#dark!Feysand smut

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!Feysand x human!reader: Tag, you’re it - Part 2[***]

A/N: Do you like my cookies? They’re made just for you. A little bit of sugar, but lots of poison, too.

Warnings: noncon, smut, mention of whips, kind of sex-slave things?, mentions of rape, impact play, face-sitting, suffocation, fingering

Word Count: 5,444

Your eyes snap open, instantly scrambling back at the sound of the key in the lock.

The gate swings open, allowing your self-appointed mistress to step inside, her feet silent on the wooden floor, bathed in a thick, dark red rug. Like blood-soaked moss.

The iron bars dig into your spine as you whimper, pushing yourself into the corner, where the metal meets the plaster of the wall. Your legs curl up to your front, arms hugging your knees tight as you try to tuck yourself into a tiny ball.

“Sweetness, stop doing that,” she tuts, standing at the entrance to your cage, situated near the end of their bed. “It’s been weeks. You know we aren’t going to hurt you,” she reasons, arms folding across her chest as she stares down at your cowering form.

Sometimes you’re lucky, and they’ll allow you to stay in your cage as they couple, forcing you to watch as they enjoy one another. Other times, you’re dragged from your confines kicking and screaming, until one of them inevitably takes your mouth for themself.

“If you mean me no harm, let me go,” you rasp, throat still raw from the night before. You’d kicked off just a little too hard, which landed you a night with the High Lord. And Rhysand, plus the chains and whips he’d subjected you to, wasn’t something you wanted to be reacquainted with anytime soon.

Her brow narrows, lips pursing.

Then she’s walking toward you, eating up the distance in a few quick strides, and you press yourself tighter into the corner. Your padded shackles clink as they drag across the rug.

She squats down just a way from you, making you squirm beneath her piercing blue-grey eyes. “What’s this about, hm? You were doing so well,” she muses, peering at you intently. “What happened?”

Fear and anger pump through your blood, hugging yourself tighter. “You murdered by husband, Feyre,” you snap, vision blurring at the memory. “You murdered, and raped, and stole,” you snarl, tears brimming at your lashes as you glare at her.

Her own brows narrow, a mix of pain and fury in her eyes as she stares at you, hard. Then, “your husband, as you call him,” she says icily, “was a rapist. A rapist, and a coward. We saved you from him.”

“But I didn’t need saving! I didn’t want saving!” You cry, nails digging into your knees as you keep yourself balled tight.

“He was ruining you,” she snarls lowly. “He wasn’t good for you. Couldn’t provide for you. He only wanted you so he could have a wife.” She pushes forward then, gripping you by the jaw as your eyes lock with hers, intent and piercing. “A pretty, little trophy. The Mother knows you’re the best thing that ever happened to him. He knew that too,” she growls, lips brushing over your own. “Every damn person could see it. You were too good for him.”

You squirm in her grip, trying to jerk away, but she’s so powerful and strong you can never hope to escape. “I. Love. Him.”

“He’s dead,” she snarls back, pulling you closer. “He is dead, mutilated, and buried. Dumped in the ground for the worms to feed on him. What’s left of him.”

“And I still love him more than you,” you spit back.

You know you’ve found your mark when she goes still, features leeching of colour, turning a ghostly shade of white. Fury glitters in her blue-grey eyes, icy rage surfacing, sealing over.

“We were friends, Feyre,” you continue on. “You were the closest I have ever been with someone, and now you keep me in a cage.” Her jaw tightens, but she says nothing. Just staring at you with that fury that has nowhere to go. “You can say what you like about him. Keep telling yourself those lies,” you breathe, nails piercing your skin. “Maybe you think he was ruining me, that he was tearing me apart, but you’re the one who caused me to be like this. You. Are. My ruination.”

The smack comes out of nowhere.

One moment you’re staring into her eyes, and the next your head is snapped to the side, cheek stinging with pain. Vision blurs and tears fall, unable to stop them, no matter how hard you try.

“You will either learn to love us,” she grits out, a cold fire burning in her gaze. “Or you will continue on like this. If you’ll be so stubborn as to waste away over that miserable wretch, then so be it. Drown in your grief.” Again she grips your jaw, crescent shapes surely indented in your skin by now. “But don’t come crying to me when you become so damaged even we won’t tolerate it.”

The moment the words are out of her mouth, regret flashes in her eyes. Pain flares in her gaze, and you feel that final thread be snipped off. The final string connecting a woven tapestry, split into two.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, eyes widening. “I didn’t… You know I didn’t mean that…” She cups your cheeks, staring pleadingly. “Sweetness, forgive me.” She presses her forehead to yours, touching you so gently, reverently, as if you really will shatter.

You jerk away, landing a kick to her stomach, but it merely bumps her away a little—always so much stronger than you. “You’re just like him,” you spit, pushing every ounce of betrayal and hurt you can muster into you eyes. “No, worse. This is so much worse than anything Tamlin ever did to you.”

It’s not a physical smack to the face, but it might as well have been.

Her eyes again grow cold at the mention of her past lover, lip curling. “I am nothing like him,” she snarls, gripping your shoulders.

“Aren’t you?” You snap back, kicking off again—you might be able to get through to her. “Keeping me locked up? Trying to make me dependant on you? Taking away my autonomy?” You spit at her, each word seemingly knocking a brick from that wall. “At least he never raped you.”

The final brick falls, but it doesn’t bring the aid you had hoped for. Instead fury crushes down on you, ire blazing in her eyes, hot like steel fresh from a forge.

You’re thrown to the floor, breath knocking from your lungs, air wheezing from your lips as your head hits the rug with too much force. Your eyes fly wide, paralysed as your stomach spasms with the strength of the shove.

“And here I thought a night with Rhys would have fixed that attitude of yours,” she says icily, walking over to your shackled body. “Where did that come from, huh? You were never so easily agitated before.” She stalks over to you, staring down at your winded body, muscles struggling to move. “Maybe we’re being too soft on you,” she muses, making your blood run cold. “Maybe we need to take a rougher, more absolute approach to breaking you in.”

Feyre’s deft fingers fly to the band of her leggings, pushing them down her thighs, over her calves and off her ankles, leaving her in her shirt and underwear. She steps over your head, looking down your body as you attempt to wriggle away. “It seems the only time you’re at all like your old self is when you’ve got something to do with that lovely mouth of yours,” she growls, squatting over you. Even with your human senses, you can scent her arousal from how close she is.

You squirm away, but she drops down, placing her cunt over your mouth, sealing it shut with her weight. “Much better,” she purrs, thighs spreading as she rolls her hips, clit rubbing over your lips. “You’re so much more enjoyable when you’re just a place for my pussy. So well behaved.”

The High Lady’s hands bury in your dress, and you shriek and squirm as she pulls the fabric away, up to your waist, baring you to her. You squeeze your thighs shut in attempts to hide yourself—they didn’t allow you to wear underwear. That would give you too much dignity. They want you ready at any time.

You twist your head to the side but she shifts her hips, squeezing you with her calves to keep you upright, so she can rub and roll over you to her pleasure. “I think you need the fight beaten out of you. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?” Her hand smacks down between your legs, and you scream—with pain and surprise.

Again, you try to squeeze your legs closed, but bands of darkness tug on the shackles attached to your ankles, wrapping up the iron and looping beneath your knees. Forcing your thighs open.

She brings her hand down again, catching your clit beneath bone, and you whimper into her heat. The wet fabric settles over your features, dampening your lips and nose as she grinds onto you, pleasuring herself to your pain. She smacks again, and tears fall.

Feyre doesn’t stop. Spank after spank is landed to your soft, tender sex, until slick is attaching to her fingertips, connecting them to your cunt by thin threads of slippery silver. She snarls with feminine satisfaction, delighting in the way your thighs tremble, how your chest is rapidly rising up and down with your muffled cries. Her middle and forth finger slide down, spreading you wide as she leans down your body, shifting her weight over your face.

The two fingers press to your sopping entrance, before pushing inside, roughly. Sliding up to her knuckles.

She’s pleased when you whimper, nosing at her sopping entrance as you try to squirm away.

“You say you hate us, yet you get this wet from a few harsh touches, sweet thing?” She croons, indulging in the obscene squishing sounds your cunt is making as she slides her fingers in and out. You only whimper, refusing to bow to her will.

Her fingers retract from your cunt, smacking down again, and you scream, jerking violently as the sting lances up your thighs. She lifts up onto her knees, gripping your jaw with the fingers that were just inside of you, arousal smearing your skin. “Come on, sweetness. Tell the truth, for once,” she snarls, lips lifting in a feral grin. “Such a pretty liar.”

Your nose scrunches in distaste, tears rolling back through your hair as she keeps you trapped beneath her cunt, pinned to the rug. “I hate you,” you spit out instead. “I will never love you,” you say, wetness blurring your vision as your chest heaves with sobs.

Her lip pulls back from her teeth as the undersides of her feet slide beneath your head, pulling you up into her cunt as she locks you in, squeezing tight. She releases you long enough for her underwear to vanish, before she’s shoving you back in, wet heat pressing onto you, slicking your mouth and nose.

Again her hand smacks down, and you can’t help the way your lips part in a muffled scream, hands grasping at her as you try to escape, but she pulls you tighter. Can’t breathe.

You sting between your legs, tears spilling as she continues abusing that tender, intimate part of you, pain searing into your tummy as he smacks down on your raw, swollen clit. The world spins a little and you need air, you need to breathe—

Warm, strong hands are pushing her off you, carefully.

You gasp for breath, falling back into the ready arms as cries continue to wrack your body, lungs spasming from the intensity.

Rhysand pulls you to his chest, your back to his front as you shiver and sob, giving you strength to fall into as your own fails you.

Feyre growls in the back of her throat, shifting slowly to face her mate. “Give her to me.”

The words alone drag whimpers from your lips, the little strength you have being used to push yourself back into the male, scrambling into his cruel arms. Arms that are currently holding you so delicately compared to the iron grip she’d just had you in.

You’d always known she was a huntress. Always’d had that slightly wild edge to her, the part that was well-acquainted with cold winters and brutal slaughters. It was different actually facing that part, though. Having it turned on you.

You scramble back further, hands pressing onto the tops of his thighs as you leverage yourself. He’s crouching down, hunching over you possessively. Not quite protective, but not offering you up, either. A strange combination indeed.

Soft, hot lips press to your temple, and you whimper, not having the energy to shift away from him. “I thought she was ours, Feyre, darling,” he purrs, holding you a little tighter to his body. “I’m getting a little jealous over all your time together.”

“Rhys,” she snarls, moving closer.

You snatch your legs in, flinching away from her, curling into the High Lord.

Both of them mark the movement, noting the significance.

You just chose him over her.

Tears spill down your cheeks as you shuffle away from her, burying into Rhysand, burrowing into his warmth and strength. Violet eyes gleam with interest at the pressure you’re creating, as if you want to crawl inside of him, nestle beneath his skin.

“I think you need to calm down,” he says softly but firmly, watching his mate. “You’re scaring her.”

Her brow narrows, but she pauses. “You’re being too soft on her,” she accuses lowly, letters dragging from her tongue. “She’ll never come around if you keep allowing her to sway you like that.” Rhys doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash, hand moving to stroke your hair, as if calming a pet. Strangely, it works.

“You think I’m being soft on her?” He repeats, attention dropping to you, between his thighs. His hand lightly grips your throat, spanning your neck and jaw, allowing him to tip your head back. “Do you think I’m being too soft on you, little lynx?” He asks, violet eyes piercing into your tear-filled ones hungrily.

You shake your head. “No, Rhys,” you whimper, lower lip wobbling, and he feels your heartbeat spike beneath his fingers. He makes a low sound of approval in his throat, eyes flicking back to Feyre’s. “See? So polite,” he drawls, squeezing a little tighter. “So well trained.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Feyre snarls, glowering at the two of you. “If you don’t punish her when she misbehaves, she’ll know she can use that in the future. Are you listening to me?”

His violet eyes have latched onto yours, brows curved upward, expression tired and pleading. He groans in the back of his throat, tightening his hold on you, fingers pressing against your pulse point, pushing tears from the edges of your lashes. “What about you, Feyre, darling?” He asks, gripping your chin so you’re forced to face her. “How would you fair if she gave you those pretty bedroom eyes?”

Blue-grey locks onto your bright, tear-filled gaze and she stiffens.

Rhysand hums. “Thought so.”

Feyre narrows her eyes at her mate. “I don’t like it when she mouths off like that.”

“Well, how about fixing those misconceptions instead of punishing her for them, hm?” He counters, returning to stroking your hair, liking how your sobs subside beneath his touch. “You want to encourage her behaviour?” She snaps irritably, prowling forward a little, making you tense up in his hold.

A low laugh rumbles from his chest at that, but he continues petting you, allowing you to start softening beneath him. “I think our previous method clearly isn’t working. Or rather, it’s worked enough so that now we’re going softer on it, she’ll know the difference. Isn’t that right, little lynx?” You blink bright, gleaming eyes at him, and he smiles.

“If we’re both more gentle with you…would you like that?” He asks, softly stroking your skin. You manage to blink away your tears, getting a hold on your wobbly lower lip. Then you give a near imperceptible dip of your head.

Violet flicks smugly to blue-grey, and you shiver in his arms, wondering what you just signed up for.

“So, we compromise?” She says, drawing your attention to her. “Is that what you want, sweetness? We’ll be more careful with your frail self, and…what? You’ll stop being so difficult?”

“You killed my husband,” you hiss out, weakly. “And you’re upset about me being—”

Faster than you can register, Rhys’ hand has slipped between your thighs. You tense, bracing for another smack that will have a fresh wave of tears surfacing, but instead he softly touches the pad of his finger to your sopping entrance, dragging back up your centre to gently roll over your puffy clit, gliding across the taut bud with ease.

A quiet moan spills from your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut, toes curling as he plays with you. Heat washes over your body, and you hate how you’re reacting to him. How you’re stumbling straight into his lap.

“We’ll be more careful, and she’ll fall open for us,” Rhysand murmurs, smug grin on his curved lips, enjoying how you’re melting at his fingertips. “Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

You try to think it over. Them being more gentle with you means no more nights with the High Lord and his whips. No more biting and unending pleasure torment. Your eyes flick away, dropping to the rug. What if this is the best deal they’ll offer you? What if this is the best it gets? It seems like a way to escape their torture. At least, in a way.

Rhysand hums with satisfaction as your head dips, shame warming your cheeks—because you’re considering it. Considering bargaining with them.

“Either way,” he drawls, hands sliding beneath your arms, pulling you up with him as he stands. You whimper, the intimate area between your legs aching, vision blurring at the edges. “I think you two should do some making up. Isn’t that right, sweetness?” He grips you tightly as he guides you from the cage, toward their large bed. Fear spikes in your blood, and you try to dig your feet into the ground, attempting to push away from the haunting structure.

“Uh, uh, uh,” the High Lord tuts, stopping behind you. “I thought you were going to be good for us.” Darkness swirls at your feet, humming and lulling, imploring you to follow his movements. Your toes curl, pressing back into him. “This is wrong…” you whimper, trembling beneath his hands.

You try to turn, and he lets you, keeping a light grip on your hips. “This isn’t right, Rhys,” you say softly, peering up at him pleadingly. He takes a step forward, and you obediently yield. Take a subconscious step back. “What isn’t? What are right and wrong, really?” He counters, taking another sweeping step forward, and you’re aware of the bed closing in on you.

“This,” you say, emphasising as you flick your gaze over him. “I don’t—… How else can I make it clear?” You cry. “I don’t want this. Either of you. I never have. Not like this.” The mattress presses against the back of your thighs, and you stiffen. Your time is up.

He takes a final step forward, so you’re tight against him, hips digging into you, chest to chest, craning your neck upward. “I think you’re lying, again.” And with that, he’s grabbing you by the waist, lifting you up and tossing you onto the mattress with terrifying ease. You squirm and scramble but darkness has already constrained you, tying you to their bed as hunger darkens his violet eyes.

“Like I said, I think you two need a little make up session. Get nice and messy,” he purrs, prowling round the bed, only to settle behind you. His arms wrap over your tummy, pulling you back into him, so you can feel the firm hardness of his length. You writhe, attempting to contort away from his dominating hold.

A secret conversation passes between the High Lord and Lady, then she’s slinking forward, pushing your legs open. You whimper, squirming away in fear of what she’s going to do to you. You’re so sore and sensitive…

“Behave,” she snaps, brow narrowing at you in silent reprimand. Rhys snarls in warning, but she snarls back. Blue-grey eyes flick from his in favour of yours, and you shrink away, a whine building in your throat as they pierce into you. “Feyre…” you plead softly. You need her to be gentle, or…

Something in her features softens, and she uses a slight bit less force as she spreads your legs, baring your gleaming heat to her. “Want me to be careful, sweet thing?” She asks lowly, the pads of her fingers pressing into your thighs. Your lower lip wobbles, but you nod, slowly. “Not going to get in my way? Not going to try and stop me?” She drawls, settling comfortably on the bed, mouth prone to attack your clit. You shake your head, muscles tensing the closer she draws.

“No? You’re going to let yourself enjoy it, this time?” She purrs, hot breath brushing over your heat. It’s her own sort of test—to see if you’re really willing to compromise. So you nod, dutifully, praying for forgiveness.

Her eyes spark, locking on yours as she delivers a small lick to your inner thigh, nipping at the skin. Rhys hardens further at your back. “Say it. Tell me you’ll enjoy it. Say how you like it when we do this to you.” Again, there’s a warning growl from Rhys, and your heart drops.

Feyre’s lips quirk, and she moves a little closer to your heat, a wolf circling in on her prey. “Go on,” she goads, “tell me how much you want me.”

“Feyre…” the High Lord warns, her name ripping from the back of his throat. “I thought you wanted us to make up, Rhys,” she snaps, “these are my terms. Either she can accept them, or…” She leans forward, lips latching over your heat so he’s unable to see as her teeth tug on your clit.

You flinch, whimpering, but push your legs wider. “I…” you stammer, softly, hands fisting over your stomach, still slumped against Rhys. “I’ll enjoy it,” you whimper, thighs shaking with the effort of not trying to close them. “I won’t— I won’t try to stop you. And I…” you swallow, arriving upon the hardest part. Tears blur your vision, but you blink them away. “And I like it when you do this to me. I want it.”

