#Desk Pet

[anothergoodboi]

Really in the mood to be someone’s desk pet. Collar me and leash me underneath your desk while you do your work and take meetings. Occasionally put your hand down and force my tongue deeper into you. Let me know that you’ll let me out once you’re satisfied (even though you never plan to let me out. My leash is just long enough that I can lay down when you’re done with me. Eventually I start eating my meals under your desk when I’m not eating you, I’ve spent so much time under your desk making you feel good that it’s all I know. There isn’t a world outside this desk, this desk is my home and my job is to make mommy feel good and make sure she cums on my tongue whenever she wants to.

[ryans-planet]

Oh to be his desk pet. Just a sweet pup under him, nuzzling at his cock and keeping him such good company while he works.

Maybe he’d let me have his cock in my mouth if I was good enough. Oh oh I want and need him to use my mouth while he does his work be so so good for him. Maybe he’d just keep my head there, mm mouth full of his cock with his hand in my hair, mmm

[bergquistsblvd]

I made a few new additions to my Etsy! These little guys are so cute and soft and the perfect size to take with you or to put on your desk as a little pet! What colors do you think you would want them in?

[miss-greenbottle]

when a girl tells you she wants to make you squeal and she’s fantasizing about you being tied up in shibari... that’s how you know shes ment for you.<3

[yourgoddesspenelope]

Service sub who brings me coffee, makes snacks for me, massages my feet, etc. while I work, always sitting on the floor beside me in their designated spot waiting for my next command, when?

[sadistmusings9]

Is she just being nice? Or does she want me to steal her away and make her my pet?

[tadpolesonalgae]

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

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

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

Word Count: 3,993

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to swallow it,” he mutters, nails raking over your scalp. “Every last drop, and you’re going to be thankful for it.” Hips buck sharply, twitching on your tongue as he nears his peak. “Grateful you’re the female who gets to be on her knees for me.”

Eyes squeeze shut, arms aching from trying to shove away from him, but he keeps your head tucked between his legs, lips flush to his abdomen as he releases down your throat. Giving you no choice but to swallow as his hips stutter, nose hurting from how heavy his hold is. Low, rough groans drag from his throat, thighs parting as darkness envelops your body, wrapping around your waist, sliding up your front, licking between your thighs. Like dozens of pairs of hands, fingers grazing down your spine, thumbing your nipples.

You shudder, crying out at the invasion; the violation as he feels the soft heat of your skin, darkness building between your legs as you try to wriggle away. Try to push further up onto your knees but shadow wraps over your thighs, binding them to your calves so you’re forced to keep still as they writhe and flick against your heat.

He pulls you to his tip, just as the last spurts shoot from the slit, hot droplets of cum splattering over your lips, smattering like freckles on your cheeks and nose. You splutter, gagging and gulping down air, desperate for a breath at last. Through your spotted daze you can make out how he’s fisted his cock, pumping slowly, easing down from his high. Breathing heavily, skin hot and flushed.

“Lick it up,” he murmurs, panting deeply. Jerks your hair, making you wince. “Lick it up.”

You glance down, spotting the stray drops that have latched onto the dark fabric of his leathers, remnants still at his tip. Involuntarily swallowing, you lean forward, feeling piercing violet weighing as you poke your tongue out, lapping up the mess he’s made. Swiping over his inner thigh, dragging up the seam.

Gritting your teeth, you lick his tip, tongue flicking over his slit, suckling down the stray droplets. He growls, thumbing at your cheeks, scooping up the last few spurts of his cum, peering at it; smearing it across the pad. Lips quirk in a cold smile, violet flicking to weigh down on you. “Up,” he murmurs, as if coaxing a pet into being good. “Up here.” Pats his thigh with his free hand, “up into my lap.”

There’s no way for you to protest, dark magic handling you onto your feet. Flinch as he brushes his cum-slicked thumbs over your nipples, circling and pinching softly, grinning at how they stiffen into peaks as the air hits the cooling liquid. His hand trails down your stomach, gaze following with interest, pondering how next to torture you. How else can he degrade you?

A mix between a whimper and a hiss spits from your chest as those cum-covered fingers swipe over your heat, darkness keeping your arms immobile at your back. His eyes latch onto yours as his digits dance between your legs, a wicked smirk twisting his lips, grin the embodiment of cocky, male arrogance. “You’d taste wonderful right now,” he drawls, middle finger circling your clit, playing with the soft, sensitive bud.

