Eu não tinha esquecido aquela briga antiga que ele arrumou com Lucien. O aviso que ele lhe deu para parar de flertar comigo. Ficar longe. O medo de que eu preferisse o senhor ruivo a ele e que isso pudesse ameaçar todos os planos que ele tinha. "Afaste-se", ele disse a Lucien. Eu não tinha dúvidas de que Tamlin estava repassando todos os olhares e conversas desde então. Todas as vezes que Lucien interveio em meu favor, tanto sob a montanha quanto depois.
– Feyre em Acowar
Sinceramente? Não tem nem como culpar o Tamlin aqui, com Lucien apenas humilhando a Fey eu já tava caidinha por ele, imagina se ele realmente começasse a flertar com ela? Eu ainda consigo lembrar do quanto eu surtei com o "Se eu lhe der a lua em um barbante, você me dará um beijo também?". Não tem como culpar o cara por ficar inseguro tendo um gostoso como o Lucien no mesmo teto que ele
The question loomed over them like an opulent, dazzling chandelier, casting a shadow of uncertainty.
But Elain's response transcended mere words; it manifested in myriad ways, leaving an indelible mark.
It was discernible in the puffiness that clung to her eyes the morning after, as she resumed her stoic facade.
It manifested in the unspoken chasm that had taken root between her and Azriel, a silent testament to the shifting dynamics of their relationship.
It was apparent in the gradual inches she surreptitiously moved closer to him, seeking solace and connection.
It was conveyed through the subtle turn of her head when Lucien discussed Princess Sigrid with their inner circle, a gesture that betrayed her concealed emotions.
It was evident in her wholehearted engagement in the mundane sessions and frivolous arguments, driven solely by the desire to hear Lucien's voice, her attention unwaveringly fixed on him.
It resonated in the rapid cadence of her heart when he turned his gaze toward her, a symphony of emotions playing out in the rhythm of her pulse. In moments of solitude, her heart retained a calm, unwavering beat.
It was unmistakable in the subtle slipping of her mask when Lucien continued to play the gracious host to the captivating Princess Sigrid, and in the princess's flirtatious responses to the charming courtier.
It was embodied in the raw, profound jealousy coursing through their bond, unrivaled by any emotion he had ever known, whenever Princess Sigrid placed her hand on him, or when she bestowed slow kisses on his cheeks, a rage as fierce as a forest fire surging within them.
Above all, it was reflected in the pain etched in Elain's eyes each time Lucien declined their invitations to dine with the princess, all in accordance with the princess's persistent requests.
Lucien longed for clarity, his hope no longer reliant on subtle cues and body language. As long as she remained silent about the question that loomed, his answer would forever be a resounding no.
"Would it not trouble you?" Lucien finally ventured as they lounged in the library after a taxing day of finalizing the treaty.
"That I must present this to my father, who possesses no interest in eradicating slavery?" the princess contemplated.
"That I am bound by a mating bond," Lucien sighed.
The princess regarded him, and he had to concede that she was not only beautiful but also brilliant, forward-thinking, and compassionate. Her concerns about the institution of slavery stemmed from her fear that not everyone would readily embrace its abolition.
He had sworn never to marry for anything less than love, especially as the son of a High Lord, but perhaps he had been looking at it all wrong. Being married to someone who enjoyed his company seemed far preferable to being mated to someone who did not.
"Both of us find ourselves in a precarious situation," Princess Sigrid remarked evenly. "Love may not be a luxury we can afford, given that we are commodities in the political alliances of our respective courts."
He furrowed his brow. "Did Beron approach you with this proposition?"
"Anyone seeking an alliance with Vallahan has made their overtures," she replied with a nonchalant shrug. "My own brother had his mate coerced into breaking their bond because my father deemed the match unsuitable."
"Do I resemble a prized stallion to you?" Lucien quipped wryly.
Princess Sigrid met his gaze with unblinking directness. "Rhysand certainly knows how to leverage your talents. I've heard that the human lands are thriving, the Spring Court is flourishing, and the Night Court's reputation has transformed from unfavorable to coveted."
Lucien chuckled. "So I am, it seems."
"If your mate fails to recognize your worth," Princess Sigrid said, returning to her book, "then seek companionship elsewhere. A mating bond does not equate to love."
"And what if she were to accept it eventually?"
"Then she can join us," Princess Sigrid shrugged, her smirk undeniably mischievous. "After all, I'll need both your assistance in ensnaring Eris as a husband."
Lucien burst into hearty laughter. "I must admit, I'm quite fond of you."
Their private moment was abruptly interrupted by the soft, almost inaudible footsteps that announced Elain's entrance into the library. Her gaze was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room, and Lucien could practically hear the anger and frustration brewing beneath her calm exterior as she observed their closeness.
"Ah, Lady Elain," Princess Sigrid chimed cheerfully. "I was eagerly anticipating a chance to speak with you."
Elain's smile reached her eyes, but their bond betrayed the turmoil within her. "Rhysand would be delighted if the two of you could join us for dinner tonight, given that it's your last evening here."
Sigrid, not one to shy away from tension, turned to Lucien and ran her hand through his hair in an intimate gesture, her voice dripping with sweetness. "I suppose I have been somewhat selfish in monopolizing Lucien's time."
Lucien could feel the electricity in the room intensify, his heart pounding as he witnessed the silent clash of wills between Elain and Princess Sigrid. Elain's civility barely concealed her true emotions, and the air crackled with unspoken rivalry.
Maintaining her composure, Princess Sigrid responded to Elain's invitation with honeyed words. "How gracious of you, Lady Elain. I would be honored to dine with you this evening."
As she leaned in to kiss Lucien on the cheek, she whispered, "Do you think she'll poison me or stab me for touching you like that?"
"Enough," Lucien said, leaning in closer to her.
Princess Sigrid giggled and gracefully left the room, sauntering past Elain. "I need to freshen up. I'll meet you there."
Lucien closed his book and rose from his seat. To his surprise, Elain finally spoke. "I'm surprised you didn't follow your betrothed, especially when I have yet to provide you with an answer regarding our bond."
