#Amarantha x f!reader smut
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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
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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.
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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.”
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Taglist: @myheartfollower
#amarantha x f!reader#Rhysand x reader#Amarantha x reader x Rhysand#Rhysand smut#acotar smut#Amarantha smut#smut#Amarantha x f!reader smut#Rhysand x reader smut#under the mountain#UTM
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Light in the Darkness // Feyre/Rhysand x Fem!Reader
Summary: It wasn't just Rhys who had been caught in Amrantha's damnatation. For nearly 50 years, you'd suffered with him, in her bed. After years of enduring agony, it becomes almost impossible to resist seeking refuge in the platonic refuge of your High Lord and High Lady. However, after one night of drunken indulgence, you're left wondering if everything you've built to protect yourself is now shattered.
Requested by: ~ ☺ -- thank you so so much for all your support and the request! I absolutely loved writing more acotar/sjm!
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, past rape/non-con elements, trauma, PTSD, nightmares, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, flirting, kissing, drinking, threesome (f/f/m), sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, anxiety, happy ending
Words: 9.4k (lol oops)
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Some aspects of life can be predicted. Happiness, sadness, heartbreak, grief. Death. Every ounce of blessings that had graced your life had repercussions and hardships, something that was always centred around the balance of the world. With good comes the bad.
Years upon years had been filled with joy, laughter, and safety with your friends and family. Naturally, being drawn into the inner circle of the Night Court would bring its hardships, but it would be nothing that your friends or your family could get you out of. From outsiders, you were ranked low within the group, not even having a title to the job you provided; however, you often liked to refer to yourself as Rhysand's conscience.
Where Amren would help make significant decisions for the Night Court as the second in command, you'd be there to offer further guidance daily. Every meeting, every decision, every single day, you would be at Rhysand's side, making sure he didn't make brash decisions and, furthermore, protecting his sanity when, on some days, the weight of the world pressed down on him.
Not only did you save Rhys with your words, but as a high fae, you were blessed by the Cauldron with healing and body manipulation powers. The healing was self-explanatory as to why it could help; there were times you'd been able to bring a soul back, even from the point of death. However, such as life, with life comes pain. A power you used so infrequently due to the distress that you'd often forgotten that it was something you could do. Only on a handful of occasions have you needed to use it against an enemy they begged for death in seconds. It was a strain on your mental health to use this, and with Rhys having his own powers, along with his shadowsinger, there weren't many reasons for you to even be needed for this.
Rhysand would never expect or ask you to use this power, increasing your adoration for him tenfold. To say the two of you were close was a complete understatement. When you both live and breathe the same day-to-day life, the form of friendship is bound to shift into something more. Rhys made you feel safe; the scent of night and Jasmine that accompanied him always wrapped around you like a warm hug.
There was no one you trusted more than him, and when the two of you stumbled into bed years ago, it only helped you discover more of yourself, especially with your powers. Pleasure. You could bestow pleasure onto a person with a single thought. Have their knees wobbling, eyes glazing over and back arching as they orgasmed in a single second. It made your nights with the High Lord all the more entertaining.
Even with the closeness the two of you shared, there was still the label of friendship. You loved Rhysand, and he loved you, but the two of you were still keeping back, aware of the possibilities of mates, and until any bond arrived, the friendship would continue with the thrill of pleasure.
As your role to be by his side continued, this was the unfortunate or devastating mistake of how you were in attendance at the ball that Amarantha had created. All it took was a gathering of high lords and a drink of the magically spiked wine, and the world of Pyrthian would be forever changed. The magic within the High Lords was leashed, and no one was safe from the wrath of the Red-Haired Devil.
You could have driven yourself mad with hindsight, regretting not listening to your gut feeling of not trusting Amarantha. Only the knowledge of being able to keep the rest of your family and friends safe in Velaris was the only blessing, even if it meant a life of agony for 50 years.
Amarantha, in all of her cruel ways, personally picked the High Lord of the Night Court with her need for revenge for Rhys' father, killing her closest ally - Tamlin's father. Rhys had always had a formal villainous reputation amongst the other courts, but now, this is further shadowed by the different courts as Amarantha uses him. To hurt others, break them in a split second, and furthermore, keep him leashed to her bed. He was simply her whore and nothing more to the others throughout Pyrthian. This mighty High Lord, probably the most powerful High Lord there had ever been, had been degraded and dehumanised to nothing.
Nevertheless, where Rhysand stayed, you were by his side.
Rhysand had protected Velaris, the rest of his friends and family that remained at home, keeping them locked away from Amarantha using his Daemati skills, but could not save them.
The first few weeks of the new reign of the Red Devil, you'd been chained in a cell with only darkness and the drip of the waters running down the walls to keep you company. You'd even convinced yourself she had forgotten about you, willing to let you rot away. However, you were forced to kneel before her, and Rhys stood by her side.
There was never a second where you'd blame Rhys for what happened. In fact, over the 50 years, he had saved you in more ways than you could ever repay him for.
You were forced by Amarantha to admit why Rhys kept you so close by. The healing, the pain, the pleasure. Everything spilt from your lips with a single snap of her fingers. Rhysand was her whore, and you were downgraded to being her Harlot, except there was no exchange between sex and money, only sex and not being killed.
Rhy was forced to control minds and occasionally cause pain before death. You were just there to deal unimaginable pain until death, and then both crawl into Amaranthas bed and pleasure her until she promptly sleeps, wakes and starts the process again.
As the years trailed by, the only sight that would keep you going was the flickerings of stars that would light in the depths of Rhysand's eyes when the two of you were briefly alone for mere seconds.
Amarantha kept a tight leash on the two of you. When in her bedroom, you and Rhys were never allowed to touch, and most frequently, you were forced to kneel next to the bed and watch or tie to the bed with the Red Devil straddling your waist with Rhys pleasuring her from behind. You would watch and watch, and then her fingers would snap, and you were forced to make her orgasm, over and over, even with Rhys having spent hours pleasuring her.
These moments were where Rhys would provide support. Even though your eyes had to remain on Amarantha, Rhys would slip through your mental shiels and make you feel numb whilst remaining mentally close so that you didn't feel alone. Often, you would wake without any recollection of the previous night's antics, all thanks to your High Lord, and you wished and begged to the Cauldron that one day you could repay him for keeping you from slipping into the depressive pit that you would never be able to return from.
Then, at the risk of his life, Rhys admitted to having dreams. 47 years, the two of you had been trapped, and he'd been lost to the Red Devil, but hope came to him with glimpses of a woman's life. Hope. It had to be hope, and even though you could only see foggy images that Rhys would share of this person, the two of you would hope that this was a sign of someone who was bringing salvation.
Nearly 50 years had passed, and Rhysand finally admitted to meeting her whilst visiting the Spring Court, falling for the callings coming his way to draw him closer to her. Nothing came as easy as an overnight saviour, but at least you had a name. Feyre. Sweet Feyre. A human girl who had nearly stolen Tamlin's heart arrived under the mountain to declare her love for him and stand up to the Red Devil.
So young and yet defiant. Despite the pain, the torture and helplessness, she never back down. Something in your heart called to her. Maybe it wasn't right to put so much pressure on her to save Pyrthian, but even if it meant you had to take your last breath, you would try anything within your power to save this woman.
Superficial wounds you couldn't heal, but the pain you were quick to vanish as she was kept in her cell between the trials. Moreover, you were more than aware that Rhys was doing just as much to keep her from losing her sanity by having her close to his side, forgetting the world as she drank faerie wine.
The fateful day came, and so many events spiralled into utter chaos. After the final trial, Feyre figures out the riddle but still dies in Amaranthas's hand. Tamlin finally finds courage and slaughters the Red Devil and the High Lords, gathering to bring Feyre back to life as High Fae.
Freedom was unforgettable, and leaving the depths of Under the Mountain was something you'd only dreamed of, but there was now the weight of Rhys' mating bond snapping into place that had the next chapter in your lives beginning.
There was no time to be happy for your High Lord as the King of Hybern began his war whilst simultaneously trying to prove to Feyre that she was safe within the Night Court and away from Tamlin and that you were thanking Rhys and Mor for stealing her from the dreadful place.
Years continue to fly by. Wars, fights, numerous deaths, including Rhys for a moment and finally, FINALLY, the Night court could be at rest and for once indeed be happy with their High Lord and Lady protecting the lands with the inner circle close by.
Having been in turmoil for so long, adjusting to returning home, being surrounded by friends, and trying to remember what it was like to be genuinely safe was more difficult than anticipated.
It was almost like having to try and learn how to live again. What hobbies would truly distract you? What job could you do from day to day as it wasn't necessarily for you to be on Rhysands' side now with Feyre there to aid in the decision-making? There was also the destruction of having survivor guilt and horrific nightmares that had you afraid of the sun slipping behind the mountains every day and night, replacing the light. No amount of talking, counselling or breathing exercises could remind you that Amarantha was truly dead and that everything was fine.
This was how you began to depend on your High Lord and Lady. Both of whom were closer to you than it seemed to be anyone else. Most days would be spent around either of them, whether to help with court business or simply sitting next to them as they continued their lives.
You had realised long ago that you were mostly in love with Rhys and Feyre and depended on them more than others. They never made you feel guilty for this. Neither seemed to mind and often would seek you out if you were starting to feel guilty and keep them safe; they needed comfort and support just as much as you did.
The damage and trauma from Under the Mountain also fleeted from just your mind. You couldn't train with any of the others; even the slightest touch against your skin would trigger red nightmares. You were unsure if it was the saviour complex you'd built around Feyre or Rhys, but you'd only allow them through your hard outer shell.
"Come back to me. Come back to Velaris. You're safe; I'm here; take a deep breath with me" Feyre's soothing voice drifted through your tense consciousness as she blew out a long breath so you could hear the steadiness of her slow breaths. The sweetness of her scent, lilac and pear, then licked through the wind across the skin of your cheek as she knelt in front of you, grasping your hand firmly and helping to ground you.
Your eyelids fluttered first, testing the movements as your mind and body began to return from the horrors within. The rich blueness of Feyre's concerned eyes is what you forced on first, then the rise and fall of her chest as you attempted to copy the movements. It was the first draw of breath that you realised just how long you'd been holding your breath as your lungs burned and your head spun.
The air of Velaris tasted sweet, or maybe it was the lingering taste of Feyre in the air as the ache in the centre of your chest eased and you became more present. The trembling throughout your body continued, no matter how many times Fey's thumb brushed against the back of your hand.
"You're always safe here, with me. It's just us together. Look outside; the sun is still shining, and there's no darkness here". Feyre continued to gently soothe you with her elegant voice.
You'd always found it so ironic that a place called the Night Court, the power to bring forth shadows and darkness from its High Lady and Lord, was actually the brightest and most beautiful home. Free. Unlike how it was Under the Mountain.
Tension struck your spine as your thoughts drifted back to the nightmarish place. Feyre's grip on your hand loosened as she shifted closer to cup both hands around your face, forcing your eyes on her again.
"Don't go back there, stay with me. Talk to me, I want to hear your pretty voice, Honey". It was both the use of her nickname for you and the warmth of her fingers on your face that brought you back from the dizzying nightmares.
Opening your mouth to follow your instructions, you were unsure what to say at first, worried that all that would dribble out would be frightened whimpers, but then a little fleck of something at the corner of Feyre's eyelid caught your eye as your fingers hovered above the area.
"You have a freckle right here that I've never noticed before", you say in a whisper before clearing your voice and smiling at your High Lady.
Feyre matches your grin, showing her teeth whilst doing so and tilting her face so that you're not cupping her face just as she was yours. "Do I? I've never noticed before. Guess I'll have to add it to my portraits".
Your index finger stroked over the freckle as your thoughts spoke before you could probably think as you admitted, "It's beautiful". Usually, only her mate caused the pinkness to blush across her cheeks as she tried to duck and hide her face, the golden hair half drawn into a ponytail now curtaining her away.
Instinctively, you brushed the offending pieces behind her pointed ears, giving you a clearer view of the beauty of Feyre Archeron-Moonbeam. As her sky-stained eyes flicked back up to yours, she coyly softened her smile. And you're a big old flirt; she uses her daemati skills as her lips remain still so that only you can hear.
Only for you, my High Lady, you respond similarly. However, the flirtatious talk was then interrupted by a third, more silky, deep voice joined as the scent of Jasmine and the crispness of night wrapped around you in a warm hug.
I object. I, too, think you're a big old flirt to me, too. It could be my handsome good looks and effortless charm. The intense eye contact with Feyre snapped as you both turned toward the doorway where Rhys now casually leaned against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his black trousers and not a single hair out of place. The hypnotic violet eyes wandered over Feyre's form first before doing the same with you before the tension eased in his shoulders.
Scoffing as you and Feyre stood, releasing each other's faces and turning towards him entirely, you spoke the following words aloud. "Excuse me, Almighty High Lord. I think you'll find that you're older than me and a much bigger flirt".
Feyre laughs as she naturally falls into his side, their arms wrapping around each other's waists and his lips dipping to kiss her tenderly across the forehead before focusing his attention on you with a wicked grin.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Love. I only flirt with my darling Feyre". His mate gently slaps a hand against his chest. As you all know, that was one of the biggest lies to slip from his lips. Rhys simply grabs her tattoo-covered hand and kisses the knuckles before venturing further into the room, only stopping when toe-to-toe with you.
Your neck ached as you stared up at him, admiring the twinkle of stars in his eyes as he asked, Do you want to talk about it?
You knew he was referring to your momentary lapse in consciousness moments ago. Losing the courage to maintain eye contact, you look across Velaris, noticing how the sun reflected and sparkled against the water flowing in the Sidra.
Suddenly having no energy, your shoulder shrugs nonchalantly, even though you knew the man before you could read you better than any other. "Not really".
Warm, calloused fingers grip your chin, turning your face back towards Rhys as you find that Feyre is now by your side, her fingers interlocking with yours, both touching you, the only two to have done so since being Under the Mountain, even if they were innocent touches.
"You can always come to us, day or night. You know that, right? Just call out for us, and we will come", Rhys reassures carefully, his eyebrows drawn together with concern.
Glancing between the mated pair, you try to ignore the burning behind your eyes from the threatening tears as you squeeze the hand holding yours and smile up at Rhys. "What would I ever do without my favourite High Lady and Lord".
Rhys grins down at you, keeping his hold on your chin as he leans down to kiss your cheek, remaining there for a second longer than socially acceptable as you suck in a quick breath as Feyre copies the kiss on the opposite cheek. The two of them move away at the same time as you struggle to control your pounding heart and ignore the desperate throb that warmed your core from being between them both.
It was always like this with the three of you. The longing touches by both of them. The ones that would fuel the dreams would leave you feeling regret for thinking of your friends in such a way, even if it distracted you from your dark thoughts.
To everyone else, it seemed that you were all close. Still, when the three of you were alone, something constantly shifted, and as much as you tried to remember they were mates and nothing further would ever happen, the lasting effects of the increased pulse and arousal remained. Even though you would never act on these feelings, they made you feel alive and safe.
You noticed it then, the shadows that creep into their eyes as their nostrils flare, smelling your dampening arousal. Like always, you take a step back and try to regain control over your actions, masking your emotions with humour.
"You two are naughty. Do you often kiss your friends like that".
Feyre's giggle only adds to your body's reaction as she links her arm through yours and shrugs her shoulder, "I don't know what you're referring to. We were just being supportive", her tone was laced with sarcasm.
Rolling your eyes, your arm taps the arm holding yours, "Of course you were". Leaning into her side, the two of you glance up at Rhysand, who is silently watching the interactions. Eventually, his eyes flicked to Feyres, who tilted her head with a knowing smile. Looking between the two, you sigh dramatically, "I hate when you both talk like that. It's like you're showing off that you can speak mind to mind. Some would call it rude to talk like that without including your company".
Rhys finally smirks as you notice the sweet and seedy tang that now invaded your scents, mixing with the smell of your arousal quickly; you take a step back from them, assuming they're both flirting mind to mind as you can now smell how horny they both were.
"Alright, well, now I know what you're both thinking. I'm going to take that as my opportunity to leave, " you explain whilst walking towards the exit like you usually did when the mated pair became obsessed with the other in similar situations. However, a shadow wraps around your wrist and halts your movements, so you must turn back and watch as Rhys' arm secures Feyre's shoulder.
"How do you know what we are thinking about?" Rhys asks casually.
Once more, you roll your eyes in exasperation, "because I can smell it, and you are both anything but subtle".
"Hmm", he contemplates for a second. "And what exactly do you think we're dreaming about?"
Your tongue suddenly lay heavy in your mouth as you look confused between them both, noting that Feyre's cheeks are once more flushed with embarrassment, or was it arousal?
"Is this a fun game for you both? I'm not sure I'm interested in guessing what you two do behind closed doors". A lie, but they don't need to know this as those thoughts had been fueling your quiet nights between your sheets.
The High Lord and Lady's eyes both lower to watch as your thighs squeeze together to ease the worsening ache there, not realising how noticeable your movements had been as you cough to recapture their attention back to your face.
"Maybe I should have phrased my question differently", Rhys begins to say as he licks his lips. "Who exactly do you think we are dreaming about?"
Your frown deepens with the confusion that only seems to worsen with each word Rhys says. Feyre takes control of the conversation as she steps forward and out of Rhys' hold until she is in front of you, looking like the beautiful High Lady that she is. Her shoulders rolled back, her head held high, and the confidence only added to the pulsing and fire between your legs.
Carefully, you watch every single flicker of emotion and movement from Feyre. From the way her lips part to take in a deep breath, the subtle hardening of her nipples beneath the thin blue shirt she wore, to the way her pupils expand to match the sweet scent in the air. "I, for one, was not and am not thinking of Rhysand", she speaks in a lower undertone than usual, not flinching from your unending stare.
It was your turn to open your mouth, licking the dryness while attempting to think of some kind of response, but it seemed that your mind was void of all conventional thoughts. So much so that the arrival of Morrigan as she winnowed into the room had the three of you flinching and jumping to face the new arrival.
The tall blonde's nose wrinkled as she glanced between her cousin and his mate, "By the Cauldron, will you two leave the poor girl alone with your nasty thoughts? It smells like a Pleasure house in here", Mor claims as she flicks her luscious hair over her shoulder.
You take a step back, thankful that Mor only thought the thick smell was from Feyre and Rhys and not you as well.
"Morrigan, a pleasure as always, dear cousin", Rhys drawls as he casually picks off some invisible lint from his shoulder. This sight has you smiling, knowing he was covering his discomfort with the movement.
Mor flicked her gaze over Rhys before dressing each of you with enthusiasm, clasping her hands together, "So tonight I've convinced the others to come to Ritas, and I need you three to also join to have the complete team there".
"I'll be there, " you say quickly, deciding you need something more substantial to drink after this conversation.
"Us too", Feyre answered as she glanced over her shoulder towards you with a not-so-subtle wink.
Hours later, after the sun had set and your anxiety had risen for a moment, you were now encompassed in the inhibitions of the alcohol humming through your veins. Ritas was as busy as always, and being surrounded by friends, good music and even better drinks, you were very much in your element of happiness.
Despite your friends being gathered around the table you always resided at or in the centre of the dancefloor, you were happy in your little corner of heaven in Ritas, where you could sway on the spot without worrying about feeling strangers' bodies knocking into yours.
The conversation continued to play over in your mind as you felt the coolness of the sweat dripping down the middle of your spine. As much as you love Mor, you could have cursed her to prison for interrupting before discovering who Feyre and Rhys were referring to because even though your heart screamed that it was about you, your mind tried to convince you otherwise. There was no way that your mated friends were turned on by you.
You're drawn away from your thoughts as a slender arm slides around your neck, and the sweet smell of Feyre wraps around you, replacing the salty sweat from the room. Her grin matches yours as she tips her head back, swaying her hips in time with yours as your fingers clasp to the thin material of her peach dress around her waist, pulling her closer.
From the way she laughed, you knew she was just as drunk as you but nevertheless still as beautiful as ever, even with the way her golden hair stuck to her face with the sweat and the glassy sheen over her eyes. You were happy to see her letting go and fully relaxing; she deserved it more than most.
You weren't sure which of you tightened your hold of the other, but now your faces are pressed together, her lips hovering next to your ear so that you could hear her say, "We didn't finish the conversation earlier".
Your feet somehow become tangled with hers as you both lose your footing, but a steady hand from behind keeps you both upright as Rhys' chest presses against your back. One of his hands remains on your waist, his thumb brushing in a circle, and the other reaches around your side to grip Feyre, pulling her even closer against your chest until your breasts are squished against hers.
"Wh-What conversation?" you pretend to forget, the rest of Ritas drowning away in the background.
"Don't play coy with us; I can smell your arousal already", Rhys growls into your other ear. You forget to breathe momentarily, so Rhys's tone calms, "Easy, breathe for us, it's ok. This will always remain a safe space". You appreciated his comfort, but for a moment, all you could think about was the way his lips caressed the shell of your ear.
I think you're beautiful, Honey. Feyre speaks dreamily mind to mind as she pulls away to look deep into your mind mesmerisingly. Her delicate fingers stroke down your cheek as her eyes flick between yours and the lips you're biting. I want you. She states this with such confidence and not an ounce of alcohol slurring her words that your knees wobble.
"I want you too", you finally whisper to her, unsure if the alcohol was giving you courage or making silly decisions on your behalf.
"And you know that Rhys wants you too; nothing about that has changed", Feyre continues as you glance over your shoulder to look up at Rhys as he kisses the side of your head. You nod, understanding that she was referring to your past with him.
"I think we should find somewhere more private, don't you?" Feyre continues as you agree with her.
One second, you're in Ritas, and the next, you're in the comforting bedroom in the townhouse of Feyre and Rhys. The instant calmness of the loud music faded, and the delicate touch of the wind as it floated through the open archway to the balcony. Sighing at the coolness as it kissed against the exposed skin of your arms, you let it distract you from the chaos erupting in your heart and mind.
Rhys moved away first, and before you turned to see what he was doing, Feyre stepped back and grabbed your hand. The two of you laughed wholeheartedly while stumbling over to their gigantic bed.
You both collapse into the centre, laughing at nothing as the springs cause you both to bounce before settling and wrapping your arms around each other.
Rhys leans against the bedpost at the base of the bed, smiling down at the two of you, especially as Feyre lifts her feet and wiggles them in his direction. "Come on, High Lord. Look busy", she giggles as Rhys smirks, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and dragging her feet into his lap. Carefully, he unbuckled the straps of her heels, dropped the shoes onto the floor and carefully kissed the top of her knee as the dress she wore now pooled midthigh no that she was lying down, and then his sights were set on you.
With long strides, he's around the other side of the bed, now closest to you, and begins to remove your shoes as well, but then your feet remain over his thighs, and the reality of the situation finally dawns on you. Like he had with Feyre, his eyes never leave yours as you forget to breathe altogether, and he kisses your knee delicately.
Feyre raised to lean on her fist so that she could look down at you as your gaze turned from one to the other.
"You'll tell us if it's too much, I mean", she asks, appearing more sober as you, too, notice the liquid courage seems to have disappeared from your system as you nod in agreement at her. She smiles as Rhys' fingers caress from your ankle up to your calf. "I've never kissed a female before", she admits as the hand she isn't leaning on reaches across to run her fingers down the side of your face.
"I think you'd enjoy it", you say, sounding breathless, becoming lost in the desire that darkens her usually bright eyes. You're encouraged to continue as her fingers continue to explore your face and linger on your lips. "Kissing a man is nice and dominant, rough. But with females, they're soft, sweet, gentle but demanding if needed."
Feyre bites her lower lip as she glances at Rhys for a split second before turning her attention back down to you. "I want to kiss you", admits eternally.
"I don't think your mate would appreciate me touching what's he", you say, trying to remain as level-headed as possible, knowing that the mind between mates should not be interfered with.
Feyre's eyes gleam with mischief as she looks down at her mate, who has remained silent so far. "My mate wants to kiss you too", she confirms.
"More than you could know", Rhys then speaks, his tone taunt and deep, like he is trying to hold back, but it is all the confirmation you need.
Reaching up to your High lady, you cup her jaw and pull her close, meeting her halfway as your lips connect. The two of you forget to breathe momentarily, simply remaining in place and allowing each of your emotions to escalate before your movements finally catch up to your pounding heart.
Your lips press more firmly, moving against hers until they relax and open, giving you the perfect position to tease your tongue between her lips. You both moan, especially now that you can taste her, feel her loosening and falling more into the kiss, finding the courage to push your head back onto the bed and become more demanding.
Your fingers slip through her hair as you greedily try to taste the other. She was sweet, oh so fucking sweet you could have drowned in her and thanked the Cauldron for giving you the opportunity. Her full lips are cushioned against yours until you're both starving of oxygen and needing to pull back to breathe.
A second, this lasted before her face wasn't above yours anymore, and your High Lord was leaning over your body, his hand now cupping the entire side of your face as he kissed you with greed. The sensation of nostalgia hit, the taste that you'd grown fond of over the years of intimacy before Feyre crashed through your senses. Yet, there was something new and exciting with this kiss, even as you continued to stroke through his mate's hair and hold her to your side as Rhysand bruised your lips, his tongue entering your mouth for a brief second as you moaned.
