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rhettabbotts · 4 months

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baby, if you only knew - dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

pairing: dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: tensions boil over and everything changes for you and rhett one night at a rancher’s event you attend.

w/c: 5.4k (she’s a mammoth)

warnings: 18+ only. smut. age gap (babysitter 20s, rhett 40s). dirty talk. making out in an elevator. daddy kink. possessive rhett. slightly rough sex. cunnilingus. hair pulling. overstimulation. size kink. aftercare. rhett’s grey hair. some fluff.

a/n: i can see you by taylor swift is to blame for this. enjoy the filth! also couldn’t stop myself from adding some babysitter lore. also see green, green dress from tick, tick…boom! for the dress reference!

Six months. Six long, tortuous months of working under Rhett Abbott’s roof.

Okay, it wasn’t as bad as you were making it out to be in your head. His daughters were angels, and you appreciated that he worked with your school schedule as you attended your graduate program. And he let you live in his guest room rent free.

But it was sweet torture. You had fallen hard for the single father of two and it made every day even harder than the last. Rhett was a wonderful man, an attentive father, and a hell of a cook. A hard worker and he was so handsome, you could hardly breathe around him. Who wouldn’t fall in love with the cowboy?

You tried everything in the world to rid your thoughts of him, but you were highly unsuccessful. And he only did things that made it worse. Every time you brushed by him in the halls it felt like electricity coursed through your entire body. He had to feel it too, right?

Delusional. That’s what you were. You were the babysitter. Nothing more. Eventually, the girls would grow up and you wouldn’t be needed anymore. And that thought caused your chest to tighten painfully.

What a thought to have while washing the dishes. You heard your name but it sounded far off, like your ears were full of cotton.

“Tilly, come quick!” Grace shouted once more to get your attention. It made you turn abruptly, soap suds went flying as you dropped the ceramic pot you were washing. “Sorry,” she mumbled when you glared slightly at her.

“What’s wrong, Gracie?” you questioned as you wiped your hands off with the flower embroidered kitchen towel. Something you bought and put out to leave your own touch on this place.

“Oh. Nothing. Ellie just wanted to show you that we won our game.” The girls had been obsessed with Super Mario Brothers and had been playing it for days.

“That’s great guys! How about we take a break and you help me get dinner started?”

“Can we have ice cream for dessert?” Ellie, Rhett’s younger daughter pouted, bright blue eyes pleading. She and Grace were the carbon copies of Rhett. Same eyes, same nose, same crooked smile. You could never say no to them.

“Of course. But don’t tell your dad,” you whispered, placing your finger to your lips like it was a top secret.

The girls helped you finish the food just as Rhett came in from another long day of herding and branding cattle. He was dusty, covered in dirt and sweat and tendrils of his hair stuck to his forehead, the ends curling up. You wanted to run your fingers through it, sweat be damned.

“Daddy!” “Daddy, look at what we made!”

The girls ran towards Rhett, pausing when they got close enough to smell him.

“You stink,” Grace commented flatly.

“Thanks. Love you too. Listen, I’m gonna go shower and I’ll be down in a bit. You all can start without me,” Rhett said as he kicked his boots off by the door and took the stairs two at a time. “Oh, and Tilly?” He called from the upstairs landing.

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask you something later. Don’t let me forget.”

You just nodded, stomach turning at the thought of what it could be.

Grace and Ellie helped you set the table, always eager to follow your every move. It makes you smile. Sometimes you felt like an actual family. And then you had to bring yourself back to reality. Just the nanny. Nothing more. Dinner was quiet, everyone was hungry and occupied with getting their bellies full.

You were resting on the couch as Rhett finished bath and bed time with the girls, trying to read your latest book but your mind was going a thousand miles a minute. Your heart started to beat faster as you heard Rhett descend down the stairs.

Rhett took himself to the kitchen, busying himself by pouring a glass of whiskey. A bottle you bought for him for Christmas the year prior. You peeked at him over the top of your book, watching his back muscles flex in the tight black tee he wore. Your mouth watered at the sight of his strong arms and his soft stomach as he turned to face you.

You quickly raised the book above your eyes, fearing that you had been caught staring. You missed Rhett’s knowing smirk.

“Move over,” Rhett poked at the bottom of your foot, the motion tickling you ever so slightly and causing you to jerk your leg towards you. “What are you reading? New dirty novel?” He teased.

“No…” you said quietly, a little shamefully.

“Liar. Is this one better than the last at least?”

“So far. Hey, what did you want to ask me earlier?” You stretched your legs back out and they landed in Rhett’s lap. He didn’t seem to mind. His unoccupied hand landed on your shin, calloused thumb lightly brushing the bone there. Your mind went blank and you could hear nothing but static in your ears.

“I got invited to this rancher’s event. They want me to give a speech. Stupid, but I agreed. And I… I need a plus one. And I figured maybe if you wanted to-“

“Yes!” You said eagerly, spine straightening. “I mean- sorry- go ahead…” Your cheeks felt hot at your abruptness. He was probably going to ask you to set him up with someone. Probably Lisa, Ellie’s dance teacher. She always had her eye on him.

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to come with me. Give you a break. It’s the weekend my parents wanted to take the girls camping. That is.. if you didn’t have any plans…”

Rhett sounded nervous. He was looking down at where his hand rested on your leg, avoiding all eye contact.

“Oh. Yeah. I don’t have anything going on. I’ll go with you. As-“

“Friends, of course.”

“Right. Friends. What’s the dress code?” You asked, heart sinking slightly.

“Black tie,” Rhett grumbled. He hated dressing up. If he can’t wear flannel, he doesn’t want to be there.

“Perfect. I’ll find a dress to wear.”

“Well. I’ll leave you to the reading. Goodnight, Tilly.” Rhett tapped your leg a couple of times before moving you so he could stand.

You sighed deeply as he left the room, trying to ignore the gut wrenching feeling you had at his response. You couldn’t focus on your book and you eventually went upstairs to attempt to sleep.

“I want you so bad,” Rhett growled against your neck, teeth sinking into your skin causing you to whimper and arch against him. His leg was in between yours, keeping your thighs separated and your barely covered cunt brush against his suit pants. “You’re fucking soaked, sweet girl. You’ve wanted this for so long, haven’t you?”

“Rhett, please!” You whined pathetically, grinding down on his thigh, searching for any sort of relief.

“Beg for it, baby. Beg for daddy. Tell me what you want.” Rhett said, voice low and gravelly. He pressed you into the wall harder, flexing his thigh as you keened. “I know you want me to fu-“

“Tillyyyyyy, wake uppppp,” a tiny voice called from the other side of the door. Your eyes shot open so fast it made your head spin. Your entire body was hot even though you just had the sheet covering you and the ceiling fan was on. You were having a dream about Rhett. A fucking wet dream. And now Ellie was yelling at you in the hallway. You felt like you were being punished.

You checked your phone. 5:37am. Jesus, why was she awake?

“I’m up, El. Hold your horses.” You went to the en-suite bathroom to splash cold water on your face. “Get yourself together. Now,” you said through gritted teeth, pointing a finger at yourself in the mirror.

The four-year-old stood outside your door with her stuffed horse tucked under her arms. Her eyes were a little red and she was sniffling.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I feel sick,” she whispered weakly, clutching the horse to her chest tighter.

“Come on, bug. I’ll get you some medicine.”

You picked her up and perched her on your hip as you carried her down the stairs. Her forehead felt a little warm. She sat patiently on the counter while you poured the medicine in the little cup and you rubbed her back as she swallowed it.

“Good job, El! I’m proud of you. Here, drink some water and let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

She nodded as she took a big gulp of water from her sippy cup. You trotted back up the stairs, bouncing her slightly to make her giggle.

“Alright, you got your water here and Honey is right here with you. Try to get some sleep, bug. I’ll fix pancakes when you wake up.” You tucked Ellie in, kissing her forehead before you stood up.

Her eyes were already heavy and she mumbled something you couldn’t hear.

“What was that?”

“Luh you, mama.” She repeated sleepily, snuggling her horse and then started snoring softly immediately.

“Oh… I- I love you too, bug.”

You didn’t know how to react. She had never called you that before and it made your eyes misty with tears. You couldn’t go back to sleep. Not after the dream and not after Ellie calling you mama.

