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As I have been in the tumblr game for sixteen years and the fandom game for almost twenty, I will now give you a bit of a rundown on my blog and me in general, so you can decide whether you want to be neighbors or not. If you decide I'm not for you, that's coolio, the door is over there, please leave and don't look back or even let me know you are leaving. It's not that big a deal.
I'm a woman in my early 30s. Married. Has one kiddo. Works part time. A deconstructed Christian. Leftist and feminist. Bisexual. Spends a lot of time reading. Has a degree in history. That's all you need to know about my personal life.
More importantly I really love history, historical fiction, period pieces, fantasy novels, romance novels, horror novels, theology and Florence and the Machine.
Currently I'm super into ACOTAR (and have been for a little over a year), but I've also dabbled in various other fandoms over the years. I mostly got some traction in the Tudor history fandom for being a huge defender of George Boleyn and Jane Boleyn.
-I am a multishipper. If two characters have stood next to each other in a piece of media I have probably considered what their dynamic would be like as a romantic pairing, and if I haven't, I am one good fan fiction or fan art away from being sold. That being said; I tend to divide all ships in a fandom into the three categories of otp (fav), notp (am actively against this ship) or hell yeah brother (I ship it but it's not an otp)
-I love Cassian and Eris equally. I also ship Nessian and Neris. If you wanna yap about either or both ships I’m always down but I don’t tolerate putting down one for the other.
-this place is not a safe space for people who can’t handle Azriel being a messy bitch like he is in canon. My personal opinion on everyone’s favorite bat boy is that he is ruining his own life and letting others get hurt in the crossfire and we should let him be held accountable and made to reckon with himself instead of rushing to defend him every time he does something stupid (and also putting down a woman in the process generally).
-I love Elain Archeron. I love Nesta Archeron. Don’t come in here trying to put down one to raise up the other. That’s an instablock for me dog.
-Also don’t be talking to me about how shitty Feyre is to Lucien or vice versa. Feycien is forever my brotp and I am happiest when they are rage baiting each other because it’s their love language. It’s fine if you have thoughts that are nuanced about their relationship but leave me out of it. Thanks.
-We don’t make moral judgments about people based off their ships just their behavior. I have friends who are Elriels and I have friends who are Feylin and they are wonderful people (I even beta read an Elriel fic once.)
-My anons are currently open but only as a trial basis due to the recent influx of followers I have gotten.
Yes I write fan fictions. Yes I write them slow as hell. Leave me alone I have a kid and a job.
~Long Fics~
Earth, Wind and Fire
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Lucien/Elain/Jesminda
Elain always thought that by marrying for power she would be able to free herself from her mother’s grasp. She never realized she might just be trading one cage for another….darker one, but that’s what she fears her life as the wife of Night Court’s High Lord would be. So in a desperate bid to escape she agrees to accept her long ignored mate bond with the exiled (and married) Autumn Prince Lucien Vanserra.
Flowers In Her Hair-Coming Soon. An Elucien WWII fic
ACOMAF (Lucien’s Version)-Coming Soon. A rewrite of ACOMAF, this time with 90 percent more Lucien and Nesta on a team building retreat.
Sleepless in Velaris-Coming Soon. An modern AU. Recently divorced career housewife Elain Archeron moves back to her hometown to try and start anew, reluctantly accepting the help of her sister's lifelong friend, recent widower, and retired rockstar turned anti war activist Lucien Vanserra.
Baby Makes Three-Coming Soon-A series of vignettes illustrate Lucien and Elain's rocky journey to becoming parents.
~One Shots~
Mate Bonds and Other Inconvenient Truths
Rating: Mature (Subject to Change)
Pairing: Elain/Lucien
Just a place to put my Elucien drabbles and one shots. Some short and sweet and others long and full of angst because…well it’s Elain and Lucien.
A Proper Farewell
Rating: M
Pairing: Elain/Lucien
When Elain finds a way to have Jesminda given a proper funeral, Lucien must grapple with his feelings of guilt and grief.
Bravery-Coming Soon. A look at Lucien’s childhood
Happily Never After-Coming Soon. Lucien meets Jesminda
The Moon On A String-Coming Soon. A Feycien one shot that takes place during Mist and Fury.
Summary: As far as Elain knew, in all of her ten years of collected knowledge, she was the only person who frequented these woods. She'd never seen footprints before. Not ones this recent, not ones that the forest guided her to.
That curious sensation in her chest grew stronger. A stumbling beat. A beckoning.
Go, the rustling leaves called to her. Go see.
She had never seen him before, but Elain knew at once who he was.
What he was.
A Vanserra.
Or: That time an eerie meet cute in the forest changed their lives
A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 3: Peak yearning
Read on AO3 ・ Series Masterlist ・ Previous Chapter
-
4 years earlier
Time was a linear thing to most people.
They were born. And then they died. The moments that happened in between were an orderly chain connecting each point to the next. Every moment was distinct. There were no intersections, no overlaps, no loops.
Elain didn't always experience time that way.
Past, present, and future were sometimes indistinguishable from each other. Layered, and occurring simultaneously. While her physical body was mired to the present, her senses were wayward and drifted wherever they deemed most necessary. It had taken a long time for Elain to recognize when she grew disconnected from the present, longer to master how to tether herself back.
On the day she woke to thousands of names clinging to her like cobwebs, she wondered if the present was something she wanted to be tied to at all. What she wouldn't give to return to the simple days of sneaking off to the forest, when war was so far on the horizon that the only futures she saw where flashes of giggling on Graysen's arm.
How could she walk down the hall and smile at the servants as if she hadn't seen the temple razed to the ground? She could go to the High Priestess, explain to her that she saw the temple's wall collapse. That there only a handful of sunrises before the temple was captured by force, after which Beron Vanserra's army would systemically pillage each of their rooms. He would demand they turn over the seer, and the temple would face his wrath if the High Priestess refused.
Every conversation Elain had tried to broker with the High Priestess had fallen on deaf ears. Even with the severity of what Elain had seen, she knew another conversation would end no differently. The High Priestess would insist their army was thriving, that these were only bad dreams, not prophecies.
But what was the point in all this effort to protect Elain if she was to burn alongside the temple anyway?
Elain knew she was standing on a precipice. There were many paths forward, even ones she had not yet Seen. But the path she chose was one of comfort. Familiarity. It involved feigning sickness for the day and climbing out her bedroom window.
This was a path she walked a thousand times before. And for that reason, she would never walk it alone. There were a thousand other versions of Elain walking beside her, some of them young, some of them older. All of them were greeting the forest with a smile and an open heart. Their presence steadied her, reassured her that this was the right path.
The forest had never steered her wrong before.
Even if… even if she was a little nervous to see him again. Assuming he decided to follow her trail, assuming he even saw it, this would be their third time meeting in the forest. But on this occasion, there was no injury forcing his hand. He would need to come to her simply because he was curious enough to do so.
She was unarmed. The thought occurred to her on her third hour of waiting, perched comfortably on a branch near the bluebell carpet where they first met. There was nothing stopping him from assembling a team of men to follow the path she laid, to try to attack her while her guard was down.
Elain indulged the thought for all of a double-heartbeat before she giggled to herself at the absurdity. The future was always a bit murky when she thought of Lucien Vanserra, like a churning sea protecting the secrets within its depths. Even so, she knew there wasn't a single outcome in which Lucien betrayed her location.
He was a Vanserra. He was involved in this conflict to a degree of which she did not yet know. But his heart beat in her chest, and the rot of Autumn had not penetrated it. Its sound was pure. Its presence was warm. There was kindness in him. Softness that perhaps was unsafe to let his court see.
In the forest, it would thrive.
Did he feel the call, too? When the mist parted way, did it feel like coming home at last? Elain didn't know if anyone else could feel as settled as she did in a place so mercurial, but she wanted to ask him. She held on to that question, not wanting to forget it, but by the fifth hour of waiting, she was beginning to lose hope.
Until a branch cracked on the threshold of the treeline. Her heart stilled, but the other kept beating.
He's here, the forest said. He's coming.
His footsteps were quiet, but she heard each one, a steady tap beneath her ribs. Closer and closer. Red hair dipped as he swung beneath a low hanging branch. Uninjured, he was no longer a fox in coloring alone. He moved like one, swift and graceful. Primrose flowers brimmed from his close fist. Those clever eyes swept the forest in search of the next, and she kept to her hiding spot as she watched him pluck another from the trail.
Lucien paused when he reached the base of the tree. Seeing that there were no more flowers, he cast his ensnaring eyes upward, pinning her to the spot with a devilish smile.
"I didn't know these trees fruited such divine flowers," he said in greeting.
For having done nothing but lounge for hours, she was alarmingly breathless.
"Primrose doesn't grow from trees," she couldn't help but correct.
His smile broadened. "I wasn't speaking of the primrose."
"You're very charming for a man who's preparing to raze my home."
Lucien's smile fell, and he turned away before she could mourn its loss. "So you know. My father's lost his patience. He's given the High Priestess time to turn over the seer, but now he feels he must take matters into his own hands. Even if that means taking your temple apart in search of her."
"Can you do anything to stop him?"
"I've tried, in what ways I can. All my brothers have. We didn't want to wage this battle against the temple, but my father, he is…" He trailed off, and Elain wondered if his mind was drifting to another time as hers so often did. Whatever memory he saw, he shook it away and continued, "He will not stop until he finds her, Elain."
"What makes him think we have a seer?"
Lucien turned back to her. She'd thought this might be her opportunity to at last admire his handsome face without seeing it pinched in agony, but it was still there. And this time, there were no poultices to pack in his wound. This conflict was being inflicted on her people, but one would not think so from the grief in his expression.
