#marquis writes

[gilsart]

*rises from the ashes* I LIVEEEE

this was a commission for @nerenight, still involving 18th century lore i know little to nothing about (absurd!!!)

close ups bc they turned out pretty:

[anastasiaskarsgard]

Hey! Could you do a vampire marquis one shot where he meets the reader that looks like the love of his life from a past life but passed away from old age. Now he’s determined to make the reader a vampire so he doesn’t lose them again. Could be cute, could be angst, could be yandere, your choice!

I'm gonna do this in more than one part, not sure how long it'll be but here we go.

PART ONE: When your friends don't know best

"that rich guy is staring at you." Your friend Annie told you as she glanced his way, and then back at you.

You quickly looked in the direction she had sent her eyes and you instantly met an intense stare from one of the most beautiful men you'd ever seen. Snapping your eyes away, you blushed when you saw Annie's huge smile. Feeling as tho you'd been caught doing something, you should not, you didn't allow yourself to look back at the gorgeous man. "How do you know he's rich?" You asked her. You didn't really go out often, and never to an exclusive club like this, so you were in over your head. You'd never been afraid to ask questions though, so you patiently waited while your friend, danced in a circle to get a sneaky peak at him once more.

"ok first thing you look at is the watch. He has an extremely expensive one on. You need to learn high end watches. Next you check his shoes which are obviously high end, and then look at the fit of his suit. His suit fits so well, on his unusually tall frame, that there's no way that's not a custom tailored suit. Add to that he's at the most expensive, nicest table with the best view in VIP, and he has his own security with him. The head host was sucking up to him earlier, and if all that isn't evidence enough for you, the man screams money and power. He's probably some blue blood or has some archaic title."

You nodded in agreement with all her observations. "Well that's too bad. He's so gorgeous, I might have danced with him if he asked me to." You shared as you shrugged your shoulders.

Annie's eyebrows rose in surprise. "What am I missing?" She asked, still looking lost.

"he is tall, gorgeous and wealthy. There's no way that he's not full of himself, and likely doesn't know how to treat little peasants like myself. He's probably unbearably conceited and is from such a different world than me, we'd likely struggle to understand each other. Plus if he isn't an absolute man whore, then his other half is most definitely a super model or heiress. I'm an American girl spending her summer in France, staying at the home of our exchange student who lives on a farm I might add." You laughed as you grabbed her hands and began to dance together.

"you could be a supermodel if you weren't such a bookworm." Annie confidently stated like it was a fact.

"I hate taking pictures and modeling seems like it'd be torture. Getting all made up for a few pictures that they pose you in various ways, before stripping everything away and starting over and over and over. Hurry up and wait, and then some weirdo tries to fuck me at every turn. No thank you." You shouted to your friend over the music.

It was so loud that even though you were in close proximity to her, you had to shout as loud as possible.

"not a man whore and don't have another half."

Eyes going wide, you whipped your head around and found none other than the gorgeous man, standing right in front of you. Unable to think of what to say, you turned to Annie with a look of horror on your face.

Seeing you were about to have a panic attack, Annie took it upon herself to introduce herself and you too. The man politely introduced himself as the Marquis de Gramont, and you nodded along dumbly as though you knew what the hell that meant.

At first you had decided that he was trying to get with Annie, since they talked so easily and Annie was beautiful and magnetic. She had grown up wealthy, so they'd likely have stuff in common too. Resigned to the fact, he wasnt interested in you, you felt more comfortable and were able to dance and have fun. When you and Annie went to the bathroom tho, she told you he was obviously into you.

You didn't think it was that obvious.

As the night wore on, you had this foreboding feeling you couldn't shake. Maybe you just were socially awkward. Never had anyone paid such close attention to you. He hung on your every word, and stared at you with such intensity, that it would have been terrifying if he wasn't so gorgeous. Even when you had needed to use the restroom, he'd escorted you there, and waited on you to be done. Even though the club was packed with people, he somehow was able to create a bubble around yourselves, that no one dared enter.

When you decided it was time to go, he had insisted that you let him drop you off at your friend's hotel. After a bit of back and forth, you gave in and followed him outside, where a two toned black and white Rolls Royce was waiting.

Slipping inside you were awe struck by the luxurious vehicle and failed to notice the Marquis soaking up your innocent wonder painted across your face, as you explored the vehicle.

Too soon you arrived at Annie's hotel, and the Marquis walked you up to her room. Taking your hand in his, he brought his lips to your hand lightly and asked if he could see you again. You agreed to see him again, not believing you actually would, but it was fun letting yourself believe this perfect guy liked you as much as he seemed to.

When you closed the door behind you, Annie screeched in excitement and swore that you'd met your very own prince charming. As she planned out your life together, you fell asleep when she's been trying to decide what your future twins names would be, and whether they'd enjoy horses as much as their older brother.

You woke the next morning to a knock at the door. Crawling from the bed, you figured it was housekeeping and wanted to tell them to skip this room today. Swinging the door open, you just stared at the enormous bouquet of long stem red roses like you expected them to speak.

"Delivery for you mademoiselle. Where would you like them?" The delivery man asked you from behind the enormous bouquet.

Directing him to place them on the bar, he placed an envelope in your hand , and was gone before you could even find your purse to tip him.

Although you were flattered, something just didn't sit right with you about him. You had been taught that anything too good to be true, was.

"who was that?" Your tired friend asked as she stumbled on the living area. "Oh my God! Are these from him? You fu king whore!"

She spotted the letter in your hand and demanded you read it to her as she made you both some coffee.

"to the most beautiful girl in the world, now before you think I am crazy, understand that I realize this is moving quite fast however, I am throwing a charity function for a children's charity that I run that is near and dear to my heart this evening at my estate and I would be honored if you and your lovely friend would join me. I understand that this is short notice, and so I have a driver downstairs waiting for you in the black and white Bentley that will take you to any fashion house in Paris to choose something to wear this evening. My treat for both of you. And don't you dare forget purses shoes and some jewelry. The media will likely be there, so a lot of these photos will be published and I want you girls looking your best. Also I've never invited any women to anything for many years so everyone is going to be very interested just to warn you. I hope that you are free this evening and would like to see me again as much as I would love to see you." You read. Looking up at your friend, you could see she was about to explode with excitement.

You really didn't want to see the Marquis again. Something about him just didn't sit right. while it had been flattering at first that a rich, powerful, attractive man seemed to be enthralled by you, you just couldn't get past the feeling in your gut.

Noticing you're lack of response or enthusiasm, your friend put her hands on her hips, and commanded "you are going in that bedroom and you are getting some clothes on and we are going shopping. I don't care what kind of craziness you've gotten in your head but this man is beautiful, powerful, rich, and even cares about children or something. I will not allow you to mess this up young lady!"

You rolled your eyes, and sighed dramatically, but listened to your bossy friend. When she walked in the room to get dressed as well, you informed her that if you two got kidnapped and sold into slavery, she was doing all the work.

If only you'd known how close to the truth that soon would be.

[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

[fonteyn]

[unreliablesnake]

Not to be dramatic, but Bill Skarsgård had no reason to look this pretty in those amazing outfits.

[gulava]

two guys who need to shut the fuck up!

[marquisedegramont]

You asked for asks and you shall receive: what kind of aftercare does sub Vinnie like, if any?

read as: x reader / x canon

✦ aftercare!

✦ i think vincent would really like aftercare that doesn’t require much effort from both him and his partner since it would take some time for vincent to relax and untense his nerves after sex .

✦ he’d enjoy staying close to his partner since likes being touchy and clingy n all that ♡

✦ he expects aftercare after every sexual encounter ( as one should! )

✦ i’d say he’s pretty spoiled and just overall really stubborn but since his head is a little too foggy after sex, he’d like getting taken care of by someone .

✦ oh and he definitely will try and use aftercare as a way to eat pastries & sweets ˘ ᗜ ˘ and he always gets them of course! he likes the type of aftercare where he just has a moment to breathe because being an emissary of the high table probably doesn’t give one the pleasure of such .

✦ he’s huddling close towards his partner during aftercare. either to annoy them or just because he wants to . either way his partner is gonna be straight up next to him until either one or both of them sleeps

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐕𝐈: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 ⚜

Sources: One | Two | Three

Event Host: @wickblr

Summary: Vincent toys with a candle recklessly to tempt Chidi into playing a dangerous game with him.

