#feysand fanfiction
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Strictly Confidential: A Feysand Modern AU
She's a law student turned confidential informant. He's a federal prosecutor with only one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for illegal activity . . . What could go wrong?
Chapter Two
Masterlist Link
Thanks for your patience, everyone. Here's chapter two! Things are going to start happening very soon. I'm very excited. Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Just a heads up, there were a few who requested to be tagged whose profiles wouldn't let me link them!
PS: Here's the link to the masterlist of one of my other full-length Feysand fics: What to Expect When You're (Not) Expecting
Happy Reading :)
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Feyre turned to locate the source of the voice and came face to face with the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
He was tall, taller than Jax, his all-black suit impeccably tailored to the contours of a lean but muscular body. His dark hair matched his suit, and eyes a peculiar shade of blue—almost violet—locked onto Feyre for a moment before the man turned his attention to Jax.
“You’ve been monopolizing Ms. Archeron’s time, Smith,” the man said, arms crossing over his chest, muscles shifting beneath the fabric.
“Rhysand,” Jax sneered. “We were just having a friendly conversation.”
The man—Rhysand—raised one dark eyebrow, moving closer. As he stepped into the alcove, the space grew smaller. Like Rhysand's very presence couldn’t possibly be contained by the shadowy corner of the event center.
“Be that as it may,” Rhysand said, stepping up to Feyre’s side and staring down at Jax. “I believe my father is looking for you.”
The blood drained from Jax’s face, his head whipping toward the center part of the room.
“It seemed urgent,” Rhysand drawled, adjusting one of his cuff links. “And we all know how much my father despises being kept waiting.”
Jax turned back around to glare at Rhysand, his eyes flicking back down to Feyre as he inched backward toward the event center. “Until we meet again, Feyre.”
Feyre barely had time to flash him a close-lipped smile before Jax whirled around and bolted out of the alcove.
Feyre swallowed, turning toward her savior, once again struck by his beauty as he gazed at her, his violet blue eyes searching hers.
“I owe you one,” Feyre breathed, leaning back against the wall behind her, partially due to relief at escaping Jax and partially because she needed to put some space between her and the beautiful man standing mere inches away.
Rhysand lifted a shoulder, taking a step back, as if he could sense her need for space. “Jax Smith is . . . Well, let’s just say I eagerly await the day he gives me a reason to report him to the Office of Discipline for an ethical violation.”
“You should’ve given him a few more minutes. He might have gotten there,” Feyre said. Rhysand blinked, and then Feyre clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Oh, my gods. I—I should not have said that.” She muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. Gods, she was stupid. And unprofessional.
But a soft chuckling had Feyre freezing where she stood against the wall, eyes fluttering open.
Rhysand was even more attractive when laughing. His blue eyes twinkled, and he extended a hand in her direction.
“Rhysand Night,” he said, hand warm against Feyre’s as she took it. “United States Attorney for the Eastern District of Erilea.”
“Feyre Archeron,” Feyre said. “I’m a 3L at Prythian Law, but I’ll be starting at Hybern & Night next year.”
Rhysand's brows lifted. "Impressive."
Feyre shrugged. “You said your last name is Night,” she ventured, arms folding across her chest. “But you don't work for Hybern & Night?”
Rhysand ran a hand through his silky hair, fingers slipping through the inky black strands. Feyre's eyes tracked the motion so closely that she almost missed what he said next.
“The ‘Night’ in Hybern & Night is my father, and I suppose my grandfather before him,” he admitted, and Feyre could have sworn his jaw tightened at the words. “But no, I don’t work for his firm. I’m much better suited for federal prosecution.”
Something in his voice told Feyre that wasn’t the sole reason Rhysand had chosen not to follow his family’s legacy. But she didn’t press the issue.
“How long have you worked as a prosecutor?” Feyre asked.
“About five years,” Rhysand said. “I graduated from Prythian Law in 2018 and worked as a state prosecutor for a year before I landed this job.”
Silence fell, and Feyre drained the last bit of wine from her glass. “Well, thanks for your help,” she said, skirting around Rhysand and aiming for bar. Even as she glanced back over her shoulder at him, as if she couldn't resist a final look.
“Please, let me get you another glass of wine,” he said, following behind her. He kept a respectful distance between them as he fell into step at her side.
Feyre shrugged, even as an odd relief swept through her at his continuing presence. “I’m headed that direction anyways.”
But getting across the room proved more cumbersome than Feyre anticipated—it seemed as though everyone knew Rhysand and his reputation. People were either falling over themselves to shake his hand, eager to congratulate him on a recent case he had just won, or they were glaring at him as he passed, muttering to their companions as soon as Rhysand was out of earshot.
But even the ones who didn’t outright glare, even the ones who seemed desperate to speak with him, seemed to approach him with a certain . . . hesitation. Like interacting with Rhysand was a necessary evil, something they were reluctant to do but did anyway. Perhaps because of his father? Or his reputation?
Feyre made a mental note to do some serious LinkedIn stalking later.
While Feyre desperately wanted another glass of wine, walking across the room with Rhysand gave her plenty of opportunity to network, exactly as she had set out to do in the first place. Rhysand was incredibly polite, introducing her to whatever lawyers crossed his path and drawing Feyre into each of the conversations they pulled him into. And even if the person he introduced her to shook her hand and turned back to Rhysand, intent on engaging him in conversation, Rhysand went out of his way to ask Feyre what she thought about the legal issue or topic they were discussing. Feyre felt herself growing more and more impressed, especially when Rhysand turned all the “congratulations” he received away from himself, emphasizing that he couldn’t do anything without his department and the many interns it employed.
So not only was he incredibly polite, but he was gracious and humble as well.
At last, they made it to the bar, and Rhysand procured two more glasses of wine, slipping a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar as he did so.
“Sorry,” he said, as he and Feyre drifted over to the front of the event center, finding a table to stand at as they sipped their wine.
At some point, Feyre couldn't identify when, an unspoken agreement to stick together had formed between them. She had accepted the glass of wine from Rhysand and followed him to this table without question. Like it was them against the room full of ambitious lawyers, desperate to network their way to the top.
“For what?” Feyre asked.
“Dragging you through all that,” he said, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “I’m sure that was more networking than you bargained for.”
Feyre shook her head, hair shifting over her shoulders. “It was entertaining.”
“Oh?” Rhysand raised an eyebrow.
“I enjoyed watching you scare the shit out of everyone,” Feyre said, shocked at her own daring even as the words floated into the air between them.
Rhysand barked a laugh, drawing several gazes, the eyes of those nearest to them widening as the United States Attorney chuckled so freely. “You know what? I enjoyed doing it.”
Rhysand smiled at her, and dammit if Feyre didn’t almost swoon at the sight. She opened her mouth to ask him more about his job, perhaps to start figuring out why he was a prosecutor instead of working at his father’s firm, when her phone vibrated in the pocket of her suit. Sighing, she pulled it out, glancing at image glaring up at her.
TAMLIN SPRING flashed across the cracked screen of her iPhone, a picture of him from one of their initial dates on full display. They’d gone on a hike at the Illyrian mountain range about an hour outside of town, and Feyre had snapped this photo when they’d reached the top of their hiking trail, Tamlin smiling in front of a gorgeous overlook, the mountains tall and green behind him, a sparkling river trailing across the bottom.
Feyre hit the power button, setting the phone face down on the table. “Sorry about that,” she said, shooting Rhysand an apologetic smile. “Where were we?”
But Rhysand had gone still as death, his gaze fixed on her overturned phone.
“Rhysand?” Feyre asked.
He still didn’t answer, his violet blue eyes so wide she could see the whites all the way around his irises. “Is something wrong?”
Rhysand blinked, his shoulders loosening, eyes softening so quickly Feyre almost thought she had imagined his strange behavior. “Who was that?” He asked, sipping casually from his wine, gaze slipping coolly over the room in front of them. As though nothing had happened.
“Um… My boyfriend,” Feyre said, figuring it was a harmless enough question. “He must have forgotten I had this event tonight.”
Typical Tamlin. She had told him she would be busy until at least eight, and he had clearly forgotten, or just didn’t care. Of course, if Feyre called him when he was busy at work, she would hear about it for the next two days, be forced to listen to him complain about her “distracting him” while he was doing business.
“I see,” was all Rhysand said.
Feyre asked Rhysand a few more innocuous questions about his job, how he enjoyed Prythian Law, and whether he had any advice for her. Rhysand was just asking her if she’d had the same Criminal Law professor as he did when he was at Prythian when her phone buzzed again.
And then again.
Feyre picked up her phone, sighing as Tamlin’s image blazed on the screen once more. She shot Rhysand an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to take this. It could be an emergency.”
She didn’t wait for Rhysand to respond, instead stepping a few feet away and picking up as quickly as possible. If he called too many times and she didn’t answer, it was just another reason for him to start a fight.
“Feyre. Where the hell are you?”
Feyre frowned. “I’m at that networking event. Remember?”
A long-suffering sigh. “I had a really bad day at work. Can I pick you up now? Take you home? You’re downtown, aren’t you? Probably just a couple blocks away.”
Tamlin almost sounded frantic, more worry than anger seeping into his voice as his words tripped out one after the other.
“Are you all right? What happened?” Feyre asked, pressing her hand against her free ear to drown out the noise of the event. To her left, Rhysand was tracking her every movement, wine glass forgotten on the table in front of him.
“I’m fine. Just need my girl.”
Feyre bit her lip. If she said no… She would never hear the end of it. And she’d met and spoken to plenty of people tonight, hadn’t she? And Rhysand was an excellent new connection to have. Plus, it had been a long day. A nice, long shower sounded divine…
“Alright,” she relented, telling him the name of the event center she was at. She knew it was only a five minute drive from the apartment she shared with Tamlin, so when she hung up, she hurried back over to Rhysand.
“Is everything alright?” Rhysand asked, his deep voice level, almost calculatingly so.
Feyre shrugged, downing the rest of her wine. “It’ll be fine. My boyfriend is on his way home, and offered to pick me up so I don’t have to walk in the dark to get there. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
If only that had been the real reason Tamlin wanted her to come home. Because it was dark, and getting later, and she would have had to walk home alone in her heels and suit through the city streets if he hadn't called. But the lie slipped easily across her tongue—it was simple enough, really. It wasn't the first time she'd lied about the way her boyfriend treated her, and she knew it wouldn't be the last.
Rhysand nodded. “That’s very kind of him.”
Feyre sighed. “Thank you again, for helping me out back there. And introducing me to all those people. It made the night worth it.”
Rhysand nodded, his expression earnest, although bereft of any of the easy smiles he had flashed at her earlier in the evening. “It was my pleasure, Feyre. Perhaps I’ll run into you at another one of these events.”
“Perhaps,” Feyre said, then stiffened as Tamlin’s truck pulled up in front of the building. “That’s him,” she said, shouldering her purse and backpack. “Thanks again, really. Good luck with everything!”
Feyre allowed herself to look back at the event center only once. Not as she strode back through the entrance, nor as she clicked across the sidewalk to the passenger side of Tamlin’s car. Not even when she opened the door and clambered into the enormous truck.
No, she waited until she was safely behind the tinted windows before her eyes found Rhysand.
He was still standing at the table they shared, wineglass half-empty in front of him, his eyes fixed on Tamlin’s truck with hawklike focus, tracking it until Tamlin turned the corner, leaving the event center, and Rhysand, far behind.
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Tamlin drove like a maniac through the heart of downtown. Feyre doubted he lifted his foot off the gas until he pulled into the parking garage beneath their building. He was out of the car and halfway to the elevator banks by the time Feyre caught up with him, lugging her bags along with her, trying not to exacerbate the blisters on her heels as she struggled to keep up.
“What’s wrong?” She demanded when they finally made it up to their apartment.
Feyre kicked off her heels, dumping all her bags on the ground. Home.
Now if only she could sleep. But instead, she had forty pages of reading to do for her Environmental Law class, and she had a feeling the next hour would be occupied with comforting Tamlin.
“Just a long, horrible day at work,” Tamlin sighed, striding towards her, his hands wrapping around her waist as he tugged her against him.
Feyre bit her lip as she felt him against her—he was already ready for her. She twined her arms over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his lips.
She knew he loved her, in his own way.
Hadn’t she been the one he called tonight? Wasn't she the one he relied on when things got tough? The one he trusted when times grew more and more trying?
“How are you now?” She breathed as his lips moved against hers, his hands sliding down to her upper thighs. In one swift movement, he had lifted her off the ground and into his arms, pressing her against the wall.
“Better with every passing second,” he growled, lips covering hers once again.
Feyre hummed against him, her lips parting to allow his tongue to sweep in, tracing the seam of her lips before her own tongue tangled with his. Her breaths grew short, and she adjusted herself against him and the wall, Tamlin hissing as she brushed against his hard length. Feyre gasped as he ground against her in return, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of his back.
It had been a very, very long day, Feyre told herself, as Tamlin carried her through the house and laid her down gently on the bed, with a tenderness he only ever showed when he was touching her. He knew exactly when to be gentle with her, and when to give her everything she wanted. It was a sharp contrast to the dynamic they shared at all other times in their relationship.
But here, in their darkened bedroom, the lights of the city shining in through the wall of windows to Feyre’s left . . . Here, Tamlin knew just where to touch her, how to hold her.
And she was putty in his hands.
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Feyre broke her vow.
One week after she met Rhysand, she was still doing the same exact thing.
Waking up, going to school, coming home, going to Crossfit, and spending all of her free time with Tamlin and Lucien, who had been present more frequently than usual the past week. And while having Lucien around usually made things more interesting, and it was lovely to have a buffer between her and Tamlin, Feyre couldn’t help but feel relieved when she waved the pair out the door on Friday morning. They had a last-minute business trip somewhere out west, and would be gone until the early hours of Monday morning.
Feyre was looking forward to spending the entire weekend by herself. She already had everything planned out:
Study for most of the day Friday, then go for a walk in the enormous city park before it got too dark. On her way home, she was going to splurge and order takeout, and then spend the rest of her night on the couch, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a book in the other. An actual novel this time, not one of her textbooks.
So after spending a day in the library, Feyre walked the ten minutes from the Law School over to Sangravah Park, her headphones blasting the Pride and Prejudice (1995) soundtrack at top volume.
The park was lovely this time of year—in late September, the summer heat had finally leached away, but the crispness of autumn hadn’t fully set in. Feyre was perfectly comfortable in a pair of leggings and a long sleeve t-shirt, her golden-brown hair tied back in a high ponytail. She set off on her usual route through Sangravah—a three-mile path that took her through her favorite parts of the park. Past the enormous pond, still covered in lilypads, through an enormous copse of willow trees, and past several of the enormous architectural structures that called the park home: the Prythian Art Museum, a sculpture garden, and an enormous temple-like building that sat in the center of another pond, no way to reach it unless you wanted to swim.
For the first time in a while, Feyre felt like she could relax. She didn’t have to be anywhere, to do anything, at any time. Tamlin was hundreds of miles away and she was at her leisure.
Lost in thought, Feyre was about halfway through her route when a man jogging in the opposite direction clipped her shoulder with his.
Feyre almost went flying, the force of the blow sending her stumbling a few steps off the path.
“My apologies, ma’am,” the man said, striding closer to her. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Feyre cleared her throat, finding her feet and holding back a glare. Best not to anger the strange man in the middle of the park with no one else around. “No worries,” she said, and made to resume her walk.
“Miss?” The man’s voice filtered through her headphones. Feyre turned, settling them around her shoulders.
“Yes?” She asked, hand on hip.
“I’m Special Agent Cassian Claret.” He reached a hand into his pocket, and Feyre stepped back, wondering if she would finally have a reason to use the pepper spray she kept with her on walks precisely for moments like these.
But the man merely pulled out a small leather wallet-thing, flipping it open. “I’m with the FBI. Do you have a few moments to speak with me?”
His introduction finally registered. Special Agent Cassian Claret.
Feyre stared at him, her jaw slackening.
Cassian cleared his throat after several long moments. “Ms. Archeron?”
“How do you know my name?” Feyre asked, backing up further, her hand gripping the pepper spray on her keychain, the bottle suddenly feeling pathetically small as she faced down Cassian, who was simply enormous.
His dark hair fell to just below his ruggedly chiseled chin, a five o’clock shadow already prominent on the lower half of his face. The sweats he wore did nothing to conceal his muscular frame—he was taller and broader than even Tamlin. His hazel eyes tracked her every movement with a laserlike focus.
Feyre’s pepper spray didn’t stand a chance.
“You’re not in trouble,” Cassian said. “I can assure you. I just need to speak with you for a few minutes.”
Feyre stared at him.
“Here. These are my credentials.” He tossed the wallet-like thing at her, and she managed to catch it in her sweaty hands, peering down at the credentials inside. It looked real . . .