"I told him," he confessed. "When I was just a boy. He wanted to know how I found my way back from the forest, and I admitted a girl laid a path for me. I didn't understand the implications, but my father explained to me that only a seer can navigate these woods. He's been obsessed with finding you ever since."
Elain's eyes burned. She knew it was the truth because she could still feel their bargain cording around her ribs. He could not lie to her, even if he wanted to.
"Why haven't you told your father who I am?"
"Because I fear what will happen to you." He reached upward for her hand, and she let him take it, breath held as his satin touch swept across her knuckles. "Twice now, you've saved my life. I am honor-bound to repay the favor."
Warm. His touch was so very warm. Like laying in a spot of sun on a bright summer day. Elain stared at their hands, the way her much smaller one was completely enveloped in his, and wondered what it would be like to fall into that heat. Would her mind still be split in three directions, or would she finally be anchored to the present?
"And what will you do when he breeches the temple's walls?" She asked.
Lucien's gaze was caught on their hands, too. But his expression did not convey the same honey-drenched thoughts Elain had been occupying. His brow was drawn, as though troubled. She supposed they were discussing a troubling subject, after all, and it was rather girlish of her to be diverting attention to something as trivial as holding hands with a boy.
A forest away, men were stabbing each other with swords. Ash of the dead was being scattered on the breeze.
It didn't seem such a trivial thing, in the face of it all, to reach for something soft. To hold it as long as she could.
"I'll meet you in these woods," he proposed. "While my father searches for you in the temple, I can help you sneak into the Autumn Court. You can establish a life in a nearby village, live under his nose. I'll make sure you're kept safe."
As he spoke, the timbre of his voice strummed upon the bargain's thread, an indolent musician plucking a string simply for the desire of being heard. Truth, it sang. Then another pluck, more agitated. Hear me.
"And my sisters?" She pressed. "The temple?"
Lucien winced. "If my father doesn't find the seer, he'll destroy the temple. But you can get your sisters out before that happens. Hide them in these woods."
"My sisters won't abandon the other priestesses. Archerons are not known to flee from a fight, even in the face of slaughter."
"Then trick them," Lucien suggested. "Make them leave."
Elain would have snapped her hand away no faster than if he'd scalded her. Make them leave? Her lips parted to chide him, but a stuttered beat against her ribs gave her pause. Could she really scold a man for being heartless when it was her own chest that it occupied?
Look, the forest said, and she peered down her lashes at the male still cradling his hand around the space hers had been. His fingers closed around the empty air, as if he might still capture the essence of her. Hold on to it as long as he could.
He is scared. For you.
She did not know if the revelation was the forest's or her own, but it struck her that Lucien would be willing to make any suggestion that spared her from his father. He did not feel he owed anything to her sisters, but he felt he owed a life debt to her.
There was a much simpler solution. One he was refusing to acknowledge—perhaps she had been, too. Elain was not as brave as her sisters, but that was something she could overcome in her love of them.
"If your father is given his seer, will the bloodshed end?"
Lucien's posture grew taut. "Elain, don't even think about it."
"If your father is given his seer," she repeated, "will the bloodshed end?"
He was fighting the answer. A vein strained in his throat. The muscles in his jaw flexed. But the vow he'd made to her in this forest was bound by the might of the earth, and the wind would force the words from his lungs if that was what it required.
"Yes," he gasped, sweat beading on his brow. "If you surrender yourself, our army will retreat."
-
"This is a bad idea, Elain."
It was sure to be if even Feyre—the purveyor of bad ideas—thought so.
Elain darted her eyes between both of her sisters. They wore twin expressions of disapproval, which was another ill-omen. A situation ought to be dire, indeed, to find Feyre and Nesta in agreement with each other.
"Help me convince her," she pleaded. "It's the only thing that will save us."
"Are you out of your mind?" Nesta flung her arm towards the tower window, where they had a perfect vantage of the smoke pluming from the lit funeral pyres below. "The Autumn Court will tear you apart. And the High Priestess would sooner burn this temple herself than give you freely to them."
"It's a temporary solution," Elain stressed. "I'll satisfy Beron's demands long enough for you to safely evacuate the temple. Once you light the signal, I'll escape into the woods and meet you there."
Nesta crossed her arms. "And if they keep you in chains? How will you escape then?"
"Lucien will help me. I know he will."
Both of her sisters scoffed. They would never understand. They didn't see how haunted he looked to admit he'd set this conflict in motion. That his father would never know a seer lived in this kingdom if she hadn't shown him kindness.
"No Vanserra can be trusted," Feyre said gravely. "You have a soft heart, Elain. He's trying to use it against you to fulfill his father's goal."
"If that's the case, then why didn't he just capture me in the woods?"
Her sisters shared a glance. Then Feyre said, with grating gentleness, "You're the only one who can navigate those woods, Elain. He can't take you from them unwillingly."
For the slightest moment, Elain's view of the forest took the altered shape that it did in everyone else's eyes. A place that was eerie, unsafe, dangerous. She pictured a red-haired man in those woods, but his clever eyes held the sinister edge of a blade. His smile was just as wicked, but the thrill it wracked through her was one of terror, not pleasure.
Was her naivety covering the truth with a softer lense? Or was it their cynicism churning the image, diluting its water with murky sediment?
Elain's heart knew the truth. Hers and Lucien's beat as one. She'd helped him twice without question or hesitation. He would be driven to do the same. That was the only truth she could make peace with.
Regarding her sisters, so they both could read the depth of her sincerity, Elain told them, "There are two paths forward. You can either help me convince the High Priestess of this plan, or I'll sneak away to surrender myself to Beron's army. I know which choice gives the temple the strongest advantage. Do you?"
She waited patiently as her sisters digested the ultimatum. They studied her, they studied each other. Nesta's eyes even drifted back to the funeral pyres she'd gestured to earlier. There was very little change in her expression, but she did set her lips into a thin line.
"Okay," Nesta said. "I'll help you."
Feyre looked far more stricken, but she nodded. "I will, too."
"Thank you," Elain whispered. She mustered a smile that conveyed far more courage than she felt. "Then, let's go convince the High Priestess to offer my hand to Lucien Vanserra."
Present Day
The boat swayed with the rise and fall of the sea.
Through the stern window in the captain's quarters, Elain could feel the rhythmic swish of water as it swept against the hull. Again and again, like the sea was trailing its knuckles against the wood, just to remind the crew she was still there. Warning, you are alive because I allow you to be. I can change my mind at any moment.
"You used to say my name sounded like the sea," Lucien mused. He leaned forward on the chair he'd pulled to her bedside, a bowl of seared fish and grain cupped in his palm. "Having heard her song, do you still agree?"
Elain's glare hadn't left her face since the moment she'd woken up in that ox-wagon. Now, she speared it towards the spoon he held toward her lips. It didn't matter that the smell made the back of her mouth water, or that her stomach grumbled loud enough for the both of them to hear. She kept her mouth shut.
With a sigh, Lucien set the spoon back in the bowl. "I won't let you starve yourself, Elain."
"Of course not," she sniped. "Your father won't lift your banishment if you return with an emaciated corpse."
"That's not why I care," he said evenly.
"Isn't it?"
Lucien reached for a waterskin with his other hand. "It isn't." The cork popped with an easy pry of his thumb, and then the opening was pressed to her lips. "At least drink something."
Having no desire to be bound to a bed of soaked sheets, Elain parted her lips. To his credit, Lucien held the waterskin at a steady angle as she drank, ensuring too much water didn't pour at once. A small amount dribbled at the corner of her mouth when he pulled away, but that was fixed with a swipe of his thumb that lingered at the plump of her bottom lip for a beat too long.
Lucien cleared his throat. "I noticed you didn't answer my question."
"About the sea?" He nodded, and Elain decided to answer if only because it would offer a distraction from the heat still tingling through her lip. "Maybe I said that because I was really hearing this moment. Maybe it was a warning me that our fates would be bound, and you would be my captor."
"Captor?" His echo held a sadness that called to her weaker sense, but she refused to give him her pity. Not when she was tied to a bed, trapped in a prison of his making in the middle of the ocean. "I preferred when you called me husband."
"Those words are no different to me. What will I be when you turn me over to your father, wife or captive? You know I'll try to flee at the first opportunity, so what will you do? Keep me chained to our marital bed?"
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "You're the seer between us. You tell me."
Futures couldn't be summoned on a whim, not in the way he was suggesting. She was brought visions as the Cauldron willed it, and though she could often pick up vague senses of where a person's immediate path was heading, with Lucien it was always blank. As if his preferred mask of indifference was rooted down to his soul.
She'd never met a person as guarded as him. There were one or two souls she'd come across on her travels who faced the world through a shield of ice, but Elain could still peer through them on occasion. Perhaps because they were not so layered as Lucien's. Where most people maintained a single barrier between themself and the world, Elain suspected Lucien had built several. Wall after wall after wall—so enclosed that perhaps he no longer knew where the surface was.
And yet, through all those layers of stone, she could still hear the slow, steady beating that begged her to listen. I'm still here, it said. Find me.
Elain returned his glare. "I know that right now, you are keeping me restrained. That makes you my captor."
Yanking on the bindings caused the rope to scrape against her raw flesh, but Elain felt the pain was worth if for the remorse that flashed across Lucien's face. She didn't expect him to set the food aside to inspect her wrists. He swore when he saw the angry blisters on her skin.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, hands flying to the knots around the headboard. Elain didn't say anything, too stunned by the way he untied the rope and took both her hands into his own to further examine the wounds. "Elain."
"I didn't think you cared."
Lucien made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, one that fell somewhere between anguish and frustration. She replayed the sound in her mind, trying to puzzle where it landed closer to. Meanwhile, Lucien retrieved his pack from the far side of the cabin and began rifling through it.
