Rhysand is a famous actor who goes into hiding after one of his projects comes out. He moves into an apartment in a small Italian town called Velaris. While moving in, he meets his beautiful new neighbor.
Office Whispers
3/3 Chapters | M | DONE
Feyre is about to marry Tamlin, her abusive fiance. At the last second, she gets cold feet and flees to the first place she can think of, her office. Once there she runs into her devilishly handsome boss.
Rhysand had recently taken over his father's company. Since becoming CEO, he had fallen in love with his beautiful assistant but she had always been unavailable, engaged to another man: His business rival. He has pined for her from afar until... She comes running into the office in a wedding dress one evening.
Hat Rules
1/2 Chapters | E | In Progress
When her sisters drag her to a rodeo, Feyre never expects to catch the champion bull rider’s hat, but then he tells her to keep it, all reckless grins and easy charm. She doesn’t understand why everyone stares when she puts it on… not until she sees him later that night and learns the cowboy rules... and what happens when you break them.
Fatal Bonds
4/? Chapters | E | In Progress
@acotargiftexchange 2025 for @honeydewpoppy
Legame Fatale (Italian)
Literal translation: “fatal bond.”
Meaning: A tie woven from fate and danger in equal measure, the kind of connection that pulls two people together with an intensity they can’t outrun. It carries the weight of instinct, the risk of ruin, and the certainty that once formed, neither life will ever follow its original path.
Feyre is freshly out of college when she lands a job at an art gallery that’s far stranger than she first thought. Paintings always mysteriously vanish, uncanny “replicas” of famous paintings appear and disappear, money flowing from seemingly nowhere, and the most perplexing mystery of all is her boss- the tall, dark, impossibly composed alpha who always seems to already have his eyes on her the moment she risks to sneak a stolen glance. Then, he offers her a deal that she can't quite refuse.
⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒✧⭒
One-Shot fics
Modern AU:
Playing Dangerous
E | DONE
The city at night is her canvas. The colors of her imagination are her escape. But when Feyre is caught red-handed, paint-stained and breathless, she expects punishment—not desire. Officer Rhysand should be her undoing, yet every glance, every command, every brush of his hand pulls her deeper into a game of temptation she never planned to play. Trouble has never looked so tempting… and breaking the rules has never felt so good.
Wicked Games
E | DONE
Feyre Archeron has been raised on loyalty and fear, the daughter of a mafia king who expects nothing less than obedience. When her father demands she marry Tamlin, heir to a rival empire, Feyre knows her fate has been sealed—her body traded for power, her freedom stripped away for the sake of an alliance.
But on the night of their engagement party, everything changes. Feyre vanishes from Tamlin’s side, stolen away into the night by the one man no one dares to cross. The city trembles with rumors: ransom, revenge, war. To her father and fiancé, it’s a humiliation. To Feyre… it’s something else entirely.
The echo of the taste of her is like a brand on his skin, the tender ache of a bruise left after the kickback of a gun. It’s a wonder that it isn’t blaring out his guilt in a bright-red siren announcing it to the world, a letter stitched in crimson over his chest.
Pairing: Feysand
Rating: E
Words: ~9.2k
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 Chapter 4 on AO3 now!
The first time Feyre woke to three sharp raps on her door and a low male voice purring, “Time to get up, Feyre darling,” she assumed it was a fluke.
The dim light just reaching out to graze the sheer curtains covering her windows was still watery and grey. No birds were chirping in the trees yet, no hooves clopping on the streets. She couldn't even hear any servants in the hallway, bustling about as they prepared for the day before the household rose.
Somewhere in the High Lord’s sprawling townhouse, a clock had to be broken.
But the knocking woke Fionn, who stretched and yawned and then stomped across the bed to plant both of his oversized front paws squarely on her chest.
Feyre groaned and tried to shove the dog off. "'S too early, F'nn."
Another knock. Fionn hopped off of the bed with a bark and rushed the door to answer it.
“Rise and shine, pet. You promised.”
Feyre's heart sank. All the clocks must be broken if the High Lord himself was at her door at such an unholy hour.
She wasn't proud of the sound she made as she dragged herself out from under her quilts and staggered after Fionn, rubbing at her bleary eyes.
"The sun isn't even up yet!" Feyre swung open the door—and got the fright of her life when she opened it and found Rhys leaning against the frame.
He was already dressed for the day in a dark jacket and trousers, his arms folded loosely across his chest as if he had all the time in the world.
His eyes were clear and wide awake. "But the dog is."
Feyre blinked at him. Fionn barked again and threw his little body headlong into the hallway, working himself into a fit.
