Dream Lover

by themoontonite

Rating: mature
Tags: Sex, Fleur de Lis, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Derpy Hooves, Slice of Life
Length: 4493

You try to believe it, but you don't believe. You want them to stay, they always leave.

Love was out of her reach. Ditzy had accepted that a decade ago, storing the very thought of it away for use someday by a mare better than her. To put it simply, she had aged out of love. So why should she expect to win love in a charity raffle? Why should she expect love to take the form of one of the most famous supermodels in Equestria? How could she reconcile ten years of lovelessness with this sudden burst of feeling?

Edited with the help of Kim and the ever-wonderful and insightful wishcometrue. Written as an entry into the May 2021 Pairing Contest. Cover art by SkullJooce.

Published 2021-05-27 02:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2021-05-27 02:50:01 UTC

Destroyer

"Hello Miss de Lis!" Ditzy beamed.

She was terrified. Maybe terrified was overselling it. She was nervous. Uncomfortable. Kind of dizzy.

Still, she had won this date as a prize and she was determined to see it through. Celestia forbid she pass up this opportunity and let some sleazy stallion take her place! Ditzy resolved, if nothing else, to make sure Fleur de Lis had a good night.

“Why hello, Ms. Doo,” Fleur replied.

Fleur was… stunning. Of course she was! She was one of the premiere models in Canterlot, according to Rarity. Ditzy liked delivering mail to Rarity. She was pretty and her boutique always smelled nice and if Rarity caught her before she flew off, she usually gave Ditzy a snack or a little gift to take with her. One day, on Dinky’s seventh birthday, she had even made a dress for her! It was beautiful then and was still beautiful now, even if it didn’t fit anymore.

Ditzy shook her head, clearing the jumble of thoughts that crowded around her. She didn’t want to know how long she had been standing there wall-eyed, but if Fleur was growing impatient, she didn’t let on. Instead she was patiently standing there, wrapped in a tasteful purple dress that glittered in the light spilling from Ditzy’s living room.

“Oh please, dear,” she said, “just call me Ditzy! Do come in. Mind the uh, the clutter, of course.”

Fleur stepped inside and Ditzy immediately felt small and insignificant in comparison.

The mare standing just past her threshold was tall, a good head and a half taller than Ditzy, and seemed to glow in the yellow light of her living room.

“Ditzy it is,” Fleur said. “Thank you for your hospitality. My understanding is that we’re to have a night in, correct?”

Ditzy nodded vigorously, now paralyzingly aware of every imperfection she had. “That’s right! I... I was gonna cook us something. My daughter is a big fan of your work, too.” Ditzy cast an awkward glance through the window at the carriage and pair of stallions waiting outside. “Are they coming in too?”

“Them?” Fleur asked, following Ditzy’s gaze. “Oh, no, they’ll just remain at the door until the night is finished. For my safety, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

The look on Fleur’s face was reserved as ever, a vaguely pleasant smile that told the viewer nothing, but the shimmer in her eyes told Ditzy enough. This wasn’t the first time she had done this and it had gone wrong before. Ditzy resolved to cook the two ponies something regardless.

“That… makes sense,” Ditzy said, nodding slowly. “So I... uh, why don’t you sit down while I get dinner ready? I’ll call Dinky down so you can meet her.”

Fleur took the offered seat, her carefully folded forehooves a stark contrast to the plain wooden table that served just as much as a bookshelf and mail sorting station as it did a place to eat.

Before Ditzy could even finish calling Dinky’s name, the filly nearly threw herself down the stairs in wild abandon. It was only after a stern look from her mother that she managed to make it down in one piece, a wild gallop down the stairs taking her straight to Fleur’s hooves.

“Now you behave around Miss Fleur while I’m busy, okay?” Ditzy said.

Dinky nodded, not even looking at her mother.

Ditzy shrugged as she set a large pot of salted water on the stove to boil.

