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lavishlyleo · 1 year

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Astrology Observations 3

The power pisces placements hold is actually insane, like everyone talks about how intuitive Scorpios are, but have you seen what a Pisces can do when they set their minds to something? Especially a Sun / Mercury Combination in this sign. Like these people can not only predict many things and easily read foretold messages, getting insight on something before it happens, but they also have heavy manifesting powers when they have a lot of faith in something that they think will happen. It's like they speak it into existence. These people have a sixth sense I swear.

Like everything people think Scorpios are Pisces IS.

Having a Libra or Gemini Moon in your Solar return chart could indicate you being put in a situation where you appear fake and/or two faced. ( NOT Natal chart, Solar Return Chart ) I remember during 2020 I had this, and I used to always wanna keep the peace and harmony in my friend group, but when certain people left that I didn't like, I used to talk SO MUCH SHIT. It's a thing of not being liked by certain people or not liking certain people and them making you irritated and angry, but not wanting to cause more problems that would make the situation worse. So you just leave it be but as soon as you get the chance to vent about it, it's like a flood gate opening.

Moon in 11th house people CANNOT live without their group. I know someone with this placement and he always has a group to tag along with and he has so many connections to people. He's the poster child of social butterfly.

Being around someone with a Debilitated or Fall Moon ( Capricorn and Scorpio ) when they're irritated or angry is so draining. Like they WILL suck the energy out of the room when they're mad. Like you're walking on eggshells with what you say to them. However usually when the native realizes that it's affecting everyone they will leave the scene until they cool down, or try to sit down and talk about their feelings. This is because they don't want to stew in their own anger because it's draining to them too, so most would rather solve the issue than keep being angry.

Pisces Mars is another powerful placement to have for intuition and being able to dissect people's mind, intentions and feelings. Mars is the energy we put out into the world, but Pisces Mars uses their energy to absorb other peoples' energies to get the feel about somebody. This can also indicate someone who is very sleepy all the time, espeically around emotionally and spiritually draining people because they have to use more energy on these people.

In synastry, we all know to check Venus, Mars, Moon, ect. HOWEVER! I feel like another huge determining factor in synastry is ruler planet chemistry. For example. If person A has Gemini Rising, and person B has Capricorn Rising, You would check how person A's Mercury aspects person B's Saturn. If A's Mercury trines B's Saturn then they could have a relationship based off similar experiences and having similar ways of thinking, despite their Rising signs being in quincunx. Also take into account where the chart ruler falls in each others charts. Another example is if Person A's Mercury could be in B's 6th house, making their relationship more work related and, and they sharing everyday little details to eachother.

Having a lot of strong and prominent aspects to one planet can make it a key focal point in your life, even if it's not the chart ruler, dominant planet, ect. This also means that planet has a more far reaching and influential power over the many planets it's aspecting. Think of dividing and conquering in a sense. And the planets being aspected by this one planet can even take on the qualities of the planets sign(s).

For example, someone can have many planets in fire or air, initially giving them those fire/air qualities. However, if their Saturn aspects alot of their planets (especially personal planets), then they may take on a more serious and calculated demeanor. Similar to that or a Capricorn or Aquarius.

What is it with fixed Mars signs and BEING SO FUCKING STUBBORN!? Especially Scorpio or Taurus Martians. I mean I know I can be stubborn sometimes but this is insane. In some instances, they KNOW they're in the wrong but will still defend their side of the argument until they day they DIE!! Obviously this is not everyone with this placement, at all times, but I've seen a couple people with this placement do this in when debating or arguing and it's like talking to a brick wall.

Having a lot of planets in the 10th house, or having personal planets in the 10th house in many of your Persona charts can indicate being very conscious of what you say to people, or to the public as to not have anything you say ruin your reputation. Any vile or ill feelings you have towards people are said in private to people you trust. These people are VERY conscious of their social and digital footprint.

Sagittarius Risings can have be very clever and calculating with their addictions. They're excellent at saving up money and rolling on a tight budget, thanks to their 2nd house being in Capricorn, however, with the full intentions of blowing all that money on something most people would find reckless or not essential. For example, saving up a months worth of rent to blow it all at the mall on anything they find and like when they get there. Calculating enough to know how much money they'll likely need for their adventure, but vague enough not to know exactly what they'll buy when they actually get there.

I think this kinda goes without saying but also look at the house your planets are in along with the sign! For example, Someone with Libra Mars may seem really chill and compromising but if they have it in the 1st house they can be way more agressive and bold than a normal Libra Mars, and take on many traits of an Aries Mars.

On the same note, look at which specific house the planets are in, I feel like planets can be effected by the whatever house they are exalt, domicile, detriment, or fall in. For example, Venus could be in it's home sign, Taurus, however if Venus is in the 6th house it would still be in a somewhat fall because Virgo rules the 6th house and is in fall in Venus.

ALONG THE SAME NOTE, I don't see people talk about this enough but signs in domicile can be just as malefic as signs in detriment!! While a Capricorn Moon can have trouble showing their emotions and opening up to people, a Cancer Moon could be too emotional and always make the topic about how they feel and their emotions. Or while a Pisces Mercury could be avoidant and emotionally persuasive with their words, a Virgo Mercury could be overly analytical and constantly nitpick.

If you don't relate to a house placement, check your chart in whole houses.

With most of us alive today having Neptune sextile Pluto, this means we tend give a LOT of power to people we heavily idolize or are obsessed with greatly, for good or for worse.

I feel like the people who get stereotyped the most and/or have a warped stereotype applied to them that isn't consistant with the signs original stereotype usually have Pluto, Neptune or sometimes Uranus in their first house because those planets stay in a sign for years and can affect that generation of people. For example, Sagittarius Risings are stereotypically optimistic, easy going, adventureous and free spirited. However with most of Gen Z having Pluto in Sagittarius, this gives our generation of Sagittarius Ascendant natives a more serious, intense and secretive qualities.

A conjunction between two planets that are in different signs can weaken the conjunction. This is because while the planets energies are still combining, the planets have different ways of outputting that energy, which can sometimes disrupt the synchronization of the two planets.

This goes for opposition too, and I think it makes it worse because usually when two planets are in opposition, they are in sister signs, which gives them similar qualities and a basic understanding for each others energies. However if two planets in opposition aren't in sister signs, then this can make the placement feel more like a Square/Quincunx combination because there won't be that initial understanding or similar qualities, And the signs won't share the same modality or element.

I feel like Lilith aspecting the Moon can be more detrimental and powerful than the Moon being in Scorpio or Capricorn. This is because Lilith in astrology, like the moon is related to feminine energy (After all it's black MOON Lilith). But because of this very powerful and similar influence to the Moon, this can warp the effects and qualities the Moon has on the native, and the line where Lilith and the Moon's influence seperate can blur for the native. Personally me, I think this placement is the most powerful Lilith placement/aspect to have, even more powerful than aspects to the Ascendant or Sun, and is what typically makes someone a Lilith dominant.

Placements that indicate having strong manifestation powers -

Jupiter or Venus in the 12th house.

Neptune in the 1st, 3rd or 8th

Having Pisces in a fire house (1st, 5th, 9th)

Sagittarius in Neptune and/or 12th house

Having planetary conjunctions where the planets in conjunction are in Pisces/Aries (One planet is pisces and the other is Aries)

Saturn in the water houses

Stelliums that include saturn or Neptune

Stelliums in the 8th house

Ruler of the 12th house in the fire houses (Co rulers count too)

having many planets in the 10th or 11th house (because they are Saturn ruled houses and manifestation here is a result of good karma and time).

On that note, not every planet in the 12th house is good for manifestation. Brash and scattered planets like Mars, Mercury, Moon, ect can be too chaotic and scattered for accurate and great manifesting.

While Venus Persona Chart can show what kind of lover you are, Juno persona chart can show what your lover's chart may look like.

Look at where the Ascendant of the Ascendant Persona Chart Ruler is in your natal chart for more insight about your identity and what your core themes are. For example if your Acsendant PC Rising is in Aquarius, check where Uranus and Saturn lies in your natal chart.

Personally, I think Venus should be exalted in Cancer and Jupiter should be exalted Pisces, they need to swap because it would make so many things line up with the placements exalts and domiciles for Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Mercury, ect. For a more in depth analysis check out my post here

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ladywuvly · 1 month

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♱ love bites pt.1 (vampireslave!simonriley x princess!f!reader)

summary|| The world stands divided, witnessing the dawn of a fierce civil war between mankind and vampires. Since the day you were born, your father, the king, has dedicated his life to mastering the art of manipulating the masses. However, his relentless pursuit of power has overshadowed everything else. Nevertheless, when a pale-faced servant is introduced into the castle, an inexplicable connection draws you towards him. wc: 6.8K

warnings|| MDNI; 18+ content, violence + mentions of, blood, swearing, abuse, slavery, child neglect, human trafficking.

masterlist. socials. recs.

It was the day of your birthday, a day that should've brought you joy and excitement. Yet, it wasn't as if turning a year older, granted you any additional control or responsibility over your own life.

Instead, you found yourself trapped in this house castle you called home. Surrounded by a series of unfamiliar faces, royal servants, and a new tutor every few months.

Isolated from the other children your age, a burning desire for freedom consumed you, as you watched them get the life you wanted; the life you yearned for.

While they were allowed to live freely, you were imprisoned inside this mansion. Locked away in your bedroom, walls covered in lavish decor. Shelves and dressers filled with things you rarely used - makeup and perfumes rarely touched, dresses and linens you dreaded to even wear.

You were merely a marionette, dressed up and down, manipulated at your parent's whim, while others turned a blind eye at your misery.

Although, what did you expect, you were a princess after all.

Marianne suddenly entered your bedroom. Crossing the threshold gracefully with her eerie ambiance of mystery and allure.

Marianne had been your mother's handmaid for as long as you could remember. She had been a gift to your mother, from your father, long before you were born.

Flawless porcelain skin and deep captivating red eyes that set her apart from the rest of the other servants around the castle.

Time seemed to have no effect on her. She had not aged a single day in all of your years. Frozen in time at the age of 26, and was, considerably, the only consistent part in your life.

Marianne laid out a dress for you. Placing it down carefully on your bed as she continued to busy herself around your bedroom.

Your head turned at the sound of her voice and you looked up at her sympathetically. "Do I have to go?"

Leaning back as her hands playfully combed through your hair, fingers gliding smoothly through your freshly brushed strands.

"It's best to get it done and over with." She said calmly.

As you made your way down the stairs, you took a moment to calm yourself before entering the dining room sheepishly.

Your father was seated at the head of the table, your mother beside him.

Catching sight of you, he swiftly fished his pocket watch from his coat. "You're late. I don't have the time to wait for you."

You followed your father outside to the waiting carriage. Accepting the kind hand offered by Louis, your chauffeur, and settled into the comfortable seats.

The ride dragged on, perhaps it was on account of what awaited you, upon your arrival. It baffled you at how things had reached this point.

Once the existence of vampires was revealed to the world, they were immediately labeled as a threat. Dangerous creatures of the night that lurked amongst the shadows. Monsters hiding among men.

On contrary to popular belief, they didn't burst into flames when exposed to sunlight. They weren't threatened by garlic, or crosses, or holy water. They didn't die from a stake to the heart and they were certainly not undead.

Although, they appeared pale in complexion, possessed immense strength and heightened senses, and required a dietary supplement of blood to survive.

It would be unfair to label them as monstrous, and you refused to believe this was the only way to live alongside them. They had once been people, just like you were. They experienced emotions and suffered pain.

Sure, it was different from the typical ways of the 'living' world. Still, that didn't justify enslaving their entire race.

It was argued that it was the only method to ensure humanities safety. Claiming that without it you’d be vulnerable, unprotected. Nevertheless, you wouldn't embrace the idea that this was the sole approach to a harmonious existence.

Soon the carriage came to a halt and your father got out. You peered out from behind him, surveying your surroundings before stepping onto the muddy road.

You trailed behind him into the building, entering a large auditorial room where the auction would be taking place. That familiar nauseous feeling swirled in your stomach as he led you to your seats near the back of the audience.

You anxiously looked around the room, taking in every detail. Within a matter of moments another man strode across the stage, approaching the podium.

The room became silent in anticipation as he began to speak. His words fell deaf to your ears, drowned out by the unsettling start of the auction.

Your eyes remained fixed on the stage. Witnessing as one after another, was forcefully brought out.

Both men and women, hands bound and feet shackled, appeared before the crowd. Some looked more heavily mistreated than others.

What disgusted you even more was the lack of empathy displayed by those around you, not even flinching as each individual was auctioned off to the highest bidder.

The sight was repulsive, and you couldn't bear to raise your bidding paddle held tightly in your hands.

As the auction began to come to an end, your father seethed at you through his barred teeth. "If you do not bid, I will do it for you."

Reluctantly, you shifted your gaze back to the stage, as another man was being dragged out.

He stood with an imposing height. Towering over the both men who held him captive at either side. His shoulders wide, and the shirt he wore did a poor job at concealing the dried blood and dirt that clung to his pale skin.

Your eyes couldn't help but linger on him, captivated by his presence. Despite his greasy blonde hair that fell over his eyes impedingly, it didn’t mask the strong features of his face.

