#🍁promptober fic🍁

[whisperingmidnights]

Sunday Morning

Pairing: Modern AU poly!Feysand x f!reader

Summary: A lazy, Sunday morning wake up call.

Prompt: mommy kink/somnophilia

Word count: 4,044

Warnings: D/s dynamics, mommy & daddy kink, copious use of “good girl”, light choking (so light I wouldn’t really consider it breathplay), very light somnophilia

     My arms and legs are so heavy.

     It’s the first thought I have, that my limbs are heavy and so warm, I could easily go right back to sleep if it weren’t for the throbbing pulse of my clit pulling me towards consciousness. I shift my hips to ease some of the pressure, and a featherlight stroke parts my lips, baring me to the cool morning air. Exhaling a short, shaky sigh, I spread my legs wider and a warm, wet tongue licks a long stripe up the length of my empty, aching cunt to the tip of my clit.

     A high, keening whine escapes my lips and the dark, feminine chuckle that follows it is a promise I’d like to cash in on. Immediately.

     “Good morning, sweet girl,” Feyre says, her voice still husky with sleep. A good morning, indeed. Her palms glide along the backs of my thighs before she wraps her arms around my legs, spreading them wider. “You don’t have to wake up yet, princess, it’s still early. You just lie back and let me take care of you.”

     “Mmhh,” I groan, letting my head loll against the plush, expensive pillow.

     “I love you like this. You’re so good and sweet for me when you’re sleepy. Aren’t you, baby?”

     “Yes,” I mumble as her tongue lazily traces my entrance, so close to where I need it that I want to scream.

     “Yes, what?” The tip of her tongue flicks against my clit and I gasp, my hips jerking ineffectively as she uses her grip on my thighs as leverage to keep me pinned to the bed.

     “Yes, Mommy.” I try my best to sound penitent as I will my legs to relax and fall slack, to leave me open and pliable. Exactly how she wants me.

     “There’s my good girl. It’s too early for you to be thinking, baby.” I hear the wicked grin in her voice and it’s not hard to imagine the way she looks: lying comfortably between my open legs with a gleam in those cool blue eyes, her sleep-mussed hair shining like honey in the early morning light. Rhys has so many pictures of her just like that, looking like a goddess in every one, tucked away for when business takes him from us for an extended period of time. Sometimes he’ll send me one in the middle of the day, just to leave me wet and eager until they get home.

     Feyre’s tongue flicks against my entrance and I whimper, wishing I could lace my fingers through her hair and use her cruel, wicked mouth the way I want to. My nipples tighten at the thought, as I imagine the way she’d look as I use her to seek my pleasure. I don’t notice the way my leg falls loose from her grasp until her fingers grab the stiff bud and pull, leaving me gasping as she begins to roll my nipple firmly between the pads of her thumb and forefinger.

     “Look at what a needy thing you are, so eager to be fucked,” she says mildly, flicking her tongue against my clit until I whine and shift my hips again. “You need to be a good girl if you want to come, baby.”

     “Mommy, please,” I mumble, spreading my hands against the mattress to keep from grabbing her hair. “Please, I wanna-”

     “Oh, I know you want to, baby. But this isn’t about what you want, is it? This is about you being a good, sweet girl and letting me toy with you until I decide you can come.”

     “Yes, Mommy.”

     “You don’t sound very sorry.”

     “I am,” I whine, dragging my teeth across my lower lip as she squeezes my nipple harder. “I’m sorry, I’ll be so good.”

     Feyre releases my nipple after one final squeeze, a warning to keep my word, before she loops her arms securely around my thighs and effortlessly tugs my body down the bed. I gasp at the first rough swipe of her tongue along my slit, a meager preparation for the moment her hot, wet mouth descends on my pussy and she begins to suck.

     "Oh, fuck-" I gasp. My hips jerk as her teeth scrape against my aching clit, the swollen bud beginning to pound in time with my heartbeat the moment she starts fucking me with her tongue. I want to be still and pliant, I want her to call me her good girl again, but I'm already so, so close. "Gonna come, please Mommy, I can't-"

    My legs fall limply to the side as she abruptly pulls away and I keen at the loss, suddenly aware of how empty I am and how badly I need to be filled and fucked. By her, however she'll take me.

     The first slap to my dripping cunt tears a gasp from my throat, and my eyes fly open to see Feyre kneeling between my spread legs with a wicked smile twisting her pink, pouty lips. Her thin, white nightgown dangles from her shoulder by one thin strap, and the silk is so sheer in the early morning glow I can clearly see the peaks of her lovely, pink nipples through the fabric. The hem pools over the tops of her creamy thighs, barely covering the sparse thatch of blonde hair between her legs.

     I'm so distracted by the notion of burying my face between those thighs and licking her until she forgives me that I don't notice the second slap until it connects with my clit. Her smile widens at my high, plaintive whine and I swear I almost come on the spot at the power glittering in those endless blue eyes.

     "Didn't you just promise me you'd be a good girl?" she asks sweetly as she pins me to the bed with only her stare. "Didn't you say you'd be so good while I played with your pretty pussy and made you feel good, baby?"

     "Yes, Mommy. But I was good! I didn't come."

     Another sharp, wet smack leaves me gasping.

     "Don't you know better than to talk back to me, princess?" she asks, laughter in her voice at my barely suppressed moan. "Have we spoiled you, pretty girl? Do you need to be punished instead?"

     "Mhhh," I whimper as she slowly moves up my body and carelessly arranges my legs until her bare, slick cunt is pressed firmly against my own. She rolls her hips one, grinding experimentally against me with a cruel smirk as I fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head.

     "This is much better, isn't it, baby?" She punctuates the sentence with a slow, lazy roll of her hips. "You feel perfect. Maybe I'll use you like this and take care of my own needs first."

     "Yes," I babble, gripping the sheets in my fists to keep from touching her. "Yes, please, I'm yours. I'm yours. Use me, please, want you to feel good."

     "What a good girl," Feyre gasps as her clit slides against mine. "Move your hips then, bunny, make me come."

     I do. It's a borderline religious experience to watch her fall forward, her hands planted on either side of my face as I rut wantonly against her, mindless with need. She shines like a goddess bathed in warm, golden sunlight and my breath hitches as I fight the urge to come. Her name falls from my lips like a prayer.

     "My sweet girl," she says as her hand gently wraps around my throat, giving her added leverage to fuck me harder, slower. My thighs flutter against her and I whimper, my eyes watering as her grip tightens. “My good girl. You’re going to make me come, pretty girl. You’re so good for me, so beautiful, I- hngh - oh fuck, bunny, there.”

     Her hair flows like a sheet of dark gold over her shoulder as her cold blue eyes, clouded with lust, flutter shut. Her moans as she chases her orgasm are the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. The slick sound of our bodies and her little gasps are the symphony I’m going to come to, unable to resist the siren call of her body as her pubic bone grinds against my clit, urging me on. My back arches and my hands clench the sheets so hard I think they’ll rip. Through the tears leaking from my eyes, I just make out the way her lips curve into a grin before her hand slips between us.

     “Come on, baby, come for me like a good girl,” Feyre coos breathlessly, thumbing tight circles around my clit until I break with a short cry of my own that falls short as she tightens her grip on my throat. The hand falls away slowly, tracing a path between my breasts that makes me shiver. “What a good fucking girl. I’m not done with you yet, princess.”

     “Ohh,” I moan as two of her fingers slide into my slick cunt, still spasming through my orgasm. Those nimble, clever fingers have me back at the precipice before I’ve come down from my first orgasm, and I mindlessly ride her hand as her thumb finds my clit again. Her wicked mouth lowers to suckle at my hard, flushed nipples until I want to scream. My breath stutters when she looks at me again with the reddened, abused flesh between her teeth. I could die right here, I think, I’m going to if she doesn’t let me-

     “You’re going to come again, aren’t you, bunny?” Feyre asks, flicking her tongue against my nipple.

     “Mommy, please-”

     “Then come, bunny. Right now.”

     I’ve never been able to deny Feyre before, so why start? My walls pulse and flutter around her fingers, trying to draw them further into my body as I come with a strangled cry. All the while, my heart flutters like a hummingbird’s, too quick and light. My lungs heave in an effort to draw in breath, I want to touch the goddess kneeling between my thighs but my arms are far too heavy to lift. I give her a dazed, happy smile as she snatches her phone off of the nightstand beside me and proceeds to take a picture of her hand, soaked with my juices, with me in the background.

     “I did tell Rhys I’d start without him if he didn’t cut his run short,” she says with a satisfied smirk, placing her phone carefully back on top of the wireless charger. “You were so good, love. I’ll go run you a bath, would you like that?”

     “Mhm,” I mumble, rolling onto my side. “Kisses first.”

     “Of course, bunny. I didn’t forget,” she says, leaning down to pepper kisses from my temple to the slope of my shoulder, following the curves of my body like she’s mapped every one of them. To be fair, I think she has. They both have. Once I’m tucked back beneath the blanket, warm and giggly in the morning haze, Feyre slips from the bed and pads into the obscenely large master bath. Her phone vibrates on the nightstand. Repeatedly.

     “Someone isn’t happy to have missed the show,” I mumble to myself, pressing my thighs together at the thought of Rhys coming home to find me in bed, warm and fucked out, while Feyre preens like a cat before the mirror. It’s almost enough to make me want to slip my hand between my legs again, but I’m still so sensitive I don’t know if I can take it if I’m not being made to. Mhhh, no, that thought certainly wasn’t helpful. The sound of running water echoes in the master suite and I gently pull myself up to sit against the headboard, plucking my phone from the top of the nightstand to distract myself while my lover prepares my bath.

     I have a few texts, mostly my roommate wondering where I was, if I was going to be out all night. Glancing at the time, I’d say she got her answer. Then one from this morning from Rhys, a photo of the sunrise over the duck pond at the park near the townhouse. If I can count on nothing else, he always sends me a picture of the ducks on his runs, usually sleeping with their heads tucked beneath their wings. Today there was a little family of ducklings trailing their mother into the water for a swim.

     “All right, love,” Feyre says as she wanders back into the room, loosely cinching her silk robe at the waist. The fabric is so thin, it does little to shield her body from view, and I can practically feel my mouth water at the sight of her pale, creamy skin in the morning sunlight. A bath is the last thing on my mind when my eyes trail to her breasts, her rosy pink nipples practically begging for attention beneath the loose fabric. I want to take them in my mouth and suck hard until she’s writhing against me, begging for release- “Eyes up here, sweet girl.”

     Reluctantly, I glance up into those sparkling blue eyes and flush at the knowing grin twisting her mouth.

     “You’re going to be so good for me, aren’t you?” she asks sweetly, coming to stand at the edge of the bed. Her long, artistic fingers tangle in my hair as she forces my head back, keeping my eyes on her. “You’re going to slip into the bath and get clean. And whatever else happens, you’re not going to touch yourself until you’re given permission.”

     “What else is going to happen?” I ask breathlessly, catching the fabric of her robe between my fingertips. She leans in to kiss me then, so lightly it’s like the brush of an angel's wing, then her hands clasp mine and she’s pulling me out of bed. I slip into the bathroom on my own and happily sink into the huge tub filled with milky, almond-scented bubbles and pale pink rose petals. Candles flicker around the ledge of the tub, filling the air with the smell of jasmine, verbena, and oak, a warm, almost musky scent that often lingers in Feyre’s clothes since she often burns it at the gallery as well.

     These days, it smells like home to me, but I wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Instead, I slide further beneath the water and scrub my sweat-soaked hair, washing it with Feyre’s expensive shampoo and conditioner until it’s soft and clean again. Once the rest of me is clean, I lean against the side of the tub and peer through the window looking out onto the rose garden filled with pink and white blooms. Distantly, I hear the heavy front door opening and the sound of Rhysand’s keys clattering into the bowl alongside my own, and something warm begins to bloom in my chest at the domesticity of it all.

