#jacques le gris fanfiction

[shesjustanothergeek]

Ruined

|Jacques Le Gris x Fem!Reader|

Short Story

Summary: Once you come of age, you're sent to your brother-in-law's estate to find a husband. After months of deflecting and denying suitors, old and young, you encounter the dangerous squire Jacques le Gris.

Author's Note: Jacques le Gris is a rapist. No matter which point of view you look at, he is a rapist. I would also like to say that I personally hate him. He embodies everything I hate about men and victim blaming in the modern world. Still, at the same time, I am so incredibly enamored by him, primarily due to Adam Driver's acting. Initially, I didn't want to write this story, but it would not leave me alone. Without further ado, here is Ruined. I hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: Mentions of rape, period-accurate sexism, noncon elements, extremely toxic masculinity, orgy (non-participating), the reader is a virgin, slight blood play, violence, degradation (Jacques receiving), rough sex, Jacques is not nice until the end, sexual blackmail, unprotected sex, PIV.

(I wrote this story almost a year ago but realized I didn't publish it here for some reason. You'll definitely see how much my writing has changed for the better.)

The obnoxious noises of people chanting draw you out of your trance, sipping wine from a silver goblet periodically to drown everything out. These parties were never your favorite, but you came, observing the party-goers dancing drunkenly as if it was your duty to attend.

You roll your eyes as the crowd cheers, Count Pierre yelling above the rest, a woman on his lap, and bringing your gaze to where the sound is directed.

A young man with raven hair draped around his neck stalks towards a maiden, a smirk on his lips, untying his white tunic. His chest is broad, a sheen of sweat glittering on his skin in the candlelight. He would be so much more attractive if this were a different situation. You could even imagine yourself being the one to pleasure his cock. You roll your eyes, understanding the intentions of this whole charade.

"Jacques, my boy, get on with it," Pierre says, growing impatient with the lack of excitement.

He nods, making wide steps to the woman, circling a wooden table as she runs in the opposite direction he follows. You can't help the groan of distaste that releases, tilting the cup to your lips and turning away, not wanting to see the show.

How could anyone like this? It was blasphemous in the eyes of the Lord. Mary would be weeping for what her son's followers do for fun. You must mention this in your confession, receiving penance for witnessing hedonistic actions, drawing the sign of the cross, wiping the stray dribbles from your lips, and making room for your bed chamber.

Pierre sticks his leather boot out, nearly tripping you as you huff, putting your hands on your hips.

"Where are you going, sister," he questions. "The party has just begun."

Your lips curl into a snarl, your white teeth reflecting the flickers of light.

"It is quite late, my dear brother-in-law. I need to rest my weary body."

Pierre tucks his leg back, a wave of shock washing over you. He fakes a pout, his eyebrows scrunching with a wet lip out. You shake your head, disbelieving his ridiculous antics. Indeed, he wouldn't let you go that easily.

"Awe, my dear sister," he pats his free thigh, "won't you find your rest here on my lap?"

The room erupts with laughter, everyone watching the exchange unfold, wondering how this will end. Your stomach turns inside, revolted by your legal brother's detailed proposal in God's eyes. Hot words of hatred sear your tongue's end, begging you to be free, but you bite it. He was, after all, above you, gifting you a home while searching for a husband. You were indebted to him. Saying no was not an option. Your eyes meet Jacques, a look of surprise as if he never knew you were here in the first place— a typical man, keeping his head trained on one hole at a time.

Pushing all the bile and anger, you plaster a smile, accepting the offer and sitting across from the finely dressed lady. Pierre runs his calloused fingers along your spine, turning you into stone as you set your gaze on the floor.

Everyone's eyes had left except for one, the only pair you didn't want on you as you sat in defeat, cheeks fuming. Jacques was intense, his facial hair dusting around the hard line of his mouth, shining with the wetness of the wine. It almost seemed you were his prey now, not the maiden with the ornate burgundy dress. You had no intention of being hunted by him.

With the clap of Pierre's hands, the merriment commences again, Jacques halting for a split second before his pupils are set back to where they were before. The woman is shouting no, over and over again, excitement barely laced in it. Your heart went out to her, a feeling of protection for the circumstance. She had no choice in who fucked her; a status of nothingness gave men the right to do what they wanted. Your gender had just as much value as theirs. Breasts and warm heat should not matter. 

The position in a society fueled the eternal flame of fury in your soul, always wanting to rebel and speak your truth, but the consequences of disrespecting a man were deadly. You were just as helpless as the woman being thrown over Jacques's shoulder and flipped onto the bed, held down by other waiting women.

A hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to watch the poor woman be soiled.

"Watch," Pierre commands, saying your name. "Watch him fuck her, and maybe you will learn how to be a good wife for your husband."

You clench your teeth, growling in protest as you watch Jacques enter her from behind. The iniquity of the sounds is enough to stir your core, but the cries of her protest ring louder, maybe laced with a hint of pleasure as the meat from the large feast threatens to exit your throat.

"Here." Jacques's voice was smooth, rolling out his chest like a baritone into your ears, caressing them. "Take some evil inside you," he says, aligning his hips with hers.

Your body jolts, either from the erotic sounds of his words or the disgusting act he was committing on her, as you put a hand over your mouth, jumping from your spot before Pierre can stop you. Incoherent noises were mumbling out of you as you ran to the doors, bursting them open with weight. The onlookers are quiet once more, waiting for a cue from the Lord. Jacques is the only one not paying attention, his vision trained on your retreating form as the girls giggle.

You order your handmaids to draw a bath, telling them to put as many herbs and oils to soothe your racing heart. They listened, bowing their heads in respect as they went off to do their respective duties, and you were in the scented waters in no time.

Take some evil inside you.

The words echoed in your brain, fuzzing all concise thoughts and morals. These parties were always like this, orgies were the most common, but they all seemed consensual. You never heard a woman shout no until tonight. Pierre ordered him to almost rape, teetering on dubiousness and assault.

Why would someone participate in that so willingly?

Jacques could say no and leave, not chase her around like an animal until he jumped on her. He was so attractive and sensual in his movements that even Christ would be shy.

You reached over the top of the tub, picking up the leather-bound book on the stand next to you, attempting to distract your mind from the man that was viciously pounding into as many women as he could in the other wing. A book of poems written in Latin was always your choice.

You had been lost in the pages for hours; the water had turned lukewarm and your skin pruney, but you were too focused as you felt the door slam. You jumped, nearly dropping it into the tub. You were surprised to find visitors, especially this late in the night. You lift your gaze with a quizzical raised brow. The person standing in your bathing room was Jacques Le Gris. You squeal, dipping into the water and covering your chest.

"What the Hell are you doing in here?" You nearly scream, forgetting your place.

He takes a few steps closer as you turn away more, his boots thudding, sending vibrations through the floor as he bends over, picking up your book. He reads the name aloud, almost like a question, and turns the pages, looking for a certain one. Jacques reads it aloud.

"Bibe mihi nisi oculis tuis et ego confirmo in oculis tuis." (Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine.) He says, eyes flickering to your submerged body. "Vel osculum sed in poculo relinque, et vinum non quaeram." (Or leave a kiss but in thine cup, and I'll not look for wine)

Your muscles relax as you listen to his voice. It sounds the same, but the feeling of it is so much better than before.

"Sitis, quae ex anima oritur, divinum potionem petit." (The thirst from the soul doth rise, doth ask a drink divine.) You turn your body towards him, still covering your chest as you study his lips, how they pucker slightly, and his pink tongue touches his teeth.

Jacques begins to read the following line, but you interrupt him, having read this poem many times, as you peek over the side of the brass tub.

"Sed, ut potui, lovis nectare supponerem, Nolo tuum mutare." (But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.) He lowers his head a few inches above yours. His intense honey-brown eyes bore into yours.

"Sera tibi roseo misi, non tam honorante, quam ut spem dare non posset arescere." (I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, not so much honoring thee, as giving it a hope that there it could not withered be.) He reads the line, inching closer and closer.

You lick your lips, lifting yourself as you recite. "Tu autem ibi solus respirasti et mihi remisisti." (But thou thereon did'st only breathe, and sent'st it back to me.)

"Cum crescit et olet, non per se, sed te." (Since when it grows and smells, I swear, not of itself, but thee.)

Jacques closes the book with a slight slap, the tip of his prominent nose gliding across yours as your mouth parts for him. He closes his eyes, leaning in.

"Take some evil inside you."

You pull back, standing in the tub quickly as the water splashes out. Jacques's face turns pale at your rejection, embarrassment clouding his mind. You turn your back to him, grabbing a large towel.

"You know, Sir Le Gris, that poetry would sound heavenly if it wasn't for your filthy mouth." You flip your hair over your shoulder, bending slightly to wring the water out as you hear Jacques approach.

Fear stuns you for a moment, freezing, unsure of what to do or where to go because you know he will not take no for an answer if he reaches you. Suddenly, you spot a mounted dagger over the fireplace. You stroll as if you planned to walk over all along. He catches up in no time, pinning you to the stone, his form pressed into your back as he buries his nose in your neck, sniffing. You try not to cringe, even though everything in your body tells you to do so. You can't show him you're afraid.

"Would you like to rub my oils on Sir Le Gris?" You try to hide the tremble in your voice, staying frozen in place.

"Mmm," he moans, "I would love to." He moves away from you, finally giving you the chance to breathe.

"They are over there." You point to the shelf with glass bottles and vials as he nods. Turning his back on you, you reach for the dagger, silently prying it off the display. "You can pick whatever oil you want, Sir."

Jacques studies each one, popping off the corks and glass lids, smelling them until he finds something he enjoys, and walks back over. He opens the bottle, the smell of roses wafting in the air as he pours some out into his hands, massaging your neck.

If this was any other circumstance, you might adore basking in it, but it isn't. You're with a man who has no concept of consent, a man who would bend you onto the hearth and fuck your weeping body. He reaches down to your shoulders, halting when he feels your resistance on the cloth; not letting him remove it, he overpowers you, pushing it down. You clutch the dagger closer to your bare chest as his fingers glide down your biceps and back, slick with the oil.

"You are so stiff, my sweet."

You shudder at the endearment, trying to relax your tense muscles. Jacques's hand travels down your chest, encompassing the small flat area as his fingertips touch the top of your breast.

"Stop," you command with a flat voice. Jacques ignores you, continuing to massage your intimate parts.

You turn around, flying at lightning speed, and put the dagger's tip to his throat, only enough to draw a trickle of blood.

"When a woman says stop, you stop, Jacques. When a woman says no, you listen." The words fly out of your mouth, anger for seeing the filthy action he committed on that woman from the party.

His lack of terror frustrates you. Even with a knife to his throat, he radiates arrogance. You push him backward across the room, still at his throat, pinning him to the large wooden door. He stands there in surprise, his arms up in surrender, more startled than afraid.

"I could end your life in a second, you scoundrel, yet you show no fear."

Jacques laughs. He laughed dark and deep, his perfectly crooked teeth sparkling as his Adam's apple bobs. You slide the blade with your neck craned; the edge is now piercing. Your face scrunches with fury bringing your knee up to his stomach, causing him to laugh more, slightly doubled over.

"Do you have such a low view of women that you take it in jest when they threaten your life?" You spit. His joy subsides a bit, chest still slightly bouncing.

If you slid the blade across his neck at this moment, his throat would slit, spilling his tarnished blood on your naked body, yet he still doesn't seem to care. His eyes travel down you, still damp from the bath. You slam his shoulder into the door with your fist, trying to assert dominance over him, not allowing him to look. You suppose this is a precarious pose, leg hiked up, hand on his shoulder, giving him perfect access to your womanhood.

Your stance falters at the thought, Jacques taking it as the perfect opportunity to grab you. The blade slides across his arm, flinching for just enough time to run, but he grabs you at the waist, the soles of your feet sliding across the stone floor. You yelp as he flings you over his shoulder, your legs and arms kicking as you scream for him to stop. He doesn't listen, opening the door to your bed chamber and throwing you down on your mattress.

Your body displays perfectly for him, with a slight sheen on your flush body. He devours the sight of you, ripping off his sweat-stained tunic as you push yourself off the sheets and away from him, running towards the exit. Jacques cuts you off, hunched over in a stance that resembles the one at the party, his arms out. You step to the side, and he mirrors it. You step to the other, and the same thing happens again.

"If you run, I will only chase you," he says with a predator's grin.

You look around desperately for anything to help you escape him. You spot a candle stick, sprinting to it, knocking the lit wax onto the floor as it rolls to Jacques's feet; his boot steps on it, snuffing the flame.

"Oh, my darling, you must be careful. You wouldn't want to cause a fire. Our fun might end." His voice is condescending as he stalks you.

"I will set this whole castle on fire before I ever have fun with the likes of you, swine."