CW: smut, wax play/temperature play, bratting, self-harm scare (it's not what Chidi thinks), previously established BDSM relationship

What can Vincent be holding in his secret heart? What patience will win that knowledge? And how can Chidi quiet his own heart without knowing?

With respect, and with love. That is, as always, the answer. Vincent is being silent tonight, and that frightens him every time. But Chidi's worry is his own to manage. He's lucky just to be in Vincent's presence.

The most exquisite man in all the world is sitting at the window, watching the sun die behind clouds too thick to transmit the glow. There’s only a little light at the horizon, as the day turns to night without sunset. Outside, a dismal rain falls gently but persistently, and inside, the lights are off in the bedroom. The only fire of this evening is in Vincent’s hands. He’s taken up a long, white candle, and he’s playing with it more idly than Chidi would like. But then, it lends him that daring quality which Chidi loves, the dark playfulness that sometimes comes over him in the midst of fencing or even a genuine knife fight.

“Assieds-toi avec moi. [Sit with me,]” he says, without turning towards Chidi, and Chidi can think of nothing he’d rather do. He sets a matching chair next to his master.

Vincent is fresh from the bath, warmed and flushed all over. He seems so small, so fragile against the vastness of the autumn evening. Pink rosiness glows out from under the loose fur robe that he’s allowed to slip down off his shoulders. It falls around him as a blanket, giving him the look of someone disheveled, debauched even, to match his tossled, damp hair. The candlelight singes its way across his features in yellow-gold, turning his irises to honey. But Chidi can’t read the look on his face. Pensive? Dreamy? Tense?

He’s staring into the flame, unmoving. The wax pools slowly at its tip, a little hollow of mesmerizing liquid. Chidi watches Vincent watching it, tries desperately to read him. He’s so caught up in the effort that it takes a moment for him to notice how the candle is hovering over Vincent’s lap. It’s starting to tilt.

“Marquis.” He doesn’t answer. He’s doing this on purpose. Chidi’s heart goes into his throat. “Vincent.” Still nothing, not even a change in expression. The wax shimmers.

It’s pure reflex. His hand shoots out to shield Vincent’s skin, a split second before the drip can make contact. On the back of his hand, there’s a fiery sting. It doesn’t hurt as much as he expected but he’s speechless at what just happened. He notices that his hand is still on Vincent’s thigh but doesn’t dare take it away because the candle is still hovering above it. 

Vincent, to his surprise, just breaks into a smile. “Tu trembles. Pour moi. [You’re shaking. For me.]” There’s real tenderness coloring his voice. He leans forward and leaves a reverent kiss on Chidi’s lips in reward. 

He swallows, trying to focus on the problem at hand. “Bien sûr que je le suis. Monsieur, pourquoi avez-vous - [Of course I am. Sir, why did you - ]"

“C'est une bougie spéciale. Tu aimes ça ? Je l'ai acheté dans un club à Rome. La cire fond à une température plus froide que la plupart des autres, suffisamment froide pour couler sur la peau. C'est pour le plaisir. [It's a special candle. Do you like it? I got it at a club in Rome. The wax melts at a cooler temperature than most, cool enough to drip on skin. It’s for fun.]”

Oh. Chidi’s heart refuses to fall back into its regular rhythm, even as he exhales. “Ne m’effraie pas comme ça. Je pensais que tu étais… imprudent. [Don’t scare me like that. I thought you were…being reckless.]”

All he offers is a smug grin and a shrug. “Tu as ressenti un frisson, je peux le dire. C'est tellement protecteur… En tout cas, c'est plutôt sûr. Bien sûr, il y a parfois des histoires d'horreur à propos d'impuretés dans la cire qui fondent trop fort. Des cicatrices permanentes… on ne sait jamais ce qui peut arriver. Mon garde du corps devrait s'en préoccuper, n'est-ce pas ? [You got a thrill out of it, I can tell. So protective… Anyway, it’s quite safe. Though of course, there are occasional horror stories of impurities in the wax that melt too hot. Permanent scars…one never knows what could happen. My bodyguard ought to be concerned with that, wouldn’t you agree?]” His hand drifts back, threatening a spot closer to his torso, where Chidi’s hand is no longer in the line of gravity. With a lurch of adrenaline, he follows, just in time to be struck by another searing droplet. He’s farther up Vincent’s thigh now, and acutely aware of how his thumb is pressing against the inside of the flesh.

A game is afoot. Follow the fire. Protect the Marquis.

Vincent leans back, as if he’s just getting comfortable, and lets the robe fall open. Chidi can’t help stealing a glance at his erection before locking eyes with him again. They’re both breathing too fast. But he’d better keep his focus on the candle - now it’s close to the V-line of his hip. (V for Vincent. V for voluptuous.) Chidi’s hand slides up to follow, feeling the dips and the curves and the sudden hits of pain. Vincent’s thigh is all disused muscle and gentle plumpness, the innocence of a body that has never known physical labor. Chidi presses into it to convey his urgency. The sense of danger still lingers, the need to prove that he’ll never let Vincent feel even an ounce of pain on his watch. 

Vincent keeps moving the candle. Up. Back down, up again. He’s puppeting Chidi’s hand, teasing himself with it. He bites back a moan but the way it changes his breathing still halts Chidi’s. In another second he moans anyway, frustrated - he’s teased himself too much and now he can’t take it anymore. 

Then the candle is over his cock. Chidi could swear Vincent’s eyebrow twitches upward just a fraction in challenge.

There’s no hesitation. Chidi grabs it, cupping the tip in protection. The candle flickers as Vincent tenses up with sudden pleasure. “Putain… [Fuck...]”

“C'est dangereux, monsieur. [This is dangerous, sir,]” Chidi admonishes. “Si ça coule ici, ça fera trop mal, peu importe le type de bougie. [If it drips here it will hurt too much, no matter what kind of candle it is.]” He's still shaking. But he doesn’t safeword.

“Alors tu ferais mieux d’être extrêmement prudent avec moi. [You’ve better be exceedingly careful with me then.]” The Marquis' voice is unnaturally soft and heady. 

God, this man will be the death of him. “...D'accord, je le serai. […Okay, I will be.]” Chidi puts a second hand at the base of his cock, now enveloping it completely.

The Marquis grips at the arm of the chair, making the most gratified sorts of noises, while a lazy drop of wax strays onto Chidi’s wrist. Vincent throws his head back, breaking eye contact for the first time in their little game. “S’il te plaît… ne reste pas assis là. Ne vois-tu pas que ce n’est pas suffisant de supporter ma douleur ? Fais-moi plutôt ressentir quelque chose de bien. [Please…don’t just sit there. Don’t you see it’s not enough to take my pain? Make me feel something good in its place.]”

And of course, Chidi obeys. He translates the heat in his hands into long, sensual strokes that wring heavenly noises out of Vincent. It seems to go on forever in that otherworldly space of total service and devotion. The candle is their hourglass and time counts forward only by each drop of wax. With every hit, both of them jump, heightening the tension. 

Vincent’s breathing is getting heavier, his eyes half lidded. The candle is burning low, and as the flame approaches his master’s fingers, Chidi’s fear becomes more real. He accelerates his pace until Vincent’s hips start to thrust upward into his grip. Good, he’s close to losing control.

Everything is on fire now. If Chidi has a body outside of his busy hands and the bulge straining at his inseam, he has lost all awareness of it. It’s swallowed in the pure sex of those delicious sensations, in the scent of wax and smoke and Vincent’s musky-sweet pheromones, in the sight of Vincent’s parted lips and shadowed eyes, in the next huge drop of wax building up at the edge of the candle.

The final rush of warmth comes not from above, but flooding into his palm, accompanied by a high-pitched whine and a string of French expletives as Vincent melts completely under his touch. Chidi loses himself in it, in a bodily sympathy for Vincent. He realizes too late that there’s a wet spot forming in his slacks. 

Vincent giggles. “Regarde ce que tu as fait. Je - [Look what you’ve done. I - ]“

“La flamme, monsieur! [The flame, sir!]” It’s glowing right against Vincent’s fingers now. Before anything can happen, Chidi’s breath snuffs it out. With a swift motion, he sends it flying onto the windowsill where it can't touch Vincent anymore.

