#oc: gilded glance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rosewaterandivy · 7 months ago

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Summary: it’s always the best laid plans of mice and men, isn’t it?

Pairing: s.h. x f!oc

W.C.: 5.4K

Warnings: gilded age!au, miscommunication, a comedy of errors/manners, society snobs, a masquerade ball mishap, arranged marriage, steve ‘down bad’ harrington, and a reader/mc who doesn’t have time for this shit - she was educated abroad, she went to Vassar with Miss Nancy Wheeler, okay?!, back on my iliad bullshit (i know, i know)

playlist | m.list

I. Coup de foudre

It’s a dreary December evening in Manhattan. The streets are damp and slick accompanied by the cacophony of hooves, equipages and carriages trundling down the way. Somber topcoats and fur-trimmed capes hide the tailored waistcoats of the men and ornate skirts of the ladies, as is to be expected with the current onslaught of weather.

Small white flurries of snow that are sure to bring a swift end to laborious dinners and engagements at the club. And the man in the sleek black equipage himself is all too relieved about it— at least he would be released from the obligation of hearing his father’s friends complain about these upstart robber barons descending like a horde of locusts on Fifth Avenue.

A quiet night in his study would be a welcome distraction.

That is, if they can ever get home in this weather.

He can hear the whinny of the horses from up front and the soothing tones of the driver. The streets are probably close to icing over at this hour, making it difficult to find traction.

Suddenly, the equipage swings quickly to the side and careens into something with a loud thud, sending its sole occupant straight into the door with a smack. He hisses lowly at the twinge in his forehead as the driver descends with a flurry of apologies.

He opens the door himself and steps outside before the driver can assist him. The white puffs of his breath speak to how quickly the weather had turned. He draws his coat closer and approaches the two drivers as they attempt to settle the horses.

“Gentlemen,” He greets, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Noting to worry about Mr. Harrington,” His man, Andrew, assures him, “The ice just snuck up on us is all.”

He nods taking in the damage, dents and scuffs on both vehicles but the horses appear to be fine. Reaching into his coat pocket, he brings out a small notebook and a pencil to scribble his information down for the other driver. Is about to tell the man to bill him directly when someone steps out from the carriage opposite.

The footsteps themselves are delicate and tentative. He tears his gaze from the driver’s, glancing back only to find a young woman emerging from the carriage. She’s holding her skirts in one gloved hand, shivering in the cold.

“Is everything all right Jesse?”

Her voice is like music to his ears, melodic almost. And she looks like something stolen from a painting— bright and alluring.

The winter light is quickly fading, and the lamplighters were sure taking their time this evening. Her cape is dark, like his coat, but the split at the front reveals a purple skirt trimmed in demure black lace, signifying an exit from her period of mourning.

Her man, Jesse, shepherds her back toward the coach, “Let’s get you back inside Miss, don’t want you to catch a chill.”

“Of course,” She says with a shake of her head, “How silly of me.”

And before Steve can embarrass himself in an attempt to introduce himself, she’s safely ensconced back in the carriage. Her driver returns and takes the paper from Steve, tucking it into his coat.

“Apologies gentlemen, but I must be on my way.” He pulls himself back onto the driver’s box, “Have to get the young Miss home to her brother’s, you understand.”

He tips his hat, and with a tug of the reins he’s gone.

Steve finds himself standing right where she left him, feet riveted to the very spot where she once stood. He must have taken a step toward her at some point, like an utter madman, probably startled the poor girl half to death.

Despite their disastrous non-meeting, he can’t seem to shake her from his mind. As if everything had been in black and white until she stepped down from the carriage and breathed color into his world, spring bursting forth at the sound of her voice. It sounds positively insane, even to himself, but if Robin were here, she’d understand.

Hell, she’d probably have a word for it too.

Something French, inevitably.

“Mr. Harrington,” Andrew says, a hand tentatively resting on his shoulder, “Is something wrong?”

Steve blinks; a feeble attempt to clear his mind from thoughts of the mystery woman.

Andrew refrains from rolling his eyes, “Right sir, let’s get you home then.”

The journey back to the Harrington family manse was uneventful. The familiar brownstone facade came into view as Andrew swung the equipage onto the street outside the house. Luckily, the home was large enough that his late arrival wouldn’t be noticed.

He thanks Andrew and watches as he takes off with the horses for the carriage house a few blocks away. Stepping into the house, he makes quickly for his study slipping through the door just as one of the maids turns down the corridor.

Steve shucks his coat onto a nearby chair and tugs off his cravat with one hand, the other pouring a healthy portion of bourbon into a highball glass. He downs the amber liquid too quickly, the burn welcome against his throat.

After pouring another glass to sip from, he settles into a heap on a club chair by the window. Resting his jaw on a hand, he faces the glass panes, eyes trailing the flurries of snow outside, unsettled by the quiet of the street. His mind won’t stop racing, vacillating between kicking himself for not getting her name and hoping he’d run into her again, albeit this time under better circumstances.

Little did he know, that several blocks away a man was questioning poor Jesse about his whereabouts when a slip of paper was placed into his hand. He scans it quickly, face paling at the name scrawled there: Steven Harrington.

“How could you let this happen Jesse, really? The accident, I understand, but allowing my sister out of the carriage unaccompanied?”

“Sir, I had no—”

“I’ll not hear your excuses.” Christopher Fairchild balls his hand into a fist, the paper crumpling in his grasp. “You said he saw her, Harrington, that is?”

“Unfortunately,” Jesse admits, “I intervened as best I could and got her back into the coach. He seemed rather transfixed by her.”

His employer grunts, “Yes well, that is unfortunate. What if someone had seen her with that man, no chaperone in sight?” He turns to the sideboard and pours himself a drink, says with a scoff, “Not even out to society and potentially scandal-ridden.”

At this point, his wife, Marian, chooses to enter, having seen the young lady to her rooms and getting her settled for the evening. She places a tentative hand on his shoulder while Jesse trains his gaze to the floor.

“Darling,” She soothes, “Your sister is asleep as is the baby, don’t get yourself into a fit at this hour.”

He sighs as her palm moves in slow circles against his back and takes deep breaths. “Of course dear,” He sips from his drink and turns to her. “I just worry about her. All the work you’ve put into her debut and planning the ball.” Christopher places a kiss on the back of her hand, causing her to blush. “I don’t want it to be all for naught.”

She sighs prettily.

“It won’t be,” Marian advises, “You’ll write to the Harringtons tomorrow and we’ll get this matter settled. And there won’t be a speck on your dear sister’s reputation, I’ll see to that.”

But, oh dear reader, where would be the fun in that?

As we all know, the New York winter season is winding down rapidly, and do we not deserve something to keep us warm over the holiday? I would say so!

So, in honor of her long-awaited arrival, let us give a hearty New York welcome to Miss Eleanor Fairchild! Fresh from the society of Paris and a graduate of Vassar along with Miss Nancy Wheeler, her debut this week is the talk of the town.

Despite her indecorous brush with Mr. Steven Harrington, I am sure she will not have a shortage of suitors after the ball this weekend.

But the question remains, my loyal readers, of who will take a shine to Miss Fairchild and step out from the long shadow cast by the Harrington name?

Only time, and this weekly missive, will tell.

Morning in New York was startling and nothing like waking in Paris.

House maids, lady’s maids, and valets moving up and down the stairs, knocking on doors to air out the linens and draw the curtains aside to let the murky winter sun stream through. There was, of course, the soft babbling from the nursery as Gus woke from his repose, the nursemaid and his mother close at hand.

A sharp knock sounded from the door just as you drew the bedclothes closer to you, content to roll over and sleep through the gray morning.

“Bonjour mademoiselle, vous permettez?”

“Oui!” You say, curious at the chipper voice now opening the door, “Sorry, yes, you may enter.”

“Merci, mademoiselle.”

The girl, your new lady’s maid, softly shuts the door and turns to regard the room.

It’s certainly larger than what you’d grown accustomed to in France. But then again, most everything was in New York, especially so since you hadn’t returned to the city in well nigh on a year or more.

The room itself is well-appointed and elegant, Marian saw to that; soft colors and fabrics, diaphanous and frothy, a subtle nod to Versailles no doubt. You hadn’t had much time or energy to give it a glance last night, more inclined to have a late dinner, divest yourself of traveling clothes, and pass out as soon as possible.

The lady’s maid continues her silent assessment as another knock sounds from the door. She steps to open it and let in the housemaid.

“Good morning Miss,” She greets with a smile, her voice rounded with a warm Irish lilt. “I ‘spect you’ll be needin’ a fire this morning.”

You nod just now noticing the chill in the air. She busies herself with the kindling and sweeping ashes from the fireplace. The maids exchange a few soft words before she steps out to get the firewood from the Useful Man down the hall.

“Apologies,” You say by way of greeting, “But I don’t believe I got your name?”

“Oh, pardonne-moi,” the lady’s maid curtsies briefly, “Je m’appelle Marie.”

“Marie,” You repeat, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Moi aussi, mademoiselle.”

And from there, the ritual of dressing began. The house maid, Louisa, lit the fire and spirited you out of bed to air out the linens. At Marie’s suggestion, she also tackled unpacking the various trunks placed near the dresser and closet.

“These are fine frills Miss,” She smiled, her fingers delicately folding chemises and hanging skirts or dresses. “The Missus said your debut gown came all the way from Mr. Worth’s shop in Paris, is that true?”

A soft sigh escaped you at the memory, ivory chiffon and silk revealing the décolleté and arms, gauze and tulle providing a tempting illusion of bared skin. A full skirt with bustle that would skim the floor accompanied by a small train. With gloves and a fan to match, of course.

“Indeed, it is,” You allowed with a cheeky wink, “But I think Marie would have my head if I touched it before Friday.”

Marie, for her part, merely smirked and continued her preparations for your bath.

Across a few city blocks, a footman knocks on the imposing doors of the Harrington manse. The family butler, Campbell, just happens to be descending the stairs and takes it upon himself to open the door.

“Good morning sir,” The footman says with a bow, “Mr. Fairchild bid me to deliver this.” He hands over an envelope addressed to Mr. Samuel Harrington.

“Yes, well,” Campbell sighs, opening the door to let the footman in. “I’ll get this to him. If you hurry, Cook can scrounge up some coffee and a pastry for you. Just take the servant’s hall to the right.”

“Much obliged,” The footman says with a bow as Campbell starts up the stairs.

The handwriting on the envelope is neat, if a bit cramped. Must be the young Mr. Fairchild then, rather than his wife sending the correspondence.

Mr. Harrington’s study door is cracked open, the sound of papers shuffling to and fro on his desk as the butler enters. He briefly glances up to find Campbell, “Happen to know where I put those contracts, Campbell?”

“Perhaps the drawer on the left, sir.”

Mr. Harrington pulls the drawer open, “Right you are, good man.” And thereby loses himself to perusing the documents and thus ignoring Campbell.

“A letter has arrived for you sir,” He says stepping closer to the desk, “From Mr. Fairchild, it seems rather urgent. I have his footman waiting for your reply.”

“Hmm, well let’s have it then.”

He takes the letter from the butler’s hand and slips the blade of the letter opener under the paper. Retrieving the missive, he scans through it quickly, lips pulling down in distaste.

“See to it that Mrs. Harrington gets this,” He instructs, pulling out a new sheaf of paper and beginning his correspondence. “If she wishes to see my reply, she best be quick about it.”

The letter itself detailed the unfortunate meeting between Mr. Fairchild’s sister and Mr. Harrington’s only son. The man was understandably concerned about how it would seem should someone have happened upon them sans chaperone, as the young lady had yet to make her debut into society.

Mr. Harrington’s reply was cordial in an attempt to smooth things over— the Fairchilds, like the Harrington’s were of good stock, two families of the New York Four Hundred deemed to be unblemished and acceptable company by none other than the Grande Dame herself, Mrs. Astor. It wouldn’t be fitting for reputations to be sullied as the result of a simple misunderstanding.

As expected, Samuel’s wife, Amelia, swanned into the study seemingly in the midst of her morning toilette. Her hair was up, but she still wore her housecoat as her day dress had yet to be put on by her lady’s maid. Mr. Fairchild’s letter waved about in one hand, while the other pressed upon her chest as if to stop her racing heart.

“That boy of yours is going to give me heart failure.”

Samuel signs the letter with a flourish and lays his pen to the side.

“Oh, so he’s only my boy when he acts indiscreetly with the fairer sex, but he’s your son when he’s winning accolades at Harvard and breaking hearts abroad, is that it?”

She tuts and sits demurely on the divan, “Well, yes. Precisely that Sam.” She fans herself with the letter as her husband leans against his desk. “The social set have already written him off as a lost cause and we can ill afford a whisper of a scandal, especially now.”

Sam passes the reply to his wife and pauses, as if to choose his words carefully.

“Still moving forward with your plans to find Steven a wife then?”

“Of course, dear,” She answers brusquely, “There are many suitable ladies this season of decent breeding and passable looks.” She glances up and passes the letter back to him. “Your response is sufficient, send it off with the footman.”

Amelia rises from the divan and turns to leave. “Wake Steven and have a talk with him will you? I’ll send Maude out to the florist, he should write a note of apology for her to send along.”

“As you wish, dear.”

Amelia leaves just as abruptly as she appeared. Samuel sighs and furrows his brow, the inklings of a headache coming on. He taps his fingers against the desk and checks the time.

“Campbell,” He calls into the hall, “Have Calvin wake Steven and tell him to see my in the study.”

“Of course, sir.”

He takes a seat and settles himself behind the desk once more.

“And have Cook send something up? Coffee and breakfast for two.”

Awaiting the arrival of his son, Samuel Harrington turns and faces the bay of windows that look out onto the street below. He watches as Fairchild’s footman hops on the back of the coach and slides from his view. He contemplates his son’s options, admittedly there are few.

Such are the advantages and disadvantages in marrying a woman who’s as sly as a fox. It’s just a matter of out-maneuvering her; an entertaining and seemingly endless chess match that’s lasted even longer than their marriage.

But the silver lining in all this, he supposes, is that Steven Harrington, their sole child and heir, just so happens to take after his father in this respect, in that he’s crazy like a fox.

Funny how things work out, isn’t it?

As for the young Mr. Harrington, well, suffice it to say he had quite the morning. The newly arrived Miss Fairchild, however, had a luxurious start to her day (that is, if one discounts the pulling and pinning of hair, the tugging on of stockings and tightening of corset laces).

You joined your brother and sister-in-law in the dining room while another maid fixed a plate of breakfast for you; Pierce, the butler, stepped in to pour the coffee. You thanked them both and broke your fast, listening as Christopher and Marian discussed the events of the day.

“I’ll need to see to the accounts today,” Your brother said, turning his newspaper with a shake. “Everything should be in order before the ball this weekend.”

Marian nodded and sipped from her coffee cup. “I have some calls to make today, and thought Nell could accompany me.”

Christopher slowly lowers his newspaper and glances your way— don't feel obligated to do this, you haven’t been properly introduced into society yet.

Buying time, you take a bite from the flaky croissant on your plate and ruminate. In a way, both Chris and Marian are correct; you aren’t obligated to escort Mrs. Fairchild, nor would it be wise to turn down an informal introduction to those in Marian’s circle. She would, after all, be serving as your chaperone, and, along with your brother, introducing you to Manhattan high society on Friday at the ball.

Your debutante ball, to be precise.

At the time, Vassar was a welcome distraction and reprieve for being paraded around like a prize calf at auction. But then came the unfortunate illness and demise of your parents, followed by a year of mourning.

It would seem that your time of delay had finally come to its end.

After all, no one wanted a spinster for a bride.

Dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin, you clear your throat and brace yourself.

“That sounds lovely, Marian. I’d be happy to escort you today.”

She smiles and makes to reply, but before she can open her mouth to do so, a knock sounds from the front door. Puzzled, the three of you glance at one another, clearly not expecting a caller at such an early hour.

Pierce nods to someone by the door, bidding him to open it. He quickly returns with a beautiful arrangement of flowers, only to set them to your right and hand you a card. Baffled, you take in the spray of purple orchids, white tulips, lemon geraniums, the sprigs of rosemary, and tucked away behind the hearty green stalks, the shy blooms of forget-me-nots.

Respect, sincerity, an unexpected meeting, remembrance, and affection.

“Well,” Marian prompts from across the table, “Who are they from?”

It’s only then that you recall the card in your outstretched hand. Slipping from your reverie, you thumb open the small envelope.

Miss Fairchild—

Please accept my sincere apologies for our run-in yesterday evening. I hope it did not startle you. I’ve liaised with your brother about the repairs, and in the meantime will give you use of my equipage and pray it will suffice. I also hope that you’ll enjoy the flowers and please know that they relay my deepest and most sincere sentiments.

Cordially yours,

Steven Harrington

P.S. Je vous prie d’accepter mes sincères regrets et ma sympathie à l’occasion du décès de votre proches.

For the remainder of the week, Steve was a bundle of nerves. He’d written the note as his mother asked and even went so far as to accompany her to the florist, managing to slip in a few blooms that complemented the arrangement nicely. And if his mother didn’t happen to notice the errant sprigs of blue or the lingering scent of rosemary, then so much the better.

What he didn’t anticipate was the lack of a response.

“It isn’t done,” Miss Robin Buckley reminded him on their promenade in Central Park. “Until she is out to society, her brother is no doubt keeping her under lock and key.”

“You could provide the introduction,” He points out petulantly. “You’re choosing not to in order to entertain yourself with my suffering.”

“You cad,” She swats at him with her fan. “And no, I cannot. There’s a reason I fled to France after my disastrous debut, as you well know.”

And thus, Steve resigned himself to pining for a woman who barely knew of his existence, while the eligible bachelors of New York bided their time until her debut at the ball.

“For what it’s worth,” Robin says carefully as they round a bend, “There have been many deliveries to the Fairchild House, but yours was the first.”

He warms at the thought.

“That has to count for something, I suppose.”

She grins, “It will.”

They continue to walk, grateful for the brief break in the weather and discuss the evening’s festivities: who will wear what, how many dances until Robin steps on someone’s toes, how ostentatious the new money Vanderbilts will be.

They exit the park, parting ways as their carriages await. Robin catches a curious expression on her friend’s face, both dreamy and apprehensive. She lays a gloved hand on his arm.

“À cœur vaillant rien d'impossible.”

Steve glances down and says with a playful smirk, “Qui vivra verra.”

On Friday afternoon, Marian and Marie carefully assess your gown while Louisa dashes to and fro with the pearls, no the diamonds.

“Sapphires? No, that would ruin the effect.” Marian muses and Marie agrees.

You, by the by, are seated on the bed in a chemise and loosened corset, bored stiff, as the two hem and haw over how to best display you for the ball.

Because that’s all this is really, an overblown dog and pony show in which you’ll be paraded around and shown off to great effect all to attract suitors. It was enough to make one queasy. God forbid a woman do anything on her own or without the approval of a man.

As if men ever did anything worth doing that a woman didn’t have to make right.

Having quite enough of their chatter, you shrug into a robe and pull its sash tight, toe on some slippers and make your way down the hall. At the end of the corridor, you spy the cracked door to Christopher’s study. He’s shuffling papers and muttering to himself as you slip inside.

“I think the accounts can handle themselves for the evening,” you say with a smirk, settling yourself on a chair by the window.

He chuckles, “I suppose you’re right, clever girl.” Sorting the papers into a single file, he looks up at you with a quirked brow. “Had enough of Marian’s prodding, I take it?”

You sigh and dramatically cast your head back, “That’s the worst of it— they haven’t even begun!” Warming at his familiar laughter, you continue: “If I’d known that this is what I’d be subjected to, I would’ve stayed in France.”

Chris studies you at that; your weary sigh, crossed arms, and face a mask. Can’t make heads or tails of if you’re serious or not. Is it too soon? Did you still need time to mourn Maman and Papa? But then your debut had been delayed so much already…

“Is that what you want?”

It’s a question you hadn’t expected from him. But suddenly you’re reminded that he’s your brother, the only family you have left in the world. The man who dropped everything and took the first ship bound for France to be with you at your parents’ deathbed. He had insisted you stay at the house in Paris until you’d recovered your own strength and sent Marian and Gus to keep you company while he saw to business at home.

And knowing him as well as you do, Chris wouldn’t ask something idly.

So you choose your next words carefully.

“I no longer trouble myself with wants.”

The lightest dusting of snow begins to gather on the windowpane. Soon enough, all of the city would look like a snow globe. A perfect winter wonderland for the evening’s festivities, and your favorite kind of weather— snow makes everything look softer somehow, muffles the sound, and blankets the world in swaths of pure white. Your mother adored snow, had somehow convinced you and Chris that she could smell when it was about to begin. And maybe that’s why you’ve taken a shine to it now.

Turning from the window with a small smile, you rise to exit the study and get ready for the night. Leaving your elder brother puzzling over your parting phrase.

Steve could hardly forget your first meeting, but seeing you that evening nearly eclipsed the recollection. Without a cape and no longer in the purples and grays of half-mourning, you were quite a sight to behold.

And he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Several men from the club, Hargrove, Hagan, and Byers, were scattered around the room sizing up the competition just as he was. Somehow, Edward Munson had been granted an invitation— with his railroad money and lack of pedigree. Regardless of social standing, each eligible bachelor in the room was jockeying for position; who would be the first introduction, the first dance, did her eyes fall on him or the man to his left?

Steve was well-versed in this routine, he’d been to enough debutante balls to last a veritable lifetime. Usually, he’d enter and make the necessary greetings before grabbing a refreshment and picking a wall to lean on because god help him if he was going to actually dance more than the bare minimum required.

But in this instance, things were different.

Namely, that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since that fateful night. Despite the lack of interest from you (which was to be expected, really), he couldn’t help but think of you fondly. Descending from your coach to check on your driver and the horses, shivering in the evening chill, voice soft and sleep-worn.

There was also the fact that his mother was hovering somewhere behind him. She’d oh so fortunately seen Mrs. Fairchild as she was making her social calls earlier in the week and had received an informal introduction to you. She’d said as much at dinner that day and ever since then, she’d been subtly laying the groundwork for a possible courtship.

And as much as Steve did not want to bow to his mother’s machinations, he also desperately wanted an introduction with you. So he sips his drink and observes the goings on around him his attention turning to the grand staircase as someone announces:

“Presenting Miss Eleanor Joséphine Fairchild, escorted by her brother Mr. Christopher Fairchild.”

The symphony starts up as you descend the stairs to polite applause on the arm of your brother, eyes demure and downcast, your subtly rouged lips pulling into a soft smile. And Steve can hardly breathe— it’s as if the world slowed and went fuzzy at the edges, everything and everyone falling by the wayside save for you.

Because you are positively incandescent; beautifully angelic in your finery and reminiscent of Venus emerging from her shell. He feels as if he’s been struck, a warmth radiating in his chest, and wouldn’t be surprised to find one of Cupid’s golden arrows lodged there. And Steve knows a little of desire, of wanton lust; he is, after all, a man of privilege in a world that caters to his whims. But while this feels reminiscent of that— the heat, the wanting— there is also, oddly, restraint.

All eyes are on you as your brother leads you across the floor, smiling politely at those assembled, eyes never staying on one person for too long. You’re playing nice, presenting an unimpeachable image of the demure lady, it wouldn’t be done to favor one gentleman this evening. In fact, it would send the wrong message entirely.

Everyone present knows this; it is a game often played in polite society, even if its ramifications are— how shall we say it?— best left behind closed doors.

“A lamb and her shepherd,” His mother says, voice pitched low for only him to hear. “Bo-Peep will soon abandon his charge, and that, Steven, is when you will make your introduction.”

It’s all he can do to school his features and recede into himself; eyes glassy and blank, face a mask. Polite and charming, affable even. And while his mother thinks she is being helpful, it’s hard not to believe she isn’t pouring poison in his ear. Half expects her to say something akin to, “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't.”

She doesn’t, and for that he is grateful. Instead, she melts away into the background and loops her arm through his father’s. And, sure enough, your brother does eventually leave your side only to be replaced by Mrs. Fairchild, who slips your wrist through a dainty loop of cream ribbon with a dance card and a small pencil attached.

The room stills, a pack of wolves lying in wait. Drinks are set aside, conversations cease; Amelia gives her son an unceremonious push forward, her gloved hand on his shoulder tipping him toward the inevitable. Steve nearly stumbles from the shock of it all.

Because in one moment he’s just another man in the crowd, an eligible bachelor at yet another ball prepared to drink the night away. And in the next, his eyes lock with yours, and he feels himself falling. It’s hopeless to fight it, this gravitational pull you seem to have over him; haven’t exchanged even two words, and he’s already in your thrall.

He can see your chest rise with your sharp intake of breath, eyes widening at his approach. Steve’s trying not to spook you, really he is. He thinks back to his favored horse, Balius, the clomping hooves and fierce breaths, tries to calm you in the same manner— a slow approach, a small smile, and soft words.

And while he would never bow to the stubborn dappled stallion, Steve does bow to you and says, “Steven Harrington, a pleasure to meet you officially Miss Fairchild.”

Your eyes light in recognition, of his name or him he cannot tell. But you curtsy all the same and offer him your hand, as etiquette dictates. He takes it gladly, marvelling at the fine fabric of gloves adorning it. His finger finds the racing pulse on the underside of your wrist, running along it slowly.

Another sharp intake of breath at the sensation, a heat skittering underneath your skin as his fingers loop around your wrist, your pulse thudding in their wake.

He opens the booklet and takes his time writing his name, well aware at the gathering of eligible suitors at his back. He’s loathe to release your hand and leave you to all of this, the wolves at the gate, but as much as he wants to whisk you away from what is sure to be an uncomfortable and tiring evening, Steve is required, as is everyone else, to play the game.

And Steven Harrington is playing to win.