Lip wobbles as your vision blurs, struggling against his dark power, keeping you from so much as squirming.

His grin widens, noting your disgust. One finger pushes inside, and you whimper, face screwing up as it curls gently, rubbing against soft, sensitive spots that would feel nice if they were being stimulated by anyone but him. “Should I spread you out on my desk, hm? Get you all nice and wet” —punctuated by the curl of his finger— “for me? I bet you’d hate that.”

Eyes remain screwed shut, nails digging into the flesh of your palms, teeth prickling at your lip. A second finger prods at your entrance, and you try to squirm away, try to close your legs, or even just squeeze them together but he’s got two digits inside, and tears drip down your cheeks. “Stop,” you whisper, shakily, voice trembling. “Stop it.”

He hums, grin widening as he drags you closer by your cunt, so you’re stood over his left thigh, free hand gripping your hip. “But you’re so fun to play with,” he replies, mirth dancing in the violet of his eyes. Wet splashes down, landing on your chest. “You’re a monster,” you breathe, voice breaking. “A filthy, fucking, monster.”

Teeth flash in a grin. “You love me really,” he says, fingers rubbing over a spot that has your breath catching. Brows narrow together, mustering up a glare, “I hate you.”

“You hate me?” He replies, laughter in his voice. “You don’t know the meaning of the word,” he drawls. “Lovely, soft, lamb. Never faced a day of hardship in her life. Kept safe, by me, while the rest of the land was brought to its knees by that bitch of a Queen.”

“You’re worse than she was,” you snarl, baring your teeth as you feel yourself crumbling further. Fingers still inside of you, thumb prone to press against your clit.

“You think I’m worse than her?” He mutters lowly, something dark and sinister sharpening it’s claws within him, violet plummeting to indigo. Fury glitters in his eyes. “I know you are,” you seethe, tears still dripping steadily.

Hellish mouth slowly quirks into a smile, dragging his fingers from your heat, raising his hand for you to see: the arousal coating his digits, glistening with slick. “You seem to like that.”

Humiliation swarms your body, and you look away, shame slicing into your gut despite knowing it means nothing. You hear him laugh, low and dark; hear the sound of clothes ruffling as he raises his hand, followed by wet, lewd noises. “You taste like you do, too,” he muses. When you don’t reply, he grips your jaw, other hand resting possessively at your hip. “Say you like it,” he commands, palms sliding over your hind, digits prodding at the intimate skin. “Ask me to fuck you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hiss, glaring at him beneath narrowed brows. “You’re vile, and cruel, and utterly, utterly, disgusting.”

“That’s not how you ask, little lamb,” he remarks, mildly. “Did having my cock in your mouth somehow skew your brain?” He muses, hand sliding over the plumpness of your rear to grip the back of your thigh, handling you so your leg slides over his hip—straddling his lap. “Maybe we should work on your articulation?” You debate spitting at him again. The way he quirks his brow in challenge makes you believe he’s inside you already, cataloguing each of your thoughts. When his lips quirk, you hiss.

“Get out.” The High Lord grips your hips, moving you so you’re flush against his chest, cock hard and stiff, and poking into your abdomen. ‘But it’s so cozy in here.’ Nausea roils in your gut as you attempt to squirm away. “Stop it,” you hiss—comes out like a whimper. He grips your jaw tight, “beg.”

Blood freezes in your veins; you stare at him. “What?” His hellish mouth twists into a feline grin. “Beg.” Heart pounds in your chest, his cold, violet eyes devoid of any hints to whether he’s offering you reprieve this time. He’s proven himself to be sick enough to get off on begging alone.

Lower lip wobbles, arms still trapped at your back by his dark magic. “Please,” you murmur, unable to meet his eye. Heat flushing your skin as sickening shame burns in your gut.

“Please what?” He drawls, taunting you softly, grinding his hips against you, the rough material of his leathers scraping your nipples, making you squirm in his hold. “Please, stop it,” you mutter, trying to blink away those tears—he probably gets turned on by them.

Darkness lessens at your back, giving you enough leeway to shift as he—

“You’re a fucking psycho.”

The High Lord grips your hips tighter, your nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders, front pressed tight to his chest as you’re forced to lean into him to keep from sliding down onto his cock—tip eagerly pressed to your entrance. “You didn’t sound believable.” He answers nonchalantly, smiling cruelly. Hips buck, his head nudging the soft dip between your thighs. “We need to work on your begging,” he growls up onto your mouth.