     Feyre’s delighted giggle tells me he’s found his way to the bedroom, then that sweet laugh gives way to a heady moan and I pull my lip between my teeth as I settle back against the tub and rest my head against a soft, rolled towel. My eyelids flutter closed as my hands drift over my breasts, gently squeezing and plucking at my nipples as I imagine Rhys with his head between his wife’s legs, drawing those sweet gasps from her lips with his teeth and tongue. My clit begins to ache, begging for attention, and my skin flushes from more than the heat of the bath. When I think of the last order she’d given me, I want nothing more than to disobey it, but something tells me I’ll be rewarded if I’m a good girl. I press my thighs together and rest my hands against my ribs, lying still as I listen to the glorious sounds of Feyre’s pleasure on the other side of the door.

     When the brazen moans of Rhys’s name on her lips fade to hushed gasps, I rest my heels against the rim of the tub and take a few deep breaths of my own. If I’m lucky, maybe he’ll let me clean her up…or finish him off. Both? Oh, fuck, I’d love nothing more. When the bathroom door opens and Rhys strides in, I glance up into his deep violet eyes and note the smirk curving his lips before I trail my eyes over the rest of him. I swallow hard at the sigh of his hard, flushed cock bobbing against the tan, taught skin of his abdomen.

    “Good morning, sweet girl,” he purrs as he braces his palms against the side of the tub to press a lingering kiss to my mouth. My tongue flicks against his lower lip, licking the remnants of Feyre’s orgasm from it. He chuckles lowly as I greedily pull it between my teeth, craving the taste of them. One of his hands slides around my neck, applying the slightest pressure as he pulls back with a wicked grin. “Look at you, needy thing. Was this morning not enough to satisfy you?”

     “No,” I whisper, shaking my head.

     “No?” His eyebrow arches as he tightens his grip on my throat. I moan a little and Rhys shakes his head, leaning in to nip at my lower lip. “Where are your manners, darling? I thought you’d been taught better.”

     “Daddy-” My whine promptly slips into a whimper as his fingers flex around my throat.

     “There’s my girl. Now, you’re going to be so good for me, aren’t you?” Rhysand’s eyes glitter at my eager nod and he releases my throat, trailing his fingers up to grasp my chin as he holds my gaze. When he gently rubs my lower lip, I open my mouth and flick my tongue against the pad of his thumb. He slips it between my teeth, and I greedily suck the taste of Feyre from his skin as his eyes roll back into his head. Too soon, he pulls his thumb from my mouth with a pop and I follow it up, settling on my knees as he stands over me, watching me with an imperious smirk.

     “Use me,” I whimper, bracing my hands against the side of the tub as my eyes flick to his cock, bobbing just inches from my face. “Daddy, please, I’ll be so good for you. So good.”

     “And how do you want me to use you, sweet girl?”

     “Fuck my throat.” The words fall from my lips like a plea as his laughter fills the room, edged with a cruelty that makes me moan at the promise of it. “Use my mouth, Daddy, please. I want you to come down my throat-”

     “And what if I want to come on your face?”

     “Oh,” I moan, nodding eagerly at the thought of being covered in him. “Please. Wherever you want, I want to be good for you.”

     “Open your mouth, baby.” It’s the only warning I get before he fists a hand in my hair and, inch by inch, feeds me his cock with slow, languid thrusts. I grip the side of the tub and obediently relax my throat, looking up at him between my lashes as tears gather in the corners of my eyes. The throaty moan that falls from his lips tells me how much he loves seeing me like this, and I flick my tongue against the head of his cock before he drives it in deeper, pulling my face flush against his body as I fight against my gag reflex. “You’re such a good fucking girl, aren’t you? Taking my cock like you were made for it, look at you. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

     I love him. Fuck, I love them both, which was never part of the plan. I clench the side of the tub so hard it hurts in order to keep from reaching up to grip his hips. My thighs shake from the effort to keep them spread, I want to put a hand between them and fuck myself with my fingers until I find some sort of relief, but the punishment wouldn’t be worth it. Instead, I relax into the pose and lick the thick, pulsing vein running along the underside of Rhys’s cock, just to hear him groan. The soft sound of footsteps catches my attention as Feyre pads into the room, a delighted grin spreading across her face as she takes in the sight before her.

     “Well,” she says softly, her robe sliding from her shoulders to land in a heap on the floor at her feet. Feyre slips up behind him and trails her hands over his abdomen, and we both watch the straining muscles flutter beneath her touch as he pulls back until only the head of his prick rests against my lips. “Isn’t this lovely? Isn’t our girl so wonderful, Rhys? See how pretty she is, sucking your cock like a perfect little slut? Doesn’t it make you want to ruin her?”

     “Always,” he whispers, collecting my tears with a swipe of his thumb. “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?”

     “She is,” his wife agrees, pressing a kiss to his arm. “So are you. If you make a mess of her face, she’ll need to be cleaned again before we can go to brunch.”

     The way they’re talking about me like I’m nothing more than their toy pulls a desperate moan from my throat. Feyre laughs, leaning around Rhys to run a hand gently down the side of my face before they both pull my head forward. They share a kiss as her hand falls to my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before she settles it back on his hip and rests her chin against the side of his arm.

     “The shower’s big enough for the three of us,” he says conversationally, but I feel the way his hand shakes in my hair. He’s so close he’s practically trembling from it, and from Feyre’s sly grin I know she can feel it, too.

     “Then make a mess of our sweet girl so we can go eat.” I whimper at the realization she doesn’t intend to let me come. “She can wear that pretty little toy we got her. Then if she’s very good, after brunch we can have her for dessert.”

     “Fuck, Feyre-” Rhys curses, his hips jerking as he thrusts into my mouth, using me exactly the way I’d practically begged him to. There’s a low, calm buzzing in my mind and my eyelashes flutter as I watch Feyre’s hand wrap around his swollen member, slick with my spit, and give it a few slow, leisurely jerks until Rhys paints my face with his come and his head falls back. Words tumble from his lips, whether in prayer or praise, I can’t decide which but I smile under the weight of them all the same. Breath comes to me in ragged gasps, the air rough on my abused throat.

     Then Feyre grasps my chin between her fingers and plants a sweet kiss on my swollen mouth, and the buzzing in my head grows louder as I melt against her.

     “Come on, sweetheart,” she murmurs when she pulls back, and I rest my forehead against her collarbone. “Let’s clean you up, baby, then we can get some food. Would you like that?”

     “Yes, Mommy,” I mumble, relaxing my grip on the side of the tub. I hadn’t realized how cold the water had grown around my hips, but I’m not in it for long because Rhys slides his hands beneath my arms and lifts me like I weigh nothing. How he’s managed to stay on his feet after an orgasm like that, I don’t know, but the smile he gives me is radiant as he helps me out of the tub.

     “What good manners,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead as Feyre slips around us, heading for the walk-in shower in the opposite corner. Water rains down in a steady pulse from the showerheads onto the glittering black tile, and steam is already filling the room by the time we join her beneath the spray. They take their time cleaning me, then each other, sharing lazy kisses all the while. If every Sunday morning began this way, I don’t think I’d ever leave.

[lipglossanon]

im so excited for promptober i start jumping around every time i remember… plus, rotten dog at the start? spectacular give me fourteen of them right now ( ≧ᗜ≦)

i’ve really missed waking up and reading a new fic from you, so i’m just excited to see your work back on my dash ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ i love your writing so much! ♡

; 🍁

Howdy 🍁 anon!!!! 👋 👋

AGAKDLB I’m happy to hear you’re excited!! 🤭 and it was luck of the draw. I just randomly assigned each Leon a date 😝

Awwww 🥺 well you’re about to have a months worth of fics 😉 and thank you so much!! 💜 you’re so kind!!! 😭

(I also saw you updated your fic!! Which I’ll read as soon as I have the time!!! 🥰)

[whisperingmidnights]

In the Middle of the Deep

Pairing: Court of Nightmares AU dark!Feysand x f!reader

Summary: Things take an unexpected turn the night of the High Lady's coronation.

Prompt: midnight

Word count: 1,718

     At the stroke of midnight, the low, mournful tolling of a bell echoes through the city, drowning out the roar of the subterranean river rushing beneath the arched stone bridges that join our tiered city. Against all odds, the Huntress’s arrow found its mark, and her prize is the High Lord’s hand - though I suspect she won his heart long ago. Like the other fae condemned to the lower levels of the city, I find myself crowding onto the bridge with the rest of them with my neck craned, hopeful to see the new High Lady on her wedding night. The mountain yawns above us, stretching into an endless void I never can peer into for long, lest I find something peering back at me. Instead, I focus on the people lining the bridges above us, their faces lit with anticipation.

     Everyone wants to see the nightwraith that slew Hybern’s general. Cauldron-blessed, they call her, but I don’t think that’s the case at all. I think something ancient and primordial, more wicked than the Cauldron ever could be, looked into the heart of her. And it loved what it saw, gave her and her sisters boons for what was found in them. How else would three nightwraiths from the underbelly of the city emerge with extraordinary gifts? Gifts that granted them power enough to claw their way into the gentry as the rest of us looked on from this pit.

     On the sixth knell, the sound of a heavy door opening resounds through the uncharacteristically silent city and I see it: the first traces of sparkling, silvery light pushing back the darkness like the depictions of starlight we’ve seen in art. It’s so lovely, I think I could weep for the sight of it. The female next to me does weep, silent tears streaming down her face as the light grows brighter and, slowly, begins to descend.

     Down and down, winding along the main thoroughfare surrounding the pit until they reach the great stone dais hovering in the dead space at the heart of the city, they stand to address the gathered crowd. It feels like the universe holding its breath, no one dares to speak or move as that radiant light fills the space, emanating from the heart of the new High Lady as the bell falls silent. The movement begins as a wave to my right, from the lowest level, the crowd sinks to their knees in a show of fealty to their mistress. I watch, dumbstruck, until I am yanked to the ground by my wrist, saving me the embarrassment of lowering myself far later than I should have.

     ‘Perhaps no one noticed my hesitation,’ I think as I train my eyes on the cold, black stone beneath me. ‘Perhaps no one noticed me at all.’

     I tremble when the High Lord’s cold, booming voice fills the silence. The respect he won from the gentry was not inherent, as it should have been; rather, it was gained through unspeakable acts of cruelty and violence, the streets ran with blood for decades after his ascension. Most simply try to stay out of his way, an easy feat for those of us who live in the bowels of this mountain. I don’t believe I’ve seen the High Lord before tonight.

     I glance up at them once more and shiver beneath the weight of their downcast gaze as it roams over the crowd. He is as magnificent as his lovely, formidable bride. I want to look at them forever. I want to hide away and never lay eyes on them again. My thoughts and instincts wage war in my mind until I think I’ll be sick. Distantly, I hear him speak her true name.

     Feyre Archeron.

     The mountain trembles at the sound of it, sending loose rocks careening into the river, and my breath catches in my throat.

     Then I feel it, something peeling away my shields and peering into my mind. Something dark and vicious and preening that seizes my very being like it is no more than a lump of clay. A tear cuts a path down my cheek as a warm and wicked voice fills the space my thoughts once occupied.

     ‘Hello sweet creature,’ it purrs. Something catches the nervous sob threatening to tear from my throat and shoves it back down as another tear joins the first. ‘A little mouse, all alone in the viper pit. I have looked everywhere for you.’

     My chin moves of its own accord, turning with measured gentleness until I’m looking at her. From the perspective of the crowd, she could be looking at any of us, at all of us. But those fierce blue eyes land on me with an ancient wonder and I know, with a certainty that settles in the marrow of my bones, that there will not be anywhere I can hide from either of them, truly, but never again from her. I can feel her slipping something into the back of my mind like a sharpened blade between the ribs.

