich secret admirer who always sends me expensive gifts and love letters. The only one who knows about the secret admirer is the lady behind the receptionist’s desk. But she's too scared to tell me, thinking she's going to die if she says a word about the secret admirer."

You say each word carefully with no stutter. Your eyes gaze over at the side of his face. Noticing a frown evident on Allen's face.

"That's...." Allen was left speechless as silence filled the car, "But do you at least know something about this secret admirer?"

"I know he's rich and French too." You mumbled, looking out the window. "And, he's mysterious too."

"Do you have the love letters? Because I got an idea." The car finally comes to a stop, the building is in your view now as Allen parks the car.

You glanced over at him with curiosity, with a raised brow you asked. "Really? what's the idea?" You unbuckled yourself but stayed inside the car.

"I have a friend who can identify people by their handwriting." Allen says before getting out of the car, you followed along as well. Shutting the car door closed, Allen strolls over to you with a serious expression on his face. No sparkle of light can be seen within his eyes and it made you wonder if he is bothered by this secret admirer on a personal level.

The two of you sauntered into the building and inside the elevator as you pressed on the button. The door slowly slides closed, now it is only you and Allen.

"How long has this been happening?" He inquired, turning his head over to you. His brow furrows and the corner of his lips fall downwards. Sympathy can be seen swirling in his brown eyes. You started to think rapidly in search of how long it has been occurring but none. You didn't keep track of how long has these gifts and letters and the stalking been happening.

"Um, I think for a few months or more?" You replied with unsureness, staring at the blurry reflection of yourself through the elevator door. You felt flattered by Allen's concern and care for you despite you knowing the reason why behind it all.

Finally, the elevator door opens and the two of you stroll into the quiet and empty hallways. "You said that you have a friend who can identify people by their handwriting?" You repeated his words, mentioning his idea.

"Yeah, even if he's old. He's good at these kinds of stuff." You pulled out your keys from your handbag and unlocked your door, entering inside along with Allen. His eyes survey the small but elegant home, noticing the gifts tucked away in the corners.

"Sorry, I had so many, didn't know where to place them." You shrugged, apologizing for the unnecessary mess even though you were sure he wouldn't care about the house.

"You don't need to apologize, but do you have the letters?" Allen questions to which you immediately answer.

"Yes, it's here." You quickly hurried to the gifts and opened one of them, picking the letter in your hands before going back to Allen. He lifts his hand out to you and you place the letter, Allen folds the letter into a smaller piece and stuffs it inside the pocket, he lets a gentle smile crawl upwards onto his face.

"Don't be scared because I don't think this guy wants to see your dead body," Allen reassures you, you nod--aware of the secret admirer's intentions.

"Yeah, I was informed of his intentions from the beginning when I first got his letter. He mentioned many times that he would never hurt me."

Allen presses his lips together in deep thought, wondering what he should tell you but decides to let it go and says his goodbyes to you, leaving your home as you watch him. Hoping nothing goes wrong.

***

The sound of your phone ringing is what slowly woke you up from your slumber. Your eyes flutter open as you turn in your sleep, snuggling the side of your face deep into your pillow but the constant ringing from your phone causes you to lift your arm to your nightstand, your hand searches for the device for a few seconds until you felt your phone beneath your fingers.

The name of the caller of none other than Allen and it made you curious what made him call you around 4 am. You answered and placed the phone against your ear.

"Allen? What happened?" You groggily asked, your voice raspy and deep.

"Y/n, I am very sorry to call you around this time but I found out who your secret admirer is." His words held worry and fear on the other side of the call. This causes your brows to furrow.

"But listen to me, come all alone to this address, and don't tell anyone. I'll send it to you through messages because I don't want anyone to know if I say it aloud to you. I'm going to share with you some secrets regarding this admirer."

You wanted to protest considering how early this is but the urgency in his voice prevents you from voicing out.

"Oh okay, I'll meet you there." You softly say before the call ends, you slowly get up from the bed to get ready.

Surprisingly, the address Allen sent you wasn't that far. Just a 15-minute walk through the empty and eerily quiet street. You stood in front of the door, knocking but no one answered. This causes you to frown but remain patient, he's probably getting ready. You looked at your phone repeatedly to see if he messaged you but to no luck, he didn't.

This worries you because of how urgent he is when telling you to arrive at the address he sent out. But now, you're not sure if you went to the wrong house. While you waited and waited, your phone in your pocket vibrated as you took it out. Now seeing Allen's message,

Sorry for waking you up but this can wait until tomorrow because it turns out the identity of the person is incorrect.

Uncertainty and confusion fill your being, and your eyes narrow as you keep on reading over the message repeatedly to make sure you read it correctly. Something about this feels off, you can tell. There is no way Allen would bring you all the way here just to send you a message saying he is mistaken.

So, something must have happened. But still, you stared at the door and slightly moved your head down, your eye looking through the keyhole, noticing how dark inside the room is which is somewhat expected. But wouldn't Allen at least keep the lights on?

You took your eye away from the keyhole and decided to retreat. You quickly walk all the way home just to be safe and not get ambushed while terror and paranoia slowly creeps its way onto you. Not noticing a tiny note sticking out underneath the carpet of the front porch, that is written the word "Run".

When you arrived home, you didn't feel like going back to sleep. You simply took your coat and shoes off before plopping onto your couch, turning the TV on but turning the volume down. Not desiring to wake up Nia. You felt so confused about what just occurred, Allen wouldn't end it that way. You were sure he wouldn't just randomly call you and then message you it was just a mistake.

You are one hundred percent sure that it might be the secret admirer must have done this because first, the lady behind the front desk is terrified when you confront her, even when you enter the building; you see her wide eyes stare at you before looking down to avoid eye contact with you. And now Allen is scared too. What exactly happened behind that closed door is something you were sure you didn't want to have any knowledge about.

Time passes by as you either make drinks for yourself or sit on the couch and watch TV or scroll through social media. By the time the sun rises fully, you start to leave the house to go back to work.

During your time working, your mind kept on replaying Allen's words when he called you. And he didn't arrive to work today which is weird because Allen always comes to work. You prayed nothing went wrong with him when discovering who this stalker was.

When it is time to go home, you notice that there are no expensive cars following you today which is a huge relief because you didn't know when you'll end up having a whole breakdown. Your phone started ringing again and this time it was from Nia. You quickly answered and placed the phone between your ears,

"Y/n, oh my goodness you have to check the news. That Allen dude is dead." Nia says in a full panic tone, you felt fear clench your heart as you responded,

"What? How? I'm coming home." You ended the call, not sure how to even feel or react. But you felt fear, shocked, and surprised, even when you got inside the bus and entered your apartment. You dashed to the remote on the coffee table and turned the TV to the recent news.

The picture of Allen's dead body shocks you to your core. Despite the image being blurry due to how graphic it is you can tell by staring. His head looked like it got smashed, his brain splattered everywhere and his face nowhere to be seen. Intestines and other organs spurt out from his body and so much more. This crime occurred at the same address you went before.

You stared at the screen, aghast. You're not aware how long you sat there as the picture disappears and only the woman on the TV speaking, but her words become nothing but a muffled sound to you. The door unlocks and Nia strolls in after locking the door.

"This is so crazy! I never thought Allen would die like that!" Nia exclaims, cupping her face with both hands as she sits next to you. "And my colleagues kept on talking about it too when we were watching the news through our phones!"

You felt too numb and speechless to even reply to her. Allen was one of Nia's friends, he met you through her. Nia and the others were talking about Allen's death and you were there wondering about Allen's absence. How are you so oblivious?

You thought about the secret admirer, is he dangerous? Who else could it possibly be then?

During the entire day, you stayed home and Nia did so too. Both of you took time to recover by distracting yourself and conversing about the secret admirer. Both of you conclude that it is the secret admirer's doings. But none of you two knew what to do about it. So you and Nia stayed quiet about the murderer, you and Nia are aware of who is the killer.

It is around the evening when Nia goes outside and you take a nap in your room. But around midnight, you woke up to the sound of loud footsteps that didn't belong to Nia echoing in the living room. You quietly bolted out from the bed to lock your door and took your phone with you to the bathroom. You're not going to die by jumping off from your window when you live on the 6th floor.

You called the police while stuttering when telling them about the intruders in the house. Telling them the address you live in as you could hear the harsh kicking against your door. You are doomed for sure.

There is no space to hide because your room is small, hiding under your bed is obvious because that's where it is first checked. The door breaks open, causing you to flinch as you hold your breath. If you don't have any weapons, might as well use your phone. Your heart hammers against your chest, and sweat coats your entire body while you struggle to maintain your heavy breathing and your wobbly legs.

Clutching your phone tightly against your chest as the door knob to the bathroom shakes. The man shouts to others to which they reply, but you only hear your heart rapidly banging against your chest. You prayed intensely to god at this moment when the man started to let out a powerful kick to the door, near the door knob.

This is it, you thought to yourself as tears streamed down your face, weeping quietly to yourself before you remembered that you had a small pocket knife behind the cabinet. You immediately took it out before the door slammed down, the man made quick strides towards you and reached a hand out to grab you but you pierced his hand with the pocket knife and bolted out from the bathroom.

