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#feysand fanfiction
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The Other Side Of The Apocalypse
What would you trade the pain for?
Summary: One last grand adventure. Rhysand had promised his father that after this final journey, he would take a wife and resign himself to inheriting his title. As it turned out, Rhysand had other plans, and so did the huntress he'd encountered in the village.
Note: If you've missed Rhys being dumb and horny, then @separatist-apologist and I have a treat for you!
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Chapter 6/10: Hurricane Heat In My Head
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The chains returned to Rhysand in his sleep.
He knew, even as he thrashed against them, that they were not real. Suspended in darkness with no beginning and no end, there was only Rhysand and the icy slither of those chains, constricting around him like serpents of black, heavy stone.
They bit into his skin, drawing lacerations across his biceps, his thighs, his chest, and as he screamed into the oblivion that held him, there was no response. Not even the echo of his own pain.
Blood welled and dripped from his wounds. It was the only color he could see—a dark, foreboding red. The same that rippled in wine and glinted jewels. The color of sharp nails and long, draping hair. Where had he seen something like that before? He swore he could hear sinister laughter on the cusp of his memory, a phantom of a woman with a cruel smile.
She was not real. This place, these chains. None of it was real.
Except for the fear. He could feel it pulsing through him—a second, rampant heartbeat, as if he’d swallowed a war drum that rallied every dormant instinct inside him. Their singular cry pumped through his blood until it leaked out through his wounds, whimpering: Run. Run.
RUN.
Rhysand sat up in bed, gasping. Red light leaked over the horizon, spilling onto the sky and snow in both directions, warmer and altogether gentler than the scarlet that invaded his dreams, but… He placed a hand on his thundering chest, calling for it to still the way he might soothe a spooked stallion.
He was reminded of the stories he’d heard in childhood of men who wandered into Prythian only to be driven to madness. Was this how the minds of those men began to deteriorate? It was dreadful to think that a sunset could unnerve his unconscious mind so greatly. But he couldn’t deny he was apprehensive. A new court awaited him, and he could only assume its dangers were more perilous than the last.
This could be my last sunrise, he thought. He rubbed at his naked chest, absently tracing the whorls of ink and the dread he felt roiling beneath them. He wished, not for the first time, that Feyre hadn’t slept in a different room.
At least then, Rhys could have faced death knowing he’d had the chance to wake up beside her without the fear that one of them was dying. He resolved he would survive this next Court just to have that pleasure. He wouldn’t die without kissing her.
If nothing else, the Mother owed him that much.
He bathed and dressed, rueful that Feyre wasn’t there to taunt him all the while. Privacy was all he’d craved at the start of their journey—was one night apart really all it took? It was absurd and yet he was so agitated that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Where she was, how she slept, if she was awake… if she had company.
The thought struck him violently, causing Rhys to shut his door with too much force as he slipped out of his room. A servant at the end of the hall gasped and dropped their tray of neatly folded bedding.
“Shit, I’m s—“
Their snow-white hair disappeared around the corner, fleeing the hall before he could finish his apology. That was another strange thing. Faeries wary of a human. Rhys supposed he had killed two of their High Lords, the most powerful fae in their lands. He had the marks to prove it, though they were hidden beneath his layers of fur-trimmed clothing.
He was reminded of his sister’s shrill cry whenever a spider had the misfortune of crossing her path.
Rhys! Kill it! Kill it!
They were such small, feeble creatures compared to the size and might of a human. He used to tease her for it.
What are you afraid it’s going to do? Eat you?
But he would always kill them anyway. Because she was scared, and he loved her, and he knew no matter how meager the threat, he’d quell it to soothe her fear.
Tarquin, Kallias, even Eris. They seemed to love their people.
He might survive Dawn, Day, and Night. He might very well liberate all seven Courts. But he knew, as he kicked the servant’s fallen silver tray aside and watched light streak off its surface, that he would not be returning to the mortal lands. Either a monster would kill him, or…
Feyre. He needed to see Feyre and talk to her about all of this. The need gripped him like a fist around his chest. He couldn’t breathe as it pulled him, some vestige of that infernal chain, begging him to find her, to see her, to ensure she was safe.
From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d felt an inexplicable urge to protect her. But it was worse now, after almost losing her. He knew the glaze of her eyes slipping from the world, and he would do anything to never witness that horror again. He also knew that if he revealed any of this to her, she’d gut him for assuming she needed anyone’s protection.
Rhys stopped outside the front hall, taking a moment to compose himself. The corridor was empty, and apart from the faint torrent of wind clawing at the palace’s bastioned exterior, his beating heart was the only sound.
Then, voices. Distant at first. But in the great, open hall, they carried to him easily.
“I just think we should give him more time before the Solar Courts.”
His heart rate quickened. That was Feyre’s voice, tense and limned in such rare candor that he couldn’t resist ducking through one of the many doors lining the hallway.
A deep, rumbling voice drifted through the thin gap Rhys left in the door. “More time for what, exactly?”
Cassian.
“To rest. We almost died in Winter—I almost died. He’s… we’ve both been through a lot. He needs time to restore his strength.”
Cassian’s voice was gentle if a little prying. “Or maybe you need time. What’s troubling you, Fey?”
“Nothing.”
Liar. Rhys could perfectly imagine the stubborn set to her jaw, the way she squared her shoulders and raised her chin in defiance. But there was no hiding the strain in her voice.
“He’s gotten this far,” Cassian reasoned. “I talked to him last night, and I swore I could feel the spirit of Enalius standing over his shoulder. He’s going to make it through all seven Courts. I can feel it.”
Silence hung in the air.
“Unless…” The word rumbled through the corridor. “That’s exactly what you’re afraid of.”
Feyre’s voice was hoarse. “Cass—“
“We need him, Feyre. He’s our only shot at freeing Nes—“Cassian’s voice cracked. He took a moment to clear his throat. “He’s the only one who can free them, Feyre.”
“I know.” She sounded miserable. “And that’s why I just think we should just give him time—“
“I don’t need time.”
They both turned as Rhys pushed through the door. Cassian raised a brow towards the study Rhys departed, looking uncertain whether to be angry or amused that he’d been eavesdropping.
Feyre was staring at him, looking exactly as stubborn and defiant as he’d imagined. He thought the thing lashing in his chest would settle at the sight of her, but it only pulled harder, twining so tightly that he thought he couldn’t breathe as those starry eyes dressed him down and narrowed to crescents. Her pretty, bow-shaped lips were pursed just enough that he thought he could kiss her scowl away if she let him close enough to try.
He mirrored her crossed arms in an attempt to reign himself in, and said with a cocky grin, “That was the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. I’m ready to take on anything those High Lord bastards throw at us.”
It’s okay, he wanted to tell her. I already know they won’t let me live by the end of this. At least let me save your sisters.
Feyre pressed her lips flat together. Sadness flickered in her eyes, so brief he would have thought he imagined it had his heart not plummeted in tandem. He knew that grief. He still choked on it whenever he passed the ribbons shop in the village, confronted with the unbidden memory of crouching on a lowered stool, braiding satin through his sister’s hair until his back was stiff. The years could muddy the details—the colors of the ribbons and the words they exchanged in those long hours—but never the pain.
Rhysand dropped his arms, intending to comfort her, but whatever sadness had been in her eyes vanished. Only cold, glittering calm remained.
“If you’re ready, then there’s no sense wasting time.”
In reality, he would have very much liked that time with Feyre. Even just a day to know her without the threat of dying. But he would not be the one responsible for losing her sisters. He would do anything in his power if she could escape that grief.
“Let’s go,” he agreed.
Cassian punched a hand into his palm. “I hope it’s another beast,” he said, with an excitement neither of the humans in his company shared. “I’ve been itching to get back in action.”
-
They stayed long enough to have breakfast, a bountiful spread of hot and cold dishes presented to them in the High Lord’s personal dining room. Cassian helped himself to a sizable portion of each dish: smoked fish, pickled vegetables, fresh bread, and a collection of cheeses, each more potent than the last.
Rhysand ate a bit of the fish and bread in the interest of keeping up his strength, though he didn’t have much of an appetite. The gods knew what horrors he would face in Dawn and whether he’d even be able to hang on to his breakfast by the end of it. Feyre seemed in an equally sullen mood, pushing her food around her plate without saying much of anything to anyone.
Kallias seemed relieved to see them go and consequently was more than happy to winnow them to the door to Winter. The blizzarding snow had carried away any evidence of the creature they’d disemboweled. But Rhys could still hear Feyre’s scream against the wind, and he remembered the way her body crumpled against the pine tree, how the beast’s blood warmed his clothes.
She was fine now, squinting against the winter onslaught, her cheeks a bright, healthy color thanks to the benefit of warm clothes and fae healers. Even so, Rhys prompted her to enter the tunnel first, prepared to withstand the blow of any winter beast that wandered by.
There was only Kallias, his fair skin and lighter hair nearly blending into the Winter landscape at his back.
“Thank you for helping my Court,” he said, fisting a hand over his heart. He bowed low enough to make Rhys feel unsettled.
“Thanks for hosting us.”
It didn’t feel like an equivalent debt, but Rhys was unsure what else to say.
Kallias raised to his full height. “Good luck in the Solar Courts.”
You will need it was an unspoken addition, though expressed nonetheless in his grim smile. He nodded farewell to each of them, then vanished in a flurry of ice crystals.
“Shut the door,” Cassian complained. “It’s fucking freezing.”
Rhysand didn’t need to be told twice. He was happy to say goodbye to this Hell-sent Court and never look back.
“What were you doing in Winter, anyway?” He asked with a grunt as he hauled the stone door shut.
The howling wind immediately seized. Rhys blinked against the sudden darkness, taking in the vague, hulking shape of Cassian and Feyre’s much slighter shadow just a step away. It was a ridiculous impulse, but he found himself reaching out to press his palm to the small of her back. He considered it a victory that she didn’t immediately flinch away.
It was cold enough that Cassian’s sigh expelled a cloud of air in front of him. “Azriel and I were on reconnaissance, searching for… a cure. We got trapped in Winter when the borders closed.”
Rhysand frowned. “A cure for what?”
Against his palm, he could feel Feyre tense.
Cassian stared hard down the tunnel. At his side, his hands turned into fists so tight that the brown skin over his knuckles turned pale. “These seals you’re destroying, it’s true that their magic impacts the wellbeing of each of the Courts, but their true purpose was precautionary; to prevent us from lifting the curse placed on the Night Court.”
“And the curse—”
“Enough.” Feyre’s voice sliced through the tunnel. Cold and authoritarian in a way that sent a perverse thrill down Rhysand’s spine.
He didn’t have time to linger in the fantasy of how Feyre might use that voice in the bedroom before she was striding down the hall, each step reverberating against the stone walls.
Cassian winced before pitching his voice in a whisper, “Tread carefully bringing the curse up around her. Tamlin’s the bastard who betrayed all of us, but Feyre… She feels responsible for what happened to the Night Court. To her sisters.”
“I wish she told me,” Rhys said, watching her retreating figure with open dismay. Cassian offered a wry smile, clapping a sympathetic hand on Rhysand’s shoulder before he turned to catch up with Feyre.
Every time Rhys was starting to feel like he knew her, he uncovered a new layer of secrecy. He felt as if he were perpetually wiping the fog away from a mirror and it was beginning to feel doubtful that he would ever see a clear image of who Feyre Archeron was.
He only gave himself a moment to dwell on it. Then he was jogging to catch up with Feyre and Cassian, determined to be the first to step through the Cauldron-damned door this time.
In an effort to return to some sort of normalcy, he asked, “No Eris to wave us off before the next Court?”
Cassian snickered. “I doubt Eris will be leaving his quarters for at least a week.”
“A week?” Feyre snorted. “If Az has any say, it will be months before we see Eris again.”
“Doesn’t he have a court to run?”
Cassian and Feyre shared a look. It was the sort of mutual understanding that could only be found through years of knowing another person. Rhys resisted the urge to ask, but the question burned his tongue. How long has Feyre’s life been intertwined with Prythian?
“You have no idea what it’s like,” Cassian said, finally. A shadow passed over his features. “To be separated from your mate for that long… it’s enough to drive even someone like Eris Vanserra to extremes.”
“Mate?”
Rhysand could guess what that meant. The way that animals found mates. But there was a reverence to the way Cassian said the word that gave him pause.
“A mating bond is the deepest connection you can have with another living soul. They’re your perfect match, your equal in every way. A bond more significant than any vow, even marriage.”
“I see.”
“I doubt it,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “You think you understand it, but…” He shook his head, a far-off look in his eyes. “It’s not until you feel it snap. Until one look at them brings you to your knees. Your entire world, reoriented to their gravity.”
Rhysand was putting everything together too slowly. “Nesta’s your mate.”
There was a strange mixture of grief and pride on his face as Cassian nodded. Rhysand didn’t have the courage to ask if that meant Feyre had a mate, too. Had it been Tamlin? He knew his glance towards her was anything but subtle.
Feyre was glaring ahead, the door to the Dawn Court now in view. It was carved from bright red stone, light spilling from its gaps as though it were single-handedly holding back the might of the sun.
“Are you ready?” Feyre asked, to no one in particular.
Rhys stepped forward, placing his palms against the smooth stone. It was surprisingly warm to the touch. He heaved the stone forward, exposing the tunnel to the torrent of red light waiting impatiently on the other side.
Squinting against the brightness, Rhysand’s hand fell to his sword, readying for another beast. There weren’t any tell-tale signs. No distant roaring or eerie quiet. He expected they would find themselves in another isolated area separate from the rest of the Court. But in fact, as Rhysand’s eyes adjusted, he found himself staring at the deck of a lowered drawbridge. Two guards stood on either side of the gatehouse, wearing royal red and gold livery.
The doors were open on the other side of the iron gate, revealing the fae milling about their day through the gaps in the latticework. The first thing he noticed was the flood of warm, humid air. Not quite as smothering as it had been in the Summer Court, but oppressive enough that he was already sweating in his fur-lined clothes.
After enduring the extreme weather in each of the seasonal courts, Rhysand had nearly forgotten that the Mortal Lands were in the peak of summer when he and Feyre left. Was Dawn also in summer eternal, or was it aligned with the changing seasons of the human realm?
Rhys angled his head toward the sky, marveling at the scarlet clouds that domed over the land in every direction, betraying not a single sliver of blue. Rhys was certain it had been midday when they left Winter, but he couldn’t discern if the sun was somewhere behind the glowing red haze or if it was still nestled beyond the horizon. He supposed that if seasons were eternal in the previous courts, then in the Dawn Court, it must always be sunrise.
Feyre was frowning at the sky, too. He might have studied the oddity longer had his interest not fixed on the way the red light painted her skin the most alluring shade of pink. Like him, she must have been overheating in the Winter clothes. He could see sweat shining at her temple, giving the impression she was glowing. And with her neck arched upwards, practically in invitation, he thought it would be all too easy to lean forward and trace the column of her throat with his tongue.
The only thing stopping him was the pair of guards quickly moving towards them. The blade strapped to her hip might have also been a deterrent, but he found he minded the idea of Feyre pulling a knife on him less and less.
She cast him a quick glance as the guards approached, one that read, Step away and keep your mouth shut.
As the guards stumbled to a halt midway across the bridge, Rhysand noticed they seemed a bit… frazzled. With the borders newly opened, he imagined they were among the first visitors that Dawn had received in years. Humans, no less.
“Feyre Archeron,” one of them said, with what Rhys thought might have been awe.
They ought to be awed at the sight of her. A firestorm of a human woman swallowed in white furs and staring down two armed faeries as though she had nothing to fear.
She tipped her chin. “Tell Thesan that the Cursebreaker is here.”
“The High Lord is expecting you already,” the guard answered. He shouted over his shoulder at the guards in the gatehouse.
A small commotion flitted through the slit windows of the barbican above the gateway, followed by the clink and drag of chains. The metal grating lurched, and Rhysand flinched at the screeching sound of stone scraping together as the golden gate ascended into the tower above. How the guardsmen could stand the noise with their fae hearing was a mystery.
The guard gestured them forward with a jerk of his chin. “The captain will escort you to the palace.”
Great, Rhysand thought upon seeing the male in golden armor, already waiting for them on the other side of the gatehouse. Another handsome faerie staring at Feyre like she was his next meal. Rhys found himself drifting closer to her as they walked through the gates, prepared to draw his sword if the faerie’s smile proved deceitful. In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Cassian hide a smirk.
“Oryn,” Feyre said with a smile that erred closer to politeness than familiarity. This wasn’t someone she knew well, at least. “Thank you for coming to meet us.”
The male’s wings shifted, tucking closer to his body. Unlike the wings Cassian and Azriel bore, Oryn’s were more avian in nature, feathered and shaped like a white dove’s. “I wish we were meeting under better terms, Cursebreaker.”
Feyre’s eyes drifted back toward the red clouds above. “The sky—”
“We’ll discuss it once we’re in the palace.”
Rhysand wanted to snap at the male for interrupting her, but Feyre chose to simply nod her head and press her lips together. She kept her eyes on the red mist above, cautious. As if she suspected a rift would open at any moment and present some horrible creature for them to slay. Rhys flexed his fingers above his sword. He trusted Feyre’s instincts. If she sensed something was wrong, he knew better than to question it.
The captain led them through a series of narrow pink-stoned streets. They were built on a steep incline and boarded on either side by red-roofed buildings. Some billowed smoke into the sky from their chimneys, and Rhys watched as the white clouds rose into the sky above, only to turn a foreboding scarlet color the moment it breached the layer of mist.
He stepped closer to Feyre and murmured to her, “I take it the sky isn’t usually red.”
“The Solar Courts adhere to the laws of nature,” Feyre said back, a certain tightness to her voice that sent warning bells blaring in his head. “The High Lords can’t control the sun’s path or strength. The Courts observe day and night the same as the human realm.”
Rhys exhaled a deep breath. “Please don’t tell me we have to fight something in the sky.”
Cassian, who had clearly been listening in, cut them a wolfish grin and flexed the batlike wings towering over his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you brought me along. Illyrians specialize in aerial combat.”
It was difficult to feel soothed by that fact when all Rhys could picture was needing to be cradled by one of the winged fae while he battled some beast on wings. Hardly the dashing heroics he’d want to recount to an audience once this was all over.
Feyre pursed her lips. She was scanning the city as they passed, tracking each of the fae that quickly moved aside, giving their retinue a wide berth. He noticed some High Fae, like Eris and Tarquin, but the far majority of them were lesser fae, sporting the same feathered wings as Oryn. Feyre didn’t say anything, but he practically heard the observation she was making—for a city filled with winged people, it was strange that there was not a single person in the sky.
Especially when the route to the palace proved to be rather… intensive.
“You’re kidding me.”
They stopped at the entryway to the palace: a double set of doors with stairs that spiraled up, up, up into the towering mountainside. Rhys craned his head to trace the towers and spires that rose high into the mountain, so tall that their peaks disappeared into the red mist.
Cassian let out a low whistle. “And I thought the steps to the House of Wind were brutal.”
“The great Illyrian warrior, felled by a few thousand stairs?” Feyre teased.
A few thousand was putting it lightly. Suddenly, Rhys missed Eris’s abrasive winnowing tactics.
Oryn grimaced. “We are a flying people, and as such, we have built a great deal of architecture above the clouds.”
Cassian eyed the captain’s wings, “And we can’t fly them up because…?”
The captain made no effort to hide his grief as he answered, “Because flying is forbidden.”
The red stones on Cassian’s gloves sparked and flickered, a mirror to the outrage blazing in his eyes. His chest puffed, and he took a deep breath as though he were about to demand an explanation when Feyre pressed a palm to his shoulder. It was remarkable to watch—how that small, simple touch from a human girl somehow managed to reign in the fury of an ancient fae warrior. Again, Cassian looked at her, a million things exchanged between them in that short glance.
He huffed, tucking in his wings as he strode towards the staircase. “Good thing I had a big breakfast.”
Rhysand supposed now was as good a time as any to begin disrobing. Perhaps it made him incivil as a visitor to this court, but if he was going to climb up an entire damned mountain, there was no way he was doing it covered in heavy fur. He was coated in sweat from just the walk.
“Really?” Feyre placed her hands on her hips as he pulled the parka over his head and discarded it on the ground. “You’re doing that here?”
“Were you hoping I would wait until I was in your bedroom?”
Over her shoulder, Cassian placed a hand over his mouth from where he’d turned to wait for them.
The blue in Feyre’s eyes was muted under the red light, turning them more gray than usual, but just as piercing. Rhysand held his breath as her gaze raked over his exposed skin, from the planes of his muscular chest, down his corded abdomen, to the slant of his hips, where he noticed her eyes track the path of hair that disappeared under his waistband. And lingered.
Rhys wanted to make a joke, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He was still overwarm from the Winter clothes, and it wasn’t helping that Feyre was staring at him that way—as if she were debating dragging him into the nearest dark alcove to put her lips where her eyes were. It wasn’t a bad idea. He wouldn’t mind pushing Feyre against the stone wall and tangling her hair around his fist. Heat itched up his skin at the fantasy. It felt keenly as though he were back in the Autumn Court, confronting the firebreath of a dragon. Except then, his trousers hadn’t been so tight.
Finally, Feyre composed herself enough to twist her face into a scowl. He knew it was all for show. Her irritation didn’t pass any deeper than the surface of her features, and beneath it… beneath it, he thought she might have felt a kernel of the desperate, burning wanting that was flooding through him.
She said cooly, “I think I’ll save my bedroom invitations for men who know how to conduct themselves appropriately.”
“And you’re determined to climb all those stairs dressed like that?”
He eyed the fur trim of her parka, the excessive padding insulating her thighs and hips. It was impossible. She would overheat and leave one of them dragging her the rest of the way. Feyre crossed her arms, determined to make this as difficult as possible.
“Don’t be stubborn,” he snapped. “I’m not in the mood to spend another day hauling you over my shoulder.”
“And here I thought you came to my gallant rescue,” she mocked. “No wonder you’re chasing after a bedroom invitation. It seems you can only undress women when clothing is an obstacle to survival.”
Rhysand cocked his head. “Do you want to wager on that, Feyre?”
He would bet there were a decent number of women in this Court who would be interested in the novelty of bedding a human male. And if catching their attention could make Feyre jealous, even better.
“Are you two done bickering?” Cassian was leaning against the archway to the great stairwell, a slit brow raised. “Or should I do this savior of Prythian thing on my own?”
A few steps away, Oryn muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, my thoughts exactly.
With a glare in Rhsand’s direction, Feyre stripped to her underlayers. He was used to the chemises and stays of the mortal realm—tight, restrictive underclothing that anticipated women wouldn’t be completing feats much more exciting than having children and keeping a nice household. Clearly, things were different in Prythian. Feyre wore a panel of fabric that wound around her chest, encapsulating and binding her breasts. The fabric knotted at the back of her neck, tight enough to keep her breasts slightly suspended. It was an effort not to stare, particularly as he noticed the sweat gleaming on her collarbone.
“Satisfied?” She demanded.
Not nearly. Not until he had the chance to run his mouth over every inch of her bare skin.
The hunger must have been plain on Rhysand’s face because Cassian warned him, “I wouldn’t answer that truthfully.”
Feyre only scowled and brushed past both of them, the first to take the stairs behind Oryn. Rhysand’s intention for darting in front of Cassian was hardly subtle; he wanted to be the one directly behind Feyre. Partly in case something happened and she truly did need his help, but also because it meant her ass was directly in his field of vision and he had a penchant for torturing himself.
The novelty only lasted until his muscles started groaning. Up and up, around and around. The stairway spiraled on and on, its monotony broken only by the colorful medley of arched windows through which he could see the city they’d emerged from, growing smaller and smaller as they ascended. The constant circles were beginning to make his head spin. Never mind the sweat he could feel collecting in every crevice of his body.
Through it all, Feyre carried herself as composed and seemingly unbothered as ever. Except Rhys could see the way her braid clung to her neck, and if he held his panting back long enough, he could hear her sharp little breaths that said she was winded, too. He was fascinated, and he passed the time thinking how much he would enjoy the sound of that breathing while she lay under him. What other sounds could he draw out of her?
They climbed on like that, no one wasting breath on talking, for what felt like hours. The scarlet mist obscured the sun and any chance of telling the time, but soon, the sounds and sights of the city disappeared entirely. They were high enough, now, that Rhys could see the adjacent wilted countryside and the long, winding river coaxing through it. Should one of them grow clumsy and tumble out one of the rose-tinted windows, at least they’d have quite the sight to behold while they fell to their death.
Above them, the dark red sky drew larger and nearer.
Finally, they reached an open-air chamber full of fat, silk pillows and plush carpets. A large fountain gurgled at its center, pushing out clear water that arched and fell into the pool below, sending ripples across the red sky reflected on its surface. At that moment, all Rhys wanted was to cup the precious liquid into his hands and douse it over his head.
A High Fae male stepped through the large door on the other side of the chamber. The wisteria draping the doorway swayed as the male glided past on soft embroidered shoes. His tunic was tight-fitting around his slender chest, but his pants were loose and flowing. He bore a smile that crinkled the brown skin around his upswept eyes.
Warm, Rhys thought as he looked at the male. He had the warmest eyes he thought he’d ever seen, the kind that begged him to trust the stranger, though he hadn’t spoken a single word.
“Welcome,” he said, his voice as rich and deep as his brown eyes. “I am Thesan, High Lord of the Dawn Court. Though most of you are already familiar.”
Oryn immediately detached from their group to join Thesan at his side. If the male was winded from their ascent, he hardly showed it. Thesan’s gaze slanted towards the captain for only a moment, but Rhys caught the open affection in the High Lord’s eyes. Thesan reached out his hand, the tension in his body loosening the slightest bit when Oryn threaded their fingers together.
Not just the captain of the guard, then, but also the High Lord’s consort. Mate, perhaps, though Rhys wasn’t certain how to identify such things.
“Thank you for receiving us,” Feyre said. Behind them, Cassian bowed his head respectfully at the High Lord, though Rhys noted that Feyre did not. So in turn, neither did he.
Thesan raised his brows at the impertinence. Rhysand saw no reason why he and Feyre should bow and scrape to adhere to their customs. If they were going to be made to climb up a whole damn mountain to free Thesan’s Court, they at least deserved equal respect. Equal footing.
