A Court of Thorns and Roses belongs to Sarah J Maas, as do the characters, but the plot is mine.


Feyre stared at the test in shock. It was a tiny little stick, that test. Tiny. Insignificant.

And there were two lines on it.

She was pregnant.

Feyre just stared.


Feyre left the bathroom quickly hiding the test in her purse. She walked into her office, running her hand through her hair. How would she tell Rhys? She knew he wanted to have kids one day, but would he want one now? She knew she could abort the baby if she wanted, but did she?

A knock sounded through the room. Feyre almost jumped out of her skin.

Mor popped her head in.

"Hey, Fey," she said, strolling into the office. Mor plonked down onto one of the plush seats in front of her desk, plopping her purse onto the floor. "Fey?" she asked, raising one of her perfect eyebrows.

"Yes, Mor?" Feyre plopped into her role chair, grabbing the edge of her desk to keep from moving too much.

"Up for drinks tonight?" Her friend asked casually. "I know a could bar we could go to."

A ball dropped in Feyre's stomach. "Nah, I can't," she said, twisting her mouth into a small frown.

Mor pouted, until a mischievous grin graced her features. "Does my cousin plan to take you out on an extravagant baby-making spree?" she asked, waggling her eyebrows.

"Shut up," Feyre grumbled playfully, throwing a pillow at her friend. She glanced at the clock above the door. "I," she said, grabbing her keys, "have a class starting soon."

Mor snorted lightly. "I'll take that as a yes," she said, heaving herself out of the chair. "Deflectiiing," she trilled.

Feyre flipped her off. "You do remember, co-founder, that this is an art and design studio? For children?" she pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

Mor stuck out her tongue.

"The kids are waiting!" Feyre shouted, running dramatically out of the room.

Mor coughed something about being a wuss, and Feyre stopped, turned on her heel, and looked her friend straight in the eye.

"Morrigan. He doesn't have to take me out." Feyre smirked. "In fact, we generally stay in."

She walked out, pleased, as Mor pretended to gag.


Feyre played with a pen, gazing out of her window, trying to think of how she would tell Rhys. She was almost positive Rhys would be overjoyed - but would he really want to keep it? They weren't even thirty... she shook her head.

She glanced at the clock again, suddenly glad that her last two classes of the day she ended last week. A year after her wedding, she and Mor had opened up a new business, and it had boomed since then.

Since summer started, they spent most of the day in summer camps, and from 2-7 they taught university students and adults. But, hey, who was she to say no to the occasional 4 o'clock day end?

Feyre surfed Pinterest for a while, finally deciding to tell him over dinner. She drove down to the local farmer's market, grabbing the ingredients for grilled chicken and fettuccini alfredo, the only meal she could cook by memory (without setting the kitchen on fire, that is).

When she got home, she took a shower instead of cooking. It was only five, and they usually ate at around eight.

By 7:45, the table was set, and the food was warm and ready in their pots on the stove.

Feyre was sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her, surfing the channels. She clicked on Food Network, tuning out the words as she watched the door, waiting, waiting.

Rhys was back by 8:15. He unlocked the door, dumping his bag on the couch as he blocked down next to his wife.

"What's with the fancy dinner, darling?" he asked, kissing her on the cheek.

"Would you rather not eat it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I take it back," Rhys teased, getting up to wash his hands. He pulled Feyre up, too, running his fingers through his hair.

"So how was your day?" he asked casually, turning on the faucet.

"Good," she said, scratching the back of her neck. "My last two classes of the day ended last week, so I was out at 4."

"Lucky," Rhys pouted. Feyre rolled her eyes at his antics. Rhys laughed in response, swooping his arm under her legs, and carried her to the dining room bridal style.

"Prick," Feyre laughed, pressing a light kiss to his temple. Rhys smiled, setting her down.

Feyre started getting some of the food, looking anxiously at her husband. Luckily he didn't notice.

Rhys picked up one of the bottles on the countertop.

"Sparkling Apple Cider?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows, confusion coating his eyes. He suddenly looked up. And looked around. "Feyre," he said in a questioning tone, but before he could get in another word, Feyre grabbed a gift bag from behind her back and unceremoniously shoved it into his hands.

She fidgeted under his gaze as he held the bag, tissue paper engulfing his hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but once more, Feyre cut him off.

"Just open it," she said. "Please?"

A warm smile broke out on his face. Rhys reached into the bag… and pulled out a pair of tiny shoes.

The shoes were more like little bags made out of green cloth, but it was obvious enough what they were meant to be.

The shock on Rhys' face was almost worth the anxiousness at what he'd think.

One moment passed. And then another. And another. And suddenly Feyre's palms were sweating harder than ever before.

Rhys looked up, that shock still on his face - though it was mixed with awe.

He held the shoes reverently, the paper bag laying forgotten on the floor.

"Feyre," he said slowly, a grin growing on his face, "are we going to have a baby?"

Feyre nodded, and his face lit up like a lightbulb. "If you're up for it," she teased. "It'll be like having a mini Mor or a mini Cassian who will not shut up when we ask them to."

"Ready when you are," he whispered, circling her with his arms.

Feyre laughed joyfully, jumping up and down. "We're gonna have a baby!" she shrieked.

The second she stopped, she pulled in her husband for a kiss.

He swept her into a low dip, looking at her with an expression one could only describe as wonder, awe. Pure devotion and love.

Rhys kissed her forehead. "I love you," he whispered, pulling her back up.

Feyre held on around his neck. "I love you, too," she breathed.

Rhys put his hands on her stomach. He leaned in to kiss her, and when he leaned back, his face was that of pure bliss - identical to Feyre's.

A baby. A little, miracle baby.

Their baby.


A/N:

Hey guys! What do ya think? Again, I'm really sorry that I haven't posted recently. I have found that, unfortunately, I am really bad at being anywhere near punctual when it comes to my writing. Sorry :(

So I realized that the ages of the characters might have seemed a bit confusing - sorry. In Only You, Feyre and Rhys finished college a year prior, so they're around 22. In Better Be Worth It, they're a year older. In this installment, they're around 27 or 28.

Also, I'm thinking of starting an actual story, with actual chapters that are less one shot-y. Input?

By the way, I got the baby shoes idea somewhere from Tumblr, and I'm not entirely sure if it was from a story or a regular post. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, guys, less than 5% of all the viewers are actually reviewing. And that's after I round generously. Please review! It definitely helps writers, both me personally and anyone else out there, so please take the second to review.

Random Fact: I'm allergic to most sunscreens.

Stay Awesome,

franklyherondale