Archive of Our Own

Feyre was lost, and she was alone, and she was scared. She was also so fucking stupid.

Every college girl knew the rules: go to a party with a buddy, never leave your drink unattended, never leave without your buddy. The only problem was that Feyre’s buddy was studying abroad in fucking Milan, and Feyre had been left all alone. She had always had a hard time making friends- in fact, she probably would have still been friendless if Mor hadn’t done all the heavy lifting. But now Mor was in Italy, and Feyre was all alone. 

There was one person she could call, and she probably didn’t have a choice, but she was still too hesitant to pull that trigger. 

Before Mor left for her study abroad program, she had gripped Feyre by the arms, stared into her soul and said: “While I’m gone, if you need anything- and I do mean anything- promise you’ll call my cousin. I can’t go without knowing you’re taken care of.” 

She had agreed- Mor never asked anything of her, and Feyre would do anything to ease her mind. The problem was that she couldn’t be normal around her cousin. 

Mor’s cousin Rhysand was life-ruiningly hot. The kind of hot that should be illegal, especially for girls like her. He was also older than her: more than twice her age, with laugh lines and silver hair and reading glasses and creaky knees- and that did things for Feyre. He was also unfailingly kind to her. Altogether a deadly combination for a fatherless, unloved 19 year old. 

But she was fucked, and like, possibly in active danger, so she really had no choice. With trembling fingers, she pulled her phone out of her bra and dialed. 

He picked up on the second ring- a raspy, sleep-worn rumble of “Feyre?” That was so unfairly attractive that she could have spit. Except, she actually was scared, so just the sound of someone safe caused her to promptly burst into tears.

“Feyre, baby- what’s wrong? Where are you?” He was so serious now, the bedroom voice vanished. Worried for her, she realized.

“I don’t know!” She wailed, pulling her knees to her chest where she sat on the curb. “I’m by the road somewhere- I was at a house party and someone spiked my drink so I ran out of there and now I’m lost and I’m alone and what if the guy finds me? I can’t fight him off: I’m in a stupid little dress- it has rhinestones, Rhys! Rhinestones, honestly- and I’m drunk and I’m all alone.”

She was definitely setting feminism back- being so helpless and needing a man to come and save her. She should be strong enough to fight her own battles and she would be if Mor was still here, but Feyre had been all alone for months and so lonely that she’d gone to a stupid party in a stupid outfit and now she was going to reap the stupid consequences of her stupid actions.

“Feyre, deep breaths, okay? You can do it, darling.” He soothed. She could hear rustling in the background like he was having to get dressed to come get her, like he was currently undressed. The idea of Rhys sleeping naked was almost enough to snap her out of her panic spiral. “Mor added you to my Find My Friends- I’m only 10 minutes away. I’m coming for you right now. Just stay on the line with me.”

“Okay,” Feyre sniffled, rubbing her eyes. She kicked herself as soon as she did, she’d probably look like a snotty raccoon when Rhys finally arrived and he’d take one look at her and be disgusted and not let her in his car and she’d die of hypothermia or something equally tragic. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for.” She heard his door close and his car start and she started crying even harder, knowing that he was coming to get her. “Tell me about the roofie- I need to know how to help you when I get there.”

“I’m so stupid,” Feyre moaned. “I was drunk and watching the fucking beer pong and I took a sip of my drink and some girl came up and told me that a guy had slipped something in it while I was distracted. I only had one sip and then I threw the drink out and ran out of the party.”

“Fucking fraternities,” he sounded furious for a moment, then his voice settled into what could best be described as a coo. “You’re not stupid, darling. You just made a mistake, and it’s okay, I’m on my way to help.”

“Rhys to the rescue,” Feyre giggled, though it sounded disgustingly wet because of her tears. “Could be the title of a children’s book.”

“A perfect bedtime story for a scared little girl, hmm?” A flash of headlights turned onto the road and before Feyre could get nervous, he was already reassuring her. “I think I see you. Step away from the road, please.”

It was pretty dumb of her to be sitting on the curb, now that he mentioned it. Fuck, he probably thought she was so stupid. Even worse, she was too drunk to just stand up like a normal person, so she had no choice but to execute a roll, allowing herself to get on her hands and knees and get up that way. She prayed she hadn’t flashed him, but her dress was so short it would have been a miracle. At least he was too much of a gentleman to mention it.

The car was miraculously warm inside and she couldn’t help the moan she let out as she held her fingers up to the vent. Warm and safe, like when Mor wrapped her in a blanket burrito whenever she would have panic attacks during freshman year. She missed Mor so much; hated how much she needed people to take care of her.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” He pronounced, leaning over her to buckle her seat belt for her, doing it so carefully his hands never even brushed her skin. She couldn’t help the little pout she let slip. He was so hot, she wanted him to touch her just a little bit. …Okay, maybe a lotta bit.

“You found me,” she agreed, and then chirped with delight when Rhys reached into the backseat and pulled out a blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders. 

She was still wearing the blanket when he walked her to her apartment door. 

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said, trying to signal to him that it was time for him to go. She didn’t want to be rude, but there was no way she was letting him into her apartment. “You’re totally my hero.”

“I’m always here for you, day or night. You just have to call.” He didn’t show any signs of moving. In fact, he just stuck his hands into his pockets, as if he had nowhere else to be in the middle of the night.

“Yeah, thanks.” She repeated. They just stared at each other for a while, Feyre clutching her keys like they were a shield she could hide behind, Rhys staring at her, completely unruffled, waiting for her to break.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He asked after an awkward few minutes, tilting his head. “It’s only polite.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Feyre said, shaking her head.

