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fieldofdaisiies · 2 months

Text

Strokes of Fate | pt. 2

paring: Feyre x Rhysand | type: fluff | words: 3,2k words | warnings: none | masterlist

"You?!" Feyre‘s eyes widen in surprise, arms falling to her sides.

Simultaneously, an expression of utter confusion spreads over Morrigan‘s face, gaze sliding from her friend to her cousin.

"I am just as surprised as you are." Rhysand’s violet eyes brush over her body, his voice still as polished and sensual as the last time. "But I have to say, I am very delighted to see you again."

He chuckles, the sound a low, guttural purr. "Or let me rephrase that: I am delighted the big girl could take care of herself and get home safely."

She really, really needs to fight the urge to flip him off. Or to be even a little more immature and slip out if her shoe and toss it at his handsome head, completely ruining his perfect, rich person hairstyle.

"And I am delighted that the rain didn’t ruin your immaculate appearance or heart your ego," Feyre instead fires back, a triumphant grin on her lips now. But it vanishes quickly - the moment Rhys opens his mouth again.

"Thank you very much for the compliment, I appreciate it a lot. Especially coming from you, an artist who has an eye for beautiful things." Amusement glows so brightly in his eyes, it reminds Feyre of the stars in the night sky. And his smile, nothing but cocky and taunting could -would- make her knees wobble under different circumstances. Not right now. Now, it makes her bristle.

But if she had met him under—

"You know each other?" Mor asks, her tone a hint incredulous. Her gaze ping-pongs between her cousin and her friend, the papers in her hands long forgotten.

"Briefly," Rhys comments and then steps aside, revealing the now blank wall behind his office desk. "But not important now. You think you can work your magic there, Feyre?"

A million ideas already spark in Feyre‘s mind but it is a painting that someone commissions so she needs to ask him first what he would like to see. What kind if picture he would like to have.

"I think I definitely can. But first of all I would like to know what you would like to see? What are you ideas? Wishes? Visions?"

A flicker of impressiveness passes over the CEO's face.

"Visions," he ponders out loud and rubs his palm over his chin. "Why don’t we sit down together and figure out my visions." He extends his hand, gesturing at the black sofa. "Let me offer you something to drink." Not a question.

Feyre claims a seat on the black couch, crossing one leg over the other. "Just a water, please."

He grabs a jug from the desk and fills up a glass. With a smile and the tilt of his chin, Morrigan gets her cue, and walks to the glass door. "I‘ll leave you to it then. If you need me, you know where to find me, cousin, Fey."

With wide steps, Rhys strolls to the couch and claims the seat next to her. He gives her a sidelong glance and smiles. She is beautiful - utterly beautiful. Breathtaking. So breathtaking he truly needs a moment to catch himself - no one has ever knocked him of his feet quite like her and that confuses him.

Handing her the glass, Rhysand’s eyes touch hers. "I want something…it‘s difficult. I don’t want something that I connect with work. But something that represents me?"

Feyre almost wants to blurt money, but she keeps calm, nods a little and waits for him to continue. But he doesn’t. Not immediately. Rhysand tips his head back and closes his eyes for a moment. He exhales a deep breath and Feyre watches the heavy rise and fall of his solid, chest - the sculpted muscles are even visible through his white shirt.

Greek god, sparks in her mind - that’s what she would also connect with him. But thank God, her mouth stays closed. Again. Saying that out loud…she would leave and never return.

"It is hard to describe it," he mumbles and folds two fingers over his mouth.

"Think about what makes you happy? What brings you joy? Who brings you joy?"

Rhysand immediately thinks of Az and Cassian - his brothers, not through blood but through what is in their hearts.

But as much as he loves them, having a painting of the three of them in his office…he‘d rather have this at home. Maybe he’ll just ask Feyre again for a painting — it would be a phenomenal chance to see her again and—

A chuckle leaves him - has this young artist already bewitched his heart? After a few minutes of talking to her. That seems impossible. But he can't deny the fact that she intrigues him. Immensely.

Feyre has noticed the shift in his demeanour, the corners of her lips quirking up. "Do you know it? Do you know what you want?"

When he meets her gaze, he indeed knows it.

"Sometimes I just look at the stars and…listen. I manage to block out everything else - no noises from the city, no bustling crowds, no loud thoughts." He inhales deeply. Feyre’s focus is on him. "I think I want a sky full of stars. A night sky. One that is not touched by city lights, not ruined by them. You think you can do this?"

Feyre nods eagerly. "Of course I can do this." She is excited and loves the idea. "I like concept."

It is wonderful . She had no idea he would be so…so thoughtful and would like something so…simple.

Rhysand slowly leans back, arms braced on the backrest of the couch. He runs his gaze over once again, silent admiration etched upon his features.

"Tell me something, darling," he starts, his voice nothing but a purr. "Have you always wanted to be a painter?"

"Yes." The answer comes as quick as a shot. "For as long as I remember, I’ve always wanted to be a painter."

He smiles and it is heartwarming. Feyre reaches for her glass and takes a sip. "What about you? Did you always want to become…an owner of a company?"

He huffs a laugh, the sound bittersweet. "Honestly, no. But I had no choice. My father owned this company and before him his father - my grandfather was the founder of it. I had to take over."

Feyre wants to tell him that there is always a choice and that it is bullshit that he had to do it, but the look in his eyes tells her that if there truly had been another option he would have chosen it.

She wants to ask about his father, but Rhysand is faster.

"So little Feyre was also already a painter? I bet your family refrigerator was covered in your paintings and drawings."

"It was," she hums, recounting the memory of her mother’s eyes lit up each time she drew something for her - one of the few moments were she showed affection for her youngest. But Feyre shakes off these thoughts and instead says, "I remember once being so bored, I painted on the little cupboard my sisters and I had in our room." She chuckles and a look of nostalgia passes over her face.

"Elain loved it immediately. Nesta was a bit shocked at first but then loved it as well."

Rhysand smiles, loving how her face lights up at the mention of her sisters.

"So I guess, I‘ll make a few sketches. Then I‘ll send them to you and start painting?"

"No."

"No?"

"I want you to paint here, Feyre."

Feyre’s eyes widen. "In your immaculate office?"

He laughs, the sound rich and amused. "Yes," he says, "in my immaculate office. I have enough space here and it will be much easier than to transport the painting here once it is done."

It makes sense. Somehow it does. But painting with audience? She doesn’t know if she likes that, but she agrees anyway.

And so, Feyre returns the next day, is led into his office by Morrigan whom she chats with a bit. Rhysand is in a meeting and will only get here later. Feyre likes this, knowing she has a bit of time alone.

She unpacks her colours, all her utensils, and with a pencil she starts to outline a sketch on a canvas.

"Good morning, darling." The low rumble brushes her skin like a feather.

"I see, you're already working."

"And I see you have a very good eyesight."

Hand holding a cup of coffee, the other stuffed into the pocket of his pants, Rhys walks to his desk, gaze sweeping over her, halting and then he chuckles. He sits down, brings the cup up to his lips and drinks. His chest warms oddly. Not due to the warm brew, but due to her presence and then hint of teasing in her voice. It is nice having her here, he thinks.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Feyre returns a few times in the following days. On Monday to start with the base. On Wednesday to finish the base. And on Thursday to start with the details. And once again on Monday to continue with the details.

She is focused, sitting crossed-legged, nibbling on her lower lip and there is definitely colour on her nose. Her adorable nose—

Rhysand shakes his head. What has this female done to him. He breathes a chuckle, the end of his pen between his teeth, watching her over his screen.

She truly is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen and he has seen many women in his life already. But she is—

"How old are you?"

The sudden and slightly loud and sharp question startles the artist and Feyre meets his gaze with slightly widened eyes. "Twenty-one," she tells him. "Why?"

"Shit," Rhys says, the curse slipping through his lip before he can stop it. "You are incredibly talented for your age."

"Talent has nothing to do with age, mister." She laughs a little, trying to brush off the compliment but a blush still graces her cheeks.

"How old are you?"

"Guess." He smirks.

Feyre lifts her brush and tabs the clean end of it against her chin, acting like she is deep in thought. "Hhhm, I would say fifty-five." She grins at him.

A low growl parts the CEO‘s lips. "Careful, darling."

But Feyrelaces her face in innocence. "What? Are you not fifty-five? Are you older?"

A guttural laugh that sends a chill down her spine leaves him. "Cruel, wicked thing."

Her answering laugh is hoarse, smokey like a fine whiskey and it not only does things to Rhys‘ heart. His blood heats and his tongue pokes out, licking over his lower lip.

Her eyes follow the movement, but Feyre quickly says, "How old are you then? Really?"

"Thirty-three."

"Well, I was close," she quips and her focus moves back to the painting, starting once again. He has to laugh to himself and also eventually tries to focus on his work. The stress is on tries. Because he fails. Because she -Ms Feyre Archeron- is a huge distraction. But not an unwelcome one. He likes having her here. It is a wonderful distraction in all honesty.