A glob of spit flies out of your mouth, landing on his cheek. The pads of his fingers touch it, wiping it on them and bringing them to his mouth, sucking. He hums, popping them from his lips with a smile.

"You taste so sweet." He closes the space between you. "I would shun Jove's cup away every chance if it meant I could taste your nectar instead."

You grip the brass candle stick tightly, offended that he would reference a poem so dear, ready to swing at any moment. Jacques notices, smiling to himself. Your legs rub together at his words, a mind of their own.

His lips crash on yours, destroying any thought that you might not want this, and you drop your weapon, wrapping your fingers in his raven locks. You can feel him grin, happy to have won, his hand lacing itself on your neck.

You part for air as Jacques spins you around, sliding his other hand down your body to your aching mound, parting the wet folds with his digits. You gasp at the contact, your knees buckling as his grip holds you up.

"For a lady who put up so much of a fight, you are impossibly weak under my touch," he mocks, relishing his victory.

You glare at the wall with the brutal honesty of his words. You didn't put up much of a fight when his mouth finally met yours, even dropping your only form of protection.

"Silence." You demand, not wanting to hear any more of his taunts.

An exploratory finger glides over a sensitive spot on your heat, causing you to gasp and grip Jacques's trousers. He swipes over it, and you cry out at the foreign sensation, panting. You can feel the pride radiate from his demeanor at seeing your weakness, slowly rubbing circles on the bud.

You have never felt like this before, being taught never to explore that private area of your body, leaving it only for your husband to use. This pleasure wasn't something that society taught you. Yes, you watched many people fornicate at Count Pierre d'Alençon's gatherings but never allowed yourself to participate. He would have loved it if you did, but you had one duty to attend: finding a husband.

It was already so tricky finding anyone you could stomach, all the suitors decrepit and at death's door. You wanted to marry for love when you were younger. The idea of a fairytale romance clouded your eyes as a child, but once you bled for the first time, you were sat down and told of your duties. Accept whatever man had the most money, influence, or power and fill your stomach with his kin. But you wanted something else. The suitors also knew it, as you destroyed any notion of a small and obedient wife.

At times you were sure Pierre would throw you out as you brushed off and disrespected every man that came, but some of you knew he liked the entertainment. If only he could see you now.

Naked and moaning like a whore as Jacques assaulted your heat with his fingers, you loved the sinfulness of it all, Jacques breathing heavily into your ear as he worked you like a loom, rubbing in circles as pressure began to build in your stomach. Your hips were moving, seeking more friction. You can't control your body, the lust of the devil taking over your mind, a he kept touching that exact spot.

It was so intense, the new feeling, almost too much, you wanted to scream obscenities and thrash around, but he held you firm. Your toes curled as you stomped on the ground, a wave of ecstasy crashing into you as you screamed. Your body caved in on itself as you struggled in Jacques's grip, still rubbing the used nub. You twitched and spasmed as the aftershocks of your high jolted through your body, mumbling to yourself.

"It's-it's too much. Please. Stop." You beg as tears form from the overstimulation.

Jacques shushes you with kisses along your face, calming his fingers slightly, and you breathe a sigh of relief, head dropping as his hand still chokes.

"Have you ever experienced this before, a man's touch?" He whispers seductively, nose burying in your hair.

You're too dazed to think of a witty retort, Jacques pulling your consciousness away.

"No. I have to save myself."

"For who?" Jacques asks, removing his paws from your naked skin.

"My husband." You answer plainly.

Some of you have always wanted to explore your features this way, but you are always too scared, never taking the risk. You felt they would know what you had done by the look on your face, throwing you to live with pigs for the rest of your life. He chuckles at your lack of restraint, happy to have brought your defenses to a standstill as he slowly sways you to the bed, closing your eyes. You think he might leave you there, tucking you in for the night. You wouldn't protest with your achy limbs.

"You're still intact?"

You shoot up, eyes wide, as you realize what will happen. What?" That is all you manage to say, scared to admit the truth. Maybe if you didn't, he would lose interest and leave.

He rests his knees on the bed, your legs between his as he repeats.

"You are still intact?"

"Sir le Gris, I beg you to leave my chambers." Your voice weavers, sobering up, trying to keep a modicum of strength.

You slide off the bed, Jacques grabbing and flipping you as you swipe the candle stick from the floor. He crawls over the top, dragging his hair along your back as you feel his hands dip the bed, stick biting into your chest.

"I will ruin you for every man," Jacques whispers, face centimeters away from your ear, his facial hair tickling your skin as he peppers kisses along your neck.

The logical part of your brain wanted to stop this, realizing that you would fail if your future husband wanted to see if you were still a virgin. They'll declare you a whore, a harlot, sabotaging every suiter who enters the door. With your personality, you knew that your virtue would appeal more than money to them, and Jacques Le Gris would take it away. But the way his lips delicately kissed your skin, his hair lightly stroking it, taking the words out of your mouth as he reached your hips.

He removed his body from yours, shucking his black trousers onto the floor. You grip the candle stick tighter. This was your chance to fight back, stopping him from taking your only decent quality in man's eyes, but you didn't. You just lay there, waiting patiently for him.

A part of you wanted this, to know what it felt like and to discard any chance of finding a betrothed. You couldn't be tied to domestics, organizing feasts, caring for little ones, and then laying down to a man you could never love. It would be pure Hell, and you could not accept that. You would rather die alone without your honor than live a day under a man's boot.

Jacques grips your hips again, pulling you towards the edge of the mattress, legs hanging off the end as he spits on his shaft, stroking it. You turn your head to take a peak. The length is impossible; you had never seen one this long or wide, glistening with his seed at the tip. He catches you staring, smirking at your shocked expression, glad to have finally put you in your place.

He positions himself at your entrance, rubbing his hands on your ass almost gently as he pushes into the hilt. You scream, silencing it into the blankets as he pulls out, only to slam back in again. Tears burst from your eyes at the blinding pain of being stretched, his blatant disregard for your comfort.

"Jacques, it-it hurts." You beg, body shaking, the salty streams of water cascading down your face and into your mouth. "Please, slow down."

Your trembling voice breaks him from his trance, realizing he can't treat you the way he does with other women, not if both of you were to enjoy it. He pulls out, turning your body, seeing your tear-stained face and the candle stick you had been hiding, throwing it off to the side. Jacques smirks, proud to have won your mercy. He didn't know how long he would worry about you trying to kill him. He was proud of the magic his cock could work, but he didn't think it was that powerful, willing someone as strong and aggressive as you into submission. He bent over your body, kissing you, sucking on your lips gently, as your fingers combed threw his hair.

"I'm sorry, my darling, I should have remembered you are not like the rest. So fragile and delicate." He smiles, getting a waft from the oil he put on you earlier. "Like a rose. Ma rose. Beautiful and elegant, but if you aren't wise, she will prick you with her thorns."

You're sure his terms of affection come from pure physical attraction, trying to calm you so he could get back to fucking you like a rabbit. But the feeling that crept into your bones and heart at his words wanted to tell you something different.

He slowly drags them across your velvet walls, relishing in the tiny moans and whines he pulled from your chest. This time, his hand went down to your womanhood, using your juices to coat his fingers before he slid in, stretching you but not as comprehensively as his cock. You gripped onto the arms that caged you, your fingernails digging into the toned muscles as he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, softly biting the flesh.

You felt your peak rising quickly as he stroked you with curled fingers, your heat clenching and twitching around him. Jacques didn't need you to say anything to know you were close. Your body told him everything he needed as he quickly exited before your climax, ignoring your protests. He brought the digits to his mouth, coated in blood and nectar as he sucked, eyes rolling back at the tangy taste.

You watched in awe as his tongue licked it, dipping into all the crevices. He leaned down, hesitating momentarily as he reached your lips before you parted them and then dove in, mixing the taste of you and him. You moaned through your nostrils, eyelids fluttering as your tongues danced together, wrapping your legs around his waist. You were tired of waiting now that he showed you what sex could feel like, frustrated by its denial. You pulled his hair, tugging his face away as you looked into his hazel-brown irises.

You had never been this close to Jacques to appreciate his beauty truly; the freckles and moles dotted his cheeks and around his nose. He almost looked like the Roman statues you had seen in books, with his face and body chiseled from stone.

"Please," you whispered on his damp skin, "I need you inside me."

Jacques had waited for those words his entire life, eyes rolling back at the wave of arousal he got from them. He positioned his cock at your abused mound again, sliding in slowly as he watched your expression.

It was painful again, tensing and scrunching as he held back the best he could, bottoming out. The feeling of him so impossibly deep made you gasp. You were sure he was in your guts. You slowly ground your hips against him, trying to seek the pleasure you now knew he could give you. He smiled at your eagerness, happy to have turned the stiff woman into a puddle in his hands.

He finally gave you what you wanted, pulling back and sliding back in. Your walls finally adjusted to his overall size, welcoming him in. Like earlier, he worked that sweet spot inside you, stoking the fire smoldered inside into a small flame. You wanted more now that you realized what was possible, snatching his body close to yours as you angle your hips up, inviting him to go the pace he wanted. And Jacques did, slamming into your body as he fucked you deeply, breasts bouncing from the force.

You moaned loudly, head rolling to the side as the pleasure took over, Jacques wrapping a large palm around your throat again to hold you in place.

"Oh Lord," you shouted, "please forgive me. Now that I know of this sinful ecstasy, I may never stop."

Jacques smiled, happy that he ruined and corrupted you like he said he would, a new wave of primal desire controlling him. He yanks you to the end of the bed again, slamming your body into him as he stands upright, grabbing your waist and fucking into you as hard as he can, gritting his teeth.

You pant, excited by the new position he thrusts into rapidly, the now familiar pressure quickly building in your stomach.

"I am going to ruin you for every man." Jacques reiterates from before. "So, when your husband is fucking you like an untrained dog, all you will think of is me."

His black mop of hair sticks to his sweaty forehead as he continues pumping into you, holding himself back until you climax for him. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, pistoning in you impossibly deeper, hitting the same spot repeatedly until you snap. Your vision goes white as you arch your back, screaming at the bursting pleasure in your stomach. Jacques grins, proud to have you writhing under him as he spills inside you, seed filling up your hole as you both continue panting.

Jacques pumps into you carefully, slowly riding your highs together as your pulse slows, breathing calmly. His hand slowly snakes its way to yours, hooking a cautious pinky. He pulls out, gently dropping your leg as he collapses beside you, spent from the activities together, staring up at the ceiling.

His digit is vast compared to yours, the size of your index, as he takes the invitation to wrap all of them under your plan, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. You stare at him, an eyebrow raised at the unexpected display of affection.

"Thank you for giving yourself to me, ma rose. For letting me have your virtue." You look down at the intertwined hands and then at his face, skeptical, seeing his sincere expression.

"You are welcome," you giggle. "Though I always imagined it would be my husband, now I don't think I need one for that anymore."

Jacques laughs, a naturally bellowing whole-body one, and shakes his head.

"With all due respect, my lady, I don't think you needed me to show you that." You mirror his emotions, silently agreeing with him as he gets up, searching for the lost garments during your adventures.

You attempt to stand, legs faltering as pain shoots through your core, using the bed for balance. Luckily, Jacques is in the bathing room collecting his tunic as you walk over to the candle and holder, putting them back.

Cold, wet fabric on your back causes you to jump, turning around to see Jacques fully clothed with a wash rag in hand. You wince at the freezing temperature of it, grabbing his wrist. You look at him perplexed as he leads you back to the bed, parting your legs as he drags them across your core, cleaning up the dried blood and fluids.

"I can do that, Sir." You protest, uncomfortable with the amount of concern he is showing you.

"I know you can." He chuckles to himself, shaking his head, and continues. You don't stop him, letting the man care for you this time.

Once he's done, you reach for the cloth to discard, but he yanks it out of the way, folding it and stuffing it in a pocket. You put your hands on your hips, shaking your head.

"And what are you going to do with that le Gris?" You ask in an admonishing tone.

"Oh, this?" He questions, feigning innocence. "This is just for me... and any other suiter who decides to court you."

Your face pales, your playful expression dropping as you go to grab for him, his body surprisingly fast for the bulk of it. You try again, and he expertly dodges towards the door.

"Give it back, Jacques," you demand, done with his games.

He smiles and shakes his head, patting where the tainted fabric is stored. You reach for it once more as he opens your bed chamber door and slips out, shutting it on your naked body. He knows you can't leave, or everyone will see you; although some might be pleased, you still stay inside, pounding on the door as you yell his name.

***

You sit silently at the table with Count Pierre d'Alençon and his wife, your sister, eating the day's first meal. You needed that after last night, still fuming after what Jacques did.

That damn scoundrel.