Rhys’ hips roll into you, grinding the hardness of his cock into your backside, groaning softly. Feyre’s eyes gleam with delicious satisfaction, removing her teeth from your sensitive skin, licking gently over your slick heat. “That’s better,” she says, kissing your clit softly.

You whimper, trying to ignore your words as they replay in your head, bringing one hand to your mouth, knuckles pressing over your lips. It’s an effort to keep your thighs spread with how sensitive you are, but you don’t have a choice in the matter. She’s lapping and licking, gentle flicks of her tongue sending warm zaps of arousal to your centre.

The High Lord noses your neck, hot lips brushing the sensitive skin as he moans quietly, a lustful exhale of breath. “What lovely things would you say for us, hm?” He asks, canines scraping the shell of your ear. “What sweet sounds could you make?”

You shiver in his arms, sorrowfully tipping your head to the side, giving him unrestricted access to your throat. He takes the offer eagerly, mouth attaching to your smooth skin, already sucking bruises into you, teeth scraping as he searches for a spot he wants to bite. Where he wants to stamp his mark into you, to be seen later. Serving as a reminder.

Feyre shifts, tucking her knees beneath her as she slides her fingers into you, the warm, wet muscle in her mouth swiping over your clit, making you bite back a moan. She suckles the taut bud, soothing the stinging from earlier and you push your teeth into your knuckles.

The High Lord sees, and doesn’t approve.

His hand grips your wrist, pulling it from your mouth as she curls her fingers against a certain spot. A high-pitched whine spills from your lips, and he finally bites down, canines pressing into the soft skin of your throat, printing his mark on you. “Don’t hide those sounds from us,” he scolds, roughly yanking your hand from your mouth.

You attempt to seal your lips, clenching your jaw shut, but they have other plans.

Rhys tugs your dress higher, darkness swirling around your bodice, then it vanishes. You squeal, attempting to cover yourself with your arms. Even now, even after all these times, you hate it. He shoves your hands away, tutting softly, “now, now. You said you’d be good. Or shall I let Feyre have free reign for the night?”

You sob weakly, coil tightening in your belly, resisting the urge to cover yourself, spreading yourself wider in attempts to make up for it. Feyre nips at your clit, and you hiss. The taut bud is sore and swollen, puffy from attention, every flick of her tongue sending sparks burning between your legs.

“Mm sorry…” you manage, opening yourself up to the senses, the pleasure she’s putting into you. “Yeah? You’re sorry for disobeying? For hiding yourself from us?” He purrs beside your ear, hands cupping your breasts as you squirm against him. He groans as your rear presses against his cock, the seam rubbing against him almost painfully. Deliciously so.

You nod, palms settling over his thighs, needing something to hold on to. “Say it,” he groans roughly. “Say how much you like it. How badly you want us to touch you.” Tears spill, rolling down your cheeks from the torrent of emotions they’re subjecting you to.

“Rhys…” you beg desperately. “Rhys, please…” You don’t want to say it. Don’t want to give them another word. Even if they were once your everything. He raises his fingers to your mouth, pushing them onto your tongue firmly, coating them in saliva. “Say it,” he commands softly, stroking the wet muscle. “Say it, or we’ll have to go back to our old methods.”

His wet digits retract from your lips, brushing over your nipples, making them peak, becoming sensitive to the air. You attempt to crane your head back, but are unable to with him so close behind. “Rhys…” you whimper, tears dripping onto your chest, Feyre eagerly suckling your clit, pumping and curling her fingers against spots she shouldn’t know about.

The High Lord tugs on your nipples, making your eyes squeeze shut, spine arching as your rear presses harder onto his cock, straining against the seam of his trousers. “Say it,” he growls, low in his throat, “say you like it. Tell us you want more.” His teeth scrape over the shell of your ear, and you flinch. “And make it believable.”

Feyre’s tongue swipes over your clit, making you squirm against the pleasure, deft fingers dragging in and out, rubbing against your inner walls.

“I…”

The High Lady adds more pressure between your legs, and your muscles go weak, melting into Rhys’ chest as your eyes roll back. Dizzy with warmth. In the back of your mind, you think you can feel his lips lift into a hellish grin, watching from a far corner in your head as one of his hands leaves you, trailing down over your tummy.

Feyre pulls away, a mix of slick and saliva connecting her mouth to your heat as Rhys’ hand takes her place. Her fingers are still pumping and curling, and that heat is still building, and you’re almost entirely relaxed against him.

That is, until he presses the pad of his middle finger hard over the tip of your clit, soreness blaring through your mind.

You squeal, panting and writhing, pushing her fingers deeper into your cunt, letting them touch sensitive, more intimate spots that have small moans spilling breathlessly from you. “Rhys…” you beg, eyes squeezed shut as your nails dig into the muscle of his thighs.

“I’m not stopping until you say it,” he says roughly, slowly oscillating his finger over your clit, the soreness sending blinding white flashing behind your eyelids and your hips buck. Feyre’s free forearm slides over your abdomen, pinning you to the mattress as you try to roll down onto her fingers.

“Come on,” he goads, amusement lilting his honeyed voice. “Just a few words, and I’ll stop.” The circles tighten, Feyre’s fingers brushing against spots you feel she’s intentionally targeting. “Say it, or I’ll make it worse,” he laughs darkly.

You whimper, mind spinning as you attempt to remember the words he’d ordered you to speak. Struggling to form them on your tongue. Heat builds; the coil tightens. “Rhys…” you moan, hips trying to buck up but she’s keeping you down. All you can do is take them. Every thing they force onto you.

Your lips part, head tipping back as you slide lower down the mattress. “I…I want more,” you whisper, heart splitting as tears drip down your cheeks, wetting your skin. “I—” You cut yourself off with a moan, nails biting harder into Rhys’s thighs and you wonder if he can even feel it. Maybe he enjoys it.

“Come on,” he urges, “just a bit more, then this can all stop.” You don’t want it to stop.

Fuck, you don’t want it to stop.

The realisation slams into you right as Rhys pinches your clit, and the loudest moan yet bursts from your lips. Your hands scramble about, searching for purchase frantically, trying to grip onto something as you feel the wave crest.

“F…Feyre…” you whimper, squirming and writhing. They hold you tighter, restricting your movements and louder sobs spill from your lips. “Please…please, please more.” Rhys’ breath catches and Feyre’s eyes flick to you, each of them memorising the way you move, the desperate jerks as you try to shift how you want.

“That’s it,” the High Lord breathes, letting up on your sensitive clit, only for Feyre to latch on in his stead. “So good. That’s our girl. So well—”

They let you go long enough to move.

You push up and flip over before his hands have your hips in a bruising grip. You cry out from pain but crawl further up his body, arms shooting over his shoulders as you press into him. His violet eyes widen marginally before your mouth opens over his, the echo of pain still reverberating around your thighs.

Feyre reattaches her mouth to your cunt, switching her fingers and her teeth as her tongue pushes against your entrance, thumb pressing into your clit, her nail scraping over the swollen bud. Your nipples graze his chest, and you shatter right then and there—with his fingertips still digging into the softness of your hips.

Your hips wind against her, hands threading in Rhys’ blue-black hair, the thick, silky locks feeling good between your fingers. Your hands fist as you pull him closer, and he groans—a sound deep within his chest. You feel it resonate into your own as his tongue flicks out, stroking over yours as he pushes after you. His canines catch on your lower lip and you moan, sweetly.

You don’t have the time to face what you’ve done as the aftershocks fade, taking the remnants of your strength with them, leaving you with mere scraps of energy.

Arms give out, and you collapse onto him, Rhys lying back on the pillows as he basks in the reassuring weight of your body against his. Quiet pants whisper from your lips as you remain stretched out over the High Lord, void of any clothing, mind still blank from the orgasm.

Feyre presses a kiss to your entrance, before dragging herself away from your heat, trailing a pathway up your spine until she’s draped over you. You feel the full press of her breasts against your back, and subconsciously arch your spine, curving into her shape so you can mould together.

Her lips press to your neck, and a soft sound of pleasure hums from your mouth, a quiet breath of ecstasy.

Rhys’s arms wrap around the both of you, making sure you remain tucked between them.

Right where you belong.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Feysand Taglist: @girlmadeofavocados @zara-aliza

#Feysand #Feysand x reader #Feysand smut #Feysand x reader smut #dark!feysand #Dark!feysand x reader #dark!Feysand smut #dark!feysand x reader smut #x f!reader #x f!reader smut #[***] #dark fic #Tag You’re It #Tag Your’re It Part 2 #October

[throneofsapphics]

haunt me like the wind that blows part 2 or both your pillow sides will stay warm forever 😔

haunt me like the wind that blows (part two)

(part one) (part three)

Feysand x f!Reader

Summary: They weren’t her dreams. They couldn’t be, not after how hard she fought to get away from them. 

Word Count: ~2.3k 

Warnings: dark feysand, kidnapping, physical/mental abuse, dubcon, a sprinkle of smut, blood, suicide attempt, gaslighting, not proofread well

A/N: that’s one way to motivate me. mind the warnings please y’all! 

Rhys had dragged her back to Velaris, and Feyre waited with a beaming smile on her face. She welcomed her back as if she’d taken a small trip away - gone to visit a friend or relative, not fled in desperation. 

“I’m so happy you’re home,” she murmured and gathered her in her arms. She had to force herself to remain stiff, to fight the urge to melt into Feyre’s embrace. She despised how right it felt. Nothing about this was right, being dragged back here against her will, stolen away in the middle of the day, from the home and life she built for herself. 

She separated herself from the High Lady, taking a few steps back. Feyre watched her warily, like one might watch a feral kitten. 

Her eyes darted between her and Rhys. 

“Whatever you’re thinking of,” he hissed, “don’t.” 

“I’m sure she’s just readjusting,” Feyre soothed, stepping towards her. “Aren’t you my love?” Y/n swallowed harshly and didn’t answer. She frowned at her, and her voice grew a tad colder. “Aren’t you?” 

She flinched as Feyre’s hand gripped her shoulder, her nails digging in painfully, but tilted her chin and rolled her shoulders back. “I hate both of you,” she forced as much venom into her voice as she could. Feyre recoiled slightly and she felt Rhys’s glare on her, branding into her side. 

Talon’s gripped her mind painfully and she forced her walls up. Her body shook slightly under the effort, and she was rendered helpless as another force battered into her. One of them, she could hold out against but both of them it was nearly impossible. 

She grasped her head between her hands, screaming at the top of her lungs. It hurt it hurt it hurt. “Please,” she sobbed, falling to her knees. The pressure was too much, it felt like she would explode - burst into a thousand pieces, her mind gone to the wind and leaving behind a thoughtless, brainless form. As if it was never there, the pressure disappeared. 

Both of them bracketed her sides, pulling her hands away. “What happened?” Rhys asked her, his eyes searching her figure for any wounds. As if he hadn’t just … 

“You …” she looked at Feyre who had the same questioning look on her face. No indication of what they’d done, a perfect mask crafted on both of their faces. “You tried to break into my mind,” her voice grew shrill and loud - screaming into their faces. 

A small sting hit her cheek. Not harsh enough for her to recoil, but enough to surprise her. 

“You will watch your tone,” Rhys’s voice was smooth and cold as night, his eyes filled with warning. She lifted her hand to cup the warmth, the small red patch left behind by his palm. 

Feyre tilted her chin and pressed a kiss over the patch. Y/n had forgotten about this part of them somehow. One would play good, the other would play bad, and they switched roles frequently to leave her reeling. 

Tears filled her eyes, and to her shame they dripped down her cheeks. 

Rhys brushed one away, “You’ll be crying a lot more by the time we’re finished teaching you a lesson.” 

“Rhys,” Feyre chided, but didn’t counter him. 

Her backside was bruised for a week, and that was only the beginning. 

-

“Did anyone else touch you?” Feyre asked so casually she almost missed the intent behind it. 

“No.” An honest answer, she didn’t let anyone, neither did she seek anyone out. No matter how much she despised them, it felt wrong and she couldn’t bring herself to do it - even though she wanted to. 

“And you?” 

“Pardon?” She turned to meet the female’s gaze, finding blue grey eyes filled with predatory intent. 

“Did you seek anyone else out, did you touch another?” 

“No.” She answered firmly, and saw how some tension left Feyre’s shoulders. They would be able to scent if she had. “I wanted to,” she continued before she could think through it. Feyre’s eyes narrowed, her shoulders tightening again. One hand clenched into a fist, before releasing. She’d already dug herself a hole… “There were plenty of offers,” she shrugged casually, and turned away from her, back to the book she’d picked up. Maybe through some strange stroke of kindness, or desire to endear her to them, Rhys had found the book she’d been reading and bought it for her. 

She felt Feyre’s presence standing in front of her, but didn’t look up. Y/n reminded herself that they don’t deserve her attention, her affection, they have no right to it. A gust of wind blew the book away and she bit the inside of her cheek. A hand fisted in the back of her hair, yanking her head back, exposing the arch of her neck. Her mate was furious. Absolutely enraged. Her satisfaction at pissing her off quickly dissipated as she ran a finger down the column of her throat. 

“You belong to us,” she hissed, pulling her up to stand. 

“I belong to no one,” her voice shook but she forced the words out. The grip on her hair tightened painfully and she winced. 

Feyre winnowed them to the bedroom, and she scrambled as soon as they landed - putting as much distance between her and the High Lady as possible. 

“You need a reminder,” Feyre said softly, deceptively gentle, “don’t you, my love?” 

It wasn’t a question that needed an answer, if Feyre decided she needed one, she would be getting one whether she wanted it or not. 

-

She knew they were in her mind. There’s no way she would’ve developed these kinds of feelings on her own. Dreams of a peaceful life with him and Feyre, of her accepting them wholly - dedicating herself to them. 

They weren’t her dreams. They couldn’t be, not after how hard she fought to get away from them. 

If they couldn’t get to her in her waking moments, they would attack her in her sleep - and she was completely defenseless against that, the only solution would be to not sleep, but if she was to escape again she needed to be alive and well to do it. Although, with each passing day escape looked less and less likely. 

It was early, nearly sunrise, and she felt heat coiling inside her, her entire body tightening, a moan of pleasure left her lips as she writhed on the bed, a strong arm holding her waist down as her legs were propped up on shoulders. Long hair tickled the inside of her thighs as lips sucked against her clit. She arched her back, “Feyre,” she moaned … She shot up in bed. 

“Something wrong?” Rhys asked, rolling over to see her. Imprints of the sheets lined his cheeks, but a knowing smile played across his features. 

“No,” her throat bobbed with the word as she ignored the wetness pooling between her thighs. “Just startled.” 

-

Rhys had shields surrounding everything. Every window had a shield on it, the door, the entire river estate - if she were allowed outside. She has no doubt in her mind he had set some sort of alarm to tell him every time she opened one, or went out onto the grounds. Half of the time, she’s able to leave the house, although not the estate, but the other half she can't. He, apparently, hadn’t forgotten her idea for permanent freedom because every time she entered a room - any knives or weapons would disappear. As soon as she finished eating, cutlery would disappear. 

-

She stood in the kitchen, alone. Or she thought she was. She eyed the ceramic mug in her hands - one of her favorites. The impulse came over her, and she acted before thinking it through - the mug crashed to the floor, leaving a few sharp pieces behind. She scrambled to gather them, dropping to her knees and ignoring the sharp sting as a part embedded itself into her skin, she would have to dig that out before they got home. 

The pieces were stored in her pockets, hidden as best as she could. She cleaned up the remaining bits and hoped Nuala and Cerridwen wouldn’t notice one missing mug. 

-

Somehow, she managed to keep the pieces hidden for a few weeks, long enough for her to be able to use them. 

They weren’t due back for another few hours - a visit to Hewn City, and Nuala and Cerridwen were nowhere to be found. Probably spying for Azriel. All the better for her. Over the last several months, she’d spent time trying to earn their trust. Of course, she was still resistant to them at every turn, but showed enough softness for them to start doubting her desire to escape. Enough to balance the line between keeping true to herself, and getting her the time and space to do what she wanted, what she needed. 

She found the sharpest piece, and stood by the mirror. Would she really do this? Go through with it. She has no doubt they’ll find her in another lifetime, but they’re immortal - it would give her centuries of peace. Centuries of freedom. She took in a deep breath, and slashed the piece across one wrist. Then the other. 

Blood loss quickly overcame her, but she felt a sense of peace - as if her brain was going quiet. The last thing she remembered hearing was Rhys’s yelling - what, she couldn’t tell, and a pair of arms catching her as she fell. 

She groaned as she woke, sun rays shining through the windows. She blinked heavily, trying to wipe the sleep and grogginess out of her eyes. Soft sheets surrounded her, an elegant canopy bed … she startled, trying to launch into sitting, but chains yanked her arms behind her, giving her just enough room to sit but not to go any further. Her bedroom, her shared bedroom, at the river estate. A failure, she was a failure. 

“I’m quite glad you failed,” Y/n heard Rhys drawl. She ignored his voice, and tugged at the chains. Soft bandages wrapped around her wrist, dulling any sting or scraping from the iron manacles clamped around her. 

A shadow loomed over her, and fingers tightly gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. She met his eyes, and even as fear began to drip through her she tried to throw every bit of defiance she could into her glare. But, something like fear shone in his eyes. Fear and misery and anger. Could it be a mask? Something he’s throwing on to try to …

“No, it’s not.” He interrupted her train of thought. 

“Get out of my head,” she growled, narrowing her eyes. Rhys didn’t release his grip on her, and forced her to keep looking at him. 

“You have no mental walls left.”

She felt for them, tried to reach them. “You destroyed them.” Her chest tightened, her fists clenched, her breaths grew heavy. Violated, a complete violation of her privacy. 

“We did,” he admitted, finally releasing his grip on her. “You lost the right to any privacy when you tried to kill yourself in our bedroom.” The bed shifted as he sat next to her, running one hand down her thigh. She supposes he thought it would be comforting, or soothing. Her body agreed, but her mind hated it - absolutely hated that he was touching her. She took some satisfaction, a tiny amount, in knowing that if he listened he would know just how much she hated it. 

His hand trailed up her thigh, pushing the nightgown as he went, exposing more of her bare skin. Her breath caught as he traced the inside curve of her thigh. Against her will, a tightness started to build in her core, just a bodily reaction, she chanted to herself, trying to ignore how arousal crept into his scent. 

