#opera ghost x reader

[justjams2003]

Blossoms-15

Pairing: Erik Destler x OFC (Mariposa Claremont)

Summary: A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Warnings: Kissing, cuddling, impure thoughts, alcohol, I would also just like to remind everyone that the life expectancy back then was 60.

Word count: 2k+ unedited

Masterlist

Part 14~Part 16(coming soon)

Dividers: @yaynowimglad @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Tags: @rclector @jordanmunson3 @ann-vic-9 @ssssssws-world @gryffin-whore @zoglin2 @achillmango

The door flies open and a tall elegant lady opens the door. She glares at Elliott, before her eyes soften when she sees me. She opens the door wider. “You come home, who knows what time at night, smelling of beer and with a girl?” She scolds, closing the door and crossing her arms. “Oh, grand-mère,” he coos, taking his grandma’s face in his hands and giving her a  kiss on every cheek. 

“Tu devrais la voir comme une famille. C'est une Claremont.” He says, now both having their stormy grey eyes keenly trained on my every movement. The older woman hums and raises her brow. “Elle dit qu'elle travaille à l'opéra.” This makes the corner of the woman’s lip slide up in the slightest, pleased  grin. “Opera Populair?” Quickly, I nod. Just barely could I keep up with their French but I did hear the words ‘opera house’ and then she smiled. Clearly, she likes that part. 

Elliott’s grandmother walks forward, swiftly placing a kiss on each cheek. “Poor girl, what are you doing so far from home? Does the music not want you anymore?” She coos, her eyes jumping all over my face, as if searching for something under my skin. “The music has it’s grip too deep in my soul.” She laughs and nods. “An uncommon problem. Come, sit, I made dinner...” 

Her eyes look through my soul. It’s like she and I are speaking our own language. In a trance of the touch of her hands and the knowing she carries. Clearly, she knows more than she leads on and I almost groan. I wanted to escape the thoughts of him. I wanted the rain to wash it away and leave me the clean slate I was before ever coming to this damned place. Rather, before ever seeing those almost green eyes.

The red wine swirls in the wine glass and the fire crackles in the background. He’s been in this trance since his grandmother went to bed. “I didn’t think you know how to be quiet.” He does a grin that looks to be saying ‘now is not the time.’ I swallow my words, nodding, to show him I understand he doesn’t want to joke. He wants to be serious. I rarely know how to be serious, all I really ever want to do is laugh. I choose to fill the silence with the sip of my red wine. 

The air is thick. His brows are in a frown and he seems to be thinking of everything all together. His coat is hung up and he’s only in his flowy under shirt. It frames his muscles. His calloused hands put down his own whiskey glass. His jaw locks and he sighs leaning in forward. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.  Elliott’s hand pulls his hair back and out his face before his stormy eyes finally settle on mine. 

“I must ask something of you. A partial stranger.” I can only gulp, leaning in to his words. “My grand-mama, I worry about her. She’ll tell you that she’s as young as you and doesn’t need any help but... she’ll be 55 one of these days. She is lonely more than anything. And I can’t be with her every day as I’d like to be. I’m away for months on end...” I instantly notice what he’s trying to explain. 

“You wish for me to stay with her the summer? Check up on her on the weekends?” I fill in his sentence for him. He swallows his wine and nods. “She is familiar with your family, you two seem to be getting along quite well... I’d owe my life if you’d agree.” Grey eyes suddenly seem full of an emotion not quite sure of. A mixture of beg and need. His hair has started to dry down in an sun-kissed blonde. The dark blonde brows are plucked together in worry for his grandmother. 

“I just met her and-”  his hand reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve stopped shivering.” Elliott’s voice is almost a whisper, more sultry than anything. But his eyes aren’t anywhere near my shaking body. Rather glued onto my lips. “Am I suddenly no longer a spoiled brat?” He lets out a boisterous laugh. One that I’ve never heard Erik let out, he never laughs and he rarely smiles. 

There I go, thinking of him again. 

Elliott’s hand rests on my cheek, leaning in more. “You’re definitely starting to grow on me...” A giggle escapes my lips, I allow him to guide me further down on the couch. He takes my wine glass from my hand and places it on the nearest coffee table. “Please, ma dame, may I kiss you?” My breathing hitches and I can hear my heart pounding. Should I consent? I just cursed myself out for stupid choices involving men. 

But can I really focus and think clearly when his hand has moved onto my waist. His body pressed so tightly against mine. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest. His hot breath heating up my neck. “Please, please, jolie dame. I must feel your lips on mine.” Just hours ago, Erik refused to even let me imagine us together. And he only kissed me as a botched solution for his idiotic words. Now, this man, even more handsome under the light of the fire, is begging to kiss me. 

How can I ever deny him when there’s nothing more I crave now than a man’s body inside mine. Cradling me and distracting me from any and all reckless mistakes I’ve made. For the pleasure of the body to overcome the terrible thoughts of the mind. 

Elliott’s eyes are on mine and mine on his. And I can see them light up when my head slowly nods yes. His lips are cracked and tastes so salty. I savour the taste of ocean on his skin. And I can feel him adjust my body in his hands so that my body can be closer to his. Elliott’s hair is still damp under my finger tips and an a guttural noise reverberates from his chest when I give his hair a slight yank. 

My breath is quick and short when his lips leave mine. His grey, barely blue eyes search my face all over. Until his lips spread out in a grin, “You’ve distracted me, mon cherie.” I laugh and as I do, he presses his cheek against the bare skin of my chest and neck. Like a kitten purring in my lap. A dog begging for cuddles. “I’ve distracted you?” I can’t help but laugh. 

He hums and nods, “I never kiss a lady I just met...” Elliott rests his chin on my chin, looking up at me. “I’m certain we’ve met before. At some stuffy tea party or boring ball.” His warm chest vibrates as he laughs at my words. “Is that your way of asking me to kiss you again?” I can’t help but shrug my shoulders. “Would that be so wrong of me?” He hums, one of his hands escape from under my body and land on my cheek. 