"You misunderstand me if you think I will wait indefinitely for you, like a helpless fool," Lucien retorted.
"Is all of this just a ploy to pressure me into giving you an answer?" Elain inquired, her eyes probing his.
Lucien reached her, their faces mere inches apart. "No, Elain. You've already given me your answer through your silence."
"She doesn't love you," she whispered, her lips parting ever so slightly.
It was challenging for Lucien to meet her gaze, especially when her vulnerability was laid bare. It was difficult to resist the urge to hold her, to reassure her, as the jealousy transformed into nervousness and her heart beat erratically beneath her icy facade.
“I don’t need her to,” came Lucien’s reply.
Elain's eyes bore into Lucien's, and she paused for a moment, considering his response. After a moment of silence, she finally spoke, her voice filled with an earnest, almost reluctant sincerity.
"Lucien," she began, her tone soft and contemplative, "will you truly be happy, knowing that you're not loved in the way you deserve to be?"
Lucien's gaze softened, and he took a deep breath, contemplating her question. He understood the weight of her concern and the depth of her feelings.
"Does it scare you?" he asked her once again, his voice gentle and searching. "That you'll never see me again?"
The silence hung heavy between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the painful crossroads they had reached. Elain's eyes searched his, filled with a mix of sadness, longing, and a growing sense of resolve.
"I can't keep living like this," Lucien finally confessed, his voice tinged with weariness. "One of us needs to make a decision, and if you want to change it, then change it."
Elain's gaze didn't waver, her emotions laid bare. She hesitated, wrestling with her own inner turmoil before she spoke, her voice trembling slightly, "So, you'd rather never see me again than hold out hope?"
"Yes," Lucien replied, the word heavy with the truth that had been festering within him for far too long. "And if that scares you, then please let me know. But, Elain, I am leaving to get the treaty signed, and I'll be there for as long as it takes."
A heavy silence hung in the room, and Lucien's heart sank with the weight of uncertainty. He couldn't bear the thought of never seeing her again, but he also couldn't continue living in this agonizing limbo.
Lucien watched as Elain's eyes shimmered, resembling delicate dew-kissed petals basking in the soft, golden light that filtered through the library's grand windows. Her fingers, as fragile as spun gold threads, quivered with anticipation, reaching out to bridge the chasm that had separated them for so long.
In a moment of raw vulnerability, she closed the remaining distance between them. Her lips met his with a tenderness that spoke volumes, as if each kiss held an unsung note in their unfinished symphony. The taste of salt from her tears lingered, adding a bittersweet melody to their connection.
Their kiss was a desperate plea, a silent cry, and an intimate confession all at once. It was a plea for him to grasp the depth of her feelings, to understand the intricate web of emotions that had ensnared her heart. In that fleeting moment, they wove a tapestry of longing and love, with each kiss acting as a golden thread binding their souls together, strengthening a bond that transcended the boundaries of time and circumstance.
As their lips finally parted, she looked into his eyes, her voice trembling. "Please, return. I don't want to lose you, not like this."
Lucien's response was an unexpected twist in the melodrama of their entangled emotions. "Come with me," he urged, the words sincere and hopeful.
Elain blinked in surprise. "What?"
"You know the treaty," he pressed. "Come with me."
She hesitated, her thoughts racing. "I don't… It's too short of notice."
Lucien's eyes held a compelling blend of determination and longing as he spoke. "We'll figure it out together," he assured her, his voice laced with a quiet, unwavering certainty.
But Elain's reaction was far from what he had hoped for. Crushed, she pulled away from him, shaking her head, and without another word, she made her way to the dining room, leaving Lucien behind with a heavy heart.
Regret gnawed at him as he sighed, chastising himself for pushing her too quickly. In the wake of Elain's departure, Princess Sigrid appeared, her frown revealing her understanding of the situation. "I heard. I'm sorry. I did want her there too," she offered sympathetically.
Lucien, ever the master of his own emotions, concealed his inner turmoil behind a practiced smile. "Well," he said, slipping back into the role of the courtier who could never have his heart broken, "it was worth a try. She is my mate, after all."
The dinner proceeded unceremoniously, marked by Azriel's absence. Laughter and banter filled the room, with Rhys and Cassian playfully teasing Lucien by addressing him with variations of 'your highness' and 'your majesty.' Feyre attempted to hide her sadness at her friend's impending departure, while Nesta, true to her character, made a cheeky request that brought blushes to a few faces.
Yet, beneath the facade of cheer, Rhys's reminder that Lucien remained under the Night Court's employ until the treaty's finalization cut deep, grounding them all in the complexities of their situation.
A flicker of hope fluttered through their bond, only to be swiftly extinguished when Princess Sigrid playfully mentioned a 'deadline' in a way that hinted at secrets and unspoken agreements.
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, all eyes turning to Elain, and it was Nesta who posed the unspoken question, "You do know Lucien has a mate, right?"
Princess Sigrid answered first, her smile unwavering. "I do," she confirmed.
Lucien chimed in, "She's aware."
Elain's concern was evident as she voiced her unease, "That doesn't bother you?"
As the challenge hung in the air like an unspoken duel, the room brimmed with tension. Lucien watched, torn between the desire for a future with Elain and the reality of his situation with Princess Sigrid.
With a serene smile, Princess Sigrid responded, "No, it doesn't bother me."
Elain's brow furrowed as she pushed further, "But it should. He will never truly be yours. He has a mate."
Princess Sigrid's reply was filled with wisdom and calm determination, "Love and possession are not the same, Lady Elain. I understand the complexities of his situation, but I choose to cherish the moments we will have together. If you don’t like where it’s going, change it. Take a leap of faith. Cauldron knows we live far too long to be confined in situations that define us."
The dinner continued, marked by quiet contemplation and a sense of understanding. The night concluded, and the following morning, the inner circle gathered to bid farewell to Princess Sigrid.
