#Rhysand shade? babes. YES

[flowerflamestars]

No Graves snippet

It was too easy, to sink into living the life the Archeron’s carved out.   By the time Lucien awoke the next morning, in a slightly too-short bed that was among the furniture that had come with the property, they were already gone. A note greeted him, in Nesta’s slanting hand: furniture at 11, trees at 1, stay to sign.   A fire he hadn’t lit, hungry red that spit sparks to ask him, have you lost your mind? He did not need to see Eris, much less hear him, to understand the actual sentiment, though it bled from the question the kitchen hearth threw at him by the time Lucien was done brewing tea: that city is a godsforsaken death trap. The messages the High Lord is sending do not come from a well man. Do you need help? Lucien would have very much liked to read those missives. He could imagine the demands: armies, promises, money. Based on what? The name of the most famous traitor in the land, who no one had been surprised to see commit atrocities in Hyberns name, even compelled. Not after how he’d spent the last few centuries ruling the North.  SAPLING, the fire yelled.   An extra four hundred years that touched only Lucien was near enough to level their ages, which made the tone feel very unfair. Still fond, though. He was not actually offended enough to let the fire scorch Nesta’s new kitchen.   “I’m fine,” Lucien said, aloud, his own voice proof and magic too. Eris was Vanserra enough to feel every path through a forest- to be both outraged and know that something fundamental was changed. “Stop worrying and stay alive, old man. I’ll see you on the battle field.”   He’d see him at the summit of lords, but it was a sure enough warning: Lucien, like Eris, inclined still toward a single truth.   To fight if they had to, to stop the sort of carnage Hybern was capable of unleashing on their land.

[theladyofdeath]

Can we get some Archeron sisters moment? (I think this is a prompt 😅)

Loooove your writing!

There were very few things that Feyre and Nesta loved more than getting Elain drunk.

It wasn’t because she couldn’t hold her liquor, which she couldn’t, and it wasn’t because she became incredibly foul-mouthed, which she absolutely did. It was, however, because she was such an incredibly cute, giddy drunk that it easily lifted their spirits after spending long weeks at their day jobs. 

They had decided not to go out, not this time. Instead, they all sat in Elain and Azriel’s living room, Azriel having gone out for the night with Cassian and Rhysand, leaving the women alone with endless bottles of wine and tequila. 

Nesta made a mean margarita. 

“You know what’s the worst?” Elain asked, her words already slurred, giggles erupting from her slim frame. 

“Oh, no,” Feyre warned, covering her face with her hands. “What?”

“When Azriel comes home from work and he just falls asleep,” she said, throwing her hands in the air as if it was the worst thing to ever have happened in the history of mankind. 

“He’s probably tired,” Nesta said, suppressing her grin. “He works hard.”

“So do I,” Elain said, with another big gulp from her glass. “And I don’t just fall asleep on the couch the second I walk through the door. No, no. I’m ready to bone.” 

“Bone?” Feyre repeated, shaking her head. “Nesta, record this and send it to her husband.”

“Yes, bone,” Elain began, drawing out the word. “I want to have sex, but Az-Azriel just walks through the door and is snoring in a matter of minutes.” 

“Why do I feel like the two of you have the kinkiest sex life?” Nesta asked, clearly amused. “I mean, you’re the sweetest of the bunch, Az is the quietest and politest....but, in bed, it seems you two are-.” 

“Exploratorive?” Elain supplied.

Nesta blinked. “I was thinking....pornographic....or....twisted.....but, yeah, sure. Exploratorive.” 

“It’s always the quiet ones you’ve got to look out for,” Feyre muttered. “I mean, Rhys is naturally cocky, so we all assume that’s how he is in bed....and, you’d be right, sometimes, but he can also be a very gentle lover. Then there’s Cassian.” Feyre looked at Nesta.

Nesta shrugged. “What you see is what you get. He’s a brute.”

Feyre laughed as she looked back at Elain. “But, Az? He’s a mystery. At least, he was, until we all took that vacation and heard far more than what we signed up for.”

Nesta made a fake moaning sound. “Oh, daddy, yes, daddy, give me more, daddy-.”

A pillow was thrown across the room and hit Nesta square in the face, making Feyre collapse from laughter. 

“Don’t mock,” Elain slurred, pointing a finger at Nesta. She was the face of pure seriousness, but laughter bubbled from her lips. “He’s a good daddy-.”

The sound of a throat clearing snapped the three women from their conversations, their heads whipping toward the threshold of the living room, where Azriel stood, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, hi honey.” Elain grinned, holding up her drink. “How long you been home?”

His face turned a soft shade of pink as he said, “Long enough, babe. Long enough.” 

As the three sisters fell into laughter, yet again, Azriel walked from the room, slowly shaking his head, as Nesta and Feyre yelled daddy at him until he was brutally red in the face. 

[themorphine]

Im not a...

Ao3 link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870730

Feyre was sitting at the dinner table, sipping her too-hot coffee while looking through her email. It was the only form of communication she had since Tamlin had put restrictions on her phone. It was not even her phone, but she told herself to be grateful. No one had been kind to her except Tamlin, who protected her when she was at one of the weakest points in her life. But now that she was better, she wondered if she still needed to be protected; she wondered if she needed…

No, she thought. Do not think about that; you love Tamlin… don’t you? She sighed and shook her head as if all those thoughts would scatter away. Besides, if she left Tamlin, where would she go? Her parents were dead, and her sisters could give a damn about her. Tamlin was all she had left. But…

Her thought was cut off when she saw Tamlin walk into the kitchen. “Morning Feyre,” he said and placed a kiss on her forehead. A small part of hated it. She told herself it was small, at least. “Morning,” muttered, pretending to be distracted by her empty inbox. She was about to go to the bathroom to pee when she remembered something.