The man grunts before chasing you out of the room, you sprint through your home until a hand roughly grabs your arm and places a cloth on your face. You could only see darkness filling your vision and hear their muffled words as you passed out completely.

***

You woke up to the silver light against your eyelids which caused you to turn to your side and snuggled deeper under the thick and soft blanket. The sweet fragrance erupting from the bed is what caused your eyes to flutter open in confusion, you slowly lifted your head from the blanket to the most beautiful and elegant room. Your head turned to the closed glass doors of the balcony and everywhere in the large room. The room looked like it was made for a queen.

Reddish walls with expensive paintings, the softest large bed, and shiny floors. Including the sparkly crystal chandelier with small light bulbs. You know you are kidnapped as you lift yourself from the bed, your bare feet slip into the flats lying on the ground, near your bed. Your captor is generous enough to give you a gorgeous room after having you abducted.

You fixed your messy hair as you ambled towards the bathroom, by the appearance of rooms, you could tell it was all prepared. You started to do your business; brushing your teeth with a fresh new toothbrush and splashing your face with cold water before turning the faucet off. You left the bathroom and strolled towards the double doors of the balcony and attempted to open it to find a way to escape but failed, due to how tightly shut it is. You were still in your pajamas but you didn’t want to go out of the room all dressed like this so you took a short black dress and jeans before heading back into the bathroom to change.

After you come out all ready the door suddenly opens, causing you to turn around in surprise as a man peeks his head out.

"The marquis wishes to have you for breakfast." The man with the serious expression announces, his dark eyes intensely bearing into yours. "Follow me."

He leaves the door open before retreating his head back, you quickly leave the colossal room and follow the bodyguard behind through the gigantic hallways that consist of elegant statues, paintings, red carpets, elegant chandeliers with sparkly teardrop stones dangling, and many more. This is making you feel broke.

Finally, the two of you entered a colossal dining room with a large table filled with various foods that you can't name. At the head of the table, sitting on the elegant chair is the Marquis, you figure who lit up when he sees you. Standing up, he strolls towards you with a smile painted on his face.

"Ma chèrie, how was your sleep? I deeply apologize for the ruckus I created in your home." Marquis apologizes, his voice heavy with the accent as adoration and guilt fester within his captivating green eyes, "But do allow me to introduce myself, I am Vincent Bisset de Gramont. Also known as the Marquis. But you can call me Vincent."

You rapidly blinked at him, you've seen many handsome men in your life across the internet and other places but this man is paralyzing. He is the most gorgeous man you ever met face to face, his beauty is so bewitching that it could rival the Greek gods. And then you notice how tall this man is by the way he is towering over you.

You didn't realize that he took your hand into his and gently pulled you with him toward the dining table. Pulling out a chair for you as you stood there with hesitation before sitting down. With you and Vincent now seated, Vincent broke the silence.

"I am aware you have a lot of questions but do hold onto them and eat your breakfast. You must be quite hungry."

You glanced up at him with brows furrowed while he started to eat as if nothing had ever happened. Despite your hunger, you didn't lift your hand to the fork and start eating. You wanted answers first.

"Why am I here?" You inquired, your tone firm as you glared at him. Vincent didn't bother to look at you, only after he finished devouring his food is when he started to talk.

"Only after you eat, I will answer questions." With that, he started to go back to his food.

You decide to give in and start eating your breakfast, and one taste has you eating it all. It is delicious, you had to admit as you took a sip from your water. The maid comes and takes your and Vincent's empty plates away.

"How about we talk in your room? So it'll be easier to converse freely." Vincent stands up to which you do the same. His hand unexpectedly wrapped around your waist tightly, pulling you closer to him as the two of you sauntered through the halls. You immediately attempted to pull away but his hand remained locked on your waist, preventing you from distancing yourself away.

He just gives you a look before glancing away. "Tell me Ma belle, did you ever think I would let go off you easily?" Vincent asks, leaving you in confusion about what he means by that. Leaving the country or keeping your distance from him?

"Um no?" Your words come out in unsureness and confusion. Not knowing how to respond to that. He merely smiles as he opens the door for you, allowing you to enter first before he gets inside and shuts it. You turned around to face him.

Vincent ambles towards the closed doors of the balcony. Looking outside with both hands in his pockets. You stood there awkwardly before he finally spoke.

"Why I brought you here is simple, it's because I want you here. The world out there...Is cruel." He places his hand on the glass of the door, looking at his reflection through the glass door and at the same time outside.

You didn't say anything which made him continue.

"I am the one who had your little friend killed. Why? It's because he was about to expose me to you, and I didn't want that. I was aware that he plans to take you away from me as well once he tells you my identity." Vincent paused, "And, I tend to go a bit crazy. When someone attempts to take my love away from me."

He turns around to face you, a dark look cast across his face. "I was the one who sent you those gifts and had you followed everywhere to keep you safe."

"And that is when I came to know from one of my men about the friend you had been seeing."

"Why do I do this? It's because I love you. I always loved you even if you forgot about me."

This causes you to raise your brow,

 "What do you mean?" You inquired.

"Do you remember? Around 2 or 3 years ago, in New York, you went to a ballet show and I was there. Only after it ended we talked until it got late." He explains as you thought deeply, searching for a memory of you meeting Vincent but you only remember going to a ballet theater with your friends.

Not desiring to anger him you pressed your lips together, and he could tell that you don't remember him.

"I do remember, but I don't recall seeing you or talking to you." Judging by the way you are looking at him, realization doesn't hit you. 

Vincent takes a deep breath before continuing again,

"But I remember every last one of it. You stayed in my mind since then, and I didn't get the chance to ask for your name before you left. Everything about you captivated me, your smile, your eyes, your innocence, everything." Vincent's words held nothing but obsessiveness and adoration when he named each one about you. This terrifies you to your core as you stand there speechless.

Vincent takes quick strides towards you as you take a step back but his hand reaches out and grabs your arm. Pulling you close to his body, his strong cologne fills your nostrils as you hesitantly gaze up to his eyes and this makes you regret doing so. Madness and lust could be seen in his eyes.

"Tell me amour, do you have any idea how much I thought about you? Morning, afternoon, evening, night...How much I longed for you? Without you I feel incomplete, my world is nothing but darkness." He carefully explains as you hold your breath, you can't recall the last time you were this close to a man.

His hands cup your cheeks, bringing your face closer to his. Your eyes widened in shock as you grabbed onto his wrists but his grip on your face remained firm.

"But fate brought me to you again, at the Louvre." His tone transitions into a whisper, staring deeply into your eyes. "And I felt my world started brightening. And I start to feel complete with you in my life. You may not remember but I do, I went to your side and started to tell you about each painting. You listened to me with the most beautiful smile on your face."

Your bottom lip quivers, "L-let go off me. I want to go home."

He narrows his eyes at you, "You are home, you don't need to go back to a life with hardships. With me, I can solve everything--just let me handle it."

"You're just going to keep me locked up here." You shakily pointed out, aware of the fact he's never going to let you outside.

Vincent shakes his head gently, eyes glued to your face. "As long as you listen to me, you are free." He presses his forehead to yours, nuzzling his nose against yours with his eyes closed.

You were paralyzed when Vincent whispered.

"Wherever you go, I will always follow you."

"You are mine, only mine." With that said, your fate becomes sealed forever as his lips capture yours. And you realize that this is only the beginning of the horrifying reality.

***

A/n; Took me weeks, I decided to write for John wick.

feedbacks is always appreciated. <3

[mynameis-noe-body]

Okay, for marquis de gramont we can get reallll toxic. Both the reader and Vincent are angry with each other and are tying to make one another jealous at the event. Because they’re very kinda delulu and possessive they kill the people they're using to make the other jealous and confess their feelings

Thank you so much for this request, my dear anon. I hope you'll love this. 🖤

I am your slave

Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont × you (F/GN)

Rating: Teen & Up Audience

Status: Complete (one shot)

Author notes: I used Google translate for the Russian and French sentences. Let me know if it's incorrect!

Obviously. You muttered the word under your breath, chewing its bitter taste, testing its sound on the tip of your tongue as you watched, disarmed, as the Marquis made his triumphal entrance.

The most influential families of the High Table had gathered at the Hotel Mademoiselle de Condé for a gala and business evening. Those weren't rare events, but that didn't make them any less sumptuous. Money flowed freely, as did the champagne, the drugs, the caviar. And the lovers. Yes, they were purchasable too. Women and men of supreme beauty, unattainable, sometimes sons and daughters who were given away, exchanged, lent — everything, in exchange for favors.

But the Marquis — Vincent — never had to ask anyone for anything.

With a gallant gesture he opened the door of his 1970 Cadillac DeVille and offered his arm to a woman. And not yet another high-class whore that he would have refused to touch even with the tip of his little finger, no. The woman who accompanied him that evening was a creature of rare beauty, perhaps someone's protégé. Perhaps his protégé. She was graceful, elegant, she flaunted a cascade of golden curls that would make Venus herself envious. And you, you felt flooded with anger.

