#utm

[uponthemeadow]

All of our berry bushes are done, can you guess which ones will be in the game? Little pots and their sprouts are next!

[nova2cosmos]

my commission are open-Masterpost

It very Hot here so Have This 🏖️

[highladyofterrasen7]

“The riddle was so easy! How did she not get it?”

Me who was absolutely lost:

Yeahhhhh so easy 😬😬

[tadpolesonalgae]

Amarantha x cryptid!reader x Rhysand: Big, Bad Wolf[*]

A/N: reader is kind of on the asexual spectrum, except they aren’t sex repulsed? Kind of fun but see you what you guys think. Also, this came about because I saw a comment mentioning this so here you go!

Summary: Rhysand and Amarantha attempt to whip you into obedience without getting any of their limbs snapped off.

Warnings: threesome fmf, pussy eating, rimjob, slight degradation, smut

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

A thunderous snarl tears from your chest, shaking the ground of the dungeon.

They’d hunted you. You. A beast among beasts. And then they’d dared lock you up. A room with no lights, solely illuminated by the burning of flame, flame that flickered and slithered over the grim walls.

You take in the two figures as you rise to your haunches, keeping low to the ground, preparing to pounce on instinct, shrinking down to be underestimated. Your claws scrape against the hard stone of the large cell, your four paws could carry you across in seconds, tear them to pieces were it not for the chains shackling you.

“Seems it’s awake, my Queen,” the male purrs. He’s positioned casually against the far wall—a good choice, to be as far from you as possible—long legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded over a powerfully built chest. Jasmine and citrus. A lost hint of sea salt. Your nostrils flare as they take down information.

“Quiet.” Your attention snaps to the female. Stood front and centre, a strong, healthy figure. Well fed, good hunter. Cunning, or powerful? Sharp features, cultivated beauty for fae kind. Poised but laced with arrogance, arms folded. Defence. Your nostrils again flare. Metallic, sharp, the bitterness of poisoned fruit.

The female watches you carefully as you rise to your paws, shaking out your matted mane, clotted with dirt and blood. You lower to your haunches. And pounce. Springing against the constraints with a snarl. You make it a hair’s breadth from her, before you’re locked in place. She doesn’t flinch as her cold eyes pierce into your own.

Your jaws open over her, a roar ripping through the room, shaking the stones as it thunders back and forth. This time, she does retreat, before her hand flicks and magic crackles at her ears—protection. You snarl down at her. She’d make a good few mouthfuls. Drool slips from your lower lip at the thought of devouring her. Two gulps, if you didn’t stretch it out.

“It seems rather lively, considering the circumstances,” the male drawls, making the female narrow her eyes at him. “Give me the whip,” she snaps, “see if some pain lashes some sense into it.” He pushes from the wall with casual grace, limbs moving with lethal elegance toward her as he pulls an empty circle from thin air. Curled leather. Crack.

It snaps against your thick skin—you barely feel it. A light pinching, if anything. Still, you roar, back stretching at the effort as you bare the three rows of razor sharp teeth at her. You could shred her in a heartbeat. If only she was one step closer.

When the whip cracks again, your jaws snap around it, tugging sharply. The female stumbles forward with the force, into your range. You snarl as you surge forward, teeth aimed for the mouthful of her stomach. But then she vanishes. Your jaws snap around air, and you growl. She appears a few feet back, ire blazing in her gaze as she glares at you, lip curled.

“Perhaps it’s not agreeable to a whip,” the male drawls, amusement dancing in his eyes. So blue they’re violet. “I wouldn’t delight in it, no matter how beautiful the wielder.” The female doesn’t take her eyes off you as she gives a sharp order. “Shoot it. See how it likes faebane in its system.”

“Should you wish to strike the blow?” He mocks as he saunters to a rack. It holds a range of miscellaneous sharp metals, bent and wound into a variety of shapes. Your animal mind can’t make sense of them. The female does not remove her attention from you. Cunning. “Fetch the bow, before I send you into its jaws, Lordling.”

