#feysand x reader

[myfictionaldreams]

For a request do you think you could do poly!feysand x Illyrian!reader where the reader had an awful day and Feyra and Rhys help her feel better?

⁀➷ Clipped but Claimed // Feysand x F!Reader

Summary: After a brutal day of training and cruel whispers from the Illyrian males, you find solace—and worship—in the arms of your mates, Feyre and Rhysand. They remind you that your broken wings don’t make you weak… they make you theirs.

Requested by: What better way to celebrate 10 years of Acotar than a Feysand fic! Thank you so much for the lovely request (and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write!)

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, poly, Dom Rhys/Feyre, sub reader, description of clipped wings + injuries, misogony/bullying, multiple orgasms, overstimulated, oral, wing play, masturbation, body worship

Words: 2.7k

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When you return home to the River House, the quiet greets you. Usually, the silence is a comfort, but today, it was like a brutal steel dagger to your already aching chest, heavy, suffocating.

Closing the door gently behind you, though your fingers were unsteady, you held back the response to slam it. You know you won’t cry yet. You never cry until they touch you. That’s always what unravels you. The way Feyre and Rhysand love you like nothing in you is broken or impure, even when everything feels like it is.

Three steps into the grand entryway, Rhys appears by your side. You can tell by how his hair was slightly out of place, not from intimacy but from running his fingers too many times through the strands, that he had been locked in his office all day.

Unable to meet his gaze as he steps close enough that the scent of jasmine and citrus wraps around you like a warm blanket. “You’re quiet”, he muses, voice low and carefully measured. “Too quiet”.

“I’m fine”.

“Try again.” There’s not a fierceness in his tone. No, there was only soft coaching, like he knows you need to tell him, and he was there for you to fall back on.

“I just-” You swallow, and it burns. Gods, your throat is raw, tender and aching. “I had a bad day”, you croak.

Feyre appears in the doorway behind him as you finally look up at the sound of her steps. Losing your nerve, your eyes focused on the dirt caking your boots, flinching as you realised you’d walked dirt into the beautiful home the three of you had created together.

Your mates take in the state of you. Sweat-drenched leathers, scraped hands, a faint limp in your right leg. Your wings, or what’s left of them, clipped and ruined at sixteen, the delicate membrane long since scarred over, hung heavily against the cool floor, causing a shiver up your spine. You had no energy to keep them off the ground.

Feyre steps closer. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No,” the lie is easy to say, “not physically.”

An ink-covered hand brushes your arm. “Sweetheart…”

“They said I was a disgrace. That I only got this far because I fucked my way into your bed. Like this was the only reason that I’m even allowed to wear these leathers, and not the years of training and torture that I’ve had to endure. It always comes back to what’s between my legs.”

Rhys stills completely as Feyre flinches, her hand dropping against her chest.

Now that you’d started your confession, there was no stopping. “I screamed my way through training, just so I wouldn’t hear them. So I could pretend I couldn’t hear them. But now, it hurts. I sound like a fucking animal.”

There's more silence, but not the kind that gives you one edge. This silence feels like gathering stormclouds as shadows coil around Rhysand. The violet in his eyes is vibrant with fury, and his jaw clenches as if holding back the urge to destroy.

A steady hand on his shoulder had the fire simmering ever so slightly. “They have no idea what you’re made of,” Feyre says, stepping forward. Her eyes were just as fierce as Rhys’s, but her voice was soft and comforting. “They see your scars and call it a weakness.  But I see someone who survived what no one should’ve had to. And kept fighting anyway.”

Flicking your eyes from Feyre to Rhys, you admit, “I just wanted to be seen. For more than being your mate. For more than being the girl with ruined wings.”

Rhys invaded your space first, his hand sliding around the back of your neck, his temple pressing to yours. “You are more. So much more. And tonight you don’t have to prove it. You just have to let us love and care for you, as you deserve.”

All at once, you break like a dam cracking and crumbling away until collapsing.

But they are both there. Your mates, holding you up by the time the first sob breaks free with an agonised cry.

Having come from a place of violence, aggression and stamina, to have people you loved, tend to you so carefully, like you were made of glass, made you feel worthy. Not fragile but precious.

Your clothes were removed. Feyre’s hands peeled your training leathers from your sticky skin. Rhys pressed his lips to your cheek, promising endless love and unconditional care. The words were not needed, though, because the bond was humming with emotions, filling you with warmth and safety.

When they slide your top over your head, your shoulders hunch instinctively. The strain of your wings was causing you to sway from their weight, but there were your mates, with steadying hands keeping you upright.

Your wings were once your pride and joy, and now they were ugly, twisted and scarred from being clipped. Most of the time, you could carry them around with ease. But on days when you were emotionally and physically drained, they were the first to feel the effects by slumping to the floor.

Initially, when you’d met Feyre, years after she became High Lady and the wars had settled, you’d been self-conscious about showing her, not wanting to frighten her. But she didn’t recoil; in fact, at the earliest opportunity, she had caressed and kissed the areas you were most conscious of.

Rhys had shown his emotions in other ways. Taking Cassian to a camp further into the mountains, he found the commander who had ordered your wings to be clipped and had done such ruthless and brutal vengeance that there were still whispers of the horrific screams overheard from the others in camp.

You’d never asked him to do this act, and you never wanted to use his power for your benefit. Still, it was the underlying act of love, adoration, and protectiveness that both Feyre and Rhys displayed that made you accept the mating bond in less than a week of being in their company.

“They don’t know what beauty is if they can’t see this” Rhys’s arms slip beneath your knees, the other supporting your back as you’re lifted. Your arms are unbelievably heavy, but you had just enough energy to wrap them around his shoulders, your face resting against his neck as he carries you up the stairs behind Feyre.

The bath that the High Lady draws is warm and herbal, scented with lavender and something that reminds you of moonlight.

“Stay with me”, your voice croaks more than ever, to the point where you flinch at the sound of how broken you sound.

Rhys’ arms tighten around you. “Always”.

Feyre undresses first, sinking into the bath carved out of the floor. Opening her arms, she gently helps you from Rhys’ arm until you’re lowered into the warm water and resting your back against her chest.

Feyre's arms wrap around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder. “I’ve got you,” she says.

Rhys joins, careful to wash your aching body. It was a mixture between bliss and agony as your muscles seized as they’re massaged, but the relief after was unbelievable.

There was nothing more that you wanted to do than touch your mates back with as much tenderness, but you just couldn’t. Even keeping your eyes open was a difficult feat in of itself.

It seemed you had fallen into a light sleep as you’re eased out of the bath, a weightless sensation. A tingling warmth brushes your skin as Feyre magically dries you, and Rhys lowers you into the centre of your shared bed.

The silk sheets were a welcome softness on your aching body and wings as you tiredly blinked to try and remain awake with your mates.

Feyre’s inked fingers capture your attention as her nails gently graze down your sternum, circling your belly button until you’re tensing at the ticklish sensation, a different type of warmth beginning to bloom between your thighs.

She lay next to you, careful not to lean on your broken wings. She leaned up with her other fist under her chin, she looked in deep thought, inspecting the length of your body.

The ache had quickly replaced any form of tiredness for them. A seedy, thick scent began to fumigate the air, coming from each of you as your minds drifted to pleasuring the other.

With renewed energy, you tilted onto your side, ignoring the pinch of pain from a particularly sore bruise in your hip, your fingers began to trace a tattoo that swirled down the centre of her sternum. Your favourite of all of her masterful inks, but that was because it was a deal she had made with you months ago.

A warm body cocoons around your back, a strong arm sliding around your waist as Rhys’ lips caress along your shoulder. “Let us take care of you tonight”.

Feyre nodded along with her mate. Leaning forward, she places a single kiss on your collarbone. “Let us remind you who you are.”

All it takes is a single nod from you; they are you only and every thought.

They start slow. Every touch is worshipful.

Feyre’s mouth soft against yours. Simply breathing you in, her tongue dipping out carefully just to have a much-needed taste. There was always such a contrast between your mates.

Rhys was dominant and commanding. His touch always made it evident just how much he needed you and Feyre. She, on the other hand, was soft and took her time, like every touch was her trying to memorise every inch of your body. The two were polar opposites yet perfectly together.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just feel.” Rhys’s voice is thick with emotion as his mouth lowers to the top of your back, to where your wings and spine meet. Even with the destruction of your body, the ridge where they clipped the tension being especially tender, the membranes and span of your wing were just as sensitive as they once were.

Your breath hitches as his fingers ghost over the ridge of the wing closest to him. There’s hesitation in his movements, though, as he asks, “May I?”

Unable to talk, you nod.

Rhys leans in and presses a kiss to the curve. It’s featherlight. Gentle. And yet, your entire body jolts, causing Feyre to momentarily give you some space, knowing just how sensitive you were.

His kisses lower, moving across the membrane and with the way it was effecting your body, he might as well have had his mouth attached to your soaked pussy.

Your arousal was evident, from the heady scent but also from the dampness coating your thighs.

Your hips shift. Feyre hums sweetly, her fingers still stroking your stomach. “She’s trembling”.

Rhys lifts his head, eyes clashing with the amused blues of Feyre. “She’s close just from me touching her wings.”

You let out a soft, helpless moan. The sound seems to snap something in both of them. Rhys lowers again, licking an obscene line along the inside edge of the scarred membranes. The moment his warm, wet tongue drags along one of the nerve endings, you cry out - high and broken.

You were so close, so fucking close that you were already tightening with the impending orgasm.

“Fuck. Please!”, you beg, lifting a leg to wrap around Feyre’s waist, pulling her body closer until she lifts a knee and rests it against your wet core. You’re grinding down on her before your next breath.

The male behind you chuckles darkly against your skin, and the vibration sends another shock through you. “So sensitive. So responsive.”

A gentle kiss to your temple as your eyes open to glance at the beautiful female whose voice is now deliciously wicked. “I love watching you fall apart like this for us. For someone as strong and powerful as you are, a simple kiss to the wing has you begging for more. It’s so pretty.”

Arching your back as you cry out, your thighs tremble as you ride her thigh through your orgasm, Rhys' lips continuing to lick and kiss along that perfect spot until you’re slumping into the bed.

“So fucking good for us,” Rhys growls as he careful eases you onto your back, giving you a minute to catch your breath whilst he licks a downright greedy line through the wet patch on Feyre’s thigh.

There’s only a moment to regain movement in your body before it's contorted by strong male hands. Pushing against your thighs, you’re exposed to him as he lowers his powerful body, those twinkling violet eyes watching your face as his mouth lowers to your cunt.

It’s too much. Not enough. Overwhelming.

You’re losing control. Entirely vulnerable for your mates as your fingers squeeze into the sheets, ignoring the tearing from how harshly you have the material grasped in your fingers.

Delicate teeth graze over your pebbled nipples, Feyre teasing and suckling causing more tingling in your already oversensitive pussy. Your eyes clash with blues, holding the gaze as your mouth drops open in another silent orgasm as the man between your lips sucks aggressively on your throbbing clit.

Your body arches off the bed, sobbing and shaking in their arms. You give your entire body to them, but something is missing, and you need to touch them both.

“Please- I want to touch you both, Feyre, Rhysand, please.”

You were reaching for them both, but Feyre is quick to grab your hands together, holding them above your head until you’re pinned to the bed. With a gentle shake of her head, she smiles softly down at you, her brunette hair cascading around her face in a golden halo. 

“Remember what we said, this is about you, not us. Just let us both look after you for once. You’re always so giving, in every way that matters.”

Her response, as sweet and calming as it is, only causes more distress as your love for them expands, wanting to praise them with your own touch, but with your depleted strength, Feyre can easily keep you in position.

“But I-I need,”. You’re unsure what you need. But the begging doesn’t stop.

“Shhh, I know, his mouth is a lot, isn’t it?” Feyre soothingly whispers whilst kissing your cheek, keeping her body close to yours but blocking out the sight of Rhys still pleasuring you between your legs.

A masculine hum against your clit as your crying out again, thighs shaking as another orgasm threatens to break you.

“Just one more. One more little orgasm and he’ll fill you up, how does that sound?”  Feyre whispers into your ear.

“Yes! Please, yes!”

With a curl of his fingers that had easily pushed into your sopping wet cunt, and a circle of his tongue against your clit, you’re there. Unimaginable, overstimulating pleasure ignites a fire beneath your skin, every muscle tensing and then easing as the pulsing of your walls never seems to end.

Then you’re being stretched. The thickness of Rhys’ cock a welcome sensation as Feyre swallows your cries of ecstasy with her lips covering yours.

He’s slow with his movements. Calculated rolls of his hips. Steady pressure from his thumb to your clit.

Not once did either of them glance at the other. Their eyes were entirely focused on you. Their hands are massaging and holding your body. Lips whispering praises and words of affirmation that had all your insecurities a distant memory.

They don’t stop. Not until you’ve shattered again, sobbing into Feyre’s arms as your body convulses around Rhys as he roars with his own release.

They hold you for hours.

Even after you beg and beg for Feyre to finally find her orgasm. With tired but unmoving eyes, you watched as Feyre slipped her fingers between her legs, touching herself as you instructed her to, considering she still was adamant that you were to lie back and relax.

It was an artwork seeing her eyes glaze over, her back arch, and legs curl with the orgasm. 

Rhys’s wings make an appearance, shouldering all three of you. Feyre’s fingers trace soft lines along your scars and minor injuries. Your body aches in every good way, every needed way.

“You didn’t deserve today,” Rhys whispers against your neck. “But you do deserve this. All of this. You are not weak. You are not small. And you are not alone.”

Your voice is broken, but you manage to whisper, “I love you.”

They hold you tighter. Safe and content in your home.

[manicmanuscription]

The Right Time

Pairing(s): Feysand x Reader

Word Count: 2501

Warnings: Angst, Possible Medical Inaccuracies, Fluff, Love Confessions, Delirium, Lack of Sleep, Depression? Panicking, Dissociation.

Summary: Reader is a new single mom, and she pushed away her only support system determined to prove she could do it on her own. But on a bad sleeping night she's slipping. Luckily her mates friends are there to pick her up.

A/N: I've been really obsessed with baby/pregnancy fic's lately due to baby fever, but I have never actually been pregnant before so a lot of this stuff is based on information from family members or other fanfic's/tiktok/insta etc…So a lot of this might not be correct. This fic has also been playing in my head after a shit ton of pregnancy fics i read so there might be grammatical errors!

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divider by @cafekitsune

You didn’t know what you expected your life to be when you were just a faeling but it certainly wasn’t like this…

Living in a small cottage nestled in the countryside of Velaris, a wailing baby in your arms, bags under your eyes, no ring on your finger and no baby daddy in sight. Your house was an absolute mess but you didn’t have the energy or time to clean, you would’ve hired a maid but ever since your daughter was born a few weeks ago your paranoia had skyrocketed. It didn’t help that you were a valued member of the Inner Circle and not only had your life been threatened numerous times but you had been attacked just as many. 

You never expected it to be this hard though. Andromeda was squealing at the top of her lungs and you were sobbing right along with her. Rocking her up and down and desperately trying to figure out what was wrong. Not only were you still recovering from your intense labor and your homones all over the place but it was impossible to get any sleep, if your lovely daughter wasn’t having difficulty latching and by some miracle she had fallen asleep for longer than forty five minutes than you were staring at the wall cooconed in blankets a deep sense of dread overcoming every sense in your body made it diffuclt to fall asleep.

Anxiety kept your eyes awake at the thought that something would go wrong the second you let yourself relax. Your body would pass out from sheer exhaustion and Andromeda’s cries would awaken you and you started the whole song and dance over again. 

You were so, so, tired. Your mind had you seeing shadows moving across the floor and you could barely stand up straight. It was a miracle that fae get pregnant, conception taking years at a time and even then the pregnancy and labor extremely diffuclt, a lot of fae not surviving the process. You knew you were incredibley lucky to have a daughter, to have the chance to hold her and you loved her fiercely with ever fiber in your being yet you couldn’t help but regret everything.

You wished you never went to that club, never met that male, you wished that male had stayed instead of running in the opposite direction and you wished to all gods that you hadn’t pushed away your only support system, determined to prove you could do it on your own. 

Your family had been a shining star during all of this. Especially your High Lady and Lord, Rhysand and Feyre knew the deep intracies of pregnancy better than most after everything they had been through with Nyx.

Theey had stuck to your side the second they learned you were pregnant. Taking turns holding your hair back as you violently threw up from intense morning sickness, got all your cravings the second you mentioned it, held your bump when the weight started hurting your back or rubbed your feet when your ankles swelled.

They even forced you to stay at their house for weeks at a time so they could take care of you and when you insisted you were becoming a burden and returned home they had made themselves comfortable on your couch before you felt guilty and returned to the River House if only to save their spines. 

You had tried pulling away from them, guilt eating you alive every second of your pregnancy. Their actions didn’t help the absolute massive crush you had on them, in fact it only increased your adoration for them which made you shame spiral. The second your daughter was born you knew you couldn’t continue leaning on them for support, it only hurt you at the end of the day when you remembered they were mated, they had each other and a son and despite their overly flirty comments and lingering touches that just ended up causing more confusion. There was no room for you, you couldn’t keep pining after them when you needed to focus on Andromeda.

You told them you needed space, practically shoving them out the door even after they had spent 18 hours holding your hand’s and helping you deliver your beautiful daughter. Of course they had straight up refused your attempt to push them away and stayed with you a few days after labor, helping take care of you during the harsh after effects. But you finally kicked them out throwing out some cruel word’s that would haunt you to this day. Andromeda needed her mother to be present and emotionally healthy and you couldn’t provide that if you keep second guessing and overthinking every brush against your hand or every comment about your eyes. 

You could do this, you had to do this. You needed to be the best mother you could be for your little star. 

Yet you couldn’t even do that because she would not. stop. crying. The sound shredded your heart to pieces and guilt and shame turned the shattered bits of you to dust. She was fed, clean and warm and you couldn’t figure out why she kept crying. The thought made you feel like a horrible mother and you let out another sob at the same time as Andromeda as you bounced her up and down, forcing your numb feet to pace the room. “Please, please just go to sleep.” You begged. “I don’t know what’s wrong.” Your voice cracked and you spiraled at the scream she let out. 

You couldn’t do this. 

It was too hard, you were a horrible friend and an even worse mother and you didn’t deserve this little miracle in your arms. A better female would be able to handle it. You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do this, you couldn’t- 

“Oh Angel.” A soft voice broke and you turned to find Feyre and Rhys standing there, you opened your mouth to say something but Rhys was moving the instant your eyes met their’s. As soon as he was a breath away from you he reached for Andromeda, saying something about help yet the words were distorted and muffled in your exhaustive state, soft arms gripped your shoulders and you almost fell over at the weight of your baby being removed as Rhysand gently pried her away from you and into his arms, a smile gracing his elegant features.

You were too tired to fight, to do anything to protest as Feyre led you away from the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. She was saying something too but you didn’t hear it, all your last remaining energy focused on listening for Andromeda, making sure she was ok. Feyre titled your chin to look up at her and she pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. Your mind suddenly sharpening as her magic brushed against your mental walls as she forced you to listen to her. “She’ll be fine Sweetheart, Rhys has got her, now let me take care of you.” 

Everything felt so far away as if you were dreaming, moving through life in a haze as Feyre gently undressed you and settled you in a warm bath. She washed your hair and body and massaged your shoulders, whispering word’s of comfort that did not reach you as you floated away from your body. She fed you fruit and cheese’s your body chewing the food on autopilot. When was the last time you ate? 

The food and Feyre constantly touching you slowly brought you back down to earth. To the reality of your hunger, your tiredness, how sore all your muscles were and to the lack of Andromeda crying, you could hear Rhysand humming lowly through the crack in the door and the occasional creak of the floorboards as he calmed your daughter down. The thought had tears lining your eyes again. “She hates me.” You whimpered and Feyre brushed your tears away with the pads of her thumbs. “No she doesn’t.” Feyre she affirmed confidently. 

You shook you head in disagreement. “I can’t do anything right Fey, I said all those nasty things to you a-and I couldn’t even get her to sleep, and I’m so tired. I wasn’t cut out for this alright? I’m going to fuck her up so badly, I’ll ruin everything.” You were sobbing again, a broken sound tearing from your throat and the sound looked like it physically pained her. “Andromeda adores you alright love? We can all see it, she never looks at anyone the way she looks at you.  Your so attuned to her, you love her so fiercely and that’s the most important part. Your doing your amazing love. You’re not going to fuck anything up. You’re an amazing female and you’re an amazing mother. I forgive you, so does Rhys. We just want to make sure your ok.”

You let the words sink in, your heart beating wildly out of her chest as you cried at the tenderness of her words. “Why are you dong this to me?” You asked brokenly, you felt as if they were pulling you in all different directions. “Why are you saying all of these things when-“ when you’re mated. Were the unspoken words. But you couldn’t say that, you’d never say that and ruin whatever pieces of friendship you had. 

“When what?” Feyre asked softly as she stroked your damp hair.  

“When- I- I-“ You stuttered not knowing what to say as your mind panicked at the close confession you’d almost made. “Why are supporting me like this.” You instead asked, needing to know why they had stayed so close to your side and pulled at your heart strings so violently. “Just..why Feyre? Go home, to your son. I’ll be fi-“

“If you finish that sentance I swear to the gods-“ Rhysand exhaled heavily from the now open doorway,. “Rhys.” Feyre warned but he brushed her off as he crossed the room and  kneeled in front of the bathtub, gripping your face in between his large hands. “Do you not see how much we love you? How much we care for you. I think we have made it obvious Angel. You are our mate. Just please- please let us help you.” The last part sounded like a desperate plea, a whine leaving his lips and you didn’t have it into you to be shocked that the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court were kneeling beside you, begging. your heart froze at the love confession. 

“Wait…What?” You asked slowly, waiting for them to tell you this was all a big joke. You couldn’t believe this, you couldn’t let yourself hope. Feyre was giving Rhysand an annoyed glare but at your voice she turned to you, her expression to shifting to one of hope. “You are our mate darling.” She whispered, entertwining a tattooed hand with your’s, water dripping onto the rug, reminding you that were naked in a bathtub and an embarrassed flush crept up your cheeks. 

“And we love you.” Rhys added once again, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“We didn’t want to tell you like this, especially not right now.” Feyre added with a pointed tone, giving her - your -  mate another glare. The High Lord just rolled his eyes. “I’m tired of waiting for the right time Feyre.” 