     If I had control of my body, I’d retch on the spot from the sheer terror stiffening my limbs. Taking a shallow breath, I will myself to think, to communicate the only way I am able.

     ‘What do you mean?’ Even my thoughts are meek beneath her scrutiny. ‘I don’t understand. Wh-why would you look for me? I’m…I’m no one.’

     ‘You were no one once,’ she croons, sifting through my memories like sand through an hourglass. I get flashes of them before they’re discarded, over and over and over while I fight to get more air, to find my bearings. It feels as though she’s peeling away layers of my mind in her search, and I want nothing more than to wriggle out of her grasp, to be free before she shows me what she’s looking for. Something stronger swarms around me then, a darkness that has too many teeth, silencing my anxiety with nothing more than its presence. ‘But not anymore.’

     When the memory finally does flutter to me, the last, buried piece of sand that drops back into my mind like a pebble into a pond, dread pools in the pit of my stomach. I was no one once, that’s true. I would still be no one if, one night, I had not been where I was not supposed to be.

     It’s not a clear memory, more like sensations and flashes of murky visions barely pieced together: cold silk, too many hands on my body, then a dark bedroom and sweet silence. The right amount of hands, a firm grip on my mind, and the threat of razor sharp claws clutching everything that makes me who I am.

     ‘Tell me, little mouse. Where did you run to? Where did you hide?’ the High Lady asks once the memory fades. ‘Who hid you from my sight?’

     It had been one night with them. One night. Surely one night wouldn’t inspire such intense longing that either of them might have searched for me. I don’t think of the tiny apartment over the club I’ve spent the last few months tucked away in, never wondering why I might have been put there in the first place. I can’t let her see it or…or him, definitely not him.

     ‘No one hid me-’

     ‘Do not lie,’ a malevolent growl rolls through my mind, laced with a wrath that makes me want to hide. To dig a hole so deep that the High Lord cannot find me. My heart races in my chest, beating with such ferocity that makes me wonder if it will explode.

     ‘Rhysand, you promised,’ his bride snarls. I feel him ease back like a fading pressure, receding back into the cold, twisting dark that informs his nature while she remains in the light, shining like a beacon. It does nothing to ease the fear burning through me in a white-hot frenzy, pure instinct urging me to flee while their attention isn’t on me. The trouble is, I still can’t move. ‘Oh, darling fawn, where do you think you’re going? I have you now, sweet creature. Even if you go to ground, I will find you and drag you out myself. No, it will be much easier if you come to us of your own accord, won’t it?’

     Like a moth caught in a spider’s web, I can only submit. 

     ‘The gates…’ I picture the darkbringers standing before the spiked, wrought iron gates that separate the lower spiral from the city proper, a worry the High Lady sweeps aside like an errant cobweb.

     ‘Will not be barred to you, pet. Run along now, gather your things and present yourself at the gate within the hour.’

     When they pull away, it feels like smoke billowing free from a window once the flames are extinguished. There are raw, tender places where those terrible, mental claws held me so very still, but my mind feels like my own once more. I blink back tears as I finally take in my surroundings and note the light retreating, fading into all of that cold, unyielding darkness as they return to the royal chambers. Those surrounding me begin to rise as though emerging from a dream, shaking their heads like the motion might clear them.

     When I climb to my feet, I hear it: the tinkling of sand slowly falling into the bottom of an hourglass. When the crowd retreats, funneling back into the pit they climbed out of, I realize no one else can hear it. It is a countdown meant only for me. Over the slow, gentle clinking, I hear her voice once more: ‘If you fail to heed my order, little mouse, I will come hunting and oh, the things I will do to you when I find you.’

     I do not need to be told again. I tear through the streets at a run, darting down alleyways to dodge a crowd that simply is not moving fast enough. As the sand runs down, a rumble of cold, wicked laughter follows at my heels, chasing me all the way home. I make it there and back to the gate with only seconds to spare, a meager sack of belongings clutched to my chest and my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

[whisperingmidnights]

Lovely Things

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.

[whisperingmidnights]

To Keep the Cold Away

Pairing: Kallias x f!reader

Summary: An unexpected snowstorm keeps a Dawn Court emissary in Winter longer than expected.

Prompt: warming up

Word count: 1,579

     The wicked winds of Winter roared down from the mountain the morning I was supposed to leave, bringing with it a snowstorm the likes of which I hadn’t seen in at least a century. The land was eager to have its High Lord back, to be revitalized by the sudden flow of magic restoring it to its former glory. I couldn’t begrudge it a good storm. My departure could wait a few days, at least, for clearer skies that would lend a swift return to my own High Lord, who was doubtlessly eager to hear how trade negotiations went.

     I stare out over the heat-charmed, black stone streets of Nevys from my room at the top of the tower and tuck my downy wings closer to my body. The territory’s capital was still resplendent so far as I could see: each building lined with faelights in an array of colors that glowed through the storm, there were even people in the streets carrying on with their day, bundled from head to toe in furs of all sorts. I might be tempted to join them if I weren’t certain the wind would freeze all of my lovely feathers off and leave me grounded until they returned.

     A sharp knock at my sitting room door pulls my attention from the wintry weather, and I press a hand to the neckline of my silk robe, keenly aware of the amount of skin it showcased. When the tall, slender High Lord of Winter slips into my chambers, my hand falls away. He’s handsome in a way males in my court traditionally aren’t, with his frost-white hair and pale blue eyes. I can’t deny I’ve spent a fair portion of the meetings I attended this past week staring at him. I’m merely granting him the opportunity to do the same.

     At least, that’s what I tell myself as his eyes skate over my robe, hand painted in all of the lovely, soft colors of dawn, from the sizable slit running up the length of my thigh to the bit of pale lace barely visible beneath the low neckline before they finally meet my own. When he smiles, it echoes the wolves hiding in his mountains: all glistening, white teeth and sharp, wicked humor.

     “Emissary,” he says smoothly, tucking his hands behind his back as he steps further into the room. “I am certain this is not how you intended to spend your morning.”

     “It’s not,” I reluctantly agreed, drawing my wings behind me. “I had intended to be in the skies by now, but it seems your land may have other plans.”

     “So it would seem. It need not alter your travel if you do not wish it to. I could winnow you home, if you like. I’m certain Thesan wouldn’t mind the brief intrusion if it meant having his favorite emissary back that much sooner.”

     “I am sure he would be most grateful, High Lord.”

     “But?” Kallias drawls, taking a few, leisurely steps closer. I smile at him, even as my breath catches in my throat when I breathe in his scent: snow-kissed pine and mint. He smells like every fond memory I have of winter mornings as a child, I want to pull him closer and breathe him in until I’m dizzy from it.

     “But I have worked ceaselessly to rebuild our city and restore our territory to its former glory. I don’t mind the work, truly I don’t, but lately I’ve been dreaming of a day where I’m not drafting correspondence or volunteering with builders or delivering food to our more vulnerable citizens. I am desperately tired and this snowstorm…” I sigh, glancing back at the city glistening below us. “Well, it seemed like an excellent opportunity to rest.”

     “It still can be,” he says as he rests his shoulder against the window frame, casually crossing one ankle over the other mere feet from me. Surely he’s not oblivious to the furious beating of my treacherous heart, quick as a hare darting through snowdrifts. “Shall I write to your High Lord and inform him I still have need of you? Unless you would prefer to do so yourself, I can see the message is delivered all the same.”

     “You would lie to him to grant me a few days respite?” I laugh, shaking my head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

     “That’s the thing,” Kallias says, lowering his voice conspiratorially as he draws closer, until his cold breath brushes the shell of my ear. “It would hardly be a lie. My halls are dark and cold, lady. I can’t deny it warms me to see you in them. The need for something lovely is still a need.”

     My wings rustle at the hint of a growl in his tone, sending a loose feather floating between us as I suppress a shiver at the implication of his words. In all of my time spent watching this handsome High Lord, had I missed being watched in return? Kallias’ pale, slender fingers pluck the creamy white plume from the air and gently turn it until the golden tip shines in the firelight. There’s a dare in those glacier blue eyes when they finally return to me and I nod, swallowing hard at the way they begin to sparkle the moment I agree, like the first few flakes of snow preceding an avalanche.

     “Perhaps I should leave the writing to you, then.” The tremble in my voice is embarrassing, but the sharp grin my words elicit is worth the momentary shame. The tip of the feather turns to me and I can do nothing to hide my gasp as he slowly draws it down the side of my neck to rest at my collarbone. “And make myself more comfortable, if you’re agreeing to keep me a few more days.”

     “Very well. Sit near the fire, you’re far too delicate to withstand all of this snow.”

     “I think you’ll find I can handle myself in a storm,” I murmur, lifting my chin in challenge. The brush of the feather disappears from my skin with the flick of his wrist, but then his cool fingertips ghost along the underside of my jaw and it takes everything in me to not dissolve into a puddle on the floor.

     “You’re already so warm,” he marvels as his knuckles brush against my cheek. “Perhaps I should be wary.”

     “Why? Do you believe you’ll melt?”

     “I don’t know if I can afford to find out.” A flush spreads across my skin and I watch his pupils dilate as he follows the trail from my cheeks to my neck, and lower still to hide beneath the fabric of my robe. “But I’m afraid that does little to negate the desire.”

     “Perhaps you’ll find you don’t mind a little bit of heat,” I shrug, stepping back to put a little space between us. Before I turn my back on him, I take in the long line of his body and note the evidence of his interest with no small amount of pride. “You have a letter to write, High Lord. If you find you have some time after you’ve finished, I’ll be by the fire.”

     Swift as a breeze, his arm slides around my waist to pull me back. I gasp at the press of his chest between my wings and my hand flies to cover his own, though I make no effort to peel it from my side. It feels right in the way I never thought I would experience, and when I turn my face to glance back at him, there’s a hunger in his icy gaze I’d love nothing more than to satisfy.

     “See that you are,” Kallias whispers, his lips grazing the shell of my ear in a way that feels more intimate than a kiss. “I’ll return the moment I’m free.”

     "See that you do," I retaliate, briefly arching my body against his in an imitation of a stretch, just to hear the low rumble of a growl in his throat. "Who knows what may happen if I'm left to my own devices for too long."

     "Wicked creature."

     "Perhaps, but I'll be awaiting your return all the same, High Lord."

     "When I come back, it will be my name falling from that cruel mouth or I'll be forced to pull it from your lovely lips."

     The heat pulsing at the apex of my thighs is enough to make me squirm, and the male immediately sets his teeth into my earlobe in response. Though I ache at the thought of our separation, however brief, at least he'll walk out of here scented with his own arousal as well as mine. I warm at the thought of the barest trace of me clinging to his skin, haunting him all the way to his office to write his note. It's enough for me to break free of his hold, though he offers no resistance, and saunter over to the chaise nearest the hearth.

     "I'll be counting the minutes," I tease as I drape my wings over the back of it. The slit of my robe drapes in such a way that exposes my legs to his gaze, and I do not bother to correct it. The High Lord shoots me an amused grin as he shakes his head, then strides from the room without another word, leaving me to stave off the castle's chill by the fire until his return.

[whisperingmidnights]

Terrible Teeth and Terrible Claws

Pairing: CoN AU dark!feysand x f!reader

Summary: There are consequences for biting back.

Prompt: cock ring

Warnings: this entire series is a trigger warning. Blood, biting, half-shifted beast!Rhys, D/s dynamics (none of it is healthy)

A/N: I was trying to write so much this weekend, but this thing decided to be 2,600 words, so I hope you enjoy it.

Series Masterlist

     Against the dark flush of his skin, the thick, oxidized silver band is the loveliest piece of jewelry I’ve seen all day. Set with clear, shimmering diamonds and dark, glittering onyx gems that look as if they were cut from the darkness between the stars, its main purpose is to be a beautiful decoration, something to be admired. ‘Like me,’ I think as I sink my knees into the plush down comforter and settle at the foot of the bed with my hands braced against my thighs. There’s no way to tell if my thoughts are truly my own, not anymore, but at least it sounds like me. There’s some comfort in that.

