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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 days

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Datura Pt 11

Summary: Returning to the Mountain brings up a lot of feelings and Reader tries and fails to keep them all bottled up.

Content Warnings: SMUT (I told you it would come eventually ;) ), a lot of dirty talk, suggestiveness, a little light bondage if you squint, as well as alcohol consumption and drug use.

Author's Note: I apparently have a lot of feelings about sitting in Rhys's lap, 'cause I wrote this Vamp!Rhys fic and this in the same week. I was gonna end it on an angsty note, but the miscommunication trope makes me want to rip my hair out, so I made it fluffy instead (they're adults they can TALK TO EACH OTHER like adults). Anyway, hope ya'll enjoy! As always, let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List, and thank you to everyone who likes, comments and reblogs, ya'll make me want to keep writing <3

Previous chapter/ Master list

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The music is a heavy pulse in your skull, drowning out all thought as the lights flash and flare overhead like dozens of fireworks in time to the beat. Your hips sway, flimsy excuse of a dress clinging to your thighs as you twirl and spin in time to the beat. Dozens of hands pass you a long, keep you spinning and spinning until the lights glitter like stars overhead. You throw your head back and laugh at the way they glitter and stretch along your quickly blurring vision.

Someone passes you another cup and you tip the contents back in one gulp, savoring the burn, relishing in the way it fills your empty stomach. You’ve lost count of how many glasses you’ve had, lost count of where the empty ones go as you move along with the crowd, let the press of bodies move you like an ebbing tide.

A cigarette gets passed your way, the violet smoke filtering in hazy rings around people’s heads like halos. Do you smoke? You can’t remember. Can’t think about why you should care at all as you bring it to your lips and inhale deeply, letting the mirthroot take hold.

This is the most fun you’ve had in weeks, it’s the first time you allow yourself complete unbridled freedom. There is nothing to worry about here but following the music and the flow of drink as the mirthroot makes your body loose and limber.

Strong hands settle on your hips as you take another drag, eyes closed, savoring the burn. You sway your hips under the grip, pushing your body back into the firm planes of the male behind you. You don’t have the presence of mind to be mortified, to think about the way you’re grinding on a stranger in the middle of this crowd of people.

Warm breath frames your neck, skittering over the golden collar still encircling your throat. “I think you’ve had enough, Darling.”

Mate. Mate. Mate. The words dance around the bargain mark on your ribs, heat flaring in your chest that has nothing to do with the fae wine or the mirthroot and everything to do with the fact that when you’d been dragged back into your cell, it had been empty. Empty and had smelled like her. And you’d thrown yourself against the battered door, claws slashing across the worn iron until they shattered from your fingertips, until you splattered blood across the unyielding iron, dark mist filling the cell until it nearly sucked the air from the room. You don’t know how or why the door held, why your nails couldn’t cut through the strange marks etched into the door; the only thing that was clear is that in retaliation for leaving, your fault or not, she’d taken Rhys and had left you alone in the dark. Days passed without word, without food, until the guards had come and thrown you into a room with the order to bathe and change and be ready in an hour and you complied only with the intent to go right into the Throne Room to rip her throat out with your teeth. But Rhys hadn’t been at her side when you arrived either, hadn’t been a face in the crowd as Amarantha declared to the court that you had slain the twins sent from Hybern for attacking their Queen. The crowd that days ago had been laughing at your plight as you’d been made to kneel on the floor like an animal was now cheering you on like a hero. Fickle and spineless; Amarantha said jump and they asked how high without question or reason. She’d left you to their whims after that and the wine had started flowing and you’d needed to calm the panic and rage swelling like a storm beneath your skin and had reached for one. One had somehow turned into two and then three and you’d lost count after that, lost yourself in the blissful emptiness and tried to forget how powerless you really were in all of this.

You turn in his arms and though he remains standing where he is, there’s suddenly six of him spinning in dizzying circles and you have to grip onto his shoulders to keep yourself on your feet.

“Easy,” he says, his grip on your hips firm.

You’ve forgotten just how big he is compared to you, how much of you he can fit in his hands. You're too far gone to stop yourself from wondering how those hands would feel beneath your dress, on your thighs, spreading you open…

“Easy,” he says again, nostrils flaring like he scents the effect he has on you like this.

Your hands feel like they're drifting through soup as you reach out to brush your hand through his hair. He’s clean too, skin healed, the clothes new and finely pressed. There is no lingering scent of incense, though you’re pretty sure the mirthroot you smell is on your skin and not his, he remains wholly jasmine and citrus. Nothing of her on him.

“You’re ok?” The words slur out of you, sound muffled and distant even as they come out your mouth. You need him to tell you he’s ok, that she didn’t hurt him, that he got called away for something, anything. He does other things for her, he brought in Tamlin all those weeks ago, he has other roles, but you don’t know how to make the words come out against the fog that rolls through your head. “You’re ok?”

“I’m ok,” he says with a nod. “Let’s get you some water.”

You shake your head. Water is somewhere near the tables and lounge chairs in the corner, somewhere she might be lurking, waiting for you to slip up, waiting for her chance to steal him again and you can’t have that. “Want to dance.” Want to dance and drink and forget; want to smoke and move and let the music erase everything that is happening around you so that the only thing that matters is the two of you. It’s an added bonus that if he dances with you then that means he keeps his hands on you, has an excuse to keep touching you. Gods you want more of that!

“Water first,” he says, giving you a little nudge backwards.

The move makes the world spin again and you giggle as you let yourself fall into it.

“Wow, you’re really drunk,” he says as he hauls you against his chest and half carries half drags you through the crowd.

“You’re strong,” you giggle. You can feel the muscles in his arms and chest tighten as he moves you around, his fingertips digging deliciously in your hips.

It’s by sheer force of Rhys’s will that you end up in a chair with a glass of water, that you take a single sip of and make a face. “Gross. Want more wine.”

A servant automatically appears with a glass beside you, but before you can grab it, or spill it given the way your limbs flop around, he snatches it off the tray. “Water first.”

You stick out your lower lip. “Why are you being so mean to me?”

He takes a drink out of the cup and suddenly the most exciting thing in the world is watching how his throat works when he swallows and the way the wine stains his lips. “‘Cause it’s fun,” he retorts.

You manage to get another sip of water down before you accidentally catch the glass on the edge of the table and spill it everywhere. “Fuck me,” you say dejectedly. In your state your first thought is to use your skirts to try and dry up the mess, but there’s not enough of them, the sheer fabric barely covering the tops of your thighs.

“You have impeccable manners,” he says as he reaches for your hands to stop you from flashing the whole room as you try and wiggle the dress up enough to use it as a napkin. With a snap of his fingers the mess cleans itself.

“Ooooohhh neat,” you run a finger over the dry table. “Can you teach me to do that?”

You’re too drunk to notice your mistake, but he says, “If you had any powers left, sure,” a little louder than necessary to cover you.

“Right,” you slur as you try to stand on shaky legs. “Well water was good, we dance now.”

He remains a firm wall between you and the dance floor. “Unless you can absorb water through your skin, you didn’t actually drink anything.”

“Had a sip.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Meanie,” you hiss.

“You’re very cute when you’re drunk,” he teases and the grin he gives you makes you want to stretch up on your toes and kiss him right there.

“You’re very kissable when you smile,” you return.

Rhys huffs a laugh and you think you might do just about anything to get him to laugh again.

“I’m always very kissable,” he retorts. “It’s part of my charm.”

“So make part of your charm dancing with me,” you press.

He grabs your hand like he might do just that, but instead, spins around you to claim an empty couch and pulls you down to sit in his lap so fast the world flips and twirls in a blur of pulsing colors that makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The wine rises up in your throat, threatening to come back out in a rush and you curl into his chest trying to find a way to make it stop.

“I think this is better.”

You squeeze your temples with your palms. “Make my brain stop spinning,” you whine. Maybe he’s right, maybe dancing is a bad idea.

Besides, he’s still touching you like this. More than touching actually. You’re situated in his lap, knees bracketing his hips, chest to chest, no collar around his throat to stop you if you wanted to put your lips to his neck. There’s not even a scar or bruise to indicate that it had been there, nothing but smooth, bronze skin and the teasing peak of his tattoos beneath his collar.

You brace yourself against his shoulders as the world stops spinning, suddenly very aware of how high your skirt is riding up and how strong the muscles in his thighs are between your legs.

He brings his hands to hold your hips again and you thank the Mother that you’re not so drunk that you’ve lost your inhibitions completely because the only thought in your head right now is how it would feel to grind yourself down on him.