"Champagne" you ordered, snapping your fingers. They served you immediately. You too had your power, and you had never hidden it. You knew, deep down, that it was one of the things that attracted him. Your shy elegance fiercely contrasted the anger that could ignite in your heart. The strength of your hands, the fury in your eyes, the power you wielded ruthlessly. Yet, in his arms and in his bed, you were capable of the deepest love, the most total devotion. He was bewitched by it, and inebriated. Therefore, he loved to instigate every jealousy in you, just to have you desperate at the end of the night.

Vincent didn't even glance at you. He shook dozens of hands, ordered food and drinks, laughed with his colleagues and friends. And he ignored you. At least until, from the door of the luxurious hotel, taking off his Armani coat and handing the keys of his Ferrari Portofino to the doorman, Mr. D'Antonio entered.

"Santino!" you exclaimed, with a smile so bright it lighted the entire dining room. Many turned, if only for a moment, to watch you gallop towards the man, with a hem of your beautiful dress grasped between your fingers to reveal crystal heels that echoed off the walls.

Santino opened his arms, and welcomed you with a loud kiss on the cheek. "Meraviglia! Look at you — beautiful, you are beautiful."

Santino was warm, welcoming, purely Italian. And charming, in every aspect of his person. He knew how to make any woman feel like the most beautiful in the world. He gallantly offered you his arm and ordered for you. His laugh was loud, contagious. His exuberant nature amused you. You had been friends for years now. You had worked together, sometimes — often you had worked for him. And he appreciated you. He was generous in his payments. And above all, Vincent was morbidly jealous, because D'Antonio had no qualms about making blatant advances on you, even in front of all those people.

Vincent was daydreaming about murder. God, how he hated him. And yes, he had planned to take that beautiful Parisian home with him, one of the new acquisitions of his organization, now that he saw you... you were his favorite. Oh, bullshit — you were the only one. Since he had met you he had no longer been able to keep faith with his numerous lovers. One by one, they had extinguished his desire, and you had ignited his. Or they were fallen dead, because you killed them. Many of them, to be honest. And every time he learned of one of your murders, his desire to possess you — body and soul — violently took hold of him. He didn't want to give in, not that easily. But now he understood how difficult it was to resist you, while your hand caressed the muscular shoulder of that penniless Italian. That coward. The mere thought that you could enjoy yourself under his fingers made him vomit — so much that he poured what was left of the wine into the boulle and twisted his mouth in a grimace of disgust.

With my bare hands, he thought. He crossed his legs and wrapped himself in his double-breasted jacket, brooding. I want to kill him with my bare hands around his neck. He would have done it. He was Vincent Bisset de Gramont, the Marquis and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He could have attached Santino D'Antonio to a pole and set him on fire to make him feel a tenth of the physical pain with which, due to that jealousy, he himself was now burning.

The young woman he had brought with him caressed his face. Or at least, she tried. But he grabbed her wrist before she could touch his cheek. He looked at her with the same hatred. "Go take off that lipstick" he hissed, through clenched teeth. "You look ridiculous."

She obeyed, humiliated, and reached the bathroom. Of course, she didn't expect to meet you anytime soon.

As soon as you saw her walking away towards the toilet, you took your chance, followed her and closed the door behind you with a sharp slam, waiting for her right there, outside her niche. She, surrounded by that shiny hair, those brilliant eyes, those scarlet lips, had raised a single eyebrow in an inquisitive manner.

"And you are?" she asked, passing a cloth over her lips, cleaning them from that bright color.

You inhaled deeply. "You know who I am."

She allowed herself an amused smile. "Ah," she had commented, smugly, "nomer dva."

You thought that, before speaking, she should have made sure that you didn't speak Russian.

▪️▪️▪️

"Dance with me." Vincent took your hand, intertwined his fingers with yours and dragged you before you could respond, or refuse.

He had chased you as soon as you left the bathroom. The Marquis had immediately noticed your flushed chest, your freshly washed hands, your disheveled hair pulled back with a mechanical gesture of your hand, your pupils as narrow as pinpricks. Magnificent. On the dance floor, he had first twirled you once, before grabbing you and holding you against his chest; one hand — the right one — on your back, the lower part, the other intertwined with yours and pressed against his chest, on the beating of his heart. And his face in the corner between your neck and your shoulder.

You huffed, trying to maintain composure. "They're all watching us" you whispered in his ear. He smiled against your skin. "You'll make us look ridiculous in front of the High Table."

"Mon amour. I am the High Table." Vincent left the ghost of a kiss on your neck before making you sway in his arms. Another pirouette, and there you are again in his inevitable grip. "I could order half the men in this room to lick the floor where you walk, and they would do it for me."

You barely held back a small smile. "I can not stand you." But you settled a little more against his chest. The soft, slow music lulled you gently. "And what do you think of Santino? Would he kneel for you too?"

His nails dug into your side, making you flinch. You met his icy eyes in mid-air. So cold, so beautiful. "The Italian. That's it then, you like him."

"He's a charming man."

"He is rude, and vulgar. So pompous."

"And you're not?"

You almost heard him growl. Vincent shot a terrible look at D'Antonio, across the room, who was watching you swing on the dance floor with dark, annoyed eyes.

"You shouldn't be here with me" you added, coldly. "Your woman? Where is she?"

He laughed heartily. "Oh, please. We both know she won't make it out of that bathroom alive. How long did it take you to kill her?"

But you didn't answer. You never responded to his curiosity... it was your game.

Vincent grinned. The kiss on your neck now became passionate. You felt his soft lips caress your skin from your bare shoulder to the tip of your chin with five deep, intense kisses. "You drive me crazy."

This time, you smiled happily. "You are sick."

Vincent looked deadly serious, hovering over you, his back straight and tall to tower over your beautiful figure. "I will have monsieur D'Antonio's raw heart served to me on a silver platter. I will kidnap you, lock you in a dungeon, make you die of hunger and thirst if necessary — anything, as long as you admit the truth."

He was scary. Exciting. Terrifying. Beautiful. You blushed, panting slightly. "What truth? What the hell are you talking about?"

He smiled. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. "That you love me, mon amour."

"I —" yes, you loved him. And you loved the way he made you feel. You loved that hateful jealousy you felt for him, and that he felt for you. You caressed his face with an unexpected sweetness. Your eyes were large, languid. Vincent felt his whole body tremble like never before... "I'll tell you. Not now, though. Tomorrow morning. Now, take me home, and make love to me."

He stopped. He smiled, looking younger than he was. So happy. With a ridiculous low bow, he offered you his hand. "Je suis ton serviteur."

[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.”

[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.”

[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  

[6lostgirl6]

Heyo! Love your recent post on the marquis de gramont. Could you do a one shot where the reader manages to escape yandere marquis and manages to hide in another country for a few months before the marquis confronts them in a motel they were hiding in

No Escape

Pairing: Yandere!Vincent De Gramont x Fem!Reader

TW: General Yandere Behavior, Toxic Relationship, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Imprisonment, Mentions of Codependency, Controlling Vincent, Panic Attack, Cursing, Arguing, Forced Kissing (At first), Happy Ending. Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Word Count: 1.5k

It took you months to earn his trust, which he scarcely showcased to anyone. The months you pretended you were finally falling in love with him, with lovely words and tender affections that gradually lowered his guard with each passing day.

There were privileges that came with trust, which you soaked up like a sponge. He eventually permitted you to roam around the mansion without him or a bodyguard, which led to him permitting you to spend time outside within the gates. Finally, you were allowed to sleep in your room without someone monitoring your door during the night.

However, you ultimately reached a breaking point when you recognized one day that those affectionate words and acts had transformed into something more…sincere. You'd lay awake in your room, your mind racing at the prospect of succumbing to Stockholm Syndrome.

Your altered phone, gifted by Vincent, lay in pieces on the bedroom floor when you made your escape. You crept out under the beauty of the moonlight, and your efforts during the day allowed you to memorize Vincent's men's routine patrols. You wore only the clothing on your back and a little satchel containing your monthly allowance, which Vincent would give you as a reward for your good behavior. The hardest thing was climbing over the fence, but you made it out with only minor cuts. Despite the joy of finally experiencing independence, you couldn't shake the sadness in your heart. You couldn't help but think you were doing something wrong.

'It isn't love; it isn't love.' Throughout your entire voyage to Canada, you would repeat those words in your head like a broken record. When the landlord handed you the keys to your flat, you couldn't help but feel awful. When you received your new cell phone a week later, you resisted the urge to call him.

You missed him terribly and despised yourself for it.

A month has gone by, and you weren't any better off than you were a few weeks before. You did, however, have a job interview coming up in the next month, and you were pleased that you were making progress toward regaining independence. You even purchased a new cell phone for amusement purposes.

Vincent had certain expectations for you as his lover while you were imprisoned. He wanted you to be entirely reliant on him, letting him make decisions for you and requiring his permission to do everything or walk outdoors. He promised to take care of you, to make you want for nothing, and to give you the wedding of your dreams. However, beneath the surface, you became less and less of yourself.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you couldn't help but wonder if you would have been happier at ho-Vincent's mansion. Your eyes threatened to shed tears as you glanced at the screen of your phone.

Vincent's number was illuminated in the darkness of your room, casting a chilling glow across your face. The call button begged you to merely press it in order to make amends.

