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writtenonreceipts · 6 months

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We are slowly (oh so slowly) chugging along on this fic!

Find the Masterlist here! // AO3

warnings: none!

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Of Friendships and Families

It was well after midnight when Rhysand returned home that evening. Between follow-ups with the city sheriff, fending off news reporters, and ensuring shops were boarded up properly—it was nearly two in the morning that Rhys could finally relax.

His apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

It had never really bothered him that he could remember. But for a few months now he’d realized just how off putting it could be. The space was big, too big for just one person, and despite being in the center of the city it was damn near isolating. Everything was modern, updated with the newest styles and appliances to fulfill every modem of comfort. Usually his place was a mess of chaos with his brothers, Mor, and Amren crawling around and he didn’t notice it.

Tonight, had been different.

Because his father had shown up and been Benham about everything.

As soon as he’d seen his father talking to Feyre, a pit formed in his stomach. Nothing good could come from the two of them interacting. His father wasn’t cruel, not really. But he did have an eye single to his own purposes and desires. So Rhysand didn’t trust the interaction no matter how brief. And then Feyre disappeared, only for Cassian to tell him she’d left with her sister.

And he knew that Benham had royally screwed things up for him. Not that Rhys knew what had happened, yet, but it couldn’t be good.

Rhys made his way to his bedroom, passing the too big kitchen and too clean living room. His apartment had a modern feel to it—dark wood, metal fixings, and monochromatic decorations. Nothing special about it really, even though everything he’d worked towards in his short adult life was supposed to get him here. Business school, a minor law degree, even a few courses in civics.

This was everything he’d wanted.

Supposedly.

As he was readying for bed, he found his phone and found the small texting thread he had with Feyre. Before he thought better of it, he sent out a message.

>>Rhys: Sorry for the late hour, I just wanted to check in and make sure you were alright?

He waited for a minute, two. The message sent turned to read but no new message came through. Five more minutes later and he knew that she wasn’t going to respond. It took all of his self control to not fire off another message, or worse call her. Instead, Rhys plugged his phone into its charger and walked away.

No good would come from being overbearing or too much into her business. Maybe he’d have Mor follow up with Feyre. Though, he had a feeling that with or without him, Mor would be friends with Feyre no matter what.

Still, as Rhys prepared for bed and what little sleep, he was going to get, he couldn’t help but worry that whatever had started with Feyre was not over before anything had really begun. He should have known his father would have come around as the police commissioner. Should have tried harder to keep that man from the scene as best he could.

For as long as Rhys could remember, Benham had snaked his way into every aspect of Rhys’ life. His father was always playing these games of will and competition, often seeing if Rhys could…manipulate his way out of any circumstance. The subtle control was usually easy to ignore or simply fix on his own. But Rhys wished he had more memories of throwing a baseball around with his dad instead of collecting ideas to undermine his fellow teammates.

And now Benham was screwing things up all over again.

Rhys couldn’t help one last glance at his phone that told him no missed messages. He tried not to let it bother him as much as it did.

…

The only thing that could draw Feyre out of bed at five o’clock the next morning were the sounds of her daughter crying.

She’d gotten back at around midnight and spent a solid hour talking through things with Elain and Lucien. Mor, wonderful and thoughtful as she was, came by too in case Feyre needed anything else.

In all honesty, Feyre was too overwhelmed to know what she needed. What she wanted was to remain curled up in bed. But Seren was not going to self-soothe by the sound of it.

Feyre rolled out of bed and hurried to the spare room. The apartment was nicer than anything Feyre had thought she could afford as a single income holder with a scant two-year degree. But Vassa and Jurian had pulled a few strings to help her secure a lease. They were in a good neighborhood with decent sized rooms and heating and cooling that actually functioned. It was already better than what Feyre had grown up with.

She’d made it her own over the last year since moving in, too. The walls were painted a soft cream with a seafoam green accent wall in the living room. She’d put up her own paintings, photos of the family, of Seren. It was chaotic and messy at times, certainly. Feyre didn’t have a good place to store her paints so sometimes Seren decided the walls and floors needed a splash of color. And then there was the fact that even in the mess—it was quiet. And not the good sort of quiet.

“Oh, little star,” Feyre said as she scooped her daughter from her crib. Seren immediately nestled into her, her tear-stained face in her neck and body conforming perfectly to Feyre.

Rocking back and forth, Feyre soothed Seren as best she could before setting out for a binky search. She knew she should start weaning Seren soon from the thing, but she couldn’t bear it yet. At least she’d stopped breastfeeding within the last few months. Though, Feyre could honestly say she missed that connection it brought.

She found a spare binky and Seren’s favorite blanket before sitting in the rocking chair Nesta had bought her to accompany the nursery. It didn’t take long until Seren had calmed and the only remnants of her tears were the heavy breaths that pressed into Feyre’s chest.

