#✲ FEYRE ARCHERON [ dynamic ] RHYSAND

[potatoplace]

Labyrinth: Nest

C3 | C4 : Nest | C5

Alpha!Feysand x Omega!Reader - A Backrooms AU

series masterlist | Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist | AO3 Link

Summary: Nothing feels quite right, until you're given everything you need to build the perfect nest. And even then, it can be a struggle.

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, light smut, dub-con cause Y/N is at the start of her heat

Words: ~3.1k

Author's Note: yaaaay I'm so happy to finally have another fun chapter of Labyrinth done!! This is pretty much just puuuure nesting fluff plus some smooching and uhhhh... well I'll just let you guys read 🤭 I hope you guys like this one!! Talk to me in the comments 😁

18+ only pls

🤍🩵💖💜🤍

You drifted in and out of sleep, snuggled in the arms of Feyre and Rhys. It was perfect somehow, with their scents and heartbeats filling your senses. One of their hands was running up and down your spine in a rhythmic motion, and you wanted to arch your back into it, but that would be so much work.

Every now and then your body went rigid when you felt like something was wrong, but that wonderful purr sounded in your ear and you would go limp once more.

You only woke up when you were shifted from being mostly on Rhys’s lap to entirely on Feyre’s, a long whine leaving you when you looked around, and he was nowhere to be found.

“Shh, omega, it’s okay. Rhys just went to grab some things for your nest,” Feyre whispered in your ear, and you went stiff in her hold.

Nest?

Feyre laughed fondly beneath you, pulling your against her more tightly. “That’s right, omega, your nest. You’re going to want to make it perfect soon, I’d imagine.”

You nuzzled your face against her neck, taking in a deep breath of her scent. “What’s a nest?”

“Ah, that’s right, you haven’t had a heat before, baby,” Feyre sighed. “A nest is what an omega builds for their heat, usually with a lot of blankets, pillows, furs - anything soft and comforting, really. And you’re so close to going into heat, I’m sure you must be dying for a safe nest to stay in.”

A contented sigh left you at the idea, of a safe, cushy nest to stay in with the two of them.

“With your alphas, of course we’ll join you in your nest, ‘mega.”

Turning your head to look at Feyre, you whispered, “Alpha?” A deep purr rumbled through Feyre and you collapsed against her, boneless from the wonderful noise. “Alpha,” you sighed.

Feyre stood from the couch a moment later, with you safely tucked in her arms, nose pressed to her neck. “That’s my omega, good girl,” she cooed as she brought you back into their bedroom, settling you on the large mound of furs. “So sweet for me.”

You hummed as you tugged her down, slotting your lips to hers.

What had gotten into you? You weren’t sure, but kissing Feyre, alpha, felt right.

Your lips parted, a breathy sigh leaving them when Feyre gently pushed you down, her body covering yours perfectly. Her soft lips met yours again, sure and confident as one of her hands cradled the back of your head. You melted into her hold, lips parting to let Feyre’s tongue dip inside.

“You got started without me, I see,” Rhys chuckled from the doorway, and you jerked away from Feyre as far as you could, her mouth finding its way to your neck instead. He dropped what he was holding on the ground, the large stack of pillows he’d been carrying falling on top of a pile of blankets, and next to it a pile of plush furs, similar to those you were laying on. “Oh, don’t stop because of me, omega,” he purred, violet eyes flicking to where Feyre’s mouth was latched to your neck, then back to your eyes.

Rhys turned, leaving the room, and you let out a loud keen at the sight, causing him to rush to your side a moment later.

“What is it, omega?” Feyre asked, her worried eyes trained on you as well.

A pout fell on your lips, but you didn’t answer. You didn’t know how to answer, other than you didn’t want Rhys to leave, but…

That was ridiculous.

“No, it’s not, omega,” Rhys reassured you, a large palm cupping the right side of your face. “You’re nearly in heat, and you need your alphas nearby. But don’t worry, I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. Feyre will keep gladly keep you company, I’m sure, or you could start working on your nest.”

You bit your lip but nodded, doing your best to ignore the uneasy feeling in your gut as Rhys left the room, heading somewhere off to the right. The whine that left you was unintentional, but you couldn’t help it.

“Do you want to start on your nest, love?” Feyre asked as she turned your away from the door and towards her with a gentle hand. “You’ll regret it if you don’t, I think. And look, Rhys brought in so many pretty fabrics for you to choose from!” She said cheerily, turning your head now to look at said offerings.

They did look appealing… And it couldn’t hurt to at least pick through the pile, right?

Feyre grinned and moved off of you, standing and pulling you up with her. She gently pushed you towards the piles, and that was all the permission you needed to plunge your fingers into fabric, finding the pieces that felt nicest against your skin.

Soft plush throws and swathes of silk were gently placed on the edge of the existing mound of furs as you searched the pile further, pleased as a peach when you found a thick, down comforter in a sage green - perfect to cover the base of your nest.

You set to it, laying the comforter down over as much of the pile of furs as you could before grabbing pillows, arranging them in a circle around the border of the blanket. From there you added a layer of blankets, making sure the layer was smoothed out.

It was then that you noticed both of your alphas were gone, tears instantly welling in your eyes as you looked through the doorway for them without moving from the pile of furs that you had been rifling through.

“Alpha?” you asked quietly, the tone of your voice pitiful, even to you. When no one answered, you fell forward into the pile, tears leaking onto furs as you cried at being alone again.

You didn’t think you could handle it.

“Hey, what’s this?” Feyre asked from behind you, and you shot up, looking to the doorway, where she was standing, Rhys and his massive wings lurking behind her. You sniffled, wiping away stray tears as she came to you, setting down the armful of pillows she was carrying before pulling you into her arms. “I’m sorry we left, ‘mega, we just wanted to get more nesting materials for you,” she explained as she wiped away one last tear that had fallen.

You pouted at her, annoyed that they’d left without telling you. “Don’t leave again,” you whined when Rhys turned to leave, stopping him in his tracks.

“I only have one more trip of things to bring you, ‘mega, I’ll be back in five minutes, maximum,” Rhys promised you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Hey,” he chuckled when you threw your arms around one of his legs, clutching to him for dear life. “This is very cute, but I will be returning in just a moment, and the sooner you let me leave, the sooner I’ll be back.”

Feyre helped him pry your fingers from his legs, your arms crossing over your chest defiantly as you watched him leave the room. Feyre attempted to coax you into working on your nest again, but you sat, staring resolutely at the door, waiting for your alpha to return. She wrapped her arms around your shoulders, the soft kisses she pressed to your neck and shoulder almost having you closing your eyes…

But you resisted, waiting for the moment your alpha walked back in, so that you could relax again,

And finish your nest.

It took Rhys at least fifteen minutes, or that’s what it felt like to you, to return to the room the three of you share, an armful of decorative pillows and extra blankets that he immediately deposited on the floor, quickly kneeling in front of you and pulling you against him. The soothing scent of citrus and sea washed over you, wiping away the anxiety that had been plaguing you while he was gone.

You were only vaguely aware of Rhys speaking to Feyre, and Feyre answering before Rhys gently separated from you, tilting your chin up with a strong finger. “Do you want to finish your nest now, omega?" he asked you, his midnight voice managing to pierce through the trance you were in. A nod and Rhys was smiling at you, and you smiled back, so happy that your alpha was happy with you. “Good girl, go ahead and finish up. Feyre and I will wait outside of your nest until it’s perfect for you,” he said, turning your head to look at the piles of nesting materials left for you to sort through.

“Take your time, omega, you want it to be perfect for your heat, so you’re as comfortable as possible,” Feyre added when you tried sifting through the pile of furs quickly, a sheepish smile on your face at being caught.

You took their advice to make it perfect, taking what you thought was an hour to arrange the nest to your exact liking. It looked perfect by the end of it, layer after layer of blankets, each layer separated at the outside by a pillow, making a nice, safe wall to protect you and your alphas.

The last layer was made entirely of different swathes of silk, in all the pretty jewel tones you loved - sapphire, amethyst, and emerald, making your nest pretty - though you weren’t sure how important it  was for a nest to look nice.

But it made you happier, that was for sure.

You sat back, looking at your nest. The decorative pillows you quickly moved so rest against the back wall of the nest, with two normal, extra fluffy pillows propping them up. Next you pulled the furs you wanted to use as blankets into the nest, an absolutely massive, snow white pelt and a slightly smaller, charcoal grey one. Other blankets… You looked at them, your lip curling in disgust.

No, your nest didn’t need those anymore.

What else is missing?

Your teeth worried your lip as you slowly spun on your knees, looking everywhere for what you were missing, before landing on the obvious.

“Alphas,” you whined pitifully, reaching your hands out to grab for them, so far away, outside of your nest and standing against the wall. “Please.”

That was all the permission they needed to cross the boundary of your nest, careful not to ruin your hard work. Rhys had you cradled against his chest a moment later, your legs hitched over the sides of his, the ends of his wings draping over the side of your nest.

“Did I make it too small?” you asked shyly as you looked up at him through your lashes, heat already beginning to build in your eyes when you thought of it not being perfect - you not being perfect, for them.

“Not at all, darling,” Rhys reassured you, pressing a kiss to both of your cheeks. “And you are perfect, Y/N, just the way you are.”

“Our perfect little omega,” Feyre cooed as she pressed herself against your back, effectively sandwiching you between the two of them. “Your nest is perfect, I promise, darling. It’s so beautiful, just like you.” She punctuated the sentence with a light nibble on the base of your neck, your body going boneless between them.

You hummed happily, basking in the feeling of being so safe between them, like nothing in this place could hurt you.

This place…

And then you were crying, salty tears leaking onto Rhys’s bare chest as you thought about home, about your things.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Feyre asked softly. You shook your head, not able to say it. “Just think it then, sweetheart, and we can figure out what to do. Can you do that for me, omega?”

You sniffled, but nodded, conjuring up an image of your room in your head, missing your stuffed yellow duck that you’d had since childhood. Not that you knew how they could see it but… This place is strange.

“Oh, ‘mega, do you miss your old room?” Rhys asked, tilting your face so you would meet his eyes. You bit your lip and looked away, not wanting to sound ungrateful…

“It’s not ungrateful, baby girl,” Feyre said. “You’ve had a lot of big changes recently, it’s normal to miss your old things. Do you want us to try to find something similar for you?”

“Not now!” you said, slightly panicked, grabbing Feyre’s hands to keep her exactly where she was.

“Of course, omega, not now,” Feyre agreed, leaning into your more heavily.

You settled back down, relaxing against Rhys again until you thought of your old room, all your soft, pretty blankets and cute stuffed animals, and oh, the silky nightgowns you owned that you would love to be wearing right now. But rubbing your fingers against the soft silks beneath you satisfied that need well enough, and the heat Feyre and Rhys were both radiating was enough to keep you warm.

