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pin-k-ink · 3 months

Note

imagine grinding on hoshina’s thighs or abs. Like bros muscular and he’ll be so mean and would tease u about it

fragment // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ bratty!reader, mentions of a quickie, mentions of shower sex, biting, teasing, orgasm denial, hoshina is mean, panties as a gag, thigh riding, squirting, dirty talking, name calling/degradation, power imbalance, spanking, manhandling

wc ⇢ 3.9k

a/n: holy shit this was just pure filth 💀

The soft glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across Hoshina's office, illuminating the seemingly endless stack of papers before him. He sighed, running a hand through his violet hair, disheveling it further. A glance at the clock confirmed what his aching back had been telling him - he'd been at this for hours. The night had long since fallen, and the muffled sounds of the Third Division's nocturnal activities filtered through his closed door, a stark reminder of the world beyond his paperwork-laden desk.

"Shoulda known Ashiro would pull somethin' like this," Soshiro muttered, his kansai dialect thickening with fatigue. Captain Ashiro's abrupt departure for an emergency meeting had left him drowning in administrative tasks, each form and report more mind-numbing than the last. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had settled there like a lead weight. His fingers, stained with ink and cramping from hours of writing, reached for yet another document from the towering pile.

As he began to read through the report, Soshiro's mind wandered unbidden to more pleasant thoughts. Specifically, to you - his girlfriend, his unexpected ray of sunshine in the often grim world of the Defense Force. A small smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the last time he properly made love to you, nearly a week ago now. Work had been relentless since then, leaving little time for anything beyond stolen kisses and brief embraces. This morning's quickie in the shower, while invigorating, had done little to sate the growing hunger he felt for your touch.

The soft click of the door opening pulled Soshiro from his musings. Your familiar scent - a mix of vanilla and something uniquely you - wafted through the air, causing his heart to skip a beat. He looked up, his tired eyes drinking in the sight of you standing in the doorway. The hallway light silhouetted your figure, highlighting the curves that your uniform usually concealed. Soshiro felt his mouth go dry, his body responding to your presence even as his mind struggled to focus on the task at hand.

"Soshiro," you called softly, your voice a melodic contrast to the silence of the office. "Are you still working?" There was a hint of something in your tone - disappointment, perhaps, or frustration - that made Soshiro's chest tighten with guilt.

He watched as you stepped into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft click that seemed to seal you both away from the rest of the world. Your movements were deliberate, almost predatory, as you approached his desk. Soshiro couldn't help but be reminded of a lioness stalking her prey, and he wasn't entirely sure he minded being caught.

"'Fraid so, darlin'," he replied, his voice low and tinged with regret. "Got a mountain of paperwork that ain't gonna finish itself." Even as the words left his mouth, Soshiro felt a pang of longing. He wanted nothing more than to abandon his work and lose himself in you, but duty weighed heavily on his shoulders.

You reached his desk, your fingers trailing along the polished wood grain. Soshiro's eyes followed the movement, mesmerized by the play of light on your skin. When you spoke again, your voice had taken on a sultry quality that sent shivers down his spine.

"But Soshiro," you purred, leaning over his desk in a way that gave him a tantalizing view, "don't you think you deserve a little break? After all, you've been working so hard."

Soshiro swallowed hard, his eyes inadvertently drawn to the way your shirt strained across your chest as you leaned forward. The memory of your shared shower that morning flashed vividly in his mind - the taste of your lips, the feel of your body pressed against his, the sweet noises you made when he slipped his fingers inside you. The tightness in his pants increased, and he shifted uncomfortably. He knew it hadn't been enough, not for either of you, but especially not for your seemingly insatiable appetite.

"Ya know I can't, sweetheart," he managed, his voice rougher than he intended. "This needs to be done by mornin'." Even as he spoke, Soshiro's body betrayed him, his cock straining against the confines of his pants.

You huffed, a pout forming on your lips that Soshiro found both adorable and dangerously tempting. "But 'Shiro," you whined, using the pet name you knew he couldn't resist, "I've barely seen you all week. This morning was nice, but..." You trailed off, your eyes dark with unspoken desire.

Soshiro's pen creaked in his grip as he fought to maintain his composure. "I know, darlin'," he said, his tone a mixture of apology and firmness. "But ya know how important this is. I can't just leave it unfinished."

For a moment, you seemed to relent, straightening up with a sigh. "Fine," you said, a hint of mischief in your tone that Soshiro knew all too well. "I guess I'll just have to find some other way to pass the time."

Soshiro watched warily as you sauntered around his desk, your hips swaying in a way that drew his gaze like a magnet. He forced his attention back to the papers before him, trying desperately to focus on the words that now seemed to blur together. The heat of your body radiated against his back as you moved behind him, ostensibly to look at the work over his shoulder.

"My, my," you murmured, your breath hot against his ear. "This does look important. No wonder you can't tear yourself away."

Soshiro's entire body tensed, anticipation thrumming through him. He knew you were up to something, could feel it in the way you leaned closer, your breasts pressing against his back. Just as he opened his mouth to warn you off, he felt the soft brush of your lips against the sensitive skin of his neck.

A shiver ran down his spine, his body responding traitorously to your touch despite his best efforts to remain focused. Your lips traced a burning path along the column of his throat, each kiss sending sparks of electricity through his nerves.

"[Y/N]," he growled, his voice low and strained. "Ya're playin' with fire here." It was a warning, but even to his own ears, it sounded more like a plea.

Your only response was to nip gently at his earlobe, your hands sliding down his chest in a caress that left him breathless. Soshiro's grip on his pen tightened to the point of pain, the only thing anchoring him to his resolve as it rapidly crumbled under your ministrations.

Soshiro remained still, his jaw clenched as he tried to focus on the paperwork before him. Your whispers in his ear and your hands on his chest were severely testing his resolve. He gripped his pen tightly, forcing himself to read the same line over and over, though the words refused to register in his mind.

Suddenly, your hand began to drift lower, and your voice took on a more provocative tone. "You know, if you're too busy, maybe I'll just have to take care of myself..."

In an instant, Soshiro's composure shattered. His hand shot out, grasping your wrist firmly as he tugged you forward harshly to face him. His eyes, usually half-lidded or closed, were now wide and blazing with a mixture of anger and something darker.

"What did ya just say?" he growled, his accent thickening with emotion.

You froze, realizing you'd crossed a line. The playful glint in your eyes dimmed as you met Soshiro's intense gaze. You knew that playing with yourself was strictly off-limits without his permission - a rule he'd made clear early in your relationship.

"I... I didn't mean..." you stammered, but Soshiro cut you off with a sharp look.

"Ya know better than that, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I've told ya before, ya don't touch yerself without my say-so."

The tension in the room was palpable as you stood there, caught in Soshiro's grip and pinned by his gaze. You'd pushed too far, and now you were facing the consequences of your actions.

Soshiro's grip on your wrist tightened, his eyes blazing with barely contained anger. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous, laced with a fury you'd rarely heard from him.

"Ya think ya're bein' cute, don't ya?" he growled, his voice dropping an octave lower. "Pushin' my buttons like that. Well, let me make this real clear for ya, darlin'. Ya've got two choices, and ya better choose wisely."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Ya can either get yer ass to our room right now and wait for me there, or ya can plant yerself in my lap and not make a sound until I'm done. Either way, ya're in for it when I'm finished."

Soshiro's eyes bore into yours, challenging you to defy him further. "So what's it gonna be? Choose now, before I make the choice for ya."

The intensity of his gaze and the huskiness of his voice sent a thrill of arousal through you. You knew you'd pushed too far, and his anger had only served to fuel your desire.

Your voice was barely a whisper when you spoke. "Please, Soshiro, I'll be good, I promise. I'm sorry I-"

"I said, choose. Now."

The command in his voice brooked no argument.

You hesitated for a split second, before giving in. "Lap," you whispered.

Soshiro's mouth twitched slightly at your decision, but he gave no other sign of approval. Without a word, he tugged you closer, forcing you to straddle his lap. The pressure of his hardened cock against your core had you gasping, and he hadn't even begun to touch you yet.

"I want ya to remember this," Soshiro murmured, his voice low and husky. "I want ya to remember how badly ya pushed me. How easily I could've put ya over my knee and spanked ya right here, in my office, for everyone to hear."

His words sent a thrill through you, a combination of fear and arousal that had your heart racing and your pussy clenching. Soshiro knew just how to get to you, and he used that knowledge to his full advantage.

"I could have fucked ya senseless, right on my desk, and made ya beg for more. And ya would've taken it, wouldn't ya, darlin'? Ya would've taken every inch of me and begged for more, all because ya can't control yerself."

His voice was a low growl, full of pent-up frustration and desire. You squirmed in his lap, trying to find relief for the throbbing need between your legs.

"Now, hold still, or I'll tie ya down and leave ya here to suffer," Soshiro warned.

You whimpered at the thought, but obeyed, settling into his lap as best you could. You were already achingly wet, and the pressure of his cock against your pussy was a sweet torture.

Soshiro's hands roamed your body, touching and teasing every inch of bare skin he could reach. His fingers skimmed over your thighs, dipping dangerously close to the apex of your thighs before pulling away, denying you the relief you so desperately craved.

"Now, be a good girl and keep quiet, or I'll gag ya with yer panties," Soshiro threatened, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll use ya like a toy, and yer only purpose will be to satisfy my needs."

The threat only served to arouse you further, and you bit back a moan. The feel of his cock, hard and straining against his pants, was a constant reminder of what he could do to you. You were tempted to disobey, just to see what he would do, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn't joking.

You settled for burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent and savoring the feeling of his skin against yours. Hoshina wasted no time in returning back to the paperwork, his calloused hand gripping the pen once more.

"That's a good girl," Soshiro rasped, his free hand grabbing the back of your neck to pull you closer. "Now, I'm going to finish this work, and you're going to sit here and take it. If ya're a good girl and keep quiet, I'll fuck ya until ya can't walk when I'm done."

His words sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, and you clung to him, determined to obey. As Soshiro continued working, you buried your face in his neck, your body trembling with the effort to remain silent. You could feel his cock pressing against your pelvis, the delicious friction of his pants rubbing against your clit.

Soshiro's breathing was slow and steady, his concentration completely focused on the paperwork before him. You could feel his muscles flexing beneath his shirt, the heat of his body enveloping you. The combination of his scent and the subtle movements of his body was intoxicating, and you could feel yourself slowly losing control.

It was maddening, sitting there, feeling his cock throb and his body respond, but not being able to do anything about it. It was pure torture, and Soshiro was enjoying every second of it. You knew he was doing this on purpose, and the knowledge only made the ache between your legs intensify.

Hoshina's movements were deliberately slow, his free hand occasionally coming up to stroke your hair or run down your back. He was savoring your submission, drawing out the tension and your agony for as long as he could.

You weren't sure how much more you could take. You were already dripping, the evidence of your arousal soaking through your panties and dampening Soshiro's thigh. Your core ached with need, and you were desperate for some kind of release.

Suddenly, Hoshina shifted beneath you, adjusting his position and pressing his thigh more firmly against your aching clit. A strangled moan escaped your lips, muffled against his neck, but Soshiro showed no reaction. His grip on your neck tightened, a silent warning, and you bit back another groan as his thigh flexed, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you.

Soshiro was a master at teasing and prolonging your torture, and he knew exactly how to get under your skin. He'd reduced you to a writhing, desperate mess with nothing but his voice and his body, and you were powerless to resist him.

As you sat there, straddling his lap, you could feel his cock growing harder, straining against the confines of his pants. Knowing that he was just as aroused as you were only intensified your desire, and you found yourself rocking against his thigh, seeking relief.

Soshiro's fingers dug into your hip, holding you still. His grip was firm, bordering on painful, but it only added to the delicious mix of sensations.

"Ya're a desperate little thing, aren't ya?" he rasped, his voice husky with desire. "Ridin' my leg like that, soakin' my pants with yer need. I bet ya'd come right here if I let ya, wouldn't ya, darlin'?"

His words were a taunt, a challenge, and you wanted nothing more than to accept it. Your clit throbbed with each flex of his thigh, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. You were so close, hovering on the edge, but Soshiro's grip on your hip kept you from toppling over.

The tension was almost unbearable, and you clung to him, your hands fisting in his shirt. His breath was warm against your ear, his voice low and taunting. "I can feel how badly ya want to come, how close ya are. Go on, then, darlin'. Use my thigh. At least it’ll get ya nice and creamy for me by the time I'm done."

You hesitated, unsure if you were allowed. Soshiro's hand slid to the small of your back, guiding you against his thigh. You whimpered as you rocked against him, the friction of his pants against your aching clit sending shivers of pleasure through you.

"That's it," he growled, his voice heavy with lust. "Ya're so desperate, ya'd do anythin' to come, wouldn't ya? Just rub yerself off on my leg, darlin'. It's the closest ya're gonna get."

His words were a mixture of command and encouragement, and you obeyed, grinding against him. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you could feel your orgasm approaching. You were so close, just a little more, and then...

"That's enough."

Soshiro's sharp command cut through the haze of pleasure, and you froze, panting. His grip on your hip was bruising, but the ache was nothing compared to the throbbing need between your legs.

You groaned, burying your face in his neck and trying to regain your composure. Your hips continued to rock involuntarily, seeking the release that had been denied. Soshiro's voice was a low growl in your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

"I said, that's enough."

His words were emphasized by a harsh slap to your rear, the sudden sting making you gasp. You bit back a moan, reluctantly stilling your hips. You could feel the evidence of your arousal soaking through your panties and staining Soshiro's pants.

"Good girl," he rumbled, his hand sliding up your spine to rest at the nape of your neck. "Now, keep quiet, or I'll give ya somethin' to be loud about."

With that, he turned his attention back to the paperwork before him. The tension between you was palpable, and you were desperate for relief. Soshiro's grip on your neck was a reminder of his control over you, and you could feel his cock, still hard and straining against his pants, leaking precum onto your thigh.

The knowledge that he was just as aroused as you, and yet completely in control, sent a new wave of desire through you. Your fingers clenched in his shirt, the only thing keeping you anchored in the storm of sensation.

"Ya should’ve known better, darlin'," Soshiro murmured, his tone laced with barely contained desire. "I taught ya better than to test me."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you buried your face in his neck, clinging to him. You knew you'd pushed too far, too hard, and the consequences were just beginning.

"Ya think a little brat like you can handle me, darlin'? Think again," Hoshina hissed, his grip on the back of your neck tightening. You whimpered, squirming in his lap, the pressure of his cock against your aching core making it impossible to think straight. "Yer only job now is to keep quiet, and be a good little fucktoy for me."

His words were punctuated by a sharp bite to your neck, his fangs breaking the skin and sending a shockwave of pain and pleasure through your body. You moaned, unable to stop yourself, the ache between your legs growing to an unbearable level.

Soshiro's tongue traced the mark he'd left, soothing the wound and sending a shiver down your spine. His hand trailed down your back, slipping beneath the waistband of your skirt and cupping your ass. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, a wordless reminder of his control.

"Ya better remember this the next time ya try and get cheeky with me, darlin'," he growled, his accent thickening with lust. "Ya might have me wrapped around yer finger, but I can always remind ya who's really in charge here."

The promise in his voice was unmistakable, and you couldn't help but tremble with anticipation. You knew he wasn't bluffing, and the thought of his punishments was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Now, go sit on that couch and keep that hole of yers ready," Soshiro ordered, his hand sliding out from under your skirt and giving your ass a harsh slap. "Ya won't be needin' those panties anymore, so ya can give 'em to me."

You shivered, reluctantly climbing off his lap and obeying his orders. You knew he wouldn't hesitate to follow through on his threats, and you were eager to see what he had planned. Your hands shook as you tugged down your panties, handing them over without a word.

"Good girl," Soshiro praised, tucking your panties in his pocket. He looked up at you, his gaze heated and full of promises. "Now, spread yer legs and wait."

You swallowed, nodding and moving to obey. As you sat down on the couch, your skirt rode up, exposing the slickness between your legs. Soshiro's eyes roamed over your body, drinking in the sight, before he returned his attention to the paperwork before him.

You sat there, legs spread, waiting for him to finish. Your clit throbbed, and your pussy ached for something, anything, to fill it. The minutes seemed to stretch into eternity, and your arousal only grew as Soshiro worked, your juices soaking the leather of the couch.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he finished the last form and set his pen aside.

"Well, darlin', it looks like I'm all done here," he drawled, standing and stretching. He moved around the desk, his footsteps slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking his prey. You watched him approach, your heart racing in anticipation.

"I think it's about time I take care of ya, don't ya think?" Soshiro murmured, reaching out to run his fingers through your hair. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and you shuddered. "But first, let's make sure ya're ready for me."

Before you could respond, his hand shot out, grabbing your chin and forcing your mouth open. Without warning, his other hand slipped inside his pocket, pulling out the lacy panties you'd given him. Before you could protest, he shoved them inside your mouth, muffling any sound you could make.

"Ya know the rules, darlin'," he chuckled darkly. "If I wanna use ya like a fucktoy, I'm gonna do it however I like."

His fingers tightened around your chin, holding you in place as his free hand dipped between your thighs, tracing along the wetness that had coated your lips. You squirmed, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through you, but Soshiro's grip was firm, his fangs glinting in the dim light as he smiled.

"Ah, look at ya, darlin'," he said softly, his thumb circling your clit and making you moan. "All wet and ready for me, like a good little fucktoy."

His fingers dipped lower, slipping inside your entrance and stretching you. You gasped, the taste of your own juices mingling with the fabric in your mouth. Soshiro's fingers were rough and calloused, his pace unrelenting, and the feel of his knuckles rubbing against your walls was maddening.

"I'm gonna make sure ya're nice and ready for me," he growled, his thumb pressing down on your clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through you. "Ya'd better come quickly, darlin', or I'll leave ya like this, aching and needy, and make ya watch while I jerk off."

His words were a potent combination of threat and promise, and you could feel your orgasm approaching with alarming speed. Your body was already oversensitive from his earlier teasing, and the roughness of his fingers only added to the sensation.

You writhed beneath his touch, your moans muffled by the makeshift gag in your mouth. Soshiro's thumb flicked your clit, his fingers curling inside you, and the pleasure was overwhelming. Your walls clenched around his fingers, and your orgasm crashed over you, your cunt gushing and drenching his hand.

"That's a good girl," Soshiro purred, withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on your skirt. "Now, we can really begin."

With that, he yanked the fabric from your mouth, tossing it aside. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was pulling you up, bending you over his desk and tugging your skirt down to expose your ass.

"Time to make use of this naughty little hole," Soshiro hissed, slapping your ass and making you moan. "And remind ya who's really in charge here."

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heauxvibez · 9 days

Text

Dipsea 2

warning: smut (18+). I had to change my panties after typing this bad boi up..

You looked at your phone with a desperate whimper, the frustration of the sudden interruption running through you. You had just begun to sink into the sweet rhythm of it, and now, you were certain the app was worth every cent. There was no way you’d be left on a cliffhanger—not when the heat was already pooling deep in your pussy, and his words were making your body ache with need. No other free option would suffice. Joe had started this, and you were determined he’d be the one to finish it.

With a quick tap, you paid for the app, heart pounding, pussy throbbing as the screen shifted. You watched as all nine parts unlocked, the bright purple and orange hues of the app glowing softly against the darkened room. The colors pulsed much like the warmth building inside you, teasing you as you imagined what was coming next. You were ready to dive back into the sultry depths of Joe's voice, ready to be carried away again, this time with no interruptions.

