#feysand fic
Text
feysand vs spider
a little bit of fluff for this valentines day 💜
thank you for being my valentines for these past seven years and sticking by me during my random ass absences. 💜
You began the nice walk home from Ritas, you and Azriel had gone out to get him laid. Well to hang out but you had an ulterior motive for the evening. You knew there was a shadow trailing you home because you declined Azriel to walk (or fly) you there. You enjoyed the night time breeze. But he wouldn’t let you walk home without something even though he knew you could protect yourself. You were married to the literal rulers of the court, you knew damn well how to protect yourself.
You got to the house, Feyre and Rhysand left the porchlight on for you. When you got to the door and walked in, you turned to the shadow trailing you.
“Thank you.” You smiled sweetly and let the shadow twirl around your fingers before it took off to its master.
You loved those things, they were just so cool.
You took off your coat and shoes and that’s when you heard it.
Your mates screamed from the bedroom, and it wasn’t out of pleasure, you quickly ran through the house.
Can't be Nyx, he’s away at Nesta and Cassians was the first thought that went through your head. At least your son was okay. You would’ve heard if he wasn't by now.
You barged into the bedroom and found your husband and wife snuggled into bed, well snuggled would be the word you used if they didn’t look so terrified.
“What is it?” You asked, looking around with your dagger drawn. Yes, you went out to the club with a knife strapped to your thigh, so sue you.
“Love, do not freak out.” Rhysand babbled, “It’s behind you!”
You spun, brandishing your dagger when all you saw was a blank wall behind the door.
“What?” You spun back around, looking at them with confusion.
“The spider!” Feyre shouted.
You turned back around slower in utter confusion (but love and support for your scaredy cat spouses) and that’s when you saw it.
A tiny, fuzzy black spider that isn’t bigger than a coin. You smiled, “this is it?”
“Don’t mock us.”
“She’s not mocking us, darling.” Rhysand, ever the sweetheart, began defending you.
“Oh I am.” You admitted. Then you leaned down and used your hand to pick up the spider. It was very tiny, and yeah it’s a creepy little thing but your spouses were babies.
“Open the window, Rhys.” He did so without question. Both of them looking at you with eyes wide, full of fear and amazement.
You tossed the little guy out the window.
You reached to crawl onto the bed to kiss them, when Feyre shoved you away with her foot. “No! Go wash your hands, heathen!”
You rolled your eyes but got up nonetheless and went to the en-suite bathroom to wash them. While you were in there you changed from your dress into Rhysands shirt and Feyre’s sleep shorts.
You came back out to see Rhysand smiling sweetly and Feyre was giving you a scowl. You leaned over and kissed her pouty lips. “I took care of it didn’t I?”
“I know you well enough to know you were mocking us.”
“Me? Never.” You gasped. She rolled her eyes but kissed you again. “Now scoot, I wanna go to bed.”
She scooted over and Rhysand reached over to give you a kiss, “goodnight, love.”
“Goodnight.”
You fell asleep with all of your arms wrapped around each other, even though you’re going to wake up to someone hitting you in the face in the middle of the night, you couldn’t be happier.
#acotar#acofas#acowar#acomaf#feysand#feyre archeron#feyre x rhysand#feysand x reader#feysand fluff#acotar fluff#acotar fanfic#feysand fic#feyre x reader#rhysand x reader
114 notes
·
View notes
Note
2 and 5 with feyre x rhys x reader please :)
ask and you shall receive, my love!
it's just fluff with some sexual overtones. might do a part 2 of the smut? its also totally unedited so be kind to me.
synopsis: When Feyre and Rhysand invite you to Starfall you bring an unexpected date. When he doesn't get the warm welcome you had hoped for you find that the High Lord and Lady had something else in mind for you.
The sky is saturated in the colors of dusk, streaks of lavender, amethyst and rose that melt into the darkness of the rapidly approaching night. Silver starlight lines the dark horizon like unshed tears and the night sky glitters in response-- it seems almost sentient as the first stars begin to fall.
The music from the party drifts down into the lower levels of the house, casting it in a lyrical calm that feels almost hypnotizing as you continue your ascent to the roof.
In the mirror you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection and for a moment you feel as though you are seeing outside yourself. The woman staring back at you looks strange, somehow unlike yourself. Long gone are the simple black dresses you usually wear. In their place, an exquisite sapphire gown that looks like liquid sky; indigo tulle that melts into the sheer overskirt, embroidered with pearls and diamonds that frame the silk bodice.
“You look lovely,” A voice says, cutting through the silence and you meet steely eyes in the reflection.
“Thank you, Edric.” you say pleasantly, making a considerable effort to smile at him as his eyes meet yours again.
It’s not that Edric was unpleasant by any means-- he’s kind enough and rather keen. But the whole thing is rather complicated.
“There you are, love,” Rhysand’s voice is like velvet night as he approaches.
And therein lies the complication.
He’s dressed in a midnight black suit, -- you imagine his suit jacket had since been shed as he comes into full view-- and a silk shirt, half unbuttoned baring his muscled chest to the balmy air.
You send him a shy smile as you begin your ascent up the stairs with Edric trailing behind you dutifully.
Rhysand’s lean figure looms like a taunt at the top of the staircase as his violet gaze falls on you again, before acknowledging the male behind you.
“And I see you brought company,” he says tersely.
Edric pushes past you lightly to offer his outstretched hand to The High Lord but Rhysand simply turns on his heel and retreats to the rooftop.
You smile reassuringly at Edric who stands stunned and crestfallen on the landing. You place a comforting hand on his shoulder muttering your apology before following Rhysand out into the open air.
The rooftop of The House of Wind is adorned and decorated beautifully for the occasion. String lights hung with care and garlands of moonflowers and jasmine shading the air with their delicate fragrance.
As you approach the group you introduce your date to your friends.
“Lovely to meet you.” Mor says pleasantly casting a glance over her shoulder to the High Lord and Lady who are loitering by the balcony.
Edric mutters his greetings in returns and takes a swig of his wine.
“Yeah, it’s about time this one got some action.” Cassian jests affectionately, pulling you into a sidelong hug and you turn away embarrassed.
You’re about to apologize to Edric for Cassian’s behavior when something draws you attention.
The High-Lady smells like lilacs and pears as she approaches you. She doesn’t hesitate as she wraps you in her embrace, pacing a chaste kiss to your temple in greeting.
Feyre is dressed in a lavender silk gown adorned with crystals; she looks like the embodiment of the sky at dusk as she steps back from you. Framed by the dark horizon and the falling stars.
“You look beautiful.” You say softly to her and the crease in her forehead smooths and her face softens again.
All the air is taken from you then when she retreats into her Mates arms, her cool gaze still on you. There is something dark and promising in her stormy eyes as she moves from you to the stranger drinking with Cassian.
“Who is that?,” She asks, turning to Rhys for a moment in silent conversation.
Your tongue feels foreign in your mouth and for some reason the words are sticky on your tongue. Before you can embarrass yourself further Edric’s voice cuts through the silence.
“I’m Edric, High Lady,” He says enthusiastically, holding out a trembling hand for her to take.
Feyre eyes him momentarily and takes his hand firmly offering one tense shake before dropping it again and tearing her gaze from him.
“Feyre darling, It appears love has a date.” Rhysand muses lightly, pulling Feyre tighter into his embrace.
“A date.” Feyre repeats firmly and you nod lightly as she regards you again. Her face once soft and youthful hardens and her eyes darken.
A strange feeling of anxiety and shame washes over you as Rhysand and Feyre resume their silent conversation and you swear you feel the ground tremble beneath you as a wave of power ripples through the air.
Cassian’s voice pulls you back to reality when he shouts “It’s starting.!”
The sky glitters and shimmers a brilliant mosaic of technicolor light as the stars bleed across the sky in droves-- a silver celestial army.
All the tension in the air dissolves into joy as the silver streaks paint the sky. You notice how the group seems to spilt off into pairs as the romantic and celebratory atmosphere takes hold as the hours draw on and the sky grows darkner.
Cassian and Nesta are both pressed against the railings, his large hand on the small of her back and her head on his shoulder as they sink into their own world. Mor, Amren and Varian are gathered round the firepit sharing a bottle of wine as the starlight rains down on them. You notice how Amren seems at home in the silvery light of the moon.
The weight of Edric shifts as he approaches and you feel his cautious hand holding yours. You turn to him and find him looking at you already. His face is painted in awe and before you can protest he presses his lips to yours.
The kiss itself is not entirely unwelcome. Though nor is it something you embrace.
It’s aloof, apathetic almost as your lips move over his.
Perhaps it is cruel to use him like this-- knowing that he is only a means to an end. A distraction to tear your mind from the true objects of your desire.
Edric kisses you with a carefully attentiveness and as his tongue moves over yours you find you mind drifting somewhere far away.
You abandon yourself to the thought of you High-Lady and her Mate-- how her lips would feel against your own, how his hands feel in the cradle of your hips-- and how she would taste.
Edric pulls and smiles lightly, wrapping you loosely in his arms and you find yourself retreating back into your daydream as his hand falls to your hip.
It’s wrong; that much you understand.
How woefully and terribly wrong it is. To have fallen so irrevocably for a mated pair. Your High Lord and Lady-- to make matters more unbearably sordid.
Shame creeps up on you like hunger and settles in your bones.
Your cheeks are warm and rosy. Shaded the colour of a spring bloom as your eyes find them in the crowd.
What you find is a storm of violet and gray.
They’re both already looking at you so intently that you think you might break apart in Edric’s arms and like the stars themselves become nought but dust and light.
Rhysand looks between you and his beautiful mate with a calculated ease and offers you a curt nod and a false smile, which you return easily-- though more genuine than anything he offers you.
Feyre, however, can’t seem to bring herself to offer you any sort of pleasantry as she visibly grimaces before turning her back on you.
Disappointment blooms in you followed by anger. What could cause them to be so hot and cold with you tonight? You think perhaps jealousy but the thought itself is comical and you brush it off.
Perhaps they fear they might be losing you to Edric. You’d never invited any of your previous bedfellows to family gatherings. Maybe that is why Edric received such a frosty welcome.
You sigh to yourself, leaning into Edric’s touch. Searching for some semblance of comfort.
Though you find none when you turn to see that Rhysand and Feyre have fled to their private rooms and you are left cold and alone.
The rest of the night passes in a misty haze as the drink takes hold of you, offering you what no one else can. Solace in your solitude.