And as soon as those deep, rumbling purrs made their way through Rhys’s chest, then Feyre’s, you fell limp against him, quickly lulled to sleep.

🤍🩵❤️‍🔥💜🤍

You woke some time later, an aching need coursing through you, and you pressed your hips down automatically-

Oh, you sighed to yourself, rocking your hips again, catching pleasantly on something hard beneath you. You let out a soft breath before continuing, slowly rocking your hips against the hardness beneath you, a fire lighting in your belly when arms wrapped more tightly around you.

The arms kept you from moving as much as before, but you managed to move your hips, your upper body limp against a strong chest as you continued chasing the sparks of pleasure you were creating.

You’d nearly crested when the body beneath you went stiff, relaxing a moment later, a whispered “omega” passing from his lips to your ear, your hips jolting at the title. Hands met your hips a moment later, pressing you more firmly, finding just the right angle to press your clit to -

You came with a cry, muffled by the tattooed skin of Rhys’s chest as he kept moving your hips, seemingly as desperate as you to drag out your pleasure.

Whether it was seconds or minutes later, you came around to the sound of Rhys and Feyre speaking softly, their scents headier than normal, and you breathed in a few deep lungfuls before you managed to crack open your eyes.

“That was quite the show, omega,” Feyre said breathlessly, her blue eyes sparkling as she looked at you. “I think you need to sleep on me next.” She shot Rhys a jealous look, but the smile on her pretty pink lips told you she wasn’t angry.

You puckered your lips a few times, making a kissy noise to try and entice Feyre.

“You don’t need to try to entice me, darling, you do it naturally,” Feyre giggled before leaning in, pressing her lips firmly to yours, tilting your head to get better access as her tongue slipped past your lips. A large hand ran up your spine and you shivered, arching your back slightly, pressing you into Rhys. Feyre pulled away, leaving you breathless as you tried rocking your hips again, only for your movements to be stilled this time. She smiled wide when you whined, answering, “You need to eat something before you go fully into heat, baby, can you do that for us?”

You tried pressing your hips down again, much preferring your chosen course of action, only for your movements to be halted once more.

“For your alphas?” Rhys asked with a deep rumble in his chest, and you whined again, a resigned noise. “Good ‘mega, so good for us,” Rhys said, nodding to Feyre to get food for you before he tilted your head to look at him. Your eyes flicked down to his lips, then back to his starry violet ones, and you could almost swear that you saw actual stars in them.

You were so entranced by his eyes that his lips pressing to yours surprised you for a moment, only to have you melting against him in the next. You let him explore your mouth, felt his hands grip your hips before moving to grasp your rear, just slightly rocking you against him once, but it was enough to have you gasping.

Feyre tutted at Rhys, lightly slapping one of his hands after she’d sat down, a bowl of stew in her lap. “We said food, Rhys,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. When you turned to look at her, eyes glazed with pleasure, she couldn’t help but smile. “Though she does look very pretty like this. Open wide for me, ‘mega,” Feyre demanded, your mouth opening automatically for a spoonful of hearty stew.

“You’re being such a good omega, and do you know what good omegas get?” Rhys asked you once you’d eaten half the bowl, your bites slowing as you grew fuller with each one. You shook your head, looking up at him in confusion. “They get their alphas’ knots, sweet girl,” he purred, angling his hips into yours in just the right way.

“Knots?” you asked after your next bite, looking at the stew still in the bowl warily.

“That’s right, baby, you’ll get our knots to keep you nice and full, for as long as you need,” Rhys answered, and you clenched around nothing just at the thought of being filled. “Just finish your food, and you can have our knots whenever you want.”

You huffed out a breath but did as he asked, carefully chewing and swallowing each bite that Feyre fed you until she had scraped the bowl clean. When she got up to place the bowl on the counter, you keened softly at the loss of her, far too far away, just being across the room.

“I know, omega, it’s okay,” she murmured when she returned, laying on her side, with a slight gap between her and Rhys. Though when Rhys turned carefully, moving you to lay down, you were fit snugly between them, a contented sigh leaving you. “See? Isn’t this better? All snuggled up with your alphas in your nest, with a warm belly full of food.”

You nodded in agreement - it was perfect, especially once Rhys had pulled the two spare furs you’d brought into the nest over the three of you, cocooning you entirely.

The hunger you had felt earlier had subsided, leaving sleepy contentment in its place as your alphas stroked your hair, both of them emitting quiet purrs that drowned out any noises, any thoughts that could keep you awake.

🤍🩵💖💜🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad @icey--stars

Series Taglist: @kissesfromnovalie @rosecobollway @loving-and-dreaming

[hugevanserrass]

not feyre starting their little intervention with "no, it's not a scolding. think of it as a discussion." and then a few pages later she legitimately says "you're going, even if you have to be tied up and hauled there."

and then when feyre tells nesta they are tearing her apartment building down, nesta thinks to herself "one of the few choices she'd made for herself, stripped away."

like be real are we really not supposed to read feyre as the villain here bc she totally is one

[romanticatheartt]

acotar ships and their dynamics

Feysand:

Nessian:

Gwynriel:

Elucien:

[bloodofthefates]

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist // SJM Omegaverse Masterlist // Dark Feysand Masterlist

Summary: If there was one thing Rhys was well aware of, it was that his life expectancy as a kingpin was a short one. Unless he wanted his uncle seizing power the moment he bled out, he was in need of an heir. An Alpha heir at that.

The only way he could guarantee such a thing was by breeding an omega, a designation nearly extinct in the world they lived in. Regardless, he would acquire one—no matter how unconventional his means may be.

OR;

The Mafia Omega Auction Fic

CW: Rhys is still mean, this is dub-con at best.

Chapter IV

Feyre

Men like Rhys—men who snapped their fingers and bent the world to their will—all had one thing in common. Appearance was everything. Stepping into the walk-in closet she assessed the row of suits in front of her. Black, perfectly pressed, expensive. He’d be livid to find them carelessly crumpled and tossed on the floor to fill out her nest. Pulling one suit jacket halfway off the hanger, she hesitated.

What would the consequences be? And could she handle them? She’d cleaned herself as best she could without taking the time to shower, but there was no denying she was sore from her punishment. And going right into a heat the pain might not register the same way, but she would certainly feel it when the fever and craving faded.

Then again, heats often sent nearby alphas into rut. Would he even realize she’d used them before the week was behind them? He’d be too tired to be angry then. Unwilling to think on it longer, she shook her head and pulled down half the jackets and several dress shirts tucked away behind them.

Meticulous as she was, her nest still didn’t take long to complete, seeing as she’d completed the foundation before bed last night. The shirts and jackets ended up in a semi-circle around the top and sides of her nest, almost immediately changing the scent of it. Something tightened in her belly, but she really didn’t want to think about that either.

By coincidence or consequence of having Rhys’ scent so concentrated around her, a hot flash began to wash over her, the ache between her legs morphing to a different kind. “No,” she whimpered. She knew what she’d find when she reached beneath the nightgown she’d just put on. The slick was already dripping down her thighs.

Feyre bolted for the shower, grinding her teeth when the cramping started, melding so terribly with that half-pleasant twisting from before. She sobbed, barely feeling the cold spray even as it soaked through her skimpy pajamas and settled in her bones. Vaguely she recognized movement outside the shower stall, but with the doctor gone it could only be one person and there was no use in fighting the fate he’d rewritten for them. Stepping into the large stall with her, he pulled the showerhead down and adjusted the water until it was moderately cool before kneeling beside her and stripping her once again.

“Little omega.” Her tears only fell faster at the endearment and she found herself leaning into his chest, numb as he washed her down. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” Her whole body jerked when the showerhead and his fingers came down between her legs. “Easy, sweetheart.” Changing the setting to soften the spray, he cleaned her there too, chuckling when fresh slick coated her the moment he moved the showerhead. Reaching up, he shut the water off, ringing out the excess water from her hair. Drying himself in a hurry, he returned to her with a large fluffy towel that felt like it had just been warmed in the dryer. She’d never appreciated the texture of something more. She’d hated showering during and after her heats when she was going through them alone. All of her towels had been old and cheap, nubby and abrasive in their age.

“I’d love nothing more than to spoil you rotten, but I won’t tolerate you fighting me constantly.”

Rhys lived in the lap of luxury. She could too, but only so long as she was a docile pet to him. Another cramp hit her like a punch to the gut and her knees buckled.

Rhys already had her up against his chest. “Shh. I’ve got you, darling.” Feyre barely heard him, head stuffy, ears buzzing. Alpha. Protector. Mate. She tried to shake the thought, but it had already made itself at home, each title sinking little hooks in her brain, there to stay. Alpha. Protector. Mate.

He’d keep her safe here. For the first time in her life she could have a truly safe space. More comforts than she dared dream of. If he’d give her that, she could be a good girl. Could give him a baby. Wasn’t that all he was asking of her now?

He stopped in front of her nest, setting her on her feet just long enough to strip her of her towel before guiding her back against the pillows. “Let Daddy in your nest now?” She nodded quickly, pressing a hand between her legs. Towel discarded, he sank to his knees in front of her, curving his hand over her own to guide her clumsy fingers to her clit. “Pretty baby, made the perfect little nest. Such a good girl, using Alpha’s clothes to fill it out.”

“You’re… not angry?”

“That my little girl wanted my scent in her nest?” He chuckled. “No, darling. I’m not angry.” He kissed the tip of her nose and his smirk softened. “I’m going to get your plate off the dresser. If you eat all of it, I’ll give you a special treat before I knot you again.” He slid back so his head was even with her core, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, lips wet with her slick when he pulled back. Looking into his eyes… she’d never felt so much like prey. “I think it’ll be just as much of a treat for me.”

She eyed the plate of finger foods he brought back with a frown.

“You need to eat, darling. I know it’s the last thing on your mind right now, but you aren’t going hungry through your heat.” Begrudgingly, she nibbled at a cracker and cheese slice. He sighed at her slow progress, but didn’t rush her, just rubbed small circles over her lower belly to try to ease the cramping that had set in before her shower.

The pressure hurt before it helped, but he just hushed her, offering little bites of food to distract her until the plate was empty and the pain slowly began to twine with something else. The scent of her heat was far past subtle at this point, but still it grew. The rumble of Rhys’ growl was just barely audible, sending another shock of arousal through her.

Chemistry. Just chemistry. An omega reacting to an alpha during her heat.

Why did that excuse already feel so flimsy?

“Now that my little wife has eaten…” He slid down to the bottom of the nest, parting her legs again. “My turn, darling.”

Feyre froze, any comprehensive thought falling away to make room for that one word, a mantra in her mind.

Wife. Wife. Wife. Wife. He wanted—

His laugh was a shock of warm air against her cunt. “You thought I’d put my baby in you and not lay proper claim? Not a chance, silly girl. Now, relax. Let Daddy have his treat.”