Elliott’s thumb swipes left and then right over my cheek. “Only on one condition.” My hand mirrors his in the locks of his hair. “Anything.” He smiles at my reply. “Tell me you’ll stay with my grand-maman, take care of her when I’m not here to?” I can see just how much he cares for his grandmother, the love he feels for her. Even more so the responsibility he feels for her. 

Again his grey eyes turn bluer when I slowly nod yes. How can I not? I have no where else to stay. And rather I should be the one begin him to stay. He sits more upright, straddling my waist. Elliott takes my hands in his. “Thank you, thank you so much Mariposa. Vous ne comprenez pas à quel point cela compte pour moi. Merci, merci. Je retire tout ce que j'ai dit.” He can very clearly see the confusion behind my eyes, because he laughs. Full of joy and amusement. “Don’t worry, I only thank you.” 

“Rien de ce que vous faites n’est très gracieux, n’est-ce pas?” My head snaps up, all thoughts of the two men in my life being interrupted by the French of the old woman. I groan, she insists on speaking only French to me. I’ve been doing my best to keep up but our conversations tend to be choppy with a lot of repeating. But I can make out her words to be something about me not being graceful. 

“I am not Prima Ballerina as you used to be. I clean and I write and that’s just about it.” She hums and nods. “I do not see what he sees in you.” Again I sigh, “I promise you, Madam, your grandson and I only kissed. Nothing more.” Again she hums and I can see the disbelief behind her eyes. “You already look pregnant.” I stop my sweeping at her rude comment. “That wasn’t very polite, now was it?” I choose to avoid her jab at my weight. I know the ballerinas all aim to be as thin as possible. 

She replies with a tsk noise, not bothering herself with my scold. “I was not talking about my grandson.” I tilt my head to the side. My hair has gotten longer, it’s just barely past my shoulders. “Who then?” She repeats her easier tsk sound. “You know who I am talking of.” I gulp when my mind immediately jumps to one man and one man only. I go to laugh and brush her off but she interrupts me. “He was there in my last years of teaching. Back then Madam Giry was his obsession.” 

Time slows when her words make much more sense than they should. “She...knows of him?” Elliott’s grandmother nods, “But of course...Now tell me...what does he see in you?” My mouth is dry and my mind whirls, trying to decide if I should share with her. Ultimately, I decide to pull myself a chair and sit down next to her. And with great detail, more than the older woman likely wanted, I explain my relationship with the man that haunts my every move. Who’s she going to tell? 

“I do not know what to do.” Is how I finish my story. She sighs, intertwining her fingers and leaning further back in her chair. “I think it was foolish of you to ever even believe someone like him could ever even love.” My brows pull together. “Do you not believe him to be human?” She almost laughs, in the last month or so I have yet to see her smile like she did when Elliott was here. 

She shakes her head. “He is human, just perhaps not one capable of loving.” That feels so cruel to say. I could see kindness and compassion behind his eyes. Even more so when he looks at me. Ike I hold the answers to the world in my eyes. He always looks like he’s on the verge of tears and just about ready to break down. Erik just holds so much emotion, no where near the heartless beast she imagines him to be. 

“But I can see in your eyes you do not agree with me.” My lips pull up in a shy smile. “I know what it’s like to be young and in love.” Now my smile is a laugh. “Only enjoy it. Once the dream becomes a nightmare, you’ll wish you’d enjoyed it more in the moment. And that you didn’t spend so much time stressing about it.” The way that she speaks it’s as if she knows. “Especially if you’re his second girl.” 

And instantly, my mind goes to Christine

It was like I hit the golden treasure when I found her notebook in my tunnels. I couldn’t control myself. I had to know each and everyone of her thoughts. And what I read was so utterly beautiful, I couldn’t stop. I had to make sure that the whole world knew of this. Could experience it just as I have. And after a month of utter writers block, I knew each and every word that would come next.  

The words that would bind together and make this story she has made into the perfect play. And along with  a semi-threatening message, I left the play, in her name, on the director’s desk. When all returns, the world will see her in all her glory. See just how magnificent her mind is compared to the other simpletons that run this place.  

[justjams2003]

Blossoms -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Divider by: @greglemonlestrade

Taglist: @rclector @jordanmunson3 @ann-vic-9 @ssssssws-world @gryffin-whore @sunshine-for-serotonin

[justjams2003]

Blossoms- 14

Pairing: Erik Destler x OFC (Mariposa Claremont)

Summary: A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Warnings: Teasing, singing (it is a PotO fanfic so that is to be expected...), mentions of the death of a grandparent, parent issues, talk of patriarchy, alcohol. Tell me if I miss any

Word count: 2,1k

Masterlist

Part 13~Part 15(coming soon)

Dividers: @yaynowimglad @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Tags: @rclector @jordanmunson3 @ann-vic-9 @ssssssws-world @gryffin-whore

“Mariposa Claremont.” Before I can utter another word, I can see the recognition in his eyes. His face forms into this wide grin, that seems like he could get away with anything. “No way, Claremont?” He chuckles and then takes a big sip of his bear. The foam clings to his top lip and he licks it off, then he hums. Then he holds out his hand for me to shake.  

“Elliott O'Murphy.” My eyes go wide and if my cheeks weren’t already pink from the cold, they are now. “My parents have been like trying to marry you to my older brother for like, forever.” He laughs and shakes his head. I sigh and roll my eyes, just my luck to meet the man I’ve been trying to avoid’s brother. “Please tell me you’re not as obnoxious as he is.” I say, scratching my scalp as I cringe.  

Again he laughs, “Trust me, I feel about him the same as you do. He’s been fed with a silver spoon all his life and he believes the sun shines out of his ass.” He places his hand over his chest to show his sincerity. “And you don’t?” I ask, raising a brow and placing my hands on the pint of beer.  

“Let’s just say I prefer to avoid saying my last name.” I smile at that comment since I relate so much. I then take a sip of the beer. It burns down my throat and leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “Eww, who drinks this?” I say, coughing and sticking out my tongue. He lets out a boisterous laugh which makes that an embarrassed smile slowly creeps onto my face.  