Mr. Harrington—

It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance this past Friday, and thank you for your presence. I do hope the evening passed pleasantly for you and my apologies for not seeing to you more frequently, but other obligations, as you well know, prohibited me from seeking your company. Furthermore, I must apologize for being remiss in not offering my sincerest gratitude for the lovely flowers and the gracious use of your equipage. You are truly a generous man, and I am grateful for your friendship.

Cordially yours,

Miss Fairchild

P.S. Merci pour le sauvetage de Monsieur C—. Je n'avais aucune idée sur sa relation avec Mademoiselle C—. J’espère que vote intercession ne reflétera pas mal sur vous. Je vous suis redevable.

Steve’s postscript: Please accept my sincerest and deepest condolences on the passing of your parents.

Nell’s postscript: Thank you for the rescue from Mr. C—. I had no idea about his relationship with Miss C—. I hope your intercession will not reflect poorly on you. I am in your debt.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #fic: cf & dd

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obsessedwhyyes · 5 days ago

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A Tale of Fools and Tricksters (2)

Chapter 2: Looking Glass

Summary: The lingering tendrils of Astarion's enchantment take Elysia firmly in their hold. His glances, his gestures - they must surely be signs laid out just for her. Determined, Elysia sets off to find the elusive ringmaster, but confrontation, mystery, and reflection await her instead.

Rating: M Chapter Word Count: 5134 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC Content: Alternative Universe (Circus), Ringmaster Astarion, mild horror elements, eventual smut, eventual romance, basically a big whimsical (slightly dark, slightly trippy) fairytale of an AU. Chapter 1 can be found here.

A/N: This is what I like to affectionately call, ‘The Delulu Chapter.’ She will only be insufferable for a little while, I promise. She’s just having her Alice in Wonderland phase - she’ll grow out of it.

A thousand breaths caught in perfect unison.

A thousand hearts skipped the same beat.

Gasp. Cheer.

Sigh. Swoon.

The sounds rippled through the crowd in perfect synchronicity, rising and falling like the tide.

Elysia couldn’t recall sitting down, nor how she’d come to be in this seat, surrounded once more by the plush velvet and soft murmur of the audience.

Thoughts of the past felt, simply, weightless, drifting beyond her reach.

She was here now. And that was all that mattered.

The Ringmaster spoke, with sweeping gestures befitting a man of such grandiose.

"Now, while I'm captivating enough on my own..."

Elysia's lips curved upward. She hadn't chosen to smile.

"... I suppose I should share the stage with our other little wonders. Our family has prepared something special for you tonight.”

With a flourish, his cane conjured a shimmering curtain of starlight. The glowing veil parted to reveal the first performer.

“May I present… Aurelia, mistress of flames.”

A woman stepped forward, her crimson and gold costume gleaming like embers as hoops of fire encircled her body. The flames licked and coiled around her, alive, feral, yet completely under her control.

Elysia’s heart fluttered. Aurelia was extraordinary.

But she wasn't Astarion.

“... Leon, who gives weight to dreams.”

The strongman emerged next, the stage dimming as his large frame became the focal point. His arms, broad and powerful, lifted a shimmering, gilded ring that seemed impossibly heavy, its edges glimmering as it reflected the light of Aurelia’s fire.

Elysia’s pulse quickened. Leon was a marvel.

But he didn't wear the crowd’s adoration like Astarion wore his charm.

“... And Violet, who dances between stars.”

A silver hoop descended from above, and Violet with it. Suspended high in the air and wrapped with silks, she moved with an ethereal grace, her body twisting and arching as though weightless.

Elysia couldn't help but gasp. Violet was breathtaking.

But she didn't enchant like Astarion did.

He stood apart, just behind the performers, his cane in hand, mask gleaming faintly in the ethereal glow. He wasn't the one leaping or spinning or commanding the elements. Yet, he was the axis on which everything turned; the force that made the whole performance possible.

His eyes found hers in the crowd as she watched him.

Or did she imagine that?

Surely he saw her.

Surely he felt it too.

Elysia had often wondered if love at first sight truly existed.

Often, she told herself it was simply the fancy of poets and dreamers, a comforting illusion woven to make life feel fuller. No - to Elysia, love was something that grew slowly, like tending a garden through the seasons. Something that needed patience and time to truly take root.

Yet here, now, she had never been so certain of its existence.

Was it not love to hold a person the way Astarion held her? To pull her close, until her world narrowed to his smile, his lips, his gaze? He was like a vision from a dream half-remembered, and he held her there, suspended, bound by starlight and shadow, captivated.

Yes. Yes, this was surely love.

If it wasn't love, what else could it be?

The performers took their positions. At Astarion's signal, they began.

They moved as one, their acts weaving seamlessly together like threads in an intricate tapestry. Violet soared through the air on her silver hoop, her silks trailing in elegant arcs as Aurelia’s flaming rings spiralled around her, fire and starlight intertwining. Below, Leon’s gilded ring spun like a celestial anchor, catching and refracting the light as Violet leapt from her perch, her movements mirrored by the rise and fall of the flames. A dance of fire, silk, and shadow. Three acts became one impossible dance.

The stage was like a living dream. It compelled her to...

Rise.

The audience stood.

Lean forward.

Their bodies tilted as one.

Hold your breath.

Elysia's lungs burned with the others'.

A thousand faces turned at once, a thousand smiles stretched in unison.

The finale built higher as a crescendo of daring and grace. Violet dove through a ring of flames, her silks igniting in a burst of golden light as Leon caught her descent.

Colours blurred. Sounds merged.

Fire and shadow. Music and motion.

How long had it been since Elysia felt this light? This free? The weight that normally pressed against her shoulders - responsibility, duty, the relentless presence of death - had dissolved like morning mist in the summer sun. Here, she felt as though nothing could touch her. Not grief, nor guilt.

Looking at the audience, she saw faces slack with wonder, eyes glazed with absolute adoration. They were gleeful in their rapture, yet none of them had danced with him as she had. None had felt his magic against their skin, the intimate press of starlight binding them together.

None of them had what Elysia had with Astarion. Of that much, she was certain.

Fire and starlight spiralled together as the performers created their final masterpiece of the night.

Then everything stopped.

Light itself seemed to hold its breath. Violet hung suspended between earth and sky, caught in Leon's impossible hold. Aurelia's flames froze mid-flicker, crystallising into fractals of burning light. For one eternal moment, reality balanced on a knife's edge.

At Astarion's gesture, the frozen tableau shattered into pure starlight. The performers emerged from the glittering cascade, moving in perfect synchronisation as they took their final bow. Above them, the last fragments of their magic rained down like falling stars.

The audience erupted in applause.

Elysia’s hands moved to clap with them before she realised.

She couldn’t resist. She would never want to resist.

“Thank you, thank you, dear souls.” Astarion held his hand to his chest, dipping his head once more in a theatrical bow that made the light catch in his silvery hair. “May your dreams find you, even as you find yourselves.”

His gaze swept the audience one last time.

Elysia could have sworn his eyes rested on her for just a moment longer than the others.

The slight tilt of his head, the way his fingers traced the handle of his cane - they can't have been mere gestures.

They must have been a silent invitation. A promise.

Elysia could never miss such glaring signs, clearly made just for her.

The need to understand, to unravel the mystery surrounding him, pulled at her, stronger than the remnants of the spellbinding performance.

It wasn’t just curiosity - it was a hunger. To know him - to be near him - felt as necessary as breathing.

Astarion was leading. Elysia must follow.

As the lights dimmed, the audience, still humming with awe, began to drift toward the exit, their faces glazed with dreamlike adoration. But Elysia hung back for just a moment before beginning her descent towards the stage on subtle steps, her gaze fixed on the velvet curtain where Astarion and the performers had disappeared. Her breath caught as she saw them slip through, leaving a ripple in the fabric.

But what caught her attention was the faint, rhythmic chime that followed each figure as they passed through the curtain.

Her eyes narrowed. Bells. A line of small, silver bells was strung along the top of the curtain, barely visible unless you were looking for them. They swayed gently with each movement, their delicate chimes swallowed by the crowd’s applause. The purpose was clear: the faintest disturbance would alert those beyond.

Clever, she thought. But it was not enough to deter her.

Elysia’s heart could never be deterred.

She studied the curtain for a moment longer. The performers moved with such grace that the bells just barely sang as they passed. The key was clearly precision, not speed.

She waited until the crowd’s murmurs swelled, the noise rising like a tide. Then, as carefully as a surgeon threading a needle, she slipped forward. Her steps were deliberate, her movements measured. She placed her hands on the edge of the curtain, just below the bells, and pushed it aside with the lightest touch, letting the fabric shift naturally around her.

The bells quivered. Elysia froze, holding her breath.

But no sound came.

She sighed in relief.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she eased herself through the opening, the dim light of the backstage area welcoming her into its shadows. She let the curtain fall back into place, the bells swaying gently above her head.

No one had noticed. Yet.

The backstage air was a stark contrast from the grand theatrics of the stage area - muted, cooler, dimly lit by flickering lanterns. The faint scent of smoke and incense tickled her nose as she pressed herself against the nearest wall. For a moment, she allowed herself a quiet breath, her heart still racing.

She made it in.

Now, she just had to find him.

Elysia moved deeper into the warren of corridors, each step careful and measured. This place felt like another world entirely - a place where magic shed its glamour and revealed its seams. Props leaned against walls like sleeping creatures. Costumes hung from hooks like shed skins, still holding the shape of their wearers.

Gaps in curtains revealed brief glimpses of the performers as she explored. There was something oddly intimate about seeing them outside the allure of their performance - like seeing a bird folding its wings after flight.

But then a familiar voice caught Elysia’s attention.

Following the sound, she found herself near an ornate door left slightly ajar, golden light spilling through the gap. She pressed herself against the wall beside it, drawn forward by the familiar cadence of his voice.

Astarion. She had found him.

Though, his voice was accompanied by another.

“... and there you go again.” This other voice - it too was familiar, though dripping with barely contained contempt. “Such pride from someone who–”

“Who actually holds their attention?” Astarion cut in. “Yes, how terribly proud of me. Tell me, Petras - how does it feel to be forgotten the moment I take the stage?”

Petras. The name stirred something within Elysia, but she couldn’t work out what. Had they met before?

"At least I know my place," Petras spat. "I don't delude myself with dreams of–"

"Delude myself?" Astarion's laugh held no humour. "How amusing, coming from someone who spends his nights rehearsing my routine. Tell me - has my shadow filed a complaint yet? Though I suppose it must be used to you chasing it by now.”

Elysia risked a glance through the gap and had to stifle a gasp.

The dressing room was filled with mirrors. They were everywhere: lining the walls, standing on ornate frames, creating an illusion of infinite space. Each reflection caught and multiplied the candlelight, creating a kaleidoscope effect that was both beautiful and disorienting. She caught a glimpse of the two men, and the contrast in them was uncanny. Petras’s simple gold mask seemed plain, almost crude, compared to the intricate filigree of Astarion's.

"You forget yourself," Petras said. "The master has schedules for a reason. And when you deviate–"

"The master," Astarion's voice took on a strange tone, "has more pressing concerns than your petty jealousies over a few minutes' delay, don’t you think? Or have you forgotten last month’s little incident?"

Silence as Petras’s words seemed to fail him momentarily.

This was it. This was Elysia’s chance.

"I’m sorry to intrude." she stepped forward tentatively as she spoke, her voice hopeful. "I hoped I might find you..."

Both men turned sharply in her direction.

Astarion’s fingers brushed the silver filigree at his throat before smoothing out the coif of his hair in one fluid motion. "My, my… aren't you the determined one?"

Petras appeared rather vindicated. "The master needs to hear about this.”

"Must he? And I suppose you'll explain how she got past your... what was it you called it? Your 'enhanced security measures'?"

The blond man stiffened. "I hardly think–"

“No, you so rarely do.” Astarion's smile didn't waver, but his eyes kept darting to the shadows behind Elysia. "Perhaps we should discuss your recent performance evaluations while we're at it?"

Something in the threat landed. Petras's eager reporting instinct warred visibly with self-preservation. After a moment of tense silence, he backed towards the door, pausing only to give Elysia a look that might even have been pity if it hadn’t looked so much like bitter indignation.

Elysia found herself quickly irked by him.

“This isn't over, Astarion,” Petras said as he slipped out the room, punctuated by the sound of the door latch clicking into place as he closed it.

Being alone with Astarion felt different than she'd imagined - more real somehow. Her heart fluttered against her chest like a trapped bird.

But she was nothing if not determined. She knew she was right where she needed to be.

His smile brightened, though there was a tightness to it that Elysia couldn't quite place. “Forgive the uncouth display, darling. Some people simply can't help but be tiresome.”

"I came as quickly as I could," Elysia said quickly, watching as his fingers drifted again to his collar, then to adjust his already-perfect hair. “I know I should’ve waited for a proper introduction, but sometimes…” She felt heat rise to her cheeks at her own boldness. “Sometimes the heart knows when something is important.”

"You know," he began, "most admirers content themselves with flowers. Or swooning. Swooning is traditional. But you had to make things interesting, didn't you?"

"I suppose I'm not very traditional." Elysia smiled, her heart fluttering as he approached. In the mirrors surrounding them, a thousand reflections of Astarion moved in perfect synchronisation. And Elysia’s reflection was there with him.

They were a study in contrasts - Elysia in her simple dress and blouse seemed grounded and unadorned, like earth; Astarion, in his intricate attire, was otherworldly in his theatrical splendour. Yet somehow the juxtaposition felt right - as though her very plainness made his ethereal beauty more striking, while his presence lent her simplicity a kind of grace.

Her lips parted as the thought flitted through her mind: We look good together.

“Our dance earlier - I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“Few have. The magic of the festival is rather unique, wouldn’t you say?”

"And the way you commanded the stage..." Elysia began, but something in his posture made her pause. Even in the mirrors, she could see the slight tension in his shoulders.

"Command?" His laugh was almost musical. “Darling, I merely... suggest. Guide. Though speaking of guidance..." His eyes darted again to the shadows behind her, quick as a heartbeat. "You realise, of course, that I'm being remarkably generous about this whole affair. Most who find their way backstage discover a far less..." Another touch of his collar. "...accommodating reception."

Elysia’s pulse steadied, her smile turning faintly knowing. Of course, he had to maintain this necessary pretence - charm wrapped in formality, words dipped in grace. It wasn’t for her benefit, not truly. After all, what would the others think if they knew he'd invited someone backstage? No, these little warnings were just another performance, meant for any eyes that might be watching. Beneath it all she could feel it - something unspoken.

"I know this is a little unconventional…”

"Unconventional? What a delicate way to phrase it. You do have quite the gift for making impropriety sound almost charming."

Elysia’s smile faltered as she met his gaze. “I just thought…” Her voice softened, the words catching like a hesitant breath. “I thought you wanted me to find you. It– it felt like I had to.”

Why? The question rose sharp and sudden in her mind. The urgency that had drawn her here felt familiar somehow, like an old song played in a different key.

“And here I thought I was the one with a penchant for dramatics,” Astarion said. “You give me far too much credit, my dear.”

His words were laced with humour, yet, he hadn’t denied it. The pull she’d felt couldn’t have been imagined. It was too strong, too undeniable. Surely he had wanted her to find him. Surely he’d left some trace, some sign meant just for her.

Hadn’t he?

Her lips parted, but the words she wanted to say dissolved before they could take shape. She glanced away, her gaze catching on the mirrors around them. Her reflection stared back infinitely, as though mocking her uncertainty.

And Astarion… there was something tight in the way he held himself now, like a performer who'd spotted a crack in their stage.

"Come, darling. Let’s not tempt fate by lingering here any longer. You’ve already wandered somewhere terribly dangerous.”

He took a step closer, his presence commanding her attention as though he’d physically pulled her from her thoughts.

That silken voice.

That perfect presence.

He's so close.

Her thoughts - those pesky doubts - scattered like startled birds.

He offered her his arm, a gesture so effortlessly charming that it made her heart flutter.

He was right.

Of course, he was right.

There was nothing for her here.

Only him.

And so she followed.

She hesitated for only a moment before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. His closeness brought with it a scent she hadn't noticed before - herbal and bright, with citrus and the faintest hint of something darker, richer; elegant as everything else about him. The kind of scent that made you want to lean closer, to search for its source. It took all her composure not to do exactly that.

"Consider this a gift. My generosity in exchange for your… discretion.”

He paused at the room’s threshold, glancing as though expecting something to appear from the shadows. “Shall we? The night market is particularly enchanting at this hour. All manner of delights to distract from more... dangerous pursuits."

"The night market?" Something about his insistence made her heart beat faster.

The dim lantern light flickered as he escorted her through winding corridors, throwing his silhouette into sharp relief against the shadows.

"Oh, the things you'll see there," he continued, speaking faster. "Delicacies that would make your finest confectioners weep. Treasures that would make merchants' hearts stop. All manner of pretty little diversions. Much more interesting than these tired old backrooms.”

His steps were swift. Hasty.

Elysia fought to keep pace.

“And of course,” he said suddenly, his voice carrying a cheerfulness that teetered on the edge of too bright, “there’s a spectacular display of silks at one of the stalls. Ah, you’d adore them - exquisite craftsmanship, really, though I must admit I’ve never been terribly partial to magenta myself.”

The sounds of laughter and music drew closer.

He glanced at her briefly, his eyes catching the light before darting back ahead. “Oh, and Dalyria with her card readings, the truths she reveals are quite– ah, but did I mention the night market?”

“You did.”

“Well, it bears repeating,” he replied too quickly. “Because it truly is a marvel. So much to see. So much to enjoy.”

The cane in his free hand tapped out a rhythm that didn't quite match his steps.

“Perfectly harmless, of course,” he added, his gaze darting briefly to the shadows behind them, before he turned back to her with another dazzling smile.

They emerged from behind the heavy curtains into the festival proper, where the eternal twilight cast everything in soft, dreamy hues. Something about the change in lighting made the shadows under his eyes more pronounced – had those been there during the performance?

"There now," Astarion said. His fingers found his collar one final time before dropping away. "Isn't this better? All the wonder, none of the... complications. Though do remember, darling - you now owe me quite the favour."

"Will I see you again?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Astarion stilled for the briefest moment, his smile frozen in place. Then he laughed.

"Oh, darling, the festival has a way of bringing people together, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t fret too much about when or how."

His answer wasn’t what she wanted, and something in her bristled. "That’s not what I meant," she said. "I think… I think I need to see you again."

That made him pause, his eyes catching hers. There was something almost imperceptible in his gaze - whether it was curiosity or resignation, Elysia couldn’t tell.

"Need is such a dangerous word," he murmured, tilting his head just slightly. "You sound so certain, yet you hardly know me."

"But I do..."

Did she? The thought disappeared as quickly as it came.

"... I feel like I do," she continued, looking to her feet.

"Do you, now?" he asked, his voice soft, almost indulgent. “What is it you think you see in me?”

“I…”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he closed the space between them in an instant. He reached out, his fingers brushing her chin, tilting her head so she was forced to meet his gaze. Her breath caught, the world narrowing until there was only him.

He leaned in, his gaze holding her captive. “Or perhaps you don’t see at all. Perhaps there’s something else you want.” His hold on her jaw firmed for a moment. “Ah. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her chest tightened, heat rising to her cheeks as she struggled to find her voice, but it was useless.

He held her gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

But then he sighed.

"I thought so," he said quietly, almost to himself. "They always do."

He stepped back, his hand falling away.

"You’re bold, love," Astarion said at last. "It’s a charming trait, truly. But sometimes boldness gets people hurt."

"I’m not afraid.” Elysia held his gaze as steadily as she could muster.

"Of course you’re not," he replied, his smile broadening slightly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Fear rarely has a place here. It’s part of the magic, you see. But magic is just smoke and mirrors, isn’t it? It’s the truth underneath that tends to cut."

She felt the weight of his words but couldn’t fully grasp their meaning. His presence seemed to drown out everything else.

"The festival is a place for dreams, my dear," he said, taking a step back and sweeping into a graceful bow. "Don’t waste yours chasing shadows."

And then he was gone. The ripple of velvet curtains was the only trace of his departure as he returned to the shadows of the Big Top.

Elysia was alone.

The festival’s brilliance seemed to dim in his absence, its colours muted, its magic just a little less potent.

The crowd moved around her, their faces alight with joy and wonder, yet, with the Ringmaster gone, she felt curiously untethered. She glanced up at the sky, expecting some shift in its eternal dusk, but it remained unchanged. The colours of twilight bled together seamlessly, the horizon a perpetual liminal space between day and night.

Just how much time had passed?

A flicker of movement at the edge of Elysia’s vision caught her attention. She turned her head - an elderly woman brushed past her, a golden locket swinging from her neck.

Elysia blinked, confusion blooming in her chest. She looked strangely familiar.

The realisation came slowly. She had seen this woman before - on the journey to the festival. In the carriage. But the details of that memory felt slippery, like trying to grasp water in her hands. The more she reached for it, the more it eluded her.

Her movements were strange, almost mechanical, as though her body remembered how to walk but her mind had forgotten why. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, and her lips moved soundlessly.

Elysia’s heart stirred with unease. She didn’t know why, but the sight of the woman set her teeth on edge. She couldn’t name the feeling, only that it was urgent and wrong. Her instincts flared, urging her to follow, even as another part of her hesitated.

It doesn’t matter. She’s not your concern.

No, Elysia thought. That’s not right, is it?

Elysia’s steps moved before she could think, her feet carrying her toward the woman. She didn’t know what she hoped to accomplish. But the woman needed help. Elysia didn’t know how she knew that - she didn’t know much of anything anymore - but the certainty burned fiercely in her chest.

“Excuse me! Miss?” she called. “Wait, please!”

The woman didn’t respond.

Elysia pushed through the thinning crowd. The further she followed, the harder it became to focus. It was like wading through molasses, her thoughts sticky and sluggish, her body pulling toward retreat.

The woman turned down a dim, narrow path that branched away from the bright stalls. Elysia froze at its threshold. The glow of the festival barely reached this place, its light casting weak, flickering shadows that clung to the walls like cobwebs. Something about this place felt hidden. Forbidden.

But the woman was already disappearing into its depths.

“Wait!” Elysia called again, stepping onto the path despite the gnawing unease in her chest.

Go back. It’s not your ti–

No. She’s unwell.

Her legs kept moving. Her pulse raced. It thrummed in her ears as she quickened her pace.

The path twisted unpredictably, narrowing with every turn. The vibrant energy of the festival dimmed further with each step, the laughter and music fading into a distant hum. The air smelled stale, yet sickly-sweet.

A glint caught Elysia’s eye.

The locket around the woman’s neck caught the light as it tumbled to the ground. She didn’t seem to notice.

Elysia bent to retrieve the locket, its metal surprisingly cold against her palm. When she looked up again, the woman was already disappearing down a narrow corridor she hadn't noticed before - a space between tents that seemed to fold in on itself, as though reality had developed a crease.

"Wait!" She started forward, locket clutched tight. "Please, your–"

The passage seemed to narrow as she followed, the walls of fabric pressing in until she had to turn sideways to continue. Each step forward made her heart beat faster, a creeping anxiety that whispered she should turn back, return to the lights and music and…

The thought slipped away as she caught sight of something ahead - not the woman, but a glint of light where there shouldn't be any. A broken mirror propped against what might have been a wall, its surface reflecting impossibly deep shadows. Something about its angle seemed wrong, as though it were reflecting a space that didn't exist.

She reached out, meaning only to steady herself against its frame.

But then her hand went through.

And then, she was tumbling.

The fall lasted both forever and no time at all.

Darkness rushed past her like silk against her skin. Stars wheeled overhead, though there was no sky - only the endless sensation of tumbling through space. The air grew thick, sweet, then suddenly thin, as though she were passing through layers of different worlds.

But then she landed as though caught by unseen hands, placed in a world that was eerily still.

When she stood, she found herself in a sprawling room filled with broken reflections. Mirrors upon mirrors. But they were broken, fractured, warped, split into jagged shards.

She moved through the space carefully, each step stirring motes of dust.

Around her lay forgotten remnants of the festival - tattered banners drooping limply from hooks and, scattered like silent witnesses, old stuffed animals. Two of them caught her eye. Two foxes, one bound tightly in rusted shackles. It seemed so small, its fur faded to a dull grey. The second fox lay unshackled, its chains broken and discarded at its feet. But it was no better off. Its seams were split, its stuffing spilling in soft piles onto the floor.

Her gaze flicked back to the rippling mirror she had stepped through. Unlike the others, it was untouched by age or damage, its liquid-like surface shimmering faintly in the dim light.

The air felt… different here. Clearer. Like breaking the surface after being underwater for too long - that first gasp that makes you realise how thick the water had been. Like waking from a dream you can't quite remember.

Like… shattering an illusion.

She took a step back. The clarity struck her like ice water. She could think here. The enormity of it made her stomach twist. What had been clouding her mind before? And why did the thought of returning to that haze terrify her as much as it tempted her?

Elysia pressed a hand to her heart, desperately trying to will away that ache that lingered in her chest.

Looking up, she saw her reflection watching her, the fractured edges of the mirrors around it splintering her image into countless fragments. Some stared back with clarity, others with a dazed, almost blissful expression. She reached out toward the nearest shard, then stopped herself, her hand trembling.

‘Lose yourself’…? She recalled Astarion’s words.

The foxes seemed to watch her in silence.

Astarion looked at his reflection in the mirror.

The Ringmaster stared back.

Isn't it funny how, with all these reflections, you can never truly see yourself?

He tilted his head slightly, studying the masked man before him. The sweep of his silver hair, the gleam of his skin, the curve of his lips - all perfect.

As they should be.

He sighed and allowed his gaze to drop, breaking the spell of his own stare.

He was alone.

As he should be.

His eyes fell to his hands. They rested on the dressing table, pale fingers curling loosely around the carved wood. Such pretty lies they weaved tonight.

