#feysand month 22 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fawnandshadows · 1 year

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You’re So Vain

Pairing: Feysand

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut, cuck!tamlin, karaoke

Word Count: 6k

Gifting this one to my darling @impossiblescissorspeachpaper !! Thank you so much for helping me work through this idea 🥹🫶🏻. Hope you have a marvelous December ♥️. This is the first Feysand fic I have ever written!! My humble offering to @feysand-month 🤍.

“What is he doing here?” Feyre asked, glaring at the back of her ex-boyfriend. Tall — the only two people taller than him at the party were his brothers — and she could see his lean muscles underneath his white button down. God, who wears a well pressed shirt to a karaoke party?

He ran a tan hand through his perfectly tousled hair which caused Feyre to narrow her eyes. She knew exactly how much time and effort he put into his hair. How many products he used, how much he spent on imported hair care products from France. How the little movement he just did was actually pre-determined and done to make him look nonchalant.

She hated how much she remembered about him when they broke up 8 months ago.

She hated how much she learned about him when they only dated for a month. Four weeks. 30 days. 730 hours.

She hated that she still thought about him when she fucked her current boyfriend — Tamlin. But it was the only way she could feel pleasure when she laid underneath him and he grunted on top of her. Most days she didn’t even like Tamlin. But it was better than being alone.

“He’s my cousin,” Mor explained, running a hand over her slinky red dress. Style ran in the family, apparently. Feyre adjusted her own simple black dress. “I couldn’t just not invite him.”

Her smile was too innocent.

“What were your words? ‘He would never degrade himself with a karaoke party?’” Ferye asked sarcastically, giving her friend a bland look and shifting all of her golden brown hair to one shoulder. It was absurdly hot in their apartment, but she guessed that’s what happened when you crammed too many bodies into an apartment like sardines. Even if it was the middle of December, and it wasn’t as if their apartment was small by any means. But Feyre felt her blood start to simmer the second Rhysand walked into the room.

“Evidently I was wrong.” Mor said brightly, pouring herself and Feyre large portions of her homemade margaritas. She handed Feyre a red plastic cup rimmed with salt.

“He broke up with me, Mor,” Feyre said softly, proud of herself for hiding the hitch in her voice. “Just because you put us in the same room doesn’t mean he’s going to magically fall in love with me. Plus I have a boyfriend.”

Mor rolled her brown eyes and took a sip of her Margarita.

“Sadly.” Mor muttered, not hiding her hatred for Feyre’s boyfriend.

“If Amarantha comes, then I’m leaving.” Feyre said seriously. She had no wish to see the red head clinging to Rhys — the thought alone had her seeing red. She’d rather scratch her eyes out than see those two going at it in real life. They were all over social media — it didn’t matter that she had Amarantha blocked on all platforms, but she couldn’t go on tiktok without seeing edits of them on her FYP. And if she saw one more picture of them on her Pinterest she was going to blow a gasket.

It didn’t matter than Amarantha was married to somebody else, some high ranking government official — Rhysand was still more powerful than her husband. With his old money and family connections.

Feyre wanted to vomit just thinking about them together.

She could only go on Instagram in small bursts, and every time she fought the urge to check his Instagram to see if he was posting about them. She didn’t go on Instagram often, since it was almost always a battle she lost.

“No way that bitch is getting past our door.” Mor said viciously. It was a toss up between who she hated more: Amarantha or Tamlin.

Feyre’s blue eyes traveled back to her ex-boyfriend and her world stopped for a bit to see that he was looking at her. His violet eyes intense as they stared at her.

Rage simmered through her veins as he smirked at her.

Feyre glared at him as she took a large gulp of her margarita.

“You can’t leave me tonight.” Feyre told Mor, who looked at her mischievously.

— —

Mor was a horrible friend.

30 minutes later Rhysand approached them and Mor just had to double check the karaoke machine.

“There you are,” Rhysand said in a voice that was practically a purr. “I’ve been looking for you, Feyre Darling.”

Her stomach dipped as he said her nickname. His British accent just as lovely and attractive as ever.

“Don’t,” Feyre said in a cold voice, jamming her finger into his chest. “Call me that.”

His smirk grew, and the cocky expression on his handsome face irked her as much as it unraveled her. She wondered what the hell he saw in her face. She was never as good at masking her emotions as he was.

“You’ve always loved it when I called you that,” He dipped his head close to her — close enough that she could feel his damp breath on her cheek. “If I recall correctly,” Warmth flooded her veins. “You especially liked when I said it as you were coming all over my cock—”

“Stop—”

“Tell me, Feyre Darling, has anyone else been able to reach the spot deep inside of you?”

“Yes.” Feyre lied through her teeth.

“Liar.” Rhsyand said softly, his lips still upturned.

“Tamlin does,” Feyre continued with her lie, not breaking eye contact as she took another large sip of her drink. “He makes me forget your name. All the time.” I can only come if I imagine he’s you.

She thought a hint of fury passed through his eyes.

He licked his lips and Feyre hated how her eyes were drawn to the action.

“You’re with Tamlin?” Rhsyand asked in a flat, cold voice. He was close enough that Feyre could feel the tension radiating from his body.

“Yes.” Feyre replied, tilting her chin up to glare at him.

Rhys stole the plastic cup from her hand and finished it in one drink. Her eyes glassed a little as she looked at the way his throat worked. Fuck, she had a thing for necks. And she recalled so vividly how Rhys liked it when she bit him right next to his pulse — the first time she did it was on a whim, but it pushed him over the edge and caused him to come inside of her.

They were on his fucking yacht and had sex the entire weekend.

How the hell was she with a guy who had his own yacht?

“I bet he doesn’t even touch your clit,” Rhys said, taking a step towards her until her back was pressed into the counter, his arms caging her in. “Or go down on you at all. He’s a prick.”

True. Everything he said was true.

And yet she felt the need to defend her boyfriend.

“His cock is bigger than yours.”

Another lie.

His gaze darkened and his smirk fell.

“You’re a horrible liar, Feyre Darling.”

“Then why do you look like someone kicked your puppy?”

“Because the thought of him sticking his tiny prick inside of you makes me want to flay the skin from his bones.”

Feyre bit her lip.

“Why do you care so much?” Feyre asked, her face pulling towards his.

“Because I remember how fucking wet you were coming on my cock over and over again, Feyre Darling, and your sweet little pants as you stretched around me. And how fucking insatiable you were riding me all night long,” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, causing her to shiver. “I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

True.

“How the hell did we have room for your ego in our relationship?”

Feyre glared as his lips fell back into a smirk.

“I bet you’re wet right now.” Rhys said, and Feyre felt her cheeks burn.

She opened her mouth to respond, but Mor’s boisterous voice echoed through the microphone.

Feyre recognized the music and lyrics instantly.

Mariah Carey’s Fantasy.

Feyre felt herself smiling, the song fit her friend perfectly.

With two hands, she pushed Rhysand away from her and muttered, “I need another margarita.”

The sound of Rhys’s laughter grated on her nerves and set her on edge — especially because she could feel how wet her panties were.

She was grateful Mor only knew how to make strong margaritas. And she was also incredibly grateful that Mor thrived in the spotlight because it meant that no one could see her skulking in the corner.

Mor crooned the words, “But it's just a sweet, sweet fantasy, baby - When I close my eyes, you come and take me - On and on and on, it's so deep in my daydreams,” and twisted her body to the music in a way that captured everyone’s attention. And there was one brunette that Mor was making eyes at, and Feyre knew Mor was going to go back with her tonight.

Leaving her their apartment.

Feyre took another swig of her drink and grimaced when she found it was empty, so she filled it up again. By the time Mor finished her song, Feyre was half way done with her third margarita when her blonde friend pointed to her.

“Feyre,” Mor sung her name into the microphone. “It’s your turn.”

Feyre was ready to shake her head and run out the door, but she saw Rhysand smirking at her and raising his eyebrows in a challenge, Feyre quickly finished her drink and walked to where Mor stood on a makeshift stage. She didn’t even know how her roommate got it into their apartment without her knowing, and the sparkling disco ball that hung over the stage came close to smacking her in the head.

She took the mic from her friend and slowly scrolled through the songs until she found the perfect one.

The opening notes sounded through the room and her eyes clashed with violet ones as she sang, “You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht,” She hated the fact that he had an actual fucking yacht. “Your hat strategically dipped below one eye - Your scarf it was apricot,” She gestured to the imaginary clothes dramatically and rolled her eyes as she moved. “You had one eye in the mirror, as you watched yourself gavotte,”

She noted the exact moment that recognition dawned on his face — it was accompanied by his brothers laughing and playfully punching him in the arms.

Her hips moved with the beat of the song, popping to the side as she sang, “And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner - They'd be your partner and,” A smirk stretched across his face as she danced like she was Kate Hudson from How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days. “You're so vain - You probably think this song is about you - You're so vain (you're so vain) - I bet you think this song is about you - Don't you don't you?”

The bastard brought his hands up and brought them together — he was slow clapping at her. Douche, Feyre cursed silently, hating that he was enjoying this.

“You had me several months,” She intentionally changed the lyric, but the venom that laced her voice was unplanned. “Ago when I was still quite naive - Well you said that we made such a pretty pair and that you would never leave,” If it wasn’t for the copious amounts of tequila, then she would have moderated her voice. “But you gave away the things you loved - And one of them was me,” She placed her hand on her chest and bowed dramatically, showing off her cleavage just slightly and she watched as Rhys’s violet eyes followed. His jaw clenched. “I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee clouds in my coffee and,” Her hips popped with the song, and she grinned hearing everyone singing along. Everyone but Rhys. “You're so vain- You probably think this song is about you - You're so vain,” Even Azriel and Cassian were singing along — Cassian cupping his hands and sang with the booming voice. Azriel may have just been mouthing the words, but a win was a win.

Feyre continued to sing, loving how the tequila made her bold and brash even though she was certain she would be cringing with regret in the morning.

Her eyes narrowed as she spit out the lines, “Well you're where you should be all the time - And when you're not, you're with some underworld spy - Or the wife of a close friend wife of a close friend,” An image of him and Amarantha tangled in sheets flashed through her mind, fueling her anger.

Like a spark in an engine, the mental image of that old crone with her hands on Rhys sent her spiraling as she sang the last few lines of the song. “Probably think this song is about you - You're so vain.”

She didn’t call on someone else, she just set the mic down and marched into her room, avoiding eye contact with everyone in her path.

Feyre was vaguely aware of Cassian climbing onto the stage and making a show of selecting whatever song he was going to sing.

She closed the door behind her, but her neck whipped around when it opened two seconds later.

Rhys slid into her room and leaned against the closed door. His white shirt tight over his chest as he crossed his arms. The muscles on his arms straining against the fabric — the bastard probably did it on purpose.

He crossed one ankle over the other as he gazed at her.

“Feyre Darling,” He said in his lilting accent. “Did you really think I would let you get away with that?”

Feyre lifted a hand, pointing towards the door, and said, “Get out.”

He locked the door behind his back and pushed off of the frame, taking a step towards her.

She could hear Cassian begin his song through the door. It sounded suspiciously like Meat Loaf.

“I have a boyfriend.” Feyre said, dropping her hand as Rhys walked closer to her.

“And yet you sang to me tonight.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips.

“I think you missed the point of the fucking song.”

“And I think you missed me.” Rhys said and he swooped his head down to her, but Feyre pushed him away.

“What the fuck are you doing,Rhys? You,” She poked his peck roughly, hating how his white upper teeth sank into his bottom lip to hide a smile. “Broke up,” She punctuated every word with her fingers on his chest. “With me.”

His violet eyes darkened.

“Because I had to, not because I wanted to.” His voice was unbearably soft.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“You’ve gotten a potty mouth since we were together,” Rhys observed, and before Feyre could stop him he brought his hand to her face and brushed his thumb over her lips. “Your mouth is much too pretty for such dirty words.”

“I must have picked it up from Tamlin.” Feyre said, pouting as his thumb stilled on her lips.

“Then I’m going to fuck it out of your system.” Rhys growled, fury lining his face at the mention of her boyfriend.

“Oh, so it’s ok for you to say fuck?” Feyre narrowed her eyes, drawing out the word and putting extra emphasis on the k.

“Your mouth is going to be the first thing I fuck tonight.”

Feyre gasped as his hand moved from her mouth and tangled in her hair, tugging it sharply to angle her mouth directly under his.

She shivered, remembering how much he loved it when she took his cock into her mouth. He loved coming down her throat as Feyre looked up at him with wide blue eyes, especially with smeared makeup. And she knew it drove him crazy to watch her swallow.

“And your girlfriend?” Feyre said spitefully, unable to not throw it in his face.

His grip on her hair tightened.

“One day, love, I’ll tell you everything.” He said, his breath fanning over her face.

Agitation stung under the surface of her skin.

“You can tell me now,” Feyre said between her clenched teeth. “Or you can get out.”

“You don’t want me to leave,” Rhys placed his lips against her cheek and Feyre’s breath came faltering out of her lips, and he slowly moved down to her neck. His kisses burning a trail over her sensitive skin. “Or you would have kicked me out by now.” He said into her neck.

His tongue traced over her fluttering pulse.

“I tried.”

“That little fit? That’s our foreplay, Feyre Darling, you should remember that.” Rhys said as he moved his lips up her neck.