Finalizing the treaty took just a few days, and Lucien's departure date was swiftly set. He and Elain had not spoken since their last encounter, and he had come to terms with her unspoken answer. He knew that he wanted all or nothing, and her silence signified 'nothing.'
The day before his departure, he penned a heartfelt letter to Elain. In it, he expressed his gratitude for the moments they had shared, his hopes for her happiness, and an understanding that their paths had diverged. He gently suggested that she reject the bond two days after he had left, to avoid any turmoil that might ensue.
His final words conveyed his longing for happiness and his prayers that she would find hers too. The night before he left, there was a small dinner in his honor, but neither Elain nor Azriel attended.
As he prepared for his journey, sleep eluded him. He wondered whether the distance and the distraction would be enough to mend his aching heart, without the burden of hope. He relished watching the dawn break over Velaris, feeling the thrill of a new adventure ignite within him. The inner circle didn't want to say goodbye, hoping that his departure was only temporary, and Lucien preferred it that way.
As Lucien approached the dock, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't help but notice a small figure standing there, waiting for him. Elain looked up as he neared her, their eyes meeting once more, and in that moment, the air was thick with unspoken emotions.
She waved his letter and spoke with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "I think if I were to reject the bond in two days, it'll be a pain dealing with you when we are on that ship together."
Lucien's brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you…"
But before he could finish his sentence, she kissed him. It was a soft, sweet kiss that held the promise of something more. He responded urgently, his desire and longing finally finding release in their embrace.
"I would have done neither stabbing nor poisoning," Elain whispered, her voice barely louder than a breath. "I would have ruined her in court with rumors."
A surge of hope coursed through Lucien's veins as he dared to ask, "Does that mean you're coming with me?"
In response, she pulled another letter from her pocket, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "It's hard to ignore when a Princess summons you. But she said that she was worried you'd be too distracted missing me to pay attention to making sure the treaty would pass. And she misses my murderous glares."
Lucien couldn't resist the urge to kiss her once more, a fervent and passionate kiss filled with the promise of forever. He thought to himself, "I'll have this forever. I'll have her forever."
She turned around and handed him an apple muffin, a sweet gesture that touched his heart. "I made this for you."
With a playful glint in his eye, Lucien teased, "I don't know, Elain. I mean, I did get a marriage proposal from a Princess."
Elain's frown deepened, and she urged him, "Lucien, stop playing around."
With a mischievous gleam in his eyes, he leaned in close, whispering against her neck, "I've waited two years," his lips brushed her skin, eliciting a small gasp, "you can wait until we're on the ship."
A little something for @lucienweekofficial! This piece is very sad, but the idea came to me while listening to Stay by Zedd and Alessia Cara and I am a hoe for angst. Anyway, here we go.
Word Count: 1042
Warnings: a fluffy scene, but also a lot of angst and sadness. No HEA. I love Lucien I swear I do I just love angst more.
Lucien looked out over the cliff face behind Vassa’s manor. Even though he lived there, it had never really felt like home. Nowhere ever really had, he thought, Spring was nice, but it was not home. He was simply a guest who had overstayed his welcome for a few centuries. And Autumn Court… He tried not to let his mind wander back there too often, as it would only cause him pain. But he couldn’t deny it. He missed the reds, the browns, the golds, and the oranges that painted the landscape. He missed the sprawling woods, unmatched by anywhere else he’d been, full of leaf piles, and huge fallen trees, the woodland creatures who had grown to become his closest friends as a youngling.
He missed his mother, her sweet voice as she read to him when he was little, or as they walked through the gardens discussing nothing and everything together when he was older. He missed the smell of freshly ripened apples, and of the sweet caramel drifting from some shop in town, and the burnt aroma of wood smoke, mixed with cinnamon and cloves. Above all, though, Lucien missed her. Her infectious laugh, silky hair, wide smile, and rosy cheeks. Her iridescent wings, and how they fluttered behind her whenever she got excited by something, which was frequent. Her quick wit and sharp tongue, something that got her in trouble many times over but had only made him fall for her all the harder. He moved on as best he could, although wounds such as that never truly heal. Just like the scar across his face, the scar across his heart from staring down at her bloody, broken body would never truly fade, though time might dull the throb. It was always hardest to ignore today, however. Because it was her birthday. Birthday celebrations with Jesminda were always delightful and joyous. He thought back fondly to their tradition of eating peanut cake for her birthday ever since the second one they’d celebrated together. Baking had always been her favourite thing to do, so instead of getting a cake beforehand they had decided to bake one that day. However, skilled though Jes might be in the kitchen, Lucien wouldn’t know a whisk from a spatula. He blamed this lack of skill on being raised in a palace where descending into the kitchens and making food was strictly forbidden because it was “the work of women and slaves, and not something a High Lord’s son ought to dabble in,” which had earned him an eyeroll and a muttered comment of “spoiled baby.” He had chosen to ignore this given its veracity.
