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tadpolesonalgae · 2 years ago

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Amarantha x cryptid!reader x Rhysand: Big, Bad Wolf[*]

A/N: reader is kind of on the asexual spectrum, except they aren’t sex repulsed? Kind of fun but see you what you guys think. Also, this came about because I saw a comment mentioning this so here you go!

Summary: Rhysand and Amarantha attempt to whip you into obedience without getting any of their limbs snapped off.

Warnings: threesome fmf, pussy eating, rimjob, slight degradation, smut

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A thunderous snarl tears from your chest, shaking the ground of the dungeon.

They’d hunted you. You. A beast among beasts. And then they’d dared lock you up. A room with no lights, solely illuminated by the burning of flame, flame that flickered and slithered over the grim walls.

You take in the two figures as you rise to your haunches, keeping low to the ground, preparing to pounce on instinct, shrinking down to be underestimated. Your claws scrape against the hard stone of the large cell, your four paws could carry you across in seconds, tear them to pieces were it not for the chains shackling you.

“Seems it’s awake, my Queen,” the male purrs. He’s positioned casually against the far wall—a good choice, to be as far from you as possible—long legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded over a powerfully built chest. Jasmine and citrus. A lost hint of sea salt. Your nostrils flare as they take down information.

“Quiet.” Your attention snaps to the female. Stood front and centre, a strong, healthy figure. Well fed, good hunter. Cunning, or powerful? Sharp features, cultivated beauty for fae kind. Poised but laced with arrogance, arms folded. Defence. Your nostrils again flare. Metallic, sharp, the bitterness of poisoned fruit.

The female watches you carefully as you rise to your paws, shaking out your matted mane, clotted with dirt and blood. You lower to your haunches. And pounce. Springing against the constraints with a snarl. You make it a hair’s breadth from her, before you’re locked in place. She doesn’t flinch as her cold eyes pierce into your own.

Your jaws open over her, a roar ripping through the room, shaking the stones as it thunders back and forth. This time, she does retreat, before her hand flicks and magic crackles at her ears—protection. You snarl down at her. She’d make a good few mouthfuls. Drool slips from your lower lip at the thought of devouring her. Two gulps, if you didn’t stretch it out.

“It seems rather lively, considering the circumstances,” the male drawls, making the female narrow her eyes at him. “Give me the whip,” she snaps, “see if some pain lashes some sense into it.” He pushes from the wall with casual grace, limbs moving with lethal elegance toward her as he pulls an empty circle from thin air. Curled leather. Crack.

It snaps against your thick skin—you barely feel it. A light pinching, if anything. Still, you roar, back stretching at the effort as you bare the three rows of razor sharp teeth at her. You could shred her in a heartbeat. If only she was one step closer.

When the whip cracks again, your jaws snap around it, tugging sharply. The female stumbles forward with the force, into your range. You snarl as you surge forward, teeth aimed for the mouthful of her stomach. But then she vanishes. Your jaws snap around air, and you growl. She appears a few feet back, ire blazing in her gaze as she glares at you, lip curled.

“Perhaps it’s not agreeable to a whip,” the male drawls, amusement dancing in his eyes. So blue they’re violet. “I wouldn’t delight in it, no matter how beautiful the wielder.” The female doesn’t take her eyes off you as she gives a sharp order. “Shoot it. See how it likes faebane in its system.”

“Should you wish to strike the blow?” He mocks as he saunters to a rack. It holds a range of miscellaneous sharp metals, bent and wound into a variety of shapes. Your animal mind can’t make sense of them. The female does not remove her attention from you. Cunning. “Fetch the bow, before I send you into its jaws, Lordling.”

Your ears prick at the word.

A smirk slices her blood red mouth. “You can understand us.”

You snarl in response, making her laugh. The male hands her a bow and you puff out your chest, moving to intimidate. “I am your High Queen, beast. You feed, hunt, and fuck on my lands.” You snarl again and she grins. “That’s right, this territory is mine. No matter how many trees you’ve pissed on to uselessly mark your property, it’s still mine,” she snarls, baring her teeth in a fierce smile.

