strawbrerian-writes - Tumblr blog

strawbrerian-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Lucky | Feysand

It was a throw away comment and Feyre knows it.

“Stop leaving glasses out!” Rhys had said, half laughing, tugging the end of her ponytail and dropping two cups and a mug into the sink.

Rhys makes her a cup of tea every evening, and it’s one of the hundred little ways that Feyre feels spoiled. She does like to keep a glass of water on the night stand, and where Tamlin hated it when she worked, Rhys has always supported her career. So they both leave early in the morning and more often than not, there’s a small collection of glassware in their bedroom.

It's completely fair that Rhys would prefer that she take them to the kitchen in the morning.

So why is it that the comment unsteadies her?

“I’m sorry,” Feyre says, and rushes to the sink. Her hands shake on the sponge. “My brain doesn’t function in the morning, I’ll remember to wash up before bed.” She goes for casual but it comes out breathless, and the Rhys looks over with a frown.

Maybe it’s because she’s been here for four weeks but doesn’t trust this yet.

Not Rhys- he’s been nothing but gorgeous, and patient, and kind. He’s so completely sure about her and in some ways that’s the most wonderful thing about him. And in some ways, it’s a lot of fucking pressure.

Rhys comes to stand behind her and puts his nose on her neck. Closes his fingers over her wrists until she stops moving, and wraps his arms around her waist.

“That’s fair,” he murmurs. “It’s not a real gripe.”

Some nights, Feyre lies awake in the dark, long after Rhys has fallen asleep, and tries to deep-breathe the fear away. It never works. But how can she tell him? It’s not his fault. The problems are all in her head.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre whispers, and she doesn’t mean the glasses.

She knows it’s not realistic, but it’s hard to fight the urge to be as perfect as possible, because she’s never had it so good, and the fact that it could break any day now is more than enough to keep her guts in permanent knots. She’s been holding her lips closed over the anxiety. She’s been trying so hard. She’s brittle enough that the shallow criticism lands like failure in her stomach.

“It’s okay,” Rhys murmurs. He picks up a tea towel and dries her hands, dragging her waist away from the sink. “You’re safe, honey.”

Sometimes Feyre forgets that Rhys does know. Knows better than most- after all, he’s known Tamlin longer than she has. Still, she’s both embarrassed and relieved that he can read her so easily.

“I didn’t mean it,” Rhys says. “Please leave cups in the room. It means you live here and that is so wonderful, to me.”

Rhys sits down on the couch and pulls her into his lap. Feyre hides her face in his chest and wishes, for the thousandth time, that she was better than this. That her fear of Tamlin’s anger would not be an unwelcome third in her and Rhys’s house.

“Hey,” Rhys whispers. “Don’t be sad, beautiful girl.” He slides his hand under her hair, and touches their foreheads together. “You’re okay.”

And then he kisses her, and it helps.

Feyre takes a deep breath, and kisses him back. It’s difficult to be here, it’s difficult to let herself be loved like this. But touching Rhys is always easy, and soon her fingers find his collar and his jaw and the raven curls at the back of his head. And she can feel him smile against her mouth when she tugs him closer.

“Does this help?” he asks. Feyre just nods, and kisses him again. The rough of Rhys’s palms walk up her back, under her shirt, until his hand rests behind her neck.

“I have less anxiety when you’re touching me,” she admits, and Rhys chuckles softly.

“That’s good,” he says, and in the next moment he’s lifted her up out of his lap and laid her back down on the couch cushions. He settles easily between her legs, and every time it’s a thrill to Feyre that he’s hard because of her. His mouth wanders from her lips to her throat to her collar bone and back up.

“I’m not mad,” he says, because that’s always what she’s afraid of and he knows it. “Of course I’m not, you’re such a good girl, how could I be?”

And like clockwork those two words make her brain slide, and her eyes close as his tongue travels the indent that runs from under her sternum to her navel.

“Please,” Feyre breathes. Rhys just looks up at her from under the ink of his eyelashes, and continues kissing down her stomach. “Please,” she says again, and this time he leans up and kisses her heavy on the mouth.

“That’s such a pretty word on your tongue,” he tells her. Feyre doesn’t respond, she’s concentrating on Rhys’s belt buckle and the button beneath it. He glances down, and then gives her a pitying look. “My poor darling,” he says. His teeth graze the corner of her jaw. “You need this, huh?”

Feyre wins her battle with Rhys’s zipper and slides her hand down the front of his jeans. She’s rewarded with a shudder that rips across his shoulders, and it only makes her melt further into the couch.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“You need it?” Rhys asks again. He grinds against her palm and she loves how even when he’s in control, he comes undone a little under her hands. “You need me to fuck it better?”

“Yes,” Feyre says again, and now she shoves his jeans the rest of the way off him, and Rhys pulls his shirt over his head in one motion. He gets his mouth on her throat and his hand on her breast, and Feyre’s limbs reach up and around him to pull him closer than skin. He drags her tights off, agonizingly slow, and then her shirt, and every inch that’s exposed is immediately pressed up against the warmth of him, searing but sweet.

“Tell me how much,” Rhys says, and it’s only the cotton of her underwear that’s between them when he rolls his hips against hers. Feyre closes her eyes, speaks against the slant of his cheek.

“Too much,” she says. He hooks her leg over his shoulder and Feyre’s back arches up off the couch. “And too often. You have no idea…” she trails off, trying to press up against Rhys as he moves all too slowly.

“Too often?” he asks. His fingers drift down, toying with the waistband of her panties.

“All the time,” she gasps. Her hands scrabble on his shoulders as he drags the elastic down over her hips.

“I wish you’d tell me.” He starts to kiss down over her breasts, but Feyre pulls him back up to her lips and slide her tongue against his. He groans softly in her mouth, and she pulls her knees up the sides of his ribcage, digs her heels into base of his back. “I wish you’d lean over, while we’re watching TV, and tell me how bad…” here Rhys pauses to draw a shaky breath because Feyre is wet against his naked cock, “…you need to be fucked.”

“I’m telling you now,” Feyre argues, and lifts her hips to prove her point.

“You are,” Rhys concedes, and presses up against heat of her. “And you’re doing such a good job.” He pushes inside her, and Feyre’s head drops back against the cushions. She breathes in, and it feels like a long time she’s been holding her breath. “Look at me,” Rhys says, and when she opens her eyes he’s watching her face change when he moves out and back in. His hips punch forward when she meets the violet of his gaze, and Feyre gasps.

“That’s it baby,” Rhys murmurs. “Keep looking at me.”

It’s easier said than done- Rhys’s eyes scald her and every time their hips touch her mind slides.

“Come on honey, you can do it.”

