You’re So Vain
Warnings: Smut, cuck!tamlin, karaoke
Word Count: 6k
Gifting this one to my darling @impossiblescissorspeachpaper !! Thank you so much for helping me work through this idea 🏻. Hope you have a marvelous December ♥️. This is the first Feysand fic I have ever written!! My humble offering to @feysand-month 🤍.
“What is he doing here?” Feyre asked, glaring at the back of her ex-boyfriend. Tall — the only two people taller than him at the party were his brothers — and she could see his lean muscles underneath his white button down. God, who wears a well pressed shirt to a karaoke party?
He ran a tan hand through his perfectly tousled hair which caused Feyre to narrow her eyes. She knew exactly how much time and effort he put into his hair. How many products he used, how much he spent on imported hair care products from France. How the little movement he just did was actually pre-determined and done to make him look nonchalant.
She hated how much she remembered about him when they broke up 8 months ago.
She hated how much she learned about him when they only dated for a month. Four weeks. 30 days. 730 hours.
She hated that she still thought about him when she fucked her current boyfriend — Tamlin. But it was the only way she could feel pleasure when she laid underneath him and he grunted on top of her. Most days she didn’t even like Tamlin. But it was better than being alone.
“He’s my cousin,” Mor explained, running a hand over her slinky red dress. Style ran in the family, apparently. Feyre adjusted her own simple black dress. “I couldn’t just not invite him.”
Her smile was too innocent.
“What were your words? ‘He would never degrade himself with a karaoke party?’” Ferye asked sarcastically, giving her friend a bland look and shifting all of her golden brown hair to one shoulder. It was absurdly hot in their apartment, but she guessed that’s what happened when you crammed too many bodies into an apartment like sardines. Even if it was the middle of December, and it wasn’t as if their apartment was small by any means. But Feyre felt her blood start to simmer the second Rhysand walked into the room.
“Evidently I was wrong.” Mor said brightly, pouring herself and Feyre large portions of her homemade margaritas. She handed Feyre a red plastic cup rimmed with salt.
“He broke up with me, Mor,” Feyre said softly, proud of herself for hiding the hitch in her voice. “Just because you put us in the same room doesn’t mean he’s going to magically fall in love with me. Plus I have a boyfriend.”
Mor rolled her brown eyes and took a sip of her Margarita.
“Sadly.” Mor muttered, not hiding her hatred for Feyre’s boyfriend.
“If Amarantha comes, then I’m leaving.” Feyre said seriously. She had no wish to see the red head clinging to Rhys — the thought alone had her seeing red. She’d rather scratch her eyes out than see those two going at it in real life. They were all over social media — it didn’t matter that she had Amarantha blocked on all platforms, but she couldn’t go on tiktok without seeing edits of them on her FYP. And if she saw one more picture of them on her Pinterest she was going to blow a gasket.
It didn’t matter than Amarantha was married to somebody else, some high ranking government official — Rhysand was still more powerful than her husband. With his old money and family connections.
Feyre wanted to vomit just thinking about them together.
She could only go on Instagram in small bursts, and every time she fought the urge to check his Instagram to see if he was posting about them. She didn’t go on Instagram often, since it was almost always a battle she lost.
“No way that bitch is getting past our door.” Mor said viciously. It was a toss up between who she hated more: Amarantha or Tamlin.
Feyre’s blue eyes traveled back to her ex-boyfriend and her world stopped for a bit to see that he was looking at her. His violet eyes intense as they stared at her.
Rage simmered through her veins as he smirked at her.
Feyre glared at him as she took a large gulp of her margarita.
“You can’t leave me tonight.” Feyre told Mor, who looked at her mischievously.
Mor was a horrible friend.
30 minutes later Rhysand approached them and Mor just had to double check the karaoke machine.
“There you are,” Rhysand said in a voice that was practically a purr. “I’ve been looking for you, Feyre Darling.”
Her stomach dipped as he said her nickname. His British accent just as lovely and attractive as ever.
“Don’t,” Feyre said in a cold voice, jamming her finger into his chest. “Call me that.”
His smirk grew, and the cocky expression on his handsome face irked her as much as it unraveled her. She wondered what the hell he saw in her face. She was never as good at masking her emotions as he was.
“You’ve always loved it when I called you that,” He dipped his head close to her — close enough that she could feel his damp breath on her cheek. “If I recall correctly,” Warmth flooded her veins. “You especially liked when I said it as you were coming all over my cock—”
“Tell me, Feyre Darling, has anyone else been able to reach the spot deep inside of you?”
“Yes.” Feyre lied through her teeth.
“Liar.” Rhsyand said softly, his lips still upturned.
“Tamlin does,” Feyre continued with her lie, not breaking eye contact as she took another large sip of her drink. “He makes me forget your name. All the time.” I can only come if I imagine he’s you.
She thought a hint of fury passed through his eyes.
He licked his lips and Feyre hated how her eyes were drawn to the action.
“You’re with Tamlin?” Rhsyand asked in a flat, cold voice. He was close enough that Feyre could feel the tension radiating from his body.
“Yes.” Feyre replied, tilting her chin up to glare at him.
Rhys stole the plastic cup from her hand and finished it in one drink. Her eyes glassed a little as she looked at the way his throat worked. Fuck, she had a thing for necks. And she recalled so vividly how Rhys liked it when she bit him right next to his pulse — the first time she did it was on a whim, but it pushed him over the edge and caused him to come inside of her.
They were on his fucking yacht and had sex the entire weekend.
How the hell was she with a guy who had his own yacht?
“I bet he doesn’t even touch your clit,” Rhys said, taking a step towards her until her back was pressed into the counter, his arms caging her in. “Or go down on you at all. He’s a prick.”
True. Everything he said was true.
And yet she felt the need to defend her boyfriend.
“His cock is bigger than yours.”
His gaze darkened and his smirk fell.
“You’re a horrible liar, Feyre Darling.”
“Then why do you look like someone kicked your puppy?”
“Because the thought of him sticking his tiny prick inside of you makes me want to flay the skin from his bones.”
Feyre bit her lip.
“Why do you care so much?” Feyre asked, her face pulling towards his.
“Because I remember how fucking wet you were coming on my cock over and over again, Feyre Darling, and your sweet little pants as you stretched around me. And how fucking insatiable you were riding me all night long,” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, causing her to shiver. “I’m the best you’ve ever had.”
“How the hell did we have room for your ego in our relationship?”
Feyre glared as his lips fell back into a smirk.
“I bet you’re wet right now.” Rhys said, and Feyre felt her cheeks burn.
She opened her mouth to respond, but Mor’s boisterous voice echoed through the microphone.
Feyre recognized the music and lyrics instantly.
Mariah Carey’s Fantasy.
Feyre felt herself smiling, the song fit her friend perfectly.
With two hands, she pushed Rhysand away from her and muttered, “I need another margarita.”
The sound of Rhys’s laughter grated on her nerves and set her on edge — especially because she could feel how wet her panties were.
She was grateful Mor only knew how to make strong margaritas. And she was also incredibly grateful that Mor thrived in the spotlight because it meant that no one could see her skulking in the corner.
Mor crooned the words, “But it's just a sweet, sweet fantasy, baby - When I close my eyes, you come and take me - On and on and on, it's so deep in my daydreams,” and twisted her body to the music in a way that captured everyone’s attention. And there was one brunette that Mor was making eyes at, and Feyre knew Mor was going to go back with her tonight.
Leaving her their apartment.
Feyre took another swig of her drink and grimaced when she found it was empty, so she filled it up again. By the time Mor finished her song, Feyre was half way done with her third margarita when her blonde friend pointed to her.
“Feyre,” Mor sung her name into the microphone. “It’s your turn.”
Feyre was ready to shake her head and run out the door, but she saw Rhysand smirking at her and raising his eyebrows in a challenge, Feyre quickly finished her drink and walked to where Mor stood on a makeshift stage. She didn’t even know how her roommate got it into their apartment without her knowing, and the sparkling disco ball that hung over the stage came close to smacking her in the head.
She took the mic from her friend and slowly scrolled through the songs until she found the perfect one.
The opening notes sounded through the room and her eyes clashed with violet ones as she sang, “You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht,” She hated the fact that he had an actual fucking yacht. “Your hat strategically dipped below one eye - Your scarf it was apricot,” She gestured to the imaginary clothes dramatically and rolled her eyes as she moved. “You had one eye in the mirror, as you watched yourself gavotte,”
She noted the exact moment that recognition dawned on his face — it was accompanied by his brothers laughing and playfully punching him in the arms.
Her hips moved with the beat of the song, popping to the side as she sang, “And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner - They'd be your partner and,” A smirk stretched across his face as she danced like she was Kate Hudson from How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days. “You're so vain - You probably think this song is about you - You're so vain (you're so vain) - I bet you think this song is about you - Don't you don't you?”
The bastard brought his hands up and brought them together — he was slow clapping at her. Douche, Feyre cursed silently, hating that he was enjoying this.
“You had me several months,” She intentionally changed the lyric, but the venom that laced her voice was unplanned. “Ago when I was still quite naive - Well you said that we made such a pretty pair and that you would never leave,” If it wasn’t for the copious amounts of tequila, then she would have moderated her voice. “But you gave away the things you loved - And one of them was me,” She placed her hand on her chest and bowed dramatically, showing off her cleavage just slightly and she watched as Rhys’s violet eyes followed. His jaw clenched. “I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee clouds in my coffee and,” Her hips popped with the song, and she grinned hearing everyone singing along. Everyone but Rhys. “You're so vain- You probably think this song is about you - You're so vain,” Even Azriel and Cassian were singing along — Cassian cupping his hands and sang with the booming voice. Azriel may have just been mouthing the words, but a win was a win.
Feyre continued to sing, loving how the tequila made her bold and brash even though she was certain she would be cringing with regret in the morning.
Her eyes narrowed as she spit out the lines, “Well you're where you should be all the time - And when you're not, you're with some underworld spy - Or the wife of a close friend wife of a close friend,” An image of him and Amarantha tangled in sheets flashed through her mind, fueling her anger.
Like a spark in an engine, the mental image of that old crone with her hands on Rhys sent her spiraling as she sang the last few lines of the song. “Probably think this song is about you - You're so vain.”