Even if their current state of dress was admittedly pitiful.
“Thanks,” Rhysand echoed. His breath was still ragged from the climb, and he resisted the urge to wipe away a bead of sweat as he felt it trail down his chest. “Your home is lovely. It’s a shame so few can behold its grandeur, what with the deterrent of those stairs. Or is their ascent a pleasure you save uniquely for your most favored guests?”
He expected Feyre might have thrown an elbow in his side for being uncouth, but she merely turned her head to look at him, something unreadable in her eyes. Her braid was damp from sweat, and the short cropping of hair she wore across her forehead was mussed, the pieces clumped and sticking in places that he knew must be driving her mad, though he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. The observation struck him so acutely that he quickly glanced away, before he was tempted to do something foolish.
Thesan, on the other hand, looked distinctly amused. “This is my private residence,” he said, his voice betraying none of the usual guardedness of the fae. He seemed earnest, this High Lord. A bit like Tarquin but… wiser, Rhys sensed. Someone who had walked on this earth far, far longer than Rhysand’s twenty-odd years and saw no reason to rise to a human’s barbed words. “The deterrent of those stairs is intentional, as it were. I find it limits the risk of surprise visitors.”
There was a story behind that knowing smile, of the times when surprise visitors might have attempted to enter the palace without explicit invitation. Maybe there were a thousand stories, some humorous and some grim. The High Lord of Dawn looked as though he were reflecting on them all as he turned his brown eyes towards the sight of the sprawling Court below, peaking between the marble arches of the open chamber.
And above it all, the red sky loomed like the most peculiar storm cloud. Thesan assessed that, too, and then released an aggrieved sigh. “I do apologize for the exertion. My invited guests do not usually need to climb so many stairs—most can winnow or fly, and my palace boasts the most remarkable moving platform for those who can do neither. However, it’s operated in one of my highest towers, which has become… inaccessible, of late.”
Rhysand narrowed his eyes. “How so?”
“I’m certain the red sky hasn’t escaped your notice,” Thesan said with a frown. “It originates from this palace. From an enchanted lotus, gifted to me by a friend. Or who I once regarded as one. It sits in our highest tower and is responsible for this fog that has plagued our sky.”
“And this… fog,” Feyre ventured. Rhys was trying very hard not to look at her. “Is it dangerous?”
“Yes,” Oryn answered. He was standing at Thesan’s shoulder, still holding his lover’s hand. His expression darkened with a grief that Rhys felt he had no right to be witnessing. “Peregryns have been dropping from the sky since the day it arrived.” He tucked his wings in tighter. “Skilled flyers, suddenly plummeting to their deaths. We’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it poison?” Cassian asked. “If they were incapacitated—”
Oryn shook his head. “We have not ruled out poison. But we know they were conscious as they fell. We could hear them—” his throat bobbed.” We could hear them screaming.”
“There were some we were able to save,” Thesan said. “Our best healers could find no damage to their wings, nor any trace of known poisons. It was their minds that seemed altered—agitated by sights and sounds that no one else could witness. We’ve yet to find a cure.”
Not many people in the mortal realm lived to old age, but some did. Some, like Rhysand’s grandfather, who had reached such a state of mental frailty that he could be in the same room and occupy a completely different reality. Often, it was one of a past life, from a time before the plague had taken Rhysand’s mother and sister. His grandfather would relive the grief of that discovery almost every day, before Rhysand and his father decided it was better to play along, to claim that his mother and sister were simply out in the village and would be returning soon.
Rhysand had long thought he’d prefer to die young on one of his beast-slaying adventures than to live to an age when his mind deteriorated so much that he could no longer remember the people he loved.
He was thinking of his grandfather and the ever-distant glaze in his eyes, as he asked, “It turns you mad?”
Thesan nodded, expression grim. “We believe it’s inhalation that causes the illness. Contact of the skin does not appear to trigger the same symptoms, or at least not immediately.”
And there was no cure.
Rhysand’s head spun, trying to think of a way to reach the seal without compromising his mind to do it.
It was Feyre who cut in, voice surprisingly rigid, “Thesan, I would appreciate if you allowed us some rest before we ponder this subject any further. Rhysand and I could do with a bath and a change of clothes.”
It was as though Thesan had only just noticed that they were both half-naked and coated in sweat. He tore his eyes away from the skyline and blinked, before scraping them over Feyre from head to toe. Rhysand tried not to twitch at the scrutiny.
“Of course,” Thesan said. He lifted a hand in the air and a small bell appeared, pinched between his fingers. He needed to only flick his wrist and ring it twice before a flock of attendants flooded in, each dressed in similar loose clothing of blushing pink and orange and gold. “Please show our guests to their rooms.”
Even Cassian breathed out a sigh of relief at the promise of a bath.
They were led through the lavish, winding halls of the palace, all of it carved from golden stone and boasting open views of the valleys and villages below. It was a beautiful, well-decorated maze. Rhysand did his best to track every turn they made past urns filled with flowers, pillow-bedecked alcoves, and elevated courtyards with roaming peacocks, but he wasn’t confident he’d be able to navigate through them on his own.
Eventually they came to a suite built around a lavish sitting area and private dining room. All of it was carved from the same golden stone, identical in color to the first rays of the sun bursting across the horizon. He surveyed the jewel-toned fabrics and cushions, the thick carpets, and the golden cages filled with birds of all shapes and sizes. He was begrudged to admit that this was the nicest Court he’d seen so far.
The attendants directed each of them to their allotted rooms. When Cassian eagerly pushed through the door to his, muttering something under his breath about polishing his swords, Rhys suspected Feyre would do the same. But she stayed, hand mired to the doorknob so she might escape at any moment.
But she stayed.
He hadn’t had a moment alone with her since she’d kissed his cheek. A million things ran through his head of what he wanted to—and wished—he could say to her, starting with how badly he wanted to invite her into his room so they could bathe together. With the way she was drinking in his bare chest, her cheeks the most maddening shade of pink, he thought there was a chance she wouldn’t say no.
Rhys opened his mouth to ask, but she interrupted him.
“You don’t need to break the seal today.”
He needed more than a moment to reel in the fantasy of lathering soap over her freckled shoulders. “I… What?”
“It doesn’t need to be today, or tomorrow. You can take your time. Enjoy the luxuries of this court and your freedom before…” She swallowed, unable to finish her thought. But he knew what she was going to say.
Before you go mad.
It was the first time he thought she’d ever truly acted concerned about him. He asked gently, “What about your sisters?”
Feyre angled her head, staring hard at one of the faelights over his shoulder, blinking like she was holding back tears. “My sisters are frozen in time,” she said. “Literally frozen. They can wait. It makes no difference to them.”
Another time, when she didn’t look like she was about to cry, he’d ask her what that meant. Frozen where? How?
“But it does to you,” he said. “And to Cassian.”
She shrugged. “Cassian’s immortal. He has nothing but time.”
Rhysand strode toward her and was grateful to see her hand slip from the doorknob. She pressed it to his chest before he could get too close, keeping him at a distance, but that was perfectly fine by him.
She didn’t act the demure lady about touching his bare chest, and he wouldn’t expect her to. Though he was pleasantly surprised to see the flush climbing up her throat, and to feel the subtle flex of her fingers as though marveling at the firmness of the muscle beneath her palms. He wanted to feel those calluses scrape the entire length of his chest. Fuck. He wanted to feel them against his cock.
But now wasn’t the time. And he tried to shake those thoughts away, even as Feyre’s breath hitched and he watched her next inhale expand the swell of her breasts, that entrancing flush growing a deeper shade.
Her lips parted, their offer so tempting that he reached to grip either side of the doorframe, holding himself back just as much as she was trying to do with that maddening hand on his chest.
Maybe now was the time for honesty.
“I’m not worried about losing my mind,” he said to her, his voice rough and low like he’d never heard it before. “I’ve already been losing my mind for every damn day I’ve spent on this journey. Feyre, I am losing it rapidly by the second.”
Her next breath shuddered out of her.
“It’s happening too fast,” she whispered. “I just want—”
All of his focus, his entire being, narrowed in on those perfect lips and the words she held back.
“You just want what?” He was practically begging now. “What is it that you want, Feyre?”
He knew what he wanted. He wanted it so badly he would give up his mind for it.
Feyre stayed silent. What he would give to be able to see into her mind, to just know one thing that she truly thought about him.
“How about a thought for a thought?” He tried. “You tell me one thing on your mind, and in exchange I’ll tell you something on mine.”
She considered this for a moment before nodding. “You go first.”
A chuckle rasped out of him. How predictable. “I’m thinking,” he said, leaning in as much as her Cauldron-damned hand would allow. For once he had her full attention, and he wondered how any man was meant to endure the force of her gaze without wanting to fall to his knees. “That I have endured utter Hell since the moment I met you. And all of the beasts and riddles and even the fucking stairs weren’t nearly as agonizing as how I feel right now, trying not to kiss you.”
Her eyes fell on his mouth. Rhysand could feel his heart hammering against her fingertips.
Feyre flicked her tongue across her lower lip and he thought that might die right there.
Then she said, “I’m thinking we could both use a bath.”
He practically purred, “Is that an invitation?”
“No.”
It was like slamming face-first into a stone wall. Feyre dropped her hand like he’d scalded her, and before he could scramble for something to say, she yanked on her doorknob and shut the door in his face.
Rhysand blinked, still gripping the doorframe as he reeled from the rejection. Cassian’s door was still shut, but he swore he could hear cackling laughter behind it.
-
Thesan summoned them all to breakfast the next morning.
With the mist blocking any and all sunlight, it was impossible to tell if it was early or late in the morning, but by Rhysand’s account, it was much too soon. He’d stayed up late pacing his lavish bedroom, debating whether to knock on Feyre’s door to apologize for his brazenness or demand that she apologize for being so Gods-damned guarded. Was it really so hard to tell him one thing—just one—about how she truly felt?
Evidently so, if the way she was spearing fruit onto her fork was any indication of her mood. She’d taken supper in her room last night, leaving Cassian and Rhys to eat together in their private dining room. It was another night bonding over their shared exasperation of the stubborn, elusive Archeron women.
It hadn’t made him feel any better, though. Sitting across from Feyre, watching her javelin her fork at a piece of sliced melon, he still felt as though she’d slammed the door in his face moments ago. A night wouldn’t be sufficient time to get over Feyre Archeron. Nor would a year and, he suspected, even a lifetime.
The prospect of losing his mind to the red mist was sounding more and more appealing by the second.
“If the affliction is only caused by inhaling,” Cassian said. “Does that mean Rhys could just hold his breath long enough to destroy it?”
“Theoretically,” Thesan agreed. “Though it’s possible that a human would be more susceptible to contact.”
Feyre dropped her fork. “And there’s no cure?” When Thesan shook his head, her voice raised an octave. “The Dawn Court is best known for its healing abilities, and you haven’t been able to develop any sort of antidote?”
“My magic has not been able to remedy the afflicted. It’s possible that once the seal is destroyed, their condition will stabilize.”
“So,” Rhys said slowly, “I just need to keep a grip on my sanity long enough to destroy a flower?”
Thesan frowned. “Theoretically, yes.”
His voice implied it wouldn’t be so simple. Rhysand wasn’t fool enough to think it would be. None of the trials had been easy thus far, and he knew the lotus flower would be no exception.
Still, he rolled his shoulder and said, “I’ll take a flower over a dragon any day.”
“The lotus sits in the reflection pool at the center of the room,” Thesan said. “It should be easy to locate, provided your mind doesn’t lead you astray.”
Rhysand’s gaze nearly trailed over to Feyre as he mused, “It wouldn’t be the first time.” The pause in the aftermath was uncomfortably heavy. Enough for Rhysand to push his chair away and announce, “Well, no sense in delaying the inevitable. Show me where to get to this tower.”
Cassian nearly choked around his next mouthful of food. “Now?” He gestured with his fork towards Rhysand’s empty plate. “You’re not even going to eat breakfast first?”
It was easy to summon the boastful, unearned confidence to say, “You can all carry on without me. I should be back before the food so much as cools.”
The mask of arrogance was familiar to default back to, though it didn’t fit as comfortably as it once did. The lordling he’d been when he’d entered Prythian believed he had the tenacity to vanquish the fae and reclaim these lands for humankind. And yet with two High Lords slain, he couldn’t summon pride for his triumphs. Not while knowing that Feyre still mourned for one or both of those High Lords—that she might have withdrawn from him last night for that very reason.
Feyre stood from her chair, sending the wooden legs scraping against the marble floor. “I’m coming with you.”
“Why risk the both of you?” Thesan asked, his brows pressed together.
For once, Rhysand didn’t mind the implication that he was the more expendable of the two of them. He agreed. If he failed, there was no point in them both losing their sanity.
Her expression hardened into uncompromising will. “Because,” she said, meeting Rhysand’s eyes. They were the same blue as a churning storm-swept sea. “We can look out for each other.”
“Okay.” Rhys held out his hand. “We’ll go together.”
She wrapped her hand around his, so much softer and smaller than his own. Holding it felt right in a way he couldn’t quite explain. And she didn’t drop it, not once, as Thesan led them up the winding spiral staircase on the other end of the palace, where they climbed up the bare face of a tower. Every step had Rhys bracing himself, but Feyre’s grip on his fingers remained unwavering. She did not falter one single step.
The scarlet mist became a deeper, more saturated color the higher they climbed, until they came to the final flight, where Thesan stopped.
“This is where I’ll leave you. The lotus is just through that doorway,” he said, nodding up to the large open doorway at the top of the stairs, where red mist poured out and plateaued in line with the highest step. He assessed them both, lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you trust each other?”
Rhysand didn’t need to look at Feyre to answer. “Yes.”
She squeezed his hand in what he interpreted as agreement.
“Don’t.” Thesan’s expression darkened. “Don’t trust anything while you’re in there, not even yourselves. The seal will try to protect itself, and it will use every trick in its arsenal to do so.”
With that inspiring speech, the High Lord nodded his farewell and turned to begin his descent back down the tower. Leaving Feyre and Rhys before the final steps to the open doorway.
“Feyre,” he started. “Just in case I don’t get another chance to say it—”
“Don’t.”
“Feyre—”
“No goodbyes.” She turned those stormy eyes on him, and all at once he was nothing but a helpless sailor succumbing to their pull. “Whatever you want to say to me can wait until after we destroy the seal.”
He didn’t know for certain he’d still remember. But he nodded.
“Don’t let go of my hand. No matter what.”
She raised her chin, staring down the immortal gloom like she might part the mist through sheer force of will. “Take a deep breath,” she said.
It wouldn’t be his last. Rhys knew that with confidence. Even if the fog carried away his conscious mind, his lungs would carry on breathing and his heart would continue pumping. So it wasn’t the gulp of precious air that he savored in that final moment. It was the smattering of freckles across Feyre’s cheekbones. She had more than he could count, but some stood out more than others—the one by the corner of her left eye, sitting in the crease of those rare moments she smiled, was slightly darker and bigger than the others. So was the one on the bridge of her pert little nose. Another, following the perfect arch of her lips.
One day, if she had the patience for it, he would map out every constellation hidden on her body.
He kept hold of that thought as they summited the final steps to the open doorway and plunged into the thicket of the mist. Feyre disappeared entirely from his periphery, shrouded in fog so thick that he could hardly distinguish his own fingers when held in front of his face. The only sign that Feyre was still beside him was the steady pull of her hand, guiding him forward over a long bridge connecting to the other half of the tower, where the lotus flower waited.
They felt their way forward slowly, fingers skimming the cool railing, twined in plants long wilted from the lack of sunlight. His lungs were on fire by the time they emerged into the open chamber, marked by a curved archway—its stone smooth beneath his searching palm.
Straight ahead, he thought. Just get to the pool in the center, crush the flower, and this can all be over.
There was nothing to feel to guide their path. Only empty, open air and Feyre’s hand intertwined firmly in his. Her steps wavered. They were entrenched in a void of red, stretching in every direction. It wasn’t clear which way, exactly, was straight ahead, but they couldn’t afford to waste any time.
His lungs were already seizing, desperate for air. He couldn’t imagine that she was in any better state.
Rhysand chose a direction and strode forward, pulling her deeper into the fog. She tugged back, digging her heels in. They couldn’t speak without wasting air, but he imagined she was telling him, not that way.
He paused, waiting for her to correct his course.
One beat. Two. He was beginning to feel dizzy.
Rhysand squeezed her hand. Which way?
Another beat. And then she began pulling him sideways. He stumbled after her, his vision spotting as his lungs rioted in his chest. He needed to breathe. Needed to soothe the burning before his lungs gave out. He was going to collapse on the floor if he didn’t.
His body betrayed him. He opened his mouth, polluted air flooding in. Feyre paused at the sound of his gasp. His vision swam, whirling from the sudden intake, his head pounding—
And then he blinked. The fog cleared, revealing a pretty chamber of polished marble and golden stone. Outside the open archways, the sky had cleared as well, revealing an expanse of blue sky stretching towards the horizon.
It was like seeing the sun for the very first time. Not because of the light streaming into the chamber. But because Feyre was standing before him, hand in his. Smiling.
The breath whooshed out of him anew. “Do that again,” he whispered.
She did, smiling just for him. It was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen.
“We did it,” she said.
Rhysand shook his head. “We didn’t do anything.”
“Look.” She nodded towards the puffy white clouds drifting just outside the tower. “The mist is gone. It was another test.”
“We still need to destroy the seal,” he said, turning to look for the reflection pool.
Feyre stopped him with another insistent tug on his hand. He turned to face her and lost track of all thought when he saw the way she was beaming at him.
“We did,” she said, raising her freehand to his cheek. Her skin was impossibly soft, and he couldn’t resist leaning further into her touch. “You absorbed the seal when you inhaled it. That was all it needed.”
“That sounds too easy.”
Those smooth hands glided up his jaw. “The fae underestimated you. They thought a human would be too wary of the risk. Their pride is their greatest weakness.”
Her fingers were in his hair now, winding through the strands. She tugged against them, pulling him closer, and suddenly he couldn’t think straight.
“What now?”
Feyre leaned onto the tips of her toes to close the remaining distance between them. When she whispered, he could feel each syllable ghost across his lips. “What were you going to say to me outside the chamber?”
Something warm and golden unfurled in his chest as he looked at her. His arm slid under her back, holding their chests flush. “Tell me one thing, before I reveal it to you.”
Her smile was more intoxicating than his father’s finest wines. “Anything,” she promised.
“Tell me—” he pressed his forehead to hers. “Tell me, truly, if you might want this one day. Want me.”
“I do,” she said without any hesitation. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Rhysand. I want you. Desperately. I need—”
He should have let her finish speaking, especially now that she was saying everything he wanted to hear. But it was impossible. He was just a man and her lips were so close to his they were sharing breath and she finally admitted she wanted him, too.
How could he stop himself from kissing her?
The most delicate noise slipped out of her when their lips met. Like the sigh of a door being opened for the first time in years. Like relief. Finally, finally, relief. After so much pent-up longing, he was kissing her, and her hands were twisting in his hair, and his tongue was skimming her lower lip, and all he could think was:
Maybe salvation was real.
The golden warmth kindling inside him was growing stronger. He felt the first of its tug when they tore their lips apart, both of them gasping.
Feyre’s pupils were wide and wild. She was smiling again, which made it impossible not to keep kissing her. But first, he said, “I was going to tell you that I am yours, Feyre. I’m yours until my dying breath.”
A blush was rising to her cheeks, spreading beneath her freckles. He leaned to kiss her again, but she broke away with a giggle, tugging playfully at the collar of his shirt. “I’ll be yours, too,” she said, eyes shining. “But I won’t make it easy for you. You’re going to have to catch me first.”
The little vixen. She launched into a sprint, fleeing to the other side of the chamber, and he laughed as he raced after her.
“Rhysand!” She called, weaving between the wisteria-twined pillars. Sheer panels of blushing peach fabric drifted behind each of her shoulders, attached to the elegant golden pauldrons she wore on each shoulder. With the light of the skyline beyond haloing her lithe frame, he felt more as though he were chasing a celestial goddess than a human woman.
She called his name again, the second syllable tapering on the most beautiful laughter he’d ever heard. He vaulted through one of the open archways, desperate to get to her, to taste that laughter beneath his tongue. He landed and slid across the smooth stone, nearly carrying him off the ledge were it not for his sharp reflexes. At the last second, he grabbed at one of the marble pillars and hauled himself back into the chamber.
The sight of the jagged cliff face and the sprawling countryside far, far below was enough to sober him.
He felt another tug. This one more insistent. As if the chain connecting him to Feyre had rematerialized. She was still dancing between the pillars, completely undaunted by the risk of falling if it meant taunting him.
But the tug didn’t pull him towards her.
Rhysand!
And that voice… it was hers, but it sounded so far away.
Another tug. Another Feyre calling his name.
Was it a trick?
“Come here, Rhys,” Feyre purred, turning to face him. Light bounced off the glittering panels of her dress, as if Thesan had seen it right to thread her in gold.
He stepped towards her, despite the taut thread pulling him in the opposite direction. “Tell me again,” he said.
“I’m yours.” Her eyes were like stars. Ceding the game, she prowled back to him, teeth gleaming so white in the full vibrancy of the sun. “I’m yours and you’re mine.”
Rhysand shut his eyes. He pictured Feyre in his mind. The stormy eyes and the withering glare and her beautiful, devastating face. It was an almost identical likeness. But as Rhysand opened his eyes, he searched for that freckle beside her eye, the one which was darker and bigger than the others around it. And it wasn’t there.
He released a heavy sigh. “You’re not real.”
Her soft palm pressed into his chest, void of Feyre’s hard-earned calluses. “I could be,” she said to him. “We could stay up here forever.”
Forever wasn’t tempting to him. Not without Feyre.
The moment he decided, the Feyre in front of him vanished. The scarlet mist returned, as thick and unnavigable as before. He could hear Feyre calling his name, voice raw and panicked. Likewise he could feel a golden tug in his chest, leading him in another direction.
He didn’t know which was real. He supposed they might all be tricks.
Not for the first time, and he suspected not for the last, he thought how much he missed that Cauldron-cursed leash.
Dropping to his knees, Rhysand elected to crawl across the chamber rather than risk taking a wrong step and plummeting to the bottom of the valley. He only hoped that Feyre hadn’t made that mistake, either. Was she also trapped in some blissful vision? A pathetic part of himself hoped he was in it.
Soon, his searching hands found a tiled pool filled with tepid water. He crawled into it, not caring that it would ruin the bright, loose-fitting tunic and trousers that Thesan had lended him. The thin fabric clung to his skin as he waded through the pool and skimmed his arms over the surface in wide, sweeping gestures.
He felt something bob against his elbow and quickly seized it. His fingers met the soft suede of flower petals and a thin, bumpy stem that resisted his initial tug. He yanked until the infernal thing came away with a snap.
Then the lotus flower, as fragile as the minds it twisted, crumpled in his fist.
Rhys had never imagined what it would be like to sit at the center of a stormcloud, but he imagined the experience would not be so different from the violent release of energy that swept through the chamber with a deafening thunder clap, Rhys at its epicenter. The water rippled through the pool and spread beyond it, dissipating the fog in a great sweep of wind that he imagined would carry through the whole of Prythian.
The skin on his chest and shoulder itched terribly. If he looked down, he would likely be able to see through the translucent fabric of his tunic that the tattoo was spreading. But Rhysand didn’t care about his tattoo, nor his wet shirt, nor the entire gods-forsaken Court he’d just liberated.
He only cared about Feyre. He could see she was curled up just a small distance away, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her lips were moving, over and over, shaping words he couldn’t make out.
“Feyre?” He leapt out of the pool with an urgency that sent a wave of water spilling over the sides of the reflection pool. Water dripped from his clothes, splattering haphazardly in his wake as he slid across the stone floor to reach her.
It occurred to him, as he delicately placed his hands on her shoulders, that this could be another mind trick. He had no way of knowing that he’d truly destroyed the fifth seal or that this was truly his Feyre in front of him, besides the inclination in his gut and the warm, inexplicable pull he felt to her.
Her entire body was trembling.
“Feyre?” He said again, softer.
“No,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears. “No, no, no, no. Not again. Not again, please.”
Her voice was scraped raw, as if she’d been screaming. This was the same woman he’d witnessed slay beasts and stare down High Lords twice her size. For whatever she’s seen to have terrified so greatly…
“It’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re safe now, Feyre. It’s over.”
Those blue eyes focused just enough to register that he was crouched before her. And then her lower lip started trembling, and she shook her head violently, scrambling back as she whimpered, “No, Rhys. Not again. Please.”
He floundered at the fear in her eyes. Whatever she’d been shown in the lotus mist, clearly, he had been part of the vision. And his heart shattered to think he’d been the one hurting her.
“It’s just me, Feyre.” He held up his open palms. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I destroyed the lotus. It’s done.”
Her gaze drifted from his open palms to the markings visible through his translucent tunic. A sob hitched her throat. “It’s over?”
Rhys nodded, extending his hand so that he might help her up. She stared at it a moment, perhaps sharing his earlier doubt that this was another trick. Then she looked at him, studying his dripping clothes and wet hair and what he hoped to be an earnest expression.
Then she launched herself at him.
The momentum barrelled into him was such force that he was sent sprawling onto his back, a surprise grunt pushing out his chest. He didn’t have time to reorient himself, or make sense of what was happening, before Feyre gripped his face between both of her callused hands and kissed him so hard he forgot there was a reason why people needed important things like breath.
He could taste the salt of her tears and the melon juice that was still on her lips from breakfast. Every ounce of rationality dissipated at that revelation, and all he could think was that he’d never had a favorite fruit until that moment.
With a groan, Rhys slid his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head while also angling her closer, so he could lick into her mouth and commit the taste to memory. He no longer cared if it was real or only a vision. He would gladly surrender to the madness if this was his eternity.
He might very well have flipped her over and made love to her right there. She would have looked beautiful flushed in the low light of the morning as dawn finally greeted its namesake. But towards the far entrance, someone cleared their throat.
That was how Rhysand knew this was real. If this had been a vision from the lotus, he would have continued kissing Feyre for eternity, and they certainly wouldn’t have been interrupted by Thesan standing beside an apprehensive-looking Oryn. Over their shoulders, Cassian was grinning like a fiend.