Pierre puts his knife down with a "clang," causing your sister and you to perk up, expecting an explanation for the sound as he wipes his lips.

"Jacques le Gris came to my chamber last night," he begins. A lump forms in your throat as you freeze, terrified about what his following words would be."I found it very odd, him being here that late after the party, but nevertheless, he said it was necessary."

Indeed Jacques didn't blast Pierre about what you did last night; he already had proof enough that he didn't need to say anything.

"You came up in the conversation, my dear sister," he says as he points a jeweled finger.

You swallow, plotting all the terrible things you will do to Jacques the next time you see him.

"He proposed a marriage to you."

You drop all your silverware on the floor, face in shock at the reveal. Jacques has already ruined all chances of future courtiers, even going a step further and ruining your prospects of freedom. Why the Hell would he do that?

"I, of course, said that he would have to follow the process like any other man. He would get no special treatment just because he is my friend."

He steals your virtue and now your only chance of freedom.

"What do you say, my dear sister?" He asks, ripping your mind for your thoughts.

You stare blankly, unsure how to respond to something as ridiculous as that and clear your throat.

"Jacques le Gris is like all of the men from before and will be like all of the men after," you reply.

Pierre smiles at your answer, happy to know the two most headstrong, fiery people he knows will go toe to toe. This will be a duel for the ages.

[mrs-gucci]

A Masked Escapade

anon

Thank you for taking requests! Sextember makes me think of Jacques taking you to a kinky sex party that’s kind of dark and freaky.

the settings and some events in this story are inspired by a real life 1700s sex club called "the hellfire club", which I believe I've used as inspo before (but this one is different, I promise lol). also, the book he reads from & the lines he reads are from a real 1700s-era piece of erotic literature!

warnings. SMUT (18+ ONLY), a sex club, reader is a high-class prostitute, erotic readings (nothing super explicit mentioned), exhibitionism, some dirty talk, unprotected p in v, no creampie.

word count: 1k

★ written for sextember 2023 ★

** CLICKING “KEEP READING” MEANS YOU UNDERSTAND & ACKNOWLEDGE ALL OF THE WARNINGS LISTED ABOVE AND ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, YOUR CONTENT CONSUMPTION IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. MINORS DNI. **

collage by me :)

The night is dark, the only light coming from the crescent moon hanging above as you step onto the boat along with the other ladies. Everyone is wearing a costume and mask of some kind, the desire to conceal identities common on an evening like this one.

You're taken to the entrance to Pierre's remote estate at Wycombe and are guided in by a man, also in costume. Waiting for you in the large dining room was your date for the evening, Sir Jacques Le Gris. He greets you with a smile and wraps an arm around you as you take a seat on his lap.

A night of debauchery is about to begin...

Dinner starts off with just food, but soon takes a sinful turn when one of the guests retrieves a certain book from the library in the other room, which then begins the evening's erotic readings.

Jacques is a spirited participant, enjoying the showmanship of it all as he reads the explicit words written out on the pages.

"A Dialogue Between a Married Lady and a Maid," he reads off the cover, then flips through the pages before landing on an excerpt. "There is between the thighs, just at the bottom of the belly, a piece of flesh...underneath, hangs in a bag, or purse, two little balls, pretty hard, and the harder the better. And in them is contained that thick white liquor."

Everyone chuckles you smile slightly, feeling some warmth begin to blossom throughout your body.

"He took hold of that place which distinguishes us from men. At the same time he cried out, 'O! I have a maid! A virgin to my share!'"

You take your lip between your teeth as he keeps reading.

"His member was stiff and hard as a horn. Just as he had finished, my mother, who had heard me shriek, came into the room. 'What a happy girl you are!' said she. 'Pluck off this smock, which I will keep for a relick, since it is stained with thy virgin's blood.'"

Jacques hands the book off to another reader while everyone applauds his delightful reading. When he sits back down, you get onto his lap and rest a hand on his chest with a small smile.

"What an bewitching reading," you say, tugging playfully at the ties of his shirt. "I thoroughly enjoyed myself."

He enjoys this, chuckling softly as he wraps his arm around you and gives your hip a little squeeze.

"I am so glad to hear that you enjoyed it, poppet," he says in a low voice, eyes beginning to darken with lust. "I hope that soon, I get to feel just how much you enjoyed it."

You let out a shaky breath at his words, finding it very hard to keep yourself contained as the readings finish up. But eventually, the party moves down to the caves and everyone files into a large room with several rooms branching off of the main one. You know what's set to happen next, and some of it has already begun, considering a few people immediately make their way into the other rooms.

You hum as Jacques begins to tease you and chase you around the room like a hunter stalking his prey. You always enjoy the little games Jacques plays at club meetings, so you go along with it, running away and dodging his grabs, which only excites him more.

"Come come, I will only chase you..."

He pulls off his shirt, revealing his toned torso, then grabs a couple pieces of bread and pops them into his mouth. He suddenly dashes at you and tosses you over his shoulder. Everyone around you two laughs at the sight as you begin to playfully wriggle around, pretending to try and break free from his grasp.

"Put me down," you say, chuckling as he carries you over towards the large bed. "Put me down this instant!"

Several of the girls get onto the bed as he drops you down onto it, and the women all gather around you as Jacques pushes your skirts up. Jacques lowers his pants enough so that his hardened length is exposed. The ladies all look upon his sizable shaft as he gives himself a few strokes, then nudges the tip against your cunt before thrusting in, grunting softly at the feeling.

You gasp softly at his size and he gives you but a moment to adjust before he begins fucking you slowly, finding his ideal rhythm.

"Good God," he sighs, hands on your hips. "What a lovely little cunt you have, poppet."

He truly means it, and it isn't something he often says to the ladies he beds. But you...you're different. His cock begins to twitch inside of you as his hips pick up pace. The women gathered around your head hold your arms and look at Jacques, greatly enjoying the sights and sounds he's providing them.

"How lucky a lady must be to take Sir Le Gris inside of her," one of the young women says, biting her lip. "I imagine he feels absolutely wonderful."

You let a soft whimper leave your lips and nod, eyes shut in pleasure. "Indeed."

Jacques chuckles breathily, groaning lowly as his peak approaches rather quickly. He always hates having to pull out, he wishes he could bury every last bit of his seed deep inside of you, but alas, rules are rules.

Suddenly, he's pulling out and allowing his white liquor to paint your skin and delicate folds with a gruff growl of relief. Your hands tighten in the sheets, then release when he pushes back and grabs his cup of wine, taking a long drink.

You wipe yourself off with a cloth that one of the girls provides you, then turn over and sit up on the bed. He lets his hand caress your cheek for just a moment, the closest you'll ever get to a 'thank you' or 'I enjoyed our time together', then looks up at the ladies with a charming grin.

"Alright. Who's next?"

****

sextember taglist: @rynwritesstuff @safarigirlsp @babbushka @mrs-zimmerman

if you'd like to be tagged in future sextember works, please let me know via comment on this post or the original sextember post!

[pxgeturner]

so this is love, in the garden — reimagined!jacques le gris

a gentleman stumbles upon a secret area of the palace garden, and sings a duet with an invisible maiden.

an. so. um. yeah this is my first piece in a reaaallll long time. and yeah it’s jacques. but this is not like, canon jacques. this is my version of jacques, a ladies man, naturally, but not necessarily a gentlemen in all aspects of life. he is not in any way a villain. when i tell you i was SO EXICTED for the last duel, i was ecstatic to have adam play a knight-in-shining-armor types, i had no idea that the movie was going to be… that (😖) so my brain blocked that out and put jacques into a reign!au/crossover so.. um yeah.. hopefully some ppl like this.

wc. 456

you wandered about the secret secluded area of the garden you call “yours”. of course, it is not yours but the crown’s. but no one ever comes here and you do not even think that the king nor the queen is aware of this spot's existence, as it is at the very edge of the garden, almost wood. there is a pond and two flower beds as well as a hedge that hides it all. you suppose not a soul besides you knows of this alcove. people think the hedge marks the end of the garden. this might be the king’s garden, but this is your secret space.

you lay at the edge of the water, dipping your fingers, singing a simple melody. you start to sing of the thing your soul craves.

“so this is love,

so this is love

so this is what makes life, divine

i’m all aglow—

and now i know—”

“and now i know,” a deep, attractive voice startles you. you cover your mouth and just barely stop yourself from rolling over into the pond.

“the key to all heaven is mine,” you sing together. you hear heavy footfall near your oasis.

“my heart has wings

and i can fly—”

he’s about to round the hedge. you can’t let him see you- you don’t know why, you just can’t. so you pick yourself up, and tuck yourself into the shrub. you’ve hidden in it before, once or twice when you want a complete guarantee of privacy. the greenery leaves no hint of your presence, your skirts tucked neatly under you.

as you start the last verse together, he discovers your place. you peer at him through the branches and leaves. he’s tall, very tall. with long hair and a broad frame. you recognize him. the new lord that has joined court. lord le gris. jacques, you think his name is.

you didn’t think he was one for singing.

“i’ll touch every star in the sky.

so, this is the miracle

that i've been dreaming of.

so… this, is, love—”

part of you wanted him to find you. maybe he’d scoop you out of the bush, help you fix your gown, and pick any twigs or leaves out of your hair. you’ve heard of how charming he is to the ladies of the court. you haven’t met him yet, as you are busy tending to queen mary.

“mademoiselle, where did you go?”

you couldn’t bring yourself to let him see you.

“will i hear from you again?” you gave him a soft melody as an answer. he rounds the pond, looking at the flowers.

“you have the voice of an angel. hopefully you would soon allow me to see the face of one as well.”

You can’t wait to meet lord le gris.

[brideofkylosolo]

Sixth AU-Gust is up. Hope you all like it

[srorgana1]

recommended read by the lovely and insanely talented @safarigirlsp 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Forbidden

Hogwarts Professor Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Aggressive and Dominant Jacques. Chasing. Implied Age Gap. Student/Professor Dynamics. Professor/Professor Dynamics. Everyone is over 18, as All Readers Must Be.

AO3 Link

Author’s Note: Based on a special request for a sexy Christmas party with Professor Le Gris from my beautiful friend @kyloremus ! She does the absolute best edits around and keeps me absolutely rabid! Edits by her, of course!

More Hogwarts Professor Jacques fics for anyone hooked:

Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire

Dashing Through The Snow

I Put A Spell On You

A Duel to Remember

Fog hung heavily in the winter air, snaking through the cobblestone streets and the serpentine twists of Diagon Alley. Fat snowflakes danced lazily down from swirling carbon clouds and the cobblestones were icy and slick beneath the fresh powder snow. Shop windows glowed with a kaleidoscope of lights and buttered rum and spiced wine could be scented on the frosted air. Christmas Eve was a glittering evening, the kind filled with beauty and wonder and promise. A gust of wind blew down the alley toward you, twirling a flurry of snow up from the ground. You pulled your coat tighter around your body and trotted toward your destination a few businesses ahead.

Ducking inside the welcoming doors of the Leaky Cauldron, you were instantly enveloped by warmth and the smell of drinks and fried food. The bar was more crowded than you had ever seen it, packed to standing room only with patrons out for Christmas Eve. Festive music, a mix of cherry and clubby, almost made you want to dance as you weaved your way through the crowd. The edges of the bar were obscured in that murky shadow that liked to linger on the sidelines, like wallflower shades watching from the wings. You could see figures of people sitting in the shadows, but couldn’t make out any discerning features. You could almost feel a pair of eyes on you, watching you from the shadows.

A wave from the crowded bar caught your eye. A group of four people pressed together at the bar, two couples, waiting for you. Your friends. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be the third wheel in your group, still single after your closest friends had paired up with men during their school years and shortly thereafter. Zelda was now married and Dina, more protective of her freedom, was with a man she had been dating for years. It was easy to see that the man who was supposed to meet you tonight was absent. You expected to hear whatever excuse he had for that from your friends. It was no bother, really. Blind dates were always something of a disaster.

Zelda waved at you more animatedly, fitting for your bubbly blonde friend. Beside her Dina, a stately brunette, must have told their men to clear some space for you because both men moved to the edge of the bar under the guise of having some conversation amongst themselves.

“I can’t believe Gaston stood you up!” Zelda huffed indignantly when you joined them, referring to your absentee blind date. “What an asshole! I wouldn’t have thought it of him.”

“It’s best for the assholes to weed themselves out early,” you said nonchalantly. It was hardly an upset. You were beginning a new job soon anyway, one that would have you sequestered away from the world for most of the year. Starting a relationship now was impractical.

“I agree,” Dina added. “At least you hadn’t invested any energy in him or wasted any time. Besides, now if we see him out and about, we have every reason to be as nasty as possible to him, which is always fun.”

“To hell with him,” you said and took the beer the bartender slid in front of you. The three of you raised your glasses and clinked them together to a round of, “Merry Christmas!”

