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mermaidgirl30 · 3 months

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✨Dancing With Fire Part 5: Hold me now✨

Masterlist

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Word Count: 13.2k

Summary: The pressure keeps building at the theater. You feel like you’re about to break, when all you wanted to do was dance in the first place. Will you push everyone away like you always do, will Joel step in and save the day like he always does, or will you lose everything you ever loved?

Tags: Angst, anxiety/depression, feelings, no explicit smut in this chapter, all the angst and feelings, protective! Joel, so much love

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

A/N: I’m sorry, I was really feeling all the angst for this chapter. And then Joel 🥹 Joel is just so perfect and soft and so sweet and he will do anything for sunshine 🥹 Please leave me comments and tell me what you think of this one, there’s nothing I love more. I truly love writing this story, and it hits home in a lot of places 😩 Also, this chapter was very long and could’ve been two but it’s okay 😅

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“It’s like there’s cancer in my blood, it’s like there’s water in my lungs. And I can’t take another step, please, tell me I am not undone. It’s like there’s fire in my skin and I’m drowning from within. I can’t take another breath, please, tell me I am not undone.”

- “Pittsburgh” by The Amity Affliction

Monday rolled around as fast as a speeding train, crashing into you like a stony brick wall. It pulled at you, screaming your name as it called you back to the theater. Back to your hellish nightmare that you wanted to so desperately escape from. The night before it fed on your mind, slow and deadly, eating away at you like a rat chewing its way through a bundle of wires. What kept you calm and sane was Joel.

You ended up staying the entire weekend at his place, wrapped up in his warmth as he held you close to him every single night. And when he crowded your body, when he held you against his broad chest and grazed his calloused fingers against your skin gently, it brought you instant peace.

He was a wave of serenity, a cool cloud that covered you in warmth and protection. He was what kept you together, what kept you calm enough so you could breathe freely. And when his lips came down on yours and you breathed in his coffee scent, it nearly sent you over the edge. Every single time. He was perfect, nothing less than that. Your safe space, your everything.

“You ready to head out?” he asked as he finished the last of his coffee while you finalized putting the last bobby pin in your hair, smoothing out the flyaways from your face. You double checked that your eye liner was on point and nodded to yourself in the mirror.

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” you sighed, gathering your practice bag as you zipped up your lilac North Face jacket. Joel nodded and turned off the kitchen light, opening the door as he invited the cool autumn breeze in. You stepped over the frayed welcome mat, and then he shut the door and pulled the lock tight behind him.

You waited at the end of the stairs for him, looking out into the misty day of New York. It was dreary, cloudy, a cold day that weighed on your head like a dark cloud about to pour all its dread and lightning on you. But you already felt that, felt the heavy sensation dragging you down as you waited for it to end. You just wanted it to be over. Let it be over.

Joel pulled you out of your dark thoughts and put his hand on the small of your back, leading you down the street and towards the theater. You were quiet this morning, barely saying a word throughout breakfast, almost too anxious to eat. But Joel made sure you ate. He wouldn’t let you leave the house without something in your stomach. And you were so grateful for him. He was too kind, too caring, too good for you. But you couldn’t imagine sinking away from him. No. You wouldn’t imagine it. It was too painful, too fresh. You would be an absolute wreck without him.

He noticed the silence and the anxious thoughts running through your head, but he didn’t say anything. He just took your hand in his and squeezed, letting his calloused thumb brush over the back of your hand as it instantly eased you of any worries. It was kind of crazy how he could do that. That he could take all your worries and toss them aside as he filled you with sunshine and warmth with just a touch of his hand. And his voice. God, his voice. It was angelic, celestial, a sound that filled you with instant peace. And you’d never get enough of it, never get enough of him.

When you finally made it to the front of the theater, you stopped and caught a glimpse of the advertisement for the upcoming Swan Lake ballet. There you were, right on the front of the billiard in your white swan dress, gently smiling into the camera for all the world to see.

That didn’t feel like you anymore. You felt like the black swan now, the darker version of yourself. A broken, empty shell that sat hollow in the darkness. Your eyebrows furrowed together as you stared at that picture of the girl, the happy girl. The girl you used to be before you met Pierre. Before you were worked to death like a slave on that stage, brusied and ripped to shreds over and over again like an elephant in a cage at a fucked up circus. You felt the tears prick behind your eyes, felt everything come down inside you. It was like your walls were torn down, just like a building that was destroyed to shreds and knocked to mere ash and broken concrete.

You felt yourself slipping, felt your body start to shake until Joel grabbed your shoulders and turned you in his direction, knocking you out of your dark hole that you were spiraling into. “Hey, look at me,” he said urgently as his deep brown eyes searched yours, looking for any shroud of evidence that you were okay. But he knew you weren’t. He knew.

“Talk to me,” he gently demanded as his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes turned to a darker, more charcoal color that was muted and desperately seeking for you to grasp onto him.

“I…I…” you stuttered out, no words coming to your hollow mind, so you tried again. “I’m scared. Joel, I’m so scared,” you said shakily as you grabbed on to his button-up flannel shirt and dug your fingers into the smooth material, trying to get a grip on reality as fear tried to take over again. Your eyes were wide, and you could feel the sweat bead through your forehead and drip through your hair as your heartbeat raced against your chest chaotically.

“Hey, it’s okay. Look at me. Look at me,” he gently soothed as he cupped each side of your face and lifted your watery eyes to meet his. He looked carefully at you, his brown eyes searching for clarity underneath your clouds of grey waning down on you. “Just look at me. Breathe,” he eased out, letting out a long breath as he urged you to follow after him. You slowly followed his movements, focusing on deep breaths and slow inhales. He grounded you back to earth, back to where you could sort of breathe again, and the ringing ears gently died down. No more ocean sounds swishing around in your ears, it was just Joel’s voice now. Just Joel.

“There ya go, sunshine. Atta girl. Take a couple more deep breaths for me,” he instructed as he slowed your heart rate back to normal, letting all your anxiety come to an end as you focused on those caramel eyes swirling in front of you.

Just breathe, focus on Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel.

“Feel any better?” he asked as the pad of his thumb skimmed over your cheek, pulling you back together piece by little piece with just the touch of his rough skin against yours.

“Mhm,” you hummed out as you grabbed his wrist, wrapping your hand around it tightly as you coiled yourself around him, around his shielding wings from the cold, broken theater that sat in front of you like a haunted mausoleum with ghosts coming out of the walls, warning you to run away if you could.

“Good,” he answered as he continued grazing his thumb against you, calming your nerves gradually. “You’ve got this, baby. You go in there with your head held high and dance your heart out. You’re the swan. The majestic, beautiful star that is gonna absolutely kill it opening night. No one can take that away from you, no one can stop that shine that I see in you when you dance from the soul. You can do this, I believe in you,” he emphasized his last words as he stared intently at you with those honey flecked eyes that you loved.

Love, love, love. That’s what it was, that’s all you could see in him. Love. And you’d tell him how you really felt about him, just not now. Not in this vulnerable moment when you were almost torn to shreds by your insides fighting against you.

You can do this, I believe in you. The words rang through your head again and again as you processed just what he said to you. He believes in you. Joel does… Joel.

“I… Joel… thank you. For believing in me,” you whispered out, almost afraid to speak the words as the tears licked at the backs of your eyes, threatening to spill over if you got too emotional.

“You’re welcome, sunshine. Just remember, whatever you decide I’ll back you up. If you want to dance then dance. If you want to walk out that door today then I’ll gladly follow you out. I’ll go with you anywhere, all you have to do is ask,” he said with meaningful words and eyes that threatened to take you over the edge once more.

“Okay,” you nodded, gulping down any tears that threatened to spill. You had work to do. You needed to see this through. You wouldn’t give up, you’d never give up. “I need to get in there and change. They’re probably waiting for me,” you sighed as he dropped his hands from your face, letting you take a step back.

Before he let you go, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his broad chest, sinking his lips down on yours as he held the back of your head and pressed deeper into you, your lips lingering over his for a minute. You didn’t want to pull away, you never wanted to pull away. This was where you wanted to be. In his grasp, on his lips, wherever he was you wanted to go. Your safe space, your home.

You slowly pulled away and grazed your fingers through his scruff, catching a patch of grey before you dropped your fingers and headed toward the glass doors. “I’ll see you later,” you said faintly as you walked towards the entryway, back to hell as you called it lately.

“Knock ‘em dead, sunshine. I’ll be around if you need me.”

You took one more look at him before you disappeared behind big glass doors, away from his warm embrace. You sucked in a breath and waltzed into the auditorium with your head held high and your dignity intact as you made your way to the dressing room. To your small space where you could think before you got sucked into the drama of it all again.

The auditorium was cool, just like a gust of wind blew down your back and wrapped you in its cold claws that clamped down its jaws on you. You dragged your hand through the crimson velvet walls, feeling your way down the slope of the hardwood floors, planting yourself firmly down on the ground. Down to where you belong, down to where you have to be. You have to dance. You have to. But that was just what you had to do, not necessarily what you wanted to do.

You sighed as you made your way behind the draped stage curtains and ended up in your dressing room. The small room was filled with bright lights from the vanity that was left on. The pale pink wardrobe was sitting open exactly how you left it Friday, full of your sparkling costumes that you were meant to wear onstage.

The sleek black swan dress was staring at you, shrouding you with its black wings that called to you in a depraved, dark night song. The black threads twisted around your wrists, stuck you with its needles as it trapped you, succumbed you, doomed you. It called your name, screamed for you to cave in. Come to the dark, let me show you the way. This way, this way.

You peeled your eyes away and slammed the door shut, hearing the sound of it reverberate around the walls of the shallow room, drowning out the voices of the dark swan. You threw down your practice bag on the ground with a loud thump and tore off your too warm jacket. You were frustrated, torn, anxious from the room, anxious from the theater, anxious from the show. But the show must go on. It had to go on. With you.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, staring back at your reflection as swimming eyes came into focus. Your eyeliner was dark, eyeshadow shimmering black against your eyelids as the dark red lipstick stuck matted to your lips. You looked the part of the black swan, felt like her, too. She was a part of you now, even if you didn’t like it.

You signed away your life as soon as you scribbled your name on that contract. You sold your soul to the devil in dark red letters, sealing your fate to the hands of the show. You couldn’t escape, there was no escape. Not unless you wanted to deal with the consequences. Contracts were binding, there was no breaking them. Not unless you wanted to end your career as soon as it finally took off. There was no leaving this show. Not until it was done. Finished.

So you decided to put on a brave face. You held your chin high and tucked away any tears that tried to escape your red blurry eyes. It was time to get ready to dance. You could do this. You could do this. You pulled on your pointe shoes and laced the pink ribbons up nicely around your ankles, tying neat bows around your sheer tights. You smoothed out your rosy pink skirt and pulled up the black leotard that clung to your body like a suction cup. Time to dance. Time to dance. You took one more long look in the wide mirror and left the room, leaving your hollow thoughts in the empty tomb.

When you stepped out into the bright lights of the stage, Carlotta clapped her hands and shouted across the auditorium as her voice echoed around the theater. “Alright, let’s go! Black swan, you’re up. Take it from Act II,” she commanded as she took a seat and crossed her skinny arms across her bright red suit of the day.

You nodded and got into place. Deep breath, breathe. Joel’s calming voice entered your mind, and you relaxed against it, against his reminder. Breathe.

When the orchestra music blasted out of the speakers, you started the routine with your head held high and your arms graceful like a swan. You turned on your toes, leapt across the stage into an arabesque and focused on your movements. You made them sharp, clean, perfected your footwork as the routine went on. You were alone for this dance, one of your solo routines. You were fine alone, you weren’t caving inside when you didn’t have to dance with Pierre. This was fine, you were fine. That is until you saw him out of the corner of your eye.

You saw his sharp jaw, his icy glare, his slicked back locks of blonde, his chin jutting out as he watched you. It felt like a lion watching a gazelle. Ready to pounce, ready to attack. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, feel the hunger that stirred in his chest, feel his drool leave his mouth as he watched you, hungered after you. And it made you sick to death.

You ended the routine with your chin held high and lips pursed together in a tight line, your arms stretched thin like they’d break off if you extended them anymore than they already were. You were on edge then, on a tight thin wire that was bound to snap if you made one wrong step.

“Good, beautifully done,” she said as she waved her hand around her face frantically. You sighed and relaxed your back as you stepped out of fifth position. “I’m going to have the other dancers run through their routines. After that, we’ll circle back and you’ll perform your duet with Pierre.”

Your jaw clenched as you fisted your fingers tightly against your flexed tendons. Your toes curled in on themselves as much as they could, and it felt like your leotard was squeezing your ribs, threatening to break into nothing but dust as your bones snapped in half. You didn’t realize you were standing there, staring wide-eyed until Carlotta snapped your name.

“Well, go on. Don’t just stand there, we have a schedule to follow!” she snapped. You nodded your head and flew off the stage, away from Pierre’s prying eyes.

You found an empty wooden bench backstage and sat down, pressing your fingers into the pit of your thighs as a way to calm yourself down. You’re fine, breathe. You’re okay. You took a deep breath and focused your mind on Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel. Your sweet redemption, your saving grace.

You closed your eyes for a couple of minutes until the harsh sound of laughter came across the back of the stage, at the bench opposite of you. You opened your eyes slowly and dug your nail beds into the tips of your knees, trying not to lose your focus. Breathe, breathe.

Pierre sat there with three of the ballet dancers crowded around him. All three women fawning over him and caressing his lengthy shoulders, flirting their way around him as they giggled and twirled their flyaways around their index finger. The sight made you sick. You knew damn well he had all three of them in his bed not long ago. He bragged about it, boasted about how proud he was to be such a stud. All you could do was roll your eyes and bite your tongue from all the things you wanted to say. He was such an asshole.

Cecilia sat next to him, hand lingering on his thigh as she whispered in his ear seductively. Her gaze straggling over to you occasionally as her bright green eyes narrowed over at you like a cat trying to claw her way into a fight. Her bleach blonde hair was held up in a tight bun, her pink lipgloss shining over her twisted mouth. Her skirts were always too short, her cleavage sticking out of her leotards. The fakest slut you’d ever seen before.

You hated her, truly hated her. She was nothing but trouble, always seeking out drama. And she tried so hard to press your nerves, tried to draw blood from you every time she opened her big mouth. But you never caved in, never reacted to her. That’s what she wanted, and you wouldn’t have any part of it.

Pierre whispered something in her ear, his hand reaching out and pulling her ear closer like he had a nasty secret to tell. She covered her mouth, and her eyes went wide. She whispered back to him and he nodded, icy eyes glazing over at you like you were caught in a trap of lies. They both looked at you, mouths pursing in snickers as their eyes narrowed. You couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stand it. Something snapped in you and hard.

“If you have something to say just say it to my face!” you hissed, eyes narrowing as your hands balled into fists beside your thighs. You’d had enough. Enough was enough.

Cecilia just smiled her fake smile and smirked at you. She was brewing something up under those fake eyelashes she had plastered to her eyes. You just knew it. She was always stirring up trouble. “Oh, I was just asking Pierre about your… what was he again? Maintenance man, I guess?” she snared her teeth at you and smirked, eyes locking on yours.

“He’s no concern of yours, Cecilia. Drop it,” you snapped, your teeth bared at her pathetic smile.

“Drop it? What for? You didn’t give us any juicy details. What’s he like, huh? When he fucks you…”

You pushed yourself off the bench and snarled at her, silencing her before she could finish her sentence. “Shut up! Just stop!” you screamed, face hot as you could feel your face become red and agitated underneath your building anger. Calm down, just calm down.

“Why don’t you make me, huh? Come on now, don’t be shy. Let me have it,” she egged on, trying to coax some violence out of you. That’s what she wanted, that’s what she always wanted. She wanted you out of the show so she could take your place. She could try all she wanted, but you wouldn’t dare let her have it. Not that conniving bitch. Not a chance.

You just stood in place, feet locked to the floor as your chest heaved against you, a thunder storm brewing inside your racing heart. She’s not worth it, she’s not worth it. You bit your tongue and held back what you really wanted to say. It wasn’t worth the risk, not at all.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Didn’t think you had it in you, little swan,” she mocked as Pierre and her shared a laugh, cackling to each other in pure joy. It made you sick. They made you sick.

Pierre whispered something in her ear, and her eyes went wide in delight. She pursed her lips and giggled, nodding her head as she stared at you in victorious glee. They were planning something scandalous. You just knew by the way they were whispering and stealing glances at you.

You gulped as a sharp tug pulled at your insides. The way she was looking all mischievous and snarky had your vocal cords all tied up and scratchy. You knew she was up to no good, you knew. So when she snuck off the back of the stage and made her way to the front of the auditorium doors, you silently followed behind. Watching, waiting, wondering what the hell she was up to.

She went through the doors, and you watched them close with a bang. Slowly but carefully you opened the door seconds later, sliding around a hidden corner and peeking your head out of the shadows. When you caught sight of her, your heart stopped dead in your chest. Your pupils blew out as your head started spinning. She was walking up to Joel, sauntering up to him in a flirtatious way as she swayed her curvy hips from side to side, hiking her skirt up even more so her ass hung out of her tiny leotard.

She wouldn’t fucking dare. But she would, she would. Joel. Would Joel entertain her? Surely not. He wouldn’t… right?

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak as your legs shook like melted jello underneath you. Your anxiety started racing, the loud ringing vibrating through your ear canals. Not now, not now! You shook your head and pulled your focus back to the empty foyer. The only two people standing there made the room feel smaller, made it feel like the walls were caving in around you. And you felt like you’d be crushed to nothing at any second.

You gripped the wall and tried not to black out from the room that was spinning. You couldn’t. Not yet. You had to see this. You had to be sure he wouldn’t betray you like that. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. You knew him so well, probably better than anyone else now. He wouldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t.

She cleared her throat and smiled sweetly at Joel as he was bent over, scaling the wall, looking intently at something he was fixing. His eyes shot up at her muffled breath and he slowly stood, his eyes furrowing together into question.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a confused tone, his eyes never straying down her body.

“You sure can,” she purred as she bit the end of her lower lip seductively, staring at him with big flirtatious eyes. You’d like to walk up to her and strangle her right about now. But you waited. You needed to see what he’d do. You just had to.

“Ummm, okay? Is somethin’ broken in the auditorium?” he asked as he scratched his head, his tone serious and face stonelike.

She shook her head. “No, nothing’s broken,” she giggled, twirling a loose curl around her index finger as she stuck out of her hip, jutting her breasts out more.

That fucking bitch. Your tongue tasted like pure venom, full of spite and fluid that ripped at your insides. You wanted to pull her to the ground and claw her eyes out. You hated her, you hated her.

“Then why are you talkin’ to me?” he asked with an irritated tone in his voice. He wasn’t playing her sick, twisted game. He was starting to catch on.

“You see, I’ve got these really tight hips and I would love to get them stretched out,” she purred, reaching out her long, spindly fingers to him. He stepped back out of her reach appalled.

“Sounds like a you problem. Should probably get that fixed yourself,” he spat, clenching his jaw as you saw irritation flash through his dark eyes.

“Come on. I know you want to. Help a girl out? Promise I’ll make it worth your while,” she giggled, grazing her hand against his forearm, right where the bundled veins gathered around his tan skin, lapping over his massive hands. The sight made you sick. You felt like you were about to spill your guts and vomit right on the polished floor. No, no, no.

He pulled out of her grasp and glared daggers into her eyes. “Don’t touch me,” he barked, moving his arm out of her reach. “Back off. Now leave. I have work to do.” He started to turn away, but she made a move again. Reaching out her dirty paws, she tried her luck again.

“Oh, come onnnnn. I mean. You’re kinda hot. Think you’d wanna…”

“Cecilia!” Your voice came out sharp, clipped, like a galant sword about to take her down. You stepped out of the shadows and stomped her way, moving in between the two of them so you could glare knives into her glowing eyes. “Don’t,” you warned, narrowing your eyes so tight that you could barely see her flashy smile that was beaming your way.

“Oh, don’t take it so hard, little swan,” she teased, smirking your way. “I was only having a little fun.” She crossed her arms and taunted you, her green eyes searing into your vision.

