#feysand x con! reader

[whisplion]

Cloaked Hearts

Feysand x Court of Nightmares Reader

“I’ve dreamt for so long of what the warmth of the sun would feel like.”

“You know nothing High Lord of what it is we endure in that prison you forbade us from leaving.”

“You speak of equality for all of Prythian but we are not considered into that equation.”

“I love you more than I care to admit to you or myself.”

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Wicked Games

Assassin!Reader x Poly!Feysand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where's the mail?"

"I burned it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhysand chuckled at that. "Anything?"

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

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

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

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

"Stand," Feyre ordered.

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

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

You frowned at that.

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

Nowhere to run now.

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

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

"I don't understand-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Eyes on us."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shall we play some more?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I hate to interrupt," Keir began.

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

"But your little toy-"

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

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

Keir stammered, none of the words coming out right.

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

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

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

Keir was visibly shaking now.

"Mhmm," you whimpered.

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

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

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

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

"Careful how you speak, Keir."

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

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

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

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

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

You huffed a laugh at that.

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

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

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

[potatoplace]

Mastermind

Dark!Feysand x Reader Modern AU

Part 2 | ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Story Summary: Your friend of a few months, Feyre, invited you out for a celebratory drink over your new job, and of course her husband Rhys joins you. The night doesn't go quite as planned, and you end up back at their place with very few wits about you.

Warnings: Drugging, dub-con / non-con, abduction, smut

Words: ~3.8k

Author's Note: so uhmmmm. This idea. Got me to write. Uhhh. Yeah. Enjoy. I sure did hehe 🤭 the chokehold feysand has on me recently is. Very strong. Near irresistible. There might be future parts to this, I'm not sure yet. Read the warnings please!!

18+ only pls

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Tonight was supposed to be fun.

Your friends Feyre and Rhys had offered to take you out for a drink at Rita’s when she heard about your new job, doing remote work as a graphic designer for a marketing firm.

Feyre’s had suggested the job after all, knowing that your dream lay beyond the coffee shop that you currently work in- well, used to work in, you had quit earlier that day.

That, plus your new, upscale apartment that you rent at an amazing price had made your year considerably better than the last few.

And tonight was supposed to be fun, you had worn your smallest black dress, with tiny straps just barely holding it onto your body.

Yet here you were, being driven home after only two drinks, sitting in the backseat of Rhys and Feyre’s car in Feyre’s arm. You felt dizzy, and heated all over.

It was the type of drunk you rarely felt- overwhelmingly needy and aroused.

You just needed to make it home, and thankfully Rhys and Feyre live in the same building, so there’d be no problems with getting you into your apartment.

This building has way more security than your last apartment, there you were lucky to have never been broken into, with how many times your previous neighbors had been stolen from.

The car came to a slow, smooth stop, and you heard a car door open and shut. Then, one of Feyre’s arms moved from your body, causing you to whine as she opened the door on her side.

The door on your end of the car opened, and you were quickly pulled into the arms of someone warm and solid.

Keeping your eyes open was a struggle, but you managed to tilt your head up, gaze passing over a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and finally locking briefly with intense violet eyes. Rhys smiled down at you, eyes darkened with-

Something.

You were just tired and dizzy and you- oh, you need a shower. The water could drown out your noises, just in case the state you’re in makes you louder than usual. Your thighs rubbed together slightly as your mind wandered, already set on having the feeling of warm water hitting your skin and your hand between your thighs.

Your eyes closed as the three of you passed through a doorway, and a few dings of the elevator later Rhys is walking once more, gentle movements only making you sleepier.

He sets you on the floor gently once you’re in your apartment only-

It’s not your apartment.

“We didn’t think you should be alone right now, darling, with how you’re feeling,” Feyre explained softly, one of her hands already wrapping around yours. “Did you need anything?”

“A shower,” you blurted out, more than ready to have the smell of the club, however faint it was, off of your skin.

“That we can provide, darling,” Rhys said, smacking your ass as he walked away from the both of you. You turned to say something to him, but Feyre was already moving, leading you by the hand.

You passed though a luxurious bedroom, with a California king bed draped in black silk standing out most to you. You could see chains attached to the posts-

“Here we are, Y/N. Did you need help with anything?” Feyre asked, waving her hand to the large bathroom she had taken you too. The shower was open, no curtain or door to close it off from the rest of the room.

You simply shook your head. You could manage a shower on your own, surely, you were already feeling a little better than in the club. “Thank you, Fey,” you said softly, taking her in for a hug.

“Oh, it’s nothing sweetheart. Absolutely nothing,” Feyre replied, pushing the hair away from your face and gathering it into a bun for you, securing it with the scrunchie she’d gotten while you weren’t paying attention. She started the water for you before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

You used a makeup wipe to rid yourself of your makeup, feeling far too greasy to not wash your face, then quickly stripped off your dress and your panties and slipped into the stream of water, sighing when the warm water hit your skin. It felt just as good as you imagined- and then your thoughts went back to what you’d thought of on the way up the elevator.

Your hand slipped down, landing between your thighs as water poured over you. Your fingers dipped between your folds, your cunt already thoroughly drenched even without the water running between your legs. You swirled your fingers around your clit slowly, letting out soft sighs every now and then. The pleasure in your gut grew as you moved them faster-

“Y/N? Did you need help with anything?” Feyre asked through the door, and you quickly moved your hands from between your thighs.

“No, Fey, I’m alright,” you said, cheeks blazing with heat.

“Rhys had a nice idea, would you like to go swimming?” Feyre offered, and you turned to your right to see that she’s in the room with you. You covered your chest, keeping as much of yourself hidden as you could.

Swimming could be nice. And you’d seen their pool, it had such a pretty view, and you’d never gone in it before. You nodded your head, eyes taking note of the bikini in Feyre’s hands.

“Good, you can wear this, darling. I’ll be waiting for you outside, don’t take too long,” Feyre said, blowing you a kiss before she closed the door behind her.

Your cheeks heated even further, you’d never had such a nice and friendly female friend before, let alone such a pretty one. Your thoughts strayed to what Feyre would look like in a bikini- absolutely perfect, you were sure. Fingers dipped back between your thighs, rubbing quick circles over your clit, you just needed to cum once, once then you could go enjoy the rest of your night with your friends-

A knock at the door, right as you were about to finish.

Feyre entered without waiting for you to respond, this time without the stunning black dress she’d been wearing before. Instead, she was completely naked.

You blushed profusely, turning your eyes away from her.

“Oh, darling, you can look all you like. I just thought, since you’re taking so long and I need to shower, I’d come in and just get mine done at the same time.” Feyre paused. “I could leave, if you’d like,”

Your brain was short circuiting, being so close to your incredibly beautiful, incredibly sexy friend of a few months. “Oh, that’s, uhm… that’s fine, Fey.”

Feyre smiled, getting a bit closer to you. “Good. Did you need help getting clean, sweetness?” Feyre asked, her chest nearly touching yours, still covered by your arms. She already had a cloth filled with soap in her hands and began running it across your shoulders soothingly. Your arms slowly feel from your chest, and Feyre took the opportunity to step closer, arms practically wrapped around you as she used the cloth to clean your back, her breasts pressed against yours.

You could hardly breathe, this woman, your friend was so perfect and naked and-

The cloth slipped over your cunt, Feyre’s deft fingers quickly rubbing it over your clit, and a quiet moan escaped you. The cloth was gone a second later, two of Feyre’s fingers sinking into your cunt as the other hand came to rub circles on your clit. You came shamefully quickly, already having worked yourself up so high before your friend entered the room.

“Good girl,” Feyre whispered against your ear before pressing hot kisses down your neck, only pulling away to grab the cloth off the floor of the shower and begin washing you once more. Once she was finished, she pushed you back into the stream of water, rinsing the suds off of your body. “Help me out?” Feyre asked, hands already pushing the cloth into yours. When you hesitated, she made puppy dog eyes at you. “I helped you, pleeease Y/N?”

That was all you needed, body moving of its own accord as your hands used the cloth to clean her body, trying not to linger too long on her breasts, ass, and her sweet looking pussy that at the moment you knew you wanted nothing more than to bury your face in. Feyre rinsed herself off, her hands lingering over the spots you’d wanted to touch longer. You were on the verge of getting on your knees and begging when Rhys’s voice came from the doorway.

“You ladies are so gorgeous,” he said, walking further into the room, and it was then that you noticed- he’s naked, his long, thick cock bobbing invitingly at you, already hard and waiting. You managed to snap your eyes away from him, only to land on Feyre’s chest.

Fuck, it should be illegal for these two to be this hot, you thought to yourself, thighs pressing together as you tried to look anywhere but at your two friends.

“Thank you, Rhys,” Feyre said, walking out of the shower and pulling him with her into it. “You can shower, the two of us will get in the pool. Right Y/N?”

You nodded, letting her grab your hand and lead you over to the towels. She dried you off, lingering over your sensitive areas longer than necessary, then helped dress you in the bikini she was lending you- if you could even call it that. It was practically strings, with small stars of fabric to cover your nipples and a slightly thicker strip of fabric to cover your cunt.

But, if your friends had already seen you naked… what’s the harm?

Feyre was dressed similarly, her bikini in black instead of your silver set. She pulled you out of the bathroom, through their bedroom and out onto the patio. Feyre sat at the edge of the pool, patting the ground next to her, and you joined her a moment later.

You sighed, then leaned your head onto Feyre’s shoulder.

“Feeling better yet, darling?” She asked, her right arm coming up to circle around your shoulders. You nodded against her shoulder, kicking your legs gently in the water. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Would either of you ladies like another drink?” Rhys asked from behind you.

“Yes please, Rhysie,” Feyre responded. “She’ll have a soda, I think. Hmm, baby? Does that sound good?” You nodded your head in confirmation. In no world do you need another drink at this point, for gods sake your friend already made you-

“Let’s get in the water, darling.” Feyre slipped in the pool, water coming to just under her barely covered breasts. “Join me?” She asked coyly, and you couldn’t help but follow her in, making your way to her immediately. The water came up to your collarbones, your height difference feeling so pronounced as you looked up at her, half expecting her to make another move.

“Here we are.” Rhys’s voice cut through the bubble you and Feyre had been in for a moment. You turned to look at him and saw that he was already sitting at the edge of the pool the two of you had entered at, two drinks in hand.

You and Feyre made your way to him, happily taking the drinks from his hand and watching as he slipped into the pool. The height difference between the two of you took your breath away slightly, you felt so small next to him. You took a few greedy sips of your soda to cover up how flustered you are around the couple tonight, every little thing about them seems to be turning you on more and more.

Feyre had taken a sip of her drink and set it back down, choosing to follow Rhys a bit deeper into the water.

You could see as he cupped her ass in his hands, her legs wrapping around his waist as they kissed passionately in front of you-

And you wanted, no, needed to be a part of that, your body already moving towards them before you were able to stop yourself. You turned back to the edge of the pool, feeling hot and dizzy with need like you had been earlier at Rita’s. Quickly, you set your drink on the smooth stone at the edge of the pool and took a few deep breaths.

These are your friends. They’re married. Stop being a whore-

Arms wrapped around you, and Feyre’s soft chest met your back. “Hi darling, not getting too lonely, are you?” She asked lowly in your ear, then pressed a soft trail of kisses from behind your ear all the way down your neck and onto your shoulder. You were leaning back against her by the time she came back up to your ear, lightly tugging on it with her teeth. “Turn around for me, sweetness,” she told you, hands helping move you where she wanted. “Perfect,” Feyre said breathily, before leaning down and pressing her lips against yours softly. The feel of her plush lips on yours was perfect, so gentle and warm. After a few seconds her tongue darted out, and you let her take control of the kiss, dominating your mouth with hers as she pushed you back against the wall of the pool.

When the two of you came up for air, you were filled with need so great you thought you might burst. You noticed a strong, tan pair of arms caging the two of you against the pool wall, and looked up to meet Rhys’s gaze. His violet eyes were filled with lust, matching the grey blue eyes of his wife that were also locked on yours. “What do you say darling? Be ours?” He asked, eyes darting down to your lips.

You tried to think about it, really think about it, but one of Feyre’s hands was between your thighs again, pushing past the tiny bikini and playing with your clit. Your eyes fell shut at her touch, a moan already making its way past your lips.

“Please,” you whined, not fully sure what you were begging for, you just knew that you needed more.

One thick finger slid into you, nearly as big as both of Feyre’s were earlier, and another moan fell from your lips, this one going into Feyre’s shoulder where you’d collapsed into her, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

“Oh, sweetness, I think it’s time,” Feyre said, disconnecting herself from you. “Get her into the bathroom, Rhys,” she ordered, already pulling herself out of the pool.

You were barely keeping yourself up, but Rhys moved closer to you, pulling you in to his chest. His kissed you gently, drawing a sweet sigh from your lips before he stopped and pushed you up onto the ledge of the pool, then followed you up. He helped you stand, and picked you up after you nearly fell after three steps.

“Silly girl, don’t worry, we’ll have you all nice and comfy in bed soon,” Rhys said, carrying you into the bathroom, where Feyre was already naked and rinsing off. “You got to dress her, I get to undress her,” Rhys snapped at Feyre when she tried to come over to you. She rolled her eyes, but stayed under the stream of water, waiting for both of you.

Rhys slowly peeled the bikini off of you, taking his time to squeeze your breasts and pinch your nipples hard enough to make you gasp, and grazing his fingers over your sensitive clit teasingly a few times. As soon as you were bare Feyre came over and pulled you back into the shower while Rhys rid himself of his swim trunks.

The warm spray felt nice on your skin again, especially paired with the gentle touches of the couple surrounding your senses. One of them gently guided your face under the spray of water, and the other cleaned your face with a familiar smelling soap. They rinsed your face carefully, then shut the water off and four hands began drying you off. Once your face was dry you opened your eyes to see Feyre’s pretty ones staring back at you.

“Let’s get your skincare done, sweetness,” she suggested, leading you over to the counter after Rhys had finished drying your body. Feyre applied a toner, moisturizer and eye cream, all of them the same ones that you used daily.

“That’s funny…” you said, trailing off.

“What is, darling?” Rhys asked from where he was stood behind you, arms encircling your torso. You stared at his thick arms, how muscular they are… then you realized that you could feel him- hard and pressed against your lower back. “What’s funny?” He whispered in your ear, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what he was talking about.

You didn’t respond. More like couldn’t, when his lips started sucking a deep, purple mark onto your neck and Feyre’s lips covered your own hungrily.

You were nothing but a quivering, needy mess when they pulled away, but luckily for you it was just to move you into the bedroom, onto their massive bed.

“Finally,” Feyre groaned at the sight of you spread out in the middle of their bed, your legs kept apart by their hands. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to taste this sweet pussy?” She asked you, looking expectantly down at your face. “Hmm?” She tapped her thumb on your clit twice, making your hips twitch. You shook your head. “Since the moment I met you. I knew that I needed to have you, that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you weren’t mine and Rhys’s,” Feyre explained, now rubbing small, even circles on your clit. “And luckily for me, well, Rhys has a pretty big breeding kink and once he saw you…” Feyre grinned down at you, eyes soft.

“I knew I had to have you as well,” Rhys finished for her, his head already dipping down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Your back arched as he teased it with his tongue, and between that and Feyre’s fingers you came quickly, breathy moans escaping your lips until Rhys’s mouth was over yours again. “Fuck, you are absolutely perfect,” he groaned.

Feyre fingers had moved away from you, and you were about to whine at the lack of stimulation before her mouth, warm and wet, began devouring you. She lapped up the slick that had leaked from you greedily before moving up to your clit. Feyre slowly licked at your sensitive bud, building up your pleasure once more as Rhys kissed you and played with your breasts, swallowing up the endless moan leaving you. When you were finally able to lift your head an look down at Feyre, you saw that she was grinding her thighs together as she ate you out with her eyes closed, and the sight of her so focused on your pleasure bringing you to the brink once more. You could hardly think when she climbed over you and kissed you, before moving up your body again and seating herself over your face.

Without a thought you flicked your tongue out, moaning at how wet she already was- for you.

