zara

[lullora]

┃ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ “unplanned”

୨ৎ pairing — michael x fem!reader

୨ৎ synopsis — you and michael have been arguing for weeks, he’s worried he’s losing you but there turns out to be a reason behind you being so hormonal

୨ৎ themes — basically just unprotected sex mixed with a whole load of angst & tension, dom!michael, oral (f!receiving), pregnancy, cr3ampie, secrecy, no use of y/n

୨ৎ word count — 6.6k (i like to deliver)

୨ৎ note — i literally blabbed so much here that there’s no real plot but i locked in and spent 2 days writing something hopefully good. can’t stop won’t stop writing about thriller era michael (i’m obsessed) but you can apply this to any era really. i think i went into a lil too much detail this time because my previous two posts were lowkey shocking, so i hope this makes up for it !!

You and Michael had been locked in a bitter argument for the last few days, constantly at each other’s throats. It didn’t stop you from loving him. It never could. But this paralysing shared stubbornness kept both of your apologies shielded, spinning the conflict into a vicious cycle. Unbeknownst to him, you knew why. You knew why you had been lashing out and angry all at once. A volatile mix of hormones and raw anger consumed you all at once. Oblivious to the truth, all he could do was pour fuel on the fire, turning defensive every single time a minor trigger set you off. Daytimes consisted of you both trading blows whenever he was home, but by night, if he was back before you slept, you found him in between your thighs. Just the way you liked it. 

You were pregnant. 

A baby. You had only just uncovered the truth, a positive test still fresh in your mind. The timing couldn't have been more inconvenient. Michael was currently buried under the immense pressure of preparing for the Victory Tour, while you were celebrating a hard earned acceptance into a modeling agency upon recently signing a contract. It just went to show how unfair reality could be, it had a habit of tossing unexpected complications your way.

But Michael was entirely oblivious. You simply couldn’t summon the courage to tell him. You had known for nearly three weeks by this point, yet a perfect moment never presented itself, there was never a viable window amidst the endless, bitter standoffs and exhausting late nights. He spent the vast majority of his time buried in grueling tour rehearsals with his brothers, leaving you terrified of how he might react to such monumental news. Would he choose to continue the tour, leaving you abandoned and pregnant by yourself? Or would he deliberately sacrifice his career to stay back and tend to you? Neither of those options sat well with you. 

He had missed every single warning sign. The refused drinks, the hormonal storms, the empty calendar where your cycle should have been. Preoccupied by the relentless demands of his career, the thought hadn't even grazed his mind. And honestly? You were grateful for his distraction. It was safer with him not knowing… for now. 

You remained wide awake that night, a concoction of anxious thoughts entrapped within your mind while you lay strewn across the bed. Typical. The sheer weight of the situation had hit you all at once. You knew deep down that keeping this secret wasn't doing you any favours, but for the sake of peace, maintaining the lie felt like your only choice. It was almost laughable, the two of you had been at each other's throats earlier over a completely empty milk carton. He thought you were just being dramatic, never realising that milk was the sole anchor keeping your morning sickness at bay. It was the only thing that settled your stomach enough to avoid raising his suspicion if you suddenly hurled in front of him. The atmosphere between you remained thick, but you prayed he’d put the petty argument behind him by now.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally arrived home. You caught the sound of his footsteps almost immediately, tracking them as they made their way up the stairs and into the bedroom. In spite of yourself, a subtle smile touched your lips. He looked so handsome. Ridiculously handsome. The way a few loose curls perfectly framed his face and the unreadable mystery hidden behind those pitch black shades he wore made your chest tight. He was dressed in a crisp white button up shirt and black trousers. It was a simple combination, yet more than enough to make your knees wobble right where you laid. 

“You’re home early.” You noted, your gaze unashamedly mapping out his features. Your eyes lingered for much longer than they should have, a weakness you mentally blamed on your newly hyper sensitized awareness of him. Ever since you’d found out you were pregnant with his child, your body simply refused to look away.

“My brothers wanted to finish the session early tonight and I thought it was a good idea.” He spoke softly, offering a quiet reflection of your smile. Behind the dim shield of his shades, his gaze travelled deliberately upward from your ankles, taking in every contour of your body until it finally locked with yours. You couldn’t see his eyes but the heavy, unsaid weight of his gaze felt like a physical touch. “It gives me a chance to... make it up to you,” he admitted. A faint fluster embellished his cheeks. It always amazed you how even after countless nights of absolute passion, he still managed to get shy over the slightest hint of intimacy, even when he was the one initiating it. 

“Make it up to me how?” You questioned, rolling over slightly while keeping your gaze locked onto him. The shift in your position caused your breasts to press together, the natural pull of gravity creating a tempting display that instantly hijacked his attention. He stared down at you, captivated by the sight. You lay there, unapologetically beautiful, radiating an ethereal, soft glow that he couldn't quite take his eyes off of. 

“Oh… y’know.” He paused momentarily, letting the silence stretch just long enough to shift the dynamic. “By doing my job as a man to please you and make you feel good. As I should.” he whispered, as though your previous argument was nothing but a distant memory. It typically panned out that way. Argue, make love, repeat. A newfound wave of confidence had anchored his tone, the soft rasp of his voice sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down your spine.

Your cheeks burned with heat, an agonising ache pooling between your thighs from nothing more than his whisper. You utterly loathed how easy it was for him. He merely had to say the magic words and the volatile cocktail of your hormones and libido were completely taken over, ensuring you were no longer dry before he had even crossed the room. 

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” You questioned, your tone laced with a dangerous invitation. You were intentionally coaxing him, hungry for whatever came out of his mouth next. Your body was already on high alert, your pregnancy fuelled senses completely taking over as a rhythmic throb pulsed down there in unison with every beat of your heart. 

Michael shuddered slightly, the vivid image of you entirely naked plaguing his already dirty mind. The world knew him for his innocent, quiet persona, but little did anyone guess how perverted he became the moment the two of you were alone. His cock twitched briefly, the fabric of his underwear uncomfortably tightening around him as he hardened with every filthy scenario that flashed through his mind. 

Lowering his chin slightly, he peered at you over the rims of his sunglasses, letting you see the dark intensity in his gaze. That familiar, knowing smirk crept onto his lips as he deliberately paced forward, stopping only when his knees pressed against the rim of the bed. 

“I’m going to make love to you. Or fuck you... whichever one you’re craving tonight,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. He leaned in closer, the heat radiating off him. “But before that, I think I need a reminder of how good you taste baby. I think I’ve forgotten.” He added a playful, dangerous edge to the end of his sentence, pausing briefly as if trying to reclaim his fading self control. It was the only thing stopping him from pinning you to the mattress and taking you completely senseless until dawn. 

Your heart missed a beat, fluttering below your chest as a wave of adrenaline collided with the pit of your stomach. He had such a way with words. 

Before you could fully process his words, Michael had already shifted, positioning his body over yours on the mattress. A breathless thrill shot through you at his sheer impatience. He was so single mindedly intent on pleasing you that he didn't even waste a second to take off his clothes or settle in, even after a monotonous day of rehearsal.

He positioned his head between your legs, his hands coming up to rest on either side of them as he dotted a disorganised line of soft kisses up your right thigh, stroking your skin with such delicacy. Naturally, you would go between peeking at him and resting your head against the pillow to fully immerse yourself in the moment. To enjoy every last little sensation, knowing it would guide you to something better. A sigh broke free from your throat the closer his lips became to the jackpot. 

Michael brought his left hand inwards, stroking his thumb over the crotch of your panties as he watched the colour darken, your arousal seeping through the material in a protruding circle. You couldn’t help but whimper, every sense heightened now that you were carrying an unspoken secret inside of you. He tucked his index finger within the hem of your panties, ushering you out of them as he intensely pulled them down, tossing them onto the floor. 

“God you’re so fucking beautiful I just need to–” he halted himself. No more words. Just action. He buried his face abruptly between your thighs, positioning himself closer this time as he wasted not another second. Michael licked a stripe vertically up your glistening pussy as he groaned, the sweetness of your arousal a sanctuary to his tastebuds. 

Your neck formed an arch, your hand instinctively meeting with his head. Your slender fingers enmeshed with his jet black curls, grasp tightening. The friction of his tongue stimulating you was a godsend, something so perfect that not even words could encapsulate it. Only experiencing. “Fuck Michael yes-” You moaned out, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as your hips simultaneously jolted forward, your body naturally craving for more as he fed your addiction. Or perhaps you fed his. Literally. 

Michael grunted, his lips forming an ‘o’ as they encased your clit, sucking gently but enough to entice your flow of stimulation as his tongue rolled in calculated figures of eight. “You taste so perfect.” He mumbled without interrupting his motion, the vibration of his voice sending an electric current through your entire body. You could feel your climax arising with every second that passed by. 

Your thighs began to quiver beneath his grasp, muscles tense as you almost fed him your pussy. Very subtly bucking your hips up into his face, just the way he liked it. Savouring every last drop of you on his tongue as he ravished you, treating your pussy like a deathrow meal. 

“I–I’m gonna cu-” The words broke apart before you could finish them, swallowed whole by the wave that had been coiling at the base of your spine. It hit without warning, a deep, pulse of pleasure that detonated low in your belly. Your walls clenched in tight, helpless contractions, each one dragging a sound from your throat you didn't recognise as your own. Your back arched off the sheets, fingers fisting hard into his hair as your thighs trembled against him. Not a gentle quiver, but a full body shudder you had zero control over. A ragged moan tore past your lips and dissolved into something closer to a sob as the intensity crested and held. Your legs fell wider apart, shaking violently. Every nerve felt raw and lit up like a live wire. But he didn't relent. His rhythm stayed exactly where it was, deliberate and undying as he dragged you through the peak instead of letting you fall gently from it.

“Mmm, that's the perfect sweetheart. Let it all out.” He whispered, his eyes closed so he could savour the moment himself, his tongue continuing with those intense, familiar motions. Your thighs buckled, tensing around the sides of his head. Your body’s way of confirming he was sending you into overstimulation. 

“Please, I can’t take it.” You whimpered, a veiled note of desperation bleeding into your voice. He pulled away, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, glossy with your slickness. 

Both of your chests rose up and down, frantically attempting to draw in oxygen. But Michael wasn’t yet done with you and you both knew that. He crawled upwards menacingly, his crotch landing directly where he’d just overstimulated you. You could feel, even through his pants, how hard he was. How hard he got just from pleasing you. It was somewhat flattering. 

“Was that good?” He asked curiously, flashing you a playful smile, his demeanour softening a little, as though he was seeking your approval. He wanted to hear that he’d done good, that his job had sufficed. 

“Perfect. A billion times over.” you reassured him, giggling softly as you grabbed a quick glimpse of the imagery between your legs, in which Michael was wedged. You noticed the outline in his pants, practically ready to burst its way through the fabric. “Someone’s incredibly impatient.” You joked, gesturing to his blatant bulge. 

Michael laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… maybe if you didn't look like that, it wouldn't be a problem."

Before he could form another word, your needy fingers were already at work, unbuckling his belt, sliding the leather free from its loops and letting it fall to the floor with a clink. Then came the buttons of his shirt, one by one, each pop of fabric sending a fresh wave of anticipation through the air. Your fingertips grazed his skin with every button undone, deliberate and slow, savouring the way his breath hitched beneath your touch. A few seconds later, his shirt joined the belt in a crumpled heap. In one fluid motion, you were both completely naked, skin against skin.

Michael nibbled gently on his bottom lip, his gaze sweeping over your face and figure with a hungry reverence. One last moment of stillness before he unleashed everything he had been holding back. His eyes traced the curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts, the parted readiness of your lips. A possessive heat flickered in his expression. He intended to ruin you. To leave you trembling, breathless and utterly undone. A complete, beautiful mess beneath him, with no thought left in your head but his name.