You tapped the button and placed the phone to your ear with a nervous exhale. As the phone continued to ring, your eyes were wide and stared into space. As you waited for him to pick up, your heart was racing in your chest, and you nervously chewed your nail.

'He'll be mad...'

The thought occurred to you, and you immediately regretted making the phone call. You were aware that Vincent had a temper, and while he never took it out on you, you weren't immune to his stern lectures when you got in trouble, or how he destroyed his possessions in front of you. Even his patience with you can waver, and you weren't planning on finding out.

When the person on the other end of the line picked up the phone, you hurriedly hung up, unable to handle the sound of his voice. You tried taking a few deep breaths, but your heart refused to stop pounding rapidly as you stared down at the phone.

Within the first five seconds, your phone rang, and you felt your heart was about to stop. When Vincent's number came across your screen again, you screamed and threw the cellphone against the wall. Your phone was scattered in pieces on the carpet, similar to the altered phone you left at the mansion. You prayed to whatever higher power that the call wasn't long enough for Vincent to track it down.

"Fuck!" You exclaimed, rising from your bed and walking about your room, your hands grasping the sides of your head, attempting to stabilize yourself. "Fuck, fuck!"

You couldn't sleep that night.

You were strolling to your apartment, finally entering the elevator with a spring in your step. A month had gone by with no occurrences, and your concern was fading, with your confidence progressively taking its place.

The job interview went well, and you were hired at the local supermarket in the little town where you resided. It was extremely discreet, and you preferred it that way. Anything too extravagant would have drawn Vincent's attention, which was the last thing you needed.

When the doors reopened, you proceeded to head towards your apartment door, fishing out your keys from your satchel. Sorting through your keys, you unlocked the door and walked into the dark apartment, shutting the door behind you. You walked over to the wall, flicking on the lights.

The next thing you heard caused a chill to run down your spine.

"Did you enjoy your interview, chérie?" A familiar voice spoke, prompting you to press your back against the wall in panic.

Vincent stood in front of the window, his back to you, watching the beauty beyond the glass. His hands were in his pants pockets, and his posture was rigid.

"V-Vincent I-" You stuttered but came to a pause when Vincent turned to face you.

His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his big lips formed a stiff line. He was clearly furious with you, but he tried to remain calm.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" He demanded, taking a few steps closer to you. His stature was imposing, towering well over six feet tall, and you hoped he'd keep his distance.

You could only stay silent; your eyes were locked on him.

"Do you?" He asked once more, his tone becoming darker.

"I-I'm sorry, Vincent, I just-" Your mind was blank, unable to generate a suitable explanation. Your heart was attempting to burst from your chest, and your breathing was growing shaky.

How can you explain your mixed feelings to your kidnapper?

Vincent's patience was clearly wearing thin as he strode towards you, seizing your upper arms and dragging you close. He disregarded your terrified yelps as you struggled to keep your distance. However, because you were close to the wall, Vincent quickly trapped you against it. Your faces were barely a few inches apart, and you struggled to keep the warmth from flowing into your cheeks.

"How could you do something like this? I thought we were happy together and that you finally accepted our love! Why would you run away and scare me to death?!" He yelled, shaking your body somewhat as he spoke. "Do you understand what you put me through?!"

Suddenly, there was a fire that was ignited in your heart that you'd never felt before. All those months poured through you and you didn't think before you opened your mouth.

"What I put you through, what about me?! You kidnapped me and kept me inside your stupid mansion like I was some doll to do your bidding! How dare you stand there and act like you didn't hurt me first!"

Before he could reply, you continued, "But, I fucking love you! Even after everything, I still fell for you, and I hate myself for it! So, I ran! I ran away from you-"

You were cut short as Vincent yanked you into a kiss, his body crushing you against the wall. As you struggled, his arm curled around your waist, and the other gripped your hair to prevent you from pulling away.

However, the longer the kiss persisted, the less you struggled and ultimately succumbed to your predicament. He's kissed you several times before in the past, but this kiss was different. It was the first kiss where you two were finally on the same page.

You returned his kiss, your arms wrapping around his waist. He growled slightly into the kiss, drawing away slightly and planting a gentle kiss on your brow. You leaned against his chest, tears welling up in your eyes as you understood what had transpired.

Vincent brought his lips to your ear, his fingers twirling in your hair as he murmured darkly, "You will never do this again, do you hear me?"

His words sent shivers down your spine, full of ownership, and you knew your independence was gone. You softly agreed, allowing him to bring you closer to him in an embrace that was everything but sweet.

"You'll never escape me; I'll always find you." He murmured again, planting a firm kiss against your temple. "Always, chérie."

Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed @britany1997 @bookworm-with-coffee @leiasolo77 @rottent33th @slaasherslut @bloodywickedvamp @daddy-issues-99 @kirishimasfiance @cynic-spirit

[aranelp]

Can you do SFW and NSFW head canons for John wick and the marquis from JW4?

John WICK and the Marquis Headcanons

A/N : ask bosk still open ! i hope you will like it, really enjoy writing that. Summary -Headcanons : SFW and NSFW. Characters : John Wick and The marquis (separately). Warnings : NSFW, Minors do not interact.

JOHN WICK

SFW:

With you he is such a gentleman. You are his soft spot, you mean everything for him. He will treat you as a princess because you really deserve it.

He has money, so he can and will buy you plenty gifts. He will return home with some present, flower, chocolate whatever you like.

Like physical touches, he likes to feeling you press to him, feelings your body and lips. He makes him feel in his safe place. You are his home.

So much protective toward you. He will definitely train you a little just in case. Be don't worry he will protect you with his life, with him around you, you are safe.

He calls you "princess", "sweetheart", "honey" and "doll."

John is a really good listener, sometimes he likes laying his head on your thigh in silence, enjoyin' your presence. He really loves massage on his head and body. Of course he will return these treatments to you.

John gives you so much attention, if you are with him for some years the question of marriage will comes.

You will have one or two dogs, medium or large dog. There are well trained, it reassures John if you are with your dogs, they keep you self.

NSFW :

Still really gentle in the bed, he will make sure that before him you got pleasure and. And only after he will come.

He will make sure that you feel good cill ask you "is that okay darling ?" or "did you like it?".

He loves to give pleasure, when he gives it he is so fucking concentrating to give you all the pleasure. Sometimes in he same time is masturbating himself.

He clearly makes noise, groan, "You are really damn good doll".

Like to see you in lingerie, will turning hard. Hearing you having pleasure will make him too hard.

He really likes to learn everything about you and your body, learning every part of your body and how to please you.

He doesn't have a high sex drive but when it comes be prepared because it can last thirty minutes or more like an hour.

Really love when you cum on him. Also, he likes to come in you.

Actually he doesn't fuck you. He makes love with you, it's an important difference for him. It's a proof of love.

Prefer position wich he can watch you, your face, watch your body perfectly.

The Marquis - Vincent de Gramont SFW:

He is so fucking protective toward you, sometimes he can get really jealous when someone his a little bit to close to you. He will pur on an arm around you to make sure everyone know that you are his and only his. He could be angst, so you have to remind him that's everything is okay.

He really like giving you kisses, especially french kiss or kisses on your neck. It was his way to show you his love.

He will call you "mon amour" or "mon coeur" or "Chérie". He know french gallantry and romantic.

When he sees you are the one, will ask you to marry him. He wants you to be his.

His money is yours. He let you use it as you want. To make you feel better when his a apart from you due to his business. He wants you to be safe and happy far from his…working world.

Sometimes He came home really angrily, but you, and only you can calm him down. Give him some attention, some kisses and he will feel better. Because you make him, feel better.

He really likes to take you from some date, dat at night, nice restaurant, museum? He can privatize what ever you like and want.

NSFW:

Be prepared to rough sex, he will never hurt you. But ..rough sex. You drive him crazy.

He really likes to receive, having a blowjob. He damn like that.

He will ask you to say that you are his. "Say how much your mine," "Shout my name when you come." He groans a lot, but he will make sure that you will scream his name of pleasure.

Really likes doggy style or having mirrors around, to see you both having sex.

Loves fingering you, and also loves to see you give yourself pleasure, he will really enjoy the view.

He will clearly dominate you. He will make on your body gently marks to show that you are his, likes hickeys.

Likes to often have sex with you.

He will make you beg for him, teasing you a lot. "Say it, say it how much you want me ma belle". He will overstimulated you, waiting for you to ask, to beggin' him to stop.

[rosevette]

·.༄࿔ TAKE ME TO PARIS pt. 3 my mlist

𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒌 & 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

📞ྀིྀི résumé : you want to get back at john, rebelling from his..recent advances, but was running away the right decision? (plot inspired by an ask! thank you for the thoughts, anon!)

1.6k words. tags: murder, death, violence.

୭ৎ thank you all for your patience ! this is a bit shorter than the previous chapters, but i finally finished part 3 of this fic. thank you all for the support ! (has not been proofread, so please excuse any errors!)

That phone call with Marquis…how inviting he was you thought, smirking at the fact that you were just about to go against John’s plans.

Payback.

Ignoring the voice of reason that whispered John's warnings in the depths of your mind, you slipped out of the Ritz hotel, a cloak of darkness enveloping you like a shroud.

