#beneath the stars: a feysand fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

velidewrites · 2 years ago

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Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter I || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter IV: To the Stars Who Listen

The blood in her arm was pulsating in agony.

Brannagh’s grip on her had been too tight, and Feyre was certain that long, purple-black bruises would paint her skin within hours. She tried not to hiss in pain as she raised her hand to press the penthouse button on the elevator wall. For a brief moment, she allowed her head to rest against the cool metal, closing her eyes and welcoming the dark’s sweet embrace.

There you are.

I’ve been looking for you.

Who was he? Why was he there tonight? Somehow, Feyre couldn’t shake the feeling the violet-eyed man had sought her out. Having almost been killed by her hand seemed not to bother him in the slightest—strange, given the Capitol’s dramatic tendencies Feyre had grown accustomed to.

You’re not from the Capitol.

That feline smile. Finally.

The elevator dinged quietly, and Feyre opened her eyes.

Most of the entrance hall was veiled in darkness, though she could make out the large, ornate mirror on the side, glinting gently in the distant light of the skyline seen from the lounge. It appeared everyone had gone to sleep—still, Feyre hardly wanted to test her luck after the last time she’d been caught. Alis would never let her out of her sight again. Silently, just like in the forest back home, Feyre took a few steps forward, the lounge hidden just around the corner.

That’s when she heard it.

She’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“I knew you were a brilliant young man, my dear,” Amarantha drawled, the words like syrup dripping from her tongue. “I’m surprised I haven’t thought of it myself.”

“You really think so?” her companion asked, and Feyre’s brows knotted.

What was Tamlin doing with her at this hour?

Amarantha clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Are you doubting yourself, Tamlin?

In the shelter of the corridor’s walls, Feyre held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“No,” Tamlin finally said. “But I do wish there was another solution.”

A theatric sigh. Feyre imagined Amarantha patting his hand as she spoke, “We all do, my dear. We all do.” With that, she stood, the sound of her heels on the polished stone announcing her departure.

Feyre made herself count to sixty—a full minute before she dared to step out, enough, she hoped, not to raise any suspicions.

Tamlin’s head whipped in her direction as she came into view. “Feyre?” he asked from the same windowsill she’d found him on last time. “I thought you were asleep.”

Feyre took a few steps forward. “I could say the same thing about you,” she said, then made a show of looking around the space. “Is anybody else awake?”

He held her gaze for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Just me.”

Feyre nodded, taking a seat beside him. Every nerve inside her body screamed as she propped herself up on her sore arm, though she forced her features into a cool stillness that rivalled the stone beneath her.

“Where were you?” Tamlin asked.

Feyre looked out to the city below. “Training hall.”

She could almost hear his eyes widen. “Feyre, if Alis knew…”

“Well, she doesn’t,” Feyre interrupted, meeting his stare again. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Tamlin opened his mouth, then closed it, seemingly deciding tonight was not the best time for an argument. Instead, he nodded, and this time, they both looked to the Capitol’s bright lights, content to do nothing but watch their midnight dance.

Feyre wondered if she’d ever see the city again—not that she wanted to, and yet…with death looming over her, closer and closer with each passing day, everything seemed to be slipping from her grasp a little too fast. Even the Capitol.

She would never see her District again, either. Her house, small and cramped as it was, the black market, the forest. Feyre wished she knew the hunt on the morning of the Reaping would be her last. She would have tried harder then.

Something stung in her chest at the thought, and Feyre tore her gaze away from the view, words escaping her mouth before she could stop them.

“I needed to train.” she told him. “Today’s session was not enough.”

Tamlin frowned, those emerald eyes piercing. “Why?”

Feyre shrugged absently. “I promised my sisters I would win. And even though…even though I know I have no chance, I want them to see that I at least tried.”

He looked to his feet at that, taking in her words with a sad smile.

Feyre angled her head. “You’re thinking about your sister,” she said, and Tamlin’s gaze shot up, surprise—surprise and pain—like a shadow over his handsome features.

It felt like a punch in the gut.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

But Tamlin was already shaking his head. “No—no, I…” he hesitated. “I’m thankful you’re bringing her up. I don’t…I don’t talk about her as often as I should.”

Feyre said nothing, opting to let him open up on his own despite the questions buzzing inside of her head.

“It’s been years, actually,” Tamlin told her. “That one night you found me in here…that was the first time I brought her up in…forever.” He swallowed hard. “I was never planning to tell anyone about her…but there you were, so painfully honest about what you’d done for your own…” Tamlin sighed, meeting her eyes again at last. “She deserved to live outside of only my memory again. So thank you, Feyre.”

Silence fell, accompanied by nothing but the echo of his words.

“How did she die?” Feyre whispered.

With a shaky breath, Tamlin ran a hand through his hair. “Our uncle—my mother’s brother—used to work at the mines. Dalia—that was her name, she…” he stumbled over his words, another trembling breath leaving his throat.

“Take your time,” Feyre told him gently.

Tamlin closed his eyes, forcing himself steady before he continued, “The miners would be working all day, sometimes all the way through the night, and Dalia liked to leave them food by the entrance—something to keep them going, to give them strength throughout their shift. Her and my mother would make sandwiches—nothing special, just ham, sometimes even cheese…Dalia would leave them in a small basket with a rose, or some other flower, over the lid. She liked to think it would let the miners know they came from her.” He huffed a small laugh at the fond memory, and Feyre smiled. “One day, my sister was going back from the mines through the forest. It was nighttime—one of those longer shifts, I guess—and I…I don’t know exactly what happened, but she must have been picking flowers, and…” Tamlin’s voice strained at that, but he pushed through nonetheless. “And she picked up some nightlock berries.”

Feyre’s smile faded entirely.

“She didn’t know,” Tamlin whispered. “She didn’t know they would kill her. We…I didn’t even know they grew in our forests.”

She knew. Feyre knew. She could have stopped it—

“She was only nine,” Tamlin continued quietly. “She was only nine, and I couldn’t protect her.”

Tears burned in Feyre’s eyes. “I’m so sorry—”

Tamlin looked at her again, silver lining his own as he spoke. “You protect your sisters, Feyre,” he told her. “And I couldn’t protect mine, but…but I’ll do my best to protect you.”

Feyre’s heart stopped beating.

“I promise,” Tamlin said, and left her alone in the night.

***

As predicted, Feyre’s arm was killing her the next day.

On their last day of training, Alis put them through hell. She’d reserved a space underground beside the training hall, just as well equipped as the main area, though Alis had opted for only the exercises she had deemed they needed to revise the most.

Feyre did not dare to look at Tamlin when their mentor talked them through poisons.

He seemed not to acknowledge it though, taking in every word with an unnervingly stoic look on his face. By the time they were finished with hand-to-hand combat, everything seemed to get back to normal

Now, they sat on the bench by the back wall, sweating under Alis’s surveying stare.

“I know you think training is over,” the older woman said, “but the worst is yet to come. Don’t look at me like that, girl,” she told Feyre, seemingly noticing her distress, “tomorrow, you will be interviewed in front of the entire Capitol, and believe me, their judgement is far worse than mine.”

Feyre felt her stomach turn.

“The interviews will be televised all over Panem,” Alis continued. “I’m sure you’ve seen hundreds of those in your life, but don’t let that put you at ease. Like each Tribute, every interview is different, and the sponsors do not enjoy a spectacle they’ve already seen before.”

Considering the fact that Feyre had only been watching the Games for the past two years, this was good news.

Propped up on her crane, Alis leaned in closer. “They’ll be watching your every move, listening to every word. So before you say or do anything, think. The goal is to show them you’re worth their money. Show them you have what it takes to win.”

Bile rose in her throat, the burning sensation so sudden Feyre’s eyes began to water. She’d gotten so used to this phase, the non-stop training over the past two weeks that she didn’t realise how quickly the time has passed. She would die in two days, three, four if she was lucky. And although she promised her sisters she would try her hardest to survive…she knew others would, too.

Show them you have what it takes to win. Feyre was fairly certain a bow and arrow would never be enough.

“How do we do that?” Tamlin’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Alis’s eyes narrowed. “Make them like you,” she drawled. “Your skills will mean nothing if the sponsors hate your guts.”

“Excellent,” Feyre murmured. How could she possibly do that after trying to kill one of them?

Even if she hadn’t done that, Feyre seriously doubted she could win over the sponsors as easily as Alis was making it out to be. Back home, after all, she had no one—no one but Isaac—and not because she was intimidating like Nesta, opting for solitude and the peace it offered. Most people in Twelve seemed to simply…stay away. Perhaps it was the illegal hunts she’d go on almost every morning, or her frequent attendance at the black market. Perhaps they still remembered the one time she was caught on her escapades—could somehow see the five long scars on her back through the flimsy fabric of her shirts, a constant reminder that Feyre Archeron wasn’t a person anyone should associate themselves with.

She wished she was more like Elain. Even when they had nothing, her sister was never alone. There was something about her that people loved—that they could not look away from. As if her mere presence was enough to forget about their daily misery. As if…as if Elain was sunlight, and without her, everyone would wither away. Feyre definitely would.

“Feyre,” Alis demanded, interrupting her train of thought. Was this the first time Alis called her by name?

Feyre sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Save the bullshit for the sponsors, girl.”

That was more like it.

Feyre leaned back in her seat, ignoring the sharp pull on her bicep. “I can’t do it,” she said. “The sponsors hate me.”

Alis opened her mouth, but was immediately cut off by a louder, sugary voice, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of high heels on the stone floor. “Nonsense,” Amarantha said, making her way inside the room. She stopped a few inches away from them, offering a sweet, encouraging smile. “My lovely Feyre. The Capitol absolutely adores you—just be yourself, and you’ll have their favour in no time.”

Feyre frowned. “The Capitol barely knows me.”

Amarantha shrugged. “That hardly matters. They know enough to offer you their support, in fact—well, I’m not exactly supposed to say this, but—oh, well, here it goes. I’ve just returned from a lovely gathering with some of the other aides, and rumour has it you’re the most anticipated appearance for tomorrow night.” She angled her head in a motherly gesture, and reached to swipe two fingers across her cheek. Feyre flinched, though Amarantha did not seem to notice. “The only thing you must do is look spectacular, as you always do, and you’re going to win this thing.”

Feyre stilled, daring a side glance at Tamlin. His expression, practically carved in stone, betrayed nothing.

Amarantha dropped her hand with a dramatic sigh. “Anyway. I came to tell you that dinner will be served in a few minutes, so come on up when you’re ready to—”

Without a word, Tamlin strode right past them, leaving the room before she even got to finish.

Amarantha’s face twisted in worry. “I should—I’ll see you upstairs,” she said, and quickly followed Tamlin out.

Alis snickered and shook her head. “One thing about the Capitol, girl—it never really gets boring.”

Feyre’s brows furrowed. “What was that all about?”

Offering nothing but a one-shouldered shrug, Alis turned towards the exit. “It’s normal at this stage,” she told her, her wooden crane tapping lightly against the floor. “It appears that Tamlin no longer believes he can compete with the Star of the Capitol.” A chuckle. “Now, let’s go and enjoy dinner, girl. With that attitude of yours, it’s likely one of the last meals you’ll ever have.”

***

“You look beautiful,” Nuala said, and Feyre released a shaky breath. “I mean it.”

Feyre did believe her. She’d never felt more beautiful in her life.

The Capitol food agreed with her, filling in her curves and bringing a soft glow into her usually hollow features. Her designer did something to Feyre’s cheekbones, too—a strange, shimmery product that highlighted their sharpness in a bold yet graceful manner. She stained her lips with a soft burgundy lipstick—a new name for a colour she’d never even known existed. It suited her, though, bringing out the fullness of her mouth and complimenting the sparkly eyeshadow Nuala had chosen for this occasion. It suited the dress best, she argued.

She was, of course, right.

Feyre had never even touched a fabric like this before—so soft and elegant, flowing like a shadow with her every move. It reminded her of the dress Nuala had worn the first time they met, though this gown was much more grand and formal, its black silks hugging her body in ways Feyre had no idea were possible. The low, yet appropriate for the Capitol standards cut revealed her collarbone, adorned with the same shimmery product that covered her cheeks, which Nuala had said would reflect beautifully under the studio light. She’d opted for no jewellery, explaining that the dress would do a sufficient enough job to make her appearance memorable. Instead, Nuala curled Feyre’s hair into soft, cascading waves, combing in a small amount of silver glitter to complete the look.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Nuala,” Feyre told her as she examined the stranger in the mirror.

The woman winked. “Remember to save the best for last.”

Feyre nodded, then took another nervous breath.

“Relax,” Nuala said. “Act like no one’s watching. You can pretend it’s your sisters you’re talking to, not Helion Spellcleaver.”

“I don’t think that would help,” Feyre said. “Nesta would cry tears of laughter if she saw me like this.”

“Well,” Nuala said. “At the very least, remember you’ll have at least one friendly face in the audience tonight.”

“You’ll be watching?” Feyre asked.

Nuala took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Feyre smiled. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you out there,” her friend said. “They’re waiting for you backstage,” she added, and with a final check on Feyre’s hair, she exited the room.

Backstage, Tamlin, Alis and Amarantha were already sitting on the couch, anxiously awaiting District Twelve’s turn.

For this occasion, the Capitol had delegated one small room adjoining the stage for each District. A small screen had been set up on the wall for the live holo to display the main stage, which meant they would be able to watch all of the interviews before their turn came—as well as the audience’s reactions.

Feyre forced another breath into her tight chest and stepped into the room.

Right away, she was greeted by a high-pitched squeak of delight, Amarantha shooting up from her red-velvet seat to take her all in.

“Feyre, you look magnificent. Look at this fabric!” she exclaimed, grabbing a handful of the sheer, black tulle draped over her arms. “Truly, this is just lovely. I’ve seen the other Tributes, and frankly, you’re going to be the best-dressed one of them.”

Feyre’s brows knotted in confusion. “When did you see them?”

Amarantha winked secretively. “I’ve had a look at the early designs.”

Behind her, Alis scoffed.

Feyre’s frown deepened. “But how?”

She wasn’t offered an answer, though, as the screen suddenly lit up, casting a bright, pinkish hue over the room to the sounds of applause.

The camera focused on the stage, where a shadowed silhouette sat in a pristine white chair, his back turned to the crowd. The cheers grew louder when the chair began to move, rotating slowly until the figure came into full view, all the lights focusing on revealing the wide grin of Helion Spellcleaver.

Dressed in a dark green suit, his shoulders were adorned with what seemed like actual, long feathers of a peacock, their vibrant blue eyes adding splendour to the ensemble that made the audience roar in ecstasy. The host stood up to greet them, heavy golden rings on each finger of his hand as he waved, that smile not leaving his face for a second.

“Welcome!” Helion announced, opening his arms to the crowd. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the final night before the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games officially begin!”

The audience cheered again, and Feyre paled at the sound.

“So many of them,” Tamlin whispered beside her, his thoughts seemingly mimicking her own.

Helion asked, “Are we excited to meet this year’s brave and noble Tributes?” The Capitol answered with a shout of delight, and Helion laughed, the sound rich and deep. Feyre suddenly wondered how old he was—as far as she was told, he’d been hosting the Games for a little over ten years. “Good answer! So, while I would love to chat with you for the next few hours—” he teased playfully, causing a few giggles amongst the crowd, “—let’s not waste any more time and dive straight into the interviews. Please join me in welcoming the stunning Briallyn from District One!”

The girl entered the stage, the long, golden train of her gown slithering behind her like a snake. The applause grew louder, and the camera cut to the audience to show a standing ovation in some of the sectors. Clearly, this girl already had her fair share of admirers.

Helion extended a hand, and Briallyn took the seat beside him, a knowing smile playing on the corners of her lips.

“I must say, Briallyn, you look absolutely phenomenal,” the host said, then turned to the audience. “Doesn’t she look phenomenal, folks?”

The Capitol erupted with another roar, and Helion smiled at the Tribute. “Did you know gold is my absolute favourite colour?” he asked.

Briallyn shrugged innocently. “Perhaps I did,” she said, then leaned in closer towards Helion, her breasts veiled in golden glitter that sparkled as she moved. “Perhaps that’s exactly why I wore it today.”

Seriously?

But the audience laughed, and so did Helion, a look of elated surprise blooming on his face.

“She’s good,” Alis commented from her seat beside Tamlin.

Feyre scoffed. “You can’t be serious. She’s flirting with the host in front of the entire country!”

Alis pointed to the screen. “They’re laughing, aren’t they?”

“I will never understand the Capitol,” Tamlin muttered, and Feyre was inclined to agree. Could a few smiles in the right direction truly determine whether she would live or die?

Alis shook her head. “The girl has a strategy, and she’s executing it to near perfection. This is how you become memorable—she’s doing the unexpected, and the Capitol thrives on it.” With a sigh, she tore her eyes off the screen. “This is what you have to do. Get a feel for the audience, see how they react to you. To them, you are nothing more but entertainment. So entertain.”

“I’m not going to flirt with Helion Spellcleaver,” Feyre protested.