“You’ve never had beer before?” He says, his eyes wide in shock. “No! I don’t usually go into the areas of town where beer is drunk, like this place...” I say, looking around at this dirty pub. Drunkards play dice and a bard sings terribly off tune and people can’t help but glare at him.  

“Ohh, okay, I see, so you’re like Carson. You two fit together perfectly! Too pompous for the peasants of France.” He says dramatically, and I can’t help but gasp and shake my head. “No, nothing like that! It’s just, I’m a lady and don’t take part in such activities as drinking myself stupid.” I say, then directly after taking a sip of my beer, trying to get used to the sour yeast taste.  

He too raises his brow, “Ladies also don’t usually cry in piles of trash at night in the rain.” I just huff at his response, knowing he’s right. After all, my stupid unladylike acts are what got me in this situation in the first place. “How exactly did you end up, you know, crying on a pile of trash?”  

I sigh and lean my head against my hand. “Well, I work at the opera house, chasing the dream!” I say, lifting my beer as if to celebrate what people rarely have the guts to do. “And uh, let’s just say that I really need to learn how to keep my big mouth shut. So I’ve basically kicked myself out of the only place I had to live...”  

We both take a sip from our beer. “Why not go home?” He ask with a shrug and I scoff. “That is exactly what I can’t do! I can’t let my parents know that I basically failed on what I set out to do. That’ll really go to their head and before I know it, I’ll be birthing your nephews.” I pout taking another sip. “Oh yeah and we can’t have that.” Again I just sigh and roll my eyes, I’ve just met him but he so easily plays banjo with my nerves.  

“Why are you here then? Shouldn’t you be... doing whatever it is that your family does?” I ask and he laughs at me having no clue how his family has got their fortune. “Well, you see I was not raised by my pretentious parents and rather by my grandmother. And she refuses to leave France.”  

I can’t help but let my brows furrow. “Why? And your grandfather?” “Well, if you bothered to learn family history or care about someone other than yourself, you’d know he’s dead. And my grandmother was Prima Ballerina at the Opera House. I suppose this is where she feels most home. And I come to visit between working on the shipping ships. Which is what we do, by the way. Transport goods.”  

That’s new. And actually very beautiful. Touching, I wish I had that type of connection with someone in my family. “I do care about others.” I reply back, with a shrug. “I just can’t make them a priority. It’s a difficult world for a young girl like me. Woman will always be put second, I’ll just have to put myself first.”  

“The fact that, that is what you choose to focus on just proves a point.” I just shrug my shoulders. I am kind, yes, I’ll help other’s out if they ask, but I won’t put anyone else above myself. “I-” Right at that moment the bard hits another terrible note. Both Elliott and I cringe at the noise.  

Then he gets a terribly mischievous grin. “You work at the opera house, why don’t you sing us something?” I blush and shake my head. Looking down at the bubbles in my drink. “Oh come onnn, anything can be better than him.” He says, dragging out his words to encourage me. Again I shake my head, but he insists by standing  up, coming to my side of the table and pulling me from my seat.  

“Elliott!” I squeal, being picked up and placing me on my feet. I glare, looking up at him. “I’m gonna go tell him you want a turn.” He says, his cheeky grin growing bigger. “I am begging you not to.” I grab him by his wet coat and he seems to think for a moment before seeming to give up.  

I thought. Until he steps up on the table. “My son John was tall and slim and he’d a leg for ev’ry limb!” And then suddenly, because somehow everyone in the pub knows this song, sings back at him. “But now he’s got no legs at all for he ran a race with a cannon ball! Timmy roo dun da, fadda riddle da!” I’ve got no idea what they’re singing!  

All of them are at least a little tipsy and at most about to piss themselves. But still they sing back with slurred words and a big smile on their faces. They stomp on the floor and slam down their own pints of beer to make a beat for the song they’re singing. It doesn’t seem to need any music, only the drunkan chants. And when they seem to finish their song, their cheer and clap.  

“Another!” Someone yells and Elliott smirks looking down at me, smirking, while I blush bright red. “A song from the lady?!” He calls out and they all cheer. I almost die from shock. “Elliott!” I’ve never met anyone bolder than me and now that I have I can’t seem to keep up.  

He holds out his hand, which no longer has gloves on, urging me on as everyone demands for more. I cave, why not have a little fun? I slip my hand in his, it’s rough, like someone who’s worked hard all their life. But when I’m standing up on the table and all these people are looking up at me, I freeze.  

I look up at Elliott’s stormy grey eyes, who flicker with joy. “I don’t know any songs that they’d like.” He scoffs and groans. “Come on, you must know something!” He encourages and I just sigh. In panic, the only thing I can think of is one of my maids, who would watch me when my mother couldn’t, which was always. She used to sing to me when I would beg and beg to hear some sort of music.  

“Look how the light of the town, the lights of the town are shining now. Tonight I’ll be dancing around. I’m off on the road to Galway now.” Before I know it Elliott is joining me, commanding the bard to play the tune on his flute. Then, the drunken men join me. I mumble over the Irish parts of the song, not that anyone really notices. Elliott takes my hand in his and we dance across the table. His hand is warm. 

I don’t hold back my smile or singing. When I sing and dance there is no control. Just the free flow of movement and music. Who would want to have power of something bigger than yourself? There is no dominating music. There is no mastery and there never will be. Only energy, flowing from you to those around you and back. And anyone who dare tries to command it should be punished for believing they ever could.  

When the song is finished, again everyone cheers. I turn to Elliott, he looks so confident. He’s not afraid to be seen, be perceived. As if he’s never been shamed in his life. Like he’s never had to deal with pressure to be perfect, just to be happy. His broad shoulders are relaxed and his wide smile seems to freeze time.  

“Get of the table, vous deux idiots!” The waitress yells behind us. “Allez Judith, ne sois pas si aigrie. On s'amuse juste un peu!” Elliott replies and I can barely keep up with their quick French. “Are you going to clean the table then?” The waitress asks with a pointed look, crossing her arms.  