Your ears prick at the word.

A smirk slices her blood red mouth. “You can understand us.”

You snarl in response, making her laugh. The male hands her a bow and you puff out your chest, moving to intimidate. “I am your High Queen, beast. You feed, hunt, and fuck on my lands.” You snarl again and she grins. “That’s right, this territory is mine. No matter how many trees you’ve pissed on to uselessly mark your property, it’s still mine,” she snarls, baring her teeth in a fierce smile.

“Now.” Her hand grips the bow, “will you serve me, or do I have to bury this arrow in your chest?” Amusement sparks in your eye. No fae-made weapon could harm you. It would take something ancient, full of malice to pierce your hide. You growl your wordless taunt, and the maddening spark is reflected in the female’s eyes.

She pulls the bow taut, arrow aimed for your chest. “Last chance,” she taunts, grin slashing across her crimson painted lips. Your lips pull back from your teeth, mirroring the vicious smile. Behind her, the male has enough sense to stiffen, yet the female—the High Queen—matches you. She gives no further warnings as she looses the arrow, and you hear it sluice through the air.

And impale your skin.

You rear to your hind legs, jaws opening as a howl tears from your throat, followed by obsidian, iridescent blood. The liquid spills from your maw, wetting your fur as you shrink away from her. She’s still grinning with vindictive triumph. Your heart stutters. The arrow was laced with something—a curse. An old one, strong enough to split your enchanted leather.

Your paws give out as the spell threads around your bones, pumping through your blood as it floods your system. The High Queen grins viciously as you topple over, collapsing to the ground as ragged pants pull from your blackened maw. She walks forward, heels clicking on the stone tile as she lifts her foot, raising it as she sets it on your snout. Proprietary. A show of ownership. A conquered beast.

A weak snarl crawls from your throat, as you feel your power gushing from you. Her brow furrows as you begin to change. Behind her, the male stands straighter, watching with keen, sharp eyes. You feel the shrinking of your bones as they click into a different form, one that will conserve energy to maintain.

The High Queen steps back as your fur fades to skin, snout softens to a feminine mouth, paws shrinking to arms and legs. Her eyes widen at what lays before her. A female. Bare, without clothes, save for the natural hair to your hips, that dusts your legs—between them, too—your forearms and scalp. Her brow narrows, while the male behind her steps closer to view your shape shift.

“Huh,” he drawls, “looks as though it’s a female.” The High Queen ignores him, using her foot to roll you onto your back, your eyes shut. The arrow clatters to the floor with the transformation, but black blood still leaks from your chest. A lot of it. “Call for a healer,” she snaps to Rhys, realising the amount of blood lost in this form is much more detrimental. He nods lazily, and within seconds, the door to the dungeon is being opened.

You pounce.

You flip onto your front, springing from your hind legs, the chains now much too large to hold your wrists and ankles. The nails tipping your fingers sink into the muscle of the male’s broad shoulders. Your jaw drops open and you feel his dark power thrumming, beating beneath his skin but unable to hit your enchanted hide. Your teeth splay over his throat, poised to rip but a fist has tightened in your hair, tearing you away with an unexpected force. Your head is jerked back, though your nails still find purchase in the corded muscle of the male’s torso.

You should have gone for the female.

The next thing you know, a set of hands have landed on your back, where the tail end of the wound lies. The world fades to black as pain explodes in your vision.

————

When you wake, you’re lying in a fae bed.

Your hairs raise at the fabric clinging to your body. No they don’t. They’ve had the hair taken from your body, all but your scalp, and you snarl in anger. It’s uncomfortable. You’re bare in a way that’s dangerous. With a huff and a dull throb in your shoulder, the hair regrows from your skin, coating you in a thin layer of protective senses.