Alis rolled her eyes. “No one’s making you flirt, girl. What you do have to do is surprise them—in whatever way you can. And I’m not talking about your dress, your hair, or whatever glitter it is they’d put all over you—everyone here has been groomed to perfection. Ultimately, they will only remember you by your words.”

Feyre swallowed hard.

Alis continued, “Whenever you see an opportunity, take it. Play to your strengths. And remember, the Capitol isn’t the only one watching. The same people that are going to try and kill you will soak up your every word—and tomorrow, they will use them to their advantage,” she warned, her gaze meeting Feyre’s directly. “So remember—be entertaining to the audience, but intimidating to the other Tributes. Show them you’re not an easy kill. Sit up straight, but be relaxed. Smile, but not too widely. You want to appear confident and at ease.”

Feyre leaned back in her seat, her head spinning at the sheer amount of information. The familiar, twisting sensation in her gut returned, threatened by the tight fit of the gown on her stomach, and she felt her vision blur out and her heart rate speed up. This was impossible—impossible.

Before she realised how much her panic consumed her, Brannagh and Devlon, the male Tribute from District One, had already finished their interviews. It was only the sound of a chilling, voice that Feyre knew all too well that pushed her out of her state, her vision returning to focus on Brannagh’s vicious smile on the holo.

“So determined,” Helion praised. “How commendable.”

Brannagh’s smile widened. “My brother and I cannot wait to make the Capitol proud.” She looked straight into the camera, and Feyre shifted in her seat. “And no one is going to stand in our way.”

Feyre’s blood chilled while the audience erupted with another round of applause.

Brannagh stood, waving to the camera again, and Feyre couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that her final words were a message—a message meant for none other than her.

The girl left the stage, and Feyre whispered, “She’s going to kill me."

Tamlin’s head whipped to her, forcing her eyes on his. “She won’t.”

Such resolve, such hard abandon in his voice—and Feyre began to feel lightheaded again. What, exactly, was Tamlin’s attitude towards her? For the entirety of their first week at the Capitol—besides that one night she’d found him after her nightmare—he’d barely uttered a word in her direction. In fact, Feyre was convinced he was determined to avoid her so that it would be easier for him to kill her when the time came. And yet, at times…at times Feyre couldn’t tell what went on in his head. Why did he promise to protect her?

Tell me what you’re thinking, her eyes tried to tell him. I can’t figure you out.

No answer came back.

Soon, Districts Two and Three were finished, and Helion announced the next Tribute.

The boy from Four had beautiful eyes, a blue-green shade Feyre hadn’t even known existed before she came to the Capitol. His hair was a striking white, braided back and glistening under the bright stage lights. It reminded Feyre of seafoam—the same kind she’d once seen on the holo news about the District’s fishing shipment struggles over the winter. The livestock shipments from Ten had already been restricted, and Feyre vividly remembered her mother’s face when the news came on. Her blue-grey eyes, the same ones Feyre and Nesta had, dimmed as she sat down. She hadn’t said a word until the following day.

His smile was kind and gentle, though his gaze betrayed wariness as he patiently waited for the audience to settle. Beside him, Helion Spellcleaver took his seat, his feathers glittering so bright Feyre had to squint despite watching through the backstage screen.

“I must say, Tarquin, you look absolutely spectacular tonight,” the host told him.

Tarquin’s head cocked to the side. “Not nearly as spectacular as you, Helion,” he drawled.

Helion’s grin widened. “Well, I’ve lived here longer.”

The audience erupted in laughter, and Feyre finally understood—understood just how important his role was in this whole game. Helion was entertaining, to be sure, and the Capitol seemed to be eating right out of the palm of his hand, but there was a purpose to his shining persona and arsenal of wit. He was there to help them—to give each Tribute a chance at gaining the interest of those that could keep them alive.

Feyre sighed. All the wit in the world wouldn’t make the sponsors like her, no matter how much of it Helion had at his disposal. Once she opened her mouth, all they would see was the Star of the Capitol extinguished.

“So tell me, Tarquin,” Helion said, crossing an ankle over his knee. “What’s your strategy for the big game tomorrow?”

For the first time, Tarquin smirked, tapping the golden trident engraved on the front of his vibrant suit. “You’d be surprised how far fishing can get you in life,” he told the host.

The audience laughed, some of them even going as far as to shout Tarquin’s name. Helion angled his head, pointing to the crowd. “Sounds like a few of us agree,” he suggested, and the spectators cheered their agreement.

“Clever,” Alis noted, impressed. “He’ll be another one to look out for.”

Feyre’s mouth formed a tight line. She remembered Tarquin from training—he was one of the very few Tributes she actually liked. He’d shown her how to tie different variations of knots, even how to attach them to her own body, and asked for nothing in return. Tarquin was so different from the Careers—talented and kind, with no bloodthirsty quality about him that made Feyre want to stay far away from the others.

Looks, it seemed, could often be misleading. Perhaps this boy would try and kill her, too—tie a knot around her neck while she slept in the middle of the night.

Her bruised arm began pulsating again, and Feyre slouched in her seat, exhausted despite not having even begun.

“Sit up, my dear,” Amarantha told her. “You’re going to ruin your dress.”

Feyre wanted to scream.

She ultimately decided it was in her best interest to only pretend to be watching the rest of the interviews if she wanted to make it to the stage with her makeup still intact. Watching the young boy from Seven, twelve-year old Balthazar, had nearly brought her to tears. Young—he was so young, his innocence soon to be brutally taken away. Would the deadly twins kill him? Would Feyre?

And so, her eyes remained fixed absently on the screen until the camera zoomed in on a familiar face.

“Do you think you can win, Ressina?” Helion asked as her interview neared its end.

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely. I’m determined to show the Capitol that the outer Districts have as much skill as One or Two.”

She stepped off the stage, and Alis clicked her tongue.

“What?” Feyre asked. “What is it?”

“The Capitol will make sure to prove this girl wrong,” Alis said.

Feyre’s eyes widened. “Why do you say that?”

Alis’s stare was hard and unwavering. “She just challenged their treatment of the outer Districts. They’re going to kill her the first chance they get.”

“Come now, Alis, I don’t think…” Amarantha began.

“I can say whatever I want to say,” Alis interjected. “They’ve put me through enough.”

Amarantha said nothing.

Alis continued, “The girl’s efforts are worthless. Do not stay close to her once the Games begin,” she advised.

Feyre’s heart dropped.

“I see the look on your face, girl,” Alis now addressed her directly. “I can’t stop you once you’re out in the arena, but remember this: there can only be one winner in the Hunger Games. The only thing you can really do, the only thing you should do, is whatever it takes to protect your sisters. Which, at the moment, means doing as you’re told.”

I promised my sisters I would try to survive, she told Tamlin. But at what cost?

How many people would she be forced to slaughter? Feyre’s been a killer ever since she’d gone into the forest—but animals were her only prey. She’d never felt any remorse—her family was starving, and hunting was a means to an end. But this…this was different.

She would be killing for nothing but the entertainment of Panem’s elite—to satisfy their insatiable thirst for the blood of the country’s youth. Here, in this city of never-ending supplies of fresh food, clean water, and anything their heart desired, Feyre and the other Tributes were prey, meant to hunt each other for the Capitol’s enjoyment.

What a waste.

“You know her as the Star of the Capitol,” Helion’s voice suddenly reached her through the screen. “But to us, she is the brave volunteer from District Twelve. Please welcome Feyre Archeron!”

Feyre went deathly still. She’d allowed her thoughts to take over for too long, and her turn had somehow already come. Her heart pounded in her chest, the chill creeping down her spine freezing her entire body in place.

Someone must have taken her hand and led her to the stage, because she did not remember getting up from the couch, walking to the door and up the stairs until a bright light blocked her vision from anything but Helion Spellcleaver, waiting for her a few meters ahead.

Feyre stepped into the light, the sounds of applause slamming into her so loudly her ears began to ring. The high pitch almost swept the floor from her feet had it not been for the host’s encouraging hand she took absently.

She felt herself fall to a seat, soft and plush like anything in the Capitol, and Feyre looked at the blurry splashes of colour in front of her until they sharpened into people—an audience waiting.

Waiting…for what?

Feyre looked to Helion, inches away from her, and she realised this was the first time she’d seen him up-close. He was handsome—too handsome, perhaps, with the kind of face she knew would crush her heart if she’d let him.

His dark brows rose expectantly, and horror washed over her, hot and boiling her cheeks red as she realised he must have asked her a question.

“What?” she asked helplessly.

The audience howled in laughter, and Helion joined them, his own laugh earnest as he patted Feyre’s hand. “I think someone’s a little nervous,” he teased. “I said I am so happy that I finally get to ask you about your entrance at the Tributes’ Parade. Spectacular, wasn’t it folks?” he asked, turning to the rainbow of tulle and synthetic watching from their seats out front.

They cheered loudly, and even Helion offered a small applause of his own. His gaze fixed on Feyre again, and he nodded with a reassuring smile. “Come on—tell us all about it,” he said.

Forcing herself to focus on the host, Feyre looked away from the crowd and into his amber eyes, surprised to find a spark in there—and a message.

He was giving her an opportunity.

She thought of Nuala’s advice from before. What would you say if it was Elain in front of you?

Feyre smiled nervously. “Honestly, it was hard to see anything in the dark,” she told him, and those eyes sparked again in approval. The audience laughed, and Feyre continued. “I was just hoping the horses would take me to the right place.”

Laughter, loud and bright, rolled over the crowd, and Feyre took advantage of the moment to release a quiet breath. It continued until Helion raised a hand with a smile, turning to Feyre again.

“Well, then I feel compelled to inform you that you looked absolutely magnificent. I have to say, my heart stopped,” he said, placing a hand on his broad chest, “when your costume lit up with what looked like actual stars. Did any of you experience this?” Helion asked, looking to the crowd.

Feyre followed his gaze to where hundreds of people cheered their agreement. She looked to the front row again, where a pink-haired woman nodded sagely, her own hand mimicking Helion’s movement. Another spectator beside her wiped off a tear.

“My heart stopped,” Helion repeated, shaking his head, as if the memory still kept him mesmerised.

Feyre offered another smile. “So did mine,” she admitted, and Helion laughed brightly.

“Are you afraid of the dark, my darling Feyre?” he asked, and Feyre’s smile faded.

My darling Feyre, have you not considered that perhaps you are just that talented?

She shook the memory off, carefully crafting the smile to curve up her mouth again. “I’m merely saying there is always light in the darkness, Helion,” she said.

Helion hummed appreciatively. “A light in the darkness,” he pondered. “I think you were exactly that.” His own smile returned as he added, “Tell me, when are we going to see you shine again?”

The question was met with applause, with the Capitol seemingly desperate for an answer as well. Feyre’s eyes scanned the crowd, until they settled on the second row—and a familiar face.

Nuala gave her a small nod, and Feyre blew out a breath. This was the time.

With a teasing smile, she turned to Helion. “I could show you now—if you’d like to see?”

Helion’s brows rose as the audience shouted, begging for a demonstration.

Helion held up a hand. “Hold on,” he halted. “If it’s another explosion of darkness, you have to swear that it’s not going to ruin my favourite suit,” he warned, and Feyre laughed.

“No explosions this time,” she promised.

“Alright, what do you think then, folks?” the host asked, and the Capitol cheered, whistles of encouragement rising over the crowd.

Feyre stood, and took a few steps forward, away from the strong light shining over their seats. The black silks of her gown flowed with her, so dark she doubted anyone could make out their shape from where they were sat over the main stage.

Releasing a final, trembling breath, Feyre opened her arms and twirled.

Just as Nuala said it would, thousands of silver speckles appeared throughout the fabric, twinkling under each layer of the gown with a soft light. The entire Capitol gasped in unison at the sight, more stars appearing with each twirl, from the very top beneath her collarbone where the dress began down to the material pooling at her feet. In a manner of seconds, Feyre was the night sky personified, casting a light of her own over the audience.

Someone shouted her name, and soon, the entire hall was chanting it like a prayer, accompanied by a never-ending applause. Feyre spun and spun and spun until shapes blurred into one, and the floor became soft and unstable beneath her feet.

Helion’s light grip on her elbow steadied her, his handsome face betraying nothing but pure, unrestrained awe. The Capitol roared in delight as Feyre returned to her seat, some of them rising from their seats to show their appreciation for the show they’d just been given.

Feyre smiled, and Helion returned the gesture. “That was really something,” he said, his grin growing wider as he added, “The Star of the Capitol indeed.

“Feyre,” he continued, “I have one more question for you.” Helion took her hand again, his expression fading into seriousness. “It’s about your sister.”

Feyre stilled, shifting only slightly in her seat. “Okay,” she said hesitantly.

Helion looked to her hand, once again patting it gently—this time, a gesture of support. Feyre wondered if the man was simply easy to read, or if he’d made himself this transparent on purpose. “We were all very moved, I think,” he began, “when you volunteered for her at the Reaping.” He swallowed, as if the topic was somehow hard for him to discuss. “Tell me…did she come to say goodbye to you?”

Feyre. My beautiful Feyre.

Everything will be okay.

You shouldn’t have done that, Feyre.

Promise you will make it out.

“Yes,” Feyre finally said, her throat tight. “She did."

“And what did you say to her before you left?” Helion asked quietly.

“I told her…” Feyre hesitated, looking around the studio again. Just beneath the stage, only slightly below the first row of spectators, stood a camera.

Feyre looked straight into it.

“I told her I would try to win. That I would try to win for her.”

The audience fell completely silent, as if mourning that final goodbye with her, and Feyre turned back to Helion, who nodded knowingly.

“I know you will,” he said, placing a light kiss atop her hand, his lips warm and soft. Then, Helion stood, Feyre following closely behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen, Feyre Archeron from District Twelve!” he exclaimed, raising her hand up in triumph to the sounds of a rapturous Capitol.

Backstage, she was pulled straight into Amarantha’s arms.

“Brilliant!” she told her. “Absolutely brilliant! Feyre, you did an incredible job, truly, I think you made quite the impression, the sponsors especially—”

“Quiet,” Alis interrupted her rambling. “Tamlin is on.”

Feyre’s head whipped back to the screen.

Tamlin lounged in the chair, seemingly relaxed as Helion smiled encouragingly.

“I hear you work at a flower shop back home,” the host teased. “You must smell like roses all the time.”

Tamlin cocked his head contemplatively. “I’m not sure,” he hummed, then gestured for Helion to lean in. “Do I smell like roses to you?”

The host leaned forward, making a show of smelling Tamlin’s arm to the utter surprise and delight of the audience. “You do smell amazing,” Helion told him, his brows furrowing. “I think I might want to change professions now.”

Tamlin waved a playful hand. “Every job comes with its benefits,” he said, and the audience laughed.

“Speaking of benefits,” Helion continued, a sly smile playing in the corner of his mouth. “Does selling flowers come with the advantage of some extra female attention?” he asked with a wink. The camera cut to the audience again, a few women’s eyes wide as they awaited Tamlin’s answer.

Tamlin laughed. “No…not really.”

“Come now,” Helion’s amber eyes narrowed. “A handsome lad like you? There must be a girl waiting for you back home.”

At that, Tamlin’s smile slowly faded. “I, uh…well.”

“Ah, there it is!” Helion exclaimed happily. “I knew it. Go on, tell us more.”

Tamlin looked to the camera, his gaze betraying nervousness for only a split of a second, then back at the host. “There was a girl back home,” he finally said. “But I don’t think she really knew who I was until the day of the Reaping.”

A sad groan emerged from the audience, and Helion nodded. “I see. Well, how about this—you win the Hunger Games, go back home a victor, and then she’ll simply have to go out with you.”

Tamlin shook his head. “No, I…I don’t think winning is going to help me at all, Helion.”

Helion angled his head in confusion. “And why not?”

“Because…” Tamlin’s chest heaved with a shaky breath. “Because she came here with me.”

The audience gasped, and so did Feyre backstage.

What?

Feyre’s a hunter, Tamlin’s voice echoed in her head. I see her in the woods sometimes when I’m out getting flowers.

My sister was a lot like you. I was never planning to tell anyone about her…but there you were.

I’ll do my best to protect you. I promise.

“What?” Feyre asked again, this time out loud, as the holo showed a tearful man in the audience, covering his mouth as he shook his head in disbelief.

The camera cut to Helion again. “Ah. That…could make things difficult.”

Tamlin’s lips were a tight line as he nodded. “Yeah.”

The host’s expression was pained. “Well,” he sighed, extending a hand. “I wish you the best of luck, Tamlin.”

They shook hands, and soon Tamlin appeared in the room.

His eyes swept over Amarantha, then Alis, until they finally settled and locked on Feyre’s.

She couldn’t breathe. Feyre opened her mouth, and—

Tamlin’s gaze slid off her, and in a few quick strides, he hurried out of the room without a single word.

Alis cleared her throat, looking—for the first time since they’d met her, perhaps—entirely uncomfortable. “I better go check on him,” she said, then made her own way out.

Feyre’s eyes remained fixed on the door, her whole body completely and utterly still until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched, turning on her feet to face Amarantha’s concerned face.