He was right.

He loved to heat her up and cool her down.

She was about to respond, but his lips dropped to hers.

Hot and needy.

Feyre felt her knees give out, but Rhysand’s free arm wrapped around her and brought their fronts together.

His tongue grazed the seam of her lips and Feyre parted her mouth, moaning as his tongue slid past her lips.

Breathlessly he pulled away from her and said, “I knew you missed me.”

Feyre rolled her eyes at his arrogance.

“There is one thing that I missed.” Feyre admitted and placed her palm against his hard cock over his black slacks.

Rhys chuckled lightly and said, “A rather large thing, really, darling, but then again you were always greedy when it came to my cock. You could never get enough.”

A rush of applause sounded through the door — Cassian must have finished his song.

“Did anyone see you follow me?” Feyre asked, finally registering the fact that there was still a party going on without them.

Rhysand gave her a bland, regal look.

“Do you really think this is my first time sneaking away for a tryst, love?”

Feyre glowered at him.

“It is with me.” She growled and roughly unbuttoned his shirt — a few of his buttons popping off and clanking as they landed. Feyre didn’t want to imagine how much they cost. They were probably made of platinum.

“Darling, don’t take your jealousy out on my Armani.” Rhysand said, laughter lacing his voice as he shrugged out of his shirt. He walked over to the side of her room where her desk laid and hung his shirt on the back of her chair so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

He stepped out of his shoes, and then the clicking of his belt unbuckling filled the room, followed by the swishing of his pants.

And then he was naked in front of her and it became a little harder for Feyre to breathe.

Her mouth watered a bit at the sight of his erection — a little bead of liquid pooling at the tip.

He looked so fucking confident as he walked over to her, as if they were in his room.

“You know,” Feyre said, looking up at him. “My lock is broken. It only works like 50% of the time.”

Rhys placed two hands on her exposed arms and turned her around, his hand leaving her skin to remove her dress.

“I was never one to shy away from a little exhibitionism,” Rhys whispered into her ear as he unzipped her dress slowly. “Love, why the fuck are you wearing this rag? We break up and you lose all sense of fashion?”

Feyre rolled her eyes.

“I have more important things to spend my money on, like rent.”

She shivered as he nudged the sleeves of her shoulders and the dress pooled by her feet. Feyre stood in only her heels and little black lace thong — goose bumps pebbled her skin, but soon Rhysands large, warm hands covered her breasts. He pulled her back into his chest and Feyre bit her lip at the contact — his hardened chest hot against her back. She could feel his muscles straining against her. His thick dick pressing into the round globes of her ass.

“Feyre Darling,” He said, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, and he moved his hips against hers. “I can put you up in a lovely little townhouse. Apartment. Penthouse. Whatever you want. I can give you the loveliest clothes and jewels. All of your needs will be met,” He grasped her earlobe between his teeth and tugged sharply. “All the orgasms you want.”

Hurt pricked at her heart and the next words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“As your whore?”

Rhysand tensed as he processed her words — an arrow aimed straight for his heart, and a little worm of regret wiggled inside of her. Probably from the tequila.

“Of course not.”

“If you can give me all that, then why can’t we be together?” Feyre asked, looking over her shoulder at him to find his violet eyes burning brightly.

“We will be — one day. You need to trust me,” Rhys said in a harsh whisper as his fingers dug deeper into her flesh. “Fuck, I missed having you in my arms.”

“I missed your touch.” Feyre admitted in a whisper and reached to claim his lips.

As they kissed one of his hands reached down to clasp between her thighs. He groaned against her lips and he muttered, “I fucking knew you were wet for me. I remember your needy little pussy. How my tongue and fingers were just never enough — you craved my cock. And you would get into such a cute little frenzy, coming over and over on my tongue and still desperate for more. My insatiable little love.”

“I love the way you feel in me.” Feyre said, leaning her head back on his shoulder as he worked her over her lacy thong. His other hand teasing her pink nipple.

Rhys dipped his head to kiss her neck.

“The first time we were together you came from my cock alone. All you had to do was take my entire cock and you drenched the bed from your orgasm.”

A gush of liquid seeped out of her and onto his hand — Feyre could feel him smirking against her neck.

“And now all you need are my words to come. Feyre Darling, don’t tell me my voice alone does it for you.”

“Your voice only does it for yourself, darling.” Feyre replied mockingly, and she delighted in the little chuckle that pulled from his lips.

“To be determined, my love.”

Feyre was about to respond, but the tearing of fabric and the friction of her panties being pulled against her clit caused a small scream to sound from her lips.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” Rhys grasped her earlobe between his teeth and tugged. “Made of silk.”

“Sounds impractical.”

“I like the sound of silk when it tears, darling.”

His fingers were hot as they slid through her wet folds, teasing her bud.

“I can’t wait to be inside of your sweet pussy,” Rhys said hotly into her ear. “But first I want you on your knees.”

He twisted and maneuvered her body until she was kneeling in front of him, dressed in only her strappy black heels.

She remembered that he had a thing for them. For a brief moment she was stunned by how much she remembered about him, but soon became enamored by his erection bobbing in front of her eyes.

She hated that her mouth watered just by looking at it.

It bobbed in front of her long and thick and she longed to have it between her thighs, filling her up as he took her at a brutal pace.

Feyre roughly grabbed the base of his cock and used her tongue to trace the vein that ran the length of him. All the way until she got to the weeping head and swirled her tongue, collecting all the liquid that beaded at his tip.

His fingers pulled at her hair, enough for Feyre to feel slight stings on her scalp.

Her pussy clenched in response.

She looked up at him with wide eyes as her mouth wrapped around his head, her cheeks already hollowing out.

His sharp features were ridden with lust, and his eyes were burning bright as he gazed down at her and Feyre felt so fucking desireable.

Their eyes locked as Feyre slowly took more of him, and Rhys gathered her hair into his hand like a ponytail.

“Your mouth is so pretty wrapped around me,” Rhysand said, slowly starting to move his hips. “Isn’t this a better use of your mouth, darling? Rather than saying all those filthy words?”

Feyre narrowed her eyes at him and scraped over his skin with her teeth, delighting in the way he shivered at the contact.

“That wasn’t very nice, Feyre Darling. I’m going to show you the proper use of your mouth.” His voice was heavy with lust and he snapped his hips into her face, her nose nudging his pelvis.

Drool pooled down her chin as she choked on his cock, which was moving furiously in and out of her mouth. His balls slapping against her chin

Feyre was so turned on and drenched that liquid coated the insides of her thighs, loving how Rhys was slowly losing control and that it was because of her. He was always so annoyingly in control of how he appeared to others — always in a mask, showing people the arrogant prick he pretended to be. Well, mostly pretended to be. She saw the depth of him when they were together and it completely captured her heart. He was still an arrogant prick, but there was more.

She moaned around his hot cock, slippery from her mouth, and he held her mouth to the base of his cock as he shot down her throat — Feyre swallowed most of it, some of it falling down her chin as he pulled out of her mouth.

A line of spit connecting her lips to the head of his dick.

Her tongue collecting the smear of semen on her lips. She used the back of her hand to wipe away the drool on her chin.

Feyre panted with her hands on her knees, staring up at Rhysand and wondering what it was about him that drove her wild with lust. The thought of doing what they just did with anyone else made her want to shrivel up.

“Stop thinking.” Rhys said, helping her to her feet. Her knees wobbly like jelly and his lips claimed hers, his tongue sweeping through her mouth.

Feyre moaned knowing he could taste himself.

When he pulled away Feyre said, “Tamlin makes me brush my teeth and rinse with Listerine before kissing me after—”

A hard slap cracked against her ass, and Feyre screamed in shock and pleasure. His hand roughly massaging her cheek to ease her stinging flesh.

“Don’t,” Rhys growled through clenched teeth. “Talk about him.”

“Jealous?” Feyre asked, wanting to provoke him.

“He doesn’t fucking deserve you.”

“And you do?”

“No,” Rhysand said, kissing her again. “But I’m fucking taking you anyway.”

He picked her up and tossed her on the bed — Feyre felt dizzy for a second before spreading her legs for him, her knees high as her heels dug into her quilt.

She didn’t care that he was seeing how soaking wet and ready she was for him. Didn’t care that it was probably stroking his ego in a way she would probably never hear the end of.

“Then fucking take me and make me forget about him.”

Rhys leaned over and placed one hand on the outside of her hip and he traced the fingers of his free hand over her exposed sex, playing with her and making a show of her wetness.

His lips turned up into a self-satisfied smirk as he plunged a long finger inside of her, and Feyre could feel herself desperately clenching at the contact. Wanting to tighten around something much bigger than his finger.

A strangled scream got caught in her throat as he curved his finger to hit the spot within her that only he knew about.

“They’re going to hear you, love.” Rhys said, preening at the fact that he was causing her restraint to slip.

“I can’t,” Feyre panted as he pulled out and slid two fingers inside of her, hitting her sensitive spot again. “Help it,” She tried to glare at him. “You know that.”

He always teased her about how vocal she was during sex, but the sounds went right to his cock and his ego. He loved her sounds, and he loved making her scream.

His smirk split his face as her hips ground against his hands, fruitlessly trying to take control of her own pleasure.

Rhys took pity on her and pressed his thumb into her swollen clit. His hand and her hips moving together as Feyre rode out her wave of pleasure.

As soon as she fell limp and sweaty against her bed Rhys slid up her body and aligned his hard cock against her dripping, glistening cunt. One arm propped next to her head and one hand gripping her plush thigh.

The round head of his cock slipped through the puffy lips of her pussy and nudged at her entrance.

Feyre watched as his teeth bit his lip as he slowly sunk into her, her hands came up to grip his tight ass, pushing him further into her stretching cunt.

“Yes.” Feyre said in a breathy moan, feeling deliciously full as his cock filled her to the hilt, her eyes falling shut.

She waited for him to move, to start thrusting in and out of her in the way that she liked, to lift her hips in the way that altered her universe.

He stayed still.

Feyre opened her eyes to see Rhysand gazing down at her.

“I want you to remember this Feyre,” He said in a dark, full voice. “How fucking perfectly I fit inside of you. Feel that no other man’s cock can have you squirming with need and satisfy you at the same time.”

He pulled out and pushed back in, tilting her hips in the way she desired.

“This is the only cock that belongs between your legs, Feyre Darling.”

One of her hands reached up and slid into his hair, gripping it tightly in a way that made him grin.

“Mine is the only pussy for you.” Feyre muttered as she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts — urging him to go faster. Harder.

“Possessive, love?” Rhys smirked, quickening his pace as her hips bucked against his.

“Yes,” Feyre admitted, tightening her grip in his locks. She loved making a mess of his hair. “I hate thinking about you and her. Together.”

Rhys growled and adjusted his position, gaining more leverage on the bed and thrusting harder.

Feyre gasped at the movement and opened her legs wider.

He grabbed one of her legs and bent it to her chest before placing it over his shoulder. Her heel sticking up in the air.

She cried out as he hit deeper inside of her — his hips creating a delicious friction as they ground against hers. “I pretend she’s you,” Rhys whispered harshly into her ear. “It’s the only way I can do it.”

Feyre gasped and clenched around his cock as he drove into her.

Their flesh coming together sounded through her room, wet and sharp and frantic.

His sweat slicked chest leaned closer to hers, pulling her leg back further and causing him to go deeper.

“Harder.” Feyre gasped, overwhelmed with how tight and full she felt — her nails unintentionally digging into his skin which caused him to grunt, his hips faltered as he drilled into her harder.

“I’m gonna come.” Rhys grunted, his hips pumping faster. He looked at her with a question in his eyes and Feyre said, “Come inside of me. I want to feel you,” Feyre brought his head down so that their foreheads were touching and stared him in the eyes as she tightly, intentionally clenched around him. “I need to feel you.”

Feyre turned her head so that her lips were on his neck. Her teeth right next to his pulse as she bit down.

Rhys shuddered as he pushed forward again, the walls of her pussy clenching his cock as he came deep inside of her — shallowly rocking against her. He brought his hand between their hips and pressed his thumb against her aching clit, so that both of them were coming at the same time.

He pulled back, and fell onto the bed next to her, breathless.

Their sweaty bodies pressed against each other, and their heavy, humid pants were loud in the air

“Feyre Darling,” Rhys said, and Feyre turned her head to find him already gazing at her. “I hope you didn’t think that was it for tonight.”

— —

They didn’t sleep.

Rhysand took her two more times before the early morning sun started to stream through her windows — and it wasn’t until Rhysand pushed off the bed that Feyre realized she was drifting off.

“You’re leaving.” Feyre said, her eyes gliding along the length of his bronze body. Tucking away the mental image so she wouldn’t forget — She took note of every mark she left on him. The claw marks down his back. The half-moon indents on his ass cheeks. The purple love bite on his throat.

“Believe me,” Rhys said, walking over to her desk and picking up his pants from the night before. “I would rather stay in bed with you all day.”

“You can.” Feyre blurted out as she sat up, clutching her quilt and sheets to her chest. Suddenly feeling shy.

Rhys turned to face her fully, his cock shamelessly on full display. His abs well defined and tight and Feyre found herself wanting to lick them.

She quickly looked away and accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and cringed.

Rats nest. She could hear her mothers voice in her ear venomously whispering about her hair, tangled and messy from the friction of her pillow. Her full smoky makeup smeared black around her eyes, and lipstick stained on her lips and chin.