“Celebrating your victory?” He said with a suggestive quirk of his brows.
Rhysand never hated the fae as much as he did in that moment, when Feyre hastily scrambled to her feet. He already missed the weight of her body and her sweet lilac and pear scent. He took his time rising to his feet, and when he reached his full height, he offered her a heated look that said, This isn’t over.
She looked away, heat blooming on her cheeks.
That made it the first trial that actually did feel like a victory. He couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest, and no amount of his cocky grin was forced as he looked to Thesan and asked, “Is breakfast still warm?”
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epochofbelief · 2 months
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Strictly Confidential: A Feysand Modern AU
She's a law student turned confidential informant. He's a federal prosecutor with only one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for illegal activity . . . What could go wrong?
Chapter Two
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Masterlist Link
Thanks for your patience, everyone. Here's chapter two! Things are going to start happening very soon. I'm very excited. Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Just a heads up, there were a few who requested to be tagged whose profiles wouldn't let me link them!
PS: Here's the link to the masterlist of one of my other full-length Feysand fics: What to Expect When You're (Not) Expecting
Happy Reading :)
-----
Feyre turned to locate the source of the voice and came face to face with the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
He was tall, taller than Jax, his all-black suit impeccably tailored to the contours of a lean but muscular body. His dark hair matched his suit, and eyes a peculiar shade of blue—almost violet—locked onto Feyre for a moment before the man turned his attention to Jax.
“You’ve been monopolizing Ms. Archeron’s time, Smith,” the man said, arms crossing over his chest, muscles shifting beneath the fabric.
“Rhysand,” Jax sneered. “We were just having a friendly conversation.”
The man—Rhysand—raised one dark eyebrow, moving closer. As he stepped into the alcove, the space grew smaller. Like Rhysand's very presence couldn’t possibly be contained by the shadowy corner of the event center.
“Be that as it may,” Rhysand said, stepping up to Feyre’s side and staring down at Jax. “I believe my father is looking for you.”
The blood drained from Jax’s face, his head whipping toward the center part of the room.
“It seemed urgent,” Rhysand drawled, adjusting one of his cuff links. “And we all know how much my father despises being kept waiting.”
Jax turned back around to glare at Rhysand, his eyes flicking back down to Feyre as he inched backward toward the event center. “Until we meet again, Feyre.”
Feyre barely had time to flash him a close-lipped smile before Jax whirled around and bolted out of the alcove.
Feyre swallowed, turning toward her savior, once again struck by his beauty as he gazed at her, his violet blue eyes searching hers.
“I owe you one,” Feyre breathed, leaning back against the wall behind her, partially due to relief at escaping Jax and partially because she needed to put some space between her and the beautiful man standing mere inches away.
Rhysand lifted a shoulder, taking a step back, as if he could sense her need for space. “Jax Smith is . . . Well, let’s just say I eagerly await the day he gives me a reason to report him to the Office of Discipline for an ethical violation.”
“You should’ve given him a few more minutes. He might have gotten there,” Feyre said. Rhysand blinked, and then Feyre clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Oh, my gods. I—I should not have said that.” She muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. Gods, she was stupid. And unprofessional.
But a soft chuckling had Feyre freezing where she stood against the wall, eyes fluttering open.
Rhysand was even more attractive when laughing. His blue eyes twinkled, and he extended a hand in her direction.
“Rhysand Night,” he said, hand warm against Feyre’s as she took it. “United States Attorney for the Eastern District of Erilea.”
“Feyre Archeron,” Feyre said. “I’m a 3L at Prythian Law, but I’ll be starting at Hybern & Night next year.”
Rhysand's brows lifted. "Impressive."
Feyre shrugged. “You said your last name is Night,” she ventured, arms folding across her chest. “But you don't work for Hybern & Night?”
Rhysand ran a hand through his silky hair, fingers slipping through the inky black strands. Feyre's eyes tracked the motion so closely that she almost missed what he said next.
“The ‘Night’ in Hybern & Night is my father, and I suppose my grandfather before him,” he admitted, and Feyre could have sworn his jaw tightened at the words. “But no, I don’t work for his firm. I’m much better suited for federal prosecution.”
Something in his voice told Feyre that wasn’t the sole reason Rhysand had chosen not to follow his family’s legacy. But she didn’t press the issue.
“How long have you worked as a prosecutor?” Feyre asked.
“About five years,” Rhysand said. “I graduated from Prythian Law in 2018 and worked as a state prosecutor for a year before I landed this job.”
Silence fell, and Feyre drained the last bit of wine from her glass. “Well, thanks for your help,” she said, skirting around Rhysand and aiming for bar. Even as she glanced back over her shoulder at him, as if she couldn't resist a final look.
“Please, let me get you another glass of wine,” he said, following behind her. He kept a respectful distance between them as he fell into step at her side.
Feyre shrugged, even as an odd relief swept through her at his continuing presence. “I’m headed that direction anyways.”
But getting across the room proved more cumbersome than Feyre anticipated—it seemed as though everyone knew Rhysand and his reputation. People were either falling over themselves to shake his hand, eager to congratulate him on a recent case he had just won, or they were glaring at him as he passed, muttering to their companions as soon as Rhysand was out of earshot.
But even the ones who didn’t outright glare, even the ones who seemed desperate to speak with him, seemed to approach him with a certain . . . hesitation. Like interacting with Rhysand was a necessary evil, something they were reluctant to do but did anyway. Perhaps because of his father? Or his reputation?
Feyre made a mental note to do some serious LinkedIn stalking later.
While Feyre desperately wanted another glass of wine, walking across the room with Rhysand gave her plenty of opportunity to network, exactly as she had set out to do in the first place. Rhysand was incredibly polite, introducing her to whatever lawyers crossed his path and drawing Feyre into each of the conversations they pulled him into. And even if the person he introduced her to shook her hand and turned back to Rhysand, intent on engaging him in conversation, Rhysand went out of his way to ask Feyre what she thought about the legal issue or topic they were discussing. Feyre felt herself growing more and more impressed, especially when Rhysand turned all the “congratulations” he received away from himself, emphasizing that he couldn’t do anything without his department and the many interns it employed.
So not only was he incredibly polite, but he was gracious and humble as well.
At last, they made it to the bar, and Rhysand procured two more glasses of wine, slipping a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar as he did so.
“Sorry,” he said, as he and Feyre drifted over to the front of the event center, finding a table to stand at as they sipped their wine.
At some point, Feyre couldn't identify when, an unspoken agreement to stick together had formed between them. She had accepted the glass of wine from Rhysand and followed him to this table without question. Like it was them against the room full of ambitious lawyers, desperate to network their way to the top.
“For what?” Feyre asked.
“Dragging you through all that,” he said, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “I’m sure that was more networking than you bargained for.”
Feyre shook her head, hair shifting over her shoulders. “It was entertaining.”
“Oh?” Rhysand raised an eyebrow.
“I enjoyed watching you scare the shit out of everyone,” Feyre said, shocked at her own daring even as the words floated into the air between them.
Rhysand barked a laugh, drawing several gazes, the eyes of those nearest to them widening as the United States Attorney chuckled so freely. “You know what? I enjoyed doing it.”
Rhysand smiled at her, and dammit if Feyre didn’t almost swoon at the sight. She opened her mouth to ask him more about his job, perhaps to start figuring out why he was a prosecutor instead of working at his father’s firm, when her phone vibrated in the pocket of her suit. Sighing, she pulled it out, glancing at image glaring up at her.
TAMLIN SPRING flashed across the cracked screen of her iPhone, a picture of him from one of their initial dates on full display. They’d gone on a hike at the Illyrian mountain range about an hour outside of town, and Feyre had snapped this photo when they’d reached the top of their hiking trail, Tamlin smiling in front of a gorgeous overlook, the mountains tall and green behind him, a sparkling river trailing across the bottom.
Feyre hit the power button, setting the phone face down on the table. “Sorry about that,” she said, shooting Rhysand an apologetic smile. “Where were we?”
But Rhysand had gone still as death, his gaze fixed on her overturned phone.
“Rhysand?” Feyre asked.
He still didn’t answer, his violet blue eyes so wide she could see the whites all the way around his irises. “Is something wrong?”
Rhysand blinked, his shoulders loosening, eyes softening so quickly Feyre almost thought she had imagined his strange behavior. “Who was that?” He asked, sipping casually from his wine, gaze slipping coolly over the room in front of them. As though nothing had happened.
“Um… My boyfriend,” Feyre said, figuring it was a harmless enough question. “He must have forgotten I had this event tonight.”
Typical Tamlin. She had told him she would be busy until at least eight, and he had clearly forgotten, or just didn’t care. Of course, if Feyre called him when he was busy at work, she would hear about it for the next two days, be forced to listen to him complain about her “distracting him” while he was doing business.
“I see,” was all Rhysand said.
Feyre asked Rhysand a few more innocuous questions about his job, how he enjoyed Prythian Law, and whether he had any advice for her. Rhysand was just asking her if she’d had the same Criminal Law professor as he did when he was at Prythian when her phone buzzed again.
And then again.
Feyre picked up her phone, sighing as Tamlin’s image blazed on the screen once more. She shot Rhysand an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to take this. It could be an emergency.”
She didn’t wait for Rhysand to respond, instead stepping a few feet away and picking up as quickly as possible. If he called too many times and she didn’t answer, it was just another reason for him to start a fight.
“Feyre. Where the hell are you?”
Feyre frowned. “I’m at that networking event. Remember?”
A long-suffering sigh. “I had a really bad day at work. Can I pick you up now? Take you home? You’re downtown, aren’t you? Probably just a couple blocks away.”
Tamlin almost sounded frantic, more worry than anger seeping into his voice as his words tripped out one after the other.
“Are you all right? What happened?” Feyre asked, pressing her hand against her free ear to drown out the noise of the event. To her left, Rhysand was tracking her every movement, wine glass forgotten on the table in front of him.
“I’m fine. Just need my girl.”
Feyre bit her lip. If she said no… She would never hear the end of it. And she’d met and spoken to plenty of people tonight, hadn’t she? And Rhysand was an excellent new connection to have. Plus, it had been a long day. A nice, long shower sounded divine…
“Alright,” she relented, telling him the name of the event center she was at. She knew it was only a five minute drive from the apartment she shared with Tamlin, so when she hung up, she hurried back over to Rhysand.
“Is everything alright?” Rhysand asked, his deep voice level, almost calculatingly so.
Feyre shrugged, downing the rest of her wine. “It’ll be fine. My boyfriend is on his way home, and offered to pick me up so I don’t have to walk in the dark to get there. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
If only that had been the real reason Tamlin wanted her to come home. Because it was dark, and getting later, and she would have had to walk home alone in her heels and suit through the city streets if he hadn't called. But the lie slipped easily across her tongue—it was simple enough, really. It wasn't the first time she'd lied about the way her boyfriend treated her, and she knew it wouldn't be the last.
Rhysand nodded. “That’s very kind of him.”
Feyre sighed. “Thank you again, for helping me out back there. And introducing me to all those people. It made the night worth it.”
Rhysand nodded, his expression earnest, although bereft of any of the easy smiles he had flashed at her earlier in the evening. “It was my pleasure, Feyre. Perhaps I’ll run into you at another one of these events.”
“Perhaps,” Feyre said, then stiffened as Tamlin’s truck pulled up in front of the building. “That’s him,” she said, shouldering her purse and backpack. “Thanks again, really. Good luck with everything!”
Feyre allowed herself to look back at the event center only once. Not as she strode back through the entrance, nor as she clicked across the sidewalk to the passenger side of Tamlin’s car. Not even when she opened the door and clambered into the enormous truck.
No, she waited until she was safely behind the tinted windows before her eyes found Rhysand.
He was still standing at the table they shared, wineglass half-empty in front of him, his eyes fixed on Tamlin’s truck with hawklike focus, tracking it until Tamlin turned the corner, leaving the event center, and Rhysand, far behind.
------
Tamlin drove like a maniac through the heart of downtown. Feyre doubted he lifted his foot off the gas until he pulled into the parking garage beneath their building. He was out of the car and halfway to the elevator banks by the time Feyre caught up with him, lugging her bags along with her, trying not to exacerbate the blisters on her heels as she struggled to keep up.
“What’s wrong?” She demanded when they finally made it up to their apartment.
Feyre kicked off her heels, dumping all her bags on the ground. Home.
Now if only she could sleep. But instead, she had forty pages of reading to do for her Environmental Law class, and she had a feeling the next hour would be occupied with comforting Tamlin.
“Just a long, horrible day at work,” Tamlin sighed, striding towards her, his hands wrapping around her waist as he tugged her against him.
Feyre bit her lip as she felt him against her—he was already ready for her. She twined her arms over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his lips.
She knew he loved her, in his own way.
Hadn’t she been the one he called tonight? Wasn't she the one he relied on when things got tough? The one he trusted when times grew more and more trying?
“How are you now?” She breathed as his lips moved against hers, his hands sliding down to her upper thighs. In one swift movement, he had lifted her off the ground and into his arms, pressing her against the wall.
“Better with every passing second,” he growled, lips covering hers once again.
Feyre hummed against him, her lips parting to allow his tongue to sweep in, tracing the seam of her lips before her own tongue tangled with his. Her breaths grew short, and she adjusted herself against him and the wall, Tamlin hissing as she brushed against his hard length. Feyre gasped as he ground against her in return, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of his back.
It had been a very, very long day, Feyre told herself, as Tamlin carried her through the house and laid her down gently on the bed, with a tenderness he only ever showed when he was touching her. He knew exactly when to be gentle with her, and when to give her everything she wanted. It was a sharp contrast to the dynamic they shared at all other times in their relationship.
But here, in their darkened bedroom, the lights of the city shining in through the wall of windows to Feyre’s left . . . Here, Tamlin knew just where to touch her, how to hold her.
And she was putty in his hands.
---------
Feyre broke her vow.
One week after she met Rhysand, she was still doing the same exact thing.
Waking up, going to school, coming home, going to Crossfit, and spending all of her free time with Tamlin and Lucien, who had been present more frequently than usual the past week. And while having Lucien around usually made things more interesting, and it was lovely to have a buffer between her and Tamlin, Feyre couldn’t help but feel relieved when she waved the pair out the door on Friday morning. They had a last-minute business trip somewhere out west, and would be gone until the early hours of Monday morning.
Feyre was looking forward to spending the entire weekend by herself. She already had everything planned out:
Study for most of the day Friday, then go for a walk in the enormous city park before it got too dark. On her way home, she was going to splurge and order takeout, and then spend the rest of her night on the couch, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a book in the other. An actual novel this time, not one of her textbooks.
So after spending a day in the library, Feyre walked the ten minutes from the Law School over to Sangravah Park, her headphones blasting the Pride and Prejudice (1995) soundtrack at top volume.
The park was lovely this time of year—in late September, the summer heat had finally leached away, but the crispness of autumn hadn’t fully set in. Feyre was perfectly comfortable in a pair of leggings and a long sleeve t-shirt, her golden-brown hair tied back in a high ponytail. She set off on her usual route through Sangravah—a three-mile path that took her through her favorite parts of the park. Past the enormous pond, still covered in lilypads, through an enormous copse of willow trees, and past several of the enormous architectural structures that called the park home: the Prythian Art Museum, a sculpture garden, and an enormous temple-like building that sat in the center of another pond, no way to reach it unless you wanted to swim.
For the first time in a while, Feyre felt like she could relax. She didn’t have to be anywhere, to do anything, at any time. Tamlin was hundreds of miles away and she was at her leisure.
Lost in thought, Feyre was about halfway through her route when a man jogging in the opposite direction clipped her shoulder with his.
Feyre almost went flying, the force of the blow sending her stumbling a few steps off the path.
“My apologies, ma’am,” the man said, striding closer to her. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Feyre cleared her throat, finding her feet and holding back a glare. Best not to anger the strange man in the middle of the park with no one else around. “No worries,” she said, and made to resume her walk.
“Miss?” The man’s voice filtered through her headphones. Feyre turned, settling them around her shoulders.
“Yes?” She asked, hand on hip.
“I’m Special Agent Cassian Claret.” He reached a hand into his pocket, and Feyre stepped back, wondering if she would finally have a reason to use the pepper spray she kept with her on walks precisely for moments like these.
But the man merely pulled out a small leather wallet-thing, flipping it open. “I’m with the FBI. Do you have a few moments to speak with me?”
His introduction finally registered. Special Agent Cassian Claret.
Feyre stared at him, her jaw slackening.
Cassian cleared his throat after several long moments. “Ms. Archeron?”
“How do you know my name?” Feyre asked, backing up further, her hand gripping the pepper spray on her keychain, the bottle suddenly feeling pathetically small as she faced down Cassian, who was simply enormous.
His dark hair fell to just below his ruggedly chiseled chin, a five o’clock shadow already prominent on the lower half of his face. The sweats he wore did nothing to conceal his muscular frame—he was taller and broader than even Tamlin. His hazel eyes tracked her every movement with a laserlike focus.
Feyre’s pepper spray didn’t stand a chance.
“You’re not in trouble,” Cassian said. “I can assure you. I just need to speak with you for a few minutes.”
Feyre stared at him.
“Here. These are my credentials.” He tossed the wallet-like thing at her, and she managed to catch it in her sweaty hands, peering down at the credentials inside. It looked real . . .
“Do you have a business card?” Feyre asked, partially because the man didn’t feel dangerous in the way others she had encountered in the park did, and partially because she had a feeling that if she tried to run, he would have no problem chasing her down and catching her.
Cassian nodded, pulling out a business card and handing it over. Feyre examined it, then pulled out her phone.
Cassian waited, hands clasped behind his back. No one had passed them on the path for a very long time. Was it his doing?
Feyre did a quick Google search for the local FBI office, then called the 24 hour line. Cassian’s forehead creased as she held the phone up to her ear.
Minutes passed. She was placed on hold. Then—
“Prythian County FBI. How can I assist you?”
“Hi,” Feyre said, voice shaking slightly. “I need to verify the identity of an agent.”
She provided Cassian’s name. The woman asked her to ask him for some sort of identification number, which Cassian relayed without protest when Feyre asked. Feyre repeated the number back to the woman, who told her that yes, Feyre was currently speaking with Special Agent Cassian Claret, who was on assignment.
“Thank you,” Feyre said, shutting off her phone.
“Satisfied?” Cassian asked, not a trace of irritation present in his voice.
Feyre swallowed. “Yes. Um. What is this about? What could you possibly want from me?”
“Well, Ms. Archeron. We need your help with a rather sensitive matter. It’s best not discussed here,” Cassian said. “Perhaps we could walk back toward my car?”
“I’m not getting in your car.”
Cassian held up his hands. “That may be your choice. I completely understand your caution. But I think if you see who’s accompanying me, you might feel differently.”
Feyre blinked up at him, returning his wallet and card and falling into step beside him as he turned, leading Feyre back the way she had come.
“Who’s accompanying you?”
As they crested the small hill Feyre had just trekked down, a black car came into view, parked on the street alongside the park. Cassian didn’t answer Feyre’s question as they drew close to the car.
Close enough that when the back window rolled down, Feyre recognized a familiar pair of violet-blue eyes.
“Rhysand,” she breathed.
---------------
Taglist:
@rhysiedarling @shedoessoshedoes @popjunkie42 @adreamof-spring @that-little-red-head @witch-and-her-witcher @cinnamonmelody @muaddib-iswriting @queenofdivas
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likecanyoujustnot · 7 days
Text
Feyre Week Day 4: found family
A/n: I just used this as an excuse to write a fluffy feysand ft. Nyx and the ic fic. :)
I haven’t finished hofas but this takes place ages after (no mentions of Bryce + co). The others don’t say much (or anything). Lots of montaging.
In case you can’t tell, I speed wrote this. Definitely not my best work, but I’m working on like 4 other things atm. Shhhhh. Might rewrite it (probably won’t). But acosf feysand pov is still there. Aelin x Dorian AU to come (hopefully) soon.
@feyreweekofficial
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“Nyx, do not put that in your mouth. Nyx!”
I hung my head forward so my hair covered the smirk I was hiding from my mate.
“Say hello to mummy.” Rhys held Nyx in his arms as he brought him level with my face, setting the salt shaker down, far out of Nyx’s reach.
I set down the knife and brought my face close to my son’s. “Hello honey.”
Nyx cooed and made a grab for my hair. “Ow.”
Rhys smirked as he disentangled the now one year old’s hand from my hair. He brushed my hair over my shoulder as he kissed my cheek. “Go get ready, the others will be here soon.”
I gestured to the uncut vegetables. “What about them?”
“I’ll do that, get dressed, you’ve been working too hard.”
The past few weeks had been hectic, the court of nightmares were acting up, as were the Illyrians, and I’d refused Rhys’s persistence that I take a break, saying that if I did, he had to too, which shut him up. Add planing a first birthday party to the mix, and I’d barely had any time to think.
I gave Rhys a peck on the lips and pressed my forehead to Nyx’s. “I’ll see you soon baby.”
Rhys picked up Nyx’s hand and waved it at me. “Bye mummy.”
I waved back as I left the kitchen.
“Now this is a special surprise for your mum, okay? So you better behave.” I hear whispering coming from the kitchen as I walked down the steps.
“Rhys?” I called.
“Yes?” He called back, faux innocence in his voice.
I took the last few steps, suspicion growing.
I opened the door into the living room and Rhys shot up.
His eyes widened as he took me in. The dress is somewhat similar to the one I wore for my first starfall. A sliver blue, hugging my curves, loosening at my thighs, falling to the ground and dropping to show a tad of cleavage.
He strode over to me, looking devastating in a black jacket and pants.
He swept me into his arms and spun me around the room. “You look stunning, Feyre Darling.”
I giggled as he took my face in his hands and kissed me deeply.
A soft cooing reminded us we were not alone. I crept around the back of the couch, grabbing Nyx and lifting him into my arms. “Hello, little one-” I stopped when I saw what he is wearing. I slowly turned to Rhys.
My mate wore a sheepish look as he ran his hand through his hair. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
I laughed, looking back to the little suit Rhys managed to wrestle Nyx into, it matched his own perfectly, with small slits at the back for his wings.
Warm arms enveloped me. “Was it a nice surprise?”
I grinned. “It was.”
A loud knock from outside snapped us both back to attention.
Rhys took Nyx from my arms. “You might want to see who that is.”
I lifted a brow as I went to open the door.
“Feyre!”
I barely had a chance to open the door before I was barrelled into by a blonde and red tornado.
Mor wrapped her arms around my neck. “So good to see you.”
I laughed and gave her a squeeze. “You too.”
Cassian and Nesta followed through after her. I gave them both a quick hug and closed the door from the cold.
“How’s my favourite Illyrian?” I turned to find Rhys passing Nyx into Mor’s arms.
Cassian scoffed. “I thought I was your favourite?”
Mor didn’t even look up from Nyx. “Never were.”
Cassian made more outraged noises, to which Nesta patted him on the forearm. “Am I your favourite, Nes?”
Nesta pretended to think. “No, I think mine’s Nyx too, but Az is a close second.”
“Betrayed, by my own mate.”
Nesta ignored him, and we all headed to the dining room.
Mor caught me up on her work in Vallahan, Nyx occasionally pulling at her golden hair.
“We should go shopping tomorrow.” Mor announced. “Leave Nyx with the guys and just relax.”
“We really should, I saw this new-”
I was cut off by the knocking on the front door.
I begun to stand. “I’ll go get it.” Rhys got up, touching me lightly on the shoulder as he moved past.
Nyx made a lunge out of Mor’s arms for me, little wings flapping, but she had too firm a grip and he didn’t get far.
“Want your mummy do you?” The moment Nyx was in my arms he rested his head on my chest.
“Rhys says that the desire to jump is part of the Illyrian instinct to fly.” I said to the table.
Cassian smirked. “Yeah, Rhys’s Mum told me he once jumped from a bench and nearly broke his arm.”
“I’m sure you did much similar things at the same age, brother.” Rhys slid back into his seat next to me, Amren, Varian and Azriel in tow.
Azriel’s shadows swirled around Nyx as he ruffles his hair. My son gives a shout of joy, making Azriel smile. “Happy birthday, Nyx.”
Varian gave me a kiss on the cheek and went to sit next to Cassian.
“Well done you two, you managed not to burn the house down.” Amren said, sitting next to the Summer Court prince.
“As if we would have.” Rhys smirked.
“At least we’re not making the cake.” I said. Rhys could cook, much better than me, but when it came to baking, you’d think he was purposely trying to give us food poisoning.
Rhys laughed, the sound drawing Nyx’s attention as he tried to clamber out of my arms for his father.
Another knock sounded and I got up for it this time, Nyx now safely in Rhys’s arms.
Elain stood at the door, Lucien a respectful distance behind her, my sister with the large cake in her hands. “I honestly think it’s frozen from the walk here.”
I smiled, and lead her into the kitchen, where she put the cake down on the bench, Lucien going to the dining room.
We walked back to join the others.
After half an hour of talking, Rhys magicked in the food, including the vegetables I had him cut.
We took turns feeding Nyx little pieces of meat and vegetables, while trying to shove down our own food before it got cold.
Once everyone was full, we moved to the living room again, a small pile of gifts set on the coffee table.
I sat down on the armchair, son in my lap, as Rhys brought the presents to us, announcing who it was from, before I helped Nyx tear at the paper.
Of course out of all the toys and things he got from our friends, both present and not, he chose to focus on the wrapping paper.
Nyx yawned.
“Cake time?” I asked, and was met with a resounding yes.
Elain hurried out of the room, and came back with the giant blue cake in hand.
She set it on the table and I used my powers to set the candles alight.
As we started singing happy birthday, I looked around at all my friends. My mate and sisters and every person who helped me get where I was today.
I held Nyx close to try and get him to blow out the candles, quickly pulling him back before he could burn himself.
Rhys lent forward and finished it, earning a laugh from everyone.
We cut up the cake, everyone complimenting the baking of my sister.
I talked with Nesta, who invited me to train with her and the Valkyries if I ever wanted to.
Rhys and Varian discussed having a visit to the Summer Court soon. Tarquin’s gift of a stuffed dolphin sat on the floor after Nyx tossed it in favour of Nesta and Cassian’s gift.
“Did you enjoy your night Nyx?” I closed the door after wishing goodbye to Mor. Rhys holding Nyx above his head.