You start with a snarl, but wince at the pain in your shoulder. Fae bandages crisscross the skin, and you growl, nails tearing at the fabric of the fae clothes, removing the strangling material from your form until it lays shredded on the floor.

It’s been a long while since you’ve been in this form, and it’s odd, the layers of information your changed senses bring in. Like the taste of the air, the temperature against your skin. Your eyes are much sharper, scent dulled, while you hear near silence compared to the symphony of noises you would delight in as a beast. It’s so quiet.

You peer about the room, nosing at the sheets, beneath the pillows, through the wooden boxes that contain more ghastly fae clothes. With some difficulty, you move to the door, unaccustomed to the bi-pedal movement patterns of the fae. So unstable. So balanced, you correct. Balance would be fundamentally important to two footed creatures.

When you determine no exit from the large chamber—seemingly a nest of sorts—you return to the bed. It seems you would simply await the creatures arrival. You’ll hardly bother to waist precious energy with the throbbing in your shoulder over needless exertion. So you curl upon the bed, only to shift beneath the covers. How they survive without fur when the cold comes in baffles you. Still, you settle into sleep easily enough, nestling into the too-soft mattress.

A hushed click—familiar—echoes from outside the door, waking you, as they swing open, revealing the female from earlier. Her wretched clothes have changed, though the male still heeds her foot, as though tied to her through an invisible leash. You don’t bother to raise your head for them, even as you recognise the shift in your breathing pattern—one the fae would likely pick up.

“You’re a rather insolent beast, aren’t you?” The female speaks from your side. You huff, shifting so you’re facing her, cracking your eyes open. “Will you not even greet your High Queen?” You huff again, lethargically raising from the bed, sheets sliding back to reveal your naked form. Her icy eyes find placement on your arms, lips curling in sustain, “and after I had you so well looked after.”

“I don’t appreciate you tampering with my body, Lady.” Her eyes glint with surprise, stiffening ever so slightly as you raise to stand on two legs on her bed, towering over her. You set your hands over her shoulders, nails scraping with preternatural propriety. “How would you feel if someone skinned you while you were sleeping?”

The male stiffens as he watches the exchange, hands lifting from the deep pockets of his clothes. The High Queen’s lip curls, and a sudden wave of magic knocks you back, knees buckling as she grips your jaw in her hand, nails biting into the flesh of your cheek as you snarl. You’re still concerningly weakened from the poison coated arrow. “I’m not weak enough to allow that to happen,” she snarls down at you, baring her glinting canines.

She releases your jaw and you settle down onto the bed, rolling your jaw to ease the slight sting. It’s disconcerting, how sensitive your skin is in fae form. Your eyes pierce into her, hateful but curious. She waits for you to ask, making it clear you have to take the step. Your lip curls as you speak, “you said you wished for me to serve you… Surely you don’t expect me to do so from your bed and without my power.”

You don’t phrase it nicely, and you make it clear it’s not a question.

She arches a perfectly shaped brow, “maybe I do expect you to serve in my bed.”

“And what of my power.” You don’t even bat an eye at her statement. “You expect me to perform as I am?” You roll back onto the bed, legs spilling over the edge of the bed, arms propping up your torso. Distaste flashes through her eyes at your shameless nature. Bestial to the core.

She would have to break that out of you. Then again, it could be an advantage to have such an unhinged animal by her side.

“You think I’m foolish enough to return your power to you? Untested?” She enjoys the dissatisfaction that surfaces on your mouth in reply. “Untested?” You echo, raising a brow. You hadn’t expected her to so willingly offer you a solution to your lack of energy. Her lips slash into a vicious grin, one that she only wore when she was about to inflict damage upon something.

“Rhysand,” she purrs. You narrow your eyes on her as the male slinks forward, standing at her side, only looking at her. “Why don’t you give my little pet a demonstration of some of her duties?” A malevolent smile whispers across his mouth, “it would by my pleasure, my Queen.” His hand brushes across her stomach, resting at her waist as he pulls her tight against the powerful lines of his body. You watch, disinterested, as his lips find her neck, the female tipping her head back to indulge in the sensation.