Terror coils in your gut as he makes to drag you down, sit you on his cock like a prized accessory, nothing but a toy for him to enjoy. Tears brim at your lash line, nails biting into his skin. “Please…” you whimper, breasts pressed flush to his chest, feet hurting from perching on the points of your toes. “I…Please, Rhys.”

Tears drip-drop, splashing lightly onto his cheeks, face below your own. Violet widens marginally, revelling in the hot liquid, feeling it roll down to his jaw. A muscle feathers, and he curses lowly. “You beg like a fucking whore,” he snarls, lips grazing your own. “Where do you get off on acting like that, huh? Acting like it’s not all your dumb mind can think about.” His thumb and fingers squeeze the skin of your cheeks, making you cry harder. “I know you want it,” he breathes, words carving into your lips from the proximity. “Can’t wait for it. You’re practically dripping on me,” he snarls, pupils dilating to something wild and dangerous.

Then he’s slamming you down, and your mouth parts in a silent sob, collapsing against him, bodies pressed flush as your muscles give out, flopping into his shape, moulding against him. He’s filling you up entirely, spine arching as involuntary pleasure spasms across your lower tummy, heating your skin until you feel like you’ll never move again.

Rhys curses, low and viciously, hand gripping the nape of your neck to pull you back. You can hardly function. Disgusting, violating pleasure twists through your abdomen from being seated on his cock, your entire weight pressing him deeper. “Look at you,” he mutters lowly, taking in the heat flushing your skin, the part of your lips, the fluttering of your eyelids. “So fucked out already” he growls, hot lips brushing against your neck; you shudder.

“I told you that you wanted it,” he drawls, large palm spanning the width of your back, encouraging you to curve into him, arms draping over his shoulders, between the great wings. “Even your cunt was begging for me,” he snarls roughly, softly grinding up into you. You shiver from the exposure, feeling more naked now than you ever have before. Knowing he can watch as you loathsomely respond to him: the delicious press of his cock, how ecstasy is burning beneath your skin.

He laughs lowly, teeth scraping the soft skin of your throat. ‘I know you like it like this,’ he gloats in your mind, nipples peaking from the invasion. ‘You can’t lie to me, even if you manage to deceive yourself.’ All you can do is release a strangled sound—a bit too close to a moan for all the locked up hatred you can feel coiling in the pit of your stomach.

The High Lord begins bucking his hips, hands forcing you to grind against him, despite how you’re rendered immobile from shock and pleasure, slumped onto his chest as he uses you. He picks up the rhythm, setting a brutal pace that has disgust bubbling in the pit of your belly. His cock shoves into you, touching those sensitive spots he’d sought out with his fingers, sending you deeper into that mind-numbing state of disassociation.

“Do you still hate me, huh? Still hating this as much as when we started?” He growls, pounding up into you while you can do nothing but accept every sharp thrust, every buck that has you tightening around him. Slick’s probably dripped down onto his leathers by now—he’ll probably force you to lick it up afterwards.

“I know you’re enjoying this,” he murmurs beside your ear. “Such a filthy liar, aren’t you? My lovely, lying, lamb.”

You hiss as pleasure spills over the edges, ecstasy erupting within you as you’re sent over the edge. He snarls in response, rationality breaking beneath the strain of animal instinct. He surges from the chair, shoving you on his desk, papers flying as he grips your hips, slamming you back to meet him as he pounds into you. Sharp, gleaming canines pierce his lower lip as his own high crashes into him, cum shooting from his cock as his thrusts become sloppy, grinding into the wet, messy heat of your cunt as you flutter around him. Eyes are rolled back as you helplessly buck against him, body moving on its own while your back bows from his desk.

Ink is no doubt staining your skin, but you’re too far away to care. Grateful for the reprieve, finally leaving your body, escaping from his brutality, even for only a few moments.

Pleasure numbs your mind of pain, blanking out the violation and basking in the warm tingle he’s put into your bones.

Heavy pants fill the air as he keeps his hips pressed tight to the backs of your thighs, wings taut and shuddering as the last spurts of cum spill into you, making sure to pump everything he has deep inside.

He needs to be certain you’re completely his, filled with him at all times.

And when you’re eventually empty again, he’ll just repeat the events.

Filling you up all over again.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Rhys Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[goobersplat]

Five 1980's Googly Eye Weepul Novelty Toys

[patchworksoda]

Wisteria in action!