He raised a carefully groomed eyebrow. “Even if your hero needs to use the restroom before he makes the long drive home? I’m not a spring chicken anymore.”

“You can use the one at the corner store! The guy who runs it is super nice and always has discounts on chocolate bars!” She was laying the simpering simpleton routine on a little thick, but she really, really didn’t want him in her apartment.

“Feyre,” he said, voice low and as unyielding as iron. “Invite me into your home. I’m not leaving until I see what you’re trying to hide from me.”

“Fine,” her shoulders slumped, that paternalistic tone striking her as sure as an arrow to the heart. With the most world-weary sigh she could manage, she unlocked the door and let him in. He reacted exactly how she imagined he would.

"Darling?" He said, spinning around to view her apartment in full. "Where is all your furniture?" 

Feyre blushed scarlet. "Well. You know last year Mor and I were in the dorms, but I couldn’t really afford them this semester and didn't really want to be there without her anyway, so I got this place, but-” she refused to meet his eyes; tightening her grip on the blanket and shuffling her feet a little. "I've been... really sad with her gone; it's been hard to find the energy and…” deep breath- “And the money to furnish it. And it doesn't matter because I spend most of my time at work or in the library anyway!"

She darted a glance towards him and withered, seeing him slowly shaking his head in disappointment. "Mor would kill me if she knew the state of your home. When is your next day off? We're going shopping." 

"You don't need to do that," Feyre muttered, chewing her nails. God, this was humiliating- Rhys was so together, so professional; he owned his own company for Christ's sake! And she was going to have to admit to him that she couldn't afford a $40 futon from Walmart. She wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. "I need to save a little more first. Rent just came out and my car insurance comes out next week- I just can’t swing a Total Makeover: Home Edition."

"Oh, you won't be paying.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "I'll take care of everything." 

"What!? No!" Feyre yelled, panicking now for an entirely different reason. "No, I'm not going to let you do that! I don't need your charity!"

He crossed the room to her in a few quick strides, getting all in her personal space, but still not touching her. His eyes like black holes that her gaze got trapped in. She couldn’t look away if she tried. "It's not charity. I have more money than I know what to do with, and I will find personal satisfaction in purchasing furniture for you. Doing so will also have the added benefit of sparing my life from the murderous rampage my cousin will go on when she finds out that you don't have a bed. We are doing this. End of story.”

“Fine,” Feyre slumped, too drunk to keep fighting. “You can pick me up on Wednesday.”

Shopping with Rhys had been predictable, to say the least. When she had suggested they go to Walmart, he had scoffed with so much vitriol that a part of her shriveled. He had insisted on taking her to a succession of fancy stores for rich people that she had never even heard of, and Feyre had gotten increasingly quiet as he insisted she pick out more and more furniture. Not just necessary things like a bed and a couch, but everything actual adults had in their home- he even made her pick out a laundry hamper, a fancy coffee pot, and a towel warmer, as well as expensive towels and sheets to go with it. 

He sent her away whenever it came time to pay, but Feyre wanted to die whenever she thought about how much money he must have spent on her in a single go. It made unease swirl in her gut. She didn’t like being in anyone’s debt, even if Rhys would insist that there was no debt to worry about. 

Eventually the humiliation ritual came to an end and Rhys was returning her to her doorstep. Most of the furniture was scheduled to be delivered the next day, but of course he insisted on carrying all her little bits and bobs in himself while she fretted at his side.

“Baby,” he soothed, catching her sleeve. Still only touching the fabric, not her skin. “Stop worrying. I like helping you, okay? And the money means nothing to me.”

Feyre scowled. “Just because the money doesn’t mean anything to you doesn’t mean it means nothing to me!”

“It’s not wrong to accept a little help, Feyre darling. Your family can’t provide it and I can. It’s normal for family to help their children get set up- just pretend that’s what I’m doing.” He spoke so seriously, keeping that black hole gaze locked on her. “Just let me help, baby.”

“Fine,” she huffed, blush rapidly climbing her neck. “Fine.”

“Good girl,” he cooed, releasing her in order to set up her coffee machine. Thank god too, because the blush completely took over at those two magic words. She was so fucking predictable. 

Eventually he left with the promise that he would be back when the furniture arrived to ensure that everything was set up correctly. Feyre had no idea how she was going to be able to see him so many times in just a few days. One of the only things that had kept her sane was distance- she avoided thinking about or seeing Rhys as often as possible, and she remained normal. With him inserting himself into her life, her grip on her sanity slipped more and more with each day.

Rhys showed up exactly at their agreed upon time with a bouquet of sunflowers. Feyre had to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek in order to keep herself from slamming the door in his face. Later, she had to grudgingly admit that it was a good thing she let him inside, as he was excellent at ordering the delivery guys around, making sure everything was set up perfectly. It was nice, letting him take care of everything, not having to worry at all.

They were relaxing on the couch, all the furniture assembled and put in place when there was a loud banging on the door.

"Oh no," Feyre moaned, pulling Rhys down on the couch as if Tamlin could see them through the door. "Be quiet- maybe he'll go away."

"Who will go away?" Rhys asked, voice hard, the wrinkles on his face deepening as he drew his eyebrows together. God, it did things to her.

She blew out a breath in frustration. "His name is Tamlin- I had a few dates with him and now he won't leave me alone."

"I know you’re in there, Feyre!" Tamlin yelled, continuing to bang on the door. "I can hear you! Just open the door, let's talk."

Before she realized what was happening, Rhys was off the couch and swinging the door open wide.

"Can I help you?" He asked, the picture of aloof professionalism.

"I need to talk to Feyre," Tamlin said, trying to peek into the apartment to catch a glimpse of her. "Just let me in, she wants to see me."

