#peaky fing blinders but bat boys | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gardenfaerie222 · 2 years ago

Text

A Bouquet of Violets: Chapter 3

Pairing: Feysand

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Feyre is an undercover officer in PPD’s vice squad. Rhys is a mobster who runs a nightclub named velaris lounge. The police need evidence of his illegal transport of drugs and weapons, what they don’t know is no amount of evidence will ever bring him down.

Content Warning: cursing

Feyre woke up to a shrill ring coming from her phone. She groggily reached over, grabbing out for it and hitting just about everything on her nightstand before she finally reached it. Pulling it to her ear, she mumbled out a sleep ladened, “Hello?” closing her eyes and spreading out under the comforter, Tamlin long gone to work.

“Is this Feyre Archeron?” The sleep left her body immediately, Feyre recongnized the sharp voice of the hiring manager, Amren, who had interviewed her only yesterday.

“Um, yes,” Feyre responded, “this is she,” she sat up, pushing the comforter off her sweaty body, immediately wanting to peel the pijamas she was wearing off.

Amren signed into the microphone, and Feyre could picture her pinching the bridge of her nose, obviously irritated, which seemed like a good sign, “We would like to offer you the job, if you could come down today to sign some paperwork, you can start tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Feyre smiled, “I’ll come down around one in the afternoon, if that’s alright with you?”

“That’s fine,” Amren sounded even more annoyed with her, somehow, “Ask for Morrigan at the desk, she can get you the paperwork.”

The rest of the call ended quickly, and Feyre was quickly ready to leave after a shower and some breakfast. She was always happy when Tamlin worked, her chest felt lighter and she enjoyed being alone in their home. She loved him, truly she did, but sometimes he just didn’t seem to understand what was going on with her, or care. Like he couldn’t bother to see where she was coming from, especially if another man was involved somehow. She could never tell him about what actually happened the night Amarantha died, besides the fact he was the DA, he would never believe some random man decided to help her without some kind of… coercion. Feyre knew she wasn’t the one out of the two of them that was skilled in coercing people into doing stuff for them, but it didn’t matter. Her opinions didn’t really matter when Tamlin was around. The way she dressed, talked, acted, hell even breathed was dictated by him. Everything had to be just so, and it didn’t help that when she gave any kind of push back, Tamlin’s secretary, and her friend, was just as quick as Tamlin was to remind her everything he does for her and just how grateful she should be. Ianthe meant well, Feyre knew, but it still irritated her to no end that her friend always took her fiance’s side.

Feyre continued to mull over that as she drove across town to the Velaris Lounge, just as dark and beautiful as it had been the day before. She left a quick message for Eris before she went in, updating him that she had gotten the job and was filling out a fit of paperwork, no thanks to the shitty resume he had provided her. It felt like they were trying to get her killed. She pushed the thought out of her mind as she straightened her shoulders and pushed the door open, once again having to let her eyes adjust to the minimal light in the building. The same blonde was sitting at the front desk, and Feyre approached her giving her a tight smile, “I’m looking for Morrigan?” She asked hesitantly, “I was told I needed to get some paperwork from her? I got hired here this morning.”

“Oh yeah!” The blonde smiled, nodding in recognition, “Amren told me you’d be coming, I’m Morrigan, give me just one second I’ll grad that for you.” She stood from her chair with all the grace of a ballerina and Feyre was reminded of another beautiful blonde. Feyre glanced around the small area of the forye, grabbing a chair and placing her bag at her feet moments before Morrigan returned with a clipboard, some paperwork, and a pen, “Here you go, just fill out the first three pages, the rest are for you to take home,” Feyre nodded, quickly filling it out with all the bullshit information Eris had given her. She returned it to Morrigan, and smiled as she called out a quick, “See you tomorrow!” That Feyre nodded in response too with her own small smile.

She stopped at the store on the way back, picking up some clothing that fit the dress code, and the part, as she returned home and breathed a sigh of relief. No Tamlin. He must of had to work late, which she didn’t mind as she made dinner, saving him a plate before going to sleep. She slept fitfully that night, barely truly resting but managed to convince Tamlin she was already asleep when he came in, murmuring her name under his breath. She managed to fake it until his breath evened out and she continued to toss and turn, trying to get comfortable. She managed to get some rest, somehow, because when she sat up, Tamlin was gone again. She made herself busy, making a breakfast of blueberry muffins to hopefully sustain her through her first, very long, night. She sat on her couch for what felt like hours and probably was before she pulled herself up and started getting dressed. She wrinkled her nose at the outfit, feeling both exposed and uncomfortable in the micro mini skirt and the heeled knee-high boots. The top, a plain white tank top, would have been fine in not for everything else she was wearing. She quickly tossed a jacket over it before heading out the door, and for the third time in three days, to the opposite side of town towards the Velaris Lounge. It looked much more lively later in the afternoon, even if it definitely wasn’t the bustling nightclub it normally was at its prime time. Girls were coming in and out of the doors, all dressed similarly to Feyre which she appreciated. It made her feel less self-conscious knowing all the girls looked like her. She walked in giving small nods and smiles to the different girls as they opened their circle to include her.