You were pretty sure your heart was beating a milllion miles per hour and you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle that turned into a delirous laugh. Their brows furrowed and expressions shifted to something more broken at that and you immediately apologized as you gasped for breath in between your laughter. “I- just.” Your voice cracked as you started talking, regaining some wisdom. “Do you know how long I’ve been in love with the two of you?” You whispered, your voice coming out in a high pitched tone as you tried to get it out all in one breath. “I felt so guilty-“ Lips crashed onto yours. The addicting scent of lilac and pear completely invading your senses as your gorgeous mate kissed you. Fireworks exploded in your chest and all of a sudden it felt like you could breath again. 

You felt as if you had arrived home as you finally allowed yourself to recognize the glowing bond in your chest instead of gaslighting yourself and pushing it down. It was overwhelming to feel the surge of emotions on your mates side and exhilarating all at the same time. Feyre moaned as your tugged on her bottom lip possessively. Soon her lips trailed down your neck and shoulder and a new set of lips met your own. 

Rhysand was different than Feyre yet just as addicting as his tongue clashed against yours, immediately taking control of the kiss. 

After a few more minutes of your mate’s overwhelmingly beautiful touch and you finally pulled away, panting hard. “What..What about Andromeda?” You asked timidly, knowing you would put her above yourself always, if they didn’t want another child than you couldn’t do this. Couldn’t allow yourself to hope only to crash and burn later. 

Rhysand hummed softly, taking one of your hands and kissing the inside of your wrist. “What about her darling?”

“Do…you still want me? She’s not your-“

Feyre gripped your chin firmly once again, directing your eyes to hers. “Andromeda is ours just as much as Nyx is. If you’ll allow it.” She added hastily

“You’re ours, Andromeda is ours, we love her deeply. Nothing is going to change that.” Rhys agreeded with just as much conviction os Feyre. You almost started crying once again, completely overwhelmed by the revelations of the night and Feyre hummed softly as they both remembered why they were here in the first place.

To take care of you and their daughter. Rhysand got up and grabbed a fluffy bath robe you don’t remember buying and Feyre helped you out of the bath stealing a quick kiss from you. “There’s still so much we have to do and talk about.” You mentioned as Rhys slid your arms into the robe. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “We can talk later, let’s get you into bed Sweetheart.” You could feel the adrenaline  from the night starting to wear off as Feyre led you to the bedroom. Your daughter finally snoring softly in the crib next to the bed.

They dressed you in your favorite PJ’s and each pressed a kiss to your lips before tucking you in the bed, Rhys magically changing the sheets with a snap of his fingers. 

Feyre snuggled in beside you, running her nails along your spine and Rhys sat on the end, massaging your sore feet as they forced the usual dread and anxiety away and for the first time in weeks you allowed yourself to finally relax at your mate’s gentle touch, your body completely melting underneath them. One hand gripping your daughter’s finger through the bars of her crib and one hand holding onto Feyre’s as you drifted off to sleep

[readychilledwine]

Extramarital Escape pt 3

Summary - Being Nyx's nanny came with many perks. You just didn't expect an affair to be one of them.

Warnings - fxf smut and all the glory that comes with it, mentions of pregnancy bodies (in a good way), paint play, mess play, slightly fluffy, fated mates, slight manipulation, loose editing *if you see a mistake, no you didn't*

A/N - Happy New Year! I only have one more part planned for this, but it is the 3some you all have been waiting for.

✨️Extramarital Escape - Pt 1 Pt 2✨️

✨️Master Masterlist✨️

Feyre was thrilled when you offered to spend the day with her. Rhysand had taken Nyx to Windhaven, showing off the sweet baby illyrian to the camp leaders. He had bragged about it being a statement, something you didn't fully understand, having never left the safety of Velaris. Azriel and Cassian were beaming as you helped Rhysand get Nyx into his little flight carrier, though. They had been beyond excited for the heir’s early morning adventure.

Rhysand had taken a moment alone with you, a soft kiss on your forehead reminding you to be his good girl. And good you had been.

You had woken the High Lady up to breakfast in bed, her favorite casual painting outfit set out and ready for her. Anything Feyre asked for, you handled, giving Nuala and Cerridwen a much deserved day off, and more importantly, leaving you and Feyre home alone.

Perhaps that was why the very air seemed to cackle around you with electricity as you two worked in laying out and flattening a large canvas. She had lesrned of a new abstract painting method, one that involved losely throwing paint on a canvas without a true end goal. “Self expression and emotions,” she had smiled so brightly as she described it to you.

Every so often as you two crawled carefully along the canvas, your hands would brush, sparking nerves and heat through both of you that was well hidden with neutral faces. Feyre wasn't the first female you'd ever found yourself so attracted to, but she was the first who held a magnetic pull over your heart, tugging at ribcage without you even knowing how or why.

“Thank you for helping me,” Feyre broke the silence, hand reaching for yours. “Truly. This is such a huge canvas. It would have taken me hours by myself.”

You could only smile, “Anything for you.”

She didn't miss the flirtatious way that message rolled off your tongue, once again tugging that precious 3 way mating bond to see if you secretly knew. She saw you blinked as she tugged, eyes lighting up when she realized you felt it, just didn't realize what it was. She purposely brushed her hand against yours again, yearning for the contact only Rhysand had been spoiled enough to have.

She didn't resent her husband for having you first, only for sending him the images of you below him, the sounds of you crying out for him, and for kissing her afterwards, only letting her have the lingering faint taste of you instead of the real thing. They had hoped you experiencing him would have been enough to pull you to them naturally, but you were a fighter.

She could remember the shame you'd accidentally sent down the bond, having assumed you were just her husband's mistress. You were more, though. That third missing piece. That last part of the void in their hearts. You didn't know this yet, but Feyre was in love with you. Every freckle, every scar, every inch you criticized in the mirror, she had memorized and sketched into her drawing book that stayed on her bedside table.

Having you so close was becoming torture. The way your hair fell from its braid, strands loose in your face, the way the sun hit your cheekbones, the way it glittered in your hair, you were art. The very muse she had been chasing.

Feyre then made the first move, lacing her fingers into your own and pulling you closer to her, “You smell good.”

You felt your face heat and flush, “Thank - thank you.” Your body reacted to her touch so naturally, fingers lacing into her as your body leaned into her pull. Her scent had mixed with Rhysand's perminately, lilac and sea salt mingling with the lingering scent of the expensive paints she used daily.

A heartbeat.

A breath.

One blink.

And the dam broke.

Feyre was on you, pushing you back and lips crashing onto yours like wave eager to come back home to shore. Both of her soft hands moved to your face as she shut her end of the bond down, refusing to let Rhysand know she had broken their deal of approach you together. Refusing to admit to the weakness she felt around only two fae. Rhysand and you.

Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of the bitter tea and sweet honey you had brought to her before this project started. Her kiss was eager, hungry, aching. Feyre made sure you felt her with each movement. It should have been no surprise. The High Lady found peace in passion. She thrived off expressing it, out of letting passion flow through every movement, and kissing you would be no exception.

Her hands tangled into your hair, the two of you finally fully falling on the canvas, spilling over a near by container of purple paint. As your shirt came off a light blue one fell. Then red as you eagerly removed her soft wool sweater. One by one containers spilled over, medium meeting material as hands began to touch and truly feel soft skin.

Neither of you noticed how covered you were. How could you as she took control, nipping softly on your neck as her kisses moved lower and lower. She bit down on your collarbones, licking over each bite tenderly, murmuring a soft apology into your skin as the bruises began. Her hands held yours at your sides, “Above your head,” her eyes were glossy, drunk on the feeling of having control. “Don't move them unless I say so.” The way you wordlessly obeyed a sigh letting your mouth as you did.

She controlled her pace like her life was in the balance, taking her time to savor you instead of rushing. Each kiss seemed to follow a pattern only she knew. You gasped as her tongue swirled your left nipple before her lips wrapped around it, a hum coming from her at the sounds you were already making. Her hand went to your other breast, dragging along you as it did, covering your skin in a mix of blue and deep green paint. Every movement began to reflect on the canvas as you two slowly became covered in the think material, but she never stopped to care, worshipping your left breast then the right. She didn't want to miss a single in of skin, not when you whimpered in a way that reminded her of music.

She understood how Rhysand had become so addicted to you so quickly. The male you two shared in that rare 3 way mating bond had a love language that was fulfilled through praise. Your sighs, your moans, every noise as she shot waves of pleasure down your spine was praise. She had never been happier as she finally settled between your thighs, forcing your legs apart a little more before only tossing one over a shoulder.

That first lick was fire. The second ice. The third wave heaven. Feyre's control had gone out the window at the taste of you. It was her first time doing this, but she was a natural. She thought back Rhysand between her legs, those silent selfish desires she wanted that went unanswered. She refused to allow that to be you as she licked and sucked at every part of your core.

Her left had had been spared paint, a single finger sliding home inside of you. you felt your walls twitch instantly, “Feyre.” She hummed against you, hazy blue eyes looking up towaras your flushed face. “Please don't stop.”

“Never,” she whispered back. “Never.”

With her tongue and fingers working in time, you felt your stomach tightening, a high you normally had to beg for rushing and just seemed to arrive. Feyre knew your body in her first introduction. She knew your wants, the needs. She hummed around your clit again, a second finger gently pushing in and immediately finding your gspot.

Her pace picked up then, fingers curling up hard, tongue tracing soft half moons over then under your clit over and over teasing you. When that contact came, that first gentle push of that swollen bundle, you fell apart. She didn't stop, knowing what it felt like to finally reach your high and have your partner stop what they were doing instead of easing you back down. She slowed her movements as your walls slowed their spasms before pulling away.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” she smiled up at you, her voice like cool silks against heated skin.

She moved back up your body, keeping thay raised leg against her chest before settling her own heat against yours.

You were both so wet, the first roll of her hips came with ease. It tested the waters, the two of you holding eye contact to see if the simple act of her core kissing yours was enough.

And Gods it was. She wasted no time setting a pace and watching as your back arched, hands still trapped where she wanted them. You felt every bump of her clit against yours, heard every slick noise. Feyre's moans were harmony to your own. The two of you had fallen into such a sync that you wondered how you had denied yourself this for so long.

Her right hand came to rest on your wrists, her strong abdominal core allowing her to keep that rhythm she had while she leaned down, long blonde hair following around the two of you like a privacy curtain.

To was truly like it was only you and her in the world. There was no one else you could imagine having this with, no other female you've ever want to share a bed, or canvas with. Rhysand was that male for you. Feyre that female.

You flipped her over when you noticed her beginning to struggle, taking over control and spreading her legs to continue the motions she had started.

Feyre had been gorgeous in her pregnancy body, but something about her faded stretch marks, her wider hips, it made your mind spin. No female should have been allowed to be so attractive. Yet, here she was, a mantra falling from her lips of your name as you worked to take her mind from this plane and to the stars.

Your own high was building, “Finish with me,” you commanded, surprised by your own tone. “Show me how good I'm making you feel.” A choked sob of bliss left her throat as your hand found it, squeezing that vital area just enough to give Feyre a rush.

And it happened.

Like the final domino falling, the High Lady of Night came below you, your own orgasm rushing over you like a wave. You forced yourself to focus on her, on that scream, on the curve of her breasts, on the panting of her chest. When you both came back down, you got off of her, pulling her to her side and into another deep kiss.

Her brand new canvas was ruined, signs of what had happened written into every fiber. Mixtures of contrasting and complimenting colors were spread, some areas loosely reflecting your bodies. It was movement. It was passion. It was what Feyre had wanted for this canvas. When you two stood, you were giggling as you looked at it, but Feyre had an unreadable expression, glancing at that drying paint even as she took you to her bathroom to bathe.

Feyre returned to her art room alone once you were asleep, once Rhysand was asleep. She worked meticulously, cutting out the exact piece of canvas she wanted and stretching it over the wooden framing she had picked.

The piece of a sign of the love she held for you, the mating bond burning bright as she smiled one last time at the final product. "Love and paint," the name much different from her realistic pieces to match the different artistry style.

She was going to give it to Rhysand, already smirking as she began to play out every possible way her husband would react.. To you, it was innocent. For her and Rhysand, it would trigger another memory, one you had never been filled in on, and Feyre could not wait to see his face.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f @mrsjna @thyellablackk @yeonalie

Feysand Taglist:

@avajustreads

Extramarital Escape taglist:

@wickedfelinaxo @sh4nn @justdreamstars @jesssicapaniagua @harrystylesfan2686 @slytherinindisguise @fxckmiup @saltedcoffeescotch @sarawritestories @yeonalie @sinarainbows @justaboredbookworm @xcarrotxs-blog @paleidiot @nayaniasworld @fyfy-world @seasonallyapril @alhaithmss @Ilovelydove @nebarious @helloevilmuffins @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @tempermentalbookworm @velarisnightsky444 @kdawgiedawg @inkedinshadows @percyjacksonspeen @velarisdusk @goldenmagnolias

[potatoplace]

Every Time

💖 Valentine's Collection 2025: Furniture Shopping 💖

Feysand x Reader

Summary: You and your partners decided that you need a new bed that can fit the three of you.

Warnings: none! ☺️

Words: 509

Author's Note: this one was so fun omg I LOVE making Rhys play dad and having Y/N and Feyre run wild 😂 it brings me so much joy omg. I hope you guys like this one! Read it on AO3!

18+ only pls

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

“I want this one!” You declared as you flopped onto the mattress, spreading your arms out like you were making a snow angel. “It’s cute, it’s comfy, and it will fit all three of us!”

“There’s a canopy…” Rhys said, the frown he was wearing evident in his tone.

You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes. “And what of it? Canopies are fun and whimsical, my dear Rhysie.”

Feyre plopped onto the bed next to you, sighing when she felt how soft the mattress was. “Yeah, Rhys. You always say how you want our lives to be more whimsical,” she said, smiling up at him before patting the space next to her.

Rhys let out a dramatic sigh before lowering himself down. “Well, it’s certainly comfortable,” he admitted after a moment.

“So we can get it?” You asked excitedly, turning onto your side to grin at him. “Please Rhys? Pretty please?" You stuck your lip out into a pout and batted your lashes, for good measure.

Feyre snickered between the two of you and wrapped an arm around your waist. “Good luck saying no to that adorable face, Rhys.”

His violet eyes met yours, filled with resolve until they glanced at your lips, melting at the sight of you pouting. “Alright, darling, we can get this bed,” he agreed, and you cheered, leaning over Feyre to give him a big kiss.

“Uh, hey?” Feyre asked when you started pulling away from Rhys, but not moving to give her a kiss. “What about me?”

You rolled your eyes but pressed your lips to hers, loving the way she smiles when you kiss her.

“We can get this bed,” Rhys reiterated, “If the two of you let me pick out a set of pretty new lingerie for you to wear to christen the bed.”

You and Feyre shared a look of excitement. “You offered that as though it was something we wouldn’t let you do anyways, darling,” Feyre giggled as she sat up.

“Of course we’ll do that, Rhysie,” you said.

“Then it’s settled, I’ll go tell an employee,” Rhys said as he stood from the plush bed, throwing one of his signature smirks in your and Feyre’s direction. “The two of you stay here, I don’t want you getting lost, alright?”

You and Feyre nodded, and watched as he walked towards one of the registers.

“You know…” Feyre started, flashing a chaotic grin your way. “I saw a super cute set of dressers, night tables, and a vanity that would look really nice with this pretty, pretty bed.”

You locked eyes with her for a moment before you started giggling. ”Lead the way, Fey,” you said as you stood, taking her hand and letting her lead you to said furniture, the two of you giggling maniacally the whole way.

Rhys returned to the bed only two minutes later, sighing when he saw that the two of you were nowhere to be found. “Every time,” he sighed before looking around, trying to determine what might have caught your collective eye.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dizzying Kisses

Feysand x reader

a/n: this started out so wholesome idk what happened 😭

warning: love at first sight trope; smut; f/f/m threesome; facesitting; oral (everyone); overstim; cumplay—Rhys using reader’s mouth like a shot glass 

word count: 5,491

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

It takes a bit of effort to unstick your eyelids from your lash line, but you eventually manage, rubbing at the sleep that’s crusted itself into an abrasive adhesive. 

The sheets beneath you are soft and smooth, fragranced with something like vanilla and jasmine, a faint citrusy scent clinging to its edge and you wearily peer about, vision slightly blurred by a sleep addled brain. 

Early morning sunlight has painted itself across the floorboards in a watery shade of cool-toned yellow, the diamond shaped panes of the glass windows casting thin, zigzagging shadows. The duvet itself seems to be cream covered, nestled beneath a rouge-rimmed quilt, stitched together with patches of dawn-pink, aquamarine-blue, dusky-orange, and tyrian-purple. Four wooden beams uphold the fabric draped overtop the bed, the curtains a shade of burnt orange on the interior, with a dark-red outside that has panels of maroon gossamer thinly veiling the material. A slight frill of burnished gold accents the hem.

A latch clicks from the far right side of the chamber, and you glance away from the window, blinking rapidly to clear away the fog as a female peers her lovely head around the door. 

Not just any female, though. 

You stiffen, hastily scrambling to sit straighter in the bed as you dip your head in a swift bow. “High Lady…” 

She smiles, entering the room, her slipper-clad feet softly scuffing as she approaches. “You’re awake,” she notes, and you flush when she lays her palm across your forehead. “And better, by the looks of it.”

You blink, looking up at her quietly. “My Lady…?” 

“Feyre,” she corrects, blue-grey eyes twinkling with life. “Please call me Feyre.” 

You watch her silently for a second, attention flitting across her features for a clue to your circumstances—are you in her home? But you dip your head again, obeying her request. 

Her eyes soften, and she pulls her hand away, your brow feeling faintly cool in its wake. “Do you remember last night?” She questions, and you shake your head, unease building in your gut as you worry your lower lip. Tuck your teeth away again. 

Feyre hums to herself, her attention briefly skating over you, having not given herself the chance to beforehand. Skimming over your shoulders, the rumpled fabric of your night-gown, the soft roundness of your fingertips. How they’re dipping into the folds of the duvet. “You kissed me,” she says, glancing down at you, lips still curved gently. Mortification sets your skin ablaze, a delicate flame igniting in your flesh. “I— I kissed you?” You stammer, clutching the sheets as your fingers lock. 

“Well, you kissed both of us, actually,” she corrects. 

Your lips part with a sharp inhale, looking aghast. Deeply apologetic. “I— I’m so sorry, my Lady. I don’t know what must have come over me. Please, forgive—”

“We aren’t angry,” she interjects, holding you gaze firmly. She pries your left hand from the quilt, fingers warm and delicate beneath your own. “I believe it was a mistake on your part—the first time at least. Shall I show you? It may jog your memory.” 

There’s nothing much for you to do besides nod, vaguely relaxing back into the padded headboard as she plies open your mind, slipping inside with ease. 

The music is up-beat, strings playing a merry tune while the faelights shift in colour over head, panels of stained glass being slotted over them to give the illusion of the lights themselves changing. 

I turn my head when I feel weakened fingertips seek out my wrist, gripping gently, only to be met with soft, faintly trembling lips being pressed to my own. I recognise the hint of the illegal drug almost immediately, and my eyes widen in time to watch as the female flinches, recoiling sharply. 

At my back, my mate is swiftly approaching, a sure and familiar presence sweeping across the floor. It seems the female has enough sense left in her to recognise the thrumming power of the High Lord that’s already begun seeping across the floor in warning, other fae bodies instinctively making way so as not to catch his brewing mood. 

Instead of cowering though, the female before me seems to panic briefly, before unsteadily tottering forward, making it just close enough to push onto her tiptoes and press a kiss to the High Lord’s jaw, before her legs give out and I’m catching her as she falls back, body limp. 

Surprised violet eyes meet my own, brows raised as he glances down at the female passed out in my arms, head tipped to the side, laying across my breast. 

Your lips are parted wider than they were last, but you don’t shut them. Instead panicking as the memories filter back into your mind, along with a faint pound of a growing headache. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, words tumbling in a frantic wash. “I— I remember seeing what had happened, and I had worried he might think I was trying to— So I wanted to kiss him to show I didn’t mean— Gods I’m so sorry.” An embarrassed flush heats your skin, simmering wickedly just below the surface of your flesh, head dipped in misery and shame. 

“It’s perfectly okay,” the High Lady assures, squeezing your fingers. “I want you to know the male who drugged you has been found and dealt with—he will not be repeating his actions. We also had our healer check the concentration in your blood to make sure you were okay, and thankfully all you needed was a good night’s sleep to get everything out of your system.”

You flush, glancing to where she’s cupping your fingers, then looking at her again. “I’m still sorry for kissing you—both of you—even if there were external pressures…”

Feyre blinks slowly, her smile losing an ounce of its warmth. Barely noticeable, really, but you feel it. “Do you regret it?” 

“I regret causing you discomfort, my L—” Her eyes harden, and you flush. “…Feyre. And your— and for kissing your mate…” 

“And what about on your end?” She asks, tone softened only a little. You look at her questioningly but are unable to read the emotion in her blue-grey eyes. Cunning but deliberately blank. “Do you regret kissing either of us for your own discomfort?” 

“No!” You speak hurriedly. “It’s an honour. I mean, hopefully that doesn’t make you upset to hear. I simply mean, to have been so close with either of you. I’m just so sorry I did what I did… How I did it…” 

“You would have done differently had you been sober?” She asks, her hold tightening on your fingers, pulling your hand closer into her body. 

You hesitate, fumbling. Glancing where her digits have begun twining with your own. 

Feyre follows your gaze, and sighs, hands settling to the bed. 

“My mate and I are divided on the matter,” she tells you, voice lowering to a hushed murmur. A guilty tug on her pretty pink lips. “He would rather give you space and time to warm up to us, since this meeting has happened so fast.” Fingers again squeeze your own, and she looks up at you with a glimmer in her heavy gaze. “But I’ve been on the end of that before, and hadn’t been pleased with his choices.” 

You scan her features, trying to fit together the pieces but have the distinct feeling you’re missing something crucial. A fragment of memory that perhaps hasn’t yet allowed itself to resurface. Eyes flit to the curl of her digits between your own. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand?” 

Feyre pauses in thought, then she presses her hand to your cheek, unlacing it from your fingers. Breath flutters in your chest as your High Lady leans in, her head tilted enough so her lips might slant diagonally across your mouth, and a faintly wavy lock of hair slides from her shoulder, tickling against your collar bones. You can feel each faint exhale. Mark how her pupils dilate, lashes flickering as she glances down at your mouth. 