“Do you have a business card?” Feyre asked, partially because the man didn’t feel dangerous in the way others she had encountered in the park did, and partially because she had a feeling that if she tried to run, he would have no problem chasing her down and catching her.
Cassian nodded, pulling out a business card and handing it over. Feyre examined it, then pulled out her phone.
Cassian waited, hands clasped behind his back. No one had passed them on the path for a very long time. Was it his doing?
Feyre did a quick Google search for the local FBI office, then called the 24 hour line. Cassian’s forehead creased as she held the phone up to her ear.
Minutes passed. She was placed on hold. Then—
“Prythian County FBI. How can I assist you?”
“Hi,” Feyre said, voice shaking slightly. “I need to verify the identity of an agent.”
She provided Cassian’s name. The woman asked her to ask him for some sort of identification number, which Cassian relayed without protest when Feyre asked. Feyre repeated the number back to the woman, who told her that yes, Feyre was currently speaking with Special Agent Cassian Claret, who was on assignment.
“Thank you,” Feyre said, shutting off her phone.
“Satisfied?” Cassian asked, not a trace of irritation present in his voice.
Feyre swallowed. “Yes. Um. What is this about? What could you possibly want from me?”
“Well, Ms. Archeron. We need your help with a rather sensitive matter. It’s best not discussed here,” Cassian said. “Perhaps we could walk back toward my car?”
“I’m not getting in your car.”
Cassian held up his hands. “That may be your choice. I completely understand your caution. But I think if you see who’s accompanying me, you might feel differently.”
Feyre blinked up at him, returning his wallet and card and falling into step beside him as he turned, leading Feyre back the way she had come.
“Who’s accompanying you?”
As they crested the small hill Feyre had just trekked down, a black car came into view, parked on the street alongside the park. Cassian didn’t answer Feyre’s question as they drew close to the car.
Close enough that when the back window rolled down, Feyre recognized a familiar pair of violet-blue eyes.
“Rhysand,” she breathed.
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Taglist:
@rhysiedarling @shedoessoshedoes @popjunkie42 @adreamof-spring @that-little-red-head @witch-and-her-witcher @cinnamonmelody @muaddib-iswriting @queenofdivas
#acotar#feysand#acomaf#a court of thorns and roses#feyre archeron#feyre x rhysand#rhysand x feyre#modernau#feysand fanfiction#feyre#rhysand#sarah j maas#feyre cursebreaker
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Creator Highlight #1 - @popjunkie42
Welcome to our Feysand Creator Highlights! We want to take a moment to recognize some of the amazing individuals in our fandom who kindly use up so much of their freetime and creative energy to share their work with us!
To start off, we wanted to highlight @popjunkie42, an author who has shared such a wonderful collection of feysand fics, poems, headcannons, and comissioned pieces with us!
Thank you for sharing your talent with us, as well as being such an amazing source of love and positivity! You never miss a chance to uplift other creators, so we wanted to take this chance to uplift you!
Below are some of our favorite popjunkie feysand creations, and you can find more on their masterlist.
Hate Me Instead - Rhysand and Feyre both struggle with her first visit to the Night Court in this alternative version to early events in ACOMAF. What if Rhysand had stuck around for more for lessons and both of them were making rather poor decisions?
Eureka - aka the one where Rhys wears glasses. A wonderful oneshot that should be paired like fine wine with this comissioned piece
Blossoming In Winter - A Court of Thorns and Roses AU set during the first Hybern war, inspired by the story of Faramir and Eowyn in Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien.
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Whiskey Over Wine
→ To Ride A Country Boy: Part 1 (Read on AO3)
Pairing: Feyre x Rhys
Summary: As a bartender in the charming town of Windhaven, Feyre struggles to work under her overprotective, bad-tempered boss. The answer to her problem seems to be getting on top of him.
Read a snippet below:
“He would if you asked him nicely.”
Scoffing, Feyre leans forward until she props herself against the bar top. She hopes the proximity is enough to get the words into Cassian’s thick skull.
“The day I ask Rhys for anything nicely,” she seethes, “is the day that I realize this backwater town is literal hell.”
“You mean, you haven’t realized that yet?” The low voice isn’t Cassian’s. It sounds from behind her, unexpectedly rough at the edges but still velvety soft. Feyre doesn’t turn to face Rhys’ direction, although her spine does stiffen as he shifts towards her and continues, “And here I thought you were already packin’ your bags.”
“Those are for when I bury your dead body, and I need to skip town,” she spits back. She doesn’t let her words falter, not even as the warmth of Rhys seeps into her, his chest mere inches from her back.
But then, he tilts his head forward.
“Careful, Feyre darlin’,” he purrs, hot against the shell of her ear.
Unlike Cassian, Rhys’ accent is barely there. She tries not to cave at the subtle hint of it—an elongating of vowels here, a dropping of consonants there. Surely, she should be immune to it, after months of working together.
Yet that’s not how this thing between them works, so, of course, her knees threaten to buckle. And, of fucking course, the asshole takes note of the fact and spreads a large hand over her hip.
He tuts, “That almost sounds like a motive.”
“To kill you? If it is, you might need to start sleeping with one eye open.”
His fingers dig into the soft flesh at her hip in response to her threat. As if the prospect delights him. “You wanna come to my bedroom, and make sure that I do?”
#feysand#feysand fanfiction#acotar#acotar fanfiction#feyre archeron#rhysand acotar#au feysand#the acotar country au we deserve#to ride a country boy series
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Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans - Chapter 3
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 pregnant from a one night stand
Read on AO3 ・Masterlist・Previous Chapter
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“So—you still haven’t told him.”
Feyre kept her eyes held wide, careful to avoid stabbing them with her mascara wand, as she flitted her pupils to the corner of the vanity mirror and met her roommate’s disapproving stare.
Alis was leaning against the open doorway, arms crossed. Some evenings she neglected to leave the stern teacher role in her classroom, and over the last two weeks Feyre had begun to feel increasingly like one of her misbehaving students.
“There hasn’t been a good time,” Feyre said, returning to the delicate task of swiping the wand over her eyelashes.
“Mmhmm.”
Feyre grip tightened on the tube of mascara. A slew of defensive words rushed to the back of her tongue, but she held them, enduring another of Alis’s incredulous hums as she stepped into the room. She wasn’t one of Alis’s guilty students and she wasn’t going to act like one, even as Alis began surveying the diamond-studded hairpins Feyre had spent the better part of the morning arranging, the dissected makeup bag that hadn’t been touched in weeks, the elegant dress laid on the bed.
That was where Alis ended her inspection. The midnight gown was still in its protective casing from the dry cleaners, a new addition to Feyre’s closet. Alis pulled at it, and the plastic hissed as it slid over the bed—as if warning, begging Alis not to venture any further.
“And the art show this evening hasn’t had any influence on your decision?”
Feyre capped the mascara and whirled to face Alis, who held up the dress the way a lawyer might present a piece of incriminating evidence in court. Both the dress and the art show were a gift from Tamlin—an apology and a peace offering in one. It was his way of showing that he was ready to take her art career more seriously. Or at least, that was what he’d told her at the cafe, when she’d suddenly lost all nerve to tell him the truth.
“I’m not using him for the art show, if that’s what you’re trying to imply,” Feyre snapped. “It’s just…” her shoulders slackened. “He was so excited for this, Alis. He’d already paid for the venue and invited his colleagues. I couldn’t tell him no and I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand to start another fight.”
Feyre faced the mirror and it took all her self control not to cringe. The concealer had covered up the worst of the dark circles, but it couldn’t hide the exhaustion glazing over her eyes. Maybe it was all the changes in her body, but recently she’d just felt so… heavy.
With a sigh, Alis dropped the dress back onto the bed and approached Feyre from behind. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Feyre at last saw behind the mask of the stern teacher, to the concerned friend who clasped her on the shoulder and whispered, “I’m worried about you, Feyre.”
“I’m okay,” she said, but her voice scraped along the cusp of breaking. She swore that even her own reflection winced at the lie.
Alis clucked her tongue. “You’re trying to handle all of this by yourself.” When Feyre said nothing, Alis added, almost desperately, “Let us help you. If not me, then someone else.”
Besides Feyre and Alis, there were only two people who knew of her pregnancy. Two people that she had been admittedly avoiding since she’d blurted the truth to them outside the cafe. In a typical Mor fashion, Feyre had been bombarded with texts over the last two weeks, each of them cheerfully dancing around the pea-sized elephant in her stomach.
All but one.
I respect you and my cousin enough not to meddle. This baby stuff is between you and him and no matter what happens, I support you unequivocally. I just want to say one thing, then I promise I’ll never bring it up again:
Rhys is a really good guy, Feyre. You can trust him.
Anyway, you want to grab brunch this weekend? Bottomless virgin mimosas?
Feyre was fairly certain that a virgin mimosa was just orange juice, but it made her heart feel light enough that she’d pulled up Rhysand’s contact details and nearly sent him a message. But once it was typed out, her thumb waivered above the keyboard, and regardless of how hopelessly she willed herself to press send, her body resisted.
She’d only met Rhysand twice now, but each meeting had felt more akin to a collision, knocking her violently off her predetermined path, leaving her unmoored. Unsettled. It was too soon to see him again, when she was still barely keeping afloat the wreckage of their last encounter.
And if—when—she told Tamlin, he would almost certainly take issue with Feyre and Rhysand having any kind of relationship, no matter how platonic. In the long run, it was better to keep him at arm's length. Wasn’t it?
“I have my first midwife appointment tomorrow,” Feyre said, because she thought that might appease Alis enough to let this go. “Why don’t you come with me?”
Alis beamed and squeezed Feyre’s shoulder, hard enough that Feyre had to swallow a yelp, but that was Alis—unrestrained and a little heavy-handed, even in her affection. “I would love that.”
Feyre forced a smile. She’d never liked going to the doctors, and in truth simply making the appointment had been a nerve-wracking experience. There was no bump on her stomach yet, and besides the morning bouts of nausea and the wearing exhaustion, she could almost pretend she was the same Feyre she’d been eight weeks ago.
But an appointment made it real.
Bearing all of that to Alis felt impossible. She wished she could do this alone, so that no one would feel burdened by the weight she was carrying, heavier and heavier each day.
“You know,” Alis said, tone a little too casual. “They might want to know about the baby’s father tomorrow—his medical history, what his involvement will look like. It might be worth reaching out to him to make sure you have those details.”
Fuck.
“Right. Thanks for reminding me. I’ll, uh, try to call him later.”
Alis took enough pity to leave Feyre alone after that. But her words lingered, and Feyre spent the next hour staring blankly at Rhysand’s phone number, the sequence of numbers now so familiar she might have been able to recite them from memory. When she finally willed her thumbs to move, they tapped the letters out slowly, every word foreign. She repeated each sentence back, deleting the one that sounded awkward or clumsy or too inviting.
Hey, she eventually settled with. This is Feyre. I’m having an art show tonight at Brush and Chisel. 8 pm. Would you and Mor like to come?
Feyre hit send before she could think about how absurd it would be to have Rhys and Tamlin in the same room. But there was no taking it back. The message was read almost immediately, and Feyre’s panic set in when a small typing bubble popped up with little hesitation.
Rhysand: Sounds wonderful. We’ll be there.
Feyre: Please don’t say anything to Tamlin about… you know
Rhysand: He doesn’t know?
Feyre: Do you want me to revoke your invitation?
Rhysand: No need—my lips are sealed. Looking forward to seeing you again, Feyre darling.
Feyre: No calling me that, either.
Rhysand: No? What would you like me to call you, then?
It was close enough to the flirting they’d exchanged at Rita’s that Feyre thought he was doing it on purpose. Maybe he was trying to wind her up by forcing her to recall the different things he’d called her that night. Feyre darling… Baby… Good girl. The memory of them was making her cheeks feel warm, a sign she might have made a terrible mistake inviting him.
Feyre: Just call me Feyre.
Rhysand: Is that what your friends call you?
Feyre: I wouldn’t say we’re friends yet.
Rhysand: Well in that case, would you prefer I call you something more formal? Miss Archeron?
Feyre: Feyre is fine.
Rhysand: That she most certainly is.
Feyre groaned and resisted the urge to chuck her phone away. This was the man that Mor vouched for as a really good guy? One who couldn’t even control himself for five minutes?
Feyre: If you can’t behave yourself tonight, then I don’t want you there.
Rhysand: I assure you, I will be on my best behavior.
Somehow, that wasn’t very reassuring to her.
-
“Are you feeling nervous, Feyre?”
“Hmm?”
Feyre drew her eyes away from the double glass doors that comprised the venue’s entrance. She’d been staring absently at their reflection, but realized that Tamlin was leaning into her, his hand positioned supportively against her back—his touch was searing now that she was aware of it, though she couldn’t say how long it had been placed there.
He smiled, as though her response were answer enough. “I think it’s normal to be nervous. This is a lot more people looking at your art than you’re used to.”
That wasn’t empirically true. Outside of her instagram account—which had enough traction to keep her regularly commissioned—Feyre displayed her art fairly regularly in street art shows on the Rainbow. This was her first time displaying her art in a proper gallery, however, and perhaps two months ago she would have been nervous.
Presently, Feyre’s bandwidth on things to be nervous about was running low. There were only so many fears that could plague her mind at any given time, and occupying most of that real estate was the itty-bitty issue of her pregnancy and the baby daddy she’d so stupidly invited to the art show.
By comparison, what Tamlin’s business associates thought of her art was of trivial concern, particularly when they didn't even bother to speak to her. It was clear, by the firm handshakes and tactical segues into business deals, that most of the people in attendance were here to impress Tamlin.
“But hey,” Tamlin said, gliding his hand across her back until she was completely folded into his arm. “Hart was just telling me how much he loved that mountain piece. I think he might make an offer.”
Before she’d tuned out of the conversation, Hart had also been telling Tamlin how keen he was to get his investment proposal signed off. Conveniently, the mountain piece was also the only one in eyesight, and Feyre felt more like a corporate gift basket than a respectable artist.
Feyre didn’t say that, though. She smiled and said, “I love that piece.”
Tamlin hummed, as if he agreed. “Why don’t we go get a drink to calm your nerves?”
“Oh, no. I’m okay—”
“Come on, we’re celebrating!” Tamlin used his arm to urge her forward, guiding them both towards the open bar near the front entrance.
The bar was strategically placed, Tamlin claimed, because people were more likely to make impulsive purchases with a drink in their hand. Feyre couldn’t fault his logic, though she’d prefer for her art to be sold of its own merit and not because the buyer was drunk and trying to impress his boss.
“Really Tamlin. I’m not in the mood to drink.”
“You’re so tense, Feyre. A drink will help.”
Across the room, Feyre met eyes with Alis, who quirked a black brow when she saw where the two of them were headed. She took a step towards them, then stalled, and Feyre thought for a horrific moment that Alis was going to let her get buried alive in this hole she’d dug herself.
“Feyre!” Squealed a familiar voice.
Mor didn’t wait for Tamlin to step out of the way before she became a blur of red and gold, barreling towards her Feyre as if this was the first time they were reuniting in years.
She was squeezing so tight that Feyre’s responding, hi Mor, came out a little breathless.
“Mor,” Tamlin said. He’d taken a step away, either to give them space to reconnect or simply because he didn’t want to risk brushing arms with Mor. “Good to see you again.”
“Tamlin.”
Mor, by virtue of being her college roommate, was once privy to every fight and minor frustration between Feyre and Tamlin. As a result, she never tried to hide her dislike of Tamlin, nor did he give much effort to do the same in return. A polite cough behind Mor’s back prompted the tall blonde to peel herself away from Feyre and pivot to reveal Rhysand, who was withdrawing his hands from the pockets of his formal black trousers to extend one of them outward. Towards her.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said.
“This is my cousin,” Mor filled in, brown eyes twinkling. “Rhys.”
Tamlin chose that moment to turn to the bar and order two double vodka tonics. Feyre wasn’t sure which struck her with greater panic—how to evade drinking without raising Tamlin’s suspicion, or how to shake Rhysand’s hand without feeling like her whole world was shaking with it.
“Feyre,” she said. Her tongue felt like sandpaper. “It’s good to meet you, too. Thank you for coming.”
Rhys continued holding her hand a beat too long. “Thank you for inviting us. I’ve heard you’re a very talented artist.”
Drinks now in hand, Tamlin shouldered himself back into the conversation, pointedly holding a glass towards Feyre so that she was forced to let go of Rhysand’s hand. She accepted the drink with an exaggerated smile.
“Tamlin,” he said gruffly to Rhys, not extending a hand. He slid a possessive arm around Feyre’s shoulders—a statement that none of them misunderstood. “Feyre’s boyfriend.”
“Well met,” Rhys said cordially. If he was intimidated by Tamlin’s slow and evidently unimpressed assessment, he did an excellent job at hiding it.