“Hey!” A girl smiled at her, and Feyre returned it, this one wider than the timid ones she had been giving before, “Are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” Feyre nodded, “Yeah I applied the other day and did all my paperwork yesterday, so today is my first day,” she explained tugging her arms closer around her, still feeling moderately uncomfortable even if all the girls were dressed like her. The girl nodded in understanding, “you’ll get used to it,” she explained, gesturing to the clothing all the girls were wearing. She felt modest compared to some of the girl's outfits, but each one looked comfortable and confident, which we did not, “So,” the girl continued, most likely trying to distract Feyre from what was making her uncomfortable, “have you met the bosses?” Feyre shook her head no, and the girl grinned at that, “there’s three of them, brothers, and a few people under them after that but it’s the three brothers who everyone knows,” she explained, leaning in like she was telling Feyre a secret, “Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand,” Feyre frowned at the last name, twinging a memory she couldn’t fully recall before pushing it away. She listened to the girl explain how they were always respectful to the working girls, but if anyone ever tried to hurt or harass her, to just reminded them whose club they were in.

A different girl pipped in to tell Feyre to keep her head down, “You’re really pretty Feyre,” the girl told her, glancing around before continuing, “You’re working the top bar which is good because they’re normally in the bottom bar, but if one of the wants you, there’s nothing any of us can do to stop them, just keep your head down and try not to draw any attention to yourself.” Feyre nodded as sickness pooled in her stomach but she kept it down, flinching as a voice outside of the circle, but distinctly feminine called out, “You’re not talking about my cousin are you?”

“No, Mor,” The girl quickly responded and the group around Feyre dispersed, leaving only Morrigan and Feyre staring at each other.

“They’re not as bad as they say,’ Morrigan told her quietly, nodding at Feyre to follow her upstairs into the top bar, “the girls were just trying to scare you, those boys wouldn’t ever hurt a girl who works here.”

“I’m sorry Morrigan I didn’t know they were your cousins and I-” Mor cut her off, furrowing her eyebrows at her.

“It’s just Mor, Feyre, you don’t need to call me by my god-given name,” She laughed slightly, which made Feyre lighten up a little as well.

They started training that day, and every day after that for two weeks. Feyre learned that Mor worked the top bar and the bottom bar, one was open to the public, and the other was private, a bar specifically for crime to take place. Feyre, of course, wasn’t allowed down there during her training. Mor told her she had to get used to the top bar before she could graduate to the bottom bar, but Feyre had a sinking feeling it might have something to do with the icy glare Amren gave her every time she poked her head out of the elevator, looking for Mor whenever Feyre arrived for her shift. Feyre supposed it was fair for Amren to be suspicious, she was here undercover for the police department, but no one knew that. Feyre was receiving the same icy glare right now, as she stepped out of the elevator and into the wide open room. “I’m looking for Mor?” She called, glancing around as her eyes landed on a table full of guns and ammo, and in a corner a group of laughing friends doing drugs. Her eyes were quickly diverted as Amren grabbed her arm, leading her away from the scene Feyre couldn’t tear her eyes away from, “What are you doing down here, girl?” Amren hissed at her, her eyes flickering with violence making Feyre’s hands shake but she kept her voice steady. “I’m looking for Mor,” She explained, glancing behind her to see if she could catch a flash of blonde hair, or a rough estimate of how many guns were on the table. Amren shoved her into an office, snarling, “Just wait here,” she ordered, before slamming the door shut behind her. Feyre glanced around the office, noting the filing cabinets and impressive desk, with a leather chair behind it. Feyre took less than a moment to think it over before she headed towards the filing cabinet and flipped through some of the documents she found in there, weapons orders, drug running, hits, everything was in there, she was reaching to pull her phone out and take pictures when she heard to door open, making her turn on her heels and slam the cabinet behind her closed as she took in the man in front of her. “You,” she gaped, staring at him in shock, suddenly remembering why the name Rhysand sounded so familiar, this was the man who helped her cover up a murder. “You could have called,” He said breezily, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him, “Instead of breaking into my office.”

“I didn’t break in,” Feyre sniffed, crossing her arms, “Amren put me in here because I was looking for Mor.” “Well, Feyre darling,” Rhysand started, a smirk playing on his full lips, “I don’t think Mor is hiding in my filing cabinet.” “Obviously,” Feyre huffed, ignoring the way his eyes were raking up and down her body, making her cross her arms tighter and glace away in disgust. She breathed a sigh of relief when Mor pushed the door open herself, not missing the look of surprise Mor quickly covered as she found both Feyre and Rhysand standing in the room.

“C’mon Feyre,” Mor spoke softly as she ushered her out the door. Feyre huffed as she heard Rhysand call after her, “Nice seeing you Feyre, darling,” her nostrils flared as she stomped behind Mor. She was not getting paid enough for this job. Not by a million.

A/N: The formatting on this chapter is messed up but I don't even know how to fix it, anyways, enjoy :) Rhysie is back

13 notes · View notes

gardenfaerie222 · 2 years ago

Text

A Bouquet of Violets: Chapter 1

Pairing: Feysand

Rating: Explicit

Content Warning: Assult Mentioned, Violence, Domestic Violence, Cursing, Mental Health

“Fey…re…?”