“Wait one second.” He whispered, reluctantly pulling back for a brief moment. You watched as he reached toward the nightstand, the sharp crackle of a condom wrapper tearing open cutting through the quiet bedroom. “Just to be safe.” He murmured. The phrase hung heavily in the air, a striking contradiction to the reality he was completely oblivious to.

Oh boy, little did he know. 

Without a coherent thought, your fingers closed around the foil packet in his hand and you tore it away, flinging it somewhere into the shadows of the room. The crinkle of plastic against the floor was the only sound before you locked your legs around his waist, thighs clamping tight, sealing him against you with no room for retreat. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading through the damp hair at his nape and you pulled him down into a kiss that was less about tenderness and more about possession. A deep, open mouthed distraction that said you didn't want anything between you. Not tonight. Not with the ache pooling hot and heavy between your thighs, demanding nothing but the feel of him. Skin against skin. No barriers. No pretense.

The moment your legs tightened their hold, his body surrendered to gravity, his hips dropping forward in a single, fluid motion. His cock found your entrance as if it had always known the way and he slid into you in one long, unbroken stroke. It was slow at first, then he sunk deep, filling you completely. The sensation drew a trembling whimper from your throat, mirrored by the low, guttural sound that escaped his lips as your bodies fused together, the kiss breaking just long enough for both of you to gasp into the heated space between your mouths.

The thought of the condom evaporated from Michael's mind the instant he sank into you. The scorching grip of your walls pulling him deeper rendered any memory of latex utterly irrelevant. This was a sensation no thin layer of rubber could ever replicate. The raw, silken clutch of your body yielding around him, squeezing him with every flutter of your inner muscles, claiming him in a way no barrier ever could.

He broke the kiss just long enough to drag in a ragged breath, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice a low growl that vibrated against your lips.

"Fuck."

The word was half curse, half prayer, lost immediately as he crashed his mouth back into yours. The kiss turned sloppy, desperate. Tongues tangling in a wet, rhythmic dance as they slid past each other, tasting and exploring. He didn't waste another second. Whatever fragile thread of self control he'd been clinging to snapped entirely as his hips drove forward, plunging into you with a desperate, punishing rhythm. The heat of your body enveloped him completely, each stroke sliding through your wet folds before sinking deep. The raw, velvety clutch of you pulled him in with every frantic thrust. Every fight, every bitter word from the past days was eclipsed by the wet, slapping sound of skin meeting skin, by the way your legs tightened around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as if you were holding him hostage. He set a feverish pace, relentless and hungry, each drive of his hips pushing deeper, burying himself to the hilt until he was seated fully inside you. Your body gripped him like it never wanted to let go. His breath came in ragged, broken grunts against your mouth, the only sounds in the room besides the obscene, wet rhythm of your bodies colliding.

The bedroom was filled with the sound of breathless groans and heavy sighs, your fingers tangling at the nape of his neck as the intense pacing drove you wild. He moved against you with an unyielding heat, his lower body colliding with yours. “We do this every night and it somehow... always feels better than the last.” He managed to mutter, his voice broken by desire. You squeezed your eyes shut against his shoulder. You had always used condoms, yet a split weeks ago must have been the silent catalyst for your pregnancy. Now, the rules were completely thrown out. He drove himself into you without a second thought, entirely unphased by the lack of protection, intoxicated by the raw, barrier free heat of your body. 

Michael’s hand pressed flat against the headboard, knuckles taut, while the other curled around your thigh, fingers sinking into the soft skin just enough to hold you steady. He slid his hand between your legs, tracing slow, deliberate lines through your flesh until he found your clit, aching and already desperate beneath his touch. He circled it gently at first, each rotation a little more insistent, building a rhythm that pulled you both closer to the edge. He wanted nothing more than to come undone at the exact moment you did, to feel your release shudder through you as his own broke free, the two of you spilling together in divine timing.

“That feels so good don’t stop-” You whimpered, the words falling out of you in broken, desperate pieces, shredded apart by the ragged gasps tearing from your chest. Your back arched involuntarily, pressing into him as pleasure coiled tight and hot in your core, like a fire spreading through every nerve ending. His cock stretched you open with deliberate strokes while his fingers worked your clit in tight, knowing circles. The dual sensation was almost too much, almost unbearable. Your thighs trembled, slick with arousal and every thrust dragged a helpless sound from your throat. He knew exactly how to move, exactly when to press harder, when to slow down just enough to make you ache for more. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, mixing with your moans and the sheer filth of it only pushed you closer to the edge. You were completely wrecked beneath him and he hadn't even finished with you yet.

You were close again. For the second time that night, pleasure was cresting inside you like a wave about to break and there was nothing you could do but let it take you.

His curls hung loose and wild around his face, damp with sweat, swinging with every powerful snap of his hips. You watched him, really watched him. His jaw clenched tight, lips parted around breathless groans that sounded almost pained. His body moved like something primal, muscles coiling and flexing beneath his skin, completely lost in the wet heat of you. And the sight of him unravelling like that, losing himself inside of you, sent a sharp thrill of satisfaction through your haze. All you had to do was lay there, spread open, flushed, looking up at him with those pretty eyes and he came undone.

"Let me fill you." He rasped, voice dropping into a low, wrecked growl against your throat. "Please, baby."

His restraint was gone. You could feel it in the way his grip tightened on your hips hard enough to bruise, the way his thrusts turned sloppier, chasing something raw and desperate. Inhibitions had dissolved into nothing. Consequences didn't exist. All that mattered was the tight pull of your body around him and the overwhelming need to push as deep as he could go and stay there. To spill himself inside of you and leave something of himself behind. An unspoken claim. A mark no one else could see but you'd carry all the same.

The risks were dangerous. But he was too far gone to consider that, too lost in you to realise that the worst case scenario had already taken root.

After what felt like an eternity of relentless thrusts, broken only by deep groans and the soft, ruined whimpers falling from both your mouths, Michael shattered.

His body seized above you, hips stuttering hard as he buried himself to the hilt and came with a broken groan against your neck. Warm, thick pulses spilled deep inside you, one after another, each one pulling a ragged sound from his throat like the orgasm was being ripped out of him. The sensation was primal, a fiery heat blooming low in your belly and spreading outward.

This wasn't some cheap, performative fuck from an 80s porno. It was deeper than that. Messier. More real. The kind of sex that couldn't be captured or replicated. Only felt.

Your walls clenched around him instinctively, milking every last drop from his cock with each greedy contraction. He groaned, low and broken at the sensation, his forehead pressed against yours. Your nails bit into the skin of his neck, crescent shaped marks blooming red against his flushed skin. But it wasn’t until then you realised that you were falling too. Your orgasm crashed through you like a second wave, pulling a sharp cry from your lips as your back arched off the bed.

Finishing together felt like something sacred. Your bodies locked, trembling and pulsing around each other. Two people reduced to nothing but the aftershocks still rolling through you in devastating waves. Like your souls had been threaded together and pulled tight. Like nothing outside that bed existed.

— — — —

Three days later.

The pharmacy bag crinkled against your hip as you fumbled with your keys at the front door, your mind still reeling from the conversation with the pharmacist.

Prenatal vitamins. Folic acid. Take one daily with food.

It all felt so clinical, so sterile, for something that had turned your entire world upside down. You stepped inside, dropping your bag onto the kitchen counter with a heavier thud than you intended.

That's when you heard the shower shut off.

Your blood ran cold.

You lunged for the bag, fingers scrambling against the paper as you tried to shove the small pharmacy bottle deeper inside, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it from the bathroom. But your hands were shaking and the bottle slipped, rolling across the counter with a hollow plastic clatter that might as well have been a gunshot.

Footsteps. Fast.

Michael appeared in the kitchen doorway, damp curls clinging to his forehead, a towel slung low and loose around his hips, water still dripping down his chest. His eyes found you first, frozen, guilty, one hand still reaching for the bottle, then dropped to the counter.

Silence.

"What's that?" His voice was calm. Too calm.

"Nothing." You denied, as you grabbed the bottle and shoved it behind your back like a child caught stealing. "It's nothing, Michael."

He was already moving toward you. Not fast, not aggressive, but with a deliberate stride that made your stomach drop. He reached you in three steps and before you could react, his hand closed gently but firmly around your wrist, pulling it forward. The orange bottle caught the light.

Prenatal Vitamins. With Folic Acid.

His eyes scanned over the words, over and over again, jaw tightening.

"How long?" His voice was low. Controlled. But his eyes, almost hurt, told a different story.

"Michael–"

"How long?" He cut you off abruptly.

“Three weeks." You admitted, swallowing the achy lump that had manifested in the back of your throat.

The silence that followed was suffocating. He released your wrist and stepped back, running a hand through his wet curls, the muscles in his jaw working like he was physically biting back everything he wanted to say.

"Three weeks." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just disbelief. "You've known for three weeks and you didn't tell me?"

"I was figuring out how to-"

"Figure out how to what?" His voice rose, sharp enough to make you flinch. "How to keep it from me? How long were you going to let me walk around not knowing that you're carrying my-" He stopped himself, pressing both hands flat against the counter, head dropping between his shoulders. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but rougher. "How? We were careful. I always-" Every sentence he spoke was cut short with an apparent uncertainty.

"The condom broke." You said softly. "That night. You didn't notice, but I did. I thought…it only takes one time, Michael."

He stared at you. Something shifted behind his eyes, recognition perhaps. That night. The second time. When he'd been so lost in you that neither of you had stopped to check. When consequences had been the furthest thing from his mind.

But then something else flickered across his face. A memory surfacing. His brow furrowed and when he spoke, his voice had dropped to something dangerously quiet.

"Wait." He held up a hand. "That night. A few nights ago. I went to grab a condom and you-" He paused, eyes narrowing. "You stopped me. You pulled me back and told me not to bother. I thought…" His jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grind. "You already knew. Didn't you?”

It wasn't a question.

"That was after you found out." He continued, his voice rising with each word. "You already knew you were pregnant and you let me, you encouraged me to…" He broke off, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "What was the point of that? You were already pregnant. It didn't matter anymore, did it? So why bother with the condom?"

Something inside you snapped.

"Oh, that's rich." Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but you didn't take it back. "You didn't seem too bothered about the condom when I took it from you Michael. You didn't pause. You didn't ask questions. You just-" You gestured at him, frustration burning hot behind your eyes. "You were perfectly fine with it then. But now suddenly you're mad at me for being secretive? You didn't want answers three days ago. You wanted to get laid. So don't stand there and act like I manipulated you when you were very willing. I didn’t see you hesitate."

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Michael stared at you. His mouth opened. Closed. For a brief moment, he looked like he'd been physically winded, like you'd reached across the counter and slapped him. His jaw worked, but nothing came out.

Then his expression hardened.

"Don't turn this around on me." His voice was low. Dangerous. "Don't you dare turn this around on me. I didn't know what I was getting into. You did. That's the difference." He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his soap, close enough that the water still clinging to his skin cooled the air between you. "You had all the information and I had none. That's not me being unhesitant sweetheart. That's being kept in the dark."

He turned away from you, pacing toward the window, towel riding dangerously low on his hips as he dragged both hands down his face. Then he stopped, slowly turning back to you. And the look on his face had shifted into something worse than anger, it was a realisation.

"And the last few weeks." He murmured slowly, like he was assembling a puzzle he hadn't known existed. "The snapping, the attitude. Every time I asked you what was wrong, you bit my head off like I'd done something. I really thought-" A bitter laugh escaped him. "I thought I was losing you or that I'd done something wrong. I was lying awake at night replaying every conversation trying to figure out what I'd fucked up and the whole time… the whole time, it was hormones!”

He pointed at you, not accusingly, but like he needed you to acknowledge it. "You let me think it was my fault. You let me believe that."

