Feysand Fluff - Tumblr Posts

This was so heartwarming 💗💗🥰

Summary: Rhysand comforts Nyx after he encounters a creative crisis. Just a short father-son bonding fic.

Notes:

-In honor of it being Father's Day last weekend, I present to you Rhys being the best dad in Prythian.

-Post-canon universe

-Fluffy one shot

Word Count: 1256 AO3

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Rhysand felt a surge of star-flecked darkness identical to his own go through the River House Manor in the early hours of the morning, briefly rattling the windows and shaking the floor as he sat at his desk reading a memo from the Winter Court.

"Nyx," he sighed, running a hand through his raven hair. Just like himself, the boy was an early riser, and just like Feyre, he had a temper. Their son was still learning to control his growing power, and when distressed, he loses control of his darkness before he reels it in a second or two later. He just hopes Nyx didn't wake his mother up.

As he felt Feyre's lovely light within the bridge of the mating bond, he realized it was too late. She was stirring awake. She was as attuned to Nyx as he was, much more so. Before his exhausted mate could get up from bed to check on their 8-year-old son and whatever caused him to be upset, he whispered to her with a soothing voice he hoped would lull her back to sleep, "I'll check on him, Feyre darling. Sleep and dream of me."

"Mhmmm okay," Feyre relented too easily, clearly wanting to sleep more, and added, "then come back to bed after."

Rhysand chuckled, sensing the palpable annoyance his mate felt waking without him at her side, and promised her, "I will," before she dozed off and he got up from his chair.

Rhysand didn't need to follow the retreating darkness to know where Nyx was. He knocked twice on the ajar door, letting Nyx be aware of his presence, before entering his bedroom. He found their son still in pajamas with his ruffled hair, sitting on a stool, hunched over a blank canvas, and covering his face with his palms. His wings drooped low as a few remaining tendrils of darkness and stars swirled around him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he asked, "Is everything alright, Nyx?"

Nyx turned around to face him, and at the sight of his father's concern, he blinked away the darkness, letting the sunlight streaming through the wide, open balcony shine into his bedroom. "Yes, dad, I'm sorry. I'm just—" he trailed off, looking down at a discarded brush smudged with blue paint staining the white carpeted floor. The paint brush was one of a kind, lovingly engraved with Nyx's name on the handle—a gift from Feyre for their son a few years ago when he wanted to paint just like his mom on his fifth birthday.

Rhys knelt down, picking up the brush with one hand and snapping a finger with the other, cleaning the brush and returning the carpet to its pristine condition. "Are you having a bad painting day?" he asked gently, handing over the brush.

Nyx nodded, cradling the brush against his chest. "How does mom do it perfectly, dad? I see a picture in my mind, but when I paint, it's all wrong." His shadowed blue eyes pointed to two similar abandoned paintings resting on the floor—a silhouette of Azriel and Cassian training with swords during dawn. He admired his uncles and wanted his painting to do them justice. He didn't think they did.

Rhysand gave a comforting smile. He wasn't sufficiently versed in painting techniques, but he knew Nyx paintings were beautiful and exemplary for a fae youngling. However, Nyx was a perfectionist, and Rhys understood the desire to get everything as planned. "Your mom doesn't always get it right, Nyx." He gave another smile. "Don't tell her I said that."

Nyx raised an eyebrow. "She doesn't?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.

"No," Rhysand said, lightly pinching Nyx's freckled nose. "She practices and practices until she does everything right."

Nyx's face turned into awe for his mother until his self-doubt made him glum. "But what if I never get it right? What if I am never able to paint what I see in time? How do I not lose the picture in my mind?"

Rhysand shook his head. "I don't believe for one moment that you cannot achieve anything you want in life, Nyx, and that includes painting your vision in your head."

"Dad..." Nyx whined and frowned over the praise.

Rhys chuckled at his son's reaction and added, "But I suppose this is where being Daemati comes in handy."

"Really?" Nyx perked up, standing and extending his wings in excitement. "How? Show me, dad, please."

Rhysand could never deny him anything, and so he stood up too and extended a hand, which Nyx took immediately. A talon hand gently tapped at Nyx's mental shields, and Nyx let them drop, letting his father into his mind.

Nyx's mind was wondrous. A starry night sky enveloped them as countless open storybooks floated about, flipping through pages of happy memories he held dear since he was a babe and every day after.

