Hi! Can you do an Alois x reader? Honestly you can do whatever you want but they meet at a hall and reader is of high status
❝ Alois Trancy x HIGH SOCIETY!READER ❞
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The ballroom is everything it is meant to be. Warm light spills from chandeliers overhead, laughter flows easily between carefully curated conversations, and every person moves with practiced elegance. It is a world built on control, and you exist within it effortlessly. Your posture is perfect, your expression composed, your words chosen with precision. You are exactly what high society expects.
Until his attention finds you.
Alois Trancy does not blend into rooms like this. He disrupts them. Even when he stands still, there is something restless about him, something sharp beneath the surface that refuses to be hidden by silk and smiles. People gravitate toward him cautiously, drawn in by curiosity and kept at a distance by instinct.
When his gaze lands on you, it does not move on.
It lingers.
Too long. Too direct. Too aware.
Most would look away.
You don’t.
That is what draws him in.
“You’re new,” he says when he approaches, voice light but edged with something that feels almost amused. “Or maybe I’ve just never noticed you before.”
You meet his gaze without hesitation. “Then you haven’t been paying enough attention.”
There is a pause, brief but charged, before he laughs. It is bright and sudden, cutting through the controlled atmosphere of the room in a way that turns heads.
“Oh, I like you,” he says immediately. “You’re not boring.”
From that moment on, he does not leave you alone.
He appears at your side without warning, slipping into conversations as though he has always belonged there, cutting others off without care. His attention is relentless, his questions too personal for the setting, his gaze always searching for something beneath your composure. Where others follow rules, Alois tests them, pushing just far enough to see what will happen.
“You don’t act like the others,” he says at one point, watching you closely. “They all sound the same after a while.”
“And you don’t?” you ask calmly.
His smile sharpens. “No.”
He is unpredictable. One moment leaning in close, voice soft like he is sharing a secret, the next pulling away as if you have already lost his interest. It should make him impossible to keep up with, impossible to understand.
And yet, he always comes back to you.
That is what makes it dangerous.
Because you begin to realize this is not random. His attention is not scattered the way it seems with others. It is deliberate. Focused. Chosen.
When the music shifts and the first dance begins, he does not ask. He takes your hand as if it is already his right to do so. You should refuse. You don’t.
The dance is proper enough to avoid scandal, but there is something off in the way he holds you, something closer than necessary, something testing. His fingers tighten slightly against yours as he watches your reaction, as if waiting for you to pull away.
You don’t.
“Are you always this composed,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear, “or is this just for me?”
“And are you always this intrusive,” you reply softly, “or am I special?”
His grin returns instantly, bright and sharp with satisfaction. “Definitely special.”
For a moment, something shifts in his expression. Something quieter, more curious than mocking. Like he is trying to figure out what you are made of and finding that the answer is not simple.
Then it is gone, replaced by that same unpredictable energy as the dance continues.
By the end of the evening, people are whispering. They noticed. Of course they did. Someone like Alois cannot focus on one person without drawing attention, and you have not escaped it either. Every glance, every interruption, every moment he kept you at his side has been seen.
When you finally step away from the crowd, seeking a moment of quiet, you are not surprised when he follows.
“You’re leaving already?” he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows.
“I’ve stayed long enough.”
He studies you then, really studies you, his usual playfulness dimming just slightly. There is something more focused in his gaze now, something less performative.
He steps closer.
“You’ll come back,” he says.
Not a question.
You hold his gaze, unshaken. “Maybe.”
That answer should not satisfy him.
And yet, it does.
Something in his expression settles, his smile returning slower this time, more deliberate. “Good,” he says quietly. “I’d hate to get bored again.”
You leave the hall without looking back.
But you can feel it.
His attention.
Heavy. Lingering. Certain.
And in the days that follow, it does not fade.
Invitations begin to appear. Perfectly formal, perfectly appropriate, and yet unmistakably from him. Gatherings you had no intention of attending suddenly become unavoidable, each one another opportunity for him to insert himself into your space again. He does not approach you the same way every time. Sometimes he is playful, sometimes sharp, sometimes distant in a way that almost feels like disinterest.
But it never lasts.
Because no matter how far he drifts, he always finds his way back to you.
It becomes a pattern. One you begin to anticipate, even if you do not admit it.
Eventually, the space between encounters shortens. Conversations grow longer. Less performative. Less guarded. He still pushes, still tests, still tries to catch you off balance, but there are moments now where he simply… stays.
“You’re strange,” he tells you one evening, quieter than usual.
“So are you.”
He hums softly, considering that. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten bored yet.”
And this time, when he looks at you, there is something beneath the mischief.
Something real.
Because Alois Trancy does not hold interest lightly.
And once you have it, he does not let it go easily.