Elliott winces, then climbs off, holding his hand out for me too to settle my feet on the floor. “No can do, we’ve got to get going.” He turns to the window, it’s stopped raining, I didn’t even notice. “How much do we owe you?” He asks, pulling out a pouch of money. She sighs and rolls her eyes.  

“5 Francs per piece.” Elliott pulls out the exact amount then they both kind of just stare at me. “Oh! Right.” I feel for my money in the pockets of my dress, until I remember, I left everything back in the Opera House. I wince and look up at my new friend. “I left it all back there...” He just sighs and hands the waitress another five Francs.  

“Now come, grand-maman is already going to be mad at me for bringing a guest without telling her. We don’t want to make her any angrier by being late.” He says, holding the door open for me. “You’re letting me come with?” He nods, “My grand-maman would be furious if she found out I let you sleep in here.”  

I can’t help but chuckle, such a bold man covering in front of his grandmother. I smile at him, “Thank you.” Again he sighs and this time scratches his neck. “You’re not all that bad. Nowhere near as bad as Carson. Almost bearable.” A sweet moment ruined again. “I shouldn’t have told you who I am.” I sigh, once again stepping on his hand to climb up on the horse’s back.  

“Yeah but you did. And I’m really enjoying it to tease you.” Again I sigh and just roll my eyes. It’s so strange. It’s rare for me to talk to a guy at the Palais Garnier. All the maids are women and I share a room with the ballet girls. It’s only Erik and I can’t really joke with him like this. He’s sensitive and rigid at the same time.  

I can’t get through to him and at the same time he takes everything to the heart. He’s so contradicting... But I guess I am too. I say I was raised to be ladylike and then dance on tables singing with drunk men I don’t know. I say I care about other’s, but don’t give Erik a chance to change... But I shouldn’t. He’s being immature. Telling me who I can like and who I can’t.  

“You shouldn’t frown like that.” I scoff, of course he has something to say. “You shouldn’t tell me what to do.” Now it’s his turn to scoff. “Brave of you to say to someone who’s giving you a place to say.” I huff and pout, how is he always right? “You just have to have the last say.” I mumble under my breath. “You’re quick to make assumptions of me.” He sounds almost offended?  

“Am I right?” I ask, peering down at him. He just scoffs and shakes his head. “No, if I’m wrong I’ll admit it. But I rarely am so...” I snipe back at him. “Okay, yeah, such a delight to be around.” I mumble and now he snipes back. “Says the spoiled brat.” “Wow! Alright, I see how it is.”  

The whole way to his grand-maman goes like this. He makes a comment, I retort back, until eventually we both just kind of...laugh about it...? I like seeing him smile, I wouldn’t mind seeing more of his smile...  

If you want to be in the taglist, just ask!

[justjams2003]

Blossoms-12

Pairing: Erik Destler x OFC (Mariposa Claremont)

Summary: A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Warnings: Haircutting? Kidnapping? Mentions of sexual themes, angst, and fluff too, kissing, drowning, fights. Tell me if I miss anything

Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

Part 11~Part 13(coming soon)

Dividers: @yaynowimglad @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Tags: @rclector @jordanmunson3 @ssssssws-world

Have I been down this tunnel before? The stone of the underground all begins to look the same. There aren’t any defining features to the grey walls. Not to mention it is oh-so-very quiet. There aren’t even any sounds of rats chittering or bugs on any of the walls. I can’t hear the music in these dark tunnels like I could in his cave. 

That is of course, until I hear the click as I take another step forward. “Oh no,” I can’t help but mutter out, my imagination begins running wild. It doesn’t happen suddenly, I’m frozen in my spot. Scared that if I were to move an arrow might fly at me. Worse though, the walls begin closing in.  

Panic rises in my throat, and I can already hear my breath rising. My frozen state is interrupted when the walls begin moving faster around me. I book it, I pick up my dress and run as fast as I can. My legs seem to be just a bit to slow compared to the walls.  

A sour taste forms as bile threatens to pour out. My shins burn and I can feel my heart in my ears. My vision turns darker, partially from panic and partially from the walls creeping in my peripheral vision. But then, there is a light at the end of the closing tunnel, quite literally.  

I don’t look where I’m going. I just need to get out. I need to escape the closing walls. And then suddenly, the floor falls out from underneath me. I can hear the walls that I was running from close with a loud thud. And then I too, hit the floor with a similar noise. My arms and legs are now covered in scrapes and bruises.  

A loud ting noise is heard, and I snap my head up. A grate now covered the hole I’ve fallen into. My head hurts, I can hear the thudding of blood rushing into my ears. “Oh my fucking god!” I yell out, slamming my fists against the walls. I never curse, I hate it but this does seem like the perfect moment.  

My head is in my hands, and I grip onto my dark brown locks. It’s a bit longer now, sitting just above my shoulders. I can’t help but let the tears fall, now that I’m alone. Why did I say that? Why the fuck did I say that? I want him, I need him to write. He fuels me and lights my passions and now I’ve opened my big mouth and pushed him away.  

What have I done? He holds my heart, my excitement and my passion. He’s the key an adventure and yet at the same time he feels like home more than my own home ever did. And now I’ve scared him off! I’ve called him dubious and myopic, after comforted my soul.  

Then again, I’m not wrong. I can’t spend my whole life comforting his fragility and assuring him of his worthiness. I’d much rather spend the time laughing and loving. Intertwining bodies rather than reassuring his insecurity. Yet, he also does the same for me. Abating my dislike of certain parts of me that he sees even when I try to hide it.   

Can’t he just love me without worry and I the same?  

A new sound causes my tears to dry up. Water. Water running. Then I feel it, the wet slosh on my bottom. The hole I’m stuck in is filling with water. “No. No, no, no.” Again I start panicking. Is the whole thing going to fill with water? But the top is closed up, I can’t escape.  

