#what does it say about me that i recognized the fic from the first gif of the set | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

irndad · 1 year

Text

in every other life- s.r.

a/n: my soul is in this mf fic. there's a lil sexual tension lol! this is a behemoth of pining. so much fucking pining. this guy needs you like air wtf!! ALSO the poem is from a book, the lover's dictionary by david levithan. summary: the love of spencer's life is also his best friend, and she goes on a few dates. he does not handle it well, internally. ft. metaphysics by our dear genius boy. wc: 3.3k (holy shit)

While he recognizes that no direct injustice has actually been done to him, he can’t help but feel that it’s so unfair.

Because Spencer had never actually wanted much of anyone, actually. He was too much of a child through his entire education, and he’d found anyone that he’d even consider had almost instantly had dismissed him. He’d grown used to a life where companionship wasn’t a desire that crossed his mind.

But he wanted her.

His lovely friend, his coworker, who was the kind of lovely that it feels unfair you’d ever have to take your eyes off of. She’s the best person he’s ever met, the sort of wonderful you read about but never convince yourself you’ll ever see. He knows the shape of her, has her form memorized from watching, waiting for her to step into the office every day.

It was only a matter of time until he wasn’t the only one with his eye on her.

She’s actually absurdly easy to want. There’s nights where they watch something, often what he picked, Doctor Who or some other science fiction which would be great if he could focus on anything but her. Her warm disposition ruminating his too-small apartment with a kind of light that follows his every movement. He’d adore her even if she wasn’t, but it’s impossible to ignore how beautiful she is- the kind of pretty that you hardly expect to see in real life.

“Hey you,” her so-sweet voice is what breaks him out of his daydreaming, and he looks up at her lovely face smiling down at him. Fondness seeps through her tone, and it’s everything he can do not to preen that her first thought at seeing him is one of pleasure.

“Hey back,” he says, greeting her with a warm grin of his own. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a calculated question.

She had canceled their weekly movie night. He’d tried not to look too disappointed, like the idea of her next to him on his couch, of her nimble fingers raking through his unkempt hair while something nice, but far less wonderful than his company played in the background wasn’t all that was keeping him going. These days, and he knows it’s likely delusion, that she sometimes seems to gaze back at him with a similar sort of desperation, hooded eyes and tenderness.

It’s a liminal space, those nights. How can people be two things at once? You cannot be both in love and not. In the low-light of his place, under his blanket- it’s like Schrodinger’s experiment. She can’t love him like a friend and more at the same time- it resists the laws of physics. She is his best friend, a fact he knows as sure as gravity and the elements, and believing anymore than that- it’s asserting an impossibility.

When they’re alone together, though. It seems like the impossible exists.

But she’d canceled it, something she hadn’t done for the months they’d been engaging in their little tradition. So there had to be a reason. She sits next to him, her desk next to his.

She looks a little disheveled, only in an adorable way- but a little like she’s been busy, like her flow is disrupted.

“It was good! I finally went out with that guy Penelope’s been begging me to let her set me up with.”

It’s all that he can do not to freeze up.

Penelope has been trying to get her to go out with her friend Ben, which Spencer thinks is a stupid name, by the way, and secretly he’d been so, so pleased when she had brushed off the invite. It’s a dangerous thing, hope. He tries not to have too much of it, tries to savor the thought of her, of more for moments of particular vulnerability. It’s treacherous, to want her the way he does. He knows he can’t let himself feel it all the way.

And logistically- romance is not a reason for a valid reason for him to be panicking the way he is, but all he can think about is the physics. Two opposite things cannot be true at the same time.

“You know, studies suggest that even now, the majority of couples are meeting in person or through friends over any other medium.”

It hurts to say. She’s part of a couple, one half a whole that he doesn’t complete.

“Seriously? I’d have thought it’d changed by now. I guess it’s safer to date someone you know.”

She’d date someone she knew? Is that what she prefers?

“How did it go?” He hears Emily ask, and this conversation is already the bane of his existence.

“Guys, it really wasn’t a big deal! We got dinner, it was just a little thing.”

Spencer isn’t experienced in dating, but he does know that dinner is a serious date. Coffee is a smaller thing, but dinner-

Dinner means she got pretty for him. Probably picked out a dress for the evening, spent time on a carefully manicured look. Spent hours of her precious, rare, time on him.

It’s not fair how much he fucking hates this guy.

“Dinner is not nothing!” Penelope squeals, and he would love to share in her excitement, except it kind of feels like a piece of his heart is being shredded.

“Dinner means coming up to my place, have coffee, oh look who doesn’t have her hair done-“

Please kill me, he thinks. Please.

“Oh, that definitely did not happen.”

Thank god.

Except he can’t miss her flush, how her expression shifts- and he has the sickening feeling he’d be hearing that guy’s name again.

When they all settle around the table, her doe eyes focused on gruesome images that were the exact antithesis of her spirit, he couldn’t help but feel that even if it hurt, there was finality.

The cat was out of the box. Two things cannot be true at once, and so only one is- she does not love him, at least not the way he does.

Ben, is not in fact, going away.

If he had more willpower or self-preservation, Spencer would keep his distance from her, but the truth of it is that as much as he wants to be the person she turns to, her smile is most of why he can stand his job anymore.

It’s a Tuesday, and everyone is grumbling about being pulled in early in the morning, but he’s just happy to have a reason to leave the house.

“Spence!” He hears her excited voice carry, the pretty sound picking his ears up at once. “I got you coffee. It’s hazelnut, and it’s like, 90% sugar. You’re gonna love it.”

She beams at him, and he takes it in his hands. Their hands brush, and he tries so hard not to notice how soft her hands are. Her name is on the cup, and an unconsenting fantasy of her name meaning that he’s hers creeps into his mind before he can bat it away.

But her cup says Ben.

“Thanks,” he says her name, tries to sound measured and friendly. “Coffee date?”

She preens, and god, if this guy doesn’t get how lucky he is it might be thing thing that actually sends him over the edge after all these years.

“Just a quick thing, we were just in the same place and he bought me a coffee, I’d already gotten yours.”

If there’s two roles he can fill and he doesn’t get to pick, if he’s stuck with friends, he’s gonna be great at it, and he’s gonna be grateful. Because knowing her is a grace in itself, the kind of thing you should could yourself so lucky to have.

“He sounds like a great guy,” he hears himself say, “I’m glad you’re doing this.”

It’s the right thing to say. He’s sure of it. The thing he’s not sure of is why the smile she offers him doesn’t reach her eyes.

The next time he notices the cracks in their relationship, it’s when they’re out. She’d suggested this bookstore-cafe kind of thing, and he’d jumped at the thought, all of his favorite things in one afternoon. He’d felt foolish spending so much time picking out his outfit out, wearing the blazer she’d once complimented-he’d actually stuttered so hard in thanks that Morgan laughed for a full minute when she left the room- but she always looked beautiful, and he knows he sometimes pales in comparison.

“Oh, I love this one!” She thumbs over the spine of a thin book of poetry. She’s wearing a forest green sweater that hugs her frame, and a bracelet hangs on her delicate wrist. He loves looking at her, though he tries to conceal it. His goal of being a supportive friend includes trying not to make it that known how gone for her he is.

“I don’t read too much poetry,” he admits, “But I’m sure you have excellent taste.”

Her keen eyes skim through the pages intently, clearly seeking out a specific passage before stopping, gaze alight with recognition.

Her tone is molasses-sweet when she begins reading, and his heart skips a beat.

“When I say be my lover,” her voice hitches, reverent of the quote and he is reverent of her, “ I don’t mean ‘let’s have an affair. I don’t mean Sleep with me. I don’t mean Be my secret. I want us to go back to that root. I want you to be the one who loves me. I want to be the one who loves you.”

It feels impossible to look away from her, doe eyes practically sparkling in the low light of the shop, and there it is. His heart’s in his throat. Of all the things you could have told Spencer he’d experience, hearing her lovely voice wrap around the words be my lover in hushed tone, in sacred sweetness, would never ever be one he’d guess.

He’s not sure how he feels about the multiverse theory, but right now, he can feel all the versions of himself pressing right up against him. Can see into lives he doesn’t get to live, lifetimes where his love isn’t a buried, worn-out tattered thing to keep his ever-frigid chest warm. Versions of himself that in this very moment can smile back at her, warm and open and kind, and kiss her perfect smile.

Because he would be her lover. He would come home to her, spend the rest of his life building a home that she could fit into. It’d be easy, actually. She’s easy to imagine- nights of laughing in a shared kitchen, evenings where her company is a fine wine, sipped at leisure with the comfort of knowing it’s never going to slip from your grasp.

“I like that,” he says, voice too vulnerable for his own good, eyes unable to tear from the eye contact. “I really like that.”

In the root of it, he already is her lover. He is the one who loves her. She’s just not his.

It comes to a head on a Friday. It’s a few weeks from he book shop, and the air feels heavier between them now. The last handful of Fridays he’s sat with the ghost of what used to be their plans, empty time lingering where in its’ place used to be her company.

He doesn’t know if she’s been with Ben. He tries not to think about it.

The sound of her voice lingers in his mind, sweet and bitter in his mind like old lemon candy, the kind his mother would save for special occasions. He’d spend any amount of money he had to hear her lovely voice say those words to him out of the context of a poem.

At work, they seem almost normal. Like one of them wasn’t desperately in love with the other; like a genius and his lovely, incredibly empathetic, kind best friend. In the field, their actions flow together seamlessly. She is always the first to listen and to understand (and god, isn’t it intoxicating to have someone meet you in understanding) and there is nothing to suspect is off.

But there’s still a cloud lingering. The poem- the soft melody of her voice curling around the words, the request of it all, the way she had sounded so wanting- and then, there’s Ben.

She doesn’t mention Ben to him, of course, but Penelope does. Penelope, all bows and bright colors and cheeriness keeps bringing the absolute worst news to Spencer with a smile on her face.

He’s taking her out for drinks! Oh, he’s reading her favorite book, do you know what it is?

This anger isn’t an emotion that he’s familiar with. A roar of possessiveness, the bite of it not tempered at all by rationality. Has he touched her?

It seems almost a tradition at this point when she shakes him out of his jealous storm of thought.

“Spence?” she muses, “You alright?” They’re alone at his desk, everyone having fled for their own evening and weekend plans. This was one of the Fridays that she had agreed to spend with him, and he wonders if he’ll be able to handle the scent of her shampoo so close after such a lapse of the sensation. Will all of his judgement go where he can’t follow?

“Yeah,” he says, tucking his papers into his bag, “I’m excited for tonight.”

His place is actually a short walk from the office. He’d been embarrassed to show her the place at first. It’s all function over fashion, and a bit cramped, but she’d looked at as though it was made of something more, something good. She didn’t even tease him. It had actually been her idea, to start these movie nights.

Ironic, really.

The walk was pleasant, the weather a little frigid but still nice, and she looks beautiful under the setting sun. It’s incredible to him, how her lashes catch the light and make her irises look like polished stained glass. His favorite color. Through the looking glass of another life, he sees a version of himself that gathers her up in his arms. In this daydream, she grants him one of her smiles that seems to carry its’ own light, and leans into his body like it’s the only thing that keeps her steady. It’s so clear. On the other side of the veil, he kisses her reddening nose, and keeps her warm himself.

In the here and now, Her coat is long, and hangs low by her ankles. It’s an elegant thing, like the woman who wears it, and Spencer would be grateful for a lifetime of just looking.They stop in front of his door, some invisible force stopping him from entering.

She sheds the coat inside his home. It smells like the candle she got him for his birthday, a reminder of her grace. He’s saved a bottle of wine for them, a sweet thing for the sweetest thing he’s known.

“I’m sorry,” she speaks the warmth of the beverage on her tongue, and it should feel abrupt but it doesn’t.

“What for?” He can’t imagine what she would have to apologize for.

“I know things have been…off between us,” she says carefully, considering the phrasing of each word. He watches her with a reverence, his hazel eye brimming with affection with nowhere to go. “You’ve been so great through it.”

Her legs are thrown across his own, and she’s dangerously close to sitting in his lap, but not exactly. He’s missed having her this close, the last time she’d been in his orbit was before she’d had reason to be gone. She smells floral. He fights With limited filtering through his already treacherous mind he thinks, He can’t take this from me. I still get her like this.

“I’m not entirely sure what it is.”

She slowly shuts her eyes, go for a moment to somewhere he can’t follow. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold.

“This whole Ben thing.”

“Oh.”

Logically, it always had to come back to this. Someone else had the good fortune to know her like this, to be the person she reads poetry to in deep meaning to.

He’s been stealing moments from someone who’s not his to take them from.

“I don’t even know how I wanted you to react.” she murmurs, staring at the rim of her glass.

“I just want you to be happy” His voice is something low, grit in the sound of it. His hand rests on her thigh. There’s warmth blanketing the room and he wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her all the time.

She laughs, but it’s not her normal laugh. It’s tinny and a little bitter. He pushes his luck, and reaches out to brush the side of her face, moving the hair but still holding her face. Her breath smells like strawberry wine and temptation.

It feels different tonight. Low light and tension that could be sliced with wire. Every part of her is in reach, and something in the air makes all of this talk of relativity, of physics, moot.

Like maybe he’s not in the only world they don’t end up together.

Her face is warm and soft under his touch and he loves the sight of her. He’s never touched her like this. Every point of contact feels electric, addicting.

“What is it? The Ben thing?” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear. What he wants, is for her to tell him that it doesn’t matter anymore, that she picks him-

“I only went out with him the once.”

“What?”

“I told Penelope I was still going because it made her happy and she said I couldn’t keep going to your apartment and reading you poetry and call that romance.”

Romance?

Wasn’t it romance, though?

Her eyes widen in something akin to horror.

“Shit, Spence- I’m sorry, that is so fucked of me to say-“

“You,” he tries to say calmly, “aren’t going out with Ben.”

She blinks.

“No?”

He has spent so much time living in other lives, existing in the minds of versions of himself he wasn’t lucky enough to be. Drinking coffee imagine a life colored in her presence, falling asleep yearning for the presence of something lighter than what he has to carry.

He can’t exist in two places. That was the entire basis of the experiment.

He moves his other hand to hold hers, and somehow she’s shifted to being on top of him, and he looks up at her with unwavering desire.

Spencer isn’t good at wanting people, but it comes naturally with her. Less of an action and more an urge, a course of motion to which he is at the mercy of. This is what leads him to close the gap between them, and kiss her. It’s

Her delicate fingers run through his hair, and she can’t be close enough, please, and he could spend the rest of his life kissing her, actually. He probably will spend the rest of his life thinking about the soft sigh he pulls out of her.

“I want it to be me,” he manages to say through shallow breath, still so close that his lips brush hers every other word, “I want to be the one you pick. I want it to be me.” His hazel eyes seem to shift in the moment, swirling with emotion.

She brushes a lock of his overgrown hair out of his face. He normally shaves when he sees her, but he’d been so busy that he’d forgotten, and felt embarrassed of it now. That is, until she runs her index finger along the edge of his jawline.

It’s then she leans down and kisses him again, pliant and good, his hands around her waist. He breathes a prayer into her mouth, one that hopes that she never ever comes to her senses about him.

“Spence,” she says, her voice golden silk, a kindness. “There was never anyone else to pick.”

#spencer reid #spencer Reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic

3K notes · View notes

ellastone-olsen · 18 days

Note

Could I request something Rhaenyra x Stark!reader smut with them being feral codependent soulmates? I love that trope. They would totally be unhinged and in love wives together plus the fire and ice parallels 😭 Like after Laenor “dies”, Rhaenyra’s goes looking for a new spouse and runs into Stark!reader and it’s just love/obsession at first sight?

My queen is cruel | Rhaenyra Targaryen

★Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!Stark!reader

Summary: your family comes from Winterfell to the capital at the invitation of the Targaryen family. Princess Rhaenyra announced that she would choose a new spouse. Your brother was a contender from the House of Stark, but it seems to the princess that another contender from the rulers of the north is more interesting.

★Warnings: NSFW 18+, soulmates dynamic, mentions of blood and alcohol, innocent reader, virginity loss, oral, fingering

★Word count: 3.1k

★AN: omg my first House of the Dragon fic, I hope I translated some titles and names correctly. Thanks for the request, it took me so long to write this, but I love Rhaenyra so much 💕

Rhaenys's bitter, heartbreaking cry is heard in the silence of the room. The woman looks at the burnt body that just a few minutes ago was her son. “Who allowed this?! Why wasn’t anyone around?!” Corlys embraces his wife in rage and grief. That day, sadness became the main companion of the grieving parents.

No one knows that on the shore, the one who is now considered dead is running towards the boat. Laenor Velaryon sails away to disappear forever from this life in which he was imprisoned. Rhaenyra gave him a chance at happiness and Laenor will not forget this.

Rhaenyra Targaryen is officially recognized as a widow. It is expected that rumors about the death of the princess's husband began to spread like a plague, from servants to other servants, and those to their families, from there the plague was transmitted to all seven kingdoms. Some believed in the official story, others, like the grieving mother, blamed the Targaryen family for everything, they said that the princess ordered the murder, that she was tired of her husband. But for Rhaenyra it was enough to know that this was absurdity and slander.

“So what are you going to do next?” Daemon approached unnoticed. Rhaenyra didn’t look at him, her gaze was directed far out to sea. "I think I'm looking for a new spouse." Damon thought the hint was crystal clear. He thought that she still wanted him, wanted to finish what they started that night all those years ago. “Rhaenyra...” He was interrupted, “No uncle, leave it alone. Kiss me and let me go. If you do not...” A ringing silence hung between them. The phrase did not need to be continued; he already understood it.

King's Landing was filled with lords, princes and princesses from all over Westeros. The royal family invited all the noble houses, announcing that the heir to the iron throne would thus choose a new life partner.

“I don’t understand why you took me with you.” Your carriage was approaching to the King's Landing. Your parents were, as always, calm and cool, as befits the Starks, the rulers of the north. Your younger brother looked around the windows excitedly, clearly excited about his first trip outside of Winterfell. “Your mother and I think that you also need to see the capital.” Your father, as always, spoke directly and to the point. You smiled bitterly. “Only we’re here to try to marry Rob to this pompous princess.” You didn’t hide your bias towards this whole thing, which was more like an auction. “Y/N just try to say something like that about the princess in public and you will disgrace the entire House of Starks.”

For the rest of the trip you rode in silence, only occasionally fiddling with the hilt of the sword hidden in a sheath under your heavy black coat. Perhaps you had a little curiosity about the princess. What does the one who will take the iron throne look like, against whom there was so much outrage just because she was a woman. You thought that she must be strong and stubborn just like her ancestors. The same as the previously lived Visenya about whom you once read.

The carriage stopped.

“Do I have to wear this? How will I take my sword with me?” Your mother stood in the chambers that had kindly been allocated to you and watched as a maid helped you lace up a black dress with antique long sleeves. “You don't need the sword today, honey. This is a royal ball and you are not a knight in service." You looked in the mirror, and even though dresses weren't something you wore often, it didn't look bad at all for your taste. Still, the velvet in tandem with the large fur coat that you took from Winterfell looked harmonious.

“But what if something goes wrong and I’m left without a weapon?” You insisted. After so many years of training, the sword became an extension of you, and going out without it was akin to death. "The Royal Guard will protect us all." Your mother tried to be gentle and calm your worries. The woman came up behind you and put her hands on your shoulders. “For just one evening, be a princess and not a rude warrior. For me." You covered her hands. "Okay, just for you."

All arriving guests entered the huge hall in turn, after which they were seated at long tables, which were bursting with an abundance of dishes kindly offered by the royal family. “The Starks of Winterfell,” the man shouted and your family entered the hall. You followed your parents straight to the table in the center, at which the Targaryen couple was already sitting with the king and that famous Princess Rhaenyra at their head. Finally, you were close enough that you could see a woman with dazzling white hair and sharp purple eyes. Your breath caught somewhere in the depths and you couldn’t look away. It seems at this moment the ice and skepticism inside you broke, burst into a thousand pieces. You had to lower your head according to the rules of etiquette, but you couldn’t tear yourself away from contemplation. And when she finally looked at you, when your eyes met, you realized that you had problems. “Your Grace, this is our son Rob and eldest daughter Y/N.” Your father, as the head of the family, introduced his children and added, “I hope that Rob can claim the place of your husband Princess Rhaenyra.”

At these words, you remembered why you were here and a little jealousy pricked somewhere in your chest. You were almost jealous of your brother. But who are you to be jealous, because you just met. This is all becoming too strange, but so tempting. You sat down and the evening began.

Wines of different varieties continually filled the glasses of rich gentlemen, everyone laughed, joked and discussed who the heiress would choose as her husband. The Lannisters were sitting next to you and you could hear snatches of greasy jokes about how their eldest son could have Rhaenyra in all poses. Anger boiled inside you, how could this bastard say such things about this woman. “And they also say that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The loud laughter of the Lannisters infuriated you even more. “Then your house is no better for having sworn allegiance to a whore.” You thought you said it quietly, but they apparently heard you.

“I didn’t hear what the pup from Winterfell was barking just now?” Everyone who was at your table fell silent and the whole room also paid attention to this. “I said what I meant.” The man was already deeply drunk and clearly in the mood for a fight. He stood up and you stood up next, you were the same height. “If you are so brave, then say out loud what you think of the princess.” Rhaenyra's purple eyes watched your quarrel carefully, it would be a lie to say that she did not look at you all evening, knowing that all the men in this room would be denied. She definitely liked your spark and wanted to see what happened next.

“I said that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The man said the last word slowly, syllable by syllable, everyone present was in suspense. King Viserys took out his favorite blade. "I'll cut out your filthy tongue." As soon as he finished the phrase, a knife, prudently hidden under a fur coat, appeared in your hand and pinned Lannister’s palm to the table. He tried to get it. “There are a lot of vital veins in this part of the arm; if you try to pull it out, you will bleed to death.” The white cloaks immediately drew their swords and stood ready. Rhaenyra's entire being was hypnotized in delight by your actions and words, at that moment she chose her spouse. The entire Lannister family stood up and was ready to tear you apart.

"Get them out." For the first time that evening, Rhaenyra's voice broke the silence of the event. The bastard's face lit up with a smile. “My princess, thank you...” But before he could finish speaking, the guards twisted his hands, pulling the knife out of his palm, causing the man to let out a bitter scream. The entire Lannister family was disgracedly eliminated from the feast; there was silence for several more minutes, only whispers were heard from different sides.

"What are you doing." Your father pulled you by the arm, urging you to sit down, and glared at you with eyes full of rage. “Your mother asked you not to take weapons with you.” “She asked not to take the sword, dear father.” Rhaenyra stood up. “Today, to our great regret, unpleasant and unacceptable events occurred for the royal court.” She paused, her gaze returning to you and a smile gracing her lips. “But let’s not let these events overshadow our holiday, let’s raise our glasses and have a feast.” The crowd cheered and raised their glasses as they praised Princess Rhaenyra's wisdom and resilience. The celebration continued until late at night, you drank several glasses of wine after the incident and by the end you were decently drunk.

All evening you kept looking at Rhaenyra, your head was filled with thoughts about how beautiful and wise she is, about how wrong you were, how you regret that you didn’t want to go to the capital. But then these euphoric thoughts were darkened by the fact of her imminent marriage to one of the men of these noble houses and perhaps even to your brother.

You headed to your chambers, every now and then passing by local servants. Your legs dragged you heavily, your mind only thought about taking a warm bath and washing away inappropriate thoughts about the heiress. The heavy door opened with a slight creak, letting you into the semi-darkness of the room. You thought that you asked the servants to extinguish all the candles, but for some reason they were burning. Your gaze caught on an unfamiliar figure standing with his back to you, and the knife that had recently been in the Lannister’s bastard was again in your hand, waiting to defend yourself from intruders.

"You're a little warrior aren't you?" A velvety voice broke the silence and the stranger turned to face you. You immediately lowered the knife. “Your Grace, forgive me, I didn’t know it was you.” You immediately bent your knee in front of her. You were absolutely at a loss and the whole situation was a little confusing, why was the princess, the heir to the throne, waiting for you in your chambers in the middle of the night? “No need for formalities, please stand up.”

She walked through your chambers looking at some of your personal belongings until she found the sword. “Oh, this is your main weapon, as I understand it, you don’t to swing a knife every time of course ...” she bent down to take a closer look at the sparkling silver blade. “Such a beautiful thing, to match the owner.” Her compliment made your already red cheeks flush. “Did you want to talk about what happened, Your Grace?” you desperately wanted to change the topic.

“Did your mother ever tell you the legend of soulmates?” You were dumbfounded by her question. “Your Grace, I don’t quite understand...” She continued to walk around the room. “Don’t they really tell such stories in the north?” Her tone sounded fakely upset. “They say I know one.” “Then tell me too.”

You didn’t understand anything, Rhaenyra Targaryen came to you at night to listen to fairy tales for children? Perhaps something was put in the wine and now you were hallucinating, but it seemed like everything looked real. The woman lit the fireplace and, unbecoming for a future queen, sat down on the soft fur in front of the fire. She looked up at you, inviting you to sit next to her, you obeyed. The crackling of logs, the heat of the fire and the soft floral perfume of Rhaenyra lulled to sleep.

“My mother... told me when I was a child that there was a belief...” you cleaned the throat. “That every person has their own soulmate, but not everyone is able to find it, it’s like a person who was created by the seven gods just for you.” Rhaenyra began to unravel her tight braid; her head began to hurt unpleasantly from her hairstyle. You watched out of the corner of your eye as her snow-white strands gradually fell onto her shoulders. “And how do you understand who exactly your person is?” She encouraged you to continue. “I don’t remember exactly, but they said that when you see him or her, you will immediately understand, just the first glance or the first meeting and…boom.” "Boom?" She asked again, not quite understanding your strange wording. "Yes." You were looking at the burning logs when Rhaenyra's hand covered yours. She has already unbraided her hair. “Do you want to brush them?” Something strange was clearly happening. But who are you to refuse, you nodded and took the wooden comb brought from Winterfell from the nightstand. Hands carefully took strands of silver hair and combed them, as if they would break from the wrong movement.

“Do you believe in this legends?” You thought for a second. “I’m not sure, or rather I didn’t believe it before, but now these fairy tales don’t seem so stupid to me.” You put comb down, combing all hair perfectly. “I don’t understand why these questions are asked, Your Grace.” Your head was a complete mess due to the mixture of alcohol and adrenaline caused by the woman next to you. “Please call me Rhaenyra.” She turned to face you. “You understand everything, little warrior, don’t lie to me.” The woman moved closer and closer until she placed one hand on your shoulder. "Your Grace...Rhaenira." She leaned in so close that her lips were almost touching yours. "I want you." You looked into bright purple eyes, which shone yellow in the firelight. “Tell me the wolf of Winterfell, do you want me?” Her perfume smelled so delicious, her soft skin, white as her hair, that the dress did not hide, begged to be touched, “I...yes please, I want you.”

Rhaenyra's lips touched yours, sharing the sweetness of the recently drunk wine. One of the woman's hands grabbed the collar of your velvet dress and began to pull it down your shoulders to free your soft breasts. She carefully laid you on your back, on the soft fur, holding the back of your head. Her lips moved to her neck, then to her shoulder and then wrapped around her pink nipple. The action caused you to place your hand on her head, stroking her silver hair. The princess's hands lifted the skirt of the dress to the waist and stroked the skin of your soft thighs. "Cute little thing." She giggled and touched your lips again. The kiss was untidy, but full of tenderness and desire. Rhaenyra relieved you of underwear, her fingers slipped inside without a barrier, you were completely wet, just for her, but then she remembered. “Is this your first time?” She stopped any action, waiting in horror for an answer. "Yes, my grace." Rhaenyra buried her nose in the crook of your neck and began to kiss you, whispering, “I’m sorry, I should have asked earlier.” Your hand rested on hers that was still between your legs. “Please continue, I want this more than anything.”

And she continued, gently pounding and curling her fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside that made you see stars and whine like a pup. "Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, oh please my grace." Your hand touched the sensitive bud for additional stimulation. “Oh fuck, fuck...I'm gonna...” “Cum for me, cum for your queen.” Her movements became faster and clearer until you came, squeezing around her long fingers, biting your hand so as not to scream from the new sensations that she was giving you. She pulled out and showed you her hand, which sparkled in the firelight from your release, and then licked every last drop, causing your eyes to darken.

When you came to your senses, you stood up, only to strip completely and push Rhaenyra towards the bed, urging you to sit on it. "Please let me return the favor." You knelt in front of her, lifting the skirt of her dress up to expose her stockinged legs. Your lips kissed every centimeter of skin, no one worshiped it like you. When your mouth reaches her pussy, you notice that her arousal has left a wet mark on the bed linen. The tongue draws a line along the entire length, collecting her arousal, and the woman moans, lowering her hand to stroke your cheek. “My little savior, tell me, would you have killed him if I had not intervened?” You kiss her palm. "Yes my grace." And you hug her sensitive bud with your lips, simultaneously pushing three fingers inside, immediately picking up a fast pace. "Oh Gods!" She moans and screams without being embarrassed to be heard, the way you stretch her drives the woman crazy. “Fuck, that’s it!” and “Yeah right there, that’s my good girl.” You fuck her, trying to please your queen as best as possible and feel how she clench around your fingers. “Fuck fuck Y/N!” She cums, for a long time, and you fuck her through orgasm until she whines from overstimulation, asking her to stop.

You move onto the bed and lie on top of her again, kissing her. “I didn’t believe in soulmates until I saw you.” She hugs you, covering your naked body. You lie there, again inhaling the aroma of her perfume and not believing in the reality of what happened. “I would like to believe that it’s true,” she replies and you think.

“Have you already chosen someone to be your spouse?” You say this quietly, in a whisper. It was at this moment that you remembered why your family came here in the first place and how you may have acted meanly towards your brother. She laughs and you don't understand. "Yes, I chose you."

You lift your head sharply, looking into those purple eyes to see if she's deceiving you. “But...what if people are against it, what will you do?”

She thought about it, she knew that there would be dissatisfied people. “Then I will personally give Syrax the command to burn to the ground anyone who questions my choice.”

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra is my queen #rhaenyra targaryen #queen rhaenyra #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #hotd rhaenyra

225 notes · View notes

ju1cyfru1t · 7 months

Note

HIII CAN I ASK IF UR GONNA DO A PART 2 OF UR RECENT DONATELLO FIC?? IT WAS SO GOOD AND I'D LOVEEE A FLUFFY ENDING 🙏

I wish you would (Rise! Donnie x Reader) pt.2

Pt.1

Donnie apologizes to reader.

fluff!:), comfort???, gn reader, hehehehehe Donnie has a crush on reader, platonic or romantic

I wish we could go back

And remember what we were fighting for

Wish you knew that

I miss you too much to be mad anymore

And I wish you were right here, right now

It's all good

I wish you would

“He did WHAT?!” April’s voice echoed off the walls of your bedroom in disbelief. You had called to tell her about you and Donnie’s fight. You just couldn’t understand why he was so mad at you when you just wanted to help him like he and his family would do for you. He even shouted at you. You knew it was late, and you were grateful that she picked up.

“Yeah.” You took a deep, shaky breath, “I don’t know what to do. He told me he wouldn’t talk to me until I ‘admitted I was wrong,’ but I don’t even know what he wants me to say. I didn’t do anything.”

————————————————————————

“Uggghhhh..” Donnie groaned, leaning his head against his cold desk.

“You shouldn’t have picked a fight with them in the first place, Dee.” Mikey sighed, patting his brother on the shell.

“Yeah, yeah.” Donnie grumbled, not even bothering to look up.

You were the one being reckless, right? So why does he feel like such a jerk? He was mad, and it stayed that way for a few hours after he got home but all that anger quickly turned into pure regret.

“Come on. We were all worried when Y/N just jumped into action like that, but you still hurt their feelings.” Mikey rolled his eyes at Donatello’s dismissive attitude, crossing his arms, “I think you need to apologize, ‘kay?”

Donnie sat upright to look at him, furrowing his (drawn on) eyebrows. Worried? About you? …To be honest, that felt right to him. Donnie hadn’t really pieced together what exactly made him snap at you like he did, but he did recognize the guilt he feels every time he replays your hurt, confused expression in his mind repeatedly. It was distracting him, and he was definitely not a fan.

Truthfully what was the most distracting was that deep down he really, really missed you. You hadn’t texted or called him since the argument and he was too anxious to reach out to you first. He knew he couldn’t act like nothing ever happened no matter how much he wanted to.

As much as he hated to admit it, Mikey was right. He does need to apologize; it’s just so hard.