Then he's pulling back, and you're welcomed to the beautiful sight of Feyre and Rhys desperately kissing. You'd seen them kiss more times than you could count, but being this close, having each of them still clutching onto your body in some way.
Feyre was the first to ease away, tilting her head slightly so that Rhysands lips could move to the slop of her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses until reaching the strap of her dress on her shoulder and easing it down. Coping his movement, you, too, moved the strap off of her other shoulder and the material pooled below her ribs, exposing her breasts to you. There wasn't a second wasted before you moved to lick one of her perked nipples as Rhys nibbled on the other.
The soft moan from Feyre lit a fire in your belly as you continued to taste the sweetness of her skin, but then your head was moved back as Feyre demanded your mouth with hers once more.
With your back pressed against the bed, Feyre attempts to move over you but then halts herself, "I don't know what I'm doing" Feyre giggles.
Grinning up at her innocence, you admire the way that her eyes are half-lidded and swollen lips are pulled between her teeth as Rhys continues to caress her nipples and breasts with his mouth and hands.
Tucking a stray curl of golden hair behind her ear, you explain, "Touch me like you'd touch yourself. Do you touch yourself?" you ask, clarifying. The apples of her cheeks had already risen from the alcohol and kissing, but now they deepened in the shade as she said yes. Rhys growls against her chest at the thought of her touching herself and then begins to remove her dress further down her body until she's naked. You see, seeing that she'd gone without underwear and reached to touch her now slightly sensitive nipples.
Once more, you admire how she hitches a breath at the touch. She still seems hesitant as her fingers draw your dress's edge against your collarbones. Rhys, also sensing her nerves, lies on the other side of you, resting his head on his fist as he wraps his large hand around Feyre's small one.
"Here, let ms show you, Darling", he explains lowly, and you notice that he's now topless, the muscles flexing with his movements and bat wings flared out behind him, hovering in the air.
You and Feyre watch as Rhys moves her hand over your chest, cupping your breast over your dress and squeezing firmly. You can't help but rub your thighs together as the low pleasure builds in your already aroused body, the air thick with seedy scents from all three of you.
Rhys then catches your eye, winking cheekily with a handsome smirk. Within a blink of an eye, all clothes that remained on his or your body disappeared, and now Feyre's hand was pressed directly against your skin.
Your back arches slightly into the touch, pushing your breast into her hand, and then it's your turn to gasp as Rhys moves her fingers to pinch your nipple fiery, tugging it away from your body and then pressing a thumb against the aching area.
It was a sight you adored watching as Feyre tentatively began to learn how to touch your body. There was so much you wanted to do to both of them, and as much as you wanted to give Feyre a chance to move lower, you didn't like the attention just on you. It was challenging to decide whether to touch him or her, but as it was Feyre's first time with a girl, you wanted to see if she enjoyed your face between her legs.
"Feyre, can I be on top of you?" you ask her with a surprisingly pitched voice.
She grins as her eyes glow ever brighter as she rolls onto her back, "You don't have to ask".
Returning her smile, you slip around Rhys and straddle Feyre's waist, leaning down to kiss her hungrily for a few seconds before moving backwards, lower down her body. "I want to taste you". Your words pressed against her skin as your mouth journeyed south, kissing the peaks of her breasts down her sternum and toned stomach. Her breaths were coming out in quick huffs as she squirmed on the bed, legs spreading as your body fit between them, your face pressing against the softness of her thighs.
Feyre's arousal was evidenced by the wetness that now caressed your cheek as you nuzzled yourself closer, resting your weight on your chest and arse perked in the air as you felt the High Lord move behind you. Blowing cool air over Feyre's beautiful cunt, you loved how responsive she already was as she shivered and gripped tightly to the sheet beneath her, looking down her body at you.
Whilst holding her eye contact, you finally lowered your mouth to her, tongue sweeping over her labia and tasting her salty but uniquely beautiful juices. The High Lady's gasp was like music to your ears, especially as you pressed more firmly, dipping beneath and stroking over her clit and feeling it throb against your tongue. "You taste so fucking good".
Rhys, who was licking his lips at the sight, began to hover over both of you, kissing down your spine, causing goosebumps to rush to the surface of your skin. He, too, began to use his tongue to pleasure as he knelt behind you, flicking his tongue into your cunt and pushing in. You groan, and in turn, Feyre does, too.
"I've missed this", Rhys admits from behind as he circles your hole with his fingers, carefully easing a single digit within. This was the first time you'd been penetrated by anything in over 50 years. Amarantha had often tortured you with your arousal, making sure you were never given anything to ease the ache, but then after her demise, even when you touched yourself, you were so sensitive it would only take clitoris to play for you to orgasm.
Your back arches, pressing your breasts further into the bed and arse harder into Rhys' face as he rocks his finger in and out before adding another and beginning to curl his fingers until your whimpering into his mate's cunt. Warmth flushed over your face as you realised just how quickly you were close to orgasm, so you moved with more enthusiasm as you sucked on her clit and then pressed your tongue firmly against it. Then, for the first time in 50 years, you used your powers because you wanted to, not because you were being forced to.
Rhys and Feyre both moan loudly enough that the bed trembles. You'd caused the sensation for him that his cock was now being wrapped tightly down someone's throat and Feyre to fill full internally, with someone caressing the sensitive nerves within her cunt, both nipples being sucked on by an invisible force.
"What was that?" she cries out as she closes her eyes, her hips now rotating on their own accord as she chases her high. You could have made her orgasm with your powers but didn't want to overwhelm her immediately, so you settled in softly as you continue to circle her clit.
Not stopping to answer her question, you match the sensations you're going through and then as Rhys' thumb pressed against your clit and the hurricane of an orgasm pulsed through your cunt and abdomen, you made sure that both mates also came at the same time.
Rhys grunted, one hand coming to rest on your hip and squeezing the flesh as he humped against the bed, staining the sheets with his seed, and Feyre coated your mouth with her arousal, her thighs almost crushing you in the process, but you would have died happy right there.
While still trying to catch her breath, Feyre suddenly announces loudly, "Sit on my face". You and Rhys' face snap up to look at her, laughing at the crudeness of her words that aren't usually that forward. She appears sheepish for once, asking, "What? Did I say it wrong?"
"Not at all", you begin whilst crawling up her body until you're face to face. "Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
With Rhys' steady hands on your hips, you moved to kneel on either side of your High Lady's face, looking down your body at her excited expression. Still reluctant, it takes Feyre's tattoed fingers to wrap around your thighs and pull your body down before her mouth is on your intimate area. You weren't sure who moaned louder, you or Feyre, as she started by licking and tasting between your folds before building more enthusiasm and dipping the tip of her tongue into your pussy.
"You're doing so good", you praise whilst holding one hand on the headboard of the bed and the other slipping into Feyre's hair. Glancing over your shoulder, you admire Rhys, who was on his knees watching the two of you, his hand wrapped around his surprisingly already hard cock. He looked almost godly in this position, the tattoos of the mountains on his knees gleaming at you for more than one reason, his wings spread wide behind him. "Look busy, High Lord; I think our beautiful High Lady's cunt is looking lonely down there".
"It would be my honour, Love", Rhys agrees, moving closer and easing his mates legs over his thighs as he lowers the tip of his cock over her clit, teasing her for a second before entering her. You could feel the rush of air against your pussy as she gasps, rotating her hips as she rocks against Rhys.
You match the movements, rolling your hips against her face as her nose knocks against your bundle of nerves and her tongue moves ever deeper. Everything felt so good; your body was alive with emotions and buzzing nerves. You could have died happy right there, especially as your face is then tilted back and Rhys' mouth is on yours, kissing whilst fucking his mate.
Even with his tongue down your throat, you wish you could praise Feyre; she makes you feel so good, even though it is her first time doing this. And Rhys, he always knew how to leave you breathless and begging for more.
You weren't even prepared as your orgasm rocked you very well. Rhys had to half hold you up as your body trembled, cunt squeezing and pulling around Feyre's tongue until the sensations lessons at you collapsed next to the pair, trying to catch your breath.
Then you watched, with awe and amazement, as Rhys fucked Feyre, their fingers all over each other, grasping and holding as both of them eased closer to their peak. But even then, when both were breathless and arching their backs, you were still being grabbed and included with kisses and touches until all three were motionless in the middle of the bed.
To say you were exhausted was an understatement, having not had two orgasms in quick successions in so long, and the thrill of emotions was enough to have you falling asleep almost immediately. Not before you're checked in by both of them, Rhys wraps an arm around your waist, and Feyre's head rests against your chest.
"Are you ok? I mean - was that alright for you?" she whispers, sounding just as exhausted as you.
"It was perfect", you respond before closing your eyes and falling asleep.
Waking up was not the blissful peace you'd hoped it would be. The thrill of the alcohol had completely gone from your body, and all that remained was a heavy sickness of guilt in your stomach. Last night was beyond perfect. Everything you could have wanted and more, but reality was your worst enemy.
Feyre and Rhys were mates, not only this but your High Lord and Lady. A fun night of relieving tensions for them meant so much more for you; emotions that had attempted to lay dormant were now screaming in your mind that you'd made one of the worst mistakes yet. They wouldn't want you. They couldn't have you anyway. No matter how deep the feelings ran, there was no such thing as a mates pair having a third join.
When the pair would wake, you knew it would be full of awkwardness and 'let's never do this again'. So, with great difficulty, you began to untangle yourself from the duo, careful not to wake either of them as you climbed out of bed.
It wouldn't happen again, and the sooner you realised this and came to terms with it, the easier the pain in your heart could ease. Grabbing your dress that was folded on a nearby chair, you slipped it on and, with your shoes in hand, left without glancing back at the sleeping couple.
You had a room in their house, much like the rest of the inner circle, but there was no way you could remain in the same room as them for a day, at least so, after changing into more comfortable clothes and hiding under a coat, you left to go to your own home.
It was on the other side of Velaris, and on the walk there, with the sun slowly beginning to rise and wake up the other occupants of your home town, you had time to overthink every single touch and moan from last night. Eventually, you arrived at your abandoned apartment, having hardly slept here since your nightmares were so crippling that you needed to stay near Rhys and Feyre at all times.
You attempted to distract yourself by scrubbing your skin raw, trying to remove the scents of both of them away, but when that didn't work, you moved to deep cleaning your home, which now had a thick layer of dust and cobwebs across the surfaces. This was until you could collapse with exhaustion into your cold bed.
The nightmares were there, so violently, in fact, that you were startled awake because you couldn't breathe. Your mouth opened to scream for Rhys to save you but stopped, biting on your tongue until blood coated your mouth. Scrubbing a heavy hand down your face as you caught your breath and eased the ache in your chest, you glanced out of the window, seeing the sun high in the sky, meaning it hadn't been that long since you'd fallen asleep.
Your stomach gave a hungry growl as you sighed, collapsing back onto your pillow, staring aimlessly towards your ceiling.
I was going to give you one more hour of rest before coming to find you, but it seems you've beaten me to it. Rhys' voice echoed in your mind in a deep drawl that had a fluttering of pain seep into your chest as you remembered last night. Deciding to do something you've never done before, you tried to ignore him, turning over and pulling your bed sheet over your head and shutting down your mental shields, but he simply pushed them aside with his talons.
Why are you there and not at home?
Without thinking, you snapped back sassily, This is my home.
He didn't comment on your tone as he continued to ask. Why did you leave?
I needed to shower. You answered simply, knowing it was a useless excuse.
We could have showered together. Rhys purred back, and even his tone was your core warming. Unsure of what to reply with, you decide remaining silent was your best option, so he filled the silence with more questions. I don't want to intrude on your personal space but don't block us out. Last night was-.
I know. You cut off his sentence, not wanting to hear his rejections. It's fine. I'll just speak to you later, Rhysand.
Rhysand? When do you ever call me that? He sounded more urgent with his questions, so you try even harder with your mental shields until a thick wall separates the two of you, and his words are finally silenced. Your emotions finally snap as you sob until you can't breathe.
You remained in this position for the rest of the day. Your hunger is now dormant with the sickness in your chest. The tears would dry and then start again as you feel the ghost of their lips against your skin with the memories that continued to spiral through your mind over and over again. Eventually, the sunset, and you were left with the shadows from the fae lights to keep you company.
Deciding the bedroom only made you feel worse; you move into the living room, sit on the couch, and stare at the wall.
At one point, you could feel the stroke of gentle fingers against your mental shields, but you kept them in place, deciding it was best to ignore Feyre as well. However, a firm knock came on your door late into the night. You wanted nothing more than to ignore it, to leave whoever was there to think you were asleep, but as the knock came again, you decided to just get it over and done with, already knowing who was there.
Opening the door, you're greeted by Feyre and Rhys, holding a plate of your favourite food and both smiling gently towards you, their eyes searching over your body to check you're well but noticing how red and bloodshot the whites of your eyes were.
"A peace offering": Feyre offers the place towards you, but you don't take it; you step out of the way and allow them to enter your home. Moving further into the room, you returned to the corner of the couch, avoiding their eye contact as you tucked your knees beneath you and hugged a pillow to your chest.
Feyre places the plate on the small table before you and sits to your right, while Rhys sits opposite in the armchair.
"I've never actually been here before. It's cute." Feyre continues trying to cheer you up somehow, but you ignore her.
"I'm sorry", you finally painfully say, wanting to get it over and done with.
"Sorry?" Rhys asks in confusion, leaning forward until he rests his elbows on his knees. "For what?"
You couldn't help but flinch, turning your shoulders in to appear smaller. "For last night. For overstepping in your relationship. I shouldn't have let my emotions dictate my actions. I've- I've just been so lonely, and I trust you both more than anyone, but you're mates, and I know what's happened is unforgivable and-".
A delicate hand covers your mouth, stopping your flow of words as Feyre leans forward with fire lighting her eyes, eyebrows set furrowed. "Would you stop trying to say how me and Rhys feel, please? Because I think you'll find you're incredibly wrong with every single thing that you say". Her hand begins to lower, and you open your mouth to battle what she has said, so she quickly keeps her hand over your mouth. "Nope! No talking, just listen. We don't regret anything about last night".
Without using your mouth, you roll your eyes, but that only earns you a squeeze against your cheeks. Rhys then begins to talk, "She's not lying. There isn't an ounce of regret in my body" his eyes remain steady as he stares at you.
"Yes, Rhys and I are mates, and the thought of someone touching what's mine fills me with murderous rage, but when I watched the two of you touch and kiss, I felt anything but negativity. You've not just been anyone to me; you're special to both of us. More than you could ever know."
"You saved my life under the mountain. Without you, I wouldn't have survived her", Rhys admitted, referring to the one person you hated more than the King of Hybern. At seeing your relaxed state, Feyre finally loses her hand from your face as you stare at the deep, raw emotions on Rhys' face, the sharpness as his jaw tensed.
"You saved me too", Feyre continues as you look towards her now. "In those dark dungeons when you would visit to keep me company or healy my body and mind, there's no way I would have survived it all".
She takes your hand, squeezing your fingers as she talks. "You haven't just been a friend to us. Even now that I and Rhy are mates, I feel this longing to be near you. I often thought maybe we are meant to have more than one mate because the way I feel for you isn't just lust".
Your breath was out heavily, not realising you'd been holding your breath as they both spoke, a lightness filling your heart and mind. "I thought you both would come to regret what we did. That my emotions were just one way because you saved me more times than I could ever begin to list. You're my closest friends; save me from the dark each night, but after what we did, I thought I'd overstepped the boundary, and you wouldn't want to see me again".
"Well then, you don't know me then, do you? Because I don't back down from what I want, and I meant what I said when I said I wanted you," Feyre responds passionately as your gaze flicks from her eyes to her lips before Rhys inches forward until kneeling beside you both, his hand resting over yours and Feyres joined hands.
"This may be difficult to understand. Yes, we are mates, but you have always meant something close to me, and I've known for a long time that Feyre feels similarly. I want you, Love, like I want Feyre. The thought of not being able to have you or someone else's hands on you makes me want to strike everyone down" he pauses to take a deep, steadying breath as he rolls his neck to ease the tension and anger that burst from him as his jealous emotions overtake him. "If you don't want to be with us, we'd understand and return to how we have always been. But we can't lose you, even as a friend".
You scoff, unable to hold back your reaction, as you sit up with a burst of energy, looking between them. "Of course, I want you both! I thought it was obvious. There's no way I'm letting either of you go" Your fingers tighten in their hold as you finally smile. Rhys and Feyre sigh in relief. "I don't understand how this is going to work, though, between the three of us. How do we even explain this to the others?"
Rhys shrugs his shoulders, "It's not for them to get. This will be understood with time, but let's concentrate on each other, being together and learning this new dynamic. It's not anything to rush, just that we each understand that we have each other".
Life came with its highs and lows. Even at its lowest, the smudging of hope could draw you out and lead you on a whole new path. All those years ago, never would you have thought you could be with two of the most remarkable people of all of Pyrthian, but by the Cauldron, you were going to hold onto them so tight and never let them go.
#feyre archeron#feyre x reader#feyre x rhysand#feysand#feysand x reader#feyre archerson smut#feysand smut#feysand one shot#rhysand#rhysand x reader#rhysand smut#acotar#acotar smut#acotar one shot#rhysand one shot#mine*
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The Shadowsinger: Fourteen
Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Mentions of abuse and SA, SMUT (oral f!rec, tiny bit of shadow play), mention of canon level violence, ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!
Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader
Summary: Feyre arrives at the Night Court, Rhys requests you to stay at the House for the first week.
Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.
My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!
Series Masterlist
Nine - Ten - Eleven - Twelve - Thirteen
You stayed at Windhaven, Azriel tended to check in on you more often than Cass or Rhys. He even stayed one night last week, you both staying up into the early morning hours talking about your childhoods and stupid things you used to do when you were young. Every time he came to visit, you couldn’t help but want to spend more and more time with him.
And each week for the following month, you did just what you said you were going to. You joined a new group of Illyrians that were training. You were working on sword training now. You had the blacksmith make a specific set for the females so the males wouldn’t complain or make excuses.
You did better everyday, and by the time the month was up, you had advanced four levels. In just two more months you would be ready to participate in the qualifying course. You watched males do it every day, the course would change with the males. And some males failed, others succeeded. You marked their wrong doings and thought you could truly do it now. But you wouldn’t try to before you were ready. You didn’t need to fail in front of them. It would only prove what they already think.
One day, Mor winnowed to Windhaven, calling you out of the ring. You jogged over to her, frowning at her expression. “Rhys has Feyre at the Palace above Hewn City.” She said. “He wants you there since Feyre knows you… just for today,” she said.
“He called in the bargain?” You asked, glancing back as the males continued their sparring. You were itching to keep going today. But if Rhys needed your help with Feyre, you could sacrifice the afternoon.
“Yes, he did.” She answered. You nodded, holding out your hand. “Take me there.” You said. You still hadn’t been at the Palace above Hewn City before. You'd only ever been to Hewn City a handful of times when Amarantha was inspecting it. From what you remembered, you hoped you didn’t have to enter the Court of Nightmares.
Read Feyre Arrives Drabble here
A month went by since Rhys called in the bargain, you went up another three levels in training, and Rhys started talking to you about what was going on with Feyre. He needed someone to disclose his thoughts to, and you were the one who he thought wouldn’t judge him. Or at least show it. And you gave good advice.
And then Tamlin trapped Feyre in his manor. You were so furious that you offered to go back to the Spring Court and kill him yourself. He wouldn’t even see you coming. Not in the shadows. But Rhys said that would be reckless, not to mention Feyre had a right to it before any of you. And then Rhys after her.
So you stayed in the House for the week that she arrived, knowing she might want a familiar face around that wasn’t Mor or Rhys. She still didn’t trust you much, that you could tell, but you were friendly to her. You still trained with Cassian, you even saw Feyre come up to the ring to watch. Until she was noticed. Then she would run away like a mouse caught stealing food. As if she wasn’t your High Lord’s mate. She clearly didn’t know yet, and you had your own opinions on Rhys’s choice to keep it a secret, but you wouldn’t say anything to her.
And maybe you were glad to spend the time near Azriel. He was staying in the House as well and even when Cassian was there to break up the flirting, it was a little disappointing. You wanted to be alone with Azriel. Not with a chaperon.
Azriel felt the same way. So, the day before you were due to go back to Windhaven, he approached you after your morning training. Leaning his shoulder against the doorway, you felt him studying you as you put on a necklace. “Can I help you, Shadowsinger?” You teased as you turned around.
“Would you like to go out with me today? Maybe for lunch and then a walk through the Rainbow?” He asked. You could’ve sworn your heart stuttered while your stomach flipped.
“I would. Very much.” You said and glanced down at the outfit you wore.
“You are perfect, no need to change.” He said, causing heat to your face.
“Okay, hot shot. Shall we leave now then?” You teased, laughing when he held out an arm for you to take. You rested your hand on his bicep, not missing the slight flex as you did. You gave a small squeeze as you walked up the stairs to go to the roof.
“Where are you going?” Cassian asked as he saw the two of you come up the stairwell.
“Nowhere of your concern.” You said firmly, continuing to walk with Azriel. You noticing a small smirk forming on his lips.
“I gave you an hour for lunch, you better be back by then.” He warned.
“I won’t.” You said and nodded for Az to fly up. “I’m taking the rest of the day off. Have fun.” You said before taking off. You giggled as Azriel and you raced down to the restaurant on the Sidra, still laughing as you landed right outside.
“Lucky I don’t have to pay for that tomorrow.” You said, still quietly laughing to yourself as you took Azriel’s hand and walked in the restaurant.
You and Azriel were friendly with each other now and weren’t strangers to leaning against the other or holding hands. But being out, where anyone in the city could see you, was a little different. It felt more official. Like you and Az were on a date.
The realization hit you when you sat down at the table, waiting for your food. “Is this a date?” You asked, needing it to be clear.
You noticed a red hue flush on Azriel’s cheeks as he took a gulp of his drink. “Yes.” He said. Although he was flustered, he didn’t want to question it.
“Good.” You said. “I was wondering when you were going to ask.” You teased and nudged his leg with yours, smiling. He was different when you two were out in the city compared to when you were alone in the cabin or the House. You knew he had a reputation to upkeep, but at least he was more relaxed in Velaris than Windhaven. There, if a male so much as looked at you the wrong way he was pushing them into the snow. Or mud. Or wall. It pissed you off a little, but you knew he had his own trauma when it came to Illyrians. Though, if they were going to take you seriously, he was going to have to stop doing that.
You weren’t together. You weren’t courting or mates. He had no claim to you. And even if you were, he still should let you protect yourself. Especially if you’re trying to show the Illyrians that females are just as strong and capable as males.
“I suppose I didn’t ask, but I figured it was clear enough.” He said, looking at you for a few moments.
“Why did you ignore me those first few weeks I was here? Did I offend you?” You asked after a silence fell over the two of you.
“Offend me? No… you..” he sighed, looking down at his hands. Azriel never had trouble with his words when speaking to the others, but with you, it was different. He stumbled over them much more than normal. Especially when your eyes were upon him. “You had been through so much and I was… I’ll admit I was very attracted to you. You had an amazing personality… this light that I hadn’t seen in some time. And something pulled me to you. The more time I spent near you… the more I wanted to go further. To spend time alone with you.” Azriel said. You looked at him and felt a smile come to your lips as you listened to him talk.
“But you just got your freedom back. And I didn’t know what you went through Under the Mountain. Only the little Rhys told us. I didn’t want to push you… not so soon after.” He explained.
“To be honest, I think it would’ve been better if you just talked to me about it. I thought you hated me.” You said.
“I think what I felt for you was far from hatred…” he said, heat rising to your face.
“You flatter me, Shadowsinger,” you teased and smiled, thanking the server as they brought your food. You took a bite of the leafy greens, then leaned back. “Will you join me at Windhaven when I return tomorrow? Cassian is coming… but I’d like you there too.”
Azriel nodded, taking a bite of the meat in front of him. “As much as I despise Windhaven and the Illyrian war camps, I’d like to join you.” He said. “Only to see how many levels you gained this week by training with Cassian, and to see the look on a Devlon’s face when he finds out.” He teased and you laughed.
“You know, I think I’m growing on the male.” You said and shrugged. “I’m proving to him that I can do it. And it’s not just talk. Plus, the other females are excelling almost more than the males… though they haven’t allowed them to try using their killing power or Siphons yet.” You said.
“Have you?” He asked and you shook your head.
“I think I would know if I had killing power..” you mentioned.
“Not necessarily. Have you tried using your shadows as a shield before? That’s how mine first came about.” He said and you shook your head, not even knowing that was an option.
“I have only ever used my shadows to bind people… or to conceal myself and travel.” You said, smiling a bit. “And spy, of course. But I still haven’t been able to control them fully. Sometimes.. during my bargain with Amarantha, I couldn’t help when my shadows would tell me something. And they would reveal truths about the Fae to me, ones that I had to disclose to her.” You said, shifting in your spot. Talking about her, about that time, was difficult. You’d met with a priestess in the library, one that was available for any of the harmed females to talk to. She told you that if you didn’t talk about it, the hurt would only get worse. The nightmares wouldn’t go away.