The next few hours went by in a blur. You had planned to go shopping with your friend Tabitha to find your dress for the dinner. After dropping the girls off at school, you met Tabitha at the mall. You were in a daze, barely listening to her rant about her latest failed Tinder date.

“Hellooooo,” she snapped her fingers in front of your face. “Are you even listening?”

“Yeah, sorry. No, I’m just- I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sighed as you placed your face in your hands.

“What do you mean?”

“With Rhett! It’s like- why am I going to this dinner? Why do I keep torturing myself? And Ellie! She called me her mom this morning! I want a family and I feel like I have it but it’s not really mine, you know?”

“You need to get laid. That’s what you need,” Tabitha said nonchalantly. She looked through the dresses on the rack in the store you were in. “Oh. My. God. This. This dress. Go try it on. NOW!”

She shoved a velvet dress into your arms and pushed you towards the fitting rooms. It was a deep green color, the fabric felt soft against your skin. It wasn’t a dress you would pick out for yourself but once you slid it over your head your jaw dropped at the sight in the mirror.

The bodice was a corset type, something you didn’t typically reach for but was pleasantly surprised at how it looked on you. The dress was form fitting but not uncomfortably so. The strap tied around your neck, lifting your chest and displaying the tops of your breasts tastefully.

The dress hugged your every curve, accentuating parts of your body you weren’t necessarily happy with, but now you felt sexy. Powerful. You opened the door and called for Tabitha. She came running with a few other options in her hands but her reaction matched your own as she laid eyes on you.

“Holy fuck. Yeah, no, forget these. You have to get that one. If he doesn’t fuck you, I will.”

You rolled her eyes at her antics and looked into the mirror once more. You felt so beautiful in the dress. It made you a little giddy at the thought of Rhett’s reaction. If he even had one. You tried to shake the negative thought away. If he didn’t appreciate it, someone else would. Maybe a nice cowboy who’d be down for a one night stand at a fancy hotel.

The week passed by in the blink of an eye and before you knew it, Rhett was packing the girls’ bags for their camping trip and was shouting up at you that he was going to pick up his suit in town from the tailor’s.

You took your time styling your hair the way you liked and you did your makeup, keeping it light but putting on a red lip. Just to be a little bold.

You hid in your room until you heard Rhett finish getting ready and head down the stairs.

“Tilly, you ready? We should leave so-“ Rhett stopped as he turned at the sound of your heels clicking against the wood. “Wow…” he breathed. “You look, ehem, you look nice. That’s a pretty dress.” He fiddled with his cuff links, avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you,” you responded shyly. He held his arm out to escort you to the black pickup truck. The ride was silent except for the radio and the hum of the engine. You couldn’t stop from looking to Rhett. His hair was slicked back, the gray hair looked more prominent. His temples were nearly white. He had a shadow of stubble on his jaw and his suit fit him in all the right places.

You pulled up to a beautiful hotel. It was a grand building, accents of gold sparkled in the setting sun and gorgeous flowers lined the walkways. Rows of trucks indicated that you were at the right place. And the men in bolo ties and cowboy hats gave it away.

Rhett forwent his Stetson and chose a sleek black tie, looking a little out of place but you thought he looked beautiful.

He parked and inhaled deeply, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and closing his eyes.

“Everything okay?” You questioned, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his forearm.

“Huh? Yeah. M’good. Just nervous. I can’t stand half the people in that room,” he mumbled, smiling softly at you. It made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“You’ll do great. I can fake an emergency if needed.”

“Fall down the stairs if I give you a look,” Rhett joked.

“You got it, boss,” you winked at him. You reached for the door handle, preparing to get out of the truck but his hand on your arm now stopped you.

“Wait… I have something for you. A token of appreciation for coming with me. Also, an early birthday present.”

Rhett pulled a long, rectangular box from the side of the door. He opened it to show a diamond bracelet.

“Rhett- that’s- I can’t-“ You couldn’t stop from reaching out and running your fingers along the jewels.

“You deserve it. You work so hard and I don’t say it enough but you mean a lot to me. To the girls. Just wanted to give you something nice,” he said, voice a little shaky.

Something shifted as he clasped the bracelet around your wrist. His touch lingered on your skin and it was hard for you to breathe. You tried so hard to keep things professional, but it’s changed. Everything has changed in the cab of Rhett’s truck.

You headed inside, arm linked with Rhett’s as he greeted the people inside. He was so charismatic, putting on a face you’d never seen before. It was sexy. He was controlling the room. Everyone loved him.

You could feel eyes following you as you walked towards the front of the ballroom. You heard a few whispers from the older women, surely gossiping about the obvious age gap between you and your employer.

“I’m gonna grab some drinks. You gonna be okay here?” Rhett whispered in your ear, his warm breath washing over your skin and sending a chill down your spine.

“I’ll be good. Can you get me a Long Island?”

“Of course. Be right back.” He hurried off towards the bar, getting stopped several times along the way. You felt like a fish out of water here. You chewed on your thumb nail, anxiously waiting for Rhett to come back.

“I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen,” a voice said from behind you. You turned to see the chair to your right being pulled away and a young man, around your age, sat down beside you. His black cowboy hat hid his eyes but he had a wide smirk on his face.

“I bet you’ve said that at least ten times tonight,” you responded, trying to ignore him.

“Name’s Wes. And you are-“

“Not interested. Beat it, buddy,” Rhett growled as he sat your drinks down and sat on the other side of you, wrapping his arm around the back of your chair possessively.

“I see how it is. Rhett… good to see you.”

Rhett hummed as he glared at Wes over the rim of his glass, silently willing him to scram. It was hot.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“He’s trouble,” Rhett mumbled.

The evening went on without a hitch. Dinner was decent and you joined in on a few conversations. Rhett’s speech was wonderful and informative about the cattle business. He looked good on stage but you knew he was nervous. He made his way back to you, smiling slightly.

“Come dance with me, honey,” he spoke lowly.

“Let me go freshen up a bit,” you squeaked, rushing to the bathroom. Your nerves were getting the best of you. It was just a dance. A quick dance and you’d be heading home. Nothing more.

You made your way back to the ballroom, catching Rhett’s eyes and you trembled slightly at the heat that formed there. A slow song started just as you made your way to the dance floor.

His large hand engulfed yours as his other splayed on the low of your back. You could smell his cologne as he pulled you close to him. You felt a piece of paper in your right palm as Rhett swayed the two of you around.

“What’s that?”

“You can read it when we’re done dancin’,” Rhett drawled, looking down at you. Even with you in heels, his frame still towered over you.

The song ended too quickly for your liking and Rhett was called over to a table filled with older gentlemen, leaving you standing in the middle of the floor. The crumpled napkin had been left in your hand and you spread it out to read the note.

Meet me at the staircase by the piano - R

You gasped slightly and looked around, meeting Rhett’s eyes as he chatted with the group he was with. He was expressionless but there was a fire in his eyes again. One that made your body react and you tried not to squeeze your thighs together in front of everyone there. You made your way back to your table to drink the rest of your drink, a little liquid courage, before you made your way to the staircase.

You stood there for what felt like ages but in reality was only a few minutes. You bounced on your feet, nerves building every second that passed.

“Hey, you,” Rhett’s voice called from behind you, approaching you with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” you responded, feeling awkward.

Rhett pulled a key from his pocket. A hotel room key. Room 475 engraved in the key tag.

“You can say no. You can tell me to fuck off. You can quit-“

“Yes,” the answer came without a beat.

“Yeah?” His eyebrows raised slightly, a small smirk forming on his thin lips.

“You have no idea how bad I want you, Rhett,” you confessed, breathless.

Rhett let out a desperate noise as he reached for you and crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head. You moaned wantonly as his tongue expertly licked into your mouth. You should go upstairs, should stop before anyone sees you.

“Rhett, we should- we need to-“

“Yeah… Yeah.”

His hand linked with yours as he pulled you to the elevator, not wasting time pushing you inside and against the wall, the railing digging into your lower spine a bit uncomfortably. His lips reconnected with yours, a low grunt escaping his throat.

“So fucking beautiful,” he muttered, lips barely leaving yours. Hands explored your body, gripping at your soft hips and thighs, circling around to grab handfuls of your ass. The touch caused you to arch your body towards his, back bowing as he traveled higher and started palming your breast.