“I’m going to go down to the lobby for some food,” You exit your room, announcing yourself to John. You tried to dress casual, so it wouldn’t raise his suspicions.

“Be quick,” His voice low as his gaze deadpanned at yours.

You bit your bottom lip in anticipation, your steps making their way out the door, again, trying to remain casual until you took the spiral stairs to the first floor, and eventually, out the door.

The moon hung like a spectral guardian in the night sky, its silver light casting eerie shadows across the cobblestone streets of Paris.

The taxi ride was short, Marquis had wanted to meet you just outside of “le jardin du Luxembourg,”

As you approached the park, a sense of foreboding settled over you like a suffocating fog, clouding your senses with doubt and uncertainty.

With cautious steps, you ventured into the hushed interior of the gallery, the air heavy with the scent of freshly painted canvases and whispered conversations. Yet, instead of the elegant splendor you remembered, you were met with a scene straight from the depths of your worst nightmares.

There, bathed in the sickly glow of flickering candlelight, stood the Marquis, his usually immaculate appearance marred by a savage intensity as he loomed over a prone figure on the floor.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched in horror, unable to tear your gaze away from the grisly spectacle unfolding before your very eyes.

The Marquis’s movements were swift and precise, his hands a blur of motion as he plunged a gleaming dagger into the heart of his helpless victim. The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sickening scent of death as the life ebbed from the victim’s eyes, leaving behind nothing but a hollow emptiness.

Desperation clawed at your chest as you struggled to make sense of the carnage before you, the reality of the situation sinking in with a bone-chilling finality. The Marquis was not the gentleman he pretended to be; he was a monster cloaked in the trappings of nobility, a predator lurking in the shadows of society.

Before you could react, the Marquis's cold gaze locked onto yours, sending a chill down your spine. In that moment, you knew that you were in grave danger, a witness to his unforgivable crimes.

“…you’re early,” He scolded, his tone followed with one of irritation and anger. He bores his piercing green eyes into yours, his face painted with annoyance.

“H-How could you..?!” You stammer, your words catching in your throat, you start stepping back slowly.

“I would stay here if I were you. We can talk,” he offered, trying to stay as calm as possible, keeping himself poised.

With a surge of adrenaline, you turned and fled into the night, the echoes of the actions of the Marquis ringing in your thoughts like a macabre symphony of madness. But even as you raced through the labyrinthine streets of Paris, a sense of impending doom loomed over you like a dark cloud, casting a pall over your every thought and action.

Meanwhile, John, ever vigilant in his role as your protector, patrolled the corridors of the hotel with a watchful eye. But as the hours stretched on and the night grew deeper, a sense of unease gnawed at his gut like a hungry beast. Something was amiss, a shadow lurking just beyond the edges of his awareness.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that John’s worst fears were realized. A sharp pang of dread pierced his heart as he entered your room, only to find it empty, the bed neatly made as if you had never been there at all. Panic surged through him like a tidal wave, driving him to scour every corner of the hotel in search of any sign of your whereabouts.

With each passing moment, John’s worry mounted, his mind racing with a thousand dire possibilities. Had you been kidnapped? Or worse, had you ventured into the clutches of the Marquis, heedless of the danger that lurked within his shadowy realm?

Driven by a single-minded determination, John embarked on a relentless pursuit, his footsteps echoing through the deserted streets of Paris as he followed the faint trail of clues you had left behind, checking back at the private drivers that served the hotel.

“I’m looking for a young woman. She took one of your taxis around 11:30,” He says softly to the receptionist, and in response she clicked on the keyboard, checking the records and history.

Now that John knows where you are, his panic only grows.

Even as you sought refuge in the darkness, a sense of dread gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, a silent reminder of the danger that lurked just beyond the reach of the flickering streetlights.

Suddenly, a shadow emerged from the darkness, a menacing figure cloaked in the shadows of the night. It was Chidi, the Marquis’s loyal enforcer, his cold gaze fixed upon you with an intensity that sent a shiver of fear down your spine.

“You shouldn’t have run,” Chidi’s voice was a low, menacing growl, his words dripping with malice as he advanced towards you, his movements deliberate and predatory.

“I won’t let you take me!” you spat, your voice trembling with a fierce determination to escape the clutches of the Marquis and his ruthless minions.

But even as you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. It was John, his steely gaze locking onto Chidi with a silent warning as he stepped forward to stand at your side.

“Back off, Chidi,” John’s voice was a low, dangerous growl, his eyes flashing with a fierce determination as he squared off against the menacing enforcer.

As John stepped forward to confront Chidi, the air crackled with tension, the anticipation of impending violence hanging heavy in the night.

Chidi, a formidable adversary with a reputation as fearsome as his name, squared his shoulders, his eyes narrowed into slits of malice as he regarded John with undisguised contempt.

"You think you can stop me, Wick?" Chidi's voice dripped with disdain, his lips curled into a cruel sneer as he flexed his muscles, readying himself for the inevitable clash.

"You may be good, but you're not that good."

John's response was a low, guttural growl, his fists clenched at his sides as he braced himself for the onslaught.

"I don't intend to let you harm her," he spat, his voice edged with a steely resolve that brooked no argument.

With a snarl of defiance, Chidi lunged forward, his movements fluid and precise as he unleashed a barrage of lightning-fast strikes aimed at John's vulnerable points. But John was no stranger to combat, his reflexes honed to a razor's edge by years of relentless training and experience.

With a grace that belied his age, John danced nimbly out of Chidi's reach, his movements fluid and precise as he deftly parried each blow with a skill born of instinct and muscle memory. Each clash of fists and feet echoed through the deserted streets, a symphony of violence played out against the backdrop of the Parisian night.

As the battle raged on, the two men locked in a deadly dance of death, their movements a blur of motion as they traded blows with a ferocity that bordered on primal. The sound of flesh meeting flesh reverberated through the air, punctuated by grunts of effort and the occasional hiss of pain.

But even as fatigue began to weigh heavy upon their limbs, neither John nor Chidi showed any sign of backing down. For them, this was more than just a fight; it was a battle for survival, a test of strength and endurance that would determine the outcome of their fates.

With a final, desperate surge of energy, Chidi launched himself at John with all the fury of a cornered beast, his fists a blur of motion as he unleashed a barrage of strikes aimed at John's vulnerable points. But John was ready, his defenses impenetrable as he weathered the storm of blows with a calm determination that bordered on unyielding.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it was over. With a swift, decisive motion, John landed a devastating blow to Chidi's midsection, sending him crashing to the ground with a resounding thud. As Chidi lay sprawled upon the cobblestones, gasping for breath, John stood victorious, his chest heaving with exertion as he regarded his fallen adversary with a mixture of triumph and regret.

For a moment, silence descended upon the scene, broken only by the ragged sound of Chidi's labored breathing. And then, with a groan of pain, Chidi struggled to his feet, his eyes blazing with a newfound respect for his opponent.

"You may have won this round, Wick," Chidi's voice was gruff with exhaustion, his words tinged with a begrudging admiration. "But mark my words, this isn't over. The Marquis will have his revenge."

With that ominous warning hanging in the air, Chidi melted back into the shadows, disappearing into the night like a phantom of vengeance. And as the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, casting a golden glow upon the city of lights, John knew that the battle was far from over. But for now, at least, he had emerged victorious, his resolve unshaken in the face of adversity.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

vampire vincent who drinks blood from chidi when he can’t hunt for people hueheuehehehe (vincent just wants to feel chidi’s warmth)

I love this I love this I love this I love this I love this I -

-⚜- The Warmth of Life -⚜-

CW: blood, smut

Image sources: 1 2 3 4 (bottom divider)

The Marquis de Gramont stood gazing into the red-gold glow of flames beyond curling ironwork, not seeming to see them. The mantle soared far above his already considerable height, to the vaulted ceiling of the castle’s drawing room – one of many. No candles were lit. But cooler light spilled from an arched, gothic window, where overhead, the moon sailed above sparkling snow. Heavy white flecks fell thickly, burying the courtyard almost up to the windowsill. In another moment, that brilliant white circle disappeared behind a cloud and Vincent’s face fell even further into shadow.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Didn’t shiver. The cold in his bones had settled centuries ago, and like breathing, shivering was something he had no need for. But maybe a part of him wanted it. Maybe he missed it: being warm, or even striving for warmth. Would that be so wrong? He pulled the heavy, embroidered cape a little closer around his shoulders, feeling a bit pathetic. It was a very cold night in the south of France, and inside his long-dead heart as well. A night plagued with memories.

“Monsieur.” Chidi had been standing in the doorway for some time. Vincent knew he was there, of course. His thrall…though he had never once needed to compel him. He simply held Chidi’s mind within his own, a little puppet sitting in the lap of his corrupted soul all the time, strong yet soft, arrogant yet yielding. Anticipating his every need. No doubt that was what he had done now, in coming to him.

Vincent could smell him. The cologne did nothing to hide that rich, meaty scent like spiced chocolate, or the thrilling tap-tap-tap of his pulse. No, any further musk on top of Chidi’s blood was a mere garnish. Vincent listened, more to his veins than his words, and breathed. “La partie de chasse n'est pas revenue. [The hunting party has not come back],” he said carefully. “Je suppose qu'ils ont été retardés par la tempête. [I expect they have been delayed by the storm.]”