It occurred to her that she could have tried to escape during that short moment his back was turned. But they were in the middle of the sea, and if he'd paid off the crew well enough to take residence in the captain's chambers, she could imagine they wouldn't be scrambling to aid her.
"Here," Lucien said, returning to his seat with a tin in hand. "This salve should help."
Elain held out her hand, expecting to take it from him to administer it herself. He surprised her by taking her hand in his, heartbreakingly gentle. With his other hand, he dipped two of his fingers into the salve. Elain hissed when it met her skin. Despite his gentleness, despite knowing it was coming, the pain still prickled through her.
Knowing when pain was coming did not always alleviate it, she found.
"I'm sorry," Lucien said. His voice was solemn. "You're the last person I ever wanted to hurt."
"Then you should have let me go. You should have never come looking for me."
There it was again, that sadness flicking over his face that preyed on her heart. His voice was strained as he said, "I tried. I told myself I could let you go. But I couldn't. It—you haunted me. I had to set things right again."
As he spoke, something plucked at her. An old string in her chest. If she tugged on it, she had the sinking sensation it would lead to his own. Truth, she thought it said. Elain frowned. Lucien switched to rubbing salve on her other hand. His movements still gentle, the unintended sting still cruel.
"This is your way of making things right?"
"This is a means to an end," he corrected. Then he shook his head. "I would like you to explain it to me, though. Why do you think I no longer care for you? Only one of us was abandoned in those woods, and it wasn't you."
Elain tried very hard to keep her mind anchored to the present. She focused on the pain throbbing through her wrist. The warmth of his hand, cradling hers. His steady heartbeat pleading, listen. Listen. Anything to keep from reliving the moment she last saw him in the forest.
"It was a means to end," she whispered, because it was the only answer she could give him. "I couldn't risk you taking me back to Autumn."
His flattened lip said she was only telling him things he'd already worked out for himself.
"But why do you assume I no longer care for you?"
Because I don't know if you ever did.
"I betrayed you," she answered. "I left you."
"It hurt, but I understood your reasons. How could I not?"
It burned her, that he had the audacity to play ignorant. Like a branch bearing too much weight, the anger in her snapped. If she was capable of deeper anger, her hands would have flown to his cheek. Something in her craved violence, but the most she could bare to strike was the tin of salve in his hands. It clattered to the floor, splattering its contents as it went. Flecks of it decorated Lucien's leg, but that was not nearly so satisfying as the shock on his face.
Shock that morphed into something hot. Anger, and something else. Something that writhed and tangled in her stomach, made her clench her thighs.
Maybe it was because of that heat, because of the fear that rose to meet it, that she snapped, "Don't take me for a fool, Lucien. I am not the same naive girl I used to be."
"No?" Lucien lifted from his chair, surging so fast and so close that Elain instinctively fell back on the bed. He followed, arms braced on either side of her head, lowering himself until she could feel the heat of his body skimming every inch of hers. "I think you're right," he breathed. "The girl I met was no coward, and certainly no oath breaker."
"I broke no oath!"
"You broke the one you made to me!" He snarled. "You left me."
Elain stilled, searching those heated eyes. For just one traitorous second, her gaze dropped to his mouth. She told herself it was because his teeth were bared. A survival instinct, to make sure he wouldn't bite her.
A memory flickered at the cusp of her grasp. If she reached for it, she knew she would feel those teeth sinking into her skin in another time. One framed by the rosy flush of passion. Even without reaching for it, her body recognized its remnants. Her bones sighed in relief, saying, we've been here before. Why fight it?
"You said you understood my reasons." Elain was unable to help the mocking sing-song in her voice. Lucien's eyes flashed, and some inane instinct had Elain craning her neck in response.
He tracked the movement, just as he tracked everything she did.
"That doesn't mean they didn't wound me," he murmured, dipping his head to speak the words against her neck. "Especially when I would have gone with you."
"Liar," she gasped.
Sharp teeth dragged along the column of her throat. She couldn't resist her full-body shudder.
"I've never lied to you, Elain." A nip at her pulse. "You made me swear it."
The hand she slid into his hair was entirely involuntary. She told herself she was only tangling her fingers with the intention to pull him away. But she was his wife, once, in every sense of the word. Memories of it were trailing back to her, slow and syrupy as treacle.
They were telling her things. Secrets buried the bedsheets of Autumn. Like what would happen when she pulled on his hair.
And Elain pulled hard.
Lucien groaned, and the next thing she knew, his teeth were clamped down on her neck. No more teasing. No more gentleness.
She squirmed beneath him, hips bucking until he indulged her silent request by pressing his body in. Pinning her to the bed with a strong thigh wedged between her parted legs, pressing solidly against the place she ached. She was left with no choice but to stay. To feel. To keep herself anchored to this moment of anger and passion and… and something she couldn't bear to name, or it risked shattering her past repair.
Her husband released her when she finally cried out. Not from pain or anguish, but from the sharp, quivering needs she hadn't dared acknowledge since the moment they parted ways.
Lucien's breathing was ragged. "Tell me why you're so angry at me. Tell me why you think I don't care for you anymore."
"You've chased me down to bring me back to him!" She exclaimed, blinking back tears. "Why do you need more explanation than that?"
The bed sighed as Lucien peeled his body away, leaving Elain deprived of his weight. Empty.
"If you think that's why I've been chasing you all these years, then perhaps you truly don't know me at all."
Elain thought she should say something, refute his words or throw them back, but they'd doused cool water over her anger. She could think of nothing to say, could only watch as Lucien strode to the door and left it swinging behind him.
This one wasn't typed up in a sleep addled frenzy, but actually thought out.
Title: A Fluke of Nature
Prompt: Peak Yearning
Word Count: 1567
I'd like to dedicate this drabble to @crazy-ache because her historical romance inspired Elucien fics really inspired me when I wrote this and tomorrow's one shots. Especially Call Me Selfish, Call Me Wrecked! I hope you enjoy Lucien waxing poetic about how much he loves Elain
Elain looked radiant tonight. Standing out on the Spring pavilion among her circle of new found friends, dressed in gown of beautiful emerald green, jewels of various shades of green and yellow dripping from her ears and down her neck, flowers woven in her rich golden hair, moving about the crowd of guests with all the ease of a life long hostess. She’d always been beautiful, so beautiful it hurt him to look at her sometimes, but she’d never looked like…this. Not in Night Court at least. There she had been dressed up to be admired, but always more or less ignored, kept to the side, to the shadows. Something to be shown off, to be loved, like a prized possession, but not to be touched, not to be truly engaged with.
All around her fae from every court and rank and species gather around, jostling each other for a chance to speak with her, the new Lady of Spring. Some of them, her personal inner circle, hadn’t left her side all night. He spies his old friend Poppy Runson, wearing a color that wasn’t black for the first time in one hundred years, throw her head back and laugh at something Elain had turned and muttered in her ear, her deep brown cheeks turning even darker, a first for her since her husband had died at the hands of Amarantha. On Poppy’s other side was Tamlin’s cousin Sorcha Maybloom, making her first debut into Spring’s society since her bloody divorce. The “reclusive flower” of Spring was in bloom once more. Bronn and Hart, who had never taken a single thing seriously in their entire lives, were dressed immaculately in their Spring Court livery, standing tall and proudly behind their charge, looking at her in adoration every time she turned to speak to them (which was often, as Elain seemed to think of them more as friends than her guards).
Elain brought out the best in every one, and everything as well; he swears the flowers on the bushes that have been planted around the pavilion bloomed brighter and stood straighter today in her presence. As if all of Spring wanted to make everything dazzling for their future Lady today.
Standing at the edge of the Pavillon, among a few of the emissaries from other courts, Lucien recalls that Feyre, when arguing with her elder sister a few months earlier, had said Elain was made for a place like Spring. At the time Lucien had been in agreement. Now however he feels he should winnow away to his High Lady immediately and inform her of her egregious mistake. Elain wasn’t made for Spring Court. Spring Court was made for Elain Archeron.
And he most definitely was not. As evidenced by the spriggan nearby giving him a wary look, the thousandth one he’s gotten since the soiree started. The citizens of Spring tolerated him well enough, he was allowed to take up residency in Tamlin’s manor as Night’s permanently stationed emissary and Elain’s personal advisor, but he could see in their eyes that he was not forgiven for abandoning them in their time of need. The rumor that he and Feyre had eloped with each other was still a common one among the lesser folk, he shudders in revulsion at the thought. He loved Feyre, deeply, but in the same way he loved his cousin Octavia. He sighs, shoves his hands in his pockets, and wonders when he became such a wallflower at these functions.
From somewhere deep inside, he feels a small tug. A question, quiet but insistent. He glances over at Elain and finds she’s looking at him. There is another small tug.
Are you okay?
He smiles and tugs back. A reassurance. I’m fine.
Her smile makes his heart clench, makes the fire in his veins ignite and burn him from the inside out, a fire he’d happily die in if it meant he could bask in her attention. But it’s only for a moment. Then she’s turning back to the guard who had been speaking to her, Dalton was his name, he was distantly related to Tamlin on his father’s side, and he loved to tell everyone about it.
The sun was finally starting to set and the fae lights that had been hung were starting to flicker to life, casting a warm glow on the pavilion and all its guests. Lucien watches as it catches Elain’s golden brown curls and sets them a light, making a halo around her head.
Perfect. By the Mother and her Cauldron, she was perfect. There had never been anyone so beautiful, so strong, so…right, as Elain Archeron. Lucien wonders if her friends realize how honored they should be to be in her presence. To be loved by her. He would do anything for her to reach out and take his arm in hers, like she does with Bronn, or reach out and push one of his stray hairs out of his face, like she has been doing to Sorcha all night.