He pulled away from the man on his right, earning a painful kick to the back of his legs that sent him collapsing onto his knees.

With his hair serving as a makeshift restraint, his head was raised. Lifting his chin defiantly, revealing his face in all its glory to the many interested onlookers among the audience.

His appearance was striking and as strange as it seemed, you couldn't help but feel drawn to him. His rugged face, marked by dirt and blood, still possessed an undeniable beauty.

Soon bids were being placed, and although the thought of purchasing this man in front of you seemed unfathomable, you couldn't resist impulsively raising the paddle high into the air.

"13,000! 13,000 for..oh, and well if it isn’t the Princess herself, ladies and gentleman!" The entire room turned their attention from the auctioneer to you, causing you to squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

As you looked back at the stage, the man's gaze locked with yours. His eyebrows furrowed harshly and he shot you a piercing glare causing your heart to ache.

"He's going to be difficult to break in." Your father disgruntled.

"You told me to bid."

"13,000, going once! Going twice! Sold to our Majesty and the Princess!" Your father rose from his seat, you instinctively followed. Waving and smiling as the men and women in the crowd erupted in applause.

As you glanced back at the stage, a wave of dread washed over you as you watched them forcefully drag the man away and out of your sight. Sorrow-filled, you tore your gaze away and hurriedly followed in his footsteps.

As he stood by the reception desk, meticulously filling out paperwork and a bill of sale. Your attention was drawn to the two familiar men who had been escorting individuals on an off stage.

They seemed to be engaged in a conversation with your father, he discreetly offered them a few coin each, before he turned and handed you a pen.

"What’s this for?" You ask, your voice filled with uncertainty. "Ownership papers." His reply caused you to freeze.

It was hard to believe that this was actually happening. You would be this man's owner. He would become your possession.

"Father… I-I'm not sure if I can-" You stammered, your voice trembling.

"That's enough." He said, silencing you.

It was astonishing, how effortlessly your father made you remember just how easy it was to hate him. He had managed to portray this as nothing more than a point of sale, stripping away all humility.

Swallowing down your tears, you leaned over to hastily scribble your signature at the paper’s edge. Every letter and each stroke of the pen, another stab wound to your heart.

You dropped the pen as if it had burned you, walking out of the building and leaving your father inside.

As you caught your breath out on the sidewalk, a laughing bunch of children dashed by you. Joyfully passing a vibrant red rubber ball amongst each other.

Their contagious laughter brought a fleeting smile to your face, but it soon faded as rearing envy flooded your chest. You longed to once be part of their innocent joy.

Your father appeared from behind you and as the carriage arrived he promptly took his seat without bothering to spare you a glance.

You took a moment to look for where they might have placed the man of such impending size. It would be difficult to hide a man of his stature, even on something as grand as the royal carriage.

As you glanced at Louis. He met your gaze before casting his eyes behind him towards the rear.

You cautiously approached the back of the carriage, stealing a glance around the corner to catch a small glimpse of him.

There he was, shackled securely to the luggage rack sitting upright on the short, compact shelf.

You swiftly glanced over your shoulder, ensuring that your father hadn't caught you gazing inquisitively at the cryptic man.

"Princess?" A gravely, somber voice broke the silence.

Startled, you jumped in surprise caught off guard by the sudden sound. Turning back to face the man who remained bound in place.

You approached him cautiously, his appearance became even more unsettling. Although his face remained somewhat concealed, the deep scars that were etched into his skin were too distracting to ignore.

The long jagged scars that scattered across his face. Remnants of a past wound ran across his nose. His face, a roadmap of strength and survival.

Cutting deeply over his lips like a badge of honor. Saw-toothed and jagged, narrowly missing his eye, dividing his eyebrow and cheek with a single stroke, which only added to his allure.

Each scar, a testament to a life lived, resiliently.

Your eyes welled up with tears, brimming and threatening to overflow. The feeling of self-disgust washed over you, utterly ashamed at what you had done. The depths you had sunk, purchasing him as if he were mere property.

"Everythin’ a’right there, Princess?" His voice was hoarse and deep, sending a shiver down your spine. Never before had the sound of someone's voice evoked such a whirlwind of emotions within you.

"Don’t call me that." You snapped, feeling far from deserving of such a title. At the moment you felt nothing like a princess. A princess was strong, courageous, and compassionate, someone who helped others, not oppressed them.

He seemed familiar with the tone of your voice and with a stern expression turned to look away. "No! I-I’m sorry. I just… I just hate being called that." You stammered.

"Then wha' is it I call you?"

Your ears hummed in pleasure, as he played with your name a few times under his breath.

"And you? What shall I call you?" You asked him nervously.

"Anythin' you please." He gazed at you intensely, causing you to shyly glance down at your hands.

"No, I want to know your name." You insisted, shaking your head.

"Simon." He stated sharply.

"Simon…" You repeated, before anxiously biting your bottom lip. Mesmerized, you couldn't tare your eyes away from his intense crimson gaze as it slowly drifted down to your mouth.

The sudden sound of your father's voice calling your name caused you to gasp, releasing your flushed lip. Shattering the moment, you turned your attention towards the front of the carriage.

Glancing back at the mysterious man. "I’m sorry, I’m truly so sorry." You panicked, stepping away, rushing to take your seat.

As you made your way back to the castle, the ride was filled with an eerie silence.

Once you’d arrived home and stepped out of the carriage, the sound of jingling chains caught your attention.

Your father disappeared into the castle, leaving you alone with Simon. Watching as Louis released him from his restraints.

You couldn't help but feel the stir of curiosity and anger emanating from his gaze, freezing you in place.

Perhaps it was the countless years of torment he endured, that over time had hardened his natural state.

He stood tall, towering over your own figure. He was incredibly intimidating, and with each passing minute, the thought of fleeing became increasingly tempting.

Simon possessed an imposing build, with muscles that commanded attention. His blonde hair was too long and unruly, but that only added to his overall delphic demeanor.

However, his facial hair proved to be quite distracting, diverting the attention from his striking features.

His tattered clothing barely held together, falling apart at the seams, while his feet remained bare.

Your boots protected your feet from the sharp gravel stones, and although you were aware that he didn't experience pain in the same manner as you did, it still must’ve been somewhat uncomfortable. His overall appearance upset you.

"I’m sorry." You mumbled softly, casting your gaze downwards in shame.

"You keep apologizing."

He sounded annoyed, angry, his tone filled with irritation.

"I don't know what else to say." Closing your eyes to keep the tears at bay. With a shake of your head and a sniffle, you took a deep breath to compose yourself.

The sound of hurried footsteps on the splintered rock caught your attention. You turned to see Marianne as she made her way towards you.

It only took a call of your name for you to run to her. Enveloping you into her warm embrace, cradling your head into her chest.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of emotions you broke down, no longer strong enough to hold back your tears. Sobs racked through your throat, causing your shoulders to tremble with each wail of grief.

In that moment, Simon's presence faded into the background. With tender gestures and the gentle stroking of your hair, Marianne comforted you. Her soothing words reassured you, easing your tears.

"Louis?! Louis?!" Marianne's voice rang out, beckoning the man who had disappeared for only a moment.

"What has happened?!" He exclaimed angrily, his accusatory gaze fixated on Simon.

"He’s done nothing." Marianne interjected, her voice calm yet firm. "You're well aware of the princess's nature."

Simon remained stuck in place, utterly surprised at your sudden outpour of emotion.

Throughout his years, he had encountered countless young women, but witnessing, a princess of all people, weeping uncontrollably in the embrace of someone who, by all appearances, shared his vampiric nature, seemed unfathomable.

Marianne regarded Simon with an inscrutable expression, her gaze impossible to decipher. "Louis, escort him to the bathing chambers. See to it that he is cleaned and attired appropriately before bringing him to the princess's quarters. We shall await his arrival there."

She instructed, gently tugging at your weeping form as she led you towards the grand castle.

"Goodness Marianne, it was absolutely awful." You said once you had distanced yourself from the men, finding the courage to explain yourself.

"They were all beaten and chained, some of them so weak they couldn't even stand on their own. It's sickening that I participated in such a thing. Heavens, I bought a man."

Tears continued to stream down your face as she guided you indoors. "It's alright now, my dear, don’t worry. All is well. Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?"

Simon squeezed into the porcelain tub, sinking comfortably against its back with his arms draped over the sides. He’d cut his hair, shaved his beard, and meticulously scrubbed all the dirt off his scarred skin, leaving it free from any traces.

As he indulged in the soothing warmth of the water, his mind wandered back to you.

Your wide tear-filled eyes that glistened as you looked up at him. Lashes that appeared fuller as they clung together from the tears cascading down your flushed cheeks.

The remembrance of your disheveled state, stirred a sense of melancholy deep within him.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he submerged himself beneath the water's surface.

Despite the fact that Louis had provided Simon with the largest clothes he could find. With his impressive height and broad build, they still seemed to be slightly too snug for his frame.

The shirt appeared to be undersized. It fell short, just below his hips, and was a bit snug around his shoulders. On the other hand, the old pair of boots that were given to him fit perfectly.

Louis guided him through the castle and when they finally reached your door, Louis left him standing in the hallway. Simon stood there for a moment unsure about what might lay beyond the door.

Sitting in your usual spot by the window, your lace-up heeled boots lay untied on the floor beside you. Sensing a change in the room, you turned around, anticipating Marianne. However, you were surprised when you saw Simon approaching.

Finally, with his hair cut short and his face clean-shaven, you could catch a glimpse of his true self. Though, his presence seemed so estranged in your feminine room.

You stood up, suddenly anxious. Yet, his height startled you and you took a clumsy step back, accidentally hitting the wooden bench with your heel, causing you to awkwardly plop down onto your rear end.

As soon as Marianne stepped in, you quickly stood back on your feet. Gently smoothing down the fabric of your skirt, attempting to alleviate the shakiness of your hands.

Simon obediently sat down into a chair not too far from him upon Marianne's request, and you gracefully resumed your own seat as well. Simon found it peculiar how willingly you followed Marianne's instructions.

"Simon, you are not t- Marianne..." You interjected, cutting her off.

From the moment you entered your bedroom, you had made it clear that she was not to address him in the same manner as the other servants.

Marianne let out a sigh before starting again. "Hello, Simon. My name is Marianne, the queen's lady-in-waiting. However, for all practical purposes, I have been taking care of the princess since she was a young girl."

Simon glanced back and forth between the two of you, catching your gaze as you observed him from your perch by the window.

"To ensure a seamless transition, there are just a handful of guidelines you need to adhere to." She informed him.

"Firstly, you will be residing in the servant chambers. Louis will assign you daily tasks to keep you occupied. Once you complete your duties, you are free to engage in any activities of your choice. Feel free to explore the castle grounds, take care of the animals and crops, or anything else that keeps you busy." She continued.

"However, you must always be attentive to the Princess herself. For you are to be devoted to her." Simon glanced in your direction, immediately catching sight of your somber expression, despite your attempts to hide it from him.

"It is strictly prohibited to enter the west wing of the castle. The library and ballroom, on the other hand, can be accessed with prior permission from the king, queen, or the princess." She finished.

After she’d gone over a few more things she’d eventually excused herself.

Once Marianne left your bedroom, you followed her to the door, closing it behind her. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you turned back to face Simon.

Marianne had encouraged you to make an attempt at talking with him. It wasn’t everyday a pale fresh face was introduced to the castle.

You found him standing in the middle of the room, his expression filled with uncertainty. "You have questions."

There was a brief moment of silence, before he suddenly spoke, taking a chance on your unusual demeanor. "Do I 'ave permission t'speak freely?"

"You don't need my permission to do anything." You replied honestly, yet, intrigued by his request.

"Neve' met someone like you." Simon paused, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Yet, his words caught you off guard, causing a blush to creep up your cheeks. "What do you mean?" You asked, genuinely surprised by his confession.

"All m’years, I've met thousands of people..." Simon explained, his tone filled with a mix of vulnerability and obligation.

"Ya’ see, I have been tortured, beaten, punished, abused..."

A lump formed in your throat, and tears welled up in your eyes as he confessed. "Stop that..." You whimpered softly, your voice barely audible.

"...but the first day I meet you, you apologized for nothin’." His voice remained steady. "You call me by my name, and allow me to call you by yours..." He stated in confusion.

"Simon.."

"I am at your command, your highness. I will not deny it... Simon, don't..."

You couldn't help but stare at the floor. Your throat constricted, a heavy lump settling in it, making it difficult for you to speak.

Simon's words struck a chord within you.

"I never wanted things to be like this." You confess, taking a step closer to him, unable to keep your distance.

"I never wanted to be trapped within these walls, raised by guards and maids instead of my own parents. Told how to dress, how to behave, how to speak, even how to feel. Forever alone, mocked, ridiculed..." Closing the gap between you, you continued.

"I may not know what it is like to be one of you, and I can never truly understand the pain of what you've been through, but I do know what it's like to have no control over your own life. To have every decision made for you. So, when I apologize, it's not for nothing. It's for everything. Everything that has ever happened to you because of me..."

As you stood just a step away from him. His face, a mixture of confusion and bewilderment.