Vincent’s pupils flashed narrow but he didn’t turn. He was fighting back a groan of frustration. “Comme d’habitude, personne ne peut accomplir la tâche la plus simple. [As usual, no one can perform the simplest task.]” He needed that food. Needed blood, human blood. Fresh, warm, delectable – fuck, he couldn’t even think. He had been in worse situations, far worse. But he still felt so damned hungry, it made him weak and dizzy. His body couldn’t fully heal without it so he was aching all over. After a week of snowstorms, he’d had to resort to his bottled supplies. He wouldn’t die of course, but… “Quelle situation irritante. Je ne mangerai pas de sang de lapin rassis d’ici une autre nuit. [What an irritating situation. I will not eat stale rabbits’ blood for another night.]” It came out more petulant than he intended it, almost whining. He rounded on Chidi at last. “Rapproche toi. [Come closer.]”

He stepped into the room, fixed on Vincent, their eyes staying locked together even as he circled around the chaise lounge and end table. Vincent could feel Chidi’s pulse accelerate. He knew what was coming.

The Marquis took his wrist and pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply. His body trembled involuntarily at the nearness of drink. Not at the way Chidi’s fingers unfolded against his cheek, caressing him. No, certainly not.

For a moment, he just stood that way, letting desire build, the dull ache behind his fangs growing painful with want. But they could both tell tonight was not a night for wrists. At last, he let his thrall’s hand drop.

“Poser. [Lay down.]” Chidi allowed himself to fold backward onto the chaise lounge as instantly as if those puppet strings had been cut. How good. How obliging. For a second, something more than hunger flickered across Vincent’s dead eyes. Affection.

He lifted Chidi’s head and slid a pillow under it. For a better angle perhaps, or perhaps because his best thrall deserved only the best treatment…or perhaps he just…wanted to.

Vincent had just enough room to sit himself against the edge of the cushion, his back pressing into Chidi’s hip, looking down at him serenely. “Avez-vous bien mangé aujourd'hui? [Have you eaten well today?]”

“Oui Monsieur. Je pensais que cela pourrait arriver. [Yes, sir. I thought this might happen.]”

“Bien,” he praised. His hands were working Chidi’s cravat free, and then the buttons up to his neck. And then Vincent couldn’t speak anymore. Chidi’s jugular was too close, his skin breathing off heat… Vincent leaned right across him, pressing them together until Chidi’s heart sent shock waves into his own chest and god, Vincent felt almost alive again, even before his fangs pierced the familiar, secret spot that normally waited out of sight beneath starched collars. Two scars both seemed to vibrate with the overlapping edges of all those past bites from Vincent.

The pain behind his fangs, and all through his body, turned to thrill, to long trills of nerves singing in ecstatic relief.  Chidi’s blood was rich, thick, hot against his tongue. And it was absolutely brimming with sugar. Suddenly he knew what Chidi had meant when he said he’d “eaten well.”  Not hearty, iron-rich meats to sustain himself. No, sickly sweet things that Chidi hated and would never eat of his own accord, but that spiked his veins with as much sugar as possible. He had sweetened himself just for Vincent. And Vincent moaned into his neck, so touched, suddenly overwhelmed with adoration.

“Aimez-vous mon goût, monsieur? [Do you like how I taste, sir?]” Chidi asked breathlessly. He no doubt had a smug smile on his face, knowing he did well. It made his neck bob in the most delectable way and Vincent had to struggle to break free long enough to answer.

“Oui. Beaucoup. [Yes. Very much.]” He pulled him closer, tonguing at the wound he’d just made. And how could he help it if his leg threw itself between Chidi’s legs, if that hip that had been at his back was suddenly pressed to his cock, and his own hips were thrusting against it? All of the little blood he’d just drunk had shot straight to his pelvis.

He didn’t want to finish drinking until he could paint Chidi’s abs white, he decided. Panting, he bounced off of Chidi and threw his clothes aside in a heap of shimmering silk. A second such pile joined it as Chidi followed suit. The fire suddenly felt so much more vivid on his skin. And Chidi’s skin…that felt like fire itself.

He pounced on him again, fangs diving back into his neck with a surge of pleasure that struck low and deep, at the bottom of his stomach. Mouthful after mouthful of hot dessert poured over his tongue…what was it? Icing? Strawberry shortcake? Chocolate? It didn’t matter. Now it was Chidi. Vincent was getting full enough to blush at the gesture of kindness…and at the way Chidi was holding him, arms firmly around his back, pelvis rolling upward against his.

He let himself be lost in heat, in taste, in sensation, swirling his tongue over Chidi’s neck in red spirals, savoring him. This huge bulk of muscle was suddenly so soft, too bloodless to maintain erection and going slowly limp without protest, giving wordless little exhales of woozy overstimulation, taking all of Vincent’s emptiness into himself for every drop of fullness he offered up. Sacrificing his own orgasm to Vincent’s. And Vincent took from him, fucked him like a soft, plush puppet, like a toy, in that safe space where he didn’t have to think of anyone but himself, in profound relief and adoration.

He was trying to hurry, to finish before draining Chidi dry, and Chidi noticed. “Ne vous précipitez pas, monsieur. Tu peux me prendre autant que tu veux. Tout en moi… est à toi. [Don’t rush, sir. You can take as much as you want from me. Everything inside of me…is yours.]” But that simple expression of devotion vibrating right into his mouth was the final straw, and Vincent came hard with his fangs still deep in his jugular.

For the first time in months, the Marquis felt satiated. He curled on top of Chidi, licking up the last of the bloody mess and tracing soft circles over his pecs. “Bon Chidi... [Good Chidi…]” he whispered, babbling thoughtlessly in the afterglow. “Toujours aussi bon avec moi. Ma nourriture favorite. [Always so good to me. My favorite food.]”

Chidi rumbled up at him, a near-purr of exhausted but blissful affection. Despite how much he must feel like swooning, he managed to reach an arm out to grab Vincent’s cloak from the floor and pull it around his shoulders as a blanket for both of them. “Avez-vous chaud maintenant, monsieur? [Are you warm now, sir?]” he asked, as if he’d known all along that this was the real reason Vincent wanted so badly to be full of blood.

Vincent snuggled his nose against Chidi’s chest, and let his heart beat for the both of them, the snow and the sins of his past life both safely out of mind. “Oui.”

[lonewolfwriting89]

LA FEMME

Vincent De Gramont “Marquis” x Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Smut.

A/N: Yup, you got it, another smutty writing for this devilishly handsome French asshole man.

————

With your bodies barely touching, Vincent leant forward to kiss you. Your lips gently brushed, his warm moist breath caressed your face. Your tongue traced his bottom lip seeking access to his delectable mouth. You probed the inside tenderly, slowly, savouring his pleasant taste. You curled your tongue around his and you began to suckle. The kiss deepened. So consumed by passion, you didn’t realise that he had manoeuvred you both to his desk, until your legs brushed up against its cool surface.

Vincent gently pressed you down and nudged your legs apart, stepping between them. He broke the kiss reluctantly and bent forward as his hands slid under your top. His fingers crawled carefully up towards your aching breasts. You moaned aloud, waiting. God. He teased you, stopping to rub your ribs, just barely brushing the underside of your breasts.

Your nipples pebbled, aching for his touch. Suddenly he removed his hands from under your top, your skin flushing cold at the loss of his touch. You closed your eyes and groaned in disappointment. Only, a moment later you sighed in pleasure when you felt the heat of his hands on your skin again. He pushed your blouse upwards, ripping it up, over your head.

Next he skilfully removed your satin padded bra, throwing it rudely next to your blouse, exposing your bare breasts to the chilled dusk air. You moaned a little louder when his tongue licked over your nipple. Slowly he drew it inside his warm mouth, sucking. Vincent flicked his wet tongue over your rigid nub making you quiver, wet heat pooling below you. You brought your hands up caressing his back, urging him closer. His talented tongue shifted to the other breast making you jolt, electricity buzzing through your nerves. The rush of desire caused your hands to urgently caress every accessible inch of his flesh.

Your fingernails traced lightly along his spine. He dragged his tongue along the underside of your breast, gently nipping and sucking his path. With his hands leading the way he pulled down your pencil skirt, his wet tongue followed downward over your ribs, your stomach, until he reached your navel where it dipped inside. Lower he went with long wet strokes.

His fingers reached between your legs, inside your satin pants, to the apex of your thighs, sliding over your smooth skin. He parted your folds and slipped a finger inside. You whined low, desperately needing more. He probed gently, teasing you on purpose, knowing this wouldn’t be enough for you. You contracted your muscles, squeezing, wanting more. He slid his finger slowly in and out. With each new thrust he pushed deeper. In, it sank. Out, it slid from your moist heat.

Vincent pinched your clit, rolling it between his deft fingers. You cried his name, before biting down hard on your bottom lip. Then he plunged two fingers inside, stroking the very core of you. Your hips lifted off his hard office desk, wanting him deeper. Needing something thicker inside your pussy. You moaned softly through clenched teeth, the sensations so intense. Blood pulsing wildly through your veins, feeling as though it were flames. His fingers undulated as your pelvis gyrated in circles seeking climax. You were so close to orgasm that your hips bucked wildly up and down, tears threatening to spill and stain your flushed cheeks.