     His eyes glimmer like dark, polished amethyst as they follow the slender chains of glowing white sapphires that serpentine around my body, winding over my curves and between the valley of my breasts, leading up to the elaborate choker around my neck. His thick, powerful arms stretch like wings across the pile of pillows he lounges against, the very picture of power, even on his back. My mouth goes dry as I look at him, and I can feel the familiar tendrils of panic that bloom in my breast every time we’re alone together.

     “It’s all right, little mouse,” a familiar dark, husky voice floats to me from across the room, and I resist the urge to turn around. Most of the candles flicker out, extinguished by the same chill breeze that comes to brush against my soft nipples, coaxing them to harden without a single touch. “He won’t bite you tonight, not if you behave.”

     Behave. Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t even think of running, submit.

     Submit.

     Submit.

     I dip my chin, dropping my gaze from the High Lord’s terrible, lovely eyes and the cruel smile curving his plush, sensual lips. The breeze returns to caress my back and shoulders, raising goosebumps on my skin as it curves around my stomach and between my thighs, followed by a gentle pressure that urges me to spread my knees wider. By now, I know to follow it the way I would a verbal command. I have no fondness for the sting of the whip against my flesh, and I certainly don’t want to feel it tonight.

     Not if I don’t have to.

     “What a good girl.” My lady’s voice is laced with amusement, but her lips are soft against the curve of my jaw. “And how pretty you are. Do you taste as good as you look?”

     I whimper as the tip of her nail rakes down my spine. It doesn’t break the skin, there’s no trickle of warm, sticky blood to follow it, and I almost shudder in relief- would, if I didn’t think she’d take offense to it. Her lips press against the nape of my neck between the cold, metal chain securing the choker and my hairline. My legs shake beneath me as her hands slide over the tops of my own before they trail up the insides of my thighs, caressing the sensitive skin there as though it was soft, rich velvet.

     I want to scream when the tip of her middle finger delicately slides along the seam of my pussy, collecting the evidence of my arousal before the edge of her nail teases the tip of my clit with a featherlight touch that has me shifting my hips to relieve some of the tension. The bed dips behind me before I feel the brush of her lace-clad breasts against my shoulder blades as her free hand presses my body back against hers, urging me to lean into her. So I do, and I watch the High Lord’s eyes grow heavy-lidded as she raises the hand lingering between my legs to her lips and sucks the taste of me from her skin. His cock bobs towards his stomach, growing heavier and darker as a bead of precome wells at its tip. When his arms jerk, I realize they’re not lazily draped against the pillows but held there by swirling black bonds of magic that wrap around the bedposts like rope.

     There’s something dangerous glittering in the depths of his eyes, something wild and brutal and lethal, so frightening and arousing that I’m transfixed, unable to look away if I wanted to. He shudders then, and portions of the skin on his arms and torso and those long, muscular legs melts away to reveal what lies beneath it: dark, draconic-looking scales that shift from black to glossy, midnight blue. His fangs lengthen to peek out from beneath his lips, their cruel points coated with a venom I know burns like white, cold fire.

     He is violence and death, but so is she. Her pale hands slide beneath my breasts as she chuckles at his obvious displeasure and rolls my nipples between her fingertips to pull a moan from my throat that makes his cock pulse. Hard.

     “Isn’t he lovely like this?” the High Lady asks me, not bothering to lower her voice in the slightest. “I can’t decide which way I prefer him: the smooth-talking High Lord or the savage beast that lurks beneath his skin. This is almost the best of both forms, and I expect if we remove that lovely bit of jewelry then we’ll truly have the best of both. But I don’t think you’re ready to fuck him, little mouse, not like that. Not yet, anyway. Your body hasn’t been trained to accommodate a cock like that, the stretch would be unbearable.”

     I gasp as her fingers squeeze my nipples in emphasis, the pressure bordering on pain in a way that makes my walls spasm and clench around nothing.

     “No, little mouse,” she continues with a sigh, “I’m afraid you’ll have to take him like this for now.”

     “L-lady?” I stutter, looking up into those sparkling blue eyes. Before tonight, I’ve been hers to taste and touch and use however she saw fit while the High Lord watched, occasionally indulging in kissing or biting or teasing me with different aspects of his powers whenever he saw fit, but he’s never…we’ve never… “I did not think you wished to share.”

     “Him or you?” She asks, leaning down to nip at my neck with her own thin, razor-sharp fangs. “Even I can be persuaded, little mouse, to be benevolent. Right now, nothing pleases me more than the idea of you taking your pleasure from your monstrous High Lord while he’s powerless to stop you. Don’t let the gnashing teeth fool you, mouse, he wants it too. Do you?”

     Do I?

     ‘Yes,’ a sensual voice whispers in my mind, deep and rich and so inviting I relax into her touch, shivering at the thought of all of that power seated between my legs. Mine for the taking. ‘Come, little mouse, come touch me, feel me. Take what you want, make me yours. Don’t you want to claim me the way I’ve claimed you?’

     “You haven’t,” I mumble as the High Lady’s hand slips between my legs once more, her fingers sliding into the warm, wet channel of my pussy to curl and stretch as the heel of her palm presses against my clit with enough pressure to make me buck against her. Those wicked fingers urge me into riding her hand to find some means of release from the aching tension curling low in my stomach. “You’ve barely touched me.”

     ‘And yet, you are mine.’ A predatory snarl pierces the air that pulls a wicked, heady laugh from the High Lady as she drags her slick fingers up to rub harsh, messy circles around my aching clit. Nothing prepares me for the orgasm that rips through my body, curving my spine as my thighs close around her hand, moans falling from my lips like prayers. Once the lust-fueled haze melts from my mind, I hear his voice again: ‘These bonds won’t much longer. Come here, little mouse, before I lose my patience and take what I want from you.’

     I’d tell him to do it if I didn’t think I would be punished for the impertinence of it. The High Lady releases me and I feel her weight shift from the bed, hear her footsteps on the floor as she pads to the velvet chair positioned a few feet from the foot of the bed. On shaking limbs, I crawl up the length of the High Lord’s body and, beneath the weight of his expectant gaze, straddle his hips with my palms pressed flat against his ribs to keep myself upright.

     His skin is soft beneath my touch, and the scales are smooth and cool where they’ve broken through. Power rolls off of him in waves, dark and cold in a way that bites and claws at the essence of my being. I’ve felt it before, the pain of his sharp, mental claws just moments from shredding me apart, but that was a controlled threat. This feels unrestrained and wild, like the incessant pull of a rushing river, meant to overwhelm me and pull me under in a way that can never be mastered, merely withstood.

     So I do.

     I look the High Lord in the eye as I lower my lips to his, careful to avoid the prick of his fangs. The kiss is the sweetest, most gentle thing that’s ever been between us, and the twin moans from him and our lady tells me it’s exactly what they wanted. That’s what I’m meant to be tonight: gentle. I’m to take what I’m being offered with gratitude in a sharp contrast to the brutal, vicious way he and the High Lady will take each other apart once I’m sated.

     I don’t know that I want to be gentle.

     A sharp glimmer of understanding shines in his eyes before the violet gives way to unyielding black that overtakes the whites of his eyes until I’m staring into a fathomless void. His cock pulses behind me and I sink back onto it, gasping as my body stretches around it. I swear he’s nearly doubled in size, and when I press my palm against my lower stomach I can feel him there, pulsing inside of me with a barely restrained growl as he waits for me to adjust. Against the heat of my body, the jeweled ring between us has a biting chill that sends shivers up my spine as I settle atop it.

     When I look back into those night-dark eyes, I shift my hips a little and watch the hot gleam of satisfaction warm his gaze. Watching him watch me thrills me significantly more than I’d like to admit. I rest my palms against his chest as I lean forward, keeping those eyes on mine as I find my pleasure, rolling my hips until I find a pace that pleases me. He might not come with that ring encircling the base of his cock, but I certainly will. As many times as I like.

     Perhaps I will…in a moment.

     I trail my fingers teasingly over the patches of scales covering his skin and my heart skips a beat at the pleased grin on his lips, but it doesn’t keep me from sinking my nails into the skin of his ribs. I lower my mouth to his collarbone and suck. Hard. A light growl rumbles in his chest but it does not feel like a warning, so I press on, leaving as many of my own bites on his chest as I dare, each darker and more brutal than the last. The High Lady’s delighted giggling shifts to warm, insistent moans when I draw blood, and that rumbling growl deepens as dark, crimson liquid wells in the mark left by my teeth. This one won’t repay the cruel marks he’s left on me, but it’s satisfying to know I’ve returned the favor. Before the blood can spill beyond the borders of the wound, I lick it from his skin, humming at the tangy, coppery taste before I haul myself up and lift myself from his cock to feel the head slide between my lips, teasing at my clit.

     The moment the first soft, heady moan escapes my lips, the black bonds holding his wrists snap along with his patience.

     He moves so quickly, I don’t have time to track him. One moment, I’m astride his hips and the next my back is pressing into the mattress at the foot of the bed and his sharp, black claws are sinking into my thighs as he uses them to sheathe himself inside of me again. That cold, jeweled ring is gone, vanished to who knows where. The High Lord slides his hand to cup the back of my head and uses my hair to yank my head back, turning my gaze to my lady as it bares my throat to him.

     One pale, tattooed hand is beneath the small, black lace panties that seem to barely serve their purpose. I can see her fingers moving beneath the soaked fabric, and when she throws her leg over the arm of the chair to give us both a better view, the musky, overwhelming scent of her arousal makes my mouth water. The High Lord angles his body over mine, covering me completely, and I feel the hot, sticky slide of blood against my breasts as he lowers his lips to my ear.

     “My sweet little mouse bites back, does she?” he purrs, nipping at my earlobe as his hips bear down against my own. I’ll be bruised in a few hours and sore from the rough treatment, but one of those wicked, invisible hands the High Lord commands slides between us to roughly circle my clit, pulling an orgasm from me as he licks into my mouth, tasting his own blood on my tongue and teeth. “Are you brave, little mouse?”

     “No,” I whimper, squirming as much as I am able beneath the relentless stimulation of that phantom hand and the sharp, merciless thrusts that prevent me from taking a complete breath. The High Lady’s head falls back against the chair as her own wicked hands bring her to release, stilling beneath that scrap of lace as she takes deep, gasping breaths. My legs tremble against his hips as blood drips from the claw marks in my skin. A flick of his wrist brings my head back up and I’m staring, once more, into those terrible eyes, as I fight against the wave of pleasure cresting over my mind.

     “Give me a reason,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing a delicate kiss to my lips before he continues, “and I will flay the flesh from your body without a second thought while you watch and thank me for it. Do you understand?”

     “Y-yes.” The tears burning at the corners of my eyes blur my vision, and when I come this time, it’s with tears carving a trail down my cheeks.

     “Yes?” the High Lord growls, his hips stuttering as he licks the tears from my skin.

     “Yes, Sir.”

     “Good girl,” he moans lowly as he stills with his teeth pressed against my throat, his cock twitching inside of me as hot, sticky come spills from where we’re joined. Slowly, the hand in my hair slides down my body and smooths against my side before he rolls onto his back, cradling me against his chest like something sweet and precious. Precisely what they wanted all along. I stare at the blood staining his skin and my own, at the gouges on my thigh and fight the overwhelming nausea roiling in my gut. If I’m good, I’ll be safe.

     And if not…

     A brief image flashes in my mind of those horrible claws pulling the skin from my thigh the way one might open a present.

     I scramble from his arms to be sick on the floor.

[whisperingmidnights]

The Loveliest Jewel

Pairing: CoN AU dark!feysand x f!reader

Prompt: collar

Warnings: D/s dynamics, hair pulling, minimal withdrawal symptoms, this one is honestly pretty tame.