There’s darkness. Silence. Only the light of the blue-black sky and the patter of raindrops and the ocean of their breathing. Vincent amends his phrasing. “Regarde ce que tu fais pour moi. [Look what you do for me.]” There’s no misinterpreting the affection in his gaze now. He leans forward.

The last whisper of smoke is trapped between their joining lips.

[marielschism]

Please do talk about the Marquis, all plot bunnies, how an eventual relationship with him would turn out. Any thoughts are most anticipated! 👀

FR?????????????? okay!

so i'm currently working on patron of the arts, a marquis de gramont x artist!reader fic where he is an art patron/cultural sugar daddy who is horrendously down bad for you, an artist in their flop era. i'm making an hc post for it over at my writing sideblog [@marielserif] so if anyone's interested 👀 i'll post it some time next week!

pairing: marquis de gramont x reader note: i think i made him unbearably ooc. whatever warnings: some mature themes/content; unedited; not an entirely healthy relationship (vincent has issues!!!!!!)

general relationship hcs

side note: these hcs operate under the assumption that the reader is unaware of his work.

i am deeply fascinated by yandere stuff, so every time i think of marquis de gramont, i can't help but sprinkle a bit of obsessive yearning on his part (because i honestly think he's the type to do so! he chased john wick all over the world! that should be me!). he is ruthless, ambitious, and determined, and i think this, too, translates into how he deals with his relationships.

i think that he's the type to fall hard for someone, but is also the type to deny the feeling initially, trying to stamp it out of his brain as hard as he can, constantly pretending that he is unaffected by you. he does not need you. he wants you. he has lived through most of his life without your presence, surely he can live through more.

his dedication to denying his feelings leads him into a great number of sticky situations: perhaps he dismisses you a bit too much, and it puts a significant strain on your relationship. he might even end up with you hating him.

he is used to being feared. he is used to being hunted. but he will never get used to the feeling of your hatred, so that could easily force him to act on his feelings before he makes things worse. it is a wake up call for him: he does not want to lose you because of his own pride.

good for you!

when the marquis is in it, good god, he is in it.

i think that marquis de gramont is an incredibly selfish man. if he loves you, you become an extension of himself — and in turn, he will ensure your safety and your joy. you deserve it. you're his.

he's a patron of the arts — he'll get along with you better if you have some appreciation for art and culture. your conversations with him will be longer, too, and sometimes more heated. vincent is very opinionated, and he'll defend his opinions to the death. he'll take you to museums, renting out entire scenic cultural hotspots just for you (and him) to enjoy at your own pace. he is prone to over-explaining when he is excited, so expect that you'll be doing a lot of listening.

if he senses that you're actually listening to him and he's feeling particularly generous, he'll reward you. you know what that entails.

there are times where you're feeling tired, and you're just not in the mood to listen to him ramble about his least favorite painting in the musee d'orsay. he does not fault you for it, but you feel the mild disappointment radiating off him in waves. you'll have to...make it up to him somehow.

he'll appreciate it very much.

anyway, vincent will take you to the ballet, dress you in the finest of things, and take you to the swankiest of establishments. you deserve nothing but the best.

if you inform him that you are uncomfortable with being spoiled like this, he will try to tone it down a little. the code word here is try. he will go back to sending you swarovski-embellished fountain pens in two weeks.

despite this, he's not above accompanying you to places like gas stations or grocery stores. sure, he'll take at least three bodyguards with him to ensure your safety, but he'll be there for you. he's capable of being normal!

(forgot to mention that vincent de gramont is territorial and overprotective at times. what's the use of all of his power if he can't use it protect the one he loves?)

(his brand of protection can feel almost like a prison at times. you'll have to clearly communicate with him about what you want, and you have to be very firm with him if you don't want to feel like you're a bird in a gilded cage. you have to make sure that he knows you won't just take it.)

(you need a backbone to love him. that's the truth of it all.)

vincent is also touch-starved, though he denies this constantly.

he can be an incredibly greedy kisser. he kisses you like he's starving, and he'll hold you like you'll turn into dust if he lets go.

he can be gentle, too — easy does it, and he takes it as slow as you want. languid, lazy, like you have all of the time in the world.

he's also a horrific tease. he's a smug bastard. he'll do everything except kiss you — he'll bite your earlobe, let his lips travel to your pulse, and kiss the corners of your lips. when you whine, he'll pull away with that smirk of his, and leave you to your racing heart. you're flustered as hell, and he looks unaffected by it.

(it's a lot harder for him to keep his composure if you're the one teasing him.)

he reaches out for you in his sleep, even if he is alone. a tired vincent will always reach out for you, no matter what stage of sleep he's in. in his sleep, he'll end up wrapping himself around your entire body like a boa constrictor no matter your size. one time, he fell asleep on top of you, and you had to elbow him awake because he was suffocating you.

(he owns a weighted blanket for when you're not around.)

if you play with vincent's hair, he will complain about you messing up the handiwork of his treasured coiffeur, but he won't say a word. when you pull your hands off his hair, he'll actually whine, and place your hands back. you have to clear your schedule if you want to play with his hair; he will not let you out of his presence until he's dead asleep.

if you really want to see a very stressed vincent, you can deny him your touch for weeks on end. but why would you do that? 😊

he's prone to taking drastic actions to get what he wants. a desperate vincent de gramont is someone you do not want to meet; a desperate vincent de gramont gets results.

so god help those who will try to take you from him.

plot bunnies

i really need to finish this because i have a 7-page paper due in 42 hours

i desperately wanted to write a ballet dancer!reader x patron!marquis de gramont instead of an artist!reader but im going to be completely honest with you i have zero knowledge of the world of ballet and i would NOT be able to do the idea justice.

(your rival dancer goes missing because of your patron. you investigate. things do not go well.)

also another plot bunny: leverage!reader

the marquis keeps an eye on you as leverage over your father, who is under his employ. think caine and his daughter.

he threatens your safety to keep your father in line constantly — but he's grown fond of you, strangely. you have a harmless hobby. it is soothing to watch you work. he is not going to hurt you.

(vincent even has his men protect you from harm. their presence in the area deter would-be muggers. you do not know this.)

at one point, your father grows stubborn, and vincent has to take a very drastic measure to ensure his cooperation.

he kidnaps you. of course he does.

strange things happen.

assistant!reader! you are his faithful assistant, and you get hurt in the line of duty. oh noooo. what happens next??? :OOO

[anastasiaskarsgard]

can you do a one shot where the Marquis likes to play piano but he’s always been a lil shy about it. One day while the reader roams the marquis’s estate, she catches him playing and quietly listens until he’s finished before applauding

ALMOST

Today had been one of the most frustrating days the Marquis had to endure, for as long as he could remember. As he swiftly made his way down the halls of his sprawling mansion, he tried to clear his mind of all thoughts, but for the first time, could not.

Considering his greatest strength was his perfect control over his thoughts and emotions, he was barely keeping himself together. Even though he had never had a panic attack, and until today, didn't even believe they were real, he knew without a doubt, he was on the verge of having one.

And that was unacceptable.

Slamming the doors to his music salon open, he didn't acknowledge the maids that practically ran out of the room, at the sight of their distressed master. All who worked in his home, knew to give the Marquis the room, if he is in a mood. He was known for being temperamental and cruel, and often preferred to be left alone. He was immune to female and male charms, and had no close attachments to anyone. As far as the staff was concerned, he was a soulless machine, but he paid better than any other house, as long as you minded your business.

The Marquis began to play the antique Grand piano at the center of the room. Worth more than most people would earn in an entire lifetime, it had a haunting quality to its sound that couldn't be found in the newer models. Losing himself in the music, he was able to temporarily forget what had been plaguing him most of the day. As the song came to an end, he felt calm once again until someone had the audacity to start clapping.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around and stood, prepared to tear into what ever soon to be ex employee lost their fucking mind. Instead, he was met with the reason for his loss of control he'd been suffering since he first laid eyes on her.

"what are you doing out of your quarters?" He snapped glaring down at the young woman he had been saddled with earlier today. She was the daughter of a new business associate that was off doing a job for the Marquis, and since he was new, the Marquis often held collateral in the form of people's loved ones to make sure the job got done.