“Did she ever do anything else… besides call in her bargain every chance she got?” He asked.
You pursed your lips, leaning forward. It was such a public place to be talking about this. But the residents of Velaris wouldn’t tell anyone. And if they did… you were pretty sure you wouldn’t care. “If she was disappointed in my spying, she would have her sentries, like the Attor, spread out my wings. Then, she would take a dagger to them just close enough to the tendons so I couldn’t fly for weeks. Once she laced it with bloodbane, and I was indisposed for a month. And I had hallucinations the entire time. Rhys send Nuala and Cerridwen to look after me when he couldn’t. But that was a horrible month.” You said, shuddering at the memories.
“I thought your bargain meant she had to keep them intact.” He asked. You could see the growing anger in his eyes, the way his fist clenched around his glass, almost breaking it.
“She was very specific with how she worded the bargain. All she promised was that she could not clip them, could not make me permanently unable to fly…” You said and frowned, taking a deep breath. “I should’ve made her swear neither her nor anyone on her behalf could even touch my wings without my permission. But I was terrified. And naive… to make a bargain with someone like her.” You said and shook your head. “I’m lucky Rhys was truly as kind as he was… I think I would’ve lost myself there if he hadn’t been.” You said.
“Did she ever… make you watch them?” He asked and you shook your head.
“No, but she would have the sentries spread my wings out.., and instead of ripping them to shreds, she would force her hands on them until I…” you trailed off. “In front of her audience. As a party trick. It was amusing to her to see how much touching an Illyrian’s wings could pleasure them.” You frowned, forcing the tightness of your throat to ease as you sipped your wine. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for anyone to touch my wings like that again.”
Azriel studied your wings. The closer he looked, the more scars he saw. They were small, and had repaired themselves. No doubt by Rhys. But they were still visible. The ones from your father were more prominent, but he could tell the ones that were from Amarantha. They were indeed placed carefully close to the tendons, where it was most painful.
While you thought he would pity you, apologize for what happened even though he had no control over it, his anger only increased. “It’s a good thing she’s dead.” Azriel said.
You let out a strained laugh, a soft smile coming to your lips. “Yes, a very good thing.” You said and took a deep breath. “Wow… enough of that depressing shit, tell me about your favorite place in Velaris.” You said.
You listened as Azriel talked about his favorite place, this small tavern in the Rainbow. They had a special set up where one could request the pianist to play a song and you could sing. You learned another new thing about Azriel. He loved to sing, when he was alone. Or in that one tavern. Of course the Inner Circle knew about it, but he went alone most nights. So, you made him promise you that he would take you there someday. Only so you could show him how horrible you were at singing. And maybe so that you could hear him sing.
The rest of the afternoon was spent walking around the city, tucked under his arm to bring warmth to you from the cold. It was the dead of winter, and it was a nice day out but the wind was a little too brisk to enjoy it properly. Azriel kept you in the city into the night, even taking you to a short play in the Rainbow. He frequented this area a lot, he told you. He loved seeing what the citizens of Velaris created. You noted it, and promised yourself that you would reserve him seats for his birthday, or the next Winter Solstice.
Eventually, you flew back up to the house. You would have preferred to stay in the skies longer, but there was a storm coming in that made the wind too cold to fly for too long. At least for you. Azriel offered to shield you, but you decided against it. You were tired from training in the morning and spending the rest of the day out. By the time you stopped in front of your door, you didn’t want Azriel to leave.
You turned to him, leaning against the door. You really didn’t want to go back into your room. Alone. “I really enjoyed spending the day with you.” You said softly. “Maybe Rhys should steal more High Lord’s girlfriends.” You joked.
He smiled at that, and as he did, his gaze turned into something different. A mixture of lust and fondness. Like he wasn’t ready to leave you either.
“Care to join for me for tea?” You asked, hand slowly finding the doorknob. He only smirked in answer, and opened the door for you. You stumbled back, reaching out to grip his biceps to steady yourself.
You let out a silent laugh, then looked up at him. His hazel eyes gazing into yours. You couldn’t take it anymore.
The next moment, your hands were in his hair and your mouth was on his. You had to go on the tip of your toes just so you could reach him properly. And before you could stumble forward at the effort, he leaned down and picked you up by the thighs. Your shadows guided both of you over to your bed, making sure to push you one way or the other so you didn’t run into chairs. Azriel set you down on the edge of the bed, only bracing his hands on either side of you. You pulled away breathlessly when he leaned down to kiss your neck.
“Az..” you let out a soft whimper. He found the spot in your neck that made your core heat further. “Please…” you needed him to be touching you with more than his mouth. Your body was on fire. Every drag of clothing or bedding made you shutter. How could he do this to you, make you want him this much? With just a simple kiss?
“Please what, sweetheart? You need to use your words.” He whispered and you almost finished at his tone. The deep rumble from the back of his throat.
“I need you to touch me.” You replied, pulling him in for another kiss. You let out a whine when he pulled away, but pushed your chest gently down on the bed. Your wings splayed beneath you, and you watched as his hands slowly ran down to your pants.
You bit your lip, holding back a moan as he lifted your sweater slightly to kiss your stomach, then began pulling down the pants from your waist. You lifted your hips to help him.
When they were discarded at the other side of the room, Azriel let out a growl at the thin pair of lingerie you had on. You didn’t pick it because you thought this would happen, but you were feeling a little frisky earlier.
“You are gorgeous.” He whispered, his scarred hands trailing up your thighs. He gave them a light squeeze before pulling down the undergarments, smirking at how slick you were already. “Just for me, sweetheart?” Azriel asked.
You whined, squirming under his gaze. “Just for you, Shadowsinger.” You said, reaching down to cup his cheek. “Now have your dessert.” You commanded. You were never too dominant in the bedroom, but you couldn’t wait.
“Your wish is my command,” he whispered before his head disappeared between your thighs.
You arched your back, a soft moan spurring from your throat as you felt his shadows pin you down on the bed while his tongue gave a gentle lick of your folds. You’d never thought to use your shadows like that. But now, you’d have to ask him how to.
His hands trailed your thighs, squeezing them as he devoured your slick. One hand moved to that bundle of nerves, coaxing your climax further. You called out his name, straining against his shadows. Your hands took his hair, tugging on it as you forced him closer to your core.
He removed his tongue from your center, switching it with two of his fingers. “You like this sweetheart? Having me on my knees?”
“Gods.. Azriel yes.” You moaned, writhing in the grip of his shadows.
As he plunged his fingers in and out of you, curling them ever so slightly, he dipped his head again, sucking on your bundle to drive you right over the edge. His fingers continued through your climax, his shadows releasing on their own accord as you arched your back. Your wings fluttered beneath you while you let out a moan you were sure could be heard all the way in Windhaven. He coaxed you out of it just as he coaxed you to it. Pulled out his fingers, he slowly licked them, then pushed himself up and kissed you.
You tasted yourself on his tongue, your moan disappearing when he kissed you again. “You are incredible, (Y/N).” He whispered when he pulled away. You were panting. A slight sweat had formed on your forehead. Your sweater clung to you in an uncomfortable way.
“You are,” you replied, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. “Let me repay you.” You whispered, stroking his chin with your thumb. The slight stubble made your core heat again.
“Get some rest, first. You’re tired.” He whispered and kissed you. “Tomorrow, we can talk.” He said, planting a kiss on your temple as he stood up. You sat up on the bed and grabbed his hand.
“Don’t leave.” You said. You weren’t going to deny you wanted to spend the entire night tangled in the sheets with him.
“If I stay, we’ll be up all night. And you need rest for training tomorrow.” He said and leaned down, pecking your lips. “I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.” He said and winked before backing up, his shadows swirling around his feet. Like they knew he didn’t need them right now. Yours were doing the same. They knew you were both comfortable around each other and didn’t need them interfering.
“Promise you’ll be there tomorrow?” You asked and a side smile appeared on his lips.
“Promise.” And he left.
He might very well be the death of you. And you were happy to give in, hoping it was slow and sweet.
A/N: ...I'm just gonna leave this here...
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Lucien x F!Reader | “Our Story”
just wanna let yall know that requests are open!! <3
tw: unedited, (poorly written) smut, oral (m! receiving), angst at the beginning & end, pregnancy mentioned (not much)
wc: 2.5k
[YourName]’s mouth and throat felt dry, she didn’t understand what was happening when Lucien had laid out to her he had a mate, and that mate happened to be Feyre’s sister, and how he no longer wished to have contact with her. “I just don’t see us going far, I want to try with Elain..” Lucien said simply, “She doesn’t wish to even look you in the eyes.” [YourName] barked back, trying to fight the tears that stung her waterline. “I still think if we dropped our physical relationship and showed I wanted to try, it would work.” Lucien pointed out and then there it was, a loud slap echoing the room. “You’re a pig.” Was all [YourName] managed to scoff out before leaving the room.
[YourName] was not from the Spring Court, she had run away from her original court in order to seek refuge and had found herself under Tamlin’s wing- which is exactly how she met Lucien. Of course, the two never clashed well together because of Lucien’s defensive humor coming up and blocking out everyone who wasn’t Tamlin. But after the masquerade and the curse was implanted into the court, things seemed to settle between the (HairColor) haired girl and the fire-like faerie. Supposedly it dawned upon them that they were truly stuck together with each other and had to be civil at least with each other.
Lucien would have his walls up still, not wanting to be entirely open about his past to some faerie that his best friend decided to take in. [YourName] understood that, deciding she’d be open for the both of them. She decided this because if they weren’t both open, then their friendship would get absolutely nowhere. Unlike Lucien, [YourName] wanted their relationship to at least extend the typical small talk- she didn’t expect her desire to exceed that.
When Lucien finally opened up to [YourName] about his life before the Spring Court, the female made sure he understood that she was listening. She took in every detail and made sure to lock it away in her brain, safe keeping. After that, things had become physical between them. Tamlin had to act as if he has zero idea that the two share a bed some nights. But the stares at dinner and the giggles and soft laughter that the two share says so much more than what the two seemingly wanted to expose to the world.
Never once did Lucien and [YourName] confirm their relationship as something real. To each other, they were still friends, friends with benefits. Lucien and [YourName] never thought in a million years of their immortal years that they’d confirm anything, even when Feyre came around. Feyre, who had gained a friendship with Lucien faster than [YourName] had, often asked about the two’s relationship and teased Lucien for never confirming the relationship to be romantic.
[YourName] had her own friendship with Feyre, but it wasn’t as deep as Feyre had with Lucien- it still stood strong throughout under the mountain and in her return though. As [YourName] was also a woman, she managed to see the red flags that had popped up with her savior when it came to his bride-to-be. So when Feyre wasn’t around to hear him yell or get upset, [YourName] would defend the only other female she knew that was strong enough to take down Amarantha.
But of course, Tamlin fought back with his words just as [YourName] did and it drew a rift between the two. [YourName] no longer sat close to Tamlin at meals, prompting to sit farther away and when Ianthe came into play- she replaced where [YourName] sat. When asked about it by Feyre, Tamlin brushed it off as a simple argument that [YourName] couldn’t drop. But the only reason [YourName] couldn’t drop such an argument is because she was defending Feyre’s freedom. She knew if she was slowly being shut away from freedom, Feyre wouldn’t ignore [YourName]’s attempts to talk.
It wasn’t until after Rhysand butted into the wedding and took Feyre did the new faerie realize these red flags that Tamlin were dropping left and right. Lucien eventually stepped in when the tension was getting too high with [YourName] and Tamlin. “You can’t argue with him, that’s something Feyre and him need to speak about.” Lucien explained gently one night as he brushed his hands against his bed partner’s arm. [YourName] remained silent, “I just can’t watch her slowly get trapped, I bet whatever Rhysand is doing with Feyre is better than what Tamlin has planned for that poor girl.” [YourName] mumbled, turning her bare back to Lucien. The male sighed, not knowing what to say- because he had seen the signs but unlike [YourName] he didn’t see the point in arguing with Tamlin and ruining their friendship.
Lucien didn’t say a thing to counter argue against his friend, because deep down she was right. [YourName] waited until Lucien to fall asleep before she dressed and returned to her own room that night, too disgusted with Lucien to fully share a bed that night. She simply returned to her bed and fell asleep in her cold bed with a sad face on that night. She felt grossed out with Lucien because he wouldn’t speak up about the things Tamlin was doing to entrap the only other female friend she connected with.
When things went down with Feyre, [YourName] was there to witness it, and alongside Alis begged Morrigan to take Feyre and let her properly taste freedom, get her away from the Spring Court, away from Tamlin. When Tamlin returned, Lucien had pulled [YourName] away and asked what happened and that’s when [YourName] put on a show and acted as if she was in the gardens when it happened. She played dumb puppy dog. She was going to keep Feyre safe from Tamlin.
Within the time period that Feyre was gone, sure things were looking down for Tamlin- but things blossomed between Lucien and [YourName]. [YourName] was good at advocating for herself and setting boundaries, and Lucien learned well from her. Nights together became more frequent, even despite Ianthe’s attempts at getting at Lucien. [YourName] was starting to believe it was to piss her off because she had caught the two mid-makeout within the library more than once. Ianthe just loved causing drama within the house and when Feyre wasn’t there to be her victim- it would be Lucien and [YourName].
That’s why when Lucien had chosen Ianthe the night of Calanmai, it absolutely broke [YourName]. She didn’t know what exactly she had expected- but she hadn’t expected Ianthe. For nearly three weeks, [YourName] gave Lucien the silent treatment and a blank stare- perhaps it was because Lucien never went over that he was planning to take Ianthe, or was it something on a whim? [YourName] could not tell what was worse, planned or whim.
When [YourName] finally let Lucien back into her, she went on an hour tangent about how Lucien went along with Calanmai was absolute bull shit. Not because she wasn’t chosen, but because he didn’t run it by her first. “So I need to run my next partner over with you?” Lucien asked, crossing his arms and leaning back into the chair he was sitting on. [YourName] paused “Wha-What?! No! I am just saying you should have run it by me because it was Ianthe.” she scoffed, “If this is going to tumble into an argument, I rather not have this conversation. You wanted me to talk to you again and I’m simply explaining why I punished you.” [YourName] states before exiting the room.
Lucien sighed, going after the female. “So because it was Ianthe.. You’re jealous.” he explained. [YourName] huffed “I’m not jealous, I just… I don't like Ianthe that much with you, you could do better.” she says going into the library to find yet another book to read and eventually put back. Lucien chuckled “So, you are jealous.” he said trying to pinpoint [YourName], she simply rolled her eyes. Lucien pressed [YourName] against the shelf of books that was luckily connected to the wall so there was no worry of it falling over. “Lucien..” [YourName] tried to warn, but Lucien didn’t listen. “Just admit you were jealous..” He whispered as he moved a finger down the middle of [YourName]’s neck after moving some hair out the way.
[YourName] shuttered, missing her friend’s touch. [YourName] gasped when she felt Lucien lean down and pressed a kiss to the crook of her exposed neck. “I was not..” [YourName] whispered and that’s when Lucien bit down on the sensitive spot, causing [YourName] to softly moan and cling to the shelf. “I don’t see this going anywhere,” Lucien mumbled, licking where his teeth had made a slight dint in his partner’s skin. [YourName] spun around to Lucien, placing her hands on his chest and smirking.
“I think you want me to be jealous,” [YourName] points out, “And if I do?” he asked making the female giggle. She brought him in for a proper, more passionate kiss. “I just want to see if you fuck better when you’re jealous,” Lucien whispered against her lips, [YourName] let out a breathy chuckle and shook her head before rolling her eyes and her hips against his own. “So I’m down on my game?” [YourName] questioned, Lucien paused- placing his hands on her hips and picking her up. He spun them around and sat [YourName] down on a nearby table, [YourName] already working her magic with unbuttoning his shirt.
He groaned softly into the kiss they shared when [YourName] brought a leg up to gently tease his hardened length through his pants. Similarly to how [YourName] had worked to unbutton his shirt, Lucien had worked to undo the corset that pushed her breasts up and together, a view that Lucien had been excited to stare and given affection to after a long three weeks of whatever punishment [YourName] had thought he needed. [YourName] breath hitched when he felt Lucien bend down and press kisses to her exposed chest.
Eventually, the two stripped of what was most unnecessary, [YourName] had hopped off the table and gotten on her knees to give Lucien the best attention he had received ever. Never in a million years did he think [YourName] had it in her to even think of sucking him off, but here she was bobbing her head, and stroking whatever her mouth couldn’t touch at the time. [YourName] squirmed in her spot. She was becoming needier and needier, the sound of her bed partner groaning and moaning because of her made her feel some type of way.
She did her best to please herself using the heel of one of her feet, but when Lucien had taken note of this he yanked her up and bent her over the table. “I see someone’s needy..” Lucien whispered, the pant in [YourName]’s breath was noticeable and she whined, “Please..” she begged quietly, “Please, I need something, anything..” [YourName] went on. Lucien took that and ran with it, snaking a hand between [YourName] and the table and began to stimulate her clit.
[YourName] let out a sting of moans, trying to ground herself by clinging to the table, a hand eventually dropping to the wrist of Lucien’s hand. She cried out when she felt the knot in her stomach begin to tighten, “I-I’m going to cum-” she whimpered out “I know.” Lucien replied almost immediately with zero pause between. When [YourName] finally felt the knot in her stomach break, she felt the liquid go down her leg. Lucien brought the fingers he used to stimulate her clit to [YourName]’s mouth and without being told what she needed to do, she opened her mouth with a soft gasp and sucked on his fingers.
It wouldn’t be long when Lucien shoved his sex into [YourName]’s dripping cunt, the muffled moan she let out was just loud enough to please Lucien. [YourName] bit her lip in an attempt to shut herself up, but she knew with Lucien that wasn’t a possibility. The session between the two went on until [YourName] felt the knot in her stomach tighten, only to feel it snap once more when she felt Lucien release within her. The juices mixed to create a mess that dripped onto the floor.
[YourName] was red in the face, or at least felt like it, when she finally managed to get a breath in. She turned her face to Lucien and both had a matching smile, “Maybe, just maybe, was I jealous.” [YourName] finally announced, making Lucien laugh as the two cleaned each other up as best as they could before redressing themselves and going to the bathroom to make sure cheeks weren’t reddened and sweat didn’t run down their faces. When Feyre did return, [YourName] didn’t join Tamlin and Lucien in getting her back. And when she heard the story of how suddenly with some magical light and snap, Feyre had returned to Tamlin– she knew there was more to the story.
She and Alis would get to the bottom of it together, and that’s how Feyre realized that [YourName] was always on her side and often fought for her freedom. So she tended to open up to the girl, and in return [YourName] opened up in return. That’s when Feyre had told her that the mating bond snapped into place for Lucien for her sister, Elain. Weird, Lucien hadn’t mentioned anything of a bond snapping into place, and he hadn’t touched her much since Feyre’s return either.
But before [YourName] could dread it any longer, things started to spiral into place. After going to the wall and looking for holes, Feyre dropped hints to [YourName] of her leave and [YourName] was to join. If Lucien no longer wanted her then there was no reason for her being here, but then plans didn’t go exactly how they needed to and Lucien was now a part of the pack.
Once in the Night Court, it was revealed that [YourName] and Lucien had held a physical relationship for years before his bond snapped into place, which led to the exact conversation that led up to this flashback.
“I want to go home.” [YourName] announced to Feyre, “You are home, just because Lucien doesn’t want a physical relationship with you doesn’t erase the relationship you have with me.” the High Lady explained. [YourName] shook, trying to bite back the tightness in her throat as tears formed in her eyes “Don’t remind me. I loved him, and I was foolish to believe he loved me too.” she whispered, taking a seat near Feyre.
Feyre sighed, taking her friend’s arm and holding her close. “What’s truly going on, [YourName]?” Feyre asked, noticing the scent difference, the hormonal peaks, it led to one thing but Feyre wanted her to admit it. The glamour only went so far, and it was starting to break. [YourName] finally broke down, “I believe I’m with child, I can’t stay here.” [YourName] finally said.
#dividers; cozypupluv#a court of thorns and roses x reader#acotar x reader#book x reader#bookblr#bookblr x reader#x reader#Lucien x reader#Lucien Vanserra x reader
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100% get this is not everyone’s cup of tea but I would absolutely crumble if you ever wrote an Amarantha x fem! Reader drabble or fic involving sex pollen/dub con themes where she’s just making you eat her out
(I’m so sorry if this is disturbing)
Lap Cat
~~~
Pairings: Amarantha x f!reader
Warnings: this is a dark fic, read at your own risk. smut, dark themes, dubcon, mentions of torture/killing, oral (a!recieving)
Summary: You didn’t really think you’d get away with deceiving the Queen now did you?
Word count: around 2k
a/n: this ended up being a lot longer than i expected… (not proof read)
~~~
I imagine you being the daughter of a High Lord, which one is up to you but essentially you are very well known throughout Prythian.
Maybe you’re relatively younger, like 100 years old compared to other High Lord offspring’s.
Therefore, you’ve spent your first years of adulthood under Amarantha’s reign, and as your father is a high lord the Queen prefers to keep close - you’ve also spend the first years of adulthood stuck under the mountain.
This fuels your knowledge when conspiring against her, knowing your way around, having been accustomed to the horrific displays almost every night, being paid no mind from the Queen herself…or so you thought.
You were good. Truly. Yet Amarantha was better.
And you were still too young, too naive to truly attempt to deceive her.
Those helping you were tormented and slaughtered the previous nights. Your friends, your allies. Now hanging on the walls of the throne room. Under torture, you’re sure your name would have slipped out.
Now you were just counting down the hours until your time came.
The Attor himself was sent to retrieve you, and it took every ounce of strength you had left to keep the tears at way. As your mind ran wild of the possible ways the Queen would make you suffer.
When you’re released from the Attor’s punishing grip, your knees meet soft ground. Unlike the cool stone of the throne room. Cracking your eyes open, you stare at the detailed rug beneath you. One of the last things you’ll see. You run your shaking fingers through the wool, savouring the soft feel.
“I had expected better from you.”
You don’t bother trying to defend yourself, you know you’ve been caught. Instead you force your eyes upwards, looking towards the direction her voice came from.
You’re in the Queen’s personal chambers, you realise. As you see her standing in only a robe, so purple it could be black. Her crown still sits atop her head, copper hair weaved throughout. Her eyes find yours, cold and unforgiving, that prominent smirk evident on her mouth. “Up. Drink,” She gestures to the flagon of wine sitting on the table, the lone silver cup waiting to be filled. She holds its twin in her own hand, the eye trapped within her ring darts, as if telling you to do as she says.
Rising on shaky legs, you walk to the table. You struggle to suck air into your lungs, chest tight with the impending fear of death. You put all your effort in keeping the flagon steady as you pour yourself a cup of deep red wine. It looks like blood. Mother knows you’ve watched Amarantha draw pint after pint of blood from her victims. You can’t help the tears that line your eyes.
Poison. You think as you raise the cup to your mouth, sniffing the liquid within. “If I were going to kill you, do you honestly believe I would choose poison?” She asks, obviously having noticed your hesitance. You turn to face her, watching her settle on the edge of her large bed. You find your voice, “I wouldn’t know. You’re unpredictable.” The Queen laughs at that, a heartless sort of sound, “Drink.”
You do.
As the cool, bittersweet wine coats your throat, you pick up on what she said. “If you were to kill me?” She takes a sip from her own wine, humming, and points with a sharp, pointed nail to the floor at her feet. Kneel. Her gesture tells you. Tendrils of hope encase your mind, so you slowly walk towards her and settle onto your knees at her feet.
“I should kill you,” she looks down at you, with such terrifyingly beautiful features, “but i don’t want to.” Your heart pounds, could you get out of this alive? Amarantha reaches out, long, slender fingers catching your cheeks in her grip. She tilts your head to her will, “It would be an awful shame to ruin such a pretty face or the body hiding underneath that dress.” From the way she looks at you, it was if she could truly see beneath your clothes. You gulp.
She releases your face as she continues, “Killing you would be a waste of potential,” You follow her hands as they move to the tie holding her robe together, “I believe you could prove…useful. I simply need to know who’s side you’re on.” Your breath is caught in your throat as you watch the Queen strip off her robe, exposing the smooth, pale and utterly naked skin beneath. She sighs in her fresh nudity, her full, perky breasts shifting with the movement. Dark nipples peak in the chill air. You have to drag your stare away, instead down her stomach, flexing as she moves to get comfortable, propping her feet on the bed and ultimately widening the stance of her thighs, leaving you between them. With a view of her wet cunt, slick shining in your eyesight. It’s pathetic, that you can do absolutely nothing to stop the flood of arousal igniting a fire between your own legs. Guilt and lust cloud your mind as you stare at the Queen, awaiting her next move.
She lifts her cup, tilting it to allow the wine within to drip onto her skin. Dark against her pale complexion. The droplet runs down the valley of her breasts. “So, pet. What will it be?” Amarantha asks, smugness lacing her voice. Pet. The word echoes between your ears. That’s what she wants. Though she leaves the final choice to you. Would you rather be her plaything, her puppet? Or die.