Your arms came up to hold onto her thighs as licked at her center hungrily, sure that you had that same expression on your face that she had worn just moments before. You were happily sucking on your clit when you felt your legs being parted by-

Rhys was pushing in to you, the movement of his cock eased by how slick you were, and you moaned into Feyre’s cunt.

“Fuck, Y/N, don’t stop,” Feyre ordered breathlessly as she ground her hips down onto your face, forcing you to give she needs. She came on your face right as Rhys fully seated himself inside of you, all of the breath leaving your lungs as he did.

“Fey, she feels amazing. So tight and hot, I don’t know that I’ll ever leave the house again,” Rhys remarked as he began moving in and out of you slowly, letting your cunt adjust to his size as much as it could.

“Good thing we don’t have to for the next week,” Feyre said, still working her hips over your mouth, keeping your senses entirely filled by herself and her husband. Rhys started picking up the pace soon, letting one of his thumb graze over your clit every few seconds, your walls gripping him tighter in response. “Mm, fuck,” Feyre moaned, cumming on your face again, letting her hips twitch over you a few times before climbing off of you and sliding down so she could kiss your swollen lips. “We have plenty of time to train our new little pet.

“Train-?” You started to ask, but Feyre covered your mouth with hers once more, using her fingers to take over for Rhys’s thumb on your clit.

Moans were spilling out of you again whenever your mouth was unoccupied, which wasn’t often. Rhys has figured out just the angle to hit to make you see stars, barely even needing Feyre’s fingers to topple over the edge before Rhys followed you, slotting his hips tightly against yours as he emptied his cum into you.

After he pulled out he kissed you tenderly, fingers pushing as much of his cum back into you as possible as he did so. Your cunt fluttered around the tips of his fingers, so sensitive to every little touch now.

Feyre had disappeared, but came back into the room from the bathroom, a wet wash cloth in hand, and she carefully cleaned off your face.

“I guess we could have waited to do the skincare, hmm?” Feyre asked amusedly, taking in how wrecked you looked already.

“It was just a different kind of facial, darling,” Rhys said, humor in his voice. “Besides, her face is bound to get dirty again before the morning.”

“I suppose that’s true, her mouth is like magic Rhys, I’m sure with a little training she’ll be just as perfect at it as you are,” Feyre said, her thoughts already drifting to riding your face once more.

You were nearly asleep by the time Feyre was done cleaning your face, barely registering the feeling of something being wrapped around your throat and a gentle snick of something latching shut, but you were too tired to think about anything as Feyre and Rhys settled in around you, keeping you secure between their arms.

Lemme know if you guys want a part 2 🫣

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!Feysand x f!reader: Bloodied Wedding Bonds[***]

A/N: Anything relating to dark!feysand, I am 100% down to write it :)

Warnings: Forced marriage, fingering, smut, making of bargains?, sacrilege, squiring, non-con

Word Count: 4,211

It’s not your place to ask questions.

You know it’s not.

But when your clients are the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, it’s a little difficult to keep your mind from wondering. A failing marriage? Marital disputes? Hedonism? None of your business. Your job is to please them, and that is all you should be focusing on.

From the fact alone that they’ve been continuously visiting you, asking after you for nearly a year now, seems to be enough evidence you’re doing well. You’d hope so. Anything they ask for, you give. Anything they want to try, you let them. Anything.

So when your High Lady tells you of a scene she—both of them would like to try, you obey.

————

You try to suppress a shiver as you step over the temple’s threshold.

A slight breeze plays with the hem of the elegant white gown that had been left on your bed, the veil fluttering across your concealed features, hiding the light dust of cosmetics you’d applied—a tint to your lips and cheeks, nothing else.

You jolt when you receive a pinch on the ass, but relax when his familiar wash of night finds its way to your senses. Powerful arms wrap around your waist, a strong, male chest pressing into your back, his chin curving over your head, “you look lovely, dear. White suits you well.”

A smile tips the edges of your lips as you twist your head, peering up into his violet gaze, “and here I was, thinking it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony,” you tut. His eyes gleam in the darkness, the corners of his mouth curving, “I simply couldn’t resist.” His hands grip your waist, and you’re flipped around, the swell of your breasts pressing softly into his chest, “you look so pure in white. I’m having a hard time not forcing you to take your vows bare.”

The shiver that runs down your spine is as real as he is, pleasure warming your skin as you lean in to him. “Isn’t a wedding all about intimacy?” You ask, smiling coyly, “I’m sure you’d be forgiven, Lord.”

A sound of deep, male satisfaction rumbles in his chest, arms tightening and you feel the delicious press of something hard over your abdomen. “Such a tease, aren’t you, darling?” His hand slides lower, cupping your ass and your spine arches. “Only for you two,” you murmur over his soft lips. Breath warms your mouth as he chuckles quietly, “good to know you’re a loyal whore.”

You bristle at the term, but he gives you an apologetic look, “wife.” Amusement glitters in his gaze and you wonder at the sincerity of his correction. “I’m not your wife yet, Rhysand,” you taunt softly, giving him a rueful little smile. This time his laugh is sincere, “I love that about you, you know?” Your smile fades as you peer at him curiously.

Naturally over the months you’ve developed a bond with them, but the kind you’re expected to have with all your clients. To make the transactions easier. You work better if you’re more attuned to them.

“What is it you love, Lord?” His smile widens as he spins you round, walking with you down the aisle, “that you think you have a say in whether you wed us or not.” You laugh at his joke and his arm squeezes you tighter. Pressed to his side.

The High Lady appears at the end of the aisle, and breath catches in your throat. Clad in a silky blue that borders on violet, she’s regal. Hair tied back and curled, a few strands framing the soft, beautiful planes of her face. Lips a rosy red, awaiting patiently as you’re led toward her.

She greets you with a kiss, and you follow obediently. Mouth parts over yours, her tongue sliding in. Rhys’ hands release you, yielding to his mate as he steps around to her side, leaning against the altar as he watches hungrily, arms braced on the hard surface.

“I’m sure he’s already told you how delicious you look in white,” Feyre comments, pulling back a little. You move after her, capturing her mouth again. She hums disapprovingly, but doesn’t scold you for it. Though she does land a light pat to your behind. A small sound whines in your throat; her kisses become more eager. Firmer.

It’s only when Rhys’ hands land on your hips you realise she’s been walking you backward, pushing lightly while keeping attached to your mouth so you drop into his lap. Your spine curves automatically as you feel the hot press of his cock against your backside, winding your hips lightly to give him some friction. Groans rumble at your back, and you melt between them.

Feyre’s tongue strokes over yours and you slide your hand over the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as Rhys moves your hips to his pleasure, using each other as you like. Her teeth nip your lip and you whine, jolting in a way that has Rhys moaning roughly. She’s getting rougher.

Nails bite into your hips; you hiss. The High Lord’s mouth opens over your shoulder, kissing and licking up the bare skin until he’s beneath your ear. Feyre’s fingers skim up your front, working in sync with her counterpart as they hook beneath the straps of your dress. The cold air bites at your nipples as the fabric falls away, quickly encompassed by her hot, wet mouth. Moans spill from your lips as you look down at your High Lady. Her round, blue-grey eyes watching you as her tongue does all sorts of wicked things that should not be done in a temple.

“Feyre,” you whimper, fingers tangling in her hair as she lightly pinches your nipple. She hums; Rhys’ hands slip between your legs, hooking them over his thighs. You lean forward, bracing on the altar beneath you as your spine curves, heat rubbing over his cock. Rough groans grace your ears in response, his hips buck, pushing you forward. “Such a fucking tease, aren’t you?” He grits out, finally putting his teeth in you.

Your eyes widen, then squeeze shut, tugging Feyre closer to your chest, praying for her to copy his movements. A squeal breaks from your lips as her canines scrape the sensitise skin, slowly trailing lower, lower, lower. Hands push away the white fabric with ease, and her mouth opens over your lace-covered heat.

You gasp—they usually tease you for much longer. But she’s giving in so quickly. Thrown off balance, grappling for stability while her tongue dances leisurely over your cunt. “Feyre,” you pant, “what are you—” Pushes underwear to the side. Tongue flicking over your clit.

Rhysand’s hands snake around your waist, grazing up your front. Pinches your nipples. “Don’t think,” he whispers softly at the shell of your ear. His fingers flick deftly over your sensitive skin, urging you to give into them, “just feel.” And by the Mother, you do.

She pushes your legs wider, pulling back only to remove the offending lace then her eyes are drinking you in. You open wider for her, and she moans softly. “Want my mouth, sweet thing?” She asks, pads of her fingers pressing on your inner thigh. Heavy puffs of breath exhale from your lungs, fire warming your veins with addictive pleasure.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes locking onto hers, “please.”

Her lips curve upward, making your muscles go weak with the dark promise. Canines scrape over your throat, and you’re dragged back to Rhys, so your attention is elsewhere when she bites your clit lightly. You whimper at the pleasure, hips bucking for more. She smiles over your cunt, teeth grazing the sensitive bud. One of Rhys’ hands glides up to cup your throat, tipping your head back, then sliding higher. Covering your eyes.

In the dark, it’s so much better. Imagination runs wild, infinite endings to this path they’ve sent you down. You can’t prepare for when Feyre bites and nips at that sensitive part of you, can’t tense for when Rhys pinches your nipple, tugging. Can’t keep in your soft yelp when one of them smacks between your thighs, the wet slap reverberating off the holy walls.

“Filthy thing,” Rhysand croons, and you flinch when two thick fingers slide between your legs. Feyre’s pulled away, making way for him as he plays with the wetness that’s coalesced there. “Rhys…” you plead softly, wanting him to slide up to his knuckles, curling against that spot he’s had memorised since the first time he’d touched you.

“What do you want, and how badly do you want it?” He purrs, circling your entrance teasingly. Your head tips back onto his shoulder, cool breeze washing over the exposed skin of your top and bare thighs. “I want you to fuck me with your fingers…” you breathe, panting with need.

His hand retracts, smacking down on your tender sex, catching your clit beneath his digits. You flinch, moaning sharply. “How bad, birdie?” He repeats, soothing the pained area with gentle rolls of his fingers, Feyre’s pink tongue helping with the stinging. Muscles melt, and your legs spread wider. “Anything…” you stammer softly, the word catching between your moans.

A low snarl of approval reverberates through his chest, picturing how his lip is curling to showcase perfect, sharp teeth. “Anything?” He repeats, intonation quirking with malevolent interest. “I wonder, how far would you really go for an orgasm?” He laughs lowly, closer to a growl, really.

“I’ll crawl wherever you ask me to,” you answer, and he snarls with approval. “Such a clever tongue,” he croons, fingers sliding down to your centre, again oscillating around your entrance. “Would you promise that to us?” He asks.

You nod drunkenly, too focused on how close his skilled fingers are to where you want them to pay close attention. He’d told you to feel, so you’re feeling.

Rhys hums at your back, then his fingers are retracting, spreading you wide for his mate as she dives back in, tongue lapping and flicking eagerly, suckling your tender clit.

“What about your cunt? Would you promise that to us?” He asks, hunger dragging beneath his question.

“It’s yours anyway,” you moan, spine curving as her tongue swirls over your sensitive bud, dropping lower to push against your sopping hole. He snarls again, and you know he’s pleased. “So well trained, aren’t you, little lynx?” He spits, hand still keeping you in darkness.

“What about you, then? Think that’ll be good enough?” Arousal spikes your pulse, Feyre’s precious little tongue pushing into you, desperate to taste you; be inside you in some way.

“Yeah…” you moan sweetly, winding your hips in encouragement as your clit begins to tingle with heat. His hand smacks down again, Feyre leaving just a moment before. You jolt, not knowing what you did wrong. You open your legs wider in attempts to soothe whatever wrong you committed, hoping if you accept more pain it’ll please him.

It’ll please you, too.

“Say it,” he snarls softly, teeth scraping over your ear as he again spreads you wide for his mate to sweep in. “Promise yourself to us. Prove you’re worth the orgasm.” Sweet pleasure blooms in the pit of your belly, pulse picking up at the danger. “I promise,” you whisper, the words a pained breath from your lips as he pinches your clit, Feyre’s tongue pushing into your hole. “More,” he growls, the demand making your hips buck.

“You—…I’m yours—! All of me…completely!” You whimper between your heavy pants. “I promise! I’m yours!”

His mouth fashions itself into a feline smile beside your ear, fingers finally circling over your clit, void of that edge of pressure. “Yeah? Mine and Feyre’s? Promise you’re ours? Belong to us?” Your heart flutters in your chest, fluttering between your legs, too. “I do…!” You whine, hips bucking, hands fisting atop the altar, “I do…I do! I do!”

Fingers and fangs switch place. Breath whooshes from your lungs.

Her teeth circle your clit, tongue flicking out, just as he sinks in up to his knuckles, dragging the pads of his fingers over those spots that make dark and light swirl in your vision. Eyes roll back into your skull, pleasure finally taking you by the throat as it slams you down. Spine arches, toes curl, mouth drops open.

No words come out as your body tenses, then melts, turns hot and liquid as you flow. Lap at the edges of your skin. Burning. Burning from within as fire scorches your blood, singeing your insides with pleasure so intense it blocks out the sting of the bargain, the promise not registering in your mind.

They hardly let you come down from your high before you’re being roughly tossed onto the altar. Barely a second passes between that last flutter of your cunt and the kick of pleasure as Rhys lines himself up, and slams in to the hilt.

The cold stone bites into your back, despite being covered by a veil of cloth. Light burns your quick-adjusting eyes, before being eclipsed as Feyre parts her thighs over you, smothering you as her heat covers your mouth, clit perched atop your nose.

Sense again leaves you, just the feel of Rhys slamming in, deep enough you can feel him in your stomach, pounding you into the sacred stone. Feyre’s hands tangle in your hair, roughly pulling you against her hips as she grinds over your face, her arousal making the drag over your mouth and nose easier, so she slides back and forth. “Stick that tongue out for me, birdie,” she moans, nails scraping over your scalp.

The words hardly register, pleasure numbing your senses while your eyes remain shut, basking in the wet glide of her heat over your lips; nose. She snarls, lifting up only her knees, looking down at you over her shoulder, landing a harsh pat to your cheek. Her fingers bite into your jaw, gripping tight, “open.”

Pain stings up your spine, buzzing in your head as your body follows her order, while your mind scrambles to keep up. Something had overtaken your will. Something had stolen your autonomy.

Heartbeat spikes, and you land three hurried taps to your High Lady’s hip.

Never once have you used your safe word with them. With others, yes. But never them.

Anything they’ve wanted, they’ve gotten. But right now, you’re panicking.

It’s the first rule of your occupation—under no circumstances are bargains ever to be brought into the establishment. They’re never to interfere with the relationship of prostitute and client. They’re too powerful to be messed with; you’ve always stood by that rule.

Feyre pulls off you almost instantly, Rhys’ hips halting a second later though his hands span the tops of your thighs. Panic blurs your mind as you push up onto your elbows, peering down your body. A dark ring of ink had ingrained itself on your stomach, outlining the circle of your belly. Fingertips drag the dark imprint, and you feel a little sick.

“Get rid of it,” you whisper. Your eyes flick to the High Lord’s, his own gleaming with something that has you shrinking back into yourself. Something dark and malignant.

“Rhys…” you pant softly. Breath catches, arms slide over your shoulders, Feyre’s thighs propping you up. Your head tilts backward, exposing your throat as you meet the blue-grey of her eyes. Rosey lips lift into a quiet smile, “you’re ours, now.”

A shudder that’s unrelated to the temperature shivers down your spine as you shake your head. “No…” you breathe. “No…we can’t—… Bargains are—”

“Shh…It’s okay, sweet thing.” Feyre strokes hair from your face, “it’s okay. You won’t get in trouble for serving us.” You simply stare at her, flicking from one blue-grey eye to the other, trying to recall the words of the promise.

“What—… What…?” In your mind, you’re trying to piece things together, broken bits of conversation. “No. I…I can’t, Feyre.” You look at her beseechingly, but she simply continues gently stroking your hair. Your attention turns on Rhys. He’s High Lord—he has to listen. “Rhys,” you say, voice managing to come out even; firm. “Rhys I can’t—… This is a line I can’t cross for you. Remove it.”

