#BFYIWM | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starfall-spirit · 1 month ago

Text

But For You, I Was Made

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist

Fic Summary: A curse. Divine punishment. Rhys didn’t know what it was that kept the cycle in motion. All he knew was that he was going to break if he had to hold his mate on her deathbed again.

OR;

The Feysand Reincarnation AU

AN: The final chapter of my gift exchange offering for @sajirah. We finally have what most of you have been waiting for.

Chapter CW: Dark!Rhys, Dub-con, CoN vibes, Breeding Kink, Praise Kink, Collaring/Pet Play

Chapter Summary: It had taken two hundred years for his mate to return to him. Broken as he was, Rhys was determined not to lose her again—even if she grew to hate him for the lengths he'd go.

Rhysand

A revelry. That’s what they called the debauchery before him. He expected as much, of course. Things had changed from the early years of his reign, his grief spiraling, corrupting his soul. That corruption had spread like an infestation until the Hewn City had once again become the worst sort of nightmare. A desecration of the seat of power that a younger version of himself had built. That a lovesick, idealistic fool had built.

“High Lord, a Happy Solstice to you.” The sniveling fae at the foot of the dais kept his eyes cast down, fear and apprehension rolling off of him in equal measure. “If you’d allow us—my wife and I, that is—to present our daughter?”

Just as any other time he made an appearance, a courtier he could barely recall a name for aimed to throw his daughter before him in hopes Rhys would find her more beautiful than the last, or intriguing enough to hold his attention for more than a moment.

He hadn’t verbally declared he would not marry again since his mate had died, simply because it wasn’t their business. But that decision carried the unfortunate consequence of giving one cowardly bastard after the next hope of all things. Of gaining a foothold—power, without moving against the most powerful High Lord to exist. Rhys just kept from grinding his teeth, taking a sip from the wine glass at his arm. “Do so quickly, before I’ve decided I’m tired of hearing you speak.”

Another dip of his head and the male was scurrying to wave two females forward, the first a lady he saw moving through the crowd with the bald aim of climbing the social latter. The second… he nearly fumble his goblet, taking her in, almost disbelieving even as he felt the sharpest snap yet. And the raw urge to claim, claim, claim.

It was all he could do to leash the snarl that clawed its way from his chest. To lunge from his seat and whisk her away, straight to the moonstone palace, where he stood untrusting of his tarnished character.

So here, two-hundred years and what felt like as many lifetimes later, his mate stood before him again. She was so young this time, despite the struggles they’d faced. A saint standing under a monster’s scrutiny. It was what he’d become. The space between each death and rebirth had molded a beast with no chance at redemption. He should not condemn her to another lifetime at his side. And yet he considered it. Let that beast surface. Slackened the leash to let it play. Could her free spirit survive his blackened soul, if he bound her to him now?

Or would history repeat itself?

Would he become the very thing he swore to never be? Crush her—steal her smiles and laughter and goodness just as he’d watched his father steal his mother’s.

Deep down, he already knew the answer. Knew where this night and every other would end. What she would give and what he would take, and take, and take again. If she did not approve—she could be taught. His only concern now was keeping her alive for good. Without war or mortality as a concern… he didn’t believe it would take much effort.

“My daughter, Feyre Archeron,” the male murmured, apparently oblivious to the shift in atmosphere.

“H-happy Solstice, High Lord,” she stuttered, eyes widening the next time they met his. There wasn’t a physical reaction beyond that. He was certain her mother had trained her too well for her body to betray her, but there wasn’t no hiding that she had felt the bond snap as well.

“You’ll allow me your first dance this evening,” Rhys told her, managing to maintain some semblance of control as he came to his feet and offered her his arm.

She stood frozen, staring back at him until her mother hissed her name from where she stood a few feet away. “I’d be honored,” his mate finally answered, one trembling hand curling over his forearm to allow him to lead her out. “I have to confess,” she whispered, “I didn’t imagine the evening going this way.”

“Oh? And why not. Your parents certainly made their goal plain.”

“Yes, but…” He raised a brow, waiting. “Mother’s… ambition has always been greater than mine, regarding marriage.”

He felt his mouth curl into a smile. “That I could see, darling. The fact remains, you’re my mate. I have no intention of ignoring that.”

She stiffened, an obvious panic setting in. He didn’t need to read her mind to know what sparked that fear. No one imagined their mate as the monster Rhys had become. Wicked, cruel, ruthless, unforgiving. For all the things he was called, not a single one of them appealed to the sweet little thing he turned about the room. “Breathe, pet,” he ordered, voice low. “It isn’t as bad as all that.”

“No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything negative. I just—”

Rhys leaned down, lips grazing the shell of her ear, delighting in the slight flush it brought on. “Breathe, darling. You’re alright.” She shuddered in his hold, obeying the order.

“What should I expect?” she asked some time later, once she had slipped back into the rhythm of the dance. He wasn’t sure how long now he’d been spinning her through the room, but he had no intention of releasing her yet, and no one around them was foolish enough to try to cut in. “After accepting the bond.”

