#feysand fluff

She grabs you by your upper arm, pulling you from the counter and up the stairs toward her bedroom. Well, her and Rhys’ room. Since they sleep together. And are married. And most importantly, mates.

You watch as your High Lady flings open one of her closets, rummaging through for something suitable for you to change into. Hastily, she pulls out a large top—far too big for either of you. She glances between you and her closet, debating how long it will take her to find something else that will work.

The shirt will have to do.

“Here,” she offers, walking over to you. “Put this on. I’ll remove the colour then it’ll go in the wash to be properly cleaned.”

“Are you sure? I can just—”

“Hurry! I’ll never look you in the eye again if I know I stained one of your dresses!” Your lips quirk up at her exaggeration, but lift the flowy fabric over your head, leaving you in a small set of underthings.

You’ve changed in the same room before, but something’s more subdued this time.

Her blue-grey eyes dip, only for a moment, to get and eyeful of your breasts. But then they remain where they are. She doesn’t drag her gaze away, and it’s just you before her, in nothing but a bra and matching underwear.

Her hand raises, tracing her finger over the roundness of your right breast. “I haven’t seen this one before?” Her thumb brushes over its peak—right over your nipple—and it’s an effort not to emit a tiny sound of pleasure at the ticklish touch. “Where’d you get it from?”

You swallow, and her eyes mark the roll of your throat. “You know the one,” you reply, surprised to find your voice is smooth and even. “Opposite the restaurant that’s a little down from Rita’s?”

“Ohhh,” she hums, fixated by the pretty lace adorning your skin. “That one.”

Then her fingers are dipping abruptly to the front of your underwear, hooking beneath their seam, and snapping the band against your skin. You flinch, flushing at the intimate act of chastisement. Her eyes narrow teasingly, “you went without me? I though we did all our shopping together?”

You groan, but smile, “Mor’s really rubbing off on you, you know that?”

“Is that who you went with? Did you go with Mor?”

You peer at her, features seemingly a little tense. “What?” You laugh, shaking your head, “no.” The strain seems to seep from her shoulders, and she manages a laugh, “good.”

“Good?” You look at her questioningly.

“That’s our thing,” she explains, “our girls trip out.”

“Ah,” you nod, smiling now, “I see. Rhys is also rubbing off on you.” She gives you a look, and you gently pry the shirt from her fingers as she watches you intently. “So territorial,” you laugh teasingly, donning the item of clothing.

She blinks, once, in surprise. “Gods,” she mutters, “I am.” A surprised laugh bubbles up from your throat and her eyes spark at the sound, grinning softly.

“You look good in that shirt,” she says, softly, thumbing the buttons of the shirt. “Yeah?” You ask, equally quiet, peering at her. She nods, fingers tracing downward—between the shape of your breasts. Acutely aware of the descending path.

“Well, hello there.”

You jump, taking a hasty step back, while Feyre merely looks a bit disappointed. “Feyre was just letting me borrow some clothing since my dress was…compromised,” you explain, fairly succinctly. Rhysand nods, closing the door behind him as he walks up to his mate. His arms glides around her waist, pulling her to his side as he presses a chaste kiss to her temple.

He then turns to you, and you extend your hand—habitual, at this point—allowing him to grasp it as he presses his soft mouth to your knuckles. Violet eyes flick to yours as he pulls away, dragging down your clothed figure intently. His gaze twinkles, “is that my shirt?” Embarrassment heats your skin, burning in the pit of your stomach, as you turn to Feyre expectantly, “is it?”

Her eyes run over you again, and shrugs. “Maybe. I can never remember anymore. More than a few things of Rhys’ have ended up in my closet,” she says, frowning slightly.

“Oh,” you manage, “I’ll wear something else, then. I didn’t realise—”

“It’s fine,” Rhys cuts in, firmly. His arm tightens around Feyre’s waist, both of them watching you with an intensity you’re unaccustomed to. “Besides,” he adds, grinning slowly, “it looks good on you.” You flush with pleasure, smiling gently, “thank-you.”

————

It’s a week before you see them next, while Rhys and you are in the library, searching for a book on the history of mythical creatures—records of the various legends of the beasts that perhaps once roamed the Courts.

Feyre walks in with two plates laden with food—roast potatoes with herbs and something red and spicy looking, a meat you would guess is chicken scattered with rosemary and thyme and some other seasonings you can’t distinguish, as well as some other tasty looking bits and pieces.

You sigh, standing from your crouching position, “I’ll try again next time—thanks for the help though,” you say to Rhys who’s searching the higher shelves. “I’d better get home to start on my own supper,” you add, the food sparking hunger in your stomach. “Don’t be silly,” Feyre chirps, setting the two plates on the table where a third appears at their side. “I could only carry two, and I can hear your stomach from over here, eat with us.”

