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OCTOBER + NOVEMBER TDM.
● ● ● T D M . 0 4
… What are you willing to do to erase your regret from existence?
These are the words that ring in your ears, as a slowly growing red glow surrounds you in this dreamspace, filling you with an acute sense of dread — and whatever it is that you’ve just agreed to might have changed everything forever.
It is this sense of dream that startles you awake, and as it fades, and your heart begins to slow into something resembling your normal tempo, you'll notice something you should have picked up on immediately: you are not in your bed.
1.0 White walls, clinical yet clean, sparsely-furnished rooms. You may wake in one of three rooms: a room with only one bed, a room with two beds, or a room with four beds. Those waking up in rooms with more than one bed notice that they are not alone. Perhaps the other occupants of the room are still sleeping, dreaming the same dream as you just did, or a regular one after returning to the station just barely a week ago … or perhaps you wake up to the other person in the room watching you.
What you do is entirely up to you: yelping in surprise when you wake to someone staring at you is always an option. Or maybe you’ll try to sneak away before anyone notices you...
2.0 Those with life-threatening injuries will find themselves waking up in the infirmary, in a regular hospital bed. Most of their injuries have been treated, and any lingering illnesses or conditions will have designated medicine bottles on the table next to the bed.
White curtains surround the bed on both sides, providing an illusion of privacy. But is that a rustling sound you hear? A set of footsteps? Perhaps you’re not the only one in need of some medical attention.
In fact if you’re very badly off, you might want to hold out hope for some company - you can’t stay in the infirmary forever. You'll have to make your way through the hallways of the station to the living quarters, and claim a room and a bed there.
Once upright, you might notice something in your ear: an earpiece that, when you become aware of it, quickly runs you through the instructions for how to use the network, a recorded message by a female voice that explains exactly why you’re here… and leaves you with a map of the station.
So what else is there to do but to explore, right? Best get to know your way around your new home.
3.0 When trying to decide where you go, you might find your way to the armory, where you can make attempts to work the machine and create a weapon for yourself — maybe replace the one that didn’t come with you to the station ... or maybe you decide to prepare something for the future. Any recently-returned team members will surely recommend having a functional weapon with you.
And speaking of weapons: why not put them to the test and head over to the training room, where the entire purpose of this space is to provide you with opportunities to spar and train to your heart’s content!
4.0 After you’ve exhausted yourself from training, your stomach will prompt you for something to eat. For that you should head to the kitchens and the mess hall, which is equipped with all the basic appliances you might need, along with some more unusual ones (including an ... interesting-looking waffle maker and popcorn machine), as well as ingredients for most generic Earth-based dishes. For some reason, there are also some bags of now-cold popcorn left abandoned over the counters.
5.0 A welcome reprieve to the cold, dark space that surrounds you can be found in the sunlight room. A skillful illusion builds up around anyone who steps inside the room: you can hear the trilling of birds, feel a light breeze caress your skin as you walk through a grass field. The illusion has been programmed to reflect the seasons — the leaves in the trees are currently bright with all the colours of autumn: orange and red and yellow; and the air is crisp and clean. If you follow the path, you'll be led to a bridge rising over a sparkling, babbling brook, a few fallen leaves floating on the water and falling around you like very bright raindrops.
Here, it's easy to forget (for a moment, anyway) that you are in space at all. Maybe that gives you comfort, or maybe it just makes you miss the real thing all that much more.
6.0 If you’d rather choose tinkering with objects over wandering through nature, the lab is guaranteed to provide you with some entertainment. Glass vials and jars of chemicals sit on shelves in a surprisingly beautiful display of colour on one side of the room, while the other side of the room contains stacks of boxes filled with assorted equipment: cords, bolts, panels, buttons, gears, gadgets, gizmos, and thingamabobs. The downside is that the parts available seem to have no apparent method to their sorting. So get digging and you may just find exactly what you need to make what you’ve always wanted to!
7.0 Some time after your arrival, the earpiece alerts you to a new message. If it’s items you’re lacking, you may just be in luck.
Indeed, the platform located near the personal quarters is still whirring with power, and new items form neat piles on top of it. There are clothes, shoes, dishware, skincare, books ... and in one pile, a varied collection of what seems to be Halloween decorations and costumes. So, sort through the piles and grab what you want before someone else does! (But don't forget: sharing is caring.)
Whether you’re a quick study and you’ve become settled into life on the station, or you want to get the full lay of the land (in a manner of speaking) first, if you decide to explore the hall past the control room, you’ll eventually come across the simulation room. It’s been equipped with a new simulation to show you the drill where the missions are concerned, so step in and see what it has in store for you!