“You’re very drunk,” he says lowly, his own gaze locked on the space between your bodies like he’s drinking in the way your thighs look around him.

“So?”

“So it would be wrong,” he retorts.

“What?” You move your hands to the back of the couch behind him, chest brushing his. There’s barely any straps to your top, the neckline a deep v that leaves your cleavage on display and you don’t miss the way his gaze tracks it as you lean in. “What would be wrong?”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip, staring and something stirs deep inside you. Claim. Claim. Claim. He is your mate and you want him to touch you, kiss you, claim you.

It’s the thought that makes you pause for a brief moment. Does he know your mates? Does he feel this growing need? This incessant longing beating from your rib cage that needs to be touched and held and claimed so deeply you forget what it felt like to be anything else? Is that the bond? Or the wine?

“Doing all the things I’ve been thinking about since the moment I had my lips on yours,” he says, voice barely a whisper, gaze still transfixed on your body.

You preen under the heat in his gaze, press your chest a little more firmly into his so that you can be nose to nose with him. The wine has certainly made you more brazen. “What kinds of things, Rhys?”

The hands holding your hips tighten, fingertips kneading the soft flesh hard enough to bruise and yet your whole body turns molten at that touch. It’s the delicious line between pain and pleasure, and after days and days of cold emptiness, the heat it sparks through your body is more addictive than any wine or drug you can consume here.

“Want this dress off you for starters,” he murmurs, full lips drifting down to dust over the straps clinging to your shoulders.

His words conjure an image in your mind of him leaning forward, pulling the straps down with his teeth, baring the full expanse of your body to him. You shiver under the mental image, hips rocking down against him.

“Want to mark every bit of you I can reach, so that no one dares touch you,” he continues, teeth scraping over your shoulder. “So that everyone knows your mine.”

His. The possession in his tone really does you in, heat building in your lower belly as you grind yourself down against the growing bulge in his pants. The scrape against your core makes your mouth drop open, groan falling from your parted lips. It would be so easy to come undone from this alone.

“Only mine,” he emphasizes, sucking a mark where your neck meets your shoulder, visible beneath that damned collar you can’t take off.

“Rhys,” you whimper, releasing your grip on the back of the couch to drag your hands through his dark hair. “Please.”

His lips move along your throat, teeth scraping your skin before sucking another mark into your sensitive flesh. He’s taking his time, just as he promised all those weeks ago on Calanmai. “Want to know what little noises you’d make for me, how you’d fall apart in my hands…”

You drag your hand from his hair, reaching for the straps of your dress to pull them down for him, hoping to spur him further into action, but he finally releases his grip on your hips to stop you.

“None of that, Darling,” he tuts. “It comes off when I say it does.”

To that point, when you try to rock your hips against him again, it's his glittering, obsidian power that pins you in place, a slither of darkness twining around your hips to hold you there, utterly at his mercy.

He chuckles when you whimper and pout, lower lip sticking out, tears welling up in your eyes, because it’s not fair that he’s this close, that he’s just a hair breadth away from where you need him most and he knows it. He can smell it on you, see it on every line in your face, and yet he won’t move to help you.

“Please, Rhys, please,” you beg. The need for him is unbearable, your whole body burning like it’s on fire, the only relief is the contact with his body. Your mate so close to where you need him most.

“Hogging the woman of the hour, are we?”

You hadn’t heard any approaching footsteps over the pounding of the base against the rock, the sudden appearance making you flinch as Rhys throws a warning snarl over your shoulder. It only makes the red headed male approaching chuckle as he comes to stand directly behind you. The cedar and cinnamon smell of him reminds you of curling up under a warm wool blanket next to a fireplace with your favorite book about vampires, something you like to do in nice Autumn weather.

Slender fingers drag up your spine, and in your delirious state, it makes you arch your back as you shiver under it.

“Eris,” Rhys purrs, but there’s an edge in his tone as he watches you move under another male’s ministrations. The sliver of his power around your waist tightens, the shadows slipping under your skirts to writhe against your flushed skin. He allows you to jerk forward, hips rocking right into the obvious sign of his own arousal, and your eyes roll back into your head at the contact.

“I can name a dozen males who would kill for a chance to be where you are right now, Rhysand,” Eris returns.

“I don’t share,” Rhys says and cauldron that’s all it takes for you to place your lips against his throat. He hums his approval as you scrape your teeth against his skin, hands threading into your hair as you nip and bite and use your tongue to cool any pain you cause him.

Eris plops himself down in the seat next to Rhys, long arms thrown over the back of the couch as he makes himself comfortable.

You can’t bring yourself to care about the audience as you nip at the underside of his jaw. He tilts his head back for you so you can reach more of him unhindered and you sink a little lower down on his lap chasing any friction you can find before the shadows tighten and still your movements again.

“Bastard,” you growl into his throat, but he merely turns his attention to the male next to him.

“You didn’t respond to my message,” Eris hisses. A glass of wine appears in his hand and he takes a slow drink. To any onlookers he’s merely enjoying the party with the High Lord and his nightly entertainment.

“What message?”

“Shit.” This conversation is becoming sobering, despite your best efforts to tune out the other male and focus solely on the pleasure just out of reach. All night long you’d been able to forget.

Eris gives you a sidelong glance that might have made you squirm under the intensity if Rhys hadn’t shifted beneath you to get a better look at the other male, hips brushing up against your center in a move that is definitely intentional.

“The one I gave her,” Eris snarls.

“This is the first I’ve seen her in days,” Rhys retorts, a hand stroking through your hair. “You know how to get in contact with me.”

Eris glances around at the dancers that move past for refreshments as he takes another drink. Only when they’re gone does he say, “So you didn’t tell her to kill the twins?”

You stop moving; stop thinking about Rhys’s body as the image of Dagdan and Brannagh’s mangled bodies flash across your mind. You’re suddenly a lot more sober than you had been moment ago.

Rhys brushes a mental hand against your mind and you flinch, head still tender from the beating it had taken trying to keep your cousins out. “Darling?”

The concern in his tone makes shame burn its way through your lungs. At the littlest thing he’s dropping everything to make sure you’re ok, and yet here you are, with no idea where he’s been or what he’s been through and you’re grinding in his lap like a horny teenager. What kind of mate are you?

“No I didn’t,” Rhys says to Eris, even as he makes another tender stroke against your mind, asking to be let in. “But I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“Do you think we can use it to our advantage?” Eris asks.

You don’t deserve how gentle he is with you, but you can’t stop yourself from lowering your shields just enough to let him in. He should know just how much of a monster you’re capable of being before he gets too close.

“Will you show me?” He asks and you open the doorway into the memory, keeping the conversation you’d had with Tamlin about him, the realization of what he is to you, out of reach. He deserves better than that.

Rhys strokes his hands in your hair as he watches the memory unfold, your body shaking in his grip as all that blood and gore comes into view. When it’s over, he closes the door in your mind and clicks the lock into place for you. “It’s over. You’re safe. You did what you had to do to survive, there is no shame in that.”

You press your face into his shoulder to hide the tears brimming in your eyes. You’re an ugly crier when you’re tipsy and you know if you start, you won’t stop.

“I think it’ll bring Hybern here quicker,” Rhys says to Eris, as he drags the fingers in your hair down to trace your spine. To an onlooker, he’s still playing with you, only the two of you know how often he’s traced these shapes into your skin when you wake up screaming in the dungeons. “Which can be played to our advantage if we’re careful.”

Eris takes another sip of wine, mulling it over.

“If Hybern can be convinced that our queen is acting out of her own agenda instead of his, he may just do our work for us.”

“A dangerous game,” Eris frowns.

“It always is,” Rhys returns.

It’s astounding how calm and level headed he can remain, always centered, even while everyone else rages and panics around him. How are you supposed to be his equal? To his calm there is only your spinning thoughts and unchecked temper. Everything makes you want to claw and rage and smash things; aren’t mates supposed to balance each other out? What do you bring him other than another mess to sort through?

“Well if you’re not going to share her, I’ll leave you to it,” Eris says as he downs his cup and stands, making a show of stretching, tight shirt rising up to expose the toned line of his abs to a passing cluster of male and female dancers.

Rhys chuckles at that, sliding a little lower into the couch, as he says, “She’s all mine.”

Is this all the conversation they can have? A few passing whispers? A few half-veiled hopes at a plan? Fifty years of juggling court masks and gathering allies and pushing pieces into place in the shadows while everyone else parties around them? It’s such a contrast to the world you’re used to that you can’t help but feel small inside it.

