#dark!rhysand

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!Rhysand x reader: mine.[***]

A/N: Razzled, dazzled and frazzled my mind

(This isn’t dark dark, but just be wary!)

Warnings: dub-con, hate sex?, dark!Rhysand, CNC kink

Word Count: 5,297

“Where the hell were you last night?”

Blink wearily, attempting to locate the voice. Head is pounding, floor swaying ever so slightly. Gods, you should have watched how much you drank. Blearily stumble forward, clutching your purse tight to make sure you don’t misplace it again. Intricately detailed shoes peek into your vision, the dark leather neatly indented with swirls and dots. You look up; violet splashes across your world, head twinging at the startling colour. “Mother, Rhys. Your eyes.”

Hands press over your own, soothing their ache, providing pleasant reprieve from the bright vibrancy. He steadies you as you sway, roughly holding you straight by your hips. Hear as he scents you. “You drank too much again, didn’t you?” You groan at his protective nature, batting his hands away. “I’m fine, Rhys,” you snap, “I’m capable of looking after myself.” Squint up at him in time to catch a muscle feathering in his jaw. “Forgive me for doubting you, Lady.” He steps aside, gesturing with his arm for you to walk past. “I trust you’ll be perfectly capable of making it to your chambers?”

Scowl at his arrogant tone, warily eyeing the staircase. Pride won’t let you back down, though, so you put one heeled foot in front of the other, steadily marching away. Until the room tilts, and you stumble.

His scent engulfs you, firm warmth wrapping around your middle, large hands gripping your waist, keeping you upright. You regain your balance, then push out of his hold. “Seriously, I’m fine,” you snap again, embarrassment warming your features. He scoffs, still holding you to his warmth, “you were about to shatter your nose on the marble.”

“I was not!” You insist. He stares at you hard, pinning you to the floor with that sharp, violet gaze of his. Dips his head once, and releases you.

Your legs give out, making you yelp as you drop to the floor, knees surely going to bruise from the impact. Spine hurting, too, from how you landed on it. Curse at him under your breath, then glare upward. “You’re a dick, Rhys.”

“You’re irresponsible, and clearly unable to handle your alcohol,” he growls softly, violet taking on an icy hue. “Do you even remember any of last night? Anything you did? Where you went?”

Brow narrows; lips purse. You look away from him.

Jaw tightens. “I thought not.”

Glare up at him, getting to your wobbly feet. “That’s my choice, Rhys. Quit being so controlling. I can do what I want, so stay the hell out of it.”

His temper flares in response, hands gripping your hips, hard. Pulls you tight against his chest. Releases the damper on his power, pressure weighing on your bones as your knees again turn weak, relying on his strength to keep you upright. Grip shakily onto his arms, steadying yourself as your heartbeat spikes.

“Prove you’re capable of being responsible for yourself, for once, and I’ll stop,” he snarls, gaze turning indigo. “But as it stands, any number of things could have happened to you, and you don’t even seem to care.”

“It’s not your business to care,” you manage, voice straining beneath him. He snarls roughly, fingers biting into you, putting bruises into your hips. Suck in a sharp hiss at the sting, flattening your palms over his chest, attempting to push away from him. He grips harder; you whimper.

Muscle stiffens at the sound, sharp arousal piercing his mind, watching from an elevated view how you squirm in his hold, how you fit against him. So clearly made for him. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you feel how well you mould against his body?

“What if some other male had you like this, huh?” He growls, softly. “There’s nothing you could do. Do you not understand that?” His own heart spikes at the idea alone. If you were somehow subjected to even a fraction of what he went through Under The Mountain… Rage pounds in his heart, fury ripping at his insides. That will never happen to you. Never.

You tip your head upward, craning your neck to peer at him. “You’re the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. That’s hardly a fair example,” you snap weakly, having a hard time resisting his pull. His upper lip curls back, showcasing sharp, gleaming canines. How would they feel on your skin? “There are many other males out there. Certainly nowhere near as powerful as I am, but strong enough to take you if they wanted. And yet you insist on putting yourself at their mercy.”

A snarl rips from your throat. “So it’s my fault they’re like that? Fuck off, Rhys. You’re better than that.” His grip tightens further, your hands flying to his, attempting to push him off you. Tears blur from the pain, but anger surges quick behind. “Get off me. You’re hurting me,” you manage, glaring up into darkened violet, pupils dilating before your eyes.

He can feel the heat from your body, feel the supple press of your stomach as you writhe against him, how you’re inadvertently rubbing over him. Cock twitching behind the seam of his fitted trousers. “What would you do?” He repeats, staring down at you as you squirm, chest rising and falling lightly. “What could you do?”

Breath pants softly from your lips, the swell of your breasts pushing against the crisp dark linen of his neatly pressed shirt. Mouth parted invitingly, your own eyes dipping briefly to his own, flicking over curiously—absently. Something flits through your gaze, resistance draining from your form, almost melting against him. At last.

His heartbeat spikes, temperature raising as your hands raise from his chest to his shoulders. Almost inquisitively, hesitant of what’s happening. Push up onto your tiptoes, eyes again flicking down to his mouth. His head quietens, memories of what you were talking about vanishing, zeroing on the offer you’re laying out before him. How your eyes are clouding, and you’re…

A snarl rips from his throat as you slam your heel on his toe, landing a brutal kick to his shin. Darting out of his hold, stumbling backward. “I could do that, for starters,” you huff, breathing heavily as you regain your sense now that his power isn’t utterly overwhelming you. He could expand it to reach you, though. “I’m not as helpless as you might think, Rhys. So piss off.”

Fury clouds his vision, darkness wrapping around his mind.

Sharp, glittering talons breech your mind, keeping you frozen to the floor. Back turned on your High Lord. Can’t even swallow, rooted to the spot.

“And what about now?” He growls, softly. Shoes tap lightly along the marble floor, leisurely and refined. A beast who knows his prey is trapped. “What would you do against another with my set of gifts, hm? Your mental walls are as strong as tissue when you’re drunk.” Mind is pulsing, awareness prickling your skin as those talons scrape menacingly against your walls, cupping your conscious in the palm of his hand. As if those claws encapsulate your entire body, skin littered with goose-pimples.

“Rhys…” Your voice is strained, dragging against the rawness of your throat. Heat radiates into your back, powerful arms snaking around your middle, keeping you tight to his chest. Hips pressing into your ass. Spine curves subconsciously, pushing into him. “Why do you insist on making me worry so much?” He whispers beside your ear, one hand gliding up over your front, brushing up the line between your breasts. Cupping your throat; holding, lightly. Tipping your head back so it’s resting against his shoulder. “Do you enjoy seeing me like this? Enjoy these arguments, hm?”

A shiver licks its way down your spine at the softly-spoken roughness of his words. “I don’t…” Swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fingers are trembling with indecision. You should pull him off you, shouldn’t allow this type of touching. Blatant and unrestricted. Burning through your clothes.

“No?”

Heart spikes at the lilt. Swallow again beneath his palm, wrapping around to the base of your neck. “It’s my choice is I want to go out…” you manage, breathing heavier. Head spinning from how his scent is overpowering you, power thrumming in the air, buzzing beneath your skin. Zapping at your clit, making you ache. “It’s my body, Rhys…”

“I don’t think it’s truly yours right now is it, little lynx?”

Awareness prickles at your skin, nipples peaking beneath your dress—there’s no way he could miss it. Neither that nor the stiffening of your body as you try to regain some control over yourself. Try to find those lethally sharp talons, and push them from your mind, one at a time. “That’s not fair… Let me go,” you manage steadily, hands overlapping his own, fingers settling between his own, attempting to weakly tug him away.

His lips part in a smile, brushing against your cheek, the weight of his piercing gaze heating your features. “Do you really want that?” He asks, hand tightening around your throat, possessive ownership. Like a collar. Your temperature spikes at the low implication—how could he possibly know… “Rhys…” you warn. Try to. It sounds a little too close to a whine for your tastes. He hums against your back, something turning to molten liquid between your thighs.

Grit your teeth, pulling harder at him, attempting to squirm away. Shifting in his tight hold, one arm still wrapped flush over your abdomen, pressing you back into him. “Rhys, let go of me.”

Quiet stretches between you, then his hold tightens almost imperceptibly, giving you a suggestive squeeze. Like he won’t let you go, like your demand means nothing to him, because he doesn’t need to listen to you. You’re already his, he knows you completely and utterly; he knows you don’t want him to listen to you.

But then he releases his hold on you, and cold rushes your back. Steps in front, towering over you. “I may have let you run free, but I doubt you would have enjoyed being held captive by another male,” he drawls lowly, hands sliding into his pockets, the portrait of lethal grace. Pulls back, standing to his full height, marking how the breath puffs from your parted lips, peering up at him hungrily. Do you even know how you’re looking at him?

Takes a step back, then turns on his feet, prowling off deeper into his home. Aiming for his office, if you remember correctly. Peers at you from over his shoulder, lips twisted into a feline grin, “you know you’re always welcome to spend a night in. I’m sure the alcohol in the cellar will be of a much finer quality.”

Then he’s disappearing off through a doorway, leaving you staring after him. Body unnaturally flushed, despite the lack of wine in your system.

————

It’s long past midnight and you’re long past sober.

Not enough to be blackout but rationality has long since left your body.

A droplet of wine trickles from the corner of your mouth and you hastily lower the bottle to feel as it drips down to your chest, seeping into the fabric of your night robe. Quickly dry the wet spot, disliking the way the material stuck to you. Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, gripping the neck of the wine bottle, wondering what havoc you could wreak.

You could go out into the night…nose scrunches at the idea. You’re all cozy and tucked away in here, no way you’re going to change into a tiny dress and heels that make being out and drunk even more dangerous. You could go to bed…but that’s boring, and you’re wide awake. Slightly hungry, too. Lick your lips as an idea springs to mind, grabbing another bottle as you go. Mouth quirks upward as you imagine the chaos you’ll get to inflict upon your unsuspecting High Lord.

————

Push the door wide without knocking and saunter in, drunkenly wobbling on bare feet.

“Morning, Rhys,” you greet, violet eyes flicking up to meet your own the second you were in view. He switches his attention to the antique clock ticking on a wall, checking the time. You are, unfortunately, correct. It is, technically, morning. “Good morning,” he drawls, sitting upright, attention skating to the tops of your thighs, the hem of your silky night top barely swaying over the skin. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You’re already at his desk by the time he’s finished his question, pushing the bottle over. “How well can you handle your liquor, High Lord?” You ask mischievously, challenge gleaming in your gaze. Violet dips to how your hand is wrapped around the neck of your own bottle, raising it to your lips; drinking deeply. “Better than you, at the very least,” he replies, noting the patch of damp fabric around your neck.

A scowl creases your brows as you glare at him, taking another sip before you do anything rash. “You’re being disagreeable,” you snap, drying the edges of your mouth with your thumb. Enjoying how intently he’s watching. He quirks a neatly groomed brow, challenge lighting his violet eyes. “I am?”

“Just drink the damned thing,” you mutter, folding your arms over your chest stubbornly. “Shouldn’t you be leaping for joy that I’m not ‘putting myself at some other male’s mercy’,” you mimic, lowering you voice in a poor attempts to match his own.