With another quick tap, you clicked on part two of Watch, your excitement beaming as the screen transitioned to reveal a new silhouette of him. This time, the image was a stunning depiction of his back, his broad shoulders and sculpted muscles bathed in more hues of deep orange and violet that painted the app. The soft gradient colors traced the contours of his body, highlighting every curve and dip in his toned frame just as much as the last silhouette.

His hair and tattoo were the only contrast—bold, inky black curls outlined by thin, glowing lines of orange, the strands seeming to ripple with motion as if you could reach out and feel the soft waves between your fingers. The black tribal patterns were striking—precise and pristine. The lines were sharp, curves fluid, creating a seamless flow of ink that wrapped around the silhouette with an almost hypnotic grace. The design seemed alive, as if the artist had studied every inch of his form with care. Whoever had illustrated this masterpiece deserved a raise.

The silhouette cut off just above his lower back, but not before emphasizing the curve of his spine and the dimples that rested at the base, drawing your gaze down. The image lingered there, inviting you to the details and shadows that made him feel more magnetic. It was impossible to look away.

You pressed play and closed your eyes without hesitation, you were ready to fill your ears with his voice and your mind with his image.

"Now go ahead and play with that pussy for me, but take your time. I don't want our fun to end so soon," he commanded. It was the same line he had whispered at the end of part one, a teasing reminder that he knew exactly where you both had left off, pulling you right back into that state of arousal.

But this time, things were a bit different. Your panties, once tangled around your ankles, had now disappeared somewhere within the soft, silky sheets beneath you. Your fingers hovered above your clit, ready to obey him, knowing exactly where they were headed—into the same silky folds that ached for attention, craving the touch you’d been holding back from for too long.

You could already feel the tingling between your thighs, the way his voice alone had the power to make your body respond, your mind slipping into a haze of pleasure. Just as he’d asked, you were savoring every second, drawing out the pleasure because you both knew there was no rush. It was about indulgence—taking your time, sinking deeper into the sensations, and losing yourself completely.

Your middle finger drew light, teasing circles around your clit, barely grazing the sensitive nub. Despite the faint touch, you were already soaking wet, your juices slick against your skin, and you hadn’t even fully given in yet. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you imagined his eyes on you, the thought heating your skin even from a distance. You could picture the way he’d tilt his head back slightly, his eyes dark while lifting his hand to stroke his beard in that slow, menacing way he always did when he was gathering his thoughts. His fingers would glide over the coarse hairs, tracing the strong line of his jaw, and then move down toward his throat, his palm smoothing over his skin as if grooming himself in preparation.

You could hear the sound of him shifting in his seat, the sound of his body moving making your breath hitch. It was subtle, but you pretended as if it was an involuntary thrust, his horniness impossible to hide. You imagined his dick strained against the fabric of his tight bottoms, pressing insistently, desperate for relief.

"Just like that, sweetheart," he groaned. "Fuck, I can barely keep still over here," he chuckled, the sound rough and deep, making your body tingle in response.

"I can see you drippin' all the way from here," his voice purred through your earphones, carrying a teasing tone that vibrated in your ears.

"Those lips, glistening and glossy... all for me, right, baby?" you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips. Your body responded before you could think, the words slipping out in a breathless whisper.

"Yes, daddy..." you murmured into the air, your toes curling with the rush that came from answering him. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke again,

"Good girl," he affirmed. "Now, can you slip those fingers inside for me? But tease yourself just like I would..." what he wanted from you, what he asked of you was so damn irresistible, and as your middle finger slid down your slick slit, you listened, teasing your entrance, tapping it lightly, just as he’d instructed. The teasing was unbearable, your body aching for more as your fingers played along your soaked folds.

"You're such a great listener, baby. Go ahead and slip those fingers in.."

"Whew, Jesus," you sighed, finally giving in as your middle and ring fingers slipped into you, the warm, tight sensation wrapping around your digits beautifully. Your palm brushed against your swollen clit, your body pulsing around your fingers. The friction was maddening, every stroke drawing you deeper.

You could hear his breath hitch in your ears, shaky and uneven, as he narrated your pleasure. "God damn if only you could see yourself right now," he groaned, "Your pussy taking in your fingers, going deep and curling against your g spot... Shit, you don’t know what you’re doing to me."

It was wild how his words were basically tailored to cater to your own pleasure. Every syllable felt like it was crafted just for you. His praise, the soft, commanding tone he used, was almost too much. You could hear every minor shift in his voice, the way he controlled each breath, making it deeper, huskier when the moment needed it. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he wielded them, like a lover’s touch, knowing exactly when to soften, when to tease, when to push.

"Keep the pace slow,” he uttered, “I want you to enjoy and savor this. I want to enjoy and savor this. You know I love watching you fall apart in agony, knowing that you've been waiting to nut all night. Knowing that you're holding onto that nut just for me. Knowing you ain't gon nut until I say so."

“Fuck," you cursed as you slowed your movements, still doing as he says even though it felt torturous. Your finger slid in and out of you with agonizing slowness.

The contrast between the slow, teasing strokes and the need inside you made everything feel so much sweeter. It was as if his voice was in control of your body, holding your hand, pushing you just to the brink but never letting you tumble over. The slowness frustrated you, yet it pleased you so perfectly.

"Just like that, my love. In..." His voice purred as your fingers slipped deeply inside, "And out..." he continued, his words guiding you as you pulled them out slowly, feeling the slickness of your folds against your skin. "In..." You pushed your fingers back through your wet heat, your breath trembling. "And out..." you obeyed again, this time a soft moan escaping your lips as your fingers retreated, leaving you wanting more.

"Mmm, you hear that?" His voice was now getting lower, making your whole body shiver. You listened closely, the only sounds in the room now were his heavy, steady breathing in your ear and the unmistakable sound of your juices being pushed in and out of you. The wet, slick noise echoed throughout the room which did nothing but tighten the knot deep in your belly.

Your fingers moved with purpose, matching the slow, teasing pace he had set, the wetness coating your fingers making the motion smoother. You were getting closer to the edge.

"You ain't ever been this wet baby. I just know them fingers are drowning in that nectar of yours.." he murmured, with his words being slightly interrupted by throaty moans. The sounds of fabric rubbing made you think that he might be stroking himself through the barrier of his clothes, fueling the fantasy and pure delusion of him watching you.

"Aht, remember what I said? Keep that pace slow; I know you can take it..." His voice urges you to follow his demands despite the desperate need to cum.

"I can’t..." you whimpered, your voice breaking as your back arched in a sad attempt to increase the friction against your palm. The struggle to maintain the slowness was killing you. You were doing your best to follow his instructions, but he was too damn good at this erotic audio shit. It felt impossible to hold out much longer—his voice was relentless.

His breaths seemed to grow louder, more insistent, and his moans were becoming deeper and more profound. "Wrap your left hand around your throat, mhm," he instructed, "Make sure you grip it well. Just like I would when I'm holding you in place, keepin' you from runnin.'"

Your left hand moved slowly, trembling slightly as it glided up your body, feeling every shift in your skin. The vulnerability of the touch made you acutely aware of how fragile you were. Even the gentlest of touches at this moment felt like they would do you in.

"Just like that. Fuck, you're gonna come, ain’t you?" He questioned seductively, his voice was filled with a knowing confidence as if he could read your mind.

He laughly breathlessly, a sound of cockiness that made you want to reach through the phone and give him a light slap on the wrist for being such a know it all.

"Your breaths are gettin' shorter, your pussy’s gettin' wetter, and I can see those legs trembling, trying to stay open." You were stunned by how right he was, it was a perfect reflection of the torment yet pleasurable moment he was talking you through.

"Cum for me baby, cum for daddy," he whispered compelling your fingers to delve deep inside and your palm to press the perfect amount of pressure onto your clit. Your body quivered as your orgasm radiated from the top of your head to the tip of your toes and back up again like waves. Pure waves of euphoria that is. Waves that nearly shatter you into pure bliss.

Your back arched with each breathy word he spoke to you, “Keep going, sweetheart. Don’t stop. Don’t stop moving those fucking fingers,” he growled, his words were rough and delicious. Your fingers continued their relentless rhythm, pumping deep and steady. Your thighs tightened around your wrist, pulling you closer, your juices flowing freely into your palm, glistening with every stroke. Your pussy clung to your fingers with a needy grip, pulling them in as you withdrew, a constant dance between your walls and your digits.

Tears streamed freely from your eyes as your left hand stayed firm against your throat, the sensation of the choke making you lose your mind, while also serving as a grounding anchor. You couldn't quite tell if it was your own grip or his that held you captive. Physically, you knew it was your hand, but emotionally, this man had an undeniable hold on you, wrapping around your mind with his words, and his energy.

Your body gradually relaxed, the tension melting away after the breathtaking orgasm that had left you well…breathless. You had been holding air in your lungs, caught in the throes of pleasure, until his soothing voice gently pulled you back to reality.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmured, his sultry voice and slow, deep breaths filled your ears. You matched his rhythm, each inhale and exhale guiding you back to yourself. When you finally opened your eyes, which had felt closed for hours, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, still reeling from your release. You could hardly believe how powerful it had been. “That was good,” he chuckled, and the sound made you crack a small, satisfied smile.

“Mmm, now that I’ve watched, come over here so I can listen to you moan in daddy's ear.”

Click here to play "Listen" narrated by Joe, voiced by Roman Reigns.

--------------------------

I feel absolutely DELUSIONAL after writing this. Only because I feel like something like this could actually happen LOL.

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @sortudademais @empressdede @alichesmi

@msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @blacst4r @sassginamillls @wrestlingprincess80

@headoftheetable @trashbin-nie @sheyaish @saintmagx @mzv11

@venusesworld @tshepisho @cyberdejos2

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! I tend to forget to tag sometimes, so just direct message me. It'll be easier for me to keep up lol!

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #wwefanfic #wwe #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns imagine

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paperibbon · 2 months

Text

smokey day

feysand x reader sum.: hazy early mornings with your two mates note: 18+ this is truly pwop.... a brief allusion to rhysand's SA but only brief and rlly an allusion but just thought i'd mention. this is a little treat bc i was gone for so effing long (2 months). this isn't the ink universe! totally diff "reader"

Traces of sunlight peak through the heavy velvet curtains, and a streak casts itself across your closed eyes. It’s morning, you’re sure of that, and you’ve slept well; fingers flitting across indents of fabric across your cheeks can attest. A small noise pulls itself from your chest as you adjust your body.

It's a slow pace you’re setting, neither of you truly chasing any fast and swift end, just simply rocking into each other in the early morning light. Rhys is deep inside you, a heavy heat that you can’t exactly ignore, and you doubt you’d want to. His lips are insistent anywhere he can reach, against your throat, in the divot between your jaw and your ear, over your heart, dotted across your cheeks as he rolls his hips deeper into you.

“Too early.” Rhys’s voice is a rumble, vibrating down your spine and curling like a languid cat in your gut.

“You don’t know that.” You whisper into the morning air. Feyre’s still slumbering soundly, heavy puffs of air escaping her lips as she dreams, a pleasant smile playing on her face. You almost can’t take her beauty, the slope of her nose, the blush of her cheeks, the freckle by her mouth you can’t help but wish to lean forward and kiss her. Rhysand rumbles with soft laughter at the display of affection playing through your mind, kissing your shoulder once, twice. Your brain is hazy, your movements soft and smokey with the fog of sleep still clinging to the edges of you.

“I know everything.” His hands dip lower, cupping the roundness of your hip as his mouth grows more insistent, teeth scraping at the slope of your throat.

“Oh, do you?” It’s breathy, it’s all breathy. He feels insane, hands everywhere, thumb swiping over your chest, pinching at the peaked bud, his lips pressed to the notch where your neck connects to your shoulder.

Rhys’s dark answering ‘Mhm.’ sends chills down your back, and you gasp into the room as his teeth delve into your skin. With fluttering eyes, you push Rhysand back from you, blinking down at the picture he makes. His violet eyes are dark, familiar stars dotting his vision and winking up at you as he rakes them over your form. Your mate’s hair is rustled with sleep, spilling over his eyes and curling at his neck with the hazy heat of the room, dark and inky as the night sky, and in deep comparison with the peek of his teeth behind the lazy smirk that’s spread over his mouth. His tan chest is glistening with a sheen of sweat like moonlight, and when he catches your gaze, the muscles flex playfully.

“Like what you see?” His voice is lilting, teasing.

“Same question.” You cock your head with the false challenge, rolling your hips down forcefully. It pulls out a groan from him, his hands flexing, pressing into the skin of your hips.

Perfect. You hadn’t even felt him slip into your mind, but the shadowy presence fills the shape you’ve carved out for him almost completely, sharp claws teasingly tracing against your consciousness. It sends your eyes rolling back into your skull, his laughter dark, spilling across you like sticky molasses.

Without a word, he’s sitting up again, hand snaking around the back of your neck to press his lips to yours. You try to protest, swatting at his chest, sure he can taste the morning breath that lingers against your tongue, but Rhys just smirks, tracing the indents of your teeth with his own tongue. The kiss is languid, lazy, sleepy even, a sloppy press of mouths against each other with bleary eyes and a sticky warm room. With a deft buck of his strong hips, you let a long, high pitched whine trickle from your lips.

“Feels good, huh?” It’s a cocky, challenging comment, and you know he’s waiting for you to pitch something back at him like you have been, give as good as you’re getting, but at the moment you can’t find it in you, absorbed finally in the feeling. Your legs are shaky and trembling, so you’ve resorted to simply circling your hips against him, letting his length hit that wonderful spot he always seems to find. The sun is rising higher, the molten light casting the room in shiny gold. Rhys is beautiful, you decide, brows pinching together in pleasure as you look at him. The light makes him almost glow, dark skin rippling beneath the surface as he meets your meager thrusts with powerful ones of his own. He seems to be settling on a similar thought pattern, eyes soft with fondness. “Mother above, you’re so beautiful.”

“I agree.” Feyre’s voice jolts through you like fire, and you tilt your head to catch her sea blue eyes blinking blearily up at you with a petal-fine smile spread across her lips. You smile back, your spine attempting to bend in sick ways to bring yourself closer to her. With a laugh, she props herself up, allowing her lip to meet yours in a brief, but lovely kiss all the same.

“Welcome to the waking world, Feyre darling.” Rhys captures her hand in his, pressing it to his lips once, twice, three times without breaking any concentration in regards to you, little whines eking past your parted lips, sighs filling out the room with ease.

Feyre’s deft fingers drift from Rhys’s hand, pushing him back into the pillows, and you can feel the tension solidify. The look in Rhys’s eyes flickers, stars almost bursting with light as he tucks an arm under his head, bicep flexing, sharp jaw clenching as your other mate positions herself behind you, chin hooking over your shoulder and hand tracing across the soft skin of your inner thighs, letting her nails bite ever so slightly into your skin. You’re almost trembling for her touch, hips jolting in place in an attempt to coax her where you need her, and she laughs; a mean, sensual sound that pulls another eager sound from you.

“Ask nicely, sweet love.” Her words are whispered into your ear, lips brushing against your skin with every word. She’s everywhere now, both hands coasting over you with a feather-light touch, her mind pressing into yours with a familiar breezy feeling. You can feel her breathing against your back, feel her warm cheek in the very same crook of your neck Rhys had lavished with attention just a few minutes ago. She laughs lightly when your mind makes the connection, and she closes her lips around a spot and makes sure to leave a mark.

“Please.” It’s whiney, desperate, debauched. The room is muggy, humid, and you could almost slip away into it for the day, spending it with your mates just like this, Rhysand and Feyre, the High Lord and Lady of the terrible, fearsome Night Court with all their softened edges and loving caresses.

Feyre’s fingers trail up from your thighs, hands warm and nails leaving little lines in their wake as she finally places them exactly where you need them. She presses down, circling widely against your clit, and a moan rips itself from you, and subsequently, from Rhysand as you tighten around him without much warning.

“Mother, you’re tight.” He whispers, almost absentmindedly and it’s utterly vulgar. A groan like an avalanche, like a thunderclap fills the room and Feyre laughs against your neck at him, her teeth nipping once again into your skin. You find a free hand threading into her golden hair, pressing her closer, closer, closer to you, until you aren’t really sure where she ends and you begin, her soft skin flushed with heat, red and pink and precious like the flowers sitting on your bedside table.

“Look at how fucked he is.” Pink lips whisper into your ear, your back arched perfectly beneath her hands. The lazy pattern you’d all shared has been forgotten, Rhysand’s hips pressing into you with abandon, Feyre’s deft fingers meeting his rhythm in tight little circles, pulling frequent sighs and pretty moans out of you, ones that she can’t help but play in her mind on a loop. Your head falls back onto her shoulders with a particularly swift thrust from your mate below you, and Feyre laughs again, syrupy and sweet and you can’t help but drown in it.

Rhysand truly does look fucked, a sinful smile playing at his lips, inky hair thoroughly mussed and slick against his forehead. You’re sure you look worse, heat coursing through you like a wildfire, flickering flames eating away at your insides, cheeks sure to be ruddy and sweat sticking your hair everywhere it hangs loose.

You look beautiful. Feyre’s a whisper in your consciousness, a cool breeze, a wave lapping at your shoreline. She pushes forth a mental image laden with her lust, fixated frames of your lips parted in pleasure, your chest flushed and heaving, the valley between your thighs, Rhysand tucked in between them. From the feelings she fills your mind with alone, you’re overwhelmed, not mentioning the feeling of her fingers against you, now drifting to encircle the spread of you over Rhys, a firm squeeze of her hand.

“Oh, fuck.” You gasp wetly, letting her hand slick with you return to her place as you all but topple forward with the answering thrust she’s met with. Now, she’s still, simply setting her palm against your heat, mouth brushing against the column of your neck yet again.

Rhysand catches you as you careen towards him, sitting up from his position and fixing your legs tightly around his midsection, forcing the hand between your thighs out of its temporary position. You’re much closer, much more in each other's orbit now, rather than lazily joining in a sleepy performance of your desires. His hand, strong and sure, cups the back of your neck, eyes scanning your face for any sort of discomfort. It’s twisted up, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, tears dotting the corners of your eyes. The question doesn’t even need to be whispered into the air, doesn’t need to be pushed into your mind; you can tell from the downturn of his lips, the way your other mate twines her fingers into yours, lays her head on your shoulder. The bond between you all is alight with more than just shared lust, more than passion; you feel the love like a warmth blossoming inside you. You feel the love like it’s always been there.

“I just really want to come.” Your voice breaks pitifully, sniffling softly.

The serious moment shatters like ice as Rhysand snorts at the picture you’re sure you make; teary eyed, sweaty, and all his. Well, all his and all Feyre’s.

“We can arrange that.” He answers with a chuckle, voice like the roots of a tree, like the rolling of clouds across the sun. In a second, you’re on your back against the pillows, propped up like a royal, with a god and goddess to do bidding with the flick of your hand.

Rhysand enters you again with a slowness, teasing that whooshes a breath you didn’t know you were holding out all at once. Feyre is providing quite the show, chin hooked over his shoulder to peer at your joining. She’s a beauty in the light of the morning, hair shining like spun gold. Her sapphire gaze twinkles, a soft glow across her skin puts her in contrast with the tan male she’s slung over.