“Hey babe, before I forget, can you look at the bathroom door? It keeps on getting stuck?”

“I’m not a builder.”

Feyre bristled at that. Tamlin was not busy. It was Sunday, for god's sake. She kept her thoughts to herself, though. Sighing, she got up to put her empty mug in the sink. She noticed the tap sink was dripping water, even when the handle was down. “Tamlin, the kitchen sink is dripping; you think you can take a look at it?”

“I’m not a plumber.”

Mother's tits, is he that lazy? Her temper was rising, annoyed that Tamlin was acting this way. He always behaved this way. He was not putting anything into the relationship, and it had been feeling more one-sided than ever. “Can you at least take a look at my car; the engine oil light has been on for ages…”

“I am not a mechanic,” he said in that same cool, indifferent tone.

She almost screamed at him. Why the fuck was he acting like this? At that moment, she realized that she never wanted to be farther from him than she did now. She felt he locked her in a broom closet and had left her there taking the key with him. Before she could scream at him, she walked toward the door, grabbed her coat, put on her boots, and went out the door. She could hear Tamlin calling after, but she could care less right now. −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−− She sucked in a huge breath. It had been gods know how long since she had been outside, at least without Tamlin hovering over like a hawk. As she looked around, her eyes snagged on a pair of violet eyes. They were the most beautiful colour she had ever seen, and she had a strong desire to paint them. She was shocked. She had not touched a paintbrush since… since Tamlin. Her breath caught when she saw the rest of the mysterious person's face.

He had a sharp jawline, straight nose, and lips pulled up in a smirk. He was the most beautiful male she had ever seen in her life. But that smirk brought her back to reality. He knew she had been staring, staring too long. She blushed a bright shade of crimson but scowled at him for his cockiness.

He walked up to her and spoke. “I’ve never seen you before. Did you just move here?” His voice was even better than she imagined. It was like a melody. She almost laughed at what she said. Everyone must think she was new on this street since she barely went out, correction barely allowed to go outside. “No, I just don’t get outside much. I’m Feyre” She held out her hand, and he took it while saying, “Rhysand.”

“Reese-and,” she said, testing the syllables on her tongue. He smiled at that for a reason she did not know. “Nice to meet you, Feyre Darling.” She frowned at that. “I’m not your darling.” Her toes curled at the name though, thank god she was wearing boots. He laughed and spoke,” I was just going on a walk, care to join?” She almost declined, about to say Tamlin would never allow, but she stopped herself. What did it matter that Tamlin would never allow? She was a grown-ass adult, for god’s sake.

“I would love to,” she said, and so they walked around the neighbourhood talking about random stuff, but Feyre was distracted. Every move he made, she noticed, every time his eyes twinkled, every time his lips curved into that sensuous smirk, she noticed barely listening to the conversation at this point.

“Feyre?” She realized she had zoned out, staring at his chest a bit too long. But Rhysand was smirking, his eyes alive with humour and amusement. She blushed again and realized that they were back in her street. Her heart sank, knowing she would have to go back to Tamlin when she would rather stay with Rhysand. He caught that too and said, “Hey, I’m always here if you need anything.” She smiled at that and said: “Thank you for the walk, Rhys, good evening.” She felt his stare branding her as she walked toward that dreadful house.

−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−− The next morning, she woke up to an empty bed. Tamlin must have left for work. He left early on Mondays for some “important meetings” or some shit like that. Once she finished brushing her teeth and combing her hair, she walked downstairs to the kitchen. The tap was leaking, and she gritted her teeth, remembering yesterday's conversation. She heard the doorbell ring, so she went to get it. She did not have any friends, so who could it be?

She did not expect Rhysand to be there, especially with a Tupperware in his hands. “Hello, Feyre darling.” He said that smug smirk still on his lips. “What are you doing at my house at 8 a.m.?” He laughed at that and shook the Tupperware. “You told me you like cookies yesterday, and coincidentally my cousin and I made them last night, so I thought I would bring some over.” Surprise lit her face. She did not think he would remember that and was grateful for it nonetheless.

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking the Tupperware. She felt awkward with them standing there, so she said, “Would you like to come in?” she hoped he would say yes. She was craving company. He nodded, and she swears she felt her heart grow three times in size. He followed her into the kitchen, and she put the Tupperware into the fridge. He noticed the leaking tap. “You need help with that?” She blushed and nodded. He walked over to the sink and opened the cabinet. She did not know how, but like magic, the tap stopped leaking. “Thank you so much,” she said, “I haven’t been able to fix it for days.” He shrugged, but he could see a small smile tugging at his lips. “Anything else you need help fixing?”

−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

Rhysand must have been inhuman, for she could not figure out how he fixed her car and bathroom door. She thanked him endlessly for it. “Is there anything I can do to pay you back? I can mow your lawn or something.” He laughed, “Well darling, there are two things I want, but I’ll let you choose.” As soon as she heard the options, she knew her answer.

−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

“I’m home,” Tamlin said as he came through the front door. “Hey,” she said, her voice distant because she was reading a new book she had ordered. “How was you day?” He asked, and she almost laughed at that. She knew he was just making small talk and did not care. “Boring. Neighbour came and helped with those jobs.”