Now is the time to act and there is only one person who knows I’m down here. I jump up, too short by a meter to even touch the grating. “Erik! Erik, please!” I hate screaming if it’s not with joy. My voice is filled with worry and despiration and I hate it. I start jumping up and down, trying to see any way to escape.  

But there is none and the water is flowing even faster. “Erik, please, I’m sorry!” I’ll eat up my words if it means getting out of this alive. My birthday is around the corner, and I don’t plan to die at 18. The water is at my waist now and soon it might just be shoulder heidth. Now I’m really becoming hysterical. Screaming my head off and trying to throw out as much as I can.  

It doesn’t help though. The water is rising fast and soon I won’t be able to stand anymore. “Please, Erik, help! I can’t swim!”  

Sobs rack through my soul and my whole body curls up into a ball. I grab my mask and throw it as far from my me as I can. I can hear it jump from the walls and clatter across the floor. I don’t want it anywhere near me. I don’t want to be reminded of my horrid, disfigured face. More so the way it makes me feel.  

It makes me feel gross. It reminds me of the people who laughed at me as a child. It reminds me of the people who beat me, whipped me and ruined my body for someone as beautiful as her. It reminds me that people have made be believe that hurting her is better than allowing her in.  

It makes me feel safe. And she is anything but safe. She with the golden-sand hair and the sea-blue eyes. She is adventure. She is a sailboat traveling 100km/h in the direction that not even the captain knows. Her parents would hate me, I’m sure. I can’t always give her the sunlight, but I can at least give her my heart. Can’t I?  

Help! An echo bounces off the walls of the tunnels and all the way into my cavern. My head snaps up, into the direction that the young girl had walked. Then I hear it again, this time much louder. My feet scatter across the floor and my mind is only one thing.  

I know the exact route she took, as long as she keeps calling for me. The tunnels wind and twist and I just thank whatever god sent her to me that she did not take the route of arrows. “I can’t swim!” Now I truly move faster than I ever had before. The higher the water, the faster it flows.  

I open the latch that enter the trap and instantly turn the water valve shut. I yank the metal grid from the floor, over 100 kilograms and I sent the damn thing flying. I bend over and pull her from the hole by the arms. She’s soaked from the shoulders down, her whole body is shaking. Aurora clings to me, refusing to let even a centimetre of my fabric go.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She repeats over and over. It’s hard to even make out what she’s saying merely because she’s crying so much. I wrap my arms around her, rubbing her bare arms and pulling her as close as I can. All while I continue to hush her.  

“I can’t die, please, I have so much I have left to do.” She mutters, her racking now died down. Only small whines of begs and pleas for her life exit her mouth. “Hey, I won’t let that happen. You’re safe. I won’t let you die, not while you’re still such a little flower.” She lets go slightly, wiping the snot and tears from her face.  

“You promise?” She asks and then lift her head to look up to me. Her words trail off and her eyes seem to go wide. She doesn’t move an inch. Anon, her look of shock turns to one of wonder. A smirk, not a laugh or a face of joy, but a smirk of wonder and dare I even say something else?  

Then is hits me, I forgot my mask in my alcove. And yet the look she gives me makes me so warm inside. It doesn’t make me feel stupid or hideous. Rather, I feel a blush creep across my ears. Soon after she smiles, it drops again. Mariposa lets go of me, and pulls herself up.  

The young girl wraps her arms around herself. She avoids my gaze and turns her back to me. “Please, take me back...” Her voice is small and shy and hurt now. Long gone is the naïve girl who doesn’t fear a handsome stranger. Now, someone who demands to protect her heart, even if it’s from someone who she trusts with her life.  

Fix it, Erik. Fix it the mistake of previous past. I don’t think. I don’t think of the insecurity of my bare face. Or the embarrassment I may cause her. Or the people in my past telling me I’m not good enough to be loved. I grab her by the wrist and pull her against me.  

My lips land on hers without any hesitation. My hands entangle into her dark blonde waves and land on her soft waist. I can feel her kiss back in the same passion and lust as I do her. Both our tongues intertwine, and our souls connects, and, in that moment, I know I mustn’t let her go. 

Except when we must come up for air, there is a moment of bliss and then she shoves me away with all her might. “You can’t do that, Erik! You can’t call me your Clementine, you can’t take me on dates, you can’t invite me in your home and you can’t kiss me like that if you don’t allow me to fall in love. You are playing with me. I am young, I know, but I won’t let you break my heart like this again.”  

Her words cut deep, except the it’s more truth than harsh words. “My Aurora-” I go to hold her again but she raises her hand. “No, you will take me back.” And so, I did, knowing I could not change her mind. And when she was safe, she forbade me from following her and I listened, not knowing if she would ever let me see her again.  

[justjams2003]

Blossoms-11

Pairing: Erik Destler x OFC (Mariposa Claremont)

Summary: A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Warnings: Haircutting? Kidnapping? Mentions of sexual themes, angst, and fluff too. Tell me if I miss anything

Word count: 2,2k

Masterlist

Part 10~Part 12(coming soon)

Dividers: @yaynowimglad @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

The sight is absolutely glorious. Erik paddled me through a cave entrance, through a large steel gate. That’s not the part that amazes me.  Huge archways built of stone, steps leading up to the beautiful sight of hundreds of candles. In the middle is a huge organ. It’s scattered with papers and melted wax and yet still its huge sight takes my breath away.  

More than that, I can see several tunnels leading into the depths that I know nothing about. The sight makes my mind itch and flow with a million story ideas. My mind feels full. Erik steps out of the boat and holds out his hand for me to take. There is no other option in my mind, I need to know more of him and his home.  

The tunnels, the caves, the music sheets and instruments are incredible bit what he showed me next is truly the pinnacle of it all. A huge library, a collection of every opera, musical and ballet ever written. Not only that but a collection of every piece of classical, fantastical and biography books ever written. The most comfortable seat too in the middle.  

A gasp escapes my lips, and I can’t seem to control my body. I jump up the stairs, looking in and out each tunnel. “This place is so fantastical!” The words fly from my mouth and the need to read each book aches in my body. Erik seems to truly smile, similar to that day in the woods. “I am glad you enjoy it.” He says, watching as my eyes scan the cave.  