"I didn't know how to explain it without-"

"Without telling me the truth? Yeah. I'm getting that." He exhaled hard through his nose, turning his back to you again, one hand gripping the back of his neck. "Three weeks. Three weeks of me walking on eggshells. Three weeks of you already knowing and you let me spiral."

He was quiet for a long moment. A moment that felt like years taken off of your life. Your heart ached beneath your chest, a mixture of fear and dread instilling within you. It made you feel sick, nausea nibbling at your gut. 

"I leave for tour in two weeks." His voice was low now. Wrecked. "Two weeks. The boys are counting on me. We've been planning this for months and now…" He gestured wildly between you, his expression caught somewhere between fury and something close to disappointment. "Now you're telling me I'm about to be a father?"

"Michael-”

"I'm not finished." He spun to face you, eyes blazing. "Three weeks. You sat across from me at dinner, you slept next to me, you let me talk about the tour like everything was fine and the whole time you knew." His voice dropped, rough and bitter. "That's fucked up. You know that's fucked up, right?"

Tears burned behind your eyes, but you held his gaze. "I was scared." You admitted, hopeful that perhaps he would understand. Maybe if he acknowledged that you were afraid, he would’ve comforted you.

"You were scared?" He let out a hollow breath, bracing one hand on the doorframe. "I'm about to get on a stage in front of thousands of people and pretend like my whole life hasn't just flipped upside down and you were scared."

The kitchen fell quiet except for the drip of water from his curls hitting the tile floor.

He didn't leave.

He should have. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight enough to snap, jaw aching from how hard he'd been clenching it and the way you were standing there. Arms wrapped around yourself, eyes glassy, chin trembling just slightly like you were fighting to hold it together, was doing something dangerous to the part of him that still wanted to fix everything for you.

But he didn't leave. Not yet.

"You know what the worst part is?" His voice had gone quiet. Not calm, simply quiet. The kind of quiet that came after the storm had already torn through everything worth destroying. He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His gaze had drifted to the counter, to the pharmacy bag, to the evidence of something that had detonated both your lives. "The worst part isn't that you kept it from me. It's that I can't even be angry properly without feeling like shit about it."

Your breath caught within your throat. 

"Because I know you were scared." He swallowed and his throat worked visibly, his damp curls hanging in his face. "I know that. And I hate that I know that, because it means I can't just- I can't just be mad. I have to sit here and feel guilty for being mad at the woman who's carrying my child and that's…" He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, blinking hard at the ceiling. "That's a really shitty place to be.”

"Michael, I—" you cut in before being sharply interrupted yet again. 

"But I'm also.." He held up a hand and his voice wavered for the first time. Just barely. Just enough to notice. "I'm also really fucking angry and I don't know how to be both. I don't know how to hold both of those things at the same time."

The kitchen was thick with everything unsaid. Every sentence that started with I'm sorry or I understand or please that neither of you could bring yourself to say because the words felt too small for what was actually happening.

You watched his hand tighten around the edge of the counter. Watched his knuckles go white. And something inside your chest cracked open, not into tears, not yet, but into something worse. A guilt that was heavy and suffocating, settling into the spaces between your ribs like wet concrete.

Because he was right. Every word. He was right and you'd known he would be. That was exactly why you hadn't told him.

"I should've said something sooner," you whispered, words breaking into pieces through a sorry attempt to choke back your tears. Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. "I know that. I knew that. I just… every day it felt like there was a new reason to wait, and then one day turned into a week and then a week turned into-"

“Three.” He exhaled. Long and slow. The kind of breath that sounded like it cost him something. Then he pushed off the counter.

You watched him move toward the doorway, his towel still low, water still dripping, shoulders squared like he was bracing for impact and for one horrible moment, you thought he was going to say something else. Something that would either break this completely or start to mend it and you weren't sure which one you were more afraid of.

He paused in the doorway. One hand on the frame. His back to you.

"I need.." He stopped. His head dropped forward and you could see the tension running down his spine like a wire pulled too tight. "I need to not be in this room right now."

"Michael."

"I'm not leaving you." His voice was rough. Edged with something that might have been an apology if he'd let it be. "I just.. I can't look at you right now without wanting to either hold you or walk out that front door and I don't trust myself to pick the right one."

The words hit you like a knife in the chest.

He disappeared down the hallway. A door closed, not slammed and not the bedroom, but the spare room. The one with the pull out couch and the door that didn't lock because neither of you had ever needed it to.

And then silence.

You stood in the kitchen for a long time. Long enough for the light through the window to shift. Long enough for your tea to go cold… when had you even made tea? Long enough for the tears to finally come, quiet and slow, slipping down your cheeks without your permission.

He was right. All of it. The hormones, the condoms, the three weeks of silence. He was right and you’d known he would be and you'd kept it anyway because some stupid, terrified part of you had convinced yourself that if you just held it long enough, you'd figure out the perfect way to say it. The perfect way to make it okay.

There was no perfect way. There never had been.

You pressed your palms flat against the cool counter and let your head hang forward, hair curtaining your face, breathing shallow.

Down the hallway, Michael sat on the edge of the pull out couch which sat still unmade, still folded into itself with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

The anger was still there, loud and justified. But underneath it, curling up from somewhere deep in his chest, was something that tasted a lot like guilt.

He'd seen your face. Right at the end, when his voice had dropped and the words had come out crueler than he'd meant them, he'd seen it. The way you'd flinched. Not dramatically.

Not like he'd hurt you, but like you'd expected it. Like you'd already been bracing for the worst version of him and had stood there anyway.

That messed him up.

Because you were carrying his child. His baby. And he'd just stood in that kitchen in a towel and torn into you like you were an adversary instead of the woman he'd chosen. The woman who'd chosen him. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. Three weeks. She kept it from me for three weeks.

The thought looped. Over and over, like a broken record stuck on repeat. And every time it surfaced, the anger surged back, but then immediately, like clockwork, it was followed by the image of you standing there, arms wrapped around yourself, saying 'I was scared' in a voice so small it barely reached him.

And then he felt like shit for being angry. And then he felt like shit for feeling like shit. And round and round it went.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that amplified every sound, the hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock in the hallway, the faint, almost imperceptible sound of breathing from the kitchen that he couldn't tell if he was imagining or not.

He should go back in there.

He should go back in there and say what? I'm sorry? He wasn't sorry. Not yet. Maybe not for a while. It's going to be okay? He didn't know that. He didn't know anything right now except that in two weeks he was supposed to be on a stage and in several months he was supposed to be a father and the woman he loved had been carrying both of those truths without him for twenty one full days.

He should go back in there. But he didn't.

Neither of you slept well that night.

You heard him move around the spare room once, the creak of the couch, the soft thud of something hitting the floor, maybe his book, maybe a pillow he'd thrown and you laid in your bed with the sheets pulled up to your chin, staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds between his movements. At some point, close to 2am, you thought you heard him say something muffled. Maybe your name. Maybe nothing.

You didn't go to him and he didn't come to you.

The hallway between the bedroom and the spare room had never felt longer.

[rainsoughtflowers]

lifesaver

tw/cw - smoking

a/n - a snippet of my new story

pairing - kang woo-young x reader

it doesn't take you long to find him. 

after wandering the perimeter of the school, the smell of cigarette smoke hanging thickly in the air is what led you to the alleyway just outside the gym building. and sure enough, as you approach the clearing, you spot kang woo-young among a group of guys seated on empty containers and old wooden stools. 

your noise scrunches slightly at the scent, which burns the inside of your throat and the surface of your eyes. and even worse, you're suddenly overcome with an uncomfortable sensation. one that's difficult to ignore. 

it takes every ounce of restraint within your body to remain planted on the ground in front of them, ignoring the need to flee from the scene. the feeling of your muscles seized by fear, the scarcity of your breath, both are a product of the memory that surfaces when you spot the object hanging limply between deft fingertips. 

it reminds you of that dark storage room you find yourself in far too often. the suffocating smell of smoke. the pain that follows the scent. so much so, you need to avert your eyes to focus on a different point just to calm down enough to remain rational. 

the people he surrounds himself with ignore your existence. they give you no more than a passing glance, their attention easily sliding away from your figure to something more interesting or noteworthy.

but not him.

not once do his eyes leave your own. they lazily slide to your face, and it strikes you again. that crawling sensation down the length of your spine from the way he considers you. carefully, deliberately, in ways you are not used to. 

"you need something?" he mutters out, not exactly rude, but not kind either. just...there. 

you swallow hard, then force the words out, "can you help me?"

something shifts in woo-young's expression. you aren't sure what it is, but you recognize it. it's that same look he regarded you with sometime before. one that pierces through your defenses, as if he's seeing you for the first time. not the empty shell of yourself. not the ghost of a girl carrying something she cannot bear anymore. 

he doesn't say anything, which you take as a sign to continue. 

"i heard you'll beat people up for money."

slowly, a smile curls woo-young's lips. it stretches wide across his face, deepening the lines around his cheeks and creasing his eyes just slightly. an amused chuckle slips past his teeth as he leans back, taking a drag from his cigarette, "for the right price."

"how much would i need to pay you to help me get revenge?"

your question must catch woo-young off guard. he blinks, his smile faltering just barely. this time, when he studies you, it's with a smudge of curiosity. his eyes drag across every inch of your face, like he's trying to understand you, and you don't miss the way his attention lingers on the healing scab on your lips.

"what kind of revenge?" he finally inquires. 

the corner of your mouth twitches. whether it was to form into a frown or a smile, you'll never know, "the kind that would make someone miserable for the rest of their life."

read the rest on wattpad or ao3 !

"i heard you'll beat people up for money." "for the right price." "how much would i need to pay you to help me get revenge?" "what kind of r

[ilongfor-the-arts]

Tea and Music

Pairing: Marquis de Gramont x fem! Reader

Warnings: smut!, language, mild begging, choking, unprotected sex, use of “good girl”

Summary: Part two of Poetry in Motion! These are the events that happen after Marquis meets our ballerina reader.

Word Count: 6.7k

Read Part one HERE!!!

Taglist: @jiawalker

The limo crushed the small stones under its tires as it drove along the white gravel path. The entire estate was completely covered in trees and green once we passed through the golden gates. I couldn't see the sides of the gate from the car, so I assumed his estate extended for miles.

Not a blade of grass was out of place.

I would have flirted with Vincent sooner if I had known he was concealing a mansion.

Our conversation two nights ago was extremely straightforward. He introduced himself, and I asked him one question before he insisted on speaking with me in person.

His address was on a street I'd never heard of before. I thought that perhaps it was in the Paris slums. His fancy suits and elegant demeanor were just a ruse to convince people he was wealthy.

But, alas, he lives in a mansion. Who would’ve guessed?

As the car approached the large front doors, I tried to hide my surprise. His house was something out of a movie. To take it all in, I had to turn my head completely left and right. It possessed at least three levels. It was made of lovely white vintage brick and black shingles. Two poles supported an enormous balcony on opposite sides of the large double front doors.There were dozens of tall arched windows. The architecture was inspired by the French countryside, but it was elevated to the highest level.

It appeared vintage and loved, but not worn.

“Alright madame, we are here.”

My trance was broken by the posh driver.

“Oh, yes.”

He opened the door for me, offering his hand to ensure that I would not be inconvenienced in the slightest.

I could grow accustomed to this type of treatment.

I hoisted myself up by grasping his smooth palm.

“Have a pleasant visit, madame.”

He spoke with a classy accent. His elegance, however, couldn't compete with Vincent's. The elderly driver jumped back into the driver's seat and began bustling away, rocks crunching beneath the tires.

I cocked my head upwards, hesitant. I could feel nerves brewing within my stomach. The butterflies were flying free. I took a deep breath, steadying my mind.

I honed in on the rustling of the trees, waiting until the butterflies had completely dissipated.

I couldn’t believe I was about to enter the home of a man I had just met.

I knew his name.

I knew he liked ballet.