The silence of the room pressed against his ears, but he welcomed it.

It was better this way.

No expectations. No deceptions.

His hands tightened on the table.

The sound came softly at first. A faint jingling. Like the rattling of bones.

His stomach twisted.

No.

It wasn't his turn.

The sound grew louder, steady and deliberate. The delicate chime of something unnatural.

It can't be my turn.

Mist began to coil at his feet, swirling around his boots. The sickly-sweet scent of it clung to the air.

He'd done the right thing. He'd kept his smile, he’d played his part.

As he always should.

The jingling stopped.

He willed his face into stillness, smooth and unreadable.

A new sound emerged, sharp and distinct.

Tap.

Pause.

Tap.

Pause.

Claws against wood. They tapped slowly against the wooden door frame behind him.

Astarion raised his head slowly, forcing himself to meet his reflection once more.

The Ringmaster. Perfectly composed. Perfectly in control.

A thousand masks, a thousand lies, and somewhere beneath them all, a scream that never ended.

But, in his periphery, he saw him.

Standing in the doorway, motionless, bathed in shadow.

Watching him.

Smiling.

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Masterlist can be found here!

#never not gonna be nervous af when uploading chapters of this haha #there's something about longfics that feels like you're baring your heart and soul #ah well!#hopefully you enjoy #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x female oc #bg3 fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion smut #bg3 #circus au #bg3 au #ringmasterstarion #a tale of fools and tricksters #baldur's gate 3

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pxnsneverland · 6 months ago

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Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 4)

(gif source: sluttyhenley)

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 2,548

warnings/notes:

Chapter 4: First Day in a New World

In her dreams, Violet navigated a maze of endless rooms, each more opulent and suffocating than the last. She ran her fingers along the silk wallpapers, the textures vivid even in her slumbering state, as whispers echoed off the gilded mirrors. The labyrinth seemed a perfect metaphor for the world she had been thrust into—a world where every luxury masked a hidden snare, where every friendly face might conceal a treacherous intent.

In one room, she found herself staring at a portrait that seemed oddly familiar. It was Austin, painted in stern strokes yet with an undeniable vulnerability bleeding through the canvas. As she gazed at it, the eyes in the painting flickered with life, beseeching her to understand, to pierce through the layers of aristocracy and see the man beneath. But before she could reach out, the scene shifted and she was back in the darkened carriage, feeling Austin's intense gaze upon her.

Violet woke with a start, her breath shallow, as dawn's gray light seeped through the carriage windows. She glanced over at Austin; he was still awake, staring out into the breaking day with an expression that was hard to read—was it contemplation or regret?

Austin's gaze shifted from the dawn's first light back to Violet, noticing her wakeful state. "Bad dreams?" he inquired, his voice gentle yet carrying an undertone of concern that seemed out of character for the guarded aristocrat she had so far perceived him to be.

Violet hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "Just...strange ones," she finally admitted, pushing back the haunting images of labyrinthine corridors and whispering shadows. Her voice was hoarse with sleep and latent anxiety, a testament to the unrest that plagued her both in wakefulness and in slumber.

Austin nodded solemnly, as if her words had confirmed something he already suspected. "Dreams can often be more telling than our waking thoughts," he said softly, though his eyes remained fixed on the view outside, where the landscape was changing rapidly as they approached his estate.

The carriage rolled through towering wrought iron gates, flanked by stone pillars that were cloaked in creeping ivy. Beyond lay a manicured path lined with ancient oaks and blossoming cherry trees, their petals fluttering like soft pink snowflakes in the mild breeze. The air was fresher here, tinged with the scent of earth and bloom. Violet felt a twinge of unease as the manor came into view. It was a grand structure of gray stone and towering spires that pierced the sky with Gothic elegance. Its windows glistened like eyes, reflecting the morning sun in blinding bursts. It seemed to watch her approach with an intensity that matched its owner’s.

As they drew closer, the details of the manor revealed themselves—ornate carvings framed each window and door, gargoyles perched on the roof's edges, their expressions twisted in silent screams or mocking grins. The beauty of it was undeniable, yet it also bore an oppressive air, as though each stone were imbued with whispers.

Violet's heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and trepidation as the carriage jolted slightly, marking their halt at the front steps of the manor. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and stepped down from the carriage, her worn shoes hitting the gravel with a soft crunch. The grandeur of Austin's manor unfolded before her in relentless waves. Each column, each archway, was a testament to both the might and the burden of wealth. The air around her felt heavy with history, each breath she took seemed laced with untold stories.

A line of servants awaited, their faces blank slates of practiced neutrality. As Violet ascended the stone steps, she noted how their eyes darted towards her — quick, furtive glances that seemed to size her up and place her in the social hierarchy that she knew nothing about. Her presence was an intrusion into their world, an anomaly in their otherwise orderly existence.

The wide doors opened silently as if by some unseen hand, revealing an entrance hall that dazzled in opulence. High ceilings arching into distant shadows gave way to walls adorned with intricate tapestries and paintings that whispered tales of grandeur and despair. The floor was a mosaic of marble tiles so polished she could see her reflection. Her gaze swept over the assembly of servants whose lives were tied to the whims of their master. A butler, austere in a perfectly tailored black coat with coattails that brushed his calves, stepped forward. His hair was silvered at the temples, matching the spectacles perched on his hawk-like nose. He carried an air of unflappable authority, the very embodiment of discipline and decorum.

Beside him stood a housekeeper, her dark hair drawn back into a severe bun that accentuated the sharp angles of her face. She wore a gray dress, its starched collar peeking out from beneath a black silk shawl draped over her shoulders—a matronly figure who, Violet sensed, ruled the indoor staff with a mix of maternal concern and iron resolve. A young valet hovered near the butler, his posture rigid with the eager tension of youth. His eyes brightened as they rested briefly on Violet, offering a silent promise of friendly allegiance amidst this sea of unfamiliar faces. Clad in a simple, yet immaculate suit, he seemed ready to leap to service at the slightest nod.

The butler cleared his throat softly, breaking the charged silence. "Miss Everly, welcome to Butler Manor," he intoned, his voice resonant and precise. "I am Mr. Pembroke, the butler here. Please allow me to introduce Mrs. Aldridge, our housekeeper."

Mrs. Aldridge stepped forward, her eyes appraising Violet with a scrutiny that made her feel momentarily like an exhibit rather than a guest. "We are honored to have you," she said, though her tone carried the faintest trace of reservation. Her gaze lingered on Violet's attire—a simple dress, faded from too many washes and mended in several places.

Violet felt a flush of self-consciousness but met Mrs. Aldridge’s gaze steadily. She had learned long ago that the directness of her eyes could be as effective a shield as any armor.

"And this is Thomas," Mr. Pembroke continued, nodding toward the young valet who had been eyeing Violet with curiosity. Thomas stepped forward, dipping into a respectful bow that seemed too grand for his youthful appearance.

"It's a pleasure, Miss," Thomas said, his voice betraying a hint of nervous excitement. "Should you need anything during your stay, please do not hesitate to ask."

Violet gave a small, awkward bow back. “Thank you, Thomas.” She glanced over at Austin who was now standing beside her. “How do they know my name?”

Austin smiled slightly and Violet noticed how it made his face look even younger. “I sent someone ahead to inform them. I wanted to make sure things were already in order.”

Violet nodded cautiously, feeling the weight of many eyes upon her as she followed Mr. Pembroke through the grand foyer and up a sweeping staircase. The opulence was suffocating, every detail from the gold leaf cornices to the plush red carpets screamed of wealth and excess. She could hardly believe such a world existed, let alone that she was stepping foot in it.

The echoing click of their footsteps rang out as they ascended to the residential floors. Portraits lined the walls, ancestors of Austin with stern faces and luxurious attire, watching over their modern-day descendants. Violet felt their gazes pressing down upon her, each one seeming to question her worthiness to tread these hallowed halls.

At the top of the stairs, they turned down a long corridor adorned with even more artwork and statues that spoke of ancient Greek and Roman grandeur. Finally, Mr. Pembroke stopped before a large door, its wood polished to a shine with intricate carvings around the handle.

"Your quarters," he announced, pushing open the door to reveal a room that took Violet's breath away.

The chamber was vast, with a ceiling painted like the sky at dusk, dark blues and purples mingling with stars. A massive four-poster bed stood against one wall, draped with velvet curtains the color of midnight. Across the room, tall windows draped in heavy brocade curtains let in shafts of light that danced across the rich, dark wooden floors. Each piece of furniture seemed to be a work of art itself, from the ornately carved wardrobe that whispered of secrets to the elegant writing desk that beckoned with the promise of quiet contemplation. The fireplace’s mantel was adorned with an array of miniature paintings and porcelain figures that looked as though they had been chosen with care.

Violet moved slowly toward the bed, her hands tracing the soft fabric of the velvet draperies. She could hardly believe that such luxury was meant for her, a girl who had slept on straw and tattered blankets for most of her life. The contrast was overwhelming, filling her with a sense of disbelief mingled with an anxious foreboding. Could she truly belong in such a place?

As if sensing her disquiet, Mr. Pembroke spoke up. “I trust everything is to your satisfaction, Miss Everly? If there is anything you desire to make your stay more comfortable, do not hesitate to inform us.”

Violet turned, offering him a tentative smile. “It’s more than I could have ever imagined, Mr. Pembark. Thank you.” Her voice was a soft murmur lost amidst the vastness of the chamber. She felt the weight of the room pressing in around her, the opulence almost suffocating in its intensity. This was a world far removed from anything she had known. How could she, Violet Everly, a girl of simple means and simpler expectations, ever fit into such grandeur? She felt like an imposter in a play, dressed in the wrong costume.

Austin stepped closer, noting the apprehension that flickered across her face like shadows cast by candlelight. "It can be overwhelming at first," he acknowledged, his voice low and perhaps unintentionally soothing. His blue eyes scanned her face with an intensity that made her heart flutter uncontrollably.

"But you will find your place here, I'm quite certain." His assurance was threaded with an inexplicable warmth that momentarily lifted the weight from her shoulders.

Violet nodded, allowing herself a moment to absorb his words. The room seemed to expand and contract with each breath she took, a tangible manifestation of the nervous excitement that fluttered within her chest. "I shall try," she replied, her voice more steady than she felt.

Austin offered a small, understanding smile and gestured toward the window. "The view here is particularly beautiful at sunset. The light plays off the landscape in a way that is quite spectacular. I hope you will find some comfort in it."

Reluctantly, Violet walked towards the window, her fingers brushing against the luxurious fabric of the curtains as she passed. Pulling them back, she was greeted with an expansive view of the estate’s manicured gardens, their geometric perfection a stark contrast to the wild, untended fields she had grown up near. The setting sun cast a golden glow over everything, bathing the world in a warm light that made it look like a scene from another world.

She turned back to Austin, who was observing her with an expression that was hard to read. "It's beautiful," she admitted quietly, her voice carrying a hint of wonder. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

Austin’s face softened at her words. "And you shall see more," he promised, stepping beside her at the window. "This estate holds many secrets—some delightful, some a bit darker. But all are part of its charm."

Violet glanced up at him, intrigued by his mention of secrets. She wanted to ask him about them—about everything that lay hidden beneath the surface of his polished demeanor and this grand estate. But she held back, reminding herself not to get too comfortable too quickly. Austin turned to her then, his gaze intense yet not unkind, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"There is much to learn about this place," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the spacious room. "And much to learn about each other," he added, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Violet's heart skipped a beat. His words were an invitation but also a reminder of their different stations in life. She was under no illusion about her own position here—as much as this room and the view it offered belonged to her temporarily, they could just as easily be taken away.

"Yes," she replied, mustering her resolve. "I look forward to learning."

"Good," Austin nodded approvingly, then gestured towards a small bell pull near the fireplace. "Should you need anything at any time, pull that cord. Someone will attend to you promptly," he instructed, his tone carrying the air of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

Violet nodded, her gaze lingering on the ornate bell pull as Austin continued to speak. “Dinner will be served in the main dining hall at seven each evening. You are expected to join.” he explained, though there was a trace of something unreadable in his voice—a hint of warning, perhaps, or an underlying challenge.

As he spoke, Violet felt the weight of her new reality settling around her like the heavy velvet curtains framing the windows. This was no simple act of charity; she was entering a world of complex social games and hidden agendas, where every gesture and word could have layers of meaning.

Violet hesitated for a moment, the weight of Austin's words sinking in. "I understand," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Her mind raced with thoughts of the elaborate dinners and the intricate social dances she would have to learn. The splendor of the estate no longer seemed just beautiful but also a gilded cage with rules she had yet to understand.

Austin studied her for a moment longer, as if gauging her reaction. "I have no doubt you will adapt quickly," he reassured her, but his words seemed to hold a double edge—a compliment laced with a challenge.

He then turned to leave, his figure retreating towards the door before pausing briefly. “Mr. Pembroke will help you with anything else you might need to settle in,” he said without turning back. With a final nod, he exited, leaving Violet alone in her new quarters.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Violet felt a sudden emptiness engulf the room. She was alone, truly alone in this foreign opulence. She walked slowly around the room, touching the silken fabrics and eyeing the exquisite artwork that adorned the walls. Each item was a testament to a life so vastly different from her own that it almost seemed fantastical.

Caught between awe and an increasing sense of isolation, Violet perched on the edge of the plush bed. The softness of the mattress beneath her was a sharp contrast to the hard, unforgiving surfaces she had grown accustomed to. It was all too luxurious, too quiet, too serene—an unsettling tranquility that made her heart throb painfully in her chest. There, in the silence of her lavish prison, she pondered about the price of such comfort.

Stay tuned for part 5!! Click HERE to view!

Taglist: @buckysteveloki-me

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starcrossedxwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Wicked Fantasies Part 5 (MBJ x OC)

Warnings: Slow burn, NSWF… All the past warnings and series warnings apply lol this is just pure filth lol not gonna lie.

“Bonjour Mademoiselle Turner. Welcome to Le Hotel Shangri-La Paris. We hope you had a pleasant travel experience? I know you must be tired.”

As if her body wanted to respond to the concierge who was leading her through the hotel, her only response was a deep yawn that made him hum in agreement.

“Sorry… the jet lag is rough.” She had been so anxious on the flight that she had barely slept. She had thought of a million random things… the dangers of traveling alone, even though she was meeting someone else, how much time Michael would actually have to spend with her, if it was even safe to travel halfway around the world with a man she met a little over a month ago, how she knew precious little about what even they were going to do for a week. She had just boarded a flight and asked little to no questions. Once she was on the flight, it dawned on her that if something went wrong, she knew nothing and no one there. Just Michael. But still, despite those practical concerns, she did not regret the decision. She was hopeful that it was going to be as amazing as she imagined it would be as she prepared all week.

She took a sip of the glass of champagne they gave her upon arrival. She could now fully understand why the wealthy were so determined to remain so if this was how they lived. This was high living, high cotton as her grandma used to say. From the moment she stepped out of her apartment building to right now, she had not had to use her brain to think of a single thing. Everything was taken care of. She had not even touched a single piece of her luggage since she left the apartment. When she landed in Paris, she had a moment of panic as she realized she did not know how to get to her hotel. She was about to make a beeline toward a taxi when she spotted a burly driver holding a sign up with her name who took her straight to the hotel.

The hotel was something plucked straight out of every novel she had ever read about kings and queens, a converted palace drenched in finery and elegance. The marble hallways gilded in gold, tall ceilings donned with crystal chandeliers. It was as if she had stepped back in time and was headed to a ball. And it had all been thoughtfully arranged by a certain prince.

“Well, Mr. Jordan ensured your suite would be ready when you arrived so you can rest. Though I tend to recommend remaining awake if you can. We are in a fantastic location. There is much to see and do and we have a car here for you. Monsieur Martin, the gentleman who picked you up from Charles de Gaulle? He will be your driver during your stay. He can take you anywhere you’d like.”

“Thank you.”

“This,” the man opened the door to her suite. “Is our suite Chaillot.” He pushed open the door and held it so Raven could enter first, her eyes widening as she took in the suite.

She stood in the living room, sitting her backpack on the couch as she scanned the space. The entire room felt serene, designed in shades of taupe and teal that made the space feel extremely homey for a hotel. Her hand rubbed the soft velvet fabric of the couch as she glanced around, her eyes landing on the French doors that led to her terrace.

“Ah the best part, in my opinion,” he smiled as he watched her take a step toward the terrace. He walked over to the double doors that led to the wraparound terrace and pushed them open.

Raven followed him outside, her eyes landing on the Eiffel Tower in the distance. She was shocked at how close it was, just over the river.

“A perfect view of our crown jewel. Mr. Jordan’s suite and this one have my favorite views in the hotel. Some would argue that Bonaparte’s apartment has the best view but I must disagree.”

“That is spectacular,” she muttered as she leaned against the concrete railing. Paris had always been on her bucket list, one of those cities and destinations that everyone went to and raved about. She wondered if it would live up to the hype and it was already exceeding it.

“Would you like us to set up breakfast out here for you in the morning? 9 a.m.?”

“Yes, please.”

“Excellent. I will leave you to rest.” A knock at the door interrupted him. “Oh there are your bags. Please call down to the concierge if you would like the car brought around for you or if you need anything else. Mr. Jordan asked me to give you this,” he handed her a card from his pocket. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us and your time in Paris.”

He opened the door and helped the men place her two suitcases into the bedroom before giving her a nod and closing the door behind him. She had likely gone overboard packing but she wanted options.

Raven stared at the door for a few moments before turning to get a 360 view of the suite. She tapped the card on her palm as she walked to the bedroom. She kicked off her sneakers and promptly flopped down onto the bed with a content giggle.

“What the fuck is my life right now?” She whispered.

She opened the envelope and smiled as she read his writing.

Welcome to Paris. Kept me on my toes wondering if you were gonna come, not gonna lie. Figured you’d want the day to rest and I have press and events until late tonight. I set up treatments for you at the spa starting at 4 and got you a day pass so you can relax by the pool there. Enjoy the night and I’ll come by when I get back if you’re still awake.

Michael

Raven let out the most childish squeal of her life before letting her arm fall onto the bed. She had made an agreement with herself on the plane that she was going to indulge in all the luxuries Michael offered and she could afford to. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and, she knew, the only one she would get with Michael before they broke up. She was determined to enjoy every second of it. And she appreciated that he seemed to know a day of pampering was exactly what she needed.

She glanced around, realizing she still had almost six hours until her spa treatments. She quickly grabbed another athleisure set from her bag and hopped in the shower. After a quick but still luxurious shower, she felt slightly more awake and refreshed and slid back on her shoes to go on a walk. She grabbed her wallet and AirPods before heading to the lobby.

“Mademoiselle, would you like me to have the car brought around?” The concierge asked as she walked through the lobby.

However, she quickly shook her head. “No, I think I’ll just walk. Thanks!”

She would certainly get plenty of use out of the car while she was there but today, she just wanted to roam. She wanted to see the shops and people watch and just enjoy being in a new city. She put in her headphones and slid on her sunglasses before venturing down a random side street. Naturally, her feet gravitated toward the Eiffel Tower. She spent over two hours roaming the expansive parks surrounding it, getting a million pictures of the tower and selfies by the river. She knew she was giving strong tourist vibes but she could not hope to care.

She stopped for lunch at this small sandwich shop and bought a crepe from a street vendor for her walk back. By the time she returned, it was almost time for her spa evening. Not only was she thankful for the manicure, pedicure, facial, and massage, she was grateful Michael once again arranged everything for her. She was far too tired to use her brain for anything useful. She knew she was beyond exhausted when she laid down on the massage table and was asleep before the man even truly started. She only remembered him touching her shoulders before he had to wake her up and tell her the two hours were done. But every muscle in her body felt 10x more relaxed than when she first laid down so she knew it had been a success.

She almost forewent dinner but was able to stay awake long enough to order and wait for room service. However, as soon as she finished eating, she settled into the couch and dozed off. She did not take the extra steps to get in the bed or put her phone on sleep mode because she did not want to miss Michael knocking on her door when he was back. Though she knew he would happily wait until tomorrow to see her just so he did not wake her up, she did not want that. She wanted to see him… tonight.

And she was not disappointed when a loud knock jolted her out of her sleep. She quickly jumped up and wiped her mouth, feeling a bit of drool from her deep sleep.

“Gross,” she muttered as her body protested getting up.

She ran her fingers through her hair, which she had gotten blown out and pressed before the trip, knowing she had messed it up slightly by forgetting to wrap it before falling asleep. She almost tripped over her backpack to get to the door and swing it open.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she offered with a smile, attempting to hide some of the excitement she felt at seeing him.

“Didn’t mean to wake you… know it’s late.”

She stepped aside so he could enter. “Don’t worry about it. You invited me, seems like I could stay awake long enough to say hi. This suite is insane. You could’ve just put me up in a regular room in a hotel that doesn’t cost thousands a night, you know?”

She gave him a quick once over as he walked into the suite and perched on the arm of the couch. He was in a gorgeous red suit, perfectly tailored to his form as if it was his own skin. He looked sexy as fuck. But she could tell he was just as, if not more, exhausted than her. His usual perfect posture lacked a bit, his shoulders hunched over as if he could not hold them up any longer. His lips were tugged down in a frown and his nose was scrunched up a bit, which he typically only did when something was wrong.

He merely shrugged and winked at her. “Maybe a regular nigga woulda done that. But that ain’t me. Have a good flight and everythin’?”

She yawned. “Yea, didn’t sleep much but first class was…” she did the motion to say chef’s kiss causing Michael to grin brightly.

It had only been a week but he missed her. Getting to see her this week had been the light at the end of this hellish tunnel of a press tour. He loved his job, he was living his dream and he was beyond blessed to do so. But the grind was exhausting. He had been working nonstop for almost a decade, between projects and press tours, he went and never stopped. Perhaps because he was on the most important run of his career, the pressure, the exhaustion, the weight of it all felt like tons on his back this time around. But with Raven here, he would have a reprieve, however brief each day. He could be whoever he needed to be with her and that was the rest he did not know he needed until he stood in her presence.

“Walked around for a couple hours. Got a crepe just on the side of the road… which I’m gonna gain like 100 pounds this week between that and the pastries. The spa treatments were amazing… well, at least the ones I was awake for,” they both laughed. “Thank you for this. Seriously. Haven’t had a vacation in a while..”

“Good, I’m glad. And I know, that’s why I invited you. Glad you’re here. Oh I wanted to give you this,” he pulled out his wallet and slid out his Black card and put it in her hand.

The mere weight of the card in her hand let her know the limit on it did not exist.

She held it up between two of her fingers. “What’s this for?”

“A couple things. I got a photoshoot tomorrow. Got one surprise for you in the morning but then it’s all you until the late afternoon. Then I got reservations for us for dinner. Whatever you wanna do, charge it to that card. Day after, my stylist is gonna take you shopping. All his favorite shops, they’ll pull pieces. He is instructed to ensure you buy anything you like. Don’t argue. In fact…” He glanced around for a moment and eyed her wallet on the dining table before grabbing it.

“Hey!” She rushed forward and started grabbing at it but he held it over his head, knowing she was too short to take it from him. He held it up and rifled inside it, finding every card that could be used as currency and the cash she brought to convert. He held those in a tight grip in his fist while putting his card in it and handing her the striped wallet that now only had his card and her ID. “Give those backkk.”

“Not a chance. I invited you so I’m payin’ for everything. The only card you touch till you land back in LA is that one. And you’ll get these back when we get home. Understood?”

“I can’t accept that! I will happily pay for whatever I want to do when we aren’t together.”

“You can and will accept it. I order you to,” his hand grabbed her chin to force her eyes to his.

“I’m not on my knees… who says you can give orders right now?” She smirked at the way his eyes seemed to light up at her sass, her bratty attitude.

He chuckled. “I see someone already forgot they have a punishment waitin’ huh? You wanna add to it?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she offered with a innocent smile.

Michael tucked that away for later. Once she got over that little jet lag, he was going to tear that ass up.

“Besides, the stores he’s takin’ you to… well, they ain’t all just for you. There’s one store where he’ll wait outside. A lingerie boutique. The staff is under specific instructions not to let you leave without, at least, one set for every night of the week. Figured I should get somethin’ out of this shopping spree.”

Raven’s lips turned into a playful grin. “Well that does only seem fair, I suppose. Any special requests for that particular store?”

“One set needs to be black and gold. Otherwise, it’s all you.”

She raised an eyebrow as she realized why he wanted her in black and gold. Visions of Erik Killmonger immediately flooded her mind and a couple of visions that she knew she could never breathe out loud. Her mental break must have been obvious because Michael waved his hand to get her attention.

“What was that?”

“Oh nothing, nothing,” she immediately lied and cleared her throat.

“Nahh, none of that. Tell me or I’ll double your punishment.”

Raven wondered if she should see how far she could take it. However, she quickly remembered that he never said exactly what the punishment was going to be so she could be playing with fire.

“I just… maybe thought about how it’s a shame you couldn’t keep your suit… from the movie,” her eyes got quiet with embarrassment.

Michael let out a barking laugh that made her cover her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“Baby girl, if you wanna role play, just say so.”

She shrugged. “Eh without the hair,” she gestured up at his freshly cut fade. “It’s not the same.”

“Really, it’s the hair?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I mean no, it’s 100% the abs and your face. Like no one’s getting wet just cause of the hair,” she chuckled. “But the hair is the difference between you fuckin’ me as you and you sellin’ the fantasy that Erik is fuckin’ me. Otherwise it’ll just be you with a deeper voice and ruder tone,” she waved her hand dismissively. “But just… remember me for Black Panther 3 when you gotta grow the hair out again. Won’t even charge you for that date, promise.”

He bit down the retort that he could never forget her.

“Deal.” They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Um. Friday through Sunday is all us. Do some research, let me know if there’s anything you wanna do. Figured we could hit all the big tourist things and shit. But it’s up to you. Never asked you - you been here before?”