And so the days pass, Feyre returns and keeps being a distraction. Not much work gets done on Rhys' side, but the painting is nearly finished by the end of the second week and the CEO hates this.

Because it means she won’t return here again. He won’t have her sitting in his office anymore, painting and chatting with him. And that thought…it makes him sad and his heart feel somehow cold.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

The last day, the day she finished the painting is inevitable. And Rhys wants time curse all the Gods and the universe for letting him be stuck in meetings the whole day, not getting a single chance to spend at least five minutes with Feyre.

He will only see her again the next day. They will hang up the painting and he will pay her. That is it.

And there last day together was wasted due to him not being present. Or so he thinks.

"You are still here?“ The tone in his voice reveals his honest astonishment. It is Thursday evening, already past eight, the city outside already entering the night.

Feyre tips her head back, meets his eyes and nods. Then her gaze moves back to the large canvas in front of her.

"I am adding the very last touches." She smiles. Rhys watches her.

"No boyfriend waiting for you at home who might get worried now?“

He has to shoot his shot, Rhysand thinks and casually leans against his desk. He watches her closely, how she reacts, if her body language gives her away.

"Thank god, I don’t,“ Feyre chuckles, eyes not once leaving the painting. But then she lifts her eyes, a wicked glint in her eyes when she meets his. "Thank god, I no longer have him waiting for me at home."

"Him."

She lifts her hand, brush in-between two fingers, and waves him off. "Not important — or no longer important."

A chuckles escapes the CEO and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "He sounds like wonderful guy."

Feyre huffs. She dips her brush into a new bowl of paint, and continues with the task at hand. Until—

"Oh god, you want to go home?!"

Not exactly a question, rather an observation. She sits back on her heels, eyes wide open, shame coiling in her gut. Oh god! She is keeping him here and he wanted to leave already and she completely ignored it.

But Rhysand shakes his head. Feyre ignores it and bounces up on her knees. "I am so sorry. I completely forgot about time and I—"

"Darling." His purr interrupts her rambling. He hasn’t seen her that giddy before which makes him think she must actually feel bad about the keeping him here. Which is, to put it into his words, absolute bullshit. He was working until now anyway. He often stayed in his office until that hour.

Rhysand smiles at her. "Are you hungry?"

She wants to say no, but obviously her traitorous stomach must release the loudest growl on the whole universe in just this moment.

"I guess that is answer enough," he laughs and looks so delighted and happy in this moment, almost as if having dinner with her sounds like one of the best things to happen to him this evening. Unbeknownst to Feyre, it truly is.

"If you insist," Feyre smiles and slowly rises to her feet. She stretches her sore limbs from having knelt on the floor for hours and Rhys can't avoid to marvel at her.

"Pizza?" he quickly asks to distract his brain and finds her eagerly nodding at him. "Then pizza it is."

"Yes!" she silently cheers but he hears her and has to laugh quietly to himself, searching for his phone and dialling the number he, by now, knows by heart. "Any preferences?"

She has already made herself comfortable on the couch, her feet resting on the small table, a contented smile on her lips. "Surprise me."

And he does. He orders what he thinks she might like, or rather hopes and prays she will like. His own favourite pizza. She has to like it.

And when she moans around the first bite, he knows he made exactly the right decision.

"God!" Feyre expresses, speaking with her mouthful. She doesn't mind and neither does Rhys. "I have never eating anything better. This tastes like…everything."

His heart warms and he smiles around the bite he is currently taking. "I am glad it does."

"Maybe you are not only rich, spoiled… You can't be that bad, if you have such a great taste in pizza." She grins and Rhys really fights the urge to flip her off. He only bites down on his lower lip and gives his head a shake. "I feel honoured about this compliment."

They exchange a few things about their lives, and for quite a while Rhysand talks about Cassian and Azriel which Feyre loves to listen to. Then the topic moves to Amren, who created the former painting for his office.

"Where do you keep it now? Won't she be disappointed that you took it off?" Feyre asks.

"Nah," Rhys says and closes his pizza box. Feyre does the same, placing it on top of his. "I'll keep it in my guest room in my apartment. The room she often sleeps in when she stays in this part of the city, so all good."

Feyre chuckles and wipes her hands down her thighs. With a sigh, she rises from the couch. "I think the paint should be dry by now."

He watches her as she walks over to the place she has been working at for the past two weeks.

"Can I see it? The finished painting. Or do I have to wait for the great reveal tomorrow."

"If you're still in no rush to get home you can look at it now?"

"I'm in no rush," he says in his deep, sensual voice, an unreadable emotion passing over his face.

"No girlfriend waiting for you at home?" Feyre teases, the payback for his earlier question.

His eye gliding over her body, leaving heat in every place they touch. "No, there hasn’t been one in a long time," he finally admits.

Feyre shrugs a shoulder, "Hm."

He ignores her reaction and only looks at her, admiration etched upon his features. She is wonderful, Rhysand thinks.

Mischief sparks in her eyes and she lets her lips curl. "What are you waiting for? You said you wanted to see the painting. I doubt you can see it from where you are standing, Mr CEO."

"Darling," he drawls and grins. "Not only artistically talented but also a smartass." He pushes off the couch and with long strolls walks up to her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants.

She grins at him and then turns back to her work of art.

She stands next to the painting, observing it, and has to admit she is very happy with it. A night sky with the moon and a few stars, and one or the other shooting star — nothing special. But for Rhys it is. It is perfect. Better than anything he could have every imagined.

He moves in closer. So close, the warmth of his body reaches her and his breath fans the back of her neck.

"Stunning," he mumbles and is not only talking about the painting. It is truly incredible. A pure and star-covered night sky, not ruined by city lights.

"Look at the stars."

"And listen," Feyre answers, her voice breathy, and when she turns to him, there is a fire in his eyes that she has never seen there before. A fire that also ignites something low in her abdomen.

tags: @girlinglass999 @autumndreaming7 @a-frog-with-a-laptop@honeysuckle-daydreams13 @thelovelymadone @azriels-shadowsinger

#feysand #rhysand #feyre archeron #acotar #acosf #feysand au

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itsthedoodle · 28 days

Text

the tragic story of the vienna sausage

Summary:

“Feyre, before we do this, there is something you should know.”

She looked at him incredulously, trying to ignore the throbbing between her legs. He thought now was the time for confessions? Sighing, she looked at him expectantly nonetheless.

“My cock… it’s not like other cocks.”

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: none

Many thanks to @rosanna-writer for spending her lunch break beta reading this pure chaos of a oneshot 🩵

Read on AO3

“You’ve plagued my dreams for so long.”

Feyre had no actual recollection of how they had gotten there. She only knew that they’d met at a ball several hours ago, and she had been captivated by his aura the moment she’d laid her eyes on him. Rhys could command a room just by being in it, which didn’t really surprise her given his station. They had been introduced to each other, had hit it off right away, had danced all night long, dances during which more than just a few whispers about them had been heard, and had decided to go out for some fresh air. A ballroom wasn’t the best place to strike up a conversation, especially with the presence of eager eyes and ears, so anything remotely meaningful Feyre had wanted to tell Rhys had come rushing out of her the moment she had felt him stand next to her on the enormous balcony.

She had confessed that she loved the night sky more than anything else, and he had told her he knew the perfect spot on this estate for stargazing. She had all but begged him to take her there, so they had gone to the fountain in the center of the rose maze, and had sat there for who knows how long.

If anyone had been looking for them, neither Feyre nor Rhys had known anything about it.

Rhys had started tracing constellations in the sky, meanwhile Feyre had been busy tracing the constellation of stars in his eyes. He had simply looked away from the sky for one moment, had turned his head to look at her and whatever he must have seen on her face had made him risk it all and kiss her like a parched man finally tasting water again.

She had kissed him back, and the rest had conveniently left her brain.

She looked at Rhys now, looked at his flushed face and the silky hair she couldn’t bring herself to stop touching. He was so beautiful and she wanted him so bad that she could hardly make sense of her own thoughts.

His shirt had been thrown somewhere behind him — or behind her? — she didn’t particularly care, and the top of her gown had been lowered down to her waist, her chest peppered with so many bruises she didn’t even know how she would cover them. That was a problem for future Feyre.

Present Feyre simply wanted to fuck the gorgeous man in front of her.

She ran her hands on his bare chest, the planes of it covered in strange markings she didn’t understand, moving them low to his abs and ending at his pants. She couldn’t wait to taste him.

She started to unbutton them when he put his hands on hers.

“Feyre, before we do this, there is something you should know.”

She looked at him incredulously, trying to ignore the throbbing between her legs. He thought now was the time for confessions? Sighing, she looked at him expectantly nonetheless.

“My cock… it’s not like other cocks.”

She suppressed a snort. Wasn’t that what every male said? Though Feyre had to admit, Rhys wasn’t like other males. He was different. There was something about him she couldn’t put her finger on.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She said, unbuttoning his pants, lowering them and his underwear.

As they fell to his ankles, she only had enough time to register two things:

Rhys looked anxious, and his cock was abnormally large and long.

