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the-lonelybarricade · 6 months

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Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans - Chapter 2

Summary: Fresh after her third, and final, breakup with Tamlin, Feyre decides a one night stand is exactly what she needs to get him out of her system. Except, her one night stand with a violet-eyed stranger ends up being far more than she bargained for.

Or; the one where Feysand gets knocked up from a one night stand.

Read on AO3 ・Masterlist・Previous Chapter

Feyre couldn’t look at her phone. Not without feeling nauseated.

There had been many—countless, Nesta would argue—idiotic, brainless things that Feyre had done in her life. There was the time she’d left her passport locked in a hostel safe and had driven three hours on the motorway before she’d realized. There was the time when she’d snuck one of the bottles of vodka her father used to keep stored in the freezer and decided she’d get away with it by replenishing what was consumed with water, only for their father to discover a frozen bottle the following evening. Or, worst of all, there was the summer she’d given herself bangs.

They were all inconsequential in retrospect, now knowing how each of those little mistakes panned out. But at the time, they had felt world-ending.

And maybe there was a solace to find in how trivial those moments felt in reflection. Like one day in the future, Feyre would look back on herself now and laugh softly, saying, Remember how scared I was? I thought the world was coming down around me, but it was only just a new path forging.

That was a nice idea, except this new path was not solid stone, steady underfoot. Nor was it gravel, rough and uneven, easy to slip and unforgiving beneath a fall. No, this new path was quicksand. There was no standing still; there was no scraping together her bearings. This path decided that she was moving one way or another—either sinking to the bottom, suffocating in her own indecision, or scrambling forward in an attempt to keep her head above the surface.

And maybe there wasn’t a way forward at all. Maybe there was only going down, like she was trapped in a sand dial, feeling the ground shift and fall away, every ticking second measured. It certainly felt like there was glass sealed behind her—she knew there was no going back. There was no undoing the purple eyes and velvet laugh and stupid black dress.

Would she one day laugh about this? Who was to say. She wasn’t laughing now. She was fighting the bile creeping up her throat as she sat on the cool tile of her bathroom floor, glaring at the porcelain bowl because it was better than glaring at her phone. Feyre couldn’t say for certain if it was morning sickness that had triggered her nausea or the text that had woken her up.

Feeling better?

Feyre was running out of excuses. A stomach bug only lasts for so long. It was becoming a matter of time before someone busted down her door and demanded she go to the emergency room.

Yes, she texted back.

The response was immediate. I have the day off. Breakfast at 10?

Sure.

It was an effort to heft herself from the floor. It was more of an effort not to grimace when she saw her reflection in the mirror. She fixed her eyes on the faucet, on her shaking hands cupping the water, scooping it into her face, and then into her mouth to rinse out the bile.

She didn’t look that different, not really. There was no pregnancy bump yet. If anything, she’d lost weight. Nausea could do that, but so could guilt. Six weeks ago, she’d had sex with a stranger, with Rhysand, and now there was a life growing in her stomach.

Google said a baby was roughly the size of a pea at six weeks. If that was true, then the weight of keeping this secret made it the heaviest gods-damned pea in existence.

“Have you told him?” Alis said in greeting as Feyre ambled into the kitchen.

Steam curled from the mug in her hands, carrying the scent of freshly roasted coffee. Feyre resisted the urge to cover her nose.

“No,” she said, evading her roommate in a wide arc.

Alis arched a brow. “Will you tell him?”

The bitter smell was so affronting that Feyre could think of little else. A gag built in her throat, which she did a poor job of hiding by darting for the fridge. It was the empty stomach. She needed to eat something, or she was going to puke again.

Feyre settled for an apple and took a long time chewing before she turned back to Alis. She swallowed. “Eventually.”

“The longer you wait—”

“I know,” Feyre interrupted.

Of course she knew. It was all she’d been thinking about. But how? How did she look him in the eyes and say, I’m pregnant? She couldn’t even do it in the mirror—and she’d tried. There were a thousand versions of the script she was constantly writing and rewriting in her head, all those words swirling until they had become a living creature of mist and shadow. One that loomed over her shoulder at all times of the day. She’d somehow convinced herself it would only become real if she acknowledged it.

Alis said little else. She was the only one who knew, by virtue of being on the other side of the door when Feyre had taken her pregnancy test. Though, Alis wasn’t dense, and it wouldn’t have taken her long to peg the morning nausea, the aversion to certain foods. They didn’t say much about it. Not yet. Alis had only offered her unilateral support and given Feyre time and space to dissect her maelstrom of emotions.

And three days ago, when Feyre decided she was going to keep the baby, Alis had said simply, “Then you need to tell him.”

A firm, unwavering reminder she’d repeated each day since. Feyre clenched her teeth to keep from snapping. She knew that, in her own way, Alis was being kind. Time would only exacerbate the issue. But objectivity did little quell Feyre’s kindling irritation. Words bubbled behind her clenched teeth, building into a pressure that made her want to scream: no-fucking-duh.

She didn’t scream. She politely took her apple and her keys and murmured that she would be back soon. Maybe she could have shut the front door with less force, but at least now she could blame her Archeron temper on her hormones.

Feyre rapped her knuckles over the steering wheel. She was parked outside the cafe, and through the large glass pane at the front, she could spot him sitting inside. His posture seemed relaxed enough, his handsome face angled down towards his phone. A second later, hers pinged from its mount on the dashboard.

I’m here. Are you close?

She met her own eyes in the rearview mirror. Blue, like an overcast sea, their mother had always said, reasoning it was why her eldest and youngest were such forces of nature. There was a swelling storm that Feyre could never escape, because it lived inside her. And now she could feel the tide in her chest retreating from the shore, pulling further and further back, and she knew it would crash if she went inside, that it would swallow them both whole.

Be a big girl, she told herself. Go in there and tell him the truth.

She took a deep inhale. Held it, hoping it could hold back the tide, too.

Then, it was only a matter of unlocking her door. Walking the few steps towards the front entrance. Listening to the pealing bell as she pulled open the door.

“Feyre?”

Blonde hair swam into view. The greeting was so unexpected, so startling, that Feyre released the breath she’d been holding.

Then it all crashed down.

Brows pinched together. “Feyre, are you okay?”

Mor had the sense to keep her voice at a whisper. From the way she glanced over her shoulder towards the man hunched over in the booth, it was clear she had put together who Feyre was here to see.

Tears sprung into Feyre’s vision—not because she was crying, but because she couldn’t breathe. The tide was surging around her, clogging her throat, and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t—

Mor grabbed Feyre by the shoulders and pushed them out of the cafe.

The early Autumn was as indecisive as Feyre. Yesterday, she’d been sweating through her t-shirt. Today, the air stung her cheeks. Maybe the weather had seen a kindred spirit, a storm that could never quite find stillness, and decided to take pity. The cold calmed her, embraced her, reminded her where she was. Outside. With Mor. Where there was plenty of open space and fresh air. The blockage in her throat loosened. She took a gasping breath, then another.

“You’re okay,” Mor soothed.

“I’m okay,” Feryre repeated. To assure Mor or herself, she wasn’t certain.

Mor took in Feyre’s strained voice, her flushed cheeks, the nails digging into her palms and gestured towards one of the outdoor tables. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Maybe… maybe a trial run could be a good thing.

