#feyrhys fic

[darling-archeron]

Happy Holidays to @charliespringsleftconverse!! I had so much fun writing this fic for @acotargiftexchange and getting to know you better. You said you were having a bit of a rough year, and I hope this fic can help a tiny bit! Thank you for being so patient, I hope the wait will have been worth it. This fic will be divided into four chapters, with updates on Tuesdays!

Many months have passed since the end of the War, but not all wounds have healed. Repairs, both emotional and physical, are still underway. When Feyre finally finds a break in her schedule, she feels duty-bound to visit the one place she thought she’d never return to: her old village. With Rhys by her side, she takes a trip through old memories.

Rated T, 2.6k words | Masterlist | Fic Masterlist

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Feyre stood before her wardrobe, blankly staring at the rows of garments before her.

Today was…more difficult than she had expected.

Her options blurred before her. So many pieces, the simplest of them finer than anything she had worn in poverty as a human. A bolt of fabric from the finest could have fed her family for months, back then.

She was only picking out clothes. It shouldn’t have been difficult.

Cauldron, what was wrong with her? She thought she had moved past this long ago. She had never mourned her human life to the extent that her sisters had. She didn’t miss that small village and all the misery that lingered there.

However, that didn’t mean her heart would let her abandon it. She still wanted to help.

The task looming before her should have been nothing to everything she had faced in her twenty-two years.

Hesitantly, she pulled out a navy tunic and brown fleece-lined jacket. On any other day, they would have been fine.

She shoved it back in the wardrobe.

It didn’t feel fine today.

In the back of her mind, she registered Rhys entering the room, returning from the kitchen with two cups of tea. She heard the soft clink as he set both teacups down on one of the nightstands.

Then he came up behind her, snaking a gentle arm around her waist. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the cuff tattoo on his forearm that lovingly matched hers. She stood still as he brushed a loose hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. Even without the mental connection, he always seemed to have a sixth sense for when she was distressed.

“What are you thinking about, love?” He asked through the bond.

Feyre smiled a bit at that. He could have sifted through her thoughts straightaway if he wanted, but she appreciated how he asked instead.

“Just…nervous, I suppose. When we were in my village during the war, I felt like I didn’t really have the option not to go, with so many lives hanging in the balance. But now I do have a choice, and…it’s just overwhelming.”

Now that things were stable, and Velaris was back on its feet, Feyre had chiseled out a bit of time to visit the mortal lands. To help rebuild her old village and any surrounding ones that still needed help – for, despite all of Lucien’s work with Vassa and Jurian, and despite the many months that had passed since the war’s end, aid was still often slow to come to the slip of human territory south of the Spring Court.

Rhys pressed his thumb softly into her side, rubbing comforting circles over the sliver of bare skin while he thought for a moment. 

“Nobody would blame you if you never wanted to go back there again. You know that. But you do, because you care, and that’s the important part. And when we’re out there today, I want you to remember something.”

“What’s that?”

“No one can make you small, darling. You are more than the insults the worst of them can throw at you.”

“After I’ve faced so many real monsters and gone to war, this shouldn’t feel so scary. The worst things awaiting us there are a bunch of prejudiced assholes.”

“Well, this is why you’re going, isn’t it? To prove them wrong?”

“I’m going because it’s the right thing to do. Proving them wrong…that’ll be a bonus.”

“And Rhys?” she said, out loud this time.

“Yes?”

“No matter how much you might want to, you have to promise not to incinerate the first person who’s rude to me.”

Rhys’s easy smile receded into a thin line. “Who said anything about incinerating?”

“Sometimes I don’t have to be in your mind to know what you’re thinking. I know you have self control, when you’re willing to exercise it. In the name of diplomacy.”

Rhys leaned in a bit closer, breath brushing against the shell of her ear. “Then you should also know that you’re the thing that unravels my self control most quickly.”

“Oh?”

She felt her toes curl as Rhys pressed his lips to her neck.

“Maybe you should demonstrate exactly how that happens,” she murmured.

Amongst other things, Rhys’s little…interruption to her dressing had certainly made the early morning go by quicker, at least.

By the time they were done, the tea was cold, and it was a good thing she had never dressed, because she would have had to do it all over again.

In the end, she picked a sturdy pair of boots and her favorite set of fleece-lined leathers to guard her against early spring’s slight chill in the mortal land. Why had she felt the need to wear human attire when she wasn’t one? She was part of the Night Court, and proud of it. And the villagers could be as proud and pigheaded as they wanted, but she wouldn’t let it hinder her.

Faerie-human relations had gotten far enough that they wouldn’t be chased out of the village with pitchforks, but there was still work to be done. Enough that Feyre had decided not to openly advertise who she and Rhys were, though it would be obvious to anyone who thought about it for a few moments. So Rhys would hide his wings, and they both would keep a damper on the full might of their magic.

They had a quiet breakfast, only interrupted by the occasional comment.

“Mor will be winnowing back in tonight, so she’ll be able to join us,” Rhys mentioned in between bites of toast.

“I can’t wait to see her again, there’s so much to catch up on,” she mused with a smile. It seemed like ages since she had seen Mor, and even longer than that since the whole family had gotten together.

“What time is everyone coming over?”

“I told them around 9. Nothing too extravagant, just good food with our family.”

The long day ahead of them was certainly daunting, but tonight, their whole family would be together again, after months of someone always travelling. The thought of it fortified her for the day ahead. Every year, their little circle seemed to grow bigger and bigger, and her heart only fuller along with it.

After finishing breakfast, they were ready to depart just after sunrise. Part of Feyre yearned to enjoy the morning by flying, but she knew that would take them far too long, and with her lack of experience, she wouldn’t be able to keep up with Rhys over the distance.

So, winnowing it was. Standing in the foyer of the house, she linked her arm with his, and they were off, soaring through the dark fabric of the world. Rhys was only a vague shape next to her, and though she had winnowed with him countless times before, she held on tight.

All too quickly, they arrived. Rhys landed them just outside the driveway to the old Archeron estate on the edge of town. Last week, she had written to the village heads, letting them know the Night Court would be sending aid. Not because she expected some kind of special greeting, but more to give the villagers – many of whom were still wary of faeries – a heads up.

Walking into town would help with that, too. It would be much less startling than the pair of them materializing out of thin air.

Feyre paused for a long moment, taking in her once-familiar surroundings. There was a warmth to the air that hadn’t been present in the farther north Velaris. Behind them stood the ruins of their old manor. Nobody had bothered to salvage or attempt repairs on it; who would, when there was no one left to care about it?

She hadn’t been back to it since those initial meetings after the war had ended. It had been cleaned up just enough to make sure there were usable chairs and no rusty nails poking out of any exposed boards.

All the same, she felt a pulse of regret as she made out the trampled remains of the garden Elain had once loved so dearly.

“Shall we?” Rhys asked, gently breaking her chain of thought.

She nodded, giving him a tight smile.

It was strange to be back in her village, to say the least.

As they approached the town center, memories of the times she had been here before felt like flipping through the pages of a dusty, ancient book.

A young child in the largest mansion in the town, on a hill that overlooked the whole city.

A starving girl, traumatized from the memory of her mother’s deathbed and her father’s leg, broken before her.

A love-struck human woman, returning to the village to see her family’s return to favor.

A newly-made faerie, desperately trying to change the tide of a war.

In some ways, the village itself had changed as much as she had. So little remained of what she remembered. Like the Archeron manor, many of the wealthiest estates had their lands pillaged, ornamental walls razed to the ground..  

It had taken her far too long to come here. They could have done more good earlier on, but she couldn’t leave Velaris. Rhys, of course, never intended on stopping her as Tamlin once had, but he had tried to gently remind her that this wasn’t her responsibility.

But wasn’t it? She, along with the rest of the Inner Circle, had bargained with the Mortal Queens for their half of the book, and dragged anyone in range of her family’s home into this.

She had brought about the downfall of the Spring Court, she had left holes in the wall, she hadn’t nullified the Cauldron in time and allowed monsters from Prythian and Hybern alike to find their way in.

Hybern may have pillaged and burned, but she had helped open the door.

She hadn’t come sooner for two reasons:

The first was that repairs in the Night Court had to come first. The second was her own guilt. Helping here…it felt like a cheap way to make up for all the damage she had done, but she couldn’t think of another meaningful way to help.   

She was more grateful than she could express that she wasn’t alone in this endeavor. Rhys had a mountain of things to be working on, and yet he had taken the day to come with her.

On the main road, they passed a gaggle of teenagers who stared at them both like they had two heads, their whispers plenty loud to her fae ears.

“…from the Night Court…”

“They say they want to help…”

“I’ve heard they’ll rip the skin from your bones.”

“You think Penalope found a faerie like that when she crossed the wall?”

Was that…admiration she heard in that last remark? Her mate certainly was handsome.

She briefly considered doing something possessive like snaking an arm around him or letting the damper off her magic to twine shadows around him…but that probably wouldn’t help her case.

She had no problem with strangers ogling her mate. Not when he was so clearly hers.

Besides, they weren’t trying to chase her with pitchforks. That was something.

Still, as they walked on, she felt more self-conscious than she cared to admit. It shouldn’t have mattered. She had defied the odds, broken curses and worlds and then stitched them back together again, but part of her was still that lost child, ignoring the sneers of her fellow villagers as she trudged out into the barren forest.

It had been rare for anyone to stop her, to express concern that a child was taking on that dangerous work. She had been younger than these teenagers, who looked like children to her, were. And when she had become fae…

She chased the memories out of her head as they walked into the village proper. Today wasn’t a market day, and the streets were mostly quiet. Here, most things had been rebuilt or were in the process. Nearly everything had been made of wood and hadn’t stood a chance when Hybern lit their matches.  

“There aren’t any Children of the Blessed around,” Feyre murmured, noting the lack of their robes and jangling bracelets.

“Does that surprise you?”

“I suppose not. Hard to idolize us when you see up-close what faeries are capable of.”

Most of the noise came from the center of the town square, where four men were in the process of rebuilding the town pavilion.

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised that this was one of the last things being rebuilt. Obviously, people’s homes were much more vital, but the structure had rarely been used in her lifetime. For the common folk, it often seemed like there wasn’t much to celebrate.

Only one of the men, sawing a beam of wood, was facing their direction as they approached. He looked up suddenly, freezing as he took them in.

Fortifying herself, Feyre quickly bridged the last few paces between them, doing her best to look as nonthreatening as possible. The man still had a tight grip on his saw.

“We’ve come to help with repairs. Where can we be of the most use?” she asked, more confident than she felt.

The man’s ruddy face was vaguely familiar, likely someone she had crossed paths with during her years in the village. If he made out anything familiar in her features, he didn’t say.

He eyed the pair of them cautiously, taking in their inhuman features and the unfamiliar make of their clothes. She knew, because it was what she would have done, back in her village days.

“You’re the ones from the Night Court.”

Behind him, the other men had stopped their work, watching the exchange with tension coming off of them in waves . She didn’t need her daemati powers to know what they were thinking.

“Yes. My name is Feyre Archeron. This is my mate, Rhysand.”

Recognition clicked in his eyes at the mention of her last name.

“Yes…Remus said that there were faeries that wanted to help. With all due, I have to tell you that we have it handled.”

Feyre had been expecting this pushback – experienced it plenty of times in Velaris and the Spring Court.

“It seems like you could use any help you can get. You’ve made a lot of progress in town, but we passed by plenty of homes in our way in that are in disrepair. I know the continent hasn’t been sending the help you need.”

“Plenty of people in this village have had their lives and livelihood town apart by the fae. You expect them to welcome you in? My lady?” He tacked on at the last moment.

“I was once human. I understand their fear better than most,” she insisted.

The man paled slightly, and at first she thought it was because of her words. Then she realized that, at her side, Rhys had lifted the damper on his magic ever-so-slightly, a slightly threatening wave of shadows emanating off of him.

“Rhys!” she admonished down the bond. “You said you weren’t going to do that!”

“I said I wasn’t going to incinerate anyone, darling. Besides, I needed to let some magic out. You know how strenuous it is.”

“You won’t let me forget it. Poor, baby High Lord,” she scoffed.

Oblivious to their conversation, the man cleared his throat. “If you insist, there are some homes to the west that were hit hard. They could use help with repairs.”

“Thank you,” Rhys said, all politeness in his voice. “We’ll head there now.”

The man didn’t respond, instead simply turning back to bend over his sawhorse. It was a better reception than she had expected, honestly.

She turned to the winding, familiar path ahead of them, leading to the oldest part of the village.

“Ready?” she asked Rhys.

“Lead the way, darling.”

-

See you next week for chapter two!

taglist: @thron3ofbooks @the-lonelybarricade @swankii-art-teacher  @ghostlyrose2  @brieq @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @achernarlight @reverie-tales @starfall-spirit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @highladysith @areyoudreamingof

#acotar #feysand #feysand fic #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyrhys fic #acotar gift exchange #kate's writing

[the-lonelybarricade]

Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans - Chapter 2

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.

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Or; the one where Feysand gets knocked up from a one night stand.

Read on AO3 ・Masterlist・Previous Chapter

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Feyre couldn’t look at her phone. Not without feeling nauseated.

There had been many—countless, Nesta would argue—idiotic, brainless things that Feyre had done in her life. There was the time she’d left her passport locked in a hostel safe and had driven three hours on the motorway before she’d realized. There was the time when she’d snuck one of the bottles of vodka her father used to keep stored in the freezer and decided she’d get away with it by replenishing what was consumed with water, only for their father to discover a frozen bottle the following evening. Or, worst of all, there was the summer she’d given herself bangs.

They were all inconsequential in retrospect, now knowing how each of those little mistakes panned out. But at the time, they had felt world-ending.

And maybe there was a solace to find in how trivial those moments felt in reflection. Like one day in the future, Feyre would look back on herself now and laugh softly, saying, Remember how scared I was? I thought the world was coming down around me, but it was only just a new path forging.

That was a nice idea, except this new path was not solid stone, steady underfoot. Nor was it gravel, rough and uneven, easy to slip and unforgiving beneath a fall. No, this new path was quicksand. There was no standing still; there was no scraping together her bearings. This path decided that she was moving one way or another—either sinking to the bottom, suffocating in her own indecision, or scrambling forward in an attempt to keep her head above the surface.

And maybe there wasn’t a way forward at all. Maybe there was only going down, like she was trapped in a sand dial, feeling the ground shift and fall away, every ticking second measured. It certainly felt like there was glass sealed behind her—she knew there was no going back. There was no undoing the purple eyes and velvet laugh and stupid black dress.

Would she one day laugh about this? Who was to say. She wasn’t laughing now. She was fighting the bile creeping up her throat as she sat on the cool tile of her bathroom floor, glaring at the porcelain bowl because it was better than glaring at her phone. Feyre couldn’t say for certain if it was morning sickness that had triggered her nausea or the text that had woken her up.

Feeling better?

Feyre was running out of excuses. A stomach bug only lasts for so long. It was becoming a matter of time before someone busted down her door and demanded she go to the emergency room.

Yes, she texted back.

The response was immediate. I have the day off. Breakfast at 10?

Sure.

It was an effort to heft herself from the floor. It was more of an effort not to grimace when she saw her reflection in the mirror. She fixed her eyes on the faucet, on her shaking hands cupping the water, scooping it into her face, and then into her mouth to rinse out the bile.

She didn’t look that different, not really. There was no pregnancy bump yet. If anything, she’d lost weight. Nausea could do that, but so could guilt. Six weeks ago, she’d had sex with a stranger, with Rhysand, and now there was a life growing in her stomach.

Google said a baby was roughly the size of a pea at six weeks. If that was true, then the weight of keeping this secret made it the heaviest gods-damned pea in existence.

“Have you told him?” Alis said in greeting as Feyre ambled into the kitchen.