"...so I find myself apologizing, repeatedly. Even though I know you may not believe me. I can no longer continue living this facade. Pretending that everything is okay, when it's far from." You let a breathless laugh escape your lips.

"I refuse to treat you in the same manner as my father would, and I was only at that stupid auction today because he insisted I had to be. So, please understand that I cannot treat you with anything less than kindness... and nothing you do or say can ever change that."

As you looked up at him, your hand softly touched his forearm, which dangled lazily by his side. Looking up at him, his captivating eyes met yours, an unbreakable connection.

They portrayed a deep sense of astonishment as you confessed, causing you to avert your gaze shamefully. However, you couldn't help but look back at him, wanting to appear courageous in the presence of such an overwhelmingly, intimidating man.

Simon was bewitched, an enchanted feeling he had never experienced before consumed him completely, leaving no doubt in his mind at your sincerity.

Initially, he had pictured you as a spoiled, immature, arrogant princess, who'd come from a privileged, lavish life. Someone who had everything handed to them on a silver platter, attended private classes and never missed a lesson.

Although, as he gazed at you, he saw the complete opposite.

The rosy blush on your cheeks, a beautiful indication that your heart pumped with life, and the sparkle in your eyes revealed a shimmer of hope for the future.

At your chest tightening confession, Simon realized that despite where he came from, an environment filled with poverty and hardship, where tainted hands met violence and hurt, you'd still welcome him with kindness and warmth. Something he hadn't felt since he was human.

"Please, do not make this difficult for me." You pleaded with him.

"I'm certain that the years you remain here will fade in comparison to the rest of your life, but it will be my entire existence."

Little did you realize just how wrong you were. Simon was already well aware that his time here would trump all the years he'd existed.

He knew that you, would surpass all the people he'd spent his everlasting eternity with.

The past few months remained somewhat peaceful. You had yet to ask much from Simon, other than helping hand here and there.

To be truthful, you were slightly embarrassed at your initial introduction of yourself, and your thoughts on the whole situation made you reluctant to ask things of him. However, that didn't mean you weren't observant.

Despite both of your seemingly busy schedules, it didn't deter you from watching him closely as he worked.

Tending to the horses and other animals in the stables. The times you witness him and Louis engaged in deep conversation.

He was truly a captivating sight to behold. You'd study him, working away, out in the fields, watching as he effortlessly hoisted those hefty bales of hay.

A task which would typically require the strength of two mortal men, he made, seem like child's play.

On hotter days, there were moments when you would catch him clad, in nothing but a pair of trousers and boots. His tunic-shirt, casually tossed over the fence as he tirelessly carried on with his work.

It was during these days, you'd take your time when admiring his naked upper body. With strong, powerful muscles rippling beneath scarred, sweat glistening skin. He was undeniably breathtaking.

He'd once asked you for permission to use the library and you had assured him that he no longer needed to ask your approval.

In fact, you'd even told him to let anyone causing him trouble know that it was you who had granted him access.

You'd ran into him a few times there, when gathering books your instructors told you to bring along to class.

Conversations were always short, neither of you talked very much. Simply a few brief, fleeting words regarding what each of you were reading or how you had been passing the time.

Once you began to feel anxious or perhaps even a bit flustered, you'd politely excuse yourself. Scurrying off to find solace in some deep, hidden corner of the castle.

Simon always found you incredibly strange. He was well aware of the fact that he had captured your attention, as he could feel your eyes fixed on him during numerous occasions.

In fact, he would often find himself going the extra mile just to amuse you. Whether it was casually removing his sweat soaked shirt or deliberately taking a bit more time to complete his tasks, knowing that you would be watching his every move.

It wasn't until your father had confronted you about your tutors' complaints, regarding your lack of focus during lessons. How they'd caught your attention slipping, or how easily you got distracted, often gazing out the window lost in your own thoughts, 'daydreaming' was what they'd called it.

As a result, he summoned you to his study, where he proceeded to ridicule you about how childish you were being. To waste their time and his precious coin on classes that you so stupidly couldn't comprehend, or didn't have the mental capacity to follow along.

His words cut like a knife, devoid of any kindness or compassion. His only purpose, to shatter the illusions you had created in your head, and to demand your undivided attention.

You quickly left his study, tears streaming down your face. Hurriedly, rushing through the grand halls of the castle. Your sole mission was to reach your bedroom, where you could finally surrender to the comfort of your bed and release all the pent-up emotions through a torrent of tears.

Yet, you were interrupted at the top of the stairs where you'd collided with someone with such force, you thought it would surely bring you both sprawling to the ground.

Instinctively, you threw your hands out to catch yourself, only to find them resting against a solid chest covered in well-defined muscles. A strong arm encircled tightly around your waist, keeping you from collapsing onto the ground in a puddle of tears.

Simon had spent quite some time in the library, secretly hoping he'd encounter you. Unfortunately, luck was never on his side. He'd abandoned his pursuit, making his way back to his quarters when he suddenly caught the sound of your hurried footsteps. The rampant rhythm of your heartbeat, and the unmistakable, sickly scent of your sorrow.

There were only a few things Simon found enjoyable about being what he was. Among them, was his heightened senses. With his newfound sense of smell and enhanced hearing, he had the luxury of knowing exactly how a person was feeling.

On occasion, he was able to catch the skipped beat of your heart, when he paid you a subtle compliment and the, oh so, delightful scent of your arousal that filled the air when he'd 'accidentally' brush up against you.

However, in this moment he didn't find it quite as appealing. The sight of freshly fallen tears, cascading down your flushed cheeks, and the sound of each wet breath you took in an effort to compose yourself, which had no effect, had Simon's chest constricting.

"Your highness? What has happened?" The sight of your distress caused a surge of anger coursing through him at the thought of someone causing you pain.

The unexpected appearance of Simon caused you to feel a sudden sense of relief. As his rough, calloused fingertips gently brushed away the tears streaming down your cheeks, and as his words registered in your mind, you shook your head.

Taking a large step away from him, distanced yourself from his comforting embrace. You swiftly wiped away any remanence of your tears, before crossing your arms tightly over yourself, in an attempt, determined to comfort yourself.

"Nothing. I am just being childish, that's all." You reassured him. Putting emphasis on childish, in reference to your father's patronizing words.

Simon tried to cheer you up teasingly. "Ain't a princess not suppose' t'lie?" Unfortunately he hadn't had much practice in the matter and his attempt only seemed to make things worse.

"You're right. I'm sorry-I just..." Your voice fractured, like delicate glass as you started to apologize, but he interrupted you.

"No. No, 's not what I meant." He said gently. Confused, you looked up at him. "You don't need to lie, not to me."

Reaching out, his fingers delicately brushed away a wayward piece of hair from your face, tucking the stray strand behind your ear, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

You inhaled deeply, preparing to speak, the words escaped your lips softly. "I'm falling behind in my studies." Simon would've asked why, but deep down, he feared he already knew the answer. Him.

"'s trivial." He said, attempting once again to displace your worries.

"To you." You sighed, while he simply hummed in response.

"Suppose."

Simon was never one for words, so he thought of something else that might cheer you up. "Come with me." He uttered unexpectedly, catching you off guard.

"What?... Where?" You asked him puzzled.

This time, he reached his hand out slowly, gently brushing against your wrist and palm, before finally catching the tips of your fingers with his.

Without saying a word, he led you carefully by his side, guiding you out of the castle entrance and towards the stables. You couldn't help but giggle uncontrollably as Simon tightened his grip on your hand, intertwining your fingers.

With your free hand, you lifted the skirt of your dress, in order to keep up with Simon's quickening pace. "Where are you taking me?" You asked him playfully. He didn't respond, instead pulling you closer to him as you approached the fence of the pasture.

"Simon I'm not allowed this far." You warned looking up at him. Once again, he paid no mind to your words, smiling down at you as he grabbed you by the waist to hoist you over the fencing.

"Simon!" You shrieked his name. Grasping his sturdy upper arms, at the feeling of him effortlessly lifting you off the ground and into the air. Once he set you back down on your feet, he placed one hand onto the railing, leaping to your side.

"Would you just come on." He said, grabbing your hand once more pulling you with him into the open fields of grass.

Suddenly, he came to a stop, positioning you in front of him. You could feel the firmness of his chest against your back, while his large hands firmly grasped onto your hips protectively.

"Si-Shh, shh, shh. Look." He interrupted you softly, gently nodding his head for you to look forward.

Straight ahead, in front of you both, was a harras of horses. Gracefully trotting over the lush grassy knoll. A handful of playful foals keeping pace beside their nurturing mothers.

As the sun began its descent behind the towering trees, it painted the flowery hills with radiant beams of golden light.

The view before you was absolutely breathtaking, and despite all your years living in the castle, you never imagined you'd see something quite this beautiful.

You gently rested your hands on Simon's, which were now wrapped loosely around your waist and leaned back into the comfort of his strong embrace. In that moment, all your previous worries and doubts seemed to fade away.

Simon felt you relax into him, drawing you tighter against his body, keeping you close.

He gently lowered his head, his nose grazing against the full of your hair and he took a deep breath, inhaling in your delicious scent, savoring the intoxicating aroma of vanilla that enveloped you both.

As his words escaped his lips, a gentle touch of his breath caressed the shell of your ear sending a delightful shiver down your spine. "Beautiful, isn't it?" His tone, a confident statement, rather than a question.

You gave a subtle nod, your voice currently untrustworthy as Simon's head remained nestled in your hair.

His hands began to wander. His brain, no longer thinking clearly as his senses grew hazy. His mind, a clouded mess, suddenly consumed by you.

With one hand he gently traced the curve of your hip, gripping at the softness of your plush thighs through the fabric of your skirt.

His other hand ventured upwards, long fingers spreading wide as they glided over your rib cage, brushing against your sternum just below your breast.

As his lips drug against the delicate skin of your neck and a surge of warmth enveloped you, your eyes widened in recognition.

You quickly spun around to distance yourself from him, but his arm remained securely around your waist holding you firmly in place.

Your hands reached out to push at his chest, but the intense look of hunger in his eyes, caused you to freeze.

How foolish of you, allowing him to lure you out here all alone. As much as you were reluctant to accept it, he was still a predator and his thirst for blood, veracious.

As his hand gently cradled your cheek, his fingers tangled in your wild hair. His eyes burned with an insatiable lust as he tilted your head.

You watched him salivate, his tongue darting out, licking his lips at your desirable taste.

A wavering sigh escaped your lips, leaving you utterly breathless. Fear gripped your trembling hands as he leaned closer, drawing you towards his awaiting mouth.

You knew there was no calling for help, no one would arrive fast enough to save you from him.

With a heavy heart, you closed your eyes as a single tear fell down your cheek. Bracing yourself for the inevitable pain, accepting of his bitter-sweet bite of death.

His cold breath fanned against your lips, before a burning warmth enveloped them. Pleasurable tingles coursed through your jaw, gradually ascending to your face, caressing your cheekbones and even reaching your hair, which was held captive in his strong hand.

The rough texture of his scarred lips was nothing compared to the pillowiness of them.

Simon deepened the kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You had never experienced such a sweet sensation before. You were still young and hadn't been trusting enough to share such an intimate moment like this with somebody.

A kiss filled with such an overwhelming sense of passion, surpassing any tenderness you had ever experienced. Your body relaxed, your hands, once tightly clutching his shirt out of fear, now clung to it with longing, yearning to pull him closer to you.

His mouth parted, gently drawing your lower lip inside. His tongue caressing the tender flesh as he kissed you furiously. He tasted like tea, earthy with a hint of something sweet, perhaps cherries or marzipan.

Simon couldn't get enough of you. The soft curve of your waist, perfectly fitting his hand, as if it were meant to keep you by his side.

Since his arrival, he'd been yearning for more. Longing for your taste, and to let you consume every part of him completely. The sickly-sweet flavor of your lips, the taste of your mouth that he savored like the most cherished elixir.

The sudden nip of his teeth against your plump skin stung, jolting you back to reality. The instant your eyes widened in astonishment, you pulled away from him.

Simon's brows were knitted together, as though the absence of your lip brought him some kind of unbearable pain. He breathed deeply, his chest, rising and falling, as if it carried the weight of his yearning.

He caught sight of the solitary tear that had escaped your eye, his thumb brushing it away along with your fears. You thought about how you'd gotten yourself here. How you had been so blind, up until this moment.

"Simon..." His name had never before sounded so beautiful coming from trembling lips.

Was it perhaps because he had kissed you silly, until you became lightheaded and breathless, or simply his ears playing tricks on him, he didn't know. Whatever it was he didn't care, his only priority was to somehow kiss you again.

"...why would you do that?" You said feverishly.

"Didn't think y’d mind." His voice was slurred as he spoke somberly. A hint of something playful in his tone that sent an unfamiliar sensation through your body.

Simon could smell the sweetness of your desire, yet your face, a mix of confusion and uncertainty. "You didn't ask..."

Of course that's what you wanted, he thought. A proper kiss for a proper girl. He smiled down at you, your eyes, filled with emotions, glistened innocently as they met his gaze.

"’ought ya might'a liked it." His gaze was soft as he shifted back and forth between your wide eyes and swollen lips.

"I might have if you'd asked."

