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aftershocked · 4 months ago

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would love to see number 10 🥺🙏

(And if you’re up to it, here’s some others that caught my eye: 18, 35, 49, 54)

so. i was going to wait and answer these all at once but the first prompt came out to 1,487 words. so.

Valvert - #10, hair/caressing/braiding; 1.5k, rated G leaning briefly on T:

“Oh, let me get that, my dear.”

One of Valjean’s large hands reaches forward to cover Javert’s own, still pinching a bit of ribbon between his fingertips.

Javert huffs soundlessly as he passes the ribbon to Valjean without complaint, lowering his arms and settling more comfortably onto the small upholstered stool they keep next to the little desk in their bedroom.

He is already dressed for a brisk, wintry day, despite the few scant rays of dawn just now peeking past their curtains—still nervous, even now, whenever he accompanies Valjean to visit Cosette and her husband and their children. He cuts a handsome figure to Valjean’s eyes, wrapped in warm trousers and pleated woolen shirtsleeves, layered with the embroidered waistcoat that Valjean had gifted him the previous Christmas, its back panel a deep navy satin that hugs Javert’s waist with a delicately knotted bow.

Valjean forces his eyes away from the cinched fabric to note where the folded heap of Javert’s cravat yet lies on top of the desk, and beside it the simple, battered wooden hairbrush that was one of the few items Javert had brought with him to the Rue de l’Homme Armé all those years ago. His long waterfall of hair has been neatly brushed, and now needs only to be tied back into its customary queue; of late it is more grey than black, fanning out from his temples to fall in interlocking layers of iron and silver and gunmetal down nearly to Javert’s mid-back.

Valjean gently gathers the silky cascade of loose hair into his hand, stomach fluttering at the simple pleasure of his callused skin snagging on the thin strands—impossibly soft to the touch, and smelling faintly of the lavender and rosemary of their little bottle of hair oil.

He cannot resist sinking his fingers into where the hair grows thick at the other man’s nape, nails lightly scraping over Javert’s skull as he tugs a little more firmly at the hair clutched in his palm, the better to keep it straight and tidy for Javert’s queue—but a smile tugs at his lips at the quiet gasp Javert makes in response; the way Javert’s head tips back to follow the movement of Valjean’s hands in his hair.

“Do you have a second riband?” Valjean asks, enjoying the luxurious weight of Javert’s hair within his hand. His other rests at the juncture of Javert’s neck and shoulder, the heat of Javert’s skin seeping slowly through the material of his collar, Javert’s pulse strong and steady against Valjean’s palm. The impressive bristle of his whiskers brushes Valjean’s fingertips, and he looses a shuddering, indulgent exhale as Valjean’s thumb begins to rub in tiny, aimless circles; catching on the wisps of hair there, relaxing muscles that are always too tense, even so early in the morning.

“Another one?” Javert replies, bemused; even as he tilts his head into the tempting caress of Valjean’s fingertips, heedless of the way the angle pulls a lock of hair free of Valjean’s hold to tumble down his back, and Valjean ducks his head to press a kiss to the crown of Javert’s head.

“Perfect,” he says, withdrawing his hand from Javert’s throat to pull at the escaped hair. “I needed to separate it anyway; it’s been too long since I got to braid your hair for you.”

“It’s only been a few days, you old con,” Javert says, voice rasping faintly at the edges, shivering at each new touch of Valjean’s hand along his neck, the hinge of his jaw.

“Exactly,” Valjean agrees, “Nearly an eternity.”

He parts the thick layers of hair into sections, still running his hands through the glinting tangle shaded as mercury and coal and stardust. If Valjean could put a color to the glimmering constellations the other man will speak so fondly of—in that spare, gruff way of his whenever it is a matter of any importance to him—surely it would be here, in Valjean’s hands, coiled sleek and gleaming between each stout finger.

He carefully pulls and twists the familiar river of Javert’s hair into an orderly, uniform plait; resisting the urge to dither too long with the soft strands between his fingers, knowing it will only result in lopsided loops and frayed, frizzing ends. And while Valjean would hardly mind starting right back over from the beginning, Javert would likely insist on doing it himself the second time, for the sake of efficiency.

