#Though any dark!Rhys makes me foam at the mouth

[the-lonelybarricade]

if you had ONE request for ~someone~ who writes dark!Rhys what would it be? :3

👀👀

Dark!Rhys you say? How, uh, how dark were we thinking?

Because I immediately went to consult @separatist-apologist about this and we were thinking that no one's really explored how neat it would be if that scene where Rhys comes to the Spring Court after calanmai was a little darker and hornier 👀

You know like... uh, maybe Rhys ends up holding a little more than Feyre's mind 👀 She won't tell him her name, afterall, so he's forced to use more creative means of coaxing out that information

[illyrianwingspans]

Do Not Go Gentle: Mr. Rattlebone

Link to song

Synopsis: Feyre and Rhys deal with the fallout. 

TW:  Blood, trauma, dark thoughts.

Ao3 link

Chapter 7: Mr. Rattlebone

The gun was clutched between my fingers. I couldn’t let it go.

Kneeling in the pool of blood, I clutched the bringer of death as though it were life itself. Blood soaked the clothes on my body, the skin of my face, my shaking hands. It was everywhere. All I kept wondering about was, What are they going to do with the bodies? These people must have had families. Drug pushers or not, there were people out there who cared about them, who loved them, yet I was here, lying in their blood.

And Tamlin was across the country on a business meeting.

There was a crash from outside, and I didn’t flinch as the storage room’s garage door opened. Footsteps ran to my side, and Rhys dropped on his knees before me.

“Feyre,” he pleaded, his eyes searching mine. But I couldn’t look at him. I was only focused on the blood surrounding me, the bodies before me. There was room for nothing else.

“Where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts?” He demanded.

“Everywhere,” I choked out. The gun rattled in my hands as I began to shake. “He, um, he hit my head and my arms, and at some point I think he punched me in the chest—”

Rhys’s fingers were gentle as he pushed back the strands of hair covering my face then prodded the wound on my forehead. I winced, and he shook his head.

“I have to call the police.”

“Rhys, you can’t—” Panic exploded in my chest. I couldn’t get arrested. No, I wouldn’t, not when I was put here in the first place by other people—

“You’re too hurt. There’s too much of a mess to clean up to keep it under the radar.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I pleaded, eyes wide, voice trembling, then reached up to grip the lapels of his jacket. “I can’t be a criminal. I can’t, I can’t—” I burst into sobs, and he sighed, then pulled me into his arms.

He didn’t care that I was soaked in blood. Blood of the two people I’d just murdered, laying no more than a few feet away from us. Rhys held me as I swore and cursed the Gods for everything that’d happened to lead me where I was today, in the back of a coffee shop, with the blood of two people on my hands.

“It was self-defence, darling,” he murmured into my ear, “they were going to kill you, and they would’ve thought nothing about it. You’d be dead if you hadn’t. No one in their right minds would even try to make an arrest.”

“Please,” I choked out, “please. Don’t call them.”

He pulled away so that we both faced each other. There was pain, so much pain in those star-speckled eyes. Rhys only nodded his head once. “I’ll get someone to clean this.”

“Thank you,” I sighed, and he only brushed the side of my arm in response before scooping me into his arms and bringing me out the back door where his car waited.

At some point the car began to drive, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t say or think or feel much at all besides the second skin enveloping me. Copper and iron stench stuck to me, and my mouth was filled with the acrid taste. All around me, buildings upon buildings passed by, only barely visible with the thick fog coming off the Sidra, and Rhys was saying so many words that didn’t make sense to me. At some point I’m pretty sure he was screaming into a phone, but even that sounded like a foreign dialect. Then there was the sound of somebody saying to me through a stereo.

“Feyre,” the person said, and I finally closed my eyes as Tamlin’s voice filled the car. “Feyre, talk to me.”

“We, um,” the words were garbled and choked in my throat, “we need to order more coffee. I destroyed most of it trying to find the shipment.”

“Feyre, I need you to calm down. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I think we’re also out of brown sugar. You know the uh,” I cleared my throat and my fingers clutched the edge of the seat, trying to get a grasp on anything I could, “the brown ethical sugar that no one ever takes? We finally ran out of that. Yeah, um, we need more.”

“Feyre.” Only it sounded like a disappointment. Fitting.

Rhys looked to me sidelong in the car, and the stars in his eyes seemed dim today. Then the phone was pressed back against his ear. He uttered under his breath, “She’s in shock, you inconsiderate fuck.”

The world kept moving so fast outside of the car, and I decided to focus on that for now instead of the screaming inside of my head. Because I was screaming, screaming bloody terror.

At some point, though, the car went quiet, and all that was left was the sound of the tires against the road. Even our breaths seemed quiet in the small space we shared, like we were scared to disrupt the bubble of peace we’d finally found in the midst of the chaos.

