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twistedbloodstain · 4 months

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

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

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

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

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

plot: the one where he finds you again.

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

masterlist

“stay still.” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

“yeah.”

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

“paris.”

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

“good luck, i guess.” you mutter.

“you’ve been there.” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

three years since you left him.

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

he nods, “and for you?”

“an even more dangerous man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

with you he was just…vincent.

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

a naive perspective.

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

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

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

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

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

he cannot have you.

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

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

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

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

“doc?” a gruff voice asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“what do you need?” you question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the new york continental was being rebuilt.

your apprehensiveness returns.

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

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

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

“in new york?” you press.

“yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“let go of me!” you scream.

“i’m sorry.”

you feel a prick in your neck.

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

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

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

that’s right.

wait.

only you didn’t treat winston.

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

john brought you here in exchange for his freedom.

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

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

oh goodness.

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

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

fuck. fuck. fuck.

a loud creak echoes through the room.

you really hate how things are right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

with a kiss.

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

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

your vincent.

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

“i could never hurt you.” he whispers.

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

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twistedbloodstain · 1 year

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marquis de gramont x reader: with you, i serve. with you, i fall down. | a seal of fate

plot: the one where the marquis takes you for himself.

warnings: hella down bad marquis, some flulff, break in, violation of privacy, slightly dubious content

masterlist

he can hear the shower running through the floor and the occasional humming from a tune coming from the bathroom.

the living room is dark, save for a vintage lamp illuminated beside the couch. it looked too rusty and drab to basically function but it brought a rustic and classy feel to the room. although, the light withered occasionally.

someone is staring at him. more like something, something feline. it’s been tracing his movements the moment he entered the humble abode. vertical pupils squinting from the unidentified person that has entered his castle, a ball of fur that was mounted beside the lamp on the side table.

it’s body was sprawled on the table but it wasn’t relaxed. it was tense, as if playing camouflage to its prey. staying still as the prey walks past him and when it does he pounces on them for the kill.

he is no prey. more like the owner, it depends on how sentimental this ball of fur is to you. he hears the shower turn off, it catches his attention and waits to hear a door close and another to open along your soft footsteps trudging through the apartment. you call out for your feline pet, the cat makes no sound to meow back to you. focused on him, if he made any sudden movement to attack him. you sigh then ignore the absence of communication and he guesses that you make a beeline for your bedroom.

he waits a few minutes before getting on his feet. several minutes pass and he stands up and walks towards the cat beside the lamp. the cat tenses along with its back legs fidgety for an attack he slowly halts and reaches for it with his hand.

the cat hisses bravely and swiftly raises its paw to attack the hand attempting to touch him with his sharp claws. it makes vincent hiss in pain and retract his hand, he checks his palm for blood. he realizes no blood was drawn and that relieves him. he’s definitely getting this little shit replaced when you move in with him. he’ll get you a sweeter one, a ragdoll or persian just not this demonspawn from hell.

he makes his way towards the bedroom door, as he passes by he can see some trinkets lying on the kitchen and tabletops. a few cooking books and old history textbooks stacked on the floor. this reminds him that he needs to buy you a few books to keep you entertained in the manor.

as he faces the front door he stealthily turns the knob of the door and enters, it was time.

you brushed the tedious knots in your hair with a comb in difficulty, you forgot to brush your hair before showering again. you searched for your hair brush on your vanity but to no avail. you turn towards your bed and gasp in surprise.

he was here, the marquis was here. in your bedroom.

his face remains the same, still and calm as the sea. but you knew better, this was only the calm before the storm. deep inside him, a storm was brewing but he kept his composure to seal away what he truly felt and right now you, the sailor needs to run away from the storm.

you slowly eyed him from top to bottom, as usual his hand stayed in his pockets. a string of gold strewn across his pocket. the chain shines from the luminescence it received from your bedside lamp. he was dressed impeccably, something you often admired. he’d often used his wardrobe as a form of intimidation to his enemies when speaking to them and it often worked. you pray that it doesn’t falter you, that he doesn’t falter you. maybe he’ll leave when you show a strong front to him.

he gazes upon your face like he was taking in a treasure presenting itself to the sight of his eyes. you were still frozen on your spot after you gasped in surprise from seeing him.

