Feyre Archeron supporter High Queen Feyre agenda>>> Feyre would be the best mother Suffer from "I can fix it" syndrome Bisexual 19 ~a simple place for my acotar opinions and random things~
Feyre and Rhys switch bodies after daemati power fuckup.
Feyre, in Rhys' body: *sigh* Well, I did always want to be a hot guy... *flexing shirtless in a mirror and laughing*
Rhys, in Feyre's body: *blinking as he looks at himself in the mirror* *softly* Rhys- *blushing, jumping up and down* OH CAULDRON I SAID MY NAME IN HER VOICE *puddle on the floor*
“Because what if you did let someone in? And what if they saw everything, and still walked away? Who could blame them—who would want to bother with that sort of mess?” He flinched. The most powerful High Lord in history flinched.”
Relationship: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Characters: Feyre Archeron, Fem!Rhysand, background Morrigan
Rating: Mature
No. Chapters: One shot
Word count: 4.8k
Summery: After Feyre confesses to Mor that perhaps her feelings toward her very hot and very woman cousin aren't just those of friends, she decides a little push wouldn't hurt.
After all, what could possibly go wrong?
Note: Happy Pride month🌈
The knock on the door startled her so that she almost dropped her color palette. She looked around and–
“Shit,” she said under her breath when she looked at the sky from the floor to ceiling window. It was almost night time.
It wasn’t like the first time she forgot to take a break, drink water, and eat something before she passed out. She was lucky this time that she came back to earth before all that happened. She snorted to herself and then paused.
What startled her again?
The knock on the door finally registered.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, dropped her tools on the table next to her, and went to open the door. Before opening, she stopped to think who it could possibly be knocking? She has paid her rent, Ressina left a few hours ago, that much she remembered, and Mor is on a photoshoot in Adriata. Was it her sisters? It couldn’t be. Another knock brought her back to the present.
“Feyre? It’s me, Rhys,” the melodious, velvety voice like a lover calling to her, reached her from behind the door. Her voice sent a shiver down Feyre’s spine, and goosebumps spread all over her body.
Oh no. Feyre sprinted to her tiny bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Shit, she didn’t have enough time to fix herself before opening the door. She pulled the rubber band from the top of her head, which held her messy bun, and started combing her fingers through her hair. She couldn’t do much about the paint on her arms and face. Thankfully, her makeup from morning still held up a little and didn’t look half as bad.
She cringed. How could she stand before her, the very Aphrodite on earth, while looking like this?
“I’m coming,” she shouted while trying to get rid of her apron. She almost fell when she tripped over the new box of paint that was delivered this morning, and then looked around. She wanted to cry. This place was a mess. Then again, everyone knew that, but it was Rhys’ first time being here, and first impressions matter.
She jogged the rest of the way and opened the door, her college making a soft sound on the marble floor. She was oddly breathless, and when she finally set her eyes on the person standing in front of her threshold, her breath caught in her throat.
Her beauty never stopped making Feyre’s heart skip a beat. Black hair that reflected midnight blue in the right light, styled in big volume with shiny waves like old Hollywood movies, cradling her oval, angular face. Light brown skin, sharp cheekbones, and plump, kissable lips that were always formed in a smirk.
But none of them fascinated Feyre as much as her eyes. They were the deepest shade of blue that almost appeared violet, just like the color of galaxies, as if she held a starry night in her fox-shaped eyes.
Rhys tilted her head, a soft smile on her lips, and Feyre realized she had been staring at her like a fool for far too long. She eternally cursed herself and shook her head a little.
“Rhys,” Why did she sound so breathless? Get a grip! Her mind screamed at her. “What a surprise. I didn’t expect you here,”
She didn’t even know she was aware where her art studio was. Rhys recently came back to Velais after finishing her education in Illyria. A couple of months ago, Mor invited her to one of their girls' nights at Rita with Amren, Ressina, and Alis and introduced her as her distant cousin.
Feyre had been enchanted ever since.
She perfectly fit in their group of friends. Funny, witty, and with a strong, independent character, she charmed everyone and was accepted easily.
