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#Feysand fluff
sapphicmsmarvel · 28 days
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feysand: getting together
feyre and rhysand discover the beauty of triad-bonds. no smut, all fluff, a sprinkle of angst.
buckle in we got a long ride (3K but hey this is long for me)
- It was interesting how you three got together. 
- Of course Rhysand initially thought that he and Feyre got together first out of the three of you.  
- No. You and Feyre lost your virginities together, and had your first kisses together. 
- She calls you her first love, always has. 
-Rhysand has always found you interesting, you were an angel compared to Nesta and Elain. When Feyre had come back to the mortal lands, you were the only one to look at her with relief. He could practically taste it as you brought her into your arms and cried into her hair. 
“Oh, my love. Whose ass am I kicking?” 
He didn’t miss the nickname, nor the way Feyre glowed after you called her that. Or how you never left her side. 
It was the first time he had heard Feyre giggle. 
So he knew right then and there he was going to protect you no matter what. That opinion was solidified when you welcomed them in with open arms, no questions. Then, you snapped at Nesta on their behalf. 
He remembers when he asked you why you let them in so easily. You had shrugged and said, “Feyre trusts you. I trust you.”
It was…interesting to say the least. If he wasn’t so smitten with Feyre he’ll admit that he could fall for you. 
-One night, after the war, after Cassian and Nestas' mating ceremony and baby Nyx’s birth; the two of them laid in bed with the babe cuddled into Feyre’s chest. He asked the question he had been dying to ask. “Were you and Y/N ever….?” 
She looked at him as if she was nervous, “yes.” She whispered, her voice small. “Is that a problem?”
“No!” Rhysand whispered fervently. Quietly enough to not wake Nyx, but loud enough that it showed how much he meant it. “I’ve always had a feeling.” 
She sighed, tears brimming her eyes, “gods these stupid hormones.” 
He wiped her tears. “I’m not mad.” 
“I know. But…” she shook her head. “It’s really scary.” 
“We don’t have to talk about it.” 
“No, I want to. But I also want to show memories, so you can….understand why I don’t ever want her to leave my life.” 
“I mean, I don’t know her nearly as well, yet I don’t want her to leave my life either. She’s….” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence, and if Feyre didn’t feel the exact same way, she might’ve nailed his dick to the wall.  
“Yeah.” She sighed. “She has a way of captivating people.” 
He felt her brush against his shields, and he opened up to her. 
“We met when we were five years old. Around age six, I declared I was going to marry her. Everyone laughed at me, but when I told her that she just smiled and said, ‘I want to marry you too’. Of course, we were six years old, we didn’t know any better. All throughout our childhood we shared a bond, I thought my entire life she was my soulmate.” 
As Feyre spoke, Rhysand saw her weave the tale of you two. 
“Then, I fell for Tamlin, and then you. I wouldn’t trade you for anyone. But she’s always stayed in my heart. When we went back to the village to see my sisters, I was more nervous to see her. Nesta and Elain rejected me my entire life, she was the one person that never did. I don't know what I would’ve done if she looked at me like that. Like I was a monster.”  
He then felt the happiness that Feyre felt that day when you took her into your arms. He could feel the tears that hit Feyres neck as you cried. Your perfume seemed to have a mind of its own and weave around her. He was in Feyre’s head, he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to leave this embrace. 
As the night went on, she shared more memories of the two of you. He could feel his heart glowing as he saw you two laugh and grow together. 
- When Feyre was gone, you had found him in the backyard of the townhouse. He was drinking a glass of fae wine. You sat down next to him. 
“You know Feyre would call me a sap for being worried about her.” You started. 
He could almost laugh at that. It fits. “She’d also probably hit you.” 
“Oh yeah, maybe with her shoe?” He whipped his head to you. 
“She tells me everything, Rhysand.” You quirked an eyebrow. “Everything. Which is why I’m not storming into the spring court. I know what she needs to do.” 
“What?” 
“She told me about it. When it was happening.” You said. “When that bastard brought us in, she spoke in my head. Told me about it and that I needed to trust you guys. So I did.” “I’m sorry, that you three got brought into this.” 
You shrugged, “you would’ve seen me around anyway. Fey and I can’t stay away from each other. At least this way our friendship will last longer.” 
He huffed a laugh, amazed at your positivity. “I’m surprised you’re this positive about it.” 
You shrugged, “I just got her back, I’m not losing her again.” 
“Yeah. I can relate to that.” He said quietly. 
- After that night, he looked after you more. You helped out in the kitchen, you cleaned too even though you were requested not to. You can’t just sit around. You even talked to Rhysand about getting a job. 
- You two also hung out together, you either talked or just sat quietly. He found that you were one of those people that made it extremely easy to talk to you about anything. He felt safe with you immediately, which should’ve rang off more warning bells than it did. 
- You were accepting this life, because rejecting it would just result in a big spiral that you refused to go down. You’ve been down a depression rut before, you know when the signs are coming so you made yourself useful around the townhouse. 
- After Feyre came back from the Spring Court; you welcomed her again with open arms. Held her while her own sisters turned her away. 
Nesta had shoved you away because to her it seemed you were taking Feyre’s side. You weren’t. You loved all of them so much, you just wanted a bit of normalcy even though you knew it would never be normal again.
Him, Feyre and the entire Inner Circle heard that screaming match between you and Nesta. 
“And you’re acting like everything’s fine!”
“If I do not act, I will fall apart. This is our lives now. It sucks, the change fucking sucks but you know what could suck more? Feyre being dead. I know you like to act all cold and heartless because it’s some fucking defense mechanism-“
“Do not psychoanalyze me Y/N.” 
“My defense mechanism is trying to make the most out of things! I’m sorry I'm not like you Nesta; I always wish I would be. It would be a lot less painful than feeling every-fucking-thing.” 
Nesta was silent and you continued. “I love you, I would do anything to protect you, to help you. But I cannot be pulled between the three of you.”
“So you’re choosing Feyre? Acting like this is normal?”
“I am choosing me.” You said. “I am choosing to deal with things. This is my life now and I will be damned if I waste one more second on hating myself ever again.” 
Nesta had left the room, storming past the inner circle and walking out. Feyre quickly ran upstairs, her mate hot on her trail. Everyone else remained downstairs in case you didn’t want an audience. Hell, Cassian tried to pull Rhysand away from checking on you. But Rhysand had shrugged him off. 
You’d grown on Rhys quite a bit. 
When they got upstairs, Feyre crept in, “Sometimes.” You breathed, “I want to punch that bitch in the face.” 
“Y/N-” Feyre started. 
“I love her, so much, Fey. But my Gods-” You choked out. “I am just trying to keep it all together.” 
“I know.” Feyre nodded, “that’s what you do. You make sure we’re all okay, but you don’t prioritize yourself. That’s what you’ve always done, but please do not put us before you this time.” Feyre’s voice was wobbly as she turned you into her shoulder. 
That’s where you broke down, and Rhysand made himself scarce. But not before seeing that look in his mates eyes. The same look she had when she found him during his nightmare. 
The face of someone watching the love of their life break down. 
-Eventually things between you and Nesta got better, “they always do” you had reassured Rhysand when he was talking to you about it. Feyre even agreed, “things always work out with Y/N. She doesn’t let stuff be unsaid.” 
- That’s why when he started fumbling around you like a schoolgirl, he realized pretty quickly what was going on. He knew that if you got a whiff about it, it would be endless misery. Not only would he lose Feyre, his entire family would turn on him. He knew what he was feeling too. It was the same thing he felt about Feyre when he first met her, intrigue. And then, it became so much more. 
The mating bond was beginning to snap. But a trio bond? Cause he still very much was bonded to Feyre. He had never heard of a trio bond in his particular area of the world. He knew couples took on consorts or occasional thirds. He even joked about that with Fey. 
Hell, this entire inner turmoil he’s had to keep from shouting down the bond. He wants to talk to her because she’s his best friend but how do you tell your wife you think you’re also fated to be with her best friend? 
So he began countless research methods. Just wondering if it was a thing at all. Or if they were about to rewrite history. However, he found that while it wasn’t common, it did happen. So, he began a folder compiling research, putting things together to show Feyre everything he’s found. 
- Pretty soon he was able to grow a pair and tell her. He walked into their home, first he checked on his beloved son to see him sleeping in his crib. Then found Feyre in their bedroom. He walked up to Feyre too, ready to confess, when she looked at him extremely nervous. “I wanna try something.” She started. “I…I love you. So fucking much Rhys. But….I was wondering if we could add Y/N to the mix. I’ve felt this pull and I can’t explain it. And it’s really scaring me right now.” 
He felt like he was going to collapse. He then realized he didn’t say anything when Feyre started crying, “please say something.” 
“I…I’ve felt the pull too.” He held out the folder, “that’s actually what I want to talk to you about.” 
So they stayed up quite late, going over the logistics, how they still felt about each other (spoiler: disgustingly in love still), and how they would feel adding you. 
- They wanted you more than anything. 
- So, despite Feyre telling Rhysand “no my love, she’s not going to like subtle ways here. She needs direct.” He still went subtle. 
- She just let him do whatever. Even though she knew damn well you don’t like gray areas, you need point blank black and white. 
- She knew not intervening sooner would bite her in the ass, especially when you stormed into the art studio fuming. But she did enjoy the beautiful blush on your cheeks. She also found your angry eyes disgustingly attractive like she always has. 
You threw your bag over in a chair. “You need to tell your husband to stop flirting with me.” You hissed to her. 
Feyre raised a brow, “tell him yourself.” 
You looked shocked. Feyre quickly realized that this wasn’t the time for a blunt best friend role. Especially when she knew her husband had feelings for her best friend. “Fey! You can’t be okay with this!” 
She sighed, “can you just stay here, please? I’m going to get him here and we’re going to get this figured out.” 
You sighed and waited. When Rhysand came strolling in all breezy, he froze like he was terrified. “Uh, hello my two favorite beautiful ladies-”
“See!” You yelled. “He doesn’t stop.” 
“And he’s not going to.” Feyre sighed, “we have something to talk to you about.” 
She was glad she could read your face so well after all these years still. Let’s just hope there were more years of friendship, and possibly more. 
She also didn't know how to be around the bush with you. “You know the mating bond?” 
You nodded, so she continued. “Since a few months ago, both Rhys and I-” she looked at her husband. “We’ve felt…a pull to you.” 
You just stared. Rhysand continued. “The pull is the beginning of the mating bond.” Then he noticed that you weren’t reacting. 
“Why aren’t you surprised?” Rhysand asked. 
“She already knows.” Feyre said. 
You said nothing, and Feyre continued. “You knew and didn’t say anything?” 
“You didn’t say anything for a few months.” You said weakly. “When did you know?” 
“The second I came out of that cauldron. I felt it then.” 
Rhysand felt his own heart shatter, Feyre could feel her own shatter then as well. You waited years. Rhysand didn’t even wait that long knowing that it was Feyre. He waited a good six months but not years. Feyre didn’t wait at all, she jumped his bones. 
Feyre jumped back, shocked. “You knew for years? Why didn’t you-”
“What could I have said, Fey?!” You yelled. “That I’m 90 percent sure that I’m meant to be with you and your husband? Doesn’t help the fact that-” You cut yourself off, you were bordering on hysterics. 
“The fact that what?” Rhysand said softly. “You two make it horrifically easy to fall in love with you.” You said, your tears finally cresting over your waterline and flowing down your cheeks. “I tried. I tried not to. Because I didn’t know if the cauldron was just cruel and gave me two mates I could never have. I knew it was possible for people to reject their mates so I accepted I was destined for that.” 
You sniffed, “my gods, why don’t you just put me out of my misery and reject it right now. I’ll leave Velaris, I’ll leave you alone.”
Feyre was crying. “You don’t deserve to be rejected.” “Well, you wouldn't think that if you knew the thoughts I had about your literal husband but okay Fey.” 
“If you were a random woman, that’s when I’d care. But you’re you-”
“And your best friend. It’s a cliche ass trope.” You wiped your face. 
“And you are my mate!” She shouted. “You are destined to be mine, to be Rhysand’s, to be ours!” 
You looked at Rhysand, “you’ve been silent. What are you thinking?” 
“How lucky I am to have two beautiful women be mine. If you’ll have me.” He said, his voice was quiet and hoarse, as if he was terrified that if he spoke too loud, he’d spook you and you’d run. 
You let out a broken sob, Feyre and Rhysand ran to hold you. 
“We would be honored if you became our mate.” Feyre said, her forehead pressed against your temple. 
“When I first met you,” Rhys began, his chin resting on your head. His hands clasped around Feyre’s back on your left side, he was on your right. “I saw how happy you made Feyre. But then when she was gone, you kept me from losing it on…well everyone.” He admitted. 
“We had only had a few conversations.” You said. 
“Shhh, I’m confessing.” He teased, then he heard you snort a laugh. “When Feyre and you first reunited. I saw how happy she was, how she felt so safe. I vowed right then that I would protect you to keep that smile on her face. But once I got to know you, I realized I would protect you in general. You made me feel so at ease. I felt the peace that I knew Feyre must feel when she talks to you. You are strong, you are sweet, you are the most welcoming person I have met in my lifetime. You had every right to react poorly to us, instead, you took us in simply because we were with Feyre. You never looked at us like you were superior, or that we were your superior. Just equals sharing a space.” He held you two tighter. 
“You could’ve ignored us completely, or been rude. But instead, you unabashedly asked Azriel and Cassian to help you cook because if we were going to stay we had to do work.” His shoulders shook with restrained laughter. He heard Feyre giggling and even you let out a wet laugh. “I realized you were a gem too many times to count. Especially when I fell asleep on the couch and not only did I have my guard up, but you covered me with a blanket so I wouldn’t get cold. Most would’ve ignored me. Then at the meeting with the other High Lords, you snapped at Tamlin and told him to ‘shut the fuck up’ and to ‘fuck off and die’. It was a magnificent thing to witness. You didn't care that he could’ve killed you with a single strike. Which, not going to lie, kind of worries me for your health in the future.” 
All three of you laughed at that. 
“You say we are easy to fall in love with, but you have no idea how magnetic you are.” He said. “I always wanted you and Feyre closest to me, at first I thought it was because you were her best friend, and you were becoming mine. But then…then I started to fall for you. Before I felt the tug. I fell for you because of this kindness, this bravery, the strength. It’s everything to me and if you give me the chance I will spend the rest of our lives proving how I am worthy of you and Feyre. The mating bond was just a bonus.” 
You sniffled again, but he felt your arms pull from where they were wrapped around your own waist. And spoke. 
“I have a condition.”
“Name it.” Feyre whispered . 
“I get to have sex with you both at separate times and together. Basically, we fuck alone and together. I’m not doing this territorial fae bullshit if one of you is actually not okay with it. We are all equal and we can solo fuck each other.” 
Rhysand let out a loud, boisterous laugh, “that’s not what I was expecting, but absolutely.” All of you laughed again.
“I want dates too.” 
“Always.” Feyre said. 
“And gifts.” You said jokingly.
“Duh.” Rhysand said seriously. 
 But then you untangled yourself from the huddle and went to your bag that you had thrown down when you stormed into Feyre’s art studio. 
Rhysand couldn’t help the pout and Feyre whined at the loss of contact. 
You said nothing, but pulled out an orange and began peeling it. “Seriously? You’re snacking after that?” Rhysand exclaimed. 
“Rhys, wait.” Feyre said, tears in her eyes. Her hand on his arm. 
You offered it to them, “I don’t have time to prepare something right now, and frankly I’m not patient enough.”
They just stared at your open palms. “I accept.” 
- Thus the frenzy began.