Lips quirk as the stopper vanishes from the bottleneck, leaning back in his chair, taking a decadent drink of the lovely wine. Heat pools between your thighs at the roll of his throat. Then he’s lowering it to his desk, setting it down on the mahogany. “So you’ve decided to put yourself at mine instead?” Nose wrinkles at how he’s phrasing it. “I should have poisoned yours.” Violet eyes gleam with mischief. “It’s not too late,” he hums, attention flicking to the wine before him.

Roll your eyes, muttering under your breath, taking another gulp…and you’re out. Scowl deepens as you glare. It was practically full five minutes ago. Grumble to yourself, on the brink of turning to return to the cellar, when he winnows to be at your back. Arm is again pressed over your abdomen, except this time his hand is splayed lightly. Breath catches in your throat as he keeps you tight to his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lynx?” He asks beside you ear, breath feathering over your skin. Brow narrows, head instinctively tipping back to rest against his shoulder, trying to peer up at him. “I’m getting another,” you respond, practically jumping at the opportunity to lean back against him; relieve the weight from your tired feet. Lips quirk, feeling you sink into him. Magic zips across your skin, then he’s raising something to your mouth.

Eyes flick down, spotting how he’s called over his own bottle, gently putting it against your lips. Encouraging you to drink. And maybe— No, you definitely flick your tongue out over the head, guessing at the kind of reaction it will evoke from the male. Hand tightens over your abdomen, but other than that, he merely tilts the bottle higher, watching as the liquid pours into your mouth. Raises it higher, greedily marking how a drop or two trickles down the corner of your lips.

Scowl at him when he steps away, moving to wipe away the dampness before it can splash down onto your night robe. But he spins you around, violet eyes commanding you not to do a thing. Damn him.

Instead, he grips your chin, tipping you upward. Feeling at the droplet cascades down to the hollow of your throat, reaching your collar bones— “Rhys!”

Muscles tense as he attaches his mouth over the bare skin, lightly sucking away the alcohol. Swallow as his tongue flicks out, softly, with slow, gentle strokes. Lapping up the warm path. Hands tremble at your sides, caught between shoving him away and tugging him closer. “Rhys…” you mumble, voice fragile in the quiet. Travels up your neck, flicking out beneath your jaw, tasting your skin, licking the corner of your mouth. Pulls away with hunger in his eyes. Knees feel weak, trembling at the thrumming intensity about him.

You swallow heavily, heartbeat spiking at that male look. “What…?” Peer up at him, spine tingling with anticipation, fingers trembling with uncertainty. His tongue again flicks out over his lip, heat flaring between your thighs, observing cautiously. Clear your throat, trying desperately to pull out from his hold. “Bold move.”

The High Lord raises a single brow, violet sparkling in his gaze. “It was nothing of the sort,” he counters smoothly. You frown up at him, “do you do that with all you lady friends, Rhysand?” Stars glitter in his eyes, mirth dancing, “male friends, too.”

You scoff, batting his chest once, “I’m being serious.” A low chuckle drags from his throat, his hands settling on your hips softly, touch like a brand. “Are you interested in seeing a truly bold move?”

Lips part at the blatant invitation, staring at him. Eyes flick away temporarily, considering. Return to his after a second of contemplation. Shrug your shoulders nonchalantly. “How bad could it be?”

A feline smile graces his hellish mouth, then he’s pushing you backward, walking you until his desk digs into backs of your thighs. One hand steadies yourself on the surface, the other landing high on his upper arm, over the swell of well-earned muscle. Quirk your brow in competition. “My, my, Rhysand. How brazen you are—”

His mouth attaches to the sensitive skin of your neck, sealing over a point between your shoulder and throat, sucking and nipping.

Mouth parts in surprise, back arching into him. One of his own hands winding around your waist, making your spine curve as his hips press against your own. Fingers press into him at the abrupt move forward, the way he’s pinning you to his desk as he laps over your skin. Taking what he wants.

“Rhys…” you murmur, breathing a little faster than you were a few moments ago. He doesn’t pull away, switching to a spot lower down, bringing his canines out this time. Gasp as they prickle at your throat, scraping across your skin. “Rhys, stop,” you mumble, pushing lightly at his shoulder.

He doesn’t budge.

Heart picks up a beat as he bites harder, making you hiss. Legs turning weak as he keeps you still, hips pressing tight into your own while he occupies himself with your taste. “Cut it out,” you hiss, temperature rising as you push harder. “I know you’re not that drunk, Rhys. You’ve barely had anything, so—”

You get a little dizzy as his hand slides down the curve of your ass, settling over top with male propriety. Squeezing with interest. Back arches, arms twisting up over his broad shoulders. He growls softly against your throat, nosing at the bruises he’s already begun painting onto you. Nips at a space beneath your jaw. Breath catches in your throat as he pulls away, standing up to his full height. “Bold enough for you?”

Heart picks up speed again, uncontrollable heat pooling between your legs, surely dense enough he’ll be able to scent it by now. Blatant want.

Raise your hand before you can think twice, smacking him square across the jaw.

Violet eyes widen, staring at you. Gingerly raises his fingers to feel the sting of the skin. Watches you, features unreadable.

“I told you to stop,” you grit out, pulling your hands to your chest, shielding yourself. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting off since this morning.”

A low snarl drags from his throat then, hands gripping your hips tighter, pressing into the earlier formed bruises. “So you’re back to acting like this, huh?” You swallow at the tone, the rough drag of the letters as they leave his tongue. Straighten your spine. “Like what?” You snap, attempting to edge away as much as you can, shifting your weight more onto the desk. Legs parting a little in the process.

It’s space he quickly takes advantage of, stepping to be closer between your thighs, pushing you back so you’re almost seated atop the surface. “Pretending,” he growls. “Teasing.” Hands settle around your waist. “Taunting.”

Lip curls back from your teeth, “you aren’t entitled to my affections, High Lord.” He laughs, roughly, palms splaying flat against your skin. An arrogant presumption. Shifts you so you’re fully on his desk, allowing him to press between your thighs. “How much wetter did you get from having my title on your tongue?”

Arousal turns molten in the pit of your belly, hands flatten against the mahogany, steadying yourself as he presses in. “That’s none of your business,” you breathe, shifting backwards. “Even in your position, you keep your nose out of my life, Rhysand.” He hums, the sound rumbling in his chest, peering down at your from his vantage point. “Weren’t you the one to come drunkenly stumbling into my office?” He drawls, mouth so close to your own you can practically feel its softness. “Barely dressed, at that. What sort of message do you think that sends?”

Brow narrows, attempting to glare up at him. “I think it shows that I expect basic decency from you, and that I don’t think I’ll get taken advantage of for respecting your request to be a little more careful where I drink.”

“Maybe I should listen to what you’re saying,” he growls softly, peering down at you. “But I don’t think that would be the right way to bed you.”

A wave of arousal crests over you, washing over your body, ravishing it with heat. Thighs part wider for him, speechless from the brazen answer. “That’s a hell of a lot of assuming you’re doing,” you manage weakly, on the verge of succumbing to him entirely. Mouth quirks into a distinctly Rhys-like grin, “tell me I’m wrong.”

The challenges ripples across your skin, prickling beneath the intensity of his gaze. As though he’s stripping you naked, inch by inch. Swallow around the pressure that’s contracting your throat, violet tracing its roll. “I…” Heart kicks up, heat bubbling between your thighs, anticipation thick enough to be cut with a knife. Swallow again.

“I thought not.” Then his mouth is forcefully crushing against your own, hands roughly gripping your waist; your hips. Dragging you to be tight against him, thighs pushed so ankles lock at his back. Tongue pries your lips apart, stroking over your own, gathering, tasting you. Groans roughly into the hot, open-mouthed kiss, holding you flush to his chest. The swell of your breasts rises and falls with the hurried pants, temperature spiking as he invades and conquers, waging war on your body. Taking it for his own.

Eyes flutter shut, and he’s shoving you back onto his desk, ink pots spilling, papers scattering, shooting up before raining to the floor. Mouth detaches from your own, only to reattach to that— “fuck…” He targets it mercilessly, scraping the sharp point of his canines over the sensitive patch, biting roughly, marking. Spine arches upward, legs locking firmly around his hips as he thumbs away the straps of your night gown. Pushing them off your shoulders, practically tearing the material away to make room for his tongue; his teeth.

The High Lord leaves a path of bruises in his wake, nipping and kissing his way to your breasts. Gasp when his licks over a peaked nipple, fingers threading in his hair, nails scraping. “Rhys…” you pant, hips winding, bucking against his own, feeling the prominency of his own arousal. How big he is. Good Gods.

Pulls away, chest rising and falling slightly, staring down at you with dilated pupils. A beast taking in his catch for the night. Staring down at his meal. It makes heat swarm your body, breathing quickening. “What are you waiting for?” You pant, staring up at him, trying not to think about how ink is almost certainly staining the soft fabric of your night shift.

Teeth flash in a vicious smile. “I thought you didn’t want this?” Brow narrows, lip pulls back from your own teeth. Move to shove away from him, but his palm presses down over your sternum, pinning you effortlessly to his desk. “I don’t,” you snap weakly, the pressure from his hand keeping your voice soft. He hums in response, then your legs are being forcefully unhooked from his hips. Fingertips bite into the underside of your thighs, and then they’re pushed back, positioned close to your sides, bent at the knee.

“Rhysand!” You snarl.

Palm smacks over your mouth as he licks up your centre. Hissing at the pleasurable violation.

He pulls back, grinning arrogantly from between your thighs, lips glistening. “You taste like you want it.”

“Well. I don’t,” you manage to grit out, hands clenching into fists. His brow quirks, seeing through your lies, but makes to retract from your aching cunt. You hiss softly, ankles locking as your legs hook over the broad width of his shoulders. “You’ll damn well finish what you started, High Lord.”

Rhys chuckles roughly, sending fire licking between your thighs, more wetness pooling as he drags it out. “So demanding,” he taunts, “and here I was, thinking about giving it to you for free.” He stands up to his full height, pulse spiking as his dexterous finger drop to the ties of his leathers, slowly pulling them loose. “But I suppose if I’m going to give you something, it’s fair to get something, in return.”

Throat dries out as he pushes away the constriction, large hand wrapping around his cock, allowing it to rest heavily over your cunt. “Don’t you dare,” you hiss, attempting to push up from his desk. Sharp talons pierce through your foggy mental walls, forcing you back down. Laughs cruelly, heat pounding between your thighs. Almost begging for him to slide home. To slam in to the hilt. The idea alone nearly makes your eyes roll form pleasure.

His grin widens as if he’s read your mind, arousal wrapping around your senses, filtering into your body through your lungs. Your own personal aphrodisiac.

“Don’t I dare what?” He taunts. Lethally quietly. Marks the roll of your throat.

“You know what I’m talking about,” you manage shakily, fingers gripping the edge of the desk, thighs subconsciously parting. His hips pull back, tip catching on your clit as he goes, making you flinch. Presses himself to the soft, wet dip. Positioning himself at your entrance. “I don’t think I do,” he murmurs back, leaning over your body, caging you in, hands wrapping around your wrists. “Tell me. Tell me what you don’t want me to do.”