Seeing it was her job to play mediator and hostess, Feyre saw her chance to kill two birds with one stone. “Can I get the two of you a drink?”
Mor’s answer was an immediate chirp of, “Wine, please.”
“She means a bottle,” Rhysand clarified.
Feyre laughed. “Oh, I remember. We’ll start with a glass for now, but I assure you there’s plenty more where that came from. What about you… Rhys?”
It was only his name, she told herself. Why did speaking it feel so intimate? She could still feel its shape on her lips from when she’d panted it into his skin, RhysRhysRhys—
Did he remember it too? Is that why he studied her for a moment, eyes turning a shade darker, before he cleared his throat and said, “I’m the designated driver, so it’s going to be sparkling water for me.” He glanced down at the vodka in her hands. “But do me a favor and ask them to put a lime wedge in it? I like to blend in.”
“Sure,” Feyre said, taking a step towards the bar. This was her chance to untangle herself from Tamlin and trade out her vodka for a sparkling water, too.
Or—that was the plan. Until Tamlin decided to follow, grabbing her elbow and seizing the opportunity to whisper in her ear, “He gives me a bad vibe.”
“You just met him,” she whispered back, irritated and not trying to hide it.
“I work in business,” he deflected. “You get good at reading people quickly.”
Feyre resisted the urge to roll her eyes as they came up to the bar. She repeated Rhys and Mor’s orders, noting with frustration that when the drinks were finished, Tamlin was the one who insisted on carrying Rhysand’s. She reminded herself that his fears weren’t unfounded—she had slept with Rhys after all, and she couldn’t deny that there was chemistry between them, even now.
Fortunately Rhys was unruffled, and he accepted the drink from Tamlin with a gracious thank you that really sounded like I’m the bigger man and I know it. Tamlin’s posture went rigid, and Rhys’s lips quirked, all smug satisfaction for getting under her boyfriend’s skin. Gods, what had she been thinking putting them in the same room together?
“Tam!” Lucien called, turning away from a small group of Spring Corp executives midway across the room. He made a gesturing motion with his hand. “Come here, Andras just came up with a brilliant new pitch for the Hybern deal.”
Tamlin pressed his lips together, surveying his present company like he didn’t trust leaving Feyre alone with them. And yet, he decided that was preferable to dragging Feyre along to whatever ad hoc business meeting was taking place at her art show.
“I’ll be just one moment,” he said, pressing a kiss to Feyre’s temple before he joined the group of well dressed men. The reprieve from his surveillance was short lived, however, given that he positioned himself at just the right angle to keep Rhys and Mor in his periphery.
It would have been less mortifying if she didn’t glance over to Rhys and see the way his smile flattened, having observed the same.
“He seems charming,” Rhys said.
“He…” Feyre struggled for an explanation that could possibly justify his behavior. “He’s just a little stressed. He really wants tonight to go well.”
“Funny,” Rhys said, leaning his shoulder closer. She found herself leaning in too, nervous he was about to say something she didn’t want anyone to overhear. “I would think that at an art exhibit, the artist would be the one worried about the night going well.”
“I…” Feyre didn’t know what to say. “I do want tonight to go well.”
Rhys raised his hand, fingers brushing over her white-knuckle grip on the vodka tonic. Heat jolted through her, and she resisted the urge to snap her hand back. Any sudden movement would surely draw Tamlin’s attention.
He pitched his voice into a whisper. “How do you feel it’s going so far?”
That was when his hand slid around the glass, gently easing it from her grip. And before she could summon any protest, or speculate as to why he’d decided to pry her drink away, he smoothly pressed his sparkling water into her vacant palm.
It all happened in the space of a second. Feyre was blinking, still processing what had happened, as Rhys leaned back and took a sip of the vodka tonic with a remarkably straight face. Between the lime wedge and the small, carbonated bubbles, their drinks looked identical. He winked, and she knew that he’d planned it this way. From the moment he’d overheard Tamlin’s order.
Feyre could have slumped in relief, were she not hyper-aware of the jade green eyes on her not ten feet away. She ducked her face into the glass of sparkling water to hide the laughter threatening to burst from her lips—it was the first genuine smile she’d managed all evening. All week, really.
“It’s starting to look up,” she said, once she managed to regain her composure.
She meant it, too, though she wasn’t quite ready to unpack the implications of that. Was she a horrible person, inviting him here? The list of things she was lying to Tamlin about was beginning to feel ever-growing. Insurmountable. Her mood quickly soured as she glanced down at the glass in her hand and realized it was just another deception. Someone had come to bail her out this time, but how long could she keep digging this hole until it buried her alive?
“Good,” Rhys said.
His eyes were dancing with a mirth that didn’t feel touchable any longer. Even if his grin was the infectious, wicked sort. The kind that could persuade a saint to deal with the devil. His gaze flicked over her shoulder, skimming the pieces on the back wall.
He jerked his chin towards the displays. “Which one’s your favorite?”
Feyre turned to consider them, though she already knew the answer. “Guess.”
A challenge. One he looked delighted to accept. As a group, the three of them drifted closer towards the art so that Rhys could study each of them with the intensity of a student expecting to be quizzed on their meaning.
Tamlin didn’t return until they reached the final piece. His expression was tight, though Feyre couldn't tell if that was the result of the conversation with his colleagues, or the fact that Feyre had wandered outside his line of vision. Knowing her boyfriend, it was likely the latter.
“What have I missed?” He asked.
“We’re trying to guess Feyre’s favorite piece.”
It was Mor who answered him, given that her cousin was far too busy studying the landscape before him—a hazy clearing of snow and skeletal trees and nothing else besides a curious pair of wolf-like eyes watching from the shadows.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Tamlin said, pointing two pieces down to a hand scooping incandescent water from a pond. The one she’d titled The Pool of Starlight. “That one’s her favorite.”
Feyre elbowed him for ruining the game. She might have done so more gently, if he’d actually guessed correctly. Tamlin offered her an exasperated look that said, What did I do wrong this time? Her tongue burned with the urge to correct him, but she said nothing, suffering the glance Mor and Rhys exchanged with each other. A shared disappointment of a game ruined, and something more. Something that left embarrassment itching up her neck.
Rhys glanced towards her alleged favorite painting and nodded good naturedly. “I understand why. It’s a beautiful painting, Feyre.”
Again, Tamlin’s arm fell over her shoulders. And he said, “That one’s not for sale.”
“Tam.”
He ignored her, continuing, “Feyre painted it as a gift for our four year anniversary.”
Mor muttered under breath, “Four years my ass.”
Tamlin narrowed his eyes. “Pardon?”
The whole room quieted for a stagnant beat, as Mor contemplated her response. Feyre widened her eyes, trying to silently plead with Mor to let it go. It didn’t matter that in those four years, they’d spent as much time broken up as they had in a relationship. What mattered was surviving the night, the week, the year ahead.
Mor tipped her chin, and as her red lips curled into a flat smirk, Feyre felt her stomach plummet.
“I said—”
A waitress stepped towards them, brandishing a platter full of mini quiches in offering. She was staring at Rhys, expectant. As if he’d been the one to call her over. He offered her a broad smile as he plucked one from the tray and promptly handed it to Mor.
Then he innocently looked towards Feyre and Tamlin. “Quiche?”
The smell of cooked eggs and salmon invaded her senses as the waitress swiveled the tray towards them. Bile rose in the back of her throat, and Feyre tried her best to swallow it as she politely shook her head.
“No thanks,” Tamlin said, his voice flat.
The waitress stepped away, wafting the smell under Feyre’s nose a second time. Nausea lurched violently in her stomach, refusing to be ignored.
Even Tam noticed the look on her face. He leaned towards her with a frown, pressing his palm into her shoulder. “Fey? Are you alright?”
Feyre feared that if she tried to speak, her stomach would upheave itself right then and there. She pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking her head before she turned and dashed for the bathroom.
The gallery became a blur of color and ambient sound. She thought she might have heard her name being called. Guests lobbed curious glances towards her as she brushed past, heels clinking urgently against the smooth concrete. The bathroom door swung open beneath her palms, and she didn’t spare the time to lock it before her knees slammed to the floor in front of the toilet.
She hated this. The puking. The way her eyes watered and her body trembled and the sounds of her retching bounced endlessly off the walls. If anyone was waiting outside, they’d doubtlessly hear it.
Feyre panted as the first wave subsided. She knew that wasn’t the end, could already feel her stomach turning in preparation for the next unforgiving torrent of nausea. Was this how it felt to be at sea, so lost and unsteady, with nothing to anchor her besides the cool press of the filthy bathroom floor?
She hunched as the next onslaught began, grasping onto the porcelain bowl, already imagining the bath she was going to take in disinfectant once she got home. Over the stomach-curdling noise, she heard the bathroom door creak open.
Feyre’s hair was pulled away from her face a moment later.
“It’s okay,” Mor soothed. “I’ve got you.”
She traced a delicate hand along Feyre’s spine, up and down. Feyre shut her eyes as she heaved into the toilet, grateful that it was Mor who had come, and not Tamlin. Or worse—Rhysand.
“It’s like we’re in college again,” Mor teased.
Feyre felt too wrung out to laugh. But when the nausea finally ebbed, she managed a shaky smile over her shoulder. “Usually I was holding your hair back.”
“Glad I get to return the favor.”
The memory ached. Three years wasn’t a long time, comparatively, but the Feyre who’d once sat drunk and giggling in public restrooms with Mor felt like a completely different person to the one she was now. It was more than time that separated them—more than motherhood, too. Back then, she had been so carefree, so full of light. And now…
She was trembling like a newly born fawn trying to rise to her feet. Mor slid a supportive hand beneath her elbow, her other hand still holding Feyre’s hair away from her face as they shuffled towards the sink.
Everything that was once simple now felt like a million steps. Twist the faucet. Pump the soap. Lather her hands… Over her shoulder, Mor watched it all with a pinched expression. She didn’t need to say anything; Feyre could still hear Alis in the back of her mind. I’m worried about you, Feyre.
Noticing she’d been caught, Mor took to coyly searching through her clutch, murmuring, “I think I have a pack of gum somewhere…”
The tap stopped running. Feyre stared at her friend in the mirror, how her blonde brows pinched together as she feigned an intensive search. And then Feyre looked at her own reflection. At her wide eyes, gleaming with unshed tears. And she finally admitted the truth to Mor, to herself.
“I’m scared.”
Mor’s mouth popped open. “Oh, Feyre,” she whispered, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug.
A great, gasping breath shuddered through Feyre, the final resistance before her foundation cracked, and every wall crumbled to dust. The next thing she knew, she was sobbing into her friend’s shoulder while Mor held tight, the only thing keeping her tethered.
Now that she’d let the words loose, she couldn’t stop. “I’m going to be a mom.”
“You are,” Mor whispered, swaying them back and forth. “You’re going to be a great one.”
“I don't know anything about being a parent.”
“No one does. It’s the kind of thing you learn on the job. And you—Feyre, you have always been exceptional at adapting to everything life throws at you. Even this.”
Her lower lip trembled. The question came tumbling out of her, broken and small. “Did I make the right choice?”
“There was no right choice,” Mor said. “There’s just the choice you made, and the one you didn’t.”
Mor leaned back to swipe her thumb along Feyre’s cheek, chasing away the tear tracks and smeared mascara as best she could.
“Though, you know what I think?” Mor’s brown eyes shined under the fluorescents as she held Feyre’s gaze. “I think that one day, you’re going to look back on this moment, and you’re going to be so happy that you decided to become a mom.”
Feyre sniffled, pressing a palm to her stomach as she attempted to imagine a future Feyre who was confident about this choice. Happy. “And Rhys?” She ventured. “Does he really mean it, about wanting to be involved?”
Mor didn’t hesitate, not for one second. “He does.”
Her eyes drifted towards the door. Tamlin and Rhys would be waiting on the other side. She didn’t know whether to laugh or feel mortified by the thought of the two of them together, stewing in hostile silence. If she was lucky, Tamlin had already dismissed this whole ordeal as female dramatics and was entertaining more of his colleagues without paying any mind to her absence.
Luck wasn’t exactly playing in her favor recently. Feyre’s eyes shifted to the hopper windows on the back wall, contemplating if she could squeeze her body through one. “What do you think my chances are of sneaking out?”
Mor followed Feyre’s gaze and pursed her lips, assessing the windows like she were truly calculating the feasibility of such an escape. “I don’t think those windows open all the way.” Her eyes slid coyly back to Feyre. “So… Tamlin—”
“Don’t start.”
She couldn’t handle another lecture about telling him the truth—not now.
But where Alis clicked her tongue and gave disapproving looks, Mor only laughed and patted Feyre on the shoulder. “Fine, fine. Just let me handle this.”
Mor didn’t give her an option to refuse. Which was just as well, because Feyre would have spent the entire night holed up in the bathroom if Mor didn’t pull her by the wrist.
“Wait!” Feyre dug her heels, trying to slow the too fast approach towards the bathroom door. “My makeup—”
“You look beautiful.”
A lie. Feyre looked like a trainwreck in a pretty dress. Not that Mor gave her time to do anything about it as she pushed the door open and announced to the two men standing on the other side, “Feyre has food poisoning. I’m taking her home.”
“I’ll grab our coats,” Rhys said.
At the same moment, Tamlin said, “I’ll take her home.”
He shifted, trying to peer at Feyre where she stood at Mor’s back, but her friend stepped into Tamlin’s line of vision. Her voice was flat. Unyielding. “You’ve been drinking.”
“So what? I’ll call us a cab.”
Feyre took a deep breath and stepped around Mor. “Tam.” Those bright eyes pinned her in place, seeing far too much. She knew it was obvious that she’d been crying, and his jaw tightened as he processed the lie, and the way she silently begged him not to push. Not yet, not here. “I need someone to stay here and make sure the art show isn’t a complete disaster.”
He contemplated this for a moment, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he looked to Mor, then to Rhys. He released a heavy sigh. “I’ll come by once it’s over.”
It was like standing on a frozen lake and watching it crack beneath them.
“Okay,” she whispered.
They both knew what was coming. It had always been precarious, this thing between them. Never simple, never clean.
Mor looped her elbow through Feyre’s. “Come on,” she urged, rushing them towards the front entrance before Tamlin could change his mind.
The stares of Tamlin’s colleagues followed them as they went. Rhys peeled off to collect their coats, allowing Mor and Feyre to make a swift exit into the liberating embrace of Autumn. The cool breeze pressed against her flushed skin, and Feyre drank it greedily, feeling the air cut a path all the way to her lungs. Finally, she could breathe again.
Rhysand emerged a moment later, two coats hanging off his arm. And Mor chose that moment to look up from her phone and say, “Rhys, you go ahead and take Feyre home. The night’s still young for me.”
“Mor!” Feyre whispered, horrified at the prospect of being alone with him. So much for not meddling.
“What?” She asked innocently, though the look she exchanged with Rhys was nothing short of conspiratorial. “Between my wine and Rhys’s vodka, I have the perfect pre-Rita’s buzz.”
Rhys didn’t seem at all surprised by this news, nor did he seem the least bit phased by the prospect of being alone in a car with Feyre. He simply walked Feyre to his car and opened the passenger door. As she slid into the leather seat, he called to Mor, “Do you want me to at least drop you off?”
“No.” The blue light of her phone lit her grin, and she giggled, looking down at the screen as she said, “I have a ride.”
“Emerie?” Rhys asked, raising a brow.
Mor bit her lip, offering no confirmation one way or the other. With a shrug, Rhys shut the passenger door, leaving Feyre briefly alone in his immaculate car, which smelled vaguely of leather and plastic and… and—him. It had been eight weeks, and Feyre still couldn’t get over the way he smelled.
She took a moment to compose herself, to prepare for being alone with him for the full twenty minute drive to her apartment. Whatever further words he exchanged with Mor, she couldn’t hear. But she could see the way he was smiling, and when he glanced at the car over his shoulder, she had a feeling they were talking about her.
Oh god.
The driver's door opened, suctioning all of the air and replacing it with the site of his obscenely handsome face. “Looks like it’s just the two of us, Feyre darling.”
She was majorly fucked.
#Take My Hand Wreck My Plans#feysand#feysand fic#Feysand fanfic#feysand fanfiction#Rhys x Feyre#Feyre x Rhys#Rhysand x Feyre#Feyre x Rhysand
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Feyre Week Day 4: found family
A/n: I just used this as an excuse to write a fluffy feysand ft. Nyx and the ic fic. :)
I haven’t finished hofas but this takes place ages after (no mentions of Bryce + co). The others don’t say much (or anything). Lots of montaging.
In case you can’t tell, I speed wrote this. Definitely not my best work, but I’m working on like 4 other things atm. Shhhhh. Might rewrite it (probably won’t). But acosf feysand pov is still there. Aelin x Dorian AU to come (hopefully) soon.
@feyreweekofficial
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“Nyx, do not put that in your mouth. Nyx!”