Rhys held out a hand for Fionn to sniff and patted his head. When he turned to Feyre, that smile turned smug as he cocked his head toward the stairs.
"Go on."
———
The second time it happened, she was certain it had to be the clocks.
She even cracked her door open—prepared, this time, to find a High Lord looming over her with his forearm braced against the frame—and asked.
“Is there a clock broken somewhere in this house?” she demanded, nudging Fionn away from the small gap with the side of her foot every time he tried to shove his snout through.
Rhys shrugged, his head turning toward a tall grandfather clock that stood at the far end of the hall, then turned the arm dangling over her head to look at his wrist.
Feyre's teeth ground together at the glimmer of familiar dark metal that peeked out beneath his sleeve. Night-forged steel—because of course the High Lord of the Night Court wore a tartera-made watch. She recognized that inky band from the crates her father packed into caravans twice a year and sold off to the rich and influential High Fae in other courts. It was a special alloy crafted by the expert faeries who populated the mines in the northern reaches of the Night Court, and according to legend, the watches crafted by the tartera were never, ever off, not even by even a millisecond.
"No."
Feyre's head thunked down against the door frame.
As if he were a big, burly governess, the High Lord tsk-ed at her. Eyes squeezed shut, Feyre prayed and prayed that he would go away and leave her be, but he merely nudged open the door and let Fionn out.
A large hand stroked the top of her head.
"Six-thirty is a perfectly acceptable hour to rise, darling. I’ve been up since five.”
———
By the third morning, Feyre resigned herself to the horrifying truth.
Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, was an early riser.
Worse, he apparently believed everyone around him should be one, too.
On her way down the stairs, she wondered if she might find an ally against such tyranny in the wraiths or Mor, but her hopes had been dashed as soon as she passed by the arched doorway into the dining room. Mor had been inside, nibbling at a pastry, and shot her a bright smile as she padded past with Fionn. And beside her, an enormous winged male in leather called out an the obnoxiously loud greeting for such an early hour.
Feyre ignored them both.
A few moments later, as she shivered in the blustery courtyard, waiting for Fionn to do his business and bark at some glowing insects as they scuttled back to wherever they hid during the day, she decided that Nesta was correct about all of them.
Bastards and sycophants, indeed.
Chipper bastards and cheery sycophants, led by a male whose obvious enjoyment of such early starts bordered on outright sacrilege for the Lord of Night.
She wondered if he was a religious male—if he would make her go to temple every week like Agnes had. She hoped so, because the next time she gave confession, she fully intended to ask the priestess listening and guiding her transgressions up to the Mother's ear in the next cell over if anything could be done about Rhys's shameless sinning.
———
On the fourth morning, Feyre was sore from head to toe when she woke. Everything hurt—her arms, her legs, even her neck. Fionn evidently felt the same; his fuzzy body was a dead weight curled against her shoulder, his breath hot against her ear.
"Please, no," she griped when she heard the knocking.
The faithless heathen in the hallway didn't listen, and when she didn't get out of bed, the door creaked open. She squeezed her eyes shut as the edge of her mattress dipped.
The backs of her eyelids burned red when the faelights in her room came to life.
"No," she said again, hauling her pillow out from under her to hold it over her eyes.
Fionn wriggled, waking with a tiny yawn that puffed puppy-breath into Feyre's face. He squirmed, and then he was gone from the spot beside her.
The male lounging beside her pried the pillow out of her hands. It landed somewhere across the room with a muffled fwoof.
"Yes, Feyre."
She pried open her eyes to glare at the long legs stretched out atop her covers. Fionn, whining, had crawled onto Rhys's stomach, shoved his head under one of his hands, and fallen back asleep.
"You've slept in an hour later than usual already." He whispered, and the calloused finger that drew a line over her temple was soft. "I thought you might need it."
Gods, so soft. Feyre closed her eyes again and curled herself into a tight ball atop her mattress, listening to that voice reverberate through the down and cotton and into her head…
"The sooner you're up and Fionn is cared for, the sooner Nuala can run you a nice, warm bath while Cerridwen distracts Cassian."
Cauldron.
She was wide awake in an instant.
"He's here?" she squawked. "Already?"
From the pillow beside her, Rhys's dark head nodded back. Something deep inside her belly gave a funny twist at the sight of it.
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.
Before Mor left for her study abroad program, she had gripped Feyre by the arms, stared into her soul and said: “While I’m gone, if you need anything- and I do mean anything- promise you’ll call my cousin. I can’t go without knowing you’re taken care of.”
She had agreed- Mor never asked anything of her, and Feyre would do anything to ease her mind. The problem was that she couldn’t be normal around her cousin.
Mor’s cousin Rhysand was life-ruiningly hot. The kind of hot that should be illegal, especially for girls like her. He was also older than her: more than twice her age, with laugh lines and silver hair and reading glasses and creaky knees- and that did things for Feyre. He was also unfailingly kind to her. Altogether a deadly combination for a fatherless, unloved 19 year old.
Legame Fatale (Italian)
Literal translation: “fatal bond.”
Meaning: A tie woven from fate and danger in equal measure, the kind of connection that pulls two people together with an intensity they can’t outrun. It carries the weight of instinct, the risk of ruin, and the certainty that once formed, neither life will ever follow its original path.
Feyre is freshly out of college when she lands a job at an art gallery that’s far stranger than she first thought. Paintings always mysteriously vanish, uncanny “replicas” of famous paintings appear and disappear, money flowing from seemingly nowhere, and the most perplexing mystery of all is her boss- the tall, dark, impossibly composed alpha who always seems to already have his eyes on her the moment she risks to sneak a stolen glance. Then, he offers her a deal that she can't quite refuse.
1/? Chapters | E | In Progress
IT'S FINALLY TIMEEEEE🥁👏🥁👏🥁👏 I am sooo excited to finally share my contribution to the 2025 @acotargiftexchange!!! I hope my wonderful giftee @honeydewpoppy enjoys it, I have had such a fun time talking to and creating this for them💜🎅 I hope everyone enjoys<3
Well, this is much later than I had expected to post this chapter. I've been working like crazy while I'm back from school, and I randomly decided I hated everything I had written already and started over. But hopefully it was worth the wait, more coming soon!
Writer's block + spring semester starting = my last fucking strawww omg! For the sake of my sanity, I'm not going to make any more promises about when the next chapter gets posted, sorry y'all. But hope you enjoy our first Rhys pov, it's always a challenge for me to write male povs for some reason, but I really enjoyed this one once I got past the writer's block. okay all done with my ranting, pls enjoy!
Feyre had practically begged Tamlin to care for her, to care about her, but he could only love her in his own way. It hadn't been enough- it had been too much. But Rhys, Rhys had always understood the way she needed him.
She lived a life of lack, she had never had her basic needs met. She had never been wanted, never been treasured, except for Rhys. From nearly the moment they met, he had seemed to see the broken, neglected girl that lived inside of her. The girl she was never able to let out- she was too needy, too clingy, too desperate. She would push away anyone who came close with her starving, devastating want.
It was embarrassing, the broken girl inside of her. It was why she hid her toys and took secret naps- the thing she wanted was disgusting, she knew that. She had never, ever shown that part of herself to anyone. After all, who could see her depravity and still look her in the eye? But Rhys seemed to peer deep down, down, down into her soul. His eyes piercing like flashlights down her gullet, to the sensitive little girl who only wanted someone to watch over her.
He stroked her hair, pressing kiss after kiss to her hairline. “Daddy’s here, darling. Daddy’s got you. I’ve got you.”
And there was the final puzzle piece clicking into place.
The third and final chapter has been posted! Thank you to everyone who read along 🫶
You probably already guessed these, but we hope this list gets you all hot and bothered and ready to create some juicy works of art for us ;) have fun!!!
Day 1: Lust
Some say heats and ruts are the most powerful force on earth - could you resist the temptation?
Day 2: Gluttony
Who ever said indulgence wasn't the key to happiness?
Day 3: Greed
One mate, two mates, three mates, four,
five mates, six mates, seven mates, more :)
Day 4: Sloth
What's better than a day lazing about in a cozy, warm nest?
Day 5: Wrath
Those Alphas can get awfully touchy sometimes when someone tries to take what's theirs, can't they?
Day 6: Envy
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's mate...
...unless?
Day 7: Pride
They say 'pride goeth before the fall' but that applies to other people, surely
CIWYW is my high school au that I actually started writing while I was in hs. But hs sucked and I gave up on it for two years. I only started working on it again recently, but now I'm actually really enjoying it
I always hated how sjm kinda tossed feyre and her personal development aside as soon as acowar ended to move onto nesta. So this is kind of just my guilty pleasure exploring Feyre growing as a person. Second chance romance, hurt/comfort, kinda angsty, "you're as beautiful as the day I lost you" kinda vibes for Rhys too
And I've had the song on repeat for months now, and I lowkey just wanted to write a fic with it lol (plus it's sooo feysand coded imo)
Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!
thanks for tagging me @lady-bluebird-luv
Fatal Bonds ch 4
Hat Rules ch 2
Call It What You Want
Dark Red
Drops of Jupiter
The Sun Persists in Rising
I'm tagging @honeydewpoppy (ofc no pressure) and anyone else who wants to jump in!