“F…eyre?”

“Feyre?”

“oh, I’m sorry,” Feyre blinked, “what was the question?”

“How are you handling everything?” The therapist asked her, and Feyre stared at her blankly. How was she handling everything? What was everything? The man she killed a few months ago, her partner setting her up to be assaulted only to get herself killed? Of course, the therapist was only asking about one of those things. It was assumed when she was found that something had been attempted, but she refused a rape kit and told them she was fine, even with the ripped tights bundled deep into the back of her closet. She thought she might burn then, but who knows if nylon is even flammable. She could probably google it, but what was the bother.

The therapist was staring at her expectantly, and Feyre realized she still hadn’t answered the question that had already been repeated to her, “I’m fine, eveything’s going well,” she smiled, trying to force it to reach her eyes. Her therapist didn’t look convinced, and Feyre didn’t blame her. She looked terrible. She had lost weight, already previously being petite it did nothing to keep her from looking like a skeleton or a scarecrow. Her hair was flat and dull, looking more like mud then the bronzy gold it had been previously. Her skin was sallow, and pale, her eyes rimmed in a nasty purple. She looked like she hadn’t slept in months, probably because she hadn’t. Every time she tried she dreamed of a nameless, quite literally faceless, man staring at her. Asking her why she did it, running his hands up and down her legs, finishing what he had tried to start. It terrified her, startling her awake. The bouts of nausea after her nightmares half convinced her something from her dream was true, that maybe she compartmentalized, and that she was pregnant. That test scared her more than any siren did, even if they still make her flinch.

The case into what happened with Amarantha and her, and was she assumed was an assignment from vice had been dragging. Internal affairs ordered her to attend these therapy sessions, among a million interviews about what had happened. Of course, what Amarantha had done wasn’t a part of any investigation. She was corrupt. Feyre was quickly finding out, the whole Prythian Police Department was. Amarantha was being hailed as a hero, even if her and the IA officers all knew the case they were “working” wasn’t exactly above board. It left a sour taste in her mouth to see the woman who let her be drugged, and was going to let some man assault her under the pretense of doing her job, be buried with honors and her photo hung in the precinct.

None of this Feyre could tell the woman in front of her, as she offered a smile that probably looked more like a grimace, “Really, everything’s going well, I have a great support system.”

Another lie, her support system consisted of her fiance, Tamlin, and no one else. Feyre’s sisters didn’t talk to her anymore, she probably hadn’t heard from them in almost half a decade. Not since she graduated college and moved in with Tamlin. She could still hear them telling her not to, not to move away from them, not to move in with him. She didn’t see what they saw then, that Tamlin was crazy, controlling, and heading down the path of physical abuse. He hit her, but occasionally she’d end up with bruises on her arms in the shape of fingers, and much more frequently, with drywall in her hair from where he’d punch the wall next to her head. She hated when he was like that, he scared her. Anger flashing in his eyes, his jaw gnashing like a wild beast, spit flying. He’d probably kill her someday, she didn’t know if she’d stop him.

“Feyre, I can’t help you, unless you help you,” Her therapist eyed her over glasses, but Feyre kept the smile plastered on her face.

“The best thing for me is to get back to work,” Her therapist didn’t seem to believe her, but Feyre finally got the stamp she was waiting on. She was fit to return to work. She actually really did like her therapist, and maybe if it wasn’t ordered by internal affairs, Feyre really could have utilized the resource. She wished she could talk about her nightmares, and the fact that she killed someone, the fact that she’s happy Amarantha died. God, she felt like a terrible person. The walk out to the parking lot, and the drive back to her house, she felt dread settle in her stomach. She got to return to work, which was great, but her coworkers weren’t the most accepting. It also didn’t help that after Amarantha’s death she got a good idea of who was corrupt and who wasn’t. One heavily outweighed the other.

Could she really even judge the other corrupt officers when she knew she was a murderer? It was a dilemma she dealt with daily since the incident. She thought she was a good person, and she thought the man she killed was a bad person, but she was biased. Of course, she thought she was a good person, who actually thinks they’re a bad person? At the same time, how could someone who drugged and assaulted women think they’re a good person? That’s the question. There’s plenty of stories on the news excusing rapist, and even more podcasts and videos online saying men couldn’t help themselves. Maybe they really did think they were good people.

Feyre shrugged off that train of thought as she pulled into the driveway of the house she shared with Tamlin. She glanced at his car sitting in the spot next to her and steadied her mind for a moment before pushing the car door open and stepping out. It took her less time than she wished to get to the front door, turn the key, and step in, “Tam? I’m home,” She called out, plopping her bag down next to the door and kicking off her shoes.

“How’d it go?” He called back to her, but she didn’t miss the slight mockery in his tone as he appeared in the doorframe of his office.

“It was fine, we just talked about Am a little bit,” She responded, admittedly glazing over most of the appointment since she herself wasn’t really paying attention.

“I don’t know why they’re making you do that,” Tamlin scoffed, moving across the foyer into the kitchen to lean against the counter.