And so Valjean applies himself to the task as scrupulously as he knows the other man would do himself, the well-known rhythm soothing and intimate and over entirely too quickly by Valjean’s reckoning; the finished braid slipping easily from his hold to thump softly against Javert’s back.

“I don’t suppose you could grow your hair out longer still,” Valjean says, not entirely sure himself if he means it in jest. “I do so love to brush and braid it for you.”

The other man turns his head to look up at Valjean over one broad shoulder, his thin lips pulled down into a considering moue, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I would have no strong objections,” Javert says, his voice now steadied to its usual deep and resonant baritone. “Though it seems impractical. But you already know you may brush or braid it as often as you wish, whatever the length of my hair.”

“If I were to do this as often as I wished, I would need to be the one brushing out your hair morning and night,” Valjean replies, grinning in earnest now. He allows himself to tug gently at the tail of Javert’s plait, thinking ahead to the evening, when they prepare themselves for bed:

Javert changed from this more formal attire into his long, ruffed nightshirt, stockings yet in place in deference to the cold night; loosing the ribbons in his hair and fastidiously unwinding the individual strands until they fall in snaking waves down his back, enticing Valjean’s fingertips.

Valjean would want to trail his hands through the curls left by the braid; clasping messy handfuls in his work-roughened palms as he hauls Javert around to meet the other man’s mouth with his own, fingers buried in hair the color of quicksilver and glimmering to match the starlight falling through their bedroom window.

He would want to lace his fingers through the jumbled tresses falling around Javert’s shoulders and pull the other man closer to him, pressed chest to hip to thigh before walking Javert to their bed, slowly lowering the other man to lie beneath him on the plush duvet, Valjean’s hands still pulling at Javert’s hair as it spilled across the bedding, and—

“—jean,” Javert says. He sounds very much like this is not the first time in the past few minutes that he has called Valjean’s name. “Jean.”

Valjean blinks. The sunlight peeping through their curtains looks, perhaps, brighter than he last recalls. It is still early in the morning, with a long day yet ahead of them; and Javert’s expression has drifted somewhere between fondness and an amused exasperation as he says, “Are you still tired? It’s early yet, you could nap for a while longer…”

“No, no,” Valjean waves the suggestion away, cheeks heating as he determinedly sets aside his wandering thoughts and their decidedly inopportune nature; it will do him no good to keep thinking that way, with a trip to the Pontmercy-Gillenormand househould and a half-dozen errands ahead of them before nightfall—and any potential reenactment of his imaginings. “I’m not tired at all; I simply was a bit lost in thought, planning out our day.”

He pauses, and adds, with an attempt at nonchalance he knows will not fool Javert for even a moment: “But I may take you up on your earlier suggestion, if you will permit me to brush your hair out tonight.”

An eyebrow creeps up Javert’s forehead, deepening the creases cut across it by time and age and experience, and the ghost of a smirk plays around the corners of his mouth as he replies with a knowing, “Indeed?”

He tosses his head, braid swinging over his shoulder as he faces forward once more, picking up the cravat lying on the desk before him to loop it around his neck. The cravat had been a gift from Valjean as well, to match the waistcoat—and Javert slips it beneath the rope of his braid and edges of his collar, to fasten it expertly at the hollow of his throat. Once complete, his hands pull away from his neck, and he swallows; the elegant knot of the cravat bobbing in time with the motion.

Javert glances at Valjean from the corner of one eye, where a single coil of hair has been missed by Valjean’s handiwork; now lying tucked against the crow’s feet that deepen when Javert smiles. He murmurs: “As I said; whatever you wish, my Jean.”

#thank u for the ask emily #here’s to the remaining fills being shorter…#‘i’ll just write 200 word drabbles.’ she said. ‘it will be short and quick and easy.’ she said.#ask game #demon4dilfs #afs.txt #my stuff #fanfic #les miserables

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1nksta1neddesk · 1 year ago

Text

A Court of Readers and Dreamers

Chapter 10: Stare Into Forever

The next day passed with no word from either Lucien or Tamlin, which left me with a whole day to sit in the library until Alis fetched me for a lonely dinner that I left from as quickly as possible.

The morning of Calanmai had my blood thrumming since the moment I had woken up, a book denting my side from where I had fallen asleep on top of it. I stayed in my room until late morning, dressing in the clothes I had hidden after a boiling bath that left my skin radiating steam.