“I do like you in chains,” he purred into her mind. 

“Stop.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to separate herself from the sensation. His fingers dragged along the inside of her thighs - ghost like touches that left goosebumps in their wake. 

His fingers curled and dug into her skin, harsh enough they would leave bruises behind. “I don’t think you want me to,” hands pushed her shoulders back, laying her out on the bed as he straddled her waist. 

She couldn’t do anything about him on top of her, and wasn’t sure she wanted to. 

“That’s right,” a midnight soft voice echoed in her mind as he traced a knuckle beneath her breast, before his thumb brushed over her nipple. Her hips keened on reaction, bucking up into him. They didn’t move, not with him atop her, but he didn’t miss the motion and a feline smirk crossed his beautiful features. 

His thumb tugged at her bottom lip, releasing it from her teeth. She hadn’t realized she was biting it, or how harshly. A drop of blood had gathered on his finger. His thumb pressed against her lips, and her mouth parted automatically. She tasted her own blood and the slight tang of salt from his skin. His eyes gleamed as her tongue swirled around it. He didn’t have time to pull away as she bit down harshly. Not enough to draw blood or break skin, but just enough to leave imprints behind. He snarled and tugged his finger free, gripping her chin to force her mouth open. 

“Still a brat, I see.” He murmured almost reverently. 

“Did you expect anything else?” She resisted the urge to spit at him. 

His body shifted, and his forearms caged either side of his head. His face, only inches away from her. “I’d be disappointed otherwise.” 

A draft hit her as the door swung open, and soft footsteps padded over to their side. 

Rhys shifted to lay next to her, moving her so Feyre had room to lay on her other side. Caged in between the two of them. Trapped. 

A sickening part of her, the one she wasn’t sure was real, delighted in it. Delighted in being trapped between her two mates - at their mercy. Similar to Rhys’s movements earlier, Feyre stroked up and down her leg, sending a shiver down her spine. “See, this is where you belong,” her voice flittered through her mind. 

#READ THE WARNINGS PLEASE #acotar fic #acotar x reader #feysand x y/n #feysand x reader #poly!feysand #poly!feysand x y/n #poly!feysand x reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #feyre archeron x y/n #feyre archeron x reader #dark!feysand #acotar smut

[shadowdaddyazriel]

What’s one ACOTAR fanfic you’ve been dying for someone to write?? I’m always looking for new ideas!

Be sure to check out my longer fics on Wattpad and ao3 under @shadowdaddyazriel for more!!

#sjm smut #acotar smut #acotar #azriel smut #sarah j maas #azriel x reader #smut #rhys acotar #cassian acotar #azriel x you #sarahjmaas #rhysand x feyre #high lord rhysand #dark rhysand #rhysand smut #feyre x rhysand #feysand smut #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fic #cassian x azriel #azriel x elain #azriel x cassian x you #azriel #azriel x gwyn #azriel acotar #pro azriel #nesta x cassian #cassian x reader #cassian x axriel x you #sjm crossover

[separatist-apologist]

I Was Enchanted To Meet You

Summary: In Feyre's nightmares, she sees him. Rhysand and his violet eyes, his inky hair.

She doesn't realize that's by design.

Or what lengths he's willing to go in order to have her.

This is for @the-lonelybarricade who has become one of my best fandom pals and is genuinely one of the nicest people I know. They deserve only good things and, occasionally, dark, moody, dubiously consenting things.

Chapter 2: This Night Is Sparkling

Chapter 1 | Read more: AO3

TW: dub-con via daemati magic. Sort of an ACOMAF re-write? 3/4ths smut, 1/4th plot.

-

You will stay with me.

Those words rattled through Feyre’s mind long after Rhys deposited her back in Spring. It was more of the same, some game she couldn’t piece together. She’d come back with tears in her eyes, on her knees some mile or two from the estate sobbing though she didn’t know why. It had been Lucien, as always, who’d found her and scooped her up, who took her back. 

What happened? His face screamed the question his lips did not dare to say. What happened to you?

Feyre’s anxiety was at a fever pitch, her nightmares pulling her from bed as they always did, though no longer did she imagine the bloodied red hair and piercing ash daggers. She imagined a shredding cord, gold turned to ash and a gaping hole nothing could fill.

“Come with me,” Lucien told her at the end of her first week, grabbing her hand and all but running her out the door. Dusk had just broken over the world, bathing the estate in nauseating pink. Feyre blinked against the light, lacing her fingers with Lucien’s. 

“Where are we going?”

“Away,” he said, the corners of his eyes pulled tightly. Feyre didn’t have to ask why. Lucien’s bruised eye, his cut cheek, his deflated shoulders told her that he had lost his favored position at court. Lucien wanted to train Feyre—had spoken his fears into existence only two nights before.

I can smell him on her. 

Tamlin had destroyed the drawing room for Lucien’s insinuation and Feyre, trembling and tired, had assured Tamlin she would remember if Rhysand had touched her. 

He barely talks to me.

He doesn’t trust me. 

But Feyre was missing too much—too many memories, too much of herself. There was a yawning cavern in her chest that seemed to stretch with each passing day. She didn’t know how to fill it, had begun to suspect whatever Rhys had taken could only be returned by his cruel hands. 

Ianthe and Tamlin had voted—no training for Feyre. It was too risky and Feyre was too delicate. 

She’s practically wasting away before our very eyes.

Lucien, his body a shield in front of her, had snarled so viciously only a bright pulse of Tamlin’s magic had kept him from shredding Ianthe to bloodied ribbons.

She cannot withstand him without help!

Feyre understood Tamlin’s pride. He could not abide by anything happening to his female, something he could not protect her from. If Ianthe said Feyre was fine and Feyre said she was fine, then Lucien must be warmongering.

He’s no better than his father.

Ferye had sworn she’d heard Tamlin say it, had gasped out loud when she heard it. But Tamlin’s mouth remained pressed in that thin, severe line and Lucien had not reacted at all. Perhaps she’d just imagined it. Perhaps she was the terrible one, thinking Lucien had too much in common with Beron.

They walked until the estate was out of sight and they were ensconced in waving trees. Feyre could still scent her metallic blood in the air, could still see the Surial hanging from the tree.

Stay with the High Lord. 

“Which High Lord,” Feyre murmured, drawing Lucien’s attention as they trudged through the woodland.

“Hm?”

Fingers squeezed around her throat.

You belong to me.

“The Surial,” she breathed, looking at her friend to steady herself against the rising dark. Shadows ribboned around the rough bark, slithering through the treetops to war with the banding gold sunlight. Lucien steadied her, was the only thing in the world Feyre was certain of. “It told me to stay with the High Lord.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped sharply to her face. “Is that–”

“Yes,” she breathed before he could ask. She could hear the question in her head.

Is that why you went beneath the mountain? 

Lucien sighed softly, squeezing her fingers in his grip. “Just a little further.”

Feyre could feel eyes on them, the ever watchful gaze of the Gods. Curious as to what rebellion might bring them, how Lucien would be punished when Tamlin inevitably learned he meant to test Feyre’s power. It was a terrible day—Feyre had thought perhaps she was no more magical than any other creature. Just strong, just steady.

Ice and wind poured from her fingertips. Fire licked against her skin, cooled only by salted water. Tendrils of night and shadow warred with the loveliest rays of dawn and day. Clawes beneath her knuckles pricked her skin, healed by that same metallic liquid. 

Lucien, with a hand over his mouth, guessed what Rhysand and Tamlin must have known. Born of all seven courts, Feyre had somehow inherited a piece of their magic. Turning to her, eyes wild, Lucien made a rare demand.

“Ask Rhys to train you.”

Feyre would have preferred Tamlin’s rage to Lucien’s careful words. “No.”

“Ask him–”

“He won’t–”

“He might,” Lucien disagreed quickly, silencing her with a look. “He might if he thought it would spite Tamlin. At least learn his magic.”

“And what of the rest?” she whispered. Lucien swallowed, looking over his shoulder. “I will teach you Autumn. The rest…the rest we will guard carefully and work on when no one is watching.”

“Tamlin will think…”

Lucien swallowed his feelings, looking again into the distance behind him. “I will do what I have to in order to reassure him nothing is happening…just as I always have.” Feyre didn’t let herself think about what that meant. Didn’t let herself the parting shot Rhys had offered before he’d left last month or how Tamlin had chased Lucien off when they’d first met.

“Don’t,” Ferye said, certain what Lucien would be forced to do involved Ianthe. Tamlin didn’t understand Lucien’s dislike, was well aware that every other male in the world seemed to be fascinated by the young priestess. “Don’t do anything. I…how can I be his wife if he won’t let me make my own decisions?”

That pactified something hot in Lucien’s gaze. He merely nodded.

“C’mon. Our secret, just for today.”

It was a secret only until Rhysand showed up. Feyre and Lucien, who had spent every day for a week together, were caught just on their way out the door. Lucien had woven careful spun lies, ones Tamlin only believed because he wanted to. Feyre dropped Lucien’s hand the moment she saw Rhys stroll up the steps, hands jammed in his pockets.

He tsked his disapproval and Feyre wondered if Rhys didn’t want to see Lucien die. “Off for a little more training, little fox?”

Tamlin and Ianthe both turned to look, just in time for Rhys to reach for Feyre and pull her closer. They were so busy staring down Lucien that Tamlin missed how Rhys’s hand curved over Feyre’s hip possessively or the way memories began to flood back in her mind. Lucien’s head snapped to look, nostrils flared. Feyre opened her mouth to scream the word—mate—but they were gone in a choking cloud of star kissed night. 

“Did you miss me?”

Feyre lunged at him, toppling him to the ground inelegantly before Rhys could gather his bearings. Feyre got one good hit against his lovely face, claws cutting against his cheek. Rhys’s eyes went wide as he rolled her off him, too careful not to hurt even when his fingers curled over her wrists. His knee pressed against her chest, pushing until Feyre felt the bones crack.

“That’s a cute little trick,” Rhys murmured, droplets of blood splattering over her face. “Is that what Lucien is teaching you? To become a little beastie—”

She spat in his face. Rhys only smiled, his face healing even as he hovered over her. “Are you angry I’ve brought you back…or angry I made you leave.”

And Ferye, who had come to Spring sobbing, could remember why now. 

“Don’t make me go back, Rhys, please—”

He knew she was remembering. Feyre’s bottom lip trembled. “Don’t take my memories again–”

But they were gone and so was Feyre’s fight. Rhys lowered his face and moved his knee so it was firmly between her legs. Nuzzling his bloodied nose against her own, he asked, “Did you miss me?”

“Why did you make me leave?” Feyre asked again, a tear sliding down her face. He’d interrupted their frenzy abruptly one morning and told her she’d have to go back. Feyre had begged and pleaded for him to stay but in the end, Rhys had left her all the same.

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Never again. I had to leave–”

“Take me with you,” Feyre whispered. “Don’t leave me behind, not like him.”

She wasn’t sure who him was, only that he never included her. He left her, too. Made her feel alone unless he needed to touch, to taste, to feel. Even her own body was up for debate. Rhys shifted over her, smoothing his fingers against her face.

“If you come with me…you can never go back,” Rhys warned. “Not even for Lucien—”

His name was enough to shatter the softly glowing spell around them. Feyre began to writhe, trying to stitch her two realities together. Lucien was her friend, the only person she could trust, Lucien—

“Shhh,” Rhys murmured, stroking her face. “What magic has your clever little fox woven around you, sweet Feyre? Hm? Tell me.”

A masculine voice shimmered like gold in her mind. Something belonged to her, something that could not be taken. “Train me,” she whispered. “My magic. Train me.”

Rhys continued his stroking. “Is that what your little fox was doing? Training you?”

“I’m not allowed,” she breathed. It was all fragmented, these threads. She had a sense he was plucking memories from her mind, pouring through their time apart. His face was a dark, roiling nightmare at what he found, the stars in his gaze winking out entirely. They were laying against wood floors in a place she’d never been. This wasn’t his moontop palace draped in jade and amethyst. This was some place else—a home, she thought. Rhys scooped her up, holding her in his arms as his nose began to set itself. 

“The High Lord of Spring thinks to tell my lady what she can and cannot do?” he murmured, taking her through an elegantly decorated living room towards a flight of stairs. She felt pacified–calm. She had loved that male once.

Maybe not anymore. 

“He’s worried the other High Lords will learn…”

“Oh, Feyre,” Rhys murmured, setting her atop a black blanketed bed big enough to accommodate the shadowy wings unfurling at his back. “He is afraid of you. You might outshine him, might be more powerful, more lovely, more stunning than anything his simple mind could ever dream of. He wants to keep you small.”

Something clawed at her chest, demanding to be freed from the cage she knew he’d set for her. Rhys stroked at her breasts as if he, too, felt it. 

“I’m going to let you out one day,” he whispered against her jaw. “And show everyone what a nightmare you truly are.”

Feyre whimpered. She didn’t want to go back. “You’ll do as he asked? You’ll train me?”

Rhys’s chuckle was dark and sultry. “Yes, darling. Soon. Tonight is for us but tomorrow is for you. I’ll need your help.”

“With what?”

“The Summer Court has something I require…something only you can retrieve for me. I mean to take you with me. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” she breathed. It was honest, just as honest as the kiss she pressed to his mouth. Feyre moaned at that first taste. She’d been missing this, though she hadn’t realized it. He moaned too, holding her face to take more. 

“This month without you has been a misery,” he told her, grinding his clothed hips against her body. “I have been consumed by my thoughts of you.”

She was sure she’d missed him too, though Feyre simply could not remember. Sliding her fingers through his soft, raven hair, Feyre merely kissed again and again, gliding her hips against him while he gripped her hard. Punishing. He kissed her like she was the air he breathed, like he’d fall apart without her. 

More, more, more. 

She wasn’t something fragile here but something powerful, something mighty. A rock against a weathering storm, unbreakable—unyielding. Feyre reached for his jacket, shucking it off his glorious body with little effort. She had a sense that her whole life had been a series of moments that forced her to be weak, to stay small. She was used to it and yet she loathed it. 

“Yes,” Rhys groaned when her nails dragged down his chest. Flipping them over, he lined her against him. “Take what you want from me.”

Feyre leaned to kiss him, biting his lip so hard she could taste blood. She moaned when the warm, salty copper flooded against her tongue, lowering her mouth to drag a line of it against his throat. Rhys’s hips jerked outside of his own accord as Feyre moved further down his body.

Something tugged against her mind, ordering her to push. Hands against the buttons of his pants, she looked up at him through star tipped lashes. She was there, freeing his cock…and then she wasn’t. She was watching herself pull out that heavy, thick cock. Watching as she yanked off his pants viciously, as she licked the length of his cock, feeling his writhing, hungry need.

Feyre gasped, and then it was all gone. Rhys watched, heavy lidded. “Did you like that?” he asked her.

“How…”

“You have my magic too,” he murmured with a rough sigh. “I intend to teach you to use it.”

“I was in your mind,” she said. “Feeling…”

“Feeling my desire? Seeing how beautiful you look about to suck my cock? You can come in my mind to look at yourself anytime you like. Maybe you’ll finally see what everyone else is missing.”

Feyre sucked the tip of him into her mouth, though she didn’t intend to stay long. His words had started a buzzing in her chest, a seeping awareness she didn’t know what to make of. This magical male had done something to her, though what, exactly, Feyre could not say. Perhaps she did not want to. It occurred to, just before she swallowed his heavy, swollen tip, that Feyre was content to know nothing beyond this. 

The world was big—messy. And she was tired of navigating it. 

“No one takes care of you, do they?” he murmured softly, gathering up her hair. “No one sees how delicate my sweet mate is.”

His words ended abruptly when she swallowed a good third of him, drawing him into her throat. Rhys made a series of garbled noises that shot straight between her legs. She needed more of this, more of those whimpering, pleading noises coming from his mouth. Legs spread wide, wings flared on either side, she thought he looked like some terrible, dark prince splayed out.

Rhys reached for her before she finished, forgetting she’d always meant to straddle his waist. A phantom talon sliced through her pretty dress. “No more pastels,” he whispered, shoving the remnants of the fabric off her body. 

Rhys lifted her, seating her just over his pulsating cock. Feyre jerked from his grip and slid down him quickly, her moan of pleasure mingling with his own. “Ride me, darling,” he begged. “I need this—need you.”

She rolled her hips, sinking back into a familiar, frenzied place. “Mate,” she whispered. That was real. She could cling to that and rebuild her messy world from the ground up on that word alone. The male beneath her, with his thrusting hips and his parted lips. He was real, too. Rhysand. “Rhys,” she whispered, pressing her chest against his body until their lips had crashed together, tongues stroking in time with their frantic bodies.

“Come for me,” he begged. “Feyre, please.”

And she did, shattering around him until the world was nothing but him. Only the beautiful male beneath her, holding her hips while he pumped frantically. Rhys had her on her back, knees in the air, in a moment. 

“I want to see you,” he whispered, spreading out her legs to look at their combined bodies. “All of you.”

“You have me,” she told him, reaching for the edge of his wing enveloping them. “I’m yours.”

He shattered into a thousands roaring pieces, pouring come into her body. Feyre remembered how he’d hoped something might stick.

She hoped that too, clinging desperately to him. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“I won’t,” she swore.

But some small part of her hesitated. 

A beast waited.

~*~

Feyre sent her note to Tamlin. I’m not coming back. It must have said other things, though she hardly remembered. It was becoming a problem. Tugged by strings that didn’t belong, Feyre moved when she was supposed to. Said what she was supposed to say.

Smiled when she was supposed to smile.

She was clawing at those little cords constantly, ripping them apart only for new ones to appear. One day she’d break free and pull it all together. She remembered Lucien, though she knew she wasn’t supposed to. Remembered his name, his face. Remembered his final words. She tucked that glowing memory deep, deep inside herself where no one could access it and forced Rhys to live up to that promise. She had a sense someone else had not.

And Rhys did. He trained her as best he could, forcing her to build a shield in her mind until even he could not access it. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. 

“Very good,” he’d purr before pulling her into his lap for a kiss that made her breathless with need. The bond between them had not released them and Feyre was all too happy for the distraction. Happier still to be cared for in this way. No longer shut out—though of what, she couldn’t say—Rhys included her in his scheming. He wanted the Book of Breathings and he needed her to help him get it. 

