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celestialprincesse · 25 days

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𝟏. 𝐀 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞

Part One of Foreigner's God King Simon Riley X F! Faerie Reader

WC: 2k

Sunlight fractures through the leaves of age old oaks and ancient pines, dappling against your back, weaving through long strands of untamed hair to brush a kiss against your thinly clothed shoulders, spiders silk and gauze just barely fluttering on a phantom breeze stirred by the muted clopping of horse hooves on the forest floor. The mare beneath you holds tension in her withers, matching the unpleasant knotting of the muscle between your shoulder blades. She knows what’s coming just as well as you do.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt anxiety this way. It’s the kind of gnawing, unsettling feeling at the pit of your stomach that comes only from venturing away from the safety of the trees and caves, brooks and hollow roots you call home. Your people call home. You force yourself to swallow down the fear - remind yourself that you’re doing this for them. Without this sacrifice, your sacrifice, the woods and forests which serve as sanctuary for your entire species, would be gone. The sick feeling in your stomach refuses to be soothed.

In an attempt to calm yourself, to tear your mind away from the images you’ve conjured of what may await you on the forest edge, you focus intently on every slow stride of your companion. You draw your thoughts to counting every rhythmic movement of her shoulders, the way they gently jostle your hips as you follow each motion of hers with one of your own. A push and pull of a gentle tide. She and you melt into one being, acting and reacting in such effortless synchrony, such enviable elegance. An innate ability for which your kind are revered.

Humans long lost touch with nature - shunned it in favor of such rapid growth, such vast power. They burned the trees to make room for their sprawling palaces, dug up the earth and all of her riches to build their roads, to grow their crops, never once wondering what she could provide had they simply respected her instead. Your people had never done such a thing, and for that, you’d been blessed. She’d provided you with everything you could ever have needed, and all you’d ever had to do was provide for her in turn. That balance, that equilibrium, is what humans have long since forgotten. Compromise, to them, is an impossible thing. To you and your kind, it’s an intrinsic part of life.

At this moment, you feel that perhaps you know compromise better than any.

The journey so far has been painstakingly long. On the one hand, it’s something you feel grateful for, that you’ve time to prepare yourself for the life that lies beyond the treeline. On the other, however, it’s excruciating. To ride through the forest, down the path away from the only life you’ve ever known, to mourn something you’ve not yet even lost. Every blazing orange dusk is another grain of sand dripping through the fingers of time, and every golden lighted dawn a death knell. You wonder if your sisters miss you the way you miss them. Your mother, too. Maybe they sit in quiet solitude, wondering what you’re doing at any given moment, or maybe they cry tears of frustration and anger at the fact that it could’ve been anyone else. Anyone but you.

The days before had been spent in a resigned sort of mourning. You’d saved your tears for the first days of your voyage.

You still so vividly remember sitting with your mother as she twisted up your hair, pinning it with flowers as she reminisced upon the girl taken by the last king. She’d been only as old as your youngest sister, Ophelia, when it had happened. Once every generation, every two, if you were at all lucky. You, unfortunately, were not. She’d spoken of how silent everything fell when the girl had been sent away - the strange, pained feeling that had settled over your people as they’d watched her go resigned into the trees. She’d never come back, of course, a fate that you too share. The small hope flickering like a fading ember at the bottom of your heart sings songs of longing. Such a foolish thing it is, holding out that perhaps the man who waits beyond the woods will love you, guide you to him with coaxing words and the gentlest of touches. You feel pathetic even thinking of it.

You never had quite outgrown your childish fantasies of love, and in turn, had given the humans holed up behind their cold stone walls another innocent heart to break.

When the sun shrinks back to nothing but a hazy golden glow, like that of a dying fire or burning star, you realize that more for your horse’s sake than your own, that it’s time to stop, to rest before you carry on with your journey. A day or two more and you’ll have reached the place where the canopy dwindles and the roots which cover the forest floor grow sparse, travel under the earth as though to hide from the human feet which march upon them. You hope for at least one more blissful sleep under the stars, moss under your head and night creatures watching your rest with vigilant, unseeing eyes.

Settling aside the small pond where your horse bends at her withers to drink, you lay up against the gnarled stump of a fallen tree, which yields to accommodate your body, just one of the many perks of being so connected with nature. You’ve no need to set up a campsite when the forest welcomes and provides for you with such ease. It’s not easy to forget the fact that the forest probably recognises the way you’re feeling - sympathizes with your predicament.

As you drift off into a fitful sleep, under the comforting twinkle of the stars, A king is waking. Behind the fortified stone walls of the palace, the revelry celebrating the lead up to King Simon’s wedding has lasted for days. To most, it’s an opportunity to celebrate. Their cold, reclusive king finally taking a wife. When the betrothal had been announced, the sigh of relief collectively exhaled by the nation had been palpable. He hadn’t wanted to do it - marry some wild forest thing and rut her full of little fat wailing babies. Johnny had been the unfortunate soul tasked with convincing him - reminding him that since Tommy passed, so did the soul heir to the Riley line. With enemies poised in the south, ready to exploit any weakness they could find, Simon hadn’t exactly had much choice. His being backed into a corner, however, hasn’t made him the most pleasant to deal with during the preamble to his rapidly inbound nuptials. For not only his sake, but also everyone else’s, he hopes that his bride-to-be is at least reasonably tame. With his luck? Highly doubtful.

His closest men had shared their theories and fantasies of some nymph-like creature, lovely and demure, happy to bend to Simon’s every whim, less wife, more well trained pet. Whilst he can appreciate a beautiful woman just as much as any man can, he keeps his expectations low - pleasant to be around and a decent conversationalist is enough for him.

He’s tried to expel the thoughts of marriage from his mind for as long as possible. He’s far too busy to be distracted with silly fantasies of rose petal decorated aisles and which rings he’ll select for his betrothed. Keeping a kingdom running and the vulture-like men that are his enemies at bay is no mindless thing. Simon barely has time enough to sleep, let alone celebrate a wedding he doesn’t want, nor to take the day-long trek to the agreed meeting place to collect his new wife. To collect his new wife. Parade her on horseback like some exotic acquisition to be flaunted, to grow bored with when the novelty inevitably wears off.

It’s impossible to ignore the way his knees creak as he rolls tiredly from his bed, the fathomless cold embedded in the very core of the flagstone floors seeping into his bare feet as he dresses himself. In spite of his status as King, Simon keeps his appearance reasonably simple, his tunics plain and armor scarcely decorated. Easier to dress. Simon Riley is a man of convenience, the bells and whistles of being monarch are nothing but a hindrance.

The celebrations have thankfully quieted, all of his courtiers and castle residents undoubtedly tired, hungover and sore from the days of singing, dancing and drinking - days which he’s mostly spent holed away in his study, playing chess with wooden carved soldiers on battle maps, giving the occasional go-ahead to wedding planners and burying his nose in any literature on strategy he can find. Today, unfortunately, his kingly duties outweigh his reclusiveness. He’ll only travel with Price to the meeting point - having originally wanted to go alone so as to make your initial meeting less intimidating, a point to which the head of his Kingsguard had made his disagreement abundantly clear. Yes, Price knows that Simon is fully capable of looking out for himself, but he sure as hell isn’t giving him any chance of proving that. He’s also desperate to get out of the castle and away from the mothers attempting to shove their daughters at his feet. So, with huffed complaints about the weather, and the threat of oncoming rain, signaled by the gritty gray clouds blotting out the starlight, the two men set off. Hooves beat thunderously across stone, dirt and grass as they make their way past the walls of the city, through the dwindling suburbs of thatched roofs and smoking chimneys and out into the vast plains of the countryside. The fresh air is a welcome reprieve from the smoke and burning metal of forges, the grassy hills and fields stretching for miles a refreshing break from the towering monoliths of stone that make up the palace. He can see why people would like it out here, away from the banal chatter of gossip and the unrelenting noise, left to grow stagnant within the confines of winding alleys or houses packed so closely together. Simon hasn’t even met you, and yet he already finds himself sympathizing for the adjustment you’ll have to make.

You, meanwhile, feel surprisingly more grounded following your nap, having allowed both yourself and your horse to rest for a while before continuing your journey. The gnawing anxiety in your stomach is soothed by the handful of blackberries you’d found and snacked on as you continued through the slowly more sparse woodland, and although you’re still wallowing, at least you’re not wallowing on an empty stomach and no sleep.