“Is there anything you need, my dear?” she asked sweetly, and when Feyre shook her head, she sighed. “Poor Tamlin. Young love can be so heartbreaking. Take your time, lovely.”

With that, Amarantha left the room.

What the hell just happened?

***

Feyre simmered in that question for what seemed like hours.

Alone in the small room backstage, she replayed the interview in her head over and over, until words ceased to make any sense whatsoever.

Tamlin couldn’t like her. He couldn’t, because…because in a manner of days, one of them would be dead.

Was that why he’d avoided her so often? During the first week of their training, he had barely spoken to her, opting to leave her side the second the morning briefing would end. If it hadn’t been for her accidentally stumbling upon him in the middle of the night—twice—she doubted the two of them would even have a proper conversation.

Winning isn’t going to help me at all, he’d said. Perhaps all this time, Tamlin hadn’t really hated her. Perhaps he simply protected himself, knowing he might eventually have to kill “the girl from back home”—or she might kill him.

Feyre was certain it was nearing midnight—she couldn’t allow Tamlin to occupy her thoughts now, not with the Games due to start in less than twenty-four hours. What Feyre truly needed was to sleep. In a bed, for the very last time.

With a deep sigh, she rose from the couch and made her way to the exit. She stepped out to the corridor, the door shutting with a small click behind her.

“Hello, Feyre darling,” a voice purred.

“Shit!” she jumped, startled, turning towards the sound.

Leaning against the wall to her right, tall and with a glass of champagne in his hand, was him.

The violet-eyed man smirked. “My apologies,” he offered, though his tone suggested he wasn’t sorry at all.

Taking a few steps in his direction, Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “Are you stalking me now?

He looked pointedly to the door, clearly marked ‘12.’ “You weren’t exactly hard to find.” Feyre scoffed, and his smile widened. “I only wanted to congratulate you on your interview. And your dress, of course,” he drawled. “You must have a spectacular designer.”

“I finished my interview over two hours ago,” she told him. “Were you waiting outside this whole time.”

He shrugged. “I figured you wanted some privacy. It was an…eventful night for you.”

Feyre frowned. “You’re a strange man.”

For some reason, he looked delighted to hear that. “You have no idea,” he said before taking a sip from his glass and bouncing off the wall to face her fully at last. That mesmerising, violet gaze took her in, scanning the dimming stars on the sleeve over her arm. “The Star of the Capitol,” he murmured, hypnotised by the sight before him. “Interesting.”

Heat rose through her body under the intensity of his stare. “What’s interesting?” she asked breathlessly.

But the man’s eyes fixed on something beneath the sheer tulle, something not even the stars could cover. Understanding shone in them as he realised those were bruises, and he stepped in closer to inspect them.

Feyre held her breath as he surveyed every inch of the battered skin, splatters of dark purple long and shaped like human fingers…the same ones he’d freed her from two nights ago.

Darkness filled his eyes, that vibrant shade of violet long forgotten, his irises bleeding anger and pure, unrestrained violence.

“I would kill them,” he began, practically grinding out the words, his fist tightening around the glass. “I would kill them, Feyre, if I wasn’t sure you’re going to get to them first.”

A cold sweat broke out over her as she felt the weight of that declaration, and Feyre took a step back.

Noticing this, the man tore his eyes off the bruise to meet hers. “I would never hurt you, Feyre,” he swore with such hard abandon that Feyre’s eyes widened.

“Funny,” she whispered. “That’s the second time someone’s made me such a promise in the past two days.”

He looked at her again, and there was a wait there—a hint of hesitation before he slowly said, “Be careful who you trust, Feyre.”

“And who is it that I should trust?” she asked. “You?”

The man stared at her, an insufferable silence filling the space between them as he considered. He tipped his head up slightly, looking to the ceiling quizzically before he finally asked, “Do you ever look up to the stars and wish?”

Puzzled, Feyre’s brows knotted. “The stars cannot save my life. They never have, not here, and they certainly can’t help me out in the arena.”

Something twinkled in those pools of violet as they settled on her again. “Maybe they can,” he said, raising the glass to her before he added, “To the stars who listen, Feyre.”

Feyre opened her mouth, but the man had already turned to leave. “Remember that.”

Before he managed to disappear in the shadows, a silhouette emerged from around the corner, accompanied by a light tap of a wooden crane, and the man stopped in his tracks. “Alis,” he greeted her smoothly.

An incredulous look appeared on her mentor’s wrinkled face. Her voice was stiff as she answered, “Rhysand.”

The man nodded and left.

Rhysand.

That was his name.

Rhysand, Feyre’s mind repeated, as if the name had been an answer to a question she’d never thought to ask.

“Why are you still out here?” Alis asked, taking a few steps towards her.

Feyre ignored her completely. “How do you know his name?”

Alis raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Feyre pointed to the shadows behind her. “Rhysand. How do you know him?”

“How do you not?”

Feyre sighed in frustration. “I know he’s the sponsor I almost shot, but I always thought he was no one significant.”

Alis shook her head, her usual grimace now replaced by a look of outright bewilderment. “Rhysand isn’t a sponsor. He’s a victor—a victor from District Twelve.”

Feyre’s mouth hung open.

“He won the Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games, exactly ten years ago,” Alis continued, her eyes searching Feyre’s. “I trained him. How can you not remember?”

“I wasn’t allowed,” Feyre whispered.

“What?”

Feyre cleared her throat. “I…my father never allowed us. To watch the Games.”

Alis’s eyes narrowed. “Was he aware that it’s illegal?”

Feyre looked down to her feet. “Yes.”

“Well,” Alis sighed. “That explains a lot.”

Feyre said nothing.

“He was a lot like you,” her mentor said, and Feyre was grateful she didn’t question her any further on the matter. “A clever boy, witty. Talented, too. He slaughtered his way through the competition at only fifteen,” she hummed. “It’s no surprise the Capitol adored him. So much, in fact, that he never returned home. He used his charm to feed off the Capitol’s rich—and he’s doing it to this day.” She added wryly, “It’s why he’s never had to mentor anyone in the past decade, including the two of you. They’ll let him do whatever he wants as long as he remains…entertaining.”

Feyre soaked up every word and let it fuel the anger that had slowly began to boil in the pit of her stomach. This whole time, Rhysand was from Twelve—from her home, and he said nothing?

Alis leaned in closer. “A word of advice to you, girl,” she offered. “Stay away from those who hold the power in the Capitol. Tomorrow, the Hunger Games will begin, and you must trust yourself and yourself only. People in the Capitol can be…deceiving.”

Feyre frowned. “Even Amarantha?” She couldn’t imagine the aide hurting as much as a fly.

Alis warned, “Hybern’s granddaughter is capable of much more than you can imagine.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. The President’s granddaughter?

“Be smart with your choices, Feyre Archeron,” Alis told her. “There are enough people trying to kill you already.”

***

Feyre navigated the bright corridors of the hangar, her heart thumping in her chest.

They’d tied a blindfold around her eyes on the jet—no doubt to preventing any last-minute escape plans—and now, she could feel tears burning inside them as she tried to adjust to the white, artificial light.

She did not see Tamlin in the morning—only Amarantha, who offered her a small kiss on the cheek, once again expressing her confidence in Feyre’s chances. There’s a reason you’re the Capitol’s Star, lovely Feyre, she told her. Don’t prove them wrong.

Now that she knew who Amarantha truly was, Feyre could see past the good wishes and see them for what they were—a message.

Luckily, the Capitol would forget about their Star soon. She was likely to be dead within hours.

They’d placed a tracker in her arm—the healthy one, thankfully—its soft, blue hue almost invisible under her skin. Feyre wondered if it latched onto her vein, and if so, how difficult it would be to rip out. Likely impossible, a small voice in her head answered. You belong to them now.

The two Peacekeepers escorting her finally stopped in front of a heavy, metallic door. It opened with a loud creak, and Feyre almost cried in relief as she saw Nuala waiting inside.

She launched herself into her arms, and the door shut behind her.

The room was small, with only a long pipe that served as a coat hanger attached to the wall, and a large, glass tube waiting in the corner. Nuala picked up a bodysuit, a stretchy, grey fabric that covered her arms in their entirety. “Thermal protection,” she explained, helping Feyre slide it over her head. “This could mean anything.”

She passed her the trousers next, long and somewhat heavy, their shade a washed-out green. Feyre checked out all of their pockets—empty. She didn’t know what she expected.

Finally Nuala handed her the jacket, a simple, black piece of clothing made from a strange material that the designer explained was waterproof. Feyre put it on, her hands shaking slightly on the zipper, and Nuala reached to help her.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said softly. “I have faith in you.”

Suddenly, an artificial, female voice filled the room from the speaker hung somewhere by the ceiling. Thirty seconds, it announced.

Feyre’s heart picked up, raging wildly in her tightening chest.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she choked out.

Nuala grabbed her hands. “You can. You will.” Her fingers brushed over her cheek. “For your sisters.”

Twenty seconds.

“For my sisters,” Feyre repeated, and walked towards the tube on shaky legs.

“Feyre,” Nuala called when she stepped inside, and Feyre turned to face her friend one last time. “To the stars who listen,” she said.

Ten seconds.

The glass door slid and closed, trapping Feyre in.

Nuala smiled. “Remember that.”

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The platform rose and lifted Feyre into the light.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @fieldofdaisiies @vulpes-fennec @houseofhurricane @reverie-tales @kingofsummer93 @melting-houses-of-gold @labellefleur-sauvage @shadowriel @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase @cascadingmoon @rhysiedarling @msfeyredarling @itisiyourfemur

#chapter 4/30 #acotar hunger games au #feysand au #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feysand #pro feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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illyriantremors · 8 years ago

Text

Beneath the Stars Epilogue

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Feyre's finally done with her art project and now just had to sit by while the AP board grades her exam. Thankfully, she has a few friends by her side each with a big interest in how her portraits turned out - and for good reason.

Epilogue

“Feyre!” A soft touch braced on my shoulders as an ethereal voice floated quietly through the exam room towards me. “These are marvelous! I had no idea this was what you were working on so secretly all this time.”

“Thank you Mrs. Weaver. I had a hard time figuring it out, but I’m really happy with how they turned out.”

“As am I, Feyre. As am I.”

She hugged me after one last appreciative glance at the ten tableaus hanging on the wall in front me before moving on to one of my classmates. The AP Board had already come around to my set. I wasn’t allowed to talk to them or explain the art and how I’d arrived at this particular interpretation of their prompt, but the few hushed whispers I was able to make out sounded really positive. I was confident they’d pass me, but I had my fingers crossed I’d at least get a 4.

“I gotta hand it to you, Feyre,” Amren said turning her back on the examiners who were now studying her submission. Amren was fearless in the face of pressure. “This is pretty stellar.”

“Better than art galleries and chocolate churros in Spain stellar?”

Her eyes smirked in a side glance at me. “Close enough.”

I decided to keep my job at the art gallery even though dad - or technically mom - didn’t need my help with the extra bills anymore. It gave me a sense of purpose and escape each week.

When I started back after winter break, I found the camera I’d last used still sitting at my work station and flipped through it until I’d found the pictures of Rhys I’d taken the night of Starfall. I touched little else but my paints and brushes from that moment on for several weeks thereafter.

I realized the night that I painted Rhys that I was painting a part of myself into him. I had added colors and details that had felt so inherently Rhys to me onto his skin, but the wings and colors themselves were inventions of my own design - the way I saw Rhys. The way he made me feel.

I had the close up photo of him - the one with the wings just visible behind his face - printed out in a larger size and worked for two weeks straight until I had successfully reproduced it on a large canvas with acrylics, a realistic rendering of just his face and traces of the wings behind him.

But because the prompt was self-portraiture, I added in little features that were unique to me. A freckle here, a smattering of blue in the eyes there.

And in the end it was Rhys but it also wasn’t quite Rhys. It was both of us. Because he helped make me me.

They all did. I asked each of my new friends to come in and sit for me so I could paint them and take photos. And though Az seemed a little self-conscious to sit until Mor walked in and watched him with a reassuring smile while she sipped her Starbucks, every single one of them agreed to do it without hesitation.

I had Mor draw her hair up into an elegant chignon that almost looked like a halo and flecked her skin with a bright metallic gold. She tilted her chin up with her eyes resting closed when I snapped the picture, a perfect vision of peace and happiness in a world of misery and hopelessness.

When her birthday came the day after graduation, I planned on giving her both a copy of her photo, but also the one I snapped of Az staring at her when I took his shot - staring like nothing else in the world mattered but the earth angel in front of him.

Azriel himself was trickier to get right. Easily the most mysterious of the bunch, I wrapped his face in shadows, making sure to keep the planes of his face sharp to draw out enough contrast. His head angled to the floor and when I asked him to look up, his brow was furrowed.

“Mor?”

“Hmm,” she said looking up from her phone. Azriel caught her stare and the second his eyes softened, I snapped the camera.

Cassian was the most amusing session by far. Rhys insisted on staying with me while I painted him after he made a suggestive comment in response to being asked to take his shirt off. He was all fire - bold, vivid colors worthy of a party in Barcelona. When I ran the paint through his hair, it spiked up into little peaks that could have been tendrils of flame. I carried into the backdrop behind him and made sure to make the hazel of his eyes standout like embers in a campfire when I recreated the portrait.

Amren was last and she refused to alter anything about her clothing to help me get the paint just right.

“You do realize I might get paint on you, yeah?”

“You will do no such thing, Feyre, or I will drink your blood for breakfast.”

“Okay, Am. Whatever you say, as long as you take me with you to Rome this summer.”

“I’ll bring you one of those stupid souvenir snow globes you’re so fond of, don’t worry.”

“Thank you, babe.”

“Just get on with it, Feyre. Really.”

In the end, I settled on a clean, neutral palette for Am so she could be anyone and anything, the mysterious void and the consuming beast all at once.

My family had done the series with me too. I needed ten pieces and they were the other half of me. Dad was the only one I had to paint from scratch since he was in rehab and part of me was maybe relieved not to have him come sit for a portrait. Once the pressure of his hospital stay was lifted and he didn’t come home, my worry over his life was replaced with the anger and frustration I’d felt when I first found him and thought he might leave me for good, something I wasn’t used to feeling towards him. But I saw him every week for the hour visitors were allowed to come to his center and we were working on things between us. I took pictures of him while I was there and he always asked how the project was going when I came in.

He and mom were still separated, but legally they were staying married until things were sorted out. He was coming home soon, but a lot of progress was still to be made. I was proud of him for how far he’d come.

My own therapy sessions were going well. I met with my therapist once a week - Dr. Carver. Her office suggested a proclivity for the morbid, particularly the human body and the skeletal structure, but she explained that bone composition and structure were part of her research when she studied to be a bone surgeon prior to choosing psychiatry as her final career choice.

She was nice and seemed to genuinely care about my progress, what my goals were, and how to help me get there. Within the first couple of sessions, she was challenging me to confront all of the wounds that were still open in my life and do what was within my power to heal them on my end.

Part of that included my decision not to go to college. I made application deadlines by the skin of my teeth and was even accepted to a handful of schools, but when I got the acceptance emails in early April, it didn’t feel right. Not with the progress I was making in therapy.

Dr. Carver encouraged me to consider my decision for a long time to make sure it was the right one for me and in the end, I thought it was. School would always be there when I was ready and both of my sisters had offered to help me with the transition, but right now I needed to work on myself. School still felt too overwhelming. The gallery had agreed to hire me on full time over summer, so I figured I could see where real world work experience could get me until I felt better about school.

Lucien had been the toughest to face. I cornered him early one morning before school when the fog made his hair stand out like a beacon of light at sea. I think he was a little surprised to see me approach, but once I started calling him Lukey again, he eased up.

He swung by to see his portrait before class when he should have been halfway across campus, the sneaky fox. Probably avoiding a run-in with Rhys and our little inner circle of friends, although now that Lucien wasn’t seeing as much of Tamlin anymore, a lot of the tension between us all had started to drain.

“So,” I said pointedly when Lucien did nothing but stare at his portrait with a sharp expression and crossed arms. “What do you think?”

He tossed his head at me and the long length of his red hair rippled on the air behind him. “You made me… rather handsome, Feyre.”

I snorted. “Is that a problem, Lukey?”

He frowned and shook his head, giving his tableau one last admiring look before the bell rang. “Nah. Better than all that burnished gold and starlit eyes you hoarded for yourself.” He gave my hair a quick flick of his fingers and winked at me. “Thanks.”

I smirked, of the dark pesky variety only Lucien could pull, as I watched him walk out and waited for the AP board to begin examining us. The hour dragged on horribly as I waited for them to get to my set. Amren sauntered up to me as soon as they finished grading me.

“Has Rhys seen it yet?”

“Nah-ah,” I said. “I made him promise not to look until after the exam was over. He’s coming by when class is over. Do you think he’ll like it?”

Amren smirked. “I think they all will.”

“All?”

She nodded behind me and in the window creeping over the door was a small set of chocolate brown eyes staring greedily into the room. Two more sets of hazel ones rested above Mor and I was willing to bet that behind them grumbling angrily something about “she’s my girlfriend,” would be a pair of violet ones.