It wasn't the first time Rhysand was invited into Nyx's mind, but it stunned him every time he saw it. A sense of heartwarming peace came over him, knowing that their son has yet to endure any pain or suffering in his life. Outwardly, Rhysand rubbed his chest, and Nyx held his hand tighter.

Remembering the task at hand, Rhysand instructed, "Carve out a new space in your thoughts, Nyx, and in that space imagine a big enough chest to store all the pictures you want to keep safe from forgetting."

Nyx shut his eyes and concentrated hard until he projected them both to a darkened corner of his mind before turning it into a snow-covered pine forest. In its clearing in the middle stood a magnificent open chest made of starlight. "Like that, dad?"

"Like that," confirmed Rhysand. "Good job," he said, beaming with pride and admiring his son's work.

"Now what?" asked Nyx eagerly.

"Now, Nyxie, imagine all the pictures you see in your mind neatly tucked away inside this chest you created for safekeeping," Rhysand said, pointing to the empty space inside the chest.

As soon as his father left his mind, Nyx's eyes fluttered open and shone brightly with stars. "Thank you for everything, dad," he said, smiling adoringly up and hugging him tight. 

Nyx did exactly as his father instructed, and soon the chest was half-full. Rhysand wasn't surprised because Nyx was as creative as Feyre was, and so he gave one last piece of advice as he watched Nyx shut the chest closed before leaving his mind. "As your ideas grow, my love, you can make your treasure chest grow with them, whether or not you choose to paint them and share them with the world one day." Outwardly, he dropped a kiss on top of his head and uttered, "Though always remember your mom and I would be endlessly proud of you either way."

When Rhysand finally joined Feyre in bed, he found her sitting up waiting for him with tears in her eyes and a soft smile on her face. "Oh Rhys."

"You heard?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck.

Caressing his strong, muscled back, she simply said, "You left the bond open. How could a mother resist?"

"Our beautiful darling boy will be okay, Feyre. No need to fret."

"I know, my love, because he has you as his father, and I thank the Mother for that."

Rhysand blinked back grateful tears, and Feyre kissed him sweetly and tenderly as they slipped back under the covers, dreaming away the rest of the early morning.

Thank you for reading! 🩷

🌷Masterlist

Taglist friends: @the-lonelybarricade @shallyne @msfeyredarling @sideralwriting @s-uppertime

If you want to be removed from the taglist don't hesitate to let me know. It's been a while since I used it. 🥰

Juie - Feysand Oneshot

Hello everyone! I apologize for none of my usual fanfic updates this week. Unfortuantately, a lot of this summer will be like that, including next week. I also thought I'd take a break and do some new stuff, like oneshots - which I have LOVED doing. There's no pressure to make a huge plotline, and I just love writing happy fluff.

As y'all probably know, I'm mostly a Throne of Glass girly, but I though I'd switch it up with some ACOTAR, which I also love. HOWEVER, because Feysand isn't AS MUCH - it still is, just smaller - of my baby as Rowaelin is, this writing isn't the best but - what ya gonna do, you know?

I hope you enjoyed! Tell me if you'd like to be added to the tag list or if you'd like to see more ACOTAR fics! If you have requests for a couple fic, just message me or comment :)

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 1.1k

Enjoy!

--

No matter how hard she tried, Feyre’s painting just looked wrong. 

She cocked her head and chewed on the wooden end of her paintbrush as she surveyed her half-finished painting. It was supposed to be an abstract portrait of her family, the Night Court Inner Circle. It wasn’t to show her family’s true faces and bodies, but a blur of colors and shapes. In Feyre’s original vision, which had come to her in the middle of breakfast, the painting would leave viewers a bit spooked, or intrigued. She’d hoped to convey her loved ones' traumas through the paint, but it wasn’t working. Although the painting was beautiful, it just felt…flat.

Heaving a sigh, Feyre checked the clock on the wall of her studio. It was time to meet her mate and son for dinner. She packed up her supplies and waved at Ressina as she stepped out into the warm Velaris air. It was early summer, and the Square was filled with laughing people shopping. The sight filled her chest with buoyant joy. We did this, she thought to herself as she made her way to her home. 

She stepped through her threshold, shutting the heavy door behind her. “I’m home!” she called throughout the house. She smiled as she heard giggling around the corner, and she turned to see her five year old son running down the stairs to her. Nyx squeezed her tight, and Feyre picked him up and twirled him around, taking a deep breath of his perfect scent, made up of baby soap and stars. 