She didn’t call on someone else, she just set the mic down and marched into her room, avoiding eye contact with everyone in her path.
Feyre was vaguely aware of Cassian climbing onto the stage and making a show of selecting whatever song he was going to sing.
She closed the door behind her, but her neck whipped around when it opened two seconds later.
Rhys slid into her room and leaned against the closed door. His white shirt tight over his chest as he crossed his arms. The muscles on his arms straining against the fabric — the bastard probably did it on purpose.
He crossed one ankle over the other as he gazed at her.
“Feyre Darling,” He said in his lilting accent. “Did you really think I would let you get away with that?”
Feyre lifted a hand, pointing towards the door, and said, “Get out.”
He locked the door behind his back and pushed off of the frame, taking a step towards her.
She could hear Cassian begin his song through the door. It sounded suspiciously like Meat Loaf.
“I have a boyfriend.” Feyre said, dropping her hand as Rhys walked closer to her.
“And yet you sang to me tonight.”
Feyre rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips.
“I think you missed the point of the fucking song.”
“And I think you missed me.” Rhys said and he swooped his head down to her, but Feyre pushed him away.
“What the fuck are you doing,Rhys? You,” She poked his peck roughly, hating how his white upper teeth sank into his bottom lip to hide a smile. “Broke up,” She punctuated every word with her fingers on his chest. “With me.”
His violet eyes darkened.
“Because I had to, not because I wanted to.” His voice was unbearably soft.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“You’ve gotten a potty mouth since we were together,” Rhys observed, and before Feyre could stop him he brought his hand to her face and brushed his thumb over her lips. “Your mouth is much too pretty for such dirty words.”
“I must have picked it up from Tamlin.” Feyre said, pouting as his thumb stilled on her lips.
“Then I’m going to fuck it out of your system.” Rhys growled, fury lining his face at the mention of her boyfriend.
“Oh, so it’s ok for you to say fuck?” Feyre narrowed her eyes, drawing out the word and putting extra emphasis on the k.
“Your mouth is going to be the first thing I fuck tonight.”
Feyre gasped as his hand moved from her mouth and tangled in her hair, tugging it sharply to angle her mouth directly under his.
She shivered, remembering how much he loved it when she took his cock into her mouth. He loved coming down her throat as Feyre looked up at him with wide blue eyes, especially with smeared makeup. And she knew it drove him crazy to watch her swallow.
“And your girlfriend?” Feyre said spitefully, unable to not throw it in his face.
His grip on her hair tightened.
“One day, love, I’ll tell you everything.” He said, his breath fanning over her face.
Agitation stung under the surface of her skin.
“You can tell me now,” Feyre said between her clenched teeth. “Or you can get out.”
“You don’t want me to leave,” Rhys placed his lips against her cheek and Feyre’s breath came faltering out of her lips, and he slowly moved down to her neck. His kisses burning a trail over her sensitive skin. “Or you would have kicked me out by now.” He said into her neck.
His tongue traced over her fluttering pulse.
“That little fit? That’s our foreplay, Feyre Darling, you should remember that.” Rhys said as he moved his lips up her neck.
He was right.
He loved to heat her up and cool her down.
She was about to respond, but his lips dropped to hers.
Hot and needy.
Feyre felt her knees give out, but Rhysand’s free arm wrapped around her and brought their fronts together.
His tongue grazed the seam of her lips and Feyre parted her mouth, moaning as his tongue slid past her lips.
Breathlessly he pulled away from her and said, “I knew you missed me.”
Feyre rolled her eyes at his arrogance.
“There is one thing that I missed.” Feyre admitted and placed her palm against his hard cock over his black slacks.
Rhys chuckled lightly and said, “A rather large thing, really, darling, but then again you were always greedy when it came to my cock. You could never get enough.”
A rush of applause sounded through the door — Cassian must have finished his song.
“Did anyone see you follow me?” Feyre asked, finally registering the fact that there was still a party going on without them.
Rhysand gave her a bland, regal look.
“Do you really think this is my first time sneaking away for a tryst, love?”
Feyre glowered at him.
“It is with me.” She growled and roughly unbuttoned his shirt — a few of his buttons popping off and clanking as they landed. Feyre didn’t want to imagine how much they cost. They were probably made of platinum.
“Darling, don’t take your jealousy out on my Armani.” Rhysand said, laughter lacing his voice as he shrugged out of his shirt. He walked over to the side of her room where her desk laid and hung his shirt on the back of her chair so it wouldn’t wrinkle.
He stepped out of his shoes, and then the clicking of his belt unbuckling filled the room, followed by the swishing of his pants.
And then he was naked in front of her and it became a little harder for Feyre to breathe.
Her mouth watered a bit at the sight of his erection — a little bead of liquid pooling at the tip.
He looked so fucking confident as he walked over to her, as if they were in his room.
“You know,” Feyre said, looking up at him. “My lock is broken. It only works like 50% of the time.”
Rhys placed two hands on her exposed arms and turned her around, his hand leaving her skin to remove her dress.
“I was never one to shy away from a little exhibitionism,” Rhys whispered into her ear as he unzipped her dress slowly. “Love, why the fuck are you wearing this rag? We break up and you lose all sense of fashion?”
Feyre rolled her eyes.
“I have more important things to spend my money on, like rent.”
She shivered as he nudged the sleeves of her shoulders and the dress pooled by her feet. Feyre stood in only her heels and little black lace thong — goose bumps pebbled her skin, but soon Rhysands large, warm hands covered her breasts. He pulled her back into his chest and Feyre bit her lip at the contact — his hardened chest hot against her back. She could feel his muscles straining against her. His thick dick pressing into the round globes of her ass.
“Feyre Darling,” He said, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, and he moved his hips against hers. “I can put you up in a lovely little townhouse. Apartment. Penthouse. Whatever you want. I can give you the loveliest clothes and jewels. All of your needs will be met,” He grasped her earlobe between his teeth and tugged sharply. “All the orgasms you want.”
Hurt pricked at her heart and the next words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“As your whore?”
Rhysand tensed as he processed her words — an arrow aimed straight for his heart, and a little worm of regret wiggled inside of her. Probably from the tequila.
“Of course not.”
“If you can give me all that, then why can’t we be together?” Feyre asked, looking over her shoulder at him to find his violet eyes burning brightly.
“We will be — one day. You need to trust me,” Rhys said in a harsh whisper as his fingers dug deeper into her flesh. “Fuck, I missed having you in my arms.”
“I missed your touch.” Feyre admitted in a whisper and reached to claim his lips.
As they kissed one of his hands reached down to clasp between her thighs. He groaned against her lips and he muttered, “I fucking knew you were wet for me. I remember your needy little pussy. How my tongue and fingers were just never enough — you craved my cock. And you would get into such a cute little frenzy, coming over and over on my tongue and still desperate for more. My insatiable little love.”
“I love the way you feel in me.” Feyre said, leaning her head back on his shoulder as he worked her over her lacy thong. His other hand teasing her pink nipple.
Rhys dipped his head to kiss her neck.
“The first time we were together you came from my cock alone. All you had to do was take my entire cock and you drenched the bed from your orgasm.”
A gush of liquid seeped out of her and onto his hand — Feyre could feel him smirking against her neck.
“And now all you need are my words to come. Feyre Darling, don’t tell me my voice alone does it for you.”
“Your voice only does it for yourself, darling.” Feyre replied mockingly, and she delighted in the little chuckle that pulled from his lips.
“To be determined, my love.”
Feyre was about to respond, but the tearing of fabric and the friction of her panties being pulled against her clit caused a small scream to sound from her lips.
“I’ll buy you a new pair,” Rhys grasped her earlobe between his teeth and tugged. “Made of silk.”
“I like the sound of silk when it tears, darling.”
His fingers were hot as they slid through her wet folds, teasing her bud.
“I can’t wait to be inside of your sweet pussy,” Rhys said hotly into her ear. “But first I want you on your knees.”
He twisted and maneuvered her body until she was kneeling in front of him, dressed in only her strappy black heels.
She remembered that he had a thing for them. For a brief moment she was stunned by how much she remembered about him, but soon became enamored by his erection bobbing in front of her eyes.
She hated that her mouth watered just by looking at it.
It bobbed in front of her long and thick and she longed to have it between her thighs, filling her up as he took her at a brutal pace.
Feyre roughly grabbed the base of his cock and used her tongue to trace the vein that ran the length of him. All the way until she got to the weeping head and swirled her tongue, collecting all the liquid that beaded at his tip.
His fingers pulled at her hair, enough for Feyre to feel slight stings on her scalp.
Her pussy clenched in response.
She looked up at him with wide eyes as her mouth wrapped around his head, her cheeks already hollowing out.
His sharp features were ridden with lust, and his eyes were burning bright as he gazed down at her and Feyre felt so fucking desireable.
Their eyes locked as Feyre slowly took more of him, and Rhys gathered her hair into his hand like a ponytail.
“Your mouth is so pretty wrapped around me,” Rhysand said, slowly starting to move his hips. “Isn’t this a better use of your mouth, darling? Rather than saying all those filthy words?”
Feyre narrowed her eyes at him and scraped over his skin with her teeth, delighting in the way he shivered at the contact.
“That wasn’t very nice, Feyre Darling. I’m going to show you the proper use of your mouth.” His voice was heavy with lust and he snapped his hips into her face, her nose nudging his pelvis.
Drool pooled down her chin as she choked on his cock, which was moving furiously in and out of her mouth. His balls slapping against her chin
Feyre was so turned on and drenched that liquid coated the insides of her thighs, loving how Rhys was slowly losing control and that it was because of her. He was always so annoyingly in control of how he appeared to others — always in a mask, showing people the arrogant prick he pretended to be. Well, mostly pretended to be. She saw the depth of him when they were together and it completely captured her heart. He was still an arrogant prick, but there was more.
She moaned around his hot cock, slippery from her mouth, and he held her mouth to the base of his cock as he shot down her throat — Feyre swallowed most of it, some of it falling down her chin as he pulled out of her mouth.
A line of spit connecting her lips to the head of his dick.
Her tongue collecting the smear of semen on her lips. She used the back of her hand to wipe away the drool on her chin.
Feyre panted with her hands on her knees, staring up at Rhysand and wondering what it was about him that drove her wild with lust. The thought of doing what they just did with anyone else made her want to shrivel up.