“This is where I stay. This is where I write. This is where I create. I do welcome you to use this space in a similar manner.” He motions for his space, he seems almost shy to ask. A joy rises once more in my stomach, the thought of getting to spend so much more time in such an inspirational area brings bubbles in my stomach.  

Like so many times before, my body reacts before I have control. I jump down from the stairs, placing my trust in my prince. And without even hesitating, he catches me and spins me around. “Oh thank you, thank you!” I call out, and like each time that I am held by the opera ghost, my writing merges into real life.  

When he lefts my feet touch the floor, my prince tucks a piece of, now short hair that has gone astray, behind my ear. “Oh course, my Clemintine. I’d give you the world if you asked me.” He says, quoting the song I had sung earlier on the river. An uncontrollable smirk creeps onto my face.   

“Can I start now? Do you mind?” I ask, needing to get a full month of ideas out of my mind and onto paper. He nods, “Yes, yes of course. I too, am ready to create.” And with that I made myself comfortable on the big chair. Surrounded by books and the person who’s gaze makes me feel safe, the words flowed without much control.  

I don’t think she knows. I don’t think she knows how much her touch makes me grow hot. I don’t think she knows how much her smile erases the darkness. I don’t think she knows how much how much I love her. I don’t think I know how much I love her. Is it comprehensible? Is our love able to be put into music notes or words on paper?  

I am interrupted from my composing my light, airy snores coming from the beautiful blonde-haired girl. The sight is truly majestic. The journal she’d been writing in lays on the floor next to her ink and quill. In her lap is the score for, The Fairy-Queen. The candles glow around her, causing a slight halo around her sleeping form.  

I scatter for my paper and charcoal; I must capture her. My scraps and scribbles seem like child’s drawings next to her beautiful form. I am not sure how long I’d been trying to draw her, but I’m interrupted by a groan. Mariposa mumbles something in her sleep before turning to her other side. Curling into a small ball.  

A pang of guilt hits me. I’d let her sleep in that uncomfortable position for who knows how long. Her delicate form might wake with bruises and a crooked neck. I drop everything, and carefully pick her up. I so gently place her down on the bed. I feel so grateful just to be allowed to touch her. Much less tuck her in to my own bed.  

I hope she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t care about the music; she cares about the story it tells, like me. That is the exact and precise difference between her and Christine. Christine misses her father, and that is why she sings. The curly haired girl only cares for music because of the connection it holds to her father.  

But my Mariposa is so engrossed in music purely to share it. To transport people, somewhere the daily struggles don’t have to bother you. Where you can float away. Even as she sleeps, her beauty tells a story of someone who is wild and free. Of someone who doesn’t care what people expect of her and only longs for adventure.  

The music notes flow before I can even consider waking her.  

I’ve been watching him for at least half an hour now. He hasn’t realised. I quite enjoy it, seeing the furrow in his brow and the way he would almost growl in frustration. Not only that, but the music notes he are playing seem to somehow show exactly how she feels.  

He’s been stuck on the same line for about 10 minutes now. I know exactly how to fix his frustration, but I enjoy seeing him try to wrangle the notes. Until, finally, when he throws the sheet music from the piano, I cave. His back is turned to me, he’s heaving in anger.  

My steps are softer than a mouse, and my touch much the same. The moment my fingers land on his shoulders, the tension he carries melt away in a moment. “You’re awake.” He whips around, his eyes once again filled with guilt but his touch is soft on my waist. My heart thumps in my ears.  

I nod, “Long enough to know exactly what is wrong with your piece.” I smile at him, moving away in order to hear my own thoughts. Also, of course, to pick up the sheet music. He furrows his brows, but doesn’t say anything. I see it now, “Here, after the G7 there needs to be a hard shift in the tones. Here, I’ll add the next few notes and lyrics too.”  

I take the pencil from his hand and sit down on his piano chair. It takes me less that 5 minutes, I’d thinking about it this whole time. My prince sits down next to me, again my heart pounds, our thighs touch and creates a similar heat to my cheeks. I do hope I’m not too pink right now.  

He takes the paper from me, once I’m finished. “My Clementine, this is perfect. You can read the sheet music?” He ask, his brows furrow at me. I can’t help but giggle. Even he too underestimates me. “Yes, of course I had to learn behind my parent’s back and there are still somethings I cannot understand.”  

Erik seems to be amazed and this time I cover up my face. “Why do you hide yourself?” He takes my hands into his own. “I don’t like it when you look at me like that.” I mumble, it’s true, no one has ever before made me blush like this. I do allow myself to show emotions, but I can control if need be. Not with him, he makes me blush.  

“Like what?” He seems so innocent to his wonderous look. “You look at me how I look at the wildflowers. How I look at the snow falling and the butterflies emerging. How I look at blooming flowers and a freshly pealed tangerine. You look at me how I feel when I listen to the plays. You look at me how I look at you.” Why am I saying all this?  

No control, nothing! I’m blabbering on about my likeness to the man in front of me. I’ve known him six month yes, but I haven’t seen him the full six months. Not to mention I’ve invited myself into his house, and slept in his bed! The realisation hits me. A gasp escapes my mouth. “Oh, if my mother is going to be so ashamed of me!” 

I pull my hands from his own, my hand on my chest as my heart just seems to not slow down! My breath is short. “I must apologise, Monsieur, how very unladylike of me.” I fan the blush from my face, pacing up and down as I realise where I am, what I’m doing and I’ve just said.  

“I must tell you, my mother did not raise me like this. No matter how hard she tried, she meant to raise a proper lady. If she heard me now she’d never let me house again.” A faint laugh escapes me. The composer rises from his seat, and grabs my hands.  

Then, his no longer gloved hand, raises my chin to look into those beautiful green-brown eyes of his. “My dear, you are a writer, and an adventurer, a dreamer. I might not have known you when you were a young girl, but I know you now. I do know that calling you a lady, would be an insult to your magnificence.” Again I blush but this time I cannot hide my face.  

