#a court of nightmares! Feysand smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tadpolesonalgae · 11 months

Note

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach drops when the switch places.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Please, stop.’

‘You can better than that.’ He growls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

��Make sure she knows who she serves.’

#poly!Feysand #Feysand x reader #[***]#Feysand smut #Feysand x reader smut #a court of nightmares #a court of nightmares! Feysand smut

229 notes · View notes

thesistersarcheron · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Feysand Rating: E Word Count: ~3.7k Summary: Every court has their own Great Rite with unique, ancient traditions. The Night Court’s priestesses have played coy with Rhysand since he inherited the throne last year about what imbuing the land with his power really means; all they tell him is that he is meant to spend the night in the Night Court’s mines while everyone else gets to attend the orgy without him. He doesn’t expect to find Feyre, a faerie made of crystal who leads him on a chase deeper and deeper into the mines as the Rite’s magic overcomes him. ———Check out Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, and Chapter 4 on tumblr, go to my masterlist for more, or read this fic on AO3 here.

“Pick one.”

The hand around Feyre’s waist tightened, and her mate’s lips grazed her temple.

Feyre shook her head, struck speechless, and tore her eyes—wide and awed—from the wall of crowns in front of her to glance, uncertain, at Rhys.

“I can’t just—take one.”

Her voice was breathless. Awed.

And she had been rendered so by the radiant, endless trove of jewels stretching out around her on all sides.

After a week in a palace made of moonstone atop the tallest of the southern mountains, Feyre thought little would have the ability to do that anymore. Jewels rarely impressed, anyway, and after experiencing the mating frenzy…

It had consumed her and Rhysand both, and they had surrendered to the seemingly endless pleasure it wrung from them gladly. The memory of the long, endless nights taking her fill of him left her weak in the knees and wanting.

And although Rhys’s scales and claws had receded back into the deep well of power within him after that first night, he had not bothered to replace the damper on his power. She spent the full week at the heart of it with him, bathed in the night-dark tendrils rippling off him like smoke—dreams and nightmares and lullabies given form. They reached for her, drawing her deeper and and deeper into their embrace, and each new caress of Rhys’s magic against her skin was more silken and decadent than the last.

Those ribbons of dreams were dotted with stars that coalesced into shining diamond cuffs around her wrists. During one of the lulls, Rhys had smiled to see the way they shone against her skin and, with a snap of his fingers, replaced them with the real thing, drawn out of some pocket dimension with half a thought. That brief moment of clarity had faded again into burning, animal desire when he saw them on her.

They ate simple meals while lounging in bed together—roast chicken and greens, creamy soups, richly spiced stews—and swam in a bathing pool cut into the cliffside and climbed to the peak of the mountaintop palace to gaze up at the stars at night from cushions of eiderdown, until the ever-present need roared back to life and Feyre found herself sprawled over the table or perched on the lip of a balcony.

They talked, and Feyre learned more about her High Lord than she’d ever dared to imagine—the models of the stars he built in rare moments of leisure, the artist’s quarter he couldn’t wait to show her in a city called Velaris, what coming up as a half-Illyrian in a war camp had been like, the family he lost and the Inner Circle he would protect to his final breath.

She barely had the presence of mind to have Rhys jot down a note for her sisters to let them know where she was and why she never returned from the Fire Night festivities. Rhys had groaned at the reminder that the world spun on without them, but wrote a second note to that Inner Circle.

“So they don’t get any ideas about interrupting,” he’d murmured darkly, slicing the line through a T with calm, murderous grace that made Feyre’s blood heat again. “For at least a week.”

They barely pulled themselves together when a pair of them finally came knocking the morning after Rhys’s deadline. The roguish, long-haired male and the gorgeous blonde female, Rhys’s cousin Morrigan, who had accompanied him into the cave during the Rite winnowed into the dining room in the middle of the first breakfast they managed to eat without interruptions.

Feyre had to give it to them. Their timing was incredible.

But as Rhys set down the knife he was using to butter his toast, he shot a look like cold death into one of the writhing shadows in the corner of the room, and Feyre realized for the first time that tendril of darkness was not one of his. The shadowsinger’s then. The male Rhys considered a brother.

And in the dining room, Rhys’s second brother took one long look at Feyre, and drawled, “Well, she certainly beats a crate of jewels, Rhysie.”

A snarl ripped out of Rhys, so furious and savage that Feyre dug her fingers into his arm, as if she might have to hold him back.

“Cassian.”

“I’ve never had an oread before,” Cassian went on, tying back his dark hair. His wings flexed, spreading wide.

Rhys fisted his hands on the table and rose so, so slowly from his chair.

Cassian paid him no mind, waggling his brows at Feyre instead.

Gently, Rhys pried her hand off of him. One glance at his face revealed feral, predatory fury.

The wrath of a newly mated male.

Feyre had to avert her eyes to avoid the temptation to drag him out of the room and show him what she thought of the beastly snarl on his lips.

Morrigan, who had been half-hidden behind the hulking Illyrian, peered around the edge of one wing and gasped at the sight of her. She nudged Cassian with a sharp elbow.

“Hurry it up,” she hissed out of the side of her mouth.

Cassian chuckled, rolling his shoulders. “Is it true that her pu—”

Rhys exploded.

Fists flew, teeth snapped, growls cut the air, and Feyre cringed as blood sprayed a pile of silk cushions piled on the floor after Rhys slammed a particularly vicious punch into the side of Cassian’s face. The general gave as good as he got, though, ducking the next blow and kicking Rhys back, gaining a moment’s reprieve to regain his footing before Rhys winnowed behind him and trapped him in a headlock.

“Welcome to the family,” Morrigan said, her songbird voice dry as ash, as she breezed past Rhys and Cassian with so little care that Feyre surmised that their dirty, ferocious brawling was a regular occurrence. She took Feyre’s hand, pulling her out of her own chair and spinning her into a twirl so insistently that Feyre couldn’t refuse. “And, oh, just look at you! Amren’s going to have a heart attack.”

Feyre’s jaw dropped. “Amren?”

The name brought to mind claws so sharp they tore through the very fabric of the world, glowing eyes that peered through the tears to hunt their master’s prey—

“Mor!” Rhys barked. The hold he had on his brother slipped as Cassian dropped to his knees, dragging Rhys down with him. “Fuck, Feyre, don’t—“

Cassian sank his teeth into Rhys’s arm, and Feyre’s horror melted into uneasy concern as Rhys swore filthily.

She took a step toward the brawling males. “Should we…?”

Mor caught her by the arm.

“Oh, don’t worry about those two. Or Amren. Rhys needs to get it out of his system sooner or later, and even if he’s been terribly selfish keeping you all to himself up here, Amren wouldn’t dare take a chunk out of the newest member of our little circle for her collection.” She winked at Feyre, who did her best to forget decades of chilling bedtime stories. “We have things to do, anyway.”

Feyre eyed the wrestling males. “What, like give each other concussions?”

Mor barked a laugh, but Feyre couldn’t look too long; just the sight of Rhys’s shirt riding up and the muscles flexing beneath it as he bared his teeth stoked the fire between her legs—

Her mate stilled, his dark eyes cutting to her.

Mor and Cassian seemed to sense it, too. Cassian took advantage and rolled, pinning Rhys beneath him, and Mor, still snickering under her breath, took Feyre by the elbow.

“You’ll fit in nicely.” She squeezed Feyre’s arm. “Come, let’s polish you up and see if we can’t get Nuala and Cerridwen to scrounge up something for you to wear. They were beside themselves when they heard the news, you know. One of their own on the throne after a Great Rite mating ceremony. It’s like something from a storybook.”

Tearing her attention away from Rhys, away from the sobering reminder of her new place amongst the Night Court’s ruling family, Feyre asked, “Nuala and Cerridwen?”

“The wraiths who deliver the offerings to your people on Fire Night. They’ve been here all week, making sure you two didn’t starve to death while—” Mor cut herself off, and a knowing smirk curled the corner of her red-painted lips. She glanced at Feyre. “Hm. I supposed you wouldn’t have seen them. They’re quite discreet.”

Feyre cast her mind back to all of the meals that appeared like clockwork wherever she and Rhys found themselves at mealtimes—their bedside, the bathing pool cut into the mountain, the wide balconies overlooking the snow-kissed mountain range beyond, and, once, against a wall in one of the wide, endless hallways—and blanched. “No, I suppose I haven’t.”

“Well they have excellent taste. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

And she didn’t. The twin wraiths stepped out of the shadows in the stairwell that led to the High Lord’s suite, falling into step on either side of them.

As they approached the door, Mor made a choked noise. The room was restored to immaculate order, the bed made so neatly Feyre could bounce a copper off of the plush comforter, but even the open windows did nothing to clear the scent of herself and Rhysand, embedded as it was on every surface in the room, from the air.

“Perhaps you might wish to stay here while we dress her, Lady,” one of the wraiths murmured, quiet laughter in that voice. Mor nodded, wrinkling her nose, and Feyre…

Feyre bit her lip to suppress her own grin at Mor’s relieved nod.

She couldn’t find it in herself to be ashamed of thoroughly loving her mate. Already, the bond ached keenly, and all of those years of longing in the mines paled in comparison to the razor-sharp yearning strumming down that line.

“Yes,” Mor said. She was still smiling, though, so happy for her cousin that Feyre couldn’t help but adore her. “Perhaps I might.”

And Nuala and Cerridwen were discreet, just like Mor promised, dressing Feyre in a gauzy replica of the gown she wore for the Rite without a single sly look or snide word. That gown had been reduced to dust by Rhys, as had many of the clothes she’d worn recently, and one of them—Nuala, maybe, but telling them apart was near impossible even after they introduced themselves—only winked when she asked how they possibly could have remembered what she was wearing that night. The dress was a perfect copy; the only difference was the band of diamonds belted at her waist to hold the two panels together and the diamond cuffs they sighed dreamily upon seeing on the vanity and fastened around her wrists.

They didn’t linger, either. One twin brushed her hair into a smooth sheet of gold and the other buffed a cloth over her skin until she sparkled with practiced efficiency, and they handed her back to Mor within minutes.

The fight was over when they reached the dining room. Rhys must have won the fight and healed most of his injuries—the hole Cassian had bit through his sleeve had disappeared completely. His skin glimmered faintly with the residue of his magic under the light, and his wings, drawn out of that secret place where he kept them hidden, were spread wide. So arrogantly wide that Cassian, shuffling about somewhere behind him, was obscured from view.

“You’re a vision, Feyre darling,” Rhys said, at her side in a heartbeat. His eyes flashed, and the heat in them was a white-hot brand against her skin. They should have known better than to put you in that dress today.

She reached out, ignoring the way she was suddenly aware of the weight of her breasts beneath the taunting silk, to graze a sickeningly dark bruise on his jaw that he’d missed. “I wish I could say the s—“

Cassian groaned under his breath. “Oh, blease, fucking sbare be.”

At her side, Mor snorted. “Ego a bit sore, Cass?”

Feyre craned her neck, peering around Rhys’s wings.

Please don’t look at him, the thought that slid into her mind was strained, apologetic, and…

Feyre bit her lip. Those impressive wings weren’t spread out of simple dominance, but as a screen to block Cassian from view. Her view, if the way Mor grabbed a napkin from the table and swanned around them was any indication.