She cursed herself for letting Mor do her makeup.

“You look beautiful, Feyre Darling.” Rhysand said as he stepped into his pants.

“I look—”

“Well and truly fucked,” Rhys smirked as he shrugged into his shirt. “By me.”

Feyre fought the urge to roll her eyes.

Her nails nervously picking at a stitch on her quilt.

“What happens now?” Feyre asked, gazing at him and tucking her chin onto her bent knees.

He stared at her for a moment, tucking his shirt into his pants before finding his belt.

He looked absurdly good on no sleep — his black hair deliciously tousled, and a heady warmth spread through her knowing she was the one who tousled his hair. And his skin perfectly tan and even, not even purple smudges under his eyes.

Rhys looked like a fucking cologne ad.

Feyre could see him on the page of a magazine modeling for some overpriced scent that smelled like sex and citrus. He did always smell good. But he didn’t need the money.

He took a step closer to her after putting his shoes on, and as he approached her he lifted her face to look up at him. His fingers touching her chin delicately.

“What happens now is that you trust me, Feyre Darling. Even though you shouldn’t.”

Rhys brought their mouths together and Feyre felt a bit of her anxiety melt away.

“When will I see you again?” She asked.

“You still have my number?” Rhys asked and Feyre nodded in confirmation. “I’ll call you, but there is something I need you to know, love,” Rhys laid his forehead against hers, and Feyre felt her heart stop and tumble into her stomach at the intensity of his gaze. “I’ll be thinking about you the entire time we are apart.”

——

Tagging: @sakurakittypeach @nikethestatue @tswaney17 @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @feyredarlinq @alwayssara @nyxreads @rinadragomir @secretpuppyflower @captainbrucebanner @ultadverb @irisesforelain @shedoessoshedoes @magnolia-blossom87 @sheena-beene @nivem565 @casuallivi @rhysiedarling @elain99 @athena-85 @swankii-art-teacher @reverie-tales @jujugirlfrombookstore @shadowflorecita @shy-violet-soul

#feysand #feysand month #feysandmonth22 #feysand month 2022 #feysand fic #feysand fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand #fawnandshadows writing #fawnandshadows fanfic #I listened to you’re so vain 48 hours straight as I wrote this😀#which isn’t a bad thing #I love feysand so much #I want to write more of them 🥹#this was my first time writing feysand so please be nice 🫶🏻#feysand month 22 #feyre x rhysand #Feyre x rhys

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feysand-month · 2 years

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calling all fans of feysand! feysand month is a celebration of the relationship between rhysand and feyre. will be executed from dec 1st - dec 31st. during this celebratory month, feysand fans can join in to create and share fanwork.

feysand month prompts are here! ✨

rules to the event:

#feyre x rhysand #feysand #high lady feyre #feyre acotar #feyre cursebreaker #feyre archeron #pro feyre #pro feysand #pro rhysand #rhysand #high lord rhysand #high lord of the night court #nyx archeron #acotar #feysand month #feysand month 22

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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Eggnog: Sugar and Spice (Feysand) 🎁

**Also written for Feysand Month 2022 Day 16: Mating Bond** @unofficialfeysandmonth2022

Summary: A series of fluffy/smutty ACOTAR winter one-shots! 12 stories for the 12 days leading up to Solstice (December 21).

Feyre and Rhys get drunk off eggnog and have some…crazy dreams. Dreams that involve the Hewn City.

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex/fingering, consensual somnophilia, voyeurism kink

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Feyre and Rhys held back-to-back meetings with the council of governors in the morning. Attentively listened to the public comment during an afternoon Court session at the Hewn City. Wrapped up their presents for the Solstice party in two weeks. Took six-year old Nyx on an evening flight over Velaris.

After such a long day, soaking in a hot bath together and drinking copious cups of warm eggnog seemed to be in order. The spiced, sweet and creamy beverage was delicious, but Feyre feared she may have had too much to drink. Her movements were sluggish as she changed into her silken, silvery nightgown and slipped under the covers.

Rhys didn’t seem to be faring any better. The powerful High Lord of the Night Court was a surprising lightweight. He’d only drank two cups, but was swaying slightly as he cleaned his teeth.

“Feel like doing anything tonight?” Feyre asked Rhys suggestively as he climbed into bed with her.

Rhys sighed. “I would love to, Feyre darling, but this eggnog has me spinning. Pray I don’t wake up with a hangover.”

“That’s alright, Rhys. I’m pretty tired, to be honest,” Feyre soothed him with a peck on the cheek. “Though Elain made such a delicious eggnog. She says she used Helion’s recipe. I should ask her to send us some for the Solstice party.”

“I don’t recall Helion’s eggnog being so strong,” Rhys muttered. He pulled Feyre closer, draping his leathery wing over the both of them. “Elain must have been quite heavy-handed with the brandy.” He managed to kiss her forehead before drifting off to sleep.

***

She was back in the Hewn City, with the Court of Nightmares in its regular throes of revel before her. Feyre was positive she was dreaming. One: Cassian, Azriel, Amren, and Mor were nowhere to be seen.

Two: she was wearing the skimpy black dress from her first visit to the Hewn City. The two shafts of glittering fabric were draped over her breasts, cinched at her waist with a belt, and left flowing between her pale, bare legs. The very same black diadem with diamonds sat on the crown of her head.

Three: there was only one throne in the room. And she was the one sitting on it. But then the massive stone doors at the end of the hall swung open.

There he was: Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. His beautiful face was cruel, yet elegant. He wore a simple black tunic and black pants, needing nothing more to remind the revelers that he was their High Lord. For the power that rippled throughout the room said enough. Even after seeing him millions of times, Feyre always felt her heart flutter at the sight of her mate.

“Feyre darling,” he purred, sinking to his knees once he reached the dais. “My High Lady.” Feyre crossed her legs, noticing Rhysand’s violet eyes flick up and down her body. Taking in the sliver of bare hips and waist that signaled she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Come.” Feyre curled her index finger, tugging on the bond between them. When he stood next to her, Feyre leaned closer and asked, “Is this a dream?”

“Yes, darling. Both of us are dreaming the same dream.”

Feyre blinked, contemplative. The dreams they’d shared before were short: flashes of night sky, glimpses of her human hand, a snippet of nightmarish memory, the view of the desolate woods. But this was different. This felt real.

Almost real. As Feyre focused hard, flexing her mental muscles, a platter of golden apples appeared on the feast table. Golden apples, straight from the apple tree in the mansion her family had lived in before hard times. She gasped delightedly, looking up at Rhys. “I just did that!”

Rhys smiled gently. “Though it’s rare for us daemati to dreamwalk, it is not impossible. Let’s see what else we can do.”

After some mental strain, Feyre managed to create a miniature snowfall. She also dimmed the faelight, inviting more shadows into the darkened hall. Rhys snapped his fingers and a series of constellations dusted across the ceiling.

��We’re missing a throne. Let me make one for you.” Feyre chewed her lip, trying to remember what the Hewn City thrones looked like.

Her concentration was broken when Rhys tilted her chin towards him with a finger. “Well, where’s the fun in that?” his violet eyes glittered. Oh. Oh. Feyre caught on to his meaning.

“I suppose there is space for two here,” she smirked, getting up from her seat and gesturing for Rhys to sit.

Rhysand sat and did not hesitate to tug Feyre down onto his lap, his hands gripping the bare skin of her waist. Feyre straddled his legs, feeling his hard, impressive length rub against her clothed crotch. “We’ve barely done anything, and you’re already hard for me?” Feyre teased, threading her hands through Rhysand’s cobalt-black hair.

“What can I say? I’m always ready for you, darling.” Rhys swept her lips into a decadent kiss. He fingered the edges of her delicate dress, nails scraping gently over the curve of her hip. “Not wearing anything underneath? How naughty.”

“It’s all for you.” Feyre unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, practically salivating at his sculpted chest. “You’re mine, Rhys,” she hissed possessively as she traced the whorls of his Illyrian tattoos. Rhysand’s skin heated as he ravenously watched Feyre touch him.

“You’re mine, Feyre,” he affirmed, gripping her hips more tightly. “My beautiful, powerful mate.” The column of Rhysand’s throat bobbed as she left a trail of kisses and love bites up the side of his neck. Feyre sent a burst of pleasure down the bond as she ground against him.

“Tch, tch. Pay attention to our court,” Rhys chided.

“But I want to kiss you,” she whined.

Rhys placed one final kiss on Feyre’s lips. “I’ll reward you handsomely if you turn around.” The twinkle in his eyes had her scrambling in his lap, turning to face the crowd.

Well, it was hard paying attention with his right thumb and index finger lightly stroking her inner thigh. Feyre swallowed audibly, trying to school her expression into neutrality as arousal pooled between her legs.

Perhaps it was because it was a dream, but Rhys could not recognize any of the faces. Organized chaos had ensued in the hall: drinking, dancing, feasting, bawdy singing, and the occasional fucking in dark corners. The Court of Nightmares had always been a place for debauchery, and he had always watched them from the dias. But tonight—in this dream—he would join them.

“Pretty, pretty Feyre,” Rhys murmured into her ear as he buried his face into her golden-brown hair, breathing deeply. Pear and lilac notes under the spicy scent of her arousal. “Whatever am I going to do with you on my lap?”

“You could touch me more,” Feyre said breathlessly.

Rhysand didn’t answer. He only slipped his left hand under the shaft of her dress, making lazy circles just below her breast. Some male satisfaction ebbed through him when Feyre moaned his name softly, her hands gripping his thighs. He smiled like a smug cat.

It harkened back to when she sat on his lap for the first time, listening to Keir prattle on and on about courtly matters while Rhysand pretended to listen. Except this time, Keir was nowhere to be seen. Rhys did not wish for any interruptions to their pleasure, therefore the Hewn City’s Steward did not exist in the dream.

“Do you remember the day I wore this dress?” Feyre asked, sensing the trail of his thoughts.

“Yes.” Rhysand’s tone was dark. He cupped Feyre’s breast under the fabric, playing with her nipple and drawing out another moan. “Perhaps we can finish what we started that day.”

Feyre shivered in anticipation. “I’ve always wanted you to fuck me on the throne.”

Rhys’s hands stilled and his violet eyes darkened in response. “Then we fuck until the sun rises.”

The drums and song picked up, and so did the circling of his fingers that left Feyre craving for more, more, more. Was the shift in music Rhysand’s doing, or her’s? It was wild and thrumming, a heady complement to their desire intermingling through the mating bond.

Rhysand held himself with tight control, allowing only heavy breathing and the strain of his pants to reveal his arousal. Feyre, on the other hand, was barely restraining herself. Every time he nibbled her earlobe, every time his hand skated the underside of her breast, she writhed in his lap. When Rhys’s fingers curved around her thigh, she finally whimpered, “I need you, Rhys.”

Only in the dream world could Rhys push aside the panels of Feyre’s dress, displaying her breasts in the open air. Only in a dream world could Rhys slip his fingers inside her, drawing out a wave of fresh slick out of Feyre. In front of everybody.

Feyre moaned, throwing her head back onto Rhys’s shoulder as he fingered her with long, luxurious strokes. She bucked her hips, trying to drive him deeper within her.

“That’s it, darling,” her mate cooed tauntingly. “Make a mess out of my lap.” Rhysand continued to slowly stroke Feyre’s wetness, occasionally curling his fingers to bring her closer to the edge, then slowing down when she tightened up. Winding her up, but never letting her come down.

“I want to ride you, Rhys.”

“Go ahead, sweet one. Let them see what a perfect pet you are.” His words dripped with dangerously sweet venom.

Rhys’s pants magically disappeared as Feyre got up. Her inner thigh muscles stretched with a slight ache as Feyre readjusted herself to rest her knees on the throne’s cushion, straddling Rhys. She was so heady with desire, the lewd sound her pussy made as she sank down onto Rhysand’s hard shaft didn’t even embarrass her.

This was what she and Rhys had subconsciously wanted along. Years of making love and fucking in all ways imaginable never quite scratched the itch of being able to lose herself into pure pleasure at the Court of Nightmares.

Feyre bounced on his cock to the rhythm of the drums echoing over vaulted ceilings while her mate continued to murmur praises and palm her breasts. “Rhys,” she moaned, allowing him to pepper kisses down her neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m so close.”

“Yes, darling,” he mumbled, half-dazed between kisses. “Keep going. You’re perfect.”

“Show them how their High Lord fucks their High Lady,” she gritted out. “Show them how good you make me feel.” She leaned back, the new angle allowing his cock to brush against her clit with every thrust. It was an effective move. Within moments, Feyre came with a wail.

Feyre vaguely heard Rhys saying “it would be my pleasure” before snapping his hips up into her still throbbing core.

She lurched forward with a garbled cry, struggling to balance on Rhysand’s thighs. “Do you see them, Feyre?” Rhys said into her ear lowly. She could only mewl in response, for her head was lolling forward as Rhys rutted into her. “Eyes up, Feyre darling.” Rhys wrapped her long, golden-brown hair in his hand and tugged back, forcing Feyre’s head up.

Only in a dream world could Rhys fuck her in front of the entire Court of Nightmares with abandon.

Rhysand’s power rippled throughout the room, altering the fabric of the dream. Feyre clenched around Rhys when nondescript members of the audience turned their heads to watch them.