8.0 The moment the doors slide shut behind you, the space goes dark and then quickly lights up again, but instead of the blank empty walls you initially walked into, you’re surrounded by colour and lights, the sound of music and chatter, and the smells of deep-fried foods and overly sweet beverages. Someone calls, ‘Step right up, step right up!’ while another voice from somewhere starts to cheer as an electrical sound of a buzzer goes off, announcing its winner for prizes.
It seems that you’ve entered the Carnival simulation, so come on in and have a little fun.
There are booths spread out across these simulated grounds, each one offering food, drink or games. As you wander past you’ll notice that there is a touch of macabre to everything — the colours are black and orange and violet and red, the drinks offered have strange names, some you recognize like ‘Witch’s Brew’ and ‘Eye of Newt’, and some you might not, like ‘Viole(n)t Breeze’ and ‘Undead Essence’. It’s as though all of the things strange and wonderful find themselves spread across the entire universe to unite here.
Once you’ve had your fill of food and games, you can make your way past the little market area to a brightly glittering ferris wheel with carts rotating in a cycle, enticing you to try it out. Or if you’d rather be spooked, there is a hokey little ‘haunted mansion’ to your left that won’t take more than a handful of minutes to move through. Creatures and ghosts will pop out at you when you least expect it, their masked faces exaggerated with paint and some fairly realistic prosthetics to get the adrenaline pumping. Take a friend with you, or go it alone — just try to keep your cool through it all.
9.0 Eventually, once you’ve had your fill of the festivities, you may notice a wooden sign pointing you past the haunted mansion. Pressed on it is a round mark, and you remember that this is simulating a mission — you’re not here to just have fun, but to try and retrieve a simulated orb.
As you follow the path, you’ll find the hustle and bustle of the carnival growing quieter. All around you, there is nothing but woods — and hold on, where did all that mist come from? It surrounds you slowly, the ground seeming slightly damp as you keep walking… and arrive at a graveyard.
So the orb… it’s there, hidden in one of the graves? There’s nothing else to do but to start walking and looking at the gravestones — but when you do, you’ll be shocked to find some of the names are terribly, terribly familiar.
They might be names of your loved ones, people who were still in perfect health back home; and yet here those stones bear their names, along with an epitaph that brings tears to your eyes. And if you move closer… you may experience a flash of colour and light, and a memory suddenly plays out in front of you: the death of your loved one, whoever that may be.
Or perhaps the name you see on a gravestone is something else even more familiar to you: your own. But ... how, right? Reluctantly, your heart pounding, you approach with tentative steps, and yes — the name does not change. It's yours right there ... and it's your own death that you witness when the grave’s spell binds you.
● ● ●
N O T E: The deaths witnessed are intended to be non-canon deaths, so feel free to go wild inventing them -- this also goes for characters who are canonically dead. These are “alternate universe deaths”, not canon.
Additionally, there are three personal tasks provided to each character as they enter the simulation. In-game, each character will be given one task. For the purposes of the test drive, we’re leaving it to players to pick a task for their character and run with it.
A Find the grave of a teammate and witness their death.
B Team up with a fellow Orber win in one of the Carnival games.
C Scare a teammate in the haunted house.
F Y I
• This TDM covers both October and November, so there will be no new TDM for November.
• TDM threads can be used as samples for apps. In fact, we encourage it!
• Reserves are currently open!
• Apps open October 27 and will remain open until November 30.
• For any questions regarding TDM, please direct them here. For questions about the game, please refer to the FAQ.
FOR SOME FUN:
Have a clue for your upcoming mission:
“I’m going to bed, where I may die.”
no subject
feyre takes in the untidiness of the room and remembers wryly how rhysand has probably never once had to pick up after himself in his own homes. feyre did much of the cleaning when she lived with her sisters because they refused to do it and while she feels an inch to start plucking pieces of clothing off of things, she forces her focus on him, especially when he says what he does.]
Two months. [ she says it aloud, remembering that time works differently here or so the voice had said. her hands fold in front of her, the fingers of one hand feeling far too naked. two months? how could he stand it? ] And my sisters? Cassian? Azriel? Are they here too? [ are they all... alive? ]
no subject
it's fairly obvious from the room that he and alina have been more than close with each other — he's not trying to hide it, and they will have to talk about it, but right now it's one step at a time. the most important questions come first — naturally, feyre would be put into a spaceship in the sky, and all her questions would be about the safety of other people. feyre's like that. generous and caring. )
It's just me here. Now, you. ( it'd been a lot like his time under the mountain. isolated. falling back on old habits, into old masks he used to wear. he bites his lip in thought for a moment, wobbling his head from side to side. ) Your sisters are fine. ( well, nesta is nesta, but — she's fine enough that rhys doesn't have to get into it. ) Cassian's wings were saved, and now they're healed and working just fine. Azriel, Mor, everyone. They're all fine.