“Now.” Her hand grips the bow, “will you serve me, or do I have to bury this arrow in your chest?” Amusement sparks in your eye. No fae-made weapon could harm you. It would take something ancient, full of malice to pierce your hide. You growl your wordless taunt, and the maddening spark is reflected in the female’s eyes.

She pulls the bow taut, arrow aimed for your chest. “Last chance,” she taunts, grin slashing across her crimson painted lips. Your lips pull back from your teeth, mirroring the vicious smile. Behind her, the male has enough sense to stiffen, yet the female—the High Queen—matches you. She gives no further warnings as she looses the arrow, and you hear it sluice through the air.

And impale your skin.

You rear to your hind legs, jaws opening as a howl tears from your throat, followed by obsidian, iridescent blood. The liquid spills from your maw, wetting your fur as you shrink away from her. She’s still grinning with vindictive triumph. Your heart stutters. The arrow was laced with something—a curse. An old one, strong enough to split your enchanted leather.

Your paws give out as the spell threads around your bones, pumping through your blood as it floods your system. The High Queen grins viciously as you topple over, collapsing to the ground as ragged pants pull from your blackened maw. She walks forward, heels clicking on the stone tile as she lifts her foot, raising it as she sets it on your snout. Proprietary. A show of ownership. A conquered beast.

A weak snarl crawls from your throat, as you feel your power gushing from you. Her brow furrows as you begin to change. Behind her, the male stands straighter, watching with keen, sharp eyes. You feel the shrinking of your bones as they click into a different form, one that will conserve energy to maintain.

The High Queen steps back as your fur fades to skin, snout softens to a feminine mouth, paws shrinking to arms and legs. Her eyes widen at what lays before her. A female. Bare, without clothes, save for the natural hair to your hips, that dusts your legs—between them, too—your forearms and scalp. Her brow narrows, while the male behind her steps closer to view your shape shift.

“Huh,” he drawls, “looks as though it’s a female.” The High Queen ignores him, using her foot to roll you onto your back, your eyes shut. The arrow clatters to the floor with the transformation, but black blood still leaks from your chest. A lot of it. “Call for a healer,” she snaps to Rhys, realising the amount of blood lost in this form is much more detrimental. He nods lazily, and within seconds, the door to the dungeon is being opened.

You pounce.

You flip onto your front, springing from your hind legs, the chains now much too large to hold your wrists and ankles. The nails tipping your fingers sink into the muscle of the male’s broad shoulders. Your jaw drops open and you feel his dark power thrumming, beating beneath his skin but unable to hit your enchanted hide. Your teeth splay over his throat, poised to rip but a fist has tightened in your hair, tearing you away with an unexpected force. Your head is jerked back, though your nails still find purchase in the corded muscle of the male’s torso.

You should have gone for the female.

The next thing you know, a set of hands have landed on your back, where the tail end of the wound lies. The world fades to black as pain explodes in your vision.

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When you wake, you’re lying in a fae bed.

Your hairs raise at the fabric clinging to your body. No they don’t. They’ve had the hair taken from your body, all but your scalp, and you snarl in anger. It’s uncomfortable. You’re bare in a way that’s dangerous. With a huff and a dull throb in your shoulder, the hair regrows from your skin, coating you in a thin layer of protective senses.

You start with a snarl, but wince at the pain in your shoulder. Fae bandages crisscross the skin, and you growl, nails tearing at the fabric of the fae clothes, removing the strangling material from your form until it lays shredded on the floor.

It’s been a long while since you’ve been in this form, and it’s odd, the layers of information your changed senses bring in. Like the taste of the air, the temperature against your skin. Your eyes are much sharper, scent dulled, while you hear near silence compared to the symphony of noises you would delight in as a beast. It’s so quiet.

You peer about the room, nosing at the sheets, beneath the pillows, through the wooden boxes that contain more ghastly fae clothes. With some difficulty, you move to the door, unaccustomed to the bi-pedal movement patterns of the fae. So unstable. So balanced, you correct. Balance would be fundamentally important to two footed creatures.