It’s only when he’s gone that Rhys asks, “Are you ok?”

“I thought being drunk was supposed to make me feel less depressed,” you grumble into his shirt because he’s pleasantly warm and you can’t bring your body to move from where you’re pressed into his chest.

“I think you passed over the threshold for that a couple drinks ago,” he replies.

“Take me back to the blissful void,” you whine.

“Well enough people have seen you here with me, I think we can slip away and get you into bed without causing a scene now.”

He’d pulled you over here on purpose, removing the shield of the crowd so people would see you with him, see you cutting loose, and when you disappeared they’d think he’d taken you to bed and not wonder if there was anything more to it, because his reputation was enough. That mask was so encompassing it could shield you too.

Rhys winnows you away and you can’t tell what end is up anymore, not until he sets you square in the center of a bed with black silk sheets. His room, as dust covered and bare as it had been the last time.

You groan as you fall back into the pillows, all the wine threatening to come up again as you try to keep yourself upright. This position allows you to feel just how wet you are between your legs, making you stop squeezing your eyes shut to look at the damp spot you’d left on Rhys’s pants. Not that he seems to notice as he peels off his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, getting comfortable for the night, even as shame makes your cheeks turn bright red. What is wrong with you?

“You need a bucket over there?” He asks.

You need to drink until you can forget what you’ve been doing all night. How are you supposed to look at him now?

You hear the clink of his belt coming off before he climbs into the bed next to you and you force yourself not to open your eyes and look at what he’s wearing to bed, because you’ve made a fool of yourself enough for one night.

“That last drink was a mistake,” you lie, because what else are you supposed to say?

His body is warm as he lays down beside you. “You played your part well,” Rhys encourages. “No one will think twice about where you’ve gone.”

You’re an idiot, but you’re not quite sober enough to think better of it as you ask, “Is that all this is? A game?”

Rhys uses a bit of his power to snuff the candles out, bathing the room in utter darkness. “It’s necessary-”

You roll onto your side, finally daring to look at him, as best you can in the dark anyway. “But is that all you want it to be?” You press.

He’d been laying with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, but at your words he rolls over too, so you’re once again nose to nose, practically sharing a breath.

“Wanting anything is dangerous, Y/N.”

“So all that you said earlier, about wanting me, that was just for show? This is just a mask?”

“It keeps you safe,” he says so low it's almost a growl.

“But it’s not what you want?”

“I can’t…” he shakes his head. “I can’t. The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me, I cannot want anything other than to get out of here.”

Your eyes sting and you’re glad for the dark, glad that it hides the tears welling up in your eyes. “I can play this part, if that’s what we need to fulfill this bargain,” it’s a concentrated effort to keep your voice steady, but you mean it. If this is all it will be, then you will have to find a way to live with it, because at least your mate will be alive. And maybe, if Amarantha sees anything like what you two had been doing tonight, then maybe she’d direct that anger at you instead of him. You could find a way to use it to protect him, the same way he’d used it for you.

He’s your mate, whatever you have to do to make sure he survives, you’ll do it. Even if it tears you apart inside.

“But please, just tell me that it’s not real, that you don’t really want me, so that I can prepare, so that I don’t overstep. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”

His pause feels like it spans an hour, the silence ticking away like a clock in the darkness. “I…”

You stamp down the hope flaring in your chest, it’ll be easier to deal with if he is up front that he doesn’t see you as anything but a means to an end. “What do you want, Rhys?”

He growls, the sound skittering across your bones as he throws an arm around your waist and crashes his lips against yours. “You,” he says into your mind. “I want you in any way you’ll have me.”

The ink on your chest warms, feels strangely like it’s glowing beneath your skin as the solid weight of him settles on top of you, pushing you into the mattress. You're a tangle of limbs and teeth, as he kisses you like it might be his only chance to.

You drag your hands down the sharp contours of his spine, memorizing the feel of him beneath your fingertips as his tongue slides behind your teeth to taste you. This is far better than any drug, no amount of mirthroot could ever make you feel this high.

“You’re ok with this?” He pants into your lips, finally coming up for air.

“More than ok,” you confirm and that’s all it takes for him to start sliding the straps off your dress, pulling the tight fitting bodice slowly from your body. The chill in the air is only a momentary discomfort before his hands and lips chase it away as he follows the fabric down your body.

Thank the Mother for the privacy of the room, that you hadn’t managed to get your top off like you’d tried to do in the throne room, because the noise you let out when he gets his mouth around your nipple is embarrassingly loud, whole body flushed crimson. You clamp your hand over your mouth when he does the same move on your other breast, or at least you try to, that slithering ether of power snags your wrist and pins it above your head before you can cut off the noise.

“None of that,” he hums into your skin, teeth scraping your skin. “Want to hear you.”

Cauldron he’ll be the death of you!

It’s his power that whisks the glamor away from the bargain mark so he can run his lips over the ink, tracing the flower petals and vines. “We should make more bargains, you look so pretty with all this ink.”

You huff a laugh as you scrape your nails through his hair, making a mess of it. “What kinds of bargains?”

He kisses lower, pulling the dress down towards your hips, following it again. “That you’ll let me taste you like this once a day for the rest of eternity,” he suggests as he lifts your hips to get the dress lower.

“I’m not wasting a bargain on that,” you huff, though you’re embarrassed to admit the way the suggestion makes heat pool in your core.

“You’re right, twice a day is more practical,” he says as he slips both the dress and your underthings off in one fell swoop. Strong arms wrap around your hips as he settles himself between your legs and you barely have time to draw a shaky breath before he’s running his tongue up your center.

“I-” all thought and argument eddies from your mind as your body arches under his ministrations.

“More than that, perhaps?” He teases, adding a finger to the mix, even as his tongue swirls through your quickly budding arousal.

Your hand in his hair tightens, pulling his hair as you try and guide him deeper. “Rhys,” you whimper. He feels so good; so perfect. Nothing else would ever compare; he’s barely touched you and you’re fully ready to come apart already.

He adds a second finger, stretching you out as his tongue flicks over your clit, the combination making your head spin. You screw your eyes shut as your body tightens, muscles taut as a bow string as your pleasure builds too fast to prepare for. He might still be talking nonsense about bargains but you genuinely can’t hear a word he says against the white noise tearing through your head.

Mate. Mate. Mate. It’s right where the flower-what did he say it was called? Datura?-sits over your heart that you feel the bond between your souls, like a tether of glittering starlight. It’s been there, faint before, just enough of a tether to let you feel a bit of him at the other end, but now it thrums with his power, like it’s searching for your own. A call like the one he’d sent out on Calanmai, and you can’t tell if he’s testing to see if you know it’s there, or if it’s you pulling on it, begging to be closer to him as your high crashes over you.

Rhys kisses his way back up your body, lips damp with your arousal. “You know?”

The disbelief in his tone brings you back to reality. Your shields had been down and you’d just…

You push yourself up on your elbows. “You knew?” You counter.

He brushes his lips over the bargain mark again, distracting himself from looking into your eyes as he says, “I suspected, before Calanmai, but afterwards, when I saw you for real, not just as a dream, it clicked.”

“You’d been dreaming about me?”

Another kiss on your heated skin, body relaxing under his touch. “For decades,” he whispers. “And I told myself that it was enough, that I’d leave it there, where you were safe and far away from all of this, but then there were whispers in the court about at a weapon Hybern was looking for. The more she had me look into it, the more my dreams started making sense, the better I could see you.”

You brush your fingers through the hair falling over his eyes, prompting him to finally look at you. “When she narrowed down that you were in Spring, she started sending me out on Calanmia to look for you, thinking it might mask all her hunters with those coming to the party. It was my only chance to reach you and I had every intention to get you to leave Spring.”

He catches your hand and presses a kiss to your fingertips. “I never meant to let you see me, but you were so scared and she decided to come out herself for the first time in years and I panicked. I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if she got her hands on you first.”

Your eyes sting at the confession. Your selfless mate, who through all these years of trauma, had still been willing to let you go without ever getting to see you if it meant you didn’t end up here.

“I swore that I’d do everything in my power to get you out, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away, no matter how much I tried to. You needed me and I… I need you.”

You’re not entirely sure how useful you’ve been to him in all of this, but you let him speak anyway.

“Not just this,” he says, gesturing to your bodies. “But for all of it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t want you to think you’re stuck with me,” he says. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

You sit up as best you can around the weight of him over you so you can grip his face. “I’m not stuck with you. I’m choosing you. I want you, Rhys.”