“Stop thinking.” Rhys said, helping her to her feet. Her knees wobbly like jelly and his lips claimed hers, his tongue sweeping through her mouth.
Feyre moaned knowing he could taste himself.
When he pulled away Feyre said, “Tamlin makes me brush my teeth and rinse with Listerine before kissing me after—”
A hard slap cracked against her ass, and Feyre screamed in shock and pleasure. His hand roughly massaging her cheek to ease her stinging flesh.
“Don’t,” Rhys growled through clenched teeth. “Talk about him.”
“Jealous?” Feyre asked, wanting to provoke him.
“He doesn’t fucking deserve you.”
“And you do?”
“No,” Rhysand said, kissing her again. “But I’m fucking taking you anyway.”
He picked her up and tossed her on the bed — Feyre felt dizzy for a second before spreading her legs for him, her knees high as her heels dug into her quilt.
She didn’t care that he was seeing how soaking wet and ready she was for him. Didn’t care that it was probably stroking his ego in a way she would probably never hear the end of.
“Then fucking take me and make me forget about him.”
Rhys leaned over and placed one hand on the outside of her hip and he traced the fingers of his free hand over her exposed sex, playing with her and making a show of her wetness.
His lips turned up into a self-satisfied smirk as he plunged a long finger inside of her, and Feyre could feel herself desperately clenching at the contact. Wanting to tighten around something much bigger than his finger.
A strangled scream got caught in her throat as he curved his finger to hit the spot within her that only he knew about.
“They’re going to hear you, love.” Rhys said, preening at the fact that he was causing her restraint to slip.
“I can’t,” Feyre panted as he pulled out and slid two fingers inside of her, hitting her sensitive spot again. “Help it,” She tried to glare at him. “You know that.”
He always teased her about how vocal she was during sex, but the sounds went right to his cock and his ego. He loved her sounds, and he loved making her scream.
His smirk split his face as her hips ground against his hands, fruitlessly trying to take control of her own pleasure.
Rhys took pity on her and pressed his thumb into her swollen clit. His hand and her hips moving together as Feyre rode out her wave of pleasure.
As soon as she fell limp and sweaty against her bed Rhys slid up her body and aligned his hard cock against her dripping, glistening cunt. One arm propped next to her head and one hand gripping her plush thigh.
The round head of his cock slipped through the puffy lips of her pussy and nudged at her entrance.
Feyre watched as his teeth bit his lip as he slowly sunk into her, her hands came up to grip his tight ass, pushing him further into her stretching cunt.
“Yes.” Feyre said in a breathy moan, feeling deliciously full as his cock filled her to the hilt, her eyes falling shut.
She waited for him to move, to start thrusting in and out of her in the way that she liked, to lift her hips in the way that altered her universe.
He stayed still.
Feyre opened her eyes to see Rhysand gazing down at her.
“I want you to remember this Feyre,” He said in a dark, full voice. “How fucking perfectly I fit inside of you. Feel that no other man’s cock can have you squirming with need and satisfy you at the same time.”
He pulled out and pushed back in, tilting her hips in the way she desired.
“This is the only cock that belongs between your legs, Feyre Darling.”
One of her hands reached up and slid into his hair, gripping it tightly in a way that made him grin.
“Mine is the only pussy for you.” Feyre muttered as she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts — urging him to go faster. Harder.
“Possessive, love?” Rhys smirked, quickening his pace as her hips bucked against his.
“Yes,” Feyre admitted, tightening her grip in his locks. She loved making a mess of his hair. “I hate thinking about you and her. Together.”
Rhys growled and adjusted his position, gaining more leverage on the bed and thrusting harder.
Feyre gasped at the movement and opened her legs wider.
He grabbed one of her legs and bent it to her chest before placing it over his shoulder. Her heel sticking up in the air.
She cried out as he hit deeper inside of her — his hips creating a delicious friction as they ground against hers. “I pretend she’s you,” Rhys whispered harshly into her ear. “It’s the only way I can do it.”
Feyre gasped and clenched around his cock as he drove into her.
Their flesh coming together sounded through her room, wet and sharp and frantic.
His sweat slicked chest leaned closer to hers, pulling her leg back further and causing him to go deeper.
“Harder.” Feyre gasped, overwhelmed with how tight and full she felt — her nails unintentionally digging into his skin which caused him to grunt, his hips faltered as he drilled into her harder.
“I’m gonna come.” Rhys grunted, his hips pumping faster. He looked at her with a question in his eyes and Feyre said, “Come inside of me. I want to feel you,” Feyre brought his head down so that their foreheads were touching and stared him in the eyes as she tightly, intentionally clenched around him. “I need to feel you.”
Feyre turned her head so that her lips were on his neck. Her teeth right next to his pulse as she bit down.
Rhys shuddered as he pushed forward again, the walls of her pussy clenching his cock as he came deep inside of her — shallowly rocking against her. He brought his hand between their hips and pressed his thumb against her aching clit, so that both of them were coming at the same time.
He pulled back, and fell onto the bed next to her, breathless.
Their sweaty bodies pressed against each other, and their heavy, humid pants were loud in the air
“Feyre Darling,” Rhys said, and Feyre turned her head to find him already gazing at her. “I hope you didn’t think that was it for tonight.”
They didn’t sleep.
Rhysand took her two more times before the early morning sun started to stream through her windows — and it wasn’t until Rhysand pushed off the bed that Feyre realized she was drifting off.
“You’re leaving.” Feyre said, her eyes gliding along the length of his bronze body. Tucking away the mental image so she wouldn’t forget — She took note of every mark she left on him. The claw marks down his back. The half-moon indents on his ass cheeks. The purple love bite on his throat.
“Believe me,” Rhys said, walking over to her desk and picking up his pants from the night before. “I would rather stay in bed with you all day.”
“You can.” Feyre blurted out as she sat up, clutching her quilt and sheets to her chest. Suddenly feeling shy.
Rhys turned to face her fully, his cock shamelessly on full display. His abs well defined and tight and Feyre found herself wanting to lick them.
She quickly looked away and accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and cringed.
Rats nest. She could hear her mothers voice in her ear venomously whispering about her hair, tangled and messy from the friction of her pillow. Her full smoky makeup smeared black around her eyes, and lipstick stained on her lips and chin.
She cursed herself for letting Mor do her makeup.
“You look beautiful, Feyre Darling.” Rhysand said as he stepped into his pants.
“Well and truly fucked,” Rhys smirked as he shrugged into his shirt. “By me.”
Feyre fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Her nails nervously picking at a stitch on her quilt.
“What happens now?” Feyre asked, gazing at him and tucking her chin onto her bent knees.
He stared at her for a moment, tucking his shirt into his pants before finding his belt.
He looked absurdly good on no sleep — his black hair deliciously tousled, and a heady warmth spread through her knowing she was the one who tousled his hair. And his skin perfectly tan and even, not even purple smudges under his eyes.
Rhys looked like a fucking cologne ad.
Feyre could see him on the page of a magazine modeling for some overpriced scent that smelled like sex and citrus. He did always smell good. But he didn’t need the money.
He took a step closer to her after putting his shoes on, and as he approached her he lifted her face to look up at him. His fingers touching her chin delicately.
“What happens now is that you trust me, Feyre Darling. Even though you shouldn’t.”
Rhys brought their mouths together and Feyre felt a bit of her anxiety melt away.
“When will I see you again?” She asked.
“You still have my number?” Rhys asked and Feyre nodded in confirmation. “I’ll call you, but there is something I need you to know, love,” Rhys laid his forehead against hers, and Feyre felt her heart stop and tumble into her stomach at the intensity of his gaze. “I’ll be thinking about you the entire time we are apart.”
Tagging: @sakurakittypeach @nikethestatue @tswaney17 @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @feyredarlinq @alwayssara @nyxreads @rinadragomir @secretpuppyflower @captainbrucebanner @ultadverb @irisesforelain @shedoessoshedoes @magnolia-blossom87 @sheena-beene @nivem565 @casuallivi @rhysiedarling @elain99 @athena-85 @swankii-art-teacher @reverie-tales @jujugirlfrombookstore @shadowflorecita @shy-violet-soul
The Great War
I vowed I would always be yours
Summary: Feyre Archeron's kingdom has been warring with King Rhysand for longer than she can recall. When, on an unlucky stroke, he stumbles upon her and her sisters locked in a tower, Feyre will do whatever it takes to keep him from finding them.
Even marrying him.
Happy @feysandmonth (but really LB appreciation month!) My only multi-chaptered offering.
Read more on AO3
Feyre retreated to her room for another week, outright refusing to dine with Rhysand until food was begrudgingly brought for her. She still bathed and allowed that angry servant to dress her, but when it came time to leave, Feyre plopped in a chair and steadfastly refused. Nothing could remove her. Let him see what his proposal might earn him when it came to her.
Of course, staying in her room made escape hard. Feyre was not provided anything that would assist with escape. She’d requested boots and pants and a warm cloak and instead had been brought clothes so thin she thought it was Rhysand’s idea of a joke. Who wore pants like the ones he’d provided—cuffed around her ankle while billowing around her legs, as if she lived in some warm climate and the breeze was necessary to keep her warm?
The top was just as infuriating, cut four inches too short for the hem of her pants. No amount of tugging made it better—either her navel was exposed, or half her calf.
No more knives, either. Her food came precut like she was a child. Feyre tried to imagine him giving that order. Was his hand still bandaged? Did the servants know? If she left her room, she could have learned that information. Or any information. She didn’t know if Cassian had returned, if he had news of her sisters. Even bodies were better than nothing.
Three weeks. That's how long, between traveling with Rhysand and being sick, and hiding in her room, she had been gone. She could see the effects of her time out of that tower. Feyre’s body was starting to fill back out, greedily holding on to everything she ate until her eyes stopped looking so glassy and hollow. Each morning, when she studied herself in the mirror, she disliked him a little more.
It shouldn’t have been him bringing her back to life.
The start of the new week drew a new character into Feyre’s life. She’d just been dressed in a navy dress, her hair half swept from her face with silver pins, when the door just pushed itself open. She expected to see Rhysand standing there, scowling or smirking.
It was the other man. The one made of ice, his beauty a writhing, terrifying thing. Dressed casually in a muted tunic of deep blue and dark black pants, he didn’t look like the warrior who had come for the three of them—or Graysen, she supposed.