In all honesty you did love like it. In fact it was better than you could've ever imagined. Although, it wasn't like you had anything to compare it to.

"Simon..." The purr that hummed in his chest sent tingles through you. He leaned down again dragging his nose along the exposed skin of your clavicle.

You flinched, the feeling of mouth so close to the bare skin of your neck. You shivered and couldn't help but whimper at the feeling.

Simon could smell your fading aroma of pleasure, replaced by the reeking scent of fear. He pulled away to look at you but you diverted your gaze. Looking anywhere but his captivating eyes.

"What's got ya so frightened, Dovie?" Amazed at how easy he could tell how you were feeling, you stuttered out a reply.

"I-We can't... If my father- Wait... how could you tell?"

"It reeks." He said blatantly.

"Y-you can smell fear?"

"Mhm..." He leaned back in, kissing up the side of your throat, mumbling against your skin between each one. "and sorrow... happiness... arousal..." You blushed deeply, bringing a hand up to hide your flushed cheeks.

"None of that, Dovie. 'm a proud man, like to see what I do to you."

The sun had set leaving the sky a dark blue-gray. The wind had picked up, the breeze whipping against your warm skin and tangling your hair into a mess.

Simon's hands began to move up and down against your arms before brushing back your wild strands. You leaned closer to him, his body bracing against the wind protecting you from the nipping cold.

"S'time to getcha inside, little one."

⇠ call of duty masterlist. part.2⇢

so this was originally just going to be one fic but it got way too long. so I figured I'd break it into two, maybe a third if y'all have some ideas/requests on how I could continue it <3 next part will be smutty!

#ladywuvly. m.list #18+ content #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #ghost x female reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #fanfic #navi.#18+ blog #fandom #vampireslave!simonriley x princess!reader #vampire!simon ghost riley

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netherfeildren · 11 months

Text

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .1

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Summary: What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the love of your life?

-OR-

A Joel infidelity AU

Content Warnings: Discussions of alcoholism and parent death.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hi, everyone. Welcome to the new story.

Disclaimer to begin with. Joel is married in this, but it is, and always has been, a marriage of convenience. There has never been any sort of emotional or physical intimacy between him and his wife apart from when Sarah was conceived.

Like always, I promise there will be a happy ending, and that there will be lots of other fun :) stuff to make up for the occasional tears.

I appreciate you all so much. Happy (lol I guess) reading. xx

Art is The pain that keeps on giving, Noelia Towers, (2018-2019). Title of the story comes from this film.

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

The first time you’d fucked, it was like you’d never been touched by a man before. The first time he’d looked at you, like you’d never been seen, in the entirety of your existence, prior to that moment. Every other time after that, every touch, every look, was the same – a rebirth of sorts. And a devastation. Something not to be understood or conceptualized, only experienced.

Taking that into account, it’s no surprise that things unfolded as they did – ended as they did.

“Please, please, come with us,” Gerri drags the vowels out and hits you with the puppy dog eyes. You shake your head at her, smiling, packing up your supplies from tonight’s lesson. “It’s going to be so fun, I promise. Tommy’s sister-in-law hates my guts, I know, what-fucking-ever, but my sister and her girlfriend will be there, and my best friend’s planning on coming too. And there’s an extra bedroom, it’ll be perfect, I swear.”

“Yeah, I remember the sister-in-law from Easter.” Of course you remember her from that day. Gerri had invited you to their family barbecue, and the woman had pitched a fit that Tommy’s girlfriend, somehow posed as an insult, had dared invite someone without asking her permission first. It was also the first time you’d met him. And he was, by far and large, the reason you’d stayed away and evaded all subsequent invitations since then. Even if his wife had unapologetically said to your face that she found it crazy that people still party crashed, no matter that that hadn’t been what you’d meant to do, hadn’t known you were party crashing. She’d also thrown away the bunny cake you’d stayed up the entire night before making. No gluten in the house or something, even though the hamburger and hot dog buns had all been regular.

“Oh my fucking God, Easter. Don’t even remind me. I know, I know.” She gives you a pointed look and you huff a laugh at her. “But that was months ago. Her and Joel were on the outs then, or… had just gotten back together… I can’t ever keep up. And well… they’re still on the outs now–” She scrunches up her face into the cutest little frown. You love Gerri so much. From the first moment she’d shown up for your Tuesday night ceramics class at the community college, she’d immediately decided that not only were you going to propel her into the upper echelons of the great sculptors of the world, the greater Austin area – her words, not yours, but she’d also immediately decided that you were going to be friends, and no, you did not have a choice in the matter.

“But they’re always on the outs. And things haven’t been as bad recently – according to Tommy. But honestly the fuck does he know about all that anyways. My poor baby is so clueless – but still, please, please please,” she begs, pouts your name over and over again. “Please, come with us?” She brings her clasped hands up under her chin in a pleading gesture, hits you with the puppy dog eyes again.

You were so grateful for her. Despite your recalcitrance, it’d always been hard for you to make friends. A byproduct of who your mother was, being an only child, a largely solitary upbringing, et cetera, et cetera. You’d needed Gerri’s tenacious spark and kindness to pull you out of your shell. She wanted you to join her, her boyfriend Tommy, and their friends and family at a house they’d rented on Lake Austin for the weekend as a sort of end of summer farewell. And you did – you wanted to go, bunny cake murdering sister-in-law and all, but there was the issue of him.

You were… there was not a single phrase for what it was your mind turned into when that man and his name and his face invaded your psyche. So you’d done your best to avoid him in your mind and in real life, at all costs. He was – he was not something you were capable of considering.

“I’m not sure if I can, Ger–” you say slowly, wracking your brain for an excuse. “There was– one of the other teachers at the elementary school–” Your day job, when you weren’t teaching night class ceramics, was as an elementary school art teacher, “Asked if I’d cover for them on Friday – summer school.” Stupid excuse, you roll your eyes at yourself.

“Oh, shut up. The summer camp classes end early – you told me that last time! You could drive up after.” She sidles up to you now, rests her curly haired head on your shoulder. “Please, you’ve said no to everything I’ve invited you to since Easter. You aren’t avoiding me because of the shitshow that was, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Yes, yes you were. Just not for the reason she thought. “I would just hate to impose–”

“You wouldn’t! I swear you wouldn’t be!”

“You all already have your plan, and I–”

“No! No. My sister’s the one renting the house, and she said I could invite whoever I wanted. So, no one can say anything,” she sticks her tongue out, rolling her eyes. “And Joel said I should invite you too. I’m pretty sure he still feels badly about last time also.” Fucking hell, you did not want him feeling bad for you. At all. Ever. You did not want him ever thinking about you ever, ever, ever.

You stand over the kitchen trash bin, staring at your destroyed cake. Your grandmother used to make it every Easter. Four separate cake loaves all cut into the shapes for a face, two big pointy ears, and a cute little bow tie, with a pineapple filling, and all covered in little flakes of coconut and your homemade vanilla frosting. You used jelly beans to make the eyes and nose and dark frosting out of a piping bag for the whiskers and mouth. It was your favorite cake, one of your favorite memories, one of the only good ones.

“Fucking Christ, she did not throw it away. Please, don’t tell me that’s the cake you brought.” Large hand gently placed between the wings of your shoulder blades to peer around you, not touching, but still there, still very close, and yes, that’s it, you’ve gotta get the fuck out of there now, away from this man.

“Oh, no. It’s okay – I– I mean– I should’ve asked before. I didn’t know you all were gluten free. I should’ve asked…”

“What? Glu–” he frowns. You knew his wife, Eva, had made that up. You step away from him, from his large warm palm that feels like it’s burning through your clothes and skin. He was really, really and truly the most unfairly gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He fucking terrified you. “Oh, yeah. The gluten.” He went along with the lie, passing the offending palm over his mouth, the wiry scruff of his beard rasping softly against what you imagined to be work roughened skin. He’d said he was a contractor.

Gerri had invited you to her boyfriend's brother’s house for the Easter holiday. It was the first invitation to something you’d gotten since you’d moved to Austin six months ago, and you’d been so, so happy that she’d asked, had felt so sad you’d not have anyone to share your cake with. You’d planned to take it to work with you to leave in the teacher’s lounge for everyone to share. The thought had made the back of your eyes pinch, for some reason.

“It’s alright. I actually need to head out. Could you let Gerri know? I– I’m–” you couldn’t think of a lie, and he was staring at you like he knew you had no real excuse – like he knew you were uncomfortable and out of place and were just looking for an excuse to leave. Embarrassment burned in your cheeks.

“Don’t go, please. Stay for a while longer. I’m – fuck– I apologize about the cake–”

“No, no– really it’s–” you held out a staying hand, but he’d cut off your false appeasement.

“Please, stay.” He’d taken a step forward, closer to your retreating form, and you’d felt almost faint, dizzy at the image of him stepping closer to you. He was so tall, huge really, broad chest, thick arms, dark, lush curls and a scruffy jaw, a peek of chest hair covering the tantalizing golden skin at the opened button of his shirt. Sexy, deep Southern twang. The loveliest, warmest eyes you think you’d ever probably seen. You were going to try and mix the exact color of them when you got home, even though you knew you shouldn’t. You hadn’t been interested in a man in months, maybe longer, couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a crush, an anything on anyone, and now this man. Suddenly, blindingly, out of fucking nowhere – so damn attractive. Your eyes had fluttered shut for a second and you’d swallowed, trying to regain your balance – you’d known him for all of two hours and he already made you feel unbalanced. You needed to leave.

“Really, Joel,” his name on your tongue almost had a taste, “It’s okay.”

“He– He did?” you stutter. “He shouldn’t feel bad – he has nothing to feel bad about, it was nothing.” Lie – lie, lie, lie. Meeting him that day had been – it had been everything. You’d thought about it, him, for months afterwards. The sight of him with his three year old daughter, Sarah, the sweetest little thing you’d ever seen. Helping her hunt for the Easter eggs he’d hidden around their backyard, letting her crack the bright confetti filled shells over his head. His excitement for her when she’d finally found the basket he’d made up for her. He was a good father.

“Yeah, and Tommy said he’d like to see you again too. And I told my sister about you, and she thinks all my pottery’s fucking amazing, by the way, and she wants to meet you too, and she’s even thinking of enrolling in the class next semester so really, really you’re obligated to come.” Fucking menace – she smiles sweetly.

“Oh, fine. Fine, fine. I’ll come.” You’re putting away the last of your tools. “I’ll drive up Friday afternoon when I’m done at the school.”

Immediate hopping squeals, and this is why you love her. She’s so happy, so open and silly, friendly and funny. All the things opposite to your restrained quiet, shy to the point of aggravation, sometimes. You didn’t want your constant refusals to alienate her. You could see him again, it would be fine. You’d met him once for Christ’s sake. It meant nothing. It had probably been nothing that day, heat exhaustion or a stomach ache or something. Nothing to fawn and stress over. You’d just be polite, cordial, keep your distance – especially from his wife. You did not, did not want to provoke her greater dislike. You’d keep your unwanted baking to yourself this time. It would all be fine. You wanted these people to like you, if you were being honest. A little desperately. Gerri and Tommy, her sister you hadn’t yet met – you wanted to be part of their group, one of their friends. They were all so kind, welcoming and fun, you couldn’t ruin this for yourself.

Gerri had spilled the beans on the marriage over one afternoon of too many Mexican martini’s, an Austin specialty, and chips and salsa. They’d gotten married three years ago after Eva had gotten unexpectedly pregnant. Joel was traditional, he’d asked and eventually she’d agreed. They were both older than you, he’d just turned forty recently, and you guessed it’d made sense for them, at the time, but she’d left them soon after Sarah had been born. The marriage, the baby, hadn’t been in her plans, too much for her, Gerri said. They’d been separated for about a year and a half until she’d come back. They seemed to be trying to work it out now. Gerri claimed they were both miserable. You’d only met them the once – well, you’d seen Joel a few weeks ago, from a distance, when Tommy’d come to drop something off for Gerri before class, sitting in their truck. You don’t think he’d seen you – but you thought that their misery was very obviously apparent in that way that was easily recognizable to someone who, at one point, had existed in a house made only of misery. It breaks your heart for them all, in different ways, to recognize that singular brand of dissatisfaction that comes with living in a home where no happiness resided with you.

But the reality of his marriage made you all the more terrified of him. To ever see him again. You wanted no part of that. Didn’t even want to exist in the same vicinity as someone who was experiencing something of that nature. You’d had enough of unhappy marriages and painful households in your own childhood. You never wanted to deal with that again.

You’d read once that infidelity was a hereditary trait. Studies had shown that if you’d had a parent or even a sibling, someone in your household during your development, who’d been unfaithful, you were then more likely to also be unfaithful yourself. Something about that sort of childhood trauma inciting a propensity in the offspring to find it difficult to later on trust romantic partners, to incite trust themselves. Trust issues, emotional unavailability, baggage, blah, blah. Sometimes nature versus nurture was a real bitch, in your opinion.