“There’s more to celebrate on top of the holidays,” Dina said with a coy smile.

“Yes!” Zelda added excitedly. She clinked your glass again with too much vigor, spilling beer over both your hands. “Cheers to the newest professor at Hogwarts!”

Elation and slight embarrassment rushed through you at her toast. You were proud and excited, and still a bit in disbelief that you had secured such a coveted position. After all, it hadn’t been too long ago that you had graduated from Hogwarts yourself.

“To the new History of Magic Professor!” Dina added and took a drink. “Leave it to you to make that class interesting at last. I must admit I’m shocked the Headmaster liked your pitch.”

“Not nearly as shocked as I am.” A wide grin spread across your lips. “I figured that since I had no real chance of getting the job anyway, I might as well shoot my shot and lay all my aspirations out on the table. In my wildest dreams, I never suspected the Headmaster would actually want a course that teaches both the history of magic and the added practice of the arcane spells we lost to history.”

“Another toast! To no lost limbs or dismembered students in your first term!” Zelda teased.

“At least, to no one I like,” you laughed.

“Just think,” Dina mused with a rosy blush on her cheeks. “Now you’ll be on equal standing with our old professors.”

“Ooo, yes!” Zelda said conspiratorially. “Maybe it’s best you’re going into this job single.”

Nearly every teenage girl at Hogwarts had a crush on one professor or other. You and your friends were no exception. It didn’t help matters that several professors were men in their prime, in their thirties and forties, at the peak of their attractiveness. Zelda had charmed her journal to explode with pink hearts whenever she wrote a certain name in its pages. The hearts smelled like roses and would flutter around her like butterflies. Of course, the name belonged to their charms professor, a dashing man with chic mahogany hair, masculine chest hair that peeked through the buttons in his shirt, and eyes as richly green as the forest after a rain. Dina had been so enamored of their quidditch coach, a tall athlete with golden hair, sky blue eyes and a movie-star smile, that she engineered a few nasty falls from her broom just so he would rush to rescue her and carry her to the hospital wing in his burly arms.

It was undeniable that both professors were attractive, but your interest had never been piqued by nerds or jocks. Bad boys appealed to you, or rather, tall, dark and handsome men. Byronic men with a hint of darkness who would be right at home in a gothic Victorian novel. The sort of man who exuded danger and vigor, the kind who had a predatory presence and a devil-may-care glint in his eye. The kind of man who, when he looked at you, he looked ravenously, leaving you wondering if he was going to steal you away to a dark tower or ravage you against the wall at the ball where you could be discovered at any moment.

As schoolgirls, the three of you spent countless hours in the library and common room discussing your favorite literary men, debating which men were the best. Fortunately, there was never any competition between you for your favorites. Zelda could have gallant Mr. Darcy and Gatsby and Atticus Finch. Dina could claim lively Cpt. Wentworth and Beowulf and Jean Valjean. So long as they left roguish Mr. Rochester and Heathcliff and Edmund Dantes for you. The dark antiheroes and villains who you weren’t really supposed to love. The forbidden kind of man. Prince Charming was so boring compared to the Beast, and what prissy prince could eat you better than the Big Bad Wolf? Naturally, the literary epitome of this was Count Dracula, but until he crossed oceans of time to find you, you were left with a sadly more mortal selection of men.

And if there was ever a man who epitomized tall, dark, handsome, and Byronic, it was Jacques Le Gris. When he stalked down the halls, he looked as if he were roaming his family’s century’s old gothic mansion. When he strolled across the grounds in the evening, it was easy to picture him roaming a Scottish moor. Adding to this imagery was the fact that he often undid the top two buttons of his shirt when taking his evening stroll, revealing the thick cleft of his chest. You thought you were suffering a heart attack one morning when you saw him running shirtless near the lake through the mist before dawn.

In coffee and in men, your tastes ran dark, robust, and strong. It was the Head of Slytherin House and Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor who had captivated you from the moment you first saw him. The year he came to Hogwarts as the new defense against the dark arts professor was your last year in school, and despite the number of candles on your birthday cake, there was nothing childish about you at seventeen. The memory of that first day was still as vivid in your mind as the present moment you were living. Professor Le Gris all but storming down the hall in his long purposeful stride, unruly ebony hair dusting his impossibly broad shoulders, his cape swirling in his wake as though it were a living thing. Heat flooded you at the mere memory. Some girls had their sexual awakening in some bumbling experiment with a pimpled teenage boy under the quidditch stands. For you, it was imagining Professor Le Gris’s huge hands running over your body, gripping you so hard in his passion that the bruises he left lingered for days; his long hair falling around his face in sweaty tendrils as he looked down at you, caged beneath his enormous body, running your hands over his broad back and feeling his muscles flex with every thrust into you.

Memories of your darkest fantasies flooded your mind with an almost dizzying intensity. It was unsettling, you had never experienced such vivid, intrusive visions. The feeling of Professor Le Gris’s hands on your body felt as real as the wooden bar you leaned against. The sound of him growling your name in your ear rang deeper than the cheery music in the bar. The rich masculine scent of him overrode the smells around you, and the taste of beer on your tongue was overshadowed by the taste of his skin and arousal.

“Hello?” Zelda snapped her fingers in front of your nose playfully. “Were you listening at all? I asked if you still have a crush on our old defense against the dark arts professor?”

“Oh, Professor Le Gris?” you feigned ignorance, hoping your friends didn’t see the way your pupils had dilated at the thought of him. “I haven’t thought of him in years.”

“Perhaps you can seduce Professor Le Gris and put in a good word for me with Professor Wren and we can have an awkward double date together,” Zelda laughed. “Best we not tell my husband.”

You rolled your eyes and took a drink in an attempt to open your throat back up, since it had closed at the thought of him.

“You’re not a student anymore,” Dina said suggestively. “And rumor has it Professor Le Gris is newly single again after some tawdry fling with one of those jezebels teaching at Beauxbatons. You’re rather lucky, you know? I was devastated to hear that Coach Baldr had married.” She nodded toward her boyfriend at the end of the bar and snickered. “Poor Albert has no clue how precarious a position he has. I would leave him in a moment if that Norse god wanted to take me to Valhalla.”

“Speaking of rumors,” Zelda said, lowering her voice to the quiet tone they once used to gossip in the library. “I still wonder if Le Gris is a werewolf. He has the look, doesn’t he? Those amber eyes, all that bushy hair, and those teeth. The way he looks at you a little too intensely. Can’t you just picture him howling at the moon?”

“My money is still on him being an animagi,” Dina argued. “I agree that he would be a wolf though, like his patronus is. A big black wolf with yellow eyes.”

Unbidden, the image came to you of a big black wolf chasing after you as you ran through a misty forest. Your heart pounded in your ears, almost as loud as the wolf thundering behind you. You inhaled sharply as the wolf lunged at you, sinking his teeth into your neck, pleasurably painful. Your wide eyes shot up as if the bite was real. And met a pair of amber eyes across the room, watching you from a shadowy corner of the bar.

Shock froze you in place, made your muscles seize as though it was Medusa’s eyes you had looked into and been instantly turned to stone. It was lucky actually. Otherwise, you would surely have dropped your beer and made a much more outward spectacle. As it was, you managed to keep a modicum of decorum and show no obvious displays of surprise. Or arousal, even as old fantasies again played in your mind like a song on repeat. You met those eyes steadily, eyes you hadn’t seen in person since your last day as a student at Hogwarts.

Professor Jacques Le Gris watched you intently. The way a wolf watches a fox frolicking unaware. Even the way he leaned casually back in his chair, one long leg crossed over the other, was lupine. A predator at ease, waiting for the opportune moment to seize his prey. Though he reclined in his chair, he still dwarfed the small round table for two. He was dressed all in black, the way you had most often seen him. Only tonight, his jacket was off and his sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms. His cravat was undone, the tails hanging down on either side of his shirt, framing the vee of chest that was exposed by the top two open buttons. He looked every bit the swarthy rake, a bodice-ripping libertine straight out of a Victorian penny dreadful. A half-smoked cigar was pinched between his index and middle fingers, a tendril of smoke spiraling from its glowing end toward the ceiling as he casually circled the rim of his glass with his forefinger. His eyes had a fiery glint to match the cigar.

Instantly, you wondered how long he had been there. How long he had been watching you. If he had heard you. Judging by the level of his drink and the length of his cigar, he had been there some time before you arrived. His plush lips twitched in a lopsided smirk as he raised his glass to them, watching you over the rim as he took a drink. Another image intruded into your thoughts. Professor Le Gris striding down one of the many long, dark hallways of Hogwarts. He was behind you, stalking you. And of course he caught you. Grabbing your shoulder, he roughly turned you around and pushed you back against the nearest wall. He crowded against you, towered over you. His hips pinned you to the wall and his arms caged you in, his huge hands planted on either side of your head. He leaned in, his lips hot on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. Every part of him was huge and hard; his thick chest under your hands, his iron fingers gripping you, his massive cock digging into you through his pants. The thought was too real, utterly taking command of your mind, and your body responded. A deep throb rocked through your core along with a melting heat, dripping through you slowly and deliberately like candle wax.

“I need some air,” you told your friends. They looked at you concerned, so you added convincingly. “It’s nothing. Really. It’s just stuffy in here with the Christmas party crowd. You know how I hate being packed in with the unwashed masses.”

You pushed through the crowded bar and all but bolted outside, hoping the cool winter air would have a chilling effect on your rampant imagination. Outside, you walked briskly, feeling the icy snowflakes land on your cheeks. And the way they steamed on your hotly flushed skin. Thankfully, there were few people outside on Christmas Eve. They were all either home with family or inside at a party like the Leaky Cauldron. Diagon Alley itself was nearly vacant, the shops darkened. Darker still and more vacant was Knockturn Alley. You were counting on it as you rounded the corner into the literal darker alley and trotted past a few darkened storefronts.

In the privacy of a shadowy doorway you leaned against the locked door and let out a heavy breath. You sounded lewd even to your own ears. The overhand of the doorway blocked the snow from falling on you and your skin felt instantly hot again. Another image flooded your mind, and you began to wonder if this was what madness felt like. This vision was different than any you had ever had before, but just as vivid. In your mind’s eye you saw Professor Le Gris standing shirtless in a gothic bedchamber with tall arched windows and a grand king bed, perhaps his chambers at Hogwarts or his home, wherever that was. In that omniscient way you know the thoughts of every character in dreams, you knew the thoughts that plagued him. How he had been consumed by the desire for a particular woman for years. A forbidden woman. Jacques would never seduce a student, fuck a student. No matter how beautiful and enticing, and blatantly responsible for his wolfish hunger you were. In nearly forty years, he had never been so captivated. So enchanted. So cursed.

Clear as a florid memory, you saw Jacques lean against the wall, pressing his head to the cool stone. Here, in private, he could imagine all the things he could never do in reality. Like fuck his favorite student. He knew how wrong it was even to think such disturbing things. The thought made him grin to himself, an indulgent, devilishly handsome grin. He pictured your luscious body. He wondered how sweet you smell. He imagined how delicious you taste. When he focused hard enough, he could feel the tight hot squeeze of you around his cock when he fucked his fist. Stroking his cock, he imagined thrusting into you, over and over and over, feeling you strain and flutter when he stretched you around him. The way he groaned was absolutely filthy when he came, imagining he was filling you until it was leaking out of you. He all but banged his forehead on the stone wall when he finally rested his head there, his hair falling around his face in a disheveled ebony curtain, his bare chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

There in the snowy alley, you watched it all happen in your mind’s eye as though it were your own memory. No, less like a memory and more like watching it happen through a window, like a voyeur. Your friend’s statement flashed in your mind. An exciting, enticing thought.

I am no longer a student.

As you felt a slick heat ruining your panties, you sobered for a moment. Just long enough for one lucid thought that was both thrilling and frightening. You remembered another rumor about Professor Le Gris. He was rumored to be a master of occlumency and legilimency. A legilimens could access another’s mind, see their thoughts and feel their feelings. No one could keep any secrets from a legilimens. Not only could a man with such a skill read your thoughts, he could influence them. He could plant any thought, any feeling, any image into your head as though it was your own. He could make you fantasize about him and remember your most forbidden desires. He could make you see what he felt for you, what he always had. He could make all those thoughts and feelings boil to the surface of your mind, make your desires simmer. He could even make you drip for him, almost on command.