I hung my head forward so my hair covered the smirk I was hiding from my mate.
“Say hello to mummy.” Rhys held Nyx in his arms as he brought him level with my face, setting the salt shaker down, far out of Nyx’s reach.
I set down the knife and brought my face close to my son’s. “Hello honey.”
Nyx cooed and made a grab for my hair. “Ow.”
Rhys smirked as he disentangled the now one year old’s hand from my hair. He brushed my hair over my shoulder as he kissed my cheek. “Go get ready, the others will be here soon.”
I gestured to the uncut vegetables. “What about them?”
“I’ll do that, get dressed, you’ve been working too hard.”
The past few weeks had been hectic, the court of nightmares were acting up, as were the Illyrians, and I’d refused Rhys’s persistence that I take a break, saying that if I did, he had to too, which shut him up. Add planing a first birthday party to the mix, and I’d barely had any time to think.
I gave Rhys a peck on the lips and pressed my forehead to Nyx’s. “I’ll see you soon baby.”
Rhys picked up Nyx’s hand and waved it at me. “Bye mummy.”
I waved back as I left the kitchen.
“Now this is a special surprise for your mum, okay? So you better behave.” I hear whispering coming from the kitchen as I walked down the steps.
“Rhys?” I called.
“Yes?” He called back, faux innocence in his voice.
I took the last few steps, suspicion growing.
I opened the door into the living room and Rhys shot up.
His eyes widened as he took me in. The dress is somewhat similar to the one I wore for my first starfall. A sliver blue, hugging my curves, loosening at my thighs, falling to the ground and dropping to show a tad of cleavage.
He strode over to me, looking devastating in a black jacket and pants.
He swept me into his arms and spun me around the room. “You look stunning, Feyre Darling.”
I giggled as he took my face in his hands and kissed me deeply.
A soft cooing reminded us we were not alone. I crept around the back of the couch, grabbing Nyx and lifting him into my arms. “Hello, little one-” I stopped when I saw what he is wearing. I slowly turned to Rhys.
My mate wore a sheepish look as he ran his hand through his hair. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
I laughed, looking back to the little suit Rhys managed to wrestle Nyx into, it matched his own perfectly, with small slits at the back for his wings.
Warm arms enveloped me. “Was it a nice surprise?”
I grinned. “It was.”
A loud knock from outside snapped us both back to attention.
Rhys took Nyx from my arms. “You might want to see who that is.”
I lifted a brow as I went to open the door.
“Feyre!”
I barely had a chance to open the door before I was barrelled into by a blonde and red tornado.
Mor wrapped her arms around my neck. “So good to see you.”
I laughed and gave her a squeeze. “You too.”
Cassian and Nesta followed through after her. I gave them both a quick hug and closed the door from the cold.
“How’s my favourite Illyrian?” I turned to find Rhys passing Nyx into Mor’s arms.
Cassian scoffed. “I thought I was your favourite?”
Mor didn’t even look up from Nyx. “Never were.”
Cassian made more outraged noises, to which Nesta patted him on the forearm. “Am I your favourite, Nes?”
Nesta pretended to think. “No, I think mine’s Nyx too, but Az is a close second.”
“Betrayed, by my own mate.”
Nesta ignored him, and we all headed to the dining room.
Mor caught me up on her work in Vallahan, Nyx occasionally pulling at her golden hair.
“We should go shopping tomorrow.” Mor announced. “Leave Nyx with the guys and just relax.”
“We really should, I saw this new-”
I was cut off by the knocking on the front door.
I begun to stand. “I’ll go get it.” Rhys got up, touching me lightly on the shoulder as he moved past.
Nyx made a lunge out of Mor’s arms for me, little wings flapping, but she had too firm a grip and he didn’t get far.
“Want your mummy do you?” The moment Nyx was in my arms he rested his head on my chest.
“Rhys says that the desire to jump is part of the Illyrian instinct to fly.” I said to the table.
Cassian smirked. “Yeah, Rhys’s Mum told me he once jumped from a bench and nearly broke his arm.”
“I’m sure you did much similar things at the same age, brother.” Rhys slid back into his seat next to me, Amren, Varian and Azriel in tow.
Azriel’s shadows swirled around Nyx as he ruffles his hair. My son gives a shout of joy, making Azriel smile. “Happy birthday, Nyx.”
Varian gave me a kiss on the cheek and went to sit next to Cassian.
“Well done you two, you managed not to burn the house down.” Amren said, sitting next to the Summer Court prince.
“As if we would have.” Rhys smirked.
“At least we’re not making the cake.” I said. Rhys could cook, much better than me, but when it came to baking, you’d think he was purposely trying to give us food poisoning.
Rhys laughed, the sound drawing Nyx’s attention as he tried to clamber out of my arms for his father.
Another knock sounded and I got up for it this time, Nyx now safely in Rhys’s arms.
Elain stood at the door, Lucien a respectful distance behind her, my sister with the large cake in her hands. “I honestly think it’s frozen from the walk here.”
I smiled, and lead her into the kitchen, where she put the cake down on the bench, Lucien going to the dining room.
We walked back to join the others.
After half an hour of talking, Rhys magicked in the food, including the vegetables I had him cut.
We took turns feeding Nyx little pieces of meat and vegetables, while trying to shove down our own food before it got cold.
Once everyone was full, we moved to the living room again, a small pile of gifts set on the coffee table.
I sat down on the armchair, son in my lap, as Rhys brought the presents to us, announcing who it was from, before I helped Nyx tear at the paper.
Of course out of all the toys and things he got from our friends, both present and not, he chose to focus on the wrapping paper.
Nyx yawned.
“Cake time?” I asked, and was met with a resounding yes.
Elain hurried out of the room, and came back with the giant blue cake in hand.
She set it on the table and I used my powers to set the candles alight.
As we started singing happy birthday, I looked around at all my friends. My mate and sisters and every person who helped me get where I was today.
I held Nyx close to try and get him to blow out the candles, quickly pulling him back before he could burn himself.
Rhys lent forward and finished it, earning a laugh from everyone.
We cut up the cake, everyone complimenting the baking of my sister.
I talked with Nesta, who invited me to train with her and the Valkyries if I ever wanted to.
Rhys and Varian discussed having a visit to the Summer Court soon. Tarquin’s gift of a stuffed dolphin sat on the floor after Nyx tossed it in favour of Nesta and Cassian’s gift.
“Did you enjoy your night Nyx?” I closed the door after wishing goodbye to Mor. Rhys holding Nyx above his head.
Nyx made a cry of joy, to which Rhys replied. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He walked over to me. “What about you, Feyre darling?”
I smiled at him. “It was a nice night, you didn’t fight with Nesta, Amren and Varian didn’t traumatise everyone, the cake was delicious.”
“And the vegetables I cut?”
I kissed his cheek. “The best part.”
He grinned.
We walked Nyx up to the nursery, where we changed him into his onesie, and put him in the cot.
“Good night, little one.” I whispered, brushing his dark hair out of his face.
Rhys wrapped his arm around my waist as we walked out.
- I didn’t know how to finish this. And it probably sucks. Sorry.
#feyreweek2024#acotar#sarah j maas#acotar fanfiction#feyre archeron#rhysand#the inner circle#feysand#feyre x rhysand#rhysand x feyre#feysand fic#feysand fanfiction#rhysand fanfic#feyre fic#morrigan#nesta archeron#cassian#azriel#amren#found family
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The Daily Struggles Of An Art Student
Desperate to finish her male anatomy assignment before the deadline, Feyre Archeron finds a secluded corner in a cafe. Or so she thinks.
Pairing: Feysand
Tags: Modern AU, Artist!Feyre, Look folks I'm just going to say it: Feyre spends half of this fic looking up reddit [redacted] for a male anatomy assignment
Notes: Happy birthday the wonderful @the-lonelybarricade! I wrote you this definitely not unhinged one-shot as a little gift. Thank you for being such a great friend, and truly the most supportive person in this fandom. I cherish you!!
Read on AO3
Feyre was running out of time.
Deadlines, she decided, were really not her thing. What was that saying? “You can’t rush art?” Well, her professor at the New York Academy of Art would be inclined to disagree. Then again, Feyre wasn’t sure the blank page shining a soft, white light from her iPad could really count as “art.”
She sighed in frustration, shifting in her seat. As if the new angle could help, somehow. With exactly four hours and twenty minutes until she was to submit her assignment, the prospect of failing was quickly starting to look more and more like a reality. Feyre had always been bad at painting from memory, particularly when it came to capturing people. Her own cat, she could probably paint in minutes and be satisfied with the outcome. Or the view from her apartment. Or the honey-brown colour of her sister’s eyes, especially when she just saw Elain at dinner the other day.
Male anatomy, on the other hand…
Feyre needed a reference. Desperately.
It wasn’t unusual for an art student to spend hours on Pinterest, searching for the perfect pose, one that would be just right. Feyre had done it herself too many times to count. It was simply that…well, Pinterest could not provide a reference for everything. And Feyre would rather not use her own memory to capture a man’s physique in full.
She had just broken up with Tamlin, after all, and had very little interest in ever recalling their time together again. Lucky for her, he had moved to Boston last week to pursue his Master’s, never to bother her again. Hopefully.
Unfortunately, with Pinterest proving entirely hopeless, and Tamlin decidedly out of the picture, Feyre was left entirely out of options.
The worst thing about all this was that Feyre had only herself to blame.
There had been one option she simply pretended not to acknowledge, though she would have finished yesterday morning had it not been for her own stubbornness—or, as Nesta had called it, had she not been such a prude. Feyre certainly did not think of herself as one—it was just that…well.
Every morning, from 8 till 10:30 sharp, her class offered anatomy studies with a handful of volunteers from the student body posing for their life drawing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they were completely nude, which was not something Feyre would have cared about in the slightest had their newest model not been Feyre’s best friend. And her sister’s new boyfriend.
Ever since she had told Lucien Vanserra the school was considering paying the volunteers for their efforts, his gaze lit up and, not even a day later, there he was, his name displayed proudly on the sign-up sheet. Feyre knew him long enough now to know the extra money in his pocket was just an excuse. Someone has to capture this body one way or another, Feyre, Lucien had told her a few days ago, a twinkle in his russet eye. She supposed he did make an interesting art subject, with the scar and all—but not nearly interesting enough to strut through the East Building proudly, letting both students and teachers alike gush on about his “cruel beauty.”
Elain, to her horror, seemed to support Lucien’s latest modelling endeavours wholeheartedly.
“He promised to bring a few of the sketches home,” her sister had told her excitedly at dinner. The best reaction Feyre could offer was a horrified, blinking stare.
It wasn’t that Lucien was lacking in the looks department—on the contrary, actually—but she’d always seen him as a brother, ever since the day he’d almost run her over on his motorcycle, her very first day as a college freshman. And so, for the past few days, Feyre would make sure to avoid the East Building like the plague.
Today, she ended up in a nearby campus cafe, a cozy spot for a senior art student seeking privacy, yet still crowded enough to make Feyre look over her shoulder every few minutes. She’d opted for a secluded corner near the restrooms, with no windows next to her table, just in case a nosy passerby caught a glimpse of what exactly Feyre was drawing. Or, rather, attempting to draw.
She glanced at her phone, an unpleasant sense of dread curling in her stomach once again as she realised twenty more minutes had passed. Had she really wasted all that precious time thinking about Lucien?
Feyre needed to come up with a solution, and fast. There was no way she was failing this class, not in her final year. She was planning to move to Paris next year and continue her education there—where better than the art capital of the world? She would not let a poor painting of a penis, of all things, ruin all of her plans and dreams for the future.
Relying on Pinterest for now, Feyre began sketching the unnamed man. His upper body posed no serious issues, and she found herself done with the clean lineart and three hours thirty minutes left to spare. The thighs, too, seemed to feature all the muscles in correct places, though upon further inspection, she had perhaps drawn them slightly too large for a regular, male specimen. Whatever. With Lucien as the current model, she doubted any of her classmates would submit perfectly proportionate sketches.
Good, Feyre decided. This was good. The only thing left for her to do now was to find a good reference for the final pièce de résistance. She could do this—there was no one around, after all, and she’d make sure her browser history would be wiped clean later. Ressina, her classmate from the Academy, liked to borrow Feyre’s iPad sometimes to try her skills at digital art—and Feyre wasn’t sure their friendship was well-established enough that she could explain without making a fool of herself.
With a deep, deep sigh, Feyre got over herself and fired up Reddit.
Well.
This was going to make things a whole lot easier.
It was honestly beyond her that this entire archive was out there, for free and simply waiting for her to download. Without wasting any more time, Feyre got to scrolling.
She hadn’t expected to be flooded with so many options, but soon enough, she found just the perfect reference—the angle matched exactly the pose she had already outlined, and from the ruler he’d so proudly displayed beside it, the man didn’t seem like he would mind. And so, with the image neatly placed in the corner of her canvas, Feyre began to add the sketch. Everything seemed to be coming together—and, her focus lost entirely to the penis before her, she was actually starting to believe she might just submit this thing in time.
“Friend of yours?”
“Shit!” Feyre jumped, pressing her iPad close to her chest as she whirled back.
The voice behind her—of course—turned out to be a man. The most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
“Well?” he asked, eyes twinkling. Were they actually violet, or was the soft light pouring through the window just that spectacular?
Feyre felt her cheeks heating. “You know, it’s rude to invade other people’s privacy,” she told him, anger slowly replacing the embarrassment coiling in her chest. Who was this man, this stranger, to question her?
He only seemed more amused, though he lifted a defensive hand. “Hey, I was just leaving the restroom,” he said, pointing back to the staircase behind. “It’s not my fault you’re right out here for all to see. Who’s invading whose privacy now, hmm?” Before Feyre opened her mouth to retort, the man added, “Oh, no need to apologise. Mind if I sit?”
And with that, he simply plopped down on the chair beside her.
The audacity.
Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t going to apologise,” she said, setting her now locked iPad on the table.
He ran a hand through his hair, raven waves soaking up the sunlight, and smiled again. “I was hoping you would say that.”
“Anyway, this isn’t my friend,” Feyre said, hoping there was enough mockery in her tone to wipe that stupid grin off his handsome face. “It’s a project. For art school.”
“Ah, yes” he mused, drumming his long, slender fingers on the polished wood. “I could tell from how precise your strokes were.” Something about the way he said strokes made the heat in her face nearly boil over. Get it together, idiot! He leaned back in his seat, as if he could somehow tell exactly what Feyre was thinking. Then, he proclaimed, “You’re an artist.”
Alright, Feyre decided. Not entirely a prick, then. “I’m not sure I’d call myself that,” she admitted honestly. Not yet, at least.
“I would,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling slightly as he added, “I’d like to call you many things, actually. Let’s start with your name.”
There it was. Feyre couldn’t help but flirt in return. Prick or not, she liked his boldness—and his good looks certainly were no disadvantage. “You first,” she demanded.
He flashed her a wide, brilliant smile. “My favourite subject.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit.”
“Rhysand,” he said. “But you, darling, can call me Rhys.”
Rhysand. The name was so unusual she almost didn’t register what he’d called her. Darling. It was then that she’d finally taken her eyes off his face long enough to take in the rest of him—the deep, English accent, lilting as though he wasn’t speaking to her but singing the smoothest melody.
Yeah—she really needed to get it together.
“What brings you to New York City, Rhysand?” she asked him, not giving him the satisfaction of using his clearly personal nickname yet. His eyes sparkled again, accepting the challenge.
He shrugged. “Research. The sights. Pretty girls drawing male genitalia at 1pm on a Tuesday.” Rhysand winked. “Greatest city in the world, huh?”
Feyre’s cheeks flushed again. “Research?” she questioned, desperate not to go back to that topic with a man she’d only just met.
Rhys chuckled. “Yes. I’m an astronomer—or about to be, at least.”
“Interesting.”
“It is,” he agreed, and she could’ve sworn actual stars flickered in his gaze with the words. “You’d be surprised just how much the night sky has to offer.”
“I paint it sometimes,” Feyre told him, unsure why she’d just admitted something that personal to a stranger. “Whenever I feel…down, I suppose.”
To her surprise, Rhys nodded. “I do the same.”
Her brows flicked up. “Paint?”
“I’m afraid I’m not that talented. No, I look up—watch the stars.”
Feyre smiled. “That actually sounds wonderful.”
Rhys angled his head. “You know, I haven’t had the chance to explore the New York sky yet. I could use some company.”
Something told her she was up for one hell of a first date. “Alright, Rhys,” Feyre said, his face lighting up triumphantly at the name. She chuckled, grabbing her iPad as she rose from her chair. “Meet me here at seven thirty tonight.”
“Wait!” he called after her. “You still haven’t told me your name.”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” she teased. “I’m not sure I’m ready to part with darling.”
The stars in his eyes twinkled. “Oh, I think we’ll work something out.”