“I’ve thought about this - thought about you - for longer than I’d like to admit,” Rhett spoke, deep voice rattling in his chest. “Makes me feel like a dirty old man.”

You just whined pathetically, gripping at his lapels to anchor yourself. You were about to grind against the thigh that had pushed its way between your thighs but the high pitched ding of the elevator caused you to jump apart. Moving so fast, you would have thought you had been electrocuted.

A little old lady walked into the elevator, not missing the way you and Rhett looked disheveled. It was blatantly obvious what you were just doing. Rhett cracked a smile at her, nodding his head in her direction. Your chest was still heaving and your knees felt shaky.

She only went up two floors, a quick ride that felt like an eternity. Rhett’s pinky brushed against your hand where it rested on the rail, the small touch sending shocks through you.

“Have a nice evenin, ma’am,” Rhett said sickeningly sweet and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh at the look she threw his way as she exited the lift.

Your stop was next and nerves bubbled in your stomach at what was about to happen.

Silence surrounded you and Rhett now as you walked to the room. Not a word was spoken as he unlocked the door and made his way inside. You stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, wringing your hands together as you looked toward the wooden floor.

Rhett tossed his jacket haphazardly onto the floor, approaching you slowly. Giving you the chance to run. It reminded you of a lion stalking a gazelle before it pounced. His calloused hands rubbed the length of your arms before his touch brushed the side of your neck, eventually cupping your face. A rough thumb caressed your cheekbone.

“Darlin’, look at me. Please,” Rhett spoke quietly, as if not to scare you. You continued to look down, which caused him to pinch your chin and lift your gaze to him. “Are you sure about this? We can- we don’t have to-“

“No. No, I want to. I have for a while. A long, long while.”

“Good,” he said, coming out an octave lower and his eyes landed on your red covered lips. His thumb ran across the pout of your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. “I want to devour you.”

A shaky breath escaped you before you wrapped your lips around his thumb, sucking softly on the digit.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

You stood there for a moment, his thumb in your mouth and your eyes locked on each other. It made tensions rise tenfold. You pulled away with a ‘pop’, a trail of saliva following in its wake.

Impatience got the best of you as you started clawing at his tie and shirt buttons, nearly sending them flying through the room. Rhett chuckled at your huffy breaths of frustration as you yanked on his clothing. You threw the tie behind you, his shirt was shoved off his shoulder and into the chair next to the door. His belt made a loud clink as it hit the window.

“Easy, girl. Don’t destroy the room. Or my clothes,” Rhett teased, stopping your hasty movements. You finally took the chance to pause and look at the man standing before you. Hairy chest on full display. The dark hair traveled down in a continuous line all the way down to the waist of his pants. His soft stomach and love handles made your mouth water.

“You’re so- fuck, Rhett. You’re so sexy,” you said.

“My turn.” He untied the neck of your dress slowly, taking his time pulling the bow loose. He turned you so your back was to him, unzipping you unhurriedly. You let the dress fall to your feet as you turned to face him again, leaving you in your lingerie and high heels.

“My god. Look at you.” Rhett took in the sight of you. Black lace left little to the imagination.

Things moved in a blur after that. You nearly tripped over your own feet as you tried to remove the heels and he almost ripped your bra as he unclasped it with one hand. He tossed it aside and you tried not to giggle as it landed on the lampshade of the lamp that sat on the bedside table.

The edge of the bed knocked against the back of your knees as he pushed you softly so you landed on your back, bouncing on the mattress slightly. He stood between your spread thighs, undoing the button of his slack and pushing them down, revealing the tight black boxers he wore underneath.

You let out a quiet whine as your eyes traveled down his torso and stopping at the large bulge that was confined by the cotton. Even in the low lighting, you could see a small wet spot from the precum.

Large hands massaged your inner thighs as he spread them apart even farther, causing a slight burn in your muscles. He groaned at the sight of your barely clothed cunt. Rhett fell to his knees swiftly and delved into you without warning. Expert licks moved against your wetness through the thin lace, which had been quickly ripped away. His nose bumped against your bundle of nerves as his tongue explored your folds.

His long fingers soon joined his ministrations, finding that spongy spot inside of you in a matter of seconds. You’d question how he did that later. As of now, you tried to control your shaking limbs as he pushed you higher and higher towards your peak. Scratchy stubble rubbed against you, causing a delicious burn.

He stuck true to his word and devoured you, not leaving one part of you undiscovered.

Rhett’s lips wrapped around your clit and started sucking softly, tongue flicking against the bud. You trembled beneath him and your back bowed off the mattress, bucking against his mouth. A strong arm slung itself over your middle, keeping you pinned to the bed.

Your hands gripped his locks tightly, tugging hard when his tongue sped up.

“Rhett. Oh, Rhett. Fuck. Daddy!” It didn’t take much for your moans to become near screams and for galaxies to explode behind your eyelids as you came against Rhett’s face. Your body was jerking involuntarily as you traveled down from your high. Rhett placed feather light kisses against you before pulling away, hair sticking up in places and his face covered in your release.

He traveled up your body and kissed you soundly, the tangy taste of your desire mixing with something so Rhett made you both moan into each other’s mouths.

“Lay back, sweetheart. Gonna take care of you,” Rhett said quietly. You made yourself comfortable against the soft pillows as Rhett stretched you in preparation for his cock. “Damn pillow princess,” he joked. It made you smile.

He had three thick fingers inside of you before you stopped him.

“Stop! Please! I- I wanna come with you inside me,” you pleaded, gripping his wrist. He nodded and pulled his fingers out fleetingly.

You blindly shoved at his boxers and he clumsily kicked them off the end of the bed, his hard cock slapping against his lower stomach. Fuck, he was big.

Rhett pulled back and sat on his knees, gripping the base of his dick and placing it on your stomach.

“Look, baby. You think you can take me? Think you can handle daddy’s cock?”

“Please! Please, fuck me. Need it. Need you. Please!” You begged, lifting your hips and causing the leaking head to brush against your already sensitive clit. You simultaneously let out a loud moan. He rubbed himself through your folds, teasing you and him both.

“Wait, hold on.” Rhett pulled away and searched for his trousers, pulling his wallet out and rummaging through it. He pulled out a foil wrapper and ripped it with his teeth. You had never seen anything sexier.

“Can I do it?” You asked shyly, propping yourself up on your elbows. He handed the condom to you and kept eye contact as you rolled the latex down his length carefully. He was heavy in your hand.

You laid back once more, a trembling breath escaping your mouth as he lined up with your entrance. Even with his prepping, it was still a stretch. The slight burn caused you to hiss and dig your nails into his biceps. He took a break between each inch, time passing slowly as he made small thrusts. He eventually bottomed out, a broken moan coming from his chest as you squeezed around his length.

You stayed like that for a moment, both breathing heavily as his forearms caged you in.

“Daddy. Move. Please,” you whined, fingers moving tangle in the curls at the base of his neck. He slowly pulled out, nearly all the way, before thrusting back into you, the girth and length of him touching places you’d never been able to reach before. It started slow, he was allowing you to get accustomed to him.

However, it didn’t take long before his thrusts became a little rougher. His hands now were placed a the top of your head as he put his body weight into his movements, grunts escaping him with each pass, your high pitched breaths matching him.

“So tight. Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for it. Made for me. All mine, all mine,” Rhett rambled. The headboard started to smack against the wall slightly as he pounded into you. You couldn’t breathe. You were approaching a feeling you had never felt before. Your brain was becoming fuzzy and your ears were beginning to ring.

“Da-daddy. M’gonna- I’m almost there,” you squealed as a particularly harsh thrust hit your g-spot.

“C’mon, sweet baby. Come for daddy,” his deft fingers started rubbing your swollen clit in tight circles and you let out a scream as your release washed over you. Rhett continued fucking into you until he pushed deep inside you and threw his head back towards the ceiling, filling the condom with his own release.

He collapsed on top of you, full body weight covering you like a blanket. You felt like were floating. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed against Rhett’s back, his skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. You stayed silent for a while, both trying to catch your breaths as you came down. He eventually pulled out of you slowly, causing you to wince. He discarded the condom and went to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth and a glass of water.

You were quiet as he took care of you, smiling softly as he pulled you to sit up and take a few sips of water. You had never been cared for like this after sex. It made your chest constrict. You moved under the covers and waited for Rhett to follow suit. He immediately pressed his warm body against your own, pulling you tight to his chest.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said with a slight giggle.