Need pulses in your veins, short-circuiting your already hazy mind.

“Fuck me,” you manage, eyes glued to his lips, close enough to brush your own should you rise from the surface. “Don’t fuck me,” you breathe, struggling to keep your lids from fluttering shut. He offers a non-committal hum, violet dancing with mirth, lips quirking into a smirk. “What a shame.”

He slams in to the hilt.

A long moan drags from your lips, involuntarily tightening around him, hips pressing flush to the backs of your thighs. Spine bows from the furniture, eyes squeezing shut to keep in the tears of pleasure. You can only imagine how he would crow with cockiness if he saw how good you’re feeling. Breathe out shakily, and immediately suck another down. Open your mouth to speak, but he draws back, and slams in.

Air is shoved from your lungs, needing to make room for him, to accompany his size. Head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, fingers grasping at something to hold on to. His large hands grip your hips, pressing against the painful bruises, setting a brutal pace, pounding into you again and again. Pleasure blinds your vision, wildly grappling for something to hold onto, to keep you steady, ink wetting the pads of your fingertips.

He doesn’t allow you time to rest, not even a second. Slamming into you, touching those spots that make you sob, tears cascading back into your hair. He curses, low and vicious, attention glued to how you’re taking him. Wet squelches ring through the office, shallow pants and rough groans accompanying in the background.

Manage to crack your eyes open, peering up at him: flushed skin, colour tinting his cheeks, dark, inky swirls peeking from beneath the slightly unbuttoned shirt. Hands using your hips to slam you back against him, making certain he gets everywhere you need him. Thumb brushes over your clit, and you gasp. Nails pierce the wood, crying out in pleasure as he completely overwhelms you. Mind goes dumb, narrowing in on the feel of him, how he’s pressing against every delicious place. You don’t stand a single hope of lasting.

“Rhys…!” You whimper, teeth biting down into your lower lip.

Violet latches onto you, pinning you beneath him. “Close?” He smirks, thumb gently circling your clit, just adding that delicious edge for you to ride on. Cocky bastard. You would tell him as much if you had any capacity left for speech. “I thought you didn’t want me to fuck you?” He mocks, the lilt of his voice causing you to tighten around him. “I thought you would have hated this. Are you going to cum while hating me, too?”

Leans closer, the angle of his cock shifting within you. Tilting your hips upward a little.

Lips part as your orgasm lights your entire body, waves of pulsing heat and pleasure rolling through. Toes curl, eyes roll, spine bows. Arcing toward him like he’s pulling at your waist. Dear God above me… His violet eyes weight down on you, practically able to feel as they rove across your body, taking in your pleasure as it crashes into him.

Hips stutter, throwing you off, sending fresh, stronger waves coursing through your thighs. Hot cum spills into you, feeling how it fills you up, putting himself inside of you. Marking his territory. You’re his. His to pleasure, his to fuck, his to own. Utterly submitted.

Teeth bite into your throat as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm, tugging your head to one side to give him clear access. Stamping his ownership into every available point on your body. There’s no way he’ll allow you to cover those. He’d only create more, in increasingly obvious spaces, until his bruises are scrawled across every inch of skin. Scent infused with your own.

Rhys’ mouth finds yours, lips parting, tongue flicking over the roof of your mouth. It’s slower than before, a more leisurely exploration. There’s no hurry now. He’s taken you for himself. Can have you whenever he pleases in his mind. You moan softly, worn out from the strain of withstanding such intensity.

He pulls away, hand tangling in your hair, raising from the surface. “I suppose you positively despise me now?” He asks, tone lilting with mocking grace. Eyes gleaming with mirth. You scowl, inky fingers threading in the soft, silky locks. “I fucking hate you,” you snap in response, tugging his mouth back over your own.

Rhys laughs into the kiss, hips pressing back against your thighs, keeping his cum deep inside. Reminding you of the power he now has over you. Legs tighten, encouraging him to use it. To take advantage of it again.

Stars dance in violet eyes, a dark promise conveyed with a single look.

He’ll make you cum again and again until you’re begging for reprieve. And even then he’ll force one after the other, until you’re turning limp in his arms.

It’s not something you fear.

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

Rhys Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#October #Rhys #Rhysand #Rhys x reader #Rhysand x reader #Dark!rhysand #dark!rhysand x reader #Rhysand smut #dark!Rhysand smut

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Rhysand Headcanons (General)

"You're mine, but if you don't agree, maybe I should convince you to accept it." — Rhysand.

❝ ⭐ — lady l: I've been thinking about him a lot lately, so take a few hcs of him 😇. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 💜

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, manipulation, loss of mortality (?), mention of kidnapping and death.

❝⭐pairing: yandere!rhysand x gender neutral!reader.

Rhysand has lost a lot during his life and has experienced and witnessed unimaginable horrors. These experiences, these memories, made him who he is. Having lived a large part of his life witnessing cruelties and committing some of them, he never thought he could become so passionate, so obsessed with someone.

But you attracted him in a way no one ever had before. Maybe you might be his mate or someone he really grew to adore, but you were his. You became his the moment your eyes met his.

Your touch, your presence, everything about him yearned for you. He wondered how someone like you could love someone like him, marked by darkness and pain. But it didn't matter, because he was determined to protect you, to love you in a way he never thought he was capable of.

You became his light, his reason to fight the shadows that haunted him. And despite all the suffering he carried, he found comfort in your arms, knowing that, with you, he had finally found something he could love for his entire immortal life.

Rhysand tries his best to contain his obsession to himself, his darkest thoughts and feelings towards you because he knows they're not right. He's fully aware that this is wrong, that the way he feels isn't normal, but... He can't control it. He can't control what he feels.

You make him doubt his own morals, make him question how he should really think and feel. Everything he believes becomes wrong when you enter his life. Rhys knows it's wrong to force someone to be with him but then why does it feel so right to you? Why does the way your fingers intertwine with his feel so right?

Rhysand isn't the type to kidnap you on sight, no, he'll only do it if he really has no choice. He may try to manipulate you, offer you to live with him in Velaris, or offer you a job and a place in the Inner Circle. He will subtly try to make you get used to him and the people in his life.

Rhys is a master at manipulation and lies, and although he doesn't like manipulating you, he will if you are defiant. With his daemati powers, he can easily invade your mind and force you to do things you don't want to do. Even if you have strong mental walls, he can still break through your defenses. It's not something he wants to do, but he's not against it either.

He is a High Lord and he wants to have control over everything. About his Court and about you. Rhysand is controlling by nature and the idea of ​​not being able to keep you under his control leaves him distraught. Like a thorn in his side, he will be uncomfortable with this. You need to be his, even if it's not of your own free will.

To say Rhysand is possessive is an understatement, he is completely possessive and jealous over you. Just the idea of ​​you being close to someone other than him makes him furious. Fae males are known for being possessive and you are no different. He will have no qualms about killing anyone who gets too close to you. You are his, let that be clearly marked in your head.

If you're human, he'll probably find a way to turn you into a fae. Maybe using the Cauldron's powers or combining those of the other High Lords, but you won't die. He will make sure of it.

Because he is a complete manipulator, Rhys can use his mental powers to drive people away from you. He can easily slip through their minds and make them hate you, and despise you. Your friends and family have become repulsed by you, all thanks to him. And when you finally go into his arms for comfort, Rhysand will be satisfied. He is the only one for you.

You will be intensely pampered. Rhys loves giving you gifts, from expensive and rare jewelry to anything. You will be spoiled and adored by him. Massages, food, anything you want will be yours. Just ask and he will give it to you. Everything to make you happy. Speaking of which, Rhys would probably love to take care of your wardrobe. He would choose your clothes and they would always match his.

Once Rhysand became obsessed with you, your life would take an unexpected turn. As much as he wants you to be with him willingly, he will have no problem forcing you to do so. Maybe he feels bad, but seeing you next to him makes him forget it quickly. There is no way to escape him, Rhysand is the most powerful High Lord in history and has very competent means of bringing you back. You're stuck with him for the rest of your immortality.

He would destroy the world behind you and anyone who tries to help you will also be destroyed. But if you play your cards right, you could end up becoming his consort and without any kind of freedom or privacy.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #yandere acotar #yandere a court of thorns and roses #rhysand x reader #dark!rhysand #dark!rhysand x reader #yandere rhysand #yandere rhysand x reader #yandere rhysand headcanons #rhysand headcanons #headcanons #yandere headcanons #dark!rhys #dark!rhys x reader

[agoldenluckycat]

⚔️Dark!Rhysand ⚔️

Imagine getting fucked from behind in a broom closet of the house of wind by Rhysand, his fingers in your mouth and his breath against your ear whispering “quiet down pet, you don’t want Feyre to catch us huh?”

#rhysand #ACOTAR #dark!rhysand #dark!rhys

[dark-romantics]

Me as soon as I come across a morally grey fictional character

#dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #light academia aesthetic #classic literature #english literature #virginia woolf #literature #librarylife #letters #lit #fictional character #damon salvarote #rhysand #villians

[cafe-viennois]

Feyre & Rhys 🌙

Nesta & Cassian 🦇

A little serie of illustrations I did for Inktober 2023!

#inktober #inktober2023 #ink #fanart #portrait #acotar #acotarfanart #acotarfandom #sarahjmaas #feyre #feyrearcheron #feyrerhysand #highlady #highladyofthenightcourt #illustration #digitalart #rhysand #darkness #highlord #highlordofthenightcourt #nesta #nestaarcheron #nessian #velaris #cassian #cassianacotar #wings #artists on tumblr #art on tumblr

[ghostbutaliveidk]

HOUSE PET

Pairing - Cassian, Rhysand and Azriel x reader

plot/summary - You accidentally find yourself in front of the three most dangerous men in the world, and they decide to take you and keep you as a house pet.

Warnings - NONCON, BDSM elements but it's not actual bdsm because it's noncon. Spanking. Petplay. Anal. Degradation. Humiliation. Dacryphilia. Face slapping. Forced marriage.

Chapter specific warnings will be added to the chapters.

Chapter 1

#rhys #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #cassian #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #dark fic #tw noncon #tw degradation #tw humiliation #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

[skyreadbooks]

🗣️: "It's so boring to read books"

No bro, it's the most wonderful feeling anyone can experience. Watching some of the most beautiful words flow effortlessly on a piece of paper unveiling the most show-shattering storyline with those beautiful beautiful flawed characters who make us feel at home every damn we enter their universe is what not everyone can understand.

#zade meadows #hunting adeline #aaron warner #warnette #shatter me #roma montagov #these violent delights #our violent ends #roma and juliette #percy jackson #percabeth #pjo #jameson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #the inheritance games #kaz brekker #six of crows #rhysand #acotar #ya fantasy #enemies to lovers #book boys #sjm #shadow and bone #rick riordan #dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #chaotic academia #light academia #romantic academia

[belle-keys]

Ember Quinlan is the realest one for stepping into Prythian just for five seconds and realizing how horrifying Rhys and his treatment toward Nesta are.