Feyre’s eyes snap open, but somehow there’s five hundred years in that stare and it’s a lot to bear. She tips her head back and throws her arm over her face.

And then Rhys’s fingers close over her throat, and it’s strange that this makes her feel safer, that it always makes her feel safer when he’s holding her down because every other moment she’s on the verge of floating away altogether.

“Is that better?” Rhys asks. His eyes darken above her, and she loves knowing that he likes her like this.

“Yes,” she breathes, and his grip tightens.

“You’re so good,” he tells her. “My good girl.”

Feyre can’t help it, she moans at the praise and the sound pushes Rhys’s pace up. This time when her eyes squeeze shut he lets her. Sits up on his heels to get a deeper angle and puts his teeth on her ankle.

“You want to be good for me, don’t you?” Rhys asks. He slides his thumb against her tongue for a second, before touching it to her clit. She can’t answer, because he keeps his rhythm while he talks to her and it’s knocking the breath from her lungs. “You look so pretty like this, baby.” His eyes rake over her, hooded and muddled, and there’s nothing quite so intoxicating as watching him look at her.

Rhys leans his forearms on either side of her face and leans down over her. Feyre’s hands come up automatically to follow the muscles of his back. She thinks he’ll kiss her, but when she tilts her face up he just flicks his eyes down to her mouth and then back up. He slows down now, moves in long, languid strokes that make Feyre feel like she’s drowning.

“You know,” he murmurs. “You can always tell me if you need this.” This time he does kiss her, and the next time he speaks it’s right next to her ear. “I’d drop everything and bend you over. Empty your head just like you like.”

Feyre‘s nails dig into Rhys’s shoulders and he shifts again, moving fast now and breathing shallow.

“Come on baby,” he says, and she can hear the strain in his voice. “Feel good for me.”

She doesn’t need to be told, he always feels good and today is no exception. Not when the snap of his hips makes a steady undertow that she is fast being dragged in by, not when the smell of him this close is enough to drive her to distraction, not when she can feel him start to chase his own release and knows that she’s the one making him feel like this.

“Give it to me,” she whispers. “I want it, want to feel you…”

But Rhys just laughs and shakes his head. “You first, angel.”

Feyre is tempted to see if she can make him lose control, but the way he moves is too good to ignore. And, she’s never one to pass up an opportunity to show him how good she can be.

“Right now,” Rhys says, under her ear, and honestly it’s so easy with him. Feyre breaks in between one breath and the next, and it’s a thing that wrings her out over and over in the cage of Rhys’s arms. It’s somewhere in the aftershocks that Rhys comes too, and she hasn’t told him but this is the part to Feyre that feels so intense she never quite feels like she’ll survive it. But of course she does, and minutes later the world filters back in and the couch cushions are scratchy against her back and there is sweat in Rhys’s hair and her heart is still beating painfully hard in her chest.

And Feyre feels calm, in this moment, which is rare but increasing. She presses her nose against Rhys’s forehead, where he’s half dozing on her chest, and tries to remember the feeling of it, because there will be a next time that she feels anxious and afraid, but if she’s very lucky, and she has been very lucky, there will also be a next time for this part right here, and that makes everything worthwhile.

****

Well hello there angels! It's been a hot minute, I'm rusty don't laugh at me!

But seriously a lot of things have happened and I still kinda feel a little lost (read: completely out of control)- and not all in bad ways. I've been meaning to post some one shot type things and to talk about my book but man it is HARD. So for now here is a little angsty thing that may or may not be just be T-Swifting it about my current sitch and my book links: UK and international US eBook Australia

And ummm this feels like I am too irrelevant to pull this anymore and I'm sorry if you do not want to be on this but,

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @achernarlight @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @hopefulacademia @story-scribbler @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod @whenyadoesntcutit @scatterbrainedgirl @whoever-you-choose-to-love @endlessdaydream @elentiya-whitethorn @rarephloxes @timesconvert @mis-lil-red @alerialumina

111 notes · View notes

strawbrerian-writes · 2 years ago

Text

SO THATS IT! I’m not shy or antisocial or MASSIVELY SOCIALLY AWKWARD I’m just a fucking vampire. Got it.

#though I do prefer winter #and I don’t miss sunlight #honestly Svalbard in winter sounds kinda nice #too relatable meeeee

40K notes · View notes

strawbrerian-writes · 2 years ago

Text

The Curse of Sleepy Hollow

In the quiet village of Sleepy Hollow in the human lands south of the Wall, there’s a local legend: that every All Hallow’s Eve, the ghostly form of a headless fae on a horse from the lands north of the Wall haunts the town for an evening, looking for his missing head and a human woman to take as his bride.

Too bad for Elain Archeron, the headless fae has found his head; now he’s looking for a bride, and he’s set his eyes on her.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7K

Read on AO3

Happy Monstertober! Thank you to @wilde-knight for the gentle encouragement and inspiration you provided for this fic. I guess if we want ye olde sexy times, we gotta write it ourselves.

XXX

“Don’t forget your letters, Timothy! I’m expecting a perfect assignment from you on Monday!”

Elain sighed to herself as she watched the crowd of schoolchildren tear off down the hill towards the small village. Young Timothy, in particular, paid his teacher no heed, his school bag full of hand me down books, crumpled parchment and half-broken pencils hanging precariously from his bone thin shoulder. In truth, Elain was surprised he’d come back to school this year; after the untimely death of his older brother, she thought for sure the young boy would be pulled into the fields to work day in and day out to harvest what meager crops managed to grow in the family’s rocky soil.

Some of her other charges showed more promise, or at least a more stable home life. Clare had dreams of becoming a school teacher herself, and Isaac, with his parent’s approval and coin, had applied to the University in the south to study mathematics.

Whatever became of these children, Elain hoped they would do what she couldn’t seem to do: get far, far away from this desolate, cursed town, and the nearby Wall haunting everyone who lived nearby.

Elain shivered as a sudden cold breeze whipped the air around her. She pulled her shaw closer around her shoulders. Just thinking about that damned Wall—what it stood for, and what was on the other side—always seemed to bring ill omens to her.

No one had warned Elain about the peculiarities of Sleepy Hollow when she took the school teacher position just a year ago. “The position is usually vacant,” her professor had said haltingly, avoiding her eager gaze. “The village may be willing to pay more, considering…”

Elain had ignored—hadn’t even noticed—her lecturer’s clear hesitation to speak about the job opening, too caught up in jealousy over her peers who had no trouble landing teaching positions around the realm. When the small piece of faded paper had been tacked onto the jobs board that morning, the weekly pay crossed out time and time again and a new, higher amount subsequently written in, Elain had grabbed it and sent her application letter that very day.

