Summary: A bath and a nap are nice, but not nice enough to keep you from causing trouble.
Warnings: kidnapping/being held prisoner, non consensual biting, omegaverse, lemme know if I missed something
Words: on my phone idk 🤷♀️
Authors Note: this got waaay more intense than I'd planned it to but the writing demons possessed me and made Feysand bite Y/N idk what to tell you 🤷♀️ I'm not mad about it tho lol
18+ only pls
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Your eyes took in the room greedily, now that you were alone. Each wall was painted with such precision that you could almost believe you were in a forest when you stared at them intently. And when you sunk down on the bed, a weary sigh left your lips.
It was more comfortable than you'd hoped, having the perfect level of support you prefer. You fell back, arms splaying above you.
The tears came easily with no one to watch them fall, reality crashing down further with every second you spent here. Your beautiful prison, for the rest of your life. No hope of one of your brothers coming to get you, seeing as they'd been slaughtered along with your parents.
And the King and Queen... they seem far too interested in you for your comfort, eyes and hands lingering where they shouldn't.
A groan left you before you sat up. A bath before dinner would be nice- though perhaps you could stay in your room all night, ignore their call to dine with them. Your stomach, while grumbling, could survive until morning or later without eating, if it would save you from their company.
You went to the door that Feyre had pointed out, turning the handle and gasping as you took in the room. A large tub was carved into the floor, a faucet waiting to be turned to fill it to the brim. A window took up all of the wall to your left, curtains hung so that you could have more privacy, if you wished, though with the sun inching towards the horizon, you weren't sure that you did. A toilet and a large counter took up all of the wall to your right, different bath products scattered across the countertop.
It was... annoying how much you liked the rooms they had given you, though you'd never admit that to them. Not with how prideful they'd been about picking out the "perfect" room for you...
You turned the tap to the tub, pleased when warm water started flowing almost immediately, and set to removing your boots and stockings as it filled. A grumble worked its way out of you as you unlaced your dress with some difficulty, lavender silk pooling around your ankles before you stepped out of it and pulled it up, folding it carefully. As far as you knew, these were your only items from home, all the rest of your things left back in Spring.
Your dress and stockings were laid upon the counter, boots on the floor below, and your underthings followed soon after. Randomly, you picked a bottle of soap to use, pouring some of it beneath the stream of water and setting the bottle next the edge of the tub.
The water was wonderful as you slipped in, easing the aches that you hadn't known were lingering from your long journey, and the bubbles forming smelled so comforting, lilac and pear wrapping around you and putting you at ease.
You'd nearly dozed off by the time the sun began to set, and had to force your arms to wash yourself before you climbed from the tub and dried off. The bed was looking so inviting now that you almost didn't drag yourself to the closet, but the thought of anyone barging into your room and finding you sleeping so vulnerably...
So you pulled on the nearest nightgown, made of a powder blue silk, then crawled underneath the covers, pulling pillows around you on either side. One, shaped like a tulip, you clutched to your chest before nuzzling against it, allowing your omega to take over and find what comfort you could in your new surroundings.
It didn't take long for tears to flow, thoughts of your family and your people filling your head. How you wished this was all a bad dream, just a nightmare that felt too real. Sleep claimed you quickly, tugging you gently into a world that was how it should be, your brothers bickering and parents looking at each other lovingly.
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"Please, you must choose one, Princess!" the beta in front of you, Lady Nuala, insisted again. You shook your head, crossing your arms defiantly as you stared at her.
For the past fifteen minutes, she had been trying to coax you out of your makeshift nest, with little success. You were sitting up now, but refusing to leave the safety that the bed provided in your determination to stay in your room for the rest of the night. Though the dresses she pulled from the closet were beautiful, they weren't enough to erase the fears in your mind.
Lady Nuala sighed and placed the dresses back in their place before approaching the bed slowly. "I know that your life has changed entirely, and you've had little time to grieve and adjust," she said softly as she perched on the very edge of the mattress. "But you really must go to dinner." You scoffed and turned your eyes away from her. "If I am not able to help you dress, the King and Queen told me to inform you that they will help you dress." The Lady's voice was stern as she spoke, though a glint in her eyes seemed regretful, that she had to threaten you.
And as much as you hated it, the threat of their help was too great a possibility for you to risk. With a sour look on your face you stood and padded over to the closet, going inside to pick a gown, not missing the relieved breath that Lady Nuala let out as you did. Your fingers flitted over fabrics before resting on a sage green silk, pulling it out to look at the cut of the gown. It was more revealing than you would have liked, what with the slit that would run up your left thigh, but the neckline was modest enough- nothing like the gowns the beta had shown you, with deep v necklines and sheer fabric past your upper thighs. No, this dress was far more Spring, and much more you.
You allowed Lady Nuala to dress you, once you'd slipped on a pair of panties, and not for the first time did you wish for clothing that you were able to put on entirely by yourself. It had been an annoyance up until now, but with your new circumstances you had a feeling you'll begin to loathe dressing entirely.
"I'll let the King and Queen know that you're ready, Princess," she said while curtsying, and you almost spoke to stop her from leaving, so you might have her take you to the dining room instead, but you thought better of it. The lock turned as she left, and you tapped your foot on the ground.
Best to interact with them as little as possible, you thought to yourself as you walked around the room, running your fingers over the empty bookshelf, opening drawers only to find them empty. How odd, that they would give you a closet that's bursting and a bathroom filled with soaps, perfumes, and lotions, but leave you without anything interesting.
A knock sounded on the door, the lock clicking a moment later, and the King and Queen strode in, looking as regal as ever. Your eyes narrowed at the sight of them, hating that they looked so... so normal, not like the vicious killers that they are.
"Good evening, darling," Rhysand said with a charming smile, only increasing your ire. "Come, let's go to dinner." He extended a hand to you, but you remained stationary. A sigh left the alpha as he looked to his wife, who smiled and approached you.
"You need to eat, Y/N," the alpha insisted, her blue eyes soft as she held a hand out to you, her scent washing over you, smelling so familiar. "We don't want to force you to come with us, but we do have the responsibility to take care of you now. You can come on your own two feet, or I'm sure that Rhys would love to carry you downstairs..." she trailed off, curling her fingers at you.
Your nose wrinkled at the suggestion, and instead you breezed past her entirely, unwilling to touch them. Rhysand attempted to hold your arm, but you tugged yourself free of his grip and moved into the hallway. You couldn't remember what path they'd taken to bring you here, hadn't even remembered coming up a set of stairs, but you didn't care that you had no idea what way would lead you to freedom. All that you cared about was distance between you and the alphas as you sprinted down the halls, taking whatever turns presented themselves to you. The heels you'd been put in didn't slow you much, after all, your entire life you had run around the castle after your brothers in them, but the hem of your dress kept threatening to slip underfoot and trip you.
The turn you'd just taken was a mistake- the path in front of you ended with a door, one that you prayed was open as the footsteps behind you grew closer. The handle turned and you slid inside, shutting it softly before looking around in a panic. A wardrobe! You snuck inside, just closing it when the door you'd entered through opened, light spilling inside from the hallway.
You clamped your hands over your mouth, willing your breathing to slow as you listened intently, hoping, hoping, hoping you wouldn't be found-
The wardrobe swung open and you panicked, attempting to dart through the two sets of arms waiting to grab you, but they were too fast, clamping down around your waist and pinning you tightly between them. You struggled in their hold, even going as far as to scratch the chest of the alpha in front of you, nails slicing into his skin where his shirt was unbuttoned.
"That's enough," the alpha behind you hissed, clamping her teeth onto your neck tightly, the alpha in front of you following suit. A whimper left you at the feeling, their teeth not breaking skin but pressing hard enough to activate the glands they were on, your damned biology sending wave after wave of calming sensations through your body until you stilled, tears leaking from your eyes. Still, they held on a minute longer, their hands rubbing soothingly over your waist instead of holding you fast.
"Feeling better?" Rhysand murmured in your ear after releasing your skin, laving over it until you jerked, hissing when Feyre bit harder. "Now, now, darling. You did bring this upon yourself, running off like that, and then not conceding once you were caught. All we wanted was to walk you to dinner." You stayed silent aside from your quiet whimpers. "Will you behave if Feyre lets go?"
You nodded as much as you could without hurting yourself further, sighing in relief when her teeth unlatched from your skin, legs wobbling beneath you. Feyre's lips brushed over the hurt and you pulled your shoulder up to break the contact.
"You know, if we were as evil as you think..." Feyre whispered in your ear, fingers playing over your stomach. "We would have claimed you right now. But we want you to want us, Y/N."
A shiver ran down your spine at that reminder- that they could have bound you to them forever, and still could, really. But then Feyre's scent washed over you again, lilac and pears...
Just like the soap you'd used, you realized with a spark of anger, attempting to turn around and, and-
You weren't sure what, but when their hands held you still, you slapped your hand down on Rhysand's chest until he grabbed your wrist, a humored look in his violet eyes.
"And just why are you hitting me, darling?" He asked before placing a kiss on the back of your hand, and you opened your mouth to yell at him that they'd tried to manipulate you with their scents-
Before you snapped your lips closed, remembering that you wanted to stay silent.
"Oh, come now, you won't tell me what I did to deserve such a beating?" Rhysand asked in an amused tone, waiting a few moments for you to respond. "Ah, I guess I'll never know what I did," he sighed as he locked his fingers with yours, Feyre doing the same with your other hand.
"Nothing that you won't repeat, I'm sure," Feyre giggled as they led you out of the room you'd accidentally trapped yourself in, and down to the dining hall.
"Finally, I was beginning to think the little lady had already decided to love the two of you!" A male's voice chuckled as the three of you walked through the doors, the table already laden with food. "Oh, or maybe she did!" He said when you sat down, your chair pulled out for you by the King and pushed in by the Queen.
You gave him a questioning look before realizing where his eyes were darting between, heat rushing to your cheeks when you realize that of course their bites had left marks, and dark ones by the gleeful grins on Rhysand and the loud male's faces. You'd have liked nothing more than to sink into the ground as the male wiggled his eyebrows at you before pouring wine into his glass, though you settled for glaring daggers at him instead.
"No, she just decided to take an unplanned tour that came to an abrupt halt," Feyre said, the mystery male chuckling again. "I'm sure you're hungry, Y/N, is there anything that you'd like to try first?"
While the food looked appetizing, the company you were in was the opposite. Aside from the King and Queen, there were four other people seated at the table, all of them alphas. Their combined scents alone were giving you a headache, along with the loud chatter between the chatty male and a blonde female, bound to increase in volume as they drank more.
You stayed silent, trying your best to stare ahead as Feyre plated a bit of each dish for you to try. She tried making conversation with you at first, tried coaxing you into eating, but you were feeling queasy at this point.
Was this what you life was going to be now? Dressed up and paraded around as their little plaything, until you eventually slip up during a heat or they claim you after being tired of waiting? Made to dine with the people who likely helped orchestrate your family's murder?
You picked at your plate, waiting for them to take you back to your rooms. At least in there, you could be alone. You wouldn't have to listen to the boisterous laughter that made you jump each time, wouldn't have to acclimate your nose to so many new scents.
Eventually, they did just that. Your hands were held firmly on the way back up, neither of them willing to risk another escape tonight.
They bade you goodnight, though you weren't listening as you slammed the door behind you, leaning against it until you heard the lock slide into place.
Your heels were kicked off before you made your way into the bathroom, lighting a candle and lifting it up. A gasp left you at the sight of your neck, two marks so dark they might as well have been black on either side over your scent glands. If this was what a non-claiming mark looked like, what in the hells did a claiming mark look like?
Tears welled in your eyes at the sight of them, at how close you'd been to such a danger as being claimed by the alphas. You grabbed a cloth and wet it in the sink, rubbing gently over the sensitive skin, sore to even the softest touch now. But you needed to get their scent off of you, it was clinging to you and taking over your senses, your headache still lingering. The cloth did little to help, so you stripped out of your dress after working the laces open, then turned on the faucet to the tub.
You didn't wait for it to be full before climbing in, cupping handful after handful of water to pour it over your neck and shoulders.
summary: Feyre and Rhys debate how to get through to you.
warnings: dark poly!feysand, light smut, shoving
word count: 1006
a/n: yes I can! merry christmas to you!
Rhys ran his finger down your shoulder, you tightened under his touch. The corners of his mouth turned down, that was unusual. Usually his touch had the opposite effect on you.
He flattened his palm on your shoulder, the tense cord of your muscle beneath his fingers. Fingertips dug into your skin as he leaned down, his mouth mere inches from your ear. “Is everything alright, love?”
“Fine,” you replied, a moment too quick.
His hand moved, trailing across your chest to grip you, just firm enough for you to know he had control, that in a moment he could snap your neck and end your existence. He'd never do it, he loves you too dearly to let you die, even if that was your one true desire. Besides, your death would destroy Feyre, and he could never do that to her.
He tilted your head back enough for their eyes to meet. “I don't like liars.”
You swallowed, her throat bobbing under his grip. “I'm not lying.” Rhys released you abruptly, shoving her a few paces away. You stumbled, barely catching yourself on the table, fingers white knuckled around wood, breaths heavy, head bowed.
Rhys loved you, but right now he had other things to worry about. “We'll talk later,” he said, and watched as you fled the room. Probably off to tell Feyre, and in turn get him in trouble with his mate. Sometimes, his brothers and cousins words about you would pop into his mind, but he never questioned if they were right. He always knew they had to be wrong.
You were one of the loves of his life, after all. A burgeoning artist Feyre had discovered in the rainbow quarter and taken under her wing, and eventually into their household.
-
They promised they wouldn’t go into your mind again, not after last time
“But I know she’s lying to me. She’ll be asleep, she won’t know,” Rhys insisted, running a hand through his hair.
“That makes it worse. I don’t want to lose her either,” Feyre glanced at their closed bedroom door, “but that’s a sure way to make it happen.”
She had a different look on how to handle situations like this with you. Rhys would try to push his way through, attempt a hundred different ways of getting through to you, but Feyre had learned patience worked best, that you'd come to them when you were ready. After all, you'd already learned there was no getting away from them.
But if the time came where she had to draw a line between invading your subconscious and losing you? Feyre already knew which side she stood on. The three of you were made, destined, to be together, no matter what it took. No matter what lines might need to be crossed, but there was a balance and she was doing her best to strike it.
“Let's go to bed,” Feyre murmured to Rhys, leaning up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He turned and their mouths caught each other, meeting in a sweet night's dream. He backed her against the wall, hands around her waist. One leg parted hers, her head arching back as he pressed against her core.
Just before a gasp could escape her lips, his hand pressed over her mouth, his lips grazing her ear. “Can you make yourself come like this, Feyre darling?”
She nodded rapidly.
Minutes later, the door opened and they slipped inside. You were laid near the edge of the bed, one arm hanging off. Normally they'd roll you to the middle, but Feyre glanced at Rhys, the evidence that he hadn't been completely satisfied, and slipped into the middle of the bed.