But she knew her feelings toward her weren’t as innocent as those of only friends. And that scared her.
“Mor texted me,” she held up her phone, the text app already on screen. “She told me there was a big chance you forgot to eat because she’s been texting you since noon.”
Fucking Mor. Feyre knew she wasn’t exactly worried for her, well maybe a little, but she could’ve called Alis or even Amren to check on her, not Rhys, whom she had a big crush on. She regretted telling Mor about it a week ago. She practically came out to her without realising it.
She checked her phone, and yep, over twenty notifications only from Mor. She could already guess the content of her texts.
“And she’s right,” she huffed a laugh, a little embarrassed. “Where are my manners? Please come in.”
She opened the door wider and let her pass the threshold while Rhys smiled at her and mumbled a thanks. Were her cheeks a little red? Was it hot outside? Maybe she imagined it.
Her scent reached Feyre—citrus and the sea. It took everything in her not to bury her nose in her neck. Passing her, she dared look at Rhys’s form. She was an athlete, that much was clear. She had a powerful, lean body with curves in the right places. She was taller than Feyre and practically towered over her in heels.
She felt her whole body warm. Yes, it was hot in her studio. Closing the door, she went straight to the window and opened it. When she turned from the window after taking a breath to calm herself, she found Rhys putting takeout containers on the counter of her small kitchen at the far end of her studio.
“I didn’t know what you’d like, and Mor didn’t answer when I asked,” Rhys looked over her shoulder at her. “I assume she is a little busy with her shoot,”
Well, she doesn’t seem so busy when she has time to be a busybody all the way from Adriata, she thought to herself.
“So I bought a little bit of everything for you,” Rhys continued, and Feyre finally looked at the counter, and her eyes widened. It was full of plastic and paper boxes of Velaris' popular dishes. She came a little closer and inspected them closely.
“You better stay and eat these with me; otherwise, I won’t be able to finish,” Feyre said. Then, she turned just in time to see her tip her head back and laugh heartily. It was a beautiful, contagious sound that Feyre had no choice but to join.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Rhys chuckled and handed her a plastic fork and spoon.
It was easy to talk to her. Rhys was a good listener and seemed genuinely interested in what she said. Feyre specifically noticed this since in her previous relationships, she never had their rapt attention. It was refreshing for her and made talking about her interests less awkward, like it used to be when talking to her ex-boyfriend.
She showed her some of her paintings and the one she was working on before her arrival. But she tried to pry her attention away from that corner of the room.
It made something in Feyre’s chest sparkle when she complimented her work enthusiastically. It wasn’t the first time people told her she was good at what she was doing, but somehow, coming from Rhys was different. She preened every time she noticed little details and meaning behind each piece.
They talked about nothing and everything. Rhys asked about her studio, and Feyre told her about turning it into a therapeutic art class for children and adults after finishing her master's in art therapy.
Feyre asked about her job. She vaguely knew about it, but she wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything about her.
She had a younger brother who lived in Illyria with their parents until he finished his education. She turned back to Velaris a little bit sooner than the rest of her family to take the CEO position in her family jewelry business, which has been running in her family for generations. And that was exactly why she studied business.
“I’m the first woman to take the position of CEO. And for obvious reasons, my uncle, Mor’s father, disagreed,” Rhys said while stabbing her fork into her chicken salad, sitting on a stool near the window. Moonlight cascaded on her, and she looked like a goddess of the moon.
She had traded her Louboutins for comfortable slippers that Feyre kept around. She looked ridiculous in them with her silk black bottom down and midi indigo skirt, but somehow, she pulled it off. She was sure Rhys could make a sack of potatoes look good.
“I was lucky to have my father’s support. Either way, I would’ve kept the position and would’ve fought anyone who tried to take what is rightfully mine from me, but it was nice to have my family's support,”
“From what Mor told me about that vile man, his disagreement tracks,” Feyre replied a little furiously. She was there when the fallout between Mor and her family happened after she told them about her sexuality.
Kind and passionate Mor, who was sunshine impersonate, went through the toughest stage of depression. It killed Feyre seeing her like that. She was like a sister to her, so she had made it her mission to help her pull through that stage of her life.