I knew where he lived.

And, that’s it.

I climbed the few steps leading to the glass double doors.

Should I knock?

No, he was expecting me.

I gently pushed open the door. The hinges didn't creak in the least.

The doors opened to reveal a large room with white marble floors and a double staircase that swirled to the top floor. The banisters were made of gold, the dark wood walls were covered in expensive-looking paintings, and each room was separated by a large, open arch.

“Hello? I’m here!”

The waves of my voice echoed around the large, nearly empty room. I felt dwarfed by the high ceilings.

“Welcome.”

my heart skipped a beat. Vincent appeared out of nowhere, sauntering through the archway on my left, hands in pockets.

He remained silent, waiting for me to break the tension.

“Uh-Thank you for having me… your house is beautiful.”

As the gravity of the situation became clear, my tone became somewhat shaky. Vincent gave a small smile.

“Thank you very much. I have quite a few estates-“

Woah, woah, woah. A few estates? As in more than one?

“But this one is by far my favorite. It’s lavish, and quiet.”

The trees gently rustled. In the distance, birds chirped. My heart was pounding in my ears.

“See? Nothing. No sounds except those of nature.”

My knees shook. Those two previous statements felt like one big, blatant sexual innuendo. I hoped that sex wasn't the sole reason for having me in this lovely estate that just so happened to have no neighbors for miles.

He leaned against the wooden arch, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his dress pants. Vincent furrowed his brow as he observed my concern.

“Please, don’t be worried. I know I was just given the pleasure of becoming your acquaintance. But, I assure you, I possess a sophisticated character.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards.

“Come.”

He said this as he stepped away from the arch, motioning for me to follow him into the next room.

“I have something I believe you will enjoy.”

I returned his stare. His beautiful eyes shone with warmth. He seemed to have changed slightly now that I was in his house. He appeared to be... more at ease. Neither his gaze nor his tone indicated any discomfort. He was no longer concerned with maintaining any sort of facade.

I couldn't bring myself to be afraid of him.

I smiled.

“Alright.”

My short heels clacked against the marble. As I strolled past him, I captured his familiar scent and was overcome with nostalgia.

The room I entered was significantly smaller than the one prior. Rather than being adorned in paintings, there was merely one green landscape above the unlit fireplace. One wall was entirely covered in wooden shelves, each of which was crammed to the brim. When I looked closer, I noticed that each section was filled with vinyl records. Some are still wrapped in plastic, while others have clearly been loved for years.

“Oh wow! You have quite the collection!”

I exclaimed as I ran my fingers along the spines of various records. Marquis laughed, amused by my intense interest.

“Oh wow!”

I had to use a surprising amount of force to pry one of the vinyls off the shelf as it was jammed into a completely full rack.

“You have the music from Giselle!”

Vincent strolled over to me, leaning over my shoulder to observe what had captured my attention. It was a record, with a lady and man engaged in dance. The lady wore a blouse and bodice, while the man donned tights and a decorated top.

“Do you enjoy this ballet?”

His hot breath cascaded across my face and neck as he inquired. A shiver ran down my spine as I realized he had placed his frame directly behind mine.

“Yes, I do. I was in it a long time ago. And, ever since it’s been one of my favorites.”

“Ah, you were in it?”

I flipped the vinyl to the back, reading each track and reminiscing.

“Yes, I was Giselle.”

“But of course you were.”

I scoffed, dismissing his high opinions of me.

“It really was not that impressive. It was a small community theater, and it was years ago before I decided to pursue ballet professionally.”

“It makes little difference where you do it. I'm sure you danced as well as someone from the Opéra National de Paris. Your talent is just as visible in a small theater as it is in the world's largest.”

I pushed my finger between two vinyls to create a gap so I could slip the record back into its original position.

“You flatter me.”

Vincent dragged his fingertips along the spines. As he did so, I fixed my attention along his veiny digits, my brain beginning to slip into places it hadn't been in a long time. I closed my eyes, forcing my mind to return to the present. Vincent drew his gaze across the records, studying them and searching for a specific item.

“Ah!”

He discovered what he was looking for.

“Swan Lake, another one of my favorites.”

He pulled it from the shelf and began to study it.

“Tchaikovsky's music is a work of art. He manipulates the instruments, allowing them to move in a poetic manner. It truly is unparalleled.”

He cocked his head to the side, meeting my eyes.

“Do you enjoy this ballet?”

He raised his brows, inviting me to respond. I shuffled towards his hot body, nodding.

“Yes, of course, it’s a classic.”

This cover depicted a woman bending over a lake, with a swan at her side. Beautiful blues were used to paint the entire cover.

“One of my dream roles is the swan queen.”

Vincent's lanky fingers pried the record's cover apart, and he slid the vinyl into his palm.

“One day, that role will be yours. I have no doubt about it.”

He handled the record with extreme grace and care. Despite being a large and rather intimidating man, his touch was featherlight. He opened a small cabinet located in the middle of the shelves with his opposite hand, revealing a beautiful maroon record player.

“And when you appear as the swan queen, it will be your role for the rest of your life. The audience will know instantaneously that no performance before or after yours will compare.”

Vincent placed the needle on the record's edge. The sound of a rich oboe filled the entire room. He placed his hands on his hips and viewed the black circle spin in a circle. The atmosphere became cozy and inviting. Despite being in a secluded mansion in the middle of the French countryside, I felt oddly at home. My heartbeat was regular.

Vincent glanced over his shoulder.

“Do you drink tea?”

He inquired.

I was so enthralled by Vincent's lovely figure that I had to shake myself awake when he spoke.

“Oh! Yes, of course. I love tea.”

Vincent unbuttoned the cuffs of his white dress shirt, rolling his sleeves up to reveal lovely veins dancing across his forearms. I gulped, my face growing hotter as butterflies began to hatch within my lower abdomen.

“Would you care to drink tea with me on the porch as we indulge in this lovely music?”

I nodded, unable to hide the grin playing on the corners of my mouth.

“I would like that very much.”

-

Vincent brought out a large silver tray, atop which was a lovely china set with pink flowers and gold stems.

“I would expect a wealthy man like you to have help. Rich men don’t make their own tea.”

I said, my tone slightly mocking. Vincent chuckled, plopping down onto the cream colored cushions.

“I don't usually make my own tea. But I specifically requested that we spend the day alone. The bustle of people detracts from the peaceful energy.”

I put a sugar cube in one of the adorable cups and poured tea on top, watching the sugar break and dissolve.

I picked up the saucer and leaned back, my body relaxing against the plush cushions. I had a fantastic view. My back was to the house, leaving the entire garden open for inspection. The green stretched as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by a few healthy trees. The property had a gray gravel path that twisted and turned. At the horizon, the gentle hill of the land met the flawless blue sky.

The scenery was lovely. I wish I knew how to paint.

My hair was tousled by a gentle breeze. The soothing music wafted through the house, reaching my ears as a mere whisper.

“Are you enjoying the view?”

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, savoring the cozy energy as I sipped my tea. The steaming liquid poured down my throat, warming me from within.

“Yes, it’s beautiful.”

I rested the cup in my lap.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I feel like we talk so much about me.”

I said, chuckling slightly.

Vincent sipped his tea while crossing his legs and gazing out at the horizon. His gorgeous side profile was highlighted by the gentle glow of the sun.

“My life is… not very interesting.”

His demeanor had transformed. Instead of being charming, he had become aloof.

“Oh, I’m sure your life is plenty interesting. I mean, come on, this house is ginormous! What do you do?”

Vincent grit his teeth, avoiding the question.

“I made all of my money in real estate.”

He returned my gaze, his fondness restored.

“Oh! That sounds interesting.”

I took another sip of my delicious tea.

“You must’ve gotten extremely lucky.”

He flashed me a tight smile.

“Yes, absolutely. I consider myself extremely fortunate to be where I am now.”

The birds in the distance chirped peacefully, blending with the music to create a cohesive energy that flowed through my being.

“Please, tell me if I am crossing any boundaries with this question.”

I perked up. He had piqued my interest.

“However, you are a very attractive woman. And you are constantly expressing yourself through the arts. I find it difficult to believe you don't have suitors flocking to you at all times.”

I gulped, my gaze fixed on the tea in my lap.

“Well, honestly, it’s difficult to keep a relationship when you’re constantly either in the theater, or searching for your next opportunity. The little free time I have almost never lines up with the free time of others.”

He fixed his gaze on me, listening intently to every word I said. I'd never had a conversation with a man who was so enthralled by me.

“I’ve had relationships, but it's difficult to make them stick. Lately, I’ve kinda given up. It’s stressful, y’know?”

Vincent hummed.

“Yes, I can imagine.”

He sipped his tea one last time, leaning back completely to display his stunning neck. He leaned forward and placed the china cup atop its saucer before assuming his previous position.

"Well, with me, you never have to worry about that, ma chérie." My few important obligations rarely interfere with my personal life. And, if they do, I promise to commit to our relationship and not let it fall through the cracks."

His dedication surprised me. I raised my brows.

“Well, that is very kind of you. I appreciate the reassurance.”

“That is, if pursuing a relationship with me is something that entices you.”

His statement piqued my interest. I suppose I hadn't considered the question, "What are we?" I was definitely interested in pursuing a relationship with him, despite only having become acquainted a few days ago. I felt a genuine connection, and I'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity.

Also, the reality that he was filthy rich drew me to him.

I finished the sweet tea, placing it on the black wire coffee table.

“Yes, I believe I would be interested in that.”

I gave him a genuine smile, which he returned.

“Good, I am glad to hear that.”

He folded his hands and tucked them into his lap, his gaze following. He was deep in thought, as if caught between reality and his thoughts. Vincent came to after what seemed like an eternity. He returned his gaze to mine. His attention had been drawn to a new emotion. He was looking at me with calculating eyes, as if he was carefully pondering what to say next.

This was unusual for him, as he always seemed to know exactly what to say.

“I don’t mean to sound creepy when I say this, but I have been admiring you for a while.”

To be honest, I didn't mind. And I didn't think he was creepy at all for expressing his admiration for me.

“In all honesty, I’m flattered. The way I see it, I wouldn’t put myself on the stage if I was afraid of extreme admiration. I mean, that is kind of the goal of a performer. Y’know, to make people fall in love with the performance.”

Vincent nodded, his smile widening. He was pleased with my response.

“I recall seeing you perform for the first time. It was about two years ago, in Coppélia. You played a minor role, but your beauty captivated me, and the more I sought you out, the more I fell in love.”

There was something sensual about the thought of Vincent admiring me from afar for years. It all seemed so forbidden, him watching me from a box, carefully calculating the best time to ask me out.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you ask me out sooner?”

Vincent shrugged.

“I assumed you were in a relationship. I tried to forget about you, but you were always on my mind. Then I didn't see you at the Opéra national de Paris for a year. My job was particularly demanding at that time. It was best if I concentrated solely on that. So I didn't go looking for you. I assumed that chapter of my life had come to an end. Then I notice you're performing in La Bayadère. And I knew that whatever force governs our universe had given me the opportunity to become your acquaintance.”

I couldn’t stop my face from breaking into a grin. I’ll admit, it felt insanely good to be admired by someone.

“Are you a nostalgic person?”

Yes, extremely.

“Yes, I am.”

“Ah!”

He exclaimed, rising to his feet.

“In that case, I have one more thing I think you would like to see.”

I followed him through the house. If I didn’t have him, I would undoubtedly be lost. Each lavish hallway felt as if it extended for miles. I followed, and followed, and followed. Until eventually we reached a pair of black double doors. They were covered in beautiful flower designs. Vincent turned the golden knobs, pushing the doors open to reveal… a bedroom?

Wow.

It was a nice bedroom, to be sure. The floors were tan wood, and the walls were a dark brown color. A large, black chandelier hung from the ceiling with an expensive crystal thread. The bedframe, curtains, and dresser with a large mirror all looked like they were plucked from the queen's bedroom.

