"Once upon a time, there was a Princess and the fierce dragon who protected her…"
For the final day of @feyreweekofficial, @separatist-apologist and I thought it would be sweet to have an art piece of mama Feyre reading a bedtime story to baby Nyx, who likes to shapeshift into a fierce dragon to make the stories a little more immersive!
Major thanks to @/zolyna_ over on instagram for creating this for us!
“Once it had been second nature to savor the contrast of new grass against dark, tilled soil, or an amethyst brooch nestled in folds of emerald silk; once I'd dreamed and breathed and thought in color and light and shape.”
For Feyre week day 6 I wanted to commission a piece of her as a warrior while also appreciating the thoughtful, introspective person she is. As a faerie she has all the time in the world now to appreciate colors.
Check out this accompanying fic by @adreamof-spring
Synopsis: as High Lady, many citizens of Velaris have come to know her as kind; compassionate. Lending mercy where others would falter. As her lover, you bear witness to her more…unforgiving, tendencies.
a/n: I can’t manage a whole week, but I thought it would be nice to participate in @feyreweekofficial for a little 🧡💛
warnings: smut, references to poly!feysand though it’s strictly feyre x reader, slightly mean!feyre, face sitting, pussy spanking
word count: 2,096
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Feyre sends you a dark glance as Mor looks away to check on a friend, a stern warning if you’ve ever felt one.
She pastes a warm smile back on her rosey lips as Mor returns her attention to the two of you, shifting to stand closer, raising her glass to sip from, smoothly concealing her steadily thinning patience. The bubbly blonde gives a wince, making an excuse to slip away and check on her partner, leaving you alone with your mate.
“Enjoying the evening?” You ask lightly, hastily searching the room for a group to escape to, able to feel her tension rippling down the bond. “Not as much as you, apparently,” she replies, blue-grey eyes flicking sharply over the rim of her glass.
You offer her a sheepish half-smile, still searching for your third, maybe the only one who’d be able to spare you from her growing impatience. “Feyre, we were just joking,” you try, reaching to take her hand, “you know, having some fun at a boring party.” She hums, unfaltering from her position, pulling her hand away to pluck your glass away. “I think you’ve been having a little too much to drink. Maybe you should retire for the night.”
In a move of alcohol fuelled stupidity, you roll your eyes, huffing. “Jealousy isn’t a pretty colour, feyre,” you pout, shifting your weight to one leg, folding your arms over your chest. You offer a small smile, stepping into her space, both hands wrapping around her free palm, eyes twinkling. “You could retire with me…?”
Piercing blue-grey sweeps over you, and you press closer, breasts brushing against her ink-laced arm. She moves, lightly but firmly gripping your hip, keeping you still. “You have ten minutes,” she whispers beside your ear, hair prickling at the nape of your neck. “If you aren’t ready when I find you…” Her gaze cuts to you, but it’s not your High Lady, nor is it your mate.
The gaze you meet belongs to the ruler of the Hewn City.
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Pleasure shivers down your spine, cool air pebbling your skin into goosebumps as you strip away your dress, fabric pooling in a lake of pale silk upon the hardwood floor.
You’d been anticipating a reaction of some kind, but not to this extent, and you find yourself relieved to have slipped into the lace beforehand. Pulling the ribbon from your hair, you allow it free, excitement unspooling in your lower abdomen as you move toward the bed, spine curving as the mattress dips beneath your knee, crawling to its head.
The doors open barely even a second after you’ve settled down, a wolf hunting her prey, herding you to right where she wants. An easy meal, her eyes gleaming with vulpine hunger, sweeping over your bare skin. Greedily settling on the blue-grey underthings you’d slid into while preparing for the ball.
She stalks forward, slowly discarding her dress like a second skin, the kind, adoring mask of the High Lady giving way to starving hunger, those years in the forest not leaving her without scars. Her ravenous touches burn at your skin sometimes, so intense, so set on devouring you whole you’re convinced along with her powers she carries the magic to drink straight from your soul, feeding off your adoration.