“Thank you for being there for her,” Rhys almost mumbled, a little ashamed. “She didn’t tell us about what he’d done, and I was too busy with my college that we had lost contact at a time,”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty for that,” Feyre said to her firmly. “She didn’t want anyone to know, and if she could, she would’ve also kept me in the dark, but we were living together and I couldn’t in good conscience leave her fend for herself,”
Rhys looked at her in something akin to admiration. Feyre averted her gaze, feeling her cheeks warm. She should rein in her feelings, or her heart would start planning their wedding already.
Wedding? Her mind screeched to a halt.
“Either way, I’m grateful she had you,” Rhys continued gently, unaware of the war between Feyre’s heart and mind.
After they finished, Rhys helped her clean up even though she told her several times that she got it handled. It felt awfully domestic, and Feyre’s heart was winning the war because of it. She could feel her stare from time to time, and she wished she’d stop; otherwise, she would start turning red from head to toe.
Her stare burned, and even tho she tried to cross it as her delusions, she couldn’t help but think of the possibility of them. Was she even interested in women? Of course she was, and Feyre knew it. Her real question was: Was Rhys attracted to her?
She’d seen how men and women gave her their numbers or bought her drinks. She understood them and would’ve asked her out herself if she wasn't a coward. She was alluringly beautiful, wealthy, and successful. Of course, people would willingly throw themselves at her.
She had long stopped lying to herself and accepted that the emotion brewing inside her whenever she saw someone looking at her suggestively was jealousy. But she also knew she was way out of Rhys’s league.
Feyre, who could barely pay her rent and university loans on time, had paint splattered all over her old sweater and overall jeans, had messy hair and a plain face, could never reach her status.
While she was busy with her self-destructive thoughts and cleaning up the studio a little bit, Rhys's observation of her canvases and her heading toward the corner Feyre tried to keep her away from went completely unnoticed.
There was a cover over the canvas; she finished it a few days ago and didn’t dare to show it to anyone. It was for her eyes and her eyes only. Rhys was already pulling the cover when she straightened from pushing the paint box to a corner and turned to look at her.
“Wait–” Feyer almost shouted and ran toward her, but it was too late. Her heart pounded in her chest when she came to a halt a few feet from her, unable to speak.
Rhys was utterly still. Feyre wasn’t even sure if she was breathing, which worried her.
“I–” she had nothing to say. Completely horrified and speechless. What do you even say in these situations?
The painting under the cover was a sensual scene she witnessed during a night at Rita’s. Rhys was dancing in her little black dress, her long, beautiful legs on display, moving her hips against a red-haired woman. They were pressed against each other, their face so close together, absolutely wasted from how much they had drunk, but her moves were controlled. Her chest was pressed against the other woman’s, one of Rhys’ hands was placed against her lower back while the other was at her hip, making an absolutely lewd image.
Feyre had been so hot and bothered, and with the jealousy burning her skin, she had left. But of course, Mor had noticed, and the next morning they had a heart to heart conversation.
The canvas was exactly the painting of the night. But there was no red-haired woman at Rhys’ arm. Instead, the woman in the painting had wavy, golden brown hair and wore a thin-strapped crimson top with black jeans.
Exactly the outfit she wore that night.
She refrained from completing the details on her own face so she could be anyone, really. But Rhys would know.
She couldn’t complete it for some reason and had a hard time imagining herself with her. She looked out of place in her arms.
She didn’t know what she should say. Sorry? My hand slipped? I will burn it, and you’ll never see it again?
Rhys's lack of reaction made her feel cold. She felt embarrassed and ashamed. She hated it, Feyre could tell. What would she have thought if a random man had painted her with himself sensually? She felt tears of humiliation and rejection gathering in her eyes, which was ridiculous. Without thinking, she passed Rhys and dropped the cover back.
“I’m sorry, I–” She didn’t get to finish her sentence, which was just fine when she didn't even know where it would go.
She felt hands on her hips and was spun so fast before she could figure out what was happening. Her back got pressed against the nearest wall, and her breath was knocked out of her lungs, and a tear fell from the corner of her right eye.