Rhys curses as he sets a rhythm again, hooking your leg up and over his arm as he drives into you. It’s ecstasy, bliss, all wrapped up into this moment. Your eyebrows furrow again, letting out a whine that you’re sure could wake the whole of Velaris.

“Yeah?” He’s as cock-sure as the day is long, the teasing lilt of his voice could almost make you groan, but he’s cock-sure for a good reason. “Is that all you needed, pretty heart? A good fuck?”

When you nod, they both share a laugh, mocking and sweet at the same time, and a lesser version of you would be embarrassed at the depravity you gain from it. This version of you, this loved and fucked version of you is clawing for more, whining and moaning and weakly raising yourself to meet Rhysand as his thrusts become that much more sure, more pointed.

“So pretty, love. So, so beautiful for us.” Feyre is all honeyed, sultry words, but you can feel the bite of want from her, the sting of lust that comes through her bond. Rhys can surely feel it too, because he’s reeling back, hungry mouth meeting hers in a battle of lips and tongue. She almost melts into his mouth, hand coming to cradle his cheek and you sigh, a smile finding its way to your face. They’re beautiful together, one of Feyre’s paintings come to life in swirls of color and feeling. The two give and take like the Mother made them for it, made them to be each others.

She made you, too. Rhys is again smokey in your head. All for us.

As your lovers turn their attention to you, Rhys’s thumb pressing into your clit, Feyre’s warm gaze, and eventual hands coming to caress you into finishing, you can’t help but feel lucky for this life, this love. You and Rhysand finish within moments of each other, dirty words and promises chasing the high, and Feyre has you both between her thighs until she’s come twice, and you’ve come once more from Rhysand’s wandering hands. In the sun baked afterglow, your head heavy on Feyre’s stomach, her nails working delicately through your hair, you reach for the mating bond, the golden tether holding the three of you so tightly together. It flows through you like a river of heat, from the top of your head to your toes. There’s no feeling being projected down the channels other than sweet, true, and utter love.

#feysand x reader #poly!feysand #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fic #theis writes!

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tadpolesonalgae · 5 months

Text

Two-Faced[***]

Dark!Rhys x reader

a/n: Honestly I’ve tried to edit this so many times I can no longer tell if I like it or not? Also this is a prequel to Desk Pet and goes along with that universe but can be read on its own 🧡💛

warnings: non-con, shadow play(?), bdsm themes, suggested breeding kink, smut, overstimulation, somnophilia, suggested dacryphilia(?), a little peak into Rhys’ mind at the end

word count: 8,875

-Desk Pet- -Play-Mate-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

You glance into the mirror, readjusting how the thin golden chain hangs around your neck, the small pendant sitting pretty between your breasts.

Easing in a deep breath, you check everything else is appropriately placed, nothing revealing too much skin, no fabric dipping where it shouldn’t, everything neatly wrapped up. You could swear you can see how your heart pulses in your chest in the reflection, a slight shudder passing beneath your flesh as you think ahead to what might unfold.

The deep purple gown settles comfortably over your body, dark and velvety, the neckline modest without being conservative, the hem of the skirts brushing just shy of your feet, sleeves that run down to your wrists, locked in matching golden chains, slim and elegant. Your lips are painted darker than usual to match the purple of your dress, with small golden pins keeping some strands of hair in place. Is it too much?

Dining with a High Lord… Even if you’re friendly, you don’t want to suggest something you can’t give, nor flirt where you can’t fulfil.

In the recent months, you know you haven’t been imagining the intensity in his eyes, how they sweep so deliciously over you, slowly, under the guise of polite appreciation. But there’s nothing polite about the way he looks at you. How it sets your skin on fire, pulse spiking with the slightest curve of his mouth. How your breath hitches whenever his skin brushes yours, fingers grazing your waist to guide you someplace—gentle dominance that makes your body flush with heat. Even at the faintest hint of his scent, you’d found yourself seeking out his gaze, as if sharing in a forbidden fantasy together.

Maybe it’s your fault for letting it get too far. Letting it escalate without consideration for how high he might truly be able to take you. He certainly isn’t the only male in your life. You hadn’t even realised how far things had gone with Rhys until the male you’d been seeing casually had brought it up, and you’d felt a tug of guilt in your gut. The two of you weren’t together exactly, but it definitely wasn’t just sex. There was too much emotional intimacy for it to be such a black-and-white situation. Emotions bleeding over where they should have been kept in line.

A triptych of knocks are landed to your door, gentle but firm, and you tear your gaze away from your reflection—attractive as it is, you shouldn’t keep him waiting.

Easing in a breath, you open the door, pulse spiking as you take him in, raising your chin to meet his violet gaze.

On the wooden deck of your house, stood beneath the warm faelight to illuminate the entranceway, he dominates the space, your attention zeroing in on his figure, dressed immaculately as usual, shirt revealing a peak at the appetisingly tan skin beneath, a suggestion of ink peering over the hem of the linen.

“Rhysand,” you greet with a smile, opening the door wider, previous worries forgotten as he takes up your attention whole. “Rhysand?” He drawls, brow quirking in amusement as he leans forward, and you step into his invitation. “Have I done something to irritate you?” He muses beside your ear, bodies pressed a little closer than appropriate as your arms wrap over his shoulders. His palm splays between your shoulder blades, pressing you deeper into his sturdy heat, spine arching under his direction. “You show up dressed as you are—I thought you said this was a casual dinner,” you smile as you pull away, arms still wrapped around one another.

Violet eyes sweep across your features, the skin between your shoulder-blades tingling beneath his broad palm, and that intensity burns down into you. “You look like this for casual dinners?” He replies, lips curving with amusement. “I look like this for my High Lord,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully, stepping out of his hold, already missing his heat. “Will you tell me where we’re going to dine? Or are you going to insist on keeping it a secret until the last second?”

“The last second might be a bit of a stretch,” he chuckles, offering you his arm, “but I know how you like surprises, so perhaps arrangements can be made.”

“You could winnow us there with ease,” you muse lightly, linking your arm with his, door closing at your back as he guides you down the steps leading into your front garden, then out into the street.

Violet eyes flick over you, your skin tightening beneath his open attention, meeting his gaze. “A lady deserves preparation,” he replies, heat fluttering in your lower abdomen at the sonorous drawl. “I’m sure you’d still succeed with the surprise element regardless,” you laugh, lips warm from the smile. “I suppose I could always blindfold you?” He suggests, and you gently elbow him, rolling your eyes again, trying to quell the traitorous heat that’s unspooling in the pit of your stomach. “I’d trip up and break something,” you counter fondly, swiftly averting you gaze so he won’t be able to somehow read your emotions. The attraction that always seems to become much more prominent in his presence. More pertinent, and palpable.

“I could direct you,” he replies lightly, a curve to his soft mouth, “I like to think I’m fairly good at giving instructions.”

“You’re practiced at giving orders. There’s a difference,” you counter, unable to help the smile on your lips—that’s undoubtedly shining in your eyes. “Besides, I don’t trust myself in heels.”

“You certainly picked a tricky pair,” he admits, glancing down to the thin golden strings wrapped around your ankles, disappearing beneath your dress. “I’m sure I’ll be regretting that by the end of the night,” you sigh, taking care to avoid any uneven surfaces. “If you need a reprieve, feel free to say,” he chuckles lowly, guiding you down another street, and you silently admire how seamlessly he blends in with the inky darkness of his court. “I’d be more than happy to sweep you off your feet, if needed.”

————

You’d been surprised when he’d taken you not to a pre-established restaurant but to a house he’d recently purchased by the riverside—for ample view of the Sidra, he’d explained, when you’d asked why he’d picked that part of the city.

He’d guided you in, as he usually does when you’re out together, a hand kept lightly against your lower back to keep you steady, especially when passing over cobbles. You’d noticed how his touch had smoothly migrated from lightly brushing against your skin on the way into the house, to settling securely around your waist once away from the public, a response of equal parts concern and satisfaction humming in your chest. It’s hard to keep your head when he singles you out so obviously—like there’s something special about you in particular. Something he can only find in you. How are you supposed to resist a male who makes you feel so treasured?

“You certainly succeeded with surprising me,” you smile, leaning back in your chair, content with the meal—mansaf, with goat’s meat. “I didn’t know you could cook like that?” You muse, meeting his gaze across the cozy table, tucked away in an alcove on the library he’s slowly filling up, tall windows to your right, providing a clear view of the Sidra, rooftops shadowed under the night’s sky. His smile isn’t as full as you’d hoped, instead seeming quieter than usual. “I don’t have much time to indulge anymore,” he answers, and you straighten in your seat. “It would be nice, to pursue my own interests. From time to time.”

Your expression softens as you watch him from across the table—he makes it easy to forget the things he’s withstood. It’s easy to speak with him, to be around him.

“I appreciate you finding the time to do so tonight,” you say quietly, briefly glancing down at your empty plate before returning your gaze to his. “It was delicious.” His eyes twinkle, and a small smile makes its way onto your mouth at the familiar gleam. “I’m glad you thought so,” he admits, “it’s been a while.”

“If this is how you are out of practice, it might be for the better you don’t have more time on your hands. You’d run people out of business,” you say quietly.

There’s a pause that passes between you, and you feel yourself being pulled in, already so thoroughly snared by his riptides you haven’t noticed you’ve been pulled under.

“I know it isn’t much,” you say lowly, a little roughly, pushing up from your seat to walk to his side. “But you deserve the time to indulge in your own interests, Rhys. To be able to enjoy life like the people you devote yourself to protecting do.” Violet eyes lift to yours, swirling and depthless, pulling you further down. “You’ve mentioned what that time was like,” you manage quietly, voice thick with emotion, at all he’s sacrificed to keep Velaris safe. To keep his people safe. “I can’t even imagine what it was like,” you murmur, hand resting gently on his shoulder, hoping you aren’t overstepping.

It isn’t often he talks about what had been done to him, what he’d been forced to do, but when he does…you listen. Take in every word, let him know you hear him, at the very least. That he has someone he can share his life with, someone he can come to when he’s alone, and know you’ll be there.

“You’re out now,” you whisper, “you made it.”

“I’m in pieces,” he murmurs, expression neutral despite the sadness of the admission.

“It’s okay to be in pieces, Rhys,” you reply, stepping into him when he shifts to face you, his hand coming to rest atop your own, fingers dancing to your wrist, wrapping over your forearm carefully. As if afraid to break you, too. “You’re allowed to grieve yourself, after what happened.”

His fingers tighten a little around your wrist, then he’s smoothly standing from his chair, though you don’t step back, keeping together as his hand slowly settles on your waist.

“I don’t think…” he trails off, voice breathy and hushed, and you hold him a little tighter, free palm settling on his upper arm. His throat rolls, and he pulls you the barest bit closer, bodies connecting as heat is shared and swapped, scents pushing together. “I don’t think I’m the same as I was before,” he admits quietly, violet eyes pinning you to the floor, touch pressing into your skin. “That’s okay,” you whisper, “time changes people. It’s okay to shift in essence.”

“No. Not like that,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your own, your hand brushing against his jaw, his palms wrapping tighter around you, growing more assured in their hold, like you’re becoming a part of him. “I can’t stand it,” he admits, brow pressing to your own, his eyes shut, a troubled expression on his beautiful features. “I can’t stand it anymore.”

You peer up at him, now cupping his face in both your hands, leaning into him. “What is it?” You ask softly, “you can tell me. I want to know what’s troubling you.” Violet eyes open slightly, darkened by his lashes as he looks down at you, brows furrowed in what looks like indecision. Or regret. But then it’s gone in a flash, easing out into something more calm, and familiar. “I want to be happy,” he confesses quietly, words brushing over your mouth so tenderly. “I don’t want to be alone again. How I was.”

“You aren’t alone,” you murmur, thumb brushing his cheek. “You have your family, you’re back with them again—you’re back here again. You survived.” But he shakes his head, and you push slightly closer, letting him know whatever he wants, he can confess to you. You’ll be there for him if he needs.

“I can’t stand not having it anymore,” he breathes, hold tightening on you, voice deeper, rougher, than before. “I should be happy, shouldn’t I?”

Your brows pull together, curving as you nod, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, slotting yourself into the familiar lines of his body. “Everyone deserves to be happy,” you whisper, heart aching, “even if they don’t believe so.” You swallow, feeling hot beneath his gaze, but refusing to step away, not when this is the most vulnerable he’s ever allowed himself to be with you. “If you…” you swallow again, eyes darting away briefly before returning to his. “If you know what you want…” You trail off, bewitched by the swirling intensity of his gaze. Your breath catches, aware of how close you are, how intimate the embrace has become. “…you should have it, Rhys.”

He exhales heavily, relief loosening the tension in his body, then he’s leaning forward, mouth opening over yours.

You freeze, not having expected the bold action, but quickly melt beneath his touch, all previous thought fading to nothing as his lips slant over yours, soft and hot, and his hands are moving across the planes of your body, strengthening as you’re pulled impossibly closer. He’s a really good kisser.

His tongue flicks out, and you start, reeling from his pace, but he’s gently turning you around, mouth still sealed against your own as he pushes you into the wall, hips against your own while his arm wraps tight around your waist, other hand settling over the nape of your neck that’s so small in comparison. Your palms stutter as they shift, unsure where to place them, having been swept off your feet, caught with your guard down. You hadn’t realised just how intense the attraction had become—for either of you.

Rhys makes a hungry sound from the back of his throat, and your insides flutter, spine arching into him, breasts pressing fully against his chest—but you need to slow down. You hadn’t planned on any of this unfolding so rapidly, had intended to be wary of his advances, of the mutual lust binding you together. It’s dominating; overpowering, mind-warping to struggle against, but you have enough sense to know acting on this desire will only confuse things. Mixing tender affection with the sharpened blades of lust never ends well.

“Rhys,” you murmur, pulling away enough to get his name out, but his mouth seals over your own again, and you fight to not be dragged under by hunger, by your desire to follow in his motions. This isn’t something you can rush, if you want it to work. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging him back firmly, heat warming your cheeks. “Rhys, we—”

His hands leave your body, roughly gripping your wrists and shoving them back against the wall, hips keeping you pinned in place as he devours you, prying your mouth open with embarrassing ease, arousal making it hard to resist. His tongue stokes over your own, and a heady feeling rushes your veins, need pounding in your blood, losing grip fast as he sinks his claws into you.

Rhys pulls away from you, and you open your mouth to tell him to stop, but he’s dipping lower, attacking your neck as his canines flash, the kisses rapidly descending into untamed bites and claiming slashes of teeth against soft, unmarked skin. You gasp as he bites, putting his mark into your body, startled by your own enjoyment, how arousal is swiftly rising to meet him, as much as you’re trying to pull away. “Rhys…” you pant, struggling half-heartedly beneath his touch, enjoying how his strength dominates you, a display of power so brutal and fundamental something warms in your chest.

He releases your wrists in favour of roughly gripping your skirts, almost tearing them as they’re shoved up your thighs, making way for him as he grips you tight, hoisting you up so your legs wrap around his hips—allowing him to press against your centre, purple fabric pooled around your waist. Instinctively your arms fly over his shoulders, and then his mouth is reclaiming your own, a flashing frenzy of tongue and teeth that knocks you clean off your feet, heart pounding from the assault on your senses, the ticklish pleasure still tingling across the erogenous skin at your throat.

Your fingers shakily tangle in his hair, and he snarls into the kiss, canines scraping over your lower lip before crushing back against your mouth, the damper on his power waring thinner, and thinner, pressure straining on your bones as you tremble. He’s never come this close to removing it completely around you, and it’s terrifying, your heart pounding in your chest, pulse spiking as you begin to get an understanding of what kind of beast you’ve been taunting.

“Rhys!” You gasp as his hand palms over your breast, grinding between your thighs as he again dips down to your throat, feeling your heightened pulse beneath his teeth. Tongue darting out to taste you.

Your hands stutter over him, torn between trying to pull him away and to tug him closer, to take more of him, startled by the ferocious hunger he’s subjecting you to, and the starvation it’s bringing forth in your own body.

His fingers effortlessly slide beneath your dress, but when they brush the golden string that’s clinging to your right hip, it’s like a bucket of icy water has been speared into your bloodstream. Your palms slam down against his shoulders, leveraging yourself against the wall as you shove at him enough to push him away by an inch or two, allowing your legs to unlock from his hips, standing on your own shaky feet again, nearly collapsing thanks to the sharply-angled heels.

“Rhys, stop,” you demand breathlessly, hands flat against his powerful chest, able to feel how his magic thrums dangerously around you, beating in time with his pulse in deadly waves. “Slow down,” you breathe, gazing up into intensely dark violet, practically plunging into icy indigo, his features turning glacial as he looks down at you, caged in, your cheeks warmed from arousal. He steps closer, crowding your space, and you tense up, abruptly aware of how that lethal strength could just as easily be used against you rather than with you.

“What is it?” He drawls, the tone having hairs rising on the back of your neck in warning, a long lost sense rising from the recesses of your mind to scream its horror at the creature before you, steadily emerging from beautifully carved skin. “I…Rhys, I’m not sure about this,” you answer honestly, hands trembling over his chest, trying to even out your breaths. “I’m sorry,” you fumble, “it’s all happening so quickly—I didn’t expect anything to happen tonight.”

“Is that why you’re wearing these?” He asks lowly, and you stiffen as his fingers brush over your hip, now covered again by your dress, but you know he’s talking about your underwear, how it matches the gold of your jewellery, complimenting the regal purple of your gown.

“I—…that was for me,” you mumble, flushing, shying away from the pressure within his gaze, how his attention crushes down upon you. “So I’d feel more confident around you.”

“Confident?” He remarks lowly, roughly, the slow drag of the word tingling down your spine. “So you always wear something matching whenever you feel unsure?” You falter, glancing away, hands lowering a little but remaining against him, anxious to keep him at bay for the moment. “I’m sorry if I misled you,” you manage, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “But I…if you’re only after sex, I can’t give you that.”

“You’d give more?” He asks breathlessly, pushing closer despite how you try to keep him away. “With someone else, I could manage a one-time thing,” you whisper, “but with you…”

A deep noise rumbles in his chest, male satisfaction resounding through you as your insides flutter, his hands coming to brace themselves on the wall, either side of your hips as he leans down, mere inches separating you. “You want something serious?” He asks quietly, roughly, and you nod, tilting your head to better see him.

His lips curve at the edges, pleased with your reply. “Then come with me,” he murmurs beside your ear, and your breaths stutter as his arousal wraps around you, stark and heady. His hand wraps around your wrist, making to take you elsewhere, but you pull against his hold. “I need you to slow down,” you manage firmly, getting stable footing on the ground—relatively stable, anyway.

“You were so eager a second ago,” he muses, the sonorous drawl returning, his eyes dark and deadly, able to scent your own arousal by now. He doesn’t release your wrist. “I’m allowed to change my mind,” you say firmly, lightly trying to pull away but to no avail. Either he doesn’t get the hint, or…you swallow thickly.

Violet eyes glint, a curve tilting the edges of his mouth. “And what have you changed your mind to?” He asks smoothly, as if indulging a child’s whim.

“I think a lot has happened tonight, and I want to go home and sleep on it,” you say, aware of how his touch is making your skin tingle. A strange weariness creeping over you, eyelids beginning to weigh as the adrenaline wares off.