“Want to try and explain your way out of it,” she drawls lowly, elegantly climbing onto the bed, crawling toward you. “Or are you going to be quiet and accept the inevitable?”
Your head dips, heat flushing your body as your toes curl, meeting her simmering gaze as you part your thighs, making room for her to settle. Her rosey lips curve, eyes gleaming with menace, “the latter, I suppose?”
“What do you want me to do?” You ask softly, bracing your upper body on your forearms, jaw inclining to peer up at her as she pauses above you. Keeping you in. She angles her head, watching you with predatory interest, sizing up her next meal. “Make it up to me.”
Blinking, your lips part, tongue swiping out over your lower one as heat unravels through your body. “Any way?” You murmur, mind already considering what you could do. “Whatever you think suitable, considering your actions,” she drawls, knowing how all the options will surely overwhelm you. Every fantasy you can create playing out behind your eyes, easy for her to observe.
Feyre feels arousal warm between her legs as your eyes dip to her mouth pleadingly, any sort of abrasiveness melted away beneath her attention, your attitude fading now she’s giving you what you want. She can practically scent how soaked your underwear is, how eager and ready you are to take and give and devour.
Your mouths meet, and former thought is washed away, lips slanting hotly against one another with a familiarity that has both of you fracturing a little. Moving with a swift undercurrent, tension tightening as teeth come into play, growing rougher and hungrier with each passing second. Hands tangle in hair, bodies press tight, tongues lick over one another.
Desire gets the better of you first, your hand sliding down her spine, encouraging her to arc against you, breasts flushing with your own, and you moan into her mouth. Palms settle over her hips and you roll over, her silky hair cascading over pillows like a messy halo, her cheeks warm and flushed, eyes glinting with demand. A queen waiting to be served.
You’re more than happy to obey.
You kiss down the length of her throat, licking and sucking where you can, ultimately focused on your end point as you inch down her wonderfully trained body. The muscle of her arms that helps her handle you into position when you’re being insolent, the thighs that trap and squeeze you when you’re being a brat beneath her, those lovely inner muscles that clamp down around your tongue and fingers when you eat her out.
Teeth drag over your lip, half a thought and the lace over her breasts vanishes, eyeing up her dusty pink nipples with arousal at the feast before you. Without any more pause, you dip down, giving an appreciative lap to one before fully putting your mouth over her as she moans lowly. Fingers tangle in your hair, gripping as her legs wrap around your hips, pulling you closer so she can find friction.
“Sweetness,” she warns when your teeth nip out, unable to resist. You blink up at her with false innocence, and you’re rewarded with a disciplinary tug on your hair, reminding you of your task: making it up to her.
You offer a smile in response, thumbs skating across her nipples before reaching where you want. Palms run over the tops of her thighs before slipping beneath her knees, bending them so she can be spread wider, more than familiar with the mechanics of her body.
You waste no time in dipping forward, pressing your face between her thighs, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure as her arousal washes over you, stark and concentrated. Heat bursts in your lower tummy, both of you moaning as you bury deeper, nosing at her cunt, fingers dancing over the tops of her thighs, ticklish and light. Feyre rolls her hips down, hand still kept in your hair to hold you in place as she gently finds her pleasure.
Arousal dims your mind, wanting to taste her, to lick, suck, and touch everything you can. Your mouth opens over her clothed cunt, dragging the wet heat of your tongue over her sopping underwear, sealing your lips against her, drinking her flavour from the fabric. Feyre groans lowly, foot dragging over your back, raising her hips out of instinct to invite more pleasure into her body.
You moan, swept away as she encompasses your senses, eagerly applying yourself to her until neither of you can take it.
“On your back,” Feyre breathes, hurriedly shifting into motion, causing you to whine as she pulls away. “On your back,” she repeats, harsher this time, and you hasten to obey. To do anything if it’ll return her to you. You need to feel her weight on your mouth, set on your tongue.