They were putting the final touches in it-mixing in the chocolate chunks, which was less than half of what the recipe called for owing to the fact they had eaten most of it seconds after slicing it up. “Can you grab that bag up there,” she had said to him, pointing to a shelf on the pantry, “and pour it in? Once you’re done stir it up and do whatever that cooking trick is you do with your fire. I have to run and grab the candles, I forgot them in the other room.” She left, and Lucien went over to the shelf. He truthfully had no idea which bag she was pointing at, so he grabbed the one he thought had been closest to her finger, poured it in, mixed it, and poured it into a tin. He had recently learned that his flame magic could be used to drastically speed the process of cooking things, so he set his hands underneath and around the pan, slowly allowing warmth to course through them and into the sweet treat within. Jes came back right as it was finished, and she stuck all the candles in the cake without even waiting for it to cool, too impatient to let it sit. Lucien lighted the candles with a flick of his wrist, and she blew them all out, beating her wings in glee as she did so. He kissed the top of her head as she cut it, then took a big bite and- “Lucien what did you put in this?” He frowned, absently twirling his hair between his fingers. “I’m not sure, your labelling is horrid. It was the green bag you pointed to” Lucien said. “The green bag-Lucy those were peanuts! I was pointing at the purple bag full of chocolate chips! For cauldron’s sake, what possessed you to put peanuts in here?” she said, laughing with a bewildered expression on her face. “I don’t know!” he responded, “I just assumed you knew what you were talking about.” She sighed, still giggling, and continued to eat despite the lumps of peanut mixed within it. He remembered how they had put peanuts in their cake every year after that, and some days he wished for a slice of chocolate cake filled with the salty nuts, even though it tasted horrible, just for old times’ sake. She had opened her gift from him, later on. Two necklaces, one for her, one for him. “They’re enchanted,” he explained, “a gift from the Day Court. Whenever you touch yours, I will feel it, same as when I touch mine, you will feel yours. That way, we will never be truly apart.” Lucien reached his hand up and stroked his half of the necklace. He still wore it, all those years later. Vassa, Jurian, Tamlin, and Feyre had all nagged him to tell him what its significance was, but he never mentioned it. It was something for them to share, never for others to know. The stone had remained cold for several centuries now, and yet still he wore it, as if hoping if he didn’t give up this last piece of them then she would never fade. Lucien stood, rising up from his brooding. He glanced out at the sun, which was slowly beginning to set, painting the ocean with hues of orange, pink, scarlet, and gold. He clutched the pendant, as he said his final goodbyes. “Goodbye, my little spitfire. I will find you in the next life, as I swore I would. And when I do, we will never be separated again.”
A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you liked it! Let me know if you have anything you want to see for Lucien (please I beg you) I want to write more for him.
Summary: When ghost-seeing Elain moves into the flat Lucien has been haunting, she has only two rules for him:
1. They are not friends
2. He is not allowed to enter her bedroom
This is how Lucien breaks both of them.
Rating: E, NSFW
WC: 5.7k
Read on AO3
A/N: Happy @lucienweekofficial!!! Written for the Day 7: Free Day prompt.
Or in which I make up a lot of nonsensical rules about being a ghost. Enjoy!
“Good morning to all my lovely listeners! It looks to be another beautiful day in Velaris! We have a great show for you today-“
Lucien tunes out the radio blaring out of the open window from the apartment next door, the noise steadily sinks into the ether as he glides further away into the bedroom tucked into the corner.
Another beautiful day, it said.
Another day, another week, another month, another year. Lucien barely even knows what year it is anymore, having lost track after the first five years or so. Five years after getting murdered in cold blood in their sleep in the same apartment he now haunts. Despite the years that passed and his other memories fade, Lucien still remembers that night in chilling detail.
Being awakened from a silenced shot, splattered with blood, Jes’s face permanently locked in a faux peaceful expression as a bullet cleanly ran through her warm, giving heart and stopped it from ever beating again. Cold, pitiless eyes pinned him down as the gunman turned his pistol on him, his words lodging into his shocked brain for the rest of time.
“Courtesy of the Forest Corp”
Lucien appeared as a disembodied spirit soon after.
He took sole comfort for years in the fact that he woke up alone, that even though he was the reason she died, Jes at least passed peacefully. Well, as peacefully as one could be after getting murdered. If he had to spend the rest of eternity floating around as a bitter, regretful ghost, he didn’t curse the same for the love of his life.
It didn't take long before Lucien realised that being a ghost is exceedingly boring. One would think that being a vengeful ghost is more exciting. But alas, the media lies. Instead, he is trapped in a limited radius around his block. Unable to communicate, unable to touch anything physically and unable to do anything. It took him a total of three days of wandering before he returned to his apartment, which had already been cleaned up and cordoned off.
In another five days, his stuff was cleaned out. In another month, a new unassuming tenant had moved in. A grouchy man in his fifties who despite his age, was quite terrified of the supernatural - something Lucien noted with mild amusement.
Many tenants came and left over the years. Some left organically, some moved out in a hurry, their pupils shifted around in panic while Lucien snorted at the side.
So, yes. Being a ghost is boring. What else is there other than messing with assholes who still had the privilege of living, of being able to feel the rush of the warm essence of life running through their veins and yet did nothing to deserve it?
Nothing much, apparently.
Still, Lucien stays. After all, there aren’t many places to go.
The door clicks open in a distance, followed by the scuffle of cardboard boxes scraping against wooden floors and feminine sighs of exertion. It takes another few more minutes of more boxes being pushed through the door before the wooden door shuts with a thud and keys drop to the floor in a jangle.
Time to meet the new neighbour, he thinks as he passes through the wall and locks gazes with dark brown eyes. Beautiful chocolate eyes widen slightly and annoyance flashes through delicate features. The flush on cheeks from the physical exertion deepen as rosebud mouth huffs, the action bounces soft golden brown curls framing her face.
She is gorgeous. So gorgeous that she stole his non-existent breath.
Then the muscle at her jaw ticks as realisation strikes and she grumbles, “I knew the rental of this place was too good to be true.”
His new beautiful flatmate can see ghosts.
Well, that’s a first.
===
Lucien freezes, his cold form is completely still as he processes her words. It cracks and pushes him back into motion when she speaks again with a perfectly arched brow, “What? Is this the first time you’ve met someone with the Sight?”
Despite everything, old habits from decades past surges as he throws her a playboy grin, “Not one as gorgeous as you.”
For a beat, silence ruled the space. Then she erupts into laughter, a melodic sound that blesses ears of the dead.
“Well, I guess a flirt isn’t the worst I have encountered.” She says after the outburst. She picks up a box and moves deeper into the room, presumably to make space for more boxes to come.
Lucien shoves down the pointless instinct to step towards her and offer aid. Instead, he remains where he is and leans casually against the wall to ask, “so what is the worst you’ve encountered?”
She shrugs noncommittally, never stopping in her tracks as she flits through boxes, replying loftily, “Never you mind.” She whips out a slim phone from the back pocket of fitted jeans and begins tapping at it, the clacking sound of her nails against tempered glass fills the room. She clicks the screen into darkness and rests it on one of the boxes. Finally, she focuses those doe-like eyes on him, the gaze is sharp even as she keeps her tone light, “Still, if this arrangement is to work out, we are going to need to have some rules.”