Usually, he'd put them in a room and lock them in for the duration of their stay, but he at least made them comfortable. If wasnt like he put them in the dungeon, which he totally owned since his mansion was very old. The suites he used for their stay were luxurious and had various forms of entertainment to pass the time. His staff kept them fed and even fulfilled any requests they had, so they hardly could call themselves prisoners. But that's what they were in truth, and he'd never cared how they felt about fhat. They were not allowed to roam freely through his home, and hardly ever saw him beyond the initial introduction.

For whatever reason, when he was introduced to this young woman, he hadn't wanted her to be frightened. When she had asked if she was free to explore his estate, he'd given her permission to do so, to everyone present shock.

To his dismay, she had decided to spend the day following him around, asking about his extensive art collection, and making him feel like they'd known one another for years. Never had he been so comfortable in another person's company. For many years people had spread the rumor he was a real psychopath and he had always thought they were likely correct. He had always considered his lack of connection with others to be a positive attribute. In his line of work, attachments were weaknesses.

Deciding he was being far too familiar with her, he excused himself, and made a beeline for the security room, to see how everything was going.

Upon entering, he was informed that everythibg was going as planned, and all endeavors so far had proven successful. This was almost unheard of in his life, and his mind quickly returned to his guest. He couldn't help but wonder what she would do to amuse herself. There were many ways she could get herself in trouble, and as he sat there thinking about how stupid he'd been giving her free reign, he ordered the staff to locate her and then make themselves scarce.

After only a few moments, they found her, and immediately exited the room, leaving the Marquis to sit in front of the screens and observe her. He could see the confusion on their faces with his behavior but he couldn't care less. Their opinions hardly mattered to him.

She was currently in his equestrian facilities, outfitting one of his favorite Andalusian stallions for a ride. Watching how easily she made the normally high strung animal feel at ease was riveting. Although he was a gorgeous animal, hed always been stubborn and difficult with new people. Not so with this woman; you'd think she raised the damn horse the way he was cooperating.

When the traitorous beast actually lowered his head, to make it easier for her to put on his bridle, the Marquis scoffed aloud, and sprung from his chair. Leaving the room without thinking where he was going, he found himself exiting his mansion, walking towards the stables.

Just as he was almost inside, she rode out on a different horse than his favorite stallion. When she spotted him, her face lit up and she smiled one of her disarming smiles and made her way over to him.

"I'm so glad you're done! I asked the stable guy which horse was your favorite, and got him all ready for you to go riding together." She stated enthusiastically. "Do you need to change or can you ride in a suit?"

The Marquis just stared at the girl completely dumbfounded for a few moments. Had she honestly prepared his own horse, and decided that he was going to go riding with her? The absolute audacity of this woman! He didn't know how to respond, so he didn't.

Honestly, he had been wanting to ride as of late. He'd been neglecting his horses, and even though he employed a small army of people to take care of them, he felt a bit guilty when too much time passed between interactions. Because of his guilt, he would go ride with her, not because of her he justified to himself. "I have riding gear I can change into inside. Give me a couple minutes." He'd said before storming off.

He had planned on taking longer than necessary to get ready to make her wait, but decided that was childish. He refused to hurry though, making a point to keep a relaxed pace.

When he'd rejoined her, shed surprised him again, when she took off on her horse at a break neck pace. Chasing after her, he couldn't help but admire her form as she seemed to become at one with the animal. When they effortlessly cleared a fence, he had to veer off to the side, knowing full well his horse was not a fan of jumping.

He slowed his horse to a trot, and looked around at the beautiful scenery. Sometimes he got so absorbed into work, he forgot what a beautiful world he lived in. His work wasn't pretty, so he'd always tried to make up for it, by surrounding himself with as much beauty as possible.

As he came through the trees and found his companion barefoot and splashing around in the small lake he had created on a whim last summer, he couldn't help but smile at her antics. She was the most free spirited, uncomplicated being he'd ever come across. The way she displayed her emotions so freely, and genuinely seemed to enjoy life was intoxicating. Deep down, he knew he should turn around and never go near her again, but he almost didn't care.

Almost.

"come in the water, it's lovely." She shouted out to him "do you mind if I strip down to my underwear? It looks just like a bathing suit, I just don't want to offend you."

"Don't flatter yourself, you couldn't offend me if you tried. If you want to prance around in your underwear, I won't stand in your way." He said with an air of nonchalance, even though internally he was having a celebration.

"you're going to join me right? Do French men wear boxers or briefs?" She asked as she took her dress off and stood before him without a smidge of insecurity. "Unless you aren't allowed."

"why wouldn't I be allowed to swim in my own lake? That is a ridiculous notion." He scoffed, sliding off the horse and storming over to the frustrating woman. "Do you think so little of me, that I am not my own person? Do I seem weak to you?" He asked lowly as he glared down at her. He knew he was over reacting, but he didn't know what she meant and he hated being confused.

She looked so adorable peering up at him with her big doe eyes, as she chewed on her plump bottom lip. "I was just trying to be smooth, and find out if you had a wife or girlfriend or something." She said quietly. Her eyes lowered to her hands as she fidgeted. "you couldnt possibly be single. You're too perfect. Supermodels probably fight over you on the daily."

He smirked and gently lifted her chin to look in her eyes. "Maybe being perfect scares them all away." He gazed down at her thoughtfully, before coming to the conclusion she wasn't kidding. She actually thought he was perfect.

The idea that someone thought he was perfect and desired by hordes of women was extremely amusing. While it was true, some women had satisfied his natural male urges, he never laid with a woman more than one time.

Chuckling to himself, he took his clothing off and neatly placed it on a nearby bench. He knew he had a visually pleasing form, and stayed in top physical form for his own vanity and his career choices. He wore black boxer briefs, and ignored the way she was checking him out as he passed her and dove into the water.

She squealed and immediately followed, swimming gracefully beside him as he cut through the water. Coming to a stop, he turned to her and tried to ask her a question, but couldnt think of what to ask. Not one to ever be afraid to speak up or get answers, he tried to be logical and ask himself what was his issue. Did this slip of a woman make him nervous? Did he care what she thought of him? Or was he just having an off day, and she so happen to be here for it? Was he attracted to her sexually? Did he want to touch her, and in turn allow her to touch him? It wasn't like he was a virgin.

So caught up in his contemplations, he failed to notice, till it was too late, and he'd been plunged beneath the surface. Using her weight to dunk him, she had her hands on his shoulders as she pushed him down her body, underneath the surface. Continuing down by his own ministrations, she lost contact with him when he continued deeper than she was able to go. He opened his eyes underwater, and watched as her shadow rose up to the surface. Swimming swiftly behind her, he made sure to remain behind her where she could not see him. Sneaking up behind her, he grabbed her by the waist and took them both beneath the surface.

She was a very capable swimmer, and he enjoyed their rough housing. He could not recall the last time he had played with someone.

"what's in your hair?" She asked with a look of concern on her face. Reaching up, she ran her hands through his hair, before grabbing his face with both hands, and kissing him square on the lips. It was an aggressive move, but she still remained gentle somehow. Nothing else existed in that moment. He was left breathless when she pulled away, and then realization set in.

He liked her. He really liked her.

Without saying a single word, he swam to the shore, gotten dressed without even attempting to dry off, got on his horse and left her there. He knew he was being a coward, but he hadn't gotten so far in life by following his heart. He was strictly a brain user, and it was telling him to run.

So he had, all the way to the piano.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have kissed you. I read the situation completely wrong and it won't happen again." She stated earnestly.

Looking in her eyes, he could see she really believed she had made an error. He knew nothing good would come from getting involved with him, and she'd likely end up regretting ever meeting him. He was self aware enough to realize he was not a good person. Anyone that he got involved with would suffer in some way whether at the hands of his enemies, or from something he would do, or not do.

Pulling her close, he smirked before kissing her forehead. Placing his chin on her head, he chuckled at the two of them. "Sometimes the hardest thing, and the right thing, are the same."

"do you know the most sad word in the world?" She asked him.

Thinking through many words in several languages, he knew many sad words.

"almost." She sighed, snuggling closer in his arms. "He almost loved her. She almost was good for him. He almost stopped her. She almost waited. They almost were happy. They almost made it."

