#jacques legris | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

safarigirlsp · 1 month

Note

I was so excited to see the ask game going around. I hope it perks up around here again 💛

Do you any HCs to share for Flip, Kylo, Jacques, and Mills??

🍔

🍕

Hello!! Thank you for sending this in! Today feels like the good old days with this dumpster fire hopping and the bs flying! I love it!!

🍕What's your favorite comment you've received on a fic?

Omg @iamburdened absolutely kills me with her comments. I have re read them 100 times and I smile like a lunatic every time. She's so dark and hilarious and I love her!

Here is just one example of her awesomeness on my fic Sinners Welcome!

@vedavan leaves some of the most involved and thoughtful and incredible comments I've ever received and I am so beyond floored at the amount of thought she gives. I am so thankful for her encouragement and support!

This comment on Here There Be Monsters made me swoon

Ahhhh!! Your stories are always such a thrill, a joyride from beginning to end, and this one was no exception. I loved every word, and your gift for action scenes and gorgeous descriptions shone so brightly here. I loved all the side characters too: from the colorful ragtag assortment of pirates and whores, to Legris' trusted crew and of course the legendary Pierre; the elegantly villainous Talvington and the mysterious, bewitching Grey Lady. Even the ship herself, the Belle Dame, was a character in and of herself. And of course as always I appreciate Carroughes disgusting appearance and his inevitable demise. Your obvious love and passion for the subject matter and for the characters (no one writes a better, hotter, more delicious male MC than your Legris 🔥🔥🥵) made this such a joy to read, and I was almost sad when it ended. Action, romance, drama... your stories have it all and I'm completely addicted. Perfection! ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

@reveluving inspires me to write more insanity by her support and beautiful comments on my stories!

This is so hard actually, but I have to shout out to my favorite people here and the most supportive and amazing people I know who always spur me to keep churning out my bs and do more!

You, of course! @queeniebee and all the other friends I have here who instantly come to mind when I think of support and wonderful people! @babbushka @lumberjack00fantasies Silky!! @gabesprincess @mrs-gucci @rynwritesstuff @mythrielofsolitude @reylokisses @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus

🍔What's a headcanon that hasn't made it into a published fic yet?

Kylo knew you were the one when he found he could fight with you and argue without losing his temper. He has a famously hot temper. He's a notoriously violent man. But of course, he could never hurt his girl. That doesn't mean that he wouldn't lose his temper with her, or so he thought. He thought it would be a challenge, that he would feel his blood pressure rise and his teeth grind when you angered him, because naturally you're going to. It can be a little thrilling to push his buttons. But he never has lost his tempter with you, despite your best efforts. He gets hot and bothered in other ways, ways he channels to improve both your moods.

It's true what they say, that Beauty tamed the Beast.

No one can debate that Jacques has a winning personality. He's fun, lively, exudes charm and charisma, and has no hesitation putting on a grand show for his girl. However, like so many highly charismatic people, his charm was hard-earned and developed for survival. A self-made man, he had no name or fortune and had to claw his way up the food chain until he became a man of power. He remembers going dirty and hungry and cold, sleeping on the ground, awaking to a muscles that ached from cold and a growling stomach that couldn't be sated. Charisma was another skill he learned along the way to survive. Just as necessary to gain power and fortune as being able to fight, red in tooth and claw, was the ability to mingle, to befriend, to charm to amuse. He had to make himself useful in all ways to his betters until he outstripped them all.

With you, he finds that he doesn't need to act at all and that it's all natural and second nature. It makes him swell with pride when he puts a smile on your lips. He realized you were the one when he realized that making you happy made him happier, giving you pleasure made his heart soar. He will also ensure his girl, his family, will never know the feeling going hungry or cold, nor of being shunned and kicked aside. His table will always be bountiful and his arms always warm and loving for his woman. When he smiles for you, when he laughs and entertains, its genuine and it makes him love you more.

Flip was raised outdoors and helping on his family's ranch, breaking horses, branding calves, cutting timber, chopping ice, hauling hay. All the things his size and rambunctious temper were good for.

His upbringing made him a die hard western movie fan. Clint Eastwood is his favorite with John Wayne a close runner up and he's watched their entire filmography at least five times over with his dad. He's ensured his girl has seen all of his favorites and plenty of others too. True Grit, The Outlaw Josey Wales, El Dorado, Unforgiven, to name a few.

Westerns are his favorite movie genre. However, he is also quite a bit of an ornery jackass. As such, his favorite genre to watch with you is horror. He loves setting the stage, making sure the house is nice and dim, the temperature a little cool, a fire crackling in the fireplace. The ambience is perfect for a movie night in, and all strategically geared to make you want to get nice and close to him, against his chest and inside his arms. He will tease you mercilessly and goose you during the jumpy parts. Then he will laugh - bray- like the jackass he is. He deals with killers and criminals in real life. Horror movies don't phase him. Some big ungainly bastard with half his vision obscured by a mask, coming at him swinging a chainsaw that's telegraphed a mile away is hardly a challenge. Flip would have fun taking your average slasher out in spectacularly ballsy fashion. Flip loves horror movies and chill. He chills while you get chills.

Mills is tenacious and hard working in all ways. He will go the extra mile and work harder and longer than anyone. Complaints aren't part of his vocabulary and he never shies from any quantity of blood, sweat, and tears it takes to see anything through once he sets his mind to it. He's determined to the point of self destruction and will push himself far past the bounds of comfort and even good sense.