And Elain had regretted that decision for the past 364 days.

She shook herself from her memories. “No point in standing outside gazing at nothing like a crazy woman,” she muttered to herself. Elain walked back into her one room schoolhouse and tidied up as best she could and as much as she wanted. Like everyone else, she wanted to get home as soon as possible to enjoy her weekend.

When the floor had been swept, the chairs pushed in, the slates wiped clean and the books straightened out, dusk had fallen. Elain glanced down the hill towards Sleepy Hollow. The town was tucked in a small valley, and isolated from other settlements and villages. Warm, cozy lights flooded the dirt streets out of small houses. Chimney smoke lazily floated above the settlement.

If only Elain were going there. When she’d arrived in town for her teaching position a few weeks after she’d applied, she’d been dismayed to learn the small house included in the job’s room and board had inexplicably burnt down the day she had sent her application. “But don’t worry,” the aldorman had said, putting on a brave face. “Housing was included in the posting, so housing you’ll get!”

What she had gotten was a small, cozy stone cottage that had been previously abandoned but quickly tidied up by the village when word of a new school teacher got out. The bed was large and comfortable, the rugs surprisingly soft, and the fireplace busy with an unlimited supply of wood from the villagers, all free.

If only it weren’t through the forest, on the other side of the town, and far too close to the Wall.

Gathering her cloak around her, Elain set off down the hill towards the forest. Most evenings she didn’t mind the stroll back home. It was an easy walk, one she could complete at a leisurely pace and admire the beautiful trees and singing birds.

Tonight was different. Tonight was All Hallows Eve, and Elain had been a fool to forget it.

As Elain neared the forest, she paused. The back of her neck prickled in unease. There was no one around her, yet she felt eyes on her, appraising her form, her appearance. Her breath escaped her mouth in a white vapor as something dragged across her neck, her throat—

Elain whipped around. She was alone. Even the birds had abandoned her.

Breathing harshly, the sudden chill making her weak, Elain turned back to the forest and marched onwards.

XXX

Sleepy Hollow had a…heaviness to it. It was as if the town was stuck in a permanent dream-like haze, a stupor hanging like the morning fog over the area. The town had a way of sinking its claws into anyone who stayed there too long, dragging them into its lair until it was too late, until they realized that they just couldn’t leave. Your one horse might fall and turn lame and need to be put down, or the money you’d been saving for months, years, had to go towards putting food on the table because you lost your job or the fields suddenly turned barren. Even those attempting to leave on foot always came back, one way or the other: they got lost in the woods and somehow turned around so badly they ended right where they started, or, in Timothy’s older brother’s case, his body returned in a wooden casket after it was fished out of the river, his neck unnaturally bent.

And Elain worried that she had been here too long now, that Sleepy Hollow would never let her go.

She had tried, this past spring. Deciding that life in the valley wasn’t want she wanted and missing her family, she’d written home to her father, requesting a small advance to ship all her belongings home and to secure passage home. But he had gotten sick, his following letter revealed, and could no longer work. With no income and all his money going towards his medicine, there was no money left to bring Elain home. Elain hadn’t earned nearly enough money as the one schoolteacher for Sleepy Hollow, and so, she had stayed. It was just an unfortunate turn of events, she reasoned.

But Elain couldn’t help blaming it all on the Wall.

That damned Wall, put in place to separate the weak human lands from the unnatural fae lands to the north. Erected more than 500 years ago, after a long and bloody war, it was supposed to keep the two sides apart, supposed to keep the humans safe and the cruel, animalistic Fae sanctioned away.

If only it actually worked.

Elain heard it all, eventually, whether overheard from villagers along the streets or in the one lone pub, or from her pupils who blurted out the long held truth they didn’t know they were supposed to keep secret: the Wall had never held in Sleepy Hollow, and the town had been cursed by the Fae because of it.

At first, Elain dismissed it as false, the silly superstitions of a backwards, barely literate isolated village that needed to blame its bad luck on something other than themselves, rather than admit its own shortcomings. But then odd things started happening.

It started small: lentils scattered within her ashy fireplace when Elain certainly hadn’t spilled them there, or her clean stream water suddenly turning brown and filthy whenever she tried to scrub the floors.

Then it progressed: a dead rabbit, clean of its fur, left on someone’s doorstep. The local blacksmith’s tools melted down overnight and his forge ruined, forcing him to use his life’s savings to keep his family in their home.

Then winter came.

“It comes—hiccup!—in waves,” the town drunk, Aranea, whisper-shouted to her one winter evening in the corner of the pub. A local child had gone missing that day, and everyone gathered at the pub after a long day of searching to regroup and warm themselves up. “First, small things: broken cups, stolen food, things like that. Then, as spring comes and summer deepens, things get worse. Destroyed crops. Someone vanishes. Then it’s All Hallows Eve and…”

“And?”

“Get me another cup of wine and I’ll tell you.”

Gritting her teeth and returning with wine, Elain set it down in front of Aranea. “And then, on All Hallows Eve?”

Aranea reached a shaking hand out and drank half the glass in one gulp. In the low light of the pub, sweat dotted the older woman’s temple and upper lip. “Then He comes.”

Elain had to use all of her patience learned through dealing with unruly children to keep herself calm. “And who is this man?”

“Not a man.” Aranea looked around, reaching for her drink and taking another large gulp. “A fae.”

Elain’s stomach dropped. She put on a false bravado. “If it’s just a fae—“

“But it’s not just a fae.” The corners of her mouth turned down and Aranea swallowed. “He’s worse. Different. Only one night a year, just one, He—“

Perhaps the wine was not needed to soothe Aranea’s drunken ache, Elain realized, watching the terror gradually overwhelm the old woman’s face, her eyes red and panicked. Perhaps the sweat was not due to the roaring fire.

“But you need to know,” Aranea said quietly, like she was talking to herself. “It’s not right.”

“What’s not right?”

Aranea looked around again and lowered her voice. “The aldorman doesn’t like us talking about Him. But it’s not right that you’re left out.” She took a deep breath, and Elain forgot to breathe in anticipation. “The fae’s got no head—“

Elain couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her mouth. Clearly, she was getting worked up over nothing.

“It’s not a joke,” Aranea replied harshly, and Elain stopped. “Every All Hallows Eve, the headless fae rides on his horse through the Wall and into the valley, looking for his missing head he lost in the war over 500 years ago. He only has a night, and when he finds his head, he goes on a rampage, killing and murdering. But some say…”

“Some say what?”

“Some think he’s looking for more. Looking for a woman to take as his own.”

The din of the pub quieted. Glancing around, Elain saw several groups filing out, no doubt starting another patrol for the missing child. She should go too. Soon.