( he brings a hand up to purse against his mouth, thumb rubbing his lower lip back and forth in contemplation. rhys is not dumb enough to believe he can keep anything hidden from feyre, not when they're so interwoven, so happy living in each others minds. but is saying it all what's best for her? should he even be making that decision?
no. it's feyre's choice and it always is. clicking his tongue, rhys pulls a small face, half cringing and half apologetic. )
To be honest with you ... everything with the Hybern King happened awhile ago. Months ago, even before my arrival here. The last thing I remember is celebrating Winter Solstice with you — your first birthday in Velaris.
no subject
it's just me here. those words rattle her for a moment. the idea of him being alone again, without his family, his friends, his people makes her heart ache for him. the last thing she ever wanted him to feel the isolation he'd felt under the mountain, with her.
once again, racing thoughts are pulled back to the present as he reassures her that their family is alive, that they are fine. fine is not great or even good but she cannot expect them to be more than that, not after what's happened, what may have happened in that time she cannot remember.
for a moment, it's almost too much. there is too much trying to pull at her attention. apart from all that he's told her about what happens and the terrifying truth that he'd been here for two months without rescue, the state of the room is presses at the edges of her thoughts annoyingly. there is a faint, lingering scent of sex in the air, his scent mixed without another's and she feels her stomach twist, she feels more primal instinct to pull the bedding from their place and shred it to pieces. but she is not an animal, she is...
she shakes her head, a shaky hand lifting to brush over her mouth as she tries to reign in... well, everything. one thing at a time. one thing at a time. ]
I need you to show me everything that happens between when Tamilin takes me back to the Spring Court and the Winter Solace, whatever you can remember.
no subject
( if he thought it was a really bad idea, he wouldn't have offered her the halves of the truth he has so far. lying to feyre cuts something deep inside of him, and while her protection might come first ... it's not at the cost of agency over her own life. it's her choice. and if rhys can fill in the gaps for her, if she wants him to, then it's as she says. she needs it, and he provides.
the pathway between them lights up again, and he walks her through the memories he has laid out in chronological order, holding her hand and letting her watch. the time they spent away from each other. his pining, her plotting. the fall of the spring court under her own hand — her arrival home with lucien, rhysand whispering my love as he took her in arm. he skims over the lovemaking, not because he wouldn't like to detail just how thoroughly he enjoys ravishing his mate, but because there are miles to cover. seconds pass like hours between them, and he shows it all, everything he has. amren's sacrifice. the war. elain being kidnapped, tamlin helping her, feyre, and azriel to escape. nesta protecting cassian, killing the king. rhysand turning into a monster her loathes on the battlefield, claws and talons and feathers and gore.
the cauldron. her father's death. shattering the wall. rhysand dying, and then — him coming back, because just as he couldn't allow her to die, neither could she permit it from him.
the memories draw to an end on solstice, skimming over nesta's hissy fits and terrible mood and general lack of upkeep — with feyre and rhys in bed. he keeps that one little secret, of the promise of children between them, to himself for now. it was feyre's offering, anyway — it feels strange, to force it on her now. instead it's just them, grateful for a night together, wrapped up in each other's arms. as the memories fade and real life comes back into view, rhys kicks off the wall and moves to stand before her, ready to fold her into his arms if the weight of reality knocks her off kilter.
because it is a lot. it's too much, in fact, but if anyone can tolerate the truth — it's feyre. )
That's it. ( it's a soft, lover's whisper. he hesitates for a second, before cupping her cheek, eyes a little shiny as he looks at her. feyre. here. his. ) Then ... all this. But — I missed you. I missed every part of you. I went half out of my mind with missing you.
no subject
she hadn't known real love until he'd given her the choice to live, to make her own decisions. agency was freedom. and she knows that he may not want to tell her what happens next, that seeing her hurt or suffer hurts him too but he doesn't deny her request because he loves her.
and hurt it does. yes, there are victories, triumphs in what he tells her but there are horrors and losses too. she takes in everything he shows her even as her head starts to pound and her heart feels as though it's broken apart and reformed again (how many times must that happen to her?).
it's the vision of his death that has her moving, that pulls her from the absolutely still stance she'd been holding and has her moving towards him, forgetting everything else, every question she has about this place and what's happened back home. there would be time for questions later, for the tears and rage she might need to let out but for now, she's numb with knowledge. it is too much to even begin to feel.
and right now, she needs to feel him warm and solid against her.
she presses her face against his broad chest, her hands moving to curl against his back until he tilts her head so he can look down at her and speak, her eyes opening to see the longing in his eyes that makes her very soul ache.]