“Where’s your dad, baby?” she asked him, setting him down. Nyx’s black brows scrunched together adorably as he wracked his tiny mind. 

“Uhmmmmm…..,” he frowned. “Daddy said that…I think that he said he would meet us at the rest-y-raunt.” Nyx was still learning pronunciations for big words, which was so precious it made her heart burst.

“Oh - is that so?” Feyre raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Well! Are you dressed for dinner, baby?” 

Nyx nodded, gesturing proudly to his boxers and huge gray shirt that smelled strongly of Cassian - the little boy worshiped his uncle and wanted to be him when he grew up. Although it certainly wasn't a proper dress code for the fancy new restaurant they were going to, Feyre had no problem with her son’s attire. She herself was wearing a white wool sweater and black leggings, her hair pulled into her usual braid.

The mother and son traveled through the streets of Velaris, hand in hand. People smiled and waved to them, forever adoring of the two who saved their world and the loveable child born from the union. Finally, they reached the huge building that they would dine at - Juie. Nyx was exhausted from the fifteen minute walk and his hunger, and was wining and dragging his feet. Feyre pulled him into the restaurant, searching for her husband. And there he was. 

Rhysand, standing with his hands in his pockets in the corner of the restaurant. He was dressed in his usual black attire, his hair effortlessly styled. As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned around to face them, and smiled. It lit up his whole beautiful face. 

Gods, would there ever be a day when his face didn’t make her heart tighten?

No, there won’t be, my Feyre darling. Rhysand’s voice slid into her mind, making her smile and instantly let him through her shields. 

Prick, she shot down the bond, and advanced toward him. He sped to them too fast to be casual, and she bit back a grin as he reached them. 

“Hello, family!” he cried happily, picking up his son and planting a kiss on Feyre’s lips. His hand grazed her arm before pulling it back to twirl a squealing Nyx around. 

___

Soon, they had been seated and were digging into a steak meal. Every taste exploded with flavor, and Feyre made a mental note to take her sisters and Mor out here one day. 

“How was your day, darling?” Rhys asked her, Nyx busy eating and coloring. He looked at her over their son’s head, smiling.

“It was alright,” Feyre shrugged, taking a sip of the iced tea she'd ordered(it was especially refreshing). “Do you remember that painting I told you about?”

“The Inner Circle one? It was abstract, right?”

“Yes, exactly. Only I can’t get it right. Something’s off. It doesn’t have the life I want it to have.” 

“Oh.” Rhys frowned and looked down at his plate, clearly wracking his brain for an artsy response. It made Feyre’s heart warm - her husband didn’t know a lot about painting, but he tried for her. “Maybe it’s the setting?” 

“Actually, maybe I could use a change of scenery,” Feyre replied, toying with the idea in her head. “I could continue at the house, but then I’d have other distractions-” she subtly motioned to Nyx, “around.”

“I’ll take Nyx out tomorrow. Give you some peace and quiet,” her mate offered, biting into his steak. She smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Rhys.”

___

Later that night, Nyx was long asleep and Rhys and Feyre were laying together, reading. Feyre sipped on some hot peppermint tea, and in her soft gray pajama set, she was perfectly relaxed. Even more so as her mate slid an arm around her, kissing down her neck. 

She set down her book, and laughing softly, turned to kiss Rhysand, his lips warm and gentle. She wound her fingers in his hair as he slid a hand down her leg. Maybe the pajama set would have to go. 

Sure enough, within minutes they were both fully unclothed. Feyre panted as Rhys slid his fingertips lightly down her stomach, so close to what she wanted. He met her gaze, his eyes near-black, as he circled around her spot of need. She made a small sound at the back of her throat, the sight of him there nearly making her explode. She arched into his fingers as he finally put them where she needed, gripping the bedsheets with her fists. 

When Rhys added his tongue to where his fingers were, she couldn’t take it and moaned as she finished, her mate making sure she enjoyed every second of it. He leaned back up to her, kissing her deeply. Finally, he pushed gently into her, filling every part of her. They clutched each other as they moved, Feyre pulling him into bruising kisses one after another. She tugged on his hair, biting his lip, cupping his neck, until he roared, taking her over the edge with him. 

They lay there together for a while, both panting. “I love you, Feyre,” Rhys whispered into her neck. 

“I love you too, Rhys.”

Tag List <33:

@backtobl4ck, @aelinchocolatelover, @renxzs, @blue-bird17, @autumnbabylon, and @luell1q!

Thank you for reading!

I love this!! It’s so freaking adorable, I need more from other characters 🥰🥰

Rhysand's camera roll

Since my last post about fics saved my life….

Does anyone have any Rowaelin and/or Feysand fics where they get into fights and then make up? It could be AU or canon verse!

I loooove those fics because I am a SUCKER for angst 😙😙

Thank you wonderful users!! Everyone helped me so much last time!! ❤️❤️

An Early Night In

Pairing: feysand x reader

Summary: A cozy autumn evening at the River House.

Prompt: by the fire

A/N: No warnings, just fluff. I hated this but I needed to write something domestic before I exploded, so I guess this is what you get.

     A cold, autumn wind sends leaves tumbling across the cobblestone streets in front of the River House. Thankfully, I can see the wreath of bright, yellow sunflowers and golden wheat hanging on the front door, so I know we’re close. The dark wicker basket in my hand is heavy, laden with a mixture of ripe red and golden yellow apples. The little hand wrapped around the side of the handle certainly doesn’t help matters as it tugs every time the boy it's attached to takes a step, but the twilight blue eyes peering up at me over the pile of apples sparkle with such delight that it’s hard for me to mind too much. It seems like only yesterday this sweet little boy was a babe in my arms, how is it possible he’ll be four in the first breath of spring?

     “Mama, we got lots of apples.”

     “We did,” I chuckle, giving the basket a little tug. “What will we do with all of your apples, love?”

     “Eat them,” Nyx says, as though it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “And have pie. Will you make a pie?”

     “Will you help me make it?”

     “Mhm.” The little brown hand drops from the basket handle as the boy hops up the steps to the house. That’s not much of a commitment, something tells me I’ll be making this pie alone. His purple knit cap slips from the head of dark, blue-black curls and catches on the claw of his left wing just as the door swings open to reveal the first of my mates with a warm smile on an otherwise exhausted, unshaven face.

     “There’s my favorite boy,” Rhys says as he plucks the cap from his wing without a second thought, “how was the park? Did you have fun?”

     “We sat on the swings! And jumped in the leaves! And got apples, Papa, look!” the three-year-old relays as he shucks the coat I’d wrangled him into before we left. Rhys bends to greet me with a warm, lingering kiss that I’m certain lends more color to my cheeks than the wind did.

     “Inside voice, baby,” I remind him as I pass my basket off to his father and remove my own thick coat. I’d adopted Feyre’s typical wardrobe for our outing and,though it still feels strange to parade around town in thick, wool leggings and a large sweater, it certainly came in handy for chasing an energetic boy.

     “I’m not a baby,” he says stubbornly, rustling his little wings. “I want to see the baby, where is she?”

     “Asleep, buddy,” Rhys says, ruffling his hair as he sets the basket on the foyer table. “Why don’t we get you a bath while Mama goes to check on her and Mummy?”

     “I want bathtime with Mummy.”

     “Oh no,” I mutter, hanging our coats on the hooks by the door. After a long afternoon at the park and the apple stall at the market, we’re overdue for a tired tantrum. I kneel at his side and smooth a hand over his hair, pressing a kiss to that chubby, dirt-streaked cheek as that lower lip pokes out into a pout. “I know, love, but Mummy is very tired. It takes a lot of work to have a new baby and she needs a lot of rest, but I’ll tell you what. You go have fun in the bath and splash Papa a lot, and I’ll see if Mummy can read to you and cuddle before bed. Would that be okay?”

     Those sweet, swirling lilac and blue eyes fix me with a very long, serious look before Nyx nods his head and leans up expectantly for a kiss. Oh, to be so little that kisses solve every problem. After peppering a few kisses across his cheeks and nose, he dashes up the stairs and Rhys helps me to my feet, shaking his head affectionately after the young boy who is his mirror, in more ways than one.

     “If I look at you like that, will you give me a kiss?” he asks earnestly, giving me a flawless impersonation of his son’s pout.

     “I prefer to kiss you when you look at me in other ways,” I say lightly, flicking his nose before I give him his expected kiss. “Now go, before he helps himself to the taps and we have another little flood on our hands.”

     “Mmm, that won’t be an issue,” he tells me as he settles his hands on my waist. “I learned my lesson the first time and locked them with a little magic, they won’t turn for him. I missed you.”

     “You were supposed to be napping. All of you.”

     “We would have if our little moonbeam hadn’t started crying the moment her Mama left the house.”

     “Surely not.”