"No, she does not." Rhys insisted, turning his body so that he blocked the door completely. "It's time for you to leave." 

"Get out of my way! You have no idea what you're talking about, old man. I don't know who the hell you even think you are, telling me what to do. Telling me what Feyre wants." Tamlin blustered, getting all up in his face. 

"I'm her fucking father," Rhys snarled, voice poisonous. "And a close personal friend of the sheriff. Feyre told me that you're harassing her and that she wants you to leave her alone; if you do not do so, I will take further action. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do to protect her."

"Fuck you," Tamlin spat. "She's a fucking whore anyway. Your precious daughter has been fucking every frat boy on this campus. I was doing her a favor, wanting to date her. Her pussy's probably all stretched out and disgusting any-"

Feyre screamed as Rhys lunged forward, his fist flying before Tamlin was even able to think to block. She was up and off of the couch just in time to see him fall like a ton of bricks. She clutched Rhys’s arm tightly, holding it to her chest like she could in any way prevent further violence with just her touch.

"That is just the beginning of what will happen if I ever hear your name again. If I hear even a whisper of those rumors, I will destroy you." With that, Rhys slammed the door, leaving Tamlin still laid out on the hallway floor.

He turned to her, taking her face in his hands. "Are you alright? Did I scare you?"

Feyre just shook her head, mouth still agape. He didn't scare her, that was the problem. Mor's hot older cousin with his crows feet and silver hair and reading glasses had just scared off her ex by pretending to be her dad and she had never been more turned on in her life.

“You’re friends with the sheriff?" It was all she could manage to ask, the only thing she could say in that moment that was normal and not just a plea to fuck her right there on the floor.

“Fuck no, that guy's an asshole.” He laughed, deep and resonate. He was still holding her face in his hands. “Tamlin doesn't need to know that though, right? It'll be our little secret?”

“Yeah,” Feyre agreed, trying hard not to let her wobbly knees become too apparent.

"If he ever- ever comes back, I want you to call me right away." His thumb tracked across her cheek, his worried eyes locked on to hers. She could barely breathe. "He doesn't have any of your nudes, does he?"

That made Feyre rear back, pulling herself out of his grasp. "What? No! I would never- not with him." Rhys, however, would be a very different story. She would let him take as many nudes of her as he wanted.

"Smart girl," he praised, his hand on her shoulder. She felt faint. He had never touched her before, but now it was like he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. It was worrying, the effect it had on her.

Eventually she was able to convince him to leave, that she was fine. He left with a "You can call me any time, if you need anything at all. I will always pick up." And she appreciated that- she did- but she needed him to leave, right then.

The second the door closed behind him, her hand is in her underwear (totally, embarrassingly soaked) with a chorus of "I'm her fucking father," dancing around her head. It only took three swipes of her fingers before she came with a cry of "daddy!" on her lips.

Immediately the shame arrived. Here was Feyre in her final form: officially a girl with daddy issues. She met one hot, older man who was kind to her, and she immediately perverted it. Given an inch and she took a mile. But how could she help it? No one had ever protected her like that- I'll do anything to protect her, running like a klaxon through her head- it was just an act, just for show, but her stomach swirled with the memory of the fire in his eyes. She was so fucked.

Suffice to say, Feyre was surprised as fuck when he showed up at her door the following day

“Rhys?” She asked, taking in his business suit, his tie loosened around his neck. She knew logically that he wore a suit to his job, but knowing it and seeing it were two different experiences. She felt a little faint at the glimpse of the tattoo from his loosened collar. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiled, another gift in hand- this time a fancy tin of tea. “I want to make sure Tamlin doesn’t get any ideas, so I’m taking you out to lunch.”

“I haven’t heard from him since you made your point.” She didn’t let him in, just clutched the tea in her hand as if it could protect her from this nightmare. 

“And I would like it to remain that way,” Rhys smiled, pushing her door open to let himself in. “It would be very embarrassing for you if he found out I wasn’t your father, would it not? It’s only smart that we keep up the ruse. I’ll take you to lunch, take you shopping, we’ll do the things fathers and daughters do. It will also remind him of my threat and make it clear that I’m always watching.”

Feyre’s gut twisted at his words. The things she wanted to do with him were definitely not daughter-like, no matter the word she whispered to herself in the dark. “I don’t get why you care.”

“I care because I cannot abide a bully. I simply wish to make him squirm.” A dark look crossed Rhys’s face, causing her to shiver. He brightened, turning to her. “And it has the added benefit of spending time in such a beautiful woman’s company.”

“That doesn’t sound very fatherly,” Feyre muttered, turning to put the tea in the kitchen. 

“On the contrary, it is incredibly normal for parents to compliment their children,” he said, his long strides following her into the kitchen. “Did your parents not praise you?” 

“That’s none of your business!” She snapped, slamming her cupboard door once the tea was tucked away. “We can go to lunch, but that’s just because I’m hungry, not because I agree with your plan.”

“Whatever works, darling.” He held up his hands in surrender and Feyre sighed. It wouldn’t be so bad, she supposed, and she would get a free meal out of it. 

It was bad. Way worse than she ever could have guessed. 

Rhys had kept her close, a hand on her back or her hand threaded in the crook of his elbow the entire time. Smiled so sweetly at her, told the waitress that he was visiting his daughter on campus, and practically gushed over Feyre’s work and accomplishments. How he even knew what those accomplishments were was beyond her. He ordered for her, even going so far as to demand they share a dessert. After lunch, he insisted on walking her to her next class. 

The entire time he called her “my darling girl,” “my sweetheart,” “my little girl,” and to the waitresses: “my lovely daughter.” He kept the conversation going, keeping those black hole eyes trained on her as he convinced her to tell him everything about her studies, her professors, her work. 