You grow restless when his hand finds the shoulder of her dress, slipping over her arm while unzipping the back, allowing the material to pool at her feet as she keeps her eyes trained on you. “You want me to bathe you, is that it?” You snap, impatiently. You want your power back. It’s yours.

The High Queen’s icy laugh echoes through the room as the male steps back at the push of her hand. “Such a crude way of putting it,” she croons, nails glittering in the light. Your lips curl back. “Tell me what to do, my Queen,” you condescend. Her hand fists in your hair, tugging you back so she can see your throat. She steps forward, until she’s between your legs, yanking your face until it rests between the generous swell of her breasts.

“You’re going to drop the attitude very quickly, or I’ll get you so numb on faebane you won’t even be able to move while I use you.” Ire blazes in her eyes at the blatant disrespect, and she sees red when you grin up at her lazily. “So I get to lie back and do nothing? Sounds rather pleasant, my Queen.” A snarl tips from her throat and the male’s—Rhysand’s—pupils contract at the sound.

You simply grin. “You have to return my powers at some point, if you want me to serve with my strength.” Fury boils beneath her skin as you work her up, maddening her with rage.

“Insolent beast.”

She shoves you back onto the bed, stalking over you until she has one leg either side of your face. “I should have your tongue cut for that,” she snarls, nails raking over your scalp. You barely feel a thing, drops of power already accumulating within. “Then how would you enjoy my mouth?” You return, smug grin tipping your lips.

“There are a plethora a ways to use you while not having to listen to your insufferable tongue.” She growls, lip curling with venom. “Rhys,” she snarls, snatching at your hair, “whore for her.” You can practically hear the arrogance dripping from his voice as his hands drop to the ties confining him. “You wish for me to play a part in her torture, my Queen?” His hands land on your thighs, pushing them apart. “I’m honoured.”

You tense at the foreign feeling of his fingers between your legs. Intrusive. You open your mouth to snarl at him, but the female tugs at your hair, yanking you between her thighs as she settles on your face. At the same time, Rhysand pushes in, a strange heat pooling in your lower belly. “I think you should set to work, little pet,” the Queen taunts.

Right. Your power. She might return it if you follow her orders. You hope you remember the fae anatomy correctly as your tongue unfurls from your lips. You can sense that it takes her by surprise, not expecting you to comply so easily. Yet you seem to be dancing between her legs, nipping at her clit before pressing your wet muscle to her entrance.

‘Very eager,’ a voice drawls inside your mind, making you start. ‘Very eager indeed.’

‘Get out of my head,’ you snarl at him, all the while dragging your tongue over her clit repeatedly, suckling. He hums a dark laugh, drawing his hips back. ‘I don’t imagine you would have engaged in nefarious activities as a beast. Try not to get swept away.’ A growl rumbles in your chest, flexing your inner muscles around his cock in retaliation. He groans, fingers biting into your hips as he pounds into you. Reluctantly, your back arches and you hear the erotic whisper of his laugh in your mind.

‘Careful, or before you know it, I’ll have you kicked out of your rather comfortable position.’ A warning growl echoes from him in reply, and you tighten your thighs around his hips, pulling him flush against your cunt. In response, he slams his cock into your pussy, hands tugging you back against him. A feeling you’re fairly certain could be described as pleasure sparks through you.

‘Pretty confident for a beast,’ he drawls into your mind, ‘especially one who looses her head so easily.’ You realise what he’s talking about. Your eyes snap up to the female atop you who’s icy gaze is slicing into you with frozen ire. “Are you even trying? Or are you waiting for another dose of faebane so you can laze back and let me do as I please.”

You snarl down that mental bridge at Rhysand, who only chuckles, the sound coated with writhing darkness. Your leg curls up his hip, shoving him away violently as you grip the female’s hips, flipping her over until she’s on her back. Rhysand will not get in the way of regaining your power.