Wisteria is an Ortomi gen 4 on a CF Doll Dai body.

[8bitmilk]

addicted to fucking with the betas. don’t you have a discord to mod or a raid to run or something ??

[dogondogbreeding]

makes me so hard thinking about keeping a needy submissive tboy as my desk pet. always between my legs, breathing in my musk all day long and getting nice and dumb for me.

ribbing their face in my crotch throughout the day, letting them slobber all over my cock like the desperate slut they are, and fucking their throat whenever i need to destress after a long day

i just need a cute tboy who i can grab by the hair and face fuck and choke on my cock till i fill their mouth with my cum

[tadpolesonalgae]

Moon Cycle

Dark!Rhysand x reader

a/n: this goes along with desk pet and play-mate 🧡💛

warnings: menstruation, mentions of non-con, references to play-mate, fluff (kind of?), hurt/comfort?

word count: 2,501

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

You wake to waves of heat rolling off your skin in wet waves, feeling damp and hyper-sensitive to temperature.

A single shift of your body, and you can feel the slickness between your thighs, far too spread out to be the results of his occasional midnight trips. You swallow thickly, heart thumping heavily as the first aches blossom through the right side of your abdomen, legs bending at the knees in attempts to relieve tension, but to little relief.

Gritting your teeth, trying to calm your pulse, you push back the blanket, keeping it as far from your legs as possible, hoping to keep the carnage to a minimum. Even in the dark the bloody patches are clear to see, eyes already well-adjusted to pick out the dry stains on the previously fluffy fur. Fear dilutes your scent, and as quietly as possible you attempt to roll from the floor bed, pulling the already-bloody blanket close should more begin to drip down your thighs.

Thankfully the blood hasn’t yet passed your knees, but now you’re upright you can feel things shifting, a wave of heat and nausea suctioning the strength from your muscles. On wobbly feet you tiptoe from the bed chambers, praying to the Mother you don’t wake him, fearing for your life as prey does near its hunter—a beast raised to kill.

You manage to make it to the large washroom, immediately dropping the blanket in favour of the roll beside the latrine, hastily tearing a sizeable few sheets away to fold up and place between your legs, temporarily buying you time to clean the murder scene on your inner thighs. Easing in a breath, you pull off the shorts, heading over to the basin, never having been more grateful for the instant water, turning on the cold tap as you attempt to rub the stains free.

Minutes later and you’re still scrubbing, aware of the blanket at your back that’s still caked in blood, so you push it into the empty bath, running cold water as silently as possible in the hopes of beginning to loosen the grip of the blood while you deal with the shorts. After a while you realise it’s the best it’s going to get, ringing the now off-white cotton over the side of the basin, refocusing to your thighs.

Fatigue weighs heavily on your body, eyes wishing to close but adrenaline keeps you awake and alert, moving through the familiar motions of removing more of the latrine roll and dampening it under cold water, dabbing at the dried stains, dislodging the grip it has on your skin. Aches become more prominent, a fresh wave of heat sweeping through you and you want to cry—but there’s no time for that. Instead you continue working on rubbing your skin clean, easing away the dark redness that’s blotchy and stubborn to move.

At last you’re free, and you turn to the blanket, having been left to soak for a while. You try layering roll over the stains in attempt to absorb the colour, but it seems firmly lodged in, and you don’t want to rub it which will result in pushing the stains deeper, only spreading them. You glance around the bathroom, finding twisted gratitude for Rhys’ luxurious taste. It’s not perfect, but it’s worth a try.

You reach for the powdered bath salts, drying your hands before tapping out some of the fine dust over the afflicted area, hoping it will do the trick. Your pulse kicks up, and you find yourself searching for something to do instead of anxiously waiting. You’ll have to find something to put on your lower half, but he rarely lets you know where clothing is kept—it’s rare enough you’re even allowed night robes since he sees no point in hiding your body.

Panic thrums beneath your skin, and you briefly consider a trip down to the kitchen where there must be vinegar, and if you’re lucky, something else acidic, like a lemon or two. But then you would risk waking him, and the thought of him finding out the mess you’ve made is—

“I knew you’d pretty in blood,” a sultry voice drawls from the doorway.

You spin around weakly, hands dropping between your thighs so he won’t be able to see the roll you’ve neatly folded up. His violet eyes flick about the bathroom with analytical care, cataloguing the displacement of various items. A fresh ache blooms in your thighs, and you find your back hunching, having to support yourself on the basin, fear making you sick.

