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the-lonelybarricade · 3 months

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Breaking & Entering - (1/2)

Summary: Before the room was swallowed into darkness, she found her eyes drifting towards the entryway, listening to the heartbeat that drifted to her through the wooden door. It followed her all the way to the House of Wind. And in her sleep that night, the beating stopped.

Or; A slightly angsty telling of how Elain discovered that Lucien sleeps naked

Read on AO3・ Part II

Being a seer was not without its complications.

In fact, Elain would argue that being a seer consisted only of complications. Of muddled thoughts, and twisted, tangled truths that she could spend a lifetime unweaving and still not fully comprehend.

But worst of all was the blurry line she walked between reality and prophecy. One moment, she was sipping her tea at the breakfast table, and the next she was standing in a busy marketplace, uncertain which was the illusion until she was vaulted back into her physical body, blinking as her heart settled and her vision returned.

“Elain?”

Feyre leaned over the table, palms pressed into the dark wood, hovering as close to Elain as the barrier would allow. From the thin line forming between Feyre’s brows, Elain had the impression this was not the first time Feyre had called for her.

“Yes?” Elain said, straightening her back and lifting her teacup as if nothing had happened.

Feyre’s shoulders slackened, and she drew back into her seat with a small sigh of relief. But Elain knew that after the concerned sister, came the curious High Lady. She watched, face still ducked into her teacup, as Feyre pressed her lips together, thinking so loudly she might as well have used her magic to project her thoughts. Not that it mattered, not when her questions were obvious, and already evident in the way those blue-grey eyes searched her face.

Tea sloshed against Elain’s lips, uncontrolled, inelegant. Her hand was shaking. Though the vision had been mild, even pleasant, compared to others, that flash of red hair had unnerved her. The way it always did.

She set the teacup down, ignoring how it rattled against the saucer. How Feyre flinched.

“Lucien’s on his way,” Elain said, fighting to keep her voice neutral.

A knock sounded at the door, cutting off Feyre’s response. Elain patted her lip with the napkin, skin tingling from the too-hot liquid, and stood up from her chair. “Before you answer, would you mind taking me to the House of Wind?”

“You’re not even going to say hi?”

There was an accusation in that question. Subtle, even a little gentle, but an accusation nonetheless. Elain crossed her arms, as if doing so could deflect from her sister’s judgment. She knew what Feyre wanted—for Elain to stay, to make nice with Lucien and ask him about his latest trip to the mortal lands. She wanted Elain to get to know the male she was eternally bonded to so that they might one day find the happiness that Feyre and Rhysand found in each other. Even Nesta seemed to be encouraging it these days.

“He doesn’t need to know I was here,” Elain said. “Besides, he’s come to see you.”

Feyre raised a brow. If there was sharpness in those words, Elain hadn’t meant them. Or maybe she had. She was frustrated that her sisters had already made up their minds about what was best for her, and that despite the agency she craved, she couldn’t even flee to the House of Wind without Feyre’s help.

They stared at each other for a long moment, a clash of stubbornness that was sometimes the only thing that connected them.

“Fine,” Feyre said, coming around the table and reaching out her hand. “But you should try talking to him one of these days, Elain. He’s a good male.”

He was a good male. Elain knew that perfectly well. And before the room was swallowed into darkness, she found her eyes drifting towards the entryway, listening to the heartbeat that drifted to her through the wooden door.

It followed her all the way to the House of Wind.

And in her sleep that night, the beating stopped.

Elain sat up in bed, clutching her chest. Beneath her clammy skin, she could feel her own heart thundering beneath her fingers. But its golden echo, the one she felt like a string around her rib, plucked day and night by a tireless musician… It had fallen silent.

A dream, she thought. A vision. Any moment now, she’d blink and find herself sitting in the library, wondering at the Cauldron’s strange meaning. But as she laid on her back and watched a dark cloud slowly creep across the starry sky, she felt the seconds prying for her attention with growing urgency. And suddenly she couldn’t breath as a terrible, gnawing panic seized her throat. The next thing she knew, she was rushing through the corridors of the House of Wind, hair and nightgown flowing behind her.

He answered the door on the first knock. She knew he wouldn’t be sleeping, even at this hour.

“Elain?” Azriel asked, hazel eyes sweeping over her, assessing if her panic was the result of any injury on her person. “What’s wrong?”

Ordinarily, she might have taken the time to be embarrassed by her state of undress. But all she could hear was the silence in her mind. The vast, roaring emptiness that was usually occupied by life and light.

Elain took a moment to compose herself, trying to swallow past the sickening feeling in her gut, but the words all escaped in a rush regardless of her efforts. “Can you take me down?”

“What?”

“Downstairs,” she clarified. “To the Rainbow.”

His gaze darted to the ground. To her bare feet. “Dressed like that?”

“Please,” was all she said.

Azriel didn’t press any further. He simply led her to the nearest balcony and did precisely as she asked, hesitating only once they landed in the empty marketplace, and she shivered when he set her down on the cobblestone. He removed his jacket, and the evening was cold enough that Elain didn’t object when he placed it over her shoulders.

But she did shake her head as he said, “Whatever you’re doing, let me come with you. To make sure you’re safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, pulling the jacket closer when she noticed the way his eyes wandered to her neckline. Maybe he was concerned by the attention her attire would attract, a fear she might have shared if Lucien’s apartment wasn’t just across the street. And she had a feeling that regardless of what she said to Azriel, he’d be lingering to ensure nothing happened to her.

“I’ll stay here, then” Azriel said. “So that I can bring you back up when you’re ready.”

Sensing that was the most she could convince Azriel to stay out of it, and not wanting to waste any more time arguing, Elain nodded and dashed off toward Lucien’s apartment. A place she’d never visited before, though she’d seen it in enough visions to recognize the stepping stones of the front garden as if she’d been the one to arrange them.

Of all the times she’d thought about coming here, of bracing her hand around the iron knocker and letting fall to the front door, she’d never imagined it would be the middle of the night. And that the knocker would bounce once, twice, until it vibrated into stillness. No shuffle on the other side, no footsteps. No answer at all.

In all her imaginings, she’d certainly never thought that she would need to sneak into his back garden and mount the trellis to his balcony, battling against the climbing roses that snagged at her dressing gown. She hissed as more than a few scraped against her legs, as if the garden were fighting back against its intruder.

“Lucien?” She called as she came level with his balcony. Leaning over, she could see no light in his room, and it occurred to her that she could be reading too much into the quiet. He could just be sleeping, and maybe his heartbeat quieted when he slept and she’d simply never noticed. This was her last chance to turn away without looking like a lunatic.

Lucien? She tried, searching internally for the kernel of light that lived inside her, warm and lovely and achingly absent. There was no response. No stirrings at all on the other side of their muted bond. She grasped, helplessly, for something to pull, for the golden thread he’d once tugged all those years ago. When she found nothing, she pulled herself onto his balcony and yanked on the handle to his bedroom.

Locked.

Through the glass, she could see his red hair against the pillows. His face was turned toward her, eyes shut, expression so soft and unguarded she barely recognized him. Elain stilled for a minute, the ache in her chest growing tenfold as she admired the sight of Lucien polished in moonlight.

She rapped her knuckles against the glass. First, with all of the bashfulness of someone who expected his eyes to snap open, where she would need to explain what she was doing on his balcony, undressed and bloodied. Then, with increasing urgency as his eyes remained shut, oblivious to her panicked fists slamming against the glass door not a meter away.

If she’d let Azriel come with, he would have known what to do. And perhaps he would have come up with a far less destructive solution than Elain, who turned to examine the items Lucien kept on his balcony and found a small potted plant that she immediately hurled towards the door. Any faerie would have woken to the sound of the shattering glass. Even one having a particularly nice dream.

His neighbors might even be awake now, coming to their windows to watch Elain push her arm through the jagged hole and unlock the door from the inside. Maybe tomorrow there’d be news articles about Velaris’s new, sloppy midnight burglar. As long as tomorrow’s news was about her, and not the deceased son of Autumn, she didn’t care.

She didn’t care even as the glass cut into her feet, not as Lucien remained unresponsive to it all. Unaware of his intruder. Unaware that his mate was bleeding and panicked and desperate. It was all wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

“Lucien?” She called, his name strangled in her throat.

In her mortal life, she might have cared about dripping blood onto his sheets, or how she was climbing into a male’s bed in only her night gown. But now she was High Fae and this was her mate—her mate. And all that mattered was getting to him.

Elain cupped his face, nearly sobbing when she felt that it was warm to the touch. Warm. Not claimed by death—not yet. And his lips were parted, expelling air with every rise and fall of his chest. Alive, alive, alive.

Despite the evidence, when Elain pressed her fingers to the pulsepoint on his neck, she was surprised to find a heartbeat as familiar as her own. Steady, healthy, yet still absent from where it once resided in her mind. And he still wasn't awake.

Was it magic? Some kind of spell, or poison? Without thinking, she ripped the bedcovers from his body to see if there was some ailment she was missing. A bite wound, or an arrow puncture, or…. Lucien’s uninjured, perfectly healthy, and obscenely muscular naked body.

Elain yelped, immediately covering him back up. “I’m so sorry,” she said, though he couldn’t hear and was unaware of the violation she’d just committed.

It was then that her eyes wandered toward his bedside table, bearing all the things she would expect from Lucien: a pile of books with loose papers atop them, a leatherbound journal, a dagger with a jeweled hilt, and… a small, empty vial labeled sleeping tonic.

She recalled the vision she’d had that morning, of Lucien navigating his way through the busy marketplace. How he’d paused before a tonic shop, intrigued by their wares. She hadn’t thought anything of it, besides that it meant Lucien had returned to the city. And now she examined the glass shards littering his bedroom floor, the soil spilling out of the broken plant pot, the blood on the floor, the sheets—oh god, it was on his face, too.

“Elain?”

She turned her head, finding Azriel standing on the balcony, looking far more concerned for the state she was in than the unconscious male beneath her.

“Is everything okay?” he prompted.

What did she even say, to answer for all of the reckless, impulsive things she’d done this evening?

All she could do was point to the vial and croak, “The tonic he bought at the shop… will it wear off?”

Azriel squinted through the glass to read the label, then huffed a laugh under his breath, as if he was familiar. “Those tonics will leave you all but dead to the world. The last time I took one, I woke up with a mustache painted on my face.”

That certainly sounded like something his friends would do. Elain couldn’t bring herself to laugh. “So he’ll be okay?”

“He’ll be fine. I can’t say the same for his balcony door, though.”

Elain’s cheeks burned. “Will you take me back? And forget this ever happened?”

The shadowsinger watched her carefully. “Of course. It can be our secret.”

Azriel kept a lot of those. She trusted he would keep this one, at least from Lucien, but even so she couldn’t find it in herself to meet his eyes as he stepped into Lucien’s apartment and lifted Elain from her mate’s bed. They flew back to the house in silence, the stinging in her feet becoming more and more intrusive as her adrenaline wore off.

“Let me take you to the infirmary,” he said once they landed on one of the many verandas.

“No.”

“Elain—”

“No.” She didn’t mean to snap. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d use that tone with anyone. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that Azriel was only trying to help. That he’d been indulging her foolish impulses all evening, expecting nothing in return. “Just take me back to my room, please. I can deal with it.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, but he did as she asked.

Only once he left, and she heard his door shut down the hall, did she release her hold on the tears that she’d been repressing from the moment she realized Lucien was okay. Picking the leftover pieces of glass from her feet was preferable to anguishing over the fool she made of herself tonight, though she managed to do both.

What had gotten into her? She’d always felt a measure of the instincts that came with the bond. The pull, the wanting, the need to claim and protect. But they had always been passive, easily brushed aside. What she’d felt tonight had gripped her with such violence that she’d been blinded to everything else, any sense of reason or reservation. What would Lucien think when he woke in the morning and saw that someone had broken into his home? And how would she be able to look him in the eyes, now that his naked form was imprinted in her mind, lingering no matter how she tried to banish it. It was wrong. It was stolen. It was… making the ache feel raw again.

Worst of all, despite Azriel’s assurance that Lucien was unharmed by the tonic, she found she couldn’t go to sleep while his side of the bond remained a torment of nothingness. She turned over restlessly throughout the night, replaying it all in her head, torturing herself with the anxious thought that maybe Azriel was wrong. Maybe the tonic wouldn’t wear off, and her mate was in danger. She should have stayed, at least until she knew he was okay.

Lucien would have stayed.

That thought, more than anything, kept her awake. Kept her debating all night whether she should face the ten thousand steps just to break into his house again. It was only the cuts on her feet, and her own shame at explaining to Lucien how much she overreacted, that kept her in bed, turning restlessly.

It wasn't until the sun came up that the familiar metronome of his heartbeat returned.

And by the relief of its steady, soothing rhythm, Elain was finally able to fall asleep.

#Elucien #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #Maybe I can be pursuaded to write a second chapter #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

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crazy-ache · 12 days

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Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic (Installment I Update)

Title: Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic (Installment I - Chapters I, II, III) Rating: M Summary:

“Perhaps you can speak them to me, if you so wish. I apologize if that is too forward, but I yearn to know you beyond simple pleasantries.

Yours truly,

Lucien

P.S. My lady, your secrets are always safe with me.”

Epistolary (adj., of a literary work) in the form of letters. After the winter solstice in ACOSF, Elain and Lucien exchange letters as a means to get to know each other away from prying eyes. This fic is a collection of those letters.

Author’s Note: HERE WE GO! This fic was written between me (crazy-ache) and @zenkindoflove. We each selected a character (you’ll have to guess who though) and then wrote back and forth, pen-pal style. The first installment is now posted! We hope you enjoy our passion project.

READ HERE ON AO3

If you'd like to be added or removed just let us know!

#elucien #elain x lucien #elain and lucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien letters #pro elucien #elucien supremacy #sexy pen pal vibes #regency vibes #epistolary fanfic #elucien moodboard #collab fic #part 1 is live #we hope you enjoy!#elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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acourtofthought · 11 months

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Elain: "How do you think I feel knowing that you wish I were her? That I'll never compare to Jesminda?"

Lucien: "THERE IS NO COMPARISON!.....and it has been tearing me apart. I have hated myself every single day of these last few months knowing that it's because she loved me that she lost her life. Knowing that if she were here, YOU would still be the one I chose and because of that, her death was in vain.