The sun slowly inches west behind the cloud cover, which quickly replaces the forest canopy you’ve always known, and tells you that in your mental absence, another day has nearly come and gone, and with that, the mileage covered which draws you closer to your inevitable fate. The birdsong has long since gone quiet, and there’s no longer movement indicative of life in the shrubbery. Just you, and the parapet on which you seem to endlessly walk.

Until the forest seems to stop entirely. The trees halt their growth at some invisible boundary, wildflowers cease their spread with an unnatural abruptness and your stomach goes lurching. Like you’ve jumped from a cliff. You’ve jumped from a cliff, you’re about to hit the ground, and everything in you is screaming for time to stop, for fate to twist, for the inevitable to be somehow avoided.

You could turn back. You could still turn back, and the forest would welcome you home with open arms. You could go home to your sisters, to your mother and the magic woven into everything you’ve ever known.

You could turn back - but in turning back, you’d only shatter the fragile peace forged so weakly between your own people, and those who’ve come to take you away.

“Looks petrified.” Price observes from where he and Simon stand proud upon the hill, watching as a faerie on a white horse comes emerging tentatively from the treeline. You do, you poor, delicate thing, Simon thinks to himself as he, Price, and their imposing black friesians make their way to greet you.

Happy Foreigner's God day to those who celebrate 1.8k and 2k are basically the same so pls enjoy the 1st chapter 💕

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kayjayjwrites · 27 days

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Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter Two

(Previous Chapter)

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 7,500

Chapter Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst kinda, eventual fluff, anxiety/panic attack, vomit (nothing graphic), Rhysand being an ass, Nesta x Reader friendship, Rhysand slander lol, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), fluff, some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish Note: So is this fluff? Debatable. But there is still plenty of Az fluff in it, you just got to work for it a little more this time. You don’t need to read the first chapter to understand what’s going on here, but they are connected!

It took almost three years of employment with the Inner Circle for you to personally encounter the ‘Night Triumphant’ persona. You were not impressed. The most serious you’d seen your cousin was ‘High Lord Rhysand’, the fierce leader, but even that was limited to political business outside of Velaris. More so than not, it was just Rhys, your fun loving, sarcastic friend who so happened to wield an enormous amount of power.

The male sitting at his work desk was not your ‘Rhys’. Hell this wasn’t even High Lord Rhysand. The Night Triumphant held eye contact with you, gaze calculated and stern. You studied the authority in his expression, his mouth drawn into a tight line. Staring him down right back, you waited for the facade to break and reveal the male you had come to know as family. You searched his face for the guy who would rather face Amarantha again than put you in such a precarious situation. The very situation that plagued you with consistent nightmares since you left Hewn City.

You did not find that male.

Your gaze flitted to Mor, her body draped in a leather armchair off to the side, hoping to find a trace of humor in her expression. She tried to look nonchalant, but there was a sharp edge to her that betrayed her own trepidation.

Nesta stood an arm’s length away from you, uncharacteristically quiet in the wake of your High Lord’s orders. She seemed as if she was waiting to see who would escalate things first. Rhysand had summoned the three of you to his office to brief everyone on an upcoming…obligation. He prefaced the meeting by saying that he knew it wasn’t an ideal assignment. He wasn’t asking if you wanted to do it, it was non negotiable.

In two months time, you, Nesta, and Mor would be answering a summons to Hewn City. Kier had been requesting a personal audience with you for the last year. Mor and Rhysand could no longer postpone it, as you were a Night Court Courtier afterall.

Still, you did not want to believe that Rhys would ask this of you. “You’re kidding, right? This isn’t very funny, Rhysand.”

“I know you can tell that I am not joking.” His flinty tone brook no argument.

Any hope of reasoning with the Night Triumphant withered away. He summoned you to his office well aware that you wouldn’t take kindly to being sent back. Here you’d been thinking Rhysand understood your trauma best, having been held captive and used while Under the Mountain.

It appeared that you had misjudged him.

Just as you were about to say as much, Mor spoke up for the first time since the meeting started. “Kier threatened mutiny at the last Council meeting. At first he demanded a private audience, even after I informed him of our bargain. When we still refused to send you by yourself despite his threats, he agreed on these terms. You and Nesta because you’re a team, and me because I oversee The Court of Nightmares anyway. He couldn’t argue with that logic.”

You felt like you were going to be sick. After 300 years of being nothing but a tool for your father, the idea of seeing Kier’s face again so soon had your lunch sitting heavy in your stomach. It was inevitable, he thought you were loyal to him, his spy on the inside. You had zero idea how you were going to handle a reunion with him, simply thinking about it made you short of breath.

Your nights were plagued with stress dreams about what it would be like to return to your old home. You avoided stewing on the topic during your waking hours. The inevitability of it all often sent you spiraling, you couldn’t ghost Kier forever, but you thought you had more time. There was no fucking way you were ready. “I can’t do this,” You said, “give me any other assignment, and I’ll do it. Just not this.”

“You can,” Rhysand enunciated each word, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t sure you would understand him, “and you will.”

Oh hell no. You did not uproot your entire life to be spoken to like that. “Do not speak to me like a child, Rhysand–”

“Then stop acting like one,” he scolded, like you were the one being unreasonable, “this is your duty to your court, what I pay you to do. If you won’t do what needs to be done to protect your court then we don’t have a place for you here.”

Rhysand’s words hit like a blow. Your sharp intake of breath was echoed by both Nesta and Mor, but you couldn’t see them, they might as well have not been there, your world shrinking down to Rhysand as he regarded you coldly.

“So what will it be?” He addressed you, leaning forward over his desk, leering, “will you do as your High Lord asks of you, or will you be resigning today?” He pressured.

Your hands fisted, ire rising up so fast it made your eyes sting with unshed tears. If you got kicked out of Velaris you’d undoubtedly end up back in Hewn City. And you couldn’t let that happen, not after you finally got a taste of freedom.

Rhysand may like to believe himself better than Kier, but how was this any different from how Kier treated you? Was this your destiny? Undeserving of kindness unless you proved your worth?

What about you made people forget that you were a living, breathing being? Just like everyone else in the room, you had feelings that mattered, and hopes for your future. You’d been stripped of your freewill for the first three centuries of your life. It was a wonder that you hadn’t gone mad.

Were you only allowed a taste of freedom? Was that Rhysand’s plan all along? Get you hooked on life in Velaris then dangle it in front of you like you were a simple mule, your freedom the carrot held just out of reach.

It made your blood boil.

“My apologies.” You sneered at him, gone was the meek, conditioned wallflower. You meant all the disrespect. In a dramatic flourish you bowed low to Rhysand, making sure he saw your contempt for him when he met your gaze.

You maintained direct eye contact as you hissed harsh sarcasm at him, “I am at your disposal, High Lord.”

Rhysand’s eyes flared with something dark and aggressive. Time slowed, a pulse of his power cresting over you in a suffocating wave, a preview of how oppressive he could make it if he so wished. Dread replaced your anger, the confidence you’d displayed moments ago dissipating. You struggled to not show how he had shaken you, and by some miracle, you stood your ground. Still, he could probably hear your heart pounding from where he sat.

Amidst the theatrics, your own power had not been so keen on backing down. It had coiled around you like a viper ready to strike, protective, as Rhysand’s prowling darkness prodded your boundaries.

This version of Rhysand left you stricken, unable to reconcile the egregious behavior with the male you’d had breakfast with just that morning. It felt like his power was tearing you in half, and he wasn’t even exerting himself. He looked bored.

Did you escape the clutches of one villain, only to run into the hands of another? Were you really that foolish?

Mor stepped into your field of vision, mouthing something at you. You hadn’t realized your ears were ringing until the shrill noise faded enough for you to hear her calling your name. The frantic quality of her voice snapped you out of whatever daze Rhysand’s power had cast on you.

Right. Nesta and Mor had witnessed that entire thing. You’d forgotten about their presence in the heat of the moment, your attention tunnel visioned on Rhysand. He had humiliated you in front of some of the most important people in your life. The only thing that could have made it worse was if Azriel had been there too.

Intense embarrassment flooded you, a seed of distrust taking root deep in your heart. You felt so stupid, thinking you could trust Rhysand and his Inner Circle. Mor was still trying to get your attention, but you stared right past her, looking at Rhysand like you hated him.

Hell. Maybe you did.

Mor called your name once more with urgency, moving closer to you, half turned so she hadn’t given her back to her High Lord, but solely focused on you. “It’s the best we could do without inciting a civil war.” She tried to clarify, emphasizing on the ‘we’ as she gestured between herself and Rhysand.