In fact, the whole place felt like it belonged to a king. The gold accents, intricate details, and visibly expensive fabrics all gave me the impression that I was in Buckingham Palace.

Vincent headed over to his dresser, which was located on the opposite side of the room as the bed. He began rummaging through various objects, searching for something.

“Ah! Here it is! I knew I kept it!”

He gave me... a leaflet? No, it's a program. It was the program from my first performance ever at the Opera Nacional de Paris, Coppélia. My eyes shot open.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you kept this!”

I flipped through it, reading the names and contemplating all the wonderful people I'd had the pleasure of working with.

“Of course I kept it.”

I raised my eyes to him. He smiled, pleased that I had found enjoyment in this little bit of nostalgia.

“Um-”

I began.

“I-I don’t mean to take your memories from you.”

I said with a small laugh.

“But, would you mind if I kept this?”

“But of course! There is no need for me to keep a silly little booklet now that I have had the pleasure of meeting the object of my affection.”

We shared a moment of peaceful, happy silence.

“Besides, if it makes you happy, I'll gladly give it to you. We've decided to pursue a relationship. So, it is my responsibility to do everything in my power to please you.”

His gaze darted to my lips before returning to my eyes, implying something taboo.

His eyes grew dark. My posture became stiff. Vincent took a large step towards me, and I had to tilt my head almost completely backwards to look him in the eyes.

I was hit with a wave of déjà vu. I was no longer on the streets of Paris, but rather in Vincent's bedroom. This time, there was nothing preventing us from delving head first into our desires.

He cupped my cheek, running his calloused thumb over my cheekbone. My breath caught in my throat. My lower abdomen was in knots, more from anticipation than from nerves. There wasn't much that could happen on the dark streets of Paris. But suddenly everything was possible and within reach. All I had to do was reach out and grab them.

“The relationships you’ve been in… have any of them had the pleasure of…”

His voice trailed off, beckoning me to finish the thought.

I gulped, a lump forming in my throat.

“No.”

My voice quivered as I felt overpowered by his pressing gaze.

Vincent tutted crispy.

“Pity.”

He stated, his voice lowering to a sensuous whisper. I envisioned him whispering sweet nothings into my ear while thrusting mercilessly into my tight cunt.

My stomach flipped.

My knees shook.

All of the blood in my body rushed to my core.

Wetness began to pool in my panties.

I adjusted my weight uncomfortably, anticipating Vincent's next move.

He leaned forward, his lips inches away from mine. I desperately wanted to break the tension by pressing my mouth to his, thereby beginning the downward spiral of pleasure. However, my train of thought was derailed when I felt Vincent’s opposite hand glide up my thigh.

I squeezed my eyes shut, sighing in pleasure as his digits swiftly located my clothed clit. He tenderly massaged my sensitive bud. The subtle sensation was utterly euphoric. My head bowed forward, my hands anxiously clutching his white dress shirt.

Vincent jerked my head upwards, forcing my misty eyes to lock with his lust blown pupils.

“You’re already so wet, ma chérie. And I have barely even touched you.”

His velvety accent became 10 times more seductive now that it had fallen an octave.

“Oh, it will be so wonderful to watch you come undone.”

He pressed his plush lips to my jugular, applying gentle kisses to my neck as he continued to draw figure eights onto my clothed clit. I threw my arms around his neck, hanging onto his strong frame as my knees threatened to give out.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to bury my face between your thighs and taste your sweet little cunt.”

I couldn’t handle the erotic tone combined with the featherlight touches to my clit. It was far too much for my touch starved body to handle. needed something. I was ravenous for his mouth, his fingers, his cock. I wanted so badly to be destroyed by him, to be given such pleasure that I fear coming back to reality.

“Vincent.”

I said between heavy breaths.

“Yes ma chérie?”

My jaw hung upon, mouth unable to form coherent sentences.

“P-Please. I need you-I need you so bad.”

Vincent drew back, his lips slamming into mine. Our mouths matched like puzzle pieces. We were so glorious together that I swear I could hear angels singing in perfect harmony.

“What would you like me to do to you ma belle, hm?”

He said in between fiery kisses.

“Make me cum, Vincent, please.”

His tongue slid into my mouth, giving me a fleeting taste of his passion before he quickly yanked it back. I was flustered. Our connection had been severed, and I was unsure as to why.

Vincent grasped my chin, forcing me to keep my head still.

His hair was struggling to remain neat. The single, dangling strand was a great metaphor for his once well-kept demeanor now crumbling before my eyes.

“Beg. Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to make you cum.”

He demanded.

Mt jaw quivered. His hand had retreated from my core and now lay atop the swell of my hip.

“P-Please Vincent. I need you. I need you so bad.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes disapprovingly.

“Oh, ma chérie, I know you can do better than that.”

He placed his lips to mine, swiftly reigniting the flame before suffocating it once more.

“Be my good girl and beg.”

I locked gazes with Vincent, feeling his sexual energy course through my body in waves.

“Please-“

I began, my desire somewhat strangling the words within my throat.

“Please Vincent… Please, I need you to make me cum.”

I brought my palms to his chest, attempting to quickly unbutton his dress shirt. Unfortunately, my hands were far too jittery and the buttons were far too small for me to make any significant progress.

“What exactly do you want ma belle, hm? Tell me.”

His velvety accent wafted through me whenever he spoke, adding to the wetness that had begun to pool in my panties.

“Please, please. I need you.”

Thankfully, the sexual tension had subsided just enough for me to compose meaningful sentences.

“Please, please, I need you. I need your mouth between my legs. I need-I need you to fuck me. I need your cock so bad. Please, please make me cum it’s all I can think about.”

A devious smirk spread across Vincent’s face.

“Why didn’t you ask me sooner?”

He connected our lips, reigniting the raging fire of desire that burned between us. Vincent hoisted me off the floor, his large hands traveling up my short sundress and resting against my ass. He carried me with ease, his hands gentle but his lips aggressive.

Vincent tossed me onto the bed with little regard for tenderness. However, I was barely impacted by the blow, as the mattress quickly suppressed and conformed to my physique.

I lay, my gaze fixed upwards towards Vincent’s lanky frame. The dim yet sensual lights foregrounded the sharp curvatures of his face. His long digits located his top button and he began to leisurely undo his shirt without breaking eye contact.

Suddenly, I became aware that my dress had ridden up my thighs, exposing my evident desire. I grasped the hem, pushing it downwards in a futile attempt to conceal my yearning. Vincent ceased his movements, crawling over the end of the bedframe with haste.

His hand wrapped around my wrist, pinning my hand above my head.

My eyes darted upwards, the breath hitching in my throat as I perceived his close proximity. Vincent’s previously quintessential appearance was slowly dissolving. A few strands of hair had broken loose from their original location and were now dangling aimlessly above his brow. Furthermore, his shirt was halfway undone, exposing his prominent collarbone and somewhat highlighting his toned chest.

“Don’t cover up for me, ma belle.”

He murmured, his sultry accent sending a wave of desire to my lower abdomen. My cunt throbbed.

“I want nothing more than to see every inch of you.”

Vincent lodged his thigh between my legs, his clothed knee grazing against my hot core. I jolted, a wave of heat coursing through my body. My back arched instinctively, mouth falling open as I involuntarily ground my hips against his thigh in an effort to increase friction.

Unfortunately, he revoked his leg before I was able to procure further pleasure. His free hand followed the soft curve of my side, sending shivers down my spine. My body became cold with anticipation. Goosebumps rose along my skin.

Vincent’s calloused fingertips grazed against my clothed clit. Heat radiated from my wet core as I squeezed my eyes shut. My brow furrowed as he began to slowly draw figure eights onto my clit.

“Ah, you are so wet and I’ve barely even touched you.”

His soft lips connected to my jugular, peppering gentle kisses down my neck.

“I’ve thought about this moment for a long while.”

With his hands required to support his weight as he descended, his powerful clasp released my wrist. I entangled my fingers in his silky hair, further ruining his pristine image.

“Although I pride myself on maintaining a certain level of class, I can’t deny that I’ve often thought about how satisfying it would be to bring you immense pleasure.”

He continued to press his lips against my hot skin, his face now level with my clothed breasts.

Vincent leaned back on his knees. He dragged his eyes up and down my frame, running his tongue across his bottom lip. I suddenly felt small under his gaze.

His tender fingertips located the ball of my ankle, and he hastily removed both of my short heels, tossing them aimlessly to the floor. After he had discarded my shoes, he trailed his large palms upwards, caressing my calves, then my thighs. I watched intently as his veiny hands slipped under the hem of my dress. Vincent hooked a finger in the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs at a painfully slow pace.

Once I was fully exposed, he assumed a position between my legs. Thankfully, the bed was grand enough for him to lay comfortably.

All the blood in my body had rushed to my core, and I could feel my heartbeat throbbing vehemently within my lower abdomen.

Vincent trailed his moist lips along my inner thigh, gazing up at me devilishly through his lashes as he did so. He was well aware that his teasing behavior was propelling me into a state of lust filled desperation.

When he established that he had prolonged my suffering enough, he hastily buried his face between my thighs. I gasped, throwing my head back onto the opulent pillows. My thighs instinctively clenched around his head, but Vincent’s strong hands pulled my legs apart to free himself.

He flattened his tongue against my clit, taking his time to draw out his movements so as to not supply me with an orgasm too hastily. He was thoroughly enjoying the elongation of my pleasure.

After a brief moment of supplying delicate sensations to my clit, I felt the tip of his finger prod at my entrance. I threw my hands upwards, grasping onto the bed frame, my knuckles quickly turning white.

“Oh fuck!”

I exclaimed, grinding my hips against his gorgeous face.

“Vincent-Vincent your mouth feels so good, holy shit.”

I spoke in mangled cries, not caring to keep my voice down. After all, there was no one around for miles to be bothered by my proclamations.

His middle two fingers pushed into my entrance, thrusting upwards to stimulate my walls.

“You taste wonderful, ma belle.”

He uttered, continuing to fuck me with his fingers throguhout the duration of his praise. Vincent located my g spot. My nails dug into the bedframe, undoubtedly leaving prominent scratches. He took note of my non verbal cues.

Vincent increased the intensity of his fingers. Quickly, the coil of pleasure began to tighten within my lower abdomen. I bucked my hips against his face, but Vincent quickly stifled my movements by pressing my hips into the mattress.

“Are you close?”

He murmured against my clit. The gentle vibrations set my nerves ablaze with white hot desire.

“Yeah, yeah I’m so close.”

I mumbled, my arms beginning to tremble as I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt my orgasm begin to seep into the corners of my brain.

Vincent’s long digits expertly located my g spot with every thrust.

His warm mouth continued to duck and stimulate my swollen bundle of nerves.

The erotic sounds of his fingers fucking my cunt reverberated loudly throguhout the predominantly empty bedroom.

“Then cum for me, ma chérie.”

His endearing words proved to be the last necessary step in reaching my release. The tension that had built within my stomach exploded as I came gloriously all over his face. My back felt as though it had been rammed into a solid brick wall.

My chest heaved, and I found it arduous to supply my lungs with sufficient oxygen.

My eyelids began to flutter open as the movements of both his tongue and fingers slowed. When he removed his digits and mouth, I was overcome with a glorious sensation of complete satisfaction. Both my mind and body succumbed to bliss. I had never before experienced such an absence of disquiet.

Vincent climbed over me, his torso now bare.

I cracked a small grin, my palms flattening against the expanse of his soft chest. His lips shone with my arousal. I trailed my fingertips slowly downwards, halting when I reached his thick leather belt. I began to undo the buckle, however, Vincent caught wind of my intentions. With one hand, he engulfed both of my wrists, pinning them above my head. I gasped.

“Oh, no, not now.”