“I can’t believe it took us this long,” Rhett retorted, fingers dancing along your spine.

You both laughed a little before it fell silent once again.

“Rhett?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“What does this make us?” You asked as you ran your fingers through the thick chest hair.

“Well… I think this means you’ll be sleeping in my bed when we get home. But don’t call HR on me.”

“You are HR, Rhett. Seriously, though. Are we like-“

“I want you to be my girl. I have spent the past several months falling in love with you. And I know it’s soon, but damn it, darlin’. You’ve stolen my heart,” Rhett confessed, his words causing your eyes to well with tears.

“Rhett… I- I love you, too.”

“The girls are going to be excited. They’ve been begging me to ask you to be my girlfriend since you moved in.”

“They’re trouble, I swear,” you laughed, snuggling closer to your man.

“They’re the reason I have all of this gray hair.”

“Yeah, but it’s hot. Very… very… very hot,” you responded, emphasizing the T. You giggled as he rolled over on top of you and started kissing against your neck playfully.

You kissed each other softly in the dark until you fell asleep holding each other tight. And when the sun rose in the morning, a new beginning would be awaiting you.

tagging those who may be interested:

@ryebecca @whisperofsong @floydsmuse @laracrofted @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @hangmanapologist @sebsxphia @bobfloydsbabe @callsign-magnolia @attapullman

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott au #dilf rhett 4 ever <3 #rhett x babysitter #rhett abbott fanfic

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thelakesuite · 1 month

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The Rusty Lake Story in Bitchass Baby Terms

this is ALL off the top of my head (and i haven't experienced like 10% of it maybe?) so i might be wrong but i don't care right now

the lake itself isn't, like, that well established 'cause it's a mystery game or something so we don't need full exposition. it's some deity-like thing as old as the mammoths (not canon) that eats time. or rather memories that are stored in lil cubes. and it gives its zookeepers immortality so they can keep feeding it. they call themselves the Rulers of the Lake but we all know the truth. 'immortality', or rather enlightenment, is represented by you becoming your fursona and living maybe an extra century. mr. owl's looking for a new heir pretty quick in the process but we'll get to that.

corrupted souls are kinda a byproduct of all this. truly the lake's farts. when a person dies horribly, when their memories get extracted wrong, or when the plot demands it, they become corrupted. corrupted souls still talk, and some of them are even sensible (like your mom oooooh), but generally they're jumpscare beasts or wet little puppies. sometimes both. yes you can get corrupted when you're enlightened, and right now it's the more likely outcome actually. there's a whole 'elixir of immortality' that gets harped on, where one drinker gets corrupted and the other gets enlightened, but that is literally only a thing for roots and a little bit of cave so don't worry about it too much. unless you're making dramatic fanart in which case leverage that shit.

cubes come up a lot in cube escape, believe it or not! black ones are bad memories, white ones are good memories, blue ones are connected to the past in a way that's somehow not a memory, gold ones are connected to the future, red ones only exist in my fangame that ellesian recently unearthed, and green ones are jello yum. also suck it anyone who told me pre-tpw the gold cube thing was unestablished. anyway. it was a big thing mr.'s owl and crow were working on, creating a golden cube (presumably to extend their own lives) as seen in cave, but then one just kinda appears in the past within when albert does electric jujitsu. jury is still out on that.

onto the actual narrative i think.

in paradise, you're mr. owl pre-owling (1790-something). the lake's current suckass servants are your family who tried to sacrifice you to it way back, but your mom took your place for mom reasons. now mom's corrupted and guiding you to... well, to get sacrificed for real this time. but with your powers combined (yes mr. owl was two people, no it is never addressed) you get enlightened and tell your family to fuck off 'cause you're building a hotel on that island now. you also get a tease in the secret ending that dale and laura will do a similar fusion dance to be the lake's next suckass. we've been waiting 6 years for that to happen.

in roots, two alchemist brothers get that elixir shit going (1860-1935). one of them becomes mr. crow, while the other becomes a playable character for a game. and corrupted. you rope your whole bloodline into this, harvesting their body parts (usually after they die from other means, but you totally caused most of their deaths) for a reincarnation ritual involving a magic seed (that also only exists for this game). this is where the best characters come from because rusty lake actually wanted to tell a story with this game. you reincarnate into a woman! don't think about the implications.

in samsara room, the inside scoop of reincarnation is fuckin' weird, dude (1935). the original was made before rusty lake began, so it's not truly part of the narrative, but it got folded in for the fifth anniversary.

in hotel, you do not get the backstory of the third bird man (1890ish). instead, you get to kill mr. owl's family again, but one-on-one as animal people. how did they become animal people? fuck you that's how! mr. owl probably did it on purpose to spite them with shit sandwiches and bullets to the brain. oh, also, there might be an evil twin of mr. rabbit that shows up later.

in arles, you're vincent van gogh. that's it. he's not relevant. but it is funny seing the death date of paul gauguin in the timeline docs.

we're talking about the past within later but the 'past' segment takes place around here. 1926 iirc?

in birthday, your parents get shot (1939). you're going to be an important detective, dale, but like right now you're getting traumatized. or rather you're experiencing that memory, then doing blue cube magic to fix it and have your grandpa shoot evil mr. rabbit instead. is your grandpa actually mr. crow? no. shut up about it now.

in underground blossom, your mom gets abducted (1935-1972 maybe). okay, well, not you. this is the laura backstory metaphor game but you're actually playing as the third bird man who is both her stepdad and her pet. and her grandpa albert takes her mom rose for his own nefarious reincarnation schemes maybe probably. rose is surprisingly okay with it but characters rarely put up a fight with the plot anyway. laura's a lonely kid, starts dating robert, picks up art to soothe her nightmares, gets murked, then reaches some kind of epiphany that we just train ride away from before finding out what actually happens. she's your daughter, damnit, you should support her transcendence. not enlightenment importantly. also, no, laura's life didn't literally happen at train stops, it's just a vehicle. not even a pun don't fucking laugh i see you snickering.

in seasons, you set up a really interesting plotline that gets utterly countered by everything that came after (1960's-80's). it's just laura time in there, and she uncorrupts herself, thank you very much. the series has been struggling with how laura gets her corrupted self to 1980-whatever, and so far only one other game's even taken place after 1972. and that game's the past within which also counters every other plotline. sigh. maybe we're not smart enough for these puzzle games. at least harvey's cute and bird-shaped. key point that's impossible to fuck up is that laura dies in 1972, and it's unclear whether it was a murder or suicide. that's why we get a detective.

in harvey's box and the lake, uh i don't know really (1969). these are early games that are basically spinoffs of seasons. they help with the overarching stuff but aren't much for the narrative at this point. also they suck

in case 23, dale starts investigating laura's death and gets wrapped up in the lake stuff (1972). it was supposed to be just another murder case, but he got too into it and it got too into him, so he gets teleported to the lake chapel and ferried off to. somewhere idk. he goes into an elevator that takes him down memory lane to the lake floor.

in the mill, mr. crow is really trying to clean house before dale gets here (1972). this is where laura gets her ass corrupted by mr. crow, and we find out how the lake eats memories or whatever. it's supposed to overlap with case 23 and it almost succeeds. whatever skrunk is still there is forgiveable, this was the flash era after all.

in theatre, dale learns about ripoff hinduism, goads a man into suicide, and abandons his darling toilet fetus son (1971). it's like birthday again, where this is a memory we're seeing, but that is a light distinction. robert kills himself at the bar, and we take his memories for legal reasons. there's some sixfold wheel we learn about that doesn't matter much.

in the cave, mr. crow still cleans house before dale gets to the Magic Memory Machine (1972). mr. owl's kinda sorta dying, and dale's been elected his son or something. gotta get his mindmeats. you read a textbook about cubes, pilot a submarine to the lakefloor, put dale and laura in a surrogate fusion dance machine, then give dale the golden cube it makes before sending him up the elevator again. hotel did imply something serious was gonna happen when he gets to the top, but that was eight years ago. the devs probably forgot and fell too in love with albert vanderboom in the meantime.

in the white door, robert unkills himself and gets wrong psychiatry (1972). as it turns out, mr. owl has a front business running a for-profit psych ward to extract totally good and healthy memories from people. this one is an actual factual spinoff but is kinda relevant for the greater rusty lake metropolitan area.