I glared at them incredulously, praying the exam board wouldn’t notice and get huffy, but at least they’d already taken my marks down. Amren, on the other hand, was still on the chopping block.

I shooed them off, but the second the bell rang, they flooded the room and ran to inspect their respective portraits. I cringed wondering how they would take the changes I’d made to each one where I’d included little pieces of myself.

“Holy shit I’m on FIRE!” Cassian shouted. I froze, chanced a look at the examiners, one of whom was the last to leave the room and seemed a little put off by the exclamation. Cassian clapped his hands and mercifully said more quietly, “This is fucking rad as hell, Feyre.”

“Thanks, Cass.”

I looked at Azriel, my hopes high. The boy of shadows looked once at his portrait, then at me, and smiled shyly with a nod. “I see myself,” he said simply. “Thank you.”

And coming from Az, that meant the world to hear.

“You’re welcome.”

“I get to keep mine right?!” Mor squeaked and picked hers right up off the wall careless of the fact that it was technically art. “Of course I’m keeping this.”

“Morrigan,” Rhys said in that same old exhausted voice he pulled out for his cousin.

“Stuff it!” she snapped. “It’s going above the fireplace and that’s final.”

I slammed down the laugh in my chest and clamped a hand over my mouth to keep quiet. Rhys snaked over to me, pinching my sides. “What is so funny, Feyre darling?”

“You are,” I said and reached up to peck him on the lips. “So, what do you think?”

Rhys looked at his portrait, at the smoke and billowing wings shrouded in clouds of purple and blue and gold, and smiled slowly. He brought his attention back to me and I knew he and I were both thinking the same thing - about that night, how much it meant to both of us. How much we healed and loved and lived together.

“I think I’m stunning,” Rhys finally said.

“Of course you do.”

“Really, Feyre. It’s incredible and certainly nothing I would have ever expected to see of myself. Thank you for painting it.”

“Of course.”

“There’s just one thing I’d change, though, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Oh?”

He swept my hair off my shoulders and took my face in his hands, taking a deep, dramatic breath as he did so. “Next time, I think nude would be best.”

I snorted and burst into a fit of giggles. “Maybe next time you should paint me. What do you think about that, huh?”

Rhys beamed at me, leaning in close enough for a kiss, but not before he’d whispered into my skin, “It would be my pleasure, darling. I’ll circle and point at all my favorite bits.” His finger trailed suggestively down my stomach tracing a line not entirely unlike an arrow and I laughed.

Behind us, my own tenth portrait sparkled in layers of starlight and night.

Life was beautiful once more.

The End

Bonus chapters to follow :)

#myfic #beneath the stars #beneath the stars: a feysand fic #bts #feysand #feysand fanfiction #feyre #rhysand #acomaf #acomaf fanfiction

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darling-archeron · 3 years ago

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Hi! I'm kind of new to the fandom and I'm looking for good Feysand fics. Do u have any reccomendations for fics/authors? 🍓

Welcome to the fandom! I've read so many amazing fics by so many amazing people over the years, so this list will by no means be comprehensive, but I'll do my best and it'll definitely get long anyway! I hope I didn't bother anyone by tagging them because I'm not mutuals with everyone on this list.

@illyriantremors on both Ao3 and Tumblr has some of the best fics I've ever read. Unfortunately, they left Tumblr and the fandom several years ago, but they have some serious gems. Some of my favorites include a nearly-complete rewrite of ACOMAF from Rhys's POV, and my personal favorite feysand fic of all time, Beneath the Stars, (And its sequel, Between the Stars!) which is a fantastic modern AU.

@quakeriders on both ao3 and Tumblr has so many good one-shots and some multichapters that live in my head rent-free! One of my faves is her demon!rhys AU; and if i get burned, at least we were electrified.

@writtenonreceipts on both ao3 and tumblr has a lot of great fics with really interesting premises. If you're into throne of glass they also write quite a bit for that fandom!

@themoonthestarsthesuriel on both tumblr and ao3 has so much amazing writing! Their fic The Bet was such a wonderful ride.

@mmvalentine on both ao3 and tumblr writes fantastic feysand AUs. I'm still working my way through a lot of their writing, but their tattoo artist au The Bargain is terrific.

@the-lonelybarricade/TheLonelyBarricade on Ao3 has so much amazing writing for a variety of ships! I recently devoured her A Court of Faded Dreams, which is a really unique concept involving Feyre being sent back in time to the beginning of ACOTAR.

@bookofmirth/ABookandACoffee on Ao3 is one of my favorite sources for levelheaded and sensible opinions in this mess of a fandom, and she is also a talented writer! Her fic Turning A Page is so well written, and she has quite a few oneshots for a variety of ships including Feysand.

@arrowmusings on both ao3 and tumblr has a lot of great content that will absolutely destroy you in the best way possible I promise.

@live-the-fangirl-life has so many wonderful feysand fics, as well as a lot of throne of glass writing if you're in that fandom.

@thesurielships has a ton of feysand fics that I adore! If you're a swiftie she has an evermore songfic collection.

Another writer who left the fandom and is also now inactive (to the best of my knowledge) is @sarahviehmann / sv_you_know_who_I_am on Ao3. Before ACOWAR came out they wrote their own version called A Court of War and Starlight that I personally haven't read, but it was immensely popular around the time. Their modern AU My Fair Warrior is really well done as well.

Since you're familiar with my blog, I'm guessing you've already checked out my writing if any of it interested you, but I'm WordsAndWishes on Ao3.

I also went down by bookmarks list on Ao3 and picked out a few of my favorite fics.

Dear Darling - penpal AU!

Going for Gold - Olympic AU - this one does focus more on Nessian but there is plenty of feysand goodness, also a lot of great sisterly relationships.

It's Nice to Have a Friend - Incomplete but a gem! A Modern AU

The Castle of Dreams - Feyre ends up as a tutor for Rhys's sister who just so happens to be a princess.

Don't Look Back - a hs AU that is so much fun and an absolute ride!

What Happens Under the Stars - feysand finds healing together in a modern au. Feyre and Rhys and their journey are written in a very unique way that I love.

If You Hold Me Close - fake dating at an elucien wedding!

Nox Industries - Rhys is a CEO and Feyre applies for a job at his company.

I just know I'm forgetting a ton of people but I hope this is a good starting place!

#kate talks #acotar #fic rec #feysand

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themorphine · 3 years ago

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The Picnic-Feysand Date <3

So happy to announce that me and @wintersouldier57 teamed up and wrote a feysand fic in celebration of both hitting 100 followers! Go say congrats to @wintersouldier57 SHES AMAZING

It had been a long few weeks for the high lord and lady of the night court. Between their regularly scheduled meetings and taking care of Nyx, things had been hard. They had scarcely found any time for themselves in the midst of it, hardly any to just be together, enjoying each other’s presence. When Feyre wasn’t at a meeting, Rhys was in the Illyrian mountains handling the armies with Cassian. When Rhys was home, Feyre was at the art studio. Their schedules never seemed to line up.

They often spoke mentally, providing each other as much comfort as they could in that capacity, but they soon found that even psychic communication had its limits when it came to comforting one another. Feyre missed the way his arms felt around her, the way he would whisper soothing words into her ear when things became too much to handle. She understood that they had their responsibilities to their court. They were high lord and lady, after all. Still, she was restless. She wanted nothing more than to feel his embrace, nothing more than to drown in a pool of the transcendent love he offered her.

There was a dull ache in her heart that she knew only he could alleviate. She longed for him. She had not known desperation so deep since her days before coming to Prythian. That desperation, that hunger, had burned, but never like this. It had seared from the inside out, but never straight from the heart. Not like this did. This killed slowly, she thought, deliberately. She felt as though she had been traipsing around Velaris with half a soul, never quite able to get comfortable anywhere she went.

She would see him today. For the first time in weeks, everything lined up. Cassian and Azriel had agreed to take Nyx off their hands for the day for what Cassian called “much-needed uncle time”. They would pick him up as soon as she returned home for the day.

She was a bit surprised that Cassian had not said anything, no teasing. She didn't say anything though, she did not want to give him any ideas. He probably does not want to lose any time with Nyx, she thought, and chuckled silently.

“What’s so funny my High Lady? Rhysie has some good jokes for once?” Rhysand must have heard that from wherever he was, because he responded in Feyre’s and Cassian’s head, At least my jokes don't have every female in all of Prythian running for the hills Cassian. Feyre laughed harder, Cassian chuckling as well.

“Well have fun you two, and be sure to be home at a respectable time, and PLEASE use a sound barrier, I do not want to have to explain what noises are being heard all over this cauldron-damned city to this little one.” He said in his most “mother hen” voice, and tickled a giggling Nyx in his arms. Feyre glared at him while he laughed, and Rhys must have said something in his head, for he laughed even harder.

“BYE CASSIAN” Feyre shouted, making a beeline to the door. She could still hear Cassian's laughter,

Once she was outside, she took a deep breath of the fresh air. It was a nice day, perfect for a walk in the park or a trip to the market squares. Perhaps she and Rhys could take a walk when he returned. She would love nothing more than to walk through Velaris hand in hand with her mate. She missed simple intimacies like that, little touches.

You look simply delectable in that dress, Feyre darling.

He had spoken into her mind. Could he see her? Where was he? She looked around but could not find him. Suddenly, there was a pressure underneath her knees, lifting her into the air. She yelped, surprised that he had picked her up.After the initial surprise, she spoke;

“You should have given me some warning, you prick.”

He chuckled, “Now what would be the fun in that Feyre Darling?”

She tried her best to look unaffected by the nickname, and replied “The fun would be that I wouldn't have to scream and not fall on my face for all of Velaris to see.”

He put on a face of mock hurt. “You really think I would drop you darling? I would never!”

She glared. “Based on what you did last time, I won't trust you for another 1000 years, 900 if your lucky.”

He laughed harder, burrowing his face in my neck, to try and silence it. Once he calmed he breathed in my neck, savouring her smell.

“If I could bottle your smell I would drink it every day.” He sighed, hugging Feyre tightly, as if she could disappear any moment. And to be honest based on how long they had been apart, they both felt as if they would disappear, but thank the cauldron they wouldn't.

Finally, after all this time, they were together. She smiled as she nuzzled closer to his chest. Through the bond, she could feel the pure happiness coursing through Rhys. Her grin widened as she felt the wind blazing past them.

She wondered where he might be taking her. They hadn’t discussed their plans beyond spending the day together. Wherever they were headed, though, Feyre knew she would love it. She would love it because he would be there with her. For the first time in a long while, she was home. An unyielding warmth welled up in her heart in the place of the ravenous longing she had been experiencing before. She was with Rhys now, and all was well, at least for the day.

She looked down and watched the vibrant landscape of Velaris fly by beneath them. She could easily fly herself, but she didn’t want to. At least for now, she wanted to be held by him. Judging by the way his arms were wrapped around her more tightly than usual, it was clear that he was enjoying it too. There was something about him holding her like that. It always gave her butterflies, no matter how long they had been together. Even with the centuries stretching out before them, she could be sure that that would never change. Not this, and not the way they felt for each other. She would always look at him as though he had hung the very stars that shone above Ramiel on the Night Court’s insignia, and he would always look to her and see his darling mate, his salvation.

They continued their flight. When he landed and sat her on her feet, she mourned the close contact. She took in their surroundings. They stood on a hill overlooking the city. From the vantage point, she could see it all. She saw the rainbow and the Sidra, twinking as it reflected the sun’s light. What she took the most note of, though, was the blanket laid out on the grass, a small basket sitting at its center.

A picnic.

Rhys had planned a picnic.

She didn’t realize it was possible to love him more than she already did.

He watched her intently, taking in the shift in her expression. He grinned widely. He loved seeing her like this, happy and content. For once, she looked her age. She looked like the 20 year-old girl she was, and without eyes that looked haunted or scared. Their duties could wait. Right now, as they stood on this hill, things were for once simple. The world was quiet, save for the slight breeze that occasionally brushed against their ears. They were happy. War and politics be damned.

“Happy, my love?”

She looked down to find that her hand was glowing. It seemed that her body was speaking for itself. Instead of answering, she took a few steps toward him, placing her shining palm on the side of his face, stroking his cheek. His violet eyes were alight with the spark of love. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. It wasn’t like things had been recently. It wasn’t the quick kiss of someone trying to make time between meetings or the kind of kiss she would give him as she passed him on the way to feed Nyx. The kiss they now shared was sweet, unhurried, as though they had all the time in the world to stand there and relish in what they were feeling.

After what felt like a millenia, he slowly pulled away from her, once again meeting her eyes.

“I’ve missed that,” he said.

“I’ve missed you,” Feyre replied, tears brimming in her eyes. But she was smiling, a broad, indestructible smile that made Rhys look at her in wonder

They stared at each other for a moment longer before Rhys motioned to the blanket.

“Let’s get more comfortable.”

They made their way over to the blanket and they sat next to one another. She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder. With his other arm, he reached for the basket, producing several sandwiches and a container of what she assumed was some sort of stew. He sat the food in front of them before he tilted his head and placed a soft kiss on her hair.

She knew she was likely still glowing. She didn’t need to look down to know. Rhys picked up one of the sandwiches and held it to her lips. She took a bite, savoring the taste. She quickly realized where she had tasted it before. It was one of the sandwiches from her favorite restaurant. She beamed. Her clever, loving mate had gone there and procured it for her, just to make her happy. She recalled a time when such a thing would have been an ordeal, a time when her former lover had refused to so much as let her leave the house. She wished more than anything that she could go back in time and tell that girl that this was waiting on the horizon, that such a love awaited her beyond all the turmoil.

He put a hand on her hair, lightly stroking it as he held up the sandwich once again for her. She took another bite, turning slightly.

“I can feed myself, you know,” she laughed.

“What kind of male would I be if I didn’t care for my lovely hardworking mate?”

She reached over, grabbing a sandwich and holding it up for him. They spent the rest of the picnic like that, feeding each other bits of food and staring into one another’s eyes. When they had finished their meal, Rhys put what remained back in the basket and pulled her closer, pushing her head down onto his lap as he continued to stroke her hair. They stayed like that for a while, him stroking her hair and occasionally leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. It had been going on for some time when he finally said, “I don’t know what I’ve done in this life to deserve this. To deserve you.”

She looked up at him. His eyes were tender.

“You do deserve this. You’ve done so much good in your life, Rhys. You deserve every bit of happiness.”

He smiled.

“You are my happiness,” he said, his voice shaky, pressing another kiss to her brow, “and I will spend the rest of this eternity showing you how much I treasure you, my love, my mate, my salvation.”

She looked into his eyes. She wanted to say something, but she was at a loss. No words in her vocabulary could accurately describe what she was feeling, the depth of her affection for the male in front of her. She hoped her face and the glow of her skin said enough. They seemed to, as a moment later he pulled her into a tight embrace.

“My Feyre,” he said, nuzzling her neck, “my light.”

“I love you,” she said. She had never meant anything more.

“I love you too,” he responded, pressing a kiss to her pulse point.

He continued trailing light kisses down the column of her throat, smiling into her neck as he heard her breath hitch slightly. He readjusted, laying her down on the blanket. Her face was flushed as he stared down at her. He knelt down on top of her, pressing a long kiss onto her collarbone.

“Now prepare yourself, darling,” he said, “I’m going to show you just how much I’ve missed you.”

She was not prepared.

Tag List:

@feysandandnyxsworld

@that-sociopathic-hufflepuff

@emikadreams

@highladysith

@cardansfae

@aelin-bitch-queen

tagging some ppl who wanted to be in my jealous rhysand fic just in case u wanna se thisss

@live-the-fangirl-life

@story-scribbler

#feysand #feysand fluff #feysand fic #the picnic #feyre #rhysand

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mmvalentine · 4 years ago

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What Lives Beneath Our Skin | Feysand x everyone

Customarily, I will post a oneshot when I am between multi-chapter fics, like a sort of palette cleaner and to give them space to breathe a little. My last fic was a soft and fluffy teenage thing, and so I felt the need to write something dark and twisty and utterly the opposite for this spacer. Apologies to those who joined my tag list during the last fic and came here for the cutes😅 CW: trauma, drug use, abusive relationships, orgy, smut oh lord the smut.

Feyre thought that once she left Tamlin she'd feel free, and in many ways of course she did. In other ways, she felt completely, desolately alone.

It was not all as simple as people made it out to be. In an abusive and traumatic relationship, she had also left behind a life, a lovely house, more comfort and stability that she had ever had in her life. And the only friend she had in the world. Yes it was the right thing to do, but Feyre had loved Tamlin, and the way he had plucked her out of her grey and meagre existence beforehand.

So now that she was in her own apartment, with its clean white walls and soft white sheets, she knew it was the right decision. But the future stretched out before her like an empty desert. Gone was the fear, the anxiety, the walking on eggshells, the anger, the screaming into her pillow until her throat felt like glass. Gone was the make-up sex, the apologies under his tongue, the extravagant gifts, the promises of a paradise-life, the addictive intensity of when he said he couldn't live without her, and she believed him. The silence rang in her ears and she had not one soul she could call to fill it. Tamlin had made sure of that.