“You know what? Give me just one second to change, bro. I think you need a lesson from…Dr.Feelings.” Mikey winked at Donnie, skipping out of his lab.

“No, not Dr.Feelings, I beg you! Anything but that!”

It was already too late for Donnie to get out of this one.

————————————————————————

“April, I appreciate it, but I’m not sure this is such a good idea.” You stood in the doorway of the lair and April grabbed your hand.

She laughed, “You’ll be fiiiiine. Just because you’re not talking to Donnie doesn’t mean you shouldn’t see your other friends. Besides, Mikey invited us over.”

“Well, he’s not talking to me, but you know-“

“Shhhhh!” April shushed you, pulling you into the turtles home, “Heeyyyy! Guys, we’re heeeere!”

You rolled your eyes with a sigh but let her drag you in.

“Hey! I’m so happy you’re here!” Mikey practically sprinted to greet you. Mikey and April shared a look, nodding at each other. Clearly they were up to something, and it made you nervous.

“Soooo…I was thinking we could just watch a movie? The six of us?” Mikey’s tone was off and he seemed too nervous. Not very good at lying, is he?

Oh. All six of you, meaning Donnie would be there. Whatever. It’s not a big deal, right? I mean, he lives there. Still you couldn’t help the nervous pit deep in your stomach (and also the burning of annoyance).

You guys moved to get settled in the living room and soon being joined by Raph and Leo…but where was Donnie? The pit grew.

There was a whisper between Mikey and Leo followed by Leo clearing his throat.

“Ahem. Y/N, would you be a dear and get us some popcorn?”

You looked at him confused (and also afraid), “I mean, I could…but why can’t one of you? You live here.”

Leo looked at Mikey and there was another shared whisper. He turned his attention back to you, “Because we want you to get it…it’s, uh, better when you make it?” Ok, now you were sure something was going on.

You sighed deeply, but begrudgingly stood up. “Alright, fine…but it’s just microwave popcorn…” You muttered the last part under your breath.

You made your way to the kitchen and began to search their cabinets for the popcorn.

“Y/N? Uh, what are you doing?” You jumped at the sudden voice behind you before letting out a breath of relief. It was just him.

“Donatello.” You didn’t even turn to glance at him as you opened the packet of popcorn and made your way over the microwave.

Donnie frowned and scoffed, “I don’t care for your tone.”

“Excuse me? I thought we weren’t speaking.” You side-eyed hard with a glare. A pang of guilt ran through his chest, his face heating up. The energy in the room was tight and full of tension and the silence was so loud and painful.

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out six sodas, placing them on the counter one by one. Dammit. You knew his brothers and April had set this up.

Donnie took a deep breath and cleared his throat, “Hey…um, I just wanted to say…that, uh-“ he breathed out, “I’m sorry.”

You finally turned around to face him and leaned on the counter with the microwave buzzing beside you with a few pops every second, “I’m listening.”

“Look, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I was just…concerned. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” A rare Donatello Hamato heartfelt moment; You knew he really meant it even with his soft scowl as he spoke.

You thought for a moment then smiled reassuringly, “Thank you for apologizing, Donnie. I forgive you, I guess…Hug?” You opened your arms out and reached for him.

Relief instantly washed over Donnie, he would finally be able to sleep tonight. You weren’t mad at him anymore, and he wasn’t mad at you.

“Yeah.” He nodded with a small grin, and loosely embraced you for a moment.

“But for real though, don’t ever yell at me again.”

“Yeah…of course, haha…”

431 notes · View notes

blueskrugs · 3 months

Text

Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under | Nico Hischier

no thoughts, just vibes and fuck boy nico I'm considering this my honorary entry into demi @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange because I didn't trust myself to finish an actual entry in time but managed anyway (technically, this took me 10 months to finish) enjoy! length: 5.6k words

It’s dark in the club where Nico Hischier presses himself along Hailey’s back for the first time. She lets it happen, barely one drink in and looking for a good time. It’s dark, lit up by the glow of neon, when the man leans close and asks if he can buy Hailey a drink, hands on her hips as they continue to dance. She doesn’t realize who he is then, but he’s a decent dancer. It doesn’t seem important at the moment.

It’s dark as they stumble outside a few drinks and a few kisses later, a car already called and waiting for them at the curb. Hailey doesn’t remember when she caught his name, in between kisses pressed to her bare shoulders, her neck, but she knows he’s Nico now, soft-spoken with an accent Hailey can’t place.

“I don’t usually do this,” Hailey admits as she slides into the backseat. Nico doesn’t say anything as he slides in next to her, but he keeps his hand on Hailey’s thigh the whole drive back to his place.

It’s dark in Nico’s apartment, too, only a few lights left on before he went out for the night. It doesn’t matter much, anyway. They don’t stop in the kitchen, or the living room. It’s only the middle of October, and there are no outer layers to shed as they stumble down the hallway, though Hailey shivers every time Nico’s hands brush her bare skin.

“I didn’t catch your name earlier,” he says, breaking the kiss.

“Hailey,” she gasps. She shivers again as his stubble scratches against her skin.

“Hailey, I like that,” he says. Hailey refrains from rolling her eyes. Barely. Her name does sound nice in his accent, she admits to herself.

Neither of them are drunk, not really, but the room seems blurry around the edges as Nico presses her into his sheets.

An alarm is blaring, too loud, too early. Hailey groans and shoves her face into her pillow before reaching to slap at her phone to snooze that awful alarm. Her phone isn’t on the nightstand beside her where it should be, and Hailey starts to sit up, confused. It’s not until she hears someone swear softly, in a language she doesn’t recognize, that she remembers she’s not in her own bed. She bolts upright.

Nico’s sitting up beside her, shirtless and his hair a disaster. Hailey doesn’t fully remember how she ended up sleeping in one of Nico’s T-shirts, but she’s thankful for it now, though she still pulls the sheet up across her chest as she sits up next to Nico. For his part, he looks apologetic for the rude awakening.

Nico swears again. “I’m sorry, I forgot I have—work this morning.”

“What kind of job do you have that makes you work at—” Hailey squints at the digital clock on Nico’s side of the bed. “9 on a Saturday morning?”

Nico doesn’t answer, but he shoots Hailey a rueful smile as he rolls out of bed.

Hailey vaguely remembers being offered a washcloth to wipe off her makeup and generally clean up with, but she still feels crusty. Her eyes itch from sleeping with her contacts in. She heaves a sigh and throws back the sheets to get out of bed. She finds her clothes strewn about the room and reluctantly pulls them back on. Her phone landed somewhere on the floor, too, and she picks it up. Almost dead.

Hailey manages to call an Uber and scrape her hair into a ponytail before Nico re-emerges from his bathroom. She’s already lingered too long. This isn’t the type of hookup where they sit and have coffee over breakfast. Hailey shouldn’t have even stayed the night.

“I should—” Hailey starts, as Nico says, “I can walk you out.” “Oh, uh, sure,” she says.

Now that she thinks about it, she doesn’t quite remember all the steps and turns they took last night to get to Nico’s apartment. So she follows Nico back through his apartment, out the front door, down the hallway to the elevators. They stand in awkward silence.

“My Uber should be here soon,” Hailey offers. She shifts nervously.

“Good, that’s great,” Nico says.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. There’s already someone on, a boy probably around their age. Hailey starts to step forward, but Nico grabs her by the elbow.

“We can wait for the next one,” he says firmly. Hailey looks back at the boy on the elevator as the doors begin to shut. He raises his eyebrows at them, and Hailey thinks she hears him laugh as the elevator starts to descend again. Nico jams the down button again.

“Did you know him?” Hailey asks.

“He’s, uh, a friend.” Nico says. Hailey raises an eyebrow at him. “You don’t need to meet him, I promise.”

Hailey isn’t about to argue. This walk of shame is already bad enough.

Nico walks Hailey all the way out the front door of his apartment building. Hailey’s Uber is idling at the curb, and they go their separate ways. Hailey doesn’t look back as she slides into the backseat of her car; she’s not expecting to ever see Nico again.

There’s a phone charger plugged in the backseat of the car, and Hailey plugs her phone in gratefully. She swipes through her missed notifications quickly until one catches her eye from ESPN: Nico Hischier scores goal, assist in Devils win.

Oh, fuck.

Hailey puts it out of her mind. Or tries to, at least. She doesn’t actually follow the Devils that closely—she only has the ESPN app on her phone at all to keep up in conversation with the boys in her family about the Giants. Besides, she doesn’t exactly frequent any of the bars in Jersey. She should forget about Nico—his accent when he whispered her name, the way his bracelets brushed her skin when he touched her. He’d probably forgotten about her, by now, anyway.

It’s a few months before Hailey runs into Nico again, at another bar. He spots her first, at a table with her friends. Hailey doesn’t notice him at first, not until one of her friends nudges her with her beer bottle.

“Who’s the guy over there that can’t stop staring at you?” Beth asks.

Hailey follows her gaze across the bar, to a rowdy group of guys she’d been trying to ignore all night. She doesn’t spot who Beth is asking about at first, but then she catches the eye of one of them. She wishes she could hide, but she knows Nico’s already seen her. Has been watching her.

“Shit,” Hailey says. “I hooked up with him once, like in October.”

It’s December now. There was another time, a few weeks after that first hookup—and only hookup, if Hailey has anything to say about it—that she’d run into Nico again in another dark bar, where he’d bought her another few drinks. They didn’t even make it out of the bar that time, though; Nico had dragged Hailey into a corner and pinned her against the wall, behind an empty booth to make out.

Nico had torn away from the kiss to press a line of kisses down Hailey’s neck. His stubble burned Hailey’s skin as he went.

“Hannah,” Nico had murmured, so quiet Hailey wasn’t even sure she’d heard him at first, but then he said it again. “Hannah, you wanna get out of here?” Hailey had shoved at Nico’s shoulders so hard he’d stumbled backwards, looking confused. There had been a moment before Nico’s face had cleared in realization. “Shit, Hailey, I—”

“Get your own fucking ride home,” she had spit, storming through the crowded bar and out the front door without looking back.

She’s been trying to forget that night since then. She wonders if Nico’s forgotten it, too.

Hailey knows Nico spent a lot of the time in between October and now out with an injury. She refuses to examine exactly why she knows that as someone who “really doesn’t watch hockey” too closely right now.

Several of her friends raise their eyebrows at her.

“What, he was hot, sue me,” Hailey says. It doesn’t quell the looks she’s getting. She drains the last of her drink. She glances back at Nico. He’s gotten roped back into whatever conversation is happening with his friends—his teammates, probably, Hailey realizes belatedly—so it might be safe to venture over to the bar and get another.

Hailey is leaning on the bar, waiting for the bartender, when she feels someone come up behind her. The bartender looks their way.

“Her next one is on me,” a familiar voice says. Hailey glances over her shoulder for the first time. Nico is there, close enough that Hailey can feel his body heat. "Hailey," he says. He leans even closer. “Haven’t seen you around.”

Hailey ignores him for a moment to turn back to the bartender with her order. Tries to collect herself.

“Didn’t realize you were looking,” she says.

Nico grins at her, a little crookedly. “I’ve been—”

“Busy,” Hailey finishes. With hockey, with other girls, she doesn’t add. She thinks Nico gets it anyway.

The bartender slides Hailey her drink. She turns around, but Nico doesn’t step back.

“Listen,” Nico starts. Hailey looks over his shoulder, towards the group of guys he was with before. A few of them are already looking in their direction. Hailey meets Nico’s eyes again. “How about—” Hailey cuts him off. “No, you listen,” she says. “I’m here with my friends, you’re out with yours. I’m not looking for anything tonight, Nico, and I don’t think you should be abandoning your friends to leave with me.”

“Eh, they’d be fine without me,” Nico defends mildly, but he takes a step back, unpinning Hailey from the bar. “Next time?” he asks.

Hailey hopes there isn’t another next time. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she says. She doesn’t wait to hear if he answers, just brushes past him on her way back to her friends.

Hailey’s friends don’t try to hide the fact that they’d been watching the whole exchange. Hailey slides back into her seat next to Beth.

“We can never come back to this bar,” she says.

The next time Hailey runs into Nico Hischier isn’t at a bar at all.

Hailey’s walking out to her car after a rec league softball game when she hears someone call her name—an accent she wishes wasn’t so familiar echoing across the half-empty parking lot. Hailey turns towards the voice—Nico’s voice—as she tugs the elastic out of the end of her braid, shaking out her sweaty hair. Nico’s jogging across the parking lot towards Hailey.

“Hailey, hey,” he says as he gets closer.

“Are you stalking me now, Hischier?” Hailey asks.

“You played well out there tonight,” Nico says earnestly, completely ignoring Hailey’s question.

Hailey shrugs. It’s a competitive league, but at the end of the day it’s still a recreational league for a bunch of washed up college athletes. Hits and stolen bases don’t really matter anymore.

“How’d you know I would be here?” Hailey asks.

“Uh, I didn’t,” Nico says quickly. “Your organization, they partner with Eric LeGrand for charity stuff, and the Devils worked with LeGrand a few seasons back, and I stopped in for coffee today after practice, and he mentioned something about the rec sports—” Nico’s rambling, and Hailey realizes he’s nervous. Nico continues. “I was bored and had the night off when I looked it up I saw a game tonight and—”

Hailey takes pity on him and cuts him off. “And then you got here and saw me playing.”

“Yeah,” Nico says lamely. He seems to recover from his awkwardness and grins at Hailey, flashing his dimples. “Are you doing anything else tonight?” he asks.

Hailey regards her own dirty pants, her janky Crocs. She probably smeared her eye black with sweat, too. Not exactly the picture of beauty. “Do those dimples usually work for you?” she asks instead of voicing any of those thoughts.

Nico takes a step closer to Hailey. The strap of her gear bag is digging into her shoulder, and she steps back under the guise of shifting it to her other shoulder.

“I seem to remember them working on you before,” Nico says.

They’re working on Hailey this time, too, but she’s not willing to admit that right now. “I’ve got work in the morning, and I’m sure you do, too.”

Nico shrugs. Doesn’t say anything else, just looks at Hailey with his eyebrows raised.

Hailey gives in. “Fine.” She tries to ignore Nico’s triumphant smile. “But we’re going to mine.”

It’s Nico’s turn for the walk of shame this time. If he’s even capable of being shamed, that is.

Nico looks like he might argue, but he says, “Okay. But you’re going to have to give me your address first. Y’know, so I don’t get lost.” He holds out his hand expectantly, waiting for Hailey to give him her phone. There was a reason they never exchanged phone numbers the first time they hooked up. There was also a reason why there was never supposed to be a second hook-up. Hailey disregards both of those reasons as she unlocks her phone and passes it to Nico.

Somehow, Nico beats Hailey back to her apartment complex. He’s leaning against the driver’s door of his car, face lit up by the glow of his phone screen, but he locks it and shoves it in his pocket when she pulls into the spot next to him and climbs out of her car.

“Here, let me,” Nico says, trying to reach for Hailey’s softball bag.

Hailey shoots him a look and shifts her bag to her other shoulder, away from Nico. “I think I can handle it, thanks.”

Nico huffs but follows Hailey the rest of the way up to her unit in silence.

Hailey’s apartment isn’t as swanky as Nico’s—or as clean, Hailey thinks absently, as she dumps her bag—but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Do you need a Gatorade or something?” Nico asks.

He looks out of place in Hailey’s little apartment, with her hand-me-down couch and Facebook Marketplace kitchen table. Hailey can’t help but laugh.

“Are you this nice to all of your hook-ups?” she asks.

Nico shrugs, looking a little put out. “I mean, I guess?”

Hailey laughs a little again. “It’s cute, you’re cute.”

Nico scoffs. “Cute?” He takes a step closer to Hailey, close enough to slide his hands around her hips. “Just cute?”

Hailey pretends to think about it, but Nico is kissing her before she can respond.

Hailey knows that something has shifted before Nico rolls off of her, before she slips out of bed to take a shower. Nico’s still wrapped up in her sheets when she emerges thirty minutes later, shirtless and scrolling through his phone again. Hailey pauses at the end of her bed.

“Don’t you have to be up early in the morning?” she asks. Hailey has work, too, but she expected Nico to ditch her while she was in the shower. Instead, he stretches lazily, dropping his phone to his chest. “Mmm, probably,” he says. He shows no signs of getting up any time soon. Hailey gives up and slides back into bed beside him.

“Probably?” Hailey echoes.

She resists the urge to poke at his ribs, exposed with one of his arms carelessly stretched over his head, or to trace his collarbone until she reaches the crucifix on his chain, tug on it until he comes over and kisses her again. There’s a tattoo on his arm, bold, black looping lines that cover most of the inside of his left bicep. Hailey gives in and reaches out to trace them with her fingertip. Nico twitches but doesn’t pull his arm away.

Nico goes on. “We have film review in the morning, but skate’s optional.” He trails off.

“Which means…?” Hailey prods.

Nico does roll over, then, bracing himself on his hands above Hailey. She tilts her chin to meet Nico's eyes. He smirks at her.

“It means I don’t have to be ready to go work out, and I’ll still have time for a nap before our game tomorrow night. I don’t have to rush out of here.”

Hailey fumbles for her phone in the sheets and glances at the time. It’s creeping towards midnight. She stalls, scrolling around until she finds her morning alarm for work. The one where she can be a little lazy with her morning routine and still make it out the door on time. She tosses her phone aside.

Nico’s watching her carefully, brown eyes somewhere between serious and teasing.

“Well, some of us have to work normal jobs in the morning.”

“What, it’s not like you need any beauty sleep,” Nico says. He leans in for a kiss, and Hailey tilts her chin up again to let him. The kiss nearly gets away from her before she remembers she’s supposed to be awake again in six hours. She pulls away, albeit reluctantly.

“I don’t think I have any NHL approved breakfast foods in my fridge for you,” Hailey says carefully. An offer to stay and an excuse for Nico to leave all in one. “Just a bunch of frozen waffles and frozen breakfast sandwiches.”

Nico shrugs. “There’s always breakfast at the rink.”

Hailey scoffs. “Must be such a difficult life, being a professional athlete.”

Nico doesn’t retort, though he does roll his eyes and kiss Hailey quiet. She grabs at his bicep, presses her thumb into the tattoo there. Hailey turns her head.

“What is this?” she asks. Her finger follows one of the lines again.

“A tattoo,” Nico says. He brushes his hand over Hailey’s ribs, her hip, where she has tattoos of her own. She shivers. “I know you’ve seen them before.” At Hailey’s flat look, he smiles. “They’re the zodiac signs of me and my family,” he says.

“That’s really sweet,” Hailey tells him. It's surprising, somehow, but Hailey guesses she hardly knows Nico at all.

Nico grins at her again, flashing those damn dimples. Hailey has to kiss him about it, feeling desperate with it, like she might never get to do it again. Nico gentles her, a hand on Hailey's jaw. They kiss, slow and lazy, until Hailey yawns into Nico’s mouth. He pulls away with a chuckle.

“I should let you get some sleep,” he says. He rolls off Hailey again. He picks up his phone and checks the time, grimaces. “Do you know how far you live from Prudential Center, by any chance?”

Hailey doesn’t think she’s ever seen the Devils play in person. “Grew up a Rangers fan,” she murmurs, already halfway to sleep.

Nico slides out of bed, starts searching for his clothes. Hailey thinks she dreams him brushing a kiss across her forehead as he slips out of her room.

It’s a few weeks later, and Hailey and Nico are walking out of his apartment on a rainy Saturday morning. The elevator dings just as Nico swears and pats down his pockets.

“I forgot my phone,” he says. He glances at the elevator. “I’ll, uh, meet you downstairs,” he tells Hailey. He looks back at the elevator, and says, to the guy holding the door for Hailey and looking amused, “Play nice.” Nico retreats back down the hall, and Hailey steps onto the elevator, bemused.

The guy in the elevator speaks up first. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hisch repeat before.”

Hailey feels her cheeks burn. Nico had texted last night, early enough that Hailey wasn’t in bed, late enough that she was under no illusions about his intentions. And yet, she dragged herself off of her couch and into slightly-more-respectable pants, all the way to Nico’s apartment in Jersey City.

Hailey realizes something. “You were the one we saw on the elevator that one time.”

The boy grins at her and sticks out a hand. “Jack,” he says. “I mean it, though,” he continues, “must be pretty special to get Hisch to come back for seconds.”

They’ve reached the ground floor, and the elevator doors slide open. “Thirds,” she says without thinking. Four times, actually, if you count that time Hailey rejected Nico in the bar. Five times, if you count the one where Nico called Hailey the wrong name.

Jack whistles. “Our boy must be down bad.” Hailey laughs. “It’s definitely not like that—” She’s interrupted by—saved by? —Nico appearing out of the emergency stairwell nearby. She shuts her mouth and hopes her face isn’t still too red.

Nico looks between Jack and Hailey suspiciously. “What’d you say to her?” he asks Jack.

Jack laughs awkwardly. “Nothing, nothing, Nico, c’mon.”

Nico continues to regard them warily. “Jack—” Nico starts, but he, too, is interrupted by a fourth person joining their little conversational triangle.

“You two are going to make us late, and Lindy’ll—oh.” The new boy stops when he notices Hailey standing between Jack and Nico. The look on his face turns sly. “Sorry, Hisch, didn’t realize you were doing something.” Jack makes a noise of protest. “Hey, how do you know she didn’t sleep with me?” he asks. “Dude, I live with you, of course I know you didn’t bring a girl home—” They walk away, still arguing.

Hailey blinks after them, confused.

“That was Luke, Jack’s little brother,” Nico supplies, watching them head towards the front door of their building. “I’m sorry on their behalf.” Nico checks the time on his phone and grimaces. “Luke was right, though, we really are going to be late.” They start walking towards the front door, where Luke and Jack are impatiently waiting. Nico presses a quick kiss to Hailey’s cheek as they part ways.

Jack’s words from the elevator rattle around Hailey’s head as she walks to her car, as she drives home. Our boy must be down bad. Is that what this had become? Hailey didn’t know the last time she’d had a hookup stick around and make her breakfast in the morning—even if he had somehow managed to burn the toast—let alone keep coming back for more. When Hailey parks in front of her building, she has a Venmo notification—from Nico: for coffee x. There’s a coffee emoji, too, because Nico’s a dork like that. Hailey smiles down at her phone; they’d been lazy about getting out of bed, until Nico was rushing out the door, and they had to leave their coffees to go cold, mostly untouched.

Hailey’s cheek burns again with the phantom sensation of Nico’s lips, the ghost of his kiss goodbye.

It’s a few days before Hailey sees Nico again. On another night off for the Devils, Nico appears at Hailey’s door with a heads-up “On my way. :)” text and takeout. He kisses Hailey hello, a chaste peck as he steps through her doorway.

“What’s all this for?” Hailey asks, watching as Nico dumps several bags of food on her little kitchen table. She trails after him, curious. “Smells good,” she adds.

Nico grins at her as he starts unpacking the bags. “Wanted to see you,” he says, like it’s simple, like hanging out is just a thing that they do. He goes on, “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a little of everything.”

Everything indeed, Hailey thinks, surveying her table—it looks like Italian, sandwiches and salads and pastas and what could be arancini. She picks up one of the discarded bags and reads the restaurant’s name.

“Hey, I’ve been wanting to try this place.” It’s just a few blocks away from her apartment. “Always felt too pathetic to order takeout for one,” she says.

Nico chuckles. “Well, I guess I helped you out then.” He grins up at Hailey, who’s still standing beside the table. “C’mon, sit, we’ve got a lot to eat.”

Hailey sits obediently, across from Nico. Nico had managed to find Hailey’s plates, as well, and Hailey begins to fill hers with a little of everything.

“How much of all of this,” Hailey gestures broadly at her overflowing table, “is on an NHL player’s diet plan?” she asks.

Nico looks sheepishly down at his own full plate. “Not much,” he admits.

Hailey suddenly remembers something she��d seen on Twitter a few days before. She nudges Nico with her foot under the table; he immediately traps her ankle between both of his.

“Happy belated birthday, by the way,” she tells him. A look that Hailey can’t read crosses Nico’s face, but it’s gone just as soon as it appeared. “Had a pretty good game the night before, too, I hear.”

“You watched our game?”

Hailey finds herself blushing. “Saw some of it,” she says. She had thought about texting Nico, both about his three point night and his birthday, but she had chickened out. Thought it might be too earnest for a semi-regular hookup.

“I thought you were a Rangers fan,” Nico teases.

Hailey kicks him with her other foot.

Nico keeps their dinner conversation steered carefully clear of hockey talk after that. They slowly work their way through some of the piles of food Nico brought over. Hailey thinks she’s going to be eating leftovers all week, regardless.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Nico asks suddenly during a lull in their conversation.

Hailey swallows her bite of pasta uncertainly. “Uh, sure?”

“Why softball?” “What do you mean, ‘why softball?’” Hailey echoes. She goes on before letting Nico clarify. “I’ve been playing softball forever. I used to toddle around at my older brothers’ tee ball games, trying to take a swing at every baseball I could find.” Nico laughs a little at that. “I ended up playing all the way through college. A lot of my friends were pretty beaten up or burnt out by the time we graduated, but I never really lost the love I had for the game, y’know?”

Nico nods but doesn’t interrupt.

“I mean, we never, like, won the College World Series or anything, but I liked going out there and playing all the time. When I left college ball behind and started my big girl job, I guess I was feeling kinda lost. Someone told me that New Jersey Play Sports had a competitive division for washed up athletes, it gave me a team again, a reason to get out of my apartment and get active.” She pauses, assesses Nico. He’s watching her intently. “Plus, some of the former college baseball players are kinda hot.” Nico flushes bright red, and Hailey smirks at him. She had actually slept with one of them once, but that had been long before Nico. Nico clears his throat.

“I get that—the, the team part, I mean. I think I’d be pretty lost without hockey.” Nico takes a pensive drink of his wine. “And I don’t think you’re washed up, you looked pretty good when I saw you play.”

“Are you sure you weren’t just looking at my ass in my softball pants?” she teases.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Nico says, holding his hands up in defense. “Maybe a little,” he admits.

Hailey heaves a sigh. They’ve barely made a dent in all of their food, but she doesn’t think she can eat another bite. “I think it’s time to clean up all this fuckin’ food,” she says, pushing her chair back and standing.

Nico stands, too. “Here, let me help.” He reaches for Hailey’s plate, but she holds it out of his reach.

“No way, buddy. You brought the food, I clean, that’s how this works.” Nico makes a face at Hailey, but he hands his plate over. Hailey makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Go find us something to watch on Netflix, or something.”

Nico trails after Hailey as she steps over to her sink. “Oh, are you trying to Netflix and chill me now?” Nico asks, voice low.

Nico places his hands on Hailey’s hips and crowds close behind her, pinning her to the counter. Hailey tries not to shiver. He presses a kiss to her cheek, then her neck, then to her shoulder. He keeps his face there, buried in her neck.

“I think we’re way past that, Hisch,” she tells him. Her voice comes out mostly normal. Nico releases Hailey, but not without one last kiss on the cheek.

With the food all stashed in the fridge and dishes done, Hailey wanders back into her little living room to see what Nico’s found to watch. He looks ridiculous lounging on her shitty hand-me-down couch, one of his socked feet hanging over the arm of the couch. He looks away from the TV to smile at Hailey as she walks over.

She can’t resist bending down to give him a quick kiss.

“Bathroom break,” she tells him, tossing her phone down on the cushion next to him. “Be right back.”

While Hailey is in the bathroom, her phone vibrates. Nico digs it out from where it had slid underneath his thigh, intending to set it on the coffee table instead. It vibrates again, then once more, before Nico has the chance to set it back down. Nico glances at the screen. Three new text messages, all from someone named Connor. Hailey has her message previews off, so Nico stares at the three little iMessage notifications until her screen goes dark.

Hailey reemerges from her bathroom.

“Nico?” she says softly. “Is that my phone?” Nico doesn’t release his white-knuckled grip on her phone. Hailey steps into his line of sight, crouches down in front of him when he doesn’t move. “Nics? Did something happen?” she asks.

Nico manages to say, “You got a few texts.”

Hailey eyes her phone. Nico still hasn’t set it down. “Okay?”

“Why don’t you have your message previews on?”

She’d had to turn them off when Nico had tried—quite badly—to sext her one night while he was bored on the road in December. She doesn’t say that, though.

“Because apparently the guy I’m fucking is nosy as hell.” Nico inhales quickly through his nose. Hailey pries her phone out of Nico’s grip, barely glancing at it before setting it aside. She’s feeling defensive now, though she still doesn’t understand why Nico suddenly got so upset.

“I didn’t realize you were sleeping with someone else,” Nico says stiffly.

Hailey blinks up at him. “What?” she asks. Then says, “I’m not, what the hell?”

Nico crosses his arms, frowning. “Who’s Connor, then?” His eyebrows, always so expressive, are drawn together. Hailey resists the urge to poke them.

Hailey crosses her arms, too, mirroring Nico instead. “What makes you think that’s any of your business?” Nico opens his mouth to argue, but Hailey barrels on. “And what makes you think you can judge me if I were sleeping around, anyway? Jack told me how you’re always bringing home different girls, never sleeping with the same one twice. Or how I literally saw you leave the bar with another girl the night I turned you down in October?”

Nico, somehow, frowns harder. He’d been trying to fend off Jack and Luke’s teasing for weeks; he’d lost count of the number of times he’d told them this thing with Hailey was just casual, just another hook-up, even though the rest of his regular picking up and hooking up had fallen by the wayside. Hailey watches him in silence as he struggles to organize his thoughts and respond.

“I— I haven’t slept with anyone else in—” He breathes out a harsh breath. “A month? Two?” The days all blur together during hockey season. They’d started to turn into: day off, game day, or a day he could see Hailey again.

Hailey’s face softens. “And Connor’s my brother, you dumbass.” Nico gapes at Hailey. She shrugs and pushes to her feet. Nico grabs at her wrist and tugs until she topples onto the couch, half on top of him. “Think you’ve got a little jealousy problem there, Cap,” she teases.

She likes the way Nico blushes and tries to hide his face in her neck, even though he scoffs.

“I’m not— I wasn’t jealous, I was just—” He trails off.

Hailey rests her head on Nico’s shoulder. “It’s okay, you can say it.”

Nico pinches at the skin above her hip, but he goes quiet for a moment. “I think—” He tries to collect his thoughts. “I think I was worried I’m more invested in this than you.”

Hailey cranes her neck to look into Nico’s face. He’s resolutely looking at a spot over her shoulder, towards the neglected Netflix screen. She pokes him in the cheek, right where one of his dimples is. He blinks and looks down at her.

“And what is ‘this,’ exactly, Nico?” she asks.

“I really like you,” Nico says. He doesn’t look away from Hailey this time.

She thinks about Jack Hughes telling her Nico was “down bad” in the elevator, Hailey grins at him. “I know,” she says.

“What?” Nico asks. He looks a little alarmed. “What do you mean, you know?”

“Jack told me,” Hailey says. “Something about never coming back for seconds?”

Nico swears. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Hey, Hisch?” She waits until Nico meets her eyes again. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, because I really like you, too.”

Nico, somehow, looks surprised. “Really?” he asks.

Hailey pulls him in for a kiss, slow and sweet. “Yes, really, Nico. You are definitely the only guy I’ve hooked up with in—longer than I’d care to admit, actually.”

Nico chuckles and pulls Hailey in for another kiss. They never do end up watching what Nico had picked out on Netflix.

#cait writes things #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier fic #new jersey devils fic #new jersey devils imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction

324 notes · View notes

soullumii · 9 months

Text

if my heart’s gonna break | joel miller x f!reader

part 1 (read part 1 before reading this!)

summary: a couple nights later, you head back to joel’s

warnings: 18+!!!! smut again. unprotected piv. fem!afab!reader. angst again don’t worry i’ll make a happy ending okay

word count: 4k

joel mod in gif is by speclizer (so fucking hot oh my GODDDD)

a/n: finally finished part 2 omg i’m sorry for the wait yall… i’m a perfectionist it’s lowkey debilitating. anyways… i hope u guys enjoy <3 tysm for the support on part 1 and tbh on all my other fics too… i can’t believe ppl like my writing that much. i am very grateful! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

im scared but if my heart's gonna break before the night will end

i said we're in danger

sleeping with a friend

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

You cant stop thinking about the kiss.

The kiss that honestly shouldn’t mean so much to you. You’ve kissed him, like, so many times. So many times his tongue has been in your mouth, been in your damn vagina. So why the fuck… why the fuck are you so worked up over this right now?