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tadpolesonalgae · 8 months
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Feysand x reader: Girls night
A/N: I sometimes forget that I’m capable of writing fluff? Or just a general fic with no smutty undertones and it’s quite a refreshing realisation!
Warnings: slight sexual undertones but nothing else :)
“Oh my gods.”
Feyre stares with wide eyes at the wine seeping into your dress. “I am so sorry!”
She grabs you by your upper arm, pulling you from the counter and up the stairs toward her bedroom. Well, her and Rhys’ room. Since they sleep together. And are married. And most importantly, mates.
You watch as your High Lady flings open one of her closets, rummaging through for something suitable for you to change into. Hastily, she pulls out a large top—far too big for either of you. She glances between you and her closet, debating how long it will take her to find something else that will work.
The shirt will have to do.
“Here,” she offers, walking over to you. “Put this on. I’ll remove the colour then it’ll go in the wash to be properly cleaned.”
“Are you sure? I can just—”
“Hurry! I’ll never look you in the eye again if I know I stained one of your dresses!” Your lips quirk up at her exaggeration, but lift the flowy fabric over your head, leaving you in a small set of underthings.
You’ve changed in the same room before, but something’s more subdued this time.
Her blue-grey eyes dip, only for a moment, to get and eyeful of your breasts. But then they remain where they are. She doesn’t drag her gaze away, and it’s just you before her, in nothing but a bra and matching underwear.
Her hand raises, tracing her finger over the roundness of your right breast. “I haven’t seen this one before?” Her thumb brushes over its peak—right over your nipple—and it’s an effort not to emit a tiny sound of pleasure at the ticklish touch. “Where’d you get it from?”
You swallow, and her eyes mark the roll of your throat. “You know the one,” you reply, surprised to find your voice is smooth and even. “Opposite the restaurant that’s a little down from Rita’s?”
“Ohhh,” she hums, fixated by the pretty lace adorning your skin. “That one.”
Then her fingers are dipping abruptly to the front of your underwear, hooking beneath their seam, and snapping the band against your skin. You flinch, flushing at the intimate act of chastisement. Her eyes narrow teasingly, “you went without me? I though we did all our shopping together?��
You groan, but smile, “Mor’s really rubbing off on you, you know that?”
“Is that who you went with? Did you go with Mor?”
You peer at her, features seemingly a little tense. “What?” You laugh, shaking your head, “no.” The strain seems to seep from her shoulders, and she manages a laugh, “good.”
“Good?” You look at her questioningly.
“That’s our thing,” she explains, “our girls trip out.”
“Ah,” you nod, smiling now, “I see. Rhys is also rubbing off on you.” She gives you a look, and you gently pry the shirt from her fingers as she watches you intently. “So territorial,” you laugh teasingly, donning the item of clothing.
She blinks, once, in surprise. “Gods,” she mutters, “I am.” A surprised laugh bubbles up from your throat and her eyes spark at the sound, grinning softly.
“You look good in that shirt,” she says, softly, thumbing the buttons of the shirt. “Yeah?” You ask, equally quiet, peering at her. She nods, fingers tracing downward—between the shape of your breasts. Acutely aware of the descending path.
“Well, hello there.”
You jump, taking a hasty step back, while Feyre merely looks a bit disappointed. “Feyre was just letting me borrow some clothing since my dress was…compromised,” you explain, fairly succinctly. Rhysand nods, closing the door behind him as he walks up to his mate. His arms glides around her waist, pulling her to his side as he presses a chaste kiss to her temple.
He then turns to you, and you extend your hand—habitual, at this point—allowing him to grasp it as he presses his soft mouth to your knuckles. Violet eyes flick to yours as he pulls away, dragging down your clothed figure intently. His gaze twinkles, “is that my shirt?” Embarrassment heats your skin, burning in the pit of your stomach, as you turn to Feyre expectantly, “is it?”
Her eyes run over you again, and shrugs. “Maybe. I can never remember anymore. More than a few things of Rhys’ have ended up in my closet,” she says, frowning slightly.
“Oh,” you manage, “I’ll wear something else, then. I didn’t realise—”
“It’s fine,” Rhys cuts in, firmly. His arm tightens around Feyre’s waist, both of them watching you with an intensity you’re unaccustomed to. “Besides,” he adds, grinning slowly, “it looks good on you.” You flush with pleasure, smiling gently, “thank-you.”
————
It’s a week before you see them next, while Rhys and you are in the library, searching for a book on the history of mythical creatures—records of the various legends of the beasts that perhaps once roamed the Courts.
Feyre walks in with two plates laden with food—roast potatoes with herbs and something red and spicy looking, a meat you would guess is chicken scattered with rosemary and thyme and some other seasonings you can’t distinguish, as well as some other tasty looking bits and pieces.
You sigh, standing from your crouching position, “I’ll try again next time—thanks for the help though,” you say to Rhys who’s searching the higher shelves. “I’d better get home to start on my own supper,” you add, the food sparking hunger in your stomach. “Don’t be silly,” Feyre chirps, setting the two plates on the table where a third appears at their side. “I could only carry two, and I can hear your stomach from over here, eat with us.”
You eye the plates, just as inviting as before, mouthwatering in its display of aromas. “Well, if you insist,” you laugh, not taking much convincing at all. Rhys chuckles from a few rows over, “good to know if we ever need to tempt you over, we need only offer you a hot meal and you’ll come scrambling back to us.”
“I would not scramble, Rhysand,” you huff indignantly, “I’d skitter and scamper. On eight legs.” Feyre snorts as she settles at the wooden table, cutlery and eating implements landing either side of her plate as she prepares to tuck in.
“You know, I’m not sure even in a book containing information on the known creatures of Prythian would you find one that transforms into an arachnid when lured with food,” Rhys comments, taking the seat opposite Feyre, leaving to take the head of the table. “Maybe you should have it updated, then,” you laugh, settling into you seat.
“I wonder what other strange things you would find in there,” Feyre muses softly.
An easy quiet descends as you tuck into your food—pleasant and simple. Beautiful.
It’s always easy with them.
————
“That reminds me,” Feyre says, dropping you off at your own home—a couple of streets down from the River House.
You turn in your doorstep, tipping your head inquisitively.
“Do you feel comfortable around Rhys and I?” She asks, a little too casually. You narrow your eyes at her, “why? Are you propositioning me?” You flick your hair over your shoulder and bat your eyelashes at her flirtatiously. She stiffens, “no…I just…” She doesn’t usually stutter? “I wanted to make sure you don’t feel left out,” she supplies after a moment.
You watch her closely, pausing. She’s off tonight, something’s strange. “What is it?” You ask, turning to face her fully, but she shakes her head, stepping to the lower stair. “It’s nothing. I just know Rhys and I can sometimes forget other people are in the room, sometimes,” she lies, surprised how smooth the untruth is from her tongue. “Oh,” you laugh, smiling broadly, “no, it’s fine. It’s nice seeing you two be so moony-eyed over one another.”
Still, she looks like she’s considering saying something more. You raise your brows encouragingly. “I…” she begins uncertainly. Then she shakes her head again, and stands straighter. “We both enjoy your company. Greatly,” she tells you, locking eyes. You flush at the compliment, feeling a little shy, waving your hand slightly dismissively, “that’s sweet of you, Fey. I…like spending time with the two of you—it’s easy. Conversing, I mean. I don’t really have to…” You pause for thought. “I feel like I don’t have to think around you two, I can just kind of…you know?”
Feyre smiles tentatively, and it’s enough to show there’s more that she’s not saying. You’re not sure whether to push it or not—surely she’ll tell you if she wants to. But she’s also your High Lady—she’ll know how to deflect a question if it makes her uncomfortable.
So you take a small step forward. “What is it?” You repeat softly, watching her. “I can tell something’s up with you, Fey. What’s going on?” Her smile is a bit sheepish—strained. As if she’s tense. Your brow furrows. “You’re worrying me, is something wrong? Is there something I did?”
“No—no. It’s— You haven’t done anything wrong,” she smiles again, stiffly.
You just watch her steadily, then take a risk. You’re sure she’ll make it clear if she wants you to let it drop. So you move toward her, taking her hands in your own, fingers sliding into her palms smoothly—as if designed for one another. “Tell me, Fey,” you murmur, “if something’s weighing you down, I want to be there. Even if you just want a bed for the night, or a hug, or someone to have tea with in the mornings—I want you to know I can be here for you in whatever way you want.”
She looks at your intertwined hands, then back up to your eyes. Then blows out a breath. “Okay,” she sighs, “fine.” You brace yourself for whatever burden is slumping her shoulders. “Rhys and I care for you. Deeply.” You barely have time to blink before she’s pushing forward. “Differently to how friends should care for each other,” she clarifies.
“I can speak both for him and myself when I say that we would like to be more open with our affections towards you. To be more…intimate, with you.” She pauses to take in a breath, hands loose on your own, allowing you to step away should you wish. In no way threatening. “That being said, if that is not something that interests you, or it makes you uncomfortable, neither of us will ever bring it up again. Just understand we…you’re incredibly dear to both of us, and we would like nothing more than for you to requite our feelings,” she finishes.
You manage a few more blinks, then take a step away. “Oh my gods,” you murmur, staring at her. “You are propositioning me.” As soon as the words leave you mouth, you shake your head in denial. “I don’t understand. Is this a joke? Are you joking? Did I do something to make one of you uncomfortable and this is your way of figuring out if there was something behind it? By seeing if I’m romantically interested in one or both of you?”
Feyre’s brow furrows at your words. “Not at all. This…we’re both serious. I can get Rhys over if you want to talk to him, too. We thought it would be easier for you to remain calm around me, if things went unfavourably,” she explains, watching you steadily; honestly.
“You—…” You look at her, bewildered, and feeling slightly sick. It’s a lot to digest. “You… Both of you…” you begin, selecting your words carefully. “Both of you…enjoy my company?” You ask slowly, almost analytically.
The female nods gently.
“So…—I’m sorry if I’ve gotten this wrong… You’re asking about my affections toward the two of you?”
She nods again.
“Okay,” you swallow. “Okay,” you repeat, breathing deeply. Better to get it out of the way. “I’ve found myself romantically attracted to you two for some time, now. I didn’t want to say anything for obvious reasons, and you were both so kind, and lovely that I thought I could make do with watching from a distance. I’ve never wanted to attempt to split you up, or made a conscious effort to pull one of your’s attention away from the other,” you manage, speaking in a straightforward, matter-of-fact tone.
“But, if you’re saying that each of you has an…interest,” you stammer over the word, “in…also. Then…I’m open to it. To both of you.” Now you’re flushing, heart pounding.
This time Feyre blinks, processing. “You…you’re attracted to us? To both of us?”
You flush more, skin heating across your body as you shift. “I don’t want to be too graphic,” you admit, looking away from her. “But, yes,” you murmur, “I’m attracted to both of you.”
Before she has a chance to say anything, you continue, “and I’ve felt awful about it, for years. Harbouring these feelings—I didn’t want them, and they always make me feel so guilty. Like I’m a spy or something trying to worm my way into your court, or break you apart. But I swear, I’ve never wanted that,” you practically plead. “I swear on everything that is good, I’ve never consciously acted on my feelings for either of you up until now.”
She staring at you, almost disbelievingly, and you wonder if you should have just kept your mouth shut.
“So…you’d like to be with us? You…I mean,” her voice is thick and rough with emotion, “you’d like to be ours? Share our things, eat meals with us, be with us?” She swallow heavily, “share our bed?” Heat swallows your body whole as you look away and dip your head in confirmation.
“You—” she stammers, moving forward to be in your space. “May I kiss you?” She asks hoarsely. You hardly manage a nod before her shaky fingers are sliding over the nape of your neck, pressing her soft lips to your own. Both your eyes slide shut, as you rest there, basking in the feeling of one another, indulging in the heat and the softness and the wonder.
Your hands settle nervously around her waist, one hand sliding up between her shoulder blades, pressing her against you. She moves with your guide, pliant beneath your fingertips, so malleable. Her own grip tightens on you as she pushes further, slanting her mouth as she retreats then washes in on you again.
When she pulls away, you’re both more than a little shaken, more than a little breathless.
“I…would you feel fine coming back to the River House, then? Staying the night?” She asks hopefully. You blink, then nod. You’re unable to comprehend how she’s capable of speech right now. She nods to herself, mirroring your confirmation. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, that’ll work. Though if you need time to think— Or you want to go slower, just say,” she breathes, arms still over your shoulders while yours remain around her waist.
“Will you—” You clear your hoarse throat. “Do you want to walk back, or…?”
She nods, still breathless, “I’ll take you to the front door, then.”
————
You’re jittery, heart still pounding, when she winnows you to their house, opening the door and letting you inside.
“Does Rhys…” you begin, whispering. “I mean, have you told him?” Feyre shakes her head, “I can if you want?” You consider, arm linking tightly beneath her own, but then he appears in the hallway and you stiffen as his violet eyes take both of you in. His gaze weighs on your linked arms for a moment, before flicking away.
“You’re back,” he greets with a casual smile, walking toward the two of you. “Feyre convince you stay the night for some reading again?” He asks, stopping a little way from you both. Your eyes flick to Feyre’s but she nods toward Rhys, encouraging. You swallow thickly, eyes darting about before returning to his. “Feyre was…well, we were talking, and…and she said—well, it was a bit confusing. Not in general, but at first— I mean, we chatted, about…some things, and, well…” your arm tightens on Feyre’s and you feel heat flushing your skin with embarrassment and humiliation at your stammering.
You turn to Feyre, “I’m sorry. Can you do it? I don’t know how to…” you trail off, looking at her pleadingly. She smiles broadly, then turns her attention to a puzzling Rhysand. “She said yes.” You manage a tight-lipped smile as the male’s eyes widen a little, taking you in with a different intent.
But then his arms a spreading and Feyre’s letting you go as his hands wrap over your shoulders and he pulls you tight into his warmth, nose pressing into your hair as he takes in your scent. Behind you Feyre laughs softly at the sight, then Rhys is pulling her in too, and your front is pressed tight against his chest, while she’s firmly at your back, and you swear you could melt into a puddle of happiness between them.
“You’re really…” Rhys asks hoarsely into your hair, Feyre’s arm looping over your stomach while her free hand strokes the male’s upper arm soothingly. You nod into his chest gently, careful not to knock him, “yeah.” Your voice is raspy but you don’t care, not as Feyre holds both of you tighter, and Rhys presses a kiss to your hair. One of his hands brushes a stray strand from your cheek, pushing it back over your pointed ear, before curving around Feyre’s nape, keeping all three of you together.
Feysand Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @girlmadeofavocados @mali22
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reverie-tales · 3 months
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I Get to Love You
Acotar Secret Santa 2023
@acotargiftexchange
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Summary: This is the story of a male who loved his mate, his High Lady, and the mother of his child, told from his perspective. A glimpse of selected events mentioned in ACOSF from Rhysand's POV. Three chapters that can be individually read as one-shots. 
Notes:
- For my giftee @dreamlandreader, surprise! The reindeer decided they could make an earlier delivery for chapter 1! I hope you like it. 🩷
- A special thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher, @asnowfern , and @thesistersarcheron for the support, beta-reading, and helping me with the summary.
- CW: Fluff and NSFW Smut for this chapter.
- Word count: 2074 AO3
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Chapter 1: Oh, I Can't Believe It's True
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Rhysand heard the soft click of doors closing and the voices of his brothers growing distant, an indication that his brothers had left the study, and stretched his legs beneath his desk. On his desk lay their reports beside his cup of tea, which had grown cold. The study had gone quiet as night as he was left to ponder his thoughts.
The meeting had gone long, with Cassian relaying the measures he had taken to snuff out any remaining tension between the Illyrians over the last few months, ensuring relative peace. A task he knew his brother had taken earnestly head-on. Sooner or later, Rhysand knew it would be time for Cassian to take on bigger responsibilities.