You catch the droplet of wine as it reaches her mound. The taste melting on your tongue. Looking up at her, you follow the path back up, and she grins. It’s frightening. “Smart choice.” It all she says before tipping more wine over herself. This time, the liquid coats her breasts, and like a good little plaything, you clean it up. The Queen says nothing as your tongue licks at the plump flesh of her tit, collecting the wine before swallowing it down. She tilts her head when your tongue flattens over her nipple, testing you. So you pull then taut bud into your mouth, suckling like a kitten on her mother’s tit. Amarantha moans when you do, the sound shooting straight to the pits of your tummy. It shames you almost as much as it arouses you.
You chase the droplets that escaped your searching tongue. Finding one on the very same path as the first. You kiss your way back down her stomach, eyes watching her breasts as they rise and fall with each breath, nipples glistening with your spit. Her face only shows off her amusement, yet the smell of her gives it away, she’s aroused and getting off on having you bend to her will.
Her cunt is soaking, juices dripping onto the sheets beneath her. You know there’s no going back the second you put your mouth on her. Not if you want to live, that is. The thought scares you, shames you, that you’d rather live to serve her to escape your fear of death. You try to believe that you’re forcing yourself to become aroused, as a means to make her think you enjoy this. Truth is, you’re not sure.
Long fingers find home in your hair as you kiss down the length of her, inhaling her scent and feeling her slick smear over your lips. Nails lightly rake over your scalp and you look up, meeting her gaze while your tongue licks back up. Amarantha’s lips part when you catch on her clit, hint of a moan on her breath. You give her a few more kitten licks before wrapping your lips around her bud and sucking. That earns you a groan and tight grip on your hair, “That’s more like it. Come on, don’t be shy.”
You whimper against her, worried of what she’ll do if you fail to please her. Dipping down, your tongue delves between her folds, tasting her built up arousal. Her essence explodes on your tongue, sweeter than you could have ever imagined. She tastes like fine wine, and you lap her up, finding some sick pleasure in the taste of her on your tongue.
Urged to double your efforts, you press closer, slurping on her cunt, parting her with your tongue to dip inside. Amarantha moans, hips grinding into your face as she used the right grip on your hair to pull you closer. Your nose rubs against her clit, tongue massaging her inner walls in tandem. “Fuck, pet,” She purrs, meeting each thrust of your tongue, “That mouth. I think i’ll have keep you.” She clenches around your tongue when you whine against her in response, feeling drunk off her cunt. A wave of submission washing over your body.
Her breathing picks up as you continue your ministration. Burying your face in her sex, tongue pushing inside her and exploring her soft, warm walls, searching for spots to make her tighten and moan. Your nose is pushed against her hot clit, adding to the stimulation you’re giving her. You find yourself releasing frequent sounds of pleasure, losing yourself in the taste and feel of her cunt. Amarantha relishes in you, grinning as she moans out, loud and filled with lust. She’s pulling at your hair so hard, it hurts. And her thighs close around your head, keeping you locked against her.
“Like licking cunt, don’t you?” Her words come out as a groan, yet you still depict ever ounce of mockery laced in her tone. You watch her stomach flex, feel her cunt tighten rhythmically. Along with the slick and spit dripping down your chin, your cheeks, your neck. Making a complete mess of you. “At least that’s one thing you’ll be good for,” she laughs through her moans, “Gonna make me fucking cum on that pretty face of yours, mmph fuck-”
She does. The Queen of Prythian climaxes hard, thighs trembling on either side of your face. She cries out a string of curses, drenching your chin with her juices. You fuck her through it, keeping up pace to drag her climax out for as long as possible. Your tongue glides in and out of her pulsing hole, collecting each wave of cum that escapes her.
You don’t stop until Amarantha drops her thighs and forces your head back with a sharp tug. Her hand wraps around your throat before you can suck down a breath of well needed air. You choke out a yelp, eyes widening in a mix of fear and surprise.
Amarantha leans down until the tip of her nose brushes yours, and you can feel her breath fanning across your face. Her expression has changed. No amusement lingers in her gaze. Only ice is left, serious and unforgiving. “You are mine.” Her grip tightens, “Always have been, always will be. Understood?” It’s not a question. You’re smart enough to know that.
“Yes,” your voice is a whisper, strained due to the hold she has on your throat. Her eyes darken. “Yes, my Queen.”
Satisfied, she releases her grip. “Good.” You’re finally able to breathe, dropping onto your hands until you no longer feel lightheaded. “Why don’t you pour us another drink, hm? The night is still early, and i’m not done with you yet.”
This is your life now, you realise. Utterly at your Queen’s mercy. As she said…her pet.
#dark fic#amarantha#amarantha x reader#amarantha smut#amarantha x reader smut#amarantha acotar#acotar amarantha#acotar x reader#acotar x reader smut#amarantha’s riddle#a court of thorns and roses x reader#a court of thorns and roses#a court of thorns and roses smut
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Missing Piece (Part Eleven) (NSFW)
Series Index | Masterlist
Summary: Cassian and Nesta are happily mated and in love, so why do they feel like something is missing? When a newcomer arrives in the City of Starlight, they learn that their bond is not yet complete.
Pairing: Cassian x Nesta x Reader (She/Her) (Poly Relationship)
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: smut at the end of the chapter, discussion of death
A/N: I apologize for the delay in getting this published and appreciate your patience. To make up for it, I’m planning on posting the next part within 48 hours.
⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰
I sat in the bathtub until the water ran cold, scrubbing my skin so raw that it stung, desperate to be sure all traces of the male I killed were rinsed away. This was far from my first time being covered in blood, but it certainly felt different knowing I was the one who drew it. When I was too cold and tired to sit in the water any longer, I got out, stifling a groan as my sore muscles protested. I tied my hair back into a loose braid, careful not to tug on the stitches at my temple, and donned the nightgown Nesta had left for me. As she predicted, it was too long for my frame, but fit well enough to be decent. When I was ready, I took a deep breath before stepping out of the bathing room, acutely aware that this was not how I had imagined seeing Cassian and Nesta’s bedroom for the first time.
The two of them stood when I entered, both rushing over like I was a newborn foal not sure on its feet. Despite all that had happened, the care they displayed made my heart squeeze in my chest. “We have food,” Nesta explained as Cassian took my elbow, gently guiding me to the edge of their bed. The mattress was larger than any I had ever seen, likely built to accommodate one or more sets of wings, and I couldn’t help but think it would do quite nicely fitting the three of us. Once I was settled in bed, a tray with steamed vegetables and bread was placed on my lap. Nesta crawled onto the bed, sitting at my left side while Cassian took a seat on the edge, watching me intently, his trademark humor gone from his eyes.
“I’m okay,” I felt the need to say, taking a tentative bite of the food. In truth, I wasn’t the least bit hungry, but I figured a few bites would make the protective pair feel better.
“It’s okay if you’re not,” Cassian said, eyebrows pinched together. “Nothing about what happened tonight is okay. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, for all of it.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I replied, forcing a small smile that was meant to be reassuring. “If anything it was mine… I didn’t check the peephole and I walked home alo—”
“Don’t say that,” said Cassian, “this was definitely not your fault.”
“It was that damned male’s fault, and Amarantha’s, not yours though,” Nesta added, “never yours.”
We sat in silence for several breaths as I thought of what to say next. I debated pushing down my feelings, locking the memory away, and asking them not to mention it, but the residual terror and heavy guilt that was weighing on me demanded to be felt. “I’ve never killed anyone before,” I whispered, looking down into my lap.
“You defended yourself,” Nesta replied, placing a gentle hand on my knee. “He killed himself when he attacked you. You did well.”
“I didn’t even try to save him though,” I argued, my heart rate beginning to rise once more as I flashed back to that moment, hours before when I sat frozen while he bled out before my eyes. “I didn’t—” a sob cut me off midsentence, the emotions I’d been suppressing returning in full force.
The tray disappeared from my lap and I was soon being pulled into a set of strong arms. Cassian hugged me, whispering soothing words as my cries turned into wails. Nesta had scooted closer to me on the bed, and I could feel her rubbing circles into my back as I wept. For how long we sat there, I wasn’t sure, but when my sobs finally ceased, turning into whines and sniffles, I was exhausted. “Do you want us to go?” Nesta asked when I had caught my breath. I shook my head furiously, grasping at Cassian’s shirt. I felt like I was at the edge of an abyss and they were the only thing keeping me from falling in headfirst.
Cassian nodded, shifting me with surprising ease until I was laying down in between the two of them. He stood, moving to extinguish the faelights while Nests slipped under the covers at my side. I turned towards her and she cupped my face with her hand, running her thumb across my cheekbone in gentle strokes. “I’m so sorry this happened,” she whispered, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“You’re here now,” I replied, leaning into her touch, “that’s what matters.”
“I was so, so scared,” she said, her grey eyes filling with tears, “when I smelled the blood. I was terrified that I might lose you before I even had you.” I swallowed thickly, reaching out to intertwine my hand with hers. Behind me, Cassian slid into bed wordlessly.
“Nothing like that is ever going to happen again,” Cassian said. “I won’t ever let you get hurt again, I swear it.”
“We swear it,” Nesta added, sounding resolute, and I felt the bond between us sing with the intensity of their promise. In a moment of boldness driven by pure emotion, I leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Then I turned around to face Cassian and did the same, running my hand along his stubbled jawline as I did. Kissing Cassian felt far different than kissing Nesta, but it filled me with the same glowing warmth, soothing my aching heart as I did. Cassian was smiling when I pulled away, turning back towards Nesta so as not to put pressure on my sore ribs. He snuggled into bed behind me, resting an arm around my waist. “Is this okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.
“It’s perfect,” I whispered, settling into my mates’ embrace.
⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰
Madja left strict instructions that I was not to return to work until she cleared me, so I spent the days following the incident in the House of Wind with Cassian and Nesta. I spent much of that time in bed, resting my sore muscles and conserving energy so that my body would heal. Cassian or Nesta remained at my side at all times, and each night, we went to sleep together, with the two of them tucked against me on either side. The feeling of their warmth cocooning me was familiar, and it wasn’t until the second night that I realized I had experienced this before, in the dreams I had before I met them. Unlike in the dreams, though, I didn’t wake up in an empty bed, feeling like a piece of my soul was hollowed out. Instead, I was awoken each morning by one or both of my mates stirring, their gentle hands running along my back and through my hair, calling me from sleep. It was blissful to be so near to them, the contentment I felt when I was wrapped up between them was so deep it was nearly hypnotizing.
As the days passed and my body healed, I began to think about returning to my apartment. The thought made me shudder, but I didn’t want to outstay my welcome. We hadn’t discussed officially moving in together, only dancing around the subject from time to time, and I wanted to be sure they were certain about it before I made the House of Wind my home. Despite this, the thought of returning to that apartment made my stomach turn.
I pictured trying to sleep there alone with the blood-soaked floorboards and boarded-up window reminding me of what I had done. Imagining it made me feel cold all over, goose flesh appearing on my arms. I was thinking about it when Cassian walked out of the bathing room on the third day, and he seemed to pick up on my mood right away. “What’s wrong?” he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. It was quite the sight: a big, strong warrior, one of the best that ever lived, his face soft with kindness and concern. My heart fluttered in my chest.
“Just—”, I almost told him but bit my tongue. I didn’t want to pressure them into inviting me to stay.
“What is it, sweetheart?” Cassian prompted his large hand encircling one of mine.
“I was just thinking about what happened,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Thinking about all the nice things you did to fix up my apartment, and now…” My throat constricted and I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“We’ll bring those things here,” Cassian said, squeezing my hand. “Or get you all new things, if you want.”
“Here?” I asked, avoiding his gaze.
“Or… if you’d prefer, we could get you a new apartment,” he didn’t seem enthused by the idea, something like disappointment seeping into his tone. “You don’t have to go back there. Ever again, if you don’t want to.”
“Do you— do you and Nesta want me to get a new apartment?” I asked, emboldened by Cassian’s sincerity.
“We…,” he hesitated, “we want…”
“We want you to move in here,” Nesta’s voice startled me, and I looked up to see her standing in the doorway. As usual, her silver eyes bored into mine, as though she was peering into my soul. I felt the bond between the three of us go taught. “But, that’s your decision to make.”
“You want me here?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
“Are we sure?” Nesta scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Of course, we want you here. If it were up to us we’d never leave your side again.”
“But we don’t want to pressure you,” Cassian added hastily.
“I want to go back to my apartment,” I said without thinking. Cassian and Nesta froze, exchanging a look reminiscent of heartbreak, and I rushed to clarify. “To see it one more time, before I move in here.”
Cassian’s face stretched into a wide grin and Nesta smiled and her expression was tender. They blew out a breath, perfectly in sync with one another, and the tension in the air dissolved. Before I could say more, Nesta was on me, her arms thrown around my neck as she all but tackled me onto the bed. I winced, my ribs smarting slightly, but leaned into her touch all the same, my body melting into hers. She pulled back, cradling my face between two soft hands, and pressed her lips to mine in a passionate kiss. I nibbled at her lower lips, my hands settling on either side of her hips, but just as I was about to go further, she pulled back. “Shit, your ribs. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” I said, blushing and breathless. To our side, Cassian chuckled lowly, his scent cedar smoke and fresh rain, had shifted slightly, a note of heady musk now faint in the air. Lust. Any nerves I had were flushed out by desire, and I squeezed my thighs together, moving once more toward Nesta. She stopped my advances with one hand on my chest, her touch scorching my skin through my thin nightgown. Her cheeks were tinged pink and her pupils were blown wide, drifting down to the swell of my breasts and then back up to my face.
“A few more days,” she whispered. “We need you in full health for what we have planned.”
⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰
‼️ Explicit Sexual Content - Minors Do Not Interact ‼️
Sleeping next to my mates for the next two nights was divine torment. Now that I was feeling better and all was right between the three of us, the lid we had on our physical attraction had been blown wide open. At night, my skin seemed to tingle beneath their touch and it was all I could do not to beg them to move forward with their plans. The feeling of Nesta’s soft curves pressed against my front, her silken legs tangling with mine as we slept was enough to make me ache with need. Likewise, Cassian’s hard body pressed against my spine, and the occasional brush of something stiff against my ass had moisture pooling between my thighs.
Sinful thoughts kept me awake, tormenting me with temptation that wouldn’t yield. Nesta’s slumbering form was particularly close to mine, and I pictured throwing my leg over her waist and grinding against her. I thought of how her nipples would harden, pebbling beneath her silk nightgown, and what it might feel like to slip the fabric over her head while Cassian ground his hips against me from behind. I imagined what it might feel like for him to hike up my nightgown and press into my cunt while Nesta—
My fantasy was interrupted by the star of the show himself, and I held my breath as I felt him stir behind me. He moved closer, resting his chin on my shoulder so he could whisper in my ear, “Did you have a good dream, my love?” he breathed out, the warm air on my neck sending shivers up my spine. The hand resting on my stomach moved slightly lower and pulled me backward, pressing my body flush against his. I felt his length twitch against my ass and let out a quiet moan. “Need some help?” he asked and I didn’t have to look at him to know he was grinning.
I was so distracted by Cassian’s roaming hand that I didn’t notice Nesta awaken until her hand was settling on the curve of my waist. “You smell divine,” she whispered, placing an open mouth kiss on the hollow of my throat, “and needy.”
“Should we give her some relief, Nes?” Cassian asked, nibbling at my ear lobe. I whimpered and Nesta let out a cruel, breathy chuckle.
“I don’t know,” Nesta whispered, her eyes not leaving my face, “has she been a good girl?” She lifted her knee slightly and grazed my sex, applying the slightest bit of pressure and then pulling back before I could buck my hips for more friction.
“I think,” Cassian said, his hand slipping lower until it rested mere centimeters from where I wanted it, “she’s been a very good girl.” His hand pressed between my thighs, rubbing through fabric, and I gasped.
As Cassian’s hand drifted lower, sliding under the hem of my nightgown at an excruciatingly slow pace, Nesta’s hands slide higher, cupping my breasts. At the same time, Cassian’s hand reached my cunt, and Nesta’s brushed over my nipple. I arched my back, moaning as Cassian’s fingers slid across my slit, dancing over my clit in teasing strokes. Nesta kissed me then, deep and more passionately than ever before. Her tongue probed against my lips in time with the movement of Cassian’s fingers, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before they had me undone.
Indeed, moments later Cassian dipped a single, thick finger inside my core, his palm grinding against my clit and sending me over the edge. I released a breathless yelp that should have been embarrassing, but my climax was so intense I didn’t care. My legs shook and my toes pointed as I squeezed my thighs together around Cassian’s hand. Nesta kissed me deeper and I felt Cassian’s mouth nip at the base of my neck. In the end, I was panting as I relax between the two of them, feeling utterly boneless and blissed out. Nesta giggled affectionately, running her fingers through my hair, and Cassian’s rough hand slid down my thigh, massaging the still-tense muscles. “There,” Nesta murmured, “now you can sleep.”
“What about you two?” I asked, my eyes already drooping. I was always the type to get sleepy after sex, but the contentment I felt then was like a sleeping draught.
“Don’t worry about us, love,” Cassian replied, the rumble of his deep voice reverberating through me.
“I want more,” I whined, my eyes already falling shut. I wanted to fight it, to demand we continue what we started and go back to chasing heaven with the two of them, but I’d never been more comfortable in my life.
Cassian chuckled and Nesta pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Soon, my love,” she whispered. “There’s plenty more where that came from.” I drifted off shortly after that, into a deep, dreamless sleep.
⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰
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She knows my desire
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Warnings: oral (f! reader receiving), Lesbian, mentions of sex, overstimulation, NSFW, she/her pronouns, smut
Paring: Mor x f! reader (OC charatcer)
Work count: 3k
minors do not engage.
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Working at Rita’s restaurant under the rule of Amarantha was a curse. Even though most of Velaris had remained unchanged, the frequency of my favorite customer had dwindled. Morrigan. I miss seeing her alluring eyes, I used to love the way the light would catch them. Her hair was always kept in golden braids.
Until Feyre happened.
The story of Feyre cursebreaker became legendary to those who live in Prythian. Allowing the high lord and his family to once more walk among the people of Velaris, to enjoy the freedom that they were denied under Amarantha.
It is a regular day at Rita’s, High fae gossiping about what happened under the mountain, each story vastly different from the other. I’m serving a particularly loud male his spiced wine, his boasting of watching Feyre is the loudest among the chatter, “- and then she answered Amarantha’s riddle, you should have seen the look on that bitches face as Tamlin ripped her throat”. I slam down the glass in front of him making sure he cuts the conversation short. Other customers are beginning to look uncomfortable at the mention of Amarantha’s name and I don’t want to lose their business due to one drunken fae. Seeing my harsh actions made the male pip down.
I began the usual cleaning for the night before Rita intercepted me “Girl, I need you to quickly serve the high lord and his family, everything is free as a mating present to his new high lady” she said quickly before walking away to calm down a fight between other patrons. I can’t maintain my composure knowing the high family is here. That Morrigan is here. It's been fifty years since I’ve seen her. I quickly walk over to their usual table, noting Cassian, Az, Amern, the woman I assume to be Feyre, the high lord, and Morrigan. She is glowing, her smile contagious. Her hair looks the same, in the golden braid. She’s in a flowing red dress that brings out the glimmer in her eyes. I start to imagine what she's wearing underneath before Amern brings me back to reality. Heat spreads across my cheeks for my shameful thoughts.
“Hello?'' growls Amern, “Are you going to take the drink orders or are you going to oogle Mor all night”.
I’m mortified, I’ve always known Amern to be unpleasant most of the time. I can’t bring myself to look at Morrigan, too afraid to see her reaction to my attraction to her. Cassian lets out a boyish giggle, “Do you hear that Mor? Even females can’t take their eyes off you”. I feel tears start to build in my eyes as I start to walk back towards the kitchen, shoulders slumped. I just want to go home, it's been a long night and now with that embarrassing situation, I don’t think I could last a couple more hours. I hunt down Rita, trying to think of some bullshit excuse to end my night early.
“Hey, Rita?” I sniffle “I think I should go home and call a healer, my nose has been running all day” I finish. Rita gives me a suspicious look
“Fine girl, but be back tomorrow bright and early, give someone else the high families order and go”. I sigh in relief as I pack up my things and head out the door. As I’m about to quietly slip out, I get a light tap on my shoulder and I feel a hand slide something into my pocket. I turn back around to find no one, no one but Morrigan giving me a sly smile at her table before she continues her conversation with Feyre.
⟴
I need to take a walk through the streets of silk and thread. The sight of the shops and all they have to offer always helps me clear my mind during distressing times. I stop by a particular favorite of mine. Aili is the fae who owns this shop and has been a friend of mine for centuries. She is one of the most talented females I know, making dresses for every occasion, she also is a great shoulder to cry on. I hastily grab the handle and yank open the door, thankfully the only fae in the store is Aili. I can’t hold back the choking sobs any longer. My friend quickly rushes over to me, a look of concern on her face. “What’s wrong?”. So I tell her the story of my humiliation. I have a hard time forming sentences between my crying and blowing my nose.
“- I couldn’t even finish my shift, I just left”, I finished. Aili gives me a small smile as she tries to soothe me.
“My dear I know what will make you feel better. A new dress, on the house”.
“No.” I stammer “These dresses are too expensive for me to just take for free.” Aili only gives me a laugh
“Well, it’s a good thing you know the owner”. I spend only thirty minutes or so in the store before I finally find something that catches my eye. A short green dress that has silver stitching that glows like the stars on winter solstice. It has a deep plunge neckline that some would consider provocative and completely sheer on the sides. Aili is right, as usual. I do feel better. I’m admiring myself in the mirror when I remember that I still have a hidden treasure in my pocket. I thank Aili for the dress and head home.
The walk is a short one usually if I take cuts through the streets, but tonight I want to savor the warm summer air. I make it to my small apartment in just a couple of minutes and rummage through my pocket to find my keys. My fingers brush a small note. I hastily open my front door, step inside, drop my shopping bag, and latch the locks before opening the note.
I was oogling you too if you would have looked up you shy girl. Maybe after I’m finished at Rita’s I’ll pay you a visit, only if you want.
-Mor
A pen appeared in my pocket. I don’t know what to write back. I quickly find the nearest hard surface. My hands are too shaky to say anything back. I take a couple of deep breaths and begin my message.
I would love to see you. I'm in the theatre district in the red house with the big oak door.
I’m thinking about changing what I wrote before the note disappeared. I’m nervous that I was too vague about where I live or that maybe I should have shown more excitement to the meeting with the high female fae I’ve had lustful thoughts about for years. A new note appears.
I know that house. I must say, I’m happy Amern said something, I’ve been wanting a private meeting with you for a while.
-Mor
Before I can craft a message back, everything disappears. I can’t help but smile to myself and think of the last line of that message, not believing it to be real. Morrigan didn’t give me a specific time for when she was coming. I began to clean. It's not usual for me to have company over, save for Aili. It’s been centuries since I’ve had a female that I was sexually attracted to in my house. Usually, those females were one-night stands that wanted to come home with me after an extensive night at Rita’s. They never meant anything to me and neither did I to them. This is different, I now have to make sure my house looks fit for the most beautiful woman in the world. I want this meeting to mean something.
After I finish up my cleaning duties, I hurry to my bathing room, showering off the smell of Rita’s restaurant. I struggle with what to do with my hair, usually, when I want to look presentable I put it in a braid. A habit I picked up from Morrigan. I want to impress her. I decide on a half-up in a bun with some strands flowing down my shoulders. I walk back to the door where my shopping bag is and bring out the dress. I had some reservations about getting it at first, I couldn’t think of any place I would ever want to wear it. Now, with Morrigan coming, it was perfect. After putting the dress on, I admire myself in the floor-length mirror. I must admit, I look hot. I do a little twirl in the mirror before I hear a knock on my door that snaps me back to reality. I rush to my door, undo the locks, and yank it open. There she is. Morrigan.
She changed her dress. The female is now wearing a floor-length blue dress that hugs her body, it has slits on the sides exposing her thighs. The silver stitching is similar to mine. The blue dress brings out Morrigan’s beautiful brown eyes. I can’t help but stare at her the way I did at Rita’s hours before. Her hair is still braided, she painted her lips an inviting brown color. Morrigan must have noticed my staring, her cheeks began to flush.
“Hello my dear, you look lovely”, she states as if it's pure fact. Her breath has a subtle hint of liquor. I muster up enough courage before I finally speak.
“Hi, Morrigan”. I hesitantly move away from the door and allow the beautiful fae to walk in. Morrigan gives my home a quick glance before turning back to me.
“Mor, my friends and lovers call me Mor.” I have known this but I don’t want to push boundaries. I smile as I think of saying her name. Mor. Excitement thunders through my heart that I am now allowed to call her that. I don’t know what to do with myself, the awkwardness settles in as Mor and I glance at each other. Finally, she says, “ I was thinking of having some wine if you’re interested? I brought a bottle over from Rhysands collection”. I give a quick nod and head over to the living room. We both sit on the couch, her thighs brushing against mine. I let out a tiny sigh from the contact, low enough to where I don’t think Mor heard. With a wave of Mor’s hand, two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine appear. Mor lets the glasses fall to the table before she begins to pour. First mine, then hers.