Steam curled from the mug in her hands, carrying the scent of freshly roasted coffee. Feyre resisted the urge to cover her nose.

“No,” she said, evading her roommate in a wide arc.

Alis arched a brow. “Will you tell him?”

The bitter smell was so affronting that Feyre could think of little else. A gag built in her throat, which she did a poor job of hiding by darting for the fridge. It was the empty stomach. She needed to eat something, or she was going to puke again.

Feyre settled for an apple and took a long time chewing before she turned back to Alis. She swallowed. “Eventually.”

“The longer you wait—”

“I know,” Feyre interrupted.

Of course she knew. It was all she’d been thinking about. But how? How did she look him in the eyes and say, I’m pregnant? She couldn’t even do it in the mirror—and she’d tried. There were a thousand versions of the script she was constantly writing and rewriting in her head, all those words swirling until they had become a living creature of mist and shadow. One that loomed over her shoulder at all times of the day. She’d somehow convinced herself it would only become real if she acknowledged it.

Alis said little else. She was the only one who knew, by virtue of being on the other side of the door when Feyre had taken her pregnancy test. Though, Alis wasn’t dense, and it wouldn’t have taken her long to peg the morning nausea, the aversion to certain foods. They didn’t say much about it. Not yet. Alis had only offered her unilateral support and given Feyre time and space to dissect her maelstrom of emotions.

And three days ago, when Feyre decided she was going to keep the baby, Alis had said simply, “Then you need to tell him.”

A firm, unwavering reminder she’d repeated each day since. Feyre clenched her teeth to keep from snapping. She knew that, in her own way, Alis was being kind. Time would only exacerbate the issue. But objectivity did little quell Feyre’s kindling irritation. Words bubbled behind her clenched teeth, building into a pressure that made her want to scream: no-fucking-duh.

She didn’t scream. She politely took her apple and her keys and murmured that she would be back soon. Maybe she could have shut the front door with less force, but at least now she could blame her Archeron temper on her hormones.

Feyre rapped her knuckles over the steering wheel. She was parked outside the cafe, and through the large glass pane at the front, she could spot him sitting inside. His posture seemed relaxed enough, his handsome face angled down towards his phone. A second later, hers pinged from its mount on the dashboard.

I’m here. Are you close?

She met her own eyes in the rearview mirror. Blue, like an overcast sea, their mother had always said, reasoning it was why her eldest and youngest were such forces of nature. There was a swelling storm that Feyre could never escape, because it lived inside her. And now she could feel the tide in her chest retreating from the shore, pulling further and further back, and she knew it would crash if she went inside, that it would swallow them both whole.

Be a big girl, she told herself. Go in there and tell him the truth.

She took a deep inhale. Held it, hoping it could hold back the tide, too.

Then, it was only a matter of unlocking her door. Walking the few steps towards the front entrance. Listening to the pealing bell as she pulled open the door.

“Feyre?”

Blonde hair swam into view. The greeting was so unexpected, so startling, that Feyre released the breath she’d been holding.

Then it all crashed down.

Brows pinched together. “Feyre, are you okay?”

Mor had the sense to keep her voice at a whisper. From the way she glanced over her shoulder towards the man hunched over in the booth, it was clear she had put together who Feyre was here to see.

Tears sprung into Feyre’s vision—not because she was crying, but because she couldn’t breathe. The tide was surging around her, clogging her throat, and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t—

Mor grabbed Feyre by the shoulders and pushed them out of the cafe.

The early Autumn was as indecisive as Feyre. Yesterday, she’d been sweating through her t-shirt. Today, the air stung her cheeks. Maybe the weather had seen a kindred spirit, a storm that could never quite find stillness, and decided to take pity. The cold calmed her, embraced her, reminded her where she was. Outside. With Mor. Where there was plenty of open space and fresh air. The blockage in her throat loosened. She took a gasping breath, then another.

“You’re okay,” Mor soothed.

“I’m okay,” Feryre repeated. To assure Mor or herself, she wasn’t certain.

Mor took in Feyre’s strained voice, her flushed cheeks, the nails digging into her palms and gestured towards one of the outdoor tables. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Maybe… maybe a trial run could be a good thing.

Her eyes drifted over Mor’s shoulder to where Tamlin sat waiting at a table inside. If she glanced at her phone, she probably had another text waiting from him. Growing impatient.

“He can wait,” Mor said, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” Feyre rasped. “Talking would be… nice.”

It was a little too cold for the iron chairs, which seared through Feyre’s leggings. But the cold calmed her, and she appreciated the privacy. The lack of sounds and smells.

Mor was ever-patient, waiting for Feyre to speak.

When it was clear that she wouldn’t, Mor said, “How have you been? That was some night out, huh?”

Right. That was the last time she’d seen or spoken to Mor. Feyre had been meaning to respond to her text—Heyy! Fun night? 😏

And the follow-up one a day later. My cousin is asking for your phone number. Is it okay if I share it?

They’d both seem innocent enough and at first, Feyre hadn’t answered because she’d felt a twinge of guilt for not staying long enough to meet Mor’s cousin. Then, because Tamlin had showed up at her door with a bouquet of apologies and she hadn’t known how to explain to her friend that she’d taken him back. Nor how to explain to Tamlin that she’d had a one night stand during their breakup.

Then she’d found out she was pregnant, and she hadn’t said much of anything to anyone.

“Yeah,” Feyre said, numbness growing where her legs pressed to the chair.

“And now you’re back with Tamlin,” Mor said slowly, waiting for Feyre to fill in the gaps.

The iron latticework of the outdoor table was much more interesting.

Mor sounded disappointed as she probed, “You said it was the last time you guys were breaking up.”

Feyre mustered all the cheer she could force into her voice. “It was the last time. We’re not going to break up again.”

She’d felt much more confident about that line when she’d said it three weeks ago to a disapproving Alis. Already, Feyre could feel that creature slither over her shoulder, hissing into her ear. If she turned, its pupils would be slitted into two digital lines that begged her acknowledgment.

“Right,” Mor said. “And yet, you came into this cafe looking like you were about to burst into tears because…?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” Feyre blurted.

And there it was. That creature turned real. She felt it reach through her chest and tug. Suddenly, all of that sea water she’d swallowed a moment ago came rising to the surface, and her body regurgitated the words that had been drowning her.

“It’s not Tamlin’s. It’s… remember the guy I met at the club? The one with the purple eyes? It was supposed to be this stupid, drunken one night stand, only first names—I don’t even have his number, Mor. I have some nameless, mysterious baby daddy, and I haven’t told Tamlin because I know he’s going to be…” she blinked back the sting in her eyes. “He’s going to be so furious with me.”

Mor was gaping. Whatever she’d expected… it clearly hadn’t been that.

Waiting for her friend’s reaction felt like treading water in a deep, bottomless ocean. But at least she wasn’t drowning anymore. At least the creature had receded back into the shadows, and her breathing was shallow but still filling her lungs.

Then Mor’s eyes flickered over Feyre’s shoulder. Her expression morphed into such panic that Feyre whirled, only to be met face to face with those shocking purple eyes so wide that she could only assume he’d heard the whole damn thing.

“Feyre,” Mor croaked from behind.

But Feyre couldn’t tear her eyes away from Rhys. In the time since their one night stand, Feyre convinced herself she’d exaggerated his appearance. Three shots of tequila could make anyone beautiful. But here she was, stone-cold sober, fighting her jaw not to drop at the sight of him.

The same short black hair she tugged beneath her fingers was now slightly wind-swept, some of it falling to his face in endearing curls that she concluded were purposefully arranged. He was wearing a navy sweater with a white collared shirt beneath—infuriatingly put together, where she was still sniffing back tears, dressed in her same paint-stained clothes from yesterday.

She’d prepared scripts for him, too, though she always imagined he was someone she would take years to track down. That she’d have time to prepare what to say to him, how to move forward knowing their lives were irrevocably entwined.

“Feyre,” Mor said again after awkwardly clearing her throat. “Meet my cousin, Rhysand.”

Cousin. The one who wanted her number.

“Oh,” Feyre whispered, so many horrible details clicking into place.

Rhysand mustered enough composure to manage a strained: “It’s great to see you again, Feyre.”

Feyre dropped her head into her hands. “Oh my god.”

A chair scraped against the pavement.

Mor said, “I’ll give you two a moment alone.”

She peaked between her fingers, just enough to watch Mor retreat towards the cafe. Likely playing guard dog to ensure Tamlin didn’t stumble upon them. She heard Rhys walk around the table, his footsteps light, as if he were approaching an animal he didn’t want to startle. Then, a pair of broad hands swam into vision as he gripped the back of Mor’s deserted chair, his brown knuckles paling.

He didn’t sit. She could feel his gaze like a leaden weight, so heavy that she couldn’t gather the strength to raise her head.

“When did you find out?” He asked eventually.

Feyre searched for any accusation in his voice, but it was gentle. She lifted her head, finding that some of his shock had thawed, though his expression was unreadable.

“A week ago,” she said.

“Have you…” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Do you know what you want to do?”

This is where she braced herself. She knew her voice was creeping towards defensive as she said levelly, “I’m keeping the baby.”

Rhysand swallowed thickly. Nodded. “Okay.”

Okay. That knocked her a bit off guard. The lack of questions, of demand for her justification. She’d been preparing for a fight with Tamlin and felt stranded in the face of such simple, ready acceptance. It had to be a trap.

“It was my decision,” Feyre said, plowing ahead. “So I don’t expect anything from you. You don’t need to be… involved. I have no delusion that we’d ever be some perfect nuclear family. If you want to just walk away, this is your chance.”

“And,” Rhysand broached with such caution that Feyre’s spine straightened, “if I want to be involved… would that be okay with you?”

“We’d need to work something out,” she said, ignoring how her voice cracked. Mor’s family came from money. She could already imagine the legal proceedings, the paperwork, the negotiations over days of the week and alternating Christmases. At least Nesta was a lawyer. “I don’t want to get the courts involved. But if it goes that direction—“

“It won’t need to,” he said. “We can play it by ear, do whatever feels right. I just… I’d like to be involved. Starting now.”

The excruciating weight of that small little pea plummeted in her chest. “Starting now?”

Rhys nodded. “If you need someone to drive you to the appointments, or if you need me to pitch in for baby supplies. I’m… I want to help.”

“I’ll think about it.”

His face fell a little.

If she shut him out completely, a lawyer was guaranteed to come knocking at her door. Feyre added, “It’d be nice to get to know you before anything else.”

“Would you like to grab a coffee together?”

“As friends,” Feyre hedged. “I know we—” An image flashed in her mind of those fingers in her mouth, between her thighs. She tried not to flush. “—you know. But I have a boyfriend now. And I’m not looking for you to be my…”

She searched for a word but found none that quite articulated what, exactly, Rhys would be to her.

Baby daddy?

“I just want us to be friends,” she clarified.

His perfect lips, which had once expertly kissed and licked and teased her, edged into a smile. “Then would you like to grab a coffee together as friends?”

“Yes.” She smiled back and found that the pea in her stomach didn’t feel quite so heavy. “Not today, though. I’m, uh… meeting my boyfriend.”

“And I’m meeting my cousin.”

“Right.” Feyre reached stiffly into her pocket, retrieving her phone. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll text you?”

The iron chair practically sighed in relief as Rhysand released it from his death grip. His motions were stiff, too, she noted, as he punched in his number and handed it back to her a tad too mechanically.

Their fingers brushed as she accepted it back, and she felt for the second time that day like she couldn’t breathe. Their eyes met, held. “You say the word, Feyre darling. Any time, any place, and I’m yours.”

She thought she might have said something back or just stared dumbly at his obscenely beautiful face. She couldn’t remember, and he didn’t say anything else before he nodded his goodbye and chased after Mor.

It took Feyre a long time to find the willpower to follow after him, back into that cafe, and breathlessly apologize to Tamlin for being late. And she pretended she couldn’t feel a pair of violet eyes watching her as she sat across from Tamlin, forcing a smile.

#Take My Hand Wreck My Plans #humming 'welcome to club knocked up' while writing this fic fr #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #feyrhys

[rhysiedarling]

I am in dire need of new feysand fanfiction. I'm convinced I have read every single multi-chapter, one shots and drabbles that I could find and those are still not enough to quench my never-ending urge for more feysand. I have been deprived of their content and I'm starving for new ones.

#fanfiction feysand #feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feysand fic #feyrhys #acotar #sarah j maas #acomaf

[acomaflove]

Meanwhile at the Spring Court

Feyre (to Rhysand through the mating bond): I miss you.

Rhysand (through the bond): Well, you won't for very long...look out your window.

Feyre: *gasps and rushes to the window*

Feyre (through the bond): Wait... I can't see you anywhere...?

Rhysand (through the bond): *laughing* That's because I'm not there. You're so cute when you're gullible Feyre, Darling.

Feyre (through the bond): Prick.

#feysand #feyrhys #feysand fic #feyrhys fic #feyre x rhys #feyre x rhysand #rhys x feyre #rhysand x feyre #feysand trash #feyrhys trash #acotar fandom #acomaf #acotar #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #the spring court #the night court #high lady of the night court #high lord of the night court #feysand fanfiction #feyrhys fanfiction #feysand funny #feyrhys funny #sarah j maas #sarah j maas books #sarah j. maas funny #sarah j maas fandom #feysand smut

[cloudywriter]

vanilla pudding cups - 4

~~~

A/N: hey! sorry it has been a hot second i just got really busy with school but i’m still writing when i have the time i promise. also i did get more prompt requests and i’m working on them, if you have anymore feel free to send them my way! anyway, enjoy.

vanilla pudding cups masterlist, my masterlist, AO3

~~~

God, he’s stupid hot Feyre deemed one early Monday morning as she sat across from the boy in question, doodling aimlessly in her sketchbook. She was stretched across a poorly cushioned dark blue chair, her back against one armrest and her legs dangling off the other.

They were both lounging in the common area nestled in their hall between a few rooms for long term patients usually suffering from some form of cancer or other terminal disease. The rooms were almost always empty which Feyre knew was a positive thing but it did get lonely. She was so often isolated, only the occasional patient coming and going, not that they were usually in her age group anyway. 

But to have someone here who appears to be around her age with a similar diagnosis to her own and a boy, nonetheless, it was almost fate. Still, whenever Feyre embarked down that train of thought she would always stop herself, she should not be happy in the slightest that another human being is here to suffer as she is. At least while he was here though, she wanted to get to know him, she was deprived of relationships in her life. Her sisters were away at college now and Lucien was starting his freshman year at university as well. Feyre had been left behind, her diagnosis came late sophomore year and she had barely managed to graduate high school with her extensive hospital stays and endless treatments that left her feeling halfway to the grave. With her oncologists wanting her to take up residence in the hospital and her cancer yet to have much of a response to her treatments trying to attend college would’ve been a futile feat. 

Here he was sitting in the same less than comfortable blue chair right across from her yet Feyre couldn’t bring herself to speak up. She kept telling herself she just didn’t want to interrupt his reading but really she wasn’t sure what to even say especially when the first thing she’d said to him was are you dying too. Why she had blurted that out of all things was beyond her. 

Instead, she let silence continue to fill the space between them. Her pencil moved across the page in short, quick strokes the form of the boy in front of her taking shape in the corner of her paper. She outlined his sitting stance, his legs spread, his upper body leaning back into the chair, his elbows on the armrests, one arm raised a finger resting against his temple, and the other holding his book out in front of him. Feyre only messily sketched his silhouette before moving her pencil to another part of the page and zoning in on his face.

She drew his face as it was contorted in concentration, his dark brows slightly furrowed and his lips were set in a straight, serious line. Feyre thought he would look rather intimidating if it weren’t for his eyes, they weren’t hard like the rest of his face, they were still soft just quizzical, accessing and a brazen blue contrasting with his bronze complexion and midnight black locks. 