She felt a hand under her chin, tilting her head up, and she met with violet blue. Her breath caught in her throat. Rhys’s face was so close she could see every single one of her eyelashes, long and thick. Her lush lips were an inch from hers. They were both breathing heavily, their breast pressed against each other just like the painting.
Rhys circled her arm around her waist, pressing her even closer to her. Feyre could feel every soft and smooth part of her body beneath her clothes. She dared to put one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder, gripping them tightly to anchor herself on something before she felt herself levitating.
Rhys’s face got closer and closer and then–
Feyre whimpered pathetically in surprise before she could stop it and closed her eyes when she felt her tongue against her cheek, licking the tear away. Rhys pressed a kiss under her eye, and she pulled away, lowering her face to the left side of her neck and taking a deep breath. “Your smell. Lilac and pear,” she sounded breathless. That made the two of them. “It’s maddening,”
She dared to open her eyes again. Rhys’s pupils were dilated so that her eyes were almost black. The desire and hunger in them matched hers, and Feyre didn’t stop the shiver running through her body.
“Rhys,” she breathed, unable to say anything else. She was surrounded by her scent, aura, and warmth, and she found herself addicted to it. Rhys tilted her head as if to kiss her, and Feyre felt the anticipation making her heart thud faster and faster in her chest.
Instead of kissing her, Rhys slid her thigh between the junction of hers which made Feyre bit her lips and swallowed a moan when the seam of her jeans pressed precisely against her clit.
“Don’t,” Rhys whispered, using her thumb to release her irritated lower lip from her teeth. The moan stuck in her throat was out before she realised.
The hand on her hip began to move her against her thigh pressed between her legs, and Feyre moaned prettily for her. Rhys let out a satisfied hum and moved her own hips against hers. She could already feel her panties getting damp from her arousal.
“Tell me to stop, darling,” she mumbled into her mouth.
“Do not stop,” the end of her word was swallowed by Rhys when she pressed her lips to hers. Feyre knew it was coming, she had anticipated her lips on her, but it didn’t stop the zap of pleasure running through her body that made her arch into her. Using her tongue, Rhys pried Feyre’s lips open, thrusting her tongue into her mouth, and she moaned. It was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard, and Feyre wanted to hear it again.
Rhys moved the hand from under her chin to her hip and began moving her against each other in earnest. Feyre slid her hand from her waist, brushed against her breasts, before she placed it on her jaw so she could tilt her head and kiss her better. As if she couldn’t help herself, she moved her fingers and ran them through her soft hair.
Rhys’s long nails left stings on her clothed skin, but she didn’t mind. She hoped it left her marks on her body.
Finally finding the right rhythm, she began to move her hip on her own. The pressure on her cunt intensifying, making her moan and whimper louder into the kiss.
“That’s it, darling,” she breathed after pulling away from her mouth for air, a string of saliva still connecting their lips. “Let's see if we can turn those pretty sounds into a scream,”
She flushed from her words, dug her nails into her scalp, and brought her lips to her again. She wasn’t a screamer during sex, or even a moaner. Her three-month relationship with Isaac was decent; he could get her to completion just fine. And the couple of years with Tamlin were good, perhaps the only thing they were good at. But none of them made her scream.
She could feel that was about to change with Rhys.
Rhys’ hand slided down and groped her ass, kneading the flesh all the while rubbing herself against Feyre’s thigh. Her other hand moved up to her hair, gripped the roots firmly but gently, and pulled her away from her lips.
The moon loved Rhys so much with the way it shone on her. She made her look almost ethereal. Feyre couldn’t stop staring at her if she tried. Her hands itched to paint it on a canvas so she could never forget.
“Gods, you’re so beautiful,” Rhys whispered. Feyre preened at the words, a shy little smile graced her stinging lips from all the kisses. It felt like a joke coming from her, but she could see the sincerity in her face.
She called her beautiful, but she was a sight to behold. Put together Rhys, with her elegant clothes and jewelry, was gorgeous, but wild and free Rhys and the look of desire on her face might just be her undoing. Cheeks flushed, hair wild, and breathing through her swollen lips. Her blood colored lipstick smeared around her mouth from the kiss.