“Oh, okay. Did he want anything for it?”

“He said I could either bake him a cake or sleep with him.”

He laughed at that. “So, what cake did you bake?”

It was her turn to laugh. “I’m not a baker.”

[heirs-of-prythian]

Vanilla and Blueberries

Happy birthday @thelaziestgeek I love you sweetie 😘 and here's the story you wanted. I hope you like it.

Word count: 1.5k

Couple: Feysand

Summary: Little Artemas, Feyre and Rhys's son, tries something new on a hot summer day for the first time.

_____________

The High Lord and Lady of the Night Court stare intently at the Heir of Night. The one and a half year old Heir is sitting in his highchair, wholefully ignoring his staring parents for chilled blueberries, bubbling to himself. His mouth and hands are painted in shades of pink, red and purple. His messy raven black hair is tucked under a sunhat for babies. Other than the hat, he is only wearing diapers. He had been smothered in sunscreen to avoid him getting a sunburn. But his cheeks are already red from the heat.

It's so hot, High Lord and Lady feel as if they were roasted by the sun alone. No clouds to be seen in the endless blue sky. No wind is blowing, the air is completely still. The sun is shining mercilessly down on them. They didn't know if they should curse the Summer Court or the Day Court. Maybe both. The air was so hot and dry. The Rulers of Night decided that being outside in their garden would probably feel better than being inside. Since it felt like they were cooked in there. It was so hot, many of the citizens of Velaris are taking spontaneous baths in the Sidra. And the mates contemplate to do just that too.

Instead the family now sits outside at their garden table. The table was standing on the veranda beneath a huge sunshade to block the sun out for a little. Wind is blowing softly around the small family, due to the High Lady herself. She was dressed in a long, very thin and very loose mint colored sundress, which now blows softly around her legs as she sits barefoot on the opposite side of the table, just across her mate. Who has quite frankly copied his son's outfit and now just wears white shorts. His tattoos are almost glowing his gold skin beneath layers of sunscreen and sweat. They need to apply new sunscreen almost every hour. And as a babe and therefore being more sensitive to the sun, the Heir needs dopple the dosis than his parents. Which explains the three bottles with sunscreen under the table.

Also the whole family wore matching sun hats, which had been a present from the High Lady's older sister. No not the oldest, the other one. Though the oldest sister also got similar hats for her family from the same sister.

Both of the mates were equally distract by the others appearance. They had been stealing not so obvious and completely on purpose glances at each other, while they were arranging everything in the garden. Which contains now also a few sunshades with sunbeds under them, and a tiny pool filled with water and the Heir’s toys right in front of the veranda. After they were done, the mates settled down on the table and now are staring at their babbling son, who was lost in his own world and didn't even notice his parents attention. Their eyes are filled with love, adoration, devotion, calculation and a little bit of worry.

“He will like it, Rhys. Don't worry!”

“And what if he doesn't, Feyre?”

Feyre rolls her eyes. “Everybody likes it and Artemas isn't a picky eater. Of course he will like it,” Than she sighs and looks at Rhys. “I'm more worried that he will refuse to eat anything else from now on.” Rhys snorts a laugh and nods. “Yeah, that does seem more likely,” Than he sighs and looks at Feyre with small smile. “Let's just hope for the best.” “The best being, him liking it and still eating other things instead of it.” They both laugh a little and then smile at each other. Their son really can be a handful, not that they mind it.

Suddenly Rhys feels something cold and tiny hitting his cheek. A chilled blueberry just hit his cheek and is now rolling on the table. Feyre gasps, a hand in front of her gaping mouth. And then she breaks out laughing. A different, slightly pitched laugh accommodates hers, followed by tiny hands clapping. Rhys blinks and turns, but just as he fully faced their laughing son, a second blueberry hit his forehead. Feyre and their son just broke out in harder laughing. Grasping Feyre tells him, pointing at his face. “You have …have ...t-two purple ... dots on your face.”

“Bellies heet Da-daddy!” Their son adds to his mother, still laughing and one hand hitting his highchair table repeatedly. A new blueberry is already in his other hand. He throws again, but Rhys’s hand shot up, catching the berry in front of his face.

“Fuck no! Belly heet Daddy!” The toddler starts wailing. Both hands now hitting his table in demand, the bowl of berries now rattling.

“We don't play with food, Artemas!” Rhys reprimands the pouting Artemas, barely reacting to the word “fuck”. They were far too used to it already. Throwing the blueberry in his mouth, Rhys starts a glaring contest with Art. The two male's glares are determined and focused.

While her most beloved males are having “A Fight for Dominance” (as she liked to secretly call their game, they do it far to often), Feyre calms down and takes the berries from Art's highchair. Getting up, Feyre walked into house and into the kitchen to exchange the bowl of blueberries with three other bowls. Seeing that neither Rhys or Art have given up on their game, she sat down, placing the bowls on front of her. Than she waited until Rhys would give up or Art got distracted. Which honestly couldn't go on very longer.

A few seconds later, Art makes a whine, trying to take of his hat. “Hot! Off! Fuck!” He whines, but before he got off his hat, Rhys stops him. Gently, he pried off the tiny hands of the hat’s rim and sets them flat on the table.