Alis weaved my hair into a crown after a late lunch, speckled with wildflowers that I hadn’t registered her placing between the strands. Now I stood in front of the mirror, looking at my face framed with petals of daisies and small blooms of yellow chrysanthemums. It didn’t fully compliment my clothes, though I supposed they were meant to make me look more like I belonged in Spring Court while my clothes were a subtle opposition to it.

My eyes moved from the flowers held around my head and down to the outfit that adorned me, despite Alis’ protests when she had seen me that morning. Flowing dark cotton pants, just shy of black with the complimenting white thread that hemmed it, the cuffs at the ankles gathering the fabric in elegant pleats that dispersed as the pants traveled up farther. Ties held the waistband close to my skin. Where the waistband ended just below my navel, an equally flowing blouse started, hanging from my shoulders where it had no sleeves, the side of my arms bare to the open air where they showcased the speckling of freckles that had formed from countless hours in the perpetual spring sun. The blouse shimmered silver with soft casts of blue and purple only to be seen when catching light at certain angles.

I looked positively Night Court, if it wasn’t for those yellow and white sparks at my head ,that I was starting to convince myself they looked like burning stars. I looked back at Alis, grinning in a way that had her face pinching.

“I do wish you would let me put you in a dress, if only just once.” I scrunch my nose at her playfully before I adjusted an imaginary piece of stray hair. The first thump of a drum from across those rolling hills beat sent my heart fluttering.

I shooed Alis off, telling her to enjoy the Rite and that she deserved the night off. She was reluctant untill she was past the door of my room, at which point she gave a shallow dip of her head accompanied with a thank you before she disappeared down the hall. I closed the door behind her, rushing over to the window and drawing back the curtains that dampened those thunderous beats.

One beat, a call, followed by two quickly after one another, an answer. They called for whoever may be to come to them, to revel in them, but I resisted, if only for now. I sat down in the chair that usually belonged to the breakfast table, and let the rays of sun that were still high in the sky warm the back of my shoulders as I slipped on my usual boots that hugged close enough to my leg to not disrupt the pleats of the pants as I hid them.

I was alone for maybe 30 minutes before I heard a knock on my door. I got up slowly and opened the door as casually as I could, hopeful my plans weren't compromised. Tamlin stood there, baldric across his bare chest as he heaved a breath, shifting the red fletched arrows that sat just behind his shoulder. I watched him as he looked back at me, each assessing each other's attire.

“Can I help you with anything Tam?” I said with the sweetest voice I could, as naturally as I could, as his eyes raked down the blouse. More specifically to the tanned cleavage that was exposed from the top buttons being undone as I had been pacing with anticipation sparked anxiety.

His voice was gruff as his eyes traveled back to meet mine, catching at my lips for a moment that I did not miss. “Stay in the house, no matter what tonight. Lock your door even, tonight is not a night for human company amongst faeries.”

I nodded my head, slightly shielding my body behind the door that was still just partially opened as I did so. “I will keep that in mind High Lord, enjoy the Rite.” I moved to fully shut the door, but his hand caught it.

“I mean it Feyre, stay in your chambers” He retracted his hand and was already gone as I peered through the crack in the door at the hallway. I loosed a tense breath and backed away from the door as I let it click shut. I moved back towards the window just in time to see Tamlin stalking through the garden.

Predator, pure predator as he moved, quickly disappearing to where the first trails of smoke swirled in the sky. I let the cooling spring night air kiss my face, carrying the twinge of smoke and the growing scent of rose and cut grass as I still stared to where those bonfires now burned.

I let night fall, let the thumps of the drums guide me as I let time slip by as I moved my feet, finding an old rhythm as they called for me. Come it whispered into my blood, Come See . My stomach growled as I drank water from the pitcher that had become a constant companion on that breakfast table. I let hours tick by, occasionally falling to my bed to scream into one of the pillows whenever the emotions boiling in my chest became too much.

10 o’clock hit as I was running out of the garden doors, dark cloak billowing around me as I was halfway careful to not cause too much noise as I snuck into the stables. Ceres, the white horse I had been riding since my first day in spring, already had her head lounging out of the stall, eager for treats as she heard my feet. Luckily I had taken to riding her bareback on patrols, and was quickly atop her.