“I don’t know Tam, maybe because my partner was murdered while we were on a job? They seem to think that might be a little traumatizing, not to mention everything else,” She rolled her eyes, knowing full well she had developed an anxiety disorder and PTSD. Her therapist had told her as much.

“Yeah, right,” He scoffed, crossing his arms, “You and Amarantha went out, off the job, you let some guy touch all over you and she got shot, you weren’t even there when she got shot what do you even need therapy for?”

“That’s not how it works,” Feyre snapped back, her eyes blazing, “I was fucking drugged Tamlin, I have no idea what happened when I was out. I didn’t even want to drink, Am made me.”

“Oh, what?” He laughed, “Did she pour the drink down your throat? Hold your nose closed? Be serious, Feyre.”

“God, you’re such an asshole,” Feyre mumbled, turning to walk back toward their bedroom. The first thing she felt was a searing pain in her wrist, making her flinch as she whipped around. Tamlin was holding her arm, tightly.

“Tam,” Feyre whimpered, eyes becoming glassy as he squeezed tighter, “you’re hurting me.”

“You need to show me respect,” He seethed, glowering down at her, “You should thank the stars I didn’t leave you when you cheated on me, and came back all messed up in the head. I’m sticking by your side Feyre, because I love you,” he stroked her cheek with his free hand, but his vice-like grip on her wrist didn’t loosen.

“I am grateful Tam,” She breathed out, eyes watering and a few tears overflowing, “I know this is really hard for you,” she felt bile rise in her throat as she spoke the words.

“Well, I’m glad you understand that,” He smiled at her, but it wasn’t kind as he released her wrist, and she rubbed the sensitive skin.

Feyre braced herself as she let the other shoe drop, ‘I got cleared to return to work.”

“What? Why do you need to go back to work? Especially if you’re so traumatized from your last assignment,” her nostrils flared at the mocking tone he took on when he mentioned her therapy but she stayed silent, taking a breath before formulating a response.

“I love my job Tam, I really want to go back,” She pleaded, “it’ll be good for me to get back into the routine.”

“Whatever Feyre, do whatever you want,” Tamlin rolled his eyes at her, barely glancing at her as he moved to go back into his office, “you never listen to me anyway.”

She didn’t breathe until he closed to door, no matter how small the buffer was, she appreciated it. She went to their room, turning the water as hot as she could tolerate it, stripping off her clothes and glancing at herself in the mirror. She looked terrible, her hips and collar bones protruding, her face gaunt, her healthy glow gone. She glanced away, stepping into the shower and promptly sitting under the practically boiling steam water. She scrubbed her skin till it was pink and raw, and sat until the water turned to ice, she sat until she heard Tamlin come into the bedroom, and knew it would be a long night of playing the dutiful fiance and shooting awake from nightmares with seconds to make it to the bathroom.

“You coming, Feyre?” Tamlin asked her from behind the closed door of the bathroom.

“Yeah, of course, just give me a second,” She called back, wrapping herself in a robe and taking a deep breath to steady herself before opening the door, giving him a soft smile and hiding her bruised wrist behind her back.

12 notes · View notes

gardenfaerie222 · 2 years ago

Text

A Bouquet of Violets: Chapter 2

Pairing: Feysand

Rating: Explicit

Content Warning: Cursing, Allusions to Coercive Sex, Mental Health, Mentions of Sexual Assult, Mentions of Violence

Cold water washed away the sweat from the night, though it did nothing to help the anxiety pooling in her stomach. The cool tile, mixed with the cold perspirations of being awoken by another nightmare, soothed the nausea pooling in her stomach. Tamlin still laid in their bed, wrapped up in the taupe, cotton comforter she had picked. He slept peacefully through her vomiting in the early hours of the morning. She guessed she was grateful, Feyre didn’t imagine he would take kindly to being woken up in the middle of the night, and there were only so many issues she could focus on at any given moment. The one on her mind right now? Her first day back at work.

She loved her job, truly. She loved that she was able to put away the bad people polluting the streets of a city she had grown to love. It didn’t matter if she hadn’t chosen to move here, and just followed Tamlin like the love sick puppy she was. She loved it now. There was a certain art to her job, a mystique. She was an actress, playing a part. Just, instead of getting an Oscar, she was lucky if she wasn’t shot, or evidently, raped.

Pulling herself off the floor each morning was the hardest part of the day, everything after that seemed easier in comparison. Gripping the corners of the sink to hoist herself up, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot. Feyre hated that she cried while she thew up, but she always had. Probably some residual trauma from her childhood her therapist would love to pick apart. There were probably lots of parts of her that her therapist would enjoy prying out of her only to shove it back in for her to deal with. Correction, for her to deal with alone, because no amount of internal affairs ordered therapy was going to make Feyre talk. Her burden was hers to bear, and she had no one to listen or offer advice. Especially not someone on IA’s payroll.