The morning comes swiftly and you awake as you had slept, cold and alone. The vacancy of your bed is like a ghost that haunts your waking moments-- a tangible reminder of your true loneliness.
The sounds of your friends beyond your door are loud enough to rouse you to wake as they all gather in the dining room for breakfast.
You’re still wearing last night’s make-up when you emerge from the darkness of your room and into the pale morning light. You’re dressed in a stolen sweater and simple pants as you pad barefoot into the room where everyone is already gathered around the long table.
“Morning,” You say groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you take your seat between Feyre and Azriel.
Azriel offers you a quiet greeting though Feyre appears deep in thought and hardly acknowledges you as you sit down to eat.
Despite the hangover breakfast is pleasant and everyone falls into easy conversation. Though Feyre hardly seems to engage with you outside of polite conversation despite trying to lighten her dour mood.
You cast Rhysand a questioning glace to which he speaks gently into your mind.
She’s okay, love. Only a little sour. Rhysand’s voice is smooth and honeyed as he tries to make light of his mate’s foul mood. Though you note the concern in his eyes as he regards her again.
Breakfast comes and goes and Feyre excuses herself to the kitchen while everyone else goes about their business.
Her silence doesn’t sit well with you and there’s this feeling-- a dull agony in your chest when you think of the possible cause of her pain.
You debate following Azriel to the library and leaving Feyre to Rhys-- he is her mate after all. But the thought of her face, brow furrowed, the deep sulk of her lip and the milky glaze in her eyes has you marching into the kitchen after her.
You find her gazing out of the window with a dirty dish in hand as she half-heartedly scrubs it.
“Fey, is everything alright?” you ask gently, approaching her and offering a comforting hand on her strong shoulder.
Feyre turns to you quickly and her eyes once dark often a little before she stands straighter as you approach her.
“I’m fine,” She says slowly, trying her hardest to smile through gritted teeth.
You cast her a dubious look. Not entirely convinced. Even when she pushes away from the counter top to meet you at the kitchen island.
“Fey-- you’re obviously not fine at all.” You say softly, taking her hand in yours. When she doesn’t pull away you take it as a good sign.
“I am fine.” Feyre laughs bitterly.
She’s obviously not fine. Rhysand speaks into your mind, mildly amused as you recoil in surprise when you find him slumped lazily against the doorframe with a hand in his pocket.
“You’re mad.” You turn to Feyre, knitting your brows together in confusion as realization begins to hit you. “Why are you mad?” you plead with her.
Feyre is silent and you turn to Rhys for some gentle coaxing but all he does is smirk and leave you to fend for yourself.
“I’m not mad,” Feyre says emphatically, her eyes a blue storm as they bore into your own.
She is so beautiful when she’s mad.
“Please, Feyre,” You implore her, taking her hands once again in yours, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles as you feel your bottom lip begin to wobble with anxiety, “tell me what I did.”
“I’m not mad,” Her face softens immediately and her eyes clear to a classy cobalt as she brings your hand to her lips now and kisses featherlight. “I just-”
The words die in her throat.
You feel Rhysand’s magnetic presence behind you and he approaches with caution as his mate looks at you again. Her eyes are full of hope and something akin to reverence.
“You just what, Feyre darling?” Rhys asks coaxingly giving her a soft encouraging smile and a comforting hand on her hip.
“I just think you can choose better people to kiss.”
Any breath that might have had is long gone as the words leave her mouth and you can’t help but smile at the realization that blooms in your chest.
She was jealous.
A ripple of dark power, light shaded night, rises and swells like a wave on the Sidra as Rhysand kisses the side of her face and smiles.
They both were.
You gather your wits and regard the pair as they turn their gaze upon you again waiting for your reply.
“And who is better?” You muse lightly, head still spinning as you let your rapidly beating heart flutter to a plateau.
“Me.”
It’s all she says before breaking free from her mate's tender embrace and striding over to you. Her body collides with yours with such passion and fervor that it feels almost fated-- all most cataclysmic.
And when her lips meet yours in a spell-binding, earth-shattering kiss you all but whine into her mouth. “Oh, fuck. Do that again.” It’s Rhysand who speaks, voice hoarse and low as you feel his hand carding through your hair at the base of your skull as you expose your throat to his High Lady.
#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar x reader#feyre x rhysand#feyre x reader#rhysand x feyre#rhysand x reader#feysand fic#feysand x reader#poly!feysand x reader
342 notes
·
View notes
Note
LB my dear dear! I have devoured all yours and MB's ao3 works till date ❤️🤌 and I am feeling pathetically ravenous for more 🫠. Although my question is- since I have seen people asking you for suggestions as to which blog and which writer to look to for more feysand/elucien content I would like to request the same only and only if you are comfortable and have the time for this pressing request. And thank you even if you couldn't for some reason im only scared since you are busy and wouldnt want to burden you with such an exigent task. . I'm sorry to bother you That would be it 🥺 👉👈
You want blog suggestions for Elucien/Feysand authors? And you think you're bothering me??? Anon, this happens to be my exact area of exertise and there is nothing love more than hyping up my friends!
To kick us off my lovely friend @velidewrites is an extraordinarily talented writer and artist, and also just an all-around ray of sunshine whose blog I cannot recommend enough.
There's also @writtenonreceipts who's every work is literal potery. Pick any of her stroies and you will come undone.
@belabellissima has a beautiful Feysand/Elucien series called the State of Grace and is also one of my favorite people 🥺💝
@azrielshadowssing also regularly feeds us with delciioiusly sinful Feysand and Elucien stories 🥰 hehehe definitely read the tags though!
Among a host of other incredible fics, @damedechance has an onlyfans series that will make you feral - Playgirl (Elucien) and darling.exe (Feysand) 👀👀 Come back to me once you finish losing your mind
@xtaketwox and @itsthedoodle come as Feysand/Elucien pair hehe. @xtaketwox has treated us to lots of goodies, but I wanted to highlight her modern soulmate AU which has a dedicated work for Feysand, Elucien, and Nessian! @itsthedoodle has written so many beautiful feysand oneshots and is the sweetest, most unhinged person you'll ever have the pleasure of knowing.
@asnowfern is so talented and writes for a lot of different pairings, including Feysand and Elucien! Right now she's working on a stunning Feysand AU inspired by a chinese legend called Till Forever Falls Apart
if you're a fan of next-gen, @areyoudreaminof has lots of adorable fics and headcanons centering around Elucien and Feysand as parents!
@witch-and-her-witcher again writes for many couples, including Feysand and Elucien! She recently wrote a Feysand and Nyx oneshot, The Little Tiger, that completely fractured my heart and put it back together.
@thegloweringcastle is another extremely talented writer who has a wealth of feysand and elucien fics! One I really love is the The Law of the Land which is a Feysand western AU with background Elucien 🤠
@darling-archeron has been in this fandom since 2016 and in that time has blessed us with so much wonderful Feysand and Elucien content!! (One day you really need to sit us all down and tell us the fandom lore we all missed out on from the acomaf/acowar releases 👀)
@iambutmortal has a lot of delicious Feysand and Elucien stories! For Elucienweek last year she wrote a really addicting story called The Honeymooners
@labellefleur-sauvage has written so many incredible Elucien fics! As well as a very delicious monster!Feyre fic called Meet Me In the Woods hehehe 👀
@foundress0fnothing always blows me away with her writing. For Elucienweek last year she wrote an Elucien sex cult fic titled Both Forever and Rather Die that lives in my head rent free.
@howlingcaptaincommando is working on a really amazing pirate AU, Never Shall I Die, centering around Elucien, Nessian, and Feysand!
@vulpes-fennec has so many lovely stories, including her Prythian Fantasia WIP which centers on the Archeron sisters and their mates 😍
@popjunkie42 has yet to dip her toes into writing Elucien but maybe one day we can convince her 👀👀 That said she has so many amazing Feysand works such as Hate Me Instead and her current WIP Blossoming In Winter.
Likewise my dearest friend @wilde-knight has only written Elucien and Nessian, but I can't recommend her works and blog enough!! She's working on an amazing Princess Bride AU called Burnished Gold
@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship is a die-hard Feysand, Elucien, Gwynriel, and Nessian! Currently they're working on a Feysand fic Five Minutes to Midnight which also features background Elucien!
@octobers-veryown creates so many wonderful moodboards for variuos ships and characters! I cannot recommend following them enough💕
And finally @rosanna-writer, @reverie-tales, @thesistersarcheron, and @starfall-spirit are my multishipping queens 🥰 On their blogs you'll find wonderful content for Feysand, Elriel, Elucien, and other ships as well!
#Oh god if I'm missing someone I'm so sorry#I got distracted so many times while making this#And now I'm just ready to yeet this task into the sun lmaooo#fic recs#elucien fic#feysand fic#elucien#feysand
103 notes
·
View notes
Text
My gwynriquin offering is nonexistent in no shape to post yet, but my intended Secrets offering works for today as well.
@polyacotarweek Day 1: Beginnings
I like to pretend something came out of the line, "As High Lady, you are mine." This is part one. Still SFW. Part two will be NSFW. Enjoy!
Read on Ao3
As High Lady, you are mine.
Feyre couldn’t get that damn declaration out of her head. Sure her dear friend and training partner had listed every member of the inner circle as loyal people that would come to her defense, but had the second half of his statement been plaguing her thoughts for the past two weeks? Was the second half of his statement making her fearful to drop her mental shields around her own mate?
No.
Cauldron, what she’d give to forget the words he’d so casually thrown that morning. To go back to seeing him as a big brother figure and not an attractive male fueling… curiosities.
“He was frustrated with us,” she muttered to herself. “That’s all.”
“Who?”
She jumped from her seat at her desk as Rhys strolled into the office they now shared. “Rhys. I thought you’d still be out training.” The clock behind her chimed noon. Perhaps she’d just lost track of time, as Rhys was clearly bathed and changed out of his training leathers.
“Az and I finished some time ago. And you’re dodging my question.” Gliding over to the desk, he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her into a tender kiss that only fed her guilt. “If something’s bothering you, I’m always here to lend an ear. Is it something that happened in Spring? A nightmare returning?”
“I’m fine. Nothing like that, I promise.”