Raven shook her head. “Nah, went to Amsterdam after I got my MFA to celebrate but my passport hasn’t seen much love since,” she admitted.

“MFA?”

“Masters in Fine Arts. That’s when I wrote my manuscript for my book.”

“Learn somethin’ new about you every day.”

“I’ll do some googling, talk to my driver and see what he thinks we should do.”

“Aight. Sounds like a plan. I’m gonna let you go to bed.” He stood up again and started to walk toward the door.

Though she desperately needed sleep, she could not help the way her face fell at the idea of him leaving. “We aren’t gonna…”

The disappointment on her face, those perfect puppy eyes she gave him, likely with no conscious thought on her end, made him want to amend his statement. This girl? She would be the end of him but a glorious end indeed. However, he knew he shouldn’t and that she deserved a night to actually get sleep this week.

“Oh I plan on fuckin’ you on every surface in this room and mine for the next week. Don’t worry. But not tryin’ to have you fall asleep on me. Take tonight, get situated and get over the jet lag.”

“Understood.”

He leaned on the door handle for a moment before turning to her. “Don’t fall asleep on the couch again,” he warned. “Get in bed… bad for your back. And you’re gonna need all your limbs workin’at their best this week. See you tomorrow.”

She merely giggled as he opened her door and left. However, before the door slammed shut, she ran forward and stuck her head in the hall searching for him.

“Hey!” She called after him, causing him to turn around at the end of the hallway. “Thank you again… for all of this.”

“Don’t mention it.” He threw her his boyish grin before disappearing into the elevator.

***

“A bit early for a summons, don’t you think?” Raven moaned playfully as she walked out onto Michael’s terrace. The sun sat high in the sky, a slight breeze making the late fall morning a bit frigid.

He merely laughed and gestured toward the empty seat across from him, the table outside heavy laden with breakfast foods.

“Have a late start today, figured we could eat breakfast. How’d you sleep? Feelin’ alright?” She could hear the cockiness in his voice.

Raven’s eyes narrowed. “Like a baby… never felt better. Thanks for asking.”

While that was not necessarily true, she would not let him know that. He had done a number on her last night in all the best ways. Even as she sat there smiling at him innocently, she had to avoid shifting uncomfortably to ease the discomfort of her sore ass. Her punishment had been long and severe, her body draped over his lap as he spanked her 50 times. He had dragged it out, the spankings split up by his finger teasing her entrance but never letting her cum. That is until she was in a pool of tears with a bruised ass begging for mercy. After that, he let her cum more times than she could remember or count. It was the first time he left her with actual bruises but she did not mind, it was a punishment she would endure over and over again for those results.

“Good to know for next time. I was goin’ easy on you. Besides, you were such a good girl last night, I have a treat for you.”

Raven’s eyes twinkled. “The shopping spree I’m about to go on isn’t the treat?” His stylist, Brian, had sent her a list of all the stores they were going to today and Raven could not wait. She was not one to care much for labels, after all there were more important things. However, it was clear that she had free reign to shop until her heart dropped. Such a rare opportunity she knew she could not waste.

“Nope. This one… well I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Raven smiled as she took a sip from her cup of hot chocolate. Michael handed her a plate, piled high with fruit and pastries, which she devoured as they sat in silence.

“How was the library yesterday?” Michael asked as he continued eating.

Thus far, her experience had been something straight out of a novel. She could not have written a more perfect fairytale herself. She had woken up yesterday to a similar spread on her own terrace, complete with a mimosa. She listened to R&B music as she sat out there in her nightgown for over an hour. The only thing that broke her out of the peace trance was a call from the concierge letting her know her car would be ready at 11 for a surprise.

She tried her hardest to guess what the surprise could be or coax it out of her driver but there was too much to see and do to pinpoint what Michael had set up. She had started a list of things she wanted to see when he finally had time off but she had fallen asleep with her phone in her hand.

She still was not sure why he was going to such lengths for her. The cost of her hotel alone was more than most people made in a year. She knew the price, to him, was comparable to putting her up in a four star hotel for a regular man. However, she still struggled with accepting such extravagance, and could not stop the intrusive thoughts that questioned whether she was worth so much money and effort. After all, they were going to break up in a few months. She tried not to allow that to disappoint her every time her brain reminded her heart of that simple fact. That was what she signed up for: a relationship with a firm expiration date. Her brain knew that. Her heart though? It did not care about the practicalities of what she signed up for. It only cared for how he made her feel: wanted, appreciated, cared for.

And that was rare air.

Still, she could not help but wonder why he even invited her there in the first place. He mentioned no events he needed her to attend with him, no public appearances in which he needed a woman on his arm. Yesterday and today, she was on her own. He had essentially paid an exorbitant amount to give her a vacation for a week. She was itching to get to the later half of the week when they would actually be able to spend time together. When it was just the two of them, Michael became the singular space in this world where no one wanted anything from her. She could just be. Sometimes she had everything to give and sometimes, like her birthday, she had nothing. And he seemed to accept either without judgment or question. And she needed that.

Yesterday, his surprise was a guided tour of the oldest public library in Paris, Le Bibliothèque Mazarine. Raven had a ball as she took in the insanely beautiful architecture and special collections the curator showed her. She simultaneously loved and despised him for it, for his thoughtfulness and how in tune he was with her.

“It was gorgeous… the architecture?? God, there are so many gorgeous libraries in the world. This was certainly one of them. Can’t wait till I can afford a house and build out a giant library in the basement,” she mused. “That’s the dream.”

Michael silently put that knowledge away for later.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Figured, you know, given your day job, it might be cool.”

“It was. And it’s not just… my day job. I’ve always loved libraries. You know I used to spend hours at the library down the street from us? Holed up in a corner with a stack of books or my homework. Knew every person who worked there by name. They’d have to kick me out at closing,” she chuckled as she wiped the flakes of her chocolate croissant from her lips. “I had a favorite corner, by this window that overlooked the park across the street. You could hear the kids playing. If I wasn’t at school or at home, I was in that spot.”

“No one ever cared that you weren’t home?”

She scoffed, holding her mug tightly in her hands as she cozied up in her chair, one leg coming to her chest. Michael loved how relaxed she looked. She had not gotten fully ready for the day yet, no make up, her hair in a high ponytail. She was dressed in a casual dress with a slouchy oversized sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder. Her back was to the Eiffel Tower and somehow one of the most beautiful structures in the world was still eclipsed by her natural beauty. He could not take his eyes off her.

“After my grandmother passed? Nope. And by high school, I preferred to just be out of the house anyway. Everyone just pretended like I wasn’t there so it hurt less… to just not be there. Spent time at friends’ houses or at the library or I was at school but that was really it. But it was good. When all you do is read and study, you tend to do well in school.”

“No parties? No fun?” Michael asked, part of him not believing she engaged in nothing fun or reckless as a kid..

She laughed. “No, not really. I don’t think I even drank until I was in college. I was so boring back then, which is why my first career choice… well anyone who knew me would’ve thought it was an odd one.”

“Why’d you pick stripping? Plenty of ways to make money.”

“Needed something I could do at night, after classes and my work study job. Doesn’t require past experience and the owner liked that I looked young, had the whole innocent girl doe-eyed thing going for me. I picked up on the dancing and tricks pretty quickly too. It was fun… in its own way.”

“Who taught you your moves?”

“Monique… best dancer I ever saw. Taught me every trick in the book. She had been dancing for like 5 years when I started. Took me under her wing, I guess.”

“Really? That’s a long time.”

Raven shrugged, leaning on the table as she reminisced on a time that felt like eons ago. “Everyone does it for a different reason. Some don’t have much of a choice, some are working their way through something else, like I did. And some girls really liked it. Monique was a girl who really liked it. And it showed. She was saving up to open her own burlesque club, which I think she did a couple years ago.”

“Did you like it?”

She stared off into space for a moment before answering. “I guess it was nice to be the center of attention… the spotlight for once. I was a wallflower 20 hours a day but during my shift, I was more. Men wanted me, some of the girls wanted to be me. I didn’t hate it. I don’t miss it… but I miss who I was on that stage. The confidence, the power… it was something. Could never quite get it to translate to regular life though. Certainly couldn’t get it to translate to being a working girl,” she grimaced. “It’s just not the same though.”

“And you never felt exploited by it? Or scared?”

She shook her head. “Not any more than cat calling on the street makes me feel scared. First thing Monique told me when I met her - Sex is power, one of the few powers that women inherently have that men don’t. Always has been and always will be. And it's the one power that, try as they might, they can’t take away. Everyone sees it and their place in it differently. But I always remembered that they were there to see me, spend money on me. And whether they had a good night or not, whether they went home satisfied and happy, that was all my decision. And I liked that.” He liked the sparkle in her eyes as she talked about that time. “I dunno if stripping is proper breakfast conversation.”

“It ain’t but I like it anyway. One last question… tell me your name?” At her confused expression, he clarified. “The one you used at the club.”

“Give me my treat and I’ll tell you.”

Michael gestured for her to stand up. “Come here.”

She walked over to him and stood between his legs. His hands took free reign, running up her toned legs beneath her dress, tightly gripping her ass, which made her hiss in pain.

“I thought you never felt better?”

“Shut up,” she mumbled with a small huff.

He shifted a few of the dishes out of the way before pulling her sweatshirt and dress off, leaving her in nothing but her panties. He pushed her gently, a silent but clear instruction to lay down.

She glanced behind her at the pastries and food. “Someone’s gonna have to clean all this up if they fall.”

“Guess you’ll have to be careful then.” At her continued hesitation, he smiled. “I’ll leave a bigger tip for the staff, aight? Now lay tf down.”

At his command and assurance that the staff would be compensated for their games, she gently laid back, cringing as she heard one plate crash down onto the stone floor as Michael pulled off her panties. He draped her legs over his shoulders and leaned forward in his seat, his face eye level with her prize.

“W-what are you doing?” She asked quietly, the anticipation getting to her as he merely stared at her. She squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze.

“About to finish breakfast,” he muttered as if it was obvious. “This is better than anything else on this table.”

And with that, he slid a finger inside her, Raven’s back immediately arching off the table. She bit down on her lip hard to stop a moan from escaping her as he wrapped his lips around her clit. He glanced up at her and stopped.

“I wanna hear you. And I want everyone in this hotel to hear you.”

And with that, he devoured her. Michael loved any chance he got to taste her and find himself nestled between her thighs with her pleasure completely at his mercy. However, today was particularly special. This was the most relaxed he had ever seen her, the most at peace she had been since he met her. And it did not hurt that the backdrop for his favorite meal was the best view of his favorite city.

One hand kept her firmly in place as she writhed on the table while the other, in sync with his tongue, did nothing short of the Lord’s work.

Her hips rolled to meet every thrust of his fingers.

“You like that, baby girl?” He moaned as he slid another finger inside her, both of them curling into her g-spot at a quick speed.

“F-Fuck! Yes, yes! I l-love it!” She cried out loudly, knowing her voice most certainly would carry to their neighbors. But with the promise of an orgasm at the end of this, she could not hope to care.

Michael certainly had pushed her limitations farther than she would have expected since they started “dating.” Everything he tried, she loved. Every limit he pressed against, she yielded and every time? It exceeded her wildest dreams and fantasies. Public sex was one of those lines she always wanted to cross but knew it was too wild to do so. And yet, Michael seemed to know all her fantasies, even the ones she felt were too wild and wicked to speak out loud.

Michael reached over and grabbed a piece of ice from the ice bucket that held a bottle of champagne. He could tell she was so consumed by his fingers that she did not even notice. But she would.

He put the ice in his mouth while he continued to fuck her, sucking on it for a few moments before diving back in. The moment his cold lips and tongue touched her sensitive bud, she came. Fast and hard as if someone had pushed her off a cliff without warning. She could not control the loud slew of expletives that escaped her lips as he sucked, the cold temperature sending shivers of pleasure through her whole body.

“That’s it. Scream for daddy,” he muttered as he talked her through her orgasm. However, he was far from done and far from letting her tap out as he put another cube in his mouth and pressed it directly against her clit.

“I-It’s too m-much!” She clamped her legs around his head, her entire body nearly seizing up from the pressure and pleasure the cold provided. She tried to shy away from it, moving hastily, causing another dish to crash around them. But his firm palm on her stomach stopped her from getting away.

“Nah, you said you were better than ever. You can take this shit. Open your fuckin’ eyes.”

She forced her eyes open as tears spilled out, “M-Michael… I-I’m g-gonna cu-cum…”

“Let ‘em hear you. Whose pussy is this?” He demanded, lifting his head as he added another finger and hammered into her. “Look at me!” He ordered, towering over her body with such dominance that, even without him touching her, she could’ve cum on the spot.

She locked eyes with him as he added another finger, four in total and pressed roughly into her spot. She could see her juices glistening in the sun on the hairs of his beard. She hoped he would give her a taste, she loved it when he had her to taste herself.

“It’s yours!” She cried out loudly, louder than she would’ve liked, as she came all over his hand again.

“That’s right. Good girl,” he talked her through her orgasm before pulling out of her.

He held his fingers up to her face, all four completely covered in her juices. “Suck.”

She opened her mouth immediately and propped herself up, sucking with earnestness as she enjoyed the taste of herself.

“You like the way you taste, baby?” He asked, enjoying the feeling of her warm mouth on his fingers.

She merely hummed her response and showed him how much by continuing to suck on his fingers. When she was satisfied she cleaned them to the best of her ability, she released them with a pop and a smile that made Michael want to fall to his knees and start over again.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered before leaning over and kissing her softly.

She let out a sharp exhale before collapsing back against the table with a chuckle.

“That was… fucking amazing,” she muttered as she laid there, completely naked, contemplating the meaning of life. “You wanna do that every morning this week?”

“Sounds like a good ass time to me.” She started to move off the table when a strong hand gripped her thigh, halting her movements. “I didn’t tell your ass to move. Lay there till I’m done.” He picked back up his coffee mug and his phone before grabbing his previously discarded plate.

She wanted to protest but instead she merely laid back down as instructed. From that moment until the end of his breakfast, he treated her like a mere centerpiece of the table. Something to gaze upon and fondle but nothing more. He disappeared into his bedroom once, returning a few moments later. He said nothing and offered her no explanation as he held out nipple clamps, both connected with a chain. He worked in silence as he put both of them on her erect buds before settling down to resume his coffee. Her eyes twisted up for a moment at the sharp pain before it settled down to a dull ache. With the clamps, everything felt 10 times more sensitive, even the cool breeze made her want to touch her aching boobs. But she had been scolded once already for moving so she merely laid there.

Her eyes followed his frame as he sauntered around the terrace with his coffee cup, lazily refilling it as he scrolled on his phone. His joggers sat low on his hips, showcasing that perfect V that led to one of her favorite parts of him. She licked her lips, wishing he had allowed her to taste him as he had her. Lust curled in her belly as she watched his muscles flex as he moved around. Here she was, laying on a table in the middle of Paris like a human flower arrangement, and all she could think about was how sexy he was. A God among men.

Every so often, he would return to her and tug on the chain connecting the clamps, sending jolts of pleasurable pain right to her core. And after, he’d give her a bite of whatever pastry he was continuing to eat. She appreciated him remembering that the rest of her breakfast had been a sacrificial lamb to their activities.

This continued until his manager called him. Michael reminded her that good girls keep quiet before he answered, putting the phone on speaker to incentivize her. She had to stifle a laugh as she heard him say he was just “enjoying a lazy morning on the terrace” before heading to an event. She listened as they talked about the film and numbers and his schedule, while he trailed pieces of ice around her nipples and under her breasts and down the soft panes of her stomach. That made her eyes roll back into her head.

She loved nipple play. She had heard of women orgasming from that alone but she had never experienced it herself. However, as Michael talked about business, he seemed determined to get her there with that alone. The clamps increased the pleasure of every touch as he fondled her.

She thought she would draw blood as she bit down on her lip to stop the moans from escaping her as he played, contrasting the warmth of his mouth with the coldness of the ice when he had to talk.

“Yea once we settle all this shit with the Coach deal, we’ll be set,” Alex remarked as Michael sat the phone down on Raven’s stomach so he could give each of her boobs the attention they deserved. When he bit down on the swell of her breast, she let out a groan that she prayed was barely audible. It reached his ears, she knew, but the oblivious woman on the other end did not even skip a beat. “How’s Raven enjoying Paris?”

Michael threw her a smirk and pressed a finger to his lip as he continued doing what he was doing, Raven trying her hardest to quiet the pants of pleasure that wanted to escape.

“Oh I think she’s enjoyin’ it just fine.”

“I’m glad. Post something of the two of you while you’re there. Doesn’t have to be much but let’s make sure we’re getting something out of these extra four days you’re spending there instead of continuing to promote your movie.”

Despite the fog of pleasure, Alex’s words stuck out to Raven, settling into her brain. She did not have the capacity to contemplate them too hard right then but she tucked them away for later.

“Yes ma’am. I’ll make sure we all get somethin’ out of it. Anything else for me?” he assured her as he pulled the clamps off roughly, causing Raven to clamp her hand over her mouth to muffle the scream as the blood rushed back to her breasts. To top it off, he clamped his mouth around one of them while his fingers pinched the other, causing her whole body to convulse with her third orgasm of the day. And it was not even 10 am yet.

“Nope, that is it. Have fun today and don’t forget to get something for your favorite manager while you’re there,” Alex continued.

Raven felt her entire vision go white as she focused all of her attention on muffling the screams of pain and pleasure that were boiling over.

“Sounds good. Listen, I gotta go. Someone here needs my attention. Let’s talk tonight.”

He signed off quickly, pulling Raven’s hands from her mouth so he could hear the sounds of her pleasure, which were music to his ears. He gave her a few moments to calm down before he leaned over and kissed her.

“Now you can get up and finish your breakfast. Take your time.”

“You’re… a menace. I hope you… know that,” she whispered, her hand pressing into her chest as she tried to calm herself down. “It’s not even lunchtime and you’re trying to kill me.”

“Let’s not pretend like that wouldn’t be a better way to go.” He winked at her before pulling on her arm to help her sit up and disappearing inside to change into his own clothes.

Raven took a deep breath, her hand massaging one of her aching breasts as she sat there for a moment. She finally forced herself off the table, her legs almost giving out beneath her before she collapsed into his chair. She grabbed a few pieces of fruit and a danish as she sat there, contemplating how he continued to manage to surprise her.

She took a moment and gathered her thoughts before she slid her clothes back on just as Michael emerged back onto the terraces in a burnt orange sweater and slacks.

“You good? Enjoyed your treat?”

“Yea… yea I did. Can’t tell if it was more for you or me though.”

“First part was for you, second was for me. Now you’re relaxed and can go spend all my money. Brian’ll be waiting for you downstairs in an hour. Don’t forget… black and gold.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She winked at him before walking past him to head back to her suite.

***

Raven could not believe how quickly the week seemed to pass her by. She could not help but be sad that it was already almost over. Their flight home was tomorrow and despite having a week there, it did not feel like enough. She had enjoyed every single second of it, particularly the last three days with Michael. They spent those days hitting everything they could think of, the major tourist attractions and some off the beaten path.

Michael had clearly forgone his diet for this particular trip and the pair ate any and everything that looked remotely good, particularly anything with carbs. She savored this long stretch of uninterrupted time the pair had together. At home, they just saw each other for dates and talked on the phone at night. But the last three days, they were together from breakfast until the moment he finished and she slid out of his bed to return to her own. It made her sad to leave in the middle of the night, to end their private time together, but she knew she had to. They took tons of pictures, the least curated ones they had ever taken. Neither of them cared to pretend these were for the masses and tabloids when they were just for them, their opportunity to capture those moments together.

By the time they returned to the hotel Sunday afternoon, Raven could not hide her melancholy attitude about having to leave.

“You good?” Michael asked as he escorted her back to her suite.

“Yea, yea,” she smiled sadly. “Just sad to be leaving. Not gonna get another experience like this for a long while,” she shrugged. “But once-in-a-lifetime experiences aren’t called that for nothing, I guess.” She leaned on the door frame of her suite.

“Well… surprises ain’t over yet. Couple things waiting for you in there. Get some rest, make up and hair will be here at 7. Be dressed and downstairs at 8.”

“That’s all you’re gonna give me??”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I gave you anythin’ else. See you at 8.” And with that, he turned to head back to his own suite.

Raven quickly entered her own room, racing to the bedroom to find the black and gold lingerie set she bought laying out on the bed. Next to it lay a jewelry box set and hanging on her closet door was black dress that was fit for someone heading to a ball. She opened the box to find diamond earrings and a diamond choker necklace waiting for her.

“God I love him,” she whispered to herself as she took everything in. And she did, she loved him. She could never say it or admit it to anyone but God and herself but she did. And it was not the material things, it was his thoughtfulness… that he would even think to arrange something like this for them. That’s what she loved. And that is what she would miss when it was all said and done.

Raven did not get any rest as Michael instructed. She merely laid in bed, scrolling on tik tok and counting down the minutes until she could get dressed. Around 6:30, she got up and got in the shower, taking her time before Michael’s team arrived.

They worked quickly but efficiently and had her dressed and ready to go by 7:50. She spent five minutes just staring at herself in the mirror. She spun around a couple of times, examining the dramatic dress Michael had chosen for her. It was unlike anything she would have gravitated toward herself but she loved it. It was a showstopping, head turning dress. She always felt like a million bucks when she and Michael went out. But tonight? Tonight, she felt like billions.

Brian took a couple photos of her on the terrace since the sun was setting before she left her room to meet Michael. As promised, he was waiting in the foyer for her in a black tux. It was simple but he looked gorgeous. And as she got closer, she realized the detailing on his jacket matched that of the bodice of her dress.

She stretched her arms out as if to ask what he thought, the actor completely silent as he took her in.

Raven bit her painted lip, fear gripping her as she mistook his silence for displeasure. “D-do you not like it?” However, before he could give her an answer, she answered for him. “It’s not what you wanted is it? Fuck. I’m sorry… I t-thought the dress was a little tight but Brian assured me it wasn’t and I knew I shouldn’t have eaten all those damn pastries and crepes this week. But I’m a slave to a crepe,” she moaned pitifully. “Not an ounce of self control. And I didn’t have good enough spanx for this type of dress. I s-should’ve known it didn’t look right. You got me this beautiful dress and I probably look like a fucking whale o-or a busted can of biscuits or something horrible. I’m sorry, I can go change?” she offered, already turning away from him to race upstairs and hide under the covers.

However, before she made it more than two steps, a force grabbed her and pulled her back. She quickly found herself in his arms, Michael holding her flush to his chest. He kissed her deeply, silencing any more rants, concerns, or criticisms that could have fallen from her lips. He did not want to hear any of them. He pulled back to look at her, his finger on her chin to keep her eyes on his.

“You gotta let me answer before you start spiraling, baby girl. You are exactly what I wanted and exceeded my expectations. I was speechless because I didn’t think I had the right words to describe how fuckin’ gorgeous you look.”

“Really?” she asked quietly.

“Really. One thing I’d never do is lie to you, hope you know that by now. You ready?”

She nodded and allowed him to lead her out of the hotel and into their limo. They spent most of the car ride recapping the last three days and their favorite parts of the trip.

Soon they pulled up to a restaurant and Michael led her into the elevator. It went straight up to a rooftop, one that overlooked the entire city. Paris was beautiful any time of day but night time eclipsed all the others in her opinion.

“Bonjour Mr. Jordan,” a waiter approached them as they stepped off of the elevator.

He led them to their table, which offered a perfect view of the city. There was a dance floor in the middle of the roof and a small stage that held a string quartet that was softly playing music. The railings were covered in string lights.

“This place is amazing… how is it so empty?” Raven muttered to Michael as he held out her chair for her to sit.

“Bought it out just for us.”

Raven shook her head in disbelief. “No way…” At his completely serious face, she gasped. “Wait, you’re serious? How much did that cost??”

“Didn’t matter. Wanted to come here and have the place and that view to ourselves.”

Raven laughed. “That’s wild. Not mad at it though. This view probably makes it worth every penny.” Raven let out a content sigh as she stared off into the depths of Paris, not realizing that the city was not the view Michael was admiring as he muttered.

“Yea, it does.”

They settled into content silence as the waiter brought them a bottle of wine and let them know they would be enjoying the chef’s signature tasting menu. Slowly, course after course made its way to them as they talked and enjoyed the evening. By the time they reached dessert, Raven felt as if she was floating on a cloud that she never wanted to come down from.

The familiar refrain from the string quartet filled her ears. “Oh I love this song,” she muttered more to herself than the man across from her.

“You recognize it?”

She nodded. “La Vie en Rose… I know the Louis Armstrong version but pretty sure he covered it in English from a French artist.”

“Don’t know if I’ve heard that one before. My French is trash,” he chuckled. “What does that phrase mean?”

“Means to see the world in pink, you know with rose colored glasses essentially. It’s a beautiful song, the lyrics are so romantic.” She paused. “Hold me close and hold me fast. This magic spell you cast… this is la vie en rose. When you kiss me, heaven sighs and though I close my eyes, I see la vie en rose. When you press me to your heart, I’m in a world apart… a world where roses bloom. And when you speak, angels sing from above… everyday words seem to turn into love songs. Give your heart and soul to me and life will always be la vie en rose.”

The two merely stared at each other as the words settled into the space between them. Raven felt every word of that song with him. But every time she wanted to sink into that feeling, melt into him, her brain stopped her. She merely cleared her throat and chuckled, breaking the trance both of them were in.

“Don’t ask me to sing it though,” she joked. “I’m dreadful.” She took a long, awkward sip of her wine before Michael stood up and held out his hand.

“Dance with me.” Since it was only them in the restaurant, the dance floor was wide open and available.