But as much as you wanted to call bullshit, the thought, the possibility of that being true, filled you with such an intense fear — debilitating, paralyzing, life altering. You found yourself with an immense inability to trust yourself, more than anything. Your greatest fear, the thing that scared you the most in all the world, was that you would be the perpetrator, that you would be the one to commit that sin. That you’d lose control, self awareness, morality, yourself. It wasn’t something your mind could even come to terms with, the possibility of hurting another person that way, betraying them in that manner. It seemed like the worst possible thing in the entire world that you could ever do to someone. After all, you’d watched your mother do it to your father, over and over again, your entire life, up until the point that she’d up and left the both of you. For many years, after her fateful abandoning, you’d watched him drink himself into a stupor and then into a grave. Years of waiting for her to come back, in love with a ghost or a figment of his imagination, for the woman he’d made her out to be, within the ever forgiving and naive confines of his love, had never existed. Something you could see, even through the lenses of your child eyes.

She was an eternally flawed woman. Selfish, vain, manipulative, deceitful, but there was good in her too. She was eccentric and beautiful, and she could be kind, so funny, and immensely intelligent, her mind and wit, always sharp as a whip. It was, you thought, what made her so talented at deceiving others, at getting her way. She outsmarted everyone she came into contact with. But she was also weak and self serving, had never met anyone, in all her life, who she loved more than she loved herself. Not even you. Sometimes, you thought, especially not you. For you were the living reminder of all she’d lost and been forced to give up. It was a difficult, complicated, painful relationship you had with her, even now, all these years later.

After she’d left, she’d kept in contact with you sparingly. The occasional call or birthday card. It had taken her three years to feel like seeing you again after she’d left when you were ten. The pains and awkwardness of puberty long started, endured on your own, before she’d even had the foresight to remember she had a daughter who might need her. It was an exceedingly painful and lonely time for a young girl to survive on her own, but you bore it, as you did the entirety of the fallout that came with her leaving.

Your father was another story entirely. He’d fallen to pieces, completely, the day she’d left and had never had the strength of will to ever pull himself together again. It was a strange sort of existence the two of you had lived in those years, keeping each other company. Physically, he was there, but he was never present, never sentient. He drowned, for years and years, in a sea of pain and liquor, and he never resurfaced. You watched him sink, a young girl incapable of comprehending or acting in a way that could’ve helped him, as much as you wanted to or even tried, all of it was futile. Eventually he hit the bottom of the ocean and died there, and you were left more alone than ever.

You remember there’d only been four people, in total, at his funeral. You and two men from the shithole bar he liked to lose himself at every week and the priest. It was a terribly painful thing to live through on your own. Humiliating in a very specific and acute way, for some reason. To know that this sad, pathetic specimen of a human being had had a hand in creating you, to know that he was your father and that you loved him, despite his weakness, his vices, his lack of care for you, you loved him. And you felt interminably sorry for the creature he’d been turned into at the hands of an uncaring and poisonous love. You hadn’t been able to tell her for ten months, after he’d been dead in the ground, that he’d passed. She’d not called, didn’t like giving you her number, said she was too busy to have to worry about you calling her at all hours of the day, as if you’d asked her for a single thing in the decade since she’d left.

And you loved your mother, even after it all, you did, but it was a poignantly devastating moment, the day you realized she was not just your mother, but her own person, as well. The day that childlike naivety, unconscious self centeredness, was cast away to realize that she was savagely flawed and human, and that she did bad things that hurt good people. And still, and still she was your mother and you loved her. Your greatest influence, the hand that shaped you, and you loved her despite everything. It was only that, after the rose tinted glasses had been ripped away, and she was only then herself, nothing more – pedestal forsaken – she was just a flawed woman who sometimes made mistakes, made the wrong choices, hurt you and your father and fractured your family. That was a hard thing to come to terms with as a young girl.

You realized now, with the lifetime of experience she’d inherited to you, that motherhood built a pedestal and a grave, all at once, over and over again. A woman could vacillate between being the Madonna and the whore, and the cycle was inescapable and destructive and enticing, all at the same time. It was something that one could try to avoid or run away from, but many times, it caught up to most, hooked its claws in you and dragged you away from the things you would’ve wanted or done otherwise. You realized this was what had happened to her. She’d never been built for motherhood, for the responsibility of raising a child, so she’d desecrated the altar of it, taken a sledgehammer to it and freed herself in the only way she saw she could, collateral damage be damned.

And so you’d isolated yourself, for the thought of doing the same thing to someone that you might have loved or someone that loved you, was soul destroying. And that was the saddest part of this whole overly cliché tragedy – that you were sure that, at a certain point in her life, she’d loved your father, as well. Perhaps not enough, not enough to change who she was, what she really wanted, but she had loved him in her own way, nevertheless.

Parallel to the tragedy was the ironic reality that in some very safely guarded part of you, you longed so, so desperately for your own chance at a happy family, love, children. How could you not? When you’d never experienced it for yourself during your own childhood. Always having to make your own meals, get yourself ready for school, alone at ten years old, walking to the bus unaccompanied, no one ever waiting for you, expecting you, watching over you. Alone, alone, always alone. How could you not want to build your own normal, loving, happy family for yourself? You wanted it very badly.

But there was also no part of you that felt, in the most vital ways, capable of showing your underbelly in such a vulnerable way. You had always been too sensitive, a weeper from a long line of weepers, and the second thing you were most terrified of, after turning into your own mother, was being left again, abandoned to another derelict and lonely childhood. So your aloneness suited you, for now. At least, in terms of your romantic life. Your isolation kept you safe, guarded from those that would savage the sensitive and salted battleground that was your heart.

That, however, did not mean that you were immune to wanting, to the disease of yearning, of desire, and so you found it most unfortunate, cosmically laughable and cruel, that it would be this man, this married, beautiful, entirely unattainable man, that would have reminded you of that desire again, after it had lain dormant for so long: Joel.

Joel tried to think of you only in the moments when he was feeling particularly strong. It was a challenge he’d set for himself from that day, all those months ago, when you’d appeared at his house on Easter. Like a fucking angel or a creature out of a fairy book. Soft and luminous and so fucking pretty. No, Joel tried very, very hard not to think of you.

He failed often, though. He’d not forgotten you since that day. Had tried to fish, as subtly as possible, through Tommy, for information. See if he’d heard anything about you from Gerri. Any new details or gossip about the pretty little art teacher. Tommy was a terrible goddamn gossip, like a clucking hen. And Joel knew, he knew empirically, that thinking of you was wrong. That he had a wife that he needed to be respectful of, even if she was never respectful of him, fucking her coworker – or had been… still was — he couldn’t keep track anymore – didn’t really care, if he was being honest. But you, you were the one small, private thing he kept for himself. The thought of you, the image of you in his mind, you were only for his moments of great necessity. You’d been so sweet that afternoon, walking into his home with your bunny cake. That fucking cake haunted him – the look in your eyes as he watched you stand over the trashcan staring at it. He’d been so scared you’d start crying, that he’d have to comfort you, that he’d be able to take you into his arms. He’d been terrified of what would become of him if he’d gotten the opportunity to feel you like that. But no, you’d left. Made up some weak excuse he knew you could see he didn’t buy, and had quietly left, not even saying goodbye to the others. He’d had a terrible one-sided argument with Eva that night. Told her she’d been unnecessarily rude and cruel, doing that to a complete stranger who was just trying to be nice. She hadn’t batted a single eyelash, all his frustration going in one ear and out the other.

He could, to a certain degree, understand where her behavior came from. He knew she was unhappy, he knew she hated their life together. That it was nothing like what she’d ever envisioned for herself, and so she acted out sometimes. At his age, he found now, that you couldn’t ever really fault a person for not being what they’d never been meant to be. He understood this, had accepted that his marriage would never be of the happy or intimate sort. That Eva had never wanted to be a mother, but had felt trapped by circumstance. He dealt with it. Or ignored it. Avoided looking directly at the ugly reality of it, more like. He had Sarah and work and Tommy, and now that his brother was with Gerri things had gotten a little better, happier for the family. She was a good addition – kind and spunky. She was good for his brother, and he was happy for them.

But the day he’d met you – it had made a savage claw of want gouge through his entrails. He’d not remembered the last time he’d wanted something the way he did when he watched you walk out into the backyard long hair shimmering in the sun, and a nervous flush sweeping over the apples of your cheeks. And even if he’d been unattached, free to pursue you like he liked to dream about sometimes, you were so young – much too young and pretty for an old, washed up, has-been like him. But he could imagine it, like he’d said, only when he was feeling particularly strong. Or maybe particularly weak. He couldn’t keep track of which was safer anymore. When the years and work and responsibilities and grief and loneliness surged up too high and overwhelming for him to bear, he liked to think of you in that little yellow sundress. Wonder what it’d be like to be a younger man, to have met you first. A bad, selfish, terrible thought to have. But just in the quiet privacy of his mind, when he needed a small something to make him feel just a little better – he liked to think of you.

The only other time he’d seen you, once when Tommy’d had to drop something for Gerri at the college, he’d insisted on tagging along. Hoping he’d maybe be lucky enough to get a glimpse of you, and oh, he’d been so, so rewarded. You’d been carrying a stack of supplies from your car into the building, one of those spiky things women wore twisted in your hair to keep it up, wisps of your long, heavy locks escaping the knot, and a little, red, spaghetti strapped top. The thin of it on your shoulder had slipped off the delicate wing of your clavicle as you balanced everything you’d carried in your arms and tried to kick your car door closed at the same time. It’d taken everything in him, all the self control he possessed, not to sprint over to you and offer to help you, to fall to his knees at your feet. You’d blown a strand of your hair out of your face, the cutest expression of frustration scrunching your brow. His gut had twisted almost painfully with yearning. He hadn’t even known he was capable of fucking yearning, but he sure as hell did now. He felt it sharply, piercingly, like a knife to the gut. He’d met you once for Christ’s sake, seen you in person only twice, but you plagued him, you plagued him.

He knew it was probably partially a symptom of how alone he was. Lonely to his very core. His marriage had never been a real one, no closeness, no intimacy. A byproduct born of one drunken night, and Joel’s need to do the right thing, give his child a stable home with two parents and all the love he could give her. And Sarah, Sarah was the greatest gift that he’d ever been given. This perfect little person that he still, three years later, could not believe had come from a piece of him.

He’d told Eva that he’d do whatever she wanted, would accept whatever she’d chosen when she’d first realized she was pregnant. She’d refused the alternative route vehemently, and so he’d never suggested it again. If he was being honest, he’d been happy when he’d found out, in some small way. The situation wasn’t ideal, of course, they’d been veritable strangers at that point, but he’d been thirty seven, at the time, and he liked the idea of children. Eva was attractive and intelligent. He’d proposed immediately, gone out and gotten a ring and gotten down on one knee. He’d naively thought that perhaps, eventually, with time, they might grow closer. That idea was squashed quickly. She’d made it clear that she’d never wanted to marry him, but she also didn’t want to go at it alone, knew he was responsible and reliable, and so she’d accepted. And perhaps, he should have tried harder to win her over afterwards, but if he was being as honest as he could be, he wasn’t very interested either, didn’t really mind the lack of intimacy with her. They just weren’t a good match.

She’d left a few months after she’d given birth. Ran off with some guy she’d met – only a note left saying she couldn’t do it anymore. He hadn’t tried to go after her, hadn’t tried to bring her back or look for her. A better man probably would have, would have fought for his wife, for the mother of his child. But he’d never loved her, not even close, and so he’d taken care of his baby girl, had tried to be everything she needed and worked as hard as he could so that she’d never want for anything. Eva had come back after about a year and a half – her affair had run its course, and she’d said she wanted to try again with Sarah, that she’d made a mistake, wanted to be part of her daughter’s life. Of course he’d let her come back. He wanted Sarah to have a mother that was present, to have everything a child should have. And afterall, it was no hardship for him personally. She didn’t want a relationship with him, only Sarah. And so they’d settled into this strange agreement of co-parents slash roommates who just happened to be married. Eva liked to keep pretenses up, so they did the occasional family thing together. Especially now that Tommy was with Gerri, she liked to pretend at the double date thing, occasionally. Even though Eva couldn’t stand the poor girl. It was a pieced together sort of life, but it was better than what some had, and Sarah had her mother. He couldn’t complain.

But he did like to imagine a sort of alternative sometimes – something different, less lonely. He could tell she was going to leave again soon, more unsatisfied and frustrated and restless than ever. He couldn’t even find it in himself to resent her for it, it only hurt him for Sarah’s sake, for he didn’t think she’d be coming back this time.

It hadn’t been such a bad idea to come after all, you think, as you lounge on the dock by the lake. The sun is strong but not burning – warm and soothing. It feels like there are ghost fingers stroking all along the bare skin of your arms and legs. Gerri had made a pitcher of sangria and you were slightly tipsy off it now. A light weight, through and through.

The house they’d rented was gorgeous. All exposed wood and big glass windows right on the lakefront. Gerri’s sister was a doctor – a spine surgeon or something really fancy. She’d rented the house and invited all of you – no chance for Joel’s wife to be pissed off that you’d tagged along.