You eye the plates, just as inviting as before, mouthwatering in its display of aromas. “Well, if you insist,” you laugh, not taking much convincing at all. Rhys chuckles from a few rows over, “good to know if we ever need to tempt you over, we need only offer you a hot meal and you’ll come scrambling back to us.”

“I would not scramble, Rhysand,” you huff indignantly, “I’d skitter and scamper. On eight legs.” Feyre snorts as she settles at the wooden table, cutlery and eating implements landing either side of her plate as she prepares to tuck in.

“You know, I’m not sure even in a book containing information on the known creatures of Prythian would you find one that transforms into an arachnid when lured with food,” Rhys comments, taking the seat opposite Feyre, leaving to take the head of the table. “Maybe you should have it updated, then,” you laugh, settling into you seat.

“I wonder what other strange things you would find in there,” Feyre muses softly.

An easy quiet descends as you tuck into your food—pleasant and simple. Beautiful.

It’s always easy with them.

————

“That reminds me,” Feyre says, dropping you off at your own home—a couple of streets down from the River House.

You turn in your doorstep, tipping your head inquisitively.

“Do you feel comfortable around Rhys and I?” She asks, a little too casually. You narrow your eyes at her, “why? Are you propositioning me?” You flick your hair over your shoulder and bat your eyelashes at her flirtatiously. She stiffens, “no…I just…” She doesn’t usually stutter? “I wanted to make sure you don’t feel left out,” she supplies after a moment.

You watch her closely, pausing. She’s off tonight, something’s strange. “What is it?” You ask, turning to face her fully, but she shakes her head, stepping to the lower stair. “It’s nothing. I just know Rhys and I can sometimes forget other people are in the room, sometimes,” she lies, surprised how smooth the untruth is from her tongue. “Oh,” you laugh, smiling broadly, “no, it’s fine. It’s nice seeing you two be so moony-eyed over one another.”

Still, she looks like she’s considering saying something more. You raise your brows encouragingly. “I…” she begins uncertainly. Then she shakes her head again, and stands straighter. “We both enjoy your company. Greatly,” she tells you, locking eyes. You flush at the compliment, feeling a little shy, waving your hand slightly dismissively, “that’s sweet of you, Fey. I…like spending time with the two of you—it’s easy. Conversing, I mean. I don’t really have to…” You pause for thought. “I feel like I don’t have to think around you two, I can just kind of…you know?”

Feyre smiles tentatively, and it’s enough to show there’s more that she’s not saying. You’re not sure whether to push it or not—surely she’ll tell you if she wants to. But she’s also your High Lady—she’ll know how to deflect a question if it makes her uncomfortable.

So you take a small step forward. “What is it?” You repeat softly, watching her. “I can tell something’s up with you, Fey. What’s going on?” Her smile is a bit sheepish—strained. As if she’s tense. Your brow furrows. “You’re worrying me, is something wrong? Is there something I did?”

“No—no. It’s— You haven’t done anything wrong,” she smiles again, stiffly.

You just watch her steadily, then take a risk. You’re sure she’ll make it clear if she wants you to let it drop. So you move toward her, taking her hands in your own, fingers sliding into her palms smoothly—as if designed for one another. “Tell me, Fey,” you murmur, “if something’s weighing you down, I want to be there. Even if you just want a bed for the night, or a hug, or someone to have tea with in the mornings—I want you to know I can be here for you in whatever way you want.”

She looks at your intertwined hands, then back up to your eyes. Then blows out a breath. “Okay,” she sighs, “fine.” You brace yourself for whatever burden is slumping her shoulders. “Rhys and I care for you. Deeply.” You barely have time to blink before she’s pushing forward. “Differently to how friends should care for each other,” she clarifies.

“I can speak both for him and myself when I say that we would like to be more open with our affections towards you. To be more…intimate, with you.” She pauses to take in a breath, hands loose on your own, allowing you to step away should you wish. In no way threatening. “That being said, if that is not something that interests you, or it makes you uncomfortable, neither of us will ever bring it up again. Just understand we…you’re incredibly dear to both of us, and we would like nothing more than for you to requite our feelings,” she finishes.

You manage a few more blinks, then take a step away. “Oh my gods,” you murmur, staring at her. “You are propositioning me.” As soon as the words leave you mouth, you shake your head in denial. “I don’t understand. Is this a joke? Are you joking? Did I do something to make one of you uncomfortable and this is your way of figuring out if there was something behind it? By seeing if I’m romantically interested in one or both of you?”

Feyre’s brow furrows at your words. “Not at all. This…we’re both serious. I can get Rhys over if you want to talk to him, too. We thought it would be easier for you to remain calm around me, if things went unfavourably,” she explains, watching you steadily; honestly.

“You—…” You look at her, bewildered, and feeling slightly sick. It’s a lot to digest. “You… Both of you…” you begin, selecting your words carefully. “Both of you…enjoy my company?” You ask slowly, almost analytically.