He started slow this time, almost an apology for the way he’d so brutally claimed her after her punishment. He was devoted in his task, the only sound leaving him his pleased growling and soft praise. As for Feyre, she couldn’t manage more than whining and pleading for him to stop after the first orgasm washed through her. It wasn’t a punishment, but his recent attention was pushing her closer and closer to overstimulation and the demand of her heat did nothing to improve the situation.

“Rhys, Rhys, Rhys. Rhys. Please!” He pushed her over the edge a second time and she screamed, unsure what she had resorted to babbling until she finally recovered from the crashing wave of her climax. “Need you. Need your knot. Daddy, need your knot, please.”

He shushed her softly, kissing a trail up her body until she was forced to taste her own slick straight from his lips. In her state, she honestly couldn’t care less. “Hush, pet. I’ll give you what you need when you’re ready.”

She moaned as he pushed two fingers into her, squirming at the pressure even as he continued to soothe her. “Rhys.”

Another finger and she tried to retreat, whimpering when he pulled her back to her place beneath him.

“Poor baby,” he cooed, voice dripping with condescension. “Knows what she wants but doesn’t think she can take it, hm?” Feyre sniffled, nails biting into the tender flesh at his wrist. “We’re gonna fix that right now.”

“I can’t—”

“Shh. The first time was a punishment, little one. But you’ve been such a good girl for me, haven’t you? My baby knows she needs a knot.” It only took a few seconds for Rhys to withdraw his hand and line up against her, dragging the head through her slit. “Easy, pet.”

“Not your—” Winding a hand in her hair, he leaned down to claim her mouth, quieting her protest at the name. The words died there, replaced with a long moan as he claimed her inch by unforgiving inch, seating himself to the base in one steady stroke.

His lips slid over her neck, hips shifting just enough to tease her with his knot. To remind her how desperate she was to have him locked inside of her once again. “Let me hear it again, little one,” he ordered, setting a steady rhythm. “Tell Daddy what you need.”

“Knot,” she panted. “Need filled up, Daddy. Want you to knot me.”

He cursed, voice low and rough at her ear. “So sweet. So good for me, asking for what you need. Precious girl.”

His pace quickens, a few sharp thrusts her only preparation before Rhys pushed all the way in, his knot already swelling. She whined, scraping her teeth across his neck, feeling herself clench around him. Rhys just groaned, nipping her earlobe in reprimand. “Take me so well. Fuck, Feyre.”

His constant praise settled something within her, soothing an ache she hadn’t recognized until that point. “Please,” she breathed. One last thrust of his hips and he drove her over the edge, blinding pleasure tearing through every inch of her from head to each curling toe. Her orgasm kept rolling through her, fed by his own release the moment he spilled into her, knot locking in place.

She must have blacked out, because the next time she opened her eyes she found Rhys easing out of her, his fingers replacing the thick length of him to push the cum leaking from her back into her core. She whined softly, trying to shift her hips away from his touch. “Hush, darling. Need to keep you nice and full if you’re going to give me an heir.”

She couldn’t hide the shiver that ran though her, but refused to acknowledge what that revealed about her.

Biology. That’s why the idea isn’t entirely abhorrent. Why some parts of it all were pleasant.

She pushed the thought from her mind, instead watching her alpha rearrange the ruined nest to a near replica of its original state.

Attentive, she couldn’t help but think. A good quality in a mate.

Even banishing that train of thought from her mind as well, Feyre found herself inching over in the nest, seeking his warmth, the comfort she knew she’d only find wrapped in his arms. She loathed everything about it.

His scent caught in her nose, the rising ache, in her core even before she could manage to clean up, how her nerves and worries melted away the moment he started to purr for her.

“Not fair,” she pouted, nose buried in his neck.

Rhys sighed. “I know, pet. I know.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @littlest-w01f // @whatishowedyouinthedark // @ninthcircleofprythian // @sajirah // @acourtofladydeath // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer // @toporecall //@popjunkie42-blog

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

Why do Rhysand stans always pretend to be Feyre stans? It's always a bit pathetic bc they're like "I'm Feyre first" and then you look on the blog and they've gotten at least three metas about "why I understand what Rhysand did😔" or they're like 'we know he was wrong but"

Why aren't y'all just honest about what you like? If you know you are going always prioritize Rhysand feelings and actions, even when they objectively clash with Feyre's why are yall so adamant on lying about it. These conversations would be so much more fruitful if people just admit they enjoy the bad boy more. This literally happened with Darkling and Alina and as soon as Alina was disentangled from Darklina y'all called her everything but a child of god😂

Y'all love for Feyre is conditional on her love for Rhys. Feyre is bbygirl as long as Feysand is the name of the game. Which is fine for personal preferences, but is a bit taxing when you feel obligated to care for a character you don't like outside the dynamic.

[itsagrimm]

OF COURSE the archeron sisters have daddy issues. they are basically sharing first place at the daddy issues olympics.

how else would they end up comfortably with men 500 years their senior.

[mentallyinwalmart]

I often see “I’m still waiting for nesta and elains apology to feyre” and I’m sorry but if you are still caught up in that nonsense you are perpetuating the assumptions that caused nesta and elain to act the way they did pre-ACOSF. I think feyre is owed a lot of apologies by a lot of characters, but her sisters are at the bottom of that list.

there is a lot to be acknowledged between the sisters but to say they “owe” feyre something after what has happened in the last 3 books is to grossly misunderstand sibling dynamics and the nuanced relationships between these characters and what becoming fae meant to them. It’s also erasing their unique and individual relationships with poverty, their parents, and their siblings. they were ALL children. In my opinion, in a lot of ways, and compared to basically every other character, they ARE still children

[zipadeea]

feysand and merder are basically the same relationship and i refuse to elaborate further

[wr1tten]

@roserotten continued from here.

leaving  the  comfort  of  a  roaring  fire  to  join  her  mate ;      leaning  against  the  railing,    overlooking  the  beautiful  city  he  worked  so  hard  at  preserving.      slowly  repairing  itself  from  the  battles  that  wrecked  it.      a  brush  of  snow  settled  on  his  cheek  and  her  ink  covered  hand  reached  upwards,    melting  as  her  thumb  swiped  it  away,          ❝ it’s  also  very  peaceful  by  the  fireplace.      warmer,    too. ❞          she  retorted,    snuggling  into  his  chest.      even  with  the  cold  nipping  at  her  skin,    this  was  the  only  place  she  wanted  to  be.      curled  up  in  him  for  all  eternity.          ❝ hm,    at  least  you’re  still  warm, ❞          feyre  whispered,    only  pulling  away  enough  to  glance  up  at  him  from  beneath  snow  coated  lashes,          ❝ it’s  quiet. ❞          it  hadn’t  been  quiet  for  some  time.  

[potatoplace]

Omega Needs - Chapter 4

Feylin, eventual Feysand

chapter 3 chapter 5 series masterlist

Story Summary: Feyre presented as an omega after being changed into a high fae Under the Mountain. Her heats have been hellish, and Tamlin has neglected certain aspects of her presentation. After the disastrous wedding ceremony, how will Feyre’s omega handle being away from her Alpha?

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, talk of UTM stuff, that's all I think

Words: ~4.1k

Author's Note: well, it's not as far into the week as I wanted to get, but I'm happy with how this chapter turned out! Not proofreading, as usual lol. More to come in the next few days :) I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's read my story so far, it means so much to me to see every like and comment. Enjoy! Also I hope Rhys and Feyre aren't feeling too OOC, both of them are more influenced by their biological urges, the main change so far is in Feyre being more submissive, when she's normally such a firecracker. She'll still have her moments, no worries, just wanted to give a bit of an explanation.

18+ only pls

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

Feyre’s bath was heavenly. The view was perfect, the temperature of the water was just right, and Nuala had brought in a tray holding a lovely teapot filled with a lovely jasmine tea, which she was tempted to ask for a container of to take home to Spring, as well as a few different kinds of cookies.

She stayed in the bath until the tea was gone and the sweets were eaten. Her skin was pruney, but she didn’t mind. She dried herself off and tied her hair up in a towel, walked over to the wardrobe and swung the doors open. The inside held an assortment of clothing, matching sets of tops and bottoms, all of which were cut in a comfortable but attractive looking fashion. There were also a few silk dresses, nightgowns, dressing gowns, thick leggings, and buttery soft looking knit sweaters. There were a few different pairs of satin slippers on the floor of the wardrobe, all varying in color that matched the sets of clothing. Feyre pulled out one of the nightgowns, a midnight blue with silver stars embroidered at the hems, and slipped it over her head, amazed at how well it fit her body.

Although, maybe she shouldn’t be seeing as Rhys had chosen clothing… well, scraps of cloth, for her before, and her body truly hadn’t changed much in the past year.

Shaking her head, she grabbed a matching, sheer dressing gown, then padded over to the bed and bent down slightly, touching the indigo comforter, and instantly sinking down onto the bed. The blanket was possibly one of the softest fabrics she had ever touched. Tossing the dressing gown on the end of the bed, she pulled back the covers and slipped underneath, deciding that she was worn out enough from the day events to take a nap before dinner.

The pillows were just the right marriage between firm and fluffy, Feyre couldn’t help but loose a sigh as she pulled the blanket up over her chin. The pillowcases were violet in color, and she wondered if Rhysand had a hand in decorating her room. With the shade of his eyes all over the room, she thought it was highly likely. If he did have a part in it, well, he did a good job. Especially with the bed, not forgetting the fabrics waiting to billow down and create a beautiful canopy.

After a few minutes of laying in a haven of comfort, Feyre slipped into a deep sleep as her body gave in to the emotional exhaustion from the day.

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

It was a few hours later that she was awoken by a soft knock and the door swinging open, Cerridwen holding a tray with a few dishes stacked on top.

Feyre sat up in the bed, wiping the sleep out of her eyes when the smell hit her- something was absolutely mouthwatering, and her stomach rumbled. It was then that she realized she hadn’t eaten all day aside from the cookies earlier, having been too nervous to eat before the ceremony, and, well…

“That smells wonderful,” she remarked as Cerridwen crossed the room and placed the tray on the table. “What is it?”

“There’s a bowl of beef stew, a few slices of bread, and a slice of cake. Oh, and a couple of different drinks that I thought you might like.” Feyre grabbed the dressing gown and slipped it on, walking over to the table and smiled at the shadow wraith.

“Thank you for the food, Cerridwen.”

“It’s no problem, Feyre. Thank you for everything that you have done. It means a lot to all of us to be back home,” she said with gratitude in her eyes, and Feyre blushed lightly. “Especially… especially for the High Lord.” Cerridwen shook her head, clearing her thoughts, then made for the door. “Enjoy your dinner, Feyre.”