Violet flickers, stars winking out in places as he puts you under a hard stare. You raise your chin: this is something you can’t back down on. It’s a bargain for goodness sake.

“You would disobey your High Lord and Lady?” He asks. You blink.

“It’s not a matter of obedience. It’s a matter of respecting my autonomy. I do not want this bargain mark; I don’t even remember the terms. Remove it.” You sit up fully, back feeling cold as your arms wrap protectively over your front.

“You promised yourself to us,” he replies, eyes narrowing on you. “In return for your orgasm, you promised we could have you.”

Breath halts in your throat, eyes stilling on him. This can’t be happening. Fingers fist over the skin of your upper arms. “Free me from this bargain, or I will refuse to have you as clients. Either of you. It is well within my rights to do so,” you say firmly, despite how hard your heart is hammering.

The edges of his mouth quirk, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Lie back down,” he says, as if you’ve said something funny.

“Rhysand!” You snap, defensively pulling up the straps of your thin wedding gown. “This is serious,” you hiss, “you do not make a joke out of things like—”

“Lie down.” Violet drops to icy indigo, eyes hardening as your own widen, muscle complying wilfully. Grey-blue peers down at you, and your brows curve. “Feyre…” She smiles softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Why are you smiling?” You manage, swallowing bits of your fear, “this is serious.”

Her thumb brushes your lips, pushing on the lower one gently, “you’re our wife now.”

Her hand grips your left gently, slipping that unique sapphire ring onto your forth finger—it fits, like magic. “We’ll do this properly another time,” she murmurs, cupping your cheeks. “Get you a proper ring, have a proper ceremony,” she whispers, thumbing away the wet streaks that are beginning to roll back into your hair. “But you’re ours now. That’s all that matters. So you don’t have to worry about being in trouble with that brothel, okay?”

Rhys’ hands tighten on your hips, slotting himself closer between your legs, his length resting hot and heavily over your wet cunt. Eyes tear away from blue-grey, piercing into violet, “stop. Stop that. You can’t do that.”

He smirks, drawing back, letting you feel the slow drag of his cock over your cunt. As it drags down to your centre, tip pushing at the soft dip between your thighs.

You shiver, eyes going teary as you stare at him. “Rhys…” you whimper. Nails digging into your palms while Feyre keeps her hands over your shoulders, pushing you into the stone of the altar.

Rhysand groans at the sound, pleasure drawling from his mouth, rubbing the tip of his cock over your wet heat, bumping your clit. “Say that again, little lynx,” he orders. “Beg for me.”

The bargain crackles over your tummy and tears roll back. There’s no way out of this unless they release you. “Rhys…” you repeat, tongue forming the word all on its own. Adding the pleading undertone, too. As if you want it as much as they do.

Feyre’s eyes latch onto yours, hands cupping your cheeks as she leans down, kissing your glossy lips—glossy and smeared with arousal from her own cunt.

“How does it feel?” She asks softly over your mouth. “Tell me what it’s like having him inside you.”

More tears roll as your jaw opens on its own, ready to answer her question. “Feels good,” you whimper, brows curving with fear. “Filling me up.”

She makes a quiet sound of pleasure and intrigue in the back of her throat, before she’s planting another kiss to your lips, then—

Oh, gods.

“Open up for me,” she murmurs, thighs parting above you as she crawls to be above your face. “Let me feel that sweet tongue of yours again. She always makes me cum so well.”

Rhys presses in a little deeper, just so his head is inside your warm heat, pushing a whine from your lips.

Your mouth opens for her, tongue pressing over your lower lip so she can glide over you with ease, swipe her clit over the rough wetness of the hot muscle. She moans at the sight, lips lifting into a distinctly Feyre-like grin, “good girl.” Before her things widen, and she sinks down onto your mouth.

Tears roll back into the cloth that’s coating the altar as she uses you for her pleasure. Rhysand’s hips drag back, then push in roughly, shoving you further up the stone. Feyre winds over your mouth, finding her pleasure on your tongue.

“Go on,” she goads, sweetly. As if she isn’t degrading you to just a toy for her to put her cunt on. “Start licking. Like you mean it, too.”

The wet muscle flicks out and starts licking at her heat, just as Rhys picks up the pace, graduating from rough pushes to heavy poundings, slamming himself into your pussy until he’s buried to the hilt, creating a bump in your tummy.

Your High Lord groans, his hand splaying across the bulge in your abdomen, pressing down lightly as he fucks you into the sacred stone. “Such a lovely, warm cunt, huh?” He drawls, free hand gripping your hip. “Perfectly snug fit,” he snarls softly, “like you were made for us.”

Feyre whines as you suckle her clit, knowing well what types of sensations get her heating up, winding that coil tighter so she can soak your mouth. Your tongue pushes at her entrance, and she grinds against your face, hands playing with your nipples, pinching and flicking lightly while your own hands grip her thighs.

Rhys thumbs at your clit, drawing an embarrassing whimper from your throat. They both moan in response, Feyre tightening over your lips, needing to come on your tongue, needing to have her sex fluttering from your mouth.

His cock touches all those lovely spots, kissing and dragging over them, the slight curve enabling him to abuse them over and over, until you’re at the edge again.

“Come on, sweet thing,” the High Lady hums, grinding her hips over you, clit swiping over your tongue, sinking her entrance onto your nose as you suckle the sensitive bud. “Make me cum, won’t you? Make it so I’m coating your face, yeah?” She moans, and you cry beneath her.

Rhysand continues pounding into you, and with the feel of him inside your heat, the pad of his thumb playing with your clit, and her fingers on your nipples…you shatter.

Whines and moans spill from your lips, hips bucking wildly, trying to keep up with him while he slams into your cunt over and over until you’re being send scattering into overstimulation. He twitches inside of you, just as Feyre cries out, the liquid of her release spilling into your mouth just as Rhys does the same into your cunt.

You cry at the pleasure, white robe still adorning your skin, though it’s crumpled and wrinkled now. Fourth finger burning beneath the brand of the sapphire wedding band. Skin tingling where the bargain ink marks your skin.

Feyre moans loudly, the sweet sounds of her pleasure bouncing off the temple walls as she squirts, splashing over you as your eyes squeeze shut, continuing your attack to her sensitive, puffy clit, nipping at it whenever you can.

Hot spurts of Rhysand’s cum spill into you, both his hands gripping your hips to keep himself as deep as possible. “Such a good, well-behaved cunt,” he drawls, thumb swiping over your taut bud, muscles jerking at the sensation. “Think she’ll drink all of that up, huh? Keep it nice and deep? All tucked away like the greedy thing she is?”

More tears fall at the demeaning words, but there’s no time for sorrows as he pinches your clit tightly, making you flinch. “You’re forgetting part of your services, little lynx,” he purrs, making you whimper into her heat.

Reluctantly, holding back more tears, you manage to lift your shaky legs, bending at the knee so you can cross them round his hips, like you would normally do with whichever was between your legs that occasion. He groans with pleasure as you tighten your hold on him, keeping his cock deep inside your cunt.

The two of them lean forward, meeting above you as they taste one another, Feyre’s hips rock over your mouth, easing out her aftershocks while Rhys grinds himself against your heat, the tip of his cock dragging over that sensitive spot repeatedly.

You can’t stand the way they now touch you, with possessive ownership. Soft pathways trace onto your skin beneath their fingertips, as if stroking a pet to sleep.

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

Feysand Taglist: @girlmadeofavocados @zara-aliza

[littlest-w01f]

RHYSAND MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

All my Rhysand works and WIP (not in order)

Best Medication (Rhysand x Medic reader) {smut}

Summary: Rhysand is sick after accidentally scenting a mineral in one of the caves of the Illyrian mountains, he desperately needs Reader's help

Rita's (Feysand x Bartender Reader) {smut}

Summary: Feyre is drunk, and the barmaid who opened her and her husband's tab that night looks sexier with every shot. Rhysand is more than willing to aid her drunken fantasy

Jester (mini-series) [Rhysand x Lesser Fae!OC]

Summary: Rhysand found himself in The Middle after turning High Lord, he met a lesser fae there, the kind his parents warned him about, and centuries later he finds her again

part one

Decors Starfall week (Rhysand x Reader)

Summary: Rhysand needs Reader's first Starfall with him to be perfect

Devine (mini-series) [Batboys x CoN!OC]

Summary: Rhysand is getting older, and he, along with his general and spymaster, needs to claim an Omega before his Alpha instincts take control of him completely and he is rendered unfit to be a High Lord, lucky or unluckily for him, Kier has an idea.

part one

Home Starfall week (Rhysand x Evelyn)

Summary: Under the Mountian, Evelyn sees Rhysand for the dimmed star he had become for the first time

Deserve (Feysand x Reader) {angst}

Summary: Feyre and Rhysand want to go all out to celebrate their first anniversary with Reader but she can't hide her anxiety from them anymore.

Sensitive (Batboys x Reader) {smut}

Summary: Rhysand shows you he and his closest friends aren't put off by blood

Rhysand Appreciation Week 2024

[the-lonelybarricade]

TheLonelyBarricade Feysand Masterlist

All works excluding drabbles are avilable on AO3

🌶️= Smut/Works with explicit content

A Court of Faded Dreams Masterlist🌶️ - acotar rewrite/timetravel fic. (WIP)

Darling, Let's Run 🌶️ - Cat!Rhys and his general trickery (Completed)

As the River Flows Masterlist 🌶️ - Regency Feysand with a magical fated mates twist (completed)

Till Death Do Us Part Masterlist - A slice of life chronicalling the adventures Grim!Rhys and his reluctant wife Feyre (WIP)

Queen of Thieves Masterlist 🌶️ - Con-artist Feyre makes an ill-placed bet with the High Lord of the Night Court (WIP)

Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans Masterlist 🌶️ - Modern AU where Feyre gets pregnant from a one-night stand with a violet eyed stranger (WIP)

We Bleed the Same Masterlist 🌶️ - An acotar retelling where we cut out the feylin love story entirely (WIP)

The Other Side of the Apocalypse 🌶️ - A canonverse AU following human Rhys and Feyre as they journey through all seven courts (WIP)

Canon:

Hate Me If It Helps 🌶️ - Feysand angsty sex pollen fic.

The Most Magnanimous High Lord 🌶️- Rhys gives Feyre a reading lesson

Five Times the Beast Was Subdued (and the One Time It Wasn't) 🌶️ 🌶️ - Part 1 ⟡ Part 2 - Feysand beast form, monsterfucking, breeding kink filth

ACoMaF Wedding Scene - Canon compliant Feysand wedding scene.

The Chains That Bind Us - Feysand are married and Rhysand’s mating bond snaps w/ someone else. 

When The Glass Shatters - Feysand are married and Feyre’s mating bond snaps w/ someone else.

A Conversation At Dawn - Rhys takes a quiet moment to reflect with his mother. 

Just Can't Prove It - Feyre meets a stranger on a flight

All By Design - What if Isaac Hale was Rhys all along?

-

AU:

It’s Nice to Have a Friend  🌶️ - part 1 ⟡ part 2 -  Modern AU best friends to lovers/accidental kiss.

Ten Past Five 🌶️ - plotty Feysand NYE meet cute

Snow on the Beach 🌶️🌶️ - Daddy kink, Feysand join the mile high club

Can’t Keep My Hands to Myself 🌶️🌶️ - Part 1 ⟡ Part 2 - Feysand Sugar Daddy AU 

The Music of the Night 🌶️🌶️- Demon!Rhys visits Feyre in her dreams (dub-con)

Violent Delights 🌶️🌶️ - Feysand vampire smut (dub-con)

Be a Doll, Darling🌶️🌶️ - Feyre's Sex Doll comes to life (dub-con)

Cakes & Cupid - Birthday party meet-cute. (Modern AU)

Scaring Is Caring - Halloween themed meet-cute. (Modern AU)

Arrowmusings B-day Present - Lucien x Rhys x f!reader fluff (Modern AU)

Long Story Short - Feyre gets stood up in a restaurant. (Modern AU)

The Dating Game - Modern fake couple AU. (Modern AU)

The Outlier - part 1 ⟡ part 2 - Timetravel fluff / university AU. (Modern AU)

A Letter Never Sent - Christmas fluff (Modern AU)

Caught Up In You - Rhysand Celebrity AU (Modern AU)

Don't Be a Jerk (It's Christmas) - Coffee Shop Christmas fluff (Modern AU)

Down the Water Well - Eldritch Horror Vibes AU

if you ever think you got it wrong - modern hurt/comfort friends to lovers

Good Morning, Darling - Feysand & baby Nyx fluff 

Behind You - Batboy Snowball fight featuring Nyx

Like An Illyrian - Rhys and baby Nyx fluff

No One Has to Know What We Do - vaguely smutty angst

Every Time I Look at You, It's Like the First Time - Feysand fluffy proposal

Guess I’ll just stumble on home to my cats - Feyre drunk at a party

[ae-neon]

The Rhys x Nesta aesthetic. I had a theory that Rhys actually loved Nesta and saw her more equal than Feyre.

Hello anon

I love that aesthetic and the recent by @/edgarallanhoesposts "Academic Rivals to Lovers" was so chef's kiss.

In the context of canon: Not many people like this pairing for obvious reasons and I don't blame them at all. But once I thought about it, it just seemed like the best way to play out that story.

I joked that sjm literally tried to recreate the Cullens with her inner circle but the similarities are a little glaring at times.

(People love to say Nesta is Rosalie but Mor fits just as well. My Nesta/Mor = Venus/Aphrodite Theory post is floating around somewhere. Mor with Cassian and Azriel with Elain, an almost perfect Cullen dupe)

Except for one

The mind reader and the natural shield.

This was the best part of Bella and Edwards dynamic. It's key to a healthy slow burn and especially to natural character and relationship development.

Other blogs (mainly @/bookishfeylin) have pointed out Feyre's bad communication skills before (and have great Feyre content) which is probably why Feysand went so "smoothly" : Feyre didn't have to grow as a person anymore, she just had to have Rhysand affirm her and guide her thoughts. He basically tells her she's never wrong and shapes this weirdly narcissistic side to her personality.

These "selfish" traits might have existed in small pieces before but one of the biggest points of book 1 was Feyre realising she's wrong about Tamlin, about Prythian and even about Nesta.

To be clear I used "grow as a person" rather than develop as a character because she does change. It's just not a very good change. Which is fine if that's what the story is about or what the narrative means to do but we know SJM thought she was cookin

She was not. And it started with the fact that Feyre was literally not meant for Rhysand until sjm decided to switch teams in the last 5 minutes. And no amount of retconning could overcome that key thing. Otherwise Feyre would have had Nesta's power. But she can't because then book 1 doesn't work at all.

I'm not saying Nesta was meant for Rhysand.

I personally think she was meant for Lucien and that a lot of Lucien's character went to Rhys rather than Cassian.

Book 2 and 3 Rhysand and book 1 Lucien both have the gentleman bastard things going for them. They both have complicated and tragic family backstories.

Hell, Lucien literally has the physical scar to show his rebellion against Amarantha while Rhysand has the emotional scars.

But I digress:

But it is interesting that in book 1 she is introduced with the key factor of a steel mind able to block Fae abilities and he's introduced as a mind reader and manipulator.

As SJM herself plagiarized "Like calls to Like?" Or Whatever

This power isn't an Archeron trait. It's exclusively a Nesta thing. And it's never actually explained.

Again, I'm not saying they were ever gonna be romantic partners - maybe Nesta was supposed to play a key role in defeating Rhysand (a la KoH) if he had remained the villain ???? Who knows.

But I do know that I find the idea of Nesta and Rhys pretty compelling because not only is Nesta sharp and clever and unflinchingly stubborn (plus literally raised to fit in somewhere dangerous like the CoN without being made to act like sex slave) - she also counters the one thing that makes Rhysand really dangerous, forces him to always step it up and gets a rile out of him.

She isn't just his equal.

Given time to understand and control her power, she's easily much more powerful. And that's how you even out a dynamic from "victim to lover" to "enemies/rivals to lovers"

Which is why sjm trying to Tame the Shrew with Cassian was never gonna work.

[whisplion]

Feysand x CoN/Hewen City Reader Headcanons

Been throwing some ideas around with @we-were-beautiful about this story.