By the time he left, she felt faint. She could barely concentrate in class, too consumed with her throbbing, wet cunt, a chorus of “my little girl” ringing in her head. At some point she had to sneak away to masturbate in the bathroom, her collar pulled to her nose so that she could smell the scent of his cologne that had been left behind when he hugged her for much longer than what seemed fatherly. The shame crashed over her the second she came.

The worst part was, he didn’t stop. He kept showing up, kept bringing her gifts, kept playing up the dad act. When Feyre would call him Rhys, trying in vain to keep her sanity, he would frown and correct her. 

“You wouldn’t want Tamlin to realize we’re lying, don’t you? My daughter wouldn’t call me by my given name.” He’d say, a little frown on his face that made her heart sink. 

“Fine, dad,” she’d bite out. It was too close to what she really wanted to call him, too close to uncovering the terrible thing that lived inside of her. She was terrified that one day her secret would slip out and he’d be so disgusted he would never want to talk to her again. He’d tell Mor and Mor would be disgusted and Feyre would be all alone forever.

Whenever she pushed back on his treatment, he would just say, “It’s our little game, baby. A secret just between you and me.” And she would cave because he had no idea how many secrets she wanted to have with him. 

Feyre still hadn’t seen Tamlin, but his plan was working. One day when Feyre dumped her stuff on her regular desk in her figure drawing class, Cressida, the girl at the seat next to her, leant over and whispered: “Who the fuck was that outside? Is that your dad?” 

“Yeah,” Feyre agreed. It was the first time she’d ever said as much to someone else. “He’s my dad.”

“He’s so fucking hot,” Cressida muttered. She shoved Feyre playfully. “Are you on the look out for a new step-mom?”

“He’s not looking to date anyone,” she snapped, not even knowing if that was true. But the idea of Rhys with anyone was enough to make her burn with rage. 

She was so goddamned fucked. 

Three months of this fake daddy daughter shit and Feyre was worried she was getting arthritis from how often she was masturbating. She was also worried about how dependent on him she had become. He had successfully trained her to call him whenever she needed anything, big or small, which was how she ended up calling him in the middle of the night. 

She had been feeling crappy for a few days, but that night when she got home from her classes, she had crawled into her bed for a little nap. She awoke at 11 that evening, coughing up a lung. Her phone was in her hand before she even noticed. 

Rhys picked up on the first ring, his stupid sexy sleepy voice greeting her, causing her to groan. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” That protective voice again, driving her crazy. 

“I’m dying, Rhys.” She pouted, at least until the pouting was interrupted by another coughing fit. “I’m sick. I need help.”

“Give me 20 minutes, darling.” He instructed, and she listened to the rustle of clothes as he dressed. “Go back to sleep and I’ll be there before you know it. I’ll take care of you.” 

She knew he would.

He showed up 20 minutes later, arms filled with bags. He greeted her with a kiss to the forehead, before sitting her down on the couch and making her take a covid test. When it came back negative, they both were relieved. 

“Have you eaten anything?” He asked, digging through his bags. 

“No,” she mumbled. “I just woke up and called you.” 

“I’ll make you a little snack to tide you over.” He situated her on the couch, wrapping her in his blanket. She had never returned the blanket he had leant her all those nights before when he had first come to her rescue, and he had never brought it up. Then he pulled a little teddy bear wearing a strawberry costume out of the bags. Feyre was in love with him instantly, but she still tried to refuse. 

“I don’t play with toys,” she protested, trying to push him away without noticing how soft he was. 

“I know, honey,” Rhys soothed, taking the bear from her hands and tucking him under the blanket next to her. “But you’re sick- it’s okay to need a little comfort.” 

She accepted it with a huff, mainly because she was too tired to argue. If, when he went to the kitchen to prepare her snack, she took the opportunity to covertly snuggle the bear close, to nuzzle her face against his soft fur, that was her business. He didn’t need to know.

Rhys was back soon with a little bowl of Goldfish crackers and a glass of the yellow Gatorade, causing her stomach to flip. How did he know what she would eat as a sick little kid? Back before her parents lost their money, that was exactly what the maid would give her when she stayed home sick from school.

“Eat it all, baby.” He said, sitting on the floor in front of the couch. “It’ll tide you over until dinner’s ready.”

He watched her while she ate, rubbing circles on her thigh the entire time, causing a deep blush to rise up her neck. Hopefully, he just attributed it to her fever. Once she finished the Goldfish and the Gatorade, he portioned out a dose of cough syrup. 

“No!” Feyre whined, holding her hands in front of her in order to fend him off. “I don’t like syrup- can’t I just take a pill instead? Nyquil has capsules now.” 

“I don’t have capsules," he explained patiently. “I know it’s yucky, but it will help you feel better. You’re a brave girl, aren’t you? Can’t you be brave for me? Be my good girl?” 

“Fine,” Feyre sulked. She swallowed both doses that he gave her and then gulped at the glass of water he handed her, ready to get the taste out of her mouth. 

“You’re so good, darling.” Rhys cooed, his hand continuing to rub her thigh. “I’m so proud of you. Now, why don’t you lay down and watch a little TV until I have dinner ready?” 

He adjusted her on the couch so that she was lying down, strawberry bear in her grasp, before grabbing the remote. He put on Bluey, which Feyre immediately protested against- she wasn’t a baby.

“I don’t watch cartoons,” she said, reaching for the remote. “Put something else on.”

“I think this is perfect,” Rhys said, placing the remote on top of her bookshelf, where she wouldn’t be able to reach it. Feyre didn’t even notice, her eyes locked on the TV. “Just something soft and easy to relax you, hm?”