Nyx made a cry of joy, to which Rhys replied. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He walked over to me. “What about you, Feyre darling?”
I smiled at him. “It was a nice night, you didn’t fight with Nesta, Amren and Varian didn’t traumatise everyone, the cake was delicious.”
“And the vegetables I cut?”
I kissed his cheek. “The best part.”
He grinned.
We walked Nyx up to the nursery, where we changed him into his onesie, and put him in the cot.
“Good night, little one.” I whispered, brushing his dark hair out of his face.
Rhys wrapped his arm around my waist as we walked out.
- I didn’t know how to finish this. And it probably sucks. Sorry.
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velidewrites · 6 months
Text
The Daily Struggles Of An Art Student
Desperate to finish her male anatomy assignment before the deadline, Feyre Archeron finds a secluded corner in a cafe. Or so she thinks.
Pairing: Feysand
Tags: Modern AU, Artist!Feyre, Look folks I'm just going to say it: Feyre spends half of this fic looking up reddit [redacted] for a male anatomy assignment
Notes: Happy birthday the wonderful @the-lonelybarricade! I wrote you this definitely not unhinged one-shot as a little gift. Thank you for being such a great friend, and truly the most supportive person in this fandom. I cherish you!!
Read on AO3
Feyre was running out of time.
Deadlines, she decided, were really not her thing. What was that saying? “You can’t rush art?” Well, her professor at the New York Academy of Art would be inclined to disagree. Then again, Feyre wasn’t sure the blank page shining a soft, white light from her iPad could really count as “art.”
She sighed in frustration, shifting in her seat. As if the new angle could help, somehow. With exactly four hours and twenty minutes until she was to submit her assignment, the prospect of failing was quickly starting to look more and more like a reality. Feyre had always been bad at painting from memory, particularly when it came to capturing people. Her own cat, she could probably paint in minutes and be satisfied with the outcome. Or the view from her apartment. Or the honey-brown colour of her sister’s eyes, especially when she just saw Elain at dinner the other day.
Male anatomy, on the other hand…
Feyre needed a reference. Desperately.
It wasn’t unusual for an art student to spend hours on Pinterest, searching for the perfect pose, one that would be just right. Feyre had done it herself too many times to count. It was simply that…well, Pinterest could not provide a reference for everything. And Feyre would rather not use her own memory to capture a man’s physique in full.
She had just broken up with Tamlin, after all, and had very little interest in ever recalling their time together again. Lucky for her, he had moved to Boston last week to pursue his Master’s, never to bother her again. Hopefully.
Unfortunately, with Pinterest proving entirely hopeless, and Tamlin decidedly out of the picture, Feyre was left entirely out of options.
The worst thing about all this was that Feyre had only herself to blame.
There had been one option she simply pretended not to acknowledge, though she would have finished yesterday morning had it not been for her own stubbornness—or, as Nesta had called it, had she not been such a prude. Feyre certainly did not think of herself as one—it was just that…well.
Every morning, from 8 till 10:30 sharp, her class offered anatomy studies with a handful of volunteers from the student body posing for their life drawing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they were completely nude, which was not something Feyre would have cared about in the slightest had their newest model not been Feyre’s best friend. And her sister’s new boyfriend.
Ever since she had told Lucien Vanserra the school was considering paying the volunteers for their efforts, his gaze lit up and, not even a day later, there he was, his name displayed proudly on the sign-up sheet. Feyre knew him long enough now to know the extra money in his pocket was just an excuse. Someone has to capture this body one way or another, Feyre, Lucien had told her a few days ago, a twinkle in his russet eye. She supposed he did make an interesting art subject, with the scar and all—but not nearly interesting enough to strut through the East Building proudly, letting both students and teachers alike gush on about his “cruel beauty.”
Elain, to her horror, seemed to support Lucien’s latest modelling endeavours wholeheartedly.
“He promised to bring a few of the sketches home,” her sister had told her excitedly at dinner. The best reaction Feyre could offer was a horrified, blinking stare.
It wasn’t that Lucien was lacking in the looks department—on the contrary, actually—but she’d always seen him as a brother, ever since the day he’d almost run her over on his motorcycle, her very first day as a college freshman. And so, for the past few days, Feyre would make sure to avoid the East Building like the plague.
Today, she ended up in a nearby campus cafe, a cozy spot for a senior art student seeking privacy, yet still crowded enough to make Feyre look over her shoulder every few minutes. She’d opted for a secluded corner near the restrooms, with no windows next to her table, just in case a nosy passerby caught a glimpse of what exactly Feyre was drawing. Or, rather, attempting to draw.
She glanced at her phone, an unpleasant sense of dread curling in her stomach once again as she realised twenty more minutes had passed. Had she really wasted all that precious time thinking about Lucien?
Feyre needed to come up with a solution, and fast. There was no way she was failing this class, not in her final year. She was planning to move to Paris next year and continue her education there—where better than the art capital of the world? She would not let a poor painting of a penis, of all things, ruin all of her plans and dreams for the future.
Relying on Pinterest for now, Feyre began sketching the unnamed man. His upper body posed no serious issues, and she found herself done with the clean lineart and three hours thirty minutes left to spare. The thighs, too, seemed to feature all the muscles in correct places, though upon further inspection, she had perhaps drawn them slightly too large for a regular, male specimen. Whatever. With Lucien as the current model, she doubted any of her classmates would submit perfectly proportionate sketches.
Good, Feyre decided. This was good. The only thing left for her to do now was to find a good reference for the final pièce de résistance. She could do this—there was no one around, after all, and she’d make sure her browser history would be wiped clean later. Ressina, her classmate from the Academy, liked to borrow Feyre’s iPad sometimes to try her skills at digital art—and Feyre wasn’t sure their friendship was well-established enough that she could explain without making a fool of herself.
With a deep, deep sigh, Feyre got over herself and fired up Reddit.
Well.
This was going to make things a whole lot easier.
It was honestly beyond her that this entire archive was out there, for free and simply waiting for her to download. Without wasting any more time, Feyre got to scrolling.
She hadn’t expected to be flooded with so many options, but soon enough, she found just the perfect reference—the angle matched exactly the pose she had already outlined, and from the ruler he’d so proudly displayed beside it, the man didn’t seem like he would mind. And so, with the image neatly placed in the corner of her canvas, Feyre began to add the sketch. Everything seemed to be coming together—and, her focus lost entirely to the penis before her, she was actually starting to believe she might just submit this thing in time.
“Friend of yours?”
“Shit!” Feyre jumped, pressing her iPad close to her chest as she whirled back.
The voice behind her—of course—turned out to be a man. The most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
“Well?” he asked, eyes twinkling. Were they actually violet, or was the soft light pouring through the window just that spectacular?
Feyre felt her cheeks heating. “You know, it’s rude to invade other people’s privacy,” she told him, anger slowly replacing the embarrassment coiling in her chest.  Who was this man, this stranger, to question her?
He only seemed more amused, though he lifted a defensive hand. “Hey, I was just leaving the restroom,” he said, pointing back to the staircase behind. “It’s not my fault you’re right out here for all to see. Who’s invading whose privacy now, hmm?” Before Feyre opened her mouth to retort, the man added, “Oh, no need to apologise. Mind if I sit?”
And with that, he simply plopped down on the chair beside her.
The audacity. 
Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t going to apologise,” she said, setting her now locked iPad on the table.
He ran a hand through his hair, raven waves soaking up the sunlight, and smiled again. “I was hoping you would say that.”
“Anyway, this isn’t my friend,” Feyre said, hoping there was enough mockery in her tone to wipe that stupid grin off his handsome face. “It’s a project. For art school.”
“Ah, yes” he mused, drumming his long, slender fingers on the polished wood. “I could tell from how precise your strokes were.” Something about the way he said strokes made the heat in her face nearly boil over. Get it together, idiot! He leaned back in his seat, as if he could somehow tell exactly what Feyre was thinking. Then, he proclaimed, “You’re an artist.”
Alright, Feyre decided. Not entirely a prick, then. “I’m not sure I’d call myself that,” she admitted honestly. Not yet, at least.
“I would,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling slightly as he added, “I’d like to call you many things, actually. Let’s start with your name.”
There it was. Feyre couldn’t help but flirt in return. Prick or not, she liked his boldness—and his good looks certainly were no disadvantage. “You first,” she demanded.
He flashed her a wide, brilliant smile. “My favourite subject.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit.”
“Rhysand,” he said. “But you, darling, can call me Rhys.”
Rhysand. The name was so unusual she almost didn’t register what he’d called her. Darling. It was then that she’d finally taken her eyes off his face long enough to take in the rest of him—the deep, English accent, lilting as though he wasn’t speaking to her but singing the smoothest melody.
Yeah—she really needed to get it together.
“What brings you to New York City, Rhysand?” she asked him, not giving him the satisfaction of using his clearly personal nickname yet. His eyes sparkled again, accepting the challenge.
He shrugged. “Research. The sights. Pretty girls drawing male genitalia at 1pm on a Tuesday.” Rhysand winked. “Greatest city in the world, huh?”
Feyre’s cheeks flushed again. “Research?” she questioned, desperate not to go back to that topic with a man she’d only just met.
Rhys chuckled. “Yes. I’m an astronomer—or about to be, at least.”
“Interesting.”
“It is,” he agreed, and she could’ve sworn actual stars flickered in his gaze with the words. “You’d be surprised just how much the night sky has to offer.”
“I paint it sometimes,” Feyre told him, unsure why she’d just admitted something that personal to a stranger. “Whenever I feel…down, I suppose.”
To her surprise, Rhys nodded. “I do the same.”
Her brows flicked up. “Paint?”
“I’m afraid I’m not that talented. No, I look up—watch the stars.”
Feyre smiled. “That actually sounds wonderful.”
Rhys angled his head. “You know, I haven’t had the chance to explore the New York sky yet. I could use some company.”
Something told her she was up for one hell of a first date. “Alright, Rhys,” Feyre said, his face lighting up triumphantly at the name. She chuckled, grabbing her iPad as she rose from her chair. “Meet me here at seven thirty tonight.”
“Wait!” he called after her. “You still haven’t told me your name.”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” she teased. “I’m not sure I’m ready to part with darling.”
The stars in his eyes twinkled. “Oh, I think we’ll work something out.”
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itsthedoodle · 7 months
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Starry Eyes Sparking Up My Darkest Night
Summary: We had danced, all of us together. And when the night had shifted toward dawn and the music became soft and honeyed, I had let Rhys take me in his arms and dance with me, slowly, until the other guests had left, until the gold disc of the sun gilded Velaris.
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: none
Read on AO3
@officialfeysandweek2023
Day 1: Night Triumphant & Stars Eternal
Here's my second humble offering for Feysand Week 🩵
“I am… very glad I met you, Feyre.”
I blinked away the burning in my eyes. “Come on,” I said, tugging on his hand, “Let’s go join the dance.”
I felt Rhys move behind me, looking half dazed, and wondered if he was as affected as I was. My heart was racing, beating a rhythm unlike anything I’d felt before, my mind aware that this was uncharted territory. I’d seen the look in his eyes, and I knew it matched the one in mine. Rhys and I had been playing this game, counting the steps of this dangerous dance for quite a while now, and as natural as everything with him felt, as natural as being around him was, I couldn’t forget that the circumstances that led me here were not easy.
Don’t think about it, I told myself. Turn it all off.
I reached the middle of the crowd and stopped, turning to face Rhys. He was so beautiful, breathtakingly so, the stardust glowing on his lips mocking me, almost pulling me in and making me reckless enough to want to forget everything and everyone around us and just kiss him, just get lost in him. Rhys pulled me closer and placed his hands on my lower back, making my skin tingle. I wrapped my arms around his neck and followed his lead as he started moving.
We danced, and danced, and danced, until Cassian pulled me away from Rhys for a dance, joking about his unwillingness to share. The fire in Rhys’s eyes wasn’t something I was ready to address. I wasn’t blind to his feelings, nor my own growing ones, but I didn't know if I would ever be ready for all of its implications. 
“I've never seen him so happy.” Cassian’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts as he twirled me around, and a joyous sound escaped my throat. “He has had moments of happiness in his five hundred years of course, but never like this.” Cassian gave me a pointed look. “You do know it’s because of you, don’t you?”
I cleared my throat, not ready to unpack what he had just said and all that it meant, and asked him about our visit to Windhaven the next day. Cassian had been advocating for the Illyrian females for centuries, but change in a war camp came slow.
We danced for a while longer, until Cassian looked behind me to find Mor, who was smiling brightly. “Your time is up,” she said, pulling me away from him. 
I rose on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek, thankful for him and the friendship and understanding he had so selflessly offered me from the moment we’d met.
I danced with Mor, and then I danced with Azriel, and marveled at how fast they had managed to worm their way into the deepest crevices of my heart. My friends, who had pulled me out of the darkness. My High Lord, who had shown me that I mattered, that my feelings mattered, that my trauma was valid, who had given me everything in the most open and selfless way and had never expected anything in return.
I looked at Rhys, marveling at the sound of his joyous laughter, the starlight in his eyes as he celebrated and drank and danced with his friends, the way he looked so free despite carrying the weight of his court on his shoulders and everything he had done to keep his people safe.
He had given every part of himself to keep his people safe. I wondered if they knew how lucky they were, if they knew he would do it all again in a heartbeat if he had to.
He chose that moment to look at me, and the smirk he had seconds before melted into a smile so bright and genuine that my breath whooshed out of my chest with a strength that nearly knocked off my feet. He was in front of me in two strides, his long legs effortlessly closing the space between us, and I gave him a smile as I wrapped my arms around his neck, his own finding their place on my lower back, as if they had always belonged there.
“You promised me a whole night of dancing.”
The corner of his lips lifted into a smirk. “It’s not my fault everyone wants to bask in your glow, Feyre darling.”
I smiled and rested my head on his chest, and he kissed the top of my head softly. “It’s you people want to be around, Rhys. Not me.”
“Someday,” he said, his hand drawing circles on my back, “I’ll make you see how bright you are. I wish you could see yourself right now, and the way you outshine every star tonight.”
My heart stuttered, and I willed the tears away. Looking up at him, I reached out and caressed his mental shields. Rhys tilted his head curiously and lowered them slightly, letting me in. I looked around the fortress of his mind, seeing the world through his eyes, Mor laughing and dancing with Cassian and Az in the corner, the three of them carefree and happy.
Rhys mentally pointed closer, right in front of him, and I saw myself covered in stardust, the look on my face one I didn’t have the words to describe. There was a certain glow in my eyes as I looked up at Rhys, a softness to my smile that I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Rhys’ mental fortress was unguarded, every feeling on display as I made myself familiar with the deepest corners of his beautiful, brilliant mind. There was adoration, admiration, gratefulness, and a warmth to deeper feelings I refused to analyze out of respect. He had had his privacy taken from him for a very long time, and I would never dream of taking advantage of the free pass he had given me.
I slowly walked out and back into my own mind, and the smile he gave me was one I desperately wanted to paint.A smile brighter than the sun, eyes deeper than night. Night triumphant seemed like a fitting name.
“I am very happy to have you in my life,” I offered, because that was the simple truth, because I had never known anything with more certainty than the joy that Rhys’ presence had brought into my life. I had blinked, and without me realizing it, Rhys had become my best friend, had become the one person I could always count on without fear of being judged. My heart craved even more of Rhys and I wrestled against the hunger in my mind every day.
Rhys bent down and kissed my forehead, gently, as we swayed to the soft music. There was no rush to the dance, no steps to follow. There was just us, the stars, our friends, the people, and my home. Velaris was home, and so was the male holding me like I was going to disappear. 
“Rhys?”
“Hm?” he mumbled, not bothering to move his head from where it was resting on top of my head.
“Thank you for everything.”
I felt him smile and he continued rubbing circles on my back. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”
“No, I mean-” I said, trying to find the right words. “Thank you for believing in me when no one else would. Thank you for sharing your family with me, and your city, and your home. Thank you for making sure I always have a reason to get out of bed in the morning and look forward to what the day brings.”
With my head resting on his chest the way it was, I could feel the exact moment his breath caught in his throat. “None of that would have been possible without you,” he said, pulling my face away from his chest and looking at me intently. “None of that would have been possible without your persistence, cleverness, and kindness. I’ve always loved this night, and the journey the stars make.” He looked up at the stars still flying overhead, then down at me again. “But you, you are by far the most precious one of them.”
I didn’t stop the burning in my eyes this time, the tears running free down my cheeks, trailing a path down the stardust on my face. Rhys swept his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping my tears away, like he had done every single time since the day we had met. I knew the line we were walking was a very dangerous one, and I could not afford to compromise my heart so soon again, but there was something about him that brought all my walls tumbling down, that drew me to him so thoroughly that I could hardly breathe half the time he was near.
We danced for what could have been minutes, or hours, or days—we didn’t keep track. Rhys didn’t let me go, and neither did I. The guests bid us goodnight, Mor, Cassian and Azriel retired for the night, yet Rhys and I never stopped dancing, never stopped looking at each other and basking in the glow of whatever we were, whatever was happening. As the dawn broke, and the sun illuminated the stardust on his skin, giving him an ethereal glow, I put my hands around his face and brought it close to mine, resting his forehead against mine.
“To the stars who listen, Rhys.”
“And the dreams that are answered, Feyre.”
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officialfeysandweek · 7 months
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Thank you so much to everyone who contributed to Feysand Week! Over the course of the week, we recieved an amazing variety of content—from playlists, to moodboards, to beautiful fanart! One of the most popular forms of creation, however, was fanfiction! We recieved a total of 43 fics in our Feysand Week Collection on AO3, as well as some fics that can be found exclusively on tumblr!
That's a lot of fic to read! To help you decide which fic would be perfect for you, and as a way of giving back to the fic writers that contribute so much to our community, we decided to create a little quiz that will help you choose the fic that's best suited to your tastes!
>>> Click here to take the quiz
And thank you once again to everyone who participated! We look forward to seeing you next year!
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damedechance · 6 months
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» read on ao3 (5/5) » listen to playlist
Pairing: Feysand
Status: COMPLETE (read from ch 1 here)
Rated: E
Summary: rhys.exe has stopped working
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✧・゚: *✧・゚Read below for a brief snippet:
5. prick.zip
“Feyre,” Rhys said silkily.
She still didn’t look, but she raised her eyebrows and tilted her face up towards him. He had her attention, then, as he started to fold his legs behind him. And then her eyes snapped towards his hands, as he gently nudged her thighs apart.
Watching him warily, she asked, “What are you doing?”
She still held her phone in one hand, but had moved it up and out of the way, a puddle of blue violet light spilling onto the wall beside her head and illuminating a swath of her hair. She watched him crawl forward in the space made between her legs, and held her breath.
Rhys braced his hands on either side of her hips, and the phone fell to the floor, clattering. Her fingers were still curved gently around the air, as if she hadn’t realized she’d dropped it.
“I’m bored,” Rhys said, barely above a whisper.
She was avoiding catching his eyes, looking somewhere off to the side as her lips pressed tightly together. Rhys angled his face down towards her.
“Play with me, Feyre,” he murmured against her ear.
Her eyes flicked over to his, just as she shifted down. Until she was almost completely beneath him, propped up on her elbows. Above her, her hair dragged against the wall as she slumped. Rhys pressed a soft kiss right beneath her ear, and her mouth fell open.
Her fingers pressed into the ground, and her pinkies brushed against the inside of both of his wrists.
Feyre finally let out a shaky breath.
Then, “Play with yourself.”
Rhysand laughed softly, then lifted a hand to run the pad of his thumb along the edge of her jaw. He curled his fingers beneath her chin, tipping it up, and against his knuckles he felt her swallow.
“If I do,” he said, “will you promise to draw me?”
A light gasp, and then she slipped even further down. Lying fully on her back, her knees pressing into either side of his hips, and her hair now splayed out around her head. A hand came up to the center of his chest, and he wondered if she was about to shove him away.
She didn’t.
“That was one time,” Feyre said. “Today, and only because–”
“Liar.”
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*
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ACOTAR Fanfic MasterList
I read an ALARMING amount of Fanfiction, and this is the easiest way for me to catalog some of my favorite Fanfiction. I love AO3 but I wish I could put things in categories and separate folders like GoodReads. I will be updating this list periodically and they are in no particular order. However, I will star some of my favorites!
Please note that most of these have smut! These are also all long fics, no one shots in here.
These will just be my AO3 favorite fanfics, I will make another master post for the Tumblr specific fics.
Here is a link to my subscription list on AO3 that is the most up to date.
Color Key:
Gwynriel
Elucien
Feysand
Nessian
*= Favorite, ***************= I have a borderline obsession
Finished Fics:
Call Me home (@propagandaprincess) (gives telenovella vibes)
A Court of Whisper and Song (@mystical-blaise) *
A Mythical Thing (@separatist-apologist) *
A Court of Light and Melody (@daevastanner) *
Trial of the Valkyrie (@daevastanner) *
On My Radar (@vikingmagic33)
Hands On (@headcanonheadcase)
Delectable (@hlizr50, @violet-shadows, @thehaemanthus)
The Capri-Sun Girl (@headcanonheadcase, @hlizr50, @ofduskanddreams)
The Raven and the Songbird (@hlizr50)
These Scars Paint the Map that Led Me to You (@hlizr50)
A Court of Song and Shadow (@justawhore)
Intimacy: A Gwynriel Smut Collection (@tealnymph24)
A Court of Smoke and Shadow (@daevastanner)
Nothing Can Break Us (@thewordnerd)
The Dream (@lady-riel)
Drunk in the Wrong Bedroom (@lady-riel)
Ballad of Shadows (@jennierubyjaner)
Sword and Shield (@synopsis)
Wrapped in His Shadows (@95wolfpanda)
Voices in the Shadows (@mercurianbisous)
On the Nature of Hearts (@daevastanner)
Shadowsinger (@emilia3546)
Snap (@headcanonheadcase)
Stealth (@vikingmagic33)
Your Truly (@cosmic_justice_is_us)
Wonderland (@separatist-apologist) *
Dismantle. Repair. (@separatist-apologist)
You Look Like Bad News (@the-lonelybarricade)
Foxy (@azrielshadowssing)
Haves and Have Nots (@the-lonelybarricade, @thehaemanthus, @hlizr50) *
The King Under the Mountain (@SweetVillianDarlingGod)
What Dreams May Come (Anonymous)
A Court of War and Starlight (sv_you_know_who_I_am)
I made you a Promise (@nomattertheoceans)
ACOMAF from Rhys's POV (@illyriantremors)
No Reason to Stay (@xelly)
Autumn In Velaris (@talkfantasytome)
Ongoing Fics:
We Never Go Out of Style (@separatist-apologist) *************
Things You Can't Have (@damedechance) ***************
Wanting (More Than You Can Have) (@damedechance)
House of Shadow and Song (@headcanonheadcase) (Spoilers for HOSAB) ********
Sleep, Sleep Beauty Bright (@headcanonheadcase) *********
A Court of Shadows (@aldbooks) *
His Sleeping Vixen (@eeereee) ************
A Court of Ribbon and Shadows (@thebluenickel)
Synchronicity (@ofduskanddreams) **************
Gwynriel Drabbles (@moodymelanist)
Gwynriel One-Shots (@ladyofcloudedskies)
Three Strings, One Bracelet (ArcturuStarlight) *************
Daevastanner Gwynriel TikTok Fics (@daevastanner)
Gwynriel One-Shots (@daevastanner)
Surprise (@celiamoonbeam)
Sworn His Shadows Sang (@lady-riel)
Dadriel (@mystical-blaise)
Gwynriel Fanfictions (@meher-sumedha)
Gwynriel Fics (@mercurianbisous)
Gwynriel One-Shots (@ladyofcloudedskies)
Never Enough (@loewenanni)
Of Darkness and Light (@lovestoryfanatic)
Shadow Songs (@xcinsationalx)
Symphony of Shadows (@gwynrielstan)
A Court of Light (@aldbooks) *
I was Enchanted to Meet You (@separatist-apologist)
There You Are (@SweetVillianDarlingGod) (Note: chapter 18 may be some of my favorite literature of ALL TIME. I laugh EVERY. SINGLE. TIME)
A Court of Faded Dreams (@the-lonelybarricade) *************
Nessian Drabbles (@moodymelanist)
Valkyrie Tales (@seacheck4)
Sext and the City (@vikingmagic33, @headcanonheadcase)
Velaris Tattoo Parlor (@talkfantasytome)
Velaris State Chronicles (@talkfantasytome)

I would love some more Nessian, Feysand, and Elucien fics! As well as any longer gwynriel fics that I may have missed!!!
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reverie-tales · 1 year
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Catch Me Flying, Love
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Summary: As the frenzy returns on Feyre and Rhysand's 100th mating anniversary, they play a game of cat-and-mouse in the skies before engaging in their favorite filthy flying antics.
Notes:
- A gift for @the-lonelybarricade 💛
- A special thank you to @ultadverb, who beta read and gave me her smutty fic approval. Thank you for helping me with the edits. You're the best! 🥰
- CW: Smutty NSFW one shot with a pinch of fluff and angst.
- Photo is from Pinterest
- Word Count: 2385 AO3
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Rhysand wasn't a male who easily succumbed to jealousy and possessiveness, and Feyre loved him for it. Only when she accepted the mating bond did she see the frenzy push that side of him to the surface. She did not fear him in that state. She knew that wasn't the kind of male he truly was. She only ached for him more, the mating bond frenzy taking over her mind and body.
After decades of living as fae, Feyre has gathered more knowledge of how a fae body works than her former human self could ever comprehend. The mating bond she was told causes a frenzy, but what Rhysand failed to mention long ago was that the frenzy never truly goes away. The all-consuming mating bond frenzy is like an intermittent fever that resurfaces every century after the acceptance of the bond, much to the delight and dismay of mated pairs.  After the frenzy passes a second time, it stays dormant until another 100 years have gone by, a never-ending cycle in a mated pair's lifetime. This fun tidbit she learned from talking to the healers of the Night Court as she took initiative to help in the progress of the healing capabilities of their court.
