#i think i write Feyre throwing things at Rhys too often but w/e she's a hand-eye coordination queen

[rosanna-writer]

first WIP Wednesday of the year! <3

patting myself on the back because I did a zeugma in this draft of a future chapter of we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

"Can we agree to forget each other's birthdays, then?" "No," he said flatly, and I glared. More softly, he continued, "I used to mark the occasion with a night out with the Inner Circle. Dinner, drinks, dancing. No gifts." Before Amarantha, I realized. Rhys had fifty years of celebrations to catch up on, and I couldn't begrudge him that. "That sounds…nice," I admitted. "If you'd rather I didn't buy you anything, at least allow me to make you climax twenty times on Solstice." He tossed it out so casually that I was sure he was serious. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time he'd wrung more pleasure out of me than I'd thought possible, his relentless hard thrusts reducing me to a trembling, mewling mess. But even as my cheeks heated at the thought, I found myself balling up a napkin and chucking it at his head. "Your cock is not a gift." By now, I'd thrown enough objects at him that Rhys wasn't caught off-guard. In one smooth movement, he dodged and used a wing to smack the crumpled paper, sending it sailing back in my direction. I caught it deftly in one hand. He winked. The napkin dissolved into mist—and me into a fit of laughter.