His attention settles on you, and you feel like hot coals are being pressed to your bare flesh, trembling beneath his cold gaze. Soft, sensual lips part, about to speak, and the terror slices deeper, making you stumble, loosing your grip on the marble. The world spins, and you brace for the racket of pain that will undoubtedly burst through your spine and skull, yet the impact never comes.

He hisses, powerful arms wrapped around your body, holding you securely flush to his chest. Your muscles lock at the proximity, able to feel his gaze boring into your cheek, but your eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted as bubbles of pressure push up from your abdomen, glistening along your hip. Rhys stiffens, hearing the shallow breaths, aware of how little you’re resisting his touch, how greatly you’re struggling to even stand on your own.

You flutter in and out, lower stomach throbbing and it’s all you can do to keep your feet on the floor, unable to fully support yourself, remaining in his intrusive hold.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks lowly, grip tight on your shoulder, able to scent your fear. Enjoying it a little more than usual.

“I didn’t know it was happening tonight or I would have prepared better,” you mumble snappily, legs trembling as you force yourself to stand, one palm settling over the pain, the other braced against the basin. Rhys chuckles lowly, pressing himself flush against your bare back, arms wrapping snuggly around your waist, fingers grazing the soft skin of your stomach. “Where do you think you’re going?” He muses, tracing feather-light patterns over your abdomen.

“I need…I need to clean the pallet,” you mutter, unable to raise your attention from the floor, palm still attempting to soothing the cramping.

Rhys hums nonchalantly, but you could hear the wicked grin on his lover’s mouth from the next room over, discomfort zipping across your skin, squirming beneath his touch, only a thin layer of cotton between you—likely the thinnest he could have made. “But you’ve woken me up now,” he reminds, hot lips brushing the shell of your ear, and you shiver with disgust.

You’re prepared to plead for disuse for the rest of the night, but he’s raising you into his arms, easily sweeping you off your feet and you struggle weakly. “Rhys, I can’t,” you whisper sharply, hands locked over the broad width of his shoulders, bare and hot beneath your fingertips. “You can’t— You’ll tear me apart,” you plead quietly, stiffening when violet flicks to you.

He carries you over to his bed, setting you down, pallet having vanished and he pulls away. “I don’t think I will,” he replies, smiling faintly in the now candle-lit room, and you’re thankful he hasn’t turned to the faelights. “You’re far too valuable to be wrecked in a single night,” he drawls, bringing your knuckles to his cruelly soft mouth. You hiss at him weakly, hardly able to pull away—as if that’s something you’re normally capable of.

But then he’s turning away, humming a deep, rich tune from his chest, turning to a chest of drawers and pulling something out: a new pair of shorts. Skimpier than the last, but you can’t be picky here. What it takes you a moment to notice is the linen lining the crotch, thick padding that will be suitable for your first night. His sensual lips stretch in a feline grin, “you didn’t think I was going to fuck you while you were bleeding did you, little lamb?”

Humiliation flushes your body, shame sitting thick at the back of your throat and you duck your head, unable to fight on two fronts with your body trying to tear you apart. He laughs lowly, dropping the shorts onto your stomach, watching as you try to wriggle into them with as much dignity as possible. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’d done something so immoral,” you manage to reply, though your voice lacks its usual venom, tender from embarrassment. He hums, the sound settling low in your stomach as he walks to the other side of the bed.

While his back is turned, you reach down to remove the latrine roll sheets you’d folded up. But they vanish from your fingers.

“And I can assure you it won’t be the last,” he muses silkily, settling close to your side, moving with that lethal silence again, cat-soft paws carrying him like a ghost. You flinch from his proximity, huddling deeper into your clothes in attempts to hide from his overwhelming presence. “I wasn’t doubting you,” you whisper hoarsely, causing his smile to widen by a fraction, eyes gleaming with hunger and you quickly look away, disinclined to tempt the beast before you.

“Finally starting to get a hang of it,” he murmurs, settling on his back, pulling the covers up over the two of you, and you initially stiffen from the touch of his sheets, imbued with his scent. So crisp and clean.

You turn on your side, anxious to be as far from him as possible, confused by the curve-ball he’s thrown tonight. A few moments later the candles extinguish, and you flinch as he rolls to his side, arms wrapping around your waist almost delicately, dragging you back to be tucked into his body. You don’t dare ask what he’s doing, fear already present in your bloodstream before he’s nosing at your throat.