“You have to know we wouldn’t put you in this position if we had any other choice. I personally promised I would never leave you alone in that city again, and there is nothing our father can say or do to make me break that promise to you. We will do this together.”

Rhysand’s power had receded, but you could still feel it loitering like a watchdog. Something you’d never imagined Rhys doing to you before the meeting. He’d always spun such pretty promises about your future in Velaris, and you believed him.

And now Mor was doing the same exact thing. More pretty promises, but no proof of her intentions to follow through with them.

Mor’s shoulders visibly sagged, “If you don’t believe me, then look.” She pleaded, offering her mind up for you to read.

You physically recoiled at her suggestion. “I will do no such thing!” You spat back in disgust, “You are my sister, this is supposed to be my family. I will not taint our relationship with my powers in a moment of weakness. You may not return the same respect, but I refuse to surround myself with people I can’t trust without rummaging around their mind for their truths first.”

Unlike some males went unsaid as you fumbled to tone it down for Mor. Your problem was not with her, and she didn’t deserve your harsh words. “I can’t…I won’t….I–”

Frustrated with yourself, you took a steadying breath, emotion burning behind your eyes. Despite your best effort to keep composed, your voice quivered, “I will not be like our father.”

The room was stunned silent, Mor regarded you with sadness, lips parting to respond, but then pursing closed in a tight line.

Rhysand was the one to break the silence. His power dispersed as he leaned back in his chair, acting like he hadn’t just wound you up tight enough to fracture you into pieces.

“So you accept the assignment then?” He inquired, brushing nonexistent lint from the cuff of his dress shirt.

His lack of remorse irked you. Did he not think he could have handled the situation better? Was this how he treated everyone in the Inner Circle? The list of things you wanted clarification on kept growing, so instead you settled on, “Yes.”

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement then.” He drawled, “We will go over details and strategy another time, when we are all more composed.”

You wanted to punch him in his goddamn face.

“For now, this meeting is dismissed.”

As soon as he finished speaking you stormed out of his office, nearly colliding with Nesta in your haste to get away from Rhysand. Originally you were going to visit the library after the meeting. Nesta had suggested a book for you to read, and you wanted to read it so you had something to talk to her about. But you were too worked up to do that now, you needed to get out of there.

You didn’t care where you ended up, so long as you put as much distance between you and Rhysand as possible.

XxXx

By step 174 your blurry vision cleared a smidge, too out of breath to cry for the moment. You didn’t have anyone to help you leave The House of Wind, so you took to the 10,000 stairs with the expectation of someone eventually coming to find you. There was no way in hell you’d actually be able to reach the bottom. You began the descent down the spiraling staircase so fast It was a marvel that you didn’t trip.

Any time you slowed down Rhysand’s words would play on loop in your head. The only way to drown it out was to pick up the pace, the exertion elevating your heart rate enough for it to overpower that nasty voice in the back of your head. If you ran fast enough the only thing you could concentrate on was counting the steps you took.

239 steps down, and you had no choice but to slow down to a more reasonable pace. It was a warm day, and you were getting dizzy. The last thing you wanted to do was pass out. In a desperate attempt to keep your mind occupied as you caught your breath you focused on the breeze cooling the sweat beading up on your forehead. You listened to the slap of your bare feet on the smooth, sun-warmed stone. You thought of the color of the sandals you left behind at the very top of the stairs. You pondered on which step you’d discarded your blouse on after it began to cling to your sweaty skin.

Your guess was step 148.

You hit the first landing platform at step 250, slowing to a walk as you panted, hands propped against your hips as you counted your next few steps. Woozy, you let your eyes fall closed for a moment, but the image of Kier sitting in his throne room beckoning you forward flashed across your mind. You flinched so hard you accidentally opened your eyes looking directly into the sun.

It felt like your head had a heartbeat of its own, vision blotching from the brightness. You didn’t know how your day could get any more bleak as you rapidly blinked the disorienting dots away. Glimpses of The Court of Nightmares throne room lurking behind every blink, Kier looked more like Rhysand each time you closed your eyes.

It made your stomach lurch, and you whimpered around a dry heave.

A particularly strong gust of wind ruffled through your hair, and you can almost hear Azriel’s voice reminding you to focus on your other senses. Your mind can lie to you, but it’s much harder for all your senses to be tricked at the same time.

The sunlight, the ever-present wind, the sound of birds, the smell of fresh air. Let nature ground you.

It just wasn’t enough. You’d only paused for a few moments, but your chest began to feel too tight for your lungs, anxiety squeezing the air out of you before you could properly inhale it. Two months. Just two measly months to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Kier–to your mom, after you’d gone no contact for almost 3 years. Two months to not be petrified of somehow getting trapped down there again.

So you continued down the stairs, pushing yourself harder.

251. 252. 253. Counting them like Azriel had taught you.

It had been after your first dinner with the Inner Circle at the House of Wind. Mor was a little too tipsy to winnow home safely, so the both of you decided it best to share a guest room. You were feeling antsy, Mor having fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The House of Wind was so different from Hewn City. Cozy and surprisingly casual in decor, but it was carved out of the side of a mountain. With the curtains drawn, in the dark quiet of the night, it almost felt like your bedroom in The Court of Nightmares.

You had thought a glass of water would do you some good, help you settle enough to get some rest. So you set out for the kitchen, taking care to walk quietly so as to not wake anyone. The hallway led to a flight of stairs, which brought you to more hallways that seemed to stretch on, and on, and on. The homey decor fell away, your balance wobbling with the sudden onset of vertigo. Closing your eyes didn’t help, dizzy and disoriented, everything felt like it was tipped on its axis. You couldn’t place where you were, where you were going, just that you were alone. Fear flooded your senses, and you swore you smelled the dank air of the streets of Hewn City like you were still there.

Azriel found you slumped against the wall on shaky legs, your pulse pounding so hard in your ears you couldn’t hear what he was saying to you. The touch of his rough hands on your bare arms was soothing enough to bring you back to yourself. You weren’t walking the streets of Hewn City. You weren’t alone. Azriel had you.

Each inhale had still felt like you were gulping in freezing cold water, your breath coming in irregular gasps. You thought you were going to die in that hallway, suffocating on fucking air.

Azriel took you to the training grounds on the rooftop of all places. You can still remember the brightness of the full moon that night as he coached you through breathing exercises. Then, coaxed you into walking laps with him around the perimeter of the huge training grounds. He counted each step aloud with you until you had calmed enough to tell him what the hell had happened.

And that was how you and the Shadowsinger bonded over Claustrophobia. An unfortunate thing to have in common, an even more unfortunate first thing to find you had in common.

In the moments after you’d come down from your panic attack you wanted to svirel up and fade away, so thoroughly embarrassed. But now, you thanked The Mother for sending Azriel to find you that night.

It was those same coping skills that led you to working out your anxiety after the meeting. 290 steps away from The House of Wind, and you were sure your legs were going to give out if you kept pushing yourself. You came to a slow stop, soles of both your feet planted on the same stair. Lulling your head back so your face was to the cloudless sky, you closed your eyes and pictured that moment with Azriel. Instead of Kier morphing into Rhysand, you saw Azriel walking laps with you around the moonlit training grounds.

You basked in the breeze against your face, your anger and fear still roiling in your stomach, but no longer all consuming. The relief was short lived, a concentrated pang of despair reared its ugly head, raw hurt so overwhelming it chased the warm memories with Azriel away. It made you so tired, so emotionally drained you felt it in the marrow of your bones. You wanted to just let go, collapse in a heap and never get up again.

Yet, by some stroke of willpower, you remained on your feet. You hadn’t warmed up before taking on the stairs, and you could already feel soreness settling into your muscles. Gingerly you sat yourself down on the steps, resting your elbows on your thighs as you rubbed your hands over your face, spreading fresh tears across the top of your cheeks.

If you won’t do what needs to be done to protect your court then we don’t have a place for you here. Rhysand’s words burned the part of you that had always suspected as much. There was this nasty little voice that lived in the back of your head. It would mock you when you were too content in calling this place home.

You wondered if that voice would start to sound like Rhysand.

The thought broke your heart a little bit more. You wanted so badly to make him proud, to earn your place in the Inner Circle, prove that they hadn’t made a mistake taking you in. The worst part was that you thought you were doing good. Not that you’d believed yourself to be one of them, you were still so new, but you thought…you thought…

You don’t know what you fucking thought.