So she let herself sketch him, the artist in her appreciating the structure of his face and the color in his palette. She carried on with her quick depictions of him around her page at one point drawing only the hand that held his book, he did have nice hands she thought. 

When she was satisfied with her collection of doodles she stuck her pencil behind her ear, an old habit, and opened her mouth to finally speak. Of course, at that exact moment Alis breezed into the common area with a tray of pudding cups, jello cups, and packets of plastic utensils in her hands. 

“Do either of you want a little snack? Jello? Pudding?” Alis offered, holding up the tray. 

Rhysand looked up from his book towards Alis but the idea of a snack was what was on Feyre’s mind right now, not Rhysand anymore.

“Do you have vanilla pudding?” Feyre asked. Alis sighed. “No, someone is always eating them all up,” she informed Feyre, putting emphasis on the someone. “I can give you jello though or chocolate pudding.”

Feyre wrinkled her nose, not a fan of either option especially jello. Alis knew this and turned to Rhysand instead, lifting the tray in question.

But Rhysand turned his attention to Feyre, noting her reaction to the idea of eating jello. “You don’t like jello?” 

“No, horrible texture,” Feyre answered, taking the pencil from behind her ear and putting it back to her page, adding random shading to her sketches. 

“Well, I would love a green jello cup,” Rhysand declared. Alis plucked the jello from her tray and handed it over.

Feyre’s face must have morphed showing her obvious disgust because Rhysand looked back at her with a smile. 

“What?”

“It’s one thing to willingly choose to eat jello but it's a whole other thing to then proceed to pick the worse flavor to eat too,” Feyre pointed out.

“Says the girl who likes vanilla pudding over chocolate,” Rhys scoffed. 

“Do you have something against vanilla pudding?”

“Yeah, it tastes like plastic.”

Feyre shrugged, “maybe a little.”

Rhysand gave her a smile, it wasn’t a big smile but it was enough to get Feyre’s heart to do a double take. “So you admit to enjoying the taste of plastic?”

“As long as it has a hint of vanilla of course,” Feyre clarified. 

“Hm, plastic with a hint of vanilla, noted.”

Alis had shown herself out at some point in their small exchange leaving Rhys with his jello cup. 

“I didn’t get a spoon,” Rhys commented. 

Feyre raised an eyebrow, eyes still on her paper as she continued her shading. “Slurp it up, I won’t judge.”

“Do you promise?” Feyre met Rhysand’s eyes, amusement sparkling in them. 

“I promise,” Feyre held out her pinky. 

Rhys ripped the top off the cup and extended his pinky wrapping it around Feyre’s own, her hands dwarfed compared to his. “Alright,” he said coolly. 

Feyre felt the slightest of blushes rising in her cheeks. Rhysand leaned back in his chair and tipped his head back.

“God, that is too gross.” 

“It’s good though,” Rhysand responded. 

Feyre let loose a little smile and shook her head, focusing her attention back onto her drawings. 

“Are you sure you don’t want any?” Rhys asked, extending the jello cup forward and jiggling it the green gelatin wiggling in turn. 

“I’m sure but thank you for the kind offer,” Feyre reiterated, her voice filled with sarcasm. 

At some point Feyre had retired to her room giving up on the prospect of having a real conversation with Rhysand for the day. It was only later that night there was a soft knock on her door, Feyre slid off her bed and opened the door a crack. The hall was empty. 

She was about to close her door again convinced her mind was playing tricks on her but she noticed the red top of a pudding cup down by her feet. Just outside her door a vanilla pudding cup had been left. 

She smiled and reached down, taking the cup from the floor. Alis must’ve left it she determined. 

~~~

taglist: @booksofthemoon @awkward-avocado-s @courtofjurdan @ahappyhistorianreader @stardelia

~~~

#feysand au #feyre x rhysand #feysand fanfic #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhys fanfic #acotar fanfic #acotar #acotar au #a court of thorns and roses #feysand fanfiction #feyrhys #feyre x rhys fic #acotar fanfiction #vanilla pudding cups

[rosegoldannie]

A feysand AU

thank you to my best friend for helping my name this! 

this is a one-shot

Masterlist

*a/n please send in prompts for me to write!!*

“Please?” He groaned, the most undignified I had ever seen him. Well, the most undignified I had seen him today. He always let his facade slip when he was around me.

I huffed a sigh, continuing to dodge him, as he followed me through the halls of the stone palace. “No, I already told you. I don’t have time.” I sent up a quick prayer that he might take the hint, might not continue to follow me. My prayer went unanswered.

“Liar,” He purred, easily keeping time with my steps, even as he was strolling backwards,  “I know for a fact that there are no meetings scheduled today.” That silky voice took on a slightly hurt tone. “Feyre, if you don’t want to spend time with me, you don’t have to spare my feelings.”

At that, I finally slowed, and let out a drawn out breath. “No, Rhys.” I muttered, moving to lean against a stone pillar. Partly to get us out of sight from any nosy dignitaries, and partly because I was exhausted. Having forgone sleep the previous night, entirely due to a marathon lecture from my parents and sisters, my eyes stung with the effort it took to keep them open. Racking my brain, I tried to think of an excuse that was both believable and yet not insulting. Rhys was my friend, had been since childhood, but still. Emissaries and dignitaries alike always seemed to get the wrong idea of us, and my family had told me countless times that it was disgraceful for someone of my stature to be associated with him. Nevermind that he was first in line to the throne of Velaris, whereas I was only third in line for the throne of my kingdom. Nesta’s words rang harshly in my mind, of how, yes, he was first in line, but he was tainted because of his many, many relationships with many, many women.. “I...don’t think that would be a good idea.” The words tasted like dirt, and it was an effort not to gag.

Rhysand’s expression didn’t change. “Really.” He drawled, crossing his arms. 

I nodded warily, eyes flying around to ensure no one saw us. 

“Because  that sounds an awful lot like your family talking, darling.”

Try as I might, I couldn’t fight the blush that arose at his old nickname for me. “Stop, someone could hear you.” Shoving the hair behind my ears, I kept my eyes trained on the cold, marble flooring. “And don’t call me that, someone could get the wrong idea.”

He only chuckled, rolling his violet eyes in the way that only he could: just enough sassy to let you know he wasn’t pleased, but not harsh enough to be hurtful, with a dramatic flair, because it was Rhysand Darling, and he never did anything without a large dramatic flare. “Alright, darling.” He said.

Leaning farther back against the column, I watched out through the tall, tempered glass windows, where down on the great lawn, ant-sized people were scurrying around, and setting up the croquet game for tomorrow. I already knew no one would play, save for me and Rhys. And even then, we played only for show. Sighing again, I thought back to the vow which my parents had sworn to the neighbors of our kingdom, which was that I would marry their son once this assembly had finished. And that son, that golden boy, I already knew how he felt about Rhys.

I hadn’t brought up the topic of my marriage since we were eleven, because every single person in his court and mine had instantly begun spreading rumors that we were engaged, or would soon be. And the problems caused by those rumors were still very, very real, even though that had been nearly ten years ago. Absently, I wondered how Rhys would react when I told him, as it wasn’t exactly hidden from public knowledge that when we had been younger, it had been a real possibility that we would one day wed. I wondered if he would be upset, or simply say it was about time I was married. Or, would he become angry, and rage against the deal?

The latter, most likely. In all of the years I’d known him, Rhys had never once agreed with the practice of marrying young girls off. And I knew it weighed heavily on him that one day, soon, the prospect of marriage would be brought up for his younger sister, Stella. Though he had already begun trying to find a way out of it for her.

Absently, I mulled over the possible escape that Elain had told me: to find someone I love, or could stand, of reasonable standing, before our engagement was publicly announced, and there was a chance I wouldn’t have to marry Tamlin. I remembered how when Elain had murmured that to me, my mind had instantly conjured an image of Rhys. I knew all  I had to do was ask, and he’d agree, but it was wrong. How could I take the remainder of his life from him, simply because I couldn’t stand my would-be fiance? It was the coward’s way out, and I knew in my heart that unless something major changed, I would be marrying Tamlin Greene.

I wouldn’t mention this to Rhys, because I knew that even if I didn’t tell him of what Elain had said, he would speak of it, and offer himself up. I knew how he hated Tamlin, and I knew how he would fight to keep me away from him, but it would cost him too much. He would risk going to war, his family’s wrath, and his own life. I shuddered at the thought, wrapping my arms around myself.

A hand waved in front of my vision. “Hello? Feyre Darling, what’s running through that pretty little head of yours?”

My head snapped up. “What?”

He chuckled, moving to lean against my column, his shoulder brushing against mine. “You looked a million miles away.” He murmured, shaking his head chidingly. “Now, let’s try this again. Want to go flying?”

Arms dropping to my sides, I grinned and huffed out a laugh. “Wow, seriously?”

Rhys grinned. “I’ve got all the time in the world, Darling.”

My smile faltered. Must be nice.

Looking away, I shook my head. It must be nice to have all the time in the world. To never concern yourself with marriages, and allies, foes and wars. I sighed, twirling a small strand of hair around my index finger. I knew the moment I married Tamlin, this, whatever it was with Rhys, would be gone. A chill ran down my spine at the thought, but still I forged ahead. Tamlin wouldn’t allow me out of his sight, I knew. I clenched my eyes shut, and released a harsh sigh. “Alright, fine. I’ll go flying with you.”

Rhysand instantly grinned, his violet eyes almost glowing as he did a small victory dance in place, that stupid grin turning cocky and arrogant.

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from my lips. “You’re pathetic, Rhys.”

His grin widened. “Only for you, Darling.”

My cheeks burned, so I shoved off the column, and began leading the way down the hall, with Rhys trailing at my heels, murmuring profanities and innuendos. We fell into relative silence as we wound through the corridors, and made our way down to the great lawn. 

Again, my mind began to wander. I knew Tamlin likely wouldn’t approve of my friendship with Rhys, and would probably demand that it end.  I also knew that if his prior actions were anything close to how he really was, that I would most likely never see my friend again. Elain had spent nearly every night since our parents had informed me of my would-be fiance, warning me of his secret mannerisms, and trying to get me to find another husband.

I knew that she was right, that there was no way I could ever be happy with Tamlin, and that if I were to fall in love, our parents would likely approve the marriage, but I would have to move quickly. The engagement would be announced within the next few weeks, and then there would be no turning back. But still, the only person I could ever fathom marrying was Rhys. But I simply couldn’t do that to him. He deserved so much better than me. And even though I knew he would say yes in a heartbeat, I just couldn’t. This was Rhys, whom I had known my entire life. Rhys, who had always been there for me, who had been my best friend for almost twenty-one years. I just couldn’t ask him to throw the remainder of his life away for me, simply because I didn’t like my future fiance. 

Making up my mind, I decided that I wouldn’t bring up this with Rhys. I would enjoy these last few weeks with him, before I became a pawn in the eons old game of our world. I would treasure these last few weeks where we could go and sneak out, do whatever we wished. And I would make these the best weeks of my life.

Rhys nudged my arm, drawing me from my thoughts. I found that we were just out of sight from the servants in the great lawn, our figures obscured by the trees. I looked back to him, and found him grinning that impish grin that he only ever had around Stella and I. “Race you to the bluff,” He said, stepping a few feet away, “I win, and you owe me a favor. You win, favor’s yours.”

I grinned back, and nodded excitedly.

We both crouched down, and Rhys began to count down. “3...2...1...HEY!”

I had taken off before he finished the countdown, laughing impishly. Rhys was shouting profanities after me, and struggling to catch up.

My feet pounded against the forest floor in a hypnotizing rhythmic silence. The late autumn breeze bit at my cheeks, stinging them a rosy pink. At some point, I stopped hearing him crash through the underbrush, shouting obscenities and threats.

When I knew we were long out of earshot from the palace, I let out a cackling laugh, and savored the way my voice echoed off the mountains surrounding the Fae Palace of Autumn. The sun shone through the trees in select places, almost seeming to highlight the subtle beauties of the forest.

Feet rushing over logs and ravines alike, I allowed the worries of my life to be stripped away by the wind, and the ever growing distance from the palace. It felt as if with each step I took, my problems faded, becoming increasingly smaller, until they vanished completely.

Up ahead, I saw our bluff. The trees were different than they had been the last time we came here, when I was thirteen, and Rhys sixteen. I remembered how small and insignificant I had felt, staring over that ledge. The trees had seemed impossibly small, the surrounding mountains reminding me that while I was immortal, my life was fleeting. I remembered how Rhys and I had leapt over that ledge together, plummeting towards those impossibly small trees, until his wings had appeared, and he had scooped me up, as we soared towards the mountains in the distance.

I skidded to a stop, just before the edge, sending a spray of dirt and pebbles over the edge. As always, I felt shivers run down my spine, as my muscles tensed. I almost laughed at how nothing had changed in this forest. The Great Mountain still was barely visible in the distance, the trees acting as a red, golden and green carpet towards that giant, looming rock. Heavy, dark clouds obscured the peak from view.

Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me. Rather than jump, I just calmly glanced back towards Rhys, who was simply taking in the view. His jaw wasn’t set, as it often was in the palace. His shoulders weren’t tensed, and his hands were resting on his hips. Those violet eyes were unguarded, raking over the landscape. My eyes began moving down, and I nearly started at how close we were, a heavy blush warming my cheeks. He was nearly pressed against my back, only a few inches separating us.

At last, Rhys sighed, dragging his eyes away from the view ahead of us. He rubbed at his eyes, as if to wipe away invisible tears. “Wow,” He murmured, at last meeting my gaze, “it looks exactly the same.”

I gave him a soft smile, grateful for the wind giving an excuse to my blush. “I know.”

He only smiled sweetly back, his gaze holding mine for more than a few seconds too long. Then his signature smirk returned. “Ready, Feyre Darling?”

Grinning, I shoved at his shoulder, and paced a few meters away from the edge. “Don’t call me that.” I griped, though there was no malice behind it. 

Rhys only grinned, and followed me. “Ladies first,” he teased.

Faltering, I gave him a blank look. “After you, then. I insist.”

Glaring at me, Rhys crossed his arms and shook his head. “That favor’s mine. You know that, right?”

I blanched. “What?!”

He grinned wickedly. “You cheated, therefore, you forfeit the winnings to me.”

I snarled at him, racking my brain for any possible loophole. And when I found none, I called him a foul name. Rhys only smiled, and bowed mockingly.

Annoyance pulsed through me, and I gave him a vulgar gesture , then took off. Unlike before, my feet pounded violently against the rock, echoing off the mountains. As I quickly approached the edge, I took a deep breath, then leaped.

I almost seemed to hover in midair for a few seconds, momentum carrying me further and further from that ledge. Then gravity caught up, and I began to fall, wind whipping violently at my hair and clothes as adrenaline set my heart pounding too hard, it must have been heard back at the palace. The golden-red canopy below was rapidly approaching, but I paid it no attention, my eyes instead trained on Rhys, who had leaped only a second after me. His eyes were trained on mine, as he seemed to tear through the air, growing increasingly closer to me, his powerful wings ripping from his back.

Those strong arms wrapped around me, drawing me tight against him only milliseconds before I would have crashed into the trees. His wings beat powerfully, carrying us up, up, up. Slowly, we began to readjust ourselves, one of my arms coming to wrap around his neck, as he maneuvered an arm underneath my knees, the other winding around my back. My head came to rest on his shoulder, my free arm placed on his chest.

At last, the beats of his wings evened out, coming every few seconds in a relaxing rhythm.  I gave him a few moments to relax, and gather his bearings, before I pinched him.

“What the hell was that for?” He blurted indignantly, glaring at me.