“Having fun?” you laughed, hatred clear in your tone. “You knew what you were doing. You fucking knew,” you snapped. It’s like your temper cracked in half and all your built up anger rose to your throat. It burned like fire, and you wanted to spit it back out at her and watch it burn her alive.

“Maybe I did know. Just wanted to see what would happen is all,” she sneered, her smirk returning in full force as she challenged you with her fake press-on pink nails and her balmy lip gloss that you wanted to wipe right off her face.

The more she stared and the more she smirked, the more heated you got. You were snarling with wide eyes and bared teeth. She gave you that mischievous smile and that was it. You were going to fucking kill her.

You jumped out at her with full force and let a loud roar rip through your chest as you let all your built up frustration let loose. She stepped back out of your reach, and Joel grabbed you around the waist before you could get to her. You tried to pull out of his tight hold, but his grasp was too strong. You weren’t going anywhere. He pulled you against his broad chest and tried to soothe you over.

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down. That’s what she wants. She wants to get a reaction out of you. She wants you to lash out at her,” Joel urged with a loud, gravely voice. His biceps pulled tight around you as he clung to you, making sure you didn’t do something you’d regret later. You tried once more to free yourself, but you gave up. He was right. This is what she wanted. She wanted to get you kicked out of the ballet. She wanted to ruin your life. And you wouldn’t let that happen.

“Cecilia, if you ever try anything like that again I’ll…”

She cut you off as she held up her fresh manicured hand, dusting it off on her black leotard as she smirked again. “You’ll do what? Go cry to Carlotta about it? Like she’ll do anything. The old hag can barely keep track of all her dancers,” she laughed out, a sinister smile spreading across her plump lips.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Joel growled, arms still pressed against your ribcage as he held you in place, your heart beating wildly against his forearm.

“No, I don’t think so,” she glared, her lips pressed in a tight line as if she were challenging you all over again. You’d had enough of her. You wanted her gone, now.

“Just leave me alone!” you shouted, tears licking at the backs of your eyes as you felt the frustration breaking inside you.

“No,” she said sharply, her pointe shoe stomping down as if to stand her ground. She was pathetic, a royal pain in your ass.

“Did you not hear what I said? I said get the fuck out of here. Now!” Joel barked, his eyes growing cold and sharp as he stared at her, demanding her to leave.

“No, I-”

Joel’s icy words shut her up quick. “If you don’t go back into that auditorium now and leave her alone, then I’m gonna have words with your instructor. You see, you kept pursuing me when I said to back off. You put your hands on me when I specifically told you no. That can be passed as sexual harassment. Do you really want me to go in there and lay out exactly what happened for Carlotta?”

Your eyes grew wide at what he was insinuating. That’d get her kicked out of the show. Unless Carlotta didn’t believe him or care. She probably wouldn’t care, but still. Oh my God.

Her scowl grew a mile long on her face as her green eyes became red and enraged. “You wouldn’t dare. You don’t have proof. You don’t have-”

“I have proof enough and I have a witness,” he said with bared teeth. She just crossed her arms over her chest and stared wide-eyed. “So I suggest you turn around and walk back through those doors and never try to mess with my girl or me again,” he growled possessively, his deep voice like knives as they cut into her.

She just scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. What makes her so fucking special though, huh?” she asked as she jutted her chin out and dragged her tongue across her top teeth.

“Everything,” he answered, his voice coming out not as harsh that time, but it was aggressive, unhesitant.

Everything? Oh. Your eyes went wide and your muscles relaxed against his hold. He thought everything was special about you? Oh. Oh my…

“Whatever. I’m out of here,” she spat as she turned around and walked back through the auditorium doors, watching them snap shut with a bang behind her.

You stood there for a minute, staring at the unmoving heavy door as it stood closed before you, waiting for your breath to catch again. Joel turned you around to face him and dropped his tight hold on you. “What the fuck was that all about? I mean, Christ. First Pierre, now her?” he asked with wild eyes, his hands digging into the pockets of his dark jeans as he sighed and shook his head.

“She likes to get a rise out of me. Pierre pushed her to do it. I saw them whispering in each other’s ears and stared at me the entire time. I just didn’t know what they were planning. I didn’t know they were going to bring you into the middle of all this,” you sputtered out as you threw your hands in the air and slapped them back down against your thighs as the clap sounded through the empty foyer with high ceilings and sky high windows as the sun beamed through them.

“She’s jus’ jealous of you, sweetheart. Seems like she wants to take everything that’s yours just because she can’t have it,” he acknowledged with bared teeth, his caramel eyes swirling with anger as he talked about her.

“Sounds about right,” you muttered, eyes focusing on the shiny white tile.

“Is everyone here just batshit crazy? Why can’t they jus’ leave you alone?” he snarled as his eyebrows furrowed, pushing back the locks of his tousled curls.

“Because that’d be too easy,” you said clipped, clenching your jaw around nothing.

“I’m gonna go in there right now and give them a piece of my mind,” he spat as he tried to push past you, but you got in front of him and held a hand to his broad chest to stop him.

“No, don’t. It’s fine. You’ve done enough. I’m the reason why you’re in the middle of all of this. Me. I don’t want you to be dragged into anymore drama. I already feel bad enough.” Your eyes locked on his as he held your stare and placed a hand gently down on yours that was still locked on his chest.

“Don’t feel bad, sweetheart. This wasn’t any of your doing. It was theirs,” he growled, flicking his eyes harshly to the closed auditorium doors as he looked back at you with softer features. “Let me take care of this.”

Let me take care of this. He always took care of you, always. You couldn’t let him take on anymore of the theater shit. It was on your shoulders, not his. And right now you felt like nothing but a massive burden that was weighing him down.

You froze in the spot you stood in and widened your eyes at the realization. Burden. You were being a burden to Joel. You didn’t want that. You didn’t fucking want to be a burden to anyone, especially not him. He was too good for you, he always took care of things. So when was it your turn to take those burdens from him? When was it time to stop piling problems on him that were all made from a company that was supposed to be your dream job?!

“No,” you stated harshly. He looked down at you and knit his eyebrows together, giving you those concerned molasses honey eyes that made you weak at the knees. Not those eyes. God, anything but those eyes. “Just, don’t do that.”

“Why not?” he asked as he guided his other hand down to your wrist, stroking his calloused thumb against the edge of your skin as he tried to soothe you over.

“Because…because…” You paused a moment and then whispered under your breath. “I’m a burden.”

“What did you say?” he asked with a shocked expression, eyes wide at what he thought you said.

“I’m being a burden, Joel,” you said louder, your voice echoing across the empty foyer walls and vibrating back to you as you looked at the polished floor, your eyes fading just a little.

“Hey, look at me.” He grabbed your chin and pulled your eyes up to his. His breathing came out more ragged and concentrated as he stared at you, brown eyes searing into yours. “Don’t you dare ever call yourself a burden again. You’re not one at all.”

You shook your head no, so he put his massive hands on your shoulders and focused right on you, never leaving your eyes. “Hey, c’mon. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” he said more gently, one hand coming to cup your cheek as tears threatened to spill at any second.

You could feel the anxiety bubbling up inside you, could feel your insides screaming at you as they taunted you. Burden, burden, burden. That’s all you’ll ever be to him. You shook your head of the thoughts, but they kept coming, attacking unseen as they picked apart your mind. You’re no good for him. You’re a burden, you’re drama, you’re fragile. He doesn’t want that, he doesn’t need that.

You felt yourself start to tear apart piece by little piece. Every scrap of skin felt on fire as the voices of anxiety screamed at you. You couldn’t do this right now. You needed to get out of here. You needed to be alone, you needed to run.

You pulled away slowly from Joel, but he caught your wrist and found your glassy eyes as they stared past him, trying not to think of him because you were about to lose it. “Hey, sunshine. Baby,” he reached out and skimmed your jawline with the edge of his fingers. It felt like fire that just burned your skin raw. You couldn’t do this right now. You just couldn’t.

“Don’t,” you said quietly as you pulled again. His grip didn’t budge. He kept you locked to his hand.

“Don’t what? Talk to me. Please, baby. Let me in,” he pleaded as his eyes glazed over into pools of sadness.

Oh God, why did you have to see that.

“Please, Joel. Just let me go,” you begged, tears licking at your waterline as his face became a bit blurry.

“No. I’m not gonna let you go. Just talk to me,” he pressed, eyes searching yours for anything he could pick up on.

“I just, I…” You lost your words as the guilt started eating you alive. Burden, burden, burden. Your chest became tight, and it felt like you were being suffocated inside your tight leotard. The room felt like it was spinning as your eyesight went in and out, black vision to normal vision. It was awful how you were feeling. You were feeling everything at once and you were overstimulated and it was just too much. It was too much.

“Baby, please,” he begged. And when you looked back up at him it hit you like a thick brick wall. His watering eyes shot a hole right into the center of your chest. You could physically feel the pain throbbing around you as he looked at you with those longing, searching eyes. He looked so sad. So sad.

“Joel…I…” you pulled your hand from his, slowly. So painfully slow. And he let you this time. He didn’t try to stop you. When you grazed your fingers against his fingertips and finally dropped your hand from his warmth, the room went ice cold. And it felt like you lost him right then and there.

You bit your tongue and pulled yourself together just enough to walk towards the auditorium door, every step further from Joel feeling like straight glass cutting through your feet. It was painful, excruciating. But you needed to be alone. You needed to breathe. But it felt like you were drowning without his touch, suffocating on your own words as your mouth filled with water and took you down. The voices in your head were too loud, too much. You needed silence, you needed peace.

You put your hand on the cold metal handle, and before you went through the door Joel said your name slowly, a mere gentle whisper. And it sounded like a voice that was full of pain and suffering. You bit your bottom lip and worked up enough courage to look him in the eyes again. It was a mistake. God, it was a mistake. His jaw was clenched and his hands were in fists at his side, and his brown eyes looked like big puppy dog eyes. Staring at its owner as they left him all alone in an empty house, solely alone.

You felt a wet tear fall against your cheek and quickly wiped it off. Joel took a step forward when he saw you brush a tear away, but you held out a hand and stopped him. “Please, Joel. Just leave me alone. I need to…I need to go back in…”

“Stay,” he pleaded, a hushed whisper that glided across the room and brushed against the tip of your ear.

“I can’t…I have to go. Just, please. I…I need some air.” Before you looked back at him, you pushed the door open and ran through the shadows to your tiny dressing room, brushing up against the velvet walls as you nearly tripped up the stage steps and zoomed past all the dancers. When you reached your dressing room, you grabbed up your iPhone and sprinted out the side theater door.

You crashed through the metal door and flung yourself against the cold brick wall as you slowly melted into the ground, bringing the phone up to your face to unlock it. You quickly found your mom’s name in your contacts and pushed call. You needed to hear her soothing voice now. You needed your mom. You needed to know everything was going to be fine. But it wasn’t. It simply wasn’t.

You slumped your head against the hard bricks and listened to the dial tone as it repeatedly rang. Come on, pick up. Please, pick up. You needed familiarity, you needed comfort, you needed your mom.

On the seventh ring, she finally picked up and you blew out the breath you had been holding in. “Hi, sweetheart! It’s so good to hear from you. I wasn’t expecting you to call so early in the day. What’s up, sweetie? How is everything in New York? Are you having such an incredible time?” she asked excitedly as her high pitched voice filled the end of the line.

No, no it wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine. “Hey, mom,” you said in a shaky breath. “Everything is…well, it’s…” Your voice cut off as you choked back a sob.

“Hun, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” she asked in a worried rush of words. You could hear that protective mother instinct kick in, and it still didn’t bring you any peace.

“I’m…” your voice broke as you choked out a gasp. “No, I’m not okay,” you balled, tears breaking as they streamed down your face in a blur. You wiped at your eyes and saw the mascara and eyeliner rub off on your hand, forgetting you even had makeup on. You didn’t care if your makeup was ruined, you didn’t care if eyeliner was streaked under your eyes. You were broken, so very broken.

You didn’t get into the thick of it, but you told her enough. You told her what was bothering you and what was happening. You didn’t mention Joel, not once saying you met someone. The mere thought of him made you cry harder, and it felt like your heart actually shattered into a million pieces. Joel…

“Mom, I want to come home,” you cried into the phone speaker, tears sticking to your thick eyelashes as your vision was completely blurred over. You could hear her on the end of the line saying your name and calling you honey as she tried to calm you down. But it didn’t help. Nothing helped.

You stayed on the line with her for ten minutes and then decided it was time to hang up. You had to go back in. Carlotta would be looking for you right about now. So you said your goodbyes to your mom, and she assured you she’d be in touch later to check on you. When you hung up the phone, you pulled your camera up and cringed at the mess that was displayed in the screen. Black streaks smeared under your eyes. You looked exactly like the black swan, felt like the black swan. You were the black swan. You felt it in your hollow bones. You were weak, fragile, consumed by darkness, and you felt completely isolated and alone right now.

You wiped the smeared makeup away and sucked in the last tears that stung your eyes. You pulled yourself up from the cold ground and headed back inside to your demise. Your cage that liked to trap lone swans.

“There you are! Come on now. You’re up. Take your position, black swan. It’s time for your duet with Pierre,” Carlotta yelled as she clapped her hands and pointed at you to take your position.

As you got into position, you looked up at Pierre on the opposite side of the stage as you and watched his cruel smirk flash your way. All you felt was hollow and bruised inside. You had no more emotions to run through today. You were finished, dead inside like a tree that had just been ripped from its roots. Automatically dying on the spot.

When the music began, you ran through the routine like a puppet attached to a short string. There was no fighting, no bickering, just silence. You had no more words to speak today. You were battered and bruised, and there could be nothing else done. Absolutely nothing. You just wanted to go back to your apartment and go to sleep. Sleep away the pain of the day.

You went through the rest of rehearsal quietly, just doing as you were told. You didn’t argue with anyone, didn’t flinch when they said jump higher or spin tighter. You just did it without a fuss. Just like a robot would.

You could feel Joel’s dark eyes burning holes through your skull throughout the rest of practice. You didn’t look up, didn’t seek out his eyes. You just ignored the call. That drawn out reaching call that you longed to take.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

You wanted him. You wanted him so goddamn bad, but the voices were screaming at you that you weren't good enough for him. They were taunting you and screeching at you through your racing mind. You’re no good for him, you’re just a burden. He doesn’t want to be with a burden, he doesn’t want to be weighed down by you. Let him go, let him go.

You tossed the voices out of your head and silenced your mind. You couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t right now. Not with the anxiety pumping. Not with the mess you had to deal with today. So when practice finally got over, you slipped out the back and didn't seek out Joel. You just walked to your apartment alone, back to your lonely walls. But you didn’t want to be there. Not really. You wanted to go home. You needed to go back home.

Home. It was the only place you wanted to be right now. And that was away from New York. Away from it all.

When you finally reached your apartment and barged through the door, you took a long, hot shower and let the scalding water run down your back until you couldn’t feel anything. Your thoughts were numb, but they kept returning to Joel.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

You wanted him, needed him, but you couldn’t reach out. You didn’t have the energy, nor the strength. So after your shower, you just tucked yourself into the warm bed and let the cotton sheets envelop your tired body. You heard your phone buzz over and over again, the vibrations reaching all the way into your tight chest. But you just let it ring as it sat face down on your little sky blue nightstand, waiting for the light hum of the phone to go mute.

After endless minutes of diminishing buzzing and missed calls, you faded off into a deep sleep. Away from the pain, away from the racing anxiety, away from the deep black hole you were stuck in. And when you dreamed, you dreamed of white sandy beaches and shiny clear ocean water. You dreamed of home. That’s where you wanted to be, needed to be. So that’s where you’d go.

Joel barely got a wink of sleep that night. He was either pacing mindlessly around his house, staring at a blank phone screen or worrying sick about you as his mind raced frantically. You didn’t pick up the phone, wouldn’t look at him, didn’t say a word when you left the theater. And now all he could think was you were slipping away from him, just like the moment you gradually pulled away from his fingers as you walked back into the auditorium without a mere glance back at him. That’s what it felt like. Complete loss, like he was missing pieces of his beating heart that had your name scraped into the pumping veins in his chest.

The next morning he waited for you outside the theater doors, but you didn’t come. He kept glancing at his black military watch, but you were half an hour late. You were never late, and that made worry seep into his thick skull. He dialed your number, but it just rang endlessly and finally went to voicemail.

He hung up the phone and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, pushing the doors open as he raced into the auditorium. Maybe you snuck in from the side doors, maybe you got there earlier than he did. He was just wishful thinking, but it was better than thinking the alternative, that you weren’t coming.

Carlotta sat at the front of the auditorium like she usually did, lounging in a plush crimson seat as she yelled at the other dancers. “Where is my swan?!” she screamed as she threw her arms over her head, shaking her auburn ponytail in annoyance. The sound of her voice made Joel shake in rage as he fisted his hands at his sides and almost broke a blood vessel as he walked up to her with a deep snarl cut across his mouth.

“Have any of you heard from her?” she yelled at the dancers, but none of them shook their head yes. “We don’t have time for this! Let me check my phone.” She pulled her phone out and searched through her notifications. Her face turned to shock as she put a hand dramatically against her forehead. “Sick?! She’s sick! We don’t have time for sick days,” she whined, letting out a deep sigh of unapproval. It made Joel even more angry.

He walked up to her aggressively as he stomped his boots and halted right in front of her, glaring at her with dark, unfriendly eyes. She jumped in fright and put her hand on her chest as her long red fingernails dug into her pressed white dress. “Oh, you scared me! I didn’t see you standing there. Where is she? Have you heard from her?” she demanded as her red lips pursed together in a tight seal.

“I know as much as you do. I haven’t heard from her since yesterday. You said she told you she’s sick?” Joel asked with a raised brow.

“That’s what I just read,” she huffed, throwing her phone back in her Coach purse. “I don’t care if she’s sick. She needs to be here,” she demanded, her heels stomping into the polished floor.

“Jesus Christ, give her a break! She’s completely worn out. She’s overworked. Do you know how stressed she’s been lately?” he vocalized with a raised voice and a deep growl in his chest.

“Overworked? Stressed? She looks fine to me,” she said as she rolled her eyes and shook her head with agitation.

“That’s because you don’t check to see how she’s feeling! Maybe if you paid more attention to your dancers then you’d see she’s fucking drowning!” he yelled with his voice bouncing off the walls. All the dancers stopped what they were doing and focused in on the heated conversation going on. He didn’t care. All he cared about was getting his point across. Carlotta would listen to him, whether she wanted to or not.

Her eyes were wide-eyed as she stared up at him, her cheeks flushed as her mouth gaped open in surprise. “What are you talking about? Of course I pay attention to my dancers.”

He crossed his arms across the button-up denim shirt and clenched his jaw before he lost control of his growing temper. “Oh, really? Then you know everyone is against her in this theater? That Pierre and Cecilia won’t leave her alone for one goddamn day? You know that she’s been so fuckin’ stressed and anxious that she’s had continuous breakdowns about even being here? Because no one seems to care how she’s feelin’ but me!” His voice echoed around the auditorium as his flared eyes shot daggers right back at her. Her mouth opened wide as she looked like someone just turned on a dusty lightbulb inside her nonchalant mind. And that was good because maybe now she’d realize just what she did to you.

“I suggest you start treating your lead dancer with more respect and not working her to death. You’re gonna destroy her before she even gets to opening night. And as for your dancers, tell them to fuckin’ stop giving her a hard time. Especially Pierre and Cecilia. If you even halfway listened to her instead of being stuck in your own thick head, you would’ve noticed all the shit they were doing to her! So next time, listen to her when she’s desperately trying to get your attention and do something about the situation!”

Her eyes went wide as something snapped into place inside her. Her eyebrows furrowed together as she looked at the stage and back at Joel. Maybe he finally got her to open her eyes and hear what you were trying to tell her all along. Maybe he struck a nerve that opened up that empty mind of hers. She didn’t turn around when he started walking to the auditorium doors, but he heard her call Pierre and Cecilia’s voice impatiently. He didn’t wait to hear what was said, he just kept on walking out of that toxic room, leaving behind more drama that was ready to unfold.