“Has anyone ever actually seen this fae?”

Aranea paused. “I did. When I was younger. He cut down my husband when we were walking back to town. A flash of red on a steed as black as night, then my husband’s head rolling down the road.”

Elain stared wide eyed, open mouthed at the old woman. “I’m sorry,” she whispered eventually. Then, confused. “Why doesn’t everyone leave, move away?”

Aranea turned towards Elain, and where her eyes had been red, bleary and hazy before, now they were dull, flat. Dead. “You don’t think we’ve tried?”

XXX

They found the child, eventually. The girl’s mother opened their door one morning to find the child sleeping on the dirt right outside the door, curled around her stuffed straw doll and looking like she had never left.

(The child wasn’t the same, though, Elain heard later on. A shame, the women of the village clucked amongst themselves, to be cursed with a changling for a child.)

The year progressed as Aranea had predicted: the random and odd events became dangerous, threatening, culminating in the death of Timothy’s older brother. A part of Elain—the educated, logical part—still railed against everyone and thought these were all just unfortunate and odd situations. Accidents, or the work of a mischievous child. As for what Aranea said, her own history, well, clearly a red-haired highwayman murdered her poor husband. It was tragic, but not a dead Fae come to reclaim his head and wreak havoc.

But a smaller part couldn’t completely dismiss what she’d seen and been told, and it wasn’t a stretch to imagine a galloping headless fae terrorizing the woods, especially on a night like this. The wind seeped into Elain’s wool cloak, making the fabric feel thinner and lighter than the lace doily covering her kitchen table. Above her, the bare tree branches creaked and groaned in agony, like they too wanted to be free of these woods and put their roots somewhere else.

She scoffed to herself. This was another normal night in a completely normal wood. Soon, she’d be in her perfectly normal cottage to settle down with a cup of tea and a good book by the fire.

In fact, Elain thought happily, she could see one of the last landmarks along the forest path that signaled her walk was almost over. She had four such landmarks: a wide tree with a particularly large knot at its base, a rock worn down by the elements so that the top was a natural basin, two snarled and thorny bushes, and a small trickle of a stream. She’d just passed the snarled bushes, and right around the bend should be the stream—

Except there was the wide, knotted tree that marked the beginning of the path when she entered the forest. “What is this?” Elain murmured, looking around. Had she gotten mixed up by mistake?

She must have, she decided, walking a bit faster now. Most of the trees above her were bare, but the thick branches still managed to conceal the last weak rays of light the sun had to offer. It would be dark soon, and Elain had never traversed the path at night.

Picking up the bottom of her cloak so as not to trip, Elain moved as fast as she dared. There was the basin rock, there the bushes and there—

Elain felt a sob rising in her throat, her chest tight. There was the knotted tree. It made no sense, she knew she hadn’t walked off the path or gotten twisted around. She ran now, heedless of her cloak. The cool air bit her cheeks. If she could just run fast enough, surely she’d get home.

Somewhere behind her, a faint gallop echoed throughout the trees.

Eyes wide and breath choppy, Elain stopped, nearly tripping over herself. She listened, but all she could hear was the hammering of her heart. Eventually it slowed. It was silent around her. ‘A trick,’ she thought to herself. ‘Just my nerves playing with me.’

The galloping resumed. Closer. Louder.

Elain didn’t wait. She sprinted down the dirt path, the path she’d already walked down thrice. The galloping was now accompanied by harsh, animalistic breathing and grunting, like whatever hoofed beast was working as hard as she was. She darted a look behind her and wished she hadn’t: through the slim sliver of moonlight that passed between the branches, Elain could make out a huge, black horse, its eyes blood red, and a cloaked figure atop it.

Pumping her arms and legs faster, Elain charged ahead. Perhaps she could get off the path, run into the woods. But she knew that would only put her in more danger, that she had no hope of evading her pursuer through an ancient forest she wasn’t familiar with.

There—there was the stream, the last landmark before her cottage. If she’d had the air in her burning lungs for it, Elain would have cried. She could feel the giant beast’s warm breath right behind her, its presence looming. Just a bit further, almost safe…

A strong arm wrapped around her waist and lifted her easily onto the back of the horse. She landed hard on her stomach on the back of the running horse and whatever breath that was in her lungs fled.

Momentarily dazed, Elain looked up. She couldn’t see her captive’s face, but she could just make out a jagged, rough cut around his entire neck and a shock of long, red hair.

There was screaming coming from somewhere, louder and louder, a wail that reminded Elain of her mother’s funeral when she’d been a little girl. It took several seconds to realize the sound was coming from her. Her capture’s bare hand darted out. A large, warm hand settled on the nape of her neck, and Elain knew nothing else.

XXX

Elain’s back ached. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so horribly—probably the first night in the stone cottage outside Sleepy Hollow.

Sleepy Hollow. Her cottage. The woods. The Headless Fae.

She gasped. It wasn’t a nightmare, what had happened to her. Elain tried to roll over but couldn’t. She flailed her limbs but made no purchase.

“I’d stop struggling if I were you. It would be a shame for your beautiful skin to bear such ugly bruises.”

Elain blinked and finally took in her surroundings. She was laying on a large, stone slab several feet off the ground. Some fabric was underneath her body, protecting her from the brunt of the cold, sharp stone—small mercies, but she acutely felt the sting of the wind across her body. Her arms were tied above her head and the rope secured to the stone; her legs were spread and similarly tied and bound to the stone. Dozens of wax candles were placed on the ground and hanging from tree branches above her, creating a hazy, shimmering effect that her eyes struggled to adjust to.

And there, sitting at the foot of an ancient tree several feet away, watching her, was a man so handsome Elain thought he must be the devil.

But no, that can’t be right, she thought groggily, her brain gradually waking up. Not unless the devil was actually fae.

Odder things have happened.

The figure wore a flowing, long-sleeved, deep green shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal bronze skin. His shirt was tucked into brown trousers, and riding boots covered his calves. Overall, his outfit wouldn’t be out of place in a more affluent town south of the Wall.

The rest of him, however, would mark him as other. His long, luscious red hair hung straight down past his wide shoulders, more vibrant than any human hair could hope to be. His ears were long and pointed, as all fae’s were. The eyes staring at her were mismatched: one was dark brown, and the other looked…golden. No, Elain realized, squinting at his left eye, one of his eyes appeared to be made of actual gold. It glittered in the candlelight. Long, white scars criss crossed over the side of his face as his golden eye.

“Had I known you would be looking at me so much, I would have procured some painting supplies.”

His voice was raspy, like he wasn’t used to talking much. Or maybe, Elain thought, panic bubbling inside her, it was because his head and body had only recently been reunited. A grim, jagged line was etched across the long column of his throat, and his face appeared slightly ashen looking.