Feyre creeped quietly out of the bathroom and into their shared closet. Tamlin may take more than he gave, in all parts of their relationship, but damn did he give her some nice things too. She browsed the many trousers she had hanging, on specific velvet hangers made especially for pants, and took great care to only touch the pants, not the fabric keeping them hanging neatly. Settling on a plain pair of black pants, she moved on to shirts. Similar hangers, similar issues. It didn’t take her long to pick something appropriate for work, tucking a silky blouse into what were now much too large pants, grabbing for a belt and a pair of shoes to toss together. That’s the thing about business casual, it’s relatively easy to put together.

The drive to the Prythian Precinct was quick, getting her there a half hour early, but she sat in her car stilling her nerves until she only had five minutes to make it to her cubicle. As it turned out, it didn’t even matter.

“Feyre, a moment,” A distinctly cool voice ordered as soon as she made it inside the door.

“Of course, Chief Vanserra,” She responded, dutifully filing in behind him into the glass office near the front of the building. His son, Eris, was sitting in a chair across the desk, next to an empty one she assumed was hers. Beron and Eris Vanserra, Police Chief and Detective respectively, the most blatant act of nepotism she had ever seen with her own eyes.

“We’re so glad you were able to make it back to us in one piece,” Eris offered her in a tone that made Feyre think he meant anything than what he just said.

“Well I’m glad to be back,” She responded, setting her bag down softly as she sat in the stiff mahogany colored leather chair.

“We were so happy to get the report back from interal affairs,” Beron started, sitting in his own high back chair behind his desk, actual mahogany this time. He flipped through a few pages of the report infront of him, hers, Feyre assumed.

“Well, I’m glad you found everything satisfactory,” She eyed the father and son, not exactly sure why she was sitting in the room. Beron and Eris had never paid her much mind before, so why now?

“Yes, quite so, in fact,” Beron paused, focusing on a line in the report before finishing his statement, “We have an immediate assignment for you.”

Feyre was shocked, so soon? She knew her report would be fine, she didn’t mention anything about her bending the law slightly regarding a murder, but shouldn’t she start back at the desk? She voiced as much, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I would have another assignment so soon.”

“Yes well, crime waits for no man and all that,” Eris answered for his father, not bothering to glance at her. She never quite enjoyed the redheaded man, or his father, and something about the hue of his hair had her stomach forming knots that rivaled the ones she woke up with when she needed to empty everything her stomach contained.

“There’s a gang operating out of a club, The Velaris Lounge, I’m sure you’ve heard of them? The bat boys,” Beron said the name like he had tasted something distinctly sour, “They’re a danger to the city, filling the streets with drugs and guns, making Hewn so unsafe. We were waiting to send an operative in when it would be the most discreet, and it just so happened there was a job opening. We need you to go apply, and to get it.”

“And how,” Feyre paused, looking the man in front of her up and down, “am I supposed to ensure I get this job?”

“We have another officer, Keir, who works there. He just so happens to be the hiring agent, he’ll ensure you get the job, just ask for him once you get inside,” The snarky tone Eris took with her, like her question was somehow beneath his intelligence made her nostrils flare, but she simply nodded, moving to get up, assuming she was now excused.

As she reached the door, grasping the handle, Beron made her pause, “Are you sure you can handle it, Feyre? We need all of our officers… thinking with a clear head.”

She saw red, stiffening, “of course I can,” She sniffed, grasping the door handle to tightly her knuckles were white, “I’ll get started right away.”

That’s how Feyre ended up in her car, once again, on the opposite side of the city sitting in front of a relatively large nightclub. It was pretty, she mused. All glass walls with glistening lights she could see even in the daytime. They looked like stars. She steeled her nerves as she climbed out of the car door, shutting it harshly behind her. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her work clothes, the click of her heels hitting the pavement like nails on a chalkboard as she approached the front door, also made of glass. Pushing it open, she was met with darkness. Momentarily blinded, it took her a moment to see the beautiful blonde behind the front desk, lounging in a scarlet outfit, painting her nails to match.

“Hello,” Feyre called, the sound of her shoes still gritting on her nerves.

“How can I help you?” The blonde asked, looking up and Feyre was stunned. She thought she was beautiful before, but seeing her looking up at her, Feyre knew she was probably one of the most beautiful girls she had ever seen, even rivaling her sister, who Feyre had always assumed was the prettiest girl she would ever meet.

“Oh, um,” Feyre stuttered, fumbling for her words, “Sorry, I’m here to apply for a job? I think it’s the bartender, drink runner position?”

“Oh yeah!” The girl smiled, “Hold on a sec, let me go grab Amren,” Amren? Feyre hadn’t heard of an Amren, but she was glad she hadn’t come in asking for Keir. Old intel never worked in her favor in this line of work.

The blonde disappeared behind some closed doors but quickly reappeared with a petite, dark-haired girl in tow, Amren she assumed. She was also beautiful, but in a distinctly frightening fashion that sent a shiver up Feyre’s back. She offered the dark-haired girl a smile, one that wasn’t returned.

“Follow me,” She barked, and her tone left no room for questions. Feyre trailed quickly behind Amrens back, settling into a booth in the near-empty lounge after Amren herself had already been seated.

“Well, what do you want?” Amren asked, and Feyre felt it was an odd question to ask for a job interview.