Curling into yourself, your knees tucked in close to your chest, you made yourself as small as possible. The full body trembling made your sobs shaky, your entire being wobbled from the weight of your failure, your naivety. This was what you got for wanting to do it the right way. You’d never built relationships without relying on your powers to sniff out their loyalty beforehand, never truly trusted on your own violation.

Your father always thought it was a stupid risk to take when you could know for sure. You thought it was an awfully lonely way to live, to never trust fully. Perhaps you’d been wrong.

This was what you get, you silly girl. Kier’s voice taunted from the back of your mind. Or was that Rhysand’s voice? Did the difference even matter anymore?

The telltale sound of approaching footsteps closed in on you from behind, you couldn’t tell who it was, all you could smell was the salt of your own tears. Maybe it was one of them coming to take you out of your misery, maybe Rhysand took your display in his office as a sign of disloyalty.

The killing blow never came, so you glanced up to see Nesta taking a seat next to you. The last person you expected to come looking for you if you were being honest.

She didn’t look at you right away, which you appreciated. You were humiliated enough without her seeing you wiping your own snot on your forearm. Her icy stare was focused on the view, the only indication that she had run to catch up with you, a few fly away hairs having been jostled loose from her braids.

“You were pretty hard to catch up to, you know,” She leaned back, supporting her weight on her hands against the step behind her, “for someone who doesn’t regularly train, at least.”

Her attempt at humor, which earlier in the day would have made you indignant, fell flat. Instead inciting a new wave of tears to fall past your lash line. You dropped your head lower to hide it from her, but it did little to smother the sound of your quivering breath.

She didn’t try again, and her presence grew awkward when you didn’t try either, but she stayed next to you regardless.

When it became apparent that she would stay by your side unless you sent her away, you found your words. “What if I can’t do it,” You croaked out, voice absolutely wrecked, “Face my father, return underground? What if I can’t do what’s expected of me? What if it’s too much, too soon? What if I lose everything because I’m not strong enough.” Will never be strong enough.

“Then we will figure it out,” Nesta answered without hesitation, “Together.”

You are alone. That damned voice insisted.

“But Rhysand said–”

“I know what Rhysand said.” Nesta hissed, and you startled, your bloodshot eyes meeting hers for the first time since she arrived. She looked pissed, lips pursed in a scowl as if the High Lord was right in front of her. “Rhysand is an insensitive jackass. He won’t send you away because you messed up one job.”

“How can you know that?” You whispered, already knowing that she couldn’t know for sure.

“Because I’ve pissed him off by doing far worse, and I’m still here.”

You shook your head at her reasoning, not good enough, she can’t know for sure. “You're his mate’s sister, and Cassian’s mate. He can’t exile you.”

“And you're The Morrigan’s sister, and his own cousin.” Nesta deadpanned. “You’re not going to get exiled over a visit to The Court of Nightmares.”

“How can you possibly know that?!” You shouted, one of your hands clutching the fabric of your sweat soaked chest binding as your heart ached. Frantic to believe her, but knowing that you just couldn’t.

“Because Rhysand hates me, we barely tolerate each other on good days. He once threatened to banish me to the human continent,” she rebuked, hands flying about as she grew impassioned, “He loves you. He’s just an overpowered ass on a power trip. You questioned his authority and it hurt his fragile little ego. And even if he was stupid enough to try to cast you out, the rest of the Inner Circle would never let that happen.”

Your nerves were fucking shot. Whatever remained of your bravado frayed with every hagrid breath, it was impossible to stay focused. It was like your powers were waiting for you to be distracted, taking the opportunity to thrash against your mental shields. You didn’t know if it was skill keeping your powers in check, or dumb luck.

Your headache spread across your temples, sharp pain panging behind your eyes. You were already so tired, but the tears would not stop coming. That damned voice, still whispering its poison, adding to the agony. Nesta can’t know for sure, but you could if you just gave in.

You looked Nesta over, her relaxed body language at odds with the determined fire in her eyes. She left herself wide open, she wouldn’t even know if you read her. You’d be in control, your fate wouldn’t be left up to a gamble.

Nesta tried to meet your gaze, and you squeezed your eyes shut, turning away from her. It was impossible for you to think with her piercing stare studying you. What reason did Nesta even have to care about what happened to you? She didn’t say shit while Rhysand was ripping your world apart, and yet she showed up here? To do what exactly?

There was a dull ringing in your ears as your power surged against your restraint, and maybe you screamed, maybe you didn’t. Your fingers went up into your hair, fisting at your roots as you pulled, rocking yourself back and forth because it would be so easy.

And maybe if you gave in, that stupid voice would stop.

Nesta called your name, “I wouldn’t let Rhysand kick you out of Velaris.”

The cry you let out sounded almost feral. “I don’t know that!” .

“No, you don’t,” Nesta acquiesced, “but do you trust me?”

Did you trust Nesta? The question cut you into you like the edge of a knife, your heart answering with a resounding yes.

Wow, did you want that to be true. But that sinister voice oozed like an oil slick in the back of your head. Will you do as your High Lord asks of you, or will you be resigning today? You had trusted Rhysand too.

Even if Nesta wanted you here, did you think she would disobey her High Lord for you? You didn’t know, not for sure. Your power reared up again, and your head pounded at the onslaught. That oily voice so loud it was all you could hear. You could know.

“I-I don’t know.” You stammered, stomach churning into grotesque knots.

“Do you trust yourself?” Nesta continued her line of questioning.

That answer came to you quick, no, and it had you lurching forward, your balance lost as you scraped your knees sliding down a couple stairs. You wretched, violent heaves as your stomach emptied out on the stairs in front of you.

No. You didn’t trust yourself.

“There was a time where I didn’t trust myself either.” It was like you weren’t barfing up your guts right in front of her, Nesta spoke with such calm. “Didn’t let anyone close enough to trust, even myself, I didn’t know how.”

You wretched again, your hair getting in the way. Gentle fingers gathered the stray pieces that had fallen from your updo. You hadn’t heard her move over to you, but she was there, steadying you as you struggled through a bout of dry heaving. If you weren’t so miserable, the tenderness coming from Nesta would have shocked the hell out of you.

Her free hand rubbed soothing circles into your back as she continued her tale. “I hated myself,” Nesta confided, voice raspy with emotion, “so much that I drank myself stupid every night to escape the darkness of my own thoughts.”

Now, the random heart to heart did shock you.

Three years of trying to connect with the enigma that was Nesta Archeon. Three years of getting redirected when you asked something too deep. The most you got out of Nesta was what she liked to read, so you picked up reading just to have a reason to approach her outside of assignments. Three years of one sided heart to hearts, evaded personal questions, and turned down sleepover invitations.

And she decided that now was the proper time to trauma dump on you? While you were half dressed, ugly crying with vomit in your hair?

What a baffling female. The confusion helped you relax, so surprised you were by Nesta’s sudden urge to share. Her hand kept a slow, steady rhythm as she continued to rub gentle circles onto your back, you hadn’t realized how tensed you’d been until muscles you didn’t even know you had started going lax.

Whatever Nesta was doing, it was working. So you basked in the comfort her touch provided and listened.

“Someone taught me how to acknowledge those thoughts and let them go. To breathe, and still everything else in my mind, and let my mind think those things, but to not dwell, because that dark self loathing didn’t define me.”

The dark self loathing didn’t define you. Her words chipped at something that had been left festering for far too long. Had that been it all along, that terrible voice in the back of your head, had it been self loathing?

“Give yourself permission to feel, acknowledge it, and let it go.”

And it was so liberating, giving a name to what had been festering under your skin. Hate. Disgust. Cowardice. You cried, but not the agonized, tortured type of wails that had crippled you moments ago. This was a release, the type of ugly cry you do when something you didn’t know was broken starts to heal.

You hated yourself. And that was okay, because as you waited for that awful voice to mock you, it never did. You hated yourself, wept so hard you thought your eyes were going to fall out of your skull, but you had never felt lighter.

Nesta found your hand, gentle at first as if giving you time to pull away. Then she held onto you like the simple touch could convey what you were worth to her. “You are the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break you.” She whispered, but the words resonated like she had shouted them at you.

The smile started as a small twitch at the corners of your mouth, but you knew Nesta saw it all the same. You searched for that dreadful voice, waited for it to speak something dreadful, but the quip never came. The smile that bloomed on your cheeks was wide with astonish.