A sadness flickers in his violet eyes, before it’s vanished, and he shakes his head. “I can’t stand it a moment longer,” he breathes, firmly pulling you into his body, knowing you’re unable to resist. His palm settles on your lower back, and you press your own hand to his chest in protest. “Rhys. Stop messing around,” you say, peering up at him, meeting hungry, dark eyes. “This isn’t funny. Let me go.”

“Lovely, little lamb,” he breathes, angling you so he can peer down at you, and you can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing intrusively into your middle. “You think I would joke when it comes to you?” He asks gently, violet eyes sweeping over you, and you shrink away, the ravenous lust making your legs feel weak. “I can hardly breathe right around you,” he whispers, “I ache for you. To feel you. To touch you. Don’t deny me for a second longer.”

Your lips part in shock, unable to formulate a response, and his eyes glint with approval, before he’s turning, forcefully dragging you from the room, hand shackled around your wrist as you try to struggle against him, to rip yourself from his hold, but he refuses to budge. You might as well be fighting against iron for how much give he allows.

“Rhys,” you call sharply, tugging away. “Rhysand!” You try grabbing onto a banister, but he’s too strong, and your hold slips away, heels practically clawing lines into the floorboards as you try to lean against him, to counterweight his force—to no avail. “Rhys let me go,” you bark, surging forward abruptly in attempt to knock into him, but he’s been trained as a warrior since birth, and has no difficulty in remaining stable.

“Stop struggling,” he demands lowly, piercing violet pinning you to the floor, and you’re utterly helpless as he effortlessly puts you over his shoulder, sweeping you off your feet with devastating ease. You start kicking, slamming your fists against his back, aiming either side of his spine as you scream at him to put you down, trying to dig your nails into his skin, to rip through his clothes to scratch and slice at him.

You recoil into yourself when his palm connects with your hind, body going taut as you freeze, horror and terror paralysing you, and he chuckles lowly. “Like that?” He asks, voice deeper, and your stomach drops when he reaches a bedroom, able to watch as the door clicks shut.

“Rhys,” you whisper, fear pounding through your veins. “Rhys, put me down.”

Panic roils in your gut as you’re roughly thrown down from his shoulder, knees pressing together as you land on the softness of his mattress, crisp sheets rustling as you try to squirm away from him, pushing further up the bed. “Rhys— Rhys listen to me,” you try, but he ignores you, looming like a nightmare as he grips your ankle, dragging you back toward him.

“Relax,” he muses, fingers biting into your skin as he pushes the deep purple of your dress higher, until you’re certain he’ll be able to see the gold material clinging between your thighs, presented with a perfect view between your legs. “You’ll feel good. You know you’ll feel good.”

“Rhys, fuck off!” You bark, voice shaking with terror, pressure building behind your eyes. “You can’t fucking do this. Just because she did it to you doesn’t mean you have the right to inflict it on other people.”

He snarls lowly at that, pinning you down in an instant, easily slotting between your thighs, his powerful body keeping you where he wants with ease. “I thought you cared, huh? I thought you were eager to be with me. What happened to that, hm?”

“You’re sick, Rhys,” you hiss, “this is sick. You’re fucking insane.”

“It’s okay to be a little insane,” he drawls, mimicking your earlier words of comfort, given in attempts to help him, but in doing so dooming yourself. “It’s more than a little,” you hiss, teeth flashing as you try to kick him off you, but he’s pressing himself flush between your thighs, leaving you without a hope in hell.

“I deserve to be happy, don’t I?” He murmurs so softly over your mouth, and in any other context your heart would have broken at the question—that he would even have to ask. But, “not at my expense, Rhys,” you hiss, heat warming behind your eyes. “Not at our expense.”

“I’m not sacrificing us,” he counters quietly, hand coming up to grip your jaw. “I’m joining us together.” He rolls his hips against yours, feeling him against your sex, how the pressure grinds over your clit, deliciously traitorous heat gathering in response, and you’re utterly helpless as his lips curve into a slight grin, sadism gleaming from deep within his violent gaze.

“I don’t want to join with you,” you spit back, trying to push him away, but darkness gathers on his bed, keeping your wrists bound to the mattress as he lowers his mouth to your throat, kissing and biting his way down your skin, painting a pathway of bruises while his hands glide up your thighs, catching beneath the material of your dress. His lips brush the hem of its neckline, and then he’s smoothly pulling it away, leaving you practically bare.

Your High Lord pulls back, tan skin flushed, pupils dilated with dizzying hunger as he gazes down at his prey, the golden fabric clinging to your hips as you squirm, ankles wrapped in that gilded string, keeping your heels in place, the elegant little chains decorating your wrists, settling around your throat. He groans lowly, rough palms splaying over your waist, resting there gently as he rolls his hips against you, into you, taking his time pulling you apart. Savouring your struggle.

“You were desperate for it minutes ago,” he drawls lowly, right palm raising over your stomach, the pads of his fingers brushing with a feather-light touch upward, starting from your lower abdomen, gliding slowly to your sternum, pleased to feel how your breath hitches beneath his touch. “You’ll be desperate again soon enough.”

“Go to hell, Rhys,” you manage, lip curling back to showcase sharp canines—a set he’d gladly allow to pierce his skin. The only set he’d allow to mark him ever again. “This isn’t fucking okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” he breathes, and your throat rolls heavily as his fingers begin the slow, torturous descent back down your body, trailing over your abdomen, stroking down over the golden fabric, running lightly over your centre. “It’s better.”

Heat flushes your skin as his rough palms grip the underside of your thighs, just above your knees, raising your legs up and out of the way, pressing them close to your torso so he has more room. Callouses drag against your skin, a reminder of his strength, the warrior that’s concealed beneath his finely tailored exterior. He is the embodiment of power.

“Rhys, stop,” you breathe as he settles at the edge of the bed, violet eyes hungrily licking over your clothed sex. You squirm, trying to shift your hips, but his lips brush over your abdomen, and then his teeth are clasping the band of your underwear. He gazes up at you intently, slowly dragging it back—tauntingly; teasingly—until he releases it to snap back against your skin.

“Rhys…” you murmur shakily, the understanding finally beginning to dawn across you that he might go through with it. “Rhys, please. You’re better than this.” Violet gleams with ravenous hunger, dark and starved, and he presses forward, mouth a breath’s width from your sex. “Shall I show you how much better I can be?”

You swallow thickly beneath that look, but manage to nod your head. If you can just get him to pull away, to remove the bonds of your wrists…

Your lips part in a sharp gasp, writhing beneath him as he presses his face between your legs, violet eyes closing as he takes in his own heaven, submerging himself in your scent, your heat. You try to buck away from him, to get further from his mouth, but it only serves to make you more aware of how he’s invading, though his grip has lessened on your thighs.

He exhales heavily, contentedly, shifting between your legs and your muscles coil tense, nails piercing your palms as his nose brushes against… Your toes curl, thighs trying to press together, to ward him away, but he keeps you spread apart effortlessly.

Eventually he pulls back, violet eyes glued to your clothed sex as his fingers hook in the golden strings lacing over your hips, slowly pulling them away. His gaze practically glows, pupils dilating as he peels away the wet material, shame and humiliation burning hot in your gut. Eyes flick up to you, and you force yourself to meet them, to not yield and look away—to not admit defeat. “You’re wet,” he breathes lowly, roughly, depthless hunger swirling in the pits of his pupils. “That means nothing,” you hiss, trying to writhe away from him, fearing what practices his mind will conjure. “I think it means quite a lot more than that, darling,” he breathes, pulling your underwear away completely, then pressing it back to your heat.

You inhale sharply as his fingers run up over you, slow but firm strokes, circling your entrance through the golden fabric, and your pulse spikes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing now?” You snap, voice shaking with fear, darkness now banding around beneath your knees to keep them apart as he stands, peeling your underwear away. Embarrassment flushes your skin when you catch their gleam, how thoroughly soaked they are.

Rhys’s cruel mouth curves, and you writhe on his bed, trying to turn away as he pushes the wet material between your lips, long fingers prying them apart. Your tongue recoils, trying to pull away, but his grin widens, a pleasured sound coming from deep within his chest as he feels you struggle. “Do you taste good?” He asks lowly, fingers stroking over your tongue, “like having that in your mouth? I bet you’re only getting wetter by the second,” he breathes, pupils fully dilated.

You release a sound that should be disgusted, but comes out as more of a whimper. His breath catches at the noise, able to see how his cock is straining against his trousers but he leaves himself unattended—for now.

He returns between your legs, and a noise between a whimper and a snarl rips from your throat, heat flaring across your skin as he licks up your centre, broad palms keeping your thighs absolutely open for him to indulge.

“Rhys,” you panic, feeling pressure build behind your eyes, managing to spit out the fabric that had been gagging you. “Rhys please. Please stop. We can— We can figure something out—”

His tongue swipes over your clit, making you jolt and squirm, trying desperately to thrash against his hold but it’s like being chained up, his grip stricter than iron as he applies himself, suckling at the impossibly sensitive part effortlessly, as if he’s familiar with how your body works. As if he knows already exactly where to touch, suck, and fuck to have you drooling dumb.

Breaths pant from your lips, hips wiggling as one hand trails down your thigh, and you know exactly what he’s planning to do with those long, dexterous fingers of his…exactly how they’ll feel inside of you, how they’ll know where to push and rub at to have you dripping onto his knuckles.

“You want me to stop?” He breathes lowly, roughly, thumbing at your entrance, liking how you tighten around nothing as if eager to invite him in. “You know I could make you feel like an immortal,” he growls, mouth prone to attach your clit with his tongue and teeth should you try to rebuke him. “I could take you higher…further than anyone’s ever taken you before.”

“I don’t fucking want it,” you hiss, lip curled as heat wets your eyes, trying to blink away the hot tears in favour of sending him a look of pure hatred.

Rhys blinks his violet eyes, then smiles, pulling away.

“Give me five minutes?” He muses lowly, a starving glint in his gaze, darkened and scheming. You snarl, then inhale sharply when the darkness releases you, completely freeing you. Immediately you sit upright, pulling your legs together, but refusing to cower before him—keeping your hands at your sides, gripping the sheets to prevent yourself from recoiling physically.

“You don’t deserve a single second of my time,” you spit, blinking away the tears as you snarl. “I regret how much I’ve already spent on you.”

“Not even a single second?” He laughs, hands sliding calmly into the pockets of his finely tailored trouser, perfectly encapsulating the raw power contained within his body. “I’m not sure if I can take you there in an instant without hurting you somewhere,” he drawls almost apologetically, but his violet eyes spark. “But if that’s all you’ll give me…” he murmurs, softer than a breath.

Your breathing pattern spikes, heat flushing intently beneath his gaze. Talons swiftly enter your mind, and you’re utterly helpless as your body starts to tremble, terrifying heat swelling with such ferocity your vision goes tilted, muscles feeling like custard as you fall back into the bed. Your spine arches on its own, toes curling eyes squeezing shut as he plies the orgasm from your body, easing out your pleasure while he stands at the foot of the bed, idly licking at the pad of his thumb that had prodded against your entrance.

Your lips part as it intensifies, and you scramble, thrashing in the bed, a choked noise erupting from your chest as you feel the high in your entire body, like there are hands touching, feeling all across your body, tongues lapping over your nipples, sets of teeth biting at your throat, lips sealing over your clit as fingers pump and curl inside of you.

The scream rises swiftly, limbs trembling violently as sweat is forced through your skin from the abrupt intensity, the orgasm absolutely devastating as you lose all control of yourself, moaning unabashedly as those feelings are drawn out—as Rhysand draws them out. His fingers the ones inside of you, his teeth piercing your skin, his tongue circling your clit.

“Do you want it to stop,” he muses, unable to help licking his lips at the obscene sight before him, the scent of it filtrating into his blood, rushing straight to his cock, hot and heavy between his legs.

The words jumble and melt across your mind, splashing like melted butter into your head, and struggle—for what? For more? For more.

He chuckles lowly, and you scream as he forces you through a second one, having it break like the surf across jagged rocks, arousal dripping down your thighs, webbing between your legs as you try to press them together only for the darkness to spread you apart. Definitely more than wet enough to fill a shot glass or two.

You pant heavily. Ragged, gasping breaths as wild heat ravishes your skin, pleasure bursting at the seams of your body, a perfectly ripe fruit dripping with flavour, ready to break beneath the slightest pressure from a set of sharp, piercing canines the second they graze your skin. And Rhysand is more than happy to bite.

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, so you can only feel the mattress dip as he prowls up onto the bed, pinning you down, caging you effortlessly between his powerful, ruining arms.

The High Lord allows your orgasm to wash away slowly, bringing you back to the plane of reality he’s on, your skin hot and dewy from the intense pleasure he’s forced you full of. Your lids flutter, eyes struggling to lock onto his as violet pierces into you, doing nothing to hide the deep-rooted hunger that’s tearing him apart. He moves lazily, with the leisure one can move with when they’re in no rush, yet you can sense that undercurrent, the riptide within him that you’ve been caught in, at last dawning on you. The only other tell aside from his actions and confessions, is the strain in his jaw, wound tight as he gazes down at you, eyes so dark they’re closer to being entirely black as shadow and darkness writhes around you in a great, slithering mass, tangling with you on the bed.

“I think you’re more than ready now,” he whispers, the words dragging like gravel across bare, sensitive skin. “Are you ready?”

Tears spill down your cheeks, so turned around you feel entirely out of control. All you can remember is the sizzling burn of pleasure, the electrifying tingle of heat as it sears through your thighs, making your body feel weightless, like you’re above the clouds and bathing in starlight…starlight that’s hot and wet, that trickles down the naked planes of your body…that slips and slides where your fingers drag through it…that tastes like power and possession…laced through with iridescent violet…

A rough laugh drags from the High Lord’s throat, sensing your pleasure-induced daze, facing not even an ounce of resistance as he gently flips you over on the bed, the side of your face pressing into the soft fullness of one of the pillows, saliva pooling inside your cheek, drooling out onto the cotton as he pushes your thighs apart.

He curses lowly, eyeing the mess between your thighs, wanting more than anything to pull you to the edge of his bed, or flip you around again so you’re spread out on top of him, suspended in the air for him to play with and touch. So he can kiss, lick, bite wherever on your body he likes, so he can press his face between your legs, so he can take his time learning the pace you most like his tongue circling your clit, the pressure to apply that will most swiftly lead you to orgasm, the spots inside of you he should rub against if he wants you to soak him.

But he doesn’t. He’s waited too long.

Besides, after tonight, he can do whatever he pleases; you’ll be his. If he wants to dangle you from the ceiling while exploring your skin, if he wants to bind you to his bed while he kisses up your thighs, if he wants to seat you in his lap while he strokes his tongue against your own…he can. The thought has him growling lowly, dark power writhing beneath his skin, aching to manifest with talons and large, spanning wings, to allow proper canines to slide from his upper lip and his skin to become dark and leathery; to yield to his baser side.

You make a soft sound in the back of your throat, confused but aroused, and his cock twitches between his legs in response. Trailing a hand up the path of your spine, darkness gathers your wrists in a light coil, bringing them to cross at your back, and he swallows thickly at the imagery. Unable to entirely help himself, having only ever witnessed these events within fantasy, the darkness wraps itself also beneath your shins, raising them from the bed until your calves are pressing to the backs of your thighs, legs bent at the knee.

Breathing deeply, he pulls himself free, noting the slight tremors that run through your body, shuddering lightly from the aftershocks of pleasure, trembling beneath the beast who’s got you at his mercy. So out of it you can hardly understand what’s happening, reduced to a panting, drooling mess. A groan of pleasure rasps from his chest, guiding his tip to your entrance, and slowly…slowly easing in.

Your breaths stutter, small noises whimpering from your lips as your lids flutter with confusion, and he applies a light pressure to the base of your spine, having you curve lightly beneath him as he goes in…and in…and in. His breath fans against the nape of your neck, lips skimming the shell of your ear, and tears spill from your eyes, unable to help as you cry, unable to understand why after having had your mind so thoroughly toyed with.

Rhysand shifts, his forearm banding beneath your stomach to raise you up onto shaky knees, legs still bound while your face presses into the pillow, allowing him to press the entirety of himself inside, his hips meeting the backs of your thighs, at last finding home for that last inch he couldn’t fit into you when you were on your front. You whimper at the stretch, the fullness, the strange pleasure from having no space left inside of you. His lips press to the bare skin of the top of your shoulder, skimming the thin golden chain that remains loosely around your throat.

“So good,” he whispers beside you ear, voice shuddering as he presses his face to the crook of your shoulder, inhaling the thickness of your scent—he could come from that alone, from how you’re squeezing him, the pliancy of your body. “I knew you’d fit me perfectly, and feel how right I was.”

He shifts his weight, and your toes curl lightly, squirming beneath the pleasure, and Rhys can sense it will be a struggle to move, to gather the energy to bring a greater pleasure to both of you. It feels so good as it is, he almost doesn’t want to move, to simply bask in the wet heat of your cunt, the lost familiarity of your scent, the way your body slots so perfectly beneath his own.

You’re struggling internally, grappling for consciousness but overwhelmed by the pleasure he’s forcing into you. You can feel everything that’s happening, feel every thick inch of him that he’s pushed into you, yet can hardly even lift a finger to stop it, tears growing larger as they quietly wet the cotton of the pillow.

“Gods, you were fucking made for me,” he breathes roughly, sounding almost pained as he hoarsely whispers the confession of thought, and it has enough disgust gathering in the pit of your stomach to push you to the forefront of your mind, resurfacing and gasping for breath as you tense, awareness coursing through your blood, suddenly so acutely aware of every place you’re pressed together, every intimate touch of bare skin, and you try to recoil, to squirm away from him.

“Rhys get off me,” you hiss lowly, crying harder as you try to free yourself, but his shadows hold tight, keeping your wrapped up beneath him, physically unable to push him away or to claw at him as you would like to. Your cheek presses into the pillow, neck straining from the uncomfortable angle, the weight being pushed onto your shoulders from the position, and your gaze meets with dominating, depthless violet. You try to thrash, try to writhe away, but you can manage little more than a shift of your hips with the way he’s holding you.

“Aware again?” He murmurs softly, holding you a little tighter, pulling his hips back by a few inches, just to let you really feel as he presses back inside, cock touching against a sensitive spot that has a quiet sob escaping from your throat. “You were enjoying it so much,” he whispers cruelly, like a malevolent spirit urging you toward evil, silently goading and encouraging you away from the good, and instead forward into the bad. “Relax,” he muses besides your ear, your spine unwillingly arching as a shiver ghosts up your back.

Words of hate, of fury and disgust sit ready on your tongue, but he pulls his hips back again, and the breath you take is one you would breathe down before being dragged under a river’s icy surface. One you would take, knowing it might be your last.

He pulls out to his tip, then roughly pushes back in, pushing you into the pillow, and all sense is knocked from your head.

All sense from his, too.

A low growl rumbles through his chest, constraints dissolving to dust and ash as discipline crumbles like sand, disintegrating into nothing as both his hands roughly grip your hips, pulling back to slam into you. Deep, rough, thorough strokes that have his cock hitting spots inside of you, drool slipping over your lips as he fucks the protests out of your mind—fucks the moans from your mouth.

Your vision changes, unable to understand anything you’re seeing through the pure haze of pleasure, unable to take anymore after the two he’d forced through you without having to so much as trace the pad of his finger over your clit. And now he’s pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs, filling you up all the while you’re bound and tied, shackled and caged beneath him. For him to use as he pleases.