Feyre watched the door close, then turned back to the tray of food. The stew looked as delicious as it smelled, thick with chunks of beef, onion, carrots, potatoes, and two other root vegetables. Feyre was guessing they were native to the Night Court, as she’d never seen anything similar to them back in Spring. One of them was blue inside, with varying rings of varying color spreading outward and the skin removed; the other was a solid dark brown with a black skin.

She sat down and immediately picked up the spoon, taking a bite of the stew. Flavor exploded in her mouth as the spicy, earthy flavor overtook her tastebuds. Quickly, she spooned another bite into her mouth, and sighed after swallowing. It was absolute perfection, so rich and comforting.

Feyre picked up a slice of bread going to tear a piece off and butter it separately, as she had been drilled into doing over the past year back home. But…

Ianthe isn’t here right now.

No one is here to see her butter the whole slice of bread and dip it into the stew, taking the biggest bite that she possibly could.

No one is here to see that she finishes stew and bread within 15 minutes, an entirely unladylike act back home for the size of the bowl.

The cake was a nutty flavor- pistachio, if she was correct- with a vanilla buttercream, and absolutely delightful. Feyre was only able to finish half of the slice, her stomach feeling on the edge of bursting.

Stuffed as she was, she looked towards the three cups on the tray. One of them was water, which she took a small sip of. The next was a bubbly apple juice, light and sweet on her tongue, similar to the sparkling fairy wine they had at holidays. The last was a warm and creamy chocolate drink, staying warm in its enchanted mug, adding to the contentment building in her chest.

Even if the day had been bad, nowhere near the outcome she was hoping for, she had just eaten a delicious dinner with a gorgeous view.

She climbed back into her bed a few minutes later, watching the sun set over the mountains as she lay facing the open wall, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

🩵💜🩵

A knock sounded on her door, waking Feyre from her peaceful slumber. “Darling, breakfast will be ready in a half an hour,” Rhysand drawled through the door before she heard his footsteps receding down the hall.

She sighed and threw the covers off of herself, stretching her body taut before getting up and heading over to the bathroom.

She slipped her nightgown off over her head, tossing it on the large counter on the far end of the bathroom, and her hair up in a bun with a tie she found in drawer in the counter, then sank into the warm water of the bathtub. She reveled in the beauty of the morning light shining on the land before her for a few minutes. She washed herself quickly, not wanting to linger too long and risk Rhysand or someone else possibly stumbling in on her in the bath to hurry her along to breakfast.

Feyre toweled her body off and went to the vanity, rummaging through the drawers until she found a brush and smoothed out her hair, wild from sleep. Then she moved over to the wardrobe and picked out a pair of black leggings, and a dark blue knit sweater so soft she wanted a blanket made out of it. She picked out a pair of black flats, slipping them on and walking to the door, steeling herself for whatever is to come during this meal.

She exited her room and headed down the hallway she believed to lead to the table she’d seen in the room they’d first arrived in yesterday.

Hopefully, today would be the same as yesterday, with Rhysand being a tolerable level of flirtatious and pushy. She wasn’t sure she would survive the week if he turned back into the major ass he had been Under the Mountain.

The smell of eggs, bacon and fruit grew as she drew closer, and then she was back in the grand hallway, staring at the gorgeous blonde woman in a sleek black dress seated next to Rhysand. They both turned to look at her, and the blonde squealed, got up, and ran over to Feyre. The moment her scent, citrus and cinnamon and entirely alpha, hit Feyre’s nose, anxiety began to build in her gut. The only other female alpha she knew was Ianthe, and she had nothing but veiled disdain for Feyre in the year that she’d known her.

She stopped right before her, and held out her hands. “It is so lovely to finally meet you, Feyre. My cousin has talked quite a lot about you in the past year, and I’m glad this day has finally come!” The woman grabbed Feyre’s hands, encompassing them with her own. “My name is Mor, I’ll be joining you for breakfast if you’re alright with that!”

Feyre’s first impression of Mor is that of sunshine in a bottle, always ready to be opened and spread joy on those around her, and the building dread within her dissipated. A nice female alpha. She looked a sigh of relief, and squeezed her hands lightly. “That sounds lovely, Mor. It’s nice to meet you too.” The blonde smiled widely at her, and dragged her over to the table where Rhysand was still seated, and a nice selection of food was waiting to be eaten.

“Good morning, Feyre,” he said with a smile, and Feyre almost sighed again. It seemed like today was going to be a nice day, if the attitude these two were giving off was genuine. Then his scent washed over her, the blissful combination of citrus and sea, so perfectly alpha.

It may be more trying than she thought, through no true fault of his own.

“Good morning, Rhysand,” she replied, the corners of her mouth tilted up. Feyre started dishing out food for herself starting with the eggs, and motioned to put some on Mor’s plate as well.

“Yes, please, Feyre,” she said, pushing her plate closer to the dish. Feyre scooped eggs onto her plate, then moved to Rhysand’s. “Thank you, Feyre.”

“I’ll dish my own up, darling, but thank you,” he said with a slight smirk, grabbing the spatula from her and putting eggs on his plate.

Feyre fought a frown, unsure why he wouldn’t let her serve him, but mentally shook it off. Probably something to do with being magically bound to a psychopath through a drink served to him, so none of Feyre’s business.

She grabbed a pair of tongs and grabbed a few slices of bacon for herself and Mor, then passing them off to Rhysand again. The same cycle continued for the large bowl of fruit that Feyre was most excited to have, made of chunks of apple, melon, and a few varieties of berries, some of which she hadn’t seen in Spring.

Mor busied herself with pouring glasses of water for the three of them, and once they had their food, the three of them tucked in.

After a couple of minutes, Mor broke the silence. “So, Feyre, what’s your favorite color?”

Feyre choked on her food slightly, not expecting the question at all and threw a questioning look at Mor.

“What?” Mor asked, laughing breezily. “If you’re to be here every month, I’d like to know some things about you! Sooo, your favorite color?” She repeated enthusiastically.

Feyre thought for a moment, not having ever truly thought of what her favorite might be. She had loved all colors equally her entire life. Well, up until a year ago that is. But after a second, thinking back on the painting on her drawer of the dresser… “Probably a dark, midnight blue. What about you?”

“Definitely red, it’s the color of love and passion, so I’ve always been drawn to it. And I happen to look amazing in it.”

Feyre was just happy she hadn’t worn any red today, not wanting to deal with the color any more than she had to. “Now that, I’m sure of, Mor. Though I’m sure you could pull off any color if you tried.” Feyre turned her head to Rhys, asking “Which is your favorite, Rhysand?"

He lifted a hand to his heart, a pained expression on his face. “Feyre, still calling me Rhysand? You know only my enemies call me that, darling. We may not be friends, but I wouldn’t consider us enemies at this point in time.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Fine, what’s your favorite color, Rhys?”

A smile spread across his face, and he answered “Midnight blue as well, funny coincidence darling.” He winked at her, then continued “The color of the night sky is something I’ll never stop loving. There’s just something so entrancing about it.”

It was Mor’s turn to roll her eyes, “Of course that’s your favorite, you’re the High Lord of the Night Court, cousin.”

“That may be, but the color is magnificent either way, Mor.”

Feyre couldn’t help but smile, watching the two interact as she took a few more bites of her food. It was nice to see Rhysand’s friendly side come out, playful but not flirtatious or masking danger.

“Feyre, do you have any hobbies?” Mor asked, drawing her back into the room.

“Oh, umm…” Feyre paused, unsure of how to answer. “I liked to paint, but I haven’t in a while. Recently I’ve taken to reading. Beyond that, I haven’t found much that interests me.”

Mor frowned for a moment, then slid a smile back on her face. “Well, we can change that if you’d like! If you need anything, you can ask either of us or the twins for it, and- oh, do you like shopping?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Feyre said “I don’t really know, I didn’t have the money to shop for anything nice before… as a human, and since then all of my things have been provided for me without me asking.”

“Well, then, if you’d like I could bring you some catalogs from my favorite stores! That way I’d have an excuse to go get something for myself when you wanted something,” Mor added with a wink.

“As though you need an excuse to go shopping Mor,” Rhysand said playfully.

“Oh, like you don’t enjoy shopping for home décor,” She countered in a teasing tone, and Rhys narrowed his eyes at her slightly. Mor wiped her mouth with a napkin, then stood up. “Well, it was wonderful to meet you Feyre. I have a meeting to run off to, but I hope I’ll see you again this week!”

“The same to you, Mor. And I’m sure that we’ll see each other again soon,” Feyre said, meaning her words. And with that, Mor walked off into the the hallway, leaving Feyre alone with Rhysand.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” She asked, and Rhysand quirked a brow at her, questioning. “Seeing as I know how to read, you can’t follow through with your plan to torture me with it.”

Rhysand loosed a sigh, his shoulders hunching slightly. “I do not intend to torture you during your time here, Feyre, physically or otherwise. In fact, if you’ll allow me to, I would like to apologize to you.”

Feyre frowned. “I suppose you can, it does not mean I will forgive you, however.”

“I am not looking for forgiveness, Feyre, I am simply hoping to apologize for my actions, now and whenever else you will allow me. What I did to you and how I acted Under the Mountain…” He paused, looking for the right words. “It was and is unforgivable, no matter the circumstances. I regretted my actions even as I was doing them, and now as well, having you here under the coercion of a bargain that I twisted your infected, broken arm to force you into making. Worst of all was the way I used you during the revels, no matter the reason why, I cannot ever undo the trauma and pain I inflicted upon you. Feyre, I am truly, deeply sorry for how I have hurt you. If you wish, I will release you from the bargain today and return you to Spring right now.”

Feyre’s eyes were wide by the time he had finished, the sincerity of his words shocking her. Most of all, she was shocked at his willingness to revoke the bargain.

“I…” She started, but could not find the words. The omega inside of her was begging her to forgive him, please the alpha in front of her, but the emotional part of her, the part that was damaged and forever changed? It could not simply forgive his actions.

“There is no need to answer me anytime soon, Feyre.”

“No, it’s not… I’m just surprised, is all. I… I will not forgive you now, but I can see that there is a difference in you from a year before now. As for the bargain…” Feyre paused, and Rhys waited, hardly breathing. “The bargain did save my life, no matter how you convinced me to take it, I would have died without it. As of right now, I am fine with continuing to honor it, as long as you offer me another bargain that you will break it if I ask you at any point in time.”

Rhys smiled at Feyre, a broad, toothy one that made him so handsome it nearly took Feyre’s breath away. “It’s a bargain, darling. And thank you.” Inside the unmarked space on her left wrist, a small ribbon of black tied in a bow appeared, a matching one on Rhysand.

“Would you…” Rhysand hesitated. “Would you be willing to try and be friends? At least, friendly during your time here?”

Feyre considered it for a moment. “As long as you do not make any more bullheaded comments about my alpha, then I suppose that would be doable,” She agreed.