I'm sorry, for all of it. [ her expression crumbles a little but she doesn't look away. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. And you're not alone anymore.]
no subject
the truth is that they've lost a lot. feyre's lost more than any one person could really understand — but they're here, now. they're together, and they have each other. that's why it's easy to smile down at her broken face, cupping every shattered part of her carefully, delicately. because he loves her even when she's devastated, even when her life has been turned upside down and inside out. he loves her at her darkest hours, and in the light of day. always, that's what he promised her. always and forever. )
I can't begin to even imagine what you have to apologize for. ( careful amusement decorates his expression — the stars of his eyes twinkling, winking at her. ) Unless it's for not kissing me, when you saw me. In which case.
( he bends that small bit of space left over, slotting his nose against hers. endlessly affectionate. )
You are forgiven, Cursebreaker, as long as you see to it. At your leisure, of course.
no subject
she wonders how he puts up with her. has she ever not been broken since he's known her? does she ever get less shattered? right now that feels impossible like there are shards of her heart still missing, shattered in each place she's been hurt or lost something, someone.
but every bit of it she still has belongs to him. it's why despite the state of the room around her and the very clear evidence that he's been sharing a bed with whoever this alina is she closes the distance between their lips. her sorrow, her anger, her brokenness distracts her long enough to forget that for just a selfish moment.
however after a moment, she breaks from the kiss, her heart aching still. she keeps her eyes closed because she isn't sure how much more she can take today but she can't pretend it isn't there, that she didn't notice. she isn't that kind of person.
Just tell me. I can handle it.]
no subject
sometimes, he feels so much, so full, he isn't sure how he contains any of what he feels for her.
he knows what she's talking about. staying lost in her eyes for a moment longer, he eventually breaks the trance and nods, gesturing around them. )
Alina. ( like it's an explanation. he frowns, the lines of his mouth setting hardly. ) It's hard to know where to begin. I suppose — I wasn't in a very good place, when I arrived here. It was ( his mouth warbles, trying to find the right words to say. this is feyre, though. he doesn't hide anything from her. ) lonely. Like I was back Under the Mountain in a way, except ... Velaris felt so far from me. You felt so far. The only things keeping me sane were just gone, just like that. We went to this world, Braccia, and went undercover as husband and wife, so I could protect her. I fell back on who I was with Amarantha, her whore and her pet. But ... I suppose it spiraled from there.
( missing his own wife. finding something similar in someone else — someone delicate, and strong, and endlessly good to make up for all of rhys' bad. he shrugs, and it's a little pained. he hates to hurt anyone, and fears he might've hurt the two most important people here, through his own selfishness. his own greed for love, his own surprise to have found not one person but two, capable of wanting him. )
She took care of me. Alina. Gave me something to focus on. Called me out, when I was being less than. ( a hand pulls back so he can rub the center of his chest, the place that used to hurt so badly when he thought of feyre. ) I told her about you. When I — when it didn't hurt so badly, to talk about. It was something she brought out of me, that got easier as we opened up to each other. I told her what you mean to me, in the too small and inadequate words that I have. Do you know what she said? ( of course she doesn't. rhys offers her a small smile. ) She said we have the same eyes. And I thought, that was the most perfect thing she could've told me. That something of mine might be something of yours. That — you might be here with me, even when you're not. I didn't feel so lonely after then. Because I had Alina, but because I could look in the mirror, and have you, too.
So ... that's that. ( uncomfortably, he rocks on his heels, moving his hands down to catch her hands. interlacing them. ) I'm in love with you, Feyre. You're my best friend. Forever. If I've hurt you, the fault is mine. Not Alina's, and certainly not yours. I will spend every day that I've promised you in eternity trying to make up for the pain I've caused. If you allow it.
no subject
there's also jealousy and hurt at his acknowledgment of her, of alina. although it would be worse if he tried to lie, would it not? there's guilt and sadness that she was not here to fill the void he'd been feeling. there's anger that he couldn't even wait two months before he sought the comfort of someone else, at how two months was nothing for someone as old as rhysand. he survived fifty years under the mountain but two months broke him?
she folds her hands uncomfortably in front of her, her chin lifting proudly as he explains himself, explains to her how this all came to be. tears prick at her eyes and she doesn't have the energy to keep them from rolling down her cheeks. as he talks and talks, she puts up her walls, needing the space to think her own thoughts without fear of hurting him as her exhausted brain tries to keep up.