Her eyes drifted over Mor’s shoulder to where Tamlin sat waiting at a table inside. If she glanced at her phone, she probably had another text waiting from him. Growing impatient.

“He can wait,” Mor said, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” Feyre rasped. “Talking would be… nice.”

It was a little too cold for the iron chairs, which seared through Feyre’s leggings. But the cold calmed her, and she appreciated the privacy. The lack of sounds and smells.

Mor was ever-patient, waiting for Feyre to speak.

When it was clear that she wouldn’t, Mor said, “How have you been? That was some night out, huh?”

Right. That was the last time she’d seen or spoken to Mor. Feyre had been meaning to respond to her text—Heyy! Fun night? 😏

And the follow-up one a day later. My cousin is asking for your phone number. Is it okay if I share it?

They’d both seem innocent enough and at first, Feyre hadn’t answered because she’d felt a twinge of guilt for not staying long enough to meet Mor’s cousin. Then, because Tamlin had showed up at her door with a bouquet of apologies and she hadn’t known how to explain to her friend that she’d taken him back. Nor how to explain to Tamlin that she’d had a one night stand during their breakup.

Then she’d found out she was pregnant, and she hadn’t said much of anything to anyone.

“Yeah,” Feyre said, numbness growing where her legs pressed to the chair.

“And now you’re back with Tamlin,” Mor said slowly, waiting for Feyre to fill in the gaps.

The iron latticework of the outdoor table was much more interesting.

Mor sounded disappointed as she probed, “You said it was the last time you guys were breaking up.”

Feyre mustered all the cheer she could force into her voice. “It was the last time. We’re not going to break up again.”

She’d felt much more confident about that line when she’d said it three weeks ago to a disapproving Alis. Already, Feyre could feel that creature slither over her shoulder, hissing into her ear. If she turned, its pupils would be slitted into two digital lines that begged her acknowledgment.

“Right,” Mor said. “And yet, you came into this cafe looking like you were about to burst into tears because…?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” Feyre blurted.

And there it was. That creature turned real. She felt it reach through her chest and tug. Suddenly, all of that sea water she’d swallowed a moment ago came rising to the surface, and her body regurgitated the words that had been drowning her.

“It’s not Tamlin’s. It’s… remember the guy I met at the club? The one with the purple eyes? It was supposed to be this stupid, drunken one night stand, only first names—I don’t even have his number, Mor. I have some nameless, mysterious baby daddy, and I haven’t told Tamlin because I know he’s going to be…” she blinked back the sting in her eyes. “He’s going to be so furious with me.”

Mor was gaping. Whatever she’d expected… it clearly hadn’t been that.

Waiting for her friend’s reaction felt like treading water in a deep, bottomless ocean. But at least she wasn’t drowning anymore. At least the creature had receded back into the shadows, and her breathing was shallow but still filling her lungs.

Then Mor’s eyes flickered over Feyre’s shoulder. Her expression morphed into such panic that Feyre whirled, only to be met face to face with those shocking purple eyes so wide that she could only assume he’d heard the whole damn thing.

“Feyre,” Mor croaked from behind.

But Feyre couldn’t tear her eyes away from Rhys. In the time since their one night stand, Feyre convinced herself she’d exaggerated his appearance. Three shots of tequila could make anyone beautiful. But here she was, stone-cold sober, fighting her jaw not to drop at the sight of him.

The same short black hair she tugged beneath her fingers was now slightly wind-swept, some of it falling to his face in endearing curls that she concluded were purposefully arranged. He was wearing a navy sweater with a white collared shirt beneath—infuriatingly put together, where she was still sniffing back tears, dressed in her same paint-stained clothes from yesterday.

She’d prepared scripts for him, too, though she always imagined he was someone she would take years to track down. That she’d have time to prepare what to say to him, how to move forward knowing their lives were irrevocably entwined.

“Feyre,” Mor said again after awkwardly clearing her throat. “Meet my cousin, Rhysand.”

Cousin. The one who wanted her number.

“Oh,” Feyre whispered, so many horrible details clicking into place.

Rhysand mustered enough composure to manage a strained: “It’s great to see you again, Feyre.”

Feyre dropped her head into her hands. “Oh my god.”

A chair scraped against the pavement.

Mor said, “I’ll give you two a moment alone.”

She peaked between her fingers, just enough to watch Mor retreat towards the cafe. Likely playing guard dog to ensure Tamlin didn’t stumble upon them. She heard Rhys walk around the table, his footsteps light, as if he were approaching an animal he didn’t want to startle. Then, a pair of broad hands swam into vision as he gripped the back of Mor’s deserted chair, his brown knuckles paling.

He didn’t sit. She could feel his gaze like a leaden weight, so heavy that she couldn’t gather the strength to raise her head.

“When did you find out?” He asked eventually.

Feyre searched for any accusation in his voice, but it was gentle. She lifted her head, finding that some of his shock had thawed, though his expression was unreadable.

“A week ago,” she said.

“Have you…” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Do you know what you want to do?”

This is where she braced herself. She knew her voice was creeping towards defensive as she said levelly, “I’m keeping the baby.”

Rhysand swallowed thickly. Nodded. “Okay.”

Okay. That knocked her a bit off guard. The lack of questions, of demand for her justification. She’d been preparing for a fight with Tamlin and felt stranded in the face of such simple, ready acceptance. It had to be a trap.

“It was my decision,” Feyre said, plowing ahead. “So I don’t expect anything from you. You don’t need to be… involved. I have no delusion that we’d ever be some perfect nuclear family. If you want to just walk away, this is your chance.”

“And,” Rhysand broached with such caution that Feyre’s spine straightened, “if I want to be involved… would that be okay with you?”

“We’d need to work something out,” she said, ignoring how her voice cracked. Mor’s family came from money. She could already imagine the legal proceedings, the paperwork, the negotiations over days of the week and alternating Christmases. At least Nesta was a lawyer. “I don’t want to get the courts involved. But if it goes that direction—“

“It won’t need to,” he said. “We can play it by ear, do whatever feels right. I just… I’d like to be involved. Starting now.”

The excruciating weight of that small little pea plummeted in her chest. “Starting now?”

Rhys nodded. “If you need someone to drive you to the appointments, or if you need me to pitch in for baby supplies. I’m… I want to help.”

“I’ll think about it.”

His face fell a little.

If she shut him out completely, a lawyer was guaranteed to come knocking at her door. Feyre added, “It’d be nice to get to know you before anything else.”

“Would you like to grab a coffee together?”

“As friends,” Feyre hedged. “I know we—” An image flashed in her mind of those fingers in her mouth, between her thighs. She tried not to flush. “—you know. But I have a boyfriend now. And I’m not looking for you to be my…”

She searched for a word but found none that quite articulated what, exactly, Rhys would be to her.

Baby daddy?

“I just want us to be friends,” she clarified.

His perfect lips, which had once expertly kissed and licked and teased her, edged into a smile. “Then would you like to grab a coffee together as friends?”

“Yes.” She smiled back and found that the pea in her stomach didn’t feel quite so heavy. “Not today, though. I’m, uh… meeting my boyfriend.”

“And I’m meeting my cousin.”