“Good morning,” Feyre murmured as she pressed a kiss to Seren’s forehead. “Are you hungry?”

Seren grunted, her eyes still drooping with sleep and the remnants of her rough wake-up.

“It’s hard to wake up, isn’t it?” Feyre agreed. She ran a hand over Seren’s back and kept rocking them for several more minutes.

Finally, Seren perked up and leaned away from Feyre. Her blue eyes went wide and her chubby fingers dug into Feyre’s shirt.

“Pancake, mama,” Seren said, “pancake.”

Ah yes. Once all the tears were out the only concern was food. Feyre shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Let’s get some breakfast,” Feyre agreed.

She stood, shifting Seren to her hip. They made their way to the kitchen while Seren babbled happily. Her blonde curls were in absolute chaos as they stuck out in every direction and her round cheeks were still pink from sleep. It almost hurt how much Feyre loved her daughter.

Feyre set Seren up in her high chair and peeled a banana to occupy her while she got the frozen pancakes from the freezer to warm up.

She tried to ignore the reminders of the previous night as she moved. The dishes that were carefully washed and dried, the leftovers stacked in the fridge, the extra cookies that Mor and snuck in at some point. Everything had been so nice and fun and had actually made Feyre feel like she belonged to something.

Only for it all to be ripped away by the vandalism. And meeting Benham Avitas.

She’d been stupid to think that Rhys would have actually been interested in her. Because really, Benhams words from last night made sense. Elections were coming up and Rhys wanted to keep his seat as mayor. What better publicity than helping the small business of a struggling single mother? What better campaigning than to be seen helping at a crime scene? Oh, she was sure there may have been some kindness in his actions, he wasn’t a complete asshole. But when she’d seen his texts last night all Feyre could feel was blind panic.

She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t play games.

Not with Seren. Not with her heart.

And then there was the truth of the matter that she’d been trying to ignore for a few days now: Tamlin knew about Seren and he was in town.

Feyre heated up the pancakes, poured a sippy cup of milk, and settled the meal before Seren. Happy with her pancakes, Seren continued babbling as she ate.

The distraction was all Feyre needed to start a pot of coffee and get her own breakfast going. Well, breakfast was a relative term. Lately, she hadn’t had an appetite and had been surviving on coffee and coffee alone. It at least made for cheap groceries when all she needed to buy was milk and frozen pancakes.

You’re better than that.

Feyre flinched at the thought. It was too reminiscent of what Tamlin would say to her.

She tossed a piece of toast in the toaster and watched as Seren tore up another pancake. They had chocolate chips in them and the melty bits smeared over Serens mouth and cheeks. Though, the baby hardly noticed or cared as she carried on eating.

When her toast and coffee were ready, Feyre quickly retrieved her phone from her room before taking a seat at the table next to the high chair. Seren was finally slowing down in her voracious appetite and was now drowning herself in milk.

Feyre ignored the messages from Rhys, not bothering to pay attention to the little preview either. Maybe later she’d work up the courage to see what he had to say. But she did may attention to a new contact that had messaged her.

NEW CONTACT: Hi Feyre! It’s Morrigan, I know you’re probably not up for it, but is it alright if I swing by this morning? I just want to drop some things off and see how you’re doing.

It took three more re-reads for Feyre to get a full grasp on the words. She couldn’t help the small tug of gratitude on her chest either. Feyre was certain that this message had been sent of Mor’s own volition, not prompted by Rhys or anything of the sort.

She saved the number and texted back.

Feyre: We are a mess of pancakes and milk. So if you’re alright with that, come on over.

Mor: Girl, we thrive on chaos.

Not even ten minutes later and Mor was knocking on the door as Feyre was trying to wipe Seren down. It was a losing battle, so Feyre let her child run around still partially smeared in chocolate and just her diaper.

Feyre answered the door, grateful she’d managed to change into clean leggings and a new t-shirt that had only one stain on it. Mor was flawless as ever, her blonde hair pulled into a low pony tail and makeup effortlessly neutral. She wore jeans and a graphic tee of a popular band on the front. If she’d had the energy, Feyre would have felt self-conscious over her own appearance.

“I brought bagels,” Mor said with a smile.

Seren ran through the background screaming.

“And Xanax, I hope,” Feyre joked.

Mor’s smile broadened. “We’ll save that for later.”

Feyre invited her in, grateful the house was still clean from last night's events. Seren had nabbed her favorite blanket and was occupying herself by pulling all of the childrens books from the small bookshelf in the corner of the room.

“How are you doing?” Mor asked as she handed Feyre a bagel. It had been toasted and was still warm and smothered in cream cheese.

