My version of the "here you are" moment. I know i'm late to the party, but haaaaa this sceeeeene haaaaa. I read it like, 4 times in a row. So good. Love them. I thought Rhys would be easy to draw, but surpisingly not ? His face keep changing in my head, idk why.
Bringing this back because Sarah J Maas confirmed yet again that the second she created Rhys as a character she knew that the story was going to be Feyre and Rhys.
Chapter One: The High Lady of the Night Court has everything she could ever desire - a loving mate, a beautiful baby boy, her family in Velaris. What does she have to fear when the autumn Goblin Market comes to town, shrouded in mist, there only for a single night of revelry and enchantment?
Tags: eventual smut and some dubcon magic-style, Under the Mountain vibes. Mostly porn with plot.
I got the spooky Feysand urge and wrote this in a flurry over the past few days. Thank you to @climbthemountain2020 and @berd-nerd for the encouragement and beta reads!
Read on AO3 or under the cut:
“Did you miss me?
Come and kiss me.
Never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me;
For your sake I have braved the glen
And had to do with goblin merchant men.”
-Christina Rosetti
Goblin Market
Feyre stood on the edge of the Goblin Market.
Once a year, Rhys had said, in fall after the harvest time, in the last full moon just before the first taste of winter, it appeared. Quietly, appearing out of mist and shadow. The people of Velaris burned dried rosemary and rue and shut up their windows tight when it settled next to the docks.
“Cassian, Azriel and I used to dare each other to go in. We finally gained the courage to go in after we returned from the war.”
“What did you find?”
His smile had been distant, wistful. Fingers reached out to grasp a curl of her hair, twirling it half heartedly around a finger. “Oh, the usual darker underbellies of magic. Brews, enchantments, illicit ingredients even the fae have banned.” His smile faded. “Promises to fulfill all your darkest dreams. Bargains that sound sweet in the ear but taste bitter on the tongue.” Rhys sighed. “It’s not a safe place. It will be gone by morning, but everyone who visits will still be bound by the promises they made in the dark. I wouldn’t stop you, but I hate the thought of you there.”
Hopeless, as he knew, was any thought at keeping her away.
How could she not want to know everything about her Court? About magic so powerful and forbidden it could tempt anyone astray?
Feyre Archeron, High Lady, had everything she could ever want. More than she had ever dreamed of. What could possibly tempt her?
And how could she ever turn away?
The air in the city streets was filled with the scents of autumn - the chill first, settling on the land as soon as the sun set. Then the change in the markets: baking of heartier breads, cloves and cinnamon, rich mulled wine stirred on a fire all day long. And behind it all, the fires burning, the citizens of Velaris either dancing in the streets despite the chill or retreating to cozy homes and warming the dark with toasty fires. The moon, fatter and fatter each night, that freshy risen, glowed orange against the gathering mist next to the harbor docks.
The High Lady of the Night Court strode through the streets of Velaris in a dress fit for the finest revelry. Black with long lace sleeves, a “V” collar cut deep to her sternum. Skirts of flowing black tulle over white and silver. She glistened in the moonlight as she walked, fog whirling around her boots.
Feyre would not sneak into the market under a cloak - although she had considered it. No, let the market know their High Lady had arrived.
There were no gemstones, no pearls on her dress, no sparkling jewelry adorned her neck or ears. Only a circlet - simple and severe, a silver half-moon perched atop a braided band of metal.
In fabric layers closest to her skin, a bag of gold pieces and gemstones was sewn into her skirts.
Closer still were the knives hidden in her gown, one strapped to her thigh.
But the fine Illyrian sword, plain and well-used, hung from a scabbard around her waist for all to see.
Tonight, her city of song and light was as quiet as the tombs of the Hewn City.
What few fae she encountered on her journey were rushing, hurried. The metal sound of locks bolting behind doors shut fast.
A jolt went through her as she rounded the corner and was upon the Market, long lost in her thoughts.
The fog has come in from the sea, heavier than she’d ever seen it, like smoke from thick fire. It swirled in unnatural formations. Gusts of wind masking as ghosts.
Feyre swallowed. The sounds of laughter, merriment, of song and dance were deep within. Muffled as though underground.
The cold drifting in from the ocean began to bite at the skin along her collarbone.