She blinked down at it, unable to form a coherent sentence. While she usually hated the “how will it fit?”, she was seriously considering whether it would actually fit.

She forced her brain to come up with something to say. “Not like other cocks, huh?”

Rhys gulped. “I’ll show you. Please promise me you won’t bolt.”

Feyre nodded, keeping her eyes on her unusual prize. She was horny, and she wanted him to fuck her, but she had to figure out something regarding that—

The cock, already at a size she couldn’t quite grasp, started elongating, with Rhys standing up from his spot on the fountain and putting distance between them with every inch it gained.

Her mind was blank. She wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or if she had eaten something that was affecting her clarity. Her head was spinning and her heart was threatening to jump right out of her chest.

Rhys was now on the other side of the center of the maze, and his cock was long enough to touch her nonetheless, and Feyre—

Feyre ran for her life.

She ran faster than she had ever ran before, and just when she thought she had put enough distance between them, she felt something brushing her ankle. She looked down, screaming at the sight of Rhys’s cock wrapped around her ankle.

Feyre fell, face on the grass. The cock released her ankle.

“Feyre please, I just want to talk. Let me explain.”

Her face was hurting from the impact, and she could feel her nose bleeding. Ignoring the pain, she used that moment to her advantage, standing and running again, without a single clue as to where she was going, seeing as she was in a freaking maze.

Feyre was aware of the ridiculous sight she was making at the moment — running from a prehensile cock and its owner, boobs out and swinging this way and that.

She stopped in front of a narrow path, the only way forward. It was a tight space, and chances she would be hurt in the process were high, but she couldn’t climb up the tall rose wall, so she went in. The skirts of her dress kept getting stuck in the thorns of the roses, but slowing down would mean the cock would catch up to her. While she was horny and would admit she could be talked into letting a prehensile cock fuck her, she was also terrified of how that would work to begin with. Would it hurt? Could he control the length? If that was the case, why hadn’t he just kept it to himself in the first place?

That’s right, she thought to herself. Because he’s a decent man willing to give his partner a choice.

Rhys… poor Rhys. He had begged her not to bolt. She had told him she wouldn’t and had done just that at the first chance she got.

“Feyre please,” he pleaded with her from what she thought was from the other side of the maze wall. “I swear I just want us to talk. You deserve an explanation.”

She did, she was aware of that. She also knew he deserved to be heard. There had to be a reason for whatever was going on. Who was she to judge someone’s physical condition? And besides, how bad could it be? She was scared, but at the same time she was also curious about it.

Making a decision, she slowed down, catching her breath. She was a big girl. She could do this.

Turning around, Feyre went to the exit of the path she was in.

As expected, Rhys came out of the parallel path, his cock now at its usual length.

She suppressed a snort. While she had been busy running naked from the waist up, he had simply decided to run entirely naked altogether.

The man was gorgeous though, like he had been carved by an artist. Even his cock was gorgeous.

“I’m sorry I grabbed your ankle.”

Feyre nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself. I was just…”

“Scared? Taken by surprise?” he said with a knowing tone.

She nodded again.

Rhys sighed. “You wouldn’t be the first. It’s a hard thing to explain.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow. It was a hard thing alright. Rhys caught what she meant and laughed.

“Has it always been like that?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Rhys shook his head. “No. A witch pretending to be a priestess cursed my family line centuries ago because I rejected her advances. It’s been like this ever since.”

“Is there a way to break the spell?”

He looked at her for a moment, taking in her appearance. “The key to breaking the curse would be a willing sexual partner who knows about it and accepts me nonetheless.”

Feyre hummed. So that would explain why he had told her. Did that mean—

“I know what you’re thinking. There hasn’t been a willing sexual partner in quite some time. You’re the first one to even agree to hear me out.”

“That must have been painful for you.” she said, approaching him.

He snorted. “Emotionally and physically, yes.”

Sighing, she stopped in front of him. “Look. The thought of it terrifies me, I won’t lie. But I’m also curious.”

“You… are?”

His unsure tone broke her heart. No one deserved to be feeling what he must have felt all these years.

“I am,” she said, bringing her hand to his cock, stroking it. It was smooth like velvet, which she wasn’t expecting considering how long it could get and how she had been running away from it until a few minutes ago. “I’m also still very turned on.” She went down on her knees, eye level with it. “I’d say that’s a good sign, right?”

Rhys was looking at her like he couldn’t believe his luck, and she used that moment of shock to lick a long stripe up his shaft.

He groaned, and she took him fully in her mouth, one hand gripping him and her other hand finding its way to her clit.

As she sucked and stroked, she felt the world tilting, a weird sensation in her head. She faintly wondered how it would feel if the cock elongated while inside her before her world went fully dark.

“Feyre?”

She groaned, feeling warm all over. She was lying somewhere soft. Had Rhys carried her inside the mansion from the rose maze?

She forced her eyes open, blinking several times, waiting for her eyesight to adjust. Rhys was by her side, her hand in his. He looked disheveled, stressed, tired, and fully clothed.

“Rhys?”

He sighed, sounding relieved. “Hello Feyre darling.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I was so worried about you.”

“What happened? How did I get here, did you carry me here from the rose maze?”

“The… what now?” he said, wholly confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve been lying here for a whole week. The fever only broke an hour ago.”

“What fever?”

Rhys blinked. “You don’t remember anything?”

Feyre shook her head.

“Well,” Rhys started, “You got bitten by a venomous snake. Madja gave you the antidote on time but the fever needed a while to fully break — you seriously don’t remember anything?”

“No, I don’t,” She said, sighing. “I must have really been out of it.”

“You kept mumbling things about stargazing and… prehensile cocks the whole time?” he finished with a confused tone. “I’m just glad you’re okay, darling.”

He leaned in to kiss her gently and she returned it. Had it all been a dream?

“Rhys?” she asked tentatively, “can I be honest with you?”

“Always.” He answered immediately.

“I’d have been curious and willing to give it a shot, but I’m glad you don’t have a prehensile cock.”

#feysand #rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre #feysand au #the most unhinged idea i've ever had #also the most unhinged thing i've ever written #and trust me i've written quite a few of them #keep an open mind #and read at your own risk #acotar #acomaf #acowar #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #feyre x rhysand #rhysand x feyre

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damedechance · 7 months

Text

» read on ao3 (5/5) » listen to playlist

Pairing: Feysand

Status: COMPLETE (read from ch 1 here)

Rated: E

Summary: rhys.exe has stopped working

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟRead below for a brief snippet:

5. prick.zip

“Feyre,” Rhys said silkily.

She still didn’t look, but she raised her eyebrows and tilted her face up towards him. He had her attention, then, as he started to fold his legs behind him. And then her eyes snapped towards his hands, as he gently nudged her thighs apart.

Watching him warily, she asked, “What are you doing?”

She still held her phone in one hand, but had moved it up and out of the way, a puddle of blue violet light spilling onto the wall beside her head and illuminating a swath of her hair. She watched him crawl forward in the space made between her legs, and held her breath.

Rhys braced his hands on either side of her hips, and the phone fell to the floor, clattering. Her fingers were still curved gently around the air, as if she hadn’t realized she’d dropped it.

“I’m bored,” Rhys said, barely above a whisper.

She was avoiding catching his eyes, looking somewhere off to the side as her lips pressed tightly together. Rhys angled his face down towards her.

“Play with me, Feyre,” he murmured against her ear.

Her eyes flicked over to his, just as she shifted down. Until she was almost completely beneath him, propped up on her elbows. Above her, her hair dragged against the wall as she slumped. Rhys pressed a soft kiss right beneath her ear, and her mouth fell open.

Her fingers pressed into the ground, and her pinkies brushed against the inside of both of his wrists.

Feyre finally let out a shaky breath.

Then, “Play with yourself.”

Rhysand laughed softly, then lifted a hand to run the pad of his thumb along the edge of her jaw. He curled his fingers beneath her chin, tipping it up, and against his knuckles he felt her swallow.

“If I do,” he said, “will you promise to draw me?”

A light gasp, and then she slipped even further down. Lying fully on her back, her knees pressing into either side of his hips, and her hair now splayed out around her head. A hand came up to the center of his chest, and he wondered if she was about to shove him away.

She didn’t.

“That was one time,” Feyre said. “Today, and only because–”

“Liar.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

#feysand #acotar #acotar fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #acotar fanfic #feysand fanfiction #modern au #feysand au

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highladyofterrasen7 · 2 months

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Whatup my friends

It’s trauma Tuesday (it’s Wednesday)

#sarah j maas #acotar #rhysand #feyre archeron #feysand #feysand au

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hlizr50 · 1 year

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Welcome back to the ACOTAR Writing Circle, organized by the incredible @azrielshadowssing!

For part two I was tasked with continuing the Feysand fic the story starts when it was hot and it was summer and by @damedechance (read part 1 on tumblr or on AO3) and boy did she know what she was setting me up for. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm that slow burn kind of girl, but we are in full banter and smut territory already for part two!

That being said, this fic is now officially NSFW!

You can check out the master list for this writing circle here and see what everyone is writing! Part 3 will be posted in two weeks!