“I propose a toast” she purrs as she raises her glass, “to meeting each other at last”. I could only give a nod in response as we both clink our glasses together and drink. The wine is warm going down my throat, with hints of berries and chocolate dancing on my tongue. I drain my glass quickly to cancel out the tension that lies between us, Mor does the same. I guess now would be the best time to talk,
“You know Mor, I’ve always found you to be beautiful”. I wanted to tell her more, how I can’t ever look away from her, how her laugh makes my heart fill with joy. Maybe if I ever get the chance another time, I will. A slight grin spreads across her face.
“I know you have my dear. I’ve always known. I was going to ask you out for drinks before Amarantha decided to play the queen of Prythian”. She lets out a deep sigh before continuing, “I’m sorry I never did, it's been fifty years since my family has come back from under the mountain, I needed a little time before going back to the dating scene. I figured it wouldn’t be fair for either of us.” Happiness soars through my body at her words. She has been wanting this as much as I have. I reach my hand to hers as if to tell her It's ok, I understand. Mor lets out a deep sigh “but I know how I can make it up to you”’ a devilish grin spreads across her face.
She sets down her wine glass and reaches out her hand to my face. Her fingers begin to graze my cheek, working their way to my mouth. A small sigh escapes my breath as she brushes her thumb across my lips. Mor gives me a smirk before pushing her thumb into my mouth “suck”, she demands. I do as she asks, beginning by kissing the tip of her thumb before I part my lips, running my tongue along her slender finger. “Good girl”, moans Mor, I smile at the praise. Mor pulls her thumb out of my mouth and crashes her lips to mine. She tastes divine.
She nips at my lower lip with her teeth, telling me to open my mouth, I obey. A small moan escapes me as our tongues meet. I feel her place her hand on my knee, slowly raking her nails against the soft skin. My head begins to spin as her nails find my thighs, tracing little circles. Mor pulls away from the kiss “So beautiful” she whispers. I involuntarily spread my legs a little more, willing her to go higher. Inviting her to where I want her to be. I arch my back towards her, silently begging her to bring her lips back to mine. Instead, she begins to trail tender kisses on my neck. I let out another sigh. I want this to speed up, I’m impatient. I’ve waited fifty years for Mor and I won’t wait any longer. I push Mor away and unzip my dress, revealing myself to her hungry eyes.
Her gaze seems to drink in every detail of my body. I blush but Mor pulls me back to her, placing me on her lap. My breasts are at eye level. She kisses each nipple before placing one in her mouth, sending shivers through my spine. I let out a faint whimper. I feel her tongue make lazy circles, the warmth of her mouth is enough to drive me crazy. I want her mouth somewhere else. Somewhere lower. Mor pulls away and gives a soft laugh, “You’re making pools of excitement on my dress, shall I take it off?” I can only give her a nod as she lays me down on the couch and stands up. The movement is almost too fast for me to see before she brings herself back. Bare. Mor knows what I want, I can see it in her eyes. She slowly kneels on the floor, before me. “Put your legs over my shoulders, now”. The aggressiveness in Mor’s tone only makes me wetter. I do as she says. She grabs my waist and pulls me closer to her. My pussy inches away from her mouth, where it longed to be.
Mor traces little kisses on my thighs, slowly. I can feel her breath on me, making me want her mouth on me even more. I buck my hips up “Please” I beg.
“Mmmh, my dear” she purrs “I like it when you beg”. I feel a kiss placed on me before her mouth begins its work. I arch my back to give Mor better access as she flicks her tongue across my clit at a steady pace. My breath quickens as she begins to suck on tiny nub sending pleasure coursing through my body. I try to push her away, it feels too good and I’m becoming overstimulated, but she beats me to it. Mor grabs my hands and pins them to my sides, lifting her head from my cunt, “My dear, you will sit here and let me do as I wish. I’ve thought of this moment for too long. Every female I’ve been with for the past fifty years I’ve imagined as you. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long. Now I have you before me, begging for me, displayed for me. You will be a good girl and allow me to do as I want to you, understand? she says. I give her a hurried nod which seems to satisfy her, she brings her mouth back to her meal, stealing my breath away with every lick.
I can feel my high coming, my thighs tighten around Mor’s head which earns a low groan from her sending vibrations throughout my body. I don’t know how much longer I can last, I take a quick glance at Mor, and it sends me over the edge. The sight is sinful, her eyes watching me, her lips wrapped around my clit, the sound of her sucking, it is too much for me. My back arches.
“Mor” I scream, “ I think I’m going to”, I don't finish my sentence before she lets go of my hand and slips two fingers into me. Rubbing the spot that allows me to reach my climax. I cum hard, bucking my hips against Mor’s mouth while her fingers work their magic, chasing my high. Mor lets out a little giggle as she takes her mouth away from me while pulling her fingers out. She slips those fingers into her own mouth, seeming to savor the taste of me.
“I can’t tell what's better” she purrs, “You, or the wine”. I smile at her, I feel happy that she seems pleased with me. I always want her to be pleased with me. “Now my dear, it's my turn”. She says with a grin.
⟴
The aftermath of sex has us both panting. We managed to move our little party back to my bedroom, bathing room, then to my kitchen table. We now lay in each other's arms back on my couch. Both of us grinning ear to ear. I don’t know what is to come of this particular situation but I know in my heart, I will do whatever Mor says, be whoever she wants me to be. I’m deep in my thoughts about the events of tonight and everything that led up to this moment. I meet her eyes again, looking down at her nestled lovingly against my breasts. I want to be with her until the end of time. I want to be the one she thinks of when she is ruling over her court, and I want to be the one she kisses every morning.
“I love you, Mor,” I whisper. She looks up at me and there it is. Like a warm blanket wrapping around me, that smells of nothing else but Mor. The Mating Bond.
#acotar#morrigan#acotar smut#acotar series#sarah j maas#f!reader#oc character#a court of thorns and roses#the night court#smut#acotar ships#female reader#mor acotar
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By Arrangement
By Arrangement: A Loki Fanfic
Buy me a ☕
Character Pairing: F!Loki x F!MoonElf!Reader
Word Count: 2224
Warnings: Smut (F|F, public sex, vaginal fingering)
Square: @ladiesofmarvelbingo E5, Surrender
Synopsis: When the Queen of Alfheim decides she wants to arrange a marriage between either Thor or Loki and one of the Princes or Princesses of Alfheim, they are sent to Asgard to make the arrangement. Loki is disgusted by the idea. Unfortunately, she’s also very attracted to one of the chosen group.
A/N: Moonelf’s are a race of Elf from Alfheim, one of the nine realms. They have bioluminescent skin. So there are references to that. It doesn’t say what color that bioluminescent skin is.
This is one of those fics you start with no idea where it’s going. It kind of feels like there’s more story. I have no idea what that story is. I may come back to it if people are reading it. But I don’t know.
By Arrangement
Loki’s boots clicked on the marble floor as she strode down towards her chambers. To say she was angry was putting it lightly. She was furious. Furious about how she had been pushed aside in favor of her brother, yet again. This time for no good reason whatsoever. They just wanted someone to greet the envoy from Alfheim at the Rainbow Bridge and lead them to the palace.
It made no sense that oaf should go rather than Loki. Loki Silvertongue. Goddess of stories. She would be much better suited for this and instead she had been sent to her room for arguing like some wailing child.
She slammed her door behind her and went to her balcony. She could see the precession coming down the Rainbow Bridge. Thor in the lead on that obnoxious white stallion of his, followed by guards, followed by a carriage containing the royal envoy. Followed by people on foot. Followed by more guards.
They wound into the city below and then up to the palace gates. Loki watched as the guards approached the carriage and helped those that were inside down the steps. The different Elf races had joined together to make their own kingdom. Each tribe had their own royal family and they formed a council that ruled over Alfheim that served under Queen Aelsa Featherwine. First off the carriage was the Prince of the Spice Elves. Short with a warm brown, almost cinnamon complexion and curly red hair. He wore a tunic only a few shades darker than his skin. After him, was the princess of the Ice Elves, with her blue skin and long blue hair. Her clothes were white and blue and despite the heat, she seemed to be wearing several layers. The Air Elf came next, then an Elf of the Vale, a Sea Elf, a Cat Elf, and a triple jointed Pleasure Elf. Each Elf was so different from the next, from the tiny little, rainbow-colored Cat Elf’s that got their name from riding winged-cat, to the tall willowy Elves of the Vale, it was hard to see how they could even be categorized under the one heading.
Finally, you stepped off the carriage. Loki wasn’t sure how she could still be surprised when he saw a Moon Elf. She’d seen many through her life, but there was something about the way your skin glowed that always made her breath catch. It was such an unusual phenomenon. The bioluminescence of your skin had an iridescent quality. It shimmered like an oil slick, but it burned from within.
You wore a dress that shimmered with an iridescent quite like your skin. Green at the neckline, then gold, then red, blue and finally a deep purple in the fabric that pooled around your feet. On your head, you wore a tiara adorned with opals that shimmered from the glow that emanated from you.
Loki was so intoxicated by you that she failed to notice Queen Aelsa stepping out of the carriage behind you. Nor his parents hurrying up to meet her.
When the group moved inside, Loki huffed and returned to her bedroom. She didn’t quite know why she was taking it so personally. She was used to being overlooked in favor of Thor and quite honestly if they’d asked her to be the one greeting she would have tried to get out of it. She hated doing things like that. She hated playing nice.
She should have been asked though.
She pushed it aside and summoned some attendants to assist her in the bath. There would be a feast tonight, she should look like the queen she was destined to be. Plus it might help her relax.
After soaking in the tub a little too long, she allowed her attendants to dress her. Normally she did that herself. Perhaps with a little help with her armor. Tonight there would be no armor though. Just gowns and she wasn’t used to wearing them. Her tastes tended to fall along the lines of androgyny, leaning toward slightly more masculine. In her fluidness, she tended to lean into male more regularly. But she was she now, and that meant a gown if she was to attend a feast.
She made her way to the great hall and then had to loiter waiting for all the ceremonial garbage to happen before she could be seated. Each member of royalty had to be announced properly, including her.
She had been relegated to a lesser table due to the number of visitors. Normally that alone would have been enough to have her leave, but when she saw you already seated at her table she decided that it might be worth staying for the aesthetics alone.
“Lady Loki,” the Ice Elf said bowing her head a little. “I am Princess Siora. It is good to meet you.”
Loki nodded her head and the other Elves at the table made their introductions too. She noticed as she reached you, you had that same bored look in your eye as she often wore at such events.
“So why is it we’re at the children’s table?” Loki asked, sweeping her skirts under her and taking a seat.
“The Queen is hoping to match one of us to one of you.” You said looking up at the elevated table with Odin, Frigga, and Thor sat with Queen Aelsa and her daughter. “Thor and Amaranthae is the hope.”
“So we’re being kept away from the desired couple in case one of you catches his eye or she catches mine?” Loki asked. “Ridiculous. Thor is no closer to marrying than a Bilgesnipe is of growing wings and flying.”
“Yes, and thus part two of the plan.” You explained. “You, my lady get the choice of the whole table.”
Loki snorted. Actually snorted with laughter It was embarrassing really, but thankfully no one acknowledged it. “Charming.” She said.
“Yes, well,” Dinamh the spice elf said. “None of us are too fond of the plan either.”
“Nothing against you, my lady,” Siora said. “It is just insulting to all of us, you included.”
“To say the least.” You said. “Alfheim has had a violent history considering we pride ourselves on our peaceful ways. It is not enough that we have been conquered twice now, we now have to hope that Asgard is willing to make a marriage alliance to ensure our protection.”
“The queen doesn’t trust the alliance after how long it took for Asgard to respond when Malekeith showed his true nature,” Siora said.
Loki waved her hand dismissively. “You are one of the nine realms. My father would not give up control of that.”
You shrugged. “I don’t care. I have no plans to marry anyone, let alone for political reasons. Anything else that occurs is white noise to me.”
Loki chuckled. “That is a good way to look at it.” She said. She was pleased that your wit matched your beauty. Maybe that was part of what had attracted her in the first place.
As the dinner progressed Loki found herself relaxing more and actually enjoying the company of these elves. While most were still a little on the cheery side for her taste, she had never met people in the same position of being called royalty but being treated as lesser as she had before. She was quite taken with you particularly. She didn’t have many friends that weren’t just Thor’s friends who barely tolerated her before. She could see being your friend.
The following day Loki avoided the whole spectacle of the royal visit. She assumed that Thor was being forced into spending time with Amaranthae, or else Odin was against the whole idea. Certainly, Loki assumed if they were against just the Thor factor, she’d have been visited by her mother right now talking her into at least being open to marrying one of the elves.
That hadn’t happened so Loki had gone to the library. It was her safe place more than anywhere else in the palace. She could disappear into the works for hours upon hours. It was just over two hours that she had been in there when you came in.
She was aware of another person there right away, but it wasn’t until you came around the corner that the faint light you emitted caught her attention.
“Why, hello,” she said, looking up at you over her book.
“Loki,” you replied, nodding your head. “I had wondered where you disappeared to today.”
“You missed me?” Loki teased, getting up and approaching you.
You chuckled. “Hardly. But it is noticeable when you aren’t around.”
“Were you looking for me?” She asked.
You shook your head and gestured around you. “I have heard stories for years about the great library of Asgard. I had to see it.”
“It is quite a sight.” Loki agreed and offered you her elbow. “Shall I show you around?”
You nodded and linked your elbow with hers. “This is the fictional section,” Loki said. “They are organized by where in the realms they are from and then by author.”
You looked up at the books as they seemed to just disappear up over your head as you walked down the aisles arm-in-arm.”
“This is the instructional manuals. Everything from how to cook, to spell use, to the how to of sexual acts.” Loki explained.
You looked at her and smirked. “Spend a lot of time reading those, my lady?”
Loki chuckled. “I like to take a more practical approach.”
“Mmm… I’m sure you do.” You said and ran your fingertips up her forearm.
Loki looked at you out of the side of her eye. The signal had been clear and she planned to respond to it. She led you deeper into the library, away from the doors and windows.
“Here are the historical works. The complete history of the nine realms.” Loki said.
“Ahh yes,” you said, turning to face her. “No surprise that Odin keeps records of those that surrender to him.”
Loki moved close to you, looming over you. “And your people know all about surrender.”
“I surrender to no man.” You growled.
“Then it’s good that I am not a man.” She purred and brought her lips to yours. The kiss was searing. Possessive and hungry. She pushed you up against the shelves and ran her hands down your neck to your chest. Massaging your tits.
You groaned and pushed against her, slamming her up against the opposite shelves. You pushed your thigh between her legs and pulled her hair, sending a wave of pleasure that bordered on pain right through her and down to her cunt as she ground it against your thigh.
She let you lead, submitting to you as you claimed her. A moan escaped from her as her cunt began to drip for you.
She grabbed your hair suddenly and spun you and pulled you flush against her. “You know what they will do if they discover us?” She growled against your ear.
You took a shark, ragged breath in, and began to hitch up your skirt. “Oh yes, we would be destined to marry immediately.”
“So you best be quiet,” Loki growled and slipped her hand into your panties.
She started to circle your clit with her fingertips and you grabbed your hand, lining your fingers up with hers and guiding them to touch you. You pushed her fingertips so they pushed hard against your clit as you drew figures of eight over it.
“You like to be in control, darling?” Loki crooned.
You moaned and moved her finger a little harder. “I know what I like.”
“Then by all means.”
You kept guiding her to rub your clit, as she kissed your neck. As the soft moans you made got louder, you curled your fingers, pushing all but one of her long spider digits back. Her index finger you left straight and you guided it inside of you, so both of your penetrated you. Her finger pressed against yours in the warmth of your cunt. You guided her to the soft, sensitive spot of you g-spot and you pushed Loki’s finger hard on it. You cried out and Loki curled her finger and dragged it over your sweet spot again and again.
Your moans got louder and louder and your fluids ran down Loki’s wrists. You took your hand away and braced yourself on the shelves in front of you as you finally surrendered to her. Letting her be in control of your pleasure. She added a second finger to your cunt and used her thumb on your clit. Your legs began to tremble and with a sudden cry, you came hard, shuddering around her fingers.
Loki stroked you through it and as your breathing returned to normal.
“Well, that was fun.” You said straightening yourself out.
“Mm, it was. Perhaps you’d like to return the favor sometime.” Loki said.
“Perhaps,” you said. “Be at dinner and we’ll see.”
Loki watched as you swept back out of the room, licking her fingers clean as you disappeared around a corner. It was annoying really. If the situation was any different she would pursue you. That couldn’t happen now, not when two kingdoms would push towards it. Loki could never allow herself to surrender to that level of interference.
#ladiesofmarvelbingo19#loki#loki laufeysdottir#loki odinsdottir#loki x reader#f!loki x reader#loki fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#reader insert#smut#femslash#femslash saturday#by arrangement
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Dark!Amarantha x Human!reader: Her New Whore[***]
A/N: man, I caved at the end, I’M SORRY.
Warnings: Noncon/dubcon, some specklings of Greek Mythology, pussy-eating, face-sitting, manipulation I guess, corruption kink? 6.4K words
Summary: After the Wall fell, the High Queen easily seized control of the human lands. Every month, a name is picked from the largest cluster of houses—the closest any of your kind have to a city. You manage to keep your head down for long enough, until your sister’s name is read aloud, condemning her—and inevitably the family she’s made—to a tragedy.
“Cynthia.”
You freeze. Eyes slide to the matching pair beside your own, locking onto her widened gaze. No. There’s mirrored terror streaking your faces, and already people are taking precautionary steps back, making sure to distance themselves from the damned.
The guards don’t even have to search for her, the steadily widening circle around your sister condemns her itself. And sure enough, clawed hands are gripping her upper arms, already beginning to drag her away, and you lunge at her, only to be shoved back. You crash to the mud, dress dirtying as the wet cold bites at you, already setting in. “Cynthia…!” You rasp, throat wet with tears, chest tight with grief. “Cynthia!” You scream, pushing up from the dirt, stumbling after your sister as she’s flung to the foot of a stage.
The High Queens’s eyes are sharp, and piercing into her with a strange look. Your sister shrinks beneath the cold, ancient eyes, hands wrapping around herself, as though it will give her a modicum of safety against the innately powerful fae. Her blood red lips open, permanently set in a cruel, hateful twist, as she intends on beginning her riddle. You scramble forward, pushing through the crowd that has gathered eagerly to watch, delighting in her misery. Because they get to live another day.
You race forward, kneeling by your sister’s side, throwing your arms over her protectively, keeping her tight to your form. “I’ve got you,” you murmur, fingers trembling. “You’re safe, I’m here, Cynth.” She presses against your side, shaking badly, cowering before the High Queen. Amarantha watches, her words halting as she takes in the act of disobedience. No one else has dared interrupt a ceremony.
You swallow, meeting her icy, taunting gaze. “Please…” you manage, voice cracking. “Please— She’s my sister, please.” The tears fall and you know you need to do better. “I beseech you, my Queen. Please. She has a family—a husband and children.” You release Cynthia, pushing away from her as you bow, pressing your hands into the mud and lowering your head in derogatory supplication. “Take—… Take me in her stead. I beg you.” Salty tears wet the earth as you shake, Cynthia weeping by your side, copying your movement, and it pains you to see her like this. Splattered with mud. Cowering before a tyrant.
“Rise.”
Immediately, you follow the command, raising beneath her amused gaze. Her long nails click against the temporary throne. She’s no longer watching Cynthia, her eyes have moved to you. “What walks on four feet in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three at night?” Terrified relief slides down your spine. She’s directing the riddle at you—not Cynthia. You could weep.
Her brow narrows, “behead the first one.”
Your eyes widen as her soldiers come forward. Cynthia grasps onto you and you to her: nails slicing into thin, worn fabric. “No! Please, my Queen! Please!” You scream, holding your sister tight as the creatures tug away from you. She’s torn from your arms, and you thrash, trying to reach her. You turn your head to the female sat atop her throne born of bloodshed, “my Queen! She’s my sister, please!” The tears are streaming down your cheeks as you writhe against the talons that slice into your skin.
Cynthia is shoved to her knees, more mud saturating the already wet fabric of her dress. The High Queen’s eyes are on yours, paying the torture of your sister no mind, as if it hardly even registers to her. You can’t look away from her.
A guard raises his blade, and ire blazes inside of you, fury at the injustice. Rage at how they’re about to cleave the gentle slope of her neck in two, sever it from her body, then leave her to rot in the piss-coated mud.
“Stop.”
Your breath catches, your chest stilling as the blade halts it’s slicing. The High Queen rises from her throne. A metallic smell crackles in the air and a rug rolls down the steps of the stage—her shoes will remain clean of the filth. She comes to a stop in front of you, and you’re petrified. The Queen, The Conquerer, is stood one pace away from you, and you’re staring into her eyes—holding her gaze as if your life depends on it.
“Release her.”
You’re close enough you can see the shape of the words cutting through her blood-red mouth clearly. Her soldiers release you, so suddenly that you crash to the floor, on your knees before her. You make no move to shift from the placement.
Slowly, she pulls the fabric of her orchid coloured gown upward, revealing a pale ankle, leading up to a creamy thigh—perfect skin. She’s flawless. The High Queen raises her foot slightly, a silent command. Your cheeks flush with hatred. Her lips lift at the edges, her eyes flicking from Cynthia, then back to you. You hang your head in shame, but blink away the tears. If she’s giving you a way to save your sister, you’ll take it.
Reluctantly, you begin to lean forward, but stop. You crane your neck to look at the High Queen, icy gaze piercing down on you. “I do this…and you’ll let my sister go?” You aren’t foolish enough to phrase it as an order. “Indeed.”
“You won’t harm her? Ever?” Her lip curls, a sign she’s already tiring of you, but you need to make sure. “Insolent,” she growls as she glares down at you. It’s difficult not to shrink from her. “If you give yourself to me—” your breath catches, “—and follow through, she will be released instantaneously. Unharmed.”
The word rings through you. Unharmed. She’ll be okay. She can return to her girls, and her husband. She’ll live.
“Whether she remains that way…” she grins, cruelty lighting her eyes, “…is up to you.” You feel the blood drain from your face. Brutality sparks in her gaze as she taps your chin provocatively with the tip of her shoe. “Make your choice, human.”
You refuse to cry. You won’t. Not in front of her.
So you grit your teeth, steel your spine, and settle your lips on the point of her shoe.
————
She didn’t waste a second—by the end of the day, you’d been shoved into the arms of one of her beasts, a weightless sensation had overtaken you, and then your surroundings had completely shifted, the air slightly tinged with a strange metallic scent. You’d been walked through cavernous hallways lit solely by flames that sent shadows flickering along the walls.
Then you were brought to a large chamber, dragged across the smooth stone floor, and tossed onto a wide, circular bed that was lined with various fur blankets and beautifully embroidered duvets. Atop lay a circular instrument, thick, opaque fabric hanging down like curtains to seal the bed from the rest of the room. They were dark velvet, such a deep red they were nearly black, with small tassels weighting the material at the edges.
An unknown amount of time later, another creature enters, dropping new clothes on the bed—night robes—for you to change into. Its eyes run over you with intrigue and barely masked hunger. You manage a quiet thank-you, along with a small dip of your head before it’s stalking from the chamber. You decide it would be best to follow their implied instructions, thankfully left by yourself while you bathe and clothe yourself.
Heat flushes your cheeks as you lift the fabric to the strange lights. It’s almost completely sheer, a failed imitation of clothing. Hardly a breath of thread. You double…triple check the pile, but there are no underthings to keep you hidden. You drop the material as if it’s stung you, taking a step away from where you had dropped it—beside the bathing pool.
“Insolent humans.”
You yelp, spinning around. The High Queen has snuck up on you, silently entering the bathing chamber. You hadn’t even heard the snick of the curtain rings slide back into place. Your hands fly to cover your naked body, stumbling back in fright. You slip, squeezing your eyes tight as you fall backward—into the pool.
When you surface, you hear her laughing, like the ringing of silver bells, warm and amused. You shiver. “I forget how uncoordinated you all are,” she grins, that cursed crimson like a blood-red slash across her mouth. Slowly, you back away in the lagoon-like pit, distancing yourself while keeping your arms across your chest.
A dainty nail points to you, then curls as she beckons you forward. “Come here.” Your arms tighten around yourself, and you’re sure that if the water wasn’t there, your legs would have given out. Her lips twitches, as if knowing exactly what she’s doing to you. “You’ve hardly been here for half a day,” she growls in warning, “and you’re already testing my rather generous patience.”
You tremble, but begin to move toward her. Her growls settle as you draw near, stopping at what you believe to be a safe distance. She almost laughs at your naïveté. She settles by the edge of the pool, “closer.” Her teeth are bared beneath the superficially gentle smile, eyes gleaming with harmful glee as you shudder, but follow her orders.
She spared your sister. She spared your sister. She spared your sister. You can do this for Cynthia. Cynthia and her girls. Cynthia and her husband. For Cynthia, you’ll manage. The High Queen’s hand raises from the carved stone, and you flinch when he cups your cheek, eyes piercing down at you: half-submerged in the pool, the water reaching just above your midriff. “There you go,” she drawls, lips quirking at the terror in your eyes. Her thumb brushes your cheek and you tremble, her sharp nails scraping beneath your lash line, as if poised to dig into the soft flesh that would rupture beneath her claw.