Your breath catches as something tugs at your rib, a small, tender thread wrapped around the delicate bone. 

“Did you feel that?” Feyre questions, thumb stoking the curve beneath your lip, eyes following with each swipe. “What…what was…?” 

It happens again, and your lungs stutter, mouth parting in awe as you stare at her. 

You worry over voicing your thoughts for fear of reaching the wrong conclusion and only worsening your predicament. To be as brazen as to suggest a possibility that would defy logic and reason, when it’s likely fuelled by your own desires… 

Feyre lays her mouth over your own, the flavour of her lips slightly musky with a hint of berry, and you wonder if she delighted in fruits for breakfast. Perhaps would like to swipe your tongue across the seam of her mouth to taste more of her. To sample more of this delicacy you’ll surely never have the chance of trying again. 

A heady sound echoes in your Lady’s throat when you follow through with your fantasy. Her fingers dig into the soft underside of your jaw, both hands cupping your face to leverage her mouth closer, capturing your lower lip between her teeth and tugging on it gently. She’s close enough you can feel the faint flutter of air that her lashes bat your way. 

Blue-grey eyes simmer with heat as she watches you, thumb stroking across the crest of your cheek before falling to the side of your neck, fingers sifting through strands of hair. With great attentiveness, she strokes her tongue across your own, her heart jumping when your body jolts lightly from the intimate touch, a lovely soft sound captured in your throat. 

Her hands begin to wander. 

At first it’s her thumb skimming across your throat, then she’s grazing her fingertips along the ridge of your collarbone, and then before you know it she’s trailed those nimble digits further, tracing the curve of your breast, knuckles skimming beneath the soft, feminine weight. Your lashes flutter against her cheek, before you’re pulling away to gaze down at where she’s touching you. 

Feyre watches intently to see what you make of the touch. Heat warms your cheeks and your lips part on a trembling inhale, spine curving in an offer—one she’ll contentedly accept. The soft pad of her second finger teasingly circles your covered nipple, before clasping it between the sides of her index and middle finger, rolling. Your breathing deepens, sinking down into the pillows, subtly urging her to lay herself over you. 

It’s when Feyre’s knee is pressing between your thighs, her faintly wavy hair ticklishly brushing your exposed skin—where she’s unbuttoned your night gown to bare your breasts to her—that a firm set of knocks are delivered to the door, a warning rather than a request. Your eyes fly open, arms instinctively slapping across your chest to conceal your breasts, nipples sensitive, and freshly-licked. 

Violet eyes calmly take in your own, and the night comes rushing back, how you’d kissed his mate—accidentally, but it had happened nonetheless—then pressed your lips to his own skin, too. 

You open your mouth to apologise, but Feyre’s talented fingers have linked around your wrists, and you squirm when she pushes them aside, so they sink into the pillows you’re lying on. Expelling a gasp from your lips. 

“Looks like the two of your are becoming well acquainted,” the High Lord muses, stepping into the room, pausing beside the bed, gazing down at you with interest. “Do you mind my being here?” He asks, and you realise he’s bothering to question you. It makes sense, you suppose, you just hadn’t considered it. You flush, but shake your head, lungs stuttering when Feyre returns to your breasts, circling the hardened tip of her tongue over the peak of your right nipple, allowing a small amount of saliva to build before letting it unspool onto you, before repeating the circles. 

“You look to be enjoying her mouth,” Rhysand muses, raising the backs of his fingers to gently skim your cheek, thumb idly swiping the corner of your mouth, dipping to the hollow beneath your lower lip. “Are you?” 

Your flush deepens, thighs squeezing together against Feyre’s knee at the softly intimate touch, something fluttering beneath your ribs from the gentleness of the High Lord’s caress. Teeth pull at the interior of your lip, struggling to get a hold of the wild heat they’re igniting in your lower belly, a tingling feeling spreading between your thighs. 

“Getting shy now?” Feyre coos, unlatching from your nipple much to your dismay. “You were perfectly talkative before… He’s not as scary as he looks.” 

“Scary?” Rhys parrots under his breath, a note of incredulity to be found. Feyre raises an eyebrow as she glances over him, as if challenging him to disagree. But his lips fashion themselves into a mischievous, feline grin, capturing your chin with his fingers, directing your gaze upward to face him. “Would I be less scary without all these clothes on?”

Your face burns, lips parting on a softly stunned inhale, staring up at him in slight bewilderment, his words alone giving rise to a series of involuntary images careening through your mind before you can stop from conjuring them. 

“Rhys,” Feyre scolds, “you’re overwhelming her. She doesn’t know what to do with all that.”

“We can show her.” 

“Rhysand,” Feyre warns, but you can tell it’s playful. You want her attention back on you, sliding a little further down in the pillows so her knee is pressed closer between your legs. Blue-grey eyes mark the shift immediately, and you flush at having been caught, grip tightening in the sheets as you find elsewhere to look. Her rosey lips curve, leaning closer until they’re barely brushing your own, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Something you want, birdie?” 

You inhale at her proximity, spine stiffening from how close she is, how bare you are beneath her. How exposed. 

You incline your chin almost imperceptibly. 

Feyre smirks, and leans in, once again sealing her lips over yours, and you think she must be a slice of heaven. Your hands depart from the sheets, travelling up her thighs to her hips, spanning her delicate waist. Her hair tickles your shoulder, trailing away when Rhys’s fingers shift the curtain of silky hair, pushing the locks gently out of the way so he can see how his wife is kissing his…

A small noise is captured between your mouths when something tugs at one of your ribs, a delicate thread being plucked that has you jolting. Pulling away. 

“A second mate is unheard of,” Feyre murmurs, looking at you with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “And yet here she is,” Rhys finishes, making you blink, glancing between the two. 

“You said you were honoured,” Feyre continues, drawing your attention back to her. “Are you still of the same mindset?” You stare at her, comprehension dawning as you accept your belief as truth, fantasy merging with reality. “What she’s asking,” Rhysand clarifies, allowing his fingers to fall from Feyre to graze across you collar bone, tracing upward to your jaw, brushing your cheek, “is will you have us.”

“Yes.” It’s softer than a whisper, shorter than a breath, but they feel it. Feel the acceptance without reluctance or hesitation. Falling into their arms.

Feyre’s eyes go briefly hazy as it clicks into place inside of her, a flush of colour rising to her cheeks with biological satisfaction. “Good,” she breathes, “perfect.” 

Her scent has shifted, floating over to you, and instinct tells you exactly what it means. When her blue-grey eyes return to yours, they’re dilated; hungry. Information you should have no access to flowing into your body, innately understanding their states of being. 

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asks, voice huskier than before, dragging with arousal. A heat has begun sprouting in your body, beginning to simmer and bubble, more prominently than before, abruptly taking off. You swallow. Nod your head. 

“What you’re feeling,” Rhysand supplies smoothly, the only one able to grapple with the biological instincts urging you together as the one who understands it the most, “is the effects of the mating bond clicking into place. Since our bond,”—he gestures between him and Feyre— “is already set in place, the symptoms will make themselves known much more swiftly, while yours may take a few hours or even a day to reveal themselves.” 

Right. The frenzy. 

You flush. 

“Do you—” Feyre swallows, cutting herself off before trying again, having to wet her lips, “do you want to join us?” 

“Join you?” You’re breathless. 

“I’m sure we’ll be able to manage between us, if you would like to rest,” Rhysand supplies, though you have the impression it strains on him to give that safety net. As if reminded of the option, Feyre’s eyes flick to him, hungrily tracing the cut of his figure, watching with a heavy-lidded gaze. You shift your hips against her knee, and they return to you. 

In your periphery Rhysand readjusts his trousers. 

“Will you?” She breathes, her hand rising from the mattress, shifting her weight to her other arm to allow her fingers to coast upward between your breasts, playing with the dip of your collarbone, tracing the outline. “We’ll be careful,” she assures, fingers now tracing across your lower lip, transfixed as her instincts call for her to strip you bare, explore the flavour of your mouth and skin; the taste between your legs. 

“We could start with just one of us?” She tells you, your heart fluttering wildly as her words drip over your skin. “You and me first…”

“Greedy,” Rhys mutters.

“Rhys can watch,” she amends. “We can play in my and his bed—it’s much larger than this one—and I could start with these…” You gasp when she lowers her hand to your breast, circling your nipple with a feather-light touch, tugging on it gently. “Then we could move further…” Feyre takes your wrist in hand, moving to straddle your hips as she brings your palm to her chest, watching you intently as her spine curves into your touch. “And you could try touching me, if you like…? Would you like that? Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

“She needs a chance to respond, Feyre,” Rhys chuckles, leaning against one poster of the large bed. She peers at you intently, rocking her hips almost subconsciously. “You’ll feel so good,” she whispers, bringing your other hand to cup her breast so you have both palms over her. “What do you think?” 

Your flush deepens, looking away, and you can feel Feyre’s grip loosening, crestfallen. 

“I…” You swallow, finding her gaze again, her expression attentive, then glancing briefly over Rhys, nerves wriggling beneath your skin before you look away again, peering at the floor. “I don’t want Rhys to feel left out…” 

You inhale sharply at the stark arousal that blares down the bond, your thighs squeezing together in response, Rhys shifting as he takes down a steadying breath. A noise escapes your throat with the staggering awareness the bond is affording you, able to feel their hunger in your bones, perhaps also affording you a little more confidence than usual. 

“We’re all mates, aren’t we?” You ask, glancing skittishly between them both. When they nod, you continue. “So I’d like…I think it would mean more to be with both of you…all together.” 

————

They make you so dizzy. 

The soft press of Feyre’s narrow lips dragging up the length of your throat, nipping at spaces below your jaw, licking over the bite marks they’ve each put into your skin, forgetting which ones belong to who; the heavy drag of Rhys’ fingers as they dip along the interior of your thighs, palms cupping the round curve of your knees only to slip beneath and delicately raise both legs to your chest; the heat of watching clothes fall to the ground, buttons coming free and ties being loosened, hair pushed back over delicate shoulders and sterling silver bands removed from scar-flecked fingers, flexing before they settle into the rhythm of touch. 

You crawl after Feyre as she pulls away, pushing her second and middle finger to your lips to still you, her own mouth curving with feminine satisfaction. And now the question she’ll ask: “Who do you want next?” 

How many times have they taken turns making you answer that question. How many times have you shamelessly given an answer. How many times have they satisfied your desire only to ask again, “Who do you want next?” 

Always a next; never an end. 

You whimper, clit puffy and sensitive from relentless stimulation, pleasure budding through your body, liquid gold buzzing beneath your skin. How many more touches can you take? 

“Answer me,” Feyre coos, fingers slipping beneath your chin to incline your lips, leaning forward to almost meet you. “Who do you want next?”

“Feyre…” You’re nearly crying, so turned around, so dizzy. So desperate for movement and friction. “Please…” The High Lady beams, cupping your cheeks between her palms and pulling you close enough your noses touch, “mhmm? You want me?” 

“Please…” 

“How do you want me?” Feyre crawls closer, her knees touching your own, “Tell me how you want me.” Your lips part, cheeks flushing. Tongue shifting against your teeth. You’re too embarrassed to tell her. 

Tender claws scratch at your mind, and your walls give a few moments later, tentatively lowering enough for her to slip inside and nestle with you. Watching the image you present her with. 

Blue-grey eyes glitter with hunger, her mouth popping open, blinking away her surprise before grinning. “I didn’t think you’d be so dirty,” Feyre purrs, palms wrapping around your waist to pull you with her as she falls back into the bed, walking you up her body. 

“Are my girls done scheming?” Rhys asks from behind you, effortlessly sending a hot shiver up your spine. His voice alone contains enough power to make your knees buckle. And, my girls. You and Feyre. He’s seeing the two of you together. 

You rest your hands on the headboard, leaning forward enough that Feyre can grin at her mate from beneath you, “We’ll always be scheming, High Lord.” Her legs open, and your mouth waters. “Think you can keep up, Rhys?” 

“Always, for you.” Feyre’s hands begin to loop over your hips to pull you down but Rhysand reaches forward and you gasp when you feel his thick fingers skating up the line of your spine, hairs prickling as you shiver. “You, too,” the High Lord purrs, pushing your hair to one side so he can reach the top of your spine. Your throat closes up, heart fluttering as those deft digits descend down the knots of your back. Stiffening in anticipation when he pauses at the base. “Turn around,” he instructs, clearly. “I should be able to see you, too.” 

The hot breath of Feyre’s moan caresses your inner thigh, and you tighten around nothing. With flushed cheeks you slowly turn, careful of the female lying beneath you. 

Violet eyes glimmer with starlight, and millions of tiny, fluttery wings erupt into motion between your thighs. 

“Better,” he says, quietly. A faint smile on his soft mouth. “Now sit.” 

You part your legs, shakily sinking down onto Feyre’s mouth, Rhysand keeping your eyes locked with him—watching as you settle, watching as your hands find placement on her breasts, watching as Feyre licks up through your centre and you shudder. An adoring smile half-lifts one edge of Rhysand’s lips, his irises softening at their edges as he marks the pleasure unfolding within you. Only then do his thumbs press into the meat of Feyre’s thighs, finding the divot at the interior of her knees to hold them apart, aligning himself, and sliding in. 

You can’t help the way your mouth waters. 

Rhys catches you staring and leans himself forward, grinning as you flush with embarrassment, “Wishing that was you?” 

Your lips part, eyes darting away but he grips your chin lightly, forcefully guiding your gaze back to his. He leans closer and you shudder as Feyre’s lips wrap around your clit, suckling tenderly. Rhysand’s hand cups the nape of your neck, and wild heat fills your skin as he slowly licks over your bottom lip, the tip of his tongue dragging over the bitten area to drag lightly over your top one.  You’re frozen stiff, completely at his mercy. He chuckles, like he finds your awe amusing. Lightly appreciative of your reverence. 

But then he kisses you once on the lips and pulls back, both palms falling to Feyre’s waist, his thumb grazing over the beauty mark that lies a little to the left of her belly button. His hips draw back and slide in, Feyre’s back arching when he meets her all the way, hips held tight to her own. You can’t help the way your fingers fall to graze over her abdomen, able to see the prominent outline of the High Lord nestled within his mate. 

He’s been inside you the same way he’s inside her. 

You have to lick your lips. 

“Move,” you whisper, circling your hips over Feyre’s mouth, almost certainly smearing arousal across her lips; the tip of her rosey nose; her chin. The High Lady moans her agreement, inclining her hips from the bed and you watch as the muscles in her thighs and stomach flex. Feline grace contained within her flesh. You want to taste every part of her you can. 

Rhys begins slowly, languidly moving inside of her, rolling his hips so he slides all the way in to his base. Soon enough he sets their pace, and your eyes nearly roll with the pleasurable warmth that’s being delivered to your body, fizzling and fluttering throughout. Heat is prominent on the High Lord’s cheeks, tan skin flushed with colour and you’re all so sensitive but needing of more that release is swift and fulfilling. Bright flashes of pleasure zipping down your thighs, bursts of heat fluttering in your lower belly, warm-pink flame heating and heating until you’re boiling and bubbling over. 

Rhys grits his teeth, likely trying to cope with the pleasure of Feyre’s orgasm, and you can’t help yourself. 

You lean forward, cunt still seated on the High Lady’s mouth, your palms sloping up his well-muscled chest to wrap over his shoulder to push your lips together, tongue licking against him, tasting him, devouring him. The High Lord’s control splinters, then fractures entirely, a groan of pure, male pleasure delivered to your mouth as he releases deep inside his mate. You want it to be as drawn out as possible, for him to fill her up as much as he can, until she’s dripping. 

It’s only when he’s panting, breathless and with his head lowered that you know he’s finished. 

Teeth prod into your lower lip, fresh arousal dripping from your cunt, cleaned away by Feyre’s tongue. Her fingers drum ticklishly over your thighs, knowing what you’ve been waiting for. You can practically see the smug, satisfied grin on her rosey lips. 

The combined effort of the both of you has you taking her place on the bed in mere seconds, lying on your back with a blinking Rhys now positioned between your thighs. Feyre mounts your mouth like she’s descending onto her throne, thighs parted and facing you so she can run her fingers through your hair. 

Rhysand freezes when he understands what’s going on. Then his warrior’s hands have shackled your ankles and you’re roughly dragged down the bed, swept out from under your mate and you whine, crying out and reaching for her. But there’s heat in his eyes, a wicked smile on his mouth, mischief and hunger twinkling between the starlight. “I did all the work, darling,” he rumbles, the words rough and gravelly from his chest. “The least you can do is let me watch.”

You flush as you’re repositioned: half-way up the bed with Feyre hovering over your face, your mouth open and her legs spread; further up the bed is Rhys, gazing down at you so he can watch every stroke of your tongue, every drip of his cum that’s mixed with Feyre’s own orgasm that you collect on your lips, tasting in your mouth. 

“I should have known what you two were planning,” Rhys drawls, cock hard against his stomach from watching the show. He’s eaten his release out of Feyre before but it’s different watching someone else do it. It’s different having a mate to watch do it. “So dirty indeed.”

“And it was all her idea,” Feyre muses proudly from atop her perch. “You were so shy to show it to me,” she coos. 

“Looks like she’s a wicked one.” Violet eyes flick to Feyre. “She’ll rival you for your mischief.” 

“I think you mean she’ll rival you. You’re the dirty one.” 

Their eyes simultaneously drop, and you flush beneath their attention, hair spread out messily across the mattress, licking Feyre’s cunt whenever you please. Rhys’ fingers trail across your forehead, playing with a few stray strands of hair. “You like that? Tasting us together?” 

You moan softly, licking up and circling Feyre’s clit, causing her to moan. 

Butterflies start fluttering anew when Rhys wraps his hand around his cock, still achingly hard, cum beginning to drizzle down his tip. Your temperature spikes, mouth watering further. Rhys’ eyes twinkle, his mouth curving before he’s shifting onto his knees. “You know,” he muses, looming so comparatively high above you while Feyre keeps you pinned to the mattress, “let’s find out how dirty she is.”

Your thighs have to squeeze together at the blatant lust in his voice, clit pulsing as you rub your legs together.  

Violet eyes meet your own, and you shiver. Rhys grins. “You look pretty happy, down there.” You moan, licking at her hungrily, wanting her to stop hovering and to finally just sit. His hand continues stroking himself to the sign, up and down, slowly building his pleasure again. There isn’t much time you need to wait—you’re all so stimulated, so sensitive to touch. Rhys has to grit his teeth through the first series of strokes before the tension is being released and he’s panting again, muscles flexing in his stomach and forearms. 

“Think you can take some more?” Rhys groans, and you watch with desperate eyes as a bead of cum slips over his head. “Answer me.” 

You nod your head. “More,” you pant, watching him intently. Rhys’ eyes nearly roll, but then yours nearly cross as he shifts his hips, the tip of his cock nearly bumping into Feyre’s clit. He’s intending to finish straight into your mouth. 

You can’t help it, then. Your hand lifts from the bed and trails down your body, fingers slipping between your thighs. It’s a mix between painful and perfectly oversensitive, clit hard and puffy beneath your digits that slide right down your centre, two fingers sinking inside yourself and curling. 

It doesn’t take long from there. 

“Gods, you’re such a good girl,” Feyre praises, biting her lip as she palms her breasts, cupping them and thumbing across her nipples. “Isn’t she perfect, Rhys?” 

“So perfect.” He agrees. “So dirty.” 

You whimper in protest but Rhys cocks a brow and you shut up. He smirks. “So good, and so obedient, isn’t she?” 

“Perfect for us,” Feyre agrees, moaning as she circles her hips faintly, seeking the attention of your tongue which swiftly returns to attend to her, flicking over her clit and licking up her centre. “A perfect little mate to play with.” 

Rhys groans, the noise rumbling in his chest as his orgasm finds him at last, release pouring from his tip, shooting down between your lips and filling you up. His hip buck, his fingers flexing around his cock as pleasure pulses through his body, his eyes shutting tight as his muscles tremble. 

The tip of your finger drags back up over your clit and you come undone. 

Feyre watches, utterly content, as her two mates reach completion around her. She can just make out your eyes, half-rolled as your own high filters through your blood. Then there’s Rhys, whose hand is shaking as he pumps himself, hips seemingly moving of their own accord as he tries to keep himself going for as long as possible, throwing himself into overstimulation for the sake of your pleasure. 

She sits happily on your mouth when he’s done, his blue-black hair falling against her shoulder as hot breath fans down her front. 

How lucky they are to have found such a sweet, mischievous little mate to match them. 

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

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna @acoazlove

feysand taglist: @girlmadeofavocados @zara-aliza08

[the-daydreaming-show]

The Gods Has Spoken (Poly!Feysand x Reader)

SUMMARY: You were a mere mortal, daughter of no one. You were sold into slavery by your father. Furthermore, you were a courtesan on the pirate islands, known as The Pirate's Bride. And then you were condemned to work for life in the volcanoes for killing a free man as a slave. From there, you conquered Slaver's Bay, having seen dragons and a new version of yourself born in the lava.

Now you go to the Night Court, in search of an alliance that is easy to fall into nothingness, because of looking for your childhood friend Feyre Archeron.

Or

Where you were Feyre's childhood friend. A couple years older than her, you took her under your wing and taught her how to survive. Now you are both leaders of your lands and your causes, and those may not be compatible.

Feyre already has her peace, and you are about to start your war.

CHARACTER(S): Poly!Feysand x Fem!Reader, Feyre Archeron x Fem!Reader, Rhysand x Fem!Reader.

WARNING(S): Reader is female. Reader is described as having long hair. Reader is given hair color, but it is clarified that it is artificial and has natural unidentified color below. Misunderstandings and slight miscommunication (in my defense, it is justified). War. Slavery. Prostitution. ACOTAR Canon sh*t.

AO3

Tag List is OPEN.

(0.) PREFACE

SUMMARY: You make some last arrangements before leaving for the Night Court. Or. You make a stupid decision that will change everything.

(1.) THREADS OF TIME.

Ever since you arrived in the Night Court, you've avoided awkward confrontation and the thought of going out of your way to talk to Feyre. You've barely looked at her in an attempt to avoid facing the very thing you came here for. But finally, one evening, after a flight over the mountains with Balerion, you come face to face with the past and present you've been avoiding.

Or.

