Please do the historical au for Acotar, id eat that up!
Ok I was talking to @rayonfrozenwings about this last night and we had a whole Trojan War AU going. Feyre is Helen, Rhys is Paris, Tamlin is Menelaus, Mor is Hector (cuz his wife was Andromache, or she could be a goddess), Lucien is Achilles, etc.
But also if I go the Elizabethan route they could all be courtiers and have scandals and wear corsets and codpieces.
[1/2]“It’s quite ingenious, really.” The villain guided the hero to their lap, enjoying the look of complete and utter helplessness on the lover’s face.
[2/2] “I could do whatever I wanted, and they’ll still beg me for more. They’d do anything for me.” They stroked the hero’s smitten face, stole a long kiss before glancing at the lover once more. “What do you reckon I should have them do to you? I do believe they might still be in there somewhere, screaming.” A nasty smile crossed the villain’s face. “I hope so, anyway. More fun that way
The inner circle did not go to Hybern, Feyre didn’t return to the Spring Court in this one. I kinda did my own thing with it (meaning I took parts of the prompt), bc I was feeling like having a little fun with this. Hope you still like it?
(kinda graphic at the end)spoiler warning: feyre ends tamlin’s careerlife
Tamlin had come for her.
How he had known where they would be, Feyre didn’t know.
But she knew that both her and Rhys’ power had been smothered; leashed by a spell that she only recognised because her mate did. It was similar enough to the spell Amarantha had tricked them with fifty-two years ago.
And the panic that washed towards her through their bond made Feyre’s own throat close up. She could feel Rhys’ terror, his fight to stay on his feet at the memories that welled up. He wanted to roar, to reach for Tamlin and rip him to shreds for once again binding him.
But he didn’t. Couldn’t.
Because Tamlin’s power was pulsing around them like a violent spring breeze, ready to pounce, ready to kill.
The only thing they had was their bond.
And Feyre knew how to use it.
Without taking her eyes off of the High Lord of Spring, the male that had saved and damned her, she silently conveyed her plan to Rhys. He was half a step before her, a wall of muscle and rage between her and her former lover.
Feyre felt his shoulders tense, but Tamlin’s attention was fixed solely on her. With his hand outstretched and his lips pressed into a thin line, he kept waiting for her to run to him, for her to fall into his arms and feel safe again.
Please. Feyre spoke into Rhys’ mind. It’s the only way.
He didn’t reply, not for a few heartbeats. And then Rhys’ hands slid into his pockets and his stance shifted. Gone was the feral beast ready to protect her. In his stead was the cruel, calculating High Lord that the world knew him to be.
“Did you know, that I do not need to use my magic to control your little bride through this lovely little bond between us?” Rhys crooned, tilting his head.
Finally, Tamlin’s gaze shifted from her and a little snarl ripped from him.
“I don’t need to be a daemati to own Feyre. Both her body and mind.” Rhys added, his voice a threat and sensual purr at the same time. “It’s quite ingenious, really.”
Tamlin took one step closer and Feyre felt a tap at her mental shields. She understood his request and a cry of pain ripped from her throat as she grabbed her head between her fingers and thrashed.
The High Lord of Spring froze and another tap echoed in her mind. That’s enough, my love. She stilled.
Rhys let out a soft chuckle. “One more step and I will end her. A shame, but-”
Feyre wasn’t sure if Tamlin was breathing. But those eyes- oh his eyes were filled with pain and disgust and a rage so primal, it chilled her bones.
“Come, pet.” Rhys said, extending his hand to her. The mirror of Tamlin’s earlier movement.
Feyre walked into his arms, her body twisting so that both males could see her blank face.
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.” She breathed, head tilting back and eyes locking with his. There was no warmth in them, despite the gentle talons curling around her mind, telling her I love you, I love you, I love you.
He stroked one finger down her cheek and gave her a cruel smile. That finger ran down her jaw and down the column of her throat. And Feyre shivered as his nail dragged over her sensitive skin.