His gentle lips tenderly kissed the soft divot behind my ear. I took a deep breath, the scent of his pricey, heavy fragrance clouding my mind.

“I have waited far too long for this moment. It would be foolish of me to allow you to furnish pleasure when my desire has been consuming me for years.”

Vincent moved off of me and stood to remove the remainder of his clothes. With a pleasurable whoosh, he pulled his belt from the loops of his formal pants. Subsequently, he removed his shoes and allowed his trousers to gather about his ankles.

He met my stare, the mellow hue of the faint overhead lights collecting within his green irises.

“You look beautiful.”

Once again, the heat from my body began to travel downwards.

Vincent’s boxers were the final article of clothing to be removed. I gulped audibly, as his sizable cock was now standing fully erect.

Holy shit, I thought to myself.

He possessed one of the most winsome cock I had ever laid eyes on. I clenched my thighs together, my cunt eagerly clenching around nothing.

When he had finished undressing, he climbed back over me and our lips met once again. I melted into the kiss, exhaling sensually as I sunk into the plush mattress. Vincent’s hand grasped the hem of my dress, tugging it upwards until I was forced to raise my arms.

Thankfully, the supportive nature of the outfit allowed me to function in the absence of a bra. As a result, my entire body was now fully exposed for Vincent’s piercing gaze.

He discarded the dress and dropped his hips suggestively until his prominent erection pressed against my lower stomach.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, beckoning him to progress further. Vincent shuffled his hips, tip now dangerously close to my aching cunt. But, before he slipped inside of me, he raised a free hand and tenderly brushed a few unruly strands of hair from my damp forehead.

“If you wish to stop at any moment, merely apprise me and I shall cease.”

I gave him a nod, throwing my arms around his neck to provide an anchor. Vincent pressed his lips to my neck, applying a few gentle kisses before sliding his cock into my wet cunt.

My walls stretched, hastily conforming to his rather large girth. My back arched into his solid torso. I inhaled sharply as he buried the entirety of his length deep within me.

“Are you alright, ma chérie?”

His body stilled. I groaned in mild frustration.

“Y-yeah. I’m more than alright. P-please just fuck me already. I-I need you so bad.”

Vincent pulled back. His lips were plush. His hair was disheveled. His cheeks were a bright shade of pink.

His disarranged appearance was a stark contrast to the previously sophisticated man I had met at the start of this afternoon. However, I do consider the duality of man to be a topic of the utmost enticement. There is something captivating about the notion of commencing a relationship with someone who has a secret side that solely you have the pleasure of becoming acquainted with.

Without further words, Vincent began to roll his hips. The slight pain of his cock quickly dissipated to create room for immense pleasure.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head.

“Does that feel good? Hm?”

He spoke with a slight vocal fry. The raspiness of his tone elicited a visceral reaction. I dragged my nails along his smooth back, undoubtedly breaking skin.

He grumbled deep within his chest.

When I didn’t answer, Vincent pulled his face back, blown pupils meeting mine. I gazed at him through half lidded eyes. I found it difficult to ignite passionate eye contact when I was presented with the distraction of his cock expertly grazing against my g spot with every fervent jerk of his hips.

He wrapped a large hand around my neck. My pulse rose to the top of my skin as black spots began to cloud my vision.

“Come on, ma belle, be my good girl. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

I exhaled a shuddering breath.

“F-fuck… you feel so good inside me Vincent.”

I gulped.

“Y-your cock feels so good.”

Vincent’s skin began to sheen with a thin layer of perspiration. The unruly strands of brown hair deepened in color as they stuck to his forehead. I moaned pornographically as the grip on my neck constricted once more. My jaw dropped. The brief lack of oxygen only added to the flurry of incoherent thoughts bouncing around my skull.

“Oh, my, you’re such a good girl for me.”

He gulped, a soft sigh escaping his swollen lips.

“You’re taking me so well.”

The erotic words combined with his smooth accent contributed to the tightening of my lower abdomen.

I was close, dangerously close.

I could feel my body reaching the edge, and I would soon fall into a state of euphoria.

Vincent’s adjusted his hips ever so slightly, his tip now reaching deeper than before.

I instinctively turned my head away. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I buried my face into the bed. My brow furrowed. My eyes squeezed shut as I anticipated my release.

Vincent utilized his thumb to reposition my face.

“No, don’t look away. Be my good girl and look me in the eyes.”

I forced my eyelids open, meeting his piercing stare as ever so slightly increased the frequency of his thrusts. Every instinct beckoned me to throw my head back, but I fought the desire. And, I instead kept my eyes fixated on Vincent’s blown pupils that had almost entirely consumed his irises.

“I want to watch you. I want to see your face as you cum all over my cock.”

I gave him a slight nod, indicating that I could hear while trapped in my lustful stupor.

His hand traveled downwards, gently caressing my curves before reaching my swollen clit. Vincent applied gentle pressure, and, with that, I let go.

I kept my eyes fixated on him, allowing my face to contort as it pleased.

Vincent groaned loudly, his cum coating my walls.

He continued to fuck me throguh my orgasm. His movements gradually slowed as the fog of euphoria began to dissipate. My chest rose and collapsed with fervor.

When I deemed it safe to break eye contact, I allowed my eyelids to flutter shut. Suddenly, I became aware of the gravitational pull the bed exerted on my body.

Jesus, I was exhausted.

Vincent removed his cock from my core. However, he remained atop me, tenderly pushing my unkempt hair back to create mild uniformity.

“You may stay here, if you’d like, for however long you wish.”

His voice was as it had been prior to our physical encounter.

I giggled, my mouth breaking into a slight smile.

“Your house is magnificent.”

I met his gaze, his eyes now possessing a tender quality.

“I don’t know if I ever want to leave.”

I said with a scoff.

A smirk played on the corner of his lips.

“Then don’t, stay here for as long as your heart desires.”

[kittyflanders]

・❥・All fics are female!reader, and 18+. Please read warnings on fic summary!

Rien (Marquis de Gramont x reader)

Tricky Situation (Marquis de Gramont x reader)

[oblomovisms]

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

[writingbyshiloh]

I Love as Madly as I Hate

CW: JW universe (blood, reader kills and gets stabbed), ANGST!, Reader wears a dress, verbal fighting, dead marrage, Vincent being a dick and no beta (and Grammarly gave up halfway through), One sentence in French which means “leave us alone”, implied smut

AN: I hope this is angst, I don't really read angst myself. I overthought the tense this is in so much that words don't make sense anymore. FUN FACT! The title is from Les Fleurs du Mal which I want to have made an appearance in the other Marquis fic but I thought the title was fitting.

The bounty amount is in the sweet spot. High enough that it’s worth the effort, but not too high that half the world would also be trying to bag them with you. The only problem was with who set the bounty. That would be your ex, of six months. Well technically he's still considered your husband, and you were still legally married.  

That was your fault, bringing up the idea of a divorce, and waiting for him to sign. Wanting to get one last dig in while still married, you act surprised, reminding him he can’t get a second marriage, second changes are for men who failed the first time, remember? He took the papers from your hand, never for you to see again. Sometimes you think he burned them. 

The hit was for a mob member - Lukas Matthews, young and new to the underworld, not sure how things worked. He stole from one of his bosses, an acquaintance of Vincent. The younger mob man was distracted by all things flashy, expensive, and pretty. 

You didn’t have any trouble donning a sparkly dress, paying admittance to some dive club to stalk the man. As long as you push down the feeling that you were really just doing this to get a glimpse of Vincent, it was okay. Great even. Maybe if you were a normal person you could just call him. 

You watch the target for a while, sipping on soda from the bar so you could blend in. The man was still with his friends, and you figured it would be easier to take him when he was alone, probably outside, away from the other members of his group or innocent partygoers. 

—. 

Lukas ultimately lost, but he fought nasty. Maybe you were still rusty. The rest of your night now consisted of trying to patch up yourself or trying to find a black market doctor to fix you, depending on how bad your shoulder gets.

You were littered with scrapes, small cuts and sore muscles, but your shoulder got the worst of the battle. Lukas managed to cut quite deep with a broken beer bottle. Once it heals it will be a reminder of all the things you do to try and convince yourself that you’re over your husband. 

Pain flared every time you moved your shoulder, the wound being an inch or two below your collarbone left you trying to keep half your body still. You settle on taking Lukas’s hand, with the mob tattoo. You and Vincent know members of that mob would rather die than cut off their symbol. 

With the body shoved against a trash can, you place a few garbage bags to cover the mess. The hardest part of the evening was still to come. With your good hand, you fish out your phone from your bag. 

—

You assume he is attending some ballet dance or performance. You felt a bitter twist of jealousy. Was he there with someone? Has he moved on that fast? You think mind racing. When you texted the Accountants that you completed the bounty, you received a call from Chidi. 

“I hear you collected the bounty. Do you have proof of death?” he questioned. 

“I do. I have the hand with the tattoos, but the body’s here I can get something else” you rambled down the line, suddenly much more nervous than before. 

“Please hold.” 

The line was quiet, you watched people come and go from the club, secluded from the side street you were in. Backtracking into the club, hand in your bag you returned your coat check ticket. At least the jacket will cover up the bleeding, you can get the bounty and go home. 

“Hello?” Chidis's voice returned. 

“Yeah, I'm here.” 

“Tell me your address, the Marquis de Gramont will be sending a car.” 

—

The Marquis de Gramont looked amazing. He tried to always look his best in his suits, complete with an incredibly complicated knot, chains, and his signature pin. You still have your pin, hidden in a shoe box in your closet. Tonight was no exception to his looks. 

His suit was reflecting the lights in his mansion. You knew from the glitter, this was a suit he would were at a cultural outing. Bitter jealousy bites at your insides. Was he there with someone? Did he move on that fast? Is it a mistress? You think. The jealousy dies when you still see his wedding ring on his left hand. Your wedding ring feels heavier on your right. 

You both look at each other, his gaze lingering on your exposed legs, no doubt covered in blood. You felt exposed standing in the center of the large room. 

Vincent was the one to break the silence first “Did I buy you that dress?”

“No. I’ve had it for a while” 

He nods, stepping closer. 

“Proof?” 

You frown thinking he was asking about the dress, before remembering the severed hand. 

“It's here. Tattoos and all.” you struggle to get the appendage out of your bag without moving your bad shoulder. At least you had the sense to wrap the hand in a plastic bag. 

“Come to my office. We can talk in there” 

You do not want to “talk in his office”. The last time, you went to “talk in his office” about a bounty it ended up with you naked on his desk, the cold chain from his suit vest and his ring pressed against you. 

“I should go. You can just wire me the money or something” You reject. 

You can tell you surprised him before his face shifts back to a more neutral expression. 

“I have a nasty scratch so…” you trail off, hoping he leaves the issue. 

His gaze almost softens. The separation was less than a year ago, you guess that he still cares for you. He still keeps tabs on you, your neighbour works for him you’re almost certain of it. 

“Where?”

You gesture with your chin to your shoulder. 

The pressure from his stare makes you break down and shrug off your jacket, the inside sticky with blood. 

Already he is in front of you, pressing a cloth against your wound. 

“You need to see the doctor, mon amour.” 

You hate yourself for leaning into his touch, but at least he has good contacts for an underground doctor. It won’t be that hard to get in and out right?

—

The doctor arrived fast, not wanting to piss off the Marquis. You knew him from your early days of dating, long before your marriage, when Vincent insisted you quit. You wonder if the doctor remembers you. If he does, he doesn’t show it. 

You just didn’t think Vincent was going to join you. He watches the doctor tend to your shoulder first, sewing neat rows of stitches to hold your flesh in place. You stare at your jacket on a spare chair, no doubt forever stained in blood. The good doctor already gave a warning about closing your eyes, so you keep your gaze on the jacket, your nails on your good hand leaving imprints on the chair arm from the tension between you and Vincent. 