Neither noticed when you slipped out in the middle of the night. Neither noticed when a lone figured crossed past the wards surrounding their home. Neither noticed as you tasted freedom, bittersweet on your tongue.
-
They could forgive any sin of yours, but this one was stretching it. You couldn't save yourself, you were vulnerable, in danger, and despite his attempt to move the moon and stars to get you back to them, Rhys couldn't find you.
He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the end of the now constantly disheveled strands.
Feyre was pensive, Nyx wouldn't stop crying, and Rhys? Rhys couldn't fix his mind.
They'd entertained the thought that you were taken for approximately five seconds, you'd been biting at the leash, so to say, for far too long for that to be reasonable, but they hadn't stricken it entirely. Did you stage your own kidnapping somehow?
Sleep. Rhys needed to sleep, his thoughts kept circling over and over to dangerous places.
He should've slipped into your mind, ignored Feyre's concerns, ignored everything raging against his instincts.
One week without you, and they were falling apart at the seams. Not even that, the entire world felt like it was exploding. He was back in the war, Feyre in spring with limited contact, but this time? He couldn't reach you, no matter how hard he tried. Had you been afraid they'd read your mind and find impenetrable barriers?
Had someone gifted you something to block them out? Did something like that exist?
This line of thinking was getting him absolutely nowhere, but every mental road he led down always brought him back to more…
“Fucking questions,” Rhys slammed his hand down on his desk. “I need a damned answer,” he whispered, a broken plea.
“I might have something for you,” Azriel appeared in the doorway. He wasn't surprised he'd managed to sneak up on him like that. It wasn't too terribly hard to do in his current state, at least for a shadowsinger.
Still, he lifted his head to meet unreadable hazel eyes as the male crossed the short distance between them, letting a folded piece of paper flop down on the table.
He unfolded it, and for the first time in a week, Rhys grinned. The type of grin that promised retribution.
a/n: a marginally more wholesome ending due to the ‘rehabilitation’ but we’ll be back with dark feysand soon enough
warnings: past noncon; smut; amnesia; tiny bit of fluff?; oral (Rhys and reader receiving); fingering; edging; a more Rhys-oriented chapter; brief Rhysand fantasies touching on somnophilia, use of an aphrodisiac, food play, and wax play; slight bdsm themes, dom/sub dynamics, and daemati voyeurism from Feyre.
word count: 5,815
-Part 3-
~~~~
The fingers that stroke through your hair are tender, the ridge of his nails ever so teasingly dragging across your scalp, lulling you into a seductive state of ease. You lean into his touch: kind, and warm, and so inviting.
Silver rings glitter on the plush arm of the thickly padded sofa, the High Lord having discarded them so they wouldn’t be a bother while tangling his fingers in your hair, stroking soothingly—a form of praise you’ve never known before.
You lean even closer to him, stretching out your body so you can press nearer, feel the solid heat of his figure against your bare skin as the temperature increases, turning you soft and lethargic.
A log pops in the fireplace, sending skittering embers bursting but even the allure of bright, flickering flames won’t draw away your attention this evening.
Star-flecked violet watches you quietly, the lower parts of his eyes curved in what could be a smile, raking his fingers again through your hair, turning it messy. “Keep going,” Rhys chides, fingers flexing in your hair, wrapping a section between his digits, “I’m not done yet.”
The heat that flushes your cheeks has nothing to do with the heat from the fireplace that’s steadily burning up your spine. Instead, a tingling arousal simmers to life between your thighs, now blatant, and impossible to ignore.
You shift on your knees, one palm remaining splayed out atop his clothed thigh, while the other steadies his cock between your lips, allowing your tongue to lick up his underside, pausing at the tip to kiss, coming away with a pearlescent strand of pre-come glossing your lower lip. Rhysand hums his approval, and you descend again, exploring around him with the flat surface of your tongue, lathering him in saliva.
The High Lord groans, raven locks falling across his brow as his head tips back into the cushioning, exposing the strong column of his throat, colour from the fire casting him in a godly glow. His fingers again scrape across your scalp, and you obey eagerly, tongue flicking up to the slight indentation just beneath his head, suckling gently before wrapping your lips over the slit in his tip, swiping your tongue over it twice before returning to lick his base.
Another groan rumbles through his chest, but this time it’s one of frustration—frustration that you won’t take him wholly in your mouth. That you won’t let him release down your throat.
“Darling…” The warning is rough and hoarse from his chest, raspy and filled with weakened hunger. His fingers tighten in your hair.
You make a petty noise in your throat, before tilting your fingers so his cock is pressing downwards, allowing you to latch your mouth onto the taut skin of his abdomen. You know he can feel the soft skin of your neck and collar bones against the top of his cock, reminding him of where he could be.
If only he were on the inside.
The High Lord scrapes his nails up the nape of your neck, gently clawing at you for pleasure—he’s not used to having to ask for such favours, but you seem to enjoy feeling his arousal.
It seems even after your memories have been carefully rearranged, and your psyche rehabilitated, you still have a natural inclination towards his mate. And he’s beginning to regret the game he’d arrogantly proposed, thinking it would take little effort to bring you around onto his side.
You’d slept for a long time after your mind fractured enough to become malleable, and his mate, while trusting him almost implicitly, had been strained over the short period. And so he’d suggested the little competition: see who could win her over first, with a clean slate. Rhysand had instructed you to never lay your mouth on Feyre’s cunt unless he was present, and in retaliation she had quietly ordered you to not allow him access to you unless she was present. And he knows for a fact you bent swiftly to Feyre’s will—his mate had wasted no time in offering him a mental snapshot of the pleasure she was experiencing beneath your adoring mouth, despite his clear instruction.
And now he’s suffering the consequences.
Heels click down the hallway, distant enough your human ears will struggle to hear anything for another minute or so.
The High Lord runs his fingers through your hair, scraping in a way he knows drives you mad, your spine arching along with his nails as they drag up your nape. “You’re trying my patience,” Rhysand whispers, enough of a hiss in his voice that your eyes flick up to meet his, filled with false cluelessness. The High Lord shifts on the sofa, parting his long legs wider, and wrapping your hair in his fist. “You want to please both of us, don’t you?” He murmurs, dragging you back from his cock, a whimper sounding in your throat.
Those heels are getting closer, and while he’s happy that Feyre seems content, he doesn’t like how close the two of you have grown—so quickly.
Your eyes show interest, and mild consideration.
But your ears twitch, having sensed Feyre’s approach, and—
You jolt, his thumbs finding the tender pressure point in your jaw, lips parting just wide enough for him to guide himself inside, pressing you down close to his abdomen.
Your hips wiggle, arousal liquefying between them, but those daemati talons have sunk far enough into your mind to prevent you from pulling away, the only movement he permits being that of your lower body and tongue.
Heels click their way into the room, and you whine, thighs squeezing together as her sharp, blue-grey eyes instantly zip over your naked body, worsening the wetness that’s soon going to start sliding down over one of your ankles.
“I seem to be interrupting something,” Feyre observes sternly from the doorway’s threshold, and you can picture how her arms have folded neatly over her chest, those long, slim fingers tapping away delicately. You whimper, shifting your hips needfully, hoping to earn her forgiveness—though technically, you never willingly disobeyed her.
“Feyre,” The High Lord greets in his typical, lazy drawl. “How kind of you to join us.” The High Lady hums, but remains where she’s standing, out of sight.
“Sweetness,” Feyre calls, her voice light enough the hairs along your spine prickle, standing on end. “I thought we had an agreement.”
You whine, but the noise is muffled as Rhys shifts his hip, saliva slipping from one corner of your mouth.
A beat passes, and your body tenses out of instinct.
“Let her go, Rhys,” Feyre drawls, still on the opposite side of the room.
You can practically feel the smirk that spreads across his soft mouth, fingers untangling from your hair, mental talons sinking in a little deeper to compensate. “She’s perfectly happy where she is.”
You want to whimper your clarification, but he’s removed that ability too.
Heels click across the floor, and you brace for something, skin increasing in sensitivity as if expecting a hit, despite having never received an unkind hand from them. Instead Feyre settles on the sofa besides Rhys, pressing her lovely lithe body up against her mate’s chest. The mauve gown she’s wearing is closer to lingerie than a robe, with almost completely sheer panels partially concealing her skin in a wispy fabric, allowing you to see through to the black lace underneath, clinging to her hips and breasts.
Your tongue squirms against the underside of Rhys’ cock, anxious to find her, now that she’s presented herself. To surround yourself in the soft but sturdy comfort of her thighs—how the honed muscles feel over your shoulders when they brace for pleasure. How the point of her heels will teasingly drag up your spine to draw you deeper.
You could purr with delight when her fingers push into the locks of your hair, guiding you a little away from Rhys’ hips, enough so you can comfortably look at her. “Who do you want more, hm?”
At her question, Rhys sighs a short breath, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he eyes his mate, who’s undoubtedly giving all of her attention to you. Your spine arches in pleasure, staring up at her adoringly despite the resentful slice of talons in your mind.
Feyre’s lips curve, eyes softening as her palm slides down to your cheek, cupping gently.
“You want to be good to both of us?” She whispers. You whimper.
She hums a laugh, pulling you free from Rhys’ hold, talons sliding away and you’re eagerly switching to Feyre, crawling up her body to seek out her lovely, rosey mouth. You moan as you latch over her, lips parting to allow her tongue to sweep in, your thighs spreading over her hips as you press yourself up against her chest. Her fingers slide deep into your hair and you could purr from pleasure, eyes rolling as her nails graze.
“Darling,” Rhys drawls, from somewhere off to the side, restraint wearing thin. “I thought we agreed on sharing.”
When his words dawn in your mind your fingers curl over her shoulder, sinking into the silky tangle of her hair, hips rolling as her palm heats the side of your waist, encouraging the lethargic undulation. Right now, you want her. Her mouth. Her cunt. Her attention.
“Darling.”
Rough palms cinch around your waist and you’re hauled back into Rhys’ lap like you weigh next to nothing. Fae strength turning your legs weak, and heat pools magnificently between your thighs, hunger beginning to sink her pretty claws in; deep.
Heat is practically rolling from your skin, chest rising and falling in short pants as you try to squirm in his large hands, enjoying the dominating grip they have around your ribs, how effortlessly he could hold you down, should he wish. Your legs press together at the thought.
Feyre arches a brow at her husband, a coy smirk on her rosey mouth. “I am sharing,” she replies in a smooth drawl that counters Rhys’ tone, succeeding in the cool, unbothered musing that had been lacking in his—strain evident beneath his roughened voice. Feyre inclines her body forward, crawling on top of you right before her mate, palm slipping between your legs to cup you and pressing a slow, soft kiss to your panting lips. “But she’s also choosing,” Feyre whispers, glancing down into your blown-out pupils, a flush of pleasure colouring her cheeks before she’s winking, and pulling away, strutting back across the floor to pause at the threshold.
Quiet falls, and you’re just aware enough to recognise the stillness of their bodies, silent communication passing between them. You squirm, eager to know what’s going on, but Rhys’ grip only tightens on you, broad palms digging into your waist in absentminded reprimand.
The High Lady inclines her head to one side, an undeniable smirk curling the edge of her mouth, and Rhys’ brows narrow, casting a dark shadow over the luminescent violet of his starlit irises.
Then she’s turning, contented, and disappearing down the hallway.
You glance back to Rhys, but he seems to be watching the spot his mate had previously been filling with something close to contempt. Your lips press together, then you attempt to wriggle free of his grip, intending on following after Feyre—seeing what she has to offer you—but a low growl drags like gravel from the High Lord’s throat, undeniable anger mixing with the biological arousal that’s stirring between his legs—against your hip.
Heat floods your centre, and you still your movements, peering up at him.
“Rhys,” you ask softly, a little breathless. “Are you jealous?”
The low snarl that cuts through the room sinks straight into your cunt, hot arousal thrumming between your thighs, your pulse picking up. You stare at him, lips parted and curious. Then you swallow, “you should…speak with her, if you want.” But you don’t imagine he does want, and the other option has your toes curling.
He makes no effort to move—to go after her.
A sex-hungry smile softens your lazy mouth, curling into the secure lines of his warrior’s body. “Are you jealous of us?” You croon, beginning to shift in his lap. “Do you want our attention?”
You grin when his brow narrows further, eyes darkening, moving to straddle his lap, feeling the bare press of his cock against your abdomen, hard pressing into soft.
Fingers collect around his shoulders, sliding up his nape to sink into the thick blue-black of his raven-like hair, and you lean closer. “All this over not getting a blowjob how you wanted?”
His lip curls like he might snarl, but instead the High Lord’s jaw locks, a muscle feathering beneath tan skin, and then his palms have dug into your waist and you’re flung onto your back, shoved down into the cushion beside him as he prowls on top, pinning you down just as effortlessly as you had imagined.
“Someone’s looking to be hurt,” Rhys drawls across your lips, low and lethal, his grip now so tight on your wrists a sliver of concern parts through the billowing, foggy clouds of arousal. Warning you of something you’ve never seen before. But teeth prod into the skin below your lower lip, your legs parting and lifting to wrap around his hips, and something shifts in his features—like he’s remembered something.
His tone is softer when he next speaks, a hushed whisper like the voice your lover should have. His violet eyes are hungry and intense, and even if he wasn’t leveraging his strength and body weight against you, you’d still be pinned to the cushioning beneath that gaze.
“Do you want me to hurt you?” He asks, sweet and breathless.
Your spine arches from the sofa, thighs squeezing his hips. Your mouth opens to reply, but one palm snakes down your forearm, fingers trailing across the sensitive, bare skin, until they’re skimming your collarbones, his hand settling almost entirely flat across your sternum, threatening to creep higher and wrap around your throat. A heady flush heats your skin.
Your throat rolls. “No, Rhys.”
Again, violet eyes flicker, memories you’re locked out of passing behind those beautiful irises.
Your lips part, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, squeezing his hips with your thighs. “But, if I said yes…” You wet your lips, “…what would you want to do with me?”
————
Rhysand’s head goes quiet.
What would you want to do with me?
What would he not want to do with you?
The question is the key to the padlock keeping those dark thoughts at bay. The iron lock clicks open, and clatters onto the floor, the bars swinging wide open as fantasies swarm his spine, wrapping delicate claws around his skull, whispering into his ears, teasing his muscles, softly tempting them towards actions he has to resist.
What would you want to do to me?
He could start with wrapping a gag around your mouth, slipping fabric soaked in an aphrodisiac between your lips, and watch as you squirm on the floor.
He could tie you to his bed, and take his time teasing the clothes from your body, until your skin is as hot as fire beneath his fingers and there’s more arousal dripping from your cunt than there is sweat rolling down your spine.
And he could take his time running his tongue along every vertebrae, tasting the salt that your skin sweats out.
Tasting the salt that rolls down your cheeks when he refuses to do anything more than circle your clit with his tongue.
“Rhys?”
His cock twitches, hot and heavy between his legs. Precum dripping down onto your abdomen.