The area in which he's happy to put in the effort and diligence is for his girl. Once he sets his sights on her, nothing will deter him. He will tilt windmills and make every overture, simple and grand, to win her heart. As a lovesick teenager who didn't know a damn thing about girls, this took the shape of embarrassing acts like clumsily strumming a guitar and singing off key below his intended's window at odd hours of the night until angry fathers ran him off. He considered it a badge of honor when one particularly enraged father took a shot at his feet with a .12 gauge.

Thankfully, he has learned a thing or two and now applies his tenacious enthusiasm in better ways. He will cook for you and rub your shoulders until his hands ache. He will bring you flowers and take you out for a picnic that entails a ride in his bush plane out to a mountain lake to spare you the hike. He will carry you to bed when you're tired and hold you all night. He considers it a personal failure when he doesn't make you cum before him, and is dauntless when it comes to making you moan and sigh. He is the ultimate Golden Retriever Boyfriend. He will work every day to make you smile and never let the new wear off.

#my stuff!#my writing #hearts #kylo #jacques #flip #65 #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #jacques le gris x reader #jacques le gris x you #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman x reader #commander mills x reader #commander mills x you

40 notes · View notes

babbushka · 2 years

Text

A Valentine's Surprise

Jacques LeGris x F!Reader; Regency AU

7.7k, NSFW (PIV sex, carriage sex, dirty talk, possessive smut, marking/biting)

Available on AO3

A/N: This is a belated Valentine's Day gift for my dear friend @safarigirlsp!! I know it's very different from what I've normally written, as you all know Jacques is not a character I enjoy. But this is for my friend, who I know loooves him lol! I hope that you all enjoy this smutty romantic oneshot!

Rain, steady and sure, pours outside the large estate one February evening. The loud thrum of it cannot be heard with ease, as music and splendid conversation fills the air instead, and yet, it is undeniably there; a tension that comes along with the atmospheric pressure. Everyone at this ball is holding their breath, feeding into that tension, growing it, making it stronger.

You try your best not to give in to the whispers and excited gossip, you attempt to keep the rumors that a certain gentleman with royal connections arriving from the North, from sending you into a tizzy...just as it had every eligible young woman in attendance. You were better than that, you were more refined than that -- even if the quickening of your pulse secretly proved otherwise.

Despite your best efforts, you cannot help the way your eyes dart across the glittering ballroom, a hundred pretty girls wearing pretty dresses being spun by pretty-faced boys; hoping to catch a glimpse of the recently knighted foreign Duke. Of course, no one knew what he looked like for sure, this Frenchman had so many different accounts circulating about him, that you scarcely knew what to believe. But you recognized everyone in attendance, so all you needed was to find the odd one out. And if there were anyone better than you at noticing an unfamiliar face, it was your dear friend the Duchess.

“Might I have this dance?” Speak of the devil, you think with a sly smile, as the Duchess’ husband offers you a friendly bow and an open palm.

“Flip,” Regarding him with endearment, you curtsy as customary and take his hand with ease. It was decidedly not customary to regard him with such a nickname, but you knew you could get away with it here in his home. “Where is your wife? Surely she would fancy a turn about the ballroom with your company more so than I.”

Signaling for some champagne or other such bubbly drink, Flip lights a cigarette and fills the air around him with a cloudy blue haze. A servant with a silver tray filled with champagne flutes that have cut up strawberries floating inside them, seems to appear out of nowhere for him, and he hands you one of the flutes, taking another for himself.

“The Lady is resting her feet after a most rousing dance indeed.” He smiles in the direction of his wife, who is happily chatting away with some of the guests who have been enjoying her ball. Almost as if she could feel Flip’s gaze on her, she looks over to you and gives you a dazzling grin, which you return with a small gesture of your glass, as if to toast her and her party. Flip chuckles, “In fact it was she who instructed me to come check on you.”

“Whatever for?” You wonder, clinking the glass against Flip’s, the both of you taking a sip that tickles your tongue.

Abandoning the drinks on the same silver tray from which they came, Flip leads you onto the dance floor, a beautiful marble design that you have always thought looks like a chess board, with its black and white tiling.

The music is quick, a folksy sort of piece that the orchestra happily charms the guests with. It is not easy to talk whilst dancing to this sort of tune, and as such, your curiosity grows as you weave in and out with the other ladies, circling around the standing gentlemen, your feet making quick work of the steps.

On one turn, leaning in close to your ear so that only you might hear, Flip murmurs, “She has spotted the Frenchman.”

At once, you smack his shoulder and roll your eyes, making him scoff in mock-offense. And then, you are off again, dancing and holding hands with the other ladies, who laugh and try to maintain conversations with their own gentlemen.

“Do not tease me.” You threaten him with a playful finger pointed at his chest the moment that you are together again, “No one has seen him, I believe there would be quite the uproar if he were here, and you know it.”

Flip holds onto you as the two of you quickly hop around the dance floor in a large circle with the other pairs, and in all the dizzying movement, you think you see the blur of a man, tall and wide, with long dark hair and a goatee.

Just as quickly as you see him, he is gone, as Flip has whisked you away to the other side of the floor.