To watch Feyre’s breasts undulate with Rhys’s thrusts. The panel of fabric between her legs thrown back, revealing the faint outline of his cock in her gut. Their High Lord’s jaw clenched with focus as he pleasured his High Lady, whose pale cheeks were flushed pink and her blue-gray eyes half-lidded. The black liner around her eyes smeared with tears of pleasure, her red-lipped mouth opening in a wanton moan. It was utterly perverse. And yet, Feyre only grew wetter by the second.

Rhysand chuckled, rubbing her clit with just a smidge more pressure. “My pretty mate loves it when others watch. Let them see how you come around your High Lord’s cock.” It was too much: the delightful pinch of pain on her scalp, his seductive voice, his cock driving into her, the hungry expressions in the audience.

“Rhys!” The tension building up in Feyre’s core released as she sobbed, leaning back against Rhys as she trembled on her new throne. Rhysand wrapped a hand around Feyre’s waist and palmed her breast with the other, holding her still as he thrust hard once. Twice.

He came at the third thrust, releasing the damper on his power as he did. The hall shook, wine spilled, and darkness swirled. Feyre gave into the exquisite rush of power, allowing ice to frost over the seats, flames to erupt from the braziers. The Court of Nightmares dissolved into nothingness as the world spun on its axis. Stars exploded silver light into the darkness. There was only Rhys and Feyre, Feyre and Rhys, two souls in the void. The bond between them glowing hot and bright…

Feyre awoke with a gasp.

Silvery moonlight streamed through the bedroom window, wrenching her away from her dream of the Hewn City. Snow glittered on their windowsill. The stars dotting the indigo night sky were halfway through their nightly journey, indicating she’d been asleep for some time.

But the air was thick with the scent of arousal.

Feyre looked down to see she was sitting upright on her knees, on Rhys’s lap, her silk nightgown bunched around her thighs. Rhys was breathing hard behind her, and his cock…his cock was buried in her pussy.

Her mate was leaning against the headboard, his shirt unbuttoned just as she’d done so in the dream. One of his hands was under her nightgown and squeezing her breast, the other wrapped around her waist. Just as he’d done so in the dream.

“Oh shit,” she whispered, putting her hand over her mouth in shock. “Were we doing that in real life, too?”

“I believe so, darling. I guess we unintentionally ended up having some fun tonight.” Rhys gently eased Feyre off him, and she whimpered at the cold, gaping emptiness beneath her. He massaged her sore inner thighs, easing the tightened muscles when she lay down.

Feyre was silent for a moment. “I never knew we were able to do that. That was…indescribable.” She turned to Rhys, her blue-gray eyes glimmering with starlight. “Sorry, I should have warned you…I have strange dreams whenever I drink.”

Rhys laughed softly as he smoothed her hair. “It’s alright, darling. It was quite an experience. And I’m pretty sure it’s the damn eggnog,” he muttered wryly. “I do think we need to ask Elain for more next week.”

Notes: Feyre and Rhys have especially skilled mental powers…I think that means lucid dreaming is very, very possible with these two.

Tags: @unofficialfeysandmonth2022, @feysand-month, @the-lonelybarricade

#feysand month #feysand month 22 #feysand #feysand fanfiction #feysand smut #feyre archeron #rhys acotar #feysand month 2022

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sideralwriting · 1 year

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Feysand Month 2022

Day 1 prompt: Fairy tale AU.

Chosen tale: Cupid and Psyche.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none

Notes: this is the first fanfic I publish since 2016 and it is the very first for this fandom. Have fun!

The roaring of the waves against the rocks reached Feyre’s ears even up there. The weed at the edge of the cliff was slippery while the storm approached. Her parents had left her on that cliff alone.

Feyre’s beauty was stunning, so impressive that she was considered to be the reincarnation of the Mother herself. So grand, that even Amarantha heard of it and was jealous of the girl. Amarantha was known as the most beautiful and terrifying female in all of Prythian, one who aimed to be considered a true goddess as there were millennia before. In her obsession of beauty and power, Amarantha cursed Feyre to marry the darkest and hateful being in the fae realm. Feyre’s parents were rulers themselves of the Mortal Lands, but even them had no power over fate or curses and decided to do as the old Queen said.

And now here she was, accepting her destiny to save her family from Amarantha’s attention. She was alone but she won’t be scared. Maybe marrying the foulest beast and dying was far better than being adored and paraded everywhere she went.

The wind became kinder, blowing her skirts westward, dull gray clouds passing above over Feyer’s head. She pivoted as she felt a hand clasping her shoulder. A beautiful male was standing behind her, dark brown hair moving on the wind, watching her with wary hazel eyes. Enormous wings spread behind him, a sword sheathed between his wings and a huge sapphire on the chest of a combat suit, but all about him was beautiful. Only his outline was… blurry? Is he a ghost? But he has wings. Is he the one she has to marry? She doesn’t understand, he’s not at all a beast. Is he a crazy ghost then?

The male bowed to the waist, his voice flat and cold as the blowing wind: “Hail, princess. I’m Azriel and I’ll be the one to escort you to your spouse” he announced before taking her stretched hand into a scarred one, tugging her at his chest and soaring through the sky.

The moonstone palace on the peak of the mountain became visible from afar glowing white in the dying sun. Feyre and Azriel landed on the polished white marble floor of a big hall surrounded by arches with no windows in sight to stop the wind. Sheer lilac curtains of gossamer hung between the arches, framing the sun setting behind the mountains and the first stars to appear. She had no idea where she was, but the view. Oh, the view. If only she could paint it. This was her torment for the rest of her life, wasn't it? Being surrounded by complete beauty but being unable to celebrate it. Feyre was so entranced by the landscape that she didn't hear Azriel flying off an arched balcony on the other side of the hall as two other figures approached from one of the biggest arches that lead into the palace itself.

"Greetings, my lady" told a chorus of two voices next to Feyre.

The princess looked at her left where the voices came from and she met two figures of shadow and smoke.

"We are your servants in the palace", they added, "we have a warm bath waiting for you and dinner will be ready soon. Make haste, please, or everything will turn cold".

And so she did and enjoyed every last bit of it.

She was almost asleep in her cream-and-purple bedroom, when the shadows grew bigger near an archway. They moved toward the bed, startling her as she sat up straight between the blankets. Was it another servant? She didn't see anything nor anyone with shadows so black to mix with the landscape outside the room. Not even the moon and stars could brighten it.

The night covered the bed and surrounded Feyre.

Something… no, someone sat near her, taking her right hand and putting a feather-like kiss on her knuckles.

"Welcome, Feyre darling" the voice, male, murmured, "my name is Rhysand and I am your husband".

The voice was velvet soft, a caress to her senses that made her feel awake. But there was something she needed to know.

"Are you going to kill me, Rhysand?"

The voice turned solemn: "I won't. I swear. But there is someone who wants that."

"Amarantha." It was barely a whisper in the dark but she shivered at the name of the female who changed her life.

"Yes", a thumb ran up her arm soothing her goosebumps, "For a cruel twist of fate my court and I are bound to her and she delights in using my powers"

"Are you the beast she cursed me to marry? What did she do to you to end up like this?"

The shadows around her, dancing on her skin, seemed to stop at the word "beast", but that could only be her imagination. She knew how this first night of marriage was going to continue, but she couldn't believe that Rhysand was her husband. He didn't sound foul, nor bad in general only… sad. Longing for something.

She stretched an arm in front of her without seeing it and felt Rhysand's chest right in front of her. His breath caught, he was as still as a statue as she explored his body: warm and fit and strong. She caressed his cheek and he angled his head into the touch. He seemed to be human, the usual male body.

Getting closer to him, she threaded her fingers between short hair, breathing his scent of sea salt and lemon.

Rhysand's hands roamed like hers did but more carefully, studying Feyre as if he could see her. He nudged her neck with his nose and stopped again as soon as she started moving a finger against his wings

"I-I am that beast. My power is huge and frightening, but she tricked me using my family as bait", Rhysand explained, "and actually we have the same problem in common, this situation aside". His tone became lighter.

"Hmm, which is?"

"We are too stunning for our own good" he joked and the laugh that left Feyre's lips was so clear and unexpected that the darkness cleared enough: she could get a glimpse of her husband's face, stars dancing in his purple eyes and a fond smirk on his lips.

#acotar: fanfics #feysandmonth #feysand au #feyre x rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #feysand month 22 #feysand prompt fairy tale #the princess and her curse

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onemustalwaysbecarefulofbooks · 2 years

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Why I Dislike the Entire Baby Related Plot line in ACOSF and Find It Utterly Ridiculous

This is probably old news to most people but I realized recently that I never truly ranted about this and I’d like to take the opportunity to. I love a lot of things about Sarah J Maas’s work, but this is not one of them. Hardcore Feysand and SJM stans should probably stay away, I highly doubt you’ll like what I have to say.

Point #1: Feyre’s totally abrupt mind change/desire to be pregnant as an immortal fae at 22 after knowing her 500 year old husband for a year and SJM’s attempt to explain/justify it is a blatant example Author Self-Insert

I feel like I should start off by saying that, in almost every single case, I am a total and complete sucker for anything baby related in literature. This is definitely not everyone’s cup of tea, but I am the kind of person who loves to see the stereotypical happy ending between characters, featuring marriage and babies. Some people like to keep things open ended, some people just don’t feel that every relationship needs to end in such a way, some people find it cliche. . .but I am definitely not one of those people! Despite it being admittedly corny/cliche, I normally eat that shit up. I have always been a very maternal person and one of my favorite tropes is when a beloved couple has a baby in a story. I am usually totally open to seeing it take place.

However, in ACOMAF, when Feyre expressed to Rhysand that she wanted to wait a while before having any children, I found myself (for once) in total and complete agreement with her. It made total sense to me based on Feyre’s character and her experiences up to that point. Feyre has spent most of her life being responsible for, and caring for others. She expresses in ACOTAR that she never really spent time doing anything for herself out of enjoyment. She also has just gone through an extremely traumatic experience that she is still very much in the process of healing from. She had been dealing with major PTSD throughout the entire story that manifested itself physically, mentally, and emotionally. Not only that, but my goodness!!! Feyre is 19 years old!!!!! 19 is a young age to have a child at in a human lifetime. In the lifespan of an immortal fae, which she now is, she is a god damn infant. She literally has the rest of eternity to procreate. Despite my love for characters having babies, I totally respected and understood her decision and thought it made perfect sense.

All of this was stated in ACOMAF and was made abundantly clear. And then. . .SJM gets pregnant and now all the sudden, Feyre wants to get pregnant!!!!

Look, I get it. I really do. SJM, as a first time mom, was caught up in the wonder of pregnancy and wanted Feysand, her favorite couple, to experience it also. Like sure, fine. Reasonably understandable. And Feyre is no less of a “feminist icon” for chosing to be a mother. I just find it funny that she had just had Feyre lay out extremely valid and logical reasons as to why she did NOT want to get pregnant for a while and then dramatically changes her tune in such a short time frame. Just a few months later, Feyre WANTS a baby! Like, come on. At least admit you changed Feyre’s mind because of your own pregnancy!! It really doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see the similarities in the timeline. ACOFAS, where Feyre announces her wish to have a child, came out in May 2018 and Sarah’s baby was born a month later, in June. Like, this CLEARLY influenced her dramatic change of heart. And like!!!! Just say that!!! Just admit it!! It’s pretty understandable!!!

If this was what Sarah wanted based on what was happening in her own life, based on what she had already written, it would have made way more sense to me for Feysand to get pregnant on accident. It’s been stated many times that Fae children are rare and difficult to conceive. Fae women only have two periods a year, and many couples try for years to have children without any success. Not really sure why SJM couldn’t make Feysand get caught up in a moment and bang without any contraception (as they did all throughout Ch 55 of ACOMAF), not REALLY worrying about it because pregnancies are so rare, and then be surprised by an unexpected pregnancy. This would make the Illyrian wings plot line make more sense as well (which I’ll get to a minute--essentially, if Feysand were TRYING to conceive a child, why would they knowingly have unprotected sex while Feyre was in Illyrian form????) I think a surprise pregnancy they weren’t expecting would make a lot more sense given the context of everything that had already been set up.

But instead of doing this, SJM decides to cook up a reason for Feyre to give us as to why she has suddenly and dramatically changed her stance on something so major in such a short amount of time.

The weaver only stared toward the tapestry. “I thought we’d have a thousand more years together.” She began to coax the loom back into movement. “In the three hundred years we were wed, we never had the chance to have children. . .I don’t even have a piece of him in that way. He’s gone and I am not. Void was born of that feeling.”

I didn’t know what to say as her words settled in. As she continued working.

It could have been me.

It could have been Rhys.

These months, the what-ifs had haunted me. All of the what-ifs that we’d so narrowly escaped. And this holiday tomorrow, this chance to celebrate being together, living. . .

The impossible depth of blackness before me, the unlikely defiance of Hope shining through it, whispered the truth before I knew it. Before I knew what I wanted to give Rhys.

The weaver’s husband had not come home. But mine had.