Good, that she didn’t intend on rejecting him. That she had accepted her place at his side. On his throne. In his bed. Good, that she knew where she belonged. And to whom.

He grinned again. As much as he adored the spirit in his lover through her first two forms, there was something immensely satisfying about the easy yielding this time around. A gluttony for her surrender to her fate.

“Go and tell you’re mother and father we will be taking our leave. Whether or not you mention the bond is your decision, but you will end the night in my company. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, High Lord.”

“Good girl.”

She stilled, blushing again before she removed herself from his hold at the edge of the floor and disappeared into the bordering crowd.

~~~~~

Feyre

Feyre was still reeling from the handful of moments she’d spent in Rhysand’s arms. Not only had the proximity—his scent and draw and the sheer power of him—taken over her senses so quickly, but a wash of images before she’d even reached to take his arm.

Herself, she recognized, of course. But the wings at her back as she walked through a war camp? The flush of her cheeks and the slight arch of her back as she lay bare beneath the very High Lord she met tonight? The male in agony, watching as she was plucked and carved and raped with the aim of extracting information? Again, herself, walking through a stunning city, a river running through its heart. Herself, a hand in his as she whispered her last words, hair grayed, skin wrinkled, eyes tired and lined with tears.

She didn’t know what it meant, or how she saw such things, without feeling the intrusion of a daemati in her unguarded mind. But it wasn’t something she could just ignore.

“Three dances,” her mother said, glaring excitement lacing both words—then each that followed. “You’ve earned his favor, I’m certain. Now, you must keep it. Mind your manners. And tongue for that matter. Obey any order you’re given and—”

“He said to tell you I would continue the night in his company. To tell you as much and return to him.” She wouldn’t mention the bond. Knowing her luck, something was bound to go wrong before he accepted her. And she was sure there was a reason he hadn’t laid his expectations bare before sending her off. “I don’t imagine I have much a choice in the matter.”

Not from her parents and certainly not from Rhysand.

A large hand pressed at her lower back, that sea salt and citrus scent washing over her like a drug. “If you’re done with Feyre.”

“Yes, High Lord. Excuse us. Feyre, dear.” A sharp warning flashed in her eyes before she gave Rhysand one last bow and simpering smile, retreating into the staring crowd at last.

“Well, darling?” But he hadn’t truly been seeking her permission, simply warning her before they feel into the strange sensation of winnowing. She was trembling in his arms by the time they set down in a spacious room with open windows guarded against the elements.

There was a dresser, then what appeared to be a large closet and attached bath to the left and right front, respectively. Behind the sat a large chest and against the wall beyond it, the centerpiece of the room rested. A massive bed, the frame of polished wood and luxurious drapery cradling a mattress wrapped in dark, silken sheets. Any doubt of how the night would end vanished at the sight of it.

Feyre shuddered against him, at some point having pressed her back flush to his front, eyes lingering on the bed before them. “I—I’ve never—”

“I assumed as much. Don’t worry, darling. I have no intention of claiming you roughly.” He nipped at her earlobe before flicking his tongue over the small hurt. “Not the first time, at least.”

Cauldron, she wasn’t ready for any of this. And didn’t know when she would be. “High Lord—”

“Rhys,” he growled. “You are my mate. My equal. You will call me Rhys. And when I claim you, little one,” he purred at her ear, those talons she’d previously expected finally sinking into her mind, “that is the only thought I want to find in your pretty little head.”

A rush of breath slipped from her lips, her squeal of surprise when he lifted her, muted. A snap of his fingers and she found her clothing discarded with the small show of magic. His were quick to follow. “There are a few things I don’t intend to waste time on this evening,” he said in explanation, thumb rubbing gently against her clit. “Lay back for me, sweet girl.”

She did as she was told, squirming against the unfamiliar sensation. Not uncomfortable, just… new. There was a shock of heat, pleasure rolling up her spine so suddenly she closed her thighs around his hand, partially restricting his stimulation. Cauldron, she was wet there.

Rhys simply clicked his tongue, sending an unexplainable stab of guilt to her chest. “Keep your legs spread, pet,” he threatened, wisps of shadow teasing the tender points along her legs, “or I’ll make sure you do.”

“I just—” He raised a brow. “Okay.”

“There may be an appropriate time to use my title after all,” he crooned into her mind. “Try again.”

“Yes, High Lord.”

A low growl loosed itself, vibrating against the soft flesh of her neck. A single finger sank into her core, his thumb keeping pace over her clit. One slow stroke after the next told her he intended to take his time with her. At least in the beginning. “Good girl.”

Oh, gods. And this was only the beginning of his claiming of her. His free hand slipped behind her head, tugging at her roots ever so gently before covering his mouth with hers.

When Rhys kissed her it wasn’t with the gentleness he’d kept at her core. Still leisurely, yes, but there was no doubt in his intentions. His tongue ran along the seam of her lips and another tug from the hand in her hair had her opening to him, welcoming the glide of his tongue against her and the sure submission he demanded from her in response.