A/N: This is completely unedited. I'm trying to play catch up with some of my prompts today.

     I had not believed that male’s beheading for his unwanted attention would be the end of it. Not that night, when the High Lady impressed upon me again and again and again precisely who owned every part of me without ever saying a word about it. Nor the next morning, when I wake to the High Lord trailing the fine tip of one dark, lethal talon along my spine. His touch feels like a thousand needles piercing my skin. There is no light in those glowing violet eyes, no softness there, but there had been desire.

     Always there was desire, even when it felt tainted by a deep, cold rage I could not understand.

     He leaves me in that bed with no instruction, not even a backwards glance as he dresses with a languid, feline sort of grace. When I finally crawl out from beneath the sheets with a thirst no water can quench, I stumble to the bathroom and sink into the deep pit of the bath in the center, eager for the steaming hot water to ease the pain in my muscles enough to make walking bearable. I always forget how brutal withdrawal from nightwraith venom is, how weak my body feels once it’s worked its way out of my system.

     I rest my cheek against the cold, stone floor as I allow my body to just drift in the perfumed water. Humming, I repeat the names of the flowers the High Lady told me were in this bath oil: jasmine, violet, lavender, and lily of the valley. Things I’ve never seen in person, but the names are delightful. I wonder if they thrive in the fields they say exist beyond this mountain, if they’re native to the territory I’ve never seen that claims me for its own. I wonder if they are soft and beautiful, if such things exist.

     The soft clicking of heels against the floor banishes such traitorous thoughts from my mind as the flame of a candle chases away the shadowed dark. I can’t lift my head yet, but my eyes flutter open to see delicate black silk pooling on the floor before me as my lady crouches there, a high slit baring the expanse of her pale, slender leg. Her thumb brushes against my cheek as she hums, those cold blue eyes raking over every inch of my visible skin.

     “You poor thing,” she croons, smoothing my hair back away from my face. “Are you tired, little mouse? Did you have a long night?”

     “It hurts,” I mumble imploringly, blinking up at her from my place on the floor. She clicks her tongue sympathetically, shaking her head as her hand tangles in my hair. I gasp when it closes into a fist and she pulls hard, lifting my head by my hair as she lowers her face until our noses brush and I can feel the chill of her breath and see the strange, cold fire in her eyes that typically lights her sister’s.

     “The pain is the point,” she tells me gently, her eyes boring into mine. “The pain is a reminder, little mouse. If you do not do as I say, if you do not stay where I put you, it will be much worse. Tell me, do you like to hurt like this?”

     “No, my lady.” My words are as meek as I can make them, the way she always prefers.

     “Then you will do as I say, and you will not stray into the crowd again, will you?”

     “No.” It had been a mistake, I had only wanted a little food or something to drink. I had not expected anyone to put their hands on me or the sharp, cold violence that swiftly separated his head from the body that dropped to its knees at my feet. All I had wanted was a little food. “I will stay where you tell me. I’ll be good.”

     “Of course you will,” she tells me as she releases her grip on my hair, combing it back as I sink back into the bath until the water laps against my shoulders, my fingers clenching the rim of the tub. The High Lady reaches down for a black leather box at her side that I did not see when she entered. The little gold latch on it clicks free and she opens it to present a lovely, glittering circlet of dark blue sapphires resting on a silk-lined pillow. It seems to have no beginning or end, no way to open it, only a band of pure silver and finely cut gems. “Your High Lord had a present made for you. Tell me, mouse, do you like it?”

     “It’s very beautiful.” My voice shakes, even as I force a smile to my lips. “Thank you.”

     “You can thank him tonight,” she murmurs as she plucks her gift from its box and holds it lightly between her fingertips, “and I expect you to be grateful.”

     “Yes, Lady.”

     She hums again, pressing the circlet until it hinges open in her grasp. I flinch when she snaps it shut around my neck and the cold weight of it settles against my skin, but the High Lady merely smooths my hair one final time before holding out her hand expectantly. I settle my own in her palm, but she merely turns my wrist up to face her and swiftly sinks her teeth into it. Venom courses through my veins, easing the ache from my muscles as the needlepoint fangs slip from my skin and the High Lady licks my blood from her lips. The case at her side vanishes and she rises slowly, giving me one final assessing look before she turns away, leaving as she entered. Only the rhythmic clicking of her heels fills the silence.

[whisperingmidnights]

Walking at Sunrise

Pairing: Eris x reader

Prompt: ice-veiled mornings

     “It’s too early for this,” I grumble, clutching my burgundy cloak more firmly around my body as frost-covered twigs snap beneath the soles of my boots. The orange and yellow leaves coating the forest floor shimmer in the early light of dawn, their color preserved by the kiss of ice that descended on our land this morning. A smokehound pup tugs at the hem of my cloak, urging me to hurry so it can run ahead and play with its littermates; no matter how I urge it, this one has refused to leave my side since it was weaned, much to my annoyance and her master’s amusement. “Go on then, I don’t need to be watched, I’m not a baby. Shoo.”

     The plump, gray pup growls at my waving hands and tugs harder at my cloak. If she rips it, I’m going to be upset. A sharp whistle cuts through the cold air, and I look up from my self-appointed minder to see the Autumn heir watching me, his amber eyes dancing with mischief.

     “Don’t start,” I hiss, tromping a little faster through the frozen underbrush to catch up with him, the pup hot at my heels the entire way. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

     “You say that every year.” His voice is smooth as silk as he reaches a leather-clad hand out to help me climb over a fallen limb. “And every year we make the trek and you grumble at everything and everyone until we get there.”

     “I don’t grumble-”

     “You’re right. Timber just wanted to make sure you were keeping up with the pack and there you were, growling at her.”

     “She’s pushy.”

     “She loves you. I don’t think she’ll go to anyone else, she certainly won’t be of use for the guards. Perhaps I’ll assign her to minding you permanently, she’ll need a job-”

     “I’ll kill you.”

     “No, you won’t,” Eris laughs, shaking his head as his arm curves around my waist. “Come along, my nippy little fox, we’re almost there.”

     I’m tempted to sink my teeth into his throat and remind him exactly how nippy I can be, but the chubby pup bounds ahead, rolling down a hill to catch up with her brothers and sisters. She’s a cute little runt, even if she is a pushy monster. They emerge from the treeline before we do, tumbling out onto the shore of the clear, blue lake, the amber sky yawning overhead.

     In a few moments, we’ll strip down and take one last swim before the weather turns cold, enveloped in the frigid water as the sun slowly rises over the forest. I curl into Eris’s side and rest my cheek against his chest as the pups begin to splash, their little yips startling the crows roosting nearby into taking flight.

[lipglossanon]

kicking my legs… i’m soooo excited for your promptober you have no idea, nobody is doing it like you! i remember absolutely shaking in my boots last year for the final krauser/leon fic (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵) i felt like a kid at christmas who just opened their biggest present hehe

i’m not the best at putting all my thoughts into words for asks but rest assured i’ll be dead on the ground after every post ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

; 🍁

🍁 anon!! 😭 thank you!! 💜

That’s so sweet of you to say!! I had fun writing both threesomes last year 🤭 but that Leon/Krauser one had me twirling my hair 😉

AGDJGL don’t worry about it!! Like I said, I wasn’t trying to sound ungrateful to the ones who liked, reblogged, commented, asked about promptober last year; it’s just a lot of work and I’m not stressing about making it absolutely perfect this time lmao

[lipglossanon]

awhh i just saw your response on hybrid leon and how you felt put off by people, im so sorry if i was one of them and annoyed you with my babbling! • ᴖ • i do agree with anon that you’re the og!! nobody is doing it like lipgloss ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

glad to see you temporarily back, i hope you’re doing okay!

; 🍁

🍁 anon, hii!! 👋

Nooo 😭 you didn’t do anything; I just mean about this time last year (maybe more in the summer months) there was an influx of hybrid Leon/reader fics.

Nothing wrong with that! I just felt like a lot of them were just trying to grasp at the hype and not actually writing it well (does that make sense??). And so it put me off and I shifted gears. I think I honestly started working towards promptober by then 🤔

Aww thank you 🥰 I’m doing well! And I hope you are too!! 💜 (also, I love your hybrid fic!! You write the dogman/reader dynamic so well!! 🥹 )

So definitely don’t feel like you can’t chat about hybrids! Send whatever you like to my inbox 😉

[whisperingmidnights]

To Long-Forgotten Gods

Summary: The morning after returning from an extended time away leaves the Night Court’s spymaster questioning the necessity of work.

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Prompt: Body worship

Warnings: smut, I guess.

The oiled brown skin beneath my hands is warm and riddled with old, faded scars that shift beneath my fingers working into tight muscles. My mate has the loveliest body, even if he doesn’t believe me when I say it. He groans beneath my touch, and the spine framed by my palms briefly lengthens as he stretches against the bed. I shimmy lower on his back until his hips are cradled between my bare thighs, and I can really press into the motion until his muscles willingly shift, stretching out with the steady press of my palms. His wings rustle as they splay across our bed, a habit my mate would typically describe as lazy, so I know he must be feeling good.

“How is that, my love?” I mumble as I lower myself to rest along his back, my head nestled between his wings. He isn’t frequently at my mercy like this and when he is, I typically can’t resist the urge to massage the hard, girthy base of his wings and feel him writhe beneath me. But after the state he’d arrived home in last night, I don’t want to risk upsetting him further, so I rest my hands against his sides and listen to him breathe.

“Better,” Azriel mumbles, shifting until his hands grip my thighs. He squeezes the generous muscle beneath his palms and turns his head to crane over his shoulder in an attempt to get a look at me.

“Stop that,” I mumble, reaching up to push his head back into the pillow. “You’ll ruin all of my hard work.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks,” he complains, wriggling until I sit up with a huff and dislodge myself from his back. He slowly raises a wing until I slide under it and nestle beneath his arm with my head pillowed beside his own. “There you are.”

“I’m right where you left me.” His mercurial hazel eyes flicker as he looks at me and the tip of his nose lightly brushes against my own. “What is it, love?”

“I’m so tired of leaving you,” Azriel admits, pulling my body flush against his own. “I’m getting too old for this shit, baby. Too old and too tired. When it was just me, spending weeks at a time away in one territory or another was feasible - preferable, even, to being here alone. But now all I’m doing is missing time with you, and I don’t know how much more of that I can take.”

“Surely it isn’t so bad,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his in a featherlight kiss.

“Worse than torture,” he says earnestly, and I can’t help but believe him. The male has withstood more than enough torture for one lifetime, after all. He would know.

“So you want to retire?” I ask, rewarding him with another gentle kiss. “What would you do with all of that free time, shadowsinger? Take up gardening? Read a book that isn’t about war?”

“Hardly,” he says, wrinkling his nose as he lowers his head to nibble along my neck. “I’d do this.”

“This?” I ask, spreading my legs as he rolls me onto my back and rests his hips against my own. The press of his warm, heavy cock at the seam of my body is enticing, but not enough for me to do more about it than splay my legs wide enough to cradle that broad, muscular body with my own. “Surely you couldn’t do this all day, you’d get bored.”

“Never,” he says as he mouths at my collarbone and leaves sweet little love bites across the expanse of bare skin above my breasts. “I could do this all day…and all night…I can go a surprisingly long time without food or sleep, you know. An impressively long time, even.”

“Masochist,” I murmur, sliding my hands down his back until I slot my thumbs against the base of his wings. Azriel moans against my skin as I begin to rub small, firm circles into the joint beneath my thumb, his hips rolling helplessly against my own. Keeping my movements gentle, I begin to stroke the length of the bone between the main joint and the first stretch of thin, membranous skin until his forehead rests against my shoulder. The slick slide of the tip of his leaking cock against my clit makes me gasp and I roll my hips up to meet him, eager to feel that again. “H-how does that feel?”