I made a sour face. “Cutting it a bit close there, weren’t we?” I said sweetly.

He made a grunting noise, then shifted me roughly. “And?”

I scoffed, slapping his arm. Not enough to hurt, nowhere even close. “I nearly hit the trees!” I griped.

Those violet eyes shifted keenly, a smarmy smirk slithering onto his lips. “Ah, yes. That.” He teased, giving me a fake apologetic look. “Nearly, being the key word there, Darling.”

I squawked indignantly, shaking my head. “Rhysand, you prick-” I started.

“Now, now, Feyre dearest. One bad leap and you’re back to calling me Rhysand?” He gave me a hurt look, pretending he was about to cry. “I’m hurt, I thought we were past that.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a prick.”

That smarmy smirk returned. “You love it.”

I couldn’t stop my smile, and allowed my head to once again rest on his shoulder.

After a while, the steady, booming beats of his wings, and the warmth he radiated began to turn my eyelids heavy, and I soon fell asleep in his arms. The rushing of the wind against me, accompanied by Rhys’s arms holding me tight, quickly whisked me off to a land of dreams.

What awoke me was the change in the wind, as Rhys began to angle us downwards, aiming for an open meadow. Unable to stop myself, I let out a yawn, and stretched my arms out as we landed on the grassy knoll. My knuckle brushed against a whorl of his tattoo, peeking out from the collar of his tailored jacket. Rhys glanced down at me, a small smile on his lips. “Well look who decided to join the land of the living,” he teased, murmuring softly.

Blushing, I found it hard to meet his gaze. “I was tired.” I hissed. “I didn’t sleep much last night.” His smile only widened, and he set me down, though I kept that one arm wrapped around his neck, without realizing.

“Oh, really?” He purred, one hand coming to rest on my hip, the simple gesture sending bolts of fire racing through me.  I could only nod in response, finding it difficult to meet his gaze. Rhys leaned forward, his breath warming my cold ears. “And what, pray tell, were you doing, Darling?”

My eyes widened, and I shoved him away. “Rhysand!” I snapped, taking a good few steps away. He was bent over, hands braced on his knees, laughing himself hoarse. “You’re a prick!” I grumbled, crossing my arms. He only laughed harder, until he fell over, wheezing like a drowning mole. Then he laid on the ground, cackling and snorting and coughing and wheezing.

After afew minutes, I sat down on the silky grass, crossing my legs beneath me. “Are you quite finished there, Oh High and mighty Prince Rhysand?”

He chuckled, then at last looked over at me. And it felt as if the air had been ripped from my lungs. He was absolutely gorgeous. The sparing rays of sunlight landed just so on his eyes, setting them from a deep violet to something akin to a glowing, midnight flame. His inky hair held an almost otherworldly glow to it. It made my fingers itch for a pen and paper, to capture this.

That smile changed, to something that I didn’t dare try to comprehend.

Instead, I continued studying him, trying to memorize the way the sunlight hit his angled face, how it warmed his skin tone,and amplified his already sharp cheekbones.

“What’re you looking at?” He murmured, moving to prop his head up with one arm.

I nearly chastised him for moving, but stopped at the last second, having decided I liked this angle better. “I’m going to draw you,” I replied, my eyes continuing to rove over his face and shoulders. “This angle suits you.” There was no embarrassment behind my words, no blushing. Rhys knew I loved to draw, knew I had countless sketches of him scattered throughout my small studio back home.

Rhys just kept that soft smile, though it turned slightly wicked, as that glint shone in his eyes. “You know, Darling. I’ve told you many times just how willing I am to model nude for you.”

I only scoffed, rolling my eyes.

The wickedness vanished from his eyes. He held my gaze as he waved one hand, and a sketchbook appeared, a piece of charcoal rolling on top. My eyes nearly bugged out of my head, as I scampered out to take it from him. I didn’t want to decipher what that gleam in his eyes were, or what it could mean for us. So instead, I simply sat cross legged a few feet from him, and began to sketch.

We stayed quiet for a while, with me sketching, and glancing up every few moments, with Rhys just lounging like the lazy cat he was. I chuckled at the thought; Rhys as a lazy cat, and quickly sketched down a rough drawing of a small, black cat sleeping in the sun, then returned to my main drawing. “What’s so funny?” He said, narrowing his eyes playfully.

I chuckled, moving to have a better view of his eyes. “I was just thinking… You’re not that different from a house cat.”

He scoffed, holding my gaze. “How so?”

I gave a small smile. “You purr, sleep in the sun, and are the laziest person I know.”

His jaw dropped. “How dare you.” He hissed in mock offense.

I grinned, shifting to lay on my stomach, drawing now long forgotten. “Am I wrong?” I murmured. 

Rhys shifted to mirror my position, our faces only a few inches apart. “You’re gonna pay.”

I Leaned closer, our noses nearly brushing. “Oh, really?”

No sooner had the words left my mouth, than he had pounced, landing gracefully on top of me, knees braced on the ground, as he tickled me. I shrieked in indignance, shoving at him as I cackled, tears streaming down my cheeks. He only paused his torment to lean down. “Apologize.” He murmured in my ear, glaring down.

“Never.” I swore, glaring right back up at him. He made to resume his torment, but I moved too quickly, shifting us to that he was the one pinned down, his wings slamming against the grass with a harsh thunk. I winced, and withdrew slightly. When Rhys didn’t shove me off, I leaned down to snarl in his ear. I pretended not to notice how informal he was around me. Not in regards to manners, but his wings. I knew how important they were to an Illyrian, and what it meant for him to allow me to be so close to them. Then,  pinning his wrists down, I whispered,  “There’s nothing you can do to make me apologize.” I saw the spark of challenge in his eyes less than a second before he lunged for me, as I dodged him, throwing myself to the side. For a split second, I could have sworn he was blushing madly. 

I started laughing, then a heavy weight - Rhys - slammed into me, and sent us rolling down the hill. I swore as a clump of dirt slammed into me, but kept laughing as we rolled, each shoving and lunging at the other, trying to gain the upper hand. Rhys was laughing so loud I was sure they could hear it all the way back in Velaris, but I didn’t care, because he was happy.

We kept our game going, of shoving and tackling and tickling the other, until we rolled down a particularly rough patch of vegetation. I let out a sharp curse as something painful scraped across my back, and I jerked away.

Distantly, I heard running water. Then Rhys began swearing.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Before I could ask, he was shoving me over him, to rest on his chest. His arms held me steadfast as his wings cocooned us in. His forehead pressed into my neck, and over his shoulder, I could just see whirling trees and twigs and leaves and branches as we tumbled roughly down the hillside.

We slammed into something hard, and Rhys let out a sharp grunt, tightening his grip on me, becoming near painful, as we slowed to a stop. He held onto me for a little while longer, before his wings slowly unfurled, and he let out a pained groan, his head thunking onto the sand below us.

I sat up, bracing my knees on either side of his hips as my head spun so wildly I had to put my hands on his chest to keep from falling over. After a few moments, I glanced around. We were a few meters away from a small river, glistening in the sunlight as it trickled over and around stones. My gaze returned to Rhys, who was panting slightly beneath me, his eyes clenched shut. I made to move away, but he quickly stopped me with a hand on my knee. “No, please. Don’t.”

Glaring down, I was about to make a snarky remark about our position, but when I saw his face, the words died on my lips. “Rhys, are you alright?” His eyes were clenched shut, I had thought, from vertigo. But now I could see a single tear sliding from his eye. “Rhys, please, you need to answer me, alright?” My voice was more panicked now, as my hands fluttered worryingly around his head, unsure of what to do.

“I just, j-just need a minute, okay? I’m fine, I swear.”

My heart clenched. “Bullshit, Rhys.” I murmured, allowing one hand to go rest against his cheek. “No, no. Don’t lie. Not to me.” He slowly began to relax, and leaned into my hand. My heart pounded way harder than it should have.

Rhys slowly opened his eyes. “Ngh…my wing, it….shit.”

I nodded, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “Alright, alright just breathe, okay? Where does it hurt?”

He made a gesture with his hand, and I quickly moved off of him, one of my hands going to brace his shoulders, the other going to clasp his hand, helping him to slowly move to a sitting position. Rhys let out a deep groan, clenching my hand so tight that I had to grit my teeth.

Once he was upright, I slowly maneuvered myself behind him, in a low crouch. One hand remaining on his shoulder, holding both of us steady. “Shit.” I breathed, eyes trailing over his wings. Countless cuts and scrapes were raw and bleeding, but that wasn’t what concerned me. It was the joint I could see which was clearly dislocated.

Rhys let out a tight breath. “It’s bad?”

“Could be worse.” I muttered, moving over to the rushing water, and cupping some in my hands. It wasn’t a lie; it could have most definitely been worse, but that by no means meant his injuries were good. I returned to his wings, and carefully dribbled it over the countless cuts, and gently cleaned them of the dirt that had become lodged. The only sign of his discomfort was several, measured breaths.  Once that was done, I dried my hands on my pants, and braced them on his shoulders. “This is going to hurt, alright?” 

I didn’t miss the intake of breath, or the slight tensing of his shoulders. I prepared myself to reassure him, knowing how sensitive he was in regards to his wings. Knew how difficult it was for him to let anyone be near them, let alone touch them.

He nodded, looking over his shoulder to meet my gaze. “I trust you.”

My throat burned painfully, and my eyes became lined with silver. I cleared my throat, and quickly set about moving the joint back into its proper place. I knew it hurt, hurt like hell. But Rhys was taking it in stride, only letting out a few sharp grunts as I worked. At last, I finished, and sat back on my heels.

No sooner had my hands left his wings, than they vanished with a puff of smoke, and he fell back into my lap, head resting on my thigh. I knew he had sent them off to some pocket dimension to heal, which they could do much quicker there than here. Rhys let out a sharp huff, and wound one arm around my waist, drawing me to rest up against his stomach. We were in a strange circle, his head on my thigh, me leaning against his side, as we had done when we were children. Slowly, I began to relax, and even went so far as to move so that I could use his stomach as a pillow, without disturbing his head.

“Thank you, Feyre.” He said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.

“Of course.” I murmured, my eyes trained on the sky overhead. I’d never liked the Autumn Kingdom. It was always just the slightest bit too blustery, too cold. I knew some of our friends, Thesan and Cresseida, agreed. In the past, when the alliance held their meetings here, I had rarely gone outside, because the Autumn kingdom reminded me far too much of a cold spring day. Bile threatened to rise in my throat as I realized that the Spring Kingdom was like this for a majority of the year, only raining. I’d likely rarely ever see a clear sky, let alone a night sky. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I blinked them away, and shoved the intrusive thoughts from my head, only to realize that Rhys was talking to me. His eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes slightly sorrowful.

“...really sorry, Feyre. It’ll heal quickly, but I don’t think I can fly us out tonight. I can’t winnow, either. All of my magic is going towards healing my wings. I’m so, so sorry.”

I gripped his hand tightly, even as dread pooled in my gut. “Rhys, don’t worry about it. Everything will be alright, I can take care of this.” Biting my lip, I internally worried about what would happen back at the palace, as we hadn’t informed anyone where we were going. I sent up a silent prayer that Stella would cover for us.

I glanced warily around us. While there weren’t many creatures worth fearing in the Autumn Kingdom, certainly none so close to the palace, it still wasn’t a good idea to remain out in the open, and risk exposure. My eyes tracked the rhythmic swaying of the trees, the ever shrinking distance between us, and those grey clouds which I now knew to be storm clouds. Roving up the hillside, I quickly scanned back and forth up the mountain. At last, I spotted a small cave part of the way up the hill opposite us, across the river. I decided that I would give him some time to rest, before asking him to begin trekking to that cave.

Shifting, I allowed my head to nuzzle into his stomach, and I gazed up into the sky, savoring the warm rays of sunlight on my face. Almost instantly, his fingers began running through my hair, twisting the strands gently, as he took deep, even breaths. I focused on the sunlight, and his fingers running through my hair, as he breathed evenly. Against my will, my mind began to wander to my would-be fiance, and his court. 

How they viewed themselves as above their people, and ruled with an iron fist. I knew that would no doubt extend to me. That by this  time next year, I would be married, would be Tamlin’s property. I knew how he treated women, how he controlled them. I would be expected to churn out heir after heir, and be there whenever he wanted to make love. I would be expected to lose myself in him, to give over to his every whim. I was to become his dutiful wife, even if it destroyed me. Never again would I be allowed to run free in the forest, or not care whether there were sticks and brush tangled in the honeyed strands. I would be expected to always look my best, to never have an off day or speak back. I was to become his dutiful, obeying, beautiful, silent, loving, and demure wife.

Something in my chest crunched so viciously it hurt. He would destroy me, in every way and every facet. There would be nothing of me left; he would remold me into his perfect wife, bedmate. He would ruin me and turn me into nothing. And I had no choice.

Elain’s offer rang loudly in my ear: To find someone else, fast. To find someone who Tamlin wouldn’t dare challenge. But the only person he wouldn’t dare go against was Rhysand. And even if I put my worries about ruining him aside, even if I chose to be selfish and save myself, it was no guarantee I would be free. The union would have to be approved by both of our families, and my secret would no doubt be revealed. And so I had no choice.

Looking up, my eyes snagged on Rhys, his calm expression warmed by the sun. Completely unworried and unfazed by the world of palaces and kingdoms we had left behind. “I’m going to miss this.” The words were out before I could stop them, small and scared. I clamped a hand over my mouth, as if that would draw them back in. I watched as his eyes slowly opened, as they searched for me. I watched as they narrowed slightly, as he slowly sat up, never once breaking my gaze.

My breathing quickened, my eyes burning with unshed tears.

“What did you say?”

I couldn’t-couldn’t do this. I didn’t want his pity. I didn’t want to see him freeze, how I knew he would pause, grow still. Internally raging that I was to be given away like a prized dog. It would be easier, so much easier if he found out when the rest of the world did, if he were to assume I was happy with my husband. That this was what I wanted.

And so I leaped to my feet, turning to the side so I could dry my eyes. “Nothing! I didn’t say anything.” I knew better than to look back at him, where he could almost certainly read the lie in my posture alone. Mercifully, he didn’t question me, only giving a small grunt. “Come on.” I said, slipping my leather boots, and socks off, rolling up the cuffs of my pants so that they rested just above my knees. “We need to find shelter, there’s a cave up there.” 

I kept several steps ahead of Rhys as we crossed the river, the water bitingly cold against my lower legs. At one point, I had stepped on a slippery rock, and lost my balance. He caught me, drawing me against his chest, his breaths fanning across my face. It was too difficult to look him in the eyes, so I just stared at his collarbone, the outline of which I could see through his shirt. After a few moments, I shoved away roughly, my heart pounding wildly. Frigid water splashed around me, as I stomped across the remaining few meters of the river. 

Rhys let out a huff, amusedly watching me furiously shove my shocks and boots on.

I silenced him with a sharp glare.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, smirking.

The simple action set my lower lip trembling, as my eyes filled with tears. I pushed off from the log I had perched on, ignoring his questioning look. I again wiped at my eyes as I began to ascend the hillside. Behind me, Rhys was crashing loudly through the underbrush, no doubt in annoyance. Thankfully, this hill was nowhere near as steep as the one we had tumbled down, little more than a slightly steep incline.

Behind me, Rhys began grumbling to himself. “...females...Who the hell...they’re thinking?...”

A short distance from the cave, I whirled on him, my face burning in anger. “Do you have something to say to me?” He blinked in surprise, eyes going almost comically wide, as he opened and closed his mouth. “No? Then shut up.” Rhys flinched, and I nearly apologized. But I turned, and stormed the rest of the way to the cave, glaring furiously into it, daring anything within to make its presence known. 

When nothing did, I waved him forward.