One week.

Seven days.

One hundred sixty eight hours.

Ten thousand eighty minutes.

As Feyre lay sprawled on the tile clad in nothing but a bralette and panties, she contemplated trying to math out just how many seconds she’d been sharing this apartment with Rhys.

“No,” she chided herself, cursing to the empty, heavy, oppressive summer air. “Rhysand.”

She gave up on figuring out how many seconds had been in that week. Math wasn’t her strong suit, anyway.

It had become increasingly difficult to hide behind her crumbling wall of practiced distaste for the beautiful man. Which was why she’d been avoiding him for nearly three years. Feyre had come to know what lay behind that infuriating arrogance and smooth calculation once before.

At least, she thought she had. And then she’d slept with him, like an idiot.

About a month after she’d returned from her beach vacation with Mor, where she’d met the tall, dark, unfairly attractive man and had finally succumbed to the urge to jump his bones, Feyre had been giddy at the prospect of attending his company’s autumn banquet. She’d tried to keep her enthusiasm in check; she and Rhys – Rhysand – hadn’t exchanged more than adoring smiles and casual kisses before they left the beach house in separate cars, keeping their dalliance a secret. But it had been the best sex she’d ever had, and she saw those incredible luminous violet eyes in her dreams more often than she cared to admit.

When he strolled through the ballroom wearing an impeccably tailored suit and a bowtie, her mouth had gone dry as a desert. He’d looked like a movie star, with all the confidence that he so rightfully possessed, and the tall, striking redhead with her perfectly manicured fingers tucked into the crook of his arm was a fitting, beautiful, disgustingly perfect pairing.

Even now, as she did her best to cool herself on Mor’s living room floor, her cheeks heated with embarrassment. She was glad she could blame it on the sweltering summer and the broken AC. She had been a fool; one of those silly girls she’d always felt sorry for in college, panting after a pretty boy who had made no promises and had gotten what they wanted. When Rhys had come to greet her and Mor, she’d thought perhaps there had been a flicker of surprise, perhaps regret. But she knew the latter had just been the crushed hopes of a plain girl who had little to offer a man such as that.

Especially in comparison to Amarantha.

Her hair was silken waterfalls of wine. Her skin, pale and smooth and pristine. Feyre hated the way her ruby red, pillowy lips seemed to tick up, as if she knew the thoughts and despair that was racing through Feyre’s mind. Her dark eyes seemed so deep and empty and soulless, and Feyre found herself delighted that the woman had at least one singular imperfection.

Since then, the young artist’s walls had been solid as steel and black as onyx, constructed from avoidance and distraction. Tamlin had started as a rebound, but he had taken care of her in all the ways she had dreamed a man would when she was toiling to make ends meet for her family, working full-time as she struggled to finish high school. While her father wasted away under the blanket of his despair and his perceived shortcomings.

Tamlin should have been everything she wanted – everything she could have ever dreamed. His family was wealthy, and he was an up-and-coming attorney at his family’s prestigious law firm. Feyre had wanted for nothing when she had been with him, at least as far as worldly possessions went. And the sex was good… not like the night she’d had at the beach with Rhys. But she could live with that.

Things had started to go sideways when Mor had reached out to her about a job; she’d wanted to revamp her entire office and thought custom art pieces in the lobby, hallways, and conference rooms would be a nice way to keep the environment exciting and positive. Feyre had been so excited to tell Tamlin – her fiance of a few months – about the amazing opportunity.

But he’d only frowned and asked if she thought that was a good idea. After all, she had to start planning a wedding, and he had a lot going on at the firm. He’d need her support, when he was available to receive it within the constraints of his increasingly busy schedule.

And not that she’d needed his permission, but she had assured him that she could make it work. She could negotiate a reasonable timeline with Mor that would ensure that she wasn’t frantically working late into the night, and she could do most of that work from home. So she would always be there, in the apartment they shared, when he returned at the end of the day.

Things had only gotten worse from there. It was as if that first pursuit of her own dreams threatened him. He became increasingly controlling, demanding to know what she was doing at all hours of the day and night. If she didn’t answer his texts immediately, though she was often covered in paint, he would call incessantly and send line after line of cruel, pointed words to the tune of the happy chime of her phone. Tamlin knew exactly where to strike, too. He took care of her. She wanted for nothing. Didn’t she remember where she’d come from? How hard it had been to slave away to keep herself and her family housed and fed? Didn’t she understand that he just wanted her to live in comfort and be happy and not have to do that again?

She’d endured it all, had adjusted so many parts of her life, because he had a point. And she believed that somewhere, deep down, he did care. He thought that love meant shielding and protecting and preventing, meant providing ease and comfort. Feyre could understand that – she sometimes wondered why she didn’t feel like that was what she needed – but to her, love was encouragement and a safe place to land, in case the risks you took didn’t pan out. She’d thought she was making it work.

Until he started coming home later, but without the expectation of dinner being ready for him. Until she noticed a sickly floral perfume wafting from his hamper of button-down shirts. Until the red smudges on the collars were too numerous to ignore.

All of the names he’d called her. All of the insinuations, the anger, the yelling and the deadly silence. Feyre had endured it all, had changed so much about herself and her life and her dreams to try to make it work. Because Tamlin was right, in his way: he took care of her and she should be grateful for that.

But when the towering blonde had just huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook his head and all but blamed Feyre and her “silly little art projects” for his infidelity, she’d thrown the colossal diamond engagement ring in his face.

And now she was here. On the smooth tile floor of Mor’s apartment, willing any modicum of chill from the stone into her body. Because the air conditioning was still broken after a week.

“Well this is unexpected.”

And just like that, she was frozen. Dread prickled her flesh, the goosebumps rising over her entire body. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath. If she freaked out, he would only respond with that infuriating grin. She couldn’t let Rhysand know that he could get under her tingling skin so easily. So Feyre relaxed, willing her limbs to stay spread wide even though all she wanted to do was cover herself, and sighed.

“I’m not sure why. We’re on the top floor, in the middle of the summer, with no functioning AC. We’re basically next to the sun. Clothes aren’t practical.”

“Indeed.”

With the rustle of fabric that seemed to roar in her ears, Feyre knew she’d made a mistake. Her eyes flew open just in time to find Rhys pulling open the front of his charcoal button-down, revealing a chiseled landscape of abs and pecs and ink. Heat flooded her, and not because of the summer air, as she took him in. His body sure hadn’t gotten any less delectable. Damn him.

“What are you doing?” she asked before she could stop herself. God, she was an idiot.

“You said so, yourself,” he crooned in response, draping his shirt over the back of one of the barstools. “Clothes aren’t practical.” He practically sauntered toward her as her lungs struggled against his attention. The quirk of his lips was so damned sexy that she hated him for it, and she tried to cling to that disdain, even as her insides twisted with a want she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Instead of pouncing on her, Rhys allowed himself to fall into the armchair to her left. Feyre couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed. As if he could sense her inner conflict he smirked down at her, violet eyes twinkling like jewels bathing in firelight.

“Ask me why I didn’t take off my pants.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and then willed them shut, trying to calm her racing heart and roaring blood. But her newfound roommate wasn’t content to let her be.

“I didn’t take them off, Feyre darling, because then I’d be completely naked. And I’d hate for you to feel like you’d have to remove those lovely underthings to even the playing field.”

She groaned, doing her best to ignore that he’d just informed her that only a few steps and a thin layer of fabric separated him from her. “Why are you so annoying?”

“You mean undeniably charming? It’s a curse, truly.”

“Yes, you are a curse,” she grumbled back, rubbing her hands over her face. “I think you’ve decided to stay here just to make me miserable.”

“As entertaining as that sounds, I told you that there are some major plumbing updates happening in my house. I scheduled it like this because I knew I’d be able to stay here,” he explained.

How convenient for him. On the contrary, it had been a total accident that she’d found herself single and homeless the day Mor had left.

“What?”

Her heart stopped and her eyes burst open, her gaze immediately snaring on his. Rhysand’s jaw had gone slack and disbelief painted the features that were usually so carefully controlled.

She’d said it aloud. Oh, God, how was that possible?

Feyre scrambled to her feet, desperate to make a run for it, but Rhys met her chest-to-chest in the space between his chair and the couch. And she couldn’t take her eyes off of that broad expanse of tan skin and swirling tattoos, lifting and falling with the breaths that she could feel skating over her disheveled hair. It was fine that she was staring at his bare chest, because that meant she wasn’t looking at his face or into his eyes.

She cursed the world when she felt gentle fingers curl under her chin and lift, forcing her hand. The stare she met was not arrogant or mischievous, nor was it clouded with pity. No, Rhysand’s incredible starlit eyes were dark with intensity. Stormy with something she dared not try to identify.

“Single?” His voice stuttered, as if he could hardly breathe. Feyre gave a half-hearted shrug and jerked away from his hand.

“Tamlin was cheating on me.” Might as well not beat around the bush, though she didn’t feel the need to explain that she’d stuck around for the lies and the name-calling and the snide remarks about her body and her appearance and her work and… everything. Feyre bravely snuck a look back at Rhys, who was still just regarding her intently.