But Feyre didn’t respond, nothing in her head but the gentle show.

From the moment he heard of her, Rhys was entranced. Mor had come over for dinner, a few months into her freshman year. They had been talking over wine when her phone rang.

“Hi, baby!” Mor had cheered into the phone. Mor was always bubbly, but this was a pitch he had never heard before. She was practically saccharine. “I’m having dinner with my cousin. No- you’re not bothering me. Have you eaten? I’ll bring you some of our leftovers. No, baby, it’s no trouble. You’re never any trouble. I’ll be home in about an hour with something for you to eat, okay, sweetheart? Good, good. Okay, I love you, baby.”

Both of Rhys’s eyebrows were raised by the time she hung up the phone. 

“Well, that was interesting,” he laughed, refilling her wine glass. “You’re not normally the Mommy type- I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing.”

Mor wrinkled her nose, taking a sip from her glass. “I’m not- you know I’m not. There’s just something about Feyre… she’s not helpless, not at all. She’s been taking care of herself her whole life- neglected by her parents, having to work to support the family since she was 14. But there’s something so… baby about her. She looks at you and you just want to take care of her, make all her problems disappear. It breaks your heart, the way she looks at you.” She shrugged, trailing off. 

“She sounds special,” Rhys said. She sounded perfect, exactly what he needed. 

“She is. You’ll understand when you meet her,” Mor said, waving her hand. 

He understood. When he finally met her, he understood perfectly, just in an instant. 

Feyre had an orphaned look in her eye, like she had never experienced even a scrap of affection. She stared like she had never been loved and would follow anyone home, begging for scraps. 

He just needed to make sure it was his home she ended up in. 

When Mor left for her study abroad program the next year, she had made Rhys swear that he would take care of Feyre. It was the easiest promise he had ever made in his life. He would take care of her, he just needed to get her to the proper mentality. 

He understood that Feyre was stubborn and independent. If he had swanned in the second Mor left, Feyre would have fought him: letting Mor care for her was one thing, but Rhys was a stranger, an older and powerful stranger. He needed to bide his time, let her soften up. So he did the exact opposite of what Mor told him to do- he left her alone. Let her fend for herself for a few months. She needed to decide that she needed him. She needed to be the one that reached out first. 

And because she was his perfect girl, she reached out while scared and alone, giving him the opportunity to play the hero. And he got to continue playing the hero. He probably should have written the idiot boy a thank you note, as he made everything so much easier. The way Feyre looked at him after he had pretended to be her father… It was enough to give him chills. Glassy eyed, weak-kneed, flushed and panting. So, so perfect. He could have taken her then and there, but he had a plan. 

Getting to play her father was fun, hearing the way her breath caught every time he called her his daughter, feel the way her knees buckled every time he called her his little girl. She was delicious. He wanted to eat her whole. 

Still, she hadn’t been ready for that. It was apparent to him that she was ashamed of her desires, that she thought they were wrong. He had been willing to give her time, let her warm up to the idea, but her getting sick was simply too good of an opportunity to pass up. 

Rhysand was not, fundamentally, a good man. 

It was easy, with his power and his money, to get anything he wanted. And Feyre just needed a little push. 

So he got cough syrup with codeine and gave her, admittedly, more than the recommended dosage. He just needed to lower her inhibitions a little bit, to make her floaty and easy and willing to call him the word they both needed. 

She dozed on the couch while he cooked, watching a little TV before slipping into dreams again. His heart warmed every time he checked on her, his girl curled on the couch, safe and little, just as they both needed. 

When he finally finished dinner, he woke her, once again sitting on the ground in front of the couch. He had made chicken noodle soup from scratch, using the best ingredients possible, more medicine than food. He also swapped out the normal noodles for pastina, something easy for a sick little girl to eat. 

Feyre’s eyes were dilated, her eyelids heavy. He smiled, holding the spoon to her mouth. She fussed a little at the idea of him feeding her, but quickly gave in, not even protesting when he fed her the carrots and celery he knew she would have avoided.

“I’m so tired, daddy,” she whined, half-way through her bowl and every atom in his body settled. Finally. Finally. 

“I know, I know. You’re doing great, baby. Just a few more bites and then you can sleep. Daddy’s so proud of you.” He soothed, holding another bite to her mouth. She accepted, bending to him so easily. He could have crowed, he was so pleased. His perfect girl. 

After dinner he tucked her into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin with one hand and stroking her hair with the other. She was so, so beautiful, he could hardly believe it. Her golden brown hair, the smattering of freckles on her cheek. The way she clutched her strawberry bear to her chest, the hand she had tangled in his shirt, it all warmed his heart. She was so perfect for him. 

“Good night, baby.” He whispered, moving a hand to stroke her cheek. “Sleep well so that you can get better, okay? I’ll be in the other room if you need me.” 

“No, daddy,” she whined, shaking her head and tightening the grip she had on his shirt. “Stay with me. Sleep here.”

How could he deny her when she asked so sweetly? It was what he wanted anyway. 

“Alright, darling. Let me get more comfortable, okay? Then I’ll join you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She grumbled, but released his shirt, allowing him to move away. 

He didn’t go far, just enough to remove his pants and shirt and to turn off the bedroom light. Then he climbed into bed with her, just where he belonged. Feyre immediately moved over so she could press her little body against him, her bear pressed between her chest and his side. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her even closer. 

Perfect. 

Feyre’s illness broke three days later. Three days where Rhys never left her side, taking care of her completely. He fed her, gave her her medicine, even went so far as bathing her. He did his job remotely from her kitchen table, where he could keep an eye on where she rested on the couch, cartoons playing softly. 