#incorrect acotar quotes #elucien #Elucien angst #elucien fic #But not really a fic since those sentences are all that exist

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velidewrites · 4 months

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Get In The Water

To bargain with an ancient death-lord, Captain Elain Archeron must acquire the rare, magical scales of a siren. Little does she know her target is no ordinary Mer—but the Prince of the Undersea himself.

Pairing: Elucien

Tags: Pirate!Elain x Merman!Lucien

Notes: For the beautiful talented stunning @areyoudreaminof for the @acotargiftexchange! I wasn't your original Secret Santa, but I tried to include some of your favourites here (this is your official warning for Jurian being a canon-typical little shit). Sending you so many smooches!

Thank you @ablogofsapphicpanic for being my beta<3

Read on AO3

“With all due respect, Captain Archeron, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Elain’s answering sigh was deep enough to rustle the waves ahead. She tossed them a final look before turning back to her quartermaster. “You know exactly where you can shove your respect, Jurian.”

He bounced off the mast with a grin. “Up my arse, no doubt,” he mused, a large, tanned hand stroking his much overgrown stubble. They’d been out at sea for weeks—for good reason, too, though Elain realised it was a sentiment less and less of her crew continued to share.

Still, she nodded with a smile of her own. “Same as last time.”

“Then I’m sure I don’t have to tell you it would have been wise to dock in Adriata two weeks ago.” He crossed his arms. “We’re not exactly welcome on Day Court waters.”

That was certainly one way to put it. Elain was half-expecting the High Lord’s army, ready at arms and lined up on the shores of Port Denera to arrest her and her crew. It would hardly be the first time.

Elain’s smile only grew wider. “There’s nothing quite like coming home.”

Jurian rolled his eyes, no doubt remembering their latest excursion himself, and leaned over the bulwark. “It’s been a while,” he remarked, his brown gaze drifting off to the azure sea. In the waning hours of the afternoon, the golden sunlight reflected off its surface, shimmering quietly as though unaware of the chaos to come. Where she came from—a little town bordering the Eastern Coast—the fishermen used to say the future was carried in with the waves. Elain was never much a practitioner of such belief—after all, if it were true, her ship would surely be on the verge of utter collapse right now, sinking underwater with the crashing force of the raging sea.

Instead, they continued to peacefully make their way northeast, the sun warming their skin as though in greeting. The irony wasn’t lost on her, but she supposed it was much easier to enjoy the bliss while it lasted. The silver blade strapped to her side flashed at the thought, undeniably in protest—she’d had it dipped in the Cauldron a few decades ago (before her sister, the High Lady herself, had somehow lost the whole damn thing), and since then, the sword had seemed to develop a mind of its own. Elain didn’t mind. It was bloody useful in battle, and she was smarter than to argue with a deadly, magical artifact. Even if it was a real fucking smartass.

The sword flashed again—and a lot brighter this time, too bright to mistake it with a random glimpse of the sunlight.

“Sorry,” Elain muttered.

Jurian—she’d nearly forgotted he was still here—glanced down at her belt. “You need to stop talking to the damn thing.”

She could have sworn she felt something sharp twitch against her hip.

“Would you like to talk to it instead?” she asked sweetly.

Jurian’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“I thought so.”

“Seriously, Elain,” he sighed, apparently foregoing her usual title. “I would have gone to the ends of the earth with you to get those scales. Hell, I will go to the ends of the earth, and you know I won’t so much as hesitate.”

Elain did know. The stakes were too high—too personal, especially for her second-in-command.

“But the crew needs a break,” Jurian continued. “Adriata was supposed to be our goldmine, and we found nothing—nothing, Elain, not even one of those gods-damned—”

“I know what happened in Adriata, Jurian,” Elain cut in. “I was there.”

“I only mean—”

“I know what you mean. And I agree, even if I do not show it sometimes. Jurian, I…” She closed her eyes, letting the salty mist pearl on her skin, her lashes. “I miss her too. Every day.”

For a moment, there was only silence—silence and the quiet whoosh of the deep blue waves.

“I know you do,” Jurian whispered beside her.

“She’s out there, somewhere—somewhere on the Continent. With that monster to do with her as he likes.” She could practically hear Jurian grit his teeth beside her. “I won’t give up, and we’ve been out here together long enough for me to know you won’t give up, either.”

“The Death God is persistent,” Jurian seethed. “He demands too high a price.”

Indeed he did. Koschei, a being so ancient even the fishermen in her small Day Court village had no legends singing of his name, had been magically bound to his lair on the Continent millennia ago—and, apparently, had been trying to find a way out of his chains ever since. The only thing in the world able to release him, though, was—of course—the Cauldron, the creator of the world itself.

And, up until sixty years ago, Elain would see it in her sister’s dining room every Solstice. It was ridiculous, really, the power the Night Court used to have in its grasp. That wasn’t to say it had not been deserved—the Cauldron had been won in a war full of blood and sacrifice, one her sister and his mate had nearly lost their life in, but…well. Surely they could have found a more secure place to display it than their townhouse in Velaris. A place where it could not have gotten stolen by only the Mother knew whom, or better yet—a place where no one, not even Feyre and Rhysand, could ever find it again.

It was too late for such semantics. Despite an entire Valkyrie region searching the skies for a sign of it, the Cauldron was simply…gone.

Nesta believed it to have been an inside job. After all, there were only a handful of people outside of Velaris aware of the city’s existence at all, let alone the High Lord and Lady’s private residence. But the Head Valkyrie had questioned them all—and found nothing at all.

For the first twenty years, Elain searched for it, too—anything to get out of her village, really, and the ghosts of a life she longed to leave behind. An engagement to a local lord’s son might have been the dream of many females back home, but it was, and never would be, Elain’s

The missing Cauldron had given her the opportunity she’d been searching for, and Elain did not look back when Feyre asked for her help. In her travels, though…she discovered a beauty to the seas, to the vast world they opened up for her taking—and so, after too many hopeless clues and tearful conversations with her sister, Elain had let the waves consume her entirely.

She did not think she would ever have to worry about the Cauldron again. She’d hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it had lost itself to the world just as she wished it would. But then Elain had met Vassa, and then Vassa had been taken by Koschei, and, well…

Her fate belonged to the Cauldron once again.

This time, though, it was hardly a chore, or a favour she was doing her little sister. It was a matter of life or death, of the family she’d found sailing the seas of Prythian. Vassa was a sister, too, a sister she loved dearly enough that when Koschei’s demands began to invade her visions, Elain did not hesitate.

She and Jurian had devised a plan—it wasn’t exactly foolproof, so to say, but she hoped it would be enough. It had to be.

“Do you know how much just one of the Mer scales runs for on the black market, Jurian?” Elain asked, more to prove a point than to get an actual answer. He knew—they’d been chasing them for the past two years. Still, she said, “Ten thousand gold marks. You could buy a manor in Spring for that kind of money.”

“I have allergies,” Jurian murmured.

“I know I didn’t just hear that.”

Jurian sighed. “It just seems…I don’t know, Elain. The Mer people are folktale. If your so-called Undersea were to exist, we would have found it in Adriata.”

“The High Lord’s libraries clearly point to the seas of Day,” Elain pressed.

Jurian snorted. “Are you sure you read that right? We didn’t exactly have a lot of time in that library, you know.”

She cut him a look sharper than the sword at her side. “I’m sure. I got the information we needed with a few minutes to spare.”

“I think your posters are still hanging at the entrance.”

Elain wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like the way my hair looks in those ones.” When it came to painting, the Day Court forces were no Feyre.

“They put quite the bounty on your head, you know,” Jurian added. “If that isn’t flattering, then I don’t know what is.”

Elain grinned. “Well, I stole some really valuable books.”

“I’ll bet.” He looked out to the sea again, that rugged face turning more solemn as he studied the horizon—and the shore stretching far ahead. “How do you know the scales will be enough to get Vassa back?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know. But, if we can find the Mer here and get the scales we need…perhaps we can bargain with Koschei to take them instead. Their magic is forgotten, just as he is. He might find them to be enough.”

“That’s a big if, Elain.”

She shrugged. “At the very least, we might be able to use them to trace the Cauldron. I’ve sent a letter to Velaris—Amren volunteered her assistance.”

Jurian shuddered.

“Don’t be a baby,” Elain rolled her eyes. “She’s useful. Ancient.”

“Precisely.”

“I just…” He shook his head, his brown curls catching the sunlight. “Things are weird enough as they are. You Fae are hardly accepting of pirates, let alone humans.”

Elain tucked a loose strand of hair behind an arched ear. “I’m a pirate,” she declared, letting some of the pride she’d buried deep in her chest creep into her tone. “I am happy to share at least half of the burden with you.”

Jurian’s warm hand covered her own. “You’re a good friend, Elain,” he said. “You could have left—could have sailed off after that whole fiasco with Koschei.” He gave her a light squeeze. “But you chose to stay.”

She could not meet his stare—not when the salt in her eyes had begun to burn too much, blurring her own gaze as she turned to face the shallowing water. “I’ve run away before,” she told him quietly. “No more.”

“No more,” Jurian agreed. He had a past of his own—and, when the time was right…he would tell her. And she would embrace it without question.

“I’ll tell you what,” Elain started, her throat suddenly tight. “It’s a big day we’ve got tomorrow. Tell the crew we’ll be dining at the local tavern tonight?”

Slowly, Jurian turned to her—and smiled. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

***

The Pearl was a small ship—small enough not to raise suspicions when they’d docked in Port Denera. The flag—a Mer tail with a pearl resting between its fins—had been carefully folded away prior to their arrival, the sigil of Elain’s crew all but too recognisable in those parts of Prythian.

It wasn’t that Elain had no moral compass whatsoever, but, over the years, she had learned that sometimes, taking her life into her own hands had a tendency to pay off a whole lot more than simply letting it run its course. Had she lived by a different set of rules, she would have long been married to the new Lord Nolan, never having left her hometown and spending her days at the beach, looking out to the sea and wishing for a life never to be.

It could have been a good life, perhaps—but it would never be the life she wanted, the life she craved. Besides, it wasn’t like Elain had ever been given a good example to follow. Feyre, after all, had escaped her own arranged marriage and ran right to the deepest, darkest corners of Night, Nesta following shortly after. It was only fair that Elain followed the family tradition.

Father had been devastated—Elain’s engagement, after all, had been his final, desperate attempt at seeing his daughters well off before his passing. After Feyre and Nesta’s disobedience, as he’d called it, Father had assumed his daughters had simply rebelled because they wished to remain home. Perhaps that was why, after having tried marrying Feyre off to Spring and Nesta to Hybern, he’d settled for seeing Elain with a small, local nobleman.

Elain did not care for riches—well, she hadn’t cared then. Now, having seen all that the world had to offer, she supposed she did enjoy having a few pearls and gold around her neck at times. But it hadn’t been the match itself that bothered her—she was sure Greysen Nolan was perfectly nice and well-mannered—but the fact that Father hadn’t even asked if he was who Elain wanted, if he’d even cared if she could ever love Greysen at all.

As cliché as it sounded, love was exactly what Elain craved so viciously. And now, decades later, she had finally found that love—here, out at sea, with the waves embracing her wholly and eternally. This—the Pearl—was her home.

She sure hoped home wouldn’t mind seeing her stumble back aboard in a few hours, when she was well and thoroughly drunk out of her mind.

Aside from pearls and jewellery, Elain had developed a taste for ale, and it just so happened that the Port Denera tavern was famous for the golden drink. It tasted like liquid gold in her cup, leaving a tinge on her tongue that sent her senses spiralling and flushed her cheeks with bright-pink heat.

The crew seemed to be enjoying themselves, too, and it was only for that reason that she’d allowed her instincts to abandon ship for a moment or two. Well, perhaps three. She hadn’t seen Jurian this happy and relaxed since Vassa had been taken—a sign of how truly tired he must have been these past few weeks, of how badly he needed an evening to forget.

The thought sobered her up just a little, and Elain remembered the true reason she’d allowed this unusual night out in a town where the entire army was on the lookout for Captain Archeron. She did feel slightly guilty for misleading Jurian into thinking it was simply out of the goodness of her own heart—into omitting the one, small ulterior motive that had lately seemed to be driving nearly every decision of hers.

Information.

While the fishermen in the East of the Day Court had no knowledge of the Mer, the folk of Port Denera no doubt sang of the old creatures lurking beneath the sea. She’d already picked up on a few shanties on the way to the tavern, humming the words quietly to herself as she searched the lyrics for anything valuable. The Mer’s magic appeared to be as sharp as their teeth, capable of stirring the waves and calling upon storms. The strongest of them could lure the innocent, hungry wanderers into their traps with a lulling voice and mesmerising eyes, ones that reflected the soul’s deepest desires just as the surface of the sea reflected the sun above. Once captured, they’d sink those teeth into the flesh of their prey, and drag them under—never to be seen again.

Elain hummed the tune again cheerfully, excitement bubbling up in her chest—well, she supposed the bubbles might have had to do with some of the barrels of alcohol she’d consumed. Still, this was promising. All she needed was a name—a lagoon, or a hidden grotto, perhaps, where she could locate a lair. Her Cauldron-blessed sword would do the rest of the job.

Somewhere far beyond her peripheral vision, she heard the silver hum happily, already summoned by the rather bloodthirsty thought.

It was not that Elain wanted to murder the Mer in cold blood. She did not enjoy killing (she could have sworn her blade huffed at the sentiment), but if there was no other way to acquire the scales, she would do it. She loved Vassa enough to do whatever it took—the exiled, Firebird queen would do the exact same for her.

For what had to have been the hundredth time, Elain looked around the tavern, her somewhat blurry gaze scanning the bustling area. It was a lot more crowded than she’d expected—which proved a good thing all the same. It was a lot harder to get spotted in a sea of creatures of all shapes and sizes, and it sure helped that they all seemed piss-drunk, too.

The local shanty found its way onto her lips once more, and she sang it absently, her attention entirely focused on some old wraith somehow downing two bottles of wine at once. Her sharp nails scraped against the glass as she drank, and Elain watched, completely entranced at what she’d never thought could be accomplished before.

In the morning sun so bright, the sailors set to sea,

Their hearts as bold as brass, their spirits ever-free.

But careful, sailor, please, beware the waves that dance and play,

Beneath this sunny surface, a wicked mermaid lay.

“Sounds terrifying.”

Elain jumped.