and yet, when he pulls away from her, she feels the urge to both slap him and scramble for his hands. to force him not to do this, to pull away from her, to stumble towards this woman she had never seen or met. he is hers, every broken piece of him. even this broken piece, the part of him that so feared becoming what he once was, without her there to remind him that he was never truly that monster.
more than once she told him that she sees him, all of him, that she's not afraid to see every part of him, the bad (the vicious beast, amarantha's whore and ruthless, cunning high lord) and the good ( the male who loves his people, the head of the night court, her beautiful mate). he cannot be the first fae high lord to take a lover, it was just not something they'd had a chance to talk about yet. would she not feel that same emptiness if she were without him? had she not felt something similar when she was torn from tamlin during that time under the mountain? and they weren't even mates.
she lets her mental walls crumble to tug at their bond, as if testing that it's still there despite him saying that he loves her, despite the words he'd said that made her heart ache for him, for what he'd gone through. she spares him feeling the rest, even now wanting to protect him from her own frailty, from those ugly emotions that will only make him feel worse. ]
I see you-- [ she whispers softly but somehow also with conviction, the same words she's said before, her eyes on his.] And you're mine.
no subject
he's a horrible mate. he knows that. feyre has always deserved the best that the world can offer, and rhysand has never thought much more of himself than scum.
still, she says the very words that still rattle him down to his foundation, and he hears the quiet things that are said in between them. you're mine, as much hers as he was when he made love to her the first time, as much hers as he was under the mountain, holding her soul captive. we will weather this. fundamental truths of the world are always splitting and changing, like the wall and the inadequacies of man, but there's one truth above the rest that reigns supreme. something no one could doubt, ever. )
I am yours. ( it's almost a growl that rattles out of his chest, giving a returning yank on the bond — strong as it's ever been, not the frail whisper of connection he had before she arrived, this dead thing lingering on in his chest, pointing out and laughing at how empty he was without her. pressing forward, his hands cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing her tears away. he bends, to assure every truth with a kiss on her eyelids. ) And you're mine. My wife. My mate, my Lady. You're everything to me, my love. You're my Feyre.
( he steps into her, backing her up until she's pressed against the opposite wall, body slotting between her legs. his breaths come out hard with emotion against her mouth, and despite feeling the need to curl up with his hands against his face in defeat — he holds steady and true, body aligned with hers, every mental shield he has pushed down for her observation. the truth of his love, the soft underside of his vulnerable heart pressed eagerly and proudly into her unsure hands. if she doesn't want it, after all, he has no reason to have it. )
I missed you, ( he echoes himself, bending to mouth at her neck, shuddering against her as if fighting the throes of tears. ) you have no idea how much. It was so empty, without you. I couldn't — talk to you, I couldn't hear you. I couldn't feel you. I thought I was dying. ( he shakes his head ) I'd rather die, then lose you again.
no subject
her soul, her heart had been battered beyond repair and the one male who should have helped her, the male whose love should have healed her only broke her further, trapped her, made her feel as though she was weak and choiceless, even though she'd sacrificed her life for him and had been the one to save... well, all of fae kind if not... the world.
it was rhysand who saw into that void where her heart lay shattered and picked up the pieces. he didn't shy away from the task, he saw her for who she was then, who she'd become. no longer the human girl desperate for love and a life that provided her comfort but someone different. he was unafraid of how she tried to cut him with those broken shards when she was not ready to heal herself. he pressed and he pressed and he pressed until those pieces slowly came back together, her heart healed and it was his hands covering hers that pieced it back together.
those same hands that held her heart, held her face now as he put her against a wall and pressed again, pressed the truth into her heart, reminded her that their bond was more than anything. it was simply more. again he presses, he opens his mind to her so she can feel every part of his love, feel how his heart beats for her just as hers, as fragile as it still is, beats for him.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
he speaks of missing her then, she feels his body tense as battles a wave of emotion, as he goes on to say what it was like to be without her.]
Don't say that-- [ she gasps out, thinking that a world without him in it feels wrong, twisted, and terribly unfair. at the same time, she feels the same, she'd rather die than be without him.
I'm here.
perhaps that is what made this all so frightening. the smell of him mixed with another female, the idea, however fleeting, that he might have moved on from her so easily when she can scarcely breathe just at the simple of idea of being apart from him. but it seems, that was not the case or perhaps, she's a greater fool than she knows.
but she chooses to trust him as she has for a long time now, trust what she feels from him, for him. so her hands move to his face, tilting it back towards her own as drawing his mouth to her own, grip on his jaw fierce as the press of her mouth.