It was true, then. The silly, far-fetched tale she assumed the bumbling villagers of Sleepy Hollow concocted to blame their misfortunes on was real. Very real, sitting just a few feet from her, and looking at her like she was his next meal.

“Or perhaps I should have brought the paints for myself, to paint your beauty. Your eyes are like stars—“

“Where am I? Why am I here?” She tugged on her bonds. Elain didn’t want to hear whatever mocking words he had for her. The sooner she figured out why this creature had abducted her, the sooner she could plan her escape.

The being frowned at her. He sighed. “Fine, no pleasantries then, human. You’re in my realm, north of the Wall.”

Elain’s stomach tightened. She wanted to scream, but what good would it do? She’d been warned, when she first moved to Sleepy Hollow, to never cross the Wall, and to stay as far away from it as possible. Not that she didn’t already know that. Although fae were nonexistent in her home in the south, everyone knew the threat they were to those who dwelled in the north.

There were humans who didn’t share the same view of the fae, though. The Children of the Blessed worshiped the fae for some twisted reason, too easily charmed by their supposed riches and otherworldly beauty. Every now and then rumor reached the Hollow that a few of the fanatics had breached the wall, but they haven’t been seen since.

She’d never heard of a human who ventured beyond the wall and returned, Elain realized, cold dread trickling down her spine. What hope did she have of ever returning to the human lands, dreary and dangerous as it was?

“Who are you?” Elain croaked. “Why did you take me?”

He gave her a calculated look. “Are you aware of the curse that hangs over this land?”

“Er, not really,” Elain said haltingly. “I know odd happenings occur to the people in Sleepy Hollow. Stolen goods, ruined crops. And the headless fae who, who…”

He nodded his head to her. “My name is Lucien.”

Lucien. A nice name. Certainly a nicer name than Elain assumed her dead fae captor would have.

Lucien’s posture was casual—sitting, leaning back against the base of the tree, one long leg stuck straight out, the other bent at the knee, an arm lazily resting on top, like this was a normal situation to find oneself in. Like Elain was perfectly safe.

She wasn’t fooled by his relaxed demeanor, however: whatever this being was, whether ghost, demon, or devil, she knew, in her gut and her brain, that he was dangerous.

Elain should have been terrified, and she was, but she also felt curiosity towards the fae in front of her despite the danger, like a mischievous kitten tempting an old, ornery work horse. She knew she needed to tread carefully, but…

“Alright, Lucien,” Elain said as calmly as possible, noticing the flash of surprise that flicked across his face. “You say there’s a curse.”

He nodded slightly. “A fae curse. Cast over 500 years ago at the Wall. A human general from the valley betrayed his fae lover, and her sister cursed his people to suffer forever in their homes in the valley.” Lucien looked at her shrewdly. “But you’re not from Sleepy Hollow, are you, human?”

“No. How can you tell?”

“There’s more…life to you,” he replied, looking around her. “It clings to you, barely. But give it another few months and you’ll be stuck here like everyone else.”

Elain scrunched her eyebrows. “What do you mean stuck?”

“Well, human, as I just said—“

“My name is Elain!” she interrupted. “If you’re going to steal me away and tie me up, at least have the courtesy to use my name!”

Lucien smirked. “Very well, Elain,” he purred, and Elain momentarily lost her breath. “The curse over Sleepy Hollow ensures the humans here are to suffer forever in the valley. Those who dwell in Sleepy Hollow cannot leave, no matter how hard they try.”

“But I wasn’t born in Sleepy Hollow!” Elain exclaimed, stomach sinking. “I’ve only been here a year!”

Lucien shrugged. “That makes no difference. The curse prefers adults. It doesn’t mind letting a youth wander free every few years. Not the adults though. The curse feeds and grows more powerful off the misery and despair of those under its thrall, and nothing is more delicious than humans realizing their lives are forfeit, and that they’ll only be more miserable year after year after year, and are powerless to stop it. Children with their innocence usually don’t realize this until their late teens, and by then it’s too late.”

Silence. There was a buzzing in Elain’s ears. “I’m, I’m stuck? I can’t move home, or leave? I’m trapped in this cursed town forever, to be tormented by a fae curse?”

Lucien shrugged again and began inspecting his finger nails. “Appears so. Seems you’re doomed to a life of loneliness and constantly watching your back so the curse doesn’t finish you off.” His head was lowered but his eyes darted up to look at her. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“I too am affected by a curse. Help me break mine, and I’ll see if we can break the human curse after.”

“You're cursed?” Elain asked, surprised.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Did you think I was a ghost or a dead abomination?”

Elain flushed. “Well, you’re headless! I just assumed…”

“Stupid humans,” Lucien tsked. “I’m not quite dead, though not quite living except for one night a year. Every All Hallows Eve I am doomed to ride south of the Wall to retrieve my head—that’s not difficult, it’s usually in one of two or three places every year—but it’s the second part that’s tricky.”

“Second part?” Elain asked faintly, head swimming.

“To break my curse, I am to find a human bride and she is to live with me for one year and a day. Then, I’ll be fully restored and free to live my life.” He said this without any dramatics, as if he were inquiring about the weather, or what Elain had had for breakfast that morning.

“What a specific curse,” Elain muttered. Her head felt like it was being smothered by cotton. She bit her lip. “But surely you don’t mean…?”

“Oh my dear,” Lucien said silkily, in a voice that sent heat straight between her legs, “I most certainly do. Become my bride, and once my curse is broken, I’ll work on breaking the curse that hangs over Sleepy Hollow and you.”

It was ludicrous. Madness. Become a cursed fae’s bride? In what world was this possible?

But then she remembered what Aranea had told her, all those months ago. Some think he’s looking for more. Looking for a woman to take as his own.

“Why me? Surely there are other humans you could have chosen over the centuries.”

“You’re the first outsider to move to Sleepy Hollow in decades. I can still see the faint vestiges of life surrounding you, life the curse hasn’t completely sapped away yet. Any other human from Sleepy Hollow I would have taken would have died the instant they crossed the Wall, as the curse dictates.”

Elain took a steadying breath. “And what if you can’t break the curse over Sleepy Hollow?”

He raked a long hand through his long hair. “I’m not that concerned about it. It’ll probably involve tricking the fae who placed the original curse, or beating them in a duel.”

Elain stared at the fae before her. He seemed a bit too confident for her taste, with a barely concealed danger to him that kept the gooseflesh on her body raised. What if he was lying to her?

Did she have a choice?

She mustered what little confidence she had. “I accept. How are we to, uh, seal our arrangement?”