“I’ve known your secrets for some time,” his voice sounded from the alley corner. Real this time, deep and hoarse with desire of his own. Jacques Le Gris leaned against the brick wall of the shop whose doorway you had hidden in. “The way you wanted me to corner you in the halls, pin you there against the wall where you couldn’t escape. Take whatever I want.” His pose was casual, his shoulder leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankle. But his eyes were the opposite, watching you with a burning intensity that all but crackled through the air. “Now, you know my secret, too.” His voice was a growl when he added, “I’ve always wanted you. To ruin you for any other man. To make you mine and keep you all to myself.” He pushed away from the wall and stalked toward you in that predatory way of his. “And now, there’s not a damn thing stopping me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, a feeble attempt to cling to some dignity. A thought flitted through your mind – he was prostrating himself before you. In his own way, he was making himself just as exposed as you were. He was pursuing you, taking the greater risk.

“Don’t you, now?” he teased in a gravelly voice. “I’ll never believe you didn’t know how you tormented me. Seeing you in those little skirts, thinking about those fumble-fucking schoolboys laying their clumsy hands on you. Knowing how much more a man could give you. What I could give you.”

“And what exactly is it that you could give me?” You tilted your chin up defiantly to add, “Professor?”

“Knowledge.” He walked to you until he stood so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him, grinning wickedly at the way his proximity affected you. “Regardless of what else I may be, I’m a very good professor. There is a loophole in the Hogwarts Code of Conduct that you might find interesting. Relevant.” He placed his hand on the door next to your head and leaned in close, his body only inches from yours. “Would you like to learn it?”

“If it saves me the time reading through the Code myself,” you tried to sound nonchalant, certain you failed. In fact, you did need to read those exact Codes before assuming your role as a new professor, but you had until the start of term to do it.

“Still a procrastinator through and through,” Jacques tisked you and leaned closer, his entire forearm now resting on the door next to your head, his face very close to yours. “You should know that relations between fellow Hogwarts professors are forbidden. A fireable offense.” He dropped his head and brought his prominent nose near your neck, and you thought he was going to kiss you there. Instead, he inhaled deeply through his nose, savoring the scent of you like some exotic perfume he had long been denied. “But forbidden only when the relationship postdates the beginning of a professor’s tenure.”

His words seemed to echo in your thoughts, needing a moment to take root. Looking up, you met his eyes. Eyes that glimmered like gold in the snowy night. “Relationships that predate the beginning of a professor’s term are allowed?”

“Clever girl,” Jacques said, his lips still near your neck, his breath steaming hot on your skin. “You always were a quick study. The very best and brightest. Did you think I only wanted you for that luscious ass?”

You tried to detect a note of sarcasm, but found none. You took a steadying breath and put a tentative hand on his chest. It was hard as granite beneath your hand. Jacques placed his free hand over yours, trapping your hand over his heart. You fixed your eyes on his, watching for a flicker of doubt when you asked, “What is it you want with me, Professor? Exactly?”

“Everything,” he growled the single word. It was more than an affirmation. His eyes told you it was a promise.

“We shouldn’t waste a moment, then,” you told him confidently. Fortune favors the bold, as they say.

“You read my mind.” He smiled genuinely, one of the very few you had ever seen on his lips. His toothy smile could have looked gawky, but right now, he was the most handsome man you had ever seen. His chest rose and fell under your hand as he leaned in to kiss you. Before his lips consummated your first kiss, he whispered, “My name is Jacques, not ‘professor.’”

“I’ll save professor for when I want you to teach me something, then,” you made your voice as seductive as possible now that you had decided on your course of action. It was easy now that you were confident he felt the same, that he desired you as fiercely as you did him. You eased your hips toward him, arching your back away from the door. Your lips were already parted when they met his, eager to finally taste the man you had dreamed of for so long.

The taste of him when he kissed you, the feel of him when his powerful body pressed against you, the strength of his hands on you was so much better than anything your imagination had ever conjured. It must have been the same for Jacques because he groaned into your mouth, his free hand dropped to your waist and he pulled you against him almost brutally. You wanted to feel every inch of your body pressed to his. Lifting a leg, you hooked it over his hip and wrapped your arms around his neck, using your entire body to pull him closer. His hand caressed your thigh from your knee up to your ass then squeezed you there. It would be so easy for him to hoist you up off the ground, for you to wrap your legs around him, for him to fuck you right now against the lonely door in Knockturn Alley, while snowflakes gathered in your hair.

“I know what you want. I’ve seen your fantasies,” Jacques purred, pulling back from your lips just enough to speak. “I know them so well they might as well be my own. Tell me which is your favorite and it will no longer be just a fantasy. I’ll enact it for you right now, down to every last detail.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing already?” you teased. You were on fire from his touch and you ached with desire. Thinking of him as you had been was its own kind of foreplay, and now it was torment to prolong it. He was hard and his cock rubbed against you through both your clothing, teasing you erotically in the perfect place. But then, he knew right where your perfect places were. And dear god, he was huge.

“This is too tame for your fantasies,” he laughed darkly. “Tell me your favorite. Although, I think I know it.” He kissed your neck, teasing your skin with his teeth and a light nip. “You want to run from me, pretend you have a chance of escaping. You want me to chase you down, catch you, rip your clothes off and fuck you like an animal. Or is that what the girls call being ravaged these days?” He pressed more weight against you, almost crushing you against the door, but the feel of his body and his weight was wonderful. “You’d pound your fists on my chest and tell me to stop, but you wouldn’t mean a word of it. You want me to take from you what has always been forbidden to give me.” Pulling back just enough to let you breathe, he brought his hand to your throat. His hand easily circled your neck, making you feel small and vulnerable, trapped in his grip. He squeezed. Gently, just enough for you to feel how easy it would be for him to truly take whatever he wanted. His voice sounded dangerous when he told you, “I can do that.”

“Yes,” you said at once without even taking a moment to think. This is what you had wanted for as long as you could remember wanting anything from a man. And Jacques Le Gris was offering to give it to. “I want our first night together to be like a fantasy. But I have a counteroffer.” He kissed you before you could make it, leaving you breathless when he pulled away. You took a breath and finished, “I say we play out my favorite fantasy first and your favorite second.” You cocked an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “If you’re game.”

“Darling, I was born game and I intend to go out that way.” When Jacques grinned at you now, sideways and wicked, the wolf practically jumped out of him. You knew he was telling the truth, that he shared your desires in full. That he wanted you just as desperately as you did him, and that he possibly had for just as long.

“Wait, I can’t just run off.” You stalled him with your hand on his chest. “What will my friends think?”

“What do you want them to think?” He slyly tapped a finger to his temple, his message clear.

“It’s enough for them to think I went home with a handsome man and not to worry about me,” you said coyly. “And it had better be true.”

“So long as you think me handsome, it’s true.” His grin widened and he pushed your arms back up around his neck. “Hold on tight.”

You knew what he was about to do before he did it and asked, “Where are you taking me?”

“The perfect place to give you what you want,” he laughed, a throaty rumbling laugh, and held you so tight you couldn’t have escaped his arms if you wanted.

Suddenly, the world blurred around you and spun as if you stood at the center of a cyclone. Your stomach swooped with the unnerving feeling of falling and a boom like thunder rang in your ears. When the world stopped spinning, your head took another moment to catch up. You swayed against Jacques in what could rightly be described as a swoon. For a few seconds, his hard body against you felt like the only solid thing in the world. He held you as you regained your balance and composure, his arms comforting and secure.

You were no longer in Knockturn Alley, or the city at all. You were surrounded by thick pine trees with snow drifting lazily down around you and leaving a light blanket on the ground. The light was diffused softly from the light of the bright full moon filtered through a thin layer of cloud. It looked like a dream and you wondered if Jacques could possibly be such a powerful legilimens that he could be crafting this world all inside your head. But you knew this was real, and you knew precisely where he had apparated with you. Although it had been years, you had been here many times before.

You shook your head at him fondly, appreciating his humor in the moment. He had taken you to the Forbidden Forest.

Jacques was game indeed. He fully intended to give you exactly what you had always wanted– a man of action instead of those of lesser fortitude who hid behind pretty words. Now that the onus was on you to accept his offer, you found it difficult to keep from trembling with nerves. He was so big, so powerful, so predatory. It was more than a little intimidating to think of him chasing you, catching you, manhandling you. It was almost frightening. But then, that was the point, wasn’t it? It was always a fine line between fear and excitement, between a fright and a thrill.

“What shall it be, beautiful?” Jacques asked. The devious bastard had probably read your mind again. Or your trepidation was that plainly written on your face. “Do you want me to play naughty or nice with you?”

“You brought me here,” you said with as much conviction as you could, making up your mind. “Carpe nocturne.”

“I’ll seize something alright.” Jacques sucked his teeth and bared his canines in a wolfish grin. Moonlight glinted off his teeth and glazed his black hair with silver, giving him a wild look. A beast, at home in these woods. He lowered his chin and fixed his lupine eyes on you, looking ravenous and dangerous. His voice rumbled through you when you told you, “I’ll give you ten seconds to run before I hunt you down and sink my teeth into that delicious ass of yours.”

“Ten seconds, huh?” you teased as you took a few tentative steps away from him deeper into the woods, exaggerating the sway of your hips seductively.

“One.” He cut off your flouncing, deadly serious, and took an ominous step toward you. He rolled one sleeve back up to his elbow where it had slipped down, somehow making that gesture look aggressive.

Smiling, you began lightly trotting through the dense trees. The forest glittered all around you in white snow, silver moonlight, and deep pine trees. The air was crisply-scented and cool, but your skin was so flushed the chill was welcome.

“Two,” he huffed behind you. “Better run a lot faster than that.”

Deciding on a path through the trees, you quickly picked up speed as adrenaline flooded your bloodstream. The idea of the chase, of running from a looming hunter, was exhilarating. You found a small game trail snaking through the forest, a pristine white laceration between the snowy trees, narrower than a footpath. The trees themselves reached their twisted branches out to you, as if to offer their help to hide you from the beast at your heels. A light mist lingered in the forest, dancing around your knees and swirling in your wake as you ran ahead.

You felt it when Jacques gave chase. You couldn’t see him now through the trees and brush that separated you, you certainly couldn’t hear him, but you felt him somehow like an electric shudder through your body, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. It was as if the forest itself felt him too, the atmosphere changing around you now that you were actively being hunted. 

A thick pine tree was close ahead of you, its lush low-hanging branches inviting you near, offering you a place to hide from your pursuer. Ducking under its branches, you pressed your back to the trunk on the opposite side of the trail. Snow dusted down on you from the branches you rustled, pleasantly cool on your skin. The fragrant smell of pine and sap surrounded you as you breathed heavily through your nose, trying to slow the hammering in your chest.

Snap.

The sound of a breaking branch reverberated through the trees, making your entire body jolt. You strained your ears to divulge more sounds, but there were none to be heard. The silence around you was so complete it was oppressive after the sounds of your running. It seemed as though the forest itself had gone quiet, and the snow offered more insulation on top of it. The trees surrounding you had become an audience waiting with bated breath to see if you would make your escape. Or if you would fall victim to the hunter at your heels. 

Surely, Jacques could have caught up to you by now. You expected him to charge past your hiding spot behind the pine tree only seconds after you and run ahead down the game trail. 

Slowly and as quietly as you could, you turned to look around the trunk of the tree that shielded you, daring to breach the side of the tree with only one eye as you checked your backtrail. Nothing. No big bad man in sight. Even the fog had settled again.

You returned your back to the tree and rested your head back against it, still scanning the trail. As you returned to face front, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. You snapped your head around to meet Jacques’s unnerving eyes and hulking body looming right at your shoulder. You almost jumped out of your skin as a pathetic yelp left your throat. Jacques growled as his arm shot around your waist, pulling you roughly against him. He wasted no time in sinking his teeth into your neck in a biting kiss, ensuring he left a bruise to mark the presence of his lips. 

“Jacques!” You jumped away from him, fueled by reflexes alone. Jacques let you. You took a moment to steady yourself, filling your lungs with air too slowly for your spinning head and rubbing the fresh mark on your neck. It stung, but sensually so.

“I’ll only count to five this time.” Jacques told you as he stepped toward you with a hint of menace and a devilish grin curling his lips.

Hungry lust radiated off Jacques in waves, so thick you could feel it on the air like a spectral presence. And it was all for you. He indeed thrilled you and also frightened you just a little, just enough for that rush of adrenaline to make you giddy. He certainly knew what he was doing, playing this little game of yours, or he had read your desires as clearly as a script and played his role to perfection. Sweat shone on his chest through the open vee in his shirt, a blush tinting his chest and neck. He looked voracious, driven mad by his desire. Jacques awakened the animal part of your brain that civilized society had tried for millennia to tame away, the part of you that wanted to be captured, taken, and utterly ravaged. Jacques was enjoying this even more, his huge chest heaving from the thrill of the hunt. You could see how it sparked a primal urge deep inside of him, probably even more poignant that it did in you. You could also see the evidence of his aching arousal tenting his pants. You were no better off. You had been melting inside all night, it seemed.