Tingling heat coils in the pit of your belly, and you’re not sure whether you would prefer the gathering orgasm to be of your own making or his. Whether you would rather it be your body naturally responding to his cruel, dominating pleasure, or for his daemati hands to have slipped into your mind again, fingers easing the puppet-strings to move in the correct formation to have the high rising so swiftly. You hardly have the capacity to consider the thought before it’s banished from your mind, darkness widening the stance of your knees on the mattress so they can twine between your legs, pushing and rubbing at your clit, slick and precum having mixed together, dripping down, slowly making you gleam with arousal that the darkness now uses to catapult you into the orgasm. Shoving you mercilessly into the boiling tempest of pleasure, holding your head below the raging waters so as to drown you in euphoria, to having it fill your lungs and burn at your eyes as it passes through your body.

Rhysand feels you trembling, crying out as you flutter and squeeze him, finding his own high with yours, canines flashing in a barely restrained snarl, teeth biting down into the appetising slope of your shoulder. He feels it as he spills inside of you, hot spurts of cum releasing from him directly into your cunt, and he continues bucking his hips to keep it all pressed deep inside, sloppily grinding against you until your body has ceased its shudders and you’re panting quietly, tears still dripping down your cheeks, nails having bitten deep into your palms but he doubts you’re at all aware of the pain in the moment.

The High Lord curses lowly, breathless as he pulls out of you, seeing how he’s coated in your arousal, wrapped in the evidence of your orgasm, a fresh wave of pleasure having soaked him in your slick, slightly creamy from his cum mixing in. He groans lowly, canine finding place in the corner of his lip as he bites lightly, stroking himself experimentally, then gritting his teeth from sensitivity.

Rhysand glances down at you, ass still kept in the air, trembling; unable to move yet from his shadows, and at once the hunger is renewed, grip tightening on himself as he hardens again. Arousal gathers within him, and he moves almost without thinking, guiding himself back to your entrance, despite how you cry as you feel him begin to push back in, forgetting you will be about to endure a fourth orgasm in less than quarter of an hour, while he is only starting on his second.

You cry out as he firmly presses back in, once again shoving the air from your lungs, and you flinch as the heel of his palm presses hard against the nape of your neck, thumb to one side while his fingers settle on the other, chaining you to the bed by your throat, and allowing him to… You swallow thickly, but struggle with his weight leaning on you.

“Rhys…” you rasp, panic setting in, realising what differences this will make; knowing you can’t take it. “Rhys… Rhys…!” You struggle frantically, arms tugging at the restraints as you try everything you can think of: thrashing against the bonds of your wrists, trying to rock your body side to side to turn over, using all your trembling strength to try and pull your legs free… “Rhys, please…Rhys listen—listen to me,” you cry, fingers moving as if trying to scratch him.

He pays you no mind, grip hardening on the nape of your neck as he pushes in, finding his pace again, following his own instincts this time, the feeling of your orgasm on his cock, how you’d fluttered around him…he’s undone.

Your breath turns more ragged, heart pounding as he increases the pace, feeling inside as it becomes rougher, more feral, more unrestrained, the damper of his power clean off as darkness sprawls across the bed. The rhythm becomes punishing, brutal bucks of his hips, and you nearly scream as he takes advantage of the position, putting his weight behind each thrust, pinning you down by your neck, fucking you into his bed with a conviction that’s obsessive.

Nails dig into your palms, muscles going taut as darkness presses to your clit, rubbing in mean, tight circles, far too harsh for how sensitive you are, thighs shaking with the cruel stimulation. You’re utterly helpless to the way your spine curves, how your toes curl, how you tighten around him with how good it feels—being so roughly treated, pleasure being so mercilessly infused into your body.

And this time, you know he’s tampering with your mind.

You scream as you come again, cock driving into you over and over until your voice gives out, his hips bucking into you in a way that has you forgetting the circumstances, silently begging for it not to end, to not let the pleasure slip away.

A dark grin curves his hellish mouth, daemati fingers effortlessly plucking on the puppet-strings, dragging the high out just as you’d silently prayed for.

But a mind can only take so much tampering. The High Lord knows this, had warned you about it himself before he’d pulled the first two from you. Yet in his haze, caught in his hunger, all he hears are your pleas, and his own mind is helpless to give more and more and more.

It’s only after he’s flipped you over, fucked you full, and sealed his mouth against your own that he realises you’ve passed out, mind exhausted from his relentless ministrations. He doesn’t want to stop, but he knows he can’t continue.

Gazing down at your body, head tipped to the side, your eyes already slightly puffy from crying, he feels a slight ache within his chest. He’s old enough to recognise regret when it appears, the cloying heaviness of guilt that’s so difficult to shake.

He brushes hair from your cheek, wet with saliva, and his thumb traces the curve beneath your lower lip, regaining his breath as he quietly looks over you. You’ll need to rest, to recuperate after the night. As much as he wants to keep you in his own bed, it will only make more damage, and he’s caused enough for the time being. Anymore and he might struggle to fix it.

As it is, he allows himself a few more minutes, leaning over your pliant body, brow pressing to your own as he cups your jaw. He supposes it’s a prayer of his own, though he can’t guess what to.

He’s not sure he wants to pray to something that would listen to him.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#dark!rhys #dark!rhys x reader #dark!rhys smut #dark!rhys x reader smut #dark!rhysand smut #dark!rhysand x reader #desk pet series

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separatist-apologist · 12 days

Text

Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

Read On AO3

It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much.

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes.

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper.

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips.

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband.

A good lay, though? He could give her that.

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones.

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course.

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

–

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe.

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again.

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first.

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions.

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead.

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air.

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive.

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre.

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose.

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth.

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help.

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned.

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball.

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant.

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims.

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin.

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again.

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape?

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on.

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window.

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside.

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy.

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him.

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would.

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her.

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then.

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs.

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed.

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away.

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking.

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin.

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid.

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety.

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs.

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin.

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it.

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled.

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head.

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite.

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going.

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth.

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone.

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest.

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

#feysand #can i get this uploaded by 1pm #with a minute left look at me

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azsazz · 1 year

Text

Dioxazine (Part 2)

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: After Rhys invites you to his party, you find yourself attending...for research.

Warnings: Drinking, smoking, smut.

Word Count: 4,993

(Part 1)

Notes: thank you, as always, to @writingsbychlo for the help 💙

And Happy Friday my loves!!

_________________________________________

You make a noise of frustration, leaning back into your chair and tossing your brush into the palette beside your canvas. It bounces once before the tip sticks in the thick oily violet color you’d been trying to perfect, while the wooden handle of the paintbrush rolls into the other various shades of violet you’d been trying to blend from memory.

None of them are right.

You’ll never admit it – least of all to Rhysand should you ever see him again – but he has the most intriguing eyes you’ve ever seen. Sure, you’ve seen pretty greens and blues and caramel browns, vast arrays of colorful iris’ throughout your life, but never that striking violet that Rhys has.

You cross your arms over your chest as you stare at the painting of his eyes you’ve been attempting since you’ve gotten home from your trip to the supply store where you’d met the cheeky man. You haven’t been able to get them off of your mind, so you did the only thing that would normally help you move on from something so interesting; paint it.

But the purple you mixed doesn’t look like lightning streaking across the night sky. What you’ve painted looks more like a bushel of grapes ready to be crushed and made into wine. It’s all off. You’ve used nearly the entire tube of the dioxazine color you’d bought trying to blend the perfect shade, but to no avail.

You bite your cheek, looking down at your arm. You’d scrubbed tirelessly at the thick black numbers Rhysand had scribbled on your skin in haste, but even if you hadn’t immediately plugged his number into your phone as soon as you set your bag of art supplies down, you have it memorized anyway. It had been the only way to get him away from you, although there was something about his incessant flirting and cheeky attitude that had you intrigued. And the fact that he’s drop dead gorgeous.

You can’t help but wonder what he and his friends were spray painting and where. Was it on the side of the commons building with their address and time for the party? Or maybe some random run down building off campus somewhere? Did he paint an admission of his fondness towards the girl he’d known for only a few minutes? He did say that he would paint something pretty for you.

Groaning, you throw your head in your hands. You should stop thinking about him. You don’t want to be, but there’s something about Rhys that you just can’t get out of your head. And it’s not only the color of his eyes.

Your arm has barely stopped tingling and your stomach has had butterflies running rampant since he’d grabbed your arm to write his number down. His hand was large and warm wrapped around your wrist, and it was calloused in all of the right places. His smirk had made your heart stutter in your chest and after seeing that silly tattoo you found yourself wanting to rid him of his shirt to admire the other ink you saw sprawling up his tan arms.

Rhys seems like the kind of guy who even has tattoos framing his–

“Fuck,” you breathe, reaching for your phone that’s playing music softly by your side. Your cheeks are hot with a blush and you’re thankful that no one’s around to see it. Paint smears on the screen as you try to unlock it, a vibrant purple that makes you want to cringe. It’s nowhere near the color you’re looking for, and you swipe your phone against your pants, quickly removing the paint and pulling open a new text thread before you lose your nerve.

It’s (Y/N). Where’s that party you were talking about earlier?

Simple. Straight to the point. You hit send.

There’s a fleeting thought that maybe you should delete it, but your phone is already buzzing with response.

Changed your mind already, (Y/N) Darling? That didn’t take long.

You huff, even though you’d been expecting something as much from Rhysand.

Changed my mind. Have a nice night. Try not to get the police called on you.

Awe, you’re worried about me?

Address? So I can be the one to call the police on you.

You can picture that smile curling his lips in a feline smirk. Maybe he’s even laughing. A good look for him, one that has you biting your lip and on the edge of your stool as you wait for a response. The three dots appear quickly as he shoots off his reply.

2054 Velaris Circle. I can assure you that no uninvited police will be there.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming,” Rhys smirks, and gods, does he look amazing in that black t-shirt and jeans to match, leaning up against the doorframe like that. His arms are crossed over his chest, the pose accentuating his muscles.

You swallow, holding his gaze. His violet eyes are intense and the air around you is charged as he dares you to check him out.

You don’t give into the urge to drag your eyes down his body, instead taking in his handsome face. The wicked curve of his mouth and his sleek black hair is mused in the perfect way. You notice the stars in his eyes the longer you stare, and all of sudden you know that you’re no longer here just to memorize that color for your painting.

You need to memorize all of him.

“I was deciding whether or not I wanted to actually show up,” you respond with a lie, shrugging as if you haven’t just come to this jarring realization.

Rhys doesn’t look like he believes you, so he says, “Well, I’m glad you could find the time to join me.”

Not join the party, not join us, but him.

“I have artists’ block and nothing better to do anyway, so here I am,” you offer lamely but he smiles nonetheless.

He hums in a noncommittal way and shifts to the side, gesturing you into the house with a wave.

You duck inside and Rhys’ hand falls lightly to your back to usher you deeper into his home. You can feel his fingertips burning through the thin fabric of your shirt, heating your bones. The touch of him against you helps as you maneuver through the mass of drunken strangers, the music loud in your ears.

If you thought the outside was tremendous, the inside is even more so. It’s a large house, bigger than you would assume a struggling art student to be able to afford, even with multiple roommates. He must come from some sort of money or in fact be a very successful artist to call this extravagant, modern space his home.

The crowd parts around you as Rhys guides you through the foyer. Girls take you in with their hazy glares, assessing, while the boys clap Rhys on the shoulder with passing greetings, cheers, and dibs to be his partner in the next round of beer pong.

“Wow…you’re quite the social butterfly,” you comment as you pass by two boys who are handing out shots of amber liquid to passersby. Both of their copper hair stands out even under the low lighting, and you gasp, jumping backward as the younger one shoves a glass into your hand as the older one flicks his lighter, setting the liquid on fire with a brazen grin.

Rhysands warm hands find your hips as you startle, settling you as he continues forward to press up into your backside in protection. He sends a glare that you miss over your head towards the pyromaniacs that have somehow squirreled their way into another one of his parties.

“What the fuck?” you squeak, careful not to let any of the drink slosh over the sides of the glass.

“It’s alright, Darling,” Rhys’ deep tone sends shivers rumbling up your spine, drawing your attention away from the flaming drink in your hand. Your cheeks heat as your focus is pulled to the hard lines of his body pressed tightly against yours, his fingers pressing into your waist with confidence. You feel as though you’ve already taken the shot of alcohol.

Rhys reaches over your shoulder to take the drink from your hands. He keeps it held in front of you, as far away from your body as he can reach. Your hands fall to grasp the sides of his legs as he places a palm over the entirety of the glass, your breath hitching in your throat as he stifles its flame.

Your nails dig into the meat of his thighs through the thick denim and his breathing falters as he thinks about those nails all over his body, dragging across his tanned skin while you writhe and whimper beneath him.

You feel his breathing deepen and his cock press into your hind. You bite your lip to stifle the noise of pleasure creeping up your throat.

You want this.

You want him.

Your entire façade you had walking into his party is gone, singed away from the sure way he’s holding you tightly to his body. You can feel every muscle as he moves, every breath he takes, his broad chest pushing you forward and the arm around your waist pulling you back, lulling you into him further. You’re a fucking goner.

Once the flame is smothered, he uses that hand to grab your chin, tilting your head back all the way until you meet his violet gaze.

His eyes are burning the color of the hottest flames, licking you up as he forces your jaw open, his thumb and middle fingers pinching your cheeks. It isn’t painful but his touch isn’t light and the feeling goes straight to your core, molten for him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs softly, focusing fully on you as he brings the shot to your mouth and dumps the liquid in.

You choke a little as you force the cinnamon liquor down and the sound makes him bite his lip and his cock jump with need. You can’t help but arch against him a little, grinding into him as he thinks about what kinds of sounds you’d make if his cock was being shoved down your throat instead of just the fiery alcohol.

“Yo! Get a room,” a high pitched voice startles you. Rhys’ grip around your neck tightens in reflex but falls to your side when your attention is ripped apart to the girl passing by with a wicked grin on her cadmium red lips.

She’s gorgeous, clad in a skimpy dress and killer heels, her blonde hair bouncing around her in perfect waves as she approaches. You swallow your nervousness, beginning to shift away from Rhys because surely he’ll want her attention.

But Rhysand only scowls at the girl, his hand on your hip sliding across your waist to keep you pinned to his front. “You’re one to talk, Morrigan. I think Emerie is waiting in the guest room already.”

Her laugh is a song of its own and she doesn’t take the time to stop like you thought that she would, she only continues deeper into the party where the music gets louder and the air gets hotter.

You raise your eyebrow at Rhys and he grins sheepishly. “That was my nosey cousin, Mor.”

You nod in understanding as he begins leading you through the room again with a final scowl over his shoulders at the two brothers with matching shit-eating grins covering their freckled lined faces.

When the crowd parts and you finally catch sight of where Rhys is taking you and you halt in your tracks.

There’s a table of sorts set up, a few ring lights brightening up the space in the corner of the room. You recognize the two boys. There’s a gloriously tanned man laying on the table, shirtless with the waistband of his pants tugged down to expose his hips. He’s grinning down at something that the artist mutters. His toned body is littered with tattoos like Rhys’, though you can’t make them out from where you’re standing. He huffs a laugh when the dark haired boy with the tattoo gun in his hand pauses and glares up at him, settling flat on his back from where he’d been curled up, trying to get a look at the progress of his new tattoo.

The artist looks similar as he hunches over the other man’s waist once more. Broad shoulders beneath a starkly onyx shirt. The fringe of his hair hangs between the two men, looking silky soft in the harsh lights. He’s concentrating hard, attentive golden eyes and steady hands covered with sterile gloves. More permanent art across his body, you notice a tattoo of a falling angel on his bicep. Whatever it’s reaching up towards disappears beneath the sleeve of his shirt.

Your stomach rolls with nervousness. Surely Rhys hadn’t been serious when he’d mentioned you getting a tattoo of his phone number outside of the art shop.

You rub your hand over the mark he’d left subconsciously.

“Isn’t that illegal?” you blurt, grimacing as you stare at the man as he pauses to wipe stray ink away from the other man’s cut hips.

“Having fun? No.”

You tear your gaze away from the sight to glare up at him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Rhys’ laughter rings above the heavy bass of the music and his hand presses more firmly against your back, urging you forward. Your spine tightens pleasurably at the pressure.

“Loosen up. What does it matter, if it’s consensual?”

You suppose he has a point. The area looks clean enough and the boy giving the tattoos looks as professional as any, but you will not be hopping up on that table tonight.

Not that you can’t be convinced.

“They’re my roommates,” Rhys explains as he ushers you by. The one lying on the table gives Rhys a shit eating grin. He looks like he’s about to say something but the other boy mutters a threat that you can’t hear over the loud bass of the music, but the way the other scoffs and deflates tells you enough.

You nod in response, and he continues, leaning down so you can hear him better. His breath is hot against your skin and it causes shivers to prickle up your spine, your fingers twisting together with nervousness as he leads you towards the hall. “The one on the table is Cassian, and the one giving him that awful tattoo I told him not to get is Azriel.”

That catches your interest. “Awful tattoo?” you ask, following Rhys as he shoves his way into a room you can only assume is his own. “What is he getting?”

The lights cut on, dim so that you can see but it doesn’t ruin the mood. Rhys slips the door shut and there’s a click of the lock that's drowned out by the party outside. You find yourself not caring what tattoo Cassian is getting as you take in the sight of his large room. It’s something out of a dream, sleek and pristine and attuned to Rhysand very aesthetically. There’s stacks of art history books littering his large desk on one side, his sleek laptop shut on top, and the other side is filled with a mess of charcoals, pencils, and paper from the art shop.

You wonder what he’s drawing over there.

Rhys tuts disapprovingly, “You do not want to know, Darling.”

You can’t help but grin at him as he comes up behind where you’re standing to wrap himself around you. It’s nice, more than, and while you swore you were only coming here to peek at his eyes again to reference in your painting, you find yourself wanting to get him out of his clothes, see all of him, so your work of just his eyes can turn into a full body picture.

“Oh, but now I really do want to know,” you giggle, latching onto his forearm where it’s splayed across your shoulders. You turn in his arms and Rhys lets you lead him backwards towards the bed as you guess. “Is it leaves or wings? Or, don’t tell me! It’s totally someone's name, right? He seems like the type.”

Rhysand dips his head down to press against yours. Your breath hitches at his close proximity and your cheeky thoughts wander into something more serious, your grip tightening on him as the backs of his legs hit the bed.

“Oh, Darling,” he breathes, nipping at your lip. It’s quick and playful and you find yourself wanting to chase him for more. “It’s so much worse than that. I told him not to get it.”

Rhys’ grip tightens around your waist as he falls backwards and you land on top of his rock hard chest with a squeal. Your hips are tucked tightly to his and when you move to settle more properly, he grunts at you.

You can’t help yourself, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead as you respond, “Yeah? Worse than a drugged-out Mickey Mouse?”

He grins and your heart stutters. That is something you’ll have no trouble painting later because it is forever etched into your mind now.

Rhys pokes your sides and you squirm against him in retaliation. He chokes on his laugh and those violet eyes darken with lust at your movements. You can feel just how much you’re affecting him.

“He’s getting ‘in case I forget later: thank you’ tattooed across his hips, Darling.”

Your mouth falls open in shock before you’re bursting out into uncontrollable laughter. You can’t help yourself and Mother help the poor girls who see it, but that is a heinous crime and Rhysand doesn’t even look like he’s joking.