She gave it, a shiver of fear and pleasure morphing to helpless squirming beneath him when she felt him add a second finger, stretching her to take him. He pulled back just long enough to bite her lip in reprimand before tilting her head ever so slightly to swallow the gasp of pain.

It did nothing to eliminate her distress from the unfamiliar pleasure. As the pace of his hand began to increase. True to his threat, Feyre felt those thin bands of darkness ghost over her thighs—now clenched against his hips—wrapping around her arms and wrists to pin them over her head before she could think to push him away.

And gods, what it was doing to her. She was soaking his hand. That she couldn’t deny. And the pressure building… She’d never felt it. It frightened her. She’d been told there was little pleasure in a consummation, if any. She’d expected less than that with only a male’s fingers. She wasn’t prepared to feel that heat. She couldn’t imagine what it would make her if she let him push her that far.

“Please,” she whimpered when his lips broke from hers to slide down her neck. “I can’t—Rhys, please, stop. I dont want it. I can’t take it. Please,” she wailed.

He merely chuckled, sliding down the bed far enough to replace his thumb with his mouth, sucking hard just as he chose to push in a third finger. Head spinning, back arching as best it could, Feyre came with a scream.

He didn’t stop, working her through the first wave at a steady rhythm. From there… she expected that to be the end of it. For him to give her that alone before rising again and forcing her to take his cock. Fulfill her duty as his chosen spouse.

But his mouth kept working the tender bud before his soft lips and tongue were exchanged for teeth, pinching down hard enough she cried again. His bite hurt, the stretch of his fingers hurt, the bruising grip at her thigh hurt. “Please, Rhys,” she choked again.

“You don’t tell me no, little mate,” he all but hissed down that mental bond. “I know what kind of house you were raised in. Your expectations of your mate. The role you’re meant to play.” He bit down again, only a hair more gently than the first time.

“You belong to me, pet. My equal in the public eye, but a possession in the time we spend alone. Your only task in that time is to indulge me. To accept the pleasure I offer you, to follow the few commands I give. When you manage that, you will be rewarded.” Another curl of his fingers against that spot deep within her and she knew she was close to her second release. “If you can not manage that, darling…” She whimpered, reading what lied beneath the heat in that mental voice. “You do not tell me no.”

She sniffled, desperate to pull away from the edge of her pleasure. “Take it, sweetheart,” Rhys murmured, head raised again. “Don’t fight it. Just be my good little girl and take what you’re given.”

She almost didn’t feel the initial stretch of him, falling over the crest of her release, but it sank in quickly enough. The sharpness of his length and girth pushing into her. He was gentle, but didn’t hesitate to break that thin barrier proving her chastity. He simply leaned down, tongue flicking over the subsiding tears. “Just look at you,” he breathed, hips rolling against hers until he’d seated himself to the hilt and she was spread as far as she could manage. “My sweet little mate. So pretty when you cry for me.”

And those words brought another round, much to her shame. With a youth so empty of praise, not even the degrading nature of his words could counter the relief and pride they brought her. She was his sweet girl. His good girl. Pretty for him, even. Finally worth something to someone.

The tension left her with the sting of each stroke. “That’s it, darling. Just relax. Let your High Lord claim you, fill you up and give you a baby, hm?” She moaned, hips jerking as she tested her bonds, aching to touch the male above her. “I thought you might like that idea. Keep you chained to my bed.” An image flashed through her mind, from her own imagination or planted there, she couldn’t make out through the haze of pleasure. “Pretty little pet, leashed here where no one can take you from me again. Keep this cunt plugged up, stuffed full till it takes. How many would you give me, little mate?”

She had to wonder if the question was merely to humor her or to drive her desire higher while he gradually increased the pace of each thrust. She didn’t have any delusions about a male who had just called her his possession giving her a choice in her marital duties.

It wasn’t hard to hate the idea either. Not with her mate driving her towards her third orgasm. She whined beneath him. Having already come twice, she didn’t imagine it was possible for her to come again, but Rhys was determined to prove her wrong.

“Good girl,” he praised again, peppering her face with tender kisses as he rocked his hips, riding out his own release as she continued to clench around him, her third and hopefully final orgasm soaking the sheets beneath them. Feyre was trembling when he finally eased back, his shadows releasing their hold on her arms and legs.

“There little mate,” he cooed, another wave of his hand cleaning the worst of the mess. He drew a blanket up around her before reclining in the be. From his position beneath her he could snake a hand under the blanket’s edge to push two fingers back into her core, holding his cum there, just as he’d promised. She buried her face in his chest, a half-hearted protest spilling from her lips that he was quick to quiet. “Hush, pet. I won’t plug you tonight, but I need you to relax for me.”

She did her best, sinking into his chest and keeping her legs open to straddle his hips. Eventually she stopped resisting the urge to close her eyes, accept the slow, shallow pumping of his fingertips as a soothing method. The last thing she felt before falling asleep was the brush of soft lips against her brow.