Joel was tempted to run to her apartment, pound on the door until you opened up so he could crash his body into yours. He wanted you to know it was going to be okay. He needed you to know you weren’t alone and never would be. He needed you to know how goddamn much he cared about you. He needed you to know you were now his world and that he’d never let you go. Never, ever. But he kept himself from running to you. He just kept his distance for today. You’d reach out if you really needed him. You needed space, time. But he didn’t want to give that to you. He was selfish and wanted you all to himself. He wanted to make it all better, to take away all the pain.

He sighed and ran a hand through his wind blown curls and took a deep breath, focusing on slowing down his racing heart. One day, just one more day and then he’d go to you. If you weren’t here in the morning, he’d go find you. And when he did, he would never let you go again.

You kept your phone turned over most of the day, only clicking it on to let Carlotta know you wouldn’t be in today, that you were sick. You weren’t really sick though. You just needed a mental break, to think about what you were going to do. You needed time, you needed to get away. You needed a quiet mind, but you were screaming on the inside. Trying to claw your way out of your racing thoughts as you sat in your small vacant apartment, picking apart your mind.

All the missed calls and texts from Joel didn’t help you one bit. Six missed calls and three text messages since yesterday.

Where are you?

Are you alright?

Sunshine, talk to me. Please, let me know you’re alright.

The last one made you shiver with guilt and made your eyes burn with tears.

Joel, Joel, Joel. Fuck!

You crawled your way out of bed and forced yourself to eat some yogurt and get dressed, throwing on some yoga pants and a teal colored Florida hoodie.

You dragged your tired legs into the bathroom and switched the light on, squinting your eyes at the harsh yellow light that lit the room up in warm colors. You cringed at your swollen eyes and puffy lips as you spent hours crying into your pillow the night before. You washed your face and brushed your teeth as you let the minty taste wash down your throat, trying to bring some life back into your aching body. You brushed out your thick hair and threw on some eyeliner to deter the look of your puffed up eyes.

You couldn’t stay caged in this cold room anymore. You needed to get out. You needed to free your internal thoughts before you went crazy. So you grabbed your keys and phone and headed out the door, taking in the fresh air as you slipped into the cool autumn breeze. You walked for miles it seemed, only to end up sitting at a little park that overlooked a duck pond as water lilies sat scattered across the shimmering water.

You let your mind wonder as you sat there, focusing on keeping deep breaths and your head cleared. You lost track of time and forgot your phone was even in your pocket. You pulled it out and looked at the time. 5:00 pm and no new calls or texts. Only the ones you left unanswered from earlier.

Joel’s messages popped up again, and you couldn’t quite shake the guilt of leaving him waiting. He was probably worried sick about you, probably going stir crazy as he paced his house or the theater. Probably looked all over for you today, hoping he’d see you that morning. The guilt ate at your stomach, twisting it around into a bundle of yarn as it tugged at you, pulling you back into anxious thoughts.

Sunshine, talk to me. Please, let me know you’re alright.

Sunshine, sunshine, sunshine.

You squeezed your eyes tight as the name pulled at your heartstrings, eliciting feelings out of you that you wanted to keep down. You were bad for him, a burden, a sickness that would only infect him. But that wasn’t really true. It was your anxiety lying to you. It was the sharp tongued serpent that fed you lies and shot venom into your bloodstream. It was a disease that festered in your mind until you could do nothing but listen to the poison that consumed your mind. But this time you wouldn’t. No. You wouldn’t listen. You’d force them out if it was the last thing you did.

Sunshine, come back. Come back…

You swear you could hear his southern drawl calling you, singing you a gentle tune as his sweet voice tried guiding you back to him. Back to his arms. Back to where you felt most at home. And the more you stared at his name in your phone, the more you wanted him. The more you needed him.

A tightness in your chest squeezed at your insides as you ached for him. Every bone carving his name into the tendons as you physically, truly ached for him. You longed for him, burned for him. And you needed him. You needed him more than you needed air to breathe. He was your oxygen, your fresh air, your everything. And you lo…

You loved him.

And that’s when you ran. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you. You didn’t know how far it was from here, didn’t even care how long it’d take. But you’d continue running until you got to his doorstep, wouldn’t stop till you were back in his arms where you belonged.

You crossed the busy intersection as a taxi slammed on its horn, nearly missing you by a few feet. You didn't stop to apologize, you just kept going. You brushed shoulders and ran into strangers on the crowded sidewalk. Some yelled back at you, some stopped and stared, but you kept pressing on, not wasting a second until you were standing on his doorstep with him.

Your lungs felt like they were on fire, and you could feel your legs going numb underneath you. But you wouldn’t stop, not till you made it back to him. Your tears licked at the back of your eyes as you thought of the way you left him yesterday, letting your anxious thoughts get the best of you. You had made a mistake, that’s not what you wanted. You wanted him and only him, and you just hoped you weren’t too late. You prayed he’d welcome you back with open arms. You needed him, you needed him.

Joel, Joel, Joel. Your other half, your guiding light, the one that set your soul on fire. It was Joel, it was always Joel. “I’m coming, Joel. I’m coming back to you,” you whispered into the cold air as your throat caught fire.

You rounded the corner and instantly saw Joel’s Chevy sitting parked up against the curb. He’s here, he’s here. You could feel him as much as you could feel your racing heartbeat against your ribcage. You sprinted over to his concrete steps out of breath and climbed them, grasping the railing tight as you knelt over and caught your breath. Your breaths were shallow and ragged and it felt like you had gotten the wind knocked out of your body.

You gripped the railing tightly and your knuckles turned white as you stared at the large door ahead of you with the frayed welcome mat covering the front step. Joel. You imagined him pacing the floor unevenly as he stared at his phone, waiting for you to call back. The thought of it nearly took you out as you stumbled toward the front door.

After finally catching your breath, you gulped down some invisible liquid courage and nodded. This was it. This was the moment that would put your anxious thoughts to bed. You were about to find out if he really thought you were a burden or not.

You slowly lifted your arm and knocked twice on the sturdy door, making sure the force was just enough to be loud and sharp. You heard some rustling around in the house, and it didn’t take him long before he was unlocking the door and pulling it open frantically as his form came into view.

His eyes went wide, and he let out the loudest sigh you’d ever heard come out of his mouth, like he was relieved to see you. But behind his eyes looked a whole lot like pain. Behind those beautiful honey colored eyes. He said your name slowly, the southern accent getting stuck on your syllables as his voice came out smooth and silky against your name. The sound alone was enough to bring tears to your eyes. And you felt them then. You felt the wave of tears lick the backs of your eyes as they swelled up to your waterline, threatening to break at any moment.

You gulped and stared up into those mesmerizing brown eyes, feeling your bottom lip quiver as you tried to say something, anything. But you were frozen in place, your anxious thoughts coursing through you like a rush of pure adrenaline. You left him, you left him. Your fault, your fault.

“Joel, I… I’m so… I’m s-sorry, I…” Your composure broke in two as you felt the hot tears run down your face, blurring your vision so you could barely see his slack jaw and watering eyes.

“Oh, sunshine. Baby. C’mere,” he drawled as he crashed against your body and pulled you into his broad chest, enveloping his arms strongly against your back as one hand went to cradle the back of your head. You snaked your arms around him and crushed your face to his chest, letting the hot tears wash over his button-up denim shirt.

You cried harder, sinking as far into him as you could, and he just held onto you tighter as he rested his chin on the top of your head. “Shhh it’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he cooed, digging his fingers through your hair as he held you as tight as he could.

He picked you up bridal style and carried you to the couch safely. Your muffled sobs got strangled as you buried yourself in his chest, and he just pulled you closer when he sat back against the velvet cushions. “S’alright now, you’re safe,” he soothed as he ran a hand through your locks, feeling a blanket of comfort cover you as he held you tightly in his arms.

You wiped hot tears from your eyes off on your hoodie and looked up at Joel with a quivering lip as you spoke slowly. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t call and that I ran out. I was just so… I was being a burden and…”

“Shhhh,” he whispered as he cupped your chin and wiped a falling tear away with the pad of his thumb, bringing it down your jaw as he trailed it slowly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Ya don’t have to apologize. S’alright. And you’re not a burden. Not at all,” he said as he shook his head lightly, his eyes gazing down at yours with a look of serenity washing over you slowly.

“That’s how I feel though. Like I’m just a problem and…”

He put his index finger up against your faded chapstick and silenced you from finishing your sentence. “You’re not a problem, sweetheart. You were never the problem. Trust me when I say you’re not a burden. You’re so much more than that. So much,” he said gently as he grazed the tip of his finger against your bottom lip, pulling his eyes down to your lips as he contemplated his options. He looked back up into your eyes and smiled gently, letting his other hand graze your back as he soothed you, pulling you into that calm place that you wanted to be in again.

“You’re… you’re so good to me, Joel. I… I don’t deserve you,” you blubbered with tears stinging at the backs of your eyes, your vision going blurry again.

“No. It’s you I don’t deserve. You’re such an angel, my sweet girl,” he murmured with a soft kiss as he pressed his lips to your forehead and pulled you back into his chest, running his thick fingers down your hair and your back as you melted into his touch.

Joel. Joel. Joel. He was the one, he was the one.

He cradled you on his lap for a few minutes as he just held you, soothing you gently as he placed gentle kisses to the top of your head and ran his calloused fingers up and down your arms. It was like a piece of heaven that was made just for you.

You started shivering against him as the cold from outside returned in full force. You could feel it down to your bones as the adrenaline finally tapered off. Joel noticed immediately and reacted just like you knew he would.

“Hey, you alright? You’re shaking so much. You cold, sweetheart?” he asked with concern expanding across his honey eyes.

“Yeah, I guess I stayed out a lot longer than I thought. Didn’t realize how cold it was,” you said, shaking in his arms.

“Well, c’mon. Let’s get you in the tub. I’ll put on some warm water for you.” He moved you gently out of his lap and pulled you up with him, leading you into the lit up bathroom as the smell of lavender and bath soap filled the air.

He grabbed some fresh towels and placed a pile of clean clothes against the edge of the counter. Wasting no time, he started filling the large jetted tub with warm water as you heard the water rush to life from the pipes. He placed his hand in every few seconds to test the water temperature, and when it was to his liking he nodded.

“Alright, sunshine. Water’s all ready for ya. I’ll get out of your hair so you can relax a little.”

Before he passed you by, you reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him from moving any further. “Will you stay with me?” you asked quietly, not wanting him to leave you alone.

He slowly turned and looked at you with gentle eyes, his tan skin beaming against the fluorescent bathroom lights. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whatever you need,” he nodded, gently smiling down at you.

You quickly got undressed, throwing your clothes in a pile beneath the sink as you slipped into the tub, letting the hot water soothe your aching bones as you sat down into the steaming water.

Joel kept his distance, training his eyes on you as he watched you grab the plush washcloth and soak it under the water, grabbing the soap bar from the edge of the tub. Your eyes kept flicking up to his as he watched you while he leaned up against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest, breathing slowly as he kept his focus on you.

There was something in the way he was looking at you. Just a small tug in your chest that told you he really cared about you, that he wanted you to be okay. He was there to make sure you had everything you needed. But one thing was missing and that was him being in the tub with you.

You fluttered your eyelashes up at him as you shifted in the tub, feeling the warm water splash around your breasts. “Joel?” you asked shakily.

“Hmm?”

“Do you… will you come take a bath with me?” you asked nervously as you tugged a loose lock behind your ear as your eyes shot up to meet his.

His face relaxed into a small smile as he pulled off his watch and took a couple steps your way. “‘Course I will, baby. Scoot up for me.” He pulled his button-up off quickly. His jeans and briefs following next as he climbed into the tub behind you, pulling you close to his broad chest as he circled his arms around you and reached for your washcloth, lathering soap onto the damp material.

You relaxed into him as he washed your back gently, dragging the material over the length of you as you groaned at the feeling of his calloused hands and light touch all over you. You did the same for him, gliding the soapy washcloth over the wingspan of his back, pulling it down his muscled chest as you grazed your lips over his, sealing the distance as you climbed into his lap and let your body sink against him.

He held you close as his hand ran up and down your back in slow circles, placing tender kisses against your lips, your jawline, your neck. He was being so gentle with you, so soft, so… loving.

There was that word again. Love. God, you loved him. You loved him so painfully much. You could feel it in the room, feel it in the air, feel it on his breath as it crashed against yours when your lips slotted against his. You could feel it in his hands, feel it on the tip of his tongue, taste it in your mouth. It was like floating in air with a warm, gentle breeze blowing through your hair in the middle of a summer day. It was like fire. Hot, burning, passionate as it simmered through your body, unfaltering and never burning out. And you could feel it coming off him as well, that hot fire that was calling your name.

“Joel?” you asked quietly as you trailed your fingers through his patchy scruff, feeling your heart hammering against your chest as the blood rushed through your veins.

“Yeah?” he asked as he looked down into your face, those big doe eyes gazing back at you as the breath was taken from you. He was so beautiful, so devastatingly beautiful.

“I love you…” you whispered, hearing your voice echo around the room as he let out a gentle sigh, his eyes melting into syrup as he looked at you with pure love in his eyes. You’d never seen him look at you like that before. His face in pure bliss and contentment as he ran his calloused fingers against your jawline.

“Oh, sunshine. My sweet girl. I’ve loved you since the first day I met you,” he breathed out, his face beaming as he smiled down at you and let a soft chuckle out. “They always say a man knows when he’s found the one. I just had this feeling in the pit of my stomach. This aching feeling that pulled me toward you. And I’m so glad I listened to my gut because it was right. I knew all along.”

You choked back tears and looked up at him with the most sincere gaze you had ever given anyone before. This was real, this was really happening. He loved you, he loved you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and crashed your lips against his as you melted into him. The kiss was slow, soft, romantic. A kiss that was screaming love as it poured out of you and enveloped all of him. This was it. You were in love, and he loved you too. So, so much.

After the bath and your love confessions, he wrapped you in a warm towel and helped you dry off, getting all the beads of dripping water off your body. You pulled on one of his long red flannel shirts and crawled into his soft bed where he gathered you against his chest and brought the fleece blanket over the both of you. You slowly trailed your fingers over his bare chest, and he ran his fingers up and down your arm, showering you with warmth and tenderness. It was perfect, he was perfect.

“You know I was really worried about you today, sunshine,” he murmured, his voice coming off low. “When you didn’t show up to the theater and when you didn’t answer your phone. I thought something bad happened.” His grip on you tightened, and you could feel his chest sigh heavily as he continued stroking your arm.

“I’m sorry I worried you. I just couldn’t get myself to do anything or talk to anyone. My anxiety was screaming so loud that I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts in my head. All I know is how bad I wanted to run to you. And l’ll never stop apologizing for disappearing without a word. I wanted you so bad, Joel. So bad. I just… I just freaked out. I had a panic attack and…”

“Shhhh. S’okay, sweetheart. It’s all okay now. You’re safe and that’s all that matters.” He brushed his lips against the top of your head and entwined his fingers into yours as you closed your eyes and sank against his chest.

It was quiet for a few minutes until you spoke again. “I’m gonna go home this weekend. Just for a couple days. I called my mom yesterday and told her everything, and she bought me a plane ticket right after. Thought it was a good idea to get out of New York so I could clear my head.”

Joel shifted underneath you, and you looked up at him and saw a small smile spread across his beautiful face. “I think that’s a great idea, and it’ll be really good for you. I can drop ya off at the airport if you’d like,” he said as he trailed his fingers through your hair gently.

“I’d like nothing more,” you smiled. He returned it right back to you. “I wish I could take you with me,” you sighed.

He trailed the pad of his thumb against the backside of your hand and chuckled under his breath. “Maybe next time.”

You squeezed his hand and wrapped your other arm around his forearm as you pulled it toward you. “I’m definitely taking you next time,” you promised.

“I can’t wait.” His smile made his eyes crinkle, and it made your heart beat that much more for him.

“You know, I gave Carlotta a mouthful today,” he said with a clenched jaw as his voice came out gravely.

You lifted your head up and looked him in the eyes as you gulped down the lump in your throat. “You did?”

“Mhm. Think I knocked some sense into that oblivious brain of hers. Before I walked out of the auditorium, she was calling over those two fuckers,” he said with rage building in his throat.

“Oh,” was all you could say before you rested your head back against his chest as you tried to not let your mind wonder to Pierre and Cecilia. He must’ve felt the shift in your mood because he reached out and called your name softly.

“You know, there’s cameras set up in the auditorium. I know the security guy that runs them. I think I could get him to make me a copy of Pierre when he…” He gulped down some anger, and you could feel the growl audibly deep in his chest. “When he hit you and pushed you down,” he said with hatred in his voice. “If I can get my hands on that video, I’m gonna turn him in. Give Carlotta the real proof she needs to get rid of him.”

You gasped as you looked up at him with wide eyes, staring unbelievably at him at the words that just came from his mouth. “You think it’ll work? You think she’d actually kick him out?” you asked with shock falling from your lips.

“Maybe. It’s worth a shot, so I’m gonna try my best. Because if you choose to stay there for the next two months, I don’t want you suffering every day you’re there. I don’t wanna see the life taken from those pretty eyes of yours. I wanna see them shine, just like you always do. You shine as bright as Sirius does in the sky. Maybe even brighter than that star. You’re one of a kind, angel. And I want to see you sparkling.”

“Joel…” you whispered out, the look of love plastered all over your face. “You’re so… perfect. No one’s ever cared like you do…” You let your voice trail off, caught in a daze between love and complete bliss.

“And I’m gonna keep takin’ care of ya, sunshine. My perfect girl. My love.” He cupped your chin and brought his lips down on yours slowly as you sank into him, crawling on top of him so you could brush your fingers through his tousled curls.

He pulled back and smiled down at you. “Not even the galaxies in the sky could shine as bright as you, baby. You’re one of a kind. And I love you. I love you.”

You got lost in his words, in him. And the rest of the night was history as you both got completely wrapped up in the other. I love you’s passed back and forth the whole night until you finally passed out in his strong arms. Right where you belonged. Right where your heart beat for him the most.

Tags: @burntheedges @tuquoquebrute @joelalorian @dugiioh @akah565 @amyispxnk @itsokbbygrl-library @blueseastorm @pedrostories

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tea-plantz · 1 year

Note

hey there! could i request lumity x fem reader with something like general relationship headcannons or what its like to date luz and amity?

Hello!! Thank you very much for requesting! I’m honestly so obsessed with The Owl House right now, so in honor of the show’s finale, here’s the hcs! Enjoy!

She/her for all

!tw! Spoilers ⬇️

<3Lumity x fem!reader relationship headcannons<3

In the begging, everything was a little bit awkward. Sweet, but awkward. Of course, that is to be expected when someone first starts dating, and three people at that! But alas, you all worked through all of the nervousness and became even closer than before!

Sometimes, being in a relationship with three people can be a bit chaotic, but luckily, you’re all masters of talking things out. Trust is one of the most important things in a relationship you know!

Luz and Amity has sort of a “sun and moon” thing going on, with you being their eclipse to balance it all out. Perfect relationship in every way!

——————————————————————————

When it comes to comfort, these girls are the best! First of all, they are both such good listeners and they give the best advice when you need it. Although, sometimes people don’t really want advice or logic when their feeling blue, and in that case, you’re girlfriends are ready with as much cuddles and words of affirmation as you need! Supportive gfs <3

Speaking of cuddles, Luz and Amity both give such good hugs, their heavenly fr. Even though Amity can sometimes be a bit awkward about it (her body just goes stiff as a board), it’s always so wholesome and sweet. Usually, Luz is the big spoon with either you or Amity in the middle, or you guys are all just huddled up in one big messy pile. Eda and King always finds it so adorable whenever you guys fall asleep together on the couch, and you can trust that they take a bunch of pictures too.

Amity often gets really flustered around you and Luz, which usually results in a lot of teasing. Her tomato face can just be too cute sometimes, and trust me, you get to se it A LOT!

Luz however doesn’t get flustered as much as Amity, but it’s still easy to get a stunned expression and red tinted cheeks out of her. You just gotta know what to say.

You all literally scream relationship goals fr.

——————————————————————————

Now, when it comes to the rest of the gang, they all support you guys so much! They think it’s so cool that you guys have a relationship, and even though they tease you about it from time to time (especially Eda, while Hunter mostly gets annoyed from all your lovey dovey stuff), they truly think that what you guys have is the sweetest thing ever. Oh and Hooty is your biggest fangirl, I’m not even joking.