She woke in the morning slowly, confused by the very warm, very hard body pressed against her. Rhys was half naked, holding her back to his chest with a firm arm wrapped around her waist, and his hard cock pressed against her ass. This was not good. 

She carefully extracted herself, breathing a sigh of relief when Rhys didn’t stir, but instead rolled over onto his stomach. Still asleep, thank god. She fled to the bathroom to have a freak out in private. 

Crouched on the tile, the events of the past few days came to her slowly, with the air of a dream. She had called Rhys and he had come, like always. That was normal. What wasn’t normal was the realization that she had acted like a baby while he was here, watching cartoons and snuggling with a plush toy. She was disgusted with herself already, when the biggest realization of all hit her, freezing her blood in her veins. She had called him daddy. 

“Fuck,” she whispered, clutching her arms tightly around herself as if she could hold herself together like that. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

He had been nice about it, playing along, but surely that was all it was: playing along. Being a good sport because she was sick and he was a kind person who didn’t want her to feel stupid. He was definitely just waiting until she felt better in order to let her down easy, to make a quick exit, and then to never see her again. 

She whimpered. Why did she have to ruin everything? Why was she such a freak? 

Of course that was when she heard a knock on the door. “Feyre? Are you okay in there?” 

“Fine!” She called, ears burning with humiliation. “I’ll be out in a moment!”

Of course that wasn’t enough for Rhys, because she watched in horror as the doorknob turned. She had forgotten to lock it. Fuck. 

She couldn’t help the indignant yelp she let out when he opened the door. Before she was really capable of thinking, she had a spare roll of toilet paper in her hand and threw it at him with all her strength. He batted it away easily

“What the fuck?” She hissed. “I could have been on the toilet!” 

“You’re obviously not,” he scoffed, pointedly looking at where she sat on the tile. “What’s wrong?” 

“Aside from you barging into my alone time?” She sniped. She considered grabbing another toilet roll, but it suddenly seemed like too much effort. 

“Yes, aside from that.” He stepped into the bathroom, closing in on her. When he was close enough, he grabbed her by the arms to pull her to standing. They were nose to nose, or they would be if he wasn’t so stupidly tall. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re what’s wrong!” She wanted to shove at his chest, get some distance, but he still had a firm grasp on her. She couldn’t go anywhere if she tried. 

“What does that mean?” He asked, eyes roving over her face. “What have I done other than take care of you the past few days?”

“That’s what I mean!” She snapped, training her eyes on the tile behind him so that she wouldn’t have to meet his burning gaze. “Why would you stop your life like that? I’m just your cousin’s needy former roommate. Why would you do any of this, especially letting me call you…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. She wished the earth would swallow her whole. 

“Is that what’s this about?” He asked, huffing out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re embarrassed about calling me daddy?” 

“Of course I am! Don’t you know that’s weird?” She finally wrenched herself from his grasp, pushing past him to leave the crowded bathroom. She glanced around her bedroom, full of things he had purchased for her, tears stinging her eyes.

He was close on her heels. “Why is it weird? I obviously don’t mind, or I wouldn’t have let you call me that in the first place.”

“It just is! You’re just being nice and I’m… I’m perverting it! I’m fucked up!” God, why did she open her stupid mouth? She really was about to lose everything.

“Oh, you’re perverting it, huh?” To her surprise, Rhys was laughing. He grabbed her by her shoulders and steered her to the bed, gently pushing her down onto the mattress so that she was sitting on the edge. “You’re so cute.”

“I- What? I’m not- What does that have to do with anything!?” She stuttered. None of this made any sense, why was he looking at her with such fondness? 

“Feyre, I want to be your daddy.” He explained patiently, like he wasn’t bringing her world down around her. “That’s what this entire thing has been about. Why do you think I’ve been pretending to be your father?” 

“I thought you wanted to trick Tamlin,” she muttered. 

He laughed, rich and deep. “We haven’t even seen him in three months, baby. And yet, I have continued to pretend. How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t!”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning down to get in her face. She couldn’t help the shiver she let out as his breath ghosted across her cheek. “It doesn’t make sense at all unless I enjoy playing house with you. This has all been foreplay.”

“Excuse me?” Feyre yelled, jumping up. He took a quick half-step back, narrowly avoiding colliding heads. “What? You- what?” 

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been enjoying it. You haven’t exactly been subtle about how much pleasure you take when I call you my little girl. You go all glassy eyed and pink cheeked, your little knees buckling. I even heard you that night with Tamlin- you touched yourself the second the door closed- you didn’t give me time to walk away. I heard you call me daddy that first night, and I have been patiently waiting for you to do it again.”

Feyre felt like she was about to explode. He had heard her- this entire time, he had her number. 

“You don’t… you don’t think it’s weird? You don’t think I’m weird?” She was trembling. This was too much for her to handle, especially off the back of her illness.

“No, baby.” He soothed, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. “I don’t think it’s weird at all. I want to be your daddy.” 

“In a sexual way?” She needed the confirmation, needed to know before she let herself get too far ahead. 

“Yes,” his voice was rough and gravelly, his eyes intense. “In a sexual way, and in any other way you would allow me. I love you, Feyre.” 

Love… 

Feyre had to sit down, falling gracelessly to the bed. He loved her? He wanted to be her daddy, and didn’t think it was weird and loved her? This had to be a dream. These things didn’t happen to girls like her. 

He dropped to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his. “Say something, Feyre. Let me love you. Let me take care of you, sexually and otherwise. Be my little girl.” 

“Okay,” she said, her voice timid. How could she turn him down? He loved her. No one had ever loved her before, not like this.

“Let me fuck you, baby. Please say I can fuck you.” He pressed a slow kiss to her cheek, too low, practically the corner of her lips. 