Mc is a priestess in the Hewen City.

Her family tries to sell her into a marriage and she refuses

Between this whole ordeal she ends up in the custody of Rhys who keeps her in the Moonstone Palace.

She is weary of him and he is weary of her.

Mc has never met the feared High Lord before only glimpsed him once when she was four. Her only memories of that day was how terrified she was to be in the same room as him as his power rattled the room. It is also the same year he went UTM and wiped all memories of his IC from anyone’s memory.

To be so young and to have someone cleave through her mind was traumatizing.

She feels strongly on equality for the females in the Hewen City.

From a young age she despises the IC for their constantly awful treatment of her people. While she knows many of them stick to the old ways and many are heartless. Others are not and wish for peace between their ruler and his subjects. Things will never get better if communication is cut off and it’s rulers give up. Things change. People change.

Mc cries the first time she sees sunlight and feels it’s warmth.

It takes time for anyone to feel the bond.

Elain is actually the first person to get through to her.

Mc eventually starts exploring the palace with a constant shadow of course who ends up being Gwyn surprisingly. She took up the task as her own exposure training to start leaving the library.

She devours the books in the library pouring over any information she could get on the outside world.

The first time Feyre comes to see her she is hesitant but allows her High Lady to accompany her in the palace. They rarely speak but unlike Rhysand, she notices a much softer aura to Feyre It’s authority but nurturing.

It’s not hard to notice that Feyre seems a bit skittish around her. She just assumed it was because of her being from the Hewen City and they still weren’t sure of her intentions.

Mc’s magic is a rather unusual one with her being able to create thorny vines and plants while bending them to her will.

Rhys is the person who is the hardest to let in. Especially after seeing him in a certain light for many years.

It’s when he comes to her seeking some advice on how to handle a situation within the Hewen City that things begin to change.

[potatoplace]

Mastermind - Part 2

Dark!Feysand x Reader

Part 1 | ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Story Summary: Your friend of a few months, Feyre, invited you out for a celebratory drink over your new job, and of course her husband Rhys joins you. The night doesn't go quite as planned, and you end up back at their place with very few wits about you.

Warnings: non-con, abduction, being kept prisoner, smut, drug use (pot)

Words: ~5k

Author's Note: it's here! Feyre... you live in my head rent free so often... also this is just like a purely self indulgent fic at this point, I think it'll be a mini-series. Please read the warnings!

18+ only pls

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

You woke up with a headache and a confusing ache between your legs.

Your bed was comfier than usual, and so, so warm. Almost like you had a heated blanket going. You mouth cracked open into a yawn, and you stretched your limbs as far as you could-

Which wasn't far.

Both your legs and arms bumped into something solid and warm, surrounding you on both sides.

Your eyes flew open, very, very confused when you saw your friend Feyre laying to your right, and her husband Rhys on your left and-

You're naked.

Completely bare between the two of them, with absolutely no memory of how you got there. Your face flushed with heat.

God, what have I done?

Your tried to wiggle your way out from between the two of them, but one of Rhys's arms merely locked tighter around you, pulling you further against him.

He's naked. You could feel him hardening against you already as he stirred slightly, burying his face in your hair.

You struggled slightly, trying to move away from him, he's your friend's husband for crying out loud.

"What's wrong, sweetness?" Feyre's sleep heavy voice asked from your right. Her hand moved up your thigh and over your stomach, coming to rest between your breasts.

You pushed her hand off of you. "I'm so confused right now, Fey, why are Rhys and I naked? I should go," you said, moving to sit up, but Feyre's hand shot out to keep you down, and between her and Rhys you were powerless to move.

"You're never going to leave us again, darling," Feyre said, wiggling closer to you and pressing her body against yours- she was naked as well.

What the fuck did I do last night?

"Feyre, let me up," you demanded, doing your best to get her hand off of you, but in your struggle you must have woken Rhys up.

"Is there a problem, ladies?" His sultry voice sent shivers down your spine. Your always found it attractive, but now? Trapped between him and your best friend? You wanted nothing more than to bolt out of their apartment and back to yours and never come back out.

"Rhysie, she's trying to leave," Feyre said poutily, hand rubbing circles onto your stomach.

"And why would our sweet little kitten want to leave, hmm?" He asked, lips finding your neck and pressing soft kisses along the expanse of it. "You were so happy last night, sweet thing, what changed?"

You shook your head- this was wrong, all of this was wrong. And Rhys's lips had brought to your attention something wrapped around your neck snugly.

"This isn't right, I can't even remember what happened last night," you said, tears leaking from your eyes now, and you brought a hand up to your throat, fingering the fabric on your neck. Is it leather? Is it-

"You put a collar on me?" You asked, disbelief in your voice as your fingers attempted to tear the item from your body.

"I figured you might freak out, sweetness," Feyre tutted from beside you, a hand raising your grasp both of yours. "You're ours now, Y/N, you just need a little help realizing that. That's what the cute little collar is for, just to keep you from running away like the silly little kitten I think you might be." Feyre's voice was soft but condescending as she explained it to you, but you were still so lost.

"I don't understand, Fey," you cried, attempting to pull your body out of their embraces. "We're friends, you're married. This isn't okay."

Rhys shushed you, running his hands over your hair. "We might be married, but you're the secret missing piece we've been looking for, kitten. From the moment Feyre introduced me to you, I knew what she meant when she said she had to have you. Neither of us can resist how absolutely sweet and lovely you are." You went to open your mouth to protest, but Feyre's mouth covered yours in a heated kiss. "You'll realize just how much you can't resist us either, soon," Rhys added when he felt you involuntarily relax into Feyre's dominating hold over you.

"As for the not remembering last night..." Feyre started when she finally pulled away from claiming your mouth. "I think I know the perfect way to fix that," she said with a smirk, already moving down below the blankets and between your thighs.

"Feyre stop," you pleaded. "I don't want this, I want to go home," you cried, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

"Really?" Feyre asked with a smirk, dragging a finger through your folds and collecting the wetness that had pooled there. "Because this sweet little pussy says otherwise."

Tears fell from your eyes faster, shame welling within you as Feyre sucked her finger clean, closing her eyes as she did so. Feyre lowered her mouth to your sex in the next moment, not wasting any time in working you up to your breaking point.

You were still so sensitive from whatever they had done to you last night, and with Feyre’s tongue working your clit like magic you could hardly keep yourself still, even as Rhys pinned down your torso. One of his hands was fondling your breast and keeping you in the bed while the other ran through your hair and kept your face tilted towards Feyre.

You could see her face well again, now that the blanket had slid further down the bed while you twitched and writhed in their hold and against the pleasure Feyre was giving you. Her eyes were locked on your face, taking in every detail as you got closer and closer to the brink with every delicious swipe of her tongue.

To you it was wrong, all wrong. You didn’t want to be reacting, to even be warming their bed at all, yet you were trapped here as the couple worked you into your first orgasm of the morning against your will.

The strangled moan that left your throat was enough to have Feyre smirking up at you from between your thighs.

“See? You love us, and what we can give you. And we love you, Y/N.”

“No you don’t, Feyre, this isn’t love,” you cried softly, too tired and ashamed to put up much of fight anymore.

“It is, darling. We love you,” Rhys reiterated, peppering your neck and face with kisses as if to prove his point. “Now, will you let us feed you? I imagine you’re hungry after all the work we did last night,” he said with a dirty grin, two fingers pinching your right nipple.

Feyre began to move back up the bed and you took the opportunity to roll to your right into the spot that she had occupied while the three of you slept. Feyre sighed.

“Rhys, you can go take a shower and then start breakfast, okay? I’ll get this one into the shower after a little more… persuasion,” Feyre said in a disappointed tone.

Rhys chuckled, but got up from the bed anyway and walked into the bathroom. “Tell me pancakes or waffles after I come back out, darling.”

Feyre’s hands were pulling your back against her front snugly, allowing no room for you to escape the soft press of her body. Once you’d calmed a bit, she let one of her hands snake down between your thighs, gathering a bit of wetness from your center and then rubbing quick circles on your clit.

So sensitive. Her deft fingers brought you to completion twice in the time it took Rhys to finish showering and enter the room for his clothing.

You were a whimpering mess by the time he rounded to the side of the bed you were facing, leaning into Feyre’s embrace as she forced you closer and closer to a third orgasm in such rapid succession.

“I see, you’re just more comfortable with Feyre, hmm?” Rhys asked as he pulled your lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. “I guess I’ll just have to spend every waking second of the next week getting you used to me,” Rhys said with a smile before heading to leave the room.

“Pancakes,” Feyre told him, right as her fingers brought you to your fourth orgasm of the morning.

“Got it, darling. Make sure to actually get her in the shower, okay?”

Feyre’s merely lowered her lips to the left side of your neck, sucking a pair of dark, claiming marks over the spaces that Rhys had left unmarked.

Your breathy, contented sigh shocked you so thoroughly you jerked from Feyre’s hold finally and landed on the carpeting.

“Oh, sweetness, still afraid of liking us?” Feyre asked amusedly, bringing herself to the edge of the bed. “Don’t worry, you’ll get over that in a couple of days, I think. Unless you decide to be a brat and fight your fate which, I might add, is useless. Rhys and I love you, Y/N.”

You shook your head at her words. “This is wrong, Feyre, you know it’s wrong. You can’t just keep me here,” you said indignantly, getting up from the floor on shaky legs and attempting to cover yourself with your arms.

“Why not?”

You scoffed. “Because, Feyre, I am a human being and not a pet. I have a life and people that care about me, you can’t just abduct me and get away with it!”

“People that care about you? You have me, Y/N. Your family is mostly dead and the ones that are alive, you don’t talk to! And you even told me that I’m the first friend you made in Velaris, you belong with me. You have belonged to me ever since I first saw you in that coffee shop.”

“What about my job? I have a job, Feyre, they will be worried when I don’t actually start in a few days,” you told her desperately, hoping for any shred of the kindness you’d thought your friend had possessed before today to shine through.

“At the marketing firm? Rhys owns it, sweetie, his cousin Mor manages it. She already knows that you won’t be starting, you have a much better life set up for you now.”

You stared at her in shock. Had everything about your life recently been one big set up?

"What did you do Feyre?" You asked her, despair lacing your tone. If she was telling the truth, then there was no way out of this for you. And-

Oh my god. Your apartment here. Feyre had recommended it.

"I didn't do anything, Y/N. I suggested the job at the marketing firm because you were working yourself to the bone at that coffee shop, dear. I couldn't stand to see you suffer," Feyre explained, prowling across the room to stand in front of you. You were backed against the corner of the room now, with nowhere to go. "And I suggested the apartment here because we have good security, and I've seen the way your regulars would look at you, like they were just waiting to snatch you when the opportunity presented itself." One of Feyre's hands comes up to cup your face, following you as you turned away, still finding its mark. She turned your face back to look at her, and her eyes held such a fiercely protective look, you almost couldn't get your next words out.

"How are you any better than them?" You asked quietly, instantly taking note of how her eyes darkened with anger. "You snatched me away, Feyre, not any of those men. So how are you-"

Feyre surged forward, cutting your words off by slotting her mouth over yours. The kiss was harsh, claiming as she pulled your naked body against hers even as you struggled and tried to pull away.

"I love you, Y/N. And I would never, ever hurt you..." Feyre trailed off as her fingers played with your hair once you'd stopped fighting her. You opened your mouth to refute that claim, but she started speaking before you could. "I am not hurting you, sweetness. You simply don't know what is best for you right now, and sometimes we just need to be shown the right path." You went to argue again- "Now, if you don't shower with me, you won't be given any clothes to wear for the next week," Feyre said with finality.

Fight her, continue to feel disgusting in the off chance that she doesn't still force you to shower, and have no clothes for a whole seven days, or don't fight her, deal with it this once, and have clothes.

You didn't fight as Feyre steered you by the shoulders into their grand bathroom, stopping by the large triple sink counter. She carefully removed the collar from your neck with some type of key, then led you straight into the massive shower that had four huge, separate shower heads- one on each of the three walls, and one overhead.

You turned around right as Feyre started the shower, turning on just the three wall spouts. Water hit you from three sides, and Feyre came at you from the remaining one.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" Feyre asked softly as she ran her hands over your body, passing over your nipples far more times than you felt was necessary. You shook your head. All that you could vaguely remember was getting to the bar Feyre had suggested. “That’s too bad, sweetness. You were very eager last night,” she said with a smile, and your cheeks flushed. “Don’t worry, at some point you’ll be able to admit to yourself how much you want us. For now we’ll just keep reminding you how much we want you.”

Feyre gently tipped your head back to wet your hair, taking her time to get it soaked in the warm spray. Her nails scratched lightly along your scalp, and you nearly sighed at the soft gesture.

This is not the same friend you’ve known all these months, you reminded yourself.

Before today, you would have never guessed you would be taking a shower with Feyre. A small part of you had maybe dreamed about it, but never would you have thought it would become a reality. Especially with the added element of you being forced.

Still, you couldn’t help but relax into Feyre’s gentle grasp and she shampooed your hair, then rinsed the lather from it, being careful to not get any suds in your eyes. The shampoo smelled just like the one you used before all of this happened. Strange. When Feyre began putting a thick conditioner in your hair, you realized it.

They don’t just smell like the products you use at home, they are the products you use at home.

Your accusatory glare hit Feyre once she was done rubbing the conditioner in.

“What?” Feyre asked innocently as she wet her own hair.

“Why do you know what products I use?”

Feyre smiled. “I pay attention, dear. I wanted to make the transition as comfortable as possible for you, so I got everything I could think of that you use regularly. Now, will you help me wash my hair?”

You didn’t move.

“Pleaaase, Y/N?” Feyre asked again, a pouty look on her face now, one that you were rarely able to resist.

“Fine. Which bottles?” You conceded, grabbing the shampoo bottle she pointed to and squeezing some out into the palm of your hand. You lathered it up, then set to working it through Feyre’s thick, golden brown hair. When you rinsed her hair, you wanted to let soap run into her eyes, but couldn’t let yourself for some reason. You repeated the process of working the conditioner through Feyre’s hair, and once you were done she turned around to fade you again.

“Time to rinse yours, cutie,” Feyre said, already tipping your head back into the water to rid your hair of conditioner. Again, her nails scraped along your scalp gently, just enough to get your body to relax more. When she finished, she grabbed a cloth and loaded it with body wash, one that smelled of lilacs and pears- very Feyre. Feyre soaped up your body slowly, lingering in the sensitive areas as long as she could before you started to fight her hold again. She helped you rinse off, then extended the cloth to you. “Do me?”

You shook your head. No. “I already washed your hair, Feyre, just let me get out please.”

Feyre sighed, and started washing her body. “You can’t get out yet, you still need to wash your face. I’d suggest it after last night,” Feyre said with a wink, and your stomach churned.

You don’t really want to know what that comment was about. But you wash and exfoliate your face nonetheless, using the identical products to those you had before, finishing just as Feyre was done washing her own face.

She turned the water off, and grabbed two fluffy towels off of the rack for the both of you. She wrapped one around herself, then patted you dry, taking her time to get every inch of skin and dry your hair as much as she could before she dried herself off.

Feyre went to the sink closest to the shower, and you spotted all of your skincare and hair care products lined up attractively behind the middle sink. Feyre was already doing her routine as you examined the bottles and jars, picking out what you wanted to use.

At least they’re giving you something normal.

Once the two of you had finished, Feyre locked the collar back onto your neck, then pulled you back into their bedroom, the massive bed lurking in your vision no matter where you turned. Feyre grabbed two sets of clothing, pulling on her own outfit. First was a lacy black set of lingerie that looked flawless on her, then a pair of black leggings, a rich brown sweater, and slippers.

She then forced you to let her dress you, slipping a pair of blush pink panties up your legs to settle snugly on your hips, and a matching colored bralette over your breasts, which she had for once refrained from squeezing. Your arms were lifted above your head to let a soft pink, long sleeved peasant dress fall over your body, and you were instructed to sit to allow Feyre to put white knee high socks onto your legs and slip your feet into cute pink slipper booties. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as Feyre dragged you out of the bedroom. You look cute, if you had to describe the outfit. It’s similar enough to the style you wear on your off time, though everything seems to be made of higher quality materials than what you were able to afford.