The disbelief in his eyes makes your heart ache and you lean forward to gently kiss the tip of his nose. “Not just for this,” you repeat, gesturing to your bodies as he had done. “Though it is amazing.”

He grins at that.

“And not just this,” you drag his hand over the ink on your chest. “But for whatever is beyond this. When it’s all over, when we’ve won and we’ve got her stupid head on a pike, I want to explore whatever comes next with you.”

He kisses you then, eagerly, a little less frantic than before, but with no less desire, the taste of your arousal still faint on his swollen lips. You lean back into the mattress, pulling him down with you.

“I know this whole thing is twisted and terrifying, but I want to walk with you through it. Together.”

“Together,” he confirms as you wrap your legs around his waist.

A new bargain mark zaps across your skin, over your palm, where your hands are intertwined, a twin to the one on his own hand.

“I still think I made an excellent bargain offer,” he says as you tug at the waistband of his boxers.

“You’re insufferable, Rhysand,” you laugh.

“I think the word you’re thinking of is insatiable,” he counters as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“That too,” you reply as you arch your back, the tip of his cock gliding through your arousal. It’s a little more of stretch than you're used to, but the line between pain and pleasure blurs as he slowly rocks his hips into yours, taking his time to let you adjust. He really will ruin anyone else for you, not that you’ll ever want anything other than this from here on out.

“Darling,” he purrs, or tries to, the groan he lets out as he fully seats himself inside you makes shivers run up your spine. “You have no idea how insatiable I can be.”

You rock your hips, prompting him to move, to match your rhythm, to fill and take and claim you as your body has been begging him to all night long. “I think you should show me.”

The laugh he lets out sounds more like a growl as he picks up his pace, one hand braced against the headboard to give him more leverage as he slides nearly out of you and slams back in. You cling to his shoulders, nails gliding over his sweat-dampened skin for leverage, his name a whimper on your lips.

The bond between you glitters, swells with all the affection and desire he feels for you as he shoots in down to you. For all the pain and trouble it had caused, you think you still you might have come out earlier on Calanmai, just to feel this sooner.

You whimper his name again and again as your high once again draws closer, your body white hot.

“I’ve got you,” he says in your ear and judging by the frantic rutting of his hips you know he’ll be right there with you. Together in this, as you will be in the rest of it. You let yourself fall, unrestrained, as pleasure washes over you, your mate giving a shout as he follows close behind. The two of you topple into the sheets, clinging to each other as you catch your breath.

“You ok?” He asks as you cling tightly to him, even as your body relaxes.

You nuzzle your face into his chest. “I’m with my mate, how could I not be?” Whatever tomorrow holds, whatever dangers lie ahead, you can rest knowing that you’ll be together for it.

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Tag List: @mariahoedt, @lovelydove, @twsssmlmaa, @sleepylunarwolf, @judig92, @willowpains, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @annnaaaaaa88, @myheartfollower, @uniquecolorwizard, @eternallyelvish, @waytoomanyteenagefeels, @lovemesomevesey, @localfangirl09, @isa1b2h3, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @slytherintaco, @iluvewman-blog, @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife, @kitsunetori, @lilah-asteria, @dianxiaxie, @msoldier

#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #rhysand x reader smut #Rhys smut #acotar smut #acotar rhys #acotar fic #my writing #my fanfic #datura fic #acotar fluf #UTM!rhys #UTM!Rhys x reader #UTM!Rhys smut

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 5 days

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the last part was so so so good 😊

stttaaahhhhpp you're making me blush, you're too sweet <3

#datura fic #my writing #asks

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 5 days

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I love how vamp! Rhys is slowly taking over people’s minds lol

Please make that little post a fic if you are able to. I’m a W H O R E for Rhys. I would let that male do things to me that are concerning to feminism 🙂

Feminism who? Morals where? I do not know either of them in the presence of vamp!Rhys, I am simply on my knees.

And as for the fic, ask and you shall receive my Darling! You can find it here

#vamp!Rhys smut

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 5 days

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Dancing With the Devil

A Vampire!Rhys x Reader Fic (because I am a SLUT for him) based on this post.

Content Warnings: Smut and blood, you know, typical vampire things.

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How you ended up on the dance floor in the middle of the Velaris Estate, being spun in dizzying circles by masked males as stringed instruments swell on a phantom wind, is anybody's guess. You think it might have been Nesta’s idea, but whatever schemes landed you in this dark, shadowy world is lost under the swell of music and rustling of skirts. You’re sure your friend is here somewhere, dancing her heart out, but the bodies clustered around you in a sea of dark lace and velvet make distinguishing anybody hard. She’ll find you by the end of the night, once she’s ditched her shoes and had a little too much to drink, for now, you’ll have to keep yourself entertained in one of the many options the party of the recently returned lord of the estate has to offer.

You don’t know much about Rhysand, other than the rumors that he came from very, very old money and had been away on the Continent while the Vampire Queen Amarantha’s reign of terror had ravaged the courts. He’s something of a local legend, always throwing these extravagant masquerade balls, the doors of this sprawling, gothic estate open until the sun begins to rise in the morning, without ever showing his face. He has to be here somewhere, directing the staff and making sure there’s no mischief happening in the locked rooms on the upper floors, but no one can tell you what he looks like, how old he is, any defining details. Honestly, realizing this was where you’d be spending the evening had been nothing short of a thrill. The war against the vampires had taken your father and left your older brother as heir of the Spring estate, he hadn’t let you out much to explore since.

Gloved hands twirl you around the dance floor again, the candlelight from the iron chandeliers overhead glittering like a thousand stars as you throw your head back and embrace the sheer weightlessness of the dance. It’s exhilarating and freeing, and you find yourself wishing that every night was like this. You’d thrive in this kind of freedom, no locked doors in empty mansions, no guards just to walk you through the gardens, only your wits and your whims dictating where you’ll go next.

The dance requires you to change partners often, so it is no surprise that a different, stronger set of hands settles on your hips as you come out of a spin and move into a more complicated three step. However, the tall stranger, with eyes so blue they’re almost violet beneath a mask shaped like a bat, is far better sight than the last male.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, and his voice is a lover’s purr, made for the darkness of a bedroom.

“Immensely,” you say as you chase him through the steps, one hand on his firm shoulder, other atop his own against your waist. It is unlike you to keep your hands firmly planted on a male’s body, even while dancing, even with your brother’s watchful eye far away. Better to be cautious than be accused of having wandering hands, but you can make an exception. Forget you have ever done anything else, because the male wears a corset to accentuate every muscle in his lean body, dark shirt beneath left half open to show off a swirl of dark ink on his bronze chest. Every piece of clothing looks like an open invitation to touch. He knows it too, grinning when your hand slides a little lower on his chest.

“You dance beautifully,” he praises, perfect teeth biting at his lower lip as he drinks in the plunging neckline of your gown.

You’re thankful that your own mask hides the blush dusting your cheeks. “So do you.” He moves with inhumane grace, so fluidly you wouldn’t be able to track every step if he wasn’t pulling you along with him.

Three more steps, then a fourth before the music begins to slow and he’s dragging your body closer to his own, large hand sliding over your hip to your lower back.

“Will you dance another with me?” He asks, warm breath fanning your face as he leans in to be heard over the swell of a harp.

You nod eagerly, anything for a chance to have those hands on you a bit longer.

Two dances turn to four, then six, until you’ve lost count entirely, the night slipping away from you. At some point, he asks if you want to stop and get a drink, and you might have said no because this was just too good an opportunity to pass up, but the mischief in his violet eyes make you think better of it. You soon find yourself pulled through the swirling of bodies that hasn’t let up all night, and into a darker corner of the room, where couches and chairs and tables line the walls for people to observe the dancefloor with a little privacy. Quite a few of the couches are occupied with couples embracing in the shelter of the dark, where there are few candles to be observed under.

There’s a couch in the corner, beneath a large window, moonlight streaming over the dark cushions that’s empty and your companion leads you right to it. In your defense, you are expecting to be plied with a little wine before anything happens between the two of you, so you are unprepared for him to slide into the seat and pull you right into his lap!

Heat flares in your cheeks, body awkwardly tangled in your skirts as he pulls your hips forward to get you situated atop his powerful thighs.

“What happened to drinks?” You ask, a little breathless from dancing and trying not to stammer under the brazenness of the display. You’re no blushing virgin, but you’ve certainly never been in this compromising a position in front of an audience before.

He brushes his nose over the column of your throat and places his plush lips against your skin, making all thought eddie from your mind.

“I intend to,” he says into your skin before he nips gently at your sensitive flesh.

Your whole body shivers, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Rhys,” he says as he kisses his way up your jaw.