With no need for a guide she set off, a soft trot over foot hills. I sat low on her back, pulling the hood of the cape as far forward as it would go to hide the smooth arches of my ear. The scent of smoke and flowering blooms was quickly growing stronger as I brought Ceres to the edge of the gamepark woods that I had hidden in two days before. I dismounted from her and she understood my intention as she found a comfortable spot in the wooded grasses to lay down in.

I could not see the faces of the faeries around me as I passed, that dense glamor still in my senses as I skirted around the edge of those blazing flames. Past the drums, past the mingling faeries around the mouth of the shadowed cave, to stand by the tree line, still just barely in the glow of the fires.

I waited, ignoring the faeries around as I watched the flickers of flame from my distance. Minutes passed where nothing happened and my legs were starting to tingle. A grumble as I shifted the weight on my legs, and of course it was the moment I felt ready to complain about the waiting when a hand grabbed me and spun me around.

Three pict males were behind me, two flanking the central one grasping my arm, who smiled down at me, revealing pointed teeth. “Human woman,” he murmured, running an eye over me, my free hand itching to gather the fabric of the cloak to cover wherever his eyes touched. “We’ve not seen one of you for a while.”

I was doubting my plan as I tried to shake his hand from my arm as I looked at the two behind him. “Leave me alone Bastards” that gripped tighten as he pulled me further towards him.

“Why? Can we not enjoy some fire night revelries with such a sweet prize ” Fiery fear lit my veins as I definitely knew this was a mistake. Another pict hand pulled my hood back before plucking a flower from the braid that was still twisted at the top of my head.

I cursed at them, “Let me go.” I did my best to hiss at them, ripping my still free arm away as I felt fingers ghost at the skin.

“Bold words for a human on Calanmai.” The third one hissed in my ear as it caught the arm I jerked away as the one in front of me. “Once the Rite’s performed, we’ll have some fun, won’t we? A treat—such a treat—to find a human woman here.”

That one in front of me, the ring leader, placed its other hand at my hip, roving up to the skin under my blouse at my waist. I did not hesitate the moment I felt the thin fingers at my skin as I slammed my head forward, knocking our heads together with a crack. The hand jerked away as the owner grabbed at his head, his other hand still at my arm tightening painfully as I saw a small well of black blood on its forehead. I smiled at the small victory for having a hard head before more hands were on me, restricting as much as leading me towards the woods.

I pushed back, kicking at the shin of the one that held me, but those fingers did not loosen. I pulled back, broadcasting the fear of a cornered animal around me as the hands on me tightened, bruising now as I was slowly tugged towards the forest line. I dug the heels of my boots into the ground while I twisted my arms and torso around, trying to break from their grip.

Two twin lines of ripped grass followed behind us as I resisted more. I kicked at them more, trying to rip my arms away from their bruising grips, but every time I knocked a hand away, another was somewhere else, sharp nails scratching at my skin. He was supposed to be here already, swooping in like Prince Charming saving a Damsel as that tree line grew nearer and nearer, meters turning to feet.

One of the hands landed over my mouth as I went to shout at them, and on impulse I opened my mouth and bit down on two of those bony fingers, oily blood spilling into my mouth as bone crunched. The creature shrieked as I spat the vile blood out of my mouth, sputtering as the two others faltered, two hands pushing me towards the shadows as another one faltered at seeing its ilk cradle a mangled hand. My legs knocked together and with the open space behind me, I fell.

The expectation of stony dirt under me was replaced by a large hand under each of my arms. I tilted my head back and couldn’t control the smile that spread across my face at the glimpse of violet eyes under neatly slick black hair. He eased me back to my feet as the faeries stared with wide eyes at the presence of the High Lord behind me.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” His voice eased the pounding of my heart, replacing it with a new fear that simmered at my skin. Rhys’ hand shifted from my side as he took a step to stand next to me, a warm arm draped over my shoulders. I resisted the urge to turn my head up at him, at least not while I kept my eyes on the three soon to be dead faeries in front of us.

“Thank you for finding her for me,” he said, and if his voice was so smooth that the silk of my tunic felt like burlap against my skin,“Enjoy the Rite.” Threat loomed in his words as the males stumbled back, turning and pushing against each other as they scurried like rats back towards the fire.