“And homeless?” God, why was he so intent on her laying herself bare at his feet? Didn’t he know how beaten down and humiliated she was already? Her shoulders sagged as she sighed again, her feistiness and annoyance replaced with exhaustion.

“Well, Tamlin’s name is on the lease, so…”

She didn’t have the strength to say anything more. Not to this perfect specimen of a man who could have anything he ever wanted at any time. A man who hadn’t wanted her. All of her bravado had faded away, and she realized that she was practically naked before him, both physically and emotionally. Taking a step back, Feyre folded her arms over her chest.

“I’m going to go get dressed,” she whispered, turning to flee.

She’d only made it two steps when a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. She spun, ready to ask Rhys what the hell he wanted now.

And then his lips were on hers.

Rhysand was kissing her. And she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. The hand that had been so forceful, had spun her around, now cupped her nape with such tenderness as his lips and his tongue set her aflame.

No matter how loudly and forcefully her mind screamed that letting this happen was not a good idea, Feyre couldn’t bring herself to care. Not with the warmth of his palm leaving a trail of goosebumps down her back. Not with the way his heaving, muscled chest rose and fell beneath her hands. Not with the way he was kissing her, as if she were his salvation.

Rhys moaned against her mouth as he lifted her thighs, sweeping her .up against him and his obvious need without breaking the contact between them. Feyre was too enraptured to even squeak in surprise. And then they were moving, even as their tongues danced and their fingers squeezed. She had the fleeting sensation of a bead of sweat crawling down her spine, but it was quickly replaced by the sudden free fall of Rhys tipping them over onto a bed. The heat of his skin radiated into her, boiling her blood as need roared through her veins and pooled in her core. She was caged beneath him, and in the back of her mind the last crumbling vestiges of her self-preservation were calling out to her, rambling through a list of reasons that this was a mistake that was going to end up with her crushed beneath the weight of this man’s saccharine smile again. But all of that fell away as his open-mouthed kisses started moving up her jaw and then followed the path of her heartbeat down her neck.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Fuck, she was a goner, for sure.

And so her hands found the ridges of his obliques and trailed over the rippling muscles of his abs and up over his chest. As his mouth moved lower, she wrapped her arms over his broad shoulders and sighed, awash in the sensation of his soft lips on her burning flesh. His journey continued into the hollow between her breasts, still covered by flimsy lace.

“Can we take this off, Feyre, darling?” His question vibrated through her breastbone and sent shivers to the tips of her toes.

Feyre couldn’t recall ever having ripped off an undergarment with such urgency.

And when she was bare beneath him, his eyes had turned dark and stormy and desperate. “Fuck, you’re even more gorgeous than I remembered.” The way he whispered the words was nearly reverent, and they washed over her like a spring morning mist, chasing away the sweltering summer and leaving her skin prickling with anticipation. Rhys lowered his dark head and tongued at one of her nipples, his large palm sliding over her other breast. Feyre arched up into his sensual touch with a stuttered gasp and slid her fingers into his thick, midnight hair. It was so soft, so at odds with his hard body and his wicked mouth.

He sucked her nipple between his teeth and gave her a nip, and she yelped, surprised and delighted at how the short, sharp sting made her inner muscles clench. Soon the infuriating man shifted his attention, laving his tongue and lips over the other nipple whilst gently pinching and pulling at the one that was now standing at attention.

After another playful bite, the wetness of his mouth moved away from her chest, and Feyre felt bereft from the loss. But that trail of fire, ignited by his lips and teeth, moved down her stomach. Lower and lower and lower. Until she felt his fingers curl under the band of her panties. Blinking her eyes open, she lifted her head and gazed up at him, his unspoken question blazing in his starlit eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” she breathed. Rhysand’s lips tilted into a devastating, devilish lopsided grin as he chuckled.

“Nothing at all,” he crooned in response. Then he slowly peeled the veritable scrap of fabric down over her legs, his gaze keeping her pinned and breathless. Feyre could feel the color bloom upon her cheeks the further down he got, until she was fully naked on the bed and he had lifted himself up onto his knees to take her in.

She couldn’t help but notice the way his slacks were tented in front, the considerable bulge only making her blush more. But she grinned lazily. Satisfied.

Tamlin had been critical of her body, though most of the time not pointedly. But he did love control, and that included watching her like a fucking hawk when they ate meals together. His comments about needing a wife who stays trim – who could easily shop at all the high-end stores that only sold sizes 2-4-6 – had eroded her self-esteem somewhat.

But the way that Rhys was looking at her now made her feel like the sexiest woman on the face of the planet.

“Oh, Feyre, darling. You look absolutely delectable,” he murmured softly, his tilted grin widening into a wicked smile. Rubbing his palms together, he made a show of licking his lips. Feyre would have rolled her eyes if she hadn’t been paralyzed by the implication of his words. “I think I’d like a taste.”

Rhys moved with surprising speed, and she barely had enough time to suck in a breath before he pounced on her, quickly hooking his arms under her thighs and diving in to feast upon her.

“Oh, my God!” Feyre gasped, her hands fisting desperately in the sheets. Rhys let out a feral growl that vibrated against her clit and sent her eyes rolling.

His mouth was unrelenting, his attention ferocious. Rhys ran the flat of his tongue over her sex and flicked the tip of it over the tiny bud that was swollen and needy and sensitive. He took his time to pleasure her in every way, plunging his tongue into her and fucking her with it, then pulling out and sucking her clit into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Feyre’s hurried breaths and gasps had grown into moans and cries and curses, her hands desperately searching for something to hold onto, to keep her grounded. Her fingers would sink into Rhys’s hair, then she would flail and clutch at the sheets, then she would lift her arms and grip the pillow above her head. But nothing could stop the torturous pleasure as her body wound tighter and tighter, this infuriatingly skilled man bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Rhys!” She could barely speak with the way her muscles were clenching and spasming. “Oh, fuck! I –” Her words pulled apart and mixed into an unintelligible scream as her orgasm surged through her. Rhysand’s tongue on her clit sent wave after wave of pleasure through her body, and he kept licking and sucking at her as she fell from the precipice. Feyre wasn’t sure that she could breathe or think as her sight and smell and touch and sound were overwhelmed by the ecstasy that his mouth was wringing from her.

Her eyes were watering when Rhys finally took mercy on her, her chest heaving with deep, panting breaths. Feyre watched with a bleary gaze as this sex god stepped off the bed and hurriedly removed his pants. When his length sprang free, hard and proud in front of him, she could only manage a fleeting thought that he hadn’t been bluffing before. She must have been staring, because his smug, smooth voice drew her out of her haze.

“Like what you see, Feyre, darling?”

She scowled. “It’s… fine,” she grumbled.

“It’s fine?” Rhys balked. He crawled back onto the mattress and then slowly, languidly prowled over her prone form. When they were face to face, his arms caging her at her shoulders, he lowered his head. His words seared the shell of her ear. “I’m fairly certain that you know that my cock is much more than fine.” He pressed a deceptively chaste kiss against her jaw, then another on her cheek. When his mouth met her lips, he plunged his tongue between them, igniting the passion and desire that was still simmering after her mindblowing climax only minutes before.

Rhys pulled back, breathing hard, and stared into her eyes. “I’m all too happy to remind you how much better than fine it is.” Stars danced in her vision as he thrust into her, seating himself to the hilt. She’d forgotten how big he was, how deliciously he filled her – enough to steal her breath. Her back arched as her lungs kicked back to life, just in time for Rhysand to lift his hips and then push them back against her, burying himself deep inside her again.

And then he unleashed himself upon her.

Feyre’s breathing hitched and her voice cracked as she yelled any number of colorful words and cried his name as he pounded into her, her arms hooking around his neck and clinging to him. Her feet hooked around his thighs, opening herself further to his punishing rhythm. Fuck, she’d missed this: this deep, sensual connection of bodies and pleasure. Tamlin had never been able to make her feel like this. Hell, he’d hardly had the desire to try.

Rhys captured her lips in a hard, searing kiss. He pulled out of her and she whimpered at the emptiness she felt. But it was only long enough for him to grab her legs and bend them back toward her chest, pinning her knees down on either side of her torso. When he plunged into her again her eyes rolled back into her head, the intensity of the sensation almost too much to withstand. Rhys fucked her in deep, long strokes, drawing a tormented wail from her lips at the base of every thrust.

“Fu – uck. You – you’re s-s-so deep,” Feyre stuttered around the impact of his body against hers. Rhys hissed a laugh between clenched teeth.

“And how does it feel, Feyre?” he growled. “Does it feel fine.” He punctuated the abhorrent word with another stroke.

“Oh, my God!” she gasped. “Oh, fuck, Rhys!”

“Tell me, Feyre. Tell me how it feels.”

Her vision was blurring as he pounded into her, the noises coming from her mouth things she didn’t even recognize. He was driving her mad, keeping her dangling perilously over the cliff’s edge. But the fall was just out of reach.