#she just like me fr #i miss the 2015 days when rhys was just unapologetically morally dark grey #without the narrative trying to frame him as jesus every two second #anti rhysand #anti rhys #anti feysand #anti cassian #nesta archeron #nesta deserves better #nesta i love you #ember quinlan

[shallyne]

Not to get hot and heavy on main but I need a bat boy, a hawk boy, a fallen angel, a demon prince, a demon king, a dragon, a demon, a wingleader, a mafia guy with a motorcycle, a mafia heir, a mafia guy with one eye, a dude with death powers and/or the High Lady of the Night Court to fuck the depression out of me

And a talking sword to give me a pep talk

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #throne of glass #Crescent city #kingdom of the wicked #mead mishaps #Dark verse #The predator #The emperor #the finisher #fourth wing #xaden riorson #dante maroni #tristan caine #Alpha villanova #Alexis the sword #feyre archeron #hunt athalar #rhysand #lorcan salvaterre #rowan whitethorn #Wrath #Envy #Pride #Lust #Greed #gluttony #cassian #Azriel #Fallon

[throneofsapphics]

haunt me like the wind that blows 

Feysand x f!Reader 

(part two) (part three)

Summary: She yanked her hand from his grasp, taking a few steps backward. The fight was futile, there was no winning in this scenario, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: dark feysand, abusive relationships, mentions of injuries, stalking, mention of suicidal ideation, yandere maybe?, not proofread, blood, death/murder

A/N: mind the warnings!

It had been one year, two months, and five days since she left. She counted every single one, because every single one was filled with memories of their love, their lies, and the fear they might find her. And what might happen when they do. If, she told herself, if they do. Something in her gut, maybe an instinct, told her it was inevitable they would find her someday. But she held onto the hope, the possibility that after a year they would give up. 

She ran as far as she reasonably could, to a small and barely known village in the mountains of Vallahan- one that welcomed her without question. She disguised her accent and her magic hid the presence of the mating bond. In the state she showed up in - shaking, pale, and underfed from weeks of rough travel, nobody questioned her. She used a vague backstory - escaping a bad relationship, being raised in a poor family, working as an herbalist. All of those facts are true, and she fed just enough information to escape suspicion. 

Still, she knew if any of them thought she was the mate of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, they’d turn her over to them without any question. People's goodness only ran so far. 

They told her they loved her, but kept her so tightly under key that she suffocated. Friends she’d had for years, suddenly felt the need to move away from Velaris. She managed to keep her own business for a few years.

First, they started telling her she didn’t need it, not with them there to provide for her. She told them she liked it, enjoyed working. That satisfied them for a while, until Feyre came in at the end of the day, finding a male flirting with her as she tried to deflect his attention. 

Rhys was there in seconds and she watched in horror as he died on the floor of the shop she built from the ground up. No matter how much she begged them, pleaded for them to stop, they wouldn’t and blood pooled across the floor, soaking into the wood. All traces of blood were removed, all evidence of the male's existence, but she knew it was there, and scented it each time she entered.

She shakily held on to it for a few months. They started mentioning things that happened during her day - things they weren’t present for, and she realized they either sorted through her mind or had somehow hidden themselves in her shop. They showed up from time to time and she never had any idea when they would. Anxiety filled her each day, and she started working on building her mental walls - in secret, hoping it would help her compartmentalize and shove some of that fear down. 

They commented how she looked worn down at the end of each day, how bags started forming under her eyes, how she grew more skittish. All things she knew, but hearing them stung. They convinced her working was too much, that it was her job affecting her health.

Eventually, they gave her an ultimatum. Quit and sell the shop, or we’ll make you. But, an ultimatum implied having a choice - that there would be two different endings, and in this case both scenarios ended the same way. The next day, fliers for sale went up and the shop sold quickly, being prime real estate in Velaris. 

She watched as the door was painted over - yellow instead of blue, and changed to a small clothing boutique. She wondered if the new owners felt that male presence. One who tried to flirt with the wrong female at the wrong place and time. Innocent flirting, flirting that meant nothing to her but cost him his life.

The first time she threw mental walls up around Rhys, finally recognizing the gentle caress of him slipping inside, he ripped them down brutally. She was left with a headache and hand shaped bruises littering her backside for a week. 

They mixed their love for her with lies. How they were protecting her, how they did it for her benefit, that all they wanted was for her to be happy. 

The happy memories haunted her the most, the ones of flights between mountains - both with Rhys and Feyre. Wind whipping through their hair, the smiles on their faces as they pointed out various things, the skyline of Velaris from above.

Now, each brush of the wind against her skin felt like a threat from them. Every audible beat of a bird’s wing made her shudder. It took a while for her to stop hiding when she heard them, or when the wind swept in a strange direction.  

She debated her decision every day. But, every time she took a walk through the mountains, interacted with someone new, created a different kind of tonic or poultice, she felt the freedom rush through her. The right decision, a decision she would make again if she had to. No matter how much her soul tore from being separated from her mates, she’d chosen herself. Maybe not happiness, but freedom. She'd never chosen them, the Cauldron put them together and she reminded herself often it doesn't mean they're a perfect match.

-

A knock sounded against the door and she cursed. The book was reaching its climax after five hundred pages of slowly building plot. It was late - almost sundown in the middle of summer, but she never knew if it was someone needing some kind of tonic or healing herbs and a sense of guilt motivated her to always answer the door. Another thump of fist on wood drew her from her thoughts, sending her rushing from the door, her page quickly marked with a random scrap of paper.

She undid the lock, swinging the door open. Her heart beat rose so quickly she thought she might pass out. After over a year, Rhys stood right outside her door, hands tucked into his pockets. He’d hidden his scent, and put the strongest damper on his power possible. Still, a dark storm raged in his eyes upon seeing her. 

Futily, she tried to slam the door, but a small wave of darkness shoved it back open. She didn’t try to scream, anyone she attracted would probably end up with their minds wiped - or dead. 

“Good girl.” He murmured when she stepped aside. She swallowed harshly as he entered, his eyes scanning the room. It was over. Her year of freedom was over. The High Lord of the Night Court found her, deep in the mountains of Vallahan, a village not even marked on maps. 

“You need to go.” Her voice was hoarse and shaking, betraying her fear. 

He let out a dark chuckle. “No,” his hand shot out quick as an asp, grasping her wrist to pull her close to him. His thumb traced over her bottom lip. “I won’t be going anywhere without you.” 

She yanked her hand from his grasp, taking a few steps backward. The fight was futile, there was no winning in this scenario, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. “I want you to leave. Leave me alone.” 

His amusement faded. “You’ve always been a stubborn brat.” 

Her body shook with fear and rage. How dare he come in here, barge in on the life she created, and try to rip her away. “Go.” She pointed to the door. “I don’t want you, either of you." She knows Feyre is probably listening, watching in through his mind.  

The last sentence was a lie. Her body and soul wanted them, yearned to be with them, but she fought it at every step, and he knew it. “Liar,” he purred and she felt power begin to rumble from him. Anger was loosening his control. 

She tilted her chin up, clenching her fists at her side. “I don’t want you more than I want my freedom.” 

“Freedom?” He tilted his head. “Being with your mates is a privilege. So many don’t find theirs or don’t have one - let alone two.” 

A privilege. That was new. “I don’t care,” she spat, stepping around to open a path to the door, a path for him. She threw up every mental barrier she could, every bit of practice she’d put in every single day. If she left, it would be kicking and screaming and in her own mind. Sure enough, she felt him tapping against it - and saw the impressed expression that crossed his face, quickly overtaken by rage. Rage that she locked him out. 

He somehow mastered it, and strolled over towards the couch, picking up the book she left, twisting it over to read the description. Having him in here felt like a violation. But - his current distraction could help. She slowly backed towards the door, reaching her hand out to grab the door knob - only met with a shield that stung her fingertips. She hissed, sucking her fingers in her mouth to try and get rid of the burn. 

“I told you I won’t be leaving without you.” Rhys’s voice was mild. A mild she recognized - the same tone of his voice before he murdered that male for flirting with her, for touching her arm. A particular tone that haunted her nightmares. “I can give you five minutes to grab whatever you’d like, or we can go now.” 

Now, with nothing but the clothes on her back. Her own magic wasn’t strong enough to rip through his, and she already knew he’d cast a shield to keep her from winnowing away. Gods, she should have winnowed the moment he haunted her doorstep. 

“I thought you would stop looking,” she stalled, trying to buy herself time to figure something out. 

“You’re foolish.” Foolish. Like she was some child in need of scolding. He glanced at the clock hanging above her fireplace. “You have four minutes.” 

“Why do this? Why drag me back?” She questioned. 

“Because you’re ours. You’re part of us.” 

“I don’t want to be.” Y/n snapped, her temper finally flaring. 

Rhys’s eyes flashed. “Watch your tone.” 

“What good will that do me?” She laughed hysterically, “this all ends the same way.” 

“You could make it less painful for yourself.” 

There would be pain - there would be hell to pay, she knew that, and knew they had a plethora of ideas for how to make her pay for this. She could think of one way, only one way to escape. A permanent freedom from them, until they found her in the next life … her eyes glanced at the knife ten feet away, on her kitchen table. 

Her shields must’ve dropped for just a moment, because Rhys’s voice reverberated through her mind, "absolutely not". But, his voice tinged with fear. A sick sort of satisfaction came over her after she shoved him out, that she could put some kind of fear in him, no matter how sickening the circumstances or reasons. 

“Two minutes,” he hissed, “but I’m done waiting.” 

She didn’t move quick enough to escape his grasp. His grip was painful as he winnowed them, a series of jumps all the way back to the Night Court, back to her gilded cage, her shiny prison. 

#acotar fic #feysand x y/n #feysand x reader #dark!feysand #poly!feysand x y/n #poly!feysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #feyre archeron x y/n #feyre archeron x reader #I need to stop writing and sleep why is this coming out of my brain

[achaotichuman]

Ngl today alone I have seen countless men who could easily play Rhysand if they were given violet contacts and bat wings.

In my entire period of living I have seen maybe one or two people that could MAYBE pass for Tamlin if they had makeup on.

I have never, ever in my life passed a man on the street who could play Lucien or Eris Vanserra.

#acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #anti rhysand #rhysand is just so boring #the dark haired love interest can be found at your local supermarket #tamlin would need to be hunted down using the dark web #lucien and eris straight up don’t exist in real life #acotar headcanons #eris vanserra #pro eris vanserra

[tadpolesonalgae]

Moon Cycle

Dark!Rhysand x reader

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

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

word count: 2,501

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#dark!rhysand x reader #dark!rhysand #dark!rhys #desk pet #play-mate

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Tamlin and Rhysand hcs sharing a darling? 👀

❝ 🌹 — lady l: It's three in the morning where I live and here I am... Writing! Do I care? No. Anyway, I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 💞

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of injuries, unhealthy relationships, polyamorous (sorta of).

❝ ⭐pairing: yandere!tamlin x gn!reader x yandere!rhysand.

They won't share. That simple. There is no way Tamlin and Rhysand would agree to share a darling, let alone a mate. Tamlin is extremely jealous and Rhysand is possessive as hell. Add the fact that their darling is their mate makes it even worse.

Once one realized the other's interest all hell would break loose. It would all really depend on who discovered it first, but at the end of the day, nothing else would matter. Not even you.

Tamlin is the least emotionally unbalanced and this makes him very volatile and dangerous when his temper gets out of control. He is explosive and although he will never knowingly hurt his darling, you still have to walk on eggshells around him. Especially when Tamlin is jealous or furious.