Azriel had remained silent all throughout, lost in his shadows, until he gestured to him to speak of his spy work. Knowing his feelings for Illyria, Rhysand understood why. With a nod, Azriel dispersed his shadows and spoke of the information his spies gathered across the seas.
Rhysand lifted a page of Azriel's report, and his eyes skimmed the words stating the human queens' army still remained assembled. The human queens were stirring. Scheming for trouble, no doubt. Could they be so callous as to start another war?
He thought of the treaty that Feyre and he worked tirelessly into the night crafting with the aid of Amren and input from their allies. A treaty that encompasses fairness for all. The skillful maneuvering necessary to ensure it was agreed upon and signed by all territories involved was the only task that remained. Mor was in Vallahan now in hopes of convincing their king to sign. Whatever the human queens were up to could be a hindrance to that. They were so close to attaining continued peace for centuries, yet war seemed to loom in the corner, waiting to burst the bubble of their hopeful dreams.
An ornate clock hanging on the study walls chimed in the late hour. Feyre has set it to sound half an hour before every mealtime. A clever reminder from his mate to not overwork himself and forget to eat. Any plotting of plans Rhysand was contemplating was set aside as he remembered he was to meet her for dinner.
Rhysand turned his chair, his head leaning back, and gazed upon Feyre's portrait, illuminated by the golden faelights in the room. His mate was exquisite, glowing with mirth. The same playful expression was on her face when he told her last solstice that Cassian and Azriel locked him out of the birchen, leaving him outside, the snow freezing his wings and balls for one whole minute after her wicked teasing down the bond. "My poor Illyrian baby" was her only reply.
There was no playful expression when she woke the day before from a nightmare. Heart beating fast, tears in her eyes. He tucked her into his side, swooping his wings over them, sheltering them from the horrors that still plague them from under the mountain. "We're free. I'm here; I'm right here with you," he whispered to her, soothing her to sleep. She relaxed into his embrace, but he knew the heaviness of the nightmare still remained. She was at the studio now, painting those feelings long after the children went home.
Rhysand felt for their bond—a night-flowing river that sparkled with starlight. "Feyre darling?" he spoke to the sliver she often left open for him on her walls of adamant.
No response. It was not unusual when she was engrossed in her work to forget they had plans. And so, with one last look at the painting before him, Rhysand smiled and stood up from his chair.
With a flick of his hand, a thread of his power compiled the paperwork on his desk into a neat pile to discuss with his High Lady tomorrow. But, for now, he was going to fetch Feyre for dinner the way only a devoted, truly enamored, and particularly mother-henning mate can. Straightening his dark jacket and pants, he winnowed to the Rainbow of Velaris.
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The full moon hovered above in the clear summer night sky as Rhysand stepped foot on the pale cobblestones. His wings were out, never needing to hide who he truly was from his people. A cool breeze ruffled his hair as he watched the Rainbow brim with life. Faeries were leisurely going home from work, stopping by shops that open only after dusk, and spending time with their family or friends.
As he walked towards Feyre's studio, he noticed a little girl in a bow dress waiting in line with her father at a nearby cart that sold colorful shaved ice desserts. She stared at him with rounded eyes and tugged at her father's hand. "That's my teacher's mate," she said excitedly.
Her father looked toward Rhysand quite apologetically and bowed in greeting, and to his daughter, he said, "Yes, our High Lord Rhysand is our High Lady Feyre's mate."
Rhysand took great pride in being referenced as Feyre's mate, and so with an honest smile that came easily, he approached the pair. He conversed happily with them and listened intently as the little girl spoke of how much she loved Feyre. The little girl thought Feyre was the greatest, and he couldn't agree more.
One day, he thought, Feyre and he would have a little one of their own to bring to the Rainbow, who would most certainly think Feyre's the greatest in the entire world too.
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Rhysand walked through the studio doors and spotted Feyre. She was painting at the center of the gallery. Her hair was tied into a braid resting on one side, and her white shirt and teal billowing pants were speckled with paint. Her back was to him while she focused on the canvas before her. Her second trial under the mountain was coming to life with every brush stroke right before his eyes, and a remnant pang of horror when he realized she couldn't read and solve the riddle on her own struck him hard.
Rubbing his hand on his chest, he had to remind himself they got out. He shut his eyes and breathed in her scent, letting it soothe the ache of the past and ground him in the present. Lilac and pear and—. He froze, and his eyes flew open. His nostrils flared. His mate's scent had changed, carrying a sweeter and softer scent. 
Feyre twisted to look at him the very moment his legs gave out. 
What breaks a male until he falls down to his knees undone and is remade? His love—with a baby. A family—theirs.
Feyre, his mate, was pregnant with their child. 
Wide, blue-gray eyes stared at him in confusion. Could she not sense the thundering of his heart? The jubilation? 
Tears poured down his face, and he didn't try to stop them. He opened his mouth to tell her. She must not have known. How could she? Her scent this morning was unchanged until now. "We're having a baby," he tried to tell her, but all that came out was a babbling mess. He started laughing then. Pure, ecstatic joy overtook him. He opened the bond fully, sending every feeling towards her as her own walls dropped, trying to understand him. Nothing divided them from the truth. His mouth mustered the words one more time. "Ba-by"
Feyre gasped, dropping the brush she was holding and leaping off the stool. Tears poured down her own face as she launched herself at him with such force that he almost didn't have time to spread his wings to soften their fall before she knocked them both to the ground. She was so magnificent. Together, lying down on the floor, they laughed and cried.
Long minutes passed before coherent words were able to pass through their lips, and a peaceful calm washed over them. Feyre sat up. Rhysand placed a hand over her stomach in wonderment and gazed up at her. Her hands swiftly joined his. "I didn't think it would happen so soon," she confessed, smiling at him. 
"It seems, Feyre darling, our son is eager to meet you and love you as much as I do," Rhys smiled back.
"Our son," Feyre repeated, and fresh tears glistened in her eyes as they sparkled with starlight. "By the Cauldron, Rhys, we're going to have a baby!"
"Yes, we are," Rhys confirmed, leaning back on his elbows and reaching for her lips. "We're going to be parents who spoil their child rotten." 
Feyre snorted but rested her hands behind his neck and pulled him close. "I'm so happy," she said, and she kissed him.
Rhysand's hands reached her waist, anchoring herself to him. He softly kissed her at first, luxuriating on her delectable lips, until her tongue sought entrance, and he kissed her harder. Her taste was invigorating, sending a thrill down his body, through his veins, and through his blood. He was hardening.
"More," Feyre whined down the bond as her hands traveled toward his jacket, pulling.
What kind of male would Rhysand be if he didn't give his mate exactly what she needed? Anything for you. A promise.
With a single thought, he plunged the studio into darkness, the tendrils of night shutting the windows from any curious eyes as he vanished their clothes. Skin to skin with his mate, her heat seeping into his own flesh, he thought he would die of undying love.
Her skin glittering with the light of thousands of stars, the only brightness centering them, surrounded by the darkness of lovers doing his bidding—shielding them from the world outside of them. It was only them. Only ever them.
His kisses made a downward path, leaving love bites on her neck until they found their destination. Face-to-face with his mate's glorious breasts, he sucked a peaked nipple into his mouth. Feyre's head fell back, her hands weaving into his hair. "Rhys," she thought. Her need, mirroring his own, blazed down the bond.
One hand held her steady while another drifted toward her entrance. He found the wetness he knew would be waiting for him. His thumb circled her clit as he plunged a finger into her folds, teasing her with gentle strokes. "Rhys," Feyre whined again. "I need…"
He lifted his head from her breast to look up at her. "What do you need?" He'll give her anything, everything.
"You," she said, and with one swift motion, her hand was on his chest, pushing him to lie down on the ground as she lowered herself onto his cock, taking charge. 
They groaned in unison. His mate felt so good, so tight, and so perfect for him. Feyre didn't move slowly. She moved fast, riding him in search of that earth-shattering bliss into oblivion. And he would give it to her. His mate. Hers forever until their souls turned into dust.
Feyre glowed like a goddess. Her light was shining brighter, reaching for the stars in his own darkness swirling about. She was a goddess carrying their child. Unruly tears gathered in his eyes. The thought of Feyre's swelling belly round with their child had him lifting his hips and driving into her harder. Hands on her ass, he guided her to a staggering rhythm as those tears finally dripped down his face once more.
She was close to coming. He knew from the rapid rise and fall of her chest, from the way she bit her lip fighting a scream, and from the churn of her power down the bond, and gods, so was he.
But her eyes flicked down at him, and she saw those tears. She understood why, like no one else can. She leaned in to lick them away, just like she did long ago in the cabin. That closeness, that slight shift of their bodies, had him soaring to the edge. His wings cocooned them as he thrust into her, climaxing so hard that her walls tightened magnificently around him. Together, they found release.
His mate, satiated and sleepy two more rounds later, whispered, "Let's go home, love."
With a snap of his fingers, Rhysand righted the studio as if they were never there, and together they winnowed home to the River House, which had a nursery that awaited to be occupied.
A quiet joy settled in their souls, knowing that another dream would be soon answered by the stars, who have always listened.
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Thank you for reading! 🥰
🌌 Fic Masterlist
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fieldofdaisiies · 11 months
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Feysand | Oh So Sensitive Wings
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type: fluff & smut warning(s): suggestive, smut: in p in v, vulgar wording, minors dni!! word count: 2.1k words request: based on the headcanon request that Feyre uses Rhys’s wings for drawing. I would like to dedicate this story to @autumndreaming7 for being such an amazing friend and wonderful person, I hope it brings a little smile to your face💛
read on ao3
- all rights reserved -
Rhys giggles softly— the sound joyful and so very un-High-Lord-like, so pure, so adorable it has Feyre chuckling loudly as a reaction. Her hoarse laugh fills the High Lord’s ears and he revels in it, bliss taking root in his chest and warming him from the inside out. 
“Hold still,” Feyre orders then, flicking her mate’s ear a little. An almost gleeful grin spreads over her face, her eyes aglow with a hint of mischief. She rocks her hips against his front, knees braced on the bed, her brush tightly clasped in her hand. “I am not done yet.”
“I have noticed that, Feyre-darling,” Rhys answers in a low voice, his hands tightly fisting the pillows above him. He groans somewhere deep in his throat when his mate ever so slightly swipes her brush up the base of his wing and fully returns her attention to her work of art.
It is such a gentle sweep and immediately lets Rhysand’s thoughts wander to Feyre's fingers moving up his wing instead of the brush. “Darling,” he purrs, the low rumble reverberating through Feyre. Her toes curl a little and she feels damp heat pool in her core. The High Lady of the Night Court knows that her mate can smell her arousal, but she does not mind, she actually likes it. She has him fully under her mercy, he lets her paint his wings, said he would love to try it and so they ended up in bed, Feyre’s brush attached to his wings, gently sweeping over the sensitive membrane, adding lovely decorations the High Lord. 
Rhysand has to lift his arms, keep them above his head so Feyre has access to all areas of his wings. They originally planned on painting the backside of his wings, but Rhysand said he could then not see the painting himself then and so they opted for the inside. Like with a book, you open it and a whole new world is presented to you. 
“Yes, my love?” Feyre answers, her tone sultry, her voice a breathy whisper in her mate’s ear. “Is that not to your liking?”
Rhysand only chuckles in answer, slowly shakes his head, feeling the cool tip of the in paint covered brush move up his wing. It is close to the sensitive part but still not so close enough that it would arouse him even more — if that was even possible. Every fiber in him is already screaming for his mate, his whole body yearning to be fully consumed by her. But the High Lord of the Night Court knows that his mate is a little tease, knows how much she is enjoying it and so he lets her have her fun, knowing that later it will be him who will enjoy the fun.
With graceful simplicity the brush moves over the leathery membrane of his wing while Feyre is straddling him and Rhys can’t tear his eyes away from his mate. His gaze is constantly glued to her face, those stunning blue eyes, her full lips, the concentrated expression on her face. She is the most beautiful female he has ever seen and still today Rhysand can’t thank the Mother and the Cauldron enough for bringing her into his life. 
His leg jerks up a little, his teeth capturing his lower lip when the tiny, soft tip of the brush ever so slightly grazes the vein leading up to his talon. He groans lowly, and lowers one arm, his hand grabbing Feyre’s hip, finger tips digging into her soft skin. It is the side where Feyre hasn’t painted anything yet, so it is all good — or Rhysand thinks so. His High Lady raises a brow in reprimand, her lips pursed, but her mate’s soothing purr soon makes her lips turn into a small grin. “Darling, that was too close.”
A feline smile plays on her lips when the High Lady raises her brow once again. She leans in a little, her core rubbing against the hard ridge of her mate’s arousal. “I doubt there is too close when it comes to me touching your wings.” Rhysand tightens his grip on her hips, his jaw clenched when he groans once again, his chest rumbling. He finds himself beyond words, because his mate is correct.
It feels like the room is boiling, both their skins hot and tight with the rising desire. Rhys’s heart is beating a little faster then, his palm turning clammy from where it touches his mate’s soft skin. In the room it smells like paint and arousal and he knows he can’t stand it for much longer, wants to be buried deep inside of his mate. 
Mischief is etched into Feyre’s features when she sweeps up her brush and smudges it over her mate’s jaw, chuckling viciously at the blue line grazing his skin. “Unclench your jaw, my love, you will grind your teeth down to nothing.” 
“You cruel, wicked thing,” Rhys answers through gritted teeth, his eyes aglow with desire. And he knows that Feyre’s passion is just as acute as his own. He can practically feel the dampness pooling between her thighs — he can definitely scent it. 
“Stop blabbering and lift your arm again, I can obviously not continue like that, Rhys,” Feyre then orders and only reluctantly the High Lords lifts his hand off her hips and moves his arm backwards, his biceps flexing when he once again grips the pillow underneath his head and then grins. “Well, then, darling, do your worst.”
And Feyre does, setting out again to finish his first wing so she can finally move on to his other, but not before painting a few colour lines onto his solid chest, first using the brush, then her fingers.
Rhysand enjoys the peaceful moment, trying to not let his thoughts wander too far, and just focuses on how happy his mate seems. Nyx is safe with his aunt and uncle, Cass and Nesta, enjoying a lovely day with them, while his parents finally have a little time for themselves. 
“It is coming together beautifully,” Feyre whispers and smiles, her gaze trained on the short white coloured lines she is currently placing on the inside of Rhysand’s second wing. 
A night sky, she had said she wanted to draw, with stars and shooting stars. 
The movements of the brush are all coordinated and gentle, Feyre is fully focused and Rhysand loves nearly nothing more than seeing his mate like that. She is stunning and breathtaking and he desperately wants to move his arm so he can brush the short strand of hair that is toppling over her forehead out of Feyre’s face. But he holds back, knowing if he moved he would smudge the paint and he really does not want to destroy her masterpiece. And so he holds still until Feyre is finished which is not too much time later. She finishes her painting with the biggest grin on her face, her in paint covered hands now resting on her mate’s belly.
There is already a lot of colour there, but Rhys does not mind, he just wants to see what his mate has done. And so Feyre moves off him, shimmies backwards until Rhys has enough space to move of the bed, and he strolls towards the mirror. Feyre stays, kneeling on the bed, her gaze following her mate, momentarily dropping to the very obvious hint of his arousal that shows through his thin sleeping pants. She has to grin to herself. 
Standing in front of mirror in all his powerful glory, Rhysand flares his wings. They look majestic behind his broad shoulders. The High Lord looks at Feyre’s work of art in utter admiration — it is stunning and absolutely artistic. Glancing over his shoulder at his mate, Rhysand immediately gets an idea on how to repay her for it. His gaze lands on her hands braced on the lower bedframe and he knows what he wants to do. “Stay like that, darling. Only lift your butt a little for me.”