“Um, actually I’m here to apply for the bartender, drink runner position? I mean,” Feyre blustered, “I don’t actually have any bartending experience but,” She held up a package that had been laying in her cubicle, a fake resume, distinctly lacking in bartending experience for a bartending job, “here,” apparently, thinking they knew the hiring manager made Beron, and Eris by extension, sloppy. How was she going to get a bartending job with no experience?

Amren quickly glanced over her resume, sprinkled with facts both real and fake, huffing with indignation. That’s it, Feyre thought, I’m screwed.

“This is a piss poor resume,” Feyre flinched, knowing it was true, “you should be grateful I’m not the final decision, girl, I wouldn’t hire you with a gun against my head,” that sounded like a distinctly backhanded way that she got the job, “we’ll be in touch.”

Feyre left, leaving a message with Eris, who was to head her assignment, about her progress. She made it home quickly, showering and changing out of her work clothes. She prepped dinner, wet hair running down her back as she flitted around the kitchen. Her motions still as she heard the front door open, “Hey Tam,” she called in greeting.

“Hey baby,” he responded, pressing a kiss to her cheek and then assessing her up and down, “You know I don’t like when you walk around with wet hair, it looks messy.”

“Oh,” She did know, she had just chosen to do it anyway, “I’m sorry, I forgot. I just had a really long day at work.”

Tamlin rolled his eyes at that, and she took it as a sign to stop talking about work. Feyre ate her dinner in silence, listening to Tamlin rant about how the Assistant District Attorney didn’t want to pick up a case he thought they should, and how it was his call anyways, as Prythians DA. Another example of nepotism in Feyre’s life, as Tamlin’s father had also been the DA, and his connections had most definitely gotten him the job.

She cleared dishes quickly and quietly once they finished, crawling into bed with him. She hid a grimace as he pulled her closer, pressing his lips against hers. She responded with despondent enthusiasm, just enough to not make him angry. Feyre flinched as she felt his hand skin under the waistband of her pants, pulling away.

“Tam, not tonight, please,” she spoke, dodging the kiss he tried to grace her with, “I had a really long day and I’m not in the mood.”

“Feyre,” Shit, “I really need to relieve some stress,” he skimmed his lips against her neck and trailed his hand lower, “C’mon baby, I love you so much and I really need you right now. I’m aching for you.”

“Tam seriously I’m not in the mood,” His persuasion changed tactics, his teeth nipping at her sensitive flesh making her wince.

“Look at all this stuff around you, if I provide for you, I need you to provide for me,” he urged, soothing where he bit with his tongue, making her swallow in defeat.

“I just-” She sighed, closing her eyes, “Can you be quick? Please?”

A/N: First author's note! I hope y'all can catch the little triggers in her everyday life she's experiencing, and I hope the ending wasn't too triggering for anyone. I don't know if I should put a trigger warning right above it? Also, I'm drawing a lot of Feyre's trauma response from my own experience and what was in the books and kinda mashing it together, I hope it's coming out okay! I hope yall enjoy!

14 notes · View notes

gardenfaerie222 · 2 years ago

Text

A Bouquet of Violets: Prologue

Pairing: Feysand

Rating: Explicit

Content Warning: Attempted Assult, Violence, Swearing

It was dark, and the shadows seemed to creep into the edges of her vision. Long legs covered in sheer black tights stood on the edge of the street in tall heels, much taller than comfortable, disappearing into an animal print coat. Feyre blew a breath of air out, fanning her hair off her face. A flash of auburn caught her eye, making her turn.

“Hey Am,” Feyre breathed, smiling at her partner. Amarantha, her partner in vice who had years on her in experience. Feyre supposed she was lucky to be able to work with her.

“Feyre,” Amarantha nodded curtly at her, eyeing her up and down in distain. Feyre suddenly felt very self conscious, pulling her coat in tighter to cover the dress she wore. Amarantha was beautiful, in an ethereal sort of way. She looked… sharp. Sharp angles and cheekbones, sharp eyes, even her lips somehow looked sharp, with an extreme cupids bow and the corners of her mouth. Feyre supposed that was just her makeup, the costume she put on for this job. That was all it was anyways, playing a character.

They stood in silence for a moment, taking in the part of the city they were in. Seedy bars and motels littered the narrow street, Hewn, the red light district of Prythian.

“Are you ready?” Amerantha asked her, giving her a feline girl, and Feyre gave her a tight one in return.

“Of course,” Feyre nodded, motioning Amerantha to take the lead. This was hers after all, Amerantha had done the work. She knew the places the guy they were after frequented, and what times, but Amerantha had gotten them in, given Feyre the opportunity to join her. She was nervous, this wasn’t her first time on the job, but something in the pit of her stomach was screaming at her to turn around and run.

“Then lets go,” too late, Feyre thought, following behind the head of auburn hair as they walked into the popular gentlemen's club. Loud music and the smell of alcohol hit her like a slap in the face. The blacklights left her coat glowing, only little patches of black on her coat reminded dark.

“Ammy!” a masculine, and distinctly slurred voice, yelled soon after they walked in, slinging an arm across Amarantha’s shoulder, glancing back towards Feyre, “and who’s this?” he grinned.