     “Oh, yes. And I’ll have you know she didn’t stop until about ten minutes ago.”

     “That’s not like her.” Our youngest has been such a quiet baby, only crying when she’s hungry or in need of changing. “Did you check her temperature?”

     “It’s normal. She’s been fed and burped and changed two or three times now, I lost count.”

     “Poor babies,” I murmur, cupping his jaw as I lean up to give him one more lingering kiss, ignoring the way his stubble scrapes my skin. “Go bathe our son before he decides to start trouble and maybe, possibly, consider shaving before you kiss me again.”

     “You don’t like it?” Rhys asks, rubbing his chin against my cheek with a laugh.

     “Rhysand,” I giggle, pushing at his chest until he lets me go. “I love you, but I don’t love having my face scraped raw trying to kiss you. Go bathe the boy and shave, please?”

     “As my lady commands,” he says dramatically, rolling his eyes before he sets off after Nyx, taking the stairs two at a time as the clock chimes seven. It’s getting late, and we still have bedtime to see about, so I head up the stairs to our suite of rooms to find my mate and the newest addition to our family. Sitting on the sofa before the fire, with her back to the door, is my mate. Her long, golden-brown hair is tied up in a messy, haphazard bun atop her head, baring the long line of her pale neck and shoulders. I can hear her humming softly, a tune she’d often hummed to Nyx when he was small, and I ease the door closed behind me as gently as I can.

     Not that it keeps her from knowing that I’m here. A wave of warmth floods down the bond the minute the door shuts, all but confirming my suspicions. With her finely attuned hearing after years of hunting and raising a small, winged boy, I’m almost certain she can hear a pin drop on the other side of the house. Keeping my footsteps quiet to avoid waking the babe, I creep up to the back of the sofa and wrap my arms around her slim shoulders, pressing a light kiss to the side of her neck as her humming breaks off into a sweet, warm giggle.

     “There you are,” she murmurs, resting her head back against my shoulder. “We missed you. How was the park?”

     “Cold, I missed you as well. Nyx did plenty of running, but he was a little upset Papa’s giving him his bath tonight.”

     “I promised I would,” she says with a sigh before looking back to the bundle wrapped up in her arms. “But our little girl refused to allow any of us to nap while you were gone.”

     “Poor lamb,” I murmur, craning over Feyre’s shoulder to get a look at our daughter. Nearly the spitting image of her mother, the babe is pale as snow with a perfectly upturned nose, wisps of white-blonde hair curling against her forehead and pink, pouty lips like her brother’s. She’s easily one of the most beautiful babes I’ve ever laid eyes on. Beneath the fold of the soft, plush blanket Feyre wrapped her in, I can see the tip of a white wing peeking out. Her little nose wrinkles and long, dusky lashes flutter against her cheek before she opens her pale, bleary blue eyes and lets out a little whine.

     “I’ll take her,” I murmur, kissing the corner of Feyre’s mouth before I reach around her to lift the babe from her arms and cradle her to my breast, gently smoothing my thumb over her wrinkled forehead. “Hello, Astra. I heard you were trouble while I was gone, but I don’t believe that for a moment. My sweet girl.”

     I walk with her for a few minutes, bouncing all the while until her eyes drift shut and her little hand wriggles from beneath her blanket to find its way to her face, in spite of her mother’s best swaddling attempts. Just like her brother. Once I’m sure she’s fast asleep, I slip into our room and place her in her bassinet to sleep, then join Feyre on the sofa. The minute I open my arms, she leans her head against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist, listening to the fire crackle as our daughter sleeps in the next room.

     When Rhys finally reappears, it’s with a sleeping Nyx snuggled against his chest, his little black wings drooping over his father’s arm. Feyre chuckles and shifts until her back is cushioned against my chest and opens her arms to take the boy. Once he’s situated, Rhys sinks onto the sofa, bringing Feyre’s feet to rest in his lap as he rests his head against the back of the sofa.

     “How much would you like to bet he’ll be asleep in two minutes?” I whisper against Feyre’s temple.

     “Not even,” she murmurs, suppressing a yawn of her own. “I give it thirty seconds, he can sleep anywhere.”

     “Not anywhere,” Rhys grumbles as his lovely violet eyes drift shut as well. Only a few seconds pass before a matching pair of soft snores reach our ears and Feyre glances up at me with a grin. The fire crackles in the hearth and she rests her head against my neck, her limbs growing heavy as she relaxes into my arms.