From the lower end of the bed you have the perfect view into the mirror and Rhysand thinks that he will enjoy nothing more than watching the masterpiece on his wings while making love to his mate. He raises his brow, smirking a little and sends her a mental image. Feyre understands immediately what he is aiming at. And Gods, she loves the idea already, having craved her mate for the past hours she has been painting his wings.
“You know, I want to reward you for this masterpiece,” Rhys purrs when he climbs onto the bed and moves behind Feyre. He looks at her through the mirror, both their eyes aglow, their skin tingling with anticipation and desire. “I want to show you exactly how much I love it. How proud I am of this masterpiece.” He grins, feline and a little cocky, when his hands slide up Feyre’s outer thighs and he shoves up the shirt she is wearing and thinks that is is very fortunate that she has only been wearing a shirt and underwear this morning.
“Take that off for me, darling, will you?” The shirt is gone in an instant, which leaves Rhys ogling her front through the mirror for a long moment until he gathers his thoughts again. His hand slides up Feyre’s back, over her spin to the nape of her neck and he makes her move so her hands curl around the lower bed frame again and her butt is lifted. His index fingers curl around the hem of her undergarments and pulls them down to her knees, leaving her fully exposed for her mate. Her core is glistening with arousal and Rhys relishes in the sight of her, rosy and wet and just for him. He swallows before sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “You marked me earlier, now I am going to return the favour, Feyre-darling.”
The High Lord flares his wings simultaneously to his hand moving to the front of his slacks and he frees his already rigid and throbbing length. With his one hand he is stroking himself at the same time the index and middle finger of his other hand glide through his mate’s folds, eliciting the most beautiful gasp from her. “More, my darling?” “Always.” Feyre speaks through gritted teeth, her voice close to a hiss. Her knuckles turn white from how tightly she is already holding onto the bed frame. Rhys pushes his fingers into her, preparing her for his cock. “So wet,” he purrs and loves how her walls clench his fingers, how her body shudders and goosebumps appear all over her skin. He makes her come with his fingers once, stroking himself slowly before he removes his fingers and licks them clean, growling deep in his throat at the taste of her — of his mate. 
The High Lord positions the tip of his cock against Feyre’s entrance and slowly pushes in, blissfully stretching her out like it always used to be, and moving into the hilt.
His mate moans, the sound so hoarse and low, Rhys has to call upon all his restraints to not come right at the sound of it. One hand braced on her hip, holding her in place he slowly pulls out until only the tip is in. When he thrusts into her again, his hand brushes up her spin until he can grab the hair at the nape of her neck, his fingers wrapping around some strands of hair, pulling softly. “Lift your gaze, darling. Look at the masterpiece you created.” He grins when Feyre does as told, her gaze not moving to the wings first but to her mate’s eyes.
“You are the masterpiece, Rhys.” It is now Feyre who grins, sincerely and in a way that tells Rhys again how much she loves him. Her eyes are ablaze with passion and desire and for a moment they are the only thing Rhys can look at, holding her gaze through the mirror while he moves into her again. His thrusts are long, almost languid and coordinated, working her softly and making her feel every inch of his proud length until he can no longer hold back. His pace turns faster, the thrusts harder and quicker, making the bed shake and Feyre moan. Her head is thrown back, eyes shut, and her lips part with a cry of pure bliss and pleasure. Satisfaction nears in waves, before it washes over her, makes her clench arounds mates cock. She feels him pulse inside of her and comes with a scream, her mate’s hot seed spurting off her walls when he comes simultaneously, his growl filling the whole room, and making the furniture shake. 
“No, you are the masterpiece, Feyre darling,” he drawls and gives his High Lady’s rear a gentle smack. 
~~~~~~
tags: @brekkershadowsinger @a-frog-with-a-laptop
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dawninlatin · 7 months
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Crying in the IKEA parking lot
a feysand modern au one shot written for @officialfeysandweek2023
Feyre is having an emotional breakdown in the IKEA parking lot, but luckily a handsome stranger comes to her rescue
Words: 2,2k | Masterlist | AO3 Link
Feyre had experienced many low points in her twenty-two years, but crying in the parking lot of IKEA had to be one of the lowest.
To be fair, she was having a pretty shit day, a shit year, even, but that didn’t make her feel any better as she stared at the scratch on the shiny, expensive-looking car parked next to hers.
A scratch that was one hundred percent her fault.
She let out a pathetic sob as her mind replayed the moment when she’d been too busy cursing at the furniture she couldn’t fit in her trunk to notice that her cart was rolling away from her, straight into the other car.
There was no way she could afford to pay for the repair, especially not now, when she’d just spent the little money she had on a dining table and a single chair for her mostly empty apartment.
Feyre gave the package still sitting on the ground a kick in frustration. «Fucking useless piece of shit!»
«Are you okay? Do you perhaps need any help with that…?»
The voice startled her, and Feyre whirled around, suddenly facing the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He looked at her with a mix of concern and curiosity, his eyes so blue they almost seemed violet.
«I’m fine,» Feyre answered a little too quickly, plastering on a fake smile and pretending her face wasn’t all puffy and red. She’d gotten so used to telling this lie lately, it came on autopilot.
Unfortunately, the stranger wasn’t a complete idiot, and didn’t buy her lie. The few tears still running down her cheeks probably didn’t help either. «So crying in the middle of a parking lot is just something you do for fun?» The question was accompanied by a perfectly raised eyebrow. 
Smile dropping, Feyre replied, «No, it’s just-»
And that’s all it took for the floodgates to open once more. 
«I’ve had a really shitty time lately, and I just needed to get a table because I don’t wanna eat every meal sitting on the floor for the rest of my life, but then I came out here and I can’t get the fucking box in my car and then I accidentally scratched the car next to mine and I know I should be the better person here and leave a note but there is no way I can afford to pay for it to be repaired!» She was full-on sobbing again, choking out the words. 
When she’d managed to calm down a little, the crying reduced to sniffling, she looked up, surprised to find that the man still stood there. Feyre had expected her little mental breakdown to scare away the stranger, he’d only asked if she needed help, after all, but there he was, offering her a soft smile and a tissue. «So a really shitty day then?»
«Yeah,» Feyre replied weakly, wiping her tears.
«I wouldn’t worry too much about the car, though.»
«Why?» 
He smirked, and it made Feyre want to kiss his handsome face and punch it at the same time. She really should see a therapist or something. «Because if they can afford a car like that, the asshole can probably afford a repair as well.»
This time, when Feyre smiled, it was real. It felt good, after all this time.
«So, did you need any help?» the guy asked, gesturing towards the package still on the ground.
Feyre had barely nodded before he strode over, and in a single, seemingly effortless move lifted it into her car. It annoyed her to no end, but she was also grateful, because it meant she could get out of here and forget this completely mortifying experience ever happened.
«Thanks, uhm…» She didn’t even know his name, she realized.
«Rhysand, though my friends call me Rhys,» he offered, grinning.
His name was Rhys, and he had dimples. How was it possible to be this attractive?
«I’m Feyre,» she replied, completely cool, calm and collected…probably.
«Well, it was nice meeting you, Feyre, darling. I have to go and brave the hell that is IKEA to get something for my stupid cousin, but I hope the rest of your day is better!»
Feyre actually chuckled this time, giving him a wave and a «Good luck!» as he walked away. She watched him in a totally non-creepy way until he’d fully disappeared into the large store, relishing the way she felt kinda good right now. One encounter with a kind human didn’t fix all her problems, but it gave her back some of the faith she’d lost in humanity long ago.
Still smiling, Feyre got into the driver’s seat, but she didn’t start the car. Instead, her attention was pulled to the passenger seat, and the abandoned sketchbook that’d been lying there for months now.
She sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden urge to draw again. The familiar itching in her hands could have brought her to tears if she’d had any left. Maybe she actually could feel like herself again, someday in the future…
Glancing at the car next to hers, Feyre contemplated her choices. There was no way she could afford the repair bill, but no matter how she thought about it, the only right thing to do was choose kindness. What if the rich asshole was having an equally shit day?
That didn’t mean Feyre couldn’t make them feel as sorry for her as possible, though. Maybe if they knew what a mess she was, it would get her out of paying.
So she rummaged around in her car until she found a pencil, then she picked up her sketchbook and started drawing for the first time in months.
-
Feyre groaned for what had to be the hundredth time as she struggled to assemble the table. Wasn’t this supposed to be easy?!
She knew she should just go to bed and try again in the morning, but she wanted to do this, wanted to show the universe she could manage on her own.
Who knew leaving your abusive ex when you had no job, no education, no friends and no contact with your family would be so difficult?
Just when Feyre was about to give up, her phone suddenly chimed, alerting her of a new text.
Anxiously, she picked up the phone, her stomach flipping as she read the text from an unknown number.
Is this Feyre Archeron?
It had to be the owner of the car, Feyre thought. After all, she’d ended up leaving a rather creative note describing what had happened, signed with her full name and number.
The note had consisted of eight comic panels, first showing an overly animated Feyre looking miserable in her empty apartment, then her looking miserable in IKEA, her emptying her pockets at the register, then swearing as she tries to get the package into her car. Next featured a few panels very dramatically portraying how the cart had rolled into the car completely on it’s own, ending with Feyre drowning all of IKEA in her tears.
To be honest, she was kind of proud of it.
Chewing her lip, Feyre typed back a simple «Yes».
Mere seconds later, it started ringing, that same number appearing on the screen. She nearly dropped it in panic, and honestly wanted to just chuck it out the window. She did not want to buy a new phone though, especially not if she had to spend thousands on repairing an ugly-ass car that wasn’t even hers.
Hands shaking, she pressed reply, bringing the phone to her ear. «Hello?»
«That comic is the best thing I’ve ever seen. I’m seriously gonna frame it and hang it on my wall.»
Feyre’s heart promptly stopped as she heard the deep, silky voice. She would recognize it anywhere, if only from the things it did to her body.
«Rhys?!» she choked out.
«I told you to not worry about the car.» She could hear the smirk in his voice, and for some reason it filled her with rage.
«That was your car?! Why the hell didn’t you say so? I made a complete fool of myself in front of you-»
«No you didn’t,» Rhys interrupted her. «And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to stress you out even more. I’m sorry if that was wrong of me.»
Well, that was awfully…charming of him. Feyre didn’t know what to do with all these feelings swirling inside her. Especially not after living on autopilot for so long.
«Just tell me how much I owe you,» Feyre sighed. 
«How about you let me help you build that furniture, and we’ll call it even?»
«What? That’s ridiculous!» There had to be something seriously wrong with this guy, if he thought getting to help her with her furniture would make them even.
«Text me your address, and I’ll be there in thirty. With pizza.» 
And then he just hung up.
-
Exactly thirty minutes later, Feyre opened her front door to find Rhys on the other side, pizza in hand and a panty-dropping smile on his face. «Hello, Feyre, darling.»
«Ugh, just get in.» She was too hungry to bother with pleasantries. 
He followed her into the kitchen area, setting the pizza on the counter. Feyre busied herself with getting a glass of water, trying to not let her embarrassment show as he took in the space. She really hadn’t been kidding when she’d said it was all empty.
Well, apart from the still-not-assembled table.
When she looked up, though, he was looking at her, not the empty space. 
«Just so we’re clear, I have no ulterior motives in doing this,» Rhys spoke, all serious. His gaze so intense she couldn’t look away.
«I’m not gonna deny that I find you very attractive, and I would love to take you on a date some day, but right now, what I think we both need the most, is a friend.» 
Her chest ached at the pain she glimpsed in his violet eyes, a fellow lost soul. Maybe he was just as lonely, just as broken, despite the easy smiles? Feyre smiled faintly, thinking that she wouldn’t mind a friend right now.
Then Rhys opened his mouth again, and the moment was ruined. «And we both know you find me incredibly handsome because duh,» he gestured to his face, and Feyre scowled, flipping him off.
«Are you even qualified to build furniture?» Feyre asked, all serious. If he turned out to be excellent at this she would lose it.
«Are you kidding me? My great-great-grandfather was Swedish. I’ll show you my family tree to prove it.»
«You’re such a prick!» Feyre exclaimed, smacking his arm, but she was laughing as she did it.
This was gonna end in disaster.
-
«You’re even worse at this than I am!»
«I swear, there has to be something wrong with this table!»
The puzzled expression on Rhys’ face as he sat with the final leg of the table in his hand and seemingly no where to put it made Feyre laugh so hard her stomach hurt a little.
They hadn’t gotten much further from where Feyre had been before Rhys showed up to help her.
«I don’t understand…There are four legs, and four corners, so why won’t it fit?!» 
«Let me have a look,» Feyre chuckled, leaning into Rhys’ space to study the instructions once more.
As she reached forward to turn back a page, her hand brushed against his, and she let out a quiet gasp at the contact. He was so close she could feel the warmth emanating from him. 
Neither of them moved for a moment, the tension between them nearly tangible. 
Then Feyre turned her head, slowly, finding his eyes already locked on her, his gaze intense. It would be so easy to just lean in and kiss him, taste him.
Surprisingly, a part of her wanted to. Feyre knew she could be oblivious, but one had to be a complete idiot to not feel the chemistry between them, the spark that had been there from the very first moment.
Her life was too much of a mess at the moment, though. She needed to get her head above water first, needed more time to heal the wounds from her previous disaster of a relationship.
So Feyre pulled away, swiftly ending the moment. She could sense a shift in Rhys as well, but where she’d expected disappointment, maybe even annoyance, she only found a quiet, patient calm, the soft smile on his face telling her he understood, and he was willing to wait, but if she one day was ready, he would be there.
«I may have lied when I said I was a pro at this…»
«I knew it!»
Feyre gave Rhys a smile of her own, so grateful that he didn’t make things awkward after her subtle rejection. She hoped he could see the words she couldn’t voice quite yet.
I want to, I really do, but I’m not ready.
I haven’t had this much fun in ages.
You’ve made me feel alive again.
Having him as her friend would have to be enough.
For now.
A/N: don't ask about the header i was feeling creative today...
ANYWAY I have returned from the dead (I just started college) to give you this:):) I also actually had a beta reader this time, so kudos to my roommate! I'm sorry for making you read this and watch glee with me at the same time<3<3<3 Feel free to reblog, leave a comment or drop by my ask box, I love attention:)
Taglist: @ireallyshouldsleeprn @rowaelinismyotp
I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be added to any of them!
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azrielshadowssing · 2 years
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ACOTAR Writing Circle Masterlist
Posting dates: 1: August 13th; 2: August 27th; 3: September 10th
smut = *
Gwynriel
Inked Lillies, part 2, part 3 @headcanonheadcase (shadowsingerofnight, ofduskanddreams)
The Capri-Sun Girl, part 2*, part 3 @ofduskanddreams (headcanonheadcase, hlizr50)
Delectable, part 2, part 3 @hlizr50 (violet-shadows, thehaemanthus)
Elucien
We Could Pretend to Form an Attachment, part 2, part 3 @velidewrites (the-lonelybarricade, azrielshadowssing)
The Leap of Faith, part 2, part 3 @shadowsingerofnight (ofduskanddreams, velidewrites)
Tethered, part 2, part 3 @azrielshadowssing (velidewrites, shadowsingerofnight)
Nessian
Measuring up., part 2, part 3* @violet-shadows (thehaemanthus, headcanonheadcase)
Feysand
Glass of Your Rearview*, part 2, part 3* @the-lonelybarricade (azrielshadowssing, violet-shadows)
Haves and Have-Nots, part 2, part 3 @thehaemanthus (hlizr50, the-lonelybarricade)
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starswhogaze · 1 year
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Happy Solstice ✨💜
May you all be blessed and cozy on the longest night of the year🕯
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sarahjswift · 9 months
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Juie - Feysand Oneshot
Hello everyone! I apologize for none of my usual fanfic updates this week. Unfortuantately, a lot of this summer will be like that, including next week. I also thought I'd take a break and do some new stuff, like oneshots - which I have LOVED doing. There's no pressure to make a huge plotline, and I just love writing happy fluff.