She pulled herself free from his arms and turned for the door. "my father is here and said everything went well. I just wanted to come say goodbye and apologize." With those parting words, she was gone.

A few days later, when her father told her the Marquis had almost been able to kill the legendary John Wick, but had been killed in the end, she almost laughed out loud.

Almost.

[froguemorgue]

the left is Alex btw and the right is Lafayette in my time travel fic

Alex is very academic and somewhat functional, he reuses the same pieces to make new outfits, is by no means unfashionable but definitely has less to work with than all the rich people he's friends with. The most dressed up he'll be is that outfit in the center, maybe with a blazer instead of the jacket. He prefers to understate his fashion so he always looks put-together but isn't screaming nouvaeu riche, like he's trying to be someone he isn't. He also doesn't want to look poor or like he doesn't care. Luckily for him, Mulligan is more than happy to tailor his clothes so they're not ill-fit, but more often than not, they are a little baggier than he'd like them to be, so to compensate when the weather's warm, he'll wear underclothes that are too tight and leave his shirt open so his figure is visible but the overclothes are fashionable. (He cares a lot more about how he looks than he lets on). He has a curly mullet that's shorter and shaggier, a lot more like our modern conceptions of a mullet than a true Billy-Ray-esque 80s mullet. Oh, and luckily for him, his sense of fashion and limited purchasing power is a little bit timeless so he ends up being more geared for the early 80s than he knows.

Lafayette is fun. He doesn't care what people think, he goes for crazy combinations of patterns, colors, and fabrics, huge bell-bottoms and long coats or more fashion-forward (keep in mind this is the late 70s) pleated wide-leg pants. He always has a jacket even if he's just holding it. His shoes are always just as expensive and shiny. He looks so European despite wanting to appeal to American fashion, partially because he mixes in clothes that are a liiiiiiittle bit more feminine than mainstream US men's fashion, like a women's coat here or some feminine jewelry there. It never looks bad. In fact, he always looks good, even if he's a little outside the box. Lots of jewelry, preferably gold, loves flower patterns and 60s hippie revival stuff, loves shirts made from paper-thin materials, wears silks and suedes. His hair is about shoulder-length and always styled differently. He can do a mod with sideburns but Adrienne hates it. Sometimes he'll do a little half-up hairstyle but it does NOT look good. Also, his ears are pierced and he's considering piercing his nose, too, but Washington told him it would make him look completely unprofessional and no one would take him seriously (sad). His fashion is often so specific to the trends that come the 1980s, he's going to have to have a whole new wardrobe. smh

[sweetbillwriting]

The Finer Things

The Last Chapter

Characters: Vincent De Garmont, The Marquis, From John Wick 4.

Setting: This story is set in my own universe, so not exactly the John Wick universe.

Warnings: 18+, so many I can't write them all out!

Notes: Thank you @b-afterhours for always helping me ❤️

His long body was stretched out on the bed, from head to toe. He was so tall that he almost touched the end of the bed. He was naked, naked like the day he was born; undressed of all worldly belongings that made him look like a wealthy man. Even his hair was messy from sleep, so not even that could tell you he was anything else than a regular John Doe.

If Ines killed him now, no one would understand that she lived with one of Paris’ richest men; he could just as easily work at the gas station. She weighed a hammer in her hand and looked at Vincent's high cheekbones; if she smashed his face in, no one would even see that he was pretty. He wouldn't even be able to use that to get the cops to care more for his corpse.

“Ines…” said Vincent with a sigh, and he moved his hands, irritated. They were locked to the bedpost with heavy handcuffs she had found among Mylan’s things. She looked at him, amused, with a gun in her right hand and a hammer in the other one. The hammer was that extra touch to it all, and she liked the thought of him getting killed the same way he had murdered his parents.

“I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry,” he said with an American accent, just a hint left of the Parisian aristocratic accent.

“‘I'm sorry?’ ‘I'm sorry’??” Said Ines, upset and hit the hammer hard against the bedpost by his feet. She made Vincent jump and then he laughed off nerves.

“You lied to me! You lied to me so fucking hard!”

Vincent swallowed hard but then cursed for himself. His arms flexed in an attempt to break the handcuffs. He had woken up that morning, handcuffed. He had slept naked because he had thought Ines would come home and would want to feel his skin against hers, but she hadn't just done the assignment he had asked her to do but clearly talked too much. As usual.

“I lied to protect you!” Vincent insisted and sat up against the headboard. Ines regretted at once that she hadn't tied his feet to the lower bedpost.

“Protect me?? You fucking just protect yourself! Fucking sociopath!” Screamed Ines while once again smashing the hammer against the bedpost.

Vincent didn't answer her because he had started to push with his feet against the bedpost, like he thought he could get it to move from the bed frame, but it didn't move an inch.

“Do you even listen to me??”

Ines suddenly pushed the pistol to his ear, and it made him stop his search for freedom.

“Of course, of course,” said he so calmly as he could and swallowed hard. It burned in his throat, like he had swallowed a match.

Ines stepped away but continued to point the weapon toward him.

“Lay down again, now.” She said, still with anger in her voice. Vincent sighed but did what she wanted and planting his feet against the mattress to hide his manhood. Ines gave him a pointed look and rolled her eyes.

×××

“Hello, I'm the new maid to Remy De Gramont.”

Ines tried to sound as professional and collected as she could, and she put her hand out to the man in front of her. The house and her prejudice about aristocrats had made her think the house and its staff would look like Downton Abbey, but the man in front of her had a simple dark blue suit and white shirt. He was in his forties, with blonde, thinning hair and a bored expression.

“Encore un Américain qui tiendra deux mois…” said the man, rolling his eyes. “Montez les escaliers et le vieil homme est là. Espérons qu'il porte son pantalon.”

Ines looked at the man with big eyes, trying to understand him. Pants?

“I'm sorry, I didn't understand. I don't know French.”

The man sighed loudly but then stood silent; it was obvious he didn't know English that well either.

“Gramont. Up. Up,” he said, pointing to the stairs.

“Oh, up the stairs?” Ines asked and pointed.

“Oui, oui. Up!”

Ines smiled and mumbled a thank you, even if she was quite sure he thought ugly thoughts about her. She corrected her black suit jacket over the gray pencil dress she wore. It was a boring outfit, but she didn't need to have a good outfit right then. In her handbag lay a loaded gun, and it was the only thing she needed to feel sexy.

She was nervous, really nervous, but still, a calmness had settled over her, and instead of panicking, she could take in her surroundings more vividly than she otherwise could. It felt like the time had slowed down and the colors were brighter. It was obvious Vincent was right, she would be able to sneak out without problems, the house was completely empty of people. She smiled to herself, she looked forward to this.

She could hear a television from the top of the stairs. Someone talked with an upset French voice, and a man answered even more upset. Then a man laughed, but it wasn't from the television; it was from the same room, but it was a real person's voice. He laughed again with an aged, wobbly voice. Ines walked towards the sounds and came to a smaller room where a big TV stood facing the door opening. It showed a soap opera where two men were deep in an argument. In front of the TV stood a burgundy velvet couch in old style. She understood Remy must be sitting there, but she couldn't see him.

Slowly, she took out the pistol from the bag and screwed on the muffler. She needed to do it fast. Just do it so no one would see her. She couldn't take a deep breath because she was afraid Remy would hear her, so she was forced to act instead of thinking. With three determined steps, she stood in front of the TV, looking at the man sitting comfortably on the couch with his feet on the coffee table.

He was old, far much older than she thought. His skin looked two sizes too big for his weak frame, and his ears and nose looked borrowed from someone much bigger than him. He had a bit of a patchy white beard but no hair. Ines was shocked, but it didn't matter, and she pointed the pistol directly at his face.

×××

“I thought he was younger! Not close to death!” Ines screamed and waved the hammer alarmingly. Vincent watched the hammer spin in her grip and unconsciously pressed his legs harder together, protecting the part that had given him money through life.

“I think I was quite clear about him being old. Feel sorry for me; instead, I was forced to-”

“You weren't forced! You're just a greedy whore!”

“So are you!” Vincent exclaimed without thinking and got a hard slap on his cheek as an answer.