After not seeing each other for over a decade, you and Feyre finally meet in the woods again, but nothing is the same, not even the two of you. You make an agreement to try to find a balance, and you fail miserably.

(2.) EMBRACING ILLUSIONS

After realizing that the alliance won't happend, you decide to take a new approach to what's left of you visit, while Feyre decides it's time for you to have a serious talk. Or. Where you and Feyre get too carried away by what could have been, and yo ignore what you know will be, just to live in an illusion a little longer.

(3.) DREAMS MADE HEAVY.

It's the celebration of Nyx's first birthday. Or Your time in illusion is running out and the past is fading, unable to bear its own weight any longer.

(4.) THE SKYFALL

Your time is up.

TAG LIST: @pinksmellslikelove @saltedcoffeescotch @raisam @asweetblueberry2 @kabekusa @throneofsapphics @makayla2036789 @jojodojo02 @kooterz @rcarbo1 @whyucloudingmymind @hjgdhghoe @minbeatriz16 @azzydaddy

[littlest-w01f]

Acotar Omegaverse Week 2025

MAIN MASTERLIST

For @acotar-omegaverse-week

Day 1 - First heat/Rut

Comfort (Azriel x Reader) {light angst}

Summary: During heat, Omegas need constant comfort from their mates. For your first heat as a bonded omega, the suddenness takes you by surprise, left alone in the busy market and the rather unsafe atmosphere of your Autumn home.

Day 2 - Pack Bond

Found (Feyre x Reader) {fluff}

Summary: When the three-way mating bond snapped for Feysand with you, a young single mother picking up your son from his painting class, they understood how two alphas could be mated together. You were their full completion, something they'd never let you forget.

Rhysand's part

Day 3 - Purring & Cuddling

Sleepy time (Rhysand x Reader) {fluff, sugestive}

Summary: With how much Rhysand valued your rest, especially since you now carried a child, you took it upon yourself to value his, mainly since it entailed seducing him to bed.

Day 4 - Knots & Ties

Tying Knots (Eris Vanserra x Reader) {suggestive}

Summary: On your mating ceremony, after a few too many drinks, your tongue loosened, letting past some thought you'd been having of your mate and relationship.

Day 5 - Ravaged & Ruined

Rough taking (Rhysand x Reader) {smut}

Summary: When the three-way mating bond snapped for Feysand with you, a young single mother picking up your son from his painting class, they understood how two alphas could be mated together. You were their full completion, something they'd never let you forget.

Feyre's part

Day 6 - Monster Mayhem

Highest Defence (Bryaxis x Reader) {smut}

Summary: When Autumn Court struck on Velaris, Rhysand wanted you to remain safe in the River House. When a few soldiers set their eyes on Nyx, you had to leave. Luckily, the Beast of Nightmares was ready to protect the Princess of Night, for the right bargain.

Day 7 - Free Day

Packed fit (Cazriel x Reader) {comfort, smut}

Summary: During one of your very first missions, you were left with Cassian and Azriel in Hewn City. With an injured Cassian, you returned back to the hideout Rhysand had handed you while playing secret matchmaker.

Hope you all enjoy :)

[thatacotargirl]

The Daughter of Day (3)

Welcome back to The Daughter of Day, a series exploring a new Court and a triad, because why not!

I hope you enjoy chapter 3 🌟

This story is set after A Court of Silver Flames.

My inbox is open for oneshot/imagine requests.

Taglist: @fightmedraco @lilah-asteria @acourtofsmutandstarlight

A Reader x Feysand Fanfiction

Reader’s POV

You stood before the full-length mirror, your fingers trembling slightly as you fastened the last clasp of the deep navy gown that Feyre had laid out for you. It shimmered like starlight, catching every flicker of magic in the room and casting it back as a beautiful, irridescent glow. The dress hugged your form in ways your golden Day Court gowns never dared, the velvet smooth beneath your touch. It made you look older. Stronger. Someone not quite of the Day Court anymore.

Elain stood behind you, placing a small chain around your neck. “You look like a dream,” she whispered with a smile. “Or a prophecy.”

You laughed softly, brushing invisible dust off your skirt. “I’m not sure I’m either of those things.”

“Aren’t you?” came Feyre’s voice from the doorway. You turned to see her leaning casually against the frame, wearing a backless black dress flecked with silver paint strokes, as if the stars themselves had kissed her. She smiled gently, but there was something else in her eyes, an unreadable glimmer you couldn’t quite place.

You followed her gaze to your reflection in the mirror. The girl who looked back at you, she wasn’t just someone’s daughter anymore.

The scent of lilac and pear followed as Feyre stepped inside to fix a lock of your hair. “Tonight is just for fun,” she said. “But keep your eyes open. Velaris has a way of showing you truths you didn’t know you were looking for.”

Before you could ask what she meant, Elain clapped her hands. “Time to go!”

-

The heartbeat of Velaris pulsed through the walls of Rita’s. Music thundered through the floors, and the scent of wine, sex, and mischief filled the air. Lanterns floated above, glowing in shades of amethyst and sapphire, casting soft lights across the dancers below.

You stood at the edge of the floor, overwhelmed, but utterly captivated.

Cassian was already deep into his fifth drink of the night, something strong from the smell of it, arm slung around Mor as she laughed at one of his terrible jokes. Feyre was tucked beneath Rhysand’s arm, his other hand gently toying with a strand of her hair. Elain had wandered off, already spinning in circles with a group of new friends, clearly enjoying her night off of babysitting duties, despite the grumbling before they had left the house.

You sipped the wine Mor had handed you. It was sweet, but burned down your throat. You felt it buzz through your veins, sharper than any wine you’d had in Day. Something electric tugged beneath your skin, like a harp string vibrating - just once. You looked down at your hand, swearing for a moment the glass shimmered. Or maybe your fingertips did.

“First time at Rita’s?”

You turned. The voice belonged to a tall, broad-shouldered fae male with silver-streaked hair and eyes so light blue they reflected in a blindingly beautiful way. He wore no house crest, but his presence demanded attention, and gave it freely, focused entirely on you.

“It is,” you said, unsure whether to offer a curtsy or a smile. You settled on the latter.

“Well, you wear the night well,” he said, voice low and warm like a hearth fire.

You flushed at the compliment, but it wasn’t just his words. Something else stirred in you, the same tug beneath your skin, deep and low in your stomach. Power, again. Different this time. Like something inside of you had stretched out a hand in return.

Across the room, Rhysand had stopped laughing.

His hand paused in Feyre’s hair, eyes locked on the dance floor where you now stood with this fae stranger. His expression remained impassive, but a small flicker of darkness pulsed at his fingertips, barely noticeable. Unless you were looking for it.

Feyre's POV

Feyre noticed Rhysand's sudden change, the stiffen in his spine. “What is it?” she asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” he replied, brushing the shadows away with a blink. But his eyes had lingered a moment too long.

And Feyre, without thinking, turned her head slightly toward you, as if sensing something just beyond her reach. Her fingers tightened subtly on Rhys’s arm. Jealousy? No, that would be ridiculous. You were just visiting. And Rhys was her mate.

But neither of them spoke of it, both refusing to admit the flicker of emotion that danced between them like phantom wings.

Back at the bar, Mor sidled up next to Cassian, her eyes flicking between you, the fae male, Feyre, and Rhysand.

“She’s going to set this entire Court on fire if no one keeps an eye on her,” Mor murmured, a smirk tugging at her lips.

[whisperingmidnights]

Coffee shop au for feysand x reader

*grabs your face (gently) and squishes our noses together* you’re doing great 💕

Always so grateful for you 💕

The door swings open at 9 a.m. on the nose, as it does every morning. A burst of frigid air rushes in, filling the small space with the smell of snow as the tall, dark-haired man holds the door for his impossibly lovely wife. They're both so sharp in matching peacoats today, leather gloves covering their hands as they huddle together at the back of the line, undoubtedly whispering over the menu as they share matching, secretive smiles. The scarf around the woman's neck is the same startling, icy blue as her eyes, and not even her gloves can conceal how lovely and fine-boned the hand that rests against it is.

Not that you've been admiring her hands. Or her. Or him, for that matter. No, you haven't spent hours watching them whenever they stop in for a coffee and breakfast to start their day. No, you've definitely been working very, very hard whenever they're present. That's why your cursor keeps blinking at you, waiting for you to type more. It definitely hasn't been sitting idly for the last five minutes while you've been watching the door, waiting for a glimpse of the most ungodly attractive couple you've ever seen in your life.

Maybe they're models. Or influencers. Or just super fucking rich. Who else would have teeth that perfect? Good god, you need to get back to work. This is getting embarrassing. They're going to notice you eventually if you keep staring, and do you really want to be known as the creep in the corner?

No, definitely not.

Flicking your attention back to Spotify, you scroll through your playlists until you find something vaguely motivational you definitely made in college and press play. Oh yeah, this is dated as hell, but it's a decent distraction...or it would be if, halfway through the first song, you didn't hear someone clearing their throat at your side.

Pressing pause, you pop out an earbud and let your gaze wander up to the pair of violet-blue eyes fixed on you. It's like looking into a twilight sky. You half expect stars to begin twinkling in them as you stare and stare...

"Sorry?" You ask when you finally notice his lips are moving...and have been for a while, judging by the way his brow arches in response. "I was miles away, what were you saying?"

"Are these seats taken?" He asks again, a smile on his full mouth. "It's a busy morning. Every other table is full. Feyre and I promise not to bother you."

"Oh, no, no bother. Really, it's fine. Please sit." You scramble to move your things aside, giving them room for their coffee and scones – blueberry for her and...something that looks suspiciously like whole grain for him. Disgusting. He would be a health freak, of course he would. No one looks that good eating sugar-laden pastries for breakfast.

Except apparently his wife.

Fuck, you need to find a new coffee place after you embarrass yourself today. It hasn't happened yet, but it's bound to.

"I'm Rhysand, by the way."

"What kind of name is that?" There it is. The moment the question leaves your lips, you begin looking around for a shovel to bury yourself with. He laughs, shrugging as he spreads a bit of butter on his scone before passing the rest of it to his wife.

"It was my grandfather's first, to be fair. Call me Rhys, everyone else does. We see you here every morning."

"It's close to my apartment," you mumble, taking a prolonged sip of your coffee. You've insulted the man before you even bothered to introduce yourself. What a perfect way to start the morning. Surely, it can only go up from here.

Your eyes flick to his wife's – Feyre's. Laughter sparkles where you'd expected to see disdain, and the smile on her mouth is the loveliest you've ever seen. Maybe there's hope for you yet if she's smiling like that.

[danikamariewrites]

Play Again {smut}

Cassian x reader x Feysand

Note: Inspiration finally struck when I saw this prompt. This is part 2 to my Cassian x reader fic Use Your Manners. (this is so long I'm sorry)

Day 5 of @polysjmweek is Memories and History! The sight of Rhys and Feyre at Starfall has your brain turning to mush. The only thing you can think of is the night you all shared just a few weeks ago. And how badly you want them again.

Warnings: smut, foursome, oral f receiving & m receiving, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial

Watching Rhys and Feyre make their entrance at Starfall has you awestruck. The high Lord and Lady float into the ballroom, looking like the night sky and the stars that shine in it. 

Cassian wraps his arm around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. While you want to give your mate the attention he deserves, your mind is elsewhere. Specifically in your bedroom three nights ago. 

Planning Starfall had been stressful for Rhys and feyre this year. It’s the first time all the High Lords are in attendance and they wanted everything to be perfect. So, to take the edge off Cassian suggested Rhys and Feyre come and play. 

… 

You kneel in the middle of the bed. Undressed and fidgeting. You hate waiting. Patience has never been your strong suit. 

The door creaks open, revealing Cassian wearing a cheshire grin. An exciting chill runs through your body. The pair file in behind Cassian, smirks dancing on their lips at the sight of you. 

You smirk back, trying hard not to show how nervous you are. Would they judge you? Are they secretly talking about you? 

“No, love. We would never judge you.” Your cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. You lock your mental barriers tight. Feyre giggles, her soft claws gently dragging down the barrier. 

The High Lady giggles, shrugging out of her black silk robe as she hops up on the bed with you. You take in her naked form. Feyre’s gorgeous. She has muscles and a thin figure. Her tattoos make her even more attractive. You think she might have more than Cassian and Rhys combined. 

Feyre reaches out her hand, running her fingers through your hair before placing it behind your shoulder to fully take you in. “Beautiful,” Feyre breathes out. Her hand moves to cup your cheek. Her thumb slowly sliding over the apple of your cheek. Feyre leans in so you’re almost nose to nose. Whispering just so you hear her. “You know, I’ve never been with another female before.” 

“Really?” She nods letting out a small mhm. You lean in closer, your lips just barely touching hers. Uncertainty runs through you for a moment. “Are you sure you want–” Feyre doesn’t let you finish. Pressing her lips against yours. 

The kiss starts slow, exploring the feeling of a new set of lips against yours. Placing your hands on Feyre’s waist you gently pull her closer to you. Moving your hands up her body, her soft skin feels heavenly against your finger tips. Feyre wraps her arms around your neck, letting out a soft, content moan. 

Pulling Feyre to lay down you place her on her back. She smiles against your lips as you press your thigh against her center. Before you can comprehend what’s happening Feyre flips you, pinning you beneath her. You let out a squeak of surprise as she kisses down your neck and across your chest. Moving lower, her dark eyes find yours as she captures your nipple between her teeth. A moan falls from your lips as you watch her bite and lick. 

Letting you go Feyre looks behind her where Rhys and Cassian are already undressed, perched on the end of the bed. “You weren’t lying, Rhys. She really is responsive.” Feyre’s sultry tone sends a wave of wetness to your pussy. Your walls fluttering already. You whine for her attention, running your fingers through her long sandy hair. Feyre turns back to you with a cheshire smirk. Her fingers lightly trailing between your breasts. “Cassian said you’re a good girl. Do good girls whine?” You shake your head no. “Good baby,” she kisses your lips softly. 

Feyre moves to lay between your legs, giving your hips an encouraging squeeze. She flatens her tongue against your center slowly licking up to your clit. Her teeth nip lightly before closing her lips around you. You let out a small moan at the jolt Feyre gives you. Your body relaxing into the mattress as she slides a finger inside you, collecting your arousal. Gods she’s good. It’s like she already knows every inch of you. Where to touch. What makes your thighs shake. 

Just as she brings you to the brink, moaning her name and bucking against her mouth, Rhys coaxes her away from you. Grabbing her chin to pull her up into a heated kiss. Rhys lets out a groan at the taste of you on Feyre’s lips. 

Before you can fully lift your arm up to pull Feyre back to you Cassian is at your side. He gives you a look as if saying ‘don’t you dare’. Looking back at the High Lord and Lady you watch as Rhys’s hands roam Feyre’s body. Kissing and biting at her neck making Feyre moan. 

Cassian lays next to you, pressing soft kisses up your neck and across your jaw. His hand tracing the expanse of your inner thigh. His knuckles brushing against your pussy, teasing you. He lets out a small laugh at your breathy moans. Your thighs trying to shut to trap his hand but Cassian pushes them to stay open. “No, no sweet girl,” he tuts at you. “Soon I promise. Just need you to be good for a little while longer, yeah?” 

You turn your face into Cassian’s neck, mumbling, “Yes sir.” He captures your lips in a rewarding kiss. Breaking apart you find Rhys and Feyre eyeing you hungrily. Rhys’s violet eyes now dark with want. 

Rhys taps Feyre’s hip and she slides away from his grasp, draping herself on top of Cassian. “Are we gunna play Cass?” She purrs. Cass returns her wicked grin. “Not tonight, High Lady. Remember, it’s about her.” They both turn their gazes to you watching Rhys crawl up your body, your noses touching. 

Your trembles a little from being so close and so intimate with the High Lord. Rhys brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. You relax at his touch. His fingers were warm making you want to be wrapped up in him. “Soon love.” He whispers low in your ear. 

Like Feyre, Rhys takes an agonizing amount of time to get to your core. Once he does his mouth feels like heaven. His tongue darting in and out, spreading your arousal. Pulling away he replaces his mouth with his fingers. Rhys rubs in slow circles against your clit. Your back arches off the bed and again he stops. 

“What-” you catch yourself. “Please Rhys,” you bat your lashes at him. “Please what?” He smirks. “I need more.” He realizes your struggle to find your words. Already sensing how overstimulated you are. “Ok love.” 

He lines himself up with your entrance, slowly pushing into your pussy. You let out a satisfied sigh. Your hands flying to shoulders, digging your nails in to his tanned skin as he started thrusting. You arch into him reveling in the new feeling. Rhys isn’t as thick as Cassian but gods he’s just as long and hits all the right spots. 

You clench around him, moaning for more of him. Feyre’s hand surprises you. Groping at your breast and picnhing your nipple. “Ahh yes, yes,” you chant. You feel your orgasm coiling in your stomach again as you hold Rhys tighter to you. 

Before you let go Rhys pulls out, denying you of yet another orgasm. It takes all of your strength not to scream and slam your fists against the bed out of anger. Cassian and Rhys notice your clenched jaw, smirking at each other, communicating in their minds. 

Feyre lifts you, holding you to her chest. Her touch sending little shocks through your body. “Aaww, they’re so mean aren’t they love?” You nod against her. “Just wanna come.” You say softly. Cassian gently takes you from Feyre’s hold. Having you kneel with your back to him. Facing Rhys as he stands next to the bed, fisting his cock. Cassian kisses across your shoulder, running his rough hands up your sides. You can never get enough of his touch. It grounds you. Your eyes flutter shut as your head falls back against his chest. 

“You think you can tak both of us sweetheart?” “Yes sir.” Cassian presses a kiss to your temple. “Good girl.” Out of the corner of your eye you see Feyre lean back against the headboard. Her legs spread, her fingers rubbing against her clit as she watches the three of you. 

Cassian easily thrusts inside of you, holding your hips in that bruising grip you love. “Mmhh, Cass. Sooo good,” you say breathless. “Perfect, sweet girl. You’re so perfect for me. For us.” 

Rhys carefully weaves his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck. Tugging you towards him. Your lips open and you stick your tongue out as he slowly pulls you onto his length. They get into a rhythm that has your eyes rolling back. 

You let out a whimper feeling your orgasm build. The coil in your stoamch tighter than ever. You whine around Rhys’s cock. He groans thrusting his hips faster. “I’m close love,” he grunts before spilling down your throat. You lick at him greedily, swallowing all of him. 

Cassian pulls you flush to his chest as he snaps his hips against you. His moans filling your ears as your walls flutter around him. Opening your eyes you find Feyre in front of you. Her fingers wet with her arousal press agaisnt your clit, rubbing in quick circles. “Go ahead baby,” she coos. “You’ve been so good. You can come for us.” You let out a cry. Relieved you don’t have to hold it in any more. “Come on sweet girl. I know you can. Let go for me.” Cassian encourages. 

Finally, their touches become too much. The coil snaps and you let out a scream. Your thighs trembling from being denied as your orgasm washes over you. As you collapse against Cassian, Rhys and Feyre are immediately on you, pressing kisses all over your body and whispering praises. 

…

It’s not until Cassian steps on your toes (on purpose) that you’re snapped from your memories. As you stumble he giggles. You shoot him an unamused look with a small growl. “Whoosp. Sorry about that sweetheart.” You roll your eyes. “I’m sure you are.” 

The music picks up and Cassian spins you, pulling you back to his chest and dipping you. He presses kiss to your lips that doesn’t last long enough for you. Pulling you upright, Cassian wraps an arm around your waist. His other hand folding your smaller on into his. You push up on your toes and pucker your lips for another kiss. 

Cassian jokingly rolls his eyes. “I’ll give you another kiss if, you tell me what has my sweet girl so distracted.” He leans down, his lips a hairs breadth away teasing you.

Glowing blue fabric catches your eye. Tilting your head your gaze lands on Rhys and Feyre floating around the dance floor, smiling up at each other like they were the only people in the world. 

Cassian turns to see what’s got his mate so captivated. He lets out a small oh when he realizes. That glazed over look in your eyes. The dreamy look on your face all night as they’ve passed you. Cassian smirks and taps at Rhys’s mental sheild. 

“Yes Cassian?” “Have you heard my mate’s thoughts this evening?” 

Rhys chuckles. “Heard and seen,” Feyre adds. “Wanna clue her in on tonight’s activities?” Cass smirks at Rhys across the room. Feyre’s wicked grin catches his eye. “Ooohh let me!” Cassian nods at her, pulling you flush to his chest. You let out a confused squeak and then you feel them. Those long, dark claws deliciously dragging down your mental barrier. 

“Soon, love.” Feyre says, the smirk on her face clear even in your mind.  

[azrielstherapist]

Never mine

Pairing: Azriel x Reader Length: 1,953 words Angst Level: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 (emotional masochists welcome) Trigger Warnings: Emotional neglect, unrequited love, self-abandonment, Azriel/Elain implication, bondlessness, quiet heartbreak

Inspired by 'Cry' by Cigarettes after S*x

I think I always knew he wouldn’t stay.

Maybe not in the beginning, when his touches were soft and his words even softer. When his eyes found mine across a crowded room and something in his expression faltered, like he’d seen something he wasn’t meant to want.

But even then, even in the first gentle tremble of hope — I knew. Azriel doesn’t belong to anyone. Not really.

And I stayed anyway.

Gods, I stayed.

For the quiet moments. For the shadows that curled around me like they recognized something in me that he never dared say aloud. For the nights when he’d fall into bed beside me with a kind of desperation that made it feel like love.

But it wasn’t. Not fully. Not enough.

I started breaking myself the day Feyre found her mate.

The bond had snapped into place so clearly, so impossibly loud, that it left something in my chest hollow and trembling. And then Cassian and Nesta — two storms colliding until they burned each other alive, and still, the bond was there. Tangible. Unshakeable.

But Azriel and I? There was no golden thread tying us together. No glowing tether from his soul to mine.

Just flesh. Just hands. Just stolen moments that didn’t belong to the light of day.

I never told him that I cried the first time he left before sunrise. I watched the sky turn violet, watched the curve where his body used to be cool and empty in my sheets, and I knew — I knew — that I was the only one falling.

I walk past him, toward the open balcony where the wind hiss at my skin.

I closed my eyes. Let the wind tug my hair like fingers that weren’t his. Let it bite my skin harder than he ever did, even in passion.

“If we don’t have a bond... then why does it still feel like I’m yours?”