He gave a soft hum, sinking into the desk chair and tugging her into his lap. “Alright then. Can I ask one more question?” She nodded, wrapping her arms behind his neck and around his waist. “Cassian says you’ve been a bit distracted lately. Distancing yourself during training. I’ve noticed as much at dinner as well. He fears he’s upset you somehow.” She grimaced, turning her head. “There it is. Care to share your troubles?”
How was she supposed to say this without doing any damage?
“If you’ve had a petty argument, the bonds in our circle run deeper than that.”
Feyre flinched. As careful as she’d been with her shielding, he’d found a crack to snake past. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered. But this secret couldn’t be kept forever. Not without weighing her down. Rhys said nothing, silent and patient, one hand stroking up and down her spine as she carefully structured her confession. “Our bond is mere months old. I want to say up front, I don’t expect anything to change or open.”
He raised a brow. “To open?”
“He said something the other day,” she began again, desperately wishing she could hide her face as she confessed her horrid desire. “It was something in his tone. His phrasing. Gods, you’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
Rhys wasn’t an idiot. She knew she’d given him enough crumbs by now to pick up on what had been bothering her. Humiliated, she buried her face in her hands, trying to find the words that would inflict the least damage.
That is until she felt a silent vibration against her shoulder and all brain function came to a sudden halt. Her mate was laughing at her. Daring to raise her eyes, she found an infuriating smirk on his face. “You aren’t upset with me?”
“For finding Cassian attractive? Hardly.” His smirk shifted to a more thoughtful expression, the hand rubbing her back spider-walking up her spine to summon a soft shutter. “I’ll admit, with the bond being so new I do find myself feeling a bit possessive. Very possessive,” he amended as she gave him the look. “Glare all you like, darling. We both know you don’t mind it as much as you pretend to. As short a time as we’ve been bonded, I know what it does to you when a male calls you his.”
“How did you…”
“You’ve been exceptional, solidifying and holding your shields. But no one’s perfect, my love.” Feyre groaned, the sound soft, but expressing utter mortification. “Not to mention I got a nearly identical lecture the day Cassian was well enough to stand on his own and yell at me for not dragging you home from Spring. When there’s physical attraction and emotional connections mingling, there’s only so long you can pretend it’s something platonic.”
“There’s no way you’re just… accepting this.”
“It doesn’t thrill me, considering the fresh bond, but it doesn’t plant any doubts about the two of us or my relationship with Cassian. The question now is how interested you are in exploring this. Do you want to approach him about it?”
Feyre thought a moment, reading into the tension in the set of his shoulders, the slight change in his breathing, the set of his jaw. He’d put his feelings aside for her, as he always had, but he was not prepared to open their relationship in any way yet, and truly assessing her own feelings, with her confession behind her, neither was she. “No, Rhys. Not yet.”
~~~~~
Several weeks later, Feyre was struggling to stay true to her denial. The problem, Cassian had volunteered to substitute for Azriel in her flight training, as the spymaster was outside of the city for the next two days. To put it simply, while she had improved several required skills in flight maneuvering and wasn’t constantly plummeting into the lake, she still needed correction on multiple points in her form and technique.
While Az had taken a verbal approach to providing pointers, Cassian appeared to be a bit more hands on. He asked for her consent, of course. Illyrians were taught not to touch others’ wings without permission from an early age. But with that permission she became hyper-aware of every little adjustment and guiding touch to her wings, conscious of the heat of his body behind her.
She’d grown used to the close proximity of their daily physical training and fit into it easily enough. Her attraction to him hadn’t changed anything on that front, once her guilt had faded. But this wasn’t the short and sharp impact of a fist or a brief moment being pinned to the mat—though the latter could be hard to brush off at times. This was downright intimate.
His thumb graze the ridge of one of the more delicate bones, prominent from the back of her wings, finally fracturing her resistance. “I think…” She cleared her throat. “I think this should be the last attempt today. Like you said a minute ago, the winds are picking up and I have a lot to catch up on. The official things, I mean.”
He quirked a brow. “Official things?”
“Court things. With Rhys. In our office. You know, official things.”
His eyes narrowed for a moment, but he nodded when she held her position. “Of course. One last try, like you said. And remember what I told you about the updraft coming in.” She nodded, but was still thrown off, wings angled in a way that did the exact opposite of what she was attempting. “It’s a tough one,” Cassian told her, trying to ease her frustration. “And Az was right. He’s probably a better instructor for you with his experience.”
Feyre didn’t bother pointing out this was no longer about mental blocks. “Thanks, Cass. I’ll see you.”
The second she winnowed to the townhouse and found Rhys, she knew she had his full attention. She didn’t care for the clear suspicion on his face either. “Interesting flight lesson, Feyre darling?”
“It was somewhat successful,” she said honestly. “Until the winds picked up.”
He nodded, tugging her flush against his chest. “And was Cassian able to instruct you as well as Az?”
“His methods were different, but worked well enough.”
“Different?”
“Not as verbal,” she gritted out.
“Ah.” He smiled into her neck. “Starting to see how easily you can torture a male, touching his wings?”
She smirked, even as he grazed a nail over the sensitive joint where the membrane met her leathers, summoning a shiver. “You’ve made that no secret,” Feyre murmured, folding one side of his shirt collar down to flick her tongue over the skin she exposed.
Growling softly, Rhys drew back, raising her chin. “It’s going to take more than that if you’re trying to distract me from what I felt through the bond. The tension slipping through.” She winced. “Did he notice it? Return it?”
Feyre blinked. Despite the results of their original conversation, he almost seemed hopeful. “If he did, he hid it well.” They both knew Cassian would never be the type to get between them. Especially considering he was clueless to Rhys' stance in all of this. Hell, Feyre couldn’t quite figure it out yet either. “Rhys—”
“I don’t want to hear an apology regarding any of this, Feyre. And over the past few weeks I’ve been reconsidering the thought of sharing you.” His fingers curled around the back of her neck, his thumb stroking down the side of her throat. “Reminiscing our wild youth.” Her brows shot to her hairline and he chuckled. “In five-hundred years, you try a thing or two.”
She nodded. “So, if I wanted to try a thing or two?”
His lips curled back into that soft smirk, his mental shields parting. “Show me.”
~~~~~
Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @stars-and-scripts // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone
#acotar#polyamory#feysand#feyssian#feyre x rhysand x cassian#inspired by a quote#fanfiction#poly+acotarweek2024#feysand fic#feyssian fic
57 notes
·
View notes
Text
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.
78 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cheap Alcohol and Ruined Sleep
Pairings: Elriel/Feysand/Nessian
Summary: Cass and Rhys make regretful 'college student' choices. Az is homicidal. The sisters' night is ruined with them having to help play babysitter. Nesta is annoying. Feyre is tired. Elain is trying to help Az keep his sanity.
Warning: Modern college AU.
Words: 2.4k
Characters: ACOTAR; Sarah J Mass.
~~~~~
“Huh?”
Elain sat up in her bed with a frown, resting the book she’d been reading on her nightstand. The furrow of her brows deepened when she saw what time her clock displayed. Another knock was heard from across the small apartment she shared with her sisters, both peacefully asleep in their own rooms.
Pushing away the glaring screen of her laptop displaying the assignment she’d been working on for the past few hours, she climbed out of her bed and padded out of her room and towards the entry door, wondering who it might be this late at night.
She curled her fingers around the knob and pulled open the door only to be greeted with a sight that surprised her but also didn’t at the same time. “Azriel?”
Hazel eyes like sunsets and autumn leaves and spring trees shot up to meet hers, a weariness to them that made her eyebrows rise as she asked, “What’s wrong?”
With all the seriousness of the world, Azriel questioned, “Would you, by any chance, have some chloroform lying around?” As if that were the most normal thing to ask, and not at all concerning.
“Umm…” Elain blinked up at him, taking in his disheveled raven hair falling onto his forehead and his wrinkled white tee and black sweats and the slight redness to his eyes along with the circles underneath. “Az, why would you need chloroform at two in the morning?”
So monotonous in his reply, it genuinely surprised Elain as he spoke, “I plan on using it on Cassian and Rhysand and then I’m going to drag them out and load them into my truck to go dump them in a shallow ditch somewhere faraway so that I can finally be rid of them and get at least one good night’s sleep.”
“Huh.” Elain stared up at him in the dim light of the silent hallway with her lips parted. Her eyes flicked to the door behind Azriel almost as if she could see the other two men inside. “And what are they up to this time around to get you so worked up?”
Before Azriel could even open his mouth to answer, a disturbingly loud bang of someone’s body slamming into a wall sounded, followed by muffled cries of curses, startling Elain.
A moment later, the door to the apartment opposite Elain’s, that Azriel shared with his brothers, swung open and out came two very drunk and very clumsy men who just so happened to be said brothers and Elain’s question was answered without Azriel having to say a word. Azriel groaned out a series of colorful choice words while burying his face into his hands.
“Lainy!” Cassian gasped as he rushed towards her, face flushed and eyes droopy, and squeezed her in a hug that lifted her off her feet and almost made her lose the ability breathe.
“Oh God, Cass, put me down, please,” she wheezed out, repeatedly tapping against Cassian’s shoulder.
“Put her down, you idiot. You’re suffocating her, for fuck’s sake.” Azriel rubbed at his temples, already over having to babysit two grown adults who were acting like children.
Elain took in a deep breath the instant Cassian let go off her. With a hand to her chest and wide eyes, Elain could only watch as Cass barged right into the girls’ apartment, slamming the door against the wall in the process with a very loud ‘Nes!’ on his way. Nesta was so going to kill him when she woke up. And she most definitely had woken up by now. Elain just knew it. Feyre had most likely too.
“Hiya, ‘Lain,” Rhysand slurred with a drunken smile and ruffled her hair clumsily before joining Cass, murmuring if his ‘Feyre darling, love of my life’ was awake.
She slowly turned to the third person who was currently busy glaring daggers at his brothers while massaging temples a little too hard. Az turned his attention back at her with an apologetic look. “Sorry for ruining your night as well.”
“No need to apologize, even though I would’ve much preferred a quiet night,” Elain murmured out the last part under her breath as she rubbed her palms against the sides of her pajama-covered thighs. “Just…why are they drunk on a weeknight anyway?”
“Cass came home with some cheap alcohol to celebrate the fact that he passed in a test he was sure he’d fail. Managed to rope Rhys in as well, somehow.”
“Dear God…Nesta is going to be so pissed,” Elain groaned.
“I know,” Azriel sighed.