Rhysand is the most rational one in the situation, or at least he tries to be the most rational one, even though he is seething with hatred inside. Rhys might be willing to share his darling with others, but never with Tamlin, his second worst enemy.

A huge fight would begin and if the situation between the two Courts was already bad before, it would become even worse and more volatile. Tamlin wants you at any cost and so does Rhysand, and neither is willing to share.

You would just be a toy caught in a tug of war. They detested each other deeply and their resentment grew more because of you and you would be nothing less than a pawn in a game that has lasted centuries.

They would still try to care about your needs and what you want, but they will both be so blinded by their hatred and possessiveness that you won't be as important. Not when they desperately wanted to destroy themselves.

The only situation I can see them coming to some kind of agreement would be if something happened to you, like if you were a human and almost died or suffered a terrible injury. It would be the only case where Tam and Rhys would work together for you.

Tamlin wants you desperately, he's already so alone and he needs comfort, love and reassurance. He wants to be loved so desperately and his obsession with you has become so unbearable that he can't sleep properly if he doesn't know that you're okay and with him.

Rhysand wants to be loved and have a loving family above all else, he wants this with all his might. He needs you, he needs to smell you and hear you tell him that he loves him. He needs to know that you love him, that he is the only one for you, and that no matter what, you will always choose him.

They will always fight over you, they will never reach a consensus and you are likely to end up broken and none of them will take the blame, as they will be too focused on destroying themselves than on what you need. Rhysand has tried to pay more attention to you, but at the end of the day, it's really about his personal war with Tamlin.

However, at any sign of threat to your life, they will put aside this feud and focus only on you. Even if it doesn't seem like it, they care about you and love you, in a twisted and strange way, but they do and they want to take care of you. Tamlin, especially, due to the fact that he is overprotective.

Rhysand and Tamlin will never come to an agreement, but maybe, as time goes on, they can learn to share you. There will always be bad blood and fights, but perhaps they will realize that the best way to protect you is to come together. Two High Lords can do very well protecting their mate, even if they hate each other deeply.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #yandere a court of thorns and roses #yandere acotar #yandere tamlin #yandere rhysand #yandere tamlin x reader #yandere rhysand x reader #yandere tamlin x reader x rhysand #dark!tamlin #dark!tamlin x reader #dark!rhysand #dark!Rhysand x reader #tamlin x reader #rhysand x reader #tamlin x reader x rhysand #yandere headcanons #Headcanons #poly #yandere poly

[highladyofterrasen7]

My holy trio of book bfs

- xaden “my house my chair my woman” Riorson

- rhysand “I want you splayed out on the table like my own personal feast”

- Dorian “I’ll bleed whatever colour you tell me to” Havilliard

At the moment and in no particular order

#I have a type #dark haired shadow daddies with tragic pasts #who would do anything for their friends #sarah j maas #acotar #rhysand #feyre archeron #feysand #fourth wing #iron flame #xaden riorson #violet sorrengail #dorian havilliard #manon blackbeak #throne of glass

[alexcollix7]

Sarah J Maas: plagiarism or inspiration

In this post we are going to discuss the various and stricking similaries between Sarah J Maas series TOG/ACOTAR with original books she admited to consume, as well as the use of direct lines from movies, books and tv shows in her books, and where do we draw the line in what we consider to be inspiration vs plagiarism.

As some people know, SJM is a big fan of Anne Bishop's work, especifically her Black Jewels trilogy. Some people already noticed similarities between the two series (and in her TOG books as well) in terms of storyline, races and characters, but it's not nearly talked about enough.

It's good to make clear that the first book of "the black jewels" was published in 1998 and the last one of the trilogy was published in 2000, over 12 years before acotar and TOG was even launched. So Bishop's work was around a long time before sjm started to publish her books.

That being said, let's start with the fact that the beginning of her first series TOG is pratically the same as the beginning of the second book of The Black Jewels, Heir to the Shadows, but with a different character:

"After a year of slavery in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Celaena Sardothien was accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point. Most of the thousands of slaves in Endovier received similar treatment—though an extra half-dozen guards always walked Celaena to and from the mines. That was expected by Adarlan’s most notorious assassin. What she did not usually expect, however, was a hooded man in black at her side—as there was now" (TOG, 2012)

"Surrounded by guards, Lucivar Yaslana, the half-breed Eyrien Warlord Prince, walked into the courtyard, fully expecting to hear the order for his execution. There was no other reason for a salt mine slave to be brought to this courtyard, and Zuultah, the Queen of Pruul, had good reason to want him dead. Prythian, the High Priestess of Askavi, still wanted him alive, still hoped to turn him to stud. But Prythian wasn't standing in the courtyard with Zuultah." (Heir to the Shadows, 1999).

So, Sarah's first work begins with a paragraph that is already really really similar to the first one in Bishop's second novel.

Now, let's then move on to the part that shocked me the most and made me sure of doing this post: The extreme and undeniable resemblance between the Illyrians with the Eyriens, a race portrayed in Bishop's Black Jewels books, who one of the main characters, Lucivar (coincidentally or not, Sarah's favorite one) is a part of.

The Eyriens are described to be warriors with tanned skin, gold eyes, and "batlike wings". Eyrien males are trained in hunting camps as children, and the females are forbidden to touch weapons. They are often found in a mountainous territory called "Askavi Terreille", and carry prejudice against half-eyriens. Does all that sounds familiar?

The Illyrians are so much like the Eyriens, it's not even funny. They have bat-like wings, the males are trained in camps, live by the mountains, have their own personalized weapons, and the females are usually mistreated and not allowed to fight. And what does Rhysand suffer from them? Prejudice, because he's half illyrian. Even their physical characteristics are the same: golden brown skin, hazel eyes, black hair. What mainly sets on them apart is their names (which still sound pretty similar) and the fact that the illyrians have tattoos.

"He spread his dark, membranous wings, trying to ease the ache in his back." ( Daughter of the blood, page 12)

"Indeed, it was still Rhysand’s face, his powerful male body, but flaring out behind him were massive black membranous wings—like a bat’s, like the Attor’s" (ACOTAR, page 348)

"Still, it was home, and centuries of enslaved exile had left him aching for the smell of clean mountain air, the taste of a sweet, cold stream, the silence of the woods, and, most of all, the mountains where the Eyrien race soare" (Daughter of the blood, page 16)

"The Illyrians … We love our people, and our traditions, but they dwell in clans and camps deep in the mountains of the North" (ACOMAF, page 165)

"He had never felt this weary, this beaten. Not as a half-breed boy in the Eyrien hunting camps, not in the countless courts he'd served in over the centuries since" (Heir to the darkness, page 13)

“When I turned eight, my mother brought me to one of the Illyrian war- camps . To be trained, as all Illyrian males were trained" ( ACOMAF, page 168)

”She kept resisting because Eyrien females traditionally didn’t touch a warrior’s weapons" (Queen of the darkness, page 151).

“Some camps issued decrees that if a female was caught training, she was to be deemed unmarriageable. I can’t fight against things like that, not without slaughtering the leaders of each camp and personally raising each and every one of their offspring.” (ACOMAF, page 434)

”There are reasons why Eyrien males are the warriors— Lucivar said, his eyes skimming over the women as he paced slowly down the line and back again.— We’re bigger, stronger, and we have the temperament for killing. You have other strengths and other skills. Most of the time, that works out well." (Queen of Darkness, page 156)

“The  Illyrians— Rhys smoothly cut in, that light finally returning to his gaze — Are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females.” (ACOMAF, page 166)

"She wanted to cut the wings off, raise the boy as Dhemlan maybe. But he said no, in his soul the boy was Eyrien, and it would be kinder to kill him in the cradle than to cut his wings" (Daughter Of The Blood, page 138)

“I banned wing-clipping a long, long time ago, but … at the more zealous camps, deep within the mountains, they do it." (ACOMAF, page 434).

"But they’re good boys, and they’ll carry their weight. And they are full-blooded  Eyriens — he added.

— So they don’t carry the stigma of being half-breeds? — Lucivar asked with deadly control." (Queen of the Darkness, page 39)

"He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed" (ACOMAF, page 136)

"Then he called in his Ebon-gray Jewels and the wide leather belt that held his hunting knife and his Eyrien war blade" (Heir to the shadows, page 257)

"I went from physical defense to learning to wield an Illyrian blade, the weapon so fine, I’d nearly taken Cassian’s arm off." (ACOMAF, page 367)

Some people can look at this as simple inspiration, but others consider the races to be almost identical. Their prejudices, the place they live, the place where they train and how they train being the same, with only a few minor key points being changed.

In Bishop's work men and women are adressed and divided as "males" and "females". Their society is based the existence of jewels, where the darker someone's jewel is, the more powerful that person becomes.

The jewels are close to what SJM called siphons, used by the illyrians. They are a representation of the powers of members of the blood, serve as containers, and vary in colors. Siphons, however, are literally jewels who filter Illyrians powers, manipulating magic. Members of the blood can have more than one jewel, and illyrians can have more than one siphon.

"An uncut Jewel is a rare thing, little Sister —   Titian said, removing something from the box.    — Wait until you know who you are before you have it set. Then it will be more than a receptacle for the power your body can't hold; it will be a statement of what you are." (Daughter of the blood, page 71)

"He held up his hands, the backs to me so both jewels were on full display.— They’re called  Siphons . They concentrate and focus our power in battle.” (ACOMAF, page 162)

"The Black-Jeweled ring on his right hand glittered with an inner fire." (Daughter of the blood, page 39)

"Siphons atop his scarred hands flickered like rippling blue fire as he reached for the Attor." (ACOMAF, page 262)

" Your fingers clenched around that Jewel. There was a flash of Red light, and the guards were flung backward." ( Daughter of the blood, page 136)

"Cassian lifted his hand into the air. Red light exploded from his Siphon, blasting up and away" (ACOMAF, page 543)

"Her strength was gone. The Jewel hungaround her neck, dark and empty" (Daughter of the blood, page 399)

"Azriel’s blue Siphons were dull, muted. Utterly empty."  (ACOMAF, page 554)

The Blood possess some ability to sense and mask their psychic scent. The conception of "scent" not only acts as a way for them to recognize each other, but also sense their emotions, and seems to be highlighted between couples, with Daemon for using it in order to fantasize or look for Jaenelle. That matches perfectly SJM's universe where the Fae are able to feel each others scents, sensing their emotions through it, it being stronger between mated couples:

"The psychic scent was almost gone, but he recognized it. A dark scent. A powerful, terrifying, wonderful scent. He breathed deeply, and the lifetime hunger in him became intense".(Daughter of the blood, page 178).