“Little Moon, you need to keep that on.” “Off! Hot!” Art whines pleadingly back. In response to her son's complaining Feyre send a little bit stronger wind to him and he makes a moan that almost sound like purr. Laughing, Feyre takes a napkin and wipes off the sweat on Art's face, she has given up to wipe off the purple berry stains for now.

“Do you want to try something new, little moon?” Feyre asks smiling. “New?” That got Art's attention. Art loves trying new things.

Than he sniffs the air. His eyes widen in excitement. “Vani! Vani!” “Yes Vanilla Art!” Rhys says amused, a smile gracing his lips. Art does love Vanilla a lot. “So would you like to try Vanilla ice cream, Art?” The answer comes in a excited yell of agreement. With the tiny bowl of Vanilla ice cream in hand, Feyre sits closer to Art and takes a tiny spoonful out of it. Art had his mouth already open, watching the spoon with zeal.

The second Art has his mouth closed around the spoon, Art's eyes go wide and he makes a sound that can only be described as a purr. He almost didn't release the spoon. But after he swallows, he makes grabby hands towards the bowl, almost climbing out of his highchair. His eyes are wide as he demands. “Mo-ore! Mo-ore Vani! Cold!” “Yes, yes, you'll get more, but sit down please.” Feyre tries to calm him down, holding the bowl away from her son. Rhys laughs at the sight and than stands and picks up Art out of his chair. Putting him on the table in front of himself, Rhys holds his son's sides, while Art twists and turns to get to the ice cream.

“Where's Lila?” Rhys asks out loud, playing worried. Art stills completely, his breath hitches. “Feyre Darling, have you seen Lila?” A head shake and smile from her. “No? Artemas Darling, where's Lila?” Art now looks around frantically, eyes wide in worry. Art is always very easily to distract with Lila, his favorite stuffed animal. Than he spots her on his highchair, points a finger at her and shouts out relieved. “Lee-la! Thel! Lee-la!” Rhys summons the toy wolf to Art, while Feyre watches, grinning, as Art starts cuddling Lila against his chest, smothering her into even more sunscreen. They will need to wash her later, she already has stains on her. Though she will probably be dumped into the tiny pool behind Art anyway.

The ice cream seem to be forgotten by Art. But not for long! His head shoots up as if he just remembered something important and makes an Ahh sound. Than Art turns with Lila still in his arms to Feyre and demands with a careful, but pleading tone. “Wee Ish cleam, please?” “Of course, little moon.” Art shouts in excitement, bringing up his hands in an hurray, almost knocking over his sun hat with Lila. Picking Art up again, Rhys returned him into his highchair and readjusts his son's sunhat.

And so Rhysand and Feyre feed Artemas the rest of his ice cream on this hot, hot summer day. Fortunately for the High Lord and High Lady, the Heir didn't demanded to be only feeded Ice Cream from now on.

____________

I hope you all liked it.

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me. I would love to answer them.

Tagging: @lux-et-tenebra @mindnumbmikey @starlightheir @guthiix @iamthebonecarverr @tswaney17 @feyres-painting-studio @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks (if you want to get tagged just let me know)

[theladyofdeath]

Alone in the Ashes {2}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click >  Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: And so it begins.

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“When you spend so long trapped in darkness, Lucien, you find that the darkness begins to stare back.” ― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“I’m so sorry, you poor bastard,” Feyre breathed, after learning that Cassian now lived across the hall from her eldest sister. 

He chuckled, drinking from his glass. “She doesn’t seem that bad. That guy of hers seems like a real prick, though.”

Feyre snorted. “Don’t get me started.”

Cassian opened his mouth to speak but Rhysand leaned over. “No, seriously, don’t get her started.”

Feyre nudged him in the shoulder, causing him to laugh. “Anyway, where’s Azriel? He said he’d be here by now.” 

“Had to go get Mila,” Cassian said, finishing off his glass. “Unexpectedly. Just texted about a half hour ago. There was an incident, apparently. The police called this time.”

Feyre nodded, understandingly. It wasn’t the first time Azriel’s plans had changed last minute, but when he was called on, he always went to get Mila. 

Rhysand waved the bartender over, calling for another beer. “Karaoke night. Added you to the list, Feyre.”

Feyre froze. “Uh, no. I’m not going up there. Not after last time.”

Cassian grinned as Rhysand said, “I thought you gave a beautiful rendition of Like a Virgin.” 

“Fuck you,” she murmured, and cursed herself for smiling.

A live band played in the corner, the lead singer getting far too into it. He’d taken his shirt off and given it to a drunk girl cheering him on about thirty minutes before, and after that, Feyre just hadn’t been able to take him seriously. 

“Alright, I’ve had enough sadness,” Feyre said, hopping off her bar stool and handing her tall glass to Rhysand. “Come on, Cass. We’re going to dance.”

Cassian groaned, but it was all for show, because the moment he was on the dance floor, he had his arms around Feyre’s waist and he was swinging her around. 

“You should ask Rhys!” Cassian yelled into her ear above the music. “He’s a better dancer than me!”

“But this is how I get all the ladies to notice you!” Feyre yelled back, grinning from ear to ear. 

Cassian laughed, and spun her in a circle. 

Feyre loved to dance. She didn’t do it often, only when she went out with the boys. She used to dance with Mor, but she was always busy with school, lately, since she decided to further her education. She wanted to be a doctor. How selfish. 

She had called her on the way to the bar, with Rhysand in the car with her, behind the wheel. 

Stop studying and come dance with me, she had said into the phone.