He could seduce you so thoroughly you’d be begging to get your mouth on him. Have you situated on your knees between his legs, forearms bound at your back while his hand pumps up and down, only allowing you to taste whatever drips down from his tip.
He could feed you a pill before bed, and taste every inch of you while you were sound asleep. Let you wake in the morning wondering why the smell of sex is so strong.
He could lay you atop a banquet table; balance soft, ripe fruits around your body: press sweet strawberries between your legs, and melt cocoa over your breasts. He could drip wax over your abdomen. Blindfold you with silk.
“Rhys…?”
He could take you back to the human lands and fuck you in the house you shared with that man.
He could take you back and fuck you until you’re screaming and crying from pleasure, fuck you so well and so senseless you soak him as you squirt. If your husband was still alive Rhysand would have collected it in a metal dinner plate for him to drink from.
He could take you and fuck you on every single piece of furniture in that wreckage of a house. In the parlour where you first rejected them, in the bed they first took you in, out back in the dirt on the mound where they buried
————
You pout when he continues to ignore you, cupping his jaw with your palms, pulling his face close to yours. Close enough to brush the tip of your nose against his own.
“Rhysand,” you call, peering into his eyes.
Another bead of precum drips onto your abdomen, and you squirm underneath him, fingers sliding into his thick raven hair as you tilt his head sidewards slightly, pressing your lips to his cheek.
His lashes flicker, eyes shifting, blinking once before movement returns to his body.
You peer up at him. “You were supposed to tell me your fantasies. Not wander off into your own head and keep them private.” Teeth tug on your lower lip, a flush warming your cheeks, “unless…you think they’re too filthy for me…?”
Rhys’ expression remains neutral…distant. Fingers brush hair from your temple, tucking it behind your ear. “What I’d want to do with you…” he murmurs, barely a whisper, and your human ears strain to pick it up, “…if you wanted me to hurt you…” He peers down at you, violet eyes piercing, holding an intensity that has your hairs standing on end, a strange feeling of apprehension tightening your stomach.
“If I wanted to hurt you, and you wanted me to hurt you…I’d tear you from your home to keep you safe, if that’s what was needed of me.”
You pause, watching him.
There’s something dark in his eyes. Something you’d thought was arousal, but seems much more sinister. Something hungry, ravenous; starving.
Desperate enough to be dangerous, and powerful enough to be fatal.
Your hold loosens on him, fingers drifting away from his jaw to settle on his arms. “‘If that’s what was needed of me’?” You echo, softly. “By who?”
His lips quirk, eyes glinting. “Guess.”
You shift underneath him, discomfort coiling up your spine. “Where’s Feyre?”
The faint smile on his mouth slips away, expression returning to neutrality. “Why do you always go back to her?” To my mate.
“Can you blame me, when you say things like that?” You ask, brows furrowing over a faint upward tug of your lips. Rhys’s features remain still, a hint of something dark beginning to peek through. “Do you need more time?” He murmurs, almost to himself.
You peer at him, head tilting. He’s making close to no sense.
“More time for what?” You ask, a note of laughter in your voice. “To warm up to you?”
The words leave your mouth, and you pause. Why would you need time to warm up to him? You’ve known him practically forever.
At least since Feyre returned from the cauldron, anyway.
On top of you, Rhysand is paying close attention, his interest far too sharp for the moment of intimacy you were supposed to be sharing.
You don’t remember him being so…bladed, before.
Very out of character.
His thumb swipes across the crest of your cheek, just below your eye, and a shiver runs up your spine. Teeth tug on the interior of your lower lip. “Are you going to use those fingers on me, or…?”
Violet eyes glitter, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You’ve always liked my fingers, haven’t you?”
“Not as much as your mouth,” you shoot back, hands lifting to rest over his shoulders, spine arching as your hips shift, too busy thinking about what he’ll feel like inside of you to notice that wicked glint of vindication in his features.
“Well,” Rhysand drawls, running his fingers down your sternum, between your breasts, “I can always use both on you. You’ve told me you love that.” Your spine arches, heat flushing your naked body as his hand slips between your legs, the rough callouses of his palm the perfect friction to rub against as he cups your heat.
“How many shall I start with?” He asks, voice low and sonorous. “One? Two?”
“However many you want to put in me…” You reply, breathless. He presses two fingers against the wet dip between your legs, and you inhale slow as he runs them up and down through your centre, coating them in arousal, before finally slipping them inside.
A soft moan sighs from your lips, fingers curling over his shoulders, nails pushing against his shirt, biting into the muscle just beneath. “You take them so well,” Rhys murmurs, violet glittering in the fading firelight. Someone should add another log, now the last of the energy is wearing out.
His head dips, and you turn to the side, revelling in the hot trace of his mouth up the length of your throat, breath fanning against the sensitive skin. “You really were made for us.”
Rhys’ fingers curl inside of you, and you squirm impatiently on the sofa, hips lifting from the cushioning to push him deeper. “Rhys…” you whisper, brows curving, “Please…”
He lifts a brow. “Please what?”
“Your mouth,” you pant, “please, I-…your tongue…”
“You want me to give you some more attention?” Rhys drawls beside your ear, nipping at your lobe, making you shudder. You buck your hips, eager for more, “mhmm.”
Rhysand pulls away, and a part of you misses the firm heat he’d been putting over your body. But then he’s shifting, fingers retracting from your cunt to handle your legs, hands slotting beneath your knees to push your thighs close to your chest. Excitement thrills through you, toes curling, fresh arousal liquefying between your legs. He touches the tip of his tongue to your clit, and a whimper slips free from your throat.
“That desperate all ready?” He murmurs, and a faint scowl mars your brows. “You’re being mean,” you mumble, considering taking a hold of him by his hair but you know it would only get you in more trouble.
“I’m being mean, huh?”
You flush. That tone, that warning look.
What’s he going to do?
You brace, but he just smirks, fingers slipping back inside, running his tongue up through your centre. Your head falls back into the cushioning, hips beginning to rock against him as he licks your clit, pulling it carefully between his lips, creating a gentle vacuum that sends you wild.
You’re so close.
And after all the teasing they’ve put you through…
————
Feyre hums to herself, pleased with the progression.
She’ll never admit it to Rhys but doubts have cropped up—seeing how effortless it was for him to treat you as he sometimes did. Feyre knows how you still tense up around him, despite no longer having any memory of all the cruel things they did to you.
But she knows you love her.
You told her.
Even before they’d rehabilitated you, you’d told her as you were.
Feyre reaches out through the rooms, locating your familiar mind, seamlessly slipping back inside without a hitch.
Arousal is overpowering, heat tingling between your thighs, deliciously pressed beneath the hungering gaze of her mate as his fingers press deep into your cunt, pumping and curling perfectly.
He’s so wicked.
Feyre reclines on the chaise in their shared bedroom, a glass of wine balanced between her fingers as she parts the sheer robe, slipping her free hand between her legs as she watches from your mind. Her head tips back against the arm rest as she feels Rhys’ tongue flick against your clit, matching the smooth pace of her fingers with his mouth as slick gathers between her legs.
She won’t make a habit out of it.
She’s just making sure nothing bad happens.
That Rhys doesn’t do anything they haven’t already agreed on.
She won’t risk it, when it comes to you.
They can’t have you remembering, what they did to you.
————
You buck your hips, but once again he pulls away, and frustration pools in your abdomen.
“Rhys…” you groan, cunt aching. “Please…please let me come… I just want your mouth…please…”
The High Lord nips at your clit, and you gasp, legs tensing.
“You just want my mouth, hm?” He echoes, curling his fingers against a spot that has you squirming on the sofa from pleasure, licking up your centre, kissing the slick apex of your thighs. “I’m giving you my mouth, and my fingers. What more could you want?”
“I want to come,” you mutter, attempting to grind against his digits but darkness bands firmly around your hips, pinning you to the sofa.
“You want my mouth, my fingers, and an orgasm?” Rhys drawls, vicious mirth dancing in his eyes. “Greedy. You can’t have all three.”
Your brows furrow. “Feyre would give me all three,” you mumble.
“Do I look like Feyre?”
You frown.
Pause.
Then, in a voice quieter than before, “were you serious about being jealous?”
“It’s not jealousy.”
“Then what is it?”
Rhys’ expression returns to neutrally, but one brow remains quirked. He presses his thumb to your clit. “Payback.”
You swallow, legs shaking all over again. Spine arching off the bed. There’s that agitation between your thighs, the itch to topple over the edge.
“It’s not nice wanting something and being denied it, is it?” Rhysand asks, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. No doubt he’d do something awful to you if you did.
“I’ve never denied you a thing,” you mumble, trying desperately to shift your hips against the shadow banding over your lower stomach. “Is that so?” Rhys asks, an edge of tension clear.
You peer at him, and nod—you’ve never denied him anything.
“What are you willing to put on that?” Rhys asks, fingers pulling back fully from your cunt, and you could cry. Instead those two fingers roll their slick mess over your clit, “another hour of this? A day?” Violet eyes are glued to your cunt, and a flush of something like embarrassment pools between your thighs as he traces his fingers around your clit, like you’re a plaything for his entertainment.
His attention flicks to you.
“You say you’ve never denied me a thing—would you be willing to be tied up and forced to watch while I make Feyre come over and over again, if I can prove otherwise?”
Apprehension skitters up your spine. “What’s this about?”
“Would you?”
He’s frightening, when he uses that tone.
“…okay.”
Rhys’ eyes glitter. “Feyre showed me the second you bowed to her will and set your mouth on her perfect cunt.”
You stare at him, silent.
Tension simmers along your spine—you’ve been as resistant to her as you have been to him. And it’s been hell.
Your head tilts, and you wish you could sit upright but instead you remain bound to the sofa, all while his fingers trace in idle circles. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re daemati. And you’re a sweet, mindless human who forgets what we can do.”
You flush, “Rhys…I don’t follow…”
“Tell me a fantasy. Tell me something you want to experience.”
Your flush deepens, stomach flipping. “A…fantasy? Of mine?” Rhysand smiles, slick-coated fingers trailing up your sternum, smearing arousal over your nipples. “If you’re too flustered to tell me, let me in. I’ll find it on my own.”
Your lips part, wild heat roaring through your body as you shake your head. “That’s not funny, Rhys. I’ll think of something. There’s no need to look inside…” Your throat rolls, squirming beneath him, beneath that look.
“I…” You pause, flushing.
“Go on.”
“…being… Being in my home. In my bed.” You whisper, unable to quite look at him. “It’s winter. And it’s snowing outside. It’s a late morning, and very bright out.” You lick your lips. “You’re on my left, and Feyre’s on my right. …Is that…enough?”
Something drains away from his expression, something your human senses can’t detect. Like tension slipping away, or the air itself decompressing.
“A snowy, winter’s day?” He asks.
You nod, stealing a glance at him.
An image pushes its way into your head. Slow at first, but it wraps around you, slipping behind your eyes, filling your throat and deceiving your taste buds.
You’re in your bedroom, and it’s warm. A fire crackles at the foot of the large bed, and through the windows you can see the thick snowfall. Evergreen branches are heavy with white carpet, frost swirling along the bottom of the glass panes. And inside, it’s cosy.
Two bodies either side of you: Feyre—sleeping—on your right, and Rhysand—watching—on your left.
“Did you forget?” He murmurs, shifting onto one side so he can peer down at you. How close you’re tucked against him. “Did you forget what we can do? How weak your mind is, against us?”
Your throat rolls. This would be heaven, if it were real.
“So…Feyre showed you a scene with me?” You ask, sexuality shying away in the presence of such comfort. “That doesn’t prove anything. I’ve obeyed both of you.” You say, clit pulsing, “until you decided to push your way into my mouth anyway.” Your thighs press together from the memory alone.
Rhysand blinks, and you tilt your head. “Did you think they were real?”
A sweet, feminine laugh comes from your back, and your spine arches as Feyre comes to life, wrapping her arms around your waist, leveraging herself on one arm so as to lean over you. You settle into her, the soft swell of her breasts, the comfort her familiar body brings from being pressed against your own.
“Feyre…” Rhysand murmurs. His brow dips. “When did you come inside?”
Feyre smirks, “a while ago. Someone was too busy to notice an extra presence.”
“You were teasing?” Rhys asks, and you shift further down the bed, content to disappear into the comfort while they talk.
Feyre hums, squeezing the bare slope of your shoulder. “She loves both of us. Isn’t that right, lovely?”
“Mhmm…” Your eyes have shut, basking in the aching domesticity. They haven’t quite captured the smell of your bed linen, or the way the mattress held the shape of your body, but it’s so painfully close.
You miss your home.
Living there.
With—
You blink, eyes fluttering open.
The scene has vanished, and you’re returned to the sofa, Rhysand atop your body, Feyre now crouched at your side.
Had you forgotten something?
“Are you going to be good for both of us?” Feyre asks, a soft smile playing on her rosey mouth. Her features are kind, but even as a human you can scent the arousal on her fingers when she strokes your cheek. Your previous thoughts dissolve beneath that touch, and you crane your neck to feel more of her.
“Always,” you murmur.
Feyre smiles, then she’s leaning forward and capturing your mouth for a kiss. Her hair slides forward over her shoulder, brushing against your chest and you tilt your head further to the side to gain a better angle. Her lips are so soft and so sweet. So familiar. So like home.
You’ll never tire of kissing her.
A sound slips free from your throat as Rhysand leans down, his mouth latching onto sensitive skin, nosing up the length of your neck to find a spot he prefers. Hot, male hands skim up your chest, groping your breasts as he swipes his thumbs across your nipples. Feyre follows his lead, and you whimper as her hand roves down the plane of your stomach, slipping between your legs.
‘You’re being good, right?’ Feyre asks, but you can manage nothing more than an arch of your spine, toes curling as Rhys gently plucks at your nipples. ‘So good…’ You think, ‘please, don’t stop…’
‘Rhys?’ Feyre muses, and dread fills your body.
‘Fey-… the scenes you sent him…they weren’t real…’
She chuckles, ‘no, they weren’t. Rhys knows that.’
You manage to peek open your eyes, your world eclipsed by violet.
‘Please…’ you think, imploring him to allow you to tip over that ledge he’s been holding you against for what feels like hours. ‘Please…I’ve never-’
Your thoughts are cut short when Feyre’s teasing fingers locate your clit, and more arousal drips down the head of Rhys’ cock, landing on your abdomen.
‘You’ve never…?’ Rhysand goads, his large hands dipping beneath your legs, pushing them apart and your pulse spikes as he lines himself up with your centre. You swallow, but he speaks before the thought can even fully develop in your mind. ‘Say it. Aloud.’
Your hips buck, and he allows the head of his cock to slip inside your cunt, all the while Feyre’s fingers are making you a mess, her lips travelling down your throat, making her way to your breasts.
“I’ve never denied you a thing,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, and he finally eases his way inside.
You miss the look they share. Hungry eyes glancing at one another, sharing their secret.
“I’ve been mean to you, haven’t I?” Rhys asks, mirth clear in his voice, and you nod desperately.