Some small part of her knew it was wrong but a darker, much larger part just did not care. The place that governed her mating bond and her missing memories crooned a lullaby. Everything is fine. Don’t worry about that. Sweet, pretty Feyre.

She didn’t want to. Not then, not when every time she pushed the memories of red came peeking back. Memories of death and rot and ruin washed through her until she was gasping desperately for air and vomiting on the floor. Those days saw Rhys sweep her up in his arms and whisper words she just vaguely heard. Sometimes he’d hold her hair while she heaved up everything she ate before he took her someplace quiet and cool.

This is wrong. You are a princess of daylight and life, the shimmering air seemed to murmur. But the twinkling stars up above always had reply just as soon as the sun went down.

Princess of carrion, of rot and death and bone. Join us in the darkness. Welcome home. 

She was excited to go to Summer. Dressed in the softest gown of lavender, her hair pulled off her face with a headband, Rhys brought her and his second, Amren. Amren, who was the shortest woman Feyre had ever seen, with eyes that felt all-too familiar. Like she, too, knew of the horrors lurking.

Amren had mastered them. Feyre had not. Amren’s silvery eyes lingered on Feyre until Rhys put his body between the two women and Feyre wondered if he’d done it on purpose. Rhys had been invited to mend relations between their two courts but Feyre knew she was the distraction. Tarquin couldn’t take his eyes off her, curious about the runaway bride from Spring. 

Feyre didn’t know whose voice spoke for when all of Summer Court turned their eyes on her. “He let me go,” she said, almost breathless with wonder. 

I wish, her traitorous thoughts agreed. 

“It’s over between us.”

“What a relief, then, know we are not harboring a stolen bride,” Cressida said softly, a princess of sea and sand. Feyre was too mesmerized by the blue of her eyes, swimming like the water just behind them. “And that we do not need to bother returning her to her master, as the law demands. And as any wise person might do, to keep trouble from their doorstep.”

“I left of my own free will. And no one is my master.”

Feyre blinked and then blinked again. War. It made her head burn with that blood red and for a moment everything came flooding back, stitched like a poorly sewn tapestry. Tamlin and Rhys, Amarantha and Spring and Night. The magic in her body, the same tasked with protecting her, reared its head to slam Rhysand out just long enough for Feyre to take an actual breath. 

He was teaching her to use her magic…but not this. Not to control him, to control others. And Feyre reached out tentatively before he could stop her, and pushed into Cressida’s mind. 

Everything is fine. Tamlin isn’t looking for me. Summer is safe. I am safe. 

And then those walls she’d so carefully built slammed apart and Rhys was there, shoving her down, down, down. 

She did have a master, at least for now. Turning her head before anyone could realize something was wrong, Ferye looked to her mate. He was speaking, his words smooth and easy, his body relaxed. Master.

He heard her think it, his mouth twitching with a smile. 

That’s enough, Ferye, his voice crooned softly in her mind. Where is my good girl? My sweet mate? 

And it was all gone, then. Feyre blinked again, offering Tarquin a saccharine smile. It was her own and yet felt so foreign on her face that her cheeks seemed to ache from it. Tarquin stared for a moment, head cocked. Did he recognize his humming magic fluttering through her veins? 

He smiled back and Feyre was almost breathless. He was so beautiful. Her fingers twitched to touch, to connect with this tiny little piece of herself and make it whole. 

She didn’t, not until he offered to show her his palace. Only then did Ferye slide her hand into his and revel in the warmth of his skin. He smiled again, telling her of his jewels, his treasure, his trove. It was far lovelier than anything she’d ever seen. He offered her a necklace with so much earnestness and the sweetest smile that for one moment, she wished she’d met him first.

Darkness rumbled through her chest. 

Back in her bedroom, Rhysand was unimpressed with the gift, with the way she so easily drew seawater from her eyes and hands. He was fixated. “You wished you’d met the High Lord of Summer first?”

Feyre didn’t move. 

“Answer me,” he whispered, his voice seductive like the night pouring through the windows around them. Salty air and crashing waves punctuated the silence .

“He is kind,” she said, unable to explain why, exactly, that mattered so much to her. Rhys arched one of those dark, sculpted brows. 

“Why don’t you tell him you think so?”

She leveled a step towards the male before him but a knock on the door gave Feyre pause. Rhys was watching, those starlit eyes glittering with some emotion she didn’t immediately recognize. 

“Open it,” he demanded. Feyre felt pulled, like she couldn’t say no even if she’d wanted to. That was familiar, she thought, reaching for the silver handle.

Tarquin was on the other side, shirtless and draped in a pair of breezy linen pants. 

“This isn’t real,” she whispered, staring into his clear, blue eyes. Tarquin only smiled, brushing icy white hair off his broad, muscular shoulders.

“Isn’t it, though?” came his purring voice. That was Rhysand—she knew it, and yet when he pushed forward, Feyre jumped out of his way. Rhysand ought to have been just behind her but the room was empty now, save for Tarquin and Feyre, locked behind that now closed door. 

Tarquin’s eyes swept through the room, a smirk stealing across his handsome features.

“You wanted to express your gratitude?” he murmured, coming close enough she could touch him. Feyre was desperate to lay her hand against the flat of his stomach, just to see if her magic would react. It was shadow and now water that roiled in her veins even as Tarquin reached for her face, tilting it towards him.

“Tell me the truth, Feyre,” he whispered, his breath fanning over her face. “Do you truly think I’m kind? Or are you just desperate for any attention that you’ll take what you can get?”

“That’s not…I’m not…” his other hand was wrapped around her waist, his thumb rubbing little circles. He smiled.

“Of course not. Tell me, darling. Will you smile for me again?”

“Is that what this is about?” she asked, sliding her hand up his chest.

“Get on your knees,” came Tarquin’s voice, his once kind features shifting into near cruel amusement. “Thank your High Lord for treating you with kindness.”

Feyre looked up in his eyes, hesitating for only a moment. 

This is your game, she whispered in her mind as she sank to her knees.

You want it, Rhys’s voice purred in reply.

Tarquins warm hands came over her own, helping her remove the pants slung low against his hips. The considerable length of him sprang free, hard and thick and already pooling moisture against the tip. For the first time since Tarquin had walked in, Feyre considered that perhaps this wasn’t a game. Maybe Rhys had merely spoken to the High Lord of Summer mind to mind and offered her up.

“I hear you swallow like a dream,” Tarquin murmured, taking a fistful of her hair. “Open that pretty mouth.”

The head of his cock pressed against her lips, wiping come against them. Feyre was in to deep—she opened her mouth, allowing him to push his swollen cock into her mouth with a satisfied breath of air.

“We should pass you around to all the High Lords,” Tarquin grunted, using that hand in her hair to work him over him. “Let them see how good Prythian’s Cursebreaker sucks and swallows.”

Feyre pressed her knees together as he worked her, well aware Tarquin—or whoever he was—could scent the pooling arousal just between. Just like Rhys, her jaw ached the longer she sucked, widened unnaturally in order to accommodate the girth.  Tarquin was unconcerned, his eyes rolling upwards. The muscles of his gleaming thighs were taut, his whole body trembling ever so slightly.

“Do I get to come down that milking throat?” he rasped. “Or should I let you wear it like a necklace?” 

Feyre could only whine in response. She was at his disposal, could not tell him what would please her, if it even mattered. 

“Swallow it,” he demanded, dragging her closer and closer to the flat plain of his stomach. “Tell me if the salt reminds you of the sea.”

He pulled roughly, forcing more of his bruising cock into her throat. Feyre pushed at this thighs for all the good it did. Tarquin might have been made of granite, holding her still as his cock pulsated and twitched, his cock sliding down her throat while she gagged and choked. 

He pulled her off him, mouth popping wetly. “Well?” he whispered, hauling her up to her feet. Feyre was mistaken in thinking it was all over—that he’d come and she could go back to her evening. 

“Did you like the taste?” he asked her, pressing his mouth against her own before she could ever respond. Tarquin backed her up, leading her away from the door towards the turquoise and gold bed centered in the middle of the room. By virtue of his bigger body, his stronger frame, Feyre was swept up in the dominance of the moment, of the messy, exploratory kiss that all but robbed her of breath.

He tasted like citrus, his tongue sliding between her lips to find his own arousal. Tarquin groaned and the sound of his heady desire shot straight to her belly.

“Are your holes mine to use?” he asked, pushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders?

“I…” Feyre was fogged with lust, unsure what to even say. 

Her dress pooled like moonlight at her feet, shimmering like the stars twinkling just outside her window. She reached for him but Tarquin was quick, spinning her so her naked torso was pressed against the unmade bed. One hand rang a slap against her ass before he pushed her lower. She let Tarquin manipulate her body, tucking her legs on either side just beneath her until just her pussy and her ass were hanging off the edge. Tarquin smacked again, harder this time. The bite of pain made her yelp, her skin suddenly burning. 

“I’ll bet you have males begging to eat that pretty pussy. Don’t you, Feyre?”

Another slap.

“Is that what you thought? Sweet, nice Tarquin would get on his knees for you like Tamlin does?”

She sucked in a breath. “Wha–”

He smacked again, the hardest yet. Tears sprang to her eyes though she didn’t move save to look over her shoulder. Tarquin was watching, eyes wholly focused on her gleaming cunt as he stroked his still hard cock. 

“You don’t get to come on my cock, Feyre. You are just a hole for me to fuck.”

Feyre screamed when he thrust into her, so hard she could feel it reverberating in her bones. Another slap against her aching ass was all she got for her trouble. One hand against her spine, the other holding her hips with bruising force, Tarquin pushed Feyre’s face into the blanket.

“Too loud,” he warned, his words just barely louder than the slap of his body. “Don’t want the whole palace to know how greedy you are, do you?”

She moaned into the fabric, her body responding with a flood of slick. Tarquin chuckled darkly behind her.

“What did I say, darling? You don’t come on my cock.”

She didn’t know if she could stop herself. Something was between her thighs—besides Tarquin, of course—teasing and tugging at her aching, swollen clit. Feyre wanted friction so badly, wanted to feel that ecstasy of release that she didn’t question what might actually be responsible for the feather-soft kissing.

Tarquin’s soft grunting drew her back to reality. Her body spasmed around him automatically, wanting to draw him in, liking the force with which he was pounding into her. He kept her pressed to the bed as he pushed, angling her hips up higher until her knees threatened to come off the bed entirely.

“Your pussy grips my cock so well,” he praised. “It seems the Cursebreaker can do more than just suck.”

She whimpered. 

“Wait until I tell the others. We’ll keep you at our feet on a leash, pass you around until that pussy drips nothing but come. Would you like that, Feyre? Birth seven heirs for all seven courts with that pretty, breeding pussy of yours?”

Each word was punctuated with a well-time thrust. She moaned again. “If you finish, I’ll punish you, darling,” his voice purred. “Any moment, now. Be a good girl and keep that ass arched for me.”

His voice wasn’t quite right. Feyre couldn’t move, pinned beneath his broad hand though something shadowy had blocked out the little light from the window. Wings. Massive, membranous wings were folded around her as that lingering scent of citrus and the sea now cascaded over her.

It had never been Tarquin. She’d known that, hadn’t she? And yet it was jarring when she felt Rhysand push himself one last time into her body and spill himself within her, how real the whole thing felt. How she’d been so certain it had been him.

Rhys went still, his hand palming her ass. “You didn’t come.” 

It was his dark, deep voice who spoke, and his broad, muscular body now blanketed against her back. His shadows that had teased but not enough to make her finish.

“You told me not to,” she whispered, turning her head to meet his violet gaze. Rhys dragged a finger through her body, sliding it back into her body along with the release that was dripping out of her.

“You smiled at him,” Rhys whispered, sinking to his knees beneath her.

“That didn’t mean I wanted to have sex with him,” she whispered.

“You didn’t,” he said, his breath fanning against her cunt. “You were fucking me. You merely saw what you wanted to see.”

“Liar,” she replied, daring to say it. “You’re the only person I ever want to see.”

His tongue slid along the seam of her, tasting their mingled arousal. He groaned when he heard her say that, dragging her hips to hover directly above his face. “My pretty mate is so sweet when she wants to be.”

Rhys sucked her clit between soft lips before he began licking wildly, spreading her open and holding her tight against him. How he could breathe, Feyre didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t care.

Maybe Feyre wanted Rhys to feel a little discomfort. 

Grinding against him, Feyre pressed even closer, until she could feel his nose rubbing against her with each new licking pass. Rhys didn’t move at all and if he needed air to breathe he certainly didn’t act like it. He merely continued to lick until he could tell climax was building. Only then did Rhys add his fingers into the dripping wet, fucking her with an obscenely wet sound that made Feyre moan.

“The whole palace has heard how well I fuck you,” he gasped before he returned his taunting, teasing lips to her body. Feyre didn’t care, rolling her hips against him, fucking his hand desperately. This was what she needed. Something that was for her, something that was dependent on his raging erection or need to finish. .

She broke over his face, coating him in her release. Rhys road her through it with a loud, trembling groan that made her stomach clench. “That’s it, Feyre,” he panted wildly, taking one last ragged taste. 

Pulling her off the bed, Rhys held her against him, his face buried in her hair.

“What would it take for you to truly love me?” he whispered between the strands, his wings cocooning around them.

“What?” she asked, his words already fading. She swallowed. “What did you say?”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“I said you come so pretty against my face, darling.”

But she was certain that was a lie.

~*~

In the morning, Tarquin smiled just as nicely at Feyre as he had the day before. He didn’t know he’d been the subject of her nightly fantasy though she would certainly never forget it. He was far too polite to say if he’d heard what went on between her and Rhys. Sunlight was peeking through the dark haze that was Feyre’s mind and memories though she didn’t think Rhys was aware of it.

Feyre could feel his purring presence, a cat curled in her lap while that clawed talon waited to pull her around. She didn’t know when she’d first realized but some small shred of herself was hiding in the darkest recesses.

Watching. 

She couldn’t remember what came before, though she was sure there must have been something. All that was gone, tucked away in a locked chest, with a key hanging about the cat’s collar. To get to it, Feyre would have to somehow shove Rhys out entirely. He was over five centuries old and his practice and control far exceeded her own. 

And still, she had managed to go undetected all morning. Rhys didn’t notice when Feyre decided to practice on the High Lord of Summer, burrowing into his own mind to look for the book. Down, down, down, until she saw it, hidden offshore in a place only Tarquin could reach.

And Rhys didn’t realize, when Tarquin placidly offered to take Feyre on a tour of Adriata, that he was taking her to that half hidden structure. 

“For you,” he murmured, unaware of what he truly offered. Feyre leaned up on her tiptoes and gave Tarquin a kiss on the cheek. To him, it was merely another piece of jewelry. A small token of his affection, standing ankle deep in water and sand. 

“You’re so kind,” Feyre told him, smiling wide. “I can never repay you for all this.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, hand on her back. Rhys’s presence was watching, seeing exactly what Tarquin saw. A bustling market place surrounded by people surreptitiously eyeing the High Lord. The pretty necklace in her hand. 

Feyre.

Smiling.

It was thrilling to meet Rhys and Amren just outside the palace. She presented not a pretty diamond trinket, but one half of the Book of Breathings. Amren’s silver eyes narrowed.

“Where did you get that, girl?”

But Feyre was looking at Rhys and his slack jawed expression. When did you get that? His voice whispered through her mind. He was invading again, that claw looking for what he’d missed. She scurried back, waiting for him to dig her out but Rhys swept right over her…missing what was beneath his nose. 

Still, his fogging magic smothered most of her resistance until Feyre was looking up at him, lips parted. 

“He gave it to me,” she said breathlessly. Rhys’s brow furrowed and Amren, clearly satisfied, was the one who answered.

“Must have been all those pretty smiles. We should leave before he realizes the gravity of his mistake.”

Rhys offered her his hand, gleaming like shimmering dusk beneath the beating, overhead sun. Feyre didn’t hesitate to take it, pleased when he pulled her into his chest before winnowing away without so much as a goodbye. Rhys deposited them both mid-air, laughing when Feyre screamed as they plummeted back to Earth. He still held her, his massive wings slowing them until they were airborne again, headed towards his mountainside palace. Clutching at his neck, Feyre didn’t release Rhys until he very gently pried her fingers off him.

“You…you’re a—”

He raised his brows as something familiar rose through her. Some old anger she’d forgotten, buried like a life she’d long since stopped living. It was gone just as quickly as it came, replaced with that softness she so often felt for him. 

“I’m a what, darling?” he murmured, caressing her cheek in his hand.

“You scared me,” she whispered. Rhys had the decency, at least, too seem apologetic.

“So did you,” he admitted, drawing her in for a kiss. “Why don’t you smile at me?”

Feyre blinked. “I…” 

It’s not real, some soft voice in her head whispered. When had she truly last smiled, besides? Years. Her whole life was a blur of suffering, of desperately trying to survive an onslaught of misery she couldn’t hold back. 

Could he sense those thoughts? His thumb rubbed against her cheek, eyes impossibly soft. “No one takes care of you.”

Was that what he was doing? She supposed it was. Rhys bent his knees, pulling her into his arms like she was his new bride. “My soft, sweet mate takes care of everyone. And how do they repay her?”

She pressed her head to his chest.

“They take from her. They lock her away. They refuse her information, training…power.”

“And you?” she asked when they reached the bedroom they shared. 

Rhys halted for a moment, still holding her like she was everything to him. Infinitely precious. Feyre felt it when his grip tightened and his eyes darkened. She expected him to lay her out, to peel her from her clothes and make love to her like he so often liked to do. Feyre wanted that, too. 

“You are my equal, Feyre,” he murmured. Caught by surprise, Feyre let him set her back to her feet. 

“You are my mate,” he added, with surprisingly ferocity. As if she didn’t understand what that truly meant to him. She realized she didn’t when he added, “I’ve been waiting five centuries for you.”

She didn’t know if she’d ever known what it meant to breathe before that moment. Feyre’s heart thundered in her chest as Rhys ran a hand through his inky black hair, his eyes wild and panicked.

“The whole world has a better claim to you than me, but Feyre I would lay the world at your feet if I thought you wanted that.”

The world rumbled for a moment, as if he meant to make the entire universe bow to his every whim. Rhys’s eyes glazed for a moment and then he was reaching for her. 