Mor had laughed. It’s finals week! A few more days and I get to come home for the summer. Then, we will dance, I promise. 

Until then, she had Cassian. 

And every time Feyre brought Cassian out onto the dance floor, the girls gravitated toward him. 

True enough, as the second the song ended and another was beginning, a tall, blonde woman with a short black dress and combat boots had come up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. The second he turned to face her, Feyre hurried away. 

Rhysand was laughing, watching the scene unfold. He handed Feyre her glass as she sat back on her stool.

“Works every time.”

“You’re the greatest wing man,” Rhysand agreed, pressing his bottle to his lips. “Alright, now it’s my turn.”

He set his glass on the bar top before standing up and holding out his hand. Feyre drained her glass before putting her hand in his. 

He pulled her close to his body. He smelled of lavender and vanilla.

“Have you been using my soap?” she asked, leaning forward to talk into his ear. 

He laughed, his breath hot against the side of her face as he said, “That depends...will you be pissed if I said yes?”

“Damn it, Rhys,” she said, unable to stop her grin as one of his hands found her waist, the other still in her hand. 

They danced, and Feyre found herself loving every minute of it. Everything came so natural with Rhys. For the first time in a long time, Feyre was enjoying herself without any thought of all she had been going through. 

That joy was nice, while it lasted.

Because half an hour later, Rhysand was pulled back by the shoulder and knocked to the floor by a fist that belonged to a man, all too familiar.

“What the fuck?” Feyre yelled, looking into Tamlin’s deep, green eyes.

“I knew it,” he hissed. “I fucking knew it.”

It was what he had accused her of, once more, when she was at his apartment that morning, getting the rest of her things.

You fucking Rhys, yet? He’d asked.

Feyre never answered him. She just got the box of her shit and left.

Rhysand was back on his feet, a bruise already forming on his eye bone, Cassian having come to Feyre’s side. 

“Fucking whore,” Tamlin spat, then Cassian was standing in front of Feyre.

“You need to leave,” Rhysand said, as the music died down, obvious that there was a scene about to play out.

Feyre was mortified. 

“Why?” Tamlin asked, turning around to face Rhysand. “This is a public space, I am just as welcome here as anyone else.”

“No,” Rhysand said, eyes narrowed. “You’re not.”

“Says the guy that was just knocked on his ass.”

Cassian took a step closer to Tamlin’s back, just as Rhysand took a step closer in front of him. “You need to leave, Tam.”

“Tam,” he repeated the old nickname. “Been a while since I heard that from you. Or Feyre, for that matter. But, I suppose she would stop calling me by my nickname the moment she started fucking you-”

Rhysand’s fist met Tamlin’s jaw, and Tamlin stumbled, catching himself before he could fall onto the floor. 

Feyre’s eyes went wide as blood trickled out of the side of Tamlin’s mouth.

Tamlin started forward, but Cassian intervened, pushing Tamlin back by his shoulders. He whispered something feral into his ear, which made Tamlin stop. He looked from Feyre to Rhysand, shook his head, and walked out. Cassian looked back at the band, and said, “Where’s the music?”

They started up again and people began dancing like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

Feyre’s hands were shaking, though, as she excused herself and hurried to the restroom. She locked herself inside of a stall and cried.

She was pissed.

Pissed at Tamlin, pissed at the sight of him, pissed that he came to ruin her night.

She was pissed at Rhysand, pissed that he’d punched her ex. He was better that than, better than to stoop to Tamlin’s level.

She was pissed at herself. Pissed that she cared. Pissed that it bothered her at all. 

The door opened, and loud footsteps trailed to the other side of the stall door. 

“Feyre.” A soft knock. “Open up.”

“Fuck off,” she said, wiping at her eyes.

“Open the door or I’ll crawl underneath and this floor is disgusting.”

Angrily, Feyre unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Rhysand was standing there, arms crossed. The bruise beneath his eye was turning a soft shade of blue. “I’m sor-”

“I’m ready to go home.”

Rhysand frowned. He reached out for her hand, and she let him take it. He pulled her toward him, into his chest, and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. Okay? I got pissed. I caused a scene. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t just go around hitting people,” she said, voice muffled into his shirt. 

“I know,” he said.

“And I can stand up for myself without the two of you brutes causing a scene,” she said, referring to him and Cassian, who was most likely back to dancing with the tall blonde.

“I know,” he said, and leaned back, taking her face into her hands.

His eyes were full of worry, full of regret.

She understood where Tamlin was coming from, she supposed, in the fact that it would not be the craziest thing for Feyre to end up with Rhys. He was her best friend and she loved him, more than she loved most people, differently than she loved anyone else. 

But they had never done anything. They had only ever been friends.

“Let’s go back out there. Drinks are on me,” he said.

“I thought they were already on you,” Feyre said, and Rhysand grinned, although it didn’t meet his eyes.

“I am sorry,” he said. “You can hit me, if you want.”

“Tempting,” Feyre mumbled, before pushing against his chest. “I’m going to poke you in your bruise when you least expect it.”

Rhysand laughed. “Feel better, do you?”

Feyre rolled her eyes, then pressed her lips to his cheek. Rhysand tensed, but it quickly faded. “Thank you for defending my honor, you savage caveman.” 

Rhysand’s smile was contagious as he took her hand and led her back into the bar.