She was unable to speak, her mind fuzzy from desire; otherwise, she would’ve told her how she was the most beautiful person she had ever seen.
“I imagined you,” she whispered, as if telling her a secret. She made sure Feyre was looking at her while she confessed. “I imagined she was you while I danced with her,”
Shock went through her body, leaving her dizzy with this revelation.
Feeling overwhelmed from the look of adoration and honesty in Rhys’ eyes and the pleasure heightening between her legs, she wrapped her arms around her neck while hiding her face into her throat, and fastened the movement of her hips. She was sure the slickness of her cunt had already leaked through the thick fabric of her jeans on Rhys’ skirt. And when Feyre looked down to confirm, she saw her lover’s arousal smearing on her jeans as well.
The sight of it sent a new surge of pleasure wracking her body, she moaned so loud it almost sounded like a scream. It only gave Rhys the confirmation she needed that Feyre was close. So she doubled her speed, and the hand in her hair pulled Feyre’s face away from her neck.
“Look at me,” she said hoarsely. “I want to see you when you come,”
She tried to keep her eyes open, but it became harder and harder with pleasure coursing through her.
“Come with me,” Feyre said so close to her face, one arm still wrapped around her neck and shoulder, and her other hand coming to hold the side of her jaw.
“Always,” then with a rough thrust of her hip into hers, Feyre began free falling over the edge and in the back of her mind heard herself scream. She could feel the gush of cum exploding out of her, sliding down her legs while she tried to press them together but Rhys’ thigh between hers prevented her.
She felt herself shaking violently, not sure whether to push Rhys off her or press closer to her. She tipped her head back, the hand in her hair prevented her from hurting her head. She lost her rhythm, but the hand still groping her ass helped her riding her pleasure out.
“You’re exquisite,” Feyre heard her moan. After a few rough thrusts, Rhys pressed Feyre’s head against her throat and moaned lewdly into her ear, her lips grazing the tip, and it made the skin of her ear tingle. Feyre felt her wetness, felt her pleasure possessing her body as intensely as hers.
After a few moments of holding and slithering against each other to ride out the pleasure, they stilled. Holding the other close and breathing their mixed scents with sex and sweat, it made Feyre shiver one last time and tighten her hold on Rhys, which she reciprocated.
They were quiet, and the reality of what they’d done finally came down on Feyre. She didn’t know what to do, and perhaps Rhys realised her sudden stiffness, and she began caressing her hair and slowly rubbing her other hand on her back.
She didn’t regret it, and that terrified her. What would that mean for them? What they just shared meant everything to Feyre. Did it feel the same for her?
“I assume you liked the painting?” Feyre would’ve cursed herself for her awkward attempt at lightening the mood, but hearing Rhys’ beautiful laugh made it worth it.
She pulled away, her breathing returning to normal, and looked back at her with the most gentle expression and something else. Feyre’s breath caught in her throat, and her heartbeat began to speed up again. Rhys placed a gentle palm on her cheek.
“It would’ve been perfect if you’d finish painting your face,” she said with an unspoken question in her tone.
Feyre grimaced and looked down. She didn’t want to talk about her insecurities after what they’d just done, but she was trapped into doing so.
“It didn’t feel right,” she whispered, and Rhys’ body stiffened. Feyre realised with a jolt how wrong it sounded. “No, I didn’t mean it that way, I–”
She looked straight into the violet blue, willing her to understand where she comes from.
She hated that she doubted herself like this. She’d come so far since her previous relationship and how Tamlin made her feel inadequate. She was doing something great here, in this studio, and more importantly, something she loved so much.
As if reading her mind, Rhys bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She lingered, moving her lips slowly against Feyre's, as if trying to make her understand her unspoken words through their kiss.
She understood, and it made silver lining Feyre’s eyes. Pulling away, Rhys moved her thumb on her cheek soothingly.
“What do you say to a date tomorrow night?” she whispered in the small space between their face. “I pick you up from here at seven?”
Feyre’s throat bobbed, but butterflies began fluttering in her belly.