Rhys chuckled and nodded his head. “I will do my very best to be polite about him, Feyre, I promise.” He stood up from the table and extended his arm closest to Feyre, and his scent washed over her again. “Now, would you be up for a tour? I would like for you to be able to do more than bathe and sleep, if you so choose.”

Feyre stood up as well, and grabbed his arm lightly, not entirely having planned to do that. She could, after all, walk on her own and follow him. “That sounds nice, I’d like to have more places to hide from you if you do end up being an ass.”

Rhys chuckled at that, and began leading her down the opposite hallway from where her room was.

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

The tour took about an hour, granted a lot of that was Feyre exploring the library, a massive, gorgeous room that had a large mural covering the entire far wall.

Rhysand had explained that the mural told the story of the creation of the Night Court, up through the midway point of his father’s rule.

Feyre was entranced by it, similar to the mural back in the Spring library, so much so that Rhysand had to practically drag her away from it, back to the rest of the moonstone palace.

After that, she was most interested in the kitchen and large bathing pools, the latter of which she may have been tempted to use if she didn’t have such an amazing bath in her room already.

“This is our final stop,” Rhys said, swinging the door in front of them open to reveal a relatively bare room, only furnished with two wooden chairs with padding.

Feyre’s face contorted, her mind going to the worst, before Rhys caught sight of her expression and quickly said “It’s a small training room, suitable for beginners magic training, as well as mental shielding. I was hoping that you would be willing to train your magic, if you haven’t begun already in Spring.”

Feyre’s cheeks heated quickly, and she turned away from him and the doorway. “I don’t have any kind of magic,” she stated in a small voice.

“They may not have manifested yet for some reason, Feyre, but you were given a kernel of power from each High Lord.” He walked around her so she faced him, and he lifted her chin with two gentle fingers. “Not much is known about Made fae, but I would reckon that you will have a well of power to rival any one of us, just waiting to be coaxed to life.”

His gentle tone and scent was like a balm on the sting of embarrassment at having no magic to show for what she was gifted, and she nodded her head, his fingers dropping from her chin.

“Would you be willing to try? If you’re uncomfortable attempting to use your magic with me, we could at the very least go over magical theory and how to begin accessing it. Or even just the shielding,” he suggested.

Feyre nodded her head again. Both of those sounded like reasonable, kind enough options for him to offer. “That sounds fine, but… Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why offer to train me? Why offer to help me protect my mind from you?”

Rhysand sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I want you to be able to protect yourself Feyre, even if it is from me. I was not lying when I said I came to call in the bargain because I was worried for you,” he said sincerely.

“As long as you’re not an ass to me during the shielding, both will be fine. I would… I would like to know if I have any magic,” Feyre said hesitantly, a spark of hope igniting in her chest. Something that she hadn’t felt in quite a while, besides the hope for Tamlin’s mark, though that was hardly ignited anymore, especially with the disastrous ceremony now standing between them… Mother, they have so much to discuss when she gets home.

“Of course, Feyre, I’ll be as gentle as I can. As for the theory…” he trailed off, and had suddenly pulled a book from nowhere, and handed it to Feyre. “You can begin reading this today, and we can go over however much you’ve read tomorrow after breakfast.” Feyre turned the book over in her hands, admiring the leather cover that was stitched with silver thread. “It’s a book on the formation of magic as fae age, as well as the beginnings to understanding how to access the magic within you. Read as much or as little as you like."

“Thank you,” Feyre said, clutching the book to her chest.

“Or course, darling. Now, I’ll show you back to your room from here, but after that I’ll be in meetings until dinner this evening, so lunch is yours to take wherever you wish. Just call for Nuala or Cerridwen, or talk to me,” He tapped his temple, “And it will be set up for you. And of course, feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you’d like.”

They made their way back to her room, both of them stopping outside of the doorway.

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she blurted out the question, “Did you help decorate my room?”

Color rose high in Rhysand’s cheeks, the first time that Feyre had ever seen him look bashful, and he coughed awkwardly. “As a matter of fact I did. Are you finding it to your liking? I was attempting to make it as open and inviting as possible.”

Feyre smiled and nodded her head. “Yes, it’s lovely. The view from this side is spectacular.”

Rhysand’s expression mirrored her own. “It certainly is. Have a good rest of your day, Feyre,” he said in parting, and began to walk away.

Feyre turned the doorknob and began to open her door, but before entering her room, turned back to his retreating form. “You too, Rhys. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Rhysand turned around, flashing that toothy smile again, and winked before winnowing away.

She shook her head and entered her room, settling down into her bed, the book Rhysand had given her clutched tightly in her hands. She ran her hands over the cover, the feeling of the stitching comforting against them.

Without waiting another moment, Feyre opened the cover and began reading the guide greedily, wanting what Rhysand had talked about, wanting to be able to defend herself and access the magic he believed her to have been blessed with.

She wanted to be strong again.

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

Series taglist: @icey--stars

[dimalry]

Feyre Archeron, but as Feyre Cursebreaker instead of the High Lady. What if she had to visit the courts to understand and master her powers? Since the whole High King crap didn’t work the first time, Feyre could instead take on the role of keeping peace and balance between the courts, as well as saving and protecting Prythian’s magic (Atla reference). Have Tamlin’s paranoia come true about people coming after her because she possesses the High Lords’ magic. It would add layers of tension and danger to her journey.

It would also be interesting to see each court as equally powerful and none can survive without the others. Imagine the dynamic between Rhysand vs Tamlin, with the Spring Court being such a vital core of Prythian- interconnected with and as necessary as the Night Court.

Feysand, but with Rhys as a morally gray character who cares only about his own gain. The sole reason he kept Feyre alive Under the Mountain was because she was the key to his freedom and nothing more. After Feyre gains power from each High Lord and becomes a symbol of freedom and peace (something similar), Rhys begins to see her as a weapon- a means to make his court the most powerful of them all (he lies to her that he needs her to win the war and save Prythian). But will he stay true to his ambitions when he finds himself falling in love with her? 😏 (They both aren’t aware of the mating bond)

Idk, this is just a fun concept. Let me know what you think.

[bloodofthefates]

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist // SJM Omegaverse Masterlist // Dark Feysand Masterlist

Summary: If there was one thing Rhys was well aware of, it was that his life expectancy as a kingpin was a short one. Unless he wanted his uncle seizing power the moment he bled out, he was in need of an heir. An Alpha heir at that.

The only way he could guarantee such a thing was by breeding an omega, a designation nearly extinct in the world they lived in. Regardless, he would acquire one—no matter how unconventional his means may be.

OR;

The Mafia Omega Auction Fic

CW: Dark!Rhys, mafia AU, very much in the “omegas are property” type of omegaverse here. Non-con in future chapters.

Chapter II

Feyre

“I’m not sharing a room with you. You can forget that now.” The room was lovely of course. The whole villa was. Built for luxury, the two story home was all open space and clean lines, one room flowing smoothly into the next while the dark color scheme of blue and black dominated most of the property. At least the first floor, which was the only one she’d had the time to see before her captor’s tour led them to his bedroom.

“Omega.” 

That single word was an order in itself and she almost caved to it. Probably would have if she wasn’t so angry at his presumptuous attitude. “I’m already your prisoner. I won’t be your toy too. And I don’t care how much money and power and influence you may have in this city. I am not a thing to own and order about like one of your goons.”

Sighing, Rhys took her by the hips and forced her backwards until her legs hit the end of the bed and she lost her balance. Though her skimpy auction dress had been replaced with jeans and a loose top before they’d deplaned, Feyre still felt entirely exposed to him when he leaned over her, fists braced on either side of her head, the width of his hips forcing her legs wide. 

He was so damn big. Some tiny, yet not-insignificant part of her wanted to roll over and obey every word that rolled off his tongue—fall into the trap her mother had tried to push her into when Feyre first presented as a pre-teen, mere months after her sister had been sold off to some wealthy alpha looking for a sweet little broodmare.

But surely in this day and age, omegas could find more than a life of servitude, couldn’t they? She felt horrid even thinking it, but she was stronger than Elain in some ways. She could fight that instinct to bend to an alpha if she really wanted to. Keep her autonomy. There had to be a limit to an alpha’s dominance, surely.

“You will have a role here, Feyre. I doubt you’ll enjoy it at first, but you’ll cooperate.”

“Fat chance.” She made a swing at him, but he caught her by the wrist before she could actually land a blow, pinning both hands over her head with humbling ease. “Get your hands off of me!”

One sharp growl and she was baring her neck to him, crushing any hopes of fighting her instincts as an omega. “You’re going to listen to what I have to say, little girl. Or you’re going to end up with a very sore bottom. Is that clear?” She swallowed, hating how the command bled into her, setting her shivering beneath him. She was in no position to ask him to purr for her after being so difficult, not that she wanted to turn to him for comfort in the long run.

“What is my—my role,” she choked out, ignoring that base urge to lick up the column of his throat when he leaned in closer. He was a monster, she loathed the man. But he was also devastatingly handsome, and after so long hiding away from alphas… it was just her body’s natural response. It said nothing about her as a person—or her mental stability. “Why did you bid for me?” 

It was likely just a matter of the rarity of omegas. Having two in her family was unheard of; their family tree suggested it was a genetic “blessing”, but it hardly seemed to matter now. She just hoped this was about more than a rich guy wanting a trophy wife. She wanted to be worth more than that, even in this cruel world where it was so unlikely.

Rolling off of her, Rhys arranged her so she was straddling his lap, gently bending her arms so he could both cage her torso with his arms and keep her wrists clasped in his hand. “I won’t try to hit you again,” she mumbled. She had to put space between them before she did something stupid on impulse alone.

“Forgive me for doubting your honesty, darling.” The half-smile her comment earned slipped from his face. “As I said, this arrangement is purely for my benefit, but I expect you to cooperate. If you can’t manage that then there will be consequences.”

“Like a spanking?” she grumbled.

“Perhaps. The severity will suit the infraction, that I promise.” She wasn’t sure how honest he was being then, but she didn’t dare say as much. “All that said, it’s up to you just how unpleasant this has to be. I’d love nothing more than to spoil you rotten, but I won’t tolerate you fighting me constantly.”

“I can fight you sometimes, then?” She clamped her mouth shut immediately, flinching away as much as his hold would allow.

He chuckled. “Bratty little thing. I’ll let you decide the risk and reward in that.” Again, his humor slipped away all to quickly. “In my line of work there are many risks, and precautions I have to take. Contingency plans, if you will.

“There are more people than I care to admit who want me dead, Feyre. The next in line to take my place is an unfavorable option.” The pieces were coming together. She knew why she was here, and yet she still prayed he wouldn’t say it. She was barely nineteen. “You’re going to give me an heir, Feyre. Several if I have it my way.” And he would have it his way, she knew. Alphas always did. “Your next heat will be induced, unless your cycle is approaching in the next few weeks.”

Cold dread rushed through her at that. “You can’t force a heat.”