Luz and Amity can be protective AF! Don’t get me wrong, they don’t really go around and get jealous of everything and stuff, but if anyone, witch or human, says anything to upset their girl, they’re really gonna get it.

Kisses with these two are usually fast and sweet.

Luz normally just goes in for a quick peck before turning away with pink tinted cheeks and a small smile, acting like nothing happened.

Amity on the other hand looks at you a bit before slowly leaning in. Afterward, she quickly retrieves, face completely burning up and her eyes as wide as plates. (Sort of like when she kissed Luz’s cheek in that one episode)

These girls are absolute suckers for hugs n’ kisses, and especially when they’re from you~

You guys are the most dorky couple EVER! Your all so silly, it’s adorable honestly.

Luz definitely loves picking her two girls up. She might say she has weak nerd arms, but we’ve all seen that that’s not true. There has been moments when she just comes up behind you, and with a little “aaand scoop!” she simply swipes you off of the ground while giggling.

I feel like you all give off kinda like a summerly girl in red vibe.

You and your girlfriends DEFINITELY have sleepovers and Azura movie nights! (I also said this in my Amity fic, haha)

Praise is one of the main factors of your relationship. These girl got TRAUMA and since you probably also got some as well (taken in perspective that the whole cast of this show have and does go through a lot), praise and words of affirmation/encouragement is super important to them.

——————————————————————————

When you got sent to the human realm, it was a hard time for everyone, but with the love and support from each other, you all managed to make the best of it and have a wonderful time together.

Camilla absolutely loves you and Amity so much, she is such a sweetheart!!

After some quality time spent in the human realm, you and the others, along with Camilla, finally managed to return to the Boiling Isles. And as we all know, even more challenges were lying ahead.

When things seemed dark, you, Luz and Amity always stuck together, and supported each other the whole way, never ever letting you or each other feel like they were alone in this.

In the end, you all helped each other so much with developing as a person! With all of the love and encouragement, everything turned out just fine, and these girls couldn’t be happier! Ever since this whole crazy adventure started, you’ve all gotten so much closer together, and really formed a special bond. To be able to be in a relationship with you like this is the best things to have happened to either Luz or Amity, and they never want to let that go in the hopes to someday be able to put a ring on it.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading, and feel free to send in more toh requests<33

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pluvialpoet · 11 months

Text

delicate edges // chapter 2

summary: beneath disdain, there is admiration. beyond betrayal, there is devotion. underneath loathing, there is adoration. even the coldest- most closed-off hearts- are protected by delicate edges of temptation, forgiveness, and absolution. an exiled heart longs for embrace, but desire threatens ruination. will true love become your savior or your greatest sin?

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of wandering hands (noncon touching), and miscommunications (plus, an embarrassing amount of foreshadowing that won't make any sense until later)

word count: 10,302

series masterlist

The tip of an embroidery needle pricks your flesh, and with a discouraged puff, you place the hoop on the chaise beside you. It’s pitiful- both your lack of needlepoint skills, and the design you’ve attempted to craft. What was supposed to be an homage to your house sigil is a mess of tangled thread and stained canvas- an illusion of a pink maiden, indeed. Perhaps if you’d turn it one way, or flip it upside down, or close both eyes and imagine the intended image staring back at you, then a different point of view might paint your work more favorable. After a few rounds of trial and error, you’ve come to accept that it does not.

Frustration urges you to yank and tear and unravel the mess you’ve made, but alas, thread is an expensive luxury that you’d be a fool to waste. Though your patience runs thin, you take a deep breath and attempt to regain your composure.

You’ve never been one for crafting. Dainty displays of femininity only serve to test your tolerance. Talents and skills you’ve failed to master- no matter how many years of practice you’ve endured- best you time and time again, and a twinge of panic stings your pinpricked wound when you realize that you’re running out of time.

“I quite like this color on you,” Helaena Targaryen- the king’s daughter, and Aemond’s sister- compliments your dress from across the room, momentarily distracting you from your plight. “It reminds me of a celastrina ladon.” She adds with a smile, though you’re not quite sure you understand the sentiment behind her words. As if she notices your uncertainty, she plainly praises, “Pretty.”

“Thank you, Helaena.” A gentle smile is passed between the two of you- a gesture of shared gratitude, and perhaps, appreciation for each other’s company. You can’t imagine how lonely she must be. Her only sister abandoned her when she was a girl, and her eldest brother had never really been quite fond of her company. Aemond tries his best to make time for his sister. Out of all of Helaena’s siblings, he is the most devoted to her. With few friends- and even fewer admirers- the princess often spends her days locked away in the comfort of her rooms, threading, dancing, or singing, solitarily. It seems like a forlorn life, but it brings her much joy. It makes you cherish the rare moments of amity she allows you to share with her. You’re grateful for them. Especially since you’re privy to the knowledge that she prefers to be left alone. “Are you looking forward to the evening’s festivities?”

Nimble fingers continue to weave and thread, only halting their movements to ponder upon the proposed question, and after a brief silence- filled with heavy thought and reflection- Helaena reveals, “I am most looking forward to watching the sun set.” She is a woman of few words, though her speech is far from simple. She is thoughtful- precise in her vocabulary, and silent when additions to conversations are unwarranted. There is oft something woven between the lines of her riddles and tongues meant to be deciphered, and when there isn’t, simple banter suffices.

“On that, we can both agree.”

A pleasant lull fills the space of spoken word for merely a moment, before Helaena’s brow furrows. For the first time, she looks up from her embroidery and meets your stare.

“You hold no interest in the tourney, or the ball?” She asks, and your answer is immediate- as if it’s been rehearsed many times or simply reiterated.

“I believe that they falsify honor with brutality.” You express your distastes with a grimace. “Such occasion justifies acts of savagery under the guise of proving strength and skill. I’m not compelled by displays of power nor aggression- though, I suppose there is something to be admired about the art of it all.”

“Art?”

“Yes,” You defend, “When Aemond fights, every move is calculated and precise. He moves as if…“ Pausing for a moment to gather your thoughts, you huff a breath, “As if, protection and defense are steps to a dance he’s been dancing his whole life.” You can’t help but smile whilst justifying the difference. “He is poised and delicate and-“ When Helaena grins, you realize that you’re getting ahead of yourself and your cheeks flush with warmth. “Well, I suppose there is something to be admired about it, is all.”

“And the ball?” She inquires, wondering if your opinions on dancing are as strong as they are against fighting, but before you have the chance to reply, a knock upon the door to Helaena’s chambers stifles the conversation. The interruption is unexpected and intrusive- drawing focus and attention away from your previous exchange and demanding awareness, elsewhere- and thick tension threatens to smother. Helaena’s lips part, allowing a quick gasp to pass, without allowing any more air to enter. Her lungs burn with anticipation. Another soft rap against wood heightens the already heavy suspense, and her eyes meet yours- searching, for either fear that mirrors hers, or, valor she could mimic, instead.

When Aemond enters her chambers, a look of relief washes over her features, and the corner of his lip curls into a gentle smile. It’s obvious, in the way that they gaze at one another, that they care for each other immensely, and you’re grateful that despite whatever loneliness they suffer, they have the other.

“Mother is expecting us,” He announces, fiddling with his hands behind his back whilst he informs his sister that they’ve been called upon. She nods dutifully, setting down her needlework and smoothing down the skirts of her dress as she stands to join him. “And your father is waiting for you,” Aemond adds, his gaze shifting to where you sit. You find yourself wondering if he likes the color of your dress- or if he finds it too blue? Are the sleeves too short? Does he believe that it flatters you? Does he notice at all? It’s not like you’ve worn it for him, specifically, but you value his opinion and hope that he might spare you a compliment like his sister had.

He does not.

“Thank you.” With a sheepish smile, you rise, abandoning both needle and thread as you cross the room to Helaena and loop your arm with hers. He bids you both adieu with a nod and as your footsteps retreat, he catches sight of the embroidery hoop you’ve left behind. Curiosity intrigues him, and before he can stop himself, he wanders over to get a better look.

Unsurprisingly, he can barely make out what you’ve attempted to create. Based on the colors alone, he deducts that it must’ve been a supposed tribute to your house sigil, but it hardly resembles the intended. It’s a charming disaster of chaos- pink, white, and blue tangled, knotted, and intertwined- and he’s captivated by your lack of aptitude when it comes to needlework. It’s a good thing you’ve deserted the cloth. If you had intended to pass it off as a favor, he’s pleased that you’ve saved yourself the embarrassment. He can’t imagine the ridicule you’d suffer if anyone else were to witness your craft. To spare you, he folds the homely handkerchief into his pocket- with the intent of pardoning you from mockery and returning it to you when the time permits, of course.

Why else would he be so mindful of creasing the monstrosity before tucking it safely into the pocket of his doublet?

You quickly lose interest in the tournament. Each match seems trivial and repetitive- in the sense that two men spar against one another until one bests the other. Perhaps, you hold such little regard in each aimless battle because you’ve grown used to watching seasoned knights train with purpose, not just for show. You’re not as easily amused or entertained by the performance and find yourself trying to figure out how much longer the ceaseless act will dwindle on for by trying to gauge where the sun hangs overhead.

Beside you, your father leans over. Ever observant, he takes an interest in your disinterest. Your chin rests in the palm of your hand, boredom apparent and overwhelmingly evident. He stifles a laugh. Surely, you’re not so uninterested in the events taking place before you that you find yourself prone to slumber. When you were a girl, you used to love watching the knights joust. It was your favorite part of celebrating the spring solstice. Now, you’re practically nodding off beside him. If he looks close enough, he can still catch glimpses of his little girl in a woman grown.

“I have a proposal for you,” He clears his throat softly, coaxing your attention away from the mock battle. “Before the next round, choose a winner. If you are correct, I shall award you a halfpenny.”

“Only a halfpenny for my knowledge?” He’s not expecting you to frown, but your lips pucker and pout, visibly unenthused by what he thought made an otherwise tempting offer. “I’d wager my talents are worth at least copper stars.”

“Do you now?” His eyes crinkle with laughter, the sound stifled by the roar of the crowd. “Well then, you must forgive me, darling, for I did not know your talents were so valuable.” Your father ribs softly. It’s nearly impossible not to mirror his joy when it’s so contagious. “Perhaps if your knowledge can predict the outcome of each match, I shall reward you with a gold dragon.”

“Truly?” With wide eyes, you ask.

“Have you ever known me to jest?” A gentle scoff is accompanied by a teasing glint. “Now, perk up,” He warns with a playful grin, and you have no reason to argue.

Between wagers with your father and idle chatter with Helaena, time passes comfortably. Match after match concludes with applause granted to the victor, and at some point, the acclamations start to lose their novelty. You find yourself joining in on the celebrations to avoid being the only one left out, but it’s all forced- every smile, every congratulatory cheer, even most of the sympathetic grimaces offered to those impaled by a lance or bathed in mud and defeat, lack genuine sincerity.

The royal box obscures your view of the sun, but you can still feel the warmth of its rays- even eclipsed by stone and canvas above. It’s an unforgiving heat. Wet and sticky. Each breath is labored, and excess moisture is absorbed by the fabric of your gown, adding phantom weight to the garment. Dampness kisses your hairline, decorating the expanse with pearls of sweat that glisten in the light. Fine hairs start to curl outwards, rebelling against the braids they were forced into earlier this morning and you resist the urge to comb them back into place.

Thunderous applause distracts.

Another champion rides forth, and the splintered pieces of House Mallister’s sigil become trampled by the hooves of an auburn stallion. The rider guides his beast toward the royal box, but the mount does not advance without a fight. He whinnies in protest, letting out a huff of refusal, before taking to his hind legs. Onlookers murmur and gasp as the knight struggles to control the horse. Another irritated puff, another crack of a whip, and then, finally, the animal obeys.

The mystery knight’s helmet is discarded and the Master of Revels introduces Ser Edmund Flowers- a hedge knight from the Reach, said to be the bastard son of Willem Ball. He’s rewarded with far less praise once his identity is revealed, but the celebration never truly ceases. Dark, unkempt hair falls into his eyes and he shakes it away to clear his line of sight as he looks up towards the royal box. He’s young- no more than a year or two older than you are- and it’s a miracle that he’s managed to survive the joust without the same amount of experience most fighting knights possess.

Helaena flinches beside you.

The sudden movement catches your attention, and you spare her a glance as she fidgets with her fingers. Her eyes are wide, her pale skin ghostly and gray, and you can’t help but feel concerned for her. Knowing of her aversion to touch, you fight the urge to reach for her hands and stop them from trembling. Something has spooked her. A look of equal parts fear and anger influences her features, and her stare narrows.

“No, no, no,” She mumbles to herself, and you briefly wonder if she’s made wagers against the victorious knight. Perhaps she’s found herself in debts she can not pay. If she requires coin, she merely has to ask. Whilst others remain in good spirits- cheering and applauding- the princess appears sullen and agitated. The sight of her distress is enough to warrant concern of your own.

“Helaena, what is it?” You ask lightly, mindful not to add to her unease by making sharp, sudden movements, or using a voice that might appear louder, or harsher than intended. She looks to you then, her stare blank and her eyes glossed over in either terror or detachment- it’s difficult to tell. Her answer is decided, but the words evade her, and she struggles to formulate the intended reply. Instead, her lips part, and press, over and over again, like she’s gasping for air.

The sound of her quick breaths finally catches Aemond’s attention, but before he has the chance to spare his sister concern, he’s interrupted.

“Lady Piper,” Ser Edmund addresses the box and you immediately suck in a sharp sigh. He beams with a confidence rewarded by glory- void of the arrogance granted by experience- and offers a peaceful smile. “I’ve prayed to the Seven for protection, but I look to you and your favor for strength.” The proposal, which sounds more like a plea, is met with silent anticipation- from both the gathered masses and yourself.

He is a stranger- a name you’ve never heard of and a face you’ve never seen until today. His status, or lack thereof, is not what causes your chest to tighten. It is not his fault he is a bastard, and you don’t hold him in low esteem because of it. He is boyishly handsome- at least, you assume, with the distance between you and the glare of the sun’s rays, that he is- and it’s enigmatic, trying to decipher what flutters inside of you at the prospect of accepting his advanced.

It is the first time you’ve been called upon with the intent of a potential courtship.

It is the first time you’ve been desired.

It fills you with gratification- to know that you’re wanted, to know that you’re sought after. So strange and so new is the feeling that you don’t know what to make of it. The only time you’ve felt something similar- the only other time you’ve been kissed by the flames of attraction and burning- is when you find yourself in the company of your eldest friend. Whatever flush set alight by the knight asking for your favor is snuffed out by the fondness you feel for the second Targaryen prince.

“I do not take without giving, my lady, and I offer this flower as a token of my gratitude.” Withdrawing something from underneath his breastplate, tucked safely between chainmail and steel- he presents a favor of his own. With purple and green leaves- and roots still attached to a clump of soil- he holds it out to you and you rise to your feet.

Aemond watches you smile sweetly at the gesture, enthralled by the lavishness of the offering, and his lip curls bitterly. The bastard knight has offered you nothing more than fireplum- a weed- likely plucked from lands that don’t belong to him, and never will. Yet, your eyes crinkle with affection at such a simple display of yearning. His nostrils flare.

“Thank you, Ser Flowers.” You bow- simply to convey decency- and his smile grows. The air stills. Heavy, with something other than humidity, each breath fails to satiate the need for more air in your lungs. Whispers travel. Murmurs intensify. With a sudden reluctance, your intestines twist- but your smile never falters. Against better judgment, you spare a glance over your shoulder. You expect to be met with the familiar comforts of violet and sapphire- concealed by leather- but Aemond looks beyond you. Even when you attempt to catch his eye, he refuses to meet your stare. Breath catches in your throat.

You don’t know what you were expecting.

Dejectedly, you untie one of the purple ribbons from your hair and wrap it around his lance- seemingly accepting his favor and offering your own in return. “Best of luck to you.”

The crowd erupts in support. With a thoughtful grin, he boasts your favor and dons his helmet once more. You return to your seat, where Helaena remains fitful, and brush the tips of your fingers over the leaves of your token. Beside you, your father offers his sympathies with a tight press of his lips and you awkwardly return the gesture before trying to sneak another glance at Aemond- whose peripheral is blocked by his patch. Despite this, he can feel the weight of your stare and wills himself to look forward.

Ser Flowers is thrown from his horse the next round, and Aemond makes no attempt to hide his spiteful smirk of glee whilst he watches the defeated bastard limp from the tourney grounds. It’s a sight to be seen- a Flower daubed in mire- and he’s lucky he has at least one eye to see it. The loser spares a pitiful glance towards you, and you offer your sympathies silently- with a gentle nod.

The tourney drags on. A winner is announced, and then a loser, and so on and so forth until only one knight- from House Darklyn- emerges victoriously against all of his competitors. Holding true to tradition, a wreath of flowers is placed atop the head of a plain girl from Tarth. Precious petals are cushioned by hair that resembles straw, and when she smiles, it’s revealed that she’s still missing a few teeth from her youth. She’s a bony child, nearly as tall as the knight that’s crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty, and even with only one eye, Aemond can see clearer than those blessed with two- she is not the most desirable maiden in attendance nor the most striking. She just is. Simple. Forgettable. Ordinary. Yet, onlookers cheer for the homely daughter of the Evanstar, praising and celebrating her as if she were the fairest across the land- an actual sapphire unearthed amid bedrock and clay.

Why is she so easily accepted by the masses and he shunned? Why is she celebrated whilst he is ostracized?

Envy is sour, and his lips purse with distaste as he forces his attention elsewhere. He will not honor the chosen outsider- a child with nothing to give to his people- whilst he remains snubbed. Grateful for the distraction, if nothing else, he uses the celebration as an excuse to quietly slip away, back into the shadows that welcome him when he’s grown tired of parading about the light. Perhaps his only regret is that he’ll miss the sunset, but he doubts that you won’t find a way to recount the sights to him the next time you cross paths. With a vivid attention to detail and a picturesque prose, the story he awaits is likely more mystical than the actual event- like childhood lore, meant to lull, but stirring imagination instead, he reckons he could listen to the same tale echoed forevermore, as long as it’s from your view.

On a dias, sat high above the company of lesser lords and commoners, Aemond sits alone. He is surrounded by his blood- save for the empty seat next to Helaena where his brother, Aegon, is meant to be seated- but he remains solus. The feast is a joyous occasion for gluttons and peasants alike, luxuriating in grub and cups without a care beyond what they’ll shove down their gullets next, and he loses his appetite in the presence of greed. Below they laugh, dance, and indulge, leaving the prince with no choice but to observe the same people that have rejected him partake in merriment. He has always been the spare- second to Aegon, and third, fourth, and so on to the children his future wife might bare- but he still occupies a seat above them, a seat that watches over them as they mingle and gawk whilst he has no choice but to remain dutiful. Forced to portray amiability when all that bubbles in the pit of his stomach is animosity.

The glances spared his way- the ones purposeful and deliberate, not accidental or unintentional- are filled with the same judgments and scrutiny he’s been condemned to since childhood. Though he’s much too far to hear the whispers sat atop his pedestal, he holds no delusions that the gossips have seized their hearsay in favor of silence. They’d be driven to madness, otherwise. Cornered by elation, trapped in a festivity of joy, he remains sullen. He clasps his hands together- tight enough for the color to drain from his fingertips- and with a look of repugnance, he watches over the citizens that have prospered with newfound sustenance- even if only for the evening- by suckling from his family’s teet.

Through small talk and amicable gestures, you’ve managed to avoid the awkward prospect of falling into step with a suitor who would quickly lose interest the moment you spun out of turn, or stepped on their toes- like the last time Aemond’s uncle, Daemon, had asked for your hand. He didn’t speak a word to you, and hardly spared you a glance whilst he lead you through the dance. Instead, he glared at his nephew with a smug smile that quickly vanished when you accidentally lost your footing and landed right on his foot. Aemond laughed at that.

The urge to flee is immense. You long to retire somewhere thinly populated- free from the burdens of socializing and the threat of celebration- but as you look upon the grand dias that seats the Targaryen family and catch Aemond’s eye, your devotion morphs into something much more selfless.