There were large boxes of the loveliest white hydrangeas along one side of the dock. The sweet scent of them drifting around you as you lounged on the chair you’d planted yourself in with your sangria. Yes, this was a good idea. You’d managed to evade Joel and his wife in the hours you’d been here. Gerri and Tommy were great as always and her sister and her partner were so nice. You’d talked about the pottery class, she wanted to pick up a new hobby, trying out the whole work-life-balance thing, and she’d thought pottery’d be a good fit for her. She was planning on signing up for the next semester.

You’re slightly dozing now. The warm sun and sweet alcohol making you languorous and drowsy and all fizzy on the inside. You think you might be able to hear the breeze sliding through each individual blade of grass on the bank, whistling over the surface of the water, and you can’t stop picturing his arms in your mind, but you’re pretending to ignore that, or pretending the bulging, mouth-watering muscles, prominent veins running under the surface of his tan skin, dusted with a light coating of golden brown hair belonged to someone who was not him. He has the largest hands you’ve ever seen, and you wonder what one of them wrapped around your throat would feel like. Bad, inappropriate thoughts.

You have one arm slung above your head, resting at the crown of your scalp to partially shield the sensitive skin there from the strong sun when you feel a sudden piercing pain, right to the center of your palm. You shriek, jolting violently, glass of sangria falling and shattering on the deck and stumbling up out of your chair, sending it flying back topside. A wasp buzzes menacingly around you, and you shriek again, cracked and painful. The thing had stung you right in the center of your tender palm. You hear the quick paced steps of someone approaching, too distracted trying to evade the horrible thing when you hear Joel’s voice. “Stay still, it’s okay. I’ll get it.”

Your hand really, really hurts. You stop your swatting and feel the back of your eyes pinch, hot tears pooling in the corners. Not only is the sting incredibly painful, but you really hate bees, wasps, all the ugly mean things that buzz and sting. You can feel the slight tremble of your frame begin to take over as you try to patiently wait for him to get rid of it.

He comes closer, “It’s okay, he’s gone. Did it get you? C’mere, lemme see.”

You clutch the injured hand to your chest, try and scoot away from him shaking your head, but you get too near to the edge, and his hand shoots out to cup your elbow, other hand coming to circle your waist and turn you so you’re standing in the center, and he’s closer to the edge.

“No, no, it’s okay. It got you, lemme see it–” he gently circles his big rough palm on the thin of your wrist, and now you’re really shaking.

“It’s o–okay,” you hitch, you feel a tear slide down your cheek. Fucking embarrassing. “I’m okay, really. It’s nothing.” You try and pull your limb out of his grasp, but he pulls you closer. He says your name then, not necessarily sharply, but in the way of a rubber band snapping against your skin, a slightly jarring crack followed by a tingle, something that reverberates through your entire body.

Then gentle: “Just come here,” and coaxing. How could anyone ever say no to a voice like that. So deep, so patient. “Lemme see, it’s okay. No, don’t be scared. Lemme see, open your hand for me, sweetheart. I’ll be gentle, it’s okay,” his soothing voice over and over. Coaxing you into capitulation, into following his orders. He smooths his rough thumb gently, gently over the sides of your palm, coaxing your fingers to uncurl and let him see the hurt. “Oh, it’s alright. None of that trembling, sweet girl.” And then he brings your hand up to his hot, wet mouth and presses his lips to the wound, gently sucking. You can feel the wet of his tongue pass over it once, slowly sucking the venom out of your palm. You feel everything below your belly button go hot and liquid at the feel of his tongue on your skin. Oh, God, you want to feel that mouth everywhere, between your legs.

You think you let a jagged whimper claw its way out your throat, for his eyes flit to yours, a flash of heat igniting them. He pulls his mouth away, turns to spit, thumb gently brushing over the tender inside of your wrist. He says your name so softly. “That’s better. You’re okay. No tears.”

His large hands completely engulf yours. His fingers are thick and long, his nails clipped short and neat. Beautiful, masculine hands. Working hands. He doesn’t wear a ring. “We can get a clove of garlic on this,” he’s still cradling your limb, “Heard that’s good for stings.”

This is bad, bad, bad, bad. Not part of your plan to stay away from him at all. He’s staring at your cradled hand, his gaze trained on the way his own palm dwarfs yours. You feel his touch tighten for just a second, he brings his eyes back to yours, and you watch as a swallow passes through the strong column of his throat.

He called you sweetheart.

There are so many reasons why you know he’s dangerous to you, why you should stay away from him: his kindness, how competent he is — the way it seems like, no matter what in life could ever present itself to him, he’d be able to take it in, take care of it, fix it. He could handle anything. How fucking gorgeous he is, his hands, his face, his body, the dark curls, the slightest hint of silver threads beginning to appear through them, the deep dark eyes, but most of all, more than any other reason, the way he says your name — like the worst thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and also the loveliest. So soft and deep and soothing. A voice that could get a person to do anything, capitulate to anything, commit any crime.

And what was it about wanting something you should not want, could never have, that made you want it all the more? Rebellion of the highest order calls your name.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. He still has you clutched in his grasp, is staring at you almost in shock. You try to pull away and his grip tightens for one second, like he can’t bear the thought of letting you go, and then releases you, lets you pull your injured hand back into your chest.

“Alright?”

And you’re so disoriented by him, by his touch that you instinctively reply: “Yes. Are you?”

He looks confused for a second, shakes his head a little and then laughs, “Yeah – yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart.” He shouldn’t be calling you that, but it sounds so lovely coming out of his mouth. You’ll tell him to stop next time. It’s okay. Next time he says it you’ll tell him not to call you that anymore. Embarrassment burns your cheeks.

You shake your head, “Sorry, I–”

“It’s alright. No need to apologize. Let’s get you inside. Get somethin’ on that hand.”

You take a step back from him, and he matches it with one step of his own forward, like he isn’t planning on letting you run away. It makes the speed of your heart kick up a notch, a hummingbird fluttering within the confines of your chest. “No, really, it’s okay. I’ll ice it or something. I’m fine, honestly. Thank you for– for your help.” You feel like you’re blinking a hundred times a minute, the sun suddenly scorching, when just a moment ago it had been soft and warm.

You need to get away from him.

“Rubbin’ a garlic clove on it’s good for stings. There’s some in the kitchen, I’ll get it for you.” He reaches a hand out as if to take hold of you again, and you take two more steps away. This time he does not follow, you see the muscle of his jaw flutter.

“Really, Joel. It’s okay.” You feel like you’ve said these words to him before, like all your short acquaintanceship has consisted of, is you apologizing and running away, bowing out before it gets too scary or complicated or threatening. He probably thinks you’re an idiot. “Th– thank you for your help. I’m just gonna –” you hitch your thumb back towards the house, “I’m just going to go back inside. Sorry.”

He only nods, frozen on the dock as you walk away from him.

Chapter .2

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#someone's fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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feyascorner · 4 months

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this may be a stretch but ascended astarion w devil!reader that made a deal to let him ascend.

if I remember correctly, Cazador made a deal with Mephistopheles to carve the runes into the spawns’ backs but imagine if it was someone else,,,

Reader would be similar to Raphael where they’re an heir to one of the archdevils and such. And they originally made the deal for the ascension with Cazador, but seeing as Astarion’s the one who completed it, they get curious and just kind of exist in Astarion’s day to day life.

So they kind of oversee what he does with his newfound power, and he just grows used to their presence?? They offer him bits of advice occasionally, and he acts like he doesn't need words from a devil, but he really does put it in account when he's making decisions.

And reader grows fond of him so they're just constantly trying to make another deal with Astarion—one where he gives his soul to them. Not for bad purposes but just to keep him around and he's just rolling his eyes like hells no.

I JUST THINK ITD BE A VERY INTERESTING DYNAMIC AND I CANT GO TO SLEEP W/O WRITING THIS DOWN!!! ASCENDED ASTARION W LAWFUL EVIL PPL IS JUST MUAH

I swear I'm working on TFBU I have so many fic ideas though and I need to put this energy somewhere

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #bg3

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spiderlaria · 1 year

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Worm!!!! An ocs worm!!

#i remember this account exists i swear #worm friend!!! worm friend!!!#hive worm #destiny 2 art #concept art #destiny 2 hive #its just a funny little worm with absolutely no malicious intentions #destiny 2 fanart

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rorywritesjunk · 5 months

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No longer locked upon the land but free on the rolling waves

You and Buggy come face to face with himself from the past, and while you’re fully accepting that this is your husband as a child, Buggy doesn’t want to accept it.

Rating: PG-13ish, but just due to some swearing.

Warning: Upset kid, upset husband. Reader is way too nice, doesn’t necessarily take husband’s feelings into account as well.

A/N: A combined request. I did a few versions of this story before feeling like it hit the marks I was wanting to hit. Also, I’m just trying to vibe off what I’ve seen of Kid Buggy. I’m no expert. I’d protect that kid with my life. He’s so adorable. I also like the trope of “Meeting your self from another time” and “gets turned back into kid-self”. This is the former, and I know shit about time travel but I just kind of made something up.

This is the last chapter with the epilogue at the end. This has been a lot of fun to write and I've enjoyed it so much, thank you all for reading it and replying! I've loved responding to you all. So thank you thank you thank you. I liked how this chapter wrapped things up. Moments go a little quick but that was the intention. Nothing was to really be drawn out.

Title comes from “Sailing Song” by S.J. Tucker.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6/Epilogue

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @misadventures0fdes @sylum @valen-yamyam16 @dohkyu @fluffybunnyu @skyofsteel @lavalampskyy @gingernut1314 @ane5e @madam-o @the-angriest-angel

Chapter Six

Your husband decided to stay back on the ship while you and the kid went into the town. His excuse was he needed to get the crew ready or something, but you didn’t push him for a real reason. Part of you wanted him with you when you went into town because you didn’t know what to expect. Would some kind of portal open up and tear the kid away from you, kicking and screaming, or would it happen in an instant, like when he first appeared? You were going to cry either way, you just wish you had some kind of idea of what to expect.

But you also didn't want Buggy coming because again, what if some portal opened up and tore your husband away from you as well as the kid? You didn't want him disappearing on you at all so you just gave him a kiss on the cheek before heading off the ship with the kid.

“I think that the table was over here.” Kid Buggy said as he held your hand, leading you down a street. You knew what he was looking for but you let him take charge, wondering if he knew here to look. The table wouldn’t be there anymore, it hadn’t been since you turned 14 and left to start your apprenticeship and your parents moved elsewhere. They still made jewelry and sold it, but in another town on another island.

It was hard not to tell him everything, because even though Buggy said he doesn’t remember anything about this whole ordeal, what if this was different? What if something was triggered that changed the course of the kid’s life from this moment forward? You didn’t want to take the risk. You loved your life, your husband, and the life you two had together. Nothing could change that, so you never told Kid Buggy that he stole from your parents, or that he would become a Devil Fruit user at a young age (he never questioned Buggy’s head popping off his body during their first meeting), nor did Buggy ever tell him what happened between him and Shanks.

“You think so?” You replied as you followed after, smiling down at him as he turned his head in every direction, a look of concentration on his cute face as he tried to remember where to go. He stopped a few times, looking around, wondering where to turn. You were patient, giving his hand a squeeze whenever he’d start walking again.

“I’d bring you back with me if I could, y’know.” Buggy said as he looked up at you. “Introduce you to everyone. They’d think you were great.” He then looked away, searching for the table of merchandise that no longer existed. “But I know you wouldn’t wanna come with…”

“If I could come back to my husband in the end, I would.” You assured him with a smile. “But you’ve seen how you are as an adult, you can’t survive ten minutes without me, so I have to stay back with him.” Truthfully, if you met the crew, you would have brought hell down upon them. While your husband would speak highly of being an apprentice under Gold Roger, you had other opinions, ones that you wouldn’t share because you didn’t want to upset Buggy. There was always something under the surface whenever you listened to your husband speak about it. The self-doubt, fear of failure, everything, and one time when he was drunk he cried about Shanks, often feeling lesser than his friend, but then the next morning as he sobered up he would curse the same man.

“Yea?” He grinned. “Really? I think you’d like it. You could even meet Shanks, since you said you never got to meet him.”

“Maybe something will happen and I can someday, Buggy.” You steered him out of the main walkway, letting people pass as you knelt down in front of him. “I want you to know that I have loved spending time with you, sweetie. It’s been one of the best things ever.”

He blushed at that, avoiding your gaze as he looked away. “Are you saying goodbye to me?”

“No! Not yet, just…” You hesitated. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, the praise, compliments, affection even. You wanted to give him as much as you gave your husband because you saw the way he would brighten up when you’d tell Adult Buggy how handsome he looked in his coat while you’d straighten his cravat, or when you’d let him know how much you loved him every night before going to bed. You meant every word you spoke to Buggy as an adult, and you wanted him to know the same as a kid. “I want you to know you’re a wonderful kid, Buggy.”

He was still red in the face but he allowed you to wrap your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He mumbled something in response and you didn’t quite hear it, because he suddenly pulled away from you, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

“I can hear Shanks!” He said as he looked over your shoulder. “I think he’s calling for me!”

You turned in the same direction but didn’t see or hear anything. What was going on? He grinned at you before he suddenly took off running in the direction he was looking. You got to your feet and started after him, but he was fast. He turned down an alleyway, calling for Shanks, and when you finally caught up to him your heart dropped. It was a dead end and he was nowhere in sight.