————

[little-lily-w]

23 seconds

This can be triggering.

Caged. That’s how you felt and how you half-literally were. The luxurious living room of his mansion wasn’t as big when your freedom had been taken away and every door that would allow you to go into any other space had been shut and locked. Your feet were nervously walking from one side of the room to the other creating the same pattern over and over again as your mind raced. You had to escape. You had to reunite with your father before it was too late. The marquis had kidnapped you in order to extort your father’s favor for a job, one so dangerous that the big man couldn’t handle himself. And, in all honesty, he hadn’t been the one to get his hands dirty. No, his men did the job for him when snatching you and bringing you to this ‘palace’. You thought that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have the disgust of facing him but little you knew how well informed of a man he was. No detail escaped him. Pictures, personal data about yourself, every single ounce of your privacy had been delivered to his grip and this was just the beginning. Piquing his interest wasn’t in your plans and certainly not in your favor. When all you were was a tiger roaring for an escape route, you didn’t take into account that wild animals don’t really make the best decisions.

You heard the key on one of the doors in front of you and you stopped in your tracks, watchful. You expected more men with guns and black suits but instead, the rush of new air brought a tall figure dressed in an off white old fashioned suit, presumably as expensive as any ordinary car. Your chest raised and fell unwillingly as he walked into the room and his eyes observed you vaguely from the distance. You could tell he was doing a bit of effort not to scan you from head to toe. Yet. Instead, he went to the long table at his side where food had been seating for the time you’ve been there, most of them cakes and desserts.

“Didn’t touch anything”, he commented with that French accent, the low air in his voice gave you chills and the short dress you had on didn’t help at all “You think it’s poisoned?”. He gave you a side eye, a smirk appearing in the visible half of his face.

Your brain was trying to process the situation, hard to recognize it as a threat when the man in front of you was so composed.

“H-What is this? I demand to get back to my father, now!”, your loud voice made him furrow his brows as if he was trying to avoid a headache.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma petite”, the marquis slid his fingertip down the cream on top of a lemon pie and brought it to his mouth to taste it, humming to himself at the sweet taste before turning to face you fully, his back and hands resting against the table.

“Bullshit! You are the one behind this. You are extorting my father keeping me here. Let me go. Now!”

The marquis inhaled deeply and let the air out through his nose very slowly. You could tell his eyes were now more focused but not precisely on your own. He was looking right into the center of your chest, enough for you to hesitate if he was enjoying your cleavage or examining the vulnerable points in your neck.

“Your father just needs to finish the job he’s been asked to do. After that, you’ll be safe and sound back home. When? Well, it depends on how great his skills are. It could take days, weeks even months. So I suggest you…”, one of his hands moved sarcastically as if he was showing off the place, “...get comfortable.”

“You are sentencing my father to death and I won’t allow that. If you so want this task to be done, why don’t you do it yourself? Are you that much of a coward that you don’t dare take any risks?”

That was when the mocking hand went back to join the other one on the table to grip tightly. His knuckles tensed and by the time his eyes moved up from your throat to fix on yours, you realized it’d been a mistake. Truth of the matter was that you didn’t really know him and your anger and worry over your dad and being held hostage had sent you into a spiral of adrenaline, activating the fight mode. Now it was time for the flight one.

You made a step backwards and that seemed to do the trick for him because the marquis did another one towards you. Turning from tiger to prey was quite quicker than you’d have imagined and realizing that cold-blooded man kept advancing, you ended up walking backwards till your hips reached another large table with desserts. You threw a look at it as your eyes fought between examining your way out and keeping watch on the hunter. It wouldn’t take much to keep moving to another side of the room but with all doors locked, he could easily sprint and catch you.

“Stop…”, you told him, your voice now weaker. It was unnerving to have him closing the distance so slowly and at the same time, so silent. As you looked at the table once more, you found the handle of a cake knife resting next to a tray. You picked it up immediately, raising it in the air. It wasn’t too sharp but the blade was long enough to make you believe (or hope) that it was a good weapon – “Stop!”, you told him again, now raising your voice, using the knife extended forwards not to have him coming any closer.

The marquis paused two meters before you, watching your wrist shaking in the air. “You don’t know how to use that. Your father’s always kept you aside from this world. Lay the weapon down, ma petite.”

“Fuck you! Give me the keys! Let me go!”

“Even if I did so, how far do you think you’ll get before one of my men catches you? They won’t be… gentle”, he said, his tongue licking his bottom lip briefly as if he was talking about his intentions towards you. “Trust me, your best option is to drop the weapon, ma petite.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m nothing yours and I’m not petite!”

“You sure aren’t”, his smirk appeared again, this time going along with a soft chuckle.

You wanted to slap him in the face because using the knife was actually intimidating, especially when realizing you were in fact very small compared to him but that made you wonder why he didn’t close the distance and tried to snatch the weapon off of your hand. Instead, he turned around, walking to the center of the living room to take a sit on the couch, relaxing himself against the backrest but still with his eyes on you. You didn’t understand and your head started to feel heavy.

“Let me go”, you told him, this time sounding more as pleading and you pinched the space between your eyebrows, trying not to lose focus on his figure.

“You have three options, ma petite. One is staying there, the other one is trying to kill me and the third one is dropping the knife, coming here and sitting next to me to better discuss the terms of your stay and your disrespect.”

Your free hand went to the table to grip it as your busy arm weakened and lost the muscle strength to keep the weapon pointing forwards.

“All of them come with consequences. But of all three, I suggest you take the last one. And quickly.”, and those were the last words he let out before he turned his attention towards the pocket watch in his suit.

23 more seconds. It only took 23 more seconds for you to go limp and collapse hard against the floor. He observed you from the couch, letting time go by on purpose before standing up and walking towards you again. Using a white handkerchief from another pocket, he got a hold on the knife, removing it from your relaxed palm and setting it aside. He examined you coldly but deeply, tracing his bare fingertips over a red bruise on your arm that was born after the impact.

“Consequences, ma petite. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Standing straight again, he unlocked one of the doors and signed the men guarding outside with a snap of his fingers.

“Bedroom”, he ordered them as they lifted your body and carried you away.

[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.

[ilongfor-the-arts]

Could you do a fanfic where the marquis meets the reader in a museum and they bond over their live of art

Meet Me in the Hallway

Pairing: Vincent de Gramont x fem! Reader

Warnings: VERY mild language

Summary: *in req*

Word Count: 2.3k

The Louvre has maintained a particular place in my heart for as long as I can remember. As a child, I recall visiting during tourist season. The other children darted around, driving their guardians to the brink of insanity. However, I stood in front of the immense paintings, carefully analyzing each aspect of the art. I remember visiting The Louvre as a teenager during the winter, when the immense corridors were barren. I'd find a place to sit and ponder, observing faces and objects in the quiet halls. I recall taking advantage of any occasion to talk about art with friends and family.

My friends were perplexed by my preoccupation. When I rambled on, they would nod and appear to be attentive. But I could always tell by the look on their faces that they were eager for my rant to end.

I've always been drawn to art's beauty. One bad stroke, one outburst of rage, and the finished result may be jeopardized. Art is more than just a painting or a sculpture; it is a way of life. You must be able to look beyond what the eye can see in order to produce art. You must be able to view the world in a completely unique way. You must look for a message behind the eyes rather than simply viewing things analytically. Painters paint, artists interpret.

That is what separates the good from the iconic.

I enjoyed the near silence as I wandered through The Louvre. Because it being January, the museum was nearly totally populated with a sprinkle of wandering locals. I took a tour around my favorite section, French paintings 1780-1850. The gold frames stood out against the dark burgundy walls.

The atmosphere was serene. As night fell, the hallway was illuminated exclusively by a few fluorescent lights. The sensation that washed over me was one of sheer nostalgia and amazement.

The dimness of room 700, when combined with the massive displays showcasing the complexity of the human mind, gave off an ominous vibe. There was everything and nothing at the same time.

Nothing else on the planet can make you feel this way.

I proceeded to one of the most well-known works of art in the entire museum.

Ah, one of my favorites, Liberty Leading the People. Eugene Delacoix created this work of art in the year 1830. Delacoix depicts a scene during the July Revolution of 1830, when King Charles X-

Woah.

My gaze was drawn to a man sitting on a beautiful white couch.

I tightened my teeth to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor.

He was breathtakingly beautiful.

Was he a tourist?

No way, no how. No tourist would dress up in an expensive three-piece black suit to visit the Louvre. He's got to be a local.

He was staring at the enormous painting, his mind fixed in deep thought. Many locals stopped to look at the paintings, but he seemed to be examining every face and object.

Should I introduce myself? It would be the polite thing to do as I’ve been obviously staring at him for-

“Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

My trance was broken by his velvety accent. I hid my gitters by slipping my hands into the pockets of my beige trenchcoat.

“I’m sorry,” I said smugly, “You caught my eye.”

He sneered, a slight smirk playing on the edges of his lips. He couldn't take his gaze away from the painting. I swallowed, unsure how to dispel the uneasiness. The man uncrossed his lanky legs and pushed himself up to his full height.