You couldn’t believe it, after 300+ years of letting that nasty voice ruin you, there was peace. In its place was something new and bright.

Hope.

XxXx

The sound of beating wings announced the arrival of Cassian and Azriel a moment before the weight of their landing sent vibrations through the hard stone of the staircase. The two hulking Illyrian warriors made quick work of the walk up the stairs, their casual conversation trailing off once they were within earshot of you and Nesta.

“Ness!” Cassian’s voice boomed in greeting, cheery and boisterous, “I see why you asked for me to bring Azriel now. Here I thought you were acting on your ‘secret’ fantasies finally. The location left something to be desired, but I wasn’t going to be picky.”

Nesta sat shoulder to shoulder with you, so close, you felt her stiffen at Cassian’s offbeat comment. If you weren’t so drained, you’d be cross with her for summoning more witnesses, but the idea of having to walk back up all those steps upset you far more. The adrenaline high from your anxiety had long worn off, and without its numbing effect, you weren’t sure if you could even stand without your legs wobbling.

Nesta sighed, deep and long suffering, but affectionate nonetheless. “Your inability to read the room will always astound me.”

“Good thing we’re outside, there is no–” Cassian’s breath hitched, now close enough to get a good look at your downcast expression, haggard appearance, and odd attire. You were careful to keep your emotions under control, unwilling to let anyone in the Inner Circle see you in such a vulnerable state. Years of cautious composer, wasted, all because of a meeting that lasted less than 30 minutes. You expected disapproval, your emotions had only been met with ridicule in the past, but the apparent emotions flying across Cassian’s face were anything but cold.

Worry. Guilt. Unease. Cassian’s emotions were so boldly displayed, you didn’t need your powers to disconcert them.

Cassian paused in his ascent as he looked you over for injury, but Azriel closed the distance in the time it took you to blind away the tingle of the latest round of tears. Their concern was almost palatable, and being shown that type of care felt too good to be real.

These males had no reason to care so much, Nesta had no tangible reason to care so much. You were so… you, so replaceable and plain. You breathed through the thought, let it roll over you, maybe that was why they cared so much, because you are you. It had never occurred to you that you were someone worth caring for. Not when your own father never cared. Certainly not after Rhysand gave you the ultimatum to get useful or get out.

You are the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break you. Nesta’s words repeated in your head, sending a zing of determination down your spine.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Azriel crouched down, his chest siphon reflecting the late afternoon sun. His questions made you feel queasy, but his presence soothed over you like a balm. This male simultaneously was the person you worried about disappointing most, and the person you felt most safe being vulnerable around.

Unlike with Nesta, you didn’t struggle with facing Azriel. He was inspecting the grime covered scrapes on your bare toes. “Where are your shoes?” He asked you, puzzled as he then took note of your sweat soaked bra, “and your shirt?”

A dark look passed over him, if his shadows could withstand the direct sunlight, you were sure they’d be writhing around you. He spoke your name like a whispered prayer, desperate. His gloved hands hesitated as he reached out to cup your face, only smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks when you didn’t jerk away, “please look at me,” and you did, meeting his amber eyes as he wiped remnant tear stains from your cheeks, “Did someone try to hurt you?”

You knew what he meant, but your explanation caught in your throat. A brief moment of shame overwhelmed you, because here you were blubbering over some harsh words from your High Lord, when people suffered far worse fates than your own every day. Azriel began to tense, an icy cold rage taking form as he mistook your silence as an affirmative.

You shook your head ‘no’, hating the troubling turmoil you had unintentionally sowed in him. His shoulders sagged, the sign of his relief so slight, many would have missed it. It was all it took for the remaining threads of your thin composure to snap.

Azriel all but scooped you into his arms as tears blurred your vision, and you crumbled into him, no further prompting needed. He held you so tight, it was like he was trying to hold all your pieces together for you. His wings flared to keep his balance, and maybe later you’d feel sheepish about almost tipping him backwards down those unforgiving stairs, but you relished in the comfort his strength brought you.

“I-I was–It was–” You couldn’t string the sentence together, “We were…I was–” you tried again but your breathing was off, your thoughts all jumbled, and Blessed Mother, you couldn’t do it again. Any words you’d thought about trying to say morphed into sobs, barely audible, but you couldn’t hide the way your body shook with them.

“Rhysand happened.” Nesta asserted, sparing what was left of your dignity by cutting off your senseless stuttering. She summarized the meeting, but touched on the major points that had triggered your anxiety. She was gentle with the recollection of your part in the meeting, scathingly critical of Rhysand.

“When I left Rhysand’s office, The Morrigan was getting in his face, and as much as I would have loved to see how that went down, it felt wrong to not check in with you.” Nesta explained like she was coming clean, “ I asked the house where you were.”

It was about as close to an apology you’d ever get from Nesta. You knew from experience that Nesta took her time warming to people, preferring to mind her business and stay out of Inner Circle drama. Once she’d made an offhand comment about being the center of the drama enough to last her the rest of her fae lifetime.

Keeping your head rested on Azriel’s shoulder, you turned your face to the side so your voice was less muffled, “Thank you,” your words carried on the wind, paper thin, frail, but so heartfelt, “for following me.”

Nesta didn’t respond, and you didn’t dare look at her out of fear of getting weepy again. But you felt it all the same, a shift in the relationship between the two of you. Like a bridge branching out, a new understanding solidified in place, and you knew Nesta had felt it too.

You shifted in Azriel’s arms, intending on testing your strength, but his arms tensed to keep you in place. In one graceful movement that had your head spinning, Azriel stood up right, adjusting to support your weight in a bridal hold.

“How about we get you home and clean you up?” Azriel suggested, loud enough for the others to hear, but the question aimed at you.

Home. As in the apartment you shared with Mor. He had called Velaris your home.

Your heart gave a painful throb, all choked up again at the sentiment. Going home sounded like the most splendid thing in the whole world in that moment. You didn’t want to think about Rhysand or Hewn City anymore, you wanted to go home so much it hurt.

There was some rustling, Cassian coming to stand near Nesta. “Wanna race me back up to the house?” His words were muffled as if his lips were pressed into the crown of Nesta’s head. “Winner gets head.”

The swift resounding slap Cassian received almost made things seem normal.

“Are you two good?” Nesta ignored Cassian’s taunting, and you nodded at the same time Azriel responded with, “Yes, I’ve got her.”

A beat passed in silence, all four of you waiting to see if anyone added anything else. Then rapid footsteps took off up the stairs, and you popped your head up from the crook near Azriel’s underarm to see Nesta sprinting up the stairs.

“Hey!” Cassian bellowed, charging after her, “cheaters never prosper, Nesta!”

“Prove it, you overgrown bat!”

If you weren’t about ready to pass out from exhaustion, you would have laughed at their antics. Azriel was watching them, an unguarded fondness in his hazel eyes you rarely got to see. The two of you stayed like that, Azriel watching his friends, you committing his soft expression to memory. By the time Azriel glanced down to you, Cassian had overtaken Nesta’s lead, their figures dots in the distance.

You were a melted puddle of female in his arms, all tension and stress slipping from your muscles as your eyelids drooped. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your eyes open for another second. Paranoia nagged at you, fear of what you’d see when you finally rested your eyes.

Nothing. Blissful darkness. Peace.

“I’m going to take off now. Loop your arms around my neck and hold on tight, okay? Once we get up high enough, the rest of the flight will be smooth.”

You did as you were told, any other time you would have been a nervous wreck, but you didn’t have it in you to fret. You’d always winnowed with someone, even learning how to land the drop through the wards when Mor winnowed with you to the House of Wind. You’d thought no one had noticed how you avoided the topic, but surprise surprise, Azriel had noticed.

The thought of being up that high in the sky and dropped sure made your pulse spike. Growing up in an Underground City meant your feet were always planted on the ground. So maybe it wasn’t a stretch to claim that you weren’t a fan of heights, you’d never flown with anyone before, but it would make a lot of damn sense.

Your musing was cut short. Azriel launched straight up into the sky, powerful wings effortlessly gaining momentum and speed. You clung to him, hands clasped together around his neck in a death grip, screaming bloody murder the entire ascend. Although you would deny it if anyone asked.

Things evened out once Azriel felt he was high enough, setting a leisure pace towards what you assumed to be the direction of Mor’s apartment. Your eyes were squeezed shut, wind whipping your hair out of what was left of your updo, tossing it across your face.