The High Queen snarls at the change in position, attempting to yank at your hair with her full strength but a growl thunders from your chest. Your nails dig into the creamy skin of her thighs as you push them open, tongue, teeth and mouth ravishing her. Soon enough, her grip shifts, instead tugging you tighter between her parted legs as she grinds her hips against you.

‘You’re going to pay for that stunt, pet,’ Rhysand growls into your mind. You howl across the bond as he settles behind you, mounting you as he slams his cock back inside. Something about the angle changes the sensations, more pleasure singing through your blood as you concentrate on the High Queen before you.

Her nails rake over your scalp, and you feel it vaguely in the back of your mind, where you’ve locked away all the feeling your fae skin is now so hypersensitive too. It’s your power on the line though, you need to be better. She needs to be gasping and writhing, thrashing and screaming from you to have a chance at returning the sacred energies.

A growl rumbles in your chest, resonating in your tongue as you roll it over her clit. The High Queen’s back arches in response, a snarl of pleasure dragging from her throat. Rhysand continues pounding into you, making it difficult to control your accuracy on the female. ‘Something bothering you, pet?’ He drawls, the silky caress of his voice making your body react, nipples hardening as his fingers bite into your hips.

You roar down the bond at his tone—the male arrogance. You move your rear leg to attempt to kick him away once again so you can focus on the High Queen. He isn’t fooled though, and his hand grips your ankle painfully. A ragged moan rips from your chest as he lifts your leg, and slams in, cock reaching deep inside of you, stimulating something you don’t have in beast form. His laugh echoes in your mind. ‘Act like a beast, and I’ll fuck you like one,’ he snarls, pounding into you, the snap of his hips loud throughout the room.

‘So desperate to remain her whore?’ You bite back, grip tightening around the female’s hips as you pull yourself deeper into her heat. You need to give her more. What can you do? Your nails are too long to push inside of her. You’re certain any chance of regaining your power will disintegrate before your eyes should you cause her pain.

Rhysand snarls down that bond at you, before his hand glides up the spine of your back, gripping your lower neck painfully, pushing you into her cunt. Perfect. You stop the movements of your mouth, ceasing all action. The High Queen growls, bucking her hips, piercing eyes snapping open. You squeeze your own together, imitating pain as you whimper. The Female snarls, nails slicing at Rhysand’s hand that she believes to be the cause of the halt in pleasure.

“You interfere again, unprompted, and I’ll have you flayed alive,” she grits out, fury blazing beneath her tone. ‘Have her whore flayed alive? How lovely.’ You mock to Rhys, feeling the sharp buck of his hips that makes you wince. “Forgive me, my Queen. She looked as though she was resting.” He replies, the erotic brush of his voice soothing the ire in the room.

With his hand removed from the base of your neck, you deliver and appreciative lap to her clit, eyes flicking up to hers with a pleased glint. Good. You seem to say. Her eyes narrow as she glares at you, baring her teeth as you smirk. Your mouth dips lower, hands pushing her thighs back, further apart. She hisses in a breath when your tongue swipes her rear entrance, growling. You shoot her a grin as the pad of your thumb presses over her clit, stimulating her upper half while your mouth takes the lower one.

The High Queen’s back arches at the change of tactic, a growl of pleasure resounding throughout the chamber. You can feel her fluttering against the pad of your thumb, dipping down to collect slick to ease the oscillations over her clit as she comes. ‘How’s that, whore?’ You snarl at him, taking vicious pleasure as he growls in response.

Her pants resound throughout the room as her body goes lax, and you pull away from her. “Both of you,” she growls, “stop.” Your brow narrows. You don’t want to stop. It feels good, like something’s about to break over you. But Rhysand—perfect whore, through and through—pulls out, despite how close he also was.