Around and around you both go, and each time you skip and dance across the floor you cast a glance to the sidelines, looking for him. Had you truly seen him? Or was it a trick of your imagination? How would your imagination even know what to conjure -- a hopeful manifestation perhaps? You try your best to be subtle, but Flip can tell exactly what you’re doing, and he smirks over your efforts in a way that is going to get him smacked, and he knows it.

“As much as you like to torment me with such jests, I promise that this is the truth.” Flip puts his hands up in surrender, his cigarette held between his teeth with a dramatic plume of smoke as he chuckles on the exhale, continuing, “And as this is my ball, I can ensure that you are the first of the ladies introduced to him... If that is something that you wish.”

“Don’t be daft, Flip, of course it is!” Smacking him again, you draw attention to yourself ever so slightly with the volume of your voice, suddenly growing hot in the face.

Calming yourself, you try to compose your features to the picture perfect definition of neutrality. If the Frenchman were here, this Knight, this Duke, whatever title he would have -- if he were indeed here, perhaps he could see you already, perhaps he was watching to see if you too would fall into the trap of over-sensationalized gossip. Well, you think as you smooth out the front of your ball gown as the music ends, you won’t give him that satisfaction.

“When is he going to make his grand reveal? He’s driving the ton wild with his delayed appearance.” You ask Flip, everyone applauding the orchestra for their wonderful performance.

It was wholly improper, whatever this Frenchman was playing at. If the invitation said to arrive at six, then one arrived at six. Why, it had to be nearing midnight already, a dozen songs come and gone -- and now is when this man decides to show up? You could scoff under your breath at the idea, but Flip would only think you impatient.

“His Grace has a flair for the theatrics, something that I’m sure you will take much amusement in. My wife is sure that he will be announced at any moment.” Flip says.

Almost as if the Duchess could truly predict the future, a bright trumpeted fanfare sounds, grabbing the attention of everyone in the ballroom. A large pair of double doors -- the same double doors which you had entered through -- are opened by a footman on either side, revealing the very man whom you had seen glimpses of during your dance with Flip.

Materializing from nowhere, your good friend the Duchess slides her arm through yours, a pleased smile on her face. You have no time to say anything to her, before she is tugging you through the crowd to the entrance of the ballroom, followed closely by Flip.

“Presenting the Knighted Lord, Sir Jacques LeGris, Duke of Normandy.” The footman announces, and if it were tense before his official announcement, now you were certain that if a pin dropped, all would be able to hear.

There he was, Sir LeGris. Every bit as broad and imposing as the rumors had said. His hair was far longer than any man’s in attendance, neatly brushed and tied in the back with a ribbon. His facial hair was well groomed, which too was a stark contrast from the clean-shaven gentlemen around you. His clothing was more similar than different, the Napoleonic cut of his jacket and trousers not so far removed from the Georgian clothing you were accustomed to.

But more than anything, the only thing that you could truly notice, was his expression, his eyes. They were dark and sinister, a deep set scowl tugging his brows down, lips pressed thinly with the clench of his jaw. You understood the rumors of murders most foul, he was surrounded by an air of intensity. It made the hairs on your arms, on the back of your neck stand up in a most exciting way.

“Your Grace, how good of you to come.” As the host, Flip must begin the introductions, and the moment that he does the entire crowd seems to buzz with an excited energy, hoping that they might be so lucky as to secure a greeting with this mysterious man. “May I present my wife, the Duchess of York.”

The Duchess curtsies deeply, and you wonder how she manages such a feat with her delicate condition the way it is, her gown custom made to accommodate her growing stomach. Had news of Sir LeGris’ arrival not taken over the ton, you were certain that news of the Duke and Duchess’ first child making its debut was to be the talk of the season. And for good reason, their romance had been a fairy-tale.

Flip watches carefully at the way Sir LeGris approaches his wife, watches protectively.

“Exquisite.” Sir LeGris gently takes the Duchess’ hand in his, and presses it to his lips as a sign of respect. She blushes as if she does not know how beautiful she is, which makes you bite back a smile, because of course she does, she simply loves hearing it.

“And a dear friend, Lady (L/N), daughter of the Marquess of Bath.” Flip then gestures to you, although Sir LeGris is already looking in your direction, admiring you.

“It is a pleasure.” You greet him with an elegant curtsy, feeling the very same sense of pride in your appearance.

You of course knew how gorgeous you were, as you had been declared the Incomparable of the season on your debut. Declining four and twenty proposals at your whim, you knew just how desirable you were to the ton. Unfortunately for them, none of the gentlemen in your circle had ever been worthy of your affections, or your attention for that matter. This only left them chomping at the bit ever more fervently as each season went on -- and with the way Sir LeGris is looking at you, you can only imagine the seething jealousy these gentlemen must be feeling.

Especially as Sir LeGris pulls you up to standing, presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles, and doesn’t let go of your hand when he has removed his lips.

“No, the pleasure is mine, truly.” Sir LeGris’ accent is thick, but he is perfectly understandable as he clears his throat, “I have never been to Bath, but I have heard its landscape is unparalleled.”

“I would be honored to accompany you, at your convenience.” You hold yourself with elegance and grace, drawing him in with your charms as you open your fan and air your face for a moment. “There are a great many sights to see, natural wonders of the world.”

“Perhaps you might tell me of some, over the course of a dance.” Sir LeGris does not ask, he simply states, and you find yourself attracted to that level of confidence; one that could only be truly afforded by the likes of a Duke such as himself.