You must have been quite the sight, if the amusement in Azriel’s voice was any indication. “Are you going to look at the view?”

Your hair was a disheveled mess across your face, the wind burned your already sore eyes when you tried to pry them open. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t keep my eyes open,” It was probably beautiful, but you didn’t want to push your luck, you’d had enough panic attacks for the day, “Luckily, I don’t want to.”

He chuckled. “Next time then.”

Blame it on the fatigue, but you found yourself nodding in agreement. Something you may come to regret when he urges you to fly with him instead of winnowing the next time you travel together.

But maybe it won’t be so bad, if Azriel was the one carrying you. With your eyes closed, ear pressed to his chest, his steady heartbeat lulled the residual tension and anxiety away until all you felt was the security of his arms. You could almost forget that you were hundreds of feet off the ground.

In Azriel’s care, it was easy to relax, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen. It was in that half dozing state, snuggled up as close as you could get to him, that your sleepy mind realized moments like these were the ones you wanted to remember.

Ultimately, Rhysand’s nasty words were a small part of your day. The majority of your time was spent with Nesta, bonding with her in a way you’d never managed previously. Something that would have never happened if Rhysand hadn’t been a dick.

Yeah. You’d much rather remember the day as the Nesta heart-to-heart incident. Or the first time you flew with Azriel.

Drifting into a deeper sleep, you dreamt of the way Cassian’s laughter echoed with joy as he chased after Nesta up the stairs. You dreamt of soaring through the clouds with Azriel, the same fondness you’d seen in his eyes for Cassian and Nesta, but aimed at you.

It may take you the rest of your life, but you would replace all the trauma muddying up your memories with new memories you wanted to remember. New memories filled with laughter, affection, trust, and adventure.

One day at a time.

Rhysand could go pound sand though.

XxXx

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter (coming soon)

A/N: Don't worry the next part is going to be more like the first chapter. There will be like two more chapters sprinkled in that have a more serious tone, but the rest will be fluff, drama, and tomfoolery a plenty. Stay tuned for cheeky Cassian in the next update!!

Tag List: @f4iry-bell @jediknightjana @microwaveallthedemons @olive-main

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @5onedirection5

@brieflyclassymortal @hauntedstudentobservationus

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff #Like Bugs in a Rug #my writing #kayjaywrites #nesta archeron #the morrigan #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand #cassian

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dykesynthezoid · 11 months

Text

Ovid, Metamorphoses, 14. iii. 124-132, 145-153. Trans. Brookes More.

The Sibyl of Cumae was a Roman mythological figure, oracle, and priestess. Besides her role as a guide to Aeneas, she is often referenced for the tale in which she is approached by Apollo, who offers her a boon in exchange for her maidenhood. She asks for eternal life, and Apollo agrees, but she neglects to ask for eternal youth and later rescinds on their agreement, forever remaining unmarried. Without eternal youth she continues to age as thousands of years pass by, until her body has entirely withered and decayed into nothing. Only her voice remains, contained in a hanging jar in her cave in Cumae. When the voice is asked what it desires, it replies, “Death.”

#dimension 20 #aabria iyengar #the ravening war #karna solara #lou wilson #thane delissandro katzon #the ravening war spoilers

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lina-vas-dom · 17 days

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Посмотри, какие башмачки! Как удобно в них ходить и ловко! Высоки и тонки каблучки! Разве же не славная обновка, Чтоб совсем была нарядна я И тебе понравилась, дружочек, Набери цветочков у ручья, Подари мне свеженький веночек.

А когда журчащий ручеёк Перед нами на дорогу прянет, Башмачки сниму я, а венок Сохраню, пока он не завянет. /Федор Сологуб

Look at those clogs! How comfortable and nimble they are to walk in! The heels are high and thin! Isn't that a nice piece of jewelry? To make me look all dressed up And you'd like it, my friend, Pick some flowers by the brook

Give me a fresh wreath. And when the babbling brook When the babbling brook is on the road in front of us, I'll take off my shoes, but I'll keep the wreath. I'll keep it till it withers. / Fyodor Sologub

#русская поэзия

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badly-drawn-doflamingo · 4 months

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Y’all think brook ever like, if a crew member gets sick, he just, panics?

Yorki died of some ‘unknown’ thing, [ it looks like a certain kind of blood/fluid transmitted sickness that withers and causes spotting, but who knows with Oda.]

Of course Brook would probably be very very afraid of any illness period, especially of someone he loves. What a poor thing he is…

#brook #one piece #character study #calico Yorki

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palindrome-alt · 4 months

Text

Kieran Snippet (12.30.2023)

Pulling a chunk of obsidian flake from his satchel, he looked about for a good rock. Nothing too sharp, nor heavy, something sturdy enough to fleck the edges of his blade in the making.

Following the riverbed, he opted to remain alongside the pebbles so to keep his boots clean.

Conifer trees reached heights way above the brook he trailed, encroaching on the corners, greedy for space. Sharp needles poked out as teeth trying to snare his sleeves for refusing to walk in the shallows where crayfish and dewbugs skittered.

It was unusual, seeing these creatures.

There were no Pokemon here.

Much like you, they seemed missing from the surrounding wilds that eerily stayed quiet and chilling, unlike the forests he'd once snuck off to when he was a boy. He thought he was alone then. Now he hears the starving silence.

Now he knows what alone really is.

He knows what he did. You were friends. You were the only person in the world who would willingly throw themself directly into the portal bent on consuming him for his hubris, after he spent years clawing his way into Paldea's center like a monster that belonged in that hell crater. You took his place, and then you left him behind. All he wanted was a means to one up you, that whole time.

You wanted for nothing. The world willingly offered it up to you as he withered, always neglected. Always empty. He grew up, he grew old. It passed him by agonizingly slow. His hair unkempt and wild, he'd slice off with his new knife. Having been stuck in that lab for so long, he'd lost track of time and forgotten about the hair that almost dragged along the scattered documents strewn across the floor. Researcher, he'd studied at various universities for years. Anything for a scrap of knowledge. It was all just a ruse. His yellow slits for eyes should have blown his cover. Hands littered with white scars. He got them before he came here, long before, but he'd earned more after tearing through the fabric of reality with a broken machine to travel here. Now they were fresh, now they were aggravated. These hands have grasped and pulled at things they never should have ripped out of your hold. How they have betrayed you. The other world. It beckoned to him like his own once called to you. He didn't know. How could he? You never told him. You never acted like anything had been amiss. You were just so happy to be alive that he couldn't see what was wrong. What was different about you. Why everything insidious felt pulled to you like a magnet. Why he felt pulled to you with such fervor. Two sides of the same coin. Heads and tails. If this harsh world could birth something as pure as you, then surely even his gentle upbringing could spawn something as vile as him.

How something in him snapped at how you weren't satisfied, though you won against him in every category. Looking down at his reflection in the water, up at the colorless sky, he doesn't recognize the scruffy mass of hair that stares back at him. He feels around in his satchel for what little he has left. You never belonged here. Something beyond you both must've realized that too. But you didn't belong with him, either. Even if he somehow finds you, if he's even on the right continent, in the right place, in the right point of time, there's a chance neither of you can both return home.

Because logically, he knows. That two sides of the same coin can never face each other.

youtube

#pokemon #reader insert #x reader #pokemon universe #kieran x reader #rival kieran #obsessive behavior #isekai #forbidden love #descent into madness #snippet #pokemon x reader #history repeats itself #angst #good and evil #self loathing #Youtube

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mandiemegatron · 7 months

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𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑨 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆

𝑹𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒂 𝒁𝒐𝒓𝒐 𝒙 𝒄𝒊𝒔!𝒇𝒆𝒎 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

♡ 𝑹𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅: 𝑴 18+ 𝑶𝑵𝑳𝒀. // 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 (𝒇𝒆𝒎. 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈), 𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒙.

𝘼/𝙉: 𝙃𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙡 𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨 🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊💖💖💖💖!!!! 𝙎𝙤, 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙈𝙧. 𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙤 𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙬𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙡𝙡, 𝙨𝙤 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙭𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙚 !!! 𝙄 𝙙𝙤 𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙖 𝙃𝙐𝙂𝙀 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙮-𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙖♡ @therion-woods , 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙚!!! 🤭🤭🤭💖💖💖

𝙄 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 !! 💖💖💖💖

𝒁𝒐𝒓𝒐 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒚 ; @baka-tsuki // @baka-tsuki-2 ♡

One drink at the bar.

That was all you promised Zoro, was one goddamn drink.