Backing away from him, you took a few deep breaths as you prepared to run again, unable to rein your pulse back down from a gallop. He registered your excitement and winked at you, enjoying your game. Laughing, you bounded away then skipped into a run that carried you further along the trail and deeper into the welcoming mystery of the woods.

The trail narrowed and became overgrown as the forest closed in around you. Deeper inside the forest, the woods grew wilder, much as the man chasing you was growing wilder with every pursuing step. You knew he was closing in on you swiftly. You slowed enough to look behind you. You were just in time to see Jacques lowering his massive body as he lunged at you with a growl. His shoulder connected with your waist as his strong arms gripped you, tackling you to the ground beneath him. He was careful with you. He’d never actually tackle you with his full force or risk hurting you. His arm hit the ground hard beneath you, cushioning your body when you met the cold wet snow. His heavy body covered you with enough weight to pin you but not quite enough to crush you. 

Laying on your back beneath his sweaty body, your arms flew around him. One hand fisted harshly into his damp hair and one hand dug sharp nails into his muscular shoulder, earning a groan in response. Jacques crashed his lips down against yours in a hard, desperate kiss, his hot tongue twining with yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. He kissed you hungrily, licking into your mouth and catching your lips between his teeth. He brought an enormous hand to your neck, again wrapping around your throat easily, squeezing just enough to make your pulse quicken and pound against his palm, adding to the effect of being captured.

“Do you like making me chase after you?” he asked into your mouth. “You must, since you’ve teased me for years. The torment was almost more than I could stand. Do you know how hard it was for me to resist taking what I know you wanted to give me?”

“I like being chased,” you whispered back. Feeling his weight press down upon you as you kissed, your legs fell open to invite him to settle between them. “But I like being caught by you even more.”

A low moan rumbled in his chest and he grinned against your mouth. The hand at your neck smoothed down to your breast, kneading you and making you gasp. 

Moving his hand lower, Jacques’s fingers dipped inside your pants, inside your panties, discovering how hot and wet you were already. You were powerless to resist succumbing to him, your body not allowing you to maintain any coy pretenses. Jacques’s mouth moved down to your neck as he plunged two thick fingers into you, curling them firmly against that spot he knew could make you scream. His fingers worked you into a frenzy as his teeth and lips attended to your neck and throat. He began rutting against you, his cock digging into the back of his own hand, which was still making you writhe on his fingers. Even that light movement caused your body to shift on the ground. The snow beneath you had melted, the ground now soupy under your back.

“This is about to get messy if you want me to take you here, fuck you on the ground like an animal,” he said huskily, pulling back from your lips. “Do you want that? The beast from your fantasy? Or I can show you what I’ve always fantasized about doing to you instead. It’s much simpler, I’m afraid.” He kissed you again. “But you’ll like it.”

“You’ve already proven better than my fantasies,” you said, running your hands over the breadth of his back. “I trust your judgment.”

“Hold on,” he told you as he pulled his fingers from you. He collapsed on you and gripped you in a strong bear hug, but you barely had time to feel the heavy weight of him.

The ground fell away beneath you and you squeezed your eyes shut as your stomach swooped in that familiar way. Thunder boomed around you and the whole world seemed to shake from it. The cool air whisked away from you, replaced by a welcoming warmth. The snow and ice of the forest was replaced by the golden glow of a fire dancing inside a marble fireplace. The sky above you was replaced by an arched cathedral ceiling, and the ground beneath you exchanged for crisp sheets on a king bed. The only things that remained from the forest were the silver moonlight peeking in through the tall, arched windows, and Jacques above you, grinning down at you, the feeling of his powerful body covering you. He traced hot kisses down your throat and chest as he rose back off the bed to roughly shrug off his shirt and work his belt free.

The sight of him shirtless was breathtaking, you felt yourself growing wetter just from that sight alone. His chest was glorious. You had never seen a chest so thick and expansive. His shoulders were absurdly broad and made even more impressive by his fit abdomen. The taper of his waist, the lines of muscle along his hips, even the trail of hair descending from his navel, all worked in conjunction to practically drag your eyes down toward his cock. After pulling your shirt off, you centered yourself on the bed and arched your back seductively. Jacques reached for your pants and yanked them the rest of the way off, tossing them aside as he stood over you at the side of the bed. His eyes glistened like whiskey on ice as his gaze caressed your body.

“As many times as I’ve imagined you like this, you’re better,” he said reverently in a voice that was all smoke and gravel.

You watched the muscles in his arms flex as he undid his belt and pants. Without taking his eyes from you, he unceremoniously shoved his pants down, stepping out of them quickly. Towering above you, standing totally naked, he palmed his enormous erection and let you admire the sight of him, the cocky bastard, watching you with his molten gaze. You expected Jacques to have a nice cock, as big as he was everywhere else. You had imagined it embarrassingly often, but the sight of him still made your breath hitch. It was practically monstrous, and deliciously thick. He would have injured you as a schoolgirl, and you couldn’t be entirely certain he wouldn’t now. Another bit of danger he offered. There would be a limit to how rough he could be with you, and you were thankful that he was seasoned enough to know it.

“If you can’t handle me, tell me now.” Of course, he couldn’t resist teasing you.

In response, you held his eyes firmly as you reached to undo your bra, slinging it across the room to be lost with your other discarded clothing. You raised one eyebrow at him, meeting his challenge. Jacques walked to the edge of the bed, pausing briefly to absorb the sight of you as you lay spread before him, the best Christmas gift he had ever received, before he lowered himself to the mattress and crawled over your body.

Eagerly, your legs spread for him again and he settled between them. Jacques caged you in with his impressive arms on either side of your body as he bent over you, a predator over his prey, and kissed at your navel. His kisses were open mouthed and he lavished you with his tongue. He trailed his mouth down until he placed a wet kiss at the top of your pussy, still covered by the lace of your thong. Bringing a hand down to the thin line of fabric at your hip, he yanked it roughly, ripping your thong away from you and tearing it apart with one motion. His aggressive lust had you aching with the need to be filled. Jacques paused and just admired you, the way you glistened with desire. He lowered himself, wanting to kiss you there, taste you, make you cum on his tongue. But you stopped him.

“The first time you make me cum, I want it to be with your cock,” you told him huskily. “I want to feel you inside of me when I cum.”

Jacques grinned up at you before trailing his nose and lips slowly back up the center of your body as he crawled up into position above you. He paused to inhale deeply at your throat, taking in the scent of you and exhaling in a low heady groan. He kissed you passionately and deep. His taste was smokey and lush, making you shiver. His weight was resting on you now, pushing you down into the mattress. You could feel the muscles in his back and shoulders tense and flex under your hands as he moved, and his heavy chest pressed against yours, a sharp contrast to his soft lips. The unduly thick head of his cock nudged into you, teasing at your entrance. When you bucked your hips against him, he plunged into you in one fluid stroke. He rolled his hips against you gently, giving you time to adjust to his size. Your nails raked his back as a pornographic moan escaped your lips at the pleasure of being so completely full of him. Jacques’s mouth returned to diligently kiss you as the rolling of his hips became shallow thrusts. When your hips started moving to meet his own in time with his thrusts, he began thrusting into you more passionately.

Jacques propped himself up with his hands on either side of your head. Groaning again at an unabashed volume, he pulled back and slammed his entire length into you. It skirted the line of painful pleasure, but he felt so good. He saw your features rendered beautifully distraught by pleasure and kept that angle and rhythm that he knew was driving you in exactly the direction you wanted. You fluttered and tightened around him, your orgasm imminent. Jacques could feel it. Losing control himself, he fucked you harder, pistoning into you roughly. His whole body tensed when he felt the pulsing orgasm surge through you, shooting through him like a current of pleasure connected the two of you. Jacques’s thrusts grew erratic, his shoulders and arms quivered, and he came moments after you on a deep thrust. You reached to his thick, damp hair, tangling your fingers in it and pulling him down to settle over you. He looked down at you adoringly then kissed you lovingly. Though it was unspoken, the emotion was unmistakable.

After lavishing you slowly and indulgently, he rolled onto his back and pulled you down against his enormous chest. Wrapping the arm beneath you around your waist tightly, he held you in something between a cuddle and a bear hug and caressed you with his free hand. His huge body was hot beneath you, his arms radiating warmth around you, and his lips searing as they gently kissed along your hairline. The man was an absolute fever dream. He could keep you in an erotic stupor for hours if he wanted.

“Where are we?” you asked lazily, drunk on the rush he had given you.

“Normandy,” he purred, his hands gentle and warm on your skin. “My home, precisely speaking.”

“This looks like the inside of a castle,” you said of the bedroom with its stone walls and arched windows.

“You could call it that.” He smirked. “Regardless of the descriptor, it will accommodate us well until the start of term.” He brought his fingers under your chin, tipping your face up to look at him. ���Provided you’ll accept my invitation to stay with me until then.”

“I’ll need a change of clothes,” you laughed.

“Not for what I have planned,” he laughed too, and rolled back over you again.

Briefly you wondered at the stir you would cause when the pair of you returned to Hogwarts in January. Together. Gossip spread through those enchanted halls like wildfire and you knew a professorial couple would be a source of it for a long time to come. You had no time to dwell on the thought now. Jacques demanded all of your attention elsewhere.

************************************************************************

© safarigirlsp 2024

Tagging some bewitching beauties 🖤

@babbushka @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @gabesprincess @maybe-your-left @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @reyloaddict55 @fizzywoohoo @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @clydesfavoritegirl @thepalaceofmelanie @celiholland @reveluving @reylokisses @queen-of-elves @kyloremus @looking4mymagicshop @lumberjack00fantasies

[penwieldingdreamer]

Ego sum Sol et tu es Luna

So, I've been on a binge of Adam Driver's movies and got stuck with a few ideas. One of those is a Last Duel AU. I know it's a sensitive topic, so beware that themes of the movie will be discussed as well. Let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged in further chapters/works.

Happy reading!

Part 2

Summary: Y/N studied Norman-French, Old English and Latin, before she went to Normandy to help her university friend to show tourists around. But she didn't count on her ending up in a time where two famous French squires were fighting the Last Duel.

No warnigs so far

She stared up at the full moon, wondering how she ended up in a forest when not only seconds before she wandered the grounds of Chateau Aunou-le-Faucon. 

Henry, a friend from college had asked, nay begged Y/N to help him during the summer months showing groups of tourists around grounds of the medieval buildings and entrancing them with stories of knighthood, maidens and kings. She was the one studying Norman-French, Old English and Latin, while he was more prone to the arts. 

Arriving at his home in the French commune in the Orne Department in the middle of Normandy, the young woman was blown away by the beautiful landscape. So very different from her own home that she enjoyed strolls along the many fields lining the streets each evening. But yet one night Y/N swore she had seen someone following her. A man, judging by the towering height shrouded in the shadows of the Abby across the chateau. Maybe a tourist out for a stroll himself, she thought, but she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rising up. 

The same night she couldn't help the feeling that she was watched, again. Taking a sip of her tea, Y/N stood at the window overlooking the chateau. She swore she saw someone walk the grounds. Henry had told her only those working for the French commune were allowed to be there every hour of every day and she already met everyone.

In the end, she probably shouldn't have followed that strange man. When she had gotten closer Y/N thought she had seen his face but it was impossible that he was standing there on the grounds of Chateau Aunou-le-Faucon.

Jacques Le Gris was dead, killed in a duel. A trial by combat in the late 14th century and yet she couldn't help but wonder if it was only a ghost, conjured by her tired mind as she stood across from him shivering from the heavy rain that set in minutes ago.

"Sir, you are trespassing on private property. You should not be here so late at night." 

The stranger watched her, his face only just illuminated by the strike of lighting up ahead, eliciting a gasp from her lips. This was definitely a dream, nay impossible for someone being awake to see what she saw. "This is not the time for dressing up as a legendary knight, sir. Please come back in the morning when the next tour around the grounds and the commune will be held."

With a swift movement his large hand reached for Y/N's arm, pulling her closer against his chest, but it wasn't warm to the touch like a human's body. It was harsh and cold, causing a shiver to run down her spine. He towered over her, water dripping from his hair and nose, crashing against her cheeks to mingle with the pouring rain. 

"Help me!" His deep voice spoke, nearly swallowed by the loud clap of thunder but the desperation of his words made her pause. 

What the hell was going on here?

Lighting struck again and Y/N let out a soft gasp as she finally saw his features up close. The portraits didn't do him justice, moles scattered over his face and the honeyed brown of his eyes alight with fire. And yet she knew his story, knew how and why he had been killed on that fateful day in December of the year 1386. He was a womanizer and rapist, however a noble and brave knight he might have been. She tried to open her mouth, probably trying to tell herself that it was only just a dream and she'd awake in her room in Henry's home.