You could refuse him, could make him wait much in the same manner that you made the other gentlemen wait over the course of many seasons. Unlike all the gentlemen here at the ball, LeGris was not a Duke from a long prestigious family; he had been granted the title by Napoleon only within the last five years. Truly, you held a higher standing than he.

“Of course, your Grace.” Despite all that, you find yourself not wanting to make this man wait at all.

Flip leads Sir LeGris down the line of all the other guests of importance, and the moment that you and he are parted, you have this strange sensation in your stomach; one akin to butterflies. How odd.

“Is he not everything you hoped he would be?” The Duchess, Lady Zimmerman grasps your hand and grins with all of her teeth, the picture of sheer excitement. It was unbecoming of a duchess to be so bold, but your friend was young and rich and always more or less got away with what she wanted. Certainly in her own home she could act how she pleased.

“He is very impressive.” You don’t want to be so candid, knowing that he was within earshot. If the rumors of Sir LeGris’ appearance were true, then surely the rumors of his enormous ego were too. He would have every right to an ego, much like you did, much like the Zimmermans did.

“How wonderful would it be for us to both be duchesses! And you in France, oh I have always wanted to spend more time there.” Lady Zimmerman begins chatting away, the way she is so wont to do, “I wonder how they’re getting along with the new government. Can you imagine a monarchy being so toppled? Only to be replaced with an Empire no less! How silly. Though the revolt was rather impressive, if I do say so myself. Puts everything into perspective, doesn’t it? We should do well to avoid a guillotine of our own.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, the Duke might find me utterly intolerable after our first dance.” You shake your head with a fond sort of exasperation at Lady Zimmerman, who merely scoffs and snaps her fan open to punctuate the gesture.

“He could never! No man with eyes could.” She shakes her head, the pearls in her blonde hair clicking together in harmony. “You look radiant and everyone here knows it.”

“For the first ball of the season, how could I possibly look anything less.” You smooth down the front of your dress, a beautiful red ball gown that compliments your skin and hair nicely.

It was a handmade gown, custom to you. You had splurged on the most popular fashion of the times, ironically enough, this meant a French silhouette in the finest of fabrics with all the trimmings. As the daughter of a Marquee you were in a position to afford such luxury. In fact, you were often second only to the Duchess herself, as the laws required. If you were to become a Duchess in your own right, you would have access to even more beautiful things, and the thought does not simply go over your head.

“Do you think that this will be the year you allow someone to court you?” Lady Zimmerman seems to read your expression, and in turn you can see the gears beginning to spin as she continues, “You must tell me, I will be able to arrange everything.”

“We shall see how the evening goes, but if all goes well, then perhaps, yes.” You take a flute of champagne as a servant walks past with a tray, and hum around a sip.

“I will ensure that it does.” Pleased with this news, Lady Zimmerman shoos you away playfully, instructing you to, “Now go mingle, I will send Sir LeGris after you the moment Flip has finished the important introductions.”

It is not a very long wait, and you’re sure that she has something to do with the hastening of LeGris’ arrival, because only a few minutes pass before the Frenchman is standing with his broad shoulders squared and his chin raised high in a display of his build in front of you. The small group of ladies you have been keeping company with in the meantime, all look him up and down, but he only has eyes for you.

“Your Grace, have you come for your dance?” You curtsy. He bows in response, and with his eyes averted in a show of respect, he clears his throat.

“I have, if this song pleases you.” That accent of his is so endearing, you think with a hint of a smile. How otherworldly, so different compared to the stuffy English droll.

“I daresay it does, although I would gladly waltz with you to any piece of music.” You offer him your hand.

The men and ladies around you are jealous, you can practically feel it radiating from them. What fun that brings you, knowing they are all reveling in the delight of your beauty, your status, your charm. Of course LeGris would want to be with you above all else in the ton, and of course you should be with the best of the best -- not that you can let him know that.

“Your flattery is very appreciated.” LeGris’ voice is deep, you can feel it in your chest, the way his baritone rumbles.

“It is not mere flattery, the men here are not very inclined to participate in the slow dances, I believe they grow bored after a while. So it is very refreshing to have a partner who does not give up halfway through.” You check his ego, the words like silver on your tongue, quick and sharp.

“If there is one thing you should know about me, it is that I do not give up on anything.” LeGris stands before you on the dance floor where he had led you, bowing as customary practice for the beginning of a waltz.

You glance over at Lord and Lady Zimmerman who are not too far away on the dance floor, and she winks at you, likely having secured a slow waltz for your benefit. The folk dances were good fun, but too lively and over far too soon. No, a waltz like this would last for nearly half an hour, and with far fewer partner changes; time could be spent being close to LeGris instead of dancing around and away from him.

“Is that so?” Your mind returns to the conversation at hand, as Sir LeGris leads the dance, “I must confess, you have shocked the ton by your arrival today. There are many here who doubted you actually would. May I ask what it is that brought you to our quiet countryside?”

Sir LeGris looks you up and down, his brown eyes sparkling in the low orange glow of the steadily burning candlesticks, such candles that were once full, and now merely flickering pools of wax that would surely go out soon. You cannot tell what his thoughts are, though they are swimming in those eyes of his. He is strangely difficult to read, and you consider yourself a very good judge of character.

“A breath of fresh air.” Eventually he replies softly, his cheeks crinkling into a dimpled smile, one that is gone just as quickly as it had arrived.