And Feyre couldn’t resist poking the bruise, just a bit. Perhaps it was cruel to test Rhys’s limits while the instincts of the mating frenzy still raged, but she wanted—needed—to know. So she lifted herself onto her toes, peeking over her mate’s shoulder and through his wings…

And found Cassian nursing a crooked nose that seeped blood onto the floor.

“Noses are off libits when we’re sbarring,” he was grumbling, spitting a mouthful of blood into the napkin Mor handed him with a grin. “An’ always hab been.”

Mor lifted a brow. “And biting isn’t?”

Feyre couldn’t help herself. Mor’s poorly concealed amusement was contagious, and she laughed. “Poor Illyrian baby.”

Rhys stiffened, his lips a thin line, and held out an arm to Feyre. “We need to go. Now, please.”

“Such manners,” Mor trilled. She met Feyre’s eye over her cousin’s shoulder, wicked amusement in her warm eyes. “Do try to get yourselves under control before you come back. It would be such a shame to see the Court of Nightmares reduced to bloody rubble.”

Feyre started. “The Court of Nightmares?”

“They’ll love you.” The next look Rhys cast at her promised to devour her, but his eyes snagged on the arm she threaded through his, the facets of her skin glittering faintly in the watery morning light stretching in through the wall of windows to their left. “Though a little bloody rubble might help convince them of it.”

His tone was so flatly serious that Feyre didn’t have anything to say to that.

So she cleared her throat. “What does she mean, ‘before you come back?’”

If he were put off by the abrupt change of subject, Rhys didn’t show it. No, he only shot her a devious grin and said, “Before we come back.”

Magic tugged and wind whipped and Feyre shrieked as the ground fell out from beneath her as Rhys winnowed them into the sky. His wings were already extended, beating hard, and she clung to him as they soared to a balcony twenty feet below.

The shock of falling and landing and throwing a shoe at her mate’s head (“Some warning next time, you prick!”) bled together; it wasn’t until Rhys apologized, brushing a chuckling kiss over her lips, that she relented and allowed him to lead her into another mountaintop palace, this one made of red stone.

Down and down and down, they descended into the dark heart of the mountain as he explained his plans for the afternoon. He spoke until they came to a door sealed by a web of wards and spells that, smiling softly at her, Rhys disabled with a wave of his hand.

The door slid open, and he gestured her forward.

Into a trove bursting with treasure.

She gasped. The collection stretched from wall to wall on either side of them, caskets and busts and mountains of riches fading back into shadow as far as Feyre could see, all of it brilliantly lit with a gentle turquoise light that shimmered off of the ceiling like…

Glowworms. Just like glowworms.

Feyre looked closer, and she could see that the trove was lit by glowworms, the floor formed of glassy obsidian tile that stretched as far as the eyes could see, reflecting the glittering jewels and metals and silks like a night-sky blanket of constellations over still water.

“It’s… Gods, it’s just like the altar.”

Feyre took a step into the room, breathless at the sight of a trunk full of gems the size of her fist. She startled when the floor beneath her shimmered and shifted, skittering backward as if she might sink into it like she might have fallen into the lake under the mines. But when she glanced down, she found only herself, her sparkling, polished skin incandescent, as if she were lit from within by that gentle light from above.

“One of my ancestors must have taken some inspiration from the Rite,” Rhys said, brushing a soothing hand down her arm. Together, they watched the light shatter and refract against his own golden skin until Rhys took a deep breath, cooling the warmth kindling on the bond between their souls.

“Come,” he said, lacing their fingers together.

He drew her to the back of the trove, past countless millennia worth of treasure collected by High Lords who, Cauldron save her, must have magpie blood somewhere in their line. Just one of the many trunks they passed put the small collection of gems Rhys had amassed over the years, Feyre’s favorites, to shame.

But she couldn’t spot any of her jewels in the collection. No, with every step, the heady need thrummed back to life once more, burning hotter and harder than before.

Rhys groaned low in his throat. The sound shattered Feyre’s fragile resolve, but when she turned toward him, he was gone.

“Run, Feyre,” a dark voice rasped into her ear.

A clawed hand traced the edge of her gown from the pulse pounding in the hollow of her throat to the jeweled belt at her hips, rough calluses scraping the skin exposed by the low neckline. He barely stopped to graze her breasts, didn’t so much as weigh them in his palm, and Feyre whimpered with need as his hand stopped by her navel. A long, long tongue licked a hot line up her throat. He gripped her belt, pulling until she felt the hard length of him against her ass.

“I want to chase my pretty little gemstone again.” She was shaking with anticipation by the time his hand fell away and he growled, “Run.”

So Feyre ran, adrenaline pumping fire and ice through every inch of her body. She darted across rivers of sapphire and through forests of emeralds. Rhys nearly caught her beside a small sea of diamonds—a shining glass display laden with bracelets and lavaliers and rings—and she ducked away, laughing breathlessly as she climbed across mounds of intricate, hand-knotted rugs straight from Cesere. A swath of shadow swiped out of the shadows at her; Feyre shrieked, whirling away, but he caught her around the middle, dragging her down to the plush silk beneath her feet.

Their joining was hard and fast. Rhys laid her out on the rugs, dragging her skirt to the side with one hand and freeing his cock with another. Then his mouth was on her, feasting once again, and then he was in her, around her, and the bond became all she knew. All sounds were muted, all colors faded, and all that existed was the feeling of him, falling into eternity beside her. Everywhere she looked she saw him, all scales and claws and rolling muscle, surrounded by twinkling constellations of fragmented light, and he held her, moving in her, carrying her through it, as she shattered for him again and again until he joined her.

They didn’t speak when it ended; no words were necessary. Rhys simply held her, cradling her with infinite tenderness, as if she were the most precious treasure to be found in the trove.

Long moments passed before a cooling wave of magic restored her to perfect order, hair neat and skin shining. The wrinkles fell out of her dress as they stood, his scales melting away, and he cupped her jaw in his hand.

He studied her for a moment. Whatever he was looking for and whatever he found made him smile.

He brushed a kiss over her lips. “My Feyre.”

Feyre brushed back a strand of raven-black hair, watching his eyes flutter shut. The lines of his face softened, and her chest seemed too small to contain the urgent, depthless affection beating against her breast with bruising force.

“Rhys…”

His hand caught hers, and he laid another kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I know.”

Then he guided through the aisles of finery once more to a wall of crowns set into glowing niches. Each was studded with gems so fine that Feyre had never seen their like in all her years in the mines, each different from the last and so brilliant in its own right that they must all be priceless…

And he wanted her to choose one.

He pulled her impossibly closer, murmuring against her temple once more, “Go on, Feyre darling. Whichever one you like.”

“I can’t,” she said again. Still, she reached out a hand to test the platinum point of one diadem crafted to look like a band of stars.

“It will be hard to find one that doesn’t pale in comparison to you,” her mate crooned, nipping at her ear. “None of it compares to you. None of it ever could.”

A delicious shiver raked its fingers up Feyre’s body.

“Choose one, High Lady,” he whispered against her skin.

Fear followed those words—fear and anxiety and dread. What business did she have on the throne?

But a thrum across the bond grounded her, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she found Rhys looking back, solemn and understanding. Another pull at the bond, this time full of promise—to help her, to guide her, and to show her how to rule at his side as his equal.

The Night Court chose you. The midnight voice in her mind was a gentle thing. Fragile. But it is a sacrifice, to accept the magic’s decision. I understand if you don’t—

“No,” Feyre said, reaching deep within herself. Deeper than the connection between their minds, deeper than the bond between their souls, down, down, down to the endless abyss of starlight that had chosen her, revealed itself and opened to her, atop the altar. It was life and death and endless, shimmering bliss, and its lights danced and shone under her attention. “I do.”

Rhys loosed a shuddering breath of relief.

Feyre gripped his hand and reached for the diadem of stars.

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #rhys #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses fic #my fics #bejeweled #feyrhys #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #acotar #smut #acotar fic #it is what it is and it is finished which is all that matters to me rn #did someone say secret court of nightmares bonus chapter? maybe! but not rn

86 notes · View notes

nocasdatsgay · 24 days

Text

Poly Week Masterlist

Happy Poly Week! @polyacotarweek Links will be added to the fic posts as the days pass. Please heed the content warnings on the fic post. All fics can be read as a stand alone.

You are responsible for what content you consume.

I made a key to give an idea of what to expect:

❤️‍🔥- smut

✨-fluff

🥀- slight emotional/mental angst (all stories have happy endings)

Day One Beginnings: And Then There Were Three

A Neapolitan Bonds Fic: You are invited to the Autumn celebrations as an emissary of Dawn. The High Lord’s mate invites you to meet him after the party is over. Alternatively: The night the mating bond snapped. Pairing: Azriel/Eris/Reader ❤️‍🔥

Day Two Comfort: Even High Lords Need a Break

A Neapolitan Bonds Fic: Eris is over working himself. You and Azriel decide to make him take the hounds for a walk. Pairing: Azriel/Eris/Reader ✨🥀

Day Three Secrets: Spring Time Affairs

Flora (OC) likes to rile her husband up, especially if it means she gets to play with Elain in the process. Pairing: Tamlin/OC/Lucien/Elain ❤️‍🔥

Day Four Adventure: Sharing is Caring

A Neapolitan Bonds Fic: Azriel has a surprise for you after the ball at Hewn City. The surprise is Rhysand and Feyre. Pairings: Azriel/Eris/Reader, Feysand, Reader/Feyre, Azriel/Rhysand ❤️‍🔥

Day Five Favorite Tropes: The Siren’s Song

Nesta Cassian and Azriel go to the middle to investigate an illegal trade route that is involved in some assaults in the Court of Nightmares. But instead of a headquarters they stumble upon the very field that’s being harvested. CW for Sex Pollen Pairing: Cassian/Azriel/Nesta ❤️‍🔥🥀

Day Six Celebration: The Rite of Spring

A Spring Time Affairs fic. A Calanmai fic. Tamlin and Flora complete the rite, going to find their loves once it is done and the next day help with cleaning up the festivities. Pairing: Tamlin/OC/Lucien/Elain ❤️‍🔥

Day Seven Free Day: Baby of Mine

A Spring Time Affairs Fic: After Calanmai and forgetting to take the tea, Flora is pregnant. The problem is, she doesn’t know if Tamlin or Lucien is the father. CW Pregnancy Pairing: Tamlin/OC/ Elain/Lucien✨🥀

94 notes · View notes

themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 5 months

Text

Wicked Games

Assassin!Reader x Poly!Feysand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where's the mail?"

"I burned it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhysand chuckled at that. "Anything?"

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

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

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

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

"Stand," Feyre ordered.

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

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

You frowned at that.

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

Nowhere to run now.

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

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

"I don't understand-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Eyes on us."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shall we play some more?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I hate to interrupt," Keir began.

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

"But your little toy-"

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

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

Keir stammered, none of the words coming out right.

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

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

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

Keir was visibly shaking now.

"Mhmm," you whimpered.

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

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

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

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

"Careful how you speak, Keir."

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

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

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

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

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

You huffed a laugh at that.