~~~~~

The stretch was what woke her. The still-foreign fullness, an abrasion against her tender walls. “No,” she whined, wriggling beneath her mate’s weight.

“Easy, pet. No sense in fighting it.”

Willful as she was, despite her teachings, Feyre was naturally inclined to do the opposite of what she was told. Rhys only sighed when she failed to obey him.

A single hand closed over the back of her neck and she flinched, the fire doused as quick as that. A kitten caught by the scruff. A thing laid out, prostrate for his use. “Quite right,” Rhys purred, lifting her by the hips before resuming his movements behind her. Slow, lazy, controlling. A firm pillow under her waist kept her at the proper height for him to take her as he pleased.

Rhys groaned, pushing in deep and circling his hips. His grip at her nape tightened ever so slightly, a bit of downward pressure keeping her cheek pinned against the pillow beneath her head. “What do you think happens,” he asked her, “to little girls who don’t listen? To little girls who defy their High Lord.”

“I’m sorry. Please—”

His free hand cracked down on her ass and she yelped. “Rhys, I didn’t mean it. I won’t do it again.” Three more strikes landed in succession, never hitting the same spot twice. She had no doubt he was holding back, but that didn’t mean her ass wasn’t burning with each blow. She was barely coherent as several more followed. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good, I promise. Please, Rhys, it hurts,” she sobbed.

“I’d imagine so. I’d also imagine you’ll listen the next time I tell you something.”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes…”

He let her get away with using his name through her punishment. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that was how he expected to be addressed at the moment. “Yes, High Lord.”

“Very good, darling.” She clenched at the praise, blushing deeply when she heard him huff a laugh behind her. “No need for shame, sweet thing,” he cooed, beginning to rock back into her, his thrusts just to shallow to hit that spot that left her head spinning the night before. Gods, he wasn’t through with this lesson.

On it went, a steady torture that left her constantly off kilter. Short strokes that left her unsatisfied, broken by a handful now and again that would press just deep enough to wake the heat in her belly and push her to the brink before withdrawing again. Tears lined her eyes by the third time he denied her. He clicked his tongue. “Poor little doll, just desperate to come after trying to deny her master.”

Rhys shifted behind her, driving forward in a brutal thrust that sent her lurching towards that precipice once again, tears finally falling as she was again denied. He threaded his fingers through her roots, nails scraping over her scalp at a soothing pace. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled.

“I know, darling. I trust your lesson was learned. You can come when you’re ready.” His hand fell from her hair again and he set a hard rhythm behind her, finally sending her into an almost painful climax. “Almost—fuck, Feyre.”

Gripping her hips tight, Rhys spilled deep inside of her with a satisfied groan. There was a spark of something that ran through her. Rooted deep in her chest to stay, glowing and warm as it wrapped around her heart at one end and searched beyond her body with the other. The bond had snapped at the revelry, but this was… different.

She trembled beneath her mate and he finally let her sink back into the bed, following her down and wrapping himself around her much smaller form. A great wing revealed itself, blanketing her to form a cocoon around them.

She wasn’t sure when she had dozed off again, but the next time she opened them it was to find a circlet of cool metal locking behind her neck. “Rhys, what—”