Over the weeks after her departure, Feyre wandered the grocery aisles, took walks in the park, and packed her few belongings away. By the end of the month, Feyre was so numb she wondered whether she would ever feel anything again. Wondered whether maybe this was the price she paid for falling for Tamlin, and for leaving him. And then a guy on the street handed her a flyer for an underground nightclub, and she thought, fuck it. Sure the whole scene was obnoxious and depraved, but maybe the volume might drown out the white noise in her head.

And that's how Feyre found herself standing outside Ramiel, a club she had not known existed twenty four hours ago. She thought she might be nervous, standing out here in the cold, the bass already lapping at her from inside. But instead, she just felt nothing. Had felt nothing all day, even as she pulled on a short black dress with long sleeves and cut outs over the torso, that Tamlin would have forbade her to wear because he hated it when men looked at her, and that Feyre previously had come to feel shame for. But she'd never thrown it away, and now she was wearing it into a thick crowd of people in the hopes that she might feel something, anything at all. Feyre pushed open the door, and the sound swept over her like a tidal wave.

Inside, everything was not so much a sensory overload as a sensory avalanche. Coloured lights pulsed with the throb of the music, and the smell of smoke machines and a hundred sweaty dancers reached toward Feyre with clawing fingers. She made a beeline to the bar, and swallowed a shot before ordering another.

"Rough night?"

The voice filtered through the chaos. Feyre turned and found a young man leaning against the bar, his head cocked and his smile bright. Feyre tried to smile back, and couldn't quite remember how.

"Rough year," she said, settling for a grimace. The man stepped closer, wearing a singlet and tight jeans, and gold bands on his arms that glittered against his dark skin. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Are you here with anyone?" "No," Feyre said. "I don't know anyone." "Well, you can know me if you like. My name is Helion." "Feyre," she replied. Helion picked up his drink and they clinked their glasses together. Helion watched as Feyre downed hers without flinching. His eyes were gentle. "You're not doing so well, are you?" he asked. Feyre shrugged. "Is anyone?" "Fair enough. What did you come here for?" Feyre barked a hard laugh. "To feel. Anything." Helion didn't answer for a while. Then he said, "Okay. You need to meet Rhysand."

Helion took her hand and led her to the dancefloor. Feyre didn't protest, just trailed after him and wondered if the press of other human bodies might spark anything back to life in her.

"There," Helion shouted near her ear. "Go dance with him," he said, and pointed her to a black-haired man in the middle of the crowd.

"Aren't I dancing with you?" Feyre shouted back. Helion grinned. "Dance with all of us, honey!" And then he pushed her toward Rhys.

Rhys, at least who Feyre assumed was Rhys, was dressed in black and dancing with his eyes closed. With his golden-brown skin, thick raven hair, and sharp cheekbones, he might well have been the most beautiful man Feyre had ever seen. He had his hands on the hips of another handsome man with white hair and dark skin, who at this moment had his mouth on Rhys' neck. Then Rhys opened his eyes, and without taking his hands from the man he was dancing with, locked his gaze with Feyre's.

Feyre didn't quite know what to do. She stood there awkwardly in the throng of dancers, and then Helion reappeared next to her.

"Oh," he said. "And, take this." He pressed a round, white pill to Feyre's lips, and she opened for him and swallowed. Helion disappeared again, and now Rhys was extending one hand to her. She walked toward him, and the other man looked up at her too. When she touched Rhys' hand, he pulled her between him and the other man, and settled her hands around his neck.

"Hello," he said. It didn't sound like he was shouting, but Feyre could somehow hear him perfectly. "Friend of Helion's are you?" "Sort of," Feyre replied. Rhys hadn't stopped dancing, and she began to move with him now. The man behind her glided his hands down her arms, and began to move up behind her.

"I'm Rhys," Rhys said, "And this is Tarquin." "I'm Feyre," she said, glancing back at Tarquin. "Hello Feyre," Tarquin said in her ear. "Would you like to make out with us?" Feyre looked nervously back at Rhys, and then said, "Sure." So Rhys kissed her with his mouth open, and his tongue tasted like citrus and the sea.

It took a second, it was not an immediate thing like so much thunder and lightning. But rather, her body woke slow like molten rock as Rhys kissed her, the heat pooling in her stomach and snaking lazily down her limbs until she was full of it, and then she opened her eyes and found Rhys staring at her, pupils blown wide and something like stars in the liquid black of them. And in hindsight, that was the moment Feyre would remember that she felt everything, and the numbness that had surrounded her for the past few weeks fell away at her feet.

It wasn't that she felt okay again, it wasn't that she felt whole or happy or healed. But she felt: felt Rhys' hands at her back and the solidity of his chest beneath her fingers, and now there was Tarquin gripping her hips and breathing against her neck, and then Helion found them and he had one hand beneath Feyre's hair and the other in Rhys' back pocket. So she leaned in, wanted everything, and her skin came alive and at least in this moment, she was in her body and not floating twenty feet above it all. And then the little pill Helion had given her kicked in and the night began to speed past in flashes like the strobe lights of the club dictated time itself. It could have been ten seconds or ten hours, Feyre didn't know and really, truly did not care.

One: Tarquin was grinding into her backside, and the movement was pushing her up against Rhys, who had his thigh planted between her legs. She could feel them everywhere- one behind her and one in front, covering every inch of her skin and making her so over-sensitised she was shivering between them.

Two: Rhys had pulled away from her to kiss Tarquin over her shoulder, but now Helion was pulling her chin toward him. His teeth were very white against his dark skin, and sharp against her bottom lip. The pain of it was delicious.

Three: Tarquin's hands had found the cutouts in her dress, and his fingers were skating over the patches of bare skin there, while Rhys was cupping her ass and pulling her against the hardness that was now pressing below her navel. Helion was massaging the back of Rhys' neck, and his mouth had not left Feyre's. The spiral tension inside her wound tighter.

Four: Three new people appeared, Feyre did not remember when or where they came from, but someone told her their names were Morrigan, Cassian and Azriel. At first, they stood in their own group and Feyre stayed with hers. But then Feyre was being handed to them and she had Cassian on her left and Azriel on her right, Cassian's lips on her shoulder and Azriel's hands on her hips. Mor stood in front of her, and cupped her face with so much gentleness before she kissed her.

Five: Rhys had yanked her back to him, but now Azriel stood behind him and Rhys had one of his arms curled up around Azriel's neck as he licked his way up toward Rhys' ear. Cassian came up behind Feyre so she and Rhys were sandwiched behind the two newcomers. He scraped his teeth in the join of her neck and shoulder.The crush of the dancers surrounding them all pushed them even closer together, and Feyre's thoughts swirled in her head.

Six: They were in a car now, although Feyre didn't remember leaving the club. Suddenly it was quieter, and darker. There seemed to be a lot of room- were they in a limo?- which allowed for all six of them to be seated together, hands and mouths wandering, Mor's giggle floating above them and Rhys' hand firmly on her leg the whole time, bumping up a little higher every time the car jostled them. Helion's white smile stayed behind her eyelids like spots after a bright light.

Seven: They were back at someone's house, Helion's maybe. They were piling into his room, shoes were being dropped on the floor, shirts were being pulled over heads. His bed was the most enormous thing Feyre had ever seen. Helion pushed Rhys toward it first, and as Rhys slid up toward the pillows he grabbed Feyre and took her with him. Cassian followed, and as Feyre turned the glow in his eyes as he stalked toward her set her heart racing.

Eight: Feyre was now on top of Rhys, and wasn't sure where everyone else was but knew they were all naked by this point. Rhys was moving her over his cock, Cassian was licking her out from behind. Pleasure bloomed in her chest, for the first time in a very long time. Azriel has his lips on Feyre's nipple while Mor sucked him off. Helion had his fingers inside Mor, and his dick in Tarquin's mouth. Tarquin's hand squeezed over her ass.

Nine: Everyone had moved enough times that Feyre had lost all track of who was where, except that Rhys was with her. Was currently fucking her from behind, while she kissed someone she was pretty sure was Mor. Then someone else had their fingers over her clit, Mor was beginning to breathe eratically into her mouth like someone else was getting her off. She thought she could pick out Cassian's groan but she didn't know where he might be or who might be causing it. She did know that someone was now lightly rubbing her asshole, and she was about to climax.

Ten: Rhys came on her back, and then someone else was pushing into her, Tarquin maybe, pounding her while Rhys slid under her and the fingers that had been on her clit were replaced by his tongue. She came in shudders, for what felt like ages, and then collapsed, Tarquin sliding out of her and fucking Helion instead. Feyre lost track of them, then Rhys was there wiping her off with a towel and pulling her into his arms. Feyre started to fade in and out of consciousness, but could hear others find their release too and start slowing down as well.

When Feyre next opened her eyes, time was moving normally again. Rhys was slowly stroking up and down her arm, and around her, the others slept. There was someone lying behind her, someone lying across the bed at her feet, someone behind Rhys. Helion's bed fit them all.

"So what are you running from?" Rhys asked her, very quietly. "How do you know I'm running?" Feyre asked. "Helion has a way of finding lost souls and trying to help them get some human connection." Feyre was quiet for a moment.

"I have... nightmares. Bad dreams when I'm asleep, and absolutely nothing when I'm awake. Just horrible silence." "And do your nightmares have a name?" Rhys asked. "Yes," Feyre said. "His name is Tamlin. I know the worst is over, but it's like he's still getting to me." "I have nightmares too," Rhys said. "Sometimes, I come here and when I'm surrounded by all these people I don't dream." "What are your nightmares called?" Rhys breathed in deeply, and then back out. "Aramantha," was all he said.

****

Well, I hate to not give you a happy ending but I'm sure you can extrapolate from there. Feyre will call Rhys sometime in the daytime, and being with him alone will be crazy intense but also so grounding for her. And they will both get better.

Anyway this was a super different type of thing for me, from the content to the style so... I hope you still got something out of it.

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @asteria-of-mars

MASTERLIST

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acomaf #dark #smut #mine

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gopeachllama · 4 years ago

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I Was Made for You

i was in my sad feysand hours and so i wrote this fic. Enjoy.

Fandom: A Court of Thornes and Roses by Sarah J Maas

Relationship: Feyre + Rhysand

Warnings: none

Word count: 1800

Each night sky that she gazed upon since arriving at the Night Court for the first time, was a beauty that took Feyre’s breathe away. But this night, was like no other. The sky was a blanket of black and violet. Each star was a glittering steady presence, her ever-present guardians guiding her to where she was always meant to be. Feyre met them with her own steady gaze.

“I see you.” she whispered to no one and all of them.

The cool night breeze carried her voice towards the City of Starlight. Her home. Star-flecked darkness appeared in the corner of her vision and Feyre turned to where Rhysand now stood. His mouth opened but no words came out, eyes widening by a fraction as he took her in. Despite what tonight was about, Feyre didn't put any extravagance into her appearance. She opted for minimal amount of makeup, and her hair was loose behind her shoulders and pinned back from her face with silver and diamond combs. But when Feyre saw the expression that took over her mate’s face, she knew she made the right decision. It was the dress of glittering pale blue diamonds that made her look like a fallen star. The dress she wore for her first Starfall. The dress she wore when she fell in love with Rhysand. Merely an hour ago, when Feyre looked through her wardrobe, she knew no other was better suited to wear for this night. When Rhys’ eyes, now lined with tears, met hers again, he gave a small smile and held out his hand.

“Ready?” His voice was soft with trepidation, as if he wanted her know that with a single word from her, they would turn back and that it would be okay if they did. But for Feyre, there were no nerves, no hesitations. Not for the rest of life. She was ready.

She placed her hand in his. “Always.”

The two did not take their eyes off each other as they were enveloped in wind and darkness. And when the world returned to them, Feyre squeezed Rhysand’s hand and sent a gentle caress over his mental shields. Never again, Rhys, she spoke to him through the bond, no matter what happens from tonight onwards or a year or a century, the one thing you will never have to be unsure of is my love and commitment to you. Rhysand lifted her hand that was still grasped in his and pressed his lip softly it as he replied, I love you, my darling. They turned, and before them, stood the great temple. Time itself seemed to begin and end where it stood proud. Great pillars rose from the earth it was carved from, and joined together at the top, like great arms of stone reaching for the night sky. Moonlight danced along the polished dark stone, the cool surface biting into the soles of the pair’s bare feet. Feyre saw that Rhysand had closed his eyes. As he took a deep breath that filled his chest, the darkness surrounding him seem to breathe with him. Here, as he stood in a simple black shirt and pants - not in Illyrian leathers on the battlefield, not in an expensive suit on his throne in the wretched Hewn City - did her mate look more like the High Lord of the Night Court than in this very moment. It was all too peaceful, too sacred to sully the air with spoken words, so Feyre stuck to speaking through the bond. So, what happens now? She asked. Soon, the priestess will meet us and the ceremony, if that’s what you’d like to call it, will begin. We can exchange words while the priestess calls down The Mother to bless us. He opened his eyes and gave Feyre a smile that made her heart full, and then we will be mates. Through and through.

Soft footstep drew their attention towards the priestess that now stood before them. “My Lord, I welcome you and your mate.” She bowed to them both.

“Thank you for allowing us to be here tonight.” Feyre followed her mate as he bowed his head to the priestess who raised a delicate hand to press it to his forehead. Her lips moved though no sound came out, to what Feyre assumed was a prayer. She did the same for Feyre before speaking aloud once again. “We shall begin now. Please follow me.”

Hand in hand, they followed the female into the temple. When they stopped, Feyre stood at the centre of everything. And all at once, she felt Her. Her presence was as tangible as if She stood right before them. As if She had waited for the two of them all this time. Later, there would be a celebration. Later, when there was no threat of war, they could stand together before all their friends and family. Where Feyre could call Rhysand her husband, and he, his wife. Where Mor and Cassian and Azriel and Amren and perhaps, if they would like, her father and sisters could come to share in their joy, and they could laugh and dance until their bodies ached. But right now, standing next to her mate, with nothing but the cool moonstone beneath her feet and the night sky that arched above her head, this was all she needed for this moment.

The priestess’ voice resonated through the polished walls of the temple. “Rhysand and Feyre.” Not Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court. Not Feyre Cursebreaker, Defender of the Rainbow. Just Rhysand and Feyre. No matter who or what they were; in the past or ever to be in the future. In this moment, they were just two. A male and female who loved each other so fiercely. Rhysand, now facing Feyre, took her right hand in his and slid their palms further up their arms until they gripped each other just before the crook of their elbows. “Let The Mother bless the union of these two mates.”

As they stood together, under the moon and stars, and The Mother, and all the Gods that were and will ever be, they became one. Feyre sparkled like starlight, and Rhysand looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.

‘“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”’ He had said to her.

You found me Rhys, she said to him now. And I am yours forever.

Magic fizzled on the skin of her hand and soon a beautiful pattern of black swirls appeared on the once unblemished skin. A tattoo, she realised. A twin of the one that adorned her left forearm.

“Feyre, there are not enough words to tell you what you mean to me. You are my mate, my protector, my salvation, my friend.” The tears that lined his eyes broke away and fell down his face. “There is nothing in this world that is good and precious that you do not deserve. And I will do everything in my power to prove that until my dying breath.” The tears were now a constant stream down his cheeks, but his voice was steady, and his gaze did not falter. “I give you only my heart. No matter how bruised and battered, it is yours. But the rest; our family, our home, our future, you have earned with your own strength and power, and I love you. I love you Feyre, and I am honoured to stand at your side for the rest of our lives and every life beyond.”

She loved him. From the moment she was a child painting a star-filled night sky on her drawer, to the moment she was Remade, quietly dancing with him in this same dress under that same night sky, she loved him. Again, and again, she loved him. And she would not stop. In these hands anew, she would hold his love and all that it brought her, never letting go.

With her eyes she said it all, over and over again. With her hand that gripped him, she made sure he read every word. With her every breath and tear, she promised all the words she would ever say. And then Feyre spoke, just barely over a whisper so that only her mate and The Mother Herself may hear, “I was made for you.”

I am yours forever, Feyre darling, Rhysand answered. The tattoo that now adorned her entire right forearm, began to bleed into Rhysand’s. Their love was forever immortalised onto their skin. Mates though and through. Finally overwhelmed, Rhysand tore his gaze downwards for a moment as he let out a choked sob. Feyre went to move. To wipe away his tears. To hold him. To kiss him. But a sharp change in the atmosphere prevented her from moving.

Feyre felt the familiar tingle of magic lower this time, and she knew what it meant before she even lifted the skirt of her dress to reveal the stars and mountains that were newly inked on her knees. Her breath was caught in her throat, but it was the priestess’ voice that broke through the silence.

“The Mother has been watching over you, Feyre Cursebreaker, Defender of the Rainbow, and she has deemed you worthy.” Feyre looked to Rhysand with question but his expression was one of only pure elation. After a moment, she gave him a bewildered smile of her own before returning her attention to the priestess. “Do you, Feyre, swear to protect every being and all the lands of this court? Do you swear to lead with your own strength and spirit and all the wisdom of all the High Lords before you?”