As if she’d been summoned by her name, the door to the room next to Elain’s flung open to reveal a murderous Nesta, blue-grey eyes shimmering with rage as she took in the scene—Cassian conveying something absolutely incoherent to Rhysand while the two sat on or more like threw their weights onto the living room couch that looked way too small beneath the two large men.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Nesta snapped.
The door beside Nesta’s opened as well, though a lot slower this time around, and Feyre stepped out with her hair in disarray, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Nes!” Cassian all but cried out as he jumped up from the couch and Elain winced at the way Nesta’s eyes narrowed on him.
“You. What the fuck are you doing here at this time?” Nesta demanded, steel voice sharp like knives.
“I missed you, Nes!” Cass was going to get himself killed.
“Rhys, why are you here at two in the morning?” Feyre, though clearly annoyed at being woken up so rudely, was comparatively calmer than their older sister.
Rhys, suddenly standing in front of Feyre now with his hands cupping her face, only grinned at her lopsidedly. “I—I’m so drunk, Feyre darling.”
“I can see that. Why are you drunk?”
Rhys shrugged, though it was difficult to tell with all the swaying he was doing, unable to hold his own weight. “Cass—Cassian he…” God, he could barely get the words out. Elain didn’t know how Feyre managed to keep a straight face. “H—He made me drink.” Was he actually pouting?
“I so did not!” Cass, not yet so far gone, protested with an overly dramatic gasp and slapped a hand over his chest rather too loudly. “You wound me with your lies right here, in my very heart, Rhysand!”
“Shut your trap, you idiot!” Nesta hissed, clearly still very grumpy while Rhys flipped Cass off and threw back a “Like I give a fuck.”
“Oh, my god. Someone kill me,” Az murmured.
“Let’s…” Elain blinked, turning away from the shitshow currently taking place in her living room. She made sure the guys’ apartment door was closed before gently pulling Azriel into the girl’s apartment, closing the door behind them. “It’s better if the neighbors don’t hear them.”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t want they at our necks with noise complains in the morning.”
“This escalated a little too quickly,” Elain commented, looking back at the scene and feeling Az rest his forehead on top of her head.
“Hmm. Tell me about it,” he grumbled. Elain only patted his disheveled hair.
Nesta was out of her room now, busy threatening Cassian’s family jewels while he only smiled down at her lazily. Feyre was still handling Rhys, listening to his ramblings. It was a chaotically wholesome and hilarious scene and Elain wanted to capture it in her memory to laugh recalling it come morning when she knew there would be many regrets coming from the two drunken men.
“Don’t you have an early class tomorrow?” Elain asked Azriel, making sure to keep her voice low.
“I do.”
“Reason why you’re contemplating homicide?”
“You know me so well, flower.”
“Um-hm. You might just have to skip, unfortunately.”
Azriel only groaned and then proceeded to curse the fuck out of his brothers’ bloodlines under his breath. “I might just have them sleep on their backs tonight, just in case. Wanna come help me prove my innocence when the cops arrive?”
“Azriel!” Elain gasped, eyes wide and all.
“Kidding. Kidding.” A beat passed. “Or am I?”
“Alright, none of you are leaving this apartment until those two sober up.”
“There you go spilling unnecessary water on all my plans of peace and freedom, flower.”
“Well, forgive me for not wanting you to get locked up for familicide.”
“Whatever would I do without you, love?”
“Probably something morally questionable and self-hazardous.”
“Hmm.” He finally lifted his head to see how much the shitshow had progressed.
Cass slung his arm around Nesta’s shoulders, either not registering or blatantly ignoring the daggers she was shooting at him with her heated glare. “Did you fall out of a vending machine, Nes?”
“What?” Nesta scrunched up her nose, arms crossed across her chest, though made no move to throw Cassian’s arm off her shoulder. She probably sensed he’d fall right on his ass and hurt himself if she did.
“Because you’re one hell of a snack,” Cass smirked, looking very much pleased with his shitty-worse-than-an-amateur flirting skills.
Nesta blinked at him, looking very unsure if she wanted to smack him or get him some help. “What is wrong with you, honestly?”
“Nes! Nes, are you an edible? ‘Cause I’d eat you right up.” Cassian wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, a shit-eating grin pulling at his lips. It was all far too painful to watch.
“Oh, my god, that was so bad it makes me want to kick you in the nuts,” Nesta stated, cringing. Though, amusement, just a tiny speck in her eyes, gave her away.
“But you still wanna kick me in the balls. Me. You want to fuck me so bad, it’s so obvious.” Talk about delusional.
Azriel wondered what past sins he’d committed that were so atrocious that he was being punished for them like this. He wanted to be taken out. Preferably quickly and at that very moment.
Nesta looked at Az then. “Just what type of blasted shit is he on? Did he snort something or what?”
“Cheap alcohol does that to him,” Az replied with a withering glare at Cass who was busy trying to get Nesta’s attention back on him.
Rhys on the other hand… “Feyre darling, I’m the most handsome, aren’t I?” he slurred his words, arms tightly wrapped around Feyre’s waist and face buried deep into her neck.
Feyre just hummed, stroking her fingers through his hair and rubbing gentle circles on his back. “Sure are, you big baby,” she drawled with a smile, affectionate humor sparkling in her blue-grey eyes.
“And you’re even more pretty, Feyre darling. You’re the prettiest,” he went on.
“Um-hm.”
Not even giving her a chance to open her mouth again, he continued, voice muffled and childish, “And I won you over with my glamourous wit and charm…” and on and on he went and Feyre let him, content in just babying the grown-ass man.
“It’s a good thing Mor isn’t here to join in with them,” Elain joked as she watched everything unfold.
“I’d have thrown myself out of the nearest window if I had to babysit her as well,” Azriel deadpanned from behind her, dead eyes glaring with murderous intent.
Elain leaned back into his chest and patted his cheek considerately, shaking her head gently with a smile that conveyed both pity and amusement. It was a good thing Mor was away on a field trip.
On that note…“What of Amren?” Their senior probably wouldn’t have been of much help either but still.
“Busy with Varian, as usual. She probably would’ve chewed everyone up for even thinking about disturbing her quality time.”
Elain huffed out a laugh. “Definitely.” Straightening back up, she sighed, a small smile still on her face. “Alright. Let’s go help them before Nesta actually kills Cassian or poor Feyre gets crushed under Rhys with all the weight he’s putting on her.”
“Eh… I’ve got an even better idea. How about we sneak back to my apartment and let those two deal with their drunk men.”
“Az...”
“…”
“Azriel.”
“…fine.” He let out a long suffered sigh. “Just ‘cause you asked nicely, flower.”
“Good.” Elain shook her head with her smile still intact and physically pulled Az with her to deal with their respective siblings’ antics.
“Come on, Rhys. Get off me. You’re heavy.”
“But Feyre darling…”
“We’ll both fall!”
“Cassian, I love you but I’ll seriously chop your dick off if you don’t stop with the cheesy pick-up lines.”
“I thought they were working!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Azriel, come get your brother!”
“Why do I have to put up with this shit?”
“Elain! Help me with Rhys, please!”
“Dear God…”
~~~~~
It seemed that in the midst of chaos, no one was actually able to return back to their designated spaces. At some point, everyone had found a spot to fall asleep in the girls’ living room itself, though their backs were sure to be disagreeable with when they were to finally wake up.
Cassian ended up falling asleep on the floor with one foot on the couch, snoring loudly. Nesta was right there with him, her head cushioned on Cassian’s stomach as she slept soundly, not paying any mind to the rumbling under her head.
Rhysand and Feyre were a few feet away, both on the floor as well, all cuddled up with each other. Rhys had a hand wrapped loosely around Feyre’s waist, curling up against her as they both slept facing each other, legs intertwined and all.
Azriel and Elain slept leaning against the couch. Or more like Az with his back against the couch as he sprawled out on the floor with Elain’s back against his chest as she slept curled between his legs. Head tucked under Azriel’s chin, Elain was all but glued to his front with his arms resting circled around her shoulders.
All were in awkward positions and yet all were deep asleep. Completely and utterly relaxed. Alarms were missed, classes were skipped and assignments were left forgotten and incomplete.
Although, there was a ton of grumbling and groaning and cursing when everyone finally came to. Especially from the two who were miserably hungover and regretting their life choices. They did get quite an earful and a few particular choice words each from the others who did not take it easy on them for fucking up their sleep with their drunken escapades.
~~~~~
Wanted to try writing about all three couples and not just elriel tho this is still kinda elriel centric I just can't seem to help myself 🫠
#acotar fic#elriel#feysand#nessian#the archeron sisters#elain archeron#nesta archeron#feyre archeron#azriel shadowsinger#rhysand acotar#cassian acotar#elain x azriel#feyre x rhysand#nesta x cassian#elriel fic#feysand fic#nessian fic#acotar#fuckmelifesucks
48 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lucky | Feysand
It was a throw away comment and Feyre knows it.
“Stop leaving glasses out!” Rhys had said, half laughing, tugging the end of her ponytail and dropping two cups and a mug into the sink.
Rhys makes her a cup of tea every evening, and it’s one of the hundred little ways that Feyre feels spoiled. She does like to keep a glass of water on the night stand, and where Tamlin hated it when she worked, Rhys has always supported her career. So they both leave early in the morning and more often than not, there’s a small collection of glassware in their bedroom.
It's completely fair that Rhys would prefer that she take them to the kitchen in the morning.
So why is it that the comment unsteadies her?
“I’m sorry,” Feyre says, and rushes to the sink. Her hands shake on the sponge. “My brain doesn’t function in the morning, I’ll remember to wash up before bed.” She goes for casual but it comes out breathless, and the Rhys looks over with a frown.
Maybe it’s because she’s been here for four weeks but doesn’t trust this yet.
Not Rhys- he’s been nothing but gorgeous, and patient, and kind. He’s so completely sure about her and in some ways that’s the most wonderful thing about him. And in some ways, it’s a lot of fucking pressure.
Rhys comes to stand behind her and puts his nose on her neck. Closes his fingers over her wrists until she stops moving, and wraps his arms around her waist.
“That’s fair,” he murmurs. “It’s not a real gripe.”
Some nights, Feyre lies awake in the dark, long after Rhys has fallen asleep, and tries to deep-breathe the fear away. It never works. But how can she tell him? It’s not his fault. The problems are all in her head.
“I’m sorry,” Feyre whispers, and she doesn’t mean the glasses.