When you determine no exit from the large chamber—seemingly a nest of sorts—you return to the bed. It seems you would simply await the creatures arrival. You’ll hardly bother to waist precious energy with the throbbing in your shoulder over needless exertion. So you curl upon the bed, only to shift beneath the covers. How they survive without fur when the cold comes in baffles you. Still, you settle into sleep easily enough, nestling into the too-soft mattress.

A hushed click—familiar—echoes from outside the door, waking you, as they swing open, revealing the female from earlier. Her wretched clothes have changed, though the male still heeds her foot, as though tied to her through an invisible leash. You don’t bother to raise your head for them, even as you recognise the shift in your breathing pattern—one the fae would likely pick up.

“You’re a rather insolent beast, aren’t you?” The female speaks from your side. You huff, shifting so you’re facing her, cracking your eyes open. “Will you not even greet your High Queen?” You huff again, lethargically raising from the bed, sheets sliding back to reveal your naked form. Her icy eyes find placement on your arms, lips curling in sustain, “and after I had you so well looked after.”

“I don’t appreciate you tampering with my body, Lady.” Her eyes glint with surprise, stiffening ever so slightly as you raise to stand on two legs on her bed, towering over her. You set your hands over her shoulders, nails scraping with preternatural propriety. “How would you feel if someone skinned you while you were sleeping?”

The male stiffens as he watches the exchange, hands lifting from the deep pockets of his clothes. The High Queen’s lip curls, and a sudden wave of magic knocks you back, knees buckling as she grips your jaw in her hand, nails biting into the flesh of your cheek as you snarl. You’re still concerningly weakened from the poison coated arrow. “I’m not weak enough to allow that to happen,” she snarls down at you, baring her glinting canines.

She releases your jaw and you settle down onto the bed, rolling your jaw to ease the slight sting. It’s disconcerting, how sensitive your skin is in fae form. Your eyes pierce into her, hateful but curious. She waits for you to ask, making it clear you have to take the step. Your lip curls as you speak, “you said you wished for me to serve you… Surely you don’t expect me to do so from your bed and without my power.”

You don’t phrase it nicely, and you make it clear it’s not a question.

She arches a perfectly shaped brow, “maybe I do expect you to serve in my bed.”

“And what of my power.” You don’t even bat an eye at her statement. “You expect me to perform as I am?” You roll back onto the bed, legs spilling over the edge of the bed, arms propping up your torso. Distaste flashes through her eyes at your shameless nature. Bestial to the core.

She would have to break that out of you. Then again, it could be an advantage to have such an unhinged animal by her side.

“You think I’m foolish enough to return your power to you? Untested?” She enjoys the dissatisfaction that surfaces on your mouth in reply. “Untested?” You echo, raising a brow. You hadn’t expected her to so willingly offer you a solution to your lack of energy. Her lips slash into a vicious grin, one that she only wore when she was about to inflict damage upon something.

“Rhysand,” she purrs. You narrow your eyes on her as the male slinks forward, standing at her side, only looking at her. “Why don’t you give my little pet a demonstration of some of her duties?” A malevolent smile whispers across his mouth, “it would by my pleasure, my Queen.” His hand brushes across her stomach, resting at her waist as he pulls her tight against the powerful lines of his body. You watch, disinterested, as his lips find her neck, the female tipping her head back to indulge in the sensation.

You grow restless when his hand finds the shoulder of her dress, slipping over her arm while unzipping the back, allowing the material to pool at her feet as she keeps her eyes trained on you. “You want me to bathe you, is that it?” You snap, impatiently. You want your power back. It’s yours.

The High Queen’s icy laugh echoes through the room as the male steps back at the push of her hand. “Such a crude way of putting it,” she croons, nails glittering in the light. Your lips curl back. “Tell me what to do, my Queen,” you condescend. Her hand fists in your hair, tugging you back so she can see your throat. She steps forward, until she’s between your legs, yanking your face until it rests between the generous swell of her breasts.