Shock zaps through you when he drags the tip of his tongue across the skin, teeth nipping softly soon after, and you shudder. Despite him suggesting he wouldn’t touch you tonight, a deep sense of unease crawls below your flesh, wriggling and squirming like worms in mud. You flinch when his palm flattens over your stomach, the tremors becoming more pronounced, knowing the intensity of pain he could inflict at any second. Yet heat warms your abdomen, sinking into you with soothing grace, instantly easing the pressure contained beneath your skin.

“I can’t have my favourite thing suffering, now can I?” He muses quietly beside your ear, nipping lightly at the lobe. “What sort of High Lord would that make me if I didn’t take care of my subjects? Is there anything else you want?” You tremble in his arms, confused and afraid, unsure whether you can take him at face value tonight—he hadn’t seemed angry despite the blood staining the no-doubt expensive bedding. Maybe he just doesn’t care.

“What are you playing at?” You breathe weakly, aches slightly soothed from the heat of the water bottle, thighs pressing together, curling closer to your stomach, his palm keeping the heat pressed against your skin. “I’m capable of not playing with you, lamb,” he says, lips curving into a smirk as they brush the side of your throat, making your toes curl. “As much as I’m against it.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hiss, pathetically trying to wriggle from his hold, making him hum approvingly. “We both know you love it,” he croons, kissing up your neck. “Love being my perfect little toy.” Mortification burns across your skin, wild heat fluttering through your flesh at the reminder of the crude things he’d manipulated you into saying. “That was under duress,” you whisper, flushing intensely, “it means nothing.”

“It means nothing?” He hums, able to hear the mirth in his voice, free hand gliding up your sternum to brush his fingers over your collar bones. “Then why are you so embarrassed?”

“You’re being crass,” you hiss, shaky hands trying to push his away from your abdomen—you can hold the water bottle by yourself. “Am I?” He grins, and you flinch when his fingers interleaf with your own, trapped in his grip even as you try to pull away. “I could be much worse, if it would help distract you.”

“Stop it,” you say, wriggling uncomfortably. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“That’s cruel,” he remarks casually, teeth grazing sensitive skin. “I was hoping you’d ask for something nicer. No warm milk? Heated blanket?” You seethe, shifting enough to shoot him with a heated glare. “That’s vile.”

He pauses, blinking once as your eyes lock, before his features fill with barely suppressed laughter. Disgust squirms beneath your flesh at his lightheartedness. “You’re a fucking psycho,” you mutter, making to turn your back on him again, but his hand skates higher, forearm pressing between your breasts as he grips your jaw, forcing your to face him, fingers biting into your cheeks. “You’re the one whose mind was in the gutter. I was offering genuine help,” he drawls atop your mouth, able to feel as you suck in a sharp inhale at his sudden proximity. Embarrassment flushes your skin as you realise your mistake, eyes widening marginally.

“Of course,” he murmurs, sensuous lips curving in a suggestive tilt. “If you’d like that…” Violet seems to gleam with wicked delight at the shock on your features, quick to scrunch with forced disgust. “You’re an unloveable monster, Rhys.”

“I know,” he whispers, before pressing his mouth to your own, hot and wet. His admission is washed away as his tongue dips in, velvet soft as it strokes against your own.

You hiss as arousal blossoms unfairly in your abdomen, clashing with the glistening aches that are plucking across your thighs and stomach, pulling away from him forcefully, breathing heavily as you curl tighter, desperate to alleviate the pain.

“You know,” he murmurs close to your ear, “we could try something else.” You stiffen as his fingers tease the band of your shorts, lightly snapping it against your hip, careful to avoid the source of your pain. A strangled whimper breaks from your lungs, squeezing your eyes shut, hands clutching his crisp and clean sheets tight, preparing for him to inflict his cruelty.

Yet to your surprise he’s quiet, skin prickling as his attention brushes over your cheek. Then he hums softly, hand drawing away as he settles at your back, the bare heat of his chest warming you, body draped over your own, pulling you closer so you’re tucked against the powerful lines of him. Allowing you time to rest.

You remain tense, conditioned to expect violation, but his hands remain still, the only movement being his thumbs, oscillating in slow, smooth motions.

“Relax,” he murmurs, nosing at the crown of your head. “Rest for tonight.”

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