Hazel eyes swept over form, his lips pressed in a disapproving line. “With me,” he said, his voice rich like midnight. Feyre couldn’t help her shiver. Something told her this man wouldn’t take kindly to her disobedience, and Feyre didn’t know if she had the guts to try.
“Breakfast?” she asked, hating how small her voice sounded.
Those eyes looked her over again. “Probably should. Quickly,” he added.
Yeah, yeah, she thought. Everyone thought she looked hungry–because she was. A week wasn’t enough time to undo a year and a half of neglect, and Feyre still winced at the memory. She didn’t look back at the mirror, suddenly filled with loathing. Had she thought herself pretty? This man clearly didn’t. And for whatever reason, that bothered her.
No one in her life had thought that of her, and as Feyre trailed after the muscular Azriel, she thought that this was merely more of the same. Would the king have proposed if her sisters had been with her? If Nesta or Elain stood beside Feyre, would he had been so quick to try and trap her in an ill-fated alliance?
He didn’t know she was her father's least favorite daughter, after all.
Her thoughts swirled about her head as Azriel led her down those winding stairs. She panicked a little the further they descended, but Azriel didn’t notice. Likely didn’t care. He took her into an area of the castle that clearly belonged to servants. Azriel nodded to each as he passed, occasionally murmuring a name—like he knew. Close as he was to the king, this man was familiar enough with the servants to not only know their names, but to have earned true respect. They looked him in the eye, smiling at him as if he were one of them, though his fine clothes proved he clearly was not.
He pushed open a swinging metal door, revealing a large kitchen filled with people. Feyre, who had never once seen where servants retreat to once they were done working, stood stock still right in front of the door while Azriel pushed in further. People in white aprons busied about, washing dishes and preparing the next meal. It was so cheerful—they laughed and talked over the clanking serving ware and sizzling food.
“Got anything easy to eat on a horse?” Azriel asked, proving that he was capable of smiling if he wanted. The elder woman he spoke with looked up at him, brown eyes dancing with amusement.
“You tell that lord of yours he works you too hard,” she chided. Azriel’s cheeks warmed and Feyre wondered how he’d come to know these people.
All eyes were on him for a moment—handsome Azriel, commanding every space he was in that silent way of his. No one noticed her for a long moment, hastily putting together a sack of things they assumed he must want to eat.
And then they saw her. Standing by the door, clearly frightened. All the chatter died as elbows and fingers poked ribs, drawing even the busiest attention to her. Gaping mouths and wide eyes looked at the foreign princess, and too late, Ferye realized they must hate her just as fiercely as she hated Rhysand.
The elder woman, hands frozen over a half-completed sandwich, looked back to Azriel. “I heard the rumors, but…”
“She can hear you,” Azriel replied, amusement lacing his words.
“Why doesn’t your king feed you?” A voice from the back called, before several voices shushed. Feyre swallowed her embarrassment.
“Of course he’d treat his own daughters as badly as he treats the rest of us,” the woman before Azriel sniffed, her condemnation damning. “Is this for her?”
“It is,” Azriel said solemnly. “I’m taking her to the coast.”
A different sort of silence fell over the room. No one moved–not even fidgeted, as they considered what he’d said. Feyre’s heart hammered in her throat, her feet rooted in place. Everyone in the room knew what that meant—except for her.
“Are…are you sure?”
Azriel placed a broad hand over the womans, revealing flesh so viciously scarred that Feyre recoiled for a moment. What had happened to him?
“Is this enough?”
More eyes were back on her body, their assessment of her—of her father—near overwhelming. “Let us hope.”
And that was that. Azriel reached for the sack and pressed a kiss to that woman’s cheek with enough tenderness that Feyre considered they might be related.
“Tell your mother we’re thinking of her,” the servant added after Azriel’s retreating back. He waved her off, a blushing smile on his handsome face. He wiped it in favor of his stony scowl when he saw her again. As if he remembered who he was supposed to be.
“What’s the coast?” she asked when they were back in the hall. His steps were quicker, forcing her to jog in order to keep pace with his long legs.
“Where the ocean meets land,” Azriel replied dryly.
Her fingers curled to fists, pressing crescents into her palm. “Thank you.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Did your father not educate you, either?”
Shame crept up Feyre’s spine, cold and slimy. No, she might have said had she not thought he’d privately mock her for it. Her mother had taught Nesta expressly against their father's wishes, thinking a future queen consort might need to know how to read, to write, and other things. Nesta had, in turn, taught Elain when she was born—a poor education, though Elain had always been adept at picking things up. And when they’d been locked in the tower, both Elain and Nesta had taught Feyre to read and write, along with some very basic arithmetic. Without books and other materials, they’d done the best they could but Feyre knew it was paltry.
Her and Azriel lapsed back into silence, walking back up the steps and through a new part of the palace. It all looked the same to her—lavender and cream, silver and ornate. Pretty, wintry flowers and windows covered in icy frost. Servants all greeted Azriel with a nod or a soft hi, while ignoring her entirely. She wondered if that might continue, should Rhysand get his way. Would they always ignore her with quiet disdain? An interloper their king married in order to try and secure peace?
What would Rhysand do when he realized she was merely the expendable daughter? He’d marry Nesta to Graysen before her–Feyre was only ever the spare. She could die, so long as his other two lived. Which reminded Feyre.
“Has Cassian returned?” she asked when Azriel pulled a heavy cloak off a hook and handed it to her. They were just beside a heavy door twice as tall as her. A scene carved into the marble depicted men with wings holding swords, beating back horrific enemies as they stood on a hill made of bodies and bones.
Then Elain and Nesta were alive or Cassian was dead, too. Azriel, like Rhysand, did not seem terribly concerned for Cassian’s safety and Feyre couldn’t decide if that was because none of them liked each other very much, or they knew something she did not.
Azriel pulled one of the silver handles, opening them to the frigid cold. Even with a fur-lined hood, Feyre shivered. She thought she was used to the cold, given she had grown up in the north, but this was cold unlike she’d ever felt. It seeped into her bones, eliciting a shiver as her slippered shoes touched the snow-cleared path.
No boots. Escape would have to happen with what she had, which meant Feyre needed to find some way to keep her feet warm.
He was smart enough not to take her to the stables where she might also have found an armory. No more weapons, a tragedy given she would have liked the opportunity to fire an arrow into Rhysand’s gut. She’d be a hero when she returned, perhaps with his head in a box. Feyre held on to that image when Azriels scarred hands circled her ribs, hauling her up atop a snowy horse bridled in black.
He swung up behind her and before she could ask him a thing, wrapped a silken blindfold around her eyes.
“Is this necessary?” she grumbled.
“You stabbed my brother,” Azriel replied with what she swore was amusement. “I can’t risk you harming innocents, too.”
That wounded her. “I wouldn’t.”
Azriel didn’t respond. He merely clicked his tongue, setting them on a canting pace down the mountain. This time, Feyre didn’t find herself in danger of passing out in his arms, though if she had to, she would have preferred Azriel. At least he didn’t want to marry her.
Feyre swore she heard the sounds of distant civilization. A mountain city seemed unlikely. She’d never seen a hint of it on any map, and could not imagine anything existing so high up. Not happily, anyway. Still, she knew she heard the sound of clopping hooves and spinning cart wheels. She might have heard the shrieking laugh of a child—or the wail of someone suffering terrible torture. It sure sounded like joy, though Feyre couldn’t be certain.
It had been so long since she’d experienced such a thing.
Salty air stung the exposed parts of her face long after the sounds of yelling and the smell of spices vanished. It was only then that Azriel pulled the blindfold from Feyre’s face with gentle, polite fingers. Feyre expected to find an icy sea and frozen sand. She knew what the coastline looked like, despite Azriel’s questions to the contrary.
She found a burning wasteland. The closer they came, the worse the smell was. Feyre recoiled in the saddle, pressed against the solid mass that comprised Azriel’s chest. She started to turn her head, but scarred fingers gripped her chin firmly, though not painfully, and made her look.
“The people who lived here were fishermen,” he began, his breath warm against her neck. “Families, mostly. Poorer than a lot of places, and most importantly, unprotected. We never considered putting a garrison here, given its remoteness. The mountains protect this place on three sides and an inhospitable sea on the fourth.”
The horses' hooves clipped over a cobbled street, snorting at the ashy snow and crumbling infrastructure around them. Azriel didn’t stop, pushing his horse through the only street in the village. Feyre could see the remnants of familiar objects. Pots and shoes and a children’s bear, the stuffing half picked apart by a curious gull.
“We have a treaty,” Azriel continued, still holding her chin so she couldn’t turn away. They were heading towards what had once obviously been a modest dock. She could see the charred remains of it, the splintered fishing boats half rotted from the unrelenting surf.
“Your father helped write it years and years ago. It outlines the terms of engagement…under what conditions we are allowed to war with each other. Who we can fight and how. Unarmed civilians and people who surrender are supposed to be off-limits. And in the middle of the night, while people slept, General Nolan stole into this village—and many, many others along the coast—and destroyed it. He left no survivors. Just a pile of bodies we discovered weeks later.”
Feyre’s heart hammered against her ribs. It was foolish, perhaps, to argue with a man very likely armed, even if she couldn’t see it.
“As if you’re any better.”
Azriel went stiff behind her. “We’ve surrendered to your father more times than I can count. Just as the west has…and the south. He wants the continent—and will not be satisfied until he has it.”
Feyre was trembling.
“You’re a liar,” she whispered.
“He didn’t feed you,” Azriel’s cold voice was laced with condemnation. “How can you call me a liar?”
She twisted in her saddle, wrenching her face from his grasp. “What would you know about that?”
Azriel raised his hands, facing the scars towards her. “I was kept in a dungeon for half my childhood. Starved, just like you, by a father who hoped he might find me dead…just like yours.”
“You…you’re wrong…” But Feyre’s bottom lip trembled as tears threatened to spill down her face. She reached for his hand but Azriel snatched them back, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of her touching them.
Neither of them spoke for the duration of the journey. Feyre was too much of a coward to ask what happened to the bodies, proof of which no longer existed. All Feyre could think about was that ripped bear and the child who had likely loved it. Where had they gone?