The ale in her hand fell to the ground with a loud clunk, the sound immediately drowned out by a rumbling laughter of the crows. The golden liquid spilled over her, sticking to the skin of her neck, her collarbones, the curves of her exposed breasts—until finally sinking into the white fabric of her corset. Elain swore under her breath, cursing her choice of garment for tonight, before finally looking up.

“Shit,” she swore again, for the lack of a better word—or, perhaps, because there was no word to describe the male standing before her.

The most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

A pair of shining eyes of molten gold looked her up and down, an auburn eyebrow quirking up in amusement. “Now, don’t tell me you’re disappointed,” he drawled, his voice rich and deep and smoother than the liquid she’d swallowed down her throat. “I spent a lot of time on my hair earlier tonight.”

Elain blinked—then blinked again. “Are you…hitting on me?”

His mouth—full and plush and gods she needed to get it together—twitched. “And here I was, thinking I was all too obvious,” he quipped.

She peeled her gaze off the soft waves of his hair, glistening under the tavern’s candlelight. “Perhaps you’re just not very good at it,” she remarked, thanking the Mother for keeping her tongue sharp when her mind bordered on insanity.

The stranger smiled openly now. “What’s your name?” he asked.

Elain angled her head an inch. “Why?”

Did she really just ask him that?

Perhaps it was time to order some water.

The male seemed entirely unbothered. “It’s not often you meet a beautiful female singing old folktales in the middle of a tavern,” he said, offering a one-shouldered shrug. “I find myself somewhat…intrigued.”

“Intrigued,” Elain repeated blankly.

His smile grew wider. “Quite,” he agreed. “Those are old, you know.”

Elain straightened—straightened and blinked again, her thoughts somehow collecting into one, singular stream as she remembered what, exactly, she had come to this tavern for. “Are they?” she asked, “I’ve just picked up on them an hour ago.”

“An hour?”

She offered a smile of her own. “I have an excellent memory.”

Those golden eyes glistened. “Is that so?” the male asked, his gaze sweeping down her body as though he had all the time in the world. “If I tell you my name, will you sing it for me, too?”

Focus, Elain. He’d mentioned the Mer shanties, did he not? “I doubt anyone will hear it,” she remarked. “I never see Port Denera this busy.”

“You’ve been here before?”

Elain waved a dismissive hand. “Once or twice,”

The male hummed. “Then you know today is an important day,” he said, that strange shade of amusement playing over his features once more. “The High Lord is mourning the loss of his dear wife and son, and we are drinking in a show of, ah…solidarity,” he finished, a passing faun raising his glass at them, as though emphasising his agreement.

Elain waited for him to get out of earshot. “Wife and son?” she questioned, searching the corners of her mind that stored everything she knew about her Court.. “Didn’t that happen three hundred years ago?”

Those eyes narrowed at her slightly, and the stranger tilted his head. “Do you think he should have moved on instead?” he asked, the question so quiet it may as well have been a breath—and yet, she’d heard it perfectly over the bustling crowd.

Elain considered. “I think it must have been a beautiful kind of love, if he’s mourning it so many centuries later.”

His auburn brow arched in surprise. “What did you say your name was, lady…?”

Elain snorted. “Oh, I’m no lady.” She set her glass on a nearby table. “Haven’t been for a while.”

“You certainly look like one,” he remarked, that smile once again creeping back onto his ridiculously handsome features.

She couldn’t resist. “Do I, now?”

He chuckled, the sound low and honeyed. “Oh, absolutely.”

“And are you in the habit of flirting with all the ladies you pick up in a tavern?” Elain teased.

“No, no. I usually let them come to me.” He winked. “I can be a good singer too, you know.”

Elain smiled.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she laughed. “So, you know those shanties, too?”

His eyes glittered.

There it was.

“Some of them,” he agreed.

“Do they hold any truth?” she pressed. Come on, come on, come on…

“Sometimes,” he nodded. “Does it matter?”

You have no idea, Elain thought. “It does. I’m looking for…” she hesitated. “Information.”

“Oh?”

“The books in Day’s library state I might find it here,” she added carefully.

Something like realisation crept onto his features. “You wish to know about the Merpeople,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Elain’s gaze flickered to the movement. “How did you get access to those books?” he asked.

“It’s not important,” she told him, eyeing the golden-brown muscles flexing under the candlelight.

“I disagree,” the male said, “those books are extremely well-guarded.” Was that admiration she’d heard in his tone?

“What was your name, again?” Elain asked him.

The male smiled. “Would you like to come outside with me?”

As if. “I’m not exactly in a hook-up mood right now, sorry,” she told him, though uncertain if the words rang entirely true.

He smiled—as though he knew. “What about information?” She felt her brows flick up. “I thought so. Now, shall we? It’s more quiet out back,” he added, gesturing to the tavern’s back door.

“I like it loud,” Elain countered. The more people drowning their conversation, the better.

“So do I,” he winked. “Another time, baby, I promise.”

Elain rolled her eyes. “Very funny,” she said, then dared a quick glance around the space again. Come to think of it, the couple at the table near where the two of them stood were awfully close—close enough that Elain decided not to risk it. She nodded to the stranger. “Let’s go.”

“Just so that we’re clear,” he started as they made their way through the crowd, “once you get those scales, we’re splitting the profits.”

“We can discuss the money later,” Elain countered. Like hell she was going to share anything with him.

“If that is what you wish,” he nodded, and opened the door.

The fresh air hit her almost unexpectedly, but it was a welcome change from the stuffy tavern in the back. She breathed in the salt carried in by the sea, her thoughts clearing up enough that she could finally focus on the matter at hand without unnecessary…distractions.

The distraction flashed her a smile, the beach behind him illuminated by the dying sunlight. “So, Mer scales, hmm? What do you need those for?”

“That,” Elain said firmly, “is none of your business.”

He chuckled again, the sound different this time—less than that deep, raspy sound she’d heard before, but more…fluid, like tea stirring in a cup. Warm. Inviting. “Oh, you have no idea,” he said quietly—and reached out his hand.

“Come with me,” the stranger told her.

Elain frowned. “I’m already here,” she pointed out. “You wanted to leave the tavern,” she reminded him.

He hummed—and she could have sworn it was like a melody pouring from his chest. “Yes,” he told her, stepping back until his feet—bare, she now noticed—reached the sand. “Let’s go a little further, alright?”

Elain stepped forward. “I…don’t understand,” she said. Still, she moved in closer.

He offered her a gentle smile. “Just one more step for me, gorgeous, please,” he tried again, his hand still outstretched.

“Okay.” She reached the sand now, too—but he had somehow moved back a few steps again, inches away from the waves’ embrace.

“Good girl,” he purred, the water now kissing his skin. Elain stepped in closer. “You’re very beautiful, you know,” he told her, angling his head slightly. She watched as his long hair spilled down his back in waves softer than the very sea—and met his gaze again, only to find it dark. “Almost beautiful enough to hide that rotten soul of yours.”

That gold had tarnished—enough to hide that bright, enticing gleam.

“Yes,” Elain agreed.

“Mmm, I thought so,” he mused. “I just need you to take a few more steps, alright? We’re almost at the shore,” he added, his voice like a lullaby, reassuring.

“Yes, I’ll follow you,” she agreed again.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praised. “I might even consider making your death painless,” he whispered, watching her closely as she, too, neared the edge of the water. “Though that wasn’t the kind of death you had planned for my kind, was it?” he asked, a certain sharpness to his tone that made her open her mouth. “Oh, no need to answer that, baby,” he interrupted, “but I do appreciate your eagerness.”

Elain nodded. “Whatever you wish.”

He smiled, flashing his teeth. A perfect, pearly set of sharp blades—sharp enough to tear her flesh apart. “That’s a good girl,” he hummed, and she could have sworn she heard her soul sing in answer. “Now, step into the sea.”

Elain stopped inches from the seafoam. “Will you give me your hand?” she asked him shyly.

His features softened—though the sharp, predatory smile remained. “Of course, my rotten, terrible lady,” he purred. “Come with me.”

Elain slid her hand in his—and waited.

His skin, surprisingly, was warm—sun-kissed, as if he hadn’t spent an entire lifetime in the dark depths of the Undersea. He felt smooth, too, with some coarseness here and there that let her know his palm was no stranger to holding a weapon—a trident, perhaps, if the songs of the fishermen had, indeed, held any truth to them.

The leaves behind her rustled—and Elain finally, finally released a breath.

“No,” she told him, her voice still feigning that blissful softness. “No, I don’t think I will.”

The merman blinked. “What?”

Elain gave him a smile that was purely Fae—one that let him know she was a monster, too. “It was a nice try, really,” she said, her free hand reaching back to her belt. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

A pair of iron cuffs appeared in her grip—and, in a flash of a second, found its way onto the merman’s wrists.

His skin sizzled, and he hissed sharply, those dark eyes wide and not leaving hers for one second—but Elain held on, murmuring the spell she’d memorised under her breath.

She could never come to the land of the Mer unprepared.

“Duck!” Jurian yelled behind her.

She only had a fraction of a moment to see the bow in his hands—to stop him before he released the arrow.

Elain didn’t stop him, though.

She ducked.

***

“I can’t believe you caught one of them,” Jurian said in disbelief. “Good work, really, Elain, but did you have to bring him onto the ship?”

From the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of movement behind the bars. The merman rose to his full height—he seemed taller in the constrained space of the brig, somehow—and met her gaze directly.

“Your name,” he said as though in a daze. “Elain.”

Elain cut her friend a look. “Thank you, Jurian.”

Jurian bounced off the wall. “Sorry,” he shrugged, his tone suggesting he wasn’t sorry at all.

“It didn’t work,” their prisoner said, more to himself now than his jailors.

“What didn’t work?” Jurian asked him sharply.

The merman looked at him—and Elain knew it took everything in her quartermaster not to flinch under his scrutiny. “My spell,” he explained slowly, then turned toward her again. “It didn’t work on you,” he repeated.

“Perhaps you’re not as good as you thought,” Jurian said.

He scoffed, as though the remark pulled him out of whatever fog had clouded his thoughts. “My name is Lucien Spell Cleaver,” he declared, his voice louder now, stronger. “Firstborn son of Helion Spell Cleaver, Prince of the Undersea—and heir to the High Lord of the Day Court.”

Beside her, Jurian went entirely still. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she was moving at all, either.

She may have been a pirate, but kidnapping a High Lord’s son—nay, his heir—was an act of treason, and Elain really wished to see one hundred before eventually dying a horrible, undoubtedly painful death. Quite common in her profession, really.

“Impossible,” she whispered. “Helion’s son is dead—as is his wife.”

“Clearly not,” Jurian murmured.

The male—Lucien—narrowed his gaze at the two of them. “We have been in hiding for the moment I was born. There was no denying what I was, not until I learned how to glamour myself, and my mother—she took me back to her people to protect me,” he explained.

“Does the High Lord know?” Elain breathed. He was lying. He had to have been.

Still, it was nice to at least know his name. Fake or not, it pleased her, for some reason. Lucien.

“Of course,” he scoffed. “The ‘Summer Estate’ he leaves for six months every year is Undersea.”

The answer was detailed enough that Elain’s heart quickened. “You really are Lucien Spell Cleaver?” she asked.

“And you,” Lucien nodded, “are Elain Archeron. Pirate…and Mer killer, apparently.”

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Elain protested.

“Yet,” he finished for her. “You were going to kill me,” he said, those golden eyes—back to normal now that he was at their mercy—settling on her as he added, “You still are.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she scrambled. Some pirate she was—some of her rivals back East would have made her walk the plank for her hesitation.

Still, Elain could not bring herself to remember why…

“Why do you want my scales?” Lucien asked, interrupting her trail of thought—completing it, really.

“I told you, that is none of your business,” she told him, though her voice lacked her previous conviction this time.

“It is, if you still want them,” he countered.

“Why on earth would you give us your scales?” Jurian demanded.

“Well, I wouldn’t,” Lucien shrugged, then lifted his iron-bound hands into view. “As you can see, I am not in my Mer form, and will not be until you release me back into the sea,” he argued. “So, why don’t you just let me go, I give you my scales, and everyone wins?”

“Because you’re very obviously lying,” Elain cut in. “And you and your little Undersea army are going to sink my ship the moment it sails.”

The corner of his lip ticked upwards. “Is the word of a Prince not credible enough for you, Elain Archeron?”

“Not particularly,” she replied calmly. Princes, Lords—she’d heard their promises before, and ran to the sea to escape them.

“You are unlike any Mer hunter I’ve ever met before,” Lucien hummed, as though in thought.

Elain frowned. “There are hunters?”

“Of course,” he told her. “My father has disposed of as many of them as he could, but some still emerge every few years, hoping to see if the songs are true.” His expressions sombered. “Our scales are very valuable.”

“So we’ve heard,” Jurian said.

Lucien’s gaze flickered up. “It is money, then,” he said matter-of-factly, though something like anger lingered in the back of his throat.. “You wish to kill my people for a few gold marks?”

Elain swallowed.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, princeling,” Jurian seethed.

Elain placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Take a breath, Jurian,” she told him quietly. “Why don’t you leave us alone for a moment?”

Jurian looked at her—then back at Lucien again. “Let me know if you need help killing him,” he said darkly. Then, “For the record, I don’t care what you are,” he told Lucien. “You’re just annoying the shit out of me.”

And with that, he was gone, the wooden stairs carrying the echo of his steps. Only when they faded did Lucien finally say, “I like him.”

“He shot you,” Elain reminded him.

Lucien shrugged. “It wasn’t an ash arrow, now, was it? We live to forgive. Besides, I’m healed now.” Indeed, the wound in his shoulder had now closed almost entirely. “Well, almost,” he said, pointedly raising his wrists back into the light.

Elain had hoped the iron would work—it was an old superstition the humans thought could harm the Fae, but it had to have stemmed from somewhere. With Day’s libraries proclaiming the Merpeople as millenia older than the Fae, Elain figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Sorry about the iron bars,” she said, nodding to Lucien’s cell. “Precautions.”

“I would have expected nothing less,” Lucien said—then leaned back, letting the back of his head rest against the wood. “So.”

Elain released a breath.

“Alright,” she braced herself. He was her future High Lord, apparently—if she lied, she was already dead. “What do you know of Koschei?”

“Who?”

“Nothing, then,” Elain sighed. “He is a death-lord—a god-like being trapped somewhere deep in the Continent. His magic is even more ancient than yours.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “And you seek to…take his magic for yourself?”

“I want nothing to do with his magic,” Elain told him hotly, earning an arched eyebrow in response. “It is revolting. But, it also currently binds my friend’s soul to Koschei himself, and he will not give her up unless we offer him something in exchange.”

“Mer scales?”

“He wants the Cauldron,” she explained. “We are hoping the scales will do for now.” She fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. Was the plan truly that hopeless? Was Vassa going to be trapped…forever?

In her misery, she hardly noticed Lucien had gone strangely quiet.

“Our scales do not even compare to the sheer power of the Cauldron,” he said, the words barely above a whisper.

Elain laughed bitterly. “If this is your way of talking me out of it, you should know I’m pretty desperate,” she told him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get my friend back.”

At that, Lucien said nothing. He only stared at her in thought, his eyes shimmering despite the darkness she and Jurian had shoved him into.

Then, “I see.” He stepped forward then—and halted an inch from the iron bars. “I was wrong about you.”

That, Elain did not expect.

“I told you, your spells do not work on me.”

“I’m well aware,” Lucien hummed. “I speak the truth. What is your friend’s name?”

Her throat threatening to close up, Elain managed, “Vassa.” She shook her head. “She’s like a sister to me. She’s Jurian’s…”

Understanding dawned on his features.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Lucien said.

“Yes,” Elain whispered. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

Lucien studied her closely. “And do you have a…?”

Elain almost laughed—though she supposed it was better than breaking down in front of the man she’d imprisoned aboard her own ship. “Don’t tell me you’re back to your flirting strategy now,” she told him.

Lucien smiled—a true smile this time, though Elain wasn’t sure how she knew. “Was I truly that obvious?”

“I knew what you were,” she gestured over him as if it was enough of an explanation. “No one else has eyes like that.” Like the morning sun itself.

“Now who’s the shameless flirt, Elain?”

Elain chuckled. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She met his gaze again. “The song summoned you, did it not?” she asked. “You weren’t at the tavern when I arrived.”

Lucien nodded. “I heard it from beneath the waves.”

“I’m not that good a singer.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, his smile fading with the words. She found herself wanting to see it again. “It was for another reason that I heard you. I recognise that now.”

“Recognise what?”

Lucien hesitated. “I need to…” He shook his head. “I—I can’t be sure, it doesn’t…” He locked his eyes with her own again, and she watched him patiently as he searched her gaze. “Elain,” Lucien tried again, and she could have sworn his voice trembled with the word. He loosed a breath. “Come with me.”

Elain looked at his outstretched hand—careful not to let the bars graze his skin. “I told you—”

“I’m not using my magic,” Lucien interrupted. “Just…come with me. Undersea.”

“Like hell I will,” she crossed her arms. “I don’t trust you.”

Lucien just stared at her—started as if some internal battle was playing out deep inside him, one she could almost feel in her own chest.

Then, his hand pulled back, and he laid his palm flat over his chest. His heart, Elain realised, her gaze dipping toward it.

She heard it, then—a quiet, yet powerful sound, like a wave crashing over the shore. The steady beating of his heart.

It couldn’t have been—and yet…

And yet, somehow, Elain heard it. Continued to hear it even now, even stronger as Lucien proclaimed, “With my life,” he began, “I promise to do you no harm.” There was an urgency in his gaze as he pleaded, “Just get in the water with me, and I will be yours.”

Elain paused. “Your scales, you mean,” she corrected, suddenly finding herself entirely out of breath.

“Yes,” Lucien agreed. “That.”

Elain studied the bars keeping him away—then the iron key strapped beside her Cauldron-blessed sword. She swore on the Mother herself she could hear it whisper: Do it.

Perhaps she was simply losing her mind.

“Are you going to make me regret this, Lucien?” she asked him.

He simply stared back. “Are you?”

She supposed the question was reasonable enough. “Don’t tell Jurian I’m doing this,” she warned Lucien. “He’s going to kill me.”

Two minutes later, Lucien was free.

It was a blessing that they’d somehow missed Jurian, really—that she’d guided Lucien through the narrow space upstairs until they arrived at the starboard hand in hand, the sea soft and patient. Waiting.

What the hell was she doing? The only thing Elain knew for certain right now was that she was almost certainly going insane, and that Lucien’s hand in hers was warm and steadying in the buoying ship—and that those steps she was hearing somewhere behind them were, without a shadow of a doubt, Jurian’s.

Whatever Lucien was trying to prove, he had to do it now.

“Do we…jump?” she asked him.

“ELAIN!” Jurian yelled.

“I guess so,” Elain answered for him—and, together, they jumped.

The water, surprisingly, was warm despite the middle of the night. Helion liked to keep his Court warm at all times, but she supposed the sea, at least, would have carried some chill to it. It was then that she realised she’d never swam in those waters before—that she’d spent her lifetime admiring their every corner, but had never actually felt their beauty herself.

Everything happened so quickly.

The moonlight shimmered atop the sea, then sank deep beneath its surface, illuminating the space between them. Illuminating Lucien as his glamour faded and revealed the Prince of the Undersea in his true, unmasked form.

Elain could have drowned there and then.

The scales dotting his body glimmered under the light in a symphony of golds, bronzes and maroons, glowing even underwater as they formed a long, finned tail that floated gently with the current. He was sunlight come to life, the forest on a warm, autumn morning, the golden thread coming to life as it wrapped itself around her ribs, and Elain knew—knew this was the true beauty the sea had meant to show her from the very first moment she’d set sail.

“You…” She struggled for a breath. “You’re so beautiful.”

Lucien smiled, a webbed hand reaching for her own. “So are you, he said, placing her palm over his bare chest—just as he did aboard her ship moments ago. This time, though—this time, Elain could hear as their two heartbeats blended into one, a melody that made her own soul sing as Lucien whispered, “I am yours.”

The thread around her ribs tightened, forever to remain.

“You…” Elain blinked. “Oh.” She covered their joined hands with another, as if to make sure. “Lucien.”

“I needed to make sure,” he breathed, pulling her in. “You are my mate.”

There was reverence in the way he’d spoken the words—like some sacred spell only Elain was privy to hear from his lips.

She wanted to try them too.

“You are mine.”

“Yes,” he assured her.

“And I am yours.”

“Yes,” Lucien whispered again.

“Your scale—”

He squeezed her hands tighter. “Everything I am belongs to you now, Elain,” he interrupted. “But you will not need them.”

Elain blinked once more. “I don’t understand, I—”

Lucien smiled. “We have the Cauldron,” he told her. “My father took it—from Velaris.”

Elain wasn’t sure she was breathing.

“No.”

“Its wards protect us—have been keeping us safe for decades,” Lucien explained. “I think it is time we take our safety into our own hands,” he added, his thumb brushing over her palm.

Did he mean—?

Elain shook her head. “I couldn’t—”

“Where you go, I go,” Lucien said. “I am yours, Elain, and you are mine. Together, we’ll get your family back. And,” he hesitated, “If—if you still wish to have me around then—”

Her mate.

“Kiss me,” Elain demanded.

Lucien stilled. “What—”

“Now, Lucien.”

And he did.

Her eyes fluttered shut as Lucien’s mouth clashed into her own, and the world around then exploded—he tasted of salt and the sun-warmed breeze. He tasted like the rest of her gods-damned life, though she supposed eternity could never be enough to satiate the hunger one kiss had instilled deep inside her. Lucien kissed her as if she was the world, as if she was the light illuminating the sea embracing them, his lips hot and soft and all-consuming.

They had a war to face—but, as long as they faced it together…

Elain pulled back, their hearts pounding as one. She smiled at the sound.

“Let’s do this.”

#acotar gift exchange #elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #my writing

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 months

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You Are Not the Kind of Boy (Who Should Be Marrying the Wrong Girl): Part One

A/N: happy happy @sjmromanceweek! Don't you just love the first date of... (checks notes) being ruined by your older sister's lover bursting into her wedding? It's how all the great first dates start! 😉 I hope everyone enjoys this Elucien sequel to But I'm Only Looking At You! You don't have to have read the Nessian part to understand, but you do need to know that Cassian ruined Nesta and subsequently Elain and Feyre before this fic's timeline. This is the first of three parts I'll be posting for Romance Week 🥰

Read on AO3 // Next Part

Three Months Ago

The music drifts through the large, arching doorway, the sound light and lilting as its melody fills the room. It wraps around Elain's limbs, floating above into the high ceiling and the chandelier hanging there. Elain can't help but hum along quietly to the familiar tune, even as she tilts her head to admire the painting displayed before her. It's a beautiful landscape, light brushstrokes of white perfectly capturing the clouds in the sky, dots of color in the foreground to mimic wildflowers.

“My lady.”

Elain nearly jumps out of her skin at the sudden voice, even as the familiarity of that tone sends goosebumps cascading down her arms. She turns her head to the gentleman now standing beside her. His fitted waistcoat is a deep green color, the intricate gold stitching exactly the type of luxury Elain expects from a Duke's son. Still, the color compliments his red hair, the strands left loose to hang around his face. Even with the fox mask he's chosen to don for the evening's festivities, there's no mistaking him.

Lucien Spellcleaver.

He keeps his hands tucked neatly behind his back, his eyes firmly forward on the painting before them. But Elain doesn't miss the way his fingers seem to flex, the bob of his throat as he swallows, and she certainly doesn't miss the way a smirk tugs up the left side of his lips at her continued attention. Since making Lucien's acquaintance and through their continued interactions, Elain has begun to suspect he's more scoundrel than lord, all teasing smirks and snarky remarks. He finally turns to meet her gaze, his eyes practically glinting beneath the light of the chandelier, one russet and one gold.

“You look lovely this evening,” Lucien tells her, Elain swearing he sounds almost breathless as he says it. “That color suits you.”

Elain is glad for her own mask to hide the blush that crashes across her cheeks, but she ducks her head nonetheless. “Thank you, your Grace.”

She turns back to the painting, if only to break the intensity of his stare, the spell that seems wrapped up in that gaze, curling around her chest like a golden thread and tugging her into him. Perhaps, if she stares hard enough at the painted wildflowers, her face will stop being the same shade of pink as her dress. Thankfully, Lucien seems content to simply stand beside her, barely a hairsbreadth keeping their arms from brushing together.

“Thesan has good taste,” Lucien breaks the quiet to comment. “Clear from this evening's masquerade as well. Are you enjoying the festivities, my lady?”

“Yes. I have particularly enjoyed the music.”

“And yet I have not yet seen you grace the dance floor.”

“Perhaps, I am still waiting for the right partner,” Elain dares to say, turning back toward Lucien only to find his stare already pinned on her.

His hand reaches forward in the space between them, his fingers skating down Elain's arm before curling around her wrist. Elain just barely swallows down the gasp at that simple touch, her heart beginning to pound between her ribs. She feels frozen, unable to move or look away as Lucien pulls her hand closer to him, as his fingers unfold her dance card. She watches him scrawl his name, expects him to drop her hand once he's finished, but instead, he merely lifts her hand higher, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His lips linger against her skin far longer than is proper, a fire practically burning in his eyes, but still Elain doesn't move, doesn't breathe.

It's only when Lucien finally releases her hand, when he finally steps away and vanishes back into the ballroom and amongst the ball’s guests, that Elain releases a quiet, gasping breath. She runs her hands down the skirts of her dress, trying desperately to calm her thundering heart, and when she looks at her dance card to see which dance Lucien has claimed, she finds his name written in large, looping letters diagonally across the entire booklet.

A scoundrel indeed.

~ * * * ~

Today

The carriage jerks beneath them, jostling lightly as the horse tugs them down the road. The silence is suffocating, the air tense and thick enough in the tight space that Elain feels like she could choke on it. She keeps her eyes firmly out the window, watching the shops, the houses, the people that the carriage passes.

She doesn’t dare to look at the other faces of her family, least of all her mother. The ire radiating off of Eleanor Archeron is palpable and stifling and has Elain’s whole body tensing in anticipation. And it’s not even directed at her. Nesta’s fingers are twisted tight enough in the skirts of her dress that Elain can see the white knuckles even in her periphery. Elain’s own fingers twitch with the desire to reach out, to squeeze Nesta’s hands in soothing comfort, but there’s no saving her older sister from what’s coming, not after what’s happened, what Nesta did.

Elain still can’t even wrap her head around it. She had known, of course, that there was something between her sister and Cassian MacLeod. He had practically followed Nesta around wherever they went, and Elain can still remember the night their mother had thrown a stack of letters from him into the fire, can still remember hearing Nesta cry through the wall their bedrooms share. But she never thought Nesta would do this, never thought she’d take things so far so as to lay with a man unwed.

The carriage finally pulls to a stop, and the footman has barely pulled the door open before Feyre is rushing out, clearly just as desperate as Elain to escape the cloying mood trapped within the carriage. The rest of the family clambers out in stoic silence, and finally, with a soft sigh, Elain slips out of the carriage. Nesta hesitates at the bottom of the front steps, so Elain steps around her, giving her sister the moment she clearly needs and following her parents inside their home.

But once they’re all inside, once the front door has closed with a too loud snick the echoes like a death knell, all hell breaks loose.

Elain supposes there is some benefit to them having to dismiss their staff. There’s no one to see the rage burning across their mother’s face as she whirls around on Nesta. No one to hear the slap that rings out in the front hall as the back of Eleanor’s hand strikes across Nesta’s cheek.

“You stupid girl,” their mother seethes, already raising her hand again despite Nesta’s flinch. “What were you thinking?”

“Mama, please. I didn’t—”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Everything I have done for you. All that work I put in. And for what? For you to spread your legs like a common whore, and for some filthy factory rat of all things?”

Feyre steps closer to Elain, looping their arms together as they stand tensely, awkwardly, while everything unfolds, but Elain can’t watch the way their mother explodes around them a moment longer. She swallows hard and averts her gaze, focusing on the shadows that stretch across the floors and walls from the sun spilling through the windows.

“I hope you’re happy,” their mother continues. “You’ve always been a disappointment to the Archeron name, and now, you have thoroughly ruined it. You’ve ruined us all. You’ve ruined your sisters. Is that what you wanted? Perhaps, you can teach them the proper ways to pleasure a man for when they end up on the street trying to rub pennies together.”

The words are enough to draw Elain’s attention back, to spear straight through her chest. Despite the cruelty of their mother’s words, there’s no denying the underlying truth to them. Elain doubts the Mandrays will keep quiet about what happened this morning, that word will quickly burn through the ton like a wildfire. She’s sure that the next time they go to the market, everyone will stare, will look down their noses, will whisper and gossip about the Archeron girls.