“Come with me,” he whispered, grabbing her wrist. Feyre trotted obediently after him, that tiny piece of herself watching with curiosity just out of his awareness. What did he mean to do? 

He swept her up, taking her back into Velaris. Like she’d imagined of Tarquin, the bustling crowds all paused to stare at their High Lord, head held high as he walked. Did he notice their eyes?

Or was it so normal he didn’t recognize their awe.

Cobbled streets and brightly colored homes were tucked against the same snow capped mountains as the palace. At the very top, overlooking the city at large, was the iridescent tower that belonged to the priestesses.

“Rhys–”

“It’s not what you think,” he all but panted, long legs moving just a little quicker. She had no say in the matter, not that Feyre would have told him no. They were mated, after all. What was marriage by comparison? Still, marriage, she thought, meant something. That little bit of her couldn’t figure out what. Too much was lost and too little could be risked by digging.

A wide eyed priestess draped in silvery blue met them at the door. She swept into a bow.

“High Lord,” she demurred, bent at the knees. “How can we serve you?”

Rhys’s eyes slid from the priestess to Feyre.

“I mean to make my mate my equal,” he said, his voice raw and dark like the onyx granite of the mountain behind them.

“Swear her in as High Lady of the Night Court.”

#i dont think this is even that bad but geeze i don't want to tag it either #feysand smut #dark feysand #feyre and tarquin sort of? #rhys is just really really jealous #and i am living gratuitously through feyre being so hot all the high lords want her #wish that was me

[starfall-spirit]

The Silver-Tongued Bride Moodboard

Dark Rhys rewrite is on its way, besties!

Find Fic Here

#scheherazade au #rewrite #dark!rhys #moodboard #feysand #1001 nights #arabian nights #acotar #is feyre sexy or what? #still a smut fic for those curious

[shadowdaddies]

My masterlist of ACOTAR poly fics! I'll keep this updated as I continue to write.

✨= fluff

❤️‍🔥= smut

💧= angst

💥 = action (ka-pow!)

Nessian x Reader

✨As Long as I Have You (Nessian x Reader)

✨Banter (Nessian x Reader)

❤️‍🔥✨💧Everything to Me (Nessian x m!Reader)

Feysand x Reader

💧The Real Nightmare (Feysand x dark!Reader)

↳ 💧✨Part 2

Cazriel x Reader

✨Rescue Me (Azriel x Reader x Cassian)

✨❤️‍🔥New Memories (Azriel x Reader x Cassian)

❤️‍🔥Between a Rock and a Hard Place (Cassian x Reader x Azriel)

↳ 💧✨Part 2

Rhysriel x Reader

✨❤️‍🔥Love Intertwined (Rhysand x Azriel x Reader)

Nesta x Cassian x Azriel x Reader

❤️‍🔥The Dilemma (Nesta x Cassian x Azriel x Reader)

Batboys x Reader

✨All Together Now (Batboys x Reader)

❤️‍🔥Spontaneity (Batboys x Reader)

❤️‍🔥Tender (Batboys x Reader)

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #nessian x reader #feysand x reader #cazriel x reader #batboys x reader #rhysriel x reader #poly!nessian x reader #poly!feysand x reader #poly fic #acotar reader fic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #azriel x reader #nesta x reader #cassian x reader #rhys x reader #feyre x reader

[sweetcarolina-24]

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

❤️‍🔥smut 🩵fluff 🖤angst 🩶series 🤍this song reminds me of them 🤎playlist

poly/ship acotar masterlist

🩶Stargirl (ao3 || wattpad) ❤️‍🔥NSFW Alphabet ❤️‍🔥So Close ❤️‍🔥Mating Frenzy 🖤Spoiled Little Princess 🩵The First Taste

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

❤️‍🔥The Mess You Caused ❤️‍🔥NSFW Alphabet ❤️‍🔥🩵13 Beaches(coming 3/10)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

🩶Dark Paradise (ao3 || wattpad) ❤️‍🔥Look at Yourself ❤️‍🔥NSFW Alphabet 🤎Nesta’s Playlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

❤️‍🔥The Headboard ❤️‍🔥NSFW Alphabet(coming 2/25) 🖤The 1 🤍Come Back

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

❤️‍🔥Good Girl ❤️‍🔥NSFW Alphabet(coming 2/28)

🤍Youre Losing Me

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

🩶Scorched Shadows: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 ❤️‍🔥Little Fawn ❤️‍🔥NSFW Alphabet(coming 3/1)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

❤️‍🔥Pretty Little Thing ❤️‍🔥NSFW Alphabet(coming 3/3)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

❤️‍🔥Greedy Little Fox ❤️‍🔥Love ❤️‍🔥NSFW Alphabet(coming 3/6)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

🩶How to Disappear(wattpad || ao3) ❤️‍🔥Stay Still ❤️‍🔥The Birchin ❤️‍🔥NSFW Alphabet(coming 3/8)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

all my playlists based on fiction

🤎brokeback mountain 🤎dead poets society 🤎elizabeth and darcy 🤎euphoria vibes 🤎evelyn hugo 🤎everlark 🤎feysand 🤎gilmore girls 🤎jennifers body vibes 🤎jurdan 🤎little women 🤎nesta archeron 🤎pretty little liars 🤎thirteen vibes 🤎throne of glass 🤎twilight 🤎virgin suicides vibes 🤎warnette 🤎xoxo -gossip girl

#acotar #acotar smut #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhys x you #rhysand x reader #cassian x reader #cassian x you #feyre x reader #feyre archeron #nesta x reader #nesta archeron x reader #elain x reader #elain archeron #nesta archeron #eris x you #eris x reader #lucien x reader #morrigan x reader #lucien x you #lucien vanserra #eris vanserra #morrigan #dom! nesta #mean dom! azriel #smut #masterlist #cassian acotar #rhysand x y/n #rhys x reader

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Wicked Games

Assassin!Reader x Poly!Feysand

Author's note: This is my first self-insert and first smut, wanted to try something new for a change. Not proof-read, we die like men.

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This mission was supposed to be simple, quick. In and out, cut and dry, the job coming in like all the others: A manila envelope under your door, no markings, the target and order inside. That was how it had always been, how it always would be, it was the only thing you knew to be true. So how in the Seven Hells had you ended up here? The High Lord leaned against the wall, his well pressed shirt open half way down his chest, the swirl of Illyrian ink in stark contrast to his bronze skin, so casual in the face of what should have been his own demise. Worse, the High Lady, perched atop the desk, her bare legs bouncing against the wood as she kicked her feet almost giddily. Neither of them looked displeased with the fact that you had been sent there to kill them. In fact, you were quite sure the infamous Curse Breaker was laughing at you as you squirmed uncomfortably in your seat. They hadn't even tied you down! It was starting to feel like an insult, they way they'd simply ushered you in here and asked you to sit like you'd come in for a meeting and not for the poison you'd slipped into their wine minutes before.

"It was a valiant effort, really," said Rhysand as he pushed away from the wall and came to stand behind you.

It was impossible not to be aware of the sheer power of him when he was this close. It was like a dropping a stone into a pond, the ripple of star-kissed power brushing steadily against you. You'd been around powerful males your whole life, had been trained to kill many of them, but none had ever felt like this. He was the shadow of a thought in your mind, a brush of darkness against your skin, you could practically taste jasmine and citrus.

Feyre was no better as she placed her elbows on her knees and leaned forward to get a better look at you. The dress she wore was cut low, the neckline plunging towards her midsection, accentuating every curve when she sat like that. Power radiated off her, not just Night, but something other, as if something beyond the power of the High Lords prowled beneath her skin.

"Not many people dare try," she said with a grin. She'd been the one to catch you. It had been a mistake going for her first, you could see that clearly now. The decision to spike their wine and than disguise yourself as their new cupbearer was already a risky move, but you liked to be absolutely sure the job was done, and done right. And Feyre hadn't taken her throne, she had been perched in Rhysand's lap, kissing his neck and whispering in his ear as she drank cup after cup. You'd thought she would be too drunk to notice the change in taste, too caught up in the revelry to even notice that you were not their usual cup bearer. You had been very, very wrong. She hadn't even gone in for a sip, had somehow been using her public display of affection to distract from the fact that she'd slipped right into your mind and seen exactly what you had done. And still, she could have killed you right there, could have summoned water or flames or ice and you'd heard she could do and taken you out in front of everyone in the Court of Nightmares. But she'd gotten out of Rhysand's lap, stumbling on heels you thought were too tall for her, and thrown an arm around your shoulder, whispering in your ear that she needed your help finding the bathroom--and knocking the spiked drinks out of your hands in the process. It was very clear to you now that she had never been drunk in the first place.

Neither of them were anything like the report you'd gotten.

"I-" what was there to say? Words felt useless.

Rhysand leaned down, resting the bulk of his weight on the back of the chair, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "So who do I get to thank for sending you?"

You shivered at his proximity, at his warm breath over the shell of your ear. Not many people dared to get this close to you; not many people got the better of you like this either. This was certainly a lot of firsts.

When you gave no response, Feyre said, "Don't be shy."

They were likely to rip the answer right out of your skull with those terrifying daemati powers if you kept your mouth shut, or worse, summon that Shadowsinger you'd seen lurking around the halls earlier. "I don't know."

Rhysand made a disappointed sound from where he still hovered by your ear. You refused to try and turn to look at him, refused to acknowledge that you had even heard him.

Feyre jumped off the top of the desk, her stilettoes clicking against the polished marble floors. "Now, now, don't make this difficult for yourself."

"Your secret is safe with us," Rhysand said mockingly.

"I don't know! I get my orders in the mail. There's never a return address or signature."

"Where's the mail?"

"I burned it."

"Well in that case," his voice was the only warning before you felt something scrape against your mental shields. You tried to throw more walls up as a talon slashed across your mind, but it was not Rhysand that slipped past, but Feyre, quick and quite as the huntress they said she used to be. She laughed as she sprinted through your memories, all attempts at shielding useless as Rhysand kept poking at what little shields you had up to distract you. They were the perfect team, synced to perfection, each move calculated and sharpened.

Feyre stepped into the memory of you opening the envelope as simply as if she had stepped through a doorway. The memory unfolded for her, you saw your own hands break the seal, open the letter, and burn it in a flash, before reality broke back through. You shook your head, fighting the memory away like it was a spot in your eye.

"That handwriting looked familiar, didn't it, Darling," Rhysand purred, the low timber of his voice rumbling in your ear.

"How thoughtful of Keir to give us an Anniversary gift," Feyre returned.

Keir. You only knew the stories about him, what a horrible male he was. You'd been lucky to have not been born in the Court of Nightmares like your mother, had grown up only with the tales of what kind of place this was. Your mother had protected you for as long as she could, but when Amarantha had come, when war bands had fought and bickered over land in the little territory she and your father had managed to make for themselves... well, they were gone and you'd had to find a way to survive, but you hadn't forgotten those stories. Your stomach twisted. This job had never been easy, but it had never been for males like Kier. At least, you'd never thought so.

You must have looked surprised because Feyre put two manicured fingers under your chin and tilted your head up to look at you. Something wicked gleamed in those strikingly blue eyes and you quickly blurted, "I swear I didn't know! I needed the money, I didn't know the job was from him."

"We believe you," she said. "But I think you should prove you're worth letting go."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I'll do anything!"

Rhysand chuckled at that. "Anything?"

The suggestiveness in the question made you shiver, more so when the High Lady broke into a grin. That couldn't be a good sign.

"I want to see Keir sweat a little, don't you dear?" Feyre asked over your head to her mate.

"More than just a little, I should think."

This felt like a fever dream, everything a little distorted and muffled. Perhaps it was. You had hit your head pretty hard on your last mission. How else could you explain what was happening here?

"Stand," Feyre ordered.

You did as you were told, even if you were biting the inside of your cheek.

"So responsive," Rhysand said, more to Feyre than you.

You frowned at that.

Feyre stepped closer to you, settling her hands on your hips. There was no room to twist away as her mate settled in behind you, the heat radiating off him seeping through your shirt. They even moved in perfect sync.

Nowhere to run now.

"You're going to play our favorite game with us."

Game? The reports hadn't said anything about them liking games.

"I don't understand-"

Rhysand cut you off, "Just follow our lead."

Feyre gave your hips a squeeze, "It's fun, trust me."

You didn't know what this had to do about proving you had made a mistake in taking this job, but you didn't know what other choice you had, so you just nodded.

They led you back into the throne room, the night's revelry still in full swing. Near the back, where the tables were still piled high with food, was Keir, the aging steward speaking conspiratorially with some of the other high ranking officials of the Court. Did he know already that you had failed? If he did, he didn't show it. He didn't so much as look up from his conversation.

Something hot twisted in your stomach at the sight of him. How could you have taken a job for a male like him?

Feyre pulled your thoughts away from him as she pulled you over to the dais, where their thrones sat empty. Even though Keir wasn't paying attention, others in the crowd were.

You swallowed thickly as Rhysand slid into his rightful seat, looking every bit the High Lord he was. Feyre didn't resume her seat in his lap, however, this time she perched on the arm rest, and guided you into her former place.

Your cheeks heated, mouth dry as the High Lord looped a strong arm around your waist and positioned you more comfortable on his lap, one long leg slotting between your own.

Feyre chucked at your obvious embarrassment. "Now now, you said you'd do anything." She said into your mind.

You dared a glance at her. This wasn't what you'd meant!

"This game is much more fun if you relax," Rhys purred as he dragged his nose over your throat looking for a place to sink his teeth.

You shivered despite yourself, the warmth of him seeping into you.

Feyre gripped your chin in her hand, forcing your gaze away from where it had wandered into the crowd. Keir still wasn't paying attention, but more and more people were halting their dancing and drinking to leer at this new pet their High Lord and Lady had brought back with them.

"Eyes on us."

Rhysand's hand slid over your hip and down to your thigh. The servant's garb you'd borrowed was a thin pair of pants, and a large, hooded sweater, not the sexy, revealing gown the High Lady donned, but you still couldn't help but feel incredibly vulnerable in this position.

How were you supposed to know what to do? How was this proving you could be trusted not to take another job from Keir? Was that fool even looking this way?

Rhysand nipped at the underside of your jaw and you jumped, thoughts careening away from Keir and whatever he was doing. The High Lord's breath was warm on your neck, each nip he left along your jaw sending shivers down your spine. It was an effort to keep your eyes open, to not immediately tilt your head back against his shoulder and let him explore every inch of you as you submitted fully to him. He could make you, if he wanted, it would be all too easy for him to reach inside your mind and move you however he wanted. You'd be a liar if you said the thought didn't excite you. The thought of handing yourself over to someone with that kind of power, testing to see what they'd do with it was more tempting than you'd ever dare say aloud. And maybe the High Lady had heard those thoughts, because a moment later, she was threading her hands through your hair and tilting your head back to let Rhysand explore further.

You whimpered softly as he ran his tongue over your pulse point and then Feyre was leaning in and nipping at the other side of your neck. It was too much at once, the overwhelming scent and warmth of them had you leaning fully into Rhysand's shoulder, eyes closing. One of their hands slid under your shirt, stroking at your side, you thought it might be Feyre, but didn't dare open your eyes to look, lest this really be a dream and you'd awake alone.

"Good girl," Rhysand praised. Somehow, even in your head his voice was low and husky. His hand slid further up your thigh, testing as he drew closer to your core. The move had you squirming and Feyre responded by dragging her hand from underneath your shirt to hold your hips down. There was no escaping either of them.

You still weren't sure how you ended up in this position, but you no longer cared. All you knew was this, them, and how much more of them you needed. Distantly you wondered if this was some daemati trick, if they had slipped into your mind and convinced you to do this. You decided you didn't care if they had, not as Feyre's lips were on yours, her tongue sliding past your teeth. There wasn't a hint of wine on her lips, despite all you'd seen her drink earlier. How she did that was anyone's guess.

Rhys drew circles on the inside of your thigh with his fingers, teasing you now as he continued to nip at your throat. There'd be marks in the morning, of that you were certain.

Feyre broke apart abruptly, laughing as you chased after her. "I think she likes this game of ours."

"Shall we play some more?"

You could play it all night if they wanted. There was something intoxicating about the two of them that had you desperate for any scrap of affection they could give you.

"Yes!" You said it faster than you intended, a blush creeping it's way back up your cheeks as you realized how pathetic it sounded, especially to two high fae. "Please."

Feyre leaned over you to kiss Rhys this time, intentionally pressing herself forward so her chest brushed up against you. You arched up to press your lips against her collar bones, too scared to go lower. She hummed approvingly into Rhy's mouth and he rewarded you by dragging his hand the rest of the way up your thigh, cupping your core through your pants. You were desperate for friction now, grinding your hips into his palm, even as your lips continued to work of Feyre's collarbones. She smelled so good! Her skin soft under your lips. You wanted the time to run your lips over the smattering of freckles she'd gotten while hunting in the summer time.

Rhys' free hand slid into your hair, pulling tight as he whispered in your ear, "No marks on your High Lady. Not without my permission, understand?"

If you were of any sound mind you might have been tempted to scrape your teeth across her throat, just to see what he would do, but you knew you weren't lucky enough to get away with it after everything that had happened already. "Yes, sir."

His dark laugh rumbled in his chest, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. This was a very dangerous game, far more dangerous than any assassination attempt had ever been. Dangerous, because, for once, you were enjoying it and enjoying anything in this line of work got you in trouble.

Feyre leaned back, out of your reach, and still held by Rhys' arm around your waist, it was impossible to reach out after her. Especially now that the High lord had decided he didn't like the article of clothing between his hand and you, and was reaching for the waistband of your pants.

The blush returned tenfold. This--touching, kissing, in front of all these people was one thing, but that?

The High Lady pouted as she looked at you, her eyes lust-blown, so dark you almost couldn't see the blue. "I think you have too much on."

Before you could contemplate what that meant, she snapped her fingers and your sweater disappeared entirely.

You tried to move to cover yourself, squirming now, and she grabbed your hands with a disapproving tut. "No hiding."

Rhys' hand had slid inside your waistband, so close again your hips rocked forward, searching for him without conscious thought, even as your face heated. There was a fine line between your pleasure and sheer mortification and somehow you were still teetering between the two, torn between wanting more and wanting to sink into the floor and disappear. The crowd was watching, or at least you were pretty sure they were, at this point you were too scared to look and kept your gaze glued to where the High Lord and Lady were touching you.