The door to the bedroom led to a short hallway, which Feyre led you to the open end of, coming out in the living room. The two of you walked to dining table, near the far end of the open concept room. There was already a good amount of food on the table, and Rhys was just walking away from the stove with a large plate of pancakes in hand, a large smile spreading across his face when he spotted the both of you.

“And I was just thinking I might have to come and get you girls,” he said with a grin. “Come and sit down, breakfast is ready.”

Rhys pulled out a chair for you, pushing you in once you’d sat down and repeated the gesture with Feyre, who was sitting to your left. Rhys then took the seat to your right at the head of the table and began piling food onto your plate. A couple of sausages, pieces of bacon, chunks of cut up melon, and of course pancakes.

You didn’t think you could eat.

If you had woken up in a separate bed this morning, all of this would feel normal enough. Feyre and Rhys had let you stay over once before, and the following morning had a breakfast similar to this.

But everything had changed, you weren’t here because your friends were kind and invited you, you were here because they had trapped you here. You had a collar wrapped around your neck, that alone would be reason enough for you to want to leave.

“Eat up, darling,” Rhys said as he moved on to plating his own food.

You stayed still, staring down at the food that had your stomach turning.

Feyre’s elbow nudged you gently, and you instinctively looked to your left.

“Go ahead and eat, Y/N,” Feyre said gently. When you still didn’t move, she sighed. “Not eating won’t do anything for you, sweetness. Have just one of everything, please,” she begged, using her soft eyes that were so hard to resist.

So, even with your stomach protesting, you lifted a bite of pancake to your mouth, chewing and swallowing but tasting nothing. Maybe if you play along for a little bit, they’ll let their guard down and you can escape.

Feyre and Rhys chatted about their jobs as the three of you ate- Feyre about her studio, and Rhys about the various businesses under the Night Corporation umbrella. You choked down each bite of food, doing your best to keep attention off of you.

A phone ringing cut through their chatter, and Feyre sighed as she picked it up.

“What?” She asked, annoyance clear in her tone. “Can’t you deal with it? I have something important today,” Feyre said, shooting a smile your way. The person on the other end replied with something that made Feyre groan. “Fine, I’ll be there in a half hour.”

Feyre dropped her phone onto the table and ran her hands over her eyes. “Well, I have to go into the studio, apparently the art class has taken a drastic turn that only I can fix,” Feyre whined. “Will you be okay here with just Rhys, sweetness?”

You raised a brow at her. “As though I have a choice?”

Rhys chuckled at your words. “That’s true, Fey, she’s stuck with me for the day. I’ll take good care of her, don’t worry.” Dread pooled in your stomach at his words. You don’t want to know what type of ‘care’ he has in mind.

Feyre was still staring at you, like she wanted to say something, then looked away when she stood up. “I shouldn’t be gone more than an hour, but I’ll text you to let you know if there’s anything that will hold me up,” she remarked as she placed a kiss on Rhys’s cheek, and one on yours as well. “Love you guys!” Feyre said as she was walking out of the door, purse in hand.

“Love you darling!”

In the silence that followed the door slamming shut, the dread in your stomach grew.

“So, would you like a little tour?” Rhys asked, already stacking your breakfast plates together.

You stared at him. “A tour?”

Rhys smiled. “Yes, darling, a tour. You need to know your way around now that you’re living here. And don’t say no, this is mandatory,” he added when you shook your head.

He placed the dishes in the sink before smoking back to the table, pull in out your chair and extending a hand to help you stand. You ignore it, standing on your own, which made Rhys sigh.

“Right this way, darling,” Rhys said, pulling you by the hand back towards the hallway containing their bedroom. You dug your feet into the ground, unwilling to enter the bedroom with him. Rhys stopped walking and turned to face you. “What’s the problem, doll?”

“I am not going to take this sham of a ‘tour’ if it just means that you’re going to rape me.”

Rhys’s eyes softened at your words, and he pulled you into a hug even as your tried to resist his hold. “Oh, darling. You won’t have to worry about that. I won’t fuck you until you are begging for my cock.”

“Like that will ever happen,” you spat, finally wrenching yourself free of his grasp.

“Oh, it will,” Rhys said assuredly, smirking down at you. “Now, will you let me give you the tour?”

You sighed, but did feel mildly better knowing that he supposedly wouldn’t be forcing himself on you. “Fine."

He continued to lead you back down the hallway their their bedroom resided, but stopped at the doorway opposite it. He swung it open, and gestured for you to walk inside. When you did, your jaw dropped.

It’s as though they had gone into your mind and plucked your perfect bedroom out of it just to recreate it here. The walls were in a soft, dusty pink color with a pale cream ceiling. There was fluffy pink carpet on the floor, looking so soft and squishy you wanted to be barefoot on it. At the far end of the room was a large canopy bed, decorated in hues of pink and purple, with a mound of pillows against the wall. There was a dresser and large closet off to the left, and on the right there was a small sitting area gathered around a table with a tv on it, your favorite consoles already lined up and plugged in, along with stacks and stacks of your favorite games. There was even a cute pink mini fridge and little snack shelf, all filled with your favorites.

“Do you like it?” Rhys asked hesitantly from his place in the doorway.

“Do I-?” You stopped to laugh. “Do I like it? It’s like the two of your read my mind. How?”

Rhys’s cheeks colored slightly as he met your eyes. “Feyre had the idea to look through your Pinterest, and you had a board dedicated to your dream room, so she worked tirelessly to get this ready for you.”

The thought and effort would have been sweet- were they not keeping you here against your will.

You just sighed and shook your head. “Is there more to the tour?”

Rhys nodded and grabbed you by the hand once more. He showed you around to the various guest rooms, the guest bathroom, then to Feyre’s home studio and his office, and finally you were back to the living room. The two of you were stood in front of the couches, looking out at their pool and massive patio.

“Do you want to play a game together?” Rhys asked, gesturing to the double TV and console set up in front of you. “We can play whatever you want, you can even play alone,” he offered.

Strangely, this request put you at ease even more than him saying he wouldn’t fuck you. Almost like it confirmed that the Rhys you had known was still in there, just… different. Darker.

“I don’t know…”

“We could smoke a joint,” Rhys said in a sing-songy voice, having grabbed one out of a box on the coffee table. “Or two. Or three. Just something to help you get your mind of things, maybe?”

The offer was tempting. You could pretend like you were just hanging out at your friends’ house and playing a video game with him.

“Sure, why not?”

The feeling of smoke filling your lungs calmed you down, settling you into a sleepy state where you weren’t thinking about the situation and how fucked up it is, just the passing flow of the river of your thoughts. You and Rhys shared two joints together on the patio, passing it between puffs.

“You know that Feyre cares about you, right?” Rhys asked as he took the second lit joint from you. You exhaled the smoke from your mouth, watching as it was whipped away by the wind.

“I don’t know that I would call this,” you gestured around you and at the collar, “caring about me.”

Rhys sighed. “But it is, Y/N. I know we went about it in a twisted way, but Feyre and I truly want you to be happy and safe. And before you ask, no, I won’t let you go. Just give us some time, you’ll come see how nice your life can be here and how much we care about you.”

You took the joint back from him with a pout, annoyed with him now. Sure, they care about me enough to steal me away and lock me up, but not enough to let me make the choice myself.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Rhys laughed sadly. “No, you don’t. But giving us a chance will make this much more enjoyable for you.”

You took another long drag before passing the joint back to Rhys’s waiting fingers.

“Will you… would you convince Feyre to not… touch me until I’m begging?” You asked hopefully, knowing that that day would never come now.

Rhys eyed you carefully. “I can talk to her about that, if it would make you feel more at ease around us darling."

A weight was lifted off your chest at his confirmation that he would wrangle Feyre in. He let you take the last drag before putting the joint out, and followed you back into the living room.

“Do you have Minecraft?” You asked hopefully, wanting to dick around and maybe build a cute house.

“Of course, darling,” Rhys said, booting up the TVs and consoles, passing a pink controller to you.

Within a couple of minutes, the two of you were as focused on the blocky game as you could be, your minds covered in a weed soaked haze.

Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff (let me know if you want to stay on the taglist for the mini series!)

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark! Feysand x Human! Reader: Tag, You’re It[***]

A/N: I have no words for how much I love this ask

Summary: eenie, meenie, miny, mo, catch a lady by her toes, if she screams don’t let her go.

Warnings: Non-con, smut, breeding kink, mean Dom!Rhys, dark!Feysand, mentions of rape, slight predator play, slight necrophilia (cut off fingers), mentions of torture, 7.5k words

Necrophilia part follows from: ‘He’ll never put his hands on you again.

Well…’

“I—…what?”

The High Lady stiffens at your shocked tone. Almost horrified. Besides her, Rhysand’s eyes sharpen, piercing into you. She sucks in a calming breath. “We can get rid of your husband, you won’t have to live here anymore. With him.”

Your lips part in shock, both of their eyes following so keenly that you snap your mouth shut. “I love my husband,” you utter. “And this home is one we built together.” Silver lines your eyes as you try to summon anger but all you feel is betrayal. “I understand it’s nowhere near your level of wealth,” you flush, eyes hot, “but my husband and my house are both very dear to me. I will not leave them.”

“Just give us a chance,” Feyre whispers, gently, reaching to settle her palm over yours but you jerk back. Pain flashes through her grey-blue eyes before she smothers it. “No!” You keep your hand close to your chest, leaning away from her in the chair. “I’ve told you very clearly, High Lady—” Feyre stills at the title, in replace of her name, “—I love my husband, and he loves me. We’ve grown together throughout the years and there’s no one I would be happier to spend my life with. Besides,” you add, voice quieting as your eyes pierce into the female’s, “we’ve decided to try for a child. By this time next year I will have a baby to look after.”

She actually flinches at the line. A reminder of how fae bodies take longer to reproduce, how slim the chances are. A private worry she had confided in you, many moons ago. The High Lord’s eyes narrow, thinking about all the ways he could make you submit to them. Rhysand watches as you raise from your chair, tension rippling across his chest as you move to the door. It would be so easy to sink into your mind, slide through your mental shields and force you to your knees.

But his mate is still young and would not approve of his darker methods. He needs to find a way around the obstacle of morality, and quickly. Before you leave and things begin to get messy. Who would’ve guessed you’d be so loyal to your scummy husband? Anger burns across his chest at the thought alone. How you could put up with the man was beyond him. He knew the two of them would treat you infinitely better than he ever could. You just needed your eyes opened, to see their side.

The High Lord is brought out of his mind when Feyre stands from her chair, striding after you on her elegantly fae legs, swallowing the distance. Her movements are sharp, precise. No soft edges to be found. Her mind is hardened and he sends a question across the bond. It rebounds off a wall of glittering, black adamant, so pure his talons hardly leave a scratch.

Her hands land on your hips and you flinch when she spins you around, shoving you against the unopened door. “It wasn’t a request,” her words are lethally soft, warmth freezing over as ice slices through her eyes. “I was giving you an order.” Then her hands pin you to to the exit, holding you still by the sweep of your bones, and her mouth crushes down on your own.

You completely freeze, caught in the crossfire as you still. Your mind blanks with utter terror as she forces her tongue between your lips, tasting you as she growls. The sound has your hairs standing on end, tingling sensitivity erupting across your skin as her mouth overlaps your own.

The High Lord’s eyes widen, shock coursing through his blood as he watches, enraptured. His mate keeps you against the door, taking what she wants. Then she’s pulling back, a silver thread of saliva connecting your lips as you stare up at her. “Rhys,” she commands, and you’re paralysed as the male stands, exuding malice as he prowls forward, settling at her back. He towers over the both of you, and his violet eyes gleam with dark delight.

“Yes, my lady?” He drawls, hands settling at her waist, hunching over as he settles his chin on the elegant slope of her shoulder. Both of their hungry eyes remain on you, pinning you to the door like an insect to a dissection table. “Bedroom. Now.” Her voice cuts through the air, like a freshly forged blade through a narrow sheet of ice.

He presses a kiss to the space below her jaw, hands dancing over the lace at her sides. Violet eyes pierce into you before he vanishes, wisped away in a plume of shadows. Your eyes turn to the female’s, afraid, “Feyre—”

“‘Feyre’, now.” Her expression is stony, blue-grey eyes thunderous. “I thought you were content to address me as High Lady,” she spits out. You cower before her, power straining in the air, the metallic tinge shoving itself up your nostrils.

You swallow, raising your hands slowly in surrender, “I swear, I didn’t mean to offend—”

Her hand grips you jaw and you cry out, her nails biting into the soft skin of your cheek, “don’t back out now,” she croons, “you said what you wanted to. Chose your path.” Silver lines your eyes as terror screams in your blood. Her lips brush over yours as she leans down, eyes hard and unforgiving, “you dug your grave, now lie in it.”

Her lips once again crash over yours and you cry out, tears free-falling from your eyes, pouring down your cheeks as you try to scream. One hand snakes around your hip, keeping you still with her overwhelming strength. Her other snakes between your legs, fingers dancing through the fabric of your skirts, settling against your bare heat. She completely dominates your mouth, even as you thrash, her teeth nipping at your lips, tongue conquering your own as she shoves you into submission.

A growl rumbles across her breastbone as she feels wetness at your entrance. The heel of her palm rubs over your clit as you try to scream for her to stop, to get away from you. Two of her fingers dip into your cunt and you cry harder, writhing against her grip even if it’s utterly useless to attempt to escape her. She’s brilliantly, powerfully fae, and you’re undeniably, detrimentally human.

Your hands slide away from trying to shove her off, instead scraping at the door. If you can just find the handle—

The wood gives way behind you, allowing you to stumble back, crashing to the floor as your legs give out. She’s silhouetted in the frame, unusually tall, proportions too elongated to pass as human. Sharp talons protrude from her fingertips, glinting in the light. She snarls, and all it takes is that first step across the threshold that has you scrambling to your feet, sprinting down the hallways. An animal growl echoes along the corridor behind you, bouncing off the walls as your feet pound against the floor boards.

You swerve left, careen right, hit the stairs. You practically leap down them as you hear her following after you. Her steps are slow, leisurely, but you hear the menacing scrape of claws along wallpaper. It grates on your ears and you’re surprised you don’t trip with how weak your legs feel.

You fling a door open, dashing inside as you search for the final set of stairs to lead you down to the ground floor. It’s another hallway. There’s no time. You sprint down it, feeling the pressure of power in the air as she gains on you. You nearly trip on a rug but keep your balance, zipping down the corridors until you find a set of stairs. They only lead up.

Her footsteps echo on the dark mahogany floors, the deep red rugs doing nothing to soften their harsh thud. She’s practically behind you.

You take the stairs three at a time, breathing hard as you turn right at the top, searching for a place to hide. You run down more corridors with dark floorboards, more hallways with red rugs. Shit. You must’ve gotten turned around. Were you even on the first floor?

Where are you, little traitor?

The High Lady’s voice slices through your mind and you clutch your temples, the sound much too loud. It must mean she’s close. Fuck. You stumble along the narrowing hallways, but trip, sprawling on the floor. Pushing up, you see the loom of her shadow around the corner, lurking just out of sight. You turn on your heel, arms pumping at your sides, heart pounding in your chest.

You round a final corner and you know you can’t continue for much longer. Your throw open a door, spinning on your heel as you make sure to shut it as quietly as possible. You can’t hear it over the thunderous beat of your heart. In your peripherals, you can see your hands shaking as you release the handle, backing up on your tiptoes.

Powerful arms slide around your waist, pulling you tight against a strong chest, “there you are, little lynx.” You scream, pushing away from him as you turn. A vicious grin plays on his hellish mouth, stalking forward until you’re cornered against the wall. Your lungs are burning as you again reach for the handle, but it’s gone.

Disbelievingly, you stare at the flat wood, no sign to be found it was ever there. “What did you do?” You stammer, tears brimming at your eyes as his grin widens. “I didn’t do a single thing. That was all her.” You shrink away from him as he leans down, arms wrapping around your middle, the broad length of his shoulder pressing against your stomach.

