ACOTAR One~shots [Discontinued, Will be deleted]

A Joyous Occasion

~*~

Feyre stood in the huge, ensuite bathroom next to the bedroom she and Rhys shared, and paced back and forth in front of the long counter.
She’d bought the potion nearly three and a half hours ago, but she had stalled before coming back to the house. She’d taken her time, visiting the shops, wandering along the Sidra, chatting with people, delaying the inevitable task before her for as long as she possibly could delay it. Finally, she decided she’d procrastinated long enough, and that she was being stupid—there was nothing to be afraid of, she assured herself—and she had gone home. It had taken her another hour to make the potion, mixing everything into a large (and really heavy) mixing bowl meant for baking, adding a strand of her hair and exactly three drops of her blood along with the other ingredients, making sure she was following the instructions exactly. She had read all the steps three times, and then again out loud as she was completing each one, to make sure that she had gotten everything right. If she made a single mistake, she would have to go back and get a new one, and start all over again, which she had done last time. The first time she had to go and get a new one had been embarrassing enough—she really didn’t want to do that again, or the shopkeeper would think she was incompetent.
After the potion was mixed properly and the hot, boiling water had been added, she set the bowl into the bathroom sink (which was the safest, as it was deep enough that it wouldn’t run all over the counter if it happened to boil over by accident). And then she began the longest, most agonizing thirty minutes of her life.
She paced in front of the counter for a good fifteen of those thirty minutes before some part of her realized constantly checking on the potion and pacing wasn't going to do anything except drive her crazy. So she left the bathroom, heading downstairs into the living room. She grabbed the book she had been reading and left on the table when she’d gone out, poured herself a large glass of cold apple juice, curled up on the couch, and tried to immerse herself in her book for the next twenty or so minutes.
But the house was far too quiet, reminding her that she was alone, and she found herself wishing that she had asked someone to wait with her. Amren would’ve been a good choice, but she had been avoiding Amren, because with her sense of smell, she’d be able to tell if she really was pregnant. She didn’t want to hear it from Amren—she wanted to find out herself, the way she’d always known she would when the day came, the way her mother had learned she was pregnant with Feyre, and her sisters. It was the one thing that being a Fae was not going to take away from her—and the excitement, the anticipation of waiting to find out if her instincts were right, was all part of the process. But still, she wished she had asked someone to be there with her, because the house was too quiet, and the only sound was the potion slowly beginning to bubble upstairs in the sink, and her own heartbeat and breathing.
She let her mind wander instead, imagining how she was going to tell Rhys when he came home the day after tomorrow. There were a hundred different ways that she could tell him. Maybe she would do it over a private meal. Or maybe they would go flying, and she’d whisper it in his ear... no, she thought to herself, that was too dangerous. He would be surprised, and could end up falling. No, flying was not an option. There were so many ways, but she wanted it to be special, to ensure that it was a day they would both remember for the rest of their lives. She knew he would anyway, but... if, one day, their child asked how she had told him she was pregnant, she wanted it to be magical, a story worth telling over and over again.