“Please tell me that’s not true,” you ask when you calm down a little, cheeks burning from your smile. You quite like the way that Rhysand’s dioxazine eyes shine at you.

He shrugs under you, “Said he wanted to match with me.”

“Stop.”

He lifts a brow, daring. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”

And with those words the silliness eddies from your body. Instead, it’s replaced with a charged sort of silence, his breathing deepening as your pupils dilate for him. His hands around your hips move slowly, warm palms curving over the round of your ass before pulling your hips tighter into him. You gasp, circling them a little, reveling in the hardness pressed up against you and his guttural groan.

When you move to slide down his body he licks his lips, carefully watching your fingers fumble with the button of his pants. You keep your eyes off of his cock where it’s straining against the fabric, but your mouth waters a little knowing that he’s as ready for this as you are. You wonder if he’s spent all day thinking about you like you have him, and you fight the urge to go flip through those drawings on his desk to see if he’s been sketching you too.

You’re eager, shoving his shirt up his chest to reveal the deep cut of his hip bones, tanned and not an ounce of ink in sight.

You purse your lips, glaring up at him playfully.

“You lied to me.”

His stare is hungry, the sight of you before his cock makes him ache more, and that pout…he hopes he lasts.

“Maybe someday, Darling,” his voice is raspy with desire that makes your cunt clench. Until that day, you’ll leave your own marks on his hips.

You act on the urge, leaning closer to lick and nip at the smooth skin. Your eyes don’t leave his and you swear he shudders as you suck as many marks into the area as you can. When you shift to lap at the other side you let your breasts drag across the bulge in his pants, nipples tightening at the feeling.

Rhys’ head falls back on his shoulders as he releases a shaky exhale, “Darling.”

You ignore him in favor of tugging at the waistband of his briefs, aching to see that picturesque cock and add it to the painting you’re building in your mind.

He gets the hint quickly, grabbing your arms and pulling you up his body for a burning kiss.

Before you even have a chance to sink into it he’s rolling you off of him. A protest pushes at your lips but he’s lifting himself to pull at the jeans you’ve already started getting off, and you’re frozen at the sight as his bottoms hit the floor and his cock springs up, thick and hard and perfect in every way. You swallow at the sight of it.

Your heart races in your chest as he climbs back onto the bed, wasting no time in helping you with your own clothes, attaching himself to your lips as his hands begin to wander everywhere. Yours slip into his silky hair and you moan into the kiss, shuddering as the cool air of his room coats your naked body until his warm one is pressing harshly against yours, his filled cock sliding through the folds of your slick cunt.

There is no foreplay. You don’t need it with how wet you are, how eager for him you are. The both of you touch and tug at each other desperately, like you haven’t thought of anything else all day except for this moment, and neither of you are willing to waste it. With the way that he’s kissing you, fingers sliding across your body to shift you into the positions he wants, you know that there will be more time for you to explore later.

You are the perfect canvas for his kisses, reacting beautifully to his every move.

The party is still in its height, music thrumming so loudly that the walls shake with it. You don’t care though, all caught up in Rhysand.

The pounding of the base fizzles out as his cock slides in, in, into your hot cunt, swallowing the length like the good girl he knows you are. You whimper with pleasure. It’s almost too much, how big he is, how warm he is, it feels like you can feel him in your throat.

“Fuck, Darling. Just like I’d imagined it’d be.”

You arch at his words. You’re pressed so tightly together you think his tattoos might rub off on you. The thought makes you shiver. You’d love to be marked by him in a way that will last longer than the bruises his fingertips and lips are leaving.

You feel like sliding out from under him and onto that leather table set up in the other room, requesting a tattoo from the quiet man giving them. Or just have him come in here and do it while you’re sitting on Rhysands cock.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Rhys whispers against your lips, drawing you away from your wandering thoughts. A soft kiss, a tease, and then another.

You surge up from the pillow and kiss him when he pulls away. Your fingers twist into his hair to hold him against you and in return his hips cant downwards into your own. He moans into your mouth. He tastes amazing and the heat of his lips against yours goes straight to your core. The swirl of his tongue is one you hope he’ll recreate against your clit later.

“If you could give me a tattoo, what would you give me?” you ask breathlessly, desperately as he impales you with his cock, nails scraping down his back as he pushes into you even further. His large hands hold your waist and when you arch your spine in pleasure his eyes glow.

He stares down at you for a moment, violet gaze drinking in the swell of your lips, the mess your hair has become as he ruts into you. Your beauty is everlasting, and your words drive him deeper into you with a feral groan. His words slip from his mouth in pleasure, “My name.”

You can’t help the loud, erotic moan that escapes at his admission.

“Fuck. Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Rhys growls, pressing his body flush against yours to pin you to the bed. He likes the feel of you under him, writhing against his chest with his cock shoved deep into your soaking wet cunt. He sucks a lewd kiss to the underside of your jaw, making his way towards your ear.

The pendant of his necklace is like ice against your hot skin and you whimper in pleasure at the feeling, praying that the medallion will be indented into your skin from how tightly the two of you are molded together.

His voice is low, breath hot as he hums, “Want to have my name on you, yeah? Right where everyone can see, pretty girl?” His calloused fingers trail up your sides, stopping at your breasts to play with them. He circles your nipple with his finger, cock twitching at the thought of you branded with his name across your skin. “Or would you want it somewhere else? A secret for just you and me?”

You can’t help it, chest heaving against his. His words are incredibly erotic, and they drive you towards your edge, eyes rolling back into your skull at the thought. Rhys hisses with satisfaction when your cunt clenches around him in response.

He has such a sinful way with his lips, nipping and biting and kissing in all of the right spots. You feel like a Goddess being worshiped by her loyal acolyte. The wetness of his mouth leaves a trail of pleasure down your skin, the cold air of his room licking at it in the best way.

Rhysand teases your breasts as he fucks into you, massaging one with a warm hand and the other with his mouth, rolling your nipple between his teeth and brushing his tongue over it. You pull at his hair and a hiss escapes your lips at the sting.

Your touch scalds him in the best way and he can’t help but to buck into you as your nails scape down his tanned skin again, pleading for everything he can give you.

He will give you it all.

Rhys takes extra care of you, reveling in the sounds you’re making for him. He doesn’t care that he’s hosting a party outside of this door, doesn’t care if someone comes near enough to hear your desperate pleas for him to go faster, to continue rubbing his fingers against your clit, to let you ride him. He almost wants someone to hear how he’s making you feel, making you scream.

Finally, his hand trails down to where his hips are jackknifing into your cunt at a steady pace. He leans back, staring down at where your bodies meet, your glistening cunt in the light washing into the room from the dimmed lights. He licks his lips, vowing to taste you after this.

His light touch makes you gasp and buck up, fingers treading softly over your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm, that hot feeling coiling in your gut.

Rhysand’s thumb presses hot against your clit as his cock buries into you so deeply you see stars for a moment. You clench your legs together instinctively but he’s already there, keeping them spread wide with his own thick thighs as he quickens his pace.

“Rhys,” you cry, hands fisting into the sheets as he works you towards your pleasure, “Please. Please!”

“Please what?” he grunts. He can’t look away from your perfect cunt, the way it swallows his cock up, taking him so greedily. “C’mon, Darling, gotta use your words.”

You press your head back into the pillow, mouth slack in ecstasy. The sight makes his cock twitch, makes him want to shove it right between your perfectly ‘o’ shaped lips, feel the tightness of your throat wrapped around him as he cums.

“Please, don’t stop,” you choke, letting yourself fall into utter bliss.

Rhys doesn’t stop. He keeps working you through your orgasm until he’s cumming right there with you, hot and pulsing into your throbbing cunt.

He collapses next to you, pulling you in tightly to his chest as if you’re already too far apart from him. Rhys presses his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed tightly shut. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, panting across your cheeks with every exhale he takes.

“Rhys?” you ask when you’ve settled into your afterglow, his fingers playing with your hair mindlessly.

He hasn’t let you go since, hardly long enough for him to clean you up and let you use the restroom, and then you were climbing right back into his soft bed, nestling into his warm embrace.

He hums languidly, utterly at peace with you here, even though the party is still in full effect outside. There’s muffled cheering about a keg stand and wolfish laughter rattles the house but even then, it feels like it’s just you and him alone in your own little world. “What?”

“What did you tag on the building earlier?” Your eyes slip shut and the question comes out shy.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, cheeks, and finally a slow kiss to your mouth, his tongue coaxing you deeper into his arms.

“I tagged it with a violet rose.”

“A violet rose? Why’s that?”

He’s silent for so long that you think maybe he’s fallen asleep, cracking one eye open to see, but he’s staring down at you with soft eyes and red cheeks. He swallows harshly and for a moment you’re afraid that he’s not going to explain, that you’ll have to look it up after he falls asleep.

“Darling, a violet rose represents love at first sight.”

#rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand/reader #rhys/reader #rhys x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #modern!rhys #modern!rhysand #azsazz #art school au

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newtonsheffield · 2 months

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Molly! Violet with a sleeve of tattoos on her arm was not on my bingo card! Edmund must have had a time doing those tatts! Can we get a glimpse of Anthony giving Kate a tattoo for the first time??

That’s how they first met, Edmund and Violet. It was her 18th Birthday and she went in to get her first tattoo. Edmund had just finished his apprenticeship, just set up his shop and by the time to appointment was done he was headed out to the pub to meet this girl again that night. They’d been together ever since. Violet has one tattoo that wasn’t done by Edmund. He inked every one of their baby’s handprint on her. Every one. Except for Hyacinth. Anthony did that for her. With tears running down both their faces the entire time. Anthony finished his father’s work.

It’s very special for him, the first tattoo he does for Kate. It’s not her first tattoo but it’s still special because it’s for both of them. A chain of daisies around her right wrist and his left so that when they hold hands it looks as though they’re linked together. Her lips brush the top of his head while he works and the fingers of her left hand smooth his hair down.

“I love you, you know.”

Anthony has to take a moment before he nods, “Well, I hope so. We’re linked together now.”

Kate smiled playing with the ends of his hair. “I’m glad you picked me.”

“You picked me.”

She shook her head, “I never would have spoken to you if you hadn’t barged your way in. And I might have missed you. You’re just… I don’t think you know how special you are. How much I wanted to find you.”

Anthony blinked back tears, his voice shaking. “You can’t make me cry when I’m working. I’ll fuck it up.”

Kate laughed, kissing the top of his head again. “I love you. You’re my favourite person and I want you to know I’m happy. You make me happy.”

“I’m so happy.” Anthony breathed, “I love you too.”

“I’m glad. We’re linked together now.”

#take a deep breath and jump (then fall)#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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curry-and-casteliacones · 2 years

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Ok so took a break to watch some stuff and make dinner and so im just now getting back to the game.

Anyway my sister is with me and I'm telling her about whats happening and after all the stuff happened i commented on how i bet Turo was not actually himself and secretly some shapeshifter/doppleganger or whatever who had dropped his disguise and she said it was more like a malfunctioning robot.

So new conspiracy theory: he's clearly a shapeshifting robot impersonating Turo. I mean thats the only logical solution here.

Ok but on a more serious note: WE'RE ABOUT TO ENTER THE ZERO LAB OR WHATEVER IT WAS CALLED BABYYYYYY!!!!!!!

Im literally so hyped i cannot wait to see whats inside i hope the metal gardevoirs are in there i wanna get titania an evil twin

#pokemon scarlet and violet spoilers #ink plays violet

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pensbridge · 4 months

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Some minor things you might have missed in the trailer

Icon Hyacinth hugs her future sister-in-law and looks second-most elated for the news behind the no. 1 polin supporter Mama Bridgerton

Lady Danbury is quite interested in this "fresh gossip" (Penelope Featherington is betrothed to Colin Bridgerton; quite intriguing, I must say) ?

The ring appears to be Violet's, that's been shown multiple times before. Thanks to @sayyoumadetobemine for pointing this out! However the box he presents it to her in appears to be different than the heart-shaped one we see with Anthony, which is interesting. (They're really not beating the Violet & Edmund mirroring allegations and I love that for them!)

At second .45, Colin doesn't let go of Penelope's hands when she turns towards the mirror as he maneuvers behind her.

I might be projecting my own wants (and it is a highly edited trailer where scenes are cut together/don't play out the way they look), but am I the only one sensing Colin has thoughts when she says she's been writing ...letters at the question of the ink? u didn't respond to my letters & who are u writing to jealousboy!TM

How many times is Colin gonna spin this girl in bliss? asdfghjkl It's totally cut off in the 2nd one, but each time, he pulls her into his chest at the end and I dieeee!

The kiss in the Whistledown robe. That's all! (this one I wrote purely for re-indulgence for me)

I've watched this 3 times, and I'm still not positive it's the same scene - Queen Charlotte points at....Cressida ? FUCK

Why did I just now notice the butterly motifs (1:50 is so obvious)

#i wrote this yesterday #surely you have 80 hours of content from a 2 min trailer by now w/all the detective degrees #bridgerton #polin #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #hyacinth bridgerton #violet bridgerton #lady danbury #queen charlotte #bridgerton part 2 #bridgerton season 3 #*mine

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littlest-w01f · 2 months

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Chapter Ten

Series Masterlist

Cw: Necromancy, torture, slight mention of sa

The dinner had a rather abrupt ending to it after Rhysand mentioned visiting the Bone Carver with Feyre, the Death God was nothing new to Rheana, having read all his tales, but she'd never met him, visited The Prison all but twice to lock up traitors.

She had seen him in passing though, when the curiosity got better of her and she made her way down the prison, in the form of a young female with bright firey hair, light bronze skin, violet eyes, and large Illyrian wings, sitting in the cell, playing with bones. The female looked eerily similar to her, at the same time, she carried a stranger's face.

Rheana took a step closer to the cell, her heart pounding in her chest as she calmed herself down. She could feel the energy radiating off the girl, making her feel both uneasy and strangely drawn towards her at the same time.

But she knew better than to converse with the Carver, so she had left, even still, the thoughts of why he had shown up as that female haunted her, all because it was a question she didn't know the answer to.

The new morning she saw outside on her balcony in the townhouse, a piece of parchment in front of her, an ink pot and the fancy quill she preferred beside her, with some chamomile tea in her hands.

As Rheana sipped her chamomile tea, her mind wandered back to the Bone Carver, and the peculiar sight of him appearing as a young female, it had been years since then, centuries even. She picked up her quill and dipped it into the inkwell, changing her thoughts from the Bone Carver to Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer her brother had asked her to write to.

Rheana, despite the view people had for her Court, was very nicely received among the royal families of other Courts, she spoke in the language people wanted to hear, and read people so well that she knew what they expected without breaking into their minds.

So, the words flew freely, asking Tarquin for a visit to Summer, for herself, Rhysand, Feyre and Amren, spinning a tale of wanting to mend Court relations, after Amarantha had destroyed Prythian, she did feel a visit to other Courts would be important, especially after she had killed Tarquin's mother, an old friend of hers, along with his father for the Summer Court trying to rebel against her.

Rheana knowing full well how persuasive she could be when writing letters, hoped that this one would have the desired effect. Kallos took the chance to jump in her lap in the form of a little kitten she kept them as, purring like one too, but their skin was as scale-like as it had been when she met them. She finished writing her letter, dipping the quill again to sign her name elegantly before placing everything neatly aside, she hovered her hand over the parchment, using her magic to dry the ink.

She held the paper, and folded it thrice before summoning an envelope, setting the letter inside, and sealing it with hot wax and her court's emblem, using the quill she made three stars on the bottom of the envelope with Night Blooms under the stars, her own personal mark for Tarquin to know who it came from.

With the letter sealed and marked, Rheana stood up and walked over to the balcony, gazing out at the city below. She felt a sense of anticipation building within her, wondering what response she might receive from Tarquin. She closed her eyes, letting the warm breeze caress her face, and whispered a silent prayer to the stars, hoping that her efforts would not be in vain.

Kallos appeared on the windowsill and with a wave of Rheana's hand, they turned into a raven, a deep black coat that still had its scaley texture, bigger than most birds, Take this for me. She said in their mind.

Kallos mindlessly picked the letter with their beak and nodded, for you, They then took flight, and Rheana cast a glamour on them to keep them invisible to anyone who looked to the sky.

Rheana watched intently as Kallos took flight, carrying her letter towards its destination. A pang of worry briefly crossed her heart but she quickly banished it, trusting in the strength of her words and her bond with Kallos, they would get the message to Tarquin. She returned to her seat, pouring herself another cup of chamomile tea, she pulled a book from her shelf, settling back comfortably with the intention to pass the time by losing herself in someone else's fantastical world until news arrived.

Rhysand and Feyre returned earlier than Rheana had expected, sensing how upset Feyre was, and told her enough of the fact that they hadn't visited The Prison.

Feyre had said nothing but locked herself in her room, and Rhysand had simply asked Rheana not to try to make her come out, giving her space.

Rheana nodded understandingly, sympathizing with Feyre’s pain. "Of course," she murmured softly, casting a glance towards the door of Feyre’s room. "Give her time." She advised gently, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Rhysand’s arm. "And you should give yourself some time too. It must be difficult to see your mate hurt."

Rheana could tell from the set of Rhysand's shoulders and the distant look in his eyes that he was indeed struggling too. His emotions were so closely tied to Feyre's, that it was hard for him to remain unaffected when she suffered. Rheana moved away from him slightly, stepping over to the fireplace to stir the embers and add more wood, the crackling flames providing a comforting sound.

Rheana left Rhysand with himself and some of the calming tea she had been drinking, and made her way up the House of Winds, if she had been in a hurry, she would've flown, but for now, she had the time to walk up the spiral staircase to the top.

10,000 stairs may seem daunting to many, but for Rheana, it was a familiar trek, one she often undertook when seeking solitude or clarity. As she climbed, the air grew cooler, the scent of saltwater and seafoam wafting in through the open windows that lined the staircase. By the time she reached the top, her legs were pleasantly tired, and her mind felt refreshed.

She had the House of Winds to herself, Cassian had gone to Illyria to see how the training for the males was going, she herself would be leaving soon to train her females, as she did every morning and afternoon, but she also had business to care for before that with Azriel, who waited for her.

Her thoughts went to the library in the House of Winds, on the new Priestess that had joined them almost a few days ago, when her temple was infiltrated by Hybern soldiers, the soldiers that Azriel had ripped apart with his Siphons and the general that he had beaten till his death.

After a few moments of peace, she took flight into the caves of the mountain the House of Winds was built on, as she stepped past a spell of glamour, the dungeons formed in front of her, muffled cries coming from deep inside, the place was dark, Rheana was sure many bats lived in the cracks and crevices in the caves, which might also be why Azriel always came with a new batch of captured insets every time he visited.

"Azriel?" Rheana called out when she felt a few shadows shifting around her, she knew every knock and cranny of this place, having worked alongside Azriel to contain her power and rage before she found much more suitable ways to manage herself.

She felt the shadows move behind her and she sensed Azriel, who simply moved past her when he knew she felt him, "How nice of you to join me, Rhea, this will be like old times."

Azriel led her to a cell, where a dead body lay, the body of the Hybern general, the only physical thing left of the people who attacked Sangravah, Rhysand had been quite pissed that Azriel had left no one standing to interrogate but after what he had told the siblings, Rhysand hadn't been that mad, and besides, Rheana could make it work.