He holds your stare. Despite the exuberant mob of conversation, drunken joviality, and waltzing pairs, he finds you. Somehow, he always does- and, with a talent far less impressive, you manage to find him. Never first, only after you feel his eye upon you. Even from far away, you note the discomfort reflected in his gaze. Invisible to everyone else in attendance, you notice him. Always. You rise, abandoning grub and beverage in favor of more familiar comforts, and across the room, Aemond does the same. The simultaneous movements fail to garner the regard of inebriated guests- drunk on glee and mead- but they share the same intentions. With a smile you’re unable to contain, you weave your way through the crowd. When you finally make your way to his side, he greets you with a thin press of his lips and a nod, and you mean to make conversation with him, but someone clears their throat from behind you, contending for your attention, instead.

“Lord Corbray,” Your smile is forced, yet reserved. With grace and diplomacy, you greet Leowyn Corbray- a stocky man with little respect for chivalry, as he oft forgets himself in the company of women. His dark, stringy hair is sparser than the last time your paths crossed, but it is still slicked back with grease and clumped in patches. The top button is missing from his doublet, the front of the garment soaked through with either sweet wine, mead, or sweat. He appears to be in good spirits, either way. The lines around his eyes crease as he greets you, smile stretching wide to reveal a crooked display of teeth. He is nearly thrice your age, but the years don’t prevent him from reaching for your hand.

“Lady Piper,” He happily accepts your pleasantries by pressing his lips to the back of your palm. It is revolting. It is repulsive and distasteful. Despite how sloppy the gesture is, despite the quick swipe of his tongue against the dorsal of your hand that makes your skin crawl, the worst part about the entire exchange is that his grip tightens around your fingers- effectively, and forcefully, stopping you from retreating from the seemingly innocent assault.

Luckily, unlike the last time you found yourself in his presence, you are not alone.

“Prince Aemond,” Leowyn acknowledges the man beside you only because of the title he dons. If Aemond had been a squire, knight, or even another lord, he wouldn’t have paid him any mind. But alas, propriety mustn’t be forgotten in the presence of royalty.

Next to you, Aemond stiffens. Though he is completely unaware of the strength Lord Corbray uses to keep you in his grasp or the grievous attack of his lips upon your skin, he finds the entire exchange unsettling. He thinks back to your conversation a few days prior- the one where you voiced your distaste for marriage and motherhood- and he believes he understands better than he did then. Watching you interact with a man who is closer in age to your father than he is to you, is confusing. He doubts that you would find yourself in a happy partnership with a man as absent-minded as Leowyn Corbray, and the longer he considers the possibility, his insides begin to ache. Akin to that of an upset stomach from boyhood, he watches you smile and wipe your hand against the skirts of your dress before shivering, and the twisting in his stomach intensifies. Coupled with a tightness in his chest- equivalent to the labored, strained breaths after a taxing day of sword training- he watches as a pair of light brown eyes meet yours, and knows not what to make of such strange, sudden sentiments.

“Not even the stars rival your light tonight, my lady,” Leowyn slurs, whilst attempting to flatter you, no doubt. Perhaps from anyone else, the compliment might’ve brought forth a warmth to your cheeks, but from his tongue- past his lips, in a boisterous tone, with an arrogant grin, as if he were certain such praise would have you falling at his feet- you feel nothing beyond irritation, and even a bit of pity, for the man making a fool of himself. Still, you’re too well-mannered not to accept his kind words- even if you refuse to take them to heart.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Under no delusion that he’s come to simply pay you a compliment, you wait with bated breath for him to reveal his true intention. The silence- which only lasts a few seconds- feels like it stretches on for days. You’ve grown dizzy, plagued with worst-case scenarios and nightmarish figments. Though, when he speaks again, your worries do not remain somewhere far off. They intensify.

“Perhaps, you would bestow me the honor of a dance?” His tongue sweeps across the front of his teeth in a manner that makes the crooked ivories nearly mistakable for a set of fangs. The color in his eyes dissolves, darkening an already menacing stare tenfold. “It would be a privilege to turn with the fairest maiden amongst the seven kingdoms,” Memories haunt. Time has faded bruises, but it has not healed old wounds split open by fear. Though, back then you knew not what to expect. Now, you dread what you know.

“Have you met them all?” It’s a shock that your voice finds you at all. The sly leer falls from his face. Arrogance and brawn are discarded like a mask, revealing a timid, feeble, drunken man underneath the brazen facade of a lord- whose only real power comes from a title handed down to him, not strength or wit, or even charm.

“I beg your pardon?” He sputters, mouth agape and taken aback by the challenge he neither expected nor prepared for.

“All the maidens in the seven kingdoms?” Rage and trepidation influence your speech, demanding answers to questions you wouldn’t even dare to ask had you found yourself alone in his company. “Have you the privilege of meeting them all before deeming that I am the fairest?”

Aemond bites back a snicker. There’s something comical about the exchange, and something even more gratifying about watching you reproach a man as vile as Leowyn Corbray. His chest blossoms with something parallel to pride, but not quite equivalent, and it makes each breath a little easier to breathe when he glances upon the fool’s face and witnesses a look of utter stupefaction. For once, he is not the object of ridicule. Thus, if prompted, he will not refrain from joining in on the mockery he’s only ever witnessed his whole life. Perhaps he is as wicked and twice as heartless as whispers have painted him out to be. Thirsty for nothing short of revenge against any and all who have ever wronged him, he thrives for vengeance. But then, he looks to you- the only person who has never made him feel any less whole, solely because he is missing parts- and such temptations are quelled.

For nearly a second, he gazes at you with fondness.

“Lady Piper, I-“ A proper apology evades the man before you. Perhaps, if he’d offered his condolences more, he might’ve been better acquainted with the words meant to ask for pardon. Alas, his following sentiment disappoints, “I meant not to offend, my lady- only to compliment.”

“I see,” You agree, but your expression betrays you.

“Perhaps my intentions were unclear,” He’s too self-righteous to surrender. If he were a leader in battle, he would lead his men straight to their deaths. His pride will forever be his downfall- an attribute he will never outgrow, a characteristic that will never change.“ But I wish to dance with you, my lady,” If you did not know him, you might believe the sincerity behind the notion, but Leowyn Corbray is a vain man, not a genuine one. “Unless of course, you are already spoken for,” As his eyes flit between you and Aemond, you suck in a sharp breath. The insinuation fills you with hope- hope that the prince’s presence might discourage him, hope that you will not be forced to dance with a foul man, hope that Aemond might take your hand in his and lead you away to the gardens where you first asked him to dance all those years ago- but Aemond physically recoils at the implication. You are not his. The revelation invites your suitor’s advances once more. In the blink of an eye, the color returns to his face, and his eyes brighten with anticipation and excitement. “Very well,” He exclaims cheerfully, directing his attention solely to you. “Lady Piper,” Brandishing the pudgy fingers of his palm, he demands under the guise of a query- as if you have a choice to deny him. “Your hand?”

Suddenly, you feel trapped. When you try to catch Aemond’s eye, he casts his gaze downward, refusing to meet your stare. The reaction causes a dull ache in your chest. All too quickly you understand the prospect that awaits you if you do not intervene. Perhaps, as foolish as it sounds, the child within you still fears the anticipation of dancing with another. Despite the number of times you’ve turned with a partner, each time has only intensified your insecurities and doubts. There’s a reason you’re desperately trying to avoid partnering with Leowyn for the evening, even if only briefly, and your pulse quickens with fear when you realize that you do not have a legitimate reason to turn him away.

“Where did you say you saw my father?” The question draws looks of confusion from both members of your company. It tastes just as mindless, but you present an inquisitive front. Your eyes plead with Aemond, silently hoping that he wouldn’t force you to outright beg for his aid, but he peers straight past your guise- failing to appreciate your quick wit and allowing your call for support to go unanswered.

“I have n-“ Aemond shakes his head, bewildered by the oddities that slip past your tongue. As of late, you’ve stopped making sense, and he’s found himself growing more and more concerned with your strange behavior. You speak in riddles he can not understand, and it perturbs him. He longs to understand, but you make it so difficult. Your face falls and he feels himself growing frustrated. He’s no stranger to disappointment. Having been born a failure- sharing a cradle with an egg that refused to hatch- he knew, even then, that he would continue to be a letdown. He was half the size of Aegon, and twice as fierce- he had heard- but before he could savor the feeling of air in his lungs, he had let his father down. Why else would the king have scorned him for all of these years? He was only his second son, after all. Despite the odds stacked against him, you have yet to make him feel less than- like he’s unworthy simply for being- and as he watches your eyes try to convey what you won’t allow words to, his chest tightens. It’s as though you expect him to understand a completely different language, without revealing the translations- about as effective if he were to speak to you in High Valaryian.

He can’t take it anymore. You are an anomaly he can not make sense of- and it vexes him.

“Forgive me, lord, but I must-“ Looking past his stocky frame, you try to catch a glimpse of your father, or at the very least a glimpse of a familiar face- truthfully, you would’ve settled for one of Helaena’s handmaidens- even though the most familiar face is standing right beside you, and looking at you as though you’re a stranger. Your eyes begin to water, threatening tears, and you try your best to blink them away. It’s a pain you never could’ve fathomed, which is why it stings so deeply.

“Are you refusing me?” Much to your horror, he catches onto your plans to escape. In an instant, he discards cordiality in favor of a menacing ire. “Doing so would surely bring great shame to your house- not to mention your father,” His presence is so daunting that when he takes a step closer, Aemond finds himself stepping forth to shield you. He takes half a step, angling his body to protect you from the wrath of the arrogant prick that threatens you, and stares Leowyn down, halting his approach.

He doesn’t quite like the tone that’s been taken with you.

“Your father is just over there, lady Piper,” His eye never leaves the pathetic excuse of a man before him, though he addresses you. With his back towards you, you’re unaware of the darkness that bleeds into the light of his iris, but Lord Corbray swallows thickly when Aemond narrows his stare. “Perhaps you should allow her a moment to speak with him before pestering her for a dance,” It’s not a suggestion- it’s an order, that Leowyn has no choice but to obey.

He clears his throat, ridding the passage of phlegm and panic, and presses his lips together. The prince is easily a head and a half taller than he is and built of lean muscle and years of strength training. He may be inebriated, but even soaked in booze, Leowyn’s wise enough to know that he’s no match for the marred prince. At least he does not have to cover his monstrosities. “Very well,” He heeds to Aemond’s warning with a weak smile. It does little to convey the ease it’s intended to, and Aemond barely registers the feeling of his fingernails digging into the meat of his palm when his adversary tries to meet your eyes over his shoulder. “I shall return once your affairs are in order.” He promises, though it feels more menacing than a threat.

His boots click once, twice, three times against the polished stone floors, and you abruptly turn to face Aemond. Your heart is pinned to your sleeve- a raw, irregular display of fear, sorrow, and trepidation that flaunts all you attempt to obscure. Each pulse sends a tremor through your body, and your eyes flit nervously around the crowded room in search of ever-present danger. The music has faded away almost completely, eclipsed by the sharp ringing in your ears. Even conversation and laughter have merged into something so dull and muffled they’re almost impossible to make out. Your fingertips tremble as you reach for Aemond, and you seek his comfort blindly as the room starts to spin and vivid colors threaten to dim to black.

He does not notice.

“Aemond,” His name is barely a whisper, and he exhales heavily as you plead, “Please,” You croak, each word more and more difficult to pronounce with the tightening of your throat. “Please do not make me dance with him,”

“He’s asked for your hand.” The reminder is clipped, and could have easily been mistaken for something harsh or bitter, had you not known the truth of his nature. Still, he refuses to gaze upon you whilst he delivers the cruel truth. He can not bear to watch the color fade from your cheeks. He will not subject himself to the punishments of watching sorrow seep into your smile, or the light dim behind the darkness of your eyes. It’s an agony he refuses to brave. Instead, he cowers away- yielding to surrender for the first time in his life. A blaze burns in his lungs, and he swallows smoke and flame alike, igniting a searing rage deep in his chest. His torments are self-inflicted, yet he continues to ache. Damn, his pride. Damn, his ego. It is what fuels his malice. Though he holds no desire in asking you to dance- refraining from creating a spectacle on both of your behalf- it maddens him to know that someone else will turn with you instead. Some pompous lord will ask to spin you, and then another will follow, and for the rest of the evening he will be forced to watch you partake in a custom you dread- and only he will know of your pain.

Pain. It’s what you remember most about the last time you were forced to dance with Lord Leowyn Corbray. The way his nails dug into your flesh. The way his palms squeezed and manipulated. The purples, blues, and greens that have since faded, but the terror and shame that still remain. Aemond is so much more than an ally amongst men, he is a friend, and you stand before him beseeching him for refuge- but it seems as though he’s drawn his gates and barred the windows to his sanctuary, leaving you stranded and alone for reasons you can not fathom. He values honor and tradition, but he is not wicked. He would not condone the heinous acts committed against you, if he were privy to them. To make him understand, you must divulge, but revealing the truth also means bearing your humiliation.

Would he treat you differently? Would he hold you in less regard if he knew the secrets you’ve kept to maintain a respectable appearance? Would he discard you, thinking you’d been sullied before marr- no. Despite doubts and impending anxiety, you know Aemond’s character. He is not vile. He is not brutal nor merciless. He will understand. As soon as you can find the words to help him, he will understand.

“Y-yes but, his hands…they…” Your demons claw at consonants and vowels, greedily snatching every letter from the cavern of your mouth before it may pass your lips, and you struggle to convey what is of utter importance. Through your panicked haze, you do not notice the furious glint that obscures lilac to violet. Aemond feels a fury. Until this very moment, he had only been blistered by the flames alight within him.

Now, he burns.

“What?” The heaviness in his voice doesn’t register. Lost upon you, the same way the clenching of his fists and the pursing of his lips is, you barely notice how he fails to conceal how deeply your confession has affected him. His temper has been tempted, coaxed from the places he tried to bury it in his youth- and he welcomes darkness to light.

When he looks at you now, he recognizes your fear. It’s as clear as looking upon a reflection of his childhood. For a moment, he feels regret. He had been so blinded by his own self-importance that he could not recognize your affliction. It’s a fleeting feeling, replaced by a rage he has no intention to quell. The tips of his ears flush with his wrath. The skin around his scar splotches pink and red with an influx of internal heat, but he barely registers the discomfort. He waits, with clenched teeth and an attentiveness previously reserved, for you to confide in him- and the truth pierces straight through his armor.

“His hands wander.” The confession warrants carnage and the urge to drain blood. He fails to detect the taste of bile as his rage consumes him. “Once, when I was a girl, I-I was forced to dance with him a-and I-“

“Go to your father.” Aemond orders sternly. The assertiveness of his voice- something more forbidding than you’re used to- causes you to stiffen. Caught off guard by the change in his demeanor, you hiccup softly and begin to protest- fearful to part from the assurance of his presence- but you never get the chance to.

“A-aemond, I-“

“I will be but a moment,” He tells you, void of gentle reassurance and warmth. An iciness not meant for you sends a chill through your blood. Everything stops, suddenly, and you forget your sorrows in favor of concern. You do not recognize the man stood before you, or the glint in his eye- but it does not frighten you. He does not frighten you. If anything, you find yourself unsettled by possibilities crafted from figments of panic and distress, woven together like threads to create a visual of your worst fears. Both reluctant and eager to follow his orders, you find yourself frozen in place. Meeting his eye, you search for something calm within the chaise of lilac- something familiar- and Aemond’s nostrils flare at your hesitation. You spare him one last glance, hoping that it conveys all of the sentiments your tongue fails to- be careful, be safe, do not search for trouble, come back to me- and with an uncertain nod, your feet begin to guide you away.

He remains still with his fists clenched by his sides until he’s sure your father has noticed you. Then, he sets off.

You feel faint.

The room, and the people within it, spin dizzily, and it takes every bit of willpower you have to keep walking toward your father. He’s easy enough to spot, and you’re temporarily riddled with vexation that you weren’t able to find him sooner. He smiles when he sees you- his face rosy from indulging in the evening’s festivities- but his grin falters when he notices the look of utter terror you don.

“What troubles you, darling?” He skips a greeting altogether, “You seem…unwell.”

“I am,” You attempt to convey what you’re feeling, but the words fail you. Instead, it sounds like you’re agreeing with him, and it only heightens his worry.“I-I am-“

“Has something happened?” He tries a simpler question, urging you to divulge what’s gotten you so riled up. “Take a breath, love,” A warm hand finds your shoulder, and he crouches down to meet your line of sight- that somehow searches beyond him for a head of silver. “What has happened?”

“Aemond,” Through your panic, decency evades you, and you find yourself unable to mutter any explanation beyond calling out his name. “Prince Aemond, have you- can you see him?” Questions remain unfinished, true inquiries remain unasked- cut in half and left partial by quick breaths- you find it increasingly difficult to simplify your urgent need to discover his whereabouts. “I-I’ve lost him.” You supply, but your father struggles to make sense of the minimal detail. “We were together, you see, and we parted ways and I haven’t- I must-“

You’re visibly shaken. Your inability to form a coherent sentence, coupled with the fact that the whites of your eyes shine with a fear he’s prayed you’d never feel, fills him with dread. He sets his goblet down. Acidic spirits already savored sour in his gut. He takes a breath, and then another, his tongue swiping across the wine-stained cracks in his lips before he leans in and accuses, “Has the prince caused you such distress?”

If anyone were to overhear the accusation, he would certainly face repercussions for such foul allegations, but when your well-being is at stake, he could care less about the threat of his tongue being slit, or his head being placed atop a spike.

His love for you truly knows no bounds.

“No!” You’re quick to deny the slander against Aemond’s name, horrified at the implication that he could be the cause of such affliction. “No, he…he could never.” Your voice finds you then- in the surety of defending Aemond’s honor, no doubt- and with a breath, you try your best to explain. “I just-“

“Good evening, Lord Piper.”

An angry flush kisses Aemond’s cheeks- a startling contrast against the fairness of his skin that proves difficult to hide- but he bows his head respectfully, greeting your father, properly. Your eyes widen. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you search for any indication of an altercation- first his brow, and the delicate skin around his scar, then his neck, and any other exposed skin, before finally landing on his knuckles. With a sickening realization, it dawns on you that you’re searching for blood. Your father watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your face until a look of relief overcomes your features. He waits a moment more, ensuring that you’re truly at ease. Then, he returns the prince’s sentiment.

“Good evening, Prince Aemond, and happy solstice to you.” He presses his lips together politely- though his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Silence follows. Neither you, nor Aemond says anything. Instead, you gaze upon one another, and as your father looks between the two of you, he realizes that an entire conversation is taking place- and he can’t decipher any of the words. Reluctantly, your father spares you one last glance before huffing a sigh. “Well, I believe it is not my company you’ve sought this evening,” He announces before turning towards you once more. There’s a look in his eye,- a look that urges you to seek him, to confide in him when the time permits- and with a gentle nod of understanding, he bids you farewell, entrusting you in Aemond’s care. “Darling,”

As soon as your father departs, you huff a sigh of relief. “Aemond,” His name passes in a breath, and your brows furrow. “What did you say?”

“If you were meant to hear, I would not have sent you away.” He tells you. His jaw is tense, the muscles pronounced and much more prominent when he forces himself to hold his tongue behind an army of clenched teeth, and you notice the flush of his cheeks- a dark red hue that’s obvious against pale skin- and the way his chest heaves. His eye doesn’t meet yours, instead glowering somewhere behind you, and you have to resist the urge to reach out for him- to find the sharp point of his chin with the tips of your fingers and save him from his thoughts. With a heavy exhale, he sighs, “It matters not, just know that you will never have to endure his company again.”

Your gaze narrows. It can not be that easy. With no signs of a physical confrontation- save for the barely there trembling of Aemond’s clenched fists- and no visible blood spilt, you’re left to assume that such a conflict was resolved with words- which seems impossible. You suppose that his stature might’ve been enough to intimidate the lesser lord, but still, you can’t help but wonder what was spoken amongst men- and why it’s seemed to agitate him so. Somewhere, between the vagueness of his reply, the truth remains, and you have to accept that the only two people privy to such knowledge are Aemond and Leowyn. With his word that you’ve been spared, you know it to be so, and a feeling of utter relief eclipses the affliction you felt mere moments prior.