As y'all probably know, I'm mostly a Throne of Glass girly, but I though I'd switch it up with some ACOTAR, which I also love. HOWEVER, because Feysand isn't AS MUCH - it still is, just smaller - of my baby as Rowaelin is, this writing isn't the best but - what ya gonna do, you know?
I hope you enjoyed! Tell me if you'd like to be added to the tag list or if you'd like to see more ACOTAR fics! If you have requests for a couple fic, just message me or comment :)
Warnings: Smut
Word Count: 1.1k
Enjoy!
--
No matter how hard she tried, Feyre’s painting just looked wrong. 
She cocked her head and chewed on the wooden end of her paintbrush as she surveyed her half-finished painting. It was supposed to be an abstract portrait of her family, the Night Court Inner Circle. It wasn’t to show her family’s true faces and bodies, but a blur of colors and shapes. In Feyre’s original vision, which had come to her in the middle of breakfast, the painting would leave viewers a bit spooked, or intrigued. She’d hoped to convey her loved ones' traumas through the paint, but it wasn’t working. Although the painting was beautiful, it just felt…flat.
Heaving a sigh, Feyre checked the clock on the wall of her studio. It was time to meet her mate and son for dinner. She packed up her supplies and waved at Ressina as she stepped out into the warm Velaris air. It was early summer, and the Square was filled with laughing people shopping. The sight filled her chest with buoyant joy. We did this, she thought to herself as she made her way to her home. 
She stepped through her threshold, shutting the heavy door behind her. “I’m home!” she called throughout the house. She smiled as she heard giggling around the corner, and she turned to see her five year old son running down the stairs to her. Nyx squeezed her tight, and Feyre picked him up and twirled him around, taking a deep breath of his perfect scent, made up of baby soap and stars. 
“Where’s your dad, baby?” she asked him, setting him down. Nyx’s black brows scrunched together adorably as he wracked his tiny mind. 
“Uhmmmmm…..,” he frowned. “Daddy said that…I think that he said he would meet us at the rest-y-raunt.” Nyx was still learning pronunciations for big words, which was so precious it made her heart burst.
“Oh - is that so?” Feyre raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Well! Are you dressed for dinner, baby?” 
Nyx nodded, gesturing proudly to his boxers and huge gray shirt that smelled strongly of Cassian - the little boy worshiped his uncle and wanted to be him when he grew up. Although it certainly wasn't a proper dress code for the fancy new restaurant they were going to, Feyre had no problem with her son’s attire. She herself was wearing a white wool sweater and black leggings, her hair pulled into her usual braid.
The mother and son traveled through the streets of Velaris, hand in hand. People smiled and waved to them, forever adoring of the two who saved their world and the loveable child born from the union. Finally, they reached the huge building that they would dine at - Juie. Nyx was exhausted from the fifteen minute walk and his hunger, and was wining and dragging his feet. Feyre pulled him into the restaurant, searching for her husband. And there he was. 
Rhysand, standing with his hands in his pockets in the corner of the restaurant. He was dressed in his usual black attire, his hair effortlessly styled. As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned around to face them, and smiled. It lit up his whole beautiful face. 
Gods, would there ever be a day when his face didn’t make her heart tighten?
No, there won’t be, my Feyre darling. Rhysand’s voice slid into her mind, making her smile and instantly let him through her shields. 
Prick, she shot down the bond, and advanced toward him. He sped to them too fast to be casual, and she bit back a grin as he reached them. 
“Hello, family!” he cried happily, picking up his son and planting a kiss on Feyre’s lips. His hand grazed her arm before pulling it back to twirl a squealing Nyx around. 
___
Soon, they had been seated and were digging into a steak meal. Every taste exploded with flavor, and Feyre made a mental note to take her sisters and Mor out here one day. 
“How was your day, darling?” Rhys asked her, Nyx busy eating and coloring. He looked at her over their son’s head, smiling.
“It was alright,” Feyre shrugged, taking a sip of the iced tea she'd ordered(it was especially refreshing). “Do you remember that painting I told you about?”
“The Inner Circle one? It was abstract, right?”
“Yes, exactly. Only I can’t get it right. Something’s off. It doesn’t have the life I want it to have.” 
“Oh.” Rhys frowned and looked down at his plate, clearly wracking his brain for an artsy response. It made Feyre’s heart warm - her husband didn’t know a lot about painting, but he tried for her. “Maybe it’s the setting?” 
“Actually, maybe I could use a change of scenery,” Feyre replied, toying with the idea in her head. “I could continue at the house, but then I’d have other distractions-” she subtly motioned to Nyx, “around.”
“I’ll take Nyx out tomorrow. Give you some peace and quiet,” her mate offered, biting into his steak. She smiled at him. 
“Thank you, Rhys.”
___
Later that night, Nyx was long asleep and Rhys and Feyre were laying together, reading. Feyre sipped on some hot peppermint tea, and in her soft gray pajama set, she was perfectly relaxed. Even more so as her mate slid an arm around her, kissing down her neck. 
She set down her book, and laughing softly, turned to kiss Rhysand, his lips warm and gentle. She wound her fingers in his hair as he slid a hand down her leg. Maybe the pajama set would have to go. 
Sure enough, within minutes they were both fully unclothed. Feyre panted as Rhys slid his fingertips lightly down her stomach, so close to what she wanted. He met her gaze, his eyes near-black, as he circled around her spot of need. She made a small sound at the back of her throat, the sight of him there nearly making her explode. She arched into his fingers as he finally put them where she needed, gripping the bedsheets with her fists. 
When Rhys added his tongue to where his fingers were, she couldn’t take it and moaned as she finished, her mate making sure she enjoyed every second of it. He leaned back up to her, kissing her deeply. Finally, he pushed gently into her, filling every part of her. They clutched each other as they moved, Feyre pulling him into bruising kisses one after another. She tugged on his hair, biting his lip, cupping his neck, until he roared, taking her over the edge with him. 
They lay there together for a while, both panting. “I love you, Feyre,” Rhys whispered into her neck. 
“I love you too, Rhys.”
Tag List <33:
@backtobl4ck, @aelinchocolatelover, @renxzs, @blue-bird17, @autumnbabylon, and @luell1q!
Thank you for reading!
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slytherhys · 1 year
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Beautiful Boy
AO3
Prompt: Nyx's first birthday party.
A/N: I tried to write some feysandnyx x ic fluff but I'm not sure I like this
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Early spring in Velaris was a sight to see. The days were still cold, the nights colder still, but the sun already shone bright in the sky, clearly lifting the spirits of the people. The entire city was still cleaning up after Starfall a few days earlier, but flowers already bloomed in front of the shops and marble and red stone townhouses, the Sira river already returning to its deep sapphire sparkle as it flowed through the city. People greeted Feyre as she crossed the bridge from the Rainbow to her house, where the party had already begun.
The great manor greeted her as she reached the end of the bridge, the marble façade covered in beautiful, lush ivy as well as a few different blossoming flowers that covered her front garden – all Elain’s doing, of course. Opening the front door, Feyre was immediately greeted by the warmth of her home as well as the accompanying sound of laughter and chatter coming from the sitting room. Her friends were already there, sitting and standing around the fireplace as soft music played in the background, but the laughter of her baby boy was the only thing she could focus on.
Nyx was in Cassian’s lap, being repeatedly thrown in the air. His little wings would flex for 2 seconds before he fell again into the awaiting hands of his uncle, who watched him with a proud glint in his eyes. Nesta was smiling as she watched them both, scolding Cassian whenever Nyx reached too high. Azriel stood by the wooden table as he watched Elain sort all the presents, a soft smile on his lips as she got more and more flustered at the ridiculous amount of gifts Nyx had received for his first birthday. Feyre felt her heart warm at the sight of her family.
“There you are,” she heard him before she felt his arms wrap around her waist. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Feyre turned swiftly, her hands immediately cupping Rhys’ face as she rose to her toes and kissed him softly. Twice, just because.
Rhys grinned. “Did you get it?” She nodded and held up the paper bag in her hand, unable to keep her own grin out of her face.
They had gone to the Rainbow a few weeks earlier to a small shop just a few blocks away from Feyre’s painting studio to buy Nyx a custom gift. Ressina had been the one to speak about it, having known the owner, and knowing Nyx was about to turn one. They had already bought a series of presents for their boy, but this one just felt…right.
Feyre groaned, dropping her head against Rhys’ chest. “We’re going to spoil him rotten.”
Rhys chuckled. “It’s nothing he doesn’t deserve.” He said, turning Feyre around so she could see how Nyx now crawled around the floor, still too scared to stand for long periods of time. Feyre pulled away, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. She was feeling entirely too emotional. Today was for happiness and celebration, no one needed her crying over gifts and cake.
Rhys pulled her in again, kissing her softly. “We’re okay.” He said gently, a promise between the two. Feyre nodded once, finding comfort in his presence. A day didn’t go by that Rhys didn’t promise her the exact same thing. She couldn’t be more grateful for it.
She gently settled the paper bag at a little side table, saving Elain from yet another colourful package to sort. Az was trying to coax her away from the mess, since there was really no need to do such a thing, but Elain kept glaring at him whenever he grabbed her hand. Feyre pressed her lips together to fight a laugh– there was something amusing about the shadowsinger bending to another’s will.
“Thank you for coming.” Feyre said as she reached the back of the couch, pulling both Cassian and Nesta for a hug.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Nesta replied softly, her eyes on Nyx as she squeezed Feyre’s hand once before letting it go. Feyre felt her lip turn up at the small display of affection. They still had a long way to go but having Nesta by her side as she raised Nyx was a gift she would forever appreciate. Having both her sisters after everything that happened last year gave Feyre a sense of comfort, one she didn’t even realize she had been missing all her life.
Rhys swept Nyx to his arms, taking him to the overflowing table as he kicked out Elain and Azriel back to the couch.
Cassian watched Nyx over the table, his little arms flapping around as he tried to reach for his presents. “I can’t believe the amount of shit people sent.” He snorted, yelping when Nesta slapped his hand, chiding him for his foul mouth. He looked chagrined before his face turned into something else. Feyre quickly looked away.
“He doesn’t need all this stuff, it’s ridiculous.” Feyre sighed, sitting on the armchair by the fireplace.
“It’s a good sign, love.” Rhys said as he made his way back towards her, sitting on the arm of the chair. “Helion, it appears, has sent at least 4 different gifts. Tarquin and Kallias also seemed to spare no expenses. I’d say our little man is quite popular.” He said, blowing a raspberry on Nyx’ cheek, making him chuckle loudly, squirming away from his dad. His chubby little arms reached for Feyre instead, who didn’t even hesitate before grabbing him. Rhys had a look of feigned outrage on his face, muttering a small traitor before he leaned back, his face pure adoration as he watched them both.
“Well, at least you guys didn’t get him anything.” Feyre sighed, her hands holding Nyx as he played with her necklace. However, when her statement was only met with silence, she looked. Why wasn’t anyone agreeing with her? “You didn’t get him anything.” She was a bit alarmed now. “Right?”
They had agreed there would be no gifts for Nyx. Rhys and Feyre had only wanted a small celebration between their family with dinner and cake, maybe a few drinks after Nyx had fallen asleep. Small, yet meaningful.
But as everyone in that room avoided her gaze, she knew they had all ignored her request. Big time. “Cass?” She called, making the male flinch. He reluctantly looked over at her and Rhys who, much to Feyre’s annoyance, was watching the entire interaction with entirely too much amusement.
“I wasn’t going to get him anything, I swear. But then I just saw the perfect gift and I couldn’t help myself. And then-”
“He got him a onesie that says uncle’s nº1 babybat.” Nesta deadpanned, her face neutral even if she was trying to fight a smile. Cassian frowned at her. “And a baby winger, whatever that is.” She added, a smirk on her lips.
“Wait, you got him the baby winger set?” Azriel’s low voice interrupted Cassian’s mumbles. “I told you I was buying him that.” Az crossed his arms, looking as intimidating as he intended. Elain simply rolled her eyes as she reached for a glass of wine.
“It’s fine, we also bought that-” She started, stopping when her eyes found Feyre’s with an apologist smile.
“Elain.” Azriel snapped. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“For whom?” Nesta raised an eyebrow, nodding her head towards Nyx who was now drooling all over Feyre’s necklace. Feyre gently removed it from his mouth, reaching for the bat plushie Mor had offered him last year so he could play with that instead.
“Wait a minute,” Rhys said, a furrow to his brow. “Why are you guys offering my son a baby winger?” Cassian fully grinned while Azriel had the decency to look a bit sheepish. Feyre wasn’t entirely sure what they were talking about, but Rhys didn’t seem fond of the idea.
“By the Cauldron.” Feyre muttered. “What is a baby winger?” She asked the three Illyrian babies fighting over presents. They all looked at her like she was insane. Was she missing something? Elain was fighting a smirk, but Nesta seemed as lost as she was.
“It’s only the best thing you can have to teach your son how to fly.” Cassian leaned forward, an excited gleam in his eyes. He looked like a kid on Solstice. “This one even comes with a security system so that he gets to ground safely.”
“You’re not teaching my son how to fly, Cassian.” Rhys rumbled, before looking at Azriel with a raised brow. “And neither are you.”
Both men started complaining as soon as the words were out of her mate’s mouth, Nyx becoming immediately enthralled by their loud voices going back and forth. She was just about to scold them when both Cass and Az went still at the exact same time. Feyre looked at Rhys, knowing he was telling them something through their minds – something that made both warriors pause, blushing furiously. Cassian started coughing, muttering something about water under his breath before leaving the room to the kitchen. Feyre raised an eyebrow at her mate, who was already smiling devilishly at her. She’d have to ask about that later.
“Where’s Mor?” Elain asked. “Isn’t she coming?”
Rhys frowned. “I think-”
“Where’s the birthday boy?” Mor’s soft voice sounded through the sitting room followed by the sound of the entrance door being closed. She appeared as swiftly as one could be, as if summoned by Elain. Wearing a long jacket over her usual casual attire and…carrying a giant bat plushie with a purple bow on its neck.
Feyre could only stare at her best friend, her mouth hanging open. Rhys was already rubbing his eyes and groaning about headaches. Nyx, however, seemed delighted by Mor’s gift.
“I said no gifts.” Feyre groaned, throwing her head back as she watched Mor set her gigantic gift on the floor before stealing Nyx from her arms. She couldn’t exactly say it bothered her how loved her son was among his family, but this was too much. It had to be too much. Right?
She wanted to give him everything she never had growing up, but she didn’t want to overcompensate. She knew Rhys would be careful too, even if he had to be reminded to pace himself. Frequently.
Rhys grabbed Feyre by the waist, sitting under her with such ease she didn’t even notice until she was already sitting on his lap, his lips pressing against her temple.
It’s his first birthday, love. Rhys’ soft timbre sounded inside her mind, startling her slightly. He held out his hand and Feyre happily intertwined her fingers with his. Let him be loved by his family.
He won’t even care for most of these things, Feyre said, watching as Nyx threw himself towards Mor’s gift, bouncing back and giggling as he fell on his butt.
And when the time comes, we’ll teach him to care for all things. Rhys pressed his lips against her hand. You’re his mom, Feyre. There’s not a single thing in this world that could make him anything other than kind and caring.
Feyre looked back at him; her vision blurry as she looked at the man she loved. It wasn’t a secret Rhys adored her, but most days he still couldn’t fully understand the type of man that he was. The amazing, loving father he was to Nyx. “There’s no doubt in my mind, Rhys, that he will be gentle and selfless. He’s half of the man who saved me and loved me on my darkest days. How could he be anything less?” She spoke softly, for these were words he needed to hear – the man who had given himself to protect the people he loved; the man who had saved her, over and over again and had wanted nothing in return. No, she didn’t need to be worried, not when Nyx was surrounded by the incredible people she had the pleasure to call family.
He was going to be okay.
“You think this is a bad time to tell them we also got him a toy dagger?” Cassian asked Azriel.
Their bedroom was glowing with the light of the night sky, glowing stars held by magic as they swirled softly around the room. Every once in a while, the shape of a little boy would fly by, followed by his parents as their twirled with the stars. It was like living inside a dream, one where things were simple and calm and only love mattered.
It had been a good gift, Feyre concluded once she saw how Nyx’s eyes followed the boy with wonder and curiosity.
Rhysand was sprawled on their bed, his hair longer and curlier than usual, a lazy smile on his lips as he read a book to Nyx – a tale about Nephelle, gifted to him by Elain and Azriel. The baby eyed both his dad and the stars surrounding him with adoring amazement, fighting hard not fall fast asleep.
Feyre felt herself settle, a smile on her lips as she watched the men of her life read a tiny book. Had it really been a year since her baby boy had been born? She simply couldn’t wrap her head around it. How they had gone from frantic nights and painful recoveries to gentle smiles and peaceful living. Just a year ago everything seemed so fragile, and now Nyx was starting to flex his wings, walking all around the house as he tried to follow his dad around, his little legs clumsy even when Rhys slowed down his pace.
Time had gone by too fast.
Everyone had left moments ago, just a few hours after dinner. They were all chatting over drinks when the baby monitor came alive, and Nyx’s cries filled the living room. Everyone had taken that as their sign to retreat back to their own homes, leaving with tipsy smiles and happy memories. Feyre had been retreating every single toy to Nyx’s room while Rhys tried to put the baby back to sleep – to no avail, apparently.
Rhys looked up, smiling as he spotted Feyre making her way to bed. “Did you enjoy the day, love?” Rhys asked in a soft voice, his large hand holding Nyx close to his chest as the baby sucked on his pacified, his little head resting against his dad’s chest. Feyre kissed his soft cheek, making him smile as he fought to keep his eyes open. She lied on her side, settling against Rhys as she played with Nyx’s dark hair. She couldn’t help but smile at the picture they painted – both sleepy, a lazy smile on their lips as they stared at her. She would paint it tomorrow and hang it someplace where she could see it every day for the rest of her life.
“He’s okay.” Feyre whispered, watching as Nyx finally succumbed to sleep. Understanding flashed through Rhys’ face. He smiled at her, his hand softly stroking Nyx’s back.
“He’s okay.” His voice was soft. “We’re all okay, love.”
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shallyne · 1 year
Text
Drunk Fey
Little fic, enjoy. I wanted her to be a bit chaotic.
Words: 874
TW: none
Feyre is drunk and it's just fluff of Rhys putting her to bed.
Feyre was the only thing that kept Rhys sane while Amren and Cassian had a screaming match about sports. Not because she was there for Rhys or because she tired to calm Cassian and Amren down but because she was so drunk that every thought was written on her face. Rhys didn't need to check the bond to know what Feyre felt, he already knew. She turned her head to Cassian when he yelled at Amren and then turned her head to Amren when she yelled back at Cassian. The confusion on her face when they yelled over each other was enough to make Rhys want to laugh. Feyre sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, an empty wine bottle tucked between her crossed legs. The blue sweater that was clean an hour ago hung loosely over one shoulder, a red spot on her sleeve and the seam of her sweater. A strand of hair found its way out of her braid when she had scratched her head in confusion. 
Feyre laughed at Cassian making a joke about Amren's height, which turned into a shocked expression when Amren looked at her. She held a hand over her mouth and muttered "Sorry." She sounded so sad that Rhys instinctively wanted to grab her and pull her into a hug. Amren looked back at Cassian and threw a bunch of curses at him, that had Feyre raising her eyebrows. When Amren mentioned the sky and pointed upwards, Feyre looked at the ceiling. Confused at why she couldn't see the sky. 
"Rhys!" Cassian snapped his fingers in front of Rhys's face. Rhys looked at his brother, shifting his attention away from his mate, and asked "What?" 
"I said I'm going home! It's late." Cassian said. He looked at Feyre and smiled "You should get her to bed, too." 
"That girl is wasted." Amren said as she walked past him. "Good night, Rhysand." 
"Please don't rip each apart on your way out." Rhys told them. Cassian snorted as he ruffled Rhys's hair "She can try. Nighty!" 
Amren grumbled something that made Cassian chuckle and they continued their bickering as they walked out. Rhys emptied his glass and put it on the table before him, then walked over to Feyre. "Alright, bedtime, Feyre Darling."
"Where are they going?" she asked. "The night isn't over, it just starts!" 
Rhys laughed and helped Feyre on her feet. She leaned against him, sighing. "I'm tired." Rhys pressed a kiss to her temple and picked her up, winnowing her to their bedroom. She giggled as Rhys sat her down on the bed. When Rhys took a step back, Feyre gripped his wrists and grinned up "Rhys!" she said, dragging his name long. Rhys chuckled "No Feyre, not tonight." he told her. Her grin turned into a frown but she let go. Rhys walked over to their closet and pulled out one of Feyres nightgowns. When he turned back around, she was tangled in her sweater, that she already put half off. 
Rhys smiled and helped her fully out of the sweater and helped her into the nightgown. Then she shrugged off her pants and socks and let herself fall in the bed. "Not yet, Feyre Darling." Rhys said and pulled her up again. She groaned, annoyed but let him pull her into the bathroom. Rhys put off her makeup and to his surprise she let him, wordlessly. She just smiled up at him when he was done with it and he pressed a toothbrush into her hand. 
Because Rhys knew Feyre would stop every ten seconds to say something if he wouldn't do it with her, they brushed their teeth together. 
She then threw her toothbrush on the sink and asked "Can I go to bed now?" 
"Yes." Rhys said. She smiled brightly and hurried back into the bedroom. As Rhys put her toothbrush away, he heard a dull thump from the bedroom. "Feyre?" Rhys asked worriedly and quickly went to her. Feyre laid on the carpet in front of the bed "Since when is it so fluffy?" 
"It always was-" Feyre interrupted him with a gasp. "Azriel!" she blurted out. 
"What?" Rhys asked. Feyre's eyes were silver lined when she repeated "Azriel! I didn't say goodbye to Azriel!" tears started to roll down her cheeks. "I need to!" 
Rhys's heart broke when he saw the tears. Azriel had vanished when Amren and Cassian started to argue, tho that wouldn't calm Feyre down so Rhys lied "You did."
"What?" Feyre sobbed. 
"I can't believe you don't remember it." Rhys said, crouching beside Feyre. He wiped away her tears and said "You waved at him when he left." Feyre nodded and Rhys asked "Do you remember?" 
She looked at him for a few moments and then nodded. "Yes?" Rhys asked, taking her hand to help her up. "Yes." she sniffled when she stood. 
Rhys tugged her into bed, which was useless because she already had the blanket untangled when he reached his side of the bed. Feyre wriggled over to his side, cuddling into Rhys. "I love you!" she said. 
"I love you too, my love." Rhys replied. It didn't take long until Feyres breath was even and she was asleep
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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years
Note
Heyyy love
Prompt for feysand please❤❤
"Whoever stood you up is a real
What’s this??? LB doing prompts again?? I have so many in my inbox and I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping up with them! I should be working on ACoFD/LVeR but the words have not been wording for me this week so i thought doing something light hearted may help! (Surprise, surprise the words also didn't word well for me here, but at least i had fun).
Word count: 3,710
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Just give me one more chance.
Two drinks ago, Feyre had thought the plea was almost romantic. Didn’t it go this way in rom-coms? Guy meets girl, guy loses girl, guy gets his ass humbled, and then he crawls back to prove that he’s changed.
Feyre had wanted Tamlin to fight for her. She walked away prepared for him to call her bluff and when he asked for another chance, she’d been relieved to provide it.
Now that relief was starting to taste bitter. She scowled at the empty seat across from her where the rim of her glass circled it like a telescope. Almost as though it were mocking her, saying: hey, remember how Tamlin was supposed to be here over an hour ago?
She couldn’t decide if she was more angry or humiliated. The passing glances from the surrounding tables were obvious and as her waiter circled to ask if she wanted another drink, the masked pity was as thin as Feyre’s patience.
It was well past the point where she should leave—but everytime she convinced herself to ask for the bill, a little voice in her head begged her to reconsider. What if he has a good excuse? 
Two drinks ago she might have blamed that part of herself on the Feyre who had been lovestruck by Tamlin the moment she’d knocked on his door asking for help in jump-starting her car. Her naive, romance-addled brain had been convinced it was fate, that electricity was thrumming through more than just the jumper cables. 
Now Feyre nursed her third glass of wine and decided to be a little more honest with herself—she was not staying because she was in love with Tamlin. She was staying because it was terrifying to think that she was so easily cast aside. An old wound was chafing and she was begging for Tamlin to walk through those doors and prove her wrong. 
A glance at her phone showed her where are you?? text had been read and left unanswered. 
He was supposed to be the one who was not good enough, proving that she should give him another chance. Yet she was the one shifting underneath the weight of his blatant rejection, feeling humiliated and… and insufficient.
Swinging doors caught Feyre’s attention in her peripheral vision, and she swung her head hoping to find shoulder length blonde hair and a damned good explanation. As though there were a higher power with a truly sadistic sense of humor, Feyre was instead greeted by waist length red hair and dark onyx eyes that glinted in recognition.
Amarantha sauntered over with a cruel smile twisting her blood-red lips, and Feyre wished she could opt out of her 23-year trial of life, because the experience so far was less than satisfactory. 
“Feyre, darling,” she crooned, and it sounded just as condescending as Feyre remembered. “It’s been an age, how are you doing?”
Feyre’s eyes darted to the rolled silverware on the table, genuinely contemplating shoving a fork through her hand if it would get her out of conversation with Tamlin’s ex-girlfriend. She was certain it would be less humiliating than letting Amrantha put together that she’d been stood up.
“Amarantha,” she greeted, not even bothering to fake enthusiasm. “I’m doing great, thanks for asking.”
The conversation withstood an awkward beat of silence. Amarantha waited for Feyre to reciprocate the question, and Feyre sipped her wine in the unrealistic hope that the redhead would get the hint and move on.
Instead she smirked at the empty chair. “Where’s your date?”
Given that Feyre and Tamlin had shared a fairly public breakup only a few weeks prior, Feyre didn’t doubt this was some attempt to rub it in her face. She might have felt smug in telling Amarantha that Tamlin had come crawling back on his knees, if she weren’t sitting across from the evidence that every promise had been empty.
Feyre was searching for something that could help her save face in this moment, but everything she came up with was so obvious an excuse that it would be more embarrassing to lie than admit the truth. 
Time to swallow her pride. “I—”
“Thanks for letting me take that.” Feyre blinked, turning in time to watch a dark-haired man slide into the seat across from her. He wore an easy smile as he dangled his phone between his fingers. “The production team has been circling like vultures to get that contract signed, but I’ll be sure to give them hell tomorrow for interrupting our date.”
He was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, and Feyre had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
That heartbreaking smile faded as he took in Feyre’s stunned face, and then the woman who stood beside her with slitted eyes.  “Oh.” He leaned forward, extending his hand toward Amarantha’s. “I’m Rhysand, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I assume you’re one of Feyre’s friends?”
How did he…?
“So it’s true,” Amarantha purred, slanting her eyes towards Feyre as she accepted Rhysand’s outstretched hand. “You and Tamlin have officially ended things.”
Feyre shot her a look that she hoped was an appropriate mix between duh and don’t be rude, though it was a wonder she was able to express any emotion outside of the shock that was thrumming through her veins. She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or creeped out by her saviour.
Rhysand seemed exceedingly charming, and obviously very clever to have put so much about the situation together so quickly. A smooth tongued liar was the last thing she needed to associate herself with, even if he was saving her from a mortifying situation. It didn’t help that he had exceptionally pretty eyes—so vividly blue that in the dim restaurant lighting she could have sworn they were violet.
“Anyway, Am, it was great catching up with you,” she dismissed in a sickly-sweet voice. “But Rhysand and I should really get back to—”
“Sure,” she said, adopting a tone of disinterest as though she hadn’t pointedly come up to Feyre’s table. With a flick of red hair, and a mumbled, “enjoy your dinner,” she hurried off to join the group of friends she’d come in with. Feyre noted with no small measure of dread that they were in clear view of Rhysand and Feyre’s table. It seemed there was no escaping this with her dignity intact.
“So…” she turned back to the grinning man leaning back in the chair across from her, looking so comfortable she’d have never guessed he wasn’t meant to be there.“Rhysand, huh?”
“You can call me Rhys,” he offered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Feyre darling.”
So he’d overheard the entire conversation with Amarantha. Great. At least the nickname was only half as grating when it came from his smirking lips.
“It was nice of you to intervene,” she said, feeling at a loss of where to go from here. “You don’t have to stay here, though. You can… go back to wherever you came from. I was planning on leaving soon, anyway.”
He quirked a brow, jutting his chin toward the direction Amarantha had wandered off. “And let her have the satisfaction? No way. The only way you’re getting out of this date is if you throw that glass of wine at my shirt and storm out of here with your chin held high.”
Feyre studied the glass in her hand as though she were considering it. “Do you often threaten your dates this way?”
“Only the ones with pretty smiles,” he said smoothly.
Feyre nearly pointed out that he hadn’t seen her smile yet. Instead, she asked, “Why?”
“Well I can’t let just anyone throw wine at—”
“No,” she interrupted, brows furrowing. “Why would you help me like that?”
“Why?” he repeated, studying her curiously. “Why else does a man help a beautiful lady? It’s not merely because I am a kind, charitable, delightful gentlemen—”
“Humble, too,” she muttered.
That only seemed to widen his grin, but after holding her gaze for a long moment it lost some of its luster. “Because I noticed you as soon as you stepped into the room,” he admitted. “Which means I know that you’ve been here for nearly two hours, staring at your phone. And whoever stood you up is a real jerk.”
“That’s none of your business,” she said, a touch too defensively.
Rhys tipped his head in acknowledgment. “You’re right, it’s not. And I didn’t mean to capitalize on a shitty situation. I genuinely just wanted to help. No one deserves to be stood up, even less so to be mocked for it.”
A dry lump formed in her throat. Was it so far-fetched? She likely would have done the same if she’d seen a lonely girl about to have something terrible rubbed in her face. And the kindness of a stranger was making her emotional, especially when she considered that Rhysand was putting more consideration into their fake relationship than Tamlin had put into their real one.
Since Rhys had already seen her at such a low point, she figured there was no use disguising it. Her shoulders slumped, and she stared blankly at the rim of her wine glass as she confessed, “Today sucked.”
Sympathy danced in his eyes, swirling with the flecks of silver and the reflected candlelight. “Allow me to try to make it suck a little bit less? I’ll buy you dinner and you can tell me how much of a prick this Tamlin guy is—or, or we can talk about whatever you want. I just want to see if I can make you smile by the time I pay the bill.”
Feyre chewed her lip in thought. The cynical part of herself, the one who’d just been stood up  and couldn’t help but doubt the intentions of a strange man, asked, “And you, what? Came here by yourself in case someone needed you to play knight in shining armor?”
Rhys pointed towards a table in the corner, graced by four ridiculously attractive people that seemed to be in the middle of an energetic conversation. One of his friends—a big, bulking man with shoulder length dark hair—noticed their attention and smirked, waggling his fingers in greeting. 
“I came here with friends,” Rhys explained. “Though, I’m certain they’re relieved to be rid of me.”
It was an effort not to feel embarrassed that Rhysand’s entire friend group knew she’d been stood up. Feyre couldn’t help feeling like she’d been made out to be a charity case, and half-wished it had been one of the girls at the table—either the blonde with warm eyes or the short, slightly more intimidating looking one—that had come to rescue her. At least then she could be comforted by female solidarity and not feel so exposed by the fact that her savior was unfairly gorgeous.
Given that Rhys had been here for two hours, and his friends looked about ready to pay the bill, she was certain he’d already had dinner. That didn’t stop him from making pointed eye contact with her waiter and ordering as though he truly were on a first date. Feyre could admit that she’d been starving waiting for Tamlin to show up, and when those encouraging violet eyes turned to her, she caved and ordered the dish she’d had her eye on in the time she’d been waiting. Rhys looked immensely pleased that she’d decided to go along with it.
“So,” Rhys began once the waiter left. “How likely am I to have a fight on my hands if this other guy shows up?”
Feyre frowned at her phone, still open to her messages with Tamlin. Those blue checkmarks beside her last message were practically glaring at her. “If he shows up, he’ll likely puff his chest and try to make a scene.” 
The rolled up sleeves of Rhysand’s dark button-up shirt provided Feyre with a generous display of golden brown skin stretched over muscular forearms. Given his broad frame, and the size of his two male friends in the corner, Tamlin would have to have a death wish to pick a fight.
“Sounds like a catch,” Rhys said dryly.
“He won’t show up.” She spoke with a confidence she wished she’d possessed an hour ago, so that she could have left the restaurant with a little more pride in her step and avoided this situation altogether. “Knowing Tamlin, he’ll wait until my anger cools, then show up with a spectacular excuse and a thousand apologies.”
“Ah. Sounds like you’ve been down this road with him before.” Rhysand’s voice, and expression, lacked the judgment Feyre had come to expect in these conversations. There was none of the exasperated why are you still with him?? undertone that so many of her friends seemed to take. It was refreshing.
“And it will be the last time,” she promised, more to herself than him. Feeling suddenly emboldened—most likely by the wine—Feyre snatched her phone and blocked Tamlin’s number.
“Good riddance, then,” Rhys said, the corners of his mouth peeking into a smile. He grabbed his glass full of amber liquid and raised it into the space between them. “You deserve someone who shows up.”
Feyre raised her glass to meet his, watching the wine slosh with the movement. “Or swoops in,” she added, without really thinking.
Those dark brows raised, probably wondering if Feyre was flirting with him. So was she. 
Rhys met her eyes levelly. “Shows up,” he insisted. “Otherwise the grand gestures are meaningless.”
Out of everything that happened in the space of an evening, how was that what made her eyes finally begin stinging with tears? She knew the answer. It was because every grand gesture Tamlin made—the gifts and flowers, the romantic weekends away, even the way they’d first met… They’d always been Tamlin swooping in, convincing Feyre there was an effort being made even when he never showed up when it counted.
Her vision swam, and Feyre fixed her eyes on the candlelight as she blinked furiously. Crying would only add to the dumpster fire that had become of her romantic evening, and Tamlin didn’t deserve her tears.
“Are you a painter?” Rhys asked suddenly, in what she was certain was an attempt to distract her.
Feyre’s eyes snapped to his face. “What?”
He pointed to her arm, at a streak of dried paint she must have missed in the hours she’d spent getting ready for the date. Hours, she reminded herself. To look pretty for a man who never showed up. Though she supposed it wasn’t a fruitless effort, since she’d apparently caught Rhysand’s eye from the second she walked into the restaurant.
Her eyes trailed a path over his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones, then to where his sensuous lips tugged into a wickedly endearing smile. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, to have ended up sitting across from him.
“Unless the paint is a fashion statement,” he teased lightly, unperturbed by her staring. He was so beautiful, she wondered if he was used to it.
“Yeah,” she answered, unable to keep the astonishment from her voice. Feyre would have been lucky if Tamlin noticed her hair was curled. “I was working on a piece earlier today.”
“What were you painting?” he asked, leaning forward. His eyes glimmered with what she perceived to be genuine interest, and her heart ached to realize how low the bar was, to be so shocked by Rhysand’s attentiveness.
“A mural,” she said, feeling a smile tug at the corners of her lips. “At a school. I’m an art teacher, and I’ve been working on a project with my students over the last few months. It’s been—incredible.”
His expression softened into something like wonder, and Feyre wished she could freeze time so that she could spend hours openly admiring how expressive his eyes were. It was almost a relief when the waiter arrived with their food, preventing her from gawking at the pretty man.
Feyre’s mood lifted significantly after the first mouthful. Was it wishful thinking to pin most of her anguish on hunger? It couldn’t have helped.
 “Tell me about it.” Rhys said, picking at his second dinner with noticeably less enthusiasm.  “The mural, I mean.”
For a moment, she hesitated. Meals with Tamlin were typically quiet once the food arrived, but she supposed Rhys wasn’t very hungry. So she did. Around very unlady-like mouthfuls, she explained how each class had voted on what to include in the mural and how she’d spent months collaborating with the students to help their visions come to life. 
“They get so excited each day more is added to the mural,” she said, fully grinning at the memory. Rhys was smiling too. “I like to stay late so I can add to it when no one is watching. Their eyes go so wide when they see it in the morning.”
“Do you have a picture of what you’ve done so far?” he asked.
Feyre nodded, opening her phone to the album she’d created for the project so that he could scroll through the progress—and the student-drawn references. His smile widened until she could see his brilliant, white teeth.
“This is—wow. Incredible is the right word.” He handed the phone back, having looked through the entire album. “You’re very talented. As are your students, of course.”
“Thank you,” she said with a laugh. “I promise I can do serious paintings, as well.”
“Well I am officially a fan,” he said. “And if you and your students are ever open to commissions, I have a wall in my office that is looking very bland at the moment. It could certainly use more pegasi and faeries painted onto it.”
“No office is complete without them,” she deadpanned, and when he laughed it was like someone had filled her blood with helium.
By the time the bill came, which he insisted on paying despite her protests, Rhys had certainly made her smile. She’d even go so far as to say she had a good time.
His friends in the corner were long gone, so they walked out together as he continued his story on the origin of his friend group.
“So we like to come here at least once a month,” he finished, tucking his hands into his pockets. “You should join us next time.”
Some of her smile faded as she imagined what it would be like to meet them, given they all knew exactly how she and Rhys had met.
“We’ll see,” she said, not having the heart to deny him outright. And, if she was being honest with herself, not wanting to lose the opportunity to see him again. His responding smile was tight, and she knew he was clever enough to take the hint. “Also—thanks. For taking pity on me.”
“It wasn’t pity, Feyre.” Even when he was being earnest, she was struck by the way her name rolled off his tongue like a lover’s trill. “Like I said, you caught my eye the moment you walked into the restaurant. I prayed it wasn’t a boyfriend you were here to meet—though, if this were the result of my wish, I regret the pain it caused you. Even if I very selfishly enjoyed your company.”
She could have blushed, were it not for the cool evening air caressing her face. “Here.” She extended her hand. “Give me your phone.”
 He obliged eagerly enough that she had to hide her smile as she added her number and handed it back to him. 
“So that I can return the favor if you ever get stood up,” she breathed, meeting his eyes and suddenly feeling very reluctant to leave. 
But if Rhysand had proved anything today, it’s that he was a gentleman. Feyre almost wished he wasn’t as she watched him hail a cab and open the door for her. After four glasses of wine and a freshly broken heart, perhaps it was better she didn’t invite him to come home with her. Even if she did regret it the entire ride home.
Even more, the next morning. When Tamlin arrived at her door with a bouquet of roses and a half-hearted apology, how satisfying might it have been for Rhysand to be standing behind her in all his irresistible glory? It made slamming the door in Tamlin’s face feel almost bittersweet.
It took a week for her phone to light up with a call from an unknown number. She’d nearly given up on the idea of hearing anything back from Rhysand and when Feyre answered, she convinced herself it was going to be a spam call.
“Feyre darling,” purred a familiar, silken voice. 
“Rhysand,” she said, straightening up in surprise. “Calling for an art commission?”
“Actually,” he drawled, humor dripping through the speaker. “I’m calling because, in an unforeseen set of circumstances, I’ve been left stranded by myself in a restaurant. I’ve been here for hours and the situation is quite dire, so I’ve been left with no choice but to call in a favor.”
A startled laugh escaped her. “I see. What are the odds we would each be stood up in the same week?”
“Dismal,” he agreed. “And I desperately need you to come take pity on me.”
Feyre couldn’t help smiling as she wrote down the address and told him she would be there soon. Sure enough, she walked in to find Rhys sitting by himself in a busy restaurant. His face lit up when he saw her.
She couldn’t help stopping a waitress to ask, “has he been here long?”
The waitress glanced at his table considerately. “I sat him down hardly ten minutes ago.”
Feyre smiled, thanking the girl before she went to join Rhys. 
“Been waiting long?” she asked coyly, sliding into the seat across from him.
His answering smile was shameless. “For you, darling? All my life.”
⟡ ⟡ ⟡
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sapphicmsmarvel · 1 month
Text
feysand vs spider
a little bit of fluff for this valentines day 💜
thank you for being my valentines for these past seven years and sticking by me during my random ass absences. 💜
You began the nice walk home from Ritas, you and Azriel had gone out to get him laid. Well to hang out but you had an ulterior motive for the evening. You knew there was a shadow trailing you home because you declined Azriel to walk (or fly) you there. You enjoyed the night time breeze. But he wouldn’t let you walk home without something even though he knew you could protect yourself. You were married to the literal rulers of the court, you knew damn well how to protect yourself. 
You got to the house, Feyre and Rhysand left the porchlight on for you. When you got to the door and walked in, you turned to the shadow trailing you. 
“Thank you.” You smiled sweetly and let the shadow twirl around your fingers before it took off to its master. 
You loved those things, they were just so cool. 
You took off your coat and shoes and that’s when you heard it. 
Your mates screamed from the bedroom, and it wasn’t out of pleasure, you quickly ran through the house. 
Can't be Nyx, he’s away at Nesta and Cassians was the first thought that went through your head. At least your son was okay. You would’ve heard if he wasn't by now. 
You barged into the bedroom and found your husband and wife snuggled into bed, well snuggled would be the word you used if they didn’t look so terrified. 
“What is it?” You asked, looking around with your dagger drawn. Yes, you went out to the club with a knife strapped to your thigh, so sue you. 
“Love, do not freak out.” Rhysand babbled, “It’s behind you!”
You spun, brandishing your dagger when all you saw was a blank wall behind the door.
“What?” You spun back around, looking at them with confusion. 
“The spider!” Feyre shouted. 
You turned back around slower in utter confusion (but love and support for your scaredy cat spouses) and that’s when you saw it. 
A tiny, fuzzy black spider that isn’t bigger than a coin. You smiled, “this is it?”
“Don’t mock us.” 
“She’s not mocking us, darling.” Rhysand, ever the sweetheart, began defending you. 
“Oh I am.” You admitted. Then you leaned down and used your hand to pick up the spider. It was very tiny, and yeah it’s a creepy little thing but your spouses were babies. 
“Open the window, Rhys.” He did so without question. Both of them looking at you with eyes wide, full of fear and amazement. 
You tossed the little guy out the window. 
You reached to crawl onto the bed to kiss them, when Feyre shoved you away with her foot. “No! Go wash your hands, heathen!” 
You rolled your eyes but got up nonetheless and went to the en-suite bathroom to wash them. While you were in there you changed from your dress into Rhysands shirt and Feyre’s sleep shorts. 
You came back out to see Rhysand smiling sweetly and Feyre was giving you a scowl. You leaned over and kissed her pouty lips. “I took care of it didn’t I?” 
“I know you well enough to know you were mocking us.” 
“Me? Never.” You gasped. She rolled her eyes but kissed you again. “Now scoot, I wanna go to bed.” 
She scooted over and Rhysand reached over to give you a kiss, “goodnight, love.” 
“Goodnight.” 
You fell asleep with all of your arms wrapped around each other, even though you’re going to wake up to someone hitting you in the face in the middle of the night, you couldn’t be happier.
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reverie-tales · 6 months
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The Age of Princesses and Pirate Ships
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Summary: A mini-fic of Feyre and Rhys wanting to provide Nyx with only the very best in life, including all the bedtime stories he could ever dream of.
Notes:
-For @the-lonelybarricade. Happy Birthday, LB! 🥰
-Post-Canon Fluff
-Word Count: 868 AO3
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"And they all lived happily ever after," Feyre whispered, gently closing the fairytale book.
Nyx drowsed off to sleep in the middle of the last chapter of The Adventures of the Three Loneliest Bats, and Feyre couldn't resist softly reading to him until the end.
Their son, the most precious thing in the entirety of their world, slept snug and tight in his bed underneath his blanket. His dominant hand rested on top of his bat plushie, lying beside his pillow. His small fingers were barely visible beneath the sleeve of oversized purple pajamas plastered with neon yellow wings. Mor had gifted it to him at the last solstice, among other things. He was only two years old then, and the bright color instantly made it his favorite pair.
She could hardly believe he was three years old now. A few years ago, he was only a mere hope given by the Bone Carver, and in a blink of an eye, they were singing him happy birthday in the early spring as he blew out the candles on the cake crafted especially for him.
How Cauldron-blessed they were.
Tomorrow she will read to him another book of his choosing, and the next day, and the day after that. One day he would be able to read on his own and be no longer in need of her and Rhys to tell him stories. And when that day comes, she knows her heart will burst with pride and weep with sweet sentimentality. All she ever wanted was for him to have the childhood she never had. And every day has been an utmost joy being able to provide him with that.
If there was one thing Rhys and Feyre wished for Nyx, it was that he would grow up without a doubt, knowing he was loved and cared for in a world that did not doom him. Every day as they worked tirelessly as High Lord and High Lady to bring forth unity between the realms, they knew it was not just all for the good of Prythian but at the very core for him and his future.
The moment the new treaty was agreed upon between all courts and all realms involved—human and fae—they both let out a big sigh of relief. Another dream was answered by the stars who listened.
Time flew by without any more impending wars, and Feyre could only pray to the Mother that their son would only know peace throughout his whole life. The Cauldron knows they all have suffered enough, which was worth centuries, if not millennia, of tranquility.
Brushing away the blue-black raven locks that fell on his eyes, Feyre dropped a kiss goodnight on Nyx's temple. Shutting his bedroom door closed, Feyre followed the golden thread leading back to her mate.
Feyre found Rhys sprawled on their bed with nothing on except a dark pair of pants as drowsy as their son was, yet his violet sparkled with starlight at her arrival. Like father, like son. She knew he was waiting for her. Rhys never goes to sleep without her. "There's no use dreaming without you, Feyre darling," he would tell her on days she reprimanded him when he stayed up late waiting for her when her High Lady duties kept her away or when she was too engrossed in painting to take notice of the time slipping away.
Feyre untied her robe, revealing her slip nightie, and climbed onto the bed, picking up a black leather-bound book he abandoned on her side of the bed. She moved to leave it on the bedside table when Rhys sat up and said, "Wait, love."
Feyre gave him a curious look. "Don't tell me I need to tell you a bedtime story, too," she teased.
Rhys' lips curled into a smile. "Only if you want to," he purred.
Feyre snorted and tapped his cheek. "There's my first Illyrian baby."
Rhys chuckled at her wit. "Oblige me. Read the title, Feyre."
Feyre's eyes narrowed as if saying, "What are you up to?"
But Rhys only sent his amusement down the bond. Go on, darling, he urged. You'll love it.
Feyre gave Rhys one more look before shifting her eyes to the gold-foiled lettering on the cover: 100 Beloved Fairy Tales Written by Human Authors.
Wonderment washed upon her, and she flipped open the book. As far as she knew, there were no beloved fairy tales from the human lands, only horror stories of great terror meant to scare children from the wall. But here, there were pages and pages full. "Where did you get this?" she asked, her eyes beaming in delight.
"From the depths of the continent, Cassian and Azriel's recent visit there may or may not have involved only spywork," Rhys said, utterly pleased with himself. "What do you say, Feyre, shall we read Nyx a story together tomorrow night?"
"Yes," Feyre confirmed and nestled closer to Rhys, letting him wrap an arm around her shoulders as she continued flipping pages, noting all the beautiful stories they would tell their son. "Nyx is going to love it."
"Happy, darling?"
Feyre dropped a sweet kiss on his lips. "Exceptionally so."
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Thanks for reading! 🩷
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fieldofdaisiies · 7 months
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Little Star
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ship: Feysand type: fluffy drabble word count: 1,02k words warnings: none summary: baby Nyx's 1st Starfall for @officialfeysandweek2023 💜 set post-canon
"Make a wish." Her voice is like the softest whispers, as it dances on the wind, the cool night breeze caring it right to her mate's ears. 
"I am sorry, I can‘t." Rhys rests his chin on top of Feyre’s head, arms curling around both her and baby Nyx. "Because everything I‘ve ever hoped for is right here in my arms. There is no more wish I could have."
His arms are like a thick coat in winter, warm and soothing, providing comfort and safety. The High Lord is right — everything one could ever hope for is right here. Right here on this balcony. 
The landscape below is is dark, but the night sky is lit by many passing stars that feel like whispers in the darkness, telling tales and secrets of old times. Each one is a fleeting sparkle, glowing and illuminating a small part of the darkness. The House of Wind is dark behind them, so everyone's focus can be on the sky. 
"This," Rhysand says as he lowers his gaze for a moment, "is the kind of darkness I was talking about. The one that is restful, peaceful, soothing." He kisses the top of Feyre's head. "And in this peaceful darkness, it is not the travelling spirits in the sky, but the two who are the brightest lights in my life, darling." 
A single tear leaves the corner of Feyre's eye, leaning her head to the side so she can rest it on Nyx's head. "You are, Rhysand."
The night sky above them looks like a puzzle that keeps changing every second, with stars moving by, leaving their shimmer behind. 
"Da!" Nyx babbles, suddenly, kicking out his tiny feet, his little hands frantically waving when a shimmering shooting star passes right above their heads. He looks after it, eyes aglow just like the travelling spirit and starts to bounce up and down in his mother's arms. "Ma!"
"Your first Starfall, my little star," Feyre hums and presses a soft kiss to the giggling baby in her arms. She looks at him for a long moment, her heart swelling once again. "Maybe, I do have a wish though."
Speaking it out loud is bad luck, so Feyre only opens her sense to her mate, lowering her mental shields. I want the brightest future for Nyx. I want no obstacles in his life. I want him to ever be happy and joyful. And I want him to find the same love I found in you.
Feyre closes her eyes, relaxing back against Rhysand's solid chest. He hums, and kisses the side of her head. "I will wish for the same thing, darling."
His own eyes close for a moment, nothing but the calm chatter of their family and some soft music in the distance surrounding them. 
It is later on, when more spirits start to travel, that Feyre hands their baby boy to his father, and accepts a glass of wine from Mor. 
Rhysand lovingly cradles his little son in his arms. Nyx's eyes are still wide with awe as he gazes at the spectacle above. Wine glass in one hand, Feyre rests her other hand gently on her baby boy's back, a bright smile on her lips. 
Nyx's eyes shimmer with wonder as he excitedly points to the stars, bouncing up and down in Rhysand's strong arm. "Dada!" he babbles, giggling and squealing and pointing at every travelling spirit on the night sky. 
Rhysand's eyes always follow the direction, for every passing spirit he shares little Nyx's excitement. "Exactly, this one, little star, is yours," Rhys chuckles, now also pointing at different shimmering lights in the sky. Nyx squeals happily, drumming his little hands and feet against his father's chest. 
But all of a sudden it happens. Something bright and glowing heads right into their direction. Before Rhysand can turn him and Nyx away it —something sparkly, blinding and tinkling— hits the High Lord's face, little droplets also splashing onto baby Nyx's face who squeals at first. Then he looks shocked, eyes wide, lips quivering. But Feyre is quickly there to comfort him, rubbing his back and mumbles soothing words, while a radiant smile is plastered on her face. She is delighted, her mate and little baby boy looking just too adorable with the glowing dust on their faces.  
"Oh, baby," she says, "did a traveling spirit hit you, huh?"
"And what about me?" Rhys huffs, faking a dramatic pout. But it does not stay on his face for long before it turns into a full toothy grin. 
A whole hearted laugh escapes Feyre's face, taking in the colourful and twinkling dust on Rhysand's face. Rhysand soon joins in, his chest rumbling when he looks back at little Nyx. 
The High Lord loves his son's fascination, cuddling him even a little tighter so Nyx can drag his little finger through the colour on his face. 
"Dada," Nyx squeals again, his little wings wiggling on his back. He is bouncing once again, fingers full of the colourful glimmer as he reaches them up to his father's face. 
"Well, buddy, this is Starfall. Full of shimming and twinkling spirits that pass over our heads." 
Rhys squeezes him, and places a gentle kiss to the top of Nyx's head. 
Turning fully to her son and mate, Feyre says, "Isn't it beautiful, sweetheart? Aren't you beautiful?" She giggles softly, the sound warming Rhysand's heart just like the babbly noises that escape Nyx. The little boy beams at his mother, then once again at Rhys. 
And as the High Lord gazes at his little son, a single tear also slips out the corner of his eye. How did he ever get so lucky?
He blinks rapidly, his throat a little dry all of a sudden. 
"Starfall is proof for all the wonders in your world, but the biggest wonder, the greatest gift, I hold in my arms, my little star."
As if he is already able to understand his father's words, Nyx let his head rest against his father's chest, snuggling tightly to him. A contented sigh parts his little mouth when his eyes close. 
~~~~~~~~~
tag list: @girlinglass999  @autumndreaming7 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @brekkershadowsinger
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utterlyotterlyx · 26 days
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My Tears Are Becoming a Sea
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Azriel x Fem!Reader
Summary - Azriel wished that you’d wake up in time for Starfall, that you’d be home to see the souls cross the sky. The war against Hybern had wrecked you, and he couldn’t bear to be away from you for another moment.
Warnings - angst, sad boy Azriel, mentions of death and blood, some self loathing, but a beautiful happy ending for our Shadowsinger 🤍
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They'd won.
But none of it meant anything if you weren't there with them.
Hybern had been defeated, they had won the impossible battle thanks to you, thanks to your skill, your power, and that shattering determination to find the upper hand your family so desperately needed.
You had disappeared without a word just after the High Lords meeting, after realising that the forces you needed lay beyond the capabilities of armies and blind hope. Azriel knew better than to stop you, he traced the line of your jaw as he kissed you for what could have been the last time. He savoured the taste of your lips, your scent, that smile that had the power to command the attention of anyone or anything.
There were no words that any of them could say the moment they saw you on the battlefield, you stood above them clad in your leathers wearing a sadistic grin as Bryaxis and the Weaver stalked from behind you whilst they all waited to meet their fate.
Azriel puffed his chest out with pride, glancing to Cassian with a smirk. That's my girl.
You were a formidable force, bending the elements around you like it was your mother tongue, sending spears of fire and ice through the chests of whoever opposed you, allowing the ground to swallow whole groups of soldiers as you passed by. Your sword was an extension of your soul, a cunningly beautiful thing, curved and sharp, and coated in the blood of your enemies which had also splashed across your cheeks.
His shadows were in awe of you, a horribly fierce awe as they watched you cut down man after man, paying little mind to anything else other than making sure that Feyre and Amren reached the cauldron.
That wretched thing.
The cauldron had broken. Feyre needed to put it back together. Feyre needed the power to put it back together.
Azriel watched as you tackled Rhys to the ground, as you threw up a shield around yourself and Feyre so that she had no choice but to use you. To take everything you had to stop the world from crumbling into dust.
Feyre had wept and screamed as she held you in her arms, her fingers pushing the hair from your face as she rocked back and forth, begging your soul to return to your body. Azriel fell to your side and pulled you from Feyre's gasp, his shadows flittered anxiously over your face and body whilst their master pressed his lips to your eyes, pleading the High Lords around him to do what they did for Feyre, to bring you back to him.
Each High Lord offered a kernel of their power, even Feyre had thrown in her own in hope it would made a difference.
Rhys had held him tightly as your soul returned to your body, his sobs wracked his chest when your own began to rise and fall in a healthy rhythm. You didn't wake though.
After days of Madja fussing over you, she had exhausted all of her options. You were warm, your heartbeat was strong and your lungs were functioning as they should be, there was no reason why you shouldn't have been awake and telling Azriel how much you loved him.
He had refused to leave you, his shadows less willing to do so, they loved you so dearly to the point you often found a couple of rogue shadows perching on your own shoulder instead of your mates. Deep circles clung to his hazel eyes that were dark and dreary, he hadn't eaten, he just sat beside your cot and held your hand, noting how peaceful you looked in your eternal slumber.
Much to his rage, it had been decided that Helion would transport you to the Day Court with the promise that his army of healers and researchers would find a way to bring you back. Rhys had agreed, willing to try anything to bring you back to your family, and had to order Azriel to stay away from you whilst Helion gave it his best shot. They couldn't have a grief stricken Illyrian forbidding anyone to touch you.
Velaris felt empty without you. The bakeries were far too full and the children too quiet. The Sidra begged for your fingers to run through her ripples, to caress her with that power that complimented her own so perfectly.
The world just felt darker without you annoying them, prodding Cassian with stupid jokes or dragging Mor dress shopping, even Amren was missing your feet propped on her lap whilst she tried to research, and Nesta yearned for your intelligent observations on the plot holes and desires for the books you shared.
Feyre had become a shell, busying herself with preparations for Starfall so that she would forget how guilty she felt for a moment.
Starfall was your favourite thing in the world, nothing bar Azriel could bring so much joy to you. The music, beautiful outfits and food were just minor aspects in comparison to the main event, when those stars would hurtle across the sky and illuminate it with that hot white glow.
Azriel had always found himself stood behind you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist and chin resting atop your head as you both watched in awe. It never ceased to amaze either of you.
This year was different. No amount of flowers or pastries could distract anyone from the fact that you weren't there. He should have stopped you, gotten to you quicker before you could attack Rhys and take his place; you should have just let Rhys give his power, he would have recovered quicker, everything would have been fine.
Mor had tried to get Azriel to dance, but he didn't want to dance with anyone who wasn't you. All he wanted to do was go back to your shared room and wrap himself in your scent so he could dream of you, the only place you were alive and chatting idly about some random fact you'd found in a book that sent your mind spiralling into balanced wonder.
"She wouldn't want you to stand on the side lines, Az," Cassian clapped his shoulder, trying to coax his brother to partake in something this Starfall, for you.
Gasps echoed about the room, a sign that the main event had begun. Usually, you'd be jumping up and down in your spot with excitement, clutching to his fingers as you dragged him from the room and out to the private balcony you had both made yours.
Males and females floated out of the arched doorways, but Azriel stayed behind, not being able to think of witnessing a single Starfall without you.
Burying his hands deep into the pockets of his black pants, Azriel moved in the opposite direction to the enthralled crowd, not being able to stomach even pretending to be happy. With no particular place in mind, Azriel walked, down winding hallways and up a set of steps, along the arched walls until he fell into place in front of a set of familiar doors.
Doors that you had practically torn the handles from one year from the sheer uncontrollable excitement to get outside before either of you missed it.
Azriel sighed, wiping the corners of his eyes, he sniffled softly as he took the handle in his scarred fingers, feeling electricity pouring through it, so intense that he had to pull away with a frown. He stood there for a moment, unsure and bewildered by the sensation.
Then he felt it.
He felt the familiar scent flood where he stood, the shadows reacted quickly, darting to the handle and dancing over the door, fighting for it to be opened.
It couldn't be. Helion would have told them if you had awoken.
It couldn't be.
Azriel flung the doors open and his shadows surged forward, there you stood, your back to him, dressed in Day Court gold with a solid gold halo encasing a full braided bun. The shadows reached you first and you giggled as they kissed every inch of your face, and gods, did that sound have him melting into a blubbering mess.
You turned to him, your mate, and opened your arms to him, ones that he gladly stepped in to. Azriel wrapped his arms around your waist, he ran his fingers over your skin, he left lingering kisses in the nape of your neck and along your shoulder.
"You're home," he strained, sobs of pure happiness tugging at his throat as he pulled away from you, looking down into those eyes he adored too much.
You moved a piece of his hair away from those pools of brown and green, closing the gap between you as the sky came to life, allowing your love to explode around you whilst the world above and below held a calm breath.
"I couldn't full well miss my favourite night of the year, could I?"
Azriel pressed his forehead to yours, stared into your eyes and drank in every single part of you, his fingers not once moving from your body, "You came back to me."
"I'll always come back to you, Az. Always."
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Authors Note
I needed something fluffy after my gut wrenching Eris post before.
I'm halfway healed.
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azrielshadowssing · 2 years
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The College Collection
Hello beautiful people! Since late August/September mark the start of school for many people I’ve decided to write a bunch of little fics for our favorite acotar couples <3 they will, of course, all be in a college setting!
Pick a prompt below and pair it with an acotar couple in my inbox and I’ll write it! I’ll be crossing out prompts as they arrive in my inbox so that I don’t get asked the same one several times. You can also send your own prompt if you’d like. Please add any specific details you want when sending a prompt. Feel free to request smut in your fic and I’ll try to add that in.
I mainly write for Elucien, Gwynriel, Nessian and Feysand, but if you have another ship in mind you can always just ask me and I’ll let you know if I’ll do it <3
You can find the masterlist for the project here.
Prompts are from pinterest!
My roommate has someone over can I please sleep on your floor
It’s raining and I’m holding the final version of my thesis so we’re stuck under this disaffected bus stop
I have to photograph someone for an art project please be my model
I buy too many cookies from the place you work at but don’t judge me I need them to function
It’s 3am in the library a week before finals and we’re both clinging to whatever is left of our sanity
Group project
You live in the building across from mine and I see you change through your window every day
Neither of us own the expensive textbook and the only copy in the library can’t leave the building
You keep reserving the best study room with all the big windows and I’m sick of it
We’re studying and people are clearly getting a little too close in the stacks and we’re sharing embarrassed looks
We’re donating blood in this tiny van at the same time to skip class
You decked me in the head playing frisbee
Wait, I have a competent lab partner?
You’re baking in the communal kitchen at 3am and I’m angry but very hungry
This has been my seat all semester why are you in it now?
We’re both very uncomfortable at this party
My friend dragged me to this party and my ex is here quick make out with me
We go to the gym at the same time and compete on the treadmill
Sorry my roommate puked on your shoes
You’re the student working at the IT center and my computer crashed
My shower isn’t working can I use yours?
The semester is almost over and there’s a bunch of money still on my cafeteria account, do you want anything?
You live above me and if you don’t stop throwing parties every sunday night I’m going to kill you
We both work late shifts on fridays and you always give me a ride home so that I don’t walk alone in the dark
You’re the only one in the class responding to my desperate message about needing the notes
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