You need that orgasm he’s been refusing you. Even more now they’re both here, besides you. Touching you.
Rhys’ hips rock, and it doesn’t take long for the height of pleasure to find you, pulsing through your thighs, clit aching as Feyre keeps up those idle circles, and your head tips back into the cushioning as you come, a cry escaping your lips. He knows the spot to target, rubbing against that part inside of you and the combined stimulation of having them both is far too much for you to manage.
Your hips rock, bucking up to meet Rhys’, and a long, wanton moan slips free, soft as a breath as the pleasure blasts through your body.
Thank the Cauldron they’ve always been so ready for you.
Pairing: Court of Nightmares AU dark!Feysand x f!reader
Summary: Touch as a form of possession.
Prompt: lingerie
Word count: 2,191
Warnings: D/s dynamics, biting, blood drinking, venom as a sort of aphrodisiac
The lace resting against my skin was a shade deeper than the blood that had glistened on the ballroom floor. I trailed the tip of my nail along the curves of the dark, thorned vines embroidered across the sheer, delicate fabric covering my torso and tried to forget the burgundy wine splattered across the front of my champagne gown, and the way that male’s head rolled across the marble. I’d always known there was an innate violence to being desired like this, to be so thoroughly consumed, but I had surrendered to it anyway.
And tonight it cost someone their life, but I can’t dwell on that now. Not when I have my own role to play. Rapturous desire will always have a steep price, and I will always pay it like the desperate, hungry creature I am.
I turn before the large, ornate mirror affixed to the wall, admiring the way the blood rubies at the neckline glitter in the glow from the candlesticks anchored in the tall iron candelabras. Would she want me stretched across their bed? My eyes flick to the gauzy, black curtains drawn around the bed, aimlessly fluttering in the breeze that persistently winds through the halls of this cavernous city, even this deep within the heart of the mountain. No, if she wanted me there, the curtains would be tied back. Kneeling near the door, perhaps? No, there’s normally a cushion there to protect my knees from the unforgiving stone floor, at least at first.
“You’re thinking entirely too hard.” I swallow hard at the melodic voice floating to me on that breeze. It’s like a knife wrapped in velvet, the cruelty of it barely suppressed, and I fight to keep my eyes open as my Lady materializes from one of the pockets of darkness that cloak the room like cobwebs. Before she became High Lady, she was known as the Huntress, and I never can tell which of them is going to step into the room with me. Her hand slides around my neck as she steps up behind me, and I note the white tips of extended fangs in her smile before those sharp, black-tipped nails dig into the soft skin of my throat. “You’re already exactly where I want you, pet.”
Her quicksilver eyes dilate as she watches the droplets of blood trail my skin. I don’t flinch when the tip of her tongue darts out to catch them before they tarnish the jewels. The quick lick devolves to hungry lapping at the wounds she inflicted while those deft, knowing hands trace the curves of my body. I tilt my head a little more, granting her further access to my throat, and her palms skate against the underside of my breasts.
“Delicious,” the High Lady murmurs against my skin. Her lips trace a pattern of her own design up to the tender flesh beneath my ear, where she suckles eagerly until I whimper, unable to take my eyes from her reflection in the mirror. Her dress is made of little more than spiraling, black spidersilk cobwebs, they do nothing to hide the generous line of her body, half hidden behind mine as it is. She is resplendent, this Lady of the Night, and she looks at me as though she might devour me whole.
Mother above, do I want her to. More than anything, more than air, more than life-
“Be careful what you wish for, my darling,” she croons, gently plucking at my nipples through the fabric of my bodysuit. She pinches and rolls the delicate buds until they’re unbearably stiff between her fingertips, and I can do little more than will my legs to hold me upright and try to hide the hitch in my breathing. “I can take the breath from your lungs in more ways than one, and make you thank me for it when I do. In fact, I do believe I’m stealing it now, aren’t I?”
“Y-yes, Lady,” I whisper, running my tongue along my lower lip to wet it. Her foot knocks against my ankle, spreading my legs wider as she continues her assault on my breasts, kneading and pinching until I whine, unable to squeeze my thighs together to grant myself some relief.
“Are you alright, my darling?” she whispers, lightly nuzzling the space behind my ear before her teeth nick the skin, drawing a line of blood for her to lick at. “You had a bit of a fright tonight.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, shivering at the way my nipples tighten further beneath her ministrations. The stimulation is almost painful, the arousal beginning to soak into the fabric of my lingerie a testament to how much I love it. “He didn’t touch me, Lady, the spymaster saw to that.”
I’m convinced he sees everything that happens beneath this mountain.
“Don’t think of it now,” she murmurs, squeezing my breast until I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. “Don’t think of anyone else now, not when I’m doing this to you.”
Her fangs flash again before she sinks them into my flesh and I feel the slow, steady burn of her venom spreading through my veins. I had worried, at first, what nightwraith venom might do to me long-term, if I would develop a dangerous craving for it the way those who haunted the alleys beneath my window often had, eager to sell whatever bits of themselves they could bargain away for just a taste of it. But that was the venom of ordinary wraiths.
My lady is no ordinary wraith.
She is the High Lady, she’s so much worse.
She has never allowed me to go hungry, though.
Heat rushes through my body and with it comes a desperate pang I’m too familiar with, a consuming need I’ll never recover from. My stomach flutters as she trails one hand down my abdomen, stopping just above where the vines meet over my empty, aching cunt. I need her to touch me, to stroke and tease me until I fall apart, to fuck me until all I know is the slide of her body against my own. I want her to fill me however she sees fit: those wicked hands, that creeping darkness holding my ankles apart like ice-cold manacles, or perhaps, if I’m very lucky, she’ll take a male form again…well, at least part of her. She’d been so deliciously thick, I could have come from the stretch of her alone.
“Did you like the way I took you, pet?” she whispers, following at the line of my desperate thoughts with a smirk as the tip of her middle finger just barely grazes my hard, pulsing clit. “Bent over the back of the sofa like a common whore? You begged me so prettily to fill you, do you remember? I do, I think of it often when we’re away from you.”
“I loved it,” I whine, daring to rest my head against her thin, delicate shoulder. It’s an illusion, of course, like she was built for deceit. Her cruel smile turns smug as she rewards me with one firm stroke, rolling my nipple with her free hand until my hips roll in a silent plea for friction. “You felt incredible, Lady, you always do. Please, please-”
“And you always want more, correct?”
“Yes, my lady, if it pleases you.”
“Oh,” she chuckles, rewarding me with a delighted, open-mouthed kiss that tastes like blood and sweet, dark berry wine. “You’re such a well-trained pet when you want to be, my little mouse.”
She swallows the moan passing between my lips and rewards me with a slightly firmer touch.
“This is very pretty,” the High Lady continues as she traces the delicate lacework covering my skin. High on her venom, I want to kiss and lick at the column of her throat. I know without her permission I can do neither of those things. I meet her gaze in the mirror instead and watch her languorously stroke and pet my body everywhere but where I want her most. “You weren’t wearing it tonight, we would have noticed it beneath your gown.”
“No,” I mumble as the hand on my breast trails along the rubies around my neck to graze the ribbon of crimson silk tied at the back of my neck. “It was for you, only for you.”
“Only for me?” she croons, nipping at the shell of my ear as her finger slides along the gusset of the bodysuit to draw a whimper from my throat. “And not for your High Lord?”
“H-he can watch.” The laugh that rumbles from the shadows would have made my knees buckle if some strange, invisible force hadn’t wrapped around my limbs to support my weight. I might occasionally beg him for pleasure and he may grant it, but I cannot pretend the High lord does not terrify me to my core.
“He can scent your fear, you know,” the High Lady whispers. “It twines so deliciously with your desire, my sweet. An irresistible lure. I don’t know how he stays away. I certainly couldn’t, not after I’d had a taste of you.”
“O-oh,” I gasp, a shiver rolling down my spine as clever, invisible fingers trail along my slit over and over in a firm line, eliciting little whimpers and moans that make my High Lady’s eyes dance with delight. I lose myself in those eyes as she palms my breasts and a gush of slick seeps into the delicate fabric, drawn by the phantom touch of the monstrous High Lord still hidden in the shadows. I dare a glance in the mirror to see a set of glowing, violet eyes watching hungrily from the shadows. “P-please.”
“Please?” the High Lady purrs, grazing the tender skin of my neck with her fangs once more. I only need her to bite me again or slide her hand beneath the fabric and touch me where I need her most to slide headfirst into ecstasy. “Please what, pet?”
“Let- oh,” I shudder as those invisible fingers grow more insistent, beckoning me towards the orgasm I’m trying to beg my lady for. “Please let me come, please.”
“I don’t believe it’s up to me,” she says nonchalantly, her mouth twisting into a wicked grin as she watches my reflection. “Your High Lord seems to be insistent upon it. What do you think, darling? Should she be allowed to come?”
“She has been good, hasn’t she?” Even spoken gently, the words sound like a threat when falling from his lips. I moan at the promise in it, drawing cruel laughter from the both of them. “Listen to her lovely little noises, darling. See how wet she is?”
“Soaked. The lace is ruined.”
“A pity. It was so lovely,” he muses, like my orgasm is something inconsequential in the face of a bit of ruined lace. “Look in the mirror, little fawn. Watch.”
The pressure between my legs builds until I’m a trembling mess, those phantom fingers growing more and more insistent until I’m a whimpering, trembling mess sagging against the High Lady. Her lips press against my heated skin in wet, open-mouthed kisses until she reaches the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I feel the sharp slide of her fangs into the muscle and the bite of pain is quickly followed by a flood of hot venom.
Pleasure breaks over me the way the rushing river overtakes its banks, pulling me along in its current until I’m dragged beneath the waves. My eyes fall shut, but even then I can still see the High Lord’s violet stare burning from the darkest corner of the room, his own desire no more than a whisper on the air. I feel a pull at the ribbon at my neck, then the fabric peels away from my overheated skin and slides down my thighs to pool at my feet.
“We’ll have another made,” the High Lady purrs, gathering me into her slender arms like I weigh no more than a weak, trembling fawn. “Perhaps two. I would like to ruin you in it myself at least once.”
“Oh,” I mumble as she lays me on their bed, tucking the blankets around me with a sort of care she only demonstrates here, when the doors are locked against the rest of the world. I feel her nestle in behind me and I manage a bleary, slow blink as her arm snakes around my waist, tugging my body flush against her own before a sudden gust extinguishes the candlelight, plunging the room into darkness.
Then, and only then, I hear the soft whisper of footsteps on the floor and the creak of the mattress as the High Lord settles at her back. The weight of his arm draping over us is impossibly heavy, anchoring me to the bed as the venom takes hold of my mind. Without another thought, I slip into the brightest, most vivid dreams of a palace of moonstone stretching beneath the open expanse of the night sky and a cool breeze fluttering over my skin like a light, sweet kiss.
Part 7 | Part 9 | AO3 | Series Masterlist | Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist
Summary: You start to settle in to your new life.
Warnings: smut, being held captive, mommy/daddy kink, lemme know if I missed something
Words: 4.7k
Author's Note: wow I surprised myself by writing most of this today! As usual it's not edited, I'm too eager to post. I hope you guys like this chapter! I had fun writing it ☺️ Less dark!Feysand and more slowly-manipulating!Feysand lol. Lemme know what you think!!
18+ only pls
🤍🩵⛓️💥💜🤍
A warm tongue woke you, a broad stripe licked along your slit having your eyes wide open in an instant, a shocked moan escaping you. You were still buried beneath the covers, but you could see Rhys’s form underneath the blankets, right between your thighs.
“Good morning, baby,” Feyre said sweetly, her lips pressing to your cheek a moment later. You felt Rhys’s fingers part your folds, his tongue eagerly diving into your sex. “For being so good yesterday, Rhys is going to make you come until you’re begging him to stop.”
You writhed under the covers, soft mewls of pleasure escaping you. One of your hands twined through his hair, holding Rhys close as he worked you perfectly. It wasn’t long before you tumbled over the edge, but Rhys didn’t let up. He pressed one finger inside of you and you clenched around it, marveling at how full you could feel with just one finger in you. Then a second slid inside of you and paired with his talented tongue, you came again.
Rhys made you come again and again until you were squirming beneath him, trying to pull away when the pleasure grew too much. “Rhys, stop, it’s too much,” you whined, palm pressing against his forehead in an attempt to push him away. You were approaching your sixth peak at a rapid pace, the pleasure nearly painful as you fell over the edge. “Rhys, please.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” Rhys said, finally relenting and pressing a kiss to each of your thighs before prowling up the bed. His lips met yours in a heated kiss, the taste of yourself on his tongue. “Our sweet girl.”
“You did so good for us, baby,” Feyre cooed, pressing her lips to your cheek again. “I think you deserve breakfast in bed for how well you took your treat, don’t you, Rhysie?”
“Of course, my darling. I’ll get started on it right away.” Rhys left the bed and made his way into the bathroom, and you heard the water running for a minute. He returned to the bedroom with a wet cloth and passed it to Feyre before heading to the kitchen.
“Let’s get you all cleaned up, baby. We’ll take a bath later, after breakfast. Does that sound good?” You nodded your head. “Good.” Feyre cleaned up the mess between your thighs, a blush on your cheeks the entire time. She got out of bed only to put the dirtied cloth in the bathroom hamper, and returned a moment later.
The two of you snuggled together, nearly falling asleep again until Rhys came back to the bedroom, this time with a large tray in his hands. “Breakfast is ready, my darlings.” He set the tray down over your legs, two plates piled high with pancakes, bacon, and fruit. Rhys settled onto the covers next to you, grabbing a fork and cutting a piece of pancake for you. “Open wide, baby.” You obeyed, savoring the pancake’s sweetness.
Rhys and Feyre took turns feeding you bites in between theirs, and soon the plates were empty. The tray was set on the floor, and you snuggled back into the blanket. The both of them joined you, holding you in their arms. You sighed contentedly, feeling at home for the first time in five days.
In fact, you felt more at home right here than you had in your new apartment. You nearly let that thought jolt you out of your sleepy space, but you remembered Feyre’s words about leaning into the feelings you were having. So instead, you sank further into the bed, relaxing completely.
Feyre and Rhys held you until you finally felt like getting out of bed, which really meant you trying to wiggle out of their grasp so that you could use the restroom. You did your business and returned to the bedroom, saddened to see that Feyre wasn’t in the room anymore.
“Where’d mommy go?”
Rhys smiled at you, soft and with a twinkle in his violet eyes. “Mommy went to draw up a bath for the three of us,” he said, approaching you. His hands pulled up the hem of your nightgown and you stiffened, but didn’t fight as he tugged it over your head, leaving you bare. Next he put you in a soft, pretty purple robe, then grasped your hand and led you from the bedroom all the way to the guest bathroom. As promised, Feyre was inside, adding bubble bath to the rushing water, the tub already halfway full.