#I'M SO SORRY THIS IS A LITTLE LATE#I JUST MANAGED TO GET ON AO3#anyway for legal purposes i've actually never even HEARD of reddit#feysand fic#feysand fanfic#feysand fanfiction#feysand#pro feysand#feyre x rhysand#feyre archeron#feyre acotar#rhysand#rhysand acotar#acotar fic#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#my writing
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Starry Eyes Sparking Up My Darkest Night
Summary: We had danced, all of us together. And when the night had shifted toward dawn and the music became soft and honeyed, I had let Rhys take me in his arms and dance with me, slowly, until the other guests had left, until the gold disc of the sun gilded Velaris.
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: none
Read on AO3
@officialfeysandweek2023
Day 1: Night Triumphant & Stars Eternal
Here's my second humble offering for Feysand Week 🩵
“I am… very glad I met you, Feyre.”
I blinked away the burning in my eyes. “Come on,” I said, tugging on his hand, “Let’s go join the dance.”
I felt Rhys move behind me, looking half dazed, and wondered if he was as affected as I was. My heart was racing, beating a rhythm unlike anything I’d felt before, my mind aware that this was uncharted territory. I’d seen the look in his eyes, and I knew it matched the one in mine. Rhys and I had been playing this game, counting the steps of this dangerous dance for quite a while now, and as natural as everything with him felt, as natural as being around him was, I couldn’t forget that the circumstances that led me here were not easy.
Don’t think about it, I told myself. Turn it all off.
I reached the middle of the crowd and stopped, turning to face Rhys. He was so beautiful, breathtakingly so, the stardust glowing on his lips mocking me, almost pulling me in and making me reckless enough to want to forget everything and everyone around us and just kiss him, just get lost in him. Rhys pulled me closer and placed his hands on my lower back, making my skin tingle. I wrapped my arms around his neck and followed his lead as he started moving.
We danced, and danced, and danced, until Cassian pulled me away from Rhys for a dance, joking about his unwillingness to share. The fire in Rhys’s eyes wasn’t something I was ready to address. I wasn’t blind to his feelings, nor my own growing ones, but I didn't know if I would ever be ready for all of its implications.
“I've never seen him so happy.” Cassian’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts as he twirled me around, and a joyous sound escaped my throat. “He has had moments of happiness in his five hundred years of course, but never like this.” Cassian gave me a pointed look. “You do know it’s because of you, don’t you?”
I cleared my throat, not ready to unpack what he had just said and all that it meant, and asked him about our visit to Windhaven the next day. Cassian had been advocating for the Illyrian females for centuries, but change in a war camp came slow.
We danced for a while longer, until Cassian looked behind me to find Mor, who was smiling brightly. “Your time is up,” she said, pulling me away from him.
I rose on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek, thankful for him and the friendship and understanding he had so selflessly offered me from the moment we’d met.
I danced with Mor, and then I danced with Azriel, and marveled at how fast they had managed to worm their way into the deepest crevices of my heart. My friends, who had pulled me out of the darkness. My High Lord, who had shown me that I mattered, that my feelings mattered, that my trauma was valid, who had given me everything in the most open and selfless way and had never expected anything in return.
I looked at Rhys, marveling at the sound of his joyous laughter, the starlight in his eyes as he celebrated and drank and danced with his friends, the way he looked so free despite carrying the weight of his court on his shoulders and everything he had done to keep his people safe.
He had given every part of himself to keep his people safe. I wondered if they knew how lucky they were, if they knew he would do it all again in a heartbeat if he had to.
He chose that moment to look at me, and the smirk he had seconds before melted into a smile so bright and genuine that my breath whooshed out of my chest with a strength that nearly knocked off my feet. He was in front of me in two strides, his long legs effortlessly closing the space between us, and I gave him a smile as I wrapped my arms around his neck, his own finding their place on my lower back, as if they had always belonged there.
“You promised me a whole night of dancing.”
The corner of his lips lifted into a smirk. “It’s not my fault everyone wants to bask in your glow, Feyre darling.”
I smiled and rested my head on his chest, and he kissed the top of my head softly. “It’s you people want to be around, Rhys. Not me.”
“Someday,” he said, his hand drawing circles on my back, “I’ll make you see how bright you are. I wish you could see yourself right now, and the way you outshine every star tonight.”
My heart stuttered, and I willed the tears away. Looking up at him, I reached out and caressed his mental shields. Rhys tilted his head curiously and lowered them slightly, letting me in. I looked around the fortress of his mind, seeing the world through his eyes, Mor laughing and dancing with Cassian and Az in the corner, the three of them carefree and happy.
Rhys mentally pointed closer, right in front of him, and I saw myself covered in stardust, the look on my face one I didn’t have the words to describe. There was a certain glow in my eyes as I looked up at Rhys, a softness to my smile that I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Rhys’ mental fortress was unguarded, every feeling on display as I made myself familiar with the deepest corners of his beautiful, brilliant mind. There was adoration, admiration, gratefulness, and a warmth to deeper feelings I refused to analyze out of respect. He had had his privacy taken from him for a very long time, and I would never dream of taking advantage of the free pass he had given me.
I slowly walked out and back into my own mind, and the smile he gave me was one I desperately wanted to paint.A smile brighter than the sun, eyes deeper than night. Night triumphant seemed like a fitting name.
“I am very happy to have you in my life,” I offered, because that was the simple truth, because I had never known anything with more certainty than the joy that Rhys’ presence had brought into my life. I had blinked, and without me realizing it, Rhys had become my best friend, had become the one person I could always count on without fear of being judged. My heart craved even more of Rhys and I wrestled against the hunger in my mind every day.
Rhys bent down and kissed my forehead, gently, as we swayed to the soft music. There was no rush to the dance, no steps to follow. There was just us, the stars, our friends, the people, and my home. Velaris was home, and so was the male holding me like I was going to disappear.
“Rhys?”
“Hm?” he mumbled, not bothering to move his head from where it was resting on top of my head.
“Thank you for everything.”
I felt him smile and he continued rubbing circles on my back. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”
“No, I mean-” I said, trying to find the right words. “Thank you for believing in me when no one else would. Thank you for sharing your family with me, and your city, and your home. Thank you for making sure I always have a reason to get out of bed in the morning and look forward to what the day brings.”
With my head resting on his chest the way it was, I could feel the exact moment his breath caught in his throat. “None of that would have been possible without you,” he said, pulling my face away from his chest and looking at me intently. “None of that would have been possible without your persistence, cleverness, and kindness. I’ve always loved this night, and the journey the stars make.” He looked up at the stars still flying overhead, then down at me again. “But you, you are by far the most precious one of them.”
I didn’t stop the burning in my eyes this time, the tears running free down my cheeks, trailing a path down the stardust on my face. Rhys swept his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping my tears away, like he had done every single time since the day we had met. I knew the line we were walking was a very dangerous one, and I could not afford to compromise my heart so soon again, but there was something about him that brought all my walls tumbling down, that drew me to him so thoroughly that I could hardly breathe half the time he was near.
We danced for what could have been minutes, or hours, or days—we didn’t keep track. Rhys didn’t let me go, and neither did I. The guests bid us goodnight, Mor, Cassian and Azriel retired for the night, yet Rhys and I never stopped dancing, never stopped looking at each other and basking in the glow of whatever we were, whatever was happening. As the dawn broke, and the sun illuminated the stardust on his skin, giving him an ethereal glow, I put my hands around his face and brought it close to mine, resting his forehead against mine.
“To the stars who listen, Rhys.”
“And the dreams that are answered, Feyre.”
#feysandweek2023#feysand fanfiction#feysand fic#acomaf#starfall#rhys#rhysand#feyre#feyre archeron#feysand#pro feysand#pro feyre#pro rhys
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Thank you so much to everyone who contributed to Feysand Week! Over the course of the week, we recieved an amazing variety of content—from playlists, to moodboards, to beautiful fanart! One of the most popular forms of creation, however, was fanfiction! We recieved a total of 43 fics in our Feysand Week Collection on AO3, as well as some fics that can be found exclusively on tumblr!
That's a lot of fic to read! To help you decide which fic would be perfect for you, and as a way of giving back to the fic writers that contribute so much to our community, we decided to create a little quiz that will help you choose the fic that's best suited to your tastes!
>>> Click here to take the quiz
And thank you once again to everyone who participated! We look forward to seeing you next year!
#feysandweek2023#feysand#feyre x rhysand#rhysand x feyre#feyre x rhys#rhys x feyre#Feyre Archeron#Rhysand#feysand fic#feysand fanfic#feysand fanfiction
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» read on ao3 (5/5)
» listen to playlist
Pairing: Feysand
Status: COMPLETE (read from ch 1 here)
Rated: E
Summary: rhys.exe has stopped working
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟRead below for a brief snippet:
5. prick.zip
“Feyre,” Rhys said silkily.
She still didn’t look, but she raised her eyebrows and tilted her face up towards him. He had her attention, then, as he started to fold his legs behind him. And then her eyes snapped towards his hands, as he gently nudged her thighs apart.
Watching him warily, she asked, “What are you doing?”
She still held her phone in one hand, but had moved it up and out of the way, a puddle of blue violet light spilling onto the wall beside her head and illuminating a swath of her hair. She watched him crawl forward in the space made between her legs, and held her breath.
Rhys braced his hands on either side of her hips, and the phone fell to the floor, clattering. Her fingers were still curved gently around the air, as if she hadn’t realized she’d dropped it.
“I’m bored,” Rhys said, barely above a whisper.
She was avoiding catching his eyes, looking somewhere off to the side as her lips pressed tightly together. Rhys angled his face down towards her.
“Play with me, Feyre,” he murmured against her ear.
Her eyes flicked over to his, just as she shifted down. Until she was almost completely beneath him, propped up on her elbows. Above her, her hair dragged against the wall as she slumped. Rhys pressed a soft kiss right beneath her ear, and her mouth fell open.
Her fingers pressed into the ground, and her pinkies brushed against the inside of both of his wrists.
Feyre finally let out a shaky breath.
Then, “Play with yourself.”
Rhysand laughed softly, then lifted a hand to run the pad of his thumb along the edge of her jaw. He curled his fingers beneath her chin, tipping it up, and against his knuckles he felt her swallow.
“If I do,” he said, “will you promise to draw me?”
A light gasp, and then she slipped even further down. Lying fully on her back, her knees pressing into either side of his hips, and her hair now splayed out around her head. A hand came up to the center of his chest, and he wondered if she was about to shove him away.
She didn’t.
“That was one time,” Feyre said. “Today, and only because–”
“Liar.”
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
#feysand#acotar#acotar fanfiction#feyre archeron#rhysand#feyre x rhysand#acotar fanfic#feysand fanfiction#modern au#feysand au
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ACOTAR Fanfic MasterList
I read an ALARMING amount of Fanfiction, and this is the easiest way for me to catalog some of my favorite Fanfiction. I love AO3 but I wish I could put things in categories and separate folders like GoodReads. I will be updating this list periodically and they are in no particular order. However, I will star some of my favorites!
Please note that most of these have smut! These are also all long fics, no one shots in here.
These will just be my AO3 favorite fanfics, I will make another master post for the Tumblr specific fics.
Here is a link to my subscription list on AO3 that is the most up to date.
Color Key:
Gwynriel
Elucien
Feysand
Nessian
*= Favorite, ***************= I have a borderline obsession
Finished Fics:
Call Me home (@propagandaprincess) (gives telenovella vibes)
A Court of Whisper and Song (@mystical-blaise) *
A Mythical Thing (@separatist-apologist) *
A Court of Light and Melody (@daevastanner) *
Trial of the Valkyrie (@daevastanner) *
On My Radar (@vikingmagic33)
Hands On (@headcanonheadcase)
Delectable (@hlizr50, @violet-shadows, @thehaemanthus)
The Capri-Sun Girl (@headcanonheadcase, @hlizr50, @ofduskanddreams)
The Raven and the Songbird (@hlizr50)
These Scars Paint the Map that Led Me to You (@hlizr50)
A Court of Song and Shadow (@justawhore)
Intimacy: A Gwynriel Smut Collection (@tealnymph24)
A Court of Smoke and Shadow (@daevastanner)
Nothing Can Break Us (@thewordnerd)
The Dream (@lady-riel)
Drunk in the Wrong Bedroom (@lady-riel)
Ballad of Shadows (@jennierubyjaner)
Sword and Shield (@synopsis)
Wrapped in His Shadows (@95wolfpanda)
Voices in the Shadows (@mercurianbisous)
On the Nature of Hearts (@daevastanner)
Shadowsinger (@emilia3546)
Snap (@headcanonheadcase)
Stealth (@vikingmagic33)
Your Truly (@cosmic_justice_is_us)
Wonderland (@separatist-apologist) *
Dismantle. Repair. (@separatist-apologist)
You Look Like Bad News (@the-lonelybarricade)
Foxy (@azrielshadowssing)
Haves and Have Nots (@the-lonelybarricade, @thehaemanthus, @hlizr50) *
The King Under the Mountain (@SweetVillianDarlingGod)
What Dreams May Come (Anonymous)
A Court of War and Starlight (sv_you_know_who_I_am)
I made you a Promise (@nomattertheoceans)
ACOMAF from Rhys's POV (@illyriantremors)
No Reason to Stay (@xelly)
Autumn In Velaris (@talkfantasytome)
Ongoing Fics:
We Never Go Out of Style (@separatist-apologist) *************
Things You Can't Have (@damedechance) ***************
Wanting (More Than You Can Have) (@damedechance)
House of Shadow and Song (@headcanonheadcase) (Spoilers for HOSAB) ********
Sleep, Sleep Beauty Bright (@headcanonheadcase) *********
A Court of Shadows (@aldbooks) *
His Sleeping Vixen (@eeereee) ************
A Court of Ribbon and Shadows (@thebluenickel)
Synchronicity (@ofduskanddreams) **************
Gwynriel Drabbles (@moodymelanist)
Gwynriel One-Shots (@ladyofcloudedskies)
Three Strings, One Bracelet (ArcturuStarlight) *************
Daevastanner Gwynriel TikTok Fics (@daevastanner)
Gwynriel One-Shots (@daevastanner)
Surprise (@celiamoonbeam)
Sworn His Shadows Sang (@lady-riel)
Dadriel (@mystical-blaise)
Gwynriel Fanfictions (@meher-sumedha)
Gwynriel Fics (@mercurianbisous)
Gwynriel One-Shots (@ladyofcloudedskies)
Never Enough (@loewenanni)
Of Darkness and Light (@lovestoryfanatic)
Shadow Songs (@xcinsationalx)
Symphony of Shadows (@gwynrielstan)
A Court of Light (@aldbooks) *
I was Enchanted to Meet You (@separatist-apologist)
There You Are (@SweetVillianDarlingGod) (Note: chapter 18 may be some of my favorite literature of ALL TIME. I laugh EVERY. SINGLE. TIME)
A Court of Faded Dreams (@the-lonelybarricade) *************
Nessian Drabbles (@moodymelanist)
Valkyrie Tales (@seacheck4)
Sext and the City (@vikingmagic33, @headcanonheadcase)
Velaris Tattoo Parlor (@talkfantasytome)
Velaris State Chronicles (@talkfantasytome)
I would love some more Nessian, Feysand, and Elucien fics! As well as any longer gwynriel fics that I may have missed!!!
#acotar#a court of silver flames#gwynriel#gwynriel fanfiction#elucien#elucien fanfiction#feysand#feysand fanfiction#nessian#nessian fanfiction#acosf#acowar#emorie#gwynriel supremacy#azriel x gwyn#the valkyries#valkyrie trio#lucien vanserra#gwyneth berdara#azriel shadowsinger#feyre cursebreaker#feyre archeron#rhys acotar#nesta archeron#cassian acotar
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“I don’t want to fight,” it was barely more than a whisper, but the plea in Nesta’s voice was evident. She reached up to lace her fingers around the back of Cassian’s neck. They both closed their eyes, letting their foreheads rest against each other. For a long moment, they breathed together.
Then Cassian said, more calmly now, “I don’t know that I would have made the same decision.”
Nesta opened her eyes, but didn’t speak. Cassian just shook his head, an incredulous look on his face. “You are my mate,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But Rhys is . . . .” He paused, searching for the words. “I’m sworn to protect this court. This territory. What you did . . . . jeopardized all of that. Rhys has every right to be angry.”
“I’m not asking anyone not to be angry.”
“Then what are you asking for? What is it that you’re asking of me?” His eyes were sad as he cupped her face in his hands.
“Understanding.”
“I do understand. I told you—I would want someone to help—”
“No,” she shook her head. “I don’t mean for my decision to give Bryce the Mask. I don’t regret it. And I would do it again.” His eyes flashed, and he dropped his hands.
“Then what do you mean.”