Then Rhys was looking at Tamlin again. “I could do whatever I wanted, and she’d still beg me for more. She’d do anything for me. Wouldn’t you, Feyre darling?”
“Yes. Anything, my lord.” Feyre breathed and Rhys’ finger came back up to trace the curve of her bottom lip, gently prodding. She sucked his finger into her mouth, flicking her tongue over it. He let out a little growl and Tamlin’s body shuddered with rage.
“Get your filthy hands off of her, you whore.” He roared, taking another step.
Rhys just looked at him. One eyebrow raised, his finger still resting on her bottom lip, pressing her into his body with his other hand.
Feyre let out a low, pained groan and once more Tamlin’s attention shifted. “Don’t. What do you want?”
“Lift the spell. Or I’ll make Feyre darling scream.”
As if in emphasis, his hand curled around her chin, tilting her face up to his. His lips were hard and rough and his tongue pushed into her mouth with such force that Feyre let out a deep, guttural moan and arched into him.
“I lift the spell and you give her back. You break the bargain between you.” Tamlin ordered, as claws erupted from his knuckles and his eyes burned with emerald fire.
“Yes.” Rhys said, nipping at Feyre’s bottom lip and making her knees shake.
Feyre’s heart was pounding in her chest and she was sure that Tamlin thought she was terrified- horrified at what Rhysand was forcing her to do. But, she was waiting for the words that would save them. Free them.
“Then it’s a bargain.” The High Lord of Spring growled.
Rhys didn’t look at him, just reached for Feyre’s arm. The arm he had marked while she had been desperate and dying and fighting to save the monster before them. His fingers gently ran over the eye in the middle of her palm and Feyre watched with an ache in her heart as the ink disappeared.
“You’re free of your bargain with me, Feyre darling.” Rhys said, his eyes blazing as his powers returned to him.
Feyre uttered a sigh of relief as that tight fist around her magic lifted and Rhys’ power lashed out in a wave of unwavering darkness.
Tamlin was on his knees at once, roaring, thrashing, fighting to get free.
Feyre placed one hand on Rhys’ arm and it stopped.
She stepped out of his touch, turned to face Tamlin who was looking up at her. “Where did you get that spell from?” Feyre asked, her voice just as cold and wicked and cruel as Rhysand’s.
Tamlin’s eyes widened as he looked at Rhys. “You said you would break your hold on her. You swore it.”
Rhys just chuckled. “I never controlled her, you fool.”
But Tamlin didn’t understand, couldn’t understand until Feyre stepped before him and said, “I am not your pet. Or his. I am the High Lady of the Night Court.”
His emerald green eyes went wide as the words hit him and he snarled and tired to get to his feet. But this time it wasn’t Rhysand’s power that held him down. It was hers.
“Where did you get that spell from, old friend?” Rhys asked, one step behind her, hands once again in his pockets. “Don’t tell me, you’ve allied yourself with dear old daddy’s friends across the sea.”
“I had to.” Tamlin growled. “You took her from me.”
Feyre let out a cold laugh at his words. “I left you, Tamlin. Of my own free will.”
“And for what? To rule beside that whore?”
Heat spiked in her veins and Feyre felt the tips of her fingers turn to living flame. “Insult him again and I will rip out your fucking throat.”
He laughed coldly. “You? Just because he gave you a pretty, little title doesn’t make you strong enough to fight me.”
She reached out with her darkness and wrapped tendrils around his arms, lifting him to his feet. Then, she speared for his mind, slipping through his shield with barely any effort.
She made her presence known by purring inside his head. Are you sure about that?
His teeth began growing into fangs, but Feyre reached for the place in his mind that controlled the change. She pushed those fangs back. Then those claws. And then, she made him kneel again.
“Where’s the king of Hybern?” Rhys asked, his tone almost bored, despite the torrent of emotions reaching her through the bond.
She knew that he wouldn’t step in, wouldn’t stop her from doing whatever she wanted to do to Tamlin. But they needed answers.
So, Feyre opened her mind to him and together they sifted through Tamlin’s mind, gathering the information and leaving Tamlin shaking before Feyre’s feet.
When they were done, Rhys slipped out and even went so far to take a step back from her. His way of telling her that he had gotten everything he wanted and Tamlin’s fate was now in her hands.
“Do you even understand what you did to me, Tamlin?” Feyre asked, curling those shaking fingers into fists. The flames winked out before they could burn her skin. “Do you feel any regret?”
He looked at her. “All I ever did was love you. I wanted to protect you.”
“You were killing me.” Her voice was at once loud and quiet. And she remembered standing in the manor, desperate and gasping for air. “You locked me in that house. You locked me up even after I told you. You-”
Tears slipped down her cheeks and her throat burned as those green eyes looked at her.
“I did it to protect you. And I would have given my life for you. But the first chance you got, you left me for a whore, a bastard, a male who has no-”
Feyre shut him up. It took no effort, but her heart was beating so loud she couldn’t hear anything else. “I told you I would rip out your fucking throat if you said that again.”
Tamlin didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. He just stared at her with so much hatred and when Feyre felt for his mind, she could hear his thoughts. Could hear his plans. Of how he would rip apart Rhysand and take her back, even if she wasn’t willing.
Despite everything, he still thought she belonged to him. That she was owed to him. That she would be his for the rest of her immortal life.
Feyre’s temper escaped his leash as Tamlin’s mind wandered to their offspring. She let out a snarl that had Rhys stepping closer to her, but Feyre moved faster. She moved so fast, she surprised even herself. But suddenly, Tamlin was on his back and she was sitting on his chest, her knees on the ground on either side of him.
She snarled again. Snarled and bared the fangs that had grown in her mouth and then her taloned hands were digging into his chest.
She didn’t speak, didn’t think, didn’t even blink as she ripped into Tamlin’s chest and ended the life of the High Lord of the Spring Court.
Once she held onto his still beating heart, she felt a pair of broad, warm hands upon her cold shoulders and Rhysand’s soothing voice slipping into her mind. Breathe, my love. It’s over. He will never be able to us or anyone we love every again.
And then she was crying. Crying for the male she thought she had known. Crying for the girl that had been fooled by him. Crying for the lives he had taken from her mate. Crying for those three months of darkness she had suffered to save him.
And throughout it all, Rhysand held her, brushing her hair and murmuring soft reassurances to her until she had no more tears left to cry and that wound in her chest closed.
There is no point explaining they are not animals. They’ve been trying since they got caught, when they first got on planet, taken away from their team, kept in a cage that is entirely too small for them, fed in bowls. When their Whumper opens the door, they make sure to put a collar across their neck. As they said, there is a leash attached to them.
“You’re lucky. You’re off to your owners.”
Whumpee thinks of the team. Of their ship and their own things at their room. Of their bed, oh, their bed. How blind they had been to all of the wonderful things they had. They had always known how terrible it had been for one of their parent’s kind, for the kind they now shared. But they never thought it be their problem, being a hero, travelling all over. This is what they think the most these past days. As long as things like this were happening all over the galaxy, it would catch up to people like them. The Whumper pulls on the leash, taking them forward. Their hands are free, but it doesn’t seem like the Whumper is too worried about it. They have a weapon and reinforcements around.
They’re taken into a big warehouse. There are thousands of other cages in there. Their parent’s species, other mix-breeds like them. Bigger breeds, smaller breeds. Breeds similar to friends they had in the past. There are boxes that serve as stages and people screaming out for them to be bought for the highest price. People flock around such stages, bidding, buying, taking their prizes.
Whumpee feels a shiver travel through their spine. They don’t think their captor was talking about the team when they said owners.
Feyre sat at her desk, skimming through the piles of paperwork that fell under her duties as one of the CEO’s of Asteria Holdings. It was a quiet Saturday in the office; where there was a constant buzz and bustle during the week, weekends typically only consisted of her husband, Rhysand, and their inner circle that came in to do extra work.
Feyre was particularly stressed, because she was so new to her work she was still getting the hang of things. As something of a wedding gift, Rhys had developed a new portion of the company that was developed specifically to help artists big and small promote their work and get into galleries and museums. Feyre handled all the applications that came in, as well as all the meetings for their new clients. So far, she had selected fifteen artists that she was particularly fond of that she was working hard to get into art shows and galleries around all of Prythian. She loved her work, truly she did, but that didn’t make it any less stressful when she was constantly reviewing applications and in communication with galleries to get her artists work displayed.
The door opened behind her, and she didn’t bother to turn her head. It could only be a handful of people, and only one would enter her office without knocking. The door shut, and nearly silent footsteps padded along the carpet, stopping behind her chair. Warm hands rested on her shoulders and slid down her arms. Feyre sighed, resting her head on the back of the chair to look up at a pair of violet eyes. Rhys’ hands began to rub her shoulders, thumbs working the knots of her muscles in a way that made her nearly groan.
After several moments or silent, he leaned over her so his mouth was level with hers, his hands running down her sides. His lips pressed to hers twice, kissing her upside down essentially, just as his hand brushed along the waistband of her skirt. He frowned.
“Is that a gun, or are you happy to see me?” He teased, moving to lean against her desk. Feyre pulled her shirt up, showing him that she did in fact have a gun tucked into her waist. Rhys’ brows rose, looking taken aback.
“Both.” She said flatly.
“And why, my love, are you carrying a weapon?”
“Why not?” She countered, leaning back to prop her stiletto clad feet up on her desk. Rhys’ expression didn’t budge, surprise written all over his face as though he was still waiting for an answer. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About?”
“How I didn’t want any of this. You’re always telling me that I’m too stressed out, that I need to relax. But I can’t because of this job that you ‘gifted’ me. How you think it’s such a gift that you made me CEO of a massive corporation, of a massive project, and I didn’t ask for any of it.” Rhys blanched.
“Feyre, darling, if you want to step down, say the word and it’s done.” But Feyre merely shook her head.
“You think you’re so much better than him. You think that everything he did is so much worse than anything that you could have done to me. But forcing me to be your mate? Forcing me into this company I didn’t want anything to do with?” Feyre pulled the gun out, swirling It around her fingers once before she pointed it at Rhysand’s chest. “You think you’re so much better. But you aren’t. You aren’t good enough for me. I deserve better. You mean nothing.” And then she pulled the trigger. Excruciating pain spread through his chest and he clutched his hand near his heart. Blood poured out of his body, coated his hand. The metallic tang of blood searing his nostrils as his knees buckled-
Rhysand woke with a start, flying straight up. Next to him, Feyre startled, sitting up next to him, her hands immediately going to his face.
“Rhys? Rhys what is it?” Her voice was soft and soothing, calm and sweet as she caressed his cheeks with her thumbs. Rhysand’s violet eyes were wild, he was searching her face frantically and looked to be in utter panic. “My love,” she whispered, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth.
“It was a nightmare,” he muttered, leaning into her touch. His lips brushed the palm of her hand and he sank down, laying his head on her chest. Feyre lay back down, her hands running through his hair gently. His arms gripped her body tightly to his, his hands bunching her nightgown up in his fists. “It was just a nightmare.”
Based on the prompt “Is that a gun or are you happy to see me?” From @highladyofthesith. I think you asked for FeyrexLucien but I had to write this as Feysand, but don’t worry, I’m going to write a Feyrcien with this same prompt. This isn’t great or anything, but as soon as she gave me this prompt I had this idea so don’t judge too harshly, this is like a 20 minute thing I just threw together before work. Let me know what you think! Xo