I think that maybe it started unraveling the night he looked at her like that.

Not in the casual, almost-guilty way he did when he thought no one noticed. No, this was different.

He looked at Elain like the world might end if she looked back.

And she did.

Softly. Sweetly. Like she had no idea she was killing me just by breathing near him.

That was the first time I wondered if maybe we’d only ever been a placeholder. If I was just the shadow Azriel wrapped himself in while he waited for light.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says now, standing in the doorway of my room like he hasn’t already done exactly that.

He always says it like it’s new. Like I haven’t bled out in his arms a hundred times already.

“I’m not Elain,” I whisper, voice brittle.

He freezes. Not because I’ve said something cruel — but because I’ve said something true.

A breath. A beat. A silence full of every word he never said.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice is quiet. So fucking quiet.

“I think you wish I were,” I say. “Or maybe you just wish she were me. Easier. Less complicated. Already loved by everyone.”

He flinches.

Good.

I want it to hurt.

Because I’ve been dying in inches for months while he’s tried to make room in his heart for someone who barely looks at him. For someone who glows while I stay cloaked in shadows he called mine.

“You don’t understand,” he says.

“No,” I snap. “I do. You think she might be your mate. So you stall. You hesitate. You hold back, just in case.”

He doesn’t deny it.

And that’s the worst part.

I laugh. Not because it’s funny — but because it’s the only thing keeping me from breaking in half.

“So what am I, Azriel? Your contingency plan? Your…hole to fill?”

He says nothing.

Just looks at me with that sorrowful, broken stare he always wears when he’s caught between guilt and silence.

“I chose you,” I whisper. “Every fucking time. No bond. No signs. Just love.”

I step closer, trembling. “But you never chose me. Not really. Because somewhere in your heart, you’re still waiting for something else. Someone else.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“It is,” I say, almost choking. “It’s exactly that simple. You don’t love me enough to stop wondering about her. You don’t love me enough to stay.”

His wings twitch. His mouth parts like he wants to argue.

But there’s no lie big enough to fix what he’s broken.

“I wake up alone more nights than not,” I whisper. “And every time you leave, I tell myself you’ll come back differently. That you’ll look at me like I’m it for you. Like I’m worth fighting the bond that never came.”

“I feel things for you,” he says desperately. “Things I don’t understand. But Elain—”

“—isn’t yours,” I cut in. “She never was.”

And still, he says nothing.

Because deep down, I think he knows I’m right. I think he knows that whatever he and Elain are — or aren’t — is just a dream he won’t let go of. A possibility he’s too afraid to shut the door on.

Even if it means letting me walk out instead.

“I can’t keep being your almost,” I murmur, chest splitting. “I’m asking you to stop loving me like this. Like it’s a crime. Like it’s a secret.”

“You act like fate forgot about you,” I say. “But maybe it didn’t. Maybe it gave you me. And you were too busy chasing a golden thread that never snapped to see that you already had a soul beside yours.”

The wind howls.

He doesn’t.

“I’m tired,” I say. “Of begging with my eyes. Of being your secret. Of pretending that this doesn’t kill me a little more every time you leave.”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he says, desperate now. “From me. From what I am. I’m not—” He breaks off, his voice jagged. “I’m not him, Y/N. I’m not Rhys. Or Cassian. I don’t know how to love like they do.”

“I never asked you to be anyone else,” I whisper. “I just wanted you to be here. With me. When it mattered.”

And still — still — he does not move.

So I do.

I walk past him, past the bedroom that holds a hundred memories of him reaching for me in the dark but never in the light. I walk past the ghosts of every almost, every maybe, every word he never said.

And I stop at the doorway.

I don’t look back.

I look at him — one last time.

Azriel. Shadowsinger. The male I gave everything to. Who made me believe in love without a bond. Who held me like I was everything and left like I was nothing.

“I would’ve stayed,” I whisper. “Even without the bond. Even without her. I would’ve stayed and loved you until it destroyed me.”

Tears threaten.

But I don’t let them fall.

“You’re the one who walked away.”

And then I do.

I walk.

And he lets me.

Again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Azriel's POV

She glowed tonight.

Not like starlight. Not like Elain.

Like fire.

Like rage and rebirth and someone who survived her own ruin.

She stood in the garden in a midnight-blue dress that clung to her like a second skin, her laughter low and steady as it bloomed from her lips — those same lips I once touched with trembling fingers, too afraid to claim, too selfish to leave.

And I think I forgot how to breathe.

Because she wasn’t looking for me anymore.

Not even a glance.

Not even a flicker of recognition, like the memory of us had finally faded from her bones.

But I remember.

Gods, I remember everything.

The curve of her shoulder under my hand. The way her eyes used to search mine like she was trying to find something that mattered. The way she said my name like it was something safe.

Azriel.

No one has said it like that since.

Not even Elain.

And now—now she belongs to him.

The male at her side watches her the way I never did. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I was too afraid of what it would mean if I let myself need her.

Too afraid that if I chose her without a bond, the Mother would laugh and punish us both. That maybe I was only whole enough to wound.

But he doesn’t look afraid.

He looks like he knows he’s the luckiest bastard alive.

He looked at her the way I never did.

Like she was the answer, not the question.

And it guts me.

Because I could have. Gods, I could have.

I loved her.

I think I always did — in my own broken, hesitant way. But I was too busy listening for something that never came. Waiting for a bond that never snapped. Chasing an if while she was begging me to see the now.

I didn’t choose her.

And by the time I realized she was already mine, she had already learned to stop hoping.

She stopped waiting.

She stopped bleeding for me.

And now she belongs to someone who never made her ask to be chosen.

I don't blame her.

He just saw her — and stayed.

I don’t remember what joy feels like.

Not anymore.

Just the sound of her voice in my memory and the weight of every “almost” I threw away. I can still taste her in the quiet. Still hear her whisper, “Even if there’s no bond… I still choose you.”

And I—fuck—I just stood there.

Waiting for something better.

Something easier.

Something fated.

But fate never showed up.

And now I’m left with silence. With shadows that curl tighter around my ribs because they remember how she used to hold them in her sleep, whispering comfort to the darkness I never learned to live without.

I should’ve loved her better.

I should’ve loved her louder.

Not like a secret. Not like a sin.

But like a prayer.

And now she’s gone.

Not dead.

Worse.

Happy.

With someone who isn't me.

I watch her laugh — soft and warm, her hand brushing his as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into him like home. Like trust.

Like something I could’ve had if I’d just told her what she meant before it was too late.

I don’t sleep anymore.

I just lay in the dark and wonder if she still sleeps on the left side of the bed. If she still hums when she makes tea. If she still cries when it rains — and if now, someone holds her when she does.

I wonder if she still loves me.

And then I pray she doesn’t.

Because it would kill me to think she still does — and stayed away anyway.

I never said I loved her.

Not out loud.

And now it’s all I can think.

Over and over and over again, until it fills the hollowness I carved into myself with silence.

I loved you. I loved you. I loved you. I still love you.

Gods, I’d give anything to go back — to un-say every silence, to un-make every hesitation. To press my hands to her cheeks and say I love you. Stay. It’s you. It’s always been you.

But that moment is dead.

Buried beneath the weight of every day I waited.

Now I’m just the ghost of what she almost had.

And she?

She’s finally free of me.

I think that’s what kills me the most.

She let go.

And I never will.

She left.

Because I made it easy.

A/N: Sooooo what do you guys think of this? I was listening to this song and thought 'Why not'. Hope you guys like it, and if you do, please let me know!

Dividers by @enchanthings-a

[avifaunaa]

stars blind [ they fall and leave the sky ] [ f.a.+ r ] [ pt.3 ]

Authors Note: fellas, welcome back to part three. I’m very, very pleased to hear that everyone loved this concept! Thank you for your patience.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR

Pairing: Feyre Archeron x fem!reader x Rhysand / Platonic!Inner Circle x fem!reader

Summary: How much worse can your luck get? Turns out — not much. Rhysand and Feyre sit down for breakfast with Windweaver to understand who she is outside of Tamlin and the Spring Court. It’s going exceptionally well, and Astra and Nyx already show signs of becoming trouble. Only if they knew you were screaming internally.

Content Warnings: Canon in nature but MAJOR MAGICAL liberties taken SO AU FROM HERE! Mating Bonds, discussions of bondings, magic, and the works, Court Politics, an attempt at connections, overall somewhat plot heavy, soft, and just minor angst from BRIEF discussions of Windweaver’s past.

Word Count: ~4.7k

Nyx and Astra were big, big, fans of one another.

While you locked eyes with Rhysand and Feyre and damn near burst into flames, your children had done the same and had immediately screeched in excitement at seeing another of their size and warbled in more excitement.

Feyre had immediately told Rhysand to take over ordering to stride over to you while the chubby little babe swung his arms out toward you and your daughter, slobbering and squealing, eyes shining.

Astra had been emboldened by the reaction she was getting in turn for her newly fostered social openness — thanks to Iris — but you had remained frozen in place.

The High Lady’s face was kind; you had heard stories of such kindness that merited its own descriptor of the female and yet other stories of her prowess under Rhysand’s training was almost overshadowing such a memorable feat.

Her ears were as pointed as any other Fae’s who came naturally from Pyrthian but if she had any human-like features before her dunk into the Cauldron, they were gone — replaced by the predatory ones that your kind wore instead.

She was heart-shatteringly beautiful — but it was still not enough to tell you the entire truth to your cousin’s inability to protect his home and his family. Your father had placed blame many places — Tamlin, the human filth, Feyre Archeron and Rhysand for daring to play games much too dangerous — and now maybe you could come to understand him.

Had this female been all it took to destroy your home and your House?

Why couldn’t Tamlin had thought better of touching another male’s mate and just . . . Fixed their home? Did Feyre have so much hand in ensuring the Spring Court would never be as good as it once hailed itself to be?

You felt eyes studying you. At the same time you came to grasp your daughter as she made her attempt at escape, moving like slime down from your arms until you caught the crook of her knees and hauled her back up.

This only added to the endless giggling of the two babes, and even the High Lord had glanced back and was amused by the sight.

Feyre was smiling so . . . Openly, in a way that made it difficult to despise her as your House loyalty demanded, that you started to coil up with your daughter pressed close.

“Hi,” she greeted, her grip on Nyx seeming effortlessly gentle but firm even as she wrangled him into one arm to reach an intricately inked arm out for you.

You stared at it and when seconds passed by you wished a hole were available to crawl into. You did not know what she asked of you by offering this gesture — it was not a custom you were aware of and you opened your mouth, closed it.

“I—“

“Human gestures, darling,” Rhysand called over, waiting now over by the counter where Cassie usually sets finished orders. He had his hands deep in sleek pant pockets as he leaned against the surface, looking much too entertained by what he was seeing.

Then she closed her fist, face turning red when nothing seemed to come of her hand being held in the open like it was. “Oh my Gods, I forget.”

You didn’t engage, and you certainly didn’t feed into the little thought about how pretty she was when she was flustered.

“Humans shake hands when they greet,” she explained, embarrassed. “It’s been a habit for so long I’m still trying to shake it.”

“Oh.” You bit the inside of your cheek with a sharp canine, but no skin was punctured. “Oh, right. It’s okay. Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Feyre tilted her head at you in the way a cat does when it tries to watch something disappear into the underbrush. Then she paused and took you in, a flash in her eyes becoming so fresh and raw that it took you back. “Can you do me a favor, sweetheart?”

You jerked back physically — and it startled Astra, even, who had been content to make faces to match the ones Nyx was throwing her — and you sputtered out a noise that must have passed for ‘yes,’ because a pleased smile broke across freckled features. “Good girl. Unless you’ve actually done something to be deserving of it, I want you to work on not apologizing.”

You breathed out through your nostrils; you were both relieved and unsettled at the request she made of you. “That’s — that’s a very unbecoming thing to ask a stranger, isn’t it?”

You wouldn’t meet her eyes and both of you knew why, but perhaps she didn’t quite understand Fae courting in the proper way. Tamlin hadn’t courted her, not really, before he had bedded her from what rumors had stated. Rhysand whisked her off and there was no actual idea on how he courted her.

In the Spring Court, you were positive it differed entirely than in the Night — more rules and regulations from your home Court. But your father was not around to accept a courting request, and you were not inclined to write Tamlin, your closest male living relative, to request his permission.

Not only would you not get it, you would be ripped away from your freedom.

Rhysand suddenly seemed to appear next to Feyre, two drinks and three pastries in hand as though he had no issue in balancing.

“My Feyre is more becoming than I,” the High Lord began smoothly, smiling in a disarmingly charming way toward you as you swiftly moved around them toward the counter to order your drink and pastries to go.

“We just want to talk,” the female said when you turned your eyes away so you couldn’t be read. You could hear the plea, as put together as it was. “We can let Nyx and your daughter interact. He’s so excited to see other children.”

You closed your eyes, counted to ten, and in that ten seconds tried to think of five different reasons you should deny her without it sounding exceptionally rude and in front of Caspian.

Nyx screeches behind you.

You look down at Astra, who you realize is resting her chin on your shoulder and babbling backward in their direction rather than eagerly await the counter to greet Caspian.

You were in no place to be anyone’s mate — and you were in no place to be theirs, especially. You weren’t foolish enough to believe that they didn’t have an idea of who you were, neither.

You turned on your heel and saw Rhysand had wrapped an arm solidly around his mate’s waist, and a pang filled your chest.

“Astra and . . . Nyx you said? They can play,” you agreed, but did not release your daughter. “I want to get her fed, first.”

Relief and something similar to joy lit up on Rhysand’s features and mirrored Feyre’s as well, and you wondered how fate decided you fit into this puzzle of two when they were already so perfect.

You were in utter disbelief at the moment. You had ordered something — caffeinated, sweet, with a hint of spice — and had reluctantly joined Rhysand and Feyre at the corner table near the window.

Once settled Caspian had brought out a couple of blankets so that you could settle Nyx and Astra together near the window. They babbled endlessly to one another and seemed content to enjoy each other’s company.

You were gripping your mug so tightly that you felt the glass almost give way under your grip. Feyre and Rhysand glanced down at your hands and you instantly loosened, then released, your hold. Your hands were pink from the heat transferred to your skin.

Rhysand folded his arms together on the table, his violet eyes kind but otherwise unreadable. “We won’t insult your intelligence and act like we don’t know who exactly you are. We’ve been made aware of your presence here and — yes — we haven’t done a thing to prevent it.”

“I assumed,” you replied, glancing at your daughter and Nyx. “I stopped waiting to be arrested or thrown to the borders after a week. Mor and Amren’s appearances were constant though to keep reassuring me, too.”

“Yes, those two are very solid in their work,” the High Lord said, rotating a palm to hover over his warm drink. “We want to make it very clear in case you have any doubts — there are no plans to reveal your location to the Spring Court or Tamlin. You are safe here for as long as you stay.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat, the emotions hitting you all at once: relief, anxiety, uncertainty — but perhaps you could stop looking over your shoulder now and wondering when the next shoe would drop. “I want to add that I had no hand in anything my cousin did after . . . After the High Lady came into the lands. My presence in court was minimal when I got pregnant.”

Feyre did not move an inch when you shifted your gaze, but there was a tug in your chest that did not feel like your own heart being twisted.

“That is what our Spymaster has confirmed,” Rhysand answered, picking up his mug. “However there is still much we’re in the dark about.”

You could hear the request in his statement — less of a demand, an open door that could be avoided.

You did not enter. “My family is not going to be an issue, my father predominantly. I am the last of the Windweaver House, and it no longer holds station in the Spring Court.”

A finality and a line drawn deeply in the sand. You would reveal this much and nothing else in regards to this topic and you hoped they respected it. To keep from fidgeting, you lifted your mug and took a long sip.

Feyre spoke first, “We welcome the Windweavers warmly into the Court of Starlight then. We hope to create an established relationship and that you build roots here.”

“As do I,” you say, and this is truthful. Astra needed stability and peace. She was not granted such traits in the beginnings of her life and you would do everything in your power to make sure she grew up better than you did.

“Well,” Rhysand said lightly, drowned out by the screeching giggles of the babes, “now that the business is out of the way I do believe we should discuss much happier things.”

“Rhysand,” Feyre murmured, a warning edging her tone.

Rhysand moved one of his hands to intertwine with hers. The markings that inked their skin matched together like puzzle pieces in a design that no artist could ever hope to replicate.

Just another reason you shouldn’t get involved. You did not have the same engravings upon your skin, telling a story or making a promise.

Not in this life.

"Do you feel it?" Rhysand wondered, his gaze surprisingly soft as it turned toward you. "We do."

Your lips thinned as you brought the mug back up to your lips, needing to keep your hands busy so they would not see you tremble beneath those eyes.

"Lying would do me no good, would it?" you asked when you could no longer leave the question unanswered. You sit the mug down after the warm, sugary flavor had coated your tongue and throat but you kept hands on the object.

Feyre smiled almost apologetically. "He knew with me, too," she said, pink tinging her cheekbones. "This is improvement -- talking about it right away. He wasn't able to . . . when Amarantha . . ."

The sound of her name still sent a chill down your neck and you cleared your throat. "I get it -- I've heard . . . all the stories."

"All of them?" Rhysand parroted in fascination, eyes twinkling with feline-like mischief. "I'm sure not all the details are there."

"Will you shut up for three seconds?" Feyre snapped. The table rattled underneath the three of you and Rhysand winced, hand flying beneath the surface.

"Heavy-footed, that was, darling," he complained good-naturedly, free hand moving from Feyre's arm to casually grab at his drink again like he didn't just get kicked.

The female pointedly ignored him. She turned to you again with probing eyes, the freckles dusting her nose bunching together as she wrinkled it. "I'm sorry for him. He hasn't been out in a while and forgot his manners."

"Males hardly have them to begin with," you tell her hesitantly at an attempt at humor, and the smile she gives you is radiating.

"Oh, we will get along splendidly," she decides as Rhysand went ignored at her side despite his purposefully heavy eye-roll.

"To answer your . . . to answer your questions . . . I feel something and I have a mark," you admitted before the cowardly side of you could win out on this. "But I don't think it could work."

Feyre's face dropped; the sight sent a rush of regret through you like a tidal wave that they spoke about in the Summer Court. You swallowed. "You're already bonded," you continued quickly so they would not start with the hurt, "and formed a family. I do not think the ancient magic at work is really accurate like it used to be."

"What we have already is fine, yes," Rhysand agreed easily, as though ready for this argument, "but if you grew up studying our history then you're well aware that the magic -- while finnicky and often making bonds that aren't always perfect -- does not make decisions like we do. It does what it does based on what information it gathers from those who have it in their blood."

"You're . . . sort of proving my point." The confusion was palpable to the point that you did not bother trying to politely mask it. You did study the history of the fae, the Courts, the Wars . . . all of it went unsaid but made abundantly clear that magic was volatile and almost parasitic back when ‘Fae’ was just a term for all of them — back when there were no Lesser or Greater or High Lords.

Feyre appeared out of her element on this conversation, but she seemed interested anyways. She watched as Rhysand nodded. “But that very same magic still allows us our abilities, does it not?”

“That’s a theory.”

Rhysand’s smile was absolutely self-pleased . . . He had caught you in a trap. “Haven’t you been reading the studies that have been published since Amarantha about how stronger fae seem to be getting?”

“It’s mostly anecdotal,” you retorted immediately, narrowing your eyes. “They haven’t published anything wherein it’s a controlled study. A lot of these scholars jumped the fence after the Cauldron was used on Feyre. Most of those reviewed Fae were under the Mountain at the time, too, or nearby. You can’t count it.”

Rhysand rested his chin on his palm. You would compare him to a jungle cat you read about existing in the Summer Court, long and sleek with predatory eyes.

“But it’s been documented,” he told you.

“Most of our abilities may be connected to our ancestry and the old magic — and whatever those abilities were often suited those fae based on the threats of the lands and the environment they lived in before the Courts became a thing,” you finally, reluctantly, relented. “I don’t think that, now, suddenly the old magic is doing much for anything other than triggering bloodline mating by chance every few hundred years.”

“How does the Cauldron differ?” Feyre asked, hands folded on top of the table, nails digging into the opposite hand she clenched.

“The Cauldron is old, but it is a different work of magic than what formed this mating bond. Ours was fated, Feyre, because the Cauldron is in me and the Illyrians and the fae It created. Though Prythian came to form after its creation, an older, lively magic existed long before. Something the legends often lead out,” Rhysand explains.

“I was destined to you before I was Made,” Feyre said to Rhysand.

“The Cauldron is the past, the present, the future. Birth, life, and death. That is why it is a weapon of great power or a symbol of everlasting strength. It knew what would be even if it fought us. What we are, however, Darling, at our base core is something not even the Cauldron nor its users could ever tame.”

Feyre went silent, and you could feel she was overwhelmed just from the energy she expressed. It overwhelmed you, too, sometimes.

“In essence,” you tried to explain easily, “your bond with Rhysand was predetermined possibly for thousands of years. The bond I share with you both is from a time when we needed a less masterful magic to help us survive and reproduce. It’s been believed to be smarter than initially imagined — because sometimes mated pairs are perfect matches in every way.”

“And you don’t think you’re perfect for us?” Feyre asked quietly. “Or is it us that aren’t perfect enough for you?”

You can’t say you were expecting that line of questioning to be thrown at you. The look that must have been painted across your features was read closely by both Fae as you sat back in your chair, unsure of how to answer.

“I don’t know.”

It was the most honest thing you could give them right now despite what the bond sent through to you from them. You longed for them the more you sat with them here and talked to them and allowed the bond to strengthen and with proximity.

Feyre nodded a little while Rhysand watched you with those impenetrable eyes. You did not try to reach through and seek out his mindscape — not yet, if at all.

“Idea, then, darlings,” Rhysand mused aloud as people filtered in and out to get drinks and pastries. Most glanced over curiously, awed to see the High Lord and Lady out but did not approach.

Astra and Nyx were having their own intense conversation that you were not privy to interrupt due to your daughter’s serious expression as she waved Nyx’s loose hand, causing him to giggle rapidly.

“If Windweaver’s open,” Feyre said, glancing at you and offering you a small nod; a way out in hidden space and silent wording.

You were terrified, your heart was breaching your ribcage like a wild, trapped thing —

And you were so, so tired of being alone. You were true in telling them that you did not know what it was you could give them entirely, but the pull was starting to become painful the closer you sat and the more you attempted to pretend it wasn’t there.