The fae here dealt in the forbidden - unmet desires, unslaked hunger, the desperate, the needy. Feyre was none of those things. She had her family, her powers to protect them, her joy and love bursting like overripe fruit.
Feyre Archeron has looked into the ouroboros mirror, bargained with Bone Carver, slain the Middengard Wyrm.
A few enchantments and hungry merchants wouldn’t keep her locked behind her doors.
She steeled herself, straightening her back, and stepped through the thick mist.
The darkness changed, shifting around her.
No longer was her vision blurred by fog and dark shapes. Before her were bright tents, precarious shanties, wooden stalls covered in cobwebs or draped with spider-silks. All lit by fires burning all colors of the rainbow, and soft fae lights -
The market was a cacophony of sound just like the busiest hours of the streets in Velaris. Scents of the unknown variety assaulted her nose. Sulphur and burnt tar and unfamiliar spices. The air was filled with the sound of arguments and laughter and the hum of artisans at work, even if a dark haze hung about every little walkway.
Fae and creatures of all kinds walked the small alleyways. She had to remind herself the stone under her feet is still Velaris - a moment ago she could hear the ringing of the ship bells in the harbor.
There were scales and tails and jagged horns - but she was accustomed to that in Velaris. Here there was something more - fluttering iridescent insect wings, metal the size of her wrist looped through stretched flesh, enchanted patterns glowing in the dark.
She walked by stalls of pungent potions, brewers promising true love or the endless misery of your enemies. In the windows of an apothecary, the limbs of creatures she had never seen the likes of hung like slabs of meat at the butcher’s. A merchant with dragonfly wings tried to sell her jewelry that she swore would make all fall in love with her at first sight.
Another with iridescent scales guaranteed her spells, once read aloud from parchment, that could turn a whole army into swine. Still another tried to sell her fried meat on a stick that looked like a three-headed eel.
The High Lady wandered aimlessly, drinking in the market, smiling politely to all who caught her attention to hawk their wares. Not a single fae bowed to her, or addressed her by an honorific even once.
After an hour and the formation of a rough blister on her toe, Feyre relented, and paid a bronze piece for what looked like a simple dish of eggs and tomatoes cooked over rice.
She repeated the words Rhys told her, feeling slightly foolish, but better safe than sorry. “I give one bronze piece for a bowl of food, nothing more and nothing less, freely exchanged between us.”
The food was hot and warm. She ate it standing, shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth.
What could she desire here? What was here that was dangerous, and what lured the fae that risked it anyway? The fae that recognized her shied away: citizens of Velaris, many known to her, here on business they obviously do not want observed.
Breathing in deeply, Feyre was determined to learn more. What were her greatest desires, what could tempt her, what must be learned? What things - after so much war, suffering, adventures - could surprise her, frighten her, unsettle her?
Maybe her pockets get picked and she would have a story for the boys tomorrow. Thus far, the worst she had seen were the open expressions of such desperate desires - and the array of illicit ingredients for spells and potions.
Feyre smiled. Maybe she’d buy presents for all the boys, just to have something to taunt them with for the next year. Little mummified rats with pigeon’s wings, and a plate of roasted beetles the male at the other corner had crackling atop the fire.
Would it be asking for trouble to find something for her husband, for her son? Maybe just for Rhysand to examine, since he had been away so long. Surely the jewelers would make something with a harmless enchantment, such as your tea always being just the right temperature, or your socks never getting wet.
She would just explore a little more, visit one or two stores. Then she would go home to Rhys, who was alone in the River Manor, surely awake and anxious awaiting her. There were questions she wanted to ask the fae here, although she was afraid of their reception. Or of appearing naive. Certainly she stood out like a sore thumb - made no attempt to hide who she was.
Tonight, they had sent the servants home for the evening, most of their circle scattered throughout the territory on assignments. Nyx had been bundled up and flown to the House of Wind with his aunt and uncle for the night.
Feyre knew why. Though he may try to hide it, she knew her mate’s protective instincts were still roaring inside of him. When Nyx cried in pain from his teething, she had to reinforce her shields, bombarded as she was with the pain of her infant son and the screaming unmet desire to protect, to fix coming from Rhys’s side of the bond.
His smile had been tired as he explained: Nesta had gotten new books from the library, and was excited to read them to her nephew. It wasn’t quite a lie, as both of them knew the truth, but chose not to speak of it. Not just now.