“You’re going to drop the attitude very quickly, or I’ll get you so numb on faebane you won’t even be able to move while I use you.” Ire blazes in her eyes at the blatant disrespect, and she sees red when you grin up at her lazily. “So I get to lie back and do nothing? Sounds rather pleasant, my Queen.” A snarl tips from her throat and the male’s—Rhysand’s—pupils contract at the sound.

You simply grin. “You have to return my powers at some point, if you want me to serve with my strength.” Fury boils beneath her skin as you work her up, maddening her with rage.

“Insolent beast.”

She shoves you back onto the bed, stalking over you until she has one leg either side of your face. “I should have your tongue cut for that,” she snarls, nails raking over your scalp. You barely feel a thing, drops of power already accumulating within. “Then how would you enjoy my mouth?” You return, smug grin tipping your lips.

“There are a plethora a ways to use you while not having to listen to your insufferable tongue.” She growls, lip curling with venom. “Rhys,” she snarls, snatching at your hair, “whore for her.” You can practically hear the arrogance dripping from his voice as his hands drop to the ties confining him. “You wish for me to play a part in her torture, my Queen?” His hands land on your thighs, pushing them apart. “I’m honoured.”

You tense at the foreign feeling of his fingers between your legs. Intrusive. You open your mouth to snarl at him, but the female tugs at your hair, yanking you between her thighs as she settles on your face. At the same time, Rhysand pushes in, a strange heat pooling in your lower belly. “I think you should set to work, little pet,” the Queen taunts.

Right. Your power. She might return it if you follow her orders. You hope you remember the fae anatomy correctly as your tongue unfurls from your lips. You can sense that it takes her by surprise, not expecting you to comply so easily. Yet you seem to be dancing between her legs, nipping at her clit before pressing your wet muscle to her entrance.

‘Very eager,’ a voice drawls inside your mind, making you start. ‘Very eager indeed.’

‘Get out of my head,’ you snarl at him, all the while dragging your tongue over her clit repeatedly, suckling. He hums a dark laugh, drawing his hips back. ‘I don’t imagine you would have engaged in nefarious activities as a beast. Try not to get swept away.’ A growl rumbles in your chest, flexing your inner muscles around his cock in retaliation. He groans, fingers biting into your hips as he pounds into you. Reluctantly, your back arches and you hear the erotic whisper of his laugh in your mind.

‘Careful, or before you know it, I’ll have you kicked out of your rather comfortable position.’ A warning growl echoes from him in reply, and you tighten your thighs around his hips, pulling him flush against your cunt. In response, he slams his cock into your pussy, hands tugging you back against him. A feeling you’re fairly certain could be described as pleasure sparks through you.

‘Pretty confident for a beast,’ he drawls into your mind, ‘especially one who looses her head so easily.’ You realise what he’s talking about. Your eyes snap up to the female atop you who’s icy gaze is slicing into you with frozen ire. “Are you even trying? Or are you waiting for another dose of faebane so you can laze back and let me do as I please.”

You snarl down that mental bridge at Rhysand, who only chuckles, the sound coated with writhing darkness. Your leg curls up his hip, shoving him away violently as you grip the female’s hips, flipping her over until she’s on her back. Rhysand will not get in the way of regaining your power.

The High Queen snarls at the change in position, attempting to yank at your hair with her full strength but a growl thunders from your chest. Your nails dig into the creamy skin of her thighs as you push them open, tongue, teeth and mouth ravishing her. Soon enough, her grip shifts, instead tugging you tighter between her parted legs as she grinds her hips against you.

‘You’re going to pay for that stunt, pet,’ Rhysand growls into your mind. You howl across the bond as he settles behind you, mounting you as he slams his cock back inside. Something about the angle changes the sensations, more pleasure singing through your blood as you concentrate on the High Queen before you.

Her nails rake over your scalp, and you feel it vaguely in the back of your mind, where you’ve locked away all the feeling your fae skin is now so hypersensitive too. It’s your power on the line though, you need to be better. She needs to be gasping and writhing, thrashing and screaming from you to have a chance at returning the sacred energies.