To be touched by her. To be cared for by her. Was to be cared for by a goddess.
Lucien sighs, he’s been doing that too much. He had long ago accepted that whatever existed between them, this bond that tied them together, was a fluke of nature. How could it not be? Elain was…Elain was everything, and Lucien? A whole lot of nothing. A coward. Pathetic. A worthless sop.
It had to have been a cruel joke on Elain, this mate bond. He knew she knew it, just as surely as he did. He saw it in her eyes every time he dared to get close to her, saw it in the way she would tense up and skitter away. Azriel was right of course, as an advisor Lucien had a great deal to give to Elain, but as a mate he had nothing to offer. He was something to be tolerated, and pitied.
Still, he would be whatever she needed of him. Gladly.
He’d been wallowing in his misery again, he shakes his head to clear his thoughts and looks up to find Elain is moving towards him. Bronn and Hart on her heels as always. “Lu!” she trills, nodding toward a pair of brownies that have bowed to their mistress. “Lu what are you doing over here against the rose bushes?”
Lucien sweeps a low bow himself, “Camouflage my lady. I thought my hair would blend in nicely with the roses.”
Elain laughs, and his heart practically jumps out of his chest in joy. “I’m afraid your hair is a tad too golden for roses Lu.” she teases. “And you are of no use to me on the edges of the crowd.”
He wonders if she can hear his heart still, like she had claimed on that first day. He wonders if she hears how fast it’s racing. “My apologies my Lady. And where may I be of use to you?”
“We shall dance.” she tells him. “Lord Cerrdown has asked me four times now for the first dance, and the only way I can think to avoid dancing with him is to tell him that I was already engaged to dance with you.”
“With me?”
“Yes” she nods, “Given the connection between us, accepted or not, you have the right to have my first dance, don’t you think?”
First dance. Lucien envies all the fae around him with goblets of wine, because his throat has gone suddenly dry. Was it his imagination, or was there something coy in Elain’s voice. Some kind of wicked humor glinted in her eyes, as she spoke. As if she was making some kind of insinuation on purpose.
“My Lady, I would gladly be your first anything.”
Behind her Hart snorts, and even Bronn has to hide his mouth behind his hand. Elain’s cheeks color, a most delicious pink, that has Lucien wondering if anything else turned that color when she was flushed. For a moment she is silent, and he panics, thinking he may have ruined his one shot. But then she merely rolls her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t have many firsts to give you anymore” she quips “But come I wish to dance, and anyone is preferable to Lord Cerrdown.”
“Very well my Lady, your wish is my command.”
She offers her dainty hand and he takes it gingerly, ignoring how the contact burned in the most delicious way, and led her onto the dancefloor in the center of the pavillon. The rest of the soiree melted away. The guests, the fae lights, the constant hum of chatter, the bushes surrounding them, the whole of Spring Court, the whole of Prythian even, all gone. All that was left for him was perfection itself, in his arms at last, for a moment at least, a song.
The mate bond was a fluke of nature, he is sure.
But as she smiles up at him, one of her hands resting on his upper arm, the other in his own. As the music begins and the pair find themselves swept up in a waltz, Lucien begins to wonder if perhaps it was too much to simply pretend, for now at least, that it wasn’t wrong.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra
Characters: Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra
Additional Tags: POV Elain Archeron, POV Lucien Vanserra, Day 3: Peak Yearning, Hurt No Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues, Mating Bond
For Elucien Week 2026, I'm sharing a drabble a day to match each prompt. Historically, drabbles are 100-word stories, meant to challenge writers at brief, succinct story telling. Feel free to join me and share your elucien drabbles too!
Day 3: Peak Yearning
Lucien held the air at the bottom of his lungs until it physically pained him. He exhaled with a shudder, clenching his fists as he straightened his spine. He kept his eyes forward, looking her way but not directly at her, calculating her distance and speed as she approached, her head bowed as she clutched the basket hanging on her arm. He hoped she couldn’t hear his heart anymore because now it hammered in his chest, his cheeks flushing with nervous anticipation as he curled his lips in a welcoming smile. She didn't smile back, passing him without a word.
For @elucienweekofficial | Day 3: Yearning | 11.5k
Thank you @honeybeegarden for the idea you sent me 🤍
Summary: After years of chilly distance and stilted silence from his mate, Lucien accidentally develops a praise kink out of yearning for more. Elain accidentally discovers this very addictive fact one fateful day. Out of curiosity, she decides to see just how far she can take it.
Both of them begin a game of torture and pleasure they may not be ready to endure.
Or: Elain can’t stop praising Lucien until it drives him mad. They both suffer for it.
Notes: E, Completed Oneshot, PWP. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did crafting it hehe!
Synopsis: During Starfall Night, Lucien gets some much needed advice and an unexpected offer.
Song Inspiration: Cigarette Smoke by Olivia Rodrigo.
"It's bone-dry. bitter and hollow. You'll be miles away tomorrow. Why I'd try at all? It's bone-dry. bitter and hollow. You'll never know my sorrow. Why did I try at all?" -Cigarette Smoke, Olivia Rodrigo
There was nothing more terrifying then the feeling of falling in love, it was a lesson that Lucien Vanserra had been taught throughout the vast majority of his life.
To love was to make oneself vulnerable, a vulnerability that could be exploited and used. A weapon that could be wielded as effectively and as brutally as any blade.
To love...to love was to lose, and there was no lesson that Lucien had mastered better than the one of loss.
He had learned it for most of his life, could not remember a time where he had not carried the weight of loss within him as if it walked side by side with him, following him around like one of his brother's smokehounds.
The memory of it potent as if it were a rotten fruit on his tongue. He could not stop thinking of those that he had lost , if he had ever had them at all.
His mother...his brothers of both blood and choice..his lover...
A sharp pang coursed through his chest at the memory, the death of a lover was not something ones mind could forget.
Even now, centuries later, he still saw flashes of that night in the forefront of his memory, could still feel the deep, pulsating bruises forming underneath his flesh as his brothers held him down to bare witness to the slaughtering of the one person, besides his mother, who had loved him without question. who had fought for him, even if it was at her own detriment.
He could still see the malice and resentment in their gazes when they looked upon him, still remembered the wicked gleam in their eyes. as they forced him to watch, still felt the ravaging of his throat as his screams reverberated through that cursed forest house as his father butchered the female he loved, forcing Lucien to watch every depraved, despicable moment of it, making sure that he would never forget such a sight.
He could still hear her terrified screams ringing through his ears, forever etching themselves throughout his memory as the sound of her heartbeat, the one that had once been so joyous and free that Lucien had felt it as fiercely as his own, ceased to exist.
He had wished at that moment that his own would stop ...could still hear the snickers of his brothers as they released him, their duties fulfilled as Lucien ran to her, kneeling in the pool of her blood to get to her as he pumped his hands against her heart as if he could get it to beat again. As if by some miracle his touch would bring her back to life.
He remembered when he had gathered her lifeless body into his arms as he prayed to The Mother to bring her back, to take him instead...for what world could ever exist for him if she were not in it?
But his heart had not stopped beating in time with her own. No, the heart that had once belonged solely to her, still beat, and ever since then he had tried to find the reason why it had done so.
He thought he had found his reason as an invisible string tugged at him, his gaze flickering up to the balcony of The House of Wind as he saw her glance up at the moon.
Her golden brown hair flowing in the wind, still gazing at the beauty that the full moon had to offer as he retracted his own gaze. Perhaps it had been instinctual and she had not noticed that she had tugged on her end of the bond. He never knew when it came to Elain Archeron,
He held no delusion that Elain ever thought about him, had long since shrugged them off since he had felt her during solstice night. She had made her point loud and clear, had it not been for the male beside him, and Feyre's desire to see him, then he would have not come at all.
He averted his eyes, focusing instead on the golden threads of his burgundy jacket as he smoothed the fabric down, a second nature to him, and one lesson that his father had bothered to instill in him. To look the part even when your own life was falling apart.
He clenched his jaw at the thought of it, knowing that the male had not bothered to teach him this lesson because he cared for Lucien, but because of the fear of what Lucien could do to his own reputation.
It had always been that way between them, To Beron Vanserra, Lucien had always been his errant son, the disgrace to his family's name, and the stain in his life that he could never remove. And he had always made sure that Lucien knew that. Had felt every ounce of his hatred from the moment Lucien had first drew breath.
He knew why, knew what the male saw when he gazed upon Lucien. A reminder of the male that he detested above all else. Lucien's face a mirror of his very own, The High Lord of the Day Court.
It did not matter if he had inherited his mother's fire, her gaze, even the redness of her hair, for all Beron saw when he gazed at Lucien was reminders of him, and the shame that it had brought on Beron's line for Lucien to even exist. The scars on his flesh firm reminders of how far Beron had gone to suppress any part of the male that sired Lucien. Lucien's nails imbedded in his skin at the reminder of it as the wind ruffled the tendrils of his wine red hair.
Rhys had given him the heads up that the male who sired him would be here tonight. Had been shocked when Feyre and him had come to him with the information only to find out that Lucien already knew. Had kept this part of himself buried for so long until it boiled to the surface.
Even now he could feel the power that he had inherited from that male licking up his spine, caressing his flames, beckoning them to merge, to dip further into his power reserves as Lucien clenched his teeth at the thought.
He did not hate The High Lord of the Day Court, not truly. Understood his decisions deep down, but it did not mean that his choices had not left their mark. Knew deep down that his father's decisions, both his fathers had been part of the reason why he hadn't minded Elain keeping him, at arms length on top of his own.