Rhys was panting, his brow glistening with sweat. He made to reach an arm out to me, but I shoved past him, moving to a small crack in the stone. I knelt down, and used my magic to create a small, gurgling stream. Then, I went to the back of the cave, which was maybe four meters from the entrance, and kicked some dried out sticks into a small pile, before lighting them. He carefully moved towards the small pile, eyeing me cautiously, before kneeling down, and warming his hands. I shrugged my jacket off, and threw it down across from him.

I spent the next several hours bringing in any grass and leaves I could find which weren’t too dried out, and putting them into a large pile. After my sixth or so trip to drop off foliage, Rhys at last spoke up. “What are you doing?” His voice was small, cautious. I hated that my words had clearly hurt him so much, but I knew it would be easier for him to believe that I was happy, if he was angry with me.

But I still couldn’t bring myself to snap again. “Gathering things to serve as our beds.”

He swallowed. “Beds, plural?” I nodded, and he licked his lips before continuing. “Um, logistically, wouldn’t it, uh, make more sense to share one?” 

I scoffed, throwing down the armload of grass. “Of course you’d say that.” I muttered.

Rhys gave me a withering look. “For warmth, Feyre. Nothing else.”

Sighing, I dropped to my knees, and began to spread out the foliage across the stone floor.

No sooner had I finished that, than it began pouring, the rain coming down so hard and fast that it richocched back up several inches. Rhys managed to scrape enough of his power together to place a small shield over the entrance to the cave. Once that was done, I moved to the corner opposite Rhys, and hugged my knees to my chest, eyes staring unseeingly into the fire.

Rhys tried to make light conversation several times, but I ignored him in favor of watching the twisting flames. After about an hour of tense silence, I pulled my jacket on again, and curled up in a small ball, trying to take up the least amount of space possible on our makeshift bed.

I was running, running as quickly as my feet would allow.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would burst, or worse, reveal my location. I crashed through the undergrowth, into a small clearing full of wildflowers. My stomach heaved at the sight. I hated wildflowers, their too-bright colors, and sickeningly sweet scent. He knew this, and yet they were still my wedding gift.

Blood dripped from the raw, gaping wounds on my arm, falling down, down, down, to splatter on a hideous pink rose. My fingers itched for a piece of charcoal, but I knew it would be useless in my hands. I hadn’t drawn in years; it was one of the first things he had demanded I stop. ‘Too messy,’ he said, or ‘too unladylike.’

Distantly, a ferocious roar shook the trees, and my blood turned to ice.

He knew. He knew I had left, and he was coming for me.

Again, I broke into a run. My flimsy pink slippers had long since fallen away, and now my feet were pounding against the coarse dirt and rocks, bleeding with every step. 

The roars grew closer, accompanied by thundering footsteps.

I knew this was my only chance, and so I pushed harder, until the air was fire in my lungs and each step and breath felt like I was dying. 

The roars turned into huffing, animalistic breaths, and those thundering footsteps sounded from right behind me. Paralyzing fear sent my blood to burning ice, tears streaming freely down my face.

Terror urged me to go faster, but I was ripped back by something agonizing wrapping around my wrists and ankles, cutting into them, and forcing me to the ground on my back. A heavy, suffocating paw slams to the ground, millimeters from my head. I am helpless as a horned wolf snarls down at me. I attempt to clench my eyes shut, anything, anything to escape from this hell.

The creature roars in my face, so deafeningly loud that my ears ring.

Sobbing, I open my eyes to gaze into that of my husband.

The throned vines around my wrists and ankles tighten, blood gushing from the wounds they inflict.

“I warned you, Feyre.” Tamlin snarls at me.

I open my mouth to beg for forgiveness, but a swipe of his paw, and my throat is slit, and I bleed to death.

I awake shrieking, trembling in every limb, my body soaked in sweat. I make to roll over, to move, do anything to assure myself that it was just a nightmare. It is then that I am made aware of the form hovering over me.

I clench my eyes shut, arms coming up to block my face, legs kicking wildly.

Strong hands grip my upper arms, and haul me against a warm, hard chest. I continued fighting and thrashing, until I felt the hands stroking my hair, and recognized that voice. “Feyrefeyrefeyrefeyrefeyrefeyre,” Rhys was murmuring, over and over into my hair.

I stilled, allowing the hot tears to fall.

He held me tighter, cradling me sweetly, as he said my name like a prayer.

Without thinking, my hands wound around his waist to hug him closer, every single part of me burning.

An untold amount of time later, we slowly began to part, and I found my face burning.

Rhys silently shifts us so that he is leaning against the cave wall, with me sideways across his lap.

He still cradles me against his chest, one hand running soothingly up and down my arm,  and my breathing begins to even out. After a while, he turns his head to gaze at me, his nose brushing mine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head, and pressed my forehead into the crook of his neck. “It was a nightmare.” I whispered. He pressed a kiss to the crown of my head, waiting for me to continue. “I...it was about..about…” My voice cracks, and the tears begin to flow. He rubbed soothing circle on my back. I took several deep breaths, and clenched my eyes shut. “..it was about my fiance.”

He stilled, that hand on my back freezing in place. “Your what.”

I hated the words as soon  as they left my lips, and began to untangle myself from him. Rhys simply held me in place, firm enough to keep me still, yet loose enough that I could leave if I wished. I didn’t. I wanted him to hold me, and say that this was all just a bad dream. Again, I allowed him to pull me close, and again I rested my head in the crook of his neck. Taking a steadying breath, I began. “My fiance, Rhys.”

Remaining still, I could feel his slow breathing. I knew he was trying to discern what to feel. “Who?”

I choked on a sob, pushing impossibly closer to him.

Rhys reacted instantly, seeming to wrap his entire being around me. “Oh, Feyre Darling, no, no, please don’t cry.” He murmured, even as I felt his tears on my shoulder. “Please don’t cry, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix this, I promise you.”

I hiccupped, and sniffled. “You can’t.” I whispered.

“I will.” He vowed, running his fingers through my hair.

Pulling back, I braced both of my hands on his shoulders, and firmly met his gaze. “Rhysand, listen to me. I do not want you to fix this, it’s not worth it.” Rhys opened his mouth to protest, but I interrupted him. “It’s too dangerous, and it’s not worth it.”

Rhys stared me down. “Feyre, it is worth it. I don’t care if it kills me, I’ll fix it. You don’t deserve this.”

Fresh tears sprung to my eyes, but I ignored them. “No, no. You don’t understand. It’s too dangerous!” I insisted, begging him to believe me.

Again, he stared me down, then gently began wiping my tears away.

“Rhys,” I began, trying to not savor the way his fingers felt against my cheekbone, “it’s Tamlin.”

Everything froze. The rain outside, the cracking of the fire, Rhys’s heartbeat, his breathing. Everything.

He let out a small whimper, drawing me back against him. 

After we parted, he held my face reverently in his hands. The look in his eyes would have brought me to my knees, had I been standing. Even then, I had the distinct feeling of falling as I gazed into his eyes. “Feyre, I do not care what happens to me, whether I live or die. I do not care whether I need to wage a war, or kill him myself. But believe me when I say this: You will not marry Tamlin unless it is your choice, and only yours.”

His words crashed into me with the force of a tidal wave, washing away everything I felt. No, not everything. It washed away everything save for that small, miniscule word that had been echoing in my head for years, since I had first learned of what it meant, that I was too much of a coward to face. Rhys sweetly pushed a strand of hair behind my ear, as he studied my face. “Why?” I rasped, searching his eyes. “W-why would you do this for me?”

Something faltered in his gaze. His hand dropped from my face. “Because we’re friends.” He said monotonously. 

I shook my head, my eyebrows drawing together. “No, Rhys. Friendship is...it’s loaning your friend a coat when they’re cold. Not… this. This...you’re threatening to go to war for me. You’re risking your life, your kingdom. Why?”

Rhysand became quiet, simply observing me. Tracking over every feature of my face. I didn’t miss how they lingered on my lips for several seconds too long, before drifting down to where his hands rested on my waist. “Because I care about you.”

Confusion and disappointment lanced through me. “I care about you, too-” 

“No, Feyre.” He uttered, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.” At last, he met my gaze again. He took a deep breath, and clenched his jaw. “I care about you. As more than a friend, Feyre.”

My world went silent, save for the roaring that began in my ears. “What?” The word was little more than a gasp.

Another deep breath. “I...I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Fey.” He murmured, a hand coming up to rest on the back of my neck. “And how could I not? Yo-you’re strong, you’re confident, beautiful. You’re perfect. And I can’t stand the idea of anyone hurting you. The thought of you in pain, it… it’s worse than anything I’ve ever known. Worse than death. And...I understand if you don’t want this. Just say the word, and we’ll pretend that none of this ever happened, a-”

I snapped, tears streaming freely down my face. I closed the distance between us, crushing my lips to his. Rhys was frozen for just a moment, then he held me close. So close it was as if he was trying to mold us into one being. Our lips moved together as if this were a dance they had done since the beginning of time, two star crossed lovers who at last met. 

Rhys kept one hand cupping my jaw, the other going to my hip. I plunged my fingers into his hair, and savored the way they glided across my skin. Tugging on the ends, I drew him closer, and moved so that I was partially straddling his lap. That hand on my hip began to drift lower, until it was cupping my behind. Rhys began placing soft, sensual kisses down my jaw, and to my neck. He drifted down to where my coat ended, and pushed it aside, beginning to suck and bite gently on the skin there. I let out a low groan, and my knees gave out. I was now fully straddling him, and it felt like the answer to a question I had asked for my entire life. 

I managed to stop his sinful assault, to meet his gaze. I knew I needed to get the words out now, while I still had the courage. “Rhysand…” I began, suddenly finding it so, so difficult to look him in the eyes without grinning stupidly. “I have loved you since the day you strutted into my life. You somehow always put a smile on my face, and I will always be grateful for that.”

His eyes softened, and he kissed me sweetly, softly. “I love you.” 

My heart began pounding so hard that he grinned wickedly, leaning forward to kiss me tortuously, his tongue tracing my lips. I opened for him, my arms wrapping around his neck to secure him to me. And my world went white.

He slowly lowered us to the ground, one hand remaining on my hip, the other twining into my hair as he braced himself up with an elbow. 

My entire being felt as if it were on fire, zinging with electricity. Rhys pulled away for a split second to look me in the eyes, love and reverence shining clear as day, before pressing several more sweet kisses to my lips. He looked at me as if I were a goddess, made of stars and moonlight, as if I were his greatest treasure. “I love you, so much.” He said, those violet eyes roving over my face. I had lost track of how many times I had seen him do that tonight, as though he was drinking me in.

Again, my heart pounded in response, and he grinned wickedly.

His head dipped down to my collarbone, placing sweet, loving kisses across it, and I couldn’t help my gasp, that hand in his hair tightening its grip. His grin turned even more wicked, and he began to descend lower, pressing kiss after sweet kiss to my ribs, then my stomach, then hips. When he reached the button of my pants, he looked up, eyes seeking permission. Internally, I began to grow nervous, though I didn’t know why. This was Rhys, and he loved me, respected me. So why was I nervous?

Whatever he saw in them had him nodding slightly, and kissing his way back up to my lips. I made to kiss him again, but he stopped me with a gentle hand on my shoulder, rolling over to lay beside me. “Hold on,” He chuckled, grinning as I pouted, “I want to say something.”

My face again grew hot, and I hid my face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” I groaned, hating the embarrassment cascading through me, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just-”

Hands caressed my back. “Hey, no, no. Look at me, Feyre, please.” I don’t know what I expected, but it was the opposite of what I found. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t angry. If anything, he looked concerned. Resting a hand on my waist, he said, “You said no, and you don’t owe me an explanation. You decided that you weren't ready, and I respect that. It’s your body, therefore your decision.”

My lower lip began trembling, and I threw my arms around him again. “Thank you, Rhys.”

He held me tightly, enough so that I could feel his smile against my neck. “Of course, Darling.”

“I love you,” I whispered, feeling Rhys tense, then his grip tightened on me. Hot tears again soaked through my shirt, and so I held him as he sobbed, murmuring into his hair how much I loved him. His breathing remained uneven for a long while, breaths coming in gasps and pants. I only held him tighter, trying to communicate my love through that.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, until we fell asleep listening to the other’s heartbeat, but it was long enough for the fire to burn out, and the sun to rise just over the trees. It wasn’t until our stomachs began to grumble viciously, that we at last began to stir.

Rhysand was the first to stand, stretching his arms above his head, and groaning. I could only clench my teeth, and continue lacing up my boots, even as my face flushed. He noticed this, leaning down to press a surprisingly hesitant kiss to my lips, his normally wicked grin slightly off. “Something bothering you, Feyre Darling?”

My blush deepened. “No?” I stammered, my face absolutely burning.

That grin softened, and he reached out to stroke my hair. “Are you alright with breaking camp so I can go stretch my wings?”

I fought the urge to point out that there was no camp to break, and nodded, smiling tightly. 

Rhys gave me a grateful nod, and murmured, “I love you, Feyre.” before striding out of the cave.

Shaking my head, I idled around the cave, kicking at the remains of the fire, and scattering the leaves of our makeshift bed around, and flopping down to lean against the wall. I stared at my hands, not really seeing them. What was going on? Why was he suddenly closed off? I thought back to everything that had happened last night, and couldn’t think of anything I had done to upset him. When we had fallen asleep, Rhys seemed happy. But now, he seemed more withdrawn. Almost anxious. Glancing up, I was surprised to find that nearly an hour had passed. I knew that the longer we stayed out, the harder it would be for Stella to cover for us.

I clambered to my feet, and made my way out to the front of the cave. Glancing around, I was surprised to find that I didn’t see Rhys anywhere. After a few minutes of looking around, I spotted him leaning against a large rock, turned partway away from me. 

Slowly, I began meandering towards him. 

Only when I was a few steps away did Rhys realize my presence. He jumped slightly, whirling to face me. “Feyre!” He exclaimed, quickly swiping several tears from his face. “Darling, what are you doing?”

My eyes lingered on the tear-tracks, glistening in the sun, debating whether or not I should ask. “I was just coming to tell you we should leave soon.” I didn’t ask why he had been crying.

  When he turned to check on the position of the sun, I got a full view of him, the Prince of Darkness, and his glorious wings. Something in my chest snapped, and I thought something had ripped every last shred of oxygen from my being. One hand flew up to grasp at my throat, as the other lashed out wildly, trying to find something to brace myself on.

Rhys was instantly in front of me, hands on my shoulders to steady me, saying something. Trying to get my attention.

But I didn’t notice, didn’t see, didn’t hear, didn’t feel  anything other than the word clanging through my very soul: Mate, mate, mate, he is your mate. He is your other half, your equal. He is your mate.

My breaths began to come faster and faster, in increasingly heavier pants, as I struggled to get any air.

Slowly, the world began to come back to me, as if everything I knew hadn’t been turned on its head. I focused on Rhysand, to find that he was cupping my face, trying to coax me to breathe. Looking at him, good god it hurt. It felt like he was simultaneously my destruction and my salvation. Everywhere he touched burned, burned with electricity coursing through my veins.

Somehow, I managed to hold up a hand, and somehow Rhys knew what I meant, taking a step back. I inhaled deeply, finally able to breathe. I clenched my eyes shut, trying to clear my head of the burning and roaring, and Rhys. Everything was Rhys, all I could see, smell, hear. I could taste him, my lips tingling with the phantom whispers of our most recent kiss. I blocked everything out, gulping down air as quickly as I could, until I felt close to normal again.

At last, I managed to look Rhys in the eyes without immediately feeling as if I was about to combust. “Y-you…you’re my mate.” I managed, the words feeling strange on my tongue.

Rhys only nodded, his forehead becoming beaded with sweat. “I know, Feyre. And you’re mine.”