Rhys as in…

As if he can read your mind he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin, “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?”

He hums as he scrapes his teeth playfully over your throat. The edges of his mask tickling your skin as it brushes against you, the contrast between his warm breath and the rough fabric sending a thrill down your spine. You should be absolutely mortified that you’re perched in the lord of the estate’s lap, but you can’t find it in you to care, can’t find it in yourself to do anything but settle a little more firmly against his body and let him explore.

“Mind reading is one of my many talents,” he purrs as his gloved hands slide over your hips, skirts bunching up around your thighs as slender fingers need the soft flesh of your ass.

You instinctively rock your hips forward, clothed core scraping over the budding tent in his slacks. The contact makes your head spin, makes you tip your head back a little as he sucks a mark into your throat. You’ll have to wear a scarf tomorrow to hide it from Tamlin.

“And what other talents do you have, M’lord?” You tease, because you’ve never believed in such magic.

“I think I’d rather show you, Darling,” he says, but his mouth doesn’t form the words, they’re an echo inside your head, as if they’re your own thoughts in his voice.

You still your movements in his lap; this is not the magic of witches or mages, not some clever party trick of the traveling magicians that often pass through Prythian. They say only Vampires can possess talents like this.

Rhys grins at you as the realization clicks into place, and whatever glamor had been used to hide his fangs slides out of place, canine’s glinting in the moonlight. You put your hands on his chest, firm, but there’s no heartbeat beneath your palms, intending to push yourself off him before he can sink those fangs into your throat, but his grip on you tightens to the brink of pain. Your bones feel fragile, brittle under his supernatural grip.

“Relax, Darling,” he instructs and a shadow of sheer, undiluted power brushes over your mind, freezing you in place. “I promise this will be pleasant for the both of us.”

“Let go of me!” You squeak, still trying to push yourself free. “Or I’ll start screaming!”

He chuckles, the sound of it skittering over your bones, and the dim candles nearby flicker out, leaving you only visible in the moonlight. A few of the couples nearby cheer excitedly, as if that’s some sort of signal.

“Here’s the thing,” he explains as he brushes his nose against the column of your throat again. When you try to squirm away, he only pulls you closer, lips hungrily tracing the pulse pounding in your neck. “I could go out into the woods, feed on some vagrants nobody cares about, spend my nights hunting for a warm body to take my fill of. But after a thousand years, the chase gets a little boring.”

A thousand years. Rhysand is a thousand year old Vampire?

“Why waste my time and energy, when I can bring a meal right to my doorstep?”

“Please,” you whimper, body trembling. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anybody.”

“I know you won’t,” he says, kissing your throat far more gently than somebody holding this tightly to you should. “That’s why I picked you. I know you want an escape from your life of locked doors.”

You still as he drags his lips along the edge of your jaw until he meets your ear. “Let me show you a way out.”

Your skin is sensitive there, his breath makes you shiver in delight, goosebumps prickling your skin. He can’t possibly know all this just by looking at you, he had to have been rummaging around in your head, probably while you were dancing. It’s an invasion of your privacy, and you should keep fighting for any chance to escape him, but there’s a piece of you that wants this. Tamlin will never give you a way out, the more you beg for your freedom the more doors he locks in your face, and if you go home in the morning, if you let him pick a husband for you, it will never be any different. There will only be more locked doors, only keeping a stranger’s bed warm, his house run, tending boys that will have more freedom than you’ll ever get just because they’re boys. You will be lucky if you’ll get to keep to your books and your sketches, lucky if you get to keep any hobbies at all that don’t include tending a house. You’re trapped in a cage no one can save you from if you don’t take this one key.

His fangs scrape over your earlobe as he nips playfully at it. “It’s an even bargain,” he prompts. “You let me feed, and I’ll show you a world of nothing but open doors, hmm?”

You’re a fool, and you’re pretty sure an agreement will damn your soul forever.

“Will it hurt?”

“Only for a moment.”

A moment’s pain for an opportunity of unbridled freedom. “It’s a bargain,” you say, tipping your head back to fully expose your throat. You shut your eyes though, unable to watch it happen.

“Good girl,” Rhys purrs and there’s a little tingle, like electricity in your fingertips and palm that makes you crack an eye open for a second to look at the black whorls that now cover your fingertips, up your hand and over your wrist. Some sort of permanent bargain mark.

There’s no time to ask about it before Rhys sinks his fangs into your throat. The coppery scent of blood fills your senses, mind spinning to comprehend all that’s happening as pain flairs in the muscles in your neck.

“So sweet,” he purrs into your mind. “Just as I’d hoped.”

He’s not letting up, but the longer it takes, the less pain you feel. The longer his fangs are in your neck, the warmer your body becomes. Your muscles slowly relax, pliant in his iron grip. When he rocks his hips, slowly, testing, you can’t help the groan that escapes you. Even as the last little rational bit of your mind screams in protest, your hips once again work over the bulge in his pants, chasing the heat budding in your core.

When he removes his fangs from your throat, he laves over the wound with his tongue, not letting a single drop of your blood escape. “I’ve fed on a lot of humans,” he whispers, “but none as sweet as you.”

You can’t seem to stop moving, chasing after the pleasure building quicker and quicker as you rut your hips against his. “What’s happening to me?”

When he kisses you, it’s the coppery tang of your own blood on his lips. “Vampire venom is an aphrodisiac. Makes feeding a pleasurable experience for everybody, wouldn’t you agree?”

The scrape of his slacks is delicious, makes you squeeze your eyes shut and move without thinking about how brazen you look, but it’s not enough. You need more. Need him deeper. Need him moving inside you with the same fervor he had when feeding on you.

“Need you,” you whimper and he kisses you again, one hand tangling in your hair, absolutely ruining the updo you’d carefully constructed hours earlier. The other slides under your skirts to find the hem of your underthings and he gives the elastic band a testing pull before he rips it off entirely.

You gasp in surprise into his mouth at the sheer strength of him.

The leather of his gloves is a cool texture against your bare skin as he drags a thumb over you and you rock your hips into his touch, desperately seeking more. He’d been right, this was definitely a more pleasurable experience than you anticipated it being.

Rhys breaks the kiss as he slides a finger inside you, and you throw your head back and moan unabashedly. You don’t truly have the presence of mind to look at the other couples nearby, but judging by the sounds coming from around you, you’re not the only one partaking of this kind of pleasure tonight. The cover of darkness and music shields your activities well enough, but perhaps there are more than a few vampires in Rhys’s court, and they won’t risk their own hunts letting anybody look too close in your direction.

Plush lips move down your jaw again, like he just can’t stay away from your throat. You’re inclined to let him bite you again and again and again just to feel like this for a little while longer. Heat and pleasure builds at the base of your spine, burning white hot through you as he slides a second finger in your wetness, stretching you out.

“All this for me, Darling?” He scrapes his teeth over your skin, not biting but marking you as he searches for the collar of your gown. When he finds it, he starts dragging it away from your body with his teeth, deft fingers untying the laces at your back to let the excess fabric fall.

The cool air against your flushed skin has you whimpering, eyes screwed shut as you draw closer and closer to the edge.

His fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes stars swim across your vision and you bite down so hard on your lower lip to keep from screaming you draw blood. Like a moth to flame, his lips leave where he’d been sucking a mark into your shoulder to lap the slight trickle of blood off your lower lip.

Maybe you’re wrong for it, but the sight is hot, makes you core tighten around his fingers, addicted to the way he craves you, as if you’re some sort of drug. You drag your hands down his chest, unclasping the last button you can reach before the corset gets in the way. You want to tear it off him and run your tongue over the firm planes of his chest, taste him just as he is you, but that will have to be another time. Your hands move lower, trying to find the laces of his pants around the bunched up frill of your skirts, needing more, unable to convey it around the white noise building in your head. It’s too much and not enough; the best you’ve ever had and you haven’t even cum yet. You’ve never felt so desperate for anything in your life.

He chuckles into your mouth at your neediness, hips rising off the couch to both tease you and give you the leverage you need to find the laces of his pants. You’re really not sure how you manage it around your skirts, how you can think about anything but the movement of his fingers inside you or all the filthy things he keeps whispering in your ear. It’s nothing short of a frenzy as you finally manage to get him free of his laces and guide him directly where you need him most.

He’s not your first by any means, but he’s definitely the biggest, and it takes a moment for you to adjust to his size. By then, the world around you could have been on fire and you wouldn’t have noticed anything but him. There is no orchestra playing, no music besides the sounds of his moans of pleasure as they mingle with yours, no thought but the two of you and how your bodies merge and join.