“Oh, you look so cute in your robe, baby girl!” Feyre exclaimed when she saw you, putting the cap back on the bottle of bubble bath. You breathed in deeply, pleased to smell sweet strawberries coming from the tub.
“Thank you mommy,” you said with a blush on your cheeks. “You look pretty.”
“Aw, thank you baby,” Feyre said. “Now, let’s get you into the bath.” She came to you, untying the robe and tugging it off of you. Feyre settled it on one of the hooks on the bathroom door before returning to you, then unlocked your collar and set it on the bathroom sink. Both she and Rhys held your hands as you stepped into the tub carefully, bubbles covering everything but your neck. Feyre joined you, and finally Rhys sank into the water. He turned off the tap, and the three of you relaxed into the hot, steaming water.
You barely registered when Feyre began dragging a soft cloth against your skin, you were so relaxed. It was easy to let her clean your body in this state, and even easier to accept the kiss that she pressed to your lips.
By the time the three of you were clean, you were feeling even sleepier than before, and ready to take a nap. Thankfully, Feyre only made you get dressed before you plopped onto the couch next to her, your head automatically finding her shoulder. She draped a blanket over the both of you, which Rhys lifted to join you underneath it a few minutes later. The TV was turned on to some show that you didn’t pay a lick of attention to, instead closing your eyes and snuggling further into Feyre.
“Sleep, baby,” Feyre said when you yawned, her hand running along your back in a soothing motion. “Just go to sleep.”
It was so easy, listening to her. So you did, sinking into a peaceful slumber with her and Rhys by your side.
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You slept most of the day, though when you weren’t sleeping, you were almost always kissing one of them. Feyre was your go-to, the tension between you and Rhys still present in the back of your mind. Her lips were soft, so soft that you never wanted to stop kissing her, but she would pull away every now and then and turn your head by the chin so that Rhys could claim your lips as well.
Being shared by them in such a sweet, calm way had you sinking further into that comfortable feeling, your brain going fuzzy at the edges. You didn’t want to move from this spot, ever.
But eventually, Rhys declared that the three of you needed dinner, and left your side to prepare it. You whined at the loss of contact, shooting him a pouty look.
“It’s okay, baby, he’ll only be a few minutes.”
“A few minutes too long,” you grumbled.
“That just means you get more mommy time. Don’t you want mommy to kiss you more?” You perked up at that, looking into Feyre’s blue-grey eyes. You nodded, then pressed your lips to hers softly. A sigh left you when you parted, and you rubbed your thighs together. “Oh? Does my baby want more?”
While the idea was tempting, you were still sensitive from this morning. “Yes, but…”
“But?”
“This morning was a lot, mommy…”
Feyre smiled at you then. “Yes, it was. If you change your mind, just let mommy know, okay?” You nodded your head, knowing that you would most likely not want anyone touching you there until tomorrow.
“Dinner is ready, my dears,” Rhys said as he set the table, and you reluctantly forced yourself off of the couch once Feyre had stood. The table was made up with two plates only, though you couldn’t find it in yourself to be annoyed. Rhys sat and patted his lap, which you sat on without a complaint. Dinner was delicious, a salad with grilled salmon and garlic bread, which again, you were able to feed yourself. Feyre and Rhys took turns feeding you bites of salad, sharing smiles when you didn’t protest once.
Once you’d finished eating, you yawned, more than ready to snuggle on the couch again.
“Alright, baby, let’s go back to the couch,” Rhys said, tapping your leg to get you to stand. He tugged you over to the couch while Feyre set to doing the dishes. He laid down on the couch and pulled you on top of him, letting you settle between his legs before reaching for the remote. He put on a movie, then wrapped his arms around you. One of his hands settled underneath your shirt, just below your breasts. His thumb ran along your skin and the lace of your bralette slowly, the touch teasing you. You wiggled slightly beneath him. “Stay still, baby,” Rhys whispered in your ear, his lips brushing your skin. A tiny flame sprung to life in your tummy at the touch, and you couldn’t help but squirm every minute or so.
“You look so cute together,” Feyre sighed as she came over to the couch, a smile on her face. She crawled over your and Rhys’s legs to lay between them, her face coming to rest on your stomach. Feyre pulled a blanket over the three of you, nuzzling into your stomach a moment later. “You’re so comfy, baby.”
You giggled at her words, your hands coming to tangle in her hair. “Thanks, mommy.” Rhys’s thumb continued its slow motions, the small flame inside of you burning brighter with each pass.
The movie went on, but you weren’t paying any attention to it. Your focus narrowed down to the feel of Feyre laying on you, her warm breath on the sliver of skin where your shirt had ridden up, and the Rhys’s gentle, teasing touch. By the time it was over you were nearly ready to beg for their attentions, but your core was sensitive enough that you kept quiet.
“Time for bed, baby girl,” Rhys whispered, tapping your leg once Feyre had stood from the couch. Feyre pulled you into the bedroom, then the bathroom, and you brushed your teeth while standing between her and Rhys. It felt so domestic, and you hardly noticed your collar when you looked at yourself in the mirror. After finishing your skin care, Feyre tugged you back into the bedroom and began undressing you, first your skirt, then your sweater, and finally your bralette.
Feyre dressed you in a partially see-through nightgown, this one in a pale shade of pink. You twirled in it, loving how the skirts puffed up when you did so. Once you’d finished playing with your nightgown, you turned back to Feyre and saw her undressing. You moved to her, helping her tug her shirt over her head and greedily taking in her exposed skin. Next came her bra, a lacy, violet number that looked fantastic on her, and you were certain that Rhys had bought it. You watched as she pulled on a dusty purple nightgown, one that accentuated her curves perfectly.
“You’re so pretty, mommy,” you sighed, moving to her and giving her a hug.
“Thank you, baby. I think you’re really pretty too,” Feyre said as she pulled away slightly, booping a finger against your nose and making you smile. “Now, let’s get in bed.”
Rhys was already under the covers when you turned to the bed, a satisfied smile on his face as he watched you crawl over him to lay in the middle of the bed. You knew that you could’ve slid into the bed from the other side, but something in you wanted to move over Rhys instead. It made you giddy, getting to be so free with them. “Come here, pretty baby,” Rhys said, pulling you against his side once you’d settled yourself under the covers. You giggled and nuzzled into him, getting comfortable just as Feyre slid into bed behind you. Her arm draped over your waist as she held you close, and you drifted off between their arms.
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The next day passed by quickly, with you soaking in the attention that Rhys and Feyre were showering you with. You did much of the same activities, with you napping against one of them or watching whatever they’d put on the TV.
The main difference was you.
You wanted Rhys. Wanted him. And you were struggling to cope with that fact, the idea that you wanted to take his cock, and all that it would entail. The doors that it would open.
But you couldn’t stop thinking about it, about him.
He was sitting in the armchair currently, half-watching the TV as he worked on something on his laptop. And you couldn’t stop staring at him.
“See something you like?” Feyre asked lowly in your ear. You blushed but nodded anyways, eyes still glued to Rhys. “You know you can just ask, baby.”
You squirmed against Feyre at the suggestion, the words nearly on the tip of your tongue before you shut the thought down. “I can’t.”
“You’ve done everything else so well, sweet girl. There’s no shame in asking for daddy to be with you.”
A puff of air left you. “I know…” you said quietly. “I’m just- I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
“And that’s okay, baby. We promised to let you decide when we start everything, and that won’t change. You just need to let us know when you are ready. Can you do that for us?” You nodded. “Good. You can keep staring at daddy, he doesn’t mind one bit.”
Your cheeks were flaming when Rhys finally looked over at you, the look on his face giving away that he’d heard your entire conversation. He winked at you before returning to his work, sending your heart racing.
Soon. You would give in soon, you could feel it.
🤍🩵⛓️💥💜🤍
On the last day of Feyre and Rhys’s week-long vacation, you were feeling pouty. You didn’t want to be left alone tomorrow, not after spending so much time with them.
“Can we make it up to you somehow, little love?” Rhys’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see him kneeling in front of you. “I know you’re upset that we have to go back to work, darling.”
“I’m not upset,” you mumbled.
“You are too upset,” Feyre said with a light laugh. “How about we go online shopping, hm? We can look at pretty outfits for you, and whatever else you want. Does that sound good, baby girl?”
You pressed your lips together tightly before nodding. “I guess…”
“We can go swimming after, too,” Rhys suggested. You nodded your head in agreement. Maybe soaking in the sun would wash away your discomfort at the thought of being alone in the apartment.
You and Feyre settled into the couch with a laptop on her lap, perusing the various stores that Feyre pulled up. You picked out a good amount of new clothes, ones that were so cute you could hardly wait to wear them. It was exciting to get to pick out some things for yourself, and a couple of things for Feyre as well. You picked out a pretty underwear set for Feyre in your favorite color, and got a few dresses that matched your own. Feyre had suggested the idea, saying that you could dress up in matching mommy-and-baby clothes, which you were immediately looking forward to doing.
Once you’d had enough of staring at pictures of pretty clothes, you peeled yourself off of the couch and went onto the patio, staring out at the city. Velaris was beautiful, and you wished that you could go into real stores with Feyre, and get to try on as many pretty things as you wanted.
“What are you thinking about?” Feyre wrapped her arms around you from behind, her mouth by your ear.
“When can we go into the city together? I… I want to go shopping with you. In person.”
Feyre sighed. “I’m not sure, baby. We’d have to be certain that you wouldn’t…” she trailed off.
“Wouldn’t what? Try to run away?”
Another sigh. “Exactly, baby.”
You took a few breaths before responding, “I won’t run, you know. You… I wouldn’t run.”
Feyre pressed her lips to your cheek. “Let’s get in the water, sweetheart.” Feyre wasted no time in stripping out of her clothes, then helping you out of your own, then your collar. There was a pile of clothes on the ground by the time you stepped into the water together, drifting into the deep end.
“I see you got started without me,” Rhys chuckled once he made his way onto the patio. He stripped quickly, leaving you to stare, mouth slightly ajar as you kicked your feet to keep you afloat. “Like what you see, darling?” You nodded without thinking, making Rhys smirk.
“Come and join us, Rhys,” Feyre called out, and you watched as his lower half was slowly swallowed up by the water. You toyed with your lip between your teeth as Rhys approached, looking every bit as handsome as he had yesterday while you’d been staring at him. He was still able to stand on the bottom of the pool when he reached you, and he pulled you out of Feyre’s arms and into his.
“Hello, darling,” Rhys said softly, his proximity making your heart flutter. That ache came back, the need you had for him burning now that you could feel him, hard against you. “All you have to do is ask, little love.”
The words had you pushing out of his arms and back to Feyre’s, your cheeks beet red. “Awe, I think she’s shy,” Feyre teased, two wet fingers pinching your cheek gently. “Do you want your daddy, baby girl?”
You bit your lip again and nodded your head once.
“Don’t I feel like the luckiest man in the world,” Rhys said. “I have two beautiful girls in front of me that both want me.”
“Do you want to show daddy how much you want him?” Feyre asked softly in your ear, and you nodded again. “Go to him, then.” Feyre’s arms dropped from your waist and she gently pushed you towards him.
You tentatively approached him, stopping just before you were touching him. He pulled you against him again, and this time you relaxed in his hold.
You pressed your lips to his gently, letting him lead the kiss. Your legs wrapped around him and his arms followed suit, keeping you pressed tightly to him. You could feel the head of his cock brushing against your sex just enough to tease you, to leave you wanting more. You settled for letting him kiss you until you were breathless, your arms wrapped around his neck.
Eventually you drifted towards the shallow end of the pool, and Rhys pinned you against the wall. His member was pressing against your sex insistently now, and you wanted to give in, to let him take you, but the fear won out. You wiggled in his hold, trying to get away.
“Ah-ah, you’re staying right here, baby.” His lips lowered to your neck, sucking a dark mark onto your skin. Your head fell back against the wall, a heady sigh leaving you. “Remember, I won’t take you until you’re begging for me.”
“Rhys,” you sighed, finding his lips with your own again. It was growing increasingly difficult to remember why you weren’t letting him fuck you, your mind a need-soaked haze. You wanted to - you really, really wanted to, your resolve faltering.
Pregnant.
You finally wiggled out of Rhys’s hold, flushed despite the coolness of the water. “I can’t, I-”
“What has you so scared, baby?” Feyre asked gently as she swam towards you.
“I- the- pregnancy.”
“We already told you that we won’t get you pregnant until you are ready, sweetness,” Feyre said softly, her hands coming to cradle your face. “All that saying yes to Rhys will do is let the two of you grow closer.”
Your eyes flicked to Rhys, who nodded in agreement. “I still… I’m nervous,” you admitted.
“Of course you are, little love,” Feyre cooed. “But you don’t have to say yes until you’re ready. Rhys won’t do a thing without you saying yes, isn’t that right?”
“Of course, darling. I just like teasing you and seeing that cute blush on your cheeks,” Rhys said, approaching you slowly. “I’ll only tease you until you say yes, Y/N. Does that make you feel better?”
You nodded. “Yes,” you said in a small voice.
“Good. Now, let’s get you into the bath. I think you could use a good long soak before we have dinner.” Rhys took your hand and slowly led you out of the pool, past your clothes, through the living room, and into the guest bath. Feyre followed behind, bringing all of your clothes and collar with her. “Sit right here,” Rhys said, gently pushing you down onto the edge of the tub. He ran the bath until it was warm, then plugged the drain. “What bubbles do you want, baby?” He pointed to the collection of bottles on a shelf, and you squinted to read each of the labels before deciding.
“The blueberry one, daddy.”
Rhys smiled at you and grabbed the bottle, pouring a generous amount into the bath then replacing the bottle on the shelf. Bubbles formed immediately, the scent of blueberries filling your nose. Once enough water was in the tub, Rhys helped you step inside and waited until you were settled to sink into the water as well. Feyre came into the room, a grin on her face when she saw you snuggling up to Rhys in the tub.
“You make a pretty picture together,” she said as she sank into the tub. She pressed a kiss to your cheek before reclining as much as she could, letting out a deep sigh. “I wish I didn’t have to go to work tomorrow.”
“Me too,” you said, wiggling your toes against her own. “I’m going to be lonely tomorrow…”
“Nuala and Cerridwen will keep you company, if you’d like,” Rhys said.
“Nuala and Cerridwen?”
“They clean and stock the fridge for us during the week. Of course, we gave them the week off, but they’ll return tomorrow. Nuala will make lunch for you, so you don’t need to worry about cooking.”
“Oh…” You supposed it made sense, the two of them were usually busy during the week, and their apartment was pretty large. “Are they… Do they know about me?”
“They do,” Feyre said simply, and you knew better than to ask more questions.
“Okay.” You settled into the tub further, enjoying the warmth of the water and Rhys’s hands, wandering over your skin. You nearly fell asleep by the time they began running a soapy cloth over your skin, and were saddened when Rhys got out of the tub first, before you were fully clean.
“I’m going to make dinner, take all the time you girls need,” Rhys said as he toweled off, your eyes greedily drinking in his naked form. He shot you a wink when he caught you staring, then left the room in just a towel, your eyes trailing after him.