“You can fuck me,” the words came out as a whisper, still so scared that this was a dream she would wake from any minute. 

Rhys didn’t need any more encouragement, practically lunging to kiss her. He kissed her desperately, like he had been on edge for so long and was finally being offered a reprieve. He practically devoured her, the kiss so intense and overwhelming that Feyre couldn’t help the breathy little moans that slipped out every few seconds. 

His hands were quickly at the hem of her shirt, breaking the kiss only so long as to pull it over her head. His hands went to her tits, taking one in each hand and groaning as he ran his thumbs over her nipples. 

“So fucking beautiful,” he moaned, kissing down her neck. “You were such a temptation, always so hard to keep my hands to myself.” 

He paused to suck a hickey onto her collarbone and Feyre couldn’t help thrusting her hips up, desperate for friction. It was only made worse when he made his way down to her tits, his mouth latching over one of her nipples, flicking his tongue back and forth across it before sucking hard. 

Feyre cried out, her hands going to his hair. If this was a preview to how he would treat her clit, she didn’t know how she’d survive it. One of his hands went up to clutch her hair, while the other was busy with her other nipple, reproducing his movements with his fingers. He bit down hard on one nipple, while pinching the other one as hard as he could, and a loud cry left her lips, her hips bucking off of the bed, so desperate for something. 

“Feyre,” he moaned, moving a hand to pin her hips. “How am I supposed to focus when you’re being so very tempting?" 

“Sorry, daddy.” She whimpered, fisting her hands in the bed sheets. “I can’t help it. I’m so empty.” 

He moaned at her words, his eyes blown dark in his desperation. “I suppose daddy will need to do something about that, hm? Does he need to give his desperate little girl something to tide her over?” 

“Yeah,” she panted as he hooked his hands in the band of her sleep shorts, pulling them and her panties down at once. “Need it, need it.”

“How could I ever deny you anything?” With a wicked smirk, he hooked his hands under her arms and tossed her up the bed before following her in. He manhandled her, pushing and pulling her until her head was resting on the pillows and her legs were wide open for him. 

He groaned at the sight of her glistening cunt, her curls soaked with her arousal. “So fucking wet.” He spread her folds, but didn’t move, just stared at how her hole fluttered, uselessly clenching around nothing. He was completely enraptured, giving Feyre enough time to become embarrassed, to try and shut her legs. 

Rhys stopped her, putting a hand on each thigh and spreading her even wider than she had been before. “Don’t be naughty,” he tutted. “You want to be a good girl, don’t you? Let daddy look.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whined, long and debauched. “It just- it hurts, daddy. I need help.” 

“Poor thing.” He cooed, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb on her thigh. “Let daddy fix it.” 

He reached up, grabbing her strawberry bear and depositing him into her arms. Feyre clutched him instinctually, cheeks burning. It was so wrong…

But before she could spiral further, Rhys moved toward her, licking a firm stripe through her cunt. She yelped, bringing her bear to her face in shock. He did it again and again, before thrusting it into her and curling. 

“Fuck,” he moaned. “You’re so tight. How are you going to fit daddy’s big cock inside your tight pussy? Gonna have to stretch you open. Would you like that? For daddy to reshape your little cunt to fit him?” 

“Yes,” she moaned, thrusting up, chasing his face. “Yes, make me yours.”

He laughed, a little mean, before leaning down to spit at her entrance and circling a finger through it. Not thrusting in yet, just teasing. She whined- she needed him, why wasn’t he fucking her yet?

At the same time Rhys thrust his finger into her, he finally leant down to suck her clit into his mouth. He worked her slowly, almost languid in his movements, driving her absolutely crazy. Her hands flew to his hair, all that beautiful silver that drove her crazy, urging him to hurry up, and he laughed again. 

“Impatient little brat,” he cooed, slowing his hand even further. “I thought you were daddy’s good girl?”

“I am!” Feyre cried, chasing his finger. “But it hurts, daddy! It hurts! I need more.” 

“Poor thing,” he condescended, leaving her clit to press hot open-mouthed kisses to her thigh. He paused his ministrations long enough to suck a purple hickey into the meat of her thigh. It was enough to make Feyre start crying. 

Rhys looked utterly entranced by her tears, his mouth dropping open, his eyes hungry. She shivered, suddenly afraid by the practically animalistic look in his eyes. He moved back to her cunt, ravenous in his desperation for her. He pulled her clit back into his mouth, sucking hard as he pressed two fingers into her and curled, fingers pressing deep into her front wall, pressure on the knife’s edge of too intense. 

Feyre cried out, hiccuping through sobs as her orgasm was violently ripped through her. He didn’t let up, just redoubled his efforts, pressing another finger into her, and striping his tongue back and forth across her clit. His other hand came up to swipe through the tears littering her cheeks, moaning as the salty liquid soaked his hand.  

He kept going, scissoring his fingers and sucking at her desperately, rubbing his tongue firmly against the base of her clit. She was practically incoherent as he pulled her second orgasm from her, his fingers pressing so mercilessly against her walls. It was too much, all too much, and she screamed as she came, gushing around him. 

Rhys was in heaven, pure fucking heaven. She was perfect, his girl. So fucking perfect, just as he knew she would be. He sat back, taking in the gorgeous site of her flushed and trembling, with tears still spilling from her eyes. He brought the hand covered in her tears to his mouth and licked them off. 

He kissed her thighs, her stomach, murmuring praise to her until she seemed to be back in her own body. He was nibbling on her hip bone when he felt her grind her hips up into him again. He smiled. 

“Already, baby?” He cooed, drawing his fingers back to her over-stimulated cunt. “You’re insatiable.”