Could her father's favorite man—someone he considered to be a son, a person he intended to marry his favorite daughter to—really have looked a child in the eyes before driving his blade through their chest?
Rhysand was waiting in the door when her and Azriel returned, a question in his violet eyes. Of course he’d sanctioned her little trip. Wanted to show her that he was somehow some secret good guy. A wave of anger slammed into her chest as they approached him.
“Velaris?” he questioned Azriel softly, his eyes bouncing from her to his friend.
“No,” was all Azriel said in response. Feyre swore she saw disappointment but internally was grateful. Whatever—or whoever—Velaris was, she wanted no part of it. Feyre pushed past Rhysand without a word, arms wrapped around her middle as she made her way back to her bedroom. She slammed her door shut, unable to lock it without a key, and slid down the door. Drawing her knees to her chest, Feyre buried her face in her knees and sobbed silently.
Her family was responsible for the massacre she’d witnessed, and she thought one of them out to grieve. Had her father felt any guilt when he learned? She wanted so badly to believe it was an accident, that they hadn’t meant to and once they realized, it was too late.
But that would mean survivors. Children spared, mothers allowed to care for them, fathers who could help rebuild. And there was no one.
Desperation clawed at Feyre’s chest, rising into a crescendo of anxiety as the sun set over the mountains. She waited for dinner, scarfing it down to be done, and then she waited. A servant came, sweeping it away silently and still, Feyre waited.
The lights in the hall flicked off, bathing the palace in darkness. Only then did Feyre, without a plan, dart into the night. All she knew was she had to get out. It was reckless and she knew it. Dangerous, given all she had was a cloak. No knives—those had been taken a week ago. No bows, no food. Just herself as she flung herself into the freezing, inky night.
Her slippers were immediately soaked the moment she strayed from the drive, running through shin-deep snow towards a pine forest in the distance. The trees, she hoped, would provide some protection from the howling air burning her cheeks. Feyre was crying as she ran, the tears freezing to her skin.
Her teeth chattered as her steps slowed and as she plunged into the greenery, Feyre realized she didn’t even know which way she was going. She twisted, looking upwards through a gap in the towering cones, looking for stars or the moon. There were only clouds, blotting out any light to keep her company.
Feyre took another step, running her hand through the spines of the tree absently. A new panic seized her as the full realization of what she’d done hit her. She’d fled. Instead of waiting for the eventual trade—if there was even one to be had—she’d chosen to try her own luck in the dark.
She’d likely die for it.
Still, it was better than what she’d found today. Better than submitting, than crying in her enemy's palace while he fed and clothed her. It was enough to keep her going. Feyre was motivated by the spite of it all. Maybe it would kill her—but he wouldn’t get what he wanted. Whatever endgame he imagined by marrying her would be thwarted when he realized she was gone. It was enough to make her smile, to let her feel victorious for a moment.
Just a moment, because the next, Feyre was flat on her face and the wind had been knocked from her lungs. It took her a moment to realize the thing that held her into the snow was not a boulder, or even another animal.
It was a man. Fingers curled around her wrists as thighs bracketed her hips, pinning her as he twisted her body so she no longer had her face buried in the breathless ice. Feyre blinked, her body aching from the pain of the brutal takedown. She’d expected Azriel, given he seemed to be the king's lackey, but hovering above her with a face twisted in anger, was Rhysand himself.
“Going somewhere, darling?”
She spat in his face, which earned little more than a savage grin. She twisted and writhed against the hardness of him, looking for any weakness that might free her. As if she, with her shorter legs and her exhaustion, might truly outrun him. She couldn’t let him see her give in.
“I hate you!” she screamed, bucking under him as he held steady, betraying no hint that her struggle inconvenienced him.
“You hate me so much you’d die for it?” he asked when Feyre settled beneath him, unable to move with the weight of him holding her. “You’re marching straight into the Illyrian wilderness. It’s a death sentence, out in the tundra.”
“Let me go,” she whispered, her words shifting to a plea.
Rysand leaned forward, his nose brushing her cheek and though she turned her head, he kissed the frozen path her tears had left. Gripping her wrists in one over large hand, the other turned her face so he could kiss the other.
“You can’t force me to be your wife,” she whispered, her heart leaping in her throat. She was confused, unsure what to make of the twin kisses burning heat against her otherwise frigid skin.
“It’s your choice,” he murmured, his mouth still entirely too close. She wished he’d pull away, that he’d climb off her. The snow beneath her was seeping through her cloak, wetting the rest of her. Perhaps that was his strategy—to leave her hypothermic and delirious, so she agreed out of desperation.
It wasn’t a terrible plan.
“There is no choice,” she retorted, teeth chattering.
“Of course there is,” he protested gently, brushing his fingers against her lips. “I’ll withdraw from the fighting entirely, in exchange for this alliance. Your people will be safe, my people will know peace. Your sisters can return safely—”
“They’re alive?” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes again.
“There is a rumor a northern princess washed up on Helion’s shores. Another in the borderlands with, as luck would have it, my general. Unconfirmed but…perhaps for my new wife, I might be inclined to check the veracity of those claims. To offer sanctuary to her sisters.”
“You’re a liar.”
He reared up, thighs still tight around her as he released her wrists. Feyre took the opportunity to try and sit up, her hand striking him across the jaw. Rhys didn’t react, reaching for the knife at his belt.
“Shall I swear it in blood, then?” he asked her, holding his blade against his palm. “A promise before the Gods isn’t easily broken.”
“And what do you get out of all this?” she asked, her palm still ringing from hitting him. “Tell me what my father has that belongs to you.”
“Marry me, and I’ll tell you everything,” Rhysand replied, holding the serrated edge against his wounded hand. She could see the healing skin, still raw from where she last stabbed. Feyre jerked her chin and Rhysand slashed his palm, spilling brilliant red blood against the pristine white around them.
“I swear, Feyre Archeron, on my life and the vow I make you that I will not betray you.”
His words hung metallic in the air, shimmering like brilliant starlight. She could feel them clang through her, warming her like some ancient form of magic brought back to life by his very words.
“It’s a political marriage only,” she whispered, unsettled by the intensity in his gaze.
“You’ll be my wife in all ways,” he growled in response. Why he’d want that, Feyre couldn’t fathom. She understood the reasoning behind such a request. A wife might bind the north for a time, but children kept Feyre from abandoning him—betraying him. A child united their two homes in a way a simple marriage struggled to. She was merely a piece in a larger game.
“I’m not a virgin,” she whispered, watching for his own revulsion.
He merely smiled. “Good. I’m a shitty teacher.”
Rhysand, with his bleeding hand, lifted himself off her. Feyre clambered unsteadily to her feet, sweeping snow from the back of her skirt. Even in the dark, it was impossible to deny how utterly handsome and imposing he was.
“When you sent word to my father…what did he say?”
Silence yawned between them, the only sound the crunching of his boots in the snow as they walked back to the palace. Feyre was limping from the cold, her feet long numb from the satin slippers on her feet. Feyre couldn’t ask for help.
She didn’t need to. With a beleaguered sigh, Rhysand stopped, twisted, and scooped her upwards so she was curled against his chest. It was awkward, given he was balancing her weight on his wrist to keep his bloodied palm from touching her, and yet his strides returned to normal once he had her adjusted.
“He’s said nothing,” Rhysand finally told her once she stopped squirming.
She swallowed the knot in her throat. “I told you.”
He looked down at her, leaving the forest behind them. Ahead, the palace sparkled against the snow like an opalescent gem, stretching in all directions against the rising mountains. Which of those towering windows belonged to her, she wondered? Which were his?
Rhysand didn’t offer a response to her snide I told you so. If he cared or not was unclear, and unimportant. She’d agreed, and Feyre suspected things would happen quickly in the aftermath. He’d marry her before her father could truly protest, and announce it throughout the kingdom. Her father would be forced to yield, to back down.
To give Rhysand back whatever he asked—especially if he possessed all three Archerons. Feyre tried to imagine the life stretching before her. She imagined he’d leave her once he got what he wanted. Pick a mistress, privately shame her while trotting her out whenever something to the north displeased him. She’d bear him a son he could crown, and then—
“I like to paint,” she said just as they reached the palace doors.
He looked down at her, lips parting with surprise. “You do?”
“Yes. Before…” Before she’d been locked up, all her time was spent hunched over easels. Sketching, painting, anything to still her constantly moving mind.
“Before,” he murmured, setting her to her feet so he could let them both inside. “What else, darling?”
“That’s it,” she replied, nerves spearing her gut.
“I suspect that’s untrue,” came his murmuring reply.
Feyre halted. “This doesn’t make us friends. I don’t forgive you.”
Bathed in the hazy light of the palace, Rhysand’s features came fully into view. Handsome and terrifying in equal measure, and yet soft somehow. Not kind—not exactly. But not as cold as he’d been the night he’d stormed the tower.
“Why didn’t you put me in the dungeon? Did you know when you kidnapped me?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
He shook the head of inky black hair, the light gilding it blue. Snow melted in the heat, slicking it to his forehead. He seemed younger at that moment—less regal, more man.
“I knew when you stabbed me,” he said, his mouth quirking upwards in a wry smile.
“Liar,” she hissed. He only grinned wider.
“You underestimate your appeal,” was his only reply. He turned his back to her, smug to the last. She ought to have been grateful and she knew it. He was offering her a strange sort of freedom, though the terms weren’t entirely known. And to Feyre, who only knew how to fight, only understood survival at all costs, it seemed like just a different cage. He fed her, sure, and offered her clothing and shelter, and perhaps he’d give her paint.
But not a weapon.
And not sturdy shoes.
It was that thought that saw her rip off her sodden, half-frozen slipper and launch it at the back of his head. His shoulder bunched the moment it slammed against him, bouncing to the ground harmlessly. He whipped around, eyes wide even as she was pulling off the other.
“I dare you,” he hissed.
Feyre wasn’t one to back down. She threw it, heart racing. Rhysand caught it seconds before it hit his face, tossing it over his shoulder as though it were nothing at all. The pair of them faced off in that foyer, the only two people around.
They could have been the only two people in the world, for all she knew. His chest rose and fell rapidly, like he was just barely containing himself.
“You better run,” he whispered, taking a step towards her. Feyre didn’t need to be told twice. She spun on her heel, taking off in the opposite direction. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder, swearing she could hear his boots on the wood floors behind her.