“You’re going to boost his ego to unprecedented levels if you keep staring like that, little love,” Feyre said as she finished running the cloth along your skin.
“I can’t help it,” you whined.
“I know, baby. Daddy is just too attractive, isn’t he?” You nodded in agreement. “Well, let’s get out of this tub and into some cozy clothes, hm? Then you can go stare at him some more.”
You blushed but got out of the tub, letting Feyre dry you off without a hint of a complaint. In fact, you rather liked it when she dried you off, you’d found. It made you feel like you were special, like you were… like you were her baby. Feyre wrapped you in a towel once you were dry, then relatched the collar around you neck, and dried herself off. You waited with her until she was done, and walked hand in hand back to the bedroom.
She dressed you in a buttery soft sweater dress, forgoing any underwear. You opened your mouth to ask about it, but you saw the hungry twinkle in Feyre’s eyes and closed it before saying anything. Feyre dressed as well, and then you were heading back into the living room. You sat at the table as you waited for dinner to be ready, holding Feyre’s hand the entire time.
“Dinner is almost ready, my darlings,” Rhys said as he continued working. Only a few minutes later, he was filling two bowls with stir-fried chicken, vegetables, and noodles, topping each off with a bit of soy sauce and sriracha. You stood before he even asked you to, then settled onto his lap without a fuss. Dinner was delicious, as was everything that Rhys cooked, and fed to you by the both of them.
Rhys carried you to the couch while Feyre cleaned up, settling you on his lap before turning the TV on. You wiggled slightly, and found him hard beneath you. It was difficult to ignore, especially when his hands pressed you more firmly to his lap.
“Rhys,” you whined.
“I told you that I’d keep teasing you,” Rhys chuckled, pressing you down again.
“I know…”
“So let me tease you,” Rhys whispered in your ear, one of his hands coming to dip between your thighs. “Naughty little girl.”
“It was mommy’s idea.”
“Then I’ll say thank you once she’s over here. Now, do you want me to just tease you, or do you want me to make you come?”
Your lips fell into a pout for a moment. “Make me come…”
Rhys didn’t respond, instead parting your legs around his, his fingers dipping between your legs again. The first brush of them against your clit had you letting out a soft sigh, and you leaned into him further. His fingers were like magic, two slipping inside of you with little resistance, while his thumb circled your clit. You were already near your peak when Feyre joined you on the couch, her fingers tilting your head so that she could kiss you, her tongue slipping into your mouth. She swallowed your moans as Rhys worked you, her hand coming to knead your breasts and pinch at your nipples through the fabric of your dress.
You slowly went over the edge, pleasure bursting within you, the both of them working you through it. When you came back down, it was to soft kisses on both sides of your neck. You sighed contentedly, snuggling into Rhys’s back while your eyes fluttered shut.
“Feeling good, baby?”
“Mmhm,” you hummed.
“Come here so daddy can clean you up,” Feyre said softly, and the two of them repositioned you on the couch so that Rhys could stand. He went into the bedroom for a minute, then returned with a damp cloth. He gently cleaned you up with the cloth, then went to put it into the hamper in the bathroom. “Such a good girl,” Feyre cooed, making you blush.
Rhys returned, settling into the couch by your side. You tried your best to turn your attention to the movie playing, failing miserably when you had two very attractive people by your side. You spent the rest of the night fighting your urge to ask for more, wanting to hold out as long as you could before giving in.
You knew that you would give in, though, and soon. It was only a matter of time.
Summary: You arrive at your prison, eager alphas at your side.
Warnings: mentions of death, omegaverse, kidnapping/being kept as prisoner, lemme know if I missed something
Words: short idk
Author's Note: not my best work but eh 🤷♀️ it's something. I hope you guys like it, and I hope it makes sense lol.
18+ only pls
🩵⛓️💥🤍⛓️💥💜
Your body ached as you came to, instinctively stretching your limbs and freezing once you'd bumped into someone else's limbs on both sides of you.
"Ah, we were worried you'd be asleep forever," a smooth voice said from your right, a shiver running down your spine at the sound of it.
Rhysand, the King of Night. Rhysand, who had killed your father.
"Look at me, omega," a voice, a female's, said from your left, and your muscles obeyed while your mind protested. The Queen of Night, Feyre, gently prodded at your cheek and you winced, only now realizing that you had a gash in your flesh. "I'm so sorry you got hurt in all the chaos, love. Are you feeling alright?"
You merely stared ahead, choosing to look at her right ear instead of making eye contact. They had ruined everything- and while you hadn't thought your father and brothers killing the last King and Queen of Night was a good thing, you now wished they'd killed the entire royal family, if only for you to have kept your own.
"Fine, don't talk," she huffed. "We'll be in the capital in an hour or so. I'm sure that a warm meal and a bath sound just about perfect to you right now."
You wouldn't admit it, but she was right. Seeing as you'd been asleep, you weren't sure how long you'd been traveling for- though if you were only an hour away from their capital, on the opposite end of Prythian, you'd been asleep for quite a while.
"We already have the perfect room picked out for you, just next to ours," Rhysand said, one of his hands twining with yours. "The windows look out over the bay, so you'll get to watch the sunsets that almost rival my wife in beauty." Feyre giggled lightly before winding her arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close, even with your body stiffened against her touch.
"They certainly don't stand up to you, Y/N," Feyre insisted as she pressed her lips to your uninjured cheek, you stomach rolling at the action.
Those lips had shown her delight at your parents' death, and you would not be forgetting it any time soon.
It was becoming clearer to you, now that the initial shock and horror had passed, that the two alphas flanking you had every intention of making you their omega- a fate you considered worse than death. You wouldn't allow them to touch you in that way, or gods forbid, claim you. No, you'd take a much different route, if forced.
You kept your eyes trained on the floor of the carriage, ignoring each of their attempts to converse with ease, focusing on the anger and despair festering within you. Not only had you lost your entire family, but now you were to be kept in the kingdom of their killers for the rest of your days. No, you wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing your voice.
"Alright, darling, we're here. Welcome home," Rhysand said, lifting and turning your head with two fingers under your chin. You looked past Feyre, who was staring at you with bright eyes, and out the window of the carriage. Outside you could see a colorful city nestled between two mountain ranges, its buildings running all the way out to the sea's edge. The harbor was filled with ships of all sizes, white sails standing tall and ready to depart.
It was a beautiful city, that much was true. But you knew it would never be your home.
Rhysand exited the carriage, coming around the other side to open the door next to Feyre. He helped her out with a firm hand, placing a kiss on her lips before turning his attention to you, extending a hand as he had done for Feyre.
You ignored it and turned your gaze back to the floor, deciding that staying in the carriage was better than whatever room they had picked for you.
A sigh was your only warning before two arms snaked under you, hoisting you against Rhysand's chest and pinning you there tightly, even as you fought against him, his sea and citrus scent washing over you in a wave. "If you weren't going to act like a bratty little omega, then I wouldn't treat you like one, Y/N," he said in your ear, lowly enough that the guards flanking the front doors of their castle couldn't hear.
Still, it reddened your cheeks and halted your squirming- what would your parents think of you, acting like a two year old in the face of danger? They'd always warned that something of this nature might happen, and had instructed you to stay calm and do whatever it took to stay alive.
But had they anticipated you being captured by their greatest enemies with no one left to save you?
You might not do whatever it takes to stay alive, as much as your parents wanted you to. Not when the consequences of it could be far worse than death.
A shiver went through you at the thought of what could happen. Being claimed against your will? Or, worse, carrying their child?
Tears pricked your eyes at the thought of a child coming into a family held together by force and cruelty.
Rhysand slowed his pace, then stopped, gently setting you on your feet. You glared at him and put a few paces between you, stopping only when his own eyes narrowed.
"Here we are, love!" Feyre said excitedly, opening the door that the three of you were standing in front of. "These will be your quarters while you get adjusted to life here." She ushered you inside, watching as your eyes went wide at the spacious bedroom.
"Unless you'd rather stay with us right away, darling," Rhysand purred into your ear. You jumped away from him, startled by how you hadn't heard him come up behind you.
Your eyes returned their search of the room, flicking back to the pair of alphas every other second. It was decorated beautifully, though you loathed to admit it. The walls, floor, and ceiling mimicked a forest, with carefully designed fabric leaves hanging down and a moss green carpet that you just knew would be soft, and a massive bed covered in pillows shaped as different flowers, soft sage sheets and a petal pink duvet, perfect for a nest-
You snapped your eyes away from the bed and back to the pair of killers, lip curling when you noticed they had inched closer while you'd been distracted.
"Would you like a tour of the rest of the castle?" Feyre asked, her voice sweetened by... something that you couldn't place. You stared ahead, unwilling to break your silence, but didn't miss the frown that flitted across her face before being replaced by a bright smile. "I suppose you'd like to wash up, hm? The wash room is through that door," she pointed to the right of the bed, the door painted seamlessly into the forest design. "Dinner will be in two hours, but we can have something sent up sooner if you'd like."
You stayed silent, eyes on the floor at their feet.
"We'll fetch you in two hours, Y/N. A lady will be in to help you dress, though feel free to look through your closet to find what suits you," Rhysand said. They waited for a response, a glance, anything, before turning and leaving through the door you'd come through.
The slide of the lock was faint, but the feeling it brought was deafening.
a/n: Should have never said the word love. Threw a toaster in the bathtub. I’m sick of all the games I have to play.
warnings: noncon/dubcon; threesome fmf; facesitting; dumbification; light praise kink; minor use of shadows; spitting; light impact play
word count: 7,332
-Part 2- -Part 4-
The door dully swings open, but you don’t bother opening your eyes.
It hasn’t even been a full day since they last took you from your cage. When they’d manipulated and mangled your mind, when they’d forced you to yield the few things you still had control over. The one place even they hadn’t tried to completely disrupt.
From the pace of the footsteps, you know it’s the High Lord who’s come to visit, the memory of chains and whips rising to the surface. This will be the third day in a row you’ll be denied peace and privacy.
You open puffy eyes wearily, noting the familiar glint of violet as he peers at you, a slight frown tucked in the edges of his mouth. Before today you might have been pleased with his displeasure. Not today. It’s just another expression to record.
He crouches down to where you’re huddled in your corner, tucked away and wrapped beneath the one blanket you were given. His hand reaches forward, fingers dipping under your chin so he can look at you properly. Examining the goods, probably. Guessing whether you’re well enough for him to fuck.
“Did you not sleep, little lynx?” He asks lowly, quietly. Observing you keenly.
You give no reaction, the words passing into your mind without registering. Too tired to respond. Too empty to give.
His brows narrow. “I thought you were going to be good?” He goads, angling your jaw to rise a little higher. “We came to an understanding, didn’t we?”
Silence and a blank expression.
Rhys frowns, then his hand is lightly gripping the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he leans forward, free hand bracing himself on the iron bars as he presses his mouth to your own. Tongue plying you open, he kisses you deeper, facing little resistance as your lips part beneath his own. Not so much as a whimper rising up to greet him.
He nips at your lower lip, canines lightly dragging over the softness, but you give nothing. Something’s wrong here, he can sense it, already reaching out for his High Lady.
Rhys? Purrs that voice that has heat warming his skin.
Come in here, he requests lowly, pulling back to allow her the sight he’s seeing—the vacancy behind your eyes, the general lack of reaction, the absence of life.
Is she okay? Feyre asks, all sexuality vanished, replaced by cool suspicion and slight wariness. A single note of concern.
Rhys’ thumb strokes over your cheek, his pulse spiking as he bites back a pleased grin at your complaisance. She’s at her breaking point.
His High Lady understands, swift on her feet as usual. They’ve discussed this moment, how it will occur and what they should do as it passes. How to push you over that breaking point without shattering you entirely, more along the lines of heating you until you’re soft and pliable—all for daemati hands to reshape and rehabilitate. You’ll be exactly as you were, only you’ll have always been theirs. No human man with his sweat and breath to contaminate your reactions to them.
Blankly, you watch him. Even in your dazed and depressed state you recognise the glaze of his eyes, a small part of you shrivelling further knowing she’ll be along soon. Having to watch as she violates your trust again and again, never stopping and never learning. Never changing.
“Will you stand for me, little lynx?” The High Lord asks lowly, pleasure enriching his sonorous drawl, deep and rolling, easy to listen to and adore. But you remain still, keeping to the small hollow you’ve carved for yourself in the depths of your mind, watching silently.
Violet gleams, though he doesn’t seem to mind your disobedience, not as darkness releases the chains locking you, overwhelmingly strong arms pulling you up from the blood-red carpet of the cage, putting you effortlessly over his shoulder as he takes you to their bed, settling you down. You make no effort to move, and he gives you no instructions to follow, both listening as a set of footfalls approaches softly from the hall.
The door swings open, clicking shut as blue-grey eyes brush over you instinctively with a flash of attentiveness you think you recognise before it’s locked beneath hard ice—the High Lady. Not your dear friend.
“How is she?” The High Lady asks hungrily, gaze raking over your naked form in a way that almost has you tempted to shrink away. Almost. But remembering what they’ve done, the indignities they’ve forced down your throat…you don’t care.
“She’s ready,” you hear the High Lord reply, and you move your gaze to the ceiling, studying the plain pattern—the wooden beam branching across the middle.
Footsteps approach, but you don’t care as her fingers trace down your sternum, over your stomach. Not even as she grazes your breasts, or thumbs against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs…none of it matters anymore. You’re inside your own mind, and safe from them. Curled in a darkened corner, alone and abandoned.
“She seems so unresponsive,” Feyre hums, amusement lacing her tone in a way that should set warning bells ringing, but you remain silent. Rhys’ arm slides around her waist, broad palm squeezing lightly as he idly examines the pliable look to your body. Relaxed and uncaring. The perfect subject for dark fantasies.
“Enjoy her,” Rhys drawls, glancing at his mate sidelong. “This is the first time she’ll let you have her without quarrel. If there’s something you’ve wanted to try…now’s the time.” Something shifts within her at those words, colour flushing her skin sinfully, teeth tugging at her lower lip. You watch as Feyre’s eyes glaze before a faint smile is appearing on Rhys’ mouth, pleased with whatever idea his mate has come up with. Something you doubt you’ll enjoy, if it’s piqued his interest so obviously.
“As you wish,” Rhys says lowly, violet eyes flicking over you once more, before departing, leaving you alone with his High Lady.
Blue-grey eyes turn to you, raking down over your bare form, soft and so touchable. So many things she would love to do to you, with the tip of her tongue, the ridges of her nails…the sharp sting of her teeth…
“It’s just us now, sweet girl,” Feyre murmurs, moving closer, allowing her fingers to trace the curve of your ankle at the edge of the bed, running over the bridge of your foot, watching how your toes curl away from her touch, unable to completely lock her out. “Just me and you, how it used to be. Do you remember those times as fondly as I do?”