The second you’ve settled, she’s swinging her thigh over your head, having already discarded her underwear and you hardly have the time to comprehend that before she’s sat down, rightfully over you. Your eyes roll back, able to feel the heat that rolls from her cunt, her thighs, the wetness that glosses your lips, surely gleaming on your cheeks as she winds over you.
“Fuck,” she groans lowly, thighs spreading wider as her hands roam over your chest, thumbs flicking over your lace covered nipples before she vanishes the clothing. “So pretty. So fucking pretty.” You moan, tongue flicking out, lips sealing against her cunt as you swipe over her, pushing at her entrance, circling her clit eagerly, suckling on the sensitive bud, pressing closer between her thighs.
You gasp as she travels lower, fingers dancing over your abdomen, snapping the band of your underwear back against your hip teasingly, hauling a whimper from your chest. She laughs breathlessly, “should I touch you?” Beneath her you whine, thighs parting, urging her on as you make out with her cunt with a conviction that has more arousal dripping onto your tongue.
She hums, amused by your determination, raising her palm and you whimper at the lack of attention.
You yelp when she brings her palm down, connecting with your heat, slapping your cunt with a sharp, unrelenting motion. She gives you no reprieve before repeating it, unforgiving and relentless, keeping you beneath her as she takes her pleasure. One, then another, and another—unending as surprising arousal and heat gathers in response, so desperate for her touch you’d take pain over numbness.
“How many do you think you deserve, sweet girl?” She muses lightly, rolling her hips down, your mouth remaining open beneath her cunt, licking eagerly, drinking her down. “Five more? Ten?”
Your toes curl, thighs pressing together, heat swirling down your spine as she laughs again, gently plying you apart. “Start misbehaving now and it’ll only get worse,” she reminds, amusement prominent in her tone. “I thought you’d decided to be quiet and accept what’s coming?”
Again you whimper, arms wrapping over her hips to show your conviction, your need for her pleasure, to have her releasing on your tongue.
Feyre pauses, feeling how you’re blindly reaching for her across that mental bridge, stumbling through the dark in search of her. Her lips curve, bringing you in, opening the gates to allow access, curious what you have to offer. It’s not an image, but senses flood her own, the heat, stark arousal, the wetness that you’re licking through, obscene slurping sounds emphasised through the bond, receiving pleasure in both the mental and physical parts of herself, and the high hits her hard.
She gasps, movements increasing in pace, hips grinding over your mouth, pressing her clit to your tongue as she flutters with mind-numbing pleasure. Waves rush her body, rolling beneath her skin, palming her breasts as she sits back on your mouth, indulging in the repetitive flick of your tongue until the heat begins to fade.
You continue lapping gently, desperate to clean the release from between her thighs, to commit her flavour to memory as her hips still, panting softly above you. “That was good,” she pants, smiling faintly as she eases off you, threads of saliva joining from your lips to her heat. “So good for me, hm?”
You lick her flavour away, certain your skin is gleaming, but neither of your care as she crawls over you, pushing her mouth to yours eagerly, lapping at her taste as you share the slice of heaven with her. It’s hot and messy, open and needful as arousal twines gently between you until she pulls away, straddling your hips.
“But you know, you still need a little more discipline,” she breathes lowly, reaching back, loving how you flush when her hand cups your wet heat, underwear drenched. “Are you going to be good and take it?” She asks, smirking.
Your lips part on a gasp as she slips her hand down your underwear, the pads of her fingers brushing against the bare heat of your clit, locating it effortlessly.
Pushing the heat away, you manage a nod, meeting her lustful gaze.
“I’ll take it,” you murmur, hands settling on her hips, and she smiles.
“Good girl,” she croons, palm pulling back. “Just five more.”
A/n: I just used this as an excuse to write a fluffy feysand ft. Nyx and the ic fic. :)
I haven’t finished hofas but this takes place ages after (no mentions of Bryce + co). The others don’t say much (or anything). Lots of montaging.