"Like the body that housed it, a witch's psychic scent had a muskiness that a Blood male could find as arousing as the body—if not more so" (Daughter of the blood, page 184)

His  scent  drifted to her, darker, muskier than usual. She’d bet all the money she didn’t have that it was the scent of his arousal. (ACOSF, page 235)

"A room where she had slept would still be strong with her psychic scent, even if it had been cleaned"  (Daughter of the blood, page 182)

"Cassian had flown back up to the House. And found the oak door to the stairs open, Nesta’s  scent  lingering." (ACOSF, page 99)

"No psychic scent of emotions for the guards to play with as they put the sobbing man into the old, one-man boat." (Daughter of the blood, page 149)

"He didn’t need to use a psychic probe to know who was on the other side of the door. The scent of her fear was sufficient." (Queen of the darkness, page 120)

"Their faces were vacant. Not a trace of fear in them, or in their scents." (ACOSF, page 344)

"Those of us who have would notice the similarities in your psychic scents and reach the correct conclusion" ( Queen of Darkness, page 114)

"He didn’t believe me. So he grabbed Catrin, because our scents were nearly identical, you see" (ACOSF, page 652)

The basic unit of Blood society and government is a Queen and her Court. To create a Court, she must be at the age of majority and have twelve males who agree to be in her First Circle. Jaenelle creates hers in the second book, who is  denominated as the "dark court". How is Rhysan's court called? The night court. How is his unity of power named? "the inne circle". Rhysand's court is also referred as "the court of dreams", and Jaenelle is called "dreams made flesh".

"He hoped she'd be pleased to have the use of this place. He hoped he'd be invited when she established her own court. He wanted to see whom she selected for her First Circle" (Daughter of the Blood page 92)

"They’re Rhysand’s Inner Circle.The ones I’d heard mentioned that day at the Night Court—who Rhys kept going to meet." (ACOMAF, page 135)

"The living myth— Saetan whispered.— Dreams made flesh— His throat tightened. He closed his eyes." (Heir to the shadows, page 459)

“And what is this court? — I asked, gesturing to them. The most important question.

It was Cassian, eyes clear and bright as his Siphon, who said — The Court of Dreams.”

Remember Lucivar? The main Eyrien character? Well, it doesn't help sjm's case that he's incredibly similar to Cassian:

Because he's an eyrien, Lucivar was raised as a warrior and has bat wings, together with gold eyes and tanned skin. He also has long black hair and is considered to be well-built. Initially his jewels are birthright red, and later they descent into being ebon grey. Just like his father, he is known as having an explosive temper who often lead him to trouble. Thanks to him not being recognized by Saetan initially, Lucivar is seen as a bastard. This is not at all far from how Cassian is written.

Let's also keep in mind: Lucivar is also responsable for recruting and training Eyrien warriors in the Dark Court, later training the women who live in Ebon Askavi (which, as I will show later, is almost identical to the House of Wind).

Cassian's tragetory is marked by him being underlooked as a "bastard" and not being able to control his temper, and that is further developed in acosf. His appereance is carbon-copy of Lucivar (the only difference being that his eyes are hazel), and his siphons are red. He also happens to train illyrian warriors, and later Feyre, Nesta and the other priestesses from the library. Like Lucivar has a brotherly bond with Jaenelle and waits for her to be his queen, Cassian has a brotherly love for Feyre and respects her as his high lady:

"Unlike the other slaves who couldn't contain their misery or fear, there was no expression in Lucivar's gold eyes" (Daughter of the Blood, page 13)

"Like their High Lord, the males—warriors—were dark-haired, tan-skinned. But unlike Rhys, their eyes were hazel and fixed on me as I at last stepped close" (ACOMAF, page 155)

"She looked so pale against his light-brown skin, and he knew it wasn't simply because she was fair-skinned" (Daughter of the blood, page 19)

"She watched his light brown fingers play against her pale skin" (ACOSF, page 367)

"The man wore a leather vest and the black, skintight trousers favored by Eyrien warriors. His black hair fell to his shoulders, which was unusual for an Eyrien male. [..] A wild joy filled Daemon, even as his heart clogged his throat and tears stung his gold eyes. Lucivar." (Queen of the Darkness, page 45)

"Cassian surveyed Rhys from head to foot, his shoulder-length black hair shifting with the movement" (ACOMAF, page 155)

"Because he was a half-breed bastard, he had no hope of attaining a position of authority within a court, despite the rank of his jewels" (Daughter of the Blood, page 17)

"I can tell you how I hear Eris and Devlon and the others talk and, deep down, I still believe that I am a worthless bastard brute. That it doesn’t matter how many Siphons I have or how many battles I’ve won" (ACOSF, page 434)

"Tears stung Lucivar's eyes. Why, Daemon? What did she do to deserve being hurt like that?  His voice rose. He couldn't stop it. She was the Queen we had dreamed of serving. We had waited for her for so long.  You butchering whore, why did you have to kill her?" (Heir to the shadows, page 31)

"He’d thought about that painting a great deal in the days afterward—how it had made him feel, how close they’d all come to losing their High Lady before they’d ever met her." (ACOSF, page 43)

"Because he was a trained Eyrien warrior and had a temper that was explosive even for a Warlord Prince" (Daughter of the blood, page 16)

"Cassian was lounging in his chair, a glass of wine in his hand, staring at nothing. A brooding warrior-prince, contemplating the death of his enemies." (ACOSF, page 275)

"He could have caught him on the first pass. The young one will have to concede the battle, but it’ll stay in his mind that he put up a good fight. No, Lucivar understands how to train an Eyrien warrior.” (Queen of Darkness, page 103)

"Cassian prayed that the gods were watching over him as Rhys sipped from his tea and said,    

—You’re ready?

He leaned back in his seat. — I’ve gotten young warriors in line before." (ACOSF, page 43)

There's even a line when Lucivar is training the women in ebon askavi that hits very close to one used when Cassian is training the priestesses:

”If you can become half as proficient with this as she is, you’ll be able to take down any male except an Eyrien warrior —  Falonar said slowly. — And you’ll be able to take down half of them as well.” (Queen of the darkness, page 158)

"Cassian continued to train Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn. The rain didn’t let up, and they were all soaked, but the exertion kept the bite of the cold away.— So this can really down a male in one move? [...] He concentrated on the females in front of him. — This move will knock anyone unconscious if you hit the right spot.” (ACOSF, page 385)

Daemon, his brother, is too very similar to Rhysand. He has the reputation of a sadist, after being tortured and used as slave in the hands of Dorotothea, close to how Rhys was known as a cruel fae who had to serve Amarantha (the way they a called is also pretty much the same, as well, being referred as their "pet" or "whore"). Daemon believes to be destined to Jaenelle, even before meeting her, sometimes feeling her touch, and dreaming or her, just like Rhysand talks about knowing Feyre was his mate, and dreaming of her before they met. He, like Saetan, Jaenelle, and Lucivar, is a black widow: which means he can access people's minds and thoughts, as well as communicate telephatically, exactly how daemanti in acotar have the ability to do.

"His face was a gift of his mysterious heritage, aristocratic and too beautifully shaped to be called merely handsome. He was tall and broad-shouldered. He kept his body well toned and muscular enough to please. His voice was deep and cultured, with a husky, seductive edge to it that made women go all misty-eyed. His gold eyes and thick black hair were typical of all three of Terreille's long-lived races, but his warm, golden-brown skin was a little lighter than the Hayllian aristos—more like the Dhemlan race." (Daughter of the blood, page 24)

"I stepped out of the shelter of my savior’s arm and turned to thank him. Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and ease. High Fae, no doubt. His short black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers" (ACOTAR, page 193)

"I had no answer to that—to the tenor in his rich, deep voice. So I examined the tattoos on his chest and arms, the glow of his tan skin , so golden now that he was no longer caged inside that mountain." (ACOMAF, page 289)

"Daemon smiled that cold, cruel smile. "Now you know what it's like to get into bed with Hayll's Whore." (Daughter of the blood, page 77)

"Lucien interrupted — What do you know about anything? You’re just Amarantha’s whore.

— Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons.” (ACOTAR, page 239)

"In his soul, he knew her. In his dreams, he saw her. He never envisioned a face. It always blurred if he tried to focus on it. But he could see her dressed in a robe made of dark, transparent spidersilk, a robe that slid from her shoulders as she moved, a robe that opened and closed as she walked, revealing bare, night-cool skin. And there would be a scent in the room that was her, a scent he would wake to, burying his face in her pillow after she was up and attending her own concerns." (Daughter of the Blood, page 27)

“Three years ago, he said quietly,  — I began to have these … dreams [...] The images were foggy, like looking through cloudy glass. They were brief—a flash here and there, every few months. I thought nothing of them, until one of the images was of a hand … This beautiful, human hand. Holding a brush. Painting—flowers on a table.” (ACOMAF, page 504)

“I saw you through your dreams—and I hoarded the images [...] I’d wake up with your scent in my nose, and it would haunt me all day, every step." (ACOMAF, page 505)

"There was a bitter taste in Daemon's mouth. The ashes of dreams. After all, he was Hayll's Whore, a pleasure slave, an amusement for the ladies no matter what their age, a way to pass the time" (Daughter of the blood, page 267)

"And he would be at that table in the town house, roaring with laughter—never again cold and cruel and solemn. Never again anyone’s slave or whore" (ACOMAF, page 497)

"You're my Queen,he thought fiercely. His body ached. She was his Queen. But with her family surrounding them, watching, there was nothing he could say or do to help her" (Daughter of the blood, page 360)

"My equal in every way; she would wear my crown, sit on a throne beside  mine. Never sidelined, never designated to breeding and parties and child-rearing. My queen." (ACOMAF, 598)

"He caught her wrists, holding her off with an ease that made her scream. He hit the Black shields on her inner barriers hard enough to make her work to keep them intact, but they wouldn't keep him out for long." (Daughter of the blood, page 302)

"My innate talents allow me to slip through the mental shields of anyone I wish, with or without that bridge—unless they’re very, very strong, or have trained extensively to keep those shields tight." (ACOMAF, page 59)

At some point Daemon is even called Jaenelle's mate:

"He’s here! Jaenelle’s mate is finally here!  Daemon felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him" (Heir to the shadows, page 117)

His position and title of highlord is parallelled a lot by how Saetan is decribed:

"High Lord of Hell, the Prince of the Darkness, the most powerful and dangerous Warlord Prince in the history of the Blood" (Daughter of the darkness, page 266)

"For what it’s worth, I’m the most powerful  High Lord in Prythian’s history" (ACOMAF, page 145)

Moving on to other similarities, Ebon Askavi, known as the black mountain or "the keep", who is put as a sanctuary, keeping a library containing the history of the blood, matches the form in which the house of wind is developed in sjm's books, with the palace also being embedded into a mountain. The Keep is a safe place where the high lord of hell reserves for the demon dead to rest, same as Rhysand turning the library into a home for the priestesses. And the whole Bryaxis situation? A creature who lives in the pit of the library? Well, Ebon askavi used to be the home of the prince of dragons: Lorn, who guess what? Used to reside beneath it. Finally, Bishop literally describes the palace as the place where "The winds meet".

"Saetan limped across the empty courtyard to the huge, open-metal doors embedded into the mountain itself, rang the bell, and waited to enter the Keep, the Black Mountain, Ebon Askavi, where the Winds meet. It was the repository for the Blood's history as well as a sanctuary for the darkest-Jeweled Blood. It was also the private lair of Witch" (Daughter of the blood, page 59)

"Draca led him through the corridors of  Ebon Askavi  toward a large stairwell that descended into the heart of the mountain." ( Daughter of the blood, page 431)

“Her throat closed at the surge of memories and at the sprawling view—the glimmering ribbon of the Sidra far below, the red-stoned palace built into the side of the flat-topped mountain itself." (ACOSF, page 49).