“Just fulfilling my promise, darling,” he soothed her, one finger flicking across a loop resting just above her collarbones. “Can’t have you running off again, can we?”

~~~~~

Taglist: @whatishowedyouinthedark // @sajirah // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

#acotar #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #fanfiction #feysand fic #but for you i was made #BFYIWM #dark!rhys #sajirah told me problematic was her favorite flavor so here we are

26 notes · View notes

starfall-spirit · 4 months ago

Text

But For You, I Was Made

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist

Fic Summary: A curse. Divine punishment. Rhys didn’t know what it was that kept the cycle in motion. All he knew was that he was going to break if he had to hold his mate on her deathbed again.

OR;

The Feysand Reincarnation AU

AN: This is the second chapter of my gift fic for @sajirah for the acotar gift exchange. Fun Fact: This chapter was inspired by your art.

Chapter II CW: Smut, Slight praise kink, light angst (I cried writing it, but I'm a literal baby)

Chapter Summary: Decades after the war’s end, Rhys is slowly recovering from losing his mate, mother, and sister, only to find himself face to face with his love once again. He never believed in the concept of rebirth until he saw her standing among the artists of his home city with no recollection of the fragile love they’d built in a world of pain.

Chapter II: Tell Me I'm Someone You Can't Replace

Feyre

It was just a week from Winter Solstice when the first snow dusted the rooftops of Velaris, faerie lights painting the art district in sheets of glistening white. Bundled from head to toe, artists and customers bustled through the Rainbow, darting in and out of shops while the last handful of potential buyers perused the vendor carts and studios that lined the square in the half hour before most of the shops officially closed.

Feyre hadn’t had the means to acquire a stand to set out her own paintings, though she couldn’t truthfully claim she’d made much of an attempt. It had been less than six months since she’d crossed the borders of Velaris with the other handful of half-breeds trying to find sanctuary, and voicing an interest in training her craft had been nerve-racking enough. To sell it… she couldn’t quite muster the courage. Her art was her happy place, and in her twenty short years she’d faced enough scrutiny without exposing that part of herself. She wasn’t sure she could handle criticism from the first people to show her kindness.

So she watched the others in the mornings while running between the odd jobs keeping her afloat. Marked their techniques and in the dark hours when the stars came to life, quietly worked to sketch her imaginings and blend her paints just so before accepting a canvas from her mentor’s stock.

“Stop that worrying. We can afford a few errors now and then,” the woman assured her time and time again, “So long as you tell me you won’t give into the doubt you’ll face along the way.”

She tried to keep those words in mind, but it wasn’t always easy, quieting the niggling voice that had begun making comparisons between her work and those mounted proudly on stands behind the shop windows. They just seemed—

“Exquisite.”

Feyre jerked, her pallet falling from her hand and making a mess of her carefully blended paints. She really hoped it wouldn’t stain the wood grain before she could clean it. Huffing softly, she crouched to clean the worst of the mess. “Sir, the shop has closed for the evening and the owner has gone home. If you wish to view something—”

Standing to face the late arrival, she froze, a bit unbelieving of the situation she’d landed herself in and certainly feeling like a fool.

“High Lord. My apologies.” She bowed her head awkwardly, growing even more nervous when the male failed to respond.

“You don’t—” He coughed lightly. “Enough of that, please. It isn’t necessary here.”

There was a strange tension in his voice as he seemed to take her in a second time. “The window was lit. It was my mistake to assume you were still open. I can come back at a suitable hour tomorrow.” He swallowed. “You’re the owner’s apprentice, I assume. You’ll be here in the morning?”

Feyre blushed at the assumption. “No, High Lord. She just allows me to practice in the evenings.”

“I see,” he said, seeming almost shy as he tried to word his next question. “And is there a time in the morning or evening I might see you again?”

She blinked. It almost sounded like he was… It was a laughable thought, that a High Lord would consider courting a half-human girl. Why hadn’t he left the moment she said they were closed?

“High Lord—”

“Please, Feyre. I’m just Rhys when it comes to the people of Velaris.”

“Rhys, then. I don’t imagine you have the time or desire to see me again. It doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

“No!” She retreated a step, startled. “I’m sorry,” he said, giving an awkward laugh and reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “I’m lacking my usual charm this evening. I would like to see you again. A walk down the Sidra, or a meal, if you’d prefer. I just… I’d like to see you again.”

“Well. I suppose.” Feyre offered an hour she wasn’t working, agreeing to meet him outside the shop at noon.

“Perfect. Goodnight, Feyre.” She didn’t realize she’d never told him her name until he’d slipped into the night air.

~~~~~

Rhysand

“Rhys…”

“It was her, Mor. I’d recognize my mate anywhere.” He turned to look back over the balcony and out to the twinkling city beyond, sickened by the look on her face. Like he was someone to pity, relapsing in the furthest depths of his grief for a female she’d never even met. Mor stood from the table, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Mor, I’m not losing my mind. She was there, I swear it.”

“Okay. Gods know what miracles we could be granted in this crazy world.” A pause, then, “Where are you taking her? To the theater? Oh, the weather’s finally turning to start skating.”

He shook his head slightly, glad to see his cousin slip into her usual attitude. “We’ve just had the first snow, Mor. No one’s skating yet. I was thinking lunch, a walk through the city if I can manage to keep her from running off. From what I gathered her schedule isn’t exactly stable.”

He only realized his was frowning when Mor laughed. “You can’t fix everyone’s problems, dear cousin.”

“I should be able to care for my mate,” he snapped back, unable to suppress the slight growl behind the words.

Mor rolled her eyes. “You’re such a male. The girl’s just met you and probably doesn’t remember anything about the war if she’s truly been, what, reincarnated?” She shook her head. “You can’t just step in and make everything better if she hasn’t even sensed the bond, Rhys.”

