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evermoresqueiswriting · 13 days

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the one where clarisse learns about her love language

"Late in the night, the city's asleep Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep Change my priorities The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury" - King Of My Heart, Taylor Swift

summary: after getting hurt during one game of capture de flag, clarisse gets taken care of by you and after this, clarisse went from never being at the infirmary to being there almost every day with a new injury. weird for an ares kid to get this easily injured, but you didn't mind

pairing: clarisse la rue x apollo!reader

word count: 6.2k i suddenly lost the ability to write shorter fics bruh

tags: fluff, clarisse fell first and harder

masterlist // ask box

No one at camp had a job at camp per say. Hephaestus kids were the ones forging the weapons campers used, and Demeter kids sometimes cooked dinner. And some Apollo kids – including yourself – were the designated healers at camp. So, it wasn’t your job, per say, to stay at the infirmary all day long, but you were.

You enjoyed the calm and serenity of that place. The sun always shined through the windows, and you could sunbathe all day long, while listening to your favourite songs or painting. Most of the time it was quiet, except when Will followed you there. He was a rather loud kid, he loved to ask questions and learn about everything you did.

“Shouldn’t you be playing with other kids your age instead of trying to work here?”

“Shouldn’t you be socialising with kids your age instead of working for free?” Will replied in the same tone.

“Rude!”

“I learned from the best,” he gave you a pat on the shoulder.

“I regret it. All the time,” you turned away. “If you’re gonna stay here, at least help me clean this place.”

The first time Will tried to help you clean this place, it was a disaster. Before you ran the infirmary, it wasn’t organised, everything was just laying around. Then you came in, and cleaned up the place, and organised it how you liked it. Will didn’t know that, so he just cleaned up like he thought was fine. It wasn’t. And you had lectured him about never – ever – touching anything again without you being there.

“Tomorrow’s Capture the Flag,” Will started. “They put really far from the flag and the fight, again,” he frowned.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It always happens when the Ares cabin is teaming up with us. They’re always leading the fight.”

“Well they are good,” you shrugged. “But you know you can talk to Lee about this, he’s our head counsellor and he could talk to Clarisse.”

He shook his head.

“Clarisse is kinda scary,” Will admitted.

“Did I never tell you to never judge a book by its cover,” you put your hands on your hips, “but in that case you’re right. Clarisse does scare me a little bit too. And I’m kinda glad she decided to put me far away from her this time.”

Will rolled his eyes, clearly still upset.

“Okay, I can see how this isn’t great,” you sighed. “If for the next one, we’re still teaming up with the Ares cabin, I’ll talk to Lee and Clarisse alright?”

He nodded. Hopefully, you weren’t going to team up with the Ares cabin anytime soon. You never talked to Clarisse, but you knew who she was. Everyone knew her. Ares daughter, head counsellor and incredibly scary. She was an amazing fighter, and no one wanted to be at the other end of her spear.

“I’m just saying,” you ranted to Lee at dinner, “Will is a kid and it sucks that you decided to exclude him.”

“Who’s ‘you’,” he inquired. “Clarisse was the brain behind everything. She’s the strategist.”

“And what are you? A plant? You were there when the strategy was being made,” you argued.

“But Will never said anything to me. It’s always been this way.”

“Well he told me, and I’m telling you. Please pass along this information if we ever get teamed up with the Ares cabin again,” you smiled.

“Sure,” Lee nodded. “You’re the boss.”

“‘m not,” you mumbled and kept on eating.

Lee was the Apollo cabin’s head counsellor. But really, you were his co-head counsellor. You have been at camp for a long time now, since the age of ten and you have always been a year-rounder at camp. But when the head counsellor spot freed up, you vouched for Lee. He wanted that position, he deserved it, and you agreed. But he always came for advice and your opinion.

Capture the Flag day finally arrived, and you were getting ready, putting your armour on. You picked your bow and slid it on your shoulder, before leaving your cabin. You joined your team – the red one – and everyone was there already. Clarisse stood tall and proud at the front, planting her spear next to her.

“Prisoners may be disarmed, but may not be bound or gagged,” Chiron announced – like every single time. “Killing or maiming is not allowed.”

“Much to my regret,” Dionysus mumbled. “So yeah, let the game begin or whatever.”

Clarisse turned around, waved her hand around and people were running to their assigned position. You were on flag duty. On top of the hill that had a perfect view of your flag. If you saw anyone from the opposite side you'd shoot explosive arrows to blind and confuse them for a second, so your team had time to disarm them before they could reach your flag.

You looked around, and spotted Michael and Lee. Chatting, and looking around. Moving on. Ares' kids were fighting some kids from the Hephaestus cabin. Logic. And then you spotted Clarisse. Walking alone through the forest. Probably to the other side where the blue flag was.

But then you also spotted a group of three Athena kids – blue team – following her closely. Clarisse wasn’t stupid, she probably knew about them following her.

“What are you watching?” someone asked, startling you.

“Will! What are you doing here?”

“There wasn’t anyone around the borders, so I came to help you. So what are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged, going back to monitor your flag.

Will stared at you, huffed and went to look at what you were looking at.

“y/n?,” Will called for you.

“What?” you didn’t look at him.

“y/n!”

“What?” you gave him a quick glance.

“Something’s wrong.”

That caught your attention. You looked back at where Clarisse was. She seemed fine. The three Athena kids were no longer there though.

“What?”

“Don’t you see the trap?”

“What trap?” you frowned, looking more closely at where she stood.

It was a particularly sunny day. If your dad wasn’t Apollo, you’d be blinded by the sun rays. But your dad was Apollo, so you were doing great. And there it was. The trap. It was so bright, it was hard to spot it. And the Athena kids knew that. So when Clarisse walked over it, it was too late and something came flying toward her.

“What the hell?” you cursed before running down the hill. “Stay here,” you warned Will.

Before you left, you gave a quick glance back, and Clarisse was down, surely unconscious.

“Fuck.”

You sprinted towards where she was when you heard the emergency horn. The emergency horn that Chiron played at the start of every summer so campers would know what that sound meant. A warning for campers that the game stopped. When you reached Clarisse, Chiron and Mr D were already there. As well as most campers.

“What happened?” campers talked among themselves.

“Move!” you pushed the kids blocking you from reaching Clarisse.

Clarisse was bleeding from her forehead, and a metal stick was stuck in her left shoulder. It was overwhelming, people squeezing in to see what was going on, talking to each other. Even Chiron and Mr D couldn’t keep them in place. You kneeled beside Clarisse, trying to shield her from the campers, when you spotted one of the Athena kids that was following her earlier.

You stood swiftly, without leaving Clarisse unattended and grabbed his armour with both hands to bring him closer.

“You take another step toward Clarisse again and I’ll make sure you won’t ever, ever, see another healthy day again. I’ll make sure you and your brothers will wake everyday in pain wishing you were dead instead,” you cursed him.

You spoke in a low voice, but everyone heard. Just like that, everyone took a step back.

“y/n,” Chiron put his hand on your shoulder. “You’re needed in the infirmary, I’ll bring Clarisse there.”

You let him go, took your armour off and threw it on the ground before walking to the infirmary with your brothers close behind you. Michael had great healing skills too, so you’d need him. Will was learning so he stayed with you. Lee, as your head counsellor, also had to be here somehow.

“Can you really do that?” Will asked timidly. “Make them sick forever.”

“Apollo kids can inherit dad’s plague powers,” Lee stated. “But it’s rare, and never that powerful.”

Will stared at you, but you only stared at the door. Waiting for Chiron to arrive.

“Why are you so worried about Clarisse of all people,” Michael huffed.

Lee slapped his arm.

“What!” Michael rubbed his arm.

“Great to know that’s what you’d think if we were ever on the battlefield,” you noted, “choosing who to help and who can die.”

“That’s not what I said!” he shouted.

“Then why shouldn’t I be worried about an injured camper, who just happened to be Clarisse?” you shouted back.

Someone cleared their throat. You both stopped bickering. Chiron. He put Clarisse on the bed next to the window and stepped back so you and Michael could start working. You didn’t need to talk to know what to do. You trained together, as a team, for years, so everything was done flawlessly and quickly.

“She should be fine,” you announced, “I’ll stay and feed her ambrosia for the next few days and she should wake.”

“Great,” Chiron nodded, relieved. “Great work you two, as usual.”

They all left, except for Will and you both sat on the couch. You stared at Clarisse, with her head wrapped in a bandage, her shoulder too.

“She doesn’t look so scary now huh,” you said.

“No,” Will agreed. “So it really was the Athena cabin?”

“I don’t know, I mean I saw them. I don’t think Annabeth would’ve agreed to such a plan. As in a plan that’d almost kill their opponent in Capture the Flag. For a real quest, why not. But Capture the Flag?”

“What’s going to happen to those who pulled this stunt?”

“Well,” you sighed, “knowing Chiron, he’d probably just revoke their dessert privileges for two weeks instead of one. But I’m sure once she wakes up, she’ll know what to do.”

“Kill them?” Will ask, with a horrified expression.

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Will left first, leaving you alone with Clarisse. You told him you’d join him later when dinner would come. You went to see Clarisse. The bandages were already soaked, so you carefully removed them. You carefully cleaned her wounds again before bandaging them again. You fed her a tiny amount of ambrosia before joining the rest of your siblings for dinner.

Before the feast could begin, Chiron gave a speech about how Capture the Flag wasn’t the place to settle personal accounts and that maiming and killing was forbidden. And how this time it went too far.

“I’ve talked to the head counsellor in question, and it will be taken seriously. There will be consequences, and I don’t ever want to see this happening ever again.”

Campers nodded along, and went back to their table. You devoured your food in no time, not forgetting to leave some for the offering. Then you rushed to shower and clean your face before running to the infirmary where you’d spend the next few nights.

“I really hope you’ll wake soon,” you told unconscious Clarisse. “I’m not used to having someone else in here.”

You walked around, putting things back where they’re supposed to, and walked back to where Clarisse was. Then you stood again, and sat.

“I’m crazy. A few hours with someone who doesn’t talk to me and I’m going insane,” you sighed. “Well, while we’re here, I have a few things to say, to get off my chest really,” you started your rant. “You know Will, my little brother. Well, Will is capable of holding his own, he can fight… maybe not your siblings, cause you’re all very, very, violent. But you don’t have to put him this far away each time you know, he notices.

“I’m saying,” you rested your back against the bed, “it could be different, you could come up with a different kind of strategy. It works for sure, you win a lot, but we could win in a different way also.

“You know I saw you,” you continued after a moment. “Being followed by these idiots. I thought you knew, and–,” you paused. “Ugh I should’ve tried to protect you. Warn you. It was my job. Why didn’t I think of that earlier? And it was hot as hell, you could’ve felt a little dizzy and I should’ve–”

“Shut up,” Clarisse wheezed.

You whipped around, standing up before backing away.

“Ar– Clarisse?” you whispered. “Are you feeling alright?” you walked to her.

Her eyes were still closed, she frowned and shook her head slightly.

“Waw, Ares kids are tougher than I thought,” you mumbled to yourself.

You went to grab some water and a straw, and sat next to Clarisse, on the bed.

“You should drink a bit.”

She opened her eyes, and stared at you, with a blank expression. You blinked, and smiled, holding up the straw to her mouth. You frowned when she refused to drink.

“Drinking water is good for you,” you added. “Please stop staring at me like you want to murder me.”

She rolled her eyes and drank everything before closing her eyes again, and turning her head on the other side.

“Well, I’ll be sleeping on this bed,” you pointed to the bed next to hers, “if you need anything, shout.”

Clarisse kept quiet, so you went to bed and fell asleep very quickly. Clarisse, on the other hand, could not fall asleep. She turned head around and looked at you. You clearly slept well, with your mouth slightly opened. After a few minutes of staring outside the window, her stomach growled. She needed to eat.

There had to be food in here – she looked around and spotted a basket full of fruits and cake. That’ll do. She gathered all her strength and tried to push herself up using her left arm and yelped in pain. That woke you up.

“What’s wrong?” you worried.

“Nothing,” Clarisse panted, biting her lips.

You rushed to her and saw her shoulder was bleeding again.

“What happened?” you worried, turning the lights on.

You grabbed clean bandages, and a clean towel with some alcohol and rushed back to her. Clarisse somehow managed to sit up, her right arm holding onto where her left shoulder was stabbed.

“Don’t cover it,” you pushed her hand away.

You started to remove the blood soaked bandages when she grabbed your hand to stop you. You gave her a questioning look. Clarisse quickly let go of your hand and looked away, breathing slowly. You opened your mouth, but then closed it and resumed your work.

“What were you trying to do anyway?” you asked when the wound was clean.

“I was hungry.”

“I–, I mean I did say to shout if you needed me but I was not thinking a pained scream with you bleeding again. Just a ‘hey y/n bring me food’ would’ve suffice. I would’ve been up. And that’s done. Good as new.”

Clarisse was still looking away from you which hid her head wound. When she turned her head toward you, you raised your hand to touch her face, but she flinched away hard at your sudden movement. You froze, too afraid to move again. No one talked or dared to breathe – the silence became heavy. Clarisse opened her eyes, and stared at you. She took your hand in hers and put it down.

“I–,” you breathed, “I was just going to check your head wound,” you murmured.

“Go ahead then,” she sat straighter.

You raised your hands slower this time, and tilted her head. You tore off her bandage and put it back in place. Clarisse could hear her heartbeat pacing up. Her mind and body stopped functioning. What was happening? She kept thinking about how your hands felt so warm in the night breeze, and how pretty you looked so close. Then when you dropped your hands, she came back to reality.

“Your face is still good. Like always,” and gave her a small smile.

“I’ll go eat,” she blurted out before leaving bed.

“Oh– okay. I can go to the kitchen and bring other things if you want.”

“No it’s fine,” she brushed you off, focused on the fruits in front of her.

Which was hard with you so close behind her. You watched Clarisse eat the strawberries and blueberries and grapes, and then you grabbed an orange and started to peel it. Once you were done you handed it to her. She grabbed it slowly and whispered a low thank you before eating it. Clarisse also ate half of the cake Katie brought to you earlier.

“Demeter kids, am I right,” you ate with her, “I don't know what they put in their cakes but I could eat them everyday. You should rest now,” you put your hand on her right arm and squeezed it. “You can barely stand.”

This time when Clarisse closed her eyes, she fell asleep instantly. And so did you. The next morning, you were the first one up. As soon as the sun rose, you were ready to start your day. You went to your cabin and washed up before grabbing a new toothbrush for Clarisse. You changed your clothes, and then went to the Ares cabin. You opened the door, and no one was up yet. You spotted the only empty bunk bed – Clarisse had one for herself – and saw her drawer next to it. You grabbed a new pair of pants, and a new camp-half blood tee and left in a hurry. Clarisse was up by the time you came back.

“I brought some of your clothes so you could change,” you gave her the clothes and the toothbrush. “I did sneak into your cabin, but I didn’t look through your stuff, don't worry about that,” you smiled. “I mean, except for your clothes – sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Well, I’ll let you change and I’ll be… not here for sure. I’ll go get breakfast!”

Clarisse watched you walk away, humming to some songs and when you were out of her sight, she got out of bed to change and clean herself. All she could think about was what happened yesterday. What even happened yesterday?

Before yesterday, you never spoke. She knew your name and vaguely knew what you looked like, but that was it. Since she arrived at camp, she didn’t once step into the infirmary – she didn’t need to. But now, for some reason, all she could think about was you. And how warm and soft your hands felt, how nice it felt to have you touch her face like that.

By the time you came back, Clarisse went back to bed and laid down. You gave her what you brought and you ate together, picking off the same plate.

“How are you feeling this morning? Does it still hurt?” you pointed at her shoulder.

“I’m—,” she stopped. “It still hurts,” which was true. “A lot,” that wasn’t..

“Really?” you worried. “I thought you’d be doing fine, because you woke so early. I thought your body was healing faster than most campers. Well,” you picked a strawberry with your fork, “you’ll have to stay here longer then.”

“Can’t go against the doctor’s orders,” she shrugged.

“True,” you smiled. “You finish this,” you pushed the plate toward her, “I’ll go get some supplies to change this,” you gently patted her shoulder.

You rolled your chair away, and grabbed what you needed and rolled back to Clarisse. You hopped onto her bed, and started your routine. The wounds were healing perfectly fine, and very quickly, so it was odd that Clarisse was still in extreme pain.

“I don’t think these wounds will scar,” you said.

“A shame, they’d make me look tougher.”

“Look?” you huffed. “You don’t need those to look tougher, you already do. Scary even,” you joke, but not really. “I mean I’m not scared– anymore… but yeah, some people may say– think you do. Anyway, scar or not, you’ll always look and be the toughest.”

“Anymore?” she grinned. “Were you before?”

“I mean,” you dragged that last vowel, “I don’t think scared is the right word. More like– intimidated. I never went to these meetings for Capture the Flag because I knew if you disagreed or worse – dismissed my ideas – I would’ve cried.”

“I never would’ve done that,” she chuckled, “I don’t think you’re capable of having bad ideas. Lee’s constantly praising you and giving us your ideas that I always take into account.”

“Really?” you couldn’t stop your smile.

She shrugged, and nodded. You playfully slapped her on the shoulder – the left one – and she yelped in pain.

“What the hell!”

‘Sorry!” you backed away, “it was a reflex.”

Clarisse ended up staying in the infirmary with you for three whole days, but she couldn’t fake it anymore when the wound completely healed and it was as if nothing had happened. The day she left, you cleaned up the room and sat alone on the couch, just like before.