“I made this library into a refuge for them. Some come to heal, work as acolytes, and then leave; some take the oaths to the Cauldron and Mother to become priestesses and remain here forever" (ACOWAR, page 212)

"She still served the Keep itself, looking after the comfort of the scholars who came to study, of the Queens who needed a dark place to rest" (Daughter of the Blood, page 61)

"—  Who was here before them?

  —  A few cranky old scholars, who cursed me soundly when I relocated them to other libraries in the city. They still get access, but when and where is always approved by the priestesses.” (ACOWAR, page 213)

“There is a creature beneath the library. Do you know it?

Amren shut the book.

— Its name is  Bryaxis.

— What is it.

— You do not want to know, girl.” (ACOWAR, page 452).

"Mother Night, Saetan — Geoffrey said, his breathing ragged.  — The Keep is his lair.

He's been here all the time.

He hadn't expected Lorn to be so big. "(Heir to the shadows, page 476)

As for Amren being a unknown creature who was tuned into a faerie and lived centuries before everyone else? Same thing as Draca. She lived by the time Dragons ruled the world and was later turned into something "human", assisting the high lord of hell:

"When only the Queen and her Prince, Lorn, were left, the Queen bid her Consort farewell [...] When the last scale fell from her, she vanished. Some stories say her body was transformed into some other shape, though it still contained a dragon's soul" (Heir to the shadows, page 375).

  "— Why won’t Amren go in here?

  —  Because she was once a prisoner.

  — Not in that body, I take it.

   A cruel smile.

  — No. Not at all.” (ACOMAF, page 185)

"Spiraling? — Geoffrey thought for a moment and shook his head. — No, but that doesn't mean it can't happen. Ask Draca. Compared to her, you're still in the nursery and I'm just a stripling." (Daughter of the blood, page 243)

"In the countless millennia they had existed here in Prythian, Rhys—Rhys with his smirking and sarcasm and bedroom eyes ...And Amren was worse. And older than five thousand years." (ACOMAF, page 145)

"When they had first arrived at the Keep, Lucivar had given him a cryptic warning: Draca is a dragon in human form.The moment he’d seen the Seneschal, he’d understood what Lucivar meant. Her looks, combined with the feel of great age and old, deep power, had fascinated him." (Queen of the darkness, page 252)

"Because even though the short, delicate woman looked like High Fae … as Rhys had warned me, every instinct was roaring to run. To hide. [...] But Amren’s eyes …Her silver eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen; a glimpse into the creature that I knew in my bones wasn’t High Fae. Or hadn’t been born that way."  (ACOMAF, page 158)

"Draca asked. Her unblinking reptilian eyes revealed nothing" (Daughter of the blood, page 431)

You can also find some of the names of characters and places of Anne Bishop's books in Sarah J Mass ones. For instance: Sarah admited Prythian was a trick on Pryddain from the chronicles of Pryddain but that she couldn't put the original name because it belonged to Phillip Alexander, so she choose Prythian. But one of the high priestesses in Bishop's trilogy is indeed named Prythian.

"Prythian, Askavi's High Priestess, couldn't leash his temper enough to serve witches he despised" (Daughter of the blood, page 16)

If you look at the titles of some of the TOGs books, you realize they are alike Anne Bishop's as well:

The thing is: where do we draw the line when it comes to inspiration in books? It's common to have some similarities between author's works, however, to have that many in lines, places, plots, on top of races and characters who are nearly identical to the ones someone created fourteen years before you? I don't know.

I don't appreciate Bishop's work, in fact, I suffered a lot to go through the trilogy, for problems like: explicit sexual violence, mutilation, and worst of all grooming (Daemon meets his so called soulmate when she's a child, and he kisses her when she's 12), which literally made feel sick, but, is clear Bishop came up with a lot of things a long time before SJM did.

Because her series of books came out by the 2000, most of sjm's target audience doesn't know Bishop's work, making it very easy to avoid comparison. This is one of the reasons why this situation becomes a big problem, because most of her fans think SJM work is totally original, and that she came up with 99% of the concepts by herself.

Besides the black jewels, Sarah was said to have taking scenes, plots and quotes from other original productions/books, like the lord of the rings (which she's also a huge fan):

For example, The White Tree of Gondor and Kingsflame.

The White Tree of Gordon only blooms when the rightful ruler sits on the throne. Coming to later bloom in Aragorn's coronation:

"And so the kingdom of Gondor sank into ruin, the line of kings failed, the white tree withered and the rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."

Kingsflame, however, it’s a magical flower that first bloomed when Brannon arrived, proof that was a good king:

 "since those ancient days, only single blossoms had been spotted, so rare in their appearance that their appearance was deemed a sign that the land had blessed whatever ruler sat on Terrasen’s throne. (KOA 686)"

Similarly, the flower also blooms after Aelin’s Coronation:

Across every mountain, spread across the green canopy of Oakwald, carpeting the entire Plain of Theralis, the kingsflame was blooming. (KOA 984)

We also have the scene when Haldir arrives at helms deep:

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell.  An alliance once existed between Elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together. We come to honor that allegiance."

While Manon says this in KOA:

"Long ago the Crochans fought beside Terrasen, to honor the great debt we owed the Fae King Brannon for granting us a homeland."(KOA, page 693)

And don't forget, Aragorn saying:

"My friends, you bow to no one"

While Rhysand says this in ACOWAR:

"You bow to no one, was all he replied"

Don't forget, the conversation between Theoden and Gamling in the Two Towers movie:

"Theoden: Who am I, Gamling?

Gamling : You are our king, sire.

Theoden : And do you trust your king?

Gamling : Your men, my Lord, will follow you to whatever end.

Theoden : To whatever end... "

Followed by this conversation between Rowan and Aelin:

“—To whatever end? — she breathed.

Rowan followed her, as he had his entire life, long before they had ever met, before their souls had sparked into existence. —“To whatever end, Fireheart.”

We also have other examples, like treasure island:

"Look at you! Glowing like a solar fire. You're something special, Jim. You're gonna rattle the stars, you are!"  (Treasure Island-2003)

"You could rattle the stars," she whispered. "You could do anything, if only you dared. And deep down, you know it, too. That’s what scares you most. "( TOG page 385, chapter 54)

ASOIAF:

A quite similar phrase to "Queen that was promised" was used in GRRM’s ASOIAF,  where an ancient prophecy talked about a "Prince who was promised",  later it being reveleaded that they expected a boy, but the title was said to fall to Daenarys Targaryen (a queen). This is mentioned in " A dance of dragons" which was published in 2011. This prince is also mentioned as being “the Heir of Fire”.

"Westeros must unite beneath her one true king, the prince that was promised, Lord of Dragonstone and chosen of R'hllor" ( A dance with dragons, 2011)

"Perhaps it had all been for nothing. The Queen Who Was Promised" (KOA, page 121, 2018)

"He is fire made flesh, she thought, and so am I."  (A dance with dragons, page 949, 2011)

"Fire - he reminded her of fire made flesh."  (ACOWAR, 2017)

Harry Potter is added to list, as well:

Dumbledore: Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love. (HP and the deathly hallows, page 705, 1997).

Rhysand: Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don’t feel anything at all. (ACOTAR, page 418, 2012).

"Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light." (Harry Potter and the prisioner of Azkaban, 2004)

“Light can be found even in the darkest of hells” (ACOWAR, page 577, 2017)

The movie spirit:

Little Creek: Take care of her, Spirit-who-could-not-be-broken (Spirit, 2002)

Nehemia: I name you Elentiya, ‘Spirit That Cannot Be Broken.' (TOG, page 44)

Shadow and Bone:

The quote "like calls to like" explains one of the most important plot points in shadow and bone, the first book was published in 2012, and Sarah was mentioned in Leigh's acknowledgments as the person who gave her first review. She had used "magic calls to magic" before in throne of glass in 2012, yet the book was published in august, while Shadow and Bone came out before, in june. The principle of "like calls to like" in her books was mentioned by the time ACOMAF came out, in 2016, four years later. It was also used to describe attraction to objects of power, which follows Bardugo's concept.

Shadow and Bone: The grounding principle of the Small Science was “like calls to like" (page 113)

ACOMAF: The box—the Book—was silent. Then it said, Like calls to like  (page 350)

“The Grisha claims the amplifier, but the amplifier claims the Grisha, as well. Once it is done, there can be no other. Like calls to like, and the bond is made.” (page 130)

The movie troy:

"Menelaus : Prince? What prince? What son of a king would accept a man's hospitality, eat his food, drink his wine, embrace him in friendship, and then steal his wife in the middle of the night?

Paris : The sun was shining when your wife left you." (Troy, 2004)

“If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.

I said quietly, The sun was shining when I left you.” (ACOWAR, page 396, 2017)

The Land before Time:

"Some things you see with your eyes. Other things you see with your heart." ( The Land before Time 1988)

"Some things you hear with your eyes. Other things you hear with your heart."( Crown of Midgnight, page 168, 2011)

Mulan:

"Shan Yu: How many men does it take to deliver a message?

The other Hun: One.

The Hun proceeds to shoot one of the imperial soldiers with an arrow." (Mulan, 1998)

“But it seems like tonight isn’t really your night, Elide said to the ilken, lifting the hatchet again over a shoulder. The ilken might have been whimpering as she smiled grimly.—Because it only takes one to deliver a message. And your companions are already on their way.

The axe fell.

Flesh and bone and blood spilled onto the stones.” (Empire of Storms, page 455, 2016)

There's more to show about the black jewels, but this posts is already huge, so I'm going to finish by talking a little bit about her new series: Crescent city, which people already pointed out to be similar to another series she also talked about before: The Fever series by Karn Marie Moning, published in 2007. Now, I don't think is the same case as the black jewels, because crescent city does follow a much more different story, but is still have matching characters and main storyline.

Darkfever tells the story of MacKayla, a girl who seemingly had a perfect life. After the murder of her sister, she sees herself obligated to make an alliance with the mysterious Jericho in order find her killer, whilst exploring her sidhe-seer powers. Crescent city, on the other hand, is also about a girl losing people close to her: her best friend and her crush, then deciding to solve their deaths by teaming up with the fallen angel Hunt.

Mackayla is a sidhe seer, a person who can see fae, and ends up in the book series as their queen, while Bryce is half fae. They are both extremely attractive girls, who love to party and take good care of their appereance. Jericho, however, is a handsome, tough supernatural being who resources to Mac in order to find answers, ending up getting involved with her. Lastly, Hunt is a fallen angel, who needs to make sure Bryce cooperates with the investigation, and develops feelings for her.