It’s just…it was so heavy. It felt like…like more than just a kiss. Like he was laying his life down for you, much like he does in patrols.

He… Joel… he usually never kisses right after sex. He recognizes in the post-coitus energy that things are different. They mean more. He has to know that. So… why now? Does he…?

No. You’re just in your head again. Maybe you’re thinking about it too hard. You’ve never had a friends with benefits situation before now. Maybe this… maybe this is regular.

But for your own psyche, you think you might have to set some ground rules.

There was always that main rule, that wretched, critical rule. The one you said to him on the first day of your strange exchange.

“Don’t go falling in love with me, cowboy.”

Well, to hell with that one, right? Pretty sure you’ve beaten that shit to death. Shattered all possible remains of it.

So more rules. More rules will have to do. Starting with:

No kissing.

Should be easy enough.

You’ll figure out the rest later. You have got to stop thinking about it, though, because you’re on the way to his house right now.

You knock swiftly on the door, and you swear you feel your heart drop into your pussy the moment he opens the door to reveal himself. A plain, black t-shirt is stretched across his broad chest, haphazardly tucked into a pair of plaid pajama pants that hang loosely around his hips. His graying hair is ruffled beyond belief, curling around his ears and falling over his forehead. In your fits of passion and desire a couple nights ago, you hardly realized it had grown longer. It looks nice.

This sleepy and soft Joel is not one you’ve seen in a while. Well, it’s not like you’ve seen him much lately anyway, with him having been gone and all. Still, it’s disorienting.

“Howdy,” he says.

“Um. Hi.” You try not to gawk. “Did…did I come at a bad time, or something?”

“No, not at all. I just got back from patrols… took a shower,” he says, leaning a shoulder against the door jamb, strong arms crossing over his chest. There’s a tiny, barely perceptible smirk on his lips. “Need somethin’?”

You see it now, the water clinging to his hair, darkening it, beading at his temples like sweat. You follow a line of water trickling down his throat until it disappears behind his collar.

Rule 2: Don’t come over after he’s showered.

“I…uh, I can come back later if you want—“

You’re nervous to ask him what you want to ask him, which is honestly ridiculous considering you guys have been doing this for months now. You used to be able to just knock on his door and he’d pull you in, and it was that easy. Or you’d give him a look when in public, and he knew exactly what you needed.

Now, you’re painfully awkward. Curse him and curse your feelings.

He straightens a bit, his brows furrowing in slight concern. “What’s goin’ on?”

Heat spreads down your neck, embarrassment. Shame. It’s strange, how just a couple nights ago you let him finger you in public, and now you’re afraid to ask him for sex again in his house and for your panties back.

You should honestly just say something like:

I’m here for my underwear.

And you’re positive he’d say:

Want it back? You gotta earn it, sweetheart.

And your knees would buckle and you’d sink down to the carpeted floor in front of his couch and suck him off until he was coming down your throat, stroking back your hair and thumbing his cum on your plush bottom lip.

But instead you’re scowling at him and blurting: “I need a drink.”

How dare he leave you high and dry for three weeks, come back and fuck the shit out of you, make you realize you’re in love with him, and look this good?

God damnit, you need to get your shit together.

Joel’s eyes widen, surprised only slightly by your outburst, before he backs up to allow you inside his home. When he shuts the door behind you, his hand settles warmly on your lower back as he steers you toward the kitchen.

He immediately beelines for the liquor cabinet and grabs a bottle of red for you. A warm, tingly feeling stirs in your stomach at the fact that he knew you’d want wine. The frustration you’ve been feeling fizzles out.

“You know me so well.”

He gives you a light smirk, uncorking the bottle. The liquor gurgles as he pours it into a glass. “Think you’d kill me if I didn’t know after all this time.”

You laugh, “Sure, but the real test of friendship is if you knew how I’d kill you.”

“A swift kick to the nuts and then one of my guitars to my head.”

Your eyes widen on a guffaw. “You think I’d damage one of your guitars?”

“You care more about my guitars than my genitals?”

“Yes. Why would I ever smash one of your guitars?”

He rolls his eyes. “Kill two birds with one stone—my soul and my body. It’s effective. If you needed to kill me, I’d hope it was like that. Now how would I kill you?”

You hum in consideration. “Trick question. You wouldn’t—no, you couldn’t.”

“You know me so well.”

His words mirrored back at you so gently, with his brown eyes trained on you intently has the warmth in your belly spreading, making you drop your gaze.

His smirk grows and he hands you the wine glass and reaches for some homemade brandy. You watch the muscles in his arm flex as he pours, sipping daintily while your mind replays thoughts of filth. Of you dragging that arm between your legs, grinding down on it until—

“So, you really only here for a drink?” He asks with a playful lilt, taking a sip of his own beverage and effectively jolting you out of your daydreaming.

You lean against the island, wondering if you should tell him the truth. From the way he’s looking at you, hungrily and heated, like a lion ready to pounce, you’re tempted to.

But…you’re afraid. You can’t stop thinking about The Rule. The one you broke and the ones you just made. You wonder if whatever might happen between you two tonight will unravel them before you can even put them into place.

You look up at him through your lashes, lips pursed around the rim of the glass. “Maybe, maybe not.”

His eyes darken, tongue darting out to lick his lips of sweet fermented wine. His gaze travels up and down your figure, comfortable and breathable in a t-shirt and shorts. Nothing fancy and cute like your sundress from the other night, because today you had to work. But Joel has never minded what you’ve worn, swearing you always look sexy in anything.

Which is something that also makes you question this friends with benefits situation you have here.

He sets his glass down and eases in closer, curling an arm around your waist to pull you into him. “How high’s the chance then?”

“…What do you mean?”

“I mean what’s the probability that you really did only come here for a drink?” he drawls, eyes following your lips as your tongue dips out to wet them. “Or was there another reason?”

The cold tip of his nose brushes along your throat, lips ghosting over your skin. You tremble in his hold. “Odds are in favor of the first option,” you breathe, “ran out of alcohol at my place.”

“And you couldn’t just stop by the Bison? Had to steal from my stores?”

“You know you have the good stuff.”

“You’re lyin’ but I’ll pretend like you ain’t.”

That makes you laugh, and more tumble out of you when one of his hands traces lazily over your stomach, fingers light and delicate and teasing.

“So why d’ya need a drink?”

Because you’re driving me crazy. Because I’m driving myself crazy. Because the universe wants to fuck me over.

You smile and your free hand skates up his muscled back, your fingers brushing along the stretchy fabric of his tee, your voice soft. “Just needed to destress a little. Work has been intense.”

He grins back, presses it into the spanse between your throat and your shoulder, before he lightly scrapes his teeth over it and lays a gentle bite that has you keening into him, pressing your body against his.

“Well, I could help you destress another way too,” he murmurs, palm squeezing the pudgy flesh of your waist, fingers digging lightly into your muscle.

“Mm… yeah?” you hum, your voice a low purr, back arching. Your breasts press into his chest, and Joel makes a sound deep in his throat in agreement.

He presses you into the island, caging you in with his hands on either side of you. He towers over you, a sweatpant clad leg sliding between yours.

He leans down to kiss you, and a flashing light blares in your mind — NO KISSING — loud and bright and distracting. You turn your head at the last second, his lips landing on your cheek. But Joel doesn’t pull back, doesn’t question you. He just kisses down your cheek, along your jaw, mouthing at you. Sucking your skin to leave little marks that will either fade or be covered by concealer.

It used to upset you when he left marks because they’re a pain to cover up. Then, you started to like it. You didn’t mind covering up the marks because when you took the makeup off and saw them at the end of the day, all you could think about was him. About the how he made you come. About the words he muttered in your ear. About the feeling of his hands on you—in you.

Now, you’re starting to grow upset again, but this time it’s because you want to wear them proudly. Want people to know he gets to claim you like this. But… you can’t. But you also don’t want him to stop.

You allow him to continue marking you up, his hand coming up to rest behind your skull, holding you in place. You press your body into his eagerly and with desperate, soft noises that he returns with placating moans.

And then he shifts, and his thigh ruts against your clothed core, and you moan lightly, airily, grinding your hips down against him, searching for any friction.

His hands curl around the hem of your white tee, and he peels it off your body. One skates behind your back to easily undo the clasp of your bra, and then your breasts are heavy and on display for him.

Joel stares down at you with heavy eyes. “Christ, you’re beautiful.”

Longing claws at your chest, and you look up at him coyly, your lip caught between your teeth. Joel groans like he’s in pain, and squeezes along the underside of one of your breasts before leaning down to close his mouth over the nipple while his other hand gives attention to the other, squeezing and pinching. Your hands find purchase in his damp hair as low moans tumble from your lips.

When he’s deemed one nipple adequately appreciated, he moves onto the next. Licking, revering, his dark eyes peering up at you while his peppered hair is fisted in your hands. The sight has slick arousal pooling in your underwear.

Eventually he pulls back and his hands clamp down on your hips. He guides you along the muscle of his thigh, your clit pulsing at the contact.

“Want you to come on my thigh, baby.” His voice is a ragged slur of words against your ear, warm and paired with a kiss to your cartilage.

“Fuck…yes, Joel,” you whimper, sparks flying through your nerves with each roll of your hips.

His fingers grip your chin, tilting your head so you have no choice but to keep eye contact with him as you rut against his thigh. He’s grinning, eyes heavy lidded and deep, dark like wet tar. They suck you in as if they were quicksand.

You’d let him drag you under a million times over.

Your best friend.

“Joel,” you moan, feeling yourself grow close. Standing at the cliff's edge. His eyes bore into yours, his grin slipping as he focuses on you. Focuses on making you shatter atop him.

“Come on, baby. You can do it. You can come,” he says encouragingly, fingers stroking the skin of your hip. You feel tears prick your eyes as the waves crash, spreading from your throbbing clit along your muscles. Filling you with warmth, stronger and deeper than the buzz from the wine.

“Good job,” he praises gently. “Did so good.”

“Shut up,” you huff.

He laughs, and despite yourself, heat floods your body, throbs between your thighs. His words caress a deep, carnal animal inside of you, and the hunger takes over.

You frantically pull at his shirt until he has to tell you to slow down, and takes it off himself. Your hands run along his chest and stomach the moment they’re able to and down to the waistband of his sweats. You palm his hardening cock through the soft, gray fabric. Joel groans deep and heavy, his lashes fluttering as he stares you down. His hips thrust into your palm automatically. Involuntarily.

God, that makes you light up like a firefly. Makes your nerves sing and your cunt flutter and your mind go numb.

He tugs down your shorts and underwear and sets you on top of the granite, but before he can strip the underwear from your ankle to no doubt pocket this pair like he did the other, you flick it off your foot across the kitchen. It lands somewhere near the door to the dining room.

He can’t steal all your underwear, or you’ll have none left.

“I wanted those,” he drawls, expression on the edge of a pout.

“Yeah, well I need them. It’s not common to come across a good pair of panties in this world.”

“But I’d give ‘em back.” He’s full on pouting now. It is, unfortunately, very cute, but you’re used to it.

“Sure… like the pair you took from me the other night that I have yet to receive.”

“How else am I supposed to get you to come over?”

“I dunno? Maybe ask?”

“Should I leave a note on your door? Is that good enough for you?”

“At least be classy. A letter delivered in my mailbox with a wax stamp, please.”

He laughs. “As you wish, Princess.”

He finally peels off his sweatpants, free of underwear beneath them, and you watch with barely concealed hunger as his cock springs free.

And while you like the idea of him fucking you on the counter, you’d much rather him fuck you against the counter, so you hop down and turn so your back faces him. Your hands curl around the granite lip of the counter top, and you push your ass out and back, peering at him over your shoulder.

This way, it’s easier for him not to kiss you. Easier for you to turn your head and deny your lips to him.

“Look at you…” Joel hums appreciatively at your show, at the wiggle of your hips as his palm smooths down your back and over your ass, squeezing at the plump flesh.

You moan quietly, and Joel’s eyes darken, watching you intently like you’re the only thing in the room.

His fingers drift down to your cunt and your slickness coats his fingers fully. You’re so wet for him. So ready for him to bury himself inside you and call you his.

It’s funny, you’ve lost all your heat from a few nights ago. All your sharp edged words. Now, you’re soft and pliant.

He swirls his soaked index and middle fingers along your clit, punctuating your sensitivity, before sliding them back inside you to the knuckle. You keen and push back, desperate for more. His fingers are so much longer than yours, thicker, and yet you crave more.

“That’s it, Joel,” you huff. “Fuck, feels so good. Need more.”

“Yeah? Tell me what you need, baby girl.”

Shame lights your cheeks, but you push down the embarrassment. “Need…need your cock inside me.”

He lays a kiss on your neck. “Still a bit desperate aren’t we?”

“You’re the desperate one, Mr. Panty Stealer. You’re a fucking creep.”

He chuckles against your neck, but he squeezes your ass in retaliation. “Be nice, would you?”

“You like it when I’m mean.”

“Wanna see how much I like it?”

“If you’re willing to show me and get on with this, sure.”

He huffs in amused frustration. “God, you’re annoyin’.”

You just smile innocently at him.

Your legs tremble, slick running down your thighs when Joel pulls his fingers out. He replaces them with the hardness of his cock, of which he runs along your wetness, readying himself.

“I think ‘bout you way too much,” he says into your back, pressing a gentle kiss there. “D’ya think ‘bout me too?”

It’s an odd question. One you’re not expecting. One that has your heart stuttering in quiet confusion from this sudden switch in tone.

“Of course I do.” Obviously. You told him as much. Three weeks. Three weeks you thought about him.

“Good… wanna be the only thing on your mind.”

A high pitched keen hisses through your teeth as Joel eases himself inside you with a long, slow stroke and a low moan. Your fingers white knuckle the countertop, gripping it tightly.

He presses in close, burying himself all the way in before he withdraws slowly, his cock sliding inside you torturously.

“Joel,” you moan.

“I know, baby.” He presses kisses to your shoulders.

Joel’s hand gravitates to the back of your knee, and he slowly pushes up to lift your leg until your knee is resting on the counter.

And then… with this new angle…he starts fucking you in earnest.

His hips snap against your ass, the sound deafening in the kitchen, and you crumple against the granite with a moan.

“Shit,” Joel grunts. “Yeah.”

Each of his heavy thrusts punches the air from your lungs, and your fingers slip on the countertop, scrabbling for purchase every chance you can get. He’s hot, thick inside you, warm as he folds over you, his hand on your tummy holding you upright, the other keeping your leg up to continue hitting you at that pleasant, delicious angle.

“H-holy shit—oh—“

He breathes heavily at your neck, low grunts and moans escaping his lips from his efforts. “Could spend eternity inside you, darlin’. Fuck, you’re mine.”

Your heart stutters, the words uttered in a lust filled craze, likely meaning nothing. But to your traitorous brain, to the hope lingering in your chest like a persistent cough, they mean everything.

“All…” you’re losing your train of thought, fucked into blissful nothingness. “All yours, Joel.”

It’s too difficult for him to kiss you from this angle, which you’re relieved about. But a part of you longs for it, longs for the feel of his mouth moving against yours.

Joel’s strong arm wraps around your chest, and pulls you up so you’re flush against his back as he pounds up and into you. Keens and whimpers and breathless pants escape you with every thrust.

“Please, Joel,” you cry, tears pricking at the edges of your swirling vision.

“What, baby?” He huffs. “Need’a come?”

You nod crazily. “Yes—need to—“

“Shhh okay… I’ve got you,” he murmurs gently, the hand wrapped around your tummy inching down to circle at your clit steadily.

Your legs buckle beneath you but Joel keeps you upright as the pleasure soars through you, sudden and strong. He strokes you through it, groaning praises into your ear before he comes inside you a moment later.

The two of you hiss in tandem when he pulls out, but he smothers it when he lays his mouth over yours. You’re hardly coherent enough to remember your rule, and for a moment you let him kiss you. You kiss him back, chasing the heat of his mouth with your own, moaning against his lips when his tongue dips into your mouth.

Then, you remember.

You pull back panting, cheeks a flame, “Joel.”

“Hm?” He murmurs, dragging his lips down your jaw before moving back up to pull you into another kiss. You move away before he can. His brows furrow in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t… I don’t think we should kiss anymore.”

He blinks. “What? Why?”

Your eyes flit across the kitchen, catching on labeled jars and wooden spoons and spices, anything but his own. “It’s too intimate.”

It’s a lame excuse. Joel sees through it immediately.

“And my cock inside you ain’t?”

You sigh heavily, avoiding eye contact. “It’s different.”

“How? Enlighten me.” His tone has gone rougher. Hurt swirls in his eyes, and you feel worse than you did the other night.

Because you and I are friends. Because I don’t think I can pretend like that’s the truth when all I want is to call you mine. Because when I kiss you it’s like my world finally starts to make sense.

“Please, Joel. Just…I don’t want to do it anymore. Can you respect that, please?”

He runs a hand down his beard, his hurt expression hardening into a stoic one you haven’t been on the receiving end of in years. Fuck. “Alright, I’m sorry. I won’t kiss you anymore.”

You expect relief but all that comes is a deep longing and sadness that you try to push to the depths of your conscience. Though, like a buoy, it keeps popping above the surface.

“Thanks,” you say quietly.

The cleanup is awkward. He watches you silently as you pick up your underwear and slide them and your shorts back on. He seems far away, here and gone all at once. It makes you worry, makes you wonder if what you just said was the biggest mistake of your life.

But you have to do this. You have to hold him at arm's length because if you admit to him…if you tell him how you really feel… maybe he really will leave you. He’ll realize you’ve gone and fucked everything up, and the friendship you’ve kindled, the trust you’ve built, will all be for nothing.

You can’t lose him, even if it means you can’t keep him close.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say eventually, when he’s walking you out the front door.

He smiles at you, faint and untrue. It’s like the one from the other night. Like that laugh he forced out for you. You feel like a Joel from the past has teleported to the present, with his thin smile and his hard eyes. “Yeah, of course.”

“You okay?”

Joel frowns, shifts on his feet. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno. You just seem… I don’t know. Never mind.”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

He nods. “You need me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hum. A moth circles the porch light. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment. He looks as if he wants to say something, but thinks better of it.

“Okay,” is all that he says.

“Okay,” you repeat, feeling empty. A waif, a lonely white flag waving in the wind. “Um, I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Night, darlin’,” he says, squeezing your arm, like he’s trying to be normal. It doesn’t work. His hand is cold. “Sweet dreams.”

“Night, Joel.”

It’s raining by the time you reach your house, and you curl under your blankets after a shower, your hair cold and wet against your scalp, listening to the droplets splattering against your window.

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

part 3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #tlou #game joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller #this is trouble

669 notes · View notes

totally-not-a-tickle-blog · 3 months

Note

If you’re open to fic prompts: maybe Angel finding out Husk is ticklish when he helps him preen his wings? Currently on HuskerDust brain rot :’)

A/N: It's been a long time since I've written anything like a fic so I'm sorry if it come out bad 💔💔

HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

PS: Reblogs and comments motivate writers; not forcing but just in case you're willing to support us :] /gen

————————————————————————

"Not that ticklish"

Ler!AngelDust, Lee!Husk

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive jokes, Huskerdust

————————————————————————

Husk had a thing for his demon body and he's 100% aware of that. He ignored it as much as possible, trying to live like if he's still fully human with just a few changes, but with time he realized that perhaps... it was inevitable. At some point he had to do things that people weren't supposed to do, such as brush his fur or take care of his wings.

However, nowadays at the hotel, Husk avoided doing any of those since he's not alone like he used to be. The guy REALLY refused to be caught doing any of those embarassing things (they are for him atleast), and with people like Angel Dust in this place, he would not be left alone. Not like peace was an option at the first place, but it would get worse.

One week with doing basic hygiene only. Brushing his teeth, taking baths, brushing the top of his head, maybe cleaning his ears too. Nothing else.

At some point the consequences would come, and for his unluck, his fur was the first of them. Just using his hand wasn't really enough to keep it in place; the obvious consequence, yet a big defeat for Husk. Well, if one humiliation was about to come, doing the rest wouldn't really change anything.

"Whiskers~" Angel Dust called, approaching the counter without even looking as he sits. "Can you give some attention for the little me while everyone is busy?" But, as he opened his eyes, nobody was there.

"Oh, that's new." The spider spoke to himself, letting out a sigh of disappointment as he get off his seat.

His smirk disappeared, finally relaxing his face and revealing the honest expression of his: tiredness. Everything that Angel wanted right now was to distract himself, so the sigh had way more than disappointment.

...but his sadness did not last.

"FUCKING BULLSHIT!"

Was the only thing he heard from upstairs, immediately recognizing the cat's voice. Angel would be lying if he said it didn't worry him, which was the same reason why he walked after Husk right away.

And also the reason why there was no knocks before a giant spider basically kicked the door open.

It made Husk jump right away, almost falling on his feet. "What the... what the hell? What was that for?!"

Aaand literally nothing is happening. A bit disappointing, but at the same time relieving.

Maybe nobody died, but something was different. Angel looked at him up and down with a raised eyebrow, silent.

One of Husk's wings was open, it seemed cleaner than the other and a few feathers were on the floor.

An awkward silence dominated the room for some good seconds until Angel finally interrupted it.

"You clean your wings??"

Husk pinched his nose almost instantely. "Preen." He replied with a frown, closing his wing once again.

"Yeah, yeah, whateva'. That's kinda adorable if you ask me..."

"Good thing I didn't. You leaving now?"

Angel closing the door was everything he needed to do as an answer, approaching Husk's bed with a smirk.

"C'mon, lemme help!"

It made Husk's eyes open a little more, creating some more inches of distance between them. "No way."

"And why not? It's not like you can do it all by yourself!" The raise of an eyebrow with a bored face was the answer he got; ignored completely, of course. "Ya' know I ain't leaving anyway."

He does know, he's just sure. This stubborn spider is one to talk about when it comes to not giving up over Husk.

"Mess up one single feather and I'm kicking you out. Permanently." He says, pointing at Angel directly in the face with a sharpened gaze. The other simply nodded, wearing a big playful grin. "Understood, Husky!"

As much it was nice to have some help, it also means teaching Angel how to take care of them, and he's for sure not the best example of a teacher. This, mixed with Angel's lack of knowledge about birds overall, really didn't help.

"—And then you pull it slowly." Husk finished, watching Angel do exactly what he was told to do. Despite anything, the guy seems to be actually trying. "Yeah, like that... uh, kind of. You don't need to take a whole day to do that."

"I'm just being careful, babe! Besides, I'm not gonna risk being banned from your room~"

Husk rolled his eyes. "Just go faster." As he couldn't lose the chance, Angel raised his eyebrows in a mocking yet flirtatious way before finally returning to what he was doing. I mean, he asked for that one!

Angel indeed began to take care of the wing faster, but it also meant making his fingers a bit less quiet too. It began to turn into a problem as soon as he used them to search for anything dirty, scratching lightly. Husk's unintentional movements got Angel's eyes.

'Does it hurt? No, I don't think he wouldn't complain if it did... huh. That's weird.' He thinks to himself, resting his hand there for a moment.

"What got ya' to be moving so much, Husky?" Asked, hiding his slight concern but not his curiosity.

"Nothing, it just... tickles. A little." Answered, a little embarassed but still honest. For some reason it was quite interesting... and cute. Won't lie.

"Didn't knew that wings could be ticklish. Or just... you."

"What do you mean?"

Angel chuckled at the question. "It's just surprising that our grumpy, annoyed and sexy bartender would be so ticklish!" Husk gave him a bad stare, afraid that he was being mocked; even tho it wasn't exactly the case.

"Now you're just making up things, I'm not that ticklish."

"Ohoho, really? Then how could you be all squirmy with only a few touches?"

"It's a... uh..." He looked around, trying to find a good excuse. "...wings, thing. You don't get it, you don't have 'em."

An awful excuse, and to be honest, not even if it was the perfect one it would trick Angel.

"If that's the case then lemme test it in another spot."

Not even ten seconds in, and Angel was already wiggling his fingers in the air, his huge grin expressing a 'dangerous' excitement over the situation.

"Don't you fucking dare..."

A pause between the two. Almost a staring contest by how intense they were looking at each other.

"...GOTCHA'!"

With the war cry yelled out, he jumped towards Husk, who would be able to escape if it wasn't for Angel's additional arms. Goddammit.

Husk tried to get something off his mouth, but literally nothing, not a single sentence was able to form. Just a bunch of gibberish, which entertained the spider quite a lot. However, he wasn't there just for the teasing.

The messed words were cut with a gasp as he felt fingers moving on his sides, already squirming to get out as a body's response. The cat-demon tried to resist, but failed miserably as his giggles dominated completely.

"Fuhuhuck- get off!"

"Hmm... I'll think about it, Whiskers." His fingers, despite fast, did not seem to put that much pressure over Husk's skin. "Just gimme a moment, okay?"

Angel used his free arms to put a hand over his chin, looking up playfully as if actually reflecting on his answer.

"F-FahahaHAHahah! That- that mohoment already passehehed!"

"Hey, you broke my line of thought! Now I gotta start it all over! Huh, what was the question again?"

Husk tried putting on a serious face, only for it to break instantely. "Du-Dumbahahahass!"

"That's not a question." Replied, keeping his teasy remarks in day.

It felt indeed a bit humiliating to be in a position like this, being tickled by the same guy who drives you nuts almot everyday. Unable to do pretty much anything but giggle, and squirm, and... just... not think about anything.

This isn't as bad as it looked like. Right, still embarassing, but not exactly the uncomfortable type of embarassing. It's such a mix of emotions, and at the same time he got nothing on his mind, his head was filled with this type of thing.

And once again, his own body betrayed him. As time passes, a soft purr can be heard between his laughter, not really under his control.

Angel raised his eyebrow almost right away.

"I can hear it..."

"You cahahan't! Shut uhuhup!"

"Pfft- not really using your brain now, are ya'?" He added, tilting his head and moving his hands to Husk's ribs now. "Not like you really caaaan~"

"S-SHIHIHIT!"

The volume of Husk's noises increasing got him startled for a moment, but it quickly went away as he saw some wings flapping lightly.

"C-CA- HAHEHEH- HOW ARE YOHOU DOING THAHAHAT?! STOHOHOP!"

"Me? I'm just really good with my fingers... and you're like, really ticklish. Duh."

Sadly, the fun would come to an end, as the lee's breath was already giving up on him along with the stamina. Now, pushing once more, he put actual effort on it, almost making Angel get thrown off the bed.

"OKAY, OKAHAY, ENOUGH! ENOHOUGH!!"

The energetic fingers finally lost its pace, giving his poor body full of fur some peace. Okay, maybe a last poke only for the tease, but then that's it.

"He-Hey!"

"Oopsie!~" He let out, along with a silly wink. "Sooo? Still not 'that ticklish'? Cuz I don't think I don't got sides and ribs..."

Husk couldn't help but chuckle. "You digged your own grave. Hope you know that, dickhead."

Angel Dust's teasy smile softened, blinking once before leaning back.

"Yeah, I do."

He really hoped they would continue with whatever they began.

#tickling #tickle #tickle community #tickle fanfic #tickle fic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel husker #huskerdust #angel dust x husk #husk x angel dust #lee!husk #ler!angeldust

365 notes · View notes

vampyrgoff · 8 months

Note

Hey lovely 🖤 Requesting a Nsfw alphabet for my stinky roadkill boyfriend Lester (if you don't mind!).

I swear to God I've read every single Lester centric thing here and I'm STARVED for content. Plus I really enjoyed the way you wrote Vincent's!

NSFW Alphabet: Lester Sinclair

lester sinclair x reader

contains— nsfw!MDNI, semi-pervy Lester?, sub!Lester (sorry to my Dom!Lester loves ppl out there), dom!reader, virgin!Lester, experienced!reader, lil bit of a mommy kink lol, somno👀, foot job? also not proofread lol

requests— open! send anything! check my page for who I write for!

vampyr’s note— IM SO HAPPY! THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST EVER? I noticed that there is a MAJOR shortage of fics/headcanons/anything really of Lester. i hope this helps that Lester Sinclair thirst be quenched<3 And thanks for liking how I wrote Vincent<3! That makes me so happy that people are enjoying it. AS ALWAYS: REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED <3 Overall thanks for requesting! and I hope you like it<3

(let me know if I should make a taglist and if you'd like to be on a future potential taglist)

gif isn't mine! here's the link to vincent's <3

(HES SO CUTE HERE)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Lester probably is pretty clueless when it comes to aftercare let's be honest. He's probably gonna ask what you need from him and that he'll do whatever you tell him to. But once he gets the hang of things, he's always gonna cuddle you and call you all types of cute names.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He possibly can't choose between what body part of yours is his favorite. He definitely loves every aspect of you, I def think even though in the movie he was staring at Carly's chest, he's an ass man kinda like Bo lol He loves your butt, what can I say.

When you first met, you were on a camping trip with 'friends' or so you thought. They left you and your broken-down car to go see some stupid game of the season. You felt hopeless and wandered around the woods, looking for anyone to help you before stumbling on the roadkill pile. You felt your stomach turn and twist with disgust. The smell was unbearable as you looked at all the deer heads and bodies rotting away in a large pile. The Louisiana heat, already unbearable, made the rotting smell more pungent.

What made you stop in your tracks was, near the gorey pile, you see a smartphone. The screen was cracked and the phone was dirty, but you couldn't help but recognize the phone as one of your friends. You bent over inspecting the phone until you heard an unfamiliar voice from behind you. "Well isn't this a nice view, Jonesy?"

You turned around and were greeted by a cute petite man and his dog. The dog sniffed at your legs and such and the man gave you a warm smile that made you feel a teensy bit better about the situation you were currently in. "Hi! I'm (y/n)! I'm so glad I'm not alone in these woods." you say in relief. The man smiles at you, a cute little cheeky grin. "Name's Lester! And tha's Jonesy. Ya seem lost, sweet pea." His voice was dripped with concern and cute little worried eyes. You had so many questions and you were too tired to even think of any until you remembered the broken smartphone of your friend. You turned your back to Lester and grabbed the phone. While your back was turned to him all he could see was your ass. MAN! He admired the slight peak of your underwear and began blushing a bit. It's been a while since a pretty young thing like you came along, so forgive him for being so pervy.

Ever since that day, Lester knew what his physical fave thing about you was. This man will watch you help Bo at the gas station and his eyes are just watching your ass move.

When you guys cuddle at night, he'll bashfully grab two handfuls of your ass. He'll knead at the skin and kiss your face and neck. He knows how wet you get from such a simple gesture but he loves seeing you squirm under his touch, especially when he does it with such a cute boyish innocence.

His favorite body part on himself is probably his hands aswell. I headcanon (I have a Lester headcanon thing coming up so look out for that<;3) that he's good at carving things in a woodshop way. Vincent is not the only one that has an amazing talent. I think Les' is way more hidden but nonetheless, he loves how he can skin a buck, and carve a beautiful thing out of wood/bone.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This lovely gentleman is scared to cum in your mouth. He's already a stinky boy but he's scared that he'll taste too bitter for you. He also is scared to cum in your mouth out of respect. He feels as though it's so demeaning but you convince him that it's okay for him to do so. Although it takes him some warming up to do when it comes to shooting loads into your mouth, trust me, when he starts to get comfy with doing it, it's his favorite thing in the entire world. He loves how you look at him through your lashes while you lick every drop of him up.

He loves to feel in control for those little few moments before you eventually put him back into his place by overstimulating his senses. When it comes to you and your cum, he's such a slut for it, yall. He loves seeing you cream all over his cock. He'll look at you in awe when he sees you bouncing on his dick and there's a whole bunch of cum dripping out of you. His adorable eyes will be half-lidded and his hands squeezing and rubbing at your thighs while he whimpers and groans your name a few times. "Oh, sweet pea, I love when 'yer pretty cunt squeezes me like this." He's a messy boy alright, but he loves when you make him a mess.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Les constantly thinks about domming you all the time. Although it seems as though he won't get close to doing that, he thinks about it all the time. He thinks about making you scream for him but he's such a gentleman and a sub to do so. He likes the idea of you taking control so that he doesn't ever do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Another virgin boy. His experience is only with himself. I think this is why he's not into domming you just yet until you guys are together for longer. He's never had to take the lead in anything, he's the baby... and he sure as hell acts like it. The first time you guys do anything remotely sexual, you have to guide him.

This poor baby is so clueless in the bedroom that you had to teach him how to finger you AND eat you out. You had to shape him into the little munch he is today.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I don't know if you can truly say that this is a position but this man is the best at pussy eating, with that being said... sit on his face <3 He doesn't care about how big or small you are... sit on that mf face.