He called for the bartender and ordered a round of shots. 

~~~~~

“Hungry?” Azriel asked, looking in the rear view mirror of his truck.

Mila sat in the backseat, her pink Velcro shoes kicking wildly. “Yes. I want chicken nuggets.”

Azriel chuckled. “You always want chicken nuggets.”

“Yeah,” she said, as if it were obvious, “because they’re yummy.”

“Alright,” he said, “but then we have to go home and get ready for bed. Okay?” 

“Okay,” she said, slowly. “When can I see Rhysie?”

Mila loved Rhysand more than anyone else. He was her man.

“Tomorrow, maybe. He’s not home tonight.”

“Is he somewhere being naughty?” she asked, giggling.

Azriel snorted. “Probably.”

He pulled into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant and parked. He unbuckled her car seat and carried her inside on his hip. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.

After ordering, they sat near a window and ate chicken nuggets, french fries, and chocolate shakes.

“Is mama okay?” she asked, looking up at Azriel with big, brown eyes. 

She may have only been four, but she saw far more than most people thought she did. Her mother, included.

Azriel set down the chicken nugget he was about to eat. “Yeah, babe. She just...she needs to get a little help, you know?”

Mila nodded, slowly, not quite understanding. “Help?”

“Yeah, from a doctor,” he explained, popping the chicken nugget into his mouth. “Here, know what you should try?”

Mila blinked. “What?” 

He took the lid off her chocolate shake and dipped a french fry into it before putting it into his mouth.

Mila scrunched her nose. “Ewww!”

“You don’t know if it’s ewww until you try it,” he winked. “Try it and I’ll give you a dollar.”

Mila’s eyes grew wide. “A whole dollar?”

Azriel nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Fine,” she said, sassily, before dipping a french fry into her milkshake. She took a bite and thought about it for a second. “That’s yummy.”

“Told you so,” Azriel said, before dipping another french fry into her milkshake.

She stuck her tongue out at him. 

He stuck his tongue out at her, too.

She giggled, and continued to eat. 

And once she was full, Azriel carried her back to his truck and strapped her into her car seat before taking her back to his apartment. The minute he pulled in, she was already fast asleep. She’d had a big day.

He carried her up the stairs and unlocked his apartment door. After slipping off his shoes, he carried her to the back room, the guest room, which was dominantly covered in Mila’s belongings, and laid her down. He took off her shoes and covered her with a blanket.

Mila flopped around before she opened her eyes, sleepily. With a yawn, she said, “G’night, Uncle Az.” 

“Goodnight, babe,” he whispered, and kissed her forehead before clicking on a batman nightlight and cracking the door behind him. 

He meandered into the living room and slumped down in his chair. He grabbed the remote but didn’t turn on the t.v. 

It wasn’t the first time it had happened.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t like having Mila. He loved having his niece with him, but that wasn’t the point, that wasn’t what pissed him off.

Mila was only four, living in a world she didn’t deserve. She was tossed into a situation the moment she had been born that wasn’t fair. 

He fished his phone out of his pocket to see if anyone had called, but his screen was blank. Unsure of what happened with his sister after he’d picked up Mila from the police, Azriel tossed his phone on the side table, turned on the t.v., and settled back into the comfort of his lazyboy. 

Mila believed that the crack of dawn was an appropriate time to wake up.

He’d better get some sleep.

~~~~~

“Mother’s tits, Feyre, your breath smells like shit.”

Rhysand had carried her up the stairs, and she had giggled in his face the entire time. By the time they were inside of their apartment and he was dropping her on the couch, he could hardly breathe from the overwhelming scent of tequila. 

“Thank you for carrying me,” she sang, reaching up for him.

Rhysand shook his head, slipping off one of her sandals, then the other. “You are so fucking drunk.” 

“Says the guy that gave me the shots,” she laughed, and then Rhysand turned on a light and she groaned. “Turn it off!”

Rhysand grinned. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

“No,” she said, yawning, snuggling into the couch. “This is where I’m staying tonight. Right. Fuckin. Here.”

“Let’s at least brush your teeth,” Rhysand said, laughing quietly. “And take a quick shower.”

“You just wanna see me naked,” she slurred.

Rhysand lifted a brow. “If I wanted to see you naked, I would’ve made up an excuse a long time ago. Come on.” 

A lie, but she cooperated, nonetheless.

She clung to him as she stumbled down the hallway. And when she fell into the little bathroom, Rhysand flicked on a light, causing her to groan again. Rhysand, paying her whininess no mind, lifted her up onto the counter top of the vanity and turned on the sink. He grabbed her toothbrush, and put toothpaste on it, before handing it to her.

She blew a raspberry at him.

Rhysand shook his head, exasperated. “Very mature. Open up.”

“No.”

“Come on, Feyre, open up.”

“Nooooo.”

“Open your fucking mouth, Feyre,” Rhysand laughed, pulling at her bottom lip. 

“Fine,” she groaned, obnoxiously, and opened her mouth, wide.

Rhysand, oh so patiently, brushed her teeth for her. “Spit,” he ordered. She did so. Then, he handed her a tiny cup full of water. “Rinse.” She did that, too.

“Better?” he asked, rinsing off her toothbrush before putting it back in the holder. 

When he looked back to Feyre, she was staring at him. “You’re really fucking pretty.”

Rhysand snorted. “So I’m told.”

She took his face in her hands and squeezed his cheeks. His lips popped out as he rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna start the shower. Alright?”

She shook her head. “No, not yet.”

Her voice had grown quiet, her hands on his face loosening. “Do you love me, Rhysand?”