“Feyre, my duckling” Amarantha responded, relaxing into his arm, “so be nice.”

“Awe Am, don’t you know we’re always nice,” a different man responded, moving to place a drink in her hand.

“Oh,” Feyre looked at it in surprise, “no thank you,” she offered him the same tight smile she offered Amarantha before they walked in.

“C’mon Feyre, take it,” Amarantha pushed, offering her an encouraging nod. She took it gingerly, eyeing whatever liquid was in it.

“What?” the guy laughed, but there was no humor behind it, “you think we’re going to drug you or something?”

That’s exactly what Feyre thought, but at Amarantha’s forcefully kind, “drink up,” she feigned a sip.

“Oh no Feyre, that won’t do,” Amarantha’s plastered grin didn’t reach her eyes, “drink. Up.”

“Amarantha I really-” Feyre started, but was quickly cut off.

“Drink it.” Amarantha snapped, pushing the cup towards Feyre’s lips. She tried to take a reluctant sip, but Amarantha push the cup as she was drinking, spilling a bit down the sides of her mouth, and ending up with a much larger gulp than she intended. The bitter taste hit her like a slap in the face, as she wiped away the droplets that had slip down from her mouth. A glare settled on her face as she eyed Amarantha angrily, but she just got a smile back in return, “come, sit with us.”

Feyre settled at Amarantha’s side, taking slow careful sips of the drink in front of her at Amarantha’s behest. She eyed her partner warily as she fell into easy conversation with the men sitting at the same table as them. Feyre knew Amarantha had done the work to catch these men, get close to them, but this seemed extreme. This seemed too close.

“Feyre get up,” Amarantha ordered, and Feyre looked up dizzily. Had the light’s always been this bright? The music always this loud? She didn’t know. Feyre tried to stand, but her legs didn’t seem to be able to support her weight, and she swayed, almost falling. She would have, if the man who handed her the drink in the first place didn’t catch her.

“Woah,” He breathed as he steadied her, “watch yourself, I wouldn’t of let you take the drink in the first place if I knew you were such a lightweight,” he laughed, but something in his eye’s looked off. Feyre tried to think, but she felt like her head wasn’t working, it felt wrong, all wrong. This wasn’t right. She was at work, she never would have let herself get drunk, she didn’t even drink that much, did she?

She didn’t know, she just let him guide, or more like drag her, along with the rest of their party as they retired in a back room. She felt herself be settled in front of a golden-trimmed mirror, on a red velvet sofa. It was pretty, she mused, running her hand along the soft fabric.

“30 minutes, okay?” Amarantha ordered the same man, not even glancing at Feyre, “I don’t know how much of it she actually drank and I don’t want this coming back to bite me in the ass.”

Feyre vaguely heard her partner, but she felt like she couldn’t comprehend what was actually being said. She felt tired, so tired. She just wanted to lay her head down. She rested her head on the same soft fabric, not bothering to kick her feet up. She wished she had her coat on, wait, why didn’t she? She came in with it on. She knew she did. She glanced around the room again, and Amarantha and the other man were gone. When did they leave? She didn’t hear them leave.

“It’s just you and me,” The only one left in the room told her, a chuckle leaving his lips, but it sounded hard, cold, like ice.

“I-” Feyre started, but she was having a hard time put the words together, “I want to-”

“Shh” he coo’d as he moved hair out of her face, “this will only take a second.”

She felt him rip her tights, running his hands up and down her now bare thigh. No no no, she thought, starting to panic. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. She was here as an officer, with her partner, they we’re supposed to put these men away. What was happening? As soon as she felt his hard ghost up her dress, she bolted. Her legs felt like jelly and her head felt like cement but she had to get out of here. Amarantha set her up, she realized. This was never going to be a take down, this was a sacrifice, and she was the offering. Please, please, please, someone help me, she shouted into the void, at God, at the stars, at whatever was listening. She barely made it 3 feet before he grabbed her hair, yanking her head back to face him.

“Behave,” he barked at her, all pretenses of civility gone. He threw her down, and she landed, crashing into the mirror and causing broken glass to splinter all around her. Feyre groaned, rolling onto her back as her head ached. She felt the pressure of him above her, straddling her, pushing her dress up so he could touch her. The soft clinking of his belt as he started to undo it was what sent her into action. She grabbed a shard of glass, gripping it so tightly in her hand that she probably cut down to the bone. She didn’t feel the pain, as she shoved it up into the man leaning over her, leering over her. He looked shocked, glancing down at his chest, but not as shocked as when she did it again. Over and over, her hand and the shard became slick from the blood running between her fingers. She didn’t stop when he toppled on top of her, she rolled them over and kept going.

Feyre didn’t know how long she kept going, she also didn’t know when she started crying, but when she stopped, she tumbled off of him and promptly passed out from whatever drug he had given her. She didn’t know that just like how Amerantha betrayed her, she was betrayed in turn. She didn’t hear the gunshot that killed her corrupt partner, what she did hear, when she finally came to was, “and what do we have here, darling?”