What a different it makes, a smile! He could very well have been a different person entirely, his crooked teeth peeking between his lush parted lips.

“I should think you’ll be quite pleased here then.” You respond, for the first time allowing yourself to feel excited by the prospect that he will be in York for the entire season, if not longer.

“As should I.” He grins, before spinning you around, the conversation coming to a pause.

One by one, couples join the waltz now that the Dukes and Duchess have had their first round across the floor. This was always your favorite part, seeing the unity of the guests, the ballroom still rife with energy even so late into the evening. You were a creature who enjoyed the night more than the day, and so balls were far and away your favorite of the functions during the season.

This dance was electrifying, though perhaps one might not notice it if they were not on the dance floor. Something about LeGris’ hand settled on the small of your back, your hand resting on his shoulder, the sheer amount of eye contact! Why you had never looked into the eyes of another man as much as you did during this dance. And what a pair of eyes they were -- deep, soulful, experienced. You wonder where Sir LeGris learned these English dances, wonder how different they are from the ones back home, and if he is as proficient in those as he is now.

Sir LeGris moves surely and with confidence, never once stepping on your feet. It is a shame almost, because you’re having a very hard time finding a fault in him, and that is a dangerous predicament indeed. How ever are you to give him a hard time, if there is nothing to tease? There are of course, things that you could bring up, and perhaps you will just to see how he reacts to the pressure.

But until then, you find yourself wrapped up in his presence. He smells like a dark, woodsy sort of cologne, and he is warm, so warm that you can feel it pressing through his clothing, even through your gloved hand. The way that he stands taller than you makes you feel surrounded by him in the best way, and when the music's over, you can’t help but feel disappointed when he steps back and bows again.

“You are a marvelous dancer, Lady (L/N), would it be terribly uncouth of me to ask for another?” Sir LeGris asks in that accent of his, and you decide to surprise him.

“You may have me all night, if you wish.” Speaking in French, you respond to LeGris in such a manner that does indeed surprise him.

His eyebrows shoot up for a moment, simmering on what you’ve just said to him -- the innuendo that you have let slip.

“I might just take you up on that offer.” He replies in his mother tongue, waiting on the dance floor beside you as the orchestra readies themselves for another long waltz, shuffling about members so that the tired musicians can have a break.

“Are you always this suave, or have I simply awoken something in you?” You ask with a bit of a smirk, wanting him to know that you’re smarter than simply being wooed into submission.

“You certainly have, and more things than just one.” Jacque’s hand trails down the bare skin of your arm, it feels as though you have been electrified.

You can not remember the last time you were touched like this, with reverence. A woman of your age and status had experienced the more...carnal pleasures of life, sure, but this? This sweet caress? That was as foreign to you as this man.

He removes his hand suddenly, dropping it like he has been burned, and for a moment you wonder if your face has betrayed you in some way, giving him an impression that you wanted him to stop.

“What is it?” You ask quickly, quietly, before once again positioning yourself in the beginning pose of the next waltz, the music starting up again.

“Everyone is staring at us.” Sir LeGris continues to speak in French, and you follow his lead, not wanting to be so easily overheard. Knowing more than one language was all but essential for the charming debutantes of the ton, but their ears would not be listening for it here at an English ball.

“Yes, simple minded people tend to get excited over the smallest things. And a Duke is a rather ...large thing indeed.” You reply, your eyes flitting down boldly to glance down at his trousers.

There was one thing, above all else that had prevented you from ever agreeing to a proposal, and that had been in the department of lovemaking. It would seem that much like their brains, the vast majority of the gentlemen of the ton were small; and the gossip from the brothel houses insinuated there was much to be desired indeed.

Marriages were a matter of compromise, yes, but If there was one thing you would not forgo in a marriage, it was your own satisfaction. To know that LeGris had it all, the wealth, status, charm, and possibly the body...well. You begin to wonder how much time is left in the ball so that you might ‘retire’ for the evening.

“Indeed.” LeGris picks up on the hint, and confirms a suspicion that you are glad to hear.

“In fact, your arrival has provided a much needed influx of gossip to keep the nosy mothers busy. The rumors that have been wrapped around you are truly extraordinary, I do believe they’ve outdone themselves this time.” Filing away that piece of information for later on in the evening, you enchant him with a smile, and allow him to spin you round and round on the dance floor.

“I must know one such rumor.” LeGris muses with a curious sparkle in his eye, but you shake your head.

“Oh no I couldn’t, they’re far too vicious for a Duke to hear, you would be offended.”

“Humor me.” He insists, and you purse your lips thinking of one that could easily be laughed off as preposterous.

“There are rumors of a violent duel which took place illegally some weeks ago, that you are fleeing the charges from. There is another that you committed treason against the crown before the rise of Bonaparte, and are in exile. There is another still that you have bedded two dozen women, and half of them carry your children. I find that one to be the most preposterous, for surely you wouldn’t have a title to your name after all the money spent caring for the bastards.”

As expected, LeGris laughs loudly at the allegations, drawing more attention than ever before. Waltzes were a reserved affair, not one for boisterous chortling like what is coming out of LeGris’ strong lungs. This too was unusual, laughter of such kind was deemed low class, but thankfully, most everyone in attendance was too drunk to care. Some women laughed along, not knowing what was so funny, but merely wanting to be included.