“Good,” Azriel murmurs, pressing the tip of his thumb against my lips. My mouth opens and I eagerly suck at the scarred digit hard enough to make him rut against me. “Too good. Fuck, baby, if you keep that up I’m going to come before I get the chance to taste you. Is that what you want?”

“Mmmm,” I moan around his thumb, rocking my hips in encouragement. He’s so fucking beautiful, looking up at me with those sleepy hazel eyes, his full lips parted in an ‘o’ as he rides a heady, endless wave of desire, using my body however he pleases. I flick my tongue against the tip of his thumb as he slides it from my mouth, leaving a trail of spit glistening on my skin as he drags it down my chest.

“So pretty,” he mumbles, thumbing my nipple until it tightens beneath his touch.

“No,” I sigh, shaking my head. “You are.”

“No,” he protests weakly as I push him over onto his back and straddle his hips.

"Yes, love, you are." With his wings pinned beneath his back, uncomfortable as it may be, he has some semblance of control. That simply won't do, not when I want nothing more than to see him undone. "Gods, Azriel, look at you. You were hand sculpted by the Mother as an ode to long-forgotten gods."

And I am here to worship.

My lips skate across his skin as I press hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of his chest, over the solid ridges of his taught abdominal muscles as he watches me sink lower and lower until my lips wrap around the angry, swollen head of his cock. He tastes like sin, salty and musky, so devastatingly male. He watches it all with those lovely hazel eyes that always see too much and reveal nothing, unless you know where to look.

I know where to look, and I see it all. Weary, bone-deep exhaustion mingled with desire and so much love, I'm afraid I might burst into flames from the heat of it. I hold that gaze as I set to work unraveling the male beneath me with my mouth and my hands until he seizes me and pulls me up the length of his body so he can sheath himself inside of me. I hadn’t been prepared and the stretch of our union burns in a way that leaves me gasping, but I wrap my arms around his neck and whisper praise against his skin until his wild, desperate thrusts begin to stutter, growing more erratic until the barest brush of his scarred fingers against my clit sends me hurtling over the edge. The steady, rhythmic squeeze of my body drags him with me and we lie there in the hazy morning sun, sharing slow, sweet kisses.

“I’m never leaving again,” Azriel mumbles sleepily against my shoulder, draping his wing across my body in lieu of the blanket I’m half-certain we lost to the floor.

“Sure, love,” I mumble, lacing my fingers through his.

“I’ll resign tomorrow.”

“You’ll need to leave to do that.”

His only reply is a slow, deep snore.

[whisperingmidnights]

An Early Night In

Pairing: feysand x reader

Summary: A cozy autumn evening at the River House.

Prompt: by the fire

A/N: No warnings, just fluff. I hated this but I needed to write something domestic before I exploded, so I guess this is what you get.

     A cold, autumn wind sends leaves tumbling across the cobblestone streets in front of the River House. Thankfully, I can see the wreath of bright, yellow sunflowers and golden wheat hanging on the front door, so I know we’re close. The dark wicker basket in my hand is heavy, laden with a mixture of ripe red and golden yellow apples. The little hand wrapped around the side of the handle certainly doesn’t help matters as it tugs every time the boy it's attached to takes a step, but the twilight blue eyes peering up at me over the pile of apples sparkle with such delight that it’s hard for me to mind too much. It seems like only yesterday this sweet little boy was a babe in my arms, how is it possible he’ll be four in the first breath of spring?

     “Mama, we got lots of apples.”

     “We did,” I chuckle, giving the basket a little tug. “What will we do with all of your apples, love?”

     “Eat them,” Nyx says, as though it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “And have pie. Will you make a pie?”

     “Will you help me make it?”

     “Mhm.” The little brown hand drops from the basket handle as the boy hops up the steps to the house. That’s not much of a commitment, something tells me I’ll be making this pie alone. His purple knit cap slips from the head of dark, blue-black curls and catches on the claw of his left wing just as the door swings open to reveal the first of my mates with a warm smile on an otherwise exhausted, unshaven face.

     “There’s my favorite boy,” Rhys says as he plucks the cap from his wing without a second thought, “how was the park? Did you have fun?”

     “We sat on the swings! And jumped in the leaves! And got apples, Papa, look!” the three-year-old relays as he shucks the coat I’d wrangled him into before we left. Rhys bends to greet me with a warm, lingering kiss that I’m certain lends more color to my cheeks than the wind did.

     “Inside voice, baby,” I remind him as I pass my basket off to his father and remove my own thick coat. I’d adopted Feyre’s typical wardrobe for our outing and,though it still feels strange to parade around town in thick, wool leggings and a large sweater, it certainly came in handy for chasing an energetic boy.

     “I’m not a baby,” he says stubbornly, rustling his little wings. “I want to see the baby, where is she?”

     “Asleep, buddy,” Rhys says, ruffling his hair as he sets the basket on the foyer table. “Why don’t we get you a bath while Mama goes to check on her and Mummy?”

     “I want bathtime with Mummy.”

     “Oh no,” I mutter, hanging our coats on the hooks by the door. After a long afternoon at the park and the apple stall at the market, we’re overdue for a tired tantrum. I kneel at his side and smooth a hand over his hair, pressing a kiss to that chubby, dirt-streaked cheek as that lower lip pokes out into a pout. “I know, love, but Mummy is very tired. It takes a lot of work to have a new baby and she needs a lot of rest, but I’ll tell you what. You go have fun in the bath and splash Papa a lot, and I’ll see if Mummy can read to you and cuddle before bed. Would that be okay?”

     Those sweet, swirling lilac and blue eyes fix me with a very long, serious look before Nyx nods his head and leans up expectantly for a kiss. Oh, to be so little that kisses solve every problem. After peppering a few kisses across his cheeks and nose, he dashes up the stairs and Rhys helps me to my feet, shaking his head affectionately after the young boy who is his mirror, in more ways than one.

     “If I look at you like that, will you give me a kiss?” he asks earnestly, giving me a flawless impersonation of his son’s pout.

     “I prefer to kiss you when you look at me in other ways,” I say lightly, flicking his nose before I give him his expected kiss. “Now go, before he helps himself to the taps and we have another little flood on our hands.”

     “Mmm, that won’t be an issue,” he tells me as he settles his hands on my waist. “I learned my lesson the first time and locked them with a little magic, they won’t turn for him. I missed you.”

     “You were supposed to be napping. All of you.”

     “We would have if our little moonbeam hadn’t started crying the moment her Mama left the house.”

     “Surely not.”

     “Oh, yes. And I’ll have you know she didn’t stop until about ten minutes ago.”

     “That’s not like her.” Our youngest has been such a quiet baby, only crying when she’s hungry or in need of changing. “Did you check her temperature?”

     “It’s normal. She’s been fed and burped and changed two or three times now, I lost count.”

     “Poor babies,” I murmur, cupping his jaw as I lean up to give him one more lingering kiss, ignoring the way his stubble scrapes my skin. “Go bathe our son before he decides to start trouble and maybe, possibly, consider shaving before you kiss me again.”

     “You don’t like it?” Rhys asks, rubbing his chin against my cheek with a laugh.

     “Rhysand,” I giggle, pushing at his chest until he lets me go. “I love you, but I don’t love having my face scraped raw trying to kiss you. Go bathe the boy and shave, please?”

     “As my lady commands,” he says dramatically, rolling his eyes before he sets off after Nyx, taking the stairs two at a time as the clock chimes seven. It’s getting late, and we still have bedtime to see about, so I head up the stairs to our suite of rooms to find my mate and the newest addition to our family. Sitting on the sofa before the fire, with her back to the door, is my mate. Her long, golden-brown hair is tied up in a messy, haphazard bun atop her head, baring the long line of her pale neck and shoulders. I can hear her humming softly, a tune she’d often hummed to Nyx when he was small, and I ease the door closed behind me as gently as I can.

     Not that it keeps her from knowing that I’m here. A wave of warmth floods down the bond the minute the door shuts, all but confirming my suspicions. With her finely attuned hearing after years of hunting and raising a small, winged boy, I’m almost certain she can hear a pin drop on the other side of the house. Keeping my footsteps quiet to avoid waking the babe, I creep up to the back of the sofa and wrap my arms around her slim shoulders, pressing a light kiss to the side of her neck as her humming breaks off into a sweet, warm giggle.

     “There you are,” she murmurs, resting her head back against my shoulder. “We missed you. How was the park?”

     “Cold, I missed you as well. Nyx did plenty of running, but he was a little upset Papa’s giving him his bath tonight.”

     “I promised I would,” she says with a sigh before looking back to the bundle wrapped up in her arms. “But our little girl refused to allow any of us to nap while you were gone.”

     “Poor lamb,” I murmur, craning over Feyre’s shoulder to get a look at our daughter. Nearly the spitting image of her mother, the babe is pale as snow with a perfectly upturned nose, wisps of white-blonde hair curling against her forehead and pink, pouty lips like her brother’s. She’s easily one of the most beautiful babes I’ve ever laid eyes on. Beneath the fold of the soft, plush blanket Feyre wrapped her in, I can see the tip of a white wing peeking out. Her little nose wrinkles and long, dusky lashes flutter against her cheek before she opens her pale, bleary blue eyes and lets out a little whine.

     “I’ll take her,” I murmur, kissing the corner of Feyre’s mouth before I reach around her to lift the babe from her arms and cradle her to my breast, gently smoothing my thumb over her wrinkled forehead. “Hello, Astra. I heard you were trouble while I was gone, but I don’t believe that for a moment. My sweet girl.”

     I walk with her for a few minutes, bouncing all the while until her eyes drift shut and her little hand wriggles from beneath her blanket to find its way to her face, in spite of her mother’s best swaddling attempts. Just like her brother. Once I’m sure she’s fast asleep, I slip into our room and place her in her bassinet to sleep, then join Feyre on the sofa. The minute I open my arms, she leans her head against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist, listening to the fire crackle as our daughter sleeps in the next room.

     When Rhys finally reappears, it’s with a sleeping Nyx snuggled against his chest, his little black wings drooping over his father’s arm. Feyre chuckles and shifts until her back is cushioned against my chest and opens her arms to take the boy. Once he’s situated, Rhys sinks onto the sofa, bringing Feyre’s feet to rest in his lap as he rests his head against the back of the sofa.

     “How much would you like to bet he’ll be asleep in two minutes?” I whisper against Feyre’s temple.

     “Not even,” she murmurs, suppressing a yawn of her own. “I give it thirty seconds, he can sleep anywhere.”

     “Not anywhere,” Rhys grumbles as his lovely violet eyes drift shut as well. Only a few seconds pass before a matching pair of soft snores reach our ears and Feyre glances up at me with a grin. The fire crackles in the hearth and she rests her head against my neck, her limbs growing heavy as she relaxes into my arms.

[whisperingmidnights]

Flames in the Night

Pairing: Eris x f!reader x Rhysand

Summary: A Calanmai celebration to remember. This is just porn, it does what it says on the tin.

Prompt: double penetration

Word count: 1,695

Warnings: biting, DP, hand around throat (jic you’re uncomfortable with that, idk)

     I can still hear the drum beats in my ears, pounding out the rhythm of my heartbeat as I twirled around the bonfire with flowers in my hair. I could feel the flames licking at my skin the closer I danced, burning bright and alive against the cold, endless night. I still feel them now, everywhere his hands roam over my chilled, bare skin, filled with a passion so volatile it threatens to breach the confines of his touch and consume us all. A second set of hands trail the length of my spine, a balm for the aching burn of desire screaming through my veins.

     “Easy,” Rhysand purrs against the back of my neck as he peppers a trail of sweet, soft kisses up to my hairline. “You’ll need to relax if you intend to take us both.”