With them gone I let my shoulder sag just a bit and twisted in Rhys’ arm, enough to keep its comfortable place and for me to peer up at him.

I had imagined him beautiful for years, but even after months of adjusting to the Fae beauty of Lucien and Tamlin my breath was stolen from my lungs. Short black hair gleamed under the barest flickers of fire light, his pale skin contrasting it like the moon in the night. I wanted to wince at the wane look of his skin, knowing the deep tan it should be holding if not for Amarantha holding him in her claws. But still I admired his sharp features, shadows pooling to smooth out the exhaustion that coated every beautiful feature. He looked me up and down, sensual and calculating at the same time.

I would never be able to chase his image from my mind, not as I slept, not as I woke, and definitely not as I spoke to him.

“Oh shit- hey.” I stuttered out, and I looked into his eyes and thanked every god I could and couldn’t name that I had made Tamlin de-glamor me as I stared into star-flecked night. They were blue, deep and unending as they twinged with violets and indigo, their depth speaking of light years as small splatters of silver peered through at me. Amusement sent the stars in his eyes shivering, twinkling like diamonds held on invisible strings.

“What is a mortal woman doing here on Fire Night?” Each word sent shivers licked up my spine at the lover's drawl coming from his mouth as he continued to bare his eyes into me. A smirk teased the corner of his lips as I replied.

“Enjoying the revelries before those pict bastards thought my presence was an open invitation,” I said, the words clipped and irritated as I dusted faked dirt from my pants and tunic. I spat out another wad of black tinged saliva as I inspected myself, hoping I would not have any lingering bruises from where they had gripped me.

“Oh, such profanity from such a lovely mouth. A mouth that I’m sure you know how to use if the hand of one of those bastards was any tell.”A pause where he stepped back and evaluated me. I tried to stand taller as he spoke again, “How does a mortal woman end up here on Fire Night?” I tried my best to look casual as I shrugged.

“My friend brought me, we live near.” Obvious lies that echoed Feyre’s. I knew he wouldn’t buy them, knew they would entice him as I saw echoes of pulsing shadows behind him, festering in his own cast light.

“And who is this friend?” Despite him not moving it felt as though he was leaning over me.

“No one you would know, but we will be staying for a few days, just for the celebrations.” I had my string cast and was slowly reeling it in with a giant shark at the other end of it. A moment of silence, both of us contemplating what to say next. Luckily I was not the one who had to break it,

“You're welcome.” He said as he looked away from me, picking at a non-existent piece of lint from his black tunic, “For saving you.”

It was enough for me to joke, set up a repertoire that I saw past that concrete mask, “Saved me? You must be mistaken, I think you saved those picts from me.” I pushed back the side of the cloak, revealing a low belt that held a glittering hunting knife. “Truely a stain on the world, males like that.”

I knew there was no guilt for the life of those bastards, still I reassured as a half cocked grin pulled his cheek back. I wished I could see him lively, with his family, a full grin across that achingly beautiful face filled with the color of sun and his wings spread and free. I realized I would sacrifice it all for him to have that, for the rest of Prythian to have that freedom, even if I was lost to the sands of eternity to achieve it. But I would let myself have tonight, an easy night where I could pretend the male in front of me wasn’t destined to someone else, someone I had replaced.

“I’ll remember not to save you next time, less I end up the one with the knife in me.” A mocking tilt of his head down, not a bow but close enough with the court eyes I knew watched for him. “Aren’t humans usually terrified of us? And aren’t you, for that matter, supposed to keep to your side of the wall?”

The question only caught me off guard for a moment before I waved a hand out dismissively, “So are you fae but plenty of you slip through anyway, at least I came to enjoy wine and food.” Wrong, my stomach felt hollow since I had skipped dinner in my impatience and was staunchly sober as I did not trust whatever was held by those tables I had seen faeries congregate as I slipped by the edges of the firelight.

“Food and drink will take a long while to come back. May I escort you somewhere in the meantime?” The beats of the drums steadied my heart as I looked at the arm he had offered me. Time was drawing near to where I had to flee back to the house, away from the High lord that was coming back from his hunt. I took the arm he offered, leaning against the warmth of the muscle I could feel beneath it.