It so happens that tomorrow will be her and Rhysand's 100th mating anniversary. They've planned to retreat to the cabin and have the whole month of uninterrupted mating they were deprived of the first time, leaving their court in the hands of their very capable inner circle. Without Hybern, upcoming war, meddling queens, and jilted exes, this time they could finally have it—a month of surrendering to their basic faerie instinct to claim their mate and fuck senselessly until all they know is the pleasure derived from being skin to skin with their soulmate as their bond is forged anew and stronger than ever. 
It was the perfect plan they'd set. They've only needed to finish today's morning private meeting on a new trade agreement between Night and Summer with Tarquin, and they're set to go. But alas, the mating bond has no respect for schedules, and so after Feyre adamantly insisted revisions were needed and strolled over to where Tarquin sat and bent to point out a section on the stack of papers he held, a feral snarl ripped from the normally calm and collected High Lord of Night seated across from them. 
Feyre and Tarquin both looked up at Rhysand in surprise. Tarquin was momentarily confused, but Feyre understood immediately as her eyes met Rhysand's darkening and dilating eyes as an intense claiming need shot down the bond, causing her to shudder. The mating bond frenzy. 
Touch. Claim. Mate.
"You're mine," Rhysand said into her mind, and her core heated from the growl in his voice.
Tarquin, smelling the shift in their scents—their evident arousal—quickly put things together and vanished the papers he held into his pocket realm. With turquoise eyes shifting back and forth between Rhysand and Feyre, he stood. "Ermm, I think it's best if we reschedule the meeting, Rhysand, Feyre, in a month or more."
"I think you're right, Tarquin," Rhysand replied through gritted teeth and kept his eyes only on Feyre, grasping an arm chair so tight the wood started groaning as he fought to leash his inner beast, who wanted to attack the High Lord of Summer for daring to be in close proximity to his mate. 
With much difficulty, Feyre broke eye contact with Rhysand to give Tarquin an apologetic smile, knowing full well that in doing so she would be taunting the jealous, possessive beast lurking within. Oh, how she loved riddling her mate.
Dark power rumbled and darkness gathered behind Rhysand's chair as the doors of the meeting room were blown open by a phantom wind, a warning to Tarquin to hurry and leave.
Tarquin gave a nod of acknowledgement and hastily walked towards the doors. "Happy 100th mating to you both," he said as a farewell before exiting the room in a hurry to leave the River House grounds and winnow away; the doors shutting back closed after.
Not wasting any more time, Rhysand winnowed in front of Feyre and wickedly hauled her up on the table. He placed one hand at the back of her neck, and the other hitched her dress up before resting it around her waist as she parted her legs before looping them around his hips, pushing him close enough to feel his straining cock beneath his trousers. "You smiled at him," he growled before crashing his lips upon her, claiming her mouth with his tongue. She kissed him back, claiming him as much as he was claiming her as pleasure jolted straight to her core. With a groan, she pulled back, biting his lower lip, causing Rhysand to whimper. "Cruel, beautiful thing," he rasped, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. "You've been taunting the beast."
"I know I've been cruel," Feyre breathed and grasped his jacket, inhaling the citrus and sea of her mate. Resting her hands on his chest, she felt the powerful muscles underneath. "But I can be crueler and make you work for it," she teased and winked, changing both of their formal clothes into their fighting leathers before winnowing away."Find me," she sent down the bond.
Rhysand, following the golden cord of their bond, found Feyre on one of the many open balconies of the River House. There she was, with rays of sunlight illuminating her with wings out. "What are you up to, Feyre darling?" he asked, stalking towards his mate, needing to touch her, claim her. Unfortunately for him, before he could reach her, she shot to the sky and hovered above him, giving him a good view of her magnificent spread-out wings and rear end that he so desperately wanted to get his hands on. His cock strained painfully beneath his leathers.
Looking over her shoulder, Feyre told him with a sly smile, "Catch me flying, love, and then I'm yours and you can have your wicked ways," because down their bond, he was doing exactly that, peeling her leathers off, bending her over the same table she served him soup the first time, and fucking her hard, letting her know who her mate was until she was screaming his name. She wasn't immune to his tactics at all. She was burning up with heat. The bond was a menace, urging her to take what was hers, but she wanted to play first, so she flapped her wings, sending a breeze to tousle Rhysand's perfect raven locks, and flew fast and farther away from her mate.
Rhysand, watching his mate fly farther and farther away from him, summoned his wings, spread them wide, and launched after her. Her playful laughter, a beautiful song calling to him, echoed through the bond. His mate wanted to play hard to get, so be it. He'll catch up to her soon enough. Propelling his wings forward, a smile crossed his face as he concocted a plan on how to lure her back to where she belongs—with him, her mate.
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Pausing high above the shore of a mountain lake flanked by pines, Feyre let a cool passing breeze brush against her heated cheeks and tired wings as she pondered where Rhysand could be. They have been flying in circles for a while, with him chasing her and her escaping him the moment he got close enough to touch, until he intentionally held back, tilted his head to the side, and smirked. He looked very much like her Illyrian warrior,  ready to tackle her to the ground. Then he disappeared, winnowing Cauldron knows where.
Feyre's eyes shifted to the lake below, and an idea bloomed to lure him out. She tugged at the bond, knowing full well Rhysand was somewhere nearby watching, and sent him thoughts of her swimming naked and alone without her mate, touching herself. 
And it worked. Rhysand winnowed back, materializing behind her. But he was clever. Before she could fly away again, he softly stroked a pattern on a sensitive portion of her outer wings, sending a tingling sensation down her spine and lower that had her gasping and quivering with need so fervent that she vanished her wings in response. And her mate, ever in sync with her, cradled her in his arms before she could fall. "Caught you," he purred, a feline smile on his face. "I knew my disappearing act would work."
Feyre, not caring anymore about chasing and flying, looped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pulled him close, and grinded against him, causing them both to moan as he banded his arms beneath her thighs, anchoring her to him. "Maybe I wanted to be caught," she said to his lips before kissing him deeply, clashing her tongue with his until all that she could taste was him, but it wasn't enough; she wanted more—more of him, more of her mate. 
When they broke apart to catch their breath, Rhysand settled a shield around them and vanished their clothes. Skin to skin, she peppered kisses along the intricate whorls of tattoos over his chest as he balanced holding her with one hand while another roved over her body; his wings beating steadily. He cupped her breasts down to her ass, torturously withholding touching her where she needed it most. "Rhys, please," she begged before glancing down at his proud cock, her eyes following the veins vining the thick shaft.
In one swift motion, he could be inside her, but Rhysand wasn't having it. He grabbed her waist, lifted her up to his shoulders, and rested her legs at either side of his head, baring her glistening sex to his face. Licking his lips, "You're so wet for me, Feyre darling," he teased, "and utterly mine."
"Yours," she agreed, pushing his hair back so he'd look at her.
A flash of hunger flickered in his eyes before he covered her with his mouth, delving in and tasting her with broad strokes of his tongue, kindling the burning fire inside her. He was eating her like a male starved of his favorite meal, licking every inch of her with such precision that for a second she wondered how he was concentrating on keeping them afloat. But all thoughts emptied her mind when he flicked his tongue over her clit, purposely ravishing her with circular strokes while he slipped his fingers between her folds. She was gasping and quivering for more. 
He hummed his approval, working into her at a steady, fast pace as his tongue continued tormenting her clit. She found herself riding his face and fingers, pulling his hair as she chased her release, pleasure building low and deep. She was overwhelmingly wet. When his tongue rubbed over the clit hard and fast, she was on the verge of release, her core tightening. Sucking hungrily, he curled his fingers, finding the perfect spot inside of her, and she was undone. She was coming apart, crying out his name, and clenching hard around his fingers as he dragged out her pleasure until the very last second when he withdrew them to lick off her release. 
The moment Feyre's skin started glowing, shining bright and pure as a star, Rhysand removed the damper on his power—darkness sweeping in and stars flickering in the morning sky. No matter when or where, she was his everlasting star, the missing light in his dark night.
Wings beating steadily he maneuvered them into lower altitude closer to the blue waters . He was too intoxicated with the taste of her to be flying high above and she too lost in pleasure to care where in the sky they were.
Lifting her off his shoulders, he gently brought her down on his cock as she wrapped her legs around him once more, her hands digging into his shoulders while his hands tightened their hold on her hips. Kissing her mouth feverishly, he slowly pushed into her, inch by inch, letting her feel every place they were joined. She moaned and burned from the stretch, tilting her head up as he kissed down her neck and chest, lavishing a taut nipple before moving on to the other. 
When he was seated inside her, he paused, letting her adjust. She leaned into him until they were brow-to-brow and eye-to-eye. Both breathing heavily with need, "You're mine," they said together. Their bond buzzed to life, urging them to move, and so they complied. 
He pulled out and thrust back in, not torturously slowly but punishingly hard, and she thanked The Cauldron for it. Then she was meeting him with every thrust, capturing his lips, sucking on his tongue, and riding his cock. She wound tighter and tighter, pleasure building with every stroke, every moan, and every slap of skin. She was reaching her peak, and he wasn't far behind. She clenched so hard that they were both moaning. And when his clever fingers slipped down their bodies to massage her throbbing clit, she reached over and gently pressed a prominent vein on his wing. They found their release together. Bodies shuddering. She was shattering, seeing stars collide, and he was roaring, wings splaying wide. Their power blending, ebbing, and flowing between the bridge of their bond cascaded outward, causing the turquoise mountain to shake, birds to fly off the pine trees, and the lake to ripple with waves as their bond glowed luminous and stronger than ever. 
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Momentarily breaking from their frenzy, Feyre and Rhysand walked arm in arm down the shore, observing the long, narrow opening down the mountain that most definitely hadn't been there before.
"Well, darling, if anyone doesn't know what we've been up to, they will now. Should we try to make another fissure?" he teased, his violet eyes sparkling brightly. 
"You're incorrigible," she replied, but smiled widely at her mate, not completely opposed to the idea before she rose on her toes and kissed him. "Happy 100th mating, Rhys."
"Happy 100th mating, Feyre darling," he replied, cupping her cheek. "Ready to go?"
"Ready," she confirmed, holding on to him as she always does as darkness gathered around them: wind, night, and stars wheeling, winnowing them away to their cabin retreat.
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Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! 😊
🌷Masterlist
Tagging friends who might like to read: @shallyne @sideralwriting @msfeyredarling @s-uppertime
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whatever you do don’t think of Rhys getting sad holding another dark haired bat winged baby. don’t think of Rhys knowing how to soothe Nyx with tips and tricks he learnt from caring for his sister. Don’t think of Rhys being sad as Nyx grows because he looks less and less like the sister he had once held and cared for in a similar way. it’ll definitely ruin ur morning.
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Kiss Me Again
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Word Count: 8,645 | Masterlist | Read on AO3
Writer’s Notes: I was going to have a friend proof this for me but they were busy so I did some multiple self-revisions in the past few days in hopes that I caught as many grammar errors as possible. Apologies if I missed any! Anyway! This is a college AU ACOTAR Feysand fic. The concept was idiots in love. As in, they’ve baaaasically been doing couply stuff but they were too blind to see or acknowledge that they’d been in love and acting as a couple for a while. <3 
I don’t typically write AU fics, so this is a first for me! That being said, it was so much fun to write. It’s actually the longest one-shot I’ve written! A HUGE Happy Holidays to @thegloweringcastle <3 I hope you enjoy it and finally find out who got left at the supermarket! 😂
Thank you to @acotargiftexchange for putting this event together once again! I LOVE participating in this every year! <3
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Squinting at the scribbles below, my eyes attempted to decipher the notes I’d borrowed. I had been able to make out the date thanks to the simple fact that it hadn’t been written in cursive like the rest of the details. It was a lost art form for me just like any other calligraphy-related configuration. I would have written down my own notes for the humanities course I was taking, in plain print, had my younger sister not lost the key to her dorm room. With her roommate out of town for the week, there wasn’t much Elain could have done outside of calling her Resident Assistant, which, to her dismay, also happened to be her ex-boyfriend. So, rather than having to face Grayson more than she needed to, she’d called me. 
Lucky for Elain, I kept a spare. All of my sisters and I did, actually. Nesta, Elain, and I all had a key to each other’s place. It had been especially helpful when we all lived on campus last year. We could just walk into each other’s rooms at any time. Like when I needed help with my homework for Calculus with Analytic Geometry and borrowed Nesta’s notes from her sophomore year. Or when Nesta needed to borrow my curling iron for a date. And, of course, how could I forget the night that Elain and her then-boyfriend broke up. She had refused to leave her room for two days. I had never been so grateful to have access to a spare key. Nesta and I had been so worried having not heard from her for more than a day. We spent that entire weekend taking turns bringing her food from her favorite places across town in hopes that they’d brighten her spirits. Thai food from Adriata’s Palace, Italian Cuisine from Neve’s Garden, and Mexican from Rita’s Margaritas. I had never seen my sister so devastated in her life. Although to be fair, Elain had never dated a boy before Grayson. 
I turned the notebook a bit to the side in hopes that the lighting from the new angle would bless me with a hint as to what words hid behind Mor’s beautiful script. Mother above. Shaking my head, I bit my lip. I should have listened to my mother when she said that learning cursive would be an invaluable skill. She was certainly right in thinking that it was a dying skill. It was dead on me for sure. Hell, the only people I knew who still wrote in cursive were sorority recruitment leads when they made their colorful, extravagant banners with fancy lettering and doctors. Which would make sense at the moment given who I had borrowed these notes from. Zeta Tau Alpha’s latest Chapter President. My mother was certainly wagging her finger at me from wherever she was. 
I sighed.
“You look more concentrated than my morning orange juice,” said Rhysand, sitting across the table. His violet eyes studying me, his brows raised in concern. We’d—he’d been studying for the past thirty minutes, meanwhile, I’d just been heavy-breathing and decoding what looked like a cipher like a treasure hunter in search of the coordinates to an ancient Greek secret temple. But unlike an archeologist, my work proved unfruitful.
“I’m trying to decipher Mor’s handwriting,” I said. Leaning back on the chair, I let out another loud sigh. “It’s beautiful. But I can’t read cursive for shit.”
Rhys and I had known each other since freshman year. More specifically, ever since I accidentally dropped a shoe on him from the fourth floor of the residence halls. I had originally been aiming for my roommate Viviane to catch, who to this day still wanted to room with me. She hadn’t wanted to come up again to retrieve the missing shoe and I didn’t want to go downstairs in a towel as I’d just come out of the shower and was still undressed. 
The natural decision was to just fling the sneaker out the window of our dorm room, obviously. What we didn’t account for was my terrible aim and Viviane’s lack of hand-eye coordination. Not only did Rhys get bumped in the head by a single white platform Vans but he also got pushed into a bush by Viviane. She had been so busy looking up, that she forgot to look forward and completely missed the 6-foot man inches from her. It had been a miracle Viviane herself hadn’t impaled the shrubbery along with him. I’ll never forget the mortified look Viviane and I mirrored, eyes wide and hands over mouth. All I could think was, he’s concussed. I concussed a man. 
Personally, if someone had smacked me on the head, I would have at least yelled at them. Maybe even called them a prick. Rhys, however, was a different breed of man. He had certainly groaned on impact but as soon as he realized he had backflipped into a small hedge and held a women’s size 8 shoe on his lap, he laughed. He let out a full belly laugh. This man—this stranger—had the audacity to laugh given the circumstances. I suppose I should have realized from that moment that nothing could truly take him by surprise or upend his day. A trait I admired. One I hoped seeped into my bones by osmosis or whatever symbiotic science allows personal characteristics to flow from one person to another. 
I apologized profusely to this man. In a towel from my window. In my pajamas after I ran downstairs. In his residence hall, after Viviane helped me put together an apology basket when we discovered he lived across from her boyfriend Kallias. Even then, this 6-foot-something of a man thought it was funny. Every. Single. Time. To which I convinced myself, I’d more than concussed him. I convinced myself I’d done serious damage for a man to laugh at that level of pain. Although, I suppose that if two people showed up in their dinosaur onesies at 9 pm on a Thursday evening with a basket for me, I’d also laugh. But still.
It wasn’t until that very week that I realized Rhys and I shared similar classes. We were both in English Composition, Principles of Chemistry, and Introduction to Sociology. Which, quite honestly, are more than enough courses for you to figure out if you have the same schedule as another student. What can I say, I’m oblivious—an ongoing theme in my life.
Another thing I’ll never forget, the smug look on Rhys’s face when we were paired together in English Composition for a research paper on the portrayal of minorities in the media. I’d wanted to find the nearest cliff and jump off it but destiny had other plans. No, fate looked me straight in the eye and said, “Hold my drink, bestie” because two years later, here we are. Best friends. 
Rhysand snatched the paper out of my hands. “The Gate of Athena Archegetis was dedicated to the patron goddess of Athens, Athena.” 
My hand rushed to jot down what he said. The table vibrated from the ferocity with which I scribbled on my notebook. What I couldn’t crack in thirty minutes took Rhys all of two seconds to read out. Why our professor for that course didn’t allow laptops or tablets for note taking, I’ll never understand. I was just grateful I had something legible transcribed now.
“You can read that? It might as well have been written entirely in Latin,” I said.
“I’ve had practice reading my cousin's handwriting for years. I’d be disappointed if I couldn’t, at this point.” Rhysand chuckled. Passing the page, he eyed the notes, likely reviewing the contents from the course he’d taken himself the semester before. 
“I, unfortunately, was blessed with my father’s handwriting.” I tugged at the sleeves of my V-neck indigo cardigan and shyly pointed at my hideous penmanship. It might as well have been written by a third-grader. It was practically childlike. There wasn’t much fixing that could be done at this point in my life when it came to my writing unless I signed up for a calligraphy course. And even then, life had no guarantees.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. An art major who couldn’t read or write a visual art form. Who could paint true-to-life full-body portraits, vivid illustrations of natural landscapes, and dramatic high-colored oil paintings but couldn’t read or write in cursive. I dropped my shoulders, frustrated with myself, and propped my legs up on the tufted dining chair pulling them against my chest with my arms wrapped around. 
Rhys’s eyes were back on me. He had a way of reading me like a billboard sign, and I could tell he was trying to figure out what was going on through my mind, what today’s bold neon letters were. I was never sure how he did it but he always knew exactly what I was thinking. Which either meant my face was easy to read and I had the worst poker face of all time or…he just knew me. 
“The ‘A’ in cursive is not a sharp letter. It’s more rounded and looks the exact same in both upper and lowercase. Similar to the way you’d write it in print,” he said.
There were several traits I admired about Rhys outside of his keen observations and nonchalant perspective on life. Like his level of empathy. I knew what his academic grades looked like but boy did I also want to know what his emotional quotient score was. Whatever it was, that score was certainly high. He never made anyone feel like their shortfalls were a hindrance. Nor would he want to. That wasn’t his style. Rather than point out my flaws and make me feel embarrassed, he read the notes aloud. 
“The Greek language served as a lingua franca,” he continued.
“That last phrase was actual Latin,” he added. Rhys flipped through the pages of Mor’s notes. I could have asked him for his own from last semester since he’d been able to sign up on time. I, on the other hand, had been wait-listed. Hence why I was taking the course in the spring. It was one of the few classes we all needed to graduate as it was one of the general requirements for all offered degrees. I probably should have asked him for his notes since I could his penmanship but I’d been too caught up with Elain yesterday to even consider asking.
“Here’s another one, in vino veritas,” said Mor, raising two bottles of wine toward us. “In wine there is truth.”
“Amen,” said Cassian, lifting a third bottle. 
“I thought you two went out grocery shopping,” said Rhysand. Laying the notes on the table, he crossed his arms eyeing the two figures by the door. The corner of Rhys’s mouth twitched as he raised an eyebrow at his cousin and roommate. 
“We did. We brought back the essentials,” said Mor. Smiling back at her cousin, she winked at him before closing the door to the apartment with a kick of her red platform heels. 
“Hmm,” Rhys hummed. 
Bringing his eyes back to me, Rhysand continued reading off the notes while the other two flocked into the kitchen. I bit the inside of my lip as I followed along the soothing sound of his voice. His warm tone always calmed me when we studied together. Which was why I was his favorite audience member when he needed to practice his presentations. I’d listen attentively, the first time. I’d even provide feedback, the second time. But I’d almost always fall asleep to the sound of his enchanting mellifluous voice any other time after that. 
“It’s wine night, Rhys. You know the rules,” said Mor from the other room. Every Friday was wine night, the one day of the week our friend group could get together with no interruptions or excuses. No one had an evening class on Fridays or a night shift so things worked out this semester. Most of the extracurriculars each of us participated in typically held events over the weekend so we’d truly lucked out with everyone’s schedules this time. It wasn’t something we were likely to have again so we were taking advantage of every Friday we had before some of us graduated. 
Though, that was one of the rules. No talks about graduation. The point of wine night was to live in the moment and enjoy however many Fridays we had left as the “Inner Circle.” It was a silly name Cassian spewed one night after downing 3 bottles of wine, and it kind of stuck. We didn’t exactly call our group that but we did change our group chat name accordingly. 
“You too, Feyre.” Mor’s voice echoed.
Another rule. No homework. That rule was more of a precaution so none of us would accidentally email professors the wrong file while inebriated. To be fair, I was only taking notes but we all tried to abide by the no homework rule as best as we could. 
“Give me a few minutes, and I’m all yours,” I said. 
“You’re telling me you’ve had all day to write those and you still haven’t?” asked Mor, her voice trailing from deeper in the apartment as she stepped from room to room. She had her apartment across town but, like me, she practically lived here too.
“Yeah, well…there have been some delays,” I said, fidgeting with my pencil. My face began to feel warm as blood rushed into my cheeks. Biting my lip, I kept my eyes down. I didn’t want to let Mor know that I hadn’t been able to write her notes because I couldn’t read her notes. Not that she would make fun of me for it but I knew that if I confessed the truth she’d barge me with questions. And I simply did not feel like answering any of that in front of everyone else. All I wanted was for something to distract her from prying right now. Just about anything would do. A pigeon flying in through the window. The fan in the living room mysteriously falling onto the table. A fire alarm. A knock on the door. Anything would do. Please. 
“Weren’t there three of you when you left?” asked Rhysand.
I felt my body relax, and my shoulders dropped. I hadn’t realized the muscles down my back had tightened and tensed so firmly until my body loosened and eased back into the chair. My eyes lifted, meeting Rhysand’s whose amethyst orbs were right on me. He winked. The man knew I’d been on the brink of jumping out a window and needed assistance to divert the tall blonde in the kitchen and I loved him for it. 
“Azriel!” said Cassian and Mor in unison. The sound of shoes running filled the kitchen accompanied by that of drawers shutting in a hurry, and the jingle of keys. The pair dashed around the apartment like parents who’d just forgotten their child at the supermarket, which was exactly what had happened. Somewhat.
A knock sounded at the door. 
The four of us froze and exchanged glances. The only thought I had in my mind was of Azriel, hoping he hadn’t walked all the way back here. Mor took slow steady steps towards the entrance and when she reached the doorknob, she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, took a deep breath, and pressed her lips together. Ever so delicately, she turned the knob and pulled the door towards her.
"Today was not my best day. I dare say it didn't even make the top five," said Azriel. He had one hand reaching the top of the doorframe, leaning slightly. His handsome face held no clear emotion but his eyes. His cold eyes stared down at Mor, making her smaller than she was. Oh, he is pissed.
“You left something at the grocery store,” said Nesta, pushing past the brooding body. Her heels clicked as she waltzed into the room wearing a black satin sleeveless dress that hugged her in all the right places from her chest to her hips. The slit on the right side exposed her up to her mid-thigh with every step. Cassian’s eyes immediately caught the movement as they slid up her body, stopping once they met her eyes.
“I would never have left you, Nes,” said Cassian. He took a step toward her, almost challenging her gaze. She held it, eyed him up and down sizing him up, and spun to face the rest of the room. With her back to him, she placed a hand on her hip, blatantly ignoring the door-framed-sized man behind her. 
Cassian stepped closer and slid his hands around her body, holding her closer. Nesta didn’t fight him. If I had blinked, I might have missed the slight shift of her body against him, leaning against his chest even closer. It was beyond anyone’s pay grade to understand where they stood in their relationship if it was even that. They’d been on and off for so long that their situationship was like the weather, something that had to be measured in every room. 
“I despise you,” said Nesta, with a hint of a smile on the corner of her lips.
“Keep telling yourself that,” said Cassian.
“Are you headed out tonight, Nesta?” I asked. 
“I only came to deliver the lost puppy,” said Nesta, taking a step forward and away from the figure wrapped around her. Cassian’s jaw ticked as she untangled herself from his embrace. “I’m headed out with the girls.”
Gwyn and Emerie, I thought. That’s who she almost always referred to. They’d been her closest friends since freshman year and they’d been inseparable from the moment they met. It was surprising that they hadn’t come up with her since they all lived together. 
“Gwyn’s downstairs waiting for me, and Emerie is already in the car,” she said. 
There it was. 
“You should take better care of pretty things,” said Nesta, walking towards the door. Elegantly spinning, her eyes met Cassian’s from beneath the doorframe. Her fingers slipped up her thigh to her waist sensually, her eyes never breaking contact as she spoke. “Someone else might steal them.”
She closed the door on her way out, leaving the rest of us too stunned to speak. 
“I’m gonna marry that woman,” said Cassian.
“Wine, anyone?” said Mor.
——
"I almost fist-fought you last night when you took the blanket," I said. Tugging on the dark blue throw-over, I pulled it over myself enough to cover my legs entirely as I sat criss crossed on the couch. The star-filled spread was dark and fluffy like Amren’s black Bombay cat. With three glasses of wine in me, if I closed my eyes and traced my hand down the blanket, I could almost picture Ruby on my lap. She was soft and cud—
A pull on the blanket brought my thoughts back.
“You snore. Loudly," said Rhys.
"I do not snore, you liar." I scoffed, tugging back on the blanket. 
We’d both fallen asleep on his bed last night after an intense studying session. Although our schedules were no longer as identical as they’d been during freshman year, we still shared one or two courses every so often. Like this semester, we had Solar System Astronomy together. We’d stayed up late on the balcony of his apartment looking up at the constellations seeing how many we could name and then placing their locations on a star map.
With 88 constellations in the sky, as recognized by the International Astronomical Union, we’d been able to spot at least seven. Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Orion, Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Draco, and—my face was beginning to feel very warm. 