As a plus-size girl, I get being scared but NOOOO this boy loves your plushy thighs around his head. He grips them so hard and needily, needing your cunt as close as possible, as he laps at your folds and sucks on your clit. He loves tonguing your hole as you pull on his hair every so often.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can be humorous and giddy. This man lives for cute little moments with you. He'll get really flustered and make joke to lighten things before he becomes so embarrassed and red that he won't be able to speak.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I don't think its a forest down there but I'm sure he trims the hair on his own.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Oh, this lovebug is SO romantic. He kisses your cunt and thanks you for letting him even near your cunt before he devours you. He'll kiss and suck on your thighs when you let him eat you out.

If you've had such a long day of distracting guests and stuff, he'll have you lay down naked on the bed and kiss you all over. He'll kiss your legs and feet, will kiss your thighs, inner thighs, and will kiss your pretty stomach and chest. It definitely gets you going though when he acts this way for foreplay.

While you sit on his cock and bounce, he'll say cute things that egg you on, "Honeydew... my cock-- I think I needa' cum, sweet pea--", "More, please mama!", "yer so pretty, darlin', how'd i get so lucky?"

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

This baby lovesss jerking off. It's the best way for him to get rid of his anger, his horniness and well it helps him relax. I think he's such a sweetheart about being horny a lot. To him, he sees it is quite bothersome to constantly ask for sex, so this'll be his best option. He always says "My momma raised me righ', I will never make you uncomfortable on purpose, sweet pea." so don't expect him to constantly ask you to fuck... cause he will not give in babes, he will very much mind his business and wait for you to come to him. But if you ask, I think he'd tell you that he wants to do things but I don't see him outright saying it.

I think the first time you caught him masturbating was quite interesting...

You caught the cutie in his room jerking off. Your (used) panties stuffed in his mouth so that he wouldn't make any noise at all. You couldn't help but admire him in all his subby glory. You were standing at the door for a long while. He was jerking his cock, nice and slow, the muscles on his tummy contracting as he went over his sensitive head when all of a sudden you spoke up. "Keep going, Les."

His head snapped towards you and you felt your lust growing deep within you. You closed the door from behind you and stepped closer to the bed. Slowly making your way to sit on your knees next to him on the bed. His eyes were still wide with shock when you grabbed your panties from his mouth. "Why'd ya stop, Les?" you said, giving him such a coy and teasing smile.

He bucked his hips up into his hand and played with his tip with the other. He looked clueless on how to really pleasure himself. It was so cute to you though. So you def helped him out, without touching him of course. You instructed him to stroke his cock slowly as he watched you play with your breasts and roll your nipples between your fingers. Watching you made him so feral, and you knew it.

You let him watch you play with your clit through your panties. You also let him watch you toy with your hole through your panties as well. He went soooo crazy over that though, you were staring at his dick while it twitched in excitement.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Collaring: This boy loves being your little lap dog. He loves when you're riding him and pulling on a leash connected to his collar. He gets so loud and whiny. He also likes collaring you babes! But I think he’d go all out for it. It’d say something like “Honeydew” on it or any other name you liked to be called. When you’re collared, his heart swells and he think you look so adorable. He’d even get a tag on the collar that says “Lester Sinclair’s property”

Somno: This boy is such a people pleaser and that doesn't exclude you, he'll wake up horny asf and he'll look over at you in just a t-shirt and he'll feel his heart RACING. He's gonna pull up that t-shirt slowly and get to work at your folds. He starts off with small cute kitten licks at your clit; watching you stir your sleep and shift a bit at the feeling. He'll slowly put your legs on his shoulders and lick up the juices that start to build up. He feels like it's wrong to take advantage of you, with his cheeks pink and rosy with slight embarrassment, but he loves the idea of you waking up and seeing him as such a good needy boy. On the other hand... he doesn't mind if you wake up and feel the need to want him too. He loves the idea of him waking up, already breaking a sweat, and seeing you perched on top of him with his cock deep inside you. DUDEEE he'd love it. He'd be so surprised too, his cheeks all pink and his heart racing. He'd def have these low whines and whimpers that would come out of him.

Breeding: Now... I saw a comment on my Vincent post from @iwhat saying that every Southerner has a breeding kink. AND YOU KNOW WHAT- anyways this baby is very scared of getting you pregnant at first okayyyyy. Like he's terrified. Especially if you've never brought up wanting kids. Like this man will always pull out whenever he can. But once you tell him that you want his cum in you, he's so ready to give you his all. This poor baby LIVES off of praise and your validation so he'll do whatever he can to give you his cum. He wants kids and he wants you to bear them, so when he's bucking his hips up into you while you have your hand resting at his throat, he's gonna slam into that cervix of yours so desperately, almost like his in a trance, almost like he's pussydrunk. He loves the thought of you being pregnant with his offspring and he loves the thought that he's doing WAY better than his brothers too. He's mostly happy that he basically found a spouse before Bo could

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In his or on his truck. 100%. He'll deep clean the back and add bedding to it. Just so that he could fuck you under the stars. Or for you to dom him under the stars. Whatever works. I'm sure you love watching his heaving chest go up and down as you rub his cock through your folds. He also loves when you guys lure visitors together, cause that means this brave little man is gonna get some rewarding head from you inside the truck.

On a different note, he has a little spot in the woods where he has a hammock set up and a little blanketed area for you guys when you want to get out of town. It has fairy lights and all. It was a gift he brought to you as a "thanks-for-loving-me-and-not-leaving-me-even-though-our-family-is-crazy" gift. After your romantic picnic, when he was cleaning everything up, you told him to leave it. And he sure did. It's your favorite place to go since it takes your mind off of everything.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Oh, this baby probs gets turned on by everything. I think it's your thighs and cleavage. This man could stare at your thighs in the blazing heat all day. He loves when you wear your shorts all around town. When you ride with him to get more buck he'll slyly stare at your thighs and his mouth will JUST water.

He'll rest his calloused hand on your thigh and knead at the supple skin. "Yer' skin's so beautiful, honeydew." He'll say lowly with a small smile on his face, as he leans into you and kisses your cheek. Of course, his hands will never stop groping your thigh, he loves the way it ripples.

Other times, you guys will sit in the house and watch a bit of TV with Jonesy. You'll lay down on the couch with your legs over his and he'll definitely look over and just play with your thighs. How could he not... you're sitting there in his flannel and your little shorts. All he could think is leaving cute love bites all over them. He'll lean his body down to kiss your thighs, earning a cute little giggle from you, and the sound goes straight to his cock, his cock twitching slightly at the fact that you're enjoying his affection. Noticing his hard cock on your legs, your face lights up with joy at the thought of teasing this cutie about his obsession with your thighs.

You look at him and whine about your thighs aching and how you need them soothed. He'll get so excited and will want you to sit on his lap with your legs spread apart so that he could just pay EXTRA attention to your thighs and you'll watch him knead at your skin in admiration. He loves the skin that surrounds your cunt. You stop his hands and snake his cock out of his jeans and let it spring out. You smirk and wrap your thighs around it; ignoring his cute whines, "Fuck my thighs, pretty boy."

This man loves your thighs so much.. don't even question it

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Lester seems like the type where not much bothers him. He’s good with knives and stuff but I don’t think he’d use them on you… at all. like again he’s good at carving stuff out of wood but like if you were to tell him to cut you this man will 100% say no. He also will say no to degrading you. Even if you like it, this man will go out of his way to only praise you. He’s a soft dom <3

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh, yall know this baby loves receiving. He just won't admit it. (this doesn't mean he doesn't also love giving) But he's obsessed with getting the life sucked out of him. This cutie is so timid when it's his turn for oral. Once your lips are on him, you'll need to gag this man if you think he can be quiet. His tip is very sensitive so when you tease him with small kitten licks on his red pulsing tip, expect him to be whimpering your name like a prayer...

You pull his jeans down along with his briefs and watch his cock spring and hit his stomach as he lays down, a small groan erupting from the back of his throat, "y/n-sweetheart... please." he'll whine out. And all you can do is smirk and smile at his cute plea. "I haven't touched you yet, Les. Good things come to those who simply... wait," you say while licking a long strip of the underside of his cock, beads of sweat already pricking his hairline. A low groan comes from him and he's already resting his hands on your thighs that are on either side of his torso. "y/n, please... I jus' wanna feel you... and make you feel goo-" His sentence was interrupted by another whine coming from him, this time being that you were kitten licking his pre-cumming tip. "y/n please-"

"ah-ah-ah, address me right, baby..." you say softly yet assertively. Your hand already sliding up to his throat, his bod already tensing. “mommy… please”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’ll do whatever you tell him. If you’re riding him and tell him to fuck up into you while you swivel your hips on him, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. If you need him to slow down his needy thrusts to tease him, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. He’s your little toy to play with <3

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He likes quickies but he also doesn’t like them. At the end of the day though… this man is a service top and will do whatever he can to keep you happy. Quickies wouldn’t be too often but I think they happen here and there. I can see you pulling him into a nearby closet and just pressing your ass on his crotch. He’d get so flustered, hands already flying to your sides, running low down to your hips and pulling your lower half flush against him. He’s quite easy to turn on so just a little moment like this could get him going completely.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He only would like to experiment if it’s you who brings it up. He’s creative with his hands and can get pretty crafty but when it comes to your guys’ sex life… I think he’s too nervous to even bring anything up. I think he’d love some sex in the forest but he’s never gonna tell you that, because he’s afraid of you thinking he’s weird :(

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Don’t hate me but this baby can’t last too long. He loves edging and loves when you take control and edge his orgasm for a few hours. But don’t expect him to last awhile once he’s inside you. Poor baby could probably cum from just cockwarming.

He gets sensitive after 2 rounds, small traces on the vein of his cock will get him crying. He’ll start begging once you lick all around his tip.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

A small cockring for him. he’s so baby that he’d probably get really jealous of your toys, if you have any. If you’re feeling horny and he’s not around, give him a call instead. He’s totally talk you through an orgasm rather than you use a dildo.

You had to convince him to try out the cockring though. He had NO idea what it is and wtf it’s supposed to stimulate on him. But once he see your pleading eyes, he TRULY can’t say no to you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He isn’t much of a tease, he’s a service top after all. He does things unintentionally that can be seen as teasing though. Like when you guys are on the couch with Jonesy, he’ll trace his calloused fingers along your soft inner thighs. That shit drives you wild though, for sure.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He whimpers idc. This man whimpers and he’s loud. His whimpers have a bit of vocal fry but it’s so cute and charming coming from him <3.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Secretly wants you to peg him. idc you can’t tell me otherwise, if not pegging him he would love to try anal with you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

i think he’s pretty average maybe a bit thicker than average. carpet matches the drapes for sure. his tip is bright pink idc

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s always horny and yea touch starved as fuck too. BUT he won’t tell you. You’ll just have to catch him when his bulge is causing him some slight discomfort.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

this baby is so spoiled, once he gets the ass he’s been begging for this mf starts to fall asleep. It’s okay you guys take turns being the pillow prince/princess. he gets all soft and falls asleep near your stomach holding you tightly by your ass. Fondling it as he drifts off. he’s so cute but he falls asleep wayyyy too fast lol.

#slashers #vincent sinclair #house of wax #slashers x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair imagine #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader smut #sinclair brothers #slasher smut

357 notes · View notes

bellarkeselection · 4 months

Note

Can I request a John Dutton x Reader Fic?

John and Reader have been dating for a year or longer now and they’ve been keeping it a secret from his kids, they sneak around like teenagers running through the house after hours sort of dynamic and sneaking through the ranch after hours. I’m thinking maybe they stayed up late and took two of the hours on a little “trip” and get caught by Rip and Beth and Kayce who come looking for the horses ?

Noisy Kids Can’t Ruin This

When I first thought of agreeing to go on a date with John Dutton I certainly didn't imagine this. I didn't imagine that we would end up dating for close to two years. But the thing that really is throwing me off is the fact that we have been sneaking around for that long without his children knowing about us. Getting out of my truck I walked through the dirt gravel until I reached the white barn with the Yellowstone Y above the doorway. “John! Are you here?”

“In the back stall, darling.” He called out to me quietly but loud enough for me to be able to hear.

Entering the barn the lights were dim yet I could still see where he was. John was standing outside the last stall throwing a saddle over one of the two horses he had taken out of the wooden stables. “So why did you call me saying to meet here. I thought we were eating at home?”

“Oh we still are. Just a little differently than you thought.” He said, offering his hand to help me up onto my horse. I swung my left leg over the saddle and got as comfortable as I could on the horse. John climbed on his own horse looking at me before he ran out of the barn and I did my best to follow after him. “Follow me, Y/n.”

We rode past the fences and up through the mountains. The stars were above our heads since it was the middle of the night and everyone else was asleep. Normally we would spend the night with cooked dinner by the fireplace. Half the time we would sneak around so his kids didn't find out about us. John dismounted his horse holding his hat down on his head with his hand. He comes over helping me off my horse where I tilted my head seeing there was a small fire going, two chairs, and a tent pitched up. “John, what’s all this for?”

“Since we normally ate dinner at my house. I thought I should change the scenery for our date.” He explained to me slowly walking down to the fire with me at his side. He sat down removing his black hat from his head.

I sat down hugging my knees to my chest smiling at him. “Well I have absolutely no problem with this. It’s actually cute and reminds me of camping.”

“My family does call this the summer camp actually. I thought it was time you got to see it for the weekend.” He replied, turning his attention back to the burning fire in front of us.

John opened us each a beer and there was a comfortable silence that fell between us. It was rare that we got to spend time together given that his ranch was everything to him. Raising the bottle to my mouth I had almost drunk half the bottle before I felt John drape his arm over my shoulder. He turned his head slightly so we were looking the other in the eye. “I don’t think I could be happier anywhere else. You’re all I need Y/n.”

“I feel the same about you, John.” I smiled, leaning forward and kissing him slowly. He leans forward moving one hand to cradle my cheek deepening the kiss enjoying the other's company until we heard someone coming in our direction where we seperated from one another.

Three horses came to a halting stop and two flashlights were pointed at us. Blinking my eyes I could recognize Rip since I had seen him working late at night when I would sneak out of John’s house to go home. “There you are, sir.”

“Daddy, what the hell are you doing out here with a random girl. Are you trying to replace our mother?” The blonde female that I had to assume was Beth scolded.

Kayce dismounted his horse standing right beside it lowering his flashlight towards the ground. “Beth, don’t jump to the point of wanting to rip her head off.”

“What the hell are you all doing here?” John questions sitting his beer bottle down and I could hear the anger in her voice by the fact that they were here right now.

Rip nodded towards his boss. “I’m sorry for the interruption, sir. But I saw some missing horses when I went to close up the barn and then these two we’re getting worried when you didn’t answer your cell.”

Running a hand through my hair I sighed laying on my back on the blankets. I couldn’t believe that they were freaking out about us and even more so that we had now been found out. “I can’t believe this is happening…” Beth glared at me still sitting on her horse like she was about to hurt me.

“I am a grown man with what I thought were fully grown children. I can take care of myself so what made you think that you needed to start panicking about me?” John said back to them.

I glanced over to John out of the corner of my eye nervously rubbing the back of my neck. “I guess we should have expected this after we’ve been hiding this secret for so long.”

“You mean the secret that you have been sleeping with my father which is making me now want to kick your ass!” Beth dismounted her horse stomping up to my direction with her hands turned into fists.

I slowly got to my feet, not sure when she was going to start a fight with me. “Beth, look I am not sleeping with your father. Yes, we are dating. But I swear that is it, nothing else.”

“Now I’m the bitch about to attack you like a bear.” She growled at me.

Rip moved forward wrapping his arms around her and holding her back from attacking me. She grunted against him while Kayce shrugged his shoulders looking at me. “I’m sorry for my sister. She can be a little overprotective of anyone in our family.”

“Alright now that you see I am alive and not in danger can you all leave me alone until tomorrow evening. I have been planning this date for a few weeks now and I don’t want you ruining it please.” John got up to his feet standing in front of his children and led ranch hand.

Rip tipped his hat to him climbing back on his horse. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir. You have a good night, you two.”

“Be safe you two.” Kayce nodded his head kicking his horse and he rode away with Rip into the dark and I knew both of them were waiting for Beth before they would leave us alone.

Beth still glared at me waving her finger in a warning tone climbing back up onto her horse going to meet the boys down the hill. “If she hurts you I will make her pay in ways she’s never thought of in her life. Mark my words!”

“I’m sorry about all the drama tonight. I had no clue they would come looking for me. I hope I didn’t make the date go down too badly.” John came back and sat down resting his hands on his knees giving me a half smile where I could tell he was nervous now.

Snuggling up against his side I wrapped my arms around him whispering in his ear just focusing my attention on the beautiful stars above our heads since nothing else mattered, just the two of us. “They didn’t ruin it, John. Nobody could ruin this as long as you’re here with me cause I am falling in love with you.”

“I’m relieved, Y/n. Because I am falling in love with you too.” He smiled longingly down at me, cradling my face in his hand kissing me. He used his other hand placing his cowboy hat on my head and that was how we spent our evening together.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#john dutton #john dutton x reader #kevin costner #yellowstone series #yellowstone #yellowstone imagine #yellowstone masterlist #yellowstone x reader #rip wheeler #beth dutton #kayce dutton #john dutton imagine #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated

128 notes · View notes

from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 8 months

Text

Three Weeks on the Nimrodel

Well, here it is. My first (and oldest) piece of fic. I'm going against my brand here by posting something set in Lorien when Rohan is really my jam. But this is the first thing I ever wrote, so it seems fitting that it should be the first posted, too.

Pairing: Haldir x reader (The reader is gender neutral beyond 2 uses of the descriptor "beautiful", which is still neutral to me but your mileage might vary.)

Genre: Romance, I guess

Summary: Two elves who are frequently misunderstood by others find the joy of having someone really see and value them for who they are.

Inspiration: This all came from the well loved gif above, in which Craig Parker does beautiful work communicating a whole emotional arc (surprise, confusion, acceptance, appreciation) when Aragorn unexpectedly shows Haldir some loving affection. In that half-second of screen time, I see an entire book of backstory about Haldir's character--about being someone who is very reserved by nature, who isn't necessarily comfortable freely expressing feelings and innermost thoughts, but who still feels deep emotional connections to others that can come out under the right circumstances. As a very reserved person myself, I can relate--if you tend to keep your thoughts and feelings close to the vest, people will make a lot of assumptions and judgments about you that probably aren't right, and that can be exhausting. When someone finally does understand you and allows you to be comfortable enough to open up on your own terms, it's a life changing experience. So that's what I tried to write.

Word count: approx 3200 (~ 6 pages)

**********

It is still early when you arrive in the center of Caras Galadhon, joining the crowd of elves waiting to find out where they will be posted for the next few weeks of guard duty. Most in the group are veteran marchwardens, deeply familiar with each other and the daily routine of life near the borders. By contrast, you are a city warden, often dedicated to the direct protection of the Lady of the Wood. But you have been asked to serve a temporary rotation on the borders while several of the regular marchwardens are away with Lord Celeborn on a visit to Mirkwood.

The change of pace is not unwelcome to you. While you love Caras Galadhon and are honored to spend time in the service of Lady Galadriel, you frequently find yourself craving distance from the city in favor of the quiet outlying areas, where it is easy to hear clear birdsong, the rustling steps of small animals scampering by, and the patter of light raindrops falling on mallorn leaves.

The crowd begins to murmur as the deputy captain appears and begins handing around sheets of paper with duty assignments. As the pages spread through the crowd, the murmurs turn to both sighs of disappointment and quiet expressions of satisfaction.

“All I want is to avoid the Nimrodel,” you overhear the elf next to you mutter to a friend of his. You recognize him as Calendil, who, like many of his companions, is well known for carousing around Caras Galadhon any time he is home on leave. As a group, the marchwardens are a boisterous company who seem always determined to pack several weeks of fun into the few days of free time they’ve been given. “Three weeks posted with the captain is more than can be asked of me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at this mention of Captain Haldir. You know him a little–everyone in Lorien knows the leader of the marchwardens–and have never before heard a negative word uttered about him. Your path does not often cross with his, but you admire his impressive record of achievements and have never seen him treat another elf with anything but courteous respect.

“You speak truly,” replies Calendil’s companion. “I cannot spend so much time with someone who has so little to say. That much silence is enough to drive one a little mad.”

A wave of indignation rolls through your body. It is undeniably true that Haldir is very reserved. He says little that isn’t necessary to the conduct of his duties, and what he is truly thinking behind his large blue eyes is often a mystery. But that has never seemed a negative trait to you. Indeed, you appreciate that he does not talk simply for talk’s sake and that he does not seem concerned with always making his own opinions known. What’s more, you recognize a fair amount of his inherent reserve in your own nature. If you didn’t often force yourself to satisfy others’ expectations by taking on a more outgoing, sociable persona, perhaps your own wardens would describe you just as these elves have described their captain.

Calendil’s conversation comes to an abrupt end as a copy of the assignment sheet makes its way into his hands. Peering over his shoulder, you quickly find your own name allocated to a remote post near the edge of the Dimrill Dale. A glance further down the list confirms what you already know from the quiet groan that has just escaped from Calendil’s lips: he has been assigned to the Nimrodel post.

An idea quickly forms in your head, and you tap him on the shoulder. Why should he spend three weeks feeling miserable with his posting–and, no doubt, making anyone around him miserable as a result–when you have no particular attachment to your own assignment? Calendil can go to the Dimrill Dale, and you will spend your posting with Haldir instead.

“If such a trade is permitted within your ranks, I will gladly make the exchange,” you offer. “I have always loved the river. And I have no objection to the company of someone who takes his duty seriously and does not revel in idle chatter.”

Calendil’s face registers a moment of regret as he realizes that his prior conversation has been heard by others, but it is quickly replaced by a wide, beaming smile that reflects his rapid change of fortune. “It is permitted,” he says, “and I happily accept. Remind me the next time we are both on leave, and I will reward your generosity with some of my own!”

You doubt that whatever reward he has in mind will suit your inclinations, but there is no need to worry about that now. Calendil has already sprinted off toward the deputy captain to report the change, and you turn toward home to gather your supplies.

****

Two days later, you are approaching the Nimrodel post, which is located in a lovely old mallorn tree with twisted roots that hang over the river’s edge. You raise your hand to your lips and whistle the signal. The return call echoes off the trees before a slim rope ladder drops from the branches above you. You run lightly up the rungs, making easy work of the climb to the talan perched near the great tree’s crown, where it commands a wide view of the river and much of the western section of the border.

As you hoist yourself and your pack onto the platform, you look up to see a single figure standing a few feet away. It is Haldir, leaning against the wind screen with his bow slung loosely over his shoulder and his white-blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze.You are surprised to see him there alone; wardens generally keep watch in pairs or groups of three for safety. You are there to relieve Arthalion, who is due now to return home for a break, but there is no sign of Arthalion or his things.

“Mae govannen, Captain,” you say, placing your hand on your chest and bowing your head slightly. “Is everything well?”

Haldir returns the gesture with a small smile. “Yes. It has been blessedly uneventful. Perhaps it is the threat of the weather.”

This makes sense. Just last month, an orc party attempting a surprise attack during a thunderstorm found themselves nearly washed away by sudden flooding from the Celebrant. Since then, even the hint of rain has tended to keep them at bay.

“And Arthalion? Is he out on a task?”

Haldir shakes his head. “I sent him back early. You might have passed one another in the forest except that he planned to meet a small hunting party further north. As I said, things here were quiet, and he was anxious to join his friends.” He gives a small shrug and looks down. “I will do the same for you, if circumstances allow and you desire it. I do not wish to keep anyone from their enjoyments unless duty requires it.”

You permit yourself a brief moment to wonder what Haldir’s own enjoyments might be. You have heard that he is a talented artist, making detailed pencil sketches of the forest, but he does not often show his work to others.

“That is a thoughtful offer,” you say. “But I have no pressing need to return, and I would not have you out here alone, even if there is no other elf in Lorien better able to protect himself.”

He acknowledges this compliment with a modest smile and gestures toward a small shelf where you can store your belongings. His own are few in number but neatly stacked or folded with military precision. You note that he does, in fact, have a small bundle of pencils and a notebook, but, as expected, there is no sign of any actual drawings.

After stowing your things, you settle into a position opposite him on the talan, and a silence ensues. It is of no bother to you–you’re enjoying the smell of the damp air and the touch of the light wind on your face–but you soon notice that Haldir is looking increasingly discomfited as the quiet minutes slip by. His gaze shifts frequently between the horizon, his hands on his bow, and your face.

“Was…your journey here pleasant?” His face is studiously neutral, but his voice sounds strained and he picks at a splinter on his bow. You realize that he is trying to make conversation for your benefit, to fill in the noticeable silence with casual talk that clearly does not come easily to him. You feel a sudden rush of affection for him, this intensely quiet being who is making himself uncomfortable so that you will feel welcome. You wonder how best to put him at ease.

“It was very pleasant,” you reply. “I am so rarely outside of the city these days that any chance to enjoy the forest is a gift. I can understand why being a marchwarden is an attractive job, at least during times of relative peace.”

He looks up, reappraising your face, and nods his agreement.

You hesitate before speaking again, unsure about how directly to address his uneasiness.

“Captain,” you begin, “it sounds like we may have an uneventful tour here. If that is the case, please do not feel that you are obligated to occupy my time. I am quite comfortable with quiet activity and my own thoughts and would gladly afford you space for the same if that is something you wish.”

His cheeks and ears flush slightly but, despite his apparent embarrassment at being accurately perceived, he seems immediately relieved as well. “Thank you,” he says. “If you are as good a warden as you are a reader of people, I feel myself in safe hands indeed.”

The next several days pass by peacefully. Between occasional scouting trips up or down the riverbank and regularly monitoring the view from the talan, you mostly spend the time together in companionable silence. You take turns preparing simple meals, and during breaks in the intermittent rain you make minor repairs to nearby rope bridges and other hidden defenses in the area. In the evenings, you read a book by lantern light while Haldir sits next to his own lantern and sketches in his notebook, occasionally transferring completed drawings into a closed leather folio at his side. Every so often, you both glance up at the same time, and you give him a warm smile when your eyes meet before turning back to your respective pages.

*****

One evening, as you clean up the remains of your small dinner and take out your book again, Haldir lightly clears his throat.

“That book seems to engage you much,” he says. “May I ask what it is?”

Surprised, you hold it out to him, and he takes it, examining the cover and flipping through a few pages.

“I do not recognize this script,” he says, looking at it with curiosity.

“It is a representation of Rohirric,” you tell him. “My brother was a skilled linguist who passed on some small portion of his knowledge to me. He spent many months visiting a friend in the court at Edoras and helped them to start preserving some of their oral traditions with a system of letters. This is a copy of one of his first completed projects–the story of the founding of Rohan–which he sent to me as a gift.”

Haldir looks again with renewed interest at a few pages before handing the book back to you. “Your brother sounds like an impressive scholar,” he says. “Does he remain in Rohan?”

You hesitate slightly before responding. “In a way. Two years ago an orc band in search of horses raided a village near the Limlight while my brother happened to be visiting. They caught him and his hosts unaware. The Rohirrim buried his body in a place of honor with their people, though his spirit has surely gone to Mandos.”

You relate this with downcast eyes, tracing over your brother’s name on the cover of the book with your thumb. After a few moments, you look up again, expecting to see Haldir withdrawn from the conversation. You know that many elves are uncomfortable with death, which is an unnatural state for your kind, and there is nothing in your interactions so far to indicate that Haldir will want to continue such a personal discussion. You are surprised once again, however, to find that he is looking at you intently.

“I am deeply sorry,” he says. “Working as I do, I have known many elves who met a similar fate in battle, and it is never easy. My own brothers are a treasure to me, and I cannot imagine losing them. I hope I have not contributed to your suffering by unwittingly bringing up a painful subject.”

You blink back a few tears and smile. Through your sadness, you are moved by the warmth of his response and honored that he was willing to share something personal of himself. “Of course not,” you say. “Talking about my brother is one way to keep him with me. Thank you, Captain.” You reach forward and squeeze his hand. He flinches slightly at the unexpected touch, but then gently returns the squeeze.

“Please,” he says, “call me Haldir.”

*****

After that night, things are different between the two of you. You both speak more often, tentatively at first but then with increasing comfort. You trade stories about old adventures and talk about the joys and frustrations of your daily lives. You discover that he has much to say when he finally feels more at ease. He is even quite funny, with a dry wit that you did not expect but thoroughly enjoy. You walk together in the forest and rest your feet in the waters of the Nimrodel during the day, and in the evenings he asks you to read to him from your book. You happily relate tales of Cirion and Eorl and the coming of the Northmen to Calenardhon as he draws quietly, occasionally interjecting a question or a brief comment.

The time passes quickly and easily, and soon your rotation will be at an end. You realize there is a growing pain in your heart each time you think about your imminent departure. Your old life suddenly feels dull and uninteresting to you now. You do not want to go back to a time without his companionship. You debate whether to say this to him, but you cannot imagine how he might react to such a confession. Paralyzed by uncertainty, the last days of your assignment tick by.

On your final evening, you are preparing for one last opportunity to enjoy what has become your nightly routine. Just as he is about to settle with his notepad and folio, however, he notices your canteen is empty and insists on climbing down to fill it for you. As he reaches the ground and disappears over the riverbank, the wind changes direction and a sudden gust rips across the talan, flinging back the cover of the folio and sending papers flying out in all directions. You cry out in dismay and throw yourself desperately onto the pages whipping around you, seeking to hold them down long enough to gather them safely together.

It is only after you have retrieved all the loose pages and are preparing to neatly stack them that you first look at the drawings themselves and are stunned by what you see: beautiful illustrations of the stories you’ve been reading to him, the words of your brother’s book brought to vivid life in graceful pencil lines and delicate shading. You leaf through the stack in awed amazement only to nearly drop the whole pile again when you turn a page and find an image of yourself as you must look to him each night, sitting by your lantern with your book in your lap. You keep turning pages and find more of yourself…braiding your hair first thing in the morning, standing at the wind screen and scanning the horizon, unlacing your boots at the end of a day. Your breath catches in your throat as you absorb these images. You have never looked more beautiful than you do here, seen through his eyes.

A sudden noise behind you tears your attention from the papers in your hand, and you turn to find Haldir standing there. You are immediately overwhelmed by panic and begin to stammer out an explanation for how you came to be holding his personal things, violating his privacy. “I…the wind…they were blowing away and…”. Hot tears well up in your eyes and are soon spilling down your cheeks, partly from embarrassment at the situation but mostly as the feelings you’ve been keeping pent up threaten to come flooding out all at once. “I was not trying to…I…”. An involuntary sob robs you of the ability to finish your sentence, though you aren’t sure how you would have finished it had you been able.

At the sound of your sob, he moves forward, quickly closing the distance between you. He hesitantly cups a hand under your jaw and uses his thumb to brush a tear from your cheek. “Please do not cry,” he says. “I would not ever see you in pain if it were in my power to prevent it. I am not upset. These drawings were for you, for your book. You were meant to have them, except the last few, which I hoped to keep as a reminder of these days and how happy I have been.” Your eyes snap up to his face, searching for confirmation that you have correctly understood his words.

“You know that I am not much for talking,” he continues. “But I am a very good observer. I know that you see me for who I am, just as I see you. I see all of the ways that you are kind and interesting and intelligent and beautiful. I have no expectation that you return my feelings, and if all I ever have with you are these three weeks then I will cherish the memory of these weeks through all the long ages of my life. But I would….”

Before he can complete his thought, your body reacts on its own impulse, a pure release of elation. You throw your arms around his neck and bury your face in his broad chest, still crying but now with tears of joy. You hear a sharp intake of breath as he processes your reaction, and for a fraction of a moment he stands motionless and silent before breaking into a smile and wrapping you in his arms. You could live in those arms forever, and now perhaps you will.

#haldir #haldir x reader #haldir x you #lotr #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fan fiction #haldir of lorien #tolkien fanfiction

238 notes · View notes

7-wonders · 1 year

Text

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x Reader

Summary: Life has never been the kindest to you, and you've come to expect only the worst from it. But when a golden-eyed stranger shows up at your place of work and promises you that all your dreams will come true if you just trust them, how are you to say no? Get ready—a ball in the Dreaming awaits.

(Based on the below ask)

Word count: 14.2k

Notes: A couple of housekeeping notes before we get into it! First, this is very heavily inspired by the "Season of Mists" plot from the comics. In the wider universe for this story, this replaces the events in that comic arc. There are no spoilers for the actual comics, though. The only thing you need to know about SoM is that there's an event that brings basically every important magical being to the Dreaming. This isn't super important, but I wanted you guys to be aware of the thought process behind what I did.