You refuse to reply, and she zips the ridge of her nail up the underside of your foot, making you recoil sharply from the sensation. Her lips curve at the small victory, and a seed of frustration is planted within your chest. Why can’t she just let you be? Why does she insist on bothering, and teasing, and torturing?
She hums, fine with your silence, mattress dipping as she settles, slowly making her way toward you. “I do, and we’ll have them again soon enough,” she admits, a flush on her cheeks, “you just have to go through a little more. A little more, then you can be my sweet girl again. Who I can attend and listen to, who I can laugh with like we used to. Don’t you want that?”
The High Lady pauses at your hips, thumb skimming over the top of your left thigh, eyes hungrily following, before dipping between your legs. But you keep still. Unresponsive.
“We’ll see how long that lasts,” she muses, gently pushing your legs apart. Knowing how you detest it far more when they apply themselves to you than when they simply use you for their own ends. It’s so much worse when they touch you, putting their pleasure into your body without your permission, allowing their sickness to take root until it destroys you.
Her tongue licks up your centre, and the pleasure sings dully in the recesses of your mind. She circles your clit with painful familiarity, before attaching her mouth to you, suckling eagerly, tongue swirling as she works pleasure into your thighs and cunt.
Are you enjoying this, sweet girl? Feyre wonders. Come on, tell me how much you like it. How you love it when we touch, and kiss, and lick you here. As if to emphasise, she sucks on your clit harshly, teeth gently scraping before returning to soft and slow licks of her tongue. I know how good it feels, I know how to make it feel good for you, too. Just tell me. With words, or a moan, or the slightest shift of your body—tell me about your pleasure.
You can feel your body heating in response to the stimulus. Warming around you as you tuck yourself deeper into the cool darkness, only wanting to escape.
Feyre hums softly, pushing your legs so they’re bent at the knee, allowing her more access as she laps firmly over your sex, parting you slowly as she drags upward, tongue hardening as she flicks over your sensitive clit, feeling how muscles in your thighs react helplessly. She repeats the motion before dipping lower, nose brushing your clit as she kisses your entrance, lips gleaming as slick gathers in defence, only enticing her further. Promising the reward of your taste…your flavour…feeling your orgasm on her tongue.
Or, you could tell me how you hate it, she goads, able to hear the wicked lilt to her honeyed voice. I know how you love to tell us you hate us. How you despise us, how we’re going to hell? Tell me now. Tell me why. Her tongue strokes over your clit, your breathing becoming shallower, but Feyre knows those are simply your body’s reactions—she wants yours.
The building heat dies away as her mouth detaches from you, slippery slick gleaming on her lips as she crawls higher, straddling your hips as she rids herself of her own clothing. “It seems a shame to waste pleasure on you if you won’t even react to it,” she muses, a flush colouring her cheeks, and you shrink away as you feel her wet sex against your bare skin as she spreads her thighs, keeping you pinned to the bed as she sits. “So I guess I’ll let you have your way, for now. I’ll use you instead.”
Feyre crawls higher, anticipating a gleam in your eyes, or at least a twitch of your hands. A shift of expression to reveal your thoughts, but nothing. Even when she prods at your mind, she gets no response. But Rhys has told her this an important part of rehabilitation, reshaping you into what they want. This numbness, it’s all part of their plan—it will work.
It has to.
Her knees settle either side the top of your head, mattress dipping with her weight, so when she inevitably chooses to sit, she will settle atop your mouth, just as she likes.
“Are you happy down there, sweet girl?” She asks, unable to help the way her fingers long to play with herself, sex heating now she has your eyes on her. Arousal swiftly liquefies, and she touches the pad of her finger to her clit, aching and sensitive, longing to be stimulated. “I’ll make sure to give you a good show, hm? Would you like that?” She laughs a little breathlessly—normally you’d be kicking and screaming; it’s nice in a way to have you so docile. Obedience will come soon after.
Feyre spreads her thighs, and you still hate the way your mouth opens, tongue licking and lapping how they’ve trained you to do. Familiar with the punishment they’d inflict when you kicked off too hard. So you follow through with the motions out of habit, and you curl tighter into a ball, head ducked between your knees as you hold yourself together deep inside your mind.
Above you, Feyre moans roughly, thighs parting wider as she rubs her sex over you, liking how your lips catch on her clit, the way your nose pushes lightly at the sensitive bud. She sits fully, thighs parting as her fingers tangle in your hair, grinding closer, moving how she wants to, following every ache, chasing every spark of pleasure her body guides her with, picturing your mouth parted beneath her heat, tongue laying over your lower lip, allowing her to drag her clit across it.
Rhys, she calls out mentally, where are you?
Already? Her mate muses, that didn’t take very long.
I can’t wait any longer, Feyre replies breathlessly. She’s being so good Rhys. Come in here. Try her with me.
Show me, he sends back, even though she can feel his approach in her bones.
Feyre glances down, showing the way her fingers are carefully gripping your hair, almost tenderly, guiding you to where she wants, hips shifting over your mouth, liking how your tongue feels against her clit but aching for something deeper. Your scent filters through into his mind, those beginning notes of arousal starting to peek through your fear-tinted scent and his pace quickens ever so slightly before silently entering the room. Feyre doesn’t look up, keeping her eyes on yours so you won’t know about the other presence joining you.
“You’re being so good,” Feyre murmurs, fingers pushing hair back from your face lightly, thumb stroking up between your brows as she winds her hips, feeling like if she put her mind to it she could come right then and there, watching as your lids flutter as you taste the flavour of her release. “Keep doing that,” she soothes, “keep behaving, and you’ll feel good in no time.”
You’re so wrapped up in trying to internally shy away from her, so far from the surface of reality that you don’t notice as Rhys slinks in on cat-soft feet. It’s not even until he’s between your legs on the mattress, and his roughened hands slide over the tops of your thighs that the protection you’d been afford until now behind to slip away. Unlike Feyre, he holds no familiarity—he’s unpredictable and dangerous, prone to inflicting you with stinging pain while stuffing you to the brim with pleasure until they’re practically blending together.
Muscles twitch in your thighs, fluttering in your lower stomach, but it’s the only reaction you give as he pushes your legs wider, bending them at the knee and gripping your hips to allow him control over your lower body. Positioning himself as he likes.
The first noise of the night is wrung from your lips as Rhysand slides himself in, settling himself comfortably between your open legs until he’s flush with the soft skin of the backs of your thighs. Feyre’s fingers slide through your hair and you try to turn your head away from the sight, try to clamber and crawl back to the corner you had found for yourself, hidden away from their touches that sink so much deeper than bone deep. Her touch is like the raw scrape of cotton, coarse before it’s refined to softened fibres. You’re grateful you can still pick out the unpleasantness of her palms. They’re warm but calloused enough to catch, sweet abrasion lifting up from your skin into your mind as she leans back, reaching behind herself to swipe her thumb across one of your nipples. Is there a diverged universe where you would have enjoyed her heat and warmth?
It’s been long enough, coping with their hands and warring with their tongues that it doesn’t take too much effort to switch your perspective, your mental opposition steadily eroded with every use.
In this other world Feyre would have found you first. You would have connected, and grown together at a gentle incline. You would have lived together for a short period, while both of you were working but also husband hunting. You would spend evenings speaking about potential matches, but neither of you would ever manage to commit to someone else.
The realisation would start slowly, on your end. Spilling a vase on your bed and so having to sleep in Feyre’s while she was away one night, smelling her in the sheets, feeling the imprint of her body dipped into the mattress and the shallowness of her pillow where she would rest her head. Borrowing a bonnet or a pair of gloves of hers when you were due for a luncheon but without anything to wear, and without any money to afford a new purchase, feeling the fit of her fingers over yours, seeing the colours she had chosen for herself. Eating together in the evenings, starting on separate armchairs then moving to sharing one sofa, until on one particularly cold evening you decide to huddle together and you’d feel the warm press of her side and maybe one of you would even lay your head on the other’s shoulder.
Yes. It would have started slow, and you would have been given the time you needed to accept how intertwined you were with one another.
Rhysand would have never taken her away from you, and you would have never met your husband.
You could keep her, and you would privately share space until neither of you could remember whose comb was whose, or which bottle of perfume was yours and which was hers. There would never have been a divide, and you’d still be together.
Something hot and wet splashes on your cheek, and she’s pulled you close enough to the surface of reality you can make out the slope of her bare shoulders and the heat behind her eyes. Her lashes blink shut but another droplet falls onto your cheek.
She’s halted her movement, raised up on her knees as she stares down at you with gleaming blue-grey eyes. Her breathing stutters as male hands wrap around her waist, scar-flecked fingers gliding up to cup one of her breasts as he holds her by her hips, nosing up the length of her neck. Inhaling the scent of her wavering arousal through the silk of her long hair. You think you see sorrow in her glistening eyes, but you sink back below your surface, refusing to acknowledge or accept whatever she’s fleetingly considered offering.
Feyre’s hold tightens on your hair, feeling as you slip away. Her fingers wrap themselves between the strands, nails dragging across your scalp as she tries to pry you open again in a way she hasn’t seen since she decided to take you. Possibly even longer.
Sweetness, she tries, Sweet girl, come back to me.
More tears drip down onto your cheek but they’re only surface level. Lacking the cruelty to sink any deeper than that.
We can be gentle with you. I can be gentle with you again. But still she fails to reach you. Fails to breech the numbness that’s been slowly spreading through your mind since she decided against you. Decided that she couldn’t wait. Decided Rhysand would be her better option. After everything you went through together.
Rhysand pulls away, his hand lifting from her breast to her jaw as he tilts her face toward him, frowning upon seeing her tear-stained cheeks. It won’t be long now, he whispers into her head. She’s practically there already. Just a little more and she’ll be ours.
That word sets Feyre’s skin on fire. Does she want you to be theirs? Or does she want you to be hers? The thought seems too dangerous to consider now, especially with her mate so thoroughly wrapped around her. She tosses it away, burying it deep, deep down. Somewhere far from the light. Somewhere Rhysand won’t be able to find. Because she knows she doesn’t like how cruel they’re being. How she doesn’t yet fully trust him to handle you. He can have every part of herself, fall into his arms without any sense of his presence and trust he’ll be there, that he’ll catch her, but not this.
Not you.
You’re hers.
Feyre’s hips begin to rock faintly, gliding the dripping slick of her cunt over your already sopping mouth, strands of arousal sticking the two of you together as her fingers soothe through your hair, gentling her touch to that lost intimacy.
A small sound responds to her touch. So small she doesn’t even hear it, only feeling the faintest vibration beneath her, softer even than the beat of your heart.
Her fingers stutter, pulse fumbling as she tries to search for the sign again, now running her thumb over the crest of your cheek. Your tongue tenses beneath her, and Feyre repeats the action, swiping slowly back and forth until a low light is reflecting in your eyes.
Everything seems veiled in a thin blur, lights fuzzy and forms hazy. There’s a small warmth on your cheek, one that’s so achingly distant you force yourself to rise through the thick fog and into the torture of your senses, nerves feeding you the pressure of Rhys’ cock stuffed full inside you all the way to his base, able to feel the heavy weight of him even now. But the touch you’re seeking is coming from Feyre, looking at you in a way you’ve pleaded with her to give you, countless times. Screamed for that look until your voice was gone and torn.
You can’t make out what’s happening but your body falls cold as she looks away from you, meeting the gaze of the male she bound herself to. An unknown amount of time passes like that, but then she’s carefully lifting up from your body, pulling away until she’s out of sight and the world loses its colour, returning to dull shades of grey and sepia. The only thing sharp and cruel enough to cut through your filter being the stark violet of the High Lord’s eyes and this time you react. It’s nothing significant, nothing that would have previously caught their attention, the movement so small, but your eyelids lower by a fraction of a degree, that listless numbness seeping back into your muscles.
Rhysand’s arms band beneath the curve of your spine, palms splaying between your shoulder blades and cupping the back of your head as he pulls you upright. You shudder as he flicks the tip of his tongue over your lips, able to taste his mate there. But instead of deepening the kiss, his eyes seem to gleam with other intentions, and your pulse spikes as he pulls out of you only so he can turn you around.
There, splayed out on the bed, reclining on her back, is Feyre.
Not the High Lady. Not Rhysand’s mate. But Feyre.
Her body looks soft and inviting in a way you’ve not found it since she took you, and though you know her mouth is forming to speak words, none of them reach your ears, sound dulled—one of your first senses to numb. She doesn’t need to say anything though—neither of them do. Nor do either of them even need to give the command for you to know where you’re going, with the way her legs are spread like that.
But Rhys’ palm closes around your throat, fingers flexing menacingly as he brings his mouth to the smooth curve of your human ear. “Behave, tonight,” he whispers, in a voice like night and silk all heated by the intimate placement of a candle flame. “Then it will all be over.”
You’re surprised when he releases you, but only because instead of being dragged back far enough that your face will slot nicely between Feyre’s open legs, her arms lift from the bed. Inviting. Rhys pushes you forward encouragingly, both of them waiting to see what you’ll do. When you remain immobile for too long the High Lord squeezes your throat roughly, making you cough before you’re lowering yourself shakily onto your hands and knees.
Your arms tremble with more than just weakness and terror as your palms press into the mattress, lifting over her open legs instead of sliding beneath them, and part of you waits for Rhys’a bruising hands to grip you by the nape of your neck or jerk you back by your hair to return you to her cunt. But no pain is delivered, and you’re allowed to crawl further up, your body cradled between Feyre’s thighs.
Her fingertips dance over your shoulders and it’s enough force to have your arms melting, settling yourself to her chest, cheek laying between her breasts.
Feyre’s skin is hot, body lush and perfectly curved to accommodate your own. Her arms skate across your shoulders, wrapping themselves across their width, tangling her fingers through your hair, running fingertips through the strands at the ends.
You collapse entirely, the scrape of her nails scratching lethargically between your shoulder blades unlatching a final clasp as your mind spills throughout your skull.
Rhysand’s palms press themselves into the back of your hips, darkness bringing your legs wider between Feyre’s. A shudder runs up your spine as Rhys kneels over you, able to feel the heavy weight of his cock between your thighs, his skin dragging against your own, pinning your legs into the mattress while Feyre remains freely beneath you.
A whimper lifts through your throat as the High Lord spreads you apart and Feyre brushes her lips to the crown of your head. She lies to you over and over again, It’ll be okay; You’re almost there; Just let him settle in; You’ll feel good soon enough, you know you will. Awful, repulsive lies you don’t want to believe, and yet for some reason they feel closer to truth than ever.
Rhys keeps you spread apart as he presses his cock to your entrance, your hips squirming weakly but your legs are pinned, arms too heavy to argue, locked to Feyre’s chest while she pushes tenderness into your hair. More whimpers spill from your lips as he begins to inch his way in, rolling forward then back, rocking himself further and deeper until he’s once again stretching your limits.