     I whimper as he pulls me up to kneel, my legs spread wide to accommodate the Autumn lord’s hips between them. Those flame-wreathed hands smooth up my thighs, a movement that would be soothing if I couldn’t feel his cock twitching inside me. Does he appreciate the view of the High Lord’s warm, brown hands cupping my breasts? Callused fingers tease my nipples, stroking and plucking them to stiff, sensitive peaks while he leaves a line of love bites down my neck to my shoulder. I won’t be able to forget who touched me tomorrow, or likely the day after that.

     Sucking in a ragged breath, my eyes wander over the lord beneath me, taking in his silky, crimson hair tumbling against the plum, velvet blanket beneath us, and the dazed, wicked smirk twisting his pale lips. The love bites along his chest and shoulder that match my own, a claiming if I ever saw one, peppered amongst old, faded scars. A sparse line of coppery hair lights a trail along his lower abdomen, leading directly to where we’re joined. His dazed, amber eyes follow my own down the line of his body, and a long, pale finger traces idle circles around my clit until I clench around him, ripping a gasp from his throat that curves my own lips in a satisfied smirk.

     “Do that again,” Rhysand chuckles, resting his chin on my shoulder while his wicked fingers continue to knead my breasts. “I do love it when he’s speechless.”

     I think I do too, so I do. Again and again, shifting my hips in a slow, circular motion until Eris is moaning in spite of himself. His finger stutters against my clit before it takes up a maddening pace, pushing me closer and closer to an orgasm. I lean into the High Lord at my back as the wave begins to take me, my walls fluttering helplessly around Eris’s cock, and I feel his full lips leave a tender kiss at my temple before he draws up to give a lazy command:

     “She can come as many times as she wants, but you do not. Not before I do. Do you understand?”

     A flash of gnashing white teeth is his only response. Those hands stray from the apex of my thighs to slide up the side of my body swift as a wildfire, tugging me forward to claim my lips with his own. Our bodies meet like a promise, the heated press of his skin against mine is maddening for the simple fact that it will never feel like enough. I want to nestle into the heart of this flame and be consumed by it, if only so it will not end. Eris lifts his right hand from my side, remaining close enough to feel the heat from his skin seeping into my own, and another, cooler hand slides over my side on its way to tangle with his.

     They’re beautiful in contrast, flames raging against a midnight sky. Eris’s freckles stand out against his skin like constellations, and I pepper my own kisses down his chin and the throat he yields so sweetly to me to his collarbone. Their lips meet over the top of my head and it feels like a battle of wills, but we all know who will yield at the end of it. The slick, languid drag of Eris’s cock inside of me is maddening but, pinned as I am between them, I can do nothing but take it. I nip at the Autumn lord’s collarbone until he fists a hand in my hair and yanks my mouth from his skin, breaking his kiss with Rhysand to reclaim my lips in a punishing dance that tells me how displeased he is at being interrupted.

     Good. I hate being ignored, especially when I’m being fucked by two gloriously handsome males with bodies that must have been sculpted by the gods. Rhysand’s answering chuckle is dark and low, heady with desire as I feel him grasp my hips and lift until only the tip of Eris’s cock is inside of me. Then his own presses in alongside it and I want to scream, want to tear myself apart at the sheer stretch of them slowly sliding into me at once.

     “You wanted to be the center of attention, darling,” he coos, his thumbs gently kneading into the meat of my hips. “Greedy thing.”

     “Yes,” I hissed, hiding my face in Eris’s neck. His hands smooth down my shoulders and back, warm and steady, urging my muscles to relax as the torturous slide mercifully comes to a stop, leaving them both fully seated and breathing harshly at the sensation.

     “Is it too much?” Eris whispers, his hand cupping the back of my head like I might be something precious.

     “No!” I don’t know how to explain how right this feels, the both of them inside of me, filling me until all I feel is the heat of their skin against mine. This is all I want to know, now or ever. “No, but please, someone needs to move. Please.”

     For emphasis, I try to clench my muscles around them, but I’m so full all I can manage is a light flutter. It’s enough to have them both growling curses, and Rhysand’s forehead drops to my shoulder as he fights to master his body’s desires. I don’t want him to fight them, I want him to fuck me-

     “Greedy,” he hisses again, sliding back only to thrust into me again. Eris looses a strangled moan, holding onto me like a lifeline, and I pull back to see him looking at Rhysand over my shoulder with a strange mix of desire and pure, murderous rage. If he’s not allowed to come, I think he might kill the High Lord at my back- well, he might try to, anyway.

     He may succeed if he’s fast enough.

     “He won’t,” Rhysand mutters and I glare over my shoulder, snarling at the intrusion, but he thrusts into me again and all of my threats are dispelled by one long, low moan. He sets the pace then, curling over my back to sink his teeth into the meat of my shoulder as he fucks me like I’m something to be claimed. There’s a desperation in the cant of his hips that does not match the slow, possessive slide of his hand around my neck. I rest a hand against the side of Eris’s face, staring into his blazing amber eyes through tearstained lashes, and he turns to kiss my palm as though I am divine.

     “I can’t,” Eris whispers and Rhys shakes his head, pulling me upright against him once more and I moan helplessly as I feel them shift inside of me. The High Lord’s hand slides down my stomach to settle over the bulge they’ve formed there.

     “Not before me,” he reminds the younger lord, trailing his fingers towards the swollen, throbbing nub at the apex of my thighs. “And certainly not before her.”

     His fingers drag torturously through the slick leaking from where we’re joined, sending Eris rocking up into me when those wicked digits tease at the base of his cock, a rapturous look on his face.

     “Oh, should I do that again, darling?” Rhysand mock-whispers as he swirls a finger around my clit. I nod, moaning louder when his fingers slide into my mouth, giving me a taste of the three of us that has me sucking his skin clean and begging for more. “If he comes before me, I’ll have him clean us both with his mouth. If he’s very good, you can take care of him after. Would you like that?”

     “Doesn’t sound like a punishment,” I groan, resting my head against the side of his face. He laughs at that, a rich, dark sound I think I’d die to hear again. His wet fingers tease my clit, sliding loosely on either side of it in a ‘come hither’ motion that will make me see stars if he touches me just a little harder. And the fucking bastard knows it too, so I give him what he wants. “Yes, yes please. Make him come, please make him come-”

     “The easiest way to do that, my sweet,” he murmurs in my ear, “is by making you come.”

      And, with a few sharp twitches of his fingers, he does just that. My orgasm hits me fast and hard, but somewhere in the midst of it all I hear Eris’s strangled moan and glance down at his face. Watching him find release is something holy, he burns with it like some ancient fire deity, his hands wreathed in flames clutching my thighs as he rides out his orgasm. The cocky High Lord, for all of his incessant talking, follows shortly after, his arms banded around me like a serpent until he eases us off to the side, spent.

     When I open my eyes again, I see the stars sparkling overhead brighter than I’ve ever seen them. Then I feel the warm slide of Eris’s tongue at my entrance and find them closing again as Rhysand pulls me into a long, slow kiss. I swear the earth beneath us sighs as the magic permeating the air sinks into it, leaving it sated until next year’s festivities. 

[whisperingmidnights]

A Dark & Stormy Night

Pairing: Rhysand x f!reader (impled feysand x f!reader)

Summary: A late night storm bring more than just rain.

Prompt: thunderstorm

Word count: 896

     Autumn in Velaris is always a sight to behold: the leaves of the grand maple trees surrender their verdant green hue for tones of fiery red and orange, and the oaks scatter their acorns for squirrels and children alike to tuck away as a treat. The gardens, eager to fall dormant and rest for a season, wither away, leaving the fountains to collect fallen leaves instead of the spare coins and wishes given in the warmer months, when everything is green and alive. The paper boats sailing along the river’s current will soon give way to lanterns lit in the darkest hours of night, sent out to sea with only prayers to accompany them. Cinnamon and nutmeg hang heavily in the air wafting from cafe and bakery doorways, and time in the bustling city seems to slow enough to allow for long, lazy walks along the Sidra before the bustle of Solstice preparations commence.

     It’s especially picturesque when the clouds roll in, dark and fierce, heralded by a roll of thunder that pulls me from my bed. I sit at the window wrapped in a night-chilled cotton sheet, my bare feet pressed against the wall as I watch fat raindrops pelt the glass. The house is only silent this late at night, when the children are snug in their beds and the servants have retired to their own homes. The strong, steady cadence of Feyre’s breathing nearly lulls me back to sleep, tucked against the steadily fogging windowpane, when the door creaks open and my head lolls to the side to take in my other mate, in from the rain in the same leathers he left in days ago.

     No rustle of wings greet me tonight. I’m almost sorry to see them absent, but his shoulders look heavy enough without the added weight. His eyes scan the room, moving across Feyre’s sleeping form to the empty spot next to her, then those wondrous violet eyes find mine and I slowly raise my arm from its place against my abdomen. He slinks across the space between us like some dark mountain cat prowling its domain, but then he kneels at my side with his forehead against my abdomen like a desperate male lost in prayer. I thread my fingers through his inky black hair, slick with rainwater and cold from the wind, and hold him to me until his breaths are deep and slow.

     “Hello, my love,” I whisper, lightly scratching my nails against his scalp until he hums and turns his head to look at me with a smile warm enough to melt ice. “Welcome home. We missed you.”

     “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Rhys asks just as softly, arching an eyebrow as I briefly glance back at my vacated spot in the center.

     “Shouldn’t you?”

     “I would be, if you were still there.”

     “Not smelling like that you wouldn’t.” Though he carries the scent of pine in the creases of his leathers, there’s more there. Blood and smoke and sharp, tangy stench of sweat. I try my best to muffle my giggle when he raises his head to sniff at his leathers and nearly snarls at the scents clinging to them. “Go on, then. Take a bath, then we’ll settle into bed for the night.”

     “In a minute,” he says gruffly, studying my face as a flash of lightning illuminates the room. Another deep crack of thunder pierces the silence and I train my ears for the wailing of frightened babes. Blessedly, they slumber on. I don’t mind comforting them, especially now when they are so young and the world is so large and confusing - they won’t always be this little. I won’t always be so grateful for a moment’s silence, someday I will yearn for the sound of their screams echoing through our halls. Someday…but not today. “Come with me?”

     “And miss all of this?” I tease, gesturing to the foggy window.

     “You don’t think I could give you a performance to match?”

     “Arrogant male,” I tease, gently tapping the end of his nose with my finger, “to think yourself on par with nature’s loveliest display of power.”

     “If it’s a display of power that you want,” Rhysand’s grin takes on a feral, wolfish quality that has me shivering beneath him, “why don’t I take you in the bath and show you the stars, darling?”

     “What a tease,” I sniff, waving him away so I can sit up straight and plant my feet on the floor. The sheet wrapped around my chest loosens as I adjust so my back is against the window, and Rhys wastes no time pushing my knees apart so he can kneel between them and wrap those powerful arms around my waist, pulling me closer. There, pressed close to the apex of my thighs, I wonder if he can smell Feyre on me still.

     Then he rests his head against my chest and exhales a long, slow breath that feels like the weight of the world falling away from his shoulders. Looping my arms around his shoulders, I press a kiss to the crown of his head and together, for just a little while, we stay like that, listening to the rain fall. 

[whisperingmidnights]

The Other Side of the Door

Pairing: Modern AU poly!Feysand x f!reader

Prompt: voyeurism

Word count: 1,601

Series Masterlist

     It’s late by the time I get off work, so late I almost call Rhys to ask him for a ride. The townhouse isn’t far from the bakery, and I should have been off hours ago, but a few last minute cake orders took far longer than I’d anticipated. I wave to the closers as I lock the front door behind me and shrug my bag over my shoulder, then set off into the night. The restaurant down the street, Sevenda’s, has little pumpkins decorating the patio area where couples dine by candlelight beneath the stars. Rhys and Feyre took me there once and the owner served us herself, apparently a rare treat since she’s usually at the other locations peppered throughout Prythian. Maybe we’ll go back for our…anniversary. Do we have an anniversary?