Also, for all my nonbinary and male readers—this fic features a gender neutral reader! I sincerely hope that everybody enjoys this.

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round (but especially comments and reblogs), so if you enjoyed, show a gal some love!

Desire of the Endless

Desire of the Endless is facing a problem.

For the first time since…well, they can’t remember, actually, that’s how long it’s been since they felt the need to apologize for anything.

Desire has always prided themself on being completely and unapologetically them. If somebody didn’t like that, or if someone’s feelings got hurt, then too bad. That was their fault for not knowing what they were going to get into when they made Desire’s acquaintance.

However, Desire can also recognize when they’ve taken things too far, which is a very steep bar to hit. Practically everything that Desire does, they can justify it completely. This time, though, they finally can’t justify what they’ve done.

So an apology it is. A simple apology, however, is not going to cut it in this situation. Not that it should! But still, it would be a lot easier to patch things up if all it took was a “sorry.”

Oh well, Desire would just have to get creative in coming up with the apology to end all apologies. Thankfully, they had their dearest twin to turn to when they needed help with a little brainstorming, which is how Despair ends up lounging on a shiny red settee created from the very fabric of the Threshold.

Said anthropomorphic personification watches as her twin continues to pace, back and forth and back and forth, the heels of their shoes clicking against the floor for maximum effect. They perk up every so often before muttering something and shaking their head, discouraged once more. Despair, apparently having finally had enough, lifts her head from the armrest to give her full attention to her twin.

“Your despair is too much for even me to bear, Desire. Please, what is it that troubles you?”

“Our brother troubles me, and not in the way that he normally does.” Desire takes a seat next to their sister. “I find that I…regret the way that I have treated him over the past couple of centuries. I went too far.”

“Was it the ‘helping to trap him in a magician’s basement for a hundred and sixteen years’ or the ‘impregnating a sleeping woman in an attempt to make him spill family blood by killing the new Vortex’ that went too far?” Despair asks dryly.

Desire bares their teeth in a teasing warning, but Despair merely shrugs as if daring their twin to do it and rip her throat out. Desire sighs, knowing that they won’t be able to rattle her, they’ve never been able to accomplish that, and continues. “Regardless, I realize now that I went too far, and I want to make amends with him. Apologize to him.”

“And how are you planning to do that? I doubt a simple ‘I’m sorry’ will patch things up between you two.”

“I realize that too, which is why I seek to give him something to prove just how sorry I am. That’s where you come in, my dearest Despair. I’ve been brainstorming for days, but I have absolutely no idea what to give him as an apology.”

“Hmm.” After a moment, she nods. “I see your problem. Dream’s never exactly been easy to give a gift to.”

Despair begins to think, absentmindedly digging her fish hook into the skin of her face before dragging it down and repeating the process. Desire has always found themself morbidly fascinated by this compulsion that their twin has, unable to look away from the jagged skin that hangs open and the black ichor that drips sluggishly from the wounds.

The hook comes to rest on Despair’s lap, a sign that she’s finished thinking. “Most of your transgressions against our brother have involved you seeking to destroy the two things that control him most. His realm, and his loves. His realm is his duty, his function, his responsibility; he must have control over that, for it’s who he is.”

“Yes, Dream is nothing if not a stickler for his silly little rules,” Desire agrees.

“True, but you’re forgetting that second piece of the puzzle I mentioned. What has Dream always wanted more than anything?”

What was the one thing that Dream wanted, needed, desired, more than anything? The answer, though Despair already said it, hits Desire in the face. “Love,” they gasp.

Love! A mere step away from, and more often than not, intertwined with, Desire’s very function.

“But I cannot make somebody love him. Desire him, yes. That’s easy. Though the two are similar, love is something that even I cannot meddle in.”

“I’m not saying that you make somebody love him, nor that you even use your function to acquire this gift.”

Desire’s brows raise from the intrigue of what’s just been said. “Then what?”

“We both know that you’re extremely talented when it comes to meddling in others’ affairs. Instead of using it to harm this time, use it to help. Find Dream’s true love, and make it so that they come together. I believe mortals today call it a ‘meet-cute’?”

At first glance, it seems difficult, if not impossible. While the idea of true love is not rare (at least, to higher beings that know such a thing exists–mortals are still attempting to figure that out for themselves), true love among the Endless is, as of yet, still undiscovered. What if Dream doesn’t have a true love? Even if he does, how is Desire to find out such info—

Their train of thought screeches to a stop as they remember the function of their other brother. Of course! Destiny surely has it in his stupid Book whether or not Dream has some poor soul destined for him. And if he doesn’t, and the rest of his life is meant to be a string of shorter, passionate loves, then it would still be written down. Desire can bring him that happiness sooner as a show of good faith, a way to prove that they’re truly ready and willing to make amends. It’s growth, baby, and Desire’s entering a new era.

So yes, the task does seem difficult. But if there’s one thing Desire loves, it’s getting to play matchmaker. Getting to play matchmaker while meddling in the life of their favorite/least favorite sibling? Even better.

Slowly, a Cheshire Cat grin spreads across their face, and they press a kiss to Despair’s cheek, who begrudgingly accepts the affection. “You, my sister, are a genius.”

“I know.”

After seeing their twin back to their realm, Desire begins their second favorite hobby of scheming as they try to figure out how they’re going to trick Destiny into giving them a peek at his Book. Tough, considering the Book is literally chained to Destiny, but Desire has never been one to back away from a challenge.

Their chance at trickery comes sooner than expected, a mere two weeks later at the first family dinner held since Dream was deposed. None of the six remaining Endless are particularly thrilled to be in the Garden of Forking Ways, and it shows in the guarded way that they hold themselves as they stand around the room and wait to be summoned to the seven-sided table that sits in the middle of it.

Well, all except for the youngest are guarded. Delirium sits upside down in her chair, creating multicolored butterflies that fly out of the palms of her cupped hands and lazily around the room.

As the shades that serve Destiny move in and out of the room with various platters of food and drink, said Endless finally motions for his siblings to sit down along with him. Even then, they remain in an awkward silence. This family dinner is such a sudden event that none of them are entirely sure if there’s a reason behind it, leaving all feeling a little wary.

Destiny, being the eldest and the host of tonight’s festivities, is the first to speak. Naturally, it answers what none had been brave enough to ask. “I suppose you must be wondering why I called you all here.”

“Yes,” Dream says, even though it’s an obvious question. Of course they’re all wondering why they’re here.

“The Book has determined that we must meet.”

“Obviously,” Despair sighs. “But why? What are we meant to do while we’re here?”

“Rainbow butterflies!” Delirium throws her hands up into the air, releasing a swarm of rainbow butterflies. “Has everybody been watching the butterflies that I’ve been making? They’re pretty.”

Everybody simply watches the youngest sister, none saying anything. Finally, Destiny shakes his head. “No matter why we’re meant to be here. It clarified much that, previously, made little to no sense. Something important will happen. Something that sparks a chain of events, causing much change and upheaval.”

“And what is that occasion?” Death asks.

“This meeting. That is all.”

“Explain this further, my brother,” Dream prompts. “What must happen?”

“No. I have told you all I tell you. I have brought you all to this place. The rest is up to the five of you. Drink the wines. Eat of the fruit of my garden. Talk. It has been centuries since we were all together. We must have much to discuss.”

Desire sees their opening and takes it. “Mm, I bet we do. Why don’t we start with…Dream!”

Dream looks across the table at his sibling suspiciously. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Tell me...”

Desire is tempted to say something about his scorned lovers, but since they’re trying to work on making amends and not taking things too far, they refrain. One of the most difficult things they’ve ever had to do, truly.

“Killed any more of your unruly dreams or nightmares lately?”

What? They can still try to get a rise out of Dream in ways that won’t cut so deep. By the way his nose flares as he sits up straighter at the table, they know they’ve accomplished this mission.

“It needed to be done, and I will not take criticism from you on the choices I make regarding my realm,” Dream spits.

“Okay!” Death, ever the peacemaker, attempts to cut the tension. “Why don’t we talk about a different subject. Anything exciting happening for you, Dream?”

“Yes, actually.” Dream sits up in his seat a little straighter. “There is to be a ball in the Dreaming on the next full moon, to celebrate the return of my realm to its full strength. You are, of course, all invited.”

Ah, so Dream is to show the other monarchs and higher beings, gods and goddesses and deities, that his power has returned and that he is not to be trifled with. Desire can appreciate a good power play, and this is really all that the ball will be. A chance for the Dreaming to pull out all the stops, serve their finest food and drink, offer the most raucous and extravagant party so that every realm in existence will know that the King of Dreams and Nightmares has returned and is more powerful than they will ever be.

“Oh, how fun!” Death claps her hands together. “I remember when those used to be a regular occurrence in the Dreaming. Your dreams and nightmares do know how to throw a proper party.”

“I like parties,” Delirium chirps, hands chasing after the butterflies. “I’m gonna wear a princess dress!”

The rest of the dinner is fairly boring, compared to other family dinners in the past. Talk of Dream’s visit to Hell and the potential concerns there, minor gods ceasing to exist in the memories of mortals and thus returning to nothing, the problems that the Endless face in their daily lives as they continue their functions: it’s too normal for Desire’s liking, but they’re truly trying their hardest to not cause any major spats. Plus, they need to remain in Destiny’s good graces if they wish to have a chance at momentarily separating him from his Book.

When the dinner finally ends–Death is the first to excuse herself, with an earthquake calling for her to return to her function–the siblings begin to trickle out slowly, one after the other. Desire motions for Despair to go on without them, and while she would normally cause a fuss at having to leave without her beloved twin, she knows that they have an ulterior motive tonight and nods before disappearing back through her portrait.

When Delirium finally tumbles her way into her realm, it’s just Desire and Destiny left remaining in the Garden of Forking Ways. Desire sidles up to their older brother, who sighs wearily and looks with his unseeing eyes at his sibling.

“Desire, shouldn’t you be back at the Threshold by now?”

“Brother Destiny,” Desire coos, trying to seem as laid back as they usually are. “Doesn’t that book of yours ever get too heavy to carry?”

“You’re not going to fool me,” he says. Desire grits their teeth and curses under their breath. “For reasons beyond my understanding, however, the Book dictates that I do this.”

“Do what?”

It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to, but Destiny holds his Book out towards Desire. They can’t believe their luck, and quickly snatch the book from their brother before he can say that the Book said something different and take it back. Their nails–red, of course–run along the plain brown cover before they flip the Book open.

There, laid out as plain as can be, is the answer to Desire’s query. Dream does have a true love, much to Desire’s utter delight, and said true love is a human. A human! If the Universe didn’t want Desire righting their wrongs, then they wouldn’t make Dream’s other half the same species of being as the one whom Desire first meddled with all those years ago.

“Did you find what you were seeking?” Destiny asks, making Desire remember that they’re not alone. When they look up from the Book, they notice their brother’s hands twitching as he fights to snatch back his most precious belongings.

“Yes, I did.” Desire hands the Book back, and Destiny cradles it as if it’s been missing for months and not like he was inches away from it the entire time. “Thank you very much, brother mine. I believe I’ll be going now.”

After all, they have a lot to do between now and the full moon.

You

You’re attempting to sneak a couple of quick bites from your shift meal when the door chimes to signal that it’s been opened, and you sigh before setting down the french fry you were so looking forward to enjoying. Though you want to be disappointed, you know better than that.

Life has taught you better than to enjoy things so that you can find yourself inevitably disappointed by them.

Maybe that’s a little pessimistic for one just entering adulthood. Still, when you’re kicked out and left to fend for yourself in your teen years while your peers are only worrying about homework and if their boyfriend will still be their boyfriend by the time the school formal rolls around, cynicism feels a little warranted.

You’ve worked anywhere from two to four jobs at a time just to have enough money for a place to live. While you’re now down to only two jobs, which you enjoy, for the most part, it still means that you’re far more stressed and tired than you would wish to be. You’ve made peace with the fact that you’ll seemingly always have to fight to enjoy any quality of life…well, you’ve mostly made peace with it. There are times, like now, where you’re exhausted and hungry and you just want to scream and rage at the cards life has dealt you.

Instead, you just put a smile on your face and get ready for your next customer. When you make your way to the end of the restaurant’s bar where the newcomer has seated themself, they’re already watching you expectantly. Their eyes, golden and piercing, make your skin crawl in the way that it does when it feels like someone knows more about you than you’ve cared to divulge.

“Well, hello,” they greet.

The newest bar patron grins at you with dark purple-painted lips. They’re stunning, and also insanely overdressed (seriously, a fur coat?) for a casual bar. You’d think that they were just coming from a party if it weren’t for the fact that it’s 7 p.m. on a Wednesday. Going to one, then? Mid-week parties are rare, but they seem like a person who just naturally gets invited to every and any party.

“Hi there, how are you?” you greet, cringing at the worn-out sound of your customer service voice after almost 12 hours of using it.

“Oh, just swell.”

“Great! What can I get for you?”

“Hmm, gin and tonic?”

You nod, hands already reaching for the required ingredients. Though it took forever to really get the hang of bartending, it’s kind of like riding a bike; once you learn, you can’t forget. “I’m on it.”

Your patron gratefully takes the glass that you slide across the bar to them, taking a long sip before letting out a satisfied noise. “My, you do know how to make a good drink.”

“Hah, thank you. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, but I’d love it if you could spare a moment to chat.”

“Um–” You scan the bar in a quick check of your other customers, of which there are few now that the dinner rush is over. Just a couple of regulars, so you really have no excuse to say no. “Yeah, sure. Just for a moment, though.”

It’s not uncommon that people want to talk with you. Whether because of your job, that you’re a captive audience, or the fact that you’re providing them with a steady stream of alcohol, customers love spilling their guts to their bartenders. This customer, however, gives you hesitance. They just look like they’re up to no good, like they’re hoping to use you for something that you don’t want to be a part of.

Regardless, you put away the bottles you were using and turn your full attention to the customer, who’s savoring their drink in much smaller sips than they did previously. Although you’re a great multitasker, people think that you’re not fully listening when you’re doing other tasks. And though you try to get your busy work done during your shift so you can get out of here the second you’re scheduled to clock out, you also know how to maximize your tip potentials. You win some, you lose some, you suppose.

When they finally do speak, you’re not expecting them to say, “You look like someone who wants more out of life.”

It’s an odd way to start a conversation, but you’ll bite. Not the first philosophical patron you’ve had. “I mean, who doesn’t? I feel like life is just constantly seeking…more. More money, more knowledge, more connection.”

“A very interesting way of considering the meaning of life. But you, specifically. You have not had a very easy go of things, have you?”

You narrow your eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“You wish for adventure. For a purpose bigger than that which you’ve been led to believe you’re destined for. For something great.”

Swallowing harshly, your pulse thunders in your ears as you grip the wood of the bar, suddenly feeling extremely disconcerted. It could just be a generalization, one that most people would relate to were they called out on it, but it seems like the customer knows you, knows your innermost desires, just from looking at you. Finally, you slowly nod. Their grin somehow seems to grow even bigger.

“Mm, I thought so. Take this.” From within the sleeve of their coat, the stranger produces a business card. “It will help make all your…dreams come true.”

Hesitantly, you take the piece of paper from them. When you look down at it, expecting to see the usual business card information like a name and a phone number, you’re surprised to see that it’s completely blank. Even when you flip it over, the blank back greets you.

“But there’s nothing on—” Your sentence trails off when you look back up, the nameless customer long gone. In their place sits the empty glass, stained with their dark lipstick, of course, and a ten-dollar bill. Other than that, an intoxicating perfume is the only sign that they were even here in the first place.

An indeterminate amount of time passes as you try to figure out what just happened, with the only thing snapping you out of your stupor being the calling of your name. Tate, this evening’s line cook, stares at you expectantly.

“You okay?” she asks. “I’ve called your name three times now, but you’ve just been standing there like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Um.”

Are you okay? Spooked, yes, but there’s nothing that you can really do about that now.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good.” Tate nods, still not looking too convinced. “Table seven’s looking like they’re ready for the check.”

“I’m on it.”

And you are. Like the good, dutiful worker you’ve always been, you push down any of your actual emotions and thoughts and put on your service face, smiling and ready to accept anything thrown your way.

By the time your shift is over at 11, the encounter with the nameless customer is long forgotten. All that you can think when you finally make it home is about going to bed and sleeping until you have to be up for your other job tomorrow morning.

Just unlocking the door and stepping into your tiny apartment has your shoulders releasing the tension that had been built up in them all day. Yeah, your apartment is tiny and probably not the best in terms of quality. But it’s yours, and it’s home, and that’s what matters to you. You’ve made the very best of it, and for now, nobody can take that away.

It takes almost all of the remaining energy you have to strip off your work clothes and do some semblance of your nighttime routine, and you mentally thank Tate for insisting you eat something while on the clock. You don’t think you could stay awake long enough to actually eat something right now. When you fall into bed and pull the covers up around you, your only thought is that you hope that you have the type of deep sleep that doesn’t produce any dreams or nightmares. Lord knows you need it.

The hopes that you had are promptly crushed when you open your eyes to find yourself standing on a bridge that leads to a large palace. It’s the oddest place you’ve ever seen, an amalgamation of palaces from all sorts of cultures. Domes and spires and turrets make up the outside architecture, and though it sounds like an eyesore, it’s actually quite beautiful. Strains of music spill out from the open doors, and guests in a variety of finery make their way inside to join what appears to be a party.

You should be wondering why you’re here, as well as how you’re currently having the most vivid dream you’ve ever had, but all questions seem to be answered by the logic of it being a dream. Of course weird things are going to happen; it’s a dream. Maybe tomorrow, you’ll wake up and think about just how strange the dream actually was. But right now, you’re just going to go with the flow, even if that flow is, apparently, a royal ball.

“Hello, mortal,” a voice as sickly-sweet as honey croons next to you. When you look to your right, you find your golden-eyed customer from earlier in the day standing next to you. This still doesn’t concern you, and if you took the time to be concerned, you’d still just chalk it up to the nature of dreams.

“It’s you!” you exclaim.

They hold their hands out and wave them in an effortless jazz hands. “Yes, it’s me.”

They’re somehow dressed even more elegantly than they were at the restaurant, wearing a silver corset tucked into a pair of wide-legged, black trousers. Their heeled boots add a couple of inches to their already-tall figure, and you have to look up in order to properly look them in the eye.

“I was beginning to get a little concerned that you weren’t going to take my offer.”

“Uh, sorry? I just got off of work a little bit ago.”

They wave a hand dismissively. “What, didn’t tell your boss that you had better things to do?”

“You weren’t exactly forthcoming with the details,” you mutter. Your former customer begins to take long, purposeful strides towards the crowds waiting to get into the palace, and you hurry to catch up. “Wait, where are we?”

“This is the Dreaming and you, my dear, are about to attend a ball.”

“What, like in Bridgerton?”

They scoff, obviously offended by your reference. “Please, this is miles better than anything Bridgerton could even hope to come close to. But yes, I suppose so.”

Panic floods you, but not for the reason you’d think. “But I’m not even dressed for a ball!”

They raise a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow at you. “You’re not?”

When you look down at yourself, you find that you are, in fact, dressed for a ball.

An entire galaxy has come down from the heavens in order to settle itself on the champagne-colored fabric of the most fancy clothes you’ve ever worn. The golden stars, all different sizes, shimmer with each twist of your body that you make in order to properly catalog your outfit. The best part of this ensemble, by far, has to be the cape that you’re wearing that’s held on your shoulders by three delicate chains clasped together across your chest.

“Oh my god,” is all you can say, finding it difficult to tear your eyes away from the complete transformation your wardrobe has undergone.

“Close, but not quite,” they say cheekily. “Though, I do enjoy being worshiped.”

You meet their liquid gold stare. “Why are you helping me? Why am I here?”

“Now that’s a long story. Let’s just say that I owe somebody an apology, and you’re a part of said apology.”

There are so many more questions bouncing around in your mind, but they turn on their heel before you can ask any of them, forcing you to keep up with them as they walk to the entrance of the palace.

“Hello, Wyvern.”

The dragon (a dragon! You’re staring at a dragon!) bows his head at the greeting. “Desire.”

“Is that your name?” They ignore your question.

“You are, as always, welcome in my Lord’s domain.” The wyvern looks at you. “Your guest, however, needs an invitation to enter.”

“Go on, present your invitation,” Your companion prompts.

You furrow your eyebrows. “My invitation?”

Oh! The paper that they had given you back at the bar. But wait, where had you put that stupid paper? You have to think for a second before remembering, and any relief you had felt is washed away by the panic returning in full-force when you remember where it is. Looking at your mysterious benefactor with wide eyes, you grimace as you try to figure out how to explain this to them.

“I left it in the pocket of my work jeans.”

They sigh as if you’re a minor nuisance, which, maybe you are. “Check your pockets, dear one.”

Slipping your hands into your pockets, you’re already preparing an “I told you so” speech. After all, how could that business card have magically moved from one set of pockets to another? When your fingers brush against something very paper-like, you almost can’t believe it. Your mind has already worked out the whole “dream logic” issue, but teleportation seems to be too much even for that.

When your hand emerges holding the paper, your friend smiles smugly at you and nods their head in the direction of the large, mythical animals. “Now present your invitation.”

You hold the paper up towards what had previously been referred to as a wyvern. Even though there’s nothing written on it, he studies it for a moment before nodding. “I bid you welcome on behalf of my Lord. Enjoy the festivities.”

“Uh, thanks!” you say, manners winning out among the insanity of the evening.

The crowd parts for your friend as guests bow their heads politely, which makes you think that there’s a lot that you don’t know about this person who inserted themself into the middle of your life. What did I get myself into?, you wonder as you hurry behind them and into the ballroom.

You haven’t exactly seen very many ballrooms in your life before now, but even if you had, this one would be your favorite. It reminds you of pictures you’ve seen of Russia’s Imperial Palace during the reigns of the tsars, all cathedral ceilings and marble columns. One of the walls is just a line of windows that looks out over a picturesque valley, and breathtaking artwork from some of history’s most exalted artists looms overhead. The guests of this ball, all opulently dressed, mingle below, with many already dancing to the music that comes from an unseen orchestra.

At the top of a long set of stairs sits a stone throne, currently unoccupied. The ruler of this land must be really lonely, you think. Why else would they purposely place themselves so far away from everyone else, if not to feel the sharp sting of being alone?

The pièce de résistance of this entire room, however, has to be the ceiling. You’re not sure whether it’s magic or if the ballroom doesn’t even have a ceiling and instead looks straight up at the most striking view of the sky you’ve ever seen. You can’t tear your eyes away from the swirling galaxy that’s more beautiful than any NASA telescope picture could even begin to capture, and you’re sure that your jaw is hanging open and making you look like an idiot.

You’re so caught up in the wonder that sits directly over your head that you don’t notice when your new friend spots someone or something that they want to go check out. Apparently deciding that it’s a good idea to at least give you a little courtesy warning, they sidle up behind you.

“Have fun,” they whisper into your ear.

When you turn around, they’re nowhere to be seen, which means you now have to fend for yourself in an unfamiliar situation. Not ideal, but you should be fine. After all, this is just a dream, right?

Since you were given the advice to “have fun,” you decide to try and actually do so. People watching is always fun, made even more so when everyone is dressed up in all manner of finery. As you study the crowd a bit more, you realize that “people watching” is the wrong term to use, because the vast majority of the guests here aren’t human people.

There are beings clothed in white robes with huge wings on their backs that surely must be angels. Some guests wear traditional regalia from Greek, Roman, Japanese, and other historic empires. The most unsettling are the ones that look human, beautiful, even, until you’re able to take an extended look at their faces and realize that the beastly masks they’re wearing, the horns and the snouts and any other combination of monstrous features, aren’t masks at all. Rather, those are their faces, heavily decorated with makeup, but terrifying just the same.

There’s a little girl in an oversized party dress and clown makeup clapping her hands as a gargoyle tries blowing up a balloon, and a literal void with faces in it speaks to a tall, imposing figure with golden curls and black wings. You’re pretty sure one of the guests is even a human-sized cat woman. Not Catwoman, like the supervillain, but a cat woman. You try not to stare, but it’s impossible, and your eyes keep finding your way back to her as you continue to walk around the outskirts of the ballroom.

Even though you’re completely and utterly normal, it’s impossible for anybody attending tonight’s festivities to not feel the sheer power that each and every being here seems to possess. It’s beginning to make you feel self-conscious: if you can sense the magic that all of the guests have, then surely they can tell that you’re not like them. Everywhere you turn, it seems like you’re meeting somebody else’s eyes as they judge you and how out of place you are.

Your chest grows tight as your skin pricks with heat, the room suddenly beginning to be far too crowded for your liking. There must be a way for you to get outside. You need air, or else you’re worried that you’re going to pass out in front of all these partygoers—after a moment of frantically scanning the room, you see the main hallway that you and your strange new friend had entered through. Knowing for a fact that this path will lead you outside, you set out with a determination to make it through the crowd.

This task, however, is much more difficult than you had previously thought it would be. Apparently, the room being so crowded wasn’t just a part of your panicked imagination; there are far more guests here now, and it’s almost impossible to move through all of them. The music, which just minutes ago seemed whimsical and charming, now sounds sinister in your ears as somebody grabs you and begins to dance with your unwilling form.

Like a doll, you’re spun from one person to the next, all of them ignoring your helpless pleas as you beg them to stop. Instead, much to your chagrin, they all seem to take joy in your panic as they laugh and leave you with no choice but to obey their whims. You’re dizzy and breathless, and at this point you can’t tell if it’s from the dancing or the anxiety.

The next set of hands that grab you are much gentler than all the preceding pairs, and they bring you to a stop instead of sweeping you into another dance. Finally, finally, it seems that somebody has taken pity on you, the poor human that’s become nothing more than a glorified plaything. When your vision finally rights itself, you note that your savior’s even managed to pull you out of the maelstrom of people that had so easily claimed you. You go to thank this person, only to have what little breath you’ve regained stolen from you when you look up.

The man standing before you is a classic study in contrast. His chalk-white skin stands out strikingly against his robes and his hair, both as black as pitch. The only difference in shade comes from the flames that you can see licking up the bottom of his robes like they’re meant to be there. Though, in this dream world, it makes total sense that flames would be a good accessory.

He’s objectively one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen, but his features are sharper than that of a normal human’s, from the stately slope of his nose to his high cheekbones that are completely devoid of the flush that normally hides behind skin. The biggest giveaway that he’s not like you are his eyes: black pools in which stars twinkle and sparkle. They should be frightening; after all, nobody should have eyes that look like that. Instead, you just find yourself enraptured as you try not to lose yourself in them.

“I do not know you.” The bluntness with which he makes this statement is so jarring (not even beginning to mention that he has the deepest, smoothest voice you’ve ever heard) that it pulls you out of your daydreaming about his eyes, and you glare up at him.

“Okay? I don’t know you either.”

He seems to realize that he came off like a major jackass, and quickly backpedals. “Apologies, I did not mean to make it sound so accusatory. I simply find myself…curious. I believed that I knew everybody here.”

“Well that makes one of us, because I think I only know one person here.”

“Who?” he asks curiously.

You look around the room to see if you can find your mysterious friend, but they’re nowhere to be seen. “I can’t find them, it’s too crowded in here. You already know that though, considering you just saved me from being crushed or forced to dance until I collapse from exhaustion. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Of course. After all, I could not let one unfamiliar with those here be forced to mingle with Cluracan of the Faerie.”

He nods his head in the direction of a tall, willow-thin man with golden blond hair and pointed ears. If his pompous attitude wasn’t visible even from a distance, then his outfit, a coat and breeches with the same coloring as that of a peacock, would surely clue you in.

“By the looks of it, that would have been a fate worse than death,” you remark solemnly.

The man laughs. It’s a harsh bark of a laugh, one that sounds like it comes from someone who both doesn’t know how to laugh and has never heard a laugh before. People in your general vicinity look your way in alarm and discomfort, but you can only watch with a delighted, albeit confused, grin on your face.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“If you were to meet Death, you would find that she is actually quite pleasant. It is…enjoyable…to spend time with her.”

“Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time with her.”

“I have.”

His eyes grow soft and distant as he thinks of Death, and it’s obvious that he’s quite fond of her. He shakes his head slightly, pulling himself back to the present.

“You did not look as though you were enjoying yourself, even before you were forced to dance.”

“So you were watching me?”

He suddenly feels the need to fastidiously study the galaxy ceiling, but you can see how his cheeks flush with embarrassment. To your surprise, it’s not the normal pinkish shade. Instead, it’s a light purple that spreads under his skin.

“You were!” you tease triumphantly.

“As I said, I believed that I knew everyone here. I was curious when I saw that wasn’t the case.” He looks back at you, those starry eyes twinkling. “You have not answered my question.”

It takes you a second to remember what his question was in the first place. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, everything here is so wonderful and fantastical! I guess I’m just not much of a party person. Never have been.”

“I must confess, I also find I am not too fond of these parties.”

“So then what are you doing here?”

“Currently? I am attempting to avoid Queen Titania of the Faerie.”

He nods his head in the direction of a woman with blue-tinged skin and some of the most frighteningly dainty features you’ve ever seen, almost like those of a china doll. She’s frocked in a midnight blue gown with puffy sleeves, and as she moves through the room in an apparent search for your companion, a whole entourage follows obediently behind her.

“She’s not as good of a time as Death, I’m guessing?” you ask.

A smirk is the only answer that you get from him, apparently deciding to be enough of a gentleman that he won’t outright insult anybody.

It feels like a lightbulb goes off over your head as you think over what he said. “Wait, Queen Titania, like the character from Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

He looks immensely pleased at the connection that you’ve made. “The very same.”

“Huh. I wonder how Shakespeare met her.”

This seems to make him ponder something, and after a moment, he speaks again. “Where were you trying to go? Before you became an unwilling dance partner, that is.”

Oh yeah. You’ve so thoroughly enjoyed talking to this man that you almost forgot that you were on the brink of panic just a few minutes ago. “I was trying to find a way outside so that I could get some air.”

He nods. “Come, then. We shall get you some air, myself a reprieve from hiding, and I will tell you the story of how Shakespeare came to develop his cast of characters.”

When he holds his hand out to you, taking it is one of the easiest decisions you’ve ever made.

Keeping to the walls is a much better strategy than what you had tried before, which was to forge your own path through the crowds and hope for the best. You duck through one of the stone awnings near the back of the room, one that’s partially obscured by a heavy curtain. When you’ve successfully made it out, your companion’s relief at not being caught by the Queen of Faerie is palpable, and it makes you giggle.

You walk with him through the gardens for the rest of the evening, enjoying foliage that absolutely doesn’t exist in the real world and the company of one of the most enigmatic creatures you’ve ever spent time with. Yet, as he asks you question after question about the most mundane of subjects in your daily life, listening with rapt, awed attention as you answer each and every one, you feel like you’re the one that’s mystical and worshiped across all cultures.

(Though he hasn’t said it outright, you get the feeling that he’s some type of deity, which is simultaneously frightening and fascinating)

The flowers continually pull your attention away from the conversation at hand, not that your companion seems to mind too much. He dutifully fills the air with facts about each of the plants that you stop at, which is why it’s such a surprise when you’re suddenly surrounded by silence.

Looking up from a variant of daisy that shimmers as it goes down a gradient of white to red, and back again, you notice that he’s watching you. You smile at him, waiting for him to launch into the tale of how this flower came to be in this garden, and when he still doesn’t move, you grow a little concerned.

“What is it? Are you okay?” you ask. He seems to finally rouse himself from whatever daze he had gotten himself into.

“Yes, I…” He trails off, continuing to stare, before he shakes his head a couple of times and looks back at the party. This time, when he speaks, his voice is somehow softer than before. “I believe I promised you a story, yes?”

When he finally does get around to telling you the promised story, it’s so much better than anything you could have imagined. The man is a truly gifted storyteller. You can practically see the scene as he develops it, of a man in a darkened pub being offered the tantalizing gift of inspiration for works that would live on well past his death. Did Shakespeare worry that he was making a deal with some sort of demon, or was the prospect of everlasting fame more powerful than any fear or trepidation he may have felt?

“Is it a true story?” you ask, when he finishes with the first performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream which was, surprisingly, performed for an audience that included the actual Queen Titania. Apparently, she was thrilled by her portrayal, and gave the play a glowing review.