"So pretty," Feyre hummed as she moved your hands up and around Rhys' neck.

There was no hiding what they were doing to you now. You might have fought them harder if Rhys' hand wasn't finally where you wanted him so desperately, a finger sliding easily into you. Your jaw dropped, a strangled sound coming out of you.

"So wet," he teased, mind to mind. "All this for us, pet?"

Pet. Toy. The High Lord's little play thing. You'd been called worse.

"Yes, sir."

"So well trained, maybe we should keep her," Feyre said as she placed a gentle kiss on your nose.

"Where'd you learn this manners, hmm?" He nipped at your ear as he slid a second finger inside you.

Your eyes rolled back into your head at the stretch, at the way he curled his fingers, hitting all the right spots. Heat coiled in your gut and you found yourself instinctively tightening your hands into the silky strands of his hair.

"Certainly not Keir," Feyre said as she brought her hands to squeeze at your breasts.

You'd had your eyes closed, lost in the bliss of Rhys' ministrations, unprepared for the new sensation of her hands on you, you let out a moan louder than was appropriate for the situation.

"Guess I'm just good at this game," I quipped weakly. The two of them working together like this was becoming overwhelming, you could barely think past the point of contact of with their hands. There was only this and them and the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach. Rhys' pace was quickening. Feyre was playing with the clasp at the center of your bra, toying with it like she was contemplating ripping it off you.

She might have, if someone hadn't cleared their throat at the base of the dais.

"What do you want Keir?" Rhys sneered, the true picture of princely boredom, as if he was not currently holding you at the cusp of an orgasm, as if his mate wasn't leaving hickey's on the exposed skin of your breasts as they spoke.

You'd thought, as you registered Keir's presence that this would be the end of it, that they would stop now that they had his attention, but Rhys was still curling his fingers inside you, stroking relentlessly as Feyre bit and sucked at your sensitive skin. You arched into her, biting down on a moan, this game be damned. Who cared about Keir? About the rest of the court? You needed them to keep touching and kissing you. This was all that mattered.

You were panting as Feyre giggled into your skin. "Doing so good for us."

"Please," you begged, grinding yourself down on Rhys palm. You were so close, just a little more.

"I hate to interrupt," Keir began.

"No you don't," said Feyre. "It's your favorite thing to do."

"But your little toy-"

"Brought us a gift for our anniversary?" Rhys finished for him.

"We know," Feyre added. "It was a really sloppy attempt at a gift."

Keir stammered, none of the words coming out right.

"She needs some training," Rhys said. "A little refining around the edges, but I think this will be a very profitable relationship."

"Just wish we knew who sent her our way," Feyre cooed.

Rhys' free hand hand came up to rest on your throat, just tight enough to make you lean your head back to look at him. The move sent heat straight to your core, your muscle tightening as you whimpered for him. "But we'll get it out of you eventually, won't we, pet?"

Keir was visibly shaking now.

"Mhmm," you whimpered.

"Come on now, where are those pretty little manners you had before?" Rhys teased, his hand suddenly stilling.

The loss of friction was too much, tears welling up in your eyes. "Yes, yes High Lord." You stammered.

His grin was feline as he started moving again, faster this time. Feyre slid behind your mental shield again, this time opening up a door in her own mind to show you what you looked like through her eyes, your pupils blown, your cheeks flushed, lips kiss swollen and red. They'd left little red marks all along your throat and chest. Then she blasted you with an image of what she still wanted you to look like, images of her between your legs, of you taking Rhys in your mouth. You tightened around Rhys' fingers.

"And you would take the word of some-" whatever word he was about to throw at you was suddenly cut off as Rhys removed his ability to speak.

"Careful how you speak, Keir."

The steward's mouth opened and closed as he tried in vain to defend himself.

Rhys waved a hand, "You clearly have nothing useful to say here, you can go." Keir spun like a top, mouth still flapping open and closed like a fish, limbs splayed awkwardly, clearly not in control of his body, until Rhys made him walk half way to the door. Once he'd been released from the High Lord's grip, he stumbled and all but ran for the door.

"Why...?" The rest of the thought eddied from your mind as Rhys curled his fingers, hitting a spot inside you that made stars dance across your vision, your orgasm barreling through you so fast you're sure you screamed their names, but didn't have the presence of mind to hear it for yourself.

"We could kill him now," Feyre said as you slumped back against Rhys' shoulder. "But what fun is that? Why show him the mercy of a quick death when we can have him looking over his shoulder every five minutes, contemplating how to beat us in this wicked little game of ours?"

"I think," Rhys cooed as he placed a gentle kiss on your temple. "That it would be much more fun to eventually turn you on him instead."

You huffed a laugh at that.

Rhys carefully removed his fingers from your core and attempted to bring them to his mouth for a taste, but Feyre beat him to it, sliding his long fingers directly into her mouth, holding eye contact with you the entire time.

You clenched your legs together, wincing at the bit of soreness you felt there.

"Besides," Rhys purred in your ear, right before he shifted you around, settling you chest to chest in his lap. "This game is just getting started, isn't that right, pet?"

#feysand smut #feysand x reader #poly!feysand x reader #feyre acheron #feyre acheron x reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #acotar smut #acotar x reader #CoN

[historiaxvanserra]

✨ indicates smut or references to NSFW material

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of ✨ 2 3 Single Dad!Rhysand x Priestess!Reader

These Violent Delights ✨ 2 3 Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader

All That Is Dark Within Me ✨ Azriel x Rhys!Sister Reader

Every Exquisite Thing ✨ (coming soon) Eris Vanserra x Reader (Regency AU)

Depraved✨ Cassian x reader

Jealous Feysand x reader

Reverence✨ Azriel x reader

Ruin ✨ Azriel x reader

Little Love | Pregnancy Headcanons✨

Cycle | Period Headcanons✨

Carnal | NSFW Headcanons ✨

Daylight | Morning Routine Headcanons✨

Midnights | Nighttime Routine Headcanons

Curve | Plus Size Mate Headcanons✨

Dark Bloom | Tamlin's Mate Headcanons ✨

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar smut #azriel x reader #azriel headcanons #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #a court of wings and ruin #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #cassian x reader #cassian fanfic #cassian x you #cassian acotar #azriel acotar #rhysand x you #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x you #eris x reader #eris vanserra x you #lucien x you #lucien x reader #lucien vanserra

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!Feysand x closeted!reader: Drunken Confessions[***]

A/N: I just— it’s them. They’re the problem, not me—I swear.

Warnings: dubcon/noncon, pussy eating, oral (m recieving)

Drunken Mistakes Drunken Promises

You grip the apple with both hands as you flinch, a pair of hands settling on your hips, a chin resting on your shoulder.

“There you go,” Feyre soothes, pressing a kiss to the space beneath your ear, making you tense further. “How are you this morning?”

You try to relax, settling into her hold, forcing your muscles to release their tension so she doesn’t detect your fear. You swallow, “I’m—good.”

You can feel her frown. Then you can see it when she plies the apple from your hands, disregarding the nail indentations, turning you to face her. “You don’t like me touching you.” There’s a sadness in her eyes, as if she’s looking at something less fortunate than her. Pitifully.

“I’m not—It isn’t right,” you whisper, hardly a breath, but her blue-grey eyes flick to your mouth. Already so hungry. “Would you prefer Rhys?” She’s baiting you, and you stumble right into it, just like she knew you would.

You shake your head gently, “no…” Your lower lip wobbles, and she wants nothing more than to put her teeth there. “No? You want me instead?” Pride swells in her chest when you nod, feminine satisfaction drawing heat between her thighs. She knows she shouldn’t make you choose, but— She bites her lip.

“Then why do you run from us? From me? Do you not like the pleasure we gave you?” Warmth flushes your cheeks and fear crawls beneath your skin at the reminder. “No, it’s… I’m adjusting, is all,” you lie. “It’s a big change, to suddenly see you in a…”

“Sexual sense?” She asks.

You flush, “non-platonic way.” She tips her head, then grips your hips slightly tighter, bringing you against her, making you tense. “Why can’t you admit it?” She asks, lips brushing over your own, and you stiffen.

Your hands lift to her shoulders, keeping her away as she moves to kiss you. “Feyre, I’m… I don’t think…” A growl sounds in the back of her throat and you stiffen but keep your hold on her. “Females just—… They aren’t for me.”

“That’s a lie,” she growls, then her features soften. “It’s okay to be scared, birdie. I know this might be a sudden change for you, but we’re here. Whenever you want us. Now’s the perfect time to experiment.”

She leans closer, her hands sliding to wrap around your waist, tugging your torso against hers, pulling you into her warmth. “It’s just you and me here. No need to be afraid, it’s just us. I know you want me, I’ve lost count of the drunken confessions you’ve given, naming every depraved act you’ve wanted me to do to you, or you to me.” She breathes the words over you, and you shudder, the pads of your fingers digging into her shoulders as your thighs squeeze together.

She taps the bargain mark that is imprinted on your sternum, “I can’t help you if you don’t reach, sweet thing.” You swallow, trying to gently push away from you, but her thigh presses between your own, making you bite your lip. “I command you to tell me the truth,” she whispers, and you whimper, trying to shake your head. You know the stinging pain that will come if you don’t comply. “Do you want me to touch you?”

You turn your head away from her, heat flushing your skin as you attempt to get away, twisting so you won’t have to answer as you seal your lips together. “Answer me,” she says, making you whine as the buzzing starts.

“Yes…” Tears brim at the edges of your eyes as the confession is pulled out of you. “See?” Her thumb brushes over the crest of your cheek. The edges of your mouth twist down as you shrink away from her soft touch. “You want me, so stop holding yourself back. I’m right here, sweetness. So touch me.”

Unwillingly, your arms snake around her neck, pulling you chest to chest with her, until your noses are touching. “There you go, see? Doesn’t it feel nice?” She asks, and you feel every word. You dip your head, averting your eyes, even as her hands wrap around your back, one sliding between your shoulder blades to make you arch. “That’s the bargain,” you fight, weakly, “I’m not choosing it.”

Something sparks in her eyes as she peers at the tight press of your bodies, biting her lip. Her gaze flicks back up to yours, “don’t push back.” Then her hands are wrapping beneath your thighs, moving to be between them as she moves your legs to wrap around your hips, hoisting you higher. You gasp, this time clutching onto her of your own volition at the disorienting movement.

“Fey…what are you…?” She turns, and sets you on the table, her hands lowering to the delicious swell of your ass, squeezing. You jolt, smushing yourself against her as you attempt to get away from her groping hands. She huffs a laugh as you press into her, hand tangling in your hair, forcing you to meet her gaze.

Arousal coalesces between her legs at your expression, peering up at her with your lips slightly parted. She needs to taste you. “Remove your dress for me, birdie.”

Your lower lip trembles, but you follow her orders, fingers fumbling as you clasp the hem, lifting it over your head. Your shrug it off, gathering the material to your chest in attempts to hide yourself. “Lower it.” A soft sob breaks your lips as you’re forced to lower it, baring yourself to her.

A whine drags from your throat at her thumbs brush over your nipples, pinching lightly as her eyes gleam. And then she’s lowering herself, mouth opening over your skin as her hands keep your thighs spread. “Touch me,” she says, reattaching to you.

Your fingers thread in her hair, but instead of trying to tug her away, you keep her close. Arc into her mouth. You bite your lip in attempts to silence yourself. She doesn’t like that, teeth nipping at you, making you gasp.

Her hands raise over the tops of your thighs, hooking beneath your underwear. You squeal, trying to squirm away but she growls softly, pulling away, enabling her to tear the fabric from your body. Her eyes latch onto your sex, hot and gleaming, and perfectly ready for her to drag her tongue—

She drop to her knees, mouth opening over you, swinging your legs over her shoulders.

“Feyre!” You gasp, still struggling, wanting to get away but her mouth feels so good. “Feyre, stop…” you whimper, attempting to tug her away from your wet heat. She pulls back for a moment, staring up at you from between your spread legs, “answer. Truthfully. Do you want me to stop?”

A shiver runs down your spine, and her breath brushes over your clit. You try to squeeze your thighs together but she holds them apart. You swallow. Bite your lip. “…no.”

Her pupils dilate, her head cocking to the side, thumb brushing your skin, making you tense. “You want a female’s mouth between your legs? Want me to make you feel good? Answer me, sweet thing.”

You whine, tears sliding down your cheeks as you’re forced to prematurely confront that secret part of yourself. You’ve known your preferences for a long time, but… It’s disgusting. Wrong of you.

You nod, hands tightening in her hair.

More tears spill when she returns to your heat, your head falling back as a soft cry escapes you. You bite your lip in attempts to silence yourself, to no avail. Her tongue swirls over your clit, lapping and occasionally nipping, your hips bucking in response. “Feyre…” you moan, weakly, widening the stance of your thighs to make more room for her as she continues pleasuring you.

You’re so caught up in her mouth, you don’t hear the cat-soft footfalls padding toward the kitchen.

It’s not until he’s lazily dragging a chair back from the kitchen table that you flinch, noting his presence. You yelp, grabbing for your dress but a tendril of darkness snares you, pinning your wrists to the table. “My, my. What a feast you’ve laid out, darling,” Rhysand drawls, gracefully sliding into the chair to indulge in the show.

Breathless, you flush with embarrassment and shame.

“And here I was, thinking I might grab a bite to eat and then come visit you. How greedy you are.” The low purr of his voice has your thighs squeezing the female, her tongue lapping intently between your legs, set of memorising your flavour.

Violet eyes slide to yours, and arousal slams into you. The sharpness to those eyes. Their depth and power. You bite your lip, quickly averting your gaze from humiliation.

A high-pitched moan hitches from your throat as she does something wicked with her tongue.

Rhys groans, leaning back in his chair, and you can clearly make out the silhouette of his arousal. You’re brought back to the memory of him inside of you, pounding mercilessly while Feyre was seated atop your mouth. He’d slammed into you over and over again, filling you up until he was spilling down the sides, staining the sheets as he pumped you full.

His eyes gleam like he’s remembering, too.

His hellish mouth lifts into a feline smirk, and he adjusts himself, palming lightly as he does so. But with barely a thought, the table has been laid, food appearing before him, so he can eat while he indulges.

Feyre pushes her fingers inside of you, and you squeal, toes curling as your arms give out, crashing into the jars adorning the table. You don’t have time to fret, as she begins curling them, rubbing against a spot inside of you that has you arcing off the wooden surface.

A deep, masculine groan sounds from beside you. The food was just given to him, but already he’s waving it away, instead standing and reaching for something you knocked over. He opens it, dipping his long fingers in, pulling them out.

You protest weakly when he presses them to your lips, but he gives you a silent order, and you’re compelled to follow. Your eyes roll at the sweet flavour of the jam, the way the pads of his digits rub over your tongue, as if imagining your mouth wrapped around other parts of him.

A flush warms your cheeks under the intensity of his gaze as he sends an image into your head. Tears brim with a mix of arousal and disgust.

It’s from his perspective, lounging in his throne. His long legs are spread, and you’re knelt between them. A collar hugs your neck, and he’s holding the leash firmly in his hand. Your back is curved, lips plump and flushed. One hand is pressing against his hip, while the other is wrapped around his cock.

You look up at him with large eyes, and you shuffle closer, settling between his thighs: eager to pleasure him. You stroke him, long, firm pumps of your hand, but he jerks the leash, pulling you to his cock. A whimper drags from your throat, but it’s full of need, like you’re dying to have him in your mouth, to have him fuck into you.

When he lets you out of the small illusion, you’re moaning loudly, the noises spilling from your lips with every flick of Feyre’s tongue, every pump and curl of her fingers against that spot.

Rhys squeezes your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he spits down. Your eyes widen as his saliva mixes with your own, his fingers already dipping inside, making sure he coats your tongue. Your back arches and he growls his pleasure at your reaction.

“Like that, little lynx?” He questions, his free hand brushing over your sternum, finger tips dancing over the bargain mark. You whimper around his digits, tongue recoiling. His brow narrows but his violet eyes gleam. “Want me to shove them further, hm? Bring you to the edge of this table so you can take my cock instead?”

Involuntarily, you eye his trousers, how he’s straining behind those buttons, begging to be released. He notices your gaze, hand palming himself to relieve some of the tension. To take the edge off.

His dark laugh slides down your spine, settling in the pit of your belly, where all that heat is slowly gathering. “Yeah? Want to be choking on my cock, huh? So filthy, aren’t you.” He removes his fingers from your mouth, only in favour of pushing those strands of hair from your face, so gently. “Want to feel me spilling down your throat?” He drawls, undoing the buttons that are keeping him from doing exactly that.

You writhe on the table, Feyre’s arm snaking over your hips as she holds you still. She’s getting you so close, and you know you won’t last long. Not with how her mouth is working you, that delicious, wet heat enveloping your sex.

“Feyre…” you manage a small whimper, as you feel that coil tightening in your lower belly. Rhysand halts his movements, his eyes practically glinting with animal delight, his hands dropping away from his buttons in favour of twining rings round your nipples, pinching lightly.

“Are you gonna come, little lynx? Gonna let Feyre taste you, come in her mouth?” He drawls, leaning over you. You mewl as you feel yourself cresting that high, and you grapple for something to hold onto.

Your muscles seize as the pleasure crashes through you, laying siege to your body as you whimper, mouth dropping open. Your hands fly to Rhys’ as you twist your head to the side, back arcing as your hips buck against Feyre’s mouth. The High Lord allows it, his fingers twining with yours as he squeezes you back, feeling how you tense with every wave that’s rushing you.

All he can think about is putting you on your knees. Tying you up, gaging your mouth open so he can feel the wet heat of your tongue gliding against him, watch as drool spills messily, mixing with his come.

Your thighs squeeze Feyre when she begins to take you into overstimulation, her tongue still lapping up your slick, swirling over your clit. She pulls away, but not before kissing her way up your centre, nipping lightly at the apex of your thighs before remedying it with a small lap. Then she’s crawling up your body and you whimper as she climbs onto the table.

Rhys’s free hand snakes over the nape of her neck, threading through her hair as he hauls her mouth to his. You watch, sinfully fascinated as his tongue sweeps into her mouth, eager to taste you and his mate together. His hips buck and you tighten around nothing at the memory of having him between your legs—inside of you.