I have two responses to all of this:

This does not come across as a healthy rational reason for wanting a child. It’s honestly kind of concerning. Feyre just finished telling us in ACOMAF that she wanted time to live her life and be her own person for a while before having children. Having her completely change her mind after a conversation with someone who had lost their husband in the war before having children honestly seems like a product of unresolved PTSD. You should not decide to have a child out of fear of your spouse dying and you being left with no part of them. Like if you make the permanent and life altering decision to bring a child into the world over a conversation like this, maybe you’re still dealing with some trauma regarding his “death”?? The whole thing honestly comes across as pretty codependent to me. “Damn, now that I think about it, we’ve had some really close calls. We could have died at any time. We shouldn’t waste any more time! I don’t want to be left without a piece of him!”

Which brings me to #2. . .

2. LOL Feyre honey, this will never be a problem for you, remember???? You shouldn’t waste a second of your time even worrying about those feelings. If Rhys dies (AGAIN, he’s only alive now thanks to Tamlin, but we’ll just ignore that), you’ll be seconds behind him!!

Point #2: Rhys and Feyre have no business bringing children into this world after making their magically sworn oath that if one dies, the other will as well.

I can not even begin to express how irresponsible and thoughtless I find Rhys and Feyre to be for making a magically binding pact that if one of them dies, the other will as well. My mouth honestly hung open as I read that part of the end of ACOWAR. It was presented in that moment as something romantic and to me, it was horrifying. I would never ever EVER want my significant other to cease living if something happened to me. I can not imagine making a willing agreement to set this in motion. Everything else in this series regarding codependency was CHILD’S PLAY compared to this!

What doubled my rage and fury over this situation was the fact that Feysand made it and then went, “Hey, you know what would be a great idea?! Let’s have a baby!” Like. . .you fucking fools. No matter what angle you look at this situation at, it’s horrific. Let’s say the baby wasn’t in the picture. They are still the leaders of the largest Court in Prythian. Their lives do not belong to only themselves. They are responsible for thousands of people. Feyre doesn’t REALLY hold any magical political power, but Rhys has just doubled his chance of dying, therefore leaving the Night Court open and vulnerable to whoever the magic of the High Lord’s power would then choose. Now let’s say that the two of them are not in positions of power, but are just two random citizens of Prythian. The repercussions of their decision would not be on as grand of a scale, but they would still be completely guilty of making an extremely irresponsible and selfish decision regarding the care and safety of the children that they CHOOSE to have. The fact that they made this bond and then CHOSE to have a child is disgusting to me. So. . .you two are okay with doubling your child’s chances of becoming an orphan? If their mother dies, they automatically have no father? If their father dies, they automatically have no mother? The selfishness in this act is unbelievable to me. When they finally have their “Oh shit” moment in ACOSF when Feyre’s life is in danger from the delivery, Rhys says, “We never thought it would turn out this way”. Like really????? You didn’t???? You live in a violent warring society, have tons of political enemies, and are the mOsT PoWeRfUl beings in all of Prythian. You put a god damn shield around your wife so no one could even SMELL her during her pregnancy because you claim you have so many enemies. AND your species is known to have risky complicated births!!! And, like always, Feyre and Rhys aren’t really made to have to acknowledge any real accountability over their choices. Amren calls them out for like a minute and then we move on, with our only concern being, “How can we save them?????” while not REALLY stopping to address or examine the fact that they did this TO THEMSELVES.

Wow, I really went off on a tangent!!! I have been wanting to rant about that pact for a while. My whole point was, Feyre’s reasoning for deciding she DID want to have a baby after all fell totally flat for me. You’ll never have to worry about living without Rhys. You’ll die when he does. I honestly think an accidental pregnancy would have made way more sense, especially regarding my NEXT point!

Point #3: Nyx having wings was ALWAYS a possibility and this is something Rhys and Feyre should have planned and prepared accordingly for. SJM’s attempt to remove all accountability from them in the dangerous situation they found themselves in is absurd (yet not unexpected).

I remember, plain as day, reading ACOSF for the first time and finding out that everyone in the IC was so distraught over Feyre’s pregnancy. We pretty much immediately find out that their reason for their distress is that the baby apparently has wings. I’m sitting here like Yeah????? Like. . .of course it does????? Didn’t we all know that would happen???

Raise your hand if you always assumed and expected that Feysand’s baby would have wings.

Like. . .is there really anyone out there who didn’t? I’m pretty sure every single fanfic and/or fanart I saw of their future child included wings. Rhys says that one of his favorite childhood memories was jumping out his bedroom window with his mother and flying around Velaris. His wings are largely featured in many parts of the story. We know his sister canonically had wings as well (the ones that were pinned to the wall like some kind of trophy by Tamlin’s father, along with Rhys’s mother’s wings). He’s a “Bat Boy”. He doesn’t have shape shifting abilities like Feyre, his wings are a PART of him and clearly a part of his sister as well. No one granted him the ability to form them, he was born with it. Yes, he can make them appear and disappear at will, but they are there due to his family’s DNA, through his Illyrian mother. I ALWAYS assumed their baby would have wings!

But according to what Rhys tells us in ACOSF, it’s actually because of Feyre that the baby has wings.

“Feyre was in an Illyrian form when he was conceived.”

“That can make a difference? I thought she only made the wings--nothing else.”

“She shape-shifts. She transforms her entire self into the form she takes. When she grants herself wings, she essentially alters her body at its most intrinsic level. So she was fully Illyrian that night.”

I honestly just kind of have to laugh at this. What source of information is telling them that this is the reason the baby has wings???? Is this speculation or is this medical fact?? Rhysand has wings as part of his genetic makeup from his Illyrian mother. The baby is just as likely to have inherited these wings from him. How do they KNOW that these wings are there because of Feyre’s form when the baby was conceived?? How do they KNOW she’s transforming her “entire self”?? Is there some kind of genetic testing in Velaris now?? How do they know the difference between what she looks like and what she IS??? You’re telling me this healer Madja just totally dismissed the possibility entirely? “Well, it couldn’t possibly be that the baby developed wings due to his Illyrian father and grandmother. It’s definitely because his fae mother altered her complete genetic makeup by giving herself a pair of Illyrian wings during sex”.

Okay, so according to this logic. . .if Feyre transformed herself into Amren, had sex with Rhys and conceived a baby, then transformed back into herself, she would essentially become a surrogate mother for the child she was carrying. The baby would be Rhys and Amren’s biological child, and would carry no DNA from Feyre. Is that really what SJM is claiming?

I’m sorry, I’m not buying this one bit. Feyre’s ability was SHAPE-SHIFTING. Altering her physical appearance. Not literally BECOMING them and taking on their freaking DNA!!! Spoilers from Empire of Storms: Remember how there was an entire plot of how Lysandra, a shape-shifter, agreed to transform herself into and live her life as Aelin? Who would need to provide heirs for Terrasen? And how it was deemed that she would need Aedion, Aelin’s cousin who greatly resembled her, to father these children, so it would be believable that they were Aelin’s children? It was established that Lysandra was Aelin in appearance only, her physically looking like her wouldn't actually mean anything as far as DNA goes. They would need Aedion, who actually DOES share some DNA and family resemblance to Aelin, to achieve this. This was a huge deal in ToG and a major part of Aedion and Lysandra’s story/relationship. I know you could make the argument that they are technically two different series, therefore the rules of the magic system could be different, and I would acknowledge that. But it still seems weird to me to make “shape-shifting” mean something so completely different in two series that have a ton of commonalities in their magic systems.

Another reason it seems so implausible to me is that in ACOWAR, Azriel had to specifically TEACH Feyre how to form her Illyrian wings:

“The frame needs to be a bit thicker,” Azriel offered as a weight began to drag down my back. “Strengthen the muscles leading to it.”

I obeyed, my magic listening in turn. He provided more feedback, where to add and where to ease up, where to smooth and where to toughen. In this scene, Feyre is clearly not “becoming” an Illyrian. She is molding and shaping wings onto the back of her body. If Azriel needs to help her make physical adjustments to their appearance, I have a really hard time swallowing that she’s supposed to be “transforming her entire self” and “altering her body at its most intrinsic level”. No, I really just think this is SJM’s half-baked way of making something happen simply because she needs it to happen for the story she wants to tell. It just seems very very weird to me that Feyre would be the reason Feysand’s baby has wings, with nothing to do with Rhys involved at all. It goes against pretty much everything I assumed about them and their relationship this entire time and it just doesn’t seem believable to me.

I think that entire reasoning and weird and really stretching things, but whatever. Let’s just go with it. SJM says it is so, so it is. My point in pointing all of this out is to call back to what I said earlier: If SJM wanted to really go with this angle, that Feyre and Rhys getting it on while she was in Illyrian form was the reason the baby had wings, I think it would have made much greater sense in the context of this story to have Feyre just get pregnant by accident. Feyre had already established that she didn’t want to have children for a while. Create a scenario where the two of them get caught up in a sexy moment and have some kinky Illyrian sex without using or taking any form of birth control (as they do in Ch 55 of ACOMAF, minus the Illyrian part). Then oops!!! Feyre’s pregnant. It’s not a total devastation to either of them, because they knew they wanted to have children eventually, and fae children are rare and considered a blessing, so they just figure it was fate. THEN they can be totally upset and shocked when they realize the consequence of what happened between them. Obviously, they would have never had full on Illyrian sex if they were TRYING to conceive a baby, right?? Feyre obviously had no clue but Rhys would have definitely put a stop to it.

As soon as I read the part where Rhys explains why Feyre having a child with wings is dangerous and deadly, the very first question that immediately exploded into my mind was, “If that’s the case, why the hell are these two having unprotected sex, TRYING to get pregnant, while she is in Illyrian form????” If you’re taking your birth control herbs or whatever and you just want to have some kinky Illyrian wing sex, fine!!! Great!!! But like. . .hello!! What are we doing having unprotected “Build a house with a nursery, Feyre” sex in this state?? I didn’t understand why no one was asking that question. Like, did they not put themselves in this situation???

And honestly. . .forget everything to do with Feyre. No matter how “small” the chance, the possibility of them conceiving a winged child always existed, due to Rhys’s Illyrian heritage. Wouldn't you think that once they knew they were going to start trying for a child, whether they knew how Feyre’s powers worked or not, if there was even the SLIGHTEST chance the baby could inherit wings, Rhys would inform her that she needed to conceive and then STAY in Illyrian form for her safety?? As I pointed out earlier, it doesn’t make sense to say there’s no chance at all the baby could inherit wings from Rhys. You’d think Rhysand, who loves and adores Feyre above all other things, would have ensured from the moment they began trying to conceive that there was not even the slightest chance this could be an issue for her.

The only conclusion I can come to is that SJM would say that Rhys and Feyre weren’t aware that Feyre’s powers worked that way. Because all the other alternatives involve him or them looking pretty fucking irresponsible, which we all know is NOT ALLOWED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. No, there is no criticism allowed whatsoever. It’s not their fault!!! They didn’t have sex under unsafe life threatening conditions while TRYING to get pregnant!!!! Rhys didn’t not inform Feyre about the dangers of fae delivering winged babies or take steps to prevent it from happening!!! It’s not Rhys’s fault the baby has wings, even though he carries that genetic makeup in the actual genetic makeup he was born with and carries with him at all times!!! It’s because of some of Feyre’s strange gifted magic and they didn’t even know about it!!!!

Okay. . .so we’re back to where we were before. If we didn’t know about it then, how do we know about it NOW? What led you to believe that the baby has wings because of Feyre’s weird powers, when you had no idea before?? If they didn’t know her power worked this way, wouldn't they assume the wings were from Rhysand?? But instead, we’ve got Rhys telling us it’s because of the form Feyre was in. How did you find this out and why did you just find it out now??????

Ugh, we could go in circles forever. I realize I’m probably thinking way too much into this. SJM clearly just needed a scenario to exist where Feyre was pregnant with a winged baby that endangered her life and since it goes against her very nature to make her and Rhys do anything bad whatsoever, this is what she came up with. However, it goes against MY very nature to just blindly accept it and move on!

Point #4: The fact that there were no alternatives to saving Feyre and the baby’s lives is not believable in the slightest.

I feel like I should point out the admitted absurdity of what I’m saying by calling a specific detail in this series “not believable”. We’re talking about a fantasy series where an immortal fae is pregnant with a baby with large bat-like wings. Obviously, NONE of it is objectively “believable”. When I use language like that, I’m referring to how it is not believable within the context of the world and magic system SJM has created.

So when Cassian first hears about Feyre’s predicament, one of the first things he asks Rhys is a pretty logical question: Why doesn’t Feyre shift BACK into Illyrian form, so she DOES have the pelvis and birth canal and all that other fun stuff that will allow her to deliver the baby safely? This is Rhys’s response:

“Madja has put a ban on any more shape-shifting. She says that to alter Feyre’s body in any way right now could put the baby at risk. On the chance that it could be bad for the baby, Feyre is forbidden to so much as change the color of her hair until after the birth.”

I’m sorry, this is dumb to me. The baby is ALREADY at risk!!! The situation is basically presented and described as a death sentence to both him and Feyre. It’s told to us over and over that hardly any babies and mothers ever survive these circumstances. It’s why Rhys is freaking out so badly. It seems to me like this is a chance worth taking. They’re using language like “it COULD be bad for the baby” and “there’s a CHANCE it could put it at risk”. They don’t KNOW what would happen, because no one has ever been in Feyre’s position with the unique powers she has. If Feyre can make specific small changes to her body, like the color of her hair, why couldn’t she just make a small specific change to her uterus, without shifting her entire body into some other form? Yes, there is a “chance” it could harm the baby, but how does it look like things are going for the baby on their own???? To me, it seems like the odds are “98% chance you’ll both die” and “Unknown odds about what will happen”. I feel like I know which one I’d go with!!