Quicker than she could see, Lucien was suddenly above her, standing above her at the head of the altar. This close, she could smell a faint whiff of smoke and damp earth lingering on his skin. It wasn’t unpleasant.

Lucien cocked his head and stared down at her. “With a kiss,” he said, then bent down to press his lips to her.

As far as kisses went, it was rather tame, especially considering the reputation fae had for their passions. Elain held herself still, the faint press of Lucien’s lips surprisingly warm against hers. A faint stab of disappointment pierced her—she had expected a bit more than this.

He withdrew, and Elain sighed. She was about to ask him to untie her when sharp teeth nipped her bottom lip. She gasped, and Lucien’s lips and tongue tangled with hers.

This was the passion Elain had heard whispered about the fae. Still above her, and upside down from her, Lucien slotted his mouth fully against hers while his tongue stroked hers. His hands, warm like his lips, cradled the sides of her face and stroked her cheeks lightly.

“So responsive,” he murmured when he broke their kiss and Elain objected. “Will you make such sweet noises for me if we continue?”

“Yes,” she whispered, craning her neck towards Lucien. Smiling, his mismatched eyes gleaming in the candlelight, he trailed a hand down her throat, squeezing slightly. Elain gasped, more heat flooding her core.

“Such sweet sounds you make, my bride,” Lucien said appreciatively. Elain blushed. His hand released her throat then slowly made its way down her chest. “I wonder if I can create a symphony with you by the end of the night.” He caressed a breast through her thin shift, stroking an erect nipple, and Elain moaned loud enough to be heard south of the Wall.

Lucien chuckled and withdrew his hand, stepping away from her. Elain arched her back. “Don’t stop!”

“I can smell your desire,” his voice slithered out from around her. Elain couldn’t see him but she knew he was nearby. She squirmed against her bindings on the stone—an altar, she realized at last, to her and their union—desperate to be free for reasons she never thought: to touch, taste and feel the cursed fae she had bound herself to for the next year.

Cool air hit her breasts and legs and dripping core. Elain looked down to see Lucien tearing her shift from her body and stepping in between her feet at the other end of the stone slab. In the low light, he looked otherworldly: his face sharp, pointed teeth just barely visible from his panting mouth, shoulders hunched. His eyes were focused on her spread legs. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell?”

Without waiting Lucien leaned down and licked a hot stripe through her wet folds. Elain let out a strangled groan as his tongue swiped over her sensitive bud.

“You do,” Lucien remarked, raising his head. “Better than the sweetest wine.” He gave her an appraising look. “Although I love your moans, I think I can put your mouth to better use.”

His hands came up to his neck and Elain stared, first in confusion, then horror, as with a wet pop Lucien tugged his head from his body. She screamed as his headless body set his head down between her legs. His head was alive, conscious, and Lucien’s head immediately stroked her sensitive pearl, his eyes intensely staring at her.

Elain wasn’t sure whether to scream in terror or ecstasy. A fae, who had just detached his head from his body, was licking her folds, tasting her, bringing her such intense pleasure she thought she might faint from the emotions tearing through her body. She struggled on the altar.

There was a hand on her shoulder. Elain leaned her head back and shrieked. She’d been expecting it, but seeing a headless body above her, moving on its own, was unsettling and disturbing in a way she’d never before thought.

“Be still, wife, and open your mouth.” Lucien’s head stopped feasting between her legs to utter the command. Elain broke out of her terror and bared her teeth down at her new husband. She was about to tell him where he could shove his head when his hands grabbed her head and shoved the tip of his throbbing cock in her mouth.

Elain froze, shocked. Lucien’s hips gently rocked into her mouth, putting more of his thick length in her mouth. Through the dim light, Elain could just make out the rest of his substantial manhood she still had yet to take. She hadn’t been aware of when he’d taken off his trousers.

“So good,” Lucien praised from between her legs, giving her bud a small kiss. “Relax your jaw and use your tongue, just like that. Good girl.”

Elain whimpered, his praise sending bolts of lightning to her quim. Above her, Lucien’s body kept using her mouth for his pleasure, gradually thrusting more and more of his length down her throat, all while his head continued his sensual assault on her lower lips. Elain gagged and tensed as a particularly rough pump of Lucien’s hips cut off her air.

“You look so good with my cock stuffed down your throat,” Lucien’s bodiless head said. She coughed when he withdrew his length and Lucien’s hands stroked her cheeks. Without waiting, Elain silently opened her mouth.

“So perfect for me,” Lucien sighed as his body placed his cock back in her mouth and resumed a gentler thrusting pace within her. Elain focused on licking and sucking the fat tip of his length while Lucien took her bud between his lips and sucked hard.

Elain moaned around his cock as a tingling began in her lower spine. It grew, quick and intense, and Elain came, whimpering around Lucien’s hard girth as his tongue stroked her pearl.

Lucien’s body withdrew his cock from her mouth. Elain gasped, her chest heaving. She wasn’t aware of Lucien’s body reattaching his head, or the bindings falling away from her trembling body. The next thing she knew was Lucien, in one piece, as naked as her, taking her head in his hands and kissing her.

“Magnificent,” he whispered. Lucien pulled her off the altar and turned her around so she was bent over the stone with her legs on the ground.

But Elain needed more, now. Keeping one leg on the ground for leverage, she lifted her other leg onto the altar and crooked it at the knee, widening herself for Lucien.

Lucien hummed appreciatively. “My good little human, spreading her legs for me, dripping for me. All it took was licking your perfect cunt and you’re willing to offer yourself completely to me, aren’t you, Elain?”

She didn’t answer, instead continuing to move her hips against the altar, hoping to entice the fae into finishing what he started.

“Use your words.”

“Oh, please,” Elain whispered, wishing he would just slide himself inside her, quench the fire he’d somehow ignited within her. She could feel her release dripping down her thigh, the moisture cooling against her heated skin.

Lucien hummed. She felt him step behind her and Elain tensed with anticipation, excitement. Just a short time ago she’d been scared for her life. Now…

Now, she’d been pleasured beyond words by a cursed headless fae (who she still wasn’t quite convinced wasn’t at least partly dead), who wanted her to be his bride and help break his curse. Elain was too lust drunk to think how ludicrous this all was.

Her thoughts were broken by a pressure at her entrance, and his finger entered her in one stroke. Elain gasped as Lucien leisurely thrust his finger inside her.

“So tight,” he praised her. More pressure, and Elain felt her walls stretch as he pumped two of his long fingers into her willing channel.

“What a perfect bride you’ll be,” Lucien whispered into the back of her neck. “I think you need more.” Three of his fingers slowly entered her body, working her tight quim open.