“I want you to respect my ability to make my own decisions,” she snapped, unable to keep the bite from her voice as her anger flared again. “I want you stop treating me like a child who went against some kind of rule—”
“Then don’t act like one,” he growled.
Nesta’s nostrils flared.
Breathe. Breathe.
“I will tell you the same thing I told Rhysand. The Trove answers to me. I command it.”
“And we all answer to Rhys,” he barked back. “That’s what you don’t understand. You don’t understand that you cannot make decisions like this without consulting him, without consulting Feyre—”
“Rhysand and Feyre have both made plenty of decisions without consulting the rest of you,” she said icily. She saw the hurt flash in Cassian’s eyes. An old wound. Perhaps more than one. But she went on, “they have both hatched dangerous, impulsive plans and not informed anyone. And yet you don’t look at them the way you’re looking at me now.”
“That is different, and you know it. Rhysand is my High Lord. He is a ruler—”
“And I am your mate!” she was practically screaming now. Cassian’s face was inches from hers; the fury rippling off of him like steam from the bath.
“Being my mate does not mean that you can do whatever the fuck you want in this court—to this court, and that I will blindly agree with you.”
“Again, I don’t care about your agreement. All I want is for you not to look at me with disgust. To give me the same grace that you give to Rhysand, to Feyre, to everyone else in this gods-damned court except, apparently, to me. I want you to tell me that you don’t agree with me, and you still love me despite it. To think about what it would be like if you were given the choice between blind loyalty to your court and something you loved even more—”
“There is nothing I love more than this court,” he roared.
Utter silence fell. Cassian’s eyes widened, the words he’s spoken settling in the space between their bodies.
Nesta took a step back, staring at Cassian. Trying to make sense of what he’d just said.
Say you didn’t mean it, she silently begged him. Say that you were angry.
Cassian’s throat worked like he might say something.
Only he didn’t.
Nesta stared, disbelief creeping like hoarfrost along her skin. Her chest hurt as realization sunk in.
He hadn’t spoken only out of anger. He really felt that way.
And his eyes—still wide and pleading—betrayed the truth.
Nesta felt her heart break.
My interpretation of the events that occurred between Nesta and Cassian after the argument with Rhys, during the Ember & Randall bonus chapter. Read the entire chapter on AO3!
#acotar#fanfic#acofas#acomaf#sjm fanfic#fanfiction#feysand fanfiction#sjm universe#feysand#cassian fanfic#nesta and feyre#nesta supremacy#nesta acosf#nesta archeron#nesta x cassian#nesta acotar#pro nesta#nesta deserves better#cassian my beloved#cassian acosf#cassian#angst with a happy ending#angst
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Feyre was sketching on the bed when Rhysand walked in. She smiled at him in welcoming, then went back to drawing. Silently, Rhysand walked over to the bed and crawled into the space behind her. He wrapped his arms around Feyre and snuggled her neck.
„I missed you“, he murmured. Feyre huffed. „You were gone for two hours.“ „Exactly.“ She laughed and turned around to kiss him.
That‘s when her gaze caught on the mirror that hung across from them. They looked beautiful. Her with the sketchbook in her lap, bracketed between his legs and enveloped by his arms. Him smiling into her hair and his wings splayed out behind them.
It was love in its simplest form. Them spending time together, being present with each other and supporting their passions. The longer she looked at their mirror image the more a drawing formed in her head.
Quietly, she said „give me your hand“. He didn’t ask questions, just complied. She turned to a new page, made him hold the pen and then took his hand into hers. She began to draw with him curiously peeking over her shoulder.
It was quickly drawn line art, still she managed to let their love shine from the page. When she was done, she titled it ‚We are Art, my love‘
#Feyra#feyre archeron#rhysand#feysand#sjmaas#acotar#fanfiction#feysand fanfiction#can someone draw this?
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Creator Highlight #2 - @shallyne
Welcome back to Feysand Creator Highlights!! We want to take a moment to recognize the amazing individuals in our fandom who kindly use up so much of their freetime and creative energy to share their work with us!
This week we want to highlght @shallyne, a fun-spirited member of our community who is always eager to bounce ideas off with other writers and shares so many feysand stories, headcanons, AU ideas, and more!!
Thank you for sharing so much of your creativity with us, and for always being such a prominent contributor to so many fandom appreciation events!
Below are some of our favorite Shallyne feysand creations, and you can find more on their AO3.
Change isn't bad - Feyre is pregnant and hormonal. Rhys is there to calm her down
Mother Hen - Feyre gets sick and Rhys's inner Mother Hen comes to life
Once Upon A Night - Young Feyre is a curious little child. She's exploring the world in the mortal lands together with her stuffed animal bunny Nox. Some night she finds a temple hidden in the forest and though she should feel scared she doesn't.
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TheLonelyBarricade Feysand Masterlist
All works excluding drabbles are avilable on AO3
🌶️= Smut/Works with explicit content
A Court of Faded Dreams Masterlist🌶️ - acotar rewrite/timetravel fic. (WIP)
Darling, Let's Run 🌶️ - Cat!Rhys and his general trickery (Completed)
As the River Flows Masterlist 🌶️ - Regency Feysand with a magical fated mates twist (completed)
Till Death Do Us Part Masterlist - A slice of life chronicalling the adventures Grim!Rhys and his reluctant wife Feyre (WIP)
Queen of Thieves Masterlist 🌶️ - Con-artist Feyre makes an ill-placed bet with the High Lord of the Night Court (WIP)
Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans Masterlist 🌶️ - Modern AU where Feyre gets pregnant from a one-night stand with a violet eyed stranger (WIP)
We Bleed the Same Masterlist 🌶️ - An acotar retelling where we cut out the feylin love story entirely (WIP)
The Other Side of the Apocalypse 🌶️ - A canonverse AU following human Rhys and Feyre as they journey through all seven courts (WIP)
Canon:
Hate Me If It Helps 🌶️ - Feysand angsty sex pollen fic.
The Most Magnanimous High Lord 🌶️- Rhys gives Feyre a reading lesson
Five Times the Beast Was Subdued (and the One Time It Wasn't) 🌶️ 🌶️ - Part 1 ⟡ Part 2 - Feysand beast form, monsterfucking, breeding kink filth
ACoMaF Wedding Scene - Canon compliant Feysand wedding scene.
The Chains That Bind Us - Feysand are married and Rhysand’s mating bond snaps w/ someone else.
When The Glass Shatters - Feysand are married and Feyre’s mating bond snaps w/ someone else.
A Conversation At Dawn - Rhys takes a quiet moment to reflect with his mother.
Just Can't Prove It - Feyre meets a stranger on a flight
All By Design - What if Isaac Hale was Rhys all along?
-
AU:
It’s Nice to Have a Friend 🌶️ - part 1 ⟡ part 2 - Modern AU best friends to lovers/accidental kiss.
Ten Past Five 🌶️ - plotty Feysand NYE meet cute
Snow on the Beach 🌶️🌶️ - Daddy kink, Feysand join the mile high club
Can’t Keep My Hands to Myself 🌶️🌶️ - Part 1 ⟡ Part 2 - Feysand Sugar Daddy AU
The Music of the Night 🌶️🌶️- Demon!Rhys visits Feyre in her dreams (dub-con)
Violent Delights 🌶️🌶️ - Feysand vampire smut (dub-con)
Be a Doll, Darling🌶️🌶️ - Feyre's Sex Doll comes to life (dub-con)
Cakes & Cupid - Birthday party meet-cute. (Modern AU)
Scaring Is Caring - Halloween themed meet-cute. (Modern AU)
Arrowmusings B-day Present - Lucien x Rhys x f!reader fluff (Modern AU)
Long Story Short - Feyre gets stood up in a restaurant. (Modern AU)
The Dating Game - Modern fake couple AU. (Modern AU)
The Outlier - part 1 ⟡ part 2 - Timetravel fluff / university AU. (Modern AU)
A Letter Never Sent - Christmas fluff (Modern AU)
Caught Up In You - Rhysand Celebrity AU (Modern AU)
Don't Be a Jerk (It's Christmas) - Coffee Shop Christmas fluff (Modern AU)
Down the Water Well - Eldritch Horror Vibes AU
if you ever think you got it wrong - modern hurt/comfort friends to lovers
Good Morning, Darling - Feysand & baby Nyx fluff
Behind You - Batboy Snowball fight featuring Nyx
Like An Illyrian - Rhys and baby Nyx fluff
No One Has to Know What We Do - vaguely smutty angst
Every Time I Look at You, It's Like the First Time - Feysand fluffy proposal
Guess I’ll just stumble on home to my cats - Feyre drunk at a party
#Woke up and decided to clean up my masterlists#if I missed something please let me know haha#feysand#feysand fic#feysand fanfic#feysand fanfiction#Feyre x Rhysand#Rhysand x Feyre#Feyre x Rhys#Rhys x Feyre
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A messy breakup forces 20 year old Feyre Archeron back to her old hometown of Forks, Washington—back to the life she thought she'd left behind. What she doesn't know, though, is that Forks has changed in her absence, its blue-tinted fog stained by fresh, crimson blood.
Luckily, Feyre is ready to join the hunt.
🩸Pairing: Feyre x Rhysand
🩸Rating: Explicit
🩸Tags: Twilight AU
Chapter 1/5 || Read on AO3
Or continue for a snippet below!
***
“Who’s he?”
Ressina follows her gaze—then smiles. “Ah, yes. Can’t blame you for losing your focus, honestly.” She leans in closer. “That’s Rhysand Blake. He’s…” she motions over her face, as if the movement is telling enough. It is. “Like I said. There’s no point in even trying.”
Feyre hums. Rhysand. “What’s his major?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t see him around much—not that I was looking, of course—so he probably takes evening classes. He’s somewhat of an enigma, really.” Ressina narrows her stare on her again. “Something tells me that did nothing to discourage you.”
Feyre flashes her a smile. “Who doesn’t like a little mystery?”
Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed, I’m basing it off the announcement post 💕): @azrielshadowssing @damedechance @melting-houses-of-gold @rosanna-writer @itsthedoodle @reverie-tales @sanfangirl @separatist-apologist @asnowfern @thelovelymadone @foundress0fnothing @thesistersarcheron @wilde-knight @popjunkie42-blog
#jesus christ I just realised I saved this in my ao3 drafts instead of actually posting#thank GOD i just saw a twilight tiktok to remind me#feysand twilight AU#feysand au#feysand fic#feysand fanfic#feysand fanfiction#feysand#pro feysand#feyre x rhysand#feyre archeron#feyre acotar#rhysand#rhysand acotar#acotar fic#acotar fanfic#acotar fanfiction#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#my writing
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Kiss Me Again
Word Count: 8,645 | Masterlist | Read on AO3
Writer’s Notes: I was going to have a friend proof this for me but they were busy so I did some multiple self-revisions in the past few days in hopes that I caught as many grammar errors as possible. Apologies if I missed any! Anyway! This is a college AU ACOTAR Feysand fic. The concept was idiots in love. As in, they’ve baaaasically been doing couply stuff but they were too blind to see or acknowledge that they’d been in love and acting as a couple for a while. <3
I don’t typically write AU fics, so this is a first for me! That being said, it was so much fun to write. It’s actually the longest one-shot I’ve written! A HUGE Happy Holidays to @thegloweringcastle <3 I hope you enjoy it and finally find out who got left at the supermarket! 😂
Thank you to @acotargiftexchange for putting this event together once again! I LOVE participating in this every year! <3
Squinting at the scribbles below, my eyes attempted to decipher the notes I’d borrowed. I had been able to make out the date thanks to the simple fact that it hadn’t been written in cursive like the rest of the details. It was a lost art form for me just like any other calligraphy-related configuration. I would have written down my own notes for the humanities course I was taking, in plain print, had my younger sister not lost the key to her dorm room. With her roommate out of town for the week, there wasn’t much Elain could have done outside of calling her Resident Assistant, which, to her dismay, also happened to be her ex-boyfriend. So, rather than having to face Grayson more than she needed to, she’d called me.
Lucky for Elain, I kept a spare. All of my sisters and I did, actually. Nesta, Elain, and I all had a key to each other’s place. It had been especially helpful when we all lived on campus last year. We could just walk into each other’s rooms at any time. Like when I needed help with my homework for Calculus with Analytic Geometry and borrowed Nesta’s notes from her sophomore year. Or when Nesta needed to borrow my curling iron for a date. And, of course, how could I forget the night that Elain and her then-boyfriend broke up. She had refused to leave her room for two days. I had never been so grateful to have access to a spare key. Nesta and I had been so worried having not heard from her for more than a day. We spent that entire weekend taking turns bringing her food from her favorite places across town in hopes that they’d brighten her spirits. Thai food from Adriata’s Palace, Italian Cuisine from Neve’s Garden, and Mexican from Rita’s Margaritas. I had never seen my sister so devastated in her life. Although to be fair, Elain had never dated a boy before Grayson.
I turned the notebook a bit to the side in hopes that the lighting from the new angle would bless me with a hint as to what words hid behind Mor’s beautiful script. Mother above. Shaking my head, I bit my lip. I should have listened to my mother when she said that learning cursive would be an invaluable skill. She was certainly right in thinking that it was a dying skill. It was dead on me for sure. Hell, the only people I knew who still wrote in cursive were sorority recruitment leads when they made their colorful, extravagant banners with fancy lettering and doctors. Which would make sense at the moment given who I had borrowed these notes from. Zeta Tau Alpha’s latest Chapter President. My mother was certainly wagging her finger at me from wherever she was.
I sighed.
“You look more concentrated than my morning orange juice,” said Rhysand, sitting across the table. His violet eyes studying me, his brows raised in concern. We’d—he’d been studying for the past thirty minutes, meanwhile, I’d just been heavy-breathing and decoding what looked like a cipher like a treasure hunter in search of the coordinates to an ancient Greek secret temple. But unlike an archeologist, my work proved unfruitful.
“I’m trying to decipher Mor’s handwriting,” I said. Leaning back on the chair, I let out another loud sigh. “It’s beautiful. But I can’t read cursive for shit.”
Rhys and I had known each other since freshman year. More specifically, ever since I accidentally dropped a shoe on him from the fourth floor of the residence halls. I had originally been aiming for my roommate Viviane to catch, who to this day still wanted to room with me. She hadn’t wanted to come up again to retrieve the missing shoe and I didn’t want to go downstairs in a towel as I’d just come out of the shower and was still undressed.
The natural decision was to just fling the sneaker out the window of our dorm room, obviously. What we didn’t account for was my terrible aim and Viviane’s lack of hand-eye coordination. Not only did Rhys get bumped in the head by a single white platform Vans but he also got pushed into a bush by Viviane. She had been so busy looking up, that she forgot to look forward and completely missed the 6-foot man inches from her. It had been a miracle Viviane herself hadn’t impaled the shrubbery along with him. I’ll never forget the mortified look Viviane and I mirrored, eyes wide and hands over mouth. All I could think was, he’s concussed. I concussed a man.
Personally, if someone had smacked me on the head, I would have at least yelled at them. Maybe even called them a prick. Rhys, however, was a different breed of man. He had certainly groaned on impact but as soon as he realized he had backflipped into a small hedge and held a women’s size 8 shoe on his lap, he laughed. He let out a full belly laugh. This man—this stranger—had the audacity to laugh given the circumstances. I suppose I should have realized from that moment that nothing could truly take him by surprise or upend his day. A trait I admired. One I hoped seeped into my bones by osmosis or whatever symbiotic science allows personal characteristics to flow from one person to another.
I apologized profusely to this man. In a towel from my window. In my pajamas after I ran downstairs. In his residence hall, after Viviane helped me put together an apology basket when we discovered he lived across from her boyfriend Kallias. Even then, this 6-foot-something of a man thought it was funny. Every. Single. Time. To which I convinced myself, I’d more than concussed him. I convinced myself I’d done serious damage for a man to laugh at that level of pain. Although, I suppose that if two people showed up in their dinosaur onesies at 9 pm on a Thursday evening with a basket for me, I’d also laugh. But still.
It wasn’t until that very week that I realized Rhys and I shared similar classes. We were both in English Composition, Principles of Chemistry, and Introduction to Sociology. Which, quite honestly, are more than enough courses for you to figure out if you have the same schedule as another student. What can I say, I’m oblivious—an ongoing theme in my life.
Another thing I’ll never forget, the smug look on Rhys’s face when we were paired together in English Composition for a research paper on the portrayal of minorities in the media. I’d wanted to find the nearest cliff and jump off it but destiny had other plans. No, fate looked me straight in the eye and said, “Hold my drink, bestie” because two years later, here we are. Best friends.
Rhysand snatched the paper out of my hands. “The Gate of Athena Archegetis was dedicated to the patron goddess of Athens, Athena.”