His new neighbour wastes no time in laying down the law on him and somewhere between a couple of trips down to the van, the two of them come to an agreement of two basic rules to live by.
There will be no conversations or “heart to hearts”. They are just flat shares, not friends.
To make coexisting easier, she will spend most of her time at home in the bedroom, which he is in no uncertain terms allowed to enter her bedroom
Any violations of the above will result in Elain exorcising Lucien into nothingness.
And that is also how they learnt of each other’s names.
Lucien realises rather quickly that life with a living person who can see him, even one as stunning as Elain Archeron, can still be just as boring. In fact, it is even more boring as he can’t even mess with his living tenant.
Nope, he’s learnt his lesson after he repeatedly walked through the oven and ruined a perfectly proofed loaf of sourdough. The entire flat is soon randomly laced with a sort of purified salt that burns the spirit and transforms the space into a landmine. He is fairly sure the smirk Elain gave him as she waved him out the door would, ironically, haunt him for some time.
He got the hint: Never mess with Elain’s baking. Ever.
===
Rule 2: Lucien is in no uncertain terms allowed to enter Elain’s bedroom
Lucien lays flat on his back. If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the cool surface of the stone flooring pressing into his skin. He can entrench himself in the distant street noises, pretending just for a moment that he is out there, coming home after a drink with friends, that he exists.
A loud hollow sound cuts through the air, screaming for attention. It pulls him out of his reverie and back into nothingness. He frowns as he moves towards the source: a malfunctioning electric kettle searing its way through the metal plates. Acrid smoke rises from the appliance as it continues to wail.
Elain. The mere thought of her dying in this apartment, all that light snuffed out, sends a streak of panic through him.
Urgency pulls him to the bedroom door and with a sharp inhale that he doesn’t need, Lucien bursts into Elain’s room where said girl is fast asleep in bed.
“Elain!” He exclaims firmly, his hands flail in the air and plunges into her abdomen. Elain inhales sharply, body shooting upright. Chocolate brown pupils swivel around the room wildly before landing on him.
“Lucien,” she hisses, her fist is closed tightly as she raises it next to her face. It wavers in the air as she brandishes it threateningly at him, “what are you doing in here?”
He simply informs flatly, “Your kettle is on the verge of catching fire.”
She stills for a moment before she bolts, the screams of the kettle echo throughout the quiet flat. Lucien watches on helplessly as a slender arm rushes to yank the plug out of the socket and silences the appliance. It hisses and envelopes them in smog when Elain douses it with water. Her button nose wrinkles as she grimaces at the smell.
The ghost turns his gaze on the living as the air slowly clears out. He feels the edges of his lips lift into an amused smile as he takes in her dishevelled appearance. Dressed in an oversized shirt and shorts, her golden brown curls are mussed and balled into a large bird's nest while dried drool streaks across her cheek. She looks adorable.
Sensing the gaze, her body rotates slowly towards him. Her brow raises in question as her head tilts slightly.
He shakes his head slightly. Gesturing to his cheeks, he comments dryly, “You have a little something here.”
Perplexed, she raises a hand to her cheek. His traitorous heart squeezes as rose pink dusts her cheeks at the realisation. She scowls while walking to the sink and gently rinses the marks off her face.
Without another word, Lucien retreats. Just in case, she gets her hands on more salt, only to be stopped when she calls out.
“Lucien,” he turns to meet soft, round eyes, “thank you.”
Something that has long laid dormant twinges in him. It’s warm and sings in his chest like a gentle flame. He ignores it, saying instead, “I’m not keen to share this flat with you forever.”
Elain snorts and enters the room.
===
Rule 1: There will be no conversations or “heart to heart”. We are not friends.
Something between them changed after that night. Elain’s glares at him are no longer as scathing. She laughs and scowls playfully at his sarcastic remarks and throws back quips of her own. With every night, the figurative and literal distance between them reduces.
Still, it catches him as a surprise when she swings into the fire escape one evening, settling next to him. Their bodies are so close that he could almost feel the faint heat radiating from her body. Again, something in him twinges in regret - at what is there, yet is not.
They sit in silence for a while, content to just watching the traffic below, people getting about their lives.
“Why did you never cross the border? All these years? Is it out of vengeance or regret?” Her question comes out quietly. It drifts into the peaceful night of Velaris, just waiting, never rushing.
He lets his own response fade into the city. “I take it you found out what happened to me.”
She shuffles uncomfortably. “There has only ever been one fatal incident reported in this building.” Her expression is regretful and almost pained as she continues, “The double homicide of Lucien and Jesminda Vanserra.”
It surprises him at how little he feels at the words, at the mention of his long dead love. There is no bitterness or regret. Just a sort of numbness that he has long been accustomed to before the belle next to him walked through the door.
He shrugs, leaning back slightly to rock on his palms, “Well, then there you have it.” He pauses a beat. “Did they report who was responsible?”
This time. The reply nearly brings him to his knees.
“Yes. Beron Vanserra was arrested months later for the deaths. He was sentenced to life in prison.” Again, her eyes are sorrowful, the usual brightness in them dimmed.
“He, no” he corrects himself quietly, shaking his head as he marvels at the truth, “they did it. They actually arrested him.”
She nods, looking back out to the streets beneath, as if she needs to distance herself from the news she is imparting. “They said it was your mother’s testimony that sealed the case. She and your brother provided all the evidence needed to charge him. No amount of money or clout could protect him.”
Lucien tips his head back as a weight lifts from him. His laugh bubbles out in incredulous, surprised shudders. His mother’s beautiful face comes to mind. Her gentle kindness and tenderness, her quiet strength that his father evidently was never able to beat out of.
For the first time in many, many years, Lucien cries tears that he doesn’t know he still possesses. They stream down his face with a tingling chill.
With a single sentence, Elain has opened the door to years of suppressed memories, shedding light on the nothingness he has been existing with. Her face is laced with concern as she looks on from the side, lending him strength with nothing but her glowing presence.