You snarl, spinning as you pounce on him, pushing him back on the too-soft bed as it’s your turn to mount him. You spread your thighs either side of him, and he snarls at the movement, hands flying to your hips in attempts to stop you. But you slam down on him before he has the chance. Startling, blinding pleasure seizes your body, lightening cracking in your veins as your head tips back, eyes rolling with it. Even Rhysand’s hands drop to his sides with the onslaught of pleasure that crackles and zaps between you.

An angry snarl rips you from the moment, claws tangling in your hair as you’re yanked off him, a creamy liquid decorating your cunt. You land at the High Queen’s side, who snarls her wrath at you, furious at your disobedience. “Did I not order you to stop?” She rages. You stare down at her, “I wanted release, Lady.” You can practically taste the ire rippling from her, and it pleases you. “More than you want your power?” She snarls, and you’re tugged back down from your high.

You bow your head, “no, my Queen.” You lower yourself by her side, moving as your tongue laps at one of her nipples, “not more that my power.” She watches wrathfully as you again settle between her thighs, but your eyes flick to hers. You raise your hand, retracting the claws so only the delicate pads of your fingertips are left.

Your hand snakes between her thighs while your mouth remains pleasuring her, “forgive me, my Queen.”

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

Taglist: @myheartfollower

[rocketonin]

[spine-lux]

Feyre's Final Task 🔪 ACOTAR series by Sarah J. Maas

[lavendarneverlands]

Theory / Question (cause I adore / cry over it):

Did Feyre finally find the riddle’s answer of “love” only after she hears Rhysand shouting her name? 

[rin-u-pos]

UTM is basically Amarantha and Feyre fighting over custody of Tamlin.

Credit goes to my friend after I gave her a shitty summary of UTM.

[acourtofcriticalthinking]

your daily reminder that if it's not enthusiastic it's not consent.

i'm sick of people acting like rhys is the ultimate villain because of utm. he was a victim as much as anyone else. you people just don't want see it because he's a powerful man.

[acourtofquestions]

A Court of Thorns and Roses is a retelling of Beauty and the Beast:

You have “Beauty” or in this case Feyre Archeron; the beautiful, clever, brave, artistically open-minded, and fiercely loving young woman; who is forced to leave her life behind in order to save her family. For them she makes a barter with the “Beast” or in this case Tamlin. A fallen prince cursed by an evil sorceress (Amarantha) for his own hubris; trapped behind a masked & beastly form, within a castle of crumbling walls and kingdom stuck within the spell. The story is driven by the ticking clock (or falling petals) counting down the final minutes until they are doomed forever; unless he manages to find love true love… True love can destroy the beast revealing the prince beneath, save the kingdom and castle of frozen things… And as always, only true love can break the curse.

Though that is of course the main parallel, relationship, and representative storyline of the book. I also think it can be shown throughout further plots and made in a far lesser done comparison: Amarantha and Rhysand (they are of course NOT romantic & the far more Grimm story of nightmares NOT faerie tales).

However within the plots we have quite a few:

Rhysand is the beauty; the handsome, clever, brave, dreamer. He takes his families & people’s place, sacrifices his mind, body, and soul to save the ones he loves. He is trapped within a prison (crumbling within its walls); forced to pretend to love a beast; to wear a matching mask of cruelty. Only saved by true love that breaks the clock and destroys the beast.

Amarantha the beast; the witch; the wilting poisonous rose; all in one to create the truest of beasts and most unredeemable of souls. Trapped by her own hubris (to think a human girl could never defeat her, to think the nights high lord could ever become cruel like her). Doomed to meet her fate, a ticking clock until true love (Feyre) comes, and the beast is gone — Which in her case was her demise, for there was no facade; she truly was a beast & when the beast meets its end she has no true love to live in, she dies, and destroys every wicked monster she was with it… Nothing is left but a crumbled castle as her tomb, scars upon a world & its subject, torn & burned portraits, eyes encased in glass.