Screams tear from your lips as he hoists you into the air with casual ease. You don’t weigh a thing to him. “Let me go!” You cry, slamming your hands into his back, aiming either side of his spine. He flings you down atop a wide mattress. Your marital bed, you realise. “Please, Rhys. My husband! What of my life!?” Your desperate pleas fall on deaf ears as his grin widens with pleasure.

“Keep still,” he drawls, arms folding over his powerful chest and you can’t find the will to move. It’s been taken from you. “I’m sure she’ll be along in a moment to decide what to do with you.” Tears blur your vision, and a moment later, the door swings open. A shiver licks up the High Lord’s spine as he sets his gaze on his mate, who is thrumming with dark power. Embracing the Night.

You scramble back on the bed, up to the headboard, pressing into the corner as she prowls across the room. Her talons glitter in the fading light, the room awash with blues and greys as darkness descends. “You want to make this difficult, little traitor?” She spits, standing at the end of the mattress. You shake your head, mouth trembling as your hands shake.

The grey-blue of her eyes shutter at your answer. “Come here.” One slim finger points to the spot directly in front of her. You swallow, tremors wracking your muscles but you manage to sporadically push forward. Maybe you should listen to her, get her out of that cold, wrathful state. Hands settling shakily into the sheets, you crawl forward, stopping before her as you sit back on your calves, kneeling placatingly.

“Rhys,” she addresses, never taking her cold eyes from you, “sit down.” He follows her orders, taking one of the comfortable armchairs facing the bed. He sprawls across the seat as if it’s a throne, long legs crossing over one another as he settles for the show.

Feyre’s claws retract, hand fisting in your hair sternly. “Eyes on me.” Instantly, you return you gaze to her, and her grip lessens. “Will you be good for me?” The question slices through your tender threads of hope. Your lower lip wobbles, but you nod. You just need an opening. Maybe you can throw yourself out the window.

The High Lady’s eyes pierce into you, staring deep into your soul. “Kiss me,” she commands, and you still.

“W—…what?”

“Prove you’ll be good. Kiss me. Show me you mean it.” Her brow narrows, “unless you’re lying.”

“Fey—” She glowers at the pet name you’ve had for her. “Feyre. Please.” Your hands raise to settle on her hips, holding her in reverent supplication, bowing your head, appealing to the friend you’d once had. “Maybe, if my husband could—”

She snarls, cutting you off as she jerks your head upright. “That useless sack of meat doesn’t deserve you.” You swallow down your tears at the way she speaks about the man you love, heart stinging, wishing he could be here to hold you. You were so close to your happy ever after. “But if he could just come with me! Then…then maybe…” You meet her gaze heart sinking. “You can have me.”

A thunderous growl resonates throughout the dark room and you try to shrink from her, hands pulling away as if stung. “The next time you mention him, I’ll kill him myself.” Despair wracks your heart, shuddering within its boney cage. You fling your arms around her in a last effort to summon forward the gentle friend you’d had, your closest companion, the one who you had thought you’d listen to above anyone else. Her word had been law unto you, until she’d changed.

“Please, Fey,” you sob weakly, shuddering in her arms. She stiffens under your touch, finally feeling your skin against hers as she’d dreamt about for so long. She can feel the rise and fall of your chest, the full press of your breasts against her own, the soft tickle of breath over her shoulder as your arms grip her tightly. As if you’re scared to let go of her. “I know you’re in there…” Hot droplets land on the bare expanse of her shoulder, pooling in the dip of her collar bone. “So please, come back to me. I miss you so much. Come back, Fey…”

Her hands brace your waist, gently pulling you from her. You settle back onto your knees, hands flat against her neck, just below her jaw as you look at her with dim hopefulness. You watch as her eyes glaze, in discussion with her mate. When she speaks, her voice has softened, something of her old kindness lighting the icy grey of her eyes. “Why do you love him?”

Tears spill as hope lights in your chest. “He completes me, Fey. Like how you say Rhys completes you. I can’t—…without him, I… I wouldn’t be me, Fey. He makes me whole.” You look up at her with pleading eyes, her own softening just a fraction. “It’ll pass,” she soothes, hand landing atop your head with a feather-light touch, stroking your hair calmingly.

“What…?”

Sadness lies in the depth of her dark gaze, “you’ll recover from him. Like I did from Tamlin. You’ll get better. My sweet girl…just let us help you.” The spark dims, snuffed out by her words. Then the torrent of emotions rain down on you as your hands fist in the collar of her low cut dress, pulling yourself up until you’re chest to chest. “How would you feel, Feyre?” You shout at her, tears pouring down your cheeks as you feel like you’re being cleaved in two. “What would you do if someone tried to take you away from Rhys? How would you feel if they tried to force you like you’re doing to me?”

“Why have one when they could have both?” She murmurs, looking deep into your eyes. You shake your head as her own hands slide adoringly up your sides, cupping your jaw. “No…that’s not… You’re not listening to me!”

“I drink in every word you give me, treasure every moment of your company in the chambers of my memory,” she breathes over your lips. You’re sucked into her mind, swallowed as she shows you yourself through her eyes. When you and your husband were struggling badly and you’d broken down, crying and shaking in her arms. When she’d tried to leave you alone on your birthday, thinking you’d want to share it with the man you claimed to love. Yet you had snuck out - after dark - to her own mansion in the human lands, where you knew she had made the journey to in order to at least be around to celebrate.

Her memories swarmed your mind, tainting the once dear images with a sinister gleam, a lurking presence waiting for the right moment to pounce.

The High Lady sees that same look in your eyes as the night you’d confessed to skipping meals to ration food over the harsh winter, the despair. The doubt you’d survive. She doesn’t want to hurt you, but she knows you’ll be better away from him. You just need the bandage ripped off, like what Rhys had done for her when he’d saved her from the Spring Court. She’d been dissonant at first, but had come back to life under his care.

And they could do the same for you. Nurture and guide you until you were healed of your husband’s marks. Until you wouldn’t question a lone grave dug in your back garden in the house you would leave behind. For them. They could keep you as you are, take you into their home, welcome you to their bed. She knows it will take a while, months perhaps for you to come to terms, to understand the past, but the time will come. Second by agonising second.

“But he loves me, Fey. I can’t leave him behind. He’s my husband.”

She doesn’t remind you of the threat she’s made. Of the promise she will now fulfil.

“I love you!” She snarls, pressing her forehead against your own. “We…Both of us. Rhys and I…we love you so much it hurts.” You stare up at her with wide eyes, stunned. Your head shakes subtly, trying to deny her. “We do, sweet girl,” she agonises, “you’re everything to us. The sun, the moon, all the stars. They’re nothing to you. Our Court, our people, our realm. We would pick you over them a hundred— forever.”

“No…” you whimper, hands going slack at your sides.

“We’ll take care of you. You’ll never be without a meal. Never sleep alone at night. Never worry you won’t survive a season ever again. We can be your stability. Just let us have you.”

“Fey…”

She pulls you to her mouth, swallowing down your pained whimpers as she drinks you down. Her hand twines around your waist, pulling your middle against hers. Your hands settle just above her chest, weakly pushing away from her.

She comes back harder, making you lean back in her arms, allowing her to splay you out on your own marital bed. When she pulls away, you’re panting, heart pounding. Through teary eyes you peer up at her, “you can’t do this, Fey…” you whimper, voice cracking, “you’re supposed to be my friend… You’re not supposed to…use me, like this.”

“We’re not going to use you, sweet girl,” she breathes over your lips, “we’re going to love you.” You shake your head frantically, attempting to pull away from her treacherous mouth, “but I don’t want that!”

“You will… You just need to understand. See how much better we can treat you. You’ll be bathing in pleasure before you know it. You’ll never want to leave our bed.”

You move to protest but a scent catches your attention, deep and musky. The High Lady’s eyes glaze, pausing as she speaks to her mate. You take the precious seconds to prepare yourself for the inevitable. They’re going to take you. On your marriage bed. You bite the inside of your lip, trying to prevent the tears.

Her eyes regain their life, sadness in their depths. “I’m sorry it had to happen this way.” Her lips brush against yours, a shudder slithering down your spine that she misinterprets. Her nose brushes you own in what’s supposed to be an affectionate gesture.

The High Lord raises from his chair. He’s seen enough. Now it’s time to partake.

You stiffen as he prowls closer, eyes widening as you stare up at the female. “You’re not…” you trail off, looking at her, stunned. “You’re going to let him rape me?”

Her eyes soften slightly. “We love you, sweet girl. It’s not rape.”

“My husband loves me, and yet he—!” Your eyes snap wide, hands slapping over your mouth as you freeze, terror icing your veins as they both still. “I didn’t— that—… I’m sorry…”

“He did what?” Fury sluices through the room as it blazes in her cold eyes. Their lips pull back from their teeth, rage burning in the air. You shake your head desperately, trying to swallow back the words you’ve already spat out. Talons slice from her fingernails as her canines sharpen, pupils slitting with pure outrage.

“I’m going to slaughter him,” she realises, breathing the violent words onto your lips. You flinch. “No…” you whimper, “Fey, you don’t understand…! He was drunk! He didn’t know what he was doing!” You cry. The High Lady moves to pull away from you but your arms grip over her shoulders, legs clasping around her waist. She just pulls you with her as she stands. Feyre barely even registers your weight as she steps away from the bed.

Your thighs squeeze her hips as you try not to fall, burying your face into her hair. “It was only once…he didn’t mean to. I know he didn’t. I don’t think he even remembers it.” Her body stiffens as you cry into her shoulder. Like you’ve done so many times before. And it feels familiar. A warm breath of summer air in the depths of a Winter Court snowstorm.

But your confession plays over and over again in her mind, a curse on repeat. “Rhys,” she murmurs, summoning her mate. They exchange glances, coming to an agreement. Strong arms sneak around your waist, holding your back to his chest as Feyre steps from your arms. Panic tears through you as you struggle against his iron grip. “No!” You rasp, voice breaking, “you mustn’t! You can’t kill him!”

She plants a kiss to your forehead, brushing away free strands of hair. “I’ll be back. Rhys’ll look after you,” she murmurs against your mouth and you cry. “I don’t want him! I don’t want either of you! I want my husband!”

“Don’t say that,” the male speaks from behind you, making you jump in his arms, “you want us to be gentle, don’t you?” The High Lady snarls, shooting him a threatening look. You can practically feel the smirk on his hellish mouth.

“If you hurt her…” Feyre snarls, and for a second, you think you see part of the old her shining through. Then the High Lord presses a placating kiss to your cheek, soothing his mate. “Now, do you want to deal with him, or should I?” He spits, and you know who they’re talking about. You attempt to crawl out of his arms but his head dips again, littering kisses to the slope of your neck.

You whine as you try to scrabble away, out of his dominating hold, desperately trying to escape the invasive press of something hard at your lower back. His hips roll against yours and a startled whimper that sounds a bit too much like a moan flies from your lips. Both of them still. You can feel their penetrating gazes piercing into you, willing you to repeat the sound for them. They’ve gotten a taste, now they want more.

The High Lady steps forward, cupping your jaw as she affectionately lays kisses to your cheeks and nose, as if kissing invisible dots. “Rhys’ going to take care of you while I’m gone. Okay, sweet girl?” You look at her pleadingly. “Please…” your heart pumps as you feel him twitch at the whimper. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone with him.”

Feyre kisses the bridge of your nose comfortingly. “He won’t be mean to you, sweetness. Just try to get along and everything will be fine. He won’t hurt you.” Tears spill down your cheeks as you try to grab for her. It’s a no-brainer to pick her over the High Lord who’s been ruling for centuries. You have no doubt he has near depthless experience in breaking those he views as heretics, bending them to his will.

Despite everything, Feyre still holds an modicum of safety to her person. Rhysand seems to view morality as a loose guideline if it gets in the way of what he wants. And right now, he wants you.

She puts a kiss to your lips and - praying to the mother for forgiveness - you kiss her back, desperately trying to sway her mind so she’ll stay. She moans, but pulls away, leaving your mouth cold. “I’ll be back to join before you know it. But for now,” her eyes turn ice blue, jaw tightening, “I’m going to deal with that man.”

And like that, she vanishes, leaving you alone with the monster at your back. He noses at your throat scenting you, picking up on something he likes. “That was mean, little lynx,” he mutters begrudgingly beside your ear. You shudder, and he forcefully guides you back to the bed. Rhysand pushes you forward, making you tumble down onto the mattress, bent over.

Frantically, your hands scramble for purchase, attempting to wriggle away from him but his large hands grip your hips. “Rhys…” you whimper into the sheets, too afraid to look at him. A deep groan resonates in his chest, grabbing you tight as he lifts you onto the bed, forcefully enough that your arms give out, sticking your ass in the air. You move to lift your upper half from the bed, but something prevents you—a dark power that laces around your muscle and bone, threading narrowly through cartilage.

You’re stuck, face pressing into the sheets, hind perking up.

Hairs raise all across your body as his fingers trail up your calves, catching on the material of your dress as he eases it up over the backs of your thighs. You struggled when he pushes it over your ass, revealing the thin slip of material that clings desperately to your hips.

“Rhysand…” you weep into the mattress. You don’t even know what you’re trying. If Fey hadn’t budged, there’s no way you could convince him. He shushes you—surprisingly gently. Horridly so. He shifts behind you on the bed, and you feel the invasive press of something between you—

“Rhys!” You scream. His hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, pulling you back against his face as he inhales. “Rhys! Stop that!” You cry, hips wiggling as you attempt to squirm away from him. His grip only tightens, and a soundless scream tears from your throat as he hooks his fae fingers beneath your underwear, pulling it away. Then he’s pressing straight back in, nose flush against your slick hole, mouth prone to attack your clit. It flicks out, gently, testing you out.

You feel the serpentine grin on his hellish mouth, before his lips part over you, groaning as his silver-tipped tongue gilds your glossy cunt.

Shame and mortification thrill inside of you at how quickly he has you unravelling on him. Tears wet the sheets, hot and salty. He moans at your taste, finally raising from between your legs, only to mount you like a whore.

A new wave of terror splits down your throat as you feel him against your ass. One powerful arm loops around your middle, the other snaking beneath your jaw so he can brush his words over your mouth. “That wasn’t so bad, was it, little lynx?” He lifts you so you’re on your hands and knees, back curving in an attempt to relieve the press of his skin anywhere from your body.

The High Lord’s grip tightens on your jaw, and you’re worried he’ll fracture the bone. “That damned husband of yours ever treated this cunt so good?” You don’t even try to move, fearful he’ll snap something. You wince as his grip strengthens, and panic floods your body. You attempt to squirm free of his grip, but your ass ends up pushing back into his hips, a growl sounding in his chest at the action.

“That desperate to have her treated well, huh?”

You swallow, jerking away from him. He releases you suddenly, chuckling to himself as you fall forward into the bed. Immediately, you’re rolling onto your back, scrambling up the bed to get away from him. The High Lord prowls after you, cornering you when your back presses against the wall, slotting himself between your thighs. He’s so much larger than your human form, deadly power writhing in the dark halo of shadow that surrounds him.

“Come on,” he chides, cupping your jaw as you squeeze your eyes shut, blocking him out any way you can. He makes a noise of displeasure, before his soft, cruel mouth lands over your own. A whimper slides from your throat as he nips at your lips, tongue flicking out carefully. You try not to thing about what that flavour is. “Open up for me.”

With a shake of your head, the tears fall and you feel the hot, wet trace of his tongue dancing over your cheek, lapping up the salty paths. When he reaches the damp underside of your lashes, you flinch away, peering up at him. “There you go,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the cleft of your cheek. “Stop struggling, and this will all be so much more enjoyable for you.”

Your lower lip trembles, but you say nothing. You’ve used up all your pleading words, all your exploring supplications. There’s no way to appeal to them, they’ve set their minds of you. Maybe you should just give up, as they say. Just let them have you. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad…

You hiss as you suck in a breath, realising what he was doing. Before he could fully grasp your mind, you spat at him, aiming just below his violet eye. It widened, staring at you in vague shock. He lifted one hand to his cheek, thumb swiping at the saliva as he wiped it away. The trembling swallowed your whole body as his eyes turned back to you, filled with cold violence. No more warmth. No more gentleness.