"How did the blanket end up on the floor? No wonder I was freezing," said Rhys. He was leaning against the backrest of the couch, one hand on the armrest holding his glass of wine. Rhysand’s dark lilac eyes sparked with mischief. He was baiting me and I was definitely too inebriated to ignore his comments. 
“How could you be freezing? You’re a freaking furnace!” I exclaimed. 
“Then why’d you steal the blanket? I’m basically primed for cuddles.” Rhys’s other hand reached around me and tugged me towards him. I laughed against his chest, and let my body lean into him. 
“Mother above, you two bicker like a married couple,” said Mor. She was leaning against the doorway leading to the balcony. With the door open, the cool breeze blew in, brushing her long golden hair past her shoulder. Her eyes darted between where Rhys and I sat on the couch and then shifted to something behind us. I was too focused on the elegant way she held her glass to glance away from her posture. 
“It’s not bickering if I’m right.” I slapped Rhys against his chest playfully. His chest vibrated with a chuckle.
“Az, play that one song from the other night,” said Amren. With her wine glass inches from her lips in one hand, she pointed at Azriel with her other. There was a lot you learned about a person while under the influence. In Amren’s case, during the day, she was a short-tempered finance major student who ate boys and numbers for breakfast. There was no doubt that she’d be valedictorian of the College of Business Administration. She studied hard, but she also played hard. 
“Thisssisss my jaaaaammm.” Amren’s words slurred. She raised one of her hands as if meaning to touch the ceiling lamp like a fly attracted to a zapper light. Swaying to the rhythm, Amren praised the white light above.
“Oh, she is gone,” said Mor, taking a sip of her wine.
All eyes were on Amren now as she led an interpretive dance to the beat of Dance the Night by Dua Lipa. Her choreography involved a lot of hands swaying in the air. While her claps to the music were slightly off-beat, she was giving it her all. She was the choreographer—the lead dancer. She was Barbie at the giant blow art party and the rest of us were just Ken.
“Here’s another piece of Latin for you, Feyre. Nemo saltat sobrius,” said Mor, nodding at Dance and Flex Barbie™.
“What?” I asked. Clumsily leaning forward, I propped one hand on Rhy’s thigh as I leaned closer to Mor in hopes I could read her lips over the music. I felt a hand steady me from behind. 
“Nobody dances sober,” said Azriel.
“Unless you’re Azriel, then you don’t dance. At all,” said Cassian. The couch bounced as he threw his body on the empty spot on the other side of me. He smiled at Azriel, threw his hand over the sofa's backrest, and leaned back.
“I’ve definitely seen him dance,” said Rhys. 
“No way. In his room?” Cassian chuckled.
I took this as an opportunity to make myself more comfortable, while they were distracted. Shifting my body, I leaned further into Rhys, the shape of his own welcoming me back to my spot. A soft giggle escaped my lips as Cassian grabbed my feet and placed them on his lap. Somehow my body had slid down Rhys’s and I was fully lying across the sofa on top of the boys. I was comfortable. So comfortable, I could fall asleep.
“At a party, actually,” said Rhys, his eyes glanced at Azriel while a small smile edged on his face.
“With a girl?” Cassian’s voice sounded surprised.
“With a girl.” Rhys nodded.
“No fucking way,” said Cassian. He couldn’t help but smile at Az, his mouth gaped. 
I understood Cassian’s reaction, Azriel didn’t dance let alone run or jog for anything. He was an enigma; an unsolvable riddle. The man was calm, cool, and collected at all times. Always unfazed by things that would distress the common Joe. It was slightly unnerving. If someone spilled wine on the carpet, Azriel wouldn’t panic at the thought of a huge red stain on the rug. He’d walk into the kitchen, no questions asked, and come back with a dry cloth, dish soap, and hydrogen peroxide, and blot the patch until it made you doubt if anything had actually been spilled. Whereas Mor and I would have stared at the ink-stained rug and exchanged wide-eyed looks before quietly agreeing that the room could do better without a rug.
Azriel shrugged completely unbothered. 
“With wh-
“I don’t kiss and tell,” said Azriel. Cold eyes stared back, silently telling Cassian to back off without any need for words.
“You’re just jealous he didn’t kiss you,” said Rhysand. He was trying to diffuse any rising tension. I could feel the sound of his voice vibrating across his chest. At some point, I’d given him my glass of wine or he’d taken it from me very smoothly. It would have been a disaster if I’d spilled it over the three of us on the sofa. I would have felt especially bad about it considering it was new. Their last one had moved on to a better place after Cassian put a hole in it from jumping on it during a karaoke session two months ago. 
“Hell yeah, I am!” Cassian exclaimed. 
Azriel raised an eyebrow, a lopsided grin on his lips. "Are we about to kiss right now?" 
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” said Rhysand. 
“Come here, you,” said Cassian. Throwing my legs off him, he jumped across the room embracing Azriel. The room filled with laughter at the show the two of them were putting on. Even through the loud ruckus, the short-tempered finance major was far too deep into her slumber to awaken. At some point, Amren had tucked herself into the armchair by the window and nodded off. She looked cozy and peaceful with her head lying on the armrest. We’d learned long ago that it was best to leave her alone when she dozed off. A lesson learned the hard way.
Through the open doors leading to the balcony, the sky was briefly illuminated with a bright light followed by a faint sound of thunder. I glanced at the digital clock beneath the TV sitting on the television stand. It was late and I needed to get home. There was still a buzzing feeling that tingled across my body from the earlier drinks but I didn’t live far. It was ten minutes max walking. Plus, if I left now, I could avoid the rain.
Sitting up, I scanned the room looking for my shoes. “I should get going,” I said.
“Let me call you a ride,” said Mor, already taking out her phone.
“Mor, I live within walking distance,” I said, gathering my shoes.
Azriel jumped in, “I barely drank. All I had was a sip earlier. I could give you a ri-
He didn’t finish his sentence as his eyes glanced toward the other side of the room at the sound of boots hitting the hardwood and the sofa shuffling. I didn’t think too much about it, not that I could in my current state. I was more focused on figuring out where I’d placed the key to my apartment. 
“Do you want us to walk with you?” asked Mor.
Holding on to the wall, I hooked two fingers into one of my white platform Nike and pushed my foot into the shoe. Was it counterintuitive to own sneakers with shoelaces if I never had any intention of tying them? I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought as I did the same with my other shoe. It was unclear to me if I genuinely found the thought funny or if it was the alcohol coursing through me. Before I could respond to Mor’s question, I felt the close warmth of a tall figure standing near me. 
“I’ll walk her,” said the familiar voice.
“Rhys-
“That wasn’t an offer, darling. That was me making a statement,” he said.
I sighed, looking up at him. It was late, and I didn’t feel like arguing knowing that it would delay my departure before the oncoming storm. Having someone walk you home wasn’t the end of the world. It was an act of the purest love. That someone cared about your well-being enough to ensure you’d made it home safely. That’s what I loved about my friends. The genuine love we all had for each other. 
Sliding my baby blue nylon backpack over my shoulder, I double-checked I’d gathered everything. I went through my mental checklist. Phone, wallet, keys. Patting my pockets, I ensured I had them. I made sure to hug everyone goodbye before heading out. Well, everyone except Amren, who was ever so sweetly tucked in the armchair with a blanket twice her size. Likely one of Cassian’s massive blankets. 
When I turned, Rhysand was already by the door holding it open for me. Slipping his hand over my shoulder, he grabbed my powder blue bag and placed it over his. With the motion, my white plush bear keychain swung against the two baby penguin pins on the cerulean fabric. My backpack had a very soft aesthetic that stood out when held by Rhys who was dressed in dark tones from head to toe. It didn’t fit his aesthetic. At all. I was about to object that I could carry my own bag but his voice interrupted my thoughts. “Don’t put the top lock on the door, I’ll be right back.”
As we headed out, the sky flashed again. The air felt cool against my skin and smelled like dew. It was a calming, fresh scent. It reminded me of potted flowers and succulents like the ones I had by the window in my room. The ones I always forgot to water but always survived, courtesy of one Elain Archeron. She knew I couldn’t keep anything alive, plant or fish, so she’d made sure to get me greenery that required minimal attention, which reminded me that I hadn’t watered them in a week. If it started pouring by the time I got home, I could stick them out the window and have them be watered au naturale. 
I jumped at the sound of thunder and instinctively grabbed Rhys’s hand. His fingers wrapping around mine were warm and rough whereas mine were cold and soft. He squeezed my hand and held on to mine as we continued walking. “It caught me off guard.”
“Mmhm,” he said.
The wind picked up slightly as we headed down the illuminated path amongst the trees and apartment complex gardens that stretched across an open space. Rain was certainly on its way, it was just a matter of when. We likely had a couple of minutes before the downpour began. Thunder sounded all around us, and one, two droplets landed on my cheek. Damn. Other than being way off in my calculations, I’d also forgotten to borrow an umbrella before we left. There was no avoiding that we were going to be caught in this. 
“I’m glad I grabbed this before we left,” said Rhys, opening an umbrella large enough to cover us both. At what point he’d grabbed the umbrella was beyond me. I stepped closer to him as he fumbled opening it. He gave it a slight jiggle with one hand that became more aggressive by the second as he attempted to push the sliding metal piece with his fingers. After about a minute, the section loosened up allowing for more movement. The issue now lay with the broken stretchers that were meant to hold the fabric. 
“Who the hell leaves a broken umbrella in the umbrella stand?” said Rhys. 
“Someone who forgot to throw it out?” 
“That’s why trashcans exist,” he sighed. Rhys let go of my hand and continued fumbling with the umbrella trying to see if the pieces would lock into place. Thunder sounded above us and more drops of water began falling slowly picking up.
“If we pick up the pace, we can make it before it really hits,” said Rhys. His eyes surveyed mine and I could tell he was both disappointed and worried that he’d let me down somehow. But unless he was secretly in cahoots with Mother Nature, there was no way any of this could be his fault or something for him to blame himself for. 
“I’m sorry about the weather,” said Rhys. The way he rubbed his neck and his brows drew together, I couldn’t bear the look of disappointment on his face for something out of his reach. 
I shook my head and smiled up at him. “What are you sorry about? A broken umbrella that you had no idea was broken? The sky? Rhysand, unless you secretly own a weather machine, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Forget the umbrella.”
“In fact,” I continued, “I think this is an opportunity.”
I took my bag and the umbrella from his hands, chucked the latter in the nearest bin, and placed my bag on the ground.
“An opportunity?” 
I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but I’d always wanted to dance in the rain like in movies and musicals. I felt bold and giddy at the idea of doing so now. All I could focus on was this tune from the third High School Musical installment. “Take my hand, take a breath.”
Standing in front of him, I stretched out my hand and offered it to Rhys. He looked puzzled but accepted my offer. “Pull me close, and take one step.”
“A song with instructions? I can follow that,” he said. A small smile formed on his lips.  
“Keep your eyes locked on mine,” I continued. 
His violet eyes twinkled beneath the moonlight and it almost looked like stars danced across his eyes as they softened, placing his other hand on my waist. He knew exactly what song I was referencing. After all, I’d made him watch it enough times with me. “And let the music be your guide.”
I nodded, cuing him to step with me. With his eyes wholly fixed on me, we slowly stepped into time, our shoes gently tapping against the pavement.
“Won't you promise me,” Rhys chimed. 
Pulling me closer against his chest, Rhysand guided me across the makeshift dance floor—the walkway between the trees—with a step here and a half turn there. We were dancing through the gardens illuminated by the night sky and lamp posts down the pathway as we waltzed further in. 
“Now won't you promise me, that you'll never forget.” 
“We'll keep dancing,” added Rhys. 
 “To keep dancing.” A smile curved across my lips. 
“Wherever we go next.” Our voices intertwined as we spun together, my hands held on to him tighter as the rain picked up. Swaying through the path of greenery, the scenery around us dissolved. It was just Rhys and I.  
Thunder crashed above, and the true downpour began. 
“It's like catching lightning the chances of finding someone like you,” we continued. I couldn’t help but smile brightly up at him as rain trailed down his face. The buzzing feeling from earlier that had coursed through my body now turned into a tingly feeling that reached from where Rhys was holding my hand—my fingers—to my chest. No, my body wasn’t buzzing, it was humming. We might have been dancing but I was floating in his embrace. I couldn’t look away from him. 
With every lyric, raindrops painted our clothes a shade darker. My indigo cardigan was now inked navy as we swayed to the invisible music. My feet splashed against puddles, drenching my white shoes in rainwater. They’d likely be gray by the time I got home but that didn’t matter. As our feet shuffled across the pathway, the sky reflected itself over the water on the trail creating an illusion of stars beneath our feet. We were dancing among the stars. 
We sang the rest of the song, never messing up the lyrics or missing a beat. We might have been recreating a moment by singing a song from one of my favorite films but this waltz was entirely made up by us. Rhys’s hand still grasping mine, spun me around as we brought the sound of the music in our chests to a slow end. His eyes were still on mine as we held our soaking bodies close. Was he always this beautiful?
I couldn’t help but marvel at his handsomeness and let an intrusive thought get the better of me as I ran my fingers across his cheek. He leaned into my warm touch, eyes softening. His eyes glanced from mine down to my lips. Please, I pleaded. I could feel my heart racing and my chest tightening at the thought of his lips on mine. Rhysand cleared his throat as his hands gently let go of mine, breaking the spell. 
Taking a step back, he scanned me from head to toe and chuckled. “I bet we look like drowned rats to anyone looking out their windows.”
I shook my head, holding back a smile.
“I feel like one too,” I said. Looking down at my jeans, there was not a dry spot on them. 
I bit the inside of my cheek. Had we just had a moment? I must have hallucinated it in the dark lighting. There was no way that Rhysand had looked like he’d wanted to kiss me two seconds ago. I wasn’t ignorant, I’d known Rhysand was objectively attractive. He had a strong jawline and he was fit from working out every week with Cassian and Azriel. He had nice cheekbones, luscious lashes, soft lips, and intelligent eyes. He was delightful to look at. He was…
Who was I kidding, he was handsome beyond compare. I just had never seen him in that way until now. Mother above, I was oblivious as they came. And I wished I could have blamed the alcohol for all of it—the way I was feeling, the thoughts I was having—but the truth was, I’d burned it out of my system with that dance. 
‘We should get going,” said Rhys. 
He grabbed my bag off the ground and we walked the rest of the way in awkward silence. I kept glancing sideways at him every so often. I’d definitely hallucinated that moment we’d had for a split second. The rest of the way to my place, I spent it looking at the ground contemplating while Rhysand stared at the stars as if searching for a cosmic answer. 
By the time we made it to my place, we were full-on drenched. I was sure my hair looked like a wet mop attached to my head. I patted my pockets in search of the key and found it in the left back pocket of my jeans. They jingled in my hands as I fumbled looking for the right one.
“I hope you’re not planning to walk back in this. At least let me offer you a towel.” I glanced sideways as I turned the key.
He didn’t argue. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He’d stayed quiet and simply nodded as I led him in. With Viviane at her boyfriend’s for the weekend, there was no one home. All the lights were off as we walked in. I flipped the light switches as we stepped through the place in search of something dry. In the hallway closet, I found some towels for us. Meanwhile, I could hear Rhys in the kitchen opening and closing the cabinets. 
As I turned the corner, I could see him pulling out two teabags from a box before his head turned in my direction. "I'll put the kettle on."
"So sweet of you, you're an angel," I said. 
On top of being handsome, he was very thoughtful. Was I really falling for my best friend? I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked on him as he turned on the stove and prepared tea for us. I bit my lower lip and turned towards the dryer that was hidden behind a sliding door. Neither of us was shivering or in any danger of getting frostbite, but a warm towel would certainly go well with tea. After a few minutes, the machine beeped just as the kettle began hissing. I pulled both towels out of the dryer and practically moaned at the warm touch against my skin. 
“Would you like a dry towel?” I offered.
“You don’t want my wet handkerchief to dry your wet face?” He glanced sideways at me as he poured water into each cup with a smirk painted across his face.
I giggled and walked further into the kitchen. As soon as he placed the kettle back on the stove, I threw a towel over my shoulder and placed the other one on his head as he turned around to face me. I ran the towel over his head, drying his hair before sliding it over his shoulders and wrapping it around his body. 
I looked up at him. “My hair is soaked, Rhys.” 
The clothes we were wearing could have easily squeezed out two gallons of water. I could have probably fed my succulents with the amount of liquids soaked into our outfits. If I could have thrown myself in the dryer too, I would have knocked out two birds with one stone. 
Standing in front of me, wrapped around in my towel, he looked adorable. Rhys’s eyes met mine and I could have sworn time stopped. All I could do was stare up at him. Oh gosh, was I staring? I blinked rapidly and dropped my gaze.
“You still look beautiful,” he said.
I felt my heart stop and my breath hitch. My hands stilled on his body still holding on to the light blue towel. Did he mean it in a friendly way? I glanced back up. His eyes peered down at me searching for something in mine. My lips parted as if to speak but I wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, I closed my mouth and swallowed. 
“Feyre.”
The way he said my name made my heart skip. He took a step, closing the gap between us. My name sounded low like a prayer on his lips. If he was praying, then I wanted to bless him but I needed a sign. I wanted a clear sign that he wasn’t just whispering my name in an empty apartment for no reason. 
“Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?” I half whispered.
His eyes glanced from my eyes to my mouth and back in a triangle manner. A small smile painted itself across his lips like a prayer answered. “You caught that.”
It wasn’t a question, he was making a statement.
“I wanted to be sure your head was clear when I kissed you,” said Rhysand.
“Rhys?”
“Yes?”
A pause.
“My head’s clear now,” I said.
Rhysand's head slowly leaned forward, stopping inches from my face, giving me time to take a step back if I wanted to back out. I didn’t. I wanted—needed, to know what his lips felt like on mine. If they were truly as soft as they looked. His fingers titled my chin up and kissed me. Gods, his kiss was more than soft, it was life-changing. His lips were gentle against mine, so sweet and delicately slow like he’d been waiting an eternity for this moment and now that he had it, now that the moment had arrived he wanted to savor it. If I’d been floating earlier when I danced with him beneath the rain, then I was soaring above the clouds and beyond the moon now. 
His hands cupped my face as mine slid into his hair, pulling him closer by the neck. Neither one of us parted to take a breath. I could tell this wasn’t just any kiss, this was the kiss. The one that would change our lives—my life—forever. The kiss I’d compare any other to. I could feel his chest against mine as our legs brushed against each other. Rhysand's hands slowly slid down my shoulders and arms and made their way down and around my waist. We pulled each other closer, our bodies seeking contact where they could as we continued wrapping ourselves against each other. We were two colliding stars, bursting with sparks and ever-changing hues.
After what felt like forever, I pulled back slightly, eyes closed. Blood had rushed into my cheeks, and there was no doubt that the heat against my flushed face had painted them rosy. I could feel his head leaning against mine, both of us breathless. Mother above, I truly was oblivious to everything. That definitely wasn’t a friend kiss. That was an I-want-to-be-more-than-friends kiss. 
Rhysand’s hand came up against my face tucking strands of semi-wet hair behind my ear. It felt like he was looking at me for the first time or trying to memorize every freckle on my face. A beat passed and he broke the silence. “I think I’m falling in love with you. I think I have been for a while.”
My heart skipped at those words—at his confession. My mouth gaped. There were no words. I wasn’t sure what to say. All I could focus on was the rising and beating in my chest as I focused on taking the next breath. Had this really just happened? Had we truly just kissed? Did he just say that he—
“I’m hoping you didn’t just kiss me to then break my heart, Feyre, darling.” He cupped my face as he spoke the last two words. 
“I never knew you liked me,” I said, stumbling on the words. 
“Now you do. And correction, I said I love you.” The corners of Rhysand’s mouth turned up. I couldn’t help the way my eyes widened in disbelief. He’d said the words again. 
“You love me?”
Rhys chuckled as he shook his head. He lifted my head with a hand beneath my chin as if inspecting me. “Did you hit yourself with the dryer door? Do I need to kiss you again? Or maybe hold your hand as we walk through a storm? Or dance in the rain while quoting your favorite movie?” 
He loved me. He loved me, and he not only meant it with the words he’d spoken, but Rhys had demonstrated and proved time and time again that he truly meant it, body and soul. A man who could talk the talk and walk the walk. Dare I say, he was a man after my own heart. 
“If you let me, I promise I’ll spend every day making sure you never doubt how worthy of love you are,” said Rhys. The back of his hand caressed my cheek.
“I’ll do anything with you, Rhys. As long as it’s you,” I said. 
His lips met mine again, this time with more passion and intensity. Wrapping my hands around his neck once more, I felt the towel slide off his shoulders and plop to the ground. Rhys's hands traveled around my hips, to the back of my thighs before he lifted me into his arms. Instinctually, I wrapped my legs around him and deepened our kiss. I wanted him closer. I wanted his body against mine without the barriers of our wet clothes. 
As if he’d read my thoughts, I could feel us moving down the hallway to my room. Every kiss turned deeper than the last and I knew I couldn’t deny myself the truth. I was completely and utterly in love with him. And I was a fool for not noticing before that maybe I had loved him longer than my body knew. Longer than I truly knew. He was my safe space, my person, my best friend. He was everything I could want in a man. He was everything. Rhys was everything.
Gently laying me against my bed, he pulled back slightly to look down at me. His eyes were like lilac-blue stars glistening against the moonlight as he marveled at me. It was almost like he couldn’t believe that this was real. I placed my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb. His lips smiled against my warm touch.
“I can’t stop smiling when I look at you,” said Rhys.
He gazed at me like a painter setting eyes on their muse. Like he’d been seeking inspiration his entire life and now he’d found it. Rhys shook his head in disbelief. “How did this happen?” 
The question wasn’t for me to answer, it was rhetorical. He was speaking his thoughts aloud as if waiting for a cosmic answer to shine through the window. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Feyre. 
“When I wake up, when I’m about to fall asleep, even in my dreams I can never stop thinking of you. When you’re not with me, it feels like something is missing. And, gosh, I hate poetry, but when I think of you…I can’t help but imagine that this is what the greats write about. This feeling. It’s like poets are reciting their writings in my head.”
I could feel the corners of my eyes becoming damp. I could spend the rest of this night in his arms simply admiring him. His honest eyes were full of more unspoken words of love. I could feel the wetness of my clothes seeping into the blanket below but I didn’t care. I thumbed his lips, his Apollo’s arched bow, memorizing this moment. I could feel my shaky voice escaping me as I spoke.
“All these years, I thought we were just friends, and I was okay with that…but now I realize that maybe I’ve felt like this for a while about you. That I’ve loved you without knowing that this is what it was.”
“You love me?” A smile spread across his lips.
“Did you hit yourself with the door coming in? Or do I need to kiss you again?” I mimicked his earlier question. 
He gently rubbed his nose against mine, his lips inches from my own.
“Kiss me again,” he whispered.
I moaned against his lips this time. I wanted him to hold me, to touch me, to kiss me, to say my name. I wanted everything and more. We tugged against wet clothes, which were much harder to take off thanks to their added weight. They stuck to our bodies and made it difficult to slide out of them. But we didn’t care. We kissed and laughed our way out of the heavy wet clothing until we were skin to skin. Until we were finally warm in each other's embrace. And for the first time in a while, I prayed.
Rhys.
I prayed the rest of the night as his body melded against mine, pulling prayer after prayer from my lips. His name, the only one I wanted to whisper against the moonlight shining through my window. It was only our names echoing from the other’s lips against soft I love yous with every touch and shift against hips. We were dancing like stars in the night sky, and holding on to each other as if we’d collided into one. Our whispers and sighs grew more uneven. He was my gravity, my center, and I was his. With Rhys’s eyes on mine and a final waltz around the universe, I felt my world burst like a nuclear fission. Like a star reaching its last evolutionary stage. 
Rhys kissed me again, softer this time, and wrapped me in his arms as we lay beneath the comfort of warm blankets, tangled in each other. Pulling me against his chest, he whispered. "Did you know that rainy day cuddles are two times more effective than sunny day cuddles?"
“Don’t you have to tell Cas to lock the door for you,” I said. 
“That can wait,” said Rhys, kissing the top of my head.
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the-lonelybarricade · 29 days
Text
Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans - Chapter 3
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Summary: Fresh after her third, and final, breakup with Tamlin, Feyre decides a one night stand is exactly what she needs to get him out of her system. Except, her one night stand with a violet-eyed stranger ends up being far more than she bargained for.
Or; the one where Feysand gets pregnant from a one night stand
Read on AO3 ・Masterlist・Previous Chapter
-
“So—you still haven’t told him.”
Feyre kept her eyes held wide, careful to avoid stabbing them with her mascara wand, as she flitted her pupils to the corner of the vanity mirror and met her roommate’s disapproving stare.
Alis was leaning against the open doorway, arms crossed. Some evenings she neglected to leave the stern teacher role in her classroom, and over the last two weeks Feyre had begun to feel increasingly like one of her misbehaving students.
“There hasn’t been a good time,” Feyre said, returning to the delicate task of swiping the wand over her eyelashes.
“Mmhmm.”
Feyre grip tightened on the tube of mascara. A slew of defensive words rushed to the back of her tongue, but she held them, enduring another of Alis’s incredulous hums as she stepped into the room. She wasn’t one of Alis’s guilty students and she wasn’t going to act like one, even as Alis began surveying the diamond-studded hairpins Feyre had spent the better part of the morning arranging, the dissected makeup bag that hadn’t been touched in weeks, the elegant dress laid on the bed.
That was where Alis ended her inspection. The midnight gown was still in its protective casing from the dry cleaners, a new addition to Feyre’s closet. Alis pulled at it, and the plastic hissed as it slid over the bed—as if warning, begging Alis not to venture any further.
“And the art show this evening hasn’t had any influence on your decision?”
Feyre capped the mascara and whirled to face Alis, who held up the dress the way a lawyer might present a piece of incriminating evidence in court. Both the dress and the art show were a gift from Tamlin—an apology and a peace offering in one. It was his way of showing that he was ready to take her art career more seriously. Or at least, that was what he’d told her at the cafe, when she’d suddenly lost all nerve to tell him the truth.
“I’m not using him for the art show, if that’s what you’re trying to imply,” Feyre snapped. “It’s just…” her shoulders slackened. “He was so excited for this, Alis. He’d already paid for the venue and invited his colleagues. I couldn’t tell him no and I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand to start another fight.”