"Is everything alright?" Rhys inquired drawling him from his thoughts.
His gaze flickered to Rhysand, still waiting patiently for Lucien to walk through that threshold. To take those first steps into the house, and see what awaited them.
"Why wouldn't it be?" He asked, his gaze flickering back up to the balcony where he had last seen Elain, realizing that she had now vanished. His heart straining at that before he turned his full attention back on Rhys.
"I would understand-we both would if you would rather be somewhere else tonight. I know this isn't the holiday you would typically be celebrating tonight, but-well, we're glad that you came, Lucien."
Lucien averted his gaze again, Tamlin's words still fresh in his mind as he had told Lucien that he did not want to share in this holiday together. It was one thing to let him into his lands-another for them to spend Nynsar together as they once had. The wound those words had made still pressing against his flesh. Lucien didn't know why he had expected anything different. Why he even still bothered at all.
"I had no prior engagements." He answered, a courtier's answer, but he had no doubt Rhys could read the pain in his gaze regardless.
"Shall we then?" Rhys offered, offering an olive branch of the sorts.
Lucien accepted, nodding his answer as he made it through the threshold and into the house beyond.
The party was in full swing, save for a few people, almost everyone was gathered here tonight as his eyes swept across the room, an invisible thread tugging at him, as his gaze firmly snagged on her.
He found it a difficulty to breathe as he beheld her, She was resplendent in her sage green gown, appearing as a goddess forged from the earth itself as he forced himself to look away.
No matter what the universe says, she is not mine. He reminded himself.
Tonight he would not be as starry eyed as a lover...Tonight he would play the role she set for him, and try to do so with ease, no matter how much it hurt his own soul to do so.
"I need a drink." He called to Rhys, not bothering to hear the male's response as he strode for the bar, prepared to eddy the sorrows and tribulations of his mind with the power of drink, grasping one of the many glasses of wine displayed there before familiar fingers brushed against his own. Her touch damn near scolding as if he had been licked by his own flame before he pulled his hand back, the golden thread that bound them both, tugging at his side, yearning for him touch her, to close the distance between them and-
"Apologies, Lady." He told her, swiping the wine glass beside the one that their hands had almost touched and weaving his way through the room before he could hear her response. He couldn't play this game of theirs, at least not tonight.
Rhys's brow lifted as Lucien rejoined him, taking a generous pull of his wine as the mulberries exploded on his tongue. The taste of the wine a welcome distraction that deterred his mind from its wandering to how sweet she would taste upon his tongue.
Rhys gave him a knowing look, his eyes sparkling in amusement as Lucien fought the growl that formed in his throat. He needed air, and he needed it fast.
"Lucien." Feyre greeted him, sweeping him into a hug before he could protest, as he wrapped his arms around her, careful to assess Rhys's mood as he did so.
He relaxed some as Feyre pulled away, her hand going to the swell of her abdomen as Lucien inquired,
"How is the little one doing?"
Feyre beamed,
"He's running out of room in there." She stated, wincing slightly.
Rhysand stiffened by her side as she gave him a quick glance of assurance, his own hand engulfing hers, still pressed firmly to her abdomen. A thousand words passing between them as Lucien glanced away, his throat bobbing at the sight.
He did not begrudge his friend of her happiness, especially after what had transpired between the two of them, but he couldn't help the hollowness he felt in his chest, the envy that was there when he beheld what she had built for herself here. A life that he had always hoped he would have for himself. A place where he truly belonged. A home built from his own hands, and a family of his own. He wondered if he would ever find that place. If he was still capable of having those dreams.
He stole another glance, searching the room for her, knowing full well that he probably should have stopped himself, should have spared himself from that pain, but as he found her in the room, he couldn't help how his spine stiffened at the sight.
For his ma-Elain was talking to none other than to the male who had sired Lucien himself. Helion, The High Lord of the Day Court, listened to Elain as they exchanged pleasantries, leaning in close to her as an inferno welled up inside of him. Not of jealousy, but of-
Amber eyes flickered to his own, as if they had felt his scrutiny from across the room, could see the flames flickering in Lucien's gaze as Elain turned to see what had caught Helion's attention, her mouth pressing in a tight line as disapproval flickered across her gaze. She didn't understand, no one really could.
He felt Feyre's assessing gaze, her hand squeezing his arm, returning his attention back to her, a sympathetic look in her blue gray eyes that he wanted to shrink away from. He didn't need anyone's pity.
"I need air." He told them, excusing himself.
Feyre did not argue, did not move a muscle to stop him, as he made his way to the balcony above, hoping that no one followed to watch him fall apart.
The chill of the cold spring night air battled for dominance against the fire blazing through his very core .
Lucien hoping to assist that chill, adjusted his collar, willing his fire to settle as he shrugged off his burgundy jacket, hoping to smother some of the infallible heat surfacing up inside of him.
Even though he had been born an Autumn Court male, he was still burning hotter these days, as if he had been touched by the sun itself. As if his powers were fighting for dominance against the powers Lucien had been trained to wield ever since childhood.
His jaw clenched at the thought of his sire’s powers being stronger, for most of his life, they hadn’t been, until he had come back from Under the Mountain, until his father became High Lord, Until he had gained the full force of his powers back. his status now cemented, forever tying Lucien’s fate to his. His son by blood and his heir by birthright.
Lucien grasped the wine glass, the cold touch of it helping ground him some as he leaned against the balcony taking another sip of his drink as he glanced at the stars that had thrusted this fate upon him.
His eye clicked, focusing on them as he tracked their movements, as if he could read the decisions within them. As if it were that easy.
Footsteps fell as something tugged at his middle. Not the bond, that one felt different. Was different. Lucien’s mood soured as he fought the clench of his jaw, taking another generous swallow of his wine before stating boldly,
“You shouldn’t be here. Isn’t being near me against your and mother’s-“ He tried to find the words. “Tentative arrangement.” He answered waving a hand between him and The High Lord of the Day Court, who had shut the balcony doors behind him to allow them some privacy. The stars themselves already knew his most dangerous secret. There was nothing to hide from them.
Lucien didn’t turn to face the male, not giving a singular shit if Helion was a High Lord or not. It was in poor taste for a courtier and emissary to do so, but for the heir that Helion had willingly left behind….Lucien saw it as justification enough.
“It is.” Helion answered plainly, no remorse in his voice or any form of apology. He was a High Lord, he did what he wished like all the others had. “But I wanted to check to see if you were okay.”
Lucien scoffed. As if the High Lord who more or less ignored his existence for the past three hundred years could ever care about Lucien’s well being.
“Lucien-“
Lucien’s eyes turned sharply to Helion, cutting him off. He wondered what the High Lord saw in them. If Lucien’s fire still rose to the surface.
“Unfortunately for you, I have little patience for family reunions today. Best to try your luck next year, if you even deem me worthy to do so.”
He expected the High Lord’s wrath. For him to deem Lucien as little more than a petulant child that was acting out due to three hundred years of longstanding resentment. But all he saw when he gazed at Helion’s face was a flicker of remorse, which took even Lucien by surprise.
“Perhaps I deserved that.” Helion admitted, stepping up to Lucien’s side at the balcony, taking a moment to glance up at the stars that surrounded them. Lucien stiffened at the close proximity. The near contact. It was the closest his sire had ever dare go to him. Afraid of who may bear witness, who might uncover that truth.
As if it could sense his presence, that fire….the one Lucien tried so hard to tame, to suppress rose to the surface. He had tried to douse them until they were nothing more than embers, after it had reduced Lucien’s brother to mere ash and Tamlin had found Lucien trembling in the woods next to them, dried blood coating Lucien’s arms and hands as Tamlin took in Lucien’s tears stained cheeks….tasted the tang of his fear, grief, and rage in the air before he took Lucien back to his manor to clean him up.
Those same flames rose to meet Helion’s now. As if they knew his sire stood before them and yearned to break free from their carefully curated cage that Lucien had crafted for them. Lucien’s hands trembling at the thought. Something Helion took note of.
“They’re growing stronger. Aren’t they?”
Lucien’s jaw tensed, trying to wrangle in said powers, the flames welled in his eyes instead. A mix of both his mother’s and his father’s powers as potent as molten metal, forging Lucien into a weapon so dangerous others sought to destroy him. His stomach twisting at the mere thought as the chilled air of the night grew hotter.
He avoided the question, refusing to meet Helion’s gaze. He never wanted this bottomless reserve of power, the weight of it. Resorting to the power of his words and his knowledge instead to keep his dynasty at bay.
Now-Now it seemed as if he could not put it off for much longer. His hands gripped the stone of the banister at the thought.
“I can help you.” Helion offered as Lucien’s gaze snapped to the male’s in surprise. The High Lord of the Day Court drawling a sharp intake of breath as he saw the depths of power that resided in him.
“How can you help with something you can not understand?” Lucien inquired.
It wasn’t a jab, per se. Merely the truth laid out before them. Helion understood the power that Lucien inherited from him. He did not understand wielding powers from two courts and how they merged until it was damn near suffocating.
“We can start off small. If you-“
“If I what?” He asked, holding the male’s stare.
Helion swallowed. Nervous. A High Lord who had met his fair share of opponents on multiple battlefields was nervous. Did Lucien truly unnerve him?
“If you came to the Day Court-“
“Doesn’t that go against what you promised my mother?” Lucien threw back at him. Lips pursed in frustration. An arrangement the two of them made when they found out he had been conceived. An arrangement born out of fear of what others might do if they found out.
“This isn’t about your mother, it’s not even about me. This-This is about you. About giving you a chance to acquire what you’ve been denied.”
His gaze turned to Helion sharply, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at him,
“And what is it that you think I’ve been denied?”