And here you were, four drinks in and almost leaning on the swordsman, laughing loudly at whatever joke he decided to crack.

His arm rested comfortably around your hip, his large hand cradling your hip bone, a warm thumb brushing over your clothed skin every once in a while. You waved off an irate Sanji, who huffed and puffed at you 'being manhandled by the ugliest runt to ever wander the Grand Line', which caused the green haired man to snap back, his grip on you tightening as he literally pulled you to him, your empty hand pressing against his chest to catch yourself.

Your face burned as you looked up at him, a childish retort falling away from your lips as he turned to stare back, his earrings slightly swaying at his head snapping to look down at you.

It went quiet in your head, your eyes seemingly locked together until Nami's voice shattered the stillness, her teasing tone ringing out,

"Geez, get a room already!"

Usopp and Brook let out a loud, "OooOoo!" which caused Zoro to glare at them before he grabbed your hand from his chest and began dragging you away, angry puffs of smoke seeming to rise from his head as you walked away from the now laughing group.

Zoro was murmuring to himself, dragging you to wherever his terrible sense of direction decided was best and surprisingly, you came out to the open blues, the Thousand Sunny resting peacefully at the dock. Gentle waves crashed into the shoreline, filling the air with calm, which you assumed was why Zoro came this way.

"Huh. I was definitely trying to get to the other bar," he muttered, clearly confused as his free hand scratched the top of his head.

Your mouth dropped open in utter surprise and shock, unable to believe the words that came out of his mouth.

"You mean the one that was BESIDE the one we were in?!"

He turned to you, an almost horrified shocked look on his face as he shouted back,

"It was BESIDE us?!"

You snapped back,

"YES, YOU FUCKING BROKEN LOGPOSE!"

He gave a sharp "Oi!" in response before taking you back the way you both came. You rolled your eyes with a loud groan and tightened your grip, glad you weren't so tipsy you couldn't walk or navigate easily.

"You never cease to amaze me, Zo," you commented lightly, throwing him a withering look over your shoulder to which he pouted the second you turned back, going back to muttering under his breath.

"You better not say anything," he bit out, causing you to raise an eyebrow at him before you laughed out,

"As if I need to. Everyone knows you'd get lost in a paper bag if you had the chance."

He stopped walking, pulling you towards him as he moved you to an alley, not too far from the first bar the rest of the crew was drinking dry.

Pressing your back against the brick building, he stared down at you, his cheeks tinted pink as he grumbled down at you,

"You don't know shit."

You laughed, realizing he was probably a little tipsy, at least enough to be so close to you. He always seemed to be nervous around you when he was sober, almost anxious whenever your hand brushed over his shoulder or his head when you passed him.

He was nothing like that now.

His hands rested on your shoulders, almost a little too tight as he asked,

"... why are you blushing?"

You chuckled weakly and rolled your eyes, giving him a cheeky look through thick lashes as your murmured softly,

"I don't know, maybe it's 'cause I've been thinking about something like this happening for a long time."

The second the words left you, you froze and a small squeak of embarrassment left you as you covered your face, unable to look at him.

Zoro choked on his breath, staring you down with a wide eye before his expression changed into an almost predatory one, sending shivers over your entire form.

Staring you down like a starved man, Zoro rose his eyebrow, a slow smirk washing over his face as he asked,

"You've wanted this for how long?"

Your face dropped, cheeks burning red at your accidental blubbering. You shook your head with a slightly nervous laugh, waving him away with a lazy hand as you responded,

"I don't know what you're talking about."

A heavy hand landed roughly on the wall behind your head, his bulky frame seeming to tower over you and cage you in. You froze, eyes wide as you stared up at him as he nearly purred out,

"If you think I'm going to play stupid, you're wrong."

A shaky breath left you as his other hand came up to cradle your cheek, a rough padded thumb brushing over your soft skin almost as if you'd shatter under his touch. Your eyes fell shut, your head tilting slightly to lean into his touch as your hands slowly moved up his chest.

Zoro sucked in a harsh breath, holding it as your gentle hands moved over his toned, scarred chest, his stomach twisting and flipping around as your fingers traced over his scar from Mihawk.

He didn't know why he felt so compelled to kiss you, but before he could question himself, he moved in and his lips were pressed against yours, his hand gliding from your face to grip your hair at the base of your head. He tilts your head back and his tongue runs along your lips, begging for entrance which you give willingly, pulling a low groan from the swordsman.

Your hands move up to the back of his neck, your fingers pressing into the base of his head and down his neck, pulling another sound of pleasure from Zoro as your magic digits pulled all the anxiety from his muscles. He pulled away to nip and suck at the side of your throat, your head falling back and you grunt in pain as your head hits rough brick.

Zoro pulled away to raise an eyebrow at you, smirking to himself before he murmured, "Stupid."

You couldn't even respond, his lips immediately returning to your neck and leaving small marks over your skin. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, keeping you from hitting brick again as his other hand gripped your ass, his thigh sliding between your legs and grinding up against your warmth. Zoro moaned against your skin, his breathing shaky as he groaned out,

"Gods, I can feel how soaked you are,"

Your breath hitched, eyes rolling back at the ecstatic feeling of pleasure running over you. You unconsciously humped against his leg slightly, moaning softly when he moved up into you.

"Desperate, aren't you?" He murmured in your ear before he easily flipped you around, your ass pressing into his very evident boner as he gently moved your hands to the rough brick.

Ripping your shirt off, he handed it to you and instructed you with a husky voice to hold it to the wall, keeping your palms from scratching and bruising. You stared at the fabric before staring up at him with wide eyes, trying not to freak out.

"Zo…. This was Nami's."

The swordsman's face fell, a look of fear crossing it as he stared at the ruined fabric, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally shrugged and replied,

"Shit happens."

You went to reply but one of his hands snaked around your front, immediately shoving down the front of your yoga pants and cupping your sex. He groaned with a wide grin, his forehead resting against your shoulder as you gave a low moan, reveling in his touch.

Two of his fingers pressed over your soaked slit, his lips grinning against your skin at the sounds he pulled from you.

"I've barely touched you and you're already this soaked," he mumbles, pressing hot kisses to your skin as one finger traces around your clit. Once again you unconsciously move against him, your ass pressing into his clothed cock as one of his fingers finally slides into you.

Your mouth falls open, an almost silent plea for him not to stop leaving you which he happily obliged. He sucked a few more marks onto your skin, smirking to himself at the constellations he marred you with, a sense of pride filling him at the sounds that came from you. A second finger fell into you and you nearly came then and there, thankfully for his other hand that gently slapped over your mouth to keep you from being too loud.

"Tsk, come on princess, you know better," he purred in your ear, his ego growing three sizes at seeing your eyes roll back simply at his fingers.

He curled his fingers and you came, almost falling against him as your body twitched, one of your hands moving from the brick to grip around his forearm as much as you could to try and stop him.

You couldn't.

A high pitched whine fell from you as he kept going, feeling a strange pressure and you almost yelped at the sudden gush that came from you. Zoro pulled you tight to his chest, his breathing erratic and eye wide as he realized what he just made you do.

"Do that again," he demanded roughly, his pace picking up slightly as he pounded into you. It didn't take long, warmth gushing over his fingers and pulling a soft, breathy laugh from him. He finally stilled, two fingers still squished inside your now throbbing cunt and you were able to catch your breath, eyes opening to stare up at a very pleased looking Zoro.

"I want to make you do that over and over," he admitted with a sharky grin, slowly pulling his hand from your pants. He stared down at his soaked hand and gave a shaky sigh, eye closing as he licked your juices from his palm and fingers, your face burning bright red at the sight. When he was satisfied, he grinned down at you again and whispered,

"Let's go back to the ship."

You threw the ruined shirt back on and grunted softly at how it hung off your bra-covered chest. You hummed for a moment before daisy-duke tying it, the knot sitting in the middle of your breasts comfortably. You then looked up at him with a grin of your own, gripping his hand into yours as you leaned up into a quick kiss, your heart racing as he kissed you back feverishly.

He frowned when you pulled away, tugging you closer to him as you began to lead him back towards the ship.

"I think this time though, you should let me have a little taste," you teased, falling in step with him. Your words caused a fire to rage inside him, and he immediately threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your shout of indignation, and the second the Sunny was in view, he raced towards the ship.