Rhysand lifted a brow as Feyre’s hands trailed down his cheeks, his neck, to his chest, where they rested over his heart. “You know I do.”

“Your heart is beating super fast,” she slurred, eyes bright.

“You are a beautiful woman, Feyre,” Rhysand said, smiling fondly. “But you are not a pretty drunk.”

Feyre scowled. “Start my shower, peasant.”

Rhysand huffed a laugh. “Yes, my Lady.”

He turned to do just that, but she pulled him back by the neck of his shirt, until his face was only an inch from hers. 

“Will you join me in the shower, Rhysie?” she crooned.

Rhysand had imagined her asking him that so many times throughout the years, but her breath did not smell like mint-coated-tequila in any of those fantasies.

“As tempting as that sounds, I don’t think-”

She pressed her mouth against his, hungrily, and Rhysand froze. Her tongue slid against his, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip. 

He pulled back, hastily, and cleared his throat. “Um….I think we should-”

Feyre leaned forward and heaved, puking violently all over Rhysand’s jeans. With nothing left to do, he sighed, gathering her hair into his hands as she cleared her stomach. “You should be happy I fucking love you, Feyre, darling.” 

When she was done, her eyes were glazed over, watering, her skin pale, clammy. He waited a few minutes, holding back her hair with one hand and rubbing her knee with the other, before asking, “Done?”

Feyre groaned, eyelids growing heavy. 

“Alright.” Rhysand pulled off his vomit-covered jeans and t-shirt and tossed them in the corner before taking off her tank top, tossing it in the corner, too.

“Take off your jeans, Feyre,” he ordered, gently, “unless you want to wake up smelling like shit in the morning.”

Rhysand laid a towel down on top of the mess on the floor and helped Feyre to her feet, where he unbuttoned her jeans and helped her slip them off. Her eyes were already fluttered shut as she sat back on the counter top in her bra and panties. Rhysand covered a washcloth in warm water and soap before cleaning around her mouth and down her chest, her abdomen, and her thighs - everywhere the vomit had landed. When he was done, he gathered her up into his arms, and carried her across the hall to her bedroom.

She was already sound asleep when he laid her down and tucked her in.

After shutting her door, in nothing but his boxer-briefs, Rhysand cleaned the vomit off the bathroom tile and vanity before gathering all the dirty shit and putting it into the washing machine. After taking a quick shower himself, he stumbled into his bedroom and fell onto his bed, face first, moaning as his bruise, where he’d been punched, made contact with his pillow. 

It had been a hell of a night.

~~~~~

Nesta stared at the opposite side of the bathroom stall as Tomas thrust himself into her. She tried to fake the noises of pleasure at first, but she eventually gave up as the boredom grew.

Tomas leaned back, eventually, breathing heavily as he took in her expression. “You’re not enjoying this at all, are you?” 

Nesta sighed. “I’ve fucked you too many times. Now, it just feels forced and never lasts long enough.”

His eyes narrowed and he stepped back, dropping his grip on her thighs.

She reached for her jeans on the dingy floor as he zipped up his pants and fled from the stall. 

“Seriously?” Nesta called after him. “Quit acting like an ass.”

Her jeans were halfway up her legs when he left, leaving her alone in the restroom.

Once she was dressed, she left the stall and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still looking good, hanging loosely behind her in curls. Her makeup was hardly smudged. 

Pulling out a cigarette and her lighter, Nesta left the restroom and fell back into the loud, busy club. She pushed her way through the crowd until she was out the front door, into the parking lot.

When she got to their parking spot, Tomas’ car was gone.

“Fuck!” she yelled, looking around, exasperated, but he was already gone. “Fucking prick.”

She took a drag of her cigarette before running a hand anxiously through her hair. 

It was dark.

She lived five blocks away.

It was not the best part of town. 

She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, but it was dead. Of course.

With a sigh, and a hope that no one jumped her, Nesta began to walk back home. 

Nesta liked the dark, the quiet. She liked being alone.

The only reason she had kept Tomas around for so long was because he was convenient. He bought her whatever she wanted and was able to find the shit that was hard to find. Now, she found all that a ridiculous reason to keep him around.

She dented his pride, and he had abandoned her at two in the morning. 

Nesta walked quickly, looking around her often. She finished her cigarette and tossed it in the bushes, crossing her arms across her chest. 

Behind her, a black truck turned the corner, driving slowly in her direction.

Nesta’s heart began beating fast, her pace picking up, just a little bit. She didn’t want them to know she was afraid, didn’t want them to think she was vulnerable. 

Hopefully, soon, they would pass her and let her carry on with her walk.

She had four blocks to go. 

The truck did not speed up. In fact, as the truck got closer to her, it slowed down more. 

She walked even faster, her feet starting to hurt against the pavement in her thin flip-flops. But before she could panic any further, the truck was beside her, and the window was rolling down. “Need a ride?”

She didn’t look their way. She kept her eyes forward, walking quickly, chin held high.

“Nesta!”

Her eyes shot to the road, where Cassian was looking at her with a curious expression.

Nesta stopped.

Cassian stepped on the brakes. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, arms crossed. “You can’t just drive behind a woman in the middle of the night on an abandoned street!” 

Cassian raised a thick eyebrow. “Well, I thought it was you from back there, but I just wanted to be sure. Stopping for a random woman would have been creepy.”

Nesta scoffed. “We don’t know each other. To you, I am a random woman.”

“True,” Cassian agreed. “But we’re neighbors and I’m friends with your sister. So. Get in.”

“No, thanks,” Nesta murmured, pulling another cigarette out of her pocket. “I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Cassian said, following her, slowly, as she started to walk, again. “Get in the car. It’s not safe for you to be walking out here alone and you know it.”

“If I get in the fucking truck will you shut up and let me ride in silence?” she asked, turning to meet him, once more.

Cassian took a few seconds to debate it. “Yeah, alright.”

Nesta rolled her eyes as she went to the truck, but when she pulled on the handle, it was locked. “What the fuck?” she looked at him, annoyed.

“Cigarette stays out,” he said.

Nesta’s lips formed a straight line. “Seriously?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, mocking her tone. “This is a new truck, it won’t be smelling like shit. Put it out.”

Nesta scowled, but did as she was told before opening up the door, this time unlocked, and climbing inside.

Cassian didn’t move.

Nesta sighed. “What now?”

“Seat belt,” he said, and she swore she saw humor dancing in those damned hazel eyes. 

She furiously strapped on her seat belt before grinding out, “There.”

“Good,” Cassian grinned, putting his truck in drive. “Do I want to know why you were walking down the street alone?”

“You probably do,” Nesta said, “but I won’t tell you.”

Cassian chuckled. “Fair enough.” 

They rode the next few blocks in silence, Nesta staring at the dashboard, Cassian sneaking glances at her, every so often. 

“I think you think it’s charming when you look at me like that, but it's not, and I prefer you cut it out,” she mumbled, as they pulled into the parking lot of their apartment complex.

Cassian shook his head. “I think you think people are looking at you when they’re not.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Insufferable,” he repeated. “Nice word. What others would you use to describe me?”

He parked the car and she got out.

She was halfway up the first flight of stairs before he called from behind her, “A thank you would be nice!”

Her middle finger greeted him as he started at the stairs behind her. 

“You’re welcome,” he purred. 

Nesta wanted so badly to come back with a retort, to turn around and snap at him, but she didn’t. She was tired. Exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

All she wanted was to go to bed.

After reaching her apartment and digging her key out of her pocket, she opened the door and shut herself inside. A moment later she could hear Cassian’s door open and close behind him. 