Confusion lanced through me, and I pushed off the rock. “What do you mean ‘you know’?” 

Then realization slammed in to me: He had been crying. Had… had that been related to this?

“Last night,” He answered quickly, “before we fell asleep, you said you loved me.”

So it had been related.

I nodded, remembering how he had reacted, and forced myself to meet his gaze. From the look in his eyes, Rhys looked as if he felt the same way I did, his eyes nearly glowing. I licked my lips. “What now?” I whispered. “What do we do?”

His eyes tracked that, darkening hungrily. He took a step forward, one hand bracing himself against the stone. Our chests pressed together, he pushed a strand of hair aside, and leaned down to murmur in my ear, “So, so many things to choose from, Darling.”

I gasped, one hand going to his shoulder, as his lips made contact with my neck. If I had thought his kisses last night were incredible, these...these were absolutely world ending. Every single part of me burned, yearning to feel more of him, touch more of him.

When he finally pulled back, I wasted no time in flipping us, mindful of his wings, and pinned him to the stone wall. I was pleased to find him blushing, that tan skin beautifully reddened. Giving him my best imitation of his smirk, he let out a whimper, eyes fluttering shut.

Then I kissed him, and the world exploded in stars.

I lost track of how long we kissed, and returned to my body to find that Rhys had buried his fingers in my hair. I pulled back, studying him. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted and swollen, blushing madly as he panted. Even though I likely looked much the same, I grinned, and attached my lips to the underside of his jaw. He let out a muffled groan, his head falling back against the stone. I continued working down his jaw, until I reached his ear. 

Teasingly, I bit at the skin below to see how he would react. He moaned, that hand in my hair tugging, tugging, tugging. Then I moved to his wings, drawing a nail against it, or pressing sweet, fluttering kisses to the most sensitive parts. Rhys became putty in my hands, his eyes clenched shut as I worked him.

At last, we parted, and he stared me in the eyes, trying to convey so, so many things.

“What now?” I said, echoing my previous question.

That wicked smirk I loved so much finally returned. “I’ll tell you this, Darling.” He said, thumbs drawing sweetly back and forth on my sides. “There is no way in hell you’re marrying Tamlin.”

“No,” I agreed, smiling softly, “I’m not.”

“That’s because you’re marrying me.”

All those years, all those days, crashed into me. Feyre Darling. He had been trying to tell me… All those years, mating bond or no, he planned to marry me. Rhysand Darling, Feyre Darling. How had I never realized it? He had been hinting his feelings, his love. Over twenty years of murmured endearments, teasing declarations of adoration, and reassuring touches. It had all been real.

And so I looked up to him, my mind utterly clear, and murmured, “Yes I am, my darling Rhys.”

His eyes softened, and his lips parted. He smiled that sweet smile that was so utterly him, and kissed me tenderly, murmuring countless times, “I love you, I love you, my Darling Feyre, my mate, my world.”

Just like that, deep in the woods of a foreign kingdom, I was home.

“I love you, Rhys. More than anything.”

I had my mate, and that was all I needed.

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#feyre #feyre x rhysand #feyrhys #Feysand #rhys x feyre #rhysand #feyreandrhysand #acotar #cassian #Azriel #bryce quinlan #hunt athalar #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #feysand fanfiction #feysand fic #feysand fluff #SJM #acowar #acotar fic #acomaf #acofas #a court of wings and ruin

[brandyovereager]

Should I?

I have a VERY AU Feysand fic in the works and I’m wondering if y’all are interested in it? Should I keep working on it and get a chapter posted?

***It involves werewolves***

***Would also be definitely explicit rating***

#Feysand #feysand fanfiction #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyrhys #rhys x feyre #rhysand x feyre #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #sjmaas #sarah j maas

[courtofstars]

Hey beautiful people! I need help to find a feysand fanfic that I can’t for the life of me remember the name or author of, I read it agesss ago and it goes something like:

Feyre and Rhys used to date in high school but lost touch when Feyre moved away, they reconnnect when they bump into each other at a bar years later? And I think Rhys is a preschool teacher or something?

TIA!

#feysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #feyre acheron #rhysand #feyrhys #sjm #sarah j maas #feysand fic #fanfic #nessian #tog

[onlywhitethorn]

Feysand One-Shot - Light

Feyre sat up in a heavy pant, her bronze hair plastered to her sweat-slick face. Instinctively, she reached her hand out for Rhys but was met by empty space. Without looking over at the crumpled duvet, Feyre almost sobbed in realisation that he was not here and could not comfort her. Another nightmare had plagued her sleep that night; similar to the ones she had been having for the past couple of weeks ever since her mate had been gone. But as High Lord of the Night Court, Rhys was supposed to be off on a meeting with the other courts and was going to be away for a couple of days. It now had been much more than that and no one had heard any news of his whereabouts. Feyre had offered to go but Rhys had assured her he would be fine on his own and didn't need her to protect him from danger with her water wolves. She smiled tentatively at the memory of his excuse. But now she wished she'd ignored it, pushed and gone with him. Finally Feyre summoned up the courage and looked over to the vacant space where her husband usually slept. She brushed her hand over the silk blanket, imagining it was him she was caressing, and not just fabric. A sigh escaped her lips. By the Cauldron, she missed her mate. Feyre was just deliberating to get out of bed, when she felt a soft tug on the bond she and Rhys shared. Frantically pulling down the wall as fast as she could, she let his thoughts flood hers. For a moment there was nothing, and Feyre knew what was happening. A familiar wave of light suddenly enveloped her; a feeling of joy and love and serenity; the feeling of eternal peace in death. It was full of memories and future plans of the family they would have shared. There were no words spoken. Just pure feeling. And then the feeling began to dim and fade. A tear escaped Feyre's eye as the other side of the bond slowly dissipated. She swore could hear Rhys's faint, breathy laugh just before his mind slipped away. ---------------------------------------- "On this day, we mourn the death of our High Lord Rhysand of the Night Court," Morrigan says to the crowd that had gathered for the funeral of their leader. Feyre can hear wailing among the mass. There is a cloud of sorrow and despair hovering over almost everyone in Velaris tonight. She knows that in the crowd there are people who are not mourning for her mate. She knows that somewhere amongst all these honest people is the person who did this. "Please raise your glasses in honour of Rhys's life. Let his soul be a part of us all as we live our lives in the Court he had dedicated his life to improve. May he find peace in death." Feyre hears Mor's voice break at the end. It is not only Feyre who is suffering. Mor has lost her cousin; Azriel and Cassian have lost their brother; and Amren has lost one of the only things that keeps her tethered to them all. Mor steps down from the dais and joins the rest of the Inner Circle who hover at one edge of the crowd. They are not the same without Rhys. His death has left a huge gaping hole in all of their hearts. Their High Lord, the most powerful High Lord in history, whose kindness had stretched and healed them all, was no longer able to be with them. ---------------------------------------- Years pass and Feyre is neck deep in her High Lady role, with the help of her Inner Circle. New alliances are formed. The most significant being the Spring Court, whose new High Lord is Lucien. From this alliance, Feyre finally finds out that Rhys was killed by Hybern sympathisers. She doesn't like to dwell on how they killed him and how they manage to keep him contained. She tries to live on. ---------------------------------------- yeahhh I'm really sorry guys but i just couldn't help myself

#feysand #feysand fic #feyrhys #feyrhys fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feyrhys fanfic #feyrhys fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fic #a court and mist and fury #acomaf #acomaf fic #a court of wings and ruin #acowar #acowar fic #Feyre #archeron #Rhys #rhysand #high Lord #high lady #night court #fanfiction #sorry #sad

[writing-after-midnight]

Between the Office Blocks

WRITING MASTERLIST

Welp its currently 2:58 am and I just wrote this lil thing for y’all! :) I promise I’m going to get back to my multi chaps and stuff! This probably has a few mistakes, but have mercy I only work when I’m close to utter exhaustion and when it’s past midnight hahaha!

If I made a list to tag people in everything I write (including asks, mini fics, multi chap, etc) would people be interested?

----------

The day starts as a usual Monday morning in the Prythian Industries office. My colleagues arrive at their desk half-awake, clutching a coffee as they try not to fall asleep in front of their screens; the air conditioning ceasing to work and leaving the block to slowly cook as the summer sun glares in through the windows. The office is never too lively at this time, but not even the boss can bring himself to care about the lack of productivity. 

Fighting to keep my head from hitting the desk, I manage to send a few emails to my half-dead colleagues. Too many late nights spent painting the starry sky have taken their toll. Office jobs are the one thing I vowed to myself I would never do, but an aspiring artist with no money to keep herself afloat in the first place would never survive in this city. I feel like my brain is processing everything a minute after it happens. I sigh, and look around. The rest of the people in the office still look half-dead, so I don’t think I’ll be told off if I let myself relax for a little bit. That’s what I tell myself as my head turns the other way to look out of the window, at least. 

I’ve always had a fascination with the sky and its colours, but the haze blurring the rest of the city on my left and right doesn’t inspire me today. Still, I just want to get out of this Cauldron-damned office. I watch the cars pass by below me, checking my boss doesn’t pass by every few minutes. Maybe I could just walk out and grab one of those cars, and drive somewhere nice… nobody here would notice. The only thing holding me back is the lack of money when I would get back. Or maybe I could sit in a field and forget about everything. I close my eyes, imagining the soft wind through my hair....

I jerk awake when someone behind me drops one of their folders, the clatter ringing through the office. How long was I out? I know that I should I probably get back to work and emails and planning, but my brain still won’t bring itself to do any of it. Instead, I continue to stare out of the window. 

There is another office block in front of me, the same ugly colour and uniformity as ours. Most of the time, I detest looking at the Mountain Inc. building. The people sitting next to the windows look closer to death than half the people around me. Every single one I see look devoid of any emotion, hunched over their computers, continuously typing. I scan over all of them, looking for any signs of life anywhere. And that’s when I see him. The office blocks are so close together I can see him perfectly, directly across from me.

The man is dressed in a black suit, and he is staring out into the sun, seemingly daydreaming. The light reflecting from the window illuminates all of the features on his face. The chiseled jaw, the dark blue eyes that look almost purple in the light, the inky black hair framing his tanned face. The dreamy look he has on his face suggests that he’s feeling similar to me from a few minutes ago. The large window perfectly frames his body, and my fingers itch for a paintbrush, to hope to capture some aspect of this man. And then I realise I’ve been staring for too long. And the man is now staring at me, an unreadable smile crossing his face.

My cheeks instantly heat, and without thinking, I wave. Did I actually just do that? I quickly look behind me to check that nobody is watching, and find him offering a small wave back. His smile widens to a grin, as he holds up his hand in a gesture to wait. Slightly confused, I watch as he turns back to his desk, then faces me again a moment later, pressing four sticky notes to the window. 

H i ! The notes said, followed by a smiley face. I can’t help but laugh. It’s his turn to wait as I grab a piece of paper to write my response. 

This day is going by too slowly! He reads, as I then grab a sticky note. Name? I ask followed by a smiley face to match his.

Same over here, Darling! He replies. The name he gives me makes my cheeks turn red again. I’m Rhys.

I’m Feyre! I’d much rather be out of this office, everyone’s a zombie.

Can we be office buddies, Feyre Darling? It’s much too boring over here too. We’re the only ones left alive, it seems.

Yes, please.This is so much more fun than trying to talk to Bron at this hour.

I see Rhys laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. I’ve not even met him properly, so how can I already find him so attractive? You’re always welcome to… what is this? Talking? Messaging?

I have just enough time to read what the note says, before a panicked look crosses his face and he crumples it.

A second later, a woman with red hair appears at Rhys’ desk. She seems to be angry, and Rhys’ head hangs a little bit. I cringe, thinking about how I’ve just gotten him into trouble. The woman must have seen what we were doing because she walks to the window and spots me staring at them. Her face goes stony, and I watch as she drops the blind. That’s ended our conversation, then.

An hour passes by, and I do next to nothing on the computer. I can’t help but look over to the black blinds opposite to me every couple of minutes. By the second hour of staring at the screen, I look over to Rhys’ window again, completely giving up on any sort of work. And then, I see a flash of yellow peek through the blinds as tanned fingers press a note on the window. My heart does an involuntary leap.

Number?

Immediately, I scramble for a pen and sticky note, writing my phone number down. I stick the note on the window and wait, watching for any movement on the opposite block.

 A couple of minutes later, I see two fingers part the blinds, and the pair of blue eyes stare back at me. I offer back a shy smile, and his eyes wrinkle in what must be a grin. The eyes disappear, and I search through my bag for my phone. Even though I’ve been clearly putting sticky notes on the window all morning, I decide to hide my phone under a folder, just in case I’m spotted. Not 30 seconds later, my phone buzzes.

Unknown number: Is this Feyre Darling? It’s Rhys! Sorry about that! My boss decided I wasn’t doing enough work, not like I’m going to let that stop me from talking to you :)

I actually giggle. Like a schoolgirl. The effort this man is going to, to talk to me makes me blush for the third time today. 

This is Feyre! Your boss gave me the worst side eye, and I don’t even work for her! I’d die if I had to work there.

She’s like that all the time, it doesn’t matter who to. Oh well, it’s money!

That’s the only reason I’m here, otherwise I’d be painting.

A minute or two passes, and I start to worry that I’ve gotten him into trouble again, or maybe that he has simply lost interest in the conversation. However, the reply I receive isn’t quite what I was expecting.

This may be a little bit forward, but perhaps you would like to meet after work for a coffee, and you could tell me about your painting? Only if you want to, of course, but I would love to talk to you!

Is this actually happening?

Yeah, that sounds great! What time do you get out of work? I’m out at 4pm :)

I’ll be out for 3:30pm, but I’ll wait outside if you would like? Or we can meet at the coffee shop on the corner? :)

I’m not opposed to walking down with you ;) see you at 4pm!

See you then, Feyre Darling ;)

The last few hours in the office seem to pass by even slower than usual, but at least they feel brighter. It finally comes to 4pm, and I dash out of the office and down the stairs, out onto the street. I look around, trying to spot inky black hair in the bustling crowd. Then a deep voice comes from behind me.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

----------

#feyre #feyre archeron #rhys #rhysand #feysand #feyrhys #ferhys #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feysand fic #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #feyre x rhys #feyre x rhysand

[acotarauweek]

ACOTAR AU Week: Survey!

Thank you all so much for being a part of ACOTAR AU Week! It has been so exciting to organise and have people participate in! 

If you have a minute, we would love it if you could fill out this survey to give us some feedback!

We hope you’ve enjoyed ACOTAR AU Week as much as we have, and we wish you all Happy Holidays!

-Lily (stars-falling), Lydia (writing-after-midnight), & Rachel (illyrianbeauty)

Find survey here!

#acotar au week #au week #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #feysand #feyrhys #ferhys #nessian #elriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #thank you so much everyone! #happy holidays #survey

[the-dreamer-of-velaris]

Into the Darkness

My first fanfic! Honestly, I have no idea how long this will go on for. So stick around awhile and read!

Message if you want to be tagged in the next part!

*******************

Part 1.

Feyre

Maybe I’d always been gone.

I didn’t know how long the darkness had forgotten to claim me.

White. Everything thing was white. White walls, white beds, white ceiling, and a white curtain separating the room. The bed across the room was empty. It always has been empty. It probably always will be.

How long had I been stranded in this endless pit? How long was I going to keep falling, down, down, down?

Forever? Likely. There was nobody to pull me back. Not anymore.

If I had been honest with myself, I would have known long ago. I look up and sighed at the ceiling. There was a deep, dark crack there, cleaving through the middle of the pure white. It was the only thing that I could bear to look at.

Not because it was interesting. No, there was a deeper reason. The reason which kept me from wanting to get better. Not that I had a choice, though.