“Wow, Fleur de Lis!” Dinky beamed. “Mom is SO lucky to get to see you! Do you like her?”

Fleur giggled, the pleasant smile on her face making way for something more genuine. Ditzy would save her motherly glares for now. “It's hard to say! We've only just met, after all. However, your mother seems like a very kind and hard-working mare. Do you like her?”

Ditzy set to work peeling two potatoes, setting them in the boiling water. Gnocchi was tedious work, but it was a dish her mother always made for her, and she wanted to treat Fleur to some homely charm she might not receive in Canterlot.

“Like her?” Dinky tilted her head to the side. “I love her! She’s really smart and funny and nice and she’s always bringing gifts back home!”

“Oh?” Fleur turned to face Ditzy and she could see an inexhaustible kindness in her eyes. “You must really love your daughter.”

Setting a timer for fifteen minutes, Ditzy ambled over to sit in the chair caddy-corner to Fleur. “I do! She’s my whole world, y’know. The whole reason I deliver mail is for her, really.”

“What do you think you’d do, if not that?” The polite edge crept back into Fleur’s voice, and Ditzy found that she missed the quiet wonder that hung on every syllable when she had been talking to her daughter.

“Well I… I dunno. Bake, maybe. I like baking. Help with the weather team. I just sort of fell into mail when I was younger, and now I gotta make sure Ditzy gets the life she deserves…” Ditzy trailed off, her gaze sliding off of Fleur.

This was stupid. This whole night was a waste of time and she was an idiot for ever agreeing to it. That’s why she froze in place when a gentle hoof reached out across the table to lay overtop of hers.

“I know how you feel, believe me. Did you know I wanted to be a painter when I was young?” Fleur said.

She had a sort of sadness that suffused her presence now, a subdued melancholy that dissipated into the warm air of the living room.

Ditzy would press for more information but not before she got up to strain the potatoes, setting them off to the side. She then pulled out an onion, an array of herbs, some olive oil, and a can of whole tomatoes. “What’s stopping you? You’re still plenty young.”

Dinky seemed to agree as she scampered to get a few of her own paintings off the fridge.

“Young? Please, I’m in my mid-thirties,” Fleur said, placing a delicate hoof on her chest.

Ditzy paused before bowling over laughing, tears lapping at her eyes just as much from the onion as from mirth.

Fleur cocked a brow. “Did I say something?”

“No, no, it’s just…” Ditzy looked at her daughter. “Oh, Dinky! Is that the one of Cloudsdale? You really ought to show that to Miss de Lis.”

Ditzy set the onions off to the side as she set a pan on the stove, gently placing her herbs in a small pool of olive oil. “You’re not that old, dear. I’m turning thirty-eight in three months and I feel fine. You should give painting a shot!”

“I would have never taken you for being almost forty!” Fleur said before looking at Dinky and her artwork. “Oh my, that is a fantastic piece. What was the technique you used there?” Fleur seemed to have just as active an attention as Ditzy as she hopped from one conversation to another like it was nothing. “Ditzy, I thought we were the same age when we met.”

“We were doing watercolors in art class! You put the watercolor on there and then you sprinkle some salt on top and it sucks up all the paint!” Dinky floated the painting over to Fleur, who took it in her hooves with the utmost of care.

Ditzy lifted the herbs out of the pan and added the onions right in, turning the heat down a smidge. “Please, you flatter me. This body has seen better days. And nights. I’m old, is what I’m getting at.”

“Haha, mom, you’re ooooooold!” Dinky stuck her tongue out and Ditzy replied by sticking out her tongue in kind, sending the filly into a fit of giggles.

Fleur allowed herself a faint giggle as well.

“For what it’s worth, Ditzy, I think you don’t look a day over thirty. What is it that you’re cooking, by the way?” Fleur stood up to investigate before Ditzy could answer and her heart caught in her chest.