When she reached her room, Rhysand was nowhere in sight. She closed the door with an exhale of air.
And wondered what would have happened if he’d caught her.
A small part of her almost wished he had.
Baby's first snow. Feysand.
A/N: I love a fluffy holiday prompt! And anything that involves Nyx. Thank you and enjoy. x
Ship: Feyre x Rhysand
Trope: family, 2nd gen, baby's 1st snowfall
Submit a prompt!
Feyre frowned at the sight of Nyx, who was being a trooper as he sat on the floor, unable to move. He was dressed in so many layers that he had to be near sweating, but the second they were outside, the six month old would be grateful.
"Sorry, buddy," she muttered, and scooped him into her arms once she had her boots secured. "I promise that snow is fun. Just...the preparation is a little time consuming."
Nyx gave a grumbling noise that didn't sound too promising, but the second they stepped out onto the porch, his eyes grew wide.
A snow storm had come in over night. From the time that Nyx went to bed the night before to after supper, half a foot had fallen in a fluffy white blanket outside of their cabin home. After a morning of playing and reading and watching ridiculous movies, Feyre thought it was time for her firstborn to experience his first winter wonderland.
"Daddy will be home soon," Feyre promised, descending the porch stairs. "He loves the snow."
Nyx grinned at the sound of his father's name. As Feyre made her way into the yard, Nyx lifted his hands in the air to try and catch the falling flakes. She couldn't take her eyes off of him, couldn't take her eyes away from this moment. Since becoming a mother, Feyre wanted to dwell in every first. And, in the first year of life, there are so many firsts. One day, Feyre would look back and remember them all. Including this one.
Where Feyre had grown up, she had rarely seen snow. Now, on the outskirts of Velaris, she saw snow all the time, but nothing would compare to that first big snow. The world was coated in a fluffy blanket of white, and the stillness brought an ethereal sense of peace. Although she was much older than Nyx when she saw this much snow, she wondered if it was having the same effect of Nyx now.
Feyre had just plopped Nyx down in the snow when Rhysand's car pulled into the driveway. Nyx giggled, his little gloved hands reaching for the snow around him.
Rhysand had barely parked when he threw the driver's side open and got out of his car. "I missed it?"
Feyre chuckled as her husband came towards them, not prepared at all for the snow in his dark slacks and jacket. She couldn't imagine how cold his feet were in his dress shoes. "Missed what?"
"Nyx, in the snow for the first time!" Rhysand protested, his hands on his hips as he looked down at his son, who was throwing snow in the air.
"We just got out here," Feyre assured him. "I promise that you haven't missed much."
"He's an infant, Rhys."
"I don't even know how to build a snow fort," Feyre laughed, shaking her head.
Rhysand's head snapped to his wife. "I can't believe I married a woman who can't make a snow fort."
"You also reproduced with that woman," Feyre added. Rhysand narrowed his eyes at her. "What if our child doesn't know how to build a snow fort?"
"Unacceptable," Rhysand said, shaking his head. "Everyone should know how to build a snow fort, straight out of the womb."
Feyre's head fell back as she laughed. With the snow falling down around her, she took that extra step toward her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Teach me how to build a snow fort?"
"I would be honored," Rhysand muttered, his arms going around his wife as he kissed her softly. "It's his first snow."
"I know," Feyre breathed. "Do you think he likes it?"
They both looked at Nyx who sat in the snow, his gloves holding up a pile of fluffy whiteness. He looked at it in awe.
They watched him and watched him, watched the innocence of a little human discovering something for the very first time. It was like the snow was gold and Nyx had just discovered it.
"Yeah," Rhysand whispered, his hands still around his wife. "I think he likes it."
Feyre would never get enough of motherhood. She would never tire of watching Nyx explore, would never tire of watching him grow and learn. It was beautiful, watching his mind expand.
And it was even more beautiful watching it unfold, watching him grow beside her partner, her husband, her snow-obsessed other half.
"Prompt for The Things We Cannot Say" Jealousy I don't know, Rhys jealous of Feyre or Feyre jealous of Rhys :💌🎨🌌
@feysand-month Day Six: Obsession (Jealousy)
I’m really not good at writing jealousy apparently and feeling like I can't even write rhys properly here. So this is a mess. sorry.
The Things We Cannot Say Masterlist
Set before the first “i love yous”
The People We Know
It was a sight he had not been prepared to see. At least, he hadn’t been expecting it.
For one, Feyre was laughing with a smile she reserved only for him. And then there was the bright gleam in her eyes. And then there was the man standing before her.
He was picking her up from work so they could make their dinner reservation. It had been several weeks since they’d had a good date night--something more than watching tv on the couch or a quick ice cream date at the creamery.
They’d both been eager for the night out and, admittedly, Rhys had gotten to Feyre’s building earlier than he said he would. He couldn’t be blamed though, not when they would have the whole night before them and it was Feyre. They’d not been dating long, but Rhys was sure he’d never felt like this with anyone before. She was smart, funny, utterly captivating. Staying away from her was impossible.
Now Rhys was sitting in his car just outside of Feyre’s office watching her sign excitedly with someone. He didn’t know who it was, only that it was a younger guy, maybe closer to Feyre’s age then his. He had perfect sign form, a kind smile, and oozed confidence as he spoke with Feyre.
And Rhys hated it.
He hated that he hated it. He hated that this sickly feeling oozed through his body and blood. He hated that he wasn’t happy at seeing Feyre talking to someone else in sign. Hated that he wanted to jump out of his car and march up to Feyre’s side and tuck her against him.
He knew he shouldn’t be having any of these thoughts, that they were irrational, that they were laughable, that they said more about him than anything else.
Still, he gripped the steering wheel tightly and watched as Feyre waved to the other man. She turned and paused just a moment when she saw his car. A smile graced her already beautiful features as she bounded over. She tossed her purse and work bag in the back seat before slipping into the front. Leaning over, Feyre kissed Rhys’ cheek.
“Hello Darling,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as tight as it felt.
Unfortunately, based on the raised eyebrow, his nonchalance was failing.
Are you alright? She asked, her signs quick and efficient.
Rhys only nodded as he pulled back out onto the main road. Where his hands were occupied, he spoke, but he’d been making as much an effort to sign when he and Feyre were together.
“Long day,” he said, he offered one of his light smiles and shrugged. “How was your day?”
Good, she replied. And then she launched into an explanation that Rhys could only partially listen to while driving. He did his best, making a few noises to indicate he was paying attention. Apparently, he wasn’t doing that good of a job. Feyre huffed. You aren’t listening.
“I’m trying,” he assured her, “but it’s hard when I’m driving.”
Silence filled the car as Rhys drove. That sickly unease still stuck with Rhys. He was making this a bigger deal than it was. Feyre was just talking to a friend, a friend she’d had something in common with. It was hard to hold onto a conversation when you couldn’t give a signer your undivided attention. He was still getting the hang of sign. But…hell. The frustration was turning into something else…something like jealousy.
That wasn’t something Rhys experienced often. He was a confident man who was assured in everything he did. He knew he was attractive, knew he was smart. Yet seeing Feyre connect with someone so easily…
He pulled off to the restaurant and quickly parked. When he finally turned back to Feyre, she was watching him with a small frown.
Are you sure you’re alright? She asked him.
“Of course, darling,” he said, then quickly added the sign.
Her frown deepened. I don’t believe you.
Even the most indulgent of smiles didn’t satisfy her. Rhys gave her leg a squeeze and tried to assure her that everything was alright. Because really, admitting that he was jealous was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t do jealousy. He’d seen the way it had screwed Azriel over time and time again and he wasn’t eager to experience that for himself.
Let me get your door, he signed.
Feyre stopped him before he could move, those blue eyes of hers were not amused with his attempts to change the subject.
Rhysand. Her right hand snapped out the letters of his name as her left tightened around his knee. Feyre tilted her head to the side and then she nodded slowly. With both hands, she continued her interrogation. You saw me with Andrew…are you jealous?
Rhys rolled his eyes and looked away from her. They’d only been dating two months at this point that it was perhaps a bit childish for him to think he had any claim on her. And there was still so much they were working through together that adding jealousy to the mix--which he certainly wasn’t--was foolish.
“Why would I be jealous of him?” Rhys asked, his fingers stumbled heavily over the words that he stopped trying to sign all together.
Feyre, of course, didn’t miss a thing. She only narrowed her eyes further at him and paused a brief moment before raising her hands to speak.
He’s a friend from work, Feyre explained, he has a sister who is hard of hearing and we met after being forced together on a project. He’s the only other one who knows sign in the office.
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. One that Rhys, on an objective level, could completely understand. However, apparently, he was more subjective and emotional in all of this than he’d realized.
“Darling,” he began, but Feyre’s hands continued to sign.
I’m not even attracted to him, she said, I mean, all we really have in common is that he can sign. Which is so nice--
She cut herself off, her mouth forming a perfect o.
Rhys, she signed.
He looked distinctly away to which she slapped his shoulder. Hard.
Rhysand, she said, only when he looked back at her. You are jealous of him.
He did what he always did and deflected. With a smirk and definitive shake of his wrist, Rhys shook his head.
“I’m not the jealous type, Darling,” he said.
She wasn’t convinced. I don’t care about the signing, Rhys.
“Feyre,” he tried again, though he really wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.
Feyre, however, took advantage of his lack of speech and leaned over the center console of the car to kiss him. She was soft and light and infinitely sweet that Rhys found himself melting against her.
There was something about this woman that made him weak. When he was around her, he became someone else entirely and Rhys wasn’t quite sure why that was. Feyre had a way about her that smoothed even the harshest edges.
Rhys leaned into her, already drowning in her taste. He lifted one hand to cup her jaw. Her smooth skin ignited sparks against his fingertips.
Feyre pulled away much too soon. Her eyes were bright and her lips parted as she watched him. Slowly, she raised a hand and traced his lips with one finger. The touch was enough for those sparks already lighting along his skin to burn brighter.
Feyre smirked at him and shook her head lightly. I don’t care about the signing, Rhys. All I care about is you being here with me.
“Feyre,” Rhys said, again.
She pulled away from him just a little more. Curiosity and amusement lit her features and Rhys had half a mind to kiss that all away.
You’re lucky I like you, was all she said before promptly turning away and jumping out of the car.
Rhys leaned back, slamming his head against the headrest for just a moment before following after her to the restaurant. She wouldn’t let him live this down, not for a long while, but Rhys found that maybe he wouldn’t mind.
thanks for reading this mess. i didn’t edit very well. kinda wasn’t in the mood lol.
@aelinchocolatelover // @sexy-dumpster-fire // @bamchickawowow // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @courtofjurdan // @sassys-world // @sleeping-and-books // @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @firestarsandseneschals // @emikadreams // @rapunzel1523 // @booksofthemoon // @highladysith // @fangirlprincess09 // @rowaelinismyotp // @vanzetanze // @cassianscool // @stardelia // @my-fan-side // @sjmships // @tillyrubes10 // @rhysandswhore // @story-scribbler // @post-it-notes33 // @live-the-fangirl-life // @strangevil321 // @pastasiren // @lemonade-coolattas @foreverfallingforthestars // @feysand-loml // @realbookloverproblems // @ghostlyrose2 // @swankii-art-teacher // @foughtconquered // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @captain-swan-is-endgame // @mystic-bibliophile // @cretaceous-therapod // @thenightgodess-feyrearcheron // @thisloveseternal // @gracie-rosee // @magnifique1807 // @liars-lmao // @goddess-aelin // @thegloweringcastle // @tangledinsparkles // @the-lonelybarricade // @millsarcherfeykat // @sideralwriting // @nerdperson524 // @the-fae-are-taking-over // @sushisempai // @the-introverted-bibliophile //
“Hello lovely, wicked liar.”
The best couples of acotar
Art: csky_art on instagram
High Lady of The Night Court 🌙
It's been a bit of a while,,
I've been trying to post often but apparently Tumblr kicks off whenever I post images which makes posting art a little more difficult. I've had a pretty rough time with pretty much everything lately so I decided some tits and ass is the cure to my sadness 👍
Mr. & Mrs. Archeron 🖤
🎨 jessdraw.s does it again 😍🤌🏼🤌🏼
Falling Part V
Azriel x Reader
Warnings: slight self-destructive behavior, angst, Azriel being a dumb male
A/N: Not gonna lie guys when I initially wrote this chapter, I had the worst writers block and I ended up deleting it all last night and starting it over (which produced this) but I am so excited with where its headed. This chapter is somewhat filler content, but I promise I am putting some things into motion for later! I know I write this literally every fic, but I appreciate you all so much for loving this story and I am so overwhelmed with the support it has gotten. My requests are open so feel free to send all the asks <3
Also, I am almost at 400 followers WHAT?! And I think I’ll do a little personal Q&A or something so you guys can get to know me a little bit <3 I’ll update you in a post soon!
Previous parts here -> Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV
Last night seemed like a dream.
I woke up to bright light streaming through my window, my indication that the sun was already high in the sky. I guess I had slept far longer than I meant to. I stretch out my limbs, the events of last night returning to my memory as I looked at my night table where I had conveniently placed Iremia. I remembered then that it was real. Azriel and Elain were engaged. Engaged. I bring my hands to rub the sleep from my eyes, dragging them down my face and letting out a sigh. I could stay in bed all day and wallow in self-pity, but I decided that I wouldn’t continue to let them have so much control over my life, I would continue to heed Nesta and Lucien’s advice. With that decided, I take a quick bath and get dressed before heading to the dining room to find something to eat.
I entered the room surprised to find Nesta sitting in her usual position, Cassian next to her holding her hand and rubbing gentle circles along the back of it while they spoke.
“Good morning” I announce as I take my seat across from them
“Morning y/n” Cassian says while piling more food onto his plate
“So?” Nesta asked as I piled eggs, bacon, and bread with jam on my plate.
“So?” I repeat back to her, I know that she wants details about last night but I’m going to at least make her be direct about it.
“How did it go?” She clarifies, at this Cassian looks between the two of us clearly also wanting to hear the details.
“I couldn’t do it Nes, not after the announcement” she rolled her eyes but let me continue “It’s just the timing didn’t seem right, and I know I know you’re going to say the timing will never be right, but Nes you didn’t see him. He looked so happy, so carefree, and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin it by dropping this bombshell on him.”
“Look y/n, I love you and I will support you with whatever you decide to do.”
“I feel like a -but- is coming” I interject
“but-” she continues with one of her signature looks. “Don’t you think it would be worse to wait? That it will only be a bigger deal if they actually go through with getting married? Maybe it would hurt everyone involved less if you told them before planning and preparations are made? I mean he deserves to make an informed decision about what to do about the bond”
“I don’t know Nes.” I look to Cassian who is silently eating his breakfast “wait a second- what do you mean actually go through with getting married? Do you think they won’t go through with it?”
“All I know is that Feyre and Rhys are preparing for the worst-case scenario. I mean she is a mated female and if Lucien wanted to, he could invoke a blood duel as per Autumn Court tradition. Not to mention tension among the courts is still fragile after the treaty business last year.”
“Lucien wouldn’t do that; he doesn’t see mated females as his property in that way.” I said “Also, he isn’t technically an Autumn Court male anymore. He is the high lord apparent of the Day Court.”
“Regardless of his court standing, he is still her mate. He also has the strongest of relationships with the human realm and I don’t know if Rhys and Feyre are prepared to lose an asset like him due to Elain’s need to rebel.” She said matter of factly.
“What do you think Cass?” I asked the male.
He went still a moment, his brows furrowing as though he was debating what exactly to say in this situation. “I think that Nes has a point, I mean the longer you wait the more people may get hurt by the news and I think that he deserves to know; he has been infatuated with the idea of mates since we were younger and I don’t know what changed his mind, but I think he is just looking for commitment and Elain is looking to rebel, and they just found each other. I also stand by my previous statement during training, I love him dearly, he is my brother, but gods damn is he an idiot sometimes.”
I can’t help but laugh at his statement. “I’ll consider it” I look between the two of them “I promise I will think about it, and I’ll talk to Rhys and Feyre to see what they think.”
The couple nodded as we continued with breakfast. We switched the conversation to training and general news. Once we had finished, we went our separate ways. I thought a lot about what they had said and sent a note to find the high lord and lady and ask for their advice with this whole thing. I immediately got a response that appeared in Rhysand’s elegant script offering to winnow me to the River House this afternoon to meet them in his office. I immediately accepted sending the magical paper back to its sender and decided to indulge myself in a book until the meeting time.
I hadn’t realized how many hours had passed until the high lord materialized in the library. I put my book on a nearby table and offered a simple greeting. Rhys held out his arm which I took without hesitation, the familiar pulling sensation taking over as we winnowed directly to the high lord’s office. When we arrived, I turned to find Feyre entering the room with Nyx. The little prince reaching his arms out. I hadn’t noticed before, but his wings were getting stronger, and he was gaining some control over them as he flapped them in an attempt to launch himself into his father’s waiting arms.
“Hey y/n” the high lady said handing Nyx to her mate who beamed at the boy now securely in his embrace.
“So, to what do we owe the pleasure” Rhysand asked, Feyre simply nodded in agreement.
“Well, you know that I love you both, and that I value your opinion.” The two nodded listening intently “After Solstice, after the engagement, I think I am just looking for some advice about what to do about Azriel. You know whether I should still tell him about the bond or just leave it alone. I talked to Cassian and Nesta earlier and now I’m asking you what you think.”
The two look at each other, silently communicating as they tended to do. Feyre was the one to speak “You know I love my family; I love both of my sisters but there are just so many logistics involved with this whole union. I mean you are Azriel’s mate whether you tell him and whether or not he accepts it and the same goes for Elain, she is welcome to reject the bond with Lucien but to me it seems like she is just running away from the idea altogether.” She took a breath “and Lucien, I mean he is not only my friend but also an ally of this court and he has every right to invoke the blood duel should he want to. its just spiraled, the whole thing from a harmless flirtation to a disaster.” She looked at her mate who gave her a nod of approval.
“Look you two, I don’t know where this idea came from that Lucien is going to challenge Az but he isn’t an Autumn Court male anymore and finds the blood duel repulsive and when has he given any indication that he would do something like that. When he got to the night court, he let Elain have her space and he hasn’t pushed the bond on her. He’s never tried to force anything on her, and he wouldn’t now just because they are engaged.”
“You have a valid point” Feyre said “But the whole reason you came here was to ask our opinion on your situation. I think both Rhys and I agree that you should still tell him. I mean had he not proposed, you would have told him at the solstice party. We think that he deserves to have all the information before he makes a big decision like this, like marriage.”
I nod my head as she speaks, her words echoing that of Cassian and Nesta’s from this morning. “I guess I have a lot to think about”
“Look, no matter what happens just know we are here for you to help you through this” Rhysand says breaking his silence.
“I’m scared” I admit to them
“Well look at it this way” Feyre begins “at least you will be the one to tell him and not a Suriel” she gives Rhys a mischievous look as he grins
“I was going to tell you…eventually” he said “The Suriel just got to you first AND I was gravely injured if you recall”
Feyre let out a laugh, pressing a kiss to his lips and to Nyx’s forehead. “I think it is all going to work out y/n”
I let out a long breath “Okay, well now that that is settled, hand me that baby because I need time with my nephew”
Rhys grins handing Nyx to me, I bounce the babe on my knees and enjoy some family time with the three of them for the remainder of the night.
It had been a month since my conversations with Nesta and Feyre about what to do and I was still no closer to a decision. I had even gone as far as making pro and con lists which were scattered across my desk with various reasons why I should tell him, and why I shouldn’t. Reason number one being that they seemed so happy. Just yesterday they had announced that they intended to marry a week after Starfall, which was only a few months away.
I continued thinking about my reasons as I got ready for the day. I was going to be helping Gwyn with research in the library today. I had to admit I was excited to spend the day surrounded by books and to be around Gwyn, I had been so busy with the new developments with Azriel that I had neglected time with my friend, and I intended to make up for it.
I was putting on my shoes in a chair in the corner of my bedroom when I heard a rustling on my desk. I looked over as a letter appeared on top of a pile of other correspondence, my name scrawled across the front with handwriting I immediately recognized. I jumped up from my position taking the letter in my hands as I tore open the envelope and couldn’t help the smile on my face as I read it.
My Dearest Y/N,
I hope you are doing well. I have found myself missing your company in the past weeks since my relocation to my father’s court. I have been keeping busy, learning the history of the court, and enjoying the vast library, it really is unmatched. I think you would love it. No, I know you would love it here. Anyways, what updates do you have from the Night Court? I take it everyone is well. I’m sure it has been hard on you these weeks since the engagement and I want to remind you that you have a friend, a friend who happens to know exactly what you’re going through and one that has come to care greatly for you. please remember that you always have a place in my court should you need to escape.
I made myself a mental note to send a response as I checked the time realizing I was late and made my way downstairs to the library.
I was immediately greeted by Gwyn, the red head smiling at me in one of her big genuine smiles, her eyes sparkling with the gesture, and she pulled me into a tight hug. “Oh, I have missed you so much y/n” she says
“I missed you too Gwyn”
“Okay you have so much to catch me up on” she says practically bouncing with excitement over our girl talk today which we did between tasks for Clotho and finding some research for another priestess Gwyn is helping. I told her everything, I needed another opinion about what to do from someone not currently in a mating bond. Someone who might understand my reservations a little better.
“How do you feel about it all?” she asks as we work on reshelving books in the lower levels.
“I feel…” I take a breath “I don’t know I guess I feel conflicted, on one hand I want him to know maybe for my own benefit, but I mean is it fair of me to just make this choice for him? What if he feels like Elain? Like the bond is a burden he wants to run from? I don’t know if I can deal with that kind of rejection. On the other hand, I don’t tell him and continue my life like it is now and let him continue his life that he chose with Elain but what if one day it snaps for him and he wants to explore it, but they have a life, maybe a family? I am just confused and scared, and I don’t know what to do. The consensus has been that I need to tell him and that’s what I am leaning towards, but I just don’t know Gwyn.”
“I think that the only person who can decide what to do is you.” the priestess says “I mean you get all this advice about what’s fair for him. But what is fair to you?”
I was pondering over her words when suddenly a note materialized on the cart. I recognized the script immediately and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.
Meet me on the roof
“What do you think he wants?” I ask
“Only one way to find out” she says “I think you should figure out what you want y/n, I think you two should figure out if you’re even compatible before you decide. Maybe spend time with him without the influence of other people, just you two to see how you interact. Maybe it’ll help you to make your decision. Remember that mating bonds were initially put in place by the mother for prime breeding benefits, we live in a modern world and maybe it’s an antiquated concept now”
“Thanks Gwyn” I said pulling the female into another hug “I guess I have somewhere to be”
“Good luck” she says disappearing behind a bookshelf, continuing with her work. I take a deep breath and make my way upstairs.
I couldn’t help the thoughts running through my head as I made my way up to the roof, the most dominant one being what If he knows. I try to not look concerned as I open the door, the sunlight catching me off guard for a moment as I make out his figure in our usual spot, sitting on the edge of the roof with his legs dangling over the side. His wings looking powerful and poised behind him.
His shadows immediately slither over to greet me, as they do, he turns from his position to look at me approaching. “Hey y/n” he says patting the empty space next to him.
I carefully set myself down beside him, hoping he can’t hear how loud my heart is beating. After a moment of silence, I manage to say “So, why did you ask me here?”
“To be honest…I’m not really sure” He says “I feel like you are one of the only people I can really talk to you know. The others, I love them, and they are my family, but I know they don’t approve of me right now.”
“Don’t approve of you why?”
“I know they have reservations about me and Elain. I mean months ago Rhys cornered me in his office and basically told me to stay away from her, and now we’re engaged. I know he and Feyre are probably figuring out the logistics of it all, you know because she is mated to Lucien.”
“I may have heard something like that from them.” I say “Can I just ask you why, if you know how your family feels and you have these reservations then why go through it”
“I think I’m in love with her”
“This seems like a lot of trouble for you think, I mean if you are going to vow to spend your life with someone shouldn’t you know you love them?” I asked him.
“I think that conversation we had a few weeks ago has really stuck with me, you know about mates. I can’t help but feel nostalgic. I spent hundreds of years certain I would find my mate and then I gave up on it and decided to try things with Elain and maybe I feel guilty. Because if I were in Lucien’s position, I would hate the male and I would be in absolute hell watching my mate fall in love with and intend to marry someone else.”
“I know Lucien doesn’t hate you, he may dislike you because of his instincts but he trusts Elain to make her own decisions. He would never force her to accept the bond or choose him unless it is what she truly wanted.”
“You talk with Lucien?” he asks, looking over at me, his eyes meeting mine.
“Of course, I mean we’re friends and have been for some time now”
“I guess I didn’t notice”
“There are a lot of things you don’t notice” I say quietly under my breath.
“What was that?” he asks
“Oh nothing” I reply, “but Az if you feel guilty you can pull out you know. You don’t have to go through with any of this if you feel that way.”
“I know, its just” he pauses taking a deep breath “I don’t think anyone else would love me, maybe this is it. Maybe this is my one chance at some kind of happiness”
“I don’t think the universe works that way Az” he looks at me “Besides there are plenty of people who love you, myself included”
“I know that y/n, I just feel like I’m making a huge mistake, every instinct is screaming that this is wrong, and I can’t shake it.”
“I should give you Iremia, seems like you could use the tranquility” I say jokingly
“That’s what you named it? The dagger?” he asked
I nod my head in confirmation “Yeah, I figured I could use a little calm in my life so why not”
“It’s a great name” he says.
“Look Az, maybe you should call off the wedding if you are having these doubts. No one would blame you for taking the time to think about it, this is the rest of your life you are talking about, and you should be sure you want to spend it with Elain. Especially if you’re having such strong doubts.”
“I just don’t want to hurt anyone” he says softly
“I know the feeling” I say bringing my eyes down to look at my hands.
“Y/n?” he says my name softly, almost a whisper and I turn my head to face him. He is looking at me and his eyes met mine, and I noticed them drift lower before his gaze is resting on my lips. My breath became caught in my throat. Was he going to kiss me? I thought as his mouth parted slightly, his breath becoming uneven as he began to lean into me.
“Az?” A soft voice said interrupting the moment.
“Elain” he said quickly, practically jumping away from me and making his way over to her placing a kiss to her temple “What are you doing up here?” he asked her.
“We have dinner plans…remember?” she replied, “I figured I would save you a trip by coming here.” She looked over at me, I was rising from the mat “Hello y/n” she said politely
I immediately felt embarrassed and fought the redness rising on my face as I gave her a nonchalant greeting back.
“Thanks for the talk y/n” Azriel says “I’ll see you in training tomorrow”
I give them both a small smile as they depart his shadows swirling as he winnows them away. The conversation runs over again in my head. Did he suspect something? Was he going to kiss me? Would I have let him?
I make my way downstairs to my room to change before dinner with the Inner Circle, minus Elain and Azriel who apparently had other plans for the evening. My thoughts no clearer than they were this morning.
Once bathed and changed I made it to the dining room to find it already full of people. Nesta and Cass were in their usual seats as were Feyre, Rhys, Nyx, Mor, and even Amren to my surprise. I took up my seat across from Nesta and began to fill my plate.
The conversation was normal, mostly updates about Nyx and about the Valkyries training about new developments in the Hewn city and general news. Until Feyre cleared her throat drawing my attention. “So, y/n, what is new on the Azriel front?” she tried to sound nonchalant about it, but the air was thick with tension.
“Here we go” I said rolling my eyes as I prepared for the same speech I had gotten for weeks from them about how I needed to do the right thing and tell him and basically just get it over with.
“Clearly you have all made your opinions on the matter known. So why don’t you all just tell me what to do.” I look around the room meeting their gaze, my tone elevating as I continued “If anyone has an idea of how I should better deal with this please let me know because I feel like I am losing my mind.” My voice breaks but I take a deep breath and continue. “I know what you all think about it, but it isn’t your decision to make. If and when I tell him about this it will be on MY terms.”
“We just want to help you” Feyre says softly.
“As if any of you can help me, as if any of you can fathom what it’s like. Except you Rhys, but only briefly because it worked out in your favor. What would you all suggest I do hmm? Oh, wait you have all already told me what you think. Why do I need to rush and make a decision like this just because you all have an opinion about it?”
“y/n-” Nesta begins, but I cut her off.
“Because on one hand, I tell him about the bond and ruin any chance of happiness he has built for himself. On the other I don’t say a word, and one day the bond may snap for him, and he resents me for not telling him. Oh, and not to mention the other important piece here, Elain. You all would have me be the villain that steps in to ruin her wedding, to ruin a choice she made, a choice they both made. I can’t do that. No, actually I won’t do that.”
“But y/n-” Cassian began
“There is no but, that is all there is to it Cass. Either way I lose” the others look down at their hands, mulling over what I said.
“I’m going to bed” I announce, getting up from the table and making my way to my bedroom. I hear their hushed voices arguing as I make my way up the stairs, I do my best to block it out.
Once making it to my room, I close the door softly behind me and make my way to my desk. I take deep steadying breaths trying to ignore the feeling of being suffocated, of being forced into something so serious. I turn my head and catch a glimpse of Lucien’s last letter. I look it over again, suddenly getting an idea.
I grab a piece of parchment, and a pen and scrawl out a quick reply before losing my nerve.
I am doubtful of my ability to remain here surrounded by happy mated couples. Watching Elain and Azriel plan their wedding is torture. Getting advice from people who know nothing of what I am going through is torture and to be honest I miss you more than I can express. So, how soon can I visit? I feel that some time away would do me good. I need to figure out what my life is without him, who I am without him. Perhaps you can help with that.
Next Chapter ->
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High Lord & Lady of the Night Court
“Feyre ,” he gasped, as if testing how the word felt on his lips. “My mate .”
For @feysandmonth Day 1, I wanted to draw everyone's attention to one of the best fics in this fandom, and certainly in the Feysand tag, A Court of Faded Dreams, by @the-lonelybarricade
When @sarahsoba and I were talking about how best to show our love and appreciation for this work of art, we knew it had to be this scene. No spoilers, but if you know, you know.
Rhysand when someone insults him:
Rhysand when someone even THINKS badly about Feyre:
Rhys: Look, I’m over five hundred years old—
Feyre: I’m sorry
Feysand with Nyx
*I’m not crying, you’re crying*
Art by: neural_art_v