She glanced at the string quartet as the song transitioned to XO by Beyonce. She hesitated for a moment before sliding her hand into his. He pulled her to the center of the dance floor, their bodies flushed against each other.

The entire night had been perfect, filled with romance and magic Raven never thought she would have herself. She knew it was for show but she could not deny that there was an intimacy to it that felt… real. Felt like they were truly connecting with each other at a deeper level. When he looked at her, sometimes, she swore she saw it. A twinkle of something too deep… too paralyzing to be mere friendship. But every time, she felt like she imagined it. Maybe even hoped she imagined it because that would be easier. She knew it would not be her but as she looked at him, she could not help but think he enjoyed this. The romance, going above and beyond to show someone you love them. And now he just needed someone, a real someone, to do it with.

She stared at him for a few moments as they swayed in each other’s arms. “Tell me about her.”

Michael did not need her to elaborate on who she meant. Michael shook his head. He had the perfect woman in his arms, there was not a single woman in his past worth talking about right then.

“Why does she matter?”

Raven shrugged. “Because she’s gone and you’re still shutting yourself off from things I think… you’re too afraid to admit you really want. You want this,” she gestured between them. “Not with me, obviously,” she chuckled. “But this, this connection with someone who you love and loves you back. Does she really still have so much power that she can take this away from you forever?”

Michael wished he could grab her shoulders and shake her. So beautiful and so smart yet so oblivious to the hints he was throwing out left and right. He did want those things but not with anyone but her. He had hoped the last week would paint the picture for her. He knew he should just come out and say it himself but he was not brave enough… not yet anyway to admit that he was head over heels for someone again. Because Raven did have that much power. She controlled his heart and very being. And if he said those words to her and she rejected him or broke his heart? She would be the last woman he ever said them to again.

“Not that interestin’ of a story to be honest. But she was… an actor too. Not super well known but you know, steady workin’ and everythin’. Met on the set of a show I was workin’ on. We hit it of.. She was the first woman to really understand me? Understood my dreams and my ambition. I understood hers, I had been in the industry longer so I helped her out, making connections and all that. We dated for almost three years. First relationship that I saw a real future in, even bought a ring.” He sighed as he glanced down at Raven, their bodies swaying to the music. “But all she cared about was using me to get to the next thing. Saw a text on her phone one night, she was cheating on me with another nigga. Had been for most of the time we were together. Left me for someone with more money, bigger name. We broke up and she acted like it was nothin’... as if three years of living life together hadn’t mattered at all. Felt stupid for not seein’ it, for thinkin’ there was a future there… but also for believin’ she loved me for me. Went on a binge afterward… lots of partyin’, drinkin’, fuckin’ every woman I could see. Decided that if that was all everyone was gonna see or care about, the money and all that… then that’s all I would give.”

“I’m sorry. No one deserves that. She’s dumb. Too stupid to realize what she had.” She paused. “You can’t give up though… gotta keep trying to find the right girl. Keep reaching out your hand until it happens.”

“Not all of us have your annoyingly relentless hope and optimism. More worried about my hand getting ripped off.”

“It might,” she admitted. “But I dunno, I’ve always believed heartbreak is the price we pay for love. At the end of the day, we’re all standing on a giant cliff and when you take that leap with someone, you can’t see the bottom. You just hold hands and you jump and you experience the fall that is living life together until you crash into the water. Whether you’ll enjoy the fall, whether rocks or an oasis are waiting for you, whether your fall is long or short. We have no idea, which is why jumping is so scary. But the only thing that’s certain is the crash at the end because all of it ends. Whether you get the greatest love story that goes on until the end of your life or a tragedy that gets cut short because other shit gets in the way. All of it ends. That’s the price, the fall isn’t forever. But when it ends and that heartache comes, the hope is that you look back on it all and see the life you lived and that it was all worth it. And so you’re willing to pick yourself up, dry yourself off, and go back up to the cliff and do it all over again. If you’re avoiding the crash, you aren’t jumping and that means you aren’t living. And there’s a woman out there somewhere who pulled herself out of the water and 's willing and waiting for you to be ready to take the leap with her. Who knows you’re the person they want to free fall with and who will make it worth it.” She ran her hand over the material of his tuxedo jacket. “It’s a shame because while you’re avoiding the cliff altogether, people don’t get to see how amazing you are.”

“You really are a writer,” he mused, causing her eyes to crinkle at the corners and her whole body glow. “Only someone who writes love stories can think of some shit like that. But I hear you. I dunno though, most people can see how amazing my life is. I don’t think that’s the problem.”

Raven scoffed and shook her head. “Your money, the things you can buy?” she gestured around them. “Those are the least interesting things about you,” she remarked flatly. “You’re funny. I would’ve never guessed you were as funny as you are. You’re thoughtful, you see through people, through the bullshit and facades and the walls. You see them, the one they hide from the rest of the world. You’re smart and engaging and so clearly care about every person in your life. Every woman I know wants that. Hell I want that,” she laughed, not noticing the joy that sparked in his eyes at those words. “And all of this is lovely and amazing but most of us can be happy without it. She told you that all you’re worth to people is money and clout and things. But the version of you I see right now is more than enough. And there’s someone out there who knows that too.”

Her hand cupped his cheek as she spoke, Michael learning in and kissing her softly. She had kissed him many times but there was something different about this one, something that made her want to profess her love for him right then and there.

She leaned back and studied him for a moment. “I hope… I hope when this ends, that we can still be friends? This was all really special. You made me feel like a real princess this week. Made me feel wanted and cared for in a way most people don’t. I was in… not the best of places when we met. Seeing a lot of darkness and no light at the end of the tunnel. But all of this, I dunno, reaffirms that annoyingly relentless hope and optimism. Things do turn around eventually. And this’ll all end but I’ll never forget the things you’ve done for me since we met.”

He spun her around for a moment before bringing her close again.

“I didn’t do anything,” he muttered in her ear. “Just gave you the space to be you. You’re far from a wallflower or sidekick or however you described yourself to me on our first date. You’re powerful, smart, beautiful… promise me you’ll take this version of you, the real you… the main character version of you back to the real world tomorrow. You do that and I’ll work on takin’ your advice,” his hand played with the curls in her hair as he spoke. “And then… what’s that line from Casablanca? We’ll always have Paris.”

“Seems like we both need to work on seeing ourselves how the other sees us.”

“Well we got plenty of time to work on it.”

“Yea… guess we got a few more months before I gotta let you go.” She could not hide the sadness in her words. She was resigned, knew their fate but that did not make it hurt any less.

His heart screamed at him to tell her she didn’t have to let him go. They didn’t have to end just because of some agreement they made under stress. They could try it out for real, love each other for real. But the words felt lodged in his throat. His fears, now top of mind since their conversation, were massive blockages that would not allow it out. He wanted her, it hurt how badly he wanted her. But that terrified him.��

They danced for a few more minutes before the song, which she recognized as All of Me by John Legend, came to an end.

“Let’s go back to my suite. Got one more surprise.”

Though she did not want the romantic part of the evening to end, she could not deny she was looking forward to the other part of the night. Michael had kept true to his promise and fucked her on every surface in his suite and hers. Her favorite, though, had been that morning on the terrace. She’d never forget that.

So she put up no argument when he led her back to their limo and whisked her away to the hotel. She hated the time in between the end of their date and the start of their more private moments. Time seemed to inch forward as slowly as possible, the anticipation always felt like torture. She was practically bouncing out of her skin when they finally made it to his suite.

However, instead of opening the door, he stopped her.

“Close your eyes.”

The game was starting early, she thought to herself, which signaled she was in for a long and wild night. The romantic Michael was about to disappear and the dominant one would stand in his place. She rolled her eyes and pouted like a brat before following his instructions. However, she could not let the moment pass without a warning. “If you lead me into a door, I’m gonna kill you.”

“I don’t think French prisons are that nice so wouldn’t recommend that. Trust me, you know I’d never hurt you.”

She snorted as he led her into his room, her feet taking extremely small tentative steps that made Michael chuckle to himself. After a few steps, he stopped her.

“Ok open.”

She blinked a couple times before gasping, her eyes taking in the chrome stripper pole in the middle of his living room. His couch had been pushed away and a singular armchair was in front of the pole like a throne in front of a stage.

Michael walked into his bedroom and came back with a wad of cash. “Figured you could give me a private show? Besides you forgot to tell me your name the other morning.”

Raven ran her thumb over the cash, fanning it out lightly. All she saw were hundreds. She stepped around him and walked over to the pole, her manicured nails tapping on the chrome as she strutted around it in her dress. The elegant gown now seemed out of place in a room with a stripper pole. But the lingerie number she had on underneath would fit in perfectly.

“How much?”

“What?” He asked as he went over to the decanter in his room and poured two glasses of whiskey. He handed her one, Raven downing it immediately. She needed the extra liquid courage to do what he was requesting.

“Did it cost to convince them to let you pressure mount this into the ceiling?”

Michael turned off the lights and strode over the chair and sat down, his face and body illuminated by the moonlight and lights from the Eiffel Tower through the giant windows. Raven licked her lips as she took in his power, his body slouched back and his legs spread wide. A king on his throne waiting to be entertained.

“I’m sure you’ll make it worth every penny.”

She chuckled. “You are something else,” she muttered. “I went by Nova… Name of a character in a book I was reading at the time.”

He chuckled. “Definitely thought you were gonna say somethin’ a little more out… stereotypical,” he admitted.

Raven snorted. “The market was oversaturated with Candys. Besides, I like to be different.”

“So tell me, Nova, how often did the niggas you danced for throw benjamins at that fine ass?” He took a sip of his drink.

“Not often enough.”

“I imagine you’ll enjoy the experience then. Dance for me.”

Raven could not help the way her legs clenched together at the demand, the juxtaposition of how he asked her to dance with him a mere hour ago. He turned on the speakers, sultry music filling the room. She had not danced in so long, it was true. She felt like part of her should have been nervous but she was not. It was like riding a bike, a skill she knew she’d never truly lose. And though she may not have the strength to do any tricks anymore, she guessed Michael knew and did not care much about that.

She reached behind her to unzip her dress, allowing it to fall to the floor. She quickly threw it on a chair so it did not get wrinkled on the ground. She kept on her heels, though they were not tall enough to give the effect she wanted. The gold accents of her black lingerie glittered in the moonlight as she approached his chair. Her hips swayed with the music, her hands roamed her own body as she went, her eyes trained on him.

Once she was in arm’s length, he immediately lifted his hands to grab for her but she stopped and held herself just out of his grasp. She shook her finger at him with a teasing smile.

“No touching… club rules.”

Michael letting out a menacing chuckle. “You’re gonna regret that later, baby girl.”

“I don’t think I am, daddy. Rules are rules. You like the lingerie I got for you?” She asked as she turned and leaned back on him, her ass grinding on his lap. She could feel him growing hard beneath her, loved how his hands curled into fists as he physically stopped himself from touching her.

“Fuckin’ perfect. Think it’ll look better on the floor though…”

“I dunno, I like it better like this.”

She knew he was realizing just how out of control he truly was. This was her stage and she had all the power. The power to entice, to tease, to give, and to take away.

She slid onto her knees beneath him, crawling away from him and back to her pole. She could feel his eyes trained on her ass as she moved. She knew it looked absolutely perfect, it was the main reason she purchased this particular set. She looked like a goddess and she felt like one too.

For the next 15 minutes, she put on the best show of her life as Michael rained bills on her as if he could not get enough. She allowed the music to flow through her and thought of nothing other than pleasing him. Every movement tailored to his reaction, the spark in his eyes when she spread her legs, the way he bit his lip as she fondled her breasts, how he so clearly resisted undoing his tuxedo pants to pleasure himself when she finally stripped her bra off. She threw it at him, his hand catching it with ease and precision. She allowed herself to get lost in it, lost in the spotlight and the feeling of his eyes laser focused on her. All those things Michael said she was? In that moment, she felt it… like a queen.

Meanwhile, Michael was beyond mesmerized. He could have watched her dance for hours and hours and it would not have felt like long enough. She moved as if born for a stage of some sort. This was a side of her he had never seen, a woman who knew her power and proudly stood in it. He wished he could punch any and everyone who diminished this version of her, who chipped away at this person and made her think she had such little power that scraps were all she deserved. She deserved so much more than that.

“Come here,” he whispered, barely audible over the music. But she heard him and immediately finished her dance move and sank to her knees to crawl to him.

Once she was before his chair, she slid into the position he always made her wait in, on her knees and head bowed.

“What do you want?”

“W-what?” Michael never asked her what she wanted when they had sex. That was the whole point, it was not about what she wanted.

“What do you want? How do you want me to fuck you? Tonight, I do what you say.”

“Anything I say?” she asked, a twinge of a playful tone in her voice that made him shake his head.

“Don’t get too excited. I still own that ass. But you put on a good show for me, feelin’ generous. What do you want?”

She stared at him for a moment before answering. “I want to taste you and then I want to fuck you. And then… I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t move tomorrow.”

He let out a barking laugh before standing to strip, his member standing at attention. Her mouth watered as she took in the pre cum already leaking from his head. She wanted to groan at how slowly he was moving. He leaned over her and wrapped his hand in her hair, pulling her head back. “Your wish is my command. If that’s what you want, ain’t no tappin’ out tonight.”

“When have I ever tapped out?” she challenged.

Michael grinned like a Cheshire cat. He loved that she had some fire in her. But she was not wrong. She never tapped out.

“We’ll see then.” He let her hair go and settled back into his seat.

Raven immediately launched herself at his dick, not bothering to waste another second. She kept her eyes trained on his face as she spat on his dick, licking his head like it was her favorite treat. In some ways, it was. She continued her teasing, after all, it was still her show and she was still in control. She licked the underside of his shaft, along a vein that made him groan every time. She grinned as the deep, guttural sound escaped him. He did not even need to touch her, his mere voice and the sounds he made made a mess between her legs all on their own.

“Don’t like… to be teased, baby girl,” he mumbled as his head fell back in pleasure, feeling particularly tortured by her warm mouth and her hand as she spread her spit along his shaft.

She paused, her hand continuing to pump him. She decided that she was going to egg him on. She wanted him to take her to another realm when he fucked her tonight. She wanted all of him, all of his strength, all of his dominance, all of it until she could not take a single inch more. And she knew the best way to get that was to rile him up a bit.

“Shouldn’t have asked me what I wanted, daddy. Cause right now, I’m in a teasing mood.”

He let out a low whistle. “Gonna tear that ass up in a minute.”

She winked at him before enveloping his dick in her mouth. She moaned around him, enjoying how his hips bucked into her face at the vibrations, sending his dick farther into her throat. One of his hands rested on his stomach while the other tangled itself in her pressed hair. However, he did not stop her from controlling the pace as she sucked him. He just enjoyed the feeling of her head bobbing up and down on him, her hand massaging the base of his dick that she couldn’t fit into her mouth fully. She was responsive to his groans and moans, and had learned over the last month what he liked.

And the one thing he liked was sloppy. She took breaks to spit on him and make a mess of her drool on his lap and the chair beneath him. They could add it to his tab, he decided as she deep throated him. Usually, when she did this, it was just him fucking her throat without a care. However, this time she was in control and she took her time, allowing him to feel every inch of him as she took him down her throat.

“Fuckkkkkk… love your mouth, you filthy slut. That’s it. Take this dick.”

Her jaw hurt, the dangly thing in the back of her throat ached every time she pushed her head back down on him. But all she heard was his praise and that spurred her on. Faster, sloppier. Whatever she could do to feel him explode in her… on her. On her… that stuck out as she felt his hips start to move faster in rhythm with her mouth. Michael had a thing for cumming on her ass when he fucked her from behind, which she loved. However, a particularly wicked idea came to her mind as she wondered where else she would like him to cum. She could not imagine he would say no… most men dreamed of that right?

“I’m about to cum, don’t stop!” He called out.

However, she did stop, letting him fall from her mouth but continued giving him a hand job.

Her breathing was labored as she tried to catch her breath. “Cum on my face, daddy,” she begged, her voice filled with need and pleas that made Michael forget that he should be mad at her for stopping when he told her not to.

She did not give him a chance to respond or check to ensure that was truly what she wanted before she took him into her mouth again. Knowing where she wanted him to release himself, Michael did not let her control the pace any longer. He wrapped her hair in his hands and fucked her mouth with abandon. Raven did not even care that she lost control, the sounds of his moans and grunts, the disgustingly lewd and sloppy noises of her mouth, her gagging were a perfect symphony to her ears.

“I’m gonna cum!” he warned before using one hand to keep her hand in place while he aimed his dick right at her cheek and lips.

Both of them were panting as he finished unloading on her face. She stayed there beneath him as he wiped his dick off on her other cheek. She licked her lips, enjoying the taste of his cum but she left the rest on as she rose to her feet and straddled him. Usually she did not move until he told her to move. However, she had made what she wanted clear and she was taking it. And then he could take her.

She kissed him deeply, her hand massaging him until he was fully erect again. She wasted no time sliding down on his throbbing dick, both of them groaning as he filled her.

“Wish you could see yourself… bouncing on my dick, covered in my cum. Such a good whore for me, baby. Did you like me cummin’ on that pretty face?” Michael asked as she rode him. He loved how disheveled she looked. Her face covered in his seed, her mascara running from her tears after he fucked her mouth. The picture of submission and that made him want to fuck the daylights out of her. However, he knew he had to practice patience. After all, he had given her control, he had to let her enjoy it… at least for a time.

He buried his face in the valley between her boobs as she cried out. “Yes! Yes! I l-loved it!” He wished he had the nipple clamps to tug on while she rode him, an activity for later he decided as he sucked on her nipples. Everything he did to one, he did to the other as that was only right and fair as she switched between his favorite slow grind on his lap and bouncing on him.

He could tell her legs were starting to grow tired as they slowed down a bit. However, he did not mind, that was perfect actually. It meant he could take over.

“You had your turn. You read for daddy to take over again? Give you what you need?” he asked in her ear, his hand wrapped around her throat. She gasped as he squeezed lightly, the action sending her tumbling over the edge of her first orgasm.

“Y-Yes, p-please.��

“What do you want? Say it.”

“Fuck me like a whore,” she whispered, desperate to feel all he had to offer.

His hands grabbed her beneath her thighs and hoisted her up in the air. She let out a shocked cry at the sudden change and clung to him tighter. The whole time, their bodies never separated as he walked with her until she was backed against one of the French doors. He let her legs fall to the ground and turned her around roughly.

“Spread your legs,” he demanded, his voice leaving no room for arguments, not that she had a single one.

He pressed her cheek into the glass panel, her eyes trained on the glittering lights of the Eiffel in the distance as he wrapped his hand in her hair once again. He held the head of his dick at her entrance, sliding it against her clit and making her body convulse slightly.

He slammed into her, causing Raven to scream out with pleasure. His thrusts pinned her entire body to the door as he fucked her like a man possessed.

Her high pitched screams were incoherent words that Michael could not make out as he fucked her roughly against the door. She loved every moment of it. It was painful, her breasts and body pushed up against the door like that with every thrust but she loved it and never wanted it to end.

“You still in a teasing mood??” he asked, Raven immediately shaking her head. She tried to answer verbally but the words would not form. He pulled her head back, her sweet perfume hitting his nose as he bit into her neck. He did not do it hard enough to leave a mark but he knew she felt it. “I asked you a fuckin’ question!”

“No! N-no! I-I’m s-sorry,” she blubbered as she felt another orgasm building. She had asked for this and he was not going to disappoint. “F-Fuck… you f-feel so good. I-I love it!”

He let go of her hair and slid out of her, Raven groaning at the sudden feeling of emptiness. He gripped her arm and pulled her into the bedroom.

“Get your ass on the bed. Face down toward the window, ass up.”

He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment while Raven assumed her favorite position. However, when he returned, she glanced at him and found a small black bullet in his hand. He turned it on, the powerful and loud vibration filling the bedroom. She knew exactly what he wanted her to do as he climbed onto the bed behind her and slid it into her hand. She immediately tried to shy away from him but he stopped her.

“The fuck I say about tappin’ out? You’re gonna hold that to your clit and aren’t gonna take it off. Drop it, I spank you twenty times, turn it down, I spank you fifty times, turn it off… you won’t sit for a fuckin’ week. We’re gonna see how many times you can cum before I do.”

With that, Raven braced her body up one one forearm before reaching beneath her to put the vibrator on her clit. She immediately shuddered as it sent spasms through her body. This was torture.

“You tortured me. Now, I get to return the favor,” Michael offered as he roughly thrusted into her.

She had never used a toy during sex in this way and torture was the right word, delicious, mindnumbing torture. With Michael’s dick curving into her g-spot with every thrust and the vibrator stationed on her clit, she came in record time, couldn’t have been more than 30 seconds. Keeping it on while she came was even harder. Every instinct wanted to end the pleasure so she could calm down but she couldn’t.

“I-I c-can’t,” she whimpered as she felt her orgasm start to build again. It was too fast, too much too soon.

“Yes, you can and you will. You wouldn’t want to disappoint daddy, would you?” A loud smack filled the air as he spanked her. “But I’ll help you.”

He reached around and wrapped his hand in hers, forcing her to keep the vibrator there. Michael had to slow his movements down a bit to hold onto her hand but it was worth it to feel her pussy snapping around him with every orgasm. She came and she came and she came. She begged and screamed for reprieve and mercy and rest but he gave her none of it. He ignored all of it. By orgasm number 4, she was a quivering mess. Her arm had completely gone slack, her upper body pushed into the bed and he wondered if he was pushing her too far. But no safe word had crossed her lips, just a lot of curse words.

“I’m close, baby… How many more you got in you? I think you got two more. Don’t fuckin’ run from me, baby girl. This shit’s what you wanted isn’t it?” He slammed into her with a particularly rough thrust. “Isn’t it??”

“Y-Yes…” she choked out. But now she did not know what she wanted because her brain was utter mush. She wanted less, she wanted more, she wanted him to slow down, she wanted him to speed up. She wanted to stop and she wanted to give him those last two orgasms he believed she was capable of. It might kill her but so be it.

“Yes what?” He spanked her again with all his might.

“Yes sir!”

She fell off the cliff again, a breathless scream escaping her as she came again. It was still pleasurable, a tinge of pain accompanying it that she had not expected but enjoyed. Her body was covered in a layer of tacky sweat, she was exhausted. And yet, she knew she had one more. She could feel all the signs that he was close and after all he had done for her this week, she desperately wanted to give him one more, to hear him praise her for doing so.

She used her last bit of energy to fuck him back, using her arms as leverage to bounce back on his dick. She took the vibrator from him, pressing it into her clit.

“That’s it, baby girl. Cum with me, baby. Take this dick and cum with me.”

Just as he shot his load deep inside her, Raven felt everything in her explode with untold pleasure. She collapsed forward, the vibrator falling out of her hand as she rode the waves of the most intense orgasm of her life. She felt as if he had just restructured her very brain chemistry. Everything faded in and out as she laid there for only God knew how long, paralyzed and exhausted. Michael’s presence and movements felt like a ghost hovering around her. She did not move, stuck and frozen in that position until she felt Michael help her flip onto her back.

She let out a whimper of pain and tried to close her legs as she felt a warm washcloth touch her too sensitive clit.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice returning to his usual gentle baritone. “Just tryin’ to clean you up a bit. We made a mess.”

Once he was done, he reached over to the phone and called down for new sheets and a comforter before picking her up in his arms. He loved how her body immediately curled into his chest as he carried her into the bathroom and settled both of them into the tub. He held her up until he could get her hair in a high enough ponytail to ensure it did not get wet. He knew enough black women to know she would not appreciate that when she finally came to.

Raven moaned, the water was heavenly. They sat in silence, Michael massaging and rubbing her aching limbs while she just laid there with her eyes closed.

“I hurt you?” he asked. It felt good in the moment, it was so easy to get lost in it with her. But now he worried he had pushed her too far past her limit. And more so, he felt worried that she had not felt safe enough to say so.

She shook her head, her words coming out as a raspy sigh, her voice half gone from screaming. “Not in any way I didn’t want you too. You gave me exactly what I asked for.”

He kissed her shoulder. “You sure?”

“Positive. It was… amazing. I promise.”

“Never made you squirt before… I liked it. Maybe I’ll do it more often.”

She chuckled. “That’s what happened at the end? If that’s how it feels, I’ll gladly do it again.”

They stayed in the tub for a while, Michael lazily helping her work out the soreness and kinks she felt in her legs and back. She appreciated how gentle and attentive he was afterward. Something about the end of their playtime made her feel vulnerable and exposed, made her wonder what he truly thought of her after the things she willingly did. However, every time, he took the time to care for her and ensure she was ok, he checked in and asked questions about how she felt and let her rest in his arms before he left. She appreciated and needed that.

When they finally got out, her legs felt like jello but she imagined it was better than it would have been. He helped her dry off before giving her a robe to put on. He settled on the edge of the bed, which had already been remade with fresh bed clothes as she walked out of the room and returned with her dress. She started to slide the bodice up her nude body.

“Tonight was fun… perfect ending to a great week. Thank you.” She gestured toward the door. “I s-should head to my suite.”

She turned to leave when his hand grabbed hers to stop her.

“Stay.” The request was simple and though it was not phrased as a question, she knew it was one.

She could not help the way her face twisted up in shock. She never stayed the night, they never actually slept beside each other. It was an unspoken rule between them. She bit her lip as she studied him. She could list a hundred reasons this was a terrible idea but none of them seemed reason enough to say no. So she settled for, “You sure that’s a good idea?” her voice was filled with her own hesitation and desperation to say yes.

“Nah, I’m not,” he admitted, his hand cupping her cheek. “But I’m willing to take the risk if you are?”

That was all she needed to hear. She unzipped the dress and let it fall back to the floor, this time too tired to care about discarding it on the ground. She followed him and let him help her into bed before falling asleep on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

***

“So what’d you think?” Michael asked as he helped her down the steps of the private plane. “First private jet experience? Worth it or nah?”