I'm here. ]
no subject
she's — everything. every little thing.
without her, there's no reason. he pushes that into her, gasping wetly on her mouth before he crushes them together, their lips red and angry and biting. he can prove it to her the only way that he knows how, whining into her mouth and bending down, enough to slide his hands under her thighs and lift her up, pulling her legs tight around him. this is the reality. there is no moving on from this. feyre is the only person in the world as far as his blinders can see, and rhysand is willfully stuck in her orbit. even if she doesn't want him — even if that grows tired and crumbly with age. he'll always circle her, always belong to her.
I'm yours. I love you so much.
pining her to the wall, rhys surges his hands up her waist, dipping under her sweater to brush her heated skin, shuddering at the feeling of it. but — he seems to rethink it, presses his forehead to hers with a grumble of almost pain, like being parted from her mouth is some sacrifice that costs him greatly.
It's a lot all at once, I know. If you need time ...
he'll give it. of course he will. )
no subject
but before they can begin he stops, he's stopping and-- his words earn a frustrated growl as reality crashes back into her. she wants to stop feeling anything but his body pressed against, into hers. she doesn't want to think about any of this. she doesn't want to think about what her sisters went through, what her friends might have suffered, how her father is dead, or about a sweet girl named alina. she doesn't want to think, period.
she takes in a deep breath, ready to answer him with another kiss to urge him further but she almost chokes on it--
Not here. Not in this room.
she opens up her senses to him so he can smell it, the way the room smells of him and another female. even if she feels some kind of primal need to make this place smell like her, to lay claim to this shared space, she's too distracted by it. first, she wants to get the smell of her off of him and replace it with her own. ]
no subject
that's what he feels from her. a need to be claimed. her desires, his command.
their mouths come back together, molten metal forging them into some immovable, heavy thing. his winnowing is limited here, but fifty feet is enough to get them through the unoccupied room next door, where he finds a new wall to pin feyre against, not hesitating this time in shucking her sweater up and over her head. a part of him is sad. he doesn't want feyre to be angry with him, obviously — but he really doesn't want feyre to hate alina, for what rhys has done. but, like her, he also doesn't want to think about it just yet. he wants to get lost in his wife, his wife, and put action to every word he's spoken. )
You're so —
( he bites it out, tossing her sweater somewhere and latching onto her chest with biting kisses, teeth drawing out the salt from her skin. his hands slide under her thighs, cupping her ass to drag her in a rough grind forward, pushing his arousal against her soft, warm parts. )
— beautiful. ( a finishing hiss. inhaling her deep scent, of mountains and oranges and pine — velaris, here on his tongue. ) I could fuck you and never stop.
nsfw this about to get n-a-s-t-y.
he peels her thick sweater from her body, leaving her bare, her breasts peaked against the cool air of the room they were in. and her hands move to rove his chest while she takes a deep inhale of him. there is the usual scent of him, but beneath the sweat is a cloying scent she's eager to get rid of.
she grinds her hips against his as soon as she's able, as his mouth slides against bare skin, tasting and hungry. she loves the way it feels, loves the strength of his body as it holds her up, as his hands grip at her skin.
she moves her own hands then, fingers pulling and tugging him closer until one hand moves to grab uselessly at the wall behind her for purchase as the other hand moves to grip the back of his head. normally his words would earn him a tease of some sort, a playful call to prove such a statement but right now, her impatience and need to claim him wins out. ]
Then do it, Rhysand.
heheheh whoops
rising back up to meet her mouth, rhysand eases off the wall. there are three small beds in the room, and he blindly finds the first one, removing himself from feyre just to get her on her hands and knees on the mattress. he shoves her leggings down, not bothering to take them off any more than to expose her little pink pussy, winking at him through the break in her thighs.
fumbling with his pants, he stays standing, kissing her spine while one hand pets up and down her body, like soothing an animal. )
Show me your wings, darling.
( there's the sound of him spitting into his hand, fingertips licked, before wetting his cock with a few rushed strokes. slick enough, he poises himself at her warm, sloppy entrance, thrusting in with one hard toss of his hips. halving down, he presses his forehead to her back, breathing hotly, heavily. )
Fuck.
:3
no matter how she might be feeling in this moment, whatever thoughts might be racing through her brain, the way he kisses her will never stop serving as a balm to any ache, the way he holds her close even as he carries her to a bed will send a shiver of pure want up her spine.
he sets her on the bed and yanks her leggings and undergarment down enough to get his cock where they both want to be. her hands move to grip the bed sheets beneath her, the fabric isn't anywhere as luxurious as the ones she sleeps on back home but they are far nicer than anything she had when she lived on the other side of the wall.
she is distracted by such a thought that she barely hears his request as he fumbles with his pants. she lets out a breath, ignoring his request for now because the only time she'd been able to manifest them was once before, when she was afraid. he must have forgotten. or maybe it's something she could do easily in the future, something she would be curious to ask him about later.
but there are distractions abound.
and soon enough, he's inside of her, her eyes fluttering shut as her body clenches around him, a low moan escaping kiss swollen lips. finally her whole body seems to be saying, even if for her it had been only since the night before that they'd done this.