“Thank you.” Pressing your lips together, you express your gratitude with a smile. Aemond attempts to mirror the gesture politely, but the firm, morose line pales in comparison. He catches the eyes of a pair of lords who have taken a sudden interest in watching the two of you. They whisper to one another, leaning in close to share secrets about him, no doubt, and he can only imagine what vile things they must mumble- what wicked sights they must see as outsiders looking in. It must be quite a display, to watch someone as grim and menacing as he is- someone as aloof and unapproachable- speak to someone as fair and kind as you are. He wonders what judgments must pass when he is in your company? What do the outsiders believe to be true? Perhaps that you’ve taken pity on him- as he did, briefly, in his youth. Or, perhaps you’re performing an act of decorum. All his life he’s been subjected to repellent remarks and ugly accusations, but this is the first time he finds himself wondering what people must whisper about you- for choosing to stand by his side, in a room full of people. The revelation causes his tempers to flare. A fleeting rage returns tenfold and he has half a mind to confront the onlookers on your behalf, to make them rue ever speaking illy upon your name, to make them suff-

“Would you fancy a dance?” You ask, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil and the perceived judgments passed onto the pair of you. “Unless, of course, you wish to retire to your chambers, or evade our company altogether-“ There’s a hint of teasing thinly woven within the suggestion, and it’s enough to reel his attention back from the shadows of his mind. A coy, little smirk threatens to turn into a taunting smile, and Aemond finally turns to face you.

“Still haven’t found a knight or squire to teach you technique, have you?” He jests with the hint of a barely-there smile, alluding to the faithful night in the godswood in which your paths crossed.

In truth, you’ve found plenty- but you’ve chosen him. Such a vulnerable revelation feels as though you’ve permitted him to look right through you- beyond blood, bone, and marrow- straight to an arrhythmic heart, and you fear that he sees it- your feelings for what they are, and you for what you truly feel. Before him, you are defenseless. Always. Never exposed nor endangered, but at the mercy of him, entirely. There is no need for armor- nothing to gain from chainmail, steel, nor shield- because you do not need to protect yourself from him. The only weapon he wields is a blade of rejection, sharpened and polished to pierce through the entirety of your being. The notion alone threatens to dampen your lashes and you’re forced to confront a question you’ve refrained from asking aloud; is it better to tell him how you feel, or spare yourself the pain of possible rejection? You do not know the answer.

Aemond, who notices that you appear crestfallen rather than jovial, as he intended, sucks in a sharp breath before agreeing, “Very well,”

He extends his hand to you- long, inviting, pale fingers beaconing you to join him- and you swallow down the last inklings of doubt, before reluctantly taking his hand. Beyond the crowds, near the outskirts of partnered pairs and intoxicated onlookers, there is a clearing. An abandoned corner- so secluded, yet so exposed- has never appeared more enchanting, and you allow Aemond to guide you toward the private opening. The smell of booze is overwhelming, rivaled only by the unmistakable odors of sweat and urine. It’s pungent, but a welcome reminder that cups are filled to their brims, and the surrounding folk are too busy drowning in their own pleasures to pay you any mind.

You are a stranger amongst the shadows, and Aemond steers you.

Once an appropriate distance from the rest of the crowd- a separation far enough to grant privacy, whilst remaining accessible enough to heed to societal standards- Aemond turns to face you. Though traces of agitation, spite, and irritation still linger across his features, there’s a softness that wasn’t there before. As if you’ve been offered a glimpse of a knight free from the protection of his armor- bare from the defenses of his shield- you meet the ambiguous intensity of his eye. A round of applause is muffled by the fervor of his stare, and you can’t help but hold his gaze.

In the reflection of his iris, you see yourself, and you can’t help but wonder if he notices himself in yours?

He takes a step forward, approaching you slowly and positioning his stance. You follow suit, albeit less confident and sure than he is. For as far removed from judgment as you are, your stomach still twists unpleasantly. Though, all churning seems to seize when you feel Aemond’s hand reach out for yours. For a moment, you’re stunned. Even with the knowledge that you’d have to hold him to turn with him, you weren’t prepared for such an intimate affair. So lost within your thoughts are you that at the first sound of strings threaten your feet to move on their own accord.

“Not yet,” He whispers, so softly that you still. Warmth seeps from your palms, and you wonder if he can feel the influx of heat where your hands are joined. If he notices, he makes no mention of it. Instead, he takes the smallest step forward and readjusts your hands for a more comfortable hold. Where you’ve let your palms hover a few centimeters apart, he presses them flush together. Your breath hitches as your lifelines meet and his slender fingers wrap around the back of your hand. For as callused and rough as his hands are- from years of sword training and dragon-riding- he holds you with a gentleness that betrays his ruggedness, and something swirls in the pit of your belly. Hot, aching, urgent. The need to be closer to him is overwhelming- and impossible, considering you’re already so close to him, but it’s not enough. You long for more.

You desire more.

How can you yearn for something you’ve never experienced? How can you want more than you already have? Your legs nearly give out from under you when you realize, and when a silent gasp escapes your lips, Aemond is there to hold you steady. He hasn’t forgotten about your fear of dancing- of being forced to dance with partners you can’t refuse, of enduring their wandering hands, of the scrutiny of a misstep- and he keeps you upright when your limbs threaten to betray you. When his eye meets yours, you feel lightheaded. The sound of a harpsichord echoes around the hall, and before you have a chance to catch your breath, Aemond instructs, “Now.”

At his command, you step forward, unsure of where you’re meant to be headed, but willing to follow him into the abyss as long as he is the one leading. You stumble slightly, your movements timid and doubtful despite years of solitary practice. Without meaning to, you tense and unintentionally tighten your grip around his fingers. He does not wince. He does not fidget, nor does he yelp or demand that you unhand him. He remains unfazed- save for the erratic thudding against his ribcage that is hidden by bone and flesh and concealed by the naked eye. Looking down the long slant of his nose, he watches you fret over each step. Your stare never meets his. Instead, your gaze remains fixed on the ground, watching your feet to ensure that you don’t stumble over them. Aemond uses the distraction as an excuse to watch you. It’s difficult to believe that though you still turn like a frightful child, you’ve grown into something beyond. Brazenly, he stares- at the few freckles that kiss the fullest point of your cheeks, to the slope of your nose and the bow of your lips.

Something ignites within him. He flushes, not with fury or malice, but with a comforting warmth- an ember of unknown origin alight amongst the ashes of stone-cold nothingness- that feels simultaneously foreign and familiar.

It is a feeling that tempts him- a feeling he wishes to never part from; but there is no place for light within darkness. A glimmer is no match for a void. Not enough for it to fester, anyway. Eclipsed by shadows, a single star can not shine, just as a glimpse of tenderness can not absolve a heart and mind plagued by vengeance.

“I was not aware you knew how to dance, my prince,” A light laugh bubbles past your lips when you feel his eye upon you. It’s a feeling so familiar that it’s become unmistakable. In an attempt to alleviate the palpable tension in the air, you jest.

“And why is that?” Prompted by the challenge, you turn to look up at him.

“I’ve never seen you partake in such festivities.”

It is fact. Aemond does not indulge. He has no appetite for celebrations. Hence, he refrains from satiating an otherwise illusory desire to mingle and mix. Where his brother is gluttonous, he is abstemious- so moderate in his rapture that he could not describe pleasure or delight if there was a rope knotted around his neck. Perhaps, his idea of indulgence varies so drastically from the norm that it takes on a different meaning, completely. He seeks satisfaction elsewhere. Cups do not gratify him. Skin does not tempt him. Company does not fulfill him. Though, your company is often welcome, he rarely seeks it, but when he does, he’s rewarded with a sense of ease- a calmness that quells the most fervent of his anxieties, even if only for a few moments- something blissful and content.

His own movements stagger at the realization.

“Forgive me, I-“ You’re quick to apologize, assuming that you’re the one that’s made a misstep and scuffed the leather of his boot with the bottom of your slipper. Your eyes widen with remorse and you loosen your hold on his hand, expecting his fingers to release yours as well, but he tightens his grip, holding you closer as you nearly come to a complete halt.

“Allow me to guide you,” He offers lowly, and with a timid nod, you agree. Hesitantly, he sneaks a glance around the hall to make sure that no one is watching the pair of you, and once he’s certain that you’ve not caught the eyes of any onlookers, he huffs a breath. “Lift your skirts,” The whispered command rids you of breath, and your lips part in a stunned gasp. You’re left breathless, mouth agape and speechless, as a fury of emotions glaze over your eyes. Hurt. Betrayal. Intrigue. Horror. Shock. He watches them devour you.

“I beg your pardon?” Something akin to anger lingers in your tone, and he realizes he’s never seen you seethe before. You’re not so naive to believe that men hold feelings of love and adoration above feelings of temptation and desire. Men like Leowyn Corbray indulge without repentance, and they do not ask for forgiveness. You’re no stranger to the cruelty of men and their advances, but you never thought Aemond capable of such vulgarity. Perhaps, you’re credulous. Blinded by your devotion to him, perhaps you’ve overlooked the traits you’ve grown to despise within other men. How is it that he was so enraged to learn about Leowyn’s advances, but holds no reserve when proposing his own straightforward sin? How could he hold you with such a delicacy whilst demanding such a carnal desire? Who is the man that stands before you? Do you even truly know? Is he a stranger, or is he-

“Just…” The pointed tip of his boot aligns with the tip of your slipper, and you can feel him cautiously nudge your foot with his. When he and Helaena were children, they danced in a similar manner- in which his sister would stand atop his feet and he would guide them both. He held no intention of offending, insulting, or upsetting you. He only wished to guide you. “Allow me to guide you,” Aemond suggests, and suddenly, you understand. You flush with embarrassment, heat burning your cheeks with guilt, as you carefully accept his invitation and allow him to take a few steps. “Better?”

“Much.” You press your lips into an apologetic smile as Aemond continues to guide the both of you through the dance. It’s such a strange sensation. It’s weightless and carefree and blithe- almost what you imagine flying must feel like.

It dawns on you then, as his eye meets yours, a silent vow is made- under his guidance, under his protection, you would never be led astray.

a/n: finally finished an update after being in and out of the hospital for a week! woo! hope you all enjoy!

series taglist: @just-emmaaaa @seasidh @randomdragonfires @misspendragonsworld @bellaisasleep @helaenaluvr @travelingmypassion @youtoldalie @fangirlninja67 @aemondsversion

Send me some feedback!

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#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell imagine #ewan mitchell x reader #delicate edges

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apollos-calliope · 2 months

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dally gave me the most brilliant idea for a child of aphrodite!reader “dirty talking” to luke in french but it’s just dumb as shit phrases like “my favorite color is yellow” and he just thinks it’s so hot 😭😭

#cal-amity #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo luke #percy jackson #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan imagine

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sammbam · 2 years

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Hello, hi

So i'm going to annoy you on the daily now. Anyways, can u write a smut for one of them? Don't really care who, but I kinda just wanna see what you come up with.

Also, preferred pronouns are she/her, but do whatever makes u comfortable!

hi bestie 😭 OMG WAIT you should give me like requests/ideas daily!! it'd be so swag anyways

(NSFW under the cut!)

toh smut hcs/scenarios!

Eda Clawthorne

mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry

mommy kink all the way

also into breeding but she can't really do that

shove your face in her boobs she loves it

Eda is a very passionate top

very dominant

those fingers do wonder holy shit?

biting. she will bite you.

afab

eating you out like no tomorrow

loves I mean LOVES your boobs

no matter how big or small

she's a boob woman

fingering+eating you out is her hobby

amab

professional dick sucker

will ride you while holding your hands above your head

wants to make you cum as many times as she can

overstim? yes please

raine whispers

they're a switch leaning bottom I think

ride them

they will whimper and moan so much

raine has a praise kink

can't change my mind

afab

they're gonna fuck you missionary and doggy style

basic ik but

they love seeing you like that

will eat you out

you're their priority

amab

not much of a dick sucker but will def give a good handjob

they're more dominant if rherye riding you

that's when they like to be in charge

very touchy during sex

hands all over body everywhere 24/7

Lilith Clawthorne

basically the opposite of her sister

very gentle, caring dom

guiding you the whole time

"good girl/boy"

she loves to tell you how good you are

she will get rough sometimes though

afab

not a huge fan on eating you out

but fingersing

and scissoring

she just loves the contact

hickeys all over omg

everywhere she can, she will

amab

power bottom

fuck her into oblivion

she'll put her hand around your neck and pull you closer

all while you're thrusting into her

shes not very verbal but covers her face a lot bc she gets embarrassed

tbh I just didn't wanna write it for anyone else- but I liked writing smut for these guys!!!

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crazyhearttragedy · 6 months

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Hi hi hi 👋 I love your works.. especially the divergent one.. can you maybe make an imagine of tris being inlove with four but didn't know he was in a relationship with the fem!reader who was pretty badass and was from amity.. she then came back from a mission after a week and the dauntless people made a party in celebration of my return.. here's a little plot twist tho.. Eric is in love with the reader but he doesn't admit it because he knows she's in a stable and commited relationship with four and she loves four very much... At the party the reader was dancing with four while Eric was watching them from afar tris came up to him and asked about the reader and when she finds out she gets heart broken... Here's a thing also the reader is also a divergent that is good at hiding it..

I really hope you can do this but I'm not forcing you it's alright if you don't hehe anyway have a nice day 😍

Taken- Four x reader x eric

Author's note: Thank you for your request! Here's your imagine!

Tris couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as she watched Four and the Amity girl dancing together. She had been secretly in love with Four for a long time, but she had never told him. She thought that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way about her. But now, as she watched him with the other girl, she was starting to realize that her hopes had been in vain.

It wasn't that she was jealous of the other girl. In fact, Tris had grown to like her a lot. She was kind, brave, and smart - everything Tris admired in a person. But she couldn't help feeling a little sad that Four had chosen someone else.

Tris was lost in thought when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and saw Eric standing behind her.

"Hey, Tris," he said with a smile. "Having fun?"

Tris forced a smile in return. She didn't particularly like Eric - he was arrogant and had a tendency to be cruel - but she didn't want to be rude, either.

"Yeah," she replied. "It's a nice party."

Eric nodded. "Yeah, it is. Though I can't help but notice that you don't look very happy."

Tris bit her lip. She didn't want to tell Eric about her feelings for Four - she didn't trust him enough for that - but she didn't want to lie, either.

"I'm okay," she said after a moment. "Just lost in thought."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

Tris hesitated. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell him, but something in Eric's expression made her feel like he might understand.

"Four," she admitted quietly. "I… I like him. A lot. But he's with someone else now."

Eric's expression softened. "I know how you feel," he said. "Believe it or not, I've been in your shoes before."

Tris was surprised. She had always assumed that Eric was too confident and self-assured to feel anything as vulnerable as love.

"Really?" she asked.

Eric nodded. "Yeah. I fell in love with someone once… but they were already committed to someone else. It hurt, but I had to accept it and move on."

Tris felt a pang of sympathy for Eric. Despite his flaws, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That must've been tough."

Eric shrugged. "In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. What matters is that we both find our own happiness, even if it's not with the person we thought we wanted."

Tris nodded. "Yeah, I know. It's just hard sometimes."

Eric put a hand on her shoulder. "I know," he said. "But I promise, it does get easier."

As they talked, Tris couldn't help but notice Four and the Amity girl out of the corner of her eye. They looked happy together - it was obvious that they cared deeply for each other. Tris knew that she couldn't compete with that, no matter how much she wanted to.

But in that moment, she realized that maybe she didn't need to. Maybe she could find her own happiness, with someone who loved and respected her for who she was.

It was a comforting thought, and it helped ease the ache in her heart, if only a little.

"Thanks, Eric," she said after a while. "I appreciate you talking to me."

Eric smiled. "Anytime," he said. "You're a good person, Tris. And one day, someone will see that and love you for it."

Tris smiled wistfully. "I hope so," she said.

As she watched Eric walk away, Tris realized that maybe Eric wasn't such a bad guy after all. Maybe, in his own way, he was just as lost and confused as she was.

But for now, all she could do was try to move on and find her own happiness in life. And maybe, just maybe, someday she would.

#y/n #eric colter x reader #erik coulter #eric coulter x reader #divergent imagines #divergent x reader #divergent #divergent fanfiction

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writing-fanics · 1 year

Text

•vampires and werewolves•

Hunter x Fem!Reader

[warning: tooth aching fluff: twilight headcannon]

[Y/n]’s eyes were glued to the teen romance drama, in her hand. She hadn’t been able to put the book down in days ever since she picked it up. The story seemed far too intriguing for her to pass it up.

Her eyes were so glued to the book in fact, that she wasn’t listening to her friends talking about trying to find a way back. Her eyes glued onto the page she was reading.

“Y/n?”

“Y/n?!”

“vampires have sparkly skin!” she shouted, as if being snapped back too reality. Her chair tilted back causing her to fall backwards. The book falling out of her hands and landing on her face.

Amity sighed, “Are you even paying attention?” She asked, looking at her and [Y/n] who chuckled nervously scratching the back of her neck. “You’ve been reading this book all week,” She said, and [Y/n] stood up and fixed the chair to sit up right.

“Because it’s so good!” [Y/n] said, holding up the book revealing the campy cover. Of a girl with a shirtless vampire and a shirtless werewolf beside her.

“A book about a love triangle between a vampire and a werewolf, fighting over the same girl named Becca.” She says, giddily holding the book.

Amity looks at her arms across her chest and [Y/n] takes the hint, she knew getting home was important to everyone. she didn’t know how to handle with the guilt of leaving everyone she knew and loved behind, and so used this book in her hands as an escape from the guilt.

She frowned, closing the book and sitting down in her chair. Her palisman, a fox, jumped onto her shoulder and nuzzled its head into the crook of her neck. She smiled, raising her finger to gently pet him.

and listened to whatever her friends were saying, about trying to try and find a way back to the demon realm to save everybody.

[ two hours later ]

[Y/n] laid on her stomach in the front yard, reading the book. She was completely enamored with the book and the love triangle in it despite the fact both guys were absolute creeps.

She secretly shipped the two guys together and her headcannon, was that Becca would confess her love for the vampire. him reject her and confess his love for the werewolf they’d then confess their undying love together and run off into the sunset. Like in some of the telenovela, Camila watches.

“She really needs to get a lock on her window,” She mumbled, reading about how Edward had appeared in Becca’s bedroom through the window for like what the hundredth or she lost count.

“Um, hey Y/n.” A voice said, and she looked up and realized it was, Hunter. Her eyes widened, and cheeks turned red slightly and she immediately looked back down at her book.

“A-ah, um hey Hunter,” she stammered slightly, hoping he’d eventually go away her heart was racing pounding against her chest. She said, turning to the next page of the book.

He noticed, how close she was to the last page of the book. “Almost done already?” He asked, and she continued reading and turned towards the next page.

“Yep, it’s pretty good.” She said, smiling, her eyes fixated on the book. A nervous smile on her face.

‘Please don’t sit down please don’t sit down!’

Her mind said over and over, and Hunter sat down right next to her, and her heart started pounding even faster against her chest.

“Luz, told me that they made movies based off the books?” He said, and her eyes lit up lifting her head from the book. She got onto her knees and shuffled towards him, and didn’t realize she grabbed onto his hand.

“How many did they make?! Did she say if they were any good? Does the vampire and the werewolf run off together like they do in my headcannon?!” She asked, both her and Hunter’s face were beet red realizing how close they were to each other.

she looked down nervously realizing that she was holding his hand. she immediately let go and turned away embarrassed, “sorry,” she mumbled.

“Ah, seeing that your almost done with the book.” He said, scratching the back of his neck. “Luz, actually is planning a movie night and we’re watching the first Sunlight movie.” He said, and she looked towards him.

She smiled excitedly and then immediately hid it behind the book, covering her face. “Ah, yeah I’ll totally be there, the wolf and vampire better run off together.” She said, and Hunter chuckled softly and her cheeks turned beet red.