Elain buried her head into her arm and groaned. Now the stretch was tinged with pain, pain that gradually lessened as Lucien cooed praises in her ear and stroked her tender and swollen bud with his other hand. She was going to come again. She rocked back onto Lucien’s fingers, taking everything he had to offer, wanting to feel him inside her as she found her release…

“No!” she begged when Lucien withdrew his hands from her between her legs. She tried to rise off the altar but one of Lucien’s hands pressed between her shoulder blades, keeping her top half against the stone. One of her legs was still propped up on the altar, the other on the ground.

“I think you’re ready,” Lucien growled, deep from his chest, and Elain remembered that this wasn’t a human man she was with, this was an undead fae male who stole her from the Human Lands for the sole purpose of claiming her. A thrill of excitement shot through her lower stomach as Lucien fit the wide head of his cock at her entrance and thrust inside her.

They gasped in unison. Even though Elain had had his cock down her throat, she didn’t realize how thick he’d be in her channel. He was right to ready her with his fingers, Elain conceded, resting her forehead on the altar and gripping the stone as he pulled out to the tip and sunk back in.

“Good,” Lucien praised her, working more of his thick length inside her. “So good. My beautiful bride. My perfect mate.”

Elain didn’t know what a mate was, but she didn’t particularly care at the moment, not when she felt his hips finally reach her bottom. She moaned at how full she felt.

Above her, Lucien’s body quivered, from his strong legs pressed to the back of hers, to his hands gripping her hips. He snarled something in a foreign language—harsh, full of hisses and sharp consonants—then withdrew his cock and slammed back deep within her.

He gave Elain no further time to adjust to his conquering manhood. Keeping his hands on her lush body—squeezing the fat of her hip, plucking a peaked nipple, digging his hands into her shoulder—Lucien claimed Elain like a male on a mission. Which he was, Elain thought dazedly, holding onto the stone as he pumped within her, hitting a sensitive spot of her walls.

All the while, Lucien murmured words—some she couldn’t understand—into her skin and into the wind: “So lovely, so soft,” he rasped against the shell of her ear; “Mine. Only mine,” he grunted as he bit where her neck met her shoulder. It was pain and euphoria all in one, and Elain never wanted it to end.

One of his hands slammed down on the altar not far from hers. His forearm was corded with muscles, the brown skin gleaming with sweat. Elain watched, hypnotized by the strength in his body when his other hand reached between her legs and began stroking her bud again in time with his hard thrusts.

She squeezed her eyes shut and moaned. She was going to find release again, soon. Without thinking, her hand nearest to Lucien’s reached out and touched his, just barely grazing his smallest finger, wanting to feel more of him. Lucien stuttered and stopped. Elain wanted to cry. She’d ruined it, gotten sentimental, human—

Lucien resumed pumping his cock into her cunt and his fingers touched her bud at the same time he moved his hand over hers and intertwined his fingers awkwardly with hers. He was so warm, so big, and she felt the pulse in his wrist beat erratically against her arm.

Pleasure unlike she’d ever felt before—bone deep, primal, and all-encompassing—ripped through her body as Lucien’s clever fingers and cock worked between her legs. He paused, letting Elain work through her release. Eventually her breathing evened out.

Lucien withdrew his cock and gathered Elain in his arms. Snatching their cloaks and throwing them on the ground, he gently laid her down on her back and spread her legs. “Again.” His hips snapped into hers with brutal efficiency, hitting deep inside her. “I want to see your face when you come on my cock.”

Elain could only hold onto Lucien’s shoulders as he rode her and drove her higher and higher towards another steep precipice. He bent her legs over his arms and opened herself even wider. The angle of his cock and the closeness of his body made her see stars behind her eyelids. Elain felt drunk and dazed, having never felt so exhausted before in her life.

His hand reached between them towards her cunt again and Elain shivered. “I—I can’t,” she gasped. “Not again.”

“You will,” Lucien said simply, his thumb brushing the tender hood of her bud. He looked down between their bodies and growled so fiercely Elain craned her head to see what elicited such a response. She felt her face redden: in the orange candlelight, she could make out her swollen folds, his slick cock, and the white cream of her release staining the base of his length.

“My beautiful bride,” he whispered against her lips. He kissed her, slow, steady, completely at odds with what the rest of his body was doing. If Elain didn’t know any better, she would say it was almost loving.

Lucien tenderly cradled her head as he kissed her. It was far too early to have feelings for him, Elain knew as she stared at him deep in the eyes, and he stared back, but there was something there. They both knew it.

“Mine,” she whispered against him, her tongue darting into his mouth, and Lucien groaned. His thumb circled her bud as his hips thrust wildly into her. With a shout to the skies Lucien came, emptying himself within Elain’s body. She took everything he gave her, even one final release that seemed to rob her of her bones and leave her a shaking, tender mess.

Eventually, Elain’s heart slowed. “I’m assuming you haven’t done that for 500 years?”

“No.”

Elain huffed a breath. “That’s impressive, considering.”

Lucien chuckled. He rolled them over so he was on his back and she was laying against his chest. They were silent for a few moments, the only sounds their hearts beating together. Eventually, Elain spoke. “What has the last 500 years been like for you?”

Lucien didn’t answer right away. “I’ll tell you everything sometime later. It’s…difficult for me.” He kissed her forehead. “Besides, we have a year together, I don’t want to run out of things to talk about well before then.”

“Only a year?” Elain asked hopefully, casting a shy glance up at her headless fae.

Lucien grinned.

65 notes · View notes

strawbrerian-writes · 2 years ago

Text

This is giving me life right now 🥹🥹🥹

Rhys and Feyre - A Court of Thorns and Roses

Artist: @searland_art

2K notes · View notes

strawbrerian-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Prompt #1045

"You lying on me made my whole body fall asleep."

"Don't worry, I'll wake it up when I need it."

452 notes · View notes

strawbrerian-writes · 2 years ago

Text

#acotar #elain x lucien #elain x azriel #elain x eris #Vassa #jurian

1 note · View note

strawbrerian-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Starry Eyes Sparking Up My Darkest Night

Summary: We had danced, all of us together. And when the night had shifted toward dawn and the music became soft and honeyed, I had let Rhys take me in his arms and dance with me, slowly, until the other guests had left, until the gold disc of the sun gilded Velaris.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: none

Read on AO3

@officialfeysandweek2023

Day 1: Night Triumphant & Stars Eternal

Here's my second humble offering for Feysand Week 🩵

“I am… very glad I met you, Feyre.”

I blinked away the burning in my eyes. “Come on,” I said, tugging on his hand, “Let’s go join the dance.”