“I swear.” She went into herself, to her very soul, and unleashed her power. Pure bright light glowed on her skin. Streams of light shot from her bare feet and snaked along the moonstone floor. They climbed the great pillars of the temple, meeting at the top and to the sky beyond.

Feyre hadn’t noticed Rhysand releasing his grasp on her until she caught the movement of him and the priestess kneeling on the floor, palms flat on the cool moonstone and heads bowed, “We serve you, Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court.” They spoke in unison.

As Rhysand went to stand again, tendrils of star-flecked darkness seeped from his figure. And when he stepped up to his mate, lifting his newly tattooed hand to her cheek and the other to the small of her back. When Feyre’s own arms wrapped around his neck and their lips met sure and true. The High Lord’s magic flowed alongside his High Lady’s. The two powers danced in and out of each other, towards the world beyond. Dark and Bright. Night and Starlight. Rhysand and Feyre.

~~~

*Ugly crying noises* urgh i really love these two with all my heart they deserve everything.

So i ended up changing a few things canonically. I changed Feyre's right arm tattoo as display of her mateship and gave her the knee tattoo (the same as Rhys') to commemorate her being the High Lady. And it never made sense to me that Rhys never got a tattoo that represent the bargain he made with Feyre or their mateship so I gave him the same one as Feyre #coupletattoos (seriously tho its a bad idea, don't ever do it irl). Please let me know if you liked this and go easy on me, this was my first ever crack at writing fanfiction.

#acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #feyre #feyre x rhysand #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #rhys #rhysand #feysand supremacy #missing chapter #acomaf #feysand deserve the world #my writing

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story-scribbler · 3 years ago

Note

OKAY so I just realised I have been sending stuff in ur submit a post instead of here so IM SORRY LMAO. okay I saw u wanted Feysand Fics so imma give u some :) Pls give me some if u have any I NEED MORE. okay so on ao3 theres an author aztec234 they have an inprogress feysand fic check it out! also on ao3 illyriantremors has a fic beneath the stars its amazing btw and they are on tumblr! Also TheNightCourt09 on ao3 has a good fic called Finding My Way To You :) enjoy!

LMAO it's all good, i was so confused at first because i was like wait how do i respond to these, so that's why i haven't said anything back to them! no worries though my friend :)

omg thank you so much for these fic recs! so goood!

ALSO BENEATH THE STARS IS MY ALL-TIME FAVORITE HOLY CRAP and the sequel fic is so good as well so go show some love to @illyriantremors

and The Art of Not Giving a Shit (and Things) by aztec234 (idk if they're on tumblr) is amazing as well :)

hmm okay i have so many that i love

The Trouble With Meddling Wizards by @alifletcher2012

To Deceive a Deceiver by @cuddles-and-chocolate-cake

The Bet by @surielandiareendgame

SWAK by @writtenonreceipts

Alone in the Ashes by @tacmc and honestly everything that she writes and anything that @snelbz writes as well

On My Honor by Ao3 user @runningwater

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bryaxisthefaceofnightmares · 4 years ago

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Dark Dreams and Star Light Part 3 - Nessian

So, as promised here it is!

Links : Feysand (Part 1) and Elriel (Part 2)

PLEASE NOTE: This is an NSFW fic with trigger warnings!

I really hope you enjoy it!

The blood under his nails had hardened, turned a deep rust red as it cooled, only for a fresh layer to splash atop it, over his hands, his arms.

He shut down that part of himself that cared and felt and lived and breathed, and let the creature locked inside him take its place on the battlefield. The Illyrian Commander whose name struck fear into hearts up and down Prythian and over the sea to Hybern and the Continent. The male who none would dare call ‘a lesser fae bastard born nobody’, when he stepped into a fight and drew the blade strapped down his spine.

This was what he became when he had to fight. When he needed to protect.

The darkness he kept locked in that swirling void in his chest exploded out of its cage the second his blade had taken the first life. This was the side of himself that no one else ever saw … no one who lived to tell about it, anyway.

Thrust … block … attack.

He lost sense of self and time alike as he fought, the cuts and scrapes he gained along the way stinging for the span of a single breath before they were lost to the haze of war. His muscles began to ache, and cramp, but he had fought for days without slowing before - this was what he was good at; the one thing that he was best at. So Cassian sucked in deep, plunging breaths, willing strength to his arms, his legs, his core, his wings, letting the air flood his senses.

A beast snarled at him, racing for him. His soldiers dived out of the way, scrambling to avoid the havoc the creature wrought upon their lines. Cassian barely spared a glance towards it, the magic in the blood-red stone on the back of his hand glowing, burning, begging to be released. His lungs heaved in another breath, a whip of red snapping from him as he roared at the creature, the war, the world, and threw himself into the air.

The body of the beast lay in two halves on the battlefield floor as he soared into the skies, its blood watering the meadow it lay upon, the grass long since churned to mud as the battle raged on.

The enemy fae who could fly spotted him in seconds and gave chase, desperate to be the ones to fell the mighty Night Court Commander. Too desperate. Cassian smirked at them, that ceaseless fire within him burning hotter … hotter … hotter as he slowed to allow them closer. Allowed them to encircle him. Allowed their swords to come within a hair's breadth. Allowed himself to take in every detail of the thirty-four faces around him, before he let whatever he had left of the killing power erupt from him in a perfect ring.

Thirty-four heads thudded to the battle floor, followed by thirty-four winged bodies.

His siphons were guttered, dull, utterly empty, but he still had his swords, his smaller blades, his hands … it was enough. Cassian swept down towards the battle once more, aiming for a female decimating those of his soldiers who got too close, readying his sword and a dagger to remove her head and fracture her heart in two. But, a wingspan away, he faltered.

The scream made him falter. Her voice was barely a memory, but the sound of his name on her tongue was something he would never be able to forget.

Cassian’s wings strained as he banked sharply, hovering as he scanned the field spread out before him. A flash of red hair and he was flying before her scream could sound again. Her plea for help. His help.

He soared over the dead, the dying, the living, the barely surviving, until he caught a glimpse of red hair again, of the hazel eyes that matched his own, the slim body covered in small scars from her years of abuse, the sharp, beautiful features of her face twisted into a fear he had only seen once from her before. The day they had been separated.

“Mother!” he bellowed, a hand reaching out to grab her, to pull her up and away from the death and the pain and the terror on the ground.

“Cassian!” she cried, rare tears streaming down her cheeks.

He reached her just as a soldier did. Cassian snarled, the sound ripping from his throat, fury rippling off him in waves as the soldier slid a centimetre too close and lost his arm, and then his head. Cassian wrapped an arm around his mother’s waist, her clipped wings powerless to help her escape. He could barely breathe as he pushed up into the air, wings beating hard to tug the pair of them away from the world of death surrounding them. Usually, carrying two was a barely noticeable burden, but he had been fighting for three days now, without rest, without food, without water, and his body was screaming for him to stop.

They only just made it up to the low, grey clouds scudding across the sky in dirty streaks when a winged beast smashed into his left side. Its talons sunk deep into his skin, shredding down through flesh and muscle, sundering skin from bone as it dragged its claws down his leg from thigh to ankle.

Cassian screamed, his body shuddering, his mother screaming with him, in fury and pain, as she thumbed a dagger free from a sheath around his forearm and buried it between the creature's eyes.

The beast fell.

Cassian fought to keep them in the air, aiming for an outcrop of rock in a mountainside, blood from his wounded leg raining down on the battle below. His mother was saying something, her hands cupping his cheeks, tears again falling from those hazel eyes, but he couldn’t hear past the roar of his blood in his ears and the clash of swords below.

A group of five soldiers rose up from the ground, in arrow formation, trained and deadly, ready to take his life … and hers.

It was the thought of losing her that had him tightening his grip on his sword, the leather wrap on its hilt warm and familiar beneath his fingers. The first warrior was dead in a heartbeat, the males blood spraying across Cassian’s face and into his mouth. The second attacked in tandem with a third, his mother fighting as best she could, trying desperately to lash out with those flightless wings, trying to knock them back when he couldn’t reach them in time.

Another died by his hand, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop the male’s dagger from tearing through the delicate membrane of his mother’s wing. She screamed, and something in his chest cracked so violently he forgot how to breathe.

Distracted by stemming the blood streaming from his mothers wing, he didn't sense the attack coming from behind. Her eyes widened in warning, but neither moved fast enough to stop the dagger that went through the shoulder of the arm holding her. He fought to keep his tight grip on her waist … until his attacker twisted the blade, pushing harder.

Turning and turning the blade until bones cracked, until his arm went numb. Until she fell.

She didn’t scream. But he did.

He bellowed her name, tugging hard on whatever strength his body had left to offer. The three remaining soldiers died. Too slowly. She was still falling.

One arm limp at his side, the other reaching out for her as he tucked his wings in tight to gain speed. She was so close to the floor now, useless wings fluttering as her momentum dragged her down … down … down.

Cassian could barely see through the tears, barely breathe past the tight knot in his throat. He couldn’t lose her - not again. He needed her. Grown or not, he needed her. He wouldn’t lose her.

He was still too far away, too far to do anything but watch.

Watch as she smiled at him, as she said a final goodbye he couldn’t hear. Three small words on her lips as she fell.

As she hit the floor.

As her body shattered on impact.

As Cassian stopped breathing altogether.

And then he was gasping for air, a scream still shuddering around the corners of the room, still tangled in the shadows around him. For a second, he couldn’t remember this place, couldn’t remember the shape the walls made as they boxed him in, the colour of the curtains, the sight of his hands without the blood of thousands coating them.

But then he turned, soft cotton sheets twisting around his legs, and there she was, waiting. Not too far, not coming any closer. Watching him with those blue-grey eyes so like his High Lady’s, and yet so unlike her as well. There was no pity, no softness in that gaze for his trembling.

No. Never with her.

This was a female who wouldn’t yield a single inch unless she chose to do so. A female who had seen and suffered some of the worst life had to offer, and survived through it as best she could, all with that fire still burning in those eyes. The fire that had never dimmed. Not once in the years he had known her, had that rage-filled passion ever shown signs of faltering.

His breathing was hard and uneven, stumbling over each inhale, shivering with each exhale, as he stared back at her. And there must have been something in his expression, in the raw panic of his gaze, in the coiled tension of every muscle, because Nesta shifted an inch or two closer. Not invading his space. Not pushing too hard. She opened her arms to him, and Cassian crumbled.

Never with anyone else would he allow himself this vulnerability. But with her? With the female who had wrecked his soul and then slowly, carefully, pieced it back together again? Yes. With her, he was safe.

She didn’t ask him to talk about it. Didn’t nag at him to let her in on every little detail that had sent him screaming awake, as she let him settle against her, strong, willowy arms wrapping him tight into her embrace, her cheek resting on the crown of his head. She didn’t sway as his considerable weight leaned against her, a pillar of steel amidst his rage and his sorrow, unmoving and unbreakable.

Nesta had seen him wake from nightmares before. He had them often, as did she. Memories they both still tried to live through, moments in time they both still needed to fight back against. But tonight was worse. And he didn’t need to tell her that. She knew. As he did when she couldn’t bring herself to speak aloud what her mind had forced her to face.

When the shuddering finally subsided, when his breathing evened out and some of the strength returned to his body, Cassian reluctantly pulled back slightly. Nesta didn’t let him get far.

She pressed her lips to his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, biting his rounded ears, his neck, as she worked her way down and swallowed him whole. Cassian groaned, tumbling back onto the pillows as she slowly, steadily, wiped away the stain of the nightmare, as she tugged away the tight grip fear still had on his throat, banishing the unshed tears from his eyes. Cassian couldn’t resist twisting his fingers through the strands of gold and brown in her hair, gleaming in the moonlight as she pleasured him, as she took him down her throat, her tongue sweeping over his length.

She wasn’t gentle, but he didn’t want her to be. He wouldn’t have been able to stand softness right then - and she knew it.She worked him harder and faster. Cassian trembled as the pleasure built, his eyes never once leaving hers as she took him down her throat again. Nesta’s gaze burned a brand into him, a mark of her left on his mind and soul that he curled around as she watched the pleasure on his face.

A smirk played at the edges of her eyes as he spilled himself in her mouth with a growling moan, and she sat up, watching as he came down from the high, as he stared at her with such awe in his eyes.

He shoved himself up to sit with his legs on either side of her, her bare skin soft and marred by only a few scars. But every time he saw those scars, an anger welled up inside him that he could hardly control, a fierce need to protect - to destroy those who had inflicted such harm upon her. He ran his fingers over them one by one. He knew the story of each as well as he knew the stories of his own.

He knew the slim curving mark at the top of her arm, near her shoulder, was from a lover she had allowed to tie her down, when she was still learning how to survive, when she was still trying to find a way to cope. That male had pushed it too far, and Cassian had taken him apart for it. He knew the small line between her breasts was from a dagger that had hit when it wasn’t supposed to when she had dueled with Feyre in training. She had gone back to give her sister a matching scar the next day. And then there was the one that made him tremble with rage, the one that made him want to rip apart the world. The one that the human man’s nails had left on her waist when he had gone to tear her dress from her body. When he had done what only the lowest of humanity and fae ever did - when he had tried to force himself into her. Cassian had asked again and again for Nesta to give him permission to kill the mortal who had done that to her, but her answer was always the same ‘he’s mine’.

He understood the feeling. Some battles couldn’t be fought for you. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be there when she finally did decide to face the human, if only so he could enjoy watching her tear the man limb from limb.

Cassian kissed each scar, working his way over her body with teasing, feather-light kisses, brushing over the top of each breast until her nails were digging deep enough into his skin that she almost broke skin. Only then did he take a nipple between his teeth, rolling the other between his fingers as he tugged and sucked, her breathless moans like water in the desert. He wanted more.

His other hand slid down between her thighs and she half screamed a moan as he let two fingers circle the bundle of nerves there, almost, but never quite, touching. Playing, teasing, until she tapped his shoulder twice. At that signal, that snapping of a tether, that quiet request for more, for him to go hard, his fingers slid inside her and he pushed her onto her back. She came within a few minutes as he curled his fingers to brush over that inner pleasure centre, her back arching as it overwhelmed her. He stroked her through it all, waiting until she was settled again before leaning down to put his mouth on her.

She stopped him before he could.

“Stop playing and fuck me,” she growled, a gleam in her eyes that she only ever got when she needed him not to be gentle, when she needed the distraction as much as he did. So Cassian grinned, loving that her first words that night had been a plea for him to be inside her.

He didn’t make her wait any longer, sheathing himself inside her to the hilt, giving her only the space of a breath to adjust before he pounded into her with everything he had, balancing his speed and depth. Loving the breathless, screamed moans she gave him when he went hard and deep, and the whimpering, needy sound she made when he slowed slightly.

Her body begged for more, but her eyes demanded more. As much a queen naked beneath him among the sheets as she was in her gowns among those who had learned to fear and respect her. She had been made his equal, the bond between them undeniable.

The growing bridge between his soul and hers strengthening with every thrust he made into her. She hadn’t accepted it yet, the bond they shared, and he certainly wasn’t going to push her into doing so before she was ready. He had told her, the first time they had shared a bed all those years ago, that anything physical that existed between them would likely make it stronger, and he had been right, but she hadn’t stopped him.

He knew she could feel it now, the gleam in her eyes turning to tears as she tugged his face to hers and kissed him hard. Her lithe body tightened around him as she tipped over that edge again, his name on her lips, and he followed, slamming in deep enough to draw another moan from her.

Cassian finally stilled inside her, a thin sheen of sweat making both of them glisten in the moonlight. Quiet tears were still sliding down her cheeks as she lay beneath him, but she tightened her legs around his waist when he tried to pull away, to give her space.

“Nesta…” he murmured.

“Someone I know used to tell me that there are two things everyone should be able to say; ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you’,” she took in a deep, shuddering breath and he cupped her cheek with one hand, holding his weight up with the other.

“Nes…”

“I’m sorry, Cassian, I’m sorry I’ve waited this long to admit what you mean to me. And thank you, of all the fae the Cauldron could have paired me with, I’m glad it was you, thank you for being a friend to me these years.”

“Nes, there is no need to apologise, or to thank me. I’ve done nothing worthy of either. I once promised to protect you and … I broke that promise, I don't deserve your thanks," shame snapped through him at the admission, his eyes sliding away from the steel in hers.

“No, Cassian, there is. You have lived a life where no one ever saw you as worthy. And since we met I have done nothing but remind you of that, nothing but encourage you to believe it,” she said, her voice bitter with a self-loathing that ran deep. He knew, he understood.

"You fought for me, you were ready to die for me. You chose to sacrifice yourself to be by my side, even if that meant being ripped from your family."

“Nesta. I didn’t choose my life. But I chose you. I will always choose you.”

“I love you.”

Cassian stopped breathing.

Years. He had been waiting for years to hear those words from her. And he would have waited for centuries longer had she needed it.

“I love you, too, Nesta.” Relief shivered over her skin and he grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Feyre told me some things, about mates, and that I need to make you soup?”