She was close now, the sort of closeness that Ditzy was achingly unfamiliar with. It became difficult to think as the heady scent of her perfume mingled with the air of sauteing onions.

“It’s gnocchi, like my mom used to make. The pomodoro sauce is something I picked up from Rarity though.” Ditzy dumped the tomatoes into the saucepan, smushing and stirring them in with the onions. She ground some salt and pepper into the sauce, following it up with a healthy dose of red pepper flakes.

“It smells heavenly. I don’t think I’ve eaten a proper meal in months. Can I…” Fleur tapped her hoof against the counter where the potatoes had been resting. “Can I help?”

She seemed so unsure of herself, as if she was worried Ditzy would decline.

“Please do!” Ditzy beamed. “They say many hooves make light work. If you can, just mash those potatoes until they’re as smooth as you can get ‘em.”

She passed the masher over her shoulder to Fleur, who took it in her magic and got to work.

It was a strange sight, seeing Canterlot nobility in fancy evening wear mashing potatoes in a small Ponyville cottage. Something about it warmed Ditzy’s heart.

While she mashed, Ditzy pulled out an egg and measured two cups of flour. She set them off to the side for later use.

“Is this the first one of these you’ve done?” she asked. “These charity dinners, that is.”

“Not at all. I've done dozens of these.” Fleur had abandoned her magic, instead opting to roll up the sleeves on her gown and use her hooves. “First one I’ve actually enjoyed, for what it's worth.”

“Please, you’re just being nice,” Ditzy said, her voice lilting gently. A large part of her hoped Fleur meant it.

She minced a few cloves of garlic for the sauce. It gave her idle hooves something to do and it had the added benefit of tasting delicious. Fresh garlic really was a wonderful thing.

Her attention turned to Fleur. “Oh good, you’re done! Now we’re going to dump the flour and egg in and start kneading.”

Fleur paused, setting the bowl off to the side. “I’m really not. Well, I’d hope I’ve been nice but I’m telling the truth.” Fleur turned to face Ditzy. The kitchen suddenly felt very, very small. “You and your daughter are some of the most wonderful ponies I’ve ever met. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get out of this gown and take off some makeup before I start kneading.” She smiled softly. “If you don’t mind.”

“I—No! Not in the slightest.” Ditzy finally released the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “Bathroom’s to your left, all the way at the end of the hall.”

“Are you and Fleur going to kiss?” Her daughter's voice broke whatever fragile peace Ditzy had built for herself.

She sputtered in bewilderment.

“I think that’s entirely up to Fleur, dear.” Rattling around inside her head was the true answer, one she had been defending against for the better part of the night.

I hope so.

“I hope so!” Dinky grinned. “Having another mom would be so cool. Like Scootaloo’s aunts!”

She kicked her hindlegs as she continued her drawing. Judging by the hoofful of white crayons, it was Fleur’s likeness she had in mind.

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” Ditzy chastised. “This is just a charity date and Fleur is being nice. Now shush, no more about this.”

Dinky pouted but Ditzy remained resolute in the face of her daughter’s puppy dog eyes. Finally the filly relented, going back to her art and leaving Ditzy with her thoughts.

It wasn’t long before Fleur rejoined them once more, her dress and makeup removed.

Fleur was… gorgeous. She was gorgeous before but it was a sort of manufactured gorgeous, a plastic pretty that Ditzy found pleasant to look at and not much else. Here and now, however, was a different story. She looked real. Ditzy found her eyes tracing the crease of her eyelids, gliding over every little bump and freckle on her coat.

“Is there something on my face?” Fleur asked, touching a hoof to her cheek gingerly.

“No, no. I just… You’re very pretty,” Ditzy whispered before shaking her head.

Stupid.

‘You’re very pretty’ repeated Ditzy internally, a mocking tone echoing in her head.

“Oh. Thank you!” Fleur smiled. “I don’t usually forgo my makeup around polite company, but it felt appropriate tonight.”