"My sister's whole body had holes in it, Inspector! Not just her arms! The coroner said they looked like teeth marks! — Not of any person or animal he'd been able to identify, though.— And parts of her were just fora!— I was shaking. I hated the memory. It made me sick to my stomach" (Dark Fever, page 71)

"She knew in her bones it was not a hallucination, what lay on that bed, knew in her bones that what bled out inside her chest was her heart. Danika lay there. In pieces" (Crescent City, page 74)

"Grieving wasn't going to bring her back, and it sure wasn't going to make me feel better about whoever'd killed her walking around alive out there somewhere, happy in their sick little psychotic way, while my sister lay icy and white beneath six feet of dirt" (Dark Fever, page 10)

"Briggs planned to hurt people, and he deserved to be in jail, but—he’d been wrongly accused of the murder.Danika’s killer was still out there" (Crescent City, page 145)

"I think I just finally expelled the last drop of moisture from my body that wasn't absolutely necessary to keep me alive. And rage watered my parched soul. I wanted answers. I wanted justice.I wanted revenge." (Dark fever, page 11)

"She didn’t know where to start.But she’d do it. Find whoever had done this.[...] She ground her teeth. She’d find whoever had done this and make them regret ever being born." (Crescent City, page 164)

Once again, Hunt has the exact same appeareance as Jericho, and their personalities are also pretty much alike.

"He studied me with his predator's gaze, assessing me from head to toe. I studied him back. He didn't just occupy space; he saturated it.The room had been full of books before, now it was full of him. About thirty, six foot two or three, he had dark hair, golden skin, and dark eyes. His features were strong, chiseled." (Dark Fever, page 36)

"An angel who reason and history reminded him was an ally, though every instinct roared the opposite.Predator. Killer. Monster. Hunt Athalar’s angular dark eyes, however, remained fixed on the window. On Bryce Quinlan." (House of earth and blood, page 80)

"Hunt nodded once, his golden-brown face betraying nothing." (House of earth and blood, page 81)

"Then the male leafed through Quinlan’s thin file, his shoulder-length black hair slipping over his unreadable face." (House of earth and blood, page 81)

Darkfever presentd V'lane as a third character, an attractive seelie prince, who rules the Tuatha Dé Dannan, and happens to go after Mackayla as revenge against Jericho. In crescent city, there third main character is Ruhn, Bryce's half brother, and who is he? A crowned prince of the fae. And what is his last name? Danaan.

"Even today, after all that I've seen, I couldn't begin to describe V'lane, prince of the Tuatha Dé Danaan." (Dark Fever, page 134)

"Thinking she’d get a nice, sweaty ride with a Prince of the Fae, she’d be sorely disappointed. He was in no shape for fucking right now." (Crescent city, page 199)

“I got a phone call, Naomi said. From Ruhn fucking Danaan. He’s livid that we didn’t notify Sky and Breath about bringing in the girl." (Crescent city, page 96)

The scene where Hunt goes to watch over Bryce in her apartment follows the exact same patterns of the scene Jericho goes to visit Mackayla in her home:

"A moment later, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Right as her show began.She didn’t know the number, but she wasn’t at all surprised when she picked up, plopping down onto the cushions, and Hunt growled,

— Open the curtains. I want to watch the show.” (Crescent city, page 84)

"Someone knocking at my door awakened me [...] I glanced at my watch. It was two o'clock in the morning. I was sleepy and grumpy and didn't try to disguise it.

—Who is it?

— Jericho Barrons." (Dark Fever, page 40)

“Open the curtains.

— No, thank you.

— Or you could invite me in and make my job easier.

— Definitely no.

—Why?

— Because you can do your job just as well from that roof.” (Crescent City; page 184)

"Do you intend to open this door, Ms. Lane, or shall we converse where anyone might attend our business? [...]. If he was willing to trade, I had to open that door. Unless…

— We can trade through the door, I said.

— No

— Why not?

— I am a private person, Ms. Lane. This is not negotiable." (Dark Fever, page 41)

"His dark eyes didn’t so much as blink. Striking—that was the only word Bryce could think of to describe his handsome face, full of powerful lines and sharp cheekbones. — You can make this investigation easy, or you can make it hard.” (Crescent City, page 187)

" When I said nothing, he said softly — If you are not with me, Ms. Lane, you are against me. I have no mercy for my enemies.  

I shrugged." (Dark Fever, page 46)

So, I do believe SJM is the type author whose actions we need to discuss. Even if you see the whole thing with " The black jewels" is just an inspiration, you can't deny the fact there some exact lines of movies and books in her work. Plus: it's not just one quote or just one plot, but many.

If you ever try to read The Black Jewels trilogy you'll notice much more than what I brought in this post, and I do hope more people are able to research it. However, if you have any triggers regarding SA, mutil*tion, abuse, gr*mming, or torture scenes, I strongly recommend you do not read these books. They are not easy to go through, and the same thing goes to Dark Fever, although is a lot lighter.

Now, you can find more about the "Lord of the rings" and "Harry Potter" situation in here:

This is not a post trying to "cancel" sjm or simply attack her without reason. But I do believe we have to talk about her work and the problems with it, especially when it involves the work of other writers. If anyone has any more examples, or articles about this matter, quote this post with them if you can. I couldn't put more because you have a limit for tumblr posts, and it would be way too much. Anyway, thank you sticking here until the end.

#the dark jewels #anti sjm #anti acotar #anti acomaf #anti acowar #anti acofas #anti acosf #anti feysand #anti rhysand #anti cassian #anti nessian #anti sjmaas #anti feyre #anti inner circle #the fever series #anti azriel #anti sarah j maas #anti tog #anti throne of glass #lotr #anti tower of dawn #anti aelin #anti rowan #anti rowaelin

[ghostbutaliveidk]

HOUSE PET 1

Pairings - Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian x reader

Warnings - NONCON. Slapping. Degradation. Humiliation. Dacryphilia.

Summary - refer to the masterlist

Next part - HOUSE PET 2

The whole village was quivering with fear as soon as the news reached, even though there were not many chances that the High King, Shadowsinger and their General would visit it. Your village was an insignificant one, sitting on the very edge of the sprint court. The inspection of the Spring Court would probably start and end in the High Lord's estates.

So, you didn't expect to face any problems as you went to your little garden at the outskirts of the village, touching the woods and attended to the flowers.

You got on your knees beside a large plant of blood-red roses, touching the petals and grinning. It looked beautiful.

And then the colour seemed to fade.

The sun was shining, till it wasn't. Your back straightened as a sudden chill covered the field and the world darkened just a bit.

You looked around, a bit of fear making you stand and get ready to run.

Who was there?

You fisted your dress and lifted it just a little, preparing to run as you looked into the woods beside your field, into the darkness that had suddenly covered it and now seemed to seep out of it.

You took a step back, watching as the darkness became... something more, turning into smoke tendrils, and all of them seemed to be coming for...you.

Gulping down the panic, you turned and ran, your feet slamming into the ground. You ran and ran through the field. The village was too far away. You should have yelled for help, but running took all of your attention.

And then you made the worst mistake.

You looked over your shoulder.

Three male. Three winged males, covered with so much darkness, you could barely see them.

You knew who they were. You had heard the brutal stories of how the High Lord of the Night Court had managed to bring every court to their knees with his General and Shadowsinger and now ruled as the High King with an iron fist. They were brutal, vicious and cruel. They took what they wanted. Everyone was afraid of them. Their names were only ever whispered.

And now they are here.

Your foot hit a stone and you fell onto your knees. Tiny stones dug into your palms, tearing at them. You froze as you heard them land. No. No. No. No.

You took in tiny, shaky breaths, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Is this how you bow in front of your High King?" A manly, deep voice purred. You almost crumbled as you heard it. Would they kill you? "Adorable, I have to say."

You got on your feet, feeling shaky all over. You gathered your wits and slowly turned, curtsying deeply. "Y-Your Majesty." You kept yourself bowed, keeping your eyes on the ground, trembling as you felt their eyes running all over you. Your baby pink dress was a bit ripped, and your hair was a bit of a mess. Your hands still hurt.

"Lower," he commanded.

You lowered yourself even further.

"Lower."

You did, almost falling on the floor, your body trembling with the effort of holding you so low. Your legs hurt, but you willed your body to cooperate.

"The poor thing is trembling, Rhys," A smooth, mocking voice said, almost chuckling.

"Let her," the third voice, deep and dark, said. "She looks pretty trembling. Why don't you go lower?"

You tried, as expected, fell. You instantly got back on your feet and curtsied again. The three men chuckled. It made you want to curl up into a ball.

"Adorable," The High King said. "At ease, little flower. Don't want you to wither away just yet." You straightened. "Come here."

The command could not be ignored. You did as you were told, taking steps towards the three most powerful men in the world, your hands fisting at your dress, trembling with fear, You kept your eyes glued to the ground.

Scarred fingers cupped your jaw, turning your head up. You still kept your eyes down, looking at the blue stones adorning his black armour. He was a giant. He towered over you, making you feel tiny. Tendrils of darkness were wrapped around him, like a second armour. His wings stretched far and wide. You knew his name. Azriel.

"She is a pretty little thing," he said. "We're keeping her, Rhys."

Keep you? Your heart filled with dread. No. No. No. No-

"She does look like she'll be fun. A scared little thing," the other man said. He had red stones on his armour. Syphons. He was as big as Azriel, with giant wings. You didn't dare look at his face. You kept your head ducked. You knew who it was. Cassian.

The Shadowsinger turned you around, tugging you to his hard body. You gasped at the sudden contact, the warmth of his body pressing into you. The shadows around him wrapped around you, suddenly carrying weight. You whimpered in fear, hands trying to push the shadows away but they turned into nothing as soon as you touched them. And then they were tighter around you.

Azriel's one scarred hand cupped your chest, covering both of your breasts because of how large it was.

"No. No-" You tugged at his fingers with your hands, trying to push his hand away. He chuckled into your ear.

"She is fun," he said. "And soft." he slapped your breasts. You cried out in pain, jerking wildly. Azriel chuckled again, grabbing the neckline of the dress and ripping it, making you stand there with your breasts out and the rest of your dress barely hanging onto you.

You grabbed the shreds of your dress, pressing it back onto your breasts, softly whimpering, trying to get out of Azriel's grip again. "P-Please, let me go-"

The High King walked towards you, clad in clothes as dark as his soul. His wings were gone. He stood with his hands tucked behind his back, towering over you. He tilted his head down till his face was near yours. You hesitantly looked at his face, tears streaming down your face. "P-Please don't hurt me-"

His lips twisted in a smirk. "You look pretty when you cry." His giant hand wiped the tears off your face. "Open your mouth."

You did what you were told, trying to keep the sobs in. The High King chuckled watching your struggle. "Oh, you poor little innocent thing. So scared, hm? I can smell it." His thumb brushed your bottom lip. "Stick your tongue out."

"Please-"

He slapped your face, lightly, but it still left a sting. "Stick your fucking tongue out like a good girl or the next slap won't be as merciful."

You gulped down more sobs and stuck your tongue out.

The High King's General laughed, stepping beside the king. "She looks like a dumb whore, drooling over herself." He grabbed your hands, ripping them away from your breasts. He tugged at a nipple harshly, making you cry harder but you did not dare put your tongue back in. "Are you dumb little baby?" He grabbed your hair and made you nod as you drooled more on yourself. "We have to take her."

"Then let's take her," The High king said and your blood ran cold. He crouched till he was looking you right in the eyes. Those violent, vibrant eyes twinkled with amusement. "I have wanted a House Pet for a while. That neck looks too empty."

. . .

Next chapter - HOUSE PET 2

#rhysand #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #rhys #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel #dark fic #tw noncon #tw humiliation #tw degradation #degrading k1nk