“I assure you, little one, a single injection and you’ll be begging for my knot within a few hours. When was your last heat, Feyre? And do not try to lie to me.”

She swallowed. “June.”

“You have a year between them?” She nodded. “Once you’re settled I’ll call for the doctor. Start making your nest, pet.”

“And if I don’t?”

Clearly unimpressed with her pointless argument, he leaned in, the tip of his nose dragging across the tender skin beneath her jaw. “If you don’t nest, Omega, you’ll be feeling even more vulnerable and stressed all through your heat. I’m going to fuck you whether you make a nest or not. I already told you I want to make this easier for you. Stubbornness isn’t going to save you this time.” ~~~~~  Feyre made a half-hearted nest on the floor that night, though her captor had certainly done his best to coax her into the massive bed. If there was one good trait Rhys had it was basic respect for the creation and occupancy of a nest. Feyre might not be acting out at the moment, but she didn’t trust him. And until he gained her trust—which was never going to happen—he wasn’t getting anywhere near her nest.

With the fluffy blankets and body pillow beneath her she was perfectly comfortable on the floor, not to mention exhausted from jetlag. But she still found sleep impossible to reach. The heavy sigh from the bed an hour after the lights were turned out told her all of her tossing and turning was keeping Rhys up too.

“Feyre, come here.” She laid still, hoping he’d roll over and forget about her. No such luck, as a moment later two strong arms were hooked under her knees and back. She squeaked, but didn’t struggle.

Not when he was already purring for her. It immediately soothed her anxious energy.”New places are hard to sleep in, aren’t they, sweet girl? We’ll get you adjusted.” Against her better judgment, she melted into his chest, groaning softly when his fingers carded through her hair. “That’s it, darling. So sweet for your Alpha.”

“Alpha,” she murmured, nuzzling in just above his collar bone and letting his addictive scent wash over her. “Smell good.”

“So damn sweet,” he muttered again. “Eyes closed, sweetheart. Sleep now.”

“Purr?”

“Of course, darling. Sweet dreams.”

Taglist: @littlest-w01f // @whatishowedyouinthedark // @ninthcircleofprythian // @sajirah // @acourtofladydeath // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer // @toporecall //@popjunkie42-blog

[avifaunaa]

stars blind [ they fall and leave the sky ] [ f.a.+r ] [ pt.1 ]

Authors Note: it was going to happen eventually. The only name READER goes by is Windweaver -- otherwise there is no use of a name or Y/N.

Masterlist

PART TWO | PART THREE

Pairing: Feyre Archeron x Rhysand x Fem!Reader + Platonic!Inner Circle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Feyre and Rhysand have decided to go out after eight months of being reclusive with Nyx. In their absence, it would seem the Inner Circle had kept a well-kept secret at their favorite bar — a new friend and a third mate Feyre and Rhysand never knew they had. But you — who answers to the name Windweaver — have your own secrets behind your innocent smiles and sweet scent.

Content Warnings: Canon in nature but I take liberties and therefor it’s somewhat of an AU because of what I did, a medium to quick-ish burn, Court politics, protective + possessive inner circle [ platonic ], platonic fae family dynamics that I will eventually go into, TAMLIN MENTIONED, foul language, mentions of: death, torture, war -- not graphically described, this is but a set up for the story so Feysand do not meet R yet.

Word Count: ~4.9k

Rhysand was suspicious.

Granted, he was always suspicious and usually had a right to be when considering what sort of ilk he had to tend to in the Court of Nightmares on a regular basis.

His mate thought he was overthinking it — you’re getting permanent worry lines, she had told him over the mindlink — and had tried to ignore his pattering around and restless fidgeting for days.

Nyx was a welcome distraction, of course, especially when Feyre showed him how easily the babe had begun winnowing in small distances before he was walking on two feet. Rhysand had walked about with his chest puffed out for no less than a week until Azriel beat the shit out of him in training.

In truth, his suspicions lie closer to his own Inner Circle. They were around frequently and Feyre held dinners at their home two times a week that usually ended up with a couple of them spending the night after too many drinks [ Cassian and Nesta, who did not drink much anymore, by default ].

They were less open-mouthed about their drinking exploits when they went out into the Court and dancing. Even Azriel was less chatty about it — and he was not a chatty man by nature.

Dinner was currently underway and Feyre had a babbling Nyx in her lap as she fed him, then herself, then him again. She hummed along to whatever he said to her, because none of it made any sense to one except himself.

Rhysand was nursing a glass of wine and staring at Mor and Amren, and when Amren caught him staring she curled a lip back to reveal her canines. “You better move those eyes before I take them and pin them to my front door.”

Cassian choked on his ham stew, loudly setting down his bowl and wiping his face with the fine napkins.

“Please don’t,” Feyre said, “I like his eyes more than everything else about him.”

“Everything, you say?” Cassian asked wickedly, a feral gleam in his eyes. “That must hurt, Rhysie.”

“Shut up,” Nesta intoned from her spot between him and Azriel as she broke a roll in half and dipped it in her soup, “I don’t want to hear about Rhysand’s cock at dinner.”

“Who said anything about his cock?”

A pause in her dipping, a small reddening of her cheeks, then Nesta continued on with a bored expression as she brought the accurately soaked roll to her lips and bit in, ignoring the bait her mate dangled in front of her.

Rhysand ignored both of them and sipped his wine until Amren returned her gaze back to her High Lord, now irritated in the way he wanted her to be.

“Boy, spit out whatever has ahold of your tongue and your balls before I reach over and take all three for myself,” she warned, setting aside her emptied glass until a bottle floated over lazily to refill it.

Azriel sighed loudly from Nesta’s other end.

“Please don’t,” Feyre repeated as she fed Nyx a spoonful of soup while he reached for the utensil himself. “And also stop threatening one another in front of Nyx. I don’t need him running around next Solstice babbling about Rhysand’s balls.”

Mor was the one to choke on her wine this time, removing the glass and covering her face before anything could spill.

Azriel sighed again while Elaine made it a point to noisily move dishes nearest to her around on the table.

“You’ll forgive me, Feyre, if I’m somewhat irked by your mate’s endless staring,” Amren bit out as she pushed her barely touched food away. Even now she still struggled with eating, even if she had admitted it was fantastic food. Amren was a creature of habit and it was hard when she returned mortal.

“I am concerned my Circle is being tight-lipped about something and I am trying to investigate it,” Rhysand announced to the table before Feyre could stop him.

“So the dramatics were . . .” Nesta waved her fork in his direction, ringed hand glittering in the overhead lighting, “ . . . Just you being you?”

“He’s not normally this awful. He usually just asks us when something is off to him,” Cassian told her, popping an entire roll into his mouth without breaking it apart first.

“I have asked,” Rhysand retorted shortly, tapping his fingertips on the tabletop. “Numerous times. All of you. I have asked if anything of note has been occurring in Court while Feyre and I take our reprieve with Nyx. I’ve gotten no reports other than the usual.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything to report,” Azriel told him slowly, his shadows looking as confused as the Spymaster did. Cassian grunted his agreement around his bread product.

“See?” Feyre gave him one of her reassuring smiles, dimples showing and eyes softening to hide the concern that lay within. “You’re being a hen. Nothing is wrong with our people or our Court. If you’re restless and want to return to your duties entirely, you can just say so.”

Rhysand’s scarred hand dug into the top of the table. His mate couldn’t sense it — and maybe he was being paranoid and he had grown restless in the nesting period he had taken up with Feyre and Nyx.

But his Illyrian hindbrain was nagging at him, warning him that something simply wasn’t entirely in the right place.

“Your father’s ilk haven’t caused ruckus?” he asked Mor carefully as he made an effort to pick at his food.

Mor slowly moved her gaze to Rhysand’s own and he saw an icy fire somewhere in the depths of his cousin’s eyes. “No. The last time they did, I gave him a reminder.”

“They’ve been rather well behaved since then,” Nesta commented lazily, watching her own mate swallow down his third roll and reach to the basket for a fourth.

“Cassian save some for the rest of us,” she scolded, lunging forward to snatch the basket away. “Elaine only made two batches and you’ve nearly had an entire full one by yourself.”

“It’s okay,” her sister said, cheeks pink. “There’s more than enough, I’m sure.”

Cassian held a hand out but Nesta refused to give in, eyes narrowing to slits. “You’re going to regret that much bread tomorrow when we have to be up for training.”

Azriel took the basket and plucked his own roll before passing it down the table out of the Warrior’s reach.

“I hate all of you,” Cassian said as he stared at his soup.

“Duly noted,” the High Lord drawled as he once again cast glances at each of his friends. He decided to do this approach differently, casually asking, “How’s Rita been?”

“Good,” Mor answered immediately. “She’s been busier than normal.”

“Her bar’s picked up even more, has it?”

“That’s wonderful,” Feyre said with a smile as Nyx smashed a tiny chunk of roll on the side of his mouth instead of inside. “I can’t wait to go again. It’s been so long. Soon.”

“Hmm,” Amren simply said, not agreement nor refusal. A very Amren sound but not matching with the too-blank expression she had where normally she held less defenses around the Cricle lately.

Azriel’s attention was suddenly on Elaine, asking about her recipe so that there was truly no way he could be taken from her conversation without being considered rude. Rhysand wanted to strangle him with his own shadows.

You’re being overbearing and I think perhaps it’s time you and I start going back into Court again, Feyre murmured down the bond. He hadn’t even realized she had entered his mind — her being there was like his own thoughts. I’m worried you’re looking for things to be suspicious about so you can have something to do.

Have you seen the paperwork loaded in the office, darling? he returned while he continued inspecting their friends. I have work for months. But this . . . This is different.

Feyre brushed against him internally in an attempt at soothing him -- and perhaps he was a tad more worked up over this perceived secret than he should be. But he did not like it -- not from his Inner Circle, not from his family.

Mor swirled her wine and chewed on her lip. She had one perfectly manicured hand wrapped around her elbow in an effort to make herself seem relaxed and at ease amongst her peers but Rhysand could taste the nervous energy from his cousin.

She was always made up of nervous energy when the time was around for her father and his agreed population to come into the Court -- she could not relax for at least a week after they were gone.

This was different, though.

"There's a new girl at Rita's," More broke out as the wine glass was lifted to her face, unable to cut off her sentence before it spewed out.

Silence fell and Amren simply poured herself more wine. "Here we go."

"So?" Rhysand said, squinting at the blonde. "Rita's employees come and go frequently -- do they not? She offers an easy scheduling system."

Mor did not further elaborate or answer Rhysand's confused question. He sent a look to his mate, who tilted her head in her friend's direction.

"Is this the big secret Rhysand thinks you're keeping from us?" she asked easily, smile rising up to greet their Inner Circle. "If so, please confirm it and put him out of his misery. He doesn't like not being in the know of things."

"Busybody," Amren grumbled, wine now half empty as she closed her eyes as if to go away from this conversation.