So you ungrasped that tightly bound, throbbing flow of energy you kept close and waited, eyes following Feyre and Rhysand’s reaction before you could even get to Rhysand’s idea.

They knew immediately when you opened part of your bond to them, gave them a taste of yourself even if not all of it was available.

Feyre’s hand reached out and hovered mid-air, unspoken question hanging like a singular leaf on a branch.

You lifted your hand slowly and interlaced your fingers with her darkly inked ones, and the rush of warmth that encased you was nothing you’ve ever expected to feel.

You’ve felt the harsh colds, the bitter winters when you had fled the Spring Court with Astra. You didn’t realize how cold and shattered you had become of yourself until she took your hand and spread that healing warmth into your skin.

You met her eyes. Whatever she saw in yours was a mirror in herself, and you could feel her feather-light presence from the mating bond starting to become familiar with yours.

You broke free of the contact, but not before leaving a parting brush against her mental shields to reassure her it wasn’t out of malice. She gave you a rather small smile in return, squeezed your hand, and released it.

“That was a fancy display,” the Illyrian male crooned to the left of the female across you, a smug grin plastered across his face as his eyes glanced between the two of you. “And here I am being completely left out.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “I forget that you can’t stand not being included in everything.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle your laughter as the two of them bantered. Rhysand didn’t seem at all put off, truly, at whatever you and Feyre had just shared together but he certainly was having fun using it to grind against his wife for — likely — your amusement.

“You mentioned you had an idea,” you began bravely after finishing the last of your drink.

Rhysand tapped his fingers against his jawline, a faux thoughtful expression crossing his fine features. “Did I?” he wondered absently. “I don’t recall. Too busy being ousted for a pretty female.”

The table rattled and Rhysand barely flinched as Feyre picked her mug up delicately, but his eye twitched and he shifted in his seat.

“Chafing?” the High Lady asked behind the rim of her mug.

“Not at all, darling,” Rhysand shot beck, unperturbed.

Feyre arched a brow but said nothing.

“I do seem to remember my idea now, though,” the male continued easily, “if you both still have interest in my company.”

“I suppose,” you said, biting your cheek again when Feyre sent a flashing grin your direction.

“We take it . . . One day at a time,” Rhysand said, studying you for a reaction. “We have no expectations of one another but we also try not to actively avoid what could be. I’ve done enough of that in my life, I’m afraid.”

You felt yourself soften at his words — the weight within them and the unspoken confessions. You’ve heard many things about the High Lord — varying degrees of opinions but this was a firsthand experience and none of those rumors could have sufficed in their entirety.

“Avoidance of great difficulties and running has been apart of my life,” you begin, playing with the empty mug and looking away from them both. “I was taught to never face my fears or obstacles head on if I wanted to keep my head on.”

Feyre reached out again, fingers resting on your knuckles. “You did what you had to do to survive — but you’re not having to fight for survival anymore.”

You did not reject her touch; you let it melt into you like butter on top of toast and swallowed the rising cry of sudden anxieties in your throat.

“One day at a time,” you agreed, breaking through the chains that your father had always warned you to keep wound tight.

“Your daughter — you said her name was Astra?” Rhysand questioned curiously, his attention on the two younglings that were still miraculously keeping each other entertained.

“Astraea, Astra for short,” you confirmed, smiling as Nyx reached up to press a chubby finger against your daughter’s prominent dimple. It was the simple fact that she was allowing such contact that soothed so many concerns you had fostered for a long while.

Astra was not a touchy child — and you never forced her to be so. Boundaries were important and if your daughter simply had stronger ones, you’d ensure they were enforced for her.

She was quiet, self-soothing, and even when you had the opportunity to watch her at Iris’ home, she kept a firm comfortable distance when and if she chose to play with the others.

“What a pretty name,” the Illyrian commented. You shifted your gaze to the male and were taken aback by what you saw.

Completely relaxed, arm splayed over Feyre’s shoulders as the two had turned their bodies to watch the children play. His night black hair shadowed his features from view at this angle, but you had the strangest inkling that the tinge of contentment you felt wasn’t just your own.

“She was born at night,” you said thickly, the scene of your mates in the sunlight almost too much. “And I didn’t want her to ever think — to think that it was a bad thing. Because I’ve always preferred it. And dawn. So I gave her a name that reveals some of the nighttime’s best attributes.”

They looked over to you as one and Rhysand tilted his head slightly. “You’ve never been scared of the dark?”

You scraped your fingernail into the grooves of the tabletop, unable to give an answer to this question in truth.

Feyre was pleased to learn you took Astra to Iris on days where you had to work — especially when you knew she was going to be taking Nyx there in the next upcoming weeks for socialization.

Outside of that, you made plans to start meeting at Caspian’s for breakfast once a week to begin with — to ease yourself mostly.

You came home later that evening — having taken the night off to allow your thoughts to settle — only to find two High Fae sitting at your sad excuse for a dinner table, the single light above said table flickering as you shut the door a bit too roughly in shock.

Astra knew immediately based on the blonde hair who was here to visit. “Morrrrrrre,” she squealed, becoming increasingly difficult to maintain in your arms as the two figures stood up.

“Asssstra,” The Morrigan greeted back cheerfully as she made the first move forward while Amren hovered behind. She reached out when your daughter did, nearly falling out of your arms in the process.

“Take her,” you relented tiredly, as the tiny form melted into Mor’s body in a hug. “She’s very happy to see you again, obviously.”

“How did you get inside?” You asked Amren, dropping your stuff onto the table and falling into a chair. Amren sat back down gracefully, eyeing you with an unreadable expression. “Wait — do I even want to know?”

“Your landlord,” Amren replied, straightforward. She wore a soft, thick sweater that had puffy sleeves. It looked expensive and comfortable — and something you’d wish you could afford. “Apologies for invading your home without asking.”

“Are we?” Mor asked as she poked at Astra’s cheek.

“I assume you only break into places if the matter has merit,” you conclude, tucking hair behind your ear carefully as you folded your hands on top of your bag. “Did something happen in the Spring Court I need to know of?”

“No, nothing like that.” Amren waved a manicured hand at you, nose wrinkled as if the mere thought of discussing Court matters was beneath her at this moment.

“Alright, then what could possibly have gotten your attention to this degree?”

“When were you gonna tell us you were mated to Rhysand and Feyre?” Mor blurted, eyes wide even though she was playing about with Astra.

You blinked at her in disbelief. “What?”

Amren had pulled her hand back to inspect something on a cuticle. “We came to the conclusion that your mating bond was connected to our High Lord and Lady sometime early this morning and confirmed it later when they came home looking moony eyed. That’s normal for Rhysand — but Feyre?”

Your cheeks burned the more she spoke. “For Cauldron’s sake, I just found out myself—“

“Moony eyed—“ Mor continued from Amren’s proclamation, her cheeks blown up dramatically at Astra’s boisterous laughter.

“We’re not sure how deep this goes,” you said, shaking your head and clenching your fingers into the fabric of your bag. “Taking it slow seems like the best option right now. There’s no . . . Promises of anything, but there’s not exactly a refusal of it either.”

Amren’s eyes glinted in the way they do when you bring her drinks; you’ve never quite marked down what it means but you know it’s the steady eye of an old predator thinking entirely too carefully about something.

“Well, girl,” she finally says, resting her chin upon her curled fingers as she stared at you, “this will be an interesting change to the Inner Circle’s dynamic.”

PART FOUR

TAG LIST: @motorsp0rt , @lifetobeareader , @hjgdhghoe , @mystirica-blog , @skyler129 , @kooterz , @we-were-beautiful , @manicmanuscription , @sweetorangeblossom , @kissesfromnovalie , @lovely-susie , @beeop223 -- IF I HAVE FORGOTTEN ANYONE LET ME KNOW!

[readychilledwine]

Extramarital Escape pt 2

Rhysand Week Day 7 Free Day

Summary - Being Nyx's nanny came with many perks. You just didn't expect an affair to be one of them.

Warnings - affairs, reader using Azriel with his consent, manipulation, power dynamics, fxmxf, yearning, choking, mental foreplay

A/n - happy day 7 of @officialrhysandweek! I am going to apologize now, I promised smut and while this original did have smut the idea of reader falling into bed with Feyre without Rhysand before the big 3some popped into my mind and there was just *something* about it. I'm weighing it. Be prepared discord friends.

Part 1

✨️Rhysand Week Masterlist✨️Rhys Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

You were playing a dangerous game and Rhysand, had he not had some semblance of self control, would have killed Azriel for what he walked upstairs to.

Azriel had you against the wall. One of his hands rested on your hip, his other forearm against the wall. His face was far too close to yours. Smirk far too playful as he whispered something that had you blushing and nodding with wide eyes.

You had been avoiding Rhysand. Avoiding Feyre. Only showing up to handle your duties as Nyx's nanny, then leaving for the night in the arms of whichever of Rhysand's brothers arrived to fly you back to the House of Wind. Lately, it has been Azriel. Consistently Azriel.

Rhysand wasn't a controlling male. You could have friends, be free if you so made the choice to be, but avoiding him all together? That's where a line was crossed.

“Don't you two have work to be doing?” You and Azriel jumped apart and the spymaster simply kissed your palm before disappearing. Before you could so much as move, Rhysand had you, arms held behind your back as he walked you into his study and warded it.

The tension between you two was thick. It seemed to have a life of it's own, choking you, straining him. “You have been avoiding me,” his tone had grown soft. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I told you I didn't want to do this anymore-”

“And I told you the expectations of your job,” he stated. “This one was non-negotiable.” He hated the way you set your jaw so firm. The way you glared at him. He hated that you couldn't feel the strained bond. The way he and Feyre ached for you.

This situation was rare in their world. Practically unheard of. He'd searched every book, every legend, hell, he had gone through children's stories. Nothing explained this bond. This rarity he and Feyre had been blessed with.

“You have also been avoiding Feyre,” he moved closer to you, taking in the soft scent that clinged to your skin. “I understand your anger with me, but my mate has done nothing wrong.”

Honey and roses. Soft, feminine. He missed your scent. How it added a layer of complexity to the scent of lilac and sea salt that followed him and Feyre.

You crossed your arms, “How am I supposed to look her unt he eye when her husband has been fucking me behind her back?”

“Fucking you,” Rhysand thought to himself. He would hardly describe what you two did as strictly fucking. He spent hours licking every inch of you. He'd spend days between your legs if you let him, savoring every noise, every kiss, every whimper of his name. He'd been rough with you at times, taking you the way Feyre enjoyed the most, but predominantly, he made love to you. Slow, gentle, talking you through as you fell apart. He felt the way that made your soul glow. He felt the way being held so tenderly made your mind fall silent.

He'd only realized he had yet to respond to you when the door opened, Feyre walking in with several sets of earring in her hands.

It was girls night and you immediately clocked how she looked absolutely exquisite. Her flowy two piece outfit highlighted how perfect she was, the shade of powder blue complimenting her skin tone every way. The top ended just above her belly button, the sweetheart neckline dipping to preview just enough of her chest. The pants were baggy but tight around the ankles with the slit running from ankle to the waistband. “Ah perfect, two of my favorite fae to pick my earrings,” she held both options up to you and Rhysand. “I really like the idea of super simple silver.”

You moved to her, brushing the hair from her neck “How did you plan to wear your hair? Because down means simple studs, up is an excuse to wear those really pretty dangly ones.”

Rhysand watched the two of you so closely, hiding his realization that he and Feyre had made an error in their game plan. You two fit. The subtle flirtation, the touches that lingered for longer than they needed to. They had calculated for you to be easily seduced by him, that'd you'd fall for him.

It should have been a blow to his self-esteem when he watched as you helped her put the diamond studs in, hand lingering in her hair for just a moment. “How truly blessed we are to have such a beautiful High Lady,” you hand lingered in that strand of hair before you walked away, a blushing Feyre standing there in your absence.

“We made a miscalculation, Feyre Darling,” Rhysand purred as he took in his mate, looking her up and down as if she was his next meal. “She wants you.”

Feyre glanced at him before looking away. She was hiding something from him and not succeeding. He only had to give her a look, a brush against her mental shields as he did. “Nesta saw her and Azriel whispering very.. intimately last night in the House of Wind. She couldn't get close enough to hear what it was about, but she heard our names and Azriel telling y/n to calm down and that something was working.”

Rhysand cocked his head before laughing, “The little..” He glared towards the door you'd just left out of. “Leave her to me,” he moved to Feyre, kissing her temple. “I think I've figured out this little game.”

It was the first night in almost a month you were alone with Rhysand and would be throughout the night. You tried to focus on your current task, mindlessly folding Nyx's laundry while you hummed to yourself. Rhysand was silent as he moved behind you, hand coming to rest on your throat, “I wasn't done speaking with you earlier.”

You couldn't stop the way your eyes fluttered shut if you had wanted to, couldn't stop the way your skin broke out in chills as he held you so possessively. “You will tell me what is going on between you and Azriel. Now.”

Your breathing betrayed the even tone of your voice, “We are just close friends.” You emphasized close on purpose, earning a soft squeeze that made you gasp as your mind began to float away.

“You're lying to me, darling? So bold of you to assume you could manage that.”

His breath was by your ear, tickling your skin. You were lying to yourself pretending you didn't yearn for him. For both of them. Azriel was kind to allow you to use him the way he was. To play this game of chess with you. The problem was your version of chess was one children with no experience played. Rhysand, though, Rhysand could play with his eyes closed.

Your very pulse was enough for him to know he was winning. Enough for him to feel the very aching setting in your core. “I saw how you looked at Feyre today,” his low deep voice made you whimper, offering weakness to him like a present. “I saw how you touched her. I can give you that. Give you the ability to experience her the way you want. The way you wish.”

His hand grew a little tighter on your throat allowing that feeling of euphoria setting in as he did.

Rhysand smirked behind you, letting you enjoy the little high he was giving you before walking away leaving you suddenly.

“Rhys,” you began to protest as he ignored you. “You can't just-”

“I can,” the tone was firm and left no room for question. “I only give my affections to the very best of girls, and you, y/n have not been a good girl lately.”

That sentence would haunt you and he knew it. He knew your need to please, to be the picture perfect example of manners and politeness. Your lip trembled at the thought alone, a final sign of his power over you. “I want to be a good girl.”

“Then tomorrow night, you won't go to the House of Wind,” he moved closer again. His hand slowly trailing up your fingers and across your collarbones. “You will come to my bed tomorrow night, with Feyre, and she and I will discuss what to do with you.”

“But you.. I-”

Your stumbling was almost adorable to him, the way your eyes were wide. He grabbed your chin, pulling you into the first kiss he'd had in far too long from you. Your lips were as sweet as he remembered, a soft hint of lemon lingering from the liquor you had picked to sip for the night. “I only give my affections to good girls,” he purred against your lips again. “Are you my good girl?”

“I want to be,” you whispered back, eyes meeting his. “I'm sorry.”

“Your apology means nothing unless you fix what you've done. I've told you how you can make it up to me. To Feyre. I know you'd hate to disappoint your High Lady, wouldn't you?”

He made you nod wanting to cave to his desires and take you. He left you with one more soft kiss, “Be my good girl tomorrow night and I will give you everything you ever wanted.”

He left you then. Truly left you. Feeling alone, anxious, needy. How unfair of him to leave you like this? Longing for him. For her. You thought you could play this game as well as he did. Master the mental chess board with little issue. The idea of prolonging this, of continuing to push him, it appealed to you in the sick twisted sense of needing to know where that line was.

It didn't appeal to you the way being satisfied did. The way his hands touching you did. And his offer? To lay with him and Feyre?

Images flashed through you mind, need building more and more until it felt as though you were suffocated by your own self made frustrations. You took deep breaths, hand resting on your pounding Heart.

Your mind was made.

Tomorrow you'll be a good girl.

The best girl.

All day, you'd torture both of them by being so good they'd struggle the way you currently were, and that was one game you could always win.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f @yeonalie

Extramarital escape taglist

@wickedfelinaxo @sh4nn @justdreamstars @jesssicapaniagua @harrystylesfan2686 @slytherinindisguise @fxckmiup @saltedcoffeescotch @sarawritestories @sinarainbows @justaboredbookworm @xcarrotxs-blog @paleidiot @nayaniasworld @fyfy-world @seasonallyapril @alhaithmss @Ilovelydove @nebarious @helloevilmuffins @fantanbietsson

[potatoplace]

We Can Do This

Feysand x Reader

kinktober day 2 | one night stand, threesome, pregnancy

kinktober '24 masterlist | Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

We Can Fix This (part 2) | We Can Do This Together (Part 3)

Story Summary: You meet Feyre and Rhys at your friend Emerie's wedding, and enjoy a long, pleasurable night with the married couple. A month later, though, a certain stick turns pink.

Warnings: Talk of an emotionally abusive ex (very brief), smut, smut, smut, 3k words of smut, pregnancy

Words: ~5.1k

Author's Note: ahhhh I love this one so much. I'm terrified of being pregnant and having a child to raise but if Feysand were the coparents? I miiight reconsider. Also. I am still so obsessed with these two, I don't think it will ever end. And also I wrote waaaay more smut than I planned. Like. I know it's kinktober. But this was supposed to be like a 3k word fic and instead it's 3k of smut and 2k of after smut consequences. Still. I love it!! I hope you guys like it!

18+ only pls

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

The wedding was lovely, and the brides were so, so happy. Emerie, your closest friend at work, had gotten married to lovely, kind blonde named Mor.

Their ceremony was beautiful, complete with heartfelt vows that had you shedding a few tears, and seeing the two have their first married kiss made you long to have the same joy.

Until your brain kicked in, and you remembered that you were in no way ready to be in a relationship.

Your last boyfriend had been an absolute ass, attempting to control everything from what you wore and ate to who you spent your time with.

Emerie had been so helpful in getting you out of that relationship, managing to talk sense into your love-addled brain. You had booked it, and moved into your own apartment- the first time you had ever lived alone.

That was nearly a year ago at this point, but you were still working through your insecurities and inability to trust.

So, no relationships for you for the foreseeable future.

The dancing had already started, but you weren't in the mood to dance, especially not alone. Instead, you made your way to the bar, leaning against it with one arm while you waited for the bartender, watching your friend dance with her new bride.

"What would you like?"

You turned back to face the bartender, answering "a glass of rosé, please," and flashed a bright smile at him.

He busied himself with pouring your drink, and you barely noticed when someone else leaned against the bar, to your right.

You tilted your head to look at them, and your heart nearly stopped. The woman in front of you was so breathtaking, so absolutely flawless in her midnight blue dress. Her brilliant blue eyes met yours and she smiled at you warmly, your breath catching at the sight. Her face was a work of art, more divine than any sculptor could ever hope to capture.

The bartender handed you your wine, and asked the woman for her order- a whiskey on ice.

"Hello, my name is Feyre," the woman introduced herself, and if you thought she hadn't been able to be any more attractive, you were wrong once she spoke. Her voice was husky and low, and something in the way she spoke promised nothing but pleasure and long nights, sending heat straight between your thighs.

"My name is Y/N," you replied, doing your best to keep your voice even and not betray just how effected you were by five words.

She repeated your name, testing it on her tongue. "Absolutely beautiful," Feyre said quietly. She thanked the bartender when he passed her her drink, and she took a small sip. Your eyes catalogued the way her throat moved when she swallowed, how her tongue darted out to lick her lips. "How do you know the brides?"

"Oh, I'm a work friend of Emerie's. She keeps me sane, if I'm being honest," you laughed, and Feyre joined you, such a beautiful noise that you found yourself wanting to hear it again. "And yourself?"

"Mor is my husband's cousin, but I think of her as one of my sisters at this point," Feyre replied, and her words made your heart sink slightly.

Married.

"That's lovely, that you get along with your in-laws," you said, trying to conceal your downed hopes at a wonderful evening with the woman in front of you.

"Mm, I definitely feel lucky to get along with her."

Just as she finished speaking, a man slid up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her neck lightly. He grabbed the drink from her hand and took a deep sip, replacing it in her grasp.

"Oh, Y/N, this is my husband, Rhys," Feyre said, and the man turned to look at you.

It figures that the two most beautiful people you would probably ever meet were married to each other.

His eyes were such a deep blue color that they nearly looked violet, and his hair shined blue-black in just the right lighting. His face itself was gorgeous, those high cheekbones making him look positively regal.

"It's nice to meet you," you said, feeling more shy now with the both of them in front of you.

"I can say the same, darling," Rhys purred at you.

Their voices alone could probably coax you to climax with how heavenly, or perhaps sinful, they both sounded.

His hands had drifted further up Feyre's body, resting just underneath the bust of her dress, his thumbs stroking against the fabric there.

You couldn't help that your eyes were drawn there.

Or that's what you told yourself, as both Feyre and Rhys smirked at you when they caught your eyes, obviously having seen where they'd drifted.

Your cheeks heated, but you refused to look away from them.

That made Feyre smile coyly at you, and she placed a gentle hand on your arm. “Are you here with anyone tonight, darling?”

You shook your head. “No, I hadn’t found anyone… suitable enough.” You tried to keep your voice confident, possibly even bold, with the renewed hope for the night blooming between your thighs.

“What a shame,” Rhys drawled, eyes raking over your form. “You just might have to come home with us, it would be even more of a shame for you to go home alone.”

Your cheeks flushed further at his words, and you stepped a bit closer to the devastatingly beautiful pair.

“Maybe I should.”

Feyre turned her head to look at the dance floor, where most of the wedding party was enjoying the night. “I don’t think Mor or Emerie would mind if we slipped out of the party a bit early, do you, darling?” She asked, turning her eyes back to yours, keeping you captive in her gaze.

“Not one bit,” you said breathlessly, and that was all the pair needed to disentangle themselves and each take one of your arms in theirs, guiding you to the exit at a casual pace.

The three of you grabbed your coats, Rhys slipping yours over your arms before repeating the action with his wife. They led you to a sleek black car, and Feyre led you to the backseat before joining you, Rhys taking the wheel.

The car ride could have taken an hour for all you cared, because the moment you were buckled and moving, Feyre was on you, her lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, filled with her fiery desire, and her hands were already exploring your body over the fabric of your dress.