“Right.” Feyre reached stiffly into her pocket, retrieving her phone. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll text you?”

The iron chair practically sighed in relief as Rhysand released it from his death grip. His motions were stiff, too, she noted, as he punched in his number and handed it back to her a tad too mechanically.

Their fingers brushed as she accepted it back, and she felt for the second time that day like she couldn’t breathe. Their eyes met, held. “You say the word, Feyre darling. Any time, any place, and I’m yours.”

She thought she might have said something back or just stared dumbly at his obscenely beautiful face. She couldn’t remember, and he didn’t say anything else before he nodded his goodbye and chased after Mor.

It took Feyre a long time to find the willpower to follow after him, back into that cafe, and breathlessly apologize to Tamlin for being late. And she pretended she couldn’t feel a pair of violet eyes watching her as she sat across from Tamlin, forcing a smile.

#Take My Hand Wreck My Plans #humming 'welcome to club knocked up' while writing this fic fr #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #feyrhys

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thesistersarcheron · 6 months

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Pairing: Feysand Rating: E Tags: Smut, Angst, Necromancy & Resurrection, Ghosts & Haunting, Morally Gray Rhysand, Silver Fox Rhysand, Dark Magic, Halloween, Beast!Rhys, Oral Sex Summary: Feyre swallowed her horror and raised her tattooed hand. “The bargain was only for the rest of my life.”

Rhysand's grip on her tightened as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Tamlin and I didn’t shuffle your corpse around for a week every month, if that’s what you’re thinking. I had to do some good old-fashioned graverobbing to get you, Feyre.”

Her spine stiffened. Prick!

(Or, what would have happened if Feyre wasn’t resurrected Under the Mountain?)

Read Chapter 2 on AO3 now! Snippet below the cut.

Rhys didn’t pause. He didn’t give her a moment to reconsider her offer, he didn’t scan her face for any sign of hesitation, and he didn’t ask her if she was sure.

No, with unnatural speed, he shackled Feyre’s wrist in one strong hand and wrapped his lips around her fingers. His mouth was furnace hot, and every muscle in her body went taut as his tongue traced each dip and contour of her fingers, licking and sucking like he meant to consume not just the salt she’d offered him, but the tattoos he had inked onto her skin as well.

His blackened thumb stroked the pulse point in her wrist with deceptive tenderness.

But Feyre knew better. She recognized the way the stars in his eyes burned at her—for her—like a million supernovas lit the violet from within. His gaze glowed, lighting the darkness between them, and she trembled beneath the intensity of it.

She had never known desire like the smoldering look on Rhys’s face now or the cosmic fire roaring to life behind the walls of his mind. He watched her with the frozen, full-body focus of a predator, and with the unadulterated force of his attention focused solely on her, she imagined it would be too easy to lose herself in him.

As if their mating bond was as attuned to her mind as he was, the thread linking their souls tugged, reeling her closer and closer until they were chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart. Until her lips were on his jaw, kissing and tasting and trying to steal a bit of him for herself. He tasted of salt and skin and something unnameable—something not of their world.

Feyre didn’t care. Unending want streamed down the bond, erasing the fear she should have felt in favor of heightening the urgency of her desire for him. She was acutely aware of the hollow ache between her legs, but when she tried to press them together, Rhys’s infuriatingly thick thighs were in her way.

Too-sharp teeth nipped at her knuckles in reproach. She tore herself away from him to watch as Rhys’s lips edged upward, forming a cocky grin around her fingers.

Don’t rush me, mate, he warned her.

The thought echoed between them—matematematemate. Feyre almost forgot herself as she succumbed to smug, territorial instinct and sank her teeth into a curling tattoo above his collar in return.

But her mate was cruel. He took advantage of her momentary distraction to grind the thick line of his cock against her. The pleasant friction was muted by the endless layers of fabric caught between them, and her precarious perch on a stone wall no thicker than the width of her hand meant she couldn’t press closer without toppling back into her grave.

Not that Rhys would let her. Between the hand tangled in her hair and his iron grip on her wrist, she was going nowhere unless he willed it.

She tried to huff, but the sound that came out was more like a desperate whimper. “Stop teasing!”

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #my fics #poltergeist darling #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of thorns and roses fic #feyrhys #smut

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acomaflove · 2 years

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Everyone else winnowing: silent

Rhysand winnowing: BOOM *black smoke* jazz hands. IT’S ME ASSHOLES

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to-read-is-to-breathe · 10 months

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The Painted Drawers: An Analysis

Okay so--I think what we originally assumed was that what Feyre painted on the drawers was a direct representation of each sister's future Mate. However, I think it has become clear that the images on each drawer actually represent the pieces of each sister that their Mate brings out in them/allows to become stronger/the true manifestation of who they are at their core.

Basically, each image is a combo of [the core trait/soul of each sister]+[the essence of their Mate/the way their Mate accepts that part of them]

So we have:

Feyre--The Night Sky/Stars: Obviously Rhys is the High Lord of the Night Court, but the night sky is also a representation of who Feyre is. Someone that craves adventure, someone bigger than the tiny place she's trapped in, a Dreamer. Rhys gives her the space to become the whole of these elements, but they are ultimately who she always was at her core. She was always as big and sparkling as the night sky, she just needed some help from Rhys to be set free.

Nesta--Flames: Nesta was forged in fire in every way. She was pushed by her mother's hatred and jealousy and ambition, and then simmered under the weight of that with her father. She feels so much that everything--every moment and every emotion--is on fire for her all the time. She gets to a point where she lets it become overwhelmingly destructive. But, as one of my favorite childhood movies taught me, Fire is also the most fundamental element of life. It is light, and it may rage but it also dances. It can be gentle and warm and still be a flame. Cassian is the gentler parts of fire most of the time. He sparks, and he's spicy, and he's got the attitude, but most of the time it's softer: the laughing, the jokes, the absolute love and loyalty he displays. He doesn't douse Nesta's flames, he just helps her reach a place where she can temper them on her own. Where she can feel them and live with them without letting them burn her up in the process.

AND MY FINAL THEORY:

Elain--Flowers: Elain has been the soft and delicate one. The one everyone fears will wilt at the slightest breeze or change in temperature. But flowers--especially pretty ones--can be poisonous, and we've seen the hardier side of Elain coming out. But you know what it takes for flowers to bloom? Sunlight. And you know who is literally the child of the High Lord of the Day Court and therefore a metaphor for sunlight in this literary analysis?? Lucien. Lucien, whose job has always been to support and serve others. Who is taking his time with Elain because it takes time for flowers to grow. He's providing the space, the light, the patience for Elain to grow into who she was always meant to become. To bloom simply because she is now part of his world, the way the sun provides life to flowers simply by being.

Tldr; this may be the hint about Elain's future/future partner that was right in front of us all along.

#elucien #nessian #feyrhys #feysand #acotar #acotar 6 #the painted drawers #elain x lucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #acomaf #sjm

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feyresdaughter · 1 year

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A Court of Wings and Ruin, chapter 37:

We go into Rhys's head during the summer court attack, lesgo

“Such a remarkable girl— your mate,” the king mused.

I hate the King of Hybern but even he knows how special Feyre is

“I’m a lucky male to have her as my mate.” The king smiled again. “For the little time you have remaining.” I could have sworn Rhys blocked out the words.