It was weird. Usually, you enjoyed the silence and solitude of the room, but now it was as if time had stopped. Every time you looked at the clock, it’d only been two minutes. And so were the next few days. Then on Friday, as usual, Lee came in to visit. You worked in silence – which was the first odd thing Lee noticed – then he saw how you always stared at the empty bed Clarisse used to stay in.

“You’re being weird,” he said.

“I’m not!”

“You’re never this quiet when I visit.”

“The past few days were a bit dry,” you explained casually.

“You can say you miss Clarisse, it’s fine,” he sat next to you on the couch.

“I–,” you sighed. “It’s just… I was getting used to having someone with me.”

“Well maybe you should spend less time here and more time outside with, mmh I don’t know, Clarisse maybe.”

“What if she doesn’t see me as a friend though? What if I’m imagining things? She hasn’t visited me once.”

“Then you come back here, and the end.”

“I hate you,” you groaned. “You’re no help to me at all!”

When the door suddenly flew open which startled both of you. You could recognise these hair anywhere.

“Clarisse?” you called her name.

She turned to face you, and a gasp came out of your mouth before rushing to her.

“What happened to your face?” you held her arms.

Clarisse had a nasty cut going from her eyebrow to her hairline. She stared at you without saying anything before turning her gaze to Lee, and he spurted out some excuses and then left. But before he closed the door, he gave you a knowing look saying ‘see, she’s here’.

“What happened?” you frowned.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “These few days of rest weren’t a good idea I think.”

“That’s–,” you paused, “not accurate.”

But before she could reply, you grabbed her arm and dragged her to the other side of the room, and let her sit on the chair. You grabbed clean cotton and some alcohol and started to clean her wound. You stood closely to her, between her legs with her hands holding onto your thighs to stay steady.

“How did this happen anyway?” you asked.

“I was practising with my brothers.”

You frowned, and tried to step away but Clarisse was holding on tight to your thighs.

“You got beat up by your brothers?” you repeated with a raised eyebrow. “I have a hard time believing this. You’re just better than them,” you said casually before patching up her wound.

“Why do you know so much about my brothers’ skills?”

“I don’t! I know about yours. And from what I saw in the past, it’s always you leading the fight so I assumed that’s because you’re the best among them.”

“Mh,” she hummed, “well I guess you haven’t been doing your job very well if I’m not back to my old self yet,” she grinned.

“Or,” you grinned back, “maybe it’s your skills. I think they need a little sharpening. Maybe I could spare some time and teach you if you need.”

She suppressed a smile.

“Or, maybe you just want to spend time with me.”

You were close to each other, and Clarisse was still holding onto you. You crossed your arms, and stared at her. She was looking up at you, and you were looking down, which was a rare occurrence since she was much taller than you.

“I’m doing a favour to you at best. But if you don’t want to,” you sighed, “it’s–.”

“I do,” she affirmed.

That was the start of your friendship. Turns out Clarisse was really glad to hang out with someone that wasn’t her sibling. She was always the one seaking you out. At lunch, at dinner, during classes. All the time. Even when you were working, because somehow she always, always, ended up getting hurt.

One of the first times she came in after your friendship hangouts was for a sprained ankle. She came in limping, and threw herself on her – not really – bed, groaning.

“What happened?” you rushed to her side, worried. “You’re lucky I just came back in here!”

Clarisse didn’t want to admit this, but that was exactly why she was here. She was on her way to her cabin when she spotted you walking around with your sisters and she was so focused on you that she tripped and fell.

“I just fell,” she explained.

“You just fell,” you repeated slowly. “Right. Well lucky you because this,” you patted her leg, “will heal in no time with this,” you brought her some ambrosia.

“That’s it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you smiled.

“Oh.”

Then the next time she came, like the next few ones, were always injuries that required you to clean up the wound, and then patch her up. It went from tiny cuts to ‘I have a bruise here’ then showing you her perfectly unbruised skin to serious injuries that she got during Capture the Flag.

“You know at this rate I feel like you’re doing this on purpose,” you joked when she came in for the umpteenth time. “What is it this time?”

She shrugged and sat on her designated bed, and laid down. You joined her and sat next to where her legs rested. She held up her hand and you took it before she dragged you to lay beside her. The beds in the infirmary weren’t big enough for two so you were half laying on Clarisse with her arm resting behind your head.

“Did you paint that?” she asked.

The ceiling was painted by the Apollo cabin, all together you decided on a design and painted it over weeks worth of work.

“Here,” you pointed at the top of the painting. “That was painted by me.”

“Two planets?”

“The moon and Saturn,” you smiled.

“Linked by a thread?”

“Yea, the red string of fate. It’s from Chinese mythology. The old lunar matchmaker god, who is in charge of marriages, would tie together two people with this red string of fate and they are destined to be together, to be lovers regardless of time, place or circumstances. And no matter what, that thread will never break. It can stretch or get tangled up, but it never breaks.”

“And what about the moon and Saturn then?” she frowned, confused.

“Because,” you paused. “Your braids like a pattern, love you to the moon and to Saturn,” you started to sing, “Passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long.”

You turned your head to look at her only to see confusion on her face.

“Taylor Swift, seven,” you explained. “It’s great, we’ll have to listen to it someday.”

“Sure.”

“Really?” you looked at her excitedly.

“Yeah, you seem to like her so sure, I’ll listen with you,” she shrugged.

“Oh and that’s Will’s painting,” you showed her another corner. “That’s my dad and his lover, Hyacinthus. That’s where the name of the flower came from. Isn’t that kind of sweet how he named a flower after him.”

“I mean didn’t Apollo kill – by accident – Hyacinthus?” she grimaced.

“Or Zephyrus was so jealous of my dad that he killed his lover, because he couldn’t get no man. My dad is an excellent archer. His aim never failed him. I don’t see how it’s possible for him to kill his lover. But gods being petty over these kinds of things, that I can believe.”

Clarisse hummed in agreement.

“But enough about my father’s love life,” you shrugged, turning around to face Clarisse, “what about your dad? Still desperately trying to woo someone else’’s wife?”

“I don’t want to talk about my dad,” she yawned, then closed her eyes.

“Okay.”

Just as you were about to continue talking, you noticed that Clarisse had fallen asleep. It was still early in the afternoon so it was still bright outside. You looked around and started to get up so you could pull the curtains but Clarisse grabbed your arm to pull you closer to her, locking you in her arms.

“Don’t go,” she mumbled.

“Okay,” you whispered and stayed still.

The thing was, Clarisse was like a human radiator. Sleeping in her arms felt exactly like sleeping under tons of heavy blankets. This much warmth only resulted in falling asleep in Clarisse’s arms. When you woke, you were alone in bed.

“Slacking off during work hours,” Lee said standing next to you.

“Fuck!” you jumped off bed. “Why were you staring at me sleeping!” you screamed.

“You weren’t there and it’s almost time for dinner. I’m being a nice brother!” he shouted back.

“Oh. Well, thanks!” you yelled, and gave him a smile.

You both left to join your siblings at the dining pavilion, and once you sat at your usual spot, you scanned the room in search of Clarisse. She was at her table like usual, and eating in silence, head hanging low. Your tactic of staring at her wasn’t working even though you knew she knew that you were staring at her.

“What are you doing?” Lee kicked you with his elbow. “Did something happen with Clarisse?” he whispered.

You shook your head.

“I mean,” you leaned in whispering, “we did sleep together.”

Lee’s eyes widened, mouth wide open and he backed away in shock.

“You– you slept together? In the infirmary?”

“Not slept together,” you rolled your eyes, “she fell asleep and did I.”

“Ah.”

“Anyways, she left without saying anything,” you explained. “And now, I feel like she’s avoiding me.”

“It’s only been a few hours.”

“She’s avoiding me, I’ve been staring at her for at least fifteen minutes and nothing. Not a glance from her.”

“Okay creep. But once again, just talk to her. It would solve all your problems here.”

“She’s the one who doesn’t talk. I talk. A lot!”

“Trust me, I know. I just don’t think Ares kids are the best at talking, you know.”

“Fine.”

But as it turned out, Clarisse mastered the art of avoiding people – you – when she wanted to. Whenever you tried to talk to her, she would disappear. After a few days of trying, you gave up and told everything to Lee.

“If she doesn’t want anything to do with me, then fine by me,” you frowned, holding back your tears.

“I’m sure you’re overthinking this,” he tried to comfort you.

“Oh please,” you huffed. “You saw what happened this morning when I tried to talk to her. I’ll get over it,” you whispered. “I’ll get over her.”

Lee considered himself your best friend, and favourite brother. You never said these things, but he considered you his best friend and favourite sister. And as your best friend he had to do something, he had to talk to Clarisse and give her a piece of his mind. So that night, he was a man on a mission. He walked to the Ares cabin, and waited for Clarisse to either go or or go out.

“Clarisse!” he called her name when she finally left her cabin.

“What do you want, Fletcher?” Clarisse sighed, clearly annoyed.

“Oh, so you do speak. And here I thought you lost that ability,” he snickered.

“I will punch you in the face.”

Lee rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“I’m not scared, unlike you.”

“What–.”

“You’re scared to talk to y/n for whatever reason, and I need you to pluck up the courage to talk to her because you’re making her miserable by avoiding her.”

“I–,” she froze.

Was she making you miserable?

“You’re just doing your thing and going to her when you need, when you want but have you ever thought about what she was thinking? No. You would if you’d just listened to her, but no,” he made a big gesture, “avoiding her like the plague.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she mumbled, looking away.

“I’m telling you that you made a mistake, and if you continue down this path you’re going to lose her for good. I’m not saying this for you, because I couldn’t care less about you, but y/n is my sister and I want her to be happy and for some reason you are making her happy,” he rolled his eyes, “so do whatever you want with this information.”

Clarisse stood there, not saying anything, watching Lee walking away. But then he stopped and turned around to walk toward her again.

“Before I forget,” Lee added before throwing his strongest punch in her face. “For making my sister cry.”

And he ran away, before Clarisse could punch him back. But Clarisse was too busy thinking about you to think about Lee and what he just did. If it weren’t for that afternoon in the infirmary, she probably would’ve ran to you so you could take care of her, but now, she couldn’t. So she went to sleep, wishing that tomorrow it’ll be better.

You were one of the first campers to arrive for breakfast. You ate slowly, and by the time the dining pavilion was filled with campers, you were done. But you stayed and listened to your siblings talk. Just as you were about to leave, Clarisse came in and you dropped your fork in shock. She had a black eye and her cheek was bruised, with her nose in a weird shape. She looked at you, as you stood urgently. But then you froze – should you go to her? You sat back down, still staring at Clarisse.

“What happened to her?” Will whispered to you.

“I don’t know,” you whispered back.

“You don’t? I thought you were friends.”

“Yea, me too,” you sighed.

Clarisse was walking to her table, dragging her feet along and when she walked past the Apollo table, you stood and grabbed hand, forcing her to face you. When you noticed several heads staring at you, you dragged Clarisse away and brought her to the archery field.

“What happened to your face?” you held her face in your hands.

“Nothing,” she leaned into your touch.

“Clarisse,” you whispered. “Just talk to me please.”

“Lee came to have a little chat with me yesterday.”

“He did this?” you gasped.

“Yeah.”

You held your hand to your mouth, in shock and to hide a tiny part of you that wanted to laugh.

“And?” you asked.

“He said I was making you miserable.”

“That’s not true!” you insisted.

“I ignored you. And I shouldn't have. I don’t–” she hesitated, “want to lose you,” she mumbled.

“Then just talk to me, we’re friends too.”

“I– I don’t know,” she stepped back and took a deep breath. “I was confused! I– I don’t know I like it when you take care of me,” she admitted in a low voice. “I’m being weird and–.”

“You’re not,” you held her arms. “It’s not weird to love physical touch. I mean, I just assumed that it was your love language you know.”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“I think what you like is when I hold you or when I touch you because you love physical touch,” you began, “and you were doing everything to visit me, pretending to be a bad fighter and getting hurt on purpose.”

“No that’s no–,” she shook her head.

“It’s fine! My love language is quality time, and there’s nothing wrong—.”

“No it’s different–.”

“It’s not! It’s fi—.”

“It’s because I like you,” she blurted out.

Oh. You couldn’t help but smile at her confession.

“It’s not funny!” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“I’m not laughing! I’m… happy about this outcome,” you rested your head against her arms and looked up. “Because I like you too Clarisse.”

“Really?” she stared at you.

You nodded.

“I’m sorry about ignoring you,” she added.

“Mmh,” you smiled, “I accept your apology. But you’ll have to make it up to me.”

“Anything you want.”

“A kiss?”

Clarisse uncrossed her arms and held your face instead and leaned in to kiss you eagerly. And you happily gave in, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“Mmh, keep doing that and I’ll forgive you, no doubt.”

#clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue fanfic #clarisse x you #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue pjo #clarisse la rue fluff #clarisse la rue #pjo x reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue x fem!reader

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thekeystothebasement · 1 year

Text

Que Va a Pedir La Princesa? (What's the Princess going to ask for?)

Pairings: Phillip Graves x Alejandro's daughter reader

Word Count: 6,442

Warnings: SMUT! Loss of virginity, degradation, dacryphilia, overstimulation, choking, unprotected sex, breeding, and more.

A/n: AHHHH!!! I did it! It's finished! Let me know what yall think, especially the spicy scenes. It's been a while since I wrote anything smutty. I definitely recommend to listen La Nina Fresa by Banda Machos and Playing Dangerous by Lana Del Rey. It's what I was listening to while writing. There are some Spanish phrases and I will try my best to provide translations at the end of the fic.

After capturing Hassan and not long after that, having to set him loose, Shadow Company, Taskforce 141, Los vaqueros decided to let out their frustrations in Alexandro’s base. Carrying cases of liquor, tequila, and a variety of beer into the base and celebrating their semi-victorious mission.

Graves watched as his men drank amongst Los vaqueros and laughed amongst each other. His attention was soon brought back to the table of men he was sitting amongst. Alexandro, Ghost, Soap, and Rudy.

It was evident that Alexandro has had too much to drink, the bottles of beer and a nearly empty bottle of tequila as proof of how much he had. His words were starting to slur and his sentence nearly incoherent.

“My sweet, preciosa princesa…” he wailed. His head against the worn-down wood table. “She’s growing up to quickly…pinche cabrones…” he was starting to mumble, his words, the rest of his sentences lost to the men around him except Rudy.

“The capitán gets very emotional when talking about his daughter” Rudy explained, with worry on his face when looking at Alexandro. “He recently noticed that his daughter has some admirers…and she seems to love the attention.”

Suddenly Alejandro grabs Rudy’s shoulders and shakes him as Alejandro continues to rant. “Hermano, mi princesa…protegerla de esos animales.”

“Same goes for you all. If you ever see my daughter near another man, you have my permission to kill him…” he said with such intensity in his eyes. “Mi Princesa is my world, she’s my only hija and no man is good enough for her.”

All the men around the table nodded their heads to Alejandro’s words, somewhat understanding his frustration, all except Graves whose mind was elsewhere. Maybe if he had heard Alejandro’s rant, he could’ve spared himself the trouble that was yet to come.

Graves continues to zone in and out of the conversation in front of him, his eyes wandering around the room, his mind trying to make sense of the music playing, understanding every other word. Graves takes a sip of his beer as he tries his best to listen to Alejandro’s and Rudy’s stories but couldn’t help the feeling as if he’s being watched.

Graves looks away from the men at the table and his eyes travel around the room until they stop at you. You were sitting on the hood of one of the jeeps that were inside of the base, your legs swinging over the edge. You were all by yourself, the only thing keeping you company was the nearly empty bottle of beer you held in between your lap. He makes eye contact with you and notices the way your eyes widen, a blush forms on your cheeks, and the way you straighten up once you realize his attention is on you.

His eyes roam across your body. He notices the very short skirt you’re wearing, if you were to spread your legs a bit further, he would be able to see your underwear. He takes note of the cropped and low-cut top you’re wearing. Your dark hair is braided into two pigtails with ribbon incorporated into the braids. He noticed you were the youngest in the base. Far too young to even buy alcohol in the states, but old enough for Mexico.

He stares into your eyes again and couldn’t help but smirk at the way you squirm and quickly look away, watching as your face turns red.

His attention is back to the men at the table and noticed Alejandro had fallen asleep, his face planted against the table. Rudy continues to tell his story about how he met Alejandro during his training days, Graves trying his best to listen until he felt his side being nudged by the Scott beside him.

“I saw the way that lass was looking at you mate.” Soap said with a smirk and intentionally raised his eyebrows. Graves raised his eyebrows in return, waiting for the Scott to continue. “You should go over there, mate. Aye, you could even get lucky tonight.” Soap roughly slapped Phillips’s back.

Rudy overhears Soaps and Phillip’s conversation and stops his story.

“Who’s the lady?” Rudy asks as his eyes begin to wander around the room. “We need to help a Hermano out if this is true.”

“The young lass over there by the Jeep.” Soap exclaims while shaking his head toward where you were sitting. Graves should’ve noticed the way Rudy’s eyes widen in fear and the face of worry spreading across his face, but he didn’t, his eyes remained on you.

“No no no no. You must stay away from her. She’s---” Rudy was caught off by the sound of Alejandro jolting awake and violently coughing. It wasn’t the first time Rodolfo was with Alejandro when he had too many drinks, he knew what was coming if he didn’t lead him to a restroom. Rudy was quick to get on his feet and lead Alejandro away from the table before he emptied his stomach in front of his men.

Ghost stood up from his seat, “I’d stay away from her. She looks like she is nothing but trouble.” Ghost explained, looking in your direction before leaving the two men alone, calling it a night.

“Don’t listen to them mate. They ain’t nothing but cockblocks.” Soap mumbled; his lips pressed against the top of the beer bottle. “I’d walk over there and lean against the Jeep. Call her darling and watch as she blushes and squirms with the nickname. Maybe have my hand on her knee and the other on her waist. Eventually, My hand would slowl-“

“Fucking Hell, stop right there. I don’t want to hear how you’re gonna fuck her.” Graves cursed out. “Besides I’m far too old for her. Probably couldn’t handle the way I was eyeing her.”

Both men look back in your direction and they both couldn’t deny the way you were looking at the commander of the Shadow Company. Your eyes-maintained eye contact with his, the way you were batting your lashes at him, and the way your eyes innocently looked him up and down and lingered between his legs.

“Fucking hell. That lass is stripping you naked in her mind.”

Graves didn’t reply, his attention remained on you. He watched closely as your eyes looked around the room before stopping again at Graves. He watched as you bit your lip, the blush on your cheeks turning a furious shade of red as you slowly spread your legs.

Graves felt his dick twitch in his pants, ignoring the curses that were coming out of the mouth of the Scott beside him.

His eyes focused between your legs, the skirt rising higher and higher until suddenly the bottle you held in your hands was placed right between your thighs, blocking the sight of your panties. His eyes went back to your eyes, noting the mischievous look in your eyes.

If Graves were paying attention to his surroundings, maybe he would’ve noticed the shocked stares from the members of Los Vaqueros, the hushed whispers among themselves. His full attention was on you, the light from behind you made you look like an angel, but Los Vaqueros knew you were the devil in disguise.

They knew you were forbidden fruit; you were the serpent from Adam and Eve.

Los Vaqueros knew they were about to be witnesses to your serpent tongue, luring Graves to your forbidden fruit, oblivious to the consequences he will face with God.

Los Vaqueros watched intently as Graves stood from his seat and walked his way towards you, all of Alejandro’s men curious as to where this interaction would go.

———

You watched as Graves walked up towards you; each step he took radiated the confidence he carried. You watched as he leaned beside the Jeep you were seated on top of. You looked down at him and sent him a sickeningly sweet smile. You couldn’t help but enjoy the leverage that came with sitting on the hood of the car, your seated position on the hood had the man before you look up to you. Making it even easier for him to fall into your hands.

“What bring you here güero.” You teased as your hand slowly crept up his arm.

“Keeping you company, beautiful. You seemed awfully lonely over here.” He said as he moved from his spot on the side of the Jeep and instead took the spot between your legs. His hands now resting on your knees, noticing the way your legs jumped at the feeling of his warm hands on your skin. “That empty bottle keeping you company?”

You looked down at him as he looked up at you, his blue eyes reminding you of a needy puppy wanting attention. “It was but I guess you’ll do for now” You replied as your hands traveled to his head and played with his hair. You shivered at the feeling of his breath against your thighs as his head rested against the hood of Jeep, shaking his head and low chuckles escaping his lips. “Mi Papi is so protective of me. He’s scared all the men away from me.” You whined.

“And who’s your ‘Papi’?” Graves asked, looking up at you curiously as his hand slowly traveled up and away from your knee and rested on your thigh.

“If I tell you you’ll leave me too.” You pouted.

“Nothing scares me, princess.” He mumbled against the skin of your thigh, the stubble tickling your skin.

“Really? Nothing scares you?” You asked innocently. You leaned forward, placing your hands on his arms. “But my Papi is a very scary man. I’d even call him a monster”

“Monster? That’s a little harsh ain’t it?” he asked with raised eyebrows. He watched as you shook your head no and laughed at your reaction. His grip on your thighs tightened before releasing them and holding your hands instead. “Well, if a monster is hiding you away, well then it’s my duty to save the sweet and docile princess, isn’t that right.”

“Ah, the güero as my knight in shining armor?” You placed your hand under your chin in a thinking manner, bit your lip, and pretended to think about his words. “Hmmm…I guess you’ll do but you have to prove your worth to me.” You said, looking deep into the man’s eyes.

“Why would I leave the monster who’s protected me for so long and follow a Knight who might not even be able to protect me and treat me like the princess I am.” You said why squeezing his hands before shoving them off you. “I am quite the spoiled princess.”

“Spoiled and bratty.” Graves commented. “But whatever the princess desires I will deliver.” He gently grasped your hand and pecked a kiss on the back of your hand.

You watched as he took a step back, giving you the chance to slide off the hood of the car and stand before him, the height leverage you had was gone. Suddenly feeling a lot smaller under his lustful gaze. You looked up at him, innocently batting your lashes.

“What this princess wants…” you leaned in close to him, your breasts pressed against him, your hand resting on his chest. “… is for you to pleasure her.” You heard him curse under his breath, enjoying the way his eyes squeezed shut at your words.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into baby.” He whispered into your ear, one hand holding onto your waist while the other on your lower back.

“I think I do, commander,” you said sternly.

“Once I get my hands on you, you’ll be crying for your daddy to come to save you.” He muttered against your ear. His hand slowly travels lower and lower until it’s resting on your ass.

“I don’t need my Papi to save me.” You teased back. “I’m a big girl, I can handle it.” Your hand traveled from his chest to the area between his legs, softly squeezing the growing bulge between his legs.

Los Vaqueros watched as you led the commander of the Shadow Company to his grave.

“Eso Gringo tiene el Muerte esperándolo”

A chorus of laughter can be heard as the men from the shadow company sat confused.

“What does that mean?”

“That white man has death waiting for him.” a member of Los Vaqueros explained.

“He’s about to fuck the only daughter of Alejandro Vargas, our Capitán.”

———

Graves followed behind you as you led him down a corridor with doors every few feet. His eyes constantly roam up and down your body. Your long legs, your plush thighs, the skirt bouncing with your every step, your lower back exposed due to the top you were wearing.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you.

Suddenly you twirled to look at him, walking backward slowly until coming to a complete stop.

“What’s wrong? Having second thoughts?” Phillip asked, looking for any uncertainty on your face.

You shook your head before answering him.

“No. I want to do this. But my room or yours? I might have a monster waiting under my bed.” You said while twirling the end of your pigtail.

“We wouldn’t want that now, would we? “Graves replied. He walked up to you, turned you around, placed his hand on your lower back, and led you to his room where he was staying temporarily.

You read the names on each plaque that was placed on the door of each room.

Riley

‘…’

McTavish

‘…’

Parra

‘Oh,’ You thought to yourself.

Vargas

‘No mames,’ you cursed to yourself.

Graves

While Graves fished for the key in the pocket of his jean, you glanced around the corridor, paranoid that your father could step out of his room at any moment. That your father could appear right behind you, hell you worried that his second-in-command was watching you and waiting for the opportunity to snitch on you.

As soon as you heard the door click to Graves’s room, signaling that he had unlocked it. You shoved yourself to his room and pulled him in before closing the door shut.

“So eager for me?” Graves asked, slightly startled at the speed you pulled him into his room.

“I’m just impatient.” You replied. “My daddy never made me wait for what I wanted.”

“Is that so?” Graves asked. He watched as you sat at the edge of the bed. His eyes roamed your body as you stretched your arms, letting your body fall into his bed and letting out a contempt sigh at the feeling of the soft mattress on your back.

“What’s the hold-up gringo?” You asked, holding your upper body on your elbows. “I don’t like to wait.”

You watched carefully as Graves walked up to your body before deciding to kneel between your spread legs.

“Such a fucking spoiled princess. Your father did such a poor job of raising you.” He commented as he removed your shoes and socks. “But I’m no better. Following your every wish.” You shivered at his soft pecks that started at your ankles and led up to your thighs.

You shut your eyes, trying your best to control your breathing as you felt his hands pulling at the end of your skirt, and letting it rest at your ankles. You squeezed your legs shut as you felt his fingers resting on the elastic of your panties.

“You’re acting as if you’ve never been touched before baby.” Graves looked up at you and watched as your eyes widen at his words. “Jesus Christ” he whispered.

Suddenly both of your thighs were gripped harshly and forcibly spread apart. You watched Graves process your reaction to his words. “Never?” He asked.

“Never.” You responded bashfully. “Like I said my Papi chased all the boys away. Besides, I’ve wanted the touch of a real man, not from a boy.”

“You’ll show me the touch of a real man, right?” you asked. You were unsure if the fact that you were a virgin affected anything.

“Whatever the Princess wants,” he muttered against the skin of your thighs, his hot breath hitting your entrance through your panties. “She gets.”

You whimpered at the feeling of a soft kiss he left through your panties. Your breathing quickly becomes labored as he continues to kiss and suck at your thighs, bruises slowly forming. You whined as the man between your legs continued to peck kisses at your covered pussy, sometimes even blowing air just to get a rise out of you.

“C’mon baby, keep making those pretty little noises. Let me know I’m spoiling the Princess the way she should be.” He mumbled; his lips pressed once again at the fabric of your underwear.

After minutes of endless teasing, you shuddered at the feeling of his fingers tugging at the elastic of your underwear. You felt him slowly pull down your underwear and watched it fall from your legs. The panties that were once covering the most intimate part of your body now rested on the fingertips of the man before you.

“Fucking hell, look just how wet you are baby.” He cursed as he examined the wet patch on your panty. “Looks like you fucking pissed yourself.”

“S-shut up, fucking pendejo” You stuttered out, embarrassed at his choice of words. Your cheeks flared at hearing him laugh.

“Sorry, princess. Daddy didn’t mean to upset you.” He said as he spread your legs further and hauled them over his shoulders. You squeaked at his rough treatment when he gripped your hips and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed. “Let me make it up to you.”

Not even having a second to process his words you let out a loud moan that had you covering your mouth. You didn’t even know you were capable of moaning so loudly, but how could you not when his tongue licked at your folds? Sucking at your arousal like a starved man. You whine and whimper at the feeling of his mouth on your pussy. Your hands harshly grip the bed sheets as you start to squirm. The stubble on his face adds to the pleasure as it tickles your body.

“F-fuck” You whined as your hands moved to his hair. Your finger raking through his hair as you start to tug. You feel as if your eyes roll to the back of your head as you heard him growl, sending vibrations to your core. “Please…daddy…. hah” you moaned.

Involuntarily, your body lunges forward as you felt his thumb rest on your clit. You cried out when you felt him press down and move his thumb in a circular manner. Tears were rolling down your face, the pleasure was too much for you. You hadn’t noticed you were trying to push yourself away from his mouth until you felt a harsh blow to your pussy.

You looked down at him with tears in your eyes. Shocked that he even decided to smack you on your pussy.

“You’re gonna fucking take it, sweetheart.” He stood up from his position and leaned over to you and harshly gripped your jaw. “I don’t want you to whine or complain that it’s too much. If you even dare to push me away again, I’ll go fucking find your Papi and tell him his spoiled little princess is trying to act like a big girl and ask for things she can’t handle. Am I clear?”

You shook your head yes and wiped away your tears. You whimpered again when he landed another blow to your pussy.

“Use your words, princess. Am I clear?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Atta girl." he grinned down at you before resuming his position between your legs. His mouth wastes no time to devour you once again. You whimpered and panted at the feeling of his lips against your folds, his tongue licking at your arousal. His face was buried deep into your thighs, his nose pressed against your throbbing bead.

“Ah! So, f-fuckin good…ai Papi…” you cried out. You started to buck your hips against his mouth, eagerly trying to find your high. Your legs started to feel numb, and your moans got higher and much more frequent.

“So, fucking wet baby.” Graves muttered against your folds. Anything below his nose was drenched in your fluids. His teeth tugged at your clit, and you cried out at the sting. “Gonna fucking cum baby?”

“yes yes yes yes” you chanted. You squeezed your legs shut around his neck, bringing him closer and in place. You were close, you couldn’t stop squirming, tears rapidly falling down your face, and incoherent curses escaping your lips.

The way your thighs were squeezing his head, he could die at any moment, and he wouldn’t mind. He could see the epitaph on his headstone,

Died doing what he enjoyed the most, eating wet pussy.

Pecking a soft kiss on your clit had you squirting on his face. Your thighs squeezed around his head, and shortly after your legs laid limply on his shoulders, your mouth was wide open, but no sounds were coming out, your eyes were rolled back, and your body was left trembling.

Phillip stood up from between your legs, a wide grin on his face. His shirt that he was wearing was completely soaked from your juices. He couldn’t help but laugh as you were quietly chanting ‘Papi’ repeatedly.

“Your Papi isn’t coming to save you.” Phillip teased as he gently smacked and played with the flesh of your inner thighs. “Besides, isn’t this what the Princess wanted? For me, to pleasure her?”

You looked up at him with glossy eyes and gently smiled at him.

“Keeping going,” you breathed out. “I’m…still not satisfied.

Graves looked down at your tired-out body. “You’re biting more than you can chew, princess.”

He watched as you wobbly got on your knees and reached over to him. He sat beside you and watched as your small fingers tried to unbutton his shirt, whining at your failed attempt, and just tugging at the ends. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes and a pout on your lips. “Use your words, princess. What do you want?”

“Take your clothes off. I want to please you too.” You whined. You whimpered when he harshly gripped your chin and squeezed your cheeks together, forming an o-shape with your lips. His thumb traced your glossy lips.

“Didn’t your Papi teach you some manners?” Graves asked, looking down at your smaller form.

“Por favor, senor.” You begged. Graves let out a small laugh, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before pulling away and stripping himself from his clothes. You quickly did the same to the few clothes you had left. Pulling your top off and reaching your hands back to unclasp your white lace bra. Your breasts slightly bouncing after being freed from their restraints. By the time you had finished removing your bra, Graves had already finished removing his clothing, leaving him in his briefs.

You smiled as you saw his eyes roam your naked body, his eyes lingering on your breasts. You gently pushed yourself off the bed and kneeled before him. Your mouth-watering as you eye the hard bulge that was being restrained by his briefs. Your hands resting on his thighs, your lustful eyes looking up at his.

“Can I?” you asked. Your fingers trail closer and closer to your destination.

“I’m all your baby.”

With shaky fingers, you pulled at the elastic band and gasped at his tip smacking against your cheek. You looked up at him with wide eyes, shocked at how well-endowed he was.

“So big” you whispered in shock.

“Only the best for the princess.”

You looked back down at his cock and licked your lips before pressing small kisses starting from the base and all the way to the tip. Gasps and soft moans escaped his mouth at your gentle touch.

“What would your Papi think if he saw you with a cock in your mouth,” Phillip asked, his hand gently resting on the top of your head.

“He’d kill you.” You muttered against his tip, swallowing the tip whole, stopping Graves from forming any more thoughts. Your mouth, so wet and warm, gently sucking at his big tip. His eyes were squeezed shut as he bit his lip from the pleasure of your mouth. You gently sucked and licked at the tip, reminding you of the countless times when you would tease Los Vaqueros. Sucking and licking a popsicle your father had given you. Humming and eyeing Rodolpho whose eyes would linger on your lips before noticing the evil glint in your eyes.

Suddenly you found yourself gagging, your wide eyes looking up at the male in front of you. His head tilted and looking down at you with a wide grin.

“Stop with the teasing, baby.” He said playfully. “Or am I going to have to do everything for you?”

Not answering his question, you opened your mouth wide and tried your best to fit him all in your mouth. Tears pricked at your eyes; he was far too big for your mouth, but you lived to satisfy. Trying to suppress your gags, his tip hitting the back of your throat, you started to bob your head up and down his length. Your tongue swirling all over his length and humming in satisfaction from the quiet moans and grunts that escaped Phillip’s lips.

“So, fucking good princess…. fucking hell…” he cursed. “If I didn’t know any better, this isn’t your first time using that pretty mouth of yours.”

You pulled away from his cock and innocently batted your lashes at him. “I’ve had a lot of practice on some popsicles. Those seemed to be Rodolpho’s favorite treat to give me, but I’ll always end up in a mess.”

Your words elicited a laugh from the man. “Such a fucking tease. No wonder your Papi kept you locked up.” Graves didn’t give you the time to reply to his words before thrusting his hips into your mouth, you gagged and whined around his length at the sudden intrusion. His hand harshly gripped the back of your head and set a steady pace for you to suck him off.

Tears were spilling down your face, drool escaping the sides of your lips. Your hands claw at his thighs, your nails digging into his skin. Your eyes stared at his eyes while you sucked him off. You hummed around his length.

“C’mon, baby…c’mon, baby…c’mon baby…” he cursed out. “Fuuuck.”

You hummed at the praise and squeezed your eyes shut in pleasure. Your left hand held onto his thigh while your right hand found its way to your clit, teasing yourself. With one last final thrust, he snapped his hips, his cock reaching the back of your throat, leaving you gagging and coughing. Spurts of cum spewing into your mouth. You looked up into his eyes as you swallowed as best as you could.

You pulled away from his cock, making a loud ‘pop’ as your lips left his tip. You showered his dick with small kitten kisses, mumbling thank you repeatedly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you muttered one last time before leaving a big kiss on the tip. You stood back on your feet and stood on your tippy toes, pouting your lips at Phillip, waiting for a kiss from him. Phillip moved a hand to cup your jaw while the other found its way to your waist. He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, you eagerly reciprocated the kiss. Your tongues fighting for dominance.

You felt his body pushing you closer and closer to the edge of the bed until the back of your knees hit the mattress and you find yourself sprawled on the bed. You watched as Phillip slowly leaned over your body, his arms on either side of your head, caging you in. His face nestled in the side of your neck, sucking, and licking at your neck, leaving you whimpering and squirming under his touch. Your hand finds shelter in his hair while the other scratches at his back.

His hips rutted against yours, his hardened cock teasing at your entrance, your slick arousal making it easier for your slit to be teased. The tip of his cock occasionally hits your clit, leaving you shuddering. Your legs locked together behind his back, keeping him pressed against you.

“So, fucking good for me princess. Are you enjoying the touch of a man?” he asked, his lips now pressed against your breast. His mouth sucking on one breast while his hand tugs and pinches at your other.

“Please just fuck me…. please” you begged. “I can’t take it anymore. Use me.” You whined into his neck. You couldn’t handle the way his hips rutted against yours, teasing your entrance, you just wanted him inside. You wanted to be fucked.

“Use you?” Graves asked, he slightly pulled away from your hold and looked at your needy face. “I don’t think your Papi would like it if I didn’t treat his Princess with care. Got to return you in one piece.” he teased as he turned your body around, leaving you to lay on your stomach.

“I’m not a fucking princess. I’m yours.” You sobbed. “My pussy is yours. I want you to fuck me as you own me. I want to be treated like a whore. Your personal slut.” You rambled. You raised your hips and leaned your ass against his cock.

“Stop treating me like a princess…” you cried out. “…and just fuck me.”

Without hesitation or warning, Phillip snapped his hips into you, his cock sliding into your pussy with ease. You harshly gripped the sheets and screamed out into the mattress. You had your face pressed against the mattress as tears trailed down your face, crying out at the sudden intrusion at your virgin pussy. Your cunt stretched around his cock, despite the arousal that led to a quick intrusion. Your face was roughly pulled off the mattress, his hands having a tight hold on your now loose braids and pulling back on them.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? To be fucked and used.” He asked as he leaned over your shoulder and whispered into your ear. “I’m not going to go gentle on you, that’s for princesses, and you’re not a princess. You’re a fucking slut.”

He started to thrust into you at a fast pace, one hand holding onto your braids while the other held your hips. Your moans and cries echoed across the room; Phillip wouldn’t be surprised if the rooms surrounding his could hear you.

“So, fucking tight...” Graves cursed, his eyes shut tight at the way your pussy clenched around his cock, making it difficult to thrust in and out. “Gonna fucking ruin you, baby.” He hissed out. His hand smacked against your ass, leaving a red imprint shaped like his hand.

You were fucking drunk on his cock. Blabbering incoherent words as drool spilled from your lips, your eyes wide open and rolled to the back of your skull.

“So…f-full…. s-shit…” you moaned. His thrusts never faltered, his hips snapping brutally against you as his hand smacked at your ass and watched as a nice red slowly spreads on your skin. “So, fucking good daddy…fuck”

You felt as if your breath was knocked out of you, your cunt squeezed around him that him moaning. He knew he had found your sweet spot, the way you whined as he repeatedly hit the same spot over and over that left you pleading was proof enough.

“I-I…. can’t…it’s too much…” you sobbed. You squirmed, trying to get out of his hold that only had him pulling at your braids even harder, holding you in place. “Please…. I can’t…. Papi” you cried out.

Hearing you cry out for your father, Phillip landed three hard blows to your ass that left you creaming around his cock. Your body shuddered as you moaned loudly as you reached your high. Your body went limp, Graves pulled your body closer to him. Your back flushed against his chest as his hand gripped your throat which elicited a whimper from you. You continued to softly chant ‘Papi’ under your breath as you felt your consciousness drift.

“What the fuck did I say?” Graves growled into your ear. “Your Papi isn’t coming to save you so suck it up, baby. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

You could only shake your head and whine.

“Inside…” you whispered.

“Inside?” Graves smirked against the skin on your neck. “Want my cum inside this wet pussy?”

“Yes daddy…fuck your babies into me…” you whined. You felt your cunt clench on his cock again, you were nearing your second orgasm. Phillip groaned at your words and imagined your belly round with his kid. His pace started to falter, sloppily thrusting into you, his cock throbbing and ready to burst inside of you.

“Fucking hell…gonna cum inside this fucking wet pussy…” his hips harshly snapping into you, your ass jiggling on impact. “Fuck my babies into you…make you a mommy. You’re stomach gonna be round with my child.”

“Yes, please daddy. I want to be a mommy. Claim me with your cum” you moaned before feeling spurts of cum spraying inside of you. Your body convulsed as you reached your high once again, you felt yourself squirting, drenching Phillip’s thighs, and the sheets below you form a small puddle from your fluids.

Phillip let go of his hold on you and watched as you fell forward into the mattress. You were beyond exhausted and quickly found yourself drifting off to sleep, leaving Phillip alone with his thoughts.

Phillip just stood over your body for a few minutes, catching his breath and analyzing your body. His cum was slowly gushing out of your cunt and spilling down your thighs mixing with your arousal and cum. Bruises littered your body. Some bigger bruises could be found on your knees, while smaller bruises shaped like his fingertips could be seen on your thighs, hips, waist, and your neck. Hickies were scattered around, only being able to differentiate between a bruise and a hickey would be the small teeth marks that can be found with each hickey.

Unknowingly, Graves had just finished deflowering the only daughter of Alejandro Vargas. His princess whom he spoiled rotten and constantly praised to his men. His daughter could do no wrong in his eyes. Alejandro unknowingly slept soundly next door as his daughter teased the commander of the Shadow Company into fucking her and filling her with his seed. The very same daughter who’s comfortably sleeping in the arms of her lover, the cum of her lover still very much inside of her.

-------

“Who’s your father?” Graves asked. You snuggled deeper into his chest; your leg was thrown over his.

“Don’t worry about it.” You groaned. “Let me sleep.” You complained as you pulled the covers back onto your body and shut your eyes.

“Give me a hint baby,” Phillip begged as he littered kisses on your forehead, trying to make you open your eyes. “I won’t be able to concentrate on my mission, all I will be able to think is who’s the unlucky man with such a fucking tease of a daughter.”

“Ponte las pilas guey.” You grumbled as you turned to face away from him, trying to get some extra minutes of sleep. Your next words left the commander uneasy. “Who’s the man that Los Vaqueros respect the most?”

You had drifted off to sleep, leaving the commander to get ready for his meeting with your father and with the two men from taskforce 141.

For the first time in a long time, Phillip Graves dreaded the day ahead of him.

------

The entire compound of Los Vaqueros was filled with shouts from Alejandro. Anybody who was in the compound when the shouting started, knew of the grave mistake that the commander of the Shadow Company had done.

“YOU FUCKED MY PRINCESA! MY DAUGHTER!” Alejandro shouted. He was being held back by Rodolpho and Ghost while Soap stood by the side and watched the interaction.

“I didn’t know she was your daughter.” Phillip reasoned. “It was an honest make. She came onto me.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are cabron? Lying to my face. My hija would do no such thing.” Alejandro shouted back. “She’s a fucking saint, an angel.”

You stood behind your father, looking down and playing with the ends of Grave’s shirt that he lent to you, listening to your lover and father argue. If only you had waited just another five minutes before leaving Phillip’s room, then perhaps you wouldn’t have crossed paths with your father who was walking down the corridor with Rodolpho, Ghost, Soap, and Graves behind him.

“With all due respect Alejandro, your daughter is the farthest thing from a saint.” Graves said, his finger pointed at you.

“I’ll fucking kill you gringo.” Alejandro shouted

“But Papi” you cried out. You were hugging your father from behind, burying your face into his back. “He promised he’ll take care of me. He’ll take care of his babies that resulted from our lovemaking.” You whined while placing your hands over your stomach.

Graves couldn’t believe the words that came out of your mouth. You were trying to pin it all on him.

You were the devil, a fucking serpent.

You choose your words wisely, deflecting any responsibility and any of Alejandro’s anger that he had for you fell onto Graves. Making yourself seem like your father’s sweet, oblivious, and innocent princesa. Making it seem as if you fell for the lies of a white man. As if you weren’t the one eagerly spreading your legs and begging him to fill you with his cum.

Graves noticed the small smirk on your face when Alejandro continued to try and break away from the hold of the two men holding him back.

“Don’t do that. Don’t…do that. Don’t you dare lie to your father and pin this all on me. You were the one spreading your legs.” Graves shouted at you with an accusatory finger.

You pouted at his words as tears started to prick at your eyes, hugging your father from behind as you cried and muttered that the gringo had tricked you.

Los Vaqueros snickered at the commotion while the men from the Shadow Company sighed at their commander’s mistake.

You were a serpent, you lured Phillip Graves into taking a bit of your apple, and his punishment from God waits for him.

------

*Translations are not 100% accurate, some are adjusted to help translate over better*

Translations:

"preciosa princesa" (Precious princess)

"Pinche cabrones" ( fucking bastards)

"Hermano, mi princesa…protegerla de esos animales.” (Brother, my princess, protect her from these animals)

"hija" (Daughter)

"güero" (White man)( light-skinned) (blonde man)

"Papi" (father) (dad) (daddy)

"no mames" (got to be fucking kidding me)

"Gringo" (White man)

"ponte las pilas guey" ( put on the batteries dude)( use your head)

Tag List:

@churchofrain @bbaengtan @mortylover @ghostly-thorn

#phillip graves smut #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves #cod imagine #cod x reader #cod x you #cod smut #alejandro vargas #shadow company #simon riley smut

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fayes-fics · 3 months

Text

When The World Is Free: Chapter 1 - Sous le ciel de Paris

MASTERPOST | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Welcome to the start of my new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please note that while I do have a plotted outline, I will be posting chapters as I write them, and I expect that process to take quite a few months. Please bear with me! This first chapter sets up the story - reader moving to Paris in the summer of 1939 and bonding with her new flatmate, Eloise Bridgerton. Please note that Benedict won't be turning up for a couple of chapters yet. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

August 1939

Emerging from the underground Trocadero metro stop, you round the corner of the recently completed, gleaming Palais de Chaillot and stop dead in your tracks. There before you is the most iconic landmark of Paris. Perhaps all of France.

La Tour Eiffel.

Breathtaking in its metallic magnificence, glowing in the setting sun. A sight that buoys your travel-weary soul seven days after you left New York: boats and trains finally bringing you to this wondrous spot. A light breeze even dances over your neck in greeting, a balm from the cloying subterranean heat of the metro.

It's a light elbow check to your arm that pulls you back from a state of reverie.

“A beautiful sight, but one you’ll get used to,” your uncle Robert chuckles, shaking your heavy leather case to indicate it's time to move along. “In fact, I've been told you will be able to see it from your appartement…”

He has accompanied you to Paris and will see you settled into your new adventures before continuing on to visit friends in England. He spent the roaring 20s living right here in the 16th arrondissement himself and, indeed, has arranged for you to share living quarters with a young British lady, a relative of his English friends. It's a comfort to know you’ll have at least one English speaker to chat with as you dive headfirst into learning proper French as you go.

Robert leads you away from the amazing sight and into the bustling streets, alive with cars, trams, bicycles and pedestrians buzzing in all directions. It's all at once like New York City, but yet so different as well, cafe terraces filling the wide pavements with all manner of people gathered to sip robust cafe au lait and refreshing limonade.

Within minutes, you are on a quieter side street and stopping outside a handsome honey-coloured stone facade with wrought iron window balconies and window guards, teaming with colourful, fragrant flowering pots. The number 14 gleaming white on a traditional navy blue tile. Your uncle pushes the enormous wooden door open, beckoning you into a cool whitewash wall corridor with mosaic floor tiles.

“Ahhh, Robert!!” a sophisticated middle-aged lady bustles from a nearby doorway and greets your uncle warmly, kissing both cheeks. It would appear they are friends of old.

“Y/n, this is Madam DuLac, your landlady,” he explains as you offer a handshake, admiring her boucle jacket and chic bun.

“Qu’est-ce?” she signals with a good-natured frown, obviously finding your polite greeting lacking, pulling you into a hug and two-cheeked kiss. She smells like Chanel perfume, cigarettes and baked goods. “You are in Paris now, ma chérie; this is how we greet one another,” she counsels in heavily accented but perfect English.

“You speak English?” you sigh, relieved, your French decidedly lacking.

“Bien sûr,” she smiles. “And please call me Solène,” she adds with a friendly smile.

“Eloise should be home from the library maintenant; the perfect time for you to meet,” she gestures towards an elevator cage surrounded by a sweeping grey marble staircase.

“I think I would prefer to take the stairs,” you admit, nerves flaring at the idea of such a contraption.

Your uncle laughs. “Well, I am taking it; I am not hefting this case of yours up five flights of stairs,” he adds dryly as you gaze up the swirling stairwell.

“Five storeys?” you squeak.

“The view is the best from the top,” Solène advises as she rattles back the cage entry and steps in, looking at you expectantly.

Reluctantly, you follow, all three of you and your luggage crammed into the metal cage as it jerks to life and begins its ascent.

“You will get used to it,” Solène smiles as she reads the apprehension on your face, your vice-like grip on your small vanity case and handbag.

Luckily, the lift reaches your destination safely. One shudder before it stops, and the door concertinas back in Solène’s hand to reveal a sweeping hallway with doors left and right.

“Ici,” she signals, the last door on the right-hand side.

But before you can knock, the door peels open, and a pretty, petite brunette jumps in surprise, dropping the book she is holding.

“Pardon,” she offers in perfect accented French, and you wonder for a split second if it is the correct apartment.

“Eloise, this is y/n,” Solène gestures.

“Ohhh, hello,” she grins, and the whiplash back to a plummy British accent is momentarily confusing. “I was about to go read in the courtyard, thought you might not be turning up today. Anyway… come in, come in!”

You shake her proffered hand as she ushers you into the apartment. Instantly, you feel a warmth spreading in your belly, like you have come home. It's light and airy, with large windows looking out across the Parisian rooftops, and yes, to the left is indeed the Eiffel Tower, still gleaming in the fading evening light. But the place also feels homely, that sort of messy that is lived in, comfortable. A large velvet sofa with tumbling stacks of books around it, a little kitchenette awash with colourful enamel cookware, and a jumble of art deco posters and random paintings adorning the walls.

“Solène, I don't suppose you've baked any more of those rather delicious madeleines, have you? To welcome my new housemate?” Eloise pipes up with a chipper, conspiratorial wink your way.

You already like her.

“Effronte!” Solène exclaims with fond exasperation before pausing. “There may be some…”

“I remember those!” your uncle adds with a tinge of nostalgia as he drops your suitcase. “You are in for such a treat, y/n.”

“Well, while our landlady decides if she’s willing to share the treats she has obviously baked but is being coy about…”Eloise raises a pointed eyebrow at the woman before returning to you. “...let me show you your room, then maybe a drink? I'm sure it's been a long journey.”

You nod and, with an exchange of grins, follow her down a corridor. She sweeps open the door to a lovely room, a large double bed with matching bedside tables and a dresser. But best of all, french doors onto a Juliet balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard filled with a riot of birch trees, their leaves gently rustling in the evening breeze.

“Mostly, it’s pesky pigeons down there, but you do get the occasional blackbird singing in the morning,” Eloise smiles as if intuiting your thoughts.

You spend some moments wandering the room and checking out the various fixtures, running idle hands over the furniture, already feeling remarkably at home with your new housemate and, indeed, your new home for the next twelve months.

“I'm just next door,” Eloise reveals, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.

Your uncle appears in the doorway to announce that he and Solène are off to catch up as you unpack and suggests you all reunite for dinner later at a local bistro. It all sounds so very Parisian chic; you cannot wait.

“So tell me about yourself,” Eloise flops onto your bed, already wonderfully casual in your presence, as you open your case and the wardrobe to unpack.

“I’m y/n. I'm from a little town on Long Island called Patchogue, about fifty miles outside New York City. I'm 22…”

“Me too!” she interjects, then signals for you to proceed.

“I wanted to see the world before I settled down. And I’ve dreamed of living in Paris since I was a little girl...” You feel your eyes misting at the fact it's now finally coming true as you continue. “So my parents agreed to pay for me to come to Paris for a year. Under the strict agreement, I get married when I return…”

“You have a fiancé?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Stanley. We practically grew up together, and we’ve been going steady since we were eighteen.”

“Going steady? That's so American,” Eloise chuckles.

You nod with a giggle, then continue. “He hasn't proposed formally yet, says he is saving up for a ‘real nice’ ring, but it will happen. He is the son of my dad’s business partner. They run a construction company. So, while I'm here, they are building a home for us to live in when I return. We will get married next summer and move right in.”

“You don't mind?” Eloise frowns.

“Don’t mind what?” you query as you hang up your favourite dress.

“That your future is so… plotted out. I couldn't bear the idea. It's why I think my mother let me move to Paris. She was so fed up with me refusing to settle down.” Eloise laughs, idly flicking through the magazine you were reading on your journey.

“I suppose I've never really expected anything else,” you shrug, pausing as you put away your hosiery, but her words make you contemplative. “You don't have a boyfriend back home?”

“God, no. Too many pretty Frenchmen to entertain me here,” she winks. “I’ll introduce you to some, just in case you change your mind,” she breezes, climbing off your bed and drifting to the door. “Wine?”

“Oh… well, why not? When in France, etc,” you agree and close the drawer on the pile of cardigans you have just safely stacked.

“That's the spirit!” she effuses over her shoulder as you follow her back into the living room, the Eiffel Tower still glittering in the dusk.

“This place is so lovely,” you sigh, transfixed by the view as she wanders over and hands you a glass.

“It is a pretty magical view,” she agrees, staring at the skyline with you, watching as each window seems to illuminate in soft yellow with the dying light.

“And the decor, too; I see you love books as much as me,” you smile, tilting your head to the piles before taking a sip of red wine. It's the perfect balance of refreshing, mellow fruitiness and tart tannin coating your tongue, so much better than any wine back home.

“Oh god, yes! I work in the library. I can bring home as many as I want,” she enthuses.

“So, are there actually any left on the shelves?” you jest, lightly, savouring your drink and wandering to take a closer look at a smaller painting that catches your eye. It's very different to all of the others.

“My god, this is beautiful,” you breathe, hugging your wineglass to your chest as you stare transfixed at the art. It appears to be a large country house, probably British, bathed in the warm pinkish light of dawn.

“That's home. Aubrey Hall in Kent. I think the family made me bring it in the hopes it would make me homesick,” Eloise deadpans.

“It’s a wonderful piece,” you breathe, fingers reaching out to lightly trace over the heavily oiled brushstrokes. Something about it is so captivating and intimate.

“I'll be sure to let the artist know,” she smirks. “Although I'm reticent to give him any more praise, seeing as, unfortunately, he is my brother.”

“Your brother painted this?” taken aback by the revelation, assuming it an heirloom.

She nods and comes to stand next to you. “Yup. Benedict. Second eldest. I'm fifth of eight, by the way. Hence ‘E’ for Eloise. It's a thing,” she rolls her eyes.

“Wow. Big family. I just have one brother...”

“Lucky you. Although, as much as he is irritating, if I could only keep one sibling, it probably would be him,” she admits, taking a swig of wine.

“I love art,” you sigh, finally tearing your gaze from the canvas but already knowing it is something you will return to again and again. A pull you can’t quite understand.

“Oh, then I know the perfect job for you! There’s a gallery around the corner from the library, and I saw a sign saying they wanted an English speaker to assist international visitors! You would be perfect!”

“I would love that!” you extol, even as a tiny part of your brain lingers on the idea that it would be too good to be true if it all worked out, that fleeting sense of foreboding in paradise.

“Excellent!” Eloise’s enthusiasm pulls you back to the immediate. “So let’s get your glad rags on! It's time to hit the town for your first night in Paris!”

And thus, you find yourself being bundled back into your room to refresh and change for your first night in the city of your dreams. Indeed, as you find yourself being led by Eloise, arm looped in yours, through the bustling evening streets to a little bistro, your uncle and Solène already waiting at a table with smiling faces and drinks in hand, you can't help but feel this really is the only place in the world you could ever want to be…

Your adventure is just beginning.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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bosbas · 10 days

Text

Chapter 7: something gave you the nerve to touch my hand

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in Spanish, idiots in love-ish moments (maybe idiots in non-hate?)

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

June 1, 1816 – A few whispers have been floating around about Lord Arthur Barlow’s whereabouts following his escapade with Miss Barrington at the Bridgerton ball, but this author must sadly say that she has no credible information on the subject. The Duke has likely paid his staff handsomely to avoid any news reaching the curious ears of the ton, much to our disappointment. While propriety suggests that his wedding plans to Miss Barrington should be in full swing, Lord Barlow is not particularly known for his propriety, and therefore we cannot assume anything.

Among other Montclair-related news, two of the Count’s children arrived in London yesterday: Lord Philippe Montclair IV and Lady Isabelle de la Torre, accompanied by their respective spouses and children. Is this unexpected gathering somehow linked to Lady Y/N's recent entanglement in scandal, or is it merely a coincidental family reunion?

You wrung your hands nervously in your carriage bound for Hyde Park, not quite able to sit still. Beside you sat Leonor, Philippe's wife, while your sisters, sitting opposite from you, observed your anxious demeanor with growing impatience. Isabelle, in particular, seemed annoyed by your restless gestures, her irritation palpable in the air.

“Y/N, for heaven's sake, it’s not like you’ve been compromised in any way!” said Isabelle, exasperated. “You’ll find someone else, and the Duke’s betrayal will be but a distant memory.”

It was easy for her to say; after all, her own search for a husband had been nothing short of a fairy tale. Unlike the rest of your siblings, Isabelle had had a love match from the beginning, and it only made it easier that Carlos, her now-husband, had strong ties to the royal family. Though her love story had been one for the ages, the fact that it had happened so easily was making her quite unsympathetic to your loss of a Duke you weren’t even properly interested in.

“I might as well have been! Lady Whistledown is still mentioning my involvement in the scandal, and your presence isn’t helping.” You thanked the universe that your mother was on another carriage with Louis, Carlos, and Philippe, and hadn’t heard you being rude toward your sister.

"And why should we care about the musings of this Lady Whistledown?" retorted Isabelle with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“These English people treat that gossip column like gospel,” said Charlotte, crinkling her nose in disdain. “Though I dare say, Y/N, your predicament isn't as dire as you're painting it," she added, casting you a knowing glance.

"You two can afford to be cavalier about it, being safely married," you sighed, feeling defeated, and turned your gaze back out the window.

As your carriage rolled into the park, Leonor leaned in, placing her hand over yours. “No te preocupes, cariño,” she whispered reassuringly, so only you could hear (Don’t worry, sweetheart). “En todo caso, te vienes a España con tu hermano y conmigo” (In any case, you can come to Spain with your brother and me).

You smiled at her, resigned, but grateful for her offer. As you surveyed the bustling crowd outside, predominantly comprised of eligible men, the allure of Spain beckoned. It would certainly have better weather than London. And at least there was no Lady Whistledown in Salamanca. Though with the seemingly endless sources the woman had, you wouldn’t doubt her abilities to follow you there, too.

Stepping down from your carriage and walking toward the crowd of people in the park, you made eye contact with one of the gentlemen who had called on you yesterday. Though his poem had nearly put you to sleep, you smiled politely anyway. Perhaps he would be the first to talk to you today and ask for a turn about the park, and you would be able to finally relax in the knowledge that at least one person was still interested in you.

Though you hadn’t seen or heard from Lord Barlow since the Bridgerton ball, he still lingered in your mind. He ended up being just like any other man, you thought, annoyed. You hadn’t necessarily expected him to be the picture of attentiveness and love, especially not when you had only known each other a little over a month, but it was still disappointing to see how it had all turned out.

"Lady Montclair," a voice interjected, drawing your attention to your right. Startled, you turned to see Colin Bridgerton, sporting an uncharacteristically earnest smile.

“Mr. Bridgerton?” you inquired.

You had thought your dance two nights prior had been a one-time event, a small courtesy on his part, for Eloise, so you didn’t look a complete fool upon your re-entry to society. So why was he here now? Had he come here to resume tormenting you? You weren’t quite sure you had the energy for that today, already feeling the familiar flutter of nerves as you thought about how many men you would have to impress and the intense scrutiny you would face from the rest of the ton.

“Would you care for a promenade?” his voice, a gentle invitation, broke through your thoughts.

“A prom- What?” you said lowly, careful that no one would hear you. “You already danced with me once, and it was more than enough,” you assured him.

Colin was fighting an internal battle. He was torn between still being absolutely enchanted by you after one dance, and the larger part of him that was annoyed that you apparently didn’t want to speak with him today. Yet, true to form, Colin’s more combative side won out.

“Well, I don’t particularly see gentlemen lining up to speak with you today, so I rather think you might need some more help,” he shot back.

You felt your face flush as you gasped in offense. “That is so patronizing. I’ve barely been here three seconds! I hardly think that amount of time is indicative of whether any suitors would like to speak with me today.”

It was true; Colin had rushed to greet you moments after you had stepped down from your carriage. But aside from the fact that he was embarrassed by his eagerness and trying to cover it up, he was not about to let up, not against you.

“Do you think, for once in your life, you could engage with me without throwing a fit?” he asked you, anger seeping into his words.

You were speechless, your eyes wide as you stared at him. Your instinct would have been to get mad at him, but unfortunately, he was right. You were struggling to let yourself be vulnerable with Colin, never mind how good of a time you had had dancing with him. But you were too stubborn to accept his offer to walk with him. You simply stared at him, your eyes swimming with uncertainty, and silently willed him to keep pushing you to accept his help. It was the only way you would allow yourself to do it, and you were relieved when he held out his arm for you to take.

“Come along,” he said, rolling his eyes. “For both our sakes, we should just walk to avoid a scene.”

“Very well, then,” you relented, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow. You were momentarily distracted by the feeling of his arm beneath your touch. It lit a fire inside of you that you weren’t familiar with, and you suddenly found yourself out of breath.

“My sister can chaperone,” he suggested, gently guiding you toward where his family was situated.

You could only nod dumbly in response, the flutters in your lower abdomen only growing stronger when he placed his hand over yours. Vaguely registering Daphne and Simon waving at you, you smiled and greeted them, grateful to have something else to focus on that wasn't Mr. Bridgerton's very well-sculpted arms.

As you began to stroll, the Bassets a few paces behind you, you felt that your voice was stable enough to begin a conversation. “So, Mr. Bridgerton, indulge my curiosity and tell me more about your travels. Have you ever been lost at sea?”

Colin smiled at you, unable to hold back his fondness for you once again, and his breath was stolen from his lips as he made eye contact with you. You looked back eagerly, staring straight into him, and he was momentarily speechless. But you blinked, indicating that you were still awaiting a response, and he realized he had forgotten himself once again in your presence, an alarmingly increasing trend.

After clearing his throat, Colin answered, “A few times, yes. Most unfortunate was the time we became lost in the twilight hours when it was freezing out, but the stars proved an exceptionally useful tool in helping us find our way.”

“The stars?” you asked, curious. Could it be that you and Colin had yet another thing in common? It was hard to parse who he had been with you the past few days with the man you had a rivalry with practically from the moment you arrived in England. Who was the real Colin?

“Yes, indeed,” affirmed Colin, his voice revealing a hint of excitement. “They’re actually quite a useful tool. Regardless of our whereabouts, we look at the same constellations, albeit from differing vantage points. For instance, if you look up at the sky any of these nights, and you see three stars close together arranged in a line, that’s-”

“Orion’s belt,” you finished for him, your voice soft. Then, seeing his amused, and admittedly curious, smile, you explained, “My governess used to take me outside at night, even in the winter, so I could look at the stars. I know a fair few constellations, and I always like to know which ones are visible to me.”

Colin shook his head in wonder. The universe was a cruel thing, to make you so perfectly suited to him and make you hate him more than you hated, apparently, anyone or anything else. But it wasn’t like he liked you any better, he reasoned.

“I’d wager you’d be a wonderful navigator, then,” he said. “I’m certain you’d never get lost in treacherous waters.” He had to physically bite his tongue to keep from suggesting that you go with him on his next trip around the world.

You hummed softly in response. It never quite felt like you had a grip on where you were going. Usually, you just felt like you were groping around in the dark, desperately trying to find the right way to go.

The promenade stretched on longer than anticipated, with both of you engaging in pleasant conversation throughout, and more than a few stolen glances. It was a shock, really, when Daphne cleared her throat politely behind you and Colin. You suddenly realized that you and Colin had been walking together for longer than was typically appropriate.

“It might be time for Lady Montclair to promenade with someone else,” she suggested gently, a sympathetic smile on her face as she looked at Colin's crestfallen face. Turning away from you, she leaned over and whispered something unintelligible to Simon as the pair walked away back toward the rest of the Bridgertons, allowing you and Colin a few moments of privacy.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him, finding yourself slightly disappointed that your time together was ending. “I’m not quite sure I would have needed your saving again, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

Suddenly, you noticed a piece of lint on the lapel of Colin’s jacket. You reached over, almost instinctively, and picked it off. Your fingers barely grazed his chest, and his words caught in his throat as he saw your hand reach toward his chest in slow motion.

The two of you stood still, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity, one of your hands still extended toward him. Realizing your actions necessitated an explanation, you hurriedly brought your hand back to your side again and averted your gaze, avoiding eye contact with Colin.

“Lint,” you explained awkwardly. “On your coat.”

Oh, how could you have done something so brash? And in such a public setting, too, you scolded yourself.

“I-Th-Well, I-Thank you, Lady Montclair,” Colin stuttered out, his brain short-circuiting from your intimate gesture. But you were already walking away, fists clenched at your sides as he saw you walking back to your family.

Once more, you were intercepted by what could only be described as a horde of men vying for your favor. But, just like two nights prior, all Colin could feel was a pleasant warmth spreading through him as he watched you walk away, your laughter ringing like music in his ears.

He knew what that was like now. To have you genuinely laugh at something he said. And it was different from how you were with these men. Even different from how you had been with the Duke. His heart warmed when he realized he had something of you that no one else did, and he wanted to bottle up your laugh and keep it in his breast pocket, forever a reminder of you near his heart.

A short distance away, Carlos observed with amusement as Colin stood there, seemingly transfixed by your departure. Standing beside him was Leonor, who had also been privy to the entire spectacle. The two often found themselves together during family outings, enjoying speaking in Spanish for a change.

“La ama,” Carlos said to Leonor, his tone tinged with amusement at Colin's evident infatuation (He loves her).

Suppressing a chuckle, Leonor discreetly cleared her throat. “Y cuanto tiempo crees que será hasta que se de cuenta?” she quipped in response (And how long do you think it'll be until he realizes?).

---

In the late afternoon, you found yourself seated by the pianoforte, the pleasant notes of your scales filling the room. Across from you, your mother quietly engrossed herself in a book, while Isabelle diligently worked on her needlepoint. Suddenly, the tranquil atmosphere of your sitting room was disrupted as your butler made an unexpected entrance.

“Lady Montclair, a visitor,” he said politely, bowing slightly.

Your fingers stopped playing and you looked toward your mother, who had a questioning look on her face.

“I hadn’t been expecting anyone. And at this hour? Is everything alright?” she asked the butler.

His face flushed slightly. “My apologies, I meant Lady Y/N Montclair,” he corrected himself. “It’s the Duke.”

But he barely had time to announce your visitor before Lord Barlow strode into your sitting room, hair disheveled and bags under his eyes. He looked positively ghastly, and you wouldn’t have doubted it if he told you he hadn’t slept in a week.

He was panting and slightly sweaty, clearly having rushed over to your home for some unknown reason, when he took off his hat and crouched next to the pianoforte bench.

“Forgive me,” he addressed the other women in the room. Then, turning back to you, he roughly grasped your hand, placing a wet kiss on the back of it. You slightly cringed in disgust, not particularly wanting this man anywhere near you.

“Y/N, my darling, I am so terribly sorry for what happened at the Bridgerton ball. It was unforgivable. Except that you must forgive me!” he pleaded, voice full of desperation.

You were utterly confused, and more than a little angry. Who did this man think he was, barging into your home at this hour and demanding forgiveness? You shared a look with your mother, who looked equally as scandalized.

“Lord Bar-” you started, but before you could finish, he interrupted you, grasping your hand even tighter.

“No! Not Lord Barlow. Arthur. Your Arthur. It’s me; I’m here. What happened with Miss Barrington was a foolish mistake, and it will never happen again. Marry me, Y/N. Marry me and make me the happiest man in all of Mayfair. In all of England, even. Please,” he begged.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Leonor leaving the room quietly, and your stomach churned uncomfortably at the idea of having to face this man on your own. You breathed deeply, calming yourself with the thought that your mother remained in the room before you addressed Lord Barlow.

“I don’t understand,” you said, shaking your head. “What of Miss Barrington? She will be ruined if you do not marry her.”

He scoffed, throwing his head back and shaking his head in annoyance. “What of her? She is not as important to me as you are,” he said lowly. “I do not have with her what I have with you. I need you, Y/N. Please marry me.”

Letting the anger that had been slowly bubbling inside you take over, you snatched your hand out of his grip and stood up, towering over him. “Are you quite finished? You are completely unbelievable. I will not marry you, your Grace, and it is egregious that you would even suggest it. Do you truly have so little respect for Miss Barlow that you would leave her, ruined, as you married someone else? Do you truly think so lowly of me that you thought I would say yes?”

“Barlow, take your leave,” came a commanding voice from the doorway before the Duke could respond to you.

With a surge of relief, you caught sight of Louis and Philippe standing firm with Leonor at their side, their expressions firm and determined, while she was looking anxiously between you and Lord Barlow.

But the Duke was relentless, his desperation palpable as he pleaded his case, his words brimming with urgency. He stood up from where he had been kneeling and turned to face your brothers. "You don’t understand. I must marry your sister. I must!"

“I believe my brother asked you to take your leave, your Grace,” said Philippe, voice cold and cutting. “Louis, if you could be so kind as to escort Lord Barlow out.”

Louis wasted no time, roughly grabbing Barlow’s arm and dragging him away from you as the man protested profusely. But your brother wasn’t going to let him hurt you again. It was bad enough that he had already done it once, but Louis would rather come to blows right now in your home than let the Duke stand in your presence for another second.

As Louis ushered Lord Barlow out of your sitting room, Philippe placed a protective hand in front of Leonor and pulled her behind him. Ensuring his wife’s safety, he turned to you, a concerned expression on his face.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

But you didn’t have time to answer, your father storming into the room with fury in his eyes.

“Was that Barlow I saw in the hall? Can someone give me an explanation?" he demanded, his gaze fixed on your stricken expression.

Your voice trembled as you confessed, still reeling from the shock of the encounter. "He asked me to marry him," you admitted, the words hanging heavily in the air.

“She said no, of course. And put him in his place,” your mother added, eyes wide and fixed on the doorway still. It seemed that Lord Barlow’s unexpected appearance had been an unwelcome shock for her, too.

Your father placed his hands on his hips, staring at the two of you in disbelief. “Well done,” he finally conceded after a few moments of silence.

You nodded meekly in response, not quite feeling anything right at this minute.

“He is not worthy of you, Y/N. A title and fortune are important, of course, but so is honor. And he clearly has none,” said your father, disgust clear in his voice.

You’d heard this speech a million times, but this time the words rang loudly in your ears. A title and fortune are important, his words echoed in your mind. It was what your father always said, but this time you couldn’t help thinking: Colin Bridgerton, whom you had developed an inexplicable fondness for, possessed neither title nor fortune.

But as quickly as the doubt arose, you cast it aside. You reminded yourself firmly that Colin was not the sort of man a Montclair could marry. The reality was stark, and you refused to entertain the notion that such a match could ever be possible. You weren’t even sure that you liked the man, why were you thinking of marrying him?

—

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killuintense · 9 months

Note

uh, olá, vi que os pedidos estão abertos e gostaria de fazer um pedido, pode ser leon re2, pode ser nsfw ou cute (já que ele é cute) onde ele encontra o leitora na delegacia e ele se vê em uma necessidade de protegê-la em tudo

❝ see you, leon ❞

rookie!leon kennedy x fem!reader

Warning: first part, second part, final part / cont. smut

summary: Leon thought that his stay for work in Raccoon City would be boring and monotonous. But he didn't know that the Chief of Police had such a... interesting daughter.

content: 3.2k words, fluff, cute Leon, no Racoon City canon events, soft perv leon.

note: when i read your request i was excited because it was an idea that I had in mind for a while, and knowing that someone was interested encouraged me to write it! thank you for entrusting it to me, i'm sorry if it's too long. however, it will have one more part as i have in my plans. enjoy it, sweetheart ♡

Leon was often naive. But he could not help being a little clumsy sometimes; and that day he tried not to make it so obvious, as he walked behind the officer who was talking to him and indicating the different offices corresponding to each cadet.

That day he had arrived late, he didn't hear the alarm and of course; he had stayed late trying to reassure his ex-girlfriend who had insulted him in every possible way for being "a lying bastard" when he told her that he had chosen Racoon City as his work destination. According to the officers in charge of him in his police training, he had been practically the best performer, so they gave him the permission to choose any work assignment he wanted.

Why Racoon City? Well... ignoring the fact that he thought it was funny that it was named after such a "cute" (in his own words) animal, the amount of unsolved case news caught his attention.

There was only one problem: his girlfriend -now ex- to whom he had to give the terrible news and, as if that wasn't enough, run off to town because they were short-staffed, so he couldn't even fire her. It hurt, yes, but they had been three months together in which he had seen little or nothing except for those short vacations they spent together; it was almost a sigh in his opinion.

That's why he didn't count on the warmth in his chest he felt as he entered the main room, where all the cadets stood among the paperwork and calls, watching a young woman laughing along with one of the officers. "And this is where we usually spend most of our time" the officer in charge explained to him, gently reaching out his arms and looking sideways at him, denying with a chuckle "Kid, it's your first day, you're late and now you're distracted" he gently pats the blond and he seems to wake up from his silly slumber. He lost himself in the laughter of that girl a few months away, jokingly fighting with the other boy.

"I wish I could concentrate once in my life when I study here, Jake," you said to the officer next to you, who was jokingly reading the notes in your notebook. Leon laughed softly, he thought it was adorable how you stood on your tiptoes trying to reach your notebook, snorting at the failed attempt.

"And to top it off you get distracted by the boss's daughter" Jones laughs loudly, and Leon looks at him with a sheepish blush, freezing in place.

"Why would the officer's daughter be here? It's dangerous" he frowned and the officer laughed, he seemed to be making fun of him all the time; especially with that stupid nickname he gave him" 'rookie' he had said as soon as he welcomed him to Raccoon station.

"Well, the Chief would rather I spend time studying here than at home alone, I guess" he shrugged and pointed to the desk "You're in your lucky day, this is your workplace, rookie, here's your desk; and it's in front of Miss (y/n)" he meant you, who was now concentrating on her sheets and writing carefully.

Leon would be lying if he said he wasn't thanking God for putting the idea in his head to choose Raccoon City (apparently being guided by his parameters of "adorability" for an animal had served him well). He couldn't remember ever seeing someone so... cute, beautiful, with that unique harmony. It seemed that a force was pushing him to want to get closer to you; to want to protect you. And although that was his job, after all he chose that profession for a reason, he felt from a distance that it was not the same as with the others. That he would never be able to take care of you enough.

"Come, let's go say hello" the officer guided him, pushing him gently by the back to take him to the desk where you were, and after dodging a couple of tables, they arrived "(y/n)! Guess what? A new victim has arrived" he joked noisily, and soon Leon felt his legs trembling, he felt even there your scent and perfume invading him, and your presence hypnotizing him even worse now that he was closer.

You looked up, expecting to find someone Jake's age, who already had two children and was married, but your surprise was gigantic when a blond with eyes too beautiful to describe appeared in front of you. You had never seen him before; because if you had, you would have remembered him. Obviously you would have.

"Hey..." your words caught on your tongue and you laughed nervously, rising almost on impulse to reach out your hand "They were talking about you a lot here..." you tried to joke, afraid of looking like a fool but soon you felt your hearing being clouded by his soft laughter. Probably the most beautiful you had ever heard in your life.

"Leon Kennedy, a pleasure" he introduced himself, shaking your hand gently. Even in his touch you felt as if he didn't want to hurt you, as if he had used the slightest of strength to shake you in greeting "I hope they said nice things" he joked back.

"Hi, likewise the pleasure is mine" you softened your voice as you introduced yourself, and God, you felt the mockery in Officer Jones' gaze, since when were you such a form? If it had been anyone else a simple greeting would have been enough, but you felt you didn't want to take your presence away from him. "Well, you know how they are here, they didn't even deign to tell me your name, I really started to believe your name was 'rookie'" suddenly you noticed that his face turned as red as a tomato and his hands separated with some denial, you could even assure that he had noticed your doubt when doing so. For God's sake.

But before the embarrassment was too obvious Jones laughed outrageously again "Oh, Kennedy you look pathetic" he said and Leon frowned in confusion, making you bite your lip to hold back a giggle "I guess you will see each other often, the young lady studies here because her father is stubborn to accept that she is already a young college girl who can walk on her own" she denied and put her hands on her hips, while tapping the floor with her shoes.

"Oh, Jones, try to understand him. It's only my first year" you jokingly scold, sitting back down "Welcome Leon, I hope you feel comfortable in Raccoon City. It's really nice here."

'Oh, relax, I've seen enough of you to know that Raccoon City has the most beautiful view of all' thought Leon, feeling like a teenager again for having such cheesy thoughts. Cheesy and hormonal.

Soon they said their goodbyes, Jones hurrying the blond to go change into his uniform and start glancing at the paperwork waiting for him on his desk. Leon hadn't seen so much paperwork since the time he had to prepare for his final exam to graduate from high school.

However, he couldn't help visit your desk with his eyes whenever he could. Sometimes concentrating on the sheets, sometimes sighing because you didn't understand something, and sometimes talking to some officer who joked with you or asked you how things were going. Apparently they had known you since you were little, as he learned, since your father was well known in town for being the head of the department; and the affection was noticeable among the cadets, who made a point of wishing you luck in your exams before leaving for some job where they were required for days at a time. Leon felt jealous of them, they had had the joy of seeing you for years, days and days where they could share your presence. He really envied them.

Leon would love to say that the goofy feeling in his eyes when he saw you was only for a couple of days and then he could concentrate properly on his work. But that would be a lie. And every time they seemed to run into each other more and more at the station. Like that time Leon decided to make himself a coffee in the break area, he had been too deep in research at his desk and it wasn't just his butt that was starting to bother him.

"Fuck, they didn't train me to avoid back pain" he complained to himself, putting the water on the electric kettle at his side to heat up. He carefully placed the coffee in the mug he had been given as a gift when he became a policeman.

"Oh, you beat me" he heard a soft little voice and felt all his aches and pains go away. There you were again. "I wanted to put some water to drink some tea" you laughed, denying as you approached with a pink cup in your hands.

"I-I've put enough water in!" he almost sounded a bit rushed to say that, making you laugh on the way "It'll suffice for both of us" he soothed, noticing your look of compression at his words. Seriously Leon was like a silly puppy. You stood next to him and began to prepare the infusion "And.... is everything going well with your studies?" he asked, clearing his throat as he folded his arms and leaned gently against the marble table.

"Mhm... I could say yes" a smile played across your lips, but you soon sighed "But it's complicated, I thought Freud would talk about more things than just why you're a terrible person for being raised defectively by your parents" you joked, glancing sideways with a smile playfully. Leon looked like he couldn't hold back a laugh, throwing his head back.

"I understand you, I thought I'd be solving my first case by now but the truth is getting more tedious than I imagined" he spoke complicitly, looking at you as he smiled, he seemed as comfortable with your presence as you were with his stay. It felt good to have someone close to your age who seemed to understand you.

"In fact, you seem very focused, looking at papers and writing on your notebook or computer" you had practically admitted to watching him from the privacy of your desk but you couldn't help the comment, it was endearing how he frowned in despair when the dots didn't seem to match and he had to go back and reread everything one more time. As adorable as now that his ears were as red as the apple he was devouring in the morning (very cute too) and his hands were nervously playing with the zipper of the jacket with his officer's badge. It should be illegal, however ironic, to look that good in uniform.

"Oh! Look at the water" he laughed nervously once the sound of the heater alerted them that the water was already at its indicated point, turning it off. Nerves were on edge inside the blond as he held you close, having to watch you carefully for fear of something happening to you, missing some event in your life "Let me, I'll put it in, we don't want you to burn yourself..." a soft voice came from him, deep and careful as he poured the water carefully into the cup.

"Thank you, Leon" he almost staggered the water filled device in his hands, hearing his name said in your voice with that soft and cute yet sensual and determined tone that made his hairs twitch as a jolt of electricity melted through his body. You were so close, with your arms touching, making the size difference between the two of you more evident; even though Leon wasn't exaggeratedly tall, his body was thick and strong. You felt yourself going crazy as the seconds passed. "Hey... I made you something..." you seemed more shy now, without any hint of the confidence you had since you entered the room. You played with your fingers and before you wanted to think about it too much, you looked for something in your backpack that you left there along with the other people's things "Look, I don't know if you're a fan of sweets but I wanted to leave you this little detail" you let out a nervous giggle and handed her a little bag decorated with a blue bow that you had prepared the day before. They were heart-shaped chocolate and vanilla cookies. Now you felt it had been too much, but before you could apologize or excuse yourself for that detail, Leon was about to choke on his coffee.

"Are you serious?" his gaze lit up, he set the cup aside trying to compose himself (and not feel so foolish) as he took the cute little bag in his hands.

"Yeah, I didn't know if you liked chocolate or vanilla better so I made you both..." a shy tone came through again, you were trying to ignore how hot your cheeks were not knowing that Leon wanted to hug you and kiss them softly. You were completely unaware of the way the blond's heart was shrinking and he had the need to squeeze you until you were soaked with his love. It was too much to hold in his body.

"You're the best, I don't think I've tasted homemade cookies in years" Leon praised, not wanting to open the bag just to admire the way you had decorated it with that blue bow, ignoring now that you based your choice of color on his beautiful eyes.

"I'll take it into account to bring you more often" now you could speak with more composure, taking your cup and smiling at him before walking to the exit door "See you, Leon" you gently raised your hand to greet him, leaving the room as if you were a ghost.

"Yeah, see ya..." he murmured softly, resting the baggie gently against his chest in an attempt to frame that moment not only in his head, but in his heart as well.

From that moment on the little details became more common between the two of them. The greetings and little jokes in the morning when you passed by before going to college with your father, the little bags of candy or cookies that you would leave on Leon's desk with little notes of encouragement like 'you can do it', 'have a nice day' or 'Officer Kennedy sounds really good'. You were making it really hard for Leon to relieve those feelings for you and you, on your side, were feeling more and more that those looks and smiles you were sharing were too much for your heart. Especially because you noticed how uncomfortable Leon was, always tense when spoken to and afraid to say anything wrong. But with you he always seemed determined, at your side as if something was going to happen to you and he, always attentive, would drop everything and come to your rescue. Like the time when a man came like crazy to complain about an administrative problem and before even wanting to approach to help (as was common in his person), he preferred to stay in front of your desk, looking at the intruder with distrust and some reluctance.

Those little details made you fall for him more and more. It wasn't what he said or didn't say, what he gave you or didn't give you; it was that way of taking care of you and always keeping you in mind. Would he have a coffee? He always took care to leave water ready for you in the electric kettle, and if he had you by his side, he would serve you tea so that 'you wouldn't burn yourself by accident'. Did he have a job outside? Once he arrived at the station after hours out, he would come running to greet you if you were there, asking you if everything was going well, how your day had been. And if he noticed you were stressed, he'd throw out his silly jokes and support you and listen to whatever you needed. Fucking hell. He was too perfect to be real.

"Kennedy? That was your last name, right?" your father perched next to his desk after leaving his office, the blond stood up quickly and nodded stiffly, attentive to his commands.

"Dad! I told you I can go alone, for God's sake!" you groaned in embarrassment, tugging at his coat sleeve. You had been insisting all morning that someone bring you to the college since he would be busy; you hated it when he treated you like you were a silly teenager. And especially when he had to pester Leon to take you; you were sure he had more interesting things to do than escort his boss's 'spoiled' daughter to the university.

"I'm sorry, Leon, I really tried to get him to let me go alone..." the sorrow was in your voice, he had started the patrol car a few seconds ago and was driving very carefully, not before asking you to put on your seatbelt. As always, an angel.

"Hey, this is my job too" he smiled in an attempt to make you take it as something common for him. You knew it wasn't, but the way he treated you with care considering how you felt made your chest warm "Besides, it helps if I go out for some fresh air" he joked.

"Thanks...makes me feel less guilty" you sighed in relief and shook your head, looking sideways at him "Although, I'm sure it's not your job to drive girls to their places of study, is it?" you laughed now looking out the window.

"Well, even if my job from now on was to be your driver, believe me I'd gladly take it" he said it so matter-of-factly that you felt your legs swoon and you were thankful you were sitting down so that one didn't become embarrassing. You found it hard to believe that he wasn't being his usual shy self, but sometimes his words managed to surprise you. You even felt some disappointment when the patrol car stopped, since they had finally arrived at your university; even for the first time in your life you didn't feel that sense of disturbance at arriving in a police car and being seen by everyone. You wanted to stay there until they were forced to get off, you didn't want to get away from him.

"Thank you, Leon... really" you spoke with sincerity in your words, even when you saw him smile naturally and in the same way you leaned over and left a soft kiss on his cheek, opening the door before he could say anything "See you in the afternoon, take care" you went downstairs trying not to stumble and closed the door behind you, walking quickly. You didn't know if you were running away from what you just did, but you definitely didn't regret it.

Especially since you left a flushed and statuesque Leon with his hands still glued to the steering wheel. He hadn't expected that, he didn't even anticipate it but....

But it had been the best feeling of his whole fucking life.

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penvisions · 7 months

Text

garnish {chapter 1}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Summer is a time of fun and carefree days for those who are fortunate enough to not work within the food industry. You however have found yourself back in that world and so long were the days you could spend doing nothing. Along with the shift back to a world you once left behind is the figure of Joel Miller, who is as magnetizing as he is irritating that is now a part of your daily life.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: smut piv smut, unprotected piv, dirty talk, joel miller's filthy mouth, kinda enemies to lovers?, degrading language, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry

A/N: this...this is a scary thing for me to share. this is so closely drawn from my life and the things i've experienced in my twenties (as far as the restaurant stuff goes, i was never fortunate enough to catch the eyes of someone as alluring as our dear joel). i'm fully aware that i don't need another WIP but this has been comsuming me lately and i wanted to share despite the trepidation. c'est la vie, no?

ao3 link || series masterlsit || main masterlist

“Fuck.” You moaned, the sound filling the cool air of the walk in, back arching as you tried to push back against the man who had sheathed the entirety of his hard length into you with one smooth, drawn out move so attuned to your body. His grip on your hips was bruising, the feeling of him gripping tight to your shoulder even more so, but he didn’t move.

He seemed frozen, head bowed down and forehead connected with the back of your head, hands gripping tight, chest heaving with each deep breath and brushing hot against your back. Murmured words falling from his plush lips too quiet for you to catch, but you were sure if he could safely do so, he would be praising you in that filthy way he was prone to do. His large thighs were pressed to the backs of your own and the feel of his chef pants was rough on the naked skin of your thighs where he had pushed up the skirt of the dress you had worn for your shift.

“Please, Joel, I need you to move.” You circled your hips, grinding back on the entire length of him and you could feel yourself clench. A guttural moan sounded from his lips, puffing out in a misty breath.

“What did I tell you about bein’ a good girl f’me?” The hard line of him twitched deep inside you and your knees wobbled. The hand on your waist curled around your middle to help keep you upright, lest they give out on you completely. He pulled out nearly all the way only to slam back in, it took everything in you not to scream from the pleasure as white sparked across your vision. Your teeth digging into the hands that were grasping desperately onto the edge of the metal storage shelf you were pressed up against. Trying to hide the sound in an effort to keep the secret that had become your personal life just that, something shared in moments of spiking passion and deep kisses between you and the man who enraptured you beyond anything you had experienced before.

Thoughts swirled and your mind took you back to the events that transpired to allow this type of pleasure to be something that you owned, that you took, that was given to you by the man whose hands were holding you so tightly and pounding into you so deliciously.

