Ravening

hands off

"I'm not wearing this."

When they came for you, you didn't resist. Two shadowy ladies entered your cell with the sovereignty of someone carrying out a bigwig's order and lead you somewhere – you let them.

Invisible to everyone else, able to go through doors without opening them, you were able to experience what it was like to be a shadow as you walked along with them.

As soon as you saw the steaming bath they pushed you towards, you squealed and began undressing, shame no shame. It has been weeks since you were able to take one, so you couldn't wait for the bliss of washing away your cell's griminess.

But once their hands began 'helping you wash', that was where you drew the line. The ladies still didn't say anything, but your polite noes weren't enough to stop them.

You splashed them with water. Nothing. You struggled and scratched and screamed. They withdrew for a moment, but once you calmed down, they were about to approach you again. That's when you shouted.

"I don't care if you're getting me ready to be eaten but I don't appreciate strangers touching my naked body!" They listened about as much as the giant worm would if you tried negotiating, and yet, suddenly: they withdrew. Seemingly hearing an order that you couldn't, the two retreated to the back of the room, letting you bathe in peace.

When you were done, they approached again, carrying brushes and ink.

You – an untrusting beast wrapped in a towel, hesitantly let them paint you. The brushes felt uncomfortably cold after soaking in the hot water for so long.

For the sake of art, you thought. For the sake of art!

If there was any doubt where the ladies were from before, it disappeared once they began expanding on the tattoo's pattern on your arm.

Right, we trust Rhysand. Don't we?

(He did kind of buy your favour by forbidding the guards to mess with you. And making it so that the two meals a day you were given were both warm and edible.)

The two shadowy figures took care of your make-up and hair, you thought both were a bit over the top, especially the tiara, but feeling a bit guilty about the scratches, this time you held back on commentary.

Then they gave you some see-through undergarments and... you were done.

...

What?

"That's it?" You asked and motioned towards the thin white fabric that covered even less than the towel. Not to mention – we're underneath a mountain. It's cold in here!

"Look, I don't mean to offend you, but unless you give me something at least four times more modest to put over this, I'm not leaving this room."

Ignored.

Well f you too Night Court ladies, you thought, about to rip the fabric off when--

"I wouldn't do that." The man of the hour strolled in like a cat. Finally.

"You wouldn't?" You tilted your head.

"Great. Clothes off then, let's switch."

As always, he was taken aback by your bluntness. As always, he didn't let it show.

"Are you sure? You'll need it tonight."

"Why am I here?" you cut off his purring. An easy-going shrug of wide shoulders.

"Amarantha's having her midsummer party tonight and I need an escort."

"Sure, why not," you said with little to no thinking, "all you need is to ask."

Rhysand's eyes sparkled.

"...and get me something to wear. Actual clothes."

"Oh but you look lovely in this Feyre."

"Don't care, don't like it." In the Spring Court, it took a long time for you to finally put on a dress. No way you were going to walk in public wearing next to nothing, even less so since said public included both Tamlin and Amarantha. No thank you Rhysand.

"I'm afraid your opinion now matters much less than it did back there darling," Rhysand smirked as he read your mind. You were just about ready to snap. Maybe that's why your next words ended up being so out of pocket.

"So you hated what was done to you so much, but you don't mind inflicting the same on others?" You asked leisurely, though your mind stormed with vexation.

Rhysand's eyes turned icy in an instant.

"Don't you dare, compare me to her, mortal." You suppressed a shiver. His behaviour so far didn't seem anything like what you've heard from Tamlin about the Night Court. But now... you would be able to believe this was the one sending a severed head to the Spring Court.

However, you also saw-- no, more like felt his emotions. He was shocked, furious... mortified. It was enough, that speck of vulnerability has managed to save you from cowering. No, instead, you put your foot down and pushed.

"Then get me. Actual. Clothes." Your voice successfully carried all the contempt you felt. It was clear to Rhysand, that should he refuse, you wouldn't grant him a sliver of compliance. He'd have to use his mind control to stop you from biting and screaming minute after minute. Your eyes spoke clearly: I am this close to hating you. And there is no way back.

. . .

In the end, he surrendered, cursing and ending the stare down.

So, what now?

There was not enough time to get you a new dress. The party has already begun, besides, there was no one you could borrow them from.

In the end, Rhysand just opened his closet and threw a pair of pants and one of his satin shirts at you - a royal blue one so that it would contrast nicely with your hair. You couldn't contain a smile, just like you wanted.

Counting on his good manners, you asked Rhys to turn around so you could change. He grumbled something about personified ungratefulness, but complied, nonetheless.

You half expected the shirt to be tight around your chest area. To your confusion and a very slight displeasure - it was far from it. You could stuff a few potatoes in there and still have enough breathing space.

You shot a sneaky glance at Rhysand. He and his voluptuous pecks.

"See something you like?" He asked with a smile.

You thought for a while.

"Can I touch it?" 

artist: Xi Zhang
artstation: https://www.artstation.com/zhangxii