I meant to ask Feysand fluff fic I'm made you a cake
See my favorite thing as a writer is to write something totally off base of what might be expected from these prompts… I think I did that with this one… hope this is fluffy enough, friend. I’m kind of obsessed with it.
Feysand + “I made you a cake”
“Mor, have I ever told you how much I completely and totally loathe you?”
“Oh quit being dramatic,” Rhys’s cousin snapped from where she stood between him and Azriel, her hand in his. “You’re the one who said you wanted a night out downtown with all of us!”
“I meant a night out drinking, Mor. Drinking. Alcohol. The cheap kind. And lots of it, preferably.”
“There will be alcohol!”
“Yeah Rhys, didn’t you read the pamphlet?” Cassian sauntered up to his friend, hooking an arm around his shoulder. “‘Wine and Canvas Painting.’ Sounds delightful, right? A real party. I mean I personally am gonna get so– ow! Quit it!”
Mor leaned over and pinched Cassian in the side to which he yelped.
“Don’t make fun,” Mor hissed. “My friend Feyre is still in the early stages of starting her own business, and I want to support her. And you guys support me, thus, we’re going to drink wine and paint some damn canvases or so help me you two will–”
“We’re here,” Azriel cut in smoothly.
Mor gave Rhys and Cassian one last glare that would have sent other men running before sauntering up the steps and opening the door to a little shop with an overhanging sign that read, “Velaris.”
“That’s a weird name,” Rhys grumbled to himself as he followed after his friends.
Once they were inside and had taken off their coats, Rhys glanced appreciatively at the space inside. It was… nice, he would give it that. Spacious and warm and full of light.
Mor’s friend - Feyre - apparently owned this little studio and taught art classes all throughout the week. And every other Friday she taught a 21 and up class where they served wine while doing canvas paintings.
And Mor, being Mor, thought it would be a great idea to do that this very weekend instead of going out to their favorite bar, the Illyrian, like they usually did.
“Well where is this friend of yours?” Cassian grumbled. “And where is the wine? If I’m doing this I need to be drinking.”
Rhys and Azriel laughed, but quieted instantly when Mor glared at them.
“She’s probably setting up or something. But her sister and Amren are over there, come on.”
“Amren’s here?” Azriel paled. Mor ignored the other two as they snickered and walked ahead.
“Amren! Nesta!” She called out. Two girls in the back row whipped their heads around.
Rhys recognized Amren, the terrifying woman that Mor had introduced him to a few times. The other one, Nesta, must be Feyre’s sister.
Amren just looked the boys up and down and huffed before turning back around in her seat.
Nesta rolled her eyes at Amren and gave Mor a forced smile. “Hey,” she said without much enthusiasm.
Mor went to reply and sit in the open seat next to Nesta, but the next thing they knew Cassian had practically shoved her aside and was careening to sit beside the young woman.
“Well hello there,” he said in his charming voice. “I’m Cassian. And you are?”
Nesta just stared at him, completely unaffected.
“You literally just heard her say my name,” she deadpanned. She looked back over at Mor. “Mor, who the hell is this guy?”
“I’m sorry.” Mor just rolled her eyes. “I told them to be on their best behavior, but I only have one of them trained.” Azriel narrowed his eyes at her but she only giggled and moved to sit down beside Amren and Azriel followed suit on her other side.
“Oh I can be on my best behavior,” Cassian continued, clearly not taking the hint. “I can be on whatever sort of behavior you want, sweetheart.”
He leaned in close to Nesta, giving her his best seductive look.
She was thoroughly unimpressed.
“Get your face the hell away from my face before I break it.”
Cassian’s brow shot up in surprise and Azriel and Rhys both snorted in laughter. His surprise soon turned into wicked delight.
“Oh just wait sweetheart, you’ll learn to love my face. In fact I’ll bet you’ll be painting it before the night is over. Or perhaps if my charm really sways you, you might even be s–”
“Do not finish that sentence and do… not… call me sweetheart,” Nesta seethed.
Rhys was just about to go sit on the other side of Azriel to avoid all of… that, when someone bumped into him from behind.
“Oh, oh I’m so sorry! I just… well I can’t really see right now so…”
Rhys turned to the voice only to be met with a stack of canvases stacked way too high for one person to be carrying. The stranger’s face was hidden behind the stack and it was clear she couldn’t see anything in front of her. He chuckled.
“Do you need some help there?” He offered.
“Nope!” The female voice chirped brightly. “Nope I am perfectly fine. Just fine.”
“Really?” He drawled. “Well then by all means, continue your trek.”
The person froze.
“Right. Yes. Continuing now.”
The woman turned slightly to the left, then slightly to the right. She took a small step forward only to bump into Rhys’s other shoulder.
“Dammit,” she hissed under her breath.
Rhys laughed openly, reaching forward to take half the stack off of her hands.
“Here, allow me.”
When the stack was considerably lowered, Rhys finally saw the stranger’s face - and felt like he had been sucker punched.
With her eyeline free now, the girl blew a stray strand of messy hair away from her face. Her eyes were blue-gray and absolutely stunning. She had a single purple streak of paint on her cheek that he had a feeling she had no idea was even there.
And then she smiled up at him.
“Thanks,” she said, clearly not noticing that he wasn’t even breathing. “Are you here for the class?”
“I uh…” he stumbled, unable to tear his eyes from hers.
What the hell was wrong with him, he didn’t get nervous around girls? Especially not ones with paint on their face and a stubborn attitude to boot.