“Rhys! P-p-please!”

“Tell me how good it feels, Feyre, and I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life.” Somehow he still crooned the words, as if he were still in full control over his body and his mind. God, the power of his arrogance was truly mythical, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything other than claiming this climax.

“It – it feels – fuck!” She moaned again, desperate to get it out. “It feels… amazing. Rhys, please. Fuck, I’m so close.”

“Good girl,” he praised, and with the next surge of his hips he released one leg and circled his thumb around her clit.

Feyre screamed, but it was shredded and raw and broken. Broken like the rest of her shattered mind as everything unraveled and she was carried away in the unstoppable current of her orgasm. She felt Rhys, hard and thick inside her as he plunged in and out a few more times before unleashing with her name on his lips. He fell between her quivering legs, his cheek resting upon one of her breasts as they both came back to earth. In an instant the adrenaline disappeared and her muscles all seemed to fail. Her body went limp as her hand found the soft hair at Rhys’s nape. Her breathing grew deep and her eyelids grew heavy, and then she drifted to sleep.

~~~

When her blue eyes blinked open, Feyre was alone in the bed, and she couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that stabbed her in the gut. But as she blinked at the clock on the opposite nightstand, it read 8:03am, and she leapt from the tangle of sheets.

She was going to be late for work.

Her shower was quick, not allowing any time to ruminate over Rhysand’s departure without so much as a, “Thanks for a good time”. Perhaps, once again, it hadn’t been as meaningful to him as it was to her. It was exactly what her subconscious had tried to tell her the night before, but she was too desperate for him to listen.

Feyre’s sour mood lifted, however, when she finally made it into the kitchen and found a coffee mug – stamped with a scripty Hello, darling – on the counter next to a note:

You looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to wake you. Obviously, my FINE cock really tired you out last night.

If you need to stay home, I’ll be glad to inform my cousin that you were simply not ready for my sexual prowess. Just let me know.

I won’t be back until late tonight, but I wouldn’t mind finding you sprawled out on the floor again. Or maybe on the table? My own personal feast, perhaps?

~Rhys

God, he was going to be even more insufferable, now, wasn’t he?

Feyre shook her head, unable to stop herself from snickering, and made herself some coffee and packed her lunch. Then she carefully made her way down the many flights of stairs. If she fell down the steps, Rhys would give her endless grief about not being able to walk the day after they had sex. She was not willing to endure that.

She was breathing hard by the time she made it to the landing and walked out the door, and the summer sun was already beating down on her. Her car was just around the corner, though, and then she would have sweet, sweet AC once more.

“Feyre.” The voice stopped her in her tracks and stole the air from her already struggling lungs. All she wanted was for her feet to keep moving, but they were frozen in place. When she heard her name again, her body turned in spite of her better judgment. And there, not ten feet away from her, stood a tall, perfectly groomed man with a green sport coat and glossy blond hair. Feyre lifted her chin, determined not to let him see the anxiety that rattled in her bones.

“Tamlin.”

#acotar writing circle #acotarwritingcircle #feysand #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #feysand au #feyre archeron #rhysand #rhysand acotar #smut #banter #acotar fanfic #acotar #fanfiction #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction

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hyacinthoideshispanica · 9 months

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I just had an idea for a Feysand au.

Rhys and Feyre both went to art school and were rivals/Feyre hated him because one day after the first week or so, Feyre came into class and saw that Rhys had a small tattoo on his arm that looked similar to a sketch she had done a few days ago. She's so mad that she throws her shoe at him and accuses him of stealing her work. Rhys just shrugs it off and says he didn't steal her work, he was just inspired by it.

Years go by, and they've graduated. Feyre runs an art studio and is slowly making a name for herself. Rhys became a successful tattoo artist.

One day, they randomly run into each other, and the old rivalry sparks up again. Feyre announces that her work is about to be featured in a gallery show, and Rhys tells her that really popular celebrities have started booking appointments with him. They end up making a bet over who can become more famous in a certain amount of time. If Feyre wins, Rhys has to publicly admit that he stole her design all those years ago, and if Rhys wins, he gets to give Feyre a tattoo.

The deadline for their bet ends up being on the same night as the art show, and Feyre's confident she'll win, but then only a handful of people come because like, a block away, Rhys has two or three celebrities in his shop at once. So, basically, everyone in town is crowded around there.

Feyre's heartbroken and closes the show hours earlier than planned. Hours later, after a few glasses of wine, she marches down to Rhys's shop, planning on screaming at him for ruining the most important night of her life and maybe breaking the shop window or something but when she gets there, it's empty, dark and locked up. Feyre realizes it's midnight, and she just completely breaks down.

Rhys realized he had forgotten something at the shop, so he comes around the corner and just sees Feyre, on the ground just sobbing. He asks if she's alright, and she tells him to go to hell. He invites her inside because it's freezing and begrudgingly, she accepts. He makes her tea and asks why she was lurking in front of his shop so late. She explains he ruined her show, and Rhys is super confused because, "Feyre, your show is tomorrow night." She stubbornly tells him he's wrong. It was tonight, and it was a failure because of him.

Rhys pulls up an announcement of the show on his phone and shows her, and Feyre realizes that the wrong date had been put on it.

Rhys asks if she really thought he'd steal such an important night from her like that, and Feyre reminds him that he stole her work back in school.

Frustrated, Rhys rolls up the sleeve of his shirt and shows her the tattoo while also pulling up a screenshot of her own sketch. He points out the differences, and Feyre, now looking at the work side by side, realizes that, while Rhys was definitely inspired by her sketch, he had altered it to be uniquely his and hadn't actually stolen it.

"I told you back then, remember? I didn't steal your work, I was inspired by it. You inspire me."

He pulls out a portfolio full of sketches inspired by her own work, and he tells her that, apart from his own tattoo, he's never tattooed any of these designs. He's never even shown them to anyone else before.

Feyre: You have an entire portfolio of work you've never used. Why?

Rhys: I almost dropped out of school. I felt like I wasn't talented enough and was just wasting time and money like my father said I was, but then one day, I looked over, and there you were sketching. It was beautiful, you were beautiful and for the first time in a very long time I felt hope that I would succeed. So, after months of staring at blank paper, I finally drew something, and the end result was this. (He gestures to his tattoo) You're the reason I kept going Feyre, the reason I stayed with art and now have this shop. And now, whenever I start to doubt myself, I look at your work and feel inspired again. You're my salvation, Feyre. "

Feyre is stunned and starts crying. Rhys wipes her tears away, and they start kissing.

The next night, the gallery show is a huge success. Several celebrities come and purchase paintings, and a few of them introduce themselves to Feyre. Telling her that Rhys has been telling them about her work and how she's his muse for months now. Feyre goes to shake hands several times but, at the last minute, has to awkwardly switch from her left to her right because her left hand is currently wrapped up in plastic. Healing from the fresh tattoo Rhys gave her earlier that day after they spent the rest of the night together in Rhysand's apartment. It's a large piece, covering the tips of her fingers all the way up to her elbow, full of dark swirls. They designed it together.

Sorry this is so long. I don't have the talent to write a full fic, so if anyone wants to use this as a prompt, please feel free.

#acotar #feysand #feysand au #feyre archeron #rhysand #rhys and feyre #tattoo au #fic prompt #modern feysand au #modern acotar #acotar au

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romanticatheartt · 1 month

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Ok hear me out... Has anyone read twisted series by Ana Huang? because I was thinking an ACoTaR x Twisted crossover... but not like a full fanfiction just a description (?) of what it can be cuz I can't write for the life of me (I can't write in my mother language let alone in another one!)

Twisted Love x Elucien Twisted Game x Gwynriel Twisted Hate x Nessian Twisted Lies x Feysand

What do we think?

I mean Twisted Love is my least favorite of all the books (like very least) so I have to change many things of it to fit Elain and Lucien. Lucien is going to be so sassy and cocky (not like Alex who has a personality of a rock) and Elain is still a florist but ALSO a photographer. I'm pretty sure a modern AU Elain would be a great photographer as well!!

Twisted Games is my favorite out of all of them if I'm being honest. So Gwyn is a princess who likes to sing sometimes. She has a sister who's is about to be the future queen but is she? (yeah we're not killing Catrin in fact we give her a wife!!) and Azriel is her bodyguard.

Twisted Hate is my second Favorite and also the first book I read from this series (don't ask why I did that lmao). I always see Nesta in a modern au as lawyer!! She's studying and getting ready to become a lawyer. And Cassian is a sports massage therapist and a gym owner and happens to be her colleague and her trainer... he's a menace of course!!

Twisted Lies... well let me tell you the only reason I didn't liked this book as much as I wanted to, is Christian being so much like Alex but I liked the story in general and you can't tell me Stella and Christian doesn't give of Feysand vibes... Feyre has a art therapy degree and her dream is to open an studio but she's also a blogger on social media and tries to save money from their earnings but she has difficulty to reach a decent engagement. She also has a crazy stalker of an ex boyfriend that she still hasn't manged to get rid of (which is Tam/in). Rhysand is her landlord of the most secure apartment (she used to share it with Ressina, but now she's alone), and he's accepting the payment of her rent, which is way lower than the original price because she happens to be Nesta's sister who is his SIL and also Cassian's and Mor's BFF and you have to believe him that these are his only reasons... He has a security company and does other things as well... (and it's not illegal at all)

I mean as I go I'll defiantly add to the plot of each couple. But I'll start with Gwynriel because Twisted game was almost without any connection to the other books (and I love that book the most... and Gwynriel week is near) and from what I have in mind each one is going to be long lol

Lucien is a billionaire... cuz why not? Bat boys are adoptive brothers (Rhys' mother adopted Cass and Az) Azriel works for Rhysand but Cassian took a different road as you can see. Archeron sisters have a shaky relationship specially after their mother's death. Valkyries are bffs and went to collage together. Feyre, my baby, will go through it here as well. I'm not sure if I should keep Rhys' sister and mother alive and kill his father or kill them all... we'll see hehe

#this idea came to me last night #I was like I need to do something for Gwynriel week #and my mind went to a spiral and this happened...#it was out of my hands tbh #feysand #feysand au #gwynriel #gwynriel au #elucien #elucien au #nessian #nessian au #acotar x twisted series crossover #pro gwynriel #pro elucien

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velidewrites · 4 months

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That’s my girl.

— Feysand as Sophie and Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle 👒

Part 2/3 of my birthday gift for the lovely @azrielshadowssing! You can find Part 1 here.

#I could NEVER start a feysand howl au and not give daddy the slutty coat #feysand #feysand au #feysand art #pro feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #myart #velidedraws #also I am terrible at drawing outfits please forgive me

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sideralwriting · 1 year

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Feysand Month 2022

Day 1 prompt: Fairy tale AU.

Chosen tale: Cupid and Psyche.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The night covered the bed and surrounded Feyre.

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

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

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

"Are you going to kill me, Rhysand?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hmm, which is?"

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

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

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shallyne · 5 months

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Modern Feysand AU where Rhys celebrates all the holidays with Feyre that she didn't get to celebrate because she was neglected by her parents and he tries to make EVERYTHING PERFECT

#He fails at times but it makes Feyre laugh so a win is a win #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feyre archeron #feyre #feyre cursebreaker #high lady of the night court #high lady feyre #feyre darling #rhysand #rhys #high lord rhysand #rhysand archeron #rhys acotar #high lord of the night court #feysand au #feysand

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 months

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Strokes of Fate | pt. 1

paring: Feyre x Rhysand | type: angst | words: 3,4k words | warnings: none | masterlist

"You see what the painting looks like, right?" Rhys huffs loudly, flashing his best friends an incredulous look over his shoulder. The CEO's stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, his hands in the pockets of his pants, shoulders slightly slouched, expression incredulous.

Rain drops cascade down the glass, the coming storm mirroring the whirlwind brewing inside of him. The painting was a present, but—

"It reminds me of a pile of trash," Cassian, his best friend, hollers and tilts his head to the side to examine the painting again. His eyes narrow and he brings up a hand, folding three fingers over his mouth.

"It could also be two plastic bags…filled with trash," Azriel adds, fighting the urge to laugh.

Rhysand flips both of them off when he finally fully turns to them. "Idiots," he grumbles but when his eyes land upon the painting he has to agree with their descriptions. The figures on the painting could truly be mistaken for trash. He has absolutely no idea what the three objects should even display, but he truly hopes his friend didn't try to paint him, Az and Cass and rather aimed for something abstract.

Cassian lounges comfortably on the plush couch, legs crossed at the ankles, Azriel next to him in an armchair, both chuckling at the awfulness that graces the wall behind Rhysand's desk.

"You know, I truly appreciate all kind of art, " Rhysand says, turning slightly to look at the painting once again, then back to his friends. His voice carries a tone of bemusement, tinged with a hint of annoyance. "But this... piece of art looks like someone let loose a child with a crayon and then called it a masterpiece."

Cassian chuckles, the sound a welcome relief in the otherwise gloomy atmosphere. "Well, she isn't the tallest…one could sometimes mistake her for a child. I am sure her pants are child-sized."

Azriel cackles, but the CEO only rolls his eyes at his two idiotic friends.

"What do I do now?" Rhysand turns away from them again, looking at the rain-covered window once more. "How do I get rid of it? And how do I get a good painting for my office instead?"

"What? You don't like the painting Amren made for you?" Morrigan, his cousin, appears on the threshold, red heels eliciting a clicking sound with every step she takes into the office. "I warned you about her artistic talent, but you wouldn't listen."

If someone looked close enough they would have seen that Azriel's breath caught for a small second, a flicker of a moment, but the man quickly turns his attention back to Rhys, waiting for him to answer.

The blond female tosses a pile of papers onto her cousin's desk and grins at him. "It truly looks like a tornado broke loose and whooshed all over the canvas."

"That's also a great description," Cassian quips, air-high-fiving Morrigan who winks at him.

"You need to give her more work to do. She has too much free time and gets bored easily. I am scared she picks up knitting —or worse sewing— next and makes clothes for all of us."

Rhysand throws his cousin a look over his shoulder that speaks volumes. "She has enough work to do…but I assume she gets bored when she is done working, Maybe you should spend more time with her." A gleeful smile graces his handsome face and now Morrigan is the one to flip him off.

"I live with her, Rhys, I already spend all my time with her." Lifting one hand, the female brushes a strand of blond hair over her shoulder, braces her other hand on her hip and then turns to the other two men. She gives them a once over, thinking, and then turns back to Rhys. "I might know someone who could help you."

But Rhysand doesn't deign her a look anymore, eyes focused on a distant point outside. His gaze wanders beyond the droplets, into the city itself. Not much can be seen from up here, but movement still catches his eye.

"She's wonderful, just finished her degree, aiming to become a big artist. She is not new to the branch and has lot of talent, her pieces are wonderful, almost outstanding, and—"

"I doubt she can create a painting for my office. She's probably a street artist doing portraits of people who pass by. I need a real artist. A good one."

"Like Amren," Azriel throws in and earns himself a round of laughter. Not from Rhys. He isn't laughing, his face stays stern, annoyed. "Very funny," he comments.

"You are impossible!" Mor huffs dramatically. "She is amazing, Rhys," she insists, "not a street artist, well she might be now, but she will be great and well-known in a few years. She has a certain way with the brush, creating magnificent pieces of—"

"Alright, invite her here and we will see about it." Rhys leans forward, eyes furrowed, transfixed on a female figure rushing through the rain towards a narrow alley. It's a deadlock and someone—

"She can't be worse than Amren, can she?" he mumbles, suddenly very unfocused on the conversation.

Someone is following the female figure outside. The rain distorts his sight, his office, elevated and the city below shrouded in darkness, adds to the difficulty of seeing the scene properly. And even though, he doesn't know the figure outside a feeling of unease fills his entire being. It's like an unfamiliar sensation he can't shake off, a pit of unease forming in his stomach.

"You are rude, Rhys," his cousin comments, but he ignores her.

All his attention is on the rushing female outside. And the men following her.

She darts into the alley, disappearing momentarily from view. Rhys's mind races, assessing the situation, the potential risks. His heartbeat quickens, and he himself is surprised about this reaction.

The city outside his window is drenched in rain, no people are around who can help her.

His gaze moves to the watch on his wrist - 7:07. It is already dark outside, one of the wonders of autumn.

He hesitates for a moment, torn between staying in the warm confines of his office and the prospect of later climbing into his car, now parked in the carpark of his company, and then safely and soundly driving home, or—

Something about the situation gnaws at him, urging him to take action, urging him to move.

He turns from the window, quickly, and with a swift movement, grabs his coat. "One second," he tells his best friends, his cousin, not giving them room to ask for where he is going.

He dashes out of his office, ditching the elevator that would take too long to arrive, taking the stairs instead, two steps at a time.

Outside, the rain pours down on him, soaking through his clothes within seconds. But he covers his face with his hand, shielding his vision from the rain. Rhys hurdles towards the alleyway, his heart pounding in his chest, rapidly.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

"You know how he is." Feyre slumps against the door with a loud and terribly annoyed sigh. "He won't ever let go. He is so persistent and he can't accept that I moved on."

"Classic Tamlin, I would say," Ressian chuckles and tosses her damp brush, the one she had just washed out and cleaned of colour, at Feyre. "I never understood why you got with him in the first place. He always seemed a little…strange." Ressina presses her lips in a thin line, watching Feyre closely.

Feyre shrugs a shoulder, after having casually dodged the brush that came flying at her. "He was nice at the beginning," she says matter-of-factly.

Ressian fights the urge to roll her eyes because she never liked Tamlin that much.

Feyre shrugs again. "Whatever, I'll juts turn my phone off until tomorrow morning…maybe he'll get the memo. "Grabbing her bag, Feyre swings it over her shoulder, then shoves her phone into the outer pocket and grabs her pencil case (the one that does not fit into the bag) and a few spare sketch books (that also don't fit into her bag).

But Ressina stops her, holding up a hand. "Don't you dare turn off your phone until you are home! It's dark outside already. New York City is dangerous, baby."

"Danger means nothing to me," Feyre says with a chuckle, but there is gratitude in her eyes.

Ressina cares about her, and the young artist knows this. She will keep her phone on, and also close to her so in case of an emergency she can reach for it. But she doubts she will need it. She has walked the way home to her flat many times - also at night.

A frown appears on her friend's face and she lifts her hand, to show Feyre a vulgar gesture for so bluntly ignoring her worry.

"I will be safe, Sina. Thank you for caring and worrying about me." Feyre smiles. And reluctantly, Ressian returns the smile. "That's what friends are for, right?" She grabs her own coat of the hanger. "Text me when you get home, so I can sleep in peace."

Feyre bows her head and with her heart warming at the wonderful friend she has found leaves the studio.

The art gallery's doors close behind her with a creak, and the young artist is immediately enveloped in the damp, and cool evening air of New York City. Cars honk everywhere, streetlights draw shadows across the large building and despite the smell of fuel in the air, Feyre draws in a deep inhale.

The rain leaves a soft sheen of water on the streets and Feyre groans audibly - she is wearing her new Converse after all and they are not made for wet streets. The weather forecast didn't tell her about rain, but then…she hadn't checked it so she couldn't have known.

It is just bad luck, she concludes. Just like her failed relationship with Tamlin, heir to the Springer company and now her ex-boyfriend. That was also a whole lot of bad luck.

Feyre, holding her sketchbooks as tightly and closely as possible, hoping to shield them from the drizzle, takes one small step after the other, her feet still somehow walking fast.

Her hair is dampened by the rain, and she clutches the sketchbooks even tighter when a car drives past her. She hurries through the dimly lit alleys, her shoes sounding against the wet pavement.

She just wants to get home. As quick as possible. And…only to go out again.

She has to go out again later. She needs to get groceries. For her ill father. And probably also Elain, her older sister, who looks after their father. With Nesta at the dance academy four hours away, the two of them are left with dealing with their ill father. Feyre is incredibly happy that Elain does all the taking care of him, and she only has to go shopping for their food, but right now she just wants to fall into bed and zone out for the day. The day has been stressful enough.

"No way," Feyre huffs under her breath when she feels how the rain intensifies, tiny droplets falling onto her head and running down her face. She pulls her coat tighter, over her sketchbooks, her breath forming small clouds in the chilly air.

The sounds of shuffling from other pedestrians heading to their homes or wherever they are going, is only interrupted by her ragged breaths and the occasional honk of a car. Soon, Feyre thinks. Soon I am in my home. And soon I will leave it again…What a mess.

She doesn't allow herself to think further about it. To think about leaving her cosy home again.

The rain-slicked streets of New York reflect the glow of the city and under different circumstances Feyre would marvel at them, try to remember them so she could paint them later. Not today. Not when the sky is emptying itself on top of her. She hurries along, her steps quickening with every passing block. Her arms strain under the weight of all her stuff, hoping not too much water will get on it. But since the raindrops already soak through her coat, her hope that her sketches will be safe is slowly fading.

Out of the blue, Feyre catches movement in the corner of her eye. It is different to the other people passing by (the few who also have no other choice than walking in the rain) or the cars driving by.

A prickling sensation skitters down her spine, her instincts suddenly on high alert. Something is amiss.

Brave as she is, Feyre casts a glance over her shoulder, squinting through the watery veil that restricts her vision. Her breath catches in her throat - amidst the raindrops she makes out three shadowy figures. They are too close and don't look like they mean well.

Her heart beats faster, the rush of blood pounding in her ears louder than the drumming rain. But her vision doesn't fool her. She can see what is behind her: three men. And they are coming her way.

Panic surges within her, and she forces herself to move faster, the urgency to escape propelling her over the sidewalk, away from the danger. She quickens her pace, the echoes of her steps ricocheting off the walls of the looming buildings.

But the men stay behind her, close to her. They’re gaining on her. She doesn't even allow herself to think about what they could possibly want from her.

Everything about this situation is unnerving. These men following her. And running in the rain - she has to be careful, she can't be too fast, it could be dangerous. She doesn't see quite well with the sheet of rain covering her vision. She might collide with something which would not be beneficial for her escape either.

And then. "Fuck!" Feyre shudders. The alleyway ahead is a dead end.

She halts, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with terror as the footsteps behind her draw nearer. Her thoughts race, heart beating in her throat. She clutches her things tightly, fighting the urge to scream. It would be useless anyway. No one would hear her. And even if someone did, she doubts anyone would help. That's how people are, she has come to learn.

Three figures emerge from the mist, bodies and faces drenched in rain.

"Stay away from me!" Feyre snaps, her voice not half as steady and strong as she hoped it would be.

They ignore her. “If you have any money on you, hand it over,” one of them demands.

She trembles, her breath hitching. She would give them all her money only for them to leave her alone. With trembling hands, she moves her stuff under her arm, trying to open her bag and fish for her purse.

The rain continues to fall, getting stronger by the minute, drowning out all the other noises. She occasionally lifts her gaze, making sure they don't move closer.

"Faster!" one man shouts. "Or should we make you?" He looks almost nervous.

Feyre's heart is racing. She can't find her purse. She simply can't find. Did she forget it in the studio? It wouldn't be the first time. They ordered food and—

Panic gnaws on her, terror making the contents of her stomach sour. She has no idea what these men are capable of. How much they need the money. To what lengths they would go to get it. The damn purse must be somewhere, Feyre thinks, but it—

"There you are. I've been looking for you." The sudden, deep, sensual male voice startles her. She whips her head up, blinking her eyes rapidly against the rain wetting her face.

A tall man, drenched in rain, steps out of the shadows of the entry to the alley, having surprised not only Feyre but also the three men. "I hope these men are not causing you any trouble, my darling?"

He casually moves past the men, the downpour of rain drenching him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He slips a casual arm around her shoulders and even through the rain Feyre can see how the three men pale.

"I was waiting for you at the car." He turns his attention to the men then. "Thank you for finding her for me," her saviour says to them, smooth and polished. "I mean, that is what you have been doing right?" His voice is so terribly calm. "You may leave now, unless there's anything you want to say."

There is enough of a bite in his last words that the men stiffen.

Silent threats, Feyre thinks, the worst kind of threats. But the men are foolish, don't leave straight away and suddenly the anger is not so silent anymore.

"Get out of here! Now. And if one of you ever dares to follow and scare my wife ever again, I will personally send you to hell."

Without further comment, they scuttle back into the rain, outside the alley.

Feyre, her heart pounding against her ribcage, steps out of the shelter of her saviour's arm and turns to thank him, but she stops dead in her tracks.

Standing before her the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. "Are you alright?" he asks, voice much softer now. Gentler.

He brushes his broad hand over his head, smoothing his wet strands of hair out of his face.

Feyre is too stunned to speak. Too shocked about the situation. Too careful to yet fully trust the man. Her saviour.

"I—I." Feyre struggles to find her voice. Normally men don’t evoke this sort of reaction in her, but his presence, what he has done for her, and his scent of sea salt and citrus that even reaches her through the rain, render her speechless.

"I—"

She is about to open her mouth to thank him when he beats her to it. "You're welcome," he says. "For saving you."

Saviour or not, she bristles at his arrogance and retreats another step. Tendrils of breath are visible in front of her face when she clears her throat. "I was about to thank you."

The man inclines his head, a small smile on his in raindrops-covered face. "Allow me to give you a ride home."

"Thank you but no." Feyre grabs her things tighter and makes to move past him. She wants to go home now. She only wants to fall into her bed. This days has been too much. He saved her, and she is grateful, but their ways are parting here.

"Please, allow me to take you home. Just a ride, I don’t expect anything—"

"Oh, I will hope so. I should have known that you are just like every men. Pretty face, old money clothes, and—whatever." If she had a free hand she would wave him off. Her words don't even make sense, but probably he just like any other man. Now offering to take her home and when they arrive at her place he expects her to take him upstairs and thank him for saving her.

She shoves past him. "Thank you, really, but I am a big girl, I can take care of myself. Good night, stranger."

It’s not in her nature to be mean, but the day has drained her. She is not in the mood to talk to him any longer. Yes, he saved her and with his violet eyes and the dark hair, he is very easy on the eyes. But Feyre is not in the mood. To talk. To have him drive her home. To spend time with a man. She is tired of men. Especially after her last relationship.

She wants to sleep and that is it. And that is the only thing she wants to do this evening. No talking. No thinking. No being in a stranger's car. She only wants to be in her bed, warm and cosy.

She doesn’t even give the stranger a chance to ask her again, the last please muffled due to the heavy rain, the next one not audible any more because she is already out of ear-shot, heart still racing inside her chest.

tags: @girlinglass999 @autumndreaming7 @a-frog-with-a-laptop@honeysuckle-daydreams13 @thelovelymadone

#feysand #rhysand #feyre archeron #acotar #acosf #feysand au

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