“You're the whore! Say it! Say you're a whore!” Said Ines and laid the hammer on his stomach, pointing to the parts he so desperately tried to protect. "Otherwise, I will pop your testicles like two water balloons.”

Vincent made a sound—a desperate sound—and then looked up at the roof. “Fine. Fine! I'm a whore. Okay?”

“Say that you're a lying, manipulating little bitch-whore!”

Vincent's eyes moved fast from left to right, and then he pushed them shut.

“What did you say?”

"Oh, come on! Don't you try that shit!” Said Ines and sighed.

“I really don't remember! Fuck, I can't remember all the words!” He said it desperately and, by reflex, tried to get the handcuffs off.

“Hey! Lay still!”

He laid down again but made a pathetic whimpering sound that made her smirk.

“God, you've walked around here in your fancy little outfits and looked down on everyone, but you can't even learn five words! Silly little man,” she said, taking the hammer that now laid next to him. “But I should be kind... Just answer me: When did you plan to kill me?”

Vincent looked up at the ceiling with big eyes and clenched his jaw. He laid quiet until Ines snapped her fingers in his face.

“Hello? Hello? Suddenly, it's obvious what a fucking airhead you are. Did you spill out that brain to have more space for Hermes?”

Suddenly, he roared deeply and flung with his body so aggressively that Ines jumped. Even when being handcuffed, his size and strength were intimidating, and his zodiac animal seemed to want to jump out of his chest. For a few seconds, Ines stood in shock and terror until she remembered he was locked to a wooden bar with steel handcuffs.

“I will kill you as soon as I'm free from these bullshit handcuffs! You fucking little... Fuck!!” He screamed the last word so high that she hoped no one was on the same floor. The terror she had felt before slowly turned to amusement while looking at Vincent, naked, trying to make the steel break while flinging around in bed like he was possessed. When she started to laugh, Vincent stopped his movement.

“Shut up!!” He screamed but lost his bravery when Ines pointed the gun in his face.

“Lay down, bitch.”

Vincent was red in the face from trying to get free, and his hair hung down in his eyes. He sighed deafeningly and laid down again on his back.

“Answer my question. When had you planned to kill me?”

Vincent looked up at the ceiling, thinking about refusing to answer, but felt her push the hammer into his ribs.

“When I don't have any use for you.”

He looked at her, and she didn't answer. Without dropping the gun or the hammer, she mounted his narrow hips and sat down comfortably. She rolled her hips over him once before looking at him seriously again.

×××

The old man, Marquis Remy de Gramont, looked at Ines with big eyes and took his feet off the coffee table. He wore silk pajamas in a terracotta shade, similar to the ones Vincent wore. The man looked at her, confused, and then looked around like he expected to see more people.

“Are you a cop?” He asked and leaned back on the couch, like the thought of her being a cop calmed him down. He probably wasn't afraid of cops because they wouldn't shoot him unarmed, but Ines wasn't a cop. She was an assassin.

“Fuck no!” She said but felt her hand shake with nerves. Remy looked around again, confused, but raised his hands slowly.

“Are you here for Laura? Or the bald guy?” He asked but continued to look just as calm.

“What? No! I'm here for Vincent!” Ines didn't know if it was okay for her to say that, but watching that little man with his dry, old hands and cracked lips, she wanted to claim Vincent. Vincent said he wasn't a victim, that he had wanted to be with those men when he was just a child, that he was the one using Remy, but now that she looked at that sorry ass of a man, she felt different about it. Why would a handsome man like Vincent be with a man in his eighties? He was pretty enough to meet a rich, younger man if it was a luxury he wanted. For her, it was obvious Vincent had traits he wanted to hide from the world. Behind that rich, powerful facade, he was just a little boy—a little boy who didn't know his own value. He liked lying on her chest and being close, but it was rarely in a sexual way, probably because sex wasn't connected with love for him. Sex was business; it was a way to get Italian shoes and Russian caviar.

Ines looked at the man in front of her. Even if she didn't want to, she pictured Vincent with him. Vincent let him touch him the same way she did. He had kissed Vincent's soft lips, dragged his hands over his broad chest, and licked the underside of his cock.

“Vincent? What has he done now?” Said Remy with a sigh, like a disappointed father. He sat up better on the couch so Ines could see the white curly hair on his chest peek out from the neckline of the shirt.

“He has fallen in love.”

She said it confidently and calmly. It was not Vincent's plan, but she felt now that she had her own. She didn't just want to kill Remy; she wanted to crush him.

Remy looked at her, surprised, but it changed to another emotion Ines couldn't put a finger on.

“Vincent loves me,” he said, just as determined as Ines.

“Vincent has never loved you. He loves your money. Vincent loves me.”

She waved with the gun while talking, but the only thing that seemed to stress him was her words, but then he smirked.

“He may love you, but he loves you in the same way as he loved Mael. He loves me in another way…”

Remy shifted on the couch again.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You're fun, for now. You give him a short feeling of euphoria-”

“You mean our love isn't real?” Remy shrugged his shoulders with a pointed look. "Still, it's you he wants to kill.”

Remy shook his head.

“Don't you even try. This is your idea. You're like so many others I've met who believe they have a chance with my little boy.”

Ines gave him a disgusted face. It was just too much for a man old to be his grandpa, called him ���my little boy” while abusing him.

“Your “little boy” wants you dead!”

“Then he would do it himself, not hire a silly girl to do it! The only one he will kill is you.”

Ines furrowed her brows in annoyance but was interested to know how it would continue.

“He probably told you that silly story about Mael getting killed in the war. He was, but they found him cut open with his heart in his own hand. The Taliban got the blame, but both you and I know who it is who likes to arrange his murders to artwork.”

×××

“You killed Mael??”

Ines slapped Vincent’s cheek hard. He let his face lay to the left with the cheek up she had slapped. She still sat over him, and the gun rested on his chest in a silent threat.

“Why did you do that??”

Vincent didn't answer, so Ines pushed the gun under his jaw, and that made him look up at her.

“He was just dead weight.”

Vincent talked coldly about his former lover, like he had just been a material thing weighing him down.

“No, you got bored. When you thought he didn't have anything more to give you, you killed him.”

“No,” Vincent sighed in irritation. “I lost everything when he died. I had a home, money-

“A partner? You didn't think about mentioning that?”

“You interrupted me! I-”

Ines pointed the gun harder at his jaw, reminding him of who had the power.

“So tell me. The truth this time! Did you mess up your own back?”

“Of course not!” When Vincent felt the gun push painfully against his Adam’s apple, he sighed and looked down.

“He was just so whiny and cried over dead people he didn't even know so, yeah I killed him. Then karma was a bitch, and I got shot right after. Some bullshit irony, but in the long run, it was probably good. No one ever suspected me.”

Ines took away the gun from his jaw, and it made Vincent look up at her.

“That's not true.”

Vincent furrowed his brows.

"Yes, it is?”

“No, I don't mean you're lying. I mean that you don't know everything.”

Vincent gave her a confused face.

“There were some who said Mael wasn't whiny or scared… Or not for the war; he was afraid of you. But they were also afraid of you, so they took back their statement.”

Vincent lifted his head from the pillow and looked at her, confused.

“How do you know this?”

“Remy said it. He said he protected you, out of love.”

×××

“I love Vincent with all my heart, and I know our age difference can be… problematic, but he loves me too, and he doesn't get bored of me. Like with Mael or you. Vincent is a complex boy and has needs that not all other boys need. You're such a need, and right now he needs to play. Then... You will also have your heart ripped out of your chest.”

Ines still pointed the gun at Remy but sat now in front of him on the coffee table. It wasn't like she could deny Vincent was a complex man, and he had been with Remy for many years, swimming in luxury, while they'd only known each other for a few months. That Vincent was just playing with her wasn't impossible, especially now that she knew he had killed his former lover because he wasn't amused by him anymore.

“He says that he loves me,” she whispered with a heavy heart, but Remy could still hear her.

“He probably said that to Mael too. Maybe he said it to his parents too, but he pulled their guts out anyway. Vincent is a disturbed man, and the love you offer him will never satisfy him. I can give him everything.”

Money. Power. Blood. Tailored fashion.