“Two dozen women you say? I should be so lucky!” He composes himself with a few parting chuckles, and lets out a sigh.

“Your Grace.” You get his attention with a pointed stare, something relatively difficult to do whilst twirling, and LeGris takes it seriously.

“If you are at all curious, I am not a traitor, nor am I a serial father.” He murmurs with a shake of his head, but his words pique your interest.

“The duel then.” You whisper, feeling a swirling mix of adrenaline and nerves in your stomach, the sensation growing as he hesitates to reply.

It had been the talk of the country, this duel. Rather famous in nature, word of these illegal fights to the death spread far and wide when one was highly publicized the way LeGris’ had been. Something about a woman’s accusations. You knew not if she were telling the truth or if it had all been a ruse, but the outcome meant no one would ever know: LeGris had won, the woman and her husband had died, and now, whether he was fleeing or simply taking a vacation, he was in England.

In England, where such a thing was scandalous beyond repair. You look at Lady Zimmerman, who meets your eye and smiles, hoping that you’re enjoying his company. Your reputation would be tarnished forever in London society...but then again, if you were in France, you would never have to see the ton again. Lord and Lady Zimmerman though, would they come to visit you? Would they risk their reputation for your friendship?

The wistful and loyal look on Lady Zimmerman’s face says yes, they would.

“The duel is true.” LeGris whispers in your ear, capturing your attention yet again as he rushes to say, “But I am not fleeing any charges; the edicts banning fights to the death were burned alongside the monarchy. In fact, the Emperor granted me permission himself, why should he come after me?”

“How shocking.” Your eyebrows raise, for this changes everything! If the Emperor indeed gave his permission, then there was no danger, something that fills you with relief. Still, you look around at the nosy busybodies around you and whisper, “Let us not tell the ton that, for they will surely lose their heads about it.”

“You seem rather level.” LeGris says, lifting you up in time with the waltz as the music swells.

“Yes, but I am far less excitable than some of the simpering young ladies present.” You grin, the swooping feeling of being so easily lifted makes you feel lighter than air.

“I certainly hope that I can excite you at least a small amount, during the course of the evening.” As he says this, he dips you down low, so low that you have to reflexively cling to the lapels of his jacket so that you do not go falling to the floor.

“The night is still young, I’m sure you’ll manage.” Looking into his eyes, you hold your breath.

There is a moment, a split second where you believe he is leaning in to kiss you. It is as if the entire ballroom fades away, leaving none on the dance floor other than yourself and this man. You could pull away -- you should pull away, but you don’t want to. His hands are warm and large as they support you, you imagine them spreading across the bare flesh of your body, imagine the way they would pleasure you...

Gasping ever so subtly, reality comes crashing down around you as the guests applaud the orchestra once more. Sir LeGris notices a shift in your demeanor though, and is good enough to offer, “Shall I fetch us something to drink?”

“Yes please, my most sincere apologies, it’s just...so warm in the ballroom.” You lie, the beating of your pulse thrumming in your ears, as you lick your lips. Parched, you could say, you’re parched, just not for champagne.

“I believe the rain has slowed, let us go onto the balcony where we can cool off?” Sir LeGris asks, but he asks in such a way that you can tell his intentions are not innocent.

The rain has not slowed, not one bit, but that was good, it meant that no one would be outside, no one would be looking for you. Your reputation could withstand much, being so rich and powerful, but it could not withstand being spotted doing what you are so hoping to do.

“I’ll go first, we mustn’t let anyone see. These English-types are prone to propriety.” Whispering, you lead Sir LeGris through the ballroom, as he flags down a servant who has something other than alcohol to drink. You hiss, “It wouldn’t do to be seen together without a chaperone.”

“I understand.” Sir LeGris nods as if you’ve just given him a battle command, and the way he responds makes you wonder how good he must have looked on the battlefield.

Having been to the Zimmermans’ estate many times before on social visits, you knew that there was a back corridor that would lead from the ballroom to the carriage house, built in the event of needing a quick getaway. Such a corridor would be perfect to slip through, leaving the room without the chance of getting rained on.

“You go first, I’ll follow shortly after. That way it’s not suspicious.” You instruct him, and he takes this order well too, at once leaving to ask which way the restroom is, and then promptly getting ‘lost’.

You mill about the floor for a moment or two, wanting to give the drunken guests time to ignore the departure of the famed Frenchman, before you put your glass down on a passing silver tray, and make a round about the ballroom, heading in the opposite direction before circling back. As you do, you meet the eyes of Lady Zimmerman, and for a moment, you think she’s going to disapprove her such debauchery about to take place in her home. But she merely winks again, and turns to Flip and the group of nobility around her, taking all the attention so that you can slip around the corner and down the hall.

Sir LeGris did not get very far down the corridor, before he rounds on you, his mouth pressing against yours with an urgent desperation, pushing you against the stone wall. It is cool against your overheated body, and you welcome him with a hushed gasp, your mouth parting for his to drink you up.

“Not here,” Your senses get the better of you, and you shove his face away from yours, his lips already growing reddish and plump from being kissed. You want to bite at them, to turn them even more ruddy.

“I want you Lady (Y/N) -- ” He growls, with that deep dark baritone of his that makes your stomach flutter again.

“And you’ll have me, but not out in this hall like a whore.” You hiss, ducking out of his grip and walking briskly down the corridor, “You’re going to fuck me somewhere I can lie down.”