Please shut up, KoH, PLEASE

"And when you have given everything and you are dead, Rhysand, when your mate is mourning over your corpse, I am going to take her.”

Not the King of Hybern predicting the future

Except for his part bc he's dead

“She defeated Amarantha and the Attor,” Rhys countered. “I doubt you’ll be much of an effort, either.”

HELL YES

Rhys allowed the Hybern soldiers aboard the ship, aboard the ones around him, the honor of at least lifting their blades. Then he turned them all into nothing but red mist and splinters floating on the waves.

YES RHYSIE, MIST THEM INTO NOTHING! THAT'S MY BOY!

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msfeyredarling · 1 year

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Wings of love

Feysand as fairies. A Thumbalina reversal inspired AU

Summary: Feyre has been visiting the heart of the forest her whole life. One day she discovers another creature sharing her meadow.

a/n: I was meant to post this for day1 of feysand month but I went away so I didn’t get to chance to finish it. The ending was super rushed but I hope you enjoy:)

Link to Ao3

Masterlist

Light simmered down through the cluster of leaves, illuminating the expanse of wildflowers and the jewel-blue stream. The steady flow glinted brightly as it travelled to the lake, crystal in clarity, the lifeblood of the forest.

The wind whistled past her ear, her soft golden hair caressed her cheek. Birds chirped from where she peaked behind the rough and patchy brown bark of the willow tree. The hanging branches swayed and rustled with the wind, creating a melody only known the forest. The sweet musky perfume of the heart wafted to her nose, along with another scent, sea and citrus. A scent that was unknown to her.

Her eyes caught sight of an unusual creature, one that was not known to travel this deep. Humans, her kind named them. Creatures that were told to have no kindness in their hearts and destroyed the very forest they worshipped.

This male human stood in the river, holding a long stick-like shape. A sword. Why the human held one, she couldn’t comprehend. As quick as light, he slashed his sword through the water. The water rippled as droplets fell from the metal…and the fish speared on the end.

She gasped as she realised what he had done. Just as quickly his head whipped in her direction and she dashed behind the willow. Her heart thundered in her ears, her palms became damp and her wings fluttered with nerves. She focused on quietening her heart as she desperately tried to listen for the crunching of leaves.

When she felt enough time had passed, she glanced from behind the large tree. The male was still there but he was now closer, much closer. She hadn’t heard him move which sent her heart soaring. Feyre turned back and launched herself off the ground, her storm-blue wings glinted in the sun as they fluttered rapidly behind her.

She didn’t dare look back and flew as fast as she could, until she was long gone from the heart of the forest. Until she passed through the shimmering wall and into the fairy grove. Her home.

*****

After days, she worked up the courage to visit her favourite place. She found herself sitting on a rock, feet dangling into the cool water as she spoke to the fish in the river. Their scales sparkled iridescently as they surfaced, words pouring from their gaping mouths. She found that these river fish had lots to say.

“Green fins said yellow nose had ugly gills!”

“Do you like my new scales?”

“I want a new river!”

“Do you think fish can fly?”

She listened so intently, finding herself smiling and often laughing. Fish were theatrical creatures.

“Have you seen the latest river rocks collection?”

“A crab moved into the river. I don’t like crabs.”

“Did you hear blue gills lost his fins!”

“—a human boy near the river”

A human boy? Was it the same male she saw not a few days ago. Her curiosity got the best of her as she leapt into the air, her wings held her afloat as water droplets fell from her feet.

Feyre listened to the sound for the sound of the forest, she used her instincts and connection to the meadow as her guide.

She caught sight of raven locks and as the male turned, she was captured by the intensity of his sparkling violet eyes. It was the same male that hunted from the heart. She hid in the tree forage as she watched him from a distance, never allowing herself to be revealed.

Feyre followed him, the forest changing with every step. The trees slowly dwindled, and the grass gradually lost the vibrance of life. Plants became few and far between, and flowers rapidly diminished. Her beautiful sacred forest was becoming lifeless. Her forest was dying.

Eventually, the air she breathed became clouded and dense, the dirt beneath her feet turned to gravel as they reach the outskirts of a village. The male stopped at the house furthest from the village. Why any human would live in such a house was unknown to her. It didn’t even look liveable.

As the human walked inside the house, she darted up to the side and glanced over the thresh of the windowsill, into the house. She saw the male walk in and place a new fish on the tabletop. She heard him call a name and then suddenly little feet tapped along the wood of the floor. A little girl with dark hair and violet eyes just like his own, ran up to him as he knelt and embraced her.

Suddenly, she realised why he was in the forest. Why this human had ventured so deep. He was providing for the little girl, his sister, and it seemed, he was the only one able to. Something inside her cracked open. Stories and chronicles depicted humans with no kindness in their hearts. That they were vicious and selfish beasts that would take and take and take until nothing was left. This human seemed to be the complete opposite, he had far too much selflessness and kindness.

She understood now and as she left, her heart felt lighter with the knowledge that there were creatures with love in their hearts.

*****

As time passed, Feyre found she enjoyed watching the human work. He was wonderful, she believed it in more ways than one. It may have been days, may have been weeks but all the time in the world couldn’t stop her from study him, his unique eyes. She did not know of any fairy that possessed such and it made her awfully curious. She would watch him hunt, no longer fearful of the act, and follow him home.

She started bringing her sketchbook, admiring his features and putting them on paper. He was beautiful, even by fairy standards.

On one warm afternoon, she was doing just as she did the day before. She walked the path she knew by memory. Feyre felt the soft dirt and silky grass as she trudged along the hidden path. She felt the cool press of metal, then heard a click and a snap, and suddenly she was in the air. She dangled upside down, her foot was tied. Her wings fluttered desperately, and her hands grappled at the rope. Her panic set in and she didn’t notice the approaching footsteps.

She did hear the snap of a stick and her head whipped in the direction of the sound. A gasp tore from her throat as the male she had been watching, the human male, was standing before her, looking at her as if she was the strange one. His eyes were wide and his mouth was parted in shock. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, there was a ringing in her ears, and her heart beat like it never had before. This was it. Humans truly were terrible creatures, she should have listened to the stories. They had no kindness, no love, and hunted until they destroyed. The daydream she’d created as an escape, was a lie.

“Hey, hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” his words did little to calm her as her heart raced and she gasped for air.

She barely focused on the human's movements, her inner turmoil the spectacle. When she was suddenly falling, her wings squashed beneath her, she finally focused on the male crouched before her.

Feyre shot up, only for the rope to pull her back down. The pale skin of her ankle began to turn red with her rapid movements. She dropped to the ground, arms reaching, attempting to remove the rope from her searing skin.

“Let me help you,” Feyre flinched, unaware of how close he had gotten. He tentatively grabbed her foot as her body trembled. The male gently placed one hand under her heel, the other drifting to the rope. He twisted and untied, untangling the ropes like it was a puzzle. She still feared him but was fascinated with how his hands moved around the rope.

“How did this happen,” he muttered under his breath. Feyre chose not to answer. He looked at her, his violet eyes piercing her own. “Have you been following me?” Feyre felt heat rise to her cheeks, the male chuckled.