He's tall, Jesus.

He strolled over to the picture, decreasing the distance between himself and the work of art to a few feet. He cocked his head upwards, his gaze wandering over the magnificent painting's many intricacies. The man put his hand on his hip and pushed his jacket to the side, revealing an astonishing variety of golden buttons along his vest.

“What do you think of this one?”

He asked, motioning with his free hand towards the canvas. I followed his movements, taking in the painting I know and adore.

“It’s a beautiful piece of art.”

I said hesitantly. The man chuckled, turning his head to meet my gaze. Despite being only three feet away, I found myself completely engrossed in his captivating green eyes.

“That’s it? It’s beautiful?”

His smirk now more prevalent than before. I exhaled a shuddery breath.

“Well, it’s one of the most famous paintings in art history. I think it's wonderful how this artwork has become a universal emblem of liberty and freedom from oppressive dominance.”

The man raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“That’s excellent insight. It’s good to meet people with an appreciation for the finer things in life.”

He returned his gaze to the canvas, motioning with his fingers for me to come towards him.

“Come closer, look at this.”

I was hesitant to approach this intimidating man, but my curiosity was far too strong to ignore. So I narrowed the gap between us to a mere six inches. As I took up a place next to him, our sides nearly brushed against each other.

He raised his finger to the stunning representation of liberty.

Take note of her features, such as her straight nose, plump lips, and delicate chin. They all look like antique Greek and Roman statues. She pays homage to both Ancient Greece, the birthplace of democracy, and Roman republican culture.”

I narrowed my eyes, mentally applying his words to the painting.

“Here, look at this,” I began, pointing to the left side of the painting.

“See that guy with the pistol? He's wearing a shirt but no jacket. He belongs to the lower class. But look at the man next to him; he's wearing a top hat, jacket, and vest. He belongs to the upper class. Delacroix aimed to include all classes of people in the fight against royalist oppression.”

The man exhaled in amazement.

“How fascinating. Delacroix’s artistic vision is truly unmatched.”

“I agree. This piece is probably my favorite in the entire museum.”

The man shrugged nonchalantly.

“It is certainly impressive. But my favorite would have to be Venus de Milo.”

He shifted his head to face me, sweeping his gaze up and down my figure. I shuddered, his heated gaze making me feel like I was under scrutiny.

“However, I suppose that opinion could simply be mine because I enjoy the presence of a beautiful woman.”

Holy shit was he flirting with me?

Heat climbed onto my cheekbones. I hoped my flush wasn't too visible, as his gaze was still fixed on me. I chuckled awkwardly.

“I suppose that could certainly contribute to your fondness of the piece.”

He motioned towards the white couch.

“Here, sit, let’s talk.”

He sat closer than I had expected. Our thighs were almost touching, and the arm slung around the back of the couch was almost brushing my shoulders. Despite the color on my cheeks and my minor intimidation of the man's large stature, I felt strangely at ease. I was intrigued rather than nervous. He exuded mystery, and I had every intention of unraveling the web of secrets.

“Do you believe talent like this is given at birth, or developed as the individual grows?”

I licked my lips, carefully contemplating my next words.

“Well, I believe we are all born blank canvases, and if we find something we are exceptionally passionate about, then we can grow those specific talents.”

I swallowed, hoping he was satisfied with that reply.

“How about you?”

“Oh, I believe people with true artistic talent are born with promise. Because if we go by your logic, anyone who loves art has the potential to become the next Delacroix.”

Wow, he was certainly quite the intellectual.

“Well, allow me to elaborate. Anyone can become a mediocre artist if they try,” I began, “but yes, I agree with you, only a few are born with the promise of artistic greatness. I mean, someone like Coco Chanel could never become the next Van Gogh or Delacroix, it just isn't meant to be. That isn’t where her talents lie.”

The man's lips curved into a smile. I locked my attention on his lovely green eyes. We were closer than I had imagined. His breath was cascading across my face. I inhaled sharply. He smelt amazing, like an expensive floral fragrance. It crept into my head, confounding my already hazy thinking.

“I like you… Miss…”

“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.”

His smile widened even more, splitting his face to reveal a stunning row of white teeth.

“What a gorgeous name... It’s fitting, a gorgeous name for a gorgeous woman.”

His accent was dripping with charm. There was no way in hell this man didn't have a significant other. He was far too enticing and attractive to be single.

“You know, plenty of people wander these halls, knowing every name of every piece. Yet they don’t contemplate the true meaning of the art.”

His eyes were drawn to Liberty Leading the People. The man’s tone became somewhat agitated as he ran his tongue along his smooth bottom lip, his eyes narrowing.

“They only think about the art, they don’t contemplate it.”

He inhaled deeply, his chest softly rising and sinking beneath the pricey cloth.

“Thinking is simple, thinking is the most simple thing in the entire universe for humankind. Anyone can think, but not everyone can contemplate.”

I concur. It was pleasant to meet a thinker who cared so deeply about the beauty of art.

“Who’s your favorite painter?”

My face broke into a genuine smile.

“Paul Cezanne.”

“And why is that, Miss. Y/N Y/L/N.”

I adored how he said my name. It rolled off his tongue effortlessly, like butter on a hot pan. I could spend the entire day sitting next to him on a couch at the Louvre, listening to him utter my name.

“Well, because his distinct color-building technique and his analytical approach to nature had a great impact on the art of Cubists, Fauves, and many generations of avant-garde artists.”

I've never encountered somebody who would listen to my raving with such enthusiasm. And there was no one who properly comprehended my words and had the knowledge to respond intelligently. Not only on the subject of art, but also on the issue of life.

“Ah!”

He exclaimed, shooting a finger towards me.

“There it is!”

His hand fell to his lap.

“You, Miss Y/N Y/L/N, do not just think, you were born with the gift of careful contemplation.”

I'd dated a few men previously, but none had ever made me feel as great as this mysterious man. And I'd only known him for about 30 minutes. My eyes lit up with wonder when I heard his voice, and I hung on to every word with excitement.

“You have a dizzying intellect.”

His velvety tone dropped to an endearing whisper. My stomach flipped.

“It is very rare I meet a woman with such beauty, not only in her appearance, but in her demeanor as well.”

His long fingers pushed a stray hair behind my ear. I nearly flinched before realizing the gesture was benign. I could still feel his contact on my cheek after he removed his fingertips. He set fire to every nerve he came into contact with.

“Will you grant me the opportunity to become your acquaintance?”

His eyes were filled with anticipation. There it was, the date I'd been looking forward to throughout the duration of this conversation.

“I would like that very much Mr…”

“Vincent de Gramont.”

I hummed in delight.

“That’s a handsome name. It’s fitting, a handsome name for a handsome man.”

I said, slightly mocking his previous remark.

Vincent chuckled.

“Oh, you are a comedian as well. I like you more and more as time goes on.”

Vincent waited for a beat of silence before rising to his full height. Being the one seated while he stood certainly flipped the script. I felt small under his demeanor as his presence was felt throughout the room. He was comfortable in his own skin, demanding control of the atmosphere like a conductor.

“My bodyguards will ensure that you have all the information necessary to find my estate.”

Bodyguards?!

He indicated to two men in gray suits who were standing with their backs against the nearest maroon wall.

Wow.

I surely hoped they wouldn’t be hanging around when I finally seized the opportunity to speak with Vincent in private.

“Wonderful.”

“My estate is beautiful if I do have to say so myself. You will enjoy it.”

I can only imagine how magnificent his house was if this was the suit he decided to wear for a chance visit to a museum.

“There is lots of space, plenty of rooms to explore and places to sit and talk for hours.”

I couldn't keep a smile from breaking my face. Who would have guessed that when I walked into the Louver today, I'd walk out with a lovely new date?

“That sounds like a dream come true. I can’t wait to see it.”

Vincent returned my grin.

“I can not wait for you to see it. You will melt.”

He extended his hand. I hesitated for a moment before realizing he wanted me to lay my palm in his. Vincent leaned down and kissed the top of my hand in an exceedingly trendy gesture.

Wow, very gentlemanly.

If my cheeks weren’t pink before, they surely were bright red now.

“Thank you for granting me the pleasure of becoming your acquaintance, I look forward to seeing you around my estate.”

After his departure, I remained seated on the couch. I was unable to move, wanting to preserve the moment for as long as possible

[sweet-as-an-angel]

So in your Yandere Vincent de Gramont Headcanons

do you think he eventually talked his girlfriend/boyfriend round to have a proper relationship?

Honestly, that all depends on how strong your will is when rejecting Vincent's advances. He's the image of a gentleman with enough money to build another planet if he wanted to, so to have you resist giving in to his grandiose acts of love are, from his point of view, beyond frustrating.

So, if you ever did agree to enter a proper, requited relationship with him, he's absolutely ecstatic. Has to resist the urge to throw a party in honour of this momentous occasion.

Just be warned that, if you thought he was down bad before, you've seen nothing yet. The lengths of his exponential need to keep you close and safe multiply by unfathomable measures the second you've willingly taken him as your partner.

God help the person who discovers this after getting a bit too close to you.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist