#Home-style cooking near me

[touchofchicago]

Website: https://www.touchofchicago.com

Address: Phoenix, Arizona, USA

Touch of Chicago, located in Phoenix, AZ, offers a unique culinary experience with a Chicago twist. Specializing in catering services, we provide personalized menus tailored to your event's needs. Our diverse offerings range from home-style cooking to full buffet-style catering, ensuring a memorable dining experience for you and your guests. Whether you need a personal chef or meal prep services, we are dedicated to delivering exceptional quality and taste.

Yelp: https://www.yelp.com/biz/touch-of-chicago-phoenix-2

Mapquest: https://www.mapquest.com/us/arizona/touch-of-chicago-519939262

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[nor-4]

So I have an Oscar request. So this is when Monse and Cesar were hooking up. Monse sees the reader leaving the house, and she thinks she is hooking up with Cesar. But the reader is actually dating Oscar.

Thank you

Author's note: AAHH I LOVE THIS!!

Tags: DRAMA, Profanity, Cesar couldn't get things out of his mouth.

"Oscar baby I'm gonna go get groceries, do you need anything?" You asked looking at the mirror as you apply your lippie pouting yours lips and making a pop sound to perfect the look as you admire your self in the mirror with your purse.

"Nahh.. Do you want me to come with you?" Oscar replied as he trailed at your back placing a hand on your waist also admiring you, everyone know that your hands are now wrapped on oscar.

They can see how he follows you around like a lost dog, "I can manage." You muttered as you turn around to face him after placing your purse on the table before wrapping your arms on the back of his neck.

"God amore, you are so gorgeous.." Oscar whispered cheekly before kissing your neck as his arms finds it's way to wrap around your waist, "Oh trust me I know."

You take your time giggling as you pressed a kiss on his cheeks after he pulled away from your neck, the shine and pigment from your lips transferred on his skin leaving a kiss mark that you know he will parade everywhere once he got out of the house. "Okay now I have to go, I'm gonna cook us dinner after I got home." You addressed as both of you pulled away from each other before kissing him one last time.

"Take care mi reina.." Oscar bid as you stepped out the house waving him a bye before completely leaving and driving away from the house.

Monse's heart raced after seeing the scene from behind the curtain of the house, all the enjoyment she has from earlier was all washed away after seeing the kissing figure. The girl stepped out of the house who looks nothing like monse and nothing like how she styles.

Cesar from inside the house saw monse's reaction from outside, he knew what she saw and what she is thinking right now. He gathered himself up before running out of the house, breathlessly looking at monse who is now at the step of the house.

"Who is she?.." Monse muttered looking cesar eye to eye gritting her teeth just to hold her tears from spilling, the hurt she is feeling right now is nothing compared on how hurt she is from watching a heartbreaking movie. "Monse you don't understa-"

"That you are fucking someone behind my back?" Monse cut Cesar's words with an angry tone as everything is too overwhelming for her as tears is starting to fall out of her eyes, "No monse. I would never do that to you.." Cesar's tone is filled with sadness which made his voice break after his heavy heart.

"Then who is she?!" her voice is starting to get higher as cesar is trying to calm her down to explain himself, as his brother's nosey ass decided it's nice thing to go look out what's happening.

"She's my brothers girlfriend. Believe me in this monse, I swear to the God in heaven I would never do something to hurt you." Cesar's voice is breaking again tears is starting to pull away from his eyes as he heard footsteps from behind him knowing it's brother he look to finally see an excuse on his face. "Look at this kiss mark, it's from her." he pointed sighing at the evidence.

"Oh my God.." Monse muttered covering her mouth from shock before wiping her tears away, just in time you drove back at the drive way stepping out of your car.

"Just right I forgot my purse.." You said as you walk near cesar and monse seeing her state from previous, "Oh darling what happened to you?" first thing that came into your mind as you place a hand on her shoulder. You might not know someone but you'll still care for them if they are at this state of their self.

"Come on let's get you inside.." You said as cesar and oscar stepped out the way as you guide monse to sit on the kitchen as you pulled a cold water from the refrigerator. "You're Cesar's girl right?" You asked entertaining her as she drank from the cup you gave her.

All monse did is nod, "What happened?" You asked her once again as cesar and oscar started approaching both of you, Cesar was the one to explain what happened to you because monse is not in the state of talking but she appreciate how kindhearted you are as guilt starting to eat her from doubting you as Cesar's other woman.

"Oh so you guys are a thing? That's why I keep seeing girls shirt on your room." You muttered as monse almost choke on the water. As for oscar he is sitting beside you just happy to be there while a kiss mark still plastered on his face.

"Don't worry baby, I washed your clothes.." You explained as you place a hand on her knees to comfort her, "Thank you so much. God i shouldn't have questioned cesar." Monse retorted as you gave her a smile to assure her.

"That's normal you know and tell me if oscar ever hurt you." You said pursing your lips as you stood up to get your purse because that's the main purpose why you are here right now, "It's getting late I wouldn't have time to cook. Let's just eat outside and monse eat with us later, I wanna know you more." You turned at her.

"Oh I don't have any shirt with me right now to change." Monse replied to you with a smile, "You have a shirt here darling, I put it on Oscar's shirts." You said to her patting her shoulders again as cesar is behind her keeping him by his side.

"I'm gonna help you get groceries.." Oscar said with decide tone in his words you just rolled your eyes cause you know you couldn't say no to him if he is starting to be like that, "Kids we are gonna left you for an hour.. And there's a condom on the drawer." You winked at monse who just look at the ground shying away as oscar laughed who hold your waist to escort you out side.

Cesar mirrored both of you with monse cause he doesn't wanna leave her behind but he wants to bid you guys goodbye, "Drive safe oscar." Cesar said chuckling same as oscar who sits on the driver's seat after opening a door for you. "Yeah kid cause you said so."

[wifeyoozi]

House husband! Kim mingyu x reader drabble (comf + fluff + smut)

Imagine coming home after a long day at work. You had worked an extra shift after your boss has embarrassingly and sexistly reprimanded you in front of your important clients during your meeting. You are tired as hell, your eyes are aching from sitting on your laptop for hours, your feet hurt from wearing your business heels and youre just frustrated.

When you open the door, you are instantly greeted by mingyu who peeks at you from the kitchen, puts away whatever he was cooking and runs to you like a little kid, the sweetest and brightest smile on his face as he greets you and takes your laptop bag from you.

"hey, beautiful," he says, pecking your lips sweetly, "I saw your location near home so I just drew you a warm bath. Go and get fresh and I'll set the table by then." You smile sappily, feeling all your tension lift off your shoulders by the thought of a nice warm bath.

You strip out of your clothes once you reach bathroom and sink into the warm water in the bath tub, sighing in relief. The water helps the soreness in your muscles and you feel like you could sleep then and there if not for your stomach making protest noises from hunger. You lazily lather up some soap on your hands and legs and wash up before getting out of the tub and drying yourself up with the warm towel which you could bet was freshly out of the drier. You sigh dreamily, whatever good deeds did you commit to get a perfect husband like mingyu.

You pull over one of Mingyu's oversized tee's and slip on a pair of pajama shorts, heading towards the dining when the aroma of the food mingyu prepared. You settled on the dining table where mingyu was just serving you a plate of something new he made. He'd been trying to learn to make new cuisines from recipes he'd see online and have you taste them and they are always amazing.

"it's something greek! I saw a recipe and i know you like eggplants so i wanted to make it for you!" He told you and you chuckled. You took a bite of the creamy casserole-like dish, a satisfied moan immediately leaving your lips when the rich flavours reached your tastebuds. "Do you like it? Do you like it?"

You giggled at your man's excitement, "oh, I love it! So good, it feels like home!" Mingyu giggled and pecked your forehead before sitting beside you with his own plate. You two engage in mundane talks about your day and you tell mingyu about the horrible day you had at work and how he's already made you feel so much better about it.

"I never liked James anyways, your previous boss was better. Sad that she had to retire," mingyu comments. He then grins naughtily, nudgi g your feet with his own, "also, in case you are not too tired, I can make you happier~."

"really? I'd love me some fun dessert," you say winking.

Once you two were done eating and cleaning the table and loading the dishwasher, he picked you up in his arms, bridal style, and took you to your bed, throwing you on the soft sheets before kissing you like no tomorrow. You laugh into the kiss out of pure joy of how excited your husband gets when you are like this.

He pulls over his tshirt, revealing his hot abs and gorgeous body and pulls down his sweatpants, leaving him in his black CK boxers which did nothing to hide the big size of his hardened cock. You reached out to grab it, but mingyu held your wrist. "Uh-uh, beautiful, tonight is 'bout you."

He pushed your shoulders till you are laying flat against the bed and push your tshirt up to reveal your boobs. He kisses down the sensitive soft skin of your chest, nibbling and marking the flesh near your areolas and sucking on your nipples when you tangled your fingers in his shirt black hair. He moved south, kissing your bloated tummy (thanks to the amazing food your husband makes for you) and down your navel.

He takes the waist band of your shorts in his teeth and effortlessly pulls them off your legs, not having to deal with your underwear since you didn't wear any after your shower. Mingyu would tease you about it any other day but right now he's just too hungry to tast you to care about it.

He kissed down your thighs, bruising the delicate skin with his teeth. As desperate he was for your pussy, he never compromises on foreplay. When he was satisfied with his artwork on your thighs, he finally moved his mouth to your cunt, licking a stripe, his tongue dipping under your outer labia, moaning at the taste. Nothing he would ever cook could compare to the heaven that hid between your legs.

He used his hands to spread your legs wider and hooking then over his shoulders for support. He lapped at your juices like a starved dog, continuously praising you for getting so wet and how great you tasted. He entered his middle and ring finger, palm up in your cunt, thrusting in and out and curling them at the spongy part which made your thighs shakez while he got down on sucking on your clitoris, determined to make you cum before he could fuck you.

You cum surprisingly cum quicker than usual, your thighs shaking and hips stuttering over mingyu's face. You whined when mingyu put his tongue over your sensitive clit again. "Baby, p-please, fuck me already. I need you dick."

"I'll give you what you need baby, but I want to make you cum once more before that."

"ah! I'd love that, but I'll actually fall asleep after another orgasm, and I need that one to be from your dick." You whine. As much as you enjoy letting mingyu pull orgasm after orgasm from you before he even got his cock in you, you were too tired today. And as much mingyu loves seeing you cum over and over on his tongue and fingers, he doesn't want to tire you out too much. It's still Wednesday, and you need to go to work tomorrow, and he'd hate to have you get insufficient rest.

So he reluctantly pulls away from your beautiful pussy and takes off his boxers, his dick springing up against his hard abs. As often as you have seen your husband's penis, it never gets tiring to such over that beautiful length and thick girth. You reach your hand to stroke him a little, spreading his already leaking precum throughout the length.

He grabs your hips, slotting his cock head against your entrance and slowly thrusting in. You moan as the pleasurable sting of the stretch from his dick clouds up your mind. Mingyu stays inside for a second, leaning down over your body to kiss you. He starts fucking you, a little slow at first till you catch up with him, before putting into your hips like an animal in heat.

His loud groans matches your moans, your manicured nails sure to leave back scratches all over your back as you grip him tightly for support. Mingyu's hands venture back to grab your ass because he just can't help it and grips it tightly enough to bruise them with his finger prints.

You both reach your orgasm almost simultaneously, him helping you by rubbing your little clit. You cum first, breathing heavily as the dopamine release feel fluid in your veins. Mingyu cums soon after, your walls spasming around him post-orgasm stimulating him just the right amount to paint your insides white. The creamy seme leaks as he exits you gently.

He kisses your face gently, leaving to get a wash cloth. He cleans between your legs up with the warm and wet towel before getting another softer towel to dry it. You are already asleep by the time he comes back. He pulls down your tshirt to cover a decent amount of you and slides into the bed beside you, pulling the covers over you as he pulls you close for cuddles. You wake up momentarily to adjust yourself closer to him, wishing him a good night before you both fall asleep, happy and comfortable in each other's arms.

Now stop imagining cuz ain't no mingyu becoming our cute little house-husband

[lichenes]

on my hands and knees begging for domestic fluff w joost. cooking together, doing livestreams, playing video games, ANYTHING plz <3

My friend read the ask and suggested the whole plot so it came out like a crack fic near the end but oh well, the sillies :D Hope you like it anon and thank you for the ask!!

CW: cursing, broken washing machines??? wc: 689

•───────•°•❀•°•───────••────────•°•❀•°•────────•

He walked through the door inhaling the familiar scent of your shared home. “You’re home!” You said with excitement, thrilled to see Joost. He talked to you about the latest concert, his eyes sparkling with joy when he described a huge group of people shouting the lyrics to his song alongside him. 

You were happy to finally have him back home as this was the last concert of the tour. He expressed how grateful he was for your support and couldn’t quite stop apologising for - as he called it - abandoning you for so long. You reassured him constantly hoping he would one day realise what made him happy, made you happy.

You both were too tired to do anything more than discuss things on the surface level. “You know I wouldn’t give you up for anything in the world.” He said as you both were laying in your shared bed. You nodded, constantly surprised by the level of affection he sported while extremely tired. 

You woke up well rested, finally not worrying if he was okay, he was next to you after all. “I’m doing laundry, do you need anything washed?” You said no and went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for you two. When he was done with the load he got into the kitchen and hugged you from behind inhaling your scent. 

“Missed you.” He mumbled into your neck tickling you with his breath. “Missed you too.” You were standing over the stove with a wooden spoon stirring the scrambled eggs. Joost thought proved to be a severe distraction. “I need to focus on the task at hand, Joost.” He let his gorgeous laugh out. “I knoww~ but I didn’t have much time to spend with you and I need you now.” Your face got warmer at those words. “You’ve got me all to yourself lovely.” You said this time making his fair skin turn a shade of red. 

He stopped hugging you and opted instead to set the table. It was quite small but enough for both of you to dine. He made sure to give you your favourite glass. You served the food up. He commented on how tasty it was despite it being only eggs and salt. “It’s hard to fuck up scrambled eggs.” You said with a slight jest in your voice. He laughed and continued. “But it’s not impossible!” 

You went into the living room of your apartment after he was done with washing the dishes and you were done drying them. Your day was spent laying in bed and watching some stupid series full of cheesy jokes which were just cringey enough to make both your stomachs hurt from the laughter. At some point you stood up and went into the bathroom.

Your socks were met with a wet floor which you didn’t expect. Suddenly you realised what was going on. “Joost!” You shouted, calling him over. “What’s up?” He walked right into the puddle. “The washing machine malfunctioned… grab some cloths.” He nodded and walked up to the closet and pulled out some, handing it to you with a smile on his face to cheer you up before the work you both were going to do soon. 

Unfortunately you didn’t catch the malfunction in time which meant the floor panels lifted due to the moisture they absorbed. Renovations were long overdue and you were planning on changing up the floors anyway you told yourself when you saw the panels literally de-gluing themselves from the floor. 

You decided on a herringbone style of floors this time opting to lay them yourselves, after all how hard could it be? You bought raw planks and let Joost lay his heart out. You loved seeing him work all stuck in his own world. He weatherproofed the planks after cutting them up into size appropriate pieces and made your home look brand new with the shining new floors. 

“You did a great job baby.” You said when he came over excited to show you his work. “We should monitor our washing machine better next time though, we wouldn’t want to ruin these gorgeous floors.” 

•───────•°•❀•°•───────••────────•°•❀•°•────────• masterlist

[leah-lover]

Baby girl. Alexia putellas x reader.

Smut 18+

Needy bottom Alexia, top reader, mommy kink.

Contrary to most people's belief, on a regular day Alexia wasnt what most people thought. 

After an accelerating game, a win, or a frustrating performance, Alexia would fuck the life out of you. She was rough, bossy, and some may say controlling. However on a regular day to day she craves attention and physical touch. 

Every morning when you would wake up she would nuzzle her face in your neck, wrap her legs around you, and just be as close to you nas possible. When standing in the kitchen cooking she would wrap her arms around your waist, kiss you neck and shoulder, and whisper sweet nothings to you. In the car her hand never leaves your thigh. She would express how much she loved, longed, and needed you all the time. She was just the most perfect 30 year old  baby girl in the world.

Rehab Alexia was so much more needier than regular day Alexia, she wanted you with her all day and all the time. When she got injured you became the designated driver in the relationship and you stayed the driver even when she recovered. 

Training today was brutal for her, everybody on social media anticipated the return of the catalan hero. Plus, her contract renewal has added more pressure on her. You could see she was exhausted mentally and physically but you didn't want to push her so you blasted her favorite music and held her hand which she seemed to appreciate.

Upon arriving home you went on your usual duties. You put the bags away, showered, and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. 

Alexia wasn't much of a cook, she put on  some jazz music, sat near the counter, and just kept you company. While the conversation flew by easily you couldn't help but notice the emotional pain in her eyes.

After you ate dinner, AAlexia asked you to put on a movie so that you guys could cuddle. You obliged to the request, got on the couch with her laying on your chest. 

She didn't last 5 minutes in the movie when she whispered “ I need you amor.” 

You weren't surprised by the ask. “ I need you to use your word bebita.” you added.

“ I need you to take control again please.” she stated.

“ Are you sure Ale?” you  asked which she said yes to.

You then carried her to the bedroom bridal style and pût her on the bed. 

“ for this to go the way you want it to i need you to be a very obedient girl.''  you said to her while pulling out some toys from the drawer. 

“ yes mommy.” she replied

You then started kissing her, softly and sweetly, you knew she needed love and affection so you decided to shower her with it. You slowly pushed her to lay flat on her back, still kissing her, now staradeling her lap.

Unconsciously you started to grind on her core while taking off her shirt and bra. This action produced a series of moans that could make you come all by themselves. You moved from her month to her neck giving it some bruising attention. While still grinding on her, you moved continuously from her month to her jaw to her neck again and again and again. 

“ Does my good girl like her treatment? Does she like being treated like my princess?” you asked. 

Too busy moaning to answer you relied on her “ yes that 's my good girl. Let me hear how good I am making you feel.” you said, lust appearing clearly in your voice. X

You moved down her body giving some attention to her chest. You took your time with each  boob. You massaged it, kissed it, and pressed each nipple between your fingers. 

“ Carino, I need more please.” she pleaded. 

“ You have to be patient, otherwise you won't come at all.” you warned her.

She obeyed your order and stayed patient without any complaint. As a reward you took off her pants  and saw the giant wet patch in herpanties and the juices running down her thigh 

“ Is all of this for me? You are such a good girl mi reina.” I said, “ Tell me what you want baby, tell me all of it.” I added.

“ need you to fuck me mommy, i need you to fuck really bad.” she cooed.

You took that as incentive, you took off her panties,and spread her legs really wide. Her core was so wet you slipped two fingers in easily trusting them roughly and hitting her stop. Alexia then became a moaning mess. You gave some attending to her clit too. 

It didn't take long for her to start pleading.

“Mommy  please, I need to come please please please.” she begged 

“ play, come me reina, come for mommy.” you  decide to say wanting her to release the tension in her body. 

She took your word immediately and came moaning her name. Her chest panting hard, you said “ you are mommy’s favorite girl, you are her good girl, you are her best girl. You did so well coming on mommy’s fingers.” you praised her. 

You didn't wait longer before you attached the strap to you. 

“Where does mi reina want to take mommy’s strap?” you asked.

“ I want to look at you mommy.” She replied. 

You repositioned  yourself in between her legs, slid the strap in her and went down to kiss her. 

Her moans didn't let you kiss her properly. So you instead picked up a fast past and focused on thrusting in her. The force you were using forced her to hold on to your shoulder.

After a few moments she pleaded, “ mommy i'm gonna come again. “

“Hold on,mi reina  so that we can come together.” you replied. 

It only took a little bit  until your orgasm hit full force due to the moaning mess underneath you. 

You then collapsed on her and she on the mattress. Her face was sweaty, a few strands of hair stuck on her forehead, you brushed them away and said, “ Ale that was fucking incredible i love you soo much baby.” 

“ i love you too so fucking much mommy.” she replied. 

After she came down you slid the strap out of her, you and got her some water, cleaned her up and laid back on the bed. You pulled her closer to your chest, kissed her temple and said. “ You are the best in the world, mi reina.” xx

[hobvitr]

hi love, how are you? could you do an earth 42 miles morales x reader in enemies to lovers style? i really want to read this <3 thank you

miles morales 42 x reader

fem!reader

genre/warnings: enemies to lovers (kinda), angst, hurt, mentions of being assaulted, fluff, comfort, kissing, miles 42 may be out of character idk, unrevised writing

note: heyy darling!! thank you for this request! i tried my best to make it make sense and i hope it does! just finished it almost passing out from sleep :p recommended song: don't - bryson tiller

sinopses: your neighbor isn't the most friendly to you and you are intrigued by it, until he help you with a bad situation

you were making your way up the stairs of your apartment, humming the song that echoed throughout your earphones. too distracted looking the at the steps, you bump into someone going the opposite direction.

"oh, sorry-" you quickly apologize looking up to see who was it, and to your surprise, it was your neighbor, miles morales. he just stared at you, not bothering to answer or apologize too, and continued to made his way down stairs.

'damn, what a prick...' you thought to yourself, furrowing your eyebrows as you reached your door, carefully unlocking it with your keys. as you entered your cozy home, you throw your shoes at the entrance and made your way to the kitchen.

you started to rewind a little bit your encounters with morales while you gathered ingredients to cook some dinner, noticing that he never directed One word towards you, you didn't even know what his voice sounded like, just muffled when he was chatting briefly with his uncle and it happened that you heard. some neighbors are a pain in the ass but you didn't understand why he was so avoidant around you. although he was pretty unsympathetic he looked like a good person, because his mother, rio, was an angel.

as you were looking throughout the shelves for salt, you realized you needed to go to the grocery store to get some. you sighed with exhaustion, putting your shoes again and picking just your wallet to go down the street. it was already dark now, your classes ended a bit later than expected so you weren't used to go out alone at this time of the night.

as you walked down the street, you didn't realize you were being followed by some tall and pretty much bigger guy than you. anxiety started to burn into your veins as you picked up your pace, but his pace got quicker too. taking a deep breath you just kept going, not so far to the store, but you felt a strong hand hold your arm, making you flinch.

"where do you think you're going, lady?" the buff guy asked, his hold getting tighter around your arm and you started to tear up with fear. "where do you think she's going?" a low voice comes near you, catching your attention. morales?

"fuck off. now, kid." the guy said, reaching to the inside of his coat, but miles was faster, throwing a punch on his face, making the buff guy look like a little bitch now curled on the ground. your eyes widened as you looked at him, then at morales.

"s-sorry" you stutter at miles, not sure what to say. "shouldn't be apologizing" he replies. "y'kay?" he asks, making eye contact with you, scolding you towards the grocery store, not wanting the man to be near you.

"i think so... yeah.." you breathe out, still shaky from the shock it all was. he accompanies you in the store while you get your salt and some candy, and you almost forgot to thank him for probably saving your life. "thank you... so much, actually."

he nod with a slight smile you almost didn't see. your mind race with the thought of asking him why he didn't like you but still punch some guy for your safety. "i'm sorry for asking, but is there a reason why you never talk to me? did i do something wrong? 'cause i really don't know and i would like to improve if i'm being a pain in the ass" your voice filled with a kind of despair.

he stayed silent for a moment, making you feel embarrassed, but he finally answered. "you're fine, i just don't tend to talk to anyone" he didn't seem convincing, but you got along with it anyway.

there wasn't much mystery, really. he had difficult to get to know new people, you just didn't knew about that. you assumed he was popular between the neighborhood and school, but it was a wrong assumption and you still didn't know about it.

"oh, okay" you replied, slightly relieved you were clear. "well, I'm y/n l/n" you extended your arm for a handshake. "I'm no more anyone" you said smiling to him as he shake your hand. "I'm miles morales" he replied with a small grin.

you kept your optimism now that he helped and talked to you. everyday after that day you said the most sympathetic 'hey' at him, and day after day he was opening his shell to you, replying and catching up to know how you and your family are.

you started to feel weird, getting excited to see and talk to him when you two could. nothing wrong to be happy to see a friend, right? right, but wrong assumption. he wasn't just your friend, he was your crush too. when he appeared with braids you could swear you were passing out at the sight. that was the confirmation to your questions about why you felt weird about miles.

your phone vibrate, indicating a new message. you read 'miles 🐈' on the screen, making you pick up to see what was it.

'can u come to the rooftop?'

'sure'

you replied, putting on a coat that he lent to you and a pair of snickers. you made your way through upstairs and made to the rooftop. you saw him sitting on the edge of the roof.

"what's up, morales?" you got closer to him at his right side, supporting your elbows where he was sitting. you were a bit afraid of doing the same as him.

"hey" he replied, looking at you. for whatever reason you were nervous about meeting him, and you did it almost daily. "why'd you called me here?" you asked nonchalantly, faking tranquility.

"i just wanted to see you" his words came out like honey, your heart melting as you heard it, but you can't show your weakness as you don't know how he feels about you. "that's cute" you tease him, a grin escaping from your lips and he bumps you with his elbow. "shut up" you know he was smiling as he said.

"i was thinkin' earlier... that I'm not being honest with you" he started, making you cut eye contact with him. you knew something was up and now you are sure everything was being dumped in trash at real time. you stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt his vent.

"i don't tell you everything, i even lie to you" his tone was low, but you could still hear him, and that was the problem. you didn't want to hear anything more and go home to process everything and cry your eyes out locked in your room. "i don't think we can be friends anymore" he stated, your heart swell completely, tears threatening to fall but you were strong to hold back. "i want to make you happy, i want to love you property" he confessed.

your mind was racing now, trying to understand what he meant exactly, you didn't want to be delusional and state you liked him back, what if he was talking about something else.

"i know you're overthinking right now, there's no need" he chuckled briefly, looking at your poor confused expression. "i like you. more than as a friend" he said clearly, not one misinterpretation was possible to happen now.

you finally looked back at him, teary eyed while you chuckled at your situation and the theatre he made just to confess to you. "fuck, you don't confess to someone like this, miles, you almost killed me" your hand was covering your face, letting some tears roll down your cheeks. "i like you too" you confessed, voice mumbled, as you were still shy to admit it.

he was smiling beautifully, both of you with shining eyes. miles got back to the floor, now standing at your side. "sorry about almost killing you" one of his hands traveled to your cheek, his thumb caressing slightly your soft skin. "can i redeem myself?" he ask with a grin and you reply with one as well. "don't get me waiting" he almost cutted you mid sentence crashing his lips onto yours.

even with the excitement of both of you, the kiss maintained a slow and soft pace, making you smile at the moment. miles placed his other hand at your waist, backing up for air. "we have to catch up all that time we didn't kissed each other" he say, getting a chuckle out of you. "we'll manage it" you winked placing your arms around his neck.

[cherie-doll]

Coming from your last post

what kind of a man do you take graves to be? he's mostly assumed to be some flightly guy but i guess you see some 'sweetheart' in that man? do you think he could comfort/help someone lets say struggling emotionally, or would you see him incapable of affection/emotional support? could he be protective?

maybe a little headcanons about his sweet side, if you believe it exists? (felt that way about the kiss headcanons a bit eheh)

he's babygirl to me

I don't think he's flighty but he seems that way because he thinks internally first, "What makes sense to me?" and then acts according to that, his mind works this way because he is confident in his smart and logical background (not to say we are all prone to impulsiveness at times, some more than others)

And he's caring about others and it shows in his decisions, it's obvious he cares about those who work near him and around him, he's a pleasant person to be around and is overall perceived as nice on the surface

Now, when it comes to relationships; he is bold and won't hesitate to flirt when "testing the waters", once he has an established relationship, however, he is straightforward and focused on maintaining that relationship and be deeper and more intimately involved as long as you're on the same track with him

now that we're through with the nitty gritty of it, it's time for the fun stuff

Most people deal with his straightforward style and manner, but the act comes clean off the moment he arrives home

He wishes to give you everything a man could give and more

You're like his coffee in the morning, having you after the glowing sunrays wake him up little by little, you're his favorite plate of which he could enjoy from at any moment of the day and still not have enough of

He'll be sitting at the dining table eating something you've made for him, and whilst your back is to him, maybe washing dishes or something, he'll sneak up behind you, snake an arm around your waist and peppering kisses on your nape all the while begging for you to go to bed with him, he's tired and wants to rest next to you

And this man LOVES it when you cook for him, especially if you find out what his favorite food is and you made it for him???

Casual affection in public like his hand placement on your lower back when guiding you or walking next to you, kisses to the side of your head, reaching for your hand and flashing the diamond ring for everyone to see with a proud smile on his face

If it's your anniversary or some important date or maybe when he just feels like it he'll go over the top, he can go all out for surprises and gifts for you because he can :)

I'd say he's reasonably protective of you, he knows much you can handle and when you might need him to step in, he can't help but worry if you don't answer his calls after he's dialed your number like three times and you don't answer

And when he takes you on dates he adores it when you get all dressed up and nice looking for him, he'll call you beautiful constantly and wonder how he got so lucky

And sometimes it's not always a candlelit dinner, he's explored more rural parts and likes taking you on a 2-3 hour drive through his favorite parts of the countryside

Will pack some sleeping bags, pillows and blankets to set up and stay enveloped in your embrace, stargazing in your eyes, admiring the silver stars

He enjoys waking up to see that golden morning sun barely peeking above the horizon line, smell the smoke that has adhered to your clothing from last night's fire, holding you close to feel your heartbeat

Feeling as if he can now rest awhile, his mornings and nights used to be all the same until he met you

His creative ways of telling you he loves you is saying he'll love you until the sun falls from the sky, and Phillip never wants things to get in the way of him saying that

[333creolelady]

Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Ch.9 (Finale)

Afab! Black OC x Roman Reigns (Pirate Au)

Warnings: SEX, Fem rec oral, Male rec oral, P in V penetration, Cursing, Discussions about Racism/ Systematic oppression, very light angst (with heavy fluff omg)

Word Count: A Whopping 34k. I am so sorry.

Official playlist link

Alternative playlist link

Official songs for this chapter: The whole world, Le style du Barry, Le lever du, Concerto G, Sonatas, The zong, Lord Mansfield, First impressions, The living sculptures, Darcy’s letter, Jeanne Versailles, spring 1, Malena Titoli di coda, To the ball, Academy, Laverton, Merry, Misirlou, Danube, The pink room, You would be my wife, You already, Nobody gets me (classical).

Alternative songs for this chapter: The gentle rain, Flick, From scratch, Guitar song, 26, The only exception, We’ll never have sex, Futile devices, Love Story, Hide, Breathe, Possibly Maybe, Lover you should have come over, Feel like home.

Cover by @joannasteez

<-Chapter 8

<- Back to Masterlist

Jane Pov

There were many inexplicable occurrences that happened as a result of the island. For one, the seasons had changed. They were spat out somewhere between Totoguam and a British occupied port. This was a relief, as it would take them a very long time to get back to Europe from where they came. It took 6 weeks flat to reach the Port of Tillbury.

Jane agreed to accompany Roman to meet an old friend in Paris and take a breather after such a vigorous quest. A quarter of the pirates parted ways with the group to pay off debts, return to family, visit family, or simply retire. William was included in that group of people. Understandably so, he needed to make things right with his wife. Doctor Earl decided to stay a bit longer, simply stating that his work was not done yet. Caden would be accompanying Jane and Roman on their trip.

Before any real break could happen, business had to be dealt with. Roman left early in the morning to travel to London to clear warrants. Jane spent the day preparing for their trip. She started packing the new sets of clothes that Roman had picked out for her. Shoes, dresses, shifts, stockings, garters, stays, modesty slips, caps and fichus, paniers, petticoats, and engageantes. Roman had gone on a bit of an impulsive spending spree as he was terribly sorry about the destruction of the last ship and all their personal belongings. After packing her items she moved onto his. She prepared her hair in small twists, hoping to not be bothered with it for a week or two. The slip of her hair pomade in her hand made her grateful to be back in the general population.

With a smaller group of pirates, dinner took half the time to cook. Tilbury wasn’t particularly known for its fresh produce or quality cuts of meat. The boat had better food. Beef and potatoes were a favorite and it was a favorite this night just as any other night. Roman came back with a tired but satisfied look on his face. She could tell by his smile that the day had gone well. Before she can utter a word, his mouth is on hers, giving her a generous and suggestive greeting after so many hours apart.

“ Dinner is ready. Caden helped”, She pulled away from the kiss with a chuckle, slapping her hand across his chest.

A goofy grin spreads across his face “ Great. Let us enjoy our meal in the bedroom”, he suggests lowly. She looks around at all the men sitting in the dining hall. They were far too busy stuffing their faces. Roman motions for the door with his eyes, trying his best to convince her. “come on”, he whispered to her. He’s already holding his plate and hers. She pulls off her apron and sets it on the seat. One of the lower ranking pirates hoots suggestively as the two disappear behind the door. Roman doesn’t even bother his typical threats from his cheery mood.

The two reach the bedroom and she sets the plates on the table, pouring a glass of water for the both of them from the picher that sat near the window sill. Roman strips himself off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt. He pulls off his tricorn hat and takes down his hair from his respectful ponytail.

“ You’re in a good mood”, Jane laughs.

“ I am. I have great news. I was able to clear up some warrants for myself and the crew. You don’t even have a warrant anymore.” Jane perks up at those words.

“ Indeed, you are declared missing in the country of England. This is because they found no remains. This means that all your debts and warrants have been cleared. You are free”, Roman quips.

“ Free…”, the word bounces off her tongue in a peculiar way. She supposed that life in London was no freedom after all. If one could even call what she had before a life.

Roman sat next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulder and pulling her temple to his mouth for a peck.

“ A fresh start. You can even choose a new name if you like not that it will matter. I don’t have much business to do with London at this point. You won’t have to go back here if you do not wish to”, he assured her.

“ Processing the paperwork will taking some time. We will head to Paris by carriage the day after tomorrow. Caden will escort you to the shops tomorrow to get anything you need for our stay which will be three weeks long.”

Jane brows raise in surprise “ Three weeks?..What on earth will we be doing for three whole weeks?”

Roman playfully rolls his eyes, “ Can a man not surprise and plan things for the woman he loves? If you were supposed to know I would have told you by now ”, he chuckles.

“ Not even a hint….you’ll spare me ?”, Jane scoffs.

“ It’s a vacation”, Roman muttered, scraping the last bit of potatoes off his plate. Jane was so excited she couldn’t even finish her meal and instead pushed her plate towards his.

“I suppose that will be enough. I’ll try to get more out of you later… I have my ways,” she teased. A rumble in his chest tickled her ears as she stifled a laugh and he pulled her into his lap.

Roman leaned into the crook of her neck. “Spoiled rotten… never let me have the last word, can you?” He quickly caught her off guard with a smack to her bum. She squealed, jumping up and diving for the bed.

As promised, the day after the next, two carriages awaited them at the end of the dock, drawn by four large white horses. The carriages were brown with gold embroidery—no doubt they were expensive. The coachmen placed Jane’s and Roman’s luggage on top of the carriage. Roman helped her step inside while the coachmen held the door open for her. Inside the small cushioned box were three medium-sized windows with retractable blinds. There were two cushioned benches adorned with beautiful swirly embroidery around the perimeter of the carriage. The ceiling was dark red with gold designs dancing across it. Jane sat down, and Roman sat across from her. The coachmen closed the door and opened the two additional windows to let in the light.

“The quality of this carriage… it’s so rich. It almost looks like a royal carriage,” Jane said, looking around in awe. It even smelled nice. A beat of silence passes. “Is this a royal carriage?” Jane frowned in confusion. Roman chuckled knowingly.

“I take it you haven’t traveled in very good carriages before?” he deflected. Jane rolled her eyes, aware of his angle but deciding to drop it.

“I wouldn’t call a wooden bench staring at the back of a horse’s arse particularly ‘good,’ so I’m easily impressed so far,” she snorted.

He chortled. “Well, if it’s that easy to impress you, prepare to be astonished once more… very soon.”

“How long before we get to Paris?”

“All of today. We won’t reach Paris until nightfall.” Roman removed his jacket and rolled it behind him into a pillow.

A day was nothing. The two of them lost track of time in conversation—a common occurrence when they were together. Roman told old pirate stories, and Jane listened intently. The bottle of ale certainly helped keep the topics interesting. Eventually, around midnight, Jane could wait for Paris a second longer. After a long rant about a specific color of dress she could never seem to find, she slumped against his chest. Sleep claimed her, and Roman, a bit of a night owl, decided to join her in slumber. He didn’t want to miss her reaction.

Jane's body sensed the carriage stop, stirring her awake, which in turn woke Roman. He looped an arm around her waist and pulled her upright before opening a blind. Jane gasped as she looked out the window.

A palace? Why would she be at a palace of all places? Why would Roman take her to a palace when he practically hated nobility? None of it made sense. She glanced between his eyes and the massive property just feet away.

A little knock on the door startled her, as she couldn’t see anyone standing there. Reluctantly, she opened the door. A small voice cleared its throat, and her eyes shot down to a sandy-brown-haired girl with large, poofy ringlets split into two ponytails on either side of her head. She wore a child’s nightdress with a robe and matching pink slippers. Her large eyes, tiny bulbous nose, and round pink lips made her look like a little cherub. More surprisingly, she was incredibly tiny, appearing to be around four to six years old. Maybe it was because Jane hadn’t been around many children; most of the earls and ladies she had worked for were older with grown children. The little girl smiled at her. “Bonjour! Parles-tu français?” she asked.

“Uh… no,” Jane replied awkwardly, a small chuckle rising from her chest as the little girl eyed her curiously.

“Hello, my name is Eloise!” the little girl said, sticking her tiny hand out to Jane. Her accent was distinctly French, and her voice was sweet yet clear, as if she had spoken two languages her entire life.

Jane, bewildered but charmed, took the child’s hand in her own and introduced herself. “Jane,” she smiled.

The child turned to Roman. “And you must be Papa’s friend. He said you were coming. He’s not back yet from his hunting trip with Mama, but don’t worry. I can give you a tour since he’s not here. I know all the rooms of the palace and the—”

“Eloise! What did I say?! You are to be in bed! Une dame ne salue pas ses invités dans ses vêtements de nuit. A lady must be presentable!” a woman called from the top of the steps leading to the entrance of the palace.

The little girl took off running into the palace, a guard jogging behind her, shadowing her every move. Jane and Roman stepped out of the carriage as she disappeared around a dimly lit corner. A woman in her fifties with deep brown hair, green cat-like eyes, a long defined nose, and cherry-red lips approached the couple. She wore a long deep green gown, and her hair was styled in a puffy updo. Jane glanced back to see Caden still in his carriage parked a few inches away, greeted by a different courtier.

“Monsieur Roman, Mademoiselle Ramlal—welcome. My name is Beatrice. I split my time between being a governess to Lady Eloise and a courtier for the Duchess of Orleans. The Duke will be so pleased to have you both here,” she said, respectfully curtsying and smiling at them.

“Hi… Is this… Versailles?” Jane asked, looking around curiously at the architecture.

The woman covered her mouth to suppress a chuckle. “No, ma’am. This is Palais Royal—home to the Duke and the Duchess. However, Versailles is just up the road, an hour away by carriage. You will experience the wonders of the King’s home soon enough. Not to worry.”

“Thank you, Beatrice. This is Jane’s first time in Paris, so she’ll need some time to adjust”, says Roman.

“Of course! Let me show you to your room, and we can do a tour of the property after the Duke and Duchess return. Let us take the short way, as I know you two must be very tired. Right this way,” Beatrice smiled kindly, signaling to the officers to unload the luggage, which was then picked up by four servants who appeared quietly in the background.

On the short walk to their quarters, Jane took it all in—what she could see, at least. Before her stood an architectural giant, its grandeur dwarfing the buildings in England. It worried her slightly that Versailles would be even bigger than this. The palace, with its striking classical façade, was an intricate tapestry of columns and arches. Tall Corinthian pillars, fluted and carefully proportioned, rose imposingly toward the sky, framing the grand entrance like sentinels of history. The creamy stone glowed warmly against the light, each detail sharp and vivid against the Parisian night sky.

Jane’s gaze swept over the expansive courtyard, where the geometric design of the paving stones seemed to lead her deeper into the heart of the palace. To her left, the vast gardens unfurled, their manicured hedges and vibrant flowerbeds a riot of color, contrasting beautifully with the pale stone of the building.

The sheer scale of the Palais Royal filled her with awe; it seemed to stretch endlessly, a labyrinth of wealth and privilege. How did people live like this? The intricate ironwork of the balconies twinkled in the moonlight, and the ornate sculptures perched atop the façade looked down like ancient figures, frozen in time. Every detail—the delicate carvings, the imposing gates, the shimmering windows—left her wide-eyed. This was not just a palace; it was a gateway to a life that was completely alien to her old one. And she thought the Earl she worked for was rich?

“Roman, we are criminals. We cannot be here,” she whispered quietly to him as they walked behind the governess. They were in the foyer, heading up a marble staircase so clean she felt she could eat off it.

He looked down at her, noticing her nervous glances over her shoulder as if there was a guard about to handcuff her. “Do you really think I’d take you somewhere where they would arrest you? It’s taken care of, remember? Besides, the Duke and I are childhood friends. He would sooner hide us than give us up to the law—a law we are no longer in trouble with. Relax. It’s what you’re supposed to do on vacation.” He looked down at her again as she continued to glance around suspiciously. Jane could send him into hysterics when she wanted to. This was one of those moments. She grabbed his large hand tightly, and he squeezed her small fist reassuringly.

“Okay. Here are your quarters. The Duke has informed us that you would like to share a room,” Beatrice led them down a winding, tall, echoey hallway that Jane nearly slipped on. She wasn’t used to walking on stone yet. They arrived at the room, and Beatrice opened the door. Jane held back a gasp.

The bedroom was lavish and opulent. The room featured grand, ornate furnishings with rich fabrics and intricate detailing. The walls were adorned with delicate wallpaper in a soft goldish-brown color with floral patterns. A large, canopied bed served as the centerpiece, draped in expensive linens and surrounded by tapestries.

Gilded accents and antique mirrors with elegant chandeliers illuminate the room with a warm, soft glow. Decorative vases and fresh flowers bring life and color to the space. Cushioned gold chairs and mahogany tables line either side of the room. A small table and two chairs sit near the large window with a balcony. The rug is spotless; not even a speck of dust or dirt can be seen on it, despite its cream and gold colors. The fireplace is large, with fresh wood sitting inside it. The room is adorned with ancestral paintings and murals. The marble floor features intricate designs. The ceiling is gold-trimmed.

“Your things will be here shortly. Ms. Ramlal, your measurements will need to be taken.”

“Oh—I brought my own dresses, no worries,” said Jane.

“This will be for your Versailles trip. Here, the court is a little more relaxed. However, Versailles is more traditional. The King doesn’t particularly like British fashion, so you’ll have to respect the rules of his court. Otherwise, you may insult him. His Highness is a little more… particular, ” Beatrice explained gently.

Jane blinked with surprise. “Oh—I was not aware. Thank you for letting me know.”

“My pleasure. Oh look, your bags have arrived,” Beatrice said, stepping aside to allow the male servants to place the luggage trunks next to the room dividers at the far end of the room. Two more servants, this time female, entered the room. They greeted her quietly, and she returned the favor. Roman was sitting in a chair, going through a small bookshelf that sat on the opposite side of the room. Jane walked to the full-length mirror next to the suitcases and allowed the ladies to take her measurements. The process took all of two minutes before they left with a swift curtsy.

“You two enjoy the rest of your evening. There will be a Butler named Joffrey stationed outside your door. If there is anything you need, report to him, and he will have it done. Is there anything else I can assist you two with?”

Roman stood from his sitting position. “No, that will be all, Beatrice. We truly appreciate your hospitality. I wish you a good night.”

“And you as well. See you both in the morning, Monsieur..Mademoiselle,” Beatrice curtsied and left.

Jane let out a long sigh, relaxing her shoulders. “Goodness. I felt like I was in a play.”

Roman chuckled knowingly. “The people of the court are almost as intense as the royalty. Every nicety must be observed. Every interaction is uptight. But trust me, the Duke and the Duchess are not like that.”

Jane looked around the room, turning her body to take in each part of it. At the end of the room sat assorted berries, chocolate, chocolate-covered berries, scones, soups, cheeses, breads, and wines. Jane rushed over to pick a berry from the tray.

“Mmm…” she said, picking another and putting it in her mouth. Utensils lined the tables. She picked one up, only to realize it was pure gold. The thought tickled her. Wouldn’t silver be just fine?

Chocolate was a rare delicacy. She’d tasted it maybe twice in her life and then never again.

“Fan of chocolate?” Roman smiled, watching her pick over the food table.

“Fan of anything sweet, if you couldn’t tell,” she chuckled.

Roman stood, his knees groaning from sitting all day. He pulled off his dress coat and placed it on the side of the chair. “The Persians love their sweets, so you won’t leave this place unsatisfied. Come, let me loosen your corset.”

Jane washed down her berries with a splash of wine before she shuffled over to Roman, kicking off her heels and letting her toes sink into the carpet. Roman stood behind her with his tall stature, pulling down the straps of her corset and loosening the ribbons that wound up her back. The final tug at the bottom of the corset popped the cage loose, allowing the fabric to fall down to her hips. She could feel her breasts spill out, but she made no move to hold them. She carefully pulled it off, revealing a thin, sheer undergarment slip she wore underneath. She lifted the garment over her shoulders and tossed it on the floor, leaving herself in bloomers and nothing else. She felt a calloused finger trail along her back and up her right shoulder. There it was again, that tension that had been brewing for weeks. She peeked over her shoulder, and his eyes were focused on her skin, painting small circles and patterns against her back and shoulder. His pupils, darker than usual, met her own, and she nearly flinched from the heat of them. They stayed there for a minute while a silent conversation was held.

Any day now, it would happen. His lust was so incontestable, so palpable, she could reach out and touch it. He took a step back and surrendered to their circumstances. No, not yet. Close, but not quite yet. It had been a long day, and his eyes lowered to her dress on the floor. He picked it up and set it alongside her luggage.

When she entered the elaborate bathroom, she noticed a large, spacious marble bathtub sitting by the window. She requested a bath, and Roman took his shortly after hers. The exhaustion set in fast as the two barely uttered goodnight before reaching deep sleep.

The morning sun illuminated every corner of the gold-speckled room, creating a shiny and soft haze over her eyes. To wake up glowing was strange after living inside a wooden ship for the better part of a year. Jane sat up to find that Roman was gone, which made her a bit nervous. A small note sat on her pillow, and she opened it.

“Gone to have a smoke with Arnaud. Pull the rope, and your chambermaids will come and get you ready for breakfast. I’ll see you soon.”

Arnaud? That must be the Duke. She pulled on her bathrobe and walked to the golden rope hanging by the door. She tugged it twice and stood in front of her bed, waiting to see if the maids would arrive. When they did, they greeted her quietly and walked her over to the center of the room.

She wasn’t really sure how to speak to the servants; part of her felt guilty. She used to be one. But how does one possibly speak from the other side of it? She supposed it was best to let them do their jobs. Most of the time, she just wanted to be left alone in the presence of the wealthy. Small talk bored her, and she had a million other worries on her mind than which outfit looked better on which hair color. So she let them work her clothes off in silence.

What happened next was absolutely ridiculous. She realized she hadn’t been dressed by another person since she was at least five years old. She was dressed in layers, more layers than she was used to. She felt like a noblewoman, and somehow the dresses she had brought with her, came alive in a way they hadn’t before.

This dress was light pink and frilly. It almost made her look like she belonged in this place. It had bows, lace, and a dramatic bust. The dressmaker had stressed to her how something this beautiful could only be worn somewhere of beauty. He told her that she must wait for a special occasion—now was the occasion. What else would you wear to breakfast in a palace? She put on matching pink pearl jewelry. The price was exorbitant, but it was something that Roman had picked out for her. Things were different now; money was no issue, despite the feeling not yet setting in. The dresses he had bought her when they first met were nice—expensive dresses even—but this was on a whole new level.

The ladies huddled around her and added a pink rouge to her cheeks that complemented her skin tone well. Then, they added a lightly tinted glossy pigment to her mouth that caught the light perfectly. They used a waxy substance on her lashes to elongate them and then pressed a clean-scented powder to her skin. It was perfume, she realized. She never really bothered with perfume, but this one was gorgeous. It smelt like vanilla…cake and berries. She kept raising her wrist to her nose to smell it. One of the mousy maids reached for her hair, and Jane gently grabbed her hand to stop her.

“Madame… your hair… do you not want it styled?” she asked curiously.

“Uh… my hair is a bit of a mystery. I can’t style it like the other ladies; it’s far too… complicated. Please, let me figure it out” Jane scrambled. She ended her sentence with an awkward chuckle as the two maids looked at her strangely.

“No worries, madam. Eloise has special hair too; it requires gentle hands. One moment,” the maid said before disappearing to speak with the butler outside the room.

Jane and the chambermaids sat in awkward silence for a painful five minutes. A woman rounded the corner, her hair wrapped. She wore a white variation of the maid's dress, and her face was kind and smiling. Jane realized that this woman was the first person she’d seen who looked like her in ages. Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a long sigh.

“Mary, madame. I see you are in need of a hairdresser? I can help” the woman asked in a thick French accent.

“Well, I was just going to wear it in twists,” Jane muttered.

“Twists are pretty, but maybe something more elaborate to go with such a detailed outfit. Trust me, mademoiselle, I’ve touched many heads like yours,” she suggests. A knowing smile crossed her face, disarming Jane. She spoke with such old wisdom that Jane immediately nodded.

Mary whispered something to the maids, and they left. She gently began to take Jane’s hair down, twirling the soft curls around themselves. The maids returned with curling rods and other hair products. They started a fire in the fireplace and quietly dismissed themselves. Now it was just Mary and Jane.

“You do this style often?” Mary asked.

“Yes… when I’m not wrapping it up. Can you tell?” Jane replied shyly.

“The hair has memory for sure. It’s very healthy—that’s a hard thing to maintain when you have so little product to work with. I made these creams myself. I use them on la petite Eloise. Her hair is thick and not quite like other little girls her age. It requires some work, but it’s very beautiful. She only allows me to touch it.”

“It used to be even harder, so I would just wrap it. It was hard to keep it soft at times. I had to make my own product before…” Jane stopped herself. Was she talking too much? This woman hadn’t asked for her life story. And why did she suddenly feel so self-conscious about what Mary might think of her? Jane tucked her lips as she snuck a glance at the woman in the mirror.

“Before… go on,” Mary chuckled.

Jane cleared her throat. “Before I met the gentleman I traveled with.”

“Ahh… Monsieur Roman. I’ve heard many stories about him. He is the Duke’s longest friend, and he’s supposed to be very fierce. Sir Roman is he your…?” Mary trailed off as she parted Jane's hair. Jane looked down into her lap. Would it be in bad taste to say the truth? They weren’t married. Truthfully, she didn’t think it would matter; they would go back to being pirates after this. Pirates don’t have wives.

“My companion. M-my friend,” Jane blurted. Women don’t have male ‘friends’, especially not in high society, but it’s not like she had a ring to say otherwise.

“I see. Well, he certainly will be able to tell you a thing or two about Paris. He used to frequent Paris quite a bit. I’ve seen him around”

Jane’s mind went blank. Why had she suddenly forgotten how to speak to a woman? She needed more friends, that’s for sure. “Yes. He brought me here as a surprise. D-do you like Paris?”

“Like? Sometimes. I think it’s easier to see the beauty in a place when you don’t live there. I can at least admire the architecture.”

“Yes. The buildings are a sight to see.”

Mary brushed Jane’s hair in sections, clipping up most of it while pulling a small piece out. She walked over to the fire and placed a long metal rod above the flames. After about a minute, she returned to the styling chair and wrapped a piece of cloth around Jane’s hair. She looped the hair around the heated rod, using the cloth as a barrier. After twenty seconds, she released the hair to reveal a large ringlet. Jane gasped.

“Wow,” she said, touching her hair gently with the tips of her fingers. She didn’t want to mess up the style, but it amazed her. Somehow, it made her hair look longer yet the curl was more dramatic. She’d never manipulated her hair in that way. “You are going to do that all over my head, just like this?!”

Mary burst into laughter. “You look like little Eloise after I do her hair. She jumps out of her seat and then starts dancing and posing in the mirror. Of course, mademoiselle, it’s why I’m here. Now hold still,” Mary said, resting the rod on a thick piece of cloth and pulling out another section of hair.

Jane could feel her excitement bubbling over as Mary continued to work on her hair. She couldn’t remember the last time she got excited about something like this. Having her hair done was a luxury she wasn’t sure she could part with.

“So… what part of France are you from?”

“I am from Haiti, but I came to Paris when I was about eight years old. I grew up here in Palais Royal with the former Duke—the King’s brother. My mother was a dressmaker, and I was her little assistant.”

“Ah, I see. Do you live here in the Palais? Or away?”

“Oui, in the servants’ quarters. Though I have my own apartment due to Eloise’s favor. The Duke treats his staff quite well,” Mary spoke with a relaxed tone, as if Jane were her longtime girlfriend. She liked that. The other maids seemed so high-strung and tense.

“I’m not from here… in Europe, I mean. I’m from Trinidad. I came to Europe as a child too,” Jane admitted. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She wasn’t about to pretend to be something she wasn’t.

“An island girl like myself? Who would have thought. What a peculiar place for us to be, no?”

“Peculiar indeed.”

“So I take it you’re not a former Kings gift? Or rather a Bastard to a Duke or Marquis?” Mary said playfully, with a suspicious tone.

Jane held back a laugh. “What gave it away?”

“You look me in the eye when you talk.”

Jane pondered that for a second. She remembered those days slaving away over a stove, serving a dish to people who couldn’t see her. She was invisible. Over time, that invisibility became a comfort.

“And if they were to look you in the eye, they would only be looking at their reflection in it,” Jane quipped absentmindedly. Mary let out a high-pitched laugh.

“What was your job before this?” Mary asked, working quickly and already finishing the back and crown of Jane’s head.

“Cook. I have fingertips of steel. I could probably wrap my hand around that rod and not feel a thing,” Jane joked.

“Explains the humor. Well, Madame Jane, I can tell that you and I are going to get along just fine,” Mary grinned knowingly.

The two fell into chatter and banter like friends. Mary was funny, and she seemed to know so much about everything. Jane even had to excuse herself from cursing a few times as it slipped out. Mary found it funny. The connection could only be explained as the harmony of having a conversation with another woman—there was nothing quite like it. And while Roman was the keeper of her secrets, he preferred to pacify and soothe. But talking to a woman—there was something almost spiritual about it. The idea that someone would just “get it,” whatever that “it” might be. The comfort in knowing that somewhere, your stories lined up, even if just for an instant.

Mary pinned Jane’s hair in a rolling pattern that accentuated her long neck. She left a singular thick curl hanging down against her shoulder. Then she dusted Jane's hairline with a pink sparkly gold powder that matched her pale pink dress and makeup. Jane gasped when she saw herself in the mirror.

“What do you call this style?!”

“The tête de mouton, or sheep's head. The ladies in Paris love this style.”

“I see why. Wow, I’ve never looked like this before. I mean, you practically did magic!” Jane exclaimed, brushing a finger against the curl on her shoulder.

“I am very pleased you like it, madame. Now one moment. The governess wants to meet with you before breakfast. I’ll see you soon,” Mary said, stepping back and curtsying before leaving the room.

Jane stood in front of the mirror, eyeing every detail. She’d never looked so beautiful. She pondered if the novelty of being dressed and styled to perfection wore off for wealthy women. She could never tire of this—of feeling pretty.

The governess broke her out of her trance with a clearing of her throat. Jane turned around and curtsied. The governess returned the gesture and walked further into the room. Jane couldn’t help but feel that these sorts of greetings were growing tiresome. The governess was a serious woman but kind enough. “Don’t worry about curtsying back to the help. A short, quick curtsy to ladies of the court is fine. More dramatic and precise curtsies are suitable for nobility. Just remember to bow to the Duke and Duchess. They are to be referred to as 'Your Grace.' We will go over other things for your Versailles trip. Are you ready?” she said.

Jane sensed that the governess was in a rush, so she didn’t bother to ask any questions yet. “I am.”

“Splendid. Follow me,” said Beatrice. Their heels tapped against shiny winding staircases. It took every bit of five minutes to reach the entrance of the dining room. Two guards stood on either side of the double doors and opened them for the pair.

“Madamoiselle Jane of London,” a white-wigged announcer called from the back of the room. It nearly startled Jane, but she stepped into the path of the room and walked through the doors. A ridiculously long table, which nearly stretched across the entire room, revealed little Eloise, the Duke, the Duchess, Roman, and Caden. Each corner of the room had a guard, and a line of cooks stood near the entrance of the kitchen. Everyone stood as the Duke and his wife joined hands and walked closer to where Jane stood. She bowed alongside the governess, muttering “Your Grace” and “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, I can’t help it!” Charlotte lunged for Jane and wrapped her arms around her. She was a pale woman with curly, frizzy strawberry-blonde hair, large downturned green eyes, a button nose, and a bow-shaped mouth. She had a single mole on her right cheek. Slightly shorter than Jane, her comically large bust nearly cut off Jane’s circulation when she squeezed her so tight.

“Hi, call me Charlotte! Arnaud has told me so much about you two. You’re even more gorgeous than Roman could have ever described in the letter. I’m so happy to have you here!” the woman squeaked. Her British accent surprised Jane. Blinking at her with a flustered look, Jane smiled at the radiant woman before her. Charlotte had a porcelain-doll quality, and her bubbly personality fit her well; however, Jane hadn’t expected her voice to be so high.

“Nice to meet you, Charlotte.”

The Duke offered his hand for a shake, and Jane took it, happy to be over with the formalities. “Arnaud, It’s so nice to finally meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Paris.” His French accent was thick, but she understood him clearly. Arnaud was tall, almost as tall as Roman. He had a thick beard, slanted almond eyes, a broad nose, full downturned lips, and dark skin. For a moment, the concept didn’t register, and a blank stare crept onto Jane’s face as she held his hand.

“You’re the Duke ?” she asked, dumbfounded.

A knowing smile crept onto Arnaud’s face. “I have my paperwork to prove it if you don’t believe me.”

“No—sorry. I mean… you know what? Never mind,” Jane scrambled to find the words.

“Relax. I get it. Not what you were expecting,” Arnaud laughed.

“Well… no,” Jane sputtered.

Suddenly, something tiny and furry ran through the gap between Jane’s feet, causing her to nearly stumble off balance. Arnaud caught her. A tiny body pushed past her feet on all fours, yelling in French.

“Mauvais chat! Come back here!” Eloise shouted.

“Good heavens!” the Governess gasped, clutching her chest. Eloise was chasing a white fluffy cat around the expensive dining room on all fours, meowing like a cat.

“Eloise! What did I tell you about chasing that cat?! Get off the floor! You’re terrorizing the poor thing!” Charlotte dodged for the little girl, crawling on the ground herself as Eloise chased the cat under the dining table. It was truly a sight to see, as most high born mothers did not bother reprimanding or even parenting their children.

Jane wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to laugh, but she had never seen anything like it in her life. Then the guards started chasing after all three of them—the cat, Eloise, and the Duchess—trying to prevent an accident and stop the cat from running up the drapes.

Arnaud turned to Jane with a tired look. “One thing I can say—I am never bored in this house.”

“I can see that,” Jane chuckled as he walked her to her seat next to Roman.

Roman pulled her chair out for her, and she took a seat, taking in all the wonderful dishes. A male servant greeted her and set a plate in front of her. The Duke sat across from them as if utter chaos wasn’t unfolding in front of them and started loading Jane’s plate with food. No one of Arnaud’s status had ever served her food.

She could feel Roman draw closer as he whispered, “You look stunning.”

“I hope so after how long it took to get ready,” she smiled.

Roman took her hand and kissed the back of it. Jane looked to Caden, who had been quiet as a mouse this entire time, watching Charlotte crawl past him with a determined look on her face as she grabbed hold of Eloise’s leg. Suddenly, Roman shifted in his seat and caught Eloise with one hand, lifting her in the air. There was a tiny shrill of her voice before she went limp in his iron grip.

“Pas juste!” she pouted. (No fair)

To Jane’s surprise, Roman muttered, “La vie n'est pas juste,” chuckling at the cat darting underneath the chairs before it was caught by a guard. (Life is not fair)

“Maybe for you,” Eloise teased.

Charlotte grabbed the child and quickly swatted her on the bottom, though it made no difference given how thick the child’s dress was. Instead, she just snickered as the governess took her to her room. Charlotte fixed her hair and straightened her dress before sitting down next to her husband. Order was restored to the room as Charlotte regained her breath. Arnaud looked to his wife and whispered something to her that caused her to giggle.

“I apologize that you all had to be subjected to that chaos. Eloise is a very advanced child, which means that left to her own devices, she will attempt to dominate whoever or whatever is in her vicinity,” Arnaud admitted. He almost looked proud of it, which made Jane look away to avoid laughing even harder.

“We hope the food is to your liking,” Charlotte added. They dug into the food, and at first, there was just the quiet of chewing and plate scraping. Then Caden decided to break the silence.

“So, Arnaud, how did you and Roman meet?” asked Caden. Jane finally got a good look at him now. A year’s worth of grime had been washed from his light chocolate hair, and he looked every bit of his teenage years—so baby-faced and bushy-tailed. He wore a matching brown jacket with black trousers. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. He looked uncomfortable, which was understandable. Although Roman and Jane had interacted with nobility in the past, Caden had never even seen a palace up close. Jane would be sure to check in with him when she had the chance.

“Roman and I are what one might say—adopted. We have a very similar backstory. We met when I took a trip to Germany as a young boy. The king was negotiating with their territory, and I saw someone my age playing in the ballroom. No introductions needed. Instant friends.”

“And he’s been a pain in my arse ever since,” Roman grumbled.

“Who are you telling? I can’t get rid of you,” Arnaud bantered.

“So I suspect your home is a bit further away?” Jane asked curiously. She hoped she wasn’t being too forward, but she had to know.

“Sierra Leone, actually.”

“I see,” a sad expression crossed her face. He was indeed a long way from home, just as she and Roman and Mary were—a feeling so unique from regular homesickness.

“What about yourself?” asked Arnaud.

“Trinidad, originally.”

One of his brows twitched in surprise. “How on earth did you two meet?”

“He… saved my life, actually.”

Roman rubbed the back of his neck. Jane didn’t understand his hesitance. “Long story…”

Jane took his hand and placed it on his lap subtly, not wanting to draw attention. It was reassurance. She felt safe to open up a bit. Arnaud and Charlotte were already drawn in, judging by their concerned expressions.

Jane cleared her throat. No turning back now. “Yes… he found me. The ship I was traveling on had a terrible accident. I was floating on a life raft for God knows how long. He found me and helped me get better. That was over a year ago. I owe my life to him.”

“You’ve saved my life as well. You have no debt with me, I assure you,” Roman muttered back quietly.

“Wow… what a strange way to meet a person. I’m so very glad you’re here with us, Jane,” said Charlotte.

“Who are you in relation to Roman?” Arnaud asked Caden.

“Roman took me in when I was young. He’s looked after me ever since. If you start meeting a lot of his friends, you’ll notice a pattern: everybody owes them their life. He nursed me back to health too. I think he has an affinity for finding the strays of the world,” Caden joked.

Arnaud let out a quick snort. “Very maternal, that one.”

“Now you’re pushing it,” Roman warned Arnaud. He chortled at Roman’s irritation.

“What about you, Charlotte? How did you and Arnaud meet, and how long have you been together?” asked Jane.

“A tavern in Southwark. His carriage broke down, and he came inside to have dinner. I served him. That was seven years ago now,” Charlotte smiled as she remembered the day fondly. Jane was even more confused.

“Served him?” Jane tilted her head.

“Why yes, I can only sell the highborn act for so long. I served beer to drunkards for a living, darling. My father was a farmer,” she giggled.

And there it was. Charlotte had a very approachable quality about her. Despite how pretty she was, there was a carefreeness to her that only someone working in the general public could have.

But how on earth was that marriage approved? Let alone them being from two very different parts of the world. However, Jane didn’t want her questions to come off as rude. She’s asked enough questions. One thing was for certain: they were an intriguing pair. Opposites certainly attract. She could tell Charlotte was the wild one, and Arnaud was the relaxed one. Perhaps she and Roman weren’t so different when it came to opposites. Jane had a tendency to be more reserved and withdrawn. It took time for her to get out of her shell. Roman was more straightforward, rougher around the edges. He wasn’t loud, but he wasn’t quiet either. He was just right for her, just opposite enough to make her a better person.

Breakfast was a surprising delight. The conversation was hysterical. Roman and Arnaud, as storytellers, were quite the pair. They were almost like siblings the way they shared mannerisms and inflections at times. Before they knew it, they had been sitting at the table for two hours.

Plans were made. There would be an official welcome dinner with all members of the Duke and Duchess's court. There were plenty of people that Jane hadn’t met yet. After that, Charlotte raved about the Opera with the live orchestra that she wished to invite Jane and Roman to. Jane had never been to a ballet, nor had she seen an orchestra play live before.

Until then, Arnaud took them on an expansive tour of the palace, which took every bit of an hour. She had no idea how or why the home of someone had to be so big. But it’s easy to forget just how many people lived in the palace: servants, soldiers, teachers, cooks, doctors and nurses, animal attendants, gardeners, and more. Not to mention the courtiers and advisors who lived there simply to keep the nobles company. The acreage was just as expansive. There was a vast greenhouse, gardens, orangeries, and horse pastures. Each bedroom was practically a mini museum, with portraits of the long line of royalty that once lived in the palace. Thankfully, there weren’t any in the bedroom they shared.

The rest of the day would be spent at her leisure. Charlotte decided to ride horses with Eloise. Arnaud and Roman went to have a drink on the balcony. They had a lot of catching up to do. She took this opportunity to have tea time, which apparently involved relaxing in a room lined with oil paintings, satin pillows, and floor-to-ceiling windows that swung open like doors. She brought Caden along with her.

“Are you okay?” Jane asked him quietly. The boy had his feet swinging over the side of the couch as he stared up at the mural above him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked with an inquisitive tone.

“Because I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I think they’re a bit strange. Not my idea of nobility. But I guess that’s a rather good thing, considering that with a warrant, Europe would be searching for Roman with dogs by now,” Caden scoffed.

“I think they’re rather sweet. Though I can’t imagine how people must talk about them behind their backs. Those poor people,” Jane muttered quietly.

“She probably gets the worst of it. She said that she’s a commoner, right?”

“Yes, which is why I don’t know how it happened. He must have some sort of favor. I don’t imagine an old king being nice enough to grant somebody their true love. It’s always duty and sacrifice with that bunch.”

“Rich people problems. Beats me,” Caden shrugged.

“How quickly you forget that you are, in fact, a rich man now. Though you’ve barely spent any of it quite yet. I’m very proud of you. Don’t let Rory set an example,” Jane sighed. Rory had suddenly decided he needed a new fur coat collection for the winter, which wouldn’t be for months.

“Why thank you Mother,” Caden teased. Jane chuckled. At times, Caden really did act like a teenager, which warmed her heart.

The room fell silent as she thought about their arrival for the trip. She understood Roman wanting to visit an old friend. But this was such a stark difference from what she was used to. With the way he talked about royalty, she never expected him to have any friends that were still affiliated. She felt there was more than one reason as to why they were here. She didn’t sense any malice or ill intent, thankfully, but he was so subliminal about the whole ordeal.

“Has Roman ever talked to you about Paris?”

“Taking you there, yes. Said something about how he had something special planned for you and to be on my best behavior, blah blah blah,” Caden sighed, turning over to face the cushion of the couch. “I’m taking a nap. Those bloody white-wigged bastards woke me up at 5 in the morning to dress me like some stupid baby. I’m tired.”

Jane scoffed and chugged the rest of her tea before retreating to her bedroom for the afternoon. Roman hadn’t come back yet, and she was starting to miss him. She had been informed that he’d gone into town, which surprised her. She would have gone with him had he asked her.

Later that evening, as the sun went down, Jane prepared for dinner with the court. This was an observed dinner with everyone from the Duke and Duchess's court included. Touch-ups were made to Jane’s hair and makeup. She changed into a deep blue dress. The bust, sleeves, and creases of the dress were trimmed with delicate black lace. The skirt was dramatic and wide, with flared sleeves, and the forearm of the dress was flared. She liked that this dress contrasted with the light, airy nature of the first dress. The finishing touch was a black lace choker, a smudge o black on the waterline, and a fake mole on her cheek. Face dots were especially popular here in France, and some women would cover their faces with them. Jane opted for just one. She changed into black heels, and a sheer glitter was added to her hairline. A matte dark red lipstick gave the look the perfect finish. A knock on the door grabbed Jane’s attention. It was Roman, holding a box in his hand. He had changed, and his hair fell down his back in damp waves.

“That will be all for now, ladies. Thank you,” she excused the group. The maids curtsied and left. Roman shut the bedroom door and closed the distance between them, standing behind the chair she sat in. The two of them faced a large mirror that nearly spanned the entire wall. “You are never wearing pirate hand-me-downs again. I forbid it when you look like that.”

A small smirk ghosted across Jane’s mouth before she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Where have you been all day?”

“Oh, have I upset you with my absence?” Roman slyly leaned down and kissed the side of her neck. It took everything in her not to fall into him the way she usually would, to submit to the heat of his touch as she always had.

“I missed you. I had nobody to talk to. Caden went to sleep. It would have been nice to have company. I don’t know my way around here,” she pouted. Roman brushed his lips against her soap-scented skin.

“I went to the city to buy you something special to wear with your dinner dress,” he taunted. Carefully, he twirled the box in his hand and placed it in her lap. He pulled out a smaller second box and placed it on the table.

“You can’t open the little box quite yet. But this one is for tonight,” he explained. Jane hesitantly took the larger box, all blue and wrapped in red ribbon. She pulled off the silk and lifted it open to find a sizable necklace filled with sapphires and diamonds. She gasped at the way it glinted against the fireplace light.

“Roman… this must have cost you a fortune,” her hand flew to her mouth as she lifted it up, feeling the heaviness of it.

“Well, I couldn’t let you make your appearance without something special. These sorts of dinners are all about status, no matter how much they deny it. Having something nice on is a great way to avoid being treated poorly or ignored. It’s also a fantastic icebreaker. I can’t imagine what I’ll do if you are mistreated and I’d rather not find out. This will be a good conversation starter. I think it will match with your light blue dress. You can wear it for your portrait tomorrow.”

It took a moment for Jane to register what he was saying at first. “...My portrait?” she asked.

“Yes, your portrait. Here, let me see how it looks.” Jane reached up to take off her choker. He gently pulled the necklace from her grasp and placed it around her neck. She turned her neck to admire the way it sparkled. Truthfully, Jane wanted to inquire about the portrait, but there was so much going on at once that the thought slipped her mind when the jewelry hit her skin.

Her fingers graced the smooth stone. “It’s beautiful... I love it,” she murmured.

“ You wear it well”, he compliments.

“Will you walk with me to dinner?”.

“It would be my honor.”

They dressed Roman in what was called the habit à la française: his coat, waistcoat, breeches, silk stockings, jabot, cotton shirt, decorative cuffs, and cravat. His coat and breeches were a deep gray color. It complemented her outfit, and that’s when she realized that the people who dressed them corresponded. Beatrice escorted them to the great hall, and the doors opened for them, revealing a full room of people that looked like they wanted to eat her alive.

Roman POV

When you were presented before a court, you were sized up. It was one of the things he hated most about prestigious society. Roman wasn’t here for his health. A future for Jane must be secured, and in order to do that, he would be metaphorically offering the love of his life up to vultures. Except these vultures—more akin to peacocks—were flashy, rich, perfectly powdered, yet rotten on the inside. This would be their reality for the next two and a half hours.

The royal announcer called their names, ringing the dinner bell to hungry hounds as hollow, glistening, depraved eyes landed on the pair of them. Caden had already snuck his way into the room, his youth allowing him to sink into the background in a way they couldn’t. They paid their respects to the Duke and Duchess. Next came their courtiers and other members of rank. Jane’s bow was perfect. Charlotte kissed both sides of her cheek to show favor, something to sway the court. There would be a wait for dinner, and the great hall was full of bigwigs talking about feeble nonsense.

There were whispers, snickers, glares, and stares. Most of them were from the women, which was to be expected. Roman wasn’t particularly fond of the men and their obvious gawking. He and Jane stood near the dual windows overlooking the courtyard. Carts of beverages were rolled around. Roman grabbed a glass of champagne, while Jane chose water. She lifted the glass to her lips, her eyes widening as it fizzed against her palate.

“There’s something wrong with this water,” she warned.

“There’s nothing wrong. It’s supposed to be that way,” he chuckled at her shock as she cautiously took another sip.

“It’s bubbly… why is it bubbly?”

“Vichy water. It’s sparkling mineral water from Vichy, France, from the volcanic region. It has salts and healing properties. Sometimes they use it to treat gout or an upset stomach. Some people just like the taste.” He watched as she took small sips. She shrugged it off, seemingly satisfied with the sensation of the fizzing.

She fidgets, “Should I make conversation?” she asked hesitantly, looking around the room.

“No. Let them come to you.”

“How do you even know it’s me they’re staring at? It could easily be you. Pretty men are a rarity.”

A knowing smile crossed Roman’s face. “I’m not much of a crowd favorite. I wasn’t particularly known for my charming attitude prior to you. You’re shiny and new; I’m old news.”

Before Jane could even protest, a woman walked up. It was Madam Bernard. She was a woman in her late 30s, a member of Charlotte’s court and an official lady-in-waiting. Madam Bernard was a gossip but usually the most curious. She was also bitter that Roman would not bed her in his younger years. He nearly stepped protectively in front of Jane when her ghostly powdered face came into view. He resisted.

“Lady Jane, a pleasure to meet you. I go by Madam Bernard,” she smiled at Jane. Her teeth were always strangely sharp at the corners—an unnerving quality. Jane curtsied briefly.

“I believe we have met, Monsieur,” Bernard turned to Roman, a wicked glint bouncing off her eyes. Roman nodded stoically, not giving her the satisfaction of a true greeting.

“Where on earth did you get a necklace like that?”

“It was a gift,” Jane smiled, her disposition flustered.

Madam Bernard motioned toward Jane’s outfit. “It’s absolutely marvelous. And your dress… blue is your color, my darling.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Jane smiled. The room could smell her nerves. But this wasn’t Roman’s time to step in—not yet. Jane was more capable than most. This room, these people, were no different from the English—hungry with an appetite that would never be fulfilled. Jane knew how to navigate it. Two and a half hours. Just two and a half hours, and they’d be alone again. He was capable. She was capable.

So, with reluctance, he allowed their conversation to flow. He watched from afar. Eventually, Madam Bernard carried her off to her den of gossipers, and Jane was off and away. She mingled. She laughed. She twirled around in her dress to choruses of “Ooh la la!” and “Magnifique!”

One glance at Arnaud across the room. He looked miserable—he usually was at these kinds of gatherings. He cast Roman a knowing look as he held up a glass to his friend from afar. Roman did the same. Caden wandered over to him, snacking on a tray of berries now.

To Roman’s surprise, Jane had come out of her shell. She worked half the room. People came up in droves to speak with her. A kiss on the back of her hand had him adjusting his collar to keep himself cool. Jane was receptive, inviting, smiley, polite, careful. There was no doubt about it: Jane was beautiful. No matter how much anyone tried to ignore it, no matter how much she fit outside the lines of the standard for the region, Jane was beauty with a face. Parisians took eye-fulls of beautiful women with no shame. He also understood that there was a novelty to Jane. Nobody in the court looked like her. That was a cause for curiosity. Still, there was a thin line between intriguing, obsession, and possession. Nobility liked to own more than anything. But she knew that. Jane was a smart girl.

The courtiers were strange the way they struck up conversation. Topics were never meaningful. They believed their leaders to be invested more than they really were. Aside from who they served, they thought of themselves as supporting characters. They treated the room as their stage, believing others were paying more attention than they actually were. Maybe they were right, because Roman couldn’t help but notice how peculiar they were. Men would come up to Jane and ask her about the weather or talk about how hot the room was. They would randomly include her in conversations she wasn’t part of. They would say, “There are a lot of people here today,” with not so much as a hello. Jane remained unperturbed —careful, receptive.

Dinner was ready, and droves of chefs and servants flooded the hall to prepare the table. The Duke and Duchess would sit first. As Jane and Roman were seated, he could see the wheels turning in her mind.

“Do not touch your food until the Duke starts eating. Then you may eat. Use your utensils from the outside in. You start with the utensil furthest from the plate. Your fork is down on the table between bites,” he whispered quietly to her. He placed a napkin in her lap and then his. He could see a worried look on Jane’s face.

“If you get lost, just copy me,” he soothed. She gave him a quick nod and turned her attention back to the Duke, who quickly thanked everyone for joining him for the evening.

Dinner went on quietly. Roman shared quick glances with Jane. The man next to her struck up conversations about fashion and his favorite dishes. Jane chose Coq au Vin—or rather, the “red chicken,” which the gentleman found funny. He knew she didn’t speak French, so he ran down a list of French cuisines, sharing his favorites as well. This interaction was the least condescending or infantilizing conversation he’d heard directed at her all evening. It gave Roman room to relax.

After the main course, there would have to be a wait for dessert. Roman planned to excuse himself to the restroom, but a commotion could be heard behind the double doors of the great hall. In walked King Joseph De Pointe. The entire room rose as his presence was announced. He had aged severely since Roman last saw him decades ago. It was as if a ghost had walked into the room. He stood about 5'10", medium-built with a bit of a stomach from old age, and he had a militant walk. As he walked to the center of the room, everyone he passed bowed in his honor. The Duke and Duchess swiftly walked toward him and bowed deeply at his presence. He whispered something to the Duke, and they both looked at Jane. Now Roman knew why he had come so early into the trip; he wasn’t supposed to meet Jane for at least another two weeks.

From the outside looking in, it might not seem that a commoner would mean so much to the King, that he would interrupt dinner to meet her. But he would. The Persians are just that vain, and nobility is even vainer. It matters that Jane is beautiful; it matters that Jane is poised. It matters how they look together. And while a favor is owed, he has the final say. He who is associated with the crown is someone of purpose and beauty. One has to know how to perform.

The old man walked across the large open circle of the connecting dining tables that filled the room and headed straight for Jane. Roman whispered quickly, “Do not look him directly in the eye.”

“Why?!” she whispered.

“It’s an invitation.”

James's eyes widen before she lowers them. The King now stood directly in front of her. Roman bows first, followed by Jane, who says, “Your Majesty.” His eyes scan Jane as she nervously stares past him. The intensity of his gaze prompts Roman to gently wrap his arm around Jane’s waist. The King looks up at Roman as if he has suddenly appeared from thin air.

“Très bien,” he calls to the Duke over his shoulder.

He falters on his feet as little arms wrap around his leg. Startled, he bursts into a hearty chuckle as he picks up Eloise and holds her in his arms. She is happy to see her adoptive grandfather. She has no inkling of the atrocities and chaos he has caused in other countries. She does not understand his alignment with eugenics or the people he has left hungry in the streets of Paris. All she knows is the warmth and adoration of her grandfather, who is not of her blood. In some sick and twisted way, it is a testament to how powerful love can be and proof of how many people are undeserving of it. Maybe karma isn’t real. Maybe one’s own torturer is not holed up in a cognitive doom, regretful, reflective, and repentant. Even the worst of people live their lives and move on. At the very least, their victims should, too. And that’s why he must take the life Jane is owed.

Whispers hum across the court as people notice the interaction between Jane and the King. They wonder about her importance. This is a good thing; it will earn favor—anything to make her interactions within the court easier.

The King stays for dessert, and there’s another 20 to 30 minutes of mingling before people begin to retreat for the night. Proper farewells are given to those who require them. Roman escorts Jane back to their guest suite.He watches as she removes parts of her outfit while storming down the hall, moving quickly as they pass their posted Butler.

“30 minutes please, Joffrey,” says Roman.

“Very well, sir,” the butler responds.

Roman shuts the door, and Jane stands in front of the mirror, angrily taking the pins out of her hair. Her hair falls into long, voluminous curls that cascade onto her shoulders. She reaches for her corset, too proud to ask him for help.

“Let me get that,” Roman insists.

“NO!,” she barks.

Roman retreats from the sting of her tone and tosses his jacket on the floor as he sits on their bed. He runs a hand down his face, knowing he’s in for an earful. “Tell me what I’ve done.”

“What sort of agreement do you have with the Duke that the king of France is having a staring contest with me in front of a hundred fucking people?” she sneers.

Roman sighs.“Jane…relax.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Are you planning on giving me away? Are you trying to send me off with one of those rich old men?” she presses.

He stands at the accusation.“What!? N-No. I love you. Why would I do that?”

Her breathing is labored. Her eyes shoot around the room as if she’s coming up with a plan. “I won’t be his mistress or anybody’s mistress. I’m not marrying anybody you set me up with. You can act like it’s for the best or you’re doing me some favor by whoring me out but I’ll sooner die! If we’re done, then have the guts to say it, but I’m not staying here if—”

Roman’s eyes nearly buck out of his head as he rushes into her space, holding his hands up in surrender as he tries to reason with her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!!! Let’s start over,”He can see the beginnings of that familiar panicked and trapped look returning to her—one he hasn’t seen in a long time, and it turns his stomach. He wishes not to return to that dynamic.

“Why would you think that I would ever send you away? You are my heart's keeper, Dove. You know this,” Roman says, pulling her hands into his and pressing the backs of her fists to his mouth. She turns her head away in protest. He gently grabs her chin and holds it between his fingers. Her eyes are glassy with tears as she tries to cover sadness with anger.

“I’m not going anywhere. You aren’t going anywhere. You are mine as long as you allow it. Let me explain it all to you. You’ll let me explain?” He presses his forehead to hers. His tone is quiet, just above a whisper—a trick he learned to ease her anxiousness. If she could barely hear him, then she would have to focus on listening. It could stall her panic and help her calm down. She hesitantly nods but he can feel the panic steaming off of her.

“I came here to secure your future—our future. I wrote to Arnaud weeks ago and asked for his favor in securing an honorific lordship title. Arnaud holds favor with the King. The King has the final say on who gets appointed a title, so he came to see what you looked like and will make his final decision soon. He wants to see how well you handle yourself in high society before he agrees. The only reason he made haste with the request was because I made a sizable donation to his church. This tactic is common in people who want something from him. People looking for political immunity or people who want to sway his opinion,” Roman explains.

Jane’s eyes shift from confusion to sharp understanding. However, she pulls away. “I thought you never wanted this life again. Why are you going back to what caused you so much pain? We have money. We don’t need these people.”

“You’re right; we do have money. However, we have no home. We have no property besides Totoguam which isn’t adequate enough in size if we were to settle roots there. We don’t even have bank accounts or investments. We will always have to hoard our stash; otherwise, we risk being suspected of criminal activity. If I go back to that ship and sail to another pirate-filled port after all this time, they will know. I’ll be a walking target. I am done putting you in harm's way. I want stability for you. If it means that you are safe, it will always outweigh the cost,” he pleads. Jane’s gaze switches back and forth between his eyes. She’s reading him. Confusion is still etched on her face. He may not win her over.

Jane shakes her head in denial. “But you love the sea. Why subject the rest of your life to being around these people you hate? That’s a miserable existence. Shouldn’t your happiness matter too?”

“We would rarely make appearances. It would only be the most necessary parties that we attend, maybe three to four times a year. The countryside is three hours away from here, near the beach. We won’t have to worry about keeping up with the Paris court. We can make our home whatever we want. It can be a sanctuary for all our brothers when they need it. If we want to sail, we sail. If we don’t want to sail, then we don’t. My point is that we will have something to come back to Jane. Out there in the open sea—it’s all temporary. In a split second you could lose it all. This will give us the opportunity to have a real home. A true home, Jane,” he urges. Jane goes quiet, and Roman’s stomach sinks; she is still not sold on the idea.

He sighs a defeated breath as he steps back to give her space. Her body language is open but defensive. He drops her hands gently. “I should have consulted with you first. Maybe I didn’t because I knew you would be hesitant. I didn’t go about this the right way. It was never my intent to scare you. It’s just that ever since we met, I’ve started to really think about the future, Jane. You must understand, before you came into my life, I didn’t bother picturing what life would look like ten years from then. I lived moment to moment. But now that I have you, I must do this right. I must seize this opportunity to give you the life you deserve,” he says. She’s slightly disarmed, and her eyes trail down to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. It was funny that even during a disagreement he could still see the love she had for him. That ultimately, they both wanted to understand each other even when their views were different. He loved her…

“You’ve sprung this on me very suddenly. You’re right; you should have consulted with me. You have made your points and I can see how you would feel the way you do. I need some time to think about this. I can’t make any promises yet,” she crosses her arms hesitantly. She looks down at the carpet. Her lips twitched as if she wanted to say more.

Roman says nothing but continues to study her. She walks back over to the bed, putting her head in her hands. “This is a big step. And while we may be afforded solitude, there is still a duty to be fulfilled. How would we be any better than the people who have hurt us? No matter how low in rank, we would be part of this system.”

He walks to her space, standing in front of her. “We would be part of the French gentry, which are titled non-nobles. I would indeed have a vague association with the King, and that is something I’m willing to sacrifice morally to ensure your future. I’ve pondered this for many nights. If there has to be a bad person in this situation, then allow me to be the monster. I won’t pretend that I’m not selfish when it comes to you. You make me impulsive…you make me uncooperative and irrational at times. Maybe even most of the time. My condolences to whoever gets in the way. But I…I must have you, Jane. You and you only.”

His words burn in his mouth, but from the ensnared gaze she sends his way, she is on fire. She plays with her necklace and hair, biting her lip as she contemplates what he said.

“I’m not giving you an answer right away, no matter how convincing you are. I need time to think,” she mutters and stands. He doesn’t know why she feels the need to put her foot down, but he can at least afford her this. He’s already made the mistake of being sneaky. Now he must pay.

“That’s fine,” he says, stepping closer, and she doesn’t move. Another step, and she doesn’t budge. He goes in for a kiss, and she dodges it at the last minute, turning around so he can undo her corset.

Jane's POV

Jane doesn’t think she’s ever been so conflicted in her life. Deep down, she can’t believe that he would want to leave his pirate years behind. What about Caden? What about Adhar? What about everyone? Everyone had a different idea of what their future would look like. William left to make things right with his wife. Other pirates, like Daniel and Gregory, retired alongside dozens of other mates. Rory wanted to keep sailing, and so did Caden. Roman, being a lord, also meant she would be his wife eventually. Could she do that? Could she do it well? How much of their lives would they give up to conform to this new standard? If she married him, would he change as they fell into domesticity? Would there not be enough excitement to keep him interested? Worst of all, what if she began to feel trapped? If she married him, he would own her. Could she take that chance?

Roman wasn’t there when she woke up. The servants informed her that he had picked out what he wanted her to wear for the portrait: a light blue dress and no makeup. As she sat to get her hair done, she noticed that Mary hadn’t brought any heating tools. “No sheep’s head style today?”

Mary shook her head. “Monsieur Roman requested that you wear it down for your picture. But don’t worry; I will give you a more elaborate style before the show,” she promised.

“So be it,” Jane rolled her eyes at the mention of him. As annoyed as she was with him, the requests warmed her heart. She remembered those quiet nights on the boat when it felt like they were the only two people in the world. Perhaps she was scared of change.

Mary wet her hair and wrapped her coils around her fingers, section by section. Each strand was left shiny and wet, waiting to air dry. She took breakfast in the courtyard to speed up the process. Caden spent most of his days in the library, and he showed it to her. There were so many books and documents to choose from. She spent lunch there before she was sent off for her portrait. She didn’t even understand why she agreed to this, but it was something to do.

She was escorted down a winding staircase that led to a marble hall. All of the rooms on this floor were open. At the end of the hall, she could see the Duke sitting next to someone. Arnaud was in front of a canvas.

“Your Grace?” Jane called from the doorway.

“Ah, Jane. Come inside. Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

Jane walked into a room full of paint and plants. Every piece of furniture was covered in sheets. The windows were open, letting in a lukewarm breeze. Jane gasped as she saw portraits of people, animals, fruits, houses, and a baby who looked a lot like Eloise.

“You did these?!”

“Of course. Who else?” Arnaud smiled. The man next to him started to mix paints, solvents, and thinners. The smell was strong, which was why the windows were open. She didn’t mind it.

“Can I sit here?” Jane motioned for a seat by the window. Arnaud studied the lighting and shadows of the room and agreed. A servant offered her tea, and she accepted: two sugars and a splash of cream.

“I had no idea you were such a talented artist. Is that little Eloise as a baby?” Jane smiled, motioning to the canvases on the wall.

“Oh yes. She was about eight months old there,” Arnaud said fondly.

“What about these other people?”

“Some of them are from my court—people I’ve met over the years. Some of them are from dreams.”

“I’m jealous. It must be a hard skill.”

“It’s a lot easier than you might think. Most of it is just shading and blocking. It’s about looking at the overall picture before focusing on the details. You can mold a shadow into the silhouette of a woman with practice. A trick I always use is squinting my eyes as I paint the foundation before I focus on the finer details. I’ve gotten better with practice.”

“I’ve never thought about it that way.”

His assistant continued to add more colors to his palette before he bowed and left. “So how have you been enjoying your stay?” Arnaud asked.

Jane went to speak but hesitated. Has she been having fun? There had been enjoyable moments, but the conversation with Roman had been sobering. The interaction with the King was strange. “It has been… interesting.”

Arnaud stopped his blocking and paused to look at her for a moment. Jane nodded cautiously. “Roman and I had a discussion last night. He finally came clean about why we’re here.”

Realization spread across Arnaud’s face. He looked slightly guilty. “You’re not the one who’s in trouble,” Jane chuckled.

Arnaud threw her half a smile and began painting again, building the structure of the picture. “And how do you feel about the idea?”

“I’ve never been more confused about anything in my entire life.”

“Ms. Ramlal, speak freely if you must.”

Jane raised a brow at him. Did he really want to know? Or maybe Roman was friends with him because of their shared ideas? Arnaud had been nothing less than graceful since she met him. She didn’t want to offend him. His regality could be a bit intimidating despite his kindness.

“I’m not sure it would be wise.”

“Do you honestly suspect my utter allegiance to a place that held me hostage? At the very least, I afford myself criticism. Others are allowed the same,” Arnaud sighed tiredly.

Jane paused. Well, he had a point. “Roman had a very difficult time in his early years. Europe has caused him much pain. It’s caused me much pain. I wonder if us being a titled family would make us guilty for the suffering of others. He says that if it does, he’s okay with it. Roman has a habit of becoming tunnel-visioned when it comes to me. He is willing.”

“Roman has a head made of stone when he sets his mind on something,” Arnaud said. Jane chuckled.

“We won’t be nobles, just low-titled. He makes that distinction as if it makes things better. Perhaps it does. But we answer to the crown at some point. Even being here—buying these expensive luxury goods. In some way we are contributing to someone’s suffering. I have a hard time getting over it. Being on the other side of it can feel very strange.”

“In some ways, you do,” Arnaud agreed.

“I feel that if I accept this position, then I am betraying the woman I used to be. Betraying the women who I lived with and grew to know. Betraying people like me,” Jane sighed.

“Now I must speak freely,” said Arnaud. His tone loosened, falling out of that distant, respectable voice.

“Please,” Jane urged.

“The grim reality, Ms. Ramlal, is that you do not get paid for suffering.”

Jane froze at those words. They rolled off his tongue easily. They were slightly sharp when they hit her, but the kindness in Arnaud’s eyes reassured her.

“Women like you, people like you—there is no reward for the pain. You get this life, and then you pass on. They dangle the idea of upward mobility above your head to keep you running. The minute you return to the earth, someone fills in your spot. It’s how the system sustains itself. It sustains itself on the guarantee that you will struggle and never see that reward. Not just you, but millions—of people just like you. You are born in one specific position and that is your assigned role. Your duty it to stay at the post you were given at birth. Miraculously, impossibly, you have snuck past your assigned post and now you are here. You are not here as a servant, or a slave, or for entertainment. You are here by sheer luck. You have been given resources that were never intended for you. You have been given security that is supposed to be systematically withheld from you. You may very well be one of the only women with your background, your skin, your life to ever have some semblance of security. You weren’t stolen, you weren’t bought. You are here out of free will. I imagine that could be quite frightening in some aspects ?” Arnaud glanced at her while mixing two colors to get a light blue shade.

“It is,” Jane said, her tone quiet and inward now.

“ You are guilty of no crime. You are not a bad person for ending up here. I don’t want to push you into this. Please believe me when I say that… I speak only from the purest intent when I say this. I believe that the people who came before you—all the people who have struggled in your bloodline—all the people who loved you, none of them want you to suffer. None of them want your life to be any harder than it used to be. They never get to see the seeds they planted sprout and turn into trees.”

Jane was unmoving as she stared back at him. She never would have guessed that he would say such a thing, to be so introspective from his pedestal.

“Instead, you have a choice. A choice is a beautiful thing to have, trust me, Jane. And within that choice, you make it alongside a man who is irrevocably, unabashedly in love with you—a rarity, even among the most noble of them all. There is no force, no violence. Only a blank canvas waiting to be filled,” he said.

The room went silent now. Arnaud’s eyes shifted from her face to the canvas. He was likely blocking in her face and hair now. She took a few sips from her tea, yet another small discovery since being here. She had never had it before. It was spicy and warm on her tongue—cinnamon, orange, vanilla, and other flavors she couldn’t describe. Would every day be like this? A realization of just how small her world used to be?

For a moment, she nearly lost it. There was a knot forming in her throat, her palms becoming wet. Her composure was so close to snapping that it caused her to shift in her seat. This stranger gave her the permission she couldn’t even give to herself. She hated the way her voice wobbled. She hates the vulnerability of it all. But his presence is quiet and knowing. If she closed her eyes, she could believe he was a vessel from the other side in that moment—or maybe just a manifestation of his natural wisdom. “At times, I worry that I’ve made my pain my identity,” she says.

The look he gives her nearly blows her away. It’s a slip of his mask, too—an acknowledgment, a subtle nod to the idea, a quiet “me too.”

She finishes her tea, and now Arnaud is really working the canvas. A few minutes of silence pass before she gets the courage to ask about him—really ask about him. She sits up straighter and clears her throat. “ Since we’re speaking freely. How exactly did you end up in Paris?”

Arnaud inhales quietly as if he almost prepares himself to say the words. “If you’ve heard Roman’s story, then you’ve heard mine. Except I was actually royalty in my homeland. I was stolen—plain and simple. I was about seven years old. I was a gift to the ‘Angel of Versailles.’ That’s what they call Queen Angelique De Pointe here. The King and Queen already had seven children at that point. Angelique’s last child—a child about 7 years old, passed away. It was becoming popular in Europe to have one of our kind as companions. Angelique wanted one, and Joseph would stop at nothing to make her happy. That’s where I came into the picture.”

“Very similar stories. I’m glad you two at least had a friend in each other.”

Arnaud nods. “One of the better things to come out of it.”

“Your daughter seems to adore him,” Jane suggests.

“He formed a soft spot for her in particular. All of his grandchildren are boys. He even has tea parties with her at the palace. Remarkable, isn’t it? That someone like him could hold adoration in his heart for a small child that has no relation to him in any way. I certainly wasn’t afforded any of his affections as a child. Then again, why would I want it? I would hate to love my kidnapper. It would make it all the more complicated to identify what is love and what is not,” Arnaud shrugs.

“... Do you want her to have a relationship with him?”

“Yes. She’s far too young to understand. She will know one day. For now, he’s just her grandfather.”

“He must hold some affection for you, though. I mean, you are a Duke. You have a royal title. You have some pull in the monarchy. That’s unheard of. I thought most adoptees just faded away.”

“I’ve often wondered why he would go out of his way to title me as well. The only thing that could explain it…is that he is old. He has but so many years left. The closest atonement he has for his sins is to give people what they want. He knows the destruction he’s left in his path. You see, it’s the ego—the cognitive dissonance of all of it. There is a belief that if you are a winner, if you are a conqueror, if you are stronger, you are favored by God. You MUST be a good person because of the power you hold. I'm sure that men like him believe this to be true. I’m sure that’s how he reasons with the violence. At least that’s my theory.”

“He had trouble swallowing his food, I noticed. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s old age… and guilt,” Jane says. Arnaud nods in agreement.

“Time has passed, and he has grown more tolerable. I'm no fool; I recognize that his growing friendliness toward me is less equal to that of a son and closer to how a man adores his dog. His children have married off and started their own families. For a while, I was the only one of his kids living at the palace. I regrettably and embarrassingly only started to live my life in my thirties. I was always there—reliable, constant. Thankfully, things started to look up when I met Charlotte. I wanted to give her a better life, so I started asking for more. He granted my wishes. I suppose that somewhere deep in his heart, buried in the most human parts of himself, he feels he owes me for all I’ve endured at his hands. Though the idea will never cross his mind in his wake.”

“I’m sorry…” Jane sighed sadly.

“It’s alright. It’s just the way life plays out sometimes. I have found parts of this world that belong to me alone, like my love for Charlotte, my beautiful daughter, my art, the home I’ve made of Palais Royal. This is the post I have made for myself. I will not abandon it.”

Jane smiles at the way his eyes light up as he talks about his family. His love for Charlotte is genuine, and Eloise is adored by everyone. “I’m happy you’ve found your family.”

“And so have you. Which is why I think you will be just fine if Roman becomes seigneur.”

“What exactly is a seigneur?”

“A seigneur, or lordship, is a feudal title appointed by His Majesty the King. He is granted a large piece of land to rule over. This land is governed by the seigneur, who lives on the land and builds a community. He establishes farms, crops, wheat mills, churches, manages taxes and tenants, and grants licenses. He organizes a town, and the people in it answer to him. Don’t worry about the land belonging to anyone else. The countryside of France is rural with not many inhabitants. Roman would most likely govern there.”

“I see. So essentially, Roman would have the power to create the community he wants?”

“Correct. Now, of course, there will be certain guidelines, but I’m sure he’ll find a way around them like he usually does. It would be whatever you two make it.”

“You very well may be saving him from sleeping in another room tonight,” Jane quipped.

A throat clears and it startles her. “Very bold of you to say, especially knowing you’d get the most horrible sleep of your life,” Roman scoffed.

Jane rolled her eyes at the smirk on his face. He strolls into the room and sat next to her on the couch.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I didn’t invite you to sit over here,” Jane sighed.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I just wanted to see how you were doing and ask if you’ll allow me in the room if I agree to sleep on the floor,” he smirks.

Jane shook her head, feeling a smile creep onto her lips. Roman leaned back into the couch, his long, muscular leg crossing over his knee. One of his arms sling over the seat as he stared back at her. He clearly felt no shame at her utter annoyance. There was nothing in his eyes but pure adoration, and his smile showed that he could feel hers, too.

“You know what? I think this picture would be much better with both of you in it,” Arnaud quips.

“Fine. How should I pose? Do we need to start all over again?” Jane asked.

“No. I’ve got your clothing down. I’ll just restart from the neck up. Just keep looking at him.”

And that’s how Jane found herself stuck staring at him for the next four hours. By the end, he had her laughing. He always did. He would say something, and she could feel the heat in the room rush to her skin. With nowhere to hide from the heat of his gaze, she was stuck. She should have known it was a ploy to get on her good side—and it worked. When Armaund left the room she pulled him down for a kiss.

After a quick dinner, the time for the Ballet was approaching. A deep red dress with black trimmings would match the theater curtains, or at least that’s what her stylist said. Jane had never been to a theater, and she was intrigued about how it would feel to finally sit inside one. Mary kept Jane’s natural curls but pinned them up in a pouf style, arranging her hair into a hive shape. A few face-framing curls pulled the look together. A ruby choker matched the color of her dress, but she kept her lips soft and bare; otherwise, it would be “too on the nose,” according to Gaston.

Gaston was a male makeup artist who wore gold on his eyes and rings on every finger. His accent was heavily Mediterranean, and he always wore a tightly curled white wig as a status symbol. Not only was his style eccentric, but so was he. He was rumored to be one of the best in Paris, so Jane trusted his judgment. The two agreed to repeat the same eye makeup on her as the night before. He would place a black kohl-like substance on her waterline. When she asked what it was called, Gaston recalled Arnaud’s friend's wife from North Africa. Apparently, she would smear a black color into her eyes to accentuate them.

“She used something called kajal! I made my own products to mimic it. It made her look so sultry. Like a cat! I absolutely loved it! But you know the French women here all want to look like children—so obsessed with wide eyes and pinched cheeks. Stupide et ennuyeux! I never get to experiment. This is why you are sent from heaven. You have yet to say no to me. Finally, somebody who lets me work!” Gaston gushed.

Jane laughed at the way he dramatically threw the back of his hand over his forehead. So far, there hadn’t been any misses with her assigned team of stylists. They always made her feel beautiful, and they were easy to talk to. Jane twirled in the mirror, admiring the final outcome of her look. “You are ready to own the night, Mon Cher. This will certainly get back to Versailles!” Gaston placed a jacket onto Jane’s shoulders.

“I take it you're in on the operation to get Roman and me titled as well? I’ve been walking amongst traitors.”

“You’re just now catching on? You’re a little late to the party, darling. Your beauty makes up for it. Now prepare to be copied. By the time they catch on, you’ll already be onto the next thing,” said Gaston.

Roman was quite pleased with the look. He stole many kisses in the carriage. Charlotte and Arnaud rode ahead of them and Jane couldn’t be more grateful for it. His beard burns across her décolletage as her fingers somehow loop themselves into his hair. What was once a ponytail was a tousled swell of silky black strands. Every time her hands would tug on his hair he would press into the side of her body harder—a welcomed punishment. She enjoyed the suffocation, the mugginess, the tight quarters. His teeth found her skin, gentle but alluring all the same. His mouth sucked the skin of her breasts leaving darkened flushed hues of pigment for anyone to see. Thank goodness for the low light of the theater. With many more appeasing yet reciprocal kisses, she convinced him that it was in fact important that they not skip the opera. After all, this was Jane’s first time.

“If you mess up my hair, we’re going to have a problem. Mary spent an hour on it,” Jane gently pressed her hand against her updo. It was still intact.

“What about me? My hair was pulled back before we got into this carriage, need I remind you? That’s not very fair,” he scoffed.

“It’s better down anyway,” Jane smirked.

Roman opened the carriage door and helped her down the steps. Arnaud and Charlotte stood near the entrance waiting for the pair. The sounds of horses stomping and neighing filled the stone-paved streets as carriages pulled up to attend.

“Watch your step; there’s horse shit everywhere,” Roman grumbled as he pulled her closer.

The tall, ornate doors, framed by intricate carvings of floral motifs and cherubic figures, loomed among the other buildings on the street. A marbled staircase, its steps worn smooth by the passage of countless patrons, ascended beneath a lavish canopy of crimson and gold fabric, fluttering softly in the evening breeze. Guests, adorned in their finest silks and lace, chatted animatedly, their laughter mingling with the strains of a distant orchestra. There were stares and whispers directed toward Roman and her; she had gotten used to it by now. The faint scent of perfume and the earthy notes of fresh-cut flowers from nearby arrangements wafted through the air, fighting against the smell of the horses. It dissipated the closer they got to the doors.

The towering columns seemed to reach the clouds, crowned by a grand pediment where allegorical figures danced in sculpted relief. The soft glow from within the theater spilled onto the steps. The foyer was noisy with the clicking of heels and the chatter of wealthy men and women. As they crossed the threshold into the auditorium, the stage revealed itself in all its splendor. Draped in deep crimson velvet, the proscenium arch was embellished with intricate golden filigree, framing a scene that was both inviting and magical. The stage itself, expansive and meticulously crafted, was decorated with lavish painted backdrops depicting ethereal landscapes, castles, and mythical realms.

The seating was arranged in a horseshoe formation, with plush, upholstered chairs in rich fabrics of burgundy and gold. Each seat was carefully positioned to afford an unobstructed view of the stage. Box seats lined the walls, each featuring velvet curtains that could be drawn to reveal or conceal the spectators within. These private enclaves, often reserved for the nobility, boasted intricate woodwork, showcasing the status of their occupants. The four of them would have the highest seats with a private catered booth.

Above, the ceiling soared—a magnificent expanse painted in soft pastels, depicting celestial scenes filled with cherubs and swirling clouds, as if the heavens themselves opened up to watch the stage. Ornate plasterwork framed the scenes, and the edges were lined with delicate gold leaf.

The theater buzzed with whispered conversations and laughter, the anticipation palpable as the lights dimmed, casting a soft glow over the audience. The smell of smoke was strong in the air. A waiter came with trays of tobacco, pipes, alcohol, and a small box placed discreetly in the back of the tray. He filled Charlotte and Arnaud's orders before turning to Roman.

“Brandy and a pipe. What about you?” Roman turned to her.

“The vermouth, please,” said Jane.

The waiter poured their drinks into sparkling, pristine crystal glasses. Her vermouth had oranges and limes in it.

“Oh, what is that?” Jane pointed to the carved black box on the serving platter.

“Snuff, madam. Would you like some?” the waiter asked.

“Does it go in the drink?” Jane asked curiously. Roman chuckled with Arnaud.

“You snort it, silly! It goes in the nose and makes you all fuzzy and happy. It’s like you drank ten cups of coffee. I’ll have some, sir,” Charlotte put out her hand and turned it over with her palm facing the ground. The server placed the powder on the back of her hand with a small scooper, and Charlotte sniffed it up.

“You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to,” Roman murmured quietly to her.

“Sensitive nose,” Jane excused. Charlotte looked a little disappointed but nodded.

“Don’t feel bad for Charlotte. She will find any excuse to party. You’ll see at the ball,” Arnaud chuckled.

“Not true,” Charlotte playfully rolled her eyes and scooted into Arnaud's lap. He patted the side of her thigh as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

“A ‘no’ is good for her every once in a while,” Arnaud joked. Charlotte flicked him on the forehead.

Roman took a small sip of his brandy and then a puff of his pipe. She drank a little from his cup. It wasn’t her favorite, but she deliberately placed her mouth on the part of the cup his lips touched. He caught her and his eyes darkened as he shook his head at her. She giggled mischievously when their eyes met.

Jane could see the wandering eyes of the other guests. Many people stole quick glances at the group. She wondered if they were glances of offense; it was often hard to tell with the Parisians. Either way, they had no authority to reprimand or kick them out. For once in her life, Jane felt untouchable—comfortable in a place that did not prioritize her comfort. Maybe it was their incredible hosts or just being alongside the man she loved. Jane sipped her own drink as she opened the brochure for the show while the curtains opened. The show began, and the room darkened. A single light appeared on the stage.

Iphigénie en Tauride is a tragic opera based on the myth of Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon. The story unfolds as Iphigenia, saved from sacrifice by the goddess Artemis, finds herself in Tauris, where she serves as a priestess. Her brother Orestes arrives, pursued by the Furies for avenging their father’s murder. The siblings, unaware of each other’s identities, are caught in a web of fate, sacrifice, and familial duty, ultimately leading to a reunion and a quest for redemption.

The experience of watching Iphigénie en Tauride was enthralling and emotional for Jane. The stage props depicted the rugged landscape of Tauris, enhanced by dramatic backdrops and oversized body parts like hands and heads. The costumes of the actors were rich and ornate, with performers clad in flowing robes that reflected their noble heritage and emotional trials.

As the music swelled, she was captivated by the powerful arias and choruses, her emotions stirred by the blend of tragedy and beauty. The orchestra was so loud that the vibrations of the music rumbled in her chest. The gas lamps flickered above, casting a warm glow that highlighted the faces of rapt spectators as they reacted to the unfolding drama. Gasps, tears, and applause rippled through the crowd, creating a shared experience of profound themes of love, sacrifice, and fate that resonated with everyone in some way.

Jane was moved to tears. It was embarrassing at first, but then she realized just how many others were affected. Plenty of men cried alongside the women. Roman pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Jane, and she blotted her face with it.

“I would pay good money to see this for the first time again. I was like you,” Charlotte sighed as she fanned herself.

“How many times have you been?” Jane asked.

“This is my second year seeing it and my tenth time. It’s my favorite,” Charlotte swooned.

“The things we do for love. Grab your coat. ” Arnaud said, taking a final hit from his pipe and pulling Charlotte up from her seat. He placed her coat on her shoulders as she finished her glass of wine.

“I suppose those were tears of enjoyment?” Roman asked as he helped her into her coat.

“Enjoyment. Sadness. Relief. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wish we didn’t have to go,” Jane pouted.

“I’ll bring you back for another show,” Roman chuckled as they walked down the stairs to the foyer.

“Opera isn’t your forte, is it?” Jane suggested.

“I’m familiar with the arts. I’ve indulged in them to the point of apathy. But seeing you experience it was the best part of the night,” Roman replied.

The four of them were swallowed up in the crowd heading for the doors. When the night air hit them, Jane felt energized after such an intense show. She wasn’t ready to end the night.

“You two fancy a nightcap back at home?” Arnaud asked.

“Actually, I think we’re going to take the long way home. Don’t wait up for us,” Roman said.

Charlotte and Arnaud wished the two of them goodnight. Jane was happy to be out with just Roman. He tipped the valet and led Jane down the paved streets.

She was thankful she had taken a coat. She looped her arm around Roman’s as he led the way; he had a far better idea of where they were than she did. As the moon cast a silver glow over the cobblestone streets of Paris, she couldn’t help but notice the liveliness. Even though it was late, many people were still out and about.

Jane’s dark dress whispered against her ankles as she glanced up at the ornate facades of the buildings, their windows darkened, some lit by a single candle. Roman, tall and composed, occasionally pointed out the elegant details of the architecture, his voice low and warm against the backdrop of the night. The air was cool, filled with the faint scent of baking bread.

They passed the Seine, where the water glimmered like scattered diamonds, and the distant sound of laughter from a tavern mingled with the soft rustle of leaves. Groups of couples rode past them on bicycles.

A flickering lantern illuminated their path, and they paused for a moment, taking in the beauty around them. Jane marveled at how the night transformed Paris into a romantic tableau. As they continued their walk, the distant tolling of church bells marked the hour, a gentle reminder of time slipping away. Jane leaned closer to Roman, comforted by his presence. She had never been so enthralled and present in her environment. Jane had never people-watched or taken time to notice the beauty of London. Where was the time? Was there any beauty? Maybe if she had been happier back then, she could have found it. Roman squeezed her hand gently, grounding her in the present—a habit he had formed when he noticed her mind racing. It still perplexed her how he could tell when her thoughts were elsewhere. Jane perked up and looked at him.

“Don’t I owe you an ice cream?” he asked quietly. It took a moment for it to register before a knowing grin spread across her face.

“Yes, you do. You promised,” she chuckled.

“Well, I don’t break my promises. Let’s hunt you down some ice cream,” he said, pulling her forward as his pace switched to a determined one.

It didn’t take them long to find an ice cream stand. Roman ordered only one and handed it to her in a tiny goblet-like cup. They walked to a bridge overlooking the water. She dug into the treat and spooned it onto her tongue. Her eyes lit up. “Wow! That actually might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I tried to tell you,” Roman laughed.

“Here,” Jane scooped more onto the spoon and fed him some. He insisted that it was hers only. She didn’t put up a fight.

Roman took her to Sainte-Chapelle, a stunning Gothic chapel with stained glass windows. Even so late at night, it was open to bystanders. Sainte-Chapelle has a striking Gothic presence characterized by its tall, pointed arches, intricate stone carvings, and vibrant blue and gold tiles. The exterior was littered with delicate sculptures and gargoyles. It was an incredibly old building, featuring two distinct levels—an upper chapel and a lower chapel. They walked inside to sit. Nobody was there, which made it deafeningly quiet.

The interior was breathtaking, dominated by stunning stained glass windows that rose to impressive heights. These windows, filled with vivid colors and intricate biblical scenes, created a luminous effect as light filtered through them, even during the night. The ribbed vaults of the ceiling soared above, enhancing the sense of grandeur. The atmosphere was serene and reverent. They slid into the seats.

“Surprised you wanted to come here. I thought you didn’t subscribe to religion ?,” Jane quipped.

“ You are my religion darling”, he quips. Her heart flutters but she hides it when she turns away to look at the large statues in the front of the room.

“I may not always agree with the talking points, but it’s beautiful, is it not?”

Jane nodded. “It is. It never ceases to amaze me how people come together to create these kinds of giants. It must take such a long time. It’s almost hard to believe they made it.”

“Not much can stop a determined man’s hands. Not even heights, apparently,” he retorted.

“Is that what you are? Determined?” Jane jokes.

“I am most urgent,” he hummed. Jane chuckled at that, but not a hint of humor gleamed in his eyes. His dark, toned eyes glossed over her face as he leaned further into the wooden pews of the church.

“What is making your haste?” Jane playfully turned her head back to him.

“You…” he said quietly. His eyes drifted to the muraled ceiling. Jane followed, throwing her head back onto his shoulder to enjoy the view.

“Me?” she echoed. A silent pause surrounded them.

“I had a vision when I went under,” he said. For a moment, his voice wavered. It stunned her. A man who was always so sure of himself and the conviction of his words had lost that command. Jane listened carefully, careful not to throw him off his train of thought.

“When it was black…I was not dead to the world. It was colorful. I saw many things. Revisited many instances. But what stunned me the most was that I saw memories I never had. Memories I was supposed to make…with you,” he whispered. A fragility in his voice wounded her. His words made it evident that this thought had been weighing on him.

“What did you see?” she asked quietly.

“My whole life with you. Me, old and withered. You, with white hair. You as my wife…” he said. Jane stilled, slowly lifting her head from his shoulder to sit up and look at him. His eyes found hers, mirroring her own—stunned and surprised.

“Look…I’m okay if you decline the lordship. But that vision, or dream—whatever you want to call it—instilled a fear in me that I have never known. And that fear is that somehow I’m making a mistake by not giving you a life of dignity. I’m making a mistake by not sharing your last name. I’m making a mistake by not being able to introduce you as my wife. And I can wait no longer. I can’t Jane”, he admits.

Her lip trembled as tears flooded her eyes. It nearly frightened her the way this feeling washed over her. Was it relief? Was it anxiousness? It was both. She hadn’t known how badly she wanted him to ask.

Roman slowly rose from his seat onto one knee. His stature was as tall as hers, even while she sat higher. He reached into his coat and pulled out the bright blue box she had seen days ago. He gently opened it to reveal a silver ring with blue sapphires circling around it. Jane shook as she looked down at it. With a hand over her mouth, she tried to hold back the sob that threatened to escape, but it was useless.

She could see tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His voice cracked with the fear that she would say no—a fear he likely had already accepted as a possibility before he asked. “Jane Ramalal. Will you be my wife? Will you allow me the honor of carrying your last name?”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” she cried. Roman dove for her mouth like it was the only source of air between them. Her hands clawed at his hair, holding him against her. He pulls away to gently hold her hand. As he slid the ring onto her finger, she hurriedly wiped away her tears.

“It’s heavy,” she giggled, her laugh wet with tears. It was surreal. He wanted her last name of all things. And since he had dropped his own as a form of freedom, she had one to spare. So unorthodox and likely to ruffle many feathers. But wasn’t that their love at its core? Anything but ordinary. She was okay with that. She pulled him in for another hug, seeking the grounding feeling of his chest, scared that the high of this moment would make her float into the ceiling murals.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

“I love you more. And you’re going to be a great Lord. You’re going to help a lot of people, Roman. I just know it. You’ll do great”, she sniffled.

“We are,” he murmured.

She can’t quite remember the walk back to the carriage. The ride back to the Palais was a blur. All she could think about was how grateful she was for another chance at life. She watched the trees pass by from the carriage window. The ride was quiet with the occasional “I love you”. And what more was there to really say?

Roman POV

“Are you going to sleep the day away?” Roman brushed the side of her cheek. They had gotten back very late last night, but now it was well after lunch. Jane rubbed her eyes as he opened the curtains. Streaks of black ran down her face from all the crying she did last night. Her hair was all over her head and smooshed in on one side. “You want help?” Roman asked.

Jane nodded quietly and sat with her back turned in the bed. He slid the pins out of her hair, and she sank her hands into the roots to shake it all loose. He brought her a wet cloth to wipe her face.

She made quick work of a bath, and he sat patiently for her at the foot of the bed, reading a book he had found in the room. She emerged naked and dry, slipped on a chemise, and called for assistance with a corset she had put on over it. She kept her hair down as she cleaned her mouth. It was a slow day at court. Many women hid in their rooms with beauty treatments that would paralyze them until late dinner. Men slept off absinthe-filled nights. There was no rush today.

Charlotte was having tea in the orangery. As soon as Roman walked in, Eloise swarmed him. “Is it true that you are getting married to Lady Jane?!!!”, she yelled.

Her mother groaned. “Too loud, mon petit,” Charlotte rubbed the back of her head. She was obviously hurting from the drinking last night.

“Oui,” Jane bent down to Eloise to show her the ring. Eloise squealed in that pitch only a little girl could manage—shrilly and glass-breaking. Charlotte gasped and rushed over to see as well.

“Congratulations! I told you she would say yes,” Arnaud clapped his hand down onto Roman’s shoulder proudly.

“About bloody time,” Caden called out from behind an orange bush, where he was filling his pockets with oranges.

“Oh, it’s huge! Good job, Roman!” Charlotte gushed as she held Jane’s hand up. They went to sit, and Eloise climbed onto Jane’s lap. Roman could see the humor on her face, considering that the two had had very brief introductions.

“Ummm—can I be your flower girl?”, she begged.

“Well, if it’s alright with your parents,” Jane looked up at Arnaud and Charlotte.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” Arnaud joked.

“Eloise loves weddings. She’s been a flower girl many times, and she will not take no for an answer. But if it’s alright with you and Roman,” Charlotte laughed.

“YAY!” Eloise squealed.

“And you’ll be the ring bearer, Caden,” Jane teased.

“No way. That’s for little kids,” Caden scoffed.

“It will probably be something small anyway,” said Jane.

“Well, what certainly won’t be small is the yew ball. Your invitations came today,” Charlotte quipped. Arnaud handed them the folded cards. “Whatever you’ve done has worked. You’re very close to becoming lordship now. The ball will really be the time to impress. My dressmakers are coming over today to fit pieces on you and Eloise. Expect to go all out. People wait all year for this ball.”

“I don’t understand why I would matter so much to someone as powerful as the King. Why all this performance? Why not just give Roman the title?”

“Nobility, in its very nature, is about performance above all else. Even with you two being non-nobles, it must be evident that the two of you are special enough to be bestowed a title. Your looks can get you far here in Paris. There have been enough whispers about you to make him send the invitation directly, despite it being open to the public.”

Jane agreed that she was ready and willing to do what needed to be done in order to get Roman titled. Roman was ready to start their lives outside of Paris. He was ready for a house to call their own and quiet nights with just the two of them. A town to do with as they pleased. A real community. But there was one last show. The Ball.

In unorthodox fashion, Roman stayed for the fittings—test runs for her makeup, test runs for the hair. He stayed for the dancing lessons with Beatrice, the older woman being very thorough and rigid about what was acceptable and what wasn’t. They went over dining etiquette and greetings. The whole thing felt like preparing for war, and by the end of the day, Jane was clearly tired.

Jane came to bed late from how much time she spent preparing. Roman welcomed her with open arms. She climbed onto his chest, allowing him to rest his head on her own.

“Roman,” her sweet voice called out into the dark.

“Mm?”

“You’ll tell me if you get bored, right? Tell me you want to go back to the sea if our new life doesn’t fulfill you. You won’t keep it from me?,” said Jane, her voice fragile and worried.

“Why on earth would I ever get bored so long as the woman of my dreams is by my side? I don’t think I even possess that level of selfishness,” Roman hummed. She could feel the shift of her head indicating that she was looking right at him.

“Our new life won’t have the twists and turns of the sea. There won’t be as much spontaneity.”

“Says who? I can think of several different things we can do to keep the spark.”

“Like what?”

“Jane can’t wear clothes in the house on Fridays,” Roman scoffed. He could nearly hear her eyes roll.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t need some grand adventure in the background to love as much as I did the day before. Don’t you and I, of all people, deserve some domesticity? Some normalcy? And what’s more spontaneous than creating the community you and I longed for when we were younger? Making that happen for somebody else who really needs it?”

Jane silently agreed. Roman knew that there wasn’t much he could say to calm her fears about marriage. Truthfully, that’s what this was all about. She feared that their marriage would become mundane and that he would grow bored of it. But Roman wasn’t the type of man to do that, and the only way he could prove it was by never turning into the man she feared. Easy enough.

Jane Pov

In true fashion for the night of the Yew Ball, everyone was running around in a frenzy. Gaston was sweating bullets. Mary wore a look of concentration she’d never seen before. It had taken hours for her to get ready, to the point that Roman and Arnaud had left. The girls would meet them there.

As Jane stood in front of the mirror, she marveled at the way the light danced off the rich fabric of her gown, illuminating the intricate details. The gown, a breathtaking creation in a solid gold color, shimmered like molten sunlight, each layer a testament to the artistry of Parisian couture.

The bodice was cut daringly low, exposing an enticing décolletage, which was a risky choice. The corseted waist was cinched tightly, making the bottom of the dress truly pop. The midsection of the dress was elegant, embroidered with patterns of swirling vines and blossoms in darker gold thread adorning the bodice. The sleeves were extravagant, flaring largely at the forearm, fashioned from sheer silk that flared out at the shoulders before gathering at her wrists, allowing for a playful glimpse of her skin beneath.

Beneath the opulent exterior, the dress cascaded into a voluminous skirt, lined with layers of rich satin that rustled softly with each movement. The hem was embellished with delicate lace. The fabric itself was a masterpiece, woven with threads of gold that caught the light at every angle, creating a mesmerizing effect that was nothing short of breathtaking.

To complete the ensemble, Jane paired the dress with a stunning diamond and gold choker that sparkled like stars against her skin, while a matching necklace draped elegantly over her collarbone. Her ears sparkled with dangling gold and diamond earrings that caught the light with every turn of her head.

Gaston decided that his impromptu kajal eye makeup was old news. He created his own gold-flecked eye shimmer. It was thick and extremely pigmented. He applied it with a gentle hand onto her eyes and added it generously to the front of her hairline. He kept her lashes dark and her lips and cheeks a soft, subtle pink. At the very last minute, he began to lightly dust her entire face, arms, neck, and chest in a sheer gold shimmer.

With hours of heat styling, it took Mary time to get Jane's hair just right. She gently twisted and wrapped Jane's natural curls around the heated rods, creating loose spirals that would later form the base of her lower transitional pouf. The pouf would rise high above her shoulders, showcasing her graceful neck, with a long framing curl that would fall down her back.

Once the curls had set, Mary carefully unwrapped the rods, revealing bouncy, voluminous spirals. With expert precision, Mary began to sculpt the pouf, gathering the curls at the back and securing them with delicate pins. The height of the hair was a status symbol, and tonight they went big, adding a few inches to Jane’s stature.

As the final touches were made, Jane’s hair was decorated with accessories: a few sparkling hair pins shaped like delicate blossoms, glinting softly in the light, and a sheer ribbon woven throughout the curls, cascading gracefully down one side. A small cluster of gold-painted feathers was tucked artfully into the pouf, adding a touch of whimsy and sophistication.

Most striking of all was the solid gold masquerade mask she held delicately in her hands. Its elaborate filigree design matched the gown perfectly, promising an air of mystery and importance the moment she stepped foot in the palace. With each detail carefully considered, she knew that tonight was not only about her. This was about all the people who came together to make this night possible for her: the designers, the makeup artists, the hairdressers, the shoemakers. All the people who used their creativity to make the elite look their best. These events created revenue for them, and despite her not wanting to go, she could at least bring attention to those who helped her.

Charlotte burst into her room with Eloise in hand, gasping at the sight of her. “You look amazing! You look like the gold sculptures of Versailles!”

“You two look incredible,” Jane laughed as Eloise twirled like a ballerina, showing off her dress. Charlotte wore a blue dress with puffy shoulders and a huge skirt that jutted out on the sides. Pearls and diamonds littered her skin, accentuating her eyes. Eloise looked like a princess in her pink fluffy dress, her hair twisted into a crown.

“Everyone is going to love my dress. I’m the best dressed,” Eloise sighed confidently. Charlotte and Jane burst into laughter. Eloise’s confidence knew no bounds, but Charlotte would never take that away from her—especially knowing that she would only experience about three hours of the party before it became adults-only.

“You’re absolutely right, mon chér,” Charlotte kissed the top of her head.

“We're already behind schedule. Let’s go now before they start dancing,” Charlotte said, grabbing Eloise’s hand, and the trio rushed for the door. Caden was already waiting in the carriage.

A wide-set carriage would have to do, given how big their dresses were. Even so, Caden was squished against the window, talking about how he refused to ride back with the rest of them. Eloise just laughed and teased him for the entire hour.

Roman Pov

“If she does not arrive within the next few minutes, I’m going to go look for her.” Roman anxiously sipped his brandy. The mask was rubbing against his face so uncomfortably that he nearly tore it off. The room was muggy, and the alcohol likely didn’t help. A good portion of the people in this room hated his guts. Some of their friends had met unfortunate ends by his hand. Those early days of running rampant around Europe, committing crimes would leave a lasting stain on how he was perceived. He didn’t care for forgiveness, but he knew that Jane’s reputation was in a fragile spot. Tonight, she must do well.

The parties of real nobility were where the true monsters resided. They did not care to hide their prejudices. Arnaud’s court was more tolerant and open-minded. However, these people were a different breed. They did not often brush shoulders with outsiders. They believed in a “natural order” and made it known. He would do his best to dodge those conversations.

“You forget how heavy those dresses are. It takes them ten minutes just to get downstairs to the carriages, and then even more time to get out. You’re anxious. Relax. She’s done this before,” said Arnaud. He always had the same laid-back disposition. Roman used to have it too, once upon a time. Then he met Jane, and the stakes were higher.

“I’m not anxious,” Roman scoffed.

“You’ve adjusted your tie about twenty times since you’ve been here—standing at the bottom of the stairs. You know these environments like the back of your hand. It will be what it will be,” Arnaud sighed.

“If I hear one thing that I don’t like, I might start flipping tables over, Arnaud. I mean it,” Roman warned, an edge to his voice that sounded more pirate than gentleman.

“You will do no such thing. There is too much at stake. You underestimate her,” Arnaud chuckled.

“I do not.”

Arnaud rolled his eyes. “You do. She’s a smart girl. I’ve seen her work her charm. The Parisians love charm. Now if you don’t relax, I’ll have to give you something stronger.”

Roman cursed under his breath as he adjusted his tie one more time. This event was open to the public, but direct invitees wore masquerade masks. This alone drew a line in the sand of who was important and who wasn’t. It also dictated who was invited to dinner and who wasn’t.

A commotion stirred at the top of the steps, and a wooden staff echoed across the room. Someone was coming.

“The Duchess of Orleans, Charlotte Du Pointe, and her lady daughter, Eloise Du Pointe!” the announcer projected across the room. Charlotte appeared at the top of the steps with her daughter Eloise. Their masks glistened against the soft lights of the room, matching their dresses.

Their dresses were big and bright: Charlotte in cotton candy blue and Eloise in light pink. Eloise had a big smile on her face as she yanked her hand from her mother’s hold. “HIII, everybody!!!” she yelled, waving to the room. The guests chortled, chuckled, and swooned at the little girl as a guard escorted her down the stairs in a hurry. She was still at that age where everyone looked at her with adoration and humor. Charlotte softly giggled instead of reprimanding her daughter, a clear indicator of her humble background. She allowed Eloise to be a child. Eloise, still fearless about the world and the people in it, immediately ran to Arnaud and buried her face in his knees.

“Papa, do you like my dress?!” she giggled. Arnaud picked her up with nothing short of pride in his eyes as he complimented the beauty of his daughter. His wife appeared poised and graceful by his side. He kissed her cheek. For a moment, the former pirate forgot what was at stake as Arnaud became enraptured with his family.

Three more clicks of a wooden staff, and the announcer cleared his throat. The room paused, chatter fading as always, ready to cast judgment, ready to gawk and gossip. The minute a glimpse of gold peeked over the stairs, the room fell from quiet to dead silent. “Mademoiselle Jane of London and Monsieur Caden of Grimsby!”

Jane, glimmering, golden, and shiny like stardust, stepped into everyone’s line of view at the top of the stairs, Caden by her side, a helpful arm for her to hold onto. Everything about her defied the rules of court, yet everything about her drew the crowd in. That gold on her, the way her skin absorbed it and then shot it back around the room like a source of light. Her body shimmered with it. Her mask, completely solid gold to match. The cut of the dress, her jewelry—her first step down the stairs set off an echo of gasps everywhere. The crowd inched forward slightly, each shift of her dress and click of her heel bouncing off the waxed marble floor, alerting everyone to her presence. Jane was a vision, a statue come to life.

As she made her way slowly down the stairs, Roman could hear the shock, the whispers, and murmurs.

“Provocante!” (Provocative)

“L’audace!” (The audacity)

“Audacieuse!” (Bold)

As she inched closer, the details of her beauty stood out against all others. She parted the room with each step. The murmurs grew louder as she stepped onto the main floor. Roman was there to greet her with a kiss to the back of her hand. He pulled her by the waist into his chest, her hands gently placed on his. Her sparkling eyes met his gaze, not an inkling of shyness in them.She had changed from when they first met. This was her final form. Or rather—her true one.

“You are absolutely stunning. I would ask you to marry me again, but I already did,” Roman sighed. To say that he was mesmerized would be an understatement. She laughed and raised herself on the tips of her toes to meet his kiss.

“Well, ask again if you must, but my answer will probably be yes, just so you know,” she smiled. She pulled away to look at his outfit. “You look absolutely amazing. They did such a good job matching us.”

“It was a nightmare letting them dress me. The stylist had to stand on a stool to put on my shirt. I’ll be glad to leave this place,” Roman complained.

“Not too fast. You owe me the night,” she purred.

“Do I? I don’t remember making any promises, but with how you look right now, I’m inclined to comply.”

“If you know what’s good for you,” she smirked.

They went to get a drink at the refreshment table. She kept complimenting his suit.

He wore a tailored deep black coat with a sumptuous finish that caught the light, fitted at the waist and flaring slightly at the hips. Beneath it, a crisp white linen shirt had billowing sleeves and a high ruffled collar. His black waistcoat featured intricate gold embroidery, complementing Jane's attire. The perfectly tailored trousers tapered at the ankles, revealing polished black leather shoes. He completed the look with a soft ivory silk cravat fastened by a delicate gold pin and a black masquerade mask adorned with a single feather, like Jane's.

Roman looked around the room at the glares directed at his fiancée. He noticed something quite particular: many of the women had teased, curly hair, clearly manipulated by heat to the point of frizz. They wore dark eye makeup and dark gowns. This style was not popular in the French court; women typically opted for bright colors. Dark colors were seen as too mature or even suggestive. So to see so many women in dark reds, greens, blacks, and blues was almost jarring.

That’s when he realized that Jane had become a bit of a muse. There would never be an admission as to who they were imitating. The thought nearly made him burst into laughter. And now she was wearing a color that was hard to produce: a pure gold dress—true to the color. Another peculiar choice for French society. Jane had left her mark.

“When is the food coming?” Caden interrupted, startling Jane as she forgot he was hovering around.

“Is that all you think about?” Roman laughed.

“I’m a growing boy. Ooo—hors d’oeuvres!” Caden trailed off, following one of the servers holding a tray of snacks.

After the arrival of guests, the opening ceremony started. The royal family was introduced with a live orchestra performance. After the opening ceremony, balls like these had a specific order: the first dance, dinner, special performances, more dancing, closing festivities, and departure. This would be a long night.

There would be no first dance without the King and Queen participating first. He pulled his much younger wife onto the dance floor. She wore a pristine all-white gown. Everything she wore was white, including her hair and the whites of her eyes. The King tried his best to match her, but the blueness of his veins stood out against the absence of color. Everything was so manufactured between the two of them, even down to the smiles they gave one another—a pretending love. A love that never was.

Everybody in this room should want to be them, to want what they had: as many children, as much money, as much power as they did. Roman looked at Jane as she watched the two of them, her expression indifferent but calm. He was standing next to the sun. He had something more valuable than what any monarchy could provide. A true love, an undefiled, uncultivated love. A love that money couldn’t buy. She caught his gaze. He held his hand out to her, and she took it without hesitation as they walked to join the dancing couple along with Arnaud and Charlotte.

The minuet, a slow and graceful dance characterized by its elegant movements and intricate footwork, was typically danced in 3/4 time. It involved a series of steps that included gliding movements, turns, and the signature minuet pose, where dancers would often bow or curtsy.

The most intimate part of the dance was when the couple circled each other, with one hand pressed against the other in the air. He always found the dance a bit silly, but not this time. Jane’s natural grace added beauty to the dance. The staring eventually got to her, and she decided she was ready to sit down. Soon after the first dance came dinner—a whole other beast.

Dinner was all about the King flexing his power over others. High-ranking nobles sat elevated in the center of the room. Anyone below the Duke and Duchess sat on the outskirts. Low-ranking nobles stood to eat. Special guests also stood to eat. The whole ordeal would have been unforgivable if not for the delicious food: stuffed lamb, roasted duck, Canard aux Cerises, Boeuf à la Mode, Poisson à la Sauce Duxelles, Soupe aux Choux, canapés, tarts, artisan breads dipped in butter, roasted vegetables of all kinds, fish, mussels, clams, oysters, lobster, mince pies, potato pies, quiches, mousse, cream, pastries of every variety, candied fruits with crackly coatings, marzipan. The list went on and on and on. Jane whispered to him how she’d rather eat alone with a spread like this, which made him laugh. Back on the ship, there were no manners besides keeping your food and hands to yourself. He’d seen her bite into the side of a chuck roast like a lion. He wasn’t much for manners himself; he found table manners taunting in a way. Food had to be eaten in a certain order with a certain utensil. Thankfully, with them placed on the outskirts of the room, there was nobody to witness him eat his slice of ham quiche in one singular bite, except for Jane of course. She had to swallow her food before she choked from laughing.

Nobles used toasts to shine the spotlight on their eloquence and wit—always circling back to the King and Queen. There had been five toasts that night, and soon it became rather pathetic. In the distance, Charlotte had to cover her mouth with a fan after the viscount stood to give a speech about France being the most powerful country and how good looking the King was— or something of the sort.

After dinner, there were performances. Ballet dancers entranced the crowd with their grace. A very young violinist by the name of Joseph Bologne stunned the crowd with his musicality, making his instrument create sounds beyond comprehension. Jane was particularly amazed by him. English circus performers showcased impressive skills, such as acrobatics, juggling, and contortion. They performed daring feats, captivating the audience with their physical abilities. Fire-breathing got the crowd rowdy and lively.

Magicians and illusionists interacted with the crowd, pulling doves from scarves and rabbits from hats. The performances were wrapped with plate-spinning dancers from Shanghai, who spun porcelain plates on ridiculously long sticks and walked on stilts, doing difficult stunts and synchronized dancing in colorful outfits with elaborate makeup.

More dancing ensued, this time with livelier dances like the gavotte. Dessert wines like Sauternes flowed as people became looser. Children were sent off to bed while the adults enjoyed the rest of the festivities. Parlor games were played during the intermission, like charades. Roman enjoyed a few rounds of the card game baccarat with Arnaud in a private salon near the ballroom, savoring a few smokes.

Jane was having a good time, and he was in no rush to ruin the fun. She had finally realized why they called Charlotte the life of the party. The two danced and drank repeatedly as the crowd became increasingly intoxicated. A fireworks show ended the night as the crowd slowly dissipated over the next few hours. With the King and Queen retiring to bed, there was no need to impress. People took champagne bottles for themselves. Roman had to search the room just to find Jane and Charlotte near the balcony, sharing a bottle of wine and grapes.

“Have you gotten it out of your system?” Roman stood a few feet away, watching the pair as they draped over each other.

“Just wait until the wedding,” Charlotte snickered.

“SMALL wedding,” Jane laughed. She reached her arms out for Roman, and he picked her up onto her feet. Arnaud was on his way to his wife, who was entering a zone of drunkenness that was inappropriate for court. But with most of the nobles gone, nobody really cared now. Jane was flirty, more handsy than usual. She had a light buzz but still had her wits about her.

“Did you have fun?” he whispered to her as he picked her up bridal style. She took the opportunity to kick off her heels and carry them.

Caden would stay the night along with Arnaud, Charlotte, and Eloise. Charlotte promised him a Versailles breakfast, and the young lad agreed—a bit drunk himself and cycling through sleep on one of the chairs near the dance floor.

“After everybody got drunk, absolutely. I danced circles around those old farts with Charlotte. Now my feet hurt,” Jane sighed.

“We can get you into a hot bath to help those feet, and you can tell me all about your night.”

“My night? What about your night? Did you like any of it?”

Roman set her down inside the carriage and stepped in foot first. “Maybe the food. I also won a gambling match with one of the viscounts from Italy. I won his gold watch. The old bloke was fuming.”

“Gambling? You really are a pirate, aren’t you?” Jane snickered.

The carriage dashed into the night with the horses rested and ready to sprint. Jane was already ripping at a piece of her costume and throwing it on the floor of the cart.

“This thing is so hot,” she grunted.

“It’s the wine. It’s a chilly night.

“ Help me take it off”, she whined. Roman obliged and loosened her corset for her.

“ Nono…I just need the skirt cage off “, she pleads.

“ I…I have to go under your dress and I can barely see anything.”

She rolls her eyes. “ What are you…scared something’s going to jump out and bite you? It’s not like you haven’t visited down there before. I don’t have an extra set of teeth—I promise.”

Roman chuckled at her bluntness. “ I don’t want to mess up such a beautiful dress. You know the stylists are really fickle about how you take off the dress. I could break something”

“ Roman. Take off the fucking cage.”

Taken aback by her tone he dives right into action and drops to his knees. “ Yes ma’am.”

On the floor, he pops under the skirt of her dress and feels along her skin. The smooth silk of her flesh is almost enough for him to forget the task until her hips wiggle when he stalls. She really wants it off. He feels up and over her hips where the buttons securing the contraption are held together. He blindly tugs and pulls away at the fabric until something snaps.

“ You got it”, her voice calls out in a dramatic hopeful tone. He backs away with the cage in his hands, pulling it from under her. The bottom of the dress deflates.

“ I mean I found something hard and smooth so I figured it had to be it.”

“ I knew you’d find it. You’re notoriously good at finding buttons. You may be the only man in Europe who actually can ”, she jokes suggestively. Roman chuckled quietly as he sat on his knees on the carriage floor. Her cage sat next to her and the clicking of horse hooves seemed to fill in the gaps of silence. Jane’s smile melts into something more assertive, more sultry.

With great attention to her expression, he testfully grabs onto one of her ankles and brings it to the side of his face, sniffing it before resting it on his shoulder

“ Did you put perfume here ?” He asks quietly. His voice swells with a daring tone. A hidden question really. Is he reading her correctly?

“ Yes”, she says in a quiet tone. A small smirk spreads on her painted lips.

“ Now, Why on earth would you do that?”, he tests.

“ Well it got your attention didn’t it ?”, she quips. A cheeky edge to her words. Her eyes— a challenge.

He says nothing, only takes the same leg on his shoulder and trails his fingers down the side of it in a slow manner. His eyes remain planted on her as he draws swirls up into her inner thigh. Her breath is slightly labored, the rise and fall of her breasts noticeable from the way the corset fabric sparkled in the low light.

Large and calloused hands massage her inner thigh. He can feel her muscles tense and release under his touch. He brushed the other thigh with the tips of his fingers, starting the process over and again. Working and winding her up as he watched her fingers dig into the cushion of the seat underneath her.

Slowly, he pulls down her undergarments and flings them behind him. The heat radiating from her skin met it’s peak here. She parts her legs further, a beckoning. An invitation to come closer.

His hand meet soft, wet, warm skin. He groans despite knowing it would be there. How could it not? It had been weeks since he last touched her. They had been busy and coming down on the high of finding the treasure. She was sopping. A true testament to how much her body missed him. They both groaned audibly when his thumb pressed that spot where she needed him most. She melts into his seat, head lulling back as she moans against each wet sweep of his thumb.

“ Were you like this…all night ?”

“ Yes”, she whines. Shifting in her seat, he closes the space between them until her butt is nearly touching his torso. Both of her legs rest on his shoulders as he firmly rubs her in circular motions.

“ Tell me…”

“ T-Tell you what?”, she stutters

“ What thought led to what I’m feeling underneath my fingertips right now”, he gruffs.

“ F-Fear”, she sighed breathlessly.

“ Of what?”

“ Fear that when you make me cum..it won’t be enough. It won’t be enough until I have all of you.”

“ You have me”, he urges.

“ Not in every way”, she gasped as his fingers speed up on her clit. It didn’t take much with her. Not with his skill.

“ Speak”, he commands. And he’s sure it feels like being doused in cold water with the way she jerks at the sound. Especially when all she wants to do is sink into the sofa and melt away. But now his breath was labored—heart racing as he anticipated the sound she would make.

“ I Need Your C— ,” and her sentence is cut short with an abrupt squeak as she cums against his fingers. He presses and rubs until her writhing stops . A restlessness still prevalent even after she’s gotten her fix.

“ You finish that sentence”, he leans in to kiss the sides of her neck as his hands trail up and down the sides of her. She’s hazy from the orgasm.

Shyly.. she continues in another way. “ What you’ve given me all this time. It was enough then…but not anymore”, she pants.

Roman needed no other explanation and he dare not make her second guess. Instead he sits back and pulls her to a straddle on top of him. She grabs his face and kisses him. The smokiness of his mouth makes her rut into his crotch feverently, nearly making him release into his pants. He has to stop her prematurely.

Kissing, tugging, pulling, gripping. The surprising sting of a bite to his chest. The tearing of fabric they’ll regret later. The panting across exposed skin. The drag of nails scraping across heated flesh. She made a mess of him to match her own. A whole hour swallowed by the lust of two.

When the carriage screeched to a stop they both paused to assess the damage. Roman’s top was destroyed. He noticed the way she glanced at her hands—likely wondering how she possessed the strength. He threw his coat over her shoulders as the help escorted them back up to their bedroom.

“ Hot water in the tub Joffrey”, he calls to the butler already waiting at the door.

Three servants take turns walking in and out the room to fill the tub awaiting in the other room. Jane watches quietly as she grips the oversized jacket around her. Her lips are swollen from him. Her biting the corners doesn't make it any better. It doesn’t make this any easier. Doesn’t give him any more composure .

Jane Pov

“ Will my bath slow the momentum ?”, she asks quietly. She doesn’t want the maids to hear.

“ Have I not proven my patience by now?”

“ Is it wrong to ask? Have you noticed you’re about to rip out of your pants?” Roman frowns at her in confusion. Her eyes trail down to his sizeable erection that jutted from his black dress trousers. His eyes meet it with surprise as if he forgot. So used to ignoring his body in respect of her boundaries. In respect of her limits.

“ I’ll take my bath cold…in the other room ”, he calls out to the servants in the bathroom.

With a kiss to her forehead, he leaves behind the servants. Maybe some distance would be for the best. The bath would give her time to think. The scented oils relaxed her but she still felt so empty. The desire to be filled, something foreign to her until now.

She took her hair down in the tub and pinned it up again, less uniform, uncaring if some strands got wet. She scrubbed her skin with something scented. She made quick work of it.

She dried off, creamed her skin, and took off her jewelry. She kept thinking about what to wear. What do people usually wear? Well …nothing by the end of it she supposed. But how to entice ? She knew nothing about seduction. So maybe nothing could be something ? She wiped the color from her lips from her mouth. No time to get rid of the eyes. She found a thick hair ribbon, she wrapped it around her neck and tied it into a bow. The dress that the maids brought up in pieces included the stockings that she rolled up her thighs. A once over in the mirror and she felt it was enough. Courtesan in a way.

She draped herself in her robe and waited. She didn’t send for him. He would come back when he was ready. It didn’t take long thankfully. She could hear him send away the butler for the night from behind the door. Her hands sweat as the doorknob turns.

He stands in the hallway. Brooding and wide, like when they first met. His hair wet and his skin coated with a light mist from his bath. No shirt, loose fitting cotton trousers. Every tattoo is even bolder than she remembered. His eyes were hungry but controlled as always. She stands carefully as he turns to close the door and lock it . By the time he turns back around she’s quickly slipped off her robe. He freezes in place, eyes darkening even in the light.

He doesn’t move to grab her. No throwing her down on the bed. Instead, he slowly walks over to the table at the far end of the room. A fire crackles next to it. He sits down at the chair, legs spread wide. He motions his finger for her. A quiet “stand in front of me”. Being gawked at all night did nothing for her. It didn’t move her. But under his gaze…she could barely take it. Hesitantly, she makes her way to him.

For a moment she’s stunned—nearly losing the steam to do this. To be this courageous, sexy, brave woman who takes charge. But when he finally speaks it’s simple. “Take down all your hair. Please”, he says. An authority in his voice, controlled, quiet. She reaches for her hair pins and lets her tresses down, loosening the curls with a shake of her hand. “ Perfect”, he whispers.

Going with her gut, instead of stepping closer she gets on her knees. Intrigued, his gaze tracked her movements as she began to crawl to him slowly. One hand extending out behind the other carefully and methodically. She reaches his knees and places her hands on the both of them. That cold bath did nothing for him clearly. His erection was jutting out of his pants like a sword.

“ Are sure ?”, he asks. She doesn’t answer, only slides her hands up his chest reassuringly. This is the man she loved. The man she was going to marry. This was safe. He was safe. He’d proven that long ago. She united the strings holding his cotton trousers. He lifted up when she pulled them down. His erection sprung out and hit his stomach.

She seized it in her hands and felt the pulse of him around his fingers. Roman had time to learn her. He studied the way she liked to be licked. The way he wanted his mouth slated against her cunt. The speed of his tongue. He knew how to make her fall apart in seconds. She had not learned him. Never tasted him in her mouth. Never felt the beat of his pulse on her tongue. She wanted to do this well.

His girth has always been impressive but not painfully thick. With time she could take the stretch of him without thought. His length, however, was a whole other feat. How on earth would all of it fit? She cut those thoughts off before she chickened out.

At least it was beautiful. Lengthy, curved upwards, a fleshy pink tip, dusky shaded skin, chiseled in thick veins, a heavy sack. Pearls of arousal glisten at the top of him. She swipes away at it with her tongue. He’s completely still, watching her closely, waiting for her to back out. But the alarms weren’t ringing yet. She needed to give him what he gave her. Or at least try her best to do so.

Boldly, she wrapped her lips around the head of him and looked up at him through her lashes. He’s biting his fist. She gives him kitten licks. He takes a deep inhale and grabs the arms of his chair with a vibe grip. She pulls back and softly strokes him with both hands.

“ I’ve never done this because I wanted to until now. So you’re going to have to tell me what you want. What you like and what you don’t”, she says quietly.

“ Well, you’ve got the first step down. You put your mouth around me. Don’t stop on my account”, he grunts. Jane resumes, taking him into her mouth.

“ Use your hands where your mouth can’t reach”, he says. A shaky edge to his tone. She listens, using the spit that rolled down his shaft beneath her hands.

She’s timid, careful not to hurt him. Not to squeeze him too hard. He’s so big that if she goes too far she gags a bit. That didn’t scare her knowing that she controlled the pace. The sound of him grunting was a motivator. Everytime she pressed her mouth further down his shaft, not only would her eyes water but her mouth would too. Her hands were drenched. She pulled away to get something to clean some of the mess up. He gently stops her.

“ You’re doing it perfectly, leave it ”, he says. His composure slipping through a clenched jaw. He didn’t want to cum but she sumized it would be easy to get him back up if he did.

So she goes back for more, inching further and further down his shaft. She made a proper mess of herself. She destroyed her eye makeup. Her nose was running, her mouth was watering like a spigot. He holds her hair for her but he keeps his hands clear from the back of her head.

She sort of liked the mess. The sound of her working him in her mouth, the choking, the sniffling, the sounds of his groans whenever her hand drifts to his sack. The sound he bit back when she massaged them. It was easy to get enthusiastic when she felt his composure slipping from him. When his groans turned into audible sighs when she sucked his head harder.

She pulls away to catch her breath, panting from the exertion of it. In some strange way she felt powerful. Which was funny considering that she was the one on her knees. But maybe it was the reassurance that she could please him successfully. That she was capable of giving back what she had received for so long.

“ Spit on it.”

“ spit on it ?”, She echoes.

“ Like it just pissed you off”, he dares.

Jane nearly laughs but he was clearly serious. And so she does. His hips shift as she works her hand over him before doing it again and licking it up. That earns a full out moan. She bobs up and down the length of him, getting as much in and she could comfortably allow. Bubbles form at the sides of her mouth. She wraps her mouth just around the engorged head and sucks firmly.

Instead of stroking him up and down she began to gently twist with each pump of her fist as her mouth suctioned around the head of him. Then ever so often she would twist her mouth as she came up. Roman, once so stoic and controlled, was hissing in agreement with her new found technique. The praise sent waves of arousal tingling on her breast, her cunt, and deep in her stomach.

“ God dammit…just like that. What a good girl you are. Are you my good girl ?”, he cooes.

“ —-Glaahhjksmm!—”, she talks around his cock as she pushes against the barrier of her reflex. Spit froths and flows as she gathers it around his sack and massages it in time with her strokes. A full on moan wrecks his throat from the vibration on her mouth. His eyes danced around the room and his head falls back.

And just as she’d been taught, she sucked it all up and spat it right back onto the head of his cock. A gut punching sounding groan falls from his lips. This time, instead of sucking, she begins blowing air around the cock in her mouth, gargling and gurgling against his skin as she pushed down down down down. His hips twist and bend. “ Alrightalrightaright wait... Fuuckkk. Stop”, he stutters. She pulls away quickly.

“ Did I knick you?” She panics.

“ No. But this will be over before it starts if you keep going dove. Fucking hell….”, he chuckles. She can see his brow broke out in the sweat earlier. She looks down at her hands. Her chin is drenched. Her makeup is sliding down her cheeks.

“ Maybe I should get cleaned up first”, she giggles. Roman looks at her, eyes full of admiration like they were when she came down the steps. To her shock he grabs her and kisses her, tongue and all. When he pulled away it stunned her.

“ Enjoy the taste ? ”, she chuckles .

“ I should ask you the same”, he teases. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a wet cotton rag, helping her to clean up her hands and mouth.

He places the rag on the table and abruptly picks her up. She squeals in surprise, wrapping her legs around waist.

Her back hits the bed. He climbs on it, going straight for her legs. Slowly, he peels her stockings off with his teeth. He’s sure to nip her ankles and the inside of her thigh. His beard a welcome sensory against the sensitivity of her skin.

He makes no introduction, only an immediate shot for her clit. He sucks her into his mouth and watches her thrash against him. Immediately sending her into sensory overload.

He laps at her with the tip of his tongue before running it over the entirety of her cunt. Pressing his entire mouth on it and sliding his lips across it like an open kiss. She can already feel her peak approaching as he hooks his arms under her thighs and pulls her closer. Her hands reach for his hair and tug aimlessly.

He makes a show of it, growling into her. Thumbing at her breasts. She’s about to cum already. Almost embarrassingly soon. But he had learned her for months now, an advantage that he took happily.

“ Are you in a rush?”, she whimpered.

“ I’m in no rush, your body on the other hand seems to be”, he mumbled against her skin. She fell apart on his mouth, back bowing against the bed. He left her no room to pull away, no room for reprieve as he sucked her through her orgasm and after. He made no move to pause until she cried out into the room, shouting expletives that were half gibberish.

He went back for more. She nearly protests this until she realizes just what she was up against. This generous foreplay wasn’t just for his pleasure or her own. It was to prepare her. She fought past the overstimulation and held herself to the mattress as he started all over again.

But Roman would take and take and take. What she would allow he would take for his own. For these matters he had no mercy. Enough was never enough. He would drink and never be full. With her second climax she dug her feet into his back, trembling against the intensity of it. That familiar haze washes over her, making her brain all muggy . Bringing a tingle to her lips and feet.

“ I know you have one more”, he rumbled against the side of her thigh.

“ Mmpphhmm”, she groans.

When his tongue dragged against her clit she flinched. His hands snaked around her waist as he swung his face in a nodding motion against her, lazily swiping his tongue up and down the entirety of her. Each pass, more sensitive than the other. His large hands rest at the bottom of her belly, pressing down each time her back tried to depart the bed. A reminder that she wasn’t going anywhere until she gave him exactly what he wanted.

Teasingly, the tip of his tongue would swirl around her clit, purposely missing where she wanted him most. Her hips followed his mouth, swirling and bucking towards him as pulled away further. His licks turned to gentle flicks, a glint of playfulness in his eyes as he watched her grow increasingly impatient. Suddenly, so responsive after claiming to be too sensitive.

“ Come on baby, right there”, she grabbed the backs of his hair with her fist and brought him to where she needed him. Still testing her patience, he kissed her skin gently instead. She threw her head back as she tried to push herself toward him.

“ Please …please”, she moaned.

And with that, he enclosed his mouth around her nerves and sucked hard. Instantly, she gasped as he punished her with fast hard licks, pressed firmly against her skin.

“ AAAH!!”, she cried. She came harshly against his mouth, throbbing against each pass of his tongue. He made her ride out her climax until the bitter end. Twitching—she pushed his forehead. He pulls away, kissing up stomach. He sucks bruises into her skin. The suction of his mouth pulls her nipples to pebbles, electrifying a path down her stomach.

“ Aren’t you going to unwrap me? I’m not fully undressed until you do”, she pants. She was tired from those series of mini climaxes that he inflicted upon her. She can feel the rumble from his chuckle vibrate against her chest. He kisses a path back up her chest. The scrape of his beard tickles her neck and he unties it with his mouth. His fingers reach down between her legs to feel her arousal.

Her heart races as he pulls her closer, adjusting his position between her legs. Involuntarily she stiffens. His fingers feel it along her muscles. He stops immediately to assess. “ Where are you right now ? Where did you go ?”

She blinks a few times before she answers. “ Habit. I’m sorry.”

“ Any moment. Even seconds from now or minutes or an hour from now. You can tell me to stop. We can start again when you want. We can try again on a different night. It’s your choice.” He grabs her face in his, his forehead against her own.

“ I know. I know, I want this now. I'm just anxious.”

“ It doesn't have to be perfect Jane," he says quietly. A thoughtful look spreads across his face. She had an idea in her head of what this would be. She would be responsive, she would look perfect, be perfect. But there was no audience. There was nothing to prove. This was for them and nobody else.

She nods quietly and reaches for him. She needed him close to drown out the panic and the noise. To feel his breath in her face, his warmth. He leans down, elbows on either side of her face. With one hand he reaches down and graces his fingers across her cunt, spreading around her arousal. When she relaxes he pushes in one finger. A small gasp leaves her lip but her composure remains.

He asks. “ Okay?”

“ Okay”, she nods.

He pumps it in slowly back and forth, gently sawing with the pressure. Roman is watchful, nearly nose to nose with her as he tests her. A second finger and she groans from the sensation. Her body could tell how long it’s been for her. She's pulsing around his digits as she involuntarily sucks him in. No pleasure was present quite yet. But that was to be expected. For now her focus was only on trying to stay calm.

“ I’ll let you. I’ll let you…”, she whispers to him. Her voice so fragile—in this moment she felt like she was made of glass. He felt it too. He stares at her for a moment, unsure if she’s sure. She nods silently. His fingers pull away and his right arm returns to the side of her head.

He uses his other hand, reaching in between them to center himself with her opening. Then she feels it, that pressure, the stretch. Her eyes widen as he surges forward gently. Jane’s hands fly to his shoulders as she feels a sound creeping up from behind her lips.

Determined to distract her, he grabs her face with soft hands. “ Hey…relax. Relax. Where are you right now? Are you with me ?”, he asks gently.

“ Yes I’m…yes I’m with yo—”, she loses control of her breathing as the air leaves her . She can feel all of him now. He’s sheathed inside of her and the fit is snug.

“ Am I causing you pain?”

“ No…yes…I mean no..I don’t fucking know”, she sputtered. The sensation was overwhelming. To be so filled, so stuffed. To feel the heat of him inside her. The tight fit despite her being the wettest she’s ever been……” You’re just so…big”, she sighed.

“ Your body will get used to it the more I move. We can try another—.”

“ NO …no, just give me a second”, she urged. So instead his mouth found hers as he waited for her body to relax. She was squeezing him so tight he wondered if he’d actually be able to move at all. Sly fingers slip back between them to swipe at her clit. Another wave of arousal seeps around him. He shudders from it. She sucks his tongue. He nips the side of her jaw.

“ Slowly…”, she rasps against his mouth. She can hear a decompressing sigh from him as his muscles shift and he pulls out and in, slowly. Methodically. The drag of him against her walls, his veins, his heat. Foreign, too foreign to derive pleasure so soon. Yet too comforting to hate.

She looked between them as he lifts up slightly, getting a full view of the way he appears and then disappears—coming out gleaming in her arousal. It was her body doing that. It was her body capable of that. It took a moment to register.

“ You’re still far away”, he pants. His composure bending against the pressure of his arousal. His tone swollen with need -velvety and full.

“ Maybe I’m just broken down there. I’m not exactly the type to finish during these endeavors”, she mutters. He doesn’t like that at all. She can tell by the way he tucks in his lips. He pauses for a moment, as he sits back on the heels of his feet. The head of him is just barely tucked into her body.

“ That wasn’t sex”, he says firmly. “ but this is…and it’s a head game. I mean your brain doesn’t even realize how close you are. I can feel it Jane”, he looked down at where they connect. His thumb rolls over her clit as he feels her contract around him. “How about this”. Roman searches the bed for the ribbon he pulled off her and holds it above her face. “ I’m going to put this over your eyes and we’ll see just how much you “don’t work”. With nothing to distract you, you have no choice but to feel”, he explains. Jane looks at the red ribbon. Who would have thought she’d be wearing it as an eye cover.

“ Okay”, she says. He placed the ribbon over her eyes, wrapping it twice around her head. Her fingers press gently against the silk when he’s finished.

Then he’s inside again. Behind the blackness of her lids, she imagines what it looks like. But with her mind racing and her sight missing, the feeling of him inside her is even more prominent. It quiets the noise of her mind as she listens to the soft grunts that escape him as he presses into her. Every little moan that leaves him raises the stakes of her arousal. She can hear how wet she is now and so can he. Her hands seek the wrists he balanced himself on. They wrap around them, feeling the veins in his skin. She can’t even enclose her fist around it. He was just that big. And strangely enough, that thought grew and grew into something more. A naughty thought that ignited all the other hidden ones.

His thrusts change and with a pass of his hips, they thrust upward and press. He brushes up against something startling. Again and again. Each pass becoming more and more sensitive. Her body learns to become reactive to his touch. The pleasure sneaks up on her and wraps itself around her like a thick smoke, clogging her mind. She envisions it as it invades her, fully claiming her. It arrives and her mouth wrenches open in a long, aching, desperate moan.

Encouraging murmurs fall from his mouth but they’re drowned out as small moans bursts from her mouth. Suddenly, she had no control over her volume, no control over what she said. It was as if this foreign pleasure that he promised her had already possessed her entirely.

“ Oh..OHH—fuck!”, she cried. Now she’s thankful for the ribbon. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to see the way one of her eyes uncontrollably rolled into the back of her head. He surges a bit deeper than before and she can barely control the squeeze of her toes. It’s too complicated to focus on her breathing so every few thrusts she decided it was easier to hold her breath.

“ Breath or I stop ”, he warns.

“ I can’t…pleaseee”, she croakes. Her nails begin to bite the skin on his wrists. That just makes him surge deeper.

“ You can’t cum if you pass out. I need you awake. I need to watch your face when you finally do ”, he pants.

She can feel his mouth on the side of her ankle and his thumb on her clit again. Something rushes through her, it’s so overpowering that it forces the air back into her lungs and then out again, Her body erupts in tingles from head to toe.

This release is deeper, more concentrated, more intense than she’s used to. She squeezes around him so harshly that he hisses as she cums. Her legs shake as he rubs her clit in deep circles, wringing every bit of her pleasure out. She shakes against him like she’d been left out to dry. For a moment she remembers that Roman is greedy. He has no mercy for pleasure and he would very much let it drown her in it if she allowed it.

“ Okayyyy. Okay! Fuckfuckfuck!”, she bursts as she pushes against his chest. He pulls out and gives her some reprieve as she scrambles for the ribbon covering her eyes. He gets to it first, pulling it off for her.

Her eyes are wide when the lights of the room come into view. He’s flustered, sweaty, hair wild all over his head. Suddenly he bursts into a deep chuckle, showing his pearly white teeth as he gazes down at her bewilderment.“ You’d think you saw a ghost”, he snickered.

Her body still tingled, ears still buzzed. She sits up and so does he. “ So I may or may not have overreacted before all of this”, she admits sheepishly. He laughs even harder. No seriously, if she would have known it would be this easy. If she’d known that it would feel like that, she would have done it sooner.

“ Come here. We’re not done… ”, Roman turns to lay on his side. She crawls to him and he pulls her back against his chest. His arm pushes behind her head for cushion while the other hitches her leg up. He slides in with an almost comical ease compared to only minutes ago. Yet, she was just as breathless. Still gasping at the feeling of him inside of her. She turns her head to watch him as he keeps a steady but firm pace. She has to shake off another climax from his expression alone. His eyes are desperate. She swore she could read every dirty thought on his face. She so badly wanted her to enjoy this and it was so evident just by the way his fingers wouldn’t leave her clit. Desperate to make her cum. She can’t help but to steal another kiss because of it.

He angles his hips and her head lulls back into his arm, her eyes rolling up into the ceiling. He was brushing up against that spot again and her volume control went out of the window. The pleads spill out of her endlessly, calling out for something she couldn’t put into words.

“ Right there?”

She nods frantically. “YESyesyesrightthere”, she groans. He leans down to the side of her breast and presses his mouth against her nipple. One of her hands tangles against the duvet and the other scratches the side of his chiseled stomach. The way his hips roll into her should be a crime. His precision— unmatched. When his mouth pops off her flesh she reaches back and feels his hair. He leans closer, pressing his mouth against her ear. A sweet torture, a whisper from his mouth only to her own ears.

“ Is that what you want?”, he grunts.

“ Yes I need it. I need it”, she moans drunkenly. Her brows furrow, mouth biting for the skin of her own lip. The hand under her leg abandons it for her neck. She keeps her leg thrown over his own. She’s wide open to the room. When his hand clasps around her neck, her head falls directly on his arm giving her a full view of his face. A natural surrender. She can’t help the smile that creeps up in between shouts of ecstasy. There’s no pressure in his hand. It just means something. She never felt the desire to be owned or found the appeal. But To be coveted. To trust enough. To admit the defeat of her own walls and hangups. To even allow to let his hand to stay there. To not want him to pull it away. He catches the glint in her eye and a wicked grin spreads across his mouth.

The speed of his thrusts increase and that earns him a nice squeak of surprise on her end. The hand around her neck trails to her jaw. He was especially deep now, so deep she could hardly take a full breath. His eyes darkened as he pressed his fat thumb past her swollen lips and pressed down on her tongue. Her mouth closed around his flesh like it fed her oxygen. A guttural, brutish sound left his mouth at the sight. She could see his jaw clench. A sigh of avidity flows from him. Her eyes rolls back as the climax sweeps her. “ You beautiful creature, my desires incarnate”, he seethes into her mouth. Her tongue slips into his. She tastes the brandy on his tongue and it surges the kiss deeper.

Still, he doesn’t eaves her no time to recuperate as he turns her onto her stomach. His hands find her ass and squeeze. His chest to her back, her head to the mattress, his mouth just above her ear. He feels entirely different inside of her from this angle. He feels wider, endless. She moans his name as inches in.

With the buffer between her ass and his stomach, depth and pace could be more forgiving. However, the angle was even more precise. The tip of his cock dragged against that spot in the most toe curling fashion. He was practically poking it with the way he angled himself into her. He barely pulls out as he rocks into her. Her eyes cross behind her closed lids.

The feeling is so intense, her hands shoot above her head, reaching out for something. His palms come down over the back of hers, holding them flat to the mattress. It feels like he’s molding himself to her like a second skin. He guides her hands underneath her chest, cocooning himself over her body as he gains momentum. The sound of skin slapping echoes across the room, blending with each gasp from her mouth, timed perfectly.

“ You’re sooooo deep”, she grunts against the mattress, muffled and all.

“ You want some out ?”

“ I don’t fucking know—-oh my godddd”, she whines and sputters and twists as he rocks into her. She likes the weight of him against her. She likes the feeling of his heart beat on her back as he ruts into her, grunting his praises. The slickness of their bodies against each other. Grunting his appreciation.

But the sensitivity grows and blooms deep in her stomach. Every sensory combines and jumbles into a looming monstrous feeling.

“ Is it broken?” He taunts.

“ No!”, she shouts.

“ but I thought you said it doesn’t work?”, his thrusts turn to daggers. An attempt at compliance that she gave freely. Rubbing her words in her face.

“ It worksitworksss”, she screeches. His words only riling her up. Only making this deliciously more underable. And those shouts she tried so hard to control finally rolled into screame.

It was sobering to realize just how easily he could reduce her to a screaming, squirming, crying, whining, shell of herself. How easily he could control her body and play it with such precision. He had broken her down into bits, put her together, pulled her apart and washed her away with pleasure. It was scary to know the sheer power of his hands, his mouth, his body —and know that he actively chose to only inflict pleasure with them.

On this very night she was ruined. It could only be him. Now her mind was racing but not the way it was before. Nothing feels this good, nothing should feel this good. And every thought of him that pops up just adds to the pleasure. This is what she wanted for the rest of her days—gentleness, the whisper of sweet nothings, hearty breakfasts, warm beds that smell like him, cigar smoke, late nights, expensive wines, non judgemental ears and mind bending pleasure. In every fucking position. Missionary first and whatever this is second.

“ YES…. YES PLEASE ROMAN. PLEASEEE!!”, she bellowed from her stomach. She spat the words from her mouth like they were poisonous. Like the last words of a drowning person. Deep in her gut she felt the wraith of his passion. A transformative love that grabbed her soul and wrung it dry. Was it pleasure or torture? Could pleasure be torture? Was it natural to feel so much at once —to be loved to the point of insanity ? Because she already came and he was still going. Not even a shudder from his lips or a falter in his hips when she met her climax.

“ ITS SO MUCH!”, she yells .She’s soaked herself and him completely. A new wave of arousal making it’s appearance heard loud and clear. She didn’t think it possible to be aroused so heavily. To be throbbing with pleasure and still want more. To be so unraveled.

She wonders if she has the same effect. His mouth hung open just above the side of her face, brows furrowed, grunting with each thrust. And there was no shame, he didn’t hide his pleasure. His face broke up in the way hers did and her heart sang. She felt the firmness of his muscles on her back and ass, the sweat of him seeping onto her skin, the strength of his arm encompassing her, the powder of his hips. He was perfect…absolutely perfect.

“ Do you feel it my love ?I kept my promise.”

“ FUCKK”, she screeches, voice cracking from the exertion of release after release.

“ I know. I know.”, he whispers. And her emotions meet a peak. Should she be embarrassed to cry? Because she was about to. Howling, sighing, reasoning, praising him. In awe of his beauty, of his strength, of his love.

He was killing something inside of her. Something rotten that had taken root and burrowed itself deep within her being. In the fibers, tissues, blood, and bone of her existence. A spoiled bit that inflicted her mind with fear, desperation, sorrow. It had convinced her she would never be loved. That she would never know pleasure. That she would be left unsated, unhappy and unwanted. That she was nothing. He dug for that bit, seized it, squeezed it, and obliterated it with every swell of pleasure that left her trembling. He washed it away with whispers of ‘I love you’ and ‘you’re beautiful’. As he leaned over her, their eyes connected as her head turns. To hold his gaze only resulted in another wave of gut wrenching ecstasy.

I will take your darkness and turn it sweet. This I vow to you.

She remembers. She remembers those words. And Should could feel the orgasm building from her toes all the way to the nerves under her fucking teeth. “Roman….”, she pleads.

“ Give it to me.”

“It’s so much”, she warned weakly. Slightly afraid from the strength of the release she was harboring. A load too big to carry on her own.

“ I have you.” Roman liked to watch her fall apart. To deploy into the madness of climax. He liked the grit of an orgasm. Not being able to control the eyes or the face. The contortion of the body. Seeing the most primal, stripped down, raw version of someone. She could hardly catch her breath. There was tightness in her chest like she had been running. One of his hands slipped down between herself and the mattress to reach her mound. With just a few swift and firm circles against her clit , she was bursting at the seams.

She came so hard she burst into a hiccup of tears, shaking against the wrath of her orgasm like a leaf in the wind. Her ears rang, white washes over her vision like the sun came out in the middle of the bedroom. He kept his face pressed to hers. He pulled out every bit of her orgasm and rode her wave until the very end. When she finally relaxed into the mattress, nerves shot to hell, he allowed his climax. When he fills her up he shouts. He grinds until he’s twitching—his body yielding him to stop. He trembled as he pulled away.

She turns onto her back and he falls on top of her, careful not to crush her— though she doesn’t mind. They pant out into the room as they catch their breaths. He leans to wipe her face with the back of his hand.

With a voice raspy from the screaming she clears her throat…the first to break the ice. “ Yes again, to the marriage thing by the way.”

If this would be marriage. She could get used to this.

Roman Pov

The next few days were spent giving Jane many more firsts. They went horseback riding and hunting. He sat and watched Arnaud teach her Croquet. Jane was pretty good and became competitive over time. They played card games, went sightseeing and even attended Ballets.

The trip extended itself due to Charlotte wanting to help plan the wedding. In the Palais Royal, a few hundred meters from the property, sat its own chapel. It was an old building, but it was beautiful and surprisingly small compared to the rest of the estate. Jane had expressed numerous times that she wanted to get married soon, surrounded by the friends she’d made along the way. No extravagance, no dramatic entrances, no showboating. Roman obliged without any issue whatsoever. So as he stood at the altar in front of the minister, he wondered if this was enough—if the simplicity of this would be enough for her to remember fondly. Eloise wore a white poofy dress with shiny tap shoes, throwing white flowers down the aisle. She was hopping and skipping, eventually throwing the flowers on guests by accident, of course. Caden was the ring bearer, with much persuasion and bribes on his part.

When he saw her appear at the entrance of the chapel with Earl beside her, all doubt was washed away. Here Jane was in a simple white slip gown, hair down, holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums that Eloise had picked for her in the garden.

She’d been crying, he could tell. But her smile was radiant. It was probably nerves—the same nerves he’d been feeling the night before and just moments prior. The hairstylist Mary, stylist Guston, Beatrice, Charlotte, and Arnaud were welcomed guests. Rory, Adhar, Cortez, and a dozen other pirates filled the rest of the seats. It was quite a sight seeing the filthy men cleaned up in fancy clothes for the event. It only made sense for Dr. Earl to walk her down the aisle. He cleaned her wounds, nursed her to health, and looked after her in her weakest moments. He’d taken care of everyone on that ship at one moment or another. In some strange way, he was a father to many. His quiet knowledge had been a lifeline at times.

When he took her hand in his as they exchanged vows, he looked deeply into her twinkling eyes. He could see their whole future in them. She’d never looked more beautiful than she did right now. Her thumb swept over the back of his hand when she spoke. He wished he could remember all that was said, but all he could focus on was how beautiful she was and how lucky he was. He stole kisses when he wasn’t supposed to, long before the minister could pronounce them husband and wife.

The reception was held in the orangery, filled with tables, food, cakes, and flowers. He struggled to pull away after the first dance, holding her in his arms, looking into her eyes, whispering things that made her laugh. He lost track of time.

Caden danced with Eloise, twirling her around as she squealed with joy. Rory asked Jane to dance, and she obliged. Adhar raided the dessert bar. Cortez had an intense conversation with Arnaud about his travels east. Charlotte and Earl spoke in German, and it seemed like a comfort for her to finally communicate that way, considering that her mother was German-born. Beatrice, Mary, and Guston enjoyed a drink. Roman was okay with just watching—just taking in all the amazing people he’d come to know. Jane and him had a community that was budding and growing. Now it was only a matter of time before they could give that community it’s own name.

On the high of post-marital bliss, the lordship announcement came late at night at the end of the week. A semi-vacant estate had been cleaned, prepared, and was being filled with help. It was located in the French countryside, overlooking a cliff leading down to the beach.

And after another extended week of waiting, the time finally came. Roman decided it would be better if they arrived first. Everyone else could come later, but this experience would be shared between the two of them first. Jane obliged, and they set out on a three-hour carriage ride with their belongings.

The French countryside alpes maritime offered greenery, peaks and valleys, cobblestone markets, and flower fields. It was comforting and quiet as they inched closer to the property. Jane was anxious, so he held her hand in his as they watched the scenery. A mile from their property, they approached green pastures that expanded for acres. Trees, flower fields, and fresh air with subtle hints of salt characterized the area.

The building itself was Georgian style, with a light brown brick surrounding the entirety of the home. It was characterized by its warm, buttery yellow façade, complemented by crisp white trim around the windows and doors. The exterior had a smooth finish, giving it a refined yet welcoming appearance. The roof featured dark slate tiles, contrasting beautifully with the lighter tones of the walls.

Pebbles rumbled and scratched against the wheels of the carriage as they came to a halt. Fifteen servants stood at the stairs. Tall, multi-paned windows allowed abundant light into the interior, framed by decorative white shutters. The entrance boasted a grand door, framed by a small portico supported by slender columns, creating a stately focal point.

The estate was set amidst lush, landscaped gardens that enhanced its beauty. The grounds were meticulously maintained, with vibrant flower beds filled with seasonal blooms, neatly trimmed hedges, and a variety of trees providing shade and privacy. A winding gravel path led up to the entrance, flanked by ornamental shrubs and colorful blossoms.

Two primary servants, a male and a female, stood to the left of the property. The pair seemed to be the head footman and the head housemaid. They greeted the couple, referring to Roman as Lord Ramlal and Jane as Lady Ramlal. Jane squeezed his hand as they approached the steps.

The interior featured high ceilings adorned with intricate cornices and decorative plasterwork, typical of Regency design. Large windows allow natural light to flood the spaces, framed by heavy drapes in rich fabrics that added warmth and texture. The color palette was warm and inviting, with soft creams, muted greens, and touches of gold. Floral-patterned wallpaper in the drawing room featured delicate designs that added a touch of refinement without overwhelming the senses. The dining room sported a richer hue, a deep navy, complemented by gilded accents.

There were two wings of the home, which housed additional bedrooms and private spaces. A staggering 9 bedrooms, each thoughtfully decorated to provide a unique yet cohesive aesthetic, along with eight well-appointed bathrooms featuring elegant fixtures that combined functionality and style. There was also a library and a study, serving as quiet retreats for reading or work.

The floors throughout the estate were a mix of polished hardwood. In common areas, rich rugs defined seating arrangements and added a layer of comfort, while the staircase featured a beautifully crafted wooden banister that was both sturdy and ornate.

The furniture was a tasteful mix of Regency-era pieces and more contemporary selections. Plush sofas and armchairs, upholstered in luxurious fabrics, invited relaxation, while mahogany tables and sideboards showcased intricate craftsmanship. Decorative accents, such as vases and paintings, added character to the rooms. The house felt lived in.

There were drawing rooms, two dining rooms—one for guests and one for more intimate parties—a small dancing room, servants' quarters, and multiple kitchens for staff and the family. It was almost too much to take in. Jane looked overwhelmed, and Roman was absorbing the information from the head maid.

When they were left to their own devices inside the piano room, the silence was deafening. This was it—the real beginning of their story—a long one he hoped. This house would soon fill with countless memories, its own smell, and the sound of happiness. They would bring her own touch to it.

Their respective wedding guests all piled into carriages to visit the property. The sound of their voices was nothing short of echoes of support and excitement. Caden chose his bedroom like an excited small child. While still wanting to be a pirate so badly, he promised to come and visit often. Being so young, he was still figuring things out. There would always be a home for him if he changed his mind.

Later in the day, they toured the town. It was practically barren, waiting to be filled with the lives of more residents. About twenty people lived there now, and most of them were from humble means. Roman introduced himself as he passed them. Jane, being a bit more shy, stayed behind in the carriage and waved. In his words, he promised to bring life back to the town—more jobs, better food. In the coming weeks, he had his work cut out for him.

But perhaps the best part of the entire estate was that just 800 meters from the back of the house sat a cliff overlooking the ocean. Stone steps lead down to the pebbled shore—a perfect spot for his crew to stop and visit.

The boat that carried them from the dragon's mouth sat in the distance. Roman and Jane walked down the steps followed by Ahdar, Cortez, Rory, and Caden. The rest of the crew waved from from the sides of the ship in the distance.

“It’s blue! They painted it blue!?”, Jane gasped.

A whoosh of salty wind burned their cheeks as they watched Jane. She got closer to the ship. At the front of the boat was a blue-carved figurehead—a mermaid. Jane squinted as her bare feet sloshed through the pebbled water. She looked up at the ship, and then her eyes widened. In her image—her face—was carved into the mermaid.

“’T’was Roman’s idea if you hate it,” Adhar blurted.

Jane was in shock, her mouth hanging open as she stared up at the giant statue of herself. Then her hands found her mouth, and her eyes teared up.

“It’s good luck—a mermaid in your likeness to bring us luck and protect us. She even wears your talisman around her neck. See?” Rory pointed at the mermaid's necklace. There it was—somehow carved in and bolted into the statue was her talisman. A huge smile spread across her face. She gushed about how much she loved it.

On the side of the ship, a blue Bakunawa was carved, chasing a fish. The god itself—a representation of the trials they’d all been through. Through its mercy, they all lived another day. Officially called the Blue Bakunawa, it would sail the seas as the largest pirate vessel ever—a giant among ants. Blessed by Lady Jane Ramlal. The woman of Ramlal Manor. Lady Jane, of the Blue Bakunawa. The best thing that had ever happened to anyone aboard the Black Pearl. Imprinted on the black hearts of many pirates.

The goodbyes were teary. Jane didn’t want Caden to go. He unexpectedly got teary, too. Roman surprised him at the last minute by executing one of his final authorities as captain to appoint him an official crew member. Caden was a pirate. The young boy screamed with joy. His crewmates cheered.

The sun hid itself behind the horizon, going to sleep once more. It was getting late now. Roman took his pirate hat from his head and gently placed it on Adhar. For a moment, the young man did not register. And then he did.

Constant echoes of ‘Really, Captain?!’and ‘Are you sure, Captain?’ fell from his mouth. Fear and excitement clashed.

“You’ve served me well. I hope you find that girl in your journey east. I wish you all the luck. And when you get her back, bring her back here. We would love to meet her,” Roman chuckled. Adhar, still in shock, looked nothing short of a child as he nodded with exaggeration.

Rory picked Jane up and spun her around, as always. Sentimentally, he touched foreheads with Roman—a silent goodbye to two partners. Rory was his right hand, the man who did the hard jobs. A trusted friend.

Cortez and Adhar’s farewells were also surprisingly teary. Roman teased them for it. But then Jane lost it when Adhar hugged her. Understandably, this was hard. Adhar was yet another friend she’d come to know. He taught her sword fighting. They talked about London on numerous occasions and kept her company.

“I’m going to miss you. Write to me,” she sniffled.

“I will. I’ll be back soon, I promise. This time next year we’ll all come back. I’ll even drag William with me if I have to,” Adhar smile.

Roman grinned. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me and for her. You’ll make a great captain.” Adhar clapped a hand over Roman’s shoulder in appreciation.

Roman went on to thank Cortez for being such a fantastic helmsman. He steered the ship with iron hands and a remarkable knowledge of the sea and the monsters they faced. He was valued beyond measure. He got them back in one piece.

“A’right you mangy mutts. New change of plans. You’ll answer to Adhar now. I expect your presence at my dinner table in one year’s time. I order you lot to stay alive until then. Is that clear, you scallywags?!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” the crew replied in unison. Their stances were rigid as they gave him a pirate salute—the swing of a palm towards the forehead. A final sign of respect.

Hundreds of hands and hats wagged and waved on the side of the Blue Bakunawa as the ship set sail once more. Roman and Jane waved their goodbyes as they watched their friends become smaller, and smaller, and smaller...and smaller.

“And then there were two,” Jane sniffled. She looked up at her husband with joyful, teary eyes, parting ways with the life of a pirate—a crew that had saved her long enough for her to find herself again.

“Two indeed. We have work to do, darling,” Roman quipped, giving her a swift kiss.

“You know what?”

“Mmm?”

“I think I know what my final wish will be,” she urged.

His eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked down at her determined face. “What is it?”

She sighed. “You said to use the wish on myself, but this is something I want. I want this now more than ever.”

“Okay...” he replied, waiting patiently. Her eyes closed as she leaned back into his chest.

“Uh... Dragon?” she called out.

A few moments later, a thunderous and regal voice responded. “What, child?”

“I’m ready to give you my last wish,” Jane blurted.

“...Go on,” said the dragon.

“I wish for our town—the town that Roman and I will build—to be a sanctuary for all misfits. For every ‘other.’ For every unprotected, unrepresented, undervalued person. A town that will share a real community. A town that does not steal from one another. A town that protects its women and children. A town of men with compassion and honor. A town with resources. Nobody will be needy. No one will want for anything. A town that is protected from hatred, prejudice, and disdain. Let this town grow in number and let us have enough housing to accommodate everyone. Let it attract those with open hearts. Allow this town to be a safe haven for all who may seek it. Grant good health to all those who live in this town. And most of all—let there be no evil force strong enough to penetrate it. Let this town be self-sustainable, resilient, and content,” she said.

When the dragon did not answer, she wondered if she had botched her wish. Roman could since her becoming nervous. She wanted quite a few things—surely it couldn’t count as one wish. Could it?

“It is done... goodbye,” said the ominous voice. It echoed and trickled away in the wind, just as Jane’s wish did. Now all that was left to do was watch it come to fruition.

Jane POV

Six months into building their town, Jane had realized a few things. She loved being a wife. She loved the flowers at the end of the week. She loved the candlelit dinners. She loved the authority; people called her Lady Jane or Seigneuress Ramlal. She loved wearing her ring on her finger. She loved the fact that Roman carried her last name. She loved it all.

She loved carpentry. Roman had built a wheat mill with his bare hands, along with the help of 20 other men. She had no idea that he had a background in carpentry and construction. He taught her the basics, allowing her to help along the way.

She fucking loved sex. She loved it so much it usually crossed her mind at least once a day. It was kind of ridiculous. Roman certainly didn’t mind. Her needs were met almost always on demand. It had become well known that all servants were to stay on their wing after 11 o’clock at night.

And last, she loved the friendships she was building. Not just any friendships—girl friendships! Mary was a frequent visitor, along with Charlotte. Three girls, cut from the same cloth, living a life they could be proud of. She never realized just how much they had in common, sharing stories by the fireplace over a bottle of wine, going on long walks on the estate until Ramlal Manor was the size of a dot, and sitting in the grass watching the horses graze. She had never felt the warmth of female friendship until now. Sure she had friends back in London but everybody had to work. There was no time to really bond. Now, She could talk about anything—no judgment. She told stories in detail, stories that would be far too painful for Roman to hear. They did the same, sharing memories—good and bad. There was no shame, only laughter and "me too's." It was comforting and recharging. She loved friendship.

People were coming to the town in droves. More buildings were being bult: farms, businesses, houses, apartments, theaters, taverns and more. The economy was growing and bursting. People needed jobs, and there were plenty to go around.

With much contemplation, she started writing to Aunt Jillian in Westminster, England. Jillian was one of the few relatives she had left. Most of her family in the islands had passed away. They exchanged letters over the span of four months. She wrote about Roman and how they met. She told the story of their love and the people she had come to know. She mentioned nothing of the dragons, monsters, or mysterious island. For now, it was all just "inheritance." She sent a sizable amount of money and planned to visit her family in the next few weeks to discuss relocating to a separate guest property on the estate. It was a relationship she was afraid to pursue, but Roman encouraged it when she brought it up over dinner. Jillian expressed how proud she was of her niece and was saddened that she hadn’t reached out sooner—a reminder to how one’s own suffering can cut them off from the world.

Money had the power to fuel generosity. Now, Jane could help people in ways that she couldn’t before. She couldn’t deny that it was somewhat self-serving; every donation felt like it healed something inside her. She thought back to all the times she wished someone would have come to her aid, all those nights she spent hungry, wondering if things would ever get better. She could be that glimmer of hope for someone.

She started sending money and letters to her old roommates in London with whom she had shared an apartment. It took weeks for them to respond out of skepticism. When they finally wrote back, they were convinced it was some scam and started asking her questions that only the "real Jane" could answer. She responded with precision. The next letter detailed their surprise and shock; they thought she was dead. A few days later, the eight of them were reunited as she convinced them to possibly move to her budding town. They all agreed to make the transition.

Roman had his own hobbies. He loved hunting with Arnaud and his gentleman friends. He enjoyed communing with his town members and made friends with the hardworking men at the mill. He loved reading in his office though Jane loved to interrupt him so that he could fulfill his “husbandly duties”. Roman tried his hand at growing his own tobacco to pair with his pipe collection, and it was a success; he raved about it all day long. Things were coming together well. They grew just as much as individuals as they would together.

While they sat in their dining room, Jane looked up at the portrait that Arnaud had painted of them. She loved it and often stopped to admire it as she passed through the house. As her fork pushed around her dinner, Roman noticed her distracted demeanor. “What’s on your mind? Does the food displease you?”

“No—no. It’s great. I’m just not as hungry.”

“What’s wrong?”

Jane paused for a moment. Was this really a good time? As understanding as he was, sometimes men got weird about these topics. He hadn’t brought it up, so she was taking a leap. “People around town have been asking me when I’m going to have a baby,” she blurted.

Roman paused mid-chew as he studied her face, a mix of light concern and surprise. She wanted to sink back into her seat. “Has this upset you? Who was it? I will have a talk with the—”

“No, no. I’m not upset at all. Besides, you know how middle-aged women can be sometimes. It’s natural for them to ask”, Jane insists.

“It does not have to be natural if you do not wish it,” he explained.

“I know—I understand. I think our life feels pretty full with just the two of us. I’m fulfilled. I’m happy with you all to myself. However, Eloise has changed my mind on a lot of things. She is very loved. I worry that my past would inhibit me from being a good mother.”

“I think if you care so deeply about being a good mother, then that’s usually a good indicator that you would indeed be a good mother,” Roman chuckled. Jane smiled.

“Well... what do you think? Should we?”

“I’m okay if we do. I’m okay if we don’t. After finding you, I feel no need to push my luck. If the innocence of a child is bestowed upon us, I will be most thankful for the privilege.”

“I think we should enjoy each other a bit longer. Maybe I’m selfish, but we’re due a few more years of just being husband and wife. Maybe it’s not in the cards. We’ve had a few accidents,” she shrugged.

“Is it an accident if you beg for it?” Roman scoffed. Jane laughed; he certainly had a point.

“Well… if it was going to happen, it would have happened by now.”

“You and I both know that a few accidents do not guarantee pregnancy. It takes consistency. If we really tried, it would be a everyday all day affair. The whole thing is very meticulous.”

“Have you not been meticulous?” she smirked.

“Negative. I can show you meticulous,” he warned. She shook her head playfully.

“How do you know all this anyway?” Jane squinted.

“I have plenty of fathers for friends. They give me unwarranted advice too. It’s not just you,” he snorted.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Roman pulled her chair closer to his. “Whatever future is ahead of us is a future fulfilled. I could ask for no more. I am incredibly lucky to have you.”

“And I you. I won’t push my luck. If it happens, it happens. If not, there is no loss. When we’re really ready, we will know,” she hummed.

“No loss whatsoever,” he agreed, placing a kiss on her temple.

A tap at the window alerted them. The two fell quiet, waiting for the sound again. Two more taps, and they stood up from the table. Roman walked over to the window and opened it. Jane followed closely behind as a cold draft wafted into the room. A tiny fluttering hoot called from the darkness, and the patter of tiny feet slapped against the balcony railing.

The hoot of two doves perched on the balcony called for their attention. They walked into the light, eyeing the couple.

Jane swooned. “Aww, what on earth are two doves doing all the way out here? Isn’t this a bit too close to the sea?”

“You know, I asked myself the same thing once, but then something really amazing happened,” Roman grinned.

“Let’s not question it then,” Jane smiled warmly.

The End.

Authors note: Well, there ya have it ! I would like to take this time to thank @sortudademais @2-muchsauce @joannasteez @thesamoanqueen @harmshake @fuffduff and many more for being so kind and making my writing experience such a pleasurable journey on this app. If you’ve sent me a kind message or interacted with this story, I Thankyou from the bottom of my heart. I cared so much about these characters. I hope I’ve done them justice.

Epilogue may be pending if I have something else to say but for the most part every end has been tied up. My next work in progress will feature Jey USO and it will be a surfer story so stay tuned for that. Thank you for reading. Reblogs always help but most importantly, tell me what you thought of the story if you’d like. It really makes writing all the more worth it. Bye for now! ❤️

[halsteadlover]

𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

*Gif and pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Will Halstead x Fem!Reader.

• Requested: yes by anon.

• Summary: danger is always behind the corner and you learn to never let your guard down when you find yourself in a situation between life and death. Will your husband be able to save you? Will he find you in time?

• Warnings: mention of domestic violence, stab wound, blood, cursing, Will is kind of a dumbass at the beginning (what can we say? Men…)

• Word count: 5642.

• A/N: I fucking hate how this turned out bye. I’m sorry for any mistake or grammar error.

That morning everything seemed normal.

You treated patients, cured some, discharged others and between one break and another you wasted no time going to your husband to give him a little kiss.

“What do you want eat tonight baby?” he asked. You and Will were in the doctors' break room during one of the aforementioned breaks, only the two of you in there. You were sitting on the small couch next to each other, his arm around your shoulders while you ate a bag of chips.

“Do you want to cook?”.

He looked at you for a moment and you chuckled at his expression. You both had to do a double shift that day so you knew neither of you would even want to go near the kitchen once you got back home.

“I’d like Mexican, what you think?”.

“Hell yeah! You know I never say no to Mexican food.”

He laughed at the enthusiasm you showed, meanwhile playing with strands of your hair. “Mexican it is then.”

You continued to devour the chips under your husband’s gaze who looked at you as if he had seen a mystical creature for the first time. “What? I’m hungry.” You babbled with your mouth half full.

“You don't even share with your beloved husband? So greedy.”

You glared at him before taking the last chip left in the bag and shoving it into your mouth, moaning heartily in his face. “No matter how much I love you, you know very well I don't share my food with anyone.”

He rolled his eyes, trying to hide a smile. “Wipe your mouth you pretty little bitch.”

But before you could reach for a tissue he came closer to you and licked the corner of your mouth, bursting out laughing when you pushed him away, wiping yourself with a tissue from the coffee table in front of you. “Ew Will you're disgusting!”

“Disgusting? You don't seem to complain when you take my dick in...-”

You covered his mouth with your hand before he could finish his sentence and let someone hear, feeling him smile as his eyes glistened at you. You should’ve predicted though that in true child style, he’d lick the palm of your hand.

“Will for fuck’s sake! Stop it!”.

“I can’t! God baby you're so easy to piss of,” he continued laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. You looked at him sideways before wiping your hand on his white coat. “C’mon give me a kiss now, come on.”

He wrapped his arms around your hips, trying to pull you towards him to kiss you while you tried to push him away by pressing your hands on his chest.

“No! Go away!”.

You continued to fight like children until, however, that playful atmosphere was interrupted when the door opened and Maggie entered.

“Here you are! Stop acting like lovebirds and go back to work. We have two new patients, victims of a car crash.”

After quickly washing your hands you left the break room, following Will and Maggie. You and Will exchanged a look before splitting up to go to the two patients.

The patient you took into your care – whose name you found out was Amanda – was in a critical condition: fractures of the femur and humerus not to mention the small fractures in almost her entire body, a sprained arm that would’ve required a cast, an internal hemorrhage due to the rupture of the spleen.

As you and the nurses worked to stabilize Amanda as quickly as possible, you couldn't help but notice something that bothered you quite a bit.

On her lower back, around her arms, on her thighs there were bruises that were not compatible with the dynamics of the car crash and which based on their almost faded color seemed to date back to some time ago.

“Amanda, did you have another accident a few days ago?” You asked her, your voice low so the rest of the team wouldn't hear you. She looked at you with a heartbroken expression and her eyes filled with tears before shaking her head.

“I'm just very clumsy and distracted, I often fall or bump into furniture and doors.”

Her voice was shaking and your heart tightened, knowing it was a complete lie.

“Amanda… You're safe here okay? Say one word, anything and whoever did this won't hurt you again...”

“No, no, no, no,” she became agitated and her heart monitor began to beep from her rapid heartbeat. “Please don't say anything doctor… He… Please. He's a good husband, he's just a little tired and stressed lately.”

“Hey, hey, it's okay Amanda, it's okay. I'm just here to help you.” You shook her hand and she nodded weakly. “But whatever he told you, it isn’t…-”

“It’s fine just… Just cure me.” She tore her eyes away from yours, bringing them to the ceiling even if more tears continued to fall.

It was clear that Amanda was a victim of domestic violence, she was literally terrified of her husband. You felt helpless, your heart broke for her even if you couldn’t even imagine what she was going through.

You were treating that woman knowing she’d go home and her husband would start beating her again. What kind of doctor were you if you hadn't helped her?

But how could you help someone who didn't want to be helped?

You should’ve called the police, but what would you have said to them? It was your assumption even if all the bruises and healed bone fractures were evidence of physical abuse, but you knew how the police worked, they couldn't do anything if there was no complaint from the victim. And you knew if you called them, Amanda would deny everything and it’d affect her worse than it already did.

You sent Amanda to run some tests and left her room after throwing away your gloves and washing your hands. Your mind was only focused on her as you filled out her medical records so much you didn't even hear Will come closer to you until he put his hand around her waist to great you, leaving a kiss on you temple.

“Baby you okay? How is the wife?” He asked as he picked up her bastard husband's newly created medical record.

“She was in critical condition but I believe she’ll make full recovery. The husband?”.

“He was luckier, he only suffered a few bruises and small fractures. The guy must be madly in love with his wife, all he did was ask about her and say he wanted to see her.”

“I think Amanda is a victim of domestic violence, your guy isn't in love at all,” you voiced your concerns before placing your pen on the papers and looking at Will.

“You sure?”.

“She has bruises all over her body clearly from days ago and her X-Rays show old healed fractures. Not mentioning how she’s terrified of him.”

“Wow…” Will breathed out, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “There must be an explanation…”

“Babe did you hear a word I just said? We have to help that woman. He’ll kill sooner or later.”

“Don't you think you're a little bit exaggerating a little love?” Will put his hands on your shoulders “If she doesn't tell you anything there's nothing we can do…”

“Will, he beats the shit out of her and God knows what else does to her!” You whispered/shouted with frustration. “She doesn't say anything so we let that bastard beat her?”.

“I didn’t mean that! What I was trying to say is just… Don't jump to conclusions, there must be other reasons why she must’ve gotten those bruises…”

“Oh yeah of course. She must hit herself on the side so hard she left a shoe imprint on her skin for fun. This really makes sense.” You snapped the folder close and walked away, ignoring Will who tried to call you out.

You were pissed off.

It was always the same exact story, over and over again.

How the fuck were women supposed to trust the system and report abuses when those who were part of this system didn't even believe them?

You talked to Amanda, stood by her side during her MRI and the other tests, keeping her away from her husband as much as possible.

You didn't force her to say anything, you didn't insist to let her talk about what was happening in her household. It wouldn't do her any good, you wanted her to know she had a choice, you wanted to give her as much time as possible to think about what to do.

“Whatever happened I believe you Amanda, okay? You don't have to be afraid and I'll be here to help you if you want.”

That was all you said to her about the topic and she nodded slightly before bursting into a liberating and heartbreaking cry. You stayed with her the whole time, hugging her and reassuring her that everything would be okay, that she wasn’t alone.

Yet she said nothing to you, nothing about her husband, deeply terrified of the consequences there might be.

She eventually fell asleep and you let her rest, telling the nurses to always keep an eye on her and to let you know immediately if anything happened.

“Dr. Y/Ln, Mr. Connell's X-Rays just arrived, Dr. Halstead left for another patient.” A nurse had told you as soon as you passed by their station. Your heart skipped a beat, realizing you didn’t meet Amanda’s husband yet.

You wanted so much to let him rot in hell but you couldn't, you had duties to fulfill as a doctor even if he was the most disgusting piece of shit on earth.

You took the envelope with the X-Rays and thanked the nurse before she went back helping other patients. You went to the bastard's room, taking a deep breath before entering.

You tried to hide your indignation as soon as you saw him lying on the bed, maintaining a professional and impassive expression.

“Who are you? Where is Dr. Halstead?” He asked as soon as you entered his room.

“I'm Dr. Y/Ln, he's busy at the moment.”

“My wife… Do you know where she is? How is she?”. If you hadn't seen the condition of Amanda's body you would’ve even thought he was really worried.

Son of a bitch.

You swallowed the anger that threatened to release words you’d regret and that you knew Amanda would pay the price for. “She's fine. She’s doing some tests,” you deadpanned before taking the X-Ray out of the folder. “There are no serious fractures, just a small one here on the collarbone…”

“I want to know where my wife is. Why doesn't anyone tell me anything?” He blurted out, not even letting you finish your sentence.

“Sir, as I said, she’s doing some tests. She was in quite critical condition and we’re doing our best to treat her,” you replied in a flat tone although your heart was pounding. The way he was looking at you made your skin crawl and your heart ached for Amanda and the fact she had to live with this piece of shit every single day.

“What tests is she doing?”.

“I’m sorry but I cannot discuss clinical details of other patients with other people.”

He looked at you angrily. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m her husband! I have the right to know how my wife is doing!”.

“Mr Connell I’m just trying to do my job. I just came here to show you your X-Rays, like…” You continued talking, holding up them again to show them to him but cut yourself off when he pulled the covers away from his body and stood up abruptly, making you take a step back in fear.

“What’s going on doctor? Why don't you want to update me on my wife's health status?” He stated through gritted teeth, taking steps towards you and looking at you menacingly. You slowly took as many steps back, your breathing quickening as fear took over you.

“Mr Connell, just go back to bed…”

“What did that filthy whore say to you?” He spat and you were about to rush to the door and run away when he violently pushed you against it, making you fall to the ground.

“What. Did. She. Say.” He grabbed your hair in a fist and pulling you back to your feet.

You squirmed to try to escape his grasp, digging your nails into his skin. “She didn't tell me anything… I don't know what you're talking about…”

He punched you in the face in response, causing you to let out a loud cry of pain as you fell to the ground again.

“Fuck,” you muttered, holding a hand to your nose and realizing you were bleeding.

In that moment you had a glimpses of what Amanda had to go through every single day of her life and you could really understand why she was so terrified of that man.

“Oh you know exactly what I'm talking about you bitch.”

You tried to get up but he grabbed your hair in a fist again and pushed you with force towards the emergency cart in the room, so violently some objects fell from it and some drawers opened.

“You piece of shit…” you spat as you tried to get up but he walked over to you and kicked you back to the ground.

It all happened quickly.

So quickly that between his attacks you didn't even have time to process what was happening. He was overpowering you and every time you tried to hit him so you could escape, he hit you back.

He pushed you on the floor, picked you up and tossed you around the room as if you were a garbage bag.

You were lying on the ground, curled up in a fetal position as you held your stomach after a painful kick to the stomach.

Your mind went to Will, wanting nothing more than your husband in that moment.

Baby please help me.

You lay down on your back in an attempt to catch some breath but a scream echoed through the room.

Your whole body froze and in an instant everything around you stopped.

What happened?

Was that scream yours?

A searing pain went through your abdomen and a warm sensation enveloped your body.

You lifted your head slightly only to realize in horror you had a pair of scissors impaled in your abdomen.

He fucking stabbed me.

You had treated hundreds of thousands of patients with stab wounds, you had always tried to reassure them, telling them you knew it hurt but everything would be fine.

But the truth was that you had no idea what your patients were feeling, the paralyzing fear, the excruciating pain, the terror of not surviving.

You don't fully know things until you go through them and in that moment, as the blood poured out of your stomach and smeared your red uniform, making it two shades darker, your body paralyzed by shock, you really understood how it felt.

Your chest rose and fell quickly as you struggled to breathe properly. Tears began to fell from your eyes when you saw the man bending over you and at that precise moment you feared your time had come.

You feared you’d never see Will again, that he wouldn’t find out until you were dead.

You needed him, you wanted your husband.

Please Will I need you.

The man pulled the scissors out of your wound which started to bleed a lot more, staining the floor red.

He looked into your eyes and the coldness he showed almost shocked you. They were glassy, empty, devoid of emotions and any trace of remorse.

“When you see my beloved wife, tell her to start planning her funeral.”

Without looking back, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaving you dying and immersed in a pool of your own blood.

The wound burned stingingly as you brought your trembling hands to it to try to make pressure, but in vain.

How could so much blood come out of a not so big wound?

Sounds of throbbing pain continued to escape your lips, your breathing heavy, your heart beating wildly.

You tried to move and lift yourself up but every time you ended up lying back on the ground.

You were too weak.

What you managed to do was crawl on your elbows, leaving a trail of blood on the floor with every step you made.

You raised an arm to try to open the door. Your trembling fingers even managed to wrap around the handle but the blood on them made you slip and fall to the floor again.

Your breathing was starting to slow down, as was your heartbeat. That feeling of heat that invaded your body turned into cold, forming goosebumps all over your skin.

You were tired. So incredibly tired.

You just wanted to get some sleep and rest a bit.

So you closed your eyes, not knowing if you’d open them again.

Will looked everywhere for you but couldn't find you. He even looked for you in Amanda's room who, however, had told him she hadn't seen you for some time. He thought you were avoiding him but he couldn't think you had abandoned your patients just to avoid talking to him.

“Have you seen Y/n?” He had asked Maggie as soon as he saw her walk by.

“No, but I’ll tell her to look for you as soon as I see her.”

It felt like you had disappeared off the face of the earth, he knew you’d never have left without warning unless it was an emergency.

He tried to page you so many times, to call you on your cell phone but nothing, he received no answer. His mind tried not to immediately think something bad had happened, he couldn't even imagine it, but it was all he could think about at that moment since no one seemed to have seen you for a while.

He thought you might’ve gone to talk to Amanda's husband, knowing you would’ve tried to confront him. So he went towards Jack’s room but he stopped in his tracks before opening the door when his feet stepped on something wet.

He lowered his gaze and looking down he soon realized with horror it was blood.

He tried to open the door carefully, his heart beating wildly as he imagined all sorts of scenarios in front of him.

The door didn't open completely, as if there was some sort of resistance on the other side, so Will tried to squeeze through the small space.

But nothing could’ve prepared him for what his eyes saw, for what he never wanted to see.

His heart stopped beating for a few seconds when his eyes fell on the unconscious figure lying on the floor and immersed in a pool of her own blood. That figure he’d never, ever wanted to see in that condition, not even in his worst nightmares. YOU.

“Oh my god Y/n!” He loudly exclaimed, immediately kneeling next to you and pressing his hands on your wound from which blood was still flowing. You didn't react, your eyes were closed, your heartbeat slow.

“Baby, wake up… Please, please, please, open your eyes.”

How long were you there? Why hadn't anyone notice this?

“Somebody help me! Hurry up!”.

“Oh shit!” The nurse who rushed there screamed, putting her hands over her mouth as soon as she saw Will kneeling down, covered in your own blood.

“Where the fuck were you?!” Will exclaimed angrily, his mind completely clouded from the anger, the confusion, from the fear of coming too late.

“Oh God… I… I gave her the patient's X-Rays… There was an emergency and… And… I-I had to leave…” she stammered, shocked.

Will gave her a murderous look that would’ve killed her on the spot if he could. He knew it wasn't her fault, just the bastard who did this to you, but he couldn't help but blame someone in that moment.

He brought his eyes back to you, only then noticing the scratches and bruises that surrounded your face.

Oh baby what did they do to you?

“I'm here love, I'm here… It's okay. You’ll be fine. Just hang on for a bit.”

One of his hands let go of your wound to check your pulse, realizing it was barely noticeable. His heart tightened in a vice as he caressed her face, staining it with your own blood.

“Please wake up, please… Don't do this to me baby, you can't… You can't… I need you…” He kept repeating, his eyes starting to glaze over with tears after yelling for help again. Dr. Crockett, who was passing by at the time, intervened immediately as soon as he realized what was happening.

“What the hell happened?!” He asked urgently as he watched the horrific scene that seemed to come out from a horror movie. “We need to take her to the OR immediately, prepare four bags of 0 neg, she's lost too much blood!”

But Will didn't let you go, he continued to stay there putting pressure on your wound and keeping his gaze fixed on you.

“Will…” Crockett murmured placing a hand on his shoulder “She'll be make it okay? She’s in good hands but you have to let me do my job, you can’t be here.”

“Will!”.

Only then he seemed to realize Crockett was actually talking to him. He slightly nodded, reluctantly letting you go and watching as they carried you away.

He was in shock, struggling to believe what was happening was reality and not just a fucking nightmare.

He raised his now red and trembling hands and his eyes looked at them for a few moments, analyzing and carefully observing the blood he hardly struggled to believe was yours.

What the hell happened?

There was no doubt it was that bastard Jack Connell who did this to you and an anger he had never felt before ran through him.

He was furious.

Furious because he had allowed someone to hurt you, because he had failed to protect you, furious with himself because he didn’t believed you when you expressed your concern.

He was devastated.

Desperate.

It was all his fault.

He stayed there for he didn't know how long, looking at those hands that until recently were pressing on your wound, the same hands that until a few hours before were holding you and hugging you.

When he finally looked up around the room, he noticed what a dire, chaotic mess there was and it was clear there had been a fight before.

Only then he realized there was no trace of that bastard, that he had probably already escaped from the hospital and with the tumultuous coming and going of patients, nurses and doctors no one had even noticed him.

He took his cell phone out of his pocket, not caring he was getting blood on it, and with trembling fingers dialed Jay's number.

Jay almost had a heart attack when he heard about what happened and seeing his brother covered in blood was awful even if he knew it wasn't his. He was worried for you while trying to calm Will down. But he was still in a catalytic state so Jay stayed with him, helping him clean himself up.

Will explained to his brother it was probably Jack Connell who did it, he told him your concerns about him mentally and physically abusing his wife but that he didn't believe you.

“It's not your fault okay? I want you to understand this. It was his fault, it’s him who did this to her and I promise we’ll get him and make him pay for what he did to her, he’ll rot in prison. An attack on Y/n is an attack on all of us.” He tried to reassure Will. “She'll make it, she’s strong but she needs you now, she needs you to be by her side, I know you're scared now but you have to be strong for her, brother.”

Will was completely losing his mind while waiting for your surgery to be over, not sitting for even a minute as he paced back and forth in the waiting room, waiting at the same time some news from Jay.

When Crockett finally came out of the OR and announced the surgery had gone well and that he had managed to sew up the wound, Will couldn't help but hug him in the throes of joy and happiness.

As he walked to the ICU, he felt a weight pressing down on his shoulders, anxiety gnawing at his stomach to the point it made him feel nauseous.

His legs trembled as he approached your bed, his palms sweated, his eyes watered as he looked at you lying on that bed, unconscious.

He sat down on a chair next to you, taking one of your hands as his thumb caressed your skin. He pressed his lips on your knuckles, leaving a chaste and small kiss so light as if he was afraid of hurting you.

He sniffed when he realized a few tears had escaped his eyes, quickly wiping them away with his fingers. “I'm so sorry baby, this wasn't supposed to happen to you,” He whispered, looking at you while struggling to keep his emotions inside.

He felt terribly guilty.

It was his fault you were on that bed.

It was his fault you had to suffer.

His heart tightened as he thought about what you had to go through and he hated himself for not being able to prevent it, for not believing you.

He didn't want to think about how scared you had been, how terrified you were of dying, how many you had called for him but he didn’t come.

“I'm so sorry I didn't believe you, I'll never forgive myself,” he kept talking to you. “How can you be so beautiful even on a hospital bed? I really am a lucky bastard.”

He smiled faintly as he looked at you. “Please wake up baby, show me those beautiful eyes I fell so madly in love with… I’m begging you…”

He stood up and left a kiss on your forehead while stroking your hair at the same time before sitting back on the chair.

“I already miss you so much you know that? I'm sorry I don't tell you often how much I love you, I'm sorry I only realized now that I risked losing you how much you mean to me. Don't get me wrong I already know this, you’re one of the most important person in my life, God only knows I can't live without you... But I didn't realize how intensely and deeply you affect my life Y/n. You… Damn it…” He finished the sentence with a sigh as he tried to find the right words.

“I can't exist without you, I can't think properly, I can’t breathe, I... I’m nothing. You completed me, you always managed to fill the void I’ve always felt inside, you’ve always been that fundamental piece to complete the puzzle. Just… Please… Please don't leave me.”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the beeps of the monitor connected to your heart. He left another kiss on the back of your hand, his eyes never leaving your sleeping face.

“I love you so much Y/n Halstead, you have no idea how much. I stop to think about our wedding day every now and then and you don't know how much money I’d pay to go back to that day and see you again in that beautiful white dress... God I would say yes to you a million more times and if we lived other lives I would say yes to you in those too because meeting you and marrying you was the best thing I've ever done in my entire life.”

“I'm so sorry…” He whispered, the words dying in his throat before he let out a silent cry, his forehead resting on the bed as he continued to silently pray.

“I heard you the first thousand times Dr Halstead…”

Will snapped his head to you, his eyes widening and almost having a heart attack when he saw you were finally awake and looking at him.

You had a small smile on your lips, trying not to chuckle as you looked at the shocked look on his face.

“Baby oh my fucking god!” He almost screamed before leaning over you and hugging you in the rush of joy and happiness. He held you tightly for an indefinite time, fearing for a moment it was a hallucination.

He let you go though when you let out a painful sigh. “Shit I'm sorry love.” He sat down again. “How are you? How are you feeling? You need something? Are you hurting? God I missed you so much.”

“The wound hurts a little but overall I'm fine...” You replied, your voice thick and hoarse. “What happened? Where is that son of a bitch? Is Amanda okay?”.

“He ran away after what… What he did to you and I called Jay, they'll catch him I promise. Amanda is okay, Jay questioned her and she told him everything, you were right about the abuse… I’m so sorry for not believing you.”

You nodded feebly, momentarily looking away from Will who kept his eyes on you with a broken look on his face, and you took a deep breath, more painful than you would’ve ever imagined.

Image after image of the attack replayed in your mind.

Of the screams no one seemed to hear.

Of the prayers to let you go.

Of his hands punching you and throwing you against the walls and objects in the room as if you were garbage.

Of his feet kicking you.

Of those scissors that had torn your skin and stabbed you.

“Oh baby.” You felt Will's thumb wipe away a tear that had slipped down your temple without you even realizing it. “C’mere.”He stood up and hugged you as best he could again, being careful this time not to hurt you. “It's okay, you're here with me now and you're safe. That piece of shit won't hurt you again I promise.”

It was as if that hug had triggered something inside you and you burst into tears, lifting your arms and encircling his chest while venting all the suppressed emotions.

“I was… I was so scared Will… T-that I wouldn't see you again…”

Will pressed his lips to your forehead, leaving a sweet and long kiss as he savored and thanked the angels for still giving the opportunity to do it.

“I know darling, I know, I can't even imagine what you went through…”

He stroked your hair, your skin marred by scratches and bruises. “It shouldn't have happened to you, I'm so sorry my love. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you...” he kissed you again. “But you're safe now okay? Now you're here with me, you're safe, and unless I’ll die I'll never let you out of my sight again.”

You giggled through your tears, hugging again the man you loved more than anything else.

“I love you so much more Will Halstead, it's not your fault okay? Please always remember that, it wasn't you who did it but that son of a bitch.”

He didn't answer but held you tighter, hiding his face in the crook of your neck while your fingers ran through his fluffy hair. Your heart broke when you realized he was crying.

“Hey, hey, it's okay. You really think I would leave you? Who would’ve made your life a living hell if I died?” You tried to ease the tension. “Oh baby I love you so much.”

“I thought I lost you… When I found you there…” His words came muffled but he stopped, not even being able to finish the sentence. He didn't want to think about those horrible moments anymore, about the fear he felt, even though he knew those images would never leave his mind.

A feeling of anguish took hold of you after hearing he was the one who found you. You couldn't imagine how horrible it was to find your wife, your partner, the person you care about most, almost dying.

“Shh it’s okay,” you whispered “Look at me.”

He slightly lifted his head and if your heart wasn't broken enough already, it was in that moment. You cupped your hands over his face, wiping away his tears with your thumbs. He leaned into your touch, looking at you as if you were one of the seven wonders of the world.

“I'm here, I'll get better. It’s. Not. Your. Fault. If anything you saved me baby, if you hadn't found me I would’ve probably bled to death so stop blaming yourself okay? Do it for me.“

He nodded and you smiled before pressing your lips to his in a sweet, gentle kiss.

“I’m so sorry love I don’t want to make this about me,” he said wiping again his tears and you both chuckled.

“Yeah yeah, sure, you egocentric bastard.” You rolled your eyes and burst out laughing at the same time even if you stopped immediately after, holding your stomach. “Fuck it hurts.”

“I know you’re so funny baby but take it easy.”

Despite everything, despite the pain, the anxiety and the terror of dying, the fear of never seeing that red hair again, of never hugging him, you were so grateful for still being there. You were grateful to life for giving you another opportunity, for allowing to live, to cry again, to love.

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[mysteryshoptls]

SR Silver - Apprentice Chef Vignette

"Master Chef"

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Silver Version ～Let's Make Beef Stew 1～

Silver: Beef stew… A dish needing to be boiled in a pot, of all things. I'm hoping I don't mess this up.

Ghost Chef: "Of all things"? Is there something worrying you?

Silver: Well…I actually have a bad habit where I find myself abruptly falling asleep.

Silver: Waiting for food to cook is no exception… I've fallen asleep while cooking before, leading to many failed dishes.

Ghost Chef: I had briefly glanced at what you wrote in your reasons for taking this class, but I see you were telling the truth about falling asleep easily.

Riddle: It's rather dangerous to fall asleep while cooking. Has it ever resulted in a fire?

Silver: In Briar Valley, we generally prepare our food using magic. This means that even our flames for cooking are produced via our own magical abilities.

Silver: If I were to fall asleep, my magic would also be cut off and the fire would disappear, so even I haven't had to deal with a fire hazard as such.

Ghost Chef: Hahaha. So it was like you had a built-in automatic shut-off function.

Silver: As it was, back when I couldn't use magic, my father would light the flames for me.

Silver: This meant that even when I dozed off, my father would tend to the fire and he'd adjust… I mean, finish up the dish.

Silver: However, as a child I hadn't realized just how much my father had been trying to keep me from danger.

Silver: That's why I had believed that there would be no issues if I attempted to cook by myself…

Silver: One time, while my father was away, I attempted to cook over a wood fire.

Silver: The morning had been particularly cold that day… So I thought I would make a pot-au-feu for my father.

Silver: I was able to chop the ingredients, throw them in a pot, and season everything with no issues…

Silver: But perhaps that is where I let down my guard. I dozed off while the pot was still on the flame.

Riddle: Ah, but that was quite dangerous! It wasn't fire borne from magic, yes?

Riddle: What happened next?

Silver: I somehow woke up before any fire hazard took place. However, by that point, all the water had boiled away…

Silver: So, I added water to the pot in haste, which only served to turn the whole soup black as the charred bits dissolved into the liquid.

Silver: The dish was a failure. The whole house smelled like char. Just as I was at my wit's end, my father returned home.

Riddle: …Did he scold you?

Silver: Not at all. He just laughed, relieved that I hadn't hurt myself.

Silver: He also said that failure was a stepping stone to improvement for next time.

Silver: Furthermore, he scooped up a bowl of that black and burnt pot-au-feu and ate it without any hesitation.

Silver: My father said that it had a distinctive flavor even as it was, but… There was no way it was anywhere near edible.

Riddle: …He seems to be a very kind father.

Silver: He is, I'm glad to have him.

Riddle: Did you ever have the opportunity to learn how to cook from him?

Silver: He is an adept swordsman and mage, but… When it comes to cooking, both the ingredients he would use and the way he would cook constantly changed on a whim.

Silver: And he could never season anything the same way twice… In short, I never found my father's cooking style to be worth referencing.

Silver: That is why I consider myself self-taught. That being said, I always considered a dish good enough if it was edible.

Silver: All I can really do is chop up meat and vegetables and toss them in salt and pepper, or sometimes take leftovers to make risotto.

Riddle: It is fine enough that you are self-taught. I myself have never prepared anything by my lonesome.

Ghost Chef: Okay now, you two! Get to work, don't just chatter away!

Silver: Ah, right, my apologies… I should chop up the vegetables first.

Silver: I'll peel the carrots.

[peels carrots]

Ghost Chef: Oho～ You've got skills.

Silver: Blades are somewhat of a specialty of mine.

Silver: Next are the onions.

[peels onions]

Riddle: Silver, I am in need of an onion as well. Will you teach me how to peel them?

Ghost Chef/Silver: …?

Riddle: Wh-Why are both of you staring at me strangely!? Was my question that bizarre…?

Silver: It can be peeled by hand.

Riddle: I was not asking for the method of peeling, exactly… Rather, I can't seem to grasp where the peel ends specifically.

Silver: Oh, that's what you meant. The peel is the thin, brown layer on top. The white part is what's edible.

Ghost Chef: If there are any areas that seem to be discolored brown, you can just cut it out.

Riddle: I should cut out the discolored spots…? It's a little disconcerting to create random divots like that.

Ghost Chef: Hmm, Riddle-kun, you're very thorough!

Silver: Don't worry too much. At worst, even if some of the peel were to remain, it would just stick to the inside of your mouth. It is still edible.

Ghost Chef: And on the other hand, Silver-kun, you're much too loose-minded!

Silver: Alright, I've finished chopping up the vegetables and meat. Now, we melt butter in a hot pan…

Silver: And brown the meat.

[sizzle]

Silver: It's almost time to add the vegetables. …Ordinarily, I would just salt and pepper it here and consider it done.

Ghost Chef: That would be a fine dish if it were with a regular sirloin steak. However, shank and tendon taste much better stewed～

Silver: So different cuts of meat are cooked differently, I see. I'd never really thought about that before.

Silver: …Chef, the onions are starting to become translucent, are they sauteed enough?

Ghost Chef: Oh yes, it looks good! Now add water and bring it to a boil.

Silver: It seems we've finally come to the dreaded moment of boiling the stew. I worry I may nod off…

Ghost Chef: Hehehe… Have I got just the thing for you to keep your mind off your worries.

Silver: What is it?

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Silver Version ～Let's Make Beef Stew 2～

Ghost Chef: Let me introduce you to this… Ta-da! An electric pressure cooker!

Silver: An electric pressure cooker…?

Silver: I think I get it. If I use a pressure cooker, that would decrease the amount of time the stew needs to boil.

Silver: Plus, since it's electric, there's a timer function. Even if I were to fall asleep, the ingredients shouldn't char.

Ghost Chef: Yeah… That's basically it. You got it in one before I could even explain it.

Silver: This will be my first time using an electronic appliance to cook.

Riddle: Huh, your first time!? I have limited experience with cooking, and even I have used an electronic appliance like a microwave.

Silver: Of course I know of their existence, at the very least…

Silver: But I hadn't had the chance to use one since I enrolled here because I would just dine in the cafeteria.

Silver: In Briar Valley, most of the homes don't have electricity, let alone appliances like microwaves.

Riddle: Truly, it is a prerequisite to be able to use magic there, I see… It's a life I could not even begin to fathom.

Riddle: Although, I do believe that my magic would improve greatly if I were to live there.

Silver: With your magical prowess and competence, I'm sure you would have no issues living there.

Ghost Chef: Alright, Silver-kun. Throw all the ingredients into the electric pressure cooker.

Ghost Chef: Select the button on the menu panel that says "Beef Stew" and then press start!

[click]

Silver: It says… 20 minutes remaining.

Ghost Chef: Now you're all set. We just need to wait for it to cook.

Silver: Do we not have to keep watch over the pot? Will it need to be stirred midway through?

Ghost Chef: Don't worry, it'll come out fine. In fact, it'll be more prone to failure if we keep poking at it.

Ghost Chef: Leave the pressure cooker be for now, and instead, let's start on the demi-glace sauce!

Silver: It didn't take as long as I expected to make the sauce. I guess I should wash the dirtied pot and knife.

Silver: …I need to… wash the pot…

Ghost Chef: Oh! Hey, hey, Silver-kun!

Silver: Ah! That was close, I almost fell asleep. I can't let my guard down for even a moment.

Silver: I have no earthly idea why.

Ghost Chef: Well, since you stole my thunder a bit earlier, let me try to show you how the electric pressure cooker can be used.

Silver: Yes, please.

Ghost Chef: A handy pressure cooker is capable of crating any number of dishes, but it doesn't mean you have to follow a recipe to the letter.

Ghost Chef: If you swap out ingredients or seasonings, you can make a dish that is more aligned with your personal tastes.

Ghost Chef: For example, you know the ingredients we're using for today's stew?

Ghost Chef: If you chose to substitute tomato juice for the demi-glace sauce, you could make a tomato stew instead.

Silver: …My father loves tomato juice.

Silver: If I substituted tomato juice for the sauce… Maybe my father would gladly eat it up.

～～♪

Silver: What's that noise…? Oh, it's done cooking.

Ghost Chef: Go ahead and open up the lid to the pressure cooker. Take care not to burn yourself when you do.

Silver: Yes, sir.

[opens pot]

Silver: Wow…

Silver: Both the vegetables and meat are cooked to perfection. I would have never guessed that they'd get this tender in only 20 minutes.

Ghost Chef: Yes, yes, and now it's time for the finishing touches.

Silver: Now we add the demi-glace and a tad bit of ketchup to taste. That should be about good.

Silver: Mm, delicious!

Silver: Next, plate it and add boiled broccoli for garnish.

Silver: …Good, it's finished.

Ghost Chef: Not bad! Take the plate and head on out to the judging venue.

Silver: Right. No matter how difficult the judge may be, I'll definitely emerge the victor…!

Ghost Chef: Wait, hold on, you're not going into battle.

[Cafeteria – Judging Venue]

???: Ah, so you're my chef today, Silver.

Silver: Jamil. I've heard from Kalim that you're very proficient at cooking.

Silver: Within the school body, you're probably the most competent at cooking… Urk, am I even a viable opponent for someone like you?

Jamil: What kind of fight are you even trying to gear up for right now? Well, whatever. I'll dig in now.

[chomp]

Jamil: Hmm… It tastes okay.

Silver: Just okay, hm…

Jamil: However…

Jamil: I'll give you that the ingredients are cooked through pretty well. The meat is so tender it falls apart in my mouth almost instantly.

Jamil: This must have taken you some time, didn’t it? I would have thought you'd be in danger of falling asleep midway through…

Silver: Yeah, I was also worried about that. In fact, while I was waiting for it to stew, I could feel myself getting drowsy.

Silver: The reason this dish was a success was all thanks to the Chef allowing me to use a pressure cooker.

Silver: Since it only stewed for a short while, I was able to push through without drowsing off.

Jamil: That's surprising. I thought the Master Chef program was designed with a focus on improving your cooking abilities…

Jamil: But it seems they provide assistive tools for those who may be lacking in techniques or aptitude.  Good to know.

Silver: That's right, they gave me a good way to compensate for my lack of experience.

Silver: Even if I were to fall asleep, I can simply set a timer and the dish won't burn.

Silver: Also, when the timer goes off, it makes a noise, so it would wake me up… Or at least, it should.

Jamil: How did it ever come to your mind to use a pressure cooker as an alarm clock in the first place…?

Silver: I shouldn't constantly rely on outside tools… But I think it's something that I currently have a need for.

Jamil: Thank you for the food.

Jamil: I'm not sure how much of this can be said was of your own skills, but I'll say it was edible.

Silver: Well, it wasn't a flawless victory, but I suppose at least it wasn't an abject failure… I'll continue to work at it.

Ghost Chef: Well done! Looks like you made it through to the end without falling asleep.

Silver: Ah… That reminds me.

Silver: I started to think of how I'd like to make for my father the tomato stew and cabbage rolls that you mentioned…

Silver: Perhaps it's because that was on my mind that I was able to keep the drowsiness at bay.

Ghost Chef: That's because we can't help but try to put forth our best effort whenever we imagine how happy people would look eating our food.

Silver: I see… I guess your state of mind is rather important when it comes to cooking.

Requested by Anonymous.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Congratulations for getting 750 followers, I absolutely adore your works! ❤️❤️❤️

For the event I'd love you to consider those:

1. Jason is the most caring friend. I think that because of his previous experiences of having to care for his mum when she was sick and also because of events that followed his death, especially the emotional hurt he faced, he became very caring and perceptive for those he cares about. He knows all too well how it is to feel abandoned and vulnerable and his goal is to do everything he can to prevent those he loves from getting the same experiences. He's the most affectionate in a quiet way, like, he's the type of person that waits when you tie your shoelaces, he asks for a messege to know you got home safely, he's a great listener, and likes to hear his friends talk about their interest even when he isn't too keen on particular topics, because what matters the most to him is that he has people that love him and that want him in their loves and share their thoughts with him.

He is also extra caring when you get sick, part of him is scared that you'll only get worse no matter what he does, like when his mum was growing weaker in his childhood, but he tries to put that fear aside and focus on doing everything he can to make you feel better.

He takes pride in being able to protect those he cares about and doesn't see it as a duty but as a privilege.

2. I also believe he likes handmade gifts the most. He knows how long it takes to do something by yourself, and he almost cannot belive that for someone he was worth the effort. Expensive things are nothing to him compared to one-of-a-kind decoration, piece of clothing or something cooked or baked specially for his tastes.

Thank you for reading and I hope it isn't too long and that my english is okay😅

And again, thank you for sharing your works, they are the best ❤️ I love your style of writing and the personality of your characters, thinking about your pirate au got me through many commutes lately ❤️ Good luck in the future!!! To many more followers! ❤️

Hi, Tina! Thank you so much!! I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying that au! 🥰💛💛

Ah, I feel I don't even need to add anything to this, but let me try!

1. Yes, I think a big love language for Jason Todd is acts of service. (Touch as well, but I think this would be more if you're dating) As friends, Jason's going to look out for you. It's in his nature to care for the people around him, even if it's detrimental to himself. He's going to do the little things, the big things, the things you won't even notice, all without expecting anything in return because he loves. He loves so much, friendship, romantic, familial, or whatever you'd like to call it.

I also think quality time is going to be important, as you hit on, listening and talking to each other is something he's going to enjoy, no matter what. Even just sitting near each other in the same room and existing together makes him happy!

2. I'm mostly with you in this. Jason's going to love anything you give him, but handmade gifts are going to make his heart skip a beat. Even just wrapping the gift yourself feels special because you took the time to do something for him, while thinking about him. Life gets busy, and the fact that you're willing to carve a piece of time out of your day for him means the world.

The only thing I wouldn't go as far as to say is that expensive things aren't as good as something handmade. I think if you're spending your hard earned money on him instead of on yourself and taking the time to pick out something you think he'd like, it's still a clear effort to do something for him. (I hope that makes sense)

Either way, acts of service are going to be part of the relationship, whether that includes gift giving or not!

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: I can’t sleep, I miss Eddie, and we still going through it, babes… So I channeled it into this. Love y’all, and thank you for making my dark days brighter ❤️

Warnings: Hurt that ends in comfort, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, fluff, depression, anxiety, mentions of past trauma/injury (Eddie’s wounds), & mental illness (reader has bipolar disorder).

The noise is soft, quiet enough that you can hear it if you lay to listen for a few seconds. Then it raises in octaves, a few clatters and curses. And despite the haze of your mood, a brief bit of fog dissipates, pinching your brow into an amused raise.

“Shit, fuckin’… slap my ass and call me your whore.”

You cover your mouth with a snort, as your fuzzy sock clad feet touch hardwood, and you make your way into the night light lit hallway. There’s a buttery glow from your kitchen that spills out around the corner, giving you a perfect view of your overly theatrical friend — Eddie Munson, as you come into the eye-line. He’s clad in a black t-shirt and whitewash jeans, his pizza decorated socks covering his own feet. His curls are damp, bordering on drying, and he hums a rhythm as you watch him flip a golden shaped object with your Goodwill gifted spatula. You perch yourself against the paneled wall, a warmth stirring in your belly.

He’s had to have used your spare key, and now he’s here before it’s barely even daylight — making something in your kitchen? First off, he wakes up this early? And second, he can cook?

That’s what leaves your mouth, following a series of scolding laughters when he’s clearly startled and drops the utensil on the stove. His rings clink together as he pinches his shirt collar, and you want to apologize, an instant guilt brimming you at surprising him like this. After everything that happened a few months ago, you really should’ve thought your entrance through (despite this being your own home). Eddie tuts, a smirk suddenly finding him amongst his Bambi eyed mirth.

“You scared the shit out of me, kiddo. Thought you were another hoard of bats coming for my other nipple.” He snatches up the utensil and flips it Steve Harrington style, calming your sudden anxiety, and easing your guilt.

You make your way over beside him, bare hip resting against the kitchen counter. He smiles softly, pouring in (what you now see is pancake batter) more of the mixture, flashing a wink your way. You look so fucking perfect and soft, just in socks, panties, and your oversized shirt with stars and crescent moon prints scattered about on it. He’s used to seeing this on you, but it never gets old. When you nursed him back to health after he was released from the hospital, you both grew a lot closer, having been mere acquaintances beforehand.

Changing his dressings, soothing his nightmares, helping him in and out of the shower — you took care of him in ways Eddie never knew existed. You were fearless, you were brave, you were funny, you were smart, you were beautiful and sexy, and as Nancy Wheeler had put it — he was totally fucking in love with you, like old classic — tickle your belly and balls type of romance movies. Once he had reluctantly left to return to the trailer with his uncle to repair the damage, he found that his desire to be near you had increased. And all was going well, until you started staying away from everyone, your voice languid and breathless when he’d call. He was worried it was your own processing of things that occurred, even if you’d been through it a few more years than he had, but Wheeler came through again with her knowing.

You were dealing with something that Eddie recognized as ‘manic depression’. He’d heard about it, seen it printed on the pamphlets in the nurse and guidance counselor’s office. Bipolar disorder. Nancy had explained (with the help of Steve) that you get like this sometimes, that it almost always follows your elevated periods of elated euphoria. Combine that with everything else that happened to you — Eddie immediately went into protective care mode.

He’d gotten up, showered, dressed, and phoned Harrington since he wasn’t able to drive yet. Steve came without question, especially fast on his way when Eddie mentioned the errands were for you. Both boys had gone to the local fabric shop, purchased the curtain and rod, tripped to the grocery store, and Steve had dropped Eddie off. He used his spare key and got to work on his speciality: chocolate chip flapjacks. He intended on surprising you with them, maybe waiting until he thought you were awake.

He didn’t mean to startle you, nor upset you. He’s quick to ease and relax, joking with you, praying you’re not mad that he’s here, invading you, your space, and whatever you’re going through.

Eddie flips the last cake, sprinkling in a few chips, and he’s flashing a cheshire grin, one that fades to a crooked tilt of his lips. “M’ sorry… I didn’t mean to, sort of… break in here? I planned on waiting — shit, that sounds creepy. No, I just wanted to have this ready for you… whenever you might, maybe want to have it?”

You cause his heart to swell ten times in size when you smile and reach up to push a lock of his curls off his forehead. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You’ve put an old movie on TV as you devour the fluffy, butter and syrup covered mountains. Whatever Happened To Baby Jane. Like you, Eddie is comforted by classic horror films, and can easily fall asleep to the controlled atmosphere they contain. When forks clatter against floral printed ceramic, and you take Eddie’s plate, deciding to forgo the dishes, he makes a beeline for the remaining bag, showing you the other items. You nearly cry on the spot, emotions circulating that you aren’t prepared to deal with today.

Turning off the living room television, you follow Eddie into your bedroom and help as he mounts the new rod and hangs your blackout bedroom curtains. And you… maybe sneak a few looks at the way his shirt rides up and his jeans tighten across his ass. It doesn’t take long before he’s got them secured, first breaks of dawn light spilling in through your blinds and illuminating his sweet features. Your fingers itch to touch, and you think he might reach for you, might feel the same wild, heart racing sense of vertigo, yet being serenely satiated.

“Oh yeah, here.” He slides his wallet from his back pocket, the chain dangling across his palm, and he pulls a small square card with a quote on it — out, handing it to you.

One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went through and it will be someone else’s survival guide

Below it, you recognize his doodling. A hand drawn, mini bouquet of daisies. He might not be able to afford real flowers, but he can use what skill he does have and draw them for you. He just hopes that you don’t mind. Your eyes are brimmed full of tears when he looks back up to catch your reaction. His gut sinks into his ass, and he fears he overstepped or set something off.

Hell, probably both.

He tries to backtrack. “No, hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to make you upset, sweetheart. I just… I was trying to find something to think of to say, because my words kind of get lost in my mouth, catapulting into the space of my brain.”

“Eddie, it’s okay.” Your voice is jagged, tone being dragged over fragments of emotion, throat swollen and damp with it.

He keeps going, more bold to be vocal now. “I think that it’s okay for you to ride it out here. You don’t need to force yourself into ideas of sunshine and physical activity. You’ve been through so much shit, and if your brain is on fire, then you deserve to put it out and let it fuckin’ rest.” He approaches you cautiously, tone gentle and warm like honey going down, almost raspy with it. “You don’t need to force yourself to be okay. Not with anyone, and sure as hell not with me. I mean, you’ve seen my guts hanging out and my nipple ripped off, I’d say we’re well past pretending, aren’t we?”

You’re speechless, body growing heavy and eyes tired. You can’t convey the hope that blooms, popping a bubble through the haze of the fog inside you. It’s not much, but it’s enough to help your psyche stop the race and let you breathe. Eddie is able to sense your fatigue, and he reaches out to squeeze your shoulders, motioning to the hall. “You close these on up and I’ll call you later tonight, yeah?”

He gets about two steps away from you and you’re calling for him. It’s comedic how fast he turns around. “Eddie? Will you stay?”

You’d turned the movie back on, on the set in your room, curtains closed and leaving the expanse shrouded in the glow of the set. Your head is resting on his chest, his jeans on the floor, legs tangled in yours beneath the patchwork quilt. The air conditioner is going, right along with the steady beating of two hearts, and Eddie doesn’t stop you when you knuckle-nudge his splayed palm up, pressing his fingers open to slide your own through. He accepts, squeezing, lacing, looking at you through the opening of light, and you lean into the kiss he presses to your crown. You’ll talk about things later, but for now… It’s okay.

[orphicdreamers-wp]

Still Falling For You — Nico Hischier

Summary: Nico finds out your learning how to make his favorite Swiss foods and it adds another reason to why he’s still falling for you

Content Warnings; Subtle angst at first, med student reader, poorly translated German (blame google translate)

Pairing; Nico Hischier x Fem Reader

A deep sigh left your lips, “I understand that you miss Switzerland but I can’t just drop everything and run to Switzerland for a month Nico!” Nico scoffed as he slammed his dresser drawer shut, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m gonna go stay with Jack for a while. I’m sorry.” You let out a defeated sigh, “Ich lebe dich, fahre vorsichtig. Schreib mir eine SMS, wenn du dort ankommst?” Nico hummed, “Wie auch immer, ich gehe jetzt.” You watched in silence as your fiancé left your shared apartment without so much as a kiss goodbye. That was over two weeks ago.

You’d gone to all of Nico’s games in the meantime and crammed for your MCATS all while taking cooking classes in the meantime. You were taking something out of the oven when the door opened, “Y/N?” Jack’s voice pulled you from the kitchen, “Kitchen!” Jack walked into the kitchen to find you in a hot pink apron adorning bright yellow oven mitts and a orange chef’s hat. Jack burst out laughing, “What the hell are you wearing dude?” You glared at him as you set the pan of Rösti on the stove, “Can it squeaks. Is Nico coming home anytime soon?” Jack shrugged, “Dude I have no clue. Get him off my couch, Maisie won’t even sleep in the same bed as me while he’s on our couch.”

You sighed, “I’m trying Hughes. Have I ever screamed chef to you?” Jack paused for a minute to think, “Not particularly, speaking of what is this stuff?” You sighed as you put the pan of cake batter in the oven for the Zuger Kirschtorte. You turned to Jack, “I called his mom, I had to bribe her with my peanut butter fudge the next five times she visits to spill his favorite Swiss meals. He keeps talking about how much he misses Switzerland. I can’t go to Switzerland with my MCATS coming up, that’s why we’re fighting. So I wanted to make it up to him. I need you to get him here tonight at 6. Please Hughie?” Jack smiled at your romantic spiel, “I can try my hardest Y/N. This is really cute by the way.” You smiled, “Thanks Jack. Now go I still have to finish making the food and shower and look cute for my guy.” Jack grinned as he excused himself and left the apartment.

You checked the cake and it wasn’t anywhere near done so you placed the bottle of Oeil-de-Perdrix, Nico’s favorite Swiss wine according to his mom, in the freezer to chill while you hurried into the bathroom and turned the shower on and quickly showered before changing into a simple pair of jeans and one of Nico’s favorite shirts of yours. You made it back to the kitchen and got the cake out and iced it and it was only 5 now. You smiled to yourself as you moved all the food out of the kitchen and onto the table. You tied the apron back around you as you started the rinsing dishes and put them in the dish washer. You took the wine out of the freezer and placed it in the fridge to stay cold.

By the time you finished it was still 5:15, you brought the food back into the kitchen and cleared a space in the living room, overlooking the beautiful city view that drew you into the apartment to begin with. You moved the table out onto the balcony and placed a tablecloth on the table to give it a restaurant quality look. You began to plate up food for both you and Nico. Once you were done with that you found an old record that neither you nor Nico had played since you got engaged over a year ago. You dusted it off and put it on the record player and allowed it to start as you found the perfect dimness of the lights.

You had 15 minutes to spare so you used that small window of time to style your hair into a cute simple half up half down hairstyle you wore on you and Nico’s first date. You put on a small amount of makeup, majority being your winged eyeliner and the lip liner and lipgloss on your lips. You felt awkward not having shoes on so you slipped on a pair of sandals and poured you both a glass of wine as you waited for Nico to come through the door.

You pick up yo ur phone read the time, 6:17. For a brief moment you believe he isn’t coming and you feel your heart drop. Maybe Jack had forgotten to tell him, maybe Nico just decided he wasn’t coming, maybe he’d decided he was done and didn’t have the heart to tell you. Until your phone buzzed with a text.

J. Hughes: He took more convincing than expected. Told him he need to get a clean suit for tomorrow’s game. He’s on his way up now.

You smiled as you heard the door open. Nico froze in the doorway of his home. Granted he hadn’t been home in a few weeks but he was almost certain that his kitchen table was missing. And his house smelled like Mahogany and Teakwood, his favorite candle. That he happened to know that his fiancée hated the smell of. Love Me Like There’s No Tomorrow by Freddie Mercury faintly played through the apartment as he walked further inside, “Honey?” He hadn’t spotted you on the couch where you usually sat and studied around this time of night. The dimness of the home coupled with the silence hanging heavy in the air worried Nico slightly.

You had heard his footsteps just inside the balcony. He opened the curtain and spoke softly, “Hi pretty lady. What are you doing out here all alone?” You smiled up at him, “I’m not alone anymore. Sit before the food gets any more cold.” Nico looked at the food on the table, “Where did you learn to cook these?” You smiled at your fiancé, “The internet is a helpful place sometimes.” Nico sat down as he looked at the foods he’d loved most during his childhood in front of him and the woman he loves most in the world having made them, “Danke meine liebe.”

You smiled at him, “Es war mir ein Vergnügen, Hübscher.” Nico spoke almost sadly, “I’m sorry for how I acted angel. I really appreciate this.” You smiled, “What can I say, I love doing things for my people.” Nico smiled, “I know. It’s one of the things I find myself still falling for you because of.”

[accio-victuuri]

their ordinary life. 🏠

i am referencing this post which was allegedly shared in 2021. i like how it’s written and the cpn clues inserted, then making a whole story out of it. a reason why most of us love lrg and other rumor anecdotes is because it’s simple and shows what their day to day life is like. tho they are celebrities with extraordinarily busy lives, the thought of them just being zz and bobo is comforting and sweet. it may be confusing cause there are parts where they are both referenced as they. and then it will switch to “i” as if in the person’s first person pov.

all of this is fake & fanfiction…

they should have a cat and a dog. everyone knows the cat's name is Tao, the dog’s name also matches the cat very well, it’s called Lizi. it’s a puppy ZZ bought it on impulse, but in the end I had to give it to my mother in Chongqing to deal with the aftermath. they have a home in Beijing, with a room full of helmets and musical instruments. there is also a room equipped with a projector, with warm and artistic decoration. when the two people are tired, they can lie here and watch movies together. there is also a big LCD TV, two people playing games to decide the outcome and doing housework.

the kitchen should be well-equipped, but the storage of materials is not alot, both of them are busy and have little time to cook, but there should be someone that makes trouble while the other person is cooking, and the other person will teach. when that person was making hand cakes, he had a headache several times and wanted to curse.

the room they sleep in, well, the bedding must be of high quality, it must be very comfortable and considerate for two people who both have the habit of sleeping naked. someone should install a night light in the toilet so that people who are afraid of the dark can get up in the middle of the night. there will be lights as soon as the toilet is near. there should be a lot of things on the bedside, eye drops, stomach-protecting tablets, Ryukakusan, cough cough... In short, both of them takes good care of your body! there will be a light fragrance in the room. they are all people who love cleanliness, maybe it’s also due to the scented candles.

there is a huge closet, which could have been used as a styling area in the beginning. one will often buy several pieces at a time and wrap them up. the other will also complain that one person loves shopping so much that he is not frugal and knows how to organize his clothes regularly. it was painful to pick out an old model to wear, and taught another person: "See, this is okay. As for clothes, save money and don’t buy so much. You still have a mortgage. ” another smiled and didn’t say anything. clothes that smell like them over time are familiar and reassuring, as if they are by each other’s side. In this way, they give each other company. Sometimes the trip is too urgent and I don’t pay much attention. both people will pack the wrong clothes into their suitcases. there should also be a small gym, where two actors and teachers can work hard. One person is envious of another's eight-pack abs, and the other possesses someone's waist (don't ask me why I know it's possible because I am a barbell. )

both of them have been doing more and more endorsements, and they have a lot of products at home. when the two brothers are in a good mood, they take one out and play with it, jokingly calling it "opening a blind box." most of the time, they kept sending them to my family, and the family group was noisy.

the two of them still can't stay at home most of the time and are always on the road. yes, headphones are a common item. why? because they are used for making phone calls and watching videos and to chat online. I took out my mobile phone to complain after getting off work. i quickly called to tell him that I miss you. people’s true emotions finally have a safe and secure place. how good is this, just wanting someone who can always listen to me in my life. you act coquettishly. you can complain and cry.

i also surfed the Internet, but I just browsed casually, after all, it was all the same rainbow fart, I want to take some time to listen to that person blowing it to me. sometimes it’s annoying to see fans quarreling. i used my account number to tell them to stop arguing, but it didn’t work. just switch to my other account and fight bravely with heizi ( antis ) and lose. until the account was suspended and blocked, then I took screenshots and felt aggrieved. he said, "Baby, look at me, I've lost another number by helping you.". The other person was amused, and he was no longer troubled by the remarks.

the other side is also keen on surfing and secretly saves a lot of emoticons, all of which are like pigs. regarding this, after I sent it, I laughed so hard that I hit the table and couldn’t stop having fun. hey, of course you can hear the voice of someone screaming on the phone: "Why does it have to be a pig?" "I'm a leopard! Not a pig! You What a stinky rabbit!”

they will take care of eating, taking medicine, drinking water, and taking care of each other when they are sick. they will take good care of each other and care for each other. if you are disobedient, it will be known immediately, and you will be punished, and then you will obey because I want to live a long with the other person. if possible, I hope it will be the same in my next life.

he will also get jealous, lose his temper and act awkward. Alas, as an actor, he is still in the entertainment industry. what can I do? Buy gifts, buy food, make phone calls. if you want to talk, send WeChat, and send some updates and stuck points that fans can’t understand.

In the end, I still couldn't coax him, so I could only study how to fight authentically and run to see the other party. the time is very short, and you may only be able to stay in the car, room, or corner. i left after an hour or two, my temper was gone, and I kept looking at the other person. laugh, give a hug, hold hands for a walk, kiss, and talk for a long time. if it's been a long time, your eyes will inevitably turn red when you separate.

“Every time it’s so short, it’s hard to be separated, and I won’t be able to come next time.

“But I miss you.

"...I know, I'll come see you next time."

knowing that there will be an event for two people on the same stage will make them excited for a long time, and they will fall in love at public expense. love, doesn’t it feel good?

no matter what, they won’t understand the meaning of it anyway. meet backstage, eat a meal together, take ugly photos of each other while doing makeup, and fight. let’s sit together and look at our phones and chat about the current situation. the two people at the back looked right at each other when Fang doesn't speak, the staff will consciously go out and leave them alone.

think hard. I miss you even when I walk. I miss you when I sit. kiss the necklace that you bought for me, look at the blue sky and white clouds, draw a picture, then take the archeology test, and look at the other party’s dark history, snap screenshots and make emoticons and throw them over. it’s the happiness that only artists can have when they fall in love, don’t you understand~

regarding the public, the feeling of being watched by millions of people cheering and blessing that summer it’s really good. surrounded by love from all over the world, you will feel that there is nothing better than our happy couple. maybe, one day, wait for the rainbow to come. On that day, I am Lao Wang and he was Lao Xiao. We walked in front of everyone. before, he drew a story about us, told by me since I was 21 years old.

[possamble]

What are your headcanons about Marcille's mom if you have any? It's interesting that what drew Donato to her was cause she lived the history he studied, or that was said somewhere at least. She must've had an interesting life.

so this was going to be just a normal answer but then I realized I have a Lot of Things To Say. so here goes, a compilation of what we know for a fact from the canon, what I've extrapolated from the visual cues and details, and my theories based on all of that.

Things we know for a fact about Marcille's mother because they were explicitly stated in the manga and supplemental materials:

She was a court mage for a Tall-man kingdom at the southern part of the Northern Continent

Donato, a court historian, fell in love with her because she had lived through the history he was studying, and he courted her for 17 years (age 15 to 32) before getting married

She was a cheerful person who rarely showed extreme emotion and took things as they came

She always cooked a huge meal for Marcille on her birthdays

She remarried a gnome after Donato's death and a short distance away from Marcille's childhood home

Pipi, Marcille's pet bird, was actually older than Marcille and originally belonged to her mother (bird died at 62)

She was extremely heartbroken when Donato died and ultimately ended up instilling a deep fear of mortality in Marcille with her words

the only time she showed extreme emotion in front of her family was when Donato could no longer eat his favourite dish near the end of his life.

She scolded Marcille for being cruel to ants (implying she can have a stern side when needed)

Things that are explicitly shown but mostly through visual cues

She has a very distinctive style of dress always involving a ribbon choker (mirroring Marcille's habit of always wearing a matching choker with any of her outfits that don't cover her neck)

She was almost stereotypically good at housekeeping and traditionally "wifely" things (very frequently depicted wearing an apron or doing some domestic chore when not at work, seems to have been an avid cook).

She knits? (also, note the affectionate smile as she's looking at Donato and Marcille reading a book together in the full panel)

She was as excited for Marcille's milestones as Donato was.

She didn't tell Marcille much about elven food

(there are a couple things that this panel in particular implies:

She lived a good deal of her life (if not being born and raised) in a mainly elven country in the West, implied by her knowing enough of an elven region's cuisine to prefer Tall-man food over it

seems to have a pretty carefree and casual demeanour overall, if this is how she replied to Marcille asking her about it (sounds like she never gave her culinary preferences that much thought to begin with)

slightly related to number 2, it seems like she and Marcille had a fairly casual parent-child dynamic (especially in comparison to the Toudens' memory of their father)

(local elf tastes Italian food once and never goes back))

However, she seems a lot more... serious in most of the other times we see her? Almost like the very stereotypical archetype of a graceful elf.

Subsequent conclusions about her personality:

Usually pretty carefree and cheerful at home, has been a loving and attentive parent throughout Marcille's childhood (while not being so doting that she didn't discipline Marcille).

Slightly more conjectural theories on her personality:

Had a much more graceful and professional personality at work, which would explain the more serious portraits we see of her.

Given that both she and Donato had positions at the royal court, it seems a little odd that she'd go out of her way to do all the housework herself, so maybe she just enjoyed doing it?

Now taping all the evidence together and toeing the line between analysis and fanfiction:

It's clear that she loved Donato very much and was utterly devastated by losing him. But there's one thing that really stuck out to me in what little we see of her:

Doesn't she seem... angry? The way she's gritting her teeth, clutching the tablecloth, and how this is the first and only time we see her eyes opened that wide. In the following panel, you see her being quiet and dejected after her initial outburst. She's still crying very intensely, but her brows are furrowed, and she's not really responding to Donato's affection in her body language.

We're not told the details of how she felt about losing Donato other than that it upset her. But this, to me, implies that she was angry and resented that he was aging, that the end of his life was approaching. An "it's not fair" type of preemptive grief. And if this was the first and last time she cried like this in front of her family, she was either very good at coping in private... or very bad at letting herself feel unpleasant emotions until they become unavoidable and end up overwhelming her.

It's not too remarkable a detail on the surface. It's even reminiscent of what the audience has seen of Marcille. But... when it comes to the big picture, you'd think an elf who voluntarily chose to marry a tall-man and have a half-elf child would have been better prepared for this.

It kind of recontextualizes her cheerfulness to me.

"I'm sure everything's gonna be okay!" (or some variation thereof, depending on what translation you have).

And this is stated to contrast her extreme grief when finally confronting Donato's failing body and eventual death. But I'm wondering if... maybe this optimism was why she was so upset. What if she went into all of it thinking "everything's gonna be okay"? What if she was a little young by elven standards, and just followed her heart thinking that her own resilience would get her through anything?

Of course, only to get completely overwhelmed when she actually loses Donato. She turns into a completely different person. And that's heartbreaking on its own-- but what the audience sees is the effect it had on Marcille. Can you imagine being her, watching your invincible and upbeat mother suddenly lose all the light in her eyes in one go?

I've already made a huge post about how I think Marcille models her "work persona" off her mother, but another thing that stuck with me as I was looking for more details in the manga was this:

copy pasting from the other post i made about it lmao it's like... the second she resigns herself to lifelong pain and terror, there's another portrait of her mother facing her like this. with their heads bowed, in mirrored body language of resignation and despair and sorrow. Except it's posed like Marcille is still looking at her mother but her mother is looking away.

It took me a second to realize, but I think that it's a visual metaphor for the fact that Marcille's mother was the only long-lived role model she had-- and she failed to model healthy grief for her daughter. I don't say this as an accusation or to disparage her as a character, but just as a matter of fact. In her, Marcille was seeing herself older and losing a short-lived spouse or loved one of her own, and all she saw was hopelessness.

But her mother didn't mean to instill hopelessness and terror in her. She wasn't really thinking of how it would truly affect Marcille at all (at least, that's how I'm interpreting her looking down and away from Marcille in the metaphor), she was just sad. And she, in her own way, was trying to protect her daughter and help her prepare for future losses.

What she meant was "loss is inevitable, and you have to learn how to be in pain but live on anyway." What Marcille heard was "loss is inevitable, and you will be scared and hurt for the rest of your life."

Again. Marcille's mother doesn't feature explicitly in the story the way her father does -- but in so many ways, her shadow, her silhouette, her reflection is always hanging over Marcille.

All that to say... headcanon-wise (everything from here on is 100% without evidence lmao), I'd like to think that she matured and realized that she failed Marcille. I imagine her being regretful about it, wanting a chance to fix it but never finding a way to insert herself back into Marcille's life when Marcille is so so so busy becoming the most accomplished mage possible. I imagine her being herself again, now, so many years after her loss and after remarrying -- but with her cheerfulness tempered with a lot more wisdom and the pain of having gone through loss like that. I think the second Marcille actually tells her what happened in the dungeon, she'd want to go running to her daughter again -- if Marcille tells her the full truth instead of just being embarrassed she let things get that far. (oh, the tragedy of her wanting to be more like her mother and an accomplished adult who doesn't need to be babied... being embarrassed to actually tell her mother how much she fucked up...)

There's also the tension of her having remarried -- I know that there's at least a little bit of resentment that Marcille harbours about that, because she's childish like that at heart even if she makes an effort not to externalize it. I think that her mother would be aware of that, potentially adding to her sense of guilt and apprehension at trying to reappear/intrude on Marcille's life. I honestly don't think Marcille has met her stepfather -- or even considers him a stepfather rather than "mama's new husband" and kind of a total stranger. I think she and her mother actively don't talk about it in their correspondence, like an elephant in the room.

but, ultimately, I think her mother is on her side no matter what. Ancient magic? Dark necromancy? Sure, she'll feel guilty and like she was partially responsible for setting Marcille down such a painful path, but she wouldn't care. that's her daughter!! she would've moved back west and been petitioning for her at the court, buying a house right next to the Canaries barracks and visiting her every day that she wasn't on a mission. And if her husband had opinions on Marcille becoming a "dark arts user," he either gets over it or it's divorce with him. Yes, she might have had her optimism completely humbled by losing Donato like that -- but she's still headstrong and self-assured and she doesn't care what people think of her. It's her way or the highway and she's always going to be in Marcille's corner.

(She also needs a name lol. I went with Juno, just to be cute about "Marcille"s closest real life equivalent being Marcella, which is the female version of Marcellus, which in turn is a diminutive of Marcus, which was derived from Mars. Absolutely in love with Marcille potentially being named after Ares/Mars the fucking god of war btw)

[cool-fancier]

Unveiling Our Love

Synopsis: A dance-infused love blossoms at SM Entertainment, intertwined with Bebe's triumphs and shared laughter.

Word Count:1.5k

In the bustling halls of SM Entertainment, where creativity danced freely and music resonated through the corridors, our paths intertwined in a world of choreography and artistic fervor.

It all started on a hectic day, when the studios were buzzing with nearing performances and artists refining their skill. Your gazes clashed across the dance floor amid the choreographic chaos.

Bada smiled warmly, her eyes shining with excitement. "Hey there! I've seen you around. Your routines are pretty cool."

You felt a rush of excitement as you grinned. "Thanks! Your work is also impressive. "I've always admired your sense of style."

As a result, the seeds of a relationship were sown. Days turned into evenings spent at cafes, exchanging experiences ranging from dance mistakes to embarrassing childhood stories.

"Do you remember the time I tried to pull off that complicated move and ended up flat on my face?" Bada giggled and her laughter filled the little cafe.

"How could I forget? It was a classic!" You joined in, recalling a similar misadventure of your own, resulting in a spontaneous dance-off that left the onlookers amused.

The intimacy between you grew stronger as the days melted into shared rehearsals and impromptu performances. Bada decided to grasp the opportunity during a particularly rowdy practise session.

"Hey, so I've been meaning to ask you something." Bada's voice was slightly hesitant, and her eyes sparkled with delight.

"Shoot, what's up?" You responded, intrigued by her abrupt change in demeanour.

She took a deep breath, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "Would you like to go out with me?" Like, on a date?"

Your lips twitched as you noticed her trying to mask her nervousness. "I'd love to! But you've got to ask me properly."

Bada blinked in surprise before breaking into laughter. "Properly? Alright, brace yourself. Ahem, would you, oh great and talented dancer Y/N, grant me the honor of accompanying you on a date? Please?"

You chuckled, feigning contemplation. "Hmm, that's not bad. You've got potential, but I'll need more charm."

With an exaggerated flourish, Bada cleared her throat. "My dearest ,loveliest dancer in SM ,would you consider gracing this humble dancer with your company on a magical date filled with laughter, dancing, and possibly some cake?"

"Perfect," you declared, laughing as she pumped her fist in victory.

So your first real date unfolded in a rush of laughing and sentimental chats, laced with tales of dance disasters and shared music love.

"Do you remember that time I tripped over my own feet during that big performance?" You smiled, telling the story with a humorous twinkle in your eyes.

Bada laughed. "Yes! And then, because I was laughing so hard backstage, I almost missed my cue."

The evening became a tapestry of shared laughing, amusing anecdotes, and increasing acceptance of one other's variances.  Tender glances were exchanged among the stories, a silent promise of something more lingering between you.

Bada decided to take things to the next level on a chilly evening, with a rooftop covered with fairy lights and a lovely breeze carrying the song of the city below.

"I've got something for you," Bada said, her voice gentle yet excited.

Curiosity piqued, you stared at her, and before you knew it, she had prepared a home-cooked supper featuring your favourite meals.

"Ta-da! "Why not cook your favourite dishes for our special evening?" She reasoned. Bada smiled, an anxious glint in her eyes.

The nice act moved you and warmed your heart. "This is incredible. You didn't have to, but I love it."

As the evening unfolded, laughter mingled with whispered conversations and stolen glances. It was amidst this charming setting, as the city lights shimmered in the background, that your first kiss sealed the promise of a love that bloomed amidst the shared laughter and heartfelt connections of your journey together.

In a quiet moment, as the city below embraced the serenade of the evening, Bada's eyes met yours with a soft intensity. Without words, she closed the distance between you, her gaze a gentle caress against your skin.

The world seemed to come to a halt as she held your face in her palms, a subtle comfort in the gentle touch of her thumb against your cheek. Lips met in a sweet, safe kiss against the golden hues of a sunset-kissed sky—a union that reflected the symphony of emotions that had formed between you.

It was a priceless moment, a lovely dance of love and longing sealed with the delicacy of a shared link. The pleasant hum of the city below continued unaffected by the private situation unfolding on the rooftop hideaway.

Bada's delicate touch, the softness of her lips on yours, told volumes about the love that grew in the quiet hours you spent together. Finally, when the kiss faded, you and Bada lingered in the embrace of the sunset's warmth, a silent understanding remaining in the air, a promise of a love that blossomed with each passing second.

— — — — — — — — — —

As the seasons passed, your relationship with Bada grew into a tapestry stitched with shared dreams, conversations, and stolen moments amidst the bustling urban. The world changed around you, but your love was a constant refuge—a secure harbour for both love and creation.

The public's discovery of your relationship came as a surprise during Bebe's spectacular journey on Street Woman Fighter. Fans had liked the group's chemistry, but the unveiling of your relationship with Bada gave another dimension of depth to their perception. The openness of your relationship became known, a monument to the strength of love that endured public examination.

With Bebe's victory came a flood of interviews, invitations, and admiration from fans who had been enamoured of the group's talent as well as the honesty of their personal lives. Fans couldn't get enough of the interviews since they provided insight into Bebe's dynamics.

One interview took an unexpected turn when the interviewer asked Bada about her significant other—you—with a twinkle in their eye. Bada, who is normally collected and articulate, became flustered at the mention of your name.

"So, Bada, we've heard a lot about your incredible journey with Bebe and dancing, but there's one aspect that has remained a bit of a mystery until now," the interviewer said, a sly grin on their lips. "Your fans are curious about your significant other—Y/N."

Bada's eyes widened, and a slight flush crept across her cheeks. "Oh, uh, Y/N," she muttered as she tried to regain her composure. "Well, you know, we're doing well. It's just... it's strange to talk about it in interviews."

The lively members of Bebe, Lusher, Kyma, Tatter, Minah, Che Che, and Sowoen, took advantage of the chance to taunt their unnie.

"Look at Unnie blushing!" Lusher joked, with a teasing smirk. Is someone shy about their romantic life?"

"Oh, I've never seen our leader like this before," Kyma said. "Is she becoming a romantic?"

"Well, well, the mysterious Y/N," Tatter added. Does she have the same killer dance moves as you, Unnie?"

The teasing continued, each member adding their own playful comments to the mix, creating an atmosphere of laughter and camaraderie. In an attempt to regain her composure, Bada cast a mocking glance at her cheeky teammates. "Stop it, you guys. It's not that big of a deal."

Behind the scenes, however, the producers and crew were obviously enjoying the spontaneous banter. Laughter echoed through the studio as Bada, usually an example of confidence, found herself in the delightful chaos of her teammates' teasing.

"But it is a big deal," Kyma added. "Our leader has a secret love life.

The mocking continued, until Bada ultimately accepted defeat with a chuckle.

The revelation sent a ripple of excitement through the interview, and the fans, who had been eagerly awaiting more details about Bada's personal life, erupted with supportive messages.

@LoveStruckFan: OMG, Y/N and Bada are goals! 🌈💕

@SecretLove:They're so cute together! 😍🥰

As the interview unfolded, Bada shared tales about your relationship—moments of shared laughter, dance sessions in the living room, and the quiet comfort of lazy Sundays spent together.

"Y/N has this way of making every day special," Bada said, smiling. "Even with our hectic schedules, coming home to her is like finding peace." She's also a fantastic dance partner. We have some sick moves together."

The interview began with discoveries about your relationship and easily flowed into discussions about Bebe's journey on Street Woman Fighter, their friendship, and future plans.

As the members of Bebe dispersed after the interview, Bada went home while the two of you were resting on the couch snuggled up and she turned to you with a cheeky glitter in her eyes. "Well, that went better than expected."

You chuckled, "Yeah, they seem excited about us."

Bada wrapped her arm around your shoulders, a gesture of familiarity and affection. "Who wouldn't be excited? We're the power couple of the century."

As the night unfolded, filled with laughter, shared stories, and the warmth of love, the journey of Bebe continued—with the spotlight not just on their dance moves but on the genuine connections and shared love stories that defined their journey both on and off the stage.