The female nods gently.

“So…—I’m sorry if I’ve gotten this wrong… You’re asking about my affections toward the two of you?”

She nods again.

“Okay,” you swallow. “Okay,” you repeat, breathing deeply. Better to get it out of the way. “I’ve found myself romantically attracted to you two for some time, now. I didn’t want to say anything for obvious reasons, and you were both so kind, and lovely that I thought I could make do with watching from a distance. I’ve never wanted to attempt to split you up, or made a conscious effort to pull one of your’s attention away from the other,” you manage, speaking in a straightforward, matter-of-fact tone.

“But, if you’re saying that each of you has an…interest,” you stammer over the word, “in…also. Then…I’m open to it. To both of you.” Now you’re flushing, heart pounding.

This time Feyre blinks, processing. “You…you’re attracted to us? To both of us?”

You flush more, skin heating across your body as you shift. “I don’t want to be too graphic,” you admit, looking away from her. “But, yes,” you murmur, “I’m attracted to both of you.”

Before she has a chance to say anything, you continue, “and I’ve felt awful about it, for years. Harbouring these feelings—I didn’t want them, and they always make me feel so guilty. Like I’m a spy or something trying to worm my way into your court, or break you apart. But I swear, I’ve never wanted that,” you practically plead. “I swear on everything that is good, I’ve never consciously acted on my feelings for either of you up until now.”

She staring at you, almost disbelievingly, and you wonder if you should have just kept your mouth shut.

“So…you’d like to be with us? You…I mean,” her voice is thick and rough with emotion, “you’d like to be ours? Share our things, eat meals with us, be with us?” She swallow heavily, “share our bed?” Heat swallows your body whole as you look away and dip your head in confirmation.

“You—” she stammers, moving forward to be in your space. “May I kiss you?” She asks hoarsely. You hardly manage a nod before her shaky fingers are sliding over the nape of your neck, pressing her soft lips to your own. Both your eyes slide shut, as you rest there, basking in the feeling of one another, indulging in the heat and the softness and the wonder.

Your hands settle nervously around her waist, one hand sliding up between her shoulder blades, pressing her against you. She moves with your guide, pliant beneath your fingertips, so malleable. Her own grip tightens on you as she pushes further, slanting her mouth as she retreats then washes in on you again.

When she pulls away, you’re both more than a little shaken, more than a little breathless.

“I…would you feel fine coming back to the River House, then? Staying the night?” She asks hopefully. You blink, then nod. You’re unable to comprehend how she’s capable of speech right now. She nods to herself, mirroring your confirmation. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, that’ll work. Though if you need time to think— Or you want to go slower, just say,” she breathes, arms still over your shoulders while yours remain around her waist.

“Will you—” You clear your hoarse throat. “Do you want to walk back, or…?”

She nods, still breathless, “I’ll take you to the front door, then.”

————

You’re jittery, heart still pounding, when she winnows you to their house, opening the door and letting you inside.

“Does Rhys…” you begin, whispering. “I mean, have you told him?” Feyre shakes her head, “I can if you want?” You consider, arm linking tightly beneath her own, but then he appears in the hallway and you stiffen as his violet eyes take both of you in. His gaze weighs on your linked arms for a moment, before flicking away.

“You’re back,” he greets with a casual smile, walking toward the two of you. “Feyre convince you stay the night for some reading again?” He asks, stopping a little way from you both. Your eyes flick to Feyre’s but she nods toward Rhys, encouraging. You swallow thickly, eyes darting about before returning to his. “Feyre was…well, we were talking, and…and she said—well, it was a bit confusing. Not in general, but at first— I mean, we chatted, about…some things, and, well…” your arm tightens on Feyre’s and you feel heat flushing your skin with embarrassment and humiliation at your stammering.

You turn to Feyre, “I’m sorry. Can you do it? I don’t know how to…” you trail off, looking at her pleadingly. She smiles broadly, then turns her attention to a puzzling Rhysand. “She said yes.” You manage a tight-lipped smile as the male’s eyes widen a little, taking you in with a different intent.

But then his arms a spreading and Feyre’s letting you go as his hands wrap over your shoulders and he pulls you tight into his warmth, nose pressing into your hair as he takes in your scent. Behind you Feyre laughs softly at the sight, then Rhys is pulling her in too, and your front is pressed tight against his chest, while she’s firmly at your back, and you swear you could melt into a puddle of happiness between them.

“You’re really…” Rhys asks hoarsely into your hair, Feyre’s arm looping over your stomach while her free hand strokes the male’s upper arm soothingly. You nod into his chest gently, careful not to knock him, “yeah.” Your voice is raspy but you don’t care, not as Feyre holds both of you tighter, and Rhys presses a kiss to your hair. One of his hands brushes a stray strand from your cheek, pushing it back over your pointed ear, before curving around Feyre’s nape, keeping all three of you together.