“No thank you, I think I will turn in soon.”I saw a flicker of disappointment across his eyes, and knew I couldn’t walk away, not yet, “Though, I do think it would be a shame if I did not get a dance with my knight in shining armor.” I looked at his clothes, fine and pitch black, and unclipped my cloak to fold it just inside the glow of firelight. His tunic had silver threads at the seams, an inversion to the blouse I wore myself. He grinned down at me as he stepped back, his hand falling into place with mine before he spun me along with the music.

Though I knew this was dangerous for him, I flowed along with him. His hand was at my waist and I held his other as we fell deeper into the shadows of the woods, branches above us. Gaps in the leaves showed shining stars as my neck craned back and I laughed out to the sky. It was fun to let go, to enjoy the company of a male I knew I could trust.

His hands tightened against me, urging me to look back at those violet eyes. If the stars above truly were souls from the afterlife, I would not think it so cruel for me to become one of the ones held in his eye. His arms swept wide and we seperated for a moment, his hand guided me into a twirl. I felt the wind kiss at the skin that was revealed as the movement caught the silver fabric, careening it around me. I savored the cold kiss as he twisted me back in, his arm settling back down at my waist.

I bumped my hip, sliding his arm back to where I could now clasp both hands. This time I pulled him with me as I twisted, our feet hit the ground with heavy thumps that complimented the drums, and I almost recognized the beat to a song before a hand was pulling me away from him. I let out a small cry of shock at the loss of those warm hands before I was being placed behind a familiar male body, a wall of frazzled red hair before me.

Lucien was now holding me, pushing me behind him slightly as he looked at Rhys. “You were not invited, Rhysand.” He snarled it out and I tried to soothe a hand down his arm before he turned to me slightly, his metal eye staying fixed on Rhys. I saw those starry eyes sharpen at Lucien's bristle before he was smoothing out his shirt.

“I wasn’t aware that Calanmai had become private, Emissary.” Cold words, any warmth from his interactions with me gone. Still they held that feline tilt as Lucien still walled between us. I could feel the tension rising as Lucien paused, and interjected myself.

“I should not have asked you for a dance when I was already taken. Enjoy the Rite, sir.” A stiff nod from Lucien and I was pulling him away from Rhys, into the crowd of lesser faeries again. Lucien took over the path we were taking the moment we entered the swelling crowd, taking us to the opposite side of the celebration, back towards the game park.

“What were you thinking, Feyre?” His voice was seething as his grip on my arm tightened.

“I was thinking that I deserved to party along with everyone else.” I pulled the mask of an indignant mortal girl over myself as I ripped my arm from his grasp and crossed it across my chest.

“Idiot!” He was shouting now and a few faeries on the fringe looked towards us. “You were told to stay in your rooms! You useless Human fool.” I couldn’t protest as I was shucked over his shoulder. I pounded at his back as wind tore past us as he was running back towards the manor. The drums faded into the distant as their speed changed, beats closing in on eachother. I had been so lost in enjoying the small glimpse of Rhys that I had lost sense of time, lost sense of being.

Lucien only stopped running once we were in the manor, the grand hallway before us as he set me down. His hair was messy as he looked at me, anger making the personal glamor he had over himself shift for just a moment, hair blazing and eyes going molten.

His hands were at my shoulders as he lightly shook me, “You idiot! Didn’t he tell you to stay in your rooms?” Shame burned my ears and cheeks red like when I had come home past curfew.

I bowed my head as I apologized, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” I looked back up at Lucien as his hands fell away from me, and found him rubbing at his temples.

“Go to your room, I have to go back out there and try and keep the blood spill to a minimum for when he smells you but cannot find you.” I did feel bad as I apologized again, he left and I half ran to my room, not knowing how far off Tamlin was.

I locked my door that night, closing the window that was almost always open, and slid one of the heavy bedside tables in front of the door. I fell asleep reading of herbs found in each court, alert for any sound. I had multiple hours of quiet sleep before a snarling in the halls roused me. I only quickly made sure the lock was in place along with the table before I slept again, a soft hum of a lullaby blocking out the occasional scrape of sharp claws against a distant corridor wall.

#fanfic #acotar #acotar rewrite #reader #a court of readers and dreamers #inkywrites #reader insert #Calanmai #rhysand #rhys acotar #rhys x reader

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