"Yes," Azriel said simply. "But she's been around since Nyx's birth. Came out of nowhere."

"Nobody comes out of Nowhere, Az," Rhysand said impatiently, "So I assume she caught interest because she came not from Nowhere but from another Court?"

"Why would that make a stir? We've had many newcomers since we revealed ourselves," Feyre added.

"She's . . . She came from the Spring Court," Azriel confessed. Though his brothers' facial features were unreadable, the tone . . . it failed to hide the sliver of guilt. "I personally looked into her history. She's High Fae and I'm afraid to let you know that she is related to Tamlin through his mother's lineage."

Feyre's eyes shuttered briefly and Rhysand could only feel the shock that struck her. "He never mentioned any family besides . . ." she trailed off, leaving words unsaid but a history known.

Tamlin had only spoken of who he thought brought importance to him directly -- and a girl in which he likely hardly saw growing up? What would have been so important to waste his breath on her to Feyre for?

Even so, Rhysand knew little about Tamlin's mother or her lineage. It does not surprise him he has a cousin or two floating around in the world.

He reached across his bond, grasping the warmth and clutching it so tenderly. Are you okay?

She responded in kind and connected herself to him in order to grant access to her emotions and the ability to comfort her. I am okay, she confirmed, meeting his eyes with stars in the depths, but I want to know more.

He would give her anything she needed -- and if she wanted to know more about the female who shared Tamlin's blood, it would be hers.

"What do you know?" he asked, breaking the silence of his group. He pushed his empty dishes away and prepared to settle in for a long discussion.

Feyre shifted in her seat but only to hand over a squealing Nyx to Elain so that she may take him to play in the gardens before his bath.

"She used political sanctuary to ask for entry," Cassian told him, arms crossed over the table, expression turned serious. "She claims that during the War she was moved from place to place with her mother so that Tamlin couldn't use them to get her father to contribute troops from his house."

Feyre's jaw locked stiff and Rhysand could feel the tight straining in her core. "Where is her family now?" his High Lady questioned calmly.

"Unknown," Azriel answered, "I sought out their location with my Shadows but their House is in shambles -- in name and standing all. There is no sign of Sylinor or his wife and there are no troops bearing their House' crest to be located."

"Sylinor Windweaver?" Rhysand asked, the name drawing familiarity from a time when he was a boy and still shadowed his father, eyes flashing and his wings twitching behind him. "He has not been seen since--"

"A year before Amarantha's fall," Cassian finished. "Believed to have been executed with his family when Tamlin continued to lack . . . obedience."

"So they lived," Feyre said hollowly, eyes drifting toward the windows where the garden was in view. Elain sat with Nyx as he flapped tiny wings and grasped her skirt to draw her attention to him.

"It seems so," the Illyrian general agreed while Nesta scratched her chin, almost bored of this entire thing.

"So they escape, hide, and then . . . just disappear?" Feyre asked with an icy spike in the tone of her voice that Rhysand knew to be bordering dangerous.

"A lot of Houses fell in the War, and it is possible that Tamlin somehow helped free the Windweavers and attempted to call in a favor later," Amren reminded Feyre bluntly. "Hybern let his soldiers play as they would and some families and their titles were entirely wiped out. The Spring Court relies on House loyalties and the people in each section of land owned by a House to contribute its' army. Autumn Court runs in a similar fashion."

"Spring Court had the Tithe," Feyre said, frowning, "and also made prominent families take people on their territories as soldiers? Is that who Tamlin had as guards on his estate?"

"Likely not," Rhysand told her as he kept sending a soothing rush down the bond toward her. Anytime Feyre learned a new aspect about the Spring Court, it devastated her a little bit more. "Those were probably Fae who came from prominent families of those Houses or Fae who had deep loyalties going back to his family."

"I see." Feyre clasped her hands in her lap in an effort to cease the trembling that threatened to reveal itself. Not from despair, no, Rhysand could feel anger there. Rage and shock. "So this Fae woman. She comes from one of the prominent Houses?"

"Yes," Mor confirmed softly, "but her movements have been much the same. She works at Rita's and goes home after her shift. She's quiet and keeps to herself."

"Did she come with anyone else?" Rhysand asked after an uneasy, but thoughtful, silence.

Amren pursed her lips and shot Azriel a sharp look before finishing off the last of her wine.

The Shadowsinger was hesitating even if his usual stillness radiated his confidence and attempt at nonchalance. "Yes, she came with one other. A child."

"A child," Feyre echoed. Her eyes had been ripped away from their son upon hearing this, and now she had her walls stacked as high and as defensed as they could be. Rhysand brushed against them but it would seem this turmoil was his mates' alone. "There weren't . . . the records of refugees . . ."

“Remember how we discussed a way for fleeing Fae to seek asylum and ensuring their tracks would die at our doorstep?” Rhysand asked quietly, eyes focusing on Feyre.

“Yes. It wasn’t really given a solid outline, though,” Feyre murmured, the glittery makeup around her eyes crinkling with her skin as she eyed him. “Unless it did happen and you didn’t tell me.”

The accusation was piercing, but not untrue.

“It was Mor and Nesta’s project. Amren helped. I had little say in it,” Rhysand confessed.

"We do not always mark down on public records the names of our refugees," Mor took over, speaking to Feyre carefully as she leaned forward in the dining chair and intertwining her fingers together. "We put their names on a list only a three others under our Circle can access and then we store that list in the House of Wind. It is still in its’ infancy and has been used only a handful of times with some denied entries, and we have security checks in place to review the applicants. It takes weeks for them to be allowed into the Court with a citizenship if they request a private status in our records."

"It's a fairly new system," Rhysand reiterated to his wife, reaching out to grasp one of her hands. "We implemented it officially near the birth of Nyx -- and I keep intending to inform you of it.”

Feyre could feel his guilt through their mating bond and blew air through her nostrils. She rubbed at her temples and crossed one leg over the other. “No need to keep me out of the loop on account of my maternity situation. From now on, keep me informed on everything.”

“Of course, Lady,” Mor murmured, dipping her chin. Amren followed suit. “It wasn’t kept from you intentionally.”

Feyre offered a small, comforting smile. “I know. But still done nonetheless. I am able to preform my duties just fine these days and welcome it.” Her eyes glanced at Rhysand accusingly, who had the decency to keep his mouth shut.

Rhysand traced the rim of his glass with his fingertip. “It’s so far been a successful operation, darling.”

“Who’s running it right now?”

Nesta held up her chalice. "I am in charge of the refugees for the most part. When I took your old job part of it is included the safety of displaced folk and giving them a voice and resources."

Feyre nodded, satisfied with her sister’s role in this part of their Circle. She opened her shields just a minuscule ule amount, sending Rhysand reassurance but also digging her claws into his wandering mind. We will discuss this later.

Rhysand did not physically react — but it took his entire being not to flinch as she dug in deeper until releasing him.

"So the child is hers?" Feyre questioned, running one of her fingers across the top of Rhysand's palm to self-soothe. He knew her pain from her experience in the Spring Court ran root-deep, before him, before the Cauldron . . . but he wondered why she felt so incensed by the knowledge of this Fae woman.

"We believe so, but she has no record of mating or marriage. The child is no older than three at most and she only provided a name for her," Nesta replied, snatching another roll and ignoring Cassian's outraged yelp.

"Could this child have been apart of why Sylinor moved them around during the War?" Rhysand wondered, still seeking entry into Feyre's mind through the small gap she opened to him. Gentle brushes and wisps of touch against the shields -- but he backed down when no response was given.

"It is possible," Amren said, "but we do not know for sure. We do not ask about her history and she does not offer it. What we have told you is what we know."

"If she is not a threat or in danger of becoming one," Rhysand finally decided after thinking, "then I suggest that we ease off of following her for now. She sought asylum and it was granted. Let us treat her like a guest rather than a suspect."

"As long as Tamlin does not sniff around asking if his missing cousin is hiding here," his Second drawled, leaning her chin on her hand and squinting like a satisfied cat, "then I do not see an issue in that."

"The High Lord has bigger problems internally right now," Azriel said, mostly to himself by the distant musings in the way he spoke. "He has more concerns than one House being lost to him."

"She's blood," Rhysand countered.

"Since when has blood ever mattered to the High Fae until it suited them?" Nesta asked with a twisted, nasty tone -- and she was right.

"Can you send two more Dawning Brightlights to the table in the corner for me, Windy?" Rita asked, breathless and red-cheeked as she spoke loudly over the even louder crowd that took over her bar this night.

It was a typical busy day you supposed -- though you hardly ever found a slow day at Rita's ever since your first shift and she eagerly brought you on when you told her you would take whatever times she wanted you as long as you did not have to do the midnight shifts.

The money was good and the customers were a breed that only an establishment like Rita's could produce. You worried if you went to the bar just a few blocks down, you'd have had your ass grabbed already.

"Of course!" you call back as you crouch under the bar and pull out ingredients for the drinks she needed. A purple sparkly syrup to drizzle into the bottom of the glass, five second pours of the sweet alcohol that had a strange but harmless shimmer to it, and two perfect mint leaves in each glass and you were off. You swept through the packed building, sweeping under extended arms and narrowly avoiding an unwatchful stagger from an unintended shove.

Chairs being pulled out dodged breezily, and echoes of laughter drowning out muffled apologies as you finally reach your destination.

“Here you go, so sorry for the wait!” You flourished the drinks and let them slide across the table to the two patrons. The two fae raised their glasses at you before downing them and going back to their chatting.

You filled ten more drink requests in under thirty minutes while trying to keep up with the food orders. You were tempted to use your abilities to help you carry things — but doing so would cause great ruckus and you were still hiding. Using it would reveal yourself to your old Court.

“Windweaver!” A familiar song like cry echoed as you dropped some fish and chips off at a burly male’s table. “Oh where art thou, Windweaver?”

Your hair was sticky against your scalp and forehead as you ducked under a pair of dancing Fae and popped up to face the source. It was The Morrigan lounging with her feet on a peanut covered table, grinning wickedly while Amren sat across from her and hissed whenever someone nudged her chair when passing.

“Hi, Mor!” you greeted, relieved and anxious at the sight of her. Her and Amren — and Nesta Archeron — had all been vital in getting you settled in Veralis and you were forever in their debt.

But you feared that your connection to them would mean running into the youngest sister of Nesta and the High Lady of Veralis, of the Night Court, Feyre. You heard only from your mother’s maids what your cousin had forced her to go through.

And you did not want to see the look in her eye the way you did Nesta’s when she realizes who you are and what you run from.

It was your ultimate shame and burden to carry being from the Spring Court, but you did not have anywhere else to go that you’d think could truly shield you from your family should they seek you out.

“You stink,” Amren said by way of greeting, narrowing her eyes at you, “of male.”