~~~~~

Elain should have been sleeping along with the rest of the city but she had too much energy.

She played her music, softly, careful not to wake her dad.

She did pushups for a minute.

Looked in the mirror.

Did sit ups for a minute.

Looked in the mirror.

Mountain climbers.

Looked in the mirror.

Leg extensions.

Looked in the mirror.

Flutter kicks…

She was breathing hard nearly an hour after she had begun, sweat glistening on her skin.

She stripped off her clothes and after one more glance in her bedroom mirror, she got into the shower. She let the cool water wash over her skin, let it wash away the impurities - the sweat, the stench, the thoughts she couldn’t shake. 

She found her mind wandering all day, those thoughts running wild, after she had seen Graysen’s instagram. 

She was so beautiful, his girlfriend. Long, auburn hair, striking blue eyes. 

She was who he preferred. 

Even when they were together, she was who he preferred. There was a time Graysen had loved her, she knew that, but that didn’t make it any easier when Elain got home early from work one day and saw her little blue car parked in their driveway. 

Elain and Graysen were to be married in two months.

But they would not be getting married anymore. 

Elain no longer warmed his bed, Elain no longer woke up next to him every morning, Elain no longer kissed him goodbye as they both left their home to go to work, to make money, to save for their future. 

Graysen no longer loved her. Graysen no longer found her worthy. Graysen had grown bored with her, bored with the perfect, sweet, Elain Archeron. 

The image still burned in her mind.

She had opened their front door and saw her shoes lying by the welcome mat. Noises of pleasure flooded out of the bedroom, from the bed where Elain and Graysen slept every night. 

Elain would never sleep another night with Graysen in that bed again.

She and Graysen would never share anything again.

Not even the endless void that he’d created in the depths of her soul, nor the voice of insecurity, the voice that sounded a hell of a lot like his, that never left the back of her mind. 

Elain hated him.

Elain loved him.

Elain hated that her love for him wouldn’t fade, hated that she still felt the pain so strongly, too strongly, as if it had just happened yesterday.

As the water grew colder, Elain sunk down into the tub and closed her eyes.

Perhaps she would sleep there tonight. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty

@photofeesh

@mariamuses

@tswaney17

@amaranthas-whore

@awesomelena555

@danika-defendyr

@rachaels14

@hashtolanashoba

@poisonous00

@chemicha

@mynewdreamwasyou

@candid-confetti

@my-fan-side

@ifangirlninja

@sleeping-and-books

@burritowithfeels

@morebooks-pls

@sannelovesreading

@halstudies

@amren-courtofdreams

@wifeofchrishemsworth

@goldr0ses

@humanexile

@booksbooksbooksworld

@girl-who-reads-the-books

@mis-lil-red

@shhhimreading03​

@emilyrose111294​

@negativenesta​

@argentumstella​

@itsme-malin

@flora-and-fae​

@feyrethedarklady​

@starryandbooks​

@gingerglides​

@gloriouspaintercreatorbandit​

@6255igntm​

@littlehoneyybee

@the-regal-warrior​

@awkward-avocado-s​

@aelin-rowan-whitehorn​

@julemmaes​

@regular-nessian-trash​

@ugh-avila​

@superspiritfestival

@the-dark-swan​

@girlgotattitude448​

Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous