cinmawrites

[cinmawrites]

Mobile Suit Gundam SEED Freedom - Dir. Mitsuo Fukuda - Jan 26, 2024

[cinmawrites]

[cinmawrites]

Help, I’ve been called out.

[cinmawrites]

Omg I love little quizzes like these :3 Thanks for the tag! Hehe

Thank you for the tag, @dressycobra7 ! I've started a new post because the other was getting lengthy.

Challenge: Take the test and learn what type of toast you are.

Part of me was a little sad, and part of me was not surprised. (And another part was shocked how really accurate this is??)

No Pressure Tags:

@humanitys-strongest-bamf, @banasheefan56, @thestarryfalls , @littlerequiem , @dorydotcom , @abiatackerman , @AsexualAxolotl, @hideandgopeep, @amywritesthings , @sixpennydame,  and anyone else who wants to play!

-> Click Here to join my Tag Game List! <-

[cinmawrites]

My roman empire is that people forget that Feyre was attracted to Rhys IMMEDIATELY, before she saw anything good in him. In ACOFAS, she admits she wanted him even UTM. In other words, she saw him at his CoN-est, was in love with Tam, and still couldn't help herself. So, she and Rhys don't have such a complicated, ambivalent relationship for so long because Rhys is morally grey. They have a complicated relationship because Feyre doesn't know how to rationalize caring about someone who's so morally grey. ACOMAF isn't about Feyre suddenly thinking Rhys is a saint. ACOMAF is about her coming to accept and respect Rhys because, after her own experiences UTM, she identifies with and understands his moral ambiguity. Whether or not she and Rhys are equally morally dubious is a different conversation, but basically, accepting and loving Rhys is also Feyre loving and accepting herself.

[cinmawrites]

Playful

For @acotargiftexchange

This is my gift for my lovely recipient @cinmawrites

ACOTARGIFTEXCHANGE MASTERLIST

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven

Cw: Smut 18+ Mdni

As the party came to an end, Feyre found herself standing alongside Rhysand, watching as the last guests filtered out of the dining room. The once lively space now felt strangely quiet, with only the faint strains of music lingering in the air.

Rhysand's eyes met Feyre's, a silent understanding passing between them. Without a word, he took her hand, guiding her towards the exit. They walked side-by-side, their fingers intertwined, the warmth of his touch a comforting presence amidst the fading grandeur of the evening.

As they stepped outside, the cool night air brushed against their skin, carrying with it the distant sounds of laughter and music from the remaining revellers, gentle snowfall covering the grounds. Rhysand paused for a moment, turning to face Feyre. In the soft glow of the moonlight, his features seemed softer, more vulnerable than usual.

"Tonight was... Special," He began, his voice low and sincere. "Being with you, seeing your joy, it's given me a new perspective on life. On what truly matters."

Rhysand's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions, gratitude, affection, and perhaps something deeper, more profound. He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Feyre's ear, his fingertips brushing lightly against her cheek. The gesture was tender, almost reverent.

"I've never been one for sentimentality," he murmured, his breath ghosting across her ear. "But with you…" He trailed off, his gaze searching hers, as if seeking permission to continue.

Feyre's heart raced at his proximity, the heat of his body seeping into her own. She tilted her head back, meeting his intense stare with a shy smile. "With me?" She prompted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rhysand's lips curved into a smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper, more profound. "Yes, with you," Rhysand confirmed, his voice low and husky. "You bring out a side of me I didn't know existed. A part of me that wants to cherish moments like these, to hold onto them and never let go."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, as Rhysand's thumb traced the curve of Feyre's jawline. The touch sent shivers down her spine, igniting a fire within her that threatened to consume her entirely.

Feyre's breath caught in her throat, her pulse pounding in her ears as she gazed up at Rhysand. She saw the desire smoldering in his eyes, the raw intensity that made her knees weak. In that moment, she knew she was lost to him, utterly and completely.

Without breaking eye contact, Rhysand leaned in closer, his lips hovering mere inches from Feyre's. She could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. "Kiss me," Feyre whispered, her voice trembling with longing. "Please, Rhysand."

Rhysand's response was immediate, his mouth claiming Feyre's in a kiss that left her breathless. It was a kiss filled with passion, with hunger, with a desperate need to consume and be consumed. His tongue danced with hers, exploring the depths of her mouth with a fervor that stole her very thoughts.

Feyre clung to Rhysand, her hands fisting in his suit jacket as she melted into the embrace. She poured all her love, her devotion, her very soul into the kiss, losing herself in the intoxicating taste of him.

Feyre melted into the embrace, her arms winding around Rhysand's neck as she surrendered to the intoxicating sensations coursing through her. His tongue danced with hers, exploring the depths of her mouth with a skill that left her dizzy with pleasure.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, Feyre's eyes were glazed with lust and adoration. Rhysand's chest heaved, his face flushed with the aftermath of their passionate encounter.

For a long moment, neither spoke, their chests rising and falling in tandem as they struggled to regain their composure. The silence between them was thick with tension, heavy with the weight of their desires.

Then, slowly, Rhysand's hand rose to cradle Feyre's cheek, his thumb stroking her soft skin with a tenderness that belied the ferocity of their earlier kiss. "I want you," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. "More than anything, I want to make you mine. No tiptoeing around each other. I want you."

Feyre's heart skipped a beat at his words, a thrill of excitement racing through her veins. She nodded, her lips parted in invitation. "I want you too," she whispered.

"Stay the night with me," Rhysand stroked her cheekbones, tilting her head towards him, "Please."

"I have work tomorrow," Feyre teased, leaning into him. "You know, my boss won't like it if I'm late."

Rhysand smirked, eyes sparkling with mirth, "Well, maybe you should ask your boss to give you the day off for the weekend."

Rhysand's suggestion hung in the air, a tantalizing prospect that quickened Feyre's pulse. The idea of spending an entire day lost in Rhysand's embrace was almost too tempting to resist.

"Well, Mr Darling, may I have the day off?" Feyre asked, her hand tracing the lapels of his coat.

Rhysand chuckled, his voice dipping into authority, different from just a second ago, "Ms Archeron, I suppose you may have the day off. I myself will be spending time with my lovely girlfriend." Then, taking her by surprise, he knelt down on his knees, "If you will have me."

Feyre's eyes widened at his display, "Are you... Asking me to marry you...?"

"Don't tell me no one has ever properly asked you to be their girl." Rhysand sighed, looking up at her from where he knelt before her, his eyes shimmering with hope and vulnerability. "I am asking you to be mine."

"Not really, no." Feyre smiled wide, this was new territory for her, she'd only ever fantasized about it, she was used to flings, somehow things never progressing for more than a month or two, "Yes, Rhys. Yes Yes... I wanna be yours."

With a triumphant grin, Rhysand rose to his feet, pulling Feyre close and capturing her lips in a searing kiss. Their kiss deepened, tongues entwining in a sensual dance as Rhysand's hands roamed over Feyre's curves, moulding her to his hard body.

With deliberate slowness, Rhysand began to undress her, his fingers trailing along her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, Feyre's hands working Rhysand's clothes. The dress was carefully removed and tossed aside until Feyre lay bare before him, in nothing but the jewellery, her creamy complexion illuminated by the soft glow of night lights scattered throughout the room. Rhysand's gaze raked over her form, drinking in the sight of her pert breasts, the gentle swell of her hips, the juncture of her thighs.

"You're exquisite," He breathed, his voice husky with desire. "A masterpiece created just for me."

Rhysand's hands caressed her skin, mapping every contour, committing every detail to memory. He kissed a trail down her neck, pausing to nuzzle the hollow of her throat before continuing lower, his lips grazing the swell of her breasts.

Feyre arched into his touch, her breathing growing ragged as pleasure coursed through her veins. Her fingers tangled in Rhysand's hair, urging him closer, craving more of his heated attention.

As he lavished her breasts with kisses, his thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks, Feyre felt her resolve crumbling, surrendering to the overwhelming desire that had been building since their first meeting. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in Rhysand's touch, to become one with him in every possible way.

Rhysand's tender ministrations continued, his lips and tongue worshipping Feyre's body with reverence and passion. He trailed open-mouthed kisses down her stomach, moving lower still.

Rhysand's hands gripped Feyre's thighs, spreading them wide as he settled between her legs. His warm breath ghosted over her slick folds, making her quiver with anticipation. With a low growl, he buried his face between her thighs, his tongue delving into her wet heat.

Feyre cried out, her back arching off the bed as Rhysand's skilled mouth worked its magic. He lapped at her clit, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth, while his fingers plunged deep inside her, curling to stroke that sweet spot within her.

Rhysand's tongue delved into her folds, lapping at her essence with a hunger that matched her own. He explored every hidden crevice, savouring her as if she were the finest treat. Feyre's hands flew to his hair, gripping tightly as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. "Yes, Rhys…"

Rhysand's relentless pursuit of Feyre's pleasure only intensified as he feasted upon her, his tongue delving deeper, swirling around with maddening precision. Feyre's cries of ecstasy echoed through the room, spurring him on as he drowned in her cunt.

Rhysand's tongue plunged deeper, fucking Feyre's tight channel with unrestrained fervour. The heady scent of her arousal filled the air, mingling with the musk of his own lust. He could feel her inner walls clenching around him, trying to milk his tongue for all it was worth.

With a low groan, Rhysand added two fingers, pumping them in time with the thrusts of his tongue. Feyre's moans grew louder, more desperate, her hips bucking wildly against his face. He could taste her climax approaching, the sweetness of her release.

He could sense her approaching climax, the way her inner walls fluttered against his probing tongue, the sharp intake of her breath. With a final, bold stroke, Rhysand coaxed Feyre over the edge, feeling her shudder and convulse beneath him as she reached her peak.

Suddenly, Feyre's thighs clamped around Rhysand's ears, her orgasm hitting her like a tidal wave. She screamed his name, her cunt spasming violently around his invading fingers as she came undone beneath him.

Pride swelled in his chest at the knowledge that he had brought her such intense pleasure. As Feyre's tremors subsided, Rhysand lifted his head, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and desire. "You taste even sweeter than I imagined, Feyre darling."

"That was incredible, Rhys," She panted, still basking in the afterglow of her orgasm. "But now it's my turn to show you how much I crave you."

With a seductive smile, Feyre rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow as she gazed at Rhysand with smouldering intensity. Her free hand drifted down his chest, tracing the contours of his muscles before slipping lower, brushing against the rigid length of his cock.

Rhysand groaned, his hips thrusting involuntarily at her touch. "Oh, Feyre..." Rhysand's eyes darkened with lust as Feyre's delicate fingers wrapped around his throbbing cock, her other hand pushing him on his back. He watched, transfixed, as she pumped him slowly, her grip firm yet gentle, coaxing forth beads of precum from the tip. "Fuck. Go ahead."

"Your touch is pure magic," Rhysand rasped, his voice strained with desire, feeling her kiss down his body. "I've never wanted anyone as fiercely as I do you."

Emboldened by his words, Feyre leaned in, her warm breath fanning across the head of his cock. Then, with a sultry smile, she took him into her mouth, her lips enveloping him in her heat.

Rhysand's head fell back, a low moan rumbling in his chest as Feyre's talented mouth worked wonders on him. Rhysand's fingers threaded through Feyre's hair, guiding her movements as she bobbed up and down his shaft, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head. Each pass of her lips sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, making his balls tighten in anticipation.

"Feyre, sweetheart," Rhysand gasped, his hips bucking slightly, "you're driving me mad. Your mouth feels divine."

Encouraged by his praise, Feyre increased her pace, taking him deeper with each stroke. She relished the salty taste of him, the weight of him on her tongue, the power she held over him.

Rhysand's fingers tightened in Feyre's hair, guiding her rhythm as she sucked him deeper, her nose brushing against his pelvis with each bob of her head. The erotic sight of her lips stretched around his thick cock, her cheeks hollowing with each draw, pushed Rhysand to the brink of madness.

She doubled her efforts, determined to make him lose control. Her tongue danced along the underside of his shaft, while her hand stroked what she couldn't fit in her mouth.

"Feyre!" he cried out, his voice cracking with pleasure. "Oh gods, your mouth... It's heaven!"

Feyre hummed around his cock and he was close to losing his mind. With a guttural roar, Rhysand surrendered to the inevitable, his hips jerking as he spilt himself down Feyre's eager throat. Wave after wave of release flooded her mouth, each pulse of his cock against her tongue sending aftershocks rippling through his body.

Feyre swallowed every drop, savoring the rich flavor of Rhysand's release as it coated her tongue. She gently licked the last traces from his spent member before releasing him with a pop of her lips. A satisfied smile played on her lips as she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief and adoration.

Rhysand lay there, panting heavily, his chest heaving with exertion. His eyes, once blazing with lust, now held a softer, more tender expression as he gazed at Feyre. "That was... Iincredible," he managed to say, his voice hoarse from his cry of release. "You're a goddess, Feyre Archeron."

He pulled her into his lap, holding her close as they both caught their breath. Rhysand's arms wrapped snugly around Feyre, cradling her against his chest. He nuzzled her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of her, savouring the warmth of her body pressed to his. He stroked her back soothingly.

Feyre nuzzled into his neck, her breath warm against his skin as she savoured the closeness, the intimacy they shared. In this tender moment, Rhysand felt an overwhelming sense of connection to Feyre, a bond that went beyond mere physical attraction. He knew, without a doubt, that he would do anything to protect and cherish her, to make her happy in every way possible.

Rhysand tilted Feyre's chin up, capturing her lips in a slow, sensual kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of promise, of forever, of the unbreakable love that blossomed between them.

Their lips moved together in perfect harmony, the kiss deepening as passion reignited. Rhysand's hands roamed over Feyre's curves, mapping every inch of her body he'd come to know so intimately. He cupped her breasts, thumbs teasing the hardened nipples, drawing a soft moan from her lips.

The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them lost in the intoxicating haze of their love. Rhysand's hands roamed over Feyre's curves, mapping every inch of her body as if committing it to memory.

[cinmawrites]

Ballroom

For @acotargiftexchange

This is my gift for my lovely recipient @cinmawrites

ACOTARGIFTEXCHANGE MASTERLIST

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven

The day before the Christmas party, there was a delivery to Feyre's dorm rooms, Morrigan had gone home for the holidays, while she had stayed back.

Feyre kept the big box she had just received on top of her bed, With trembling hands, Feyre lifted the lid of the elegant silver box, revealing a shimmering vision of navy velvet. Nestled within the rich fabric lay a stunning gown.

A small envelope rested atop the gown, bearing her name in bold, masculine script, written in gold. With bated breath, Feyre retrieved the note and unfolded it, her heart skipping a beat as she read the formal invite, when she turned the print, there was another hand written note on it.

"My Feyre Darling,

Save me the first dance tomorrow.

P.S. I've taken the liberty of including a pair of matching shoes and accessories to complete the ensemble. I trust they will suit you perfectly. And a car will arrive at your campus to pick you up at sharp 7 pm."

Feyre gasped softly as she held up the exquisite gown, the rich navy velvet shimmering under the fluorescent lights of her dorm room. The dress was a masterpiece of design - a strapless sweetheart neckline gave way to a fitted bodice that would hug her curves perfectly, while the skirt flowed into a graceful A-line cut. Delicate lace trim adorned the hem and the edge of the sweetheart neckline, adding a touch of elegance to it. The skirt flowed into a graceful train, catching the light and seeming to dance before her eyes.

It wasn't just a dress, it was the dress. But better. Inside the box, Feyre discovered not only the exquisite gown but also a pair of strappy heels in a complementary shade of navy, and a glittering clutch purse.

As Feyre gazed upon the breathtaking ensemble, her mind whirled with thoughts of Rhysand's generosity. The dress was a work of art, tailored specifically to accentuate her alluring figure. She couldn't help but imagine the way it would cling to her skin, the way the lace would brush against her shoulders as she moved.

Her fingers trailed over the fabric, marvelling at its luxurious texture. The shoes, too, were a perfect match, the high heels elongating her legs and making her feel statuesque and regal. The clutch added a touch of sophistication, its glittering surface catching the light enticingly. With each item, Feyre felt Rhysand's presence more keenly, his taste and attention to detail evident in every stitch and seam.

As Feyre gently laid the gown across her bed, marveling at its craftsmanship, she couldn't help but feel a thrill run through her at the intimate gesture. The fact that Rhysand had chosen this dress specifically for her, had gone to such lengths to ensure she would have the perfect outfit for the evening, spoke volumes about his interest in her.

She traced her fingers along the sumptuous velvet, imagining how it would feel against her skin, how the rich colour would complement her complexion. The thought of slipping into this gown, of having Rhysand's eyes on her as she descended the grand staircase of his estate, sent a flutter of anticipation through her stomach.

As she pictured herself descending the opulent staircase, Feyre felt a shiver run down her spine. Rhysand's gaze would undoubtedly be riveted on her, drinking in the sight of her in his chosen gown. The knowledge that he had deliberately designed this moment, planned every detail to make her feel cherished and desired, filled her with a heady sense of power and allure.

The next day, a dark blue BMW, the damn car matching her grown, pulled up to the curb outside Feyre's dormitory sharp at 7 pm, she felt her heart begin to race with nervous anticipation. The driver, immaculately dressed in a crisp black uniform, exited the vehicle and approached her with a polite nod.

"Good evening, Ms Archeron. Mr Darling has sent me to escort you to the Christmas party," He said smoothly, opening the rear passenger door for her with a flourish.

"Hi, yeah- yes. Thank you..." Feyre took a deep breath, gathering her courage as she smoothed down the front of her gown, holding her coat closer to herself, gripping hard to the purse in her hand, filled with all her necessities. The navy velvet clung to her curves in all the right places, making her feel both elegant and alluring. She had spent extra time on her appearance, wanting to look her absolute best for this occasion.

As Feyre slid into the luxurious leather interior of the car, the driver closed the door behind her with a soft click, then handed her a velvet box. "This is from the boss, Ms."

Inside the velvet box, Feyre found a stunning set of jewellery - a delicate choker necklace featuring intricate filigree work in platinum, with a single large sapphire pendant nestled in the centre, that would set just over her breasts, matching sapphire and diamond drop earrings, and a slender bracelet that would snake around her wrist, studded with more of those mesmerizing blue stones, there was also a ring, with a note attached to it. Feyre unwrapped the note, reading the words, "If the ring fits, I would love to see it on you."

The jewellery was breathtaking, far too extravagant a gift for a mere employee. It spoke of a level of intimacy and favouritism that made Feyre's heart race. As she fastened the choker around her slender neck, feeling the cool metal against her skin. She slipped on the earrings and pulled out her hand mirror from the clutch to look at herself.

Through the tinted windows, she watched as the familiar sights of the cityscape gave way to winding country roads lined with twinkling Christmas lights. The closer they got to Rhysand's estate, the more her nerves began to fray.

When the car finally pulled up the long driveway, Feyre's breath caught in her throat at the sight before her. Rhysand's mansion was a vision of old-world charm meets modern luxury, its stone facade adorned with festive evergreen wreaths and shimmering icicle lights. As the driver opened her door, Feyre stepped out onto the cobblestone path, the cool night air kissing her bare shoulders.

She noticed the long line of drivers outside the door, security checking them while Rhysand's driver had just waved her through without a second glance. Clearly, Rhysand had arranged special privileges for her arrival.

As if summoned by her presence, Rhysand appeared at the top of the staircase leading to the entrance of the manor. He looked devastatingly handsome in a tailored black tuxedo that hugged his frame, his dark hair artfully tousled. His eyes, as they landed on Feyre, widened almost imperceptibly as he drank in the sight of her.

"Feyre," He murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine as he descended the steps towards her. "You look... Absolutely breathtaking. That dress suits you perfectly." His gaze raked appreciatively over her form, lingering on the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts above the sweetheart neckline.

Rhysand reached out, his gloved hand raised, waiting for Feyre to take. Feyre placed her hand in Rhysand's, electricity seeming to crackle where their skin met even through the fine leather of his glove. He brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss to them as his eyes locked with hers, dark with unspoken emotion. "I see the ring fit." He commented. "It's a pleasure to see you."

"Thank you, the pleasure is mine, Rhys," Feyre replied softly, a faint blush colouring her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze and the gallant gesture. "Thank you for inviting me tonight. And for the... Generous gifts." She touched the sapphire pendant at her throat to the shoes she wore with her free hand.

Rhysand smiled, a slow, sensual curve of his lips that made Feyre's pulse quicken. "I wanted everything to be perfect for you, Feyre darling." Rhysand seemed momentarily flustered by Feyre's radiant smile, a faint flush creeping up his neck beneath his collar. He cleared his throat, regaining his composure as he tucked Feyre's hand into the crook of his elbow, guiding her towards the grand entrance.

"Shall we? It's about to snow soon, I'd rather you not get cold, darling." He murmured, leading her inside the opulent foyer, handing her coat at the coat check, promising that the main enclosure was heated. A massive Christmas tree stood sentinel in the centre, its boughs heavy with glittering ornaments and twinkling lights. The air was filled with the scent of pine and cinnamon, mingling with the sound of distant laughter and clinking glasses.

As they walked, Rhysand leaned in close, his breath warm against Feyre's ear. "I must confess, I've been looking forward to this evening all week. Having you here, in my home... Makes everything feel more... Alive somehow," Rhysand finished softly, his usual confident demeanour cracking to reveal a vulnerability not rare to Fyere anymore. His hand tightened slightly on Feyre's arm as they paused at the threshold of the grand ballroom.

Inside, dozens of elegantly dressed guests milled about, sipping champagne and conversing animatedly. The room was a winter wonderland come to life, with ice sculptures, frosted garlands, and a towering Christmas tree that seemed to touch the vaulted ceiling. Soft instrumental music played in the background, adding to the enchanting atmosphere.

Rhysand turned to face Feyre fully, his expression serious yet tender. "Before we join the others, I want you to know how much your presence means to me, Feyre. Not just tonight, but always."

Rhysand shifted uncomfortably, clearly flustered by the depth of his own emotions. He released Feyre's arm to run a hand through his hair, mussing it further in an endearingly boyish gesture.

"I'm not quite sure what came over me," He admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "It's just... You make me feel things I don't often experience, Feyre. Joy, excitement, hope... and something more, something I'm still struggling to put words to."

He offered her a wry, apologetic smile, motioned to everything she was wearing, everything he had just gifted her with a wave of his hand. "Forgive me for the sudden bout of sentimentality. I promise not to embarrass myself further. Or you."

Taking a deep breath, Rhysand squared his shoulders and extended his arm once more. "Now, shall we join the festivities?"

Feyre's heart swelled at Rhysand's candid admission, touched by the sincerity in his voice and the vulnerable glint in his eyes. She reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath her palm.

"Don't apologize, Rhys," She whispered, her own voice trembling slightly. "I… I feel it too. Whatever 'it' is. This connection between us, it's unlike anything I've ever experienced."

She smiled up at him, her fingers curling gently into the fabric of his shirt. "I don't mind being the cause of your sentimentality. In fact, I find it rather charming."

Rhysand's expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face as he covered Feyre's hand with his own. "Oh thank god. Because I got you a Lisianthus bouquet to match the dress too. I hid it at the last moment."

"I have no idea what those are." Feyre snorted softly, still sticking to him without even knowing it.

Rhysand chuckled, the sound rich and soothing like warm honey as he motioned over a waiter and took two flutes full of champagne, handing one to Feyre. "A lisianthus is a type of flower, Feyre. They're small, delicate, and utterly exquisite. Just like you." He winked playfully, making Feyre's cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink.

Rhysand's flirtatious remark sent a delightful shiver through Feyre, her pulse quickening at the double entendre hidden within his praise of the flowers, she accepted the flute with a smile, nodding when Rhysand whispered for her to not drink yet. She couldn't help but laugh, a melodic sound that harmonized beautifully with the lilting melody drifting from the ballroom.

"Oh, you charmer," Feyre teased, shaking her head in amusement. "But since you seem so enamored with them, what makes lisianthus so special?"

As she spoke, Rhysand guided her towards the grand staircase that led to the ballroom, his hand never leaving hers, the two lost in each other as everyone else slowly gathered around to greet Rhysand, the generous host. The intricately carved bannister felt cool against Feyre's fingertips as they ascended, the sensation heightened by the electric awareness that crackled between them.

"You see, lisianthus symbolize appreciation, gratitude, and refinement," Rhysand explained, his voice low and intimate despite the bustling activity below. "Everything that I feel for you."

When they reached a particular step, Rhysand stopped Feyre from going further down, "Stay with me through the toast?" Rhysand's tone, though gentle, carried an unmistakable undercurrent of authority - a reminder of the power dynamics that existed between them, however much their personal relationship may have blurred those lines. Feyre nodded understandingly, her gaze meeting his with a mix of affection and respect.

"Of course, Rhys. I wouldn't miss it for the world," She assured him, her voice warm with sincerity, standing beside him, she looked down at all the people she didn't know, among them, her eyes landed on Mor, a look of confusion forming on her face seeing her roommate, dressed in a lovely white gown, since it wasn't her colour.

Rhysand noticed the perplexed look on Feyre's face as she scanned the crowd below, her brow furrowed in curiosity. "Fascinating, isn't it?" Rhysand remarked, observing Feyre's observation. "As long as this gala has been happening, the ladies wear white for it, as a show of unity between us. But my mother, as the lady of the house, used to wear her favourite shade of indigo, to stand out while she was with my father. Hence," He waved at her navy gown. "This choice of mine for you."

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he added, "Though I must admit, seeing you in this stunning navy gown, Feyre, you shine brighter than all the stars in the sky. Your beauty eclipses any convention."

Feyre blushed at the implications, she was the centre of attention, just as he was. In his words, he saw herself as the supposed Lady of his house, her mind racing with possibilities, going too far in her own fantasies of actually being her.

With a smooth turn, he addressed the crowd, "Ladies, Gentlemen and others. It is my great honour to welcome you all to the 526th annual Night Christmas ball. As per my lovely mother's favourite, and still new, tradition, please grab yourselves your partners, and join us on the dance floor for the first dance of the night and party on!" He smiled, raising his glass as Feyre followed.

As Rhysand raised his glass, the room erupted in cheers and applause, the energy shifting from anticipation to pure revelry. Feyre watched, enchanted, as couples paired off and began to dance, their movements fluid and graceful against the backdrop of twinkling lights and festive decorations.

Rhysand turned back to her, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Care to dance, my radiant star?" He asked, offering his hand. "I promise not to step on your toes... Much."

"So you said, there are no plus ones, why is that? Feyre asked as Rhysand led her to the centre of the ballroom, watching everyone pair off. A lot of folks had come up to them to compliment her dress, while some had been a little backhanded, she felt good about herself with Rhysand's arm around her waist. "What if someone wants to bring their partner?"

She had met up with Mor, Cassian and Azriel, who gave off the vibe of being private security, and Amren, perhaps the only one she actually knew here apart from her friend.

"It's to make sure unwanted guests don't come barging in using loopholes. Everyone I want here, got their own invite, including the partners of my friends" He spun Feyre once and then pulled her close. "I'd hate for someone to ruin my party."

As Rhysand twirled Feyre, her skirts fluttered out like a celestial aurora, catching the kaleidoscope of colours from the chandeliers above. Laughter bubbled up from her throat, mingling with the euphoric music that filled the air. The warmth of Rhysand's body pressed against hers made her feel invincible, as if nothing could pierce the bubble of joy surrounding them.

When he brought her back in close, Feyre rested her cheek against his chest, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with the subtle musk of his skin. "This is truly magical," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the lively orchestra. "Thank you for sharing this night with me, Rhys."

Rhysand's chest rumbled with a contented chuckle as he held Feyre close, savouring the sweet fragrance of her hair and the softness of her curves against him. "You are the magic, Feyre Archeron," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "And I'm the one honored to be with you tonight."

The tender words sent a thrill through Feyre, her heart swelling with love and gratitude. She tilted her head to meet Rhysand's gaze, her emerald eyes shimmering with adoration. At that moment, surrounded by the whirlwind of festivities yet cocooned in their own private universe, Feyre knew she would cherish this memory forever.

As the song drew to a close, Rhysand reluctantly released her, though his hands lingered on her hips. "Shall we get some refreshments? I want you to try some finger foods before dinner," He said with a sly grin, winking at her. "I hope you stay for dinner. Not everyone here right now will."

With a playful smirk, Rhysand offered his arm to Feyre once more, guiding her through the throng of dancers toward a lavish buffet table. The spread before them was a feast for the eyes as much as the palate, with delectable morsels ranging from bite-sized pastries to delicate skewers of grilled meats and seafood.

"Everything smells so good," Feyre smiled, her eyes widening as she surveyed the options. "I think I might need extra hands just to sample everything!"

Rhysand laughed, the sound rich and warm, sending pleasant vibrations through Feyre's chest. "Help yourself, Feyre darling."

As Feyre indulged in the decadent delights, her taste buds danced with each new flavour. She sampled a succulent meat pie, its flaky crust giving way to tender beef and rich gravy, a delicate fruit tartlet bursting with the sweetness of berries; and a savoury pastry pinwheel filled with spiced cheese and herbs. Each mouthful left her wanting more.

Rhysand observed her with a pleased smile, delighting in the sparkle of enjoyment in her eyes. The way she closed them in bliss when sampling the tartlet, the soft moan of satisfaction when biting into the bite-sized pieces, it was a sensual display that stirred something primal within him.

There was a high-pitched scream, when Feyre and Rhysand turned in curiosity, they saw Cassian who had jumped in Azriel's arms. Rhysand scoffed and Feyre heard him smack his head with his palm, "This-"

"Ah! It's here!" Cassian yelped, Azriel looking bored. Near their feet, was a fully black cat, hissing up at the man.

Rhysand's eyes narrowed as he gazed down at the feline, its midnight coat seeming to absorb the light around it. The cat's piercing black gaze locked onto Rhysand, and Feyre could sense an unspoken tension emanating from both the man and the animal. , "Oh, a kitten!" She almost squealed, even though she was surprised, as she approached the cat.

Rhysand's expression softened slightly as Feyre knelt beside the cat, her gentle demeanour putting it at ease. The animal sniffed at her hand, then nuzzled it affectionately, purring low in its throat, the hissing stopping instantly. Feyre couldn't help but coo at the adorable display, reaching out to stroke the soft fur along the cat's spine.

"This is Bryaxis, our resident mischief-maker," Rhysand explained, a hint of fondness creeping into his tone.

As Feyre continued to pet Bryaxis, the cat leaned into her touch, its purrs growing louder and more contented. Rhysand watched the scene unfold with a mix of amusement and warmth, finding solace in the simple act of witnessing Feyre connect with another creature.

"It can be quite the handful sometimes," Azriel chimed in, still holding Cassian aloft with a glare. "He likes to mess with people and bitting them."

Cassian shot back with a glare, "Yeah, well, he likes to bite kind hearted men like me." Getting out of Azriel's hands, he huffed, side-eyeing the cat.

Azriel rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "He goes after those constantly scheming and causing trouble like some I could mention."

Rhysand chuckled at the banter between his siblings, shaking his head in amusement. "Brothers, always ready with a quip or a jab," he remarked with a fond smile. His attention then shifted back to Feyre, noticing the way her fingers continued to gently stroke Bryaxis' sleek fur.

Rhysand's attention remained fixed on Feyre and Bryaxis, his expression softening further as he watched the cat's demeanor shift under her gentle ministrations. It was a testament to her compassionate nature, her ability to connect with even the most elusive of creatures.

"You have a way with animals," Rhysand remarked, his voice low and intimate. "And you seem to have won him over," Rhysand noted, his voice tinged with admiration. "Not many can."

"I like animals." Feyre smiled, gently picking Bayaxis, the cat purring in her hold. She cooed at the cat as she held it.

His gaze lingered on Feyre's face as if committing every detail to memory. At that moment, surrounded by the festive atmosphere and the gentle purring of Bryaxis, he felt a profound sense of contentment wash over him. Here, with Feyre by his side, he could almost forget the weight of his responsibilities, the constant vigilance required to protect his people.

[cinmawrites]

Kinda weird sending you an ask without anon on 😭💕

SAME. Spent days (weeks?) hiding my identity but now we can freely gush in the open 😈

[cinmawrites]

Beautiful Person Award! Once you are given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the ask of people who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out! 🌹

AWW THANK YOU 😭 Life got hectic during the holidays so I apologize for the late response! HAPPY NEW YEAR! 😘😘

[cinmawrites]

Invitees

For @acotargiftexchange

This is my gift for my lovely recipient @cinmawrites

ACOTARGIFTEXCHANGE MASTERLIST

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven

The office was dimly lit as the last stragglers trickled out for the evening as shifts ended and new ones started. Feyre hurriedly walked through the lobby of the office, ready the get started on a new day. As she stepped into the elevator, papers in her hand, she sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall.

The elevator doors slid shut, enveloping Feyre in the quiet hum as it slowly ascended from the lobby to the top floor. It came to an abrupt halt on a floor, and her breath hitched as the doors slid open to reveal none other than Rhysand stepping inside.

His tall frame filled the space, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow up everything else around him. He offered her a small smile, his lips parting to reveal pearly white teeth. "Evening, Ms. Archeron," He greeted her, his voice smooth as velvet yet carrying an underlying authority.

Feyre felt her heart skip a beat as Rhysand entered the confined space, his presence commanding and unmistakable. She swallowed hard, trying to maintain a semblance of composure even as every nerve ending in her body seemed to stand at attention.

"Good evening, Mr Darling," She replied, her voice sounding far steadier than she felt. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as she fought the urge to fidget nervously under his penetrating stare.

The air between them crackled with a palpable tension, a silent acknowledgement of the attraction that simmered just beneath the surface. It was a dangerous game they played, this clandestine dance of glances and whispered words when no one else was looking, when they were outside office walls. A game that left both their pulse racing and their mind reeling with possibilities.

"I hope you got the notice that I'll be leaving quiet late tonight and need you with me," He said, his tone deliberately vague. "I requires your attention one some projects, Ms Archeron, your insights."

There was a subtle emphasis on her title, a reminder of their professional boundaries, even as his eyes roamed over her face and down her curves, taking in every detail with a predatory intensity, all the memories of their previous interactions that felt way more than professional.

The elevator continued its accend, the seconds stretching out like hours as the silence between them grew heavy with unspoken desires. Feyre's breath caught in her throat as Rhysand took a step closer, invading her personal space. The heat radiating off his body was palpable, seeping into her very pores and setting her nerves alight. "If there is anything I need assistance with, you will be the first to know, Feyre darling."

Feyre's heart hammered against her ribcage, her palms growing slick with sweat. She knew she should look away, put an end to this dangerous flirtation before it went too far. But she found herself rooted to the spot, utterly entranced by his magnetic pull. "Well, yes, I love bringing you coffee first thing in the afternoon." She joked, hoping the cold air chilled her cheeks down.

Rhysand laughed heartily, eyes crinkling slightly, "Well, yes, I prefer your brewed coffee over many others. I'd never ask another intern for it." A smirk stretched across his lips, "Not even ones in the corner side Café, or perhaps even the Rainbow."

Feyre's breath got stuck at his words, those places where they'd had a moment. Feyre's mind raced, replaying each secret encounter with vivid clarity.

The elevator jolted to a stop, the doors sliding open with a soft whoosh. Rhysand stepped out, turning to offer Feyre his hand. "Shall we?"

Feyre hesitated for a fleeting instant, torn between the allure of his extended hand and the tactfulness of maintaining distance. But something in his gaze, a promise of forbidden delights, compelled her to place her own palm within his.

Their fingers intertwined, sending a jolt of electricity through her veins. As he guided her out of the elevator, Feyre could hardly contain the thrill coursing through her, to stroll with him around town where no one could tell who they were was way different than holding her boss' hand like that in their workplace. They strolled down the dimly lit corridor, Rhysand's strides purposeful and confident, drawing her along in his wake.

Once inside his private office as the rest of the workers began leaving for hom, Rhysand's eyes flickered with uncertainty for a brief moment, a rare display of vulnerability from the usually composed man. He took a deep breath, steeling himself before speaking. "Ms. Archeron, there's something I'd like to ask you..." His voice was softer now, less authoritative and more hesitant. "I'm hosting my annual Christmas party this weekend at my estate, and I was wondering if you might consider attending as my... Guest."

Feyre's heart skipped a beat at the invitation, she'd imagined she'd get an invite from Mor, not Rhysand himself, her mind whirling with the implications. Attending a high-society event as Rhysand's guest would surely raise eyebrows, especially given their professional relationship. Yet, the prospect of spending an evening in his company, amidst opulence and glamour, was undeniably enticing.

He paused, gauging her reaction carefully, "It's invite only, no plus ones, plenty of successful and influential people will be invited. It would give you a chance to meet some influential people in the industry, network, perhaps even discuss potential career opportunities beyond your internship." He knew from what Azriel had on her, that she needed money, there was no way she would pass up an opportunity to find good job openings right after finishing her degree. Even as he spoke those professional reasons, there was an undercurrent of something more personal, more hopeful in his tone.

Feyre's eyes widened in surprise part of her was thrilled at the idea of being seen on his arm at such an exclusive event, of being granted access to his world outside the office. But another part of her hesitated, acutely aware of the line they were treading, the risk of blurring professional boundaries.

Rhysand noticed the hesitation in her expression, the internal conflict warring within her. He understood her concerns, knew how precarious their situation was. But he also sensed the desire burning in her eyes, the longing for more than just a mundane existence.

Leaning in closer, his warm breath caressed her ear as he murmured, "Think of it as an investment in your future, Feyre. A chance to expand your horizons, make connections that could propel your career forward." His hand found hers again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "And perhaps, in the process, discover things about yourself you never knew existed."

There was a promise in his words, a hint of the untold pleasures that awaited her in his world. Rhysand's touch sent shivers down Feyre's spine, awakening a hunger she couldn't ignore. There was a sparkle of excitement in her eyes, betraying her true feelings. "Yes. I will be very thankful to attend."

Rhysand's lips curved into a satisfied smile at her acceptance, a spark of triumph igniting in his chest. He released her hand, stepping back to allow her some space, though he couldn't help but notice how much emptier the room felt without her nearness.

"Excellent. I'll have my assistant send over the details shortly." He moved to sit behind his desk, the formal mask slipping back into place as he resumed his usual air of authority. "In the meantime, let's focus on the tasks at hand. We have a lot to accomplish before the holiday break."

Despite the return to professionalism, the charged atmosphere lingered, a palpable tension that hung heavy in the air. Feyre could almost hear the unspoken questions swirling between them

Feyre nodded, the sudden shift in atmosphere reminding her of the reality they inhabited. She gathered her thoughts, pushing aside the lingering effects of Rhysand's proximity and charm. "Of course, sir. I'll prioritize our current projects and ensure everything is completed to your satisfaction before departing."

As she turned to retrieve her papers for her desk, Rhysand's voice stopped her in her tracks. "Feyre?"

She looked back over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. "Yes?"

Rhysand's eyes held a depth of emotion that Feyre had never seen before, a raw vulnerability that made her heartache. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with the urge to bridge the gap between them.

His eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign of weakness or betrayal. At that moment, he knew he was playing with fire, tempting fate by inviting her into his inner circle. But the risk was worth it.

A silent battle raged within him. The urge to close the distance, to capture her lips in a searing kiss, threatened to overwhelm his restraint. He could almost taste the sweetness of her mouth, feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

He allowed the yearning to consume him, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his desire. With a swift movement, Rhysand rose from his chair and closed the distance between them, his tall frame looming over Feyre's petite form.

His hands came up to cup her face, thumbs brushing gently over her cheekbones as he tilted her head back to meet his hungry gaze. "I've been wanting to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you," He confessed, his voice low and husky with barely restrained passion.

"Tell me no, Ms Archeron." He breathed, breath fanning her lips, "Tell me to stop."

Feyre's pulse raced, her heart pounding against her ribcage as Rhysand's heated words washed over her. The air between them crackled with tension, with how close they were.

Instead, Feyre's hands lifted to rest against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body through the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers curled into the material, as if anchoring herself to reality even as she teetered on the brink of surrender. "Please..."

Rhysand groaned at her whispered plea, the sound vibrating through his chest and echoing in Feyre's ears. His control snapped, the last threads of his self-restraint unraveling completely.

Claiming her lips in a fierce, demanding kiss, Rhysand plundered the sweet depths of Feyre's mouth with unrestrained passion. His tongue delved past her lips, tangling with hers in a sensual dance that left her breathless and craving more.

One hand slid down to cradle the curve of her waist, pulling her flush against him as the other threaded through her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. The heat of his body seeped into hers, igniting a fire that spread through her veins like wildfire.

Feyre kissed back with the same hunger, her lips moving against Rhysand's in a fervent exchange of desire. Her hands slipped up to twine around his neck, fingers digging into the muscle there as she pressed closer, moulding her curves to the hard planes of his body.

The kiss consumed them, a maelstrom of need and want that left rational thought scattered to the winds. Rhysand's tongue swept across hers, exploring every inch of her mouth as if mapping the contours of her soul.

Amren's sharp rap on the door shattered the intimate spell enveloping Rhysand and Feyre. Rhysand's head jerked up, breaking the kiss as he registered the interruption. For a moment, he considered ignoring Amren, losing himself once more in Feyre's embrace. But duty called, and he reluctantly pulled away, taking a step back to restore some semblance of distance and composure.

"Enter," He called out, his voice slightly rougher than before. The door swung open, and Amren strode in, her usual imperturbable demeanour belying the faint curiosity in her eyes as she took in the scene before her - Rhysand dishevelled, Feyre flushed and breathless.

"Mr Darling, your brother is here to see you." Amren stated, her tone crisp and professional as she then turned on her heel and left.

Rhysand's eyes lit up at that, "Ah, tell Cassian I'll be there to see him soon." He turned to Feyre with a sly grin, the remnants of their passionate interlude still hanging in the air between them.

Feyre started to giggle at the absurdity of the situation, the image of Rhysand's disarrayed state contrasting sharply with his earlier impeccable appearance. Her laughter, music to Rhysand's ears, slowly faded as she met his gaze, her own eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something deeper, more primal.

"I should go." Rhysand nodded towards Feyre, smiling at her laugh, "My brother might throw a tantrum of I'm not there in an instant."

"Of couse, Mr Darling... I'll return to work anyway'll stay here and continue with everything." Feyre smoothed her skirt and blouse, trying to regain some semblance of order after the whirlwind of emotions and sensations Rhysand had stirred within her. As she straightened her posture, Feyre caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror opposite Rhysand's desk - cheeks flushed, lips still tingling from his kisses, eyes shining with a newfound awareness.

Clearing her throat, Feyre offered a small, shy smile. "Thank you for the invitation to the gala, Rhysand. I look forward to seeing what wonders Illyrian fashion has in store for me." Her voice carried a hint of playful teasing, daring him to reveal more about the enigmatic world he represented.

[cinmawrites]

UM DO NOT APOLOGIZE!!!! Now I can binge read, hehe 😏😏

Did I forget to queue posts around exams and then spam posted on the last day cause like "omg its the last day!"? yes. Yes I did.

Sorry for the spam @acotargiftexchange and @cinmawrites 👀👀 but also, enjoy :)

[cinmawrites]

Artistic

For @acotargiftexchange

This is my gift for my lovely recipient @cinmawrites

ACOTARGIFTEXCHANGE MASTERLIST

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven

Rhysand sat in the backseat of his car, his long legs stretched out as he gazed out the tinted window. The city lights blurred past in a mix of colours. His mind wandered to Feyre, as it often did these days. After their almost kiss a week ago, he couldn't seem to shake the memory from his thoughts.

That tantalizing moment when their lips had hovered mere inches apart, the electricity arcing between them. It was clearly more than just professional admiration that drew him to her. There was a gentleness about her, a vulnerability hidden beneath that fierce determination. It called to him, awakening feelings he thought long buried, mushy feeling.

Rhysand sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He needed to focus on the matters at hand, not dwell on forbidden fantasies. Yet, even as he told himself to push aside his feelings for Feyre, he couldn't deny the constant ache in his chest whenever she was near.

As the car pulled up to the coffee shop he frequented, Rhysand gathered his thoughts. He needed to focus on the high-stakes meeting taking place today away from the Publishing House, not dwell on a certain captivating intern.

Rhysand stepped out of the car, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the heated turmoil brewing inside him. He straightened his crisp black suit, smoothing out any wrinkles as he made his way into the dimly lit coffee shop. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped him, momentarily distracting him from his inner musings.

Inside the bustling coffee shop, Feyre sat in her seat, the sketchbook Rhysand had bought her set on her table as she sketched, pencil gliding over the paper, her latte and muffin near her.

As Rhysand approached, he spotted Feyre immediately, her profile etched in concentration as she worked away on her drawing. The soft glow of the shop lights danced across her features, accentuating the delicate lines of her face and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Rhysand paused, mesmerized by the sight of her, a warm, comforting feeling spread through his chest.

Their eyes met across the café when she looked up, and Feyre felt her heart skip a beat. He flashed her a rare, genuine smile, one reserved only for those closest to him. It transformed his usually stern features, making him appear younger, more approachable. "Fancy meeting you here," He said, voice deep as he approached her. "Mind if I join you for a bit? My meeting got postponed, and I have some time to kill."

"Not at all," Feyre replied warmly, her eyes sparkling with delight. "I could use some company while I work. Please, sit down." Suddenly hyper-aware of every little detail, the warmth of her skin, the slight tremble in her fingers, the way her heart raced at his proximity, for their work, they had managed to be professional for now, but this was out of it. "Wait... You said a meeting? You... You never have meeting on the weekends..." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, she was sure from the time she used to schedule his meeting early in her internship, he'd tell her to keep everything off the weekend.

Rhysand chuckled softly, running a hand through his tousled dark hair. "You're right, I don't usually schedule meetings on weekends. This one was... Unexpected." He paused, considering how much to reveal.

"It's part of another venture I'm involved in, separate from the Publishing House. Nothing for you to worry about though." His tone remained light, but there was an undercurrent of something else, a hint of danger, perhaps, or deep secrets. "Family business."

Feyre raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the cryptic mention of family business. She knew Rhysand was a private person, but this seemed different, like there were layers to him she was only beginning to peel back. "Family business, huh?" She repeated, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, a playful smirk on her lips. "Sounds mysterious. Judging by that suit you're wearing."

She gestured towards his attire, her eyes roaming appreciatively over the sleek fabric that hugged his broad shoulders and lean physique. The subtle play of muscles beneath his clothes was impossible to miss, a testament to his physical prowess. Feyre quickly looked away, feeling a flush creep up her neck at the unintended intimacy of her gaze.

"And speaking of family... How's living with my cousin been treating you?" Rhysand questioned sipping on his coffee.

"Living with Mor has been... Interesting," She replied, happy for a distraction from her previous train of thought, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "She's not exactly what I would've asked for in a roommate three years ago but she's perfect. Late night parties, spontaneous road trips, constant matchmaking attempts..." Feyre shook her head fondly. "I'm grateful to have her in my life."

Rhysand listened intently, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips as he absorbed each word. He liked hearing about Feyre's life outside of the office, learning the details that shaped her personality and experiences. "Matchmaking attempts, eh?" He teased, raising an eyebrow. He wondered if she'd tried to set her up with someone.

"I'm glad she has you to balance her out. You two complement each other perfectly." His gaze lingered on Feyre, a warmth in his eyes that went beyond mere politeness. "Mor speaks highly of you, you know. Says you're the best thing that's happened to her in a long time." Rhysand leaned against the table slightly, angling his body towards her. "I can see why. You have a way of bringing out the best in people."

A lovely blush coloured Feyre's cheeks at Rhysand's words. She ducked her head shyly, peeking up at him through her lashes. "That's sweet of you to say, Rhys. And of Mor. I'm lucky to have her in my corner."

The awareness of his growing attraction for Feyre was undeniable now. He admired the delicate flush on her cheeks, the manner with which she peered up at him. It was intoxicating, this gentle vulnerability she exuded. Rhysand's heart quickened at the sight of Feyre's blushing cheeks, her shy yet captivating demeanour. He found himself drawn to her innocent beauty, the way her eyes sparkled with warmth and curiosity. "You deserve all the luck in the world, Feyre," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

Lost in thought, Rhysand barely registered the bustling activity around them. All he could focus on was the enticing curve of Feyre's lips, the way her hair fell in soft waves around her face. A sudden urge to reach out, to brush that stray lock behind her ear, nearly overwhelmed him.

Feeling the intensity of Rhysand's gaze, Feyre nervously licked her lips, wondering what was going through his mind. There was a palpable tension between them, a shared awareness of the forbidden desires simmering just below the surface.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull, Rhysand gently brushed the errant strand of hair behind Feyre's ear, his fingertips grazing her heated cheek in the process. The contact sent sparks racing along her nerve endings, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"You're lovely when you blush," He murmured, his voice dipping as he spoke. Feyre shivered, the husky undertones of his voice sending shivers down her spine.

Feyre's breath caught in her throat as Rhysand's touch ignited a fire within her. The heat of his fingers seared her skin, leaving a lingering imprint that seemed to pulse with life. She sighed, savouring the sensation, the gentle caress that spoke volumes about the unspoken connection between them.

With a regretful sigh, Rhysand pulled away when his phone buzzed, realizing he'd lingered far longer than intended. "I should probably get going. Meetings won't reschedule themselves, no matter how appealing the company may be." He offered a wry smile, coffee in hand, trying to hide the disappointment in his eyes. "Walk with me to the end of the block, will you? I hate saying goodbye in such a hurry."

Feyre nodded, feeling a pang of her own at the prospect of parting ways so soon. "Of course, Rhys. Duty calls, and all that." She picked up her bag, placed everything back inside, and shrugged on the coat she had draped on the chair.

As they neared the end of the block, Rhysand slowed his pace, seemingly reluctant to reach the point where their walk would come to an end.

"Feyre, may I ask you something personal?" His intense eyes searched hers intently, a flicker of uncertainty beneath the surface of his usual composure.

Caught off guard, Feyre hesitated before nodding. "Of course, Rhys. What is it you want to know?"

"Have you ever wanted to do something outside of business?" Rhysand's question hung in the crisp winter air, heavy with unspoken implications.

She considered her answer carefully. "Outside of business?" She repeated, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. "Well, I did once dream of being a famous painter, spreading my art, of traveling the world, of experiencing different cultures and ways of life... I want to see the world... I've never really been anywhere."

Her words trailed off, a faraway look entering her eyes as memories surfaced. Rhysand listened intently, captivated by the glimpse into Feyre's aspirations.

"But those dreams were put on hold," She continued, her gaze refocusing on him. "Life had other plans, and I never quite got around to pursuing them."

"Those "Other plans" often derail our deepest desires, don't they?" Rhysand mused, a note of melancholy in his voice. "It's easy to let responsibilities and obligations crowd out the things that truly make us happy."

Feyre agreed, a hint of melancholy creeping into her tone, "Well, what were your dreams? Is there something you wanted to be if it wasn't for your business?"

Rhysand's expression softened, a wistful glint in his eyes as he pondered the past. "If I'm being completely honest, I always had a fascination with the sky, the universe... Stargazing, astronomy..." Rhysand revealed, a hint of embarrassment colouring his voice. "But ambition and duty took precedence over those whimsical pursuits."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Who knows, maybe someday I'll revisit those interests, find a way to incorporate them into my life without sacrificing everything else."

Their eyes met, understanding passing between them like a silent agreement. In that moment, Rhysand felt an overwhelming urge to bridge the gap between them, to show Feyre just how deeply he connected with her hopes and fears. But propriety held him back, and he contented himself with a gentle squeeze of her hand before releasing her.

"Well, I really must be off," He said, taking a step back. "Thank you for the lovely chat, Feyre." With a final nod, Rhysand turned the corner. Feyre watched him go, a strange mix of longing and trepidation swirling within her.

Feyre made her way back, lost in thought as the city lights blurred past. Rhysand's words echoed in her mind, the idea of finding happiness in her passion despite life's obstacles. It was tempting, almost intoxicating, to imagine a future where she could pursue her passions without restraint, she held her sketchbook close to her chest as she walked.

When she arrived at her modest place, the familiar sounds and scents of home provided a comforting contrast to the whirlwind of emotions still churning inside her, she was grateful that Mor was out spending the night with her girlfriend, leaving the place to herself and her thoughts. She settled onto the couch with a thick blanket.

As Feyre curled up on the couch, she opened her sketchbook, letting her pencil dance across the page, continuing with the sketch. Her mind wandered, reliving the moments with Rhysand, capturing the play of light on his features, the intensity of his gaze. Rhysand's face emerged on the paper, his striking features captured in loose lines and shading. She added details - the subtle arch of his eyebrows, the playful curve of his lips.

As she drew, Feyre found herself slipping further into the fantasy, imagining Rhysand before her, alive and breathing. Her hand moved faster, refining the portrait until it almost looked like him. Almost.

With a sigh, Feyre set the sketch aside, her fingers tracing the outline of Rhys's face one last time before breaking contact. She knew it was futile to indulge in such daydreams, no matter how tantalizing they might be.

She then picked her mini pallet of paint, dipping a brush in the pigment, it felt funny, painting Rhysand with the supplies he'd bought her.

With deliberate strokes, Feyre began to add colour to her sketch, starting with the rich, dark tones of Rhysand's hair. She mixed a blend of blues and purples, adding depth and dimension to capture the mesmerizing swirls of his locks. As she worked, Feyre found herself losing track of time, the world fading away until only Rhysand's image remained, brought to vibrant life on the canvas.

Hours slipped by unnoticed as Feyre painted, her focus entirely consumed by the piece unfolding before her eyes. The colours blended and merged, creating a stunning likeness of Rhysand's hair. The sketch was breathtaking, to say the least. A subtle smirk played on his lips, as if he knew the secrets hidden in her heart.

A sense of longing washed over her, the desire to bring that sketch to life, to have him stand beside her and whisper promises of a future together. She carried the incomplete painting to her bedroom window, gazing out at the star-studded expanse above the city. At that moment, Feyre couldn't help but wonder if Rhysand was also standing under the similar stared sky, gazing up, his thoughts drifting to her as hers drifted to him.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, chilling Feyre to the bone. She sighed and shut the window to keep the frost out, pulling in the curtains, she wondered if it might snow, she wanted it to, to wake up to a world blanketed in white. Feyre wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly as she returned to the warmth of her room.

As Feyre retreated into the cosy sanctuary of her bed, the chill of the night still lingered on her skin. She wrapped herself in plush bedcovers, the soft fabric providing welcome comfort against the lingering cold.

She settled in, with a hum, she turned off her bedside lamp, pulling a soft silk eye mask she had recently bought over her eyes, she giggled softly, kicking her feet under the covers, loving how cold they were. She loved winter, the cosiness of being all snuggled up in bed. She relaxed pretty soon, snuggling into a fuzzy bat plushy Mor had gifted her as a gag almost a year ago.

[cinmawrites]

Window Shopping

For @acotargiftexchange

This is my gift for my lovely recipient @cinmawrites

ACOTARGIFTEXCHANGE MASTERLIST

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven

It was a rather sunny afternoon despite the cold, and the lively sounds of the city filled the air as they strolled along the bustling streets, navigating through crowds of shoppers. Mor had convinced Feyre to accompany her to a recently opened boutique, eager to see the stock.

Inside, the store was dimly lit, its walls adorned with eclectic displays of clothing, accessories, and decor. Mor immediately gravitated towards a rack of flowing dresses, running her hands over the silky fabrics with a practised touch.

"Feyre, come check this out!" She called, holding up a dress in a rich, sapphire blue. The garment sparkled with intricate silver embroidery, catching the light and highlighting Mor's already striking features.

Feyre walked over, her eyes widening as she took in the stunning dress Mor held up. "Wow, that's gorgeous," She breathed, reaching out to trace the delicate pattern of the embroidery with her fingertips. The fabric seemed to shimmer and dance under her touch, as if infused with an inner light.

"Try it on," Mor urged, already heading towards the trial rooms in the back of the store. Feyre nodded, following her friend and slipping into the curtained enclosure. A few moments later, Feyre emerged, the sapphire dress clinging to her curves in a way that left little to the imagination.

Mor's jaw dropped as she took in the sight of Feyre, the vibrant colour of the dress accentuating her complexion and bringing out the warm tones in her hair. "Feyre, you look incredible," Mor exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "That dress was made for you."

Feyre smiled shyly, fidgeting with the skirts of the garment. "Do you really think so? I've never worn anything quite like this before."

"Then it's about time you did," Mor replied with a wink. "Come on, let's get some shoes to match. Something proper."

As they continued browsing the racks, Feyre couldn't help but steal glances at herself in the mirrors, marvelling at the transformation the dress had wrought. She felt almost regal, like a queen stepping out of a fairy tale. The sensation was intoxicating.

"You know, you'd clean up nicely at one of those fancy charity galas Rhys is always dragging me to..." Mor remarked casually, though there was a hint of something more beneath the surface. Feyre felt a flutter in her chest at the mention of Rhysand's name, her mind drifting to the web of emotions she harboured for him.

"Maybe someday," Feyre said wistfully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, moving it around to set it in an updo before letting go. Mor led Feyre to the shoe section, where she was going through several pairs. "But for now, I think I'll stick to my usual. besides, we're here to get you something for your date with Emerie, not for me." She said, even as she stared a longing look at a pair of strappy blue heels that would fit the dress on her perfectly. "I'll just change back. Then we can see." Not waiting on Mor to try to convince her.

After Feyre returned to her original outfit, Mor steered her back towards the main part of the boutique, where they began scanning the shelves once again for potential purchases. Feyre found herself lagging slightly behind, her gaze periodically drifting back from the pretty high heels to the sapphire dress she had set down.

The two friends were trying to find a gift for Mor's girlfriend when Feyre spotted a delicate necklace nestled amongst the other jewellery pieces on display. It consisted of a single, luminous brown opal suspended from a slender chain, the gemstone glowing with an ethereal inner light. The piece was a mesmerizing beauty.

"I love this," Feyre breathed, lifting the necklace from the counter and turning it over in her hands. The opal seemed to pulse with energy, as if responding to her touch. "How about this, Mor? So elegant and understated."

Mor examined the necklace, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Oh, Feyre, yes, this is exactly what I need for Em, it's beautiful and it matches her eyes." A faint blush covered Mor's cheeks like it usually did talking about Emerie, the girl a year younger than them at their university, they had met over a project outside of curriculums.

They purchased the necklace and having it wrapped neatly in tissue, placing it in a gift bag alongside a box of gourmet chocolates Mor knew Emerie adored.

After securing their purchases, including a deep red dress Mor was going to wear, Mor and Feyre exited the boutique, the scent of fresh flowers and perfume mingling with the aroma of the market place. As they strolled along the sidewalk, Feyre couldn't shake the image of herself in the sapphire dress from her mind.

Mor, seemingly oblivious to Feyre's daydreaming fantasy of herself in that gown, chattered excitedly about her plans for the evening with Emerie. Feyre listened half-heartedly, trying her best to concentrate on her friend.

"Hope you don't mind, I'll have to rain check on our lunch plans, I should get these things back to our dorm but I hope you don't mind I told Rhys we were gonna be here."

That was the last thing Mor had said before she flashed a smirk and a wink and dashed off, leaving Feyre alone as a familiar car pulled over near a T-point.

Rhysand stepped out of the sleek black car, his piercing dark blue eyes locking onto Feyre as she approached. He looked devastatingly handsome in a tight black shirt that showcased his toned physique, paired with dark sweats that hugged his lean hips. Feyre's heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, this was the most casual she'd seen him, muscles bulging his compressed shirt, as if he'd just done working out.

"Well, well, looks like I caught you admiring little trinkets in the shop windows," Rhys teased, his low, velvety voice sending shivers down Feyre's spine, eyes dancing in amusement. "Did my sister really just run seeing my car?"

Feyre rolled her eyes playfully at Rhys' teasing remark. "She mentioned something about needing to get back to the dorm with her shopping haul. So yeah, she basically spotted your car and bolted, you could say that."

"Did you buy something for yourself?" Rhysand asked playfully as the driver in the car drove it off to parking. When Feyre simply shook her head, he smiled "Aw, poor Ms Archeron, did my sister abandon you before you could get something? Come on, we can always carry on where she left." He raised his arm in her direction, silently asking her to take his arm, muscle flexing under his shirt.

Feyre hesitated for only a moment before sliding her hand into the crook of Rhysand's elbow, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. His strong arm encircled her waist, pulling her close as they began walking together, the city sounds fading into the background.

"So, how was your day otherwise?" Rhysand asked, his tone gentle, curious. "Any excitement?"

Feyre sighed, a small smile playing on her lips as memories of her earlier moments flooded back. "Well, I managed to get around the other stalls here. I've never been in this place, It's... Nice, open."

Rhysand chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent delightful vibrations through his chest and onto Feyre's arm pressed against him. "Ah, yes, this market tends to cater to those who are looking to slpurge, it's not too expensive, I find it reasonable for the fine quality." He explained, guiding them past various vendor stalls offering exotic fabrics, rare jewels, little souvenirs, and trinkets. Feyre paused to look at everything, and then, so did Rhysand, making sure to note what made her eyes truly sparkle. "Although I understand not wanting to spend too much. Everything looks so magnificent one would want to buy everything."

As they wandered through the bustling marketplace, Rhysand pointed out interesting items and shared anecdotes about the vendors, his knowledge of the area was impressive, this place was a childhood favourite of both Mor and Rhysand, The Rainbow, Mor had told her they called it when they were younger, because of how vibrant everything was. Feyre found herself captivated by his presence, enjoying the easy talk and the way he effortlessly commanded attention without seeming arrogant.

As they passed by an art supply shop, Feyre's eyes widened with excitement, drawn to the vibrant colours and array of materials displayed. Her fingers itched to explore the textures, to feel the weight of a new brush in her hand. She turned to Rhysand, her face alight with enthusiasm.

"Oh, Rhys, look! Can we stop for a minute?." She exclaimed, already inside and reaching for a few packed brushes to examine more closely, eyes going over the paints and different colours.

Rhysand followed her inside, an amused expression crossing his features. "You know, I always did guess you were artistic, Feyre," He commented, his tone tinged with curiosity. "What kind of art do you enjoy creating?"

Feyre's eyes sparkled with delight at Rhysand's question, a genuine passion radiating from her. "I love painting landscapes mostly, especially mountains and forests. There's something about capturing the essence of nature that just speaks to me." She explained, carefully selecting a few tubes of paint - emerald green, rich earth tones, and a deep cobalt blue. "But I dabble in portraits too, when I'm feeling more expressive." She held up a small sketchbook, looking through the pages to feel the texture.

One of the shop workers greeted Feyre enthusiastically. "Oh, hello miss, I see some things have caught your eye! Would you like help with anything?"

Feyre nodded and showed the woman the paints and brushes she'd selected, chatting animatedly about her techniques. The employee listened intently, nodding along and making recommendations. Rhysand leaned against a nearby shelf, observing the interaction with interest.

As Feyre continued to browse, the employee pulled out a few additional items, a set of high-quality watercolours, a specialized palette knife, and a unique blending sponge. "These might interest you, miss," She said, handing them over. "The watercolours are particularly lovely for capturing subtle shifts in light and colour. And the palette knife adds such depth and texture..."

Feyre's eyes grew wide as she accepted the extra supplies, her hands caressing each item reverently. "Oh, wow, thank you so much!" She gushed, barely able to contain her excitement.

Rhysand watched with amusement as Feyre's face lit up, clearly delighted by the thoughtful suggestions. He couldn't help but admire her passion, the way she lost herself in the world of art. It was refreshing, "I think we might have to visit this shop again soon," Rhys murmured, his gaze lingering on Feyre's flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. "If only to see you in your element like this."

At the checkout counter, Feyre carefully arranged her purchases. She glanced up at Rhysand, a hint of embarrassment colouring her cheeks as she realized how many items she'd accumulated. "Alright, I may have gotten a bit carried away," She admitted sheepishly, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of her shirt. "You were right... I want everything here."

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head in good-natured amusement. "It's perfectly fine, Feyre. Never apologize for indulging in something that brings you pleasure... Now." Rhysand pressed his palm against Feyre's forehead and put her at an arm's distance, taking her by surprise, "Please get all of this packed and ring up the bill." He handed the cashier his card, the black shining under the direct light above.

"Hey-" Feyre tried to reach over to him, arms stretched out, but Rhysand kept her away from the counter, much to the amusement of the sweet old man behind the cashier, probably the owner.

"And I noticed she forgot those adorable stickers and that brand of markers, so do add that as well to her supplies, and I noticed this pack of multiple brushes, so that too." Rhysand said, waving his card towards the packs.

The elderly cashier beamed. "Of course, sir! Right away!" He efficiently rang up the additional items, adding them to the growing pile of supplies.

As the total mounted, Feyre felt a pang of guilt, knowing Rhysand had covered the entire cost. She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a knowing look and a subtle shake of his head, he let her go when she stopped trying to get to him.

Once the transaction was complete, Rhysand took hold of the bag containing Feyre's newly acquired art supplies, his grip firm yet gentle. He offered her his arm once more, a silent invitation to continue their stroll through the market as they made their way outside.

"You're welcome, Feyre," Rhysand said softly, his voice teasing. "Consider it a small early birthday gift, or holiday bonus, or whatever."

Feyre's heart swelled with gratitude, her fingers instinctively brushing against the side of the bag, feeling the weight of the art supplies within. "Thank you, Rhys, you didn't have to pay." She replied sincerely, her eyes meeting his. "But this means a lot to me." She smiled up at him, her eyes shining with all the appreciation she felt.

In that fleeting moment, a charged atmosphere crackled between them, as they both held the bag of supplies together, a palpable tension that seemed to thicken the air around their entwined hands and the bag between them. Rhysand's piercing gaze locked onto Feyre's, his expression unreadable save for the slight flicker of his eyes. Feyre, too, felt her breath catch, her pulse quicken, as if sensing the shift in their connection.

The air hung heavy with unspoken emotions as Rhysand and Feyre stood there, frozen in time. A single heartbeat passed, two, three... Without breaking eye contact, Rhysand reached out with his free hand, lightly tracing a finger down the curve of Feyre's cheek, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His touch was feather-light, almost imperceptible, yet it sent shivers coursing through her veins.

Feyre's breath hitched as Rhysand's fingertips grazed her skin, the sensation sending waves of warmth rippling beneath her flesh. She leaned into his touch ever so slightly, her eyelids fluttering closed for a brief instant before reopening to meet his intense gaze once more before dipping to his lips.

For a moment, the world around them faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of them suspended in that intimate, electric silence. Time seemed to slow, stretching out the seconds until it felt as though hours had passed since Rhysand first laid his hand upon her cheek.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the spell was broken. Rhysand withdrew his touch, stepping back with a smile that belied the raw emotion still simmering in his eyes. "Shall we continue shopping or do you wish to go back to your dorms?"

Feyre blinked the haze she had found herself in clear, "I'll... I'll just walk back... I... I should go anyway." She couldn't believe how close they had been. She wanted to feel his hips against hers, despite how cold and chapped they suddenly felt by her own breath.

Rhysand nodded, letting go of the bag and not missing how Feyre clung to it. "Very well, then. I shouldn't keep you..." His voice was steady, betraying no signs of the charged moment that had just transpired as he watched her go, hoping she'd look back, maybe she'd run to him, give him a kiss before she left, reassure him that he hadn't imagined it, but she didn't. And those damned legs of his seemed to freeze him in place. He knew he should've gone easy with his body today.

[cinmawrites]

light me up, darlin'

My (second) gift to the lovely @littlest-w01f for the @acotargiftexchange!

Summary: Feyre is in for an intense night of relaxation. (Also available on AO3)

"What's this?"

Feyre dropped her tote where she stood by their bedroom door, glancing at her husband with a raised brow. After a grueling morning at the art studio, she had been looking forward to relaxing in bed. It seems, however, that Rhys had other ideas…

It wasn't unusual for her to come home to an impulsive purchase made by her husband, what was unusual was the way this particular High Lord had arranged their room to mimic that of a spa. Their curtains were drawn, and other than a few candles, the only thing illuminating the room was a Himalayan salt lamp on their nightstand. Huh. That was new.

"Your massage awaits, my lady," Rhys drawled slowly, a mischievous wink in his deep, violet eyes as he gestured towards their bed with… silk sheets?

Feyre blinked.

"You changed our sheets?" she asked, already shrugging off her clothes a little too quickly on her way to their bed. That massage did sound nice, and her back was aching from standing most of the day.

Her lovely mate had made it his personal mission to shower her with various home remedies for relaxation and some tender, loving care. Especially now that she was further along in her first trimester (still not showing, unfortunately). Feyre had known about the potential morning sickness, but being in constant pain was a new one. Her bladder, legs, lower back, and especially her joints were throbbing all the time. Apparently being a fae didn't protect you from the agonizing discomfort that came with growing a baby.

Often on the receiving end of her mate's many whims, Feyre didn't question this little surprise and made a move to climb onto their mattress - only to pause when Rhys tutted at her. Confused, she glanced up at him.

"Yes?" she asked, huffing at him and feeling a little irked because what was the holdup?

"Yes, High Lord," he corrected, and - oh. That was the look he had given her earlier.

As if a switch had been flipped, Feyre squirmed as arousal immediately soaked her panties. It was the norm for her to leak some sort of fluid since becoming pregnant, but this time - embarrassingly enough - was due to pure need. It didn't take long (or much) these days to have trembling with want.

"Yes, High Lord?" Feyre asked, breathless - squeezing her thighs together.

"You won't be needing that," Rhys answered, eyes drifting down to her cotton underwear - the only piece of clothing left. "Take it off."

"Yes, High Lord," she replied, hooking her fingers on the waistband of her underwear before pulling them down slowly to step out of them Feyre watched as Rhys' heated gaze followed her movements, fixating on the trail of slick that was extending from her soaking cunt.

"On your hands and knees," he barked, an edge to his voice. "Back towards me. Ass up."

Feyre climbed onto the bed and did as she was told, her body parallel to the headboard as the top of her toes hung over the side of the bed. Without a word, Rhys handed over a pillow for her to lean her torso on for some added comfort. Excitement pooled in her belly as she bent over, her pussy exposed to him with her head on her arms.

"Spread your legs."

She slid her knees wider, feeling her lips part as another gush of arousal dripped down her thigh. Feyre felt his fingers trail down the curve of her ass before lightly stroking her damp folds, resisting the urge to clench and push herself closer.

"Good girl," she heard him murmur, before shoving two fingers inside - knuckle-deep - and curled them against her walls.

"Ahhh," she moaned, stopping herself before she could thrust her hips back onto his hand. God, she was so sensitive. Her breasts felt engorged and she was sure she'd come if her nipples kept scraping against the pillow like this. She was so horny and if he didn't—

In one swift movement, he had lined up the head of his cock to her opening and with a snap of his hips - he was balls-deep inside of her. Feyre let out a delicious moan, her walls instantly clenching onto him in a spasm.

Sogoodsogoodsogood—

SMACK.

"You don't get to take your pleasure," he hissed, before giving her ass cheek another slap - a sharp sting that instantly halted her movements.

She bit back a moan.

"I won't do it again, High Lord," she apologized, earning another slap to her ass when she squeezed his cock in reflex.

"Good girl."

Feyre heard movement where he was standing, cock still nestled inside her, so that she could feel every tug and pull as he shuffled and maneuvered around her.

"Now," he grunted, one hand steadying her hips, "you're going to stay still and do as you're told. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, High Lord," she answered, biting her lip as anticipation welled inside her.

It seemed like minutes ticked by before she felt a flutter of movement and then there was searing heat dripping a trail on her back. Was that… wax? Feyre lifted her head to glance behind her, but the moment the heat touched her skin - Rhys pulled his hips back before jerking forward, pushing her to grab onto the mattress with the force of his thrusts. He drove into her over and over again, trailing his hands along her sides, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his balls hitting her clit as a familiar tingle crept up her spine.

Feyre let out a strangled moan into her arms as her mate's thrusting slowed around the same time the wax began to cool on her back. His hips continued into a slow, circular motion - deep, but not deep enough, and she resisted the grind herself further on his cock. Even if it meant receiving a tantalizing slap on her ass as punishment.

She dug her hands into the silk underneath her, aching for him to go faster - trying not to let herself be too disappointed. They both knew if she were impatient enough, nothing would stop her from knocking him down and fucking him until they were both satisfied. But this was part of the game they both enjoyed, so she'd play along.

As if on cue, Feyre felt Rhys move again before goosebumps fleshed across her arms as the melted wax was dropped onto the back of her neck, instantly pushing her to clench down on his cock with a loud moan. The moment the wax had touched her skin, Rhys began fucking her in earnest again - his hand instantly clasping onto her for leverage as he rocked into her tight cunt, moaning as he hit a group of nerves that had her clenching him even tighter than before.

"Please," Feyre begged, as she felt the wax cooling and subsequently - her orgasm. Rhys made sure to circle, pinch, caress, and bite in the right places - edging her closer and closer to her peak, only to be denied. Again.

"Please, what, Feyre darling?" Rhys asked, his hips circling - slowing, his voice no longer tinted with his usual playful tone.

"Let me come, please High Lord," she all but sobbed, her voice cracking. She fucking needed to come so bad, needed it with every fiber of her being, needed him to fuck her - "I want it, please give it to me, High Lo- Ah!"

Yesyesyesyes.

She could feel the difference now with his strokes - more purposeful as he drove into her, smearing melted wax along her spine - eliciting pleasure that she felt down to her core. Feyre grew hot with each stroke of the wax against her skin, her body anticipating the pounding that inevitably followed.

"There we are," Rhys purred as a particular thrust had her leg twitching, her walls greedily clamping down on him. "You liked that, darling?"

Feyre whimpered out a moan in response as he dragged the head of his cock into the sensitive group of nerves, over and over again. She felt her orgasm building and building, and one sharp jerk along with a pinch of her clit had her barreling forcefully into a climax.

"Yes, Feyre darling - fuck, just like that," Rhys grunted as he fucked her through each clench on his cock. Squeezing her ass, her tits, and then reaching to rub her clit until she was writhing underneath him as she succumbed to another orgasm.

With one last slam into her tight cunt, Rhys came with a harsh grunt - spreading her ass cheeks to push further in, groaning as she milked every last drop of come from his cock.

Feeling one last twitch of his length from inside her, Feyre let out a deep sigh.

"You okay, darling?" Rhys asked, his voice hoarse.

"Mmm perfect," she sighed, relaxing as her mate gently pulled out of her and eased her onto her side. "Really, my love? Wax?"

"I heard heat is a very good stimulant," he laughed, stroking her cheek. Feyre heard a splash of water and dripping, then he was back on their bed and spreading her legs. "Not too sore?"

"No, just… very relaxed," Feyre answered, eyes closing as she surrendered herself to Rhys gently wiping away their joined essence off her thighs and nether regions. With another dip of the cloth into the basin, he started working towards scraping the dried wax off of her back and neck. "Mm… the sheets?"

"Didn't want to ruin our nice ones," Rhys replied, smoothing down her hair and laying a kiss on her forehead. "You ready for your real massage now?"

Feyre let out an amused breath. "Maybe when I can feel my limbs again," she yawned, scooting over as Rhys crawled into bed beside her and gathered her in his arms.

"How was your painting class today?" he asked gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Really good." Another yawn. "I don't think I'll be able to paint for a while until after Nyx is born."

"Oh?" Rhys frowned, pausing in his affectionate strokes against her stomach. "Is it the exhaustion? Maybe we can have Ressina take over a class or two."

"It's not that," Feyre said slowly, wrinkling her nose. "I can't stand the smell of paint anymore. I've been throwing up religiously between lessons."

"Hmm," Rhys hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps you can continue in your role as my cruel, wicked - and very pregnant - wife."

"I'm sure the citizens of the Court of Nightmares are just dying to see their High Lady bent over by their esteemed High Lord," Feyre replied sarcastically, though her mate had a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Don't think I haven't noticed how receptive you are when there's a potential audience," he murmured into her ear.

"I'm tired," she announced abruptly, hoping her cheeks weren't blazing with embarrassment. "Good night."

"Good night, darling," Rhys replied, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Feyre pretended to sleep.

[cinmawrites]

rebirth

My gift to the lovely @littlest-w01f for the @acotargiftexchange!

Summary: Feyre struggles with accepting her postpartum body, and Rhys shows her all the new ways to love her. (Also available on AO3)

Forcing herself to swallow the - heavy, traitorous - lump in her throat, Feyre begrudgingly lifted the corners of her lips into a pleasant smile. Staring at the woman in front of her, she took a deep breath and unclenched her fists - smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her dress so she wouldn't gouge the pretty blonde's eyes out.

"High Lady?"

Yes, that was her.

Hormonal, jealous, inconsolable High Lady who just had a baby and—

"I'm sorry," Feyre said sweetly, because her mate was also sweet and by association, so was she. "Can you repeat that?"

"I just wanted to say… congratulations on your precious baby," the woman replied, her eyes doing a quick dip to Feyre's midsection before coming back up to meet her gaze. "And to pass on my regards to Rhysand."

Rhysand.

Not High Lord.

Feyre lifted her arms to cross over her chest, curling into herself - a fact that does not go unnoticed. Damn this woman. Damn this woman and her perfect breasts, flat stomach and perfectly white, straight teeth. It was how she could have said the same about herself at one point. Before she got pregnant and had all these disgusting feelings, insecurities—

Feyre could feel herself growing hot with anger.

And was this some fling from her mate's past that she didn't know about? Because this was fucking perfect. Where was this leggy blonde when she wasn't a blubbering mess of a whale—

"If you'd excuse us," a familiar voice cut in, the scent of her dear husband surrounding her in familiar comfort and warmth. Had she somehow let down her guard again in the midst of her spiraling? "I'm missing my wife pretty terribly, so I'm going to have to steal her away." Feyre couldn't see his face, but she could only imagine the solicitous wink he threw the woman's way. "You know how it is."

Before the blonde could reply, Feyre felt the familiar pull of his winnow and the little gift shop was no more.

"I'm sorry," Feyre blurted out the moment Rhys materialized them into their room. "I'm trying so hard not to feel these dumb feelings and this gorgeous woman just waltzed into my face and she called you 'Rhysand' and I completely lost my shi-" She paused, trying to reign in that shuddering breath because - god, the tears. " I get it if this - if I'm - not what you want anymo-"

"Hey, whoa." Rhys pulled her from her frantic pacing to sit on the edge of their bed so they were facing each other. Grabbing her hand, he began to rub soothing circles to ground her. "The only gorgeous woman I see is crying. Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's so…stupid," Feyre said, her voice breaking. She was beyond the point of trying to keep the traitorous tears in. "I don't even know what's wrong with me."

Everything, apparently, was wrong.

Especially these godforsaken hormones.

"May I start?" Rhys asked gently, cupping her cheek.

Feyre nodded, sniffling,

"Well, for one - nothing is wrong with you," he replied, wiping a tear away. "Two, you're all I'll ever want." He gestured to their matching tattoos. "Until death, remember?"

"But-"

"I've never seen that woman in my life," Rhys interrupted, lifting her chin so that she could look at him. "You're the mother of my precious child, Feyre. The love of my life. I'll never want anyone but you."

God, she knows this.

But why did she feel so… insignificant?

"I have stretch marks," she declared, biting her lip. If Feyre didn't feel like she was the ugliest being in the world, her mate's facial expression would have been hilarious right now. Ignoring the confusion on Rhys' face, she continued. "Stretch marks on my boobs, my stomach, my ass - not to mention my nipples are completely raw because of these nipple pads."

Before Rhys could interrupt, Feyre stood up again to resume her pacing from earlier.

"On top of that, I'm just… leaking. Constantly. I feel disgusting and wretched," she admitted. "And… seeing that beautiful blonde woman while I was shopping, I felt like I'll never be that Feyre again. And that you deserve bett-"

It took a few seconds for her brain to catch up, but when it did, a - familiar - delicious curl wound its way into her stomach as Rhys slipped in his tongue to deepen their kiss.

"I love your ass, by the way," Rhys mumbled, his lips tracing the soft skin of her neck. And to illustrate that point - his hand trailed down from her lower back, reaching the curve of her backside to give it a firm squeeze. "Such a beautiful view when I'm fucking you from behind."

"Rhys-"

"And these boobs," Rhys continued, giving her ears a nip as his fingers trailed the underside of her breasts from beneath her shirt - making her gasp, "are sensitive to my touch and absolutely divine."

"You're just saying that," Feyre breathed, as he lowered her onto the nearest surface - a couch they had replaced. Multiple times. Rhys arranged her body into a sitting position - pulling her lower half to the edge of the cushion so that she was balancing her upper half on her elbows.

"I do say a lot of things, darling," Rhys said slowly, lowering himself to kneel between her legs. He shrugged her leggings and underwear down from underneath her dress - exposing her to his heated gaze. "But I mean everything I say… especially to you."

Before Feyre could argue, his head disappeared underneath her dress and his mouth was on her - licking a slow path from her opening to her clit.

"The leaking part," Rhys started, his voice slightly muffled while his index finger trailed against her entrance before gently easing inside her, "makes this part easy."

Feyre tensed as a second finger joined the first, then a third - stretching her. It had been at least 6 months since they had had sex. The stretch was a bit uncomfortable at first, but she found herself relaxing finally as he moved his thumb to circle her clit. Feyre closed her eyes and let out a groan as Rhys' fingers curled inside her - thrusting gently, occasionally scraping against her walls as he edged closer to a delicious spot inside of her.

God, this felt good.

Following the last few weeks of her pregnancy where it was just uncomfortable and awful to have sex, she went right into the healing stage where she spiraled and became neurotic with the damn hormones - refusing to let Rhys touch her despite how badly they both craved it. Feeling his mouth clamp onto her clit to replace his thumb, she couldn't even remember why she had been so persistent on resisting this.

Feyre began rocking her hips with the thrust of his fingers, chasing the tell-tale signs of her orgasm. It didn't take long before she stiffened, his fingers knowingly hitting a group of nerves that had her biting back her scream. With a graze of his teeth against her clit, she was moaning as her climax hit her hard, her walls clamping onto his fingers as he finger-fucked her through each clench.

Feyre slowly let herself relax and loosened the grip her thighs had on his head when she came, her eyes fluttering open to catch him sucking the last of her come off his fingers.

"You're beautiful like this," Rhys said softly, leaning up to give her a soft kiss. Careful not to get her face dirty with his fingers, he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand before softly sighing. "Let me get a cloth so I can clean you up, hm? I hadn't meant to get carried away. We can continue our conversation when I come back."

She wasn't sure what came over her, but seeing her husband on his knees - painfully handsome after giving her the most mind-blowing orgasm - it made her feel things. Very sexy things. She was aching to be filled and it seems like her husband was determined to give her the space she'd been begging for. Before Rhys could move, she pulled back her right leg and quickly extended it to push his shoulder down with her foot - knocking him off-balance where he inevitably ended up on his back.

"Feyre-"

Before he could stop her, she lunged off the couch for his pants - unbuttoning them in record time, stuffing her hands inside and sprung his cock free from where he had discreetly tucked it against the waistband of his boxers. Feyre adjusted her knees on either side of him to straddle his waist, guiding his the head of his cock against her opening before rocking a bit right before she slammed down - eliciting a loud gasp from Rhys as he filled her to the hilt.

"Fuck," he moaned, head falling back to the floor as his hands automatically moved to grab her hips. "You feel so good."

Jesus Christ.

Feyre took a minute to adjust, shimmying a bit to adjust to his hard length.

It hadn't been that long, so why did it feel like he was in her throat? She was thoroughly prepared from her earlier orgasm, but she hadn't remembered him feeling this huge… she almost came from being stretched open to accommodate his wide girth. It was as if she could feel every single vein of his thick cock inside of her.

Feyre lifted herself up a little, feeling the - pleasurable - tug against her walls and her opening. God. Dropping herself back down, she shivered as the tip of his penis reached a particularly sensitive spot inside.

"Take your time, Feyre darling," Rhys grunted, lightly rocking his hips as she spread her knees wider.

Seeing the pure, unadulterated love and lust in her mate's eyes as she began riding him - Feyre felt rather silly now for her emotional outburst. Her moment of weakness and insecurity from seeing the blonde stranger was no longer at the forefront of her mind, especially not with him hissing his pleasure from underneath her. Looking as if she was a goddess bestowing the world's greatest treasure on him.

And maybe she was.

Feeling emboldened, Feyre reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it up and over her - tossing it off to the side before unlatching her bra. Rhys' eyes snapped to her breasts and in the next moment, leaned up and caught a nipple with his mouth, sending a pleasurable shock that she felt right down to where they were joined. She pushed up with her knees to start a steady rhythm, using his chest as support to take her pleasure with Rhys' grunts of encouragement.

"Yes, darling, like that," he all but hissed, pushing his hips up each time she slammed down to meet him. "Look at you riding me, you're so fucking beautiful. Take it - take everything-"

Feyre moaned as Rhys' hand moved from her hip to rub her clit, pulling a pleasured groan from him as he felt her clench down on him. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched as Rhys trailed his other hand gently all over her breasts, along her ribs - memorizing each mark on her stomach, giving her an affectionate squeeze before landing back on her hip.

"So beautiful," he said softly.

She was… so close.

So, so close.

"I can't," Feyre hissed, trying to speed up - hoping that would give her what she needed.

'Rhys.'

This was the first time she had let him inside her head in months. Afraid to reveal her self-loathing and thoughts to him, afraid of being vulnerable.

But today felt like it changed everything.

'What do you need from me, darling?'

'I need… I can't come.'

She felt his hands on her hips tightening for just a moment before she was flipped onto her back. Rhys adjusted his grip and then he was driving into her, fucking her with the full force of his hips that made her see stars.

"Yesyesyesyes," Feyre panted like a mantra, her hand creeping to the nape of his neck before tugging on the ends of his hair - pulling his head down and smashing her lips on his.

His fingers found her clit, circling it in just the right way before - there! Feyre tensed, strangling out a moan as Rhys continued to thrust through her orgasm, biting her neck as she eventually squeezed him into shouting his own release.

Feyre released her tight grip on his neck, letting her arms drop and spread out beside her. She flinched as he slowly moved to pull out, overly sensitive from her climax.

"I love you, Feyre darling," Rhys whispered, propping himself up on his forearms to cradle her head. "My wife and mother to my child. You're perfect."

"You're just saying that because I fucked your brains out," she joked softly, reaching up to brush a curled strand away from his eyes.

"That, too," he replied, kissing the inside of her palm. "My perfect, intelligent, beautiful mate."

Feyre felt tears prickle the corner of her eyes, happy that - for the first time this year - she felt it in her whole being.

"Thank you, darling," she murmured. 'For everything.'

He answered her with one last searing kiss that she felt down to her toes.

"Now, lets get you cleaned up."

[cinmawrites]

ACOTAR Gift Exchange 2024

Dearest @littlest-w01f, SURPRISE! Imagine my shock when I realized we were each other's Secret Santas for the @acotargiftexchange! It's the gift that keeps on giving! I'm going to keep this short and sweet, but I thought I was being ambitious with two one-shots but you've gifted me a story with SEVEN PARTS. I am going to apologize (but not really) for the shameless smut with a sprinkle of plot (kinda). I ended up writing a second fic because the wax element was too good to pass up, even though that was new territory for me. Thank you for making my first gift exchange a memorable one! Without further ado, enjoy light me up, darlin' and rebirth. Happy holidays, hehe.

[cinmawrites]

Double life

For @acotargiftexchange

This is my gift for my lovely recipient @cinmawrites

ACOTARGIFTEXCHANGE MASTERLIST

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven

The sleek black car ate up the miles, its powerful engine purring as Rhysand gripped the steering wheel tightly. His mind raced almost as fast as the vehicle, replaying the events of the day - and particularly one striking interaction with Feyre.

Her scent, her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when discussing a project, It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the growing attraction, the desire to know every facet of her being. He knew it was risky, given their professional relationship, but the pull was undeniable.

Rhysand was utterly smitten with Feyre, too far gone, finding himself drawn to her intelligence, wit, and the fiery spirit that occasionally peeked out from behind her professional demeanour. He admired how she handled the pressures of her job, always striving to exceed expectations while maintaining her composure.

In truth, Rhysand found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on work when Feyre was near. Her presence seemed to fill the room, commanding his attention without her even realizing it. He would often find excuses to call her into his office, not because he needed her help, but simply to bask in her company for a few stolen moments.

There was no denying the electricity that crackled between them, the unspoken tension that threatened to ignite at any moment. Rhysand knew he was playing with fire, mixing business and pleasure in such a brazen manner. But he couldn't bring himself to care, not when the alternative was a lifetime of regret. Feyre Archeron would be Rhysand's guilty pleasure if he felt guilty at all about his feelings for the younger girl.

As his grand estate came into view, Rhysand exhaled slowly, the weight of the day's thoughts momentarily lifted by the familiar sight of home. The sprawling stone edifice, bathed in the warm glow of twilight, held countless memories, some joyful, others tinged with the pain of loss. But it was here that he felt most at peace, surrounded by the love of his family and the comfort of tradition.

Pulling into the circular driveway, Rhysand killed the engine and sat momentarily, gathering his thoughts. He knew he should put Feyre out of his mind, and focus on his duties and responsibilities as sole heir of his father's business. But the image of her smiling face refused to fade, her laughter echoing in his ears like the sweetest melody as if she were just down the halls, working on whatever was on the agenda for that day.

With a sigh, Rhysand stepped out of the car, straightening his tie as he made his way towards the imposing front doors. The cool evening air helped clear his head. As he entered the foyer, he was greeted by the warm aroma of dinner wafting from the kitchen and the distant chatter of his family members settling in for the evening.

Lost in thought, Rhysand nearly collided with Azriel as he rounded the corner with a stack of letters under his arms, invites, for the coming party. It felt strange to see a man like Azriel to be running around with gala invites. "Oh! There you are, Rhys." He said, his eyes crinkling with a chilled smile. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten your way home."

Rhysand flashed his signature charming smile. "Just lost in thought after a long day at the office. Nothing for you to worry about." He took the stack of invitations from Azriel, flipping through them with a critical eye, taking in the names. Making sure they were sent out to the correct people. "Did you enjoy printing these out, brother?" He teased, knowing how mundane tasks annoyed him.

Azriel chuckled dryly, his hard hazel eyes sparkling with amusement despite the sarcasm in Rhysand's tone. "Of course, dear brother. Printing out endless invitations is my favorite pastime." He paused, studying Rhysand intently for a moment before continuing, "However, if you'd rather delegate such... Wonderful chores to someone else, I wouldn't object. After all, you have more pressing matters to attend to, don't you?"

Rhysand arched an eyebrow, surprised by Azriel's cheekiness. It wasn't often the quiet spy cracked jokes or poked fun. But Rhysand appreciated the levity, especially after the day he'd had. "Well, well, well. Look who's suddenly developed a sense of humor," He quipped playfully. "Perhaps we should start paying you more, considering the entertainment value you're providing."

Azriel smirked, clearly enjoying the usual, familiar exchange of banter between them. "I think my services are already adequately compensated. Besides, I find solace in the simple pleasures of life, like organizing parties and ensuring our esteemed guests receive their invitations promptly."

Rhysand snorted, shaking his head in mock disbelief, still grinning. He glanced over the remaining invitations once more, mentally noting which ones required special handling due to their high-profile attendees. His thoughts drifted back to Feyre, wondering what kind of invitation he might craft for her someday, should their connection deepen beyond mere colleagues.

With a flicker of imagination, Rhysand pictured an ornate card, embossed with intricate silver filigree, bearing an exclusive invitation to a private masquerade ball at his estate. Feyre, resplendent in a gown of shimmering midnight blue, her face concealed by a delicate lace mask, would glide across the dance floor in his arms as they twirled to the beautiful magic. His brother long forgotten still standing in front of him, though Azriel didn't say a thing he noted.

In the dead of night, Rhysand lay awake in his lavish bed, the moon casting eerie shadows across the opulent furnishings. His mind refused to quiet, consumed by Feyre Archeron. Images of her haunted his dreams, her captivating smile, the sparkle in her eyes whenever she laughed.

He tossed restlessly, his silk sheets rustling against his skin as he struggled to find a comfortable position. Rhysand's thoughts kept circling back to Feyre, Rhysand groaned in frustration, burying his face in the pillows.

After a moment, his phone buzzed, with a groan he reached out, picking his phone up, "Who-"

MOR: Are you up? Feyre and I are going shopping together tommorow

He typed out a quick response, trying to keep his tone casual despite the turmoil within.

RHYS: Shopping, huh? Well, I suppose I can tolerate you for a few hours. If it is an invite.

MOR: Not really. I just wanna feel you burn cause I'm going out with your crush

RHYS: Oh, so now you're intentionally provoking me, are you? How very childish of you, Morrigan.

MOR: Yeah, kinda.

RHYS: Well, consider this your formal warning, don't even think about flirting with her, or I'll make your life a living hell.

MOR: Like you could. Besides, I'm going to get a dress for my girl. Yours is safe from me

MOR: Ok, later, Rhys. Sweet dreams of Feyre.

RHYS: Shut up, Morrigan.

Rhysand groaned in frustration, tossing his phone aside as it clattered onto the nightstand. He knew Morrigan was just teasing him, but her words still stung, highlighting the complicated nature of his attraction to Feyre. As the heir to his father's vast empire, reaching both legal and illegal, Rhysand was expected to maintain a certain level of propriety and control in all aspects of his life, including his personal relationships.

Yet here he was, lying awake in the middle of the night, his heart racing at the mere thought of Feyre Archeron, the intern 7 years younger than him, nearly reaching 21 in a few weeks. Their relationship had started off purely professional, with Feyre joining his company as a talented young woman. But somewhere along the way, things had shifted.

Over time, Rhysand had found himself drawn to Feyre's brilliant mind, her unwavering determination, and her infectious zest for life. She challenged him in ways no one else dared, questioning his decisions and offering alternative perspectives with refreshing candour. He felt a rare sense of freedom whenever she was close, free from the weight of expectations and the constant need to project an image of unshakable composure.

As the weeks had turned into months, stolen glances and lingering touches became more frequent, each one sending a jolt of electricity through his body. Late nights at the office led to whispered conversations and shared laughter, the lines between professional and personal blurring with every passing day. Rhysand knew he was treading on dangerous ground, of the age gap, the power dynamic between them, yet was helpless to resist the pull he felt towards her.

Rhysand sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in an attempt to ease the tension that had taken up residence there. The weight of his desires and responsibilities pressed down upon him like a physical force, making it difficult to breathe. He knew he should put an end to whatever this thing was between him and Feyre before it went too far, but the thought of pushing her away made his chest ache in a way he couldn't quite define.

He ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, tugging at the strands in a futile attempt to clear his head. Rhysand knew he needed to talk to Feyre, to address the growing attraction between them before it spiralled out of control. But the thought of potentially ruining their professional relationship filled him with a sense of dread.

With a heavy sigh, Rhysand sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the side as he rested his elbows on his knees. The cool air of the bedroom sent a shiver down his spine, but he barely noticed, lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts.

He held such loaded feelings, wondering if he even deserved her, fraught with implication and self-doubt. Rhysand had always prided himself on his confidence, his ability to take what he wanted and shape the world to his will. But when it came to Feyre, everything changed. It made him feel small, and inadequate somehow.

He paused by the window, staring out at the glittering city lights below. Somewhere out there, Feyre was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the internal struggle raging within him. Rhysand's reflection stared back at him from the glass, the usually sharp angles of his face softened by the gentle glow of the moon. Rhysand stood there for a long while, lost in thought as he gazed out at the sleeping city. Hoping to clear his mind just enough to sleep