[ after the movie ]

“What?!” [Y/n] howled, looking down defeated looking at the dvd of the movie. She turned her head toward Luz tears of sadness rolling down her cheeks, “So the vampire and werewolf don’t run off together?” She asked, and Luz shook her head.

“No!!! Edward and Jacob belong together!” She frowned, Luz then walked over to her, “But who knows maybe they will.” Luz said, sending her a wink and her eyes immediately lit and she picked up the second book, titled, Red Moon.

Throughout the months, that they were stuck in the human realm. [Y/n] finished each book. Until, she reached the final book and once she was done she let out a triumphant yell.

Her headcannon had come true, after all. Edward and Jacob, ran off together after all. The little squeal she let out made, Hunter’s heart skipped a beat she was so cute. Dancing on her tippy toes as she giddily jumped around his cheeks immediately turned red.

Camila, had showed Hunter how to work the sewing machine in the basement. He made himself a shirt with werewolves on it. Once he looked at his finished work, he decided he wanted to make one for Y/n, based off of Sunlight series. So he sewed pictures of the werewolf and vampire onto a new shirt.

The finished work wasn’t perfect but it was something, [Y/n] liked and hoped she’d appreciate it.

[Y/N] cheeks turned red seeing, Hunter holding a shirt he made for her. Her eyes widened seeing the vampire looking guy and the werewolf on the shirt. Her heart immediately skipped a beat, pursing her lips she gripped onto the door.

Her heart was pounding against her chest, and for a moment she thought it was going to jump out. “I-I ah it’s I ah don’t want it!” She shouted, denying her feelings for him and immediately closing the door.

Hunter frowned, standing outside the door. all that work for nothing she didn’t want the shirt. all that sewing for nothing, at least he got a cool shirt out of it. just as he was about to turn away and leave.

“It’s lovely, thank you.” She said, quickly snatching the shirt out of his hands and closing the door. Her heart once again pounding against her chest. Her back against the door as she tried to slow down her breathing.

Her entire face bright red as she held onto the shirt. Looking down at it her seeing the exposed stitching, and as well the messy work. Yet, it was still beautiful he put in all that work just to make her a shirt based off of something that she loved. she wrapped her arms around the shirt hugging it happily, she’d cherish it for the rest of her life.

she couldn’t believe what she was about to do. she opened the door once again, Hunter still standing there not even a second had passed. She pursed her lips taking in a deep breath, and quickly kissed him on the lips before pulling back and closing the door.

Her back once again pressed against the door, her mind racing not believing what she��d just did. Her heart pounding against her chest as if she’s just run a marathon.

Hunter stood outside frozen in place, slowly his cheeks as well tips of his ears turned bright red. a small smile appeared on his lips, and he fell backwards falling onto the ground having fainted.

[a/n: how was my first fanfic for Hunter also request for him are open]

#the golden guard x reader #the golden guard x you #the golden guard x y/n #Hunter x reader #Hunter x you #Hunter x y/n #the owl house x reader #the owl house x you #the owl house x y/n #x reader #fanfic #angst #headcanons #fluff #romance #disney #golden guard x reader #golden guard #toh x reader

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jjsmaybank20 · 1 year

Text

Stargazing

Wanda Maximoff x fem!Odinson!Reader

Summary: the six times you embarrass yourself in front of Wanda Maximoff, and the one time you impress her.

Warnings: None! all fluff

Word Count: 8.6k

navigation marvel masterlist

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Terra, Midgard, Earth. All are among the names of the small planet that apparently, you’ve been called too. You know of both your brothers’ fascination with the place and its inhabitants. Humans, you believe they’re called.

Personally you’ve never had any interaction with the terrene, but the stories brought back by Thor of his travels there and the amusing nature of humans happened to peak your interest.

Unfortunately you’ve never had the time or warrant to go, your brother’s might providing sufficient power to defend the tiny planet. Today though, luck just happens to be in your favor when you’re informed of his new quest: chasing knowledge of the infinity stones across the galaxy.

It’s a beautiful day on Asgard, as it always is, the sun shining happily upon your home and its people. A gentle breeze swishes the golden cape you adorn back and forth as you make your way towards the Bifrost where Heimdall is expecting you. The light glints pleasantly off of the light silver of your armor, the darker blues that accent it contrasting nicely.

There’s some mission waiting for you on some allied planet of Asgard. Negotiations, politics, diplomatic relations, etc. are all part of keeping the Nine Realms in order, and you’re Odin’s chosen one to handle it all. As the god of light, joy, and purity you radiate a natural beauty and charm that gives you the ability to, say, persuade any rivals of your father’s into benefiting the king.

In other words you’re his little errand girl tasked with mopping up any of the All-Father’s messes, of which there are plenty. He’s most definitely not well known for his graciousness or patience. It’s not ideal, show ponying around in order to maintain peace, but your job is necessary for the preservation of Asgard. Your work of amity and harmony has gained you a reputation as the golden girl of Asgard, a figurehead for beauty and allure, a juxtaposition to your brother Loki, and a parallel to Thor.

Might you occasionally take advantage of this draw? Perhaps, but where would be the fun of possessing this power of magnetism if you couldn’t use it to attract some attention? In this way you are also known as a bit of a player, as you would come to know it on Earth. This label doesn’t bother you much, in fact it only seems to increase your larger than life prestige, somehow making people even more enamored by you.

Case in point, as you stride into the domed Bifrost a guard comes crashing into you from around the corner, causing you both to fall to the ground. You’re quicker on your feet than the other lady, who, as you offer your hand to help her up, is quite beautiful. She has black hair that looks impossibly soft on top of her head and round brown eyes that stare up at you in surprise. You flash her a disarming grin as you help her up, one that works to fluster her as she looks down to brush imaginary dirt from her clothes.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she apologizes quickly, her face reddening from a mix of embarrassment and bashfulness.

“It’s quite alright,” you assure, nodding your head and offering a flirtatious smirk upon noticing how easily the woman blushes. “Just be more careful next time, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours.” A wink this time for good measure, sending her off after her friend down the bridge. You make a mental note to find the name of that guard later, and to pay her a visit when you do.

“When you’re done trying to seduce another guardswoman will you get over here,” a deep voice calls out from the center of the room.

“I’m just having a moment of fun before I go off to talk politics for the next few days. It’s boring, Heimdall. And I need something to look forward to when I get back.” A shrug accompanies your words as you cross the space toward him, the pair of daggers along your belt jostling as you move.

“Actually, you’re going to Midgard. Thor has requested your assistance with keeping watch over the people there. He’s departing soon and wants you to take over for him.”

At that you cock an eyebrow, this could prove to be at least mildly interesting. While the planet is far behind the majority of the galaxy technologically speaking, and its inhabitants are rather tiny, there has to be a reason for your brother’s fondness of the place; a hidden charm that you want to seek. “What are we waiting for then? I’ve got a planet to defend.”

He shakes his head at you as he opens the Bifrost, “Oh, and did I mention I’m dropping you into the middle of a fight?”

“What!?” You turn to him with an incredulous look on your face, barely glimpsing the devious smirk on his before you’re hurtling through the portal.

One

Unprepared for the landing, you crash into the ground in a flash of burning light, which thankfully clears some of the space around you as you fall onto your face. “Not cool Heimdall,” you mutter, shaking your head and getting on your feet.

You look around to see exactly where you are and what you’re dealing with. You’re in a city, one that looks terribly worse for wear as people run about, tripping over debris from the ruined buildings around you. A child stops and stares at you, and you realize how out of place you must look, standing alone in the middle of the war torn street, your shiny armor glaring harshly amidst the dust and smoke. Ash covers the sky, pulling a gray blanket over the atmosphere and you instantly miss the clear day back on Asgard.

Your little staring contest with the girl is broken when you spot something moving behind her, aiming to shoot her where she stands. “Watch out!” You yell as you lift your arm and allow a beam of white light to blast from your palm, melting a neat hole through the robot’s head.

“Are you okay?” You ask as you run up to the kid, putting your hands up to show you’re not going to hurt her. When all you receive is a blank look in return, you realize that wherever you are they don’t speak English, giving you no way to verbally communicate with her. “Um, just. Here.” You hold your hand out for her to take and together you run through the town, with you shooting down robots as you go.

There seems to be an endless amount of the droids, and you constantly have to maneuver the child behind you and out of harm’s way as you race down the street. It’s quieter over here though compared to where you’re headed, following the sound of gunfire as you’re eager to find your brother and figure out what is going on. Surely once you do he can explain everything and you can deposit this small human into someone else’s custody.

Eventually you spot a red cape, similar to the one you wear through the chaos. “Brother!” You shout and wave your hand. He’s fighting off a horde of the androids, throwing his hammer around and leaving nothing but broken parts in his wake. Fighting next to him is a group of humans, all wearing colorful costumes and suits. You spot a man with a huge circular shield, one flying around in a metal suit, and even a giant green monster. At your call they all stop for a second and look at you as you rush toward them, child still in tow.

“Ah, I see Heimdall got my message and sent you here. Good to see you sister,” Thor greets, grasping your forearm in acknowledgment.

“Thor, who is this?” The blonde beside him asks, chest heaving from the fight.

“Well this is my sister, Y/N Odinson.”

At the mention of your relation to your brother the man stills, eyeing you with wariness. You’re confused until you remember Loki’s attack on Midgard a few years ago. This must be one of Earth’s champions who had fought him off.

“I’m here to help,” you insist, pointing to the frightened child you’ve collected on the way. “Look, I've brought you one of your younglings.” A beaming smile overtakes your face as you transfer the girl over to the soldier’s care.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” A synthetic voice rings from the air above you, and you finally notice the giant robot hovering over the group. “I was kind of in the middle of my big villain speech,” he snarks, arms held out in annoyance.

Puzzling out that that’s what you’re here to stop, you turn to him, overconfidence flowing from your posture as you yell, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Y/N!” As you so kindly introduce yourself you launch white hot light from your hand, searing the metal of his chest.

“You Odinsons are bothering me,” he spits, flying toward you. You unleash two beams as he nears, starting to melt his body. But he’s too fast and you’ve barely begun to make a dent before he seizes your shoulders and throws you across the street.

The Avengers all watch in shock as you go flying through the air, crashing into a building a hundred yards away.

Among them is a brunette witch with magic of a scarlet shade.

Thor’s words mark the resuming of the battle. “She’ll be fine.”

And that was your first impression on Wanda Maximoff.

Two

After a couple weeks of living and training with the Avengers you quickly realize that somehow you’ve managed to find the one person impervious to your magical charm. And unfortunately for you, it’s also the one person here that you have any interest in pursuing.

It’s not like she dislikes you persay, just more like she only speaks to you only enough to be polite. It’s a ‘hello’ in the hallway or a passing nod when you happen to be in the same room. She pays you no mind and it confuses you, hell you’d have more luck with her brother.

The two of you get along scarily well, your flirtatious and carefree nature lining up perfectly. And because of the time you spend together, and his twin intuition with his sister, it doesn’t take him long to figure out your little crush on the witch.

He notices how your eyes linger on her in ways they don’t on anyone else and how you’re constantly trying to strike up a conversation with her. And he finds it absolutely hilarious that she’s able to brush off each of your attempts at gaining her attention like it’s nothing. Equally amusing is your confusion each time she walks off oblivious to your advances.

You have good reason to be confused though. In all of your encounters with well, anyone, you’d never met someone who wasn’t swayed by your beauty. You’d normally walk into a room and effortlessly capture the attention of everyone there, your charisma and ability to radiate joy making you supernaturally desirable.

Her own magic must be working to block yours out. And you did not find that anywhere near as amusing as the speedster beside you.

You’re both in the gym, you serve as a moving punching bag for him as he rushes at you with inhuman speed and tries to land blow after blow on you. The goal is to get you to the ground. A task that you know to be near impossible for the boy circling you. Your own ‘super’ Asgardian strength and speed combined with your invulnerability to all of his jabs makes you a pillar of stone, and him, a fly.

It’s rather amusing for you and a good exercise for him though as he rushes at you in an attempt to tackle you, but you sidestep the blur, causing him to smack into the wall. “Too slow, Maximoff,” you tease, playfully shaking your head at him as you mock chastise him.

As he gears up for another run at you, someone walking into the room catches your attention. It’s Wanda, and she looks as stunning as ever with her hair pulled back and workout clothes on. She notices you watching her and turns her enchanting green eyes on you, offering a small smile as she does.

Completely caught up in the girl’s gaze you don’t notice your training partner barreling directly into you. His momentum gained from his running start from across the room is enough to send you both flying across the room, tumbling over each other as you slide to a halt.

“Ha ha! I told you I’d get you! The mighty Asgardian has fallen,” he dramatically yells as he prances around your bewildered figure on the floor. That is until he notices his sister by the entrance of the gym. A devious smirk finds its way onto his face now as he looks between you and her, connecting the dots. “Ohhh.” And you can practically see his mind coming up with a new plan to expose your crush on the girl.

You’ve never been quicker to get up and rush over to the speedster, clapping a hand over his mouth right as it opens again. His hair is blown to the side from the force of the wind generated from your speeding by him.

“Pietro, I swear. Think very carefully about your next words,” you warn, desperation in your eyes as you stare him down.

He nods, miming zipping his lips as best he can with your hand in the way and you slowly remove it, trusting him to stay quiet.

You move to leave the room, and just as you’re about to make your exit you hear him call from the other side of the room.

“Sestra! Y/N wants to ask you out!”

You whip around, mouth agape in astonishment. No he did not. She turns to you, a question in her eyes and your face heats up in embarrassment, a red color creeping up your neck all the way to your cheeks. You see the boy who was supposed to be your friend laughing out of the corner of your vision as you stand there completely caught off guard.

Having no idea what to do, you run out of the room, you’d deal with this later.

You’d left in such a hurry you hadn’t even noticed the girl watching you with an adoring look on her face. She’d never noticed how cute you were before.

Three

Another thing that greatly confuses you about Earth is its technology. It isn’t very advanced, but way overly complicated in your opinion. Especially when you just want to get something to eat. You find yourself in the cooking room, you can’t remember the name they have for it, and you’re rummaging through all of the drawers and cabinets, looking for something to fill your growling stomach.

You also have no idea what any of these foods are or how they’re meant to be prepared or what they taste like. Oh no. You finally open a cabinet and find a box labeled Pop-Tarts. Pietro had introduced you to these a few days ago and you found them delightfully sugary. The perfect snack.

You open them up and start to eat one, and it’s good, but it feels like something is missing. Oh that’s right, he had made them warm when he gave one to you before, but you can’t remember how he had done so. You glance around the room, eyes finding a number of strange machines that could possibly be the one he had used.

There’s two box-like ones inserted into the wall, one smaller than the other, and both with doors on them. You open both of them, completely unaware of the brunette watching you from across the room as you continue on your quest to heat your snack.

She stifles a laugh as you press all of the buttons on the microwave and the oven, accomplishing nothing with a half eaten Pop-Tart placed in between your teeth.

After Pietro’s little stunt, interactions between you and her had become both more awkward and more frequent. She wants to get to know you more now, but everytime she talks to you you freeze up and end up leaving the room.

You aren’t sure what’s wrong with you, and it frustrates you that your lifetime of flirting and charming half the galaxy seems to disappear whenever she’s near. Normally, you’d be able to enchant whoever you desire with ease, many people, men and women alike back on Asgard being able to testify to such. But whenever you’re confronted with talking to her, you find yourself stuck, all your usual tricks evaporating into the tense air around you. Then your opportunity passes and you curse your brain for stalling out on you again.

Wanda finds it endearing, your big dog attitude dissolving at the sight of her. She thinks it’s cute whenever your eyes go wide and you blush, clumsily leaving the room before she can properly speak to you. Those feelings only grow as she watches you fumble your way around the kitchen, inspecting each appliance before using it wrong, and then moving onto the next one. You remind her of a lost puppy, trying to navigate a new world.

She also can’t help but notice the tight shirt you’re wearing, and the way it hugs your back and shoulders nicely, showing off your lean, but muscled frame. You must be taking fashion advice from Steve.

It’s when you stick your fingers inside the toaster after plugging it in that she steps in. She knows it’s not likely you’d be able to get hurt, but she’d like to prevent you from getting electrocuted today. “Hey do you need some help?”

You startle, yanking your fingers out of the new metal box you’d found on the counter and turning to look at who had spoken. When you find an all too familiar face looking at you in amusement, her hair falling in long waves across her shoulders you grimace. Of course it had to be her giving witness to you stumbling around the cooking room like an idiot.

“No.” You try to play it cool, like you hadn’t just been wandering from device to device, playing with switches and pressing buttons at random. And you still haven’t figured out how to fix the box of pastries sitting on the counter.

She fixes you with a look that says “really” and you relent, sighing in defeat. “Your people’s food machines are being difficult.”

She laughs at your blaming the appliances and you can’t help but think that it’s the most wonderful sound you’ve ever heard; and you’re instantly addicted. You want to hear her laugh, to see her smile all the time, and you want to be the reason behind her joy.

“Here. Just take one and put it in the slot,” she explains, grabbing a Pop-Tart and slipping it into the toaster. “Set it to a low number,” she puts it on two, “and push this down.” You watch as the food drops down into the machine and the insides start to glow orange.

“Thank you,” you laugh nervously, slightly embarrassed that she had to help you with such a simple task.

“Anytime,” she replies, looking into your eyes and you think you’ve found what you’ve been searching for right there as you gaze into her soul.

And then the moment ends, your snack popping up from the toaster and breaking the silence around you.

Four

You’d heard about the infamous Tony Stark despite not having seen him since the battle against the giant robot named Ultron. From what the team told you he was kind of like one of the leaders of the team, funding the entire compound you live in and designing everyone’s suits and weapons. Kind of a big deal.

So that’s why you’re eager to impress him when he comes to visit the Compound one day.

Everyone is excited to see their teammate, who had stepped away from the superhero life for a while to take a much needed break. They’re also pleasantly surprised when he’s joined by Pepper, maybe he’d behave a little better with her to keep him in line.

You’re all waiting in the lounge area when the couple walks in, the billionaire asking with his usual arrogance, “Did you miss me? Of course you did.”

The team starts up the usual conversation, Tony asking how things are going without him and the others wanting to know civilian life is. Well as civilian as things can be with Iron Man that is.

Feeling a little out of place within the group who’d worked together for years, you hang out in the corner, not wanting to step away in fear of being rude. The tall redhead notices your quiet form standing awkwardly away from the conversation and moves to introduce herself. “Hi, I’m Pepper. I don’t believe we’ve met before,” she says with a smile, reaching out to shake your hand.

You take it, a grateful grin on your face as you tell her your name. Upon hearing your surname she lights up in recognition, “You’re Thor’s sister?”

“Yep, I’m an Odinson through and through,” you say, happy to talk about your family and your home. Although you hadn’t quite processed how much you miss your brother and how homesick you’ve become. You like Midgard, you do, but sometimes you want nothing more than to travel home for a few days. To be back among your own people.

The woman notices your distant look and asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course Lady Pepper,” you snap back to reality, hoping that you hadn’t offended her by spacing out. Worried that you had done something wrong you hurriedly add, “Let me just tell you that you are a babe.”

At your words the entire room goes silent, everyone turning to you in shock. The woman you had been talking to just stares at you, wide-eyed and confused, had you meant what you just said? Wanda looks at you too, a different expression painted onto her face. She knows you’re a flirt and have somewhat of an ego sometimes, but hitting on Pepper Potts? Surely you had to know how out of pocket that was. A third person stifles a snicker from his seat across the room. He may have taught you that word, but without the correct context, and you had just played right into his prank. As you take in the array of disbelief and incredulity on everyone’s faces you begin to think that maybe you had messed up.

“I’m sorry, what did you just call her?” Tony asks, clearly insulted by what you had just said. You back up into the wall as he advances on you, an accusing finger pointing at your face.

“Um,” you stutter, at a loss for words as you can feel the anger radiating from the man in front of you. “A babe?”

“Yea, no. That’s not going to fly mini Thor.”

“I’m sorry Son of Stark, but I was told that was what you call beautiful women here,” you explain. “I'm starting to get the feeling that that’s not correct,” you grimace, letting him know it was an accident, whatever you had just called her.