A growl rumbles in your chest, resonating in your tongue as you roll it over her clit. The High Queen’s back arches in response, a snarl of pleasure dragging from her throat. Rhysand continues pounding into you, making it difficult to control your accuracy on the female. ‘Something bothering you, pet?’ He drawls, the silky caress of his voice making your body react, nipples hardening as his fingers bite into your hips.

You roar down the bond at his tone—the male arrogance. You move your rear leg to attempt to kick him away once again so you can focus on the High Queen. He isn’t fooled though, and his hand grips your ankle painfully. A ragged moan rips from your chest as he lifts your leg, and slams in, cock reaching deep inside of you, stimulating something you don’t have in beast form. His laugh echoes in your mind. ‘Act like a beast, and I’ll fuck you like one,’ he snarls, pounding into you, the snap of his hips loud throughout the room.

‘So desperate to remain her whore?’ You bite back, grip tightening around the female’s hips as you pull yourself deeper into her heat. You need to give her more. What can you do? Your nails are too long to push inside of her. You’re certain any chance of regaining your power will disintegrate before your eyes should you cause her pain.

Rhysand snarls down that bond at you, before his hand glides up the spine of your back, gripping your lower neck painfully, pushing you into her cunt. Perfect. You stop the movements of your mouth, ceasing all action. The High Queen growls, bucking her hips, piercing eyes snapping open. You squeeze your own together, imitating pain as you whimper. The Female snarls, nails slicing at Rhysand’s hand that she believes to be the cause of the halt in pleasure.

“You interfere again, unprompted, and I’ll have you flayed alive,” she grits out, fury blazing beneath her tone. ‘Have her whore flayed alive? How lovely.’ You mock to Rhys, feeling the sharp buck of his hips that makes you wince. “Forgive me, my Queen. She looked as though she was resting.” He replies, the erotic brush of his voice soothing the ire in the room.

With his hand removed from the base of your neck, you deliver and appreciative lap to her clit, eyes flicking up to hers with a pleased glint. Good. You seem to say. Her eyes narrow as she glares at you, baring her teeth as you smirk. Your mouth dips lower, hands pushing her thighs back, further apart. She hisses in a breath when your tongue swipes her rear entrance, growling. You shoot her a grin as the pad of your thumb presses over her clit, stimulating her upper half while your mouth takes the lower one.

The High Queen’s back arches at the change of tactic, a growl of pleasure resounding throughout the chamber. You can feel her fluttering against the pad of your thumb, dipping down to collect slick to ease the oscillations over her clit as she comes. ‘How’s that, whore?’ You snarl at him, taking vicious pleasure as he growls in response.

Her pants resound throughout the room as her body goes lax, and you pull away from her. “Both of you,” she growls, “stop.” Your brow narrows. You don’t want to stop. It feels good, like something’s about to break over you. But Rhysand—perfect whore, through and through—pulls out, despite how close he also was.

You snarl, spinning as you pounce on him, pushing him back on the too-soft bed as it’s your turn to mount him. You spread your thighs either side of him, and he snarls at the movement, hands flying to your hips in attempts to stop you. But you slam down on him before he has the chance. Startling, blinding pleasure seizes your body, lightening cracking in your veins as your head tips back, eyes rolling with it. Even Rhysand’s hands drop to his sides with the onslaught of pleasure that crackles and zaps between you.

An angry snarl rips you from the moment, claws tangling in your hair as you’re yanked off him, a creamy liquid decorating your cunt. You land at the High Queen’s side, who snarls her wrath at you, furious at your disobedience. “Did I not order you to stop?” She rages. You stare down at her, “I wanted release, Lady.” You can practically taste the ire rippling from her, and it pleases you. “More than you want your power?” She snarls, and you’re tugged back down from your high.

You bow your head, “no, my Queen.” You lower yourself by her side, moving as your tongue laps at one of her nipples, “not more that my power.” She watches wrathfully as you again settle between her thighs, but your eyes flick to hers. You raise your hand, retracting the claws so only the delicate pads of your fingertips are left.

Your hand snakes between her thighs while your mouth remains pleasuring her, “forgive me, my Queen.”

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