The High Queen must have read it across your features, as she grins wickedly, “your Cynthia is alive.” You don’t allow yourself a moment to relax, not with the Queen of the fae so close. Her brow rises, “no words of thanks? No offers to appease me?” You swallow, inhaling quietly. “Thank you, my Queen,” you manage, voice cracking from fear.
Her hand lowers, and you still as her thumb brushes over your lip, and you wonder if she’ll tear it from your body. She merely lays a surprisingly soft pat to your cheek, her eyes flicking to the mesh robe, untouched, by the pools edge. “Put it on,” she orders, quietly. You double check all of your chest is covered—as much as you can, anyway—before meeting her gaze. “My Queen?” You ask, uncertain. She wants you to wear to robe while in the water? Or to get out, dry, and then adorn it? Her fingers clasp the sheer fabric, bringing it within your reach, “did I stutter?” Her lips are still up-tilted, but ice is beginning to frost in the depth of her eyes.
With a trembling hand, you reach forward, taking the robe from her hand. Your fingers brush, and you flinch, preparing to be hit, squeezing you eyes shut. She merely watches you, marks your reaction with quiet anger. “Put. It. On.” Her voice has dropped, and you flush with shame as you lower your arms to adorn yourself in the dress. Despite being underwater, you push it down, allowing it to rest at your ankles.
The High Queen smiles, though it’s lacking something. “Keep up the obedience and you’ll be just fine.” She gets to her feet, flashing you a snippet of smooth skin as she stands and you feel dirty for looking. Instinctively, you falter a step backward, at last easing a small breath of relief.
It’s cut short as her fingers drop to the buttons of her dress, slowly unpinning them, revealing small glimpses of her porcelain skin beneath. You hurriedly turn away as she undresses, cheeks ablaze as you catch sight of her sleeve descending over a creamy shoulder. You can hear the soft wisps of chiffon falling to the floor, and flashes of soft and supple skin whisper through your mind. You pinch your forearm hard, just one mark among many.
Amarantha scowls at your turned back. Foolish human dignity. Do you not understand she could slice you up in seconds, sink her teeth into the soft flesh of your throat? She swallows, licking her lips as a slow smile lifts her edges.
Silently, she descends into the lagoon, allowing the peacefully warm water to lap over her skin. Prowling up behind your unaware form. The sweetest prey.
Your breath catches as her arms wrap around your waist, pulling your back flush against her front, and you feel the soft pressure of her breasts. She’s naked. She’s completely bare. Your mind short circuits, fire heating your body, licking over you like it’s a phantom touch. Her fingers dancing over your skin, her lips feathering over your own, her—
You dig your nails into your forearm. It must be some faerie magic. Your mind must not be your own to have such horrifically impure thoughts in it. A quiet sound of fear drags from your throat as she noses a space beneath the shell of your ear. “My Queen…?” You stammer, “what—…what are you doing?” Each breath that falls from your lips is wracked with a silent tremor.
She laughs against your skin and you subtly try to squirm away from her. Her arms wrap tighter. “You live such short lives,” she croons, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “yet you deprive yourself of the pleasures the Mother has provided.” A shiver spider-walks down your spine, her fingers beginning to trace circular patterns over the base of your sternum.
“It’s a sin,” you rasp, voice failing you under duress. “It’s an equivalent exchange. Pleasure of unity for the pain of reproduction. My Queen.” You hurriedly add on the title, a way to soften your brazen defence. “If it’s a sin, why are you craving it so badly? The mother wouldn’t wish for her creations to suffer,” she whispers, and her fingers raise higher, dancing beneath the swell of your breasts.
You turn your head, and Amarantha greedily drinks in your mortal beauty. “Is that why you spared her? My sister?” There’s a devastating spark of hope in your eye, looking to her for answer. She blinks, and you quietly await her response. “I spared Cynthia because you promised yourself to me.” Her eyes pierce into you, “equivalent exchange and all that. A life for a life. However fleeting, or pitiful.”
Your brow narrows in hurt, “our lives may be short, my Queen, but it gives us meaning. We are to make the best of ourselves, however slim our chances. It is the beauty of being human.” She smiles, settling her chin on your shoulder, feeling you stiffen. “You are, indeed, quite beautiful.”
You don’t know how to respond. Is it a concealed taunt you don’t understand? Is she using her faerie tongue to deceive you in some way? You can’t figure it out. “You…remember her name, my Queen.” She laughs, but it lacks amusement. “It is not a difficult name to remember. Neither is your bond with her.” She seems sad. A quiet wash of anguish fleeting across her gaze.
And maybe she’d been gentle enough with you, been so unexpected that you reached out. You’ve been raised that it’s a woman’s role to reach out and help others—always. Why would she be any different. You move your hands from where they’ve been suspended above the water, gingerly settling them overtop hers. “Why not?” You murmur, watching her.
The High Queen’s eyes drop to your fingers, and for a moment you’re concerned she’ll see it as an affront—for a human to touch a faerie. But they entwine with your own, keeping as much of you close to as much of her as she can. “My sister was murdered by a human. Tortured and murdered. For weeks.” She hears the quiet gasp you release, and raises her gaze to your own, shocked and wide.
“Her name was Clythia, and I cared for her more than anything. More than I should have let myself.” Her eyes seem to regain their sharpness as they drink in your features. Her arms tighten around your rib cage, “I will not be making that mistake again.” Her words are clipped; pained. You squeeze her hand, “isn’t it lonely?” Her eyes are narrow on you, a quiet warning, but allowing you to proceed. You gulp and you’re certain she can hear it. “As an immortal. With no clear end to your life? You should find yourself a love, take a husband, and—”
She snarls, lip curling back from her teeth, muscle rippling; power thrumming. Your body freezes in response, but she spins you round, roughly. Her nails dig into your hips, pulling you tight against her.
It’s so much worse.
You can see her. See the pale skin of her collar bones, the smooth skin of her shoulders, the feminine swell of her breasts, pressing against your own—
“A husband?” She snarls, watching with fury as you cower, trying to shrink away from her. Your hands land hesitantly—even as you’re terrified—over the top of her chest, attempting to push away. “I treat you as I have, and you tell me to find a husband?”
“I’m—I’m sorry—… I simply mean—” She snarls again, more viciously, cutting you off as she grips you tighter, walking you backward in the pool.
Initially, you’d been wary about bathing, not knowing how deep the pool went. You knew the depth was more staggering at the back, and being unable to swim, you’d kept far from it.
You shove your feet onto the floor, but it’s rough, and bites at the soft pads. She’s so powerfully fae, and has no trouble shoving you further and further back to that drowning depth. “My Queen!” You cry, reaching for her but she keep you at arms length. The water gets deeper, rising over your chest, and you know you’re right over the precipice. “Please! I can’t swim!” You panic, “please, my Queen! I didn’t mean to offend!”
The High Queen shoves you away, sending you off into the deep. That terror again engulfs you as you begin sinking. Your eyes go wide, latching onto her own beseechingly, just before the water’s surface swallows you. It’s suddenly no longer comforting—the peaceful warmth. It feels as the air before a storm, hot and humid, too still to be safe.
You thrash, not knowing how fast you’re descending, but you claw about. Maybe if you can reach that edge again, you can pull yourself up. You stretch out your hands, and they find the ledge. Rough and hewn, but it’s there. You could cry. But then you feel as she presses the heel of her foot down, digging your fingers into the rock and you cry out, releasing precious air as you lose your grip.
You try again, this time taking hold of her ankle, tightly—even if it enrages her. But she holds still, allowing you to touch her as you begin to pull yourself to the surface. Your lungs are burning as you reach her thigh and your hand freezes, realising where you’re going to have to go past. You take too long, strength seeping from your arms as you begin to lose conscious. You practically feel her growl thunder through the water as a force lifts you from the depths.
When you break the surface, your religious worries are far from the front of your mind. Your arms snake over her shoulders, clinging desperately as you splutter, hauling yourself over her arm as you gulp down air, tears of panic spilling over your cheeks. Your legs wrap over her hips, circling tight in fear.
Before you’ve even had the time to regulate your breath, her hand is tightening in your wet hair, pulling you back just enough for her to glare into your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you rasp, tears streaming over your already wet cheeks. “Please,” you plead, brows curving upward, “please don’t kill her.”
The High Queen’s eyes do not soften as she pulls back from the ledge, carrying you up into shallower water. You daren’t tear your eyes away for fear she’ll have a change of heart. “I hold you as I do,” she seethes, “I treat you as one of my own, instead of one of those humans. I touch you as I do— cherish you as I do—” Your lower back presses against the hewn rock of the pool, and you attempt to unwrap your legs from her hips. Her grip tightens and she snarls up at you. “—and you think a husband would please me?”
You keep your lips pressed tight, deciding it wise to not speak anymore. But her eyes pierce into your own, commanding you to respond. Whatever you say, it could be you last. “What would please you, my Queen?” You stammer, softly, trying to banish the tremors from your arms.
Her eyes flicker for a moment, and then her mouth is crushing down onto your own. You seize up, paralysed as one arm snakes up your back, between your shoulder blades, making your back curve, pressing your breasts to her own. You’re all but naked before her, save for the sheer fabric that clings to you relentlessly. A whimper claws up your throat at the sudden move.
She pulls away, eyes dragging from your mouth up to your own.
Then she’s returning, lips warring over your own, teeth biting, tongue slashing as she dominates your mouth. One hand grips your ass while the other tightens around the nape of your neck, crushing you against her, pressing between your thighs as she devours you. She gets lost in your flavour, raising both her hands to cup your jaw, pinning you to the pool’s wall with her lower body.
Her grip slackens as she takes you in, breathing shakily.
You take your chance.
You slam your hands down on the pool’s ledge, lifting yourself out as you kick away from her, panting as you scramble back. You tumble over the lip of the lagoon, falling down onto the smooth rock of the bathing chamber. The High Queen snarls from the pool and your eyes go wide as she heaves herself out of the water with such ease.
Immediately you’re scrambling back, flipping onto your front to crawl away, to stumble to your legs but she catches you on the threshold of the two rooms. Her arm wraps around your hips, once again pulling your back flush against her chest as her hand snakes up your front, gripping your throat. “I thought you wanted to protect your sister?” She snarls, so close to your ear you feel the scrape of her teeth.
You simply writhe in her grip, terror spinning and spinning until you feel dizzy. “You’re okay if she dies?” The High Queen growls, gripping tighter, and you choke. “Maybe I’ll make you watch when I kill her. Nice and slow.” You shake your head vehemently, colours swimming as you splutter. Your fingers claw at her hand but she holds fast, so much stronger than you could ever handle.
Then, she’s picking you up from the floor, your legs pulling to your chest, kicking wildly in attempts to disorientate her. It’s a pitiful attempt. She sets you on your feet before the opening to her bed, turning you around roughly. Then power crackles in the air and you’re completely dry, as if neither of you had even stepped foot in the bathing chamber.
With a hard shove, you’re falling backward, sitting on the circular mattress, clothed in only the sheer fabric and nothing else—no undergarments to conceal you from her hungry and furious gaze. You start crawling backward, but she only laughs, as if delighted by your actions. You understand why when you hit the edge of the bed. Your back collides with something solid, despite it being curtains. She laughs at your confusion. “There’s a barrier around the mattress. Once you have entered, you cannot exit unless I permit it.”
You’re trapped.
“Please,” you whimper, watching as she climbs onto the bed, the curtain shutting behind her, sealing you in a cocoon of dark red light. “Please, my Queen. This is wrong!” She simply grins, prowling closer until her hand wraps around your ankle. You don’t even try to resist as she drags you beneath her, caging you in. “There’s nothing wrong about enjoying the pleasures of life,” she snarls down at you. You shake your head weakly, “no…the first time…” Tears roll down your cheeks and she stills. “The first time should be with someone you love!” You scream at her with a fury you don’t recognise.
Her eyes change, something indiscernible flashing across her features. “Pleasure is for…for man and woman,” you cry, reciting the words that have been flung at you since you came of age. “They couple…and the woman bares his children…and—…and he works! While—…while she stays at home…raising his children, in his house, for him!” You’re sobbing, wanting to scream and kick and just lash out in some way. “It’s the wife’s duty— My duty, to serve my husband one day. And that is…that is how it should be…” you trail off, crying as you push away tears with your fists.
Her hands strangle your wrists, roughly pushing them aside as she glares down at you with renewed ferocity. “So insufferably human.”
“And you’re insufferably cruel…” you weep, though the words lack any bite. “Yes,” she snarls, “I am.” You peer up at her through teary eyes. “And do you see me crying? Do you see me being forced into something I don’t want? Do you see me serving a man in the way you believe is a duty?” You stare at her, lower lip trembling as you manage to shake your head.
“No. You don’t. Because I am High Queen of Prythian. I rule over this land. It is mine. The food, the country, the people. They’re mine. Just like you are mine. At the end of the day I do not submit to a husband, or a father, or a brother. Because I am my own keeper.” She practically spits the last part, dripping with venom as she glares down at you.
Your brow narrows at her anger. The anger that isn’t directed at you, not this rage. Not really.
Her hand again wraps around your throat as she lifts your head from the sheets. “I can fuck you better than a man ever could. Than anyone.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you struggle as much as you can. “Open your eyes.” You refuse, screwing them shut tighter. “Open your damned eyes before I pluck them from your skull.”
Tears roll as they land on her, working every silent plea you can into your gaze. You would beg on your knees for her to stop. For her to leave Cynthia alive. “That’s more like it,” she breathes, hand loosening around your throat, allowing you to gulp down air. “Now, let me show you what you’ve been missing out on.”
Her mouth reattaches to your own, but it’s softer. Until her teeth nip at your lower lip. You flinch, and it spurs her on, canines tugging relentlessly until you whimper. “Touch me,” she commands, between kisses, “pull me closer.” You remain how you are, hands paralysed at your sides as she pulls you apart. “Reciprocate or I swear on Clythia I will shred your sister alive. Piece by piece.”
You’re trembling, shaking and on the verge of shattering, but you manage to wrap your arms around her neck, parting your thighs to hug her hips. “Now touch me like you mean it. I’m giving you one damned chance.” The snarl is more beast than faerie, but it’s for Cynthia. For Cynthia, you will put everything the High Queen has done aside. For Cynthia, you will commit this sin, that will damn you far below hell. For your sister, you will give in to those desires that have caused the crescent shaped indents in your forearms.
Your vision blurs as you shove it all away, and follow her commands.
Your mouth opens, tongue dancing with her own as she grips your hair, yanking it. A growl of innate satisfaction thunders through her chest and her free hand lands atop your breast, palming it. You want to scream, but force a moan instead. You doubt you’d be able to pull yourself back together if you started screaming.
She thumbs your nipple, and her mouth leaves your own, nipping and licking at your neck as she works lower, ignoring the quiet tears that roll back into your hair, dampening the bed. Her teeth sink into the junction of your throat and shoulder, biting down and you know it’ll bruise. It’s her way of claiming you. To have her scent entwined with yours isn’t enough. She needs to have her bite marks littering your skin, to have bruises of her fingertips blossoming over your neck, hips, thighs— everywhere she can.
Quicker than you can think, she’s tugging the erotically teasing dress up your thighs and over your head, baring you to her. The High Queen doesn’t waste a second: her mouth latches over your nipple, just over your heart, and this time you don’t have to force it. Pleasure sings through you, lighting you up as your back arches. As much as you hate it, as much as you know it’s a sin, it feels undeniably good.
You don’t want her to stop, you realise.
It brings a new wave of emotion looming in the background of your mind. But you cannot allow it to crest. So instead you thread your fingers through her beautiful silky hair, so soft to the touch, encouraging her. She growls with pleasure as she goes lower, sucking bruises into the skin of your stomach as she descends, leaving a trail of obscenity until she reaches between your thighs.
“My Queen…” you whimper earnestly, knowing what she’s planning. “That’s—” She snarls, teeth scraping over your inner thigh.
“Are you trying to stop me?” And you can hear the threatening displeasure coating the question. You hurriedly shake your head, flushing in shame. She shouldn’t be seeing you like this. It should be a man. But you meet her eyes and undeniable arousal flows through you and the possessiveness. Had anyone ever displayed such a strong instinct to protect you? Bordering on fanatic obsession. Infatuation.
“I’d feel…guilty. Not doing anything, I mean,” you manage. As soon as the words have left your tongue you realise their truth. Nausea roils in your stomach. How sick are you? Could you ever be forgiven? A dark laugh breaks you from your spiralling thoughts and it sends another wave of heat rushing between your legs. You’re practically aching for her.
“Not so innocent after all,” she drawls, and you flush.
“I simply mean—”
“I know what you said.” She snarls, crawling up your body until she’s over you, her deep red hair hanging like the deep red curtains trapping you on the bed. “You want to have your mouth between my legs, don’t you?” Shame sparks in your chest, licking between your thighs as your eyes dart away from her. She grips your jaw, forcing you to look at her. “Say it. Let me hear you beg for it. Beg for me to mount your tongue, like an animal in heat,” she snarls.
For Cynthia, you can do it. For Cynthia—
Fuck Cynthia.
“Please,” you beg, that religious yarn the priests had twisted tight, now unraveling at an alarming pace. “Please, my Queen. I need to know. Let me know what if feels like. What you taste like.” Her eyes roll as she lowers her face to the crook of your neck, burying against you, nosing at the skin as she laps over the erogenous area. Your back arches and you wish you could resist her. Wish you could return to your discipline, and your unruffled life before she came along with her chaos and her fury and her devastating beauty.
“That’s it,” she pants, pleasure flushing her cheeks. “Look at you,” she hisses, “already settling so well into your new role.” And then she’s prowling further up your body, swinging a leg over your head and your arms have already wrapped snuggly over the elegant sweep of her hips. You tug against her but she doesn’t move, keeps herself suspended above you, teasingly. You can’t stand it.
Your nails bite into the flesh of her waist and she keens, hands pushing your thighs apart. When her eyes land on your glistening heat, she growls. You’re hers. “Now, now,” she croons, “see how far you’ve come already? Dying for a taste of a female.” Your hips buck, urging her to devour you, set her mouth on you, anything. “My Queen, please. I need you. Mother above, I need you so badly.” She just laughs.
“Maybe I should punish you for taking so long to come around, hm? Maybe I should bring you to the edge, and suspend you there. Maybe I should—”
You take initiative. Your grip tightens as you raise your mouth to her cunt, lapping all over her, pressing against her hole. Anywhere you want, really. She snarls, but it’s full of pleasure and feminine satisfaction. The High Queen decides she’ll punish you later. Right now, she has you, and she’s in no mood to deny herself of you. Not after so long. She shifts her weight back at the same time she sets her mouth on you and you moan.
Her wet heat encases your mouth, and you groan as you feel her tongue lap over your centre. You flinch when her teeth nip a deliciously sensitive spot between your legs and you follow it on her, locating the small bud. You place a gentle lick to it, and her hips grind over you. Perfect. You focus on that mark, abusing it over and over, occasionally raising your tongue to her entrance, needing to refresh her flavour before diving back down.
Moans echo throughout the room and you feel a tightness in the pit of your belly. “My Queen,” you stammer, confused. She snarls, shutting you up, but the coil tightens— but it feels so good. Like an itch you can’t quite scratch. You just need her to find a spot, a spot that will just get you. Her tongue flicks over that bud and pleasure rushes your veins. You bury your face between her legs as you desperately nip, flick, suck and fuck all of her, memorising her taste as you bathe in the euphoria.
You feel her fluttering on your tongue moments later, your own high triggering hers as she sits upright, shoving you down into the soft mattress. You don’t even try to escape. You relish in her scent, in the wet heat of her, the way she encompasses you as she rides your face, moans spilling from her mouth until she’s ready to leave.
As she lifts from you, you notice threads of slick attaching your mouth to her, and you moan at the sight, already desperate for another taste, but she shifts. And her mouth is over your own. She’s ravenous, tongue licking and lapping, teeth nipping and biting as she drinks down your moans until she’s rolling off you.
Her arms circle possessively around your waist as she tugs you against her. “You’re mine,” she hisses down at you, and no matter how much it goes against the teachings, you can’t bring yourself to repent. She’s sunk her claws into you, and they run deep. Even if you wanted to, she wouldn’t let you go. You nod, pressing against her, melting into her possessive warmth.
She snarls, looking down at you. “You’ll stay here. In my bed. Warming it for me.” You nod again, and as the pleasure fades, as the adrenaline seeps from your blood, that familiar primordial dread begins to surface. You’ve promised yourself to her. You’re bound together. And you have no hope of escaping.
She bares her teeth and you hurriedly reply. “Yes, my Queen.” Her eyes soften ever so slightly. “Amarantha. I want you to call me Amarantha.” Your cheeks flush and you take the time to appreciate her beauty. The glow about her skin, the softness of her lips, the ferocity in her eyes. You feel safe. But maybe that’s just her power as High Queen. Maybe she’s gotten you so far under her spell you’ll never see her commit wrong.
“Amarantha,” you repeat, softly. A small, sane part of you screams at your compliance. But you’re too enchanted by her otherworldly beauty to pay it the necessary attention. To realise what you’ve done. What’s she’s done to you.
You reach forward, pressing your lips against hers, revelling in the plushness of them. You moan, and she’s never heard a sweeter sound. She’ll never let you leave her side. She’ll take you round on a leash if she has to, with chains decorating your wrists and ankles. Anything to ensure you stay at her side at all times. Because she’s never met someone she recognises so instinctually. Like a warped mirror.
If Clythia hadn’t been killed, if the High Queen hadn’t lost that part of herself in the war five hundred years ago, would she be as beautiful as you? She doubts it. You’re perfect. Living perfection. Crafted for her.
Her perfect new whore.
Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020
#Amarantha#amarantha x f!reader#[***]#dark! fic#dark! Amarantha#dark! Amarantha x f!reader#Amarantha smut#June#Amarantha x f!reader smut#dark! Amarantha x f!reader smut
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Amarantha x f!reader x human!Feyre: Persuasion[*] - Part 1
A/N: took me a while to figure out how to get this one to work smoothly but dear gods it’s really sunk its teeth into me…
(This has the same dynamic as The High Queen’s Courtesan[***])
Summary: Amarantha has learned over the decades sometimes it pays off to listen to your fucked up fantasies. Especially when they involve cruelly manipulating others to her will. And you’re always happy to be her obedient little whore.
Warnings: pussy eating basically, masochism.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
“You’re looking a little peaky there, Fey.”
Her head whips up from where she’s curled up on her pitiful patch of hay. She scuttles back, as if she can blend into the darkness and hide from your looming presence. You stroll forward nonchalantly, stopping a little way in front of her, crouching down. “Do you mind if I call you Fey? It’s such an effort to string out your full name.”
Her eyes flit desperately over your shoulder, scanning throughout the cell for someone. Grey-blue finally settles on your own, and you give her a placating smile. “Well?”
She doesn’t bother with flattery—though you suppose that would have been nice. “What do you want?”
Your brow dips at her hoarse voice, your eyes dipping to the bone protruding from the skin in her arm. “That looks nasty,” you drawl softly, “waiting for little Lulu to come help you?” She can’t disguise the shock that passes over her features, but tries. The attempt is so poor you burst into laughter. “Please, who else is going to help you? My Queen is keeping Tammy very occupied, so unless you somehow managed to bag a friend here of all places, Lucien’s the only one left.”
Her brow narrows, words a little more hateful than last time. “What do you want?”
You sigh, pouting out your lower lip, then a smile raises your mouth. “Stand up, spin around, and I’ll decide.” She scowls, staying firmly put. You tilt your head to one side, “I’m not here to hurt you, Fey.” You shuffle closer, settling beside her on the hay. She looks slightly surprised at the act. “I’ll admit I have ulterior motives to offering you help, but I’m sure you’re already well acquainted with the ways of Under The Mountain.”
Her blue-grey eyes stare into you keenly—sharp.
“Who are you?” She asks, prying for information. A smile lifts the edges of your mouth as you lean a little closer to her, nothing her human senses will detect. “Before Prythian, I can be a number of things. Fae call me her courtesan, her partner, or even her lover, and I suppose I am—to her Court.” You lean into her, a conspiratorial spark in your eyes, “but between you and I?” She’s pulled closer, as if lured in by the promise of a secret. “When her bedroom doors close, and she sheds those finely made gowns of hers? Definitely her whore.”
Feyre raises her brows in shock, taking a moment to comprehend your confession. “Is that common?” She hedges.
“To have multiple partners? Or for two females to be involved with one another?” You ask, watching her closely.
“The latter.”
You shrug casually, “arguably, no. I can’t recall a single period in all of Prythian’s history that a female has ruled, let alone taken another female as her lover.” Your eyes slide over her sweat slicked skin, to the bone protruding from the torn and bloody flesh. “I can fix that for you, if you’d like.”
Her eyes narrow in suspicion—smart girl. “In return for what?”
You make a show of thinking, tapping your finger over your lips, drawing her attention. Then a beaming smile graces your face. “I want you to kiss me.” Her eyes nearly pop out of her skull, cheeks flushing. She looks angry, you realise. “Are you not agreeable to that? I would have thought you’d delight in a chance to be healed for so little?”