"Ah, so this is him?" Rheana tutted, her clothes transforming, leather replacing cotton, armour, and Siphons on display, the look of death in her eyes, the male's face was bruised and battered, frozen in a look of terror from when Azriel had unleashed himself upon him, "Doesn't seem too intimidating."

"He looks like someone who picks fights with people who can't fight back." Azriel growled and Rheana rested a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

"Hey, why don't I do this alone? You take care of anything else..." Rheana sighed softly, "Perhaps see over the Illyrian females, while I'm busy."

Azriel left with a huff, he'd clearly wanted to see the male suffer, but they needed information more than sadistic pleasure. The second Azriel winnowed away, Rheana exhaled, the room filled with darkness, she looked at the male, tied up to a chair with chains, body slagging in it, covered in cuts and bruises, some received way after he was dead.

Rheana weaved her hand through the dead general's hair, with a sharp inhale, her eyes turned completely black, her skin going paler than the moon as she let go of her darkness and daemati powers, weaving them both together to take control of the dead mind of the general, bringing his body back to life with a gasp of harsh breath the body took, it's eyes dark just like Rheana's were.

The general blinked open his eyes, groaning in pain, staring blankly ahead as though trying to focus on something just beyond reach. Rheana stood before him, her form barely visible amidst the darkness, that swirled around her. She wasn't the dainty princess her father had wanted his daughters to be, clad in warrior leathers, muscles tense from power, biceps flexing from her grip in his hair, nails digging right into his skull, wings flared wide, dark purple Siphons gleaming in the darkness, in front of the general stood The Lady of Darkness, the witch of the dark the Illyrians feared, and the dead general had the right mind to look frightened. She leaned down closer to the male, her voice a low whisper against the silence of the dungeon.

"Speak," She commanded firmly, her eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity. "What were you doing in the Sangravah temple? What did you take?"

The general's lips parted, but no words came out at first. He tried to struggle against the restraints holding him in place, but they held firm. Fear shone brightly in his eyes, a stark contrast to the darkness of Rheana's own gaze. But still, he remained silent. Rheana frowned, her grip tightening even more. A curl of her hand sent another surge of energy coursing through the general, forcing him to obey.

"I… I was following orders!" He finally managed to stammer out, voice almost hypnotized, fear making his voice tremble. "We were tasked with finding and retrieving something specific."

"The feet of the Cauldron, that's what missing, there would be no need for it if you didn't have the Cauldron hidden with you." Rheana's eyes shone dark like a starless cold night sky, "Does your king have it?"

The general nodded, his mind in her hands, quite literally, fear etched across his face as he struggled to keep his composure. "Yes… Yes, he does! It's hidden somewhere safe. No one knows its location except for the king and those closest to him!"

"Like you," Rheana smirked like darkness and death herself, her hold on his mind tightening, "So, where?"

The general grimaced, pain shooting through his head as he fought against the compulsion Rheana exerted upon him. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for some kind of escape, but there was none, because he was dead, nothing about him quite alive. "I… I don't know exactly! Only that it is far from here, somewhere secluded and well-guarded," He confessed, desperation creeping into his tone.

"Fine, guard it in your mind, you only can for so long." Rheana hummed, her voice dangerously sweet, "And the young female you assaulted? Was that an order too? Or do you just liked having power over a defenseless female?"

The general paled further, his mind recoiling at the mention of the assault. "It wasn't an order! We… I acted on my own, without permission. I just couldn't resist her, she was so beautiful and helpless… And that bitch hid the children! It was an easy way to punish her..." He trailed off. "Please, forgive me, I swear it won't happen again!"

"Oh no it won't. Because you suffered and died, and I brought your mind back to torture you again," Rheana smiled, "But her? She suffered, and she will heal."

The general shuddered, his entire being trembling under the weight of Rheana's command. His eyes closed tight as tears began to stream down his cheeks, Rheana was sure the male had wet himself too, there was always that downside of bringing a mind back with magic, it jolted up some other functions too. "Please… Please don't hurt me anymore," he begged, voice cracking.

"Well, if you're lying to be general, you'll wish your body was obliterated like the rest of your soldiers," Rheana cooed as if talking to an infant, "Because I will be back, and that would hurt so much more."

Rheana withdrew her hand from his head, her fingers and palm soiled in blood as the male went limp again, looking more dead than he was before.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Flames and Darkness Taglist- @anuttellaa @tuggboatfishin @inloveallthetime}

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ambcass · 1 year

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Betrayed.

“I can’t stand him!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing a fit while walking with her best friend, Jaime Reyes. Her anger made her walk faster, making Jaime chase after her. It all started when Jaime noticed Y/N distancing herself from him and he asked why, she said it was nothing and just to mind his own business. During their gym class, Jaime noticed how violet Y/N was when playing a dodgeball match but he couldn’t help to notice how her arm was bruised. He also wondered how she was able to throw and dodge a ball like that. That bruise made him realize that it was the same spot where he hit a specific villain last night. The thought of his best friend being a villain hurts him. He tried removing the thought but it just came back every time he tried to shake it off. After school and on his way home, he spotted Y/N and decided to walk up to her.

“I know you probably don’t wanna talk about your problems right now but ya’know I’m here for you…” Jaime suggested with a soft smile. Y/N turned to him with a dull expression and kept moving forward. Jaime once again followed up in front of her, “Can I at least walk with you? I do feel bad and I can’t stand to see you like this” Jaime pleaded, making Y/N give in. She nodded and the two started walking to the local 7-11 store. On their way, Y/N randomly blurted out “I can’t stand him!” and started marching towards the store angrily. Jaime followed up, hoping to hear more about this mystery guy. “Who? Who’s bothering you?” Jaime asked. Y/N scoffed as she opened the store door.

“You don’t know him…” She said, trying to keep her cool. She couldn’t expose herself to a guy who would most likely betray him to the heroes. “At least you can describe him. I’ll get a better idea of who the hell the guy is. If he is that much of a bother to you then I’ll make sure he gets it coming.” Y/N started chuckling, “And what the hell are you gonna do to this guy? But fine. He’s annoying, always on my ass, and doesn’t stop until he gets his way. Which annoys me because he went way too far yesterday.” Jaime stop to think too far? What does she mean too far? She was the one causing harm and trying to poison the water supply. Is it her? Please... Please… tell me that (villain name) isn’t you, Y/N. Jaime then felt Y/N nudge him. She mouthed you okay? and Jaime nodded. They went inside the store and went to the chip aisle. When reaching for a bag of Takis, the sides of their hands touched each other. The two retracted immediately and looked away embarrassed.

“So…What did he do that was too far?” Jaime asked, trying to change the subject. Y/N grabbed that bag of Takis and walked off to a different aisle. “He- uh… I-I can’t say. Sorry.” Y/N tried to explain but she knew that Jaime wouldn’t believe her. Jaime gave a sympathetic nod. When the two finished paying for their food, they said goodbye and left.

Y/N’s POV

It was very late at night. Almost 4 AM. I had to wait for the perfect time to cause any harm to anyone. Two nights ago, stupid Blue Beetle roundhouse kicked the shit out of me. I thought to myself when I find this bug, I swear I’m going to fucking smash and kill it. As I aggressively put on my suit, a shadowy reflection flew past my window and they left a sticky note on the outside of my window saying “Meet me on top of the xxx building. Rooftop –BB.” I rushed to my window, opened it, and snatched the sticky note. The writing was in all blue ink. I knew who this was. My heart started beating fast, I felt nauseous and anxious. How was he able to find where I live? Was one of the many questions racing in my mind. I crushed the paper and tossed it over my bed as I finished changing into my suit. I flew out the window and headed towards the address. As I was flying there, I tried to retract where I went wrong and how I blew my cover so easily. Nothing came to mind and while trying to come up with another explanation, I had already arrived. There was a figure lurking in the shadows, eyeing me down as I landed on the rooftop of the building.

“Come out, Beetle. I see you in the shadows. Hey, if you were a Shadow then you wouldn’t even make it out of Santa Prisca alive. Your dumb blue armor gives you away” I teased, crossing my arms as Blue Beetle slowly came into the light. I glared into his eyes and stepped closer. Pulling out (some type of weapon) out and pointing towards him. “How did you find me? How did you find where I live?” Blue Beetle didn’t answer but he simply just stepped forward. “Y/n…” Beetle murmured. Y/n? What the fuck? How did he know? I stood there in silence. He walked closer, closer, and closer, but I didn’t move a muscle. Now he was in front of me. I looked down at the rooftop floor while feeling Blue Beetle’s hand reach for my arm. I looked up at him and snarled.“Don’t touch me.” He immediately let go and sighed.

“Why Y/n? Why would you go through this path? You know better than this.” He said, trying to get an answer from me. I knew better than to answer. After all, anything I say can and will go against me. As I was still glaring into his eyes, his face armor started to retract back to his suit. I broke eye contact and turned my head away, refusing to lock eyes with him. No, no, no…not him. Not him! My head started to get foggy and blank. I felt nauseous and took a few steps back. I couldn’t believe that the boy that I cared for, my best friend, Jaime Reyes, is a fucking traitor and gave me that awful beating two nights ago. “Look Y/n, can we please talk about this? Please just hear me out.” I ignored his suggestion. Still not looking at him. I was angry, betrayed, and sad. Tears wanted to come out of my eyes but I held back. With a sour look on my face, I gazed into Jaime’s eyes and mouthed “I’m sorry” He looked at me with confusion. “I’m sorry? Sorry for what?” he asked, looking at me like a pathetic pleasing bitch. I shook my head repetitively and walked towards the edge of the rooftop. I leaped off of it, disappearing and never to be seen again.

Jaime’s POV:

I rushed after Y/N when I saw her leap off the edge of the rooftop but when I tried looking for her, she was nowhere to be seen. I attached my face armor back and flew back home. As I was flying back, I kept thinking to myself What does she mean when she said she’s sorry? What was she sorry for? Days went on and I haven’t seen Y/N attack since. Which is probably a good thing but she wasn’t at school either. It’s like she disappeared from the face of Earth. A few months went by and I still haven’t seen Y/N at all! I asked around at school such as Paco, Brenda, and the staff but they haven’t seen her. I talked to the principal but I didn’t get much from him. The only thing I got from him was that Y/N is no longer in their school system.

When I was dismissed from school, Brenda and Paco both offered to walk me home but I declined. Once I got home, I didn’t even think of patrolling for the night. I just wanted to rest. I can’t help the feeling but I miss Y/N.

I woke up to a crowd outside of my house screaming and yelling but I couldn’t hear anything. My mom rushed into my room screaming into my ear but I couldn’t understand what she was saying for I was still half asleep. She dragged my arm into the living room and turned my attention to the TV. The news reporter was saying something but for some reason, I couldn’t understand what it was that he was saying until I started reading the words that were displayed on the screen. My face froze, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Local High School Teenager Jaime Reyes Is the Superhero Blue Beetle.

a/n: AHHH THIS TOOK SO LONGGGGGGGG. IM SORRY MY GRAMAR IS SO DOOKIEEE :((

Word count: 1,483

Character Count: 7,572

literally ty @miguelnation bc idk if this is even angst or not

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anastasiareadsnwrites · 1 month

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May I please ask for a Violet Bridgerton x Fem! Baker reader?

Good Old Fashioned Lover Girl Part I (Violet Bridgerton x Fem! Reader)

Author's note: Thank you so much for requesting. Violet and the other mama's from the Ton have my whole heart. Such a golden retriever that woman. If this fanfic was not to your liking, please request another. Don't be shy. This fic was not proofread.

Summary: You've been working really late for a while. Violet just happened to find you working rather late, and soon, a friendship blooms and you realize why come she hasn't come down sooner.

Warning(s): gossip, mention of running away, homophobic parent(s), mention of loneliness, mention of old lovers, more to be added

The MAIN Masterlist

The Bridgerton Masterlist

A small timer turned off, and a ringing could be heard as you sighed. Putting down your cards and smiled at the other lady who smiled back. Your helper for today. Miss Jeanette, she's been working here for quite a while. An absolute dove that one. Though in all staff you were about the fourth oldest. The oldest being Mrs. Wilson.

"Jeanette, can you help me with these. The mitts are on the counter beside you." You gave a small hum as you got the trays ready on the larger counter beside the oven.

"Yes, ma'am." She got up from the round table in the corner where the both of you were playing cards that you were losing quite badly at.

"I must say, I heard from Rae, Mrs. Bridgertons' personal maid that they were expecting another little one. Not only that, but they plan to throw a ball to surprise dowager Lady Bridgerton." Jeanette said as she placed the two trays on top of the counter onto one of your hand-made cooling racks so they wouldn't make the table hot.

"It is almost dark. I can handle the rest myself. Thank you, dear." You smiled as the other woman looked at you with her doe eyes. "Are you sure? I can help plenty." She almost sounded like she was pleading to spend more time with you but dismissed the woman and gave her a kind, loving smile.

You sighed as you waited for the small pastries to cool down before you could top them off with some of the frosting. You didn't want the frosting melting onto the pastry, or else it wouldn't look as appropriate as you imagined. You looked back at the table where your papers and ink were separated from the pile of cards that you promised to put away.

Setting the timer again for a few minutes as you walked toward the table, wiping your hands on your apron as you itched closer and closer to the table.

It's been quite a while since I wrote. I have found a rather well paying job, and I soon hope to return back home, if you will allow me, of course. I know I left on a rather daft term, but I wish to right my wrong. I wish to come home and take my right place in the household.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Yours truly,

Y/n L/n

You stared at the letter debating on your words. With a huff, you dropped the letter onto the table and sighed. You ran your finger through your hair as you clutched at the strands of your h/c hair.

One of the grave things you ever did was run away from home with your female lover, who soon had to fulfill her role with her husband. The last you hear was that her husband died and she hasn't been out in society until tonight.

She must've loved her husband dearly but to be back so soon on society could cause rumors.

You groaned as you thought about it further, closing your eyes as you did so until you heard someone clear their throat, causing you to jump in your seat.

Looking to where the sound had emitted from you couldn't help but gasp loudly as you seen the lady standing there.

"My apologies if I disturbed you." The voice came out to whisper as she stood by the door.

Immediately, you jumped out from your chair and gave a quick bow to the lady. "No need to apologize, my lady. I should be the one apologizing. I should be more aware of my surroundings." You muttered before looking up at her blue eyes. Sapphire eyes.

"Lady Brigderton, I wasn't expecting your arrival down here." You muttered in a gentle tone.

"I must apologize. I was not aware anyone was down here." You nodded in acknowledgement as you shifted onto one foot an the other not knowing what to do.

"Would you like some tea, Lady Bridgerton?" You asked, and she gave a small nod and a smile. You walked over to the stove and turned it on, placing a kettle on top to reheat the water from the previous time you made tea for yourself. You stood there for a little bit, waiting for the right time to add the tea leaves. Finally, when the time was right, you added the leaves and walked off to let it seep. You would have to clean out the kettle again soon.

The timer went off for the pastries, and you turned around to get the frosting. Violets soft eyes watched as you busied yourself in the kitchen in her presence, and a small smile graced her angelic face. She sat herself at the small round table in the corner where you happened to leave your letter to your guardians.

"If I may, what were you doing?" Her voice cut through the air, causing you to stop in your tracks. You were about done in topping the pastries to your liking and storing them away for the following day.

"I was writing to my parents, my lady." Your husky voice responded back, causing her to slightly shiver. The kettle soon came to a whistle, and you immediately turned it off. You grabbed one cup for Violet and grabbed your own cup that was half way full.

You tilted the kettle pouring in the hot liquid into the teacup, being mindful of how much you should pour for the lady.

"Oh, that sounds lovely." She smiled in your direction, and you gave her another smile and tilt of your head, and you placed the tea cup onto a saucer and brought it to her.

Your finger slightly grazed hers, and she parted her lips in a small audible gasp.

"Are you well, my lady?" You asked as you turned and grabbed your own tea cup and sat where the other maid had sat earlier.

"Yes, of course. Just the smell is lovely."

"Yes, a lovely tea blend indeed, ma'am"

You grabbed the paper that sat in front of you. You couldn't let Lady Bridgerton figure out who you were, nor were you going to risk it. So, you gave a silent huff and folded the piece of paper, and shoved it into your front pocket.

Violet sipped away at her tea, savoring the taste. Now, what was she doing down here at this time of hour. Surely, it wouldn't be a bother to you, but it was rather late. Sure, you had sleepless nights yourself, but for someone so high up the ranks, surely it was because something was eating away at her mind.

"My apologies, my lady. But what has you up at this time of hour?" You questioned as you cradled the cup in your hands, and you stared off into the kitchen, looking at what needed to be done.

"Do you ever feel lonely down here? By yourself?" She voiced in a whisper. And that certainly caught your attention. "My Lady, I have had many sleepless nights. Yes, I feel lonely at times, but I have become accustomed to it." You brought the cup to your lips and spared a glanced to the lady that seemed to found the floor and her cup interesting.

Her brown tresses were let down from their usual updos. They looked soft enough to run your hands through, and you knew running your hands through soft hair was actually kinda relaxing.

You gave her another look, noticing that she took a deep breath in and out. Something was eating at her, and you couldn't help it, but you took her hand into yours. Your thumb ran over her knuckles, and she tensed and relaxed. "Whatever it is, my lady. It will surely pass and you will be well again." You gave her a reassuring smile and retracted your hands. You felt the emptiness it had left when you touched her warm hands.

"Yes, thank you." She muttered and glanced anywhere but you. Suddenly she stood up and it nearly startled you. "Well, thank you for the tea Miss..."

"Please, no need to be formal with me, Lady Bridgerton. Call me Y/n"

"Y/n." She tested your name, and that sent shivers through your body. "Well, thank you, Y/n." She smiled and started for the door.

You smiled and stood up to clean what dishes and pans that you had used to make pastries and other goods.

Lady Violet Bridgerton was a wallflower herself, and yet you had many suitors when you were both thrust upon the marriage market. Yes, the marriage market. Your father. A viscount, who was an absolute loving father until it came to you not wanting to marry a man but rather a woman. He was, of course, furious that he didn't set a good example.

But that didn't make you hate him. You left your home in order to marry that woman that you loved but found yourself liking another. She was rather keen on the idea of you liking another, but she told you to follow your heart, and that's what you did.

#bridgerton #fanfic #violet bridgerton #violet bridgerton x reader #violet bridgerton x you #x reader #reader insert #female reader #violet bridgerton x female reader #ruth gemmell #bridgerton netflix

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tadpolesonalgae · 11 months

Text

Dark!Rhysand x reader: Desk Pet[***]

A/N: if you’d like more, try the sequel: play-mate or the prequel, Two-Faced 🧡💛

Warnings: non-con, dark!rhysand, collars + leashes, impact ‘play’, oral (m!recieving), arguably torture, degradation, smut, cum play?

Word Count: 3,993

Even freshly oiled hinges make noise if you know what to listen for.

The air shifts, a lock clicking softly, followed by the muffled scuff of shoes over a hardwood floor.

You curl into a tight ball, knuckles of your spine pressing against the back of the desk, huddling your knees to your naked front.

Dark, polished leather comes into view. Shift as he reaches for something on the surface of your ceiling. Papers rustle, the smell of ink and parchment bursting in the air, and you curl yourself tighter, pressing as far away from him as possible.