Feyre sighed and settled into the coach, Mor following suit. “Fine? Maybe I’m still in shock. I want to go down there and be at my shop, but the officers said to wait a day and they’d tell me when I can get things back in order.”

She took a bite of the bagel; infinitely better than the poor slice of toast she’d had not ten minutes ago.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever had,” Feyre said. “Thank-you.”

“The deli out on State Street is the best,” Mor affirmed. She had her own bagel and leaned into the couch, quiet for another moment before finally speaking up. “I hear you met Benham.”

Feyre arched one eyebrow. While she believed Mor wasn’t spying on her for Rhys, or even if he knew she was here, Mor wouldn’t say anything to her cousin—Feyre didn’t know how she wanted to broach this conversation.

“I did,” she said, taking another bite of bagel. It was mostly to buy herself time in answering.

Mor, however, was more than willing to provide her own opinions. “He’s a bastard. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

She picked at her own bagel, frown tugging on her lips.

Trying not to choke on her food, Feyre covered her mouth. “What?”

“Benham is the worst,” Mor said. She shrugged and licked cream cheese off her finger. “He wasn’t as bad as my dad, I’ll give him that, but he was so strict and cruel and just…terrible while growing up. The only thing that made going over to Rhys’ house as kids bearable was his mother.”

A soft smile stole across Mor’s face as she spoke. “And his sister, really. Thea’s years younger than him, just starting her junior year in high school, she’s just like him. Only a little less of an arrogant ass.”

Feyre shifted in her seat. “Why tell me this?”

It was an understandable question. Maybe a little forceful. But Feyre didn’t need games. Not right now.

Seren ran over to Mor, her stuffed kitty-cat in hand and thrust it at the blonde. “Rhys!”

“Is it Rhys?” Mor crooned softly. “He is looking pig-headed today.”

“Yeah!” Seren chirped, oblivious to the jibe at the cat’s namesake. She toddled away to the pile of building blocks in the middle of the room.

“I’m never going to get over that,” More mused. She gave another smile before growing serious in her acknowledgement of Feyre’s question. “I know my cousin, Feyre. He likes you. I haven’t seen him like this about someone in…a while. And he’s somehow found a chivalrous bone in his body and won’t say it to you himself.”

Feyre’s traitorous heart skipped a beat at Mor’s words. She really hadn’t let herself think on the possibility of she and Rhys. Hadn’t wanted to let herself even consider that possibility despite the fact that she actually liked him. Which in and of itself was ridiculous. She had a daughter that wasn’t even two yet and a new business. What would she even do in the face of a prospective romance?

And still, the memory of his smile, the way he’d stayed by her side after Tamlin’s appearance--all remained far too prominent on her mind. It had been so long since someone had actually cared for her (outside her sister and Lucien) that she didn’t even know how to recognize it or acknowledge it.

“And how does Benham fit into this?” Feyre asked.

“He will do whatever it takes to see his family succeed,” Mor said simply. “He probably tried to get under your skin or lie to you about Rhys? All he’s ever been concerned about it what his kids can accomplish. Not if they’re happy.”

The words made sense. It certainly felt like a wedge had been driven in what little relationship had been budding between her and Rhys. But…Feyre couldn’t help but see the truth in Benhams insinuations.

Feyre shook her head, dread sludging around in her belling and utterly demolishing her appetite.

“It doesn’t matter,” Feyre said. She tucked the rest of her bagel away in its wrappings, knowing she wouldn’t be able to finish it.

“It doesn't—Feyre,” Mor said, sitting up a little straighter. “Whatever Benham said—”

Sighing, Feyre waved a dismissive hand. “Mor. My life is in shambles. It’s messy and ridiculous. I just…I can’t do this. I can’t make Rhys go through this. I can’t make anyone go through this.”

Even without the baby complication and the abusive ex…Feyre didn’t know what it was like to be in a good relationship. She didn’t know how to be in a good relationship. And, truth be told, she was the mess. She was ridiculous. Not just her life. It all came down to her.

That thought was all it took for tears to prick in her eyes and her chest to tighten in pain.

Sympathy fell over Mor’s features and she scooted closer on the couch to Feyre. She reached out a hand to lay on Feyre’s arm.

“And Tamlin?” Feyre stuttered just a little. She had no idea why she was spilling so much to Mor, but damn, it had been so long since she’d had a friend to talk to. Someone she could trust. And while her sisters were wonderful…their relationship was complicated. “Tamlin wasn’t a good man.”

It was all she could say then but Mor seemed to understand. She pulled Feyre into a hug and murmured softly in comforting undertones. Feyre held on to the hug like her life depended on it.

#feysand #feyre x rhysand #rhysand #feyre archeron #feysand single parent au #single parent au #acotar #fanfiction #fic #an intimate display

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