My hand does free itself from his, however and lands on the masked side of his face. “Would you allow me to dream? Would you allow me to dream of your love, of our life, for us to have a future even if it might not last as long as we’d like?” My other hand moves like dust in the air and carefully lands on his other side.  

The tear that rolls from his cheek is swept away by my thumb. His hands find my waist and pulls me so close to his body. His face in the crook of his neck, the collar of my neck is wet with his tears. A frown forms on my face, but I comply and pull him closer.  

“Why do you cry? Did I say something wrong? Do you not want to be my lover?” It hurts to think but I must know. And yet he his sobs only grow stronger. He’s a big man standing at much taller than 180cm with well-built muscle, I, however, am not. I pull him over to sit down on the piano chair.  

Must I leave? Have I offended him? Was he scared that I would take his mask off? “I...I’ll easily leave if that is what you wish.” I mutter out, not entirely sure how to leave this place, but I’ll figure it out if it makes him happy. He removes his latch on my body, “No! Please....”  

My heart jumps again, “You want me to stay?” I furrow my brows, I feel like my emotions have been thrown around. “I do not deserve you. You deserve more. A future with me is a future with a monster. A future filled with darkness, evading the light and the sight of others. You, my Clemintine, should be allowed to explore the world, bloom as the flower you are.”  

That hurts more than him just not wanting me. His confidence so low that he believes it matters what he thinks of himself? “Okay then,” if he believes that he is so terrible that I could never possible be happy with him, then I’ll believe him. “If you believe it to be true, it must be so.”  

I stand up from the stool and go down the steps. I grab my journal, which I always carry with me, and walk further down the steps. “I should listen to my mother, right? Get married to Count Carson and sit and sew all day while I pop out one baby after the other. Is that how you would also want it?” I stand in front of one of the tunnel entrances.  

I turn to face him, hoping just maybe he’ll change his mind. “You say you’re a monster, then I’ll treat you like one. I’ll leave you here, I’ll go back to London, I’ll stop writing and live the life my mom wants. Because that’s what you think I deserve.” I stand firm, it might be similar to a child’s fit, but honestly I feel like crying like one too.  

He stands at the top of the stairs. His mouth stands agape, and his fists are clenched by his sides. And yet, he is like a stone pillar. “Nothing?” Tears escape me, I wipe it off as best as I can. He goes to defend himself but I hold my hand up. “If your next words aren’t, I’m sorry and I am enough, I don’t want to hear it.” His tears continue to flow. 

“I’ve learned from previous experiences that I can’t make someone love themselves. And if someone doesn’t have the capacity to love themselves, how can they ever find it in themselves to love me.” Now I cry even more, remembering previous loves in my full 18 years of life who have shattered my heart because I let them.

[justjams2003]

Blossoms- 13

Pairing: Erik Destler x OFC (Mariposa Claremont)

Summary: A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Warnings: Stalking, masturbation, Olfactophilia, cursing, screaming, mentions of alcohol, obsession, unedited, not proofread, tell me if I miss any.

Word count: 1,9k

Masterlist

Part 12~Part 14(coming soon)

Dividers: @yaynowimglad @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Tags: @rclector @jordanmunson3 @ann-vic-9 @ssssssws-world @gryffin-whore

The doors slam behind me. How hard did have to push the huge Opera House doors for it to make such a huge thud? More importantly, what on earth was I thinking? What was I doing? Why did I act so damn immature? Run away like some spoiled brat? It’s my only place to live! What now? And when did it get so dark? “God fucking damnit!”  

Some nearby trash takes the grunt of my anger and frustration. More anger at myself than anything, for being so so damn stupid. “Damnit!” Why is everything crumbling in front of me? Why did I open my big mouth? Why didn’t I just keep staying friends with him? I can’t help lean against the wall and just allow myself to give up. To sit down and maybe just think for a moment. 

But all clear thought leaves my mind when a crack snaps through the sky and soon rains starts pouring. And without a second thought the tears begin falling from my eyes. Rolling over my cheeks. “What’s happened to me?” I sob, my hands in my hair as I look around at my situation. “I’m sitting in trash! Homeless! Crying! About a man of all things! This is so fucking stupid! I’m so stupid!”  

Frustration takes control of me. Sobs rack through my body and I kick my feet and let a scream go through me. “What’s wrong with me?!” “That’s something I should be asking you.” I look up, smearing my wet hair to the side in quite the unsightly manner. The night is dark and there is no moonlight shining through the thick storm clouds. Only when lightning strikes I can only kind of see a tall man climbing off a horse.  

“Leave me alone!” I can only assume it’s Erik. I specifically told him to leave me alone, and what I don’t need right now is him seeing me crying in a pile of trash. “No can do, jeune femme. I fear some man would love take advantage of a pretty young thing like you.” He says, slowly bending down to my height. I know Erik’s voice, that’s not his voice.  

“I’m crying in a pile of trash. How could I be pretty right now? And like, who are you?” I ask with a huge furrow in my brow, my hands held out in confusion. This new person just laughs and shakes his head. “Call me a friendly stranger. Now, can I get you out of the rain?” He ask, his voice sounds so kind and soft and has just a hint of the same English twinge that I do.  

What other choice do I have? I’ve made horrible decisions so far, one more won’t hurt. And if it does, how much more rock bottom can I reach? He holds out his gloved hand, it reminds me of Erik, why does everything remind me of him? He pulls me up to stand on my feet and I follow him to his horse. “You can do it on your own?” He asks, hesitant to help without my word. But I can see by his jittery behaviour he’s desperate to get out of the rain.  

I struggle, with my heavy maid’s dress now wet and weighs much more than normal. I latch my foot in, I try to jump, once, twice, no luck, I’m still on the floor. “We’re gonna catch a cold if we stand in the rain any longer.” He comments, I don’t know this man, I haven’t seen his face but his voice leads me to image a man with a shit-eating grin. I sigh and give up, “Alright, yeah, I need help.”  