Rhys looked at me, though. I could feel his stare piercing through me every few seconds. It was enough that at some point I turned my head fractionally to stare back. That’s when he finally said, “What can I do?”

What could he do? How could he make this any better? At this point, all efforts felt like slapping bandaids on bullet wounds.

So I only reached out towards him, and he took my hand in his. The warmth enveloping my fingers made the feeling of the blood recede.

+

Rhysand stepped out of the car after pulling into the driveway of a townhouse. It reminded me of those New York Brownstones, and I kept wondering where he was taking me. I closed my eyes and sat back in my seat, wishing that everything else would finally fade away around me. For a few seconds, it seemed like I would finally get some peace. Isaac’s panicked eyes flashed into my mind, along with the deafening sound of the gun shots, and the air left my lungs.

Only the door opened beside me, and I was thrust back into reality once more. Rhys said gently, “Let’s go, Feyre.”

“Where…” I trailed off, unmoving despite his beckoning gestures, “why aren’t you taking me home?”

Rhys looked me up and down and sighed. “I can’t risk bringing you home. If whoever’s after Tamlin has tracked you to the coffee shop, they’ll probably know where you live, too. Right now this is the safest spot.”

“Where are we?”

Rhys swallowed hard. “My personal residence. It’s only until Tamlin gets back.”

I nodded my head, and Rhys reached around me to unbuckle my seatbelt, then gently slipped his arm around my waist to help me step out of the car. The street was deathly quiet and covered by the thick, heavy fog emanating from the river. A perfect set-up for the opening scene or a murder mystery movie.

Only the murders had already been committed.

The townhouse was quiet. Dark. Rhys flicked on a few lights and warned me to touch nothing. If we were to not call the police, then I had to be very careful of everything I touched. Though touching Rhysand wasn’t a problem. When I asked him, all he said was, “If you’re going down, then I may as well go down with you.”

He carefully carried me up the stairs, because apparently the blood had soaked my shoes as well. I was deposited in the washroom, instructed to wash myself off as best as I could and that he’d bleach everything as soon as I was done.

When the door shut behind me, something within me broke. Until then, I’d tried to hold it together. I’d tried to make it seem like this was alright, this was fine, that this was just another day in the fucking life, but when he left, I became undone.

There’s something so…feral, about falling apart. About losing yourself. The moment when you feel like the part of you that’s you becomes a ghost, and that you’re only the monster left after life’s parasitic fangs drained you of all that’s humane.

Everything within me collapsed. And I was nothing but madness and mania trying to scrub away the stains of the person I’d left behind in that storage room.

+

A knock echoed through the room. I crouched over the sink, scrubbing furiously at the skin beneath my nails.

“Feyre? Can I come in?” Reluctance tinted the words, as though he didn’t want to disturb me.

I croaked, “Yes. But I’m not done yet.”

The door opened with a click behind me anyways. I’d managed to scrape off most of everything on my torso and legs and arms, but all that was left were my hands. Even my hair had been soaked with the stuff—I had to draw three baths before the water stopped turning pink.

“There was just so much of it, it got all over my hands. It won’t come out.”

My eyes lifted to the mirror to see Rhysand standing behind me, his expression grim. His eyes trailed down to where my hands worked furiously in the sink splashing water onto the pruned skin.

“Feyre,” he murmured softly.

“What?” I snapped.

That’s when he took two quick steps forward, then gently placed both hands on mine beneath the stream of running water.

“No, you can’t, you’ll get contaminated—”

“Your hands are clean.”

The water in the sink turned off as I sobbed silently.

“Your hands are clean.”

Devastation bloomed in Rhys’s eyes when I turned around, fresh tears streaming down my face. “I don’t believe you.”

He blinked, his eyes searching my face, before kneeling down and retrieving a wash basin from his vanity cupboard, along with a clean sponge, a towel and more soap. The sound of the bath water running echoed throughout the silent house.

“Sit,” he murmured and patted the lid of the tub. Absentmindedly, I perched on the ledge of the stand-alone bath, watching the basin fill with a lathery foam as it sat in the tub beneath the flowing water. When it was half-way full, Rhys turned the water off, laid the towel across his lap and beckoned for me.

I placed my hand in his. Carefully, he dipped the sponge into the foamy lather, then glided it across the palm of my hand.

The knot in my chest loosened as he worked the sponge across each individual finger. Every knuckle, joint and crevice was scrubbed with a gentle pressure that had my eyes drooping. Finally I could feel the essence of it, the trace of the stains, ebbing away. He repeated the motions with my left. His touch was feather light, soothing, appeasing. Neither of us said a word, even when Rhys poured out the water of the basin, which was just as clear as when he’d started.

The two of us were left perched on the lid of the bath tub. My eyes trained on the white floor tile. Pink water remained on its surface, and I wondered if it was my blood, or James’ or Isaac’s.

“None of this is your fault. You know that, right?”

The words echoed through my mind. They were the promise of something good, something hopeful.

I was afraid that I wasn’t capable of such feelings anymore.

“This isn’t your world. You would’ve never been in this situation in the first place. Even though you are, what you did in there, you did it to survive. In the given circumstances—ones you had no choice in—you did what you had to to stay alive. And that is not your fault, no matter what anyone says.”

Choice. I’d chosen to be with Tamlin. I’d chosen to take his hand in marriage. I’d chosen to trust him, to believe that I was safe.

I chose to love Tamlin. To protect him. To stay with him, despite the fact that I could’ve walked away at any moment. And this is what that protection—what that love—cost me.

“I pulled the trigger,” I said hollowly. “I could’ve aimed at their limbs instead of their chests. I could’ve called the police instead of you. I could’ve ran or lied my way out of it—”

“Feyre—” Rhys protested, his eyes wide with objection.

“I pulled the trigger.” I repeated, pushing away from the tub. “That’s the choice I made, Rhysand. That’s who I am.”

[lynyrdwrites]

Feysand with Feyre cooking for Rhys for their anniversary Modern AU

Okay, so this ended up taking a bit of a twist, and there was fire... but I hope you like it?

---

              She hadtaken lessons with Nesta

              (“It’s supposed to be  relaxing” – words spoken by her sister, through clenched teeth as she failed,once again, to follow  the most basic ofinstructions – “well, whoever decides to make me cook can damn well starve.”)

              Feyrehadn’t blown anyone away with her culinary skills by any means, but she hadmanaged to  be… adequate.  Since she didn’t have ambitions to be a fivestar chef, adequate had served Feyre perfectly well.

              Buttoday she had gotten a little ambitious. Now, Rhys would be home at any second, and Feyre was frantically rushingaround the kitchen finishing last minute details.  She mentally cursed herself, because she hadtimed everything perfectly, exceptshe’d gotten distracted with a painting, and it had screwed everything up.  Which wouldn’t have been such an issue… except she had gotten a bit ambitious withthe damn food.

              “Well now.” The voice was lowand throaty, and sent a shiver down Feyre’s spine.  She had been knelt down, looking into thestove, but jolted to her feet.  “That isa lovely view.”

              “You’re early!”Feyre squeaked out, her gaze shooting to the clock.  She let out an angry huff when she realizedthat, once again, she’d lost track of time and Rhys was actually a few minuteslate.  Rhys looked at the clock as well,then at her with an amused raise of his brow. But his amusement didn’t last long, replaced quickly by a dark, hungrylook.

              It wasstupid, that Feyre blushed at that look. In the three years since they had started dating, the things they had donein bed… well, it was just stupid, that anything Rhys did could still make herblush.  But the timer had interruptedher, as she had been getting dressed.  Sorather than the flirty little dress Mor had helped her find specifically fortoday, Feyre stood in the kitchen just in the royal blue lingerie that wasmeant to be a gift for later.  It camecomplete with garters and stockings, and Rhys’ gaze was absolutely fascinated as it focused on them.

              “Is thismy gift?” he asked, his grin roguish. Some hair fell over his forehead, and Feyre’s fingers itched to push itback.

              “Not yet,”Feyre replied slowly, the look in his eyes making her put the kitchen islandbetween them.  She saw a bouquet ofbright flowers in his hand – they were a little crushed with how tightly heheld them – and she nodded at them.  “Forme?”

              Rhyslooked down, his expression adorably confused, as though he had forgotten thathe held the bouquet at all.  Then, hisviolet eyes lit up and a slow, wicked smile curved his lips. Feyre recognizedthat smile all too well, and it made her stomach tighten.

              “Itis.  Come here, Feyre Darling, and I’llgive it to you.”

              “Or, youcould put it in a vase, while I go get dressed.”  

              Rhysprowled slowly around the island, and Feyre moved as well, keeping the surfacebetween them.  

              “Now,that seems like a waste,” Rhys purred, his eyes narrowing as he considered thespace between them.

              His nextmove was so surprising, that it caught Feyre off guard, making her slow toretreat.  Rhys physically vaulted himselfover the island, and by the time she realized she should move, he already hadher in his arms.

              “For you,”he stated with a smile, holding the bouquet up. Feyre looked at the poor, abused bundle, then at the island, wherepetals were scattered across the surface. She finally laughed, taking the flowers from him and setting them on thecounter before wrapping her arms around his neck.

              “You’reridiculous,” she stated, laughing as he bent down and pressed his lips to hers.

              “I’monly ridiculous with you,” Rhys replied, feathering his lips down herneck.  “The rest of the world isterrified of me.”

              It wasn’tentirely accurate – his friends and Feyre’s sisters didn’t fear him – but itwas  close enough to the truth that Feyrefelt her heart melt.  So when he kissedher again, Feyre went all too willingly, burying her fingers in his hair.

              Hishands stroked up the bare skin of her sides, and teased her breasts through thelace of her bra.  Feyre moaned into thekiss, and let him boost her onto the countertop. He stepped between her legs,and Feyre wrapped them around him, pulling him close.

              “Imissed you today,” he murmured against her skin, pressing his lips along theskin that swelled over the cups of her bras.

              “It wasthe same  as any other day,” Feyrereplied, stroking her fingers through his hair and looking down at the top  of his head fondly.  He removed his lips from her skin to grin upat her.

              “Ah, buttoday is our anniversary, Feyre. That makes it different.”

              Thistime, she leaned down to kiss him. Rhys’s hands stroked her legs as he happilykissed her back.

              “Do youremember the first time I saw you?”

              Feyrewrinkled her nose at the question, because she had been  with Tamlin back then, and  he was a mistake she preferred to forget.

              “Youwore a tanktop and jeans, and you looked completely disgusted with those idiotfrat boys.  And all I could think was I’ve been waiting for her.”

              “Yeah,and then you found out I was with Tamlin,” Feyre stroked Rhys’ face.  “Why the trip down memory lane?”

              “You’reworth remembering,” Rhys replied, his gaze solemn as he turned his face intoher palm, pressing a warm kiss to the center. She felt his lips curve, and hewas smirking when he looked at her again. “And that tiny tanktop is worth remembering.  One of the idiots spilled beer on you, and ittook all my will strength not to stare at your bra.  It was red.”

              Feyrefelt her cheeks flush, and Rhys laughed, making her scowl at him.

              “Prick,”she muttered darkly, her hand coming out to grasp his tie and pull him closer.

              “Your prick,” Rhys replied, and theykissed again, this time Rhys’ fingers playing with the lacy garters, sliding upto tease her through the tiny scrap masquerading as panties. Feyre gasped intohis  mouth, always so responsive to histouch.   “You’re wet for me.”

              “Always.”

              It tookseveral minutes  of Rhys teasing herbefore she  realized something wasn’tquite right. Her eyes popped open to see…

              “Fire!”  

              She shovedRhys away as she realized that, in her distraction, she had forgotten all aboutthe meal, which  was now filling thekitchen with smoke.  Rhys dove for the stovedials as Feyre went for the fire extinguisher.  When  she came back, Rhys openedthe oven door, and Feyre directed the foam inside.

              It all happenedin the  space of mere moments, but itleft them both  breathing hard, lookingat each other with wide eyes.

              “Chinese?”Rhys  suggested, opening the window toclear out the smoke.  “We can replacethat tomorrow.”

              “Okay,”Feyre replied.  “Yeah. Chinese. I’m blamingyou for this.”

              Rhysjust laughed, and went for the takeout menus.

              An hourlater, they both sprawled in the living room, their hair a mess, having goneback to their previous activities as they awaited take out. The garters andstockings were in shreds…somewhere, and Feyre wore Rhys’ shirt unbuttoned overher panties and bra while he was shirtless. He had been entirely too smug whenhe had gone to pay for the takeout, her love bite bright and obvious on one ofhis pecs.

              “I loveyou,” Feyre said, from where she reclined against him, happily eating chickenfried rice. She held some up to Rhys, who grinned and accepted the offering.

              “I loveyou too,” he replied.  He adjustedhimself, so Feyre could cuddle against him even more comfortably. When she  looked back at her rice, she froze.

              Therewas Rhys’ hand, holding a velvet box. She dropped the fried rice, and it was sheer luck that prevented it fromspiling across the floor.

              “Rhys?”she asked, her voice a whisper.

              “Openit, Feyre,” he murmured, his voice warm against her ear.

              She did,her hands steadier than  she thought theywould  be.  And there it was… the ring she had beenadmiring the previous week  with   Amren – that little sneak.  She took a sharp breath.

              She hadbeen here before, being proposed to.  Shehad been terrified.  She’d thought thatwas normal.

              Butthere was nothing terrifying about this ring, about this relationship.  There wasjust…certainty.

              This was right.

              “Yes,” shesaid, looking up at Rhys.

              “Yeah?”he had been nervous, she realized, this beautiful man that had helped her findherself, both as an individual   andthen, later, as a them. He’d been nervous, still was, but Feyre had never beenmore sure of anything.

              “Yeah,”  she replied, her smile huge, making him smile in return.  “Let’s do it.”

              The ringfit perfectly, but that was no surprise.

              After all,Feyre and Rhys fit perfectly too.