“For a kiss? So you and your conniving friends can laugh at the silly human girl who dared set her mouth on a high Fae?”
Your thighs squeeze together at her wording, scent shifting though she won’t be able to detect it. “I do not have any friends in this court. I have my Queen and she is all I need.”
“Is this her way of mocking me? Sending her whore down to try and seduce me?” Your gaze is fixated on her mouth.
“It was my idea, actually. And one that took a lot of persuading on my part.” You offer her a sweet smile, “I have a certain amount of sway with her, so I would suggest you use that to your advantage, Feyre.”
She watches you silently, debating. “Just one kiss?” Excitement sparks in your chest, and you nod. Her eyes pierce into you, “where?” A sultry smile lifts your lips. “On my mouth…but you’re free to kiss some other places, should you like?” Heat crawls across her skin at your bold statement. “The mouth is fine,” she mutters, hurriedly.
You perk up, moving to be in front of her, slotting between her legs.
Feyre shifts uncomfortably, back pressing against the wall as you cage her in. You lean closer, but she stops you, pressing a hand to your upper arm. “Why a kiss? If it’s not meant to be mocking?”
“I’ve already told you I’m her whore. How else do you think I would take payment? In the all the gold you have falling from your pockets?”
“No, but—”
“Then in taking you to bed with me?”
“No, but—”
“Then there is nothing else to be said. The bargain is waiting, Fey, and our time is limited.” Her cheeks flush with indignation, but she concedes, albeit resentfully. “Fine.”
Despite her attempt at a cool demeanour, you can hear the pounding of her heart, the terror and excitement thrumming beneath her skin. She swallows, and her eyes flutter shut, bringing herself to your mouth. A feline grin plays on your lips, before you’re pressing her against the wall, one hand cupping her jaw as you bring her against yourself.
Power crackles in the air, at the same time your tongue sweeps into her mouth. The bone snaps back into place, skin healing perfectly over it, not a scar or mark to be found. Her eyes fly wide open, and she bites down in pain, teeth sinking into your tongue in shock. You hiss, pulling back, and she meets your gaze fearfully.
Then your head goes quiet. You can taste the metallic tang of blood in your mouth, but it’s different when you see the red liquid smearing her lips, mixing wonderfully with her saliva. You want to put your own teeth in her lips, bite down ever so carefully, canines piercing her delicate skin. A shiver runs down your spine, but you force yourself to pull away, tapping her arm as you go. “There you go. All patched up.”
You hold out your hands for her to take. She eyes them suspiciously, but slides her own into them. When she stands, her vision goes wonky, overtaken with dizziness as she stumbles. Your arms loop beneath her shoulders, easily supporting her as she collapses against you, momentarily floored by weakness.
One arms snakes around her waist as the other hooks over the nape of her neck, pulling her hair from her pale face. “Hey,” you murmur, “you feeling better?” She grunts, and makes to pull away from you, but you tighten your hold on her. She manages a glare, but that’s all.
How horribly weak humans are.
“Come on,” you soothe, hand rubbing her back, feeling every notch of her spine, “let’s get you somewhere nicer, hm?” She hardly has the strength to protest as you winnow her out of the cell, taking her directly to your own chambers.
————
It takes a few hours to get her cleaned to a suitable level, one that wouldn’t make your Queen hurl her back into the dungeons before the fun even gets a chance to start.
You’ve managed to get her into a new change of clothes without her snapping or trying to claw at you—she didn’t faint either, which was impressive.
“How do the clothes feel? Not too loose?” Her frame is worryingly slight, save for the muscle lining her arms and legs. “They’re fine,” she replies, keeping her distance, despite how close you’d grown from aiding her in the bath. Though she hadn’t protested as much as you had expected. Maybe she was already warming up to you.
The thought sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine.
You walk over to her, inspecting her features for the smallest ounce of dirt, but could find none. “You’re looking much better now, Fey.” You smile, turning away from her to fetch some cosmetics. When you return, she’s moved to your bed, standing awkwardly at its side. You pause, taking in her sloping shoulders; the purple smudges beneath her eyes.
Setting the objects down, you walk over to her side.
She startles, flinching when your hand wraps gently around her wrist. You forget how awful human hearing is, though you suppose you’re quiet even by your own kind’s standards.
“How are you feeling?” You inquire, softly, thumb soothing over the pulse point of her inner wrist. Her eyes have softened the tiniest amount, her wariness thawing with every note of concern you scatter about her. “I’m fine,” she says, but her words are rough—tired. You smile sweetly, and guide her to the side of your mattress, pulling the covers back.
“Why don’t you have a good night’s sleep for once, hm?”
Her legs tremble with the effort of not collapsing down, crawling beneath the invitingly clean sheets. “And don’t worry, I’ll be right at your side. Not even the Attor is allowed in my chambers.” She stiffens at the mention of your Queen’s favoured beast, but melts beneath your touch, crawling into the bed as you settle at her other side.
“Is your room entirely off limits, then?” She mumbles, eyes already closed before the fae lights douse with a flick of your hand. You tuck her into your side carefully, “the only other soul who can enter my chambers is the High Queen herself, though I believe she’s preoccupied with Rhysie tonight.” You stroke her hair gently, arms keeping her close, “she won’t be visiting me, sadly. So get some rest, Fey. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”
————
As far as you can tell, she sleeps soundly, not once waking. Though you know you have to arouse her—get her cleaned and fed so she won’t tire too quickly when the night comes.
A knock sounds at the double doors, and her eyes immediately crack open.
You groan, pushing up from the encompassing warmth of the covers, swinging your bare legs over the edge of the plush mattress. You can guess who it is well enough by the laziness that exudes in the tendrils of darkness that swish beneath the door, illuminated by the flame in the corridor.
You turn the handle, opening the door, just wide enough for him to be able to spot the human in your bed should he care to—
Yep.
Violet eyes flick back to yours, something dancing in their indigo depths but it’s gone before you can place it. “Good morning, Rhysie,” you croon from your doorway. “Have plenty of fun last night?”
He offers you a lazy smile that’s edged with fury—something’s straining him. Whether it’s the affairs of Amarantha’s inner Court, or some other information, you don’t care. All that matters is poking and prodding at his rough exterior. “Speaking of our Lady.” You shoot him a disapproving glare. He should be addressing her as High Queen, you’re the only one with that privilege—in front of her, at least. “She’s demanding your presence in her chambers.”
“We’re seeing her this evening?” You prod. Why would she summon you now when you’re already going later? Unless she’s displeased with Rhys, and sending him as a messenger because she wants you to make up for it—
You swallow, heat building between your thighs at the prospect.
Rhysand’s brow narrows, glaring down at you with that lethal grace he possesses. “She gave no such indication of those plans.” His mouth quirks into a dark grin, “I’m afraid you’re on your own to satisfy her tonight. She seems rather…frustrated. I’d be careful not to tread on her toes.” He croons, hands slipping into his pockets.
You dip your head a little, peering up at him as you press closer to the door—closer to him. “Actually, the human will be joining us this evening, Rhysand.”
The only indication of his surprise is how his eyes flick over your shoulder again, or try to, seeing as you’ve brought the door to, a little more. It vanishes quickly though, masked beneath cool indifference. “You think Amarantha will stand for having filth in her bed?” He drawls, and you can practically scent Feyre’s embarrassment. Neither of you bothering to lower your voices.
“Be nice, Rhys,” you drawl, watching him carefully. There’s something about him. It’s nothing outright, but something’s amiss. “Are you jealous she might be forgetting about you, hm? I can put in a good word for you, if you’d like?” Your lips lift into a smirk, but he doesn’t fall for it.
“As her favoured pet?” He croons, and heat traces down your spine at the demeaning tone. “Careful, Rhysand. You’re giving me half a mind to drag you in here and not look back.” His eyes spark with dark delight, stepping closer, so he’s a breath away from the barrier preventing him from entering your chambers.
“It’s been a while since she’s let us play together, hasn’t it?” He drawls, and your back curves as you lean toward him. You shift toward his touch as he raises a single hand—you allow him to grip your throat. “Surely you’d enjoy tonight more with another power present, hm?” He purrs, hand tightening around your neck as you flush with pleasure.
“Why don’t you go crawling to our Queen and ask her? Put in a good word, as you said?” His mouth brushes over your lips as you push against him, but he holds firm. A soft growl drags from your throat, but you’re familiar with his games. “What do you want, High Lord?”
He smirks—that damn smirk of his. “Good to see you’re well acquainted with my preferred methods.” You scowl, but keep pushing into his dominating hold, needing more. He gives you precisely that when he pulls you closer, bodies flushing tight together as you step over the threshold of the door.
“What I want, is for the little, half-decent Entertainment we have down here to not be rendered immobile before her next trial.” His mouth brushes over your own and you push onto your tiptoes, chasing more. “It’s been rather dull as of late, wouldn’t you agree? And with such interesting trials… It would be a shame to have her wiped out in an evening because you’re too greedy to share her with the rest of the Court.”
You consider. It’s a reasonable request. After a while, you can see how plain dancers would bore the feared High Lord of the Night Court. How he would be thirsting for more bloodshed.
“And what will you give me, Rhysand? I rather like the idea of ruining her over the course of a few hours.” You push closer, breasts dragging over his chest as your hands glide up his finery. “That she would be defeated by my cunt rather than a deadly wyrm, or a nonsensical—” You cut yourself off before you reveal the second trial.
Sure, you’re her favoured whore, but she’d flay you permanently immobile should you spoil her fun. Not so immobile she would be unable to use you, though…
Rhys cocks a brow, “a nonsensical…what? Do tell.” His hand braces your waist, slipping down over the swell of your ass, his fingers gliding between your legs. You huff a laugh, “tell me what you’ll do for me, first, Rhysie. My Lady won’t like being gentle with her.”
His fingers slip away from your heat, raising to the base of your spine. “How about I lock us up in one of those dungeons of hers, huh? Just you and me? See what havoc I can wreak on your sensitive skin?” You suck in air between your teeth, pupils dilating as you stare up at him.
“Like what?” You breathe, fingers dancing over the lapels of his jacket, pressing tighter against him.
“What would you like?” He drawls, thumb scraping over your skin at the same time a talon drags against your shield. “Want me to chain you up while I fuck you? Break into your mind and torture you there?” You shiver in his arms, pleasure melting your senses.
“I want you to whip my back raw,” you growl softly, thighs pressing together at the idea alone—the sting of the leather in his skilled hands. “Give me that, and she’ll last the night.” No need to mention you know Amarantha will savour watching Feyre suffer through the trials. She’ll much prefer dragging out her pain rather than ending it so prematurely.
He offers you a feline grin, one that has your hairs standing on end as he drags the tip of his finger up the ridge of your spine. “I’ll flay you until bone gleams white in the flame light.” You shiver at the dark promise, thighs pressing together.
“It’s a deal.”
————
“Remind me why I’m allowing this scheme of yours, whore?”
You smile giddily at her as she strolls toward her bed, almost utterly naked save for the scrap of fabric clinging to her hips, moving to gather the dress that lays before you.
“Because it’s not every day a human challenges you—you should make the most of it, in every way.” You offer, looking up at her with that gleam in your eye as she crosses her arms, plumping her tits. You swallow, nipples peaking through the sheer night robe you’re still adorned in.
“Did Rhys mention we had a tumble this morning?” She drawls, eyes cold and hard as she stares down at you.
You shift on the bed, tucking your knees further beneath you before you shake your head, “no, my Queen.” She hums, arms unfolding slowly—teasingly, as she drags one open palm down her front. You lick your lips, following her direction with your eyes.
“He was very…thorough, in his fucking.” Her fingers hook on the band of her underwear, and a flick of her eyes has you shifting forward, until you’re directly before her. You bite your lip as she peels away the garment from her wet heat, creamy strands of arousal slicking the fabric to her hot cunt. “I thought you might like this small meal.”
You’re vaguely aware of your head nodding, though your eyes are fixated on her, wishing to run your tongue through her centre, taste both of them together.
She peels her underwear off carefully before instructing you to lie back on the bed. You follow, mindlessly.
Your head goes quiet as she loops your feet through the legs slots, dragging them up steadily until you feel the fabric press between your thighs. A soft whimper escapes your throat as you imagine the mess she’s just created—the mix of Rhys’ come with your Queen’s release, now pressing flush against your heat.
The High Queen doesn’t stop there, though.
She elegantly swings a leg over your head as she turns around, settling herself down on your mouth, finally mounting her throne. You moan beneath her, arms already wrapping over her hips to pull her tighter against you.
“Get me cleaned up, will you?” She drawls, hands palming your breasts lightly, thumbing at your nipples before snaking lower. “I can’t very well hold Court with someone else’s release dripping down my thighs.”
You whine as her hand slips between your spread legs, fingers pressing the fabric deeper, rubbing over your entrance, brushing over your clit. She winds her hips, dragging them over you as your tongue laps at her, scooping up the release that’s still coating her cunt.
————
When you at last return to your chambers, Feyre is still sprawled across your bed, laying flat on her stomach, arms and legs stretched wide. Your lips quirk up at the edges.
You walk to her side, “Fey.”
She stirs, eyes cracking open, jolting as she takes you in, stood over her previously sleeping body. “Rise and shine,” you tease, folding your arms over your chest. “Or maybe just rise, since there’s definitely no shining being done. Not down here, at least.”
Her eyes are wary as she looks up at you, observing keenly.
“Sleep well?”
She peers toward the door, then returns her gaze to you. “Where did you go?”
You quirk a brow, before sighing and sitting at the edge of the mattress. She shuffles away, back pressing against the headboard as she brings her knees to her front. “The High Queen called for me,” you explain, meeting her eyes. “I’d assumed Rhys would preoccupy her all morning, but I guess she wanted more today.”
Feyre looks positively disgusted.
You smile, shaking your head. “I’m guessing that look is directed at Amarantha, and not the idea of coupling with a female.” You lean closer to her, pressing against her knees as you watch her steadily. “Since I know you have no opposition to the latter.”
On cue, her eyes dip down to your mouth, your lips quirking as she hastily removes her gaze, flitting back upward.
“Speaking of…” you drawl softly, locking onto the blue-grey of her. You set one hand atop her knee, letting her know you’d seen the traitorous dip of her attention. “…I think you also might want a little more today.” You can feel how her body tenses. Despite not being able to detect the shift in your scent, she innately knows something has changed.
She pulls her legs closer to her body, pressing tighter to the headboard. “You don’t find me ugly…as a human?” Indeed, that’s definitely a spark of self consciousness you can spy beneath her rough exterior. You suppose anyone can wish for beauty, no matter their misfortunes.
“I’ve never once looked at a female and thought she was ugly. Unattractive perhaps, but she would have to be truly vile for me to cast her as ugly, Feyre.” She shifts beneath your touch, managing to hold eye contact—impressive.
“You don‘t…? Amarantha—”
“Is my High Queen. Choose your next words very carefully.” You warn, nails tightening over her knee lightly. “Even in my chambers, the walls still belong to her, as this entire mountain does.” She takes you in with surprising steadiness. You can see why Rhys believes she’ll survive the next task, at least. Maybe even…
You don’t allow yourself to consider it.
“She’s cruel. And twisted. How can you serve her?” Her words are tight; clipped. Verging on hateful. You suppose that’s understandable.
“Do you deny her beauty?”
“Not on her exterior. The way all High Fae are.” Your lips lift into a feline grin. “You find me beautiful? What about Rhysand? He’s equally cruel and twisted, if not more. I’d say I’m the least worrisome of the three.”
“I believe you’re all rotten to the core.”
“Some would argue the same could be said for you. Giving a false name in your stead to escape torture? A huntress raised on brutality and bloodshed? What do you have to say against those claims, Feyre?” You drawl, an edge to your voice.
She stiffens, “I know who I am. I know what I’ve done. And I do not believe myself to be rotten.”
“Neither do it. About myself or you.” You lean closer to her, sharing breath as you stare down at her. “You must understand the nature of things hidden beneath the crust of the earth. We are not always as we seem.”
She has nothing to say to that. Simple watches you carefully, with those predator’s eyes of hers.
“I’m sure you heard,” you begin, “that I will be bringing you to her chambers tonight.” The colour drains from her skin, making her appear paler than she already is, even given a good night’s sleep and a hearty meal.
“No…” she breathes.
“I can offer two options. Either you go in there sober, and catalogue everything you see, use the opportunity to learn more about her, perhaps glean the nature of future trails.” Her eyes flick to you, startled. “Or…I can offer you oblivion. Drink a glass of our wine before we leave. You will not remember a thing. As if it never happened.”
Her hands are trembling.
“You have until tonight to decide.”
——————————————————————————————————————————————
Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020
#Amarantha#amarantha x f!reader#x f!reader#Amarantha x f!reader x human!feyre#Amarantha x f!reader x Feyre#Amarantha smut#Amarantha x f!reader smut#x f!reader smut
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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.
#amarantha#amarantha x f!reader#Amarantha smut#[***]#Amarantha [***]#June#x f!reader#x f!reader smut#acotar#UTM#Under the mountain
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Modern!Amarantha x Fem!reader: Human Centipede[*]
A/N: I’ve been listening to the song Red Flags on repeat and it made me think modern!Amarantha would totally be a true crime girlie and would watch horror to relax :)
Also, I can’t explain it, but I hate the word dildo so much. Like, it just sounds weird :’/
Warnings: sex pill/sex pollen vibes, cross-contamination (do not do this, pls), mean domme!Amarantha, face-riding, sex toys.
To this day, you have no idea why she’d taken an interest in you.
It’s not even that you feel dissatisfied with your features—she’s simply devastatingly beautiful. Armed with a dazzling smile and provokingly intellectual mind, you fell fast. And hard. She’s so smart, it never ceases to amaze you. You still don’t fully know her university course, but you’ve gathered it’s something to do with biology—or chemistry…what’s the difference again?
She’s incredibly well-spoken, clearly having grown up with a thorough education, often dancing rotations around you whenever you engage in conversation, then also often having to slow down, using words more familiar to you. She’s never impatient with your lack of knowledge over your own vocabulary. Honestly, she seems to enjoy explaining things to you—getting this glint in her eye whenever you ask her to explain yet another word.
Either way, you’d worked up the nerve to ask her, half expecting to have been strung along for an ego boost, or some light amusement. Yet, when you’d voiced your request, hands trembling behind your back, she’d accepted!
You could have vomited with relief, but thankfully managed to keep your stomach in check before her cultivated beauty. You would now get to hear her introduce you as her girlfriend—her girlfriend. You nearly burst with blind adoration for her the first time she voiced the title, a wild warmth heating your cheeks as you shook her coursemates’ hands.
But that had been a few months ago—seven, to be precise—and things were going astonishingly well. A few arguments here and there, but that was to be expected, and they seemed to be sorted out with remarkable ease. Often ending in both of you leaving for a few hours, returning to apologise, then you being shoved into her bed—sometimes yours, but usually hers.
Now you’re ringing her doorbell, requesting entrance to her accommodation. It was another one of her date nights, which meant you would inevitably end up cowering beneath a blanket as she watched one of her gratuitously bloody horror films with rapt attention. Sometimes she was a little scary—but maybe it was a little attractive. Very attractive.
She pulls you in for a kiss, and instantly you’re melting into her body, the carnations forgotten as her lips slant over yours, and you moan softly. She pulls away, eyes glinting as she thumbs away a slight smudge of her lipstick that’s been stamped on your lower lip.
It takes a moment for you to emerge from your dazed state, raising the bouquet for her to take. “I thought it might be time for new ones,” you smile at her, a small shudder traveling down your spine as her eyes settle on yours, nails scraping over your knuckles. “How do you do this every time?” She asks over her shoulder as she swishes down the hallway to give the flowers some water. “You always seem to know when the last ones have begun to wilt.”
You laugh absently, gaze narrowing on her ass as she walks away from you, oblivious to your wandering mind. Can she blame you though? In a pretty red dress like that, the hem barely reaching her mid thighs, the sleeves going off the shoulder to display the elegant sweep of her neck, a glittering necklace designed to appear as crystallised blood drops hugging her throat. “Maybe I just have a sixth sense for it,” you joke, removing your shoes as you follow after her to the open-plan floor.
Casually, you slide onto the sofa, instantly nestling into the plethora of pillows and blankets that smell of her shampoo—detergent. Fresh cotton and linen. “What have you selected to haunt me with tonight?” You ask, dread already coiling in the pit of your belly. The only upside is she usually lets you bury yourself into her through the duration of whatever horror she feels like, generally followed by a strange form of aftercare, consisting of her talking and explaining her work to you. Which is honestly quite fun: it takes your mind off the film and you get to learn more about her. A win-win, if you will.
“It’s one of my favourites,” she calls, returning to the section of the floor dedicated to the sitting room. “A masterpiece of art, in my opinion.” You offer a shaky smile, thankfully taking the glass of water she’d brought you, “what’s it about?”
“The premise?” She asks. You nod, assuming it’s the right word for whatever you’re asking. “German doctor sews three people anus to mouth.”
You cough into your drink, hurriedly setting it down as you wipe your mouth, turning to stare at her, “and it’s a horror film?” Her lips quirk, and heat washes down your spine, “you sound surprised.” You swallow, eyeing her nervously from the sofa, already fearing the movie—and it has’t even begun.
“So it’s not pornography?” You hedge. The description just sounded a bit…well, there are lots of people in the world. Her smirk turns wolfish, eyes glinting. “I suppose it depends who’s watching, doesn’t it?” You gulp, shifting beneath the blankets. It’ll only be a few hours, you hope. You can last a few hours for her, you’ve done it before.
“It sounds pretty graphic, Am…” You fret, peeking at her over the blanket. She rolls her eyes, mouth still set in that grin of hers that you know means she’s going to enjoy every second of your squirming. “That’s the point. Now settle down, and enjoy it.” Her sharp tone implies enough about what she’ll do to you afterward. And maybe it makes you desperate but you sigh, doing as she says. You miss that gleam in her eye as she watches you follow her orders without much regard for yourself. Promising indeed. How lucky she is to have found such a willing participant in her games. A lovely, little guinea pig.
————
You spend most of the film squirming back into the sofa, but she doesn’t snap at you once for disturbing her. Instead, you catch her eyes on you at multiple points, observing you quietly. If you had a sound mind, you would have found it unnerving. But you don’t, so you end the film with wetness coalescing between your thighs instead.
“What did you think?” She asks, smiling faintly at what must be your slightly pallid complexion. You swallow nervously, searching for a way to speak well of her chosen film, without lying. “The costume design was lovely. Special Effects too…woah. They really…did that, huh?” You give her a shaky smile, hoping that’ll end her questioning.
It seems satisfactory, because she leans forward, arms wrapping around your waist. You follow happily, crawling into her lap as her hands settle on your hips, bringing her mouth to your own as her lips slant over yours.
Heat gathers quickly between you, perhaps spurred on by your need to forget the content you just consumed by her will. Her teeth find place in your lower lip, and you whimper, hands moving from her shoulders to push at the neckline of her sinful dress.
She pulls back, keeping you still as you pursue her needfully. “Will you do something for me, pet?” She asks softly, her mouth just out of reach of your own. “Anything,” you sigh, gaze latching to hers. She holds a pill before you, and you nearly go cross-eyed to focus on it, “I want you to swallow this for me.”
You take it from her, plucking the small button shaped tablet for you to examine. Not that it does you much good. “What is it?” You ask curiously, shifting in her lap—reminding yourself of the ache between your thighs. “An experiment,” she answers. Your eyes flick to hers warily, “it’s something you developed?” She nods.
“And it’s gone through those preliterary rounds? Of testing and stuff?” She’d mentioned something like that once. Maybe it had been stationery rounds…? Did stationery have two meanings or three? And was it spelt with and E or and A? Amarantha would know.
She nods again, but smiles as if she knows you’re talking out of your ass. You hesitate, considering. If it’s been properly tested…maybe it’s okay then. Surely she wouldn’t give you something unless it’s guaranteed to be fine. Still…
“What does it do?” You ask, eyes raising to her keen set.
“I thought it could be a surprise,” she counters smoothly. A surprise… So it has to be good then. Kind of, at least? You bite your lip. If it would make her happy, then you guess…
“You don’t have to take it,” she sighs, sounding mildly disappointed as she reaches to take it from you. “No!” You exclaim, putting it on your tongue for it to dissolve before she has the chance to remove it. You want to make her pleased, and you trust her, so it’ll be fine.
She grins, eyes widening marginally with feminine pleasure at your unthinking obedience. “Good girl,” she murmurs, cupping your cheek, lust dancing in her gaze as she takes you in.
You have no idea what you’ve just done, and it sends a thrill down her spine. That you’d satisfy her request so mindlessly—yes, you’re perfect for her. With your eagerness to please her, she couldn’t have dreamed up a better partner for her experiments.
It shouldn’t take long to start working, especially since she knows you’re already anticipating being thrown into her bed—looking forward to it. She does so hope you’ll enjoy this as much as she will. Getting to see you all flushed and messy, panting and sweating as you writhe on her bed, pleading for the slightest brush of relief from her.
Oh yes, she’s going to enjoy tonight.
———
“Am…” you whimper into the darkness of her apartment. “Am, please.”