“What’s your name, darling?” Her entire face flamed at the pet name. His question was met with silence and guarded eyes. “I’m Rhysand but call me Rhys,” he continued. She still didn’t reply and he sighed, his hand continued untying the knot surrounding her ankle.

Minutes drifted by in silence, the hissing of rope the only sound to be heard. Feyre studied Rhys as he worked on her foot. He was truly beautiful, magically so. Her hand reached out, fingertips gently traced the highlines of his cheeks. His skin was smooth to the touch, soft and silky.

Her fingers led their own path, creating patterns only known to her. They slowly drifted towards his ears, very different from her own, round opposed to her pointed ones. Feyre traced the shell of his ear, awed by his human features.

It wasn’t until he placed her foot on the ground she realised she had been staring… and that he stared back. Their eyes locked, his seemed to hold the very nights sky she worshipped.

“Feyre, my name is Feyre,” she whispered. His answering smile was enough to send her heart racing.

She stood abruptly, confused by her feelings. Feyre offered her gratitude and began slowly walking backwards. She was grateful for his kindness but she wasn’t ready to trust him yet, to offer up a part of herself willing, not after growing up on bedtime stories that instilled fear.

Rhys took a step forward, then stopped. He seemed to debate whether to follow her. “Will you come back?” he asked, eyes shining with the hope to see her again.

She began to lift from the ground, her wings sparkled in the light and her feet were inches from the ground. She gave him the most honest answer from her heart. “Maybe,” she replied, a grin formed at his expression as she fluttered away from the fascinating human male.

*****

Feyre was in utter bliss. That’s what it felt like when he smiled at her, when his hands touched her skin, when his lips caressed her own. Rhysand was her everything.

“Feyre—,“ he didn’t get to finish his sentence as she silenced him with a kiss. He didn't seem to mind when his soft lips caressed her own.

“Feyre...I need...to...” he said between kisses. “I…have…to… Feyre,” he moaned as she ran her fingers through his hair, gently tugging his mouth back to hers.

He eventually pulled away, resting his forehead on hers as she breathed in his salt and citrus scent. It was magnetic, she leaned back in to feel the soft press of his lips. He leaned back but only to smile down at her.

“I have to go back,” he whispered as Feyre wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Come back with me,” she whispered. Rhys stilled and his eyes glazed over. She thought she may have done something wrong. Was he scared to come back with her? She thought if you loved someone enough anything could be possible. “I can’t Feyre, my sister—”

Oh. In her newfound happiness she momentarily forgot about his family. The dark feelings inside her grew. She was desperate to not be separated from her love. “She can come with us and then we can be together,” she said, her heart rapidly beating. He gave her a look and she had been around him, studied him for so long, she knew what it meant. “I can make you like me. You can have wings. Rhysand please, don’t leave me,” she whispered brokenly.

Rhys pulled Feyre into his arms. “Darling, I will never leave you. You are my love. But your people—“

“Don’t worry about them. You know what I am,” she muttered, referring to the hidden marks that glittered silver when she was in fairy grove. The ancient runes of intricate swirls flowed around her body. They were the markings of her people, the markings of her family, passed down generations, bestowed upon the chosen heir.

“A princess.”

“The princess. I can make all your magical dreams come true,” she grinned up at her prince. “Fairy grove can provide for you and we can be together.”

“Does that mean we can be together together?”

“Of course,” she said, a slight frown edged into her features. She didn’t understand until Rhys knelt on one knee, hands reaching into his back pocket to pull out a ring.

The ring was beautiful. Twisted strands of gold and silver, flecked with pearl and set with a stone of deepest blue. She was completely overwhelmed, tears blurred her vision. “Feyre, my love, my darling, the last year has been the happiest of my life all because you were in it. When I first saw you in the forest, I thought you were the most beautiful creature I had seen. I was wrong. You are the most beautiful creature, inside and out. Every day I look forward to hearing your laugh or seeing your smile but what I look forward to the most is just being with you. Being able to talk to you, being able to love you, to just being your friend. You are the shining light in my world of darkness. Feyre Archeron, will you make me the happiest person by becoming my wife?”

Feyre’s knees gave out as she launched at Rhys, almost knocking him to the ground. She took his face between her hands, her eyes staring into his. “Yes, yes I will marry you,” she sobbed and Rhysand kissed her. The kiss was tender and full of so much love. When they broke apart, he placed the ring on her finger. They both admired how the ring fit her perfectly.

Rhys covered her hand with his own, entwining their fingers. Together they walked hand in hand as Feyre led Rhys to fairy grove, her home. Many kisses were shared on the way and by the time they reached the border, the sun had fallen. The sky shimmered as Feyre guided Rhys through the border.

Feyre smiled at her prince as she showed him her home. At the centre of the meadow was a grassland surrounded by a circle of stones. The ancient grounds were the one place uncovered by the trees forage, allowing the stars to twinkle down upon fairies. The area was sacred and often used in many celebrations.

Tonight the stars were witnesses as Rhys and Feyre declared their eternal and undying love for each other. When they finally completed the rite with a kiss and they were married in the eyes of the stars, did Rhys begin to change. His ears elongated, eyes brightened but most noticeably he grew wings, very similar to her own. Beautiful black translucent wings bloomed from his back, sparkling purple iridescent when light shined upon them.

Feyre had given him wings just as she promised. They could live thousands of lifetimes together as husband and wife, lovers, friends and fairies.

To never feeling alone again.

Tags: @reverie-tales

#feysand #feysandmonth2022 #feyreandrhysand #rhysand and feyre #feyre x rhys #feyre x rhysand #feyrhys #feyre #feyre acheron #rhysand #acomaf #acotar #acowar #acosf #acofas #fanfic #fairies inspired #fairytale AU #thumbalina inspired

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thequeenofnightmares · 1 year

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Chapter 2 is up 🫣🫢

Rhys and Feyre have the conversation about whether or not Lucien’s idea is a good one…and if so, whether the invitation includes Tamlin.

—

Feyre shut the door softly behind her, then turned to face Rhys. She was speckled with paint along her neck, all over her hands. There was a smear of yellow on her forehead, as if she’d forgotten a brush was in her hand when she’d gone to move a tendril of hair away. She was wearing simple silk shoes, a pair of old leggings, and Rhys’ old cream colored sweater. The sight of her in his clothes always threatened to bring him to his knees.

Rhys' face softened immediately when his eyes met Feyre’s; some nameless unease that he hadn’t even known he carried lifting in his chest. He just smiled down at her, tenderly, before pulling her gently towards him and onto his lips. His hands came up to cup her face, and he kissed her longingly, savoring the pillowy softness of her lips. He kissed her again, and again, and again, open-mouthed and deep. And when he finally pulled away, he did it just enough to look into her eyes. They’d been closed, but fluttered open when he broke the kiss. She smiled at him then, and he smiled back, kissing her lightly once on the lips.

“Welcome home,” he murmured, pressing another light kiss onto her mouth, this time to the side. “How was the studio?” He breathed. Another kiss.

—

Read the rest on AO3!