His firm gloved hands don’t wrap around my waist, like Erik’s would. Instead, he crouches down and holds out his hands. “Here, I’ll give you a boost.” I step on his hand and he pushes me up on the horse. And yet, he didn’t follow me? Instead he grabs the stirrups of the horse and begins walking in the direction of the town.  

“Where are we going, Mister?” I almost have to yell over the loud pouring rain. Every few seconds I have to smear my hair back. I wipe my runny nose on the sleeve of my dress. I’m cold all over and feel like I have to wring myself out like a dish cloth. The lightning tells me the man looks almost just as bad as I do. The rim of his hat has become like a small moat, filling up with water. His shoes make a wet squash noise when he walks.  

“A nearby pub.” He yells over the pouring rain. “Wouldn’t we get there quicker if you were also riding?” Just as much as him I want to get out of the rain quicker. “No can do, jeune femme. Don’t want to make you uncomfortable, just met you ma’am. My maman raised me better than that.” That feels strange? Did it sound like I was implying something? Does he think I want him? Do I seem like that type of girl? 

It feels like a long walk, I wouldn’t know just how long it actually is. I rarely went out of the Opera House, even more I haven’t been anywhere near any pubs. But eventually, he ties the horse to a post in front of a lit up pub. There is music floating out the windows followed by an amazing smell. Well, not that amazing, since it’s mixed with a pungent alcoholic odour. But, the grumble in your stomach ignores the stench.  

 The man opens the door, and seems completely comfortable in here. The waitress smiles at him and they both seem to nod in unison. He then walks to the table closest to the fireplace. He sits down, both of you sit on the bench with a wet splash. A puddle forms around you two. He takes his hat off, letting the water poor onto the floor.  

Now, you have a clear look at the man. He has no sharp features. He has soft eyes, kind eyes, an almost smoky grey colour. He smiles up at the waitress when she puts a pint of beer in front of both of you. And his smile just makes me weak. It’s just as kind as his eyes. It makes you feel just a bit lighter about my crappy situation. He talks with the waitress in French, once she’s gone, his storm cloud coloured eyes fall on me.  

“Tell me, what’s your name, jeune femme?”  

The Opera House is entirely too quiet for my liking. There is no soul, no passion, no Mariposa to keep the spirit alive. She forbade me from following her after the fight, but it is as if my soul could tell the moment she left the Opera Populaire. When I found her room, completely bare of any all sign of her, my heart shattered.  

There is no point in wearing the mask, there is no one to see me. I’ve been sitting here, staring at the empty bed for the past few hours now. Stuck on the floor where I’d crumpled into a ball after seeing the devastating news. What have I done? My own cruel mind has played tricks on me, making me believe things that has pushed away the only person who has ever truly cared for me. 

The only person who hasn’t been afraid of me. Her reaction to my bare face was one of love and might I even say lust. I did not sense a single ounce of disgust. Perhaps shock yes, but never alarm, never panic. Why was I so bitter? So unwilling to open my heart to someone who is clearly not planning me any sort of pain.  

I need her. I need her with me. I need her close to me. I need to feel her skin on mine. I need to hear her voice. I need to see her. I need to smell her scent. My head snaps up to her bed. No, I wouldn’t dare. I shouldn’t even be thinking such shameful thoughts! It would be a complete invasion of privacy and more punishment to myself, being to close yet so far.  

It took me exactly a week. I could not create, I could not sing, I could not play. Nothing came alive and everything fell flat. There is no life, no character, no contrast between my alluring darkness and her magnetic light. Each time we come close, our songs ready for a dance. And when we kissed- that was the only thing I could write about.  

Poems and songs about the longing. The need and the fire. How when our lips touched, I could feel her childlike joy mix with my mature wisdom. Her need to give more and my need to take fits to perfectly with the other. How brutal the gods are for making me wait so long. How brutal the gods are for taking her from me as soon as I could feel the bliss.  

After a while, I needed more. I drew pictures of her. In every position I could remember. Every time she smiled, smirked or grinned, I tried to recreate it. The one time I saw her cry, I drew over and over. And every time I did, the guilt overtook me just a little more. How dare I see fit to decide who she chooses to love. How dare I cause a single tear on those soft warm cheeks of hers. 

Her bed called to me again. The thin mattress and even thinner sheets look so much more inviting now than my plush king-size bed. It took me a mere 10 seconds to crumble to my own thoughts. My cape and shoes thrown to the floor. Now I find myself under her covers surrounded by her smell.  

Without even realising it, my hips buckle against the mattress. My hands react before my mind can. I slide the pillow between my legs and buckle once more. The friction does more to me than I’d like to admit. My hand slides between my crotch and finds the rock between my legs. With one swift moment, it starts.  

The moans fly from my mouth. Cinnamon, Jasmine and fresh morning dew. The smell of sunshine, fitting for my light. Fitting for the blooming flower in my life. My mind can’t help but wander, thinking of what it would feel like with her touch on mine. That soft supple skin of hers, pressing against my body.  

Or even just seeing her face twist with pleasure. How that cute button-nose of hers would scrunch up. Those supple lips making the same lewd noises as me. Hearing her call out my name, begging for more, faster, deeper. My hips and hand speeds up. I press my face against the pillow as I imagine her unravelling around me.  

Clenching tighter around my form, would she be loud or quiet like a mouse? Would her pleasure manifest in a beautiful chorus for the whole world to hear, or expressions of pure bliss, whimpers and whispers for only I to hear. The hot heavy liquid flows from me, seeping into my dress pants. Would she beg me to pull out, allow me to cover her body with my seed? Or would she beg me to cover her walls with my sticky offspring, deeper and deeper to ensure kids?  

Gasp of air fill my lungs. I need her. I need her skin against mine. I need the friction between the most intimate parts of our bodies. I need to see her at her highest peak. I need to comfort her as she reaches reality once more. If I must beg, if I must plead, if I must take cruder action, I will have her to myself. Even if I become the monster they fear.  

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