She cocks her head, watching you with barely concealed delight. It had acted quicker than she had thought, but that gives no complaints on her end. “What do you want, pet?”
You whimper louder, squirming on her bed, completely naked, save for the thigh-highs she’d clothed you in before starting. And the blood red rope binding your forearms together at your back. And also the rope shackling your calves to your thighs. All together, she’s gotten you lying on her bed in the dark, spine arched to make room for your arms and legs that have been tied beneath you.
She steps forward a pace, and you keep your thighs spread and still as she trails her fingers down over your abdomen. She traces some imaginary swirls over the sensitive skin, your muscles flexing beneath her nails. “Please touch me,” you beg, breathlessly, panting into the night. “Hmm? You want me to touch you?” You nod frantically, holding back from bucking your hips, raising to meet her finger tips.
“I don’t know about that, pet,” she hums, clearly amused by your desperation. You could sob from the ache that has you soaking her bed sheets, duvet long ago tossed to the floor. “Am…” you pant, head tossing to the side with the effort of keeping your body still as her fingers dance over your thighs. “Am, please…please.”
“Convince me,” she says, retracing her hand and you whimper, vision blurring as your hips buck. Maybe if you can get upright you can spread your legs enough to get some friction from her mattress. “Why should I give into you? I don’t want to encourage bad behaviour, pet.” Your eyes open as they locate her form, brows furrowing as sweat begins to push up through your skin.
“I know you didn’t enjoy the film. You hate horror,” she explains, folding her arms so that her tits are plumped up. You swallow, a fresh wave of arousal dripping from your heat. “Isn’t that right, pet?” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as your head falls back into her pillow. But— “Yes, ma’am.”
You can practically envision the way she shivers at the title. She loves it when you use it without her having to ask, namely because it signifies you’ve already reached the point that you’ll do just about anything she asks. Complete submission.
“That’s right, and yet you pretended to like it, didn’t you?” She crawls on top of you, and you whimper when the clothing of her dress scrapes across your sensitive nipples. “Dirty, little liar, aren’t you?” Even in the darkness, you can tell her eyes are gleaming. She’s looking for a reason to punish you.
You shake your head, “no! I liked it, I swear!” She tilts her head to the side, smiling slightly, and you arch your back a little more, the soft weight of her breasts pushing onto you. “Yeah? You liked it?” She asks, leaning closer. You flush with need, wishing your arms weren’t constrained. “Yeah…a little scary, but good. I liked it, Am.”
Her eyes narrow as she looks down at you, weighing your answer. All too suddenly, she smiles, removing herself from your body and tears brim at your lashes. “Am, please!” You whine, hips bucking at the loss of contact. She shushes you, walking over to her TV. “You said you liked it,” she supplies, still smiling from the other end of the room. You nod, though she can’t see you. “Well, you’re in luck, pet,” she drawls, and the beginning of a film starts playing. “There’s a second one!”
You could cry, sob, scream. From pleasure, pain, and an absence of both.
“Oh, don’t pull that face, I’m done teasing you now,” she laughs, but it’s sinister, and you can’t help the feeling that she’s lying somehow. No way it’s over that easy. “Of course, you’re still going to have to work for me, pet.” Yup. There it is. But at least you know the catch now; hopefully it won’t trip you up.
She walks back over to the bed, and you bite your lip to suppress a moan as her eyes lick between your thighs, drinking in the sight of your glistening heat. You open your legs a little wider in response, inviting her to touch you in any way she wants. Her lips quirk, but she moves to her bedside drawer, pulling out a—
“I’ve cleaned it, of course. Cross-contamination, and all that.” She’s caught off guard by a kick of pleasure as you have the audacity to look mildly disappointed. Dumb, little thing. “You want me to use it first?” She asks, arousal clouding the edges of her vision. You’re so, so perfect.
You nod your head frantically and it’s enough to have her resolve fracturing. She sighs, resigned, as she sets the dildo on the bed, enjoying your attention as she pulls the tight, red dress over her head. Your mouth goes dry; your cunt goes hot as you take her in, devouring every inch of her perfection.
Her lips fashion themselves into a smirk as you take in her lacy red underthings: a matching set. “You know I like to prepare,” she drawls, prowling onto the bed. She settles at the foot of the mattress, so she has a lovely view of the hot mess between your thighs. “Open a little wider for me, would you?” She asks, grinning. You follow her order obediently, spreading yourself so she’ll be able to get to you, should she want. You hope she does.
“That’s it. Good girl.” The praise settles in the pit of your tummy, adding to the already unbearable heat between your legs, bubbling away.
Your skin goes hot, then cold, as she places the toy beneath her, going up onto her knees. Her eyes lock on yours, mouth parting in a quiet breath as her fingers slip into her wet heat. The sounds are obscene for the start of what is bound to be a long night. Her digits locate her clit with innate ease, circling a few times before dipping down, experimenting with how wet she is.
It seems it’s satisfactory as she brings her hand back up the front of her body, trailing silvery lines of arousal over her skin as she cups her breast. “You’d better be enjoying the view, pet. This is especially for you,” she grins, flicking her fingers over her nipples as she lowers herself enough so the toy is nestled between her thighs. It’s barely past the tip, but you’re already so turned on by the sight of her being so sexual with you that your mind goes dizzy.
Amarantha laughs slightly, taking in your awed expression. “You always get that look when you see me. Like you’d do anything to have your mouth on me at all times.” You nod eagerly, whimpering at the statement. That idea sounds really, fucking appetising right now. She chuckles at your response, how enthusiastic you are about enjoying her.
A wicked light gleams in her eyes as she begins sinking down onto the toy and you watch as it fills her up. “Maybe I should look into finding ways to keep your warm, wet mouth attached to my pretty cunt? Would you like that, pet?” You don’t have it in you to be ashamed as you nod again, too high on arousal and the promise of pleasure to care about the indignity. “Yeah? Want to be my little centipede, hm?” You don’t care anymore, you just nod. Nod to everything she says in the hopes it’ll encourage her to move onto you faster and satisfy the ache between your thighs.
“That’s my girl. So desperate for me, aren’t you? Do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you?” She drawls, finally settling on the bed, the toy beep inside her heat. She looks down, noting the same. When her eyes lock on yours, there’s something more animal in her gaze, something sharp and wicked. Honed and bladed. Her lips lift in a feline curve, “ready for me, pet?”
You put your teeth in your lip as you bite down a moan, waiting for her to move, nodding. She smiles, lifting off the dildo as she crawls up your body. One hand tangles in the hair at the back of your head, tugging you upright, guiding the tip to your mouth. “Go on,” she goads, still smiling, “have a taste.”
You don’t need to be told twice, eyes locking on hers lustfully as your tongue flicks out, latching your mouth over the head of the toy, tasting her on your tongue. You moan, brows curving upward as you silently plead for more. She smiles, pushing you back into the bed. “You want something better? Something more intense? More pleasurable?” She drawls. “Yes! Please, Am! Please, please!”
Amarantha laughs. “Open wide, pet.”
You don’t hesitate, tongue lolling out, awaiting her soft, wet heat to grace your mouth. Instead, she pushes the base of the dildo between your lips, teeth fitting into the divot between the small suction pad and the beginning of the toy comfortably. “I didn’t say who it would be more pleasurable for, love,” she grins, swinging her leg over your head, hand tangling in your hair so she can watch as she sinks down onto your mouth. “Besides, isn’t this so much better? You get to watch me fuck myself on top of you. You can watch as this pretty thing sinks deep into my pretty cunt. Isn’t that what you want?”
She grins, knowing you can’t reply. “Just think about it, pet. I’m already dripping over you. This toy’s going to be swallowed up before you even know what’s happening, and then it’ll be like what you’re used to. You get to have your pretty face between my legs, while I get myself off on your mouth.” She tightens around the toy as she hears your muffled whine. You’re panting deeply, body being ravaged by that lovely little pill you’d so mindlessly taken.
“And then, when it’s nice and wet, I’ll put it inside of you. Won’t you like that, pet? Having me so deep inside of you? Like I’m filling you up with my come? Imagine me coating your insides. Won’t that be lovely?” Your eyes practically roll back as she winds her hips over the dildo, settling low enough her wet heat presses down onto you, and you indulge.
It’s just like she said: she’s dripping, her arousal collecting every time she slides down on the cock, letting it trickle into your mouth, collecting on your tongue. “Yeah? Is that better, pet? Enjoying it more now?” She taunts, clit pressing onto your nose. You nod, if only because you know it’ll feel good for her.
Amarantha moans at the movement, thighs going weak as her full weight settles over you and you could swear you’re in heaven. Her heat encasing your senses, her fingers in your hair, knowing her muscles are going weak from pleasure—pleasure that you’re helping provide. “Such a good girl, aren’t you?” She whispers softly, eyes peeking open to look at you. “So good at getting me off, huh?” She laughs to herself. “My little centipede,” she coos.
God, you hope that name doesn’t stick.
Outside the bedroom, at least.
She nods to herself, “I think that’s enough, don’t you?” Then she’s raising onto her knees, leaving you feeling cold as she removes the dildo from your mouth. She turns on your face, so she’s looking down at your bound body. “Ready for me, pet? Ready to have me inside of you? Inside your pretty little cunt?” She asks, a honeyed lilt to her words. “Yes!” A plead and confirmation in one, feeling like you could sob as she presses the tip of the toy at your entrance. The idea of it being inside of you, so soon after having been used by her…the world spins a little.
“Stay with me,” she orders, tapping the head of the object on your clit. A startled moan spills from your lips, making her chuckle. “There you go, swallow it up.” She pushes the warm head inside of you, and you spread your thighs wide, raising your hips as much as you can. One of her hands wraps beneath your shin, helping to move them out from under you.
Tears slip from your lashes as she fills you up—at last. Arousal spills down your thighs as you mix together, deep inside your cunt. “Yes, yes, yes,” you breathe softly, over and over.
“Good girl, keep taking it. Take it all—yes, that’s right.” You could sob when it’s fully inside of you, touching those sensitive spots that make you tighten. “Ready, now? Ready for some fun?” She asks from above you, and you can hear how needy she is, having been the one to watch as she pushed the used dildo into your pussy.
“Yes, ma’am,” you whimper, barely more than a soft exhale onto her inner thigh. “Perfect,” she murmurs, just before settling down onto your mouth. You open on autopilot, tongue darting out to taste her because you need her flavour, need to feel her, need to have her in your stomach. You moan against her soft, wet heat, pushing your wet muscle against her entrance, flicking it over her clit.
You cry out when her fingers begin oscillating gently over your bundle of nerves, landing soft taps and careful strokes to stimulate you while pushing the toy in and out. “Stop pleasuring me, and you won’t get an orgasm, pet,” she breathes lowly, the threat coming out clear as day. “I can force you to give me as many highs as I want with you all wrapped up like this. You don’t need to do a thing,” she warns, grinding over your mouth. “All I need to do is take a seat on your face and strap a vibrator to myself and you’ll be drowning in my cum.”
You’re tempted to stop just so she will, but you need your own release—so badly. So you keep working, tongue flicking over her clit as she pays you the attention you’ve been dying for; craving throughout the night.
Amarantha curses lowly, “good girl, that’s it. Keep doing that and I’ll be coming on your tongue in no time. Just keep fucking going. Work that mouth of yours. Don’t you dare stop.” You wouldn’t dream of it—you want her to come as much as she does. Her oscillations tighten, adding pressure and you feel the toy bumping against those spots again. Your muscles seize in preparation, pushing your face deeper into her wet heat, wanting to have all of her on your mouth as you suckle her clit.
There’s no way your face is anything but drenched, but you find the thought appealing: having her scent, her slick on your skin as proof of her pleasure. Pleasure you’ve served her. It’s enough to have you tipping over the edge. By the feel of it, she’s going with you, grinding herself over your mouth as arousal drips off her, coating you entirely as she curses again and again. You allow her to move as she wants, riding your face, sticking your tongue out as it swipes over her clit until she’s calmed down.
She allows the toy to slip out of your sopping cunt, flopping on her mattress as she pulls off your face. She’s panting, lipstick a little faded, but looking as appetising as ever. You want her to do that again. Want to flip her on her back so you can go down on her, show her how much you love her.
“How’re you feeling, pet?” She pants, swinging off your mouth so she’s at your side. “Am…” you breathe, looking at her needfully, “please, untie me.”
She seems a little disappointed at that, “tapping out?” Her eyes eagerly track the rise and fall of your chest, skin gleaming with sweat. “No way in hell. But I need you on your back, Am,” you pant, looking at her with heat in your eyes that tells her exactly what you want to do.
It’s the quickest she’s ever obliged a request you’ve made in bed before, and she’s never been more proud of an experiment than tonight. It’s justified, to her—even if you’re the first trial run, and she’d lied to you, you’d still taken the pill without asking the right questions. And the outcome is fine. More than fine, even.
The pill is doing exactly what it’s supposed to, and now you’re working her to orgasm after orgasm thanks to her hard work in her lab. A fitting reward, having the power to turn you into her little sex slave whenever she wants. And all she needs to do is give you that faked look of disappointment; you’ll be coerced into anything.
Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb
#Amarantha#Amarantha x fem!reader#x f!reader#Amarantha smut#modern!acotar#modern!amarantha#Human Centipede#Amarantha x fem!reader smut
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Amarantha x f!reader x Rhysand: Crimson Delights[*]
A/N: This is pretty short but it’s a rough continuation of The High Queen’s Courtesan :)
Warnings: threesome (fmf), oral (f!receiving), smut, Amarantha’s kinda mean but that’s to be expected
Word Count: 1,885
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“I’ve been thinking,” she muses from beside you on the bed.
Your attention slides to her immediately, turning to your right, settling on your side as you peer at her. Patiently waiting for her to continue.
“How many years have you been serving me for now, pet?” She asks, her silky, wine-red hair unbound on the dark pillowcase. You blink, thinking back to when you’d been roughly brought in. “Three, my Queen,” you answer. Really it feels like there has never existed a time without her, entirely wrapped up in your life of utter bliss and luxury.
“Only three,” she echoes, the edges of her lips quirking cruelly, sending heat fluttering between your thighs. “And in all that time, I don’t think I’ve ever let you and Rhysie play, have I?” You stiffen beside her, blinking as you watch her silently. Her blood-coloured nails come to rest around your throat, lightly scraping at the sensitive skin. “My Queen?” You manage out, pulse spiking beneath her fingertips.
Dark-painted lips stretch in a malevolent curve. “I think I’d like to see that,” she muses, eyes tracing over your parted mouth with cruel sadism. “But I don’t want to fuck him,” you say, “I want to serve you—”
“It doesn’t matter what you want, pet,” she growls in warning. “Disobey me again and I’ll make sure you don’t enjoy him.” Your Queen leans closer, dragging you so your lips almost touch as she stares down at you, dark desire swirling in the depths of her gaze. “He could turn it into real torture with a single breath of a command.”
You swallow thickly, heat steadily building between your thighs. “I didn’t mean to insult, my Queen,” you manage beneath her grip. “I only want the most pleasure for you.” White teeth gleam in the low light, a shiver licking up your spine as your hairs stand on end, relaxing into her brutal touch. “My pleasure is my business. All you need to think about is following my orders,” she says lowly, “don’t forget you’re expendable to me.” Your back arches at her cruel words, heat settling in the pit of your belly at the brutal nature of your High Queen. “Don’t be sad,” she croons, knowing you’d much rather have her to yourself than Rhys. “Maybe if you’re flawless, you can tempt me to join.”
Arousal liquefies in your lower abdomen, thighs squeezing together, never breaking her intense gaze. Grateful for every moment she decides to put on you over anything else.
She shifts, moving onto her back, releasing her piercing grip on your throat. “Now, not another word out of that mouth of yours. I want all your attention between my legs this morning,” she breathes, her own arousal permeating the air, intense enough for you to salivate at her appetising scent. As you shift beneath the covers, pushing them away to aid your movement, your hands settle atop her thighs, spreading them a little wider.
“Better eat up,” she croons, curving her legs at the knee. “It’s all you’re having for breakfast, lunch, and dinner after that little stunt.”
————
Your spine arches from the bed, baring your chest to the heavens as he slams in, large, firm hands gripping your hips with terrible power.
You can see why your Queen favours him.
A pained-sounding moan pants softly from your lips, features scrunching as your brows pull together, eyes squeezed shut while your nails practically shred the sheets. You can feel her eyes on you, having heat simmering beneath your skin. Arousal bubbling in the pit of your stomach, coiling tight and ready to spring free. How long has it been since you’ve received pleasure from someone else?
Amarantha doesn’t allow you to lie with other people; you’re hers. Which is why this change of heart is still so impossible to comprehend. Everything about you belongs to her, wholeheartedly. Down to the last drop of pleasure, it’s hers to control, hers to chose how to use. She’s never once given you and orgasm herself—she’s High Queen, and you her courtesan. You make no mistake in thinking that makes you anywhere near equals.
And yet—
“Harder.” The command quietly sliced through the room, and the Lord’s violet eyes glint with malevolent cruelty. Your lips fly open as he angles your hips, raising them from the bed, and hits harder. Shoving the air from your lungs as your hands scramble for purchase. You’d like to grab onto him, cling to his shoulders in an effort to keep you stable, but you doubt your Queen would approve, so you settle for having nails stab into your palms, teeth biting your lower lip.
You can’t last longer, with how the waves are already welling within you, preparing to crash down with brutal force, promising absolute pleasure. Breaths are rushed spasms of lungs, violent gasps each and every time he hits that spot, purposefully targeting it. Well-versed in female pleasure, and weaponising his knowledge against you.
Panting heavily, you crane your neck to the side, you and the Lord splayed out lengthways across the foot of her bed, while she watches leisurely from the top. Pleasant entertainment to get her worked up. Brows curve as your gaze locks with her own, pleading for her to allow you to touch her, to taste her, to feel her in some way. After so long of serving her with utter dedication, it feels wrong to be on the receiving end. Incomplete. Unsatisfactory in a way you need to be okay.
Dark-painted lips curve sinfully at their edges. “Stop.”
You pant heavily, torn between wishing for more and silently hoping she’ll relent.
Her sharp eyes gleam, then she’s beckoning you toward her. “Up here, pet,” she says lowly. It’s all the encouragement you need to force your body into compliance. His large hands release you, and you manage to shift onto your hands and knees, crawling lethargically up toward her, moving between her parted thighs. “My Queen?” You ask, desperate for her to give you an order to follow. Blood-red lips curve. “On the bed,” she orders lowly, arousal spinning your mind as her scent washes over you.
You follow swiftly, putting your back to the mattress, relief cooling your skin when she swings a leg over your head. Back on familiar ground. You’d do anything to please her, naturally, but taking pleasure while she remained unattended simply doesn’t sit right. You should be between her thighs, causing her pleasure, making her a mess and cleaning it up afterward. If you aren’t doing so, what’s the point?
“Open,” she commands, your lips parting automatically as she takes her seat, settling over your mouth like it’s her throne. Your nipples peak as arousal prickles your skin, so close to tasting her, already having her weight over top your parted lips, tongue prone to lick, and suck, and swirl. Anything and everything she wants.
“Rhysie,” she calls over her shoulder, turning to peer back at the male. “Return to her,” she says, and once again you stiffen. She should be receiving pleasure—you don’t even want it right now. Feel him at your entrance, his tip pressing to the soft, wet dip between your spread thighs, his large hands keeping you open for him. You aren’t the only one who seeks to please the High Queen.
Her nails rake over your scalp, fisting your hair as she pulls you against her heat, slowly grinding her hips over you, arousal gleaming on your lips and nose as she begins getting herself off, all the while watching the desperation in your eyes. “Set to work,” she growls, and you’re ready. More than ready, in fact. Overwhelmed with relief, until the Lord beats you to it.
Your spine arches off the bed as he slams in, knocking the air from your lungs once again, fucking you so brutally you could swear your Queen becomes some sort of Angel, wreathed in light. You don’t waste another second, arms wrapping over her thighs as lips seal over her clit, tongue rolling and flicking in those practiced movements. You know what she likes and you know how fast or slow to move according to the faint thrum of her pulse, the tempo of her breathing.
Pleasure numbs your skin, the bruising grip of his hands only vaguely registering as you focus on her. Swiping your tongue over her heat, suckling her clit, pushing at her entrance to have her enjoying this more than you are. She needs the best, and you’ll give her nothing but.
Heat ripples across your skin as the Lord continues pounding into you, sweat gleaming upon pale skin, desaturated from the void of sunlight this far below. He’s targeting that one, damned spot repeatedly, abusing it until your eyes gleam. Your Queen’s gaze pierces into, rolling her hips as she observes you beneath her, getting off on how content you are to utterly submit to her. So eager to please her.
It’s enough to have that steady heat in the pit of her stomach rapidly coiling, ready to burst, to spread across her skin. Her grip tightens brutally in your hair, hips winding sporadically as her high sweeps through her thighs, palming at her breast as your tongue swirls tight over her clit, suckling and swiping to take her through the orgasm. Feel as she flutters atop your mouth, her weight resting fully over your face, delicious wet heat for you to give your attention to until she’s satiated.
Your pleasure breaks with her own, eyes squeezing shut in bliss, relishing in the taste of her release, the scent of her arousal as the Lord continues pounding into you, throwing you into overstimulation as he refuses to release you from the intense pleasure. You peer up at your High Queen desperately, begging her to tell him to stop—it’s too much. But she watches, panting shallowly, observing how your brows scrunch together, eyes gleaming wet with overstimulation. The pads of your fingers press into her thighs needfully, tongue still lapping over her heat.
“Leave us,” she orders, pulling her attention away to icily gaze over her shoulder at the Lord. He obeys, slowing his thrusts before pulling out, and she feels your body begin to soften, muscles relaxing from being wound tight from pleasure. You’re so overwhelmed you hardly realise he’s left until she’s raising from your mouth, silvery, glossy threads of slick coating her thighs and your lips. Your tongue darts out, swiping over the skin, even if you’re hardly able to focus.
Her dark-painted lips curve ever so slightly in the corners, settling back over your mouth, winding gently, easing out the last embers of her pleasure. “How was that, pet?” She asks, still gripping your hair, though not as hard as before. You manage something between a hum and a moan, entirely fucked out after sustaining Rhys for a single round.
A cruel sounding laugh whispers from her lips, enjoying the sight of you so deluded and soft. So utterly out of it.
“Maybe I should let you and Rhysie play more often,” she muses, rolling lightly atop your mouth, clit bumping into the round tip of your nose.
“Get to see him pull you apart for me.”
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general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks
rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger
#amarantha smut#amarantha x reader#amarantha x reader x rhysand#amarantha x reader smut#crimson delight#the high queens courtesan
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Hi there, first of all I just wanted to say I love all of your work I'm always excited when I get your notifications. Secondly I want to request something with Amarantha(did I spell that right?) Mabye a part 2 of The High Queens Courtesan where it continues were you left off,mabye a threesome with Rys,reader and Amarantha. Anything you write is amazing so i dont really care tbh.
Amarantha x f!reader x Rhysand: Crimson Delights[*] (sneak peak)
A/N: first of all, thank you so much and I’m sorry this has taken me so long to get to!! Ihope you don’t mind it’s kind of short, but it’s going up tomorrow at 19:00 (England)!!
Warnings: smut
‘ Amarantha doesn’t allow you to lie with other people; you’re hers. Which is why this change of heart is still so impossible to comprehend. Everything about you belongs to her, wholeheartedly. Down to the last drop of pleasure, it’s hers to control, hers to chose how to use. She’s never once given you and orgasm herself—she’s High Queen, and you her courtesan. You make no mistake in thinking that makes you anywhere near equals.
And yet—
“Harder.” The command quietly slices through the room, and the Lord’s violet eyes glint with malevolent cruelty. Your lips fly open as he angles your hips, raising them from the bed, and hits harder. Shoving the air from your lungs as your hands scramble for purchase. You’d like to grab onto him, cling to his shoulders in an effort to keep you stable, but you doubt your Queen would approve, so you settle for having nails stab into your palms, teeth biting your lower lip. ’
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about your last smut with the malevolent Amarantha, I am, how can I say it, surprised? I enjoyed (loved) seeing this more "nice and sensitive" with the protagonist , I would definitely read an entire fic series with this plot
You’re literally so sweet, stop :’)
I think Amarantha is another character I would definitely like to write for more often!
I’ve also been thinking of writing a dark!Ianthe fic, but that one—strangely enough—I’m not too sure about? Just because with Rhys and Amarantha, Rhysand survived her, and healed from her? Or at least has people there to help him move past what she did? Whereas with Lucien, he was all alone, and doesn’t really have anyone he can turn to, so yeah…?
That’s not to say I won’t write for her, but more that I’m a little wary of doing so? But I’m definitely down for more Amarantha x f!reader!
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I just read your Amarantha smut AND BY THE CALDRON I'M shivering all over, I want more of this 🫣🫣🫣
Soooo, like, more Amarantha x f!reader…? 👀 because I’m totally down for that.
Honestly, I enjoy writing for her and want to see the different angles I can spin on her character since she’s so abhorrently evil in the books!
(And thank you so much for expressing your enjoyment over it! Comments like yours always make it so delightful to write!)
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