You can clearly make out the outline of his cock, and your mouth-waters at the sight. Your other hand begins moving toward him, as if you’ll undo that final button, if only to set your own mouth on him.

His hand squeezes yours in silent encouragement, and you freeze. You stop your movements. You can’t give in. It’s wrong. They’ve stolen you away from your life, you can let them…manipulate you into liking it.

‘I saw that, little lynx.’ Rhysand purrs into your mind, dark talons scraping over those intimate parts of your shield. Teasingly brushing against them. It would take a little more than a single thought and he could be sinking into your brain, shifting your conscious to his will.

You flush, snatching your hand to your body while he grips your other tighter. ‘Why don’t we continue, hm? Act out that little fantasy I showed you earlier?’

You yelp when darkness snares your throat, forming a collar, and tears spring to your eyes.

He tugs lightly on the leash, and darkness swells around the three of you. Then your back is pressing into the soft dip of a mattress, and you sob with recognition. You can’t do more. You can’t repeat that night. Not again.

Feyre shushes you gently, breaking the kiss to cup your cheek. “Hey,” she whispers, “it’s okay. It’ll be fun,” she reassures. You only whimper in response, shaking your head as you look at her pleadingly. She offers you a vaguely sympathetic look, “you so enjoyed my mouth just now…” Heat warms your body at the reminder. How awfully you acted, allowing her that access. “I think Rhysie deserves a little pleasure, don’t you?”

Tears roll as your lower lip quivers.

She shifts away from you, allowing Rhysand to exert control as he jerks on the lead, forcing you upright until you’re braced on your arms before him. Twisting to get him to let up on the lead.

He smirks down at you and heat coalesces between your thighs at the promise. “Use your hands, little lynx,” he murmurs, watching with lust as you raise your trembling hands to his buttons, pulling him out even as your fingers fumble.

Rhysand grits his teeth as he again tugs on the lead, pulling you closer to his hips, one hand threading through your hair.

“Rhys…” you whimper, looking at him beseechingly through wet lashes. He only groans, pulling you closer until the tip of his cock is pressing against the seam of your lips. “Come on now, don’t act all shy. I know you wanted to get your mouth between my legs earlier, so do it.” The last part fades to a growl, and you shudder, nipples peaking with arousal.

Your eyes drop to his cock, to the bead of moisture gathered at his tip. You wet your lips, then part them, allowing him to guide himself onto the velvety heat of your tongue.

Rhys snarls softly, fingers raking over your scalp possessively, needing to pound into you, get some sort of relief. “That’s better,” he drawls, pressing in, in, into your mouth, “so good now, aren’t you.”

He chuckles darkly to himself. “Let’s see how long you can go before I have to use that bargain to keep you open for me, huh?” And with that, he’s drawing his hips back, and pushing in.

Tears fall, saliva spills, his taste rolls across your tongue and you whine—it comes out strangled. He twitches at the sound, making you shudder.

How much further down this path are they going to drag you?

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#dark!feysand #dark!feysand smut #Feysand smut #dark!feysand x reader #dark!feysand x reader smut #dark!fic #[***] #poly!fic #Drunken

[throneofsapphics]

kink/angst-tober masterlist

A/N: vast majority of these will be smut, other prompts may be dark. minors dni please! some of this is subject to change. they'll be posted at midnight est!

Day 1: Spanking with Gavriel Day 2: Wax play with Mor Day 3: Lingerie with Rhys Day 4: “She will die, thinking you never loved her.”  Day 5: Cockwarming with Rowan Day 6: Temperature with Rowaelin Day 7: Free use with Feysand Day 8: “If I see you again, you’re dead.”  Day 9: Piercings with Ruhn Day 10: Blood Kink with Manon Day 11: Mirror with Manorian Day 12: “You can run, we’ll find you every time.”  Day 13: Praise with Fenrys  Day 14: Corruption with Lorcan Day 15: Somnophilia with Nessian  Day 16: “Don’t be nice to me, I know how much you want to slit my throat.” Day 17: Bondage with Feysand  Day 18: Knife play with Manon and Asterin Day 19: Face fucking with Azriel and Rhys  Day 20: “Tell her she can come on her own feet, or over my shoulder.” With Cazriel Day 21: Hair pulling with Elorcan Day 22: Overstimulation with Aelin Day 23: Breath play with Dorian  Day 24: Edging with Lidia Day 25: “Really, poison again? Get more creative.”  Day 26: Face sitting with Nesta  Day 27: Voyeurism with Asterin (ft.the thirteen) Day 28: Degradation with Rowaelin   Day 29: “If you’re going to try and stab me, at least learn how to hold the knife.”  Day 30: Submission with Manorian Day 31: Brat-taming with Rowan 

#kinktober #throne of glass smut #acotar smut #throne of glass fic #throne of glass imagine #acotar imagine #throne of glass x reader #acotar x reader #gavriel x reader #gavriel x y/n #mor x y/n #mor x reader #rhys x y/n #rhys x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin #poly!manorian #poly!nessian #poly!feysand #dorian havilliard x reader #manon blackbeak x reader #rowan whitethorn x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #ruhn danaan x reader #ruhn danaan x y/n #lidia cervos x reader #lidia cervos x y/n #asterin blackbeak x y/n

[munsons-hellfire]

About Me & Masterlist

18+ mdni (you will be blocked)

skye. 25. she/her. writer. movie fanatic. book lover. music. horror. marvel. stranger things. scream. a court of thorns and roses. shatter me. divider credit: saradika

updates will be monday, wednesday, and friday every other week.

find other information here.

emoji system: fluff - 🫧, angst - 🥀, smut - ❤️‍🔥, dark themes - ☠️

MASTERLIST (Updated: 03/30/24)

CASSIAN

Chaos (Ongoing | Original Character: Evangeline Nightbane | Playlist | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Lost (Ongoing | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2 (Coming Soon)

AZRIEL

My Love Will Never Die (Ongoing | Original Character: Circe Archeron | Playlist | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Intro Summary: Circe Archeron, Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Broken (Kallias!Sister Reader)

Untitled (Coming Soon)

You're Losing Me (Ongoing | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2 (Coming Soon)

The Last Time (Coming Soon)

RHYSAND

You're Losing Me (Ongoing | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2 (Coming Soon)

ERIS VANSERRA

My Love Will Never Die (Ongoing | Original Character: Circe Archeron | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Intro Summary: Circe Archeron, Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

The Power of Emotions (Ongoing | Archeron!Reader | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Happiness In The Heart 🫧🥀

Ice & Fire (Coming Soon | Archeron!Reader)

Untitled (Coming Soon | Rhysand!Sister Reader)

LUCIEN VANSERRA

Chaos (Ongoing | Original Character: Evangeline Nightbane | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Untitled (Coming Soon)

The Last Time (Coming Soon)

How Did It End?

TAMLIN

Life Eternal 🫧🥀

Untitled (Coming Soon)

HELION

We're Just Friends 🫧🥀

Discovery of Memories (Ongoing | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2 (TBA)

POLY!BAT BOYS

Forever Together (Ongoing | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

POLY!FEYSAND

How Did It End?

EDDIE MUNSON

The Dark Paradise (Ongoing | Biker!EM x Teacher!Reader | Playlist | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Ruin My Life (Ongoing | Older!Rockstar!EM x Pop Star!Reader | Playlist | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Chapter 1, Chapter 2

A Curse (Fem!Harrington!Reader) 🫧🥀

I Always Knew 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥

Runaway Bride (Coming Soon)

STEVE HARRINGTON

Season Of The Witch (Ongoing | Witch!Reader | Playlist | 🫧🥀☠️) - Act 1: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 | Act 2: To Be Announced

STEDDIE

Broken Hearts Can Be Mended (Ongoing | Writer!Reader | Playlist | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 3, Chapter 5

PEDRO PASCAL

Debut (Completed) - Part 1, Part 2 🫧🥀

JOSEPH QUINN

Fall Into Me 🫧🥀☠️

ROBBIE MERCER

All Your Fault (Platonic!Robbie Mercer) 🥀☠️

STEVE ROGERS

It All Fell Down 🫧🥀

EVERETT ROSS

Forbidden 🫧🥀

CIA!Avenger Reader Headcanons 🫧🥀

JANE FOSTER

Reunited In Valhalla 🫧🥀

JJ MAYBANK

Mutual Feelings (Fem!Character) 🫧🥀

KATE DENALI

Human/Vampire!Reader Headcanons

Untiled Human!Reader Series (Coming Soon)

LINKS TO OTHER SOCIALS

Spotify

AO3

Pinterest

Wattpad

#munsons hellfire #masterlist #munson hellfire masterlist #a court of thorns and roses #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #rhysand #azriel #cassian #lucien vanserra #original char #x reader #reader insert #real person fiction #marvel #steve rogers #jj maybank

[starfall-spirit]

The Silver-Tongued Bride Masterlist

A One Thousand And One Nights AU

See Full, Original Story Plot Here

Summary: Feyre has been selected as the High Lord's next bride, destined to die at the next fortnight's dawning. However, her intriguing retelling of Rhysand's favorite tale has just saved her life.

Until the next Death Dawn, of course.

Read on Ao3

Prologue

Chapter I: The Bargain

Chapter II: Bride to Be

Chapter III: The Wedding

Chapter IV: Wife or Weapon?

Main Masterlist

#the silver-tongued bride #stb #stb masterlist #acotar #feysand #fanfiction #feysand fic #read on ao3 #masterlist #fic rewrite #scheherazade au #dark!rhys #smut fic #retelling

[mrs-illyrian-baby]

October's reading list ( a little late!)

Please read each fic's warnings before reading.

If you enjoyed a fic please reblog and comment to feed a hungry writer!

🔥 = smut

Azriel

Whispers in the Dark by @readychilledwine 🔥

Bat Boys

7 Minutes in Heaven by @honeybeefae 🔥

Bucky Barnes

All The Apple Cider and No More Haunted Houses by @witchywithwhiskey 🔥

An Old Fashioned Notion of Wartime and Whisky by @rookthorne 🔥

Aren't You Glad You Read the Latin by @witchywithwhiskey 🔥

Biker Sex by @1-800-jjbarnes 🔥

Chain Round My Neck by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Depths of Pleasure by @rookthorne 🔥

May I by @notyetneedcoffee 🔥

Omegaverse by @honeybloomss 🔥

Party Games by @ramp-it-up 🔥

Play Pretend by @rookthorne 🔥

Pure Relaxation by @1-800-jjbarnes 🔥

Scary Stories and a Little Something More by @witchywithwhiskey 🔥

Bucky X Thor

Hair Tie Drabble by @linesfromthepocket

Cassian

Size Kink by @jeannineee

Thigh Riding by @azsazz 🔥

Unraveling by @shadowdaddies

Cassian x Azriel x Reader

You Look So Pretty All Tied Up For Me by @acourtofwhatthefuck 🔥

Elriel

Stargirl by @duskandcobalt (part 2) 🔥

Feysand

Eating Out (Feysand X Reader) @lovelyladyabsinthewrites 🔥

Sunday Morning (Feysand X Reader) by @whisperingmidnights 🔥

Frank Castle

Innocence & Praise Kink by @fluffyprettykitty 🔥

Henry x Alex (RWRB)

Miss You Like Crazy by @late-to-the-party-81 🔥

Jake Jensen

Yenzy x Broozy by @drabblewithfrannybarnes

Joaquín Torres

This feelin' is reckless of knowin' it's selfish by @tom-whore-dleston 🔥

Loki

A Gift for Loki by @november-rayne 🔥

An Offering by @lokisgoodgirl 🔥

Awful Things by @lokisgoodgirl 🔥

Burned by @sarahscribbles 🔥

Call You Mine by @sarahscribbles 🔥

Heavy Petting by @wheredafandomat 🔥

I'm Fine by @ladychota

My Loki by @wheredafandomat 🔥

Purple and Red by @ sarahscribbles 🔥

Somnophilia by @sarahscribbles 🔥

The Lakes by @lokisgoodgirl

Transgressions by @lokischambermaid

You Built Me Castles Out of Paragraphs by @softforloki

Nessian

Humiliation by @sweetcarolina-24 (Nessian X Reader) 🔥

Pool Sex by @moodymelanist 🔥

Rhysand

Calm & Bright by @shadowdaddies

Daddy Kink by @jeannineee 🔥

Hide and Seek by @shadowdaddies 🔥

Sweater Weather by @ shadowdaddies

Voyerism by @jeannineee 🔥

Ruhn Danaan

Catch Me If You Can by @azsazz 🔥

Quality Entertainment by @ shadowdaddies 🔥

Sensitive by @callmeblaire 🔥

Steve Rogers

Screaming In A Haunted Corn Maze by @witchywithwhiskey 🔥

Stucky

Sensual Deprivation by @lunarbuck 🔥

Special Girl by @rookthorne

Stucky X Reader

Backstage Pass by @luxeavenger 🔥

#ruhn danaan #Bat Boys #Cassian #ACOTAR #Bucky Barnes #Jake Jensen #Rhysand #nesta archeron #nessian #stucky #Frank Castle #Elriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #Red White and Royal Blue #Loki #Nessian #Nesta Archeron #Reading List #Mrs Reading List

[danikamariewrites]

hey, hi, hello! 💜

it’s your new bestie, aka your feysand anon. once again you did an excellent job by my request. the part of the feysand x reader headcannon where reader goes to the hewn city for the first time was amazing, but since i got a taste of it, i’m wanting more. i would absolutely love a fic based off that. i just know that you would leave absolutely no crumbs. maybe have it ending in just little bit of smut at the end?

whatever you do with it will be amazing, like you. thank you & i hope you have an fabulous day!

Hewn City

Feysand x reader

A/n: AAAHHH THANK YOU BESTIE! I hope you like it and I hope YOU have a fabulous day 💜 also u need to dm me so we can talk more about Feysand ☺️

Warnings: kier being a douchebag

Sitting in front of your vanity Feyre and Mor were putting the finishing touches on your hair and makeup. This was your first visit to the Hewn City as Rhys and Feyre’s partner. You were nervous, but you knew nothing bad would happen to you.

You didn’t particularly want to meet Mor’s father, Kier. Rhys and Feyre told you what happened centuries ago. All you felt was rage toward the male that made your best friends life a living hell.

“All done!” Mor said in a sing-song voice. Feyre kisses your temple, “You look beautiful sweetheart.” Your blush was hidden by the pinkish glitter Mor had brushed on your cheeks moments ago.

You stood to give your outfit one more look over before heading downstairs. Mor winked at you through the full body mirror and left. Feyre came up behind you, snaking her hands in front of you to hold yours, resting her chin on your shoulder.

Your dress was a deep violet that it was almost black. The fabric shimmered with your movements. The high slits on both sides showing off your legs, the top only covering your breasts and wrapping around your neck. It was like you were the night sky Rhys ruled and Feyre shined in. Without you there is no them, they had said.

Your tattooed hand played with the fabric. You had a whole sleeve on your left arm to match their tattoos. Its dark swirls like theirs with stars to fill in the open spots.

A knock on the door has you and Feyre turning. Rhys had a bright smile on his face, his eyes twinkling with love for his favorite girls. “Wow. Just wow. You look stunning, both of you.” As he padded over to you two Rhys opened his arms and embraced you.

Pulling away he cupped your face looking down at you. “How are you feeling?” You swallow audibly. “Nervous. But I’ll be ok. You guys will be there, I know you’ll keep me safe.” Feyre placed a hand on your lower back, “Always, love.”

A little while later you were standing outside the throne room with them. Mor, Amren, Azriel, and Cassian already waiting on the dais. Your nerves acting up as you twisted at the silver rings on your fingers. Rhys stroked a finger down your spine to calm you, whispering in your mind, “What’s wrong love? Don’t be afraid to tell me.”

Keeping your eyes forward you respond, “I guess I’m just nervous about all of it. About the mask you and Fey will wear, the one I will wear.” “We’ll be in here the whole time reassuring you love. Don’t worry.” You nod at that, shaking out your arms and taking a deep breath.

The three of you walk past the kneeling crowd on to the dais. You stand between their thrones as the High Lord and Lady take their seats. Rhys gives you a wicked grin and motions for you to sit on his lap. Once your seated he scans his subjects, commanding them to rise.

Dinner started and Mor brought you all glasses of wine. You took a long swig to help with your lingering nerves. Feyre reached out her free hand to hold yours, rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand. You and Rhys smirked at each other and he began to kiss your neck.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you softly moaned at the feeling of his lips. “How are you feeling?” “Better now that your both touching me.” A feline smirk played on Feyre’s lips. “Tell us if you’re too uncomfortable. Az can take you home if you don’t want to stay.”

Opening your eyes you see Kier approaching the dais and tense up. Seeing the male in person you realized how pathetic he truly is. The three of you turn your attention to him. “It’s alright darling just stay calm, as you were before.” Rhys said softly. “He’s useless. Don’t let anything he says get to you. Bite back and keep your face bored.” Feyre adds.

As Kier aired his grievances to Rhys, he and Feyre continued their soothing touches. They knew they had to listen to Kier. But that didn’t stop them from looking bored or that he was an inconvenience. Once Kier had moved on to petty topics of things that would only benefit him Rhys cut him off and dismissed him.

Kier bowed but decided to show off his attitude loudly, giving Rhys a glare you should never give a High Lord if you wanted to keep your head. “One whore wasn’t so now you have one to share?” Half of the room fell silent at Kier’s comment.

You found Mor, Cassian, and Azriel close by. She was fuming and the Illyrians looked like they were about to attack Kier.

Rhys tapped your leg and you stood. Feyre stood too, pulling you into her, keeping a hand on the small of your back. It was clear the two were seeing red at Kier’s comment. You tried to take their advice and keep your face as bored as possible, but you couldn’t help but be a little hurt by his comment.

Rhys menacingly stepped toward Kier, coming toe-to-toe with him. Rhys towered over him, making Kier look even more pathetic than he already was. Kier tried to apologize quickly but Rhys held up a finger silencing him.

All you could do was watch. Rhys didn’t hurt Kier physically or verbally. No, you and Feyre could tell he delved into Kier’s mind and was mentally messing with him. When Rhys was finished punishing him, Kier’s eyes were wide. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his skin was a sickly pale shade. “You are dismissed for the rest of the evening.”