“good evening, cherie.” he breaks the silence with the sweet endearment.

you hesitantly greet out a reply to him, you fail to build a strong front and your voice visibly wavers from fear, “evening,boss.”

he begins to walk, it takes all the power in you not to back away from him. you try to appear composed and resilient. a farce attempt to show that you aren’t scared of him, but you know you are and so does he.

thankfully, he doesn’t make his way towards you. he saunters towards the edge of your bed and sits down. his eyes wander around your room, taking in the personal touches you made to the room. gradually turning his head to face you once again.

“how are you?” he politely asks.

“i’m fine. nothing bad happened to me.” you answer.

this again. what’s his game? it was never just simple conversation with your boss, there was always a point he wanted to come across. a lesson to be learned. right now, it wasn’t looking good for you. you need to take control of this conversation.

“that’s good. the doctor commented a few days ag-“ he speaks to you again but got interrupted.

“sir, with all respect. what do you want? why are you here?” you whisper to him. any attempt to gain the upper hand with him is futile, he always gets his licks back. silence follows the conversation before he speaks up again.

“you know what i want.” he sternly retorts.

“i don’t know what you’re here for. much less what you want.” you fire back, strength is solidifying itself inside you.

“is that so? surely you do.” he says mockingly, still playing a game.

“i don’t.” you say firmly this time.

“fine.” he scoffs to your face before reaching into his pocket, you flinch afraid he might’ve brought a weapon of some sort, he notices this and his hand remains inside. his eyes all on your frame and yours on his hand inside of his pocket.

you should really hope you’re not fucked.

“perhaps this will jog your memory.” he continues, “three days ago, you sent me this message. subject: resignation letter. to the marquis de gramont, i'm writing to let you know that, as of the seventeenth day in august of this year, i'm leaving from my employment as the marquis de gramont's personal assistant. due to schedule issues and unanticipated consequences encountered while working, i am leaving my position. i appreciate the chance to work with you over the past two years. sincerely-.” he recites the entire letter of resignation to you with a false professional tone to patronize you..

“i precisely know what i wrote there.” you look away from him annoyed as you cut him off once again.

“then you precisely know why i’m here.” he argues back. “i’m glad we’re finally getting on the same page, mon coeur.”

no we aren’t, i don’t want you here. i want you out of my house and i don’t want to see you ever again. how come you never ask what i want? you want to scream at him but your silence continues.

“look at me.” he pressed.

you stay quiet and keep your gaze away from him.

“you will not leave.” he finally claims. finally this makes your head snap back at him and makes you scoff loudly, the marquis frowns from your reaction although you did give him what he wanted.

“you can’t do this.” you respond weakly, your breath hitching in your throat.

“i can. i actually can.” he states certainly.

“why’s that? because you said so?” you challenge him. defying him is never a good idea, you know this. you know better and you should do better, but you’re too petty and exhausted. you want him out as soon as possible even if that means being blunt to him.

“tell me the truth. why do you want to leave?” he changes the subject and presses once again.

“i already told you. it’s in the goddamn letter.” you were getting tired of repeating the same words.

“i don’t believe you.” he discloses firmly.

“don’t act so foolish and dense-“ you retort in exasperation.

“are you calling me a fool?” he immediately questions. oof i think you hit his pride in that one.

“i’m asking you not to be one. boss, i literally got shot, i almost died. this may be something you can brush off easily but i can’t. you don’t have to worry about me spreading your secrets because i literally signed an nda and i have no intention of getting back in that kind of work! i’m gonna ask you once again, please leave.” you beg him, hoping he hadn’t missed the point of what you were trying to say.

you already knew that this job was already insane. not only do you cater the whims of an insanely rich man whose money seems to have no end but the danger and fear it came along with had to be taken into measure. not to mention, you didn’t exactly feel like living when you worked for him. how many opportunities for happiness had you turned away because that meant disregarding the marquis’ orders and facing his wrath if you chose to have that? god, you hadn’t even been home in a long time. you deserve this, he should at least have the courtesy to understand that.

“you don’t have to be scared anymore, cherie. i’m here.” he interrupts your thoughts as he softly affirms to you.

you don’t want that. you want nothing to do with him, sooner or later you’ll get killed and it’s likely going to be because of him. you know that he’s regretful and shameful of what happened to you but keeping you by his side isn’t going to change that, people die, more fact than speculation and by mere calculation you could tell it’ll happen sooner than later. after all, the marquis was still human. deep down, he’s still vincent and if you were to stay with him for protection that choice should be coming from you, not from him.

his determination to keep you locked away in his manor did nothing but frighten you to death. it had been so unexpected, not to mention you haven’t processed that fully along the fact you almost died.

you sigh loudly from resignation, the marquis keeps you in his line of sight, probably wondering what was going inside your head.