For the first time since losing Feyre, Rhys finally found himself offering a true smile. “Just watch me.”

~~~~~

Feyre

“You look lovely.”

Feyre looked up from the spot she’d been staring down at, nervous about the situation as a whole. Perhaps he’d seemed courteous and welcoming, but he was still the High Lord. And she was… “It’s just a sweater.”

One that had cost her far more than she hoped it would. But anything else she owned was threadbare or paint stained. Both, for that matter. And for the first time in her life she was going out with someone. Just for lunch, of course. She had no illusions about this going anywhere bigger, but it still felt nice to look nice for once. She twisted her sleeve, awkward under his piercing stare.

“Darling, you have nothing to worry about. Just relax.” He smirked, standing so he faced her fully. “Here, we’ll start again.” Leaning down, Rhys raised her hand to brush his lips across her knuckles. “You look lovely today, Feyre darling.”

Something snapped, sharp and hot before mellowing to a soft glowing thread. An endless river of joy and light and all things good. And the next time he met her eyes, she saw it for what it was. The High Lord of the Night Court was her mate.

Rhys smirked again. “There you are.”

Unable to think of anything to say, sensible or otherwise, Feyre just stared back at him. That is until her filter gave away entirely. “Y-you knew. You knew?!”

“Feyre—”

His face instantly fell, amusement replaced with something like panic. “Was it before last night? Is that how you already knew my name?”

He cleared his throat, obviously floundering as her growing tirade drew the eyes of one customer after the next. By the gods, she was yelling at the High Lord. No one else had any knowledge of this newfound connection. “I really need you to stop referring to me as that,” he grumbled.

“Get out of my head!”

Rhys blew out a sharp breath. “I apologize in advance, but this has become a necessity.”

One arm banded around her waist and he winnowed them to what appeared to be a small cabin. She scowled, jerking free of his hold even as it clashed against some newfound instinct. The one that wanted her to stake a a claim on him like some animal.

“Did you know before last night?”

“No. Yes? It’s…” He sighed, pacing. “I’m not entirely sure there’s a way to make this believable, but just promise you’ll listen before throwing me out on my ass.”

No platitudes or excuses yet. He claimed he’d give her what space she needed to process whatever he had to say. She could hear him out. Feyre crossed her arms. “Go on then.”

Seeming at a loss to whether it was okay to approach her at this point, he finally opted to take a seat at the small table off of the kitchen space. “I only knew you were in Velaris last night, but I discovered our mating bond nearly seventy years ago.” She raised a brow. “I know, you’re much younger than that now. Still, we met during the war. You were a seraphim commander in Prince Drakon’s forces. We never had the time to truly accept the bond, but when I was captured my power was neutralized, with it… You sensed the bond go quiet. Somehow tracked where my unit was being held.”

His voiced was strained the next time he spoke, silver lining his eyes. Either her mate was a marvelous actor, or he truly believed this insanity to be true. “They tortured and killed the men in my unit one by one. Fae or human, it didn’t matter. When I didn’t break… when they discovered you’d tracked us there… They sensed the bond. They knew, Feyre, that was one of the few chinks in my armor. All it would take to break me was your pain. Your strength kept me from giving them the intel they were after.

“But in the end they killed you too. I finally broke free, but they…” He shook his head. “By the time I came back around the few of us alive had been brought back to the closest compound. I was left with my shame and grief.”

“And last night?” Feyre found herself asking. She hadn’t realized she’d joined him at the table until he took her hand in his.

Smiling softly, a final confession fell from his tear-soaked lips. “Last night, Feyre, the Mother granted me a miracle.”

There was a tentative tug on the bond. A spark of fragile hope. A shot in the dark.

For some reason, buying into this insanity, Feyre found herself tugging back.

~~~~~

Rhys’ Inner Circle was welcoming, of course, but she saw the moment of hesitation. When he had returned to Velaris after the war he’d gone quiet in his grief, both of the lost bond and his lost brothers. The bond was known only to his family and after just seeing him start to heal, Rhys had brought her into their home making an impossible claim.

Her own lack of knowledge from this supposed past life did little to alleviate their doubts. “Rhys has shown and told me enough I believe it,” she’d told them. And she’d left it at that. Their faith in his claim wasn’t her business.

The dinner and conversation to follow it had been slightly overwhelming, she had to confess. Even considering the wine consumption during and after dinner, they were a casual bunch, speaking freely and throwing jibes. A family, just as Rhys had promised. And she had been welcomed to become a part of it.

That’s not to say there weren’t a few awkward moments while each of them had been open and honest about their pasts and how they came to be so close to one another, when Feyre’s turn came to share her own journey she’d found herself tongue-tied. “Most of it’s self-explanatory, I think. A half-human in this world. I’m just lucky to have made it here.”

There had been a moment of silence. Not necessarily pity or disappointment. She honestly didn’t know what to call it. Cassian had finally been the one to break it. “Lucky for us,” he offered, throwing her a grin over the lip of his glass. A hint of levity. “And especially lucky for Rhysie.”

Was it luck, she wondered in that next moment of silence, for Rhys to be mated to a female with a mortal lifespan? A half-breed to be sneered at when she was appointed as Lady of Night.

Rhys squeezed her hand under the table. “We’ll figure it out, Feyre. Together.”

“Promise?”

Without a beat of hesitation, he replied, “I promise.”

~~~~~

“I know it isn’t much.” Rhys gave her a little half smile from his place at the table. Chin propped on his first two fingers, he seemed thoroughly amused by her justified attempt at modesty.

One day in the presence of his family, bringing her into the fold. And Mor had promptly thrown them out of the House of Wind. "I don’t want to see you for a week. Two, actually.”

“I can’t disappear for two weeks, Mor.”

“We’ll take care of business, cousin. Go take care of your mate. Have fun.”

So there they were, eyes locked, Feyre sliding a plate of cold cuts and cheese across the table while Rhys let his sole focus lay in observing her, eyes softing more and more with each moment. “C’mere,” he murmured, pushing his chair back and motioning for her to sit in his lap.

“There’s some part of me,” she started, watching him take the first bite of her pitiful offering, “that’s waiting to wake up. To say that this frankly insane story—” Rhys chuckled, swallowing the bite of ham. “—is a silly dream. A figment of my imagination.” Biting her lip, Feyre pressed a single kiss to his neck before meeting his eyes once again. “I am very glad I haven’t woken up yet.” Grinning, he reached down to pinch her side. “Hey!”

“Believe you’re awake now?”

She rolled her eyes. “Eat. Mate.”

Still grinning back at her, Rhys instead raised a slice of cheese to her lips. “You’re the one who’s skin and bones, here.”

“I’m fine.”

“How long have you been giving people that line? Putting yourself last?” She didn’t argue further, letting him alternate accepting food and feeding her. “Full?” he asked when the plate was clean.

Even if she wasn't, the tension between them was a slow burning flame, building bit by bit asnd making food the furthest thing from her mind. Leaning back down, Feyre whispered, “Take me to bed, Rhys.”

~~~~~

“Please, tell me you aren’t going to be weird about this.”

Feyre wished she could say there wasn’t any sort of change after her mating ceremony and bond acceptance were behind her, but the shift was there—and not exactly subtle either. She hadn’t been anyone special in the time she’d spent in Velaris since crossing the border.

But she’d still been present. With so few half-breeds crossing, she stuck out. Was memorable as she picked up those odd jobs, sometimes returning to a home, shop, or business often enough the owners knew her by name.

Now she was their High Lord’s mate, shooting from the bottom social rung to the top with a matter of one proclamation and a romantic getaway. While Rhys had managed to get the vast majority of the city to greet him more casually than a monarch typically preferred, it was clear no one quite knew what sort of person a title might turn her into.

She just hoped this phase of awkwardness would fade as quickly as it appeared.

“You’re a female interested in training in her craft. Why would I treat you strangely?”

Feyre sighed, approaching the canvas she’d finished her base coat on before leaving the city almost two weeks ago. “Thank you. I don’t think I say it enough, but I appreciate there’s so much you’re willing to ignore.”

Feyre was a stranger born behind foreign borders, all but an intruder to the hidden paradise and its residents. There in that little shop, that hard line drawn was erased. A haven until she found her footing, made acquaintances and friends. Feyre couldn’t be more grateful for her mentor.

The female just smiled. “Have a good night, dear.”

That was where her mate found her hours later, his hands slowly sliding into place to massage the muscles in her aching back. She’d hardly moved an inch since resetting her palette to start her design.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” she muttered, tilting her head back. “I’m—”

“Don’t apologize,” he told her, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Enough is changing in your life, you deserve something familiar. Relaxing. Do you want to stay a while longer?”

Feyre shook her head, standing from her stool. “Let me put this in the back. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

“Take your time, darling. I’ll be at the door.”

She was grateful he didn’t try to offer his help. That he could recognize she wasn’t ready to share her creations yet. So few people respected that need for privacy, and that intuition was just another thing to prove how attuned to one another they’d become. A perfect pair, as everyone hoped to find with their mate.

A few minutes later she had her station cleaned and joined Rhys at the door, hiding a smile when he helped her into her coat and wound her wool scarf around her neck. “The wind has become brutal in the past few hours.”

With the bulk of him behind her, she was spared from the chill long enough to lock up the shop for the night, but by the time they made it halfway down the street she was pressed tight to his side in an attempt to leech any warmth she could. In the end, he winnowed them to the townhouse, carrying her into the house with a rumbling laugh.

“When it gets a little warmer I’ll start taking you down the Sidra in the evenings. There’s nothing quite like The Rainbow on a summer night.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she grumbled, watching him run a bath in the massive tub, only shutting off the tap when the heat of it began to steam the mirrors. Then he was unbuttoning his shirt, stripping out of the rest of his clothes in a hurry before crossing the tile to reach for her.

“Rhys…”

“It's hardly the first time we’ve bathed together, darling. Unless you're bothered by it. I can always—”

“No.” He smirked, undressing her at a far more leisurely pace and carrying her into the massive sunken tub. “Don’t look so pleased,” she huffed, letting him hold her weight as the cold and tension slowly melted away.

“Why not? I’m here in the most lovely city on earth, holding the most beautiful female to grace it. I don’t think there’s ever been a male more lucky.”

She scoffed. “You are the absolute worst flirt, Rhysand—”

“Let’s not pull out the full name, darling.”

She huffed into his neck before following the motion of his hands on her hips and turning so her back was flush to his chest. Rivulets of water trailed down their skin with each motion of his hands, first working soap and conditioner into hair before moving down to map every dip and curve of her body. Just a few weeks time had already helped her start to fill out. Her bones were less prominent, at least.

She’d worried at first, what he’d think of her physically. Not just because she hadn’t maintained a healthy weight, but because her body was the most glaringly human part of her. Pointed ears, she might have, but the almost too-perfect form faeries were known for hadn’t been passed down to her.

But Rhys hadn’t cared one bit. Had been more than happy to worship every inch of her day after day, night after night. She was almost afraid to get used to it.

“You shouldn’t be,” he murmured, thumb rolling across her nipple. “My love is unconditional. There’s nothing about you I see as flawed, human or fae. Your heritage, your body, your mind—there is nothing about you that would push me away, my love.”

Feyre turned in his arms so they were eye to eye once again. “Even when I’m old and gray and crippled beyond reason.”

She watched something break in him then. There was a possibility they would find no solution to the toll of mortality. That the relentless march of time would grant her decades when he had centuries. That they could not be guaranteed another lifetime together.

“Even then, Feyre. Even then.”

She took a shaky breath, nuzzling into his neck again. “That isn’t a problem for right now,” she whispered. “Let’s just…”

He tugged her a little closer, her thighs parting fully to lock around his hips. “What do you need tonight, sweet girl?”

She let his voice wash over her, drug her teeth across his collarbone until he groaned beneath her. “I need you, Rhys. Always you.”

A low, pleased growl met her ears. Then his fingers were playing between her legs, parting her folds to expose her clit. She jolted, water lapping dangerously close to the lip of the tub. Rhys chuckled. “Come here, little mate.” Feyre let him guide her down onto his length, trembling the whole way. There had been no shortage of sex since their bond acceptance, but Feyre wasn’t sure she’d ever grow used to that first stretch, especially when he made her sink down like that. “Just like that. So good for me, Feyre.”

Her hands closed around the porcelain on either side of her, fingers curling and uncurling as she tried to leash the dizzying pleasure that had already started to flood through her. She didn’t care what her reaction did to his ego, she just needed him to move.

She managed to force her eyes open, blink up at him in request. ”Can’t—”

He clicked his tongue, hand tightening on her hips. “Oh, my little mate knows exactly what she wants. Just needs a little help.” He lifted her slightly, setting an easy pace. Up, down, up down. “No more thinking about what’s ahead. Just staying right here with me. Taking your pleasure. That’s it,” he praised when she kept her momentum without him, shifting her shaking hands to his shoulders one at a time.

She was gripping him tight enough her nails broke skin, but he just grinned back at her hips starting to lift to meet hers as his thumb moved back to her clit. “Rhys,” she said, slightly panicked when her climb to release came so sharply.

“Let go, Feyre. Want you to come for me, just like this.” It rattled through her, a wave of ecstasy that had her bowing in his arms. Rhys cursed as she clenched down, biting into her shoulder as he spilled inside her. It would leave a mark her body would be much slower to heal than his, but she hardly minded that. She liked the reminder she was really his.

“Fuck, Feyre.” She shivered in his arm, only realizing the water had chilled when her mind and body fully righted themselves. “Let’s get you dried off and tucked in, darling.”

She whimpered when he eased her off his cock and cleaned her with warm water before stepping out onto the bathmat. Bundling them both in soft towels he started to dry the ends of her hair. “So sweet,” he whispered when her nose found its home in the crook of his neck once again. She was starting to find it was her favorite place to be—tucked in where his scent was strongest.

“We’ll find a way, won’t we Rhys?” she asked after he’d slipped a nightgown over her head.

He was silent for a moment, letting the question sit between them as he brushed her hair in measured strokes. “We’ll try, Feyre. I won’t stop looking until we’ve found a way. I promise.”

~~~~~

Rhysand

In the end, their efforts were fruitless. No spell or healing magic could still the hands of time. Year after year, Rhys watched his mate change with the seasons. Her painting was the first thing she grieved, her hands stiff and pained with age. Arthritis, Madja called it. The tonics only helped for a time. Then it was her memories. Not of him, but the precious moments they’d shared in those sixty years. The rest of their family, a forgotten story, even as each of them spoke and tended to her each day.

In the last few days her deepest worries were finally voiced.

“I should have done more. Even if I am scorned in the Hewn City, I am your mate. Their Lady.”

“You did more than any of them deserve.”

“What have I done for this city beyond the little things? How do they really see me?”

“The little things mean the most, my love.”

Her last regret nearly broke him.

“I never gave you a child.”

“Feyre—”

“It was my duty, was it not? Now I am dying. You are a High Lord without an heir.”

“It’s not your fault we could not conceive, Feyre. I have lived a more rewarding life than I imagined, and I haven’t grieved a moment. Nor should you.”

That was the night her heart gave out. The next morning she was buried beside his sister. And beneath the spring wisteria, Rhys felt the last little light in his chest wink out.

~~~~~

#acotar #feysand #acotar gift exchange #acotargiftexchange2024 #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand fic #but for you i was made #BFYIWM

23 notes · View notes