He reclines in the padded chair, cushioning thick and luxurious, nothing but perfection for Night Triumphant. Bare skin prickles with fear, dark power thrumming thick in the air, static buzzing beneath your skin, bones heavy with the weight of his magic. Lower lip wobbles, but you keep yourself stiff, spine rigid—hardly even breathing. Above you, a quill scratches away on the desk, tapping out a slow, steady beat. Bored, and lazy. Taunting as he sets you on edge.

Nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms as he pushes his chair back, enough space for you to peek your head out, if you had the foolish courage to try. Instead, you cower back into the darkness, wishing to be reduced to dust; to fade into nothing. Lurk like a spider in a corner, remaining unseen but able.

“I’d been wondering where you scuttled off to,” he muses, pushing further from his desk. Toes curl, arms wrapping tighter around bare shins, ankles crossing in attempts to shield yourself from his prying eyes. “Come out here,” he commands smoothly, “I want to see you.”

Something sharp slices into your gut, twisting sickeningly as you squeeze your body to the point of cramping, shrinking away into the darkness below his desk. Heart pounds in your chest, counting out the menacing tap of his fingers, drumming out your sentence. He hums softly, as if bored by your terror. “You’re going to be like that, then.”

Hand flexes, a shadowed leash materialising in his palm, fingers wrapping tight as he jerks on it, roughly.

You choke, gagging as you’re flung forward, landing on your hands and knees, pushing with all your might to return to the temporary safety beneath his desk. There’s no give on the collar, the leash might as well be made of iron for how far you’re able to pull away from him. Nails dig into the floorboards, gouging into the crevices as you attempt to scramble away from him, skin prickling as his attention licks over you.

The High Lord tuts softly, jerking your leash so you have to raise up onto your knees, hands leveraging yourself on the plush cushion of his chair—space between his long legs. Fear pounds through your head, ears ringing as you meet his gaze: cold, cruel violet narrowed upon your lower form. Eyes widen, edges of your mouth twisting down as your lip wobbles, pressure tightening around your throat. A faint smile crinkles the edges of his mouth, recognising your fear, marking the tremble to your fingers.

“So much resistance from something so small,” he muses, hand cupping your jaw, fingers and thumb squeezing your cheeks. “I take that to mean you’re well rested?”

Lip wobbles, a tear spilling over as the muscles in your shoulders contract with tension, trying to shrink away from him. Violet narrows, jerking on your collar. You gasp, darkness tightening around your throat. “I’m not in the mood,” he snarls roughly, brow deepening into a scowl, lip curling back from sharp, gleaming canines. “Now on your knees, mouth open.”

Terror floods your veins, and you tug on the leash, shaking your head as you use your hands in attempts to shove him away.

A beastly snarl rips from his throat, forcing you into a state of petrifaction, his inherent dominance over you making blood freeze in your arteries. The back of his palm connects with your cheek, smacking your face to the side, skin stinging as pain bursts at the corner of your mouth. A metallic tang coating your tongue.

He jerks on your lead, commanding your attention, tears mixing with blood as they drip down your jaw, splattering on the floor. A low laugh drags from his chest, violence prowling just beneath as he forces you to straighten your spine, lead pulled taut as you kneel between his long legs. “You’re going to hurt so bad,” he snarls, grinning, nothing kind in the display of piercing, white teeth. “Does that excite you, pet?” He practically spits, leaning to be closer to you, your hands having to brace themselves atop his powerful thighs. “Knowing how I’m going to use you?” He growls, arousal dilating his pupils.

“I’m going to make sure you hate this,” he snarls, violet practically glowing as he bares his teeth.

Terror roils in your gut, and you spit at him, saliva splattering just beneath his left eye, digging your nails into the muscle of his thighs.

He’s still for a moment, a storm brewing as magic crackles in the air.

Pupils tighten into slits, fury whitening his features, carving out animalistic lines into his cruelly beautiful face. “You want it rough, today?” He growls, lowly, fingers biting into your jaw. “Want to have this experience scarred into you?” He mutters, shadows flickering at his back, those great, powerful wings materialising, tipped with piercing talons. “Want me to break something?” He hisses, jaw straining beneath his grip.

Thunder storms in his eyes, snapping all at once, releasing the damper on his power, pressure almost crushing you as your heart strains beneath the weight of his darkness. Magic is unleashed, and your lips part in a silent scream as talons rake along the soft, tender adamant of your mental shields, ripping them apart in a single beat of your heart. Mind is torn away; claws touch the most intimate, sacred parts of you, pawing and scraping at your soft centre.

Spine curves, head tipping back as your eyes widen, as if lightening it crackling beneath your skin, pure, undiluted power searing into your body.

“Are you sorry?” He muses, pleased with your suffering. Arousal thickens as tears streak down your throat, dripping between your breasts as you sob at the invasion. Lips tremble, aching from being stretched taut, jaw feeling like it might crack from being forced open.

Talons squeeze tighter, a stomach-ripping scream tearing from your lungs, blood-curdling from the exquisite agony he’s inflicting. “I’m— sorry!” You scream, having trouble forming the words from blazing pain. “Please!” You cry out. “Please! I— I can’t—”

Claws retract, and you slump forward, spine aching from bowing at such a steep angle, as though something else had taken ahold of you. “Better,” he croons, pulling on the leash, dragging you back between his thighs. “Now settle down and get to work,” he snarls, working himself free of the infuriating ties keeping him from the wet heat of your mouth.

Breath shudders from your lungs, chest spasming from the force of his power, stinging aches lacerating across your torso with every inhale. He’d promised he’d make it hurt.

Tears spill fresh down your cheeks as his hand fists in your hair, nails scraping viciously over your scalp, guiding you to his tip. “Open that mouth for me before I unhinge your damned jaw,” he snarls roughly, releasing your leash in favour of gripping his base.

Loathsomely, your lips part, dread coiling in your gut at his barbarity; the brutality he’s inflicting upon you with such glee. He shoves into your mouth; you choke, spluttering and convulsing as he pushes you down, nose pressing tight to his abdomen, dark hairs trailing a path from his muscled stomach to his cock. Instinctively, you try to pull your tongue away, but it only brings his flavour deeper, the invasive taste of him spearing through your mind.

He laughs darkly, “isn’t that better, pet? Don’t have to worry that dumb little mind about trying to fight me. Just focus on doing the one thing you’re good at.” His fingers curl in your hair, slowly dragging you up and down his cock, as though you’re a toy he has no worry for. Hips buck lightly, breaths deepening as his head tips back against his chair, skin dusted with an orange-pink flush.

“Do you like knowing this is what you’ve been reduced to? What I’ve reduced you to?” He muses, quirking a brow as he stares down at you, head dipped as though you’re bowing, mouth sealed tight around the thickness of his length. “A pretty little cock toy,” he mocks, “isn’t that right?”

Your nose burns, throat aching from the intrusion, tears dripping onto his tan skin. Palms splay over the leather clothing his inner thighs, nails stabbing into the muscle as he keeps you pressed into his lap, grinding up into your mouth.

When he pulls you off, you gasp for air, spit drooling from the edges of your lips, spilling down your chin, attached to his tip by thin, silvery strands. Chest heaves as you splutter, gulping down breaths desperately. The High Lord groans, thumb swiping over your swollen lower lip, saliva tinted with precum. “Such a lovely accessory, aren’t you?” He growls, hand fisting in your hair as he guides you to his hips, head pushing into your mouth, his taste prominent and distinct.

Eyes burn as tears drip onto his skin, tongue writhing in your mouth as you press your hands against his thighs in protest. He widens the stance of his legs, pushing you down until all you can see is the hot skin of his abdomen, flecked with small scars. He curses under his breath, rolling his hips as you gag, tightening around him. “Relax,” he mutters, sharply bucking up, thrusts turning rougher and faster, picking up the rhythm.

“I’m going to fuck you raw,” he groans, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping you, setting a punishing pace as he fucks your mouth. All you can do is stab your nails into the muscle of his thighs, but he twitches in response, enjoying the pain: inflicting and receiving it. A strangled whimper spills onto him, and he snarls in pleasure, making you squirm at his barbarity.

“You’re going to swallow it,” he mutters, nails raking over your scalp. “Every last drop, and you’re going to be thankful for it.” Hips buck sharply, twitching on your tongue as he nears his peak. “Grateful you’re the female who gets to be on her knees for me.”

Eyes squeeze shut, arms aching from trying to shove away from him, but he keeps your head tucked between his legs, lips flush to his abdomen as he releases down your throat. Giving you no choice but to swallow as his hips stutter, nose hurting from how heavy his hold is. Low, rough groans drag from his throat, thighs parting as darkness envelops your body, wrapping around your waist, sliding up your front, licking between your thighs. Like dozens of pairs of hands, fingers grazing down your spine, thumbing your nipples.

You shudder, crying out at the invasion; the violation as he feels the soft heat of your skin, darkness building between your legs as you try to wriggle away. Try to push further up onto your knees but shadow wraps over your thighs, binding them to your calves so you’re forced to keep still as they writhe and flick against your heat.

He pulls you to his tip, just as the last spurts shoot from the slit, hot droplets of cum splattering over your lips, smattering like freckles on your cheeks and nose. You splutter, gagging and gulping down air, desperate for a breath at last. Through your spotted daze you can make out how he’s fisted his cock, pumping slowly, easing down from his high. Breathing heavily, skin hot and flushed.

“Lick it up,” he murmurs, panting deeply. Jerks your hair, making you wince. “Lick it up.”

You glance down, spotting the stray drops that have latched onto the dark fabric of his leathers, remnants still at his tip. Involuntarily swallowing, you lean forward, feeling piercing violet weighing as you poke your tongue out, lapping up the mess he’s made. Swiping over his inner thigh, dragging up the seam.

Gritting your teeth, you lick his tip, tongue flicking over his slit, suckling down the stray droplets. He growls, thumbing at your cheeks, scooping up the last few spurts of his cum, peering at it; smearing it across the pad. Lips quirk in a cold smile, violet flicking to weigh down on you. “Up,” he murmurs, as if coaxing a pet into being good. “Up here.” Pats his thigh with his free hand, “up into my lap.”

There’s no way for you to protest, dark magic handling you onto your feet. Flinch as he brushes his cum-slicked thumbs over your nipples, circling and pinching softly, grinning at how they stiffen into peaks as the air hits the cooling liquid. His hand trails down your stomach, gaze following with interest, pondering how next to torture you. How else can he degrade you?

A mix between a whimper and a hiss spits from your chest as those cum-covered fingers swipe over your heat, darkness keeping your arms immobile at your back. His eyes latch onto yours as his digits dance between your legs, a wicked smirk twisting his lips, grin the embodiment of cocky, male arrogance. “You’d taste wonderful right now,” he drawls, middle finger circling your clit, playing with the soft, sensitive bud.

Lip wobbles as your vision blurs, struggling against his dark power, keeping you from so much as squirming.

His grin widens, noting your disgust. One finger pushes inside, and you whimper, face screwing up as it curls gently, rubbing against soft, sensitive spots that would feel nice if they were being stimulated by anyone but him. “Should I spread you out on my desk, hm? Get you all nice and wet” —punctuated by the curl of his finger— “for me? I bet you’d hate that.”

Eyes remain screwed shut, nails digging into the flesh of your palms, teeth prickling at your lip. A second finger prods at your entrance, and you try to squirm away, try to close your legs, or even just squeeze them together but he’s got two digits inside, and tears drip down your cheeks. “Stop,” you whisper, shakily, voice trembling. “Stop it.”

He hums, grin widening as he drags you closer by your cunt, so you’re stood over his left thigh, free hand gripping your hip. “But you’re so fun to play with,” he replies, mirth dancing in the violet of his eyes. Wet splashes down, landing on your chest. “You’re a monster,” you breathe, voice breaking. “A filthy, fucking, monster.”

Teeth flash in a grin. “You love me really,” he says, fingers rubbing over a spot that has your breath catching. Brows narrow together, mustering up a glare, “I hate you.”

“You hate me?” He replies, laughter in his voice. “You don’t know the meaning of the word,” he drawls. “Lovely, soft, lamb. Never faced a day of hardship in her life. Kept safe, by me, while the rest of the land was brought to its knees by that bitch of a Queen.”

“You’re worse than she was,” you snarl, baring your teeth as you feel yourself crumbling further. Fingers still inside of you, thumb prone to press against your clit.

“You think I’m worse than her?” He mutters lowly, something dark and sinister sharpening it’s claws within him, violet plummeting to indigo. Fury glitters in his eyes. “I know you are,” you seethe, tears still dripping steadily.

Hellish mouth slowly quirks into a smile, dragging his fingers from your heat, raising his hand for you to see: the arousal coating his digits, glistening with slick. “You seem to like that.”

Humiliation swarms your body, and you look away, shame slicing into your gut despite knowing it means nothing. You hear him laugh, low and dark; hear the sound of clothes ruffling as he raises his hand, followed by wet, lewd noises. “You taste like you do, too,” he muses. When you don’t reply, he grips your jaw, other hand resting possessively at your hip. “Say you like it,” he commands, palms sliding over your hind, digits prodding at the intimate skin. “Ask me to fuck you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hiss, glaring at him beneath narrowed brows. “You’re vile, and cruel, and utterly, utterly, disgusting.”

“That’s not how you ask, little lamb,” he remarks, mildly. “Did having my cock in your mouth somehow skew your brain?” He muses, hand sliding over the plumpness of your rear to grip the back of your thigh, handling you so your leg slides over his hip—straddling his lap. “Maybe we should work on your articulation?” You debate spitting at him again. The way he quirks his brow in challenge makes you believe he’s inside you already, cataloguing each of your thoughts. When his lips quirk, you hiss.

“Get out.” The High Lord grips your hips, moving you so you’re flush against his chest, cock hard and stiff, and poking into your abdomen. ‘But it’s so cozy in here.’ Nausea roils in your gut as you attempt to squirm away. “Stop it,” you hiss—comes out like a whimper. He grips your jaw tight, “beg.”

Blood freezes in your veins; you stare at him. “What?” His hellish mouth twists into a feline grin. “Beg.” Heart pounds in your chest, his cold, violet eyes devoid of any hints to whether he’s offering you reprieve this time. He’s proven himself to be sick enough to get off on begging alone.

Lower lip wobbles, arms still trapped at your back by his dark magic. “Please,” you murmur, unable to meet his eye. Heat flushing your skin as sickening shame burns in your gut.

“Please what?” He drawls, taunting you softly, grinding his hips against you, the rough material of his leathers scraping your nipples, making you squirm in his hold. “Please, stop it,” you mutter, trying to blink away those tears—he probably gets turned on by them.

Darkness lessens at your back, giving you enough leeway to shift as he—

“You’re a fucking psycho.”

The High Lord grips your hips tighter, your nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders, front pressed tight to his chest as you’re forced to lean into him to keep from sliding down onto his cock—tip eagerly pressed to your entrance. “You didn’t sound believable.” He answers nonchalantly, smiling cruelly. Hips buck, his head nudging the soft dip between your thighs. “We need to work on your begging,” he growls up onto your mouth.

Terror coils in your gut as he makes to drag you down, sit you on his cock like a prized accessory, nothing but a toy for him to enjoy. Tears brim at your lash line, nails biting into his skin. “Please…” you whimper, breasts pressed flush to his chest, feet hurting from perching on the points of your toes. “I…Please, Rhys.”

Tears drip-drop, splashing lightly onto his cheeks, face below your own. Violet widens marginally, revelling in the hot liquid, feeling it roll down to his jaw. A muscle feathers, and he curses lowly. “You beg like a fucking whore,” he snarls, lips grazing your own. “Where do you get off on acting like that, huh? Acting like it’s not all your dumb mind can think about.” His thumb and fingers squeeze the skin of your cheeks, making you cry harder. “I know you want it,” he breathes, words carving into your lips from the proximity. “Can’t wait for it. You’re practically dripping on me,” he snarls, pupils dilating to something wild and dangerous.

Then he’s slamming you down, and your mouth parts in a silent sob, collapsing against him, bodies pressed flush as your muscles give out, flopping into his shape, moulding against him. He’s filling you up entirely, spine arching as involuntary pleasure spasms across your lower tummy, heating your skin until you feel like you’ll never move again.

Rhys curses, low and viciously, hand gripping the nape of your neck to pull you back. You can hardly function. Disgusting, violating pleasure twists through your abdomen from being seated on his cock, your entire weight pressing him deeper. “Look at you,” he mutters lowly, taking in the heat flushing your skin, the part of your lips, the fluttering of your eyelids. “So fucked out already” he growls, hot lips brushing against your neck; you shudder.

“I told you that you wanted it,” he drawls, large palm spanning the width of your back, encouraging you to curve into him, arms draping over his shoulders, between the great wings. “Even your cunt was begging for me,” he snarls roughly, softly grinding up into you. You shiver from the exposure, feeling more naked now than you ever have before. Knowing he can watch as you loathsomely respond to him: the delicious press of his cock, how ecstasy is burning beneath your skin.

He laughs lowly, teeth scraping the soft skin of your throat. ‘I know you like it like this,’ he gloats in your mind, nipples peaking from the invasion. ‘You can’t lie to me, even if you manage to deceive yourself.’ All you can do is release a strangled sound—a bit too close to a moan for all the locked up hatred you can feel coiling in the pit of your stomach.

The High Lord begins bucking his hips, hands forcing you to grind against him, despite how you’re rendered immobile from shock and pleasure, slumped onto his chest as he uses you. He picks up the rhythm, setting a brutal pace that has disgust bubbling in the pit of your belly. His cock shoves into you, touching those sensitive spots he’d sought out with his fingers, sending you deeper into that mind-numbing state of disassociation.

“Do you still hate me, huh? Still hating this as much as when we started?” He growls, pounding up into you while you can do nothing but accept every sharp thrust, every buck that has you tightening around him. Slick’s probably dripped down onto his leathers by now—he’ll probably force you to lick it up afterwards.

“I know you’re enjoying this,” he murmurs beside your ear. “Such a filthy liar, aren’t you? My lovely, lying, lamb.”

You hiss as pleasure spills over the edges, ecstasy erupting within you as you’re sent over the edge. He snarls in response, rationality breaking beneath the strain of animal instinct. He surges from the chair, shoving you on his desk, papers flying as he grips your hips, slamming you back to meet him as he pounds into you. Sharp, gleaming canines pierce his lower lip as his own high crashes into him, cum shooting from his cock as his thrusts become sloppy, grinding into the wet, messy heat of your cunt as you flutter around him. Eyes are rolled back as you helplessly buck against him, body moving on its own while your back bows from his desk.

Ink is no doubt staining your skin, but you’re too far away to care. Grateful for the reprieve, finally leaving your body, escaping from his brutality, even for only a few moments.

Pleasure numbs your mind of pain, blanking out the violation and basking in the warm tingle he’s put into your bones.

Heavy pants fill the air as he keeps his hips pressed tight to the backs of your thighs, wings taut and shuddering as the last spurts of cum spill into you, making sure to pump everything he has deep inside.

He needs to be certain you’re completely his, filled with him at all times.

And when you’re eventually empty again, he’ll just repeat the events.

Filling you up all over again.

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

Rhys Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#Rhys #Rhys smut #Rhysand #Rhysand x reader #Rhysand smut #dark!rhys #dark!rhysand #dark!rhys x reader #dark!rhys x reader smut #dark!rhysand x reader #dark!Rhysand x reader smut #dark!fic #[***]#Desk Pet

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