I felt Rhys move behind me, looking half dazed, and wondered if he was as affected as I was. My heart was racing, beating a rhythm unlike anything I’d felt before, my mind aware that this was uncharted territory. I’d seen the look in his eyes, and I knew it matched the one in mine. Rhys and I had been playing this game, counting the steps of this dangerous dance for quite a while now, and as natural as everything with him felt, as natural as being around him was, I couldn’t forget that the circumstances that led me here were not easy.

Don’t think about it, I told myself. Turn it all off.

I reached the middle of the crowd and stopped, turning to face Rhys. He was so beautiful, breathtakingly so, the stardust glowing on his lips mocking me, almost pulling me in and making me reckless enough to want to forget everything and everyone around us and just kiss him, just get lost in him. Rhys pulled me closer and placed his hands on my lower back, making my skin tingle. I wrapped my arms around his neck and followed his lead as he started moving.

We danced, and danced, and danced, until Cassian pulled me away from Rhys for a dance, joking about his unwillingness to share. The fire in Rhys’s eyes wasn’t something I was ready to address. I wasn’t blind to his feelings, nor my own growing ones, but I didn't know if I would ever be ready for all of its implications.

“I've never seen him so happy.” Cassian’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts as he twirled me around, and a joyous sound escaped my throat. “He has had moments of happiness in his five hundred years of course, but never like this.” Cassian gave me a pointed look. “You do know it’s because of you, don’t you?”

I cleared my throat, not ready to unpack what he had just said and all that it meant, and asked him about our visit to Windhaven the next day. Cassian had been advocating for the Illyrian females for centuries, but change in a war camp came slow.

We danced for a while longer, until Cassian looked behind me to find Mor, who was smiling brightly. “Your time is up,” she said, pulling me away from him.

I rose on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek, thankful for him and the friendship and understanding he had so selflessly offered me from the moment we’d met.

I danced with Mor, and then I danced with Azriel, and marveled at how fast they had managed to worm their way into the deepest crevices of my heart. My friends, who had pulled me out of the darkness. My High Lord, who had shown me that I mattered, that my feelings mattered, that my trauma was valid, who had given me everything in the most open and selfless way and had never expected anything in return.

I looked at Rhys, marveling at the sound of his joyous laughter, the starlight in his eyes as he celebrated and drank and danced with his friends, the way he looked so free despite carrying the weight of his court on his shoulders and everything he had done to keep his people safe.

He had given every part of himself to keep his people safe. I wondered if they knew how lucky they were, if they knew he would do it all again in a heartbeat if he had to.

He chose that moment to look at me, and the smirk he had seconds before melted into a smile so bright and genuine that my breath whooshed out of my chest with a strength that nearly knocked off my feet. He was in front of me in two strides, his long legs effortlessly closing the space between us, and I gave him a smile as I wrapped my arms around his neck, his own finding their place on my lower back, as if they had always belonged there.

“You promised me a whole night of dancing.”

The corner of his lips lifted into a smirk. “It’s not my fault everyone wants to bask in your glow, Feyre darling.”

I smiled and rested my head on his chest, and he kissed the top of my head softly. “It’s you people want to be around, Rhys. Not me.”

“Someday,” he said, his hand drawing circles on my back, “I’ll make you see how bright you are. I wish you could see yourself right now, and the way you outshine every star tonight.”

My heart stuttered, and I willed the tears away. Looking up at him, I reached out and caressed his mental shields. Rhys tilted his head curiously and lowered them slightly, letting me in. I looked around the fortress of his mind, seeing the world through his eyes, Mor laughing and dancing with Cassian and Az in the corner, the three of them carefree and happy.

Rhys mentally pointed closer, right in front of him, and I saw myself covered in stardust, the look on my face one I didn’t have the words to describe. There was a certain glow in my eyes as I looked up at Rhys, a softness to my smile that I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Rhys’ mental fortress was unguarded, every feeling on display as I made myself familiar with the deepest corners of his beautiful, brilliant mind. There was adoration, admiration, gratefulness, and a warmth to deeper feelings I refused to analyze out of respect. He had had his privacy taken from him for a very long time, and I would never dream of taking advantage of the free pass he had given me.

I slowly walked out and back into my own mind, and the smile he gave me was one I desperately wanted to paint.A smile brighter than the sun, eyes deeper than night. Night triumphant seemed like a fitting name.

“I am very happy to have you in my life,” I offered, because that was the simple truth, because I had never known anything with more certainty than the joy that Rhys’ presence had brought into my life. I had blinked, and without me realizing it, Rhys had become my best friend, had become the one person I could always count on without fear of being judged. My heart craved even more of Rhys and I wrestled against the hunger in my mind every day.

Rhys bent down and kissed my forehead, gently, as we swayed to the soft music. There was no rush to the dance, no steps to follow. There was just us, the stars, our friends, the people, and my home. Velaris was home, and so was the male holding me like I was going to disappear.

“Rhys?”

“Hm?” he mumbled, not bothering to move his head from where it was resting on top of my head.

“Thank you for everything.”

I felt him smile and he continued rubbing circles on my back. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“No, I mean-” I said, trying to find the right words. “Thank you for believing in me when no one else would. Thank you for sharing your family with me, and your city, and your home. Thank you for making sure I always have a reason to get out of bed in the morning and look forward to what the day brings.”

With my head resting on his chest the way it was, I could feel the exact moment his breath caught in his throat. “None of that would have been possible without you,” he said, pulling my face away from his chest and looking at me intently. “None of that would have been possible without your persistence, cleverness, and kindness. I’ve always loved this night, and the journey the stars make.” He looked up at the stars still flying overhead, then down at me again. “But you, you are by far the most precious one of them.”

I didn’t stop the burning in my eyes this time, the tears running free down my cheeks, trailing a path down the stardust on my face. Rhys swept his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping my tears away, like he had done every single time since the day we had met. I knew the line we were walking was a very dangerous one, and I could not afford to compromise my heart so soon again, but there was something about him that brought all my walls tumbling down, that drew me to him so thoroughly that I could hardly breathe half the time he was near.

We danced for what could have been minutes, or hours, or days—we didn’t keep track. Rhys didn’t let me go, and neither did I. The guests bid us goodnight, Mor, Cassian and Azriel retired for the night, yet Rhys and I never stopped dancing, never stopped looking at each other and basking in the glow of whatever we were, whatever was happening. As the dawn broke, and the sun illuminated the stardust on his skin, giving him an ethereal glow, I put my hands around his face and brought it close to mine, resting his forehead against mine.

“To the stars who listen, Rhys.”

“And the dreams that are answered, Feyre.”

#I feel like we may have been robbed of this in ACOMAF #but now everything is all better #perfection

105 notes · View notes