Feyre faced the mirror and it took all her self control not to cringe. The concealer had covered up the worst of the dark circles, but it couldn’t hide the exhaustion glazing over her eyes. Maybe it was all the changes in her body, but recently she’d just felt so… heavy.
With a sigh, Alis dropped the dress back onto the bed and approached Feyre from behind. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Feyre at last saw behind the mask of the stern teacher, to the concerned friend who clasped her on the shoulder and whispered, “I’m worried about you, Feyre.”
“I’m okay,” she said, but her voice scraped along the cusp of breaking. She swore that even her own reflection winced at the lie.
Alis clucked her tongue. “You’re trying to handle all of this by yourself.” When Feyre said nothing, Alis added, almost desperately, “Let us help you. If not me, then someone else.”
Besides Feyre and Alis, there were only two people who knew of her pregnancy. Two people that she had been admittedly avoiding since she’d blurted the truth to them outside the cafe. In a typical Mor fashion, Feyre had been bombarded with texts over the last two weeks, each of them cheerfully dancing around the pea-sized elephant in her stomach.
All but one.
I respect you and my cousin enough not to meddle. This baby stuff is between you and him and no matter what happens, I support you unequivocally. I just want to say one thing, then I promise I’ll never bring it up again:
Rhys is a really good guy, Feyre. You can trust him.
Anyway, you want to grab brunch this weekend? Bottomless virgin mimosas?
Feyre was fairly certain that a virgin mimosa was just orange juice, but it made her heart feel light enough that she’d pulled up Rhysand’s contact details and nearly sent him a message. But once it was typed out, her thumb waivered above the keyboard, and regardless of how hopelessly she willed herself to press send, her body resisted.
She’d only met Rhysand twice now, but each meeting had felt more akin to a collision, knocking her violently off her predetermined path, leaving her unmoored. Unsettled. It was too soon to see him again, when she was still barely keeping afloat the wreckage of their last encounter.
And if—when—she told Tamlin, he would almost certainly take issue with Feyre and Rhysand having any kind of relationship, no matter how platonic. In the long run, it was better to keep him at arm's length. Wasn’t it?
“I have my first midwife appointment tomorrow,” Feyre said, because she thought that might appease Alis enough to let this go. “Why don’t you come with me?”
Alis beamed and squeezed Feyre’s shoulder, hard enough that Feyre had to swallow a yelp, but that was Alis—unrestrained and a little heavy-handed, even in her affection. “I would love that.”
Feyre forced a smile. She’d never liked going to the doctors, and in truth simply making the appointment had been a nerve-wracking experience. There was no bump on her stomach yet, and besides the morning bouts of nausea and the wearing exhaustion, she could almost pretend she was the same Feyre she’d been eight weeks ago.
But an appointment made it real.
Bearing all of that to Alis felt impossible. She wished she could do this alone, so that no one would feel burdened by the weight she was carrying, heavier and heavier each day.
“You know,” Alis said, tone a little too casual. “They might want to know about the baby’s father tomorrow—his medical history, what his involvement will look like. It might be worth reaching out to him to make sure you have those details.”
Fuck.
“Right. Thanks for reminding me. I’ll, uh, try to call him later.”
Alis took enough pity to leave Feyre alone after that. But her words lingered, and Feyre spent the next hour staring blankly at Rhysand’s phone number, the sequence of numbers now so familiar she might have been able to recite them from memory. When she finally willed her thumbs to move, they tapped the letters out slowly, every word foreign. She repeated each sentence back, deleting the one that sounded awkward or clumsy or too inviting.
Hey, she eventually settled with. This is Feyre. I’m having an art show tonight at Brush and Chisel. 8 pm. Would you and Mor like to come?
Feyre hit send before she could think about how absurd it would be to have Rhys and Tamlin in the same room. But there was no taking it back. The message was read almost immediately, and Feyre’s panic set in when a small typing bubble popped up with little hesitation.
Rhysand: Sounds wonderful. We’ll be there.
Feyre: Please don’t say anything to Tamlin about… you know
Rhysand: He doesn’t know?
Feyre: Do you want me to revoke your invitation?
Rhysand: No need—my lips are sealed. Looking forward to seeing you again, Feyre darling.
Feyre: No calling me that, either.
Rhysand: No? What would you like me to call you, then?
It was close enough to the flirting they’d exchanged at Rita’s that Feyre thought he was doing it on purpose. Maybe he was trying to wind her up by forcing her to recall the different things he’d called her that night. Feyre darling… Baby… Good girl. The memory of them was making her cheeks feel warm, a sign she might have made a terrible mistake inviting him.
Feyre: Just call me Feyre.
Rhysand: Is that what your friends call you?
Feyre: I wouldn’t say we’re friends yet.
Rhysand: Well in that case, would you prefer I call you something more formal? Miss Archeron?
Feyre: Feyre is fine.
Rhysand: That she most certainly is.
Feyre groaned and resisted the urge to chuck her phone away. This was the man that Mor vouched for as a really good guy? One who couldn’t even control himself for five minutes?
Feyre: If you can’t behave yourself tonight, then I don’t want you there.
Rhysand: I assure you, I will be on my best behavior.
Somehow, that wasn’t very reassuring to her.
-
“Are you feeling nervous, Feyre?”
“Hmm?”
Feyre drew her eyes away from the double glass doors that comprised the venue’s entrance. She’d been staring absently at their reflection, but realized that Tamlin was leaning into her, his hand positioned supportively against her back—his touch was searing now that she was aware of it, though she couldn’t say how long it had been placed there.
He smiled, as though her response were answer enough. “I think it’s normal to be nervous. This is a lot more people looking at your art than you’re used to.”
That wasn’t empirically true. Outside of her instagram account—which had enough traction to keep her regularly commissioned—Feyre displayed her art fairly regularly in street art shows on the Rainbow. This was her first time displaying her art in a proper gallery, however, and perhaps two months ago she would have been nervous.
Presently, Feyre’s bandwidth on things to be nervous about was running low. There were only so many fears that could plague her mind at any given time, and occupying most of that real estate was the itty-bitty issue of her pregnancy and the baby daddy she’d so stupidly invited to the art show.
By comparison, what Tamlin’s business associates thought of her art was of trivial concern, particularly when they didn't even bother to speak to her. It was clear, by the firm handshakes and tactical segues into business deals, that most of the people in attendance were here to impress Tamlin.
“But hey,” Tamlin said, gliding his hand across her back until she was completely folded into his arm. “Hart was just telling me how much he loved that mountain piece. I think he might make an offer.”
Before she’d tuned out of the conversation, Hart had also been telling Tamlin how keen he was to get his investment proposal signed off. Conveniently, the mountain piece was also the only one in eyesight, and Feyre felt more like a corporate gift basket than a respectable artist.
Feyre didn’t say that, though. She smiled and said, “I love that piece.”
Tamlin hummed, as if he agreed. “Why don’t we go get a drink to calm your nerves?”
“Oh, no. I’m okay—”
“Come on, we’re celebrating!” Tamlin used his arm to urge her forward, guiding them both towards the open bar near the front entrance.
The bar was strategically placed, Tamlin claimed, because people were more likely to make impulsive purchases with a drink in their hand. Feyre couldn’t fault his logic, though she’d prefer for her art to be sold of its own merit and not because the buyer was drunk and trying to impress his boss.
“Really Tamlin. I’m not in the mood to drink.”
“You’re so tense, Feyre. A drink will help.”
Across the room, Feyre met eyes with Alis, who quirked a black brow when she saw where the two of them were headed. She took a step towards them, then stalled, and Feyre thought for a horrific moment that Alis was going to let her get buried alive in this hole she’d dug herself.
“Feyre!” Squealed a familiar voice.
Mor didn’t wait for Tamlin to step out of the way before she became a blur of red and gold, barreling towards her Feyre as if this was the first time they were reuniting in years.
She was squeezing so tight that Feyre’s responding, hi Mor, came out a little breathless.
“Mor,” Tamlin said. He’d taken a step away, either to give them space to reconnect or simply because he didn’t want to risk brushing arms with Mor. “Good to see you again.”
“Tamlin.”
Mor, by virtue of being her college roommate, was once privy to every fight and minor frustration between Feyre and Tamlin. As a result, she never tried to hide her dislike of Tamlin, nor did he give much effort to do the same in return. A polite cough behind Mor’s back prompted the tall blonde to peel herself away from Feyre and pivot to reveal Rhysand, who was withdrawing his hands from the pockets of his formal black trousers to extend one of them outward. Towards her.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said.
“This is my cousin,” Mor filled in, brown eyes twinkling. “Rhys.”
Tamlin chose that moment to turn to the bar and order two double vodka tonics. Feyre wasn’t sure which struck her with greater panic—how to evade drinking without raising Tamlin’s suspicion, or how to shake Rhysand’s hand without feeling like her whole world was shaking with it.
“Feyre,” she said. Her tongue felt like sandpaper. “It’s good to meet you, too. Thank you for coming.”
Rhys continued holding her hand a beat too long. “Thank you for inviting us. I’ve heard you’re a very talented artist.”
Drinks now in hand, Tamlin shouldered himself back into the conversation, pointedly holding a glass towards Feyre so that she was forced to let go of Rhysand’s hand. She accepted the drink with an exaggerated smile.
“Tamlin,” he said gruffly to Rhys, not extending a hand. He slid a possessive arm around Feyre’s shoulders—a statement that none of them misunderstood. “Feyre’s boyfriend.”
“Well met,” Rhys said cordially. If he was intimidated by Tamlin’s slow and evidently unimpressed assessment, he did an excellent job at hiding it.
Seeing it was her job to play mediator and hostess, Feyre saw her chance to kill two birds with one stone. “Can I get the two of you a drink?”
Mor’s answer was an immediate chirp of, “Wine, please.”
“She means a bottle,” Rhysand clarified.
Feyre laughed. “Oh, I remember. We’ll start with a glass for now, but I assure you there’s plenty more where that came from. What about you… Rhys?”
It was only his name, she told herself. Why did speaking it feel so intimate? She could still feel its shape on her lips from when she’d panted it into his skin, RhysRhysRhys—
Did he remember it too? Is that why he studied her for a moment, eyes turning a shade darker, before he cleared his throat and said, “I’m the designated driver, so it’s going to be sparkling water for me.” He glanced down at the vodka in her hands. “But do me a favor and ask them to put a lime wedge in it? I like to blend in.”
“Sure,” Feyre said, taking a step towards the bar. This was her chance to untangle herself from Tamlin and trade out her vodka for a sparkling water, too.
Or—that was the plan. Until Tamlin decided to follow, grabbing her elbow and seizing the opportunity to whisper in her ear, “He gives me a bad vibe.”
“You just met him,” she whispered back, irritated and not trying to hide it.
“I work in business,” he deflected. “You get good at reading people quickly.”
Feyre resisted the urge to roll her eyes as they came up to the bar. She repeated Rhys and Mor’s orders, noting with frustration that when the drinks were finished, Tamlin was the one who insisted on carrying Rhysand’s. She reminded herself that his fears weren’t unfounded—she had slept with Rhys after all, and she couldn’t deny that there was chemistry between them, even now.
Fortunately Rhys was unruffled, and he accepted the drink from Tamlin with a gracious thank you that really sounded like I’m the bigger man and I know it. Tamlin’s posture went rigid, and Rhys’s lips quirked, all smug satisfaction for getting under her boyfriend’s skin. Gods, what had she been thinking putting them in the same room together?
“Tam!” Lucien called, turning away from a small group of Spring Corp executives midway across the room. He made a gesturing motion with his hand. “Come here, Andras just came up with a brilliant new pitch for the Hybern deal.”
Tamlin pressed his lips together, surveying his present company like he didn’t trust leaving Feyre alone with them. And yet, he decided that was preferable to dragging Feyre along to whatever ad hoc business meeting was taking place at her art show.
“I’ll be just one moment,” he said, pressing a kiss to Feyre’s temple before he joined the group of well dressed men. The reprieve from his surveillance was short lived, however, given that he positioned himself at just the right angle to keep Rhys and Mor in his periphery.
It would have been less mortifying if she didn’t glance over to Rhys and see the way his smile flattened, having observed the same.
“He seems charming,” Rhys said.
“He…” Feyre struggled for an explanation that could possibly justify his behavior. “He’s just a little stressed. He really wants tonight to go well.”
“Funny,” Rhys said, leaning his shoulder closer. She found herself leaning in too, nervous he was about to say something she didn’t want anyone to overhear. “I would think that at an art exhibit, the artist would be the one worried about the night going well.”
“I…” Feyre didn’t know what to say. “I do want tonight to go well.”
Rhys raised his hand, fingers brushing over her white-knuckle grip on the vodka tonic. Heat jolted through her, and she resisted the urge to snap her hand back. Any sudden movement would surely draw Tamlin’s attention.
He pitched his voice into a whisper. “How do you feel it’s going so far?”
That was when his hand slid around the glass, gently easing it from her grip. And before she could summon any protest, or speculate as to why he’d decided to pry her drink away, he smoothly pressed his sparkling water into her vacant palm.
It all happened in the space of a second. Feyre was blinking, still processing what had happened, as Rhys leaned back and took a sip of the vodka tonic with a remarkably straight face. Between the lime wedge and the small, carbonated bubbles, their drinks looked identical. He winked, and she knew that he’d planned it this way. From the moment he’d overheard Tamlin’s order.
Feyre could have slumped in relief, were she not hyper-aware of the jade green eyes on her not ten feet away. She ducked her face into the glass of sparkling water to hide the laughter threatening to burst from her lips—it was the first genuine smile she’d managed all evening. All week, really.
“It’s starting to look up,” she said, once she managed to regain her composure.
She meant it, too, though she wasn’t quite ready to unpack the implications of that. Was she a horrible person, inviting him here? The list of things she was lying to Tamlin about was beginning to feel ever-growing. Insurmountable. Her mood quickly soured as she glanced down at the glass in her hand and realized it was just another deception. Someone had come to bail her out this time, but how long could she keep digging this hole until it buried her alive?
“Good,” Rhys said.
His eyes were dancing with a mirth that didn’t feel touchable any longer. Even if his grin was the infectious, wicked sort. The kind that could persuade a saint to deal with the devil. His gaze flicked over her shoulder, skimming the pieces on the back wall.
He jerked his chin towards the displays. “Which one’s your favorite?”
Feyre turned to consider them, though she already knew the answer. “Guess.”
A challenge. One he looked delighted to accept. As a group, the three of them drifted closer towards the art so that Rhys could study each of them with the intensity of a student expecting to be quizzed on their meaning.
Tamlin didn’t return until they reached the final piece. His expression was tight, though Feyre couldn't tell if that was the result of the conversation with his colleagues, or the fact that Feyre had wandered outside his line of vision. Knowing her boyfriend, it was likely the latter.
“What have I missed?” He asked.
“We’re trying to guess Feyre’s favorite piece.”
It was Mor who answered him, given that her cousin was far too busy studying the landscape before him—a hazy clearing of snow and skeletal trees and nothing else besides a curious pair of wolf-like eyes watching from the shadows.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Tamlin said, pointing two pieces down to a hand scooping incandescent water from a pond. The one she’d titled The Pool of Starlight. “That one’s her favorite.”
Feyre elbowed him for ruining the game. She might have done so more gently, if he’d actually guessed correctly. Tamlin offered her an exasperated look that said, What did I do wrong this time? Her tongue burned with the urge to correct him, but she said nothing, suffering the glance Mor and Rhys exchanged with each other. A shared disappointment of a game ruined, and something more. Something that left embarrassment itching up her neck.
Rhys glanced towards her alleged favorite painting and nodded good naturedly. “I understand why. It’s a beautiful painting, Feyre.”
Again, Tamlin’s arm fell over her shoulders. And he said, “That one’s not for sale.”
“Tam.”
He ignored her, continuing, “Feyre painted it as a gift for our four year anniversary.”
Mor muttered under breath, “Four years my ass.”
Tamlin narrowed his eyes. “Pardon?”
The whole room quieted for a stagnant beat, as Mor contemplated her response. Feyre widened her eyes, trying to silently plead with Mor to let it go. It didn’t matter that in those four years, they’d spent as much time broken up as they had in a relationship. What mattered was surviving the night, the week, the year ahead.
Mor tipped her chin, and as her red lips curled into a flat smirk, Feyre felt her stomach plummet.
“I said—”
A waitress stepped towards them, brandishing a platter full of mini quiches in offering. She was staring at Rhys, expectant. As if he’d been the one to call her over. He offered her a broad smile as he plucked one from the tray and promptly handed it to Mor.
Then he innocently looked towards Feyre and Tamlin. “Quiche?”
The smell of cooked eggs and salmon invaded her senses as the waitress swiveled the tray towards them. Bile rose in the back of her throat, and Feyre tried her best to swallow it as she politely shook her head.
“No thanks,” Tamlin said, his voice flat.
The waitress stepped away, wafting the smell under Feyre’s nose a second time. Nausea lurched violently in her stomach, refusing to be ignored.
Even Tam noticed the look on her face. He leaned towards her with a frown, pressing his palm into her shoulder. “Fey? Are you alright?”
Feyre feared that if she tried to speak, her stomach would upheave itself right then and there. She pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking her head before she turned and dashed for the bathroom.
The gallery became a blur of color and ambient sound. She thought she might have heard her name being called. Guests lobbed curious glances towards her as she brushed past, heels clinking urgently against the smooth concrete. The bathroom door swung open beneath her palms, and she didn’t spare the time to lock it before her knees slammed to the floor in front of the toilet.
She hated this. The puking. The way her eyes watered and her body trembled and the sounds of her retching bounced endlessly off the walls. If anyone was waiting outside, they’d doubtlessly hear it.
Feyre panted as the first wave subsided. She knew that wasn’t the end, could already feel her stomach turning in preparation for the next unforgiving torrent of nausea. Was this how it felt to be at sea, so lost and unsteady, with nothing to anchor her besides the cool press of the filthy bathroom floor?
She hunched as the next onslaught began, grasping onto the porcelain bowl, already imagining the bath she was going to take in disinfectant once she got home. Over the stomach-curdling noise, she heard the bathroom door creak open.
Feyre’s hair was pulled away from her face a moment later.
“It’s okay,” Mor soothed. “I’ve got you.”
She traced a delicate hand along Feyre’s spine, up and down. Feyre shut her eyes as she heaved into the toilet, grateful that it was Mor who had come, and not Tamlin. Or worse—Rhysand.
“It’s like we’re in college again,” Mor teased.
Feyre felt too wrung out to laugh. But when the nausea finally ebbed, she managed a shaky smile over her shoulder. “Usually I was holding your hair back.”
“Glad I get to return the favor.”
The memory ached. Three years wasn’t a long time, comparatively, but the Feyre who’d once sat drunk and giggling in public restrooms with Mor felt like a completely different person to the one she was now. It was more than time that separated them—more than motherhood, too. Back then, she had been so carefree, so full of light. And now…
She was trembling like a newly born fawn trying to rise to her feet. Mor slid a supportive hand beneath her elbow, her other hand still holding Feyre’s hair away from her face as they shuffled towards the sink.
Everything that was once simple now felt like a million steps. Twist the faucet. Pump the soap. Lather her hands… Over her shoulder, Mor watched it all with a pinched expression. She didn’t need to say anything; Feyre could still hear Alis in the back of her mind. I’m worried about you, Feyre.
Noticing she’d been caught, Mor took to coyly searching through her clutch, murmuring, “I think I have a pack of gum somewhere…”
The tap stopped running. Feyre stared at her friend in the mirror, how her blonde brows pinched together as she feigned an intensive search. And then Feyre looked at her own reflection. At her wide eyes, gleaming with unshed tears. And she finally admitted the truth to Mor, to herself.
“I’m scared.”
Mor’s mouth popped open. “Oh, Feyre,” she whispered, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug.
A great, gasping breath shuddered through Feyre, the final resistance before her foundation cracked, and every wall crumbled to dust. The next thing she knew, she was sobbing into her friend’s shoulder while Mor held tight, the only thing keeping her tethered.
Now that she’d let the words loose, she couldn’t stop. “I’m going to be a mom.”
“You are,” Mor whispered, swaying them back and forth. “You’re going to be a great one.”
“I don't know anything about being a parent.”
“No one does. It’s the kind of thing you learn on the job. And you—Feyre, you have always been exceptional at adapting to everything life throws at you. Even this.”
Her lower lip trembled. The question came tumbling out of her, broken and small. “Did I make the right choice?”
“There was no right choice,” Mor said. “There’s just the choice you made, and the one you didn’t.”
Mor leaned back to swipe her thumb along Feyre’s cheek, chasing away the tear tracks and smeared mascara as best she could.
“Though, you know what I think?” Mor’s brown eyes shined under the fluorescents as she held Feyre’s gaze. “I think that one day, you’re going to look back on this moment, and you’re going to be so happy that you decided to become a mom.”
Feyre sniffled, pressing a palm to her stomach as she attempted to imagine a future Feyre who was confident about this choice. Happy. “And Rhys?” She ventured. “Does he really mean it, about wanting to be involved?”
Mor didn’t hesitate, not for one second. “He does.”
Her eyes drifted towards the door. Tamlin and Rhys would be waiting on the other side. She didn’t know whether to laugh or feel mortified by the thought of the two of them together, stewing in hostile silence. If she was lucky, Tamlin had already dismissed this whole ordeal as female dramatics and was entertaining more of his colleagues without paying any mind to her absence.
Luck wasn’t exactly playing in her favor recently. Feyre’s eyes shifted to the hopper windows on the back wall, contemplating if she could squeeze her body through one. “What do you think my chances are of sneaking out?”
Mor followed Feyre’s gaze and pursed her lips, assessing the windows like she were truly calculating the feasibility of such an escape. “I don’t think those windows open all the way.” Her eyes slid coyly back to Feyre. “So… Tamlin—”
“Don’t start.”
She couldn’t handle another lecture about telling him the truth—not now.
But where Alis clicked her tongue and gave disapproving looks, Mor only laughed and patted Feyre on the shoulder. “Fine, fine. Just let me handle this.”
Mor didn’t give her an option to refuse. Which was just as well, because Feyre would have spent the entire night holed up in the bathroom if Mor didn’t pull her by the wrist.
“Wait!” Feyre dug her heels, trying to slow the too fast approach towards the bathroom door. “My makeup—”
“You look beautiful.”
A lie. Feyre looked like a trainwreck in a pretty dress. Not that Mor gave her time to do anything about it as she pushed the door open and announced to the two men standing on the other side, “Feyre has food poisoning. I’m taking her home.”
“I’ll grab our coats,” Rhys said.
At the same moment, Tamlin said, “I’ll take her home.”
He shifted, trying to peer at Feyre where she stood at Mor’s back, but her friend stepped into Tamlin’s line of vision. Her voice was flat. Unyielding. “You’ve been drinking.”
“So what? I’ll call us a cab.”
Feyre took a deep breath and stepped around Mor. “Tam.” Those bright eyes pinned her in place, seeing far too much. She knew it was obvious that she’d been crying, and his jaw tightened as he processed the lie, and the way she silently begged him not to push. Not yet, not here. “I need someone to stay here and make sure the art show isn’t a complete disaster.”
He contemplated this for a moment, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he looked to Mor, then to Rhys. He released a heavy sigh. “I’ll come by once it’s over.”
It was like standing on a frozen lake and watching it crack beneath them.
“Okay,” she whispered.
They both knew what was coming. It had always been precarious, this thing between them. Never simple, never clean.
Mor looped her elbow through Feyre’s. “Come on,” she urged, rushing them towards the front entrance before Tamlin could change his mind.
The stares of Tamlin’s colleagues followed them as they went. Rhys peeled off to collect their coats, allowing Mor and Feyre to make a swift exit into the liberating embrace of Autumn. The cool breeze pressed against her flushed skin, and Feyre drank it greedily, feeling the air cut a path all the way to her lungs. Finally, she could breathe again.
Rhysand emerged a moment later, two coats hanging off his arm. And Mor chose that moment to look up from her phone and say, “Rhys, you go ahead and take Feyre home. The night’s still young for me.”
“Mor!” Feyre whispered, horrified at the prospect of being alone with him. So much for not meddling.
“What?” She asked innocently, though the look she exchanged with Rhys was nothing short of conspiratorial. “Between my wine and Rhys’s vodka, I have the perfect pre-Rita’s buzz.”
Rhys didn’t seem at all surprised by this news, nor did he seem the least bit phased by the prospect of being alone in a car with Feyre. He simply walked Feyre to his car and opened the passenger door. As she slid into the leather seat, he called to Mor, “Do you want me to at least drop you off?”
“No.” The blue light of her phone lit her grin, and she giggled, looking down at the screen as she said, “I have a ride.”
“Emerie?” Rhys asked, raising a brow.
Mor bit her lip, offering no confirmation one way or the other. With a shrug, Rhys shut the passenger door, leaving Feyre briefly alone in his immaculate car, which smelled vaguely of leather and plastic and… and—him. It had been eight weeks, and Feyre still couldn’t get over the way he smelled.
She took a moment to compose herself, to prepare for being alone with him for the full twenty minute drive to her apartment. Whatever further words he exchanged with Mor, she couldn’t hear. But she could see the way he was smiling, and when he glanced at the car over his shoulder, she had a feeling they were talking about her.
Oh god.
The driver's door opened, suctioning all of the air and replacing it with the site of his obscenely handsome face. “Looks like it’s just the two of us, Feyre darling.”
She was majorly fucked.
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dawninlatin · 7 months
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Crying in the IKEA parking lot
a feysand modern au one shot written for @officialfeysandweek2023
Feyre is having an emotional breakdown in the IKEA parking lot, but luckily a handsome stranger comes to her rescue
Words: 2,2k | Masterlist | AO3 Link
Feyre had experienced many low points in her twenty-two years, but crying in the parking lot of IKEA had to be one of the lowest.
To be fair, she was having a pretty shit day, a shit year, even, but that didn’t make her feel any better as she stared at the scratch on the shiny, expensive-looking car parked next to hers.
A scratch that was one hundred percent her fault.
She let out a pathetic sob as her mind replayed the moment when she’d been too busy cursing at the furniture she couldn’t fit in her trunk to notice that her cart was rolling away from her, straight into the other car.