“Totally worth it. No security lines? No screaming babies? No annoying adults? Insane amounts of leg room? True bliss.” And it was. Raven had slept most of the ride home, mainly due to still being sore and exhausted from the night before. She had asked Michael to introduce her to the mile high club but he told her she needed to rest. And he was not wrong, her pussy definitely needed a break. So she spent most of the flight curled up on his shoulder asleep while he worked and listened to music.

By the time they landed at LAX, she had not even realized the whole flight had passed her by. The pair noticed a few paparazzi lurking on the other side of the gate as they walked to the car where Alex and Allen waited patiently for them.

“Welcome home,” Alex offered as the two approached Michael’s car, Allen immediately greeting them both as well before grabbing their bags. “Have fun?”

The couple nodded enthusiastically.

“I’m so glad. That means you two are relaxed and can get back to it. Cause we got a problem.” She handed Michael her phone, his relaxed face immediately scrunching up in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” Raven asked, confused as to what could have happened in the span of a flight. All was well when they took off this morning.

“Well let’s just say… I am so glad I’m an only child,” Alex answered flatly as Michael handed Raven her phone so she could see ‘the problem,’ a giant TMZ headline staring back at her that featured a quote from her very own sister.

Fuck.

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r

***

A/N: I hope Paris was as magical for you as it was for me lol And our not-so favorite sister is backkkk. Drop a comment and let me know all your thoughts or if you want to be tagged! Thanks for reading!

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #black panther #michael b jordan fanfic #creed 3 #adonis creed #creed iii

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cardansriddle · 1 year ago

Text

Gilded Serendipity - (tom riddle x oc)

Part 2/10: "I can see you"

Story summary: A summer meant to be spent in the tranquil seaside mansion of Rosier's was not supposed to sway hearts like rustling leaves. Sereia Nova was most definitely not supposed to feel drawn to Tom Riddle. Yet August had a way of weaving chaos and desire together, only to dissolve into the shadows, leaving behind a bittersweet aftermath- an ephemeral illusion of love.

PART 1

chapter warnings: tension, talk of sex? kissing.

A/N: this is over 4K words, soo have fun reading and let me know what you think.

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

Beneath the tender caress of the morning sun, Sereia floated weightlessly in the sea, its gentle warmth a soothing balm against her skin. Occasionally, she would let her hands weave through the water, and watch how the sunlight danced upon the ripples, casting a golden spell upon the waves.

Yet as always, it was not long before her tranquility was disrupted. Booming laughter and loud voices were indications that her time in solitude was now over. She distinctly heard Antoine tell everyone snarkily, "I told you she would already be in the water."

She switched from her floating position so she could stand upright, and shielding her eyes from the sun, she waved at the group. "Took you sleepyheads long enough!"

Antoine huffed, discarding his shirt carelessly and slowly making his way over to her into the sea. "You're one to talk, you narcoleptic freak."

She stuck out her tongue at him in response.

With languid strokes of his toned arms, he swam up to her, occasionally casting a glance over his shoulder at the others who were still acclimating to the sea's temperature. "Just get in, you cowards!" he shouted, his words spurring Abraxas to dive headfirst into the water, with the rest of the group following suit. The blonde surfaced beside them, shaking his head and elegantly running his slender fingers through his platinum locks. Sereia looked around and realised she could not find any sign of the wizard whom she had been anticipating to see. "Where is Riddle?"

It was Abraxas who answered her. "Said he would not be able to join us for a swim. Some matter to take care of."

Walburga groaned. "What matter could possibly occupy him? We are on holiday! It is time to do nothing but sleep, swim, and drown ourselves in the finest wine."

Sereia chuckled. "Careful there, Wal. You're starting to sound like Avery."

In response to her jab, Avery playfully splashed her. "Hey! there is nothing wrong with that."

It seemed Walburga was not letting the matter rest. "Yes, but what is he doing? Why can't he just not do anything for one moment?"

"This is Tom we are talking about, Wal. He would rather befriend a house elf than let himself relax."

Sereia lounged in the warm water with the rest of the Slytherins for a bit more, and as she began to feel the afternoon rays of the sun starting to burn her scalp, she knew it was time to head inside before the heat gave her a stroke.

"I am going inside before I melt to death." She announced, eliciting disappointed grumbles at her departure.

"But we just got here!" Dahlia protested. "Stay a bit more."

"We could always go for a night swim." The girl winked as she slicked her wet hair back, earning a mischievous, approving smile from the girl. She slowly made her way out of the water before producing a towel to wrap around herself. Digging her feet into the sand and letting herself dry under the scathing sunrays for a little bit, she watched with a small smile as Antoine wrapped his arms around Dahlia and dunked them both underwater.

Smooth little fucker.

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

The library was quiet as she clicked the door shut behind her. She padded over to the shelves lined up with books to take her pick for the day, her fingers grazing the spines of the volumes as she contemplated her options. They halted once a certain one caught her attention— Secrets of The Dark Arts.

Sereia's brows furrowed as she tugged the book and her eyes fell on the cover. She never knew the Rosiers possessed restricted books about the Dark Arts. She made a mental note to ask Antoine about it later, but at that moment, her curiosity was gnawing at her, so caving in, she opened the book to scan its contents. That was until a figure emerged from the shadows, materialising like a whisper.

"Discovering the secrets of dark magic?" His low voice sounded behind her, once again, startling her. She spun around to see Tom Riddle, leaning against a desk as he regarded her with an ominous look in his eyes.

Her heart caught in her throat. Not only because he had frightened her, but because she found him sinfully attractive in that position, with the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up. The girl cleared her throat and tried to appear nonchalant as she replied. "Well, I believe secrets hold a certain fascination."

Tom's brow quirked. "Fascination or danger?"

"Perhaps they are one and the same."

"And do you enjoy delving into danger?"

Sereia paused for a moment. "I wouldn't know...but perhaps I would not be opposed to finding out."

He cocked his head to the side, appearing intrigued yet strangely pleased with her reply. Sereia got the sense that their seemingly clandestine exchange was laced with an unspoken tension that hung heavy in the air. The world around them faded into obscurity, leaving only the charged atmosphere between them. His eyes traced the droplets sliding down her wet strands of hair onto her chest, and he swallowed when they trailed down the top of her dress.

Sereia's gaze dropped to his hands clutching the edges of the table he was leaning on. Her eyes unconsciously traced the slender fingers adorned with rings, his thumb which was lightly grazing the wood and her cheeks grew hot at the obscene thoughts that most definitely should not have passed through her mind. Ripping her stare away from his very alluring hands, she took in a deep breath.

She was the first to break the tense silence. "You did not come to swim."

He hummed pushing away from the table. Sereia's eyes tracked his movements, watching him approach the shelf and absentmindedly browse the books while standing beside her. "I wished to read instead. It seems a much more fruitful use of my time."

She could not resist the urge to huff. "But it is summer. You can read, yes, but you should also indulge in the warm weather and the sea."

He turned to regard her for a moment, and the girl sucked in a breath as his eyes traced all over her form. His eyelashes fluttered, so dark against the paleness of his high cheekbones as he stared down at her. Then, as if entertained by some idea, he smirked. His smirk was dark and full of amusement and drove her just a bit insane. "Maybe I will."

She flushed under his stare and was about to come up with a witty remark when the door burst open. Alarmed, she jumped back from the sudden intrusion, yet Tom remained the picture of indifference as if he had not been caught off guard. The eye contact between them broke, and Sereia turned to face their intruder.

Walburga Black could not have looked more pleased to see someone in her life.

"Tom! There you ar— oh, Sereia? What are you doing here?" Perplexed eyes flickered between her and Riddle, and Sereia subconsciously widened the distance between them. Walburga's calculating gaze was piercing as she tracked every minuscule movement, and the girl felt uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of her unpleasant confusion.

"I was just getting a book," Sereia replied after a moment of pregnant silence, awkwardly pointing at the shelf lined with books to prove her point. Walburga, perhaps choosing not to bother herself with intricate details of their interaction, smiled tightly, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing away.

"Oh, well, Antoine needs you for...something." She said as her eyes moved to Tom once again, and an appreciative glint flickered in them. Sereia glanced at him too, only to see his impassive expression blanketing his face.

Feeling out of place, she cleared her throat and beelined for the door. "Right, I'll go." She muttered and threw one last look over her shoulder at the wizard, whose gaze was already trained on her form. There was no expression to decipher, no look to read, only a blank canvas that was his face. Sereia shut the door after her. She stood outside the door for a moment, pushing her hands through her hair in frustration.

Something was going on between Walburga and Tom and she had not realised until the girl had literally flaunted it in front of her face. Perhaps she had been blindly foolish to indulge in Riddle's charming nature, to latch onto his attention and bask in it like it was the summer sun.

With a bitter huff, she began making her way downstairs to attend to whatever Antoine needed her for. She was about to turn around a corner when a voice called out to her.

"Ria? Where are you going?"

She glanced behind her shoulder to see the said man standing in the hallway with a towel hanging around his shoulders, droplets of water slipping through the wet strands of hair and onto the marbled floor.

"Wal said you needed me for something. I was going to look for you."

"Huh?" He rubbed his head. "I did not say anything of the sort to her."

A tired sigh escaped her lips at the revelation. "Oh."

"Are you...good?"

"Yea—yeah. I— Actually, can I ask you something?"

When Antoine nodded encouragingly, she motioned for him to come closer. He approached with a raised eyebrow, gently taking her elbow as she began to guide them away from the group. Sereia lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you think there's something going on between Riddle and Walburga?"

The wizard came to an abrupt halt, turning his head so swiftly that she wondered how he didn't give himself whiplash. "Whoa, where did that idea come from?"

"Yes or no, Tony."

"Well...in a certain way, yes. But it is—I mean, it's not anything serious. Tom is not that type of person."

The girl's brows furrowed at his vague answer. "What do you mean not serious?"

Antoine's cheeks turned red as he tried to formulate a reply that would be appropriate for her ears. "They are not courting. It is more of a...physical arrangement."

"So they are just having sex?"

"Ria!" Antoine gasped, scandalised. "How do you know what that means?"

"Tony, I am not a child. I know what it is."

"No, you're too young. And you are a lady. You should not know such things."

Crossing her arms across her chest, Sereia took a defensive position. "So it is normal for Wal to have sex but it is not normal for me to know about it?"

"You are too young!" He repeated his earlier statement as if that somehow solidified his point.

"Tony, I'm the same age as you."

"Oh, er, well. Bloody hell. Perhaps I should have done more to shield you from such topics."

They walked in silence for a moment before Antoine came to an abrupt halt, his steps slowing as he furrowed his brow in thought. "Ria, about Tom and Wal, try not to say anything about it, yeah? Tom does not like people to know his business— wait— how did you even figure it out?"

"I was in the library with Tom when Wal barged in and tried to get rid of me by saying you asked for me. I could also see in her eyes that she was ready to jump his bones."

Antoine's curiosity seemed piqued, and he leaned in slightly. "You were in the library with Tom? Alone?"

"Yes?"

"Did he...try anything?"

"No, we just talked."

"Listen, I am saying this as a precaution. Do not get involved with him under any circumstance. Tom has a notorious reputation for taking hearts and bleeding them dry. I do not wish to see you heartbroken. You do not deserve that."

She rolled her eyes at his concern but still smiled appreciatively at him. "Gee, Tony. I appreciate the sentiment but I barely know the guy. I assure you, I have no interest in him."

"Good, good. My duty is to warn."

With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she added, "Perhaps my duty is to warn you that they are probably contaminating your library with bodily fluids."

Antoine slapped a hand over his face and groaned loudly. "Ria..."

"See you at dinner!" Sereia singsonged, her laughter echoing down the corridor as she pranced away toward her room, leaving Antoine Rosier mortified in the middle of the corridor.

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

Persistent knocking at Sereia's bedroom door abruptly interrupted her peaceful nap. Irritated, she tried to ignore the disturbance and buried her face deeper into her pillow, willing herself back into the realm of dreams. For a moment, it seemed to work as she felt her consciousness slipping back into slumber.

But then, a gentle tap on her shoulder roused her once more. "Go away," she mumbled into her pillow, her voice laden with drowsiness. With a blind, half-hearted effort, she attempted to push away the intruder who dared to disrupt her much-needed rest.

"Nova?"

At the sound of that familiar voice, her eyes snapped open. She shifted in her bed, turning to face the intruder. There, at the foot of her bed, stood Tom Riddle, his typically composed demeanour marred by an uncertain expression. It was as though waking someone from their sleep was an utterly alien concept to him.

"What do you think you're doing in my room?" She snapped, her words laced with an edge she didn't bother to conceal. Her tone came out harsher than she had intended, but remembering the library incident, she decided she did not regret it. He deserved her ire.

If he was surprised by her irritation, he did not show it. "Rosier asked me to wake you. It is dinner time."

"Oh. Right. I'm up." She quickly slipped out of her covers, adjusting her dress and brushing her fingers through her hair to tame it into an appropriate state. Her reflection in the mirror received a quick once-over to ensure everything was in order and as she patted down her curls, she heard Riddle clear his throat awkwardly.

"Your—" He paused, clearing his throat again, "—your laces."

"What?"

"Your laces are untied." He gestured at her corset. Her brows furrowed in momentary confusion before realization dawned. She had loosened her corset so she could nap comfortably and now that he was behind her, he could probably glimpse the skin of her bare back.

"Right. Yeah," she mumbled, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks. She fumbled for the laces behind her, attempting to tie them quickly. However, each time she tried, the slippery fabric seemed to evade her fingers before she could secure a knot.

"Would you like me to—"

"Yeah." She answered, her voice soft, slightly shaky.

He took a step towards her and she swallowed the lump in her throat as she gazed up at his looming form. Breathing out slowly, she turned to bare him on her back and allowed her fingers to drop away from her efforts. Her pulse quickened as she felt the warmth of his proximity. His fingers reached unsurely to grab a hold of the laces, and he rubbed the silky material between his fingers experimentally.

"Tug at them before tying it tightly. Um...if you can...are able to? Could you make a bow?"

As he began to tie the laces, the room seemed to grow smaller, and Sereia found herself acutely aware of the proximity and intimacy of the situation. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts as his fingers worked skillfully at her corset. The air was charged with an unspoken tension, one that seemed to thicken with each passing moment.

In the confined space of her room, Tom felt entirely out of place as he meticulously laced up Sereia's corset. The delicate task demanded a finesse he wasn't accustomed to, and his fingers, usually so confident and precise, seemed to fumble at the unfamiliarity of the situation. Sereia mirrored his discomfort, her feelings a chaotic blend of unease and confusion. The lingering irritation she had felt toward him clashed awkwardly with the unexpected intimacy of the moment, leaving her in a state of disarray.

He pulled lightly at the strings.

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Harder, please," she said, her words catching in her throat as soon as they left her mouth. Wide-eyed, she realized the unintended implication of her words, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. The girl could only take comfort in the fact that he could not see her face.

She felt his breathing uneven, fanning hotly against her neck. "Right." he managed, his own breathing uneven. His fingertips grazed her skin as he complied with her request, the featherlight touch sending a shiver down her spine.

"I think it's done?" He muttered unsurely.

Sereia reached behind to confirm, and feeling slightly breathless, she took a step away from him to put distance between them. "Yeah. Thank you."

"We should head down," she said, her words an attempt to dispel the tense silence that had settled over them.

He once again nodded mutely and opened the door to leave. She followed suit, patting down her hot cheeks in hopes that they would cool before people would wonder why she was so flustered. She watched as his back muscles shifted underneath his pristine white button-up shirt, and she quickly averted her gaze. She did not need any more alluring images of Tom Riddle stitched to the depth of her mind.

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

The rhythmic sound of waves caressing the shore travelled through the balcony and into the dining room. Giggles and endless chatter were never-ending at the dinner table, with a seemingly bottomless supply of wine that was poured and poured and poured after a single sip, flowing endlessly like a river of indulgence that seemed to have no end— which was to ensure the indulgence never ended, and that the night would stretch into dawn.

Sereia covered her mouth as a loud laugh left her mouth at one of the stories Abraxas Malfoy had just shared with the table, and she watched in amusement Rosier's cheeks flushed crimson, his embarrassment laid bare for all to see.

She was aware she had drank just a tad bit too much— over her usual limit. The world around her took on a surreal quality, the edges blurring as if dipped in a haze of euphoria. Her movements grew languid, each gesture carrying the weight of lazy indulgence. Every joke, no matter how tasteless, elicited uproarious laughter, and she found herself laughing along, her own amusement magnified by the alcohol coursing through her veins. She was only comforted by the fact that she was not the only one inebriated. In fact, she was the most composed out of the rest who were howling with laughter.

Of course, Sereia had also taken notice that Riddle had only drunk one glass and left the refilled one untouched. He was like a lone island of sobriety in the sea of intoxication that surrounded him. She struggled to make sense as to why he did not join in. After all, what was the fun in being frigidly sober when the rest of your company danced on the edge of reality, wild with intoxication?

She had also been aware of how his eyes would rest on her longer than necessary. Longer than what was considered a fleeting glance. It was unsettling, this unwavering observation. His gaze held her like a moth drawn to a flame, analyzing her quirks, her gestures, absorbing every nuance of her being.

What did not help, was the fact that he was right beside her. She could physically feel his presence, the warmth of his body, the little sounds as shifted in his seat, his mindless little hums that were unheard by anyone except her.

Perhaps it was the wine. The alcohol had dulled her senses and made her hyperaware of his presence in a way that was both thrilling and disconcerting.

Or perhaps she had become delirious with want in just one day.

Sereia glanced at him when his name was mentioned in yet another tale that Abraxas was telling animatedly, her eyes roving over the little furrow of his brows, the imperceptible frown of his lips as she traced the shape of them with her gaze. She found herself unable to tear her gaze away from the contours of his face— and then he met her stare.

Shit. She had been caught.

Yet the alcohol buzzing through her veins emboldened her, and instead of turning away in hot embarrassment, she blinked up at him through her lashes, her gaze holding his for a moment longer before she casually redirected her attention back to the ongoing conversation.

As her fingers wrapped around the stem of her wine glass, she felt a sudden, deliberate brush of warmth against her outer thigh. Glancing down, she realized that Tom's leg was gently pressed against hers. Heat surged through her veins, her grip on the glass tightening involuntarily, suddenly hyperaware of their proximity. She shifted in her seat, trying to tamp down the fire that threatened to consume her.

"Tom? Don't you agree?" Abraxas bellowed from the opposite side of the table, glancing at his friend expectantly. Tom leaned on the table, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of Sereia's chair casually, and his other hand on the table, as he glanced at Abraxas.

"Agree with what?"

"See! I told you he was not listening!" Rosier's triumphant tone cut through the room as he slammed his palm on his thigh, emphasizing his point. The wizard next to Sereia rolled his eyes before sinking back into his chair, his hand still lingering possessively at the back of her seat.

"Busy thinking about your earlier library escapade?" Sereia snarked, lowering her tone so no one but Tom would her snide comment. She glanced up at him, realising a moment too late how the positioning of his arm had made them closer, but she did not back away, set on making the wizard uncomfortable. His eyes met hers, and she noticed the way they visibly darkened in intensity.

"Watch your mouth," he hissed, his tone low and warning.

Sereia was not one to back away, so with the edge of her mouth curling into a challenging smirk, she asked— "oh, you do not want your dirty laundry aired? Or is there another issue?"

"You misunderstand, Nova. Do not talk about things you have no knowledge of," he replied, his voice measured, giving nothing away.

"Oh, I assure you, it is not hard to guess what exactly was happening behind those library doors."

"Do you?" He inquired, his gaze holding hers.

"Mhm." The girl turned her head, ending their silent standoff. She raised her glass to her lips, taking a generous sip to ease her nerves.

Tom watched, unable to tear his eyes away, as her plump lips curved around the glass, the delicate arch of her throat as she swallowed the crimson liquid, the tantalizing trace of her tongue that lingered on her lips, collecting the remnants of wine.

He forced himself to look away, his jaw clenched, as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Not being used to not having the last word, he spoke up once again. "You know nothing."

"Oh come on, Riddle, how naive do you think I am?"

"What would a girl of your upbringing know about such things?" He questioned a hint of condescension in his voice.

Sereia bristled and her tone took on a sharp and incisive edge. "Walburga is of the same upbringing as well, and yet you sullied her."

"Enough."

"Just stating the truth, Riddle. It stings, does it not?" Sereia raised a challenging brow, her smirk triumphant. When he found no immediate reply, she excused herself from the table with a satisfied smirk, leaving him behind, lost in his own thoughts.

As she began ascending the spiral stairs, she distantly heard Riddle excuse himself. She briefly registered his footsteps sounding closer and closer, yet she paid no mind to it, set on her destination. What she did not expect, was for her wrist to suddenly be snatched roughly, causing her to stumble back and crash into his chest.

She glared up at him, struggling to pull her hand free from his clutch. "What do you think you're doing?"

She watched as Tom's mouth curled into a sneer, and he pulled her closer by her arm. "You think you can have the last word, little siren? Think you can just put on a show and leave with no consequences?"

Sereia swallowed, her eyes flickering between his as she attempted to form coherent thoughts. "Riddle—"

He brought a finger to her lips to shush her. "No. You don't get to say anything. Attempt to speak again and I will shut you up in a manner that you might not like."

She shuddered in his hold, his low voice, his threatening tone travelling through her body to her lower stomach, igniting a fire in her core.

"Let me go. Who do you think you a—"

True to his word, Tom removed his finger— only to replace it with his lips, effectively cutting her mid-sentence. His kiss was bruising, angry, as if he was attempting to release all his built-up frustration for her through this kiss. The pent-up tension that had crackled in the air between them seemed to snap away like a broken dam. It was an unravelling, a surrender to the magnetic pull that Tom had felt for the girl since seeing her for the first time.

Sereia responded to the kiss with equal fervour, moving her lips against his like the final, cathartic end of a storm. All thoughts of their previous banter faded away, leaving only a heady intoxication in its wake. She felt drunk on his taste— a potent mix of desire and desperation— a flavour she knew she could never possibly get enough of not that she had experienced it.

Loud, raucous laughter and the clatter of silverware from the dining room below suddenly shattered the spell of the moment, and Tom pulled away as if her skin had burnt him. Sereia took a deep breath, feeling the heat creep up her neck as reality came crashing back in an unwelcome intrusion.

Her eyes locked with his in a fleeting moment, and seeing his strained expression, she suddenly had the urge to run. Swallowing a lump down her throat, she turned and fled, her steps quick and unsteady, her heart pounding like a caged bird desperate for escape. She didn't dare look back, didn't dare face the myriad of emotions swirling in her chest.

She knew getting caught up in the web woven by Tom Riddle's mistrustful hands was dangerous. Antoine's warning echoed in her head as she shut the door behind her, and leaned against it to catch her breath.

"Tom has a notorious reputation for taking hearts and bleeding them dry."

Sereia was sure that she was utterly and completely fucked.

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

PART 3

#tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle one shot #tom riddle series #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle angst #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle smut

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cookie-crumblr · 10 months ago

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G/N! Royal Reader × Yandere Prince OC

If the Crown fits👑✨

Part 1, 2~

His Info 🕯️📜

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

Synop: You are a royal, expected to marry the realms’ crown royal. You don't like him at first but he wins you over, yada yada~ It's SMUT✨

CW: GN! Reader, no bodily or genitalia descrips for reader, arranged marriage(more so encouraged), i don't think any for this part????? lemme no! love y'all darlings! Short part!!!

"But father, you can't truly expect me to marry that-”

"You will hold your tongue, child.” The tall man interrupts. “and you will marry Prince Kastriot." He slams down his gilded cane so that it bounces back up to his grasp. As he storms out, the queen, your mother, flits in like a six foot three butterfly that more than aced her elegance training.

"Now, how you go about it, darling... Just don't do anything I wouldn't have done," she kisses your forehead.

"Mother... You assassinated an entire retinue comitatus to get to father.” You roll your eyes.

"I said what I said." she dainty wiggles her fingers as a wave while she departs from your bedroom's antechamber.

You fall onto the plush furs covered sofa, the fireplace across from you crackles, usually soothing, are far too loud at the moment. You're grating your teeth when your pet fox bounds up to you.

You let out the air you hadn't realized you were holding. How can you be stressed while henry is here?

You can't.

You scritch his chin, his leg kicks the air signifying you're on point.

*We should get some rest, Henry, it's my coming out tomorrow." You sigh and pat his muzzle affectionately.

Later~

"The moon's still out, Henry, it's fine," You can almost hear the fox saying you need sleep through his wines.

You're still up.

Unable to sleep, you started sifting through most recent political setbacks of your kingdom. People need liberated here, more housing there, while the year's social season starts.

You glance out the window, and instead of glittering blackness, you are greeted with the deep tell tale pink and orange slash across the horizon.

"Oh gods!! Now!?" You grab a thick, old tome, and fill it with some important receipts, then slam it shut, stuff it into your satchel, and rush out of your father's office.

You're retainers rush around the room with an undeniable vibrancy. Everyone loves the social season...

But your stomachs in knots.

You aren't "being forced to marry Prince Kastriot, but you are definitely being forced to marry him.

You don't even know the man! You always had the typical dream every royal shares... To marry for love.

But like with most royals, that dream is squashed like insects beneath the boots of your parents.

You zone back in when some one punches you as they tie a ribbon, their face is twisted in absolute horror and it confuses you.

"What’s the matter, Eliza? You inspect her further, hoping she's unharmed.

“Y-you know my— I’m sorry, I pinched you... Your royal highness”

You almost bark out a laugh but with your own training you manage to keep it fully hidden. "Oh, my, uh, listen, you don't have to worry too much here, it's not even in a visible place, let's move along please,”

You raise your arms for the other retainers and courtiers.