Good.

You could go down swinging.

A snarl thundered throughout the room as shadows engulfed the bed, obscuring your vision. You screamed when his mouth opened over your throat, viciously biting at the junction of your neck and shoulder. His teeth scrape over your clavicle, menacingly. His hands wrap beneath your ass, tugging you toward him as you’re manoeuvred into his lap, still rendered blind.

Through the darkness, you try to shove at him, at least pierce him with your nails. Maybe if you could find his eyes, you could dig into them. The menacing click of talons could be heard through the shadows, and you nearly froze with petrifaction as the glittering claws sliced, slowly, down your spine. The material of your clothes peel away the further he splits them. A ripping sound comes from behind you and you know it’s the last of your dress being shredded as he pushes it from your body.

Your hands find his shoulders and you raise them to his jaw, nails biting down into his skin, one thumb catching beneath his upper lip—and you nearly slice yourself on his canines. He snarls, and then you’re lifted from his lap, only to be pushed back down.

You scream bloody murder as his cock glides into you easily. You writhe and thrash against him, but every movement causes him to shift inside of you, making your inner muscles flex. He forces you down into the mattress, large hands tipped with glittering talons pinning you painfully. “You were rather cruel to my mate earlier, weren’t you, little lynx?” Rhysand drawls, tone dripping with malevolent vengeance. “Gloating how easily your human body can sustain life?” You whimper at the reminder. “I didn’t mean it,” you sniffle, eyes burning, “it wasn’t supposed to come out like that.”

“Uh, uh, uh. You said what you said, little liar. You know it upsets her, how slim our chances are, as High Fae.” You hiss as he draws his hips back, rolling them against yours. “So how about I put a baby in you instead, huh?”

————

Every second away from you is another second of torture, but she calms herself by scratching the itch. Her talons are glittering with blood, his eyes plucked clean out, mouth petrified into an eternal scream, a wound in his ribs surrounded by shredded flesh where his heart had been pulled from the cage of bone. His fingers are tucked away in the pocket of her pants.

It made her feel a little better, that he’d never lay a hand on you again.

Still.

She’d been gone too long, enjoying herself too much in tearing the man apart with her fae strength, and had forgotten you’d been left with her mate. The High Lady hisses in frustration. She’d wanted to be there, take part in the first time either of them got to touch you… But she’d had to. She wouldn’t have been able to enjoy you, otherwise, knowing such pain still haunted you.

Feyre would get answers out of you later, about why you hadn’t told her when it had happened. The Mother knows she would have whisked you away faster than winnowing. How long has you been keeping that from her? She grinds her teeth, spitting at the corpse, before leaving him in the chair. For later.

With a fraction of a thought, she’s cleaned the grin from her skin, talons retracting into smoothly padded fingers, slim and delicate. Perfect for you. She winnows to the top of your house, stood just outside, where she pauses for a moment. From inside she can hear the distinctive, pleading whimper of your voice, coupled with soft groans from her mate. The corpse is forgotten, her hand snaking between her legs as she listens.

When she opens the door, fierce arousal smacks her in the face, overpowering from being locked up in this room for so long. The High Lady’s mouth waters as she takes the sight in. Rhysand is tucked beneath you, strong, finely muscled arms set lightly over your hips, brushing over your waist. You’re spread over him, sitting tightly in his lap, chest to chest, your legs splayed out behind him. You’re completely at his mercy, unable to lift or move, just cling to him as he rolls his hips in an erotic lullaby of groans.

“Come on,” he whispers beside your ear, “be my good girl, yeah?” Your hips shift, back curving, breasts dragging over his chest. “Take it,” he implores, quietly, the soft caress of a lover’s voice. You try to bury your face in his neck, hiding from the world, but he doesn’t let you. His hand fists in your hair, tugging you backward, chidingly. His grip changes to your jaw, lifting your eyes to his. “You were so eager before. What happened? Too much?” He taunts, mouth brushing over yours and she watches as a shiver spider walks down your spine. The High Lady takes a step forward and your eyes loll to hers, rimmed with wet lashes.

Shakily, you reach out a hand to her. “Feyre…” you wail, lower lip trembling. “Make him stop…” Rhys’ hips buck and you slump into him, hand dropping as he lets you collapse into the strong lines. His hand brushes affectionately over your hair, soothingly as he basks in the hot wetness of drool spilling from the corner of your mouth onto his skin.

The High Lady coos, moving closer, leaning over to look at you. Your eyes are a little puffy, lips nipped raw, gaze glazed while your chin glistens with… heat licks between her thighs. Rhysand’s been having a lot of fun with you. Your stomach is gleaming with cum, and when he lifts you from his cock, slamming you back down, she sees the creamy ring circling base of his cock. Release has long since stained the sheets beneath you and she wonders how much longer you’ll last with your human strength.

Your head tips back, baring your throat as you flutter around his cock, tears dripping from your sore eyes. How many times has he made you come? On his thigh? On his fingers? His mouth, his cock? You’re on the verge of oblivion, yearning desperately to be swept away from the torment.

“Rhys,” she scolds, softly, helping you to lie back as he draws his hips back, pulling out. He shoots her a wicked grin, “just warming her up for you.” She shoots him a glare before her eyes settle on you. More the thick and constant leak of cum seeping out of your hole. Just how full had he gotten you?

Detecting the direction of her eyes, Rhys smirks, “we thought an apology was in order for how she spoke to you.” His attention returns to your bruised body, making you shrink away, attempting to scuttle up the mattress, but you’re so sensitive. So tired, and worn out.

Feyre raises a brow in silent question. He grins, prowling forward until he’s caging you in. With each movement you make to get away from him, your inner muscles flex, pushing small waves of come from your hole. Rhys tuts, three fingers pushing into you, tucking the creamy liquid back inside of you. “Why don’t you let Feyre what we were doing, hm?” Your lower lip trembles, but you answer obediently, too scared of what he’ll do should you fight back. “Wanted…wanted to put a baby in me.” You whimper, feeling the drag of his fingers against your inner walls. His thumb rubs gently over your puffy clit, making you whine. She wants to be the one drawing those sounds from you.

It’s her turn to play with you. Rhys’ had you to himself this whole time, while she doesn’t even know what you taste like.

“Rhysand.” She barks, drawing his attention. He knows he’s in trouble, but he offers a sinful grin none the less. “I think you deserve a break, don’t you?” She growls possessively, noting how your eyes warm to her with twisted gratitude. His eyes spark with anticipation, waiting to see what she’ll do with you.

Reluctantly, he moves away from you, leaning against one of the broad bed posts. Feyre’s attention switches to you as she coos, crawling onto the bed, ignoring the creamy stains decorating the sheets. Even if she wants nothing more to lap at them. “Was he being mean to you, sweetness?” She murmurs, lifting you into a sitting position as you hiss. She can tell just from looking to your eyes that your mind is muddled, either from Rhysand fucking you dumb for the past hours or from being tampered with. Either way, she’s not too bothered, if it works in her favour.

You nod with weary eyes, looking up at her with lost hopefulness. “Want me to help you feel better, hm? He was so rough with you, wasn’t he?” You latched onto her at the first sign of sympathy, nodding desperately. She kisses your lash line, “it’s going to be okay now. I’m going to take care of you. You want that?” Your lower lip wobbles as you nod.

She plants a kiss to your nipped lips, before descending between your legs. At first you squirm, hating the idea of having more between your thighs, but she pushes them open firmly. You whimper as her hot breath caresses your slick heat, puffy clit already aching. But when her mouth attaches to you, it’s soft and wet. No teeth to be found, just the gentle tug of tips and the soothing lap of her tongue. Slowly, you stop trying to shut your legs on her, thighs even opening a little wider.

Feyre indulges you, moving so affectionately over your pussy, lapping up the release that’s steadily leaking from your hole, even as she feels Rhys huffing in the back of her mind. “Does that feel better, sweet thing?” She questions, settling a kiss just below your clit, her nose bumping the sensitive nub. “…yeah.” She laughs softly, pulling away from your cunt as she crawls back up over you.

“Did Rhys use your pretty mouth?” She asks, and heat flushes your salty cheeks. You shake your head, tears welling, brimming at the edges. She smiles gently, “I’ll take that first, between us, then.” More tears fall but you nod, obedient. Fearing what will happen should you disobey. She’s being so gentle with you, and you don’t think you can stand another round of Rhysand’s games.

The High Lady swings a leg over your head, hovering above your mouth. The smell of her pussy is overpowering, making you go dizzy. Oh so gently, her arms loop beneath the small of your back, pulling you upward until her back is straight. The tops of your thighs settle seamlessly over her shoulders, baring your heat to her as if you’ve been served on a tray.

“Oh, sweet, sweet girl,” she breathes, pushing her nose to your entrance and inhaling deeply, like the High Lord had done. She seats herself on your mouth, and you can instantly feel how wet she is. You whimper. Her hips roll in response. “Come on, sweetness,” she encourages, “or should I let Rhys join?” Your tongue darts out, licking along to her centre. She moans, happily, basking in the feeling. “Perfect little thing.”

Feyre returns her mouth to your cunt, and for a while, you think you can cope. You think the worst of it has passed. Rhys isn’t able to touch you any time soon. At least, not while Feyre’s keeping him where he is, though you wonder how long that’ll last.

Her mouth disconnects from your cunt, and you almost whine in protest. “I did some thinking,” she murmurs, drawing your attention. “Your husband…” You can tell she still angry even at the mention of him. She takes in a deep breath, before delivering a small lap over your clit, as if to remind her that you are hers now. He’ll never put his hands on you again.

Well…

“I thought you might like to be with him one more time…” Your stomach drops. She reaches into her pocket, pulling out your husbands fingers, cloaked in magic. Even Rhys’ breath catches, before it’s exhaled in a quiet moan. “So I took the liberty of bringing parts of him to you, since he’s now incapacitated.” Pain lances in your chest, and Rhys blankets your mind to keep it from shattering. Dulling the information.

Her hips wind over you, slightly demandingly. “I think I’m being very kind, sweet thing. Show your gratitude.” You’re more or less unaware of what’s about to happen, following her commands brainlessly. He’s keeping you just to the surface of consciousness. Enough to give you breath, but not enough to escape.

Your mouth reattaches to her sex, even if a small part of you screams against it.

She presses the tip of something against your entrance, and you whine, hips bucking upward. She laughs softly, “you don’t even know what I’m doing to you, do you?” She pushes it all the way in, and Rhys’ hand fists around his cock. An open mouthed moan is released onto her pussy at the feeling of the slight, phallic object.

“Oh well done, sweet thing. Taking all of it, aren’t you? So good.” Her mouth reattaches to your cunt, and you release a pleasured moan that you can no longer contain. How did things get so messy? They were your friends. You could trust them. Yet here you are, with Feyre mounted atop your face, Rhys having already had his turn with stimulating your body.

She moans against your clit, lips kissing up and down your heat as she drinks you in until your fluttering on her mouth. Her tongue was a joyous reprieve from the High Lord, pleasuring you enough to gently spin you over that high, but not enough to throw you off the edge to crash down.

You’re swimming in pleasure, so overstimulated, so worn out, that it takes them a while to notice you’ve passed out. When they do, they stop—albeit reluctantly.

Feyre settles beside you, tucking both of you beneath the covers as her arms encase you, leaving her mate to clean up the mess. When he does, he crawls in beside you, his arms pulling both his female’s close to him. His wings materialise, wrapping over the both of you, concealing their crime from the world as they keep you slotted between them. Quiet, peaceful breaths puff from your lips as your human body recovers from the events.

They litter kisses over your exposed skin while you sleep, one for every star they see you in.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

[tadpolesonalgae]

Are you up to write something for poly!feysand x reader? Maybe a little darker.

I found your account recently and I'm obsessed with everything you wrote.

A Court of Nightmares!Feysand x reader: Beg for It[***]

A/N: Pretty filth, as promised. Also thank you so much for this ask, I was elevated to a higher plane while writing this 😭💖

Summary: The High Lord overhears your treasonous thoughts and decides to have his High Lady help with your punishment.

Warnings: Dub-con, humiliation, degradation, pussy eating (reader receiving), oral (m!receiving), threesome fmf, edging?,

The cold granite always sucks the warmth from the room. In spite of the terracotta rug you have on the hewn floor, and the paprika infused bedcovers, everything’s grey. Having to live here day after day after day after day, it sucks your life away from you before you even get a chance to live it. Simply wasting away beneath the rock of the mountain.

And yet the High Lord and Lady come and go as they please. They’re free to travel the land in ways you’ll never be permitted to. Hatred burns beneath your skin, resentment bitter in your mouth.

Your head is yanked back, sharply, a slim arm curling around your waist as a female body presses into you. You’re paralysed, completely taken out of your own control as you freeze. “Hello there, little traitor.” A shiver zaps down your spine at the cruelly lilting tone of the High Lady. What was she doing here?

A laugh rings from her dark painted lips, the sound empty and cold, “don’t panic,” she drawls, nails biting into your sides as her canines nip at your ear, “or maybe do, considering those treasonous thoughts you were practically screaming at us in the feasting hall.” Dread coils in your lower belly, solidifying into terror.

She laughs again as she scents your fear, nosing at the soft skin of your neck. “Not so aggressive now, are you?” She croons, hand releasing your hair to curl around your throat, “come on, where’d all that fight go?” She yields a seed of control, allowing your words to return.

You grit your jaw, the muscles trembling. You know what she’s capable of with those daemati abilities. You feel it as her lips slice into a wicked grin over the pulse point of your neck. “Silence isn’t going to cut it, little traitor. I suggest you start answering before I loose my temper.”

Terror thrums through your blood, singing for you to run, screaming at you to submit to escape whatever she has planned. You swallow, “damn you to hel.” The words come out as a rasp beneath the squeeze of her fingertips, sharp claw-like nails biting into your skin.

With powers you can only dream of, she drags your bedside table until it presses against your hips, forcing you to lean over roughly. “You brought this on yourself, pretty liar. Remember that when you’re screaming for us to stop.” Her hands forcefully push you down onto the desk, bending you over and your body complies, wilfully following her cold commands as she shoves your skirts up.

Her breasts press into your back as she leans into you, squishing you between her own lean body and the table. One hand slips beneath your waist, snaking between your legs as she cups you. You take in a sharp breath, freezing in shock at the invasion. Her canines nip against your neck as she opens her mouth over the sensitive skin, “scared, little traitor?” Her nimble fingers push further between your legs, her middle and forefinger pressing at your entrance as silver lines your eyes.

“There exist a multitude of methods to torture without resorting to violence,” she croons, “surely you’re aware of that.” You swallow, balling your hands into fists, thinking of every year you’ve spent trapped beneath the rock, kept from the outside. You grit your teeth, making a choice, “I’ve been kept beneath this mountain my entire life while you’re free to travel as you please,” you snarl, “I understand well enough.”

The sharp talons jutting from her fingertips dig into the bare skin of your inner thigh, making you hiss. “I wouldn’t want to make this any worse for yourself, pretty liar,” she purrs, hand dipping beneath your flimsy slip of fabric, fingers locating your clit effortlessly.

You’re surprised by her bold moves, and by the shock of pleasure that flows from your nerve endings. You jolt, dropping onto the table, forearms bracing you as you inhale sharply; exhale heavily. She laughs wickedly, “I didn’t expect you to crumble so easily,” she croons, circling the sensitive area repeatedly. “Who would’ve thought,” she drawls, “and after all that heat of hating us for being able to leave at our pleasure.”

Her hands leave you and you seize the chance to scramble for your composure. That is, until she kneels behind you, tendrils of darkness wrapping up your thighs and lower back to keep you tied to the table. You gasp when her thumbs gently pull at the soft, wet skin around your entrance, spreading you wider. Hot embarrassment flushes your cheeks, “what the hel are you doing?”

She laughs darkly from behind you, thumbing at your sopping hole, “No guesses? I’m sure I’d be delighted to hear your ideas.” Your thighs tremble as you have to lean more heavily on the desk, frantically attempting to close your legs. “How do you even know if I have an appetite for females?” You pant, trying desperately to force a growl into your voice, to no avail.