My hand rushed to jot down what he said. The table vibrated from the ferocity with which I scribbled on my notebook. What I couldn’t crack in thirty minutes took Rhys all of two seconds to read out. Why our professor for that course didn’t allow laptops or tablets for note taking, I’ll never understand. I was just grateful I had something legible transcribed now.
“You can read that? It might as well have been written entirely in Latin,” I said.
“I’ve had practice reading my cousin's handwriting for years. I’d be disappointed if I couldn’t, at this point.” Rhysand chuckled. Passing the page, he eyed the notes, likely reviewing the contents from the course he’d taken himself the semester before.
“I, unfortunately, was blessed with my father’s handwriting.” I tugged at the sleeves of my V-neck indigo cardigan and shyly pointed at my hideous penmanship. It might as well have been written by a third-grader. It was practically childlike. There wasn’t much fixing that could be done at this point in my life when it came to my writing unless I signed up for a calligraphy course. And even then, life had no guarantees.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. An art major who couldn’t read or write a visual art form. Who could paint true-to-life full-body portraits, vivid illustrations of natural landscapes, and dramatic high-colored oil paintings but couldn’t read or write in cursive. I dropped my shoulders, frustrated with myself, and propped my legs up on the tufted dining chair pulling them against my chest with my arms wrapped around.
Rhys’s eyes were back on me. He had a way of reading me like a billboard sign, and I could tell he was trying to figure out what was going on through my mind, what today’s bold neon letters were. I was never sure how he did it but he always knew exactly what I was thinking. Which either meant my face was easy to read and I had the worst poker face of all time or…he just knew me.
“The ‘A’ in cursive is not a sharp letter. It’s more rounded and looks the exact same in both upper and lowercase. Similar to the way you’d write it in print,” he said.
There were several traits I admired about Rhys outside of his keen observations and nonchalant perspective on life. Like his level of empathy. I knew what his academic grades looked like but boy did I also want to know what his emotional quotient score was. Whatever it was, that score was certainly high. He never made anyone feel like their shortfalls were a hindrance. Nor would he want to. That wasn’t his style. Rather than point out my flaws and make me feel embarrassed, he read the notes aloud.
“The Greek language served as a lingua franca,” he continued.
“That last phrase was actual Latin,” he added. Rhys flipped through the pages of Mor’s notes. I could have asked him for his own from last semester since he’d been able to sign up on time. I, on the other hand, had been wait-listed. Hence why I was taking the course in the spring. It was one of the few classes we all needed to graduate as it was one of the general requirements for all offered degrees. I probably should have asked him for his notes since I could his penmanship but I’d been too caught up with Elain yesterday to even consider asking.
“Here’s another one, in vino veritas,” said Mor, raising two bottles of wine toward us. “In wine there is truth.”
“Amen,” said Cassian, lifting a third bottle.
“I thought you two went out grocery shopping,” said Rhysand. Laying the notes on the table, he crossed his arms eyeing the two figures by the door. The corner of Rhys’s mouth twitched as he raised an eyebrow at his cousin and roommate.
“We did. We brought back the essentials,” said Mor. Smiling back at her cousin, she winked at him before closing the door to the apartment with a kick of her red platform heels.
“Hmm,” Rhys hummed.
Bringing his eyes back to me, Rhysand continued reading off the notes while the other two flocked into the kitchen. I bit the inside of my lip as I followed along the soothing sound of his voice. His warm tone always calmed me when we studied together. Which was why I was his favorite audience member when he needed to practice his presentations. I’d listen attentively, the first time. I’d even provide feedback, the second time. But I’d almost always fall asleep to the sound of his enchanting mellifluous voice any other time after that.
“It’s wine night, Rhys. You know the rules,” said Mor from the other room. Every Friday was wine night, the one day of the week our friend group could get together with no interruptions or excuses. No one had an evening class on Fridays or a night shift so things worked out this semester. Most of the extracurriculars each of us participated in typically held events over the weekend so we’d truly lucked out with everyone’s schedules this time. It wasn’t something we were likely to have again so we were taking advantage of every Friday we had before some of us graduated.
Though, that was one of the rules. No talks about graduation. The point of wine night was to live in the moment and enjoy however many Fridays we had left as the “Inner Circle.” It was a silly name Cassian spewed one night after downing 3 bottles of wine, and it kind of stuck. We didn’t exactly call our group that but we did change our group chat name accordingly.
“You too, Feyre.” Mor’s voice echoed.
Another rule. No homework. That rule was more of a precaution so none of us would accidentally email professors the wrong file while inebriated. To be fair, I was only taking notes but we all tried to abide by the no homework rule as best as we could.
“Give me a few minutes, and I’m all yours,” I said.
“You’re telling me you’ve had all day to write those and you still haven’t?” asked Mor, her voice trailing from deeper in the apartment as she stepped from room to room. She had her apartment across town but, like me, she practically lived here too.
“Yeah, well…there have been some delays,” I said, fidgeting with my pencil. My face began to feel warm as blood rushed into my cheeks. Biting my lip, I kept my eyes down. I didn’t want to let Mor know that I hadn’t been able to write her notes because I couldn’t read her notes. Not that she would make fun of me for it but I knew that if I confessed the truth she’d barge me with questions. And I simply did not feel like answering any of that in front of everyone else. All I wanted was for something to distract her from prying right now. Just about anything would do. A pigeon flying in through the window. The fan in the living room mysteriously falling onto the table. A fire alarm. A knock on the door. Anything would do. Please.
“Weren’t there three of you when you left?” asked Rhysand.
I felt my body relax, and my shoulders dropped. I hadn’t realized the muscles down my back had tightened and tensed so firmly until my body loosened and eased back into the chair. My eyes lifted, meeting Rhysand’s whose amethyst orbs were right on me. He winked. The man knew I’d been on the brink of jumping out a window and needed assistance to divert the tall blonde in the kitchen and I loved him for it.
“Azriel!” said Cassian and Mor in unison. The sound of shoes running filled the kitchen accompanied by that of drawers shutting in a hurry, and the jingle of keys. The pair dashed around the apartment like parents who’d just forgotten their child at the supermarket, which was exactly what had happened. Somewhat.
A knock sounded at the door.
The four of us froze and exchanged glances. The only thought I had in my mind was of Azriel, hoping he hadn’t walked all the way back here. Mor took slow steady steps towards the entrance and when she reached the doorknob, she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, took a deep breath, and pressed her lips together. Ever so delicately, she turned the knob and pulled the door towards her.
"Today was not my best day. I dare say it didn't even make the top five," said Azriel. He had one hand reaching the top of the doorframe, leaning slightly. His handsome face held no clear emotion but his eyes. His cold eyes stared down at Mor, making her smaller than she was. Oh, he is pissed.
“You left something at the grocery store,” said Nesta, pushing past the brooding body. Her heels clicked as she waltzed into the room wearing a black satin sleeveless dress that hugged her in all the right places from her chest to her hips. The slit on the right side exposed her up to her mid-thigh with every step. Cassian’s eyes immediately caught the movement as they slid up her body, stopping once they met her eyes.
“I would never have left you, Nes,” said Cassian. He took a step toward her, almost challenging her gaze. She held it, eyed him up and down sizing him up, and spun to face the rest of the room. With her back to him, she placed a hand on her hip, blatantly ignoring the door-framed-sized man behind her.
Cassian stepped closer and slid his hands around her body, holding her closer. Nesta didn’t fight him. If I had blinked, I might have missed the slight shift of her body against him, leaning against his chest even closer. It was beyond anyone’s pay grade to understand where they stood in their relationship if it was even that. They’d been on and off for so long that their situationship was like the weather, something that had to be measured in every room.
“I despise you,” said Nesta, with a hint of a smile on the corner of her lips.
“Keep telling yourself that,” said Cassian.
“Are you headed out tonight, Nesta?” I asked.
“I only came to deliver the lost puppy,” said Nesta, taking a step forward and away from the figure wrapped around her. Cassian’s jaw ticked as she untangled herself from his embrace. “I’m headed out with the girls.”
Gwyn and Emerie, I thought. That’s who she almost always referred to. They’d been her closest friends since freshman year and they’d been inseparable from the moment they met. It was surprising that they hadn’t come up with her since they all lived together.
“Gwyn’s downstairs waiting for me, and Emerie is already in the car,” she said.
There it was.
“You should take better care of pretty things,” said Nesta, walking towards the door. Elegantly spinning, her eyes met Cassian’s from beneath the doorframe. Her fingers slipped up her thigh to her waist sensually, her eyes never breaking contact as she spoke. “Someone else might steal them.”
She closed the door on her way out, leaving the rest of us too stunned to speak.
“I’m gonna marry that woman,” said Cassian.
“Wine, anyone?” said Mor.
——
"I almost fist-fought you last night when you took the blanket," I said. Tugging on the dark blue throw-over, I pulled it over myself enough to cover my legs entirely as I sat criss crossed on the couch. The star-filled spread was dark and fluffy like Amren’s black Bombay cat. With three glasses of wine in me, if I closed my eyes and traced my hand down the blanket, I could almost picture Ruby on my lap. She was soft and cud—
A pull on the blanket brought my thoughts back.
“You snore. Loudly," said Rhys.
"I do not snore, you liar." I scoffed, tugging back on the blanket.
We’d both fallen asleep on his bed last night after an intense studying session. Although our schedules were no longer as identical as they’d been during freshman year, we still shared one or two courses every so often. Like this semester, we had Solar System Astronomy together. We’d stayed up late on the balcony of his apartment looking up at the constellations seeing how many we could name and then placing their locations on a star map.
With 88 constellations in the sky, as recognized by the International Astronomical Union, we’d been able to spot at least seven. Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Orion, Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Draco, and—my face was beginning to feel very warm.
"How did the blanket end up on the floor? No wonder I was freezing," said Rhys. He was leaning against the backrest of the couch, one hand on the armrest holding his glass of wine. Rhysand’s dark lilac eyes sparked with mischief. He was baiting me and I was definitely too inebriated to ignore his comments.
“How could you be freezing? You’re a freaking furnace!” I exclaimed.
“Then why’d you steal the blanket? I’m basically primed for cuddles.” Rhys’s other hand reached around me and tugged me towards him. I laughed against his chest, and let my body lean into him.
“Mother above, you two bicker like a married couple,” said Mor. She was leaning against the doorway leading to the balcony. With the door open, the cool breeze blew in, brushing her long golden hair past her shoulder. Her eyes darted between where Rhys and I sat on the couch and then shifted to something behind us. I was too focused on the elegant way she held her glass to glance away from her posture.
“It’s not bickering if I’m right.” I slapped Rhys against his chest playfully. His chest vibrated with a chuckle.
“Az, play that one song from the other night,” said Amren. With her wine glass inches from her lips in one hand, she pointed at Azriel with her other. There was a lot you learned about a person while under the influence. In Amren’s case, during the day, she was a short-tempered finance major student who ate boys and numbers for breakfast. There was no doubt that she’d be valedictorian of the College of Business Administration. She studied hard, but she also played hard.
“Thisssisss my jaaaaammm.” Amren’s words slurred. She raised one of her hands as if meaning to touch the ceiling lamp like a fly attracted to a zapper light. Swaying to the rhythm, Amren praised the white light above.
“Oh, she is gone,” said Mor, taking a sip of her wine.
All eyes were on Amren now as she led an interpretive dance to the beat of Dance the Night by Dua Lipa. Her choreography involved a lot of hands swaying in the air. While her claps to the music were slightly off-beat, she was giving it her all. She was the choreographer—the lead dancer. She was Barbie at the giant blow art party and the rest of us were just Ken.
“Here’s another piece of Latin for you, Feyre. Nemo saltat sobrius,” said Mor, nodding at Dance and Flex Barbie™.
“What?” I asked. Clumsily leaning forward, I propped one hand on Rhy’s thigh as I leaned closer to Mor in hopes I could read her lips over the music. I felt a hand steady me from behind.
“Nobody dances sober,” said Azriel.
“Unless you’re Azriel, then you don’t dance. At all,” said Cassian. The couch bounced as he threw his body on the empty spot on the other side of me. He smiled at Azriel, threw his hand over the sofa's backrest, and leaned back.
“I’ve definitely seen him dance,” said Rhys.
“No way. In his room?” Cassian chuckled.
I took this as an opportunity to make myself more comfortable, while they were distracted. Shifting my body, I leaned further into Rhys, the shape of his own welcoming me back to my spot. A soft giggle escaped my lips as Cassian grabbed my feet and placed them on his lap. Somehow my body had slid down Rhys’s and I was fully lying across the sofa on top of the boys. I was comfortable. So comfortable, I could fall asleep.
“At a party, actually,” said Rhys, his eyes glanced at Azriel while a small smile edged on his face.
“With a girl?” Cassian’s voice sounded surprised.
“With a girl.” Rhys nodded.
“No fucking way,” said Cassian. He couldn’t help but smile at Az, his mouth gaped.
I understood Cassian’s reaction, Azriel didn’t dance let alone run or jog for anything. He was an enigma; an unsolvable riddle. The man was calm, cool, and collected at all times. Always unfazed by things that would distress the common Joe. It was slightly unnerving. If someone spilled wine on the carpet, Azriel wouldn’t panic at the thought of a huge red stain on the rug. He’d walk into the kitchen, no questions asked, and come back with a dry cloth, dish soap, and hydrogen peroxide, and blot the patch until it made you doubt if anything had actually been spilled. Whereas Mor and I would have stared at the ink-stained rug and exchanged wide-eyed looks before quietly agreeing that the room could do better without a rug.
Azriel shrugged completely unbothered.
“With wh-
“I don’t kiss and tell,” said Azriel. Cold eyes stared back, silently telling Cassian to back off without any need for words.
“You’re just jealous he didn’t kiss you,” said Rhysand. He was trying to diffuse any rising tension. I could feel the sound of his voice vibrating across his chest. At some point, I’d given him my glass of wine or he’d taken it from me very smoothly. It would have been a disaster if I’d spilled it over the three of us on the sofa. I would have felt especially bad about it considering it was new. Their last one had moved on to a better place after Cassian put a hole in it from jumping on it during a karaoke session two months ago.
“Hell yeah, I am!” Cassian exclaimed.
Azriel raised an eyebrow, a lopsided grin on his lips. "Are we about to kiss right now?"
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” said Rhysand.
“Come here, you,” said Cassian. Throwing my legs off him, he jumped across the room embracing Azriel. The room filled with laughter at the show the two of them were putting on. Even through the loud ruckus, the short-tempered finance major was far too deep into her slumber to awaken. At some point, Amren had tucked herself into the armchair by the window and nodded off. She looked cozy and peaceful with her head lying on the armrest. We’d learned long ago that it was best to leave her alone when she dozed off. A lesson learned the hard way.
Through the open doors leading to the balcony, the sky was briefly illuminated with a bright light followed by a faint sound of thunder. I glanced at the digital clock beneath the TV sitting on the television stand. It was late and I needed to get home. There was still a buzzing feeling that tingled across my body from the earlier drinks but I didn’t live far. It was ten minutes max walking. Plus, if I left now, I could avoid the rain.
Sitting up, I scanned the room looking for my shoes. “I should get going,” I said.
“Let me call you a ride,” said Mor, already taking out her phone.
“Mor, I live within walking distance,” I said, gathering my shoes.
Azriel jumped in, “I barely drank. All I had was a sip earlier. I could give you a ri-
He didn’t finish his sentence as his eyes glanced toward the other side of the room at the sound of boots hitting the hardwood and the sofa shuffling. I didn’t think too much about it, not that I could in my current state. I was more focused on figuring out where I’d placed the key to my apartment.
“Do you want us to walk with you?” asked Mor.
Holding on to the wall, I hooked two fingers into one of my white platform Nike and pushed my foot into the shoe. Was it counterintuitive to own sneakers with shoelaces if I never had any intention of tying them? I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought as I did the same with my other shoe. It was unclear to me if I genuinely found the thought funny or if it was the alcohol coursing through me. Before I could respond to Mor’s question, I felt the close warmth of a tall figure standing near me.
“I’ll walk her,” said the familiar voice.
“Rhys-
“That wasn’t an offer, darling. That was me making a statement,” he said.
I sighed, looking up at him. It was late, and I didn’t feel like arguing knowing that it would delay my departure before the oncoming storm. Having someone walk you home wasn’t the end of the world. It was an act of the purest love. That someone cared about your well-being enough to ensure you’d made it home safely. That’s what I loved about my friends. The genuine love we all had for each other.
Sliding my baby blue nylon backpack over my shoulder, I double-checked I’d gathered everything. I went through my mental checklist. Phone, wallet, keys. Patting my pockets, I ensured I had them. I made sure to hug everyone goodbye before heading out. Well, everyone except Amren, who was ever so sweetly tucked in the armchair with a blanket twice her size. Likely one of Cassian’s massive blankets.