He grabs your wrist as he suddenly has an idea, stopping you in your tracks.

“My carriage, let me take you to my carriage.” He says with a great smug grin, “There is more than enough space, you will find it most accommodating.”

“Then make haste, your Grace.” The idea is agreeable, if the carriage is indeed large enough.

With quick feet, Sir LeGris follows your lead through the winding corridor to the carriage house, the pouring rain slamming down against the cobblestone outside. Now and again, you get sprayed with some of the water that bounces off the open window sills -- this truly must be a forgotten part of the estate for the windows to be left open, you think.

Inside the carriage house are a half dozen beautiful coaches. All the guests had been dropped off by their valets, their coaches nestled safely in their own estates, which meant that the coaches here belonged to the Lord and Lady -- aside from one, which was indeed large and beautifully ornamented. Black polished wood with gold gilding in traditionally French floral design, the coach stood proud and tall. You could easily imagine it pulled by a team of stallions, with how impressive it looked.

Sir LeGris wastes little time opening the door for you and giving you a hand to help you inside, where he promptly begins to grasp at your clothes like a wild animal. You make out fervently, his mouth on yours, the both of you gasping and panting against one another as he begins to unclasp hooks.

You find yourself grateful then, that this had not been even ten years earlier, for your layers would have been triple that of what you wear now. As it was, Sir LeGris made quick work of your ball gown, petticoat, and stays, leaving you in your chemise and stockings before abandoning the removal of your clothing for his own.

His jacket comes off with ease, his cravat pulled loose and thrown aside, landing in the pool of garments that your clothing made. His shirt flies over his head revealing a beautifully sculpted chest that your hands immediately are glued to, feeling the thick muscle. He could not pull his trousers all the way down without removing his boots, so he settles for shucking them down as far as they’ll go, and finally, finally pulling his cock out through his drawers, holding it in his hand as if to show you, wanting your approval.

“Large, indeed.” You grin, adrenaline pounding in your ears.

With a wicked smirk, LeGris pushes up your chemise around your hips and presses you down so that you are lying more comfortably among the cushions of the carriage’s interior. It is plush and velvety, much in the same way as his mouth as he kisses your inner thigh, your hands tugging the ribbon free from his hair and tangling your fingers in the tresses.

Moaning at the first touch of his deft and large fingers as they rub and thrust inside you, your legs relax, giving him all he needs to position himself so that the head of his cock nudges against your already wet cunt.

“Oh! Yes, fuck that’s it, right there your Grace.” You sigh, amazed that on the first try he thrusts himself as far into you as he can go, his cock fitting so well, filling you amazingly full. He seems to find that spot inside of you nearly straight away, the spot that makes your hands fly out to brace yourself against the carriage walls, as LeGris drapes himself over your body, mouth seeking yours.

“Jacques, call me Jacques.” Grunting, LeGris -- no, Jacques -- slides his tongue against yours, as he begins a rhythm that is steady, rhythmic, “I beg.”

“That doesn’t sound like begging.” You find the frame of mind to tease him, even as your eyes roll back into your head, his hips picking up speed as his dick grinds deeply into you.

“Perhaps you’ll demonstrate for me then, so I may better do it in the future.” Jacques swallows around a lump in his throat and begins to worry your neck, his goatee scratching your delicate skin there, the sensation sending sparks down to your clit, your thighs already trembling.

You grasp his hair and pull it tightly, trying to guide his mouth away from skin that would show signs of bruising and marks, instead directing those hungry teeth and lips to your chest, where your breasts are practically spilling out of your chemise. Jacques gets the hint and begins to squeeze and knead at your chest, sucking on a nipple that is so overstimulated you accidentally kick the side door of the carriage.

“Yes! Yes -- oh God, that’s good.” Throwing your head back against the cushion, you push your hips up to meet him thrust for thrust, the panting moaning groaning is fogging up the windows, making the carriage steam from the inside, smelling entirely like sex.

“Your pussy is delicious, I could take you like this all night long.” Jacques grunts as he speeds himself up, stamina and strength of an army in the way he holds himself above you, how his voice doesn’t waver even as he fucks you, “Tell me how good it feels.”

“Better than any man I’ve ever had, your cock fills me so well! More!” You slap his back, which makes him shudder and moan, “Faster -- yes!”

He gives you exactly what you desire, your pussy clenching and throbbing as he fucks you hard enough to shake the carriage, the shocks squeaking from the rocking of the coach, and though you know it must be loud, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Do not silence yourself chérie, let them all hear how good I fuck you.” He must read your thoughts, as he grabs your chin with his large palm, forcing your mouth open by sticking two fingers into it and sliding it along your tongue, “They’ll know it’s me, and I’ll be proud of it.”

“Fuck!” You shout, wild and with reckless abandon, your legs spreading, chest heaving, stars beginning to dance in front of your eyes as you moan and shout wantonly, “I’m so close, harder, I’m not a wilting flower Jacques take me harder!”

You yank on his hair again, and he growls out a guttural, “I’m going to come.”

“Don’t you dare pull out -- you’re mine now.” You don’t know what comes over you to be so possessive, but once the words are out, there’s no taking them back.

Jacques reacts beautifully to the sentiment, and he speeds his hips impossibly faster, angling himself just so that he can rub against that spot that makes you cry out with pleasure, and his face pinches as he fucks you fast rough dirty, shaking the carriage, his hand slapping up against the window to hold himself steady, the steam wiping away in the print of his palm as he moans loudly, “Merde!”