‘i can’t,” you finally utter out, “what can’t you understand? i’m scared…so fucking scared and you keep waltzing into my life like your entitled to it which just scares me more. i needed time to think, to process..all of this.” you gesture around you, the marquis stays silent listening to your words with no visible reaction on his face.

“i finally thought all of this through, i want to stay alive. staying alive means quitting, i-i have so much to live for, my family needs me and i need them. i don’t need you to look out for me, i don’t need you for this. i can help myself.” you refrain to him, letting the words sink to him.

“i’ve done so much for you. i’ve kept and guarded your secrets, everything i’ve ever heard while i worked never escaped my mouth and never entered ears that weren’t meant to hear them. i’ve protected your power, i upheld every system and order you gave me, so for god’s sake. haven’t i done enough for you? what else haven’t i gave to you?” you spill out to him, he deserves to know this, how you carried his burden with you everywhere without him knowing. the burdens you carried that he couldn’t be bothered to touch, every order of assassination, every fearful attempt of getting killed and his mercurial violence.

he needs to know that you can’t take it anymore. there is so much that you could take, let him find another. another that might be more tolerable of how he runs his system, more understanding of his work. someone who doesn’t flinch at the mention of drawing the blood of his enemies. someone that’ll encourage his determination for the never ending pain and ruthlessness.

you can’t be that someone, not anymore.

working for you is pure torture, you want to say but as usual you hold it back from him.

the marquis stays quiet. you don’t see his face twist in displeasure or anger..which is good but a quiet marquis wasn’t any better. he suddenly jolts onto his feet, scoffing from what you just said as he paced on your bedroom with his head infrequently looking at you. he was getting heated from what you said.

he shakes his head with his hands on his hips before finally speaking, stopping in his tracks, “that’s it?”

you try to speak before he cuts you off.

“that’s it, you’re simply leaving me because you’re scared?” he angrily questions you.

“please, you have to understand.” you try to plead once more.

“cherie, i can protect you. i saved you the same way you saved me. i am owed something.” he reassures you, pieces of his anger slightly heard from his tone.

“i was in the way! i didn’t-“ you try to clear it with him.

“clearly, your memory isn’t serving you well, more reason to keep you safe with me which is for the best.” he firmly asserts.

“i’m not going back there!” you yell at him, “just because i took a bullet for you doesn’t mean you get to dictate how i live my life, at the end of the day, you don’t get to control me, i don’t exist for you and most importantly just because i almost died because of you doesn’t mean i owe anything to you.” you lament at him, exhaustion and animosity getting the best of you as the marquis marches towards you, as you finish, slightly out of breath from your rant. he stands still before you. you hope that your words might put some sense in him.

he stares at you and you look back at him, returning his gaze. you gulp, alarmed that maybe you’d gone too far and perhaps…perhaps you should’ve done this more softly or professionally. you should’ve conjured a foolproof plan when confronting him about this, you should’ve expected he wouldn’t let go without a fight however, it’s not like you had a choice with him breaking into your apartment.

he slowly strides towards you, step by step. you take a deep breath in despair as he leisurely closes on you while you feel your back hit the wall.

“you are going back there. it is where you belong, you care for me. don’t even try denying it, cherie. i saw, i saw the way you looked at me that night, you’re afraid that’s all. you’re right,” he takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent then continues, ”i don’t control you but you do that to me, you control me, you control every ounce of thought that occupies my mind. most of the time, it’s all my head does. you might not exist for me but i exist for you, you make living in this cruel world brighter and sweeter than before but this is where you’re wrong. you do owe me something, you owe me your life and i can make it lovelier if you just let me.” he speaks in a hushed tone as he looks through your eyes. you can feel something grabbing your arms, you glance and see that he’s taken hold of your limbs. rubbing circles around them, attempting to soothe you.

the pattern of his strokes reminds you of that night at the plaza.

he only deters you even more.

“i owe you nothing.” you whisper, your voice growing weaker by every second.

“you owe me something.” he repeats once again.

“i don’t.” you mutter looking into his eyes.

“that’s where you are wrong, you do.” he emphasizes to you.

“then we’re even. i-i saved you too and you saved me.” you quietly mumble to him.

he raises a brow in your response and lowers himself to your ear. the hairs in your body rise and you can feel goosebumps crowd your skin.