So this is how it ended then.

You came back to the ship an hour later and went right to your room, ignoring the looks of the crew and even your husband. He noticed you were alone, so he told the first mate to keep an eye on things while he went after you. Buggy wasn't sure how upset you would be, because even after ten years of marriage he wasn't sure how to handle it.

He found you sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with something in your hand. Buggy hung his coat and hat up before taking his boots off and climbing into bed next to you. You immediately leaned into him, curling up against his side as he put his arm around you.

“I'm going to miss seeing you as a kid.” You sniffled, looking at the once stolen pendant in your hand. “You were so sweet, Buggy.”

“I was a little shit.” He rolled his eyes, clearly having a different opinion on the whole matter. You looked up at him with watery eyes and he sighed. “Fine, yes, I was a sweet little shit.”

“I just wanted you to feel safe and loved, Buggy.” You wiped at the tears as they rolled down your cheeks. “And you're not going to remember any of it. What was the point of any of this?”

He just shrugged, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He wasn't really good at using words to comfort you. He was used to actions like giving you gifts or finding ways to make you laugh instead. He hated seeing you so upset, but he knew better than to tell you to suck it up and move on. The one time he said that to you ended up with you giving him the cold shoulder for a week and he couldn't deal with that again.

“I just wanted you to be okay, Buggy.” You mumbled as you tucked the pendant away in your pocket. “I hate you went through so much before we met.” You rubbed your eyes. “And…and you're not going to remember any of this.”

“Yea, well…” He hated saying sappy things, like something out of a silly romance novel. He sighed and gritted his teeth. “If I didn't become an apprentice and continue being a pirate, we wouldn't have met.” You glanced up at him and his cheeks started to turn red. “The kid will be fine, because he will meet some way too nice tailor, fall madly in love with her and be an idiot about it, and she will show him all the love he will ever need.” He huffed and pulled his arm away from you, crossing them over his chest as he looked away. He felt a little uncomfortable but he knew you needed to hear this. “And when they hug for the first time he'll remember a moment of feeling safe as a kid but he won't know why, and when they kiss for the first time it will make him realize how much he wants her in his life.” He took a deep breath and exhaled before scowling. “Okay? So… so the kid won't remember what you did for him but he'll have a sense of familiarity when he meets his future wife, because she treats him with kindness and never asks for anything in return, and he really doesn't deserve someone like her.”

When he was finished with his rant he looked down at you, only to be horrified when he saw new tears streaming down your cheeks. Oh shit. He didn't mean to make you cry.

“S-Sorry, I didn't mean to-” He was at a loss for words. “Why are you-”

“R-Really?” You whimpered. “You felt that way when we met?”

He turned even redder if possible, unsure if he should keep talking or not, but you were almost smiling now as the tears rolled down your cheeks so he sighed and nodded.

“Y-Yes.” He said, looking away from you once more. “I… I knew the moment you gave me a hug that you and I were meant to be, because I felt safe in your arms and… and you took good care of me even before we started our relationship.” He scratched his cheek, looking so very uncomfortable to be carrying on like this, but your crying was letting up and you were looking at him with such love in your eyes that he thought he was going to literally fall to pieces in front of you. “Fixing my coat, clothes, even my gloves. It… it was nice and you didn't have to do that because I wasn't the nicest person to you at times, y’know.”

“I fixed your gloves just to spend extra time talking to you.” You said, giggling as you wiped your eyes with the hem of your shirt. He looked at you in confusion. “I made it up that your gloves needed fixing. I just… wanted to spend time with you after fixing other things, and you didn't know what I was talking about so you let me.” You smiled brightly at him. “I lied because I liked you, Buggy.”

His jaw dropped, a look of betrayal on his face. “What?! You lied?!”

You laughed. “What? I liked seeing your hands without them, honey, because you always wore them. That was the first time I felt your hands without gloves on, you know.”

“I can’t believe you lied!” He wouldn’t drop that tiny detail. “After all this time you lied about my gloves needing to be fixed?”

You knew what he was doing, trying to distract you from being upset, and you appreciated it. It still hurt having the kid disappear so quickly out of your sight but it was a comfort to hear from your husband the little bits he could recall, even if it wasn’t exact moments of his time with you. You didn’t want him to be hurt, or go through the heartaches of growing up, but if it meant the two of you meeting and falling in love, then maybe you could accept that you couldn’t fix everything.

“I love you, Buggy.” You told him as you leaned over to kiss his cheek. He turned red and looked away again but he put his arm back around you, pulling you closer to him before he looked back at you.

“Yea, yea.” He kissed you on the forehead and sighed. “I love you too.”

~*~*~

“Buggy! Where’ve ya been?” One of the older crewmen asked. Buggy didn’t turn around, instead looking at his now empty hands. Where did the pendant go? He just snatched it off that table and he had it in his hands just moments ago, but now it was missing. Did he somehow drop it? “It’s been twenty minutes, kid! Don’t take off like that!”

He glared up at the man. “Not my fault you can’t keep up with me!”

The man just laughed and patted him on the head; the kid immediately swatted at his hand, trying to get him to stop. He didn’t take off running, he had just been with the crew and then it seemed like everything went still for a moment. He didn’t want to say anything so he kept quiet, trailing after the adult as they went to join up with the others.

“We weren’t too worried, y’know. Figured you’d turn up once you got hungry.”

Buggy just nodded, glaring at the ground as he walked along. It’s not like he disappeared or anything. He was just out of sight for a few minutes. Shanks and him did it all the time.

They were walking down the street that the vendor was on where he took the pendant from. Did they somehow get it back? He hesitated but risked taking a look as they walked by. The adults were talking to a customer, showing off pieces while a girl around Buggy’s age sat nearby, looking completely bored. When their eyes met she perked up a bit and gave him a big smile. Buggy made a face and looked away but the adult he was with noticed the exchange and laughed.

“Flirtin’ with the local girls, Buggy?”

“Shut up!” He snapped. “Let’s get back to the ship!”

“Don’t you want to say bye to your girlfriend?” He teased as Buggy glared at him, his face red. He was about to say something else when something tugged on his sleeve. He spun around, ready to fight, but froze when he saw the girl standing there, holding a flower in her hand with a big smile on her face.

“The red flower looks like your nose.” She told him as she took his hand and placed the flower in it. “I like it.”

Buggy didn’t say anything as his hand closed around the flower. He was frozen where he stood, not sure how to respond to that, but the moment didn’t last because she turned and went back to her parents, taking her seat near the table once more. He didn’t know what to say or do next, but the adult grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him along, laughing and joking about young love and other stupid shit Buggy didn’t care about. He stuck the flower in his pocket and looked back at her once more, his face still as red as his nose. She was watching him leave and gave him a smile and wave as he left.

Yea, okay, he decided she was kind of nice, but he wouldn’t see her again so there was no point in saying hi to her or asking her name.

It was just a one time meeting by chance.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy x oc #buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

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lovesickry · 7 months

Text

- let the light in.

┈⋆⭒ lando norris x rival femdriver!reader [2.4k] ┈⋆⭒ part 3 !

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ find all parts here! .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ contains: 18+, smut, swearing, angst, handjob LOL .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ a/n: sorry for my little hiatus I was really trying to think about what im trying to do with this story. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ comment if you wanted be added to taglist

by all accounts Spain had been...interesting. considering the close proximity in which you came into with a certain man by which you (or at least thought) certainly disliked.

A sense of unease followed you in the coming week, a kind of distrust. With yourself? It was an odd feeling, unlikely to be exactly pinpointed so it was more or less thrust far back into your mind, his lingering, burning touch hopefully soon forgotten.

You were eager to more or less throw yourself into training, it was Monaco after all, the race every driver wanted to win. You were not an exception.

You saw Danny for dinner on Tuesday and it was actually very refreshing, you had taken some convincing (done by yours truly) to actually attend, by in doing so you did actually have a good time. He was Danny Ric of course you were gonna have a good time. Anyway, you were walking around Monaco much too late, talking about the season and actively trying to avoid any talk about his current teammate. He mentioned he was worried about you.

“Why?”

“Oh just you know, sometimes I see a bit of myself in you and I know how I can get.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, he cared so much. Danny had never been your teammate but youd drifted together through one force or the other and he'd been nothing but nice to you. You understood where he was coming from, you guess you were similar, the same kind of persistent optimism, sarcasm, devotion, not knowing when to stop pushing, problems of burning out etc;

“I’m fine”

He waits for you to continue, you do.

“I mean, I think, it's just all a lot. I've wanted to be in Formula One for as long as I can remember and now that I’m here, it's still like everyday I'm fighting to be here. And it's not all just about being a girl either, like most of it is but still. It's like there's something inside me that's almost contradicting my existence, like I'm not meant to be here. It's pushing me forward and also pulling me back. I don't know how to explain it.”

You take a deep breath and try to keep your voice steady as you continue.

“There's just so much that I want to achieve and I don't even think I believe I can do it.”

Your voice wobbles only slightly as you pause walking and look at him, suddenly breathless.

He looks at you with so much understanding you could break down into tears. He extends an arm and pulls you into a side hug as he continues down the street slowly walking.

“I think when you first do this that's how everyone feels, like they’re lying to themselves or that they don’t deserve it, but believe me when I tell you Dylan you are so deserving, more than so many drivers and you will get there. The isolation will dissipate and your body will realign and you’ll know what to do and how to do it and you’ll truly believe in yourself and your life won't be pushing and pulling at you anymore, i know its hard and i hate to say it, but time is truly your best friend in shit like this.”

You don't know how danny seemed to always know what to say but the words he spoke resonated with you and made something click, the rest of the walk home was lighter as you reached your hotel just after midnight, saying goodbye to Danny and watching him walk off into the lit streets of Monaco, quiet, peaceful and picturesque. You were amongst the other drivers who didn't (yet) live in Monaco, but you loved every moment you visited. Yes it was a posh persons wet dream, but it was undeniably beautiful in every part and you loved the safeness as a woman too. Though you'd have to admittedly work on your french.

When Thursday rolled around and you had to go to the track, ending your period of peace, it was gratefully uneventful, not once did you see who you had prayed you wouldn’t and that was enough to leave the paddock with a smile. Friday was less than satisfying however, achieving not even in the top 10 in either practices. Saturday and Sunday, were thankfully a different story, you had qualified well, pulling your car into P4. You were happy, the car was happy and you were focused, the chat with Danny had made you in some way looser?

You had mixed emotions about the part of the day in which you would attend the drivers parade. On one hand you could argue that it was a bit of a break from the seriousness, a time where drivers genuinely just chat shit while people look on and occasionally get asked questions, but on the other you could also argue that its kinda pointless and stupid. Regardless all the drivers piled into the moving vehicle and settled into a chatter of conversation in their respective “groups”. Just by your luck, as you eased into a conversation with Danny and George, Lando decided to join in. You didn’t ignore the look up and down he gave you before swiftly intervening in the conversation. For some reason the minute Lando joined in you were mute, not cintrivuting to the conversation in the slightest bit, other than nudging Danny every now and again to point something/someone out. You spoke few words with Lando present and even fewer when prompted by him to speak. At a point George simply dragged you away and talked to you one of one to save the awkward silence that seemed to surround the you and Lando. You had never found George unattractive, but at the same time you werent attracted to him either, which you thought in the moment he wasnt understand, as everything he said he would lean closer, almost intimate. Not too obvious, not romantic, but obvious enough, atleast to you and the eyes that you felt bore into the back of your head from a certain McLaren driver. Waling through the paddock following the drivers parade was always an ordeal, fans were out and you signed caps and shirts and skin and took photos, before finally making it anywhere near your garage. That was a part of the fun honestly, you always thought: The fans. You hear familiar voices and try not to eavesdrop, though subconsciously straining to hear, it's muffled and you only make out. “Shes not” “Dude” “fuck” “embarassing” “gross” “come on?” “you jealous?” your spying however is put to an end when none other than George Russel and Lando Norris round the corner to where you stood or recently stood, because as soon as you heard shuffling you resumed movement so they didn’t know that you were really just standing there listening to whatever the fuck they were saying.

“Speak of the devil” Lando says with a smirk.

You don't fully register the meaning behind that line however, still relishing in the fact they didn't know of your habit to eavesdrop.

“You're such a twat” George says, and more or less storms off.

You watch as he goes, still silent and then turn towards Lando.

“You’re actually such a dickhead ”

Lando scoffs before continuing.

“I was the one defending your dignity, George was drooling at you, its embarrassing”

You raise your eyebrows at him

“George?”

“Oh come on you're not that naive, he's so into you it's disgusting.”

“piss off”

“No seriously Mr Russell was in a seductive mood” it's said with an air of humour and you nearly laugh.

“George was trying to seduce me?” you let a deep breath out of your noise, nearly letting loose a laugh.

“And how exactly would he go about that huh?” you continue sarcastically.

‘Hmmm” his eyebrows straighten and his whole face looks as though it changes composition.

You move to go, sick of whatever the fuck Lando wants to play with you, you round the corner, reaching a small end of a hallway with no current people near and suddenly hes there too. Lips grazing the top of your ear. His body was against yours and radiating with heat, breath fanning your temple.