She squeezed your breasts, testing the fullness of them before pinching at your nipples, the sensitive buds hardening in response, all the while her mouth was making a mess of your neck, leaving bite marks and hickeys in their wake. One of her hands trailed down your abdomen, down your thigh to the hem of your dress and slipped under it, dragging up your inner thigh and straight to your core. Her fingers ran over your slit, a breathy moan leaving you as they did. Feyre’s seductive laugh in your ear had you widening your legs for her, giving her better access as your hands clutched at her shoulders, slipping between silky fabric and soft skin.

“No panties? Naughty little girl,” Feyre whispered, just as two fingers dipped between your folds, and Feyre let out a groan when she felt how soaked you were, just for them.

Those same to fingers drifted up, making small, quick circles on your clit, building your pleasure up, up, up-

The door just to your right opened, a gush of cold air entering the car, and Rhys chuckled lowly behind you.

“Couldn’t wait, sweet wife of mine?”

Feyre grinned up at him, her hand already lifting to her mouth, and she sucked your arousal off her fingers, the actions sending another pulse to your core. You whimpered at the sight of her, still slightly leaning over you, her hair disheveled from your wandering hands. “Of course I couldn’t, husband, not with such a sweet treat waiting for me between these thighs.”

Strong arms wrapped around you, and you heard the click of your seatbelt just before your were pulled out of the car, and right into Rhys’s capable hold. Feyre followed just behind, shutting the door behind her and handing a pair of keys to the valet.

Because you weren’t just at a house, you were at a high rise apartment- one with actual security, and a front desk, and a valet for christ’s sake!

You were distracted from that a moment later, Rhys’s lips ghosting across your ear as he whispered, “I am going to absolutely devour you.”

Melting- you had to be melting at this point, the heat between your thighs having built to an inferno, every inch of your skin crying out for these two strangers’ touch.

Once the three of you were in the elevator, Feyre stood in front of you, caging you entirely between the two of them. “Feeling good, darling?” She asked, running her thumb over your cheek. You nodded- you were feeling more than good. In fact, this was the best you had felt in over a year.

Feyre smiled, so dazzling your breath hitched, and she leaned in for a gentle kiss.

The elevator dinged, and the three of you left the elevator, Feyre opening the one lone door at the end of the short hallway while Rhys carried you in, making his way into another hallway and finally arriving in a grand bedroom.

He gently set you down on the bed, your feet just barely dangling off of the edge. Rhys got on his knees before you, and brought your right foot to rest on his thigh as he undid the tie of your shoe. Feyre entered the room a moment later, her coat and shoes already off. She padded across the plush carpet and crawled onto the bed, coming to rest behind you.

Feyre pulled your jacket down, uncovering the skin of your arms to the warm air of their bedroom as Rhys moved on to your left shoe, discarding them to his right once they were both removed.

“Let’s get you out of the dress, darling,” Feyre suggested, already pushing your hair aside and reaching for the zipper, slowly dragging it down your spine. You shuddered slightly under her touch, her fingers lingering along the base of your spine.

“Stand up for us, doll,” Rhys said, holding your hands and helping you up. Feyre moved the straps of your dress off your shoulders, and it slid off your body to pool on the floor, revealing that you were bare underneath.

Rhys clicked his tongue. “Naughty naughty girl, wearing no underwear to a wedding,” he playfully scolded you, bopping your nose with his index finger.

You bit your lip, nervous at your nakedness and how, well- how clothed they still were. “They ruined the silhouette of the dress…”

Feyre laughed behind you. “I know, darling, I'm not wearing any either.”

Rhys gasped in fake surprise. “Two naughty girls in front of me, hmm? How ever will I punish you…” He trailed off, eyes running over your naked form and his wife, hovering behind you with her hands on your hips.

“I know a way,” Feyre suggested, her lips hovering over your neck. “You could… ‘make’ us play with each other.”

You nodded your head without thinking- anything from either of them and your night would be perfect.

Rhys hummed, thinking it over. “That could work, sweet wife. Y/N, would you like to do the honors and undress Feyre?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, please,” you groaned, already turning to face Feyre, who was grinning at you, already pulling her hair to the side. You wrapped your arms around her, fumbling for the zipper for a second before slowly dragging it down, and tugged it off of her shoulders. Her dress fell to her feet, your eyes greedily taking in her perfect body.

Your hands came up to cup her chest, thumbs rolling over her nipples and eliciting a small gasp from her lips. “Beautiful,” you murmured, before leaning in and sucking one nipple into your mouth, rolling your tongue over it. One of Feyre’s hands grabbed your hair, keeping your head in place as the other pulled your lower half closer towards her, your bare stomachs resting together as your mouth moved to the other nipple, repeating its movements.

At the sound of leather creaking, you released Feyre’s nipple and turned, eyes met with the sight of Rhys palming himself through his pants, seated in a high backed leather chair in the corner of the room, with a perfect view of the bed. “Don’t mind me, girls, keep playing.”

Feyre decided to follow his order first, spinning you so that you were facing away from the bed, and she gently pushed you down onto it, gesturing for you to scoot up further until you were all the way on.

She spread your legs and crawled between them, resting on her knees and elbows and she dove in, licking a long stripe up your slit. One of your hands shot down, grabbing a fistful of her hair before you could think. Feyre’s tongue played along your clit, lapping at it a few times before going further down to taste your arousal from the source.

Her tongue fucked into you and you squirmed against where Feyre’s hands were holding down your hips, crying out in pleasure. “Please,” you begged, not even sure of what you needed besides more.

Feyre pulled away slightly, her lips hovering over your pussy. “What’s that, darling?” She asked teasingly, smirking when all you did was cant your hips up to her face. “Did you need more?”

“Mhm,” you whined pitifully, half heartedly attempting to push her head back onto you.

“If you insist,” Feyre said, pulling away from you entirely, and you cried out at the loss of contact.

“What are you-?”

Your question was cut off when Feyre positioned herself above your face, sinking down slowly to let your mind catch up.

What you didn’t expect was a tongue to lick up your cunt, and lips to latch around your clit in the next moment. “Fuck,” you moaned out loudly, your head rising up and hitting Feyre, hovering above you.

“Come on, love, open up,” Feyre coaxed, lowering herself slightly, and this time your brain took the hint, your tongue sticking out to lick at her center, the sweet taste of her costing your tongue.

You moaned into her when Rhys’s tongue returned to your clit, working you up to your peak quickly as you own tongue danced over Feyre, moving between her clit and soaked hole as Feyre’s rocking hips allowed. You toppled over the edge when Feyre’s soft hands pinched both of your nipples, and Rhys’s teeth grazed ever so slightly over your clit, the slight pain mixed with overwhelming pleasure tipping you over the edge.

Feyre’s fingers slipped into your cunt when Rhys’s mouth abandoned your clit, pushing in and out of you, stretching you out.

A moment later you heard the crinkle of a wrapper- a condom, thank god you didn’t have to ask- and Rhys’s warm body was between your legs, keeping you spread apart. Feyre’s fingers left your hole, but were quickly replaced by the thick head of Rhys’s cock, pushing in just the tip before pulling out, sing you.

You whined into Feyre’s cunt, and her hips stuttered above you, sinking down further for a moment before lifting back up.

“Are you ready for me, Y/N?” Rhys asked, hands tapping on your inner thighs. You nodded your head as much as you could, unwilling to take your mouth of off Feyre. “Use your words, babygirl,” he said, tapping your thighs again.

You pulled off of Feyre with a groan and moaned, “Yes,” before latching your mouth back onto Feyre’s clit.

Rhys chuckled when Feyre cried out again, her hands on your breasts propping her up as she came. He pushed in to the hilt, and your loud moan was muffled by Feyre’s skin, her hips still shaking over you.

She went to move off of you, but your arms came up to grip her thighs, keeping her seated on your face- it would be her throne for the rest of time, if you had your way. “Y/N!” Feyre screamed as you kept her over the edge as long as you could, tongue working furiously as Rhys began pumping in and out slowly. Each heavenly drag of his cock made you moan into Feyre’s cunt, and you knew you were in for a long night.

Feyre finally pried herself away from your face, falling back against the bed for a few seconds as Rhys continued fucking you, his pace still slow and steady, a thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit.

“Such a good girl, taking my cock so well,” Rhys praised, and your face scrunched in delight as you beamed up at him, a squeaky moan leaving your lips when he hit just the right spot.

“Oh, that was delightful,” Feyre groaned, moving so she was laying to your right, hand stroking over your stomach. “Make her do it again, Rhysie,” she demanded, looking to her husband.

“Yes, dear,” Rhys said with a smirk, angling his cock in the same way again, hitting the sensitive area once more, the same noise pulled from your lips. Feyre grinned in delight, her hand moving up to your chest slowly.

“We are going to have so much fun,” she whispered in your ear. “Are you going to be a good girl for us?”

You nodded your head vigorously, needing to please them in that moment.

“That’s good, sweet little thing. Very, very good,” Rhys said, the last three words punctuated by deep thrusts that made you see stars, your second orgasm of the night claiming you.

“Do you think we could get… five out of you?” Feyre asked softly as you came down, Rhys still buried inside of you. You nodded your head, even though you weren’t sure they would be able to. But you would be damned if you didn’t let them try. “Let’s get started on the third, then, babygirl,” Feyre said, a soft kiss placed on your lips as her hand played with your nipples.

Oh, yes. You were definitely in for a long night.

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

Sunlight was just beginning to light the room when you awoke, tangled between two warm bodies. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes, for a moment not remembering at all where you had ended up last night, before it all came rushing back.

Feyre. Rhys. The best sex of my life.

You looked to both sides of you carefully, and after seeing that the two of them were still fast asleep, you carefully slinked out of their bed, slipping on your shoes and dress from the night before, and pulling on your coat as you made your way to the door of their bedroom. Thankfully, your keys and phone were still in the zippered pocket you had put them in the night before, so you wouldn’t have a problem getting home.

Before you left the room, you took one last look at the couple that would occupy your dreams for the next few months. You sighed quietly, and opened the door gently, shutting it softly behind you. After a moment of trying, you found the front door.

The elevator was thankfully empty the entire ride down, and the lobby was free of everyone but the front desk person and security guard. You smiled awkwardly at both of them as you left the building, feeling so, incredibly out of place.

You caught the train home, collapsing into your bed after shrugging off your dress and removing your shoes.

Last night had been perfect. It was fun, casual, and had boosted your confidence incredibly high.

As you snuggled into your pillows, you couldn’t help but miss the warmth you had woken up in, but you knew it was better this way. They were married and you weren’t ready to commit.

That’s what you told yourself, at least.

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

The next month was hard.

You had been handed a massive project at work before Emerie had come back from her honeymoon, and you had been struggling with it ever since, even with some input from the other woman.

You had reacted poorly to a few choices that your boss had made regarding the project, both of them ruining a weeks worth of work each.

Then, your ex, George, had found where you lived, and had started harassing you there and at work again, like he had right after you’d left him.

Overall, you’d had so many reasons to not question how vulnerable and exhausted you were feeling.

It was only when you had hurled your guts up in your work’s bathroom for the third day in the row that your realized.

You hadn’t had your period in over two months. And your heart dropped into your stomach.

You were crouched over a toilet during your lunch break, peeing on a stick to figure out if you were just being paranoid.

But you knew. You knew.

And when that stick turned pink, a positive plus sign so dark and obvious you couldn’t deny it, you cried in the pharmacy bathroom stall.

You made your way back to your office once you had dried your tears, so many fears playing in your mind.

You were single, unmarried, hell, the child was a product of a threesome with a married couple. You hadn’t felt ready for a relationship, let alone a child.

But… with your hand resting on your stomach, you felt… joy. Hope. A baby was growing inside of you, against all odds. The three of you had made sure to use a condom every time Rhys fucked you, and how often did condoms really fail?

What are we going to do, little nugget? You thought to yourself, your hand rubbing a soothing circle over your still flat abdomen.

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

Two weeks later, and you had made a final decision. You were keeping the baby.

You had also decided that you needed to see Rhys and Feyre again, to at least tell them what was happening.

But you were nervous. So, so nervous as you stood outside of their apartment building. It looked even more intimidating than the night you had first come here.

You made your way to the front doors, expecting them to open when you pushed on the door.

It didn’t budge.

“Ma’am, please state your name and who you are trying to visit,” the security guard next to the door said.

“Oh, I’m uhm. My name is Y/N, I’m here to see Rhys and Feyre, please.”

The guard flipped through a tablet, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, you aren’t on the list of approved visitors. You’re welcome to call them and be put on the list, but until them I’m afraid you have to leave.”

Your face flushed, embarrassed with the fact that you couldn’t call the couple.

“Uhm… Would there be any way that I could just wait in the lobby for them, or you could call them for me? I really, really need to speak with them, but I don’t have their phone numbers,” you pleaded, hoping that the man would take pity on you.

He sighed. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, ma’am. You’ll just have to find another way to contact them.”

It was your turn to sigh, tears involuntarily spilling from your eyes. “Thank you, I- I’m sorry,” you said, sniffling to keep the worst of the tears at bay until you were able to turn away from him.

You wiped at your eyes as you started walking, tears pouring from your eyes as your heightened hormones kicked your panic into overdrive-

And then you smacked directly into a broad chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your eyes on the ground so you wouldn’t have to see the person’s expression.

“Hey, it’s o- Y/N?” A velvety voice asked.

Rhys.

You looked up, blinking the tears from your eyes as you took in the male. He was just as beautiful as you remembered, and you knew you made a mistake in coming here.

You were an absolute wreck, and here he was, a Greek god come to life.

“Is everything alright, Y/N?” He asked gently, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“I- I-” you stuttered, the words catching in your throat, more tears spilling over and sobs tore from your lungs. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest for a comforting hug.

“Let’s get you inside, hmm, darling? We can talk and get you some coffee, alright?”

You nodded in agreement, still feeling unable to speak.

He released you from his hold but kept one of his arms wrapped around yours, and guided you into the building.

This time when you entered the elevator, you noticed that Rhys used a special key on the button pad, causing the lowest button to light up, which he pushed.

The ride was quick, and he ushered you out of the door and through their front door.

“Rhysie, are you home?” Feyre’s voice asked from far away, likely a few rooms down.

“Yes, love, and I think you should come out here, I found a special someone on my way home,” Rhys called out, his hands automatically taking your jacket and hanging it alongside his. A hand on your low back guided you into a sitting room, and Feyre came out of the hallway that you believed led to their bedroom.

“Oh, Y/N!” Feyre exclaimed, obviously not having expected you to be the visitor. “This is a pleasant surprise, what are you doing here love?” As she got closer, she could see how red and puffy your face was from crying, and the tears still running down your face, at a slower pace now. “Is everything alright?”

You shook your head, but couldn’t speak, still too choked up from your tears.

“Let’s sit down, okay?” Feyre said, taking you by the arm and leading you to a couch, sinking down onto it with you. “Rhys, would you go get her something warm to drink?”

“Of course. Would you like coffee, love?”

“Oh, uh, no, I’ll have tea, please- non-caffeinated if you can,” you replied, heat coloring your cheeks.

Rhys’s brow furrowed for a moment before smoothing out, and he nodded. “I’ll be right back, girls.”

He left in the direction that you assumed their kitchen was in, and Feyre’s hand came to rub small circles on your upper back.

“Do you want to talk about it, love?”

“No, but… I need to,” you sniffled, rubbing your sleeves against your eyes.

“Okay… Would you like me to guess?” Feyre asked, pinching your side lightly and you giggled softly.

“No, no, I don’t… It’s not something that you should find out in that way.”

Rhys came back at that moment, three mugs clutched in his hands. “Alright, here’s a lemon ginger tea for you, Y/N, and a coffee for you Fey.” He sat in the chair to your left, and sat his mug down on the coffee table. “Now, why are we so lucky to see you again today, love?”

You took a sip of the tea, thankful for the warmth, and the flavor helped the the nausea that had started building in your stomach. “I’m, uh…” You trailed off for a moment, trying to figure out how best to phrase this. But really, there was no good way to say this. “I’m pregnant.”

Both of them blinked at you, confused.

“I… I haven’t had… sex… with anyone besides the two of you in almost a year and- and I know that we used condoms and it doesn’t make sense and you probably want absolutely nothing to do with me- I’ll just go,” you rambled, setting your cup down and tried to stand up, only for both of them to clamp a hand down on you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Feyre asked, her tone… happy?

You didn’t understand.

“What makes you think we want nothing to do with you, love?” Rhys asked, one of his hands turning your head to look at him, and you could swear you saw silver lining his eyes.

“Because… I was a one night stand, and I… You two are married, and perfect, and I’m just…”

“Just what, hmm? You’re perfect too, you know,” Feyre said, and arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into her side.

“That’s not-” you sighed. “I just mean that this is nothing that you could have planned for, or wanted. That’s all.”

“Actually, Y/N…” Rhys began. “Feyre and I have been trying to have a child for the last two years, with no success. We want a child, and have wanted a child for so long. Maybe our meeting you was some divine intervention, leading us to something we never knew we wanted, along with all that we’ve ever wanted.”

Tears filled your eyes as he spoke, his kind words washing over you.

“If I can be honest with you, Y/N, Rhys and I… We haven’t been able to keep you out of our thoughts in the past six weeks, we were so close to just asking Emerie for your phone number.”

The tears spilled over, and Rhys got up from his chair and scooped you up, taking your place and setting you on his lap. Feyre grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and dabbed at your eyes, Rhys’s hand smoothing your hair out of your face.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Feyre cooed at you, kissing your cheeks. “Unless you don’t want the child…?”

You shook your head vigorously, strands of your hair smacking Rhys in the face. “No, I… I want to keep my little nugget, it’s just. I’m so happy,” you cried, your sobs returning in full force.

“Oh, love,” Rhys chuckled. “Everything is going to be okay. We can do this. There are three of us after all, and that means two people to help take care of you while you’re carrying our sweet little nugget, as you called it.”

They both placed a hand on your lower abdomen, and you all let it sink in.

You were having a baby.

And with the two of them by your side, you almost felt prepared.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff

[sapphicmsmarvel]

acotar: feeding my complex

If you know me irl 🎶no the fuck you dont 🎶

This is azriel x reader x feyre x rhys smut. Everything is under the cut. (i'm so nervous posting this omg) 

(3.7K YALL WTF POSSESSED ME)

title is from complex by xana pls listen xana is one of the best artists ive ever heard!

‼️Minors Do Not Interact‼️

(i already know minors are gonna ignore that bc i have common sense)

notes: probably ooc rhys and az. i do not see them as the type to share mates but like, it’s hot. you could see this as wlw fetishization but as a pan/bi/queer woman this is a goddamn wet dream so i approve it. (duh i wrote it) 

This is mainly porn with no plot, but i snuck some in. 

kinks: ass play, tongue sucking, female worship, voyeurism, switching from top to bottom real quick, dirty talk (i tried), praise, oral (fem receiving), mating press, pussy slapping, edging, mentioned past knife play. I think i got it all folks. 

It all started from a dinner with Feyre and Rhysand. Aka your childhood best friend and her husband. You and Feyre dreamed of double dates with your spouses as children and now you finally have it. 

You four occasionally had these dinners, typically once a month. 

After the meal, you four were in the living room area, Azriel was on his second glass of wine, Rhysand and you weren’t drinking. Feyre was on her first glass. The fire was crackling with life, causing the room to warm. 

Then you four began sharing silly secrets. It started with Feyre and Rhysand fucking in paint, which gave your husband ideas. Then you and Azriel admonishing them for fucking in the literal sky. But then they scolded you two for knife play. Especially when they found out Truthteller’s handle was used to fuck you. 

“How did you even grip that?” Feyre asked. 

Azriel smirked, “who said I was the one holding it?”

“Who the hell did you invite to your bed and why wasn’t it us?” Rhysand asked, jokingly but you warmed at the idea. 

“The shadows you fool.” You laughed, sipping your water. “Az pinned me down and sucked my tits while the shadows pinned my legs down and used Truthtellers handle to fuck me. 

They were silent and then, “I love how you have no filter, baby.” Az coughed. 

“So do I. Damn.” Feyre said. “That’s spank bank material.”

You snorted and Rhysand just tipped his glass to you. 

Which then the conversation turned into friends having sex, and then: 

“You mean to tell me, you and my High Lady would have sex?” Azriel asked, surprised clearly. He knew you were into women but it was different knowing the object of your past affections was his close friend and High Lady. 

“I mean, yeah.” You shrugged at your mate. “Two girls that the village wanted nothing to do with. Might as well do each other.”

“And by the way, it was a loving and very respectful relationship. Platonic sex!” Feyre declared from her spot on the couch. 

“Huh.” Rhysand said. “You know, I expected not to like that but…” he trailed off. “The thoughts are nice.”

You snorted and looked at Azriel, who was looking at you with an expression that could only be described as eye-fucking. 

“Are you serious?” You asked him grinning. He had the decency to blush. 

“What?” Feyre asked, looking towards you. 

“He’s into it too!” You laughed. 

Feyre laughed as well, “I mean I don’t blame them. We are quite hot together.” She scooted closer to you on the couch. 

“That we are.” You grinned and clinked your glasses together. 

You all quickly went onto other topics, but you both could tell that the boys just could not stop imagining you two together. 

“Okay, how do we bring you two back to the present?” Feyre asked. 

“What do you mean?” Azriel asked. 

“You two have been acting so weird since we said we used to hook up. So how do we stop that weirdness?” Feyre asked. 

“We just never imagined our wives with equally attractive women.” Rhysand shrugged. 

You gasped, “are you saying I’m as hot as Feyre? That's the best compliment.” 

He was silent. He actually looked sheepish, he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and everything. 

“What?” You asked. 

“He’s saying you’re as hot as him.” Azriel said. 

You gasped even louder. “Seriously?!” 

“I mean, you are,” Feyre shrugged. 

“And Feyre is….as attractive as you are, love.” Azriel said. 

“Awww Azzie..” Feyre cooed teasingly. “That's so cute.”

The tips of his ears became bright red. 

Rhysand stuttered out, “it’s just, hard to imagine so…” He trailed off 

You turned and looked at Feyre. “They wanna see us smooch.” You giggled. 

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Come here.” She grabbed your face and pecked you on the lips. 

When you turned towards the boys, they were wide eyed but not satisfied. “You’re blue-balling us.” Rhysand huffed. 

“Oh? You wanna see us do what?”

Rhysand was silent and looked at Azriel then you two. Feyre coaxed, “words baby.” 

“We want to see you two make out.” Azriel ended their misery. “And maybe…” He shrugged. 

“Maybe?” You prodded. You knew exactly what that voyeur wanted to see. But gods, this was fun enough for you. And it was turning you the fuck on. 