“I think a play on mint would be a good idea, for the paired cocktail. I could whip up a batch of simple syrup infused with it or order a case of crème de menthe. But I’ll mess around with it and get back with y’all in a few days before the order needs to be placed.” You jotted down what glasses you were thinking of, a choice between a martini glass, a coup, and a tall rocks class. You pushed your reading glasses back up your nose, the frames having slipped down the bridge as you scribbled half ideas down in your small notebook. “Chef, will the mash be sweet potato or more like the topping for the Shepard’s pie we did last fall? And the balsamic, will it be a glaze over the brussels or will they be cooked with it?”

Joel Miller’s eyes seemed to snap to you, he had offered his new rotation of dishes for the fall menu and promptly spaced out. He never seemed to pay attention to anything else in the higher up meetings for the restaurant you worked at. You had been here for a year now. Having been hired as a general bartender and then bumped up to manager around two months in. You had to do an order on the fly for the bar when it was revealed that the manager had made a faux one and pocketed the money for themselves. To say they had been fired would be an understatement. They were no longer allowed to work for any part of the company.

You don’t think you had ever met his eyes before and you were beginning to think that was a blessing in disguise. His eyes were such a warm, chocolate brown that lit up into an amber wonderland that you could find yourself getting lost in when they caught the light. It took you a moment to realize that he was answering your questions. This was the first instance of a menu change that you had the chance to ask questions. His gaze wandered over what he could see of you as you sat across the table from him, further down by the barback you had chosen to help out with keeping the tickets flowing well and running drinks when the servers were busy.

“Was thinkin’ of sweet potatoes, to compliment the lamb. It won’t be a traditional mint jelly, more of a yogurt based mint sauce topped before leaving the line.” He glanced down at the menu he had provided for the meeting. It was simple and to the point. Underneath one of the new dishes, the special due to the cost of sourcing the lamb was simple descriptors. Special: Lamb. Mash. Brussels. Mint. Balsamic.

“Sounds yummy, and the balsamic, chef?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” He grunted out, not sure what to think of you asking after the dish. Sure, he knew you needed to know the components properly for each dish of the special in order to pair it properly with a house made drink. But you were so…something he wasn’t used to seeing. You had a good balance of professional and personable, both on the clock and off. He noticed some of his cooks offering you tastes of stuff they were working on during prep hours and returned dishes that came back to the kitchen. The other servers often mentioned you helping them with rowdy or difficult tables, were more than willing to help them if they didn’t know questions asked after the drinks offered and wine selection.

More often than not, people from both the front of house and back of house would sit at the bar with you after their shifts. Idle chit chat and horror stories of the night told between laughs and knowing looks. Bonding in ways that could only happen as a result of working in such a space, of being able to handle working in such a space.

He shook his head, the thoughts of you disappearing with the movement and he shoved off from the table to slink back into the kitchen. He stopped at the threshold of the dining room, your gentle voice in his ears and he stifled a shiver at the thought of your lips close enough to whisper into them. What kind of things would you be brave enough to say in hushed tones just for him? Would you whisper filthy desires into his ears and cause heat to spark down his spine, or would you beg him for the things he wanted to say to you, the things he saw flash before his closed eyes when he would see how effortlessly you knocked out a line of tickets, or helped to expo his line during the times in which spacing out tables was only a wish.

“Gotcha. Thank you, chef.”

Despite his better judgement he turned to look back at you over his shoulder, just in time to see you smile softly at him before turning your focus back to the meeting. He almost hadn’t, unsure of where the sudden salacious nature of his thoughts had sprung up from. And his heartrate picked up as he crossed into his kitchen space.

The manager of the restaurant was pacing back and forth in front of the host stand, phone held tightly to her ear as she listened to the voice bleeding from the other line. It was summer, the season of call outs and no call no shows. As predictable as the looks of glee on servers and cooks faces alike as checks hit their accounts on a weekly basis, the tip out rate through the roof with the influx of tourists and lively people of the city. The manager prided herself in being able to provide a good base pay for everyone, ignoring the cheap cop out of matching the other establishments of the area and the country in general.

None of that $2.13/hour nonsense, she had smiled genuinely at you in your interview, the softness of her excitement allowing you to seriously consider the industry you had left a few years previously in favor of going back to school, of taking the monumental step of becoming a teachers assistant at your alma mater. But grad school was around the corner, something you needed in order to pursue your dreams.

But even that wasn’t a good enough allure to keep the younger members of society committed to their shifts, especially after a particularly busy week. The restaurant world wasn’t for everyone, and it was quick to humble people in ways that still took you off guard even after having been entrenched in it for a good chunk of your twenties.

With a long sigh, a worn-out thin smile, and the harsh placement of the phone back into the charging station atop the host stand, that’s how you found yourself in the kitchen you only drifted through previously.

“You know anythin’ about preppin’ food?” The calculating look aimed down at you as Joel stood beside you in front of a prep station was sharp, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The sleeves of his chef’s coat folded up to expose the thickness of his forearms.

“Of course, we prep the-“

“Not fruit. Food. Actual food.”

The fact that he cut you off mid reply made your jaw clench and you had to hold your tongue back from spewing a bad comment. You had never been treated like that at this job, in the entire year that you’ve been here. Everyone had always been polite and friendly and professional. Things you were in return, the kitchen even going so far as to offer you the rare dead plate or extras from staff meal you were always unable to snag any of due to your schedule. People would stay and hang out at the bar after their shifts ended, often bringing you treats on their off days to share as you frequently brought stuff for the front of house to have snacks and rounds of their favorite drinks to stay hydrated during busy hours. This often extended to the back of house as well, if you had the time and means to.

The divide seen so cleanly in other restaurants was something that you tried to eradicate here, not play into the ‘this versus them’ ideology that plagues too many establishments and allowed for more errors and unhappy customers.

That’s not to say there was the odd throwaway comment in the heat of dinner rush or particularly challenging event, but those were brushed under the table as they were harmless. But this, this animosity for someone willing to help out when it was desperately needed, was uncalled for and sparking annoyance in your chest.

You hadn’t really interacted with Joel directly. Just in passing and hardly for longer than a professional acknowledgment during staff meetings when a new dish would be rolling out and you needed to make a cocktail or wine pairing for it. To be honest, you hadn’t spoken to him out of the childish daydream of not wanting the image of the handsome man to be shattered in your mind’s eye. Guess you were right to worry about something being wrong with him to warrant him to spend what seemed like his entire life in the damn kitchen. He had a superiority complex, it seemed.

But for him to be rude and cut you off after already making it clear he didn’t want you in his kitchen?

Game, fucking, on.

“Oh, no,” You adjusted the fit of the black gloves around your right wrist before you carefully picked up the chef knife and tapped the tip of it on the cutting board. Joel’s eyes were heavy and judgmental as you did so, he probably disliked the way you had needed to get the feel of the knife before using it. But he stayed silent, the furrow of his brows and the turndown of his plush lips deepening as you quickly and efficiently broke down the chicken. Once you were done, you placed the knife along the edge of the cutting board beside the line made up of a pair of breasts, thighs, legs, wings, and the severed spine of the chicken. “I don’t think I’m any good with actual food, chef.”

The controlled expression you were holding didn’t break, even when one of Joel’s eyebrows seemed to rise without conscious thought as his sharp eyes danced from the cutting board atop the prep station to you standing at attention in front of it. The tick in his jaw was garnering your attention, an obvious show to what the man was really feeling at your little display. Despite his less than kind attitude toward you, you couldn’t help the flash of heat that flared up in your middle at the thought of sucking kisses into the cut of his jaw, right where it was showing is ire. The surrounding kitchen staff were all peering over toward your new station with wide eyes, unbelieving that you were deliberately feigning innocence in a cheeky manner toward the head chef.

He may be an asshole, he may be loud, he may be particular, and he may have high standards: but no one argued with him because of his skill set and how effortlessly he displayed it day in and day out.

“Now, I believe we prep a total of 56 for the night shift. After dissembling them, they get placed into a salt brine to allow the skin to brown and crisp easier when braised or pan roasted. With an extra 4 just in case of dishes going to the wrong table or mix ups with servers not paying attention to the available par, is that correct, chef?”

Your lips turned up in a small grin and you knocked your gaze up to catch the man’s eyes. There was a fire behind them, one you were sure he was about to unleash on you in front of the entire staff. He was known for his outbursts when really upset, whether it be from someone not listening to clear instructions or a count gone wrong and messing up the rotation of dishes that could be offered that shift. Instead, he gave you a curt nod and told you to complete the prep by time the doors were to open and walked briskly away.

You spent the rest of the evening prepping the necessary things for the dinner service. You could’ve just done what had been asked of you, but you peeked at the long list of things that needed to be done by the person who had bailed on their shift, on the job and decided that the bar would be okay on a weekday night without you.

You prepped the chickens for the evening and the chickens for tomorrow’s service so the kitchen wouldn’t be behind like it had nearly been today. You had diced in perfect cubes the pickled beets for the panzanella salad and the components for the egg salad to be combined. Portioned out the ingredients for the brine and brought them to a soft boil atop a hot plate for a new batch of pickles and prepared the cucumbers with a mandolin. Sliced and portioned out the bologna and pancetta used for sandwiches, and even sliced the other components like the provolone cheese, cucumbers, and tomatoes used on them as well.

You neatly organized and legibly dated everything before breaking down the station at the end of the night. Even taking everything out of the banes and running them through dish and drying them before placing them back in their respective locations underneath the hood. Going as far as to deep clean the cooler shelves down below, wiping them down and sanitizing the entire station before putting everything back according to FIFO etiquette and wrapping it all up for the night.

The next day, your schedule was updated with two hours of prep before your typical shifts for the bar.

next chapter

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kenora-pizza · 1 month

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Musical musings - TTTE edition

One of the things that got me back into TTTE was the banger soundtrack and character themes. Music has always been a huge part of my life, I have classical training for the piano and an in-depth knowledge of musical theory and harmonic practices for classical music. So here are some of the things I noticed about various character themes and some of the engines' whistles.

Gordon is considered to be the biggest engine out of the main 12, and this could be reflected in his whistle, as it has the greatest interval between the two notes which make it up, that being a minor seventh between C and Bb.

James' whistle (G - C#/Db) is a tritone/Augmented 4th/Diminished 5th. In medieval times, this interval was considered to be a representation of conflict, discord (no, not THAT Discord) instability and danger. You can hear it in pieces like the iconic opening to Camille Saint-Seans' Danse Macabre, and in Hector Berlioz's La damnation de Faust to represent the titular character's arrival in Hell. James, I've noticed, is pretty damn insecure. He clings to his red paint like a lifeline and hides behind a veneer of arrogance and vanity. He can be quite boastful, to the detriment of his relationships with other engines, with him usually being the aggressor in conflicts with them. So I suppose the use of a tritone for his whistle is appropriate.

Percy appears to (mentally) be the youngest of the main 12, and this could be represented by having the highest whistle out of all of them.

Thomas' character theme and Edward's Series 2 theme both feature modulations to the parallel major of the initial key's relative minor, with Thomas' theme starting in F major and ending in D major, and Edward's theme starting in C major and ending in A major. The "relative minor" of a major key is the minor key which shares its key signature (ex. the relative minor of F major is D minor since they share the same key signature of one flat, likewise with C major, A minor and a key signature of no accidentals). The "parallel major" of a minor key is the major key which shares its 1st note (AKA, the tonic). So....like mentor, like mentee. Or like Father, like Son, in terms of musical themes.

Henry's theme is in a quadruple meter (following an 8-measure phrasing pattern, likely 12/8 time), meaning that there are 4 beats to a measure. However, each one of these "beats" consists of a triplet(If you were to count out a measure, it'd be 1-2-3 4-5-6 7-8-9 10-11-12, and you'd conduct it like 4 beats instead of each of the 12 individual notes) And Henry is the number 3 engine. Hmm.......

If I think of any more, I'll post 'em. If anyone even reads this lol

P.S: One of my favourite OSTs is Kingdom Dance from Tangled, and every time I listen it, I think of the twins. Probably because it uses the E Dorian mode (with a dash of E Mixolydian) which is common in Scottish music. Just in case anyone's confused, the "Dorian" mode is an 8-note scale which starts on the second note of a given major scale. (e.g, E is the 2nd note of a D major scale, so its Dorian mode uses the same signature of 2 sharps). The Mixolydian mode is an 8-note scale which starts on the 5th note of a given major scale. (e.g, E is the 5th note of an A major scale and thus, its Mixolydian mode uses the same key signature of 3 sharps).

youtube

#music #classical music #music theory #musical analysis #ttte #thomas and friends #Hats off to Mike & Junior for creating such an iconic soundtrack #Youtube #dang this really just turned into a music lesson huh

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bluewasthecolor · 1 year

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Hola. Tengo una solicitud de la lista general, 25 con Alexia. Gracias

Prompt 25 x Alexia Putellas

Word Count: 785

Warnings: None!

A/N: Hope you like this one! I've been on an Alexia kick because she's back at training. Also, I need your input! I have two full length fics that I'm working on right now, would you rather get an Alexia or Mapi one first?

Just being around Alexia is painful. Talking to her, playing with her, even just seeing her from a distance, it all sends a stabbing pain straight through your heart. The issue is, you see her everywhere. She’s your best friend, your neighbor, your club teammate, and your national teammate–there’s no avoiding her. Maybe things would be a bit easier if none of this were true but this is not the case and you have no choice but to grapple with your feelings silently. Alexia has no idea you’re in love with her, of course. She’s never looked at you that way. You’ve watched her date other people for years, been there for her through every terrible breakup, and have never been able to work up the courage to tell her how you feel. There’s too much you could lose, too much you’d have to be okay with giving up: it’s just not worth it.

Now though, watching Alexia on the dance floor, you’re thinking about throwing all of that out the window. She’s unbelievably graceful and you can’t help but stare. Her movements are liquid and she’s lost in her dancing, blissfully unaware of the world around her. You wish so badly that you could join her, let her wrap her arms around your waist so you could feel her moving behind you, so you could feel the fabric of that damn dress. But then someone else is doing exactly what you’ve been wanting to do. Some other woman is moving in front of Alexia, is turning around to smile seductively, and all of a sudden it feels like too much to handle. You get up from your seat at the bar, rushing to the bathroom and locking the door behind you.

You lean your back against the door, sinking to the ground. The tears come quickly, violently. You’re not sure how much longer you can do it, loving Alexia silently. It takes such a toll on you, physically and emotionally. The constant pretending that you don’t want to hold her, to kiss her, to spend every moment of every day with her is taxing. Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door and you scramble to your feet, trying to compose yourself.

“Just a minute!” You call, trying not to let it show that you’ve been crying.

“Y/N?” Alexia’s voice floats through the door. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

Fuck. She is the last person you want to see, let alone talk to right now, but you know she won’t go away until you let her in so you open the door. The Spaniard takes one look at your face and shuts the door behind her, locking it once again. She pulls you into her, wrapping her arms around you. Her actions cause the tears to start flowing down your face once more and when Alexia feels your shoulders shaking against her, she pulls away.

“What’s going on?” She asks, guiding you to sit on the floor with her.

“I–I don’t really know.” You lie, hoping she doesn’t see through it. “I’ve just been feeling kind of off lately, I think I just need a break.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Alexia looks at you with an expression you can’t read, maybe something between concern and frustration. “Something’s been weird between us for weeks, I know you better than anyone, remember? Please talk to me. I just want to help.”

“I just…it really hurts.” You look at her, hoping she’ll somehow infer what you’re talking about so you don’t have to say it out loud.

“What does?” She does not. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to admit the secret you’ve been keeping for years.

“Loving someone who doesn’t love you.” You don’t look at her, tears still flowing down your cheeks. Alexia is silent for a moment, out of shock, or maybe disgust. This is it, you think, you’ve ruined the best thing in your life. Eventually, Alexia speaks and what she says shocks you more than anything ever has. “You think I don’t love you?” Her voice is small, a stark contrast from the confidence she usually displays, and she grasps your hands in hers. “I’ve been in love with you since…I can’t even remember. At some point you stopped just being my best friend. I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear, I never could tell if you felt the same way, but–”

You cut her off, pulling her towards you and kissing her. It’s a messy kiss, you’re still crying and Alexia was caught off guard by your actions, but it’s perfect. Here, on the tiled floor of a bar bathroom, your future finally begins.

#woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #barca femeni #requests!!

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nesiacha · 1 month

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The difference in treatment between the Indulgents and the Cordeliers or Hébertistes

I have an opinion that will seem unpopular, no worries I am open to any criticism or to being corrected in the event of an error so do not hesitate to correct me. I have much more sympathy for the Hébertist faction, the exaggerators or the Cordeliers than that of Danton's Indulgents. Indeed if we exclude the Hebert case who is an indefensible man, mediocre in my eyes (I don't think I need to explain why) this is not the case for so many others. I mean Ronsin was a competent and honest administrator. Despite his mysoginism (horribly reprehensible, just look at the speech he gave concerning the execution of Gouges and Manon Roland) Chaumette could be as competent as procureur syndicale de Paris and had also generous ideas (such as banning whipping in schools, equalization of funeral rites for all, protective measures for the elderly and hospitalized). One of the most impressive cases is Momoro. Even the historian Mathiez, who nevertheless has little sympathy for the revolutionaries who were against the Committee of Public Safety in the spring of 1794, had practically nothing but praise for Momoro. He voluntarily lived in poverty and when he was tried he said he had given everything for the revolution. It was true in my eyes. Of course I understand in a certain way the repression exercised by the Committee of Public Safety (more precisely the Convention since an arrest cannot be made without its agreement, it is not a dictatorship either) when Cordeliers wanted to launch a new insurrection against the Convention ( like Momoro for example). The fact of wanting to persecute the priests did not help, not to mention the fact that they wanted stronger repression of the enemies at the risk of making the Revolution even harsher. But when we analyze, I can understand where come frome their anger. Their hatred about religion was due to the fact that not long ago, a lot of religious fanatics infantilized the people, constantly made prohibitions against them (we must NEVER accept infantilization or loss of free will for religious reasons) and atrocious repressions without counting the their wealth that they monopolized (in terms of absurd repression there is nothing but to see the Calas affair, or that of the case of Chevalier de la Barre etc…), even if there were a lot of priest and believers weren't like that . Although the Cordeliers were wrong to respond to religious intolerance by intolerance, I can agree. The same goes for the Terror. At that time France was threatened by enemies from within and without and quite a few of their enemies carried out atrocious tortures (although rotten people like Fouché, Carrier, were not to be outdone in atrocities to the point that the Committee of Public Safety recalled them immediately). Prices were increasing because of the war, so without excusing them once again I can understand their minds when they demanded ever greater repression of the Terror (even if once again it was a serious error ,a mistake and even a fault).