A coy tilt of the head is the only answer that you get, leaving the true interpretation of the story up to you, the listener. Though you want to say that it’s fake–after all, Shakespeare making a pact with an immortal creature that then helped him to come up with plays that would forever change the course of humanity just sounds ludicrous–another part of you, the part that has spent this impossible night surrounded by Fae and gods and all other manner of fantastical creature, knows that this is, in fact, true.

“Are you the one that gave him inspiration?”

“Perhaps,” is all that he says.

“You’re frustratingly vague, you know that?”

This makes him smile, and he looks down to simultaneously rein his emotions back in (he does that a lot, you notice) and to pull something from the sleeve of his robe.

“Am I?” he asks.

His pale hand comes up to present you with one of the color-changing daisies you were looking at earlier. Your breath catches in your throat when he tucks the flower behind your ear, and when his hand lingers against your cheek, you think you’ll never establish a normal breathing rhythm ever again.

“And what would you do, were a stranger to come up to you and offer you anything you ever wanted?”

“Well, I–I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

At this point, you can barely do more than whisper. “On who the stranger is.”

Though you try not to, you can’t help yourself from looking down at his plush, pink lips. You dart your eyes back up to his face, worried about being caught, only to see that he’s done the same.

He leans in even closer, nodding his head slightly towards you. “May I…?”

You nod softly, worried that any sudden movements will ruin the perfect little bubble that you seem to have found yourself in. Are you really about to kiss this powerful being, the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on? When he brushes his nose against yours, you know the answer is that yes, yes you are about to kiss him. Just as your lips meet his, a harsh alarm jerks you out of his arms and back to consciousness.

Rolling over in your familiar bed, in your familiar apartment, you hit the screen of your phone harshly until the alarm finally turns off. Laying on your back, you stare up at the ceiling and replay every moment of the dream you just had while it’s still fresh in your mind.

You let out a disbelieving sigh at just how wonderful of a dream you had. The giddy smile is impossible to remove from your face, and you run your hands over your flaming cheeks as you giggle.

What a dream. A royal ball, mythical creatures, a gorgeous outfit, and the most captivating man you’ve ever imagined. You already know that you’ll be thinking about your dream man, and the kiss you almost shared, for days to come.

A second alarm, the one that warns that you really need to get out of bed and get ready if you don’t want to be late, begins to sound from your phone.

“Fine,” you mutter to the inanimate object, sitting up and pulling it off of the charger. “You win. I’m up.”

As you get out of bed, you don’t notice the daisy petals that you leave behind on your pillow.

You go about your day feeling like you’re on cloud 9, unable to stop thinking about last night. Not that you want to stop thinking about any moment of your dream. By the time you’re back at the bar for yet another evening shift (only two more days until you have an actual day off!), somebody finally decides to ask what the hell happened to you.

“What the hell happened to you?” Reese, tonight’s hostess for the restaurant side of the establishment, asks. “You’re walking around like a Disney princess or something.”

You shrug. “Just…had a really, really wonderful dream last night.”

“Like a sex dream? I’ve had a few of those that I’d call ‘really, really wonderful’.” Tate pipes up through the kitchen window, meaning you have no choice but to reach through and shove him.

“Fuck off!”

He laughs and jumps back to avoid your ire. “So it was a sex dream!”

“No! It was just really sweet and romantic, y’know?”

“I get it,” Reese says.

You gesture to her gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Who was the lead? Mine’s usually Harry Styles.”

Though you both sigh a little wistfully, you shake your head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this man before last night.”

“Isn’t it, like, a thing that you can’t dream of people whose faces you’ve never seen?” Tate asks.

“With a face like his, I definitely would have remembered seeing him while I was awake.”

“Fuck,” Reese grumbles when the door opens and a family walks in. “Can’t people be a little kinder and realize that we’re gossiping here?”

“Apparently not.”

Everybody shares in a “we hate our customer service job” groan before breaking to do their respective tasks. Reese slaps on a big smile and asks “how many are joining you guys this evening?” Tate flips a couple of burgers on the grill, and you turn to check on your regulars that are enjoying a couple of after-work beers.

Sometimes, it really sucks that you can’t just daydream about whatever you want because you’re forced to work in order to survive. But as the night wears on and your plastic tip cup housed beneath the bar continues to grow more stuffed with bills thanks to very generous tippers tonight, you see the importance of not living in your head.

That is, until someone’s standing across from you at the bar and you smile at them in preparation to take their order, only to almost drop the glass you’re cleaning when you lay eyes on your dream man from last night.

He’s traded the long robes for a simple black peacoat, a black shirt, and black jeans, but he still manages to look regal in them. The wardrobe isn’t the main difference, though. That would be his eyes. Where last night they were black pools of stars, tonight, they’re a bright blue. Just as stunning, but in a completely different way.

The only thing about him that’s the same is his hair. The black strands are still just as wild and untamed as they were at the ball, and it makes your heart flutter to see. You have to hold yourself back from reaching across the bar to try and smooth them out a bit, but really, you just want to feel how soft his hair must surely be.

He’s smiling at you, that same shy smile that graced his lips while he was talking to you about plants. You realize that you need to say something, anything, but all you manage to come up with is, “Hi.”

“Hello.” His voice still sounds like what you imagine melted dark chocolate must sound like if it could talk, and your cheeks grow hot from it.

“It’s you. You’re real!” You wince at the stupidity of that statement. Obviously he’s real, he’s standing right in front of you!

He looks very amused by this, and you don’t blame him. “Did you think I was not?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I mean, it was just a dream.”

“It is never ‘just a dream’.”

You come around from the other side of the bar so that you can actually be standing across from him without anything impeding you.

“I believe we forgot to properly make each other’s acquaintance last night.”

It’s only when he says that that you realize that he’s right. You don’t even know his name, and he doesn’t know yours. A glaring oversight on both of your parts, but one that he looks ready to correct.

He gently takes one of your hands in one of his, bending just slightly at the waist as he brings your hand up to kiss the back of it.

“I am Morpheus, Dream of the Endless. You may call me by either name, dearheart, for either shall sound sweet coming from your lips.”

You entrust him with your name, and he grins so radiantly that you feel as though you’ve been standing in front of the sun. He repeats it back to you, and you could swear that you’ve never heard your name sound so beautiful before now. You’d give anything to hear him say it again and again. Hell, if the last word you ever heard on this Earth was this man–Dream! Morpheus!–saying your name, you’d die happy.

Even though you’re totally sure that this isn’t a dream (you know, you pinched your leg to make sure), part of you is still worried that either he or you will disappear again. Who’s to say that you’ll be able to find each other a second time? Just in case your fears come true, you decide to act before you can remember why you don’t act before thinking.

Dream’s still holding onto one of your hands, and you use it to pull him closer to you, close enough that your noses are almost touching as he bends his head just slightly to look at you. His eyebrows are raised as he waits for you to make your next move. Said next move consists of you wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a long-awaited kiss.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it at all. One hand rests on your waist while the other goes to your chin so that he can tilt your head the way that he likes–you’re certainly not going to stop him from doing that.

The restaurant patrons all start cheering, and you can hear Tate and Reese wolf-whistling. It’s embarrassing, but you’re too wrapped up in Dream right now to fully care. Maybe after you separate. For now, since both of your arms are over Dream’s shoulders, it makes it easy for you to flip your coworkers off without having to interrupt your kiss.

Later, you’ll have to see if you can track down your strange, golden-eyed friend and thank them for giving a blank business card to a stranger who worked at a bar. After all, they were right. That card has made all your dreams come true.

Dream of the Endless

Dream of the Endless is not at all thrilled to be playing host to beings from almost every realm that the Dreaming has even the most tentative of alliances with. He received his reputation as a recluse for a reason, and it’s certainly not because he loves being social.

But tonight is not for him, no. It’s for the Dreaming. He had been gone for far too long, even if it was against his will. Not only had the Dreaming crumbled physically, but its standing as one of the most powerful realms in existence had crumbled too. Now that he was back and his kingdom restored to its former glory, if not more powerful than it was before his departure, he intended to remind each and every naysayer just why the Dreaming commanded their respect.

Of course, right as he’s thinking that the night is shaping up to be quite successful, he sees a guest that he most certainly did not invite. He knows this for certain, because he knows everybody and their dreams just by looking at them. Even if he didn’t, when one is alive for as long as the Endless have been, one gets to know most everybody that’s of a higher rank or class of the various realms.

You, with golden stars swimming across your body, are entirely unfamiliar to him. Even more unsettling is the fact that he doesn’t just intuitively know his name, which means there are other forces at play here. And on this night, where the Dreaming is meant to be at its best, he will not allow his enemies any opportunity to take that away from him.

It’s obvious in your demeanor that you’re uncomfortable amongst the crowds, and Dream is not the only one to notice it. When the eyes of the Trickster God, Loki Skywalker, land on you, Dream can almost see the plan formulating in the Norseman’s head. He takes a couple of quick steps, and before you can even blink, he’s swept you unwillingly into a dance.

You’re immediately begging for him to let you go, your fists pounding against his arms as you attempt to free yourself from his embrace. Loki does finally acquiesce to your demands, but simply spins you into another’s arms. Those in the general vicinity all seem to be in on this little joke, all of them laughing and taking their turn to have your resistant self in their embrace.

Suddenly, you don’t look like a threat. You’re simply a person, scared and out of your element, a pawn in the games of beings much more powerful than you. Dream may not know your true intentions, but he can’t continue to let this happen under his purview. With a single thought, he’s across the ballroom and pulling you into his own arms and away from those hoping to be next in line for a dance.

You stumble over your own feet, your body still propelled forward by the inertia of the other dancers that came before Dream. Blinking furiously to try and clear your vision, you’re finally able to look up at him without getting dizzy.

Dream watches you try to figure out something, anything to say, and in return he studies you as well. It’s still impossible for him to divine any sort of information about you, but he can’t sense any other being’s magic on you that would be blocking his access. Apparently, you’re simply an anomaly, and that’s not including figuring out how you got past the gatekeepers in the first place.

“I do not know you,” he finally settles on saying. Apparently, by the way that you glare at him, it comes out much harsher than he had planned.

“Okay? I don’t know you either.”

He has to apologize, obviously. “Apologies, I did not mean to make it sound so accusatory. I simply find myself…curious. I believed that I knew everybody here.”

“Well that makes one of us, because I think I only know one person here.”

“Who?” he asks, wondering if this is the person that is blocking his access to you.

Though you look around the room, you don’t seem to find whoever it is. “I can’t find them, it’s too crowded in here. You already know that though, considering you just saved me from being crushed or forced to dance until I collapse from exhaustion. Thank you for that, by the way.”

Dream finds himself perturbed. Why wouldn’t he have helped you out of your less-than-ideal situation? It seems like common decency, but perhaps human society has decayed so badly that even this simple act warrants a heartfelt thank you.

“Of course. After all, I could not let one unfamiliar with those here be forced to mingle with Cluracan of the Faerie.”

He nods towards the aforementioned Fae, who is currently strutting around looking for his next conquest. Behind him trails his sister, Nuala, just as fair as her brother but decidedly a much kinder creature. She whispers something in his ear, and he merely brushes her off before continuing his search.

“By the looks of it, that would have been a fate worse than death,” you remark.

The statement, said with the confidence of someone who does not know that there are forces far beyond that which they may believe, is so humorous to Morpheus that he can’t help but laugh. How could anybody regret their time spent with Death? She is the literal oxymoron of her name; in fact, she should be the personification of sunshine instead of death.

Instead of shying away from him, because he does know that his laugh is truly horrific and thus wouldn’t blame you for doing so, you surprise Dream by grinning at the sound and looking rather proud of yourself for eliciting a laugh from him. Oh, he really enjoys this.

He’s always found himself fond of those able to look beyond his function. As he continues to interact with you, he realizes that you apparently have no clue who he is. He also realizes that talking to you is not the same chore as it is to converse with the others that are here in his realm tonight.

Before he knows it, he’s offering to take you out to the gardens and tell you the tale of how a young Will Shaxberd came to be known as history’s greatest playwright. He shouldn’t be abandoning his guests, for that’s not what a good monarch does. However, it’s too tempting to not try and have you to himself. When you accept, he finds himself thrilled for the first time since before his imprisonment.

Dream takes great pride in the palace’s gardens. Much of the flora there had long since gone extinct, and the only thing keeping them alive in this moment was the Dream Lord’s memory (or, the memories of dreamers long gone whose knowledge Dream had leached from) of when they still flourished. He was happy to share those memories with anyone willing to listen, and you were proving to be one of the most engaged audiences he had entertained when it came to his garden.

Time is a fickle thing in the Dreaming, to be certain. Hours can pass by like minutes, or minutes can be days. It’s why he tends to keep appointments in the Waking to a minimum; he loses track of time far too easily, and often needs multiple reminders that he has an obligation in a realm not his own.

Never has Dream felt Time so keenly in the Dreaming as he does when he finally looks away from the path ahead and towards you, only for Time to seemingly come to a stop. The moon shines down upon you like an ethereal spotlight while you bend just slightly in order to fully study a daisy that was last seen in the Andromeda galaxy two hundred lightyears ago. Softly, so as not to ruin it, you gently run a finger along the edges of the velvety petals. Your smile as you do so is filled with so much kindness that Dream believes he could drown in it, not that he would mind in the slightest.

Dream had experienced love at first sight far too many times for his liking. A secret hopeless romantic, it was far too easy for him to immediately see the best in any potential romantic partner and offer himself up to them on a silver platter. Indeed, he had given lovers the finest jewels or entire worlds created just for them, and every single one had ended up spurning him in the end.

Perhaps that’s why this feels so different. This isn’t love at first sight, for he certainly had held no love in his heart for the strange intruder wandering wide-eyed around the ballroom. He’s had Time on his side, allowing him the chance to actually get to know you.

And after getting to know you, Dream wants. He wants to feel the gentleness of your touch on his skin, he wants your soft smile directed towards him. He wants to hear every thought that goes through your wondrous mind, he wants to know what you like and don’t like. He wants you, in every way that you’ll allow him to have.

Time finally restarts again, and Dream notices that you’re staring curiously at him. Distantly, a small part of him wonders how long you’ve been looking at him like that. A much larger part of him admires the color of your eyes.

“What is it? Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yes, I…”

He really must stop staring at you, he knows that it’s already far past the point of politeness. Shaking his head, Dream looks back at the ball and tries to contain his emotions once more before speaking again.

“I believe I promised you a story, yes?”

Dream didn’t earn the title of “Prince of Stories” for no reason. Still, it makes telling stories infinitely more enjoyable when the audience is interested in what he’s saying. You, however, are not just interested. You’re enraptured, hanging on to every word he has to say. This, by far, is his favorite type of person to tell a tale to. The fact that it’s you, the mysterious human who somehow snuck into his palace, makes it even better.

After his tale is finished, you ask him if it’s true. He can’t help but to demur, planting the seeds of doubt even though it’s very much true. After all, if he had wanted you to know that, he would have told you outright during the story.

“And what would you do,” Dream asks, suddenly feeling bold, “were a stranger to come up to you and offer you anything you ever wanted?”

“Well, I–I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“On who the stranger is.”

Dream really wants to kiss you right now. By the way that you whisper, and how Dream catches you looking at his lips, he thinks that you feel the same.

He leans in even closer, nodding his head slightly towards you. “May I…?”

You nod, and Dream is so thankful that you do. He’s not sure that he could bear the rejection, not when you’ve gone and made him fall in love with you so effortlessly.

Dream has seen plenty of teenagers dreaming of their first kiss. Mere children on the cusp of adulthood, their emotions are always so palpable. The fear of messing up, of getting this wrong. The exuberance of finally getting to kiss the one they have not been able to stop thinking about. The burgeoning passion of young love, sealed, quite literally, with a kiss.

Right now, as your lips just begin to meet his, Dream feels much like those teenagers. He’s terrified that he’ll move too fast or make some wrong move to push you away, while at the same time, he’s thrilled that you want to kiss him just as much as he wants to kiss you. Underneath it all, the embers of something more promise to be fanned into flames once he actually kisses you.

Before Dream can actually do that, though, he feels your lips become less real, less firm, against his. He can only watch as your body fades from within his grasp and you disappear, presumably back to your Waking body. After you’re well and truly gone, with no sign of you falling back asleep and appearing in his embrace once more, Dream can only stare at the spot you once occupied.

When Dream comes out of his stupor, his head falls to his hands in disbelief, unable to believe his truly rotten luck. He remains in this position until the sky begins to grow light and he remembers that he has duties he must attend to, duties that include politely but firmly seeing all of his guests out of his realm.

As Dream nods his head at guests telling him how much they enjoyed the festivities and thanks others for coming and accepts quiet alliances re-formed by those who had believed the Dreaming well and truly gone, he’s quite proud of the fact that he’s somehow pulled himself together enough to not currently have a hurricane that reflects his emotional state sweeping through the Dreaming proper. It doesn’t matter that said hurricane will likely begin to rage the second the doors to the palace close and the hastily-constructed dam holding Dream’s feelings back breaks from the pressure. For now, he has it all under control.

At least, he has it under control up until he walks back into his throne room to find Desire lounging at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sibling,” Dream greets reluctantly, his patience wearing extremely thin. “Do you not have the desires of my guests to chase after and feed off of in your realm?”

“Don’t you worry, big brother, I’m on my way out.” They stand and stretch in a way reminiscent of how a cat stretches. “Great party, by the way. Why, you look really bummed out for somebody who just met the love of his life!”

It should not be nearly as surprising as it is that Dream’s sibling has once again inserted themself into his life, where they do not belong. Regardless, it is as surprising as it is rage-inducing. Between one blink and the next, Dream has Desire pinned against the wall with his hands wrapped around their neck. Desire simply laughs breathlessly.

“I should have known that you were behind that,” Dream spits.

“You don’t have to say it–” Desire’s sentence breaks off with a choking sound, courtesy of Dream squeezing even harder and resisting the urge to wring their neck. “–Like it’s a bad thing.”

“I told you that, were you to mess with me or mine again, I would not hesitate to spill family blood. Are you really so stupid as to disregard our last talk, so soon after we had it?”

Desire looks frightened, and they should be. Dream truly wants to kill right now, to unmake something with his bare hands and feel the carnage that he creates. “No, no, no, you have it all wrong!” they say. “I’m giving you a gift, sweet Dream. No strings attached, nothing you have to do besides say ‘thank you, my favorite sibling’ and accept it!”

“A gift.” Dream’s hands loosen around Desire’s neck, but still remain fixed in place.

“Yep!”

“And why should I trust you?”

“Because I really am sorry, Dream. Truly. I regret how I’ve treated you, especially over the past couple of centuries. You’re a pain in my ass–just as I’m a pain in yours, I’m sure–but you didn’t deserve what I did to you, and for that, I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t believe them, a fact that is plainly clear and causes Desire to roll their eyes. When they push back against Dream, he finally lowers his hands and takes a step back.

“We’ve been siblings for long enough, and you’ve felt my influence on—how many lovers is it? Tell me, did you feel any of that on your little dreamer last night?”

“No,” Dream admits.

“No, exactly. So when I was trying to figure out, ‘how can I say sorry to my beloved big brother and truly mean it,’ I thought it would be nice of me to find out if you had a true love, who said true love was, and then bring your true love to you! You can thank brother Destiny’s little Book for helping me there; he would have never allowed me to look and see if you had a true love if it weren’t for the Book telling him to do so.”

“What?”

This comes as quite the shock to Dream. It’s one thing for Desire to try something as outlandish as looking in Destiny’s Book; it’s another thing entirely for Destiny to let them do so. As Desire said, if the Book did not tell him to do something, then Destiny would not do that thing.

“Mhm,” Desire says, looking entirely too pleased at this situation. “The universe itself wanted me to give you this type of an apology.”

If Desire had used Destiny’s Book to find you, then that means that they know your name. “So, you know…”

“Your little lover’s name? Yes, I do. Why, did you not catch it?” Of course they know that Dream doesn’t know your name; it’s what Dream wants most right now, so naturally, Desire can sense it. “Were you two lovebirds too busy flirting with each other to remember to ask for names?”

“Tell me, Desire,” Dream snaps. He winces, feeling slightly guilty about letting his emotions get the best of him. Not that he’ll apologize, since it’s apparently Desire’s turn to do so.

“Sorry, I had to tease you a little bit.”

Desire finally feels a modicum of empathy and tells Dream your full name, and a part of Dream that he wasn’t aware he was missing slots into place.

“Well, I suppose I should be off now. Lots of your party guests whose desires I have to chase after and feed off of. You know.”

They grab the lapels of their opulent fur jacket and smooth out the wrinkles that their altercation with Dream put into their carefully-created ensemble. Dream will feel even more guilt about that tomorrow, he supposes. For now, you’re the only thing on his mind.

However, Dream would be remiss to not acknowledge the effort that they know Desire put into creating this apology. He can’t let his sibling go without having them know that he appreciates it, and so he calls after them. “Desire!”

They turn on their heels. “Yes?”

“Thank you. I…accept your apology.”

Desire grins brightly and nods, which is how Dream knows they’re thankful for this acceptance. They wave their fingers teasingly before continuing on their path out of Dream’s palace. “Have fun with your present,” they say over their shoulder and promptly disappear.

Dream is finally left alone in his throne room which, at the beginning of the night, was all that he wanted. Now, with the silence only

He knows your name. Not only that, but he knows that you and he are meant to be together. It truly is the greatest gift that anybody could have given him, made more meaningful since it’s Desire who has done this.

There are a number of actual appointments on his docket that he must begrudgingly attend to, even though he wants nothing more than to rush to the Waking and find you. That would be neglectful of his realm, though, and Dream promised himself, back when he believed you to be a threat, that he would not allow you to ruin his realm.

Now, he would gladly ruin his realm if you were to ask him, which is why he’s so determined to see to everything that must be completed. Though it all feels tedious, the tasks do eventually get completed. Dream leaves almost immediately after the last report, delivered by a young dream in the form of a talking dog, is escorted out of the palace.

(Matthew is extremely confused by his boss’s sudden change of attitude. Lucienne, who’s seen this plenty of times before, simply sighs and hopes that he knows what he’s doing this time.)

When Dream arrives outside of a small restaurant, evening has already fallen in the Waking. It’s been less than 24 hours since you first made your way into his palace, a little over 12 since you were jerked back to consciousness and away from him. Truly not long, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s felt like a lifetime to Dream.

Your attention is divided between one of your patrons, telling a story about a mishap at work and embellishing just slightly, and the drinking glasses you’re pulling from a tray and drying clean. Dream can’t help but watch you in your element for a moment, but Dream is not a patient man, and a moment is all that he can afford before he steps up to the bar and across from you.

A smile is already on your face before you turn to look at Dream, a smile that freezes in place when your eyes meet his. Your hands begin to shake, and the glass nearly slips from your grasp before you manage to firmly set it down on the wooden countertop.

The shock is understandable. After all, most dreamers do not expect to see someone in the Waking that they have previously only seen in their dreams. Dream just hopes that it’s a good shock that you’re feeling, and not the one that he fears.

Your smile turns into something smaller, softer, and those fears that Dream held evaporate when you greet him. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“It’s you. You’re real!”

After having spent a few moments trying to figure out what to say next, Dream is amused that this was what you decided on. “Did you think I was not?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it was just a dream.”

“It is never ‘just a dream’.” And today, he is so glad that this statement is true.

You round the bar in order to be on the same side as Dream, and it takes every ounce of restraint in him to not immediately gather you up in his arms and sweep you back to the Dreaming.

“I believe we forgot to properly make each other’s acquaintance last night.”

Gently, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it. By the surprised whimper that gets caught in your throat, Dream assumes that courtship rituals have changed since the last time he attempted a relationship. Interesting, and something that he’ll be sure to ask you about later.

“I am Morpheus, Dream of the Endless. You may call me by either name, dearheart, for either shall sound sweet coming from your lips.”

Though he already knows your name now, he still allows you to introduce yourself to him, if only for the pleasure of getting to see the starstruck way you look at him when he says it as if to confirm that it truly is your name. If there were any residual worries about your passion for each other not translating to the waking, those are promptly wiped away when you throw your arms around Dream’s neck and pull him to you for a kiss.

Truly, this is a new age that Dream is entirely unfamiliar with if kissing in public like this is acceptable. By the sounds of patrons’ applause, it appears that it is. What a strange new world Dream has found himself in. Not that he’s complaining. No, he’ll take victories as they come. As he brings a hand to your chin so that he can tilt your face and kiss you even deeper, he thinks that this is the greatest victory he’s ever had, for this victory has brought him you.

His own dream come true.

Desire of the Endless (again)

Desire’s enjoying their second glass of ambrosia, courtesy of the Greek pantheon, when they catch sight of Death, tight curls bouncing around her head, marching straight for them. They look both ways in the hope that there’s some other being who’s about to receive their sister’s wrath, but unfortunately, it looks as though they’re the target.

“Sister, how wonderful it is to see you tonight,” Desire greets. “Are you thirsty? Let me grab you a refreshment.”

Death simply narrows her eyes in suspicion. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

“What?” Desire holds a hand to their chest. “Me? What would make you say such a thing?”

“Mm, the fact that I’m your older sister and I know what you’re like when you’re up to something. You’ve had that look about you all night, the one that says that you’re just waiting for one of your plans to play out.” She nudges her sibling with her shoulder. “So? Out with it.”

“Fine. I’m in the middle of apologizing to our brother.”

“Oh gods,” Death bemoans.

“Don’t say it like that! This is a good thing!”

“When have you ever apologized to anybody for anything?”

“I apologize to Despair quite often.”

“Because she’s your twin.”

“And I’ll have you know, I also recently apologized to Unity Kincaid.”

Now that gets Death’s attention, as it should. Desire, apologizing to one of their pawns? Death might need to go check and make sure that Hell hasn’t frozen over.

“Alright, then,” Death says. “You do know that apologizing usually involves going up to the other party and saying you’re sorry, right?”

“That comes later. First, Dream gets his apology gift.”

Desire gestures across the room, where you and Dream are currently involved in some sort of contentious stare-down after Dream had come to your aid when you were being forced to dance with anybody wanting a dance. Not the best start to a relationship Desire’s ever seen, but Dream’s always liked a lover that can challenge him.

Death doesn’t see it in the same way as Desire. All she sees is Dream talking to an unknown mortal, one that Desire brought here. Naturally, she gets the wrong idea.

“Oh Desire, you didn’t!” Death scolds. “Have you learned nothing from Alianora, Killala, Nada, or any of the others?”

“This isn’t like that!”

“Really?” Desire nods. “Okay, then tell me what it’s like.”

“I simply brought the mortal here for Dream to find! Those two are doing the rest.”

“And you swear that you have done no meddling to make them have any feelings for each other?”

“Yes, I swear.”

Death continues to glare at her younger sibling, which, okay, Desire supposes that’s fair. Doesn’t mean they have to enjoy the apprehension, though.

“Fine. I swear on my function, as well as the first circle, that I have not manipulated either Dream or the mortal.”

Desire makes sure to swear on the most solemn and binding of things that an Endless can swear on, both so that Death will realize how serious they are and because they know that they’re not telling any sort of a lie.

“All I did was find out whether Dream had a true love, which he does, and then I made sure that the mortal would have an invitation to tonight’s festivities.”

Death nods, satisfied. “How did you find that out?”

“Apparently, even the forces of the universe want Dream to get laid. Destiny let me look in his Book.”

Death lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh, he must have hated that!”

“He gave me exactly thirty seconds before snatching it back.” Desire scoffs. “Not as if I could have done anything to it, considering it’s literally chained to him.”

“It’s like his security blankie!”

A harsh, frankly disconcerting laugh echoes from nearby. While others would simply shrug it off, Death and Desire know exactly who that laugh belongs to. When Death finally fails at trying not to spy, she and Desire both see Dream’s shoulders shaking with laughter. Next to him, you’re sporting a pleased grin from the reaction you’ve been able to elicit. It’s quite the sight, and most try not to look so as not to incur the ire of the Dreamlord. His siblings, however, are exempt from that bit of common sense.

“Aw,” Death coos, her eyes shining as she watches the scene.

Desire knows exactly why their sister has such a reaction. Never, even in the early days of his courtship with Calliope, which was easily the “best” of his relationships, have any of the Endless ever seen Dream smile so freely and openly towards someone. They’ve especially never seen him let his guard down enough to laugh–which is probably a good thing, because the few times Desire’s heard his laugh, it’s left them feeling a little unsettled for a couple hours after.

“So this is simply part one of your apology?” Death asks.

“Yes. I truly am sorry for how I’ve treated him, especially over the last couple of centuries. Dream would have every right to not accept my apology, which is why I’m not just giving him a simple ‘I’m sorry’. Instead, I decided to shorten Dream’s path to finding true love, and both find his true love for him and bring said true love straight to him. A genius plan, truly.”

“You decided?”

Damn their oldest sister for being, well, an oldest sister. “Despair gave me the idea.”

“That sounds more like what I expected.”

Desire’s about to go on a diatribe about how this family only ever sees the worst in them (mainly for the fun of it, not because they actually care), when Death squeals, smacks Desire’s chest, grabs their arm and points back towards the two future lovebirds.

Dream is looking up at the ceiling to try and hide the fact that he’s blushing. His cheeks are a light shade of purple, and you look absolutely besotted by the sight.

“Oh, this is going so much better than I could have hoped,” Desire says as Dream levels his gaze with yours once again, the two of you seemingly challenging each other again on something. If the Book hadn’t told Desire that you and Dream were meant to be, this interaction would surely let them know.

“Shut up!” Death smacks Desire’s chest even more when Dream holds out his hand, which you take, before the two of you begin to sneak off like a couple of teenagers.

“What did I say?” Desire posits triumphantly. “Those two are doing all the work.”

“He’s going to be right pissed when he finds out, you know.”

Desire nods, because they do know. They’re expecting all sorts of threats of bodily harm and promises to break the most sacred rule of the Endless, all so that Desire can finally get their perceived comeuppance. If Desire’s being honest, they deserve that rage that Dream will direct towards them. They just hope that Dream will actually listen to what Desire has to say.

“He’ll get over it once I explain it to him,” Desire says.

“For your sake, I hope so. Won’t be too much of an apology if he doesn’t forgive you because he can’t see the validity of it.”

“He will.” Desire’s sure of it, and they grin at their sister. “Even if he doesn’t today, they can both thank me for my hard work at their wedding.”

Desire has enough tact to keep their triumphant “I told you so” to a smug grin when, barely a year later, they find themself back in the Dreaming for your and Dream’s wedding celebrations.

#dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #morpheus #the sandman imagine #the sandman

395 notes · View notes

babydollmarauders · 1 year

Text

MASTERMIND — TREVOR ZEGRAS

trevor zegras x fem!reader

part of the Midnights Fic List

summary: in which y/n confesses to her boyfriend, Trevor, that she planned the night they met and knew they would end up together.

specific lyrics: “once upon a time, the planets and the fates and all the stars aligned. you and i ended up in the same room, at the same time.” and “what if i told you none of it was accidental and the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me. i laid the groundwork and then just like clockwork, the dominoes cascaded in a line. what if i told you i’m a mastermind? and now you’re mine.”

notes: i feel like all 3 of this weeks midnights fic list works have been so short and i hate that but i also feel like they didn’t need to be long? idk if that makes sense but like, i feel like if they were longer then they would suck and be too much.

**FALL OF 2021**

i don’t want to be here. i was a last minute invite after my sister, Liz, got sick and could no longer make it. her boyfriend, Carson, needed a date, so Liz offered for me to take her place. platonically, of course. so, now i stand next to Carson, in an uncomfortably itchy evening gown. at some charity event for his work, watching as people mill about the ballroom.

“i’m gonna go grab a drink.” he tells me.

he’s gonna leave me alone in a room full of people i don’t know? where i already feel awkward and out of place?

not wanting to seem needy, i just nod, watching as he walks away. heaving out a sigh, i lean my back against the wall behind me and continue my people watching. i look towards the entrance, watching as a group of guys i immediately recognize walk in. i freeze up as i scan the group. as a hockey fan, i would’ve appreciated if Carson had told me that the Anaheim Ducks would be attending. i’m about to let my shoulders slump in relief when i see him. Trevor Zegras. my favorite hockey player and the most gorgeous man i’ve ever seen. he looks up from his phone as he walks and our eyes lock. he throws a half smile my way and then catches up with the rest of his team. he says something to Jamie Drysdale before they break off from their teammates and walk towards the food table.

i tear my gaze away from him and glance toward Carson, who’s locked into a conversation with a coworker at the bar. looking back towards Trevor, i contemplate in my head.

this may be my one chance to charm him.

i’m gonna do it.

i walk over to the food table and saddle up right beside him. grabbing a plate, i then reach for the same strawberry as him at the same time, making our fingers brush.