She knows it’s not realistic, but it’s hard to fight the urge to be as perfect as possible, because she’s never had it so good, and the fact that it could break any day now is more than enough to keep her guts in permanent knots. She’s been holding her lips closed over the anxiety. She’s been trying so hard. She’s brittle enough that the shallow criticism lands like failure in her stomach.
“It’s okay,” Rhys murmurs. He picks up a tea towel and dries her hands, dragging her waist away from the sink. “You’re safe, honey.”
Sometimes Feyre forgets that Rhys does know. Knows better than most- after all, he’s known Tamlin longer than she has. Still, she’s both embarrassed and relieved that he can read her so easily.
“I didn’t mean it,” Rhys says. “Please leave cups in the room. It means you live here and that is so wonderful, to me.”
Rhys sits down on the couch and pulls her into his lap. Feyre hides her face in his chest and wishes, for the thousandth time, that she was better than this. That her fear of Tamlin’s anger would not be an unwelcome third in her and Rhys’s house.
“Hey,” Rhys whispers. “Don’t be sad, beautiful girl.” He slides his hand under her hair, and touches their foreheads together. “You’re okay.”
And then he kisses her, and it helps.
Feyre takes a deep breath, and kisses him back. It’s difficult to be here, it’s difficult to let herself be loved like this. But touching Rhys is always easy, and soon her fingers find his collar and his jaw and the raven curls at the back of his head. And she can feel him smile against her mouth when she tugs him closer.
“Does this help?” he asks. Feyre just nods, and kisses him again. The rough of Rhys’s palms walk up her back, under her shirt, until his hand rests behind her neck.
“I have less anxiety when you’re touching me,” she admits, and Rhys chuckles softly.
“That’s good,” he says, and in the next moment he’s lifted her up out of his lap and laid her back down on the couch cushions. He settles easily between her legs, and every time it’s a thrill to Feyre that he’s hard because of her. His mouth wanders from her lips to her throat to her collar bone and back up.
“I’m not mad,” he says, because that’s always what she’s afraid of and he knows it. “Of course I’m not, you’re such a good girl, how could I be?”
And like clockwork those two words make her brain slide, and her eyes close as his tongue travels the indent that runs from under her sternum to her navel.
“Please,” Feyre breathes. Rhys just looks up at her from under the ink of his eyelashes, and continues kissing down her stomach. “Please,” she says again, and this time he leans up and kisses her heavy on the mouth.
“That’s such a pretty word on your tongue,” he tells her. Feyre doesn’t respond, she’s concentrating on Rhys’s belt buckle and the button beneath it. He glances down, and then gives her a pitying look. “My poor darling,” he says. His teeth graze the corner of her jaw. “You need this, huh?”
Feyre wins her battle with Rhys’s zipper and slides her hand down the front of his jeans. She’s rewarded with a shudder that rips across his shoulders, and it only makes her melt further into the couch.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“You need it?” Rhys asks again. He grinds against her palm and she loves how even when he’s in control, he comes undone a little under her hands. “You need me to fuck it better?”
“Yes,” Feyre says again, and now she shoves his jeans the rest of the way off him, and Rhys pulls his shirt over his head in one motion. He gets his mouth on her throat and his hand on her breast, and Feyre’s limbs reach up and around him to pull him closer than skin. He drags her tights off, agonizingly slow, and then her shirt, and every inch that’s exposed is immediately pressed up against the warmth of him, searing but sweet.
“Tell me how much,” Rhys says, and it’s only the cotton of her underwear that’s between them when he rolls his hips against hers. Feyre closes her eyes, speaks against the slant of his cheek.
“Too much,” she says. He hooks her leg over his shoulder and Feyre’s back arches up off the couch. “And too often. You have no idea…” she trails off, trying to press up against Rhys as he moves all too slowly.
“Too often?” he asks. His fingers drift down, toying with the waistband of her panties.
“All the time,” she gasps. Her hands scrabble on his shoulders as he drags the elastic down over her hips.
“I wish you’d tell me.” He starts to kiss down over her breasts, but Feyre pulls him back up to her lips and slide her tongue against his. He groans softly in her mouth, and she pulls her knees up the sides of his ribcage, digs her heels into base of his back. “I wish you’d lean over, while we’re watching TV, and tell me how bad…” here Rhys pauses to draw a shaky breath because Feyre is wet against his naked cock, “…you need to be fucked.”
“I’m telling you now,” Feyre argues, and lifts her hips to prove her point.
“You are,” Rhys concedes, and presses up against heat of her. “And you’re doing such a good job.” He pushes inside her, and Feyre’s head drops back against the cushions. She breathes in, and it feels like a long time she’s been holding her breath. “Look at me,” Rhys says, and when she opens her eyes he’s watching her face change when he moves out and back in. His hips punch forward when she meets the violet of his gaze, and Feyre gasps.
“That’s it baby,” Rhys murmurs. “Keep looking at me.”
It’s easier said than done- Rhys’s eyes scald her and every time their hips touch her mind slides.
“Come on honey, you can do it.”
Feyre’s eyes snap open, but somehow there’s five hundred years in that stare and it’s a lot to bear. She tips her head back and throws her arm over her face.
And then Rhys’s fingers close over her throat, and it’s strange that this makes her feel safer, that it always makes her feel safer when he’s holding her down because every other moment she’s on the verge of floating away altogether.
“Is that better?” Rhys asks. His eyes darken above her, and she loves knowing that he likes her like this.
“Yes,” she breathes, and his grip tightens.
“You’re so good,” he tells her. “My good girl.”
Feyre can’t help it, she moans at the praise and the sound pushes Rhys’s pace up. This time when her eyes squeeze shut he lets her. Sits up on his heels to get a deeper angle and puts his teeth on her ankle.
“You want to be good for me, don’t you?” Rhys asks. He slides his thumb against her tongue for a second, before touching it to her clit. She can’t answer, because he keeps his rhythm while he talks to her and it’s knocking the breath from her lungs. “You look so pretty like this, baby.” His eyes rake over her, hooded and muddled, and there’s nothing quite so intoxicating as watching him look at her.
Rhys leans his forearms on either side of her face and leans down over her. Feyre’s hands come up automatically to follow the muscles of his back. She thinks he’ll kiss her, but when she tilts her face up he just flicks his eyes down to her mouth and then back up. He slows down now, moves in long, languid strokes that make Feyre feel like she’s drowning.
“You know,” he murmurs. “You can always tell me if you need this.” This time he does kiss her, and the next time he speaks it’s right next to her ear. “I’d drop everything and bend you over. Empty your head just like you like.”
Feyre‘s nails dig into Rhys’s shoulders and he shifts again, moving fast now and breathing shallow.
“Come on baby,” he says, and she can hear the strain in his voice. “Feel good for me.”
She doesn’t need to be told, he always feels good and today is no exception. Not when the snap of his hips makes a steady undertow that she is fast being dragged in by, not when the smell of him this close is enough to drive her to distraction, not when she can feel him start to chase his own release and knows that she’s the one making him feel like this.
“Give it to me,” she whispers. “I want it, want to feel you…”
But Rhys just laughs and shakes his head. “You first, angel.”
Feyre is tempted to see if she can make him lose control, but the way he moves is too good to ignore. And, she’s never one to pass up an opportunity to show him how good she can be.
“Right now,” Rhys says, under her ear, and honestly it’s so easy with him. Feyre breaks in between one breath and the next, and it’s a thing that wrings her out over and over in the cage of Rhys’s arms. It’s somewhere in the aftershocks that Rhys comes too, and she hasn’t told him but this is the part to Feyre that feels so intense she never quite feels like she’ll survive it. But of course she does, and minutes later the world filters back in and the couch cushions are scratchy against her back and there is sweat in Rhys’s hair and her heart is still beating painfully hard in her chest.
And Feyre feels calm, in this moment, which is rare but increasing. She presses her nose against Rhys’s forehead, where he’s half dozing on her chest, and tries to remember the feeling of it, because there will be a next time that she feels anxious and afraid, but if she’s very lucky, and she has been very lucky, there will also be a next time for this part right here, and that makes everything worthwhile.
****
Well hello there angels! It's been a hot minute, I'm rusty don't laugh at me!
But seriously a lot of things have happened and I still kinda feel a little lost (read: completely out of control)- and not all in bad ways. I've been meaning to post some one shot type things and to talk about my book but man it is HARD. So for now here is a little angsty thing that may or may not be just be T-Swifting it about my current sitch and my book links:
UK and international US eBook Australia
And ummm this feels like I am too irrelevant to pull this anymore and I'm sorry if you do not want to be on this but,
MASTERLIST
TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @achernarlight @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @hopefulacademia @story-scribbler @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod @whenyadoesntcutit @scatterbrainedgirl @whoever-you-choose-to-love @endlessdaydream @elentiya-whitethorn @rarephloxes @timesconvert @mis-lil-red @alerialumina
#feysand#feysand fic#acotar#ooookay does anyone come to the tags for the life updates#because if you do heres the scoop#i live in london now#im about to lose my job boo#but im starting an apprenticeship yay#but its unpaid boo#anyway so end of the year im out of a house and an income#also i have a new boyfriend who wait for it is not an alcoholic#and i cannot fucking handle it because im full of trauma#anyway please read my book okay byyeeeee
103 notes
·
View notes
Text
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
*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*
“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
52 notes
·
View notes
Text
ACOTAR Writing Circle 3 Masterlist
The Syren, part 2, part 3 @headcanonheadcase @secret-third-thing
I Choose Who. I Choose You., part 2, part 3 @hlizr50 @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase
The Great Escape, part 2, part 3 @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship, @aldbooks @starfall-spirit
Blindsided, part 2, part 3 @bennylavasbuns, @azrielshadowssing
Peer Pressure, part 2, part 3 @azrielshadowssing @mercarimari @foreverinelysian
Tangled Cable Car Wires, part 2, part 3 @thelovelymadone, @bennylavasbuns @thehaemanthus
On the Edge of Losing You, part 2 @starfall-spirit, @thegloweringcastle
Right There Beside Him All Summer Long, part 2, part 3 @rosanna-writer @sideralwriting @hlizr50
Grounded, part 2 @writtenonreceipts, @thehaemanthus
Fictional, part 2, part 3 @mercarimari @rosanna-writer
Sailing Ships, part 2, part 3 @foreverinelysian, @writtenonreceipts @sideralwriting
Down This Road, part 2, part 3 @thegloweringcastle, @headcanonheadcase @thelovelymadone
Heatwave, part 2, part 3 @secret-third-thing, @starfall-spirit @azrielshadowssing
Someday, Today, part 2, part 3 @thehaemanthus, @hlizr50 @vikingmagic33
A Sunshine from the Ocean, part 2, part 3 @sideralwriting @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo
Cool for the Summer, part 2, part 3 @aldbooks, @vikingmagic33 @rosanna-writer
I Hate You Too, part 2, part 3 @sunshinebingo @foreverinelysian @bennylavasbuns
This One Even Blooms, part 2, part 3 @vikingmagic33 @sunshinebingo @thegloweringcastle
#acotar writing circle#acotarwritingcircle#acotar fanfiction#acotar fic#gwynriel#elucien#feysand#nessian#helion x lady of autumn#emorie#gwynriel fic#elucien fic#feysand fic#nessian fic#emorie fic#writing challenge#acotar writing#gwynlain#jassa
163 notes
·
View notes
Text
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
108 notes
·
View notes
Text
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
101 notes
·
View notes
Text
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
-
“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
74 notes
·
View notes
Text
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
74 notes
·
View notes
Text
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.