“Feyre!” Mor shouted suddenly, and the next thing Rhys knew his cousin was shoving him out of the way to give the woman an awkward hug over the canvases she held.
“Hey, Mor,” she said in a strained voice, giving Rhys a look that said ‘save me’ over Mor’s shoulder.
“I told you we would come.” Mor pulled back with a grin. “I brought Az, who you know, and then Cassian is the one over there about to get his balls ripped off by your sister, and it looks like you’ve already met my cousin, Rhys.”
“Yeah we… ran into each other,” Feyre said, smiling over at Rhys.
He could’ve died a happy man right then.
“Well I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to get the class started,” she continued apologetically.
“Oh it’s fine,” Mor said quickly as Feyre started to make her way up to the front of the room. Rhys followed awkwardly with his half of the canvases. “Oh and happy birthday!” Mor shouted suddenly.
Feyre froze, whirling towards Mor but running into Rhys yet again.
“It’s your birthday?” Rhys asked, his head cocked to the side.
Feyre paled. “Yes, but don’t say anything else please. I hate celebrating my birthday, it’s just so awkward.”
Rhys grinned, his earlier awkwardness melting away and turning into his usual suave because now he had an in with this girl.
“My lips are sealed Feyre, darling,” he said softly as he sat down his stack of canvases and stepped closer to her. She looked up at him a bit nervously.
“Allow me to formally introduce myself since my cousin thought she needed to do it for me,” he said smoothly, extending his hand. “I’m Rhysand.”
He noticed her shiver and grinned a bit wider.
“Feyre,” she replied, taking his hand. “Feyre Archeron. And please don’t call me darling.”
Rhys laughed, walking backwards towards his seat.
“Whatever you say, Feyre, darling.”
“You know if you keep calling me darling I’ll have to come up with a name for you too. How about prick?”
Ohhhh, he liked this girl already. His smile said as much.
He finally made it back to his seat, plopping down next to Azriel. Cassian and Nesta were still at each other’s throats.
Rhys was watching Feyre as she set up her own easel when Mor leaned across Azriel and pinched his arm.
“Ouch! What, Mor?”
Mor grinned like a fox.
“I knew you two would hit it off.”
“You… you planned this?”
Mor only laughed, leaning back in her seat and grabbing the glass of red wine in front of her as she spoke to Amren. Rhys looked at Azriel incredulously.
He just shrugged as if to say, ‘what can you do?’
The class started, and Rhys found himself captivated by Feyre yet again. She spoke about painting reverently, it was clear this was her passion. Her eyes lit up and her voice took on a tone he could listen to for the rest of his life.
Then when the actual canvas painting began, she walked around the room and answered questions, helping here and there. She stopped by Rhys’s row a couple of times, but only long enough to chat with her sister, Amren, or Mor before skittering off to another place in the room.
Rhys huffed as she avoiding his gaze for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
Mor giggled. “The chase not working out how it usually does for you, cousin?” She teased.
“Neither is his painting,” Azriel murmured.
Rhys cursed his brother, elbowing him in the side.
“What do you mean?” Mor asked. “What’s wrong with your… Rhysand!” She shouted, leaning across Azriel and smacking him in the chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Stop hitting me!” Rhys hissed. The rest of the class - and Feyre, he observed - was watching them. “And mind your own business. I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh do you?” Mor drawled. “Well then by all means, show us your wooing skills.”
Before Rhys could say another word, Feyre had sauntered up right next to him.
“Everything okay back here guys?”
“Oh yes,” Mor said before Rhys could get a word in edgewise. “Az and I were just observing how wonderful Rhys’s painting is.”
Oh Rhys was going to kill his cousin.
“That’s great!” Feyre said enthusiastically, meeting Rhys’s eyes finally.
“Yeah, super great. Go ahead, Rhys.” Mor propped her chin in her hand with a sly grin. “Show her.”
“Well, Mor,” he seethed, turning his easel so Feyre couldn’t see his painting. “I actually wanted to show Feyre darling here my painting when the class was over.”
“Oh but it’s just SO good Rhys, show her now.”
“Yeah, show me,” Feyre jumped back in. Rhys melted at her soft smile, feeling a bit like a prick now. “I bet it’s great.”
“Oh for goodness sake.”
Mor leaned across Azriel for a third time, turning Rhys’s easel towards Feyre herself.
Feyre’s jaw dropped when she saw that Rhys had painted a… cake.
A terrible looking cake with blue frosting and candles that looked like sticks. And in black paint he had written across the top, “Happy Birthday, Feyre Darling.”
She was silent for a few seconds and Rhys thought she might have stopped breathing.
“I made you a cake,” Rhys finally said. It sounded infinitely stupider when he said it out loud. “Since it’s your birthday and I just thought… you’re smiling. Is that a good thing? Did I do something right or are you showing me pity?”
Feyre snorted, covering her mouth with her hand.
“I love it,” she said in between her laughter. “I mean it looks… utterly horrendous–”
“Hey now, this is exquisite.”
“But it’s very sweet of you,” she said, meeting his eyes with a genuine smile.
Rhys felt his own lips tilting upward at the corners of their own accord.
“Anything for you, Feyre darling.”
Feyre’s smile dropped and she rolled her eyes.
“You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you, you prick. Call me darling one more time tonight and I won’t go out with you when you ask me after class.”
“Oh I’m asking you on a date now, am I?” He asked, mouth turned up in wicked delight.
“Well you better. You already made me cake,” she gestured to the painting. “Now you have to buy me dinner.”
He met her teasing eyes and realized he was already in deep shit and he didn’t mind at all.
“Anything you want.”