Without the foundation Ditzy could see blush, a real blush, warm Fleur’s cheeks. She turned away to face her work before Ditzy could really appreciate the sight.

“It must be hard.” Ditzy didn’t have much left to do but wait a few more minutes and add some cream to the sauce. She intended to fill that time as best as she could. “Being a model and all. It seems exhausting.”

“It’s…” Fleur pulled in a deep breath, steadying herself against the exertion of kneading. “It’s a lot of work. I won’t tell you it isn’t. A lot of work and a lot of pressure, especially. Ponies expect a lot out of you. Want a lot out of you.”

Her tone was bitter and very matter-of-fact. It made Ditzy’s heart break.

Ditzy nodded. “I can only imagine. All those ponies with some idea of who you are, having to guess at which Fleur you need to be for the day… All those lights and cameras and ponies talking about your every move.” Ditzy’s voice had gone quiet. She half-heartedly stirred the sauce in front of her. “Why do you do it?”

“You get it,” Fleur said, allowing herself a thin smile. “Not a lot of ponies I talk to do. It’s not all glitz and glam. It’s worth it, though. Being able to look out at a crowd and see a young face, a pony looking for support, and being able to be there in a way. That’s a special feeling.”

Ditzy paused in the middle of pulling the cream out of the refrigerator. She measured out a quarter cup and was about to pour it into the sauce when Fleur spoke again.

“It’s why I envy you so much,” Fleur said quietly.

Ditzy turned and Fleur had stopped her kneading, her shoulders hung low.

In her defence, the dough looked ready to be rolled. Still, it awed Ditzy to see Fleur so vulnerable.

She had always seemed so much larger than life in the magazines and even when they had first met.

Now though? Now she was just a mare, a pony with hopes and dreams and fears. Just like her.

“Envy me?” Ditzy asked. “I’m just a mail carrier.”

“Just?” Fleur turned, her face echoing the soft sadness that was thick in her voice. “You’re not just anything, Ditzy. You’re a mom and a cook and a friend and yes, you’re a mail carrier too. You’re a mare who does all of this—” Fleur swept a hoof around the room, gesturing broadly to the house at large. “And still you have time to work and take care of one of the most wonderful fillies I’ve ever met. You’re just amazing, Ditzy.”

Ditzy wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure if she should say anything. This was… unlike any feeling she had felt in a decade. This burning, this sun-soaked heat pooling in her chest and melting any thought that had the gall to form beneath its radiance; this was love.

She was in love.

“I think we can roll out the dough, now,” she whispered

Fleur blinked in surprise, her spirits brightening at the thought. She let out a quiet little laugh as she pulled the lump of dough from its bowl and set it out upon the counter. “I think you’re right. What’s next?”

Ditzy finally managed to pour the cream into her sauce, turning off the heat and stirring constantly. It was here she added the garlic as well, letting the flavor suffuse through the dish.

“Pull those apart into little balls then roll ‘em out on some flour,” she instructed. “Once that’s done, you can start cuttin’ ‘em!”

The mood in the room returned to something more appropriately jubilant as Dinky showed Fleur the picture she had drawn for her. To say the mare beamed at the display would be an understatement. She positively radiated at the gesture, promising the filly to cherish the picture forever.

While the two of them were occupied, Ditzy set a pot of water to boil and set her colander over the sink. She was honestly shocked at how well this night had gone.

How much of it was Fleur’s responsibility as a paid guest however?

That was the largest of the many doubts that dotted Ditzy’s mind and coated her thoughts like thorns.

Was Fleur being nice because she had to? Or was there something there, some greater understanding between two mares mired in the endlessness of their work?

"Where do you want these?" Fleur asked.

Ditzy was snapped out of her lovesick reverie by Fleur, holding a bowl of gnocchi in her magic. Her forehooves were caked in flour, a look she seemed to wear with pride.

"Right into the water is fine, dear,” Ditzy said, flashing a weak smile. “Thank you."