In case you can’t tell, I speed wrote this. Definitely not my best work, but I’m working on like 4 other things atm. Shhhhh. Might rewrite it (probably won’t). But acosf feysand pov is still there. Aelin x Dorian AU to come (hopefully) soon.
@feyreweekofficial
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“Nyx, do not put that in your mouth. Nyx!”
I hung my head forward so my hair covered the smirk I was hiding from my mate.
“Say hello to mummy.” Rhys held Nyx in his arms as he brought him level with my face, setting the salt shaker down, far out of Nyx’s reach.
I set down the knife and brought my face close to my son’s. “Hello honey.”
Nyx cooed and made a grab for my hair. “Ow.”
Rhys smirked as he disentangled the now one year old’s hand from my hair. He brushed my hair over my shoulder as he kissed my cheek. “Go get ready, the others will be here soon.”
I gestured to the uncut vegetables. “What about them?”
“I’ll do that, get dressed, you’ve been working too hard.”
The past few weeks had been hectic, the court of nightmares were acting up, as were the Illyrians, and I’d refused Rhys’s persistence that I take a break, saying that if I did, he had to too, which shut him up. Add planing a first birthday party to the mix, and I’d barely had any time to think.
I gave Rhys a peck on the lips and pressed my forehead to Nyx’s. “I’ll see you soon baby.”
Rhys picked up Nyx’s hand and waved it at me. “Bye mummy.”
I waved back as I left the kitchen.
“Now this is a special surprise for your mum, okay? So you better behave.” I hear whispering coming from the kitchen as I walked down the steps.
“Rhys?” I called.
“Yes?” He called back, faux innocence in his voice.
I took the last few steps, suspicion growing.
I opened the door into the living room and Rhys shot up.
His eyes widened as he took me in. The dress is somewhat similar to the one I wore for my first starfall. A sliver blue, hugging my curves, loosening at my thighs, falling to the ground and dropping to show a tad of cleavage.
He strode over to me, looking devastating in a black jacket and pants.
He swept me into his arms and spun me around the room. “You look stunning, Feyre Darling.”
I giggled as he took my face in his hands and kissed me deeply.
A soft cooing reminded us we were not alone. I crept around the back of the couch, grabbing Nyx and lifting him into my arms. “Hello, little one-” I stopped when I saw what he is wearing. I slowly turned to Rhys.
My mate wore a sheepish look as he ran his hand through his hair. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
I laughed, looking back to the little suit Rhys managed to wrestle Nyx into, it matched his own perfectly, with small slits at the back for his wings.
Warm arms enveloped me. “Was it a nice surprise?”
I grinned. “It was.”
A loud knock from outside snapped us both back to attention.
Rhys took Nyx from my arms. “You might want to see who that is.”
I lifted a brow as I went to open the door.
“Feyre!”
I barely had a chance to open the door before I was barrelled into by a blonde and red tornado.
Mor wrapped her arms around my neck. “So good to see you.”
I laughed and gave her a squeeze. “You too.”
Cassian and Nesta followed through after her. I gave them both a quick hug and closed the door from the cold.
“How’s my favourite Illyrian?” I turned to find Rhys passing Nyx into Mor’s arms.
Cassian scoffed. “I thought I was your favourite?”
Mor didn’t even look up from Nyx. “Never were.”
Cassian made more outraged noises, to which Nesta patted him on the forearm. “Am I your favourite, Nes?”
Nesta pretended to think. “No, I think mine’s Nyx too, but Az is a close second.”
“Betrayed, by my own mate.”
Nesta ignored him, and we all headed to the dining room.
Mor caught me up on her work in Vallahan, Nyx occasionally pulling at her golden hair.
“We should go shopping tomorrow.” Mor announced. “Leave Nyx with the guys and just relax.”
“We really should, I saw this new-”
I was cut off by the knocking on the front door.
I begun to stand. “I’ll go get it.” Rhys got up, touching me lightly on the shoulder as he moved past.
Nyx made a lunge out of Mor’s arms for me, little wings flapping, but she had too firm a grip and he didn’t get far.
“Want your mummy do you?” The moment Nyx was in my arms he rested his head on my chest.
“Rhys says that the desire to jump is part of the Illyrian instinct to fly.” I said to the table.
Cassian smirked. “Yeah, Rhys’s Mum told me he once jumped from a bench and nearly broke his arm.”
“I’m sure you did much similar things at the same age, brother.” Rhys slid back into his seat next to me, Amren, Varian and Azriel in tow.
Azriel’s shadows swirled around Nyx as he ruffles his hair. My son gives a shout of joy, making Azriel smile. “Happy birthday, Nyx.”
Varian gave me a kiss on the cheek and went to sit next to Cassian.
“Well done you two, you managed not to burn the house down.” Amren said, sitting next to the Summer Court prince.
“As if we would have.” Rhys smirked.
“At least we’re not making the cake.” I said. Rhys could cook, much better than me, but when it came to baking, you’d think he was purposely trying to give us food poisoning.
Rhys laughed, the sound drawing Nyx’s attention as he tried to clamber out of my arms for his father.
Another knock sounded and I got up for it this time, Nyx now safely in Rhys’s arms.
Elain stood at the door, Lucien a respectful distance behind her, my sister with the large cake in her hands. “I honestly think it’s frozen from the walk here.”
I smiled, and lead her into the kitchen, where she put the cake down on the bench, Lucien going to the dining room.
We walked back to join the others.
After half an hour of talking, Rhys magicked in the food, including the vegetables I had him cut.
We took turns feeding Nyx little pieces of meat and vegetables, while trying to shove down our own food before it got cold.
Once everyone was full, we moved to the living room again, a small pile of gifts set on the coffee table.
I sat down on the armchair, son in my lap, as Rhys brought the presents to us, announcing who it was from, before I helped Nyx tear at the paper.
Of course out of all the toys and things he got from our friends, both present and not, he chose to focus on the wrapping paper.
Nyx yawned.
“Cake time?” I asked, and was met with a resounding yes.
Elain hurried out of the room, and came back with the giant blue cake in hand.
She set it on the table and I used my powers to set the candles alight.
As we started singing happy birthday, I looked around at all my friends. My mate and sisters and every person who helped me get where I was today.
I held Nyx close to try and get him to blow out the candles, quickly pulling him back before he could burn himself.
Rhys lent forward and finished it, earning a laugh from everyone.
We cut up the cake, everyone complimenting the baking of my sister.
I talked with Nesta, who invited me to train with her and the Valkyries if I ever wanted to.
Rhys and Varian discussed having a visit to the Summer Court soon. Tarquin’s gift of a stuffed dolphin sat on the floor after Nyx tossed it in favour of Nesta and Cassian’s gift.
“Did you enjoy your night Nyx?” I closed the door after wishing goodbye to Mor. Rhys holding Nyx above his head.
Nyx made a cry of joy, to which Rhys replied. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He walked over to me. “What about you, Feyre darling?”
I smiled at him. “It was a nice night, you didn’t fight with Nesta, Amren and Varian didn’t traumatise everyone, the cake was delicious.”
“And the vegetables I cut?”
I kissed his cheek. “The best part.”
He grinned.
We walked Nyx up to the nursery, where we changed him into his onesie, and put him in the cot.
“Good night, little one.” I whispered, brushing his dark hair out of his face.
Rhys wrapped his arm around my waist as we walked out.
- I didn’t know how to finish this. And it probably sucks. Sorry.
Day Three of Feyre Week - 03/20 First of Her Kind:
“I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.
Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something
like fear now creeping into them. “There’s no such thing as a High Lady,” one of Lucien’s brothers spat.
A faint smile played on my mouth. “There is now.” And it was time for the world to know it.