in paradox, fuuuuuuuck who knows maaaan, isn't it all just a metaphor? (1972). there's a consensus that none of the stuff that happens in paradox actually happens, and that it's all in dale's head while he's in the Magic Memory Machine from cave. even though there's five different endings, he kinda walks away at the end, which might be the worst ending of the lot. the information's solid though; mr. owl spells out the whole heir thing, there's bits of backstory for dale and laura everywhere. also the movie's sick.

in the past within, albert becomes a mechanical engineer for the sole purpose of making plot armor (1926/1984). yeah, remember that guy from roots? the voodoo murderer who got third-hand alchemy information to make up for his lack of pussy? yeah, he invented a time machine decades ago. and he enlisted his daughter to talk to her past/future self to grow him back to life in 1984. with a gold cube that he somehow got. and somehow his scar is genetically coded in him. and we don't see his wiggly lineart dick. what does he do in 1984? trap his daughter in a time loop then who the fuck knows. he's stuck in his jumpscare beast ways from being corrupted for so long. how did he get corrupted when he was literally buried in the ground and salvaged bones from? next game!

there's an ARG that i never saw a thing of because i hated it, best kept memory. from what i gathered, it was another front scheme for memory harvesting, except in the 2000's. does that mean it's enlightened dale/laura doing this one, since mr. owl presumably passed on the title then turned into a fish? i'd like to know too!

also, a chapter of underground blossom i haven't completed, and a paper-based game coming out within the next two years or whatever. i don't know how much they'll clear up.

toodles!

#rusty lake #basically the cube escape era set up this 1972 arc without actually concluding it #and each of the steam titles have been more distinct stories while still playing to the overall plotline #kinda like spinoffs of spinoffs #a lot of us old folk are bitter that we still haven't resolved 1972 and there isn't much focus with the recent games #like they do just enough building on each other to make it irritating they aren't doing more. especially compared to the cube escapes

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the-lonelybarricade · 8 months

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Queen of Thieves - Chapter 5

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

Dedicating this chapter to @kcladylotus 💕

Read on AO3 ・Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

Feyre watched Rhysand carefully stir his tea.

There was an unnerving precision to the way he moved, like even the dark circles rippling across the steaming surface possessed some hidden meaning she was supposed to uncover. He was staring at her, violet eyes expectant, sensuous mouth smug.

They were sat in the High Lord’s personal study—though study was such a mundane, meager word for the multi-level room complete with two sitting areas, a mammoth desk piled neatly with books and paperwork, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on nearly every wall. Feyre didn’t doubt they were meticulously organized, though the spines close enough to decipher were just a blur of symbols and letters to her.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked.

Morning light filtered through one of the tall windows on the second level, casting gold over his handsome features. She could see the undertones of blue in his hair, and the flecks of silver in his irises, reflecting like mischievous stars. It was ridiculous, Feyre thought. High Lord of the Night Court, and even the sun strived to flatter him.

“I slept fine,” she said. If he wanted her to acknowledge that she’d fallen asleep on him, if that was the reason he looked so pleased with himself as he continued stirring his tea, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Is there a reason you summoned me here?”

She’d known, of course, that the High Lord’s games with her hadn’t ended at dinner. The bargain pledged her to his service for a full day, so it was no surprise that Nuala and Cerridwen had woken her up at dawn. The High Lord clearly intended to seize every moment he’d been promised. And she supposed she should be relieved she was asked to meet here, in the decidedly unprovocative study, rather than in his bedroom. She’d half expected a request to deliver him breakfast in bed, so this… this was a relief. Even if his smile made her feel as though she’d fallen into a viper den.

“We’re going to work on your daemati abilities,” he said, setting down the spoon. There was no sound, but Feyre watched the polished wooden table between them ripple beneath his touch, like it too was made of liquid. She blinked, and the wood was again rigid. Ordinary.

It was so strange that his words took a moment to settle in. Then she looked up at the High Lord, startled to find that his eyes locked on hers with such intensity that she resisted the urge to shrink back.

Feyre asked warily, “Working on them how?”

“Two things,” he said, holding up his pointer and middle finger. “First, your mental shield is sloppy. You need to work on reinforcing it so that people like me,” he emphasized his words with a sharp caress of talons against the edge of her mind, “can’t barge in whenever they please. Second, you must learn how to protect yourself when venturing into someone else’s mind.”

“Don’t bother,” Feyre said, crossing her arms. “Don’t go into someone’s mind if they have a shield—lesson learned.”

Rhysand raised a brow and shifted back into the sapphire velvet sofa, crossing one leg over the other as he took a long sip of his tea. “You misunderstood,” he said, setting the cup back on the ornate saucer he held aloft. “These are not suggestions, Feyre.”

She tilted her chin at the shift in his voice. It wasn’t sharp. Nor threatening. But there was an edge to it, lethal as the side of a playing card.

“If that’s how you want to spend your time with me, High Lord, then fine. I anticipated I’d be spending more time on my knees.”

“With a sharp mouth like that?” He chuckled. “My fingers are the most I’d risk going near those pretty teeth. But if you want to make this more entertaining, Feyre, we certainly can.”

He set down his cup and saucer, and only the tea rippled this time. Where had the tea even come from? There wasn’t a teapot in sight, though someone as powerful as the High Lord could likely wave his hands and conjure it himself.

Feyre snorted internally. How nice of him to offer her a cup. Maybe it was all part of his game.

“More entertaining for you, maybe.”

He smirked in a way that told her she’d made this infinitely worse for herself. In the back of her mind, some residual human instinct hissed at her to just go along with whatever he wanted to make this as easy and painless as possible. Feyre knew that’s what she should be doing, and yet… and yet she couldn’t resist pushing back against him at every avenue, yanking back on her chain just to see how much give she was allowed.

“I think I could ensure that it’s plenty entertaining for the both of us,” he purred.

In a fluid movement, he rose from the sofa. She couldn’t help noticing how his powerful legs flexed beneath his close-fitting trousers, even as she tensed in preparation for whatever he was about to do.

Rhysand stepped away from their sitting area, striding on graceful feet toward the wrought-iron spiral staircase to the left of the entrance. “You like a bargain, don’t you, Feyre?”

She was grateful that his back was turned so he couldn’t see how her face heated as her gaze dropped to the ink on her arm, visible through her long, pale blue gossamer sleeve. Feyre clenched her fists, refusing the urge to tuck her arm out of sight. She would not be ashamed of what she needed to do to survive.

People like him would never understand. People who lived in houses like this, with staircases in their study that they could perch themselves on oh so smugly, stretching their irritatingly long legs to the floor. Feyre glared at him as his knees spread open in a silent, obscene invitation.

“Let’s make another bet.”

She’d already entered into one fool’s bargain.

“No.”

He offered her a mock pout. “You haven’t even heard the terms.”

“I don’t need to,” she said, gesturing to the whorls of ink on her forearm. “I’ve already learned that you don’t make wagers unless they’re already fixed in your favor.”

“And of those markings on your arm, how many were fixed in yours?”

All but one. All but his.

Feyre wouldn’t dare admit to it, but they were alike in that way. A level playing field wasn’t enough, not when the risk of losing was so high. Losing meant another day without eating, so Feyre found ways to ensure she would always win, even if that meant cheating or lying or stealing. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t fair, or honest. Or good. Not when she knew the people she was playing against would be using their every possible advantage, too.

Especially the High Lord, who was grinning at her like he’d been there to witness every game she’d ever fixed, like he knew her every trick. There was an underlying humor in the way he clicked his tongue.

“I see you don’t appreciate when the tables are turned on you for a change.” He slid his hands into his pocket. “Have it your way, then, Feyre. If you don’t want to influence the terms, then there will be no bargains. Instead, I’ll tell you precisely how this will go, and you’ll have no choice but to play along.” He cocked his head to the side. Feyre straightened as those talons scraped against her mind, and he purred, “We’re going to play a game called real or not real.”

Whatever he wanted to do to her. Those were the terms. She had to clench her teeth to stop herself from outright refusing him. Even if she refused, the bargain would force her to comply anyway. She might as well preserve her pride.