Her head still felt like it was filled with rocks, but as she glanced at the body next to her, she screamed, and then threw up. She couldn’t even tell what he looked like anymore, she must have migrated while she was holding the shard of glass. The glass, where was the glass? Still held tightly in her hand. She glanced at it, and at the man who had entered the room as she moved to sit up. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, even in this situation. Dark hair, tan skin, piercing eyes, and he stood with power and authority. She realized at once that she was fucked. She probably just killed someone he knew, and there was no way she would get the edge of surprise she had previously, she didn’t even know if she could stomach trying, but she gripped the shard tighter in her hand.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay” he soothed, not approaching her. She wouldn’t either, she supposed, seeing as how she was currently covered in another mans blood and still held the weapon she used to stab him to death, “put it down, and we can talk,” he offered, somehow a smirk crossing his features, even in this situation. Feyre decided he may have been the most beautiful man she had ever seen, but she hated him. No decent person was this calm in this kind of situation.

“Did he work for you?” she managed to ask, not wanting to put down her weapon just in case she needed to use it again.

“No,” The man answered, an amused smirk still on his face. Feyre wanted to smack it off, “You actually just handled quite the little problem for me, so thank you.”

She eyed him suspiciously, glancing back at the body on the floor, and had to hold back the gag that rose in her throat. She knew he could see the tears in her eyes threatening to spill, but at that moment she really couldn’t care, “oh my God,” she mumbled, feeling the retch in her throat, “oh my God, I just killed someone, oh my God what am I going to do.”

He stepped closer as the glass shard slid from her hand, clattering and splintering on the floor, She glanced up, catching a look at herself in the shattered mirror, or what was left of it. In the distorted mirror, she saw her golden brown hair dyed crimson, her ivory skin stained burgundy, and her black dress becoming maroon. She was painted in the crime she committed. God, she was a police officer, she knew the law. This wasn’t self-defense, self-defense didn’t apply after she could have gotten away. She didn’t even try to get away. She just kept going until she passed out. There was no way she was going to get out of this.

“I’m going to jail,” she mumbled, staring desperately at her hands, so covered in red it looked like she had on opera gloves.

“Call the police,” Tall, dark, and handsome, responded above her, “turn yourself in,” He shrugged. She knew she should, it was the right thing to do. She wasn’t above the law, she was the law.

“I-” she cut herself short, she couldn’t. This man wasn’t innocent, he tried to assault her, and she couldn’t doom herself to a life in prison just because she took a bad man out of this world. Isn’t that what my job is about? She thought, staring blankly at the red stained ground, removing bad men from the world?

“You can’t,” He finished for her, gingerly stepping over the glass in polished black shoes, “but I need you to, in exactly 20 minutes,” Feyre looked at him in surprise, 20 minutes? If he was going to make her turn herself in shouldn’t he do it immediately?

“What?” She managed to push out, staring at him in apprehension.

“Listen to me,” he started, the smug amused look now gone from his face, “You’re going to call the police, you’re going to tell them that you were drugged, which you were, and that you don’t remember anything, when you came too, your tights were ripped and there was a man bleeding out next to you, you tried to save him, that’s why you’re soaked in his blood. Do you understand?” She nodded numbly at him, looking at the scene around then, “I need you to repeat back what I said, show me you understand,” He grabbed her face in his hands, making her look at him.

“I’m going to call the police in 20 minutes, I was drugged after my friend brought me here, when I woke up, my tights were ripped but there was a man on the floor next to me. I tried to save him, when I couldn’t I called the police,” she repeated, staring into eyes she hadn’t been able to see as clearly as before. They were violet, she didn’t even know that was possible, to have eyes that hue.

He scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion, “You’re friend?”

“Yes,” Feyre responded, though now she supposed Amarantha wasn’t her friend anymore, “she had auburn colored hair, sharp cheekbones, tall, thin,” she described.

“Ah,” He mused, regarding her, almost like he thought she wasn’t going to like what he was about to tell her, “She’s outside, shot, she was dead when we got here.”

Feyre didn’t hear the we part, only that Amarantha was dead, “Well, she brought me here for him,” she shook her head towards the body, “So I suppose I won’t be in mourning long.” He laughed, he actually laughed at her. It was a light chuckle, but it made her anger flare.

“Well, then they both got what they deserve, didn’t they?” He surmised, an amused look still in his eyes. “Well, since I’m keeping you from getting arrested, the least I deserve is your name.”

She scrutinized his face, and shook her head free of his hand still holding her own face, debating, “Feyre,” she finally replied, a bit reluctantly.

“Well, Feyre darling,” he tried her name out on his tongue, seemingly deciding he liked it before continuing, shoving a card in her hand, “if you ever need anything, give me a call.” He left quickly after that, ordering some people outside to clear out, the police would be on their way soon. It took her fifteen minutes before she actually read the card. It only held a first name and a number she knew she wouldn’t need. These weren’t her kind of people, this isn’t what she does. She took an oath to serve and protect, and tonight it just so happened she needed to protect herself. She protected others too, any other girl who would have been his victim. She wasn’t a criminal like she was sure the man who helped her had been, as she glanced at the card in her hand, trying out the name on her tongue.

“Rhysand.”

9 notes · View notes