     We would probably need to be something more official for an anniversary.

     I chew on the inside of my cheek as I glance both ways before crossing the street, keeping my head down as I head towards the closest bridge to cross the Sidra. The buildings along my walk are painted every color imaginable, that’s probably why they call this district The Rainbow, but it makes it easy to spot Feyre’s studio on the corner. It’s a beautiful shade of white with dark green shutters encompassing windows on the upper level. The gallery windows are illuminated to display a few pieces from her current show: A Study in Crimson. I remember when she started this series, she told me she couldn’t look at the color red and she thought this would help her get over the aversion.

     I never asked why, and she seemed content not to tell me. But my portrait is one of the main focal points for the show. I can see it from where I stand in the doorway, hanging on the back wall behind the counter. The oil painting is mostly of my bare back, as the rest of me had been draped with a cream sheet, with beautiful scarlet roses blooming all around me. It reminds me a little of the old paintings of mythical figures, like some sort of nymph caught lounging in a garden.

     A horn blares behind me and I turn to glance over my shoulder at the cars full of people, impatient to be home, a reminder that I need to pick up the pace. I clutch my bag against my side and continue on to the river, where I pause for only a few seconds to watch the boats sailing lazily along the nightdark water, the traditional lanterns hanging at their bows casting golden lights on the waves. We truly live in one of the most beautiful cities in the entirety of Prythian.

     By the time I make it to the townhouse, my cheeks and hands are windburned and I’m more than a little breathless. The house is dark and quiet, with only the light in the antechamber on, so I drop my things by the entryway closet and hang my coat on the rack by the door. It’s only when I’ve toed off my work shoes and stuffed my socks inside them that I hear the first of Feyre’s low, breathy moans. I pause at the archway that leads to the front room and hold my breath, listening for more.

     Another, longer moan spurs me on towards their room, but I keep my footsteps quiet as I walk through the house. The soft, musky perfume of her favorite candles fills the air, and when I draw closer to their room I see the door is only half-open and soft, orange flickering flames cast long shadows on the floor. Holding my breath, I’m careful to keep myself hidden as I stand at the darkened doorway and watch the scene unfolding before me.

     Feyre is splayed across the mattress with her long, golden brown hair tumbling across the white linen sheets, the same sheets clutched in her fists. Rhysand’s soft, brown hands cup her pale breasts, her rosy pink nipples hard between his fingertips. Her legs are locked around his hips as her own rise in slow, lazy waves from the mattress. The wicked smile lighting his chiseled features makes me shiver.

     “You’re so wet, darling,” he purrs as his eyes drift down the length of her body to where they’re joined. “Is this all for me?”

     “Yes,” she whimpers as his hands trail lazily down her torso to disappear between her thighs. “Oh, yes, Rhysand please. Please. I need you, needed you all day.”

     “Take what you need, sweetheart, tell me what you need.”

     Even with the place I fill in their lives, in their bed, this feels intimate. I know I shouldn’t be watching them, but even knowing that, I feel myself getting wet at the sight of them. They’re beautiful together. 

     “Just you, please, please fuck me.”

     My hand drifts to the waistband of my pants as he leans over her, his powerful arms holding his body in a long line over hers as his hips press against her own with each slow, teasing thrust. I watch the muscles ripple in his back as he moves inside of her and admire the way her slender legs squeeze at his hips, giving him less room to tease her as her hands grip his biceps. My breath hitches a little at the first brush of my cool fingertips against my clit as I begin to tease it with long, leisurely strokes that match the rhythm Rhys has set.

     I can’t tell if either of them heard me, nothing changes about the slow, sweet way he fucks her, and her gasping moans only grow louder and longer. I shouldn’t be watching this, shouldn’t be sliding a finger into my tight, wet cunt, but I am. My walls flutter a little at the intrusion, but another finger quickly joins the first as I ache to be touched, to be filled and fucked the way she currently is. It’s all I wanted all afternoon, apparently Feyre had similar ideas.

     Just you, she’d said. Only him? Something ugly begins to take root in my heart, but then one of his large hands snakes around her neck the way hers often do around mine. I almost moan at the memory, at the way she’d squeeze tighter as she teased me with her fingers or a toy until she was satisfied. I need to be quiet, but they're so fucking beautiful together. There's a wet rush of fluid as I stuff another finger into my cunt, trying to satisfy the need coursing through me with a vengeance.

     The bed creaks and I return my focus to the scene before me to see Rhys on his knees, rearranging their position so he's kneeling near the head of the bed while she's sprawled in the middle with her head towards the foot of the bed. His cock bobs against the hard plane of his stomach, hard and flushed and shining with their mingled arousal, god I just want to lick it clean-

     “On your knees, my love,” he tells her before giving her pussy a resounding, wet slap that rips a deep, guttural moan from her as she arches up, seemingly eager for more. Oh fuck, they're so hot together. I can't stand it, I'm not going to survive it. He gives her another, chuckling darkly as she whimpers, begging for more. “Do you like this, Feyre? Is this how you want to come first, my darling girl?”

     “Yes, Rhys, yes. Please, fuck, oh fuck-” her voice breaks as he gives her exactly what she's begging for. Over and over, I hear the resounding smack of his hand against the most sensitive part of her and her fevered moans, growing more desperate with each slap. I lean my forehead against the wooden frame as my legs shake, and I clench my teeth to keep the sound of my labored breathing from reaching their ears.

     Not that I think either of them could hear me over the sound of Feyre's moaning.

     When the crescendo of her voice finally breaks into strangled, sobbing breaths, I hear the mattress shift and Rhys's rough voice as he orders: “hands and knees, love.”

     When I chance another glance into the bedroom, I have to smother my whimper with the heel of my free hand. Feyre’s head is braced against her forearms, her hair a tumble of dark gold waves against the linen sheets. I trace the lines of her body, the way her back arches as she presses back against her husband, trying to entice him to move. Her low, breathless moan as his body stretches over hers is nearly enough to melt me into a puddle on their expensive wood floor.

     There’s something dark and primal about the way he curves over her, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as he groans against her skin. I press my body flush against the door frame and bite the inside of my lip until I taste copper. My fingers move in time with the slick slide of his body against hers as I keep my eyes on them. Rhys’s hand fists in her tousled hair as he pulls her head back to reveal her cockdrunk, dazed expression, and this time when he kisses her my legs begin to buckle as little waves of pleasure crest over me.

     In the low, flickering candlelight, his violet-blue eyes flutter open and, through the shadowed darkness on the other side of the door, find mine.

     The smile that curves his lips is something unholy. 

[whisperingmidnights]

2 a.m.

Pairing: Modern AU!Feyre x f!reader

Summary: Modeling occasionally has its perks. A prequel to ‘Sunday Morning’.

Prompt: stay tonight?

     The grandfather clock in the hall on the other side of the door chimed twice. My eyelids flutter open, and I turn my head on the cushioned arm of the plum chaise positioned in the middle of Feyre’s home studio. I don’t know when I drifted off. Perhaps it was the ambiance created by the tall, ivory pillar candles burning around the room or, perhaps, the sweet cherry wine she’d offered me before we started. The cream sheet has drifted down my body, baring my breasts to the cold air, and I remind myself not to pull it back up. This is, after all, what I’m getting paid for.

     Careful to keep my hands exactly as they’re positioned, I turn my eyes to the woman seated at the easel across from me. How does she manage to still look so elegant at two in the morning? Her golden brown hair has been swept off of her neck into a clip, save the bangs that sweep across her forehead and a few stray pieces that artfully frame her elegant, aristocratic face. Her full lower lip is pulled between pearly white teeth, and she’s long since shed the loose, rust colored button down she greeted me in, leaving her in only leggings and a delicate, black camisole made of silk and lace that leaves nothing to the imagination. I take in all of the milky, freckled skin displayed by the dark slash of the plunging neckline, appreciating the beauty of her lithe, graceful figure…well, that’s what I tell myself I’m doing, anyway.

     Not just staring at her gorgeous, perky tits like I’m no better than a man.

     The glimmer of light on the silver chain around her neck draws my attention to the sizable diamond ring hanging from it. I’m not entirely sure what her husband does for work, we haven’t talked about him much during our session, but judging by the size of that ring, the man has more money than God. I glance back up at Feyre’s face to see the little pink tip of her tongue sticking out as she leans in to adjust something on her painting. Thankfully a window is open, allowing the cool autumn air to dilute the scent of turpentine. I stretch as much as I am able without disrupting my pose, groaning a little when something in the middle of my back pops unexpectedly, and the artist sits back on her stool with a satisfied smile. When she finally looks at me, her tired blue eyes are warm with joy, and I know this piece must be a good one.

     When she drops her brush in the paint water and finally glances at her phone, her lips form a surprised little ‘o’ that makes me want to kiss it off of her. To be fair, I always want to kiss her. It’s an inconvenient little fact I’ve been struggling more with since I moved from modeling for her class to doing it exclusively for her. It’s not a terrible problem to have, it certainly could be worse, but I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to do this before my impulsive thoughts get the better of me.

     “I’m so sorry,” she says, her face lit by the blue light of her phone as she glances over at me. “I didn’t mean to keep you so late.”

     “Two in the morning is hardly the latest I’ve been out,” I tell her as I tug the sheet up over my chest. Her twilight blue eyes flick to my breasts, lingering in a way that sends tendrils of warmth straight to my core. "I'll get dressed and see myself out-"

     "Oh no, surely you're not thinking you'll drive home tonight?" Feyre says, shaking her head. "I can't stand the thought of you on the road this late. Please stay tonight? We have so much space."

     "I don't want to impose-"

     "You could never! Here, don't worry about your clothes, the guest room is right next door. First one on the left, it's all yours. I'll see about finding you something to sleep in, I know we must have something that will work."

     "Are you sure?"

     "Absolutely," she says, her eyes drifting over my body once more before she rises from the stool on long, unsteady limbs and takes a moment to stretch with her back to me. Her leggings cling to her body like a second skin, showing off a perfect ass that must have been sculpted by hours of yoga.

     I guess I am no better than a man.

     But fuck, she's so beautiful it makes me want to die.

     I run a hand over my face to tame my wild, sleep-addled brain and wait until she's gone to shuffle to the guest room. It's spacious enough, with an empty closet and a full, private bath with a clawfoot tub and separate shower that puts my dingy shower stall at home to shame. I pluck the shower gel from the fully stocked shelf in the shower and get a whiff of something soft and inviting, like warm linen and clean skin.

     I just know this is on the shelf in the room of a hotel I'll never afford in a country I've probably never heard of. I put it back when I hear Feyre's footsteps on the stairs and waddle as quickly as I can in this sheet to sit awkwardly on the bed.

     Her silk robe is a whisper against the hardwood floor as she lets herself in hands me a large, worn college tee and black sweats that must be her husband's. There's a spicy, citrus scent clinging to them, the barest hint of cologne that reminds me of night-soaked sea air.

     "Rhys claims these are the most comfortable," she says with a shy smile as she hands me the clothes. "You don't work early in the morning, do you? He said he'd make us crepes for breakfast, and you have to try his crepes. They'll make you never want to leave."

     "Is that so?" I laugh, shaking my head as I allow the sheet to pool around my waist so I can slip the shirt on. It's big and soft and so comfortable I don't know if I'll actually give it back. "I wouldn't think you'd want to share them, then."

     "I normally don't." I glance back up to see her looking at me with a sweet sort of fondness in her eyes. Her fingers lightly brush against my neck as she pushes my hair back from my face. "But I'll make an exception for you. You did so well for me tonight, that painting is definitely going to be the star of my next show."

     "You think?"

     "I know." Feyre stands any my side a moment longer, seemingly wavering between thoughts, then quickly leans in and drops a light kiss on my forehead. "Sleep well, we'll see you in the morning."

     "Night," I mumble, brushing my fingertips against my flushed cheeks.