“That’s it,” he murmured, sensing the waver in her defiance as his shadowed claws caressed and stroked the outskirts of her mind. Then, faster than she knew how to defend, his magic lashed out, shattering her shield as if it were little more than glass. His talons gripped her, digging in hard enough to still her breath. “Now the rules are very simple, Feyre. I’m going to ask you a series of simple questions. Each time you answer wrong, you’re going to step closer to me.”

Feyre had never been on the receiving end of someone entering her mind. Was this what it felt like, all those times she had slipped into the minds of drunken males? They had never seemed to notice, but this… this was dominating. Every muscle, every breath, every pump of blood now yielded to Rhysand’s command. And his hands were still in his damn pockets.

She wouldn’t ask what would happen if she answered enough questions incorrectly to make it to the staircase. From the way he’d spread his legs, it seemed he was changing his mind at his refusal to see Feyre on her knees.

Look at you, he crooned. So pretty like this Feyre. You can feel your heart rushing, can’t you? I can practically see it leaping in that beautiful throat of yours. Tell me, is it really beating so thunderously, or is that something I just told you to believe?

She could feel her beating fast. Not only that, she could hear it roaring in her ears. Was that something that Rhysand was making her imagine? It couldn’t be. She pressed a hand to her chest, and her heart rose frantically to meet her touch. Feyre was inclined to believe it would always beat fast so long as Rhysand was in the room.

“Real,” she said.

He grinned. “Very good Feyre. That thunderous mortal heart is hardly my doing. It’s been beating like that since the moment I met you in the alleyway. Skittish little thing, you are.”

“Prick,” she said.

“Prick I may be. But you’ll be thanking me if you ever encounter another daemati who tries to implant this pretty mind with falsities. Now. There’s a golden thread connecting us together. It’s faint, but you can feel it tugging, can’t you?”

As if to illustrate, she felt that same amused tug that had pulled at her in the bathing room the night before. Its force was strong enough, now, to make her breath hitch.

“Real?” Rhys asked. “Or just my mind playing tricks on you?”

Golden thread, her ass. She knew that pull was from one of his talons. “It’s a trick,” she said flatly.

“Wrong.” Acting of its own accord, Feyre’s body sat up and lifted from the sofa. Her movements were stiff, unnatural. A puppet being pulled at the strings as she pivoted towards the staircase and took one large step towards a grinning Rhysand. “We’re connected now, Feyre. Through the magic of our bargain.”

“I’ve made lots of bargains before yours.”

“Yes.” His eyes slid over her tattooed arm. His smile curbed. “But all of those bargains were transactions of coin—quickly fulfilled. You’ve threaded your life to my will for an entire day. That kind of magic is powerful.”

There was an air of admonishment in his voice. As the youngest of three sisters, Feyre could guess when someone was trying to teach her a lesson. She flashed her teeth. “What’s your point?”

“My point, Feyre, is that you have been reckless. Playing with magic that you don’t fully understand. Those headaches you sometimes wake up to. Real or fake?”

The answer was so obvious that she wasn’t going to respond.

He pressed harder, as if he could pry the words into existence.

Real or fake, Feyre?

“Real,” she snarled. “And what does it matter to you?”

“You are going to destroy yourself if you don’t learn how to control it.”

Who? She wanted to scream. Who could have taught me about any of this? I have just been trying my best to survive.

“You have me to teach you. You can sense that I mean you no harm. That my offer is genuine. Real or not real?”

What did he want out of this? What did he stand to gain? Feyre couldn’t understand his games, or his motives, but she knew she wasn’t afraid of him. Not nearly as much as she should be after watching him slaughter his captain without blinking. Last night, she’d felt comfortable enough in his presence to fall asleep in his lap. But was that calm, that sense of rightness, something he’d planted in her mind, the same way she’d convinced the tavern keeper not to raise the price of their rent?

“Not real,” she said.

“Wrong answer.”

She took one long step, then another. Just a few more, and she’d be perched in front of the High Lord.

“And that thrill in your chest, Feyre,” he said, his eyes holding that same dangerous gleam they’d had at the tavern, before he trapped her in this bargain. “That excitement you feel as you contemplate exactly what I might do to you once you’re between my legs. Is that real?”

Feyre knew what he wanted her to say—to confess. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Even if that meant taking a step closer and damning herself to whatever devious plan he had in mind.

“Not real,” she said, and he laughed.

“I’m beginning to think you’re answering incorrectly on purpose.”

She swallowed, saying nothing as her body yielded another three steps. Her toe hit the bottom stair. Rhysand lounged before her, feet planted on either side of her legs, elbows tucked casually on the step behind him.

Slowly, he pushed up, rising until his face was an inch from her stomach. Feyre tried to stumble backward, but her legs and shoulders locked, leaving her defenseless to the broad hands that curved over and around her thighs.

“And your arousal? I suppose you think that’s my doing as well.”

“It’s all fake,” she insisted. “There’s no truth wound in this magic. You can move my body regardless of what I say.”

“But that scent,” Rhysand purred. He took a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t fake that, can I, darling?”

Could he? Feyre didn’t know what to believe, which of her senses were capable of betraying her while those talons hooked her mind.

Rhysand exhaled, and the air danced lightly over the section of midriff left exposed from her low-hanging trousers. It was a deceptively soft breath, for the havoc it wreaked inside her, like a tender breeze had slipped past her skin and become a typhoon in her stomach, flipping and tumbling until she wasn’t certain she would be able to stand were it not for his hold on her. Was that the work of a daemati or just the sheer force of his proximity?

His voice was a dark rumble as he mused, “I wonder which will bow to me first. Your body, or your pride.”

“Neither,” she said, flashing her teeth.

An empty threat, considering her attempt to thrash against his magic was little more than a kitten batting at his leg. He grinned like it was immensely satisfying to watch her struggle. She could hear the amusement practically dripping from his every word as he cooed, “What’s your next move then, Feyre?”

Real or not real, real or not real, real or—

It didn’t matter. If she could just break out of his hold. She wouldn’t need to answer him or play this stupid game any longer.

“Go to hell.”

“Come now,” he said with a tut. “For ten thousand marks, it’s a fairly straightforward question to answer, no? Do you think the ache building between those delectable thighs is real or something of my diabolical invention?”

If he touched her, she knew the evidence would be damning. Even so, she snarled, “Not real, you stupid prick.”

He smiled. “Wrong answer, Feyre.”

To further the taunt, he spread his legs wider, and she tried not to study the muscles straining against the fabric of his trousers. Feyre expected this was where she would be dropping to her knees, and she’d been so braced to kneel before him that she nearly yelped when her body jostled forward instead, onto the first step, then the next.

Rhysand leaned back on the stairs, face nothing short of delighted as he watched her step carefully over his body and come to a trembling halt on the same step where he rested his head. Slowly, as if his magic truly needed to brace her entire weight, Feyre lowered to her knees, arms shooting out for balance as her body hovered just over the High Lord’s face.

She could no longer see his expression, but his shameless glee still carried in his voice. “What did you say about spending more time on your knees?”

Cauldron. He was so close she could feel each of the words vibrating in his chest before he spoke them. So close that if he lifted his head a fraction higher, his mouth would brush over the seam of her cunt.

“This is a magnificent view, by the way,” he said. “I wonder, Feyre. If I pulled these garments off, would you be wet for me?”

Feyre took that to be a rhetorical question. With his head practically buried between her thighs, the scent of her dripping arousal had to be smothering. Rhysand placed a hand at the top of her leg, fingers curling inwards. She bit her inner cheek, feeling every muscle in her body tighten in response to his warm touch.

“You’re thinking about what it would be like to feel my tongue on you.”

She shut her eyes, trying not to imagine it. She knew he would take his time, slowly unraveling her sanity with the same methodical calculation he’d used to get her in this position in the first place. But would he come undone, just a little, too? Would his eyes flutter shut at the taste of her—would he moan, like he couldn’t help himself?

Feyre clawed her fingernails into the marble step. “Get out of my head,” she gasped.

You let me into it, he said, craning his neck to run his nose against her inner thigh. Practically invited me with those shields down. Did you want me to listen to all of your filthy thoughts about me? If you’re so curious about the noises I’d make eating you out, I’d be more than happy to demonstrate.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “It’s not real.”

What’s not real? He nuzzled the junction between her hip and leg. The wetness between your thighs? Or maybe the stone beneath your palms?