Cassian smirked. “I’m not really a fan of soup, but…” he paused, scanning her face a moment, before he went on, “I can teach you how to cook an old Illyrian dish my mother used to make me…?”

A small smile curled at the edges of Nesta’s lips, changing her whole face, rearranging her expression into one he had never seen before. Her beauty was incomparable every day, but in that moment … in that moment she outshone the sun.

“Then let’s go cook … mate.” He huffed a laugh, the joy in his heart at hearing her call him that threatening to sweep him away.

“As long as there’s dessert,” he teased, rolling his hips and dragging another moan from deep in her throat.

She laughed, a sound as sweet and pure as any he'd heard, and threw her arms around his neck. Cassian carried her to the kitchen, slowly showing her the recipe from his childhood. And when he ate with her, and she smiled at him, he knew that this? This was what his mother had meant all those years ago when he had been taken from her. This was what she had meant about the paths he was walking down. Cassian twinned his fingers through Nesta’s and pressed his forehead to hers, smiling as the echo of his mother's voice wrapped around his mind.

"When you find her, son, you wait. You may choose her, but she has to choose you, too. But, Cass, when she does choose you … together you will set the world on fire. And I want you to know that no matter where your path leads you, Cassian, to whichever mate and family you find, I hope you also find joy, and wonder, and maybe even a little bit of luck along the way. I hope you allow yourself to be guided by courage and compassion and curiosity. I hope you keep your eyes and your heart open to everything life will offer you, the good and the bad alike, and that you always take the road that most are not brave enough to walk. But mostly, I hope you know that no matter which road you choose, no matter how far it carries you, no matter the mistakes you make or the obstacles you face along the way, I am always watching over you, bursting with pride, and I will always love you."

Tags:

@theoceanisnotsilent @iamthebonecarverr @readingismycopingmechanism @amazinginglyawesomeperson @samayla @wild-fireheart @wolffrising @verifiefangirl @urbisie @feyrethedarklady @literary-licorice @tntwme @saltierthanbottomofapretzelbag @nightcourtstarlight @savemesoon8 @empress-sei @fancyclodpaintercookie @abraxos @abraxos-is-toothless @yourtypicalbookworn @b00kworm @sjm-things

I think next I’m probably going to write Mor or maybe reverse the rolls and do the girls with their bat boi’s!

If you would like a tag for future stuff or you want to be removed from the tag list then please let me know! Also if you have any comments or criticism I’d love to hear what you think!

HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!

#nessian #nessian fluff #nessian angst #nessian fic #healing #nightmares #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #SJM #nightmare angst #dark dreams and starlight #nesta being sweet #cassian being sweet #SMUT SMUT SMUTTY SMUT

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nessiansimp · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas, Feyre Darling

Ok so I’m new to tumblr and I’ve never posted here before so take it easy on me please 😅

Feysand Fic

Fluffy Highschool AU

*Listen, I know it's not Christmas yet, but I got so excited writing this and I couldn't wait until December to post it*

Three knocks sounded against her window.

At first, she assumed it was the wind or a random pigeon. It was nearly midnight on Christmas eve, and everyone she knew was out of town for the holidays. Her father was away on some business meeting and her sister, Nesta, had chosen to spend her vacation with her college friends instead. Everyone was out, except Elain who was staying with her, but she hadn't really been in the festive mood. Something about a boy named Grayson who broke her heart.

But the knocks sounded again, more urgent this time. She threw her textbook on the bed and made for the window. The cool night air greeted her as she thrust it open to find a dark silhouette leaning against a tree, his hands full of pebbles.

The moonlight glinted off his midnight hair and his eyes sparkled. He was wearing his signature leather jacket with his usual sneakers and jeans. He let the pebbles fall to the ground, then brushed the dust off his fingers and slid his hands into his pockets.

Rhys smiled wickedly. "Hello, Feyre darling."

She cocked her head. "Were you throwing rocks at my window?"

"Maybe." He smoothed the lapels of his jacket. "How else was I supposed to get your attention?"

She gave him a wolfish grin. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to show you something."

She raised a brow. "Right now?"

He walked closer to the window and braced his hands on the windowsill. "Of course, now. There's no time like the present."

She crossed her arms, debating whether or not it was a good idea. Nesta wasn't home, so she wouldn't be there to lecture her about running off in the middle of the night with some strange boy. But she had a big project coming up for art club and she really wanted to get ahead on it.

She sighed. "I have a lot of work to do."

He pouted. "What work could you possibly be doing on Christmas Eve?"

"Well, there's this art project that I have to do, and then I have this painting I need to finish, and then-"

He held up his hands. "Alright, alright, I get it." He offered her a small smile but she didn't miss the disappointment his eyes.

Rhys shrugged. "Maybe next time."

Feyre watched him sulk back down the road, dragging his feet and kicking up dust along the way.

She bit her lip. She felt really guilty. All he'd wanted to do was spend some time with her and she'd turned him down, when he was one of the only people who'd stood by her and taken care of her after she'd broken up with her abusive ex Tamlin. And it wasn't like she had anyone else to spend Christmas with, since Elain was asleep upstairs. She picked up her textbook again and stared at the colorful pages.

"Screw this," she muttered. She thrust her book aside and tied her hair back, then slipped on her boots. She tiptoed down the hall to the back door, mindful to keep her steps quiet and not to wake Elain. She went outside and ran after him, past the house she had spent all afternoon decorating, stringing Christmas lights and wrapping presents. Her boots crunched on the leaves on the ground and the cold made her shiver slightly. At least there wasn't any snow. She hated the snow, and anything cold. It rarely snowed in Velaris, but when it did, it was several feet deep and impossible to get through.

She finally reached him, and she bent over with her hands on her knees, wheezing and out of breath.

"Wait," she gasped. He turned around, his brows drawn in confusion.

She paused to catch her breath, then said "I'll come."

He frowned. "Are you sure...?"

"A few minutes couldn't hurt."

He seemed to debate the idea in his head, but after a while he relented. His stance became casual again and he grinned at her. "Follow me."

Rhys turned around and started walking towards the forest, not giving her a moment to reconsider what she'd just agreed to. He walked in long strides, and she almost had to jog to keep up with him.

She huffed, still out of breath. "Where are we going?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief. "It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

His mouth quirked to the side. "You'll like this one."

She grunted, but followed him anyway.

The moon followed them as they made their way to the forest and away from civilization. The only sounds were the crunch of leaves beneath their feet and the howls of the wind.

Soon, they'd left the warm lights of her house far behind and they stood at the edge of the forest in front of a wrought iron gate. But instead of opening it and walking in, Rhys leaped over the gate and landed on the other side with unnerving grace. He undid the latch and swung open the gate for her, then bowed dramatically.

Feyre snorted. "Show off."

He smirked, unbothered, and they continued down the gravel path.

Crickets chirped and birds cawed. Branches cracked beneath their feet as they ventured through the underbrush. They were so far away from the real world that she couldn't hear the familiar sounds of cars and city life anymore. She heard the rustling of wings as a dark shadow flicked past them, and she ducked to avoid the bird swooping for her head. Towering oaks loomed over them, hiding the moon and making the trail darker with each step, until at one point she could barely see two feet in front of her.

Rhys's hand slipped into hers, lacing their fingers together. He brought his mouth to her ear and whispered "Just so I don't lose you."

She swallowed. "Okay."

He grinned and squeezed her hand, leading them deeper into the forest.

It wasn't a difficult hike. She'd endured far worse on her family's occasional hiking trips. But it was steep enough that she found herself holding Rhys' hand tighter to keep herself balanced as she trekked in her worn out sneakers.

This was definitely a bad idea. Leaving her house alone at night without telling anyone where she was was dangerous and reckless and stupid. She was none of those things. But being around Rhys made her want to do dangerous and reckless and stupid things.

She realized suddenly that despite all they'd been through, she barely knew anything about him. Didn't know where he'd come from, who his parents were. It surprised her more that she wanted to know so badly.

"You know," she said, breaking the silence that had settled over them, "I really don't think I should be following a mysterious boy into the woods in the middle of the night."

He pushed a branch away from his face with his free hand. "Why not?" he asked.

"Well, to start with, you could be taking me to whatever this mysterious place is for any number of reasons: to kidnap me, hold me for ransom..."

She went on listing all the different methods of torture she could think of as a laugh escaped him.

"How morbid." He snickered. "If I wanted to subject you to torture, I'd simply drop you off at Cassian's place and make you watch him argue with your sister."

Feyre snorted. "No thanks. Torture sounds nicer."

He smirked. "What is it with you and torture? There are other ways I could make you scream, Feyre darling."

She punched him in the arm. Hard.

He scowled, but the amusement in his eyes betrayed him. "Ow."

She snatched her hand from his grasp and walked ahead of him, refusing to think too long on what he'd said. She was very grateful for the darkness because she was blushing profusely. He jogged after her, laughing like a drunk.

She ignored him and walked faster, but then yelped as she tripped over what she assumed was a tree root. She threw her hands in front of her, ready for the collision, but strong hands grabbed her waist. Rhys spun her around and she slammed into his chest. She nearly stumbled again as her legs gave out under her, but he hauled her closer to him and gripped her harder.

He stroked his thumb over her cheek, sparking a trail of fire every place his finger touched her skin. "You okay?"

Her heart beat faster at his warmth. She didn't know when she had started being affected by his touch so much.

Her breath clouded the air in front of her. "I'm fine," she whispered.

His eyes shone with concern. "Can you walk?"

She pushed away from him, rolling her eyes. She instantly regretted it, feeling suddenly cold without his warmth. "I'm fine."

His brows furrowed, but he nodded. He took her hand in his, and she almost snatched it away again, but the look in his eyes made her want to hold onto him longer.

They walked in silence for a while. Minutes passed by, and her feet were starting to ache.

"How much longer?" she asked.

He squeezed her hand. "Not long."

Finally, she could see the moon overhead again, as the forest became less dense. She sniffed the air. It felt cooler and crisper than the air in the city. They must have gone very high up to have gotten away from all the pollution that clouded the city.

Rhys smiled as he pushed back a few more branches. "We're here."

She gasped.

They stood on a large hillside overlooking a view of the city. Thousands of lights twinkled from buildings and houses below, their roofs decorated with colorful Christmas lights. A faint sound of music came from somewhere in the city, a joyful melody accompanied by laughter and singing. A sea of stars looked down from above, the crescent moon glowing brightly in the night sky.

She'd never realized how beautiful Velaris was before.

She glanced at Rhys. It'd been too dark for her to see much of him when they were in the woods, but she could see him clearly now. The lights below bathed his skin in a warm glow, making his face look almost look golden. The breeze ruffled his dark, tousled hair, and she noticed a swirl of black ink peeking out above his collar, the start of a tattoo. His hard features had softened and his eyes were warm and thoughtful. He was impossibly handsome.

The thought startled her. She'd never thought about him in that way before. Never allowed herself to after what had happened between her and Tamlin. Rhys had been a jerk to her when they'd first met, embarrassing her in front of her friends and constantly trying to annoy her at any given opportunity. But over the last couple of weeks, she'd started seeing a different side of him. A side she doubted he often showed to many people.

But it was stupid of her to think of him like that. She doubted he felt anything for her. It was a wonder he didn't have a girlfriend yet. With those looks, he could get anyone at school if he wanted to. And if he stopped being a horrible jerk to everyone that wasn't Cass, Az, Mor, or Amren.

Rhys glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She realized she'd been staring at him.

"What?" he asked.

She looked away quickly, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. "Nothing."

He grinned. "Enjoying the view?"

"Are you talking about your face or Velaris?"

He laughed, the sound like silk on water. "Whichever you want."

Rhys lay down on the ground and crossed his arms behind his head. She lay down next to him, running her hands through the soft grass.

After a while, she said "I've never seen this place before."

"Most people don't know about it," he mused.

"How is that possible?"

He shrugged, somehow making the casual movement look impossibly elegant. "Most people don't bother to look. Everyone's trapped in their phones these days."

Feyre nodded in agreement, although she felt like a hypocrite for doing so. If anyone was addicted to their phone, it was her.

She shivered and rubbed her hands. It felt like the temperature had suddenly dropped by 50 degrees.

Rhys's eyes flicked over her, then he took his jacket off and held it out to her. "Here."

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

He stood up and came behind her, pushing her hair back to drape the jacket over her shoulders. "You'll catch a cold like this."

She looked him over, him wearing nothing more than a thin T-shirt and jeans, with his cheeks slightly rosy from the cold.

He smiled, noticing her gaze. "I'll be fine."

She pursed her lips, uncertain, but eventually she relented.

"Hold on," he said. "I'll be right back. I'll just go get some wood to start a fire."

She nodded, although the idea of being alone there didn't sound very tempting. As beautiful as the view was, she wasn't about to dismiss the fact that they were practically in the middle of nowhere surrounded by who knows what.

He disappeared into the trees and she sat alone in the quiet for a couple of minutes. She swore she could feel something watching her, but she didn't see anything out of the ordinary as she peered into the dark forest beyond. She was probably just imagining it. It could easily be just another deer or an owl.

After a while, her patience had started to wear thin, and she was just about to get up and go after Rhys when she heard something behind her. At first she thought she'd imagined it, but then it sounded again.

Creak.

She kept her back to whatever it was behind her, not daring to breath too loudly. She stifled the urge to turn around and sprint for the woods and hope she found Rhys somewhere along the way.

Creak.

Again she heard the sound, closer this time. She was starting to panic. Her palms had begun sweating and her heart was hammering in her ribcage.

Suddenly, something grabbed her from behind and she screamed. She turned around, flailing and clawing at the thing.

Rhys burst into laughter, clutching his stomach to keep himself from falling over.

"What the hell?" she yelled at him.

Rhys tried to speak, but he was wheezing and giggling uncontrollably.

She kicked him in the shin, which only caused him to laugh even more. He managed to control himself long enough to wipe a tear from his face. "You should've seen your face."

Her vision turned red and she pushed him onto the ground. He landed flat on his back and she climbed on top of him.

She snarled in his face. "I hate you."

He stopped laughing suddenly. He studied her with fierce intensity, eyes searching hers. His warm breath fanned over her face as he licked his lips. Her eyes followed the movement against her will and she found herself leaning closer and closer. He stared at her eyes, then at her mouth, then back at her eyes again, the hint of a smile curling his lips.

Before she could think it through, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his, barely more than a whisper of a touch. He reacted immediately, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. She breathed in the scent of him, the smell of rain and citrus, and pressed her lips harder against his. He reached behind her to undo her hair tie, running his hands through the loose hair that spilled over her shoulders. Her own fingers toyed with the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

She melted into him, his body warm and hard beneath her. He moaned softly as she bit his lower lip, but she pulled back to see him better.

He smirked. "You still hate me?"

She pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. "I'd be tempted to forgive you for another kiss."

He beamed. "I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Rhys nipped at her fingers playfully, and she grinned. He stood up and arranged the wood he'd gathered in a small camping hearth nearby, then he pulled out a match and lit a fire. The blazing fire and Rhys's soft jacket warmed her thoroughly, chasing away the cold winter weather. He blew on the fire until the flames began rising, then stepped back and sat back down next to her. The smell of smoke wafted over to her as she rolled over to rest her head on his chest and he began playing with her hair.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, staring at the stars and listening to each other's breathing, until Rhys nudged her head with his chin and pointed to a patch of stars. "You see those?" he asked. "The ones where it looks like a man holding an arrow."

She nodded.

"That's the Orion Constellation," he said. "They call it The Hunter."

She tilted her head to see it better. "Oh yeah, I can totally see why."

"It's from Greek Mythology. They say that Orion called himself the greatest hunter in the world, and Hera got mad and sent a scorpion to kill him."

"And I thought you were dramatic."

He snorted.

She pointed to another place in the sky. "What about that one?"

"Ursa Major."

"Looks like a bear."

He kissed her nose. "It is a bear."

She fingered his shirt, trying not to think about what he looked like underneath the soft fabric. "What's the story behind it?"

He buried his face in her shoulder and started kissing her neck, but she poked him in the side. "Tell me."

"Mmm," his teeth scraped the skin on her shoulder. "Maybe later," he whispered, sucking on a spot on her throat lightly.

She shoved his face away. "Tell me the story."

He licked his lips and grinned at her. "You taste delicious, Feyre darling."

She scowled, but he laughed and said "Fine, I'll tell you."

He tucked her into his side again and rested his chin on top of hers, then started. "There was this nymph called Callisto. She swore a vow of chastity to Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, but one day she met Zeus and they fell in love."

He sighed, as if he'd told the story a million times before, and she found herself wondering how many other girls he'd taken to a spot like this. The thought filled her with such jealousy that she pushed it away immediately and turned her attention back to the story.

He continued. "Together, they had a son, and Artemis banished Callisto because of her betrayal. Once Zeus's wife Hera found out about her husband and the nymph, she was filled with such envy that she turned Callisto into a bear."