“Like this?” his voice is too fucking low, too fucking delicious and your mind is begging for you to succumb, but you cant, you wont.

“Youre a fucking asshole” its said through your teeth and you dont make any action to move your body away from his.

He hummed in response, simply moving his breaths down your neck.

“You mean it?” a smirk paints his face

“I hate you” the words come out more breathless than you'd hoped.

He laughs into the skin of your neck, you're still not moving, unable to move. In fear giving into him.

You close your eyes in hopes to centre yourself but it's impossible to ignore the heat that seems to surround you, your blood flows like molten lava through your veins and every breath is staggered and fractured. Opening your eyes was a mistake, Lando is looking at you with someone that could be moulded into admiration and his pupils are blown. You can't stop the way your back arches to meet him and suddenly your hands are in his curls and his mouth is on yours. It is so sweet, so filthy, so hateful. The way your mouths are moving against each other, his hands grasping at your back while you pull at his hair, you notice as you pull away the way he bites his lip, as if to not make any noise.

Well that's rich, he doesn't get to pretend he hasn't been the one chasing after you, acting all shitty just cause you’ve been the only girl not to fall to your feet at the sight of him.

He deserved a taste of his own medicine, you moved your lips off his and his eyes widened slightly thinking you're stopping whatever this was. Not yet. You move your lips down to his necks and begin to kiss him until you reach where he tenses at, figuring that's your best shot. You find the spot just above his clavicle and he inhales sharply before biting his lip. You were getting somewhere, focusing on this singular spot had Lando more desperate than before, biting so hard on his lip you thought it might bleed and gripping your waist so tightly you thought it might bruise if he adjusted his grip anymore.

The next idea that hit you was albeit self-indulgent but you thought would get your point across, or atleast suffice some of Lando’s infatuation with you just enough to clear your mind of him.

While one of your hands holds firmly his curls while you kiss his neck fervently, your other hand drops down further, trailing over the muscle that lay taut and hot underneath his fireproofs. His throat bobbed and he threw his head back only slightly, making an incoherent noise that made you smile against his neck, his control lost and gained so fast. Soon after your other hand left the back of his head, he dropped it onto your shoulder, still fiercely remainly quiet as you moved the other hand down his back, both hands reached under the material at the same time and his body was hotter than you had ever thought possible, retaining so much heat you are surprised there wasn't some kind of steam coming off of his skin. You pull his race suit down lower so it meets his middle thighs, his forehead still resting on your shoulder, keeled over. Pulling the material of his fireproofs up so you could actually see the muscle that was residing under there was fucking awe-inspiring, the small gap that you allowed yourself to see, breathing hard and fast, watching the muscle, the skin go out and in which each breath, you were nearly hypnotised.

“Im not gonna fucking beg tait”

His voice is rough but fractured and static, not portraying the toughness you think he’d like it too. It's your turn to hum in response as you move your hands achingly lower to where he is painfully and unbearingly hard for anything you do. The minute your hand makes contact with the sensitive skin he gasps, you relish in the noise and you slowly move your hand around him, gathering the pre cum that coats the tip and focusing on it, slow moments make him shake and he's suddenly making small, consistent noises that only egg you on more. You hated to admit that the power in the movement was absolutely superb, enough to ignore the ache between your own legs. You twist your hand slightly causing a strangled groan to come from Lando followed by a “fuck you” though its not too aggressive. You speed it up and soon he's breathing too fast, his eyes are fluttering and he’s so close. You position your hand and fingers at just the right part of him and he's coming hard and fast and hot and heavy in your palm. Followed by a deep, long breath and then a swift laugh. Lando Norris just came in your hand in his fucking racesuit. If that wasn’t karma that while he sung the national anthem he’d have cum in his fucking pants you didnt know what was.

“That's for the crash and all the shit in the press.” you know how it must sound, that you'd just jerked him off and now you're labelling it as payback, but to the relationship that you both held it was pretty much just that. You slip out from under him, smoothing your hair and wiping your hands on his race suit. His face has fallen and hasn't moved, though he moves his arm to steady himself.

You don't look back as you finally walk out of the corner of that measly little hallway, grateful that nobody happened upon you two.

“Fuck you” its quiet but loud enough to hear and its almost….whiny?

The ache between your legs has dissipated by the time you climb into the car, eager to get anything else into your head than the one that had been resting on your shoulder that day.

tag list:

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hidden-snow · 2 months

Text

This was an old request I'd gotten on my old account. I don't remember the requester, though.

ꨄ︎ Love's A Disease ꨄ︎

Warnings // Angst, reader almost dies, reader just has a simple case of Hanahaki Disease

Word count // 1,926

Dictionary: Hufwe / air instrument

"You made flowers grow in my lungs and, although they are beautiful, I cannot breathe." ~ Author Unknown

He’d always been the center of your attention, the reflection in your mirror, the reason to keep going. Your crush was major, filling your heart and soul with life every time you looked at him. And yet, it’d always been rejected, unreciprocated, unappreciated.

As a child, you’d grown up fascinated in the world of the sky people, following the scientists around all day before returning home to your family and people. Seeing your curiosity of the world they knew, Norm had taken it upon himself to teach you to read. And you took off, learning to read at a fast pace.

One particular subject had caught your eye, though. Something that described what was happening between you and Neteyam. The Hanahaki disease, caused by one-sided love, where the poor, lovesick victim begins to cough up flower petals from their lungs until they die. The only way they survived was either if their love was returned or the flowers were removed from their lungs. And if that happened, the love for that person would be removed permanently as well.

Even as your obsession over this subject grew, Norm and Max often told you that this disease was fictional, something that many people had been obsessed with when it came to writing. It was purely used to twist the reader’s emotions like a knife to the chest, a subject that would never come true.

Sometimes, you could swear you felt the flowers growing in your lungs, clogging up the space meant for oxygen. Hidden in the privacy of your home, you’d find yourself hunched over, coughing as small bioluminescent petals fluttered into your cupped palms, tainted with traces of scarlet red liquid.

It was hard to believe this disease was fictional when you stared down at these petals that had emerged from your throat in your attempts to clear it. When your parents or friends questioned you, you’d hide the petals, claiming to have just found them while walking through the forest and that you thought they were pretty.

When Jake first caught you coughing up these pretty petals, he’d immediately raised an eyebrow at your nervous excuses, unconvinced by the pretty little lies that tumbled from your lips, upturned in a sweet, innocent smile.

He watched you closely when you were around him, as if he were some kind of detective on a mission to find out where the petals truly came from. Little did he know that his eldest son was the cause of the petals randomly appearing in your hands, overfilling your cupped blue fingers until they fluttered to the ground around your feet.

As time went on, your condition only worsened, yet you were unable to find a way to solve this problem yourself. You wanted the growing flowers in your lungs to be removed, but not in a way that would cause you to lose the reason for your whole existence; your love for Neteyam.

In the mornings and evenings, you’d find yourself choking on whole flowers, watching as the bright blue rose-shaped blossoms tumbled from your mouth to your hands. If they weren’t plastered with your blood, they’d almost be pretty in a way, glowing blue that faded into a purple at the base of the petals, bright white dots speckling each petal.

Beautiful and deadly. That was the perfect description of the Hanahaki disease and your case was no different.

You didn’t understand why he treated you the way he did. You were loved by his family, his people, even his friends. With your spunky, sweet personality, mixed in with a surprisingly twist of stubbornness, you were a perfect match for him. Your mother often commented about how good of a couple you’d both be.

Not that she needed to point that out to you. You already knew it yourself.

And yet, anytime you’d ask him to hang out or spend time with you, he’d pass, using the excuse of training with his father to inherit the title of olo’eyktan one day. Then he’d stroll away, as if he already led the entire clan, head high and back straight. He’d never look back, even when you were coughing up the flowers, choking on your own love for him.

You didn’t know what you did wrong to make him dislike you so much.

Why did he avoid you as if you had some catchable disease.

You often thought he was stupid if he thought that he was keeping himself safe if he kept his distance. Hanahaki wasn’t infectious, after all.

Still you tried to catch his attention in anything you did, hoping for a glance your way, maybe even a smile or nod of approval at whatever it was you were doing.

Many nights, during clan meals, you’d volunteer to dance for the clan, something you’d mastered as a child, and your eyes were always on him. Yet, as you moved graceful to the beating of the drums and the occasional whistling of the hufwe, his gaze was pointed to someone else, anyone else, but you.

You were nonexistent to him and it was killing you.

Literally.

“Come on, Neteyam! Just one second of your time!”

You were getting pretty fed up with the way he seemed to be avoiding you when all you wanted to do was spend time with him like you’d done when you were both children.

Neteyam turned slowly, ears pinned in frustration, and he moved back towards you in that eye-catching swaying stride that only belonged to him. You couldn’t help but back away, practically feeling the waves of anger radiating from his body. He followed after you and you found yourself backed into a corner, your spine brushing against the rough bark of a tree behind you.

His hands slammed down on either side of your head as he leaned in, his golden amber gaze meeting your own, a trace of annoyance and disgust lacing those gold orbs.

“Why can’t you ever get a hint, Y/n? I know you’re just trying to pull some stupid prank on me. You and Lo’ak always think it’s so funny to play around with people’s feelings. I don’t want to be involved in it. So find someone else to follow around like a lovesick nantang pup!”

He straightened his back, giving you one last look over, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest softening of his gaze before it was returned to a strict, cold expression.

“Eywa, women are so fickle. It’s as if you’ve never known how to get a clue,” he sniffed over his shoulder before continuing on his way through the clan common ground towards his family.

You watch him leave, hot tears spilling over your pale cheeks, following the creases of your lips to drip off your chin. And with the tears came the pestering petals that always seemed to show up after he blew you off.

You could tell your little disease was getting worse, blowing up to a proportion so big that you didn’t know how to solve it. Neteyam wanted nothing to do with you. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t want you.

So why did he come rushing to your sickbed when he heard of your diagnosis?

Laying on a mat, too weak to move, you choked on the flower petals that clogged your throat, bloody little flowers flowing past your lips. Norm sat beside you, helping to clear them out as quickly as he could, apologies falling from his mouth as he desperately tried to figure out why this was happening. He knew what it was. So did Max. And Jake…

You couldn’t meet his worried, disappointed gaze. If only you’d found help sooner.

It was obvious that he knew. He understood exactly what your condition was when Norm murmured that dreadful name.

“What is it? What is wrong with her?”

Neteyam was pushing forward, shoving past the gathered people to sit by your side, witnessing with horror as you are struck with another coughing fit. The flowers were starting to get bigger and you were terrified. Terrified that, with each coughing fit, it’d be your last breath.

Your last chance to tell Neteyam just how you felt about him.

His hand slipped into your own, his palm warm and calloused, polar opposite from your soft, yet cold hand. He was on his knees, clutching your hand to his chest as if this was the last time he’d ever see you again.

As if he truly cared about you and your health.

“Hanahaki Disease,” Jake breathed out, moving to sit behind and slightly to the side of his eldest son.

“What is that? Is there a cure?”

The man you’d always seen as a father figure seemed to hesitate then, uncertainty overshadowing his golden gaze.

“It’s… kind of like a love sickness. We always thought it was fake, though. After all, the only cases ever known were always in fictional books.”

Neteyam scoffed, turning to look at his father, mouth open to try and dispute how ridiculous his father sounded. You were dying from a made up disease? How stupid did he think his son was?

But as he stared into his father’s eyes, words withered away like a dying plant, cut off by the despair that sat in those tired eyes.

“Dad, is there a cure?”

“It’s caused by one-sided love, Neteyam. The one who loves is the one affected. There is only one option. It’s too late for surgery. The one she loves needs to have feelings for her too.”

Neteyam turned back to you, clutching your hand tightly in between his.

“I need you to be honest, Y/n. Who is it? We need to know. Or you could die.”

You don’t know whether to laugh in his face or not. The irony of his words stung in your brain like thorns on a vine, not noticeable until it’s rubbed the wrong way.

Instead, you squeeze his hand back.

“You, skxawng. I love you.”

He’s taken aback by your words, doing a quick little double take. It’s as if he had never expected himself to become the target of your affection.

“Come again?”

His non-existent eyebrows are raised high on his forehead, mouth parted a couple inches as he watched you tug his hands towards your face. You brush your lips lightly over the calloused knuckles, trying to tell him that you weren’t joking or lying.

You loved him. So much so that you’d caught a disease for him. So much that you refused to have the flowers removed. You didn’t want to lose that love for him. You couldn’t do that to him.

“You love… me?”

His words are soft, hesitant, and you nod, which is more or less a flop of your head. You squeeze his hands lightly, staring up into his gaze.

“I can’t… I never thought you’d love me. I thought… I just thought you were playing with me. I…”

He looked away, as if just seeing you in this state hurt him. When he looked back, he was crying, tears following the crease of his cheeks to drip off his chin.

“I love you too, Y/n.”

What?

You couldn’t help but take a double take. All this time, you’d thought he’d despised you. That you’d been some kind of throw away person that he couldn’t care anything about.

“Say it again. Please? Say it again for me.”

He moved around a bit closer, cupping your cheek with his hand.

“I love you, Y/n. To the stars and back, I love you.”

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