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
Enchanted, Enthralled
I couldn't help it, Halloween weekend is upon us so I wrote you some smut as a treat.
(This is meant to be 3 chapters but tbh I do not have an ending yet, so please enjoy it as a little one-shot for now!)
Enchanted, Enthralled on A03
On a cold autumn night in Velaris, Feyre comes across a beautiful gift in her studio. But as a painting takes on a terrifying life of its own, Feyre begins to realize that not all is well. The question is: how long will her mate and friends take to notice, and will it be too late?
Or: Vampire!Feyre is let loose on an unsuspecting Rhysand.
Tags and Heads Up: Vampire!Feyre, vampire sex (with blood), dubcon (Feyre is possessed)
@rosanna-writer and @thesistersarcheron peer pressured me (they did not) and thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @xtaketwox for brainstorming with me!
Feyre wandered the streets of Velaris, chasing the fading sunlight, her boots crunching on fallen leaves.
The fall night air was chill as it twisted through the streets and snuck beneath her coat, the fabric of her skirts. Above her, the full moon hung low and heavy in the sky, its light shimmering off the cobblestones damp with mist.
The air around her was full of the scents of autumn, of cider and smoke and mulled wine.
Feyre loved Velaris in the autumn, the brisk cold beaten back by glowing hearths and warm meals at her table. So different from before, when she was hungry, when autumn was the harbinger of winter. Of harsh times and empty pantries.
Or…after that. In endless Spring. Where all was quiet and stagnant, even in ever bloom.
She rounded a corner and took a moment to appreciate the Rainbow, glowing before her under the cold starlight.
In the evenings, when there wasn’t dinner with the Inner Circle or some formal social event demanding a High Lady, Feyre liked to come to the studio. Knew she would have the place entirely to herself.
The door shut with the ring of a bell and she lit the fae lights in the room, the rest illuminated by the burning night lights of the city street.
The High Lady smiled as she doffed her coat and wandered through the maze of easels covered in the children’s paintings. She pulled off her gloves and scarf and set them gently down on her work bench on the far side of the room.
And paused. The usual mess was here, brushes and new supplies and paperwork and little gifts from the children. Sometimes Ressina teased her for the disorganized piles, but Feyre liked it. This was one of the few places she could spread out and destroy as well as make, without Nuala or Cerridwen or hell, even Rhys sometimes, following after her, picking up.
But what caught her eye was very out of place in the chaos. Atop the desk was a beautifully carved ornate wooden box. Though the wood was polished and immaculate, something about it screamed ancient .
It was common enough for the children to bring her gifts, and often the parents. But never anything as grandiose as this.
Patience never much of her strong suit, Feyre flipped the latch and lifted the heavy lid of the small chest until it hung back on its hinges.
No card, no engraving, no initials. Just twelve bottles of vibrant, fresh paint.
A soft smile played on her lips. Perhaps these were from the Continent, or one of the Master’s studios in Day? She was glad she was alone. Whoever had brought this perhaps had a sense of how embarrassed she would be, accepting such a luxurious gift.
The bottle of brilliant blue unscrewed easily and she grabbed a palette knife to mix the heavy pigment back in with the clear binder floating on top.
It was…mesmerizing. Bright and almost glowing. She wondered where they ever found the pigments to make something so otherworldly.
There was a lightness in her chest as she looked at the other bottles, each as vibrant and rich as the first. She had come here to paint, after all.
/|㇏^•ᵥᵥ•^ノ|\
The city streets outside were bursting with life, even in the chill. The sounds of conversation and the clap of shoes against the cobblestones grew as patrons left the latest show out at the theater up the street. Music swelled from the city square just beyond, and street vendors hawked their wares.
But when Feyre painted, it all faded into the background.
For too long, she thought, shaking her head as if from a dream. She arched her back and groaned at the crick forming from her bad posture.
Her brush dunked in the water glass beside her as she rubbed her stiff neck. Had it really been so long? She was mixing the paints, brushing on a tinted under layer, and then…
Finally her eyes returned to her canvas and she gasped.
Sworls of choppy blue, green and white centered the canvas, looking like rippling waves. She could have sworn they moved. And around them, bands and bands of dark black. A frame. A mirror. A door.
She didn’t remember painting a single stroke.
The painting seemed to ripple again, and maybe it was the light but she could have sworn…there was something behind the brush strokes, depths upon hidden depths.
She felt a familiar feeling, a dread in her belly and prickling of her skin. So like those first steps Under the Mountain, tiptoeing and peeking around each corner, knowing something terrible was inevitable around one of them.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away.
The sounds of the street faded away again as her eyes focused and unfocused. Feyre felt her arm lift, her fingers picking up a brush. As if on its own. She took a dab of paint and the world faded away.
/|㇏^•ᵥᵥ•^ノ|\
The second time, she still didn’t know how long she had been under. Because that’s what it felt like, thrashing under deep waves, being tossed back and forth. And somewhere, deeper still, a voice. Soothing and gentle. Telling her, just let go.
Sink .
-Darling?
It was the voice of her mate that brought her back with a start.
-What are you up to? I’ll be winnowing back from the camp soon.
-I’ll meet you at home, she quickly sent down the bond.
The painting had changed. Her heart pounded between her ribs.
Looking back at her was a single slitted eye, red as hot coals.
And she heard it whisper,
Sink .
/|㇏^•ᵥᵥ•^ノ|\
Rhys panted as he rolled his hips upward, the chill night breeze from the cracked window doing little to cool the heat of his skin, dripping with sweat.
Above him Feyre moaned, her hips grinding against his, her head tilting back to the ceiling with her mouth parted, tasting the air.
Only a single candle lit the room from the bedside table. The cold moonlight cast in, a sharp line through the curtain, the silver light piercing over her neck, her peaked breasts.
Rhys’s eyes were wide. Enchanted . She was so fierce and free tonight, taking everything she wanted. Feyre moved on him, her hand lifting to grasp her breast and he gasped as she clenched tighter around him.
She had been rough tonight, desperate. Throwing him against the wall and ripping away his fine black jacket the moment he stepped into the bedroom. He had barely had time to grin, to tease her for her lascivious hands and lips until he was thrown onto the bed, his clothes roughly stripped from his body.
He gripped her hips, trying to guide his body deeper into her. His pleasure was a wild, feral thing, setting off sparks in his mind the more he felt the wanton drag of his cock through her slick wetness.
Feyre opened her mouth in a gasp as her back arched, the light catching on her pointed canines. Her hands went to cover his on her hips, and he felt her talons growing and scratching against his skin.
Though he was inside her, touching her everywhere, his body only cried out more, more.
Her skin was pale, almost blue in the moonlight, but her body was burning, scorching him under his palms and where they were joined at the hip.
Through his lusty haze, he felt the sudden pangs of a hunger so desperate the breath caught in his throat.
Feyre whimpered, a delicious sound, and leaned forward on her knees to pitch towards him and suckle at the pulse throbbing in his neck.
“Rhys,” she panted. Her voice was deep, desperate. “I’m so hungry.”
He gasped as the feeling struck him down the bond, her aching emptiness traveling through the golden tether between them and gripping his heart.
Between his pleasure he felt the flashes, of a girl starving and cold in the woods, of moldy bread in a dank prison cell. All the times she was alone and he hadn’t been there to provide. It was driving him mad. He felt the urge to let his power rise, to turn back the sun and moon in the sky until he was there every moment she was alone and desperate and surround her with his wings. To place delectable morsels on her waiting tongue, let her suck the taste from his fingers.
That tongue was lapping against his neck, licking off beads of sweat, replaced by the scrape of her teeth, sharp against his skin.
Though she was in his arms, her cunt fluttering around him, his heart was breaking with her hunger, her need. His mate was starving. A primal urge rose within him, to provide, to satiate.
“Darling ,” he cried, his voice breaking. “What do you need? Tell me,” he pleaded, his arms wrapping around her back, hot and slick with sweat.
She nipped at his neck. “ I’m so hungry,” she said again, nuzzling at his throat.
“Yes, yes,” he cried. As if he could, would ever deny her anything. Certainly not with his cock buried deep inside her and her voice this needy whine. “Take what you need,” he whispered into the dark.
Her body stilled at that and his own cried out at the lack of friction. But he felt her smile against his neck, and then her teeth scraped, and then she was biting, her sharp canines piercing through his flesh to reach his hammering pulse beneath it.
All feeling in his body rushed, like an errant wave, and he came with a hoarse cry as he spilled himself inside of her.
His vision is blurred and his mind is hazy as he comes down from his climax, the thoughts filtering through his mind like wandering clouds across the night sky. Feyre’s mouth is hot against his neck, a heady, burning sensation running down from her lips to his limbs, his body tingling. The feelings down the bond are glowing, warm, thankful.
Instead of relaxing back into the bed, his body, he feels he’s moving up, and up, floating above the mattress. He feels a drip of something, blood or sweat, escape Feyre’s lips and travel down the muscles of his neck. Her teeth are sharp but her mouth is warm, her tongue dancing over his skin.
And oh, she’s so content. She hums against him, the sound reverberating through his neck to his skull. She’s taking and taking and all he wants is to give her more, to fill her up. She pierced his skin and all his strength, the swirling madness of his darkness rushed out to satiate her need.