The white was life, my life. And that crack through the centre… That was the void inside of me.

And as the paint peeled, and the crack branched out, I knew that it reflected that void eventually swallowing me up. The void that would become my life.

But that was the bleak truth. I knew that. And I did not stare up at that ceiling with hate, but just with a gaze of someone who was broken.

And I was. Truly.

******************

Rhysand

Had I always worn this mask? It itched and, well, it yearned to be taken off. I grit my teeth and kept my mouth shut. I yearned to shout at the night sky and wish, wish that for once that I would be fine.

But this was second to what I wanted above all else. Above all else, I wanted my family to live. Even if I didn’t. Hours ago, the second option might not have even existed on my list. A few hours ago, when I was still living at home. Before I got shipped to a faraway hospital. Before I became sick.

When I was blissfully ignorant that I had a few months to live.

*******************

Feyre

I had lost all sense of time. I couldn’t lose any sense of direction, as I had been stuck in the same place for who knows how long. I didn’t bother counting.

Nobody had bothered telling me.

I hadn’t talked to anyone, for… I didn’t remember how long. Maybe I would have, if I had been an extrovert, or even someone who could open up to others.

I wasn't that person. Nor was I willing to be. Nor would I ever be.

Maybe in another life, another reality, where I was not diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer. There was an 8.2% survival rate over 5 years. And my time was nearly up. I didn’t know how long I had left. Didn’t bother checking.

Not when there was nothing to live for.

There was a deep ache in the bones which I had not used for a time. A pain in my upper abdomen, which was seemingly always there. These days, it seemed like everything was pulsing in agony. My emotions included. If I did indeed have any left.

If I had no nurse to take care of me, death would have claimed me long ago. I was steadily losing my appetite, and I no longer cared for my well being. My health. My life.

Perhaps I should have been more well cared of. Perhaps if I had been, I would have been thankful that I was still around. But I couldn’t help wondering, that if the hospital had kept me around this long, maybe, maybe, I had been kept here for longer than my expiry date.

Most days, a nurse would come to check if my vital signs were still intact. But as of late, they came less and less frequently. Perhaps it was because they knew that I was more than halfway gone anyway. That it was already too late.

Perhaps I knew that too.

******************

Rhysand

A day ago, I was still fine.

A day ago, I was sleeping in my own room.

A day ago, I was just Rhysand, Rhysand Nocte.

A day ago.

*****

They don’t know what’s wrong with me.

After a day's worth of tests, they don’t know what is fucking wrong with me.

But I do not say these words aloud, because they will break the guise that I am cool and calm and collected. Because they will break the mask that I have worked so hard to master.

Because then everybody will know that I am not fine.

******

They prod and poke at me. They take tests. There is a whole team of them. I lose blood. I lose myself. All the while I tell myself that I will be fine. That I must show no pain. No weakness.

But I feel everything. And everything is agony.

But I summon darkness, as cold as ice, into my eyes, my veins. I summon indifference into my facial features. I summon normalcy into my voice.

But it is getting harder and harder to do so. I can feel my mask chipping. Fracturing.

But I collect myself, piece my mask together, even as its glass pieces tear at my hands, and my blood is spilling into my mind.

Because I will bow to no one and nothing. Not even pain. Not even my despair. Nothing. No one. Because I have built walls.

No one can enter.

And I cannot leave.

Not now.

Not ever.

******************

Feyre

It has been an eternity since I lived.

Since there was curiosity in my veins. Since I had any interest. Since I had actually felt happy. There is a hole where those feelings used to lo live.

Because living had become as foreign and as hard to reach as the stars.

They had drifted away from me further and further during my time here, however long that was.

I wondered if anyone would be able to reach them.

I had lost hope that I ever would.

*****

Voices. More than one. And they were approaching towards my room.

Visitors? Likely not. No one had come to see me. Ever.

After a while I had stopped hoping that they would.

But even so, I kept staring at the ceiling, the picture of indifference.

A part of me wondered if they would come in here. Another part hoped that they wouldn't.

******************

Rhysand

They push me in a wheelchair towards my room. All the while, I want to scream at them.

I. Want. To. Shout. At. Them.

I. Want. To. Yell. At. Them.

I. Want. To. Scream. At. Them.

But I can't. I can't.

I can't.

I want to. But I can't.

I list all the things I want to scream at them for. For what reason, I don't know. For anger? For desperation?

Because I am not an invalid. Because my mind is bleeding. And because it hurts.

It hurt me not to see my brothers, Azriel and Cassian. My cousin, Mor. Even grouchy Amren. Because they were the only ones who knew me. And they were not afraid.

It calmed me to think that they might see me soon. If I wasn't contagious. If they caught what I had… gods. I'd rather anything but that. Anything.

The thoughts calmed me, so much so that I was unaware of our surroundings.

Until we entered my new room. Until I took one glance around the room, and saw a woman dutifully ignoring us, staring up at the ceiling. Until I saw her.

Until I felt a bond snap into place between us.

#fanfic #my first fanfic #feysand #feyrhys #feyre x rhysand #rhysand x feyre #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sarah j maas #sjm #sarah j maas books #feysand fic #acotar fic

[acomaflove]

Feysand Moments

Rhysand: I don't understand how you've been able to ensnare the Suriel so many times.

Feyre: Well at this point, I wouldn't even call it "ensnaring" because now I just have the Suriel on speed dial.

Rhysand: You have THE SURIEL on speed dial?!?

Feyre: *shrugs* Yeah, and your problem with that is...?

Rhysand: *shakes his head in disbelief* Nothing. I'm just going to bed...to re-evaluate everything I thought I knew about how the world works after hearing that.

Feyre: Okay, have fun.

#the suriel #the suriel funny #feyre x rhysand #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #rhysand x feyre #feyre archeron #feyre cursebreaker #hysand #high lord of the night court #high lady of the night court #the night court #feysand #feyrhys #feysand fic #feyrhys fic #love feysand #love feyrhys #a court of wings and ruin #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #acotar #acowar #sarah j maas #sarah j maas books #acotar fandom #feysand funny #feyrhys funny #feysand fluff

[rosegoldannie]

We have Chemistry

A feysand Highschool AU where they bond over science because Im in a great mood! The guy I’ve had a crush on all year finally asked me out, and we’re going to the movies! Tomorrow!

This is mainly a fluff, and is most definitely not scientifically accurate. ENJOY!!!

Masterlist

“You idiot!” Feyre hissed, storming down the long hallway towards the Dean’s office, because, yet again, Rhys had somehow managed to blow something up in Chemistry. 

“It’s not my fault!” He insisted, struggling to keep up with her. “I followed the protocol exactly. I did everything the lab instructions said to, and it still blew up.”

She whirled on him, glaring fiercely. “If you’d followed the protocol, it wouldn’t have blown up.”

Rhys rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “That’s not fair. You-” He pointed an accusing finger at her, “were responsible for mixing the chemicals together.

“And you were responsible for getting them from the supply closet. So where do you think the mix up most likely occurred? Huh?”

Shaking his head, he stormed into the office with her hot on his heels. The desk attendant, a tired looking junior that she knew to be John, glanced up at them. “Again?” He groaned.

“Yep.” Feyre deadpanned, dropping onto the wooden bench pressed against the hideous creme walls. “Three guesses whose fault it was.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Her lab partner grumbled, dropping onto the bench beside her, his arms still crossed and glaring straight ahead.

John scoffed, beginning to scribble something on a sheet of paper. “If I had a dollar for every time he’s said that this semester.” He ripped the paper upwards, then slid it across the counter towards them. “A week of detention. The deans are getting tired of this, so they gave me the authority to punish you for them.”

Feyre instantly turned beet red, and slunk further down on the bench.

Rhys snatched the hall pass from the counter, and sauntered out of the office. Giving the poor junior an apologetic glance, she hurried after him, struggling to match his long strides, not wanting to risk yet another detention by being caught without a hall pass.

“Hey, slow down!” She hissed, struggling to keep up with his unfairly long strides.

“Why should I?” He snapped, taking longer strides out of spite. “You threw me under the bus in there.”

Fighting the urge to snap back at him, Feyre took a deep breath before speaking. “And what would you have had me do? Lie?”

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “No.”

They stopped, just outside of their classroom. A glance at the clock revealed that the bell would ring at any moment.

“Well?” She prodded.

Rhys sighed again, chewing on his lip. “You have to get the chemicals, I do the rest of the work.”

Shock flooded her, her jaw dropping. “I-Rhys, you know I’m dyslexic, right?”

He blinked. “And?”

“And you’d trust me with this?”

“Is there any particular reason why I shouldn’t?”

Feyre could only shake her head, utterly stunned.

The bell rang then, and he gave her a warm smile as students flooded out into the halls, laughing and shouting. “Good. It’s settled then.”

They managed to be civil during that day’s detention, much to the shock of the teacher monitoring them, Ms. Brun, who eyed them suspiciously every time there was any sound in the room.

Feyre blocked that out, and focused on filling out her lab report, as she had used her free period to re-create the experiment properly, as had Rhys. though, they’d mutually agreed that it would be for the best if they each did the experiment on their own to avoid any further incidents.

A ball of paper whizzed past her.

She didn’t notice.

Then another ball of paper careened by.

She watched it roll to a stop, then returned to her work.

An eraser hit the desk in front of her.

Feyre hardly glanced up.

A paper airplane floated gracefully down onto her work, smudging the wet ink. 

She brushed it off the desk with a huff.

A pencil smacked her in the head.

She kept her head down, kept writing, even as she clenched her jaw.

A highlighter collided with her desk.

Feyre remained focused on her report, even as annoyance warmed her face.

Ms. Brun stood, and announced that she was going to get some water, and to continue working. Feyre nodded that she understood, and continued working, even as Rhys made a non committed noise. The teacher shook her head as she left, and Feyre knew without looking that his feet were propped up on the desk, hands folded behind his head, ever the arrogant prick.

A ruler whizzed past, clattering across the floor.

Then a pencil.

Another eraser.

A notebook.

It was only when his calculator crashed into the whiteboard that she whirled in her seat to face him. “What.”

Her previous assumption of his posture had been correct. Rhys was reclined in his seat, feet propped up. “Oh, she deigns to reply.”

That annoyance quickly turned to anger. “Are you serious?! I have to finish this lab, or I won’t make the honor roll.” She hissed, eyes narrowing. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to prevent that.”

Rhys blinked. “Wow. I was just going to ask what you got for question nine. Jeez, take a chill pill, Archeron.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, and tried to calm her roaring nerves. “Nine is trihydrogen monoxide sulfate.”

“Thanks.”

When Ms. Brun returned, she cast a glance around the room, at the papers, pens, pencils, erasers and notebooks strewn about, and sighed.

During their next lab, Feyre checked and rechecked the labels on both the beaker of water, and the beaker of vinegar, before carrying them carefully back to the desk she shared with Rhys, who was already scribbling down onto their shared lab report. “They’re both correct.” She murmured, setting the beakers down.

Rhys hardly glanced up, and adjusted his safety goggles. “Alright, let’s get to work.” He paused to study the steps, then reached for the beaker at the same moment Feyre did, and their hands collided softly.

“Sorry,” She murmured, quickly picking up the water, and dumped it into the larger beaker.

Her lab partner simply blushed, then added in his vinegar, before passing a pen over to her. “Alright, we’re supposed to wait for a minute before adding in the detergent, then we measure the resulting bubbles.”

Nodding, Feyre took the pen and began answering the questions.

After only a few seconds, Rhys nudged her. 

Annoyed, she looked up and gave him an accusatory glare. He then nodded towards the beaker. “Should it be fizzing like that?”

Indeed, their mixture was fizzing quite a bit, slowly bubbling up and filling in beaker, inching ever closer to the top.

At that moment, Professor Kallias strode by, then paused to examine their work. When he finally glanced up again, a warm grin melted his icy features. “Very well done, Miss Archeron, Mr. Nash. Stellar work.”

“Thank you, sir.” They chorused.

Professor Kallias gave them another congratulatory remark before continuing on down the row.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Feyre leaned over to hiss in her lab partner's ear. “Did you put the detergent in?”

An alarmed look spread across his face. “No, did you?”

“No.”

Rhys stared down at the fizzing mixture, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. “Then how- Wait.” He sniffed the air several times. “Do you smell that?” When Feyre shook her head, he then leaned down to sniff at the beaker, and instantly reeled back, coughing violently.

When she leaned over to pat his back, she caught a whiff of the mixture, and began to cough and cough, a wave of nauseating dizziness washing over her as the room spun. Her chest tightened painfully, even as her vision blurred.

“Oh no,” Someone murmured.

Her stomach gave a violent twist, and she was instantly out of her seat and barreling towards the sink to empty her stomach. She only made it a few steps, however, before she tripped over her lab partner’s foot, and fell into the sink, cracking her brow against the faucet.

Suddenly, Rhys was at the sink beside her, emptying himself of the sandwich he’d had for lunch with a loud groan.

Red flooded the line of sight in one of her eyes, even as she slowly began to take in deep breaths.

“What in the cauldron is going on here?!” Professor Kallias shouted, storming over towards them.

“Sorry, sir.” Rhys moaned, head still in the sink. Under different circumstances, she might have laughed. “I felt a bit sick.”

“And you?” Their teacher demanded. 

Feyre turned towards him then, and he paled with a muttered curse, before turning towards their beaker and giving it a very small sniff. His next curse wasn’t so quiet. “Everybody, go to the quad.” He stated, in a monotonous tone, even as his eyes had severely widened. “Now.”

The students let out a mixture of groans, and cheers as they quickly filed out of the room, and the door banged shut.

By now, Rhys had removed his head from the sink, but was still looking incredibly pale and sweaty.

Professor Kallias pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “You two...Just go to the Dean’s. I’ll clean this up.”

Rhys glanced over at her, and let out a sharp curse. He instantly became a fussing mother hen, and wet a paper towel, pressing it to her brow. Their teacher simply watched with an amused smile.

“Here, put your arm around my neck--yep, just like that.” He murmured, helping her out through the door, and began to half-carry her down the halls.

“I’m fine,” Feyre murmured, keeping the now blood soaked paper towel pressed against her cut.

“Bull.” He said, leading her back into the office they had been in only twenty four hours prior.

John let out a harsh sigh, not looking up from his book. “You guys again? Seriously, I swear we’re going to have to start shit!” He hissed, leaping to his feet. “Good God, what happened to you both?”

“Chemistry.” They both deadpanned.

Dull pain began to emanate from the cut, and pulsed in time with her heart, which was only racing because of the adrenaline. Not because Rhys had practically carried her here. 

“Miss Jenkins, we need your help.” John called, trading out the soaked paper towel for a clean one.

A portly older woman came from the nurse’s room, a kind smile on her lips. “Yes, dear? Oh good heavens!” She cried, scurrying over to them. “My word, are you both alright?”

“Yes,” Feyre muttered.

“No, actually, we’re not.” Rhys stated, giving her waist a tight squeeze.

“Well, follow me.” Miss Jenkins fretted, leading them back into the nurse’s room.

He carried her back, and set her down gently on the cot in the center of the room. When Rhys made to pull away and move to a chair, she gripped his arm and pulled him down next to her, deciding to blame her behavior on the loopiness she now felt.

Miss Jenkins carefully took the paper towel from her, and threw it away, before returning with some sterilized cotton balls, which she used to slowly clean the blood off of Feyre’s face in gentle swipes.

“Now,” The older woman began sternly, “tell me what happened to this poor young lady.” She cast a glance at Rhys. “And you too, young man.” She added as an afterthought.

“I tripped.” Feyre said.

“It’s a long story,” Rhys muttered, still looking palle.

Miss Jenkins tutted. “John, be a dear for me and fetch some crackers and juice from the cafeteria.” She called out, leveling a glare at Rhys, who visibly shrunk.