“i don’t want even…i want you.” he confesses.

you frantically sigh in distress, attempting to wrench yourself out of his grip, something you should’ve done earlier, but it’s too late. he abandons the hold he has on your right arm and clasps it to your neck to bring you closer to him and he kisses you.

you squealed in shock but it’s devoured when he takes your lips to his. you can feel your back press to the wall even harder trying to evade his touch, his kiss, but the marquis presses himself to you. his hands had abandoned your neck and arm, opting to snake around your waist as he pulled you closer to his warmth.

the marquis is kissing you.

he kissed you like a devoured man. as if he’d been deprived of something sweet for years and he finally received what he’d always wanted. he wouldn’t let his grip on you soften, afraid that you might abandon him once again, which you did before. he softly moans into the kiss, content and happy with what was happening.

“don’t leave.” he pulls away to whisper into you. “don’t leave me.”

you whimper as you feel his hands exploring your body, one of his palms tugging at the buttons of your satin white pajama shirt, wanting to feel more and more of the warmth beneath the clothes.

“i want you to promise me.” he mumbles to you, your foreheads pressing together, as he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. you make no sound of promises and affirmation to him. he stays quiet expecting your words as he stares into the depths of your eyes and speaks up once again.

“no matter, you’ll be begging for me soon enough.” he sighs from your lack of communication then delves back into the warm haven he has found earlier.

seldomly, he’d pull himself back to bite your bottom lip. you’d wince from the ache coming for your mouth, slightly parting and he’d take that opportunity to slip inside your mouth. his hands continued to explore through your body, randomly squeezing a part of you to force a moan from you, then return to making out with you. you can feel him smile against you whenever he did. you felt bitter because this was looking victorious for him.

“please…stop.” you sigh in pleasure when he starts kissing and biting your neck.

“do you, cherie? i don’t think you do, not when you’re making all these pretty sounds for me.” he whispers against your neck then continues his attack on your skin.

“s-sir, stop..stop that.” you plead once again.

“vincent.” he stops to correct you.

“what?” you ask confused.

“none of that courtesies from now on. you’ll call me vincent. do you understand?” he softly reminds you, he’d halted his movements of affection, his forehead was pressed against yours again as his eyes looked at you with the utmost devotion known to man.

you stay silent as he smiles at you, that stuns you even more. you’ve never seen him smile from something pleasant. his eyes shimmered with love and desire like the stars when you got shot. your lips were wet and plump from the sudden assault the marquis had given them and your pajama shirt had several buttons undone but the marquis by comparison almost looked the same except for the disheveled clothes.

finally, he presses a chaste kiss to your lips, the seal to your fate awaiting his words.

“as much as i want to continue this right now, we must usher home. we wouldn’t want to be late for dinner, do we mon amour? cold food never tastes as good when it is warm.”

you stay quiet, slightly mind blown from the make out session your ex-boss just gave you. your head feels fuzzy and unclear, christ your legs feel like giving out if the marquis hadn’t been holding you up against the wall.

he leans back down into your collarbone and begins to leave a trail of kisses throughout the skin, you whimper as he bites into some areas of the skin, eliciting a groan from him. you begin to feel his head go lower and lower, entering the region of skin where your unbuttoned shirt had failed to cover, you look down at him hesitantly and you see him looking up at you with affection.

suddenly, he grabs at your hips then raises himself up along with you. hoisting you on him, you hastily grip his shoulders as he lifts you, afraid to fall onto the floor of your bedroom.

“i changed my mind, perhaps it can wait. what do you think mon amour?” he whispers into you in the dark of the night.

you are now his love.

his to have and his to keep.

just as he is yours.

with you, he serves. with you, he falls.

you’re staying with him. not as his assistant but as his partner.

he will be your love. your heart. he will be yours.

you will be his love. his heart. his wife.

and god forbid anyone who takes you from him.

author’s note: sooo that’s part five and the last part of the marquis series! i really enjoyed writing this as it helped me explore my writing capabilities (especially in part two) even in my fever induced state. (it had me giggling in a cafe while i had a fever) thank you so much for the kind words and sweet comments yall have about the series (it has me kicking my feet pls continue). although im tempted to write a drabble of the aftermath of part five + that keith toshko fic and two requests ;)) please like and reblog and feel free to comment!

taglist: @dcgoddess @1mawh0re @davvydobrik @ilunapb @hesvoid3434

part one part two part three part four

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