"Of course.” Fleur offered a warm smile. “And thank you for the hospitality, Ditzy."

Into the water went the gnocchi as Fleur washed her hooves in the sink.

Ditzy started pulling bowls out, setting them on the table. She paused, only just now realizing she would need to grab a third. She had plenty of spare kitchenware, of course, but there was something exciting about setting the table for a guest. When she went out with friends it was usually out, to spend some time around town.

There was a comforting domesticity in the act that Ditzy dearly missed.

The rest of the dinner prep passed by with little more than small talk, some chatter about where Fleur had been to recently.

It wasn’t until dinner was over that the stark reality of the night came crashing down around her. For a few hours, Ditzy had forgotten she was alone. Not alone alone, of course. She would always have Dinky to keep her company and more than enough friends to warm her heart.

But no, she was alone in an intimate sense.

Her bed had been empty for twelve years now.

She tried dating but it never went anywhere. Ponies wanted too much of her, expected her to act or dress or talk or look a certain way. It was terrible, and exhausting, and terribly exhausting. She thought that love had finally sailed on by and that the only pony who would bear that emotional torch would be her precious daughter.

Until tonight. Tonight she felt love. Real, painful, beautiful love.

And, just as she’d been offered this thread, this lifeline, she now had to say goodbye.

They stood at the threshold of Ditzy’s cottage, with Fleur silhouetted against the night.

Fleur looked, for her part, just as torn and confused as Ditzy did.

“So…” Ditzy began. “This is it, then. It was wonderful getting to know you, Fleur, and I—”

“Can I stay the night?” Fleur asked.

“What?” Ditzy’s eyes widened. “I mean, of course. It’s no five-star hotel but my bed is pretty comfortable.”

She didn’t believe this. There was no way this was happening. Fleur de Lis did not pass the night in some cottage in Ponyville. She slept in a mansion in Canterlot, on a bed fitted with the finest silk.

“Excellent! I’ll tell my aides then.” Fleur disappeared from sight for a moment, the hushed sound of her voice being carried by the pleasant spring breeze. She returned to the sound of a carriage leaving. “They said thank you for the food, by the way. They thought it was delicious.”

Ditzy nodded, a blank smile on her face as she stepped aside to let Fleur back inside. She could still hardly believe this. She didn’t know what to say or do at this point.

“So I’ll sleep on the couch and you can take the bed,” she offered. “Seem… fair…?”

Fleur was close. Dangerously close. Close enough that Ditzy could smell the way the sweat on her coat blended with her perfume. Close enough to see the hunger and passion and divine love a mare felt for another mare burning in her eyes.

“I was thinking we could share your bed.” Fleur smiled. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Ditzy’s heart hammered in her chest and she felt a need she had long since neglected sink its claws deep into her.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. “No trouble at all, dear.”

Ditzy could feel the sunrise. Not literally, at least, as the sun had long since set and would not rise for many hours.

This was a sunrise in the purest of physical senses, an unstoppable pressure building from the crest of her stomach down to the varicose veins in her thighs. It was a pressure that was destined to mount and then fizzle out into a dull roar of blood as her adhoc lover pulled back for a breath of fresh air.

“You, madam, do not break easily.” Fleur’s breathing was strained, soaked in love and dripping with lust.

Ditzy giggled as the Prench mare planted a trail of sloppy kisses on whatever surface was available. She hadn’t received this much attention in years, positively beaming at the sensation that suffused her body. There was something impossibly light and freeing about being wanted and wanting in return; it set her soul ablaze to feel lust so openly.

“I told ya it’s gonna take some work!” Ditzy teased. “I’m not one to lie, Miss de Lis.”

“Miss de Lis.” Fleur’s voice was just as much a purr as it was anything else, and Ditzy could feel the timbre of her speech in her chest. “Please, dear, you may call me Fleur.”