She looks relieved as she gets back to tying and fastening little bits and pieces of your outfit.

You stifle an overwhelmingly strong yawn.

Fuck.

Your second wind is already dying out, and it's not even time for brunch and touring the park.

"What is the attack plan for the day, darling?" Your mother asks politely, between small sips of her tea.

"Mom, No." You go to stand it's almost time to prepare for the tour anyway.

She predictably stops you, but just briefly, "Do take care, your highness."

You roll your eyes with a groan.

Henry trots along, happily trailing you. Tongue lolling and tail wagging like a dog's.

It's almost a picture perfect day really.

But...

Where's your father?

Presentation Time~

Now you know where he was, because regardless of alphabetical order you are in the last place.

Most likely so that you have the optimal chance to leave a lasting impression.

They'll be tired and bored by then, If you want to go along with it you should be exciting and flamboyant, but be careful to not overdo it, this is a proper event in from of the two kings of kings, and their son, after all.

Then again…

You could also try and sabotage your presentation to court… It might possibly ruin your chances with the crown prince… That would save you from marring someone you don’t know, but that would also bring forth your kingdom’s downfall.

#my oc #yandere #oc x reader #oc x you #yandere x reader #yandere x you #tw yandere #my fic #dead dove do not eat #yandere prince #yandere prince x reader #oc prince #yandere prince oc #reader x oc #reader x prince #yan smut #poll #oc kas

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sylviazem · 2 months ago

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FFXIV Write 2024- Prompt #9: Lend an Ear

master list

"So, mister Gil," Fjola took a big swig of her drink. "What led you to lend an ear to my oddly specific request? It's not exactly something you hear every day."

"Erenville didn't elaborate beyond my appearance?"

"M-mm," Fjola shook her head and took another sip.

"Ever a man of few words," Glance sneered slightly. "Well, aside from owing that handsome bugger a favour, I'm something of a self-styled anthropologist and archaeologist."

"...Mhm," Fjola smiled and nodded.

"I, er, study people, and their history. Culture, to be more specific."

"Ah!"

"It just so happens I've been meaning to visit Miret-njer -the village, I mean- for some time now," he leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply. "Ever since before the Calamity, in fact. But you know how it was. Things happened, and then some."

"...I understand your meaning, at least," Fjola finished her drink and wistfully trailed the rim of the pint with her finger. "I'm an amnesiac, you see. I know the Calamity happened, and I remembered my name, but...nothing before or after."

"How peculiar," Gil scratched his beard in contemplation. "It's certainly true that most don't remember what exactly happened in the aftermath of Carteneau, but your case seems to be rather unique. But I see now! You wish to learn of your past, of course."

"That's precisely it. I'm hoping that seeing the village of my birth might help stir up some memories," she smiled briefly. "Of course, I can't know if they'd be pleasant, but...not knowing at all feels worse."

"Not to assume, but you do seem your own person, regardless of your past...or lack thereof."

"...Thank you," Fjola's smile returned, even brighter than before. "That is very reassuring, Gil."

"...I seem to notice," he looked around. "It's getting dark. Perhaps we should retire for the night or continue in private? I've a room rented at the inn there, if you don't mind sharing."

"Not at all," Fjola laughed softly. "I'd like that a lot."

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024 #oc: fjola miret-njer #oc: gilded glance

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wistfulwanderingone · 1 month ago

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⚜️The Alchemy of Gold⚜️

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Characters: Cassandra Bellarose (OC), Chevalier Michel

Pairing: (Clavis Lelouch x OC)

Event: Falling For Fall CC

Hosted by: @violettduchess & @lorei-writes

Prompt: Gold (Fluff)

⚜️The Alchemy of Gold⚜️

The sun slanted through the tall windows, bathing Prince Chevalier’s private library in a warm, golden glow. The rich mahogany shelves and the scent of aged parchment lent the room a timeless quality, but it was the way the sunlight danced along the gold accents of the second prince’s clothing that could easily dazzle anyone else. His pristine white uniform, adorned with gilded threads that shimmered like liquid sunlight, perfectly complemented his pale blond hair, which seemed to glow in the gentle warmth.

Yet, despite the beautiful prince before her, Cassandra’s thoughts remained elsewhere—as always, it was Prince Clavis who filled the forefront of her mind and heart. She sat across the room from Chevalier, hardly reading. Her fingers grazed the spine of an old book, but her mind was tangled in the web that was Clavis. No matter how many moments they shared—his teasing remarks, the warmth in his gaze—she could never be certain of what lay beneath the surface. His words always danced just beyond sincerity, always laced with humor, leaving her to wonder if he ever truly meant any of it.

Did Clavis care for her, or was she simply another participant in his endless games? Every glance, every fleeting touch, sent her heart racing, but just when she thought there might be something real between them, he would pull away, hiding behind a grin or a clever remark. She longed to know what he truly felt, but with Clavis, there was always another layer, another riddle to solve. Did he ever drop the mask, even for a moment? And if he did, would she be able to see the truth?

Her thoughts swirled in frustration as she tried to make sense of him, of the games he played—whether they were meant to distract her or himself.

"He hides behind games," Chevalier said suddenly, breaking the silence without even glancing up from his book. "But games require strategy. Few appreciate the mind behind them." The light from the window glinted off his hair, casting an almost ethereal glow over the golden accents of his pristine uniform, making him seem even more distant, like a figure carved from marble and gold.

“Clavis?” Cassandra blinked in surprise. Though she and Prince Chevalier had developed a quiet camaraderie since he’d discovered her love for ancient texts, it was still unusual for him to speak unprompted. Most afternoons, she would arrive, offer a polite greeting that went unanswered, and quietly sit to read. Occasionally, he would ask for her thoughts on a text, but those moments were rare. Never had he spoken to her about Clavis—not even when Clavis would barge into the library, pulling her away to witness one of his newest inventions or insist she taste a dish he’d prepared “especially” for her.

A faint smirk appeared on Chevalier’s lips, as if her surprise amused him. "He has potential," he added, his tone measured and detached, his eyes still fixed on the pages before him. "But potential, without purpose, is wasted."

Cassandra shifted in her seat, processing his words. “Perhaps…he just hasn’t found that purpose yet.”

For the first time, Chevalier lifted his gaze to meet hers. His blue eyes, so often cold and calculating, reflected the sunlight in a way that made them seem warmer, softer—if only for a fleeting moment.

“That fool will require guidance to discover it," Chevalier continued, his voice calm but laden with unspoken meaning. "Someone who can see past the games, with enough patience...and vision."

Cassandra sat in stunned silence, her heart beating in time with the golden light that wrapped around them like a veil. For someone as famously detached as Chevalier, these words felt like a gift—a rare glimpse into his perception of both his brother and her.

Chevalier’s gaze fell back to his book, the brief flicker of warmth vanishing as quickly as it had come. "But you won’t find the answers in these pages," he said, his voice returning to its usual crisp tone. "Clavis is more intricate than any text you'll read here."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Cassandra’s lips. "Perhaps," she murmured, "but it’s comforting to know I’m not alone in appreciating that complexity."

Silence fell between them once more, but it was no longer the cold, detached silence that typically surrounded Chevalier. This time, it felt...different. Thoughtful, almost.

"Remember, Dreamer," Chevalier said, his voice calm but firm, "gold on its own is soft, but when alloyed with the right metal it becomes strong—unyielding. Its true strength lies in what supports it."

Cassandra’s gaze flicked to the gold that adorned his uniform, threads shimmering in the light—bold, unmistakable, much like the prince himself. Chevalier’s strength was clear for all to see, wielded with precision and purpose. But his words made her think of Clavis, whose power wasn’t so easily defined, cloaked beneath his playful facade. They were so different, these brothers, yet both possessed a kind of strength that captivated her—one open and commanding, the other veiled and elusive. The thought stirred something within her, a sense that perhaps there was more to understand than she’d realized.

As the warm golden light of the setting sun bathed the library, they returned to their reading, the silence between them not uncomfortable but now gilded with a shared understanding.

Tag team: @candiedcoffeedrops @aide-falls @chirp-a-chirp @ithseem

@aquagirl1978 @queengiuliettafirstlady

If you want to be added to my tag list for Ikemen fics, just let me know!

#fallingforfallcc #ikemen prince #chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikeprince #clavis x oc #Clavis x Cassandra #autumn #autumn fluff #Cassandra Bellerose #gold

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rosenongrata · 8 months ago

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heavy in your arms – i

Summary: After losing a challenge against Dr. Ratio, Kagome feels herself to be indebted to him. She returns the “favor”, only to be surprised by his sudden compassion and consideration.

A/N: RAHHHH I LOVE THESE TWO TOGETHER FOR SOME REASON. WHAT. FUCK IT WE BALL?? anyway. this is. very much didn't have a definitive plot in mind lmaooo. enjoy anyway ? might write a pt2 or smth. lol we'll seeeee

c.w/s:MDNI/NOTSFW. OC x Canon, OC-insert. soft Ratio hours. slightly implied past SA in the OCs past (not by any characters), but it's rly vague. oral sex (OC/fem receiving). soft soft soft times. have i said it's soft? anyway, if i forgot something, hmu!

w.c: 1.2k

“Dr. Ratio…” Kagome mutters, gloved hands on his thighs – he can feel the nervous tremble in her palms, extending to her whole body. “Please…be gentle with me—” She clears her throat as she sits on her knees in front of him, “Th-this is a mere favor, s-so don’t test my patience—”

“You can call me Veritas now.” He sighs, one of his fully unclothed hands snaking its way to cover her own – but it only makes her tremble and grimace further. “This is no demand from me, I am certain you know this… Correct?”

“Y-Yes, sir…” She nods and stares up at him, her pupils constricted with what he assumes is fear.

He sighs again, eyes now laden with mild frustration and mostly confusion, “Kagome.” He grabs both of her hands, causing her heart to jump into her throat as he pulls her to her feet, “I will not allow you to do this if you are frightened. I do not know exactly what is causing your fright, but I will not be taking advantage of it.” He informs, voice heavy with severity.

“My apologies…” She turns her head away – eyes screwed shut – but he’s quick to angle her face back toward him, “Huh?” Her eyes blow wide open again while a nervous sweat breaks out on her forehead and neck.

“Do not apologize for whatever you believe you did wrong. You have neither offended or upset me thus far. So, quit apologizing over nothing.” He commands with an abnormal amount of fragility in his tone.

“I-I– But, I–”

He presses his lips against her own – deep and fierce, but not with an ounce of roughness. One of his hands slips over the back of her head while the spare one cradles her lower back. She gasps from the shift of words to action, a moan soon following after – leaving wonderful tingles along his lips.

“If you cannot stop apologizing, then I will simply have to silence you.” He smirks, soft and hot breaths brushing against her velvety smooth lips.

She blinks repeatedly – for once taking a long moment to register what’s happening. He lets her take an adequate amount of time, his gilded stare watching her diligently – taking in every subtle reaction she has. Despite their many years of knowing each other, he’s never seen her so emotional – let alone distraught – before now. It makes the hardy plaster around his heart crack a little – it’s not everyday you get to see a member of the Genius Society fall apart before you.

He takes no pleasure from this experience of witnessing her be so scared of him, yet he finds so much intimacy in being what feels like the first person to see her like this – fragile. While he may be as sturdy as stone, he keeps a silent promise to treat her like porcelain.

The fit of giggles that break out from her tears him away from his thoughts, eliciting him to raise a thin dark purple brow.

“What is so funny?” He inquires, leaning dangerously close to her face again.

“Aha– I’m so sorry. I just– You…you’re really, truly, utterly horrific at kissing.” She continues to giggle, “A-And you’re so dorky… So confident about everything you do and are, even smirking when you get a reaction from me… It’s…rather cute.” She flusters, her laughing dying down as she glances anywhere else that isn’t him.

“…I am truly flattered, Kagome.” He deadpans, his voice flooded with sarcasm. “Then, if you are so skilled at kissing… Teach me.” He smirks once more, slowly backing her up into the nearby wall of his office – all with his hands firm on her curvy hips.

“…Proposal accepted. However…” She breathes – the sweet scent of the sakura mochi she had earlier hits his senses, “Do know it’s merely a matter of…experience.”

“I am happy to inform you that I am more than willing to learn.” His lopsided smirk evens out into a thin smile.

Her eyes latch on to his thin lips, all while her hand brushes some of his dark locks away from his eyes. “And…take your time, there’s no rush… I plan to give you ample time.” She snickers, planting a hesitant yet soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

The praise brings an odd sense of warmth and shyness to all of him, a blush rising to his cheeks despite his slight grimace.

“Hush,” He commands, “Let me conduct my experiment now.” He pivots his head to fully meet her lips again, pressing his mouth deep against her own with his body flush against hers. This time he holds back on his passion, easing his way into her heart – all with her soft, delicate lips in mind.

“V-Veritas!” Kagome heaves, soft moans rolling off her tongue, “Y-You’re improving so quickly – ngh!” Her toned leg quakes as it rests over his broad shoulder, her other leg is the only thing barely holding her up all while he noses her clit and devours her core with heated, fervent licks and sucks.

When he removes his head from her heat – lower face covered in her wet lust – he grins up at her while licking his lips.

“A higher rating… Now I am more than confident I will get you to cum with no more wasted time.” He immediately dives back in, his licking and sucking even more passionate than before.

His suspicions are correct, too – so he swiftly takes her other leg and rests it over his free shoulder as well. She gasps – with her tearful eyes and broken smile – she finds his ability to hold nearly all of her weight up sexy and endearing. She braces one hand against the wall she’s pinned against, her free hand grabbing a fistful of his thick locks and pulling him further into her.

One of his hands leaves her thick thigh, moving to slip two fingers into her heated, dripping wet hole. A sharp gasp and heavy moan leaves her as she shakes and screws her eyes shut. She moans loud and clear when his fingers curl against her walls, pressing onto a sweet spot.

“Yes, that’s a good girl.” He detaches his mouth from her overstimulated clit, “Now, cum for me.” He commands before giving her clit a hard suckle.

“MMH – NGH–!” She bites down on her bottom lip, nearly breaking skin. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she throws it back against the now warm wall.

She does cum – all over his chin and mouth, leaving streaks of white fluid along his lips which he promptly licks off. He even sucks his fingers clean, groaning softly at the taste of her.

“Delectable.” He remarks, leaving kisses on her folds a few times before he rises to his feet, moving her legs to wrap around his still-clothed hips while he shifts his position.

“Wh-what a good boy you are, Veri…” She whispers lustfully, grabbing his chin between her thumb and two other fingers. “Now… About that…favor.”

“Do not worry yourself to death about that damned favor. All I need you to do is sit back and relax… I will take the utmost care of you.” He presses several gentle kisses up her neck, moving his way to her jawline one kiss at a time. “…Are you ready now or shall we wait until a proper time and place? My office is hardly the ideal location for me to take you.”

“Let’s have a nice little date first… No formalities or facades – only ourselves in all earnesty. You can pick the time and place… I don’t mind.” She pulls his face to her own, planting a feather-light kiss on his lips,

“Impress me, Veri.”

#mine #oc #original character #oc: kagome ikeda #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr oc #hsr x oc #hsr dr ratio #dr ratio x oc #notsfw #mdni #YEET LETS GOOOOOOO #dr ratio smut #fic: heavy in your arms

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dujour13 · 9 months ago

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OC Kiss Week - day 3

For my friend @arendaes - a magic azata kiss for Ariadne 🦋💜

The Best in the World… continued

The planar gate briefly fills the air of Golarion with sparkling rainbow rays, releasing a flock of golden hummingbirds and two demigods before it snaps shut again.

“It’s an emergency,” Daeran declares. There’s something in his defiant stance that warns them: if they argue, they’re in for it. But the moment he lays eyes on Woljif he loses some of his poise. “What—whatever is that?”

Woljif scowls. You’d think a demigod could stop himself from blushing. “We were in Elysium, ok? I’m tryina blend in.”

He is wearing an Elysian chiton made of the gossamer silk of the luna moth and embroidered with shadow and gold; high, gilded sandals are laced halfway up his skinny cobalt calves; gold bangles decorate his bare arms, and a crown of flowers hangs over one horn. With an eye-roll Woljif snaps his fingers and is once again clad in his familiar leathers.

Daeran lets out a full-throated laugh and in that instant Siavash realizes what it is exactly that has changed about him these past few weeks: his laugh has lost its brittleness. It’s still razor sharp and a little wild, but richer, more solid, less likely to shatter.

Ariadne is trying hard not to laugh at Woljif herself but her tail dances.

“So what’s the emergency?” asks Siavash. They’re in Ariadne’s fathers’ garden in warm Absalom sunlight.

“Ariadne’s wayfinder has gone missing.”

Siavash glances Woljif’s way.

“What? It wasn’t me!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I can read your mind, remember?”

Siavash raises an eyebrow at Daeran. “And this is an emergency worth interrupting an Elysian revelry for.”

“A dire emergency,” affirms Daeran, his eyes flashing defiantly again. “That wayfinder means a lot to her.”

“It was a personalized gift from my fathers when I was inducted into the Pathfinder Society and yes, it means a lot to me!” Ariadne does indeed look distraught.

“I suspect it was lost during our little excursion to Sothis and hence I hold the two of you responsible,” Daeran says with an arch frown.

Woljif shrugs one shoulder. “I’m good at locatin’ lost things, I can look into it.”

Again Siavash raises a brow his way.

“What? You’re not still mad about the thing?”

“Which thing?”

“Forget it. I’ll take care of it for you, Ariadne. So uh, what does it look like?”

While Ariadne describes it, Daeran catches Siavash sizing him up and smiling knowingly. “What? Don’t you dare act smug. Not in that outfit.”

Hopelessly smitten. Who would have thought, Siavash chides him telepathically.

“I didn’t really want to cause an interplanar fuss,” Ariadne says, wringing their hands despite Woljif’s apparent eagerness to help.

Siavash squeezes them around the shoulder and plants a kiss on their temple that feels warm and somehow sparkly like one of her glitterbomb concoctions. “We’ll have it back in no time. You have no less than three demigods on it.”

“Two,” corrects Daeran.

“Three,” Siavash corrects him right back. “You wouldn’t decline to help a damsel in distress?”

That evening Ariadne takes advantage of the time to herself to hit the alchemy books she’s been neglecting since Daeran swept into her life. She feels oddly energized, easily concentrating on complicated reaction ratios, not even minding that her happy humming is off-key (or perhaps it’s more on-key than usual?), when the slightest whisper behind her suddenly causes her to freeze.

She holds her breath. There’s a sense of wrongness she can’t place; nor does she understand why she is so highly alert tonight, when normally she’d be curled up under the lab bench having a nap by this hour.

It could be anything—a mouse, a loose parchment settling to the floor, Elvandir bringing her a midnight cup of tea—but somehow she knows it’s dangerous.

Too late.

A spell – tensile webs of arcana closing around her.

She resists with a force of will she did not know she possessed, an energy that refuses to be bound lending her limbs fierce strength, and the dark web gives way and unravels.

There is only one thought: get away from the house. Whatever this danger is, it must not hurt her fathers.

All Ariadne sees as they tuck into a roll and come up on the other side of their attacker is a shadow clad in supple Pharasmin ash-gray, incanting another spell behind its veil.

Deflecting again with this strange freeing force animating their limbs, Ariadne throws open the lab door and sprints out into the night garden. How is it they can see so clearly on a cloudless night is a mystery to consider another time. They sense the gray-clad attacker approaching swiftly at their heels.

But she hears it hiss, stumbling as little vines whip out to tangle its legs.

She is free.

Clearing the garden wall in one vault, sprinting with the wind in her ears down the path toward the city—

She doesn’t spot the second attacker until it’s too late. It lunges out of the shadows of the neighbors’ toolshed and this time Ariadne is unable to snap the dark threads of magic before she is overcome and roughly pushed through a portal.

More darkness, but this time cold and stale. Under their limbs as Ariadne twists to their feet they feel the dry rasping of sand. And walls on every side.

#ockiss24 #friends' ocs #ariadne #siavash #pwotr pals #best in the world 'verse #happy valentine's day ash

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 1 month ago

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A Court of Fire & Masks

Eris Vanserra x OC

Chapter 7

A Court of Fire and Masks Master List

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of coercion and grooming. If you prefer to avoid these themes, here is a non-detailed summary:

Tensions escalate between Penelope and Persimmon as Persimmon reveals a painful secret about her past relationship with Lord Bastian, in which she was manipulated and abandoned, leading to her ruined reputation. In her heartfelt confession, Persimmon urges Penelope to be cautious with her own choices, particularly when it comes to Eris, and stresses the importance of a secure, stable future with Lord Aiden. As Penelope grapples with her sister's warnings, she begins to question whether her own decisions are truly hers, or if she's just a pawn in a larger game.

Content Warnings:

Emotional manipulation

Verbal and emotional abuse

Power imbalances

Anxiety and panic

Mentions of sexism & misogyny

Dark themes of cruelty

Mentions of grooming and coercion

Word Count: 6,334

“You cannot truly mean to live with the High Lord’s family?” Prudence asked again, her eyes wide as Penelope crossed the room with yet another stack of gowns folded in her arms.

“Am I supposed to stay here and take a carriage into court every day?” Penelope responded, dropping the gowns into the open trunk with a soft thud. She gave her sister a half-smile.

Persimmon sat perched in the window alcove, her gaze distant as she watched Penelope pack. Unlike the others, Persimmon had barely spoken to her sister since the hunt, keeping a quiet, almost stoic demeanor. Penelope would have preferred for her eldest sister to offer some words of advice, maybe even acknowledge the gravity of the situation, but Persimmon remained mute, her face an unreadable mask.

Penelope glanced over her, resisting the urge to sigh. She couldn’t tell what was troubling Persimmon, but she also knew better than to press. Especially not now, when she was already causing enough ripples within the family.

“So, where will you be staying?” Persephone asked, pulling another pile of gowns from the closet and tossing them onto the bed with an exaggerated flair. She eyed the colorful fabrics like she was inspecting treasure.

Penelope shrugged, picking up one of the more elaborate red gowns and running her fingers over the glittering fabric, it’s rich autumnal tones catching the light. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Though I imagine they have chambers specifically for court officials. I won’t be living in the family wing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Persephone placed a hand over her heart, leaning her head back dramatically as she cast her gaze to the ceiling. “My older sister, the court official. Official Advisor to the Heir of the Autumn Court.” She flourished her hand with a theatrical swoop before falling back on the bed in a heap of silken skirts. Prudence giggled, shoving at her, and Persephone shoved back.

Penelope smiled softly. To her younger sisters, this was nothing more than an exciting adventure, a mark of prestige, something that would bolster their own prospects. They didn’t understand the weight of it—the uncertainty, the questions that still swirled in her mind, or the unease that gnawed at her stomach whenever she thought of leaving.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Penelope teased, folding another gown carefully. “It sounds like I should be riding into court on a chariot made of gold.”

Persephone snorted. “If Lord Eris has any sense of style, that might not be far off. Imagine the gossip. The envy.” Her eyes gleamed mischievously. “You’re going to the be the talk of the entire Autumn Court, Pen!”

Prudence chimed in with her wide-eyed enthusiasm, “Do you think they’ll let us visit? I want to see your chambers! What if they’re all velvet and silk with gilded edges?”

“Maybe they’ll host a ball in your honor!” Persephone added, her voice giddy as she sprawled across the bed, her long hair fanning out like a banner.

Penelope rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Or maybe I’ll spend my days trying to keep the heir to the throne from causing political catastrophe.”

Prudence pouted, sitting up on her knees. “That sounds dreadfully boring.”

“Politics are boring,” Persephone said, waving a hand in the air. “But at least there’s potential for intrigue. Who knows, maybe you’ll fall in love with a dashing lord from another court. That would certainly spice things up.”

Prudence elbowed Persephone in the stomach. “No,” she hissed, “She’s already committed to Lord Aiden!”

Penelope paused, her fingers faltering on the gown she was folding. Fall in love. The words felt foreign, almost laughable, considering the circumstances. Her thoughts flickered to Aiden — kind, respectable, steadfast Aiden, who had practically given her permission to delay their courtship for this opportunity. And then, unbidden, her thoughts darted to Eris — his sharp amber eyes, the sly way he had convinced her, his strange, almost protective interest in her future.

“Love isn’t exactly part of the plan, Persephone,” Penelope replied quietly, smoothing the fabric once more. “Not everyone has the luxury of choosing who they fall for.”

Persephone rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hand, her expression turning more serious. “So you really are going to be living with the Vanserras… is that—are you excited?”

Penelope hesitated, her gaze dropping to the gown in her hands. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “It’s a lot to process. I thought by now things would feel settled, but…”

“But they don’t,” Persimmon’s voice, soft and even, finally cut through the room. She was still perched in the alcove, her posture stiff and formal, though her eyes held a faint shadow of something unreadable. “It’s not supposed to feel settled.”

Penelope looked at her eldest sister, surprised by the statement. Persimmon had always been the one to embody everything their parents expected—poised, composed, and dutiful. If anyone would have pushed Penelope to feel secure in this role, it would have been her.

“What do you mean?” Penelope asked quietly, folding the last of her gowns and placing them neatly in the trunk.

Persimmon’s eyes shifted to the window, watching the pale sunlight filter through. Silence.

Penelope paused, her hands stilling over the folded gown, her eyes flicking over to Persimmon, who now had pulled her legs up onto the window seat, arms wrapped loosely around her knees. Penelope glared at her other two sisters, who were watching the scene unfold with widened eyes. She motioned her head to the door, commanding them to leave with just one look. Persephone pushed back, whining slightly but Penelope’s hardened gaze sent both of them for the door. Once Persimmon and Penelope were alone, Penelope turned to her sister.

“Are you alright?” Penelope asked cautiously, her voice quiet as she set the gown aside and straightened.