She sucks harder and he feels his limbs going loose and light, his whole body weightless and attuned to every place they are connected. He groans with her ecstasy, her joy. Gone is the starving human girl in the forest, bitter and trembling. He is feeding his mate, his Feyre, and here on top of him she is safe and warm.
Just when his body feels like it might sink, might fall through the mattress and into whatever dark earth lies beneath it, she breaks from his neck with a gasp.
Feyre throws her head back towards the ceiling, panting, the moonlight cascading down her body once again. He watches, enraptured, feeling like he’s outside of his body, vaguely charting the dribble of blood dripping from her lips to her chin to her throat, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone.
He is so tired now. He files the vision of her blood stained teeth deep within him for another time. All he feels now is her pleased murmurings across the bond. A deep humming contentment in his chest. The male, now content, who dreamt sometimes about that ancient High Lord, dashing his body and blood against the stone streets of Velaris, to keep it safe.
He groaned as she slipped off of him, but his hands wouldn’t quite work the way he wanted them to. The mattress dipping beside him as she collapsed. She was still breathing heavily, licking her lips. He turned his head and wished she would do the same, needing to drink in more of her.
And finally she did. She looked at him and smiled, a glint in her eyes that was strange but, her smile, that was enough to send a shiver down his body. His eyelids heavy, he smiled back.
“Are you happy, darling?” He whispered.
Safe and warm and fed.
Her smile widened as his eyes slowly drooped. A buzzing in the back of his head was the only thing keeping him from slipping away completely. His mind clung to the feel of her sharp talons, softly scraping against his skin. Drops of blood pooled with her sweat and finally drifted across her collarbone and down her shoulder.
“I’m so happy,” she said, and he fell into the darkness with a soft sigh. “You taste so good, my love.”
#acotar#feysand#acomaf#rhysand#feyre#acotar fanfiction#fanfic#vampire smut#feysand fic#feysand smut#happy halloween#spooky vibes#vampires
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
For Feysand Week - Day 6 - Mates. @officialfeysandweek2023
Everything changes for Rhysand after he's freed from Under the Mountain. And things should go back to normal, but how can they? He has a mate now, one who's promised or another male, and he can barely hold himself together to run his court. Across Prythian, Feyre grapples with her own pain and loneliness.
Rated T, 3.9k words
-
Rhys dipped into a bow before Feyre, the light of the morning sun warm on his back. Based on her expression, she probably thought he was mocking her, but he felt ready to drop to his knees and pledge his devotion in earnest. All she would have to do is ask.
He was rising back up, back nearly straight, when his eyes met hers.
All at once, his vision went white as he was hit with the full force of the words he had been avoiding for months.
Mymatemymatemymate
The words were a lightning strike that restarted his wounded heart. Rhys had enough time to catch a glimpse of Feyre’s confused expression before he fell backward – and then he was gone, winnowed away. His body, at least, had been able to seize control of his magic.
My mate, my mate, my mate -
Cauldron, had he ever felt so alive? Every bone in his body felt like it was burning – not in pain, but in longing, with the urge to claim her that he was barely holding back. That was the sole thought keeping him from insanity – he couldn’t take her unless she wanted to go.
It had been a long time since Rhys winnowed this far north. He could feel the fabric of the world as he sped through it, trying to keep some measure of focus so he didn’t end up stopping in the middle of enemy territory.
And then, before he had any longer to spiral, he was home.
He landed in the townhouse’s living room, and the first thing he saw was Mor, bright and vibrant and right in front of him for the first time in fifty years.
She let out a shriek of joy and moved to embrace him, tears streaming down her face as she clung tight, trying to fit fifty years of hugs into a single moment. Rhys let her, but everything was still spinning, faster than he could comprehend. His thoughts were entirely of her.
Mymatemymatemymate.
Feyre, with her eyes like the sea and her artist’s hands, painting flowers on a table. Feyre, with enough determination and ferocity to save them all. Feyre, human and dead, alive and remade as fae.
His mate, to claim and have and hold.
His very being screamed at him to go back for her. It would be so easy to stride into the gates of the Spring Court and whisk her away here –
No, he couldn’t. For the same reason he hadn’t reached for her back on the balcony. She didn’t love him, and would never forgive him for doing something like that. And she deserved peace.
Mor’s arms around him brought him back to the present. Her hug squeezed him like a vice, but he hadn’t been embracing her back.
“Rhys?” she asked with hesitation.
“She’s my mate,” he said, voice raspy.
He drew back from Mor, pacing across the worn wooden floor. “She’s my mate – and she’s with him.”
Concern was radiating off of Mor as she stood, eyes tracking his every movement. “Who is your mate? Rhys, talk to me.”
Go get her, go get her. You belong together, you are hers, and she is yours. Mate, mate, mate.
Mor drew back, keeping her hands on his shoulders. “Who is your mate?” she asked cautiously, and Rhys could see her thoughts of the worst spelled out in her eyes.
“Feyre,” he said, and he couldn’t keep the wonder and pain out of his voice. “I thought she might be – but I couldn’t say anything. And now I know – fuck. She’s my mate.”
It didn’t even make sense. Courageous, bright Feyre, paired with someone like him?
“Where is she?” Mor asked, confusion still dancing in her eyes. She probably didn’t even know who Feyre was.
“She…she’s with Tamlin. They’re in love.”
“Tell me everything,” Mor said.
Rhys hadn’t told anyone more than a fraction of the truth in years. It all came spilling out, his cousin was looking at him with such love and heartbreak.
He told her the main points, at least. Skating over some major details that were best left unspoken forever, but telling enough to give a mostly complete picture. Unable to summon any of his dramatic flairs, he explained the curse, Amarantha’s iron rule, and the dreams he had started having three years ago. A knowing gleam came into Mor’s eyes when he told of his first meeting with Feyre at Calanmai.
Though he took no joy in what Feyre – his mate had gone through, he went into more detail explaining her time Under the Mountain. The trials, the chores, her broken arm, and their bargain. Throughout it all, Mor was silent, though he could see a thousand questions burning behind her eyes. Still, she kept silent and listened to his story.
When he was done, it felt like some kind of pent-up energy had at last left him. There was relief in being able to tell someone about what had occurred. Even if he couldn’t bear to tell Mor the worst bits, part of the burden had been lifted.
Mor reached for him and wrapped him up in another hug, sorrow in her eyes.
“Oh, Rhys,” she said mournfully, in that silken voice he hadn’t heard for so long. Her faint Night Court accent nearly sounded foreign to him. “Once the relief of having you back has worn off, everyone is going to be ready to give you an earful for all this self-sacrificing. But thank you for being there for us, and protecting this court. Feyre will come here, and she’ll fall in love with this court. I know she will.”
This time, Rhys did squeeze her back, giving her all the love he hadn’t been able to over the decades. It registered that these were the first loving touches he had received in a long, long time. Other than an occasional supportive hand on his shoulder from Nuala and Cerridwen, nobody besides Amarantha had touched him for fifty years.
Mor gave him another squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she said, sounding a little teary-eyed.
“I missed you,” he murmured into her hair. “I missed you all so much."
-
As much as the days had dragged Under the Mountain, they flew by now that he was free. There was so much to be done – he had fifty years of legislation and political developments to catch up on. The war bands needed settling, as did the Court of Nightmares – both of which had gone back to doing things that made his blood boil.
He tried to make time to just be, lounging in front of the fire with Mor and playing cards with his brothers like he used to. But it was in those times, when he tried to relax, that his mind wouldn’t shut up about the last fifty years.
He had suffered for so long, why couldn’t he be free now?
But being bitter about it didn’t stop the memories, so he kept himself busy instead. If he kept his appearance and demeanor perfect, it made him feel a little less like things were falling apart.
And yet, there was one thought that he couldn’t seem to block out. Maybe it was because, deep down, he didn’t want to. It echoed in his head with every document he signed, every swing of his sword and every flip of a page.
FeyreFeyreFeyreFeyreFeyre.
My mate, my mate, my mate.
A constant thrum in his mind, it grounded him as much as it drove him insane. Like a buzzing he couldn’t block out.
One rainy day, just over a month after his return, Rhys found himself in his office, staring down another mountain of paperwork. Mor had handed it off to him that morning. Clearly, she intended to get back at him for all the documents she had handled alone for the past half-century.
He hadn’t been at it for more than half an hour before he felt eyes boring into the back of his head.
“You know I know you’re there,” Rhys said dryly. “Do you have something to say, or are you admiring the back of my head?”
Azriel didn’t respond to his sarcasm, only stepping out into the light of the office where Rhys could see him. Shadows danced around his brother, curling around his hands and neck.
“I have a report from the Spring Court.”
His heart didn’t skip a beat – it didn’t.
“Go on,” Rhys said, meeting Azriel’s eyes.
“Feyre Cursebreaker is engaged to Tamlin. He proposed yesterday, and they’re going for a short engagement – just two months. The wedding planning has already started.”
Rhys clenched the armrest of his chair, willing his mind to be quiet. Azriel watched him for a long moment, looking like he was debating saying something.
He hadn’t told anyone besides Mor and Amren about what Feyre was to him, but Azriel was clearly aware of his attachment, even if he didn’t know the full extent of it.
“This changes nothing,” Rhys finally said after a long pause, before Az could decide to start talking and inevitably said something well-meaning that made him feel worse. “We expected that this would happen. Feyre deserves to be happy.”
“You don’t plan to make your feelings known?”
“That wouldn’t serve any purpose. I won’t be the villain in this story,” Rhys insisted. “She’s only ever wanted a life with Tamlin. Enough that she died for him. And she deserves peace.”
“Is that what she’s getting?” his brother said with a raised eyebrow. “She deserves to know, Rhys.”
Rhys didn’t respond, turning back to his pile of papers instead, silently holding his breath until Az gave up on waiting for an answer and left.
-
Late that night, Rhys couldn’t sleep.
These days, he had taken to staying at the townhouse instead of the House of Wind. Objectively, the House of Wind would have been a better choice. It was far more open and overlooked the whole city. But everyone else was there, too.
The Inner Circle all had their own places in Velaris, but it seemed that Cassian, Azriel, and Mor had taken to staying in the House of Wind half the time. He gathered that during those fifty long years trapped, albeit in a very different place than he was, it had been their central place.
Which was exactly why he couldn’t be there now.
He hadn’t had any nightmares of his own yet tonight, but that was because the moment he fell asleep, he had been thrust into one of Feyre’s.