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nightshade-611 · 4 months

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GUYS I MADE RHYS FROM ACOTAR ON ARTBREEDER

HES SO GORGEOUS

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #rhysand #rhys acotar #feyrhys

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theladyofbloodshed · 8 months

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I need y'all to understand I started reading acotar cause I'd seen something about Rhys and I wanted to read about him. I started already being a fan of his character and the Hades/Persephone dynamics I thought they'd bring to the table, I knew Tamlin wouldn't stay the main guy and vaguely knew he would become a villain everyone hated AND YET.

And yet, I couldn't find anything wrong with his character or their love story, and yet they were the sweetest couple who were trying to connect and heal each other. They were genuinely good together, had sweet fluffy moments as well as emotionally charged ones. The trio were everything, how they began by distrusting each other and then formed sort of a found family.

I still cheered when Rhysand showed up, I was still rooting for that other ship to sail but I just couldn't deny how sweet Feyre and Tamlin were together. And then UtM happened with Rhys drugging Feyre but that's another story.

The point is, as someone who started reading for Feyrhys, Feylin completely stole my heart and whoever talks shit about their relationship in acotar at is originally was is a lying bitch bye

Yeah, I am similar to you, anon. I'd stopped reading anything when I was at uni because I had so many research papers to read weekly, I was burnt out from it. I knew Feyre was with Rhys so when I started ACOTAR (which I got in a reddit book exchange and had sat on my shelf for ages) I was like huh??? why's this guy blonde? who is this guy?

I'm never a huge fan of love stories where they have to fall in love to break the curse because I feel like you're not really in love?? It's not a natural love story. I also found Feyre so annoying and, at times, stupid. What actually kept me reading was the initial world building, Lucien, and Rhys tripping at the end. I didn't really click that it was the mating bond and I was like ooo Feyre's going to be some weird mutant faerie now.

Feylin had actually love story moments for me like him writing poetry to teach her new words, taking her to the starlight pool etc I preferred them, but I don't actually think Feyre should be with either of those two lmao

#anon asks

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unyieldingwings · 6 months

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I heard someone call feysand as FeyRhys and it sounded so much like Faeries. It’s just so cute

#feysand #acotar #rhys #feyre

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thesistersarcheron · 7 months

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Pairing: Feysand Word Count: ~2.5k Tags: AU - No Amarantha, Human Feyre Archeron x Fae Rhysand, Attempted Kidnapping, Dubious Consent - Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares Summary: Five times the High Lord of the Night Court tries to lure his human mate across the wall and the one time she hunts him instead. (Based on this prompt from deepwaterwritingprompts: Sometimes in the dead of night on the way to the kitchen for a glass of water, I see an extra door in the hallway, black and imposing.)

Read this fic on AO3!

The bed was warm, for once.

And for once, Feyre allowed herself a moment to luxuriate in that warmth. She came awake slowly, gently, enjoying the toasty feelings of her toes in soft socks and her nose pressed into her pillow. Even the weight of Elain against her back couldn’t bother her when she was snug in the rare, precious embrace of such comfort.

Usually, she woke up with her extremities aching with the chill that seeped into the cottage overnight, but this morning...

With her eyes still closed, she stretched, issuing a soft, content sigh. In a moment, she would have to rise to hunt, to brave the cold, but right now the sheets were softer than ever, the mattress plush beneath her hip, and her thin, lumpy pillow was plump and cool as a cloud beneath her cheek.

The sound or the movement must have woken her sister, because the bed shifted, and a warm face tucked itself into the crook of her neck as an arm encircled her waist.

Feyre grumbled, shoving at Elain. “G’off of me.”

“Shh, love. You were having a nightmare.”

No.

Feyre froze.

A man. That was a man’s voice, and—

The hand on her hip, stroking her skin where her nightgown had ridden up in the night, was too large and too calloused to be Elain.

Oh gods. Oh gods.

Feyre’s stomach made a sickening impact on the floor, and her heart leapt into her throat with such speed, such force, that it nearly strangled her.

She had to force herself to keep breathing.

To open her eyes.

The man behind her made a small warning sound low in his throat. She ignored it.

And darkness so black and so complete that it blanketed her vision pressed in on her, heavy and oppressive—but, in the corner of her eye, the smallest shaft of moonlight illuminated a flash of viridian scales and reaching hands.

Scales that were gone in an instant, swallowed by more of that darkness, but the unmistakable rasp of reptilian skin against the unfinished wood floor of the bedroom she shared with her sisters shattered her terrified silence.

Sticky, sap-thick dread trickled down her throat, collecting in the pit of her belly.

“Close your eyes,” the man crooned. “Don’t look. It’s a nightmare. It will be over soon.”

Feyre opened her mouth, and only a strangled, terrified noise came out. Over? How could it be over when he was still behind her and her sisters—

Where were her sisters?

She swallowed hard, finding her voice again as her hand curled around the man’s wrist. She held it as tightly as she could in her shaking grasp. “Who are you?”

The darkness broke for a moment, and again she caught a glimpse of slithering, scaled beasts with gaping maws and voids for eyes—

The man ignored her question and clicked his tongue.

“What on earth have you been reading before bed, darling?” Humor and concern warred in his tone.

As if Feyre’s grip were no more than cobwebs, his hand continued its path across her skin until it lay flat against her belly, drawing her back against the warm, firm body behind her.

Strong legs encased in soft fabric tangled with her own, and chills erupted in the wake of the hot breath that grazed the nape of her neck, the nose that buried itself in her hair and took a deep, greedy breath. Just enough light crept into the room for Feyre to gape at the long, inhuman limb that curved around her, in front of her, all leathery membrane and slim, delicate boning, to block the horrors in her room from view.

The wing of a bat, multiplied in size a thousand times, just as terrible as the beasts beyond it.

Feyre felt dizzy, panic blurring the edges of her vision as she stared at the visible veining of that membrane, that wing. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—

“Just a nightmare, Feyre,” the man murmured. Soft lips followed the trail his breath had blazed, trailing kisses along the column of her neck. Sharp teeth nipped at her ear, another gentle breath breezing along the shell of it, and she shivered despite herself, her pulse thrumming hard between her thighs. “Let’s make this dream sweeter, shall we?”

That rush of pleasure was the first she’d felt in months, and it nearly drowned out her fear.

But not entirely. Not so much that Feyre couldn’t dig her nails into his skin, as hard as she could, and prepared to launch herself from the mattress, waiting beasts be damned.

“What did you do to my sisters?”

“No, no, none of that.” The hand on her belly flexed, so broad from thumb to pinky that it spanned the width from her navel to the fraying top of her undergarments. “I told you: this is just a dream, unfortunately. Your family is safe in the waking world.”

As if from very far away, her distant thoughts whispered, Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a wonderful dream.

“What do you want, darling? How can I make this night better for you?” the man asked. Beyond her thoughts, in the far reaches of consciousness, she felt herself relax into him again. The warmth of the bed they shared poured over her, the beloved scent of the sea and the lemon groves filling her senses, and the softness of her socks against her skin once again became the most prominent sensation in her mind as the body behind her shifted from a threat to something else. Something different, something… safe.

It was so alien a feeling to Feyre that words would not come to her. Suddenly, sophisticated thought was impossible. Her entire mind, her entire world, hand narrowed to the five small points of contact of each fingertip grazing her skin, the length she now felt nestled against her ass, getting harder, and the anticipation rising in her own body.