×××

Ines felt a movement behind her as she sat over Vincent. She looked back and saw his cock twitch. He had been hard for a while, but she ignored it as long as she could, but now that she could even feel his twitches against her bum, she felt forced to acknowledge his erection. His precum was smeared over his hip and thigh, and she probably got some on her dress too. She smirked to herself and looked at the blushing hard on, she had neglected for so long, but this was clearly what he liked. Getting death threats and slaps. He really was a disturbed man.

When she turned around, she had succeeded in putting on the same angry mask again and pressing his head down on the pillow by dragging his hair.

“You're such a little fucking liar, a little bitch,” she hissed, and once again, she could feel him twitch. Vincent looked at her with big eyes.

“So you believe him? That I will kill you?” He asked. Ines looked at him, examining.

“You said yourself you would kill me when you didn't have any use for me.”

“So? If you're honest, you would say the same about me.”

Ines looked at him and couldn't stop smiling. All of it was so cute. They would really be together to death do they part. She giggled a little, and Vincent furrowed his brows. He didn't have any idea why she laughed. In her euphoria, it became difficult to not look at Vincent's naked body and the erection that had softened a bit. She didn't want to see that happening, so she took his member in her hand, hot and wet of precum. He grew at once in her hand and made a sound like she had shot him.

“Does this cock belong to me? She said firmly while dragging her hand up and down his length. She moved so she could sit next to him, with the loaded gun resting on his thigh.

“Yes,” Vincent whimpered, and he made a deeper sigh when she rolled her palm over the head of his cock. “But…” he said, strained. Ines looked up at him, and when he looked down at her, she started to undress. He seemed to forget what to say; he just looked at her and spread his legs, inviting her up on his cock.

“But?” She asked and straddled his hips, standing on her knees. His cock lay against her pussy and instead of listening to her, he tried to drag his cock through her arousal. When Ines didn't get an answer, she slapped his cheek again, which made his cock twitch again. It was a nice feeling, even for her, and she longed to have him inside of her.

“Did you kill him?” He asked and now looked at her with big eyes. Ines looked at him for a few seconds before smiling. She dragged her hands over his hands, the handcuffs, and down over the backside of his strong arms.

“Of course I did. Because…”

Vincent laughed in euphoria. “Because?”

“He didn't know I'm just as disturbed as you. You will not get bored of me, because if that happens, I will force you to use your own ribs as hangers for your fancy suits.”

Vincent looked at Ines' big smile with a similar face, and then they laughed together.

×××

Three months later…

Ines and Vincent walked around in the big manor. For Ines, it was almost scarily big, but Vincent looked at home, in more ways than one.

The manor was decorated; big Victorian paintings sat on the walls, and even bigger Persian rugs were lying on the floor. Everywhere there were gold details and porcelain vases.

Ines looked at her boyfriend, who was walking around comfortably with a small smile on his lips. He wore a completely black suit with a longer jacket but a waistcoat with a golden brocade pattern. He was as handsome as always and contrasted so nicely with the snow that lay as a soft blanket over Paris.

It was his home they were in. His grandparents old manor. His uncle had died mysteriously, and his wife had let him sell the manor to an anonymous buyer. Vincent de Gramont. He was a wealthy man now, having inherited all of Remy De Gramont’s assets. His Little boy, like it had been said in the will, He even let him have the name. That would probably never have happened if he knew what Vincent would do.

“It was nicer when I was younger…” said Vincent with a sigh.

"Or do you just remember it differently?” His girlfriend answered while looking at a painting of a pig eating apples. Vincent stopped next to her with his thumbs in the small pockets of the peacoat.

“Maybe you're right… I guess we can redecorate it?”

Ines nodded with a smile. She loved when he said “we” but didn't want to make a too big thing out of it. Vincent had believed she would do something out of it and became a bit disappointed. He was amused by her enthusiasm for small things and liked that he could feel a bit of it too.

Vincent snuck behind her and laid his arms around her waist.

“Our living rooms, our dining rooms, our eight bathrooms… Our bedroom… Our dungeon…” he whispered playfully in her ear and made her giggle, both of his words and also because it tickled.

“Maybe grandma can sit here then?” She said that and looked up at him. "Pigs are not my thing and grandma is probably more expensive, even if she's ugly.”

Vincent raised his brows high up on his forehead, then smiled, crooked.

“I thought I had told you…”

Ines looked at him confused, especially when he scratched his forehead.

“It's not a Pivoine. It's fake.”

Ines turned around with furrowed brows in shock.

“What? Is it fake? But…”

“It's a good fake. Really good. But I know my art and the test I did in the beginning… The colors are way too cheap.”

“But… But… Why did you take me to Paris then?” She looked at Vincent's handsome face and telling eyes, and he looked down at her with a smirk.

“I knew I could fool some with it, but also… You're quite entertaining.”

Ines laughed and laid her arms around his neck.

“And you tell me this now?”

Vincent pulled down the corner of his mouth with a playful stare, and Ines giggled.

“I love you, Vincent Beaumont.”

“I love you too, my silly little American girl.”

They kissed softly in front of the pig, two murderers in the finest French fashion. When they released each other's lips with a smack, Vincent let her go slowly so they could walk towards the entrance door.

"So, when will Faith be here?”

Ines laughed and played with Vincent's hand.

“In four hours. Will you fix the dungeon before that?” She smiled darkly at him, and Vincent smirked. Before she had opened the door, he took her firmly around the waist and pushed her behind against his growing member.

“I love when you talk dirty to me.”

×

[rain-on-wax-feathers]

some nonhuman au designs of the gay trio,,,,,

[fionajames]

lams; almost gone

A/N: Guess what? I finally wrote a Hamilton one shot. This is Lams (Laurens x Hamilton) and probably not historically accurate but I tried my best. Send requests! Enjoy!

(divider by @saradika-graphics)

Raindrops pelted down on Laurens as he emerged from his tent, a look of disdain set upon his features. He made no move to brush the strands of his hair stuck to his forehead out of his eyes, and instead grit his teeth and moved on.

Laurens had been rather bitter and sorrowful since Hamilton’s leave, far away on the field of battle. Laurens had nightmares of bullets singing through the air and into the chest of his beloved, knocking his breath from his body. 

Lafayette continued to attempt the worries that hover over his friend like a constant storm. He attempted to soothe the fretting of the blonde, to provide some calm in Laurens’ storm and swirl of emotions.

He shuffled through the ongoing downpour and to the office in which he worked, unbothered by the water soaking his clothes and trickling down his neck unsettlingly. He didn’t bother to greet anyone who he walked past, and instead he trudged inside with a grim appearance that showed nothing but cold.

Laurens got on with his work quickly, and worked through the day with his candle burning by his side. Not once did Laurens leave the tent - although he did occasionally force himself to merely stand and shake the stiffness from his legs - and instead he walked until the night had taken over.

It was then when a messenger burst through the tent flaps. Laurens looked up in confusion, examining the lithe boy. “Have you a message for me?” He asked plainly, exhaustion seeping through his body like cold water.

“Yes, sir!” The boy chirped, saluting quickly and fixing his stance. “General Washington requires your presence, sir!” Laurens stood instantly, brow furrowing as he dismissed the messenger.

The blonde quickly made his way to the General’s tent, growing increasingly worried at the lack of information he held. When he reached the tent, he was surprised to find none other than Lafayette already standing inside. 

“General!” He saluted quickly, but instantly felt worry seep through him upon examining the look adorning Washington’s face. ���Is there something wrong, sir?” Washington sighed, his eyes glistening in the light. Only later would Laurens realise that it was not the light providing the gleam and glisten, but unshed tears. “You may want to take a seat, men.” Lafayette and Laurens exchanged a worried glance, taking to sit in the chairs. “This afternoon, Captain Lee returned and reported that the British made it to the Hudson. We lost some men as they were retreating, among them being Hamilton.”

Ice engulfed Laurens as his breath caught in his throat. “Pardon?” He croaked out, his stomach falling to the floor. He must have misheard Washington, surely. That was the only explanation.

“I'm sorry,” Washington murmured, sorrow covering his features. “He's dead.”

 Lafayette was the first to react, a shrill cry ripping from his throat, tears falling from his eyes quickly. Laurens was frozen. A lump built in his throat, his mind swirling. Hamilton, dead? No. 