She knew he felt the same towards her. Glimpses of nightmares - blood soaking a bed, their son quiet and unmoving, the feeling of the bond slipping away -
And all because of me, the thoughts echoed.
Those evenings, he held her like a fragile thing, hands so gentle. Reluctant, even. Healing even though she still was, body and soul, sometimes she still felt herself longing for his fire. They laid in bed, head to head, like two flower buds on the same stem, curled in towards one another, whispering.
“I want to, cauldron knows I do. It’s just, all I can think about is blood and -”
“Shhh, I know. It’s all right, my love.”
“The market isn’t for gawkers, your highness. We’re here to make a living, not be on display.”
Feyre whipped around, skirts and sword flying, to the croaking voice behind her.
The goblin woman stood hunch-backed, skin layered and wrinkled in a way fae rarely were, tufts of white hair sprouting out from a green scalp.
She was dressed in flowing robes, worn and patched until it was difficult to discern the original fabric. Her nose was bulbous and covered in warts, and in her knotty hands she held a curled walking stick.
Feyre balanced a wrist upon the pommel of her sword. “Perhaps I haven’t yet found something that took my fancy. Although I have a feeling you’re about to tell me why your wares are best.”
The goblin smiled, a few brown teeth peeking out from curled lips. “Mother Enfys does not go calling for customers in the street, High Lady. The fae come from far and wide to beg for the magic at my hands.”
Behind her, the fabric covering her door blew back and forth in a breeze, revealing a glowing green fire and piles of rugs and furs in her little hut.
Perhaps Feyre wouldn’t have to seek out someone to answer her questions.
Or perhaps she was being lured like a spider into a web.
“What sort of services do you provide, Mother?”
The goblin smiled, idly sweeping dirt off of her small stoop with a straw broom. “Oh, sweetie, just the usual. Answering all of your dreams. Revealing your greatest desires.”
“Revealing them? Do people often not know what it is they desire?”
“Rarely, my lady. And rarely are they happy at the answers I provide. But I am too old and too tired to lie to my customers for a few extra coin. Not like those frauds across the way peddling their watered-down love potions. No, Mother Enfys deals in truth and desires, for better or for worse.”
“What if I already have all that I desire?”
“Then I would say you are dead in the ground. It is not in our nature not to want.”
Feyre looked around, this side of the street quiet, fewer stalls with loud merchants and haggling customers. “It doesn’t look like you’re too in demand at the moment. Perhaps the people of Velaris are more content than your usual customers.”
The goblin smiled. “I was waiting for you, High Lady. You’ve already used up the first five minutes of your appointment.”
“But I didn’t -”
“Come, or go, Mother Enfys doesn’t care. Just know that if you step into my doorway, all that is revealed comes from you, my dear. I don’t give refunds for unpleasant realizations.”
Moving quicker than Feyre expected, Enfys was gone, retreating into her little hut.
Feyre paused for a moment at the threshold.
She could return home, walk away satisfied she had seen the market, and laugh at it the next morning over breakfast. She had nothing to prove to anyone but herself.
Ducking low, the High Lady of the Night Court followed the goblin inside.
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
The hut was larger on the inside than it appeared. Feyre wondered how they traveled, as small jars of potions and ingredients lined the walls in precarious configurations. Worn rugs covered the floor, and furs and tapestries were draped from the ceiling. The room was warm, and smelled of burning cloves and whatever thin stew was boiling in the fireplace.
A round table sat in the center of the room, two mismatched wooden chairs on either side. In the middle was a golden plate overflowing with fruit and a decanter of wine.
“Please, the wine is for you, High Lady.”
Mother Enfys bustled about, gathering bottles and dried herbs.
“I’d be happy to accept the wine, as a freely given token to a guest.”
At that, Enfys turned on her heels, once again faster than Feyre would have imagined her capable of. “The newborn fae is learning our ways,” she said with a grin, those teeth gleaming in the low green light. “Yes, my dear, it will be as you say. The wine is free and without enchantment or expectation of return. I give it freely to my guest.”
Feyre poured herself a small glass, sipping at the dark red wine, rich and well aged.
Enfys returned to the table, her arms full. A bowl filled with burning embers and handfuls of herbs and ingredients in small bottles clattered on the table.
“Why do you think so many are unaware of their own desires?”