That white hot pleasure keeps building tighter and tighter with every thrust of his cock inside you, and you steady yourself against the back of the couch, chests brushing as you fight to remain steady. His fingertips will certainly leave bruises on your hips with the way he holds you.

You’re so close to the edge, dangling over the precipice, his name a prayer on your lips as he once again sinks his fangs into your neck for a taste. Release barrels through you as he moans into your bruised flesh, his own release not far behind as you slump exhausted against his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, body trembling as you come down from your high.

Rhys strokes a gloved hand over your ruined hair as you catch your breath. “I was going to turn you tonight,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But I think I want a few more rounds of that first.”

You huff a laugh into his chest. You don’t hate the idea. No part of your bargain said he had to turn you immediately. “Is that all vampires do? Feed and fuck?”

Violet eyes gleam playfully in the dark as he says, “Darling, you’ll have all eternity to find out.”

#vampire!rhys #vamp!rhys #rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader smut #rhys x reader #vamp!Rhys smut #vamp!Rhys x reader smut #rhysand acotar #acotar fic #acotar smut #my writing #my fic

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 8 days

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Thinking about Vampire!Rhys a little too much at work 🥵🥵🥵

But like????

•Vamp!Rhys that wears those slutty little male corsets, you know the ones I’m talking about don’t lie.

•thousand year old Vamp!Rhys that throws masquerade balls in his lavish mansion to attract unsuspecting humans, because why go out and hunt when fresh blood will come right to him?

•Vamp!Rhys that pulls you into his lap so you can straddle his waist while he sinks his fangs into your neck, because his little human pet should get some pleasure out of this too

•Vamp!Rhys who intentionally leaves bite marks above your shirt collar so all the other vampires in the area know you’re his and there will be hell to pay if they even think about trying to feed on you

Hold up I got more ideas, I gotta go write a fic brb

#vampire!rhys #vamp!rhys #rhys acotar #Rhys fic #rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader smut #ACOTAR smut #fic ideas #I’m having feelings

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 9 days

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I don't understand how people just Do things without daydreaming. like how are you not off in a silly little fantasy world rn

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 9 days

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 9 days

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Datura Pt 10

Summary: Stuck between a rock and a hard place, you realize what you have to do to ensure you and Rhys survive the Mountain.

Content Warnings: Character Death (not MC), blood and gore, canon typical violence.

Author's Notes: Sorry ya'll I got sick twice and then got hit with a massive case of writer's block. I think I rewrote this twice and stared at a blank Google Doc for like three days before I managed to get it to make sense. Thank you all for your patience! <3

Previous Chapter , Masterlist

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Every step back into the dark, the torches fewer and farther between, is both a relief and a pressing weight on your shoulders. Relief because you’re away from Amarantha’s cruel gaze, away from the leering stares of the crowd and your cousins; a relief because there’s a High Lord waiting for you to come back. You’d never admit it to him, but his presence is soothing, grounding--something you desperately need after the mess in the Throne Room.

The guards are in no hurry, unlike your initial removal from your cell; all four of them move in sync, having done this thousands of times. It must be a lot of work, tending to every person that Amarantha deems unworthy of her court--it has to be a lot, if the amount of locked cells you pass are any indication.

You keep your head to your chest as best you can around the collar, eyes pinched to avoid the constant change in lighting. They’ll adjust soon.

It’s because you’re focused on not tripping that you don’t see the guards ahead of you stop until you slam into the back of one of them. You reel backwards, expecting to be shoved or punished for the stumble, but the guards don’t react at all. They remain frozen, staring straight ahead.

A glance at the ones behind you to confirm they look the same; it’s as if time has come to a halt.

“Um, hello?” You risk waving a hand in front of one of their faces, fully expecting them to grab your wrist and throw you, but they still remain unmoving. Creeping a little closer, you can see the glazed look in their eyes, like they’re suddenly not seeing. One of them has drool running down the side of his face.

“They can’t answer you.”

You jump with a shout of surprise.

A female’s laugh echoes off the walls, footsteps approaching, though it’s still too dark to see where it’s coming from.

“Did you really think we’d leave you here with Amarantha?” Dagdan sneers as he comes to stand between the first two guards. He leans an elbow against one of their unflinching shoulders.

You can feel more than see Brannagh take up the spot between the other two guards at your back.

“You left with Tamlin,” you say. Maybe they really did get in your head and this is some terrible dream they’ve orchestrated to get into your memories. Despite the pain still throbbing in your skull from earlier, you check to make sure your shields are in place.

“The Throne Room sure,” Brannagh replies. “But the bitch is too busy having a temper tantrum to notice that her toy is even gone. By the time she figures it out, you’ll be gone.”

“Why? What do you want?” You ask, head spinning. They’d planned this. They’d riled Amarantha up on purpose to distract her from seeing them move you. They’d probably been in the guards’ heads from the beginning.

“As we told her,” Dagdan says, pushing off his perch to step closer to you.

You take a step back and bump right into Brannagh’s chest. Her bony fingers wrap around your arms and hold fast, her nails biting into your skin.

“Hybern wants you tested and ready, and I don’t believe for a second that you’re her submissive little pet.”

You focus on your breathing as pain prickles in your fingertips, your jaw, your powers itching to come out and protect you. One breath, and then another. You are in control here; you can do this, just like you practiced.

“Amarantha took my powers,” you say.

“And yet, you still reek of them,” Brannagh hisses in your ear.

“I think that’s sweat,” you retort.

Dagdan grabs the chain still hooked around your throat and yanks, cutting off your air supply as it jerks your head upward. “You think you’re really funny, don’t you?”

You gasp for breath as the metal digs into your skin. “I don’t have any powers!”

In the time it takes to blink, they’ve winnowed you away from the guards, out the tunnels, and to the lip of one of the Mountain’s cave entrances, where Tamlin remains waiting. The light is so blinding you throw your hands over your eyes with a scream that makes the twins chuckle in amusement.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Dagdan says.

Sunlight might as well be flames against your skin, the burning making tears stream down your cheeks, even through the protection of your hands. Amarantha would have been better off blinding you in one fell swoop, it would have been less painful than this.

Indifferent to your pain, or perhaps relishing it, Dagdan yanks your chain and drags you out into the sunlight for the first time in months. Brannagh drags Tamlin in a similar manner, the High Lord still silently following along. You’d imagined this moment a thousand different times, in hundreds of different ways; the feeling of sunlight, of the wind against your skin was foreign, none of your dreams could do it justice. And the crispness of the air, the lack of dirt and decay in your lungs, it was enough to make you fall on your knees and sob--you would have, if you weren’t still being dragged.

“We’ll get to the wall and Tamlin will show us the gaps,” Dagdan explains, though the High Lord of Spring gives no confirmation that he hears him. “Once we find a weak spot, we’ll put you to good use.”

You can’t let that happen. If they find out the truth, they will use it against you, and then Rhys is dead, but there’s no chance for you to make a break for it yet. Trying to keep up with the pace they set so you’re not being dragged is useless, it’s like trying to run and after being caged for so long, your body can’t keep up. The exertion and the heat makes sweat drip off your forehead, the collar around your neck slick with it as it scrapes back and forth against your skin. You’ve got no choice but to follow them until they get to the Wall, and maybe then you can find a way to get free of them.

The Mountain exit has deposited you somewhere in the heart of Spring, though you don’t recognize the blooming forest at all. It must be on the other side of the High Lord’s estate, where you’d never had reason to be. If Tamlin recognizes his woods, his lands, he gives no indication of it, his emerald eyes still glassy and unfocused as Brannagh drags him like a dog on a leash behind her. You’ll have to find a way to get him free of her before you break away from them, there’s no way you can leave him alone with her like that. Amarantha has already done enough to him, you can’t abandon him to Brannagh too.

They walk for a long time, following deer paths through the woods. Though they carry no map, it’s clear they’ve studied one before coming with the way they pick their way around. Brannagh complains about the mud the deeper you all go, but you savor every splash of it against your skin, relish every brush of bushes and vines and the faint song from birds somewhere overhead. It might as well have been a lifetime ago since you’d last touched any of these things, your world shifted to nothing but stone and rock. You’d savor this, stressful as it was, when you eventually have to go back into the dark.

Because you will have to go back.

Even if you find a way to get Tamlin somewhere safe, you have to go back to fulfill your bargain. If you run away now the magic of the bargain could very well kill you.

Dagdan slows as the path ahead splits in two directions and you lean against a large tree to catch your breath, the bark rough against your skin. The noise of your company makes a squirrel jump from its roost and run for cover a few yards away and you watch it with the fascination of someone seeing the world for the first time. How are you supposed to go back into the dark when all this sunlight and fresh air exits? How can you go back into the cramped space of that tiny cell, with nothing but the cold to greet you when there is this kind of warmth in the world? It’s not fair!

“It’s right, you idiot!” Brannagh snarls when her brother hesitates.

“No it’s not,” he counters. “The map said left.”

“It’s right,” Tamlin says, his voice lifeless and slurred.

The twins turn to stare at him for a moment, before Dagdan huffs, “You better not be wrong.”

Tamlin goes back to staring into the sky like he hadn’t heard the threat and you push yourself off the tree to get a better look at him. It’s impossible to tell if he really is just high and delusional or faking it at this point, but if it’s the latter, maybe giving the twins the slip won’t be so difficult. You try to shift closer to him, but Dagdan yanks you away before you get more than a step.

They’re separating you intentionally, it would seem, with Brannagh staying a few feet behind you.

You check your shields as you walk, then the glamor, just to make sure they hadn’t heard any of the plans in your head.

The sun is high by the time the four of you make it out of the woods and into a set of grassy plains that stretch for half a mile before it meets a shimmering wall of magic. At the right angle it's almost invisible, save for a faint pink hue. The closer you get, however, the more your hair rises on end, the more the air smells sickly sweet from the magic used to hold the barrier in place. You’ve never been this close to the Human Lands before, and even though the Wall veils it from sight, you know it's just beyond.

“Ugh,” Brannagh says, crinkling her nose as you all pass through the waist high grass. “I can practically smell those human pests from here.”

Dagdan runs his tongue over his thin lips. “I’ve missed the fun we used to have with our pets, don’t you?”

You shiver under the implication in his tone. You’ve never met a human before, but they sound awfully fragile from the stories and you doubt they’d hold up under anything your cousins could throw at them.

“How close is the nearest hole?” Brannagh demands.

Tamlin slowly turns his head from side to side, golden hair flowing across his temples as he searches for the right spot. “About a mile,” he says finally, gesturing with his chin to the left of you.

The Wall doesn’t look any different from where you stand, but you don’t know enough about the magic used to build it to dispute his claims. Neither do the twins, as they don’t question it, and drag the two of you along the path indicated until you reach the spot. It’s of no help though, because the hole in question is about the size of a fist, just big enough for you to crouch and peer into the forest beyond the magic barrier. It smells different from this side of the Wall, newer yet dead somehow, like there’s no magic at all beyond the barrier.

“I should have figured you’d be stupid,” Dagdan snarls. Turning to his sister he adds, “I told you he was too pretty for his own good.”

You bite back a laugh despite yourself.

Brannagh yanks on Tamlin’s chain like one would a misbehaving dog. “I didn’t think I needed to tell you that we needed to be able to fit through it!”

“Oh,” Tamlin says with a shrug. “Then it’s the other way.”

And so, you go back the way you’d come, and further, to the next spot, larger than the last, but still not big enough for any of you to fit through, to which the High Lord insists there are more if you keep going further. It’s very much the same answer at each spot you find, making you walk back and forth until the path back starts to blur in your mind and the sun begins to set. It’s too dark to go back, especially with the growls of things from the edge of the woods rising to meet you, so they tether you and the High Lord to a large tree while they collect firewood to make camp.

You sink down into the damp earth with a grunt, legs sore beyond belief. It’s been too long since you’ve been able to properly stretch your legs.

Tamlin slowly lowers himself to sit next to you. “There’s a lot of boggie in this area,” he says, not looking at you. He keeps his gaze in the other direction, focusing on some bright flower bushes in the distance. There is no slurring in his speech anymore.

“So this was on purpose?”

He grins, pleased with himself. “I’m not totally useless.”

“It’d be a shame if we accidentally caught its attention,” you muse. There is a fog starting to creep in, stealing the warmth of the day, hiding whatever monsters lurk in the depths of the woods.

“They’re not armed enough,” he adds. “It’d be quick.”

Too quick, but what can you do about it in the end? “Can you get us unchained?”

“I think," he replies with a wince. “You still got claws you can use, just in case?”

“Me?” You say with feigned ignorance.

He risks a glance to where the twins are bickering about something in the tree line. “You don’t think I believe Rhysand wants something to do with you out of the goodness of his black heart, do you?”

You bristle at the words, fangs threatening to slip out. How dare him!

“He clearly means to use you for something, and after that fight with the chimera, I think it’s pretty obvious that he wants to wield you like Hybern did your mother.”

“It’s not like that,” you snarl. Rhys is nothing like Hybern!

“Isn’t it?” He hisses. “Let me guess, he tried to befriend you, acted all concerned about your powers being untested and untrained? He offered to help you get a handle on them, makes sure to run you through all the steps because he’s concerned about your well being?”

He doesn’t let you get a word in before he adds, “He did the exact same to me.”

You run a hand absently over the bargain mark. Rhys was many things but he'd never stoop so low as to use someone like that. It's unthinkable.

“And when I realized how he’d manipulated me, when I stopped giving him exactly what he wanted, do you know what he did?”

You watch the twins continue their argument into the darker parts of the edge of the woods to avoid looking at him.

“He killed my parents, my brothers. I am the only one left.”

That couldn’t possibly be true!

“Rhys gets what he wants, or he makes your life a living hell for it,” Tamlin snarls. “He’s just as bad as she is, he’s just better at hiding it.”

You've managed to reign in your temper until that point. “That’s not true!” You snarl. “He’s nothing like her!”

Tamlin huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “He’s really got you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he? I bet the second you get out of here and away from them you’d run right back to him.”

You stiffen, not because it’s not true, but because all day the only thing you’ve been thinking about is how you don’t want to go back. Selfishly, greedily, all you could think about was how unfair it was to have to go back, you hadn’t once thought about him.

“He’d do the same for me,” you whisper, hand pressed tight to the bargain mark because you know he would. Without a thought for how long he’d been underground, without a thought for how unfair it was that he couldn’t keep his freedom, he’d come back for you, fight for you. How could you be so selfish and abandon him, bargain or not?

“You can’t be serious,” Tamlin replies. “Why would he come back for you?”

The ink is warm on your skin, a living, breathing thing that doesn’t just mark you, it’s part of you. Part of him. It’s a living tether that flows between your souls, ties you together. It’s him, but it’s you, it’s…

The realization slams into you like a brick. You’d known it too, that morning when Amarantha had taken your powers, something had shifted into place and you hadn’t been able to place it. “Because,” you stammer as you brush a mental hand against that tether, the one that had linked your minds together from the start, that had allowed him to reach for you on Calanmai all those years ago. It had been so easy for him to find you, not because of his powers, but because of what was already there. “Because he’s my mate.”

Mate. Rhys was your mate. It was as if all your questions had clicked into place, why you were always so eager to be near him, and him you, why he’d been so back and forth in the beginning. He was your mate.

Tamlin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause those are titles that mean anything.”

Shit. Your eyes go to Amarantha’s mark on his chest. “I’m sorry for everything she’s done to you.”

He growls, eyes flashing. “Bonds mean nothing. They’re just a way to make us animals that need to breed. They don’t guarantee protection or affection, it might as well be another collar.”

You glance over to where you’d last seen the twins. “So when they’re gone, will you fight her?”

“No,” he says. “I mean to disappear into the Human Lands and not look back.”

“But you can help stop her!” You persist.

“No one can, she’s too strong,” he returns, eyes now flicking to some noise his keen ears hear in the woods beyond you. “And if you’re smart, you’ll go too.”

You’d left your mate with Amarantha. “I can’t do that.”

He shifts so he can get a solid grip on your chains. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

There’s little time in between the moment he starts yanking on the chains, the branch they’re tied to groaning in protest, and the point when Brannagh starts screaming as whatever monster Tamlin had heard approaching finally makes itself known. You know the stories of the monsters Amarantha had unleashed on the courts, but you’ve never seen them for yourself, you have no idea what to anticipate. And truth be told, you’d rather not stick around to learn the truth. You help Tamlin grab the chains and pull until the tree starts to bow and bend under the strain. The chain is rough against your skin, tearing at your palms, but you grit your teeth and plant yourself firmly into the ground as you tug. Between the two of you, it doesn’t take long for the branch to snap off, the tree swinging wildly back and forth as the broken piece of wood goes flying through the air. Your chain slips free, flapping in the wind like a scarf as Brannagh continues to scream.