This is extra infuriating, because this decision, about what Feyre does to her body when her life is at risk, is something she UNQUESTIONABLY should have been a part of deciding. Feyre could have thought that taking a chance on the unknown was worth it, rather than resigning both her and her child to what essentially would be (and did end up being!!!) a death sentence. We’ll never know what she would have decided however, since Rhysand robbed her of making this choice or even contributing her input when he decided to withhold all of this information from her.

“You might be my mate,” he said, “but you remain your own person. You decide your fate – your choices. Not me. You chose yesterday. You choose every day. Forever.”

File this away under: “Reasons I Despise Rhysand”. #No one likes a hypocrite.

Moving on. . .that’s a rant for another day.

The other option that is presented as a safe alternative is delivering the baby through cesarean section. This is shot down by Cassian, who tells us this:

“Any attempts in the past to cut the child out of the mother’s womb have been. . .” he shuddered. “No mother has ever survived. So we won’t even try that route.”

And when the moment actually comes, as Feyre is literally bleeding out and both her and the baby are dying we get this from Madja:

“There is nothing we can do,” Madja said. “Cutting the babe out of her will kill her.”

“Cutting it out?” Nesta demanded, earning a sharp glare from Rhys.

Madja ignored her tone. “An incision along her abdomen, even one carefully made, is an enormous risk. It’s never been successful. And even with Feyre’s healing abilities, the blood loss has weakened her.”

I’m sorry, I have to laugh at this. This is the most blatant case of Convenient Story Telling I have ever seen. I understand that this is a high fantasy world where no technology exists. People use lanterns and ride horses and use herbs to heal things. However, C-Section births have been happening successfully for hundreds of years, far before the time of modern medicine. The first recorded case where both the mother and child survived was in Switzerland in 1500. The first one to occur in the United States happened in 1794. Obviously these procedures did not occur without serious risk before modern medicine, but they DID happen successfully. And you mean to tell me that in a fantasy world where extremely powerful magic exists, we couldn’t make one happen???

It just seems so contrived to me. No normal rules of medicine or healing have EVER had anything to do with this series. Let’s just cite a couple of examples:

Lucien has his eyeball clawed out by Amarantha and was given a magical metal eye replacement, crafted by Nuan, the alchemist from the Dawn Court.

Feyre has her arm shattered by the Middengard Wyrm, has tendons and bone hanging out of it, festering with infection, and Rhysand heals it to perfection with his bare hands.

Tamlin gets stabbed through the heart by Feyre, has a gaping chest wound that pours blood all over the floor, but is healed enough to attack and kill Amarantha the moment the curse is broken.

Cassian somehow knows what lactic acid is

Madja can perform magical ultrasounds where she can tell the baby’s gender and general shape/size/presence of wings.

Nesta recalls how in the battle against Hybern, Cassian had “been gutted and Azriel had held his entrails in with his bare hands”.

We are existing in a world where BOTH of this baby’s parents have literally DIED and been brought back to life!!!!!

If this is a world where all of those things can happen, it seems ridiculous to me that a successful cesarean birth is impossible and would result in certain death for both Feyre and the baby. Clearly this society has the healing capability to save someone who’s guts are literally hanging out of their body (Cassian) and yet we’re supposed to believe a c-section is completely impossible? And not only that. . .we are dealing with a magic system that literally brings people back to life. Feyre AND Rhys were both killed at certain points in this story and restored to full life through magic. I’m not saying the exact method used on them could be applied here, I’m just saying. . .it seems unrealistic that there couldn’t be SOME sort of magical solution to someone bleeding out from a c-section. It’s just a case of very convenient story telling, which is something that has always bugged me in stories.

Point #5: The climax of what was supposed to be Nesta and Cassian’s story felt centered around and overshadowed by Feysand.

I guess at this point, I shouldn’t really be surprised. But I still couldn’t help the sense of disappointment I felt over all the drama at the end of this book being all about the Feysand baby. Nesta had just gone through the fucking Blood Rite, something no female had EVER survived or even participated in in the thousand year history of the Illyrians. Not only did she survive, she came damn near close to winning/completing it (admittedly unrealistic, considering she had been training a few months and was up against insanely powerful Illyrian warriors who had been training literally decades, but whatever. . .that’s how a lot of fantasy stories roll). I felt like we didn’t even get a moment to sit with that and really reflect on it before we’re whisked away to Feyre’s delivery room, and all of that drama ensues. It felt like we didn’t have a true emotional moment about anything to do with the Rite before it was abruptly cut off, leaving me with a disjointed feeling.

I understand that this moment was supposed to serve as a big important healing moment between Nesta and Feyre. I understand that that was an important part of Nesta’s story. I’m all for some sisterly love and it was certainly satisfying to see Rhys go on his knees in gratitude before her. I just personally wouldn't have chosen THIS moment to be the climax and The Big Ending of the entire book. And maybe my feelings on this wouldn't be as strong if I didn’t already know that SJM is unnaturally obsessed with Feysand. That made it harder to swallow. Whether this is rational or not (and I acknowledge that of all the points I made, this might be the one that isn’t entirely), it felt like SJM just featuring her faves again.

This ended up being WAY longer and more rambly than I had planned on, but once I got started, I just couldn’t stop! I’ve been bottling this all up for over a year now and it clearly needed to be let out. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: I have respect for Sarah as an author but I will never not critique something I feel is poorly executed, as long as I can back it up with logic and facts from the text. I feel like I’ve done a pretty fair job of doing that.

In conclusion: Rhys and Feyre are not fit to be parents at this point in their lives based on their own choices they have made, nor does it really make sense for them to even WANT to be at the moment. The situation they found themselves in was entirely preventable and SJM’s excuse and explanation for it was convoluted. I don’t find it to be believable in the slightest that there was no other possible way to safely deliver the baby and save Feyre, based on the word that SJM herself created. And Nesta ended up feeling like a supporting character in the dramatic finale of her own story. I wish she would have gotten her full moment in the spotlight without any involvement from SJM’s blatant favorites. Nesta really deserved better.

#acosf #acosf critical #sjm critical #anti feysand #anti rhysand #pro nesta #nesta archeron #acotar critical

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welldonebeca · 2 years

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Miss, PhD - Masterlist

Summary: Steve doesn’t have a crush. In fact, he is too old to have one. It doesn’t matter that he is too interested in the Stark girl. This means nothing. AKA: Steve has a crush on young Doctor Stark, PhD. He just needs to figure that out before she moves on from her crush on him. Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female!Reader Warnings: Reader insert, fluff, angst, preconceived notions broken, slow burn, one-sided pining that is actually mutual pining, University AU. Eventual smut.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10

Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

Chapter 14 on Patreon (27th of November on Tumblr)

Chapter 15 on Patreon (4th of December on Tumblr)

Chapter 16 on Patreon (11th of December on Tumblr)

Chapter 17 on Patreon (18th of December on Tumblr)

Chapter 18 on Patreon (25th of December on Tumblr)

Chapter 19 on Patreon (8th of January/2023 on Tumblr)

Chapter 20 on Patreon (15th of January/2023 on Tumblr)

Chapter 21 on Patreon(22nd of January/2023 on Tumblr)

Chapter 22 on Patreon (29th of January/2023 on Tumblr)

Chapter 23 on Patreon (5th of February/2023 on Tumblr)

Chapter 24 on Patreon (12th of February/2023 on Tumblr)

Chapter 25 on Patreon (19th of February/2023 on Tumblr)

Chapter 26/Final on Patreon (26th of February/2023 on Tumblr)

. . .

Tag list is open and +18! Message me to be added to it.

“Miss, PhD” was posted on my Patreon in February 2022. To read it before anyone else, subscribe to my page! It’s just $2 a month and it gets you early access to all works that come to Tumblr and AO3 and exclusive access to Patreon-Only stories, along with several other perks.

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth @amythyststorm33 @shaelyn102 @yknott81 @letsdisneythings @maximofftrash @kgbrenner @thefridgeismybestie @magpiegirl80 @mogaruke @shadowhunter7 @musicalcoffeebean @megasimpleplan4ever @deemoriarty @05spn18 @malindacath @kdcollinsauthor @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @widowsfics @frozenhuntress67 @averyrogers83 @notyourtypicalrose @nerdypinupcrystal @giruvega Marvel forever tags: @its-daydreamer23 @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @tayrae515? @indecisiondecisions? @afanofmanystuffs? @patzammit? @thevanishedillusion? @widowsfics? @alexisshoto @princess-evans-addict @dreams-of-feysand @xoxabs88xox @dragonqueen0606 @izbelross @isabelle-faith Steve Rogers Tags: Open Miss PhD: Open

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shallyne · 1 year

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Feysand Month Day 18: Love Languages

The five love languages of Feysand

Just a teeny tiny mini glimpse of angst at the end. REST IS FLUFF

Words: 1,800

TW: mention of death, mention of nightmares, implied depression

It's Love Language day for Feysand!

Acts Of Service

Feyre Darling Rhys spoke into Feyres mind. She groaned and pulled the blankets higher. They took time for themselves today and that included sleeping in. A loving caress followed through the bond when she didn't answer. She let her adamant walls down a little bit for her mate.

What? she asked him.

I got your favorite crossaints

Feyre opened her eyes. The chocolate ones?

She felt Rhys's amusement as he answered. Yes, and I am fighting for my life down here because Cassian and Mor want to get their hands on them.

Feyre threw her blankets aside and jumped up. She didn't care that she was still in her nightgown. She already heard Cassian and Rhys from the corridor as she hurried towards the dining room.

"She's not eating all of them!" Cassian whined.

"If she wants them all, she gets them all!" Rhys answered.

Feyre entered the dining room, smiling at her mate. He held the box with the croissants away from Cassian. "Good morning." she said to Azriel, patting his shoulder as she walked past him. He was watching the spectacle from the other side of the table.

Feyre took the box from Rhys and squeaked excitedly when she opened it. She took two crossaints out and put it on her plate and then took another one and gave it Azriel because she knew when Cassian and Mor get the box, there won't be anything left for him. He smiled grateful at Feyre.

"Say please." she said when Cassian grunted. He squinted and then said "Please." Feyre raised her eyebrow. "Can I please have the box, Feyre?"

She smiled satisfied and handed him the croissants.

"Don't empty them all, you wild animal!" Mor complained.

Feyre chuckled as she took her seat beside Rhys.

"I'm not! I'm looking for the best ones!" Cassian replied, turning his back to Mor.

Feyre bit in her croissant and grinned at her mate. "Did you wake up early to get me croissants?"

"Well, they would have been gone later." he replied. Feyres grin widened and she laid her head on his shoulder. "I love you."

Quality TIme

Feyre tried to paint. She had a great idea and she was motivated to paint it. At least when she entered her studio an hour ago. Then she started to think about Rhys and that she wanted to spend time with him. Feyre tried to tell herself that she would spend time with her mate when she was done but she barely had any progress because her mind always went back to him.

After another hour without any progress she put down her paintbrush and sighed. Before she went to Rhys, she went up to their bedroom and grabbed the book that she had started a few days ago and she wasn't far into the story yet. She left the bedroom again and went back to his office.

He raised his head, looking up from the paperwork before him, watching at her. "Hey." he smiled.

"Hey." she smiled back, sitting down on the couch closest to him. "Continue." Feyre said and gestured to the papers on his desk. "I'll just read my book."

Feyre opened it and as she started to read, Rhys asked. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes." she answered. "I just want to be here. Does it bother you?" she looked up at him.

Rhys shook his head and smiled. "No, not at all."

Feyre grinned. "Alright." she said and continued to read her book. They didn't talk at all while they were together but it didn't bother either of them. They were just glad to be near the other. Content with their company. While she was there with Rhys she managed to read almost the whole book.

Physical Touch

Rhys let himself fall on the couch right beside Feyre and laid his head on her shoulder. "I love doing paperwork for hours." he said sarcastically. Feyre giggled and took his hand, starting to massage it. He sighed in content as she did so.

He watched Feyre as she massaged his hand, finger after finger. "That's nice." he said. Feyre kissed the top of his head and continued. When she was done with one hand, she started on the other. "What is Mor doing by the way? I didn't see her all day." Feyre said.

"I think Cassian lost a bet and he has to accompany her on her shopping trip." Rhys snorted. Feyre giggled in response. "I bet Mor is having a great time."

Rhys chuckled and looked up at her. Their eyes met and they just looked at each other for a moment, in silence. Feyre smiled and squeezed his hand, Rhys squeezing it back.

She let his hand go and put her arms around him, cuddling him. Rhys laughed when she pressed kisses on his cheek.

Gift

"Rhys!" Feyre yelled through the house when she arrived home again.

"Yes?" he asked from the living room. Feyre winced, she had expected him to be in his office. Or in the garden. Or bedroom. She quickly hid the book behind her back and went to her mate, stopping at the doorway. She smiled brightly at him. Rhys squinted his eyes and looked her up and down. "What did you do?"

"Why do you think I did something?" Feyre asked. He took a sip of his tea, watching her closely. "Where were you?"

Feyre grinned, tightening the grip on the book behind her back. "Outside." she answered.

Rhys put his cup down and crossed his arms, letting out am exaggerated sigh. "Feyre darling, what do you hide behind your back?"

"Nothing." she said. She didn't stop grinning as she said it. "Okay, maybe I found something."

Rhys started smirking. "What did you find?"

"Well, I went outside- wait, no. First, do you remember when you told me about the book you want but can't find?" she asked.

"Which one?"

"The one with the dead author."

"Male or Female?"

"Male."

"Which one?"

"The dead one."

"Which book?"

"The book with the dead, male author."

"Which one?"

Feyre giggled. "The leather book."

Rhys tilted his head.

"The one you talked about for two hours." Feyre said.

"Oh, yes. I remember that one. Why?" he asked.

Feyre grinned. "You sounded so excited that I started looking for it."

Rhys's smirk turned into a soft smile. "That's very kind of you, my love, but I already looked everywhere. Not even Helion could help me there."

"I know, I expected that." Feyre replied. "But I assumed you knew about the book because you held it in your hands at a point in your life."

"I did." Rhys confirmed.

"And I assumed it might have belonged to your family." Feyre said.

"It did, I don't know what happened to it." he confirmed again.

Feyre nodded. "Remember when you threw me into the weavers cottage?"

Rhys cringed. "Yes?"

"And how I professionally retrieved my own engagement ring?"

"I remember that you were climbing through a chimney." Rhys said.

"Well it was that or getting eating alive but that's not the point." Feyre said. "I used my professional retrieving skills and found-" she pulled the book from behind her back and held it up. "-this!"

Rhys jumped up, gasping. "You found it?"

Feyre jumped up and down excited. "I did! I found it!"

Rhys was there in an instant, picking her up. Feyre laughed as she threw her arms around him. He put her down again and took the book, taking a look inside. "It's the very same book. It still has the note I left in there." he said, astonished. He looked at Feyre in disbelief. "I-"

Feyre chuckled at his loss of words. He hugged her again. "Thank you."

Words of Affirmation

Feyre couldn't sleep again. She didn't have nightmares in a while but before she went to sleep she suddenly had a bad feeling. She ignored it, blamed it on the long day she just had until she woke up, coated in sweat and tears streaming down her face. Rhys was with her, rubbing her back and whispering to her as she calmed down. When they went to bed again, Feyre couldn't sleep anymore. She waited until Rhys's breath evened out before she carefully wriggled out of his embrace and went to their balcony. She welcomed the cold air of the night on her skin, breathing it in.

She sat down on one of the iron chairs. The only thing she was wearing was a thin nightgown, so the cold of the iron bit her skin as it met the chair but she didn't care.

Feyre heard his footsteps a few seconds before he opened the glass door. She smiled at him but it wasn't convincing enough she realized when she saw the look in his eyes. Rhys sat down in the chair across from her. "I can't sleep." Feyre said. He nodded.

"Rhys," Feyre looked down at her hands. She was about to say what she tried to ignore for some time now. Feyre rubbed her eyes and sighed. "I feel heavy again." she whispered. Tears were burning in her eyes that Feyre blinked away.

She stretched out her hand to take Rhys's. "I'm sorry for telling you just now but I-" she shrugged. "I didn't really acknowledge it for myself until now."

Rhys took her hand between both of his hands. "Don't apologize." he said. "You're talking to me now, right? You're talking about it." he smiled at her. "Can I help you somehow? Just say the word."

Feyre shook her head. "No, you can't do anything. Just-" he looked at her, expecting. "Just stay. Please."

He knew what she meant. Feyre saw the realization in his eyes, why she worded it like this. After yet another dream of him dying. Another dream of her holding his lifeless body.

Rhys nodded and crouched before her, wiping the tears from her face. The tears Feyre hadn't realized escaped. "I will." he said, tears lining his own eyes. "I love you, Feyre. I love you so much." Feyre leaned her head into his hand as he spoke. "You will get through this and I won't leave your side. I'll stay with you every step of the way and everything that comes after."

"I'm scared." she whispered.

"I know." Rhys said. "But we won't let the fear win, right?" he smiled when she nodded. "I'm so incredibly proud of you."

Feyre leaned forward and hugged him. Keeping him close to her. When they went back to bed, Rhys stayed awake and told her stories as he held her close to him, cuddled under the protection of his wing. He didn't stop telling her stories until she finally fell asleep, with her head on his chest. Over his heart.

Taglist: @reverie-tales @unofficialfeysandmonth2022 @feysand-month @elentiyawhitethorn

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 2 years

Note

In response to the random dialogue prompts 🌼:

Have you or would consider #22 for Feysand?

People are really out here forgetting these mf’ers were out here reinventing the game for tension. Like truly the best form of agony for me to read? Mutual pining. Every time.

AN: 🌼 prompt #22: "You have no idea what you're doing to me." Jen! My love, my light. Thank you for this wonderful prompt, and thank you to @acciomanorian for betaing this for me!! 🖤🖤🖤

Summary: During the months of their Bargain, Feyre discovers the wonders of reading and Rhys discovers the hell that is the mating bond.

CW: Very brief, soft focus description of smut.

Rating: T

Fic Masterlist • Read on AO3

Stay in the Dark | Feysand One Shot

He finds her in his room, standing with her back towards the door. The pale swan of her neck, visible through a veil of her hair only because the bottle-dark gleam of it slips off her shoulders as she bows over his desk.

She's leafing through... something. He's unsure what.

Arms crossed, he props a hip against the door frame. He thinks he should probably feel annoyed that she's here, snooping through his stuff. He's surprised when he doesn't feel anything close to that.

Pages like the hush of dry sand between fingers. A speck of dust set alight, floating through the lambency. A cornflower blue cloth-covered spine that crackles with old glue and years. The metallic bite of oxidised ink. The sweet redolence of yellowing parchment. A flash of full lips, pink and parted.

The draw of breath like curtains swishing shut.

"Amazing what books can do," she says aloud.

There's a tremble to her words, and he feels the edges of himself, tissue-paper thin, curl up under the blazing focal point of her voice.

Rhys hasn't said a word. Hasn't made a sound since he arrived in the doorway. He moves too silently about the house for his presence to be announced. People only hear him if he intends them to.

No, she felt him. He's quite sure of it. He says nothing.

"What do you see when you read stories?" she asks. She hasn't turned around.

The black-lace fan of lashes resting on flushed cheeks. The sigh of night-cool grass under bare skin. The exuberant leap of wildflowers under a silvery moon. The thrust of evergreens and dark crags against a crescendo of stars. A swelling movement like tides lapping shores. Little divots in porcelain where callused fingers press their ache to.

Rhys is sure he's not breathing. His body has gone preternaturally still, contradicting the maelstrom of blood and furious heartbeat and burning he feels inside.

She can't know. She can't know that those are his trees, his rocks, his wildflowers. She can't know that those are his stars. His hands she conjures up like a dream from the pages of his book.

If she knew, she wouldn't be standing here in his room. She'd have snapped the book shut, called it a nightmare.

But most of all, she can't know that he sees what she sees. That he grafts himself onto her reveries like a bloody surgery—and it undoes him in all the ways he knows she'll hate.

"Doorways," he says softly. "I see doorways."

She turns to face him now. The cloth-bound book he'd already known was cornflower blue before he laid eyes on it is clutched against her chest like an amulet to ward off evil. Only, she doesn't look at him as if he's something to be cast off.

Her eyes are wide and blue and brewing, always brewing. As a thick fog. As tempests. Pinning him in place as he stands on the threshold.

Rhys doesn't dare move.

"I see worlds," she says in a whisper.

For a fleeting moment, his mind is flooded with images and sensation.

Stirring of silk sheets like the violent toss of a black sea the brutal tear of fine fabric and fine hairs curling around sweaty foreheads a roll of thunderous moans laboured breath and teeth and tongues a lance of heat cracking through him like lightning.

Rhys staggers forward, catching himself on the doorframe just in time.

The book is called One Hundred and One Secrets of the Night. He knows this because Mor had given it to him shortly after he returned from Under the Mountain. Truth be told, in a world which was likely standing in the brief breath between autocratic rule and outright war, he'd found solace in the tale of a pair of star-crossed lovers and their affair against all odds. He'd read it more times than a dreaded High Lord such as himself could reasonably admit.

That scene—whatever it was she was thinking of just now, before he nearly face-planted on the floor of his own room—was not a scene from One Hundred and One Secrets of the Night. Nor was it a scene from any book he'd ever read in his long five-hundred years.

He feels the wooden frame splinter under his grip, and is only glad for the presence of something solid to keep him from coming unmoored.

"I wish I'd known," she says.

Something very large rises in his throat. And though he knows he shouldn't let it, a question drifts off his lips. "What does it look like?" He juts his chin at the book in her hands. "That world."

She glances down at the book, as if half-expecting it to spill out onto the floor, show itself to him in paintings come to life. She doesn't know it already has.

Gently, she closes it. Walks over to where he's still rooted in place at the door, her movements like the flicker and sway of a candle flame. She's five feet away, three feet, he can smell the lilac-and-pear perfume of her, one foot away, pressing the book against his chest, right over where his frantic heart beats.

The world stops. Oceans must be glassy in this stillness.

Like this, he can feel the warmth of her skin, a mere hair's breadth away. The static shifting and popping between them. She lifts her face up to look at him.

Her eyes are still sunken and shadowed over with sleeplessness, but there is something else sparking there. Something in that blustering gaze he hasn't seen in a long time. "Hope, Rhys," she says. "It looks like hope."

And what could he make of that? What could he possibly say that might be safe enough to say to a woman engaged? A woman he is in love with? A woman he is unlikely to hold long enough to have?

Her fingers are still splayed on the cover of the book, pressing it into his chest like she thinks it might grow right into his rib cage by some unknown magic. He lays a hand over hers. "You have no idea," he says in a low voice, "What you're doing to me. Do you?"

"Something terrible, I expect," she says, unblinking.

Rhys thinks about telling her now. She should have all of her options, shouldn't she? Was he not an option? He didn't think so before, but now he isn't so sure.

He closes his eyes. It's on the top of his tongue. "Feyre," he breathes.

And just like that, the weight of her hand against the book, against his chest is gone, slipping out from under his own. His eyes fly open, but it's too late. She's already flitting past him, down the hall.

The darkness swallows her up like a candle snuffed out.

☽☽☽☽☽

AN: And that, my dear friends, is the conclusion of my first ACOTAR piece!! I really hope you enjoyed it. This series has been very near and dear to my heart for quite a while now, and I'm so happy to finally get into writing for it.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know in the comments/tags/reblogs/my inbox. My love language is words of praise and I cherish every one deeply 🥺❤️ since this is my first ACOTAR piece, I don't have an official taglist, so if you'd like to be added to my Feysand taglist, please let me know!

Love you all very much, stay safe out there. Back to the forest now.

—Em 🖤🗡

Title Inspo: Stay in the Dark by Lambert

Fic Masterlist

#so i watch the guernsey literary and potato peel pie society bawled my eyes out and proceeded to write this fic 🙈#acotar #acomaf #acowar #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #sjm #feysand fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acomaf fanfic #feyre #rhys #sarah j maas #asked and answered #booksandlewks #my writing #ember writes #stay in the dark

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starfall-spirit · 1 year

Text

Whose Team Are You On?

I can't find my original post to link to my masterlist, so I'm just reposting this from my AO3. Again, thank you @ultadverb for letting me write a companion fic for Secret Weapon.

Originally Posted for Feysand Month 22: Family

Summary: Rhys has been training Nyx for the Solstice Snowball Fight since he was old enough to chuck his toys. When it comes to the big day, it doesn't quite pay off how he expected.

~~~~~

"Don't break his face, please. The only thing he got from me was his nose and wit!"

Cassian cackled at my mate's joking concern as I heaved the five-year-old over my shoulder. Honestly, Feyre should be slightly concerned. I hadn't been very descriptive of the annual Solstice Snow Fight, but there was a reason beyond shadow assistance that Az always won. The bastard's snowballs were packed tight enough to break human bones and leave a nasty bone bruise on a faerie.

Setting my son down behind our prebuilt barricade, I started rolling out snowballs. One of my brothers had broken our code, stealing the others I'd left here yesterday.

"Alright, bud, here's the deal. Uncle Cassian will go a little soft on you at first, but you still have to be ready. I'll help you with Uncle Az. He's just flat out mean. I haven't won this fight in ages, but you and I are going to do some damage today, okay? We have to be able to tell your mother something we're proud of, right?"

"Right!"

"Here we go."

Be nice, Az. He's five.

Trust me, brother. He'll be just fine.

Was it you?

I heard a snort from behind his barricade. Rhysie, when have I ever needed leverage to hand you your ass?

My general plays dirty.

Halfway guarding my dual-wielding partner, I sank down so I was at eyelevel over the wall's top. "Rule review for Nyx. No winnowing, no flight, no daemati distractions, and no hitting Uncle Cassian!" Cassian shouted.

"Cass!" I shouted back.

"Okay, okay, but Uncle Az is the true enemy!"

"Remember Daddy's instructions, okay?" I whispered.

"No whispering over there!" Cassian called out. "Call the countdown, kid!"

Unconcerned about our lack of ammunition, his nephew obeyed. "Three, two, one, fire!" The first snowball hurled for Cassian's head.

He growled, hurling a solid chest shot right back at the shadowsinger. At least the thief was giving Nyx and I a little time to catch up before we were pelted. Seconds later we were ready for round one. "Go," I whispered again.

Still, Nyx could only throw at half the distance he needed. Pitying my child, the targeted warriors left their barricades earlier than usual, armfuls of prepacked snow set down at their sides. Leverage for their High Lord, sympathy for their nephew.

Nyx squealed in excitement, managing to strike Cassian's stomach. Then his chest.

Meanwhile I was censoring a curse as Az showered me with that bruising snow, only missing a handful of shots. I pelted him right back, only noticing Nyx was missing from the barricade as Cassian nailed his shoulder with a fresh, admittedly loose snowball.

And my, my. The general had slowed to human speed. Softy.

Just as I leaped over the barricade the real shocker came. A beaming toddler was running straight to Azriel's side, entirely unharmed at the shadowsinger's hand.

What.

The.

Hell?

Az grinned like a fiend. "My shadows report those who plot against any members of the Night Court. Especially myself and other family members. When they reported the Night Court heir was undergoing training at his father's hand... The kid was smart enough to back the reigning champion. How does it feel, Rhys, being the one who we finally manage to surprise with something?"

Well, fuck.

I couldn't even be angry. Nyx wanted to be just like me and loved a challenge, even this early. But for this... Of course he would pick the winning side.

"Alright. Fair enough. Nyx, you get extra dessert tonight, being so clever. Az, I'll pummel you in the ring later. Count it off, Nyx."

"Three, two, one, fire!"

~~~~~

Hours later we were cleaned up inside the house when my mate came home from Winter. Vivianne had invited Feyre and Mor for a peek at the most extravagant Solstice practices. Her grin was almost as wide as Nyx's when she came through the door.

"So happy to see me home, Nyx?" she asked, kissing that still grinning face.

"Guess what?" he asked, dodging the question entirely.

"What?"

"I won the snowball fight today!"

"What?! Oh, that's wonderful! Your father has been dying to win for how long now, Rhys?"

"Actually, Az weaponized all of my training and recruited our darling son," I groused, dodging her questioning of me as well. "So yes, Nyx and Az won. Again."

Feyre eyed my pout, her own lips tugging upwards in a smart grin as she repeated a version of the words she'd give me-and the family-ages ago. "Oh, Rhys. You've always needed an unusual amount of coddling."

I barked a laugh. "Oh, dear mate of mine, let me take you out to next year's fight. We'll see who needs coddling."

She hummed, turning to me after making sure Nyx was entirely focused on his toys we'd allowed him to open early. Not that there weren't twice as many more to open with the rest of the family present. "Dear mate of mine, I think I'd prefer that delightful sauna you mentioned. While our time there is alone or with your brothers for company is entirely up to you. Well, Cassian would most definitely be kicked out, considering he has his own mate to please."

I smirked right back, sensing her arousal. "So Helion's request of my brothers did give you some ideas. How... Interesting."

"Did I ever truly deny it?"

~~~~~

Quote I referred to at the end:

"Amren clicked her tongue and instead jerked her chin at me. “I heard you grew fangs in the forest and killed some Hybern beasts. Good for you, girl.”

“She saved his sorry ass is more like it,” Mor said, filling her glass of wine. “Poor little Rhys got himself in a bind.”

I held out my own glass for Mor to fill. “He does need unusual amounts of coddling.”

Azriel choked on his wine, and I met his gaze—warm for once. Soft, even. I felt Rhys tense beside me and quickly looked away from the spymaster.”

~ACOMAF

#family #december 7 #rhysand #cassian #azriel #nyx #feysand nyx #feysand #feysandmonth22 #repost

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

Text

Once Upon a Dream 🧵

Summary: This time, the girl saves the prince. For Feysand month 2022’s Fairy Tale AU.

Read: AO3

***Prologue***

Massive flames erupted in the banquet hall, sending courtiers screaming and running. King Beron Vanserra emerged from the blaze, cruelty etched in his dark brown eyes. King Cormac leapt to his feet, darkness curling at the edges of the hall.

“Get out,” his voice thundered. At his side, Queen Orla fearfully clutched her newborn son, Rhysand.

“It looks like my invitation got lost in the mail,” Beron sniffed. He gazed imperiously at the other Kings sitting at the high table: Tamlin of Spring, Tarquin of Summer, Kallias of Winter, Thesan of Dawn, and Helion of Day.

“You are not welcome here. Get. Out,” King Cormac repeated. The audience held its breath anxiously. Any wrong move could lead to an all out war with the Autumn Kingdom.

Beron did not move. “Relax, Your Majesty. I only wish to bestow a gift upon your firstborn.” He smiled slyly. “Listen well, all of you. The prince shall flourish in his youth as one of the most powerful princes to grace the land. But, before the sun sets on his eighteenth birthday, he shall prick his finger on a spinning wheel and fall into a deathless sleep.”

Cries of terror and dismay arose from the room. Queen Orla was a renowned tapestry artist and seamstress; it was simply cruel for her lifelong passion to harm her beloved son.

“You bastard,” the King snarled. The power of Night slammed into Beron and misted the very stones he stood on—moments too late. Beron had teleported away with his fiery portal, his cruel laughter echoing off the walls.

Queen Orla sobbed quietly. “It’s no use. The curse has been placed.”

King Helion arose from his seat. “Not so fast, Your Majesties,” he said. “I may be able to help.”

Queen Orla turned toward her husband, who inclined his head. “Please,” she sobbed. “Help my son. Anything you can.”

Helion’s face softened as he approached the royal family. He knelt before the newborn prince, allowing golden light to pool in his hand.

“Should this curse befall Prince Rhysand, a kiss from his mate shall allow him to wake.” Helion stood up, the golden spell trickling onto baby Rhysand from his hands. He offered the King and Queen of Night a sad smile. “I’m sorry I could not do more. Few things exist strong enough to break such curses.”

The King and Queen thanked him profusely for his assistance anyways. “We will find his mate,” King Cormac vowed to his wife. “I will not let Beron take our son away from us.” Prince Rhysand, with his inky black hair and violet eyes of starlight, cooed playfully in his mother’s arms, blissfully unaware of his fate.

***15 years later***

Feyre Archeron was just about to bite into her bread when she heard the telltale snap-whoosh sound of something getting caught in her trap.

Finally…we will have something meaty for dinner tonight, she excitedly thought. Her mouth watered at the thought of the juicy rabbit—or perhaps even deer—stew Elain would prepare.

But it was a young boy hanging upside down, not a deer or rabbit. Feyre sighed with disappointment. Of course one of the bumbling Illyrian trainees got caught in her trap. His clumsiness meant she would have to reset everything and spend more hours waiting for the next unsuspecting animal.

“Help! Help!” The boy was thrashing wildly. He waved his hands at Feyre when he spied her standing a few feet away. “I’m stuck!”

Feyre sighed again as she climbed the tree, carefully undoing the knots and mechanisms. Although slicing the rope would be easier, her family didn’t have the funds to buy additional supplies for the rest of the month. These days, every little scrap and crumb needed to be rationed. Winter was coming, after all.

She released the rope without remorse, dropping the Illyrian trainee to the ground without warning. He yelped loudly. Feyre leapt down from the branch, ready to scold the boy for messing up her hard work.

But words died in her throat, for he was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. His short, inky black hair curled slightly around his ears; his skin a tanned brown; and his eyes an ethereal shade of blue. Almost like they were purple.

He seemed strangely familiar, but Feyre was certain she had never met this boy before. Perhaps she’d seen him in a dream.

The boy was meticulously picking dried grass off his black training leathers. He looked at her, looked at the ropes in her hand, then looked at her again. “You laid that trap?” he asked incredulously.

Feyre bristled, drawing herself up to her full height. The Illyrian trainee was slightly shorter than her, making it easy to stare him down. “And what if I did?” she challenged.

Plenty of village boys underestimated her hunting skills, and this boy seemed no different than the others. If she’d brought home something large and juicy today, that would have shut the buffoons up. But alas, she’d only ensnared a pretty boy.

He took a step back, put off by her aggressive tone. “I meant that in a good way,” he conceded smoothly.

“Oh.” Feyre shrugged and began setting her trap again. The boy watched her carefully with his violet eyes, fascinated.

“Do I know you?” he asked, after several moments of silence. “You seem like someone I met before.”

“I don’t think so,” Feyre replied. “I’m from the village and I’ve rarely interacted with the warriors.”

“What’s your name, miss?” he asked curiously. “My name is Rhysand. I’m one of the Illyrian trainees.”

“I can tell.” Feyre jumped back down from the tree, the trap now carefully concealed by a pile of leaves. “My name is Feyre.”

“Feyre.” Rhysand repeated her name like he was savoring something sweet. “It’s nice to meet you.” He glanced towards the bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back. “Do you hunt in the Illyrian forests regularly?”

“Yes. To provide for my family.” Feyre waited for him to lecture her for wandering alone in the dangerous forests, to say that girls shouldn’t be hunting, blah, blah, blah.

But Rhysand only nodded and said, “I guess you were hoping for a deer, but you found me instead.” His innocent smile melted Feyre’s cautious exterior, and she returned it.

“Want to give me something in return?” she asked.

To her surprise, Rhysand pulled out a black Illyrian blade without hesitation. “How about a new dagger?” he asked. Feyre’s jaw nearly dropped. Illyrian daggers were strong, versatile, and highly valued. The one he was holding looked expensive. Like more than a few month’s worth of wages. Rhysand must’ve seen the hesitation on her face, for he quickly added, “I can get a new one easily, don’t worry.”

Feyre’s fingers brushed his as she took it from him. She marveled at the blade’s weight and balance, the sturdiness of the hilt. A fine weapon indeed. Too valuable to be sold at the market. “Consider us friends, then,” she announced, tucking the sheathed blade into her belt.

“Friends…I don’t have many of those.”

Feyre shrugged. “It’s okay. Me too.”

Rhysand smiled again, a carefree one that made Feyre’s heart flutter. “I have to get back to the war camp now. But will I see you tomorrow? Same spot?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Feyre readily agreed. Rhysand lifted his hand in with a wave as he walked backwards, still smiling at her. The starlight in his pretty eyes was hypnotizing.

Snap-whoosh! The magical moment was broken as Rhysand let out a strangled screech and swung into the air. His ankle was caught in the noose—again. “Rhysand!” Feyre shrieked in frustration, running over to untie him from her trap.

***3 years later***

“Happy eighteenth birthday!” Feyre sang as she gave her friend a bear hug. Rhysand—no, Rhys, as he’d requested her to call him shortly after they became friends—was a solid wall of heat and citrus scent on a misty morning.

Rhys was a man now, taller and brawnier, with broad shoulders and strong arms. She couldn’t believe he was ever shorter than her, for she now had to crane her neck to even look him in the eye. Feyre had even caught a peek of his muscled abdomen on more than one occasion when they swam in the forest springs…it took all her self-control to limit her peeks to only a couple every few minutes.

Feyre herself had stayed the same height, though her curves had filled out more. She wondered if Rhys ever noticed her physical changes the same way she noticed his.

Rhys saw her at least once, if not twice, a week since their fateful encounter. They ran wild through the forest, swimming in springs, foraging for berries, and teaching each other how to fight and hunt. Those activities were fun, but what Feyre loved most was simply sitting and talking to Rhys.

He told her about Windhaven and his monthly visits to their capital city of Velaris. From his wealth and general demeanor, Rhys was clearly from some line of nobility, though he was always vague about his family name.

Feyre confided in Rhys about her love for painting (he’d promptly bought her art supplies every birthday), her father’s poor health, and her sisters’ unhelpful attitudes around the house.

Feyre loved how, unlike the other boys in town, Rhys did not balk at her getting hands bloody after a successful hunt. Probably because he also possessed a vicious streak. When Rhys allowed her to visit him at the war camps, she would watch him win bloody fight after bloody fight with unmatched skill. She also took an immediate liking to his two friends, loudmouthed Cassian and deadly silent Azriel, both rising warriors who also accepted her as she was.

Feyre handed Rhys his gift wrapped in burlap cloth. His violet eyes brimmed with emotion as he regarded the miniature portrait of them cloud gazing.

“Thank you,” he murmured, unexpectedly pressing a soft kiss to Feyre’s forehead. “This is beautiful.” Feyre blushed in the morning light. Lately, it was getting harder to act naturally around Rhys, to pretend she didn’t have emotions stronger than simple friendship.

“I’m glad you like it,” she beamed. “Come, I prepared a breakfast picnic for you!”

Rhys would be returning to Velaris for the rest of the day, to celebrate his birthday with his family. Feyre had constantly begged him to show her around the city, but he always made excuses. He clearly didn’t make exceptions, not even for the occasion of his eighteenth birthday.

Whatever, Feyre pushed her bruised feelings away. Rhys is here right now, and I should be thankful we are spending the morning together.

***🧵***🧵***🧵***🧵***🧵***🧵***🧵***🧵***🧵***🧵***🧵***

Read: Ch. 2

Notes: So I kinda (heavily) leaned on a crutch because this is my first Feysand fic. But I promise I have more original works planned for the rest of the month! Thank you for reading!

Tags: @the-lonelybarricade @feysand-month

#feysand month 22 #feysand month #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand

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