“A home.”
Lucien opened his mouth to argue, to say that he had already had a home, but something within Helion’s gaze made him pause.
“I know that I’m probably the farthest thing you think about when you think of a home. I know I can never be the father that I should have been, the one that you deserved. But-I want a chance to get to know you, Lucien. To get to know the male you’ve become.”
He turned his face away, emotions welling up inside of him. He wanted to push him away. Wanted to tell him that he didn’t need him.but-
“Why would you want to? I’m not your burden to bear.”
He swore he felt the world pause at the words, the admission.
“Is that what you think you are? A burden?” Helion rasped, he wondered if the male’s own emotions were getting to him .
Lucien’s gaze flickered forward, his mind churning in contemplation as he gazed at the stars above them.
“It’s what I always have been. What everyone always expects me to be.”
A firm hand landed on his shoulder, forcing Lucien’s gaze back to his.
“Listen to me. Lucien. You are many things, but a burden is not one of them.”
Lucien’s eyes stung his mind wandering in a bunch of different directions. He had spent his life resenting this male, resenting the power that had flowed throughout his veins as a constant reminder of who he truly was. And what it had costs him.
“You don’t even know me.” Lucien reminded him.
“Perhaps not in ways that others should but-I have seen glimpses of what you are like when you care for others. The lengths you are willing to go for them.”
The world paused. He had, Lucien realized. He had been there, perhaps not for everything, but for little moments here and there.
“A lot of good my loyalties did for ones I cared about.” He mused, the weight of his mistakes and miscalculations weighing heavily on his mind.
“We are not perfect beings. And the fact that you are willing to weigh the outcomes of your decisions means that you are better than most. Most fae would not care as deeply as you do. Would not give it a second thought to those they have harmed. In that, you are wise beyond your years.”
As if feeling a shift in his universe, Lucien leaned his back against the bannister. As if that invisible string tying him to her encouraged him to do so.
“You don’t have to make your choice right now. I know things are….complicated.” Helion told him, reaching into the folds of his chifron to pull a delicate gold mark out from under it. Lucien glanced at it in puzzlement. “I just want you to know that this is an option that’s open to you. If you want it.”
“What of mother?” He asked.
“Your mother knew from the moment I became High Lord that this arrangement was on burrowed time. We were young when we made it, we did not know what either of us would become, all we sought was a way to protect you. But even we can not stop what was written in the stars.”
Lucien glanced towards the double doors then as if he could see her through the threshold beyond. His heart straining at the thought.
“Did you love her?” He found himself asking. Feeling a weight between his ribs, a pulsating of the bond. Wondering if Helion’s own felt similar, or if he could still feel it at all.
“More than I thought was capable of loving a person.” He claimed.
“How did you do it? How did you leave?”
How did you leave her? He wondered. How did you leave us?
“I learned in life that you must love a person enough to respect the choices they made for themselves. Perhaps-Perhaps one day they’ll come back to you. Perhaps one day you’ll be reunited again but-“
He glanced at Lucien, making him wonder what he saw underneath.
“If not then you have to accept that too. I have a lot of regrets in my life, Lucien, but you and your mother will never be one of them.”
He wasn’t sure how to answer. What exactly to say? Perhaps the silence between them was answer enough as Helion stepped forward pressing the coin into his open palm.
“The choice is always open to you, Lucien. Your mother and I may have set you on this path. But it is up to you to decide if you want to walk upon it. If you-If you chose it, use this coin and it will guide you to me.”
“And if I chose to reject your offer?” He inquired.
“Then keep the coin anyway.” Helion smiled, making his way back to the balcony doors as the wind ruffled the ends of Lucien’s red hair, the male slipping back inside as Lucien glanced back at the stars, contemplating the path ahead.
Elain kept her gaze trained on the balcony doors beyond, to the males that laid before it. A path playing through her mind as she saw where it would take him, even if that path was away from her.
She clutched her glass, careful as she was in most things. She had saw how deep Lucien’s hurt ran. Had felt the pressing of a wound that he needed more than her to heal.
She felt that wound alleviate some, felt her mate’s mind contemplating the path before him. One she knew he had to walk if he was meant to become who he was destined to be.
The string tied to her ribs, yearned for her to go to him. To beg for him to stay by her side. To not leave her. But she knew-knew that there were some paths that they both had to walk on alone.
He would be gone by morning. She knew. A note to her would be slid through the crack underneath her door, an explanation for his sudden departure and what brought him to this decision, before he would set forth on that path ahead of him, and follow it until he found his purpose again.
She pressed a hand to her chest. A small sad smile playing over her lips as she glanced beyond those doors, swearing she could still feel the warmth of his touch, the smallest brushing of his fingers sending her burning in his wake as Elain set down the wine, the memory of his touch still firmly on her mind as she forged her own path, hoping that one day their paths would cross again, and she would feel the warmth of his smile again, as blistering as the sun upon her skin, as she tucked the thought to the back of her mind, and wove her way through the awaiting crowd, leaving a piece of her soul behind as she went.
Summary : Elain can no longer ignore the bond, so she comes up with a flawless plan and hopes Lucien doesn’t object. Of course, spending more time together leads to a hopeless romance <3
Note : Happy Elucien Week and thank you to the amazing volunteers that organise @elucienweekofficial I have been so so excited for this event!!! This is a short multi-chapter fic that was heavily inspired by the various Regency and Victorian romance novels I’ve read over the last few months :)
The letter had remained unfinished for three days.
Elain had decided this was deeply inconvenient.
She knew exactly what she wished to say, it was the writing of her words that proved impossible.
The parchment lay upon the writing desk beside the window, weighted at the corner by a small porcelain dish containing a single sprig of jasmine. The flower had long since dried, its petals delicate and pale, but Elain had not yet brought herself to discard it.
She was not entirely certain why.
There were many things she had once believed herself capable of explaining that time had quietly stolen the certainty from.
The Forest House had a habit of exposing such truths.
A year ago she had crossed its threshold as a guest, politely welcomed, watched, and accommodated. Somewhere between the last Equinox celebrations and the approaching ones, she had ceased being any of those things.
Nobles greeted her and servants knew her name. The kitchens brewed her preferred tea before she thought to ask. Eris no longer inquired whether he should prepare a room for her, she simply stayed to the suite connected to her mate’s new chambers.
She had never noticed when the change occurred. Perhaps that was the peculiar thing about belonging, she thought.
A garden grew while she was looking elsewhere. A friendship formed while she was distracted. A person became important before she realized she had begun to depend upon their presence.
She had spent years believing that if she did not look directly at something, it could not alter her life.
Experience, unfortunately, had proved otherwise.
She reached for the quill once more.
Lucien.
His name flowed easily from her hand.
Once, writing it had felt almost treasonous. Now it was everything that followed which seemed impossible.
She dipped the nib into the ink.
Lucien,
I have rewritten this letter several times, though I suspect you would find this unsurprising.
The corner of her mouth moved faintly. She could already hear his voice, the way he might say, “You do have a tendency to make simple matters unnecessarily complicated, Elain.”
The irritating thing was that he would have been kind about it. That, she supposed, had been the problem from the beginning.
She continued.
I do not know precisely when this happened.
The sentence sat upon the page with an honesty that made her hesitate.
I do not know precisely when you stopped being someone I was trying to understand and became someone I simply wished to know.
Her grip tightened upon the quill.
The heart of the Autumn court seemed determined to display every shade of the season at once, Elain thought as she glanced out the window. Scarlet leaves clung stubbornly to the ancient trees while golden ones scattered across the lawns below, each carried away by the breeze only to gather again in new arrangements.
The gardeners would restore everything before dusk, and the wind would undo it all before morning.
She had once found that maddening, now she found herself admiring its beauty.
Her gaze drifted back to the letter.
For years she had imagined the bond to be the most frightening part of whatever existed between herself and Lucien.
It was everything beyond it that was infinitely more terrifying.
The simple, ordinary things that had nothing to do with magic.
Elain wanted…
She yearned for more.
The words waiting in her chest were much less graceful than the ones upon the page.
I don’t want to pretend.
With a faint sound of frustration, she reached up to tug absent-mindedly at the short curls at the nape of her neck.
She had spent years mastering the art of saying precisely what was required and nothing more. It had served her well in the human lands and in Prythian’s courts.
Lucien, unfortunately, had become alarmingly adept at hearing the things she left unsaid. She thought of the expression that always settled over him whenever she grew quiet. The way his russet eye lingered upon her face with patient attention instead of pressing for answers.
It was entirely unfair.
She drew a fresh line on her letter beneath the previous attempt.
Lucien,
I think perhaps I have spent too long believing that I should not want the things that I so desperately do.
Her breath caught. She stared at the sentence, quill hovering. She should strike it through. Instead, she continued.
I believe our arrangement no longer serves its purpose.
The words looked impossibly bold on the page. The ink had barely dried when she set the quill aside.
She considered tearing the letter into tiny pieces and casting them into the gardens below, where they might drift amongst the fallen leaves until no one could distinguish one from the other.
A knock interrupted the thought.
More quickly than was necessary, she turned over the parchment and slipped it beneath another sheet. "Come in."
The door opened before the words had fully left her lips. Eris leaned one shoulder against the frame rather than entering immediately.
His appearance was just untidy enough to suggest he had dressed in haste rather than carelessness. Elain wondered if a certain silver-haired, noble lady was responsible for his irregular state of disarray. He wore only his shirtsleeves, the cuffs hanging open at his wrists, and one of the leather ties usually securing his hair had vanished somewhere, leaving several auburn strands fallen loose around his face.
Elain looked up at him. "You've lost a battle with your wardrobe."