Kier walked off, heading toward the door that leads to his living quarters. The party resumed once the door was shut. The three of you went back to the thrones. You went back to your spot on Rhys’ lap, smiling at the two of them. “Are you ok?” Feyre asked. You nod and rest your head on Rhys’ shoulder and nip at his neck.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris @twsssmlmaa

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader imagine #acotar reader fic #acotar imagine #feysand #feysand x reader #rhysand x reader imagine #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand acotar #feyre x you #high lady feyre #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #feyre x reader

[witch-and-her-witcher]

Intermediate

feysand | E | Corporate Mod AU

3.7k, part 2 (the shameless smut), tysm @popjunkie42 for reading this over and joking about excel with me 😘💖 (also, for giving me some killer lines to add in hehehe)

Warnings: technically dub con, but in a canon typical way

part 1

~☆~

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

As if Feyre was going to accomplish anything during the remainder of the day with the threat of the Teams messages from her boss hanging over her head.

It was finally happening, the reckoning Lucien kept warning her of for falling for yet another ungodly handsome, wealthy businessman. 

‘You never learn’ she can already hear him saying with a shake of the head and a tap on the sticky bar top with shot glasses. It’ll be the first in a long line of tequila shots they’ll pound back to commiserate yet another solid job lost for both of them because of Feyre’s wandering eyes and insatiable pussy.

It’s kind of Lucien’s fault for always sticking his neck out for her to get her jobs. Especially jobs with such irresistible bosses.

Maybe she’ll start crying and tell Rhys exactly that when he tries to fire her. Throw Lucien right in the line of fire …

God, no, she owes him after the mess at their last job. And besides, as much shit as he gives her, she could never actually betray the prick.

But fuck, Feyre really thought she had it under wraps this time.

Well.

She hasn’t watched any of the Excel videos Rhys has sent her. Hasn’t done any of her work assignments on her own, sweet talking quiet Azriel from down the hall into doing it for her. There’d also been the whole ‘arm wrestling in the breakroom' incident between her and Cassian that had left a mess of shattered glass, blood from the cuts running down his arms and HR paperwork.

But it had all seemed charming at the time. 

The company doesn’t really need another administrative assistant, they need a breath of spontaneity and creative spirit to spark their own wills to live.

Right?

Feyre worries at her bottom lip, stopping to readjust the lay of her golden-brown waves over her shoulder. Even if it would fall apart under a brisk wind, the dusty blue cheap suit jacket nips in just right at the waist, accentuating her tits  — which look fantastic with the push-up bras she’s taken to wearing daily. Just in case.

Before knocking on Rhys’s office door, she debates one last time if she should pull her skirt up to show off her long, lean legs, or down to maintain some appearance of professionalism.

She tugs the material another inch up.

If you’ve got it, flaunt it, right?

She knocks on the door apprehensively. 

And because she apparently has absolutely no sense of self preservation, she bumps into the office with her hip without waiting for a response. 

Rhysand Night looks up from where he’s adjusting himself back into his pants.

Feyre’s jaw drops. Her face heats a thousand degrees hotter and she sputters an apology, trying to cover her eyes and managing to nearly drop the laptop she forgot was tucked under her arm in the process. She scrambles to keep a hold on it, grappling at the rectangular edges and eyes wide and drinking in the last sight of the monster laying between Rhysand Night’s legs.

No wonder her swaggers around like he’s packing heat.

There’s no remorse as Rhys runs his fingers through his mussed hair, nearly violet-blue eyes hazy and lips parted. 

“Shit.”

Feyre gulps. “Yeah. Shit.” She backs towards the door, struggling not to drop the laptop again — really, why are they so awkwardly shaped and unbalanced? And why are her hands suddenly so clammy?

Why is she always so sweaty around this man?

“Where are you going?” Rhys’s voice is dark, husky, even lower than when he’d last spoken right by her ear like a rumbling lion “My, my, what are we going to do about that, darling?”

The number of times Feyre has gotten off to that single sentence is shameful. Perverted. Unhinged.

She needs to be locked up if this man is going to keep looking at her under his thick lashes, full lips forming around that sinful voice’s words … and flash his cock. Shit. It was only the tip she’d spied, but they way his hand had been gripping so much really told the story of girth and length —

“Feyre? Are you paying attention?”

Feyre clears her throat. “What?”

In a wholly uncalled for, ridiculously sexy manner, Rhys doesn’t bother to latch his belt closed. As if she’s already seen the goods, why bother looking professional. He leans against the back of his swivel chair and motions to the desk.

“I asked you to plug in your laptop. I want you to show me what you’ve learned.”

Learned? What, like, the impressive size of his cock? Or the fact that at any point in time during her short tenure under Rhysand Night’s employment she could have walked in on him with his dick out?

Is everyone masturbating freely around the place?

Did Feyre miss out on some kind of employee incentive program with her welcome packet, ‘Whacking It Wednesday’?

She feels like she’s losing her grip on reality.

“I didn’t take a picture or anything, I swear. I should have waited for you to answer before barging in —”

“What are you talking about?”

“What am I — what do you mean ‘what am I talking about’?!”

He uses his chiseled jaw this time to point her towards his desk. “You’re fine. I was just trying to clear my head before you arrived, it’s not a concern. But I do want to see what you’ve learned of Excel.”

Feyre feels compelled by those dark features, that come-hither scent of his expensive cologne. Against her better judgment, she steps closer to the walking sex god.

“Clearing your head?” she repeats, brow furrowed.

Rhys smirks. “All of the leading business people do it. There’s a Ted talk actually —”

“About people jacking off in their offices?”

His face falls at her words, the critical tone in her voice.  Sternly, he asks, “Miss Archeron, what did I say about inappropriate comments?”

Feyre is hot all over and now she can’t tell if it's from embarrassment, lust or simply frustration. What the hell is he playing at? He’s the one with his cock out at the workplace, but he’s going to give her grief?

She comes closer.

How is he so imposing even leaning over? 

The skyline behind him silhouettes his broad shoulders tugging at the fabric of his shirt. His inky black hair lays in tousles across his forehead. The sharp cut of his cheekbones are accentuated by the dimming sunlight. Shadows dance along his handsome face. He looks like a dark prince surveying one of his subjects.

She’s never felt so small as she does in the shadow of his critical, watchful gaze.

With an annoyed huff, she sets her laptop on his expansive, polished mahogany desk. The damn thing probably costs more than her entire flat. She can feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as he narrows his eyes on her. 

It’s unfair how his proximity turns her brain into a hot, gooey mess of sexual thoughts and little else.

She’s Feyre fucking Archeron. It might not mean anything to anyone else, but she has her own sense of pride to maintain which includes not fawning over rich, powerful men at risk of her dignity, damn it.

She feels like prey being watched by a predator and it raises her hackles, makes her want to lash out.

“Well, show me what you’ve learned.”

Feyre slams her scan badge down on her laptop.

“I haven’t learned anything. Just fire me.”

He raises a brow at her. “Really? You’d give up just like that? Why did you even accept this job?”

Feyre crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “Some of us have to pay bills. Sorry to hurt your feelings, but all of those pretty things people say in interviews are lies. No one really cares about working for your prestigious organization — they care about not having to move back in with their parents.

And because she’s feeling petty and fuck it, she’s getting fired anyway, she adds, “And as for this dark and mysterious act, I bet your hook ups are lying about how hot that is too. It’s not. It’s overplayed. And kind of creepy when you add in the whole jacking off in your office thing.”

“I think you’ll find your wrong on that, Feyre darling,” he says, eyes flashing with challenge. “Most people will stab their friends in the back for an opportunity to work at my organization. I have applicants lined out the door, all with prestigious degrees to match. As for the rest, it sounds like you’re awfully flustered thinking about me and my hook ups.”

“As if.” She scoffs. “Besides, what kind of hiring standards do you have if you hired me?”

Rhys steps around the chair, pushing it to the side and removing the buffer between them just as he pulls himself to his full height. Feyre presses her thighs together under her pencil skirt — tells herself it's just nerves. She swallows thickly as he shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down the blade of his aristocratic nose at her.

“Oh, darling, did you believe those pretty things you were told you about your qualifications?” He reaches forward, grasping a piece of Feyre’s hair between his fingers and rolling it. Feyre can’t seem to remember how to breathe. Rhys gives her a positively feline smile before exhaling, “They were lies.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Feyre tries to back away, but her ass hits his desk and instead her breasts bounce with the impact. His gaze flicks down and then back up.

“I was going to fire you today. I told myself I needed to think with my head and not my cock. It’s truly an embarrassment to have someone so utterly unskilled on the same floor as me, as my top performers.” Feyre opens her mouth to protest, but he places one long finger over her lips. “Did you really think Azriel wouldn’t tell me? And I know about the friend in PR who has been doing the rest of the work for you.”

Shit. Sorry, Lucien …

Feyre tries to get her lips to move, get her mind to remember how to form words and string them together into semi-intelligible sentences.

She should only care about preserving her job right now.

But.

But now that Rhys is leering over her and there isn’t a chair in front of him, she can see that he hadn’t finished clearing his mind before she’d walked in on him.

The front of Rhys's trousers are bulging with lustful intent and a rock hard erection.

She licks her lips — forgets his finger, so the tip of her pink tongue swipes across that, too.

Fired. He’s going to fire her. Focus on that, not on the taste of salt on his skin that somehow is alluring and not repulsive. Don’t focus on how she wants to suck that long finger into her mouth, swirl her tongue around it with promise …

God, now that she’s gotten herself started, she won’t be able to stop.

Feyre fucking Archeron doesn’t fawn over rich, powerful men.

She also doesn’t follow rules. And it seems like it's time to bend this one.

Might as well go out with a bang, then.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Pardon?”

Rhys presses his thumb under her chin, tilting her face up and wrenching her eyes from staring at the outline of his massive hard-on.

“Are you … sure about that?” Feyre says breathily, gasping when he sticks his finger into her mouth when she finishes speaking. Effectively silencing her with that elegant, brown finger pressed down on her tongue.

She wants to squirm, but her heart is beating so quickly she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock. Feyre freezes instead, mouth hanging open, lower jaw caught between his thumb and finger.

Rhys is still staring down at her, nearly clinical in his assessment of her mouth, the bridge of her nose, the heavy weight of her lids suddenly.

“What are you offering, Feyre darling?”

She waits until he releases her tongue to speak. “No more Miss Archeron?”

Rhys growls and it shoots right to her cunt. Her insides tighten around nothing and it feels wrong wrong wrong even as moisture gathers in her panties.

“You’re a mouthy little thing, aren’t you?”

“You’re not very little yourself,” Feyre purrs back and in a rush of foolish bravery, she reaches out to grab between his legs. “Don’t fire me, let me prove I have other skills. I bet most people can’t handle you.”

Rhys dips down until his lips brush the shell of her ear as he speaks, “And you think you can?”

A shiver runs down her spine unbidden.

Feyre’s breath hitches, but she nods confidently.

Rhys’s low chuckle rumbles through them.

“I said I was done thinking with my cock.”

Rubbing two fingers back, she pushes through the fabric of his pants to skim his balls. Rhys inhales sharply. She presses her palm into the heavy weight of his shaft.

“C’mon, this is what all the leading business people do, right?”

Rhys’s head has fallen onto her shoulder as she strokes his length through his pants. His arms are bracketing her against the desk as he holds himself upright, biceps straining against the silken black fabric of his dress shirt.

“The point is to do it yourself to resist the temptation with a subordinate …” He groans as she slips her fingers under his waistband. “To not let lust addle proper decision making.”

Feyre tilts her head to let her hot breath skim along his neck. “That sounds boring.”

Her pulse is hammering between her legs and she’s pretty sure she’ll combust if she doesn’t get this man inside of her, filling her to the fucking brim. The skin of his cock is as silky smooth as his shirt, everything about him decadent and rich, rich, rich. Her thumb nail catches on the sensitive lip of the head of his cock, making him gasp, before she drags her fingertip along the precome slick tip.

Before she can get his pants undone, Rhys grabs her by the throat and presses her back flat on his desk. He looks completely ravenous, out of control as he stares down at her. His pupils are blown wide, swallowing up those pretty blue eyes. Feyre shouldn’t be as turned on as she is with her boss’s hand wrapped around her neck, but she’s hopeless as Lucien and her sisters have told her constantly, so with the hand that isn’t on his cock, she grips his wrist and pushes him harder against her windpipe.

A deep groan catches in the back of his throat.

“Fuck,” he says.

Feyre nods, using all of the pilates core strength to pick her legs up and rest her heels on the edge of the desk. Her skirt rides up lewdly as she spreads her legs to accommodate his presence between them, scoots her back up enough so she arches her breast upwards and lines their hips up as Rhys presses forward.

She rocks her hips forward, dragging her wet panties and aching core along his iron hard length. She whines under his hand.

“Fuck, darling, you’re a mess for me.”

Feyre bites her bottom lip and nods wordlessly again. There’s a niggling satisfaction as she thinks about ruining his outrageously overpriced pants. Rhys lets up his hold on her throat to reach down and run his fingers along her clothed slit, shuddering at the sticky mess he finds.

“I can take you, Rhys,” she says, grinding down against him.

“I’m sure you believe that,” he croons, pulling her panties aside to plunge two fingers mercilessly into her. Feyre arches upwards, moaning as he curls them upwards and catches the spongey, overly sensitive tissue inside of her. His massive hands easily reach inside of her and span to rub his thumb in tantalizing circles around the hooded bundle of nerves at her apex. 

“You don’t?”

Rhy smiles devilishly at her, promising her demise. “I believe I’m going to ruin this pretty little cunt for anyone else.”

Feyre’s eyes shut as her mouth falls open, panting as he edges her into blissful ecstasy. “Do your worst.”

Rhys clucks his tongue in chastisement and removes his touch all at once. Feyre whines, starkly feeling the loss, the emptiness inside of her. She wiggles her hips, hoping to draw him back, but then she hears the zip of his pants and her eyes shoot open.

Pants shoved down to his thighs and thick cock in hand, Feyre swallows thickly at the sight. 

Maybe she had been over confident.

The purple tip, the veiny shaft throbbing for her, the pretty balls — all hairless, perfectly manicured.

She hisses in pleasure as he rubs the head of his cock along her sopping wet opening. He doesn’t even bother to remove her panties, just pushes them to the side. She hooks a leg around his waist and tries to line herself up.

Rhys swats her clit with his cock.

“Behave, darling.”

“You know I won’t.”

Rhys looks down at her like a starving man.

He enters into her in one long, hard thrust and pushes all of the air out of Feyre’s lungs. She clutches desperately for something, anything to hold onto and lands with two fistfulls of his hair.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she pants, knees falling open in hopes to make more room for him inside of her suddenly impossibly small frame. “You’re so fucking big, oh my god.”

He doesn’t give her time to adjust before he’s languidly withdrawing from her insides and then plunging back in without mercy.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, darling.”

Feyre throws her head back into the desk, not feeling a lick of pain as he sears a path of his very own through her. His, only his, wrecked for anyone else. He hadn’t been wrong.

“You’re so fucking big, Rhys,” she moans.

His teeth drag down her chest, taking off buttons without a care and exposing the perky flesh of her breasts where they bounce at the top of her bra.

“Louder.”

Feyre clamps down on her mouth, pressing her lips into a firm line. Like hell she’s going to let the whole office know what they’re doing.

“You can’t tell me what to do if you aren’t my boss anymore,” she sasses even as he starts to fuck her brains right out of her body.

Rhys doesn’t like that.

He draws back from the love bites he’s been leaving on her tits. Pens clatter and papers are sent skittering to the floor as he drags her body someone even closer to his. Feyre is worried her knock off heels are going to go flying right off of her feet the way they’re clinging to her ankles by only their plastic straps.

There’s nothing slow or sensual as he starts pounding into her, balls slapping against her ass and his hips digging into her as he grips her hips and presses her flush to him. 

“I said,” he growls between thrusts, “Louder.”

Feyre scratches and scrambles at his chest for something to anchor her. The ache in her core has diminished as he fills her relentlessly, only to be replaced with a roaring fire of need that threatens to consume her entire being. Her abdomen clenches with building pleasure.

He doesn’t let up, instead tilting her up so he’s slamming right into the most sensitive parts of her.

Whatever stubborn hold on her voice she had fails her. Feyre lets loose a throaty “oh!” that has to rattle the panes of his opaque office windows.

“That’s right,” Rhys says, moving a thumb to rub her clit in time to his thrusts. “That’s right, darling. Let me hear it. C’mon, come for me, scream for me.”

“Rhys … Rhys … Rhys!” Feyre cries out, losing focus of everything except the mind-blowing tension in the pit of her stomach as it explodes. 

Rhys comes apart like a great mountain shaking and erupting with molten passion. He paints her insides with his hot spend and it shatters the thin hold she still has on her sanity. The tremors of his cock spurting inside of her hurtles Feyre into another impossibly strong orgasm.

“Made for me,” Rhys is panting as she shakes underneath him. “There’s no realm of existence where my hand was going to replace the feel of that tight little cunt of yours. God, your ass.” He squeezes the flesh of her backside. “I knew I couldn’t resist you from the moment you stepped into this building, Feyre darling.”

For several minutes, his office is only filled with their ragged breathing. When he pulls out of her, Feyre groans weakly. His belt buckle clinks as he rights himself and collapses into his chair.

Feyre sits up, unabashed as she feels the mixture of their climaxes coat her thighs with the movement. She’s making an absolute mess of his desk and she feels no remorse over it.

Rhys reaches around her and comes back with a pair of glasses, putting them on with a whoosh of air. A great exhale to collect himself.

“Well, that …” He rubs his brow, then looks up at her with undeniable smug pride. “That was something else.”

Feyre gives him a lopsided smile, dropping her cheek to her shoulder, letting her hair cascade to the side and expose her breast under the torn open blouse.

“Thinking clearer now?”

He hums thoughtfully, steepling his fingers in front of his sensual lips. Feyre realizes she hasn’t tasted them yet, realizes they’ve just fucked fully clothed on his desk and haven’t even kissed.

She had things under wraps? Yeah, right.

Hopeless.

Instead of kicking her to the curb with nothing but a final pay check and come soaked panties, Rhys pulls her to straddle his lap. His broad hand warms her lower back.

“Not quite clear enough. Think you could help some more?”

Feyre grins down at him.

“Whatever you need, boss.”

#feysand #feyre x rhys #acotar #acotar fanfic #feyre #rhys #my writing