He knew Lafayette was sobbing beside him but he remained unmoving in his chair. The world around him continued on, without Hamilton. It was as if he were under water, the world muffled and blurry. A screen of grief and sorrow blocked him from the people surrounding him. 

The screen was shattered into millions of pointed shards of glass when Lafayette moved to stand in front of Laurens, hand gripping his shoulder. He knew the words spilling from his friend's mouth were his name, spoken over and over, but he couldn't hear it properly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Laurens saw Washington pour three glasses of what appeared to be whiskey, and stared emotionlessly as he was handed a glass. Without another thought, the blonde drank the liquid like it was water.

Perhaps he could drink himself to death, then he would be with his Hamilton again.

Laurens quickly ushered Washington to refill his glass, biting back a grimace when the liquid burned his throat. Instead, he let out a quiet sob. Lafayette sat beside him, tears still streaming down his face.

Once the first tear fell from Laurens' eye, he couldn't stop the rest. He sobbed violently, tears spilling from his eyes like rain. He could taste the tears on his tongue, salty and mournful. His heart panged and he cried out as he felt it being ripped from his chest.

The blood seeped from his chest, staining his clothes. He squeezed his eyes shut and immediately regretted it. Images of his boy drowning in murky water flooded his mind, Hamilton sinking to the bed of the river with his life slipping out of his grasp.

“He’s gone,” Laurens whispered, tilting his head up to look at the sky. He imagined Hamilton up there, watching over him. I’ll be with you soon, my dear boy, Laurens thought as he drank yet another glass of whiskey. 

The night slipped away quickly, Laurens drank more whiskey than he could count. At times, his glass was half tears half alcohol. His throat burned and his chest ached. He couldn't see straight. 

The time was nearing midnight when the camp around them erupted with shouts and chaos. Laurens ignored the sounds as Washington and Lafayette stood. 

A voice broke through the chaos, a call. "Where is the General?!"

Laurens froze, his head turning to the entrance to the tent. He knew that voice. He’d known that voice for little over a month, but he felt as though he’d known it forever. That voice was the one that soothed his worries, the voice that cooed to him in the early hours of the morning. The voice that consumed his every waking thought. 

Hamilton’s voice.

The flaps of the tent burst open and in stumbled a man with his ginger hair stuck to his face and dripping wet with water and blood. There was a huge gash on the man’s side, blood dripping from it and onto the floor of the tent.

“Hamilton,” Lafayette whispered before rushing forward and engulfing him in a hug. “Oh, mon petit lion, we thought you were dead.”

“You thought what?” Hamilton murmured, returning the hug quickly. 

Laurens remained in his seat. The whiskey must be kicking in, he thought bitterly. I’m going to be with him soon.

“Jack?” A voice whispered, a voice laced with fondness and worry. Laurens realised the ginger stranger was crouched in front of him, his hands on Laurens' knees. The blonde jerked away from his touch. Washington and Lafayette had left the tent, he realised. They left him alone with a stranger. 

“Get away from me!" Laurens cried out, pushing the ginger away from him and scrambling across the floor. “Jack?” The voice called and Laurens closed his eyes, desperately waiting for death to take him. “Jake, darling?” The blonde opened his eyes to see the ginger crouched in front of him again. He locked eyes with the man, studying the violet blue eyes he had only ever seen in Hamilton. “It's me, Alexander.”

Laurens froze for a moment before launching forward and tackling Hamilton to the floor in a hug, tears streaming down his face. Hamilton began murmuring words of comfort in his ear, soft words to soothe his soul.

They stayed there for a while, Laurens desperately holding Hamilton close. Eventually they went back to their room, sleeping until the sun was high in the sky.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed!!! :D

(taglist: @techs-goggles9902 (you said youd read hamilton if i posted it) and @transmascanakin (tysm for adding me 2 that server btw)

[floredaqueen]

𝕎𝕙𝕠 𝕀 𝕎𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 - (𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤)

𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 - (𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤)

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 - (𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤)

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 - (𝕆𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔹𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤)

𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤 - (𝕆𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔹𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕤)

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 - (𝕊𝕦𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕒𝕝)

𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐧 - (𝔽𝕒𝕣𝕘𝕠 𝕊𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟 5)

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 - (𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤)

𝐉𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐲 - (5𝕝𝕓𝕤 𝕠𝕗 ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖)

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 - (ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤)

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬 - (𝕁𝕠𝕙𝕟 𝕎𝕚𝕔𝕜 4)

[c0nsumemy5oul]

Special Someone on the Side

"You're very kind but I'm afraid it's unlawful, sir." "What do you mean?" "She's married." "I see." "She's married to a British officer." "Oh shit."

No one asked for it, but here are my thoughts on this interaction:

There are things between the lines!

and I wrote them.

Enjoy :)

Hamburr friendship :3 (mentioned hamiliza and lams) 629 words.

It was a pleasant night after Hamilton’s wedding. Eliza was bidding her family goodbye while he was supposed to do the same with his friends, but here they were, getting even more drunk. 

Burr showed up, seemingly failing to have talked to Alexander during the event and was trying his best to ignore the boys and their teasing. 

He was almost done congratulating Hamilton on his marriage and his position as aide-de-camp to Washington, when Laurens deemed the subject too boring and changed it. 

“Well, well, I heard,” He got uncomfortably close to Burr. “You got a special someone on the side, Burr.” He shot Alexander a sneaky glance.

“Is that so?” Hamilton laughed at his boyfriend's antics.

“What’re you tryna hide, Burr?” Laurens slurred in Burr’s ear who’d reached his limit. 

“I should go.” 

Hamilton instantly disagreed. “No, these guys should go.” 

“What?” Laurens turned to Hamilton in thinly veiled betrayal. “No!” 

“Leave us alone.” Hamilton gave him a pointed look. I’m getting us the gossip. 

“Man!” Laurens rolled his eyes fondly, grabbing Lafayette and Mulligan as they stalked away, resigned. 

Being with Hamilton alone seemed to make Burr slightly nervous. 

“It’s alright, Burr.” Alexander smiled a little. “I wish you’d brought this girl with you tonight.” Hamilton couldn’t help seeing that Burr was lacking a plus one at the wedding. 

“You’re very kind,” Burr looked down, fidgeting with the handkerchief in his hand. Hamilton spotted the initials T.B.P. Now who could that belong to? The special someone on the side, perhaps? “But I’m afraid it’s unlawful, sir.” 

Oh? 

Is it? 

In what way? 

Hamilton found himself thinking of his nights with Laurens, in their tent, under the cover of night. 

Had Burr also found a lad during their battles? 

“What do you mean?” Hamilton asked, a light tone and a smirk emerging with the words. If Burr was going to confess something, he wanted him to know he’d be accepted. 

“She’s married.” 

Oh. Hamilton deflated. “I see.”

No matter, they might still be able to work around this. Burr could be with his beau regardless. With a simple divorce, or even a duel for the lady’s honor, it could be manageable. As long as she isn’t— 

“She’s married to a British officer.” 

“Oh shit.” 

Hamilton hadn’t realized he’d said it outloud until he heard Burr chuckle self-deprecatingly. 

“Congrats again, Alexander.” Burr turned to go but Hamilton’s mind was still reeling. 

There must still be a way for his friend and the one he loves to be together. 

“Smile more.” Burr was walking away. 

They could be happy and in love and together without a random British officer in their way. 

“I’ll see you on the other side of the war.” Wait, what? He’ll simply give up like that? 

“I will never understand you.” Hamilton found himself saying. 

Burr turned around, confused. They were alone on the terrace, the quiet lull of people leaving the building could be heard distantly. 

“If you love this woman, go get her!” Yes, he might lose his head in the process, but for love! Isn’t he willing to risk everything to get what he wants? “What are you waiting for?” 

Burr eyed Alexander carefully, trying to discern something before he sighed. “I’ll see you on the other side of the war.” 

He’s beyond saving. Hamilton sighed back, resigned. “I’ll see you on the other side of the war.” 

When Washington had finally given him a command, Hamilton made sure to wound and kill every single British officer he came into contact with. 

To this day, he’s not sure if he did kill Theodosia’s late-husband personally, but she’s living happily with Burr in married bliss and having Hamilton and his wife over for tea and biscuits weekly. 

So Burr won anyway.