Ditzy bit her lip, eyes straying away from the blindingly radiant mare who was now pulling herself up to nestle against the lip-marked expanse of her throat.

That familiar celestial burning had returned, pooling in her chest as Fleur’s smiling muzzle came to rest in the crook of Ditzy’s neck.

“Fleur.” Ditzy felt her stir but she remained silent. “Fleur, Fleur, Fleur. You’ve been very nice to me.”

This pulled Fleur out of whatever reverie she had lost herself in, coming to hover above Ditzy with a hoof on either side of her shoulders.

Ditzy couldn’t allow herself to meet Fleur’s eyes.

“Yes, I have,” Fleur said. “You deserve it. You are a very nice mare. Imagine my surprise to find you single.” Her gaze was just as avoidant, neither one of them willing to give in to the vulnerability that eye contact demanded. “I would like to see that change.”

Ditzy didn’t know what to say. Rather, there was plenty to say but none of it mattered. Nothing spoke truth to her heart, nothing offered itself up as the real and honest response that Fleur deserved.

“I’d like that too.” Is what she finally settled on. “If it’s not too much trouble, you know…”

Fleur smiled, locking eyes with Ditzy. She couldn’t run from the fire that was burning in her suitors gaze, caught in the sights of a mare possessed. “No trouble at all, sweetheart. The only trouble I intend on getting into tonight…”

Ditzy’s breath didn’t so much as hitch as it did escape her body entirely as Fleur dipped below her waistline once more.

Fleur smirked. “Is you.”

Ditzy had never taken a unicorn lover to her memory. She might’ve fooled around with somepony in college who had a horn but they were certainly no unicorn; compared to Fleur at least. So she wasn’t expecting a gently buzzing horn to slip its way inside of her. She thought there would be something sharp in the motion but it was surprisingly gentle.

The thrumming magical field that surrounded it and the effect this simple spell had on her was anything but gentle, however. Her body was alight and it took everything in her to not kick and thrash about in elation.

It was unlike anything else, all at once cool and hot; boring a hole straight through her soul and out the other end, leaving a room into which burning passion poured in.

A groan of raw pleasure cracked its way out of her throat, coming to rest in the thick spring air that filled the room. From the open window, the smell of wild flowers and brewing storms thickened the lust-soaked air. For a moment, Ditzy thought it might be best to quiet down.

To Tartarus with all of that!

If Fleur wanted her to sing she would and the whole of Equestria could hear for all she cared.

Sing she would as whatever spell Fleur leveraged to her advantage grew in intensity, melting every coherent thought left in her love-addled mind. She was reduced to a writhing mess against her sweat-soaked sheets, her lower half held steady by Fleur’s hooves. A smart move by any measure as Ditzy would curl herself into a ball if she had the chance, near-paralyzed by the hammering of pleasure coursing through her frame. It was a sensation felt more acutely than any in years.

Life, at times, offered her clarity of thought and understanding. Most of her time was spent in a dull haze of almost-knowing and this fog had become such a constant companion that she only noticed it in its absence.

Here, now, there was nothing obscuring her view. There was no barrier between Ditzy and Fleur. The feeling was unbearable, like being split in two by a velvet-wrapped axe head.

It was… lightning. It was pure white heat hidden in a fluffy cloud, it was knowing one’s body through the body of another, it was being seen and felt and, beyond all else, known.

It was too much to bear as the world came crashing down around her and she felt something between her legs give, her trembling body collapsing motionless against the mattress. She felt wet and hot and light-headed, only now remembering to breathe and blink and train her thoughts towards something more concrete. Concrete and real, like Fleur de Lis, mane matted with sweat.

“I did not know a mare could make such noises.” Fleur’s voice was tired, stretched thin with exhaustion but heavy with affection.

Ditzy opened her mouth to speak but found her voice stolen from her throat, instead choosing to nod rapidly before burying her snout in Fleur’s collarbone. There, the two of them laid, spent completely, until sleep claimed them.