That night was a particularly bad one.
His mate had the most horrendous nightmares, Rhys had discovered shortly after they were freed.
Was that not another way they were matched?
Some nights he was dragged from his own hellscapes straight into hers. It was easier, he found, to try and soothe her terror than it was his own, even if he didn’t know where to begin, and hers broke his heart in a way that he didn't know how to express.
She didn’t deserve any of this. A year ago, she was a human on the other side of the wall, daring to dream of a better life. Now, her only dreams were hellish.
Tonight, he watched through Feyre’s eyes – she was back in Amarantha’s dimly lit throne room. The silent faces watching her flickered in the torchlight as she surveyed the three faceless figures before her in horror.
It’s the third trial all over again.
He felt his hands - her hands - shake as she removed the first faerie’s hood.
A knife in hand, a quick motion, and the first was done. The boy falls into Feyre, red staining her own dirty tunic. The second one is just how he remembers it, too. The prayer, the serene eyes that forgave Feyre as she broke apart.
When the third faerie was unmasked, Rhys wasn’t surprised to see Tamlin’s face staring up at him. What he wasn’t expecting for Tamlin to be clutching an emerald engagement ring in his hand. Blood started spilling out of the High Lord’s chest before Feyre could even stab him – and nothing prepared Rhys for Feyre to angle the blade inward, stabbing herself in the heart as she had been meant to do to her lover.
She screamed as the blade found its mark, sinking to her knees – and taking Rhys with her. Everything he saw was through her eyes, he had no body here.
Why wasn’t Tamlin waking her up? Surely he could hear her thrashing around and making noise.
Rhys scrambled for something – anything he could do to intercede. He might not have been there physically, but he had one thing Tamlin did not – a link with Feyre’s mind.
He scrambled for a solution as Amarantha rose from her throne, presumably to torture Feyre as she had done- but no.
Another woman with dark blonde hair was on the floor before Amarantha, screaming as her body contorted and bones broke at unnatural angles. Feyre's sister?
In that moment, he did the only thing he could think of. It was what he had done all those months ago - sent images of the night sky to her, and bits of one of his favorite melodies – the one he had sent to her before, Under the Mountain.
Please, don’t give up, darling. There’s so much for you to live for.
It was so much easier to say the words to her than for him to tell them to himself.
Their pain was so similar, it seemed, and it was the kind of thing he would have wanted someone to tell him.
He kept sending the music – his memory of the melody was renewed, after only hearing it the week before. Dream Feyre’s screams subsided as the dark hell of the throne room gave way to the clear night sky.
Suddenly, it all disappeared as Rhys was thrust out of Feyre’s mind entirely. Relief coursed through him.
She must have finally woken up. Thank the Cauldron
-
Feyre jolted awake in bed, thrashing out of the covers as she struggled to breathe.
Tamlin, the faeries she had murdered, Elain –
Not real, not real, not real.
You got out, Amarantha is dead.
Gods, she prayed she would never hear her sister scream like that.
The dream had been so terrible this time.
The night was warm and sticky – a side effect of living in perpetual spring – but Feyre couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, the images burned in her head.
You got out.
She mouthed the words over and over to herself as she rose from the bed and lit a candle.
Silently, she placed the candle on her bedside table and curled up in the bay window. It was her favorite spot in the room, overlooking the whole front yard. If she turned partially, she could watch Tamlin, still fast asleep in their bed.
This was real.
How many nights Under the Mountain had she prayed for the chance to be with him like this? And maybe the Mother had listened to her prayers, because she had gotten out, but she still couldn’t settle herself.
At least she hadn’t woken him up. Tamlin never woke during her nightmares, and if he was having them, he hadn’t given any indication. She had tried to talk to him about it, to no avail.
So, it was better if he didn’t know about her nightmares.
Feyre had thought that tonight she might have been able to have a peaceful sleep. It had been a happy day, after all. Tamlin had asked her to marry him, and she had said yes.
It was everything she had wanted, once upon a time.
It was still everything she wanted. Things were just more complicated, nowadays. This would be enough, it would just take some adjusting.
She let out a long, slow breath, trying to beat back the dread of sleeping. Tamlin was still deep asleep on his back, golden hair spread across the pillow.
He never seemed to wake at night – how, she couldn’t guess. She had plenty of dreams of him being torn from her in the worst ways. Hell, she even had ones of Rhys – hearing him scream her name as he hit the marble so hard it cracked. Over and over.
She hadn’t heard anything from Rhysand in the past month and a half. Tamlin had not-so-discreetly been searching for ways to break the bargain between them, but so far, Rhys hadn’t come to collect.
How was he doing? He had been through a lot, too. At least Tamlin had the freedom to live in his manor most of the time. However horrible the Night Court might be, Rhys had been separated from it for fifty years. It couldn’t have been easy.
The thought of the night sky teased a thought at the edge of her brain, and she frowned.
Something about this nightmare had been different. It had changed, at the very end, almost been pleasant. There had been a night sky and the same music she had hallucinated during her fever Under the Mountain. It was what had snapped her out of her fear and woken her up.
Strange.
She highly doubted that was what the Night Court looked like – she had poked around in the library a few weeks ago, and the only descriptions of it depicted endless night and countless terrors.
I suppose I’ll be experiencing those firsthand, whenever Rhys comes to collect.
How would she be treated, during those weeks?
A week in a Night Court prison cell could hardly be worse than what she had already experienced. If he had chores for her, she was plenty used to hard work. Although – he had gotten her out of both of those things Under the Mountain. In his own way.
She knew she was supposed to hate Rhys. Tamlin and Lucien certainly did.
But – he had fought for her. Bet on her when no one else had.
And now, apparently, he had turned his attentions elsewhere. Which was perfectly fine.
The entire thing was a mystery, and Feyre knew she would get nowhere with it tonight. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to go back to Tamlin’s side in bed. Sleep wouldn’t be coming to her now, anyways.
So she leaned her cheek against the cool window and watched the passing of the night.
-
Another week went by, and Rhys tried to keep himself out of Feyre’s mind. He only ever felt two things through their bond – overwhelming fear during her nightmares, or absolutely nothing. It seemed that she went through her days like a ghost, being dragged through wedding planning and meaningless duties.
He wouldn’t deny that a thrum of wonder pulsed through his veins each time he got a glimpse into her thoughts. They were rarely positive, but all the same, it was another undeniable sign that they were bound, and meant for each other.
But it was also incredibly overwhelming. Especially when her thoughts were so bleak, and she had no one to help her with them.
Tamlin’s problem had always been that when a crisis hit, he was a bystander. He had done nothing to warn Rhys about the hunt for his mother and sister, he had done nothing when Feyre was in the depths of despair Under the Mountain. And it seemed like he intended to continue down that road now.
It drove Rhys insane, to watch him do nothing.
If he had been there, Feyre would never have doubted how much he cared for her. She wouldn’t have to face her pain alone. She wasn’t painting, eating, or leaving the manor’s grounds – Tamlin always put the latter idea down when she brought it up.
Cauldron, he wanted to kill Tamlin.
A month had already come and gone, and Rhys hadn’t collected on his bargain, as he promised himself he wouldn’t. He was giving Feyre the time she needed to sort her shit out – and giving Tamlin time to heal alongside her, too.
So why wasn’t the bastard doing anything?
Maybe his promise to himself had been a mistake. If he just called it in once –
If you call it in once, you whisk her away from everything she cares about and she hates you forever. Things will get better in the Spring Court. Tamlin won’t just let her wither away.
-
Two months went by, and Rhys still wasn’t sure if he was making a mistake. Every day, he contemplated winnowing into the Spring Court and bringing his mate back with him. He imagined what it would be like to show her Velaris, especially the Rainbow. She would probably be terrified of letting him fly her across the city – but perhaps she would come to enjoy it. She could meet Nuala and Cerridwen again, and see who they truly were. And he could introduce her to his family.
It was thoughts like these that meant every day, his resolve got a little thinner, but it hadn’t snapped yet.
He would make sure it wouldn’t. Despite what his ridiculous fantasies suggested, nothing good could come of it – which was why he had made plans to distract himself today.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you day drunk,” Cassian commented with a snort. “Are you sure you can handle all of this hard liquor?”
He had a point. Rhys hadn’t really gotten drunk in over 50 years. Cassian could definitely drink him under the table – not that Rhys had any plans to admit that anytime soon.
“Last time the three of us had a weekend at the cabin, I wasn’t the one who passed out in a snowbank in my undershorts,” Rhys retorted.
Cassian chuckled. “That was a damn good weekend, though. Is there an occasion this time?’
“Do I need an occasion do drink with my brother?” Rhys asked. “I thought you’d be thrilled I was breaking out my expensive stash.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Cassian replied.
“Cheers to another weekend of reckless self-indulgence?” Rhys said, raising his glass of whiskey.
“I’ll drink to that,” Cassian said, clinking his glass against Rhys’s and downing the whole thing in an instant.
The whiskey was stronger than Rhys remembered, but he downed his glass in one go, too.
He reached for the bottle to pour them another, when suddenly pure panic speared through his entire body.
Not his own, he knew instantly – Feyre’s.
Help, someone. Stop this, get me out.
He didn’t register what Cassian was saying – he was on his feet and winnowing away before he even realized what he was doing.
His mate was asking for help – finally. He wouldn’t let her suffer alone.
He winnowed in with a dramatic flare, sending out a cloud of darkness as he appeared. He vaguely registered that people were screaming and winnowing away – good. None of them mattered.
Feyre looked up at him, and he laid eyes on her for the first time in three months.
Cauldron – she never looked in a mirror, so he had never truly seen her.
She was much too thin, drowning in a gigantic white dress, lovely eyes blotted out by panic.
It was a good thing he hadn’t actually gotten drunk, or he really might have killed Tamlin.
Instead, he smiled as people scrambled away from him in fear.
“Hello, Feyre darling.”
-
taglist: @thron3ofbooks @the-lonelybarricade @swankii-art-teacher @ghostlyrose2 @brieq @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @achernarlight @reverie-tales @starfall-spirit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @highladysith @areyoudreamingof
75 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
mixzitao-deactivated-blog
Broken Minds.
valeriadiangelo
Donatella's girl
fahccrimes
Geoff Ramsey Stan
a-young-doctors-journey
A Young Doctor’s Journey
chamchammbum-blog-blog
cham says this.