“Careful,” Feyre hisses when she feels you jolt against her stomach, the twitch in your fingertips. You can imagine how his violet eyes gleam with pleasure at your reaction, twinkling as he looks at his mate and bucks his hips softly, eliciting a moan from your mouth. Feyre almost coos at the noise, palms cradling your head as fingers continue to brush through your hair. “Feeling good now? Didn’t I tell you? You always end up liking it.” You try to squirm against her but they’ve sucked out all your fight, leaving you cold and dangerously empty. Space they plan on claiming.
Once he’s all the way in Rhys slides his hands around your waist, darkness looping around your arms and beneath your shoulders to pull you upright. You whimper as cold flushes your bare font, and Feyre growls lowly, making to sit upright before her husband’s darkness ties her back down.
“Rhys,” Feyre growls, “give her back.”
Hot breath tickles the space behind your ear then teeth are nipping at your lobe. Hands invade across your body, breath gasping from your mouth as hot palms soothe the cold of your skin, cupping your breasts. “I’m letting her look,” Rhysand whispers, fingers moving higher to flex around your throat. “Letting her admire.”
The aggression dulls in Feyre’s eyes, a pink colouring her cheeks as she shifts on the bed, opening her thighs a little wider—as if you’ll be awed by the offer and dive right in.
“For someone who’s suffered so much of her life, you’ve been disgracefully ungrateful to my mate,” Rhysand murmurs beside your ear, soft enough you wonder if Feyre can hear him. You don’t like it when it’s only him touching you. Too dangerous. Too reckless. “Aren’t you thankful that she saved you?”
Anger catches like wildfire and you twist your head to look at him but the moment his indomitable violet eyes lock with your own it’s snuffed out, ice skittering up your spine. Rhys smiles, as if he knows exactly how much terror he puts into you. “Aren’t you grateful Feyre came back for you?”
“Rhys,” Feyre huffs, her hips circling with frustration as he keeps her hands pinned to the bed, unable to even touch herself.
“Look at her,” Rhys whispers, close enough you think you feel the flutter of air from his lashes with each blink. Fingers squeeze your jaw but they’re without their usual bite as he directs your attention to his mate. “Isn’t she beautiful? Doesn’t she deserve to have whatever she wants?” Whoever she wants, too.
You try to squirm away but his grip tightens in warning, his free arm banding across your hips as he presses himself deeper into your cunt. “Doesn’t she?” It’s clearly a warning—one of the gentlest you’ve ever received from him. The skin around your knuckles tightens, nails biting into your palms before turning slack, head hanging as you yield one faint dip of your head. All he wants is an answer, and you know if you keep the right one from him… The memory of pain still hasn’t faded from your skin.
Rhysand turns you back to face him, tilting your chin so he gets to look down on you and not for the first time you wonder what he sees. Is there any way he’s oblivious to your disgust? But he lays his mouth atop your own gently this time and you force your body to remain calm, steering away the tension that seeks to thread itself through your muscles.
You know you want us. Rhysand tells you. You know you want her. I know you’ve wanted her, too. You’re the only one refusing to acknowledge it.
Because you’re lying. You think.
Am I?
Tension sears its way through your body as his hand slides down to cup your heat, fingers parting around the thick stretch of his cock. You come every time we touch you, drip down your thighs at the thought of her. You know it would be better to fall into us.
You’re cruel, and manipulative, and barbaric, and-
Loving.
An actual laugh croaks from your throat at that. In what kind of twisted world does anything they’ve done to you be considered loving?
His tongue flicks across your lips then he’s plying you open, swiping along your teeth to taste the inside of your mouth. You’re disgusting, you think, but the thought only echoes through your empty mind. Instead you become aware of Feyre speaking, her voice so at odds to the cruelty of the High Lord. Your body aches to lay against her again, to rest yourself against her body, bare skin on bare skin. Even if it would change nothing, the desire is becoming too apparent to keep denying.
You gasp when Rhys’ hot mouth opens over your throat, sucking marks into your flesh. His thumbs swipe across your nipples, grazing the sensitive peaks and you realise his darkness has retreated from Feyre.
Stark heat flushes your cheeks as you spy the meandering path of her fingers as they trail over her stomach, slipping away between her legs as she runs her hungry eyes over you. You want to hide away from that ravenous hunger. Bury yourself in soft darkness that shields rather than contains. You squeak when her fingers instead lift to graze your cunt, their pads trailing over the bump of your clit. Rhysand groans softly beside your ear as you tighten around him.
“You’re so beautiful,” Feyre whispers, now sitting up from the bed, her hands lifting to wrap around your waist. “So perfect. So pretty.” She presses a light kiss to above your navel, affording a small lick to the bare skin that makes you shudder. It’s too warm in here. Something bubbling beneath your flesh. Her kisses lift higher, until her pink mouth rests between your breasts, and you’re looking down into her blue-grey eyes.
Fingers push between your legs again, sliding up and down over your centre, rubbing over your clit while Rhys keeps himself flush to your back. Feyre brings her fingers back up, a pulse of arousal passing through your body as she pushes her fingers across her tongue, tasting you. A whimper escapes your sealed lips, hips shifting faintly and you’re unsure if it’s out of protest or desire.
“…Feyre…”
Almost as soon as her name is out she’s moaning, fingers returning to your clit to rub and circle. That warmth begins to intensify, a tingling need centring between your legs. Your own hands half-heartedly land on her shoulders, as if trying to push her away but it’s useless even pretending to try. “I’m sorry for stealing you away so suddenly,” Feyre whispers, and you freeze. Staring at her. “But you seemed so isolated. I missed you. I missed being with you. Being beside you.” She kisses your sternum. “I hated not being able to be affectionate with you.” Another kiss. “You don’t understand what it was like.” Kiss. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” she whispers, “but you were never brave enough to follow after me.”
“You walked away first,” you whisper, before hearing how much like a confession it sounds. But Feyre shakes her head. “You denied me,” she whispers, “you denied us.”
“I don’t want both of you,” you cry with more force than you’ve felt in a while. “If I’ve ever felt anything it was only for you.”
Rhysand’s teeth find light placement in your shoulder. Cruel creature, he seems to be saying.
Feyre’s brows curve upward, as if disappointed you don’t like a gift she’s been preparing to share. “You don’t like the feel of his cock?” She asks softly. Again, Rhys groans as you squeeze him. “You don’t like how he fucks you?”
“Feyre, stop.” There are tears in your eyes.
“You don’t like the way his hands feel? What about his fingers?” She licks slowly between your breasts. “What about his tongue?”
“Feyre stop.”
“What about mine?” She continues. “Do you like it when I touch you? Do you like feeling my hands wrap around your skin? How do my fingers feel inside of you?”
“Feyre…” You plead.
“What about my mouth?” She whispers, resuming the idle circles of your clit. “You love my tongue, don’t you? I know you like it when you’ve got fingers inside of you and a mouth over your clit. You like tasting me too, don’t you?”
“Feyre!”
“What about when you’re on your back and I’m touching you like it’s only us?”
“Yes.” You cry, eyes squeezing shut as tears finally fall down your cheeks.
Feyre’s face lights up, and both her hands are cupping your cheeks. Not even a single thought in your head considers resistance as Rhys’ arms release you and you fall with Feyre back into the bed, falling into her arms, falling into her embrace. “Then stay,” she murmurs, stroking your skin, petting your hair. “You’ll learn to like him,” Feyre whispers, “you’ll get used to him. Learn to love it.” You try to shake your head but at last Rhys is moving his hips, grinding up against you so his cock rubs up against those spongey, tender spots. “Sweetness,” Feyre whispers as though she’s sad. “You will,” she promises, “just open yourself up to it. Open up to me again.”
You want to shake your head. Want to demand that they stop. But of course you can’t.
The High Lord bucks his hips and a moan spills from your mouth onto Feyre’s skin. You hate how good he feels. How biologically pleasing he is. How satisfied you are from just having the thick weight of his cock stuffing you full, the touch they have on your skin as if they really want you.
They really do. They wanted you enough to take you. To cling onto you even through every protest and scream.
Maybe they’ve finally done it.
Maybe they’ve finally made their way inside.
The last drops of energy are sapped from your bones as Rhysand begins drawing his hips back and fucking you in earnest, Feyre’s legs bending at the knee to cradle your body with her own. It feels good like this. To have her arms banding around your body while Rhys carefully drags the pleasure from your flesh to the surface. “See?” Feyre whispers. “It feels good doesn’t it?”
You want to shake your head. Want to deny her. Deny both of them.
But you can’t.
You’re only falling deeper.
Moans reach your ears and you know they’re your own. Rhys has always been an expert on pleasure. Knowing where to press and where to push to have sopping wetness greeting him whenever he pleases.
His hips buck sharply, pressing himself deep inside your cunt and you gasp as the solid heat of his chest presses down on your back, sandwiching you so intimately between them. Feyre pushes hair from your temple but you can hardly be bothered to seek him out. Rhys’ tongue licks up your throat, lips splitting in a grin when you squeeze him, your hips swirling faintly to feel him against your inner walls.
“Like that?” He whispers. “After all this time, all your fussing and protests, all for you to hardly be able to speak from how good I’m making you feel, huh?” A moan that sounds too close to agreement escapes your mouth, and Feyre coos as your nonsensical noises. “What a good cunt you have,” Rhys purrs, rocking his hips to yours. “At least she’s always known what she wants, even if you’ve been too pretty and dumb to make up your mind.”
He thinks you’re pretty? A fae thinks you’re pretty?
Rhys’ chuckle is bone deep, dripping into your marrow and filling you with heated arousal that’s too thick and sticky for you to keep yourself together.
“So pretty,” he breathes, wicked amusement clear in his voice. “Pretty, ditzy, and dumb.”
Pretty.
The rest of your thinking is pushed away as Rhys pulls back, the pace deepening; hardening. Your eyes squeeze shut, body limp and pliable beneath his ministrations of pleasure. He’s slamming into you, using the thick length of his cock to push and press and rub and touch every place you could want, muscles flexing weakly in your legs in attempts to push your hips the slightest bit upward from the bed so he might find it easier.
“You’re being so good,” Feyre praises, continuing to stroke your hair, gently petting as she holds you close. “You’re taking him so well. So perfectly.”
Perfectly, she said. Your cunt aches from the praise. A relief from their cruelty.
Rhys touches a spot inside of you and your spine curves, toes curling as embarrassing sounds release from your chest, mewling and whining for him to push against it again. “Rhys…” you plead, fingers trembling as his name teeters off the edge of your tongue. Your hips swirl, mouth opening to ask him again but then he finds it and your eyes roll.
The High Lord’s fingers wrap around your throat, forcing your neck to crane far enough back until you can see him looming above you, so unfairly lean and tall, even to fae standards. His mouth twists into a half-cruel, half-amused smirk, cocking a brow. “More?”
There might be drool spilling out the corner of your lips, “More…” His smirk widens, grip leaving your throat to land a light slap to your cheek before digging his fingers in. “Want my cock? Want it harder?”
“Uh-huh…” It sounds stupid even to your own ears, and humiliating heat warms your features. Rhysand’s laugh is edged with condescending pity, delivering another small slap that has your eyes stinging, “Tell me. Say you want it.”
You stare at him, unable to shake your head. You’re not doing this again, but his cock feels so good coupled with Feyre’s tender touches, fingers playing with your hair while she watches her mate enjoy you. Violet eyes gleam, then a stinging pain smacks against your cheek, fingers digging in to the hinge of your jaw as he spits into your mouth. Your toes curl, cunt squeezing his cock tight as something flutters about between your legs.
“Say it,” the High Lord demands.
“I love it,” you whisper in a rushed breath. “I-…I want it. Please.”
“And what do you want?” He goads, not yet allowing you to swallow.
“You-…” You cut yourself off, gagging beneath his hold, tears stinging your eyes. “You,” you pant, fumbling out words you think he might like. “Both of you. Feyre. Rhys.” Pupils expand as he hears his name in your moan, colour warming his tan skin, “Good enough.”
He releases your throat and you swallow, hauling air down into your lungs only for it to be shoved right back out again, cheek falling to Feyre’s chest as Rhys slams his cock into you, bucking his hips to a brutal pace that might have driven you up the bed if Feyre wasn’t keeping you in place. Your moans fluctuate in volume, growing louder whenever his cock hits that special spot you hadn’t known existed before them.
You cry as the orgasm blazes through your body, every muscle strung taut as pleasure sets you on edge, pulsing through your body with the force of feverish heat. Your hips buck against his, pressing as tight as you can against him as even your lungs seize, rendered silent from the onslaught of searing pleasure. With a final sharp buck, Rhysand finds his tipping point, hot breath panting up the nape of your neck and you yelp as his two palms roughly pin you in place as he fucks out his orgasm, feeling more like his toy beneath the dominating grip.
Hot cum spills into your cunt, spurting out in thick waves that fill you up, feeling the muscles flexing in his thighs every time he slams himself in and your vision turns hazy. Dark spots dance through your vision until all you can sense are tipping colours and a blaze of passion up your spine, liquid heat pooling in your belly. All the while Feyre’s pressing kisses into your hair and stroking the crown of your head, helping you through.
You have no way of knowing how long it’s been when you next open your eyes. You’re in the same position as you were before except a little further up Feyre’s body, hips no longer cradled between her legs but now with your face resting at the junction of her shoulder and neck, breath fanning ticklishly across the intimate expanse of skin.
When your breathing pattern shifts, Feyre tilts her head and you become aware of her arms wrapped around your body. One hand splayed across your lower back, and the other-
Heat swarms your features, squirming faintly to feel more of her, spine curving.
“Awake now?” Feyre asks, rosey lips pulling upwards in their corners. She leans forward, pushing a kiss to your forehead. “Rhys’s gone for the moment but he’ll back soon,” she assures, watching you carefully as she gauges your reaction. Your head lolls, lids feeling heavy, body still tingling from pleasure. “We didn’t want any dripping out while he was away,” Feyre murmurs, her heart beating faster upon hearing your moan when she curls her fingers inside of you, how you circle your hips downward, trying to push them deeper.
In reward for your lethargic adoration, Feyre pushes her two fingers deeper, slowly pumping them in and out, her cunt tingling with need when she feels you squeeze her as if you’re also trying to keep all of him tucked up inside of you.
Just a little longer and you’ll be theirs, forever.
Hiiii!! Do you think you’ll ever write another part to Tag Your It??? It’s my favorite fic ever and I reread it almost every week 😭😭 I love how you portray the relationship between Rhysand and the MC it’s so deliciously complicated and horrible 🫶🫶
YES!!! At some point this year I will hopefully write a part 5! I expect there are only 1-3 parts left in their storyline which is soooo insane to me 😂
I actually went through and reread the series which was helpful because before I didn’t really have a direction in mind but I have planssss
Ahhh thank you for asking about it!!! I’m hoping to finish some wips first since I’m still easing myself back into writing and it’s easier to do that via editing pre-written fiction vs. Starting from scratch— so I’ve got one wip I’d like to polish off first (idk if cbmthy will get in the way of this or not? It’s a possibility but we’ll see what happens) but after that I think I’ll feel more comfortable getting to work on Tag, You’re It Part 5 🧡💛