[jovenshires]

Hey guys! UTM anon here, if y’all want to watch the livestream, ALL of them (excluding the after shows 😓) are on TikTok from the account @/butnotforgotten or “unus smoshus” who basically reposts archived unus anus vids and smosh livestreams in the like 10 parts thing 🥰🥰🥰

nothing to add just gonna drop this extremely informative ask and go

(i am pro-supporting smosh when you can. but these live streams are old now and very fun to watch)

[uponthemeadow]

The project has started up again! I’m super excited to be working with the wonderful Lianne Pflug for a lot of our items :D Her artwork is beautiful. These are just sketches and not final art style.  As you can see above, we will have 3 types of crops you can buy: seeds, bushes, and trees. Each will come in their own packaging and seeds will have different package colors as well.

[nova2cosmos]

Discord and Instagram Art Trade!

:DD

[highladyofterrasen7]

Utm:

[tadpolesonalgae]

Amarantha x f!reader: The High Queen’s Courtesan[*]

Warnings: right I don’t know what the fuck happened here but water-boarding while squirting???, facesitting, sex-slave things, dubcon but you really have to squint.

“Is Rhysand going to join us?” You question, tilting your head as she prowls toward the bed. “If I wanted to fuck him, I wouldn’t be with you now, would I?” She speaks, her icy voice sending flame licking between your legs. You pout, thighs squeezing together as you look up at her, “I could fuck you.” She raises a brow as you shift to kneel before her, “just give me a strap,” you raise your hands to her thighs in supplication, “I’d treat you so good, my Queen.”

She grins, that cruel glint in her eyes sparking heat between your legs as her nails rake over your scalp, tugging at your hair harshly, “if I got you a strap, you’d spend your days choking on it. I’d fuck that pretty mouth raw.” She delights in your masochism, how your lip is tugged between your teeth, arousal permeating the room. “You could gag it to my mouth,” you breathe, leaning into her desperately, “ride me for real,” you pant, brows curve up at the idea.

Her fist tightens in your hair, pulse increasing as silver lines your eyes, cruel, wicked delight coursing through her body. “My good little pet.” Her words are cruel and demeaning, but so arousing. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You’d like to have my thighs spread over your mouth, able to watch as I fuck myself, hm? Collect the slick that drips down?”

You whimper, curving your brows as you look up at her pleadingly, desperate to have her seated on you. “Please, my Queen.” She only laughs, the sound lacking any kind of amusement. “Lay on the bed. Face up.” Excitement flares in the pit of your stomach as you wiggle back onto the bed, positioning yourself how she likes. You make no mistake in thinking she’s doing this for you - it’s all for her own pleasure. It just happens that you delight in being used, and she needs an obedient toy.

She prowls around the bed, crown resting on her brow as she slides out of her robes, making you wait. You bite your lip as you watch her near the foot of the bed - closest to your head. “If you don’t satisfy me, I’ll throw you beneath the mountain,” she threatens, and you know she’ll follow through. What good is a toy that doesn’t fulfil it’s purpose? “Leave you to starve, be eaten by something stronger.”

A throb of arousal sparks between your thighs at the reminder of how replaceable you are. “I’ll satisfy you, My Queen,” you breathe reverently, “satisfy you until my last breath.”

That seems to please her, though her mouth doesn’t change from it’s cruel set. She turns around, leaning over as she spreads herself wide, your eyes fixated on her wet heat, her scent slamming into you. Your eyes roll.

From above you, Amarantha watches between her legs. She’s never understood how some fae can be so content to act as slaves for another. Your lack of dignity is embarrassing, but beneficial. It’s disgusting how you beg for her to commit depraved acts on top of you. How you ask her for things even she hadn’t considered. But she gets a sick thrill every time, one that has become desensitised even to her favourable torture methods.

You truly put Rhysand to shame with how whorish you act for her.

She settles on your face, pleasure slicking her hole as she perches on your mouth, recounting every obscene performance you’ve thrown at her feet. Remembers the first night you’d been used, how she’d been in need of a flash of excitement, in need of inflicting a lash of pain.