“Ah. I am reminded you are so young, my dear. Just a stumbling colt newborn in the spring.” She pulled out a mortar and pestle, and began grinding her herbs. “Most people are afraid of themselves and their own minds, have you not seen this yourself?”
Feyre recalled her time in the Spring court, falling into Prythian like tumbling down a hill. Smacking her head on rocks and brambles as she went. Confused about her feelings, the dangers around her, who to trust. Who to love.
Enfys clattered more on the table, pulling Feyre out of her reverie. The goblin mixed herbs in a bowl, grinding something that looks like a desiccated slug with a pestle into the mixture. “I can lift the veil from your eyes, the lies from your niceties, I can show you what you truly desire. And then, I can give you the means to achieve it, to hold it in your hand.”
“For a price, I imagine?”
Mother Enfys grinned. “Of course, High Lady. But when you see it before your eyes, you may find there is nothing you would not give to hold it tight. My only requirement is that you are bold enough to speak your desires aloud, that you give word to your dreams. Otherwise the magic can be muddled, directionless.”
“I know who I am, what I want. You cannot tell me anything I don’t know about myself.”
“Perhaps it is true, lady, you are a new creature on this speck of earth. Perhaps you are different from everyone who has ever set foot into this place. If that is the case, please at least be availed of my hospitality, so I can say I served the High Lady of the Night Court well and sent her off satisfied.”
Feyre sighed. She was stubborn, but her curiosity was not slaked.
The fruits on the golden platter glittered in the low light of the fire, a rainbow of ripened flesh. Fresh drops of dew glistened on taut skin - currants black and red, the wine-red skin of a pomegranate, the globes of blood red cherries larger than a gold coin.
Feyre picked up a peach, downy-cheeked and yellow-pink, and bit.
Stars, galaxies exploded behind her eyes.
Suddenly, everything was beautiful.
Before she took her second breath it was only a quick whisper of a thought - oh fuck - and she was gone under the spell of the faerie fruit.
Feyre watched as Enfys plucked the peach from her still fingers. Pointed nails speared the pit and Feyre gagged. It smeared out of the fruit, black and rotten, shining sickly in the light.
Mother Enfys only hummed. Grabbed Feyre’s wine glass, now empty, and spilled the dregs onto the table in front of her.
She examined the sediment as if reading the constellations in the sky.
Feyre could only feel the giddy euphoria of joy, of love. The hut was warm and cozy. Rhys was waiting at home, and tomorrow, they’d have breakfast with their son. The fire crackled merrily and the potions bubbled in colors she had never seen before.
“Don’t worry, child, Mother Enfys will care for you. Sometimes we must remove the mask before the truth can be coaxed to the surface.”
As the goblin observed her puzzle, she turned her head this way and that, piecing some mystery together. “The fae in you is still so young, so new. Your human heart beats strong inside. Already when you were reborn you had two faces. Now there are more still - wife, mother, Queen. Sometimes they are at peace. Sometimes they war. Like sisters inside of you.” A tooth nibbled on her green lip. “The fae are still a mystery to your mind. You speak it as if it were a second language. You still long for the kindness, the straightforward answer.”
“Is that so wrong?” Feyre asked, smiling at the sound of her own voice.
“No. But sometimes the fae desires what the human does not. Tell me High Lady, what do you dream of?”
Fingers closed over her windpipe, her mate’s strong arms wrapped around her, holding her still and pliant as he moved in her, head pressed down harder into the mattress -
Feyre’s eyes opened and she gasped, the memory real and pulsing.
Enfys looked up from her scattered wine, brow furrowed. “Why do you blush, lady? It is good for the land for the High Lord and Lady to be so in love, so desirous of one another. The soil of the fae lands feed off the magic let off by deep passions, as much as deep hatreds. Like the market - it is a darkness but one born of magic itself, and the way the fae wish to use it. To deny it is to deny our true selves. I think you know something about that darkness inside, child.”
Feyre hadn’t thought herself a prude, but her cheeks heated uncontrollably in the warm room. Closing her eyes, she was lost in her thoughts. Rhys was suffering - echoes of what could have been following them to bed.
She certainly could understand. The terror and hurt of the past year - such sweetness mixed with such wounds.