“I don’t,” she laughs, the soft breath brushing over your inner thighs with how close she is, “this is torture, remember?” Her tongue sweeps over your entrance and your arms almost give out then and there. You revel in the way the hot, wet muscle drags over you, how she laps so intently. “Don’t you think it’s unbecoming of a High Lady to lower herself like this?” You manage to pant through the mind clouding pleasure that’s thrumming through your body, lighting your sensing with flame.

She nips at your clit and a moan escapes you. Your palm smacks across your mouth the second after but it’s too late. “You seem to certainly be enjoying how I’m lowering myself.” Her tongue pushes against your entrance and you dig your nails into the desk desperately.

“You want to come, little traitor?” She drawls, lapping up your cunt, pressing against the swell of your now puffy clit. “Come on,” she croons, “as your High Lady, you belong to me. Every part of you. Every breath, every touch, every orgasm. It’s mine.”

“I believe you’re my High Lady, Feyre Darling.”

You freeze. Even the female behind you stops. Then she’s rising from her kneeling position, arms lacing around your waist possessively, one hand snaking to your jaw, forcing you to watch as the High Lord prowls into the room.

“Which means all of that,” he emphasises as his cold, violet eyes burn into you, “is also mine.” Behind you, you can feel the exact moment her body looses its tension, muscles melting as his words slither over her, becoming soft and pliable.

Pure malevolence drips from him as he stalks forward, power thrumming in the air of your bedchambers, pushing into every nook and corner. “Surely you remember how to share,” he purrs, eyes on his mate. Despite not being able to see her, you’re sure her lips have split into a wicked grin. “Just warming our girl up,” she drawls, hand snaking again beneath your skirts; between your thighs.

Utter mortification paralyses your body as her fingers slip through your wetness, pulling away as she shows the High Lord how you’ve slicked her fingers. He cocks his head, a gleam in those violent eyes, a hellish smirk curving the edges of his mouth. He moves forward, lethally quiet, until he’s just before the table. Then he’s raising his High Lady’s fingers to his mouth, lapping at the slick coating them. Your mouth drops open at the act, petrified to your spot as his eyes flick to your own, a sinful grin glittering over his mouth.

His hand grips your jaw, tugging you against the table as his nails bite into your cheeks, “want to know how you taste, little lynx?” You don’t have time to protest as he lowers his mouth to yours, tongue licking and lapping over and into you as his teeth nip at your lower lip, dragging in it. He shoves his way inside, dominating in a way only possible for those born into terrifying power, and you can taste the distinctive flavour of arousal coating his tongue. “Like that?” He drawls, noting the hot flush on your cheeks.

You’re hardly able to speak as Feyre’s mouth opens over your neck, making you gasp, ravishing the sensitive skin. The High Lord chuckles, grip tightening to bruising as silver lines your eyes from his pain and her pleasure. “I think this punishment is rather fitting, wouldn’t you agree?” He drawls, continuing as if his High Lady’s hand isn’t snaking between your thighs again.

When her fingers land on your clit, you squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to not yield to either of them. The air shifts in the room, becoming heavier; denser. He’s not pleased with your refusal to answer.

The High Lord’s hand leaves your jaw, dropping to attend to himself as he unties the constrictions of his fine clothing. Behind you, Feyre’s dragging down your spine, slowly returning to her original placement. She pushes the fabric of your underwear to the side and you squeak. At the sound, their arousal becomes more prominent to you, invading your senses entirely as she presses her mouth to your inner thigh; teasing.

“Why are you doing this?” You pant, hating how breathless you sounds as you look up at the High Lord from beneath a narrowed brow. He grins maliciously, “because it’s our right. We rule over you. You are part of our property and have no say over what we do to you,” he drawls, one hand fisting in your hair, “isn’t that right, Feyre darling?” At his address, Feyre laughs, finally pressing her mouth over your pussy, enveloping you in the hot, wetness of her mouth.

The High Lord’s brutal touch strengthens as he feels you slipping away, “seems you’re enjoying my lady’s mouth,” he croons, applying a sudden pressure to lower you to the table, bringing you to level with his hips, “shall we see if you can keep up with her?”

You watch in horror - and with almost painful arousal - as he forces your mouth to his cock, pressing the tip just beneath the curve of your lips. “You can choose to do this of your own volition, or you can refuse, and have one of us slip into your mind to open up that pretty mouth,” he grins as a milky sheen wets your lower lip, the slit in his head beading with precum. “So which will it be? Because neither of us are stopping until you learn how to submit.”

Anger and arousal twine together sinfully in your lower belly, both simmering until you can’t differentiate between the two. Your upper lips curls into a snarl, “fuck. You,” you spit. Feyre nips at your clit, a small warning from her end that makes you wince. The High Lord’s grin widens and you can feel the blood drain from your face as dark, glittering talons scratch at your mind, piercing through until he has a firm leash on you.

You’re practically kicked out of your body, shoved to the forefront of your mind so you can only watch and feel as your mouth open, tongue resting on your lower lip as you drag from root to tip. Seconds later you feel a second presence filling your mind, pressing into every space available as the two occupy you.

You deliver small laps to the slit in his head, a groan coming from above you as he forces you through the movements of what he likes. Your nails dig into the table at the insane pressure filling your mind, as thought your skull will split open. Their presences retreat, leaving you grasping at the space of your own mind, returning to your body. ‘The next time you disobey we won’t be so kind.’ The High lord’s voice echoes through you, threat dripping from his words as he jerks at your hair, commanding you to meet his gaze. ‘Now,’ he drawls, grin growing wider, ‘open that mouth for me.’

Shame swarms your body, crawling beneath your skin as violet eyes watch as you part your lips, just as he asked. ‘That’s it,’ he goads, ‘keep behaving and this’ll be over in no time at all.’ The deceptive lilt to his voice tells you he’s lying through his teeth, putting that silver-tipped tongue to work.

‘Let me see, Rhys.’ The High Lady’s voice echoes through your mind, her tongue continuing to lap at your entrance. Her mouth drops down to your clit, oscillating nimbly over and over as the pleasure builds. Rhys’s hand tightens in your hair as he guides his cock into the hot, wetness of your mouth, groaning as he feels your tongue sliding with velvety smoothness beneath him.

An image flashes through your mind - courtesy of the High Lord. It’s from his point of view, with your mouth opened, lips poised to wrap over his cock, tongue positioned to cover your teeth as he pushes in. Your eyes are alight with fire, burning with flame as you hold his dominating gaze. Feyre moans loudly at the image, your own cheeks flushing more with the obscenity.

‘Keep working that pretty mouth of yours, little lynx,’ he calls, smirking wickedly as he pushes you further down, making your eyes squeeze shut as they burn. ‘Working so obediently,’ the High Lady drawls into your mind, her words laced with cruel mockery, ‘working so hard to please her High Lord.’

At her words, the sheer degradation, you feel a coil tighten, heat building in your belly. She laughs as she surely feels it, knows what’s happening to your body as a result of their cruel game. You feel yourself reaching your peak, the way Feyre’s swirling her tongue over your clit has you seeing stars. Yet just as you reach that mind fogging high, sharp black talons squeeze your conscious, suspending you in a state of almost.

A whine escapes your throat, crying onto his cock as the pleasure is taken away from you. The encompassing warmth of Feyre’s mouth leaves you as your eyes flick up to meet the cold violet of the High Lord’s. They’re flecked with cruelty yet heat is clearly roiling in their depths. A need for suffering.

‘Beg for it,’ the High Lord commands, and you really consider it. It’s so good. The way her tongue had been working you mercilessly; the way the High Lord had been using your mouth, releasing those delightful pleasures moans. ‘All you have to do is beg, and you can have it,’ he goads, pulling you from his cock. You flush with heat as the threads of saliva trailing from your mouth to him.

“I think she needs more, Rhys,” Feyre purrs, mouth gliding up the ridge of your spine to nestle at the junction of your shoulder and neck, nosing at the sensitive skin, noting the heavy arousal. “I think we should make her go again.” Her words are coated with cruel passion, her hand dipping down to cup your breasts, making you shrink back into her.

She bites at your ear, “don’t pretend you don’t like it, little traitor. You’re the one on the verge of begging for my mouth.” A soft moan claws its way from your throat as her thumbs graze roughly over your nipples. She looks up at her mate, “I think that’s a yes, don’t you?”

Your eyes widen marginally, turning to look at her as you try to shake your head but her hands are already grasping your hips, pulling you up against her and spinning you around, pinning you against the table. Then her mouth’s on yours, her hands snaking beneath your thighs as she shoves you up onto the table, settling herself between your spread legs as she devours you. Her hands slope down your spine and settle on the swell of your ass while your nails dig into the table in shock at the flavour of yourself on her tongue. So overwhelming.

Behind you, the High Lord groans at the sight. ‘Enjoying, High Lord?’ Feyre drawls, that taunting lilt returning to her voice. ‘It’s not kind to keep her all to yourself, darling.’ Then large, rough hands are gripping your shoulders, pulling you away from her mouth and slamming your back down onto the table, the High Lord grinning down at you as he shoots you an image.

It’s of you, as your are: lips swollen and puffy, glossy with saliva and cum while silver lines your eyes, hazy arousal dancing in their depths while your hair’s haphazardly strewn about. You look completely done for already.

A flush glows over your cheeks as you move to wipe your lips but shadows restrain you. While they’re at it, the loop beneath your thighs, pulling them up so your spread out perfectly for Feyre to daintily tap your clit, repeatedly. This time you do whine, attempting to close your legs at the sensitivity, your back arching.

She leans over you, fingers still perched atop the sensitive bud, “but you were so desperate for my touch moments ago.” She cocks her head, “what happened? Did you get cold feet?” Her thumb presses down on your clog and you shriek, legs attempting to curl beneath her to push away but you can’t. “Stop,” you cry, her thumb oscillating sharply at the sound.

The High Lady pulls away and you watch warily as they move.

Your stomach drops when the switch places.

The High Lord’s hands land roughly on your inner thighs, spreading you further apart, his cock gliding through your messy wetness, bumping your puffy clit. A moan crawls from your throat. Then Feyre’s crawling onto the table, swinging a leg over you as you’re met with her glossy heat, slick coating her thighs as she settles on top of you, just out of reach of your mouth. “Remember, this can end any time you want. All you have to do is plead,” she purrs from above you before she’s spreading her thighs wider, settling down on your face, wetness coating you instantly. She moans loudly, unabashedly, at the feeling, already winding her hips gently.

Between your legs you feel the High Lord shift, his thumb coming to brush over your clit as his tip presses against your entrance, one hand bracing your hip as he pushes in. Your back curves as he stretches you full, delicious, solid warmth pushing at you from within. A moan flies from your mouth and your can’t resist as one of them buries into your mind, forcing your tongue to start moving.

At some point, they leave, but you’re moving on your own, hands latching over the sweep of Feyre’s hips, lapping at the wetness between her thighs, desperate to have her coating your tongue. She moans, hips bucking as they wind over your mouth. Rhys’ thumb speeds up to a pleasurable pace and already that euphoria is building, returning to its original strength as he begins pounding into you.

Moans and groans are falling from your mouths, filling your bed chambers as they use you as they please.

Again, you hit your peak, and again, glittering talons squeeze at your mind, suspending you while they continue their ministrations. Your nails dig into Feyre’s hips but she only moans, grinding against your face more, dying for your tongue to unravel her as she practically fucks herself on you.

The High Lord uses both his hands to bite into your hips, pounding into you while slamming your hips back to meet his, throwing you effortlessly into overstimulation without giving you the overwhelming pleasure to ride it out. It’s just too much.

Your back arches, toes curl, your body automatically bracing to be thrown over the edge yet it never comes. They’re keeping you right on the edge, an ounce of pleasure more and you’d be free falling but you’re kept in your place: beneath them.

Tears spill down your cheeks when you feel Feyre’s finger glide between your thighs, playing with your clit. It’s so much but you can’t give into them. No matter what hel they put you through. No matter how much you enjoy it.

You yelp when Feyre pulls her hand away, tapping your clit harshly, your whole body jerking at the sensitivity. ‘Stop, please,’ you beg across that channel but she continues. ‘Beg for your pleasure. Beg for us to give it to you. It’s ours to decide what to do with,’ Feyre growls into your mind, fingers soothing over the stinging skin.

‘You’re being soft on her,’ a voice snarls, soaked in sin as you feel her hand being pulled away, enough for a moment of relief. ‘Let me.’ His hand smacks down between your legs and you scream, muscles tearing at the darkness binding your legs as pain sings through your body.

He doesn’t stop after just one, he keep going, barely giving you a few seconds to recover before his hand is smacking back down, each one harder and more painful than the last. ‘Fucking beg for me to stop. Try it.’ He taunts, your nails slicing into his mate as she moans louder.

‘Please, stop.’

‘You can better than that.’ He growls.

‘I can’t!’ You cry, ‘please! Please just stop! I can’t do this!’ The stinging stops, and you nearly cry again with relief as Feyre shifts above you.

Rhys sends an image down the line: Feyre sat atop your mouth, his cock pounding into you, his High Lady leaning over as saliva drops from her mouth to perch atop your clit, her fingers rubbing soothingly over your tender sex. ‘Come on, pretty liar,’ she goads, sweetly; menacingly, ‘beg your High Lord and Lady for pleasure.’ You manage to hold back, using the entirety of your will power - what’s left of it - to refuse.

Across the bond, you watch as she grins, ‘unless you want me to let Rhys have his way with you?’ She pulls away, and you feel it as he raises his hand, preparing to smack down.

‘Please!’ You cry out, halting his movements. ‘Please, I’m begging, please don’t. Please give it to me!’ Tears roll down your cheeks as Feyre moans above you, riding your tongue as her high approaches. The High Lord laughs darkly, hands returning to your hips to slam you back against him.

‘Uh-huh? You want us to give you some pleasure? You’re sorry for even thinking about disobeying us?’ The words are painted with malevolence, lethal threat lying beneath them. ‘I’m sorry,’ you plead, ‘I’ll never think like that again. Just please let me go.’

The talons that had been holding you pull free, pleasure erupting across your skin, flooding your senses as your nerves are set alight, practically glowing with euphoria. You feel Feyre’s heat fluttering above you as she comes on your tongue, releasing herself onto you. The High Lord continues pounding into you, seemingly harder, chasing that high until he’s spilling inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim as your back arches, nipples peaking.

Your mind takes a while to clear, muscles spasming with the force of your pleasure, after so long of being suspended on that edge.

The High Lady’s fingers have returned to your clit, rubbing soothingly as she raises her hips from you. Your tongue laps over your mouth, tasting her release, revelling in her flavour. ‘Look at you,’ she taunts, peering between her legs, ‘so good. So fucked out.’

Her gaze lifts to her mates, ‘do you really think she meant that?’ The line in clear, a hellish grin dancing over the High Lord’s mouth as his eyes flick down to you, hands tightening on your thigh.

‘I think we should make sure,’ he drawls and you feel as he hardens against your already sensitive walls.

‘Make sure she knows who she serves.’

[tadpolesonalgae]

I love love!! Your dark feysand x reader just curious if you have anything for them coming?

Also hope you have a nice rest of your day 💕 😊

Yup!!! I’ve got something for them coming out this evening at 19:00 (English time)!!

Really hope you enjoy it 🧡💛

Warnings: Smut, non-con, dark!Feysand

‘A smile tips the edges of your lips as you twist your head, peering up into his violet gaze, “and here I was, thinking it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony,” you tut. His eyes gleam in the darkness, the corners of his mouth curving, “I simply couldn’t resist.” His hands grip your waist, and you’re flipped around, the swell of your breasts pressing softly into his chest, “you look so pure in white. I’m having a hard time not forcing you to take your vows bare.”

The shiver that runs down your spine is as real as he is, pleasure warming your skin as you lean in to him. “Isn’t a wedding all about intimacy?” You ask, smiling coyly, “I’m sure you’d be forgiven, Lord.”’

‘The edges of his mouth quirk, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Lie back down,” he says, as if you’ve said something funny.

“Rhysand!” You snap, defensively pulling up the straps of your thin wedding gown. “This is serious,” you hiss, “you do not make a joke out of things like—”

“Lie down.” ’