It was just a dream, and for once, she had warmth and a bed and time to spare. This didn’t have to be a hard, rushed tumble amongst the hay in a barn. This could be anything she wanted.

She loosened her grip on his wrist, testing the softness of his skin beneath her fingers.

Skin, not scales. Soft, hot skin.

But in front of her, as if in response, the wing rustled, and a sick shudder shot down her spine. This wasn’t normal—or maybe it was. She couldn’t remember.

She almost reached out to that wing to test whether the membrane was as delicate as it looked, but she fisted her free hand in the pillow beneath her head instead.

Idle strokes of his fingertips guided his hand further down her stomach, igniting the skin beneath it.

“What do you want?” her unseen bed partner asked again, the tip of his nose caressing the arch of her neck. Another kiss landed on her bare shoulder, painfully soft, and her back arched, that touch stoking the embers flaring to life in the pit of her belly.

What did she want? Such a hard question to answer as the whitewater rush of fear gradually slowed into the lazy, dreamy current of sleep.

“I want this,” she heard herself mumble, her voice once again thick with the exhaustion that had dragged her under when she first laid down to sleep. Trapped in the brutally honest space between waking and dreaming. “I need this.”

“You need it?” Alarm bells tolled in her mind, warning her that this was a leading question, a dangerous question, but she ignored them. His other arm shifted beneath her, drawing up the hem of her nightgown and locking her into his embrace, and then a warm palm cupped her breast.

Feyre gasped as he tested its weight, rolling the peaked tip of her nipple between his first and second finger. He pinched her, and that jolt of pleasure shot to her core. Her hips rolled, pushing her ass into the cradle of his hips.

All the forgotten gods, he touched her like he knew her already.

“Yes,” she moaned, hoarse and needy, as his hand dipped beneath the cotton between her legs.

With one hand, he worked her breast, kneading and pinching in time with the unsteady beat of her heart, and with the other…

“I need it, too,” he growled.

The first slide of his fingers through the slick center of her should have filled Feyre with shame. The easy way he found her clit and teased it in slow, luxurious circles, laughing wickedly over her shoulder when she bucked and loosed a little cry for him, should have drowned out the hot flood of lust that threatened to consume her. The way his length pulsed against her backside should have disgusted her instead of setting her aflame.

She knew this was no man. She knew this was no ordinary dream.

But he pressed one finger into her, then two, the delicious stretch nearly driving her out of her mind. And then he crooked those fingers, pressing the heel of his palm where she needed it most as he played her body expertly, and Feyre couldn’t help the way she scrunched her eyes shut, focused only on the pleasure between her legs, at her breast, against her mouth as she blindly tipped her face back so he could press his lips to hers, licking into her, drinking from her like a desperate, parched male seconds away from dying of thirst…

“Go through the door, Feyre darling,” he panted when he broke the kiss. “Come and meet me. I can give you all of this and more.”

“No,” Feyre choked, trapped between desire and terror. She opened her eyes, and the darkness surrounded her again, the black somehow warmer this time. Welcoming. Soothing.

“It’s safe, love, I swear it. No more nightmares. I’m here, aren’t I?” He huffed a laugh against her mouth, and this time it sounded dry, chagrined. Resigned, even as he drew her closer and closer to her climax, as he rocked his arousal against her again and again. “But not for long. Dawn is coming.”

“I can’t—“

“You can.”

A third finger joined the first two, filling her to the brink of the sweetest pain she’d ever felt, and with more hard pull, wave after wave of pleasure cascaded over Feyre, locking her body in its grip.

The world itself fell out from under her, this release unlike any she had ever known or felt—by her own hands or any other’s. It tore her apart, remade her, filled all the hairline fractures in her soul with molten gold. That same gold snapped like the crack of a whip against her racing heart, a thread of it winding through her ribs until it was so tangled she would never free herself, every glowing fiber thrumming with wanting, wanting, wanting…

Centuries upon centuries of wanting.

Through it all, he cradled her in his palms, even as she cried out and sobbed, overwhelmed, even as the hazy edges of her dream sharpened and the feeling of his touch faded.

She was still shaking, still gasping for breath, when he spoke again. His voice was distant, fading just as fast as the soft bed and the embrace of his darkness, as it whispered to her across the ocean between dream and wakefulness, “Open your dreams to me, love, and I will pluck every star out of the sky to make your ring.”

When Feyre crept out of her bedroom, the fire in the hearth had already died, and the night beyond the cottage’s window was icy and dark, flecked with heavy clouds that threatened to release a suffocating deluge of snow.

Beyond it, the black sky was starless. Empty.

But the door on the opposite wall was warm, lit from within.

It was simple—a single panel of glossy cherrywood with an elegant knob of brass and cut crystal. It was not unlike the doors she’d once seen in the homes of her father’s clients, the few times she had been invited along to those manors and townhouses to charm potential investors.

And it had already been cracked—waiting, expectant—when she turned to stare at it, her shaky legs depositing her onto a rickety chair at the painted table.

Dim, warm firelight that seeped through that slim opening, teasing her as much as the memory of her dream. It promised warmth, comfort, and, Feyre knew with certainty, a bed warmer and more plush than any she had ever known.

It was that thought, as she rearranged her threadbare nightgown around her chill-spotted legs, that was almost as tempting as the heady scent of sex and incense that followed the firelight into the silent, cold room.

Sex, incense, and him.

Him. The scent that had followed her all her life.

What he wanted with her, she didn’t know. But she knew now that this fae male, the one who promised her stars, who must have enchanted her to reach such heights of pleasure, whose very soul seemed to call to hers, must be the reason for all this.

Hell, she could still feel his hand between her legs, even now.

It all sounded so foolish to her mortal ears. So obvious a trap that she would have been ashamed to be the one setting it.

Why her? Why a ragged, half-feral hunter with only a fistful of coppers to her name?

Dawn must have been further away than he’d thought when he left her dream, because she must have stared at that door for hours, turning that thought over in her mind. Her skin was numb with the cold, and she still couldn’t find any answers. She was too slim to eat, too plain to bring in coin for a pleasure hall, too weak to sow a crop. Her folkish paintings, though she was proud of them, were nothing compared to the masterpieces she’d seen lining the walls of that faerie salon. At most, she could snare some rabbits or fell a deer.

So why her?

Again and again she asked herself that question, waiting as the firelight guttered, banked, and then died. Shadows, unnatural and agitated, replaced them, sending reaching tendrils out into the cottage as the watery blue light of a winter morning dripped in through the window.

One of the ribbons of darkness crawled toward the door of the bedroom where Elain and Nesta still slept, and Feyre could not allow it.

She would not allow it.

So she stood at last, sidestepping those shadows and reaching for the knob—

And the golden thread from her dream flared to life in her chest, as if an unseen hand had plucked it.

She pressed a hand to her breast, smothered her gasp, and planted her feet, preparing once more for the shadowed hand to try to drag her inside. The crystal knob was warm in her palm as her hand closed around it, but nothing touched her.

She slammed the door shut.

What could a big, bad faerie possibly want with Feyre Archeron? 💕 Thanks for reading!