Enfys smiled. “They come to see me, the powerful and the poor, the young and the old. All to make their dreams come true. Riches, fame, love, talent. And this one longs for nothing more than the embrace of her husband.” Feyre cheeks flamed hotter. “You are cauldron-blessed, High Lady, and it is good to see. Your fortune will be ours. But many will come for your happiness.”
Feyre dug deep inside to summon her voice, pulled it up through her chest. “So you know my desire. Now what?”
Enfys scraped the dregs of the wine off the table with a knife. She threw her crushed mixture into the smoldering embers in the bowl before her.
“I have a bargain to offer you, Feyre Archeron.” Naturally.
“What is your price?”
“Certainly more than that little embroidered purse hanging in your skirts, your Highness.” Feyre frowned. “I’ll give you the first two pieces of knowledge for free. But for the third, I ask only a small token.
“First, I have shared your true feelings, hidden under worries and concerns - it is yours to do with as you will.”
Feyre thought of her mate. Of the hazy first days of mating. She was filled with many faces - some grasped at, some thrust upon her. She ignored her past in favor of a bright future. Still they followed her - her human heart, her sisters needing her care. Buried deep down the fears of her own mother, of becoming her - pushing Nyx too hard, caring too little.
And Rhys. It felt so often that they were one, in each other’s minds, a circle of each other’s feelings - it could be frightening when suddenly they differed. The hurt of his lies, the pain of betrayal - not recognizing him, or worse, knowing exactly who he was all along. And despite all the hurt and anger, the longing to fall into him for support, the painful inability to hold onto her rage against him.
“Second, I give you your great desire. Not only for the male you love, but for the new fae blood running in your veins. Let it sink into your soul, High Lady. Let go of your worries and embrace the instincts - the mating bond, the trickster, the reveler. A cycle of light and dark, emptiness that is filled, over and over.”
If she had many faces then so did her mate - dark and menacing on Calanmai, vicious Under the Mountain, soft and new in Velaris, the beast on the battlefield, the father holding his son.
“For your word, I give you the third: the ability to possess what you desire.”
Feyre tried to bury her groggy thoughts, to get her wits about her. “And what do you desire from me? Don’t be coy, Mother. I have made bargains before.”
“All I ask, your highness, is you revisit the same hospitality I have given you today. One day I will show up on your doorstep and ask to be your guest, as you have been mine.”
Surely that sounded fine…surely it was a trick. “In equal measure to what I have been given today?”
“As you say, lady.”
Feyre rolled the words over in her mind, wished she wasn’t feeling quite so generous and light-headed.
Perhaps it was a trick, and perhaps she’d come to regret it. But Feyre had made many bargains, some more foolish than others. They had all led her here, to her family. To her home.
“I - “
“Before you agree, please consider my words again,” Enfys interrupted. “You must speak your desires aloud, to own it fully.”
“I accept your bargain, to return your hospitality in kind.”
A flash as Mother Enfys threw her potion into the embers, the air filling with foul-smelling smoke, until she flipped the bowl face down on the table.
“Speak your desire, and it will be fulfilled.”
“I -” Feyre’s tongue felt too large in her mouth, her foolhardy decision while under enchantment suddenly tasting sour - “I wish for one night with my mate where things are back as they were, in the beginning between us. Something healing that we both need.”
Slowly, the enchantress lifted the bowl.
Thick purple smoke was heavy on the table, falling off it like water, dripping through cracks in the wood. It pooled around their feet and swirled on invisible breath, escaping out the gaps in the corners of the hut.
Long, spindly green fingers extended, holding out the rotted pit of the peach.
“When you first step onto your manor, place this on your tongue, and swallow. Then all will be as you wish.”
The pit was large, nobbled, smelling slightly of mold. Feyre swallowed.
“And highness?” Feyre looked up, her mind slowly clearing from the enchanted fruit, “beware of those offering unsavory bargains. Not all here are as generous and kind as I am.”
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
At the edge of the market, a small, jittery fae bowed low.
Long silky ears fell down her shoulders against her hair, tipped white like a rabbit’s.
With a motion, she signaled her intent, and Feyre nodded, bending her knees.
Long woven strands of jasmine and moonflowers were placed upon the crown of her head, trailing down her shoulders to her skirts to brush the ground, sweeping as a veil.
The River House was quiet and dark.
Feyre rolled her neck as she unstrapped her sword and knives, as she kicked off her sea-stained boots.
A plate was set for her in the oven. She picked chicken off the bone as the fae lights floated around her, wandering tired to her bedroom.