But she hadn't woken up under the soft covers of her summer home. Now she was lying on a patch of grass in a forest with no idea where she was or how she had ended up there, soaking wet from the torrents that had poured down at her. Taking a deep breath, Y/N sat up with a groan, the cold ground underneath her and seeping through her light pajama pants. Whatever had happened, the landing wasn't too smooth judging from her smarting hip and back.

"Henry!" Her call echoed around the dark woods, the rustling leaves and underbrush her only answer. "Henry, please! Where are you."

Trembling, she pulled herself upright, fighting the urge to let her knees buckle under her. Tears gathered in her eyes as she called again, desperately awaiting an answer from her friend - really anyone that might be able to help. One foot before the other, Y/N shakily moved over fallen twigs, stones and mossy ground, her cries now nothing but a whisper on the soft wind blowing through the trees. 

She didn't know how long she wandered the forest but her heart leapt into her throat when she saw light moving between the trees. "Henry." The whisper left her lips as she picked up speed, hoping to get back to her friend again.

"Henry!" Y/N cried, smiling in relief when she cleared the patch of darkness that surrounded her. But her elation was soon replaced by dread.

Foot soldiers and riders swiftly moved through the wood, trampling anything under their feet and hooves. She stopped just at the side of their road, a gasp leaving her lips. Either she had stumbled up on a film set or she had hit her head harder than she thought. There was no blood on her hands when she checked herself over. 

Her hair glinted in the torch light and she felt uncomfortably exposed to the eyes of the men having stopped to look at her. 

"Who goes there?" Y/N shrunk back as she heard the deep rumble she only thought she had dreamed up hours ago, the dialect different from any French she had heard before. The dappled gray moved forward, honeyed brown eyes staring down at her and the words got stuck in her throat.

Shivers ran up her spine, not just from the cold and her damp clothes. Y/N surely felt out of place, somewhere stuck between dream and reality. A place that felt too real to be anything but fantasy, yet too crazy to have her wake up in her own bed. 

Jacques Le Gris watched her closely, his eyes roaming over her body, hidden by strange garments and dressed like a man with pants and a blouse. He felt his hardness stirring in his breaches at the sight of the girl - nay, woman scantily clad in sheer nothingness. "Tell me, what is your business in the Count's woods?"

Y/N breathed in deeply through her nose, keeping her eyes straight on the dark haired giant that sat atop his war horse. What was she going to tell him? That she didn't know what to tell him? If she was truly stuck in the past there was no way they'd let her live, she'd faster be tied on a stake and burnt as a witch than she could tell Jacques his own story. 

Agitated with her lack of response, the squire pointed at her. "Bind her and take her with us. The Count will decide what to do with her." Jacques turned his horse and rode to the front, knowing his men would do their work without hesitation. He couldn't help the smirk that grazed his lips when he heard the woman cry and shriek in protest, yet she was no match for his soldiers. Pierre would be the judge and jury, but no matter her fate, he'd make damn sure to get a taste of her. 

@fortheloveoffanfic

[renstardust]

How did He manage to woo you before the other suitors could even arrive, Princess?

[rynwritesstuff]

Oh I think I remember my request! It was being Jacques le Gris' house servant and all the other house servants know he has it for you and you remember all the times he has made it obvious ;) a lot of finding you alone in the house ;)

Thank you SO much for being patient with me on this! I hope you enjoy :)

Being his servant + Jacques Le Gris

Warnings: Jacques being a perv, brief name-calling, PIV smut, no verbal consent on reader's part, cumming inside, aaaaand a slight cliffhanger for angst purposes ;)

Your master, Sir Jacques Le Gris, is tall, handsome, and incredibly charming. He’s gone often, always away at those scandalous parties that the Count hosts, but when he is home, you do your best to get his attention.

He’s easy on the eyes, Jacques is, and you are never disappointed with his appearance.

He is hungover today, the bags under his eyes puffy and dark. His hair is disheveled, and his clothing is wrinkled.

He says your name, and you look over. He yawns.

“When will breakfast be ready?” he asks. God, you’re flustered just from his voice, his tone, his appearance. He’s just gotten out of bed obviously, and you cannot help wondering what it would be life to be in bed with him–

“Soon, Sir,” you say, offering him a small smile. “Can I get you anything in the meantime?”

Jacques shakes his head as he wipes off an apple and takes a bite. He looks you up and down as he chews.

“No.”

He watches you cook, his eyes roaming your figure. How has he never noticed you before? Your curves? Your smile? Your hair? Your voice?

You are perfection, truly. Jacques cannot believe that he’s lived under a roof with you for nearly a month, and he has never noticed how deeply stunning you are.

***

It is a week later when Jacques walks into his bedroom late at night. He’s just arrived home from one of Pierre’s dinner parties, and he’s extremely tired. You’re bent over and changing the sheets when he walks in, and his eyes widen. He doesn’t know what you are doing at first, and he takes a step forward.

Jacques clears his throat.

You stand up a moment later once you’ve adjusted the sheets. You smile at him.

“Sir,” you say, bowing your head ever so slightly. “Your room is clean and dusted.”

Jacques smiles. Your breasts are pushed up today. He takes another step forward.

“Lovely,” he says, staring at your cleavage. He looks back up at your face. “How kind of you.”

You chuckle softly, cheeks warming under his intense gaze.

“Oh, I–”

“Shh,” he says, shaking his head. “You always do such a wonderful job, little one. Please, retire to your room. Get some rest.”

You nod, smiling at him.

“Of course. Thank you, Sir.”

You walk out of the room, then, and Jacques’ hardened cock presses against his trousers. He sighs as you shut the door behind you.

“What a pretty little harlot,” he says softly, removing his cloak.

You’ve worked up a sweat by the time you’re back in your room, and there is a burning between your legs that you recognize as intense arousal.

***

Jacques is nipping at your bottom lip, licking and sucking at your mouth as he touches your hips. He sighs.

“You are so gorgeous,” he breathes, eyes shut as his hands move down to your ass. You smile, your hands in his hair. You tug gently.

“Merci, Sir.”

Jacques nearly growls. He pulls you towards his bed in the dim lighting.

“Call me by my name, darling,” he says. He pushes his hips against you, his hard cock rubbing on you, and–

Jacques sits up quickly, chest heaving. Sweat coats his skin, and he lets out a shaky sigh. He has an erection.

He needs you, badly.

He gets out of bed and walks down to your room. He knocks on the door, and when you open it, he tugs you close. You’re wearing a robe over your nightgown.

He says your name, soft and slow, and it sends a chill down your spine.

“I need you,” he says.

“Y-You . . . You need me, Sir?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed slightly. He’s touching your hips, your thighs, your ass, and God, nothing has ever felt better. You hum, putting your hands on his chest.

“Yes,” Jacques says. “I need you.”

He leans down, his mouth mere inches away from yours. Your breath hitches.

“Oh, Sir, I–”

“Shh, do not speak,” he says, touching your lips with his index finger. “Just kiss me.”

You’re confused, oh so confused, but . . . When your master tells you to do something, you know that you must do it. You kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut as you do. Jacques backs you into your room and kicks the door shut behind him.

You know of Jacques’ reputation. He is, for lack of better words, a man-whore. You know that this is likely just him being in need of someone to help his erection, but . . . You can’t help the fantasies that run through your mind as you think about him wanting you in particular.

Jacques turns you around and bends you over the bed. He flips up your robe and nightgown, and just like that, you are exposed. Your bare ass and cunt are out for him to see, and he groans as he pulls his cock free from the confines of his trousers.

“S-Sir–”

“Shh.”

He thrusts into you, and oh dear God . . . he’s absolutely massive. His cock pushes against that wonderful sweet spot deep inside of you, and you clutch the sheets.

“Oh . . . “ you sigh, eyes closing. He begins to roll his hips, fucking you quickly and harshly. You moan with each rough thrust, and you almost cannot believe that this is real. You groan.

“Jacques!” you exclaim, tears of pleasure in your eyes. Your master reaches his climax when he hears you yelling his name, his seed shooting deep inside of you. You moan.

“O-Oh . . . Oh, God . . . “

He pulls out, then leans down to kiss your shoulder.

He tucks his cock away, catches his breath, then leaves without another word.

Taglist: @safarigirlsp @thepalaceofmelanie @clydesfavoritegirl @mrs-gucci @iamburdened @mrs-zimmerman @eagerforhoney @i-cant-draw-faces @icarusinthesea @candycanes19

[mrs-gucci]

@safarigirlsp is Mrs. Jacques Le Gris at this point 😂 so she’s the resident Jacques bitch ‘round here lol. but I’ve got a few Jacques works out, with more on the way! (if you’re into harry potter, I’ve got a hogwarts!Jacques piece out and I plan on writing more of him in the future)!

@in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather has some really great Jacques works too <3

thanks for thinking of me, z! Mauri and I send you and Flip virtual hugs and kisses 💋

What do you think of all the last duel content? 👀 Jacques Le Gris is looking fine to me! I love him in Spellbound and I’m desperate for more.... will you write anything else for him? Are there other writers for him or do you know of fics with him?I have a need 😳. Make sure Flip pampers you today ❤️

Hello my dear anon! I'm very sorry to say but I actually hate the movie, I hate that the movie is being made, I hate that B*n and M*tt are the ones writing the movie, and want nothing to do with any of them in canon, lol.

I am not going to see this movie, nor will I write any TLD stories. I'm really only including him in Spellbound as a favor for a dear friend who likes him, and I'm making up his personality to suit my own tastes. I don't plan on including him in anything else that I write, and actually have his tag blacklisted so I don't see anyone else's writing lol.

The extent of my interest of Adam in this movie are the gifs we'll get of him that I can use for my own Medieval Kylo AU purposes. I know @safarigirlsp has some fics for Jacques, and I believe @mrs-gucci is planning on posting some Jacques content soon too. Please go give them some love!

Hope you understand, and have a great weekend!

[ohsolonelyghosts]

Hi! Can I please request Jacques Le Gris having his way with you after winning a joust or duel for you? 😘

You are mine, and I am yours.

Characters: Jacques Le Gris x You

Word Count: 1,068

Note: Hi there! Of course, you can! I hope that this does the justice you wanted with your request! I definitely tried super hard with this, so please enjoy!

Contents/Warnings: A duel!, a slightly graphic description of a beheading including blood, PIV sex, unprotected sex

Jacques was heroic, and your heart lit up at that fact. The heat when you had thought about him spread all over your body. The duel was at dawn, and he would be fighting for you. You weren’t necessarily nervous, you had a good feeling about Jacques’ abilities. He had won duels frequently, and this would be no different.

*** He had chosen to spare the opponent’s life, and you had wondered why. Usually, in any duel, you had watched the victor behead the other. You and the surrounding crowd would watch as the blood leaked out of the loser, all growing quite accustomed to it. The unusual sight was this moment, even the loser looked shocked that he had barely escaped death. It had all faded away when you were taken alone with Jacques.

“Victorious as usual,” you spoke out to him, hands folding in front of you. He took a step toward you, a smug smirk playing upon his lips.

“Did you expect a loss, mon amour?” Jacques questioned back at you, the facial expression itself showing he was confused at your previous statement.

You shook your head at him, eyes telling him to step closer.

Jacques took several steps toward you until he towered over your body. He placed his hand on your cheek, leaning down to clash his lips onto yours. You applied the same pressure back to his lips, hands falling upon his clothed chest. You smiled slightly against his lips, watching as he pulled away from you. You both removed his armor and garments, kissing him once more when he was out of them.

“You are mine, and I am yours.”

The words he spoke came out so effortlessly. It was as though he was picking you up onto clouds, not daring to drop you back down.

He backed you up slightly, your legs hitting the bed behind you. Jacques laid you back on the bed, climbing over you. He carefully removed your garments, straddling your thighs after he was done. He leaned down, moving both of your hands above your head. Jacques’ lips trailed all over your neck, kissing down to your collarbones. You let out a soft whimper, practically dripping with the need for him. Jacques lifted his head, eyes looking at yours.

He nodded slightly at you, but still wanted to make you wait. He kissed down your body, stopping just above your heat. Jacques scanned your body, up to your face, where he was met with the same desperation you had begged him with just a few moments prior. It was growing by the second, you slightly moved your hips up, telling him to touch you, to do something to you, with you.

Jacques pressed one kiss to your clit, lifting his head back up and moving up your body. He moved a hand up to brush hair out of your face, pressing his lips to yours once more, tongue slipping into your mouth, dancing with your own. Your hands found your way to his freckled shoulders, squeezing at them gently. You felt the tension from him leaving by the second, he was completely relaxed around you. He rested his forehead on yours, eyes dark with lust.