Eventually, the tears stop and though his heart aches, Lucien smiles.
“Thank you, Elain.”
===
Lucien paces the apartment, his eyes wandering to the clock once more as the minute hand strikes the midnight mark.
Tick, tick, tick.
By the next time the second hand moves, Lucien has leapt out of the window and is airborne.
He pushes the boundaries of his immortal prison, traversing the dark skies. Never stopping until russet eyes spot a glint of burnished gold, cornered in a deserted alleyway. His ears pick up latin chants, expertly commanded by a familiar feminine voice.
Elain isn’t the one being cornered.
She is the one cornering others.
She stands tall, her hand is raised to shoulder level, a rosary wound tightly around her palm. She brandishes it at two wailing discombobulated spirits thrashing against an invisible barrier cast by a circle of salt. The force of the exorcism generates a gust of wind that blows her hair back, revealing a fierceness to her that one seldom sees in sweet, gentle Elain Archeron.
Her eyes shimmer as she stares the spirits down, never once stopping the stream of chants. So focused on what lays before her that she neglects to realise a third comrade creeping up behind her. But Lucien does.
He dives down, his feet colliding sharply against the spirit’s head. She screeches, an ugly face twisting into a contortion of grotesque features. The redhead’s back is to the blonde, their eyes met for a brief moment - just long enough for Elain to give him a curt nod.
Lucien springs into action. With a single smooth motion, he steps forward towards the still growling spirit and sucker punches her in the gut. While distracted, he hauls her up and tosses into the ring with her companions. As if on cue, Elain ends the chant and snaps her fingers. Each grain of salt lining the circle explodes and traps them in a closed wall of silver flames. They vanish in a fit of screams.
Elain casually places the rosary back into her bag, her face carefully blank. Only the slightest feathering in her jaw betrays any emotion she might be feeling. She rocks on her heels, tossing a quick glance at him before walking away. Back to the direction of their flat.
Lucien follows suit, sliding forward so that their steps are in time. He observes the tense bite and comments lightly, “So cool side gig you’ve got there.”
Doe eyes shift to him for a brief moment, the movement is skittish like a fawn. She recovers, nodding. Her throat bobs when she replies with a shrug, “Started as self-defence.”
“Ahhh,” his head tilts slightly, his heart twisting at the thought of a young, scared Elain getting terrorised by the dead, “did you run into them often?”
“I did,” she admits, “and eventually, you learn what affects them. Combine them with nonsense from the internet that sometimes does work and voila! Exorcist!”
Something like pride rumbles in his chest. He huffs in amusement as he shakes his head, “Badass, Archeron. Badass.”
She stops in her tracks to look at him with wide eyes. “You don’t think it’s weird?”
He raises a brow, “You do remember you’re talking to a ghost, right?” Seeing the frown beginning to form, he hastily continues, “But it doesn’t change the fact that it must have been terrifying. Yet, you found a way to turn it around, turn it in strength.” He gestures to her with a flourish, “Like I said, badass.”
She looks away, the apples of her cheeks tinged in pink, “You’re the first to say that. So,” she clears her throat, “so thank you.”
Lucien can’t stop a smile from forming.
They walk in a comfortable silence after, with only the taps of Elain’s shoes against the concrete pavement accompanying them. The streets are quiet. A small miniscule number of stars observe from above, twinkling visibly even in the city lights. The tranquillity of the moment is a stark difference from just five minutes ago.
“I found your brother.” Elain starts, her hands wrestling in each other, “the one that helped your mother put him away. Eris. He’s CEO of Forest Corp now.”
He maintains a careful, neutral expression even as something in him stirs uncomfortably, “Oh?”
“I thought you could talk to him. Y’know, get some closure.”
“Why?” He winces internally at the sharp tone. Still, he says dismissively, “He can’t see me. He’s not you.”
This time, he does wince. But he doesn’t take it back, doesn’t apologise. Where is she going with this? Why is she pushing him away?
To her credit, Elain doesn’t flinch. She just continues, “It’s Halloween next week. The festivities may be fake but it is still the day when the veil between worlds narrows. There are… ways to make you visible.”
He might have stopped breathing even if he didn’t need to, “Why?”
“You’ve seen them. What happens when spirits remain too long.” His mind easily flashes to the trio from earlier, “You are remarkably fresh for someone who has been around for so long. It wouldn’t last.”
A presence haunts her eyes but it goes away with a blink. “I don’t want to lose you like that. I can’t lose you like that.” Her eyes finish what her words can’t.
Even if it means losing what we have today.
“I’ll think about it.”
What if I tell you that you’ve made me feel more myself than I have been in years?
===
Rule 2: Lucien is in no uncertain terms allowed to enter Elain’s bedroom (again)
The words stay with him throughout the night and most of the day after. When Elain comes home from work, she doesn’t bring it up, doesn’t push. They chat as they usually do. He laughs, she laughs. It’s like they never had the conversation.
Later in the night, Lucien leans back. The radio that Elain leaves on for him is seated next to him, chattering away. He mindlessly hums to the tunes.
Then he hears it. In between the beats of the song.
A pained moan. Coming from Elain’s room.
Lucien hovers outside, unsure if he should say something.
Tick, tick, tick.
“Lucien!”
He passes through but doesn’t approach any further. Every thought eddies from his mind as he stares dumbstruck.
Elain is leaning back against a stack of pillows. Her sleeping shorts and panties lay discarded on the ground. Her face is caught in ecstasy as one hand fists the bedsheet and the other is fingers deep within her.
When brown eyes shakily open, it meets blazing russet. The moment drags as conflict wars within expressive moons. After the torturous beat, it fades, leaving nothing but desire in its place. Rosebud lips pull up into a smile so sinful he thinks it might just be worth going to Hell for. Elain lets her hand fall limply as her legs spread open further, glistening with her release.
Fuck him.
“All of that at the mere thought of me?” He says huskily as he approaches. His entire being trembles in anticipation.
“Are you going to help me take it further?” She tilts her chin up in challenge, leveling him with a devilish smirk.
She shrugs off her shirt over his head to reveal pert nipples. She locks them in a heavy gaze as her fingers start to move back to her centre, gliding over the swollen clit.
He is naked with a single thought. He gives himself a long, drawn out pump, savouring every darkening shade of brown pupils. He stops at the foot of the bed, his voice drops an octave as he asks silkily,“Have you been imagining those are my fingers? Thicker, longer, rougher?”
She whimpers. A sound so sweet to his ears. She breathes, “Yes”
A guttural sound involuntarily escapes his throat and he orders, “Then plunge them in. As deep as you can.”
Elain moans loudly as she complies, disappearing three fingers inside her at once. He moves his hand in time with hers, matching her stroke for stroke. He savours every whimper, every pant.
“That’s it, such a good girl.” he purrs, chocolate brown seizes russet. He lets go of the aching appendage in favour of lightly caressing the highly sensitive bud, not quite touching but just enough. He is rewarded when her hips buck involuntarily into a ghostly hand, mouth shapes into a perfect ‘o’ as she gasps at the sensation.
His finger continues to rub circles, learning from every sound that falls out of that perfect mouth. He quickly settles into a rhythm that has Elain panting loudly, her breaths quicken with her fingers, edging her closer and closer to her climax.
“Come for me, Elain.”
Watching Elain ride herself through her release is the closest Lucien will ever get to a religious experience. Her beautifully flushed cheeks, her lips are parted slightly as her eyes glaze with lust. A temptress and a Goddess both at once. He couldn’t help himself but slant his lips over hers in yet another light touch - the only thing he could do.
“Beautiful” he whispers as he commits this image to his eternal afterlife, “absolutely beautiful.” Elain’s lips tremble as they curve up into an apprehensive smile. Then, she pushes herself off the bed and towards the bathroom.
Lucien is by the door when she returns, their bodies are inches apart when she passes through the doorway. The proximity tingles and pulls at something in his chest. But he forces himself to tear his gaze away and turn in the opposite direction to leave.
“Stay”
Her face is soft and pleading. Her hand reaches out to him before she stops herself and draws it to her chest. She shakes her head slightly and determination overtakes her face. “Stay,” she repeats firmly, as sure as day.
He follows her back to bed, gingerly lying against the soft surface. She turns to her side to face him, waits as he does the same. They’re so close. His body tingles again as something within hums in content.
“I can’t lose you.” She confesses in a quiet whisper, “Please.”
Everything in him wants to touch her, tuck the stray strand away, stroke her cheek, hold her. Goddamn, he wants to hold her so bad it hurts. He clenches his fist by his side, desperate to hold it at bay.
He shakes his head, smiling sadly. “You’ll lose me anyway.”
She glares at him. Those same rosebud lips shaped into a petulant pout. “It’s not the same and you know it.”
He laughs in a low rumble though he knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he finally relents, “Okay, let’s set up the meet.”
===
Time has passed all too quickly before Elain is in front of him using a chalk to trace a large white circle on the living room floor. An old tattered book lays open before her. The brunette extracts a stone of pure obsidian from her pocket, never once pausing or stopping as she recites from the ancient text.
Not even as the air surrounding him thickened to a point where it is nothing but suffocating smog. It is a strange sensation. The air eventually visibly returns but the heaviness continues to drag him down. Still, it is only then that Elain relents. Her voice dies down with the wind, her raised hand drops to her side. She staggers, her body sways with exhaustion. Yet determined eyes fix him a questioning stare. Did it work?
Lucien reaches his hand forward, towards Elain’s slender fingers. His heart feels more alive, pounding and dragging as they get closer and closer. Until…
His fingers pass through warm flesh.
The space between his brows knot in disappointment. Before he returns Elain’s gaze, Lucien dashes downstairs: out of the privacy of their apartment and into the eyes of the public.
Careful not to phase through the physical world where people might see, he halts at the sidewalk, a few paces from the entrance.
“Excuse me!” He calls out to a young couple walking past. Incredibly, they turn to him. Taking a breath, he continues to ask, “Do you happen to know if the Happy Fiddle cafe is near here?”
He watches in amazement as they politely shake their heads and continue forward. Heaving a soft exclamation of triumph, he returns to the flat.
“Where did you manage to find that book?” He asks in bewilderment after he imparts the good news.
Elain simply grins mischievously as she slots said book into her drawer, “I know people.”
==
The plan is simple. Lucien might be visible to everyone but he is still trapped within the same radius of the flat. Nowhere near the Forest Corp office building. Elain had instead been able to track down Eris’s email contact, sending him a carefully worded message. A harmless sentence that only the Vanserra heir would pick up on.
As they say, Mr Vanserra, only the foxes in the autumn forest could run the fastest?
Predictably, Eris, who still never fails to put his family first, rings the doorbell at seven pm sharp.
Just as the email indicated.
The Forest Corp CEO walks through the door, levelling Elain a cold, assessing gaze. And Lucien has to resist the urge to rush forward towards his brother.
Eris has aged gracefully, barely looking like his true age of fifty. His sharp features could still bring him the attention of any female or male he wanted. Yet, it is the slight peppering of grey in his hair and the dignified lines that trace his face that really punches Lucien in the gut. The clear reminder that time has moved for the people in his life. That where he remained unmoving, forever lost to time, the people in his life hadn’t.
“Congratulations, you’ve gotten my attention.” Eris says mockingly to Elain, his amber eyes flash dangerously, “What are you going to do with it?”
To her credit, Elain meets his cold stare unflinchingly. The edges of her mouth lift into a flat polite smile, asking instead, “What do you know of the afterlife, Mr Vanserra?”
Eris bristles, his brows crease with annoyance. His body language shifts minutely into one Lucien is intimately familiar with. So he interjects, stepping forward from the shadows, “What she means to say, Eris, is do you believe in ghosts?”
Amber eyes widen in shock as Eris stares wide eyed at the ghost of his little brother, stunned into immobility for a full thirty seconds. It is only when Elain leaves the apartment with a subtle nod from Lucien that he springs into action.
“How dare you?” He seethes, his handsome features contorting in rage. He steps towards Lucien, extending his hand to roughly grab at his collar, only to grasp air in its place.
“What the hell?” The older Vanserra cusses under his breath, immediately looking around for a projector. Something, anything to explain the apparent presence of his dead brother in his old residence.
“It’s really me, Eri.” He says gently, raising his hands up in platitude. “No tricks. I never left.”
Indecision tears at Eris, disbelief waging war on an inerasable pain. He says quietly, “Foxes run fastest in the autumn forest.”
“But only as a pack can they do so.” Lucien finishes softly. Amber eyes finally meet russet. It stirs distant memories of a scared young boy running into the arms of his older brother, memories of days where nightmares could be banished with a favoured fairytale.
Eris falls forward, his hand grips tightly at the corner of the doorway to hold himself up. “Luci? How?”
He shrugs, “An exorcist moved in”
He raises his brow in scepticism, “Elain Archeron? Huh.” He continues at Lucien’s questioning look, “I know her older sister. It’s the reason why I showed up.”
Huh.
The two brothers fell into an awkward silence.
Then they both predictably try to break it at the same moment.
“So” / “I need to know why, Eris.”
Eris’s throat bobs and his jaw sets in locked tension. He doesn’t ask further, doesn’t need to. Even after two decades, he still knows his youngest brother. He could only say bitterly, “he had a bad day.”
Everything stills as Lucien processes it. His throat tightens uncomfortably. “What?” He forces the question out, his voice rising with every word. “He sent killers to murder my wife and I in cold blood because he had a bad day?”
Eris says nothing. A myriad of pain and regret clouding his face.
“What about the Vanserra pride? And honour?” He spits venomously, “All that talk growing up and he sends assassins to kill us in our sleep?”
“Word of your marriage finally reached him. He was livid.”
“Why?! Because Jes didn’t come from the old lines? What? Because she’s not rich so she’s unworthy?!”
Something nags at him even as he spits out question after question, that he was missing something critical. Something confirmed in the uncertainty in Eris’s face. Because Eris is never uncertain. He lies and manipulates but he is never, never unsure. So Lucien asks directly, “What are you not telling me?”
Then it fades as his mouth sets in a grim line. “You’re not his son.”
“What?”
Eris doesn’t repeat himself, instead choosing to let Lucien work it out. His brain struggles to piece together memories from long ago, left behind even before he was killed. Finally, the pieces fit.
“I was never meant to be happy.” He surmises quietly.
“No,” Eris agrees, “he never would have allowed it.”
A hysterical laugh starts to build in his chest. It claws and rages to escape. He tries to rein it in but it comes out as a desperate sob.
Eris’s hand trembles at his side, it jerks once or twice towards him. As if the older Vanserra wanted nothing more than to pull his brother into a hug. “I’m sorry. I should have found out sooner. I should have found a way to warn you… but it was all too late by the time I realised there was a hit out on you.”
Lucien shakes his head, “I don’t blame you. Never did. Besides, you helped put him away.”
This time, Eris smiles. Cold and vengeful. “Best moment of my life.”
Lucien snorts. Of that, he has no doubt.
That bastard deserved it.
===
Lucien stands before Elain as the clock continues to tick down to twelve. Every year he felt the pull to the beyond but every year, he ignored it. This year, the pull will be impossible to resist and he knows it.
Knew it the moment Eris left. No, knew it the moment Elain told him what happened to Beron.
He throws a glance at the clock. Two minutes.
“Elain”
She turns those expressive, rich brown eyes on him and Lucien is gone. The pain, the acceptance but at the same time, the pride. Everything is laid clear for Lucien to see and it wrenches at him.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “for bringing me back to life. I was so lost before and I didn’t even know it.” He brings one hand towards her face, cupping it impulsively. Incredibly, they make contact. The feel of her skin, soft and warm underneath his. She closes her eyes and leans into the touch.
“Thank you,” she says, opening to reveal teary eyes, “for bringing joy and humour to my life. I don’t think I ever realised how lonely I was… before you.”
He strokes a thumb and wipes away a fallen tear. He brings his face closer and leans in to capture her lips. There is a gasp before Elain returns it fiercely. They meet each other, tongue for tongue, teeth for teeth. Every emotion they have left to convey, laid bare at their feet.
They kiss until the pull tugs at Lucien again. Hard and insistent. Reluctantly, he breaks contact. His forehead pressed against hers as he held it back for a final second. Until finally, russet meets brown for the last time as he fades away into a bright, shimmering aureate light.
===
Many, many years into the future
Elain plasters on a polite smile as the suit clad men and women huddle together for a brief discussion. Months and months of blood, sweat and tears have come down to this every moment. Her career is made if they select her proposal.
She keeps on the smile as they thank her and dismiss her with empty promises about reaching out. As she walks out of the boardroom, the door on the other side opens to bring in the next candidate. Her rival. Elain turns over, curious.
Her mind is wiped utterly blank in his presence. His strong stride as he walks towards the presenter’s laptop. She stares, entranced at how his long auburn hair and golden brown skin complements his suit perfectly, how the perfectly tailored suit reveals everything and nothing about the powerful muscles rippling underneath. Even then, it almost pales in contrast when she takes in the strong lines of his face. So beautiful it takes her breath away in the process.
Then he looks up and catches her in her unabashed gawking. Russet eyes blaze into her and pins her in place. But slowly, surely, those sensual lips pull up into a cocky smirk and it knocks Elain back into the boardroom where the receptionist is still holding the door open for her.
Clearing her throat, she feels her cheek warm as she mutters a hasty apology and exits the room. She never looks back again although she knows with a concrete certainty.
Whoever that man is, that will not be the last she sees of him.
End
A/N: If you're curious, Jenna Coleman's Johanna Constantine in Sandman was definitely what I had in mind for exorcist Elain👻