She covered her mouth to suppress a yawn as Rhys glanced at her.

He smiled sadly. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

She shook her head. "No, not at all. I'm just tired." She squeezed his hand encouragingly. "Go on."

"You're sure you wouldn't rather do something else? I don't want to bore you." He kissed her head and smirked. "How about that forgiveness we talked about earlier?"

She clamped her lips together to keep from smiling. "After you finish the story."

He grunted and went on with the story. "For the next few years of her life, Callisto wandered the woods in the form of a bear. Her son, Arcas, grew up to be a hunter, and one day he spotted her in the woods. So he drew his spear and aimed at her. Zeus watched the whole thing from Olympus, and when he saw what was about to happen, he sent them both to the heavens and they became constellations in the sky. Callisto became Ursa Major and Arcas became Ursa Minor."

"When Hera found out, she was even more enraged, and persuaded Oceanus and Tethys to never allow the bear to bathe in the northern waters. Which is why Ursa Major never goes below the northern horizon in mid-northern latitudes."

He yawned. "The end."

She snuggled closer to him. "Sounds like everything's always Hera's fault."

He kissed her cheek. "Mhm."

She glanced up at him. "How do you know all this?"

"I have a thing for astronomy," he admitted, and kissed the corner of her mouth.

He rubbed his eyes and blew out a breath. "It's getting late, and you're probably tired. We should go back."

"It's fine. We can stay a little longer if you want. Unless you have to go back." She frowned. "Do your parents know you're here?"

He hesitated. "I'm sure they'd be fine with it."

"Really?"

He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. "They're not here right now."

She drew his jacket closer around herself as a chill went through her. "When are they coming back?"

He swallowed. "No, I mean they're dead."

Her mouth fell open. Oh.

He scratched his head. "My sister too, actually."

He said it so casually, with such nonchalance, that she thought she'd misheard him for a second.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know."

His voice had become slightly colder as he said "I didn't expect you to."

"How did it happen?"

He moved to stoke the flames, completely unaffected by what she'd asked him. "Car crash. It happened a few years ago, but I've moved on."

She reached up and kissed him several times, as if she could convey how sorry she was in the gesture. She wanted to take all his pain and worries away, but she didn't think there was much she could do to help him. From her experience, those kinds of wounds never fully healed.

He started playing with her hair again as she said "My mom died of cancer when I was eight."

His eyes softened. "You never told me."

She shrugged. "It was a long time ago and I don't really remember her. From the memories I do have of her, she wasn't particularly nice. Never the kind, gentle mother I wanted. She was cold... and distant."

He smiled sadly in understanding and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

She pushed up from where they were lying down suddenly and pointed to the sky. "Look, a shooting star!"

Rhys sat up and grinned. "Make a wish."

She propped herself up on her elbows. "You first."

"Okay. I wish-"

She interrupted him. "You're not supposed to say it out loud, smart ass."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, too bad."

He took her hands in his and pulled her closer.

"I wish I could gather all the stars in the sky for you, Feyre," he breathed. "I wish I could take all the galaxies and constellations and comets and wrap them in a present and offer it to you."

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. He pulled back quickly, his eyes sparkling like twilight as they searched hers. "I wish I could collect a million falling stars and place them in your palm so all your wishes could come true."

She felt her face go bright red as she blushed.

He grinned, pleased with her reaction. "Your turn."

She closed her eyes and concentrated. I wish... I wish... I wish that...

She opened her eyes again a few moments later and he asked "What did you wish for?"

"If I tell you, it won't come true," she chided.

He tried prying it out of her, but after a while, he gave up on and they lay back down, fingers laced together, her head on his chest. Her eyes slid shut as she listened to the crackling of the fire and the rhythm of his chest rising and falling.

Rhys kissed the top of her head. "You're falling asleep. Let's go back."

"Just a few more minutes," she murmured.

He sighed. "I've already taken too much of your time anyway. You had a million things to do and I pulled you away from all of it."

She smiled to herself. "It was totally worth it."

He kissed her forehead, pulled the jacket tighter around her, then stood up and dragged her off the ground so she could stand up. She leaned against him lazily, her thoughts too cloudy to think properly. He put out the fire and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, nestling her into his side. She said goodbye to the stars and moon one last time, before they began the journey back through the forest.

After a long, arduous descent back down the mountain, where Rhys had offered multiple times to carry her and she had declined, they finally reached the iron gate. Her house came back into view after a while, and soon they were standing in her backyard again.

Feyre rubbed her eyes and yawned. "Thank you for tonight."

She shrugged his jacket off and tried to give it back to him, but he only kissed her hand, then told her to keep it.

"But you'll catch a cold on your way back," she said.

Rhys smiled. "It's only a few minutes away."

She hugged him goodbye and thanked him again, and was about to go back inside, when one of the Christmas decorations overhead fell on her head. She pulled back from him as the small object fell into her palm.

She grinned. "Well at least one part of your wish came true. I got a falling star in the palm of my hand."

He laughed, the sound so earnest and genuine, that she realized she could have wished for no better way to spend her Christmas.

"Merry Christmas, Feyre darling," he said.

"Merry Christmas, Rhys."

#acotar #fanfiction #feysand #idk what i'm doing #sarah j mass #what are you supposed to put for tags

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years ago

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Any Feysand modern AU recs? (I read the bargain by mmvalentine from your recommendation and LOVED IT!)

Aww this makes me so happy!! I'm glad my reccomendations helped you find a fic you liked!!

If you haven't already, i would recommend checking out the rest of @mmvalentine's writing (link to her arhcive), she is the queen of smutty modern AUs and her characterizations of Rhys and Feyre MELT me. Lockdown Lovers is another personal favorite of mine.

In a similar vein, @elentiyawhitethorn writes a lot of modern fic that is always SO fun and colorful. I re-read her fics when I need a pick me up - see: Bite Me, Prick. (Link here)

@writtenonreceipts is another author I would emphatically reccomend. The Things We Cannot Say as been on my tbr for longer than i want to admit, and the parts I've seen of it are gorgeously written.

Linkr is another incredible author with loads of modern AUs (8:55 am being my favorite)

Starfall Designs by jmajerus - Feyre Archeron is talented at make up and dreams to make it a career. She arrives at an interview that, if all goes well, should launch her career. Except the man running the interviews is a huge prick.

Beneath the Stars by @illyriantremors - When Feyre meets a rather mysterious new friend at the party with witty remarks and what seems like genuine sympathy, senior year suddenly promises to bring a whole new set of challenges and emotions that she wasn’t prepared for.

@arrowmusings has gone on hiatus to focus on school, but she also has a load of beautifully written one-shots set in a modern AU, as well as this WIP that owns me body, heart, and soul: Buckle and Bend

@quakeriders also has a WEALTH of smutty modern Feysand (archive here)

#I have a feeling I'm missing some fics but my brain is mush #I'm also trying not to constantly repeat myself with the same recs #I hope this list helps!!#Modern AUs sucked me into this fandom tbh #I'm always wanting to write more of them #fic recs #feysand fic #feysand

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illyriantremors · 8 years ago

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Beneath the Stars Bonus Chapter I: A Whisper of Darkness [Moriel]

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI Epilogue

AO3 Linkage

Summary: After spending all weekend vacillating over the school dance, Morrigan decides she can't take Az's silence any longer. With a helping push from Feyre, she goes to confront the boy she's been crushing on for two years. An extension of Chapter 14.

A Whisper of Dust

“Rhys!” I hissed into the tent, making no attempt to keep my voice down. “Rhysand!”

My cousin groaned. “What the hell, Morrigan?”

“What’s wrong?” Az sat up at the sound of my voice and my heart sped up just looking at him. His hair was tousled from lying on his pillow and he sounded groggy, but he was wide awake now. I nearly forgot what I had come for.

Azriel. Right.

“Get out. I need to talk to Az.”

“You can talk to him in the morning. Normal people are sleeping right now.”

“Normal people want you to get out of this tent!” He grunted, already falling back asleep in his sleeping bag. I sighed and resisted the urge to grab him and throw him out myself. I could take him. “Please, Rhys,” I whined, hating that it had to come down to this - begging. “It’s important. And you know... Feyre’ll be awful sorry you aren’t sharing a tent with her like I promised.”

“What?”

Sucker.

“You owe me,” he said, snatching his pillow and shoving past me. I made to grab the pillow - I had zero intentions of giving him back this tent tonight - but he kept it out of my hands. “Share with Az, shit.”

Rhys climbed out of the tent and I crawled inside taking his place, zipping the tent up behind me. When I turned around, Azriel was propped up with either hand on the ground behind him staring at me and...

We were alone.

My throat went dry as I tried to swallow my anxiety.

“Here,” Az said, dragging his pillow out to cover a portion of where Rhys’s had lain. “You can take mine.”

“No!” I practically screeched, jumping out of my crouch and landing on all fours nearer him where I could smell his scent, like the leather of his jackets and a deep summer rain.

Az stared at me thoughtfully and I realized he was waiting for me to say something. Mother above, I must have sounded like a spastic idiot. “We can share… maybe?”

My voice was much softer the second time around, squeaky even. The corner of Az’s mouth gave a twitch and then he was sliding the pillow perfectly into place with a little pat where I could lay my head next to his.

Az laid down, his hands resting comfortably on his stomach, avoiding my gaze all the while as I took my spot next to him. My shoulder brushed into his roughly as I fell back against the pillow and I could feel how hard the muscles in his arm were, dragging me back to how he had looked fighting Cassian out on the first day… in all that mud… shirtless.

Again I found myself trying to swallow on a dry throat to get rid of my nerves to no avail.

Even the fact that I was nervous in the first place drove me batty. This was Azriel! My friend. My tutor. My… something.

He didn’t know how mindlessly in love with him I was. He didn’t even need to know that much really. I just wanted to go to the dance with him. The love part could come later, assuming he even wanted to go to the dance in the first place. Because he might not want to go - with me at least. There could be someone else and then I’ll have turned up in this tent sharing half a pillow with the person I’d taken pointless tutoring lessons from for two years just to be around him more… for nothing.

Shit, what would I tell him if he said no? What would I do if he turned me down? I’d already kicked Rhys out and there was no way my cousin wasn’t in Feyre’s tent right now doing heaven only knew what. I couldn’t kick him out again, but if Azriel said he didn’t want me here...

Oh hell. What the fuck did I just do.

I needed to -

“Morrigan?”

His voice was so deep, rich and soft like velvet. The intensity of it pulled my head to the side where I found Azriel staring at me, a question lingering in his dark hazel eyes that rooted me to the spot. Oh, I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Azriel?” I said finding my voice in the dark. Looking at him, it was hard not to feel steady.

“Was there something you…”

His voice - that smooth midnight voice - trailed off allowing me the freedom to choose what came next. I listened to his breathing, low and even, and let it ground me into the earth before I spoke.

“Azriel I like you and I want you to take me to the dance next month please.”

DAMN IT MORRIGAN.

The words flew out of my mouth in a heated rush that was nearly incomprehensible. So much for being graceful. At least I had only said like instead of love. I hadn’t jacked it up completely.

Azriel’s brow was furrowed. “I’m sorry, Morrigan,” he said with an edge of playfulness, “but can you say that again - slower?”

I let loose a shaky breath and willed the words to come out evenly. “I said - I like you and I want you to take me to the dance next month, please.” Azriel stared at me as though waiting for more and in my lunacy, I babbled on. “Only if you want to, of course. Because you totally don’t have to, though I really want you to and - oh my gosh, please just say something.”

“No,” he said and for a moment, I felt my body turn into lead weighing me down as that single word rang through me. But then Az continued. “That’s not what I meant when I asked you to repeat yourself.”

“But I…” I licked over my lips once trying to get over the tightly locked cage of butterflies dancing around my stomach. “You asked me to repeat the question, so… so I did?”

Az shook his head. “No, not the question. My name.” And that’s when I felt his hand against mine in the space between us. I hadn’t even realized he’d moved it. Just a soft brush of his scarred and mottled skin against my own as the back of our hands touched, his fingers threading through mine searching for me in the dark. And still, I couldn’t move, but for entirely other reasons now that had less to do with Azriel’s rejection and more to do with that cage of butterflies inside of me bursting wide open. And then he spoke again with so much quiet need, I felt pinned to his every word.

“Will you say my name again?” his voice barely more than just a whisper. “Please, Morrigan.”

I don’t know if it was the fact that his name off my lips gave him so much release that he would crave it so ardently, or if it was the way he said my own name that sent me spiraling, but after that I would have denied him nothing.

“Azriel.”

His hand fully encompassed my own and gave a little squeeze. A silent thank you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I tossed my free hand up in the air and let it fall dramatically against me with a dull thump as I turned back to gaze at the ceiling of our tent. “I don’t know. I guess I was just nervous that you wouldn’t feel the same way. For two years I have been shoving these perfect test scores under your nose-”

“Almost perfect,” Az interrupted. “You miss two to five points on every test.”

“That’s because I do it intentionally! If I get too perfect, you’ll ditch me for some brunette who actually can’t do math.”

“Nah, I would never.” My head swiveled back to look at him lightning fast. “Blondes are really more my type, so I don’t think she’d be a brunette.”

“Oh!”

“I’m kidding - Morrigan, I’m kidding. You are…” and his voice quieted again, “the only girl I have wanted to tutor or otherwise for quite some time. I would never stop unless you didn’t want me to.”

“Really?”

And somehow, just the simple act of watching him nod his head and say, “Really really,” with the ghost of a smile creeping up on his face had joy radiating up and down my body. Hyper aware of where our hands and arms met, I asked him again, “So… about that dance.”

A low rumble in Azriel’s chest was my sole reply, begging me to go on. And still ever the babbling moron, I went straight back into overdrive.

“Only if you want to! If it’s just a tutoring thing or a friend thing, that’s totally fine. One hundred percent, a-okay with me. Really.”

“Mor-”

“Because I know you could have asked me already if you had wanted to go with me, so me asking you now could totally be a worthless cause. I mean, you could have asked me at school when Eris asked me or anytime really. But you didn’t ask me, so that means you probably don’t want to go with me.”

“Mor, I-”

“Or oh, maybe you already have someone you’re going with?? And that’s fine! I can go back to my own tent now if you’d rather not go with me or-”

“Morrigan.” His free hand cupped my face, his body turning on his side a little to better face me, but he didn’t dare let go of that hand snuggled between us held so firmly in his own. “I like you too. Immeasurably. Will you go to the dance with me?”

And I swear to the gods above, I squeaked. High pitched and ridiculously exuberant right down to the cheerleader core of me - I squeaked.

And then I kissed him.

Without thought. Without question. I kissed him, my hand sliding over the rough patches of his chin and jaw where he’d neglected to shave from being gone on our trip. The hair tickled against my skin as my fingers slid further up to run through his soft, delicate hair. I’d wanted to touch it for so long. Thought about it every time I sat next to him going over Calculus homework but was always too afraid to do it for fear he might jump back the way he sometimes did with his hands. Damn it all, it was worth the wait.

And Azriel - he did not recoil one bit. A second in which I felt his body freeze next to me when our lips met was all the hesitancy he showed before I felt his lips melt into mine. He felt soft and sweet, and he took his time exploring the feel of me before I felt his tongue press gently against my lips begging for further access which I granted right away.

Ugh, his tongue!

I could have lived off the taste and feel of it for an eternity. The further he pulled me in, discovered every inch of me, the quicker we dove into the kiss we’d both been waiting years for. And when I moaned into his mouth, it unleashed him completely and we found ourselves reaching across the sleeping bags and blankets, pulling ourselves into one another until we were so tightly tucked together, we were never letting go again.

I settled my head into the crook of his neck as his arms wrapped completely around me when the kiss finally broke off, enjoying the feeling of nestling against his chest. He was so, so warm. I’d never felt anything like it, not with anyone I’d ever been with.

And it made me wonder if this was one of the ways a person knew what love felt like - when it felt like being home. Warm and right and… like Azriel.

“Is that why you wouldn’t talk to me all weekend?” Az asked. “Because I hadn’t asked you out to the dance?”

I sighed, burying my face into his chest in the hope he might not hear me. “Yes and no. I think it was more the fact that I was scared what it might mean that you hadn’t asked me. I wasn’t sure how you felt and it had been two whole years of us dancing around each other, so when the opportunity came so obviously and you didn’t ask, I thought maybe it meant I was wrong and you didn’t feel the same way. Now I just wish I had said something sooner. If I had known-”

“Hey,” he said, picking up my chin and bringing my face up to meet his. “Don’t do that to yourself. I think we ended up perfectly in the end, exactly the way we were supposed to.”

“Az,” I sighed, a soft smile taking over me.

“And besides. You really ought to have missed more like five to ten points per quiz if you’d really wanted my attention, but obviously your grades were more important than-”

I gasped in outrage even as I could see the grin spreading on Azriel’s face. “I can’t believe you would-”

My words died off as Azriel’s lips came crashing down on me all over again spreading that irresistible warmth and comfort of his tingling all over my body. I spared half a moment to hope that Rhys and Feyre were comfortable next door. So long as I was with Azriel, I had zero intention of leaving this tent for the rest of the night.

And neither did he.

#myfic #beneath the stars #beneath the stars: a feysand fic #bts #morrigan #azriel #moriel #moriel fanfiction #feysand #feyre #rhysand #acomaf #acomaf fanfiction

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