Fuck is right.
finally, a tease slips through as she reaches back to grip at his thigh, wanting to touch him, needing more of him in every way.]
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playfully, he gives her a spank, pressing a lingering kiss on her shoulder.
Wings. Try.
yes, he did forget. but — now is as good a time as any to help train her back up again. leaning back, he sifts a hand quickly through his sweaty hair before both hands clasp on her thin waist, driving himself back into her. it's a forceful, brutal thing, but he's still careful about it, mindful of her entire body like it's an extension of his own. he knows intimately how she likes to be touched, how to move and how to please her. he memorized it all in a night, indulging himself on her arousal like a sponge takes in water. and yet —
despite that, he never gets used to the feeling of her cunt clamping down on him, endlessly tight and warm. rhysand balks before he presses forward, tossing his hips into her and into her, fucking her hard and fast and raw. ugly in making love, still mostly clothed and needy, desperation hidden in every bead of sweat that rolls down his forehead. )
You're mine.
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it's a little hard to think about anything other than her mate pistoning himself into her, the sounds of their bodies colliding, wet slaps of skin meeting skin.
but he asks her to try. and even if a wicked part of her, the hurt, shitty part of her wants to tell him no, she relents after he reminds her that she is his.
she lets out a breath, even as a part of her recoils at the idea of shifting like tamlin could, that was his gift to her after all. she doesn't let herself think of him in this moment as she forms the wings as she remembers them, her body starting to sag at the unfamiliar weight of them, the front half of her body falling forward a bit until she's balancing on her elbows instead of her hands, panting, rasping for breath and suddenly covered in a thin sheen of sweat herself.]
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a reasonable person would likely not be fucking his mate like some sort of ravenous beast the second she arrives, but rhys has never been reasonable, especially not when it comes to feyre. he has something to prove, some bottomless truth he has to splatter inside her, sew into the fabric of her muscles until she believes him when he says i love you and you're mine and forever, forever, forever.
Prettiest wings I've seen, he coos, slowing his grind to lay a warm palm over the sensitive skin, dragging his hand down the leathery membrane. unthinkingly, his wings peel out of his back to match her, framing the two of them in a private bubble. You're so good. )
Lay back.
( she doesn't have to support herself — he puts pressure on her back until her arms give out, until her cheek is mushed into the mattress and rhysand remains the start and end of her pleasure, cradling it with knowing hands. he fucks her in earnest, slamming his body to hers, one hand drawing lacy patterns on her wing, while his other arm winds around her waist, finding her clit. )
You're going to come. And then you're going to tell me where you want it.
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for a moment, her pleasure takes a backseat to the way it feels to have wings, the way his panting breaths come out and sweep against the thin skin of them, making her shudder. his words of encouragement only make her do that all over again.
but it's when he touches them that the real sensation comes. she gasps loudly when his hand slides along the newly formed skin, the touch as intimate as his tongue swiping between her thighs, it has her clenching around his cock. and whatever thoughts she had of turning this around, of pushing him down on the bed and fucking him, claiming him are out the window now.
she can do nothing but obey him now, whimpering as he pushes her flat onto the bed, his hands seeming to be everywhere at once, at her back, touching her wings, then at her clit, then at both, working in tandem as he fucks her. and he gives her everything she needed in that moment, she's thinking of nothing but this, forgotten are any of things they spoke of about the future, forgotten is the room that smelled of...
this room smells of them now as he gives her a command. her mate. her husband. her high lord. he commands her to come and she tumbles right into a climax, her world shattering for a moment, engulfing her in heat and pleasure as he pushes in and out, in and out, in and out of her. his name is on her lips, in her mind, in her heart. he is everything in that moment. her wings flap once, involuntarily, a movement that brings her both pain and pleasure, that causes her to cry out in almost agonizing pleasure, as if she might die from how good this all feels good.]