The doctor moves on to more minor wounds, mostly cleaning them, and patching them up if needed. Ignoring your soft hiss when the cleaner he is using hurts more than you expected.

Vincent is watching the doctor, scowling when you flinch in pain. 

The instant the doctor pushed the tray with his tools and bloody tissues away, Vincent speaks for the first time since the three of you sat down.

“Laissez-nous seuls” 

The doctor protests, wanting to give you instructions on caring for his work, making sure you don’t rip anything open. 

Vincent glares at the doctor, who places down some gause for you to take home and leaves without another word, closing the door behind him. 

The Marquis drops to his knees for a better look at your injury. One hand cups the back of your shoulder blade to keep you still, as he inspects you. You’re sure you smell disgusting, the smell of the bar soaked into your dress and your hair. The doctor cleaned up most of the blood, but Vincent never really cared about literally getting his hands bloody if the time was right. He would just wipe them on a cloth and toss it aside for one of his housekeepers to pick up. 

You turn your whole face away, as much as your shoulder will let you, sure he can feel how hot your face is across the distance. The feel of his eyes is heavy, and almost magnetic, pulling you to look at him. His other hand is on the armrest of your chair. 

“Don’t,” you said softly, trying to preserve any of the dignity that you had left. 

“Don’t what, mon amour” he whispered, still looking at your shoulder. 

“This.” You were mostly saying this to yourself, knowing that you only had seconds to get out of his personal space before you give in. You’re tired and hurt and he's right there, acting how he did when you first fell in love with him. 

You tilt your head back almost automatically to give him more access to your throat. He moved slowly, pressing kisses against your jaw like it would be the last time, before working his way to your mouth and kissing you properly. 

—

It’s like a bomb waiting to go off, not only having sex with him but also having to navigate yourself out of his bed without one of you making a gripe at the other. 

Well, not technically his bed. This was yours, in a guest room you made your own while being married, now empty. You moved your stuff out during the separation. Sometimes you regret not taking the bedclothes with you, but now you’re thankful you can feel them, cool and soft against your skin. 

You had no choice but to stay lying on your back, trying to keep your injury still. He was next to you in the same fashion. 

“You are still wearing your ring.” He speaks quietly. As if to prove his point, he toys with your wedding band. 

“I helped design it, of course, I’m going to show it off,” you reply not being able to look him in the eye. 

He kissed the back of your hand.  

“I believe I designed it, you just suggested the stones.” 

Hand flexed to fully show off the stones, you had to agree. 

The stones were suggested by you, on a date to le Musée de Minéralogie. It was just the two of you, and you had been taken with the rubies. Vincent walked alongside you, filling you in on information you might not have known. It was an off-handed comment from you, how red is a colour for both blood and love, very fitting in your line of work. 

“You have good taste,” he says while you think had instead. 

His hand skimmed your bare side, nimble fingers finding a small bump that was not there before your flight with Lukas. 

You flinched at the dull pain, not surprised if he “accidentally” poked it. 

“You should let me take care of you, mon amour.” 

That was it. The same words that started and ended your marriage. Being taken care of by Vincent made you feel like a doll, sitting on a shelf, never allowed to do anything. 

“Vincent,” You spoke with caution, the pain slowly seeping back into your body.

He held your chin gently, commanding your gaze to look at him. You softened looking at him. 

“It is true. Do you think I like seeing you like this?” he asks. 

“I don’t know what you like” you retort, steeling yourself for the argument to come. 

“I like you.” 

“Oh, you do? Is that why you made me quit bounty work?” you snap. 

“I asked you to stop because you're not very good at it and I did not want a dead fiancé.” 

Ouch. 

“If you were a better fighter, you would take higher bounties.” 

You don’t look at him as you leave the bed. You know he's sneering at you. 

But you’re not going to shrink away even though you’re naked. You know you have to get dressed in front of him but you can put on a brave face.

 “Thanks for this lovely reminder of why our marriage failed.” You spit out. You know the failed comment will piss him off. 

You leave without a second look, cheap shoes squeaking against the floor. 

—

You felt the lock slide open under the key, your apartment slightly cold and quiet. You still smelled like his cologne, only now the smell reminds you of the recent bitter memories. You discard your bag as you make your way to your bed in your apartment. Away from Vincent. 

As you take off your dress for the second time you feel your phone buzz. 

[Unknown number: Wire Transfer Sent. Deposit for Lukas is confirmed.]

Seeing him mixed with the rush of adrenaline after the fighting was too much, especially with the separation so fresh. Maybe he was right. Maybe you should go after higher bounties, especially not those set by him. 

Taglist: @heartrot666, @soraya-daydreams

[chiffxna]

A Love Too Dark Masterlist

The Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Reader

Summary:

She was working as a bunny-girl in a casino when a mysterious VVIP arrived to ruin the peace in her life.

It's scary when someone like the Marquis de Gramont - ambitious, rich, and highly influential - took an interest in you.

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC.

This story will contain 18+ mature themes, blackmail, forced kissing, dark romance, toxic behaviour, blood, violence, stalking, manipulation, a lot of smut, dubious consent, non-consensual content, non-consensual creampie, breeding, yandere Marquis de Gramont, power play, and power imbalance, obsession, dark Marquis de Gramont, and abuse of power. The list will be added more as the story progresses. Minors, don't read.

This story is also available on Archive Of Our Own (AO3) site.

Link

Chapters

Chapter 01: A Deal With The Devil

Chapter 02: Chaos and Risks

Chapter 03: He Grabbed Her

Chapter 04: Insatiable Need For Satisfaction

Chapter 05: Dark And Primal

Chapter 06: Lives In His Hands

Chapter 07: Control Over Her

Chapter 08: Wrapped Around

Chapter 09

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

[muntitled]

Rabid

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've figured if you paid him, then your debts would be settled and maybe... just maybe he'd let you go

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Angst, Neglect, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Absent Parents, Violence, Smut +18 (mdni), Sadomasochism, Sadist!Seongje, Fingering, Dark fic, Dubious consent, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: Comissioned by @tojii11 ... as always I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

Since you've known him as of late, lying has become almost as voluntary as breathing. It should scare you, how fluidly a lie slips past the confines of your lips. Making you more and unrecognizable to even your own self.

"I'm tutoring late tonight."

"I’m studying at the library,"

“I'm having dinner with a friend.”

You didn't have many of those. Had your parents been the caring type they might have known that friends were a luxury you could not afford.

Still, it bothered you that you were making excuses for him. You were helping yourself get extorted everytime you stole for him and everytime you didn't let a living soul know.

The first few times were as difficult as it ever got. But the more you were forced to work for him, the more he corrupted you-the more that infection spread until it became all you were.

"What do you need that much money for anyway?" You squeeze your phone tighter with one hand while the other sits in your blazer pocket. You maintain a calm, controlled gait as you walk out of the school gates, surrounded by your peers dressed in the same uniform walking in clumps of groups- little ecosystems that they formed to help manage their anxieties. You wish you had their problems: Boys. Makeup. Parties.

You wish you had your own little ecosystem. A group who'd be more concerned with strengthening your mental health, not deteriorating it.

"You think school trips to Bali are gonna be cheap?" It was always easier to lie to her over the phone or through text. There was something biting in your mother's eyes that you couldn't always face. Something that would eat you alive if she found out you've been working for the kind of people you're working for.

"Backtrack on the attitude," her words snipe you through the receiver like barbed wire, "It's just strange that they're organizing a field trip in the height of your assignments like this..."

"It's an incentive I guess. They're telling us about it now for extra motivation to see this exam season through.." lies lies and more lies. Your mouth is full of them.

"I don't know if I want you to be thinking about a trip to Bali during all this work... have you been improving?"

There was no improvement with her. Only perfection. She tried your whole life to wipe you squeaky clean until you were spotless. If only she knew that over the past year you've acquired a spot almost impossible to scrub away. He's irremovable. Or at least you thought he was...

"When did you say your field trip was? Perhaps your father and I will tag along, make a family vacation out of it. We never see you anymore because you're always studying and Bali is lovely all-year round-" while your mother talks, your heart sinks and panic festers. You try to focus your steps on making it across the road, down a path you've walked all year.

"Mom, please don't be embarrassing."

"How am I being embarrassing?"

"You'll be the only parent there." Above you, the afternoon sun sits snugly against the horizon, guiding you down a decrepit lane. Stray cats and empty soju bottles litter the street the farther you walk from the safety of the school grounds. You're getting closer and you needed her to send the money.

"It's my money. I can do with it as I please."

You scramble your brain, searching furiously for a lifeline.

"It's just..." More and more lies, "This trip is actually just Geo-camp. Our teachers planned a few cave explorations. We're gonna check out the different stalactites and stalagmites-your presence might hinder my concentration-"

In the distance, the warehouse looms and your fist in your blazer pocket begins to coil.

"Why didn't you say so in the first place instead of wasting my time?” Your mother tsks, “I've sent the money to your account."

"Thank you ma'am..."

The call ends abruptly, void of any warmth. Void of any love. You pull your phone away from your ear and your nerves settle as you see the money reflecting. You suddenly feel bigger than this warehouse- bigger than life itself- like you're armed and ready to take on anything this rabid dog might throw at you.

You tilt your head back to watch the clouds disappear behind the iron roof and you steal your nerves. Word on the street is that this place once belonged to Baek Jin before his untimely disappearance. Until, naturally, a wolf came in and marked it as his own...

The nearer you get to the slightly opened door, the clearer the sound becomes: You hear the sound of a broken man groaning and your body has a visceral reaction. By now you recognize the sound of a fist slamming against human flesh and bone. You know what that sounds like and it haunts you through those quiet moments at night when it was just you and your memories. You fight the urge to stop walking, something in you tugging and begging to just walk away. It's either this or remain a slave for the rest of your foreseeable future.

That thought is enough to have you sucking in one final breath of air before waltzing into the warehouse. It's dark, the air damp and stuffy with little to no circulation. Despite the location, the interior is somewhat tidy and were it not for the man kneeling and bleeding on the floor, you might have thought the place fitting for any dignified bachelor.

“I didn't expect to see you today,” Seongje addresses you the moment you step in. His fist is paused in mid air and it's pulled back as if you'd just saved the man on the floor from experiencing one final blow.

He smiles at you, as if he didn't have blood on his knuckles. As if he didn't have a man on his knees, pleading for his life. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Seongje asks, before digging his fingers into the boys scalp. You hide your trembling hands in the pockets of your blazer and you appear as unaffected as you possibly can when Seongje tilts the man's face to look up at you. “This is Eungmin. He's very cute, very small.” Seongje smiles. “Eungmin is getting beat unconscious because he's been stealing some of my money for himself, isn't that right, Eungmin-a?”

The man’s left ise completely disappeared under a swollen mass of flesh. His skin is broken in several places- all is red and yet he still tries… “P-please-” his words are slurred. You can tell he's getting closer and closer to blacking out. His brain can't comprehend the words leaving his mouth and it's far too painful to watch. “My grandfather's sick and- I needed the money-”

“Sob, sob, sob, stories, Eungmin-a,” Seongje lets go of the man's head before tucking his hands into his pockets. Eungmin sways from side to side as Seongje rounds his bruised and battered body, tsking lightly like a scolding parent.

Before you're made witness to any more bloodshed, possibly even a murder, you grab your phone out of blazer pocket and with trembling hands you press a few buttons on your screen.

Seongje's phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pockets. He taps away at the device with bloodied fingers, his orange windbreaker stained with the same blood and for a moment, all is quiet.

Seongje stares blankly at his screen.

“What's this?” He asks without looking up.

Something in you tells you that you have the upper hand. Power has shifted, even minutely and it gives you the courage to reply back, “It's an incentive.”

Seongje's dark eyes finally flit up to you and you're arrested by that wolfish grin. “Big words.” He smirks. “You want a promotion or something?”