Let's compare to the indulgent (or Dantonists) who are caught up in financial scandals (according to for a lot of historians like Jean Marc Schiappa). Danton moved only because of the financial scandals which were beginning to erupt and did not dare to attack head-on in this period of factional clashes, he let his friends do so. Moreover, according to certain historians like Decaux if I am not mistaken, he only came back against the Hebertists because they attacked them (and they did not only have them as enemies). He is not a clean character. Let's not talk about Fabre d'Eglantine. For Desmoulins I have an unpopular opinion of him. I find him very overrated and no matter how much I tried to appreciate his historical figure (by reading the very good biography of Leuwers or the book by Joseph Andras) I cannot. I don't think that despite the fact that he is very cultured, a man who rightly think that women must have the right of vote and even a republican before his time, he is not capable of assuming an important position unlike Saint Just or Ronsin who he made fun of. And worst of all I find him hypocritical, he who demanded clemency applauded the execution of the Hebertists following a parody of justice (yes I like the Montagnards of this period but this kind of thing should never be tolerated) . He didn't say anything when the wives of Momoro and Hebert were arrested which was very serious (afterwards I don't know well if they were arrested at the same time as Lucile Desmoulins), but he didn't realize that it was going well back in his face.

The Dantonists were irresponsible in my eyes. I completely agree that it was necessary to examine each prisoner on a case-by-case basis because there were surely a large number who had nothing to do there by creating as many commissions as possible as quickly as possible and getting down to business. job right away because prison is a horrible place, even more so for innocent people. But releasing everyone without distinction immediately would have been dangerous because there were also dangerous counter-revolutionaries or spies. I mean have they forgotten that the fall of Toulon to the English was due to betrayal? The betrayal of Dumouriez, the assassinations of some deputies, etc… Where did this idea of making peace with foreign armies still occupying France come from when the French army was beginning to be victorious? Opposing a war of conquest I completely agree, but allowing one's own territory to be annexed is something else. And how dangerous would it be to leave corrupt people like Danton in power. Sooner or later, he could perhaps have given in to blackmail in view of the evidence of corruption that contemporaries have today, which would have been very dangerous for France. As a result, I never understood why the “good” indulgent ones were portrayed against the “bad” Cordeliers and Hébertists. Whatever happens for all these factions, no matter my great admiration for revolutionaries like Le Bas, Saint Just, Couthon, the fact that I am sorry like many people that Robespierre is demonized, the fact that they allowed a parody of justice against these factions is an unforgivable fault and to have allowed the execution of Marie Françoise Goupil and Lucile Desmoulins among others to consolidate this parody of justice is unacceptable. Even if I understand their states of mind because they could not afford to lose especially in this period against these different factions and contrary to what the Thermidorians put forward, the majority of the Convention was just as guilty as them, there is no excuse for this kind of behavior. Did Saint Just realize this when he said that the Revolution was frozen (even he spoke more about the consequences of this repression and that the revolution is weakened on this point) ? It would later fall on them and Elisabeth Le Bas was threatened with being guillotined for having been Le Bas' wife (some wanted to force her into a marriage with one of the Termidorians). If they had not allowed the fate of Goupil or Lucile Desmoulins earlier perhaps it would have been more difficult for the Thermidorians to threaten her. For more information in the form of a movie , I invite you to see" Saint Just ou la Force des Choses" and " la Camera explore le temps Danton, la terreur et la vertue" in English sub. These are good movies about this period.

And you what do you think ?

#french revolution #Terror #georges danton #Camille Desmoulins #Ronsin #Momoro #Cordeliers #Indulgents #History #saint just #couthon #robespierre #lucile desmoulins #Hebert #Chaumette #joseph fouché #Carrier

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dresshistorynerd · 11 months

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I had the idea of writing about some historical queer figures I find interesting and drawing them for this pride month as a little project of mine. I will see how many I'll have time to do, I have in mind at least four other historical people, but knowing myself, I'm not holding my breath for all of them. Julie d'Aubigny she been one of my favorite historical figures for years so I decided to start with her.

Historical Queer Figures - Julie d'Aubigny

Julie d'Aubigny, also known as Mademoiselle Maupin and La Maupin, was a French opera singer and fencer in the late 1600s. She was infamous for having sapphic relationships, being aggressive and dramatic, having androgynous presentation by occasionally dressing in men's clothing in public and being a fencer and duelist. Trans and genderqueer readings of her are very possible, but because none of the accounts of her (at least those I've read) suggests she ever used any other than feminine first names or terms or she/her pronouns about herself, I will use she/her pronouns when talking about her.

The French court absolutely loved to gossip and people were constantly making up libel about the people they didn't like, and Julie had a lot of enemies and was very controversial figure. During the 18th and 19th centuries she was written about a lot in these highly sensationalized Encyclopedias, where the rumors from her lifetime got increasingly wilder and sensational. She was accused for example of seducing noble women in court balls, burning down a convent and murder. There's not much primary sources left or available from her actual lifetime so distinguishing truth from fiction is not an easy task in her case. Kaz Rowe did great job in their youtube video about her to try to actually find out where the stories of her life comes from. They go through some great context too about the rumor industry in the French court at the time so I highly recommend checking it out.

CW: very brief mentions of child sexual abuse and self-harming

The Timeline of Most Concrete Events

Let's first go through the things that have at least a bit more backing than a rumor started 100 years after her death. Julie d'Aubigny was born between 1670 and 1673. Her father was Gaston d'Aubigny, the secretary of Louis of Lorraine, count d’Armagnac, who was Master of Horses to King Loius XIV, and her mother is unknown. She was probably brought to the Versailles court in 1682, where she got a full education including academic subjects, riding and fencing, usually only thought for boys. She was married off to a Sieur de Maupin (first name unknown) probably around 1687, when she would have been 14 to 17 years old. He apparently got a position from a southern province as a tax collector. The stories about her claim she remained in Paris, but I don't think there's evidence of this, though what we do know of her adult life does suggest she was estranged from her husband and lived apart from him. Nevertheless, she did end up in Marseilles, where she first appeared on stage in Marseilles Opéra between 1687 and 1690. She didn't have education in music, but her good looks and beautiful voice landed her the role.

Her first appearances in the Paris Opéra are listed to 1690, so that is probably when she had her debut there. She became a very talked about figure and she gained both friends and enemies in the opera and the court. She performed in the Paris Opéra for probably four years, after which she went to Brussels, Bavaria, where she performed with the Opéra du Quai au Foin at least during 1697 and early 1698, after which she returned to France to perform again with the Paris Opéra.

It was the period when her career peaked and she got a lot of leading female roles. Those roles in French opera were at the time soprano roles, but Julie's natural voice range was lower, contralto. (There's a whole thing where at the time she was described as mezzo-soprano, but the music historian consensus is that her range matches contralto in modern terms as opera was sang on lower cords across the board at the time. (I understand nothing about music theory so I just hope I managed to explain this correctly)) She excelled in secondary female roles of goddesses and warrior women. For the leading roles she had to sing on higher notes than was natural to her and the naive and dainty personalities of those roles clashed with her own personality. Some later retellings of her life claim she performed male roles for female singers (which was common practice, and these roles were often those of young boys), but all known records of her roles are female roles. In 1702 on the leading composers of the Paris Opéra, André Campra, wrote her a leading lady role in Tamcréde, which is often credited to have the first leading female role for contralto. But her perhaps most famous role was as Médée in Medus, which was considered to be a very difficult role. Apparently the original leading singer had fallen ill before the debut so Julie was quickly trained in her stead, but succeeded well and got a lot of praise for the role.

In 1703 Julie started an affair with Madame la Marquise de Florensac, who was said to have been the most beautiful woman in France. This is the affair of hers of which there's most evidence. De Florensac was married and had children, but she was also rumored to have many affairs. Julie lived quietly together with her for two years. They were described by a contemporary to have lived in perfect harmony, always spending time together and only appearing in public when necessarily. Julie deputed in her last role in 1705 and ended her career after De Floransac died of sudden fever. Nothing concrete is known about the rest of her life, not even how or when she died, but she is usually speculated to have died in 1707.

Parsing History from Fantasy

Chronologically the rumor that places earliest in her life was that she had "an affair" with count d’Armagnac (age 46 at the time), before she got married in the same year so as a 14 to 17 year old. There doesn't seem to be any actual evidence of this and even if that really happened, it wouldn't have been an affair, it would have been grooming and sexual violence. Related to it is the rumor that the count arranged her marriage and sent her husband away, but kept her in the court with him. Then she "got bored" of the count and ran away with an assistant sword-master, Séranne, to southern France. They got money by performing fencing matches in fairs and taverns while they were traveling till they got to Marseilles, where she first appeared in opera.

The stories of her in this period are generally written in a super nasty tone, and she (as supposed 14 yo) is written as the seductress and the adult men are written as the victims of her fiery temper and fitfulness. All these stories seem pretty unlikely though. The rumor about the count seems (unfortunately) most possible, but accounts from 18th and 19th century about these early events in her life don't seem to be based on any information from her lifetime. I find it most likely that the writers in 18th and 19th centuries were filling out the blanks we don't know from her life and painting her as this (in their eyes) degenerate seductress from an early age. An alternative possible explanation could have been that she indeed accompanied her husband to south, perhaps near Marseilles, where she then performed with the Marseilles Opéra. Many sources claim though that she performed with her maiden name there, which would be odd if she was living with her husband. I don't know where that claim comes originally, but it could be false of course. Although the generally proposed year of her marriage could also be false, which would explain why she at first performed with her maiden name, and later in Paris and always after that with her husband's name. That would not explain how she ended up going to Marseilles though.

The next and perhaps the most infamous and coolest story of her sets somewhere shortly before 1690. In that story she fell in love with a girl in Marseilles and the girls parents sent her to a convent to avoid a scandal. Julie went to the convent with the premise of wanting to become a novice. They tried to frame the girl's death by putting a dead nun's body into the girls bed and setting it on fire and then went on the run for couple of months. While on the run Julie was sentenced to death in absentia, but after returning to Paris and rekindling her relationship with count d'Armagnac, he got the king to pardon her. As amazing as this story is, it's very likely not true. It seems quite unlikely that the 15 to 19 year old Julie would have done that, but even more unlikely that she'd just get all her charges dropped and these crimes wouldn't have hindered at all her career, which hadn't even properly begun yet. The first surviving description of this incident comes from a letter of her contemporary court lady, Madame Dunoyer, who was basically an early gossip columnist and despised her. Her story doesn't mention Julie at all, but talks about a nun, who tried to frame her own death in a similar manner to escape with her male lover (which still sounds very unlikely story). The first surviving description that attaches that story to Julie, comes year after her death from the very suspect writings of a known liar, Cardinal Debois, who did personally know and hate Julie. He claimed that Dumenil, who was an actor in Paris Opéra the same time as Julie, related him the story, while also acknowledging he probably did it because he too hated her. So very likely not a true story, but possibly something that was rumored during her lifetime already.

In the stories of her, after escaping from the convent and before going to Paris, she traveled again in male attire and met Louis Joseph d'Albert de Luynes von Grimberghen, commonly known as count d'Albert. He was an interesting character in his own right, roughly her age, and like her, his real story is a little hard to parse from the legend (though in his case, he was a nobleman so there's also a lot of actual records of his life). In the story though, he thought she was a man, they had some disagreement, a fight broke out, she won, injured him and nursed him back to health. And then they had a brief affair before d'Albert went to war again. They were lifelong friends, so this is not entirely made up. It's entirely possible they had a brief affair (and according to many stories an on and off type of affair that was re-kindled at many points in their lives) and there was rumors about it even in her lifetime, but the story of this first meeting seems to lack validity.

Next in her stories she met Gabriel-Vincent Thévenard, who was another famous singer and her contemporary, either right before or right after she arrived in Paris. They became lovers and after Thévenard auditioned and got accepted into the Paris Opéra, he helped to get Julie accepted too. It is true that as far as we know, they both debuted in 1690. They were also said to have been life long friends and again it's possible they were lovers at some point, but the details of their meeting are difficult to know.

There are many stories about her antics of both of her times in the Paris Opéra. In those stories she fought duels, assaulted Dumenil with a cane, robbed Dumenil, had fights with men after they insulted her or another women or harassed other women, tried to kill herself after her love was not reciprocated, threatened to shoot a duchess in the head, threatened to slit Cardinal Debois' throat, bit Thévenard in the ear on stage and had affairs with men and women. According to Cardinal Debois the feud between Dumenil and Julie started because Dumenil was interested in her but she rejected him. The Cardinal was a liar but it does sound pretty believable. So if it's true and he spread in retaliation a lie that she burned down a convent, her beating him up or beating him up, stealing his valuables and returning them to him by humiliating him in front of other actors, would align well with everything else told about her personality. Maybe her retaliation wasn't exactly as in the stories, but if the other things about Dumenil were true, I'm sure she retaliated in some way. Same applies to her threatening the Cardinal's life. He wrote about it, but he was a liar, but, but because he was a liar who lied about her, it sounds like something she might do. Madame Dunoyer wrote about her threatening the Duchess of Luxembourg apparently because of jealousy over count d'Albert. The duchess was d'Albert's mistress at one point and apparently he even fought a duel over her in 1700. So there is some validity to this rumor, though the circumstances were perfect to fabricate that kind of rumor. I haven't found as much backing to other rumors, but many of them sound possible or at least maybe rooted in some reality and exaggerated.

The rumored explanation for why she left the Paris Opéra around 1694 was that she went into a court ball in men's clothing, kissed a woman on the dance floor and got challenge to a duel by three noblemen. They went outside and she won, but because dueling was illegal, she had to flee to Bavaria, and later when she returned, she was supposedly pardoned by the king again. In the more sensational versions of the story she killed the noblemen. This whole story is very unlikely. Even count d'Albert was imprisoned for engaging in an illegal duel (the one in 1700). He got eventually pardoned, but he was a nobleman and basically a war hero. The first surviving accounts of this story come much after her dead and it sounds more like a very exaggerated version of the other stories of her. There's many more plausible reason why she would have left to Bavaria. If her contemporaries descriptions of her behavior were even half true, those could have been scandal enough. Or if the rumors of her burning down a convent were circling that time already, that alone could have been damaging enough to her career that she thought it best to leave for a while.

In Bavaria, she's rumored to have another scandal. She supposedly became lover of the Max Emanuel, Elector of Bavaria, but she was too dramatic and after she stabbed herself with a real knife during a performance, the Elector decided she was too much, demanded her to leave Bavaria and gave her money for it. She supposedly threw the money to the feet of the messenger and left. The first surviving account of this story comes again from Madame Dunoyer, the details of which have changed, but were always quite exaggerated and unbelievable. Still the core events might be true, it's possible she was the Elector's lover for a while and it's also possible she stabbed herself on stage for real, being very dramatic as she was.

Was she queer?

There are enough accounts of her attraction and relationships with women from people who actually knew her, that I do find it very likely that she was sapphic. Cardinal Debois even implied she was exclusive interested in women or at least heavily preferred them, though other accounts by the people who knew her did talk about her attraction to men too. Her dressing in men's clothing is also mentioned enough times by her contemporaries that I do believe it. Because gender was so heavily tied to clothing and sexuality and fashion was less about what you wanted to wear and more about what you wanted others to think about you, I think she probably had some gender feelings. Even her aggressive and assertive behavior was very much seen as crossing gender boundaries. There's no more evidence of her feelings on gender than her androgynous presentation, so it's mostly speculation.

In conclusion, she was definitely a flavor of queer.

Julie circa 1700 in opera costume.

The most notable source I used:

Julie D'Aubigny: the 17th Century Sapphic Swordfighting Opera Singer, video by Kaz Rowe - I mentioned this before but it bears repeating

Research page by Jim Burrows - This was great since there's gathered multiple sources on le Maupin, historical and more recent, some of which are hard to access fully otherwise

Julie d'Aubigny: La Maupin and Early French Opera, LAPL blog post - It repeats most of the rumors of questionable origin about her as truth, but the sections about her career, which have more backing than just rumors, are really helpful

Mademoiselle De Maupin; Biographical sketches & anecdotes, The Dublin University Magazine - One of those questionable biographies of her from 1854, really only good as a source of what the rumors were after her death

Chevalier, Louis-Joseph, prince de Grimberghen, essay by Neil Jeffares - Biography of count d'Albert, which includes a lot of unsourced rumors about both le Maupin and d'Albert, but recounts his life events in great detail, and references to each claim show which parts are sourced well

#queer history #history #pride month #art #queer art #lgbtq history #sapphic art #digital art #portrait #historical art #historical queer figure #julie d'aubigny #julie de maupin

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