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but he doesn't. he doesn't want it to be about him. he wants to fuck her for hours and give her a hundred orgasms, until she's limp and pliant and snuggly warm, until he can kiss her and not taste the grief on her tongue. ragdolling, rhys grabs a hold of her and maneuvers her deeper onto the mattress, giving himself enough space to kneel up there with her. pointedly, he sets her hips down, leggings biting under her ass, until she's laying flat on her stomach, weighed by the heaviness of her own wings. throughout it all, he stays deep inside her, sluggishly grinding his cock in circles against her.
slower, now. the frenzy is settled. this is his wife and high lady, and she deserves to be fucked like the goddess she is, with all the intimacy he can muster, all the worship he's capable of. he palms a hand against her sweaty back, sliding her messy hair over one shoulder before his hands settle firmly against her muscles. without being told, his thumbs dig into her flesh, exhausted from making the wings, rubbing against the dip of her spine with a keen talent. massaging the tear of skin, where the wings sprout from. searching out aches and easing them away, one swipe at a time. )
Feyre.
( it's a prayer, her name. she's every star in his black, darkened night. as her body eases, he pulls his cock an inch from her, smoothly thrusting back into her. it's so slow, by comparison — a gentle, intimate thing. his body begging for hers, loving as best as it can.
he's never really received much love, but he's always known how to give it. infinitely, with everything he has. )
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and as she rides out her pleasure with him still buried deep inside of her, her body pulsating and heated, she is easy to maneuver. she lets him ease her body properly onto the bed, doesn't protest when he presses it flat into the mattress, only lets out a soft sound, something between protest at the twinge of pain she feels and pleasure at the angle at which he presses inside of her now.
as her mind starts to come down, she feels his hands move to her back, fingers pressing into taut, aching skin. already there is a sharp throbbing of the muscles there, muscles completely unused to supporting the weight of her wings. and for a moment, she simply stays in the moment, savoring the ebbing sensation of her climax as his hands work wonders on the soreness at her back and he says pressed inside of her.
but then he whispers her name like that, a reminder of that bond that's still there, that's still strong and something inside of her snaps, yanks her back to the reality of where they are, of why it's not just her back that aches. and she drags in a ragged breath, shutting her eyes tightly against it all, against anything that isn't the love she feels for him and that he feels for her. it doesn't work. not completely.
she'd forgotten the second part of his earlier command, she'd forgotten to tell him where she wanted it considering she'd come immediately after and well, she knows what "it" is. she draws in a sharp, determined breath, her eyes opening as she turns her head a little more, her voice breathless and eager: ] Get on your back, Rhys. Right now.
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Yes, High Lady.
( it's obscene, the visual of pulling his cock from her, wet and slicked with her orgasm. he wants to be buried in her heat all over again, tunneling inside her and finding all the parts where they click together, a perfect match. mate. he can't resist sliding his sloppy cockhead against her folds, panting with the need to fuck her again and again, before dutifully, obediently, he listens.
at another time, being obedient would've made his heart ache and his walls rise, so used to it and every lashing under the mountain, but not around feyre. she's light and warmth and clear, so blue they're black, skies. where she beckons, he follows, turning and laying flat on the bed beside, cringing lightly at the poor thread count brushing his wings. sensitive illyrian baby, indeed. his flushed cock lays hot and red and angry and wet against his stomach, and with a snap of rhysand's fingers they're both naked, clothes left in messy piles all around the room.
cockily, a hand tucks behind his head, in wait. on another day he might've stroked his dick to seem enticing, but he's not sure how seductive he'll be, tonight. feyre shouldn't be teased. instead, his free hand reaches for her, wherever he can touch, to brush her heated, soft skin. )
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however, with a snap of his fingers, he saves her the effort of getting them both undressed. on another day, she might have been annoyed for she so likes to undress him but right now, there are no complaints because it only makes it easier for her to move closer to him once more.
she knows what this position means to him, she's tried so hard to replace those memories of lying prone beneath the female that tormented them in different, horrible ways, with memories of herself, of love, of choice. she climbs back onto the bed with him and gasps at the effort it takes to straddle him with her newly formed wings.
she almost tilts backwards again, she cringes slightly, wanting to be a seasoned seductress instead of this clumsy creature. she lets out a tiny breath, the sound self-deprecating. if they were in another space, another room, she'd pull him up by the shoulders, use him for balance but they are not at home, they are not somewhere comfortable for their wings and she knows she must make do with what they have while also doing what she wants to do.
so she shifts, the movement slightly ungraceful, her hand reaching between them to cradle his cock so that she might ease back down upon it. that is effortless at least, she is wet enough that the motion is smooth as silk. she moans at the sensation of having him inside of her once more, even after being parted barely a minute parted. her eyes stay on his face as she does it, her free hand moves to lay over his heart. and when she thinks You're mine isn't a demand nor is it aggressive, not in this position, not with her on top of him and in control. it's nothing but backed with the love she feels for him and for the ache that exists in her heart as she rolls her hips above his. ]
cw: sexual abuse mentions
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