His mouth curved. "Some of us are responsible for an entire court."
She hummed, and only then did Eris step fully into the room. He glanced once toward the writing desk. His amber eyes landed on her long enough to notice the ink staining her fingers, the tension lingering in her shoulders.
His expression softened by a fraction. "There was a message from Lucien."
Her fingers, still resting atop the hidden letter, became very still. "There was?"
"He expects to arrive before dinner." He delivered the news with infuriating calm.
She waited. Eris waited longer, tilting his head so that the golden hoops along his ear reflected the sun at her.
"...That is all?"
"For the message? Yes." One brow lifted. "For you?" A grin spread across his face, bright and entirely too knowing. "I might have additional observations."
"I do not care to hear them."
"No?" He folded his arms. "A pity. I had thought to congratulate you on spending the better part of a week pretending you are not counting the hours until my brother is back from Summer."
Heat climbed her neck. "I have done no such thing."
"No?" He asked.
"No." Elain clipped.
"Hm."
Elain narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you have a court to rule.” She reached for the nearest object, her dried sprig of jasmine, and tossed it at him.
Without looking, he caught it neatly between two fingers. “I suppose I still have a bit of time to check on you.”
The words were light.
So effortlessly affectionate that something inside her loosened despite herself.
She huffed, though she could no longer suppress her smile. "You may leave now."
"I suspected as much." He set the jasmine carefully back upon the desk. As he reached the door he paused. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Then he disappeared into the corridor before she could decide whether to thank him or throw something considerably heavier.
Silence settled over the room once more.
Elain looked down at the unfinished letter resting beneath her hand, then toward the closed door.
It was absurd, she told herself. She had known Lucien was coming for nearly a week, but at the mere thought of him her pulse had quickened.
After a long moment, she folded the letter with deliberate care and tucked it into the drawer of the writing desk.
Elain was not avoiding it, she told herself, she was simply waiting.
* * *
Aspasia arrived precisely seven minutes later than she had promised.
It was not a clumsy oversight. Elain had come to understand that to a noblewoman of the Autumn Court, arriving precisely when expected was viewed as a vulgar surrender of power.
A lady of quality dictated the clock, she never obeyed it.
Elain could have repeated the philosophy verbatim, so frequently had she heard it over the past few weeks.
When her companion finally crossed the threshold, the silence of the near-empty room surrendered to the deliberate, rhythmic rasp of silk. Aspasia peeled away her dark gloves, finger by finger, allowing her rings to catch the afternoon light. Her sharp gaze swept the room like a scholar inspecting a volatile, private experiment, rather than a guest preparing for a low-stakes game of chance.
"You are hiding something," Aspasia stated, omitting any pretense of greeting. It was an observation that brooked no defense. She tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing as she no doubt catalogued some imperceptible shift in Elain's countenance.
Elain did not falter. "Good morning to you as well." She kept her chin parallel to the floor, her spine aligned perfectly against the cushions as she lifted her teacup with practiced grace. "I see the crisp air has done you a world of good, Aspa. You seem remarkably sunny today."
Aspasia crossed the room with the absolute, unbothered confidence of a woman who was centuries old and knew precisely how much space she was entitled to occupy. Her emerald gown was cut with the sharp, uncompromising angles she favoured, entirely lacking the softer, draping popular among the younger ladies of the Forest House.
It was one of the reasons Elain secretively preferred her company. Aspasia refused to soften her edges, and it was refreshing.
"Good morning," Aspasia smoothly countered, settling into the wingback armchair opposite her with a fluid, sweeping tuck of her skirts. She leaned back, crossing one elegant leg over the other, her gaze fixed entirely on Elain's face. "Now. What is it? And do not attempt to blame the weather. You employ that particular tone of voice only when you try to keep something from me."
"I have no idea what you mean." Elain took a slow, measured sip, keeping her expression a mask of placid calm. She lowered the cup, her fingers remaining loosely wrapped around the warm porcelain. She knew Aspa could be as vicious as a hound with a bone once she scented a secret.
"Of course you don't." Aspasia reached for the silver teapot, adding a single spoonful of honey to her cup with the meticulous precision of an apothecary. She did not spill a drop. "I have known Eris for several centuries, Elain. Which means I possess a highly developed sense for deliberate evasion."
"That sounds like an exhausting skill to acquire," Elain murmured, setting her cup down upon its saucer. She offered a small, sweet smile, the very picture of a well-bred lady. "Though I suppose growing up in the Autumn Court requires one to find entertainment wherever they can, even if it means inventing conspiracies."
"On the contrary. It has saved me from agreeing to many things I should have deeply regretted."
"Such as?" Elain asked, tilting her head.
Aspasia looked over the rim of her cup, her ruby eyes gleaming with a wicked, courtly amusement. "Marrying him, for one."
Elain’s hand jerked. A splash of tea threatened to spill over the rim before she caught herself, her fingers tightening instinctively to steady the porcelain. Her composure had fractured just enough for Aspasia’s mouth to curve into a thoroughly satisfied smirk.
"Fortunately, I was referring to other matters," Aspasia added, taking a graceful sip, entirely pleased with herself.
Carefully lowering her cup without making a sound, Elain rose from her seat. Her skirts dragged softly against the carpet as she smoothed down the front of her dark orange gown. "One day, I should like to know whether you ever say anything simply, or if everything requires a theatrical delivery."
"Simplicity is rather boring, don’t you think?"
The utter immediacy of the response surprised a soft, breathless laugh out of Elain. She gestured toward the small mahogany gaming table near the window, where a deck of cards already sat perfectly stacked, the edges squared precisely against the dark, polished wood.
Aspasia blinked, her elegant composure slipping for a fraction of a second. "Cards? Now?"
"Naturally." Elain smoothly took her seat at the table, her fingers lightly brushing the top of the deck. She leaned forward, resting her forearms lightly on the wood, her posture suddenly projecting an entirely different kind of confidence. "I thought you wished to know what I was hiding. People reveal themselves more honestly when they are distracted by a game, don't they? Or are you afraid I might actually win this time?"
Aspasia paused, a flicker of genuine appreciation crossing her face before she took the opposite chair, her heavy rings clicking sharply against the wood. "Is that something Eris taught you?"
"No," Elain said softly. She shifted the deck with practiced ease, the cards cascading through her fingers in a flawless, mesmerizing waterfall as she began to deal. "That is something I assumed you taught him."
Aspasia looked over her shoulder toward the window, where the lovely stubborn autumn roses clung desperately to the stone walls, before looking back at Elain, her lips twitching with a reluctant smile. "You flatter me."
Elain dealt the first two cards face down, her movements fluid, deliberate, and entirely unhurried. "What game?"
"Twenty-one embers."
Elain raised a single brow, her gaze locking onto her companion's. "Challenging me in my own rooms?"
"I love how competitive you are," Aspasia offered, leaning forward and resting her chin on the back of her laced fingers.
Elain knew that she was looking for a twitch of a muscle, a shift in breathing, the slightest flutter of an eyelash. "I am not competitive." She dealt the next pair with a delicate, dismissive sniff. "I simply prefer the predictable rules of a game to the unpredictable nature of your interrogations."
Aspasia stared, and after a long moment of silence, she finally looked down at her hand, a small sigh escaping her lips. "Remarkable."
"What?" Elain said, her brow furrowing slightly.
"You lied without a single blink. Your pulse didn't even skip a beat." Aspasia shook her head, tapping the edge of her cards against the table.
Elain flashed her a small grin she hoped mirrored the court’s bite, a rare flash of teeth. "I believe you’re confusing honesty with your personal opinions, Aspa. They’re rarely the same thing."
"They aren’t?"
"Perhaps in Autumn only," Elain replied smoothly, sliding a final card across the table.
"I’ll draw first," Aspasia declared, her voice dropping to a softer, knowing cadence that bypassed the usual courtly barbs. She slid a gilded card from the deck, turning it face up with a swift flick of her wrist. The King of Hearts sneered up at them from the parchment.
Elain slid a low card into the pile, her movement entirely unbothered. "You are a terrible friend."
"Yet you continue inviting me to tea, so clearly you appreciate the lack of dullness." Aspasia tapped a single, pointed fingernail rhythmically against the mahogany table. "Your move. Risk a spark, or stay cold?"
"I am currently re-evaluating that choice," Elain mumbled. She studied her hand, her eyes scanning them, but not quite paying attention. Her gaze flicked toward the door for a mere fraction of a second before snapping right back to Aspasia. She drew blindly from the deck. She pulled a safe but vulnerable seven.
Aspasia let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"I was thinking," Elain defended quickly, placing the card down to cover her brief slip of focus, her fingers smoothing the edge.
"About?"
"Nothing new, really."
Aspasia’s sharp expression softened by a fraction. She reached for another card, her tone shifting from playful to devastatingly perceptive. "If I allow you to keep thinking about Lucien, you will eventually convince yourself that wanting him is a moral failing."
Elain's fingers tightened against the gilded edge of her card until the paper slightly bowed under the pressure. She froze, the air growing thick and still between them, the playful banter evaporating in an instant. The card in her hand felt suddenly heavy, like a real coal burning her fingertips, the heat travelling up her arm.
Aspasia didn't look up from her own hand, keeping her voice casual despite the immense weight of her words. "You are very fortunate that your mate is a patient male. Most in this court would not be so accommodating."
Elain's posture stiffened, her shoulders squaring as she forced her hands to relax, deliberately letting go of the card before she ruined it. "That sounds dangerously close to criticism."
"It is."
"Of me?"