“oh, so sorry!” i feign surprise, and look up at him. his blue look into mine and he smirks.

“it’s no worries.” he picks up the strawberry, setting it on my plate. “for the beautiful lady.”

i feel the blood rush to my cheeks and i smile back at him.

“thank you, handsome gentleman.” i tease.

“does the beautiful lady have a name?” he asks, turning his body to face me completely and i mimic him.

“i’m y/n.” i introduce, sticking my free hand out for him. he clasps it in his, shaking.

“i’m Trevor.”

**SUMMER OF 2023**

i lay in bed, watching Trevor’s reflection in the mirror through the open bathroom door as he gets ready for the day.

i’m so in love with this man. i need to come clean, because what if he hates me for it and leaves? if i wait any longer, it’ll hurt me more.

“what if i told you that us meeting wasn’t accidental?” i blurt the words out before i can even think about what i’m saying.

“what?” he asks, turning and walking out, back into the bedroom.

“when we met. at the charity.” i clarify, looking down at my hands. “i planned us meeting. i mean, i didn’t know you would be there, but when i saw you, i planned it in my head. i went over and i faked getting that strawberry so our hands would touch and then i faked not knowing who you were. and then it cascaded from there.”

Trevor is silent for too long for my liking and i finally look up. but his reaction isn’t what i was expecting. he’s standing in front of me with a wide smirk on his face.

“i was waiting for you to confess.” he chuckles and my face contorts in confusion.

“what?” i’m so confused. he knew?

“honey, i knew that night.” he tells me.

“you did? how?” i ask, sitting up in the bed.

“i saw you leaning on the wall, remember? it was written across your face that you knew who i was. i’m glad you made the first move though, because i thought you were stunning. still do.” he takes a seat in front of me on the bed. taking my hand in his. “you’re my little mastermind.”

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #anaheim ducks #midnights fic list #faithlynn’s writings <3 #babydollmarauders

495 notes · View notes

futbol16 · 1 year

Text

Me and the Devil • Alexia Putellas

This is my first time trying something like this but I hope you like it! Also, this fic does not follow the exact dates and scores, awards etc as they were in actuality.

Song - Me and the Devil - Soap&Skin

Word count: 2,6k

Early this morning

When you knocked upon my door

The first time Alexia Putellas and Y/N Lavigne - or more commonly known as La Reina and La Sang Bleue - faced each other was in 2015. It was also your first meeting with Spain’s rising star. While it had been well into her international career, it was only the start of yours at age 19. Yet if you were to ask any of the players on the field or the people watching that day, no doubt they’d say you were a natural.

You quite literally shocked the world with your talent, maybe even Alexia.

She hadn’t been paying too much attention as she shook the hands of the French players until a new face appeared in front of her, one she had not seen before. Though she gave herself a second to think about it, waiting to recognize you she eventually came up with nothing and moved past you.

However, your presence was harder to ignore during the game. You were everywhere. While the friendly ended in a 2-2 draw you were causing havoc for the Spanish who struggled to chase you down every time the ball came near you. It was so frustrating that for a split moment Alexia lost her cool and took your legs out.

She expected you to go off on her but you only brushed it off, hopping right back up and continuing to play. It wasn’t a clean tackle either but it looked like the referee hadn’t seen it.

That friendly match marked the beginning of your rivalry, a rivalry that would last years, almost a whole decade.

Early this morning

When you knocked upon my door

It had come as quite a surprise for the brunette when you approached her just a year later after another friendly, a game in which the only goal came from you, a late goal with an assist from Toletti.

You were held tightly in a hug by Wendie Renard, your teammate who had taken you under her wing, literally, when you spotted her. Alexia was hanging near the tunnel talking to Jenni, seemingly closer than before but that didn’t bother you too much as you bounced over to her once Wendie let you go.

Jenni watched in wonder as Alexia simply turned to you when you interrupted their conversation. If it were anyone else the 22 year old would have shown her annoyance clearly. But the beaming smile on your face forced Alexia to give you a gentle look, waiting for you to say what you wanted.

“Can I have your shirt?” you nervously chewed on your bottom lip, no longer having to keep up an image in front of the cameras. You rocked on the balls of your feet at the rather shocked look on her face and glanced at Jenni who was grinning widely.

Hermoso jabbed her elbow into the other’s side subtly, who nodded at you and pulled off her jersey. Once you had thanked her and made small conversation with the two women you bid your goodbyes and headed to your changing room, not wanting to make the team wait for you. Though just before you could turn away a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“Don’t I get your shirt?” Alexia’s sweet voice rang out from behind you and you turned back to her in disbelief.

“You want it?” Jenni nodded next to her, Alexia following along even though with the way she stood slightly in front of the dark haired girl she couldn’t see her movements. It was evident how in sync the two were.

“Of course” with a smile of her own Alexia made you more nervous than when you asked for her jersey and you scramble to pull the material off yourself. She takes it gratefully and with a wave of your hand, you’re off, sprinting down the corridor.

“I have a feeling this won’t be the last time we see her.”

“Jenni obviously, we play against her team a lot” Alexia deadpanned, staring at the older woman who raised her hands in surrender as the two of them started walking towards their own locker room.

“That’s not how I meant it, Ale!”

And I said hello Satan, ah

I believe it is time to go

It didn’t take long for the fans of the football world to start comparing Spain’s number 14 and France’s 11, numbers which were coincidentally switched when you played for your respective clubs.

Every game of yours and Alexia’s was thoroughly analyzed by the fans as they started pointing out each of your best skills and weaknesses. They praised Putellas for her passing ability, her vision and her playmaking ability and leadership while you were praised for your dribbling, goal scoring ability and physical attributes.

Who’s the best women’s footballer, is the question and some commentators choose to analyze the differing physiques and playing styles of the two of you, while part of the debate revolves around your contrasting personalities.

Alexia is often thought to have a more reserved character, humble and even sometimes camera shy.

You were the opposite, loud and making sure to celebrate each of your goals in the best way, and despite praising your team for each game you were still referred to as cocky.

“If you have something to show off, why not?” was your answer to an interviewer who was asking you for a response for the comments about you.

There was not one game you or Alexia played that didn't end with people comparing the two of you, asking who the better footballer was.

Your rivalry with the Barcelona captain was without question the biggest rivalry in the history of women’s football.

Me and the Devil

The 2019 World Cup, it was something everyone was excited about but especially France. The tournament was held in France, the country oh so dear to your heart, much less to the Spanish players.

The knockout stage was a hard fought battle between Spain and France, a long 120 minutes of football and way too many tackles and fouls to count. It was the first match where the hatred the fans thought the two of you had for each other, was actually there.

Both teams were under immense pressure, starving for that win to survive the round of 16 and with a game so important, it came as no surprise when every time the camera panned over to one of the players they were glaring down the opposition.

But a certain camera man seemed to only want footage of you and Alexia resulting in even more rumors surrounding the two of you and the supposed bad blood between you, fueling your rivalry.

With a bit of luck, Spain would say, the final whistle was blown after France took the lead and the Reds were knocked out of the tournament. Truth be told, both teams avoided each other as much as they could, only interacting for the mandatory shake of hands, but again, the focus was on La Sang Bleue and La Reina.

Barcelona captain, Alexia Putellas - still salty from another champion’s league loss - now loses Spain's place in the World Cup

Rival, Y/N Lavigne's French team knocks out Alexia Putellas' Spain in round of 16

Y/N Lavigne blatantly ignores Spanish rival after World Cup match, is she arrogant?

Walkin’ side by side

While the Spaniards took the next plane back home France moved onto the quarter-finals against the Netherlands before winning the final against the United States, another grueling match.

You ended the tournament with a World Cup trophy in one hand and a best player of the tournament award in the other. Still, the first thing you packed in your suitcase before leaving the team’s football center was the red Alexia Putellas jersey.

Yet another jersey you got from the Spaniard herself, Alexia taking your French one home after being knocked out.

And even though she and Spain were still less than happy about the loss, the brunette was amongst the many to congratulate you on your World Cup win.

"I believe they sometimes push each other in competition, which is why the competition is so fierce." your French coach opined in a conference interview. "I don't think their rivalry with one another bothers them. I believe they have a sense of personal pride in wanting to be the best."

Me and the Devil

Champions League, a championship where teams get to prove why they’re still considered the best or where other teams get to show how much they’ve improved, surprising the fans with the unexpected turn of events.

It is a championship Barcelona tries to win every single time, much like any other team but it’s more expected from one of the best clubs of Europe. Unfortunately for the fans and the Barca players, more often than not they’ve failed at winning it.

Each and every single time they reach the quarter-finals, the semi-finals or even the final, the players of Barcelona think; this is it, this could be the year.

But Lyon are best at this, your team has won the championship more times than any other team and it’s often the players in white, your home colors, that snatch the win away from the Blaugrana women.

The number of spectators that show up for the final of the 2021/22 Women’s Champions League comes as no surprise as Barcelona and Lyon face off once again. There’s a mix of colored shirts supporting the teams in the stands but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out which players’ shirts are worn by more fans.

‘Alexia’ and ‘Lavigne’ are the names you could read off every other person’s back, but ‘J. Hermoso’ and ‘Renard’ come in close second and third.

You’re always excited over a Lyon vs Barca match and while your excitement roots purely from the want to play against some of the greatests, Barcelona’s eagerness for the game comes from the hunger for revenge.

It’s a beautiful match, on both sides but Lyon seem to be off to a better start with a 3-1 lead before half time. The Barca girls are itching to at least get an equalizer but the way you’re linking up with your teammates is making it very hard on them. Frustrations are let out on every inch of the pitch resulting in Ellie Carpenter, Lyon’s defender being stretched off the field.

The match ends with both yourself and Alexia scoring another goal but the win is, once again, Lyon's.

Barcelona was disheartened over the loss and Alexia watched with tears in her eyes as your team walked up to the stage. She watched when you lifted the trophy with Lyon your first time in 2018 and the following year, until finally it was her time and Barca won it for the first time in 2020, only to be defeated by Lyon again and watch you lift the Champions League trophy for a fourth time.

Barcelona Femení lose another Champions League, Lyon is just too good

Has this settled the debate - Lavigne over Putellas?

Alexia Putellas, Barcelona’s star player is for sure despising Y/N Lavigne after this one - find out why…

Walkin’ side by side

"It's only the media, the press, who wants us to be at odds, but I've never fought with Y/N."

Alexia had denied such accusations but ultimately it meant very little to the football community, a simple statement wouldn’t change the news and rumors about the now 6 year long rivalry between the two of you.

Fanatics still kept their eyes peeled for any interaction, wanting to prove their theories on the ill feeling between the pair of you.

Except they didn't know that yours and Alexia’s Champions League medals sit next to each other on the shelf of your living room, in the home you share with the woman.

When the news about your transfer came out in the summer of 2022, many were questioning why you were leaving your beloved French club while others were asking where you were going. Supporters of the French club were furious at the news, you had become a club legend after all. But you needed a change of scenery and with everything going on with the national team you wanted to make a move to somewhere new.

The picture that fcb femeni posted just a week after you ended your contract with Lyon has the fans of the football world floored.

Y/N Lavigne to betray Lyon with this shocking move?

Barcelona Femení sign French striker Lavigne, is this the transfer of the decade?

Never would have anyone dared to guess you’d transfer to Barca, but the team welcomed you with open arms despite the many losses they suffered from you previously, some of them even on the international level.

Instantly rumors and speculations are spread regarding what the environment at Barca could be now that you and Alexia would be playing together.

For the first time ever the biggest rivals in women's football are going to be teammates, how will this end?

We wonder how Barcelona's changing room will be after Summer signing of Lyon's star.

All those words and comments are far from the truth though, which shows in the way the two of you link up in games. Your chemistry is unmistakable and an already successful Barcelona team only find themselves being more successful, winning games with astonishing numbers.

But behind the scenes, that chemistry of yours and Alexia’s extends beyond the ‘they know where the other is without having to look up’.

No, your chemistry is far from just teammates, if the soft lingering touches were anything to go by.

And I’m gonna see my man

Until I get satisfied

La Sang Bleue and La Reina’s statistics of the season are very similar and when you land in Paris for the Ballon D’or ceremony, it is evident it would be one of you winning.

“It’s not the kind of rivalry where ‘Oh this player is better or that player is better’. It’s more like a ‘She’s amazing but I gotta admit, she’s good too’.” the commentator spoke during the half time at your last Lyon vs Barcelona clash.

“Like Messi and Ronaldo?” his partner asked, keeping the conversation going for the fans watching from home. She let out a small chuckle at the comparison.

“Yes, like Messi and Ronaldo.”

The only question is, which one of you would be winning your second Ballon D’ors?

Although the fans kept guessing, some even saying that they’d find a way to have you both win it, you know who you want to win.

When Alexia’s name is read from the envelope she’s sure you have the biggest smile on in the crowd as you urge her to walk up to the stage and accept her award. She’s rather stunned by the fact that she’s won it for a second time but as she starts her speech and her gaze stays on one particular person in the crowd of people, she knows you’re the best thing she’s ever won.

You are shocked yourself when you get pulled along with her mother and sister to accompany her on the stage, but any nervousness you had melts away when your eyes connect with hers. There’s a silent conversation the two of you have but Alexia already knows the answer to her question when she recognizes the beaming look in your eyes.

Though to keep it appropriate for the event, the sweet kiss you share isn’t very long but the way you melt into each other is endearing to the ones applauding the two of you and the people watching from home.

‘This hard launch definitely tops Kelley O’Haras World Cup kiss!’

‘Best way to come out!’

‘I guess the hatred has been resolved’

Rivals, Putellas and Lavigne share celebratory kiss at Balon D’or ceremony

Announcement of the year? Barcelona’s stars reveal their relationship at the Gala

See, See, you don’t see why

And you would dog me around

The almost decade long rivalry of Alexia Putellas and Y/N Lavigne ends in the best way possible. Though if people would have been less focused on the possible hatred the two of you might have had for each other, they maybe would have seen the signs way earlier.

Because Alexia might be Barca’s La Reina, but she is your Reina too.

Now you'd only need to find sturdy enough shelves to hold the both of your awards.

#alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #futbol16 #woso x reader

638 notes · View notes

randomshyperson · 1 year

Text

Spring Break - Cheerleader!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Every year during Spring Break, you travel to a camp filled with outdoor competitions. It comes with a bonus of facing your rival from back when the whole thing started, and there's nothing more attractive than Wanda Maximoff kicking your ass in every game. Some might say you let her win just to see her smile, but maybe that's loser talk.

Warnings: (+18), enemies to lovers, so much teasing and bickering, a lot of making out and kissing, bottom!Cheerleader Wanda being a tease, soft first-time smut, semi-public, gays who can't keep their hands off each other, fluff, mild angst when they’re being stubborn, friends being done, high school but summer camp vibes, happy ending i promise. Words: 11.176k

A/N-> I’m back with enemies to lovers (and some smut finally). This fic is quite old, but it was abandoned; after seeing Wednesday and Bianca dueling I regained inspiration for what I was doing in the 5k that was already done. You can thank Netflix for this one. I wasn't sure whether to split it into two parts or not, but I think I have longer fics than this one so I decided to post them all together. If you notice there's a pause, because I wrote it as two different parts, you didn't.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

There was something about pissing you off that made Wanda twitch.

It started so long ago, when you first bumped into each other at Avengers Camp three years ago, and Wanda had the best and most stressful Spring Break since high school began; all because you were there and she was winning.

Now, senior year had arrived, and the annual tradition of joining the spring games for an entire week in the middle of nature at one of the most renowned vacation camps in the United States was going to happen again.

Wanda likes to believe that she was not expecting this. It would actually be absurd to admit that she waited, every year, for the familiar image of your old Danvers cap and your bored expression leaving the bus that brought your schoolmates, but if Wanda would be honest, now sitting in the driveway waiting for their driver to finish unloading the car while she lets her gaze run across the entrance courtyard of the Camp, pretending not to look for someone and yet feeling her whole body warm-up when she recognizes the female figure in the crowd of students from the rival school, Wanda has to admit a few things. First, you grew annoyingly attractive every year. The second, she couldn't wait to beat your ass at every game.

"Man, I can't believe we're competing with the Skrulls again, it's the third year in a row." Her twin's complaint made Wanda blink away, her face half-reddened with fear that she had been caught staring. But Pietro seemed busy enough with his own complaints.

"Well, at least we're winning." Wanda retorted making him laugh.

"Fair point." He said and looked at her. "Speaking of which, do you know what games you'll be competing in this year yet?"

"Um, I think I'll check with the girls first. I don't want to end up alone in swimming like last year." Wanda mutters and Pietro nods in understanding.

Soon the monitors are addressing those who have already arrived, and Wanda loses sight of you - not that she was looking - and busies herself with going to the cabin that would be hers for the next week.

You, on the other hand, lose your bag in a pile.

"God, why does this always happen." You grumble in irritation as you manage to see the handle of your blue suitcase, below a few hundred others.

"Every year, Y/N. And I keep saying, carry your bag on your lap, and you keep ignoring me." Your sister, Carol, comments beside you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes, gently pushing her away. Carol is happy, with her dark, safe suitcase under her arm.

"Stop bugging me and help me." You grumble and she laughs before trying to find a better position for you two to pull your bag together.

With a little effort, you manage to pull your backpack out, and you stumble backward with a grunt - bumping into someone who keeps you from falling to the ground - as Carol pulls your bag out of the pile.

"Yay, teamwork!" She celebrates on the other side, but you are busy turning to thank her who held you up, only to face your best friend with a small smile.

"Bucky!" you greet him excitedly, turning your body to hug him tightly by the neck, and laughing when he spins you in the air.

You met Bucky at camp, and despite going to a rival school, you had enough things in common for the friendship to grow strong even though he was studying and living almost on the other side of the country. Fortunately, Skype and Whatsapp existed, and even as spring ended, you were still friends.

"Hello, my favorite Danvers. " He greets like that only to annoy your sister behind you, who rolls her eyes and chuckles, moving closer to hug him as well as soon as you let go. "How was your trip, girls?"

"Y/N slept the whole way." Carol replies.

"And Carol ate the whole way." You accuse taking your bag from her hand and ignoring the grimace to add, "Oh, no, wait, I made a mistake. She was actually daydreaming about Natasha Romanoff."

"Shut up!" Carol grunted quickly, trying to hit you, a soft pink appearing on her cheeks. You fled from her hands, laughing and running toward the check-in booth where the monitors were calling out names, and Bucky shook his head for interaction watching your sister run after you.

Avengers Camp was huge, and besides the cabins divided up among all the students who stayed there during the vacation seasons, there was a lake, volleyball and tennis courts, an auditorium, and even an arcade.

You were lucky to end up in a cabin with your sister and the other girls in your class - the brilliant Gwen Stacy and Darcy Lewis - who didn't seem too interested in the sports competitions but would surely win any of the scientific tests.

After packing up, all the campers were called to the main cabin, where there were tables scattered throughout the area, where the teenagers were seated ready to enjoy the delicious lunch and listen to the welcome speech.

Nick Fury was the Camp Director and no one could ever tell the real story behind his eye patch, each year new campers came up with new legends that made you laugh - like the story that an alien cat had been responsible for cutting the limb off.

"[...] It gives me great pleasure to welcome the honorary Skrulls from California!" Announced Fury and all the students of your school made a chorus of claps and shouts of celebration, banging on their desks. Fury laughed from his seat in the center of the room, waiting for the commotion to pass before announcing the other school. "And equally welcome, the so-far undefeated champions of the Spring Competitions, the Avengers!"

The rival school made an even better commotion, almost starting a food war. But you were having fun, even though your school had never beaten the Avengers in their home, it was to be expected that they would want to keep their camp as an undefeated venue. Even though last winter during the interclass event, the soccer team lost badly to another school. There was a taunt among the students that if the Avengers played away from home, they would lose. But you and the rest of your school were more interested in proving that you could beat them anywhere, and this was your last chance to be part of it.

As Fury continued with the general announcements - about the rules, and the competitions, concepts that were already very familiar to you after three years - you felt Bucky pull your cap off your head, muttering something about manners that made you laugh.

You were adjusting the tousled strands of hair when Carol gave you a gentle nudge.

"Your majesty will speak now." She sneers and you aren't even confused, knowing full well what this is about before you even raise your eyes to the center of the room again, and feel your stomach do a full turn at seeing Wanda Maximoff step up to the podium with the confidence and posture worthy of a queen.

You met Wanda in first grade, and from the first conflicting interactions, you have an obligation to call her a princess. Because the perfect little girl's posture is too annoying for you not to do so. This, and the fact that her father is a famous politician, and the family is deep in the money, kind of lives up to the nickname. Also, it gives you real amusement to see the pink in her cheeks when you call her that.

And Wanda, of course, is the representative speaker at the games. So every year until she graduates, she announces the competitions and collects the names, as well as basically running the whole thing with the other monitors. It's like Queen Bee and her subjects, and neither you nor any of your friends stop making fun of it.

"I didn't think the Maximoffs were going to come this year." Bucky comments low beside you, as Wanda announces that year's games. And you frown in confusion.

"What, but Wanda has basically been representing this competition forever." You reason, but Bucky shrugs his shoulders.

"I know, but I heard they were going back to their country for college." Bucky retorts. "And you have to admit, while Avengers Camp is fun, it's not worth much here for us to get admission points."

Carol murmurs in agreement. "Man, now I'm pissed they didn’t leave. Imagine a year without having to put up with Little Miss Perfect, a stolen dream." She mocks and you force a laugh, a strange feeling in your stomach. You should be happy at the possibility of not having to put up with Wanda. But it occurs to you that the games wouldn't be as much fun without her.

Clearing your throat, you poke at your food with your fork.

"I think I'll sign up just for racing this year." Bucky comments beside you. "We have Football season, and I don't want to end up accidentally hurting myself before the games."

"But you love wrestling." You say but he shrugs his shoulders, offering you a small smile.

It occurs to you as the announcements end, and students have to move to leave their names for the competitions, that the seniors are not very excited. Probably the stress of college admissions, you can relate to that yourself, still, it's a little sad to see how little participation from classmates your age.

"Danvers sisters, good to have you back for another year." Fury greets you excitedly as soon as you and Carol approach the registration stand - where there is a small crowd of students trying to choose which games they will compete in, and put their names on the prepared murals.

"Hey, Nick!" Carol greets back, doing a handshake that she never taught you with the principal. You merely offer him a smile. "How's the family?"

You took the attention away from your sister as you approached the mural that read Wildness Competitions, adjusting your cap slightly as you did so. There were many options for activities at Avengers Camp, and you usually chose mostly the ones that the public school wouldn't give you access to for the rest of the school year, like Hispism or Fencing, the latter being a secret talent.

"Well, if it isn't the Skrulls’ Golden Armor Knight." A female voice mocked behind you, and you were smiling before you even turned around.

"Maximoff, it's always a displeasure." You retorted sarcastically, your hands in your pockets. Wanda doesn't flinch at your rudeness, tossing her hair to the side as she approaches with some buttons which she as a representative, needs to put on the murals to signal about the teams.

"Having trouble picking your sport this year, Danvers? A suggestion, try to remember that you are going to lose no matter what."

"Really? 'Cause as far as I remember, that shiny trophy up there has my name on it." You retort nodding to where the fencing awards are set in the corner of the main hall. Wanda rolls her eyes. "But don't worry, princess, I'll go easy on you this year."

Wanda lets out a wry laugh, her eyes glittering in defiance.

"I guess it's more the other way around, huh?" She retorts. "Or in case you've forgotten, the highest number of wins is still mine."

Wanda had a point. You could win at Fencing all you wanted - and get the ridiculous nickname of Skrulls’ Golden Armor Knight from the girl just to annoy you - but Wanda still won everything. From archery to fighting to spelling. Never in a million years would you admit that maybe you were losing because you were busier trying not to be distracted by her annoyingly pretty face.

"Let's see how this year turns out." You tell her with clear defiance in your voice, and Wanda smiles, moving closer, and you swallow dryly, your body tensing up. But she is just reaching for something behind you - a jar with other buttons - and offers you an innocent smile.

"Game on, Danvers." She says, grabbing one of the items and placing it in your hands before turning around, hips swaying more than necessary as if she knew exactly where you were going to look, and you choke softly, your face heating up before you shake your head and focus on the badge in your hands. The symbol of your school pinned on it.

–//–

The first day of competitions was a complete success for the Avengers, which means it was complete hell for you.

Unlike basically all the rest of your colleagues who were taking it easy, you almost destroyed a snack machine that refused to deliver your energy drink after you finished in second place for the fourth consecutive activity. If anyone asked, you were annoyed because of the little victorious smile Wanda had on her face all morning, but no one asked, because Carol had to drag you away from the brunette to avoid you jumping on her neck and pulling that little smile off yourself.

"It's so strange to see you like this." Your sister comments as soon as you guys are so back at the cabin, and you flopped down on the bed, grunting irritably against the pillow.

Gwen - who participated in the short race and was still wearing the same uniform as you - handed Carol the small bottle of energy drink that the machine released after you and Wanda got into a heated argument.

"Like what?" you asked confused with your voice muffled by the pillowcase. Your sister laughed.

"So angry." She clarified by sitting down in one of the armchairs to take off her shoes. "I'm the hothead Danvers, you know? You're like, so good vibes all the time."

"I agree, and I don't even hang out with you guys that much." Gwen remarks before moving to grab her shower stuff. You prop yourself up on the bed with a chair.

"What are you trying to tell me?" You ask your sister, and she gives a short chuckle, shrugging.

"Nothing, I just think it's weird." She mumbles. "You're so calm usually, but just walk into the same room as Wanda and you turn into a ticking time bomb. It feels like she has some sort of switch, or as that other saying goes, of the matchstick and the spark-"

"This conversation doesn't make any sense." You interrupt by frowning and standing up. "I am as I have always been, and it's not my fault if Wanda is the most annoying creature on the planet who keeps wanting to beat me at everything. I'll be taking a shower before you come up with any other weird sayings."

The locker room was a complete mess, but at least you were distracted by Gwen's comments about the competition and about the Avengers planning a sleepover to care about.

Since the next competitions were not until the afternoon, you finished your shower and decided to put on a comfortable sweater to spend the next few hours with Bucky at the lake, and were just finishing putting on your socks when giggles attracted your attention.

Well, you recognized the sound, and you had a hundred insults ready to use, but when you turned your face and had the image of Wanda in a towel, they all disappeared with any other coherent thought.

She was laughing at some comment her colleague made, but when her gaze met with yours, her smile faltered.

"Hey, Danvers, nice running today." She complimented, the sentence loaded with sarcasm.

"Yeah, Y/N, congratulations on the silver medal." Wanda's friend, you think her name is Monica, said and unlike the brunette, she seemed completely sincere.

You didn't respond with more than a hum of understanding, suddenly hyperaware that Wanda was without clothes just a few feet away from you. Turning your attention back to your socks, you cleared your throat softly, trying to keep your gaze in front of you.

Wanda took up a locker three feet away from yours. You could see her figure out of the corner of your eye. Long legs exposed and-"

You cleared your throat again, shaking your head quietly.

"Are you going to watch the boys' race, Y/N?" It was Monica who asked - from the locker behind yours - and you frowned slightly.

"Hmm, I'm not sure." You muttered, feeling your face heat up when you saw Wanda take her underwear out of the cabinet. " I don't really have anyone to watch there."

"Really? But I thought you and that long-haired cutie were going out." Monica comments excitedly, and you turn your head to her with confusion. "What's his name again? Ben?"

"Bucky." You correct and don't notice the way Wanda is glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, pretending to be busy with her own clothes. "And we're not dating, he's just my friend. Besides, he decided not to run."

Monica makes a noise of agreement, and you look away because she is suddenly changing and you don't want to be disrespectful.

"We'll watch Pietro race, but I'd honestly rather hang out at the arcade." Monica continues. "We can play something after the race, can you call your sister to join us?"

"Sure, Monica." You mutter finishing your shoes. You stand, and turn around, ready to say goodbye, but you face Wanda without a towel and simply freeze.

She, despite the soft pink appearing on her cheeks, holds your gaze, a small smile threatening to leave her lips as she works to put on her bra. You let your gaze lower, your heart racing in your ears as the image of full breasts and down to her belly and-"

"O-kay, I'll see you later." You gasp with a very hot face, stumbling off the bench and running so fast from the locker room that you leave Monica with a confused expression.

"What was that?" She asks, and Gwen, who you didn't even remember to say goodbye to, shrugs her shoulders.

"I think she may be trying to avoid arguments." She suggests, and the comment makes Wanda sigh softly as she finishes dressing. "Speaking of which, Maximoff, any chance you'll go easy on Y/N? She gets stressed when she loses to you."

Wanda chuckles. " Not a chance."

–//–

One of the afternoon competitions, besides the boys' race, was archery. Which meant watching Kate Bishop, a girl from the year before yours, destroy all the older students. Her coach, Clint Barton, kept smiling proudly with each completed trial, and you overheard some students from the Avengers saying how he was sure to write a letter of recommendation there when the time came for Kate to enter the university.

However, this year you were distracted. Bucky and Carol were sitting next to you, clapping and whistling for Kate along with her friends - Yelena Belova, who was coincidentally the sister of your sister's long-time crush, Natasha Romanoff, and Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, the latter two being on the soccer team with Bucky.

While everyone was impressed by the long-range targets, you were trying to keep the image of Wanda out of your head. The problem was that ever since you saw her without a towel in the locker room, the curve of her waist, and of her breasts seemed to have stuck.

"Are you okay?" Bucky's voice snapped you out of your fantasy. "Your face is red."

"I'm fine." You mumble grudgingly, stretching out your legs and letting your cap cover your eyes. "I'm just resting my eyes."

"Kate just hit a target in the sky." He comments. " It was pretty incredible."

"I bet it was." You merely reply, the image of something far more interesting in your head. Bucky makes a confused face but doesn't insist.

When the next contestant was announced, you grunted softly and started to get up, muttering that you were feeling queasy and were going to get some air. The ironic comment about you being outside already made by Carol was ignored.

You ended up in the back of one of the huts, and as you leaned your back against the wood, you took a deep breath.

Stop thinking about her. Stop thinking-

"Victory is already ours but you didn't have to skip the game." The teasing made you flinch. On any other day, before what happened in the locker room at least, any comment from Wanda would have been rebutted with an equally sarcastic one. But the image of her naked torso was still fresh in your mind, insistent, and you just wanted to be left alone.

"Fuck off, Maximoff." Aggressiveness failed in your tone, as your voice faltered hoarsely over your thoughts. You didn't have time to fix your mistake - Wanda was already mockingly chuckling, slow steps toward you.

"You know, I've been practically fencing back home. I even have a private tutor now." She informs you, to which you just roll your eyes without patience, trying to look at everything but the girl in front of you. "Maybe it's time for that trophy to stamp another name."

You chuckled dryly, stealing a glance at her. "In your dreams."

"No, I'll just kick your ass in reality." She assures you finally close enough. "It'll be too easy, you're all distracted this year..."

Your breath hitched in your throat as Wanda simply began to move closer, eyes intense and provocative as her tone of voice. You stared at her in shock at the magnetic tension between you, wondering if she would have the courage to break the distance as you wished to do. Wait, since when did you-

"Maximoff, Danvers." The voice of one of the monitors broke the momentum completely and made you both jump in fright, away from each other as if you had been burned. "The game is still going on. What are you two doing alone here? I hope it's not another fight-"

"No, sir-"

"Go mind your own business, Logan." You cut off the apologies of the good girl next to you, practically pushing her out of your way as you moved away from the cabin wall. The monitor grimaced at the hostility, but you knew him long enough to know you wouldn't have a problem. Logan was like an older sibling, and you didn't need another in this position. "We were just talking, or rather, Maximoff was bugging me, as usual."

Wanda snorted angrily, but Logan rolled his eyes impatiently at the whole thing. "Back to the game, girls." He ordered, ignoring your grumbling that you were already walking anyway and waiting for Wanda to do the same.

She followed you back to the bow field - Surprisingly quiet. You were too busy trying not to think about her to notice, and at some point, you both took completely opposite directions, drifting apart in the crowd of students.

Carol, however, noticed you coming, and as soon as you were seated again, she looked at you with a frown.

"What were you and Wanda doing?"

The question startled you as if your sister had been able to read your last thoughts. You grimaced immediately, knowing that your face was blushing.

"What? Nothing." You assured quickly, irritation in your voice. "We just bumped into each other in the entryway."