She remembers how she’d forced you to kneel before her in her then-empty throne room, and slowly hooked a leg over the arm, baring herself. In most cases, the fae would shatter right then and there, understanding where she was throwing them. To the bottom of the food chain.

Yet you’d dived right in. At first she has assumed you were just desperate for life. It was only when her release gushed from her, soaking your mouth as it spilled over you to the dais that she’d understood your succubine nature. How you’d sealed your lips over her, drinking her down as your eyes latched onto hers, pleading. Pleading for it to continue.

When you’d finished with her, she had been ever so slightly slumped on her throne, circlet tilted forward. She’d been furious at you, furious at you for having that effect on her. Her nails had scraped over your scalp painfully, tearing, and you’d leaned into her, letting her jerk your head back.

She remembers how she’d landed a kick to your shoulder, sending you careening down the dias steps until you were sprawled at the bottom, arms bound behind you. She remembers how she had stalked down the steps until one leg was either side of your face, sinking down onto your mouth as her hand had tangled in your hair, smothering you.

And here you are now, set beneath her wet cunt as her nails scrape through your hair, jerking you against her as she slides her hips back and forth, humping your mouth. She knows you can’t breathe, slowly suffocating beneath her pussy but that’s you damned job, it’s certainly not hers to care.

Amarantha watches with drawn back delight as your eyes roll at the feeling of having her atop you. How many times have you begged to have her seated on your mouth? It was a peculiar fixation to have, but one that solely benefitted her so she couldn’t care less over the reasoning.

Her brow dips in displeasure when your hand taps lightly against her thigh, disturbing her. She glared down at you, ice in her eyes. What? The look says. Amarantha observes as your lower lip is tugged between your teeth, an expression she recognises as you having a suggestion. Her brow quirks in irritable question. This had better be good or she was going to have you flayed. No matter how well and obediently you had serviced her, failure was failure.

“Spit it out,” she drawls, her words razor sharp and dripping with poison. Your eyes latch onto her own, they’re wide and dilated with pleasure. “Would you…be interested in bringing torture into the bedroom, my Queen?”

“Do you not count your lashings as torture?” Heat flushes your cheeks. No, she supposes, you don’t. “What do you have in mind, whore?” Your hips buck lightly at her title for you and she feels how the pads of your fingers press lightly into her plump thighs. “I would request you place a cloth or rag over me.” You shift beneath her, “to absorb your release, my Queen.”

Her lips tilt in sinister pleasure, “you want to drown in my come?”

“Only if it would please you.”

Her brow narrows. “My Queen.”

She turns the idea over in her head, the idea of you suffocating on her release sounding wickedly appealing. Into her hand drop a thickened sheet of fabric. “Set to work, whore.” Immediately, your mouth is reattaching to her hot sex, tongue lapping deeply as you await your torture impatiently. Her hips wind over you with a new vigour.

You feel her tighten around your tongue, a sure sign she’s close. When she doesn’t lift to allow you breath, you know she’ll be unraveling in moments, masochist euphoria hazing your dumb mind as you persist in pleasuring her. Arousal builds equal to anticipation as she hits her peak, pushing the fabric between you and her as she winds over the rough material, delightfully textured. You take care not to suck in a breath.

Hot liquid sinks into the cloth, spilling over you as she comes, hard. Her growls of pleasure echo throughout the chambers while you gasp for air beneath your Queen who uses you like a saddle. Euphoria bursts within you as your mind short circuits, unable to oxygenate your mind as she keeps her thighs spread, pressing into you as she rides out her mind-shattering high.

Your eyes roll back into your skull from the overwhelming pleasure, dizziness swirling through your conscious in a torrent of euphoria, knocking you out cold. All you remember is the scent of her arousal soaking into you, erotic contentment singing in your blood to the comfortable weight of your Queen seated on her rightful throne.

[rocketonin]