When she downed a sip of red wine, Feyre remembered the pit in her pocket.
It didn’t look quite so foul here in the safe quiet of her home.
Feyre let out a deep sigh. These enchantments were silly. Or worse, dangerous. She had laughed at Rhys as he asked her to promise not to agree to anything, or drink or eat anything given with expectations.
She was no fool.
Not usually.
But the sensation of his hands on her - the way the feel of him changed inside her as he hauled her body up against him, sweat slicked flesh and a hand on her throat -
Without another thought, Feyre placed the pit on the back of her tongue and swallowed, chasing it down with the rest of her very fine red wine.
She coughed a bit, then magicked her leftovers away to the kitchen, licking her fingers as she turned down the hall to their bedroom.
It was odd, she thought, that it was so dark in here - usually she was the one forcing Rhys to bed, as he read or drafted letters in candlelight. Feyre had been sure he would be up all night worrying about her. But when she had reached out with her mind to say she was returning, the bond was quiet - fast asleep.
Feyre smiled to herself as she turned to slowly snick the door shut. If he fell asleep early, that was good. Perhaps a night with no nightmares, and no fussy toddler to wake them, was exactly what he needed. The dark bags under his eyes should worry her more, if she knew she wasn’t carrying the same on her own face.
She leaned against the door, pulling off her hose as she wondered how quickly she could get the dress off her and climb into the bed to cuddle with her mate.
Her heart was filled with longing - embarrassing, considering they had only been apart a few hours. Rhys, who was the most tender father, whose silver-limned eyes could make her burst into tears as he stared at their son. Even exhausted, attending most of the Court’s meetings, he still made sure her every need was met, doting on her so much she sometimes had to shoo him away before he was late to yet another meeting just to make her tea.
Whatever he wanted, whatever he needed to heal - she would be ready. She would take care of him the same way he’d always taken care of her - her sweet, doting husband.
Without warning, magic tendrils of darkness slammed into her body. Feyre was pinned up against the wall. Her skirts swayed above the ground, feet dangling.
Feyre gasped, the air to her lungs cut off. She tried to fight it, squirming, woefully unprepared.
Out from the darkness of their bedroom, she was met with the gleam of two violet eyes in a single slash of moonlight.
And a voice, a tone she hadn’t heard in ages - a powerful chill dripping down her spine - “What is this pitiful human thing doing lurking around the chambers of a High Lord?”
for @rosanna-writer in the @acotargiftexchange 2024!
read on AO3 // overall rating: e // wc this chapter: 7.2k
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Feyre Archeron has never much believed in soulmates, despite the mark along her back that's been there since birth indicating that there's someone out there for her. To keep the family afloat, her father has promised her to be wed to a powerful business associate of his, who definitely likes her... But not the mark running down her back.
Rhysand Sterling has kept the fact that he has a soulmate hidden - when you become the head of a crime family, you can't afford to have such obvious weaknesses. But there's a magnetic draw to the woman his rival is engaged to... And he's looking for some leverage on him.
As their worlds collide, it seems like it may have been meant to be.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
SURPRISE!!! i'm your Secret Santa!! it's been an absolute blast being able to get to know you more, and to pick your brain to try and cobble together the perfect gift for you <3
i know i probably gave myself away because i can't hide myself well to save my life, but i really truly hope you love this. as soon as i got my assignment i was SO nervous on how i was going to live up to THE ariel jeremy jordan and her wonderful writing!!!! i have so much planned for this au because it got so much bigger than i anticipated in my head. can't wait to have you along for the ride!!
another huge thank you to @whatishowedyouinthedark, @berd-nerd and @popjunkie42 for beta reading as well!!
a snippet of the chapter is below, but you can keep reading the rest on AO3! no update schedule, but hopefully i will have more soon!!
i hope you enjoy! 💖
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Elbow perched on the bar countertop, head in her hand while wallowing in a hearty dose of depression and self-pity, she didn't even notice the stranger who had sidled up to the bar and took the seat next to her without a word. She didn't notice the way his gaze slowly trailed over her, absorbing every detail of her with a smug smirk on his face, or the way he turned his body around to face her as she grumbled quietly to herself.