“I’d say yes. I would love that very much,” she breathed, trying to restrain her smile, but surely it was unsuccessful.
“Perfect,” she said softly. Pulling away, Feyre instantly felt cold, and if she didn’t have her scrap of dignity, she would’ve pulled her back, but she wasn’t that self-assured.
Rhys held her hand as they entered the bathroom to clean up. Feyre felt embarrassed by the mess she had made on her skirt, but Rhys didn’t mind for one beat. If anything, she was smug about the whole thing.
At one point, she stood behind her, helping her unbutton her overalls while she could do that perfectly by herself, her breath fanning the wisps of hair at her neck. She pushed the cloth down her waist when Feyre made a squealing sound of embarrassment and bolted to hide behind the bathroom curtain. Rhys didn’t follow, but her warm laugh did. Feyre put her hands on her cheeks as if to control her crimson cheeks.
She picked through the curtain as Rhys straightened her clothes, hair, and makeup. She kept watching how at ease she was in her bathroom, and it stirred something new and unfamiliar in her heart, and she found herself easily getting used to it.
Finally changing into spare pants she kept here since some days she just crashed in her studio instead of her shared apartment with Mor, and offering Rhys one of her black jeans so she could change into them, she walked her to the door while trying to peel off the paint from her hands idly.
She felt nervous, and it seemed she had done nothing to hide it, because standing on her threshold, Rhys brought her hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles. Feyre blushed impossibly. It seemed like it would never go away when she was around her. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a date to plan,” she said with a meaningful smile. Then she pulled her against her by the hips, closing the distance.
“Next time you want a live model, you can call me,” she said in a teasing tone that made Feyre blush, but she laughed nonetheless. “I believe nude would be best?”
She swatted Rhys’ shoulder. “You shameless flirt,” she scolded weakly.
“What can I say? You bring it out of me,” she shrugged.
“You’re always flirty, Rhys,” not just with me, was left unsaid.
“Am I?” she squinted at her with amusement, but there was a meaning behind her words. Feyre swallowed at the realisation.
“I’ll keep your offer in mind,” she replied instead.
Rhys smiled so widely that Feyre had no choice but to smile back. Silent laughter shook her shoulders at the taller woman’s satisfied expression.
“It’s settled then,” and as if she couldn’t help it, she pressed a light kiss to her lips.
Watching her waiting for the elevator to arrive, Rhys turned back to her. Her signature smirk plastered on her lips. “Will you do something for me?”
“Anything,”
“Can you finish the painting for me by tomorrow night?” she tilted her head with one arched brow. Feyre swallowed but nodded her head anyway. The implication wasn’t lost on her.
“Yeah, I can do that,” she said softly, a little emotional.
Rhys’s smile brightened her whole face. Feyre was so in awe of her that she forgot to breathe for a second. The ding of the elevator interrupted their moment, and she stepped in.
“See you tomorrow, Feyre darling,” She winked before the door closed.
Feyre took a deep breath and closed the door, leaning against it. She slid down and sat there for a minute. She looked at the window. Perhaps she was imagining it, but the moon and stars were shining brighter than before.
Pressing the palm of her hand to her chest, she dared herself to let hope sweep her heart. She had a feeling her life had begun to change for good since the moment she set her eyes on her, and instead of feeling dread, it calmed her.
She closed her eyes, smiled, and let herself hope.
Special thanks to @littlest-w01f for helping me with the smut lol
other tags: @edreavie, @gwyns<33
a request from @romanticatheartt of alucard (castlevania) and rhys (acotar) but i put my own spin in it with alucard in a dress because he malewifes like that
Guys, this fan art of Feyre and Tamlin in ACOMAF, when he could have really hurt her if she didn’t have her powers is making me want to cry.
The fear in her eyes, the way her entire body is rigid, her sadness and anxiety—this is so so well done and it’s breaking meee.
"Feyre, please," he breathed.
He dropped to his knees, taking my face in his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
I couldn't stop trembling.
"I'll try," he breathed. "I'll try to be better. I don't.... I can't control it sometimes. The rage. Today was just ... today was bad... Today-let's forget it, let's just move past it. Please."
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