~*~

When the potion was finally ready, twenty minutes later, Feyre went upstairs to find the bowl was bubbling and smoke was rising from the mixture. Reading the instructions a fourth time, she carefully poured the potion into a second dish—a wide, silver tray—and watched the grey-green mixture spread into the corners of the tray, continuing to bubble in the centre for a few more seconds until the bubbles faded and revealed the answer to the question she wanted to know. There was nothing magical about the way it revealed itself. One line for no, two lines for yes. It took several seconds for the answer to appear, written in red (like the blood she had added to the potion), and although she had been anticipating it, although she had almost been positive she knew what the answer would be, her heart still stopped for a second as she stared at the two, red lines, so bold and bright that it was almost as though they were mocking her.
The potion evaporated four minutes later, in a puff of grey sparkles, but Feyre still hadn’t moved. Probably it was shock, but at the moment, she just felt numb. She wasn’t sure what to think or feel now that she knew for certain—she was just stunned.
It was the sound of someone knocking at the door that finally pulled her out of her shocked state, and she shook herself and winnowed downstairs—not trusting that she was steady enough to walk at the moment.
She pulled open the door, and found Nesta and Mor standing outside, each with a bag and pillow in their hands. Mor had a huge smile on her face, but it fell when she saw the look on her High Lady’s.
“You forgot,” she said, “didn’t you?”
Suddenly, Feyre remembered. Of course. Whenever the men were away, Nesta, Mor and she would stay in the town house together, and have a huge sleepover. None of the women liked sleeping alone, but Feyre least off all, so it had become a tradition for them to sleepover together whenever they were left alone, even if it was just one night. Since she had been sick, Feyre had cancelled last night, trying to tough it out by herself. It hadn’t worked very well, since she had woken up alone and had a panic attack, which just caused her to throw up again. She spent most of the night curled up on the couch with a bowl that she could vomit in, since she hadn’t felt like sleeping in the bathroom.
“I didn’t forget,” Feyre lied. “I just thought you weren’t coming until later.”
She held the door open, and the girls came into the house, following Feyre into the living room. Nesta was looking at her suspiciously. “We thought we’d have dinner with you,” Mor explained, tossing her bag into the corner and plopping herself down on the couch. She was four months pregnant, and getting bigger by the day. The sight of her round tummy made Feyre’s own stomach do a funny jolt. “Are you feeling better?”
“Sort of. I’ve stopped throwing up—for now anyway. I was able to go out and do some errands this morning, anyway,” she said.
“That’s good,” Mor said. Nesta had excused herself to use the bathroom (although Feyre knew that she just liked to give the two of them some privacy, because once they started talking, they would likely forget that Nesta was there for the next few minutes). “I’m ready for the morning sickness and the nausea and the headaches to go away, though.”
“Should they be going away soon?” Feyre asked, out of concern for Mor and also out of curiosity, since she would be going through the same stages soon. It made her slightly happier about the whole thing that Mor would be right alongside her.
“The Healer says by the second trimester, I should experience less frequent attacks of vomiting and nausea,” Mor said. “I asked her when I could expect my husband to stop acting like I’m made of glass and treating me like normal again. She laughed, but she did tell Azriel that he doesn’t need to be quite so protective of me. Like that will help.”
Feyre laughed, imagining what Rhys was going to be like. If he even let her out of the house, it would be a miracle. “Who is your Healer, again?” She asked. “It’s the same one that Elain and Lucien had, right?”
“No, this one is a different one,” Mor said. “Azura. They don’t use their surnames. She’s good, though. I like her. Why?”
“No reason,” Feyre said, but she didn’t meet Mor’s gaze. “Just wanted to have a few options. You know, just in case I need to start looking at Healers.”
Mor knew that she had stopped using the contraceptive, since Feyre had went to her for advice when she was thinking about stopping it. “Right,” Mor said. “Have you and Rhys talked about it yet, by the way?”
Before Feyre could answer, Nesta had returned from the bathroom and sat in the armchair across from the couch. “Talked about what?” Her sister asked.
“Feyre stopped using her contraceptive tonic a few months ago,” Mor explained, ignoring the warning looks she was shooting her. “But she hasn’t told Rhys that she even wants to have babies yet.”
“We have discussed children,” Feyre said. “I just haven’t had the chance to tell him that I want them, is all. I’m planning on it this weekend.”
“You do? Really, Feyre? That’s wonderful,” Nesta said, beaming at her. “You know, now that I think about it, Cassian asked me if I was still using my contraceptive before they all left, and he did look a bit disappointed when I said of course I was.”
“That’s because Az and him have been conspiring when they think I’m not listening to them,” Mor said. “I heard Az mention how he thinks it would be wonderful for one of us ladies to be pregnant at the same time, so that our children could grow up as close as they were, or something sappy like that. I swear, Az is more emotional about this whole thing than I am.”
“That would be nice, actually,” Feyre said. She was now imagining her own child growing up with Mor and Azriel’s, and the two of them being as close as he, Rhys and Cassian were.
“Yes, well, if you want to fulfill that little dream, it will have to be you, Feyre, who does it. I am not having a baby any time soon,” Nesta said. “I’m in no rush. I like having sex whenever I damn well please, thanks very much.”
Feyre and Mor both laughed, and with that, the subject was changed. Feyre wondered only briefly about telling them, but decided against it. Rhys would be the first person she told, and only Rhys.
Suddenly, twenty-four hours seemed impossibly long. She could hardly wait for him to come home, so she could tell him.
And she knew exactly how she was going to.