“But- you haven’t come yet.” Feyre whined, cheeks red and eyes shining. 

“You want daddy’s cock?” He asked, easing a finger back into her. Her breath hitched on the beginning of a sob. “Poor little girl’s so empty, huh? You need daddy to fill you up and keep you here? Keep you in my bed, on my cock forever?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, grabbing her bear of her own volition and holding him to her face, burying her eyes in the fluff so she wouldn’t have to meet Rhys’s gaze. 

“Ask nicely, little girl. Manners are important.” He tutted, bringing his other hand up to play with her breast. She really had such perfect little tits, so fucking soft. He wanted to suffocate in them. He leant forward to sink his teeth into one, hard enough to bruise. 

Feyre peeked out from behind her bear, and he couldn’t help the absolutely besotted smile he gave her when she met his gaze. “Please fuck me with your cock.” 

“Let’s try again-” he said, curling the finger still in her cunt. “Please fuck me with your cock…”

“Daddy!” She whined, torn between squirming away from his fingers and thrusting into them. “Please fuck me with your cock, daddy!” 

“Good girl,” he praised, kissing her tummy. He kept his hand moving for a few more thrusts, adoring how wet she was; practically dripping down his wrist. He could have kept playing with her all day. He would one day- take the day off of work, keeping her in the bed with a hand in her cunt- just his hand, no matter how she cried and begged for his cock. Play with her over and over again until she was absolutely sobbing with overstimulation, and then play with her some more. Keep her trapped there until night fell and then finally, finally he would shove his cock into her. He would fuck her until she passed out and then he would keep fucking her, filling her up with his seed while she slept, over and over until it had absolutely no choice but to take. 

Overcome with the vision, he pulled his boxers off, tossing them somewhere away from the bed. That was unlike him, normally he was very careful with his clothes, always folding them into a neat pile. Feyre was far too tempting, however, and he had waited so long for her. 

He settled back between her legs, slowly thrusting his cock through her folds, getting himself slick. Every time his cock brushed her clit, Feyre let out the most charming whimper, one he was determined to memorize. But she was getting ansty, wriggling around, trying to thrust with him in order to encourage him to just get on with it. 

After a whimpered “Please,” he finally grabbed his cock, bringing it to her entrance. She was so fucking warm. The world fell away as he pressed into her, still so tight despite coming twice on his fingers. Pure fucking bliss. No other cunt would ever compare. 

“So big,” she whimpered once he was entirely seated in her. “Too big.”

“You can take it,” he assured her, not stopping until he was seated to the root. “Daddy’s good girl, you can take anything I give you.”

Rhys gave her a moment to adjust, only beginning to move when she blinked those big blue eyes at him, tears slipping down her cheeks again. He groaned, leaning down to lick them off. 

She gasped, shoving him away. He just laughed, and started at a punishing pace. 

Cries fell from her lips with every thrust, her nails dug in deep into shoulders, clinging on for dear life. He lifted her leg higher up his hip, pressing her open further. This was truly heaven. 

“God, you feel amazing. Daddy’s perfect cocksleeve. Such a fucking good girl.” He babbled, increasing his pace. He brought his thumb up to brush her clit. “One more, honey. Give me another. Come on my cock, little slut. Show me how desperate you are for it.” 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” Feyre cried, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. She moaned into his mouth, moving to meet each of his thrusts. 

“Come on, baby. Strangle my cock with your tight little cunt, you can do it. Make me happy, come for me.” He muttered against her lips. He increased the pressure on her clit and with a cry, she was doing what he asked, his good girl. Always his best girl. 

When she could breathe again, she placed a hand on his chest. He slowed his pace, though each thrust was still powerful. “You really don’t think this is weird? Like immoral?” 

He laughed, full and loud, pressing his face against hers for a moment. “No, baby. I don’t think it’s wrong. I wouldn’t care anyway even if it was; I don’t give a shit about what anyone else thinks about our relationship.” 

“You’re sure?” Feyre asked, stroking his chest, tracing the swirls in his tattoo. “You really don’t mind?”

“Fuck no, I love this. There’s nothing you could throw at me that I would think is weird.” Rhys placed his hand over hers on his chest, bringing it up to press a kiss to her fingers. He let go of her hand, grabbing the headboard in order to give him better leverage and picked his pace up again. He couldn’t help himself, she just felt too good to stop. 

“If you say so,” Feyre smiled, before transforming her face into something almost scared. Then, she opened up her mouth and in a voice so small and girlish said “No, daddy! You need to take it out! I’m too little to get pregnant!” 

Rhys’s jaw dropped, his hips stuttering as he shoved himself as deeply in her as he could go, coming instantly, heat flooding her. He was not a man to lose control. He just wasn't. The last time he had come too early during sex was back when Cassian gave him his first blowjob at 15. But Feyre-

“Fuck! Fuck!” He yelled. He kept thrusting, pumping his come deep in her, trying to push it as deep in her pussy as he could, needing it to soak into her womb. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever come so hard. Too little… He started laughing. 

Feyre laughed with him. 

“I am never letting you go.” Rhys said, burying his laughter in her hair. “You’re stuck with me forever now.” 

“I can’t believe you liked that,” she giggled, stroking her hands up and down his back. “That was so fucked up.” 

“Good thing I’m also fucked up, then.” He pulled back to kiss her softly. “That was… fuck, Feyre. We’re doing that again.” 

“Really?” She asked as he collapsed on the bed next to her. 

“Give me 20 minutes,” He laughed, pulling her to his side. He couldn’t believe her- she was his fucking soulmate, it was official. “I love you, baby.”

Feyre tucked her face into his chest, half hiding from him. Her smile was wide. “I love you too, daddy.”