Tagging requested // @honeysworld-offanfiction ♡ 🤭🤭💖💖

#mandies mumbles ; fanfics #One Piece #Roronoa Zoro #one piece #op zoro #roronoa Zoro #ok to rb #op fic #🤭🤭🤭🤭💖💖💖💖💖

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cordonianroyalairlines · 8 months

Text

Turbulence

Series: Cordonian Royal Airlines

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for series: Various

Pairing for this chapter: Riley x Drake

Word Count: 1,534

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language, sexual innuendo, and mature humor. Barley lemon scented.

A/N: See the series master list for a description of this series.

Also, this is a submission for @choicesprompts Smutember prompt event: We shouldn't be doing this....

“So, what’s up with you and Riley?”

“What do you mean?”

Captain Liam Rys turned to regard his first officer with a raised eyebrow, “What do you mean what do I mean? You two have been dancing around each other since the day she started working here.”

“Exactly,” Drake shook his head, “She works here. I don’t shit where I eat, Li, you know that.”

“Uh huh…” Liam replied dubiously as he returned his attention to the instrument panel and requested permission to take off.

Out in the cabin, flight attendant Riley Brooks was instructing the passengers of Cordonian Royal Airlines Flight 628 to put their seat backs in the upright position and fasten their seatbelts.

Maxwell shuffled up and down the aisle helping people stow their carry-ons in the overhead compartments.

As they buckled themselves into the jump seats, Maxwell lowered his voice so the passengers wouldn’t overhear, “So has he asked you out yet or what?”

“Who?”

“Come on, Ri. You know who. First Officer McSteamy!”

“Please,” she huffed, “That uptight, pig-headed, annoying asshole?”

“That’s the one,” he smirked, “I saw him checking you out when we boarded.”

“Really?” She perked up.

“Really,” Max supplied, “Not that you’re interested….”

“Of course not,” she slid her eyes sidewise at him, “But like how was he checking me out? Like oh, she’s cute or like, you know…”

“Oh, definitely you know!”

“Hm,” Riley leaned back in her seat, her eyes scanning the cabin for any signs of issues she needed to attend to as a slight smile played across her lips.

An hour into the flight, Max was dealing with an overbearing guest.

Riley scooted over to help, recognizing him, “Be nice,” she whispered to Max, “He’s a regular.”

“Yeah, a regular pain in the ass!” Max grunted a little too loudly.

“How dare you!” The man turned beet red, “I demand to speak to the captain!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that won’t be possible, we don’t-“

“Actually,” Riley interrupted him, “For you, Mr. Lambros, I think we can make an exception!”

“We can?” Max turned to her in astonishment.

“Thank you, my dear,” the annoying passenger gloated, “and you can call me Tariq.” He shot a withering look at Max, “You can’t.”

“Whatever,” Max huffed under his breath as Riley pulled him down the aisle.

Once out of Tariq’s hearing, she hissed in his ear, “I’m going to send Liam out here and you’re going to make sure he stays out here for like, five minutes, okay?”

“Why, Riley? Why would-“ his eyes widened, “Oh! You want a minute alone with Drake! Wait, only five?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, I’m not fucking him in the cockpit! I just want a few minutes alone for a…conversation.”

“Yeah, right,” Max laughed as he shooed her toward the cockpit door, “Go on then, have your conversation…”

She shook her head as she made her way to the cockpit, pausing outside the door to adjust her clothing and run her fingers through her hair. She pushed the door open, “Captain?”

Liam looked over his shoulder, “I told you, call me Liam. What is it, Riley?”

“We have a disgruntled passenger who’s demanding to speak to you.”

“You know we don’t normally-“

“I know, but it’s Mr. Lambros and you know how he gets…”

Liam heaved a deep sigh. Tariq and his company spent an ungodly amount of money on flights, and they couldn’t afford to lose his business, “Okay, fine.” He flipped a few switches quickly and then stood.

He paused to officially pass control of the flight deck over, “You have the flight controls.”

“I have the flight controls,” Drake answered.

Liam nodded at Riley on his way out the door. She smiled at him but didn’t move.

Dake glanced up at her, “Can I help you with something else?”

“Yes,” she took Liam’s seat, “You can tell me why you run so hot and cold.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Listen, Riley, I like you but-“

“Oh, you like me? Like a friend?”

“Yes, I’m on friendly terms with the entire crew-“

She snorted, “You’re not friendly with anyone, Drake!”

“I…what?” He wanted to be annoyed but inexplicably, it bothered him that she thought he wasn’t friendly.

“I mean it’s pretty common knowledge that you can be a dick.”

He turned in his chair to face her incredulously, “I am not a dick!”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“That’s…I’m not….since when-“

“It’s okay. I was just curious why you are sometimes uncharacteristically friendly with me, specifically, but if you don’t like me-“

“I never said I didn’t like you!” He snapped.

“And I told you…actions speak louder than-“

Her words were cut off as she found herself suddenly and firmly yanked across the divide between the two seats and into his arms. His lips crashed into hers with an intensity that took her breath away.

She leaned into him, returning the kiss for all she was worth. Her hands landed on his chest, his hands grasped her at the small of her back and tugged her closer.

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” he panted even as he drew her into his lap, his lips trailing down her neck, finding their way into the cleavage that peeked enticingly out from the form-fitting uniform that hugged her curves, setting them off to quite remarkable effect.

“You’re right,” she pulled away and stood up, “We shouldn’t be doing this. Wouldn’t want to ruin a perfectly good working relationship, now would we?”

“What?” his hands reached out for her, but she was already out of reach, “Riley, wait!”

“No, that’s okay, you’ve made your position quite clear.”

“That’s not what I-“

She paused at the door, throwing a smoldering look over her shoulder, “See you tonight at the hotel?”

“Yes…” he watched as she left, head spinning. What had she meant by ‘see you at the hotel’? Had she meant that in a general sense as in see you around? Or was it an invitation for something? And if so, what?

He only knew two things for sure. One, he didn’t date coworkers. It was a bad idea. Two, he was absolutely going to find her at the hotel tonight.

“Gah!” Why was she so goddamned frustrating? He slammed his head forward into the instrument panel. The plane immediately dropped altitude, diving toward the ground as the oxygen masks deployed in the cabin. “Oh, shit!” He frantically worked to right the plane as passengers screamed.

Out in the cabin, Liam had just gotten Tariq settled down and happy again. Max was on his way to serve the now mollified guest a bottle of their best wine when the plane jolted down and to the right with a loud thud. People slammed into walls, luggage poured from overhead compartments and Max tripped forward, grappling with the already-opened bottle as he tried to regain control. It was to no avail. He watched with horror as the bottle flew, in seeming slow motion, out of his hands and directly toward their most difficult customer.

Tariq’s eyes widened as the liquid sloshed out of the top of the bottle in midair, spewing wildly and covering him in outrageously expensive, vintage red wine. “You did that on purpose!” He screeched as he jumped out of his seat.

“Please remain seated and fasten your seatbelts!” Riley called from the front of the plane as she caught herself on the wall, “Just a little turbulence!”

Liam frantically tried to make his way back to the cockpit, but Tariq was blocking the aisle, demanding Max be fired while Max ineffectively wiped at the spreading stain with a cocktail napkin.

Tariq’s face had gone a deep shade of crimson, “Captain Liam, I demand that he be reprimanded!”

“Move you jackass!” Liam yelled as he shoved the man aside in desperation to make it back to the flight deck.

By the time Liam crashed through the cockpit door, the plane was righted, and Drake was on the intercom doing damage control, “Just a little unexpected turbulence. We apologize for the momentary roughness, but it should be clear skies and smooth sailing from here on out.”

“What the fuck was that?” Liam demanded as he retook his seat and started double-checking everything on the instrument panel, just to be sure.

“Turbulence,” Drake answered but he didn’t make eye contact and his face was red.

The door creaked open, and Riley stuck her head in, “Is everything okay in here? Drake was that because-“

“Everything is fine,” he yelled, “It was turbulence! Please return to your duty station crew member!”

Liam’s eyes flicked from Drake to Riley and back again. A broad smile spread across his face as Riley backed out of the cockpit, “Oh, I see. Turbulence….” Liam relaxed back into his seat; all his panic washed away as understanding settled over him.

“Shut up,” Drake still wasn’t looking at him.

“Turbulence never looked so good,” Liam chuckled as he updated the flight log and triple-checked the instrument panel.

Drake shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then glanced at his watch with a sigh. It was going to be a very long flight.

#cordonianroyalairlines #trr au #trr fanfic #liam rys #drake walker #riley brooks #maxwell beaumont

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