You spluttered incoherently at her remark, red. “Amren,” Mor crooned, falsely scolding as she smirked in your direction. “Why are you sniffing her way anyway?”

“Can you not tell that the reek is coming from her?” You did not appreciate the way she eyed you distastefully.

“There is no male,” you said, slapping down menus in front of them despite knowing they get the same thing every time. “I have brushed up against many of them while taking care of customers.”

“Did any of them touch you?”

“No?”

Amren arched a brow. “You’re not sure of that, are you, girl?”

Mor also frowned, tapping her fingernails across the menu in an unsettled manner. “If someone touched you, Windy, Rita —“

You sighed. “I don’t think it was intentional, or I would have felt it and known. I always smell when I work these nights, okay? I’m fine.”

Amren did not look ready to release this from her clutches. “It’s not just a brushing of scents that happen like usual. It’s so soaked into you that I’m almost tempted to force Rita to let you off for the night to bathe.”

“Amren.” You imagined yourself rolling your eyes, but feared the consequences of such actions when it came to the Night Court’s feared Second in Command.

Another arch of a sleek brow, eyes cat-like as she drew in on you. Mor stood by and studied the menu as though she planned on changing her meal choice tonight.

“I genuinely,” you began, “have no male in my life — and I believe I would know if one was scenting me.” You rested your hip against the table to try and remove some weight from your ankles and feet. You were sore.

Mor and Amren didn’t seem satisfied despite you speaking the truth, but they did feel content enough to let it go and instead order their usual drink and meals. You swiped their menus under your arm and head back to the bar to put the order in to the kitchen.

The rest of the night slowed down after that odd interaction. You delivered the drinks to Amren and Mor and ignored the way Amren wrinkled her nose at you whenever you approached. You tried not to take it personally, not with Amren.

When it came close to ten in the evening, you started counting your tips as your replacement, Malora, swept in and greeted you cheerfully.

You decided to stop by Amren and Mor’s table one more time and check on them again before you left. You had your apron draped over your arm and your hair pulled up into a high ponytail. “Hey, is there anything else you’d like me to grab you? I’m heading out pretty much now otherwise.”

Amren waves you off as she downs her fifth drink but Mor looked up to give you a response, pauses at something with a flash of alarm in her eye. Her glass slips from her hand and it shatters on the table.

“Morrigan!” Amren snapped, sliding her chair back before the liquid could pour into her lap. “By the Cauldron, usually you don’t get into dropping things until you’re ten drinks in —“

“Amren.”

“What?” she snapped again, eyes shooting up and meeting your confused ones. She then shot a glare at more, followed her eyesight, and she too seemed to freeze briefly.

“Let me get a rag.” You throw your belongings onto the empty chair at the table and quickly walk across the tavern and get behind the bar to dig out a clean rag, maybe three, to help clean the mess.

When you walked back toward them, they were arguing quietly. You strained to listen, but even your Fae ears were weak at hearing after the War.

After everything.

You unfolded one and started laying it across the spilled mess and drifting the glass and alcohol in one direction; away from both of them.

“Girl,” Amren said tightly. You paused and noticed his strained Amren looked, and the way Mor’s body seemed to be alight with nervous energy, “how long has that been there?”

“What?”

A thin, foreboding finger pointed just above your shoulder to the spot where your neck and shoulder met. Concerned by her and Mor’s actions, you reach up to brush your fingers along the skin but find nothing amiss. “What’s there?”

“Do you need a mirror,” Mor asked, but she did not wait for a response as she reached into the small handbag on the back of her chair and pulled one of the fancy little carry on mirror’s you see in boutiques for sale. Too expensive for you to afford.

You lift the mirror until it’s in the line of sight they pointed out, reflecting the offending part of your body. At first you weren’t entirely sure what they were talking about. But then you looked closer and noticed it just creeping out behind your ear. You tilted the mirror up and to the side until it faced the back of your pointed ear and swallowed at what you found.

Outlining the skin that connected your ear to your head was inked and drifted out into swirling mist-like markings until it faded just out of view. Very underwhelming in hindsight, but a shock because you do not remember having this.

“Oh,” you said quietly as you lowered the mirror. Breathed out. Handed the object back to Mor.

The most awkward silence you had ever experienced.

“Oh,” Mor agreed thickly, nails digging into the wood of the table as she met your gaze.

“That’s a mating mark of a High Lord,” Amren said, slow and dark, eyes piercing you as you started backing away, and dug your own nails into your palms. “But which one?”

“I’m not mated,” you spit out, “to anybody.”

“The bond says otherwise.”

You looked at both females, your heart beginning to race in your chest and did the only thing you knew how to do.

You ran.

PART TWO

[purple-writer8]

Heather - ACOTAR

Azriel x Winter Court Reader

“But I watch your eyes as she walks by. What a sight for sore eyes, brighter than the blue sky… she’s got you mesmerized. While I die.”

warnings: unrequited love, pining, evil thoughts, intrusive thoughts, lesser fae thinks shes not enough, hating on girl, self doubt, oblivious az

1.2k words

Masterlist :)

Crushing on the shadowsinger was a bad idea, you knew that since the moment you joined the Inner Circle centuries ago. It was a family, and familiar dynamics could very well be affected by your stupid little crush, but that didn’t stop your heart from beating for him.

You were a master of lies, Azriel’s second in command as Spymaster— you were good at being a chameleon— at lying. So you’ve spent your entire life in the Inner Circle, lying to everyone, hiding your feelings for Azriel because surely you were not worthy enough for the shadowsinger. 

He was one of the strongest warriors in Prythian, the only current shadowsinger, an Ilyrian. You… you were just a sneaky thief turned spy. A lesser fae from the Winter Court, with eyes so white, you were terrifying to your enemies. Fingertips so cold, that with enough conviction, whatever you touched turned into frost. 

You weren’t enough for Azriel, or anyone really. The High Lord had found you three hundred centuries ago, you had somehow snuck into Hewn City, and then you had stolen heaps of artifacts and sold them in the Winter Court for profit. You were stealthy and quick, something he had appreciated when Cassian and Azriel finally brought you to him.

Rhysand gave you two choices: to be handed over to Kallias as a criminal, or stay in his court and serve him— because he was sure you would excel as a spy. In exchange, you got a family, gold, clothes, and a warm bed. It was a no-brainer for you.

Azriel and you were a dream team and with time, your feelings for the shadowsinger went from admiration to adoration. Who wouldn’t adore him? He was perfection, he was everything, and he was the love of your life— you weren’t his, though. 

You had never expressed your feelings because, frankly, you were not sure that you could handle rejection. So you pined and loved him in silence, hoping that one day a miracle dawned on him, and he would somehow fall for you— a frosty lesser fae. You knew you two were not mates, but cauldron, you could wish and yearn. 

It was more than wishful dreaming, though sometimes you thought that just maybe— maybe he reciprocated your feelings. He was so kind to you, so doting, so careful.

Though, that all stopped when Elain Archeron dropped into all of your lives. You liked Feyre, and loved Nesta— but Elain, you hated her. The middle Archeron was perfection, everything you were not. She was soft, kind, beautiful, High Fae, and… Azriel liked her.

You knew it was bad that you hated her for being of his interest, but you had never once claimed to be a good person. Two years into her arrival and you could not stand the likes of her. 

You were sitting in the River House, playing board games with the Inner Circle, Nesta, and Lucien. Much to your delight, Elain hadn’t joined. It was the beginning of winter in the Night Court, and though you were made of ice— you weren’t immune to the cold. You shivered as you laid down one of your cards, and it caused Cassian to laugh at you.

“You turned my room into ice last winter solstice, and now you shiver?” He teased you, making you roll your white eyes at him. “Should’ve brought a coat,” Feyre taunted you, and you nodded. “Guys, I really thought it wasn’t as cold,” you chuckled, rubbing your cold as ice hands together to get some warmth, which was to no avail because there was no warmth inside you. Frost appeared in your hands at this action, causing you to groan. 

 Your heart stopped, though, when you felt a warm sweater wrapping around your shoulders. Your eyes flickered to Azriel, who gave you a small smile, “thank you,” you said softly.

 “It looks better on you than it does me,” the shadowsinger shrugged, his shadows coiling around your frozen hands, trying to warm you up. You smiled, about to answer, but his eyes snapped away from you, as did his shadows. Your eyes followed his gaze, meeting with Elain as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Your heart dropped, she was a sight for sore eyes, a sight for Azriel’s eyes. 

 She had him mesmerized, and you felt like you wanted to die. Inching away from Azriel, you continued your game, dropping his sweater unto the couch behind you. You were an ice fae, you could manage. 

When dinner came around, you were quiet all through the affair. You seethed in silence as you watched him drape the very same sweater he had given you, over Elain’s shoulders. The cold pulsed through your veins, and soon your utensils were turning into ice as you watched the scene unfold.

Elain told some story about her up-and-coming garden, and you got the urge to go and freeze her flowers to death. Obviously you did not. She was an angel, a good person. 

You kind of wished she were dead. You reprimanded your mind for being so evil. How could anyone ever love you? You were terrible… and not even half as pretty as Elain. Your thoughts were dark, and your heart made of stone-cold ice. Love was not something you would ever get. 

After dinner, you seethed outside. The snow that fell over you felt like fire on your skin, and you could feel your fingertips freezing as they created small snowflakes. “Come inside, it’s so cold outside,” that husky voice you worshiped spoke from the from door, causing you to turn to him.

His shadows rushed to you, swirling around your body to shield you from the snow. You turned away from Azriel, not wanting him to see you in your essence. Your veins shone black underneath your pale skin, your eyes glowing white, while ice slipped from your fingers and wrapped itself around you. 

You heard his footsteps crunching in the snow, then large wings wrapped around you in a protective manner as he towered over you. “Don’t look at me,” you mumbled, your eyes casting downward, not wanting him to see your eyes.

“Why?” He asked softly, scarred thumb wiping away frost that had gathered on your cheek. Then it clasped around your chin, tilting it upward so you looked up at him. 

His hazel eyes skimmed over your face slowly, “what’s wrong?” He asked softly, making you tilt your face away from his grasp. “Don’t.” You stated. You wished he knew, wish that you had been obvious enough, because you were so tired of pining for someone who did not love you back. 

“What?” He asked, a puzzled look happening upon his chiseled and devastatingly beautiful face. “You gave her your sweater,” you did not care how preposterous you were being, you couldn’t hold back. You had enough of this. 

"What? It’s just a sweater, does it matter?” Azriel asked, his shadows coiling around his ear to whisper in his ear. Jealous girl, jealous fae. 

 “You like her better.” The jealousy was pouring out of you, manifesting in ice that crawled all over your body. 

 “I can’t keep wishing I was Elain.” 

-

Part Two

Author’s Note:

IK the elain/azriel x pining reader is done a lot butttttt i love this song and i wanted to write my take on the triangle with heather as inspiration!

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe