#a renaissance romance

[starfall-spirit]

Renaissance Masterlist

AN: I LIED. It's out tonight, though it is 11:45 here, so close enough.

Feyre tells Rhys she's pregnant won the bonus chapter poll, though the honeymoon was a very close second. I was watching the results like, are y'all serious?

Anywhoseville.

CW: Smut. Tooth-rotting fluff. You know, smluff. The usual.

Word Count: 1188

Bonus Chapter: And Then There Were Three

This was not how she imagined the girls’ trip ending. Mor, being the cool cousin, decided to take Avy on a beach vacation in celebration of her graduation. They’d invited Feyre along, suggesting Rhys and his brothers plan some sort of boys’ trip or hang out. It started out well enough. They’d have five days of lounging in the sun or swimming and then come in for dinner and movies. Maybe a little wine. Then Feyre caught a stomach bug. Or she thought she had.

Until she realized her stomach was only turning at certain smells. Ones she typically approved of. Then she recognized she’d yet to run a fever, and recalled it had been long enough since her last cycle to be concerned, even if she had always been irregular by a few days.

Now, staring down at the pregnancy test she’d gone to buy that morning, that line made her condition clear enough. Washing her hands, she stepped out of the condo’s bathroom. 

“Well?” the waiting pair demanded together, both more than eager to drop the word aunt in front of their names.

There was really no way to tell Rhys first at this point without flat out lying to the girls. “I suppose it’s a good thing you two have been the only ones drinking on this trip.” She flinched at their squeals of excitement, accepting their hugs a moment later. “Okay, okay. Don’t break any ribs, please.”

Her phone buzzed with a text and she detangled herself to grab it. Two messages from Rhys popped up.

Missing you. 

Can’t wait till you’re home.

She smiled. Boys’ weekend that bad?”

Cass is drunk and singing. Az and I don’t know what to do with him until he passes out.

Sing along until someone’s ears start bleeding? she proposed.

I’m glad you find my suffering funny.

I’ll leave you girls be. Goodnight, my love.

Goodnight.

“How are you gonna tell him?” Mor asked when Feyre set the phone down. 

She shrugged. “The same way I’d tell him anything else. I’m not worried. I know he’ll be thrilled.”

She and Rhys had agreed months ago that Feyre could come off birth control. Even as calm as he had been on the subject, she’d seen the new light in his eyes when she said she wanted to start trying for a baby. Neither of their families had been perfect, but they would make it work, whatever challenges came their way.

“The same way you’d tell him anything else? Well where’s the fun in that?” Avy asked.

“Lord help me. You two are terrible.”

~~~~~

In the end they’d agreed on a “souvenir”. In truth, it was a gift bag with a rattle and onesie under a couple layers of tissue paper. Unoriginal, perhaps. But it didn’t need to be a grand affair. “Rhys?” Though his car was out front, the empty house told her enough. She shrugged, heading to the master bedroom to open Bryaxis’ crate and change into pajamas.

She heard the front door open. “Feyre?” 

“I’ll be back out in a minute!” Twisting her hair in a clip, she came back out to the living room. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He stooped to kiss her cheek. “I missed you. You ladies didn’t let my sister get too drunk, did you? She is still underage.”

“She was with two responsible adults, despite what you may believe about your cousin. You and your parents can stop all the fussing. We took care of her.”

“I was teasing.” He slumped into the couch, tugging her into his lap. “Mostly. Right now, the only thing I really want to think about is how dearly I’ve missed my wife the past five days.”

She smiled. “I brought you something bag, you know.”

“Oh?” 

Her smile broadened and she tucked her face into his neck. “That gift back in front of you isn’t for the cat.”

He hummed, shifting forward to pluck it from the coffee table, furrowing his brow at either the lack of weight or the muffled plinking of the rattle. She bit her lip as the tissue paper slipped from his fingers, his body tensing beneath her. “Rhys—”

He laughed, his beautiful smile breaking through that shock. “Feyre, you’re really—I mean, you're certain?”

“I tested positive on the beach trip. I was feeling sick and other things started lining up. I’m pregnant.”

That pure glee softened as he cupped her face, kissing her soundly. “Feyre. My Feyre.”

Her back hit the cushions of the sofa. “At least take me to bed, you mongrel.”

He chuckled, cradling her in his arms once more, practically growling as she stretched to scrape her teeth against his neck. “Fuck. Feyre.”

“Now if we could put those two things together.”

He grinned, laying her down and pulling his shirt over his head. “You’re a mess,” he groaned into her neck before pressing a kiss there. “And you make me a mess. And I thank God every day that you do. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Feyre.”

“Living it up like any other guy in his twenties, I assume. Lucky for the both of us I saved you from that method of dating.”

“You and that smart mouth,” he growled, dragging her shorts down her legs, her panties and shirt joining it seconds later. He kissed down her collar, between her breasts, and lower still, to where their child would soon be growing. Her throat tightened as he lingered there. “God, I love you.” 

He pulled back long enough to peel out of his jeans, rolling over to pull her on top of him, the hard length of him pressing against her. And as eager as she was for that… This time she was the one sliding down the bed, her hands and mouth trailing over his chest and abdomen as she made her way down. He choked as she took him in her mouth. “Feyre.”

One word—her name alone—and he sounded positively feral. It was truly her favorite sound. He hissed as she took him deeper, nearly hitting her gag reflex. She would have taken more, had he not pulled her off of him and back up to a desperate kiss. She sank down on him with a low groan, hands bracing on his shoulders as he gripped her hips to hold her still. To say she was impatient at the moment would be an understatement. “Rhys.”

He cursed as she clenched hard, her nails biting into skin. Though his grip remained firm, he let her shift over him, each stroke bringing her closer to the edge. She cried out as her release crashed through her, at first barely registering Rhys rolling them to flip their position in the bed before thrusting deeper, already working her into her second orgasm. But rather than the pinch of teeth or filthy words, it was a kiss that sent her over the edge. Tender, passionate, and claiming in its own gentle way. 

It was a promise. One they both meant to keep, granting their child the picture-perfect family they deserved. Granting themselves their own happily ever after.

~~~~~

@goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @acotar-fanns // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron // @elentiya-whitethorn // @gwynkyrie

[seizygy]

serenity. courage. wisdom.

he is THE moment

[fuckmeyer]

the choice between Edward & Jacob is not a question of which relationship is healthier or which partner is best suitable for Bella. neither is correct. neither is best. neither produces a happy ending for Bella. at the end of the day this is still a vampire novel. any choice Bella could make would yield, at best, a bittersweet happily ever after.

if she chooses Edward, she gets the terrifying Breaking Dawn ending: a girl who rejected her call to grow up has hung her love & her eternity on an emotionally stunted partner who hates himself marginally less than he loves her. she's a teen mom with a kid she never wanted who perpetuates the generational trauma passed down from her parents. by keeping this child, the Cullens have set the stage for an uprising/cold war against the Volturi who are likely to take revenge in order to maintain power. Bella is living in a tenuous "dream come true" wrapped in a nightmare & doesn't realize it.

choosing Jacob is the true coming-of-age ending that rips the stitches out of a wound that never fully healed. even if we ignore the fact that she ends up with a man who sexually assaulted her (we must bear in mind Jacob's character is influenced by smeyer's racism, but it did happen), they can't have a secure romantic relationship. based on the high imprinting rate of the pack, Jacob will likely find his imprint in his lifetime & will lose himself to the imprintee. he will no longer be her Jacob. he will inevitably abandon her (whether he wants to or not), & she must reconcile with the reality that she will always be inadequate to Jacob's imprint. & say he never manages to escape the vampires? he will presumably not age for a long time, meaning the relationship Bella always feared with Edward (her being an old grandmother while he stays forever young) remains a possibility. this is the story of a girl who slaps a Band Aid on an open wound & calls herself healed while flinching every time she sees the shadow of the knife that cut her.

if she chooses neither (team therapy), her healing requires her to lose or be at least partially disconnected from everyone she cares about. Bella must spend the rest of her life shut out from one world while never fully existing in her human world ever again. she must always keep secrets. she can never go back home. even in the unlikely event that she manages to escape the Volturi, the threat of being hunted by vampires will never leave her. in addition, she must face her worst fears (aging, losing Edward) while always keeping in mind the immortal life that could have been hers, if only.

even the "healthiest" option produces scars that will never quite heal.

Twilight is a horror. Twilight is a vampire novel. Twilight is gothic. Twilight is fiction. neither Edward nor Jacob is a "bad" choice because neither will give Bella her happily ever after. the choice between Edward & Jacob is simply a matter of which horror story you prefer to read.

[psykopaths]

Me & who

[fairy-woes]

[ROMANTIC GOTH]

[aestheteasteria]

"I would eat my way into perdition to taste you"

- Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body

[bebs-art-gallery]

A Fallen Idol (1913)

— by John Collier

[elephantlovemedleys]

POCAHONTAS (1995) dir. Mike Gabriel and Eric Goldberg

[miss-positive-negative]

JANEFORD YOU HAVE BEWITCHED ME BODY AND SOUL, AND I LOVE, I LOVE, I LOVE YOU

[carma-tjol]

Some symbrock art I made in 2021. I really really hated this when I first made it so I didn't post it anywhere. Although I'm not sure why, looking at it now it's actually very sweet.

[luciferslilith7]

Down the memory lane

@luciferslilith7

[starfall-spirit]

Renaissance Masterlist

AN: Make sure you read yesterday's chapter if you missed it!

Word Count: 1175

CW: Implication of sex. Nothing on page.

Epilogue

Six months later

“Rhys? Sorry. I know I said six tonight, but my last buyer was being a little difficult and…” She trailed off as she found him on the couch, still dressed in his work suit for whatever reason, a glass of red wine in hand, her own set on the coffee table between them. She tossed her coat and scarf over the couch arm, shaking off the New York winter. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She curled into his lap, smiling as he jolted slightly at her cold hand sneaking under his untucked shirt. “Cruel woman.”

She reached for her wine glass. “Something smells good.” 

“Dinner’s keeping warm in the kitchen. Once you defrost we can eat something. And then I have another surprise.” Her smile grew to a smirk and he pinched her side. “Not that.” He nipped her earlobe. “Yet.”

“And while I defrost?” she purred, carrying his usual confidence as she set down her wine with every intention of sinking to her knees in front of him.

He caught her hands halfway down, raising them to his lips. First the right, then the left, his lips linkering a second too long. “You can defrost in your dinner seat. Grab your glass.” 

She narrowed her eyes, but followed him to the table. Whatever he had to tell her must really be important. He had cooked a dinner of seared pork and carbonara. Over the past six months he had been showing off an impressive skill set in the kitchen that she hadn’t expected from him when they first met.

“So, tell me how commissions have been. You haven’t talked much about your work.”

There was a rough start to her art sales and commissions. When people realized her boyfriend had been the first to invest in her art, despite the two of them knowing the work came before the relationship, her credibility was naturally questioned. Once a few pieces got out, though, commissions boomed.

“Everything’s great. There are picky customers, of course, but it’s been wonderful. I’m so happy to be out there. And with my own studio. I suppose I have you to thank for that miracle.”

“All the work is yours, Feyre. You would have gotten there eventually.” her face heated and she began tracing her finger around the lip of her wine glass. “Feyre.” She froze. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

She did. And some days that still felt impossible to swallow. She knew all of her friends were proud of her in one way or another, but the constant praise Rhys provided could be… overwhelming. He leaned over the corner of the table, kissing her temple. “My Feyre.”

She sighed, about to take the next bite of her dinner when a tiny sound intruded on the peace of their dinner. Almost like… “Did you leave a video on in the back?” Rhys winced as a second meow was heard, this time more persistent. “Rhys? Why is there a cat in the house?” 

The next cry was closer to a yowl, followed by a soft thunk against the door. He wiped his mouth, preparing to explain the situation, likely. Unfortunately for him, Feyre was already down the hall, raising a hand to open the door a crack. Out leaped a ball of black fur.

“You adopted a kitten? What’s his name?”

“Bryaxis. He fell asleep just before you got home.” Rhys kept talking, but she didn’t hear a word after that. Because around his neck was a collar, not just holding a name plate, but a silver ring cradling a sapphire stone. Rhys strolled down the hall before crouching down beside her. “I know my first proposal wasn’t all that romantic, but I figured this might do the—”

She tackled him, his arrogant comment cut off with a kiss. Slow and deep and endless. He rolled so her back hit the hardwood. “Is that a yes?” She smiled. “Feyre, say the words. Tell me you’ll be my wife,” he all but begged.

She sobered at that. “I said no the first time.”

The starlight she  found in his eyes guttered. “And now?”

“Now, I want to thank you. For giving me the time to come out of it all. To heal from my past. And I want you to know that I would be honored—honored to be your wife.” He let out a ragged breath. A broken laugh followed it, muffled by her shirt as he pressed his face to her shoulder. She stroked his hair. “I love you, Rhys. More than anything in this world.”

“And I love you, Feyre darling. To the end of our days, through every adventure I’ll love you.”

“Good. Now tell me, what possessed you to adopt a kitten?”

He unhooked the ring from the collar, easing it onto her finger. “Well, he was cute.” She chuckled. “Please tell me you don’t actually want to talk about a cat right now.” He pressed a kiss to her throat. “After all the teasing you started this evening with, it would just be cruel.”

“Well… I did have another thing or two in mind on the way home.” He groaned against her neck as she wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding against him. “After all, you were the one who told me to stop.”

He carried her to their bedroom, his fingers digging into her waist as she put her lips and teeth and tongue to work on his neck. There would undoubtedly be a bruise or two for their friends to tease him about tomorrow. She gasped as her back met the hard wall rather than the bed behind them.

“I believe you mentioned something the other day about fucking me so hard the pictures fell off the wall. Are you as good as your word?”

“Still fully dressed and saying such vulgar things, darling.” She unlocked her legs from around his waist and started to strip her shirt. “Stop. That’s for me to do.” Instead of finishing the task she started, he swept her back into his arms to take her to the bed. “And I’m not fucking you against the wall. Not tonight, Feyre.” 

Peeling her out of her studio clothes, he showed her just what tonight was meant for.

~~~~~

She’d said yes. By some miracle, Feyre Archeron agreed to marry him. He’d shown his gratitude by worshiping every inch of her body. He’d do it again and again, every day for the rest of his life. But in that moment all he wanted to do was hold her close, breathe her in. “I love you, Feyre. More than anything in this world.”

“I love you too. You know…”

“What?” he asked, already reading the hint of trouble in her voice. She was after something.

“Well, you took a young artist to Florence for a fake honeymoon. Where will you whisk your wife away to, hm?”

He laughed, full and free, pulling her a little closer. “My Feyre.” He kissed her hair. “Have I ever mentioned our property in Paris?”

“I’m listening.”

~~~~~

AN: We have reached the end. For those of you who stuck around, thank you so much. I will be marking the fic as complete on ao3, but keep your eyes open. I might just be inspired to write a bonus chapter in Paris!

Taglist: Reach out to be added or removed.

@goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron // @elentiya-whitethorn // @gwynkyrie // @acotar-fanns

[burningvelvet]

Miniature wedding portraits of Frances and John Croker of Barton by Nicolas Hilliard, circa 1581.

[sixteenthtry]

The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel if it was made by an mcr obsessed 17y.o.

[psykopaths]

Romeo and Juliette by Sergio Cupido

[the-apology-girl]