There was no way she could afford to pay for the repair, especially not now, when she’d just spent the little money she had on a dining table and a single chair for her mostly empty apartment.
Feyre gave the package still sitting on the ground a kick in frustration. «Fucking useless piece of shit!»
«Are you okay? Do you perhaps need any help with that…?»
The voice startled her, and Feyre whirled around, suddenly facing the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He looked at her with a mix of concern and curiosity, his eyes so blue they almost seemed violet.
«I’m fine,» Feyre answered a little too quickly, plastering on a fake smile and pretending her face wasn’t all puffy and red. She’d gotten so used to telling this lie lately, it came on autopilot.
Unfortunately, the stranger wasn’t a complete idiot, and didn’t buy her lie. The few tears still running down her cheeks probably didn’t help either. «So crying in the middle of a parking lot is just something you do for fun?» The question was accompanied by a perfectly raised eyebrow. 
Smile dropping, Feyre replied, «No, it’s just-»
And that’s all it took for the floodgates to open once more. 
«I’ve had a really shitty time lately, and I just needed to get a table because I don’t wanna eat every meal sitting on the floor for the rest of my life, but then I came out here and I can’t get the fucking box in my car and then I accidentally scratched the car next to mine and I know I should be the better person here and leave a note but there is no way I can afford to pay for it to be repaired!» She was full-on sobbing again, choking out the words. 
When she’d managed to calm down a little, the crying reduced to sniffling, she looked up, surprised to find that the man still stood there. Feyre had expected her little mental breakdown to scare away the stranger, he’d only asked if she needed help, after all, but there he was, offering her a soft smile and a tissue. «So a really shitty day then?»
«Yeah,» Feyre replied weakly, wiping her tears.
«I wouldn’t worry too much about the car, though.»
«Why?» 
He smirked, and it made Feyre want to kiss his handsome face and punch it at the same time. She really should see a therapist or something. «Because if they can afford a car like that, the asshole can probably afford a repair as well.»
This time, when Feyre smiled, it was real. It felt good, after all this time.
«So, did you need any help?» the guy asked, gesturing towards the package still on the ground.
Feyre had barely nodded before he strode over, and in a single, seemingly effortless move lifted it into her car. It annoyed her to no end, but she was also grateful, because it meant she could get out of here and forget this completely mortifying experience ever happened.
«Thanks, uhm…» She didn’t even know his name, she realized.
«Rhysand, though my friends call me Rhys,» he offered, grinning.
His name was Rhys, and he had dimples. How was it possible to be this attractive?
«I’m Feyre,» she replied, completely cool, calm and collected…probably.
«Well, it was nice meeting you, Feyre, darling. I have to go and brave the hell that is IKEA to get something for my stupid cousin, but I hope the rest of your day is better!»
Feyre actually chuckled this time, giving him a wave and a «Good luck!» as he walked away. She watched him in a totally non-creepy way until he’d fully disappeared into the large store, relishing the way she felt kinda good right now. One encounter with a kind human didn’t fix all her problems, but it gave her back some of the faith she’d lost in humanity long ago.
Still smiling, Feyre got into the driver’s seat, but she didn’t start the car. Instead, her attention was pulled to the passenger seat, and the abandoned sketchbook that’d been lying there for months now.
She sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden urge to draw again. The familiar itching in her hands could have brought her to tears if she’d had any left. Maybe she actually could feel like herself again, someday in the future…
Glancing at the car next to hers, Feyre contemplated her choices. There was no way she could afford the repair bill, but no matter how she thought about it, the only right thing to do was choose kindness. What if the rich asshole was having an equally shit day?
That didn’t mean Feyre couldn’t make them feel as sorry for her as possible, though. Maybe if they knew what a mess she was, it would get her out of paying.
So she rummaged around in her car until she found a pencil, then she picked up her sketchbook and started drawing for the first time in months.
-
Feyre groaned for what had to be the hundredth time as she struggled to assemble the table. Wasn’t this supposed to be easy?!
She knew she should just go to bed and try again in the morning, but she wanted to do this, wanted to show the universe she could manage on her own.
Who knew leaving your abusive ex when you had no job, no education, no friends and no contact with your family would be so difficult?
Just when Feyre was about to give up, her phone suddenly chimed, alerting her of a new text.
Anxiously, she picked up the phone, her stomach flipping as she read the text from an unknown number.
Is this Feyre Archeron?
It had to be the owner of the car, Feyre thought. After all, she’d ended up leaving a rather creative note describing what had happened, signed with her full name and number.
The note had consisted of eight comic panels, first showing an overly animated Feyre looking miserable in her empty apartment, then her looking miserable in IKEA, her emptying her pockets at the register, then swearing as she tries to get the package into her car. Next featured a few panels very dramatically portraying how the cart had rolled into the car completely on it’s own, ending with Feyre drowning all of IKEA in her tears.
To be honest, she was kind of proud of it.
Chewing her lip, Feyre typed back a simple «Yes».
Mere seconds later, it started ringing, that same number appearing on the screen. She nearly dropped it in panic, and honestly wanted to just chuck it out the window. She did not want to buy a new phone though, especially not if she had to spend thousands on repairing an ugly-ass car that wasn’t even hers.
Hands shaking, she pressed reply, bringing the phone to her ear. «Hello?»
«That comic is the best thing I’ve ever seen. I’m seriously gonna frame it and hang it on my wall.»
Feyre’s heart promptly stopped as she heard the deep, silky voice. She would recognize it anywhere, if only from the things it did to her body.
«Rhys?!» she choked out.
«I told you to not worry about the car.» She could hear the smirk in his voice, and for some reason it filled her with rage.
«That was your car?! Why the hell didn’t you say so? I made a complete fool of myself in front of you-»
«No you didn’t,» Rhys interrupted her. «And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to stress you out even more. I’m sorry if that was wrong of me.»
Well, that was awfully…charming of him. Feyre didn’t know what to do with all these feelings swirling inside her. Especially not after living on autopilot for so long.
«Just tell me how much I owe you,» Feyre sighed. 
«How about you let me help you build that furniture, and we’ll call it even?»
«What? That’s ridiculous!» There had to be something seriously wrong with this guy, if he thought getting to help her with her furniture would make them even.
«Text me your address, and I’ll be there in thirty. With pizza.» 
And then he just hung up.
-
Exactly thirty minutes later, Feyre opened her front door to find Rhys on the other side, pizza in hand and a panty-dropping smile on his face. «Hello, Feyre, darling.»
«Ugh, just get in.» She was too hungry to bother with pleasantries. 
He followed her into the kitchen area, setting the pizza on the counter. Feyre busied herself with getting a glass of water, trying to not let her embarrassment show as he took in the space. She really hadn’t been kidding when she’d said it was all empty.
Well, apart from the still-not-assembled table.
When she looked up, though, he was looking at her, not the empty space. 
«Just so we’re clear, I have no ulterior motives in doing this,» Rhys spoke, all serious. His gaze so intense she couldn’t look away.
«I’m not gonna deny that I find you very attractive, and I would love to take you on a date some day, but right now, what I think we both need the most, is a friend.» 
Her chest ached at the pain she glimpsed in his violet eyes, a fellow lost soul. Maybe he was just as lonely, just as broken, despite the easy smiles? Feyre smiled faintly, thinking that she wouldn’t mind a friend right now.
Then Rhys opened his mouth again, and the moment was ruined. «And we both know you find me incredibly handsome because duh,» he gestured to his face, and Feyre scowled, flipping him off.
«Are you even qualified to build furniture?» Feyre asked, all serious. If he turned out to be excellent at this she would lose it.
«Are you kidding me? My great-great-grandfather was Swedish. I’ll show you my family tree to prove it.»
«You’re such a prick!» Feyre exclaimed, smacking his arm, but she was laughing as she did it.
This was gonna end in disaster.
-
«You’re even worse at this than I am!»
«I swear, there has to be something wrong with this table!»
The puzzled expression on Rhys’ face as he sat with the final leg of the table in his hand and seemingly no where to put it made Feyre laugh so hard her stomach hurt a little.
They hadn’t gotten much further from where Feyre had been before Rhys showed up to help her.
«I don’t understand…There are four legs, and four corners, so why won’t it fit?!» 
«Let me have a look,» Feyre chuckled, leaning into Rhys’ space to study the instructions once more.
As she reached forward to turn back a page, her hand brushed against his, and she let out a quiet gasp at the contact. He was so close she could feel the warmth emanating from him. 
Neither of them moved for a moment, the tension between them nearly tangible. 
Then Feyre turned her head, slowly, finding his eyes already locked on her, his gaze intense. It would be so easy to just lean in and kiss him, taste him.
Surprisingly, a part of her wanted to. Feyre knew she could be oblivious, but one had to be a complete idiot to not feel the chemistry between them, the spark that had been there from the very first moment.
Her life was too much of a mess at the moment, though. She needed to get her head above water first, needed more time to heal the wounds from her previous disaster of a relationship.
So Feyre pulled away, swiftly ending the moment. She could sense a shift in Rhys as well, but where she’d expected disappointment, maybe even annoyance, she only found a quiet, patient calm, the soft smile on his face telling her he understood, and he was willing to wait, but if she one day was ready, he would be there.
«I may have lied when I said I was a pro at this…»
«I knew it!»
Feyre gave Rhys a smile of her own, so grateful that he didn’t make things awkward after her subtle rejection. She hoped he could see the words she couldn’t voice quite yet.
I want to, I really do, but I’m not ready.
I haven’t had this much fun in ages.
You’ve made me feel alive again.
Having him as her friend would have to be enough.
For now.
A/N: don't ask about the header i was feeling creative today...
ANYWAY I have returned from the dead (I just started college) to give you this:):) I also actually had a beta reader this time, so kudos to my roommate! I'm sorry for making you read this and watch glee with me at the same time<3<3<3 Feel free to reblog, leave a comment or drop by my ask box, I love attention:)
Taglist: @ireallyshouldsleeprn @rowaelinismyotp
I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be added to any of them!
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girl-who-writes-stuff · 3 months
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Just a little new year feysand scene 💜
✨Happy new year!✨
—————————————————————————
Feyre stood by the window, gazing at the starts that shone over Velaris. She couldn’t believe that the year was already ending. It seemed just yesterday when Nyx had come into their lives, thanks to Nesta and what she gave up to save them all. She closed her eyes, thanking her older sister once again.
Her relationship with Nesta had changed a lot during this time. She looked lighter, and although Cassian had a lot to do with that, she had a feeling that giving up her cauldron stolen powers had been crucial, too.
“Where could mommy be, huh?”
She heard Rhys’s voice before she saw him coming in through the door, Nyx’s head following as he clinged to his father’s back. Cauldron, he was so big already…
“My boys!” Feyre replied, extending her hands towards her son, a smile on her lips.
Nyx giggled and jumped towards her, his wings flutering when he did, trying to suspend him midair. He was starting to get confident with them, which scared the shit out of her. Rhys, Cass and Az said it was normal, just testing them out, but she still had her magic ready in case she needed to stop his fall.
Rhys chuckled as Nyx wiggled in her mother’s arms, his head resting between her chin and shoulder.
“Such a mommy’s boy, you…” Rhys sighed.
“Like you aren’t obsessed with her too, Rhysand.” Nesta’s voice sounded from the living room, alongside Cassian’s loud laugh.
Rhys’s middle finger lifted out of their view, in mock offense.
“I saw that!” Nestas’s voice came floating back and Rhys rolled his eyes.
“I swear she’s a witch…” he muttered in Feyre’s mind, sounding like a scolded child. Feyre laughed, her cheek resting on top of Nyx’s head as her son’s eyes started closing.
“You’ve been here for a while. Everything okay, darling?” Rhys closed the space between them, pressing his lips to the top of her head.
“Yeah, just wondering where the time went this year…”
“Hm, I feel the same. Especially with this one.” Rhys replied, pointing his chin at the sleeping Nyx in her arms.
They stood by the window together, stargazing, with Rhys’s arms circled around her waist. Feyre let her head rest back, on his collarbone, listening to her family cheer as midnight closed in.
“Ten!”
“Nine!”
“Eight!”
“Seven!”
“Six!”
A star shot across the sky and Feyre closed her eyes,
“I wish for this new year to be a healthy, happy one for all of us.” She silently prayed.
“Five!”
“Four!”
“Three!”
“Two!”
“One!”
“Happy new year, my love.” Rhys turned her in his arms and pressed a sweet kiss on her lips, trying his best not to wake the sleeping baby in her arms.
“Happy new year, my mate.” Feyre replied, happiness settling in her chest.
“We should take Nyx back to bed.” Rhys whispered with a small smile, rubbing his hand on the baby’s back.
“Just a few more minutes.” Feyre replied, turning back around in Rhys’s arms. “The stars look beautiful tonight.”
“They do.” Replied Rhys with a smile, kissing her head once more.
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velidewrites · 5 months
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A messy breakup forces 20 year old Feyre Archeron back to her old hometown of Forks, Washington—back to the life she thought she'd left behind. What she doesn't know, though, is that Forks has changed in her absence, its blue-tinted fog stained by fresh, crimson blood. Luckily, Feyre is ready to join the hunt.
🩸Pairing: Feyre x Rhysand
🩸Rating: Explicit
🩸Tags: Twilight AU
Chapter 1/5 || Read on AO3
Or continue for a snippet below!
***
“Who’s he?”
Ressina follows her gaze—then smiles. “Ah, yes. Can’t blame you for losing your focus, honestly.” She leans in closer. “That’s Rhysand Blake. He’s…” she motions over her face, as if the movement is telling enough. It is. “Like I said. There’s no point in even trying.”
Feyre hums. Rhysand. “What’s his major?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t see him around much—not that I was looking, of course—so he probably takes evening classes. He’s somewhat of an enigma, really.” Ressina narrows her stare on her again. “Something tells me that did nothing to discourage you.”
Feyre flashes her a smile. “Who doesn’t like a little mystery?”
Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed, I’m basing it off the announcement post 💕): @azrielshadowssing @damedechance @melting-houses-of-gold @rosanna-writer @itsthedoodle @reverie-tales @sanfangirl @separatist-apologist @asnowfern @thelovelymadone @foundress0fnothing @thesistersarcheron @wilde-knight @popjunkie42-blog
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lucienarcheron · 8 months
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All It Takes Is A Wingman [Feysand ft. Bat Boys]
Prompt: ‘Hey I’m sorry to bother you but I’m trying to convince my friends I’m a sex god so can you please write a fake number on this napkin for me real quick’ Modern AU |
Genre: Humor/Fluff Rating: SFW
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“Go get ‘em, tiger.”
“We’ll be here for you when she runs away screaming.”
Rhys turned to glare at his two stupid friends.
“Will you two shut the fuck up?” he hissed, his eyes flickering back to the beautiful girl he was totally not staring at. The beautiful girl in his English seminar class whose name he didn’t know and had never spoken to. The semester had just started and he was already slightly head over heels. And she hadn’t even said a word to him.
Currently, she was sitting at a corner table of the cafe they were wasting time in and Rhys hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from her as she sketched in her pad.
“You’re the one that’s drooling.” Cassian said with a scoff. “Just go talk to her before you flood the place with your saliva.”
Azriel snorted as Rhys shot Cassian a look.
“We can hold your hand and walk over with you if you want.” Azriel added with a small grin and Cassian started laughing.
“I am a sex god. I don’t need you to wingman me.” Rhys huffed and the two idiots he deemed his brothers shared a look.
“Then go.” Cassian said with a wave of his hand.
“Yeah, I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to give you the time of day since you’re a sex god and all.” Azriel assured him sarcastically and Rhys had never wanted to punch the two of them as badly as he wanted to punch them in this moment. And he was always ready to punch them.
“Is that a challenge?” Rhys asked, narrowing his eyes and both Azriel and Cassian shared identical grins.
“If you want it to be...considering we don’t, you know, agree with you.” Azriel said with a shrug. “But we fully support any stupid decisions you want to make.”
“Yeah, you’re the one hesitating, sex god.” Cassian added, smirking. “If she gives you her number, we’ll bow down to you and even pay for your date.”
Rhys rolled his eyes then straighten determinedly. He would talk to the beautiful girl and smoothly ask for her number. It wouldn’t be difficult. He had done this many times before. Why would she be any different?
But as he started walking towards her, Rhys realized more and more how gorgeous she was. How her hair settled down her shoulder and the way her face scrunched up in focus. How adorable she looked when she paused to take a sip of whatever drink she had and how —
Holy shit, he was being a creep.
Clearing his throat, Rhys slowly walked closer to her table, and just as he paused in front of her, she looked up and Rhys almost choked.
Those beautiful, beautiful blue-gray eyes.
She blinked at him then gave him a small, tentative smile.
“Can I help you?”
“Huh?”
“Can I help you?” she asked again, more firmly this time and he cleared his throat again.
Rhys was smooth. He was suave. He could totally ask her out right then and there. He was Rhysand.
“I saw you working on some sketches and I’m always looking to appreciate beautiful things. Do you mind if I look?”
The beautiful girl’s fingers tightened around the pad and she held it lightly to her chest.
“Oh. Um. I never really show my work to anyone.” she said quietly. “Much less a stranger.”
“We’re not strangers. We have English together.” he said quickly, giving her a smile and then sliding into the seat across from her. She arched a brow.
“Oh. I — I don’t pay attention much in that class.” she said and then gave him a small smile.
“I can tell. You’re always doodling.” he replied with a chuckle then cleared his throat, realizing he had admitted to staring at her. “We haven’t gotten a chance to talk much but I’m Rhysand. Everyone calls me Rhys.”
“English isn’t really my thing.” she admitted with a shrug. “‘I’m Feyre.”
“Feyre.” he repeated as a small smile graced his face. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
“Um, okay. Thank you.” she replied, hesitantly. Rhys really appreciated how pretty she looked while blushing. “Do you make any kind of art?”
“No.” he answered promptly. “Stick figures are the way to go for me and I’m pretty sure if they could, they’d cry.”
Feyre chuckled and slowly lowered the pad. “But you appreciate it nonetheless?”
“I appreciate it even more because I suck at it.” Rhys confirmed with a nod. “I especially appreciate it when the person making the art is also stunning to look at.”
Feyre flushed again but only blinked in response and Rhys’ face fell when he realized how thick he was laying it on.
“Listen —”
“You’re making me uncomfortable.” she cut him off with a small frown. “What do you want?”
He sighed. Then frowned. Mor would’ve called it a pout but Mor wasn’t here thank the gods.
“I’m sorry to bother you — really — I just —” he began and took a breath. He was mortified and embarrassing himself so there was only one way out of this: blame it on his friends. “I’m trying to convince my stupid friends over there that I’m a — a sex god. Stupid dare thing.” He waved a hand with a forced chuckle. “Would it be a  bother if you just pretended to laugh at something I said and wrote down a fake number on this napkin real quick?”
He watched her blink again then snort then she started laughing and it was Rhys’ turn to blink.
When a minute passed and Feyre was still laughing, Rhys gave her an amused look.
“And I thought I was milking it with the flirting. You’re great at the whole fake laugh thing.”
“Oh, you think this is fake?” she said with another snort. “Are you kidding me?”
“About what, exactly?” Rhys asked with a wry smile.
“About the whole sex god thing? And the fake number?” Feyre asked incredulously. “Has that pickup line worked for you in the past?”
“It’s not a pickup line!” he refuted, ears pink and she giggled. “I am genuinely attracted to you and would love your actual number but I —well I...yeah.”
Feyre’s eyebrows shot up and Rhys frowned.
“I am usually much better at this.” he mumbled and she snorted with a shake of her head.
“I’m sure.”
“You’re pretty. It’s making me nervous.” he replied, his frown deepening.
“Right.”
“I am really off my game here.”
Feyre couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “So this is a game then?”
“No. I really did want to ask you out.” he replied, his finger toying with the napkin in front of him. “And I am genuinely interested in your art.”
“You haven’t seen my art.”
“But I did ask to see it.”
Their gaze locked and Rhys hoped she saw the sincerity in his eyes. He really was interested. But this was going all wrong. He ran a hand through his hair and made to stand.
“You know what, I’ll just go — “
“Okay.”
Rhys froze and blinked at her. Feyre tilted her head and gave him a small amused smile.
“Okay what?” he asked.
“I’ll show you my art next time in class.” Feyre replied. “For someone so keen on asking me out, you sure give up easy.”
He immediately sat back down. “Well, I’m sure if I was any more persistent, you’d probably kick me in the balls.”
She laughed then shook her head. “You don’t strike me as someone who needs to be kicked in the balls. Should I?”
“Will that cause enough sympathy on my end to jot down a fake number and let me leave with whatever little dignity I have left?”
Feyre laughed, placing her sketchbook on the table between them and Rhys gave her a small smile.
“Why didn’t you just approach me in class then?”
Rhys pursed his lips. “Well, you usually run out of there, I hardly have time to get out of my seat.”
“It’s because my art class is right after. I’m much more excited to go there.” she replied with a smile and he chuckled in return.
“Fair enough. If you’re willing, I can walk you to your art class. I’d like to get to know you better, Feyre.” he said then paused, swallowing before adding, “So how about that fake number and we can talk more in person next class?”
Feyre paused, glancing at him in thought and Rhys didn’t dare move. Was she going to go along with it? Was she going to curse him out? Or pour her tea on him? Was she —
“I’ll do you a better one. I’ll give you my actual number.” she said and Rhys blinked rapidly.
“What?”
“I’ll give you my actual number. In class. After we talk some more.” Feyre continued, her lips twitching at his reaction. “Sound good?”
“That sounds great.” he replied, smiling widely. “I — wow, I’m really looking forward to that.”
“You sure you’ll be able to hold a conversation, Rhys? You seem to have trouble articulating yourself.” she teased with a smile.
“It’s not my fault.” he said, almost pouting. “You’re very attractive and it is very distracting.”
“You need to stop with that.” Feyre blushed, curling her hair behind her ear and Rhys grinned.
“Only speaking the truth, Feyre darling.”
She chuckled and shook her head, then started to slowly collect her things. “I have to go now...I’m meeting my sisters for lunch.” she said softly. “I’ll see you in class?”
“Most definitely.” Rhys replied, standing when she did.
“Feyre!”
Rhys’ smile immediately dropped from his face and he scowled at the sound of Azriel’s voice. Feyre looked up and smiled, which caused Rhys’ scowl to turn into confusion.
“Azriel! It’s good to see you.” she said and Rhys blinked at his two friends standing side-by-side, grinning broadly.
“You two know each other?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at his friends.
“Oh yeah.” Azriel replied, an easy smile on his lips. “Feyre and I have Art & Design together. I see you met my good friend, Rhys. You remember Cassian, right?”
Feyre nodded politely at Cassian while Rhys glared at the two, Azriel smiling widely while Cassian attempted not to laugh as he waved at Feyre.
“It’s nice to see you again, Cassian.” she replied with a small smile.
“Again?” Rhys said through gritted teeth and both his friends shot him amused looks.
“Always great to see you, Feyre.” Cassian said with a grin.
“What a small world. I can’t believe you guys turned out to be friends!”
“Not for long.” Rhys muttered though Feyre didn’t hear him.
“Such a small world.” Azriel confirmed with a grin. “I’ll see you in class?”
“Yeah! See you then.” she replied with a smile. “Good to see you, Cassian. I’ll see you in class too, Rhys?”
“Yeah, of course. I look forward to seeing you then, darling.” he replied, his scowl blooming into a smile at her voice and he watched her leave with a wave.
It was after Feyre walked out of the cafe that Rhys turned with murder in his eyes at his two friends.
“You assholes.” he hissed. “You both knew her the whole time!”
“It has made my whole year watching you squirm like that.” Azriel said putting a hand over his heart as Cassian barked out a laugh next to him. “She’s actually a good friend of mine.”
“And you didn't think to introduce me! To save myself the embarrassment!” Rhys growled.
“Now why would I do that? Aren’t you a sex god?” Azriel asked, feigning innocence.
“You said it yourself, Rhys. You didn’t need us to wingman you.” Cassian added, smug.
Rhys could only stare with narrowed eyes at his friends, who smiled innocently back at him.
“I hate you both.” he growled and the two laughed.
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk you up next art class.” Azriel said with a pat to his shoulder.
“I hate you more specifically at this moment.”
“Then I’ll talk Cassian up next art class and he can ask her out on a date.”
“I’d rock her world on that date.” Cassian confirmed with a nod and Rhys glared.
“My hate is only intensifying.”
They only grinned in return and Rhys could only sigh.
“You’ll talk me up?” he mumbled and Azriel patted his shoulder again.
“I’ll talk you up.”
“Aw, is the sex god really stooping so low? Asking others to help out?” Cassian said mockingly then gasped. “Are you asking Azriel to wingman you?”
Rhys rolled his eyes. “Better him than you. Girls trust him. They usually just want to punch you in the face.”
“And simultaneously make out with me. It’s a gift.”
Rhys snorted as Azriel chuckled then the latter crossed his arms. “You have to ask it, Rhys.”
“Ask what?”
“Ask me to be your wingman.”
“I asked you to talk me up, didn’t I?” Rhys said with a scoff. “I was fine talking to her on my own.”
Both his friends raised their brows. “You sure about that?”
“You asked Az to talk you up two seconds ago. Ask him properly.”
Rhys pursed his lips and looked between the two. Then sighed.
“Az?”
“Yes, dear?”
“...Will you be my wingman?”
“I don’t know, Rhys. You insisted you didn’t need either one of us to be your wingman.” Azriel said, feigning a wounded expression. “It really hurt my feelings, you know.”
Cassian made a noise of protest and put an arm protectively around Azriel, giving Rhys a scandalized look. “How dare you hurt his feelings like this? Ask him properly!”
“I did ask, you assholes!”
“You forget the magic word.” Azriel deadpanned and Rhys glared.
“...Please?”
“Please what, Rhys? You’re shitty at articulating yourself.” Cassian interjected and Rhys’ glare intensified.
“Will you please be my wingman, Azriel?” Rhys practically hissed.
“Sure, Rhys. You know I’d do anything for you. I’ll even have Cassian drop by a class and talk you up with me.”
“Always ready for a friend.” Cassian added, blowing Rhys a kiss and he groaned.
“You two are the worst.”
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