“Maybe if it’s hot, then we fuck you both together.” Azriel snapped, but it wasn’t malicious. Your mate snapped when he was flustered, which was rare. So you were eating this shit up. 

“If?” You chuckled. “Baby, it’s gonna be.” 

“Yeah yeah you know you two are hot.” Rhysand muttered. 

You giggled, “then we have to go to bed, don’t we?” You asked Feyre. 

“Duh.” She laughed, downed her drink then grabbed your hand. You both took off down the hallway, the men nearly tripping over themselves to follow you two. 

You two beat them to the bed. You both fell into a heap of giggles as they ran up the stairs. 

“Is it weird if I’ve missed kissing you?” Feyre asked. She threw off her baggy shirt, so her bra was on display. But left her shorts on. “As much as I love Rhys, kissing girls is just.” She kissed the air. 

“I feel the same.” You giggled into your shared air. You shucked your shorts off, revealing the granny panties you were wearing. If you knew this was coming, you would’ve worn a hot set. You left the big tee shirt on. 

“I’m not wearing panties, I wanna leave some mystery.” Feyre said. 

“I would’ve worn a hot set if i knew this was happening.” You laughed, you could hear the boys were close to the bedroom. 

“It’s not fair you look hot in granny panties.” Feyre groaned. 

You laughed as the boys arrived, now the fun could begin. 

“C’mere.” You grinned and Feyre did as well. 

The two of you sat on the bed, facing each other. Your knees touching. Very much aware of your husbands at the end of the bed waiting for you two to kiss. Their heated gazes stroked the inferno that was in your cunt. Throbbing. 

When you and Feyre’s lips met, the world went silent. Kissing Feyre was always like falling into a comfy bed. Soft, plush and safe. As much as you loved Azriel as he was your mate, and you obviously were sexually attracted to men. You also were sexually attracted to women. There was never a worry with Az. He never wanted to invite anyone to the bedroom because he didn’t trust anyone. 

But these, these were two of the people he trusted most. 

Nothing beats kissing a girl.

Your mouths opened for each other, your tongues caressing each other. Lewd sounds were the only sound in the bedroom aside from Azriel and Rhysands heavy breathing. Feyre pulled you against her, your tits rubbing against each other, you wore no bra underneath so the contact caused your nipples to pebble. She ran her hands underneath your shirt, scraping her nails against your back. Your hands wove into her hair and pulled her even closer. Her nails dug into your plush hips. 

She pulled away, “Gods, I missed these hips. Fucking perfection. So soft.” Between each sentence she pressed a kiss to your swollen lips. “Felt even better sitting on my face. Remember that?” 

“Gods how could I forget?” You whispered. You smelled the musky, manly scent of Azriel and Rhysands arousal, you felt your pussy throb at the aroma of them and the sweet smell of Feyre’s mixing.  

You captured Feyres lips between your own. Better than a drug. More addictive and exhilarating. 

You heard rustling and then the sound of clothes hitting the floor. 

You felt warm heat radiate at your back as large thighs cradled your butt and hips. Azriel’s warm hands went around your waist to hold you. He kissed your neck. You felt his cock in bump into your plush thighs. Rock hard. 

How far are we going with this? Rhysand created a link to all of your minds.

As far as you boys would like. This isn’t new for Y/N and I. Feyres throaty laugh echoed in your minds. Safe word? 

Peach. Like Y/N’s ass. Azriel said as he spanked you. 

No ones gonna get possessive and rip out someone’s throat? You asked as your tongue licked down the side of Feyres throat, your teeth scraped her skin. She let out a breathy moan. 

Nobody else I trust to fuck my wife than these two. Azriel responded 

Glad you have so much faith. Rhysand said. Can’t wait to make your wife see the galaxy. 

yeah watch me make your wife come. Was all you said before your fingers dipped into Feyre’s shorts. 

Azriel chose that moment to slip his hand into the back of your panties and spread your ass cheeks with his long thick fingers. Just rubbing outside the tight ring made you quiver. You weren’t a fan of penetration there, but a little bit of ass play never hurt. 

You snuck your hand into her shorts, her smooth, wet pussy was warm and inviting. You wanted to sink into it with your tongue and fuck her so hard she didn’t know her name. But, you’d do that another time, either with Rhys coming down her throat or just watching while Azriel pounded into you from behind, you weren't picky. 

You gathered her slick and brought it up to her clit and continuously rubbed circles on the bundle of nerves. 

Based on the way her thighs clenched around your hand, you knew something was going on in the back. Then you saw the lube in Rhysands hand get thrown onto the bed and knew that she was also getting some ass action.  

“Is he fucking your ass?” You asked her. She groaned. “You got my fingers on your clit, your husbands in your asshole and you’re giving my husband a filthy fucking show? You grabbed her face with your free hand, “open.” You ordered. 

She did so without complaint, her tongue sticking out as you took her tongue between your lips and sucked on it like it was your favorite candy. 

You pulled away long enough to say, “dirty fucking girl.” You saw her eyes roll back into her head as you took her tongue in your mouth again and sucked it. 

You moaned around her tongue as Azriel began pressing harder against your tight asshole. He began rubbing faster. You whimpered. You weren’t afraid to admit that it doesn’t take much to make you finish. But you also have a faster turnaround time than most. It helps that this sight, this situation was the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. 

You let go of Feyre’s tongue. “Wanna sit on my face baby?” You asked Feyre as she pitched forward into your shoulder. “Huh? You can sit on my face while Az fucks me and you can suck Rhys’ cock. How does that sound?” You rubbed her even faster. 

She let out a louder moan as you felt her thighs quiver around your hand. 

“Or maybe you wanna see what the biggest wingspan feels like.” You grinned, you saw Rhys’ eyes flash a stormy violet. “His cock is so thick, baby.” You panted against Feyre’s temple. “You can feel every vein as you bounce. I bet it’d stretch you out so ni-“ 

You were cut off when someone threw you down on the bed. You looked up to see Rhys’ eyes pinning you down. One of his hands pinning both your wrists down. “Azriel.” Was all he said. 

“Yeah?” He asked, still discombobulated from the shift in position. 

“Pleasure my wife out while I eat yours out.” 

Your husband, your mate, let out a dark chuckle. “As you wish, My Lord.” Your mate sent a gentle caress down the bond. It was almost mocking. 

It was fucking hot. 

Rhys let out his beast form enough that his wings spread even wider, his right hand that wasn’t holding your wrist turned into his beast claws. And his cock was a hard rod against your inner thigh. 

“You know, it’s because of you my wife didn’t get to cum.” He said, one single talon cutting your shirt open. The cool air brushed against the swells of your tits. “If you just kept your fucking mouth shut, she would’ve finished.” He scolded as his wife's moans were in the background, you quickly glanced over Rhysand’s shoulder to see Azriel fingering his High Lady. 

“Am I supposed to be sorry?” You cocked an eyebrow. 

You had no idea what possessed you to say that to him. You’re only mouthy with Azriel, but not all the time. 

You were in a brat mood because the next thing you said was, “you mad that out of all of us I got to fuck her first?”

“Are you always this mouthy?” He asked. 

“You have no idea.” Azriel said, taking a break from sucking on Feyre’s tits and fingering her cunt. You were jealous of your husband. Feyre’s tits were spectacular. 

Rhysand pinned your waist down and began mouthing at one of your tits. His tongue circled a nipple and he grazed his canine against it which caused your back to shoot up off the bed. 

You felt Rhysands claws tap your mental shield, you let him in. 

“Praise or degradation?” He switched to the other breast. 

“Both. But, don’t overdo it with the name calling please.” You requested. You were bullied as a kid so name calling is a toughie to navigate. 

“What words are you against?” He then tore the rest of your shirt off completely. The cool air causing goosebumps on your exposed skin. 

���I don’t like being told I'm ‘just a cunt’. Degrade me by roughing me up. Praise my looks while you do it.”

His chuckle echoed in your mind, “oh I can certainly work with that.” 

“These beautiful thighs are meant to be parted.” He said as he trailed down your curvy body. “Curves of a goddess too.” He pulled your granny panties off and threw them somewhere. 

Azriel always told you how beautiful you were, but you weren’t gonna lie, hearing it from a guy like Rhysand was pretty nice too. 

“The prettiest woman I've seen.” Feyre said off in the distance. She was moaning as well. You didn’t know what your mate was doing. But you knew it was good. 

You hummed as he spread your legs, he blew on your clit and the air made your thighs twitch. 

“Your stretch marks are so beautiful.” He said into your mind. 

He licked a stripe between your folds and moaned. He started sloppily eating like a man starved. Your toes were curling, your heels pushing into his shoulder blades and pushing him further into you. Your hands curl into his hair. 

“You taste like fucking heaven. Our perfect, beautiful, otherworldly little slut.” 

“How does it feel knowing everyone in this room has tasted this perfect cunt?” The breath from him speaking felt like ecstasy as it went over your puffy red cunt.  

“Fuck.” Your eyes rolled back. 

He pulls away and you whine, then squeak when he slaps your pussy. “I asked a question.” He was just adding fuel to the flame. 

“It feels so fucking good. Like I'm a God.” You couldn’t help the truth bubbling out. Anything to get his tongue back inside you. Your pussy was throbbing so hard you were sure they could all hear it. You were a greedy little thing. 

“You are a God, you are our God that tastes so fucking good it’s addictive.” He whispered as if the sentence was a prayer. 

He then put his mouth to use. He rolled your bud around with his tongue. Having the raw, targeted motions made you more sensitive. Causing pleasurable shocks to go through your body. 

“Only we get to make you feel like this, only us. You are ours.” 

“Your curves, your plushness, Gods. Perfection.” 

Right as your thighs began to shake, right as your stomach began to clench and twist, he stopped. 

You could not help the whine. Feyre whined too. It seems the boys had planned something. 

The little bitches had edged you both. “She’s ready for you.” Rhysand smirked at your husband, his lips coated in your slick. 

Azriel grabbed your legs and pulled them onto his shoulders so quickly it caused you to yelp. The head of his cock slapping your pussy lips. 

Feyre was then laid right next to you, both men were now on the bed on their knees. 

Realization set in, these bastards were putting you two in mating presses. 

Rhysand bent down to kiss his mate, when he pulled away, she smirked. “You taste so good with Y/N’s pussy smeared all over your lips. My new favorite dessert.” 

Before you could see Rhysands reaction, Azriel pulled your attention towards him. “Look at you being the favorite slut of the group.” 

Your pussy clenched around nothing which caused you to pitifully whine. “You want me to fill that pussy, baby?” Azriel asked. “Show who has the biggest wingspan?” 

“Mhm.” You whined again. 

“Your wish is my command, baby.” 

And together, both him and Rhys, pushed into their wives pussies. 

You let out a guttural moan as the delicious stretch came. Then the feeling of being pleasantly full. Almost to the point of too much. You couldn’t help the tears that came out of your eyes. Since the beginning of the night you’ve been pent up and to finally feel the release and that all the build up was coming to an amazing moment. 

Your cunt greedily sucked him in, as if welcoming him home. “You’ve always been made for me.” You whispered. You two together were truly like a puzzle, the way your bodies reacted to each other was proof of that. 

The fat head of his cock hit your g-spot and the world went white. Your gummy walls felt like heaven to him. And this felt like heaven to you. 

“Fuck.” You moaned as he began pounding into you. He curled in on you, his arms came around to your back and up to your shoulders, holding you in place as his harsh thrusts dove into you. Azriel’s balls were slapping against your ass, a feeling that will never get old. His head going to your neck. 

Sounds surrounded you, Azriels panting against your skin. Azriel and Rhysands grunts. The sounds of skin slapping, gasps and moans that fell from Feyres lips like a prayer. You could feel the sweat from your back clinging to the bedding on top. Azriels breath against your neck, adding to the pleasure. Your nails clawing at Azriels back. 

The bed was moving with all four of you on it. You heard something in the frame snap but you didn’t care. You didn’t care if the bed fell through the floor. 

You turned your head to the side to see Feyre getting pounded into so hard her eyes were rolling back. Rhysand had pinned her hands to the bed with his own and practically flattened her against the bedding. 

It was so fucking hot. 

She turned her head, her mascara smeared and her lips puffy and red. Skin so beautifully flushed. You knew you looked the same to her. Beautiful. You two held eye contact as you were pounded within an inch of your lives, the act alone felt more intimate than kissing. 

All of it together made the rope finally snap. 

You clenched around your husband's cock hard. Hard enough that it caused him to gasp. 

“Fuck, you always clench around me so good, baby. I’m almost there, yeah?” He murmured. Making sure it was okay to continue pounding into your g-spot. 

“Use me, Azriel.” The overstimulation didn’t scare you. It thrilled you. You loved squirting and you were ready to do it. “Use me like a fucking toy.” 

You didn’t know he could thrust harder in the moment, but he did. You held his sweaty head against your neck. It felt like he was going even deeper, which you didn’t know was possible. He bit into the area between your shoulder and neck, causing you to throw your head back in pleasure. 

You heard Feyre’s tell-tale noise and then both her and Rhysand finished. You could tell based on their sounds and the smells. 

Then you felt the tingly feeling of when you’re about to squirt. “Az.” You whined and clenched him hard. 

His lips grazed your neck as he spoke. “I know, I’m there.” You felt his cock release and then let yourself go. 

Your pussy clamped down on him so hard he groaned and collapsed on top of you. The release with Az always felt like you were reborn. Free. Cherished. You knew you had absolutely soaked Feyre and Rhysand’s bed, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. 

“Did so fucking good baby.” You said and kissed his temple. 

Rhysand rolled over onto the other side of Feyre, Azriel eventually pulled out of you and just flopped on the other side of you. Rhysand snapped his fingers and all of you were in clean sheets and were clean. Still felt grimy but you could live with it until you could bathe. He had the courtesy to magic a blanket over the four of you. 

The room was silent except for your panting. 

“So.” Rhys began. 

“We’re doing that again right?” Feyre finished. 

“Yeah.” Azriel panted. 

“Fuck yeah.” You agreed. “I already have ideas.” 

Feyre snorted, “of course you do. Can’t wait for you to experience the wonders of Y/N’s perverted mind, babe.” She said and you heard her punch her husband's shoulder. 

Azriel chuckled, “The shadows fucking her with Truthteller was her idea.” 

“Fuck.” 

[throneofsapphics]

test doll

Feysand x f!Reader

Summary: Feyre and Rhys bring you into their bedroom to help them test out a new toy

Warnings: p/strap in v, smut, minors dni

Word Count: 1610

A/N: just a little feysand smut I found hiding in my drafts.

You stood before them, twisting your hands together. Both were looking at you like they’d like to devour you whole, consume every part of you and leave you a mess behind. In all honesty, that sounded quite nice to you. 

For weeks, the sexual tension had built without either of you acknowledging it. After all, it was a rather taboo subject still, even while becoming more normalized. 

They weren’t looking for a serious relationship, and neither were you but nothing was wrong with a little bit of fun, as long as you had clear boundaries and consistent communication. 

Now that the communication and tough conversation was over, you wanted them in whatever way they’d have you. 

Just as the silence began to grow uncomfortable, you spoke. “Who do I kiss first?” 

Rhys let out a low chuckle as Feyre surged forward, eager. One hand slid around the back of your neck, the other your waist as she tugged you close. You wound your hands around her neck, heads tilting so your lips could meet. At first it was slow, sensuous, and calm but quickly it grew into a flurry of passion, hands roaming and squeezing, exploring and discovering. 

You pulled away for air, both of you laughing softly. Her laughs cut off midway when you laid an open mouth kiss to the spot beneath her ear. 

Head tilted back in a moan, you ran your finger down the column on her neck. 

Then she was gone, replaced by her mate. His kiss was gentle and soft, leaving you aching for more. Pushing forward, you molded your body to his. Heat behind you, his mate pressing against your backside. Rhys kept your lips tracked and locked as she brushed your hair away from your neck, bending to press kisses along the side of your throat. A whimper, as she slid the strap of your dress down, mouth trailing after the fabric. 

More movement. You squealed as your feet left the ground, Rhys tugging you up with one arm the other extend - body squeezed into a vacuum, you winnowed right to his bedroom. 

“Would the stairs have been so difficult?” You huffed, but really you didn’t mind. The sooner you could get them out of their clothes, the happier you would be. 

“There’s a new toy we’ve been wanting to try out,” Feyre said as she slid the other strap down your shoulder, Rhys’s fingers working on the zipper behind him. It was really a five second job, but he kept kissing each inch of skin he exposed. 

“Oh?” The word came out breathier than you intended, borderline a moan. 

“Oh,” she confirmed, mouth curving at the corner into a semi-smirk. “We’d like to try it out with you, if that is alright.” 

Right now, you might’ve agreed to anything. Testing out a new toy with them didn’t seem like much of a burden - actually it might have been a blessing. 

“Yes,” you said enthusiastically. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Rhys took a break and spun you to face him. Feyre stepped around you as well, just as the dress hit the floor, fabric pooling at your feet. Stepping out of it, you kicked it far behind you and frowned. 

“Both of you are wearing far too many clothes.” 

“Patience,” Feyre chided. 

Before you could protest, your bra had disappeared and each took one nipple into their mouths. Only their hands holding onto your body kept you standing. 

Teeth gently scraped, lips closed around, hands squeezed, moans filled the ear - the echoes of their own moans vibrating through your body.

Having their attention, both at one time, was a new kind of heaven you didn’t know existed. 

Strong hands, you opened your eyes and it was your High Lady, throwing you onto the bed. Hitting the silky duvet, your soft laugh died as she tugged you to the edge, hands pressing against the back of your thighs to push them towards your shoulders. Rhys appeared above you and grasped the backs of your knees, essentially folding you in half. Her tongue flicked your clit with the perfect amount of pressure. 

Breath caught, lips dug into teeth, eyes met beautiful blue-gray. 

Rhys tutted, thumb pulling at your lip. “We want to hear you,” he insisted. 

With Feyre’s next touch, you let the soft moan fall from your lips. 

“Beautiful,” you heard Rhys. “Both of you. Gods.” 

You imagined his pleasure, watching his mate eat you out, her ass in the air in front of you 

More pleasing than you could imagine, he spoke into your mind. You jumped. You forgot you’d agreed to that. 

“Don’t scare her,” Feyre lifted her head, your arousal glistening on her lips and chin. You took the chance to tug her up your body, to meet her mouth and taste yourself on her lips. 

Rhys pulled you away before long and you watched as he met his mate’s lips with a ravenous hunger, tongues swirling, teeth nipping, breathing erratic. The thought of him tasting you on her turned you on beyond belief, sending another flood of arousal. 

“I need to taste you myself,” Rhys said as he pulled away from Feyre hands gently pushing on your shoulders. Taking the hint, you laid back. Feyre’s own lips closed around one of your nipples. 

“Fuck,” you nearly screamed as his teeth dragged across, turning the word into a chant, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

A laugh from Feyre. You didn’t have it in you to be embarrassed right now, instead you embraced the experience and pleasure, embraced the orgasm building, tension building, body tensing, fists balling the sheets. 

“Let go, beautiful,” Feyre whispered in your ear, rolling your nipple between two fingers. A light pinch, the beautiful hint of pain sent you over the edge, tumbling down, down, down. 

Rhys worked you through, as your orgasm slowed he switched to slow licks from base to apex, gently letting you down from your high.

You laid back, eyes closed, breathing deep. 

“Don’t fall asleep on us,” Feyre laughed. 

“Just need a moment,” you mumbled. 

Moments passed, you recovered, planting your palms next to your waist and pushing yourself up. They did have a really nice duvet cover. 

Thank you, you jumped at Rhys’s voice. 

You keep catching me off guard, you accused - not quite used to casting the thought out in your mind. 

Then we’ll work on your awareness another day, it sounded like he was laughing but you understood the entendre, and remember you can tell me to stop anytime, his voice grew more serious. 

It’s alright now, you reassured him.

“Come here,” you heard Feyre and twisted your head to find her - that’s the toy they wanted to experiment with. You slid down the bed, eager. 

She tightened the final strap on the harness, attached with what you guessed was a seven inch dildo. Anticipation and a strange giddiness bubbled inside of you. 

“Lay down and be good for her,” Rhys murmured in your ear, grabbing the back of your neck to guide you down, tugging your thighs to line you up at the edge of the bed. 

Then you had the blessing of watching them. How he instructed her on how to fuck you, the gentle hands adjusting her hips one hands reached over Feyre to add lube, then pressing your thighs back. 

You could admit the first thrust was a tad awkward, but that was to be expected of any new experience, let alone something completely foreign to her like this. 

“Gods you’re fucking me so good,” you moaned as she picked up the pace. Her pace increased, quickly gaining in intensity too. Your body began to rock back and forward with her new pace, your breathing growing more erratic. 

“Touch yourself,” the hint of dominance in your tone had you instinctively reaching for your mouth, swirling your tongue around two fingers before brushing them over your clit. 

The combined sensations drew a loud, borderline obnoxious groan from you. This gave you a completely new sensation, especially as rhys tugged your thighs up slightly, causing Feyre to hit your g-spot over and over again. 

“Oh gods,” your eyes rolled back, the second orgasm flooding through your body. The afterlife had to have something like this, otherwise you’d rather disappear into tiny particles, gone and blown away with the wind. 

Dramatic, a voice, not your own, said. 

The hint of embarrassment somehow turned you on more, increased your arousal, probably left a little wet puddle on the duvet. 

Feyre had paused, but not pulled out yet. You propped yourself up on your elbows, confused. Rhys was now behind her, his own body adjusted and - Feyre fell forward, her body pressed against your, the strap moving inside of you. 

The High Lord was fucking his High Lady, your High Lady was fucking you. 

Head thrown back, you thought you might come just from the idea of that. Not an idea, this was your reality. 

You hissed as they both hit you again, Feyre’s hips flexing weakly, but Rhys driving her further into you. Gods gods gods, you chanted. 

Rhys was speaking to her, his hand gently gripping her throat. You couldn’t hear the words, lost in your own pleasure, Feyre’s hands now squeezing your chest. 

At this point, you were an object, designed and prepared for their own pleasure and fuck if it didn’t feel incredible. 

“Gorgeous,” Rhys murmured, accentuating the word with another thrust, “both of you,” the words were a low, deep purr coming from him. This had to happen again. You’d gladly be their tester for anything, and something told you they had more ideas for you.