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

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

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

#feysand smut #feysand x reader #poly!feysand x reader #feyre acheron #feyre acheron x reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #acotar smut #acotar x reader #CoN

321 notes · View notes

throneofsapphics · 8 months

Note

hi, i’ve recently found your page & i’m obsessed with your writing! i have a request, i’ve had this idea for a while now.

we’re in the court of nightmares, eris walks up to the high lord & lady and the inner circle to ask nesta to dance BUT he sees reader instead. either feysand or nessian gets jealous, but reader does dance with eris. feysand or nessian gets so jealous that eris and reader gets interpreted. reader gets a reminder who they belong too. reader would be mated with whatever couple you pick.

i would like angst, smut (maybe a little bit darker), jealousy, just do your thing girl 👀

thank you, i can’t wait to read more of your writing 🖤🖤🖤

a reminder

Feysand x f!Reader

Summary: She played her part perfectly, laughing and smiling at all of the right moments. The High Lady watched as Eris grew more and more smitten through the entire dance. Then - his hand drifted lower, squeezing tightly around her hip. Rhys moved before she could.

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: smut, almost all smut, a bit of angst, light bondage, d/s dynamics, impact play, jealousy, possessiveness, i think thats it?, minors dni!!

A/N: ah thank you! and thank you for the request!! this was fun to write & I loved this idea, sorry it's not too heavy on the angst,

She’d rarely gone to the Court of Nightmares, only on a few occasions. She hated the cesspool, but when Feyre and Rhys asked her this time, she agreed. You’ve always been exceptionally skilled at reading people, and body language - even without being a Daemati, and sometimes it came in handy when dealing with those extensively trained against your mates powers.

When the male they told her to keep an eye on, Eris, approached her, it was the perfect opportunity.

Feyre watched in amusement as Eris approached the Dais. Every time he visited, he would always seek out Nesta for a dance. She agreed - and she had a feeling her sister only did it to spark some jealousy in Cassian. They always disappeared shortly after, coming back with slightly flushed cheeks.

But, she watched as his eyes passed over Nesta - straight to y/n. They brought her here this time to try and get a read on Eris, without invading his mind outright. She didn’t notice his attention, scanning the room instead. Eris’s eyes gleamed as he approached her for a dance. Rhys went dangerously still next to her. Maybe it was a mistake disguising her scent, hiding the traces of them.

Y/n agreed with a smile, taking his hand and following him to the dance floor. They did tell her to act as if she had no close relation to them … It’s what we told her to do, she spoke to Rhys.

Not to dance with him, he growled. His bored mask was perfectly in place, but she felt the jealousy rolling through the bond. Her sentiment echoed his almost identically.

She played her part perfectly, laughing and smiling at all of the right moments. The High Lady watched as Eris grew more and more smitten through the entire dance. Then - his hand drifted lower, squeezing tightly around her hip. Rhys moved before she could.

She would admit Eris was a good dancer, and she was enjoying herself. Charming, funny, and trying a bit too hard. After the first dance, she’d gathered almost everything she needed to. Watching him for a bit longer, how he interacted with everyone else, would finish that up. But - he asked for another, and she felt rude turning him down. She forced her heartbeat and expression to remain steady as his hand drifted further down, right on her hip. Not obscenely low, but slightly suggestive. An invitation of sorts. Y/n knew this wouldn’t end well.

“May I?” Rhys’s voice sounded, cutting in, so smoothly nothing seemed off to any outsiders. He cut a sharp look to Eris, one that would make most Fae shake immediately. To his credit, Eris only gave a polite nod and made himself scarce.

Rhys’s hand tightened around her waist as he led her around the dance floor. Bruises would appear there tomorrow. He didn’t speak, but she could feel the anger, jealousy, and pure possession rolling through the bond, and immediately went on the defensive.

I wasn’t- she tried to send down the bond.

Not here. He replied sharply. She bit harshly on her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. Her mate’s eyes gleamed as he caught the motion. We’ll be cutting our visit short.

I still need to -

No. She bristled as he cut her off again. I’m certain you have enough.

Y/n realized when she wouldn’t win a fight, and kept silent.

You need a reminder of who you belong to, he purred into her mind, showing her a preview of what would be coming later.

Arousal and fear flooded through her. A delicious but dangerous combination. Her heart started beating faster, tension coliling in her stomach … Rhys didn’t wait for the dance to end, he brought her back to the Dais, muttering a few instructions, and they left within minutes.

“What the hell was that?”

She was surprised Feyre raged at her first.

“It - it’s what you told me to do.” She stood still, her eyes darting between the two of them. They were both pissed. But she couldn’t quite figure out why, she’d done exactly what they wanted to her. It’s not her fault Eris asked her for a dance.

“You let him touch you.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I did no such thing, it was a dance, dance partners touch each other.”

Her words seemed to roll right over them. “You belong to us, don’t you?” Rhys’s tone was mild, and she saw all of the warnings signs - the gleam in his eyes, the way he held himself, how his fist clenched slightly.

Even as fear lanced through her, she ignored them. “Yes,” she did roll her eyes this time, and her filter completely disappeared. “It’s not my fault you wanted to hide my scent. You’re the ones keeping me like a secret, he never would’ve asked if you hadn’t.”

Rhys stalked over to her, every inch the predator. His fingers tilted her chin, “you need a reminder, don’t you darling?”

“I-”

Before she could answer, Feyre cut in, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with Rhys. “I believe she does.”

Her hand trailed down her shoulder, catching her wrist in a vice-like grip, but she couldn’t look away from Rhys, not with his hand gripping her chin.

“Do you think he could please you?” she cooed, and she knew exactly what game they were playing.

Y/n shrugged casually, “I haven’t tried him.” She waited a few seconds, “but you never know unless -”

She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before Rhys’s arm wrapped around her waist, winnowing her to their bedroom. One thing she knows for certain about her mates, is they get very jealous, very easily. And that she usually loves the results of that jealousy. Feyre winnowed in a second later.

“Scared?” Rhys asked as she took a few steps back.

She was, but she wouldn’t admit that to him, and she shook her head.

“Foolish,” he tutted, and her clothes disappeared. Waves of magic bound her arms behind her back, before forcing her to her knees. She hit the floor with a soft thud, the carpet dulling some of the impact.

“Right where she belongs,” Feyre teased, circling around her. Her hands gently gripped her hair, tugging her head back to expose her neck. She struggled, trying to yank her head back, but the female’s grip was firm and unyielding. Still, she knew her safeword if she needed it.

She crouched behind her, her other hand gripping her throat. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She panted, and the small coil of arousal started building.

“I don’t know what else I expected from you.” Feyre let out an edged chuckle, and left a deceptively gentle kiss under her ear. “Look at him.”

Her eyes shot up, meeting Rhys’s - standing right above her with a smirk. Her body stiffened, she knows exactly what that expression means. “Stand up.”

She swallowed and Feyre released her grip on her hair. She rose to her feet, and he merely pointed at the edge of the bed. Y/n didn’t move, and his eyes narrowed. She felt the tension growing in the room. She’s playing a dangerous game, walking a very thin line.

“I won’t tell you again.”

“You never said anything,” Y/n gave him a sweet smile and he snarled, shoving her towards the bed. The push knocked the air out of her, but she was left bent over the bed, hinging at the hips and leaving herself completely exposed. They’d be able to see just how wet she is.

She feels Rhys’s body pressed over hers, his hands, gently brushing the hair away from her face as he kicks her legs further apart. He kisses the side of her neck, one hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her further into the mattress. “Remember Darling, you’ve earned his.” She shudders, having an idea of exactly what’s coming next. A silky rope replaces the magic tying her hands behind her back, winding tightly from her elbows to her wrist.

Then, his hand slaps down on her ass. She whimpers, but the first one isn’t that bad, it’s more of a warning.

She can tell Feyre is next, by the difference in size, and Feyre hadn’t been holding back - her body rocks against the bed. They don’t relent, each of them timing it perfectly until her ass and the backs of her thighs are burning, bright red. Tears stream down her face, leaving wet spots on the mattress below.

Her leg kicks up involuntarily, and Feyre shoves it back down with a delighted chuckle. It’s almost too much, her word is on the tip of her tongue, but just as she’s hurling towards her limit, it stops. Rhys’s body folds over hers, his pants painfully brushing against the raw skin. Feyre’s knelt next to her on the bed, tugging her head up. Y/n thinks she might kiss her, let her taste the wine she can smell, the sweet scent of her, but she kisses the tears on her cheeks, her tongue darting out to lick one. The sign of her submission, of them breaking her down in a way only they can. She’s whimpering as they tug her further up the bed, Feyre’s legs spread, guiding her down towards her pussy.

Gods, she loves the taste of her - sweet and musky at the same time, and doesn’t hesitate. She nips at the soft skin next to her thighs, dragging her tongue up between her folds. She wiggles at the bindings holding her back, but they don’t relent.

Her hips are tugged up. A strangled mix between a sob and moan left her as Rhys pushes into her - giving her no time to adjust before he sets a brutal pace.

Feyre presses into the back of her head, switching her focus, trying to put all of her attention on making her feel good. She alternates dragging her teeth over her clit, sucking, and giving small but firm kitten licks. All of the things she know will send Feyre over the edge.

Another smack on the bare skin of her ass draws a moan out of her - and Feyre, the vibrations finally sending the High Lady over the edge. Y/n doesn’t stop, but slows to small licks, bringing her down from the high.

Rhys’s hand snakes around to circle two fingers around her clit. She finds herself screaming, her head resting on Feyre’s thigh.

The female ran her fingers through her hair, “so good now,” she murmurs, “taking him so well my love.”

“A good little slut, just for us,” Rhys accentuates his words with another slap to her ass, squeezing her hips so tightly she knows she’ll bruise.

It doesn’t take long before that coil in her stomach tightens,

“Please, please please,” she chanted.

“Please what?” Rhys asked, with a cruel tone.

“F-finish, please let me cum,”

“Do you think she’s earned it?” He asked Feyre, who’s still stroking her hair.

She hums, “I think so.”

“You’re too soft,” He growls, but increases his speed, tilting his hips to hit that perfect spot.

She’s screaming - maybe their names, maybe to the Gods, she has no idea, but her body goes limp, Rhys still pounding until his cum fills her.

He yanks her back by her hair, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush to his chest. She feels the burn of him against her raw skin and relishes in it.

“Who do you belong to?” He nips at the space where her neck and shoulder meet.

“You, Feyre, both of you,” She mumbles, barely coherent. It seems it was enough to please him, because he releases her into Feyre’s arms, letting her mate hold her, stroke her hair, murmur sweet things to her that fly in one ear and out the other. Rhys returns with a rag to clean her. She’s blissed out, her eyes glazed over, and a satisfied sleepiness is starting to take over her senses. Still, they take the time to quickly bathe and clean her before tucking her into bed between them.

#acotar x reader #acotar smut #feysand x reader #feysand x y/n #poly!feysand #poly!feysand x reader #poly!feysand x y/n #acotar fic #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #feyre archeron x reader #feyre archeron x y/n #not proofread

306 notes · View notes

sapphicmsmarvel · 3 months

Text

a court of thorns and roses masterlist

💜: favorites

🔥: smut/spicy

feysand:

punching bags 💜

feysand x reader:

getting together 💜

the afterglow

feysand vs spider 💜

morrigan x reader:

who i picture as mor

dating mor and meeting the inner circle

gifs with mor + pt 2

tell me what you need me to do

the inner circle walking in

azriel x reader:

the beginning of your life with Azriel

mr. loverboy 💜

worlds collide 💜

nightmares

baby blanket 💜

cassian x reader:

dating a high maintenance girlie

shy girl series:

summary: Cassian and Y/N awkwardly third wheel (four wheel techncially) Feyre and Rhysand. They find love along the way! (no nesta slander)

coming soon!

platonic!acotar characters x reader

full cast:

one day at a time

rhysand:

the night courts justice 💜

headcannons for all characters

perfume 💜

loving a plus size reader 💜

modern au! competition

#feyre x rhysand #feysand #feysand x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #morrigan acotar #morrigan x reader #acotar x reader #cassian x reader

63 notes · View notes

temperedink · 3 months

Text

high in the moonlight

Feysand, pure smut, no plot, one-shot, 3K.

For @sjmromanceweek 2024.

Basically if Moonlight by Kali Uchis + Partition by Beyonce had a sexy baby.

The High Lord and High Lady are due for a visit to the Court of Nightmares. They’re getting ready when they get…distracted by each other.

(Spoiler: They ain’t even gonna make it to this club.)

Read on AO3.

Thanks to @popjunkie42 and @bibliophiliaxvignette for brilliant betaing!

This is my first time writing Feysand, and they are my FAVE, so I hope I did them justice!

#feysand #feysand smut #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar fanfic #feysand fanfic #sjmromanceweek2024 #please never ever expect plot from me #i don't know how to write it and i don't want to #fic: high in the moonlight

31 notes · View notes

rose-of-the-grave · 9 months

Text

Letting Go

Pairing: Feyre x Rhysand

After reading silver flames I started thinking about what feysand would be like as parents. Rhys already had as hard time with Feyre going to the court of nightmares so I imagined what his reaction would be to Nyx wanting to go. So here's a fic nobody asked for. I am the author (please don't repost) <3

Masterlist Read on Ao3

Warnings: overprotective parenting, kissing, leading into smut so 18+

Word count: 1,190

Description: Rhys has to accept that his son is growing up and the best thing for him to do is to let go.

It had been a long day of work for Rhys, all of his inner circle were busy. For once he couldn't send Mor in his place to deal with Keir.

Standing up from his desk he felt for the shimmering gold string tying him to his beautiful mate. He followed it to a small room where Feyre was sitting in an upholstered chair, by the fire, reading. From the door he had a near perfect view of her profile.

He watched as she turned the page, laughing quietly to herself. How had he gotten so lucky? Only a few years ago he had been trapped in a hopeless situation, his life in the hands of his enemy. Now here he was, happily mated with a child. It still seemed like yesterday that they had all been in terror, Feyre on the brink of death. Nyx was born and Feyre survived but the memory of it all still loomed in the back of his mind. He had nearly lost this. He had nearly lost this and he would do everything in his power to protect his son.

He shifted his weight, a movement that would have been imperceptible for most but Feyre turned to look at him, smiling.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long."

"Liar" She purred. Lately she had taken to imitating him. The rest of the inner circle groaned at the insufferableness, they didn't need another Rhysand, one was plenty. Rhys thought it was cute and had been known to get a bit hot and bothered at the sound of her imitating him.

"I'm going to finish this chapter and then head to bed, why don't you go wait for me?" She suggested. He pouted a little at her throwing him out, she called him an Illyrian baby, and he left but not before planting a long, lingering kiss on her lips. Just enough to give her incentive to finish her chapter faster, or better yet, forget about the book altogether. She laughed but stayed seated.

Giving up he walked out of the room and headed to their shared bedroom. He had nearly reached the top of the stairs when he heard Nyx calling for him. Rhys paused, looking back at his son jogging up the stairs to meet him where he was firmly rooted to the ground.

"I have a question for you." He started.

"Okay, shoot."

"So Aunt Mor just told me that you were going to the Court of Nightmares tomorrow and I was wondering if I could go with you?"

Rhys' face which had only moments ago been content was now scowling. "Absolutely not."

"But Dad..."Nyx begged.

"No Nyx. I don't ever want you to have to go there. Never."

"But.."

"No." Rhys said, his expression made it clear that that was his final decision and that he wasn't budging.

Turning away from his son, he didn't see the look of disappointment in his son's face. Nor did he see his mate who had just walked out of the room and had overheard the entire conversation. Marching down the hall to his bedroom he walked in, slamming the door behind him, sighing. He looked up when the door made no sound. There stood Feyre, one delicate hand holding the door away from the wall.

Soundlessly she closed the door behind her and made her way over to where he had laid down. Arranging herself so that his head was on her lap she ran her hand through his dark hair, calming him.

"How much of that did you hear?" He asked.

"All of it."

He sighed again, closing his eyes. "I don't want him to go. He shouldn't have to be in the same room as them."

"You know Rhys, I recall a time when you tried to stop me from going to the Court of Nightmares. You didn't want me to see that side of you. The side you showed every one else. I still went."

"That's different."

"How?" She asked, arching a brow.

"He's still just a kid."

"I was the same age as him when I went." She reminded him. "And you clearly didn't see me as just a kid." She teased.

His argument fizzled out. Sighing yet again he quietly admitted, "I just want to protect him from this, from everything. I don't want him to get hurt."

"Rhys," she sighed, "As parents it's our duty to protect our child but we also need to let him experience things for himself. If he wanted he could sneak out to the Court of Nightmares. Wouldn't you rather that he was with you? So you can watch him?"

"I suppose."

"Besides. While it's not a guarantee that he will be the next High Lord surely it would be best to prepare him in case he is. You're his father, you should guide him but you also need to let go. He's already twenty. He's no longer a child that needs to be sheltered from the big, bad world."

Sitting up, they looked at each other. "I'll tell him in the morning that he can come with me."

Smiling at her mate, Feyre assured, "He will be so happy. Maybe you should tell him now."

"Now?" He inquired, leaning in to nip at her neck.

She giggled, pulling him up and claiming his lips with her own. Their hands started to roam over each other and they soon found themselves completely naked. Feyre's hand snaked down to wrap around his hard length when he moved away from her. When she whined he reminded her that she was the one who asked him to go tell their son the good news now.

Scowling, she got out of bed and started to get dressed when she felt him. He was hard against her ass and he started pressing the lightest kisses along the length of her neck.

"Stop that." She said, playfully batting him away. He grinned before pulling his clothes back on. Once they were fully dressed they headed out to find Nyx.

"Nyx?" Rhys knocked on their son's door.

At the lack of noise behind the door he opened the door. Their attention was immediately pulled toward the shape of Nyx's body underneath the covers. Rhys approached the bed and gently shook their son awake.

Nyx opened his eyes, his vision blurry with sleep.

"Dad? Mom? What are you doing in my room?"

"After talking with your mom we've decided that you can come with me tomorrow if you still want to."

"Really?" He asked, his excitement shining through the doubt.

"Yeah."

"Thanks dad."

"No problem." Rhys said before telling him to go back to bed.

Rhys and Feyre slipped out of their son's room.

"So..." Feyre trailed off.

"Wanna finish what we started?" Rhys asked, grinning wolfishly.

Instead of answering, Feyre pulled him down for a passionate kiss which was an answer in and of itself. Holding his hand she led him back to their room where they spent the entire night reminding each other of how much they loved each other with every kiss, every touch, every thrust.

#acomaf #acotar #acowar #acosf #acofas #short fic #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand acotar #rhysand #feyre cursebreaker #nyx archeron #nyx #rose of the grave

40 notes · View notes

vulpes-fennec · 1 year

Text

Eggnog: Sugar and Spice (Feysand) 🎁

**Also written for Feysand Month 2022 Day 16: Mating Bond** @unofficialfeysandmonth2022

Summary: A series of fluffy/smutty ACOTAR winter one-shots! 12 stories for the 12 days leading up to Solstice (December 21).

Feyre and Rhys get drunk off eggnog and have some…crazy dreams. Dreams that involve the Hewn City.

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex/fingering, consensual somnophilia, voyeurism kink

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Feyre and Rhys held back-to-back meetings with the council of governors in the morning. Attentively listened to the public comment during an afternoon Court session at the Hewn City. Wrapped up their presents for the Solstice party in two weeks. Took six-year old Nyx on an evening flight over Velaris.

After such a long day, soaking in a hot bath together and drinking copious cups of warm eggnog seemed to be in order. The spiced, sweet and creamy beverage was delicious, but Feyre feared she may have had too much to drink. Her movements were sluggish as she changed into her silken, silvery nightgown and slipped under the covers.

Rhys didn’t seem to be faring any better. The powerful High Lord of the Night Court was a surprising lightweight. He’d only drank two cups, but was swaying slightly as he cleaned his teeth.

“Feel like doing anything tonight?” Feyre asked Rhys suggestively as he climbed into bed with her.

Rhys sighed. “I would love to, Feyre darling, but this eggnog has me spinning. Pray I don’t wake up with a hangover.”

“That’s alright, Rhys. I’m pretty tired, to be honest,” Feyre soothed him with a peck on the cheek. “Though Elain made such a delicious eggnog. She says she used Helion’s recipe. I should ask her to send us some for the Solstice party.”

“I don’t recall Helion’s eggnog being so strong,” Rhys muttered. He pulled Feyre closer, draping his leathery wing over the both of them. “Elain must have been quite heavy-handed with the brandy.” He managed to kiss her forehead before drifting off to sleep.

***

She was back in the Hewn City, with the Court of Nightmares in its regular throes of revel before her. Feyre was positive she was dreaming. One: Cassian, Azriel, Amren, and Mor were nowhere to be seen.

Two: she was wearing the skimpy black dress from her first visit to the Hewn City. The two shafts of glittering fabric were draped over her breasts, cinched at her waist with a belt, and left flowing between her pale, bare legs. The very same black diadem with diamonds sat on the crown of her head.

Three: there was only one throne in the room. And she was the one sitting on it. But then the massive stone doors at the end of the hall swung open.

There he was: Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. His beautiful face was cruel, yet elegant. He wore a simple black tunic and black pants, needing nothing more to remind the revelers that he was their High Lord. For the power that rippled throughout the room said enough. Even after seeing him millions of times, Feyre always felt her heart flutter at the sight of her mate.

“Feyre darling,” he purred, sinking to his knees once he reached the dais. “My High Lady.” Feyre crossed her legs, noticing Rhysand’s violet eyes flick up and down her body. Taking in the sliver of bare hips and waist that signaled she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Come.” Feyre curled her index finger, tugging on the bond between them. When he stood next to her, Feyre leaned closer and asked, “Is this a dream?”

“Yes, darling. Both of us are dreaming the same dream.”

Feyre blinked, contemplative. The dreams they’d shared before were short: flashes of night sky, glimpses of her human hand, a snippet of nightmarish memory, the view of the desolate woods. But this was different. This felt real.

Almost real. As Feyre focused hard, flexing her mental muscles, a platter of golden apples appeared on the feast table. Golden apples, straight from the apple tree in the mansion her family had lived in before hard times. She gasped delightedly, looking up at Rhys. “I just did that!”

Rhys smiled gently. “Though it’s rare for us daemati to dreamwalk, it is not impossible. Let’s see what else we can do.”

After some mental strain, Feyre managed to create a miniature snowfall. She also dimmed the faelight, inviting more shadows into the darkened hall. Rhys snapped his fingers and a series of constellations dusted across the ceiling.

“We’re missing a throne. Let me make one for you.” Feyre chewed her lip, trying to remember what the Hewn City thrones looked like.

Her concentration was broken when Rhys tilted her chin towards him with a finger. “Well, where’s the fun in that?” his violet eyes glittered. Oh. Oh. Feyre caught on to his meaning.

“I suppose there is space for two here,” she smirked, getting up from her seat and gesturing for Rhys to sit.

Rhysand sat and did not hesitate to tug Feyre down onto his lap, his hands gripping the bare skin of her waist. Feyre straddled his legs, feeling his hard, impressive length rub against her clothed crotch. “We’ve barely done anything, and you’re already hard for me?” Feyre teased, threading her hands through Rhysand’s cobalt-black hair.

“What can I say? I’m always ready for you, darling.” Rhys swept her lips into a decadent kiss. He fingered the edges of her delicate dress, nails scraping gently over the curve of her hip. “Not wearing anything underneath? How naughty.”

“It’s all for you.” Feyre unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, practically salivating at his sculpted chest. “You’re mine, Rhys,” she hissed possessively as she traced the whorls of his Illyrian tattoos. Rhysand’s skin heated as he ravenously watched Feyre touch him.

“You’re mine, Feyre,” he affirmed, gripping her hips more tightly. “My beautiful, powerful mate.” The column of Rhysand’s throat bobbed as she left a trail of kisses and love bites up the side of his neck. Feyre sent a burst of pleasure down the bond as she ground against him.

“Tch, tch. Pay attention to our court,” Rhys chided.

“But I want to kiss you,” she whined.

Rhys placed one final kiss on Feyre’s lips. “I’ll reward you handsomely if you turn around.” The twinkle in his eyes had her scrambling in his lap, turning to face the crowd.

Well, it was hard paying attention with his right thumb and index finger lightly stroking her inner thigh. Feyre swallowed audibly, trying to school her expression into neutrality as arousal pooled between her legs.

Perhaps it was because it was a dream, but Rhys could not recognize any of the faces. Organized chaos had ensued in the hall: drinking, dancing, feasting, bawdy singing, and the occasional fucking in dark corners. The Court of Nightmares had always been a place for debauchery, and he had always watched them from the dias. But tonight—in this dream—he would join them.

“Pretty, pretty Feyre,” Rhys murmured into her ear as he buried his face into her golden-brown hair, breathing deeply. Pear and lilac notes under the spicy scent of her arousal. “Whatever am I going to do with you on my lap?”

“You could touch me more,” Feyre said breathlessly.

Rhysand didn’t answer. He only slipped his left hand under the shaft of her dress, making lazy circles just below her breast. Some male satisfaction ebbed through him when Feyre moaned his name softly, her hands gripping his thighs. He smiled like a smug cat.

It harkened back to when she sat on his lap for the first time, listening to Keir prattle on and on about courtly matters while Rhysand pretended to listen. Except this time, Keir was nowhere to be seen. Rhys did not wish for any interruptions to their pleasure, therefore the Hewn City’s Steward did not exist in the dream.

“Do you remember the day I wore this dress?” Feyre asked, sensing the trail of his thoughts.

“Yes.” Rhysand’s tone was dark. He cupped Feyre’s breast under the fabric, playing with her nipple and drawing out another moan. “Perhaps we can finish what we started that day.”

Feyre shivered in anticipation. “I’ve always wanted you to fuck me on the throne.”

Rhys’s hands stilled and his violet eyes darkened in response. “Then we fuck until the sun rises.”

The drums and song picked up, and so did the circling of his fingers that left Feyre craving for more, more, more. Was the shift in music Rhysand’s doing, or her’s? It was wild and thrumming, a heady complement to their desire intermingling through the mating bond.

Rhysand held himself with tight control, allowing only heavy breathing and the strain of his pants to reveal his arousal. Feyre, on the other hand, was barely restraining herself. Every time he nibbled her earlobe, every time his hand skated the underside of her breast, she writhed in his lap. When Rhys’s fingers curved around her thigh, she finally whimpered, “I need you, Rhys.”

Only in the dream world could Rhys push aside the panels of Feyre’s dress, displaying her breasts in the open air. Only in a dream world could Rhys slip his fingers inside her, drawing out a wave of fresh slick out of Feyre. In front of everybody.

Feyre moaned, throwing her head back onto Rhys’s shoulder as he fingered her with long, luxurious strokes. She bucked her hips, trying to drive him deeper within her.

“That’s it, darling,” her mate cooed tauntingly. “Make a mess out of my lap.” Rhysand continued to slowly stroke Feyre’s wetness, occasionally curling his fingers to bring her closer to the edge, then slowing down when she tightened up. Winding her up, but never letting her come down.

“I want to ride you, Rhys.”

“Go ahead, sweet one. Let them see what a perfect pet you are.” His words dripped with dangerously sweet venom.

Rhys’s pants magically disappeared as Feyre got up. Her inner thigh muscles stretched with a slight ache as Feyre readjusted herself to rest her knees on the throne’s cushion, straddling Rhys. She was so heady with desire, the lewd sound her pussy made as she sank down onto Rhysand’s hard shaft didn’t even embarrass her.

This was what she and Rhys had subconsciously wanted along. Years of making love and fucking in all ways imaginable never quite scratched the itch of being able to lose herself into pure pleasure at the Court of Nightmares.

Feyre bounced on his cock to the rhythm of the drums echoing over vaulted ceilings while her mate continued to murmur praises and palm her breasts. “Rhys,” she moaned, allowing him to pepper kisses down her neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m so close.”

“Yes, darling,” he mumbled, half-dazed between kisses. “Keep going. You’re perfect.”

“Show them how their High Lord fucks their High Lady,” she gritted out. “Show them how good you make me feel.” She leaned back, the new angle allowing his cock to brush against her clit with every thrust. It was an effective move. Within moments, Feyre came with a wail.

Feyre vaguely heard Rhys saying “it would be my pleasure” before snapping his hips up into her still throbbing core.

She lurched forward with a garbled cry, struggling to balance on Rhysand’s thighs. “Do you see them, Feyre?” Rhys said into her ear lowly. She could only mewl in response, for her head was lolling forward as Rhys rutted into her. “Eyes up, Feyre darling.” Rhys wrapped her long, golden-brown hair in his hand and tugged back, forcing Feyre’s head up.

Only in a dream world could Rhys fuck her in front of the entire Court of Nightmares with abandon.

Rhysand’s power rippled throughout the room, altering the fabric of the dream. Feyre clenched around Rhys when nondescript members of the audience turned their heads to watch them.

To watch Feyre’s breasts undulate with Rhys’s thrusts. The panel of fabric between her legs thrown back, revealing the faint outline of his cock in her gut. Their High Lord’s jaw clenched with focus as he pleasured his High Lady, whose pale cheeks were flushed pink and her blue-gray eyes half-lidded. The black liner around her eyes smeared with tears of pleasure, her red-lipped mouth opening in a wanton moan. It was utterly perverse. And yet, Feyre only grew wetter by the second.

Rhysand chuckled, rubbing her clit with just a smidge more pressure. “My pretty mate loves it when others watch. Let them see how you come around your High Lord’s cock.” It was too much: the delightful pinch of pain on her scalp, his seductive voice, his cock driving into her, the hungry expressions in the audience.

“Rhys!” The tension building up in Feyre’s core released as she sobbed, leaning back against Rhys as she trembled on her new throne. Rhysand wrapped a hand around Feyre’s waist and palmed her breast with the other, holding her still as he thrust hard once. Twice.

He came at the third thrust, releasing the damper on his power as he did. The hall shook, wine spilled, and darkness swirled. Feyre gave into the exquisite rush of power, allowing ice to frost over the seats, flames to erupt from the braziers. The Court of Nightmares dissolved into nothingness as the world spun on its axis. Stars exploded silver light into the darkness. There was only Rhys and Feyre, Feyre and Rhys, two souls in the void. The bond between them glowing hot and bright…

Feyre awoke with a gasp.

Silvery moonlight streamed through the bedroom window, wrenching her away from her dream of the Hewn City. Snow glittered on their windowsill. The stars dotting the indigo night sky were halfway through their nightly journey, indicating she’d been asleep for some time.

But the air was thick with the scent of arousal.

Feyre looked down to see she was sitting upright on her knees, on Rhys’s lap, her silk nightgown bunched around her thighs. Rhys was breathing hard behind her, and his cock…his cock was buried in her pussy.

Her mate was leaning against the headboard, his shirt unbuttoned just as she’d done so in the dream. One of his hands was under her nightgown and squeezing her breast, the other wrapped around her waist. Just as he’d done so in the dream.

“Oh shit,” she whispered, putting her hand over her mouth in shock. “Were we doing that in real life, too?”

“I believe so, darling. I guess we unintentionally ended up having some fun tonight.” Rhys gently eased Feyre off him, and she whimpered at the cold, gaping emptiness beneath her. He massaged her sore inner thighs, easing the tightened muscles when she lay down.

Feyre was silent for a moment. “I never knew we were able to do that. That was…indescribable.” She turned to Rhys, her blue-gray eyes glimmering with starlight. “Sorry, I should have warned you…I have strange dreams whenever I drink.”

Rhys laughed softly as he smoothed her hair. “It’s alright, darling. It was quite an experience. And I’m pretty sure it’s the damn eggnog,” he muttered wryly. “I do think we need to ask Elain for more next week.”

Notes: Feyre and Rhys have especially skilled mental powers…I think that means lucid dreaming is very, very possible with these two.

Tags: @unofficialfeysandmonth2022, @feysand-month, @the-lonelybarricade

#feysand month #feysand month 22 #feysand #feysand fanfiction #feysand smut #feyre archeron #rhys acotar #feysand month 2022

78 notes · View notes

soopsiedaisies · 6 months

Text

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you sm for tagging me @lovelymasks and @strugglequill <3

How many works do you have on AO3?

16, though one is still hidden for fest.

What's your total AO3 word count?

140,294. Counting my, ahem, other/abandoned account, it's about 520k. Counting my drafts I think we've reached about a million.

What fandoms do you write for?

A Court of Thorns and Roses, Batman, and Harry Potter. I've got some WIPs for Bridgerton and Teen Wolf in my drafts as well though.

Top 5 fics by kudos?

an eye for an eye, a leg for a leg. A Batfam fic in which the Joker gets got.

drawn together. Another Batfam fic lmao, with Damian & Bruce being good at art.

yet, never, in extremity, it asked a crumb of me. Sirius & entourage saving little 5yo Harry from the Dursleys.

i watched as your life just fell apart. Charlus & Dorea Potter adopt Harry after Halloween and ensure Sirius gets a trial (with the help of Orion Black)

boy, you've been a naughty girl. Feysand Court of Nightmares smut.

Do you respond to comments?

I try to!! Sometimes I get a notification but I don't have the spoons to write out a deserving reply, but then I forget and then the next time I get a comment... it's been months and I'm too embarrassed to reply after such an enormously long wait. I also have a tendency to not reply to comments under the last chapter of multichaps until I've posted the new chapter.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

grim-old-place, I think, even though it isn't really angsty. I enjoy writing happy endings and hopeful open endings far more. Big fan of fix-its, personally. But yeah, grim-old-place is probably the one with the angstiest ending (despite being only a drabble) because it's just so. Hopeless, I suppose?

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

an eye for an eye, hands down. Hopeful and happy, which is not something you'd expect for a angry&angsty revenge fic full of grief.

Do you get hate on fics?

I don't. Not yet, at least (I'm sure it'll happen though? It's part of posting your stuff online for the world to see). Very thankful I've not gotten any hate yet.

Once I got 'hate' on my attitude towards JKR (in which I think she's awful), but that was not on the fic itself, more on my author's notes.

Do you write smut?

Yes. It's very awkward for me. I'm not a very sexual person lol.

Do you write crossovers?

I haven't! No inspo for a good crossover yet either. I'm more an AU person (Bridgerton Prongsfoot, anyone?)

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No! [knocks on wood]

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've only ever been asked (I think by a bot lmao), but no, no translations (to my knowledge)

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I've tried and it ended in chaos <3 The other author and I are still friends, but our schedules just didn't align at all.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

Superbat! Prongsfoot is a close-second. (The ship I've shipped the longest is Zukka I believe)

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I've got this time-travel Tomarry fic in my drafts that I want to completely write before posting, but idk if that'll happen lmao. There's a changed backstory to Harry that needs to be taken into account and it's just... a lot.

What are your writing strengths?

I'm very descriptive and (apparently) good at setting a vibe! It's always nice to hear that because those are, generally, my favourite bits in reading actual novels.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Sentence-structure variety, use of the passive voice, putting too much detail or far too little because I want to get to the fun bit, creating a well-rounded plot... many.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I've considered it before for another WIP, but... I do think it'll take a reader out of the immersiveness of a fic. I'm also not fluent in any other language than English, Dutch, and Frisian, which may mean I'll royally fuck up any sentences I write in, say, French. There's this skin that allows you to show the translation when you hover though which is cool!! If you're confident in the other language, that might be something nice to look into haha

First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter (unpublished) or Hetalia. I think I've still got a USB stick with some ancient files on there lying around.

Favourite fic you've ever written?

oh, my dear girl. It was really fun to write female Harry in a good relationship with her aunt and cousin, and I've got some really fun bits in the upcoming sequels/chapters (undecided how I'll do that still) as well.

(There's another WIP (still unposted) that I just really love, in which Harry's consciousness travels to an alternate dimension and he ends up in the body of Henry 'Harry' Potter, James' twin brother (who is younger than James by twenty minutes). Henry's consciousness is still there and they just work together, which results in a lot of chaos (with James). )

I also adore nightcourt.gov because it's just humour and silliness which you just need sometimes.

No pressure tagging (I'm so sorry if you've already been tagged or have done this!) : @v-a-l, @plecotusauritus, @the-lonelybarricade, @separatist-apologist, @velidewrites, and anyone who'd like to do this :))

#tag game #my writing

7 notes · View notes

popjunkie42 · 6 months

Note

You know I want to hear about High Lord smut! 🙌🔥

👀 This has been on the back burner for ages…I was gonna do it for Feysand Court of Nightmares week but who knows when it will be finished? Mostly some High Lord roleplay smut.

(Realized on reread I am making the smut tender again)

Feyre smiled slightly to herself. Even after all this time, her mate could still shy away from showing her his worst side. He still needed to be reminded, from time to time, that she loved all of him. That all she desired was to fully know him, to see him as she had once seen herself in the Ouroboros mirror. Fully and completely.

3 notes · View notes

azsazz · 2 years

Note

what are your next rhys requests and next fic you'll be posting?

Oooohhhh, I have LOTS of things drafted and ready for all of you 🥰

Included in those drafts are these fics:

Sharing is Caring: from chapter 3 of ACOSF – "He and his brothers had put a good deal of distance between the stupid youths they'd been – fucking any female who showed interest, often in the same room as each other – and the males they were now." (This will be posted as three separate fics for Rhys, Az, and Cass)

Warrior Status: Az trying to cope with his two oldest sons about to partake in the Blood Rite.

Clandestine Love: Anon Request: Can you do a fic where you and Rhys’s sister are best friends and Rhys wants you but you both know it’s a terrible idea but you do it anyway (I'm obsessed with this one I literally read it every single day)

Terrible Twos: Anon Requests: "I’d love to see a little fic where Cass deals with a toddler tantrum😂🥰pls" and "More dad cass"

The next fic I'll be posting is probably going to be Terrible Twos on Saturday for SBA. I'll most likely write another SBA fic for Sunday...not quite sure how I'm scheduling the others yet tbh.

My current Rhys requests include:

can we get some rhysand x reader angst that ends with fluff?<3

Oo maybe a fic where the IC throws Rhys and reader a little baby shower? ❤️

Can I request a part 2 of under the mountain please❤️

What about Rhys fucking you right before you have a meeting with the other high lords so his scent is on you?

so for a rhys idea what if rhys was seeing reader while he was under the mountain but reader didn't know of amarantha? and one days he leaves completely cause amarantha doesn't need him to go there ( were the reader leaves ) anymore and reader is mad and she's pregnant but rhys doesn't know. and he sees her when he's finally free and she has baby nyx with her but it's angsty at first and she won't let him meet nyx cause she thinks he left bc of yhe pregnancy? and like tha mating bond clicks only for him and him and the IC are stressing cause they wanna meet nyx? and the reader could have a friend whose a male and rhys thinks she's with someone new?

how about rhys seeing reader in a really beautiful outfit and it driving him insane, and then leading to shameless smut? again, if you’re not comfortable with this, it’s fine

ooo idk if you’re comfortable with this but how about dom!rhys having reader ride him on his throne in the court of nightmares? obviously feyre isn’t in the picture

Can you do an imagine where you and Rhys go on a date night since having Nyx and the ic are the babysitters? Thank you❤️

Hey!! So I was wondering if you would write a fic about Rhysand having a wife/partner for like a century or more before Under the mountain happened and then 50 years later he comes back with a mate. How do you think that would go? Would he choose feyre over someone he has known and loved for centuries? If he does choose feyre I think it definitely wouldn’t go over well lol. Imagine waiting 50 YEARS for someone only for them to dump you.

I beg of you, pls God. An Agnsty Poly!Feysand

Plus all of my WIPS 😅

Lots to work with for Rhysie boy. 💙🖤💙🖤

#rhys x reader #rhysand/reader #coming soon #azsazz

47 notes · View notes

bookfanfics · 3 years

Text

Feysand throne smut

In which they give the night court a show.

Smut, exhibitionism, mature content

Rhys motions to me with a flick of his finger. A slight movement that sends my heart spinning at the thought of what we are about to do. Earlier today, we agreed there was no need to hold back when holding court tonight. We no longer take any of the inner circle with us to the Court of Nightmares, as both our magic is enough that nobody is stupid enough to try anything. Plus, Rhys has been working on his shielding and nobody would be able to get close to us anyway. Territorial fae male bullshit. So when I make my way onto his lap with just this scrap of fabric covering me, my stomach drops with fear, not at Rhys - never at Rhys - but at the show we are about star in.

“Are you sure, Feyre darling?” He purrs, nuzzling my ears and firmly placing a palm against the small arch of my back.

“Are you?” I whisper back, and any inch of concern drains out of his lilac eyes as his pupils expand and a hunger enters them. I never get used to seeing him like this; never get used to the way my body tenses with need and loosens at the same time. I trace a hand down the swirls I can see through the low neck line of his tunic and he stills my hand. “In the mood for playing first, my beautiful, wicked mate?”

He grabs both of my wrists and pins them with one hand at the base of my back, and then tugs making me display my hardly covered breasts to him. How useless this cloth was finally hits me and I realise the whole room is watching. Not only watching, but probably scenting our arousal too. Rhys must have read my thoughts, because with his free hand he holds my chin and angles it until I’m looking directly at him through my lashes. “You think I’m going to take my time with you, darling? Why would I do that, when I can I have them watch you cum for me within a matter of seconds? When I can add your moans as another part of the musician's melody?” Without hesitation, he picks me up and sets me back down facing the court. He pins my back against him with an arm crossing my stomach, while his other hand circles the tops of my thighs. “Would you like that, darling?”

I nod. “With words” he growls into my neck. “Yes” I moan. He slowly peels back the fabric covering my right breast and slides it down my shoulder till it’s fully bare. I see the fae staring now, not at the both of us anymore but at me at my bare breast. It only makes my adrenaline pump and I feel myself grow wetter. Rhys starts to circle his finger around my breast, getting gradually closer to my hardened nipple as his hand starts to snake further up my thighs. Still teasing and biting my neck and ears with his mouth, he whispers “do you like that, darling? Do you like them watching as I claim you? As you let me touch you like my own personal play thing?”

“Yes, more... please” I moan.

“Since you said please”. His hands stop their delicate touches and he goes straight to my core, rubbing a finger on my most sensitive part through the fabric at the same time as pinching my exposed nipple. A moan escaped me at the sudden contact and anyone who hadn’t been watching was watching now, but I couldn’t bring myself to care as Rhys stroked me.

“More... please” I breathed, arching my back into him. “Greedy little thing” he said, blowing warm breath onto my neck and pushing the fabric at my crotch back, revealing how wet and ready I am for him to the room. The room gasped along with me as I felt the sensation of his thumb caressing my wetness and then back up to my throbbing bundle of nerves. He knew that it would only take a few of his expert sweeps to push me over the edge, so of course wanting to prove how fast he can make me cum, his thumb started its careful massaging as he played with my nipple. I could feel myself rising at an alarming pace and all he had to say was “come for me darling” and I was a writhing mess of pure starlight. The thought of everyone in the room watching me as noises escaped my mouth, that I was too high to register, only drew my orgasm on. Only when I went limp against him did his thumb stop.

Breathing heavily and practically feeling his smirk of male satisfaction. “Boastful prick” I panted heavily.

“Well, why not when I have so much to be boastful for? Shall we show them what else we can do?”

“Definitely”.

#fanfic #feysand #books #smut #feysand smut #feyre x rhysand #high queen feyre #sarah j. maas #throne smut #throne #acotar #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #night court #court of nightmares #fan fiction #rhysand #high lord of the night court

149 notes · View notes

amb3rpanda · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Azriel & Gwyneth Berdara, Azriel/Gwyneth Berdara Characters: Azriel (ACoTaR), Gwyneth Berdara Additional Tags: Smut, Lemons, Fanfic, One Shot, Sex, Oral Sex, Consent, Beauty - Freeform, Bats, Illyrians (ACoTaR), Warrior - Freeform, Fluff, POV Azriel (ACoTaR), Mentions of the Inner Circle (ACoTaR) Summary:

Azriel and Gwyn have been connecting more the past few months after the Rite. Gwyn has even moved into the House of Wind, out of the Library. When Gwyn has a nightmare a memory of her past, there is only one Illyrian that can help her. A one shot of Azriel and Gwyn

6 notes · View notes

throneofsapphics · 7 months

Text

haunt me like the wind that blows (part 3)

Feysand x f!Reader

(part one) (part two)

Summary: it wasn’t really a nightmare, it felt more like a gift. Even with the pain, her subconscious was the only place she could taste freedom.

Warnings: dark feysand, toxic relationships, dubcon, kidnapping, nightmares, non-consensual bondage, references to suicide attempt, a bit of smut, gaslighting probably, minors dni!

Word Count: ~2.7k

A/N: this is going to be the last part! please mind the warnings

Seconds after she breached the wards of Velaris, a familiar hand clenched around her wrist - tight enough pain lanced through her hand, and she wondered if he’d break her wrist.

“Feyre said you could be trusted,” he purred, “but I knew better.”

The wind, the beautiful and cruel wind whipped around her face, the ends of her hair rising. She could taste it - the freedom on the horizon. Then - gone. She was alone. She stumbled back, eyes wide as she glanced around her. Had she imagined it? Bruises circled her wrist and it still ached as she clutched it to her chest.

“No, that was real.” Rhys crooned.

“Leave me-”

“Alone, yes I know.” His voice took on a cruel tone. “Let’s see if you survive the night, monsters worse than me are out there.”

Gods. Gods. She was so screwed. She wouldn’t put it past him to unleash something. Something to haunt her, to scare her into coming back. “Anything is better than with you.” Y/n taunted, unable to control herself. A snarl echoed through her mind, but she took off into the night. Maybe this was just a game, but she’d be a fool not to take the chance. But where to go? She didn’t doubt that word spread of her in Vallahan, of the rogue mate to the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.

Branches whipped against her arms and legs, small cuts scraping against her but she didn’t care. All pain was drowned out as she sprinted, as fast and far as she could. Temporary freedom was better than nothing. She would take anything she could get at this point.

“You really think you’ll manage without us, don’t you?” Feyre’s voice echoed in her mind - and she didn’t know if it was real or not. Reality seemed to warp around her - the trees shifting in unnatural rhythms, the ground shifting underneath her - rolling like waves of the sea as she struggled to balance. Any trees she tried to grip for balance shifted out of her way. Y/n fell down a hill, tumbling and barely covering her head as she fell -

“Y/n,” a voice shouted, overtaking everything else. Hands braced her shoulders, shaking her awake. This voice was real. She knew that. “Wake up love.” She groaned, rolling away and tugged at her wrists. Chains - still sleeping with the chains on. Her eyes blinked open, spotting Feyre leaning over her, Rhys’s hand stroking down her arm.

“You had a nightmare,” she brushed her finger over her hand. Y/n glanced down at her bare arms - no cuts or scrapes, no evidence of her wilderness ‘adventure.’ Did they plant this one inside of her, to give her some kind of sick hope? Neither of them replied, or gave any indication they were listening to her thoughts and she let out a slow breath.

“I wouldn’t have them if you took these off,” she mumbled. At least they’d lined the interior with something soft, after Feyre protested about the bruises on her wrists.

Her eyes glazed over, and y/n knew she was speaking to Rhys. Feyre had always been a bit … softer, maybe she would argue on her behalf. A few minutes passed as she chewed on her bottom lip. Rhys let out an exasperated sigh behind her, but the chains unlocked and she forced herself not to yelp out of excitement.

“On a trial.” Rhys warned, flipping her around to face him. His eyes had darkened, a clear warning that if she tried anything, worse consequences would face her. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She spoke softly. Maybe it made her weak, but sleeping in those damned chains had worn her down and she would have begged on her knees to be free of them. Captive. She thought she was trapped before, but it was nothing compared to this. Eyes she couldn’t see followed her everywhere, and anytime she spotted something remotely sharp - it disappeared. If she ate with a butter knife, Rhys or Feyre watched her the entire time. Even the cups and glasses had been charmed not to break.

A clash clattered across the floor as tea spilt on the kitchen tiles. Rhys winnowed into the room within seconds. His eyes shifted between the cup on the floor, and her face.

“I dropped it, I promise.” She nearly wailed at the dark look on his face. She felt him rifling through her mind, and gave a nod after deciding she was being truthful. A snap of his fingers cleaned the liquid up, the mug disappearing.

“You need to be careful my love,” he said in a soft voice, gathering her in his arms. “We don’t want you getting hurt.” Or hurting yourself, went unsaid. He made her sit, brewing her another cup and almost made her feel loved. It was all a game, everything was a game to earn her trust and wear her back down. At least she told herself that.

The memory faded, and she hadn’t realized she was facing Feyre again, her back pressed firmly against Rhys’s chest, his hands wrapped around her waist as Feyre rubbed out her wrists. Like she would every morning. Always checking to see if she could feel everything, if anything was injured - like it wasn’t them inflicting any injuries.

“Aren’t you going to thank us?” the High Lady teased her.

“Thank you.” She said quickly, not wanting to risk anything.

“Such good manners when you get what you want.” Rhys’s sleepy voice came from behind her. She loved that voice, when he was soft and gentle - first thing in the morning or in the middle of the night. Loved. Y/n threw that word out of her mind. No love for them, nothing redeemable about them.

“Sleep.” Feyre ordered both of them, “I’ll take the nightmares away,” her hand kissed the inside of her wrist. But - it wasn’t really a nightmare, it felt more like a gift. Even with the pain, her subconscious was the only place she could taste freedom. How sad everything had become, how painful of a trap she fell in. She thought of everything she lost, of everything gone to her. Gone with the wind, swept away at every moment.

When she woke, alone, the sun was already shining, and she rose, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in months - but something pulled at her. Chains. Gods was that a dream too? But, they were longer this time, long enough she could reach the side table. A note placed on it.

We had to leave early, we’ll come back as soon as we can.

Tears spilled, dripping down on the paper and smudging the ink. The best dream she’d had in months, and it was soured. But, her favorite book and a still-warm mug of tea sat on the side table, within reach. She could indulge in this small kindness, just this once.

They returned at the same time, looking pleased to see the book propped on her knees, one hand holding her page open as the other held her mug.

“I told you she’d be happy.” Feyre elbowed Rhys. Maybe happy was an overstatement. The male rolled his eyes.

“I still like her in chains.” Feyre hummed an agreement. Speaking of her like an object. That’s all she was to them.

“You’re our mate.” Feyre frowned at her. “If you’re not going to be grateful …”

A few minutes later, she was spitting out apologies and thank you’s as Feyre’s hand landed on her ass, her body draped over her knees. She would pause, letting Rhys run his hands over her already bruised ass. His hand slipped between her legs, and she fought back tears of embarrassment as he felt how wet she was.

How sick was she that this turned her on? At being punished for her thoughts.

“How else would we correct them?” Rhys’s voice entered her mind. “It’s alright to feel this way,” he spread her arousal over the small abrasions on her ass, and she winced as it stung. “The bruises will remind you.”

The chains unlocked, but the freedom was temporary as her hips were dragged back, and she was shoved to her knees in front of Feyre, her legs spreading, dress hiked up around her hips with nothing underneath. “Take your reward now.” She cooed, one hand on the back of her hair, guiding her towards her core. She wanted to fight and protest, but the temptation and taste of her was too much. The desire to please her mate was so ingrained in her that sometimes she couldn’t resist it, and this was a way to alleviate it - a less harmful way, she justified to herself.

Three months passed before she could wake alone and unchained. A treasure, and she prized herself on earning back that trust. But, she shoved that thought deep down - in a place nobody could reach. The thought was filled with a sense of vindication, and the last thing she needed was them catching wind of that feeling.

She moved silently, sneaking through the halls how she’d learned, and heard voices coming from one of the small dining rooms.

“That could work.” Feyre said. “It would keep her here.”

Keep her? How? Hadn’t they already done everything to keep her?

“I have to go,” Rhys said and a chair shoved back she quickly took a few quiet strides back, before reapproaching with louder footsteps - the ones they’d become accustomed to hearing.

Rhys exited just as she approached, a smile curving on his face as he spotted her and wrapped one arm around her waist, tugging her into his chest. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She repeated, forcing some inflection into her voice. Not overly so, but enough for it to come off as natural.

“You enjoyed your gift?”

“Thank you.” The smile actually did reach her eyes.

“You’ve been so good.” He ran a thumb over her cheek, brushing across her lips.

“You’re going to be late. Rhys.” Feyre said from the doorway, shooting her a smile. “Want to go to the markets today?”

She nodded eagerly, picking up any crumbs they would string out for her, and tried not to despise herself for it. Feyre had a pleased expression on her face at her excitement, and Rhys reluctantly released her.

“I’m the High Lord. I’m never late.” He muttered, but winked at her as he winnowed away.

Feyre’s grip on her was tight as they walked through the city streets, arm in arm. Not giving her an inch unless she allowed it, but she would take it. No familiar faces, either. Some she recognized as old neighbors, ones who used to work with her in town, but their eyes glazed right over her as if she didn’t exist.

Her mouth opened once, as if to try and call out to them, but she couldn’t find her voice. As she met Feyre’s eyes, there was a warning glare there. Don’t talk to anyone. Feyre didn’t have to speak the words for her to understand the message. She swallowed and gave her a nod. Immediately, her expression lightened and she reached over to squeeze her arm, stopping for the next person to greet her.

Popular, Feyre was incredibly popular with her people, they loved her. If only they could see how she is behind closed doors, the wicked cruelness and quickly shifting moods. What her love really looks like.

“And who is this?” An older female smiled, her face lined with wrinkles - hair just starting to silver. As soon as she’d acknowledged her, the woman’s eyes changed as if she didn’t register her at all. Feyre was making sure nobody recognized her - that she was forgotten.

No talk of “who was that on the High Lady’s arm?” or “Did you see y/n, she’s been gone so long!” would go around Velaris that night. Nobody would remember her. Nobody except who Rhys and Feyre allowed.

- Two years and three days to the date after she was first returned, y/n got another chance. Gods did she take it. She ran and ran and ran. Breaching the words of Velaris, just as a hand clamped around her wrist - bruisingly tight as it ached.

“Feyre said you could be trusted,” he purred, “but I knew better.” The same words from that nightmare, but this time he didn’t let go. Fear might have rung from every sense of her being, but she brought up as much determination as she could as she turned to face him and took a step closer. His brow furrowed in confusion, but she spat. The drops glistened on his cheek, surprise evident in his eyes. A satisfied smile crossed her features, but his gaze turned feral quickly and it was gone as soon as it came.

He leaned towards her, his breath grazing her ear. “Run.” He dropped her wrist, and she did.

Wind whipped her cheeks, branches scraped at her skin, but the floor and trees didn’t move this time. Of course, it was useless and futile, of course it would end as quickly as it began - but she’d take the chance to feel the wind against her hair, to feel the strain of her legs as she got a mockery of freedom.

Rhys let her run, maybe gave her a ten minute head start before she began to feel his presence nearby. She would catch a glimpse of him, and cut a sharp angle to another direction, weaving in and out of trees to try and lose him. She didn’t know how long it lasted - but her lungs burned and legs threatened to give out under her. Keep going, keep going, she chanted to herself, wanting to draw this out as long as possible.

She screamed as a weight slammed behind her, shoving her down to the forest ground. Her face pressed into the dirt and a hand yanked the back of her hair - arching her neck as his other hand circled her throat.

“You believed it, didn’t you?” He murmured. “That I would be that stupid to give you that chance.” His hand tightened around her neck. “I don’t make the same mistakes twice.”

A whimper left her throat. “Fuck you.” She said weakly, and her cut some of her air off, keeping any words from coming out of her mouth.

“You’re already in trouble. Don’t make it worse.” If she’s already in trouble - she threw an arm back, a weak punch landing against his shoulder. He laughed at her, finally releasing his grip on her hair and neck as she flopped back into the ground, and scrambled to turn, backing on her knees as the rough bramble scraped the bottom of her thighs.

He shook his head, looking at her almost fondly. A shield quickly deflected the rocks and sticks she tried to throw. But, she couldn’t stand - her legs fell out under her as she tried, already worn out from all of the running. He must’ve entertained her for at least an hour or two.

“Three.” He corrected. “I was impressed with you.” A game, this was all a gods-damned game to him. The curve of his lips told her she was right. “A game for me,” he taunted, “but it’s so sweet when you think it’s real.”

She threw out a string of creative curses at him, but he rolled his eyes and she watched his patience slowly wane. Still, she kept cursing as he heaved her to stand, keeping a firm grip on her as he winnowed back to the river house.

He let her go and she fell onto the tile, wincing as her knee hit the ground. Feyre stood with her arms crossed. “You let her hurt herself.” She frowned at Rhys.

“I let her have some fun.” Rhys hedged, but even he wilted slightly under Feyre’s disappointed stare. At least she wasn’t alone in that. In everything else, she’d be alone. For the rest of eternity.

“Don’t be so sour,” Feyre tutted, reaching out a hand for her. “You have us, that’s all you need.”

#acotar fic #feysand x y/n #feysand x reader #poly!feysand x y/n #poly!feysand x reader #poly!feysand #this whole series doesn't really have a plot honestly #feyre archeron x y/n #feyre archeron x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #I did not proofread this #the warnings list is sending me to hell but please read them

152 notes · View notes

writevswrong · 6 years

Text

Eris Fanfic * When The Last Ember Falls * Chapter Ten

When The Last Ember Falls by L.J. LaFleur

Nesta:

I had felt the distance intruding, expanding. A blackhole in the light of our bond, smothering my flames out. I felt him wither away after announcing ourselves as mates.

I thought it was supposed to be the opposite. I thought we would be like Rhysand and Feyre, a bond that would never break nor shatter under the pressure of life. What foolish dreams to have.

“Will you stop shutting me out, Cassian? Stop pushing me away,” I cried in the empty alley on our shortcut back to the townhouse. We had spent the majority of our night out in Velaris. A feeble attempt to regain normalcy after two wars and Ronan.

Cassian shook his head, venom slipping off his tongue, “I do not need to be coddled, Nes.”

My body vibrated with anger, the bastard knew I loathed being called Nes yet he persisted in calling me that whenever we would start to bicker. “Stop calling me, Nes. You know I hate it,” I swore beneath my breath.

“Just as I hate being asked if I’m okay a dozen times a night!” He snarled, slamming his fist into the brick wall of the nearest building. Beneath his flickering syphon, I saw a thin crack shoot up to the roof. Fragments of brick and dust rained down on us.

I stepped back, my breath shallow, “what is your problem?” Every man, every beast who had ever brought me harm had morphed into my beloved. I saw their faces, I heard their laughter. I tried to shake my head to rid myself of the memories but nothing changed.

Liquor coated his tongue as he viciously attacked, “you are always asking me to talk about my feelings. Did you ever think I don’t want to? That I’m perfectly fine? That you’re the one with the problems?”

This snapped me out of my nightmares, “how could you say that?”

His expression hardened, his hands raising in frustration, “because I’m sick, I’m so gods-damn sick of being treated like a broken man by you.”

Tears streamed down my face, my voice sounding farther and farther away as I took another step back, “we are all broken, Cassian.”

“No, you’re broken. You’re damaged goods, Nesta.”

“Take it back…”

Cassian snarled, ponds of hazel igniting, “I will not.”

“If you think of me as damaged goods, as property,” anger fueled my closing line, “then you are not the man I fell in love with.” I attempted to glare, to scare him speechless—I should know better by now.

“That man died on the battlefield, expecting that he returned whole is naïve, even for you,” he heaved into the air, wings of fire igniting as he flew towards the stars.

I felt the heartbreak in my chest, the sharp pain of losing him. My knees buckled beneath me as I covered my trembling mouth. I attempted to silence the sobs but failed in my quest.

It had only been days and this is what we’ve come to.

The seed of my being, the little flame that remained felt like it was fading. An ember being smothered by his words of steel. I held onto my shoulders, rocking back and forth as I cried. This was no place to release my emotions, not here in public—certainly not in a dirty alleyway.

Instead of taking the remainder of the shortcut, I walked through the silent streets of Velaris. Taking the long way to the townhouse, I attempted to pick up what little pieces remained of my heart. I didn’t want to face him, I didn’t want another apology.

Did he not think that I too was suffering? That he maybe died, but it was me who watched him? I fought for him. I fought against one of my greatest fears—Ronan—nearly losing my sister in the process. Was I not enough of a reason to fight? Was I not enough?

Heading closer to the river, a frigid wind crashed into me. I crossed my arms to conserve heat, completely forgetting that all I needed to do was wrap myself in flames. Searching my heart, I willed what pieces of flames I could.

As I kept walking, my mind ventured to the past. To how Velaris didn’t feel any more like home than the mansion Tamlin had gifted us as humans did. This place has its beauty, but isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?

I hated it here. Every street, every forsaken mountain of this court. This was Feyre’s home, not mine.

I entered the quiet townhouse, one similar in size and decoration to Rhysand and Feyre’s. Only this one was down several blocks from theirs and didn’t have as large of a garden. It was a gift from the High Lord to Cassian many years ago, at least that’s what they told me.

Half expecting Cassian to be waiting up to apologize, I realized my feet had stopped moving at the bottom of the stairs. I took a heavy breath, hoping to find some strength in the stagnate air. I didn’t but I proceeded up the stairs anyways.

We fought constantly, as if we hadn’t done enough fighting in the past few months. What should I have expected from him? Flowers and a love note? That wasn’t Cassian even before his death. I was only a fool to think so.

The faelights brightened with my presence, unveiling our empty bedroom.

My brows pulled together, the pain in my chest persisting. It felt like my entire being, my light was dying. That bastard, comparing me to property—how could he? Amber tears flooded my view as I laid my head against the pillow. I didn’t know I had anything left to cry.

I’m so fucking sick of crying.

For hours I stared at the open drawers where his clothing was once stored. Eventually I looked in the bathroom, hoping for a sign that he would need to come back. He had taken every belonging of his.

I had given my heart and Cassian, the bastard warrior, shattered it.

A short knock on the door stirred me from my downward spiral. I quickly wiped the drops of amber, recognizing Bea’s knock. “You have a letter,” she announced, sounding muffled through the door.

“Come in,” my shaken voice commanded.

Bea’s bulbous black eyes flickered to the empty bed, diverting from the open drawers she handed me a neatly folded parchment. “A letter from the Vanserra’s, it just arrived.”

I hadn’t heard from Eris since he left, not that he needed to check in. I just, I didn’t know what to say to him after he winnowed away. I wasn’t good at goodbyes, especially with those I did not want to say goodbye to.

I snatched the letter, nearly tearing it in half as I ripped off the metallic wax. I skimmed the letter, stuck on the same sentence that had stunned my aching heart still.

Eris, my son and your dear friend, has been gravely wounded.

The sickening swirl of bile climbed up my esophagus, the room spun around me. I needed to leave, to, to…I couldn’t think. I didn’t think as I stuffed random belongings into my leather satchel.

“Will, will you please inform my sis, sisters,” I stammered, unable to process what I was doing and saying at the same time. I glanced to my concerned friend, “that I will be returning to the Autumn Court.”

Bea remained in the doorway, her gentle voice bringing little comfort, “when shall I tell them you’ll be back?”

I finished packing my bag, running to the bathing room for last minute items. I replied over my shoulder, “I, um, I’m not sure. Just please. I need to go.”

“And the Lord Commander?”

Digging my talons into the counter, I shot back, “I doubt he will notice.” Instantly regretting how harsh I sounded, I stopped what I was doing to breathe. “I’m sorry, Bea,” I apologized, staring at the empty bathtub while I felt piece after piece of my broken heart crack.

She bowed, her attention glued to the wooden floor as I headed to the roof.

I had no choice but to fly. I couldn’t winnow unless I wanted to possibly bump into Ronan. But if I turned into a Gryphon…

I dropped my satchel, shredding my indigo dress as I transformed. Digging my talons into the tiled floor with ease, I launched into the sky. Heading south to be beside the only friend who had stood with me in my darkest of days.

I didn’t take a break or drop in speed. I would keep going until I fell out of the sky. Invading thoughts of his death, of not being there in time only induced the pain in my body.

I can’t lose him too.

I can’t.

Wrapping my wings around my face, I crashed through the window of Eris’ bedroom. I landed on all fours before transforming back into my human—fae self. The fragments of my heart nearly perished as I stared at Eris.

He laid still, his lips tinted blue.

“Is he alive?” I croaked, glimpsing from him to the two women on the opposite side of his bed. One I knew as the Lady of Autumn and the other…well, I didn’t know her. I desperately searched their eyes, waiting for the truth to surface.

The woman I didn’t recognize spoke first, “you must be Nesta.”

“Is he alive?” I demanded, my voice colder than before. Talons shot out of my fingertips, I would shred her into ribbons if she didn’t answer my damn question.

The armored woman stepped around the bed, her hand placed on the decorated hilt of her sword, “if you’re not Nesta, then who are you?”

Eris’ mother spoke up, “stand down, guardian.” The Lady of Autumn greeted me with a subtle bow, “it’s good to have you back, King Slayer.” She looked from me to her son, brushing a strand of auburn from his face, “he’s hanging on,” she answered calmly.

I hurried to his side, light pouring from my eyes. I could see the delayed movement of his chest, the single tear slipping out of the corner of his closed eyes. He was okay—alive.

The guardian moved away, I could feel her examining every naked inch of me. “Would you like some spare clothing?” she asked politely.

I couldn’t speak, my mouth frozen from the outpour of emotion. I lost Cassian, that I would accept in time. I had lost him on the battlefield, just as he said.

But Eris.

The friend who protected me from his own family, who showed me kindness when I did not deserve it…

I didn’t know how long it had been since the other women vacated his chambers. I didn’t hear them nor speak to them. I didn’t care if they stayed or left.

Brushing my fingers against Eris’ limp hand, I realized how cold he must be. After all, I did just take out his window.

I drained an orb of fire into my fingertips, willing it to move towards his chest. The light sunk into his hidden wound. Red and orange swirls of patterns moved throughout his cold skin at a rapid pace. His hand instantly warming within mine.

“I only hope you can hear me,” I prayed, “and if you can’t…” the lump in my throat expanded, “then I hope whoever watches over this world is listening.” I rubbed my thumb against his warm, scarred knuckles, “save him, as he saved me. You will not regret it,” I whimpered.

*Link list is coming! Promise. :)

43 notes · View notes