You were quite surprised at his ability to hold back this long with you. Without much another warning, Jacques pressed into your entrance. You both sucked in a deep breath, your eyebrows furrowing up at him. Your mouth parted slightly, falling into pure ecstasy as he started to move his hips to thrust into you. You swallowed harshly, nails digging slightly into his shoulders. He sucked in a sharp breath, head dropping to the crook of your neck.

In a way, Jacques was a very primal lover, growling in your ear as he fucked into you. You loved every bit of it, bucking your hips up to him involuntarily. His fingertips gripped at your hips, nearly enough to leave bruises, but he wouldn’t dare harm your skin. Each time he lay with you, he would go just enough to not leave bruises, and it drove you crazy. You begged him to not treat you like perfect porcelain, but he ignored your request.

Jacques pounded into you, eliciting moans left and right from you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. The sweat of both of your bodies mixed with how close you were pressed to him. Jacques bit at your neck lightly, enough to make you moan as he sped up his thrusts. The noises of his cock in your soaking cunt were enough to throw you over the edge alone. Your hands moved to both of his cheeks, pulling Le Gris down to kiss you. His hands squeezed at your hips, groaning into your mouth. You arched your back up slightly, your breasts against his ribs. With every roll of his hips, you could feel yourself edging closer and closer to your release.

You let him know that you were close, he nodded, his head returning to the crook of your neck. He sucked, licked, and kissed as you hit your release, nearly screaming out for him. Your nails dug into his back, even more, hips bucking and rolling in time with his. Jacques continued to pump into you, the pace picking up a bit more. You could tell that he was getting closer, growls and moans moving to right beside your ear.

When you fell down from your climax, feeling that he was still pounding you, it was almost too much for you to bear after the powerful orgasm you already had. Your moans became smaller whimpers and whines, pulsing your inner walls around him. You felt Jacques release inside of you, letting out softer drawn-out moans. The thick ropes of his seed coated every inch of your insides, continuing to clench around him through his high.

As his hips stalled, he stayed there inside of you until he had fully come down. When he had pulled out of you, he lay next to you in the bed. You both looked at each other, eyes lazily fluttering.

“Let us go get bathed, yes, mon amour?” Jacques asked head turned toward you. You felt the draw to sleep pulling you nearer, almost uncaring about how dirty you were laying in that bed.

Jacques pressed a kiss below your ear, starting to stand up.

“I’ll draw us a bath.”

*** Taglist ***

@thepalaceofmelanie @kylorenspuppy

[multific]

Adam Driver Characters Masterlist

Clyde Logan (Logan Lucky)

Flip Zimmerman (BlacKkKlansman)

Kiss Me More

His World

Jacques Le Gris (The Last Duel)

His Angel

Arranged Marriage

Kylo Ren

[shesjustanothergeek]

Hey besties! I'm a 22-year-old teenage girl who likes to remain anonymous on here because of her digital footprint and all that. You can call me Geeky. I love to write for Marvel, Star Wars, House of The Dragon (specifically Aegon and Aemond), and anything about Adam Driver and his characters! House of the Dragon is my recent hyper-fixation. I'm focused on my current fics, His Love & The Gods We Can Touch, so that's what I'm writing for now.

Key: Complete=Finished, Ongoing=Currently Writing, WIP=Not Published But Will Be Soon

All Things Adam Driver

Living In the Moment |Jack Gladney x Fem!Reader| (complete)

Rapture |Jack Gladney x Fem!Reader| (complete)

The Most Tragic of Mistakes |Charlie Barber x Fem!Reader| (hiatus)

Ruined |Jacques le Gris x Fem!Reader| (complete)

Let Me Into Your Heart |Mafia!Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader| (hiatus)

House of The Dragon

His Love |Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader| (ongoing)

The Gods We Can Touch |Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader| ft. Yandere Aegon and Alicent (ongoing)

The Blood of Eden |Lucifer!Aemond Targaryen x Eve!Reader| (complete)

Marvel

Hunger |Venom/Eddie Brock x Plus Size!Reader| (wip)

[mrs-gucci]

mrs. g's sextember (sexy september)

hello lovely friends! welcome to my sextember event post :)

sextember itself will begin on friday, september 8th and will end on saturday, september 23rd (event duration: 2 weeks).

the requesting period for sextember will be open from friday, august 25th to friday, september 1st.

despite the requesting period being open before the beginning of sextember, all the pieces themselves will be released within the two week event period.

please let me know by either commenting on this post or leaving an ask in my inbox if you'd like to be tagged in the sextember event pieces. I won't be doing any character-specific taglists, it'll just be a general event taglist.

below the cut, I'm gonna be outlining all the characters and content that are acceptable for this event. this will serve as the "request FAQ" for sextember in particular, so if you're planning on requesting, please read the stuff below the cut or else you risk your request being deleted.

I’m so, super duper excited to write all your wonderful ideas and I can’t wait to read them all come friday!!

tagging a few friends for attention :) @babbushka @safarigirlsp @mrs-zimmerman @clydesfavoritegirl @mythrielofsolitude @rynwritesstuff

guidelines for sextember requests

the sextember "golden rule" - your request MUST include something autumn-themed (no halloween stuff). read more below on the types of things I'll accept as autumn-themed.

pairings: I only write female reader characters and heterosexual (M/F) relationships.

characters: Clyde Logan, Flip Zimmerman, Charlie Barber, Jacques Le Gris, Commander Mills, Adam Sackler (depends on request).

content: as the event title suggests, all pieces will contain smut in some capacity but there will be a variety of "intensity" in said smut and will have something for almost everyone.

the range of smut content could include...

heavy making out (making out w/ some touching), dry humping/grinding, handjobs & vaginal fingering, oral sex, p in v, kinky content.

my no-no's are...

rape (consensual noncon is okay). under 18. kinks involving extreme violence or brutalization. cheating (main characters cheating on one another). dd/lg. age play. pet play. pegging. strap-ons. male lingerie. anal play/sex. scat play. feeding kink. religious services, ceremonies, celebrations of any kind.

autumn-themed content: could involve an autumn setting (ie. a pumpkin patch, hayride, pumpkin carving, etc), an autumn item of some kind (ie apple cider, pumpkins, comfy sweaters, etc), and/or movie viewing (ie a spooky movie viewing). really, just something that’s autumnal in nature, I’m not super picky. just as long as it’s not something halloween, it’ll fit the event lol.

[brideofkylosolo]

12 Days of Smutty/Fluffy Fanfics Day 10

[penwieldingdreamer]

Ego sum Sol et tu es Luna - 2

Thank you everyone for reading and supporting this story. Let me know what you think of this chapter and if you like to be tagged or use the link in my bio.

Happy reading.

CW: Sexual assualt at the end

ma chère - my dear

le stupide - asshole

petit oiseau - little bird

Struggling against their grip, Y/N tried to keep up with their fast pace, her flat soles slipping on the mossy ground. She needed to get away from the soldiers, but it was not an easy feat. They already neared the castle. 

Château des Ducs of Argentan, an impressive structure housing the Palais de la Justice in the future, even though it was surrounded by houses. But now it was even more imposing, the towers of one side overlooking the vast fields of the Count's lands. She definitely wasn’t in 2021 anymore, that’s for sure. Looking up ahead, Y/N saw the famous squire, softly swaying in the saddle of his sure footed dappled gray. 

Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she tightened her fists hoping to keep the trembling away from the men's prying eyes. A shiver raced down her spine as they waited outside the gates, armored men standing guard.

All felt so surreal to Y/N but she knew that technically it still could have been a dream. That she slipped on the muddy ground and really did hit her head, her consciousness only conjuring up Le Gris and his men. 

"Declare yourself." One of the guards called, training his crossbow on the tall squire. 

"It is I. Helen of Troy." Le Gris turned slightly in his saddle, motioning to the man next to her to bring her forward. Y/N glared at the soldier pulling her arm, but she had to bite her tongue. There was no use in arguing with these people or she'd sooner have a noose around her neck than she'd like to. 

The squire grabbed her by the neck of her shirt, pulling her closer to the large horse. “I have brought a gift for my lord, Count Pierre.” The guard nodded, stepping aside to let the group pass. He knew that his Lord was waiting for news about the English camps scattered around Normandy. The woman looked peculiar, wearing clothes he’d never seen before - and was that silk? She must be the daughter of a rich family, maybe even royal. None besides the upper class were able to afford such fine fabric.

“My Lord awaits in the study. He is eager for news.”

Nodding his head, Jacques pushed Y/N forth, his dappled gray towering over her. “I know your secret now, petit oiseau. The men have heard you talk to yourself.” His whispered words made her look up, shivers running down her spine. She didn’t know what he meant exactly, but could only hope it was him thinking she was a harlot, at least that could be explained.

Once on the castle grounds, Le Gris dismounted his horse, watching a stable boy take away his trusted steed and took a hold of her arm. “Let go, you brute, you’re hurting me.” Y/N glared, struggling against his tight grip. Chuckling, the giant of a man pulled her along inside the chateau to meet with his lord. 

Count Pierre d’ Alençon awaited his trusted squire and friend with dire news of the war. The English had reached more lands and they needed to be stopped or the enemy would reach Paris soon enough. A knock at the door made him look up, sending his page to open the door. His squire entered, dragging a young woman behind him. Pierre's eyes followed the line of her curves, feeling his mouth water at the prospect of taking her to bed - together with Jacques. “Ah, my friend, finally you’ve returned. With good news I hope.”

“Most certainly, my Lord.” He grinned, pushing the woman to stand in front of him. His larger hands gripped her shoulders as Le Gris felt her squirm. “I have found a Trojan horse.” His voice all but growled, leaning closer to Y/N. “The men have heard her mumbling  in English. I believe they sent a woman to spy on us.” 

The Count d’Alençon eyed her curiously. She was indeed peculiar. “A spy, you say?” He reached out, running his knuckles along the skin of her cheek and chuckling when she pulled her head away from him. A look of disgust betraying her sotic features. “So soft to the touch and dressed in the finest silk I have yet only seen kings and queens draped in. Who are you, ma chère?”

“I am no spy.” Y/N bit out, glaring at Le Gris, who had moved to stand next to his friend. 

Chuckling, the squire regarded her with dark, lust filled eyes. He’d give anything to taste her right now. “And yet you are switching languages as if it was natural to you.”

Keeping her head held high, she turned to Pierre, addressing the man who held her fate in his hand. She would need to keep her facts straight without spilling the beans of having fallen back in time to the middle ages. “I was born in England, but after my parents died I went to live with my uncle here in France. He made sure I was well educated, even for a woman.”

“Yet you still could be a spy for the English.” The count mused, walking back to his desk and sitting down. He would let Le Gris handle the questioning, maybe they'll come up with something else. "Take her away, my friend. I'll leave it in your capable hands to find out the truth."

Nodding his head, Jacques reached out, gripping her arm. She struggled against him, a glare distorting her face. “Let go, you bastard. I swear if you don’t remove your filthy hands” Having heard enough of her bickering, he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted the woman onto his shoulder. Soon enough she’d be telling him the truth. Pierre chuckled as he watched his friend struggling to keep her still, yet he knew the giant of a man his squire was. He had seen it often enough when they enjoyed the sins of the flesh late at night, joined by several women.

He entered his room, disposing of her on the bed. Jacques grabbed her, she was a little helion and he would enjoy breaking her spirit. Y/N kicked her legs, hoping to loosen his grip on her. She knew he was a fiend and the way men in this time treated women - willing or not. 

“Leave me be, le stupide!” She cried, her fists hitting his chest and pushing at his shoulders. 

“I want the truth, woman, or you’ll end up on the stake.” He growled, his face close to hers. 

His breath fanned over her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She could see the firelight reflecting in his amber eyes. If he weren't such a perverted male in medieval times she could have seen herself falling for his charm. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Y/N averted her eyes, hoping he could not read all the answers in them.

"Tell me the truth, who are you?"

"I told you, I've lived in England and came to be with my uncle."

Glowering down at her, Jacques grabbed her shoulders, turning her onto her stomach with a large huff, her feet hitting his muscled thighs as she felt the warmth of his chest bleeding through her top onto her back. "I don't believe you." He breathed in her ear, his body pushing her down into the mattress. "Your clothes are strange, and even though you might fool Pierre, you’ll not fool me. What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” she spat, bucking her hips to throw him off. But all it did was excite him more than she liked to. 

“If you won’t talk, maybe a night in the dungeon will loosen your tongue.” Le Gris pushed himself off of the bed, pulling Y/N with him. She was stubborn as a mule, but before he resorted to his usual ways of torture, he might try a different approach.

In the end, no matter what, she was going to talk - one way or another.

Tagging @fortheloveoffanfic

[renstardust]

// arranged marriage

You should hate your soon-to-be husband, Princess.

So why do you find yourself peeking in on him during the late hours of the night?