You come at the same time, when his hand drops down to rub at your clit, your body jolting from your scalp to your toes with electric pleasure, your eyes rolling back into your head, toes curling, limbs shaking from the sheer thrill of it all as he fucks you through your orgasm.

And then -- he collapses on top of you, breathing heavily, crushing you under the weight of his broad shoulders. His muscles are all flexing, he’s sweat slick and glorious in his utter masculinity. You revel in the feeling, this dreamlike sensation as you float in your mind, sucking down large gulps of steamed breath there in his carriage.

“You are every bit as exciting as I had hoped you’d be.” Jacques begins to hum thoughtfully, a warm finger traveling along your exposed collarbone.

“You thought of me?” Raising an eyebrow at him, you allow a small blip of vulnerability to leak through your confidence, stretching out underneath him like a cat that got the cream.

“For days. In truth, my desire to come to England was to meet you. Lord and Lady Zimmerman speak so highly of you, I had to know if the words were just words. But now I see that they were correct.” Jacques kisses you slowly, presses them into your skin, along your throat, the line of your jaw.

“To know that you hold me in high regard is very humbling, your Grace.” You muse softly, your voice raw from all your passionate exclamations.

“Call me Jacques.” He reminds you, and you grin.

Pushing him across the footwell onto the other cushion that hasn’t been defiled, you fix your chemise and your stockings so they are not so rumpled, and drape yourself across his sweaty chest. He welcomes you happily, that brief dimpled smile returning to his face.

“You’ll have to marry me now, you know.” You announce approps of anything.

Jacques snorts out a laugh, but you shoot him an icy glare, and he rolls his eyes as if to say he is only laughing in jest.

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to give the proposal.” He pointed out, and you shrug.

“I mean to say, I will not be one pearl on your strings of many women. I am the last woman.” You impart the seriousness of your intentions, making it very plain and clear that if the two of you were to become a couple, there would be no extramarital affairs; “The only woman.”

“What if I were to say no?” Jacques wonders aloud, and your answer is all too swift:

“Then I’d kill you.”

Jacques looks at you, and you look at him, each of you leveling the other with an appraisal. You know not what it is he is looking for in you, but you find all the qualities of the man you have been after, in him; strong, quick witted, rich, cultured, mysterious, and above all, passionate.

“We will have quite the life together, Lady (L/N).” Jacques pinches your chin in his thumb and forefinger, and brings you in for a kiss that you happily give to him.

“I expect to be courted, properly courted.” Resting your head back against his chest, you smile freely in the comfort where he can’t see, thrilled at the prospect. Lady (L/N) finally choosing a gentleman, it will surely make for an interesting season.

“Of course.” Jacques takes a deep breath, and you can tell he’s tired. You’re tired too, despite loving the evening time.

“Lady Zimmerman will tell you how it’s done here.” Yawning, you wave your hand around absentmindedly, already knowing how much of a deal your friend is going to make of this. All the excitement could very well put her into labor.

A bell, rings in the distance, and you try in your post-bliss haze to figure out where the hell it’s coming from. It dawns on you, that the carriage house is close to the bell tower, and the bells only ring on the hour. Listening to the count, you put two and two together.

“What was that?” Jacques asks, half asleep in his carriage.

“Midnight.” You let out a small laugh through your nose, and that earns you a peeking glance out of Jacques left eye.

“What is so funny about midnight?”

“Nothing, just that...” You shrug, “Well, it’s the fourteenth.”

“Ah I see.” Jacques says, as if he is thinking about something very difficult, complicated, something that is using up all of his brainpower, before eventually shrugging too in the same manner that you had and saying, “Well then, I suppose there’s only one question left to ask this evening.”

Propping yourself up onto his chest to look at him, you try not to hold your breath when you ask, “Oh? And what might that be?”

“Will you do me the honor of being my Valentine?” He cups your cheek with his calloused palm, and you grin.

Out there, beyond the walls of the coach and the carriage house, down the corridor and around the corner, out on the ballroom floor, you just know Lady Zimmerman can sense a shift in the air, much as all the other guests can. And in the privacy and comfort of your own mind, as Jacques begins to fall asleep and you use his large pec as a pillow, you allow yourself to dream of all the finery you’ll enjoy, when you’re a Duchess.

Jacque puts a hand on your back and holds you close, and you can tell that he’s smiling even in his sleep, because you know that he’s dreaming of it too. A wonderful life together, indeed.

I don't have a taglist as this isn't a character I don't normally write, so I'm tagging some of my Kylo folks. No worries at all if this isn't your taste!

@sunflowersinthesnow @iamburdened @painttheskylineforme @safarigirlsp @mrs-gucci @valxntinex @darkhairedmenrule @whateveryousay-dude @baubub @einmal-im-traum @justlenastuff @simpin-mama @empressofalderaan @angel-bxby3 @depressedkyloren @leia-writes @loganluckylover

If you'd like to join my taglist, please click here!

#jacques le gris #jacques legris smut #jacques le gris fanfic #jacques le gris x reader #jacques legris fanfic #jacques legris x reader #jacques le gris/reader #jacques le gris x you #jacques legris/you #the last duel #adam driver fanfic #adcu

190 notes · View notes