"Aren't you the picture of merriment and joy?" he drawled, amusement trickling into the edges of his voice. Feyre's eyebrows knitted together in annoyance - who the fuck did this guy think he was? She whipped around on the barstool to face him, only to be surprised by who faced her. A stranger, sure, but not one like any of the others here. If she had been introduced to him, she would have remembered.
The man who sat before her was younger, for one - had a spark in his eyes, a life to him she didn't see in typical political and business suits. Most of the time they were decrepit, grey-haired near-retirees that gave off sleaze in waves. But this man was put-together, suave even. Thick, raven-black hair that was perfectly coiffed, save for a stray curl that fell over his forehead that helped him exude an almost boyish charm. Enthralling, deep blue eyes, plush lips and deeply tanned skin for miles. His suit was well tailored and crisply pressed, emphasising his athletic build. His broad hands, one holding his glass and the other on his meaty thigh, were littered with silver bands, simple and unadorned save for the eye-catching signet ring on his right hand.
He perplexed her. He fascinated her. He was downright beautiful, even.
Feyre couldn't be certain she wasn't drooling. At least she'd look as dull as this party felt if she was.
Pairing: Feysand
Rating: E
Words: ~7.8k
Tags/Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Arranged Marriage, Age Difference, Size Difference, Magical Adoption, Born Fae Feyre Archeron, Multi-POV
Summary: When the High Lord of the Night Court meets a neglected but promising young artist, he decides to take her under his wing and move her to Velaris, so he can sponsor her education at the best art school the Night Court has to offer. (Or, the fic in which Rhys decides he can raise his young mate better than the Archerons can and actually does it.)
Read the latest update on AO3!
The sun was high in the sky when the footsteps Rhys was listening for finally creaked overhead. At the sound of the first soft groan of the floorboards, he stilled in his seat at the long table that dominated his dining room, straining to hear the slow, cautious patter that followed. And sure enough—the steps shuffled, shuffled, and paused, and then came the metallic slide of the guest bedroom door handle turning, the whisper of a cotton nightgown dragging across the wooden frame, and a quiet click as the door shut again.
He flipped the ancient tome in front of him shut and refilled his cup from the steaming urn at his elbow before taking a searing swallow.
He had not slept a gods-damned wink the night before.
How could he have, with his soul carved from his chest and tucked snugly beneath the covers of his guest bed?
Fucking hell, it was all he could do to force himself out of her room and across the hall into his own instead of crawling into the shadows beneath her bed. At the first miserable hitch of her breath, every fiber of his being demanded that he stay as close to her as possible—and, somehow, the beast that lurked in the dangerous, shadowy corners of his mind believed that could best be achieved by skulking about unseen in the dark like some starved, slavering creature torn out of her nightmares.
But he had mustered up what remained of his good sense and dragged himself away to spend the evening in the armchair beside his cold, unlit hearth instead, learning the shape of the fragile new magic binding him to her.
It was odd, he'd decided during the small hours of the morning, how integral to his being it was after just one night. Odd, how he knew the beast would truly take hold of him if the thrumming cord knotted deep inside his ribcage was ever severed.
Everything like the stories and nothing like them, all at once. Better and worse—a vow he hadn't knowingly taken, but that had been indelibly carved into his bones regardless.
E | 31.6 K | 4/4 Chapters
Feyre finds out Tamlin is cheating on her, and decides the president of his fraternity, who they both hate, is the perfect way to get revenge.
Unfortunately, she's not exactly prepared for what she's signed up for.
A gift for @darling-archeron for the @acotargiftexchange
My darling Kate! I was so excited to brainstorm this little idea for you! As soon as you said fake dating it was all over for me! I do hope you enjoy the shenanigans our idiots get into as their story unfolds.
I humbly offer you the first of four chapters. The rest may come a little bit slowly with the holidays nearing but I am excited to continue updating as often as I can!
Read on A03- Chapter 1
Rating: E (eventual smut)
Summary: When Rhysand Sterling finds himself at the scrutiny of his father and the board of directors, he realizes that he needs someone to prove to them that he can settle down in order to keep his role as CEO of the company. Little does Feyre Archeron know that her former boss has decided that she's just the one for the job.
A huge thank you to @popjunkie42 for doing an initial beta read. I am posting this without a final beta so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
SJM should release an official illustrated guide like Meyer has done for Twilight. I really want to know more about all the races of faerie that dwells in Prythian and traditions and rituals of every court.
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