Persimmon blinked, her eyes snapping back to Penelope, for the briefest moment, her carefully curated composure cracked. She exhaled sharply, a breath she hadn’t meant to release, her gaze shifting away, locking onto the distant orchard beyond the window.

“I’m fine,” Persimmon said, her voice tight, clipped. Her eyes remained fixed outside, as though if she looked hard enough, she could escape between the quiet silence of the trees.

Penelope hesitated, her hand hovering in front of her, a futile gesture of comfort she didn’t know how to give. “Sim–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Persimmon turned sharply, her gaze meeting Penelope’s with a look unlike any she had seen on her sister’s face. It was cold, hardened, sharp. For the first time in her life, Persimmon looked at her the way her mother did–a warning, a reprimand, all tightly coiled beneath the surface.

Penelope swallowed the tension rising in her throat. “Sim, you’re not fine.” Her voice was quieter, more careful than she intended, but she kept her eyes locked on her sister, waiting for a response that didn’t come. Persimmon’s gaze shifted again back to the window, fixed somewhere beyond, as though Penelope hadn’t spoken at all.

“We haven’t talked about what happened…or any of it.” Penelope’s words lingered in the air.

Penelope moved to sit beside her sister in the alcove. Persimmon’s eyes flicked to her, but she didn’t speak, didn’t move. The silence between them stretched taut, thick, as Penelope waited for her sister to offer something–anything.

When no words came, Penelope huffed softly in exasperation. “What has gotten into you?”

Persimmon turned sharply, her brow furrowing, her mouth falling slightly open. “What’s gotten into me?” she echoed, her tone sharp and accusing. “What’s gotten into you?”

Penelope frowned, confusion spreading across her face. Persimmon, noticing her sister’s ignorance, shook her head with a humorless laugh. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her gaze locked onto Penelope. “I mean, seriously, what do you think is going to happen?”

Penelope felt her defenses rising. “What are you talking about?”

Persimmon rolled her eyes and scoffed, the sound almost mocking. “Oh, come on.” She paused, her expression hardening as though waiting for Penelope to confess her grand mistake. “Pen, this is a terrible idea, and you know it.”

Penelope’s throat tightened, her mind scrambling for a response, but words failed her. Of everyone, she had thought Persimmon would understand her position. Yet here she was, almost accusing her. “Sim, this isn’t something I asked for.”

Persimmon’s eyes widened, incredulous, as though Penelope was completely missing the point. “Penelope, this is serious.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Penelope shot back, her voice rising defensively. She shook her head, hardly believing Persimmon’s tone.

“I told you to keep your head down,” Persimmon reminded her, her voice sharp. “Not to shack up with the heir of the Autumn Court.”

Penelope stiffened, fully on the defensive now. “I’m not ‘shacking up’ with Lord Eris. I didn’t even ask to be put in this position, but what am I supposed to do?”

“Say no,” Persimmon responded flatly, as though the answer was obvious.

“There is no saying no to him,” Penelope countered, crossing her arms tightly and leaning back. Her frustration bubbled over. “Why can’t you, of everyone, understand that I didn’t ask for this? That I didn’t want it?”

Persimmon’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Oh yes, poor Penelope. Life just keeps handing her everything, and now she’s ‘so burdened’ by the fact that the heir of the Autumn Court is looking her way,” she mocked, shaking her head and scoffing.

Penelope’s breath hitched at her sister’s sarcasm, anger flaring in her chest. “So you’re just jealous because while I am actually moving up in court, you’re still stuck with no one but yourself?” she snapped, the words escaping before she could stop them.

Persimmon’s head whipped around, her glare venomous “I’m not jealous,” she bit back, her voice cutting and sharp.

“Oh really?” Penelope pressed, her tone laced with bitterness. “So it doesn’t bother you at all that I’ve had a proposal and now this offer, while you’re still here, waiting?”

Persimmon’s eyes narrowed, the silence stretching between them. “No,” she answered, her voice flat and cold.

“So what’s the truth, Sim? Why are you being so awful?” Penelope asked, her eyes wide with hurt.

“It’s nothing Pen. Just keep strolling through life, moving from offer to offer,” Persimmon replied, waving her off dismissively, her voice sharp.

Penelope’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “You think this is easy for me? You think I asked for any of this? You think I want all these eyes on me, just waiting for me to fail?”

Persimmon merely shrugged, before turning back to the window. “It seems like even when you fail, nothing ever actually goes wrong for you. Maybe your failure is just another chance for you to land on your feet.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed as frustration boiled inside her. “Is that what you really think? That everything just falls into place for me? You have no idea what it’s like–”

Persimmon turned sharply, her voice rising. “No idea? I know exactly what it’s like! You’ve had it handed to you, Pen! A proposal from Lord Aiden, and now this position with Lord Eris! While I–” Her voice cracked, but she pushed on, the anger in her words barely restrained. “You just stumble your way through court and somehow everything ends up falling in your lap. And then you come crying about how unfair it all is!”

Penelope was taken aback, stunned by the venom in her sister’s voice. “Persimmon, if you think this has been handed to me, and it’s what I want, you couldn’t be more wrong,” she shot back, her own voice sharpening. “I don’t want to be with Lord Aiden! This whole time, with mother and father pushing me, I’ve felt nothing but pressure! I didn’t want any of this, didn’t want to be thrown into it all.” Her voice wavered for a moment before she continued, “And this position with Eris… if you think it doesn’t terrify me, you’re dead wrong.”

Persimmon rolled her eyes, bitter laughter spilling out. “Oh, Penelope, I’m so sorry for you,” she said mockingly, “that there are males actually wanting you.”

Penelope’s throat tightened, her hands curling into fists at her sides as she forced down the words bubbling up. “Someone has to secure this family’s future,” she bit out, her voice low and tense. “And clearly it won’t be you.”

Persimmon looked at Penelope, her anger suddenly turning to hurt. Her words hung in the air, sharp and stinging. The silence that followed felt suffocating, and for a long, tense moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, slowly, Persimmon inhaled, her chest rising as though she was about to respond. But no words came out. Instead, her lips pressed together in a tight, thin line. Her eyes flicked away, focusing on some unknown point out the window.

Penelope watched her sister’s shoulder tense, her body rigid. It looked as though something deep within her had cracked and was falling away.

Finally, Persimmon spoke, but her voice was much quieter than before–far too calm, almost unnervingly so. “Do you really think I haven't tried, Pen?”

Penelope furrowed her brow, unsure of how to respond, wanting to take back the sting of her words, but before she could speak, Persimmon continued. Her tone was slow, deliberate, and each word dripped with bitterness.

“I have done everything I was supposed to do. Played the part. Followed every rule. And for what?” She paused, her fingers tightening around the edge of the window seat, knuckles white as if she was clinging to something–anything–to keep herself grounded. “You talk about securing the family… like you’re the only one who’s had to carry that burden.”

“Persimmon–” Penelope started, but her sister shook her head, cutting her off.

Persimmon turned to her, her face not angry now, but pained, raw in a way Penelope hadn’t seen before. “Penelope, I just don’t want you to throw away your chances. What Lord Aiden is offering you, it’s real and it’s safe.” Her voice wavered slightly, the desperation barely masked beneath the advice.

Penelope felt her heart sink. “Sim, I can’t just resign myself to a life of being someone’s wife.”

Persimmon’s expression dropped further, her shoulders sagging as though the weight of her words pressed down harder. “That’s all we can do, Pen. It’s all we have the power to do.”

Penelope’s face hardened in defiance. “I refuse to accept that.”

“You don’t get it,” Persimmon whispered, her voice trembling now, not from anger but something deeper. “You’ve always managed to be so…untouched by it all. Like none of this could ever reach you. But it will.” Her eyes met Penelope’s and the pain in them was so raw, so vulnerable, that it nearly made Penelope flinch. “Pen, you can’t give up on the opportunity in front of you. If you keep denying reality, if you keep pretending you’re different… you’re just going to end up ruined. It’s so much bigger than you.”

Penelope bristled, hearing yet another reminder that her life wasn’t just her own. How her choices–or lack of them–moved her family, her sisters, her parents forward. She was tired of the constant reminder of the pressure beating down on her. “It’s my life,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly.

Persimmon reached her hands out, gripping Penelope’s fingers. Her own trembled as though she was clinging to her last hope. “Penelope, please.” Her voice cracked, pleading. “I cannot let you be ruined.”

Penelope finally realized, this wasn’t about pride or jealousy–Persimmon was afraid. Afraid for her.

Penelope’s throat tightened. “Sim…” she started, her voice softening.

But Persimmon cut her off, her voice a low, trembling whisper. “I know what it’s like to think you have more time. Or to feel like you can make your own path. But you can’t.” She stammered, her eyes momentarily glazing over as she looked at her sister, the weight of her words seeming to drag her down. “I thought–” Persimmon faltered, her voice cracking as the words became harder to speak. “I thought I had a choice. But I didn’t. And I don’t want to watch you realize you don’t either.

Her hands shook, trembling as if whatever memories were coming back to her were too heavy to carry.

Penelope softened, the sudden quiet pleading in her sister’s voice pulling at something deeper inside her. This wasn’t advice–there was something more, something Persimmon was holding back, buried beneath silence. “Persimmon,” Penelope began, her voice gentle, “did something happen?”

Her sister’s face paled, her eyes widening in what looked like fear. She swallowed hard, avoiding Penelope’s gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quickly, though her trembling hands and the pallor of her face betrayed her.

“Sim.” Penelope pressed, her heart racing now, “what do you mean by you ‘thought you had a choice’?”

Persimmon gulped again, leaning back as though the weight of the question was too much to bear. Her eyes grew distant, hollow, as if she were retreating into herself, trying to escape the moment. Penelope gripped her sister’s hands tighter, her fingers squeezing gently in an attempt to keep Persimmon present.

“Persimmon, please,” Penelope pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper, fear threading through her words.

Her sister’s lips parted, but no words came, just a shaky breath that rattled through the air between them. It was as if the truth was too painful, too raw, to speak aloud.

“Sim, whatever happened–whatever you did–I’ll understand,” Penelope pleaded, her voice soft, searching for her sister in those hollowed-out eyes. She gripped Persimmon’s hands tighter, hoping that the warmth of her touch might coax her back out of wherever she had retreated.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Persimmon’s expression remained distant, but Penelope could almost see it–the faint flicker of something desperate, something buried deep. Whatever secret she had kept locked away for so long was struggling to the surface, screaming to get out.

Persimmon’s gaze dropped to their clasped hands, her voice barely above a whisper. “You remember when I went away for a summer?”

Penelope’s heart tightened. She nodded slowly. It was two years ago, just after Persimmons first season. One day, their mother had announced that Persimmon would be leaving for the Summer Court, supposedly for dance lessons. The departure had come so suddenly, Penelope barely had time to say goodbye. Persimmon had been gone most of that summer, and when she returned, it was as though nothing had happened and Persimmon picked up where she left off. Their mother was quiet about the details, brushing it off as a trip to “broaden Persimmon’s prospects and refine her talents.”

It hadn’t seemed unusual at the time–their mother was always sending them on excursions like that. Penelope had spent winters at the conservatory to hone her harp and flute skills. But Persimmon’s trip to the Summer Court had been different. When she came back, she had changed–quieter, more reserved. And it had been the last time she had left for anything like that.

Penelope’s brow furrowed. “The Summer Court? For the dance lessons.”

Persimmon let out another shaky breath, her eyes still fixed on their hands, her knuckles white from where her fingers dug into Penelope’s. “That’s what we told you. That’s what everyone believed.” Her voice trembled, and Penelope could see the walls Persimmon had built around herself beginning to crack.

Penelope stayed silent, waiting.

Persimmon finally looked up, her eyes brimming with raw, unfiltered pain and tears. “I didn’t go to the Summer Court, Pen. Mother sent me away to stay with Grandmother because I…because I made a big mistake.”

Penelope’s heart clenched, her breath catching in her throat. “What kind of a mistake?”

Persimmon’s gaze dropped back to her hands, her fingers trembling as she rubbed her palms together in a nervous, self soothing way. Her voice wavered, barely holding steady as she continued. “That year–that first season–I had become quite…close with a Lord of the court.”

Penelope worked to maintain a neutral face. Her sister had never spoken of any such relationship before. She had always been the model of composure, of poise, one who navigated court life so flawlessly. Penelope had seen males cast admiring glances at her sister for as long as she could remember, but there had never been any mention of a serious suitor. And certainly not one who had gotten so close.

“More than close,” Persimmon added, her voice barely above a whisper, a bitter, choked laugh escaping her lips. “We were practically betrothed.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed in confusion, the pieces not fitting together in her mind. Practically betrothed? How had she never known? She had always assumed Persimmon’s prospects had never materialized, that suitors had come and gone due to her parents' disapproval of their status. But this…

Penelope swallowed, her voice quiet but urging. “Which lord?”

The silence between them grew heavy, and Penelope could see the hesitation in her sister’s eyes as she weighed whether or not to speak. Two hot tears slipped down Persimmon’s cheeks, and she quickly brushed them away, her fingers trembling more now.

“Lord Bastian,” she finally said, her voice hoarse.

Penelope’s eyes widened. She had heard the name mentioned before, though it was never in any personal capacity. Lord Bastian was older, not in looks, but in stature. He had long since stopped attending most court functions regularly, his time occupied with the fabric trade. Their father had little business with him, so he had remained a distant figure in Penelope’s mind.

“Lord Bastian?” Penelope repeated in disbelief. “I didn’t even know he…I mean, I never knew…”

Persimmon let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head as though the weight of it all had grown heavier over time. “Of course you didn’t know. He made sure of that.” She paused, her words slow and deliberate. “Most of our courtship happened without Mother and Father’s knowledge.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed in confusion. Their mother knew everything, always seemed to be lurking just beyond sight, orchestrating their lives with an iron grip. “But–how?” she asked, barely able to stammer out the words. “How could that happen?”

Persimmon’s hands stilled in her lap, her eyes going distant as though reliving each moment in painful detail. “He met me at one of the first parties of the season,” she said, her voice soft, hollow. “He told me I was the most beautiful female he’d laid eyes on, and that before the world stopped turning, I would be his wife.” She gave a small, bitter laugh–almost a giggle–as if the memory of him was still a cruel ghost lingering at her side. “He was…so charming.”

Penelope’s heart sank. She could see it now–the way her sister’s usually guarded face softened as she recalled his words, the way she had been swept up in the fantasy of it all. “So why didn’t you tell Mother?” Penelope asked gently, still trying to grasp the insanity of it all.

Persimmon’s expression darkened, the vulnerability slipping back into bitterness. “He told me they wouldn’t approve,” she replied. “He said our age difference would be too much for them, that Father would deny the marriage for lack of economic prospects and Mother…well, she wouldn’t understand our love. He made it seem like they’d tear us apart if they found out. So we kept it a secret.”

Lord Bastian, from the little Penelope knew about him, was well-regarded within the fabric markets. It made no sense. “But Lord Bastian is…respected. He’s successful. Why wouldn’t Mother and Father approve?”

Persimmon’s lips pressed together, her eyes glazing over with the weight of what she once believed. “At the time, everything he said made sense. He was older, experienced, and I trusted him completely. He seemed so confident that if we told anyone, they would reject him outright. I had told him of how Mother had been so strict in our upbringing and he was worried what she might do to me if we told her. He said it was better to wait, to bide our time, until he could present the proposal in a way that made them see what we had.” Her voice cracked, the betrayal still raw. “And I believed him.”

Persimmon cast her eyes down, as if ashamed at her own naivety. “He was always so good at making me feel like it was the right thing to do. He always had a reason–an excuse. It was always ‘just a little longer’ until we could be open about it.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I truly believed he was protecting our future. He would always say he had a plan, something that was going to change everything, then we’d be together.”

A small, pained smile tugged at her lips, a ghost of the girl she had been when she had first fallen for him. “I was so enraptured with him that I told him we should just consider the whole thing silly and run away together, forget the life of court politics and just…be with one another.” She shook her head. “But he always said we had to do things the right way. That he had too much to lose. So we met in secret, at hidden rooms at balls and galas. When we were in public, he told me not to acknowledge him, to pretend he didn’t exist. If I saw him speaking or courting other ladies, he said it was just him playing the part, that it didn’t mean anything.

Penelope’s stomach twisted as she watched her sister’s expression darken. “Sim…”

“And then,” Persimmon continued, her voice barely above a breath, “we were nearing the end of the season, and he still hadn’t said anything to Mother or Father. I would beg him, but he just said it wasn’t the right time. And he started changing. He would talk about how hard it was on all of him, how difficult it was to be his age and still unmarried. And I felt so sorry for him–so sad he had gone so long without someone by his side.” She paused, her brow furrowing as though she was seeing the memory in front of her.

“He told me he had courted another lady before me. She’d been committed to him, but her father had refused the betrothal, saying Lord Bastian wasn’t good enough. And then she married someone else. He said it broke him.”

Penelope’s heart ached as she watched the emotions play across her sister’s face–the hope, the sadness, the slow, dawning realization of betrayal.

“He said I was the only one who made him feel whole again,” Persimmon whispered, her voice trembling. “But then he started talking about how hard it had been for him to wait. He said he’d stayed out of the pleasure houses for my sake, because he didn’t want me to feel jealous. But he said…he was struggling. That he needed more. And he told me…” Persimmon’s voice faltered, her body tensing as though she was holding back the full weight of the memory. “He said that because he was older, more experienced, that we should make sure everything was…functioning properly, before we were wed.”

Penelope felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. She wanted to speak, to comfort her sister, but the words stuck in her throat.

Persimmon’s hands trembled as she wiped away the hot tears that were streaming down her face. “He made me feel like I owed it to him, for waiting, for being patient with me. Like he was doing me a favor by staying loyal when so many others wouldn’t have.” Her voice broke, a quiet sob escaping her lips. “I thought…I thought I was being good to him by giving him what he wanted. I thought he loved me.”

Penelope’s heart pounded in her chest, her throat tightening at the thought of her sister—so composed, so perfect in everyone’s eyes—being manipulated and used in such a way. “Sim, he… he didn’t…”

Persimmon nodded slowly, her lips trembling as she forced the words out. “He did. One night, after a ball, I met him in the orchards and I… I gave him everything. I thought that was the cost of love. That if I didn’t, he would leave me.” Her voice wavered, the bitterness clear as she continued. “And when I finally did… when I gave in, he promised me he would make it official soon. He said now more than ever, he knew he wanted to marry me. He just needed the right moment to talk to Father.”

Penelope’s hands clenched in her lap, the urge to punch something—or someone—surging through her. Her anger boiled just beneath the surface. “And then he left you.”

Persimmon let out a bitter, hollow laugh, her eyes dark and distant. “Yes. Once he had what he wanted, he left. Disappeared without a word. I kept writing to him, kept waiting, thinking he was just being careful.” She paused, her voice hardening. “But weeks passed, and then…” Persimmon trailed off, her eyes looking more and more hollowed.

Penelope leaned in, her hands lightly gripping Persimmon’s. “What happened?”

Persimmon’s gaze dropped to their collapsed hands. “I told mother.”

Penelope’s breath caught in her throat. Merely the idea of telling mother half of what Persimmon had gone through made her stomach flip and chest tighten.

“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you do that?”

Persimmon glanced up to her sister, her eyes reflecting a mixture of shame and desperation. “He disappeared, Pen. He left and said nothing. I was terrified. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t have a choice… I thought she would help me.”

“And what did she do?”

Persimmon’s lips trembled, a bitter smile flickering across her face. “She didn’t help. She made it worse.” She paused, her voice tightening. “She was furious. Said I’d ruined everything. Called me foolish, reckless. She didn’t care that I was terrified, that I’d been tricked. All she cared about was the family’s reputation, and how I’d put it all in jeopardy.”

Persimmon’s voice cracked, and she quickly wiped away the tears gathering in her eyes. “She told me I was a disgrace. That if anyone ever found out that no one would want me. And then, she just sent me away to Grandmother’s–shoved me out of sight to keep me hidden while she worked on ‘damage control.’”

Penelope’s chest tightened with anger, her pulse racing. “She hid you?”

Persimmon nodded slowly, her expression hard. “She hid me. Said it was to protect me from scandal, but really? It was to protect them. It was to make sure no one asked any questions.” Her voice grew sharper, the bitterness cutting through each word. “She didn’t care about what happened to me. She only cared that I’d tainted the perfect image she had built.”

Her voice lowered. “Not even a month after he had left, Lord Bastian had apparently married another lady. I had heard it through Grandmother, who took no shame in telling me all about how he had moved on so quickly. I assume that he must have been courting her at the same time and decided on her instead. Mother said that his marriage to someone else was better for me, much less likely for rumors to speak. And when I came back to court, after Mother deemed it safe… I saw him with his new wife.”

Penelope stayed silent, her grip tightening on her sister’s trembling hands.

“And then,” Persimmon continued, “I heard rumors. How he had…taken her as well, and her father had caught them in the act and forced them to marry.” She shook her head, laughing lightly at the irony. “The very thing he’s promised me, he gave to her–because he was caught. Forced into marriage because he was careless. Meanwhile, I was left with nothing.”

Penelope’s chest ached, the weight of her sister’s pain heavy in the room.

“That wasn’t all,” she added, her voice trembling. “More rumors started to spread – about how Bastian may have deflowered other ladies. There were whispers, half-truths, and then somehow it came out that perhaps, I was one of those ladies. They didn’t need proof. They didn’t care if it was confirmed. They just assumed.”

Penelope furrowed her brow in confusion. “How could they possibly have thought it was you?”

Persimmon shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. But I believe that his wife was jealous that she was not his first, and then perhaps told someone with looser lips? Or perhaps he told someone. I’m not sure. But it got out.”

Persimmon’s fingers tightened around Penelope’s as she spoke. “It didn’t matter that he was the one with the rumor attached to him. He married. He moved on. Eventually, he and his wife stopped coming to court, I don’t know if perhaps it all got too much, or what happened. But me? I carried the shame. Every time a suitor tried to get close to me, someone would whisper, just whisper loud enough for them to hear. They’d remind them that maybe…just maybe… I had been one of the others. And each time they’d step away. No matter how much I tried, no one wanted a female tainted by suspicion.”

Her words hung in the air like a heavy cloud. Penelope felt the weight of them pressing down, not just on her but on everything around them. The image of her sister, once poised and seemingly invulnerable, now laid bare in front of her.

Persimmon wiped a tear from her cheek, her expression hardening, though her voice remained quiet and sincere. “Penelope, I need you to understand why I’m telling you all of this.” She shifted, her eyes locking onto Penelope’s with an intensity that made her sit up straighter. “I don’t want you to fall into the same trap I did. I don’t want you to make the same mistake.”

Penelope’s heart clenched. “Sim, I’m not–”

“Just listen,” Persimmon cut her off, her tone firm but not unkind. She took a deep breath, steadying herself before she continued. “You have an opportunity, Pen. A real, good opportunity with Lord Aiden. He’s

respectable, comes from a solid family, and you two could have a secure future. If you let that go…” Persimmon trailed off, her eyes darkening. “It could close doors for you. Doors that won’t open again.”

Penelope felt a lump rise in her throat, the urge to protest strong, but Persimmon’s voice softened, taking the fight out of her. “I know you don’t want to be just someone’s wife. I know you want to break free and make your own way. But, Pen, I wanted to be someone’s wife. I wanted to follow the rules, stick to tradition, and even that failed me because I thought I could do it my own way. I paid the price. This world is cruel to females who try to step out of line, whether you’re following the rules or not.”

Her words lingered, heavy in the quiet room, pressing down on Penelope’s chest like a weight she couldn’t escape.

“I thought if you married Lord Aiden,” Persimmon admitted, her voice barely a whisper now, eyes dropping to her lap, “I thought, perhaps selfishly, might even help me. Maybe it would open doors again, give our family a chance to recover from what happened.” Her eyes flicked up, filled with a rare vulnerability, the kind Penelope had never seen from her sister before. “But more than that, Pen… I don’t want you to ruin what’s right in front of you. I want you to be careful.”

Penelope’s heart raced, her thoughts swirling. “Sim, I–”

“I get it, Pen,” Persimmon cut her off gently, seeing the conflict in her sister’s eyes. “I know what it feels like to want something different, to want more than what you’re given. But don’t get swept up in the charm of any male who promises you the world. Don’t lose sight of what you already have that’s good. Aiden… he’s a sure thing. And in this world, that’s rare.”

Penelope swallowed hard, the guilt twisting inside her. “But Lord Eris–”

“Is a wildcard,” Persimmon finished for her, her voice turning firmer. “Pen, we both know how males like him operate. He might seem exciting, like he’s offering something new, but males like him… they don’t play by the same rules. They’re dangerous, even when they don’t mean to be. And with Eris, the stakes are higher than you realize.”

Penelope blinked, the depth of her sister’s honesty catching her off guard.

“You can’t get too swept up,” Persimmon urged, her words soft but full of conviction. “I know you want to make your own way, but you have to be smart about it. I didn’t have that chance. I wasn’t careful. I was young and naive and thought I knew what I was doing. And I’ve been paying the price ever since.” She paused, biting her lip before continuing, “Eris is powerful, Pen. But don’t let that power blind you to the fact that after this… you’ll still have to fulfill your duty. You can’t forget about the life you know you can have. With Aiden. It’s safe, it’s secure, and in our world, that’s worth more than you think. The world isn’t kind to females without prospects.”

Penelope turned, her eyes meeting the trunk overflowing with gowns. A wave of uncertainty washed over her. She wondered if she truly knew what she was doing, if she truly knew the risks she was taking. Or if, in the end, she was just another piece in a long, intricate game someone else was playing.

A Court of Fire and Masks Master List

Tagged: @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @ambivalence-is-me @rcarbo1 @aaliyahmorielle

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