Feyre gave the hand she hadn’t realized she’d been clutching a mocking pat, a smirk worming its way onto her lips.

The woman stepped back, making to prepare some more cotton swabs. “Seeing as we have time, what exactly was the long story?”

“We were doing a lab in chem,” Feyre began, motioning for her lab partner to continue.

“And we switched roles today-” Rhys said.

“-Because yesterday Mr. Man here nearly blew us up-”

“-So she agreed to be the one who gets ingredients-”

“-And I swear I read the labels right-”

“-But when we mixed them it made a toxic gas-”

“-And I felt sick and ran to the sink-”

“-But she tripped-”

“-And I headbutted the faucet-”

“-Then I threw up.” Rhys concluded with a sigh.

Miss Jenkins blinked, returning to cleaning Feyre’s cut. “That’s quite the adventure, dearies. But, how did you make a toxic gas?”

“I don’t know,” Feyre murmured. “The two things we mixed were supposedly water and vinegar.”

“Supposedly?” Rhys scoffed. “I thought you said you read the labels!”

“I did!” She insisted. “They said water and vinegar!”

“Well they clearly weren’t.”

“Yeah, no shit dumbass.”

“Language!” Miss Jenkins shouted, eyeing them with exasperation, shaking her head as she continued swiping at the young girl’s cut.

“Sorry,” They murmured in unison.

“Heavens, you two both need to take a step back and apologize to each other!” Miss Jenkins tutted. “I’ve been listening to the two of you coming in and out of the Dean’s office all semester, and each time it’s because of some mysterious accident in Chemistry, and each time it’s the other person’s fault. And from what I’ve overheard, you two need to take a step back and realize you have a lot in common, before I lose what little sanity I have left. Isn’t that right, John?”

The door creaked open, and the sheepish junior tossed in a pack of crackers and a bottle of apple juice, nodding solemnly before sneaking back out.

“Darn boy always listening at the hinges, always thinks he’s going to overhear international secrets.” She muttered, pressing a band-aid to Feyre’s forehead. “There, all done!”

“Thank you.” Feyre murmured, slowly sliding away from Rhys.

“You,” Miss Jenkins leveled another stern glare at him. “School’s going to let out any minute now, and I’m taking you with the incredibly important job of taking her home. She might have a concussion, and I don’t want her to be alone.”

“Yes ma’am.” Rhys agreed, sending a smirk towards Feyre.

“Good. Now get out. The sooner you leave, the sooner I can go home.” She muttered, carefully shooing them out into the main office.

Rhys wrapped an arm around Feyre, and began leading her out into the parking lot, towards his jet-black, sleek car. 

“I don’t need a ride,” She muttered, crossing her arms.

“Tough.”

“I can take the bus.”

“Nope, get in.”

“You’re insufferable.” She hissed.

“Thank you, darling.”

“I’m not your darling,” Feyre snapped as she slid into the passenger's seat.

Rhys simply smirked again, backing out of the parking lot as the bell rang and students began flooding out. “Apologies, darling.”

“You’re a menace.”

“We’ve established this, Darling.”

Feyre could only shake her head. “I can’t believe this.”

“Back at you. Hey, where do you live?”

“Nineteenth and Prythian.”

He nodded, then merged into traffic. “So.” 

“So what?”

“How much trouble do you think we’re going to be in?”

Suddenly, Feyre found herself giggling, then laughing, then absolutely cackling with glee, tears streaming down her face. After a moment, Rhys joined in, pulling over when he, too, started tearing up.

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#feyre x rhysand #feysand modern au #feyre archeron #Feysand #feyre cursebreaker #rhysand #feyreandrhysand #feyrhys #rhys x feyre #acotar #acomaf #acowar #high lady feyre #acofas #acotar fic #feysand fluff #feysand fic #feysand fanfiction #rowan x aelin

[brandyovereager]

It’s Magic Darling

A Feysand sick fic! As requested absolute AGES ago by @starlitfangirl

On ao3:

 https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638934

Summary: Feyre is sick and Rhysand takes their daughter out for the day so she can rest. Absolute fluff. Daddy Rhys fluffiness.

___

Feyre woke up to a bed full of nothing but herself and about ten tissues. Rhys’ side was cold but there was a pink post-it note on their nightstand that wasn’t there when she fell asleep. She reached over to grab the note and smiled softly when she read it.

Feyre Darling,

Took Tierney into town for the day so you can get some rest. There should be leftover pancakes from this morning in the kitchen (Pay no attention the drops of batter around the stove, she insisted on helping me pour and flip. I’ll clean it up later). Take care of yourself my love, we’ll be home for dinner.

All My Love,

Rhys

Feyre’s heart warmed at the thought her loving husband had put into this. He knew she worked herself hard between helping run their company and taking care of their daughter. As soon as she’d woken up yesterday with a sore throat he’d made it his mission to dote on her every need. It would seem today he’d gone so far as to occupy their daughter elsewhere so she could rest in a quiet, peaceful house. He was absolutely perfect.

On the other side of the post-it was a messy stick-figure drawing of two people with a rainbow behind them—most likely the work of their four year-old. One of the figures was much taller with short, raven hair and the other was small with longer hair of an identical shade. It would appear Tierney was very excited about her outing with Dad.

And why wouldn’t she be? That man was wrapped tightly around her little pinky. The girl was spoiled in every capacity, and would likely come back that evening with several goodies she’d convinced her father to buy for her. He was helpless to deny that dimpled smile anything.

Tierney was absolutely adorable—Feyre realized she may be biased, but the entire Inner Circle agreed. They all said they had never seen something so precious in their many years of life. Tierney had a full head of blue-black ringlets and eyes as fascinating as her father’s. Her irises were a deep navy with light specks that made them look exactly like a starry night sky. She was the joy of Velaris, a child born of a new, peaceful era. She symbolized a new hope for them all.

Feyre sat on the living room couch with a stack of pancakes and turned on the TV. She quickly found Throne of Glass in her Netflix queue and settled in to find out the latest adventure for Celaena Sardothein. From her spot on the couch she could very clearly see four spots where pancake batter dripped onto their stovetop and she almost laughed out loud. She could picture exactly in her mind the sight of Rhys holding up Tierney as she “helped” him make the pancakes. As Feyre turned back to her show she became aware of how tired she still was—even after the long night of sleep she’d nearly just awoken from. The life of Adarlan’s assassin was her favorite and wonderfully compelling, but Feyre found herself succumbing to sleep once again.

—

When she awoke it was to the sound of an excitable Tierney entering the house, followed quickly by a hush from her father. However, in four year-old logic that meant to continue speaking, but in a whisper-yell tone. Needless to say Feyre wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon.

“Mommy you’re awake!” Feyre’s arms opened wide to welcome the child running toward her at top speed.

“Yes I am love-a-bug” a huge smack of lips to her daughter’s forehead resulted in an adorable little cringe on the child’s face.

“We have a surprise, Mommy!”

“Oh, what’s the surprise love?” Feyre’s eyes drifted to her husband with a slight lift of her eyebrow.

“You have to close your eyes, Mommy. Daddy’s gotta put it in your lap”

“He has to put it in my lap? What kind of a surprise is this?”

“Just do it, Mommy!”

“Ok, ok, I’m closing my eyes” Feyre complied, relaxing back into the couch and placing her hands over her eyes.

The surprise placed in Feyre’s lap was warm and moving on her thighs. She opened her eyes to find a black kitten kneading its paws in her shirt.

“It’s a kitty, Mommy! Does it make you feel better?” Tierney looked very hopeful and Feyre’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean love?”

“It’s a black cat! They’re magical! Daddy told me all about it after we talked to the pet store lady.” Feyre’s eyes dragged to meet her husband’s with a look that said ‘did he now’. To his credit, Rhys looked somewhat guilty. ‘I can explain’ his eyes said back.

“Tierney, love, why don’t you find a place to set up your new friend’s things and then wash up for dinner?” So I can hear the interesting story your father has to tell me.

“Okaaaayy!” The four year-old’s voice faded away as she ran off.

“So black cats are magical?” She laughed a little as she spoke. “What’s the story there Rhys?”

“We were in the pet store looking at all the different animals, you know, petting the dogs and watching the fish swim around in their tanks. Then she spotted the place where they kept the new litter of kittens for sale, and the only one left was this tiny little all-black thing. Tierney was just immediately in love with the creature and we spent quite a bit of time over there playing with it. Naturally, that drew the attention of the shop owner who came over to talk to us. She was really eager to make a sale as it was the last of the litter and she told us it’d been there a while. Then she made some off-hand comment of ‘it’s a black cat you know’ and Tierney was looking at me for an explanation—”

“So to explain you told her black cats were magic?”

“Well I wasn’t going to tell her people thought they were bad luck! How could I look at my little daughter and tell her that the precious kitten she’d fallen in love with was unwanted just because of its fur color? The tiny thing needed a home and people who would love it without silly prejudices.”

Feyre couldn’t help but smile at him in adoration. Her husband had perfected his image of tall, dark, and intimidating, but those he loved (especially Feyre and Tierney) knew he had a molten soft center.

“I wonder what those tough businessmen would think if they knew the CEO of Velaris’ largest corporation was just a perpetually bleeding heart.”

#feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfiction #feysand fluff #domestic feysand #feysand child #feysand daughter #feyre archeron #feyre #rhys x feyre #rhysand #rhys #feyrhys #feyrrhys #acotar #acomaf #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acowar #sjm fic #sjmaas #sjm #sjm fanfic #sarah j maas #sick fic #feysand sick fic #sick feyre #daddy rhys #mommy feyre

[catastrophicideass]

A Rainy Day

a/n: its raining and dark and i have fairy-lights on and Daniel Ceasar playing and i hope you feel the same calm that i do right now. also, this is set a around 7 years post acowar

Feyre finishes the last of her little masterpiece up, feeling immensely satisfied with herself. Who knew that right next to that shop across the Sidra that sold lacy little underthings, there would be a self-care shop? 

Something about the pale pink awnings or the little lights hung up inside drew her in, and she couldn’t help but take some stars of her own home. It was a wonder she hadn’t discovered them before, especially given the frequency with which she visited the lingerie shop. She should’ve expected as much from the Kingdom of Starlight, as newcomers had taken to calling it; expected somehow, that somewhere in Velaris she would be able to buy her own stars. She could conjure her own if needed, of course, but these... these specifically reminded her of Rhys. 

Her stars, for a reason that neither she nor her mate had been able to identify, had a red tint to them, almost like they were fiery asteroids, suspended in her night sky. These ones were soft blues and purples and pinks; all one had to do was throw them in the air and they suspended themselves there, gently glowing. It was nearly the exact shade as the ones Rhys conjured when he was trying to get her to summon her darkness, back in that training ring all those years ago when she nearly singed Cassian’s fists with her own hands. 

They also sold a candle that somehow perfectly captured the crisp, clean sweetness of the Illyrian Steppes where their mating cabin was. She went ahead and bought about ten of those candles. She wouldn’t necessarily object to having that scent on hand at all times. No, would not object at all. 

Another little bit of her magic has music playing, the same piece that Rhys one sent to her cell Under the Mountain. 

Darling? 

I’m in our room, Rhys, she sends back through the bond, along with a little shhot of her happiness at that moment. 

He winnows in before she can say anything else, dripping wet, a wild smile on his face, nearly mirrored on the face of-- 

“Mama!” is the only warning Feyre gets before a sopping mass launches herself into her arms. 

Surprised laughter escapes out of her, and her arms automatically wrap around her baby, one hand gently pushing the wet hair out of her violet eyes, even as her own sweater gets damp and water droplets find her face. She looks over Luna’s head and looks at Rhys, who somehow looks equal parts happy and bashful. 

“We were out getting cupcakes and then it started raining and she said she wanted to play in the rain so,” he shrugs, almost helplessly, “who am I to say no?”

“Well, I want to say the High Lord of the Night Court and also her father but-” Feyre is interrupted by Rhys flicking her nose playfully, hard enough that she bats his hand away and pinches his side. “Mongrel,” she adds under her breath, even as his arm comes around her shoulders and she leans in. 

“Dada, dada,” Luna insistently calls, unaware of how she’s had every bit of his attention from the moment she took her first breath, “Mama called you a mongool,” she says, trying and failing to pronounce ‘mongrel’ around the giggles that threatened to burst from her any second. 

“Did she now?” Rhys conspiratorially says, bending down closer to where she sits in Feyre’s lap, now tugging at a lock of her hair. Luna vigorously nods her head in response, almost as if she’s trying to convince her dad to believe her. 

“Well, that’s just rude, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Rhys winks at Feyre, quickly covering that up with a slight frown that almost didn’t work because of the slight tugging of his lips at the corners. 

“What are you going to do about it?” she replies back, sticking her tongue out. That sets Luna off into another bunch of giggles that she tries so hard to muffle behind the hands she claps over her mouth. 

Feyre bites her lip to prevent her own smile from spreading as she tries to maintain her superficial irritation with Rhys if only to see Luna try and fail to be serious as well. Her eyes meet his and time somehow stops for a second, encapsulating them in this bubble of theirs and she felt the same emotion mirrored in his eyes and down the bond. 

Wonder. Fascination. Love. 

Feyre from five years ago could never imagined that her future would one day hold a day where she’s sitting in her room with her laughing little kid in her lap, sat across Rhys, her mate, her husband, the male who brought so much happiness to her life, with them soaking wet and plotting against her, mischief identically glimmering in their eyes. She still can't believe that she gets to have a life this absolutely wonderful, filled with people she loves so much that it feels like her body, even the significantly stronger fae one, is too fragile to contain the overwhelming depth of it all. 

You deserve this and so much more, Feyre Darling. You’ve earned every bit of all this, Rhys sent down the bond, his talons gently caressing her mind as he reciprocates every piece of love and happiness she sends his way. 

“Luna, come here,” Rhys says, crooking his finger at her so she’ll allow him to whisper in her ears. Though Feyre’s fae hearing picked up exactly what he said, she stayed quiet and allowed her loves to get on with their little scheming. 

Rhys pulled back and looked at Luna for confirmation. She seriously nods a yes, even as a smile slips past her very limited control. Feyre turns her head to watch Rhy’s quietly count down and then-

She shrieks. They both dig their fingers in her side, going right for the spots that Rhys knows for a fact set her off so strongly, that she turns into a flailing mess. “Rhys, I swear on the Cauldron- oh, gods- Luna- Rhys, stop or I- Mother’s bloody tits-”

Oh, no. As soon as the profanity escapes her lips, Feyre freezes, both of her little demons stop and then it was Feyre’s turn to clap her hands over her mouth. Rhys and her lock eyes, hoping to the gods that their sweet, innocent child didn’t pick that up, didn’t notice what was said-

Do you think she heard?

“Mother’s bloody tits!” Luna gleefully calls, knowing the reaction it earned the first time and wanting to see it again. She’s looking expectantly at her parents, w grin lighting her whole face up.

She’s not even five yet, and you’ve already gone and taught her that? Rhys’s voice jokingly chides down their bond. Could’ve at least waited till she was seven.

You don't see me bringing up the time she called her rubber duck ‘fuckie’ for a month because of a certain High Lord found it hilarious. 

A dark chuckle echoed in her mind in response, Touche. 

But if there’s anything that experience has taught them is that the more you react to it, the more they say it. And so-

Oh mother, Rhys, we’re going to have to watch our baby girl say ‘Mother’s bloody tits’ for a whole month before she gives it up, don’t we? 

At least I can tell everyone that she picked it up from you this time, Darling. 

#Feysand #acomaf #acotar #SJM #sjmaas #rhys #rhysand #feyre and rhysand #feyrhys #rhys and feyre #feysand fluff #feysand fic #feysand baby #feysand! parents