When I turned, Rhysand was already by the door holding it open for me. Slipping his hand over my shoulder, he grabbed my powder blue bag and placed it over his. With the motion, my white plush bear keychain swung against the two baby penguin pins on the cerulean fabric. My backpack had a very soft aesthetic that stood out when held by Rhys who was dressed in dark tones from head to toe. It didn’t fit his aesthetic. At all. I was about to object that I could carry my own bag but his voice interrupted my thoughts. “Don’t put the top lock on the door, I’ll be right back.”
As we headed out, the sky flashed again. The air felt cool against my skin and smelled like dew. It was a calming, fresh scent. It reminded me of potted flowers and succulents like the ones I had by the window in my room. The ones I always forgot to water but always survived, courtesy of one Elain Archeron. She knew I couldn’t keep anything alive, plant or fish, so she’d made sure to get me greenery that required minimal attention, which reminded me that I hadn’t watered them in a week. If it started pouring by the time I got home, I could stick them out the window and have them be watered au naturale.
I jumped at the sound of thunder and instinctively grabbed Rhys’s hand. His fingers wrapping around mine were warm and rough whereas mine were cold and soft. He squeezed my hand and held on to mine as we continued walking. “It caught me off guard.”
“Mmhm,” he said.
The wind picked up slightly as we headed down the illuminated path amongst the trees and apartment complex gardens that stretched across an open space. Rain was certainly on its way, it was just a matter of when. We likely had a couple of minutes before the downpour began. Thunder sounded all around us, and one, two droplets landed on my cheek. Damn. Other than being way off in my calculations, I’d also forgotten to borrow an umbrella before we left. There was no avoiding that we were going to be caught in this.
“I’m glad I grabbed this before we left,” said Rhys, opening an umbrella large enough to cover us both. At what point he’d grabbed the umbrella was beyond me. I stepped closer to him as he fumbled opening it. He gave it a slight jiggle with one hand that became more aggressive by the second as he attempted to push the sliding metal piece with his fingers. After about a minute, the section loosened up allowing for more movement. The issue now lay with the broken stretchers that were meant to hold the fabric.
“Who the hell leaves a broken umbrella in the umbrella stand?” said Rhys.
“Someone who forgot to throw it out?”
“That’s why trashcans exist,” he sighed. Rhys let go of my hand and continued fumbling with the umbrella trying to see if the pieces would lock into place. Thunder sounded above us and more drops of water began falling slowly picking up.
“If we pick up the pace, we can make it before it really hits,” said Rhys. His eyes surveyed mine and I could tell he was both disappointed and worried that he’d let me down somehow. But unless he was secretly in cahoots with Mother Nature, there was no way any of this could be his fault or something for him to blame himself for.
“I’m sorry about the weather,” said Rhys. The way he rubbed his neck and his brows drew together, I couldn’t bear the look of disappointment on his face for something out of his reach.
I shook my head and smiled up at him. “What are you sorry about? A broken umbrella that you had no idea was broken? The sky? Rhysand, unless you secretly own a weather machine, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Forget the umbrella.”
“In fact,” I continued, “I think this is an opportunity.”
I took my bag and the umbrella from his hands, chucked the latter in the nearest bin, and placed my bag on the ground.
“An opportunity?”
I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but I’d always wanted to dance in the rain like in movies and musicals. I felt bold and giddy at the idea of doing so now. All I could focus on was this tune from the third High School Musical installment. “Take my hand, take a breath.”
Standing in front of him, I stretched out my hand and offered it to Rhys. He looked puzzled but accepted my offer. “Pull me close, and take one step.”
“A song with instructions? I can follow that,” he said. A small smile formed on his lips.
“Keep your eyes locked on mine,” I continued.
His violet eyes twinkled beneath the moonlight and it almost looked like stars danced across his eyes as they softened, placing his other hand on my waist. He knew exactly what song I was referencing. After all, I’d made him watch it enough times with me. “And let the music be your guide.”
I nodded, cuing him to step with me. With his eyes wholly fixed on me, we slowly stepped into time, our shoes gently tapping against the pavement.
“Won't you promise me,” Rhys chimed.
Pulling me closer against his chest, Rhysand guided me across the makeshift dance floor—the walkway between the trees—with a step here and a half turn there. We were dancing through the gardens illuminated by the night sky and lamp posts down the pathway as we waltzed further in.
“Now won't you promise me, that you'll never forget.”
“We'll keep dancing,” added Rhys.
“To keep dancing.” A smile curved across my lips.
“Wherever we go next.” Our voices intertwined as we spun together, my hands held on to him tighter as the rain picked up. Swaying through the path of greenery, the scenery around us dissolved. It was just Rhys and I.
Thunder crashed above, and the true downpour began.
“It's like catching lightning the chances of finding someone like you,” we continued. I couldn’t help but smile brightly up at him as rain trailed down his face. The buzzing feeling from earlier that had coursed through my body now turned into a tingly feeling that reached from where Rhys was holding my hand—my fingers—to my chest. No, my body wasn’t buzzing, it was humming. We might have been dancing but I was floating in his embrace. I couldn’t look away from him.
With every lyric, raindrops painted our clothes a shade darker. My indigo cardigan was now inked navy as we swayed to the invisible music. My feet splashed against puddles, drenching my white shoes in rainwater. They’d likely be gray by the time I got home but that didn’t matter. As our feet shuffled across the pathway, the sky reflected itself over the water on the trail creating an illusion of stars beneath our feet. We were dancing among the stars.
We sang the rest of the song, never messing up the lyrics or missing a beat. We might have been recreating a moment by singing a song from one of my favorite films but this waltz was entirely made up by us. Rhys’s hand still grasping mine, spun me around as we brought the sound of the music in our chests to a slow end. His eyes were still on mine as we held our soaking bodies close. Was he always this beautiful?
I couldn’t help but marvel at his handsomeness and let an intrusive thought get the better of me as I ran my fingers across his cheek. He leaned into my warm touch, eyes softening. His eyes glanced from mine down to my lips. Please, I pleaded. I could feel my heart racing and my chest tightening at the thought of his lips on mine. Rhysand cleared his throat as his hands gently let go of mine, breaking the spell.
Taking a step back, he scanned me from head to toe and chuckled. “I bet we look like drowned rats to anyone looking out their windows.”
I shook my head, holding back a smile.
“I feel like one too,” I said. Looking down at my jeans, there was not a dry spot on them.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Had we just had a moment? I must have hallucinated it in the dark lighting. There was no way that Rhysand had looked like he’d wanted to kiss me two seconds ago. I wasn’t ignorant, I’d known Rhysand was objectively attractive. He had a strong jawline and he was fit from working out every week with Cassian and Azriel. He had nice cheekbones, luscious lashes, soft lips, and intelligent eyes. He was delightful to look at. He was…
Who was I kidding, he was handsome beyond compare. I just had never seen him in that way until now. Mother above, I was oblivious as they came. And I wished I could have blamed the alcohol for all of it—the way I was feeling, the thoughts I was having—but the truth was, I’d burned it out of my system with that dance.
‘We should get going,” said Rhys.
He grabbed my bag off the ground and we walked the rest of the way in awkward silence. I kept glancing sideways at him every so often. I’d definitely hallucinated that moment we’d had for a split second. The rest of the way to my place, I spent it looking at the ground contemplating while Rhysand stared at the stars as if searching for a cosmic answer.
By the time we made it to my place, we were full-on drenched. I was sure my hair looked like a wet mop attached to my head. I patted my pockets in search of the key and found it in the left back pocket of my jeans. They jingled in my hands as I fumbled looking for the right one.
“I hope you’re not planning to walk back in this. At least let me offer you a towel.” I glanced sideways as I turned the key.
He didn’t argue. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He’d stayed quiet and simply nodded as I led him in. With Viviane at her boyfriend’s for the weekend, there was no one home. All the lights were off as we walked in. I flipped the light switches as we stepped through the place in search of something dry. In the hallway closet, I found some towels for us. Meanwhile, I could hear Rhys in the kitchen opening and closing the cabinets.
As I turned the corner, I could see him pulling out two teabags from a box before his head turned in my direction. "I'll put the kettle on."
"So sweet of you, you're an angel," I said.
On top of being handsome, he was very thoughtful. Was I really falling for my best friend? I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked on him as he turned on the stove and prepared tea for us. I bit my lower lip and turned towards the dryer that was hidden behind a sliding door. Neither of us was shivering or in any danger of getting frostbite, but a warm towel would certainly go well with tea. After a few minutes, the machine beeped just as the kettle began hissing. I pulled both towels out of the dryer and practically moaned at the warm touch against my skin.
“Would you like a dry towel?” I offered.
“You don’t want my wet handkerchief to dry your wet face?” He glanced sideways at me as he poured water into each cup with a smirk painted across his face.
I giggled and walked further into the kitchen. As soon as he placed the kettle back on the stove, I threw a towel over my shoulder and placed the other one on his head as he turned around to face me. I ran the towel over his head, drying his hair before sliding it over his shoulders and wrapping it around his body.
I looked up at him. “My hair is soaked, Rhys.”
The clothes we were wearing could have easily squeezed out two gallons of water. I could have probably fed my succulents with the amount of liquids soaked into our outfits. If I could have thrown myself in the dryer too, I would have knocked out two birds with one stone.
Standing in front of me, wrapped around in my towel, he looked adorable. Rhys’s eyes met mine and I could have sworn time stopped. All I could do was stare up at him. Oh gosh, was I staring? I blinked rapidly and dropped my gaze.
“You still look beautiful,” he said.
I felt my heart stop and my breath hitch. My hands stilled on his body still holding on to the light blue towel. Did he mean it in a friendly way? I glanced back up. His eyes peered down at me searching for something in mine. My lips parted as if to speak but I wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, I closed my mouth and swallowed.
“Feyre.”
The way he said my name made my heart skip. He took a step, closing the gap between us. My name sounded low like a prayer on his lips. If he was praying, then I wanted to bless him but I needed a sign. I wanted a clear sign that he wasn’t just whispering my name in an empty apartment for no reason.
“Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?” I half whispered.
His eyes glanced from my eyes to my mouth and back in a triangle manner. A small smile painted itself across his lips like a prayer answered. “You caught that.”
It wasn’t a question, he was making a statement.
“I wanted to be sure your head was clear when I kissed you,” said Rhysand.
“Rhys?”
“Yes?”
A pause.
“My head’s clear now,” I said.
Rhysand's head slowly leaned forward, stopping inches from my face, giving me time to take a step back if I wanted to back out. I didn’t. I wanted—needed, to know what his lips felt like on mine. If they were truly as soft as they looked. His fingers titled my chin up and kissed me. Gods, his kiss was more than soft, it was life-changing. His lips were gentle against mine, so sweet and delicately slow like he’d been waiting an eternity for this moment and now that he had it, now that the moment had arrived he wanted to savor it. If I’d been floating earlier when I danced with him beneath the rain, then I was soaring above the clouds and beyond the moon now.
His hands cupped my face as mine slid into his hair, pulling him closer by the neck. Neither one of us parted to take a breath. I could tell this wasn’t just any kiss, this was the kiss. The one that would change our lives—my life—forever. The kiss I’d compare any other to. I could feel his chest against mine as our legs brushed against each other. Rhysand's hands slowly slid down my shoulders and arms and made their way down and around my waist. We pulled each other closer, our bodies seeking contact where they could as we continued wrapping ourselves against each other. We were two colliding stars, bursting with sparks and ever-changing hues.
After what felt like forever, I pulled back slightly, eyes closed. Blood had rushed into my cheeks, and there was no doubt that the heat against my flushed face had painted them rosy. I could feel his head leaning against mine, both of us breathless. Mother above, I truly was oblivious to everything. That definitely wasn’t a friend kiss. That was an I-want-to-be-more-than-friends kiss.
Rhysand’s hand came up against my face tucking strands of semi-wet hair behind my ear. It felt like he was looking at me for the first time or trying to memorize every freckle on my face. A beat passed and he broke the silence. “I think I’m falling in love with you. I think I have been for a while.”
My heart skipped at those words—at his confession. My mouth gaped. There were no words. I wasn’t sure what to say. All I could focus on was the rising and beating in my chest as I focused on taking the next breath. Had this really just happened? Had we truly just kissed? Did he just say that he—
“I’m hoping you didn’t just kiss me to then break my heart, Feyre, darling.” He cupped my face as he spoke the last two words.
“I never knew you liked me,” I said, stumbling on the words.
“Now you do. And correction, I said I love you.” The corners of Rhysand’s mouth turned up. I couldn’t help the way my eyes widened in disbelief. He’d said the words again.
“You love me?”
Rhys chuckled as he shook his head. He lifted my head with a hand beneath my chin as if inspecting me. “Did you hit yourself with the dryer door? Do I need to kiss you again? Or maybe hold your hand as we walk through a storm? Or dance in the rain while quoting your favorite movie?”
He loved me. He loved me, and he not only meant it with the words he’d spoken, but Rhys had demonstrated and proved time and time again that he truly meant it, body and soul. A man who could talk the talk and walk the walk. Dare I say, he was a man after my own heart.
“If you let me, I promise I’ll spend every day making sure you never doubt how worthy of love you are,” said Rhys. The back of his hand caressed my cheek.
“I’ll do anything with you, Rhys. As long as it’s you,” I said.
His lips met mine again, this time with more passion and intensity. Wrapping my hands around his neck once more, I felt the towel slide off his shoulders and plop to the ground. Rhys's hands traveled around my hips, to the back of my thighs before he lifted me into his arms. Instinctually, I wrapped my legs around him and deepened our kiss. I wanted him closer. I wanted his body against mine without the barriers of our wet clothes.
As if he’d read my thoughts, I could feel us moving down the hallway to my room. Every kiss turned deeper than the last and I knew I couldn’t deny myself the truth. I was completely and utterly in love with him. And I was a fool for not noticing before that maybe I had loved him longer than my body knew. Longer than I truly knew. He was my safe space, my person, my best friend. He was everything I could want in a man. He was everything. Rhys was everything.
Gently laying me against my bed, he pulled back slightly to look down at me. His eyes were like lilac-blue stars glistening against the moonlight as he marveled at me. It was almost like he couldn’t believe that this was real. I placed my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb. His lips smiled against my warm touch.
“I can’t stop smiling when I look at you,” said Rhys.
He gazed at me like a painter setting eyes on their muse. Like he’d been seeking inspiration his entire life and now he’d found it. Rhys shook his head in disbelief. “How did this happen?”
The question wasn’t for me to answer, it was rhetorical. He was speaking his thoughts aloud as if waiting for a cosmic answer to shine through the window. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Feyre.
“When I wake up, when I’m about to fall asleep, even in my dreams I can never stop thinking of you. When you’re not with me, it feels like something is missing. And, gosh, I hate poetry, but when I think of you…I can’t help but imagine that this is what the greats write about. This feeling. It’s like poets are reciting their writings in my head.”
I could feel the corners of my eyes becoming damp. I could spend the rest of this night in his arms simply admiring him. His honest eyes were full of more unspoken words of love. I could feel the wetness of my clothes seeping into the blanket below but I didn’t care. I thumbed his lips, his Apollo’s arched bow, memorizing this moment. I could feel my shaky voice escaping me as I spoke.
“All these years, I thought we were just friends, and I was okay with that…but now I realize that maybe I’ve felt like this for a while about you. That I’ve loved you without knowing that this is what it was.”
“You love me?” A smile spread across his lips.
“Did you hit yourself with the door coming in? Or do I need to kiss you again?” I mimicked his earlier question.
He gently rubbed his nose against mine, his lips inches from my own.
“Kiss me again,” he whispered.
I moaned against his lips this time. I wanted him to hold me, to touch me, to kiss me, to say my name. I wanted everything and more. We tugged against wet clothes, which were much harder to take off thanks to their added weight. They stuck to our bodies and made it difficult to slide out of them. But we didn’t care. We kissed and laughed our way out of the heavy wet clothing until we were skin to skin. Until we were finally warm in each other's embrace. And for the first time in a while, I prayed.
Rhys.
I prayed the rest of the night as his body melded against mine, pulling prayer after prayer from my lips. His name, the only one I wanted to whisper against the moonlight shining through my window. It was only our names echoing from the other’s lips against soft I love yous with every touch and shift against hips. We were dancing like stars in the night sky, and holding on to each other as if we’d collided into one. Our whispers and sighs grew more uneven. He was my gravity, my center, and I was his. With Rhys’s eyes on mine and a final waltz around the universe, I felt my world burst like a nuclear fission. Like a star reaching its last evolutionary stage.
Rhys kissed me again, softer this time, and wrapped me in his arms as we lay beneath the comfort of warm blankets, tangled in each other. Pulling me against his chest, he whispered. "Did you know that rainy day cuddles are two times more effective than sunny day cuddles?"
“Don’t you have to tell Cas to lock the door for you,” I said.
“That can wait,” said Rhys, kissing the top of my head.
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