Carol didn't buy the lie judging by the look on her face, but she didn't have time to question - Kate won the event undefeated, and a crowd of clapping and celebrations erupted in the open field.

With the last match of the day, and having won the vast majority of the challenges, the Avengers were happy enough for a Victory party - Which was nonetheless a direct tease to the Skrulls, who by some miraculous luck, if manage to win all the next day's matches, could win the tournament. In this way, the crowd took the celebration back to the camp's main campfire, where the staff arranged dining tables and benches for the first outdoor meal of the holidays.

Alcohol was obviously not allowed, and that never stopped campers from smuggling it between disguised water bottles.

As one of the athletes for tomorrow's competitions, you decided to stay away from alcohol - quite unlike your sister, who took advantage of vodka shots to build up the courage to talk to Natasha Romanoff.

You were watching her awkward attempts from a safe distance with Bucky beside you, laughing softly when the boy announced that he was also going to try his luck with the one he liked tonight.

The thing was, Bucky didn't like anyone - As far as you knew. So the information caught you by surprise.

"Wait. What?"

But he chuckled, waving to a front with his glass, and you frowned trying to find the person. It took you a moment to realize that it was Sam Wilson, Co-Captain of the American Football Team. Avenger.

"Wow, he's..."

"An avenger, I know."

You chuckle, hiding your smile as you look down at your soda glass. "I was going to say handsome."

Bucky was blushing. You gave him the privacy to keep your gaze on Sam, knowing it would get worse if you stared at your friend.

"Fuck, yeah, I know." He gasped softly making you laugh.

"When did this happen?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, back at school?" He starts half uncertain. "We played together and he started to follow me on Instagram. One day, just playing conversation and even insults until it turned into a habit..." He jokes with a short laugh. "We came back here and it made sense. You know?"

You giggle at your friend's nervousness and clumsiness, finding the whole thing kind of adorable. "Yeah, I guess so." You say. "Go ahead, talk to him."

He sighs, deciding to turn his glass all at once before waving at you and heading off to talk to Sam Wilson.

Alone, you think about joining some colleagues closer to the fire, but nearby laughter catches your attention.

There is something about Wanda Maximoff's beauty that takes your breath away. And it's not fair that it seems to grow in the dim light of the moon and the stars. And Wanda, surrounded by her friends, laughing at something she has been told, with soft dimples in her cheeks, it is even more unfair the way the image makes your stomach turn nervously.

Has she always been beautiful like this, since her first win, and you were too busy with the game to notice? Or somehow, the school has changed you enough in the last year to notice that although Wanda was the most insufferable person you knew, she needs to be recognized as the most beautiful girl you have ever seen.

And then, if you think about it as you notice her not minding having her moment with her friends interrupted to help a freshman camper who seems lost as to where their cabin is, you'll realize that Wanda, when she's not competing with you and testing all your buttons, is not so insufferable. You will notice that she has always been kind and thoughtful and that people don't make her the leader of everything because she is rich or beautiful, but because she is the best at organizing games, and guiding people. And if you think about it, you will recognize that Wanda is just as tired as you are at the races, sweaty and breathless, and just as bright and hard-working at everything.

You suddenly think that Wanda deserved to win for the first time, as you have never acknowledged before. She must really be much brighter than you, because she surely wouldn't have taken all this time to realize what she was feeling.

Did it occur to you, so many years after you first laid eyes on her, that now you were really seeing her. There, near the campfire, accepting some more soda, so, so gorgeous.

'Fuck." You gasped in realization under your breath into the night, feeling something burn behind your eyes.

Wanda, as if she could guess, even sense the moment you pined for her attention, looked away for her friends until she met your gaze. She hesitated before assuming the same expression as always - Ready to torment you - but this time, you looked on the verge of tears when you stared back.

The second she noticed, she frowned in concern, all the masked arrogance falling from her face. But you didn't give her any time to react, you left your glass on the first table you could find and practically ran away from there. From her.

And of course, Wanda would be stubborn and insistent enough to follow you. Not daring to call your name on the way as if she guessed that you were going to run until you disappeared, or worse, turn to her and tell her to mind her own business.

When you walked inside the fencing hall, empty of course, she let her head work without thinking straight about what she was accusing you of.

You barely reached the sword cabinet when she walked in through the ajar door.

"I should have known you would try to cheat." She sneered convinced that she had caught you in the act. You froze, not for the reasons she imagines, your hands still on the closet lock. "That's sad, even for you, Danvers."

"Shut up."

She chuckled wickedly, crossing her arms as she stopped a little behind you. "Come on, if you admit it, I might consider not reporting you to the juries."

It was your turn to chuckle - Unlike her, almost tearfully. Wanda hesitated, confused, even more so when you turned to her, and your face had tears dried on the way there on your cheeks.

"Get out of here before I do something stupid."

But Wanda uncrossed her arms, concern on her face. "I've never seen you cry before."

"Wanda, I swear to god-"

"Not even when you broke your arm back in the first year." She recalls as she takes a step forward, and another, raising one of her hands toward your face slowly. You know you should move away, push her before she could realize how much you were trembling, how hot your skin was, but you couldn't move a muscle it. Wanda touched your cheek and you gasped, unable to keep your eyes open. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

It was so tender, so loving that your heart jumped in your chest. You almost sobbed, but instead, your emotions mixed and you raised your hand to her wrist, gripping hard but not pushing away, your angry eyes hiding insecurity that Wanda could only see because she knew you well enough, perhaps better than anyone else, even if neither of you had ever admitted this.

"Why do you care?" That's what you retorted, and it took her by surprise because Wanda didn't expect to have to answer that question. Not to her father, when she insisted that she was going back to Camp this year and he demanded a reason, nor to Pietro who questioned her why she still kept the brooch with the Danvers name on it that you lost to her in a card game in sophomore year. And even less to you, with tears in your eyes inside the hall of the only game she could never win. Her hesitation made you let go of her wrist, a tired sigh leaving your lips. "You don't. I...please, Wanda, just leave me alone."

You scared her. You looked so small, so insecure and uncertain, vulnerable. You? Never in a million years had you allowed Wanda to see you like this. She didn't know how to cope with it.

Your footsteps moved away, and by your breath, you were crying. She came closer but lost the courage to break your privacy. Her mind filled with anxiety - It didn't matter how long you had known each other. You were rivals, nothing more than that. Wanda had no right to invade your space.

"Go away." You insisted seriously with a voice hoarse with emotion and Wanda shuddered. It was different from the anger of losing - It was almost as if she had stabbed you in the back. Or had hurt you.

She swallowed dryly, and before you could repeat the order, she spoke:

"If I win tomorrow, you will tell me what happened."

The deal hangs in the air for a few moments, carrying the tension between the two of you. Wanda almost decides to leave without an answer when you sigh.

"What if I win?"

She smiles even though you can't see it. "You can pick your prize." She says and doesn't wait for you to think about it, clearing her throat before murmuring goodnight and leaving the hall.

You walk away to the trophy cabinet again and stare at one of the photographs of last year's Fencing team. You and Wanda are in it, in opposite positions. And for the first time in three years, you wish she were standing right next to you.

–//–

Sleep puts some sense into your head.

You were practically mortified with shame after thinking about the whole interaction with Wanda the night before, imagining that it now gave her enough power to somehow humiliate you and then hating that you thought that way of Wanda, who despite the rivalries, didn't seem the sort of person who would use a moment like that to mock you in the least.

So you had a foolproof plan the next morning: You would win fencing, and ask Wanda to stay away from you for the rest of the summer as your prize, succinctly hiding any unwanted feelings until it was time to leave Camp so that you would never have to see Wanda Maximoff again.

You think you were lucky this whole thing was happening in the last year.

The next day of competitions seemed to have been more aggressive than the previous one. To your complete happiness, the Avengers were irresponsible enough about the previous day's party to get careless.

The Skrull won the day's activities - Tight, you have to admit - but still champions. It wasn't all of them, unfortunately, but it would put both teams through to the final day of matches the next afternoon.

Fencing was one of the last competitions.

You managed to avoid Wanda and her worried glances all morning, and consequently, your friends and sister, who noticed the lack of fighting between you.

The fencing hall was considerably full when you arrived. Although most people didn't share much interest in the sport, everyone enjoyed watching you and Wanda compete.

She was already in uniform when you arrived, and you ignored with a tightness in your chest her attempt to search in your face for any discomfort from the previous night.

"You're late, Danvers." Professor Jacques Duquesne warned, also in uniform and with a sword at his waist. You sighed wearily, taking off your jacket to put on your uniform.

"Sorry, I... I didn't want to come." You muttered quietly, and the man frowned in confusion.

"What was that?" he asked without having heard, but you forced a smile.

"Nothing. Shall we get started?"

The spectators arranged themselves around you just as the teams were getting into position to compete. As Captains, you and Wanda were the last.

Your team won most of the duels, which on any other occasion would have cheered you up infinitely. But not today, because you spent most of the competition stealing glances at Wanda, who did the same, unsure of whether or not to approach you.

You had to face the champions of her team, as did Wanda with yours, and so when you finally went to face each other, you shared the slightly breathless but undefeated posture.

Wanda removed her protective helmet to drink water, and her slightly ruffled hair and rosy cheeks made your heart soar.

Somehow, you decided that teasing her was a better idea than complimenting her on how pretty she looked.

"Hey Maximoff, did Daddy pay for private lessons for the rest of your team as well?"

Your team laughed at the joke, but Wanda finished a long sip of the water leisurely, staring at you long enough to make you feel completely clumsy.

As soon as she returned the bottle to the table, she stared at you again.

"Are you really going to pretend nothing happened yesterday, Danvers?"

Everyone who was paying attention to the conversation whispered in curiosity, and your body froze. Wanda didn't seem to mind the audience one bit, but you huffed impatiently when Carol asked what she was talking about.

Without answering either of them, you turned your back and walked to the mat, waiting for the competition to begin.

As it turns out, teasing and ignoring Wanda seemed to have infuriated her. The hall filled with tension once the last duel began, and you, and all your confidence as an undefeated champion faltered when Wanda became a beast in the sport overnight.

She scored two points in a row, moving so quickly and masterfully that if you didn't have a reputation to uphold you would have congratulated her.

"It looks like we're going to have a new champion this year." Mr.Duquesne commented proudly and teasingly, receiving a chorus of soft celebration from the Avengers present.

You've had enough.

She tried hard to maintain a defensive position, but you scored within seconds of the announcement that the round had begun.

With the tip of the sword still on her chest, you teased:

"I guess we can't buy talent after all."

Wanda grunted angrily, without waiting for the next round to be announced, spun the sword striking yours, and resumed the duel. You fought back every blow with the mastery of a champion, but Wanda didn't back down once.

"What's the matter, Maximoff, can't get me?" You sneered between one defense and another, irritating her even more. When it looked like she was going to hit you, you spun your body around and hit her in the arm.

The audience, completely tense, split between boos and cheers of celebration. The teacher laughed impressed.

"It's a draw." He said. "Girls, get back to-"

But Wanda attacked you - For a microsecond, you managed to react in time and prevent her from scoring.

She seemed a lot angrier all of a sudden, and you kept up the defense, waiting for a gap that apparently she wasn't going to provide.

Long steps backward to avoid the sword in your direction, in an albeit hurried, fully coordinated dance, Wanda managed to take the fight to the outside.

The crowd got excited and drowned out Mr.Duquesne's protests about rules, the whole group following you and Wanda outside. Any campers who had previously been uninterested in watching the match took an immediate interest in the fight taking place, and it wasn't long before there was a large number of people in an open circle around the huts, trying to watch.

In one of the deflections, you had to do a somersault between two haystacks to dodge a blow that was impossible to block, stealing certain victory from the girl behind you, who grunted in annoyance.

In the motion, you knocked the helmet off your head.

"Going to play dirty then, Maximoff? Fine." You gasped equally affected at the girl who had paused her attacks. "It's our last year, let's make it count."

Wanda removed her helmet as well, her sword still raised for any attempted attacks. "I'm listening, Danvers." She returns between teeth, and you have to smile.

"I invoke a military challenge." You announce then, surprising her for only half a second. "No masks, no tips." You continue, the audience getting excited. "First one to draw blood wins. I might give you a nice scar to remind you who defeated you."

Some Skrulls laugh, but Wanda is not intimidated. She throws her helmet away and raises her chin in your direction.

"What about our deal?"

You swallow dryly, but try to disguise it. "Still standing."

A glimmer of a smile forms on Wanda's lips, and she has the nobility to wait for you to nod before attacking next time.

It's suddenly much harder to fight Wanda. You blame these stupid feelings on your chest because once you realize that if you hit her, you're going to hurt her, you just can't do it.

Wanda doesn't seem to have much of a problem with that, because she attacks you with fervor. You think you might lose, because of the way she starts cornering you, and no chance for you to do another flip, so you despair. If you lose, you'll have to confess why you were crying, and that's unacceptable.

She throws a low, clean hit, but you jump. Before Wanda can get ready for the next one, you grab her waist and pull her to you.

The protest about the rules is muffled in your ears as your lips crash against hers. Wanda gasps, closing her eyes and dropping her sword to the ground at the same second the entire audience goes completely silent, shocked.

It's good, no, it's incredible. As breathtakingly overwhelming as you imagined kissing Wanda Maximoff would feel. She gasps against your lips, pressing back, and your chest screams.

The audience vibrates and you wake up, realizing what you had just done.

You let go of Wanda with a long step away from her, who opens her eyes at the same moment, her breathing now affected for a completely different reason. She looks at you dumbfounded.

"W-what are you-" She tries as she steps forward, her hand raised towards your wrist, but you flinch. You raise your sword, and with one clean strike, hit her palm.

The cut is small, but it makes her grunt in pain and surprise. You feel like you might start crying again, but you declare in a hoarse voice:

"I won."

Wanda's eyes fill with tears, but you assume they are tears of rage by the way she begins to shout angrily in the teacher's direction, saying that you had cheated while trying to be heard as the audience begins to shout your name and spread out in celebration.

Duquesne is equally in shock and mutters that technically there isn't a rule about kissing your opponent.

They lift you into the air, with the trophy, but when you capture Wanda's head-down posture and the completely hurt look she gives you before turning away, you don't feel like you've won anything.

–//–

With an injury, Wanda was out of all the upcoming competitions, which were sure to count in the Skrulls' favor.

Your school couldn't be happier, and you couldn't be more miserable.

Wanda was walking around the camp with her hand bandaged and you just wanted to get away from the people who kept congratulating you on the duel.

There was also the matter of the angry stares from the other Avengers, especially your opponent's twin, which only made you feel like the worst person in the world.

When night came, and a few groups decided to set up card tables from poker to blackjack, you slipped outside to breathe properly.

The universe was surely testing you when you met Wanda across the door, and to add to your misfortune, she wasn't alone.

Some stupid guy was cornering her against the wall of one of the booths - clearly flirting by whispering things in her ear that made her giggle shyly.

With your jaw locked, you approached them in hard steps.

"Hey, Maximoff, I want to talk to you." You announced impatiently, feeling your chest burn with the scene in front of you.

She flinched at your sudden arrival, but the boy let out a short laugh.

"We're already in a conversation, cheater." He sneered, his hand on the wall coming down to Wanda's shoulders. "Why don't you go back to your cabin?"

"Listen here asshole-"

But Wanda sighed impatiently, pulling the boy's arm off her with a shove. "Fuck off you two, my day was bad enough to deal with this now."

She stormed off annoyed without caring, and you huffed impatiently. When the boy made mention of following her, you stepped in front of him, receiving a wry laugh.

"Back off, Danvers." He warned. "You may be a girl, but if you piss me off I'll break your face."

The kick to the ball made him bend his knees, grunting in pain. You didn't let him fall, holding him by the shoulders to mock against his ear:

"It's more the other way, don't you think?" He couldn't answer, still shaking from the blow. You pushed him away, and he fell to the ground, holding his front. "Stay away from her, she's mine."

Despite the pain, he gasped in confusion, "I thought you two hated each other, you maniac!"

Without bothering to respond, you headed off in the direction the girl had left.

Wanda was clearly not in the mood for conversation, but you had to chuckle as you realized where she was going - or practically running at hard paces.

The fencing hall was empty of course. Even the Professor had joined the rest of the staff for the day's celebrations, and so you followed Wanda without any concern.

"I don't want to talk to you, Danvers." She warned between teeth still on her back, hearing your breaths panting from the rush of having to catch up with her. You chuckle humourlessly, closing the door behind you.

"But you got time for some idiot to flirt with you?" your retort came out so bitter - so jealous - that Wanda turned her face to you with a frown in complete confusion.

"How is that your problem?" She demanded but you shrugged relaxedly. The lack of an answer only irritated her more. "I've had enough of you for today don't you think? Leave me alone."

You snickered taking a step forward that made her lock her jaw.

"Come on, what's this?" You teased. "One defeat and you get tired of all? Don't you even want to try a rematch?"

It was Wanda's turn to chuckle, the tension growing between the two of you with every second.

"So you can cheat again? Hard pass."

You smiled, raising your hands in the air as a sign of surrender.

"I don't need to cheat, Maximoff." You retorted. "Everyone, including you and I, knows I'm the best." You declare receiving a snort and a roll of the eyes. But you continue to smile, not losing your confidence. "In fact, I bet I can beat you even without a sword."

Wanda shook her head. "You know what, Danvers? You must have had a few beers, huh?" She deduced, motioning to the sword cabinet and continuing to speak without giving you a chance to deny it. "Any other day, I'd tell you to fuck off and leave me alone. But you were a brat today, that whole scene and whatever manipulation you were trying to pull off with the crying and then the kissing..."

You hesitate, losing your posture completely. "Wanda, I wasn't-"

But she chuckles, interrupting you. "Whatever it is, let's put an end to it." She says seriously, arming herself with one of the swords. "You got what you wanted. Me, out of all competitions because of this stupid injury and your team winning tomorrow. Yep, I admit it. Everyone knows you guys are going to win baseball, it's your school's specialty, and there's no reason to deny it. But let's be honest about today: you cheated. And I want you to acknowledge that I would have won."

You sigh, deciding to put an end to those games with each other, as Wanda wanted. But not in the way she expects.

Shrugging, you gesture with open arms. "I'm really sorry, Wanda." You say in a false tone of regret. "I'm sorry you're such a bad loser."

Wanda grunted in irritation, and in the blink of an eye, spun the sword around - Hitting your open hand and mirroring your bruises. You gasped in pain, taking a step backward.

"What the hell-"

But your shock was short-lived, Wanda moved and you reacted. Without a sword, your only option was to dodge and that was the hardest task.

"Just admit it, Danvers!" Wanda demanded between one blow and another, growing breathless as the movements went on. "I am. Better.Than. You." Each word was punctuated with an attempt to hit you - Not really to hurt but to lean in and mark.

She finally hit you for the second time when she trapped you between one cupboard and another. You protested in irritation at the gentle burning on your thigh.

"You little shit." You cursed low as you dodged her last. Wanda smiled in satisfaction.

Somehow, you managed to get around her after a miscalculated blow that pinned her sword to a cushion. Wanda got busy trying to pull the item out and gave you enough time to jump on her.

Her healthy hand tried to pull the sword out to hit you but you kicked the handle, and the item flew to the ground. Wanda protested breathlessly, trying to struggle away, but you pressed her against the wall of the room by the waist.

Faces flushed from the exertion and proximity, she looked at you with a fury in her eyes that didn't just look like anger.

"Fuck off, Danvers, let me go!" She demanded clearly affected, her fists closed against your shoulders. You weren't thinking straight - Since when did Wanda look so beautiful when she was pissed off? - She tried to throw punches but you grabbed her fists, holding them tightly against you. "You just can't help it, can you? You know you can't beat me and you just keep cheating!"

"Yeah, I can't help it." You pant, letting your gaze fall to her mouth. Her breathing hitches and when you start to lean in, Wanda gasps, stopping struggling.

"Don't." She asks in a whisper, and you stop leaning in the same instant, worried eyes scanning her face. Wanda's fill with tears. "I can't take it... if it's just a game... if you don't mean it."

Your heart races in your chest, threads of hope burning outwards.

You stare into her eyes, trying to read everything she hasn't explained. "You... You want me to mean it?"

Wanda sighs incredulously, tired.

"I've been waiting for you to notice me for three years, Danvers."

"W-what?"

Wanda looks away, despite her rosy cheeks like your own, she looks sad.

"I'm just tired of all this cat and mouse between us." She continues. "Trying to capture your attention for the few days we have together each year. You've never seen me that way, and I just don't have it in me to keep trying to get you to notice me." She declares with a sigh. "Let me go, okay? It's our last year, you'll never see me again after this spring, it doesn't have to be weird on our last days. We can do a truce, and be mature about-"

Instead of letting her finish her completely meaningless monologue for feelings that Wanda has no idea are much reciprocated, you just kiss her. Though abrupt, your lips are soft on hers. She shudders, first surprised and then affected, ready to reciprocate when you loosen her.

"I notice you, Wanda." You confess in a husky voice and short breath. "Every damn day of this camp, from the first moment I saw you. I noticed you, and I liked you. So much, it infuriated me. All I could think about was you and your face and your jokes and every little smile of victory. I never hated you, Wanda, I just hated how much I cared about you."

She gasps softly, trying to believe the confessions. "B-but you never said anything..."

"Neither did you." You retort with a small smile. "We just competed. Yelling at each other, trying to... just put it out, never saying the right words. Well, I'll do the honors, I guess. Wanda, I like you. I'm in love with you. The whole puppy love, to the moon and back, lovey-dovey, carry a torch for-"

Wanda interrupts your sweet teasing with a soft, emotional giggle. "Shut up, you idiot." She says, pulling you by the collar of the blouse to kiss you again. Slower than the other time, bringing delicious shivers to your entire body. She breaks away only to say she feels the same way.

Then you just kiss her again, just to make sure. It's easy to get addicted to the feeling of her lips on yours until her tongue slides over and starts to get too hot all around. The sound of lips slapping together mingles with affected gasps until the pace picks up and all the accumulated lust from so long of rivalry burns between you.

Wanda grows impatient - Her mouth firmly pressed to yours distracts you from where her hands are moving. You grunt affected as she scratches under your shirt, your back, and your torso, trying to pull you over her.

You press your hips together to keep her against the wall pulling out an affected whimper that makes you shiver - But surrendered to the urge, you forget about recent events and press your open palm to the wall for support. The pain is immediate and makes you break the kiss with a yelp.

Wanda opens her eyes worriedly, trying to push all the arousal away. "What's wrong?" She asks, but you're already bringing your bruised hand to chest height.

"I forgot about it." You mumble, trying to squeeze your hand to make the pain go away. Wanda bites back a smile.

"Karma's a bitch, huh?" she teases, getting a short laugh out of you. Your instinct is to kiss her again at the same intensity as before, but Wanda doesn't let you, breaking the session the next moment. "Easy tiger."

A little breathless and definitely missing kissing her, you ask, "Don't you want it anymore?"

She licks her lips, looking away to try and gain some rationality again. "I don't think you'll be able to do much with a bruised hand, huh?" It's clearly a joke, but you're too turned on to catch it.

"Well, I have another one, and my mouth..." Wanda stares at you in stunned shock, her face burning and her eyes darkening a little. You grunt in shame, hiding your face in her collarbone. "Shit, you didn't mean it."

She giggles awkwardly, wrapping her arms around your waist. "You need a bandage, baby. We'll have time for this later."

You raise your gaze to her again, and Wanda stares at you doubtfully from your expression. "I like it when you call me that."

She smiles, teasing and loving at the same time. "Better than shithead, I suppose."

"They both have their charm, I guess." You joke back managing to make her laugh before stealing a few more kisses.

All the way to the infirmary, all you can think about is how happy you are - And how your friends are going to adjust to the new dynamic.

–//–

Falling into a routine with Wanda was as easy as falling for her.

The familiar teasing didn't end - In a way, it got infinitely better, because, after each little bickering, you and Wanda made up with lots of kisses.

The most absurd thing was your sister's reaction. No surprise at all.

"I mean, everyone saw you two kissing." She retorted unimpressed, continuing to eat her breakfast as if you hadn't spent the previous day preparing the best way to tell. You huffed indignantly, but Wanda sighed, giving you a pat on the back before going to sit down. The same reaction for your friends, who seemed even somewhat reassured that now they wouldn't have to endure the arguing.

As for the rest of the people, well, everyone else had their own lives to take care of to give a damn about what Wanda and you have been up to.

With the baseball game approaching and the end of Spring Break, there was an understanding between you and Wanda that your time together was coming to an end. You didn't want to talk about it - to avoid creating impossible expectations if you considered the distance between California and New York and the hurt of an inevitable goodbye.

For now, you and Wanda were enjoying as much time together as possible, and that included escaping the game to make out before and between breaks.

Wanda giggled affectedly at the tickling your fingers did next to her hips, an attempt to make her relax to what was about to happen between you since the first kisses began. The question hung in the air and the way your breaths were uncompressed and your clothes crumpled.

"They'll start looking for us at some point..." Wanda recalled, the noise of the game resuming in the background, muffled by the closed doors of the empty locker room where you two were hiding. Despite the warning, her hands were entwined behind your neck, and her legs tight around your waist. The cheer skirt pulled up by your hands on her thighs.

You hum in understanding, distracted by the soft skin of her collarbone. You traced a path down to the valley of her covered breasts and Wanda shuddered, moaning in anticipation.

But as soon as your hands reached under her skirt, fingers playing with the fabric of her panties, Wanda tensed anxiously, biting her lips as she sought your gaze.

"Is everything okay?" You asked immediately, stopping your movements and staring back at her. "Do you want me to continue...?"

Wanda let out a broken breath, the look full of anxiety made you frown. You were ready to assure her it was okay if she refused when she replied:

"I want to but... I've never done it before." She confesses in a small whisper, and your heart skips a beat. "And also, I had to talk to my friends about this, and they told me it would be special because we like each other but I just kept thinking that it's going to happen and it will be amazing and when you leave, I'll never be able to do it again without remembering you and I'll be missing you back home..."

"Hey, breathe." You interrupted her anxious babbling with a small chuckle, moving your hands to her face, and squeezing her cheeks for a moment. "God, you're so beautiful." You murmured staring at her adoringly. Wanda blushed, looking away, "Hey, look at me, sweetheart. You want to talk about leaving?"

She swallowed dryly, nodding. "I'm sorry." She mumbles immediately. "I know we kind of agreed not to talk about it, but... fuck, I really like you. If I, you know... have sex with you, I'm just sure I'll fall harder. And I don't know if I want to go through the pain of losing you in a few days."

You swallowed dryly, caressing her cheeks as you absorbed her words. Wanda was even more nervous at your silence.

"Say something, please."

You smiled, staring at her. "I'm sorry, I just... I really am in love with you, Wanda." You confessed tenderly, making her blush. "Sex or no sex, I really am. And saying goodbye to you will hurt."

Wanda nods sadly before hugging you. "Yeah, I know." When she sniffles softly, you kiss her neck to calm her, until her breathing stabilizes again and Wanda releases you to kiss you gently, once and twice, until it starts to get hot again and she sighs against your lips, her trembling fingers groping your body unhurriedly as if she wants to memorize.

"Baby..." She called softly against your lips, her hands moving up into your blouse and making you shudder. "I want to make love to you." She whispered taking all the air out of your lungs. "Give me something to remember you by."

Despite the nervousness and excitement, you managed to tease as your hands retraced their way under her skirt. "What, the matching scars aren't enough for you, darling?"

Wanda lets out an affected giggle at the proximity to your joke about the healed bruises on your hands, but the sound turns to a deep sigh when her panties slip down her legs. You maintain eye contact with her, pulling the item down until you take it off by her ankles. Wanda bites her lip hard as she sees you on your knees, moving up your way again with kisses on her legs.

Her muscles quiver as you kiss the inside of her thighs, and Wanda inhales a shaky breath, her hands gripping the table she's sitting on tightly.

"Be gentle." She asks as she feels the kisses coming closer to where she is burning. You let out a soft laugh, rising again to kiss her on the mouth. Wanda has no time to be eager for the delay of her relief, because you grab her waist and pull her closer, the friction between your hips making her whimper.

Your tongue slides over hers hungrily, kissing her until she's dizzy with arousal, and instinctively starts forcing her hips against yours - The uncovered intimacy smearing the wetness on the fabric of your leg and making you moan against her.

One of your hands spreads her legs open by her thigh, fingers coming up fast to tease her entrance and make Wanda break the kiss with an affected whimper.

"Y-yes, baby, please, no more teasing." Wanda moans, throwing her hips against your hand. "I'm ready."

You grunt softly, tentatively cupping the folds between your fingers, spreading the wetness over the entire length. "Hmm, I can feel that." You teased softly, pulling your hand away to get a taste. Wanda choked, blushing heavily as she watched you suck your fingers one by one, rolling her eyes in pleasure as you tasted her. The next second, you moved your hand back between her legs, staring her in the eye before sliding a finger inside. She moaned at the intrusion, and you let her get used to it, encouraging her with your free hand on her back, relaxing her with a gentle massage.

"There you go... all the way in." You narrated softly, having to maintain all mental control not to fuck her roughly, feeling your body vibrate with the sensation of Wanda's soft wet walls on your fingerprints. She pulsed against you, her hands gripping your blouse tightly as the repetitive motion made her legs twitch. "God, you're so tight." You grunted, hiding your face in her collarbone and angling your palm to press against her clit as well. Wanda let out a loud yelp, wrapping one of her legs around your waist and increasing your reach.

"M-more, please-I just need-" She tried to formulate, starting to follow your movements with her hips. You shushed her against her neck, kissing your way to her ear.

"Relax, I'll give you what you need, baby." Was your only warning before removing yourself from her, only to sink two fingers inside next time. Wanda gasped at the intrusion, but you swallowed her moan with your own mouth, not moving inside her until she was ready.

Soon, your movements had resumed, and with your mouth glued to hers, you swallowed each breathless moan as Wanda began to tremble in your fingers, squeezing as her orgasm built.

Just as she was panting and restless, the locker room door opened. She raised desperate eyes to you, but you covered her mouth with your free hand and sped up your movements.

Your skin muffled her whimpers, and you bit your lips at the sinful image in front of you.

"Danvers? Maximoff? Are you guys here? The coach is looking for two." it was some of the monitors, probably checking the camp behind whoever was running away from the game. You reached a deep sweet spot inside Wanda and she threw her head back.

The monitor grumbled in frustration and the door closed again - You barely noticed, bringing the girl beneath you to her climax. Wanda spread herself in your hand, her body spasming against you and a long muffled moan against your hand.

Her pupils were so dark they nearly hold any green.

"Fucking gorgeous." You praised as you removed your hand to kiss her, and Wanda corresponded with difficulty, smiling breathlessly as she tried to recover from the intensity of her first orgasm.

As soon as she could properly match it, Wanda dominated the kiss - One hand moving up to the back of your neck, to tug at your hair as she bit your bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from you.

"Please, can we go back to the cabin?" It sounded like a request but felt like an order by the way Wanda dug her nails into your waist. A warning. "I want you to be comfortable when you go down on me."

"God, Wanda, you're such a tease." You grumbled in a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, moving like an obedient puppy as she stood up on shaky legs and guided you by the hand back to the cabins.

Her panties are tucked tightly in your pocket.

–//–

Disgustingly adorable, is how your friends would describe the last few days in the company of you and Wanda, who have apparently unlearned how to function away from each other.

Especially the last day - Without any concern for the rest of the world while in an intense make-out session against the bus that was supposed to take you and Carol back to California.

"Jesus, I'm going to have nightmares." Your sister complained with a grimace to her now official girlfriend - Natasha Romanoff - who was putting away the last bag in the family car that was going to take her home. The redhead laughed, looking at where Carol was staring and knowing she was referring to your hand firmly squeezing Wanda's ass as she giggled between the kisses you two shared.

"Why are they behaving like they're never going to see each other again? It's traumatizing." It wasn't Nat, but Bucky who spoke as he arrived with Sam beside him, who laughed in agreement. Carol made a mischievous face.

"Well, maybe that's my fault? I may have forgotten to mention to my lovely sister that Nat told me that Wanda was going to the same college as her next year."

"Pretty mean, Danvers." Nat commented with a certain pride in her voice. Carol laughed.

"When you share a room with a couple in love, you'll understand." She retorted. The group continued to watch you and Wanda, until you kissed deeply in farewell until she let you on the bus. Carol sighed. "Maybe if she starts whining on the way, I'll consider saying that she and Wanda chose the same college without even knowing it."

The group chuckled, saying goodbye one last time.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines

659 notes · View notes