What? She blinked, her vision blurring for a moment, where she swore the marble rippled beneath her fingertips. Rippled like the tea, and the wooden table, and the ocean far beneath the cliff face. She felt like she was tipping over that edge now, already feeling the air rise to meet her.

“Could it be the sound of my voice? Is that real, Feyre?”

No—no, no. Something was wrong here. Beyond the game, or the soft touches against her thigh. The stone at her knees didn’t ache. The sun streaming from the windows on the level above cast a strip of golden light along her tattooed arm. Its touch wasn’t warm, nor was the marble cold. The only sensation that Feyre could truly feel was the golden heat that spread through her body from Rhysand’s touch, ardent and gentle and—

Not real.

Feyre pushed against the stone, watching it ripple like she was staring at little more than a distorted reflection in a pond. She shook her head in a last, feeble attempt to dislodge the claws digging into her mind. If she pushed hard enough to unlatch one of them, another would take its place on the other side. There were too many of them—he was everywhere.

She was trapped inside her own head.

His laughter was low and soft, and didn’t come at all from the body beneath her. It shook through the walls, reverberated through the stone.

Well done, Feyre. Now how are you going to get out?

If she could move, she would throw herself over the iron railing in the hopes that the fall would jolt herself into her body. But his magic kept her pinned, straddling either side of his face.

You could give in, he suggested, voice a lover’s purr. Rest, and enjoy the remainder of the fantasy.

“It’s not my fantasy,” she snapped.

Isn’t it?

Temper boiling to the surface, Feyre slammed herself against the magic caging her. The recoil sent her teeth ringing, and stars sparked behind her eyes, but she did it again, thinking that if she just knocked against him enough times, she could force him out through brute determination. He may have been influencing the vision, but this was her mind. Her dream to control, to manipulate.

Feyre shut her eyes, thinking of the surface of the unruly ocean she’d spent a lifetime gazing across. A force of nature that could not be wielded or contained, even by a narcissistic High Lord. She imagined that she was that rising tide, building like a wave. Already, she could smell the sea spray and hear the cry of gulls, and she was certain if she opened her eyes, they would no longer be in a High Lord’s study, but on the cliffs of Velaris, where she so often dreamed of diving beneath the surface.

Good, Rhysand murmured.

Her nose curled. She didn’t care about his praise. She only wanted him out.

Feyre let the wave rise, building higher and higher until it was large enough to sweep them away. She took a gasping breath of air, opening her eyes in time to watch the peak curl into white foam, moments before it struck violently against the cliff.

A new claw seized her, this one icy and merciless. She yielded to its grip—so strong that the siege on her mind was forced to relent, his talons unable to keep her in their grasp as she was dragged down, down, down into the bleak depths of the winter sea.

When she next opened her eyes, it was to a wooden panel of a large, four-poster bed. The velvet curtains were pulled shut, keeping out any light or chance of telling the time.

Feyre rolled to her side with a small groan and yanked one of the curtains back. It was dark in the room, too. Someone had pulled the thick curtains over the large bay window, determined not to let an ounce of light disturb her slumber. Feyre shifted her legs over the edge, noting her bare skin peeking out of a nightgown she had no memory of changing into.

Work of the shadow wraiths? Or was it…

Movement caught in her peripheral, and Feyre turned, yelping as a pair of bright violet eyes met hers from the corner of the room.

Rhysand, lips curled in smug satisfaction, uncrossed the ankle he’d slung over his knee on the large armchair. “Good morning, Feyre. Sleep well?”

It could not only be morning.

“Well, we are pushing into the afternoon. But you looked like you were having such a pleasant dream. I wouldn’t dare wake you.”

Feyre turned, searching for the nearest item she could use to wipe that smirk off his face. She settled for a beaded throw pillow, hissing as she lobbed it at his head, “You’re a prick.”

“And you need to work on keeping your shields up when you sleep.” He caught the pillow easily, frowning at the purple beading. “And your aim, while we’re at it.”

It required every ounce of willpower not to flop back into the bed and scream into the leftover pillows. Or better yet, use them to practice her allegedly poor aim. She’d only just woken up, and the thought of enduring his company for the remainder of the bargain made her feel exhausted.

Ten thousand marks, she reminded herself. Her sisters would be able to go to bed in a room that they could comfortably stand up in. Nesta could buy a new book, and perhaps they could even find somewhere with a garden for Elain. For her sisters, she could do this.

“If I’d had nefarious intentions—”

“Nefarious intentions?” Her voice strained in disbelief. “You trapped me! You touched me.”

Rhysand shifted, elongating the shadows over his eyes. “Per our bargain, you’ve agreed I can do whatever I’d like to you, to start. But don’t forget, Feyre. I was in your head the entire time. I know precisely how you felt about what I was doing to you.”

Prick. Prick, prick, prick.

“Your shields are still down,” he added flatly. He lifted effortlessly from the chair, crossing the room with three brutal, elegant steps. Feyre leaned back slightly, wariness skittering across her spine as he drew close enough that she could smell the sea spray of the ocean on him. “And say what you’d like about me, Feyre. But this room is still suffocated in your arousal. That was no manipulation on my part.”

He stood to his full height, eyes still on hers. Feyre tilted her chin, refusing to look away.

At this, Rhysand released a soft, huffing laugh and shook his head. “Let the twins get you something to eat, then meet me in the study. Clearly, we have a lot to go over.”

Rhysand broke eye contact first, but there was no victory to be had in the way her eyes fixated on his back as he strode to the door. Unable to look away and equally unable to hold in her question. “Why bother to teach me anything at all?”

In a few hours, she’d take his money and set off with the resolve to never cross his path again. If he wanted a whore, she didn’t understand why he was wasting his time with… any of this. Unless the High Lord was confident they would be seeing each other again after their bargain was fulfilled.

The glance he offered her over his shoulder did nothing to stifle her growing apprehension. “Because I have plans for you, Feyre Archeron. And not all of them involve my head between your legs.”

Before the weight of that declaration could truly settle over her, Feyre blindly grabbed another pillow and hurled it towards the door. It hit the wood with a soft thud, and never had she felt such recognition in an object as when she watched the silk-encased feathers slide to the floor and slump forward, as though in defeat.

Rhys was waiting for her in his study, stirring a cup of tea with a mocking smile. Unlike in her dream, a teapot sat on the carved wooden table, steam still piping from its spout, with a spare cup and saucer already laid out for her.

His eyes gleamed as he watched Feyre turn her head, studying the chairs and bookshelves for any flaw, any indication that this, too, wasn’t real. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look towards the staircase.

“Is something familiar?” He asked with a lifted brow.

Feyre stalked to the nearest bookshelf and ran her fingers along the spines, waiting for the vision to warp and ripple. They remained firm, textured with stamped leather and metal clasps. She still couldn’t read their inscriptions, but even in the dream that hadn’t been unusual.

“Have you really read all of these,” she said, “Or do you just keep them in your study to look pretentious?”

From the lack of dust on the shelves, it was clear that the High Lord took pride in his collection. Though, to his credit, he did not rise to the jab. He merely fought a smile. “Not an avid reader, I take it.” When she said nothing, Rhysand nodded at the book beneath her fingertips. “Why don’t you grab that one. I think you’ll find the topic particularly… stimulating.”

She glared at the golden lettering on the spine, willing the indistinguishable blur of letters to jump out with any indication of the subject matter. It was something indecent if she had to guess, perhaps something within the realm of the erotic novels Nesta enjoyed, and Feyre’s face warmed at being unable to uncover the joke being made at her expense.

If he knew she couldn’t read, the mockery would only increase.

“I know you didn’t bring me here to read,” she said, dropping her hand. She pivoted on her heel, aiming for the sofa across from him, where that cup had been considerately placed for her.

Rhysand lifted the teapot, sparing her a sidelong glance for confirmation, before he poured the tea into her cup. “You’d be surprised how much studying is involved in the mastery of magic.”

“I’m not looking to master anything,” she said flippantly.

He added sugar and milk into her cup without confirming if that was her preference. Something he stole from her head, she wondered, or was he having her watched? She supposed Nuala and Cerridwen likely reported everything they observed back to him.

“Humor me,” he said, lifting the tea towards her.