He shakes his head now in exasperation and turns toward the group watching the exchange, allowing you to relax against the wall. “Alright, who was teaching Luke Skywalker incorrect slang?” You’d earned the nickname after he noticed your powers affect things much like a lightsaber, and you just kind of gave off those vibes.

He studies the crowd of faces around the room, picking out the one that looks more amused by the interaction than anything else. “Wilson. It was you wasn’t it?”

At being found out he doesn’t bother to hide his grin anymore, admitting to teaching you that calling someone ‘babe’ was just an innocent way to compliment a woman’s appearance. “Yea, but you can’t tell me that that wasn’t funny. Come on!”

Tony does not seem entertained, although it’s exactly the kind of joke he’d pull on someone else without blinking twice. He’s just not happy that he’s the one being played this time.

You look down in embarrassment, Wanda’s sympathetic eyes on you the entire time.

Five

Apparently, the time has been long overdue for a famous Stark party and the man himself has invited all of you to what has now been reverted back to Stark tower for a ‘small get-together’.

As you walk in, the endless chatter from the huge crowd of people, the clink of dozens of glasses, and the music being boomed from speakers along the walls slaps you in the face.

Small get-together my ass.

It doesn’t matter much either way to you though, the parties back on Asgard could easily reach volumes double this, and you’d been navigating the social world for centuries.

Your original plans have to do with Wanda by your side as you converse with the many humans who had been eagerly waiting for the arrival of the famed Avengers, but those are dashed when you see her brother sidle up protectively against her, and steer her away from the bulk of the crowd. That alone wasn’t going to stop you from still joining them, but as you turn to follow after the pair, a different arm seizes yours and begins to drag you into the sea of people.

You pivot to see who was responsible for your abrupt change in direction, your eyes settling on the man of the hour. The faint scent of alcohol and overwhelming stench of expensive cologne hits your nose as he looks at you. “Did you really think I’d just let you slink off into the corner and hide the entire night? No, no. I promised a bunch of lovely people they would be able to meet our newest recruit tonight, and I do not intend to let them down. Maybe if you’re lucky you can leave here tonight with one, or two I don’t discriminate.” He sends you a wink with that last comment and based on his animated attitude and wild gesturing you take it he’s already had a fair amount to drink.

Your dress shoes clap along the floor as you’re pulled into the throng, immediately being swarmed by a mob of overeager mortals. You scowl at the host of the party as he slips away, mouthing ‘good luck’ as he disappears.

“Is it true that you’re Thor’s younger sister?”

“What kind of powers do you have?”

“Tell us about Asgard! Is everyone there ultra good looking, or does it just run in the family?”

You quickly tire of the incessant line of questions, it seemed a lot of these people are reporters, or just fans, or maybe both. All of them are talking at you more than talking to you though, and it bothers you greatly, so you run off, telling them you have to go to the restroom.

You head there anyhow, finding a moment of peace as you stand back away from the roar of the party. Your head settles in your hand as you close your eyes and methodically massage your temples. You’re supposed to be impervious to headaches, but your mind feels seconds away from exploding.

Footsteps alert you to someone nearing your makeshift sanctuary and you hurriedly spin around to face the sinks and roll up your sleeves, pumping your hand full of soap right as the door opens. You don’t bother to see who it is as you wash your hands, mentally preparing for going back out there and facing the crowd.

You make your way over to the bar where a certain redhead is mixing drinks, dodging everyone who tries to grab your attention on the way. You let out a huff as you sit down, and noticing your exasperated state she clears the counter of any other stragglers.

“Leave it to Stark to throw a party tumultuous enough to tire a mighty Asgardian.” She gestures out to the huge area packed with people and you shake your head, the mere thought of going back out there stressing you out.

“I wish I could get drunk, but I’m afraid your alcohol is nowhere near strong enough to affect me.” You throw a wistful glance toward the rows of bottles behind Natasha as a knowing smirk spreads across her face.

“Well Odinson, you just might be in luck.” You watch her, wondering why she has to be so damn mysterious all the time as she ducks under the counter, searching for something. She reappears, a flask in hand. It looks completely unassuming, its contents probably nothing you couldn’t find in one of the many bottles in Stark’s collection. She pushes it toward you now and you take it, unscrewing the cap and taking a cautious whiff. “You’re welcome by the way. I had to hide that so the guys wouldn’t kill themselves trying to drink it.”

You smile when you realize what it is. Asgardian ale. Your brother must have brought some over last time he was here, and now you’re going to be stealing the leftovers. “Thank you Natasha. You have just saved my night,” you tell her as you take a big swig from the bottle.

“No problem, kid.” She leans back, taking a sip from her colorful drink as well, apparently you aren’t the only one who needs a little help tolerating the evening.

“I’m older than you, you know,” you insist, a small frown warping your features as you raise your flask in her direction.

“You look and act like a college student,” she deadpans, which only serves to deepen your frown.

Instead of arguing back your eyes sweep the room, on the lookout for someone in particular. “Hey, have you seen Wanda?”

Cracking a slight smile at your antics, which only prove her previous point, she shrugs, nonchalantly moving over to the other side of the bar where Maria Hill waits.

“Hold on, hold on.” You get up from the barstool, staring after her, unnecessarily mysterious, you swear.

“Come on Natasha, don’t leave the poor girl hanging,” the well-dressed SHIELD agent remarks upon seeing your pleading face and the sly smirk on her girlfriend’s.

Finally relenting, she gestures to a door up on the second level of the space. “I think I saw your crush head out to the balcony a few minutes ago.”

“I’m not a kid,” you mutter as you start to leave the bar, snatching the flask from the counter on the way. You’re halfway to the staircase when the redhead’s words dawn on you. “And she’s not my crush!”

You catch the pair laughing to each other before jogging up the stairs, eager to see your friend.

You push the door open, relieved to see that she really is out here, and that the former spy hadn’t tricked you for her own amusement.

She looks gorgeous, the pale moonlight highlighting her face as she stares up at the sky, a beer bottle clutched in one hand.

“You’re late.”

“Yea I know, believe it or not I’ve been trying to get to you all night, but Stark, he is smooth.” The cool breeze hits your face, and until now you hadn’t realized how warm it had been inside the tower. The night air is a welcome relief after being surrounded by way too many people for the last two hours.

“Well I hope you don’t mean he’s been flirting with you.” She raises a skeptical eyebrow at your choice of an excuse.

“No! No. Of course not. He just kept pushing me to talk to person after person, and I couldn’t catch a break.”

“Well I wouldn’t blame him, you look very dashing tonight Stargirl, purple is definitely your color.” A blush rises along your cheeks so you take another gulp from your drink, hiding your face behind the container. You'd been receiving compliments all night long, yet somehow hers is the first one that feels real, that makes you want to give her a million in return.

“Thank you, Wanda. I love your dress. The color, it compliments your eyes quite well.” You’ve moved to mirror her position now, arms resting against the railing as you both peer down at the busy city below, a view neither of you are used to.

“You know when I was little, I used to dream of a life in America. And now I’m here, and it still doesn’t feel real.” She doesn’t know where the admittance comes from, just that it’s a feeling she needed to get off of her chest, and that you’re easy to talk to, she feels comfortable here with you.

You nod your head, eyes still scanning the view before you; the cars racing down the street, couples strolling past block after block, the twinkle of lights from a thousand windows. “Do you miss your home?”

She sighs, but it lacks any heaviness or malice, it’s simply an exaggerated exhale as she thinks about her answer. “Sokovia… it wasn’t a place without troubles. In fact, it probably had more trouble than most places, especially when I was growing up.”

You watch her face as she speaks, how it grows sadder as she thinks more about her old home. You want to hug her, as if that would shield her from the forlorn memories, but you feel as if that gesture would be inappropriate now, so you settle for just being here for her. To listen as she explores her complicated feelings.

“But I do miss it, my parents mostly. How we managed to make the best of our situation, and how much love they had for me and Pietro.” Tears shine against her eyes now, threatening to create a stream down her face. As soon as the first one falls, she quickly wipes it away, shaking her head as if to clear the grief from her mind and taking a sip from her beer. “Enough about my home. Do you miss yours?”

The question takes you aback, even when it shouldn’t. You’d been talking about her home, it only makes sense that she’d ask you about yours. You’d just been so focused on how Wanda felt that you’d neglected your own feelings.

“Yea I miss it. I do.” When confronted with the task of articulating those feelings however, your mind drew a blank. You heave a sigh, realizing there’s a lot you have to unpack about Asgard, your family, your path in life. “It’s complicated.” With another swig from your flask you notice the slight buzz from the alcohol starting to kick in.

“I get it. I’m here to listen whenever you figure it out though.” Of course she’d be understanding about this. Your mind tracks back to hugging her again as her green gaze settles on you. Scratch that, you want to kiss her.

The door banging open startles the two of you and you turn to see the Falcon grinning at you from the entryway. “Come on lovebirds, we need you for a round of pool.”

“We’ll be right in, Sam.” The girl answers for the both of you while you silently curse him for interrupting your moment. She saunters over to the door, looking back at you over her shoulder as she heads inside. “Come on, it'll be fun.”

You make your way over to where the Avengers are crowded around a green table with brightly colored balls laid out neatly in a triangle at one end. You’re pleased to note that the rest of Stark’s guests have cleared out by this hour, only leaving your small group.

“I heard we have been invited to play this game of pool,” you spread your arms out wide as you finish trotting up the stairs, tripping over the last one. You’d forgotten how strong that ale was, too long spent away from drinking with your brother. You recover before face planting though, striding up to the table with a bolstered confidence.

You’re handed a long stick and are told to use it to hit the white ball into the huddle of colorful ones. Easy, you think, going over to line up a shot. Wanda follows behind you, taking up a spot standing next to you as she watches you concentrate on aiming the ball.

Just as you’re about to strike the stick into the ball, she drapes an arm around your waist. The mindless act of affection startles you, the contact sending a giddy jolt through your body, causing you to overshoot your hit.

Overshoot might be a bit of an understatement, as you watch the white ball crash into the rest, sending all of them flying off the table in different directions. You have no idea how this game works, but you’re pretty sure that was not the goal.

The laughter flowing from the girl next to you confirms this, embarrassment flooding your senses as you realize the slip up had come from her closeness to you. The others seem to recognize this as well, joining in on making fun of your reaction to being held by the girl you obviously have feelings for.

The only one who seems oblivious as to what had caused your mistake is the person responsible for it.

“Oops.”

Six

A number of weeks go by as you and Wanda continue to skirt the line between friendship and something more. Locked gazes are held just a little too long, she falls asleep on your chest as you watch an unhealthy amount of old sitcoms, both of you glance at each other’s lips when you think the other isn’t not looking.

Eventually you’re fed up with dancing around the question, of avoiding taking the next step out of fear of rejection. You’re going to ask her out, formally, and you know just how to do it.

You take a motorcycle out to the city, plans of visiting Wanda’s favorite coffee shop and grabbing her a drink and a pastry at the front of your mind.

The weather is dull, heavy clouds crowding out the sun and threatening to open up and give way to a nasty storm. You refuse to let the weather interfere with your day though, and besides, what could be better than some comfort food on a day like this.

You smile up at the sky as it starts to sprinkle, imagining that it’s just your brother encouraging you on your mission to romance the girl you think you just might be in love with.

You pull up to the quaint store and cut the engine, swinging your leg up and over as you dismount your bike.

A bell rings as you enter, the strong scent of coffee hitting your nose. You inhale deeply, letting the aroma envelop your senses as you look around the calmly lit room.

You stride up to the counter, the noise of idle chatter backing you up as you recall the name of the coffee order Wanda is most fond of. Too lost in your search of the menu above you you don’t notice the barista that moves to greet you and take your order. Whenever you stop by while she’s working she makes it her mission to incessantly flirt with you, despite your obvious disinterest and outright discomfort in her doing so.

You finally find what sounds like the right name of the brew the witch likes and you look across the woman poised to not only make your coffee, but also to try her hand again at asking you out.

“Hey Y/N!” She chirps. yeah, she knows your name.

“Hi, can I get two grande mochas please? Oh and two chocolate chip cookies?” You try to keep your voice as professional as possible and leave her no room to start an uncomfortable conversation with you.

“Of course, anything for you.” You nod your head and only offer a tight smile in acknowledgment, turning to go wait a ways back when you hear her call you over. “Hey, can you come back over here? I just need you to sign the receipt.”

You trudge back over, taking a hand out of your pocket and setting it mindlessly on the counter, waiting for her to hand you a pen and the little slip of paper. Instead of giving you a receipt, she grabs your hand harshly, not at all like when Wanda takes it, you note, and the abruptness of her actions startles you. You stare at her, about to ask what’s going on when you notice she’s writing something on your palm. “Hey!” You yank your arm back, but not before she’s finished scribbling down a series of numbers in pen.

“My number,” she beams at you, a hint of crazy in her eyes as she clarifies. “Call me, pretty girl.”

All of a sudden a clap of thunder booms from outside, causing you to look out the window to see rain falling in heavy sheets now, just as you had predicted before. Maybe taking the motorcycle wasn’t such a great idea. Something else catches your eyes though when a flash of lightning streaks through the sky, a figure stomping angrily away.

It couldn’t be. No. It was most definitely the girl you had been planning to ask out tonight, and she had obviously just seen your entire incriminating interaction with the barista.

Shit. You have to explain to her that it wasn’t what it looked like from her position outside the shop.

You race outside, your clothes becoming soaked through in seconds as you shout. “Wanda, wait!”

She pauses for the slightest of seconds before continuing on towards the car she had taken, hurt and embarrassment flooding her heart. You catch up to her before she can get in, imploring her to look at you through the water dripping from her face, you’re not sure if it’s from the rain or her tears.

She glares at you, not giving you a chance to defend yourself before she jumps on you. “What’s going on? Tell me you weren’t just in there letting that girl give you her number, flirting with her!”

She looks so small and sad standing there, drenched to the bone, shivering from the cold, and you take a step toward her, instinctively wanting to wrap her in your arms and keep her warm. She steps back in retaliation as you do, so instead you open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off, continuing her verbal assault. “I knew you were a princess back on Asgard. That you probably had people throwing themselves at you left and right.” She’s moved toward you now, close enough to give you a shove with her next words.

“I can’t believe I fell for your stupid little girl next door act, Y/N!” You stumble back in surprise as she pushes your chest, shoes slipping on the slick pavement beneath your feet. “Did you get bored playing with just one person? Was I not enough? I bet you missed all of the attention, so you snuck out here to reclaim that high.”

She finally finishes unleashing her piece, frustration lacing her bout of yelling, the rumble of the storm providing a dramatic undercurrent. Water droplets roll down the back of your exposed neck, sending shivers down your spine as you shake out your hair, sending an extra spray of water into the fray.

“Wanda, no,” you catch her hand as she turns away from you, stopping your speech until she looks back at you. “I tried to leave the Compound without you noticing because I wanted to surprise you. I know how much you like this place.” A flash of lightning illuminates both of your faces, revealing the desperation on yours and the distraught expression she wears.

“Then that girl in there… she messed it all up.” A defeated sigh escapes your lips as you shove your hands in your jacket pockets, and looking down, you discover your white t-shirt has totally soaked through, making it see through. Something that would certainly work to undermine your next point. “The truth is I haven’t missed who I was back on Asgard. I think I was hiding behind my powers, using the easy pleasure to distract myself from reality.” The confession works to stun the girl in front of you, and it even takes you aback.

“I could never tell when anyone was being honest with me, if they liked me because of me or because my powers were always subconsciously drawing them in. It was exhausting so I stopped trying to find something real.” You have tears in your eyes now too as you meet Wanda’s somber ones. You stop your anxious pacing for a second as you step closer to her, needing her to hear what you have to say next. “I didn’t think I’d ever find something real… until I met you. Wanda I want you, not that stupid barista, not anyone else in the entire universe. Because you’re beautiful and amazing and you terrify me but in the best way and-.”

She cuts off your nervous rambling and wild gesturing as she grabs the collar of your leather jacket and pulls you close, smashing your lips together. She tastes even sweeter than you had imagined, and you tangle your fingers in her hair as they come to rest on the sides of her face. You both savor in the tenderness of the kiss, even if it was rushed and filled with a million unsaid emotions.

Eventually you pull back for air, cheeks flushed and chest heaving as you stare at each other, breathless. The rain continues to patter down on your unguarded silhouettes as she gently takes your hand and rests her forehead against your own.

“I want you too.”

One

You race about the Compound, grabbing various items here and there, making sure that everything is set up to perfection.

Wanda is due back from her busy day in the city (thank you Pietro) any minute now, you’ve planned the perfect first date night.

You hear the door to the main entrance of the Compound open and you sprint downstairs, making it just in time to greet the returning siblings.

“Y/N!” The girl you’ve been waiting for almost trips over her own feet in her haste to get to you. “This fool has been running me around town all day. I am exhausted. And now you’re going to watch sitcoms with me.” She takes your hand and starts to drag you upstairs, and you let her. As you round the corner, you see Pietro send you a wink before you’re whisked away.

“Wanda this way.” You tug on her arm, pulling her past your room that she’s practically made hers as well with all the time she spends with you.

“Wait.” She slips her wrist from your grasp, standing stubbornly by the door. “We’re going to lay down and watch Dick Van Dyke and then you’re going to get me dinner.” Her arms are crossed and she looks at you defiantly, motioning toward the room.

You have other plans though, and a mischievous grin spreads across your face as you slowly walk backwards towards the end of the hall. “Trust me, I’ve got something much better planned.” You gesture with your arm in a signal for her to follow you and turn your back to her, silently telling her you’re leaving either way.

Intrigued by the eager look in your eyes and the energy that has you almost bouncing off the walls, she abandons her original plan in favor of following you. You open the door to the stairwell, sparing one sneaky glance back just to make sure she’s coming. When you note her figure making her way down the hall, you climb the steps, not stopping until you reach the roof.

Before you head outside you wait for her to catch up, accidentally getting way ahead of her in your haste to lead her up here.

“What are you doing?” Her voice echoes around the stairwell as curiosity shines through her expression.

Choosing to ignore her question, you send one back her way. “Are you ready for the most romantic night of your life, Wanda Maximoff?” A knowing smile and a pair of raised eyebrows crosses your face as you lean against the door, your hand on the handle in anticipation.

Without giving her the chance to answer, you fling it open, revealing your little setup. A picnic blanket lays flat on the ground, enough food to feed much more than two people lined meticulously around its edges. It’s almost completely dark out, the sun having conveniently set thirty minutes before, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lanterns that line the perimeter of the roof.

Beyond the Compound lies absolutely nothing except the surrounding nature. That’s one giant perk of being stationed in the middle of nowhere, any light or excess noise from the city fails to reach you, always leaving you with peace and quiet whenever you need a moment. The night sky is free to shine out here, the sea of stars stretching out farther than the eye can see uncontested by the touch of humanity. That’s why you picked this spot, the beauty of the landscape reminding you of the girl before you, and the secluded space would allow you to truly enjoy your night without interruption.

You step aside so she can take it in, watching her eyes go wide at your gesture. The silence is stifling, insecurity warping your mind as a hint of a smile appears on her lips. “Do you like it? I wasn’t sure how people here usually court others, but I saw this on TV once and I thought it was cute and then I remembered how you told me that one time about how you used to love studying the stars when you were younger and, well I thought this could be a nice way to spend the night.”

She waits patiently for you to finish your long-winded speech, unable to stifle the small laugh that bubbles up from her chest.

“What?” Dumbfounded, you cock your head, wondering what she found so funny.

“Nothing, you’re just cute when you’re nervous,” she casually remarks as she brushes past you and further onto the roof.

You stumble after her, smoothing out your shirt and fixing your hair as you do. “What? Me? I’m not nervous. No, not at all.”

You eye her carefully as she takes in your little setup. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Odinson.” She sends a coy smile your way and you reach out to take her hands in yours, a dopey grin lighting up your face.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

And with that she kisses you right there under the moonlit sky, the stars the only witnesses to the small display of affection. The kiss is gentle and filled with passion, the beginning of a new journey you’re about to embark on with the girl you’d give everything to.

The airiness of her perfume mixes perfectly with yours as you break apart, staring with a sickening amount of love and admiration into each other’s eyes.

Yeah, you could get used to life on Earth.

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