Tamlin doesn’t stick around to see if they’re being eaten or not, as soon as he’s untangled from the branch, he takes off in a sprint back towards the Wall, to whatever hole is big enough for him to escape through and into the Human Lands. You want to be mad at him for being a coward, but truth be told, you can’t. After all Amarantha has put him through, you hope he can find peace.

You hear Dagdan draw his sword behind you, hear the metal clang against something with claws, but the woods are shrouded in the fog now. Brannagh's armed as well, maybe they’re strong enough soldiers to make it out alive. You’re not going to stick around long enough to find out.

You’re used to the dark, it’s comforting to have nothing but the stars overhead. It had felt like a disadvantage before, but now, now it feels like home. You take off in a full sprint, holding the length of your chain in your hand to keep it from rattling too hard and attracting attention. Tree branches and vines slap at your arms, face and legs as you run, not daring a glance back, and it doesn’t feel all that different from the dream that brought you out on Calanmai, though a few flowers leading the way would have been appreciated this time. You’re moving on instinct more than anything, back the way that feels right.

Soon you stop hearing Brannagh’s screams, though you’re not sure if that means they’re dead, or if they’ve won. You push yourself as fast as you can go, lungs and legs burning in earnest now. You’ve got to make it back, you can’t get caught out here.

The Spring Court is a blur as you find the fork in the road you’d come to earlier and tear down the deer path that should lead you back to the Mountain. Distantly, over the sound of your own ragged breathing, you can hear something moving overhead, a distant flapping sound that’s far too heavy to be a bird. Nothing ever comes into view though, so you do your best to stay in the shadow of the bigger trees as you push through the underbrush.

Cauldron you’re out of shape! You can’t help but stop, hands on your knees, gasping for breath. Sweat drips off the ends of your hair as you bend over, struggling to get your breath back. When this is all over, you’ll take up running, you vow to the Mother.

Time's a ticking thing in your head and you force yourself to keep moving, even if you have to walk until you can breathe evenly again. A couple of steps is still movement in the right direction, still keeps some distance between yourself and whatever threats remain behind you. There’s a clearing up a head that you’ll need to be quick to get through unseen by whatever is flying around above you, you take care to get your breathing under control by the time you make it to the edge of it, and then sprint as fast as your legs can carry you.

It’s not fast enough. Something rock solid and incredibly fast slams into you from behind, sending you flying into the muddy earth with a breath stealing thud. Something with claws drags you up by the back of the neck, laughing, the sound a horrible wheeze of breath that makes your blood run cold. The Attor.

“Look what we have here,” it leers.

Your legs dangle off the ground, body limp in its clawed grip. “Let go of me!”

Darkness ripples in front of you, twisting like a vortex as it spits out the Evil Queen, fire wreathing her claw tipped hands.

Shit shit shit.

She sharpens the flames into points, like twin swords in her hands and she stalks towards you, snarling.

“Wait! Wait!” You plead.

“SILENCE!” She booms. “I’ve had enough out of you, you stupid little brat!”

You twist desperately to get out of the Attor’s grip, but it remains unmoving. If you can’t fight your way out, you have to be smart about this. “My Queen please, let me explain!” You can do this. You can make sure you get back to your mate in one piece, and maybe buy Tamlin the time he needs to escape. You all deserve to be free, there are no exceptions.

The playcatting makes her pause at least, so in a rush you say, “My cousins did something to my guards on the way back to my cell and they winnowed me out before I could even yell for help. I swear I wasn’t trying to escape.”

“Liar!” She snarls, but she doesn’t move any closer.

The Attor’s grip on your neck is bruising, makes your collar bite into your skin hard enough to draw blood. “They led us right into a bunch of boggies and I came back looking for help. Please, you have to save them, I think Tamlin is hurt!”

Invoking her mate makes all her reservations fly out the window. “Where is he?”

“I can take you there,” you say.

Maybe you’ll fulfill your bargain right here and now and let her own monsters finish her off, or maybe there will be such a mess you can convince her that Tamlin’s dead and it’s no use looking for him. One way or the other, you’re buying yourself time, so you take them back the way you’ve come.

Cauldron it feels like your legs are made of bricks by the time you stumble back into the woods. It’s a mess of gore and blood by the time you get back, Dagdan’s broken sword clutched in a hand detached from the rest of his mangled body. You vomit into the bushes when you see what’s left, what you and Tamlin have left them to.

Amarantha goes through the gore, kicking over the corpses of the monsters, searching for any sign of Tamlin among the bodies. You know there’s none, but there’s barely enough of Brannagh to identify, so you say, “Mother’s tits he was right here with them!”

The Queen remains rooted in a pool of blood for a long time before she throws her head back and roars so loud leaves fall off the trees. “My mate!” She wails. “My mate!”

You turn away like you can’t bear to look any more and truth be told, you can’t. Is this what you’ve become? You let them walk right into this trap without remorse, without a second thought, and they were dead. Horrifically, irreversibly dead. Their bodies as mangled as the chimeras you’d killed in the Pit, as mangled as if you had done it with your own claws. This was what you had been worried about in the beginning, this lack of hesitation, this easy decline into the monstrous death goddess your father wanted you to be.

And you’d do it again. It was not a question, you feel the surety of it in your soul. For your mate’s freedom, to fulfill this bargain and to be free, you’d do it again with no hesitation. You would play the monster over and over again.

“I do not smell him here, My Queen,” the Attor says as he sniffs around the bodies.

If his nose is that good he’ll be able to scent his tracks right through the gaps in the Wall. If she finds out he ran from her she’ll never let him have a moment of peace again.

“If he got away, where would he go?” You ask, pretending to look around for tracks. How long would it take for his scent to fade? How much time can you buy him with the Attor sniffing around like a bloodhound?

“He would come back to me,” Amarantha snarls. “My mate would come back to me, he would know better than to go anywhere else!”

“But if he was injured, maybe he’d go to his manor first, for aid?”

Amarantha’s eyes are wild as she nods, panic clouding her judgment. Good, you can use that. “We should head that way, see if he collapsed on the way maybe?”

Her eyes narrow. “Yes, yes I should. You, little mouse, are going right back to your cell.”

Back to Rhys. It’s an effort not to run your hand over the bargain mark, as if touching it might open the bridge in your minds so you could at least feel him at the other end of it. It’s the Attor’s sniffing that keeps you from acting on your impulses. Could bonds smell? You think they might. You have to be careful, have to play up the roll you’ve stepped into to ensure that no one is looking too closely at your motives. You’ve already gotten two people killed tonight, have already been stripped of all your dignity and agency, what is a little more? You throw yourself onto your knees, trying not to think about the blood and gore seeping into your skirts, feigning panic. “Please, please, My Queen, don’t lock me back up again. Please! I want to be useful, I want to make up for my mistakes. Please!”

“You’re wasting my time!” She growls.

The Attor grabs you by the neck again as she motions for him to follow, your skirts dragging through the gore as they set off in the direction of the manor. Despite her threats, she lets you be dragged along as she scours the ground for any signs of Tamlin. There’s none of course, but by an extreme stroke of luck, there is a wounded boggie crawling its way up the hill ahead of you, its blood trail hiding Tamlin’s lack of footprints. By the time it’s dispatched and she arrives back at the manor, the sky is starting to change colors, and you’re trying not to nod off.

Amarantha rips the doors off the manor when she finds it empty. “He can’t be dead! I’d feel it!” She insists to no one in particular.

The stone steps leading into the house look comfortable enough to curl up on and sleep. You give yourself a little shake to clear the thought away as the Attor says, “I’ll try and get a view from above, My Queen.”

Good, he won’t be able to scent Tamlin from the sky and he won’t be able to see him through the wards on the Wall. You’ve bought him a couple hours, you can do nothing but hope that it’s enough.

“Don’t return to me until you’ve found him,” Amarantha orders.

You’re swaying on her feet when she grabs your arm and snarls, “If I find out you delayed my search in any way I will make you wish you were never born.”

You nod, “We’ll find him, my Queen.”

She winnows you both, the empty swirling vortex flying past you before it deposits you back outside the mouth of one of the many caves. Dozens of guards are waiting, more chains in hand. Your hands shake at your sides at the sight of them.

You draw a breath, forcing yourself to not look at them as they approach. You were never really free anyway, none of you would be until she was dead and this Mountain was rubble. “What will you tell my father?”

One guard grabs the end of your chain, the other clamps a pair of binders on your wrist. But Amarantha grins as she says, “I’ll tell him they foolishly crossed you.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“Then it’ll be our little secret, won’t it, pet?”

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

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