Those eyes met hers, unnervingly steady. Feyre felt as though she were accepting far more than a cup of tea as she reached forward. Their fingers brushed, warm and lingering like she remembered in her dream. She fought a shiver and forced herself to sit up calmly, ignoring his surveillance as she pressed the hot rim to her lips. Swallowed.

The liquid burned down her throat, but it was preferable to the heat of that violet gaze, staring her down like he expected at any moment she might throw the scalding tea onto him. And maybe he was right to be wary, because she was certainly considering it.

Rhysand leaned back. With a flourishing wave of his hand, the book slid out of its space on the shelf, drifting towards them on a night-kissed wind.

“I didn’t always know how to control it, either. But I had people to help me, and access to resources like this.” The book flipped open, pages blurring as they rapidly turned over, before falling flat on a particular page. It landed in her lap, and she stared. Stared as if those lines of ink were supposed to be meaningful to her.

She looked up. “What do you get from all of this?”

“Just read it, Feyre.”

Her throat tightened. She glanced back down, studying those letters for all of a minute before she slammed the book shut. “I’m more of an experience-based learner myself.”

Rhysand frowned. She’d been hoping, with his tendency to rifle through her mind whenever he pleased, that physical practice would be more than appealing to him. A disconcerting silence settled over them as his eyes drifted considerately from Feyre to the book.

Her spine locked, watching his dawning realization as his pupils widened with clarity. She could not tell if it was horror, or anger, or pity hiding behind his expression, but regardless her stomach tightened into knots.

“You can’t read.”

It wasn’t a question, so Feyre didn’t answer it.

He ran a hand down his face. “I didn’t realize—”

“You think I didn’t exhaust all other options before I became a con-artist?”

Rhysand nodded like he was putting several things together, already recalculating his grand plan. “We’ll start there, then.”

“No.”

“Feyre—”

“No.”

“It’s an essential skill,” he argued.

“And with ten thousand marks, I can hire a tutor.”

Silence. They both knew it was the last thing she’d dedicate that money towards. First, a comfortable place to live. Access to food, plumbing, clean clothes. Reading was a luxury, one that sunk to the bottom of the Bharat sea with her father and the rest of their fortune. After that, it hadn’t felt like much of a priority. And it still didn’t.

She willed the steel adamant of his mental shields into the look she gave him, so that he knew this was an unflinching line in the sand. He could force her, but he would need to use the magic of their bargain to do it.

“I’m trying to help you, Feyre,” he said, softer now.

Help her, so that he could further his own agenda.

I have plans for you, Feyre Archeron.

Feyre briefly considered bartering with him. She could indulge his reading lessons if he agreed to reveal his true motive in teaching her. But if his plans required her ability to read, then maybe it was all the better to refuse, let him fix his interest on someone else. Someone more qualified for his aims.

He weathered her indignant stare for several more heartbeats, neither of them saying anything. Before he sighed.

“Fine,” he relented, shaking his head with open exasperation. “No reading lessons—for now.”

For now. She hated the underlying promise in those words.

“You want to learn through experience, Feyre? Then you’re going to practice raising and lowering your shield until it’s second nature.” He smirked. “Or rather, until you can do it in your sleep.”

Before she could summon a weapon from her arsenal of sharp words, Rhysand uncoiled to his feet and glanced towards a standing clock on the far wall.

“Four more hours of our bargain remain,” he said. “That seems an adequate amount of time to practice. I’ll be back by the end of it.”

“What?”

Rhysand was already striding toward the door, carelessly waving away her question with a simple, commanding, “Begin.”

True to his word, Rhysand left her alone for the remaining four hours. She had nothing more to do than raise and lower her shields as she watched the sky gradually darken beyond the windows on the second floor. It did give her time to explore, and she wandered his study to search every shelf, examining his trinkets like they might contain some invaluable secret about the High Lord. The papers on his desk were just that—undoubtedly containing important information, but none that was discernible to her. She opened his drawers, and the ones that weren’t locked contained nothing of startling interest. Stationary and writing utensils, the odd paperweight, a stamp with the night court insignia.

He likely wouldn’t have left her alone if there was anything truly valuable in the study. Not that she wouldn’t put it past him to be secretly observing her. With a hearty sigh, she settled at his desk, pulled out one of the pieces of blank parchment and a pot of ink, and began to draw as she passively raised and lowered her mental shields.

Feyre’s mind felt like sludge by the time he returned.

“Impressive,” he said, staring over her shoulder.

She’d drawn a series of panels—a sketch of Rhysand on the sofa, smirking in one panel, then frowning in the next, dripping from the teapot she’d ceremoniously dumped over his head.

Feyre hummed. “You got my fantasy all wrong in the dream, so I thought I’d draw you a diagram of what I truly desire.”

“And what you truly desire,” he purred, “Is me?”

“Covered in tea.”

His answering smile was undeterred. “You can have me covered in whatever you’d like, Feyre darling.”

She offered him a long-suffering look, her way of silently telling him that she’d like to indulge in that fantasy at this very moment. It would be so satisfying to wipe that stupid grin off his face with a cup of hot—

A talon scraped down her mental shield, testing its stability, and she threw all of her lingering willpower into reinforcing the black, glittering adamant keeping him out.

“Good,” he said, withdrawing his magic. “Make sure you keep them up before you go to bed tonight, or I might be tempted to crawl back inside that pretty mind and help you live through your other fantasies.”

Feyre scowled at him.

He huffed a laugh, extending his hand to her.

She regarded him carefully. “You’re… you’re taking me home?”

“Yes.”

She still didn’t take his hand. “The twenty-four hours are up?”

“Yes,” he said again, raising his brows at her scrutiny.

“And…” she still couldn’t quite believe it. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirmed.

Twenty-four hours as the High Lord’s plaything, and he hadn’t really done anything to her. There was the dream and his head between her thighs, but even then, he’d only gone far enough to tease, to taunt.

She didn’t understand it. He’d paid ten thousand marks for what?

“Where’s the money?” She asked, not seeing anything on him.

“No heartfelt goodbyes?” When she narrowed her eyes at him, he shrugged. “Where do you think I’ve been the last four hours? After everyone in the tavern overheard our bargain, I didn’t trust sending you back with a bag of coins. I’ve set up an account in your name. The money’s yours now.”

There was no reason to believe he was lying. The magic would force him to pay, one way or another. Tomorrow, she and her sisters would go to the bank and start a new life. For now… for now, she just wanted to get home before the High Lord changed his mind and decided he wanted more from her after all.

She took his hand. His fingers were cool, his grip sturdy. She noticed a scrape of calluses that hadn’t been apparent in her dream, and she wondered if he’d earned them during his years in the Illyrian Mountains.

Without another word, they were swallowed into darkness, and it was instinct to grab him as the world vanished beneath their feet. He pulled her closer, his arms becoming a warm, comforting weight across her back as they tumbled through the fabric of the world.

Then, their feet were again atop solid ground—wet from the nearby docks and the fishermen who’d spent the day carting nets of fresh fish to the restaurants on the other side of the Sidra. Rhysand didn’t move away, and nor did Feyre, gripping to him as she waited for the world to right itself.

He took the opportunity to murmur to her, “If you ever need extra coin, I’d be happy to buy another twenty-four hours with you, any time. Just say the word.”

She snorted. “Still ten thousand marks?”

The winnowing had torn some of her hair from the pins Nuala and Cerridwen had carefully placed. Rhysand reached up to tuck a strand behind her ear as if he couldn’t resist. “Only with the promise that I can do whatever I’d like to you.”

“And will that always exclude sex? Or were you just…” She waved inelegantly to his crotch. “Not in the mood?”

Rhysand chuckled. “I didn’t have sex with you, Feyre, because you entered that bargain convinced you would win. It may come as a surprise, but I enjoy my lovers as willing participants.” He leaned closer, lips brushing the same ear that his fingers had just caressed. His breath sent a shiver down her spine. “Make no mistake, Feyre. The next time you let me take you home, I’ll assume you’re consenting to more than practicing your magic.”

And with that, he smoothly released his grip and stepped back.

“See you soon, Feyre darling,” he said.

Before she could say anything more, he vanished. Feyre glared at the space he departed, sighing as she inwardly conceded that she was far, far over her head with the High Lord. And she had the creeping sense she was already entangled beyond ten thousand marks and a twenty-four-hour bargain.

Nesta was going to kill her.

#Queen of Thieves #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre

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