"Of both of you." Aspasia’s ruby-hued gaze finally lifted, pinning Elain in place. She set her cards down entirely, leaning over the table. "You are both so determined to be perfectly considerate, so terrified of overstepping boundaries, that I suspect you would rather suffer quietly for eternity than risk inconveniencing the other by speaking your minds. You play your lives like this game, holding back your best cards because you’re afraid of the fire."
Elain opened her mouth to argue, searching for a clever deflection, a witty retort, or a courtly shield to throw between them. She found no words to defend against the raw, unvarnished truth of it. Her mouth closed, her gaze dropping to the table as her fingers curled into her palms.
Aspasia delivered a triumphant smile, flipping her final card face up with a definitive snap. "Twenty-one. Exactly. You see? Sometimes you play the card, and things don’t go all up in flames."
Before Elain could attempt to steer the conversation away, acknowledge the loss, or offer a counter-argument, the air in the morning room suddenly altered.
Deep within her chest, a quiet thread snapped taut.
A sudden, radiant warmth bloomed behind her ribs, a distinct, fiery presence flooding the bond with a mixture of anticipation and quiet yearning.
Lucien.
Elain’s chest tightened, and her breath hitched audibly. Her gaze instantly snapped toward the heavy entrance doors, her entire body leaning toward them, her fingers gripping the edge of the table before she could stop herself. The recognition was instantaneous, a visceral, magnetic pull she could not mask. She could feel as a sudden, brilliant colour flushed her cheeks and spilled down the column of her neck.
Aspasia caught the shift immediately. The sharp, triumphant smile of a card-game victory softened into something surprisingly gentle.
"Ah," Aspasia murmured, gracefully gathering her cards into a neat, surrendered pile in the center of the table, the gilded edges catching the last rays of the autumn sunlight. "I suppose Lucien has arrived, and I shall have to find someone else to play with."
* * *
The gravel of the drive crunching underfoot was the only warning she received before the heavy oak doors of the Forest House were thrown wide.
Elain did not think. She did not gather her skirts with the effortless grace she had spent a lifetime perfecting. She simply ran.
The crisp autumn air bit at her cheeks as she descended the front steps, her slippers skittering against the stone. All around them, the ancient apple trees of the estate hung heavy with fruit, the scent of sweet, turning earth and bruised skins thick in the air.
Lucien looked as though the journey from the Summer Court had been a long one. His riding leathers were dusted with travel, his immaculate hair falling loose from its tie in wind-whipped coppery strands. It was his face that anchored her, the slight hollows beneath his cheekbones, the faint tension in his jaw, and that familiar, striking contrast between his warm russet eye and the whirring gold of his mechanical one.
He had barely stopped moving when she reached him.
Elain threw herself forward, her momentum carrying her right against his chest. Her arms flung around his neck, her fingers tangling blindly into the thick, loose hair at the nape of his neck.
A sharp, ragged breath left Lucien’s lungs as his hands instantly found her waist, gripping her with a sudden, fierce desperation that spoke of every step between them. He lifted her slightly off her feet, pulling her so flush against him that she could feel the hard, rapid thudding of his heart against her own ribs.
"Elain," he breathed against her skin, his voice gravelly and thick with a yearning he obviously had not had the time to hide.
She didn't let him speak further. Tilting her head back, she pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was entirely devoid of patience, born of three days staring at an unfinished letter and three years of quiet, building devotion. Lucien groaned softly, his grip tightening until his fingers dug firmly into the fabric of her gown, anchoring her to him as he kissed her back with a fierce, burning hunger. He tasted of sea salt and spiced apples, his mouth warm and completely consuming.
When she finally pulled back just a fraction, her breath hitching, she didn’t let him go. She loved the weight of his arms around her.
Slowly, Elain leaned in again, tracing the line of his jaw until she kissed the very corner of his mouth. Her lips brushed the small, pale line of the scar that pulled slightly at the skin there. She felt a tremor ripple through his shoulders at the touch.
Lucien leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. His large hands moved up her back, his thumbs smoothing over her shoulder blades in a slow, reassuring rhythm.
"Are you alright?" he murmured, his voice low.
His russet eye opened to search her face with that agonizingly patient attention she knew so well. Beneath the warmth of his gaze, Elain felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. Her gaze flickered away for a fraction of a second, her jaw tightened imperceptibly.
Beneath her palm, resting against his chest, his heartbeat was loud and steady, a beautiful familiar rhythm.
She thought of the letter sitting in the drawer upstairs, and her conversation with Aspasia. She thought of the bold, terrifying honesty of the words she had written.
I believe our arrangement no longer serves its purpose.
Lucien noticed instantly. The whirring of his mechanical eye clicked to a sudden, quiet stop. His brow furrowed, his thumbs halting their soothing pass against her spine as his posture stiffened. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the line of her mouth, silently reading the unspoken anxiety written in the rigid line of her shoulders.
Looking into his face, feeling the warmth of his skin and the fierce possessiveness of his embrace, the urge to complicate whatever currently existed between them vanished. She was happy exactly as they were, she told herself.
Why risk breaking the fragile, beautiful thing they had built or ask for more when the present was fine as it was, Elain thought confidently.
Forcing the tension from her posture, Elain drew a soft breath and looked back up at him, intentionally softening her gaze to ease the sudden worry in his expression.
"I am perfectly alright," Elain whispered, offering him a soft smile that she hoped she might be able to hide behind. "Now that you're here."
Lucien’s mechanical eye gave a single click as it resumed its whirring. He didn't drop his gaze immediately. Instead, his russet eye searched hers, before tracing the slight curve of her lips.
A slow, familiar amusement began to tug at his brows, softening the harsh lines of exhaustion etched into his face. He leaned back just enough to look down the length of the grand drive, then glanced back toward the heavy, open oak doors of the Forest House.
"Well," Lucien murmured, his voice retaining that low rasp, though a distinct, roguish spark now danced in his eyes. "It seems I’ve been missed." He tilted his head, a faint, teasing smirk lifting the small scar at his lip. "Though, if I had known a three-day delay would earn me an arrival that entirely bypasses courtly etiquette, I might have taken the long route through the Winter Court just to see what kind of welcome that would receive."
The teasing note in his voice was a lifeline, and Elain took it gratefully. A genuine laugh, small and breathless, escaped her lips, breaking the lingering tension in her shoulders.
"Don't flatter yourself, Lucien," she countered softly, her fingers smoothing over the leather of his lapels, though she didn't step out of his space. "You try staying in this unnavigable maze of a house with only Eris and Aspasia for company."
"Of course," Lucien replied smoothly, his tone dry but entirely fond. "I know better than most how tedious they can be."
His large hands remained anchored at her waist, his thumbs continuing to trace slow circles against the fabric of her gown, anchoring her against the cool breeze. The fierce desperation of their initial collision had settled into something grounded, but no less possessive. He shifted his weight, his boots crunching slightly on the gravel as he tucked her more securely against his side.
He looked down at her slippers, and only then did Elain note the dark dampness filtering through the delicate fabric from the dew-heavy grass. His brow arched. "Impatient enough to ruin a perfectly good pair of silk shoes, it seems. If your sisters see the state of these, they’ll accuse me of corrupting your fine tastes."
"Let them," Elain said, the defiance in her voice small but clear as she rested her chin against his chest, looking up at him.
Lucien’s expression softened completely then, the wit fading into a quiet, profound sincerity. He raised one hand, his fingers cool against her warm cheek as he gently tucked a stray, wind-whipped strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered on her cheekbone, his touch incredibly light for a male so large.
"I missed you too, Elain," he whispered, the honesty of the admission made her forget the unfinished letter entirely.
This should have won. RIP yearning, you're great and I'm gonna let you finish but Twilight AU was the best day 3 prompt of all time!
Major massive thanks to @ratabrasileira for always being game and her willing spirit of "yes, and-" this was ALL her brilliance, she deserves every ounce of creative credit
And of course thank you to @the-lonelybarricade for being the funniest person I know
Lucien wakes up after a night out in Vegas with a ring on his finger, and Elain Archeron in his bed. This is his dream come true, until it's not.
preview under the cut!
for @elucienweekofficial
There were millions of tiny hammers raining down on Lucien’s temple. He could feel the pounding down to the base of his spine, and he wanted to groan, but the cottonmouth made it nearly impossible. He slowly opened his eyes, hands reaching blindly towards what he assumed was a nightstand.
Water. Fuck, I need water. What the hell did I drink last night?
His fingertips met a bottle of water (so the gods were merciful after all), and he wrestled the cap off to drink when his stomach roiled painfully.
Okay, as far as hangovers went, this was nearing a five-alarm fire. Sips it was.
The first taste of water was heavenly, and this time Lucien did groan, low and loud, when a small snore and the mattress shifting cut him off. He froze. The slow turn of his head was somewhere between horror and comedy as he looked down at the intruder in his bed.
Sleeping to his left, looking like an absolute dream (even with her mascara smudged and curls creating a tiny rat’s nest between her cheek and the pillow), was Elain fucking Archeron.
His breath was sharp in his throat as he stared down at her, mind moving a mile a minute. How did she even get here? Lucien had come to Vegas for the weekend to celebrate Eris’s bachelor trip with the appropriate fervor, and he woke up with the hangover from hell and an angel in his bed.
The amount of push and pull these two have!!! The way Lucien holds back his instincts, who remains a respectful male and waits for Elain to choose him, no matter how much it pains him to be around her!
Elain who has kept her eyes on Lucien, constantly staring his way but says nothing. Who is warring with herself and what she thought her life would be like, should be like. Elain pulls herself away despite whatever thoughts she has that makes Lucien blush...
This might be one of those such thoughts.
A thought of what happens when she finally stops being stubborn, when she finally allows her mate in. What those strong broad arms are capable of...
The yearning between them is so intense, so great, I love every bit of it!