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #my fics #atwfd #as the world falls down #a court of thorns and roses fic #feyre #rhys #feyrhys #fanfic #smut

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shallyne · 2 years

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There's a hidden notebook somewhere in Feysands house from before Feyre accepted the bond and it's full of scribbled hearts, Rhysand Archeron, R+F and a list of possible shipping names Feyrhys, Feysand, Archerhys

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feyre archeron #feyre #feyre cursebreaker #high lady of the night court #high lady feyre #feyre darling #rhysand #rhys #rhysand archeron #high lord rhysand #high lord of the night court #feysand

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feyresdaughter · 1 year

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A Court of Wings and Ruin, chapter 39:

So I kept fetching bowls of fresh water, kept hauling away the bloodied ones. Helped pin down screaming soldiers until my teeth clacked against each other with the force of their thrashing. I sat down only when my legs could no longer keep me upright, upon an overturned bucket outside the healers’ tent. Just a few minutes— I’d sit for just a few minutes. I awoke inside another tent, laid upon a pile of furs, the faelight dim and soft.

Feyre working her ass off for the injured and wounded, I love her

“I’m not the one who fell face-first off a bucket into the mud.”

She was so exhausted 😭

And it was precisely because of it that I said, “I love you.” His head lifted, eyes churning. “There was a time when I dreamed of hearing that,” he murmured. “When I never thought I’d hear it from you.” He gestured to the tent— to Adriata beyond it. “Our trip here was the first time I let myself … hope.” To the stars who listen— and the dreams that are answered.

"We go as ourselves. As a family.”

FAMILY. Just a few months prior, Feyre didn't even dare dream about having a family

“It’s fine,” he said before I could speak. “A lucky shot.” - “With what?” Again, that half smile. “A spear?”

He's such a little shit 😭 A SPEAR

“There’s little privacy in a war-camp,” he warned, some of the light coming back to his eyes. “Then I suppose you’ll have to be quiet,” I felt his shield settle around our tent as I unbuttoned his pants. As I kissed my way across the muscled pane of his stomach. His growls of pleasure filled the tent, drowning out the distant cries of the injured and dying. [....] and hoped that this shard of life we offered up, this undimming light between us, would drive death a bit further away. At least for another day.

I don't know what y'alls problem is with this scene. He put a SHIELD around the the tent so no one could hear them. LET THEM FUCK, THEY WERE SEPERATED FOR OVER SIX WEEKS

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msfeyredarling · 1 year

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Hi! Here's a Halloween prompt for you... How about Feyre and Rhys (strangers at the time) both go to the same Halloween party and they realize their costumes match.. you know like example Feyre went as Morticia and Rhys went as Gomez...😊

A trail of pomegranates seeds

Happy Halloween everyone!

I hope you enjoy! I kinda steered a bit of path whoops. I might change the title later bc I don't like it.

Link to ao3

—————

As she stepped over the threshold, she was greeted by the site of strobe lights and moving bodies. Some swayed, some danced and others sat and drank drinks an array of colours, similar to the abundance of costumes and masks.

A month ago Mor begged Feyre to participate in Halloween. Begrudgingly she agreed. Mor had taken it upon herself to organise Feyre’s costume. She decided that she and Emerie, along with Feyre, would match as Greek Goddesses.

Mor was dressing as Aletheia and Emerie as Nike and so Feyre was to be Persephone. Not as the goddess of spring, but rather as the Queen of the underworld.

She stared at herself in the mirror, startled by who stared back. Glittering black fabric that barely her breast and backside, flowed to below her navel, joined to one shaft by a belt across her hips and cascaded down to the ground to meet her stiletto heels.

Mor had fashioned her hair into a crown atop her head, a sparkling black diadem like the night sky set in the forefront. Lashes darkened, eyes lined in black, lips painted red. She truly looked like a goddess of the underworld.

If Feyre considered her costume to be indecent, it was nothing compared to Mor’s. Feyre had an inkling she had dressed for the person she now lead through the crowd.

Her dress glittered with every swish of her hips as she follow Mor and Emerie through the crowd. Eventually, they reached a booth towards the side, already occupied. The two males and the woman must be the friends Mor convinced her to meet.

The male with shoulder-length hair spoke up first. “So you must be Feyre,” he said, smirking as he took in her costume. “You know you ma—“

“I’m Azriel, and this is Cassian,” Azriel said as he elbowed Cassian in the side, mumbling under his breath. Both were also dressed as God, battle and shadows if she was correct.

As Feyre sat down, she turned her eyes to the female with black hair. “Amren,” was all she offered.

Mor took ahold of Emeries hand and bounced onto the dance floor. Feyre watched the blonde disappear. She shuffled nervously in her seat, unsure of what to do. “We don't bite Feyre, unless you ask us to,” Cassisn grinned at her, immediately calming her nerves.

“Last I heard no one ever took you up on that offer,” Amren said, eyes unrealistically silver.

“The creatures have been let out of their cages tonight. Someone might just,” he snarked back as Azriel chuckled.

They talked for a while longer before Feyre stood, announcing she was getting a drink. She sashayed towards the bar, nodding to the bartender and ordering her drink.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

Feyre startled and whipped around so fast she fell. Warm hands caught her, gently placing her back on her feet. She glanced up, taking in the dark attire, muscles almost straining against the fabric, the long cape and the black crown, to the sparkling violet eyes.

“I— I’m Sorry you have the wrong person,” she stammered, her throat dry. The bartender signalled her drink as really and she took a large mouthful, fully aware of the eyes on her.

“I think I would recognise my Queen anywhere,” at this is she spat her drink back into her glass.

“Excuse me?” She squeaked, eyes blown wide.

The male smirked, gesturing to their costumes. “We’re matching. Your Persephone and I’m Hades.” Feyre’s cheeks felt ablaze, her mind only just understanding the meaning of his particular crown. “My real name is Rhysand, but you can call me Rhys,” he held out his hand and she took it. His name was bouncing around her brain, she knew it from somewhere. Realisation dawned on her all at once.

“You’re Mor’s cousin?” She asked, shocked this was the same cousin Mor tried to set her up with.

“And you’re Feyre. The one Mor tried to set me up with but apparently, you keep declining her,” he raised a brow, her cheeks darkening. She honestly didn’t think much of guys like Rhys, they tended to be the same. “Come on let’s find my meddlesome cousin.”

He offered his arm and she took it, if only because her mind was whirling. Mor and Emerie were back at the booth, happily, chatting away. When she noticed their arrival, she glanced up with a knowing glint in her eye.

“Oh, I love your costume, Rhys. What a coincidence it matches Feyre’s,” she grinned at them, then picked up a wine glass. “It was just meant to be,” she muttered into the glass.

“You wouldn’t know it was a coincidence if it smacked you right in the face.” Feyre burst out laughing, others following suit. Rhys stared at her with such intensity, the stars in his eyes seem to glow brighter.

As the night grew longer, her opinions of Rhysand slowly altered. She was completely wrong about him and he was nothing like her past. From what she saw tonight she really wanted to know this Rhys. Maybe the costumes were all Mor's doing, but maybe it was fate. Maybe she didn’t need a night in shining armour. Maybe she just needed the villain that rescued the Princess, the Hades that saved Persephone.

#feyreandrhysand #feysand #feyre #rhysand #feyrhys #feyre x rhys #halloween #resquest #acomaf #acotar #acowar #acosf #acofas #fanfic

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