You ready your voice. “Actually, Seongje, I’m looking for a way out.”

More silence but this time, it's fucking suffocating. Even the man on the floor, the man who's experienced the very worst of Seongje's wrath has his mouth slightly open from shock.

“I never want to steal for you again. I never want to do anything for you again.” You find your voice in the rubble of your pain and all your anxieties that have gone unnoticed by the adults around you. “I never wanna see you again.”

He nods slowly. “I hear you.” Seongje's voice is calm. So calm it births a sliver of hope inside you: Maybe he'll just accept the money and you might actually be free. You could go back to being a girl forgotten by the rest of the world but this time, it'd be on your own terms. You'd love to be invisible again. Invisible girls don't get extorted like this.

“It's just… I'm really sensitive-”

The very moment those words leave his mouth, the moment a glimmer of a smile flits onto your lips, Seongje delivers a bone-cracking punch to the man's jaw.

You gasp and cup your mouth with both hands. Shocked.

The man slumps over, face hitting the floor. Knocked out cold.

“This is interesting.” Seongje says but you can't look away at the man laying on the ground. His body twitches periodically until there's barely any movement at all. Were you looking at someone passed out or were you staring at a corpse?

Soengje doesn't care about either outcome because he's already lighting a cigarette, standing as if pondering something else entirely.

“Where'd you get this money from?”

“D-Does-” you swallow thickly, “-it matter?”

He nods his head slightly before sticking the cigarette on the tip of his lips, “I could buy a million cig packs with this. The good kind too,” he chuckles, “Fuck, I could buy a fucking factory-”

“It's not that much-”

“Are you rich?” He asks suddenly, ramping up your nerves as he tucks his hands in his pockets to stalk closer towards you. “Have I been extorting a princess this whole time and I didn't know it?” You make your body an iron rod- your face cold. Something like him can't sense discomfort or he'll play with it.

“Not rich,” you say, “Just desperate…”

His feet stop directly in front of you and you keep your gaze there. Not daring to look up at him until he brings his own index finger under your chin, tilting it up.

“I like that word… Desperate.” He blows out a plume of smoke but not in your face. The small, gentlemanly act is almost laughable.

“Seongje, at this rate I'll be working for you for the rest of my life-”

“The rest of your life…” he nods slowly, looking away in a pensive manner before looking back at you, “That sounds fun, doesn't it?”

“Seongje- please just accept the money…”

“Are you calling me poor?”

“That's not what I'm saying at all and honestly, I feel like you know that's not what I'm saying-” your brows are furrowed, voice rising.

“So I'm delusional then?” He asks with a smile.

“Why do you get off on making yourself a victi-” his hand contracts around your throat and it tightens.

“Lemme stop you from saying what you wanna say because you really won't like the outcome.”

He squeezes one more time in warning before letting you go

“Why would I let you go? You're so perfect for me. We work well together.”

“Seongje, Please-”

“Shh… shh… shh…” he lets the cigarette hang off the side of his mouth before cupping both of your cheeks with both hands. He pushes back a stray braid and you tremble under the weight of not only his hands, but his gaze. His eyes are two endlessly cold voids. You don't wonder what's behind those eyes because you bet there's nothing there.

So focused, you've become, with Seongje's eyes, you barely notice his hand slithering down your neck. He feels you, touches you like he's just discovered something new…

“You've just made me more money than any of these useless scumbags ever have…” He stands closer and you watch as he opens his mouth to let the cigarette fall to the floor. You hear his foot stomp on it but your eyes are hazy with tears.

“I pride myself on being a good businessman… Letting you go?” He tsks, “That's not very good business.”

“Please, Seongje-”

“I do believe in rewards though so…” he lets his hand roam lower and lower. On its way down, he squeezes you tit through your shirt, causing a small gasp to slip through.

“Is it okay?” He asks in a low voice, “That im touching you like this?”

He waits patiently for a response that never comes. Truth is, you're completely and utterly overwhelmed. Caught in a web of feeling good and fucking terrible.

A tear falls.

“Shh,” he pats down your hair while all too slyly inching his hand up your skirt. “Seongje will make you feel better-”

You could tell him to stop, but your mind is clouded with all sorts of contradictions. You can't lie some more and say you don't find him even a little bit attractive. Isn't it fucking terrible how that works? This man has tormented you and yet-

“You're so wet, Princess,” you open your legs wider, only flinching when his fingers rub against your clothed cunt. You don't have the energy to look up at him, but you notice the visceral reaction his body is having from all this.

Over his shoulder, you notice the bloodied man unconscious on the floor.

“You just became wetter-” he whispers into your ear before cursing ever so lightly as his finger pushes aside your panties. You notice his movements becoming less controlled, far more hungry and you begin to pull away.

“Say it.” He urges, before fisting your neck in one tight grip. “I need you to say it.”

In a moment that feels unreal, Seongje pushes you backwards, forcing your feet into motion until he has you firmly pressed against a wall. “Say we work well together- tell me-”

You can't very well say much of anything because he's already sinking his index and middle finger into your cunt. Your mouth flies open and you're caught in a silent cry.

“Fuck- Look at how well we work together…” he says, bringing his fingers up to the light. He watches your slick coat, his fingers and something in you coils with disgust and immense pleasure.

His eyes immediately snap to you the second a small moan croaks out.

“F-Fuck-” you gulp in all the air you possibly can when his grip around your throat loosens. There's absolutely no space between you as he crowds you against the wall, staring down at you with the bad fluorescents reflecting against his glasses.

“You don't get to do that… You don't quit on me. I quit on you.” He's forcing his hand between your legs, this time he fucks you properly. Your cunt clenches around his fingers and a tear falls.

“Say sorry.” He taunts with another manic smile flitting across his face, “I want you to take my fingers and tell me how sorry you are-”

“F-Fuck Seongje-” your hips snap awards and you stare up at him with watery eyes- watery eyes that havr his cocktail straining against his pants. He brings you in close by the nape of your neck while he forces you down until your clit meets the palm of his hand.

“You keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna cum. And I hate cumming first.”

“Shit…” your eyes roll to the back of your head as you force yourself to grind down on his fingers. His hand around your throat is the only thing keeping you somewhat upright. You've slipped into that mental soace where you'll embarrass yourself to achieve orgasm. You needed this.

And him.

“What a greedy slut, huh? Tell me you're done with me. I want you to say it again-”

You can't say much of anything because you grab ahold of his wrist, keeping his fingers inside you as your orgasm crests and breaks.

You're screaming wildly, devoid of all rational thought, unprepared by the fact that a bleeding man still lays forgotten on the cold floor. All you feel is him. Jts all him and its suffocating.

You've quite literally found yourself in the clutches of a sadist and he's guiding You gently through your orgasm… patting your head down lightly like you were a delicate baby bird.

"Why would I ever let you go?"

[ilovemitsuya]

how it started how it’s going

I just know he has been waiting to do that for a long time

[be-xkyy]

I really have a type 👀

(Handsome men who are completely crazy but completely hot😏)

[sanctuary1988]

Les Petals D'Amour

| Gwi | Masterpost

Pairing: Gwi (the scholar who walks the night) x fem! noble! Reader

Summary: A heartless vampire falls in love for the first time in centuries of loneliness. Passion, secrets, betrayal and love drown the royal palace. Will your love for Gwi prevail through time or will it wither away like a fallen rose petal? Maybe love was his punishment, maybe love was your salvation. Or wasn't it a curse to you both? Because, who can beat a race against time? Who can love in the dark? Who can love without truth? After all, even the most beautiful flower will wither away and end in ashes of time, remembered only by the one who cherished her the most.

General Warnings: fluff, angst, blood, biting, general vampire stuff, secrets, obsession, twisted retail of beauty and the beast, death, character death, typical period misogyny, DARK ROMANCE, spiciness, love?, (specific warnings will be given in each chapter)

Total Word Count: in process

A/N: Welcome to my first fic on this new blog, darling! I finished watching TSWWTN like a month ago and I have officially fallen in love. I took one of the scenes to start this story that could serve as a prequel of the drama from Gwi's perspective. Like a backstory for him that we were denied on the show.

I really hope you will like it, loves. Please share your thoughts with me and feel free to ask me anything! From extra scenes for this story to what's the last thing I ate, I'd love to interact with you all!

*A/N: This story will be updated when I have the time to write, darlings. I'll do my best to keep it alive and ongoing but I have a lot on my plate right now. I'm doing this mostly for myself as I need some space to vent and create without pressure. This blog is a safe space for anyone and that obviously includes me. So please be patient when it comes to updates! I'm giving my all trying to balance my life with all the responsibilities I, myself, put over my already busy life. But be for sure that this story will be finished... someday.

**A/N: Darling, please mind the warnings on this post and on each chapter. I'm still pondering on whether I should include smut here or not as I personally think there should be a solid reason why there must be a spicy scene in a story but aside from that, this story will have some pretty dark contents and behaviours. Disturbing scenes may appear throughout the story and I am not responsible for your media consumption. Please, be careful, love.

~ Main Work

Chapter 1 | Handsome Stranger |2.3k words|

Chapter 2 | Owned Flower |2.4k words|

Chapter 3 | Caged Petal |2k words|

Chapter 4 | Silver Innocence |2.5k words|

Chapter 5 | Subtle Conscience |2.5k words|

Chapter 6 | A Flower For A Flower |4.2k words|

Chapter 7 | Reborn Petals Of Emotion |4k words|

Chapter 8 | Veil Of Temptation |4.5k words|

Chapter 9 | Fate's Cruel Hand |5.1 words|

Chapter 10 | The Heart Of The Poet |3.4 words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

𖹭 Interlude pt.1 |1.4k words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

Chapter 11 | The Moon That Embraces The Sun |4.6k words|

Chapter 12 | Melodic Promises |5.5k words|

Chapter 13 | The Silence Of Solitude |3.2k words|

Chapter 14 | Stolen Rose Of A Promise |4k words|

Chapter 15 | Flames Of Passion |4.5k words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

𖹭 Interlude pt. 2 |2.2k words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

Chapter 16 | Secret Of Darkness |3.4k words|

Chapter 17 | The Age Of Romance |3k words|

Chapter 18 | Echoes Of Eternity |4.2k words|

Chapter 19 | The Enemy's Lover |5.4k words|

Chapter 20 | The Price Of Love pt. 1 |3k words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

Interlude pt. 3 |1.8k words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

Chapter 21 | A Thousand Miles Apart |3.3k words|

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

???

~ Side Content...

Moodboard

The Playlist 🫶

Started: January/28/2024 Finished: ???

[divineandmajesticinone]

Cha Woo-min as Pi Han UI STUDY GROUP (2025)

[zaramaliksblog]

I demand your attention.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ featuring Phi Hanwool x female!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹content - woman!reader x Fi Hanwool!kisses, jealousy, love!

Phi Hanwool watched as Y/N carefully packed her textbooks, crossing her arms over her chest. “Ga Min again? Is he really that important to waste time on?” he grumbled.

Y/N looked up, frowning slightly. "Hanwul, don't start. They all need help, and you know how important it is to me that we study."

"They don't deserve you. You're too good for this 'study group.'" His voice was quiet and calm, but there was tension in it.

Y/N walked up to him and touched his cheek. "Han-vi, are you jealous? Of my friends?" He actually likes the nickname you gave him, even though he doesn't admit it.

He grabbed her hand, pulling her closer. "I envy them taking up your time when it could be mine alone."

Y/N smiled, leaning into him. "I can fix this."

Her words were lost in the kiss, passionate and demanding. The room filled with heat, the study group was forgotten, and the world narrowed to two people connected by desire. Hanwool forgot about his jealousies, drowning in her embrace, understanding that now and in the future she would belong only to him.

leave some ideas !I will be only glad !!

I know that Fi Hanwul is not that kind of character, he would have killed them!!

English is not my native language!!