She’s sure that no respectable gentleman will want to go anywhere near them.

That thought has Elain’s heart twisting tightly in her chest, pain blooming surely enough that it takes everything within her not to press her hand against the ache. It has her stomach roiling until she thinks she might be sick, until the taste of bile starts to tickle the back of her throat. She thinks of Lucien, of the way he had danced with her all night at Thesan’s masquerade ball. Of the way he called on her almost every day before her mother sent the staff away and put an end to any and all callers. Of the way he found her in the market just the other day and teased her about her ribbon selection.

Lucien. A Duke’s son. Someone who will need legitimate heirs, and not someone whose honor will forever be questioned.

Eleanor lets out a long sigh, holding her hand to her head as if this whole conversation is tortuous and sickening to her. Their father, doting as ever, rushes forward. He curls an arm around his wife’s waist, murmuring gentle words before he leads her away up the stairs.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Feyre demands as soon as they’re alone.

Nesta crosses her arms across her chest, glancing away from her sisters and swallowing hard. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I didn’t… I didn’t know he was going to ruin us all.”

“But why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Feyre,” Nesta snaps, her voice exasperated. “It’s not like I asked him to do that. He’s an idiot.”

“But you care about him, and I’m quite sure he cares for you. I saw—”

“It doesn’t matter anyways.”

“Who will marry us now?” Elain whispers, cutting off her sisters’ arguing, her eyes beginning to burn with the familiar heat of tears.

“Elain…” Nesta begins, her voice gentle, but it’s as though she doesn’t quite know what to say.

Elain knows it’s silly, knows that her sisters never quite felt the same or understood, but she had looked forward to what her future could hold. She had looked forward to finding a husband. Ideally, a love match, but she would also be happy with a man who was simply kind. She had looked forward to tending to a house, to being the mistress of a manor. She had looked forward to being a mother.

And most recently, Elain couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to be a duchess. Imagine small, running feet and shocks of bright, red hair. Imagine a certain Duke’s son with a child on his shoulders and offering her that roguish smile of his. Imagine his arms around her as securely as the night at Thesan’s masquerade ball.

Elain scrubs at her cheeks, at the tears sliding down across her skin, and turns on her heel. She ignores Feyre calling her name, making her way up the stairs and to her bedroom. She closes the door firmly behind her, crumpling into her vanity chair and sniffling quietly. The ribbon she had gotten earlier in the week still sits there, and almost absentmindedly, Elain traces along it with her finger.

If she closes her eyes, she can still perfectly imagine that day, can still remember walking through the market, the sights and the sounds of the ton soaring on the late summer breeze around her. Lucien had all but followed her into the ribbon shop, offering another of his roguish smiles and a flourished bow. He hadn’t been fazed when Elain teased him about a gentleman in a ribbon shop, insisting he was merely looking for himself, in need of something to tie back his hair with.

There was no stopping the lightness that flooded through Elain’s chest, the warmth that twined around her heart, the quiet laugh that was pulled past her lips, as Lucien held up different ribbons and asked for her opinion on each one. Elain had settled on the ribbon with gold stitching and suns woven into the lace, telling Lucien it complimented his hair and eyes well. In retrospect, perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised when the exact same ribbon had been delivered to her the next day.

Elain’s fingers curl tightly around the ribbon, frustration beginning to spark through her veins. It burns away any numbness, any anguish, over the events of the day. It’s unfair. It’s entirely and completely unfair, and Elain refuses to tolerate it for another moment. She will no longer sit idly by. If this is to be her life, her future now, then she at least deserves to do one last thing.

With a quiet huff, Elain pushes back up to her feet, her determination solidified and her resolve hardened. She throws open her wardrobe doors, digging around the back until she finds a dark colored cloak, pulling it on and making sure the hood covers her hair and casts her face in shadow.

It’s with slow, deliberate carefulness that Elain pulls open her bedroom door, making sure the creak of the wood can’t be heard. She glances both ways down the hall, ensuring it’s all clear before tiptoeing her way toward the service stairs and following them down to the kitchen. The kitchen is quiet and dark, just as Elain expects, no one in the family stepping foot down here even with the staff dismissed. It makes it all too easy to unlatch the back door and slip out of the manor all together.

The sun has already started to set, strokes of pinks and oranges and purples painted across the sky above, blending with the wisps of clouds. The entire world is washed in soft light, glinting off the leaves and flowers. The light and late afternoon breeze turns the field just behind the manor into a rolling sea of gold, turns the willow tree Elain can see a little further ways up into a glittering fountain.

Hiking up her skirts to avoid getting mud on the hem, Elain begins her trek through the field. She keeps to the trees rather than the main road, tucking her chin down so the shadow cast by her hood hides her face any time she passes by anyone else. But soon the large, gravel pathway comes into view, winding up to the large estate that looms before her.

Three stories worth of tall windows stretch far to Elain’s left and right. The center of the estate juts out slightly further than the east and west wings, columns and beautiful arches only adding to the elegance. With the light of the fading day hitting and reflecting off the white bricks, the entire estate seems to glow as though it’s an embodiment of the sun itself.

Elain takes a moment to breathe deeply, to roll and square her shoulders. The walk here has done little to soften the resolve that hardened her spine, that fire of determination still blazing through her veins. But there’s no denying the spark of nerves low in her gut, the flutter of butterflies in her chest. Still, if Elain’s future is to be what everyone says it will be, if everything she’s ever wanted really is no longer within reach, then Elain intends to take this one thing that’s just for her.

With a decided nod, Elain makes her way up the gravel pathway toward the estate, veering off to the right before she reaches the front door. Lucien had mentioned how he loved to watch the sunset over the water from his room, so she’s quite sure that means his rooms must be in the western wing.

As Elain winds around the side of the estate, trying to figure out how she’ll identify which window is Lucien’s, she finds the man in question lounging in the grass beside the lake’s edge. He’s dressed casually, merely a pair of pants that hug the thick lines of his thighs, and a simple, white shirt tucked into the waistband, the laces around the neck loose and teasing a sliver of golden skin and collarbones. His red hair hangs around his face and shoulders, strands dancing in the breeze and whispering across his cheeks.

He has a book opened in his hands, and he doesn’t seem to hear Elain as she steps closer, so she awkwardly clears her throat, drawing the attention of those beautiful russet and gold eyes.

“Elain,” Lucien exclaims, closing his book and scrambling up to his feet. “How are—I heard about what happened. With your sister.”

“Word certainly travels fast around the ton,” Elain sighs, fiddling with the skirts of her dress. She was hoping Lucien wouldn’t know, that she would still have the benefit of ignorance on her side if only for tonight.

Lucien steps closer to her, his hand raising up into the space between them before he hesitates and drops it back down to his side. “And are you alright?”

The question takes Elain by surprise, and for a moment, she can do nothing but blink up at Lucien in confusion. She should have known. Should have known that Lucien was too much of a good man to judge her, to cast stones the way she’s sure the ton and its gossip machine have been doing as soon as the Mandrays stepped out of that church.

“As well as I can be,” Elain finally answers. “Now that my season is ruined. Now that I’m ruined.”

“You’re not ruined, Elain,” Lucien assures her, a frown tugging down his lips.

“You’re being kind, but you don’t need to lie to me. I’m not stupid. I mean, what sensible man will want to marry me now?”

“I’m sure there’s a man who would be very honored to call you his wife. Quite confident in fact.”

“Stop being kind,” Elain huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “But it’s alright. I’ve accepted it now. It’s actually why I’m here.”

“All you have to do is say the word,” Lucien tells her, taking her hands in his own. His touch is surprisingly warm, surprisingly gentle the way his fingers curl around her own. “And you know that I will help you. Happily.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Elain steps closer still to Lucien, biting her lip and peering up at him from under her lashes. “Because I could use your help. Now that the whole ton will think I’ve laid with a man just as Nesta has, I figured I might as well make it a reality.”

“Elain,” Lucien begins, taking a step back from her.

“I just want one thing for myself. One thing that I want, that I choose, that can’t be taken from me.”

“I get that, I do, but I do not want to be the one that ruins your honor. Don’t you think it best to wait until you are wed?”

“You aren’t listening, Lucien. My honor is already ruined, and no one is going to marry me.”

“That’s not true. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Elain, I—”

Before Lucien can finish speaking, Elain crowds back into his space and surges up onto her toes, crashing her lips against his. It’s a bit awkward, merely a press of lips, but excitement still cascades through Elain’s entire being, fueling her and begging for more. After a moment, Lucien starts to relax, his hands moving to cradle her jaw before they’re sliding down her neck to her shoulders, gently pulling her away.

“Elain…”

“Don’t you want me too?”

“I can assure you that’s not the issue here.”

“Lucien, please.”

Lucien sighs softly, lifting a hand to push up and through his hair. “How can you ever expect me to say no to you when I would gladly do anything for you?”

“I don’t,” Elain tells him matter-of-factly, pressing her body fully against his until her breasts press against his chest, their hips aligned flush together.

“Fuck,” Lucien mumbles beneath his breath. “If we… just promise that after, we can talk. Properly. About this.”

“Of course.”

It’s a lie. Elain has every intention of leaving after tonight, of walking away from Lucien completely. No matter what she wants. No matter the way her heart quakes and shutters at the idea. But she simply can’t stomach it, the idea of dragging Lucien down with her. She could never mar his future with the dark, roiling clouds that are now firmly casted over her own.

After tonight, Elain will ensure that she doesn’t stand in the way of everything that Lucien deserves, that’s his birthright as the son of a Duke.

But Lucien doesn’t need to know that.

—

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#elucien #sjmromanceweek2024 #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elain x lucien #acotar #my fic

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helion-ism · 3 months

Text

so, after two years I have finally written something again. it's actually one of my new year's resolutions to start writing again, just a little at least, to get into it again. I will probably also edit some of the things I wrote in the past and re-post them again because I had a phase where I deleted almost all of them (just girly things 🤪)

anyways, this is what I came up with. hope you enjoy!

thanks, @lucienarcheron for reading and offering advice 🫶

rating: mature

word count: 3,207

or: read it on ao3

archer and prey

She could feel his wicked grin on her skin as she whimpered in response, leaning back against his hard body, leaning back against his hard body, his kisses lazy – without haste. Her head fell on his shoulder as his clever hands moved to her waist. He held her firmly and with care. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

All she felt and needed to feel was this pure heat he was offering her, this fire he was responsible for that was burning low in her body and threatening to consume her. And Elain could not stop herself from shivering, repeating with a hushed voice, “Please, please.” He chuckled at her impatience.

But he rewarded her the next moment when his tongue was on her neck, drawing circles. And his lips – his perfect lips – moved against her sensitive skin, though never increasing the pace. She liked this torture more than she would ever admit. Liked how he seemed to relish in taking his time with her, too.

His hands were on her thighs, his fingers burrowed in her skirts, hoisting them up little by little. He wasn’t close enough to where she wanted him, and Elain propped herself against him with a force that surprised and delighted him. He laughed and her stomach clenched at the sound.

More, more, more.

She might have said the words aloud.

Lucien’s hand moved to her neck. It might be his favourite part of hers, she thought, with the way he always kept returning to it. He caressed her collarbone, lay his fingers around her neck, and squeezed lightly. Elain gasped as she felt his hard length at her back, his fingertips gently turning her head to face him. She looked at him and the rugged scar that graced his face.

Wicked, wanton, wild.

“Please,” she whispered again and lifted her head to meet his lips. She wanted to make him lose his composure, make him forget his purpose for a second. She kissed him like she had never kissed him before, pressing against him, her hands up in his long hair, tugging and pulling. He groaned and Elain felt the sound in her core – but it wasn’t enough. She needed to feel him everywhere forever.

Lucien’s hand went to the back of her head, tilting it to have better access to her, his tongue now occupied with her own. He was in charge and taking over, deliberately slowing his movements yet again. She snarled, and he laughed again, this time louder. Her head was spinning.

Lucien’s other hand moved to her hips, turning and hoisting her up onto him. Elain’s head fell back at the pressure of him against her core and started to move slowly, leisurely against him. She felt so good, breathing his name in painful need. He was wearing too many clothes – she needed them off.

“You’re mine,” he purred, his lips on her collarbone, sucking until she felt a pain so good, so sharp –

Elain gasped as she bolted up from her bed. Breathing hard and fast, she placed a hand on her chest, willing herself to calm down. She let it happen again. This dream, this fantasy she could never shake off, no matter how much she told herself she hated him in the daylight. It was only in dreams she said his name these days, allowing it to roll off her tongue only then when no one else could hear.

She felt like a traitor. To Feyre, to Nesta, to herself.

To him.

She tried so hard to not think of him, even when he was in town. Even more so when he was out somewhere on the Continent with that human queen. Did not allow her thoughts to ever wander and wonder. Yet, at night, when the stars sparkled in the sky and the winds moved the sheer fabric of her curtains into her bedroom, her traitorous thoughts returned to him.

She knew it wasn’t fair to anyone. Not to either of them but especially herself. She had promised herself a thousand times to not let it bother her, this feeling that seemed to grow day by day. She thought perhaps that was why this body, this altered mind, now urged her to go to him, to touch him, even if only in her dreams. But she understood that loneliness was a burden she could not get rid of at night even if she could pretend it disappeared under the bright sun of Velaris. She blamed him for it.

Elain shivered as she pushed aside the covers of her bed and walked to the open window. Her feet were cold on the wooden floor, but she didn’t mind. It cleared her head. Velaris looked beautiful at night and she wished it could give her the strength Feyre drew from it. She wished it could be enough that she wanted to fit in. Wished she could feel like Nesta did after suffering for so long. But wishes were not enough and with each day passing, the feeling of isolation and desperation grew inside her and made her restless. Made her feel more alone.

Elain sighed and leaned her head against the opened window frame. She closed her eyes.

It could be so quiet here, at night. And only because the city was asleep and she couldn't be caught did Elain let herself think about her dream once more. She had stopped counting how often she awoke in the darkness, wishing to be close to him. Most of the time, the dreams were like this: slow and passionate, feeling too real. Like he was right here, behind her, worshipping her. She could almost smell him, taste him on her lips. She opened her eyes to stop the pain threatening to squeeze her heart until only tears could help her get rid of it.

Sometimes Elain woke because he touched her pointed ears and that was not something she could even accustom herself to in her dreams. Sometimes it was because she peaked, twisting in her sheets and waking up satisfied and yet yearning for more. She wondered how that was possible when she could not remember how his touch felt on her skin. Other times, it did not get that far. It was words that drew her from her subconscious.

Lucien wasn’t in Velaris. But she knew he was on his way back to the Night Court, to report on whatever it was exactly that he was doing out there for Feyre and Rhysand. She prohibited herself from caring every time someone uttered his name in her presence and hated her body for not complying. Elain wondered if on the mornings that followed nights like these, when she couldn’t go back to sleep and waited for the sunrise – she wondered if Feyre noticed. If that was why her sister studied Elain with a wariness that followed her through the rest of the day. But her sister never said a word.

Feyre likely suspected Elain would shut down the conversation, never admitting to anything. And how could her sister, with her perfect baby, and perfect mate, who she had accept with love in her heart, ever understand? How could anyone? Nesta once could, but Nesta loved Cassian. Nesta had friends and a purpose. She had a home.

Elain had that once, too. With Graysen. She almost did, anyway.

She sighed, sliding to the floor and letting her chin rest on her knees. It would be a long night as she longed for the day.

---------------------------------------------------------

He was here, she realized.

In the townhouse.

It was barely dawn.

His heart beat loudly in his chest and his scent – like a summer morning brightening the day – filled up the air. Elain couldn’t breathe as all of her senses focused on him – an instinct she wasn’t sure how to work against. She hadn’t actively decided to leave her room, yet here she was. He noticed her a few seconds later, looking up the staircase with wide eyes and a slightly opened mouth.

He was so beautiful, she thought. It was unfair.

“My lady,” he said.

Those were his first words after months of utter silence. She wondered if his being here meant he had freed the firebird and was back in Prythian for good. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

Elain furrowed her brow. “I live here now,” she replied and hated how quiet and unsure she sounded.

“I assumed you would be with Feyre and Rhys –”

“I thought it would be best to give them privacy. As a young family.”

Her heartbeat matched his. Could he still not hear it?

He was silent. She thought it was the most they had spoken in ages. His eyes scanned her from top to bottom as she gripped the ornate railing. As she squeezed it like she might bend it underneath her frail hands.

“You look well,” he said then, a hint of a polite smile on his lips. She swallowed and Elain did not think it could be more awkward. “I’m sorry for disturbing you in your home. I figured I would recommend the townhouse to meet with Feyre not to … barge in on you, and she didn’t mention anything about you being here. I am here for business.”

“Business,” she said slowly, frowning. Of course, Feyre hadn’t said anything to him.

But before she could say anything else, the door opened and Feyre rushed in. Elain stiffened while Lucien seemed to relax.

She suspected he hated being here. She didn’t let herself think of what else he might have hated.

Feyre lit up as she hugged him. “Lucien, I didn’t realize you were here this early!” She glanced up at Elain and cringed slightly. Elain said nothing. Feyre likely had planned on warning her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he replied softly.

And Elain didn’t hear what Feyre said next as everything grew louder in her head. Like water rushing right above her and into those sensitive ears. The duo moved to the parlour and Elain found herself following them slowly.

The door wasn’t closed, so she supposed she was welcome, especially when Lucien didn’t tear his eyes away from her as she entered the room and found herself by the window. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds.

The weather seemed to match the mood of her mate.

He seemed to have anticipated the arrival of Rhys and his brother and still, his mood worsened. He may have moved slightly closer to her.

“Am I interrupting?” Eris said, grinning widely at Elain, who, in turn, frowned at him. She didn’t know what to think of the redhead. Something about him unsettled her. He looked so different from Lucien. His nose was sharper, his skin paler, and his eyes seemed to take in everyone in the room at the same time – as if he was used to paying attention to every single person in his vicinity. Like he didn’t trust anyone here. Elain could hardly fault him for that.

“Be quick about it, Eris,” Lucien hissed and Elain watched Rhys step behind Feyre, kissing her on her cheek. Her stomach tightened painfully.

“Oh, brother, how have I missed you, too,” Eris snickered. He took a seat in the armchair closest to the fireplace. “Does your firebird miss you already?”

Elain froze at his question, well aware that everyone’s eyes were on her. The room was shrinking and every little noise, the fly on the windowsill, the birds chirping outside, Eris’s breathing, was getting louder and louder and louder. She wanted to cry and she didn’t know why.

She still remembered how difficult moments like this had been in those first few months. After she had surfaced, scared and shaking, and Lucien had made his way to her. When she had arrived at the Night Court, Feyre gone, Nesta blazing, and everything had been too much, too loud, pungent. It had been Lucien, surprisingly, who understood and offered the advice she desperately needed. She had clung to the windows of the house, praying for peace and quiet, praying for her old life to come back to her.

“Close your eyes when it gets too overwhelming in this new body,” he had said. She had blinked in response and looked at him. His brutally beautiful face had looked like he understood. She hadn’t seen how. “Make sure to breathe in deeply, and I mean, deeply. Down to your navel. Then hold it, and breathe out slowly. Close your eyes and block out the noise by focusing on one thing. Be it a bird chirping or footsteps outside.”

She hadn’t replied, and Lucien had stood, bowing, to leave again. This, Elain, had to admit, had helped more than the healer’s poking and touching. She didn’t have to tell him that it was the sound of his heartbeat, or the memory thereof, that she often used to calm herself down. Even now, with so much time having passed. She didn’t know why these Fae senses were taking so long for her to get used to.

Now, her ears focused on the steady, yet agitated beat of his heart. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.

The noises disappeared as she continued to breathe deeply. She looked at Eris, surprised to see his eyes observing her, not his brother.

“The firebird,” Lucien spat, “is still a firebird and unless you have helpful information for breaking her curse, I suggest you tell us what you came here for, brother.”

Rhys chuckled and sat with Feyre on the couch, obviously trying to calm the flared tempers. He looked suspiciously at ease, but maybe that belonged to the artful skillset of a High Lord.

Her sister rolled her eyes. “We’re not here to discuss Vassa, Eris.”

Lucien ran his fingers through his hair, clenching his jaw and Elain couldn’t help but look back at Lucien, but he was staring at Eris.

“I am here to discuss my father’s death.”

Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Then –

“You mean you are here to discuss treason,” Feyre said quietly as Lucien remained silent.

But Elain could hear him clear and loud. He did not want to be in this room. She saw flashes of blood on a dark floor, she saw a red forest and a head on the ground. A thin, red-haired woman crying in a beautifully decorated parlor.

“Treason,” Eris grunted. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“We told you, we cannot get involved,” Rhys said slowly. But he leaned forward like he had had the thought, too. Lucien noticed and clenched his fists.

Elain’s heart ached, and she hated herself for following him into this room. Hated herself for getting herself into this mess and to witness him like this – agitated and internally pacing. Did he want to return to his home? Did he miss the sight of those colourful trees?

“Mother would like to see you again,” Eris simply said.

“He will kill me on sight,” Lucien’s voice was quiet and emotionless. Somehow Elain knew what her mate’s brother would say next. Feyre did, too, as she straightened her back and looked at Eris with narrow eyes.

“Not if you bring your mate – both of you protected by the Night Court and her being Feyre Cursebreaker’s sister, he would not dare.”

Silence.

“You have lost your mind,” Feyre said at the same time as Lucien snarled, “Over my dead body.”

Eris wanted her to be a distraction. To be a piece in his chess game as he played his way to the position of a High Lord. Rhys was silent, but Elain’s irritation with Eris grew. He knew, she realized, when to press which buttons. Her brother-in-law understood too, what Elain had learned in this moment.

Feyre was watching her with worried eyes and Elain felt a darkness brush against her mind, but she recoiled from it. She barely could form any coherent thought and did not want to have Feyre invade the chaos inside of her.

“Elain.” Lucien’s voice was gentle and she looked at him, his golden eye whirring frantically. He looked ill while Eris seemed to be enjoying his moment. Elain clenched her fist and faced Eris.

“You cannot decide to use me and expect me to oblige. You cannot drag Lucien into this simply because it is convenient for you. This is your mess.” She was oddly proud of herself for saying those words without shaking. The anger, a burning flame ignited in her heart, made sure of that. Rhys smiled. As did Eris.

“Maybe it is. But surely you and Lucien have a desire to see him gone. After all, you are a princess of the Autumn Court now.”

Lucien’s eyes turned cold, perhaps for the first time in his life. “Elain is a free female. The Autumn Court is nothing to her. As it is to me. We are not going to help you commit treason. I will not risk her life like that.” His words were clipped. Elain didn’t understand why Rhys and Feyre stayed silent.

“What of mother?”

Lucien narrowed his eyes. “What of mother?”

“You know I will do it either way. With or without the Night Court’s help. I understand their … reluctance to assist me. Despite my continued assistance over these last months.” Feyre rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything, Eris continued, “I will do it and should I fail, what do you think becomes of our mother?” He looked at Lucien and Elain swore she saw a flicker of vulnerability show on his face. Perhaps another form of manipulation. Her heart ached nonetheless.

“He will punish her,” Eris added and looked at Elain. “If they won’t help me save my mother, you certainly could, Elain. I will forever be in your debt.”

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. Lucien turned livid and tried very hard to restrain himself and not tackle Eris off the armchair. His brother was holding on to the armrest as if he was aware of that. Elain didn’t hear what Feyre and Rhys were saying, but their anger was palpable.

Elain knew, she knew, that Eris was a mastermind, but she believed him. She believed that he wanted nothing more than to see his mother in safety. Elain didn’t know their father, but given Lucien’s hatred for the Autumn Court, she could only guess what evil he was responsible for. She again saw puddles of blood on the floor. Did blood stain marble?

It irritated her that Eris used her to force Lucien to play by his rules. He clearly did not want to step a foot inside his home again, but everyone in this townhouse knew that if Elain went, Lucien would follow. Perhaps that was why she said, faintly but clearly enough for everyone to hear, “Fine.”

“I will go but not for you,” she said looking at Eris with a frown, then back at Lucien. His face had paled. Elain didn’t really know where it came from, she had certainly not expected the day to go like this. Seeing Lucien, seeing his brother, and saying things she never would have expected herself to even think. “I will go for your mother. No one should be left at risk.”

#elucien #elucien fic #maria writes

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selesera · 3 months

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I’ve got nothing to believe unless you’re choosing me

hello! I go by Sel here and I am sharing my first piece of writing with you, tumblr. I want to dedicate this to @the-lonelybarricade because she is the kindest person online and she immediately saw my other post saying I was proud of myself for writing this and said she -sobs- wanted to read it 🥹

This is a short drabble that came out a little sad and angsty but I am a diehard elucien so have hope dear reader! This was inspired by You're losing me by my queen and saviour tswizzie. I'm so sorry in advance for any typos!

__________________________

Lady Elain,

I write this in the hopes that you will agree to speak with me upon my next visit to Velaris.

It is important and urgent.

Cordially,

Lucien

Elain smoothed out the folded lines of his letter again. Her fingers lightly brushed the letters of his elegant penmanship, terrified of blurring the ink and erasing the way he had written her name. She knew what his “important and urgent” topic was. He was tired of being shackled to her. She could feel his exhaustion, his self hatred, his desperation. Not through the bond, no. She kept her side of that golden string firmly closed. No…she could see his dreams.

She saw night after night how he confronted her, told her she had to choose. Begging her to choose him. To love him. Or to free him.

Some nights, he would dream that she accepted him and the dream would devolve into a flurry of kisses, wandering fingers, moans and sighs of pleasure.

Other nights, he would dream she rejected the bond. In those dreams she would stare at her own face, hardened by indifference and disdain. Watch herself coldly stand by as he wept at her feet. Scream at herself to comfort the man - male - that loved her.

She wished she could say those were the worst dreams but she had had the misfortune of seeing his other dreams too. His nightmares. Beron beheading a beautiful fae named Jesminda, wearing an expression on his cruel face much too similar to her own. Hot spikes descending on him. Standing firm against the whips against his back. Screaming as blood red nails dragged down his face.

The truth was that Elain didn’t know how she felt about being able to see his dreams. On one hand, she felt lucky that she could see the pieces of his history that influenced who he was but that he did not let define him, even as her heart broke at the horrors that he had endured. On the other hand… if she was being honest with herself… it made her angry.

How dare he make her care about his future? How dare he make her want to soothe and heal every jagged wound to his heart? She was independent. She was not his keeper. She was not the plaything of the cauldron. She would make her own life or die trying!

At least that’s what she kept telling herself she would do.

Truthfully, she was scared. How could she be independent in her baby sister’s house? Enjoying all the luxuries that her money bought? She loved Feyre. So much. Had finally created a true relationship with her sister but she still felt stifled. Bored. She couldn’t help thinking that a little distance might do them some good...

One of these days she was going to be able to control her traitorous thoughts… one of these days in her interminably long life.

This is why she hated thinking about him. He always made her question everything about herself, about her life.

Elain looked down again at the letter in her hands. The time had come to respond.

Two pathways emerged in front of her. The first, a path where she chose to stay in her quiet life and let her fear win. The second where fear was still present but sunshine and wildflowers lined the path and a love like no other awaited her.

She put her pen to her paper.

Lucien,

Please accept my regrets. I will be unavailable during your next trip to Velaris.

I will endeavour to make myself available on your next visit.

Elain Archeron

#elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien #acotar #acotar fic #elain x lucien #elucien fic

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elucienweekofficial · 9 months

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Thank you so much to everyone who participated in Elucien Week 2023! We were blown away by the amount of people who showed up to create art, fics, playlist, theories, and everything in between!

As a thank you, we wanted to come up with a way to give back to some of the creators who worked so hard over the course of the week. So for our final surprise, we're releasing a quiz that will help you decide exactly which Elucien fic is perfect for you! With over 55 works in the AO3 Collection, there's certainly many to choose from!

>>> Click here to take the quiz

And again, thank you to everyone for a fabulous week! We can't wait to see you again next year!

#Elucienweek2023 #Elucien #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfiction #Elain Archeron #Lucien Vanserra

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 months

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Breaking & Entering - (2/2)

Or; The story of how Elain discovered that Lucien Vanserra sleeps naked.

A Part II and a happy ending by popular request!

Read on AO3 ・ Part I

The nondescript sleeping tonic Lucien purchased in the market hadn't come with any instructions. He didn't consider this unusual.

Seeing that the shopkeeper hadn't provided any cryptic warnings upon its purchase, Lucien assumed, as with other sleeping tonics he'd ingested in the past, he simply needed to consume the vial shortly before he was ready to go to bed and sleep would find him more readily.

When Lucien tipped the vial down his throat later that night, he found its taste unexpectedly pleasant—ginseng and honey with a tart, unmistakable aftertaste of magic that told him the potion would be potent. He remembered locking the doors, undressing from his day clothes, and lingering for a moment in front of his balcony door, unable to keep himself from staring towards the rising mountain range in the distance. The windows and verandas of the House of Wind were indistinguishable from his apartment, but it hardly mattered when he knew precisely which side Elain's room was kept.

Her scent still clung to his nose. He hadn't been able to rid himself of it since he'd visited the townhouse earlier that day and found the smell of jasmine and honey still wafting through the steam of an abandoned cup of tea, as if she'd fled the second he knocked on the door. He hadn't dared ask after her and Feyre, whether out of sympathy for him or loyalty to Elain, had not commented on her sister's whereabouts.

Lucien dragged his gaze towards his bedside table, debating whether he should choose a book from the small collection he kept in Velaris to distract his thoughts until the sleeping tonic took effect. But his eyes only made it so far as the jeweled dagger he'd rested on the table's edge before his attention swiveled back towards the glass door and the distant glowing lights in the mountain. He might as well have shoved that dagger into his chest and twisted, the way he let himself imagine what she was doing with her evening, practically another world away. Did she like to read before she fell asleep, too, or did she need something less idle? And during those moments when her mind wasn't occupied, did she ever let it wander towards the mate who slept in the city beneath?

That was the last thought he remembered before oblivion. There was no soft drift into darkness, nor did he lap gently against the tides of waking. One moment, he recalled standing in his bedroom, wallowing in his misery, and the next, the sun was up, his mouth was stuffed full of cotton, and the room stunk of salt and copper.

And… jasmine.

He sat up. Sunlight flooded in from his balcony, bouncing and glinting off the thousands of glass shards littering his bedroom floor. A broken plant pot lay haphazardly in the wreckage, clumps of soil spilling away from the cracked ceramic. Last he'd seen that pot, it'd been sitting lovingly on his outdoor table.

Someone had broken into his house, and from the bloody footprints trekking through the broken glass, they hadn't been prepared for the carnage they'd wrought. Lucien took a moment to assess his own feet, just to be sure the tonic hadn't sent him on a violent sleepwalk. That was when he noticed the blood on his bed sheets.

His intruder had climbed into his bed. And along with their blood, they'd left their scent behind. One that stirred at instincts he tried very, very hard to keep buried. She'd been here. In his bed. His mate had been his bed. But more importantly—

His mate was hurt.

Beneath his skin, something primal was itching awake, thrashing at long-held restraints. Lucien took a deep breath. He needed to keep a level head and piece together what happened. Why had Elain come here? Why had she hurt herself trying to get in? Had she been running from something, had she come to him for protection that he'd failed to provide?

Just like he'd failed to protect…

Lucien flung open his wardrobe and shoved himself into clothes without paying attention to what he was grabbing. The fact that he didn't run into the streets naked was a testament to his self-control. He bothered with only as many buttons as was required not to be indecent before he winnowed outside the wrought iron gate of Feyre's townhouse.

It wasn't far off dawn. Perhaps it was too early to be wailing his fist against the door of an uptight High Lord. Rhysand's expression certainly said as much when he answered after the third round of knocking.

"Lucien," he said in a flat greeting, not bothering to adjust the black silk robe hanging off his shoulders. At least it was tied at the waist, however precariously. His violet eyes dragged over Lucien in one quick, unimpressed assessment before he quirked a dark brow. "I assume there's a reason you're disturbing my otherwise very pleasant morning?"

The love bites along his neck spoke for exactly what sort of pleasant morning Lucien was interrupting. And Rhysand's insufferable smirk confirmed it.

"Where's Elain?"

"Sleeping," Rhysand said. "Like you should be."

"Lucien?"

Rhys turned at the sound of Feyre's voice, his hard expression softening as he watched her pad up to the doorway, her own robe tied much more securely—thank the Cauldron. She frowned as she came closer and glimpsed Lucien's expression.

"Is that blood on your face?"

Lucien immediately swiped at his cheek, his fingers coming away covered in the dust of dried blood. A growl rose in the back of his throat as he demanded, "Take me up to the House of Wind."

“No.”

“No?” Lucien snarled.

Rhysand's eyes gleamed as though amused by the outburst, eager to see how far Lucien was willing to escalate the situation. The subtle step Rhys took to position himself in front of Feyre didn't escape Lucien's notice, either.

"Not until you calm down."

"Tell us what happened," Feyre said, voice far more coaxing. She pushed her hand against her mate's shoulder, moving him out of the way with a stern sideways glance. Rhysand's expression shifted just enough that Lucien knew they were in each other's minds, having some conversation he wasn't privy to.

The rational part of his brain knew that they wouldn't take him to Elain unless he complied with their questions, but his sensibility was in a losing battle against the primal instincts slipping loose. Through gritted teeth, he managed, "Elain's hurt."

"Azriel reports that she's fine," Rhys replied, crossing his arms. "Safe in bed and fast asleep."

"Let me see her, then."

"So she can wake up to a snarling male? I doubt that will win you any favor."

"Rhys," Feyre warned. She looked to Lucien, and he could hardly bear the pity in her eyes, the way she spoke to him like a spooked animal as she said, softly, "I'll go check on her."

"Take me with."

Feyre sighed. "I don't think that's a good idea, Lucien."

And before he could protest or even try to convince her otherwise, Feyre vanished, leaving Lucien alone with the High Lord of the Night Court. Rage blistered through him, and in that moment Lucien wanted nothing more than to wrench their door off its hinges and slam it into the smug bastard's face. But rather than pick a fight he couldn't win, he turned on his heel.

"Lucien."

He paused at the gate to peer over his shoulder at Rhysand. Some of Rhys's smug demeanor dropped, regarding Lucien with an expression close enough to understanding to make his stomach heave.

"Feyre says Elain is fine. She had some cuts on her feet, but nothing that can't be healed. Take some time to decompress, and you can return when she's awake."

Lucien didn't respond. A thanks didn't feel deserved, but if he was honest, he knew it was for the better that they didn't let him storm into Elain's room, half-feral and mad with panic. He didn't know what had driven her to come to him last night, but whatever her reasons, she'd decided not to stay.

It was enough to know she was safe.

Resigned, as he was with all things pertaining to Elain, Lucien returned to his apartment to clean up the pieces of his life she'd left shattered.

Most burglars flee the scene of their crimes, never to be seen by their victims again. Elain showed up the next afternoon with a basket full of baked goods and an apology she'd been rehearsing since she woke up.

She used the front door this time, and waited on Lucien's doorstep until he answered.

To her relief, it didn't take long to hear shuffling on the other side of the door, and soon it swung open to reveal her mate, alive and awake. His eyes widened at the sight of her, and he briefly glanced down at himself as though regretting his attire. The first four buttons of his shirt were loosened to show a generous amount of toned brown skin, the rest of the fabric tucked loosely into his beige trousers. It was the most casually dressed she'd ever seen him. Before last night, at any rate.

The memory caused her face to redden. With a great deal of effort, she forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. They stared at each other, neither speaking, for far longer than convention would prescribe. Elain, dragging her eyes over him to soothe that now dormant instinct that had begged her to ensure he was okay. Lucien, assessing her from head to toe with poorly disguised concern. She supposed she had so scarcely expressed any interest in engaging with him, it would be his assumption that she was only seeking him out because something had gone wrong.

And in a way, that was precisely what she was doing.

"Elain," he said, finally. He took a moment to clear his throat before continuing. "It's lovely to see you. Are you well?"

"I'm perfectly well." Wracked with guilt, her response was more of a whisper than intended. Now, it was Elain's turn to clear her throat. "I came by to see if you were well, actually."

"Me?" He blinked. "Yes, lady. I assure you I'm in perfect health."

That he was. The evidence of his perfect health burned so fiercely in the back of her mind that she blurted without thinking, "Feyre told me you had a break-in last night. I came by to see if you were okay. And I brought you some pastries. Not from me. From a bakery down the street."

Lucien nodded, accepting the basket when Elain thrust it towards him. "That was very kind of you." He took a moment to study its contents before his eyes gravitated back towards Elain. "And you needn't worry about the break-in. If the thief stole anything, it's escaped my notice."

So he didn't suspect anything. That was good. She should go. Leave, while he was still oblivious to what she'd done. But it was as if her legs were cemented to the stone beneath her, and her mouth opened of its own volition. "Still, it must have been concerning to wake up to."

"Concerning?" He let out a soft laugh. "You could say as much. It's not often you wake up covered in blood that doesn't belong to you."

Elain coached her voice not to strain as she said, "You must have slept through a great deal."

"The consequences of a sleeping tonic." He offered her a wry smile. "A lesson learned, I suppose."

"Do you have trouble sleeping, Lucien?"

He stilled. And Elain thought perhaps… Perhaps that was the first time he'd heard her say his name. Of course, he didn't hear her shouting it last night. Or when she often whispered it, quietly, into her pillow. A confession for her ears only.

Lucien raised the basket in offering. "Would you like to come in? I could put on some tea and regale you with the story of my midnight thief in greater detail."

It would be so incredibly foolish for her to agree.

"That sounds nice."

Not anymore foolish than breaking into his house in the middle of the night. Or refusing to know him in any meaningful way outside of her visions.

A moment later, she was settled across from Lucien at his dining table. An elegant teapot sat between them, steam billowing from its spout. Someone with a better education of Prythian might have been able to glance at the stamps in the porcelain and the delicate artwork to identify its court of origin. From the blue brushstrokes rising and cresting like waves along its side, Elain could only guess that it was from the Summer Court. A relic from his many travels as an emissary, or something more sentimental? She didn't have the courage to ask. And he was oblivious to her musings as he lifted the teapot by the handle to pour her cup before serving himself.

"Your apartment is lovely," she said, in an effort to make conversation.

Lucien hummed his gratitude. "I've forgotten this is your first time coming here."

"Yes." Elain lifted the teacup to her mouth before her expression could give away her lie. It was too hot to drink, but she'd developed something of a habit in hurting herself in Lucien's apartment. She set down the cup only once she'd composed herself and added politely, "It's a shame I hadn't visited sooner."

"Indeed," Lucien said. He rapped his knuckles against the table. "You might have been able to spare my plant pot."

Elain froze, falling every bit into the role of the doe she was so often compared to. "Pardon?"

"My thief used the plant I kept on my balcony to break in last night. I'd been trying to nurse it back to health for months. With your interference, it might have been healthy enough to put in my front garden, and the thief would have needed to find some other means of breaking in."

At a loss for words, all Elain could think to say was, "My condolences for your plant."

Lucien smiled. "Don't worry, there's humor to be had in it. You see, I kept a spare key planted just beneath the soil. If my thief had taken a moment longer to investigate, they might have saved their feet from getting cut by the glass."

"They sound like a very poor thief," Elain said, not looking up from the streaming surface of her tea.

"Exceptionally," Lucien agreed. "I've been wondering all morning—who breaks into someone's home with bare feet?"

"Perhaps they were too poor to afford shoes?"

Lucien leaned back in his seat. "That's the curious thing; the thief didn't take anything valuable. As far as I can tell, they simply broke down my door and climbed into bed with me."

It seemed it was now Lucien's turn to pick things up and hurl them towards her. Elain knew what it felt like to be the glass door shattering to pieces as the full impact of his words slammed against her. She knew that nothing malicious had been done to him, nothing besides an inadvertent glimpse, but Lucien… he must have suspected the worst. A violation so horrifying that she dropped her face into her hands.

"It was me," she squeaked.

"I know."

Elain snapped her head up, surprise momentarily overtaking her shame. "Azriel told you?"

The coy smile toying at his lips suddenly flattened into a line. "Azriel?"

Oh dear. She pressed, "Feyre, then?"

Lucien ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "Elain, I didn't tell Feyre about my break in. The fact that you knew of it was all the confirmation I needed."

Cauldron, she'd make a terrible thief and even worse spy. Elain bit her lip, refusing to give anything else away.

He suffered her silence for a minute longer before he sighed. "I'm not angry, but I am confused. Would you please explain to me what happened last night?"

Elain thought she owed him that much, at the very least. After taking a deep breath to compose herself, she asked, "Do you remember when I told you that I can hear your heart?"

A nod, accompanied by an absent look in his eyes and a frown that suggested it wasn't a pleasing memory. It wasn't for her, either. Those initial months after the Cauldron blurred together, a swirl of darkness as chilling as the water that had seized her mortality. She remembered rotting in her despair, day by day, aimless and hopeless and cold. And she remembered him.

I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

She remembered that name, pulling her to the surface for the first time in weeks. Her only breath of air since the moment she'd been pushed under. A glimpse of sunlight.

A trick.

Elain blinked away the memory of that girl, one she still resembled more closely than she'd like to. And she looked at her mate, equally a different male from the one that had once sat before her with his fingers trembling against his teacup. But he was the same in the ways that mattered. He was patient with her, sipping his tea while she sifted through her thoughts. Still so kind, still radiating warmth even as he held himself guarded.

"I've listened to your heartbeat every day since then," Elain said. "I hear it louder than my own sometimes. It's the first thing that greets me in the morning, and it's what coaxes me to sleep at the end of the day."

Lucien lowered his tea and pressed his hand to his chest, feeling for the beat that echoed through her. He didn't say anything, simply waited for her to continue.

"Last night, I heard your heart stop beating and… I panicked." There was no other word for it. Pure, blinding panic. "I asked Azriel to fly me down from the House of Wind so I could come here to check on you. I tried knocking on your door and pulling on the bond and you weren't responding to anything and I just—" She took a rasping breath. "I just needed to know that you were okay."

Lucien opened his mouth, but Elain blurted, "And when I realized that you were fine, I panicked again because I know I made such a fool out of myself and I just fled. I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry for breaking your door. And for killing your plant. And for—"

"Elain," Lucien soothed. "It's alright. You have nothing to be sorry for. Well, besides my own panic this morning when I woke up covered in your blood. You think I wouldn't recognize the scent of my mate?"

My mate. She'd heard Feyre and Rhys use that phrase countless times before and always felt disconnected from the endearment. It was so… faerie. Blunt and possessive and primal. Lucien had only said it in front of her one time, during the worst moment of her life. She didn't think hearing it again would stir anything inside her.

My mate—mine.

Elain felt her entire body warm. "I didn't know what you would think, if I'm honest."

"I thought something terrible had happened," he said, a strain to his voice that she recognized as a shard of the same cutting fear she'd been under last night. "Feyre said I wasn't in any state to go see you in the House of Wind, but she assured me you were fine. I thought about taking those ten thousand stairs anyway, just to see for myself, but I didn't want to…"

He trailed off, his eyes not leaving her face. Elain felt it then. The pull, the ever-flowing current she'd been swimming against for years, terrified of losing control. She decided to give into it for the very time, just enough to let it guide her hand forward until it was covering his.

"Didn't want to what?"

Lucien's throat bobbed. He held himself so still, as if worried the slightest movement would send her fleeing. "I didn't want to scare you. I wasn't thinking clearly."

She let out a dry laugh. "I know the feeling."

His lips twitched. The makings of the smile that made her feel as though she'd swallowed hot coals. "Yes, as it turns out I had no reason to be concerned. Who would have thought that polite little Elain could be so feral?"

"Feral?" She repeated, snapping her hand away. "I thought you were dead!"

"And there wasn't a single glass door or freshly cleaned sheet that would get in your way." He smirked. "You know, I noticed something strange when I was cleaning up your little mess. Somehow, you managed to get your blood beneath the blankets. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

Elain's chair scraped against the floor as she exploded to her feet. "You are—"

His eyes gleamed. "What?"

"Crude!"

"I'm crude?" He raised a scarlet brow, far too smug for Elain's liking. "You were the one sneaking perverse—"

"I was not!" Elain protested. "I was…" Gods, the excuse sounded pathetic even in her own head. "I was ensuring you weren't wounded. It was strictly clinical."

Lucien cocked his head, unbound hair spilling over his shoulders as he grinned at her like a fox cornering its next meal. "Do I get a turn assessing you for wounds, then? It's only fair, given you were the only one bleeding out of the two of us."

"I'm healed."

"If that's the case, prove it to me."

Nesta or Feyre would have snapped at their mates for being so demanding. Elain debated doing the same, but part of her was curious where he was going with this. And since something had knocked loose in her last night, she was getting into the habit of giving in to her impulses—at least those regarding her mate.

Elain walked around the table until she was standing above him. He stared up at her, expectant, and she held out her palm for his examination, all the while trying not to notice the way his legs spread over the chair, and how she knew what his thighs looked like beneath the taut fabric. Muscular. Lean. Powerful.

Lucien cleared his throat.

She blinked, ripping her gaze away from his lap. He didn't comment further on the indiscretion, though she'd never seen him quite so self-satisfied as he reached for her hand and drew it closer for assessment.

He dragged his thumb across her open palm, prickling heat in its wake. Elain restrained a gasp. They hadn't touched since the moment he'd lifted her off the floor in Hybern, and back then she had been stone cold and so numb that his touch barely registered. Now… it was like feeling sunshine warm her skin.

"You have so many calluses," he noted. "I'd almost think you were a warrior."

"They're from gardening," she said, uncertain why it came out so breathless.

"Why not use gloves?"

She searched for an accusation in the question. He'd once gifted her a pair of enchanted gardening gloves so that no thorn need ever cut her skin. Those gloves were still tucked in their original gift box, collecting dust where she'd shoved them under her bed.

"I prefer to feel the dirt beneath my fingernails," she said. That was the honest answer.

Sometimes, she felt too separated from the world, as if she existed behind a thin film, always observing events as they unfolded around her but never present. A glove was just another barrier. She wanted to feel the earth. She wanted proof that she was here.

Lucien made a noise as though in understanding. "Well I can see that your hands are unharmed, but what about your feet?"

"How am I meant to show you my feet?"

He grinned in a way that said he was hoping she'd ask. Lucien pushed aside the teapot and his cup, then patted the table in front of him.

"Take a seat."

For a moment, all she could think about were the erotic novels Nesta liked to read so much. The ladies in those stories often found themselves deposited atop a table with a male between their thighs. Even if Lucien had the most innocent of intentions—and from his wide grin, she wasn't convinced—she would still be sitting above him, her skirts short enough that she would need to be conscious of how she moved lest she expose…

It was horribly uncouth.

When Elain told him as much, he only laughed and assured her, "I won't tell a soul, you have my honor."

It wasn't her reputation that concerned her, though she didn't know how to express that to him without betraying the direction of her thoughts. And she could refuse, but a spark in his eye challenged her to stay, to see what happened.

Swallowing her pride, Elain situated herself on the table before him and scooted back until she could present her feet in his lap. It was then he began unlacing her boots, and it was so intimate to see him undressing her, no matter how innocently, that she needed to turn her face away.

Her eyes wandered across his dining room, from the blue and white knotted rug of unknown origins to the display unit against the wall housing trinkets and fine dining sets. Considering how infrequently he stayed here, the apartment was well-decorated. Was that his doing?

"Tell me something," she said to distract herself.

"Anything."

"How do you like living in the mortal lands?"

"Truthfully, I don't mind it." He'd finished unlacing one of her boots, and his broad hand curved behind her calf to maneuver it off her foot. Once the boot was off, he let his hand linger. "Vassa and Jurian have become good friends."

There was a contentment in his answer that made her feel uneasy. She knew she should be happy that Lucien had made peace with his circumstances. Particularly when she had been the one to push him from Velaris. But if he felt settled in the mortal lands, could she expect more time between his already infrequent visits?

"Would you…" her throat burned. "Would it be a great burden if you were to visit Velaris more regularly?"

"That depends on the nature of my visit."

A diplomatic answer. Elain turned to him in an effort to read his expression, but he gave nothing away, dedicated to his task of unlacing her second boot.

"What if you visited outside of your obligations to Feyre and Rhys? Just to enjoy the city?"

Lucien glanced up, arching a brow. "Alone?"

Elain shrugged, too mechanic to express the nonchalance she wanted to convey.

"Perhaps with company."

Their eyes met. The mechanism in his artificial eye clicked once, twice, refocusing as though he were assessing her sincerity. Elain held her breath, wondering if this was how it felt to lay her head on a chopping block, to feel the gravity of those seconds before the axe swung down.

"That would be wonderful," Lucien said, with a smile that sent the breath whooshing from her chest.

His hand returned to her calf. The last boot came off, and it was then that Elain remembered she was wearing stockings. Lucien looked as if he'd only just put that together as well. He was already shaking his head, prepared to backpedal. But they'd come this far.

"Go on," Elain goaded, lifting her leg in invitation.

Lucien searched her face, lips parted in shock. Shock that melted into rakish delight as he realized she was serious. His broad hands returned to her calves, squeezing playfully just to test the waters. Elain sucked in a breath but didn't pull away. She kept her eyes locked on his and nodded her permission.

Those hands glided up, pausing at the crook of her knee, where he used his grip to part her legs further. Then he rose from the chair, and Elain wasn't certain whose heartbeat went soaring first, but she could hear them both thundering in her ears as Lucien wedged himself closer.

Scarlet hair spilled over his shoulder, tickling her neck, her chest. Since his hands were already on her, pushing up her skirt as they slid over her thighs, she saw no reason why she couldn't reach up and fist her hands against his scalp.

Lucien groaned in response, leaning further into her touch until they were chest to chest. Until she was close enough to feel his breath fanning over her cheeks. His eyes were half-lidded, their focus on her lips, watching her every breath. Waiting for an invitation. She felt his hands rise to the hem of her stockings and still.

"You're not getting distracted," she whispered. "Are you?"

He huffed something close to a laugh. It was exhilarating to watch him war with his own restraint, knowing that this male exceeded her in age and strength and power, and yet he yielded only to her desire. He would touch her exclusively in the ways she gave him permission, no more or less. Even as her lips drifted excruciatingly close to his.

"Who would have thought you'd be a horrible tease," he said, a roughness in his voice that she'd never heard before. Like a stone scraping over pavement. She could feel it drag against her skin, utterly intoxicating. She wanted to hear him say her name in that voice. Wanted it, but feared it would be her undoing.

"I think we're learning that I'm full of surprises."

"Indeed." Lucien hooked his fingers beneath her stockings. "I have never been more delighted to be caught off guard."

His shaky breath chased her own, and it was a relief to think she was not the only one whose composure was slipping, carried down, down, down with her stockings, all rational thought and sensation narrowed to the brush of his fingers, their trail of fire, the impropriety of letting him undress her. Letting him touch her bare skin, when this was all so new, so fragile.

The ability to breathe only returned once her stockings hit her knees and Lucien needed to pull away to finish the act of removing them. A soft protest bubbled to her lips, but she pushed her teeth down to catch it.

"See?" She said, ignoring the foreign rasp in her voice. "They're completely healed."

Lucien ran his thumbs along the soles of her feet, assessing the faded marks. "So they are."

"Are you satisfied?"

His metal eye was clicking again, and the russet of his right eye was nearly swallowed by his pupil. There was a wildness to the look he gave her, one that reminded her no matter how refined his diction, how cordial his manners, he had been born to and tempered by the flames of Autumn.

A fire coursed through his blood, and she could see it burning in his eyes as he said, "I fear I'm unfamiliar with the meaning of that word."

"I should go," she said. Before she was tempted to challenge that notion.

Lucien nodded. He knew just as well as she did that they were teetering off the edge of something they couldn't take back. Maybe it was already too late. It felt like it would be impossible to reign in the ache splitting open inside her, to return to the feigned indifference she'd managed just yesterday.

She scrambled off the table and shoved her feet back into her boots without bothering to put her stockings back on. They could be his trophy for somehow convincing her to do this in the first place.

"Wait," Lucien said as she turned towards the door.

He stood from the chair and pushed a hand into his pocket, producing an iron key that he held out to her. "Take it. So that you don't hurt yourself the next time you come to my daring rescue."

Elain stepped forward and curled her fingers over the metal, warm from his pocket, and surprisingly light for the weight of the gesture. She wanted to give him something in return. An apology and a promise and all of the complicated feelings in between.

So she gathered her courage and rose up on her feet to press a timid kiss to his lips. It lasted all of a second before Elain moved to withdraw, at which point Lucien caught her at the waist and drew her back for a proper kiss. And despite the years of longing and the tension they'd kindled this afternoon, each burning like a forge in her chest, his kiss was soft. Gentle.

Elain sighed into this sweet, final surrender, yielding at last to the force that had always been pulling them together, long before she knew his name or had any awareness of the fae. Golden light coiled in her chest, and her fingers slipped back into his hair, needing him closer. His lips, warm and petal-soft, parted and moved against hers, but there was no urgency. His touch wasn't colored by lust, though she could feel his racing heart and flushing skin.

The fae dealt in magic and bargains. They were casual with their intimacy, unruly in their courting. Here, a kiss could be meaningless. But in the human world, a kiss was a vow. It was the penultimate stage of a courtship, a promise that a gentleman intended to intertwine his life with that person.

Lucien kissed her as if they were human. With his eyes shut and his hands staunchly fixed to her waist. There was reprieve in his expression, like a man who had waited patiently for this moment, who was promising that this was only the start of a much longer journey—one they would travel together.

His eyes opened, and he pulled away when he saw her staring, unaware that she had been carving the sight of him into her memory.

She spoke before he saw fit to offer an apology. "I have one last question."

Lucien cleared his throat before speaking. "You can always ask me anything."

Oh? Elain wondered if he would regret saying that.

"Do you sleep naked in the mortal lands, too, or is it just when you're alone?"

His answering smile was nothing short of fiendish. "Why don't you visit me in the mortal lands and find out?"

#breaking & entering #Elucien #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfiction #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

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crazy-ache · 14 days

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Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic (Coming Soon)

Title: Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic Rating: M Summary:

“Perhaps you can speak them to me, if you so wish. I apologize if that is too forward, but I yearn to know you beyond simple pleasantries.

Yours truly,

Lucien

P.S. My lady, your secrets are always safe with me.”

Author’s Note: This fic was written between me (crazy-ache) and @zenkindoflove. We each selected a character (you’ll have to guess who though) and then wrote back and forth, pen-pal style. We've been working on our first collab together for a few weeks now and wanted to share a small preview of what's coming soon for our multichapter piece made entirely of letters...

If you want to be added to our tag list, drop it in the comments!

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #lucien vanserra #elucien fanfiction #elucien fanfic #elucien letters #regency vibes #elucien fic #elain archeron #elucien supremacy #we are so excited about this collab #elucien moodboard #epistolary fanfic

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xtaketwox · 5 months

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Push Me Up Against The Wall

Summary: It's been 6 months since Elain's world was turned upside down by Graysen's cheating. Vassa knows just the thing to help Elain move on: Lucien

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3644

Read on AO3

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.” Elain tugged at the hem of her dress and Vassa slapped her hand away.

“Stop that. You look hot.”

Elain sighed. “I never said I didn’t. I know I look good. I’m just,” she gestured vaguely, “not used to showing this much skin.”

Vassa rolled her eyes and pointed to her own dress. By comparison, Elain’s dress was positively modest. “This is showing skin.” She pointed to Elain’s halter top dress, a form fitting black dress that hugged her body like a second skin and ended just above her knees. “This is just normal, Elain.”

“Well, it’s not normal for me,” Elain mumbled, glancing down once again to make sure her breasts were still in place and not hanging out the side of the halter. The neckline dipped in a deep V nearly to her bellybutton. She might not have large breasts, but they were big enough to fall out of her dress if she moved too quickly. She eyed Vassa’s dress, thankful her friend hadn’t insisted that was what she wore. It wasn’t indecent, but it was shorter and sleeveless.

“You said you wanted to get over Graysen,” Vassa said as she pulled Elain toward the night club where her boyfriend Jurian and his friend were supposedly waiting for them. “The best way to do that is to have some stupid fun.” She smirked over at Elain. “But since I know you’d never do anything actually reckless, I think Lucien is just what you need.”

Elain pulled Vassa to a stop. “Promise me neither you nor Jurian mentioned anything to him.”

Vassa smirked. “Why? It might make things easier for you.”

“Or it might make things completely mortifying.” Elain didn’t bother to hide her panic as she said, “Promise me, Vassa, or I walk away right now.”

Vassa sighed. “Of course not. I didn’t even say anything to Jurian. I just told him to bring Lucien so you wouldn’t feel like a third wheel. Neither man knows I’m trying to get you laid.”

Elain winced. “Do you have to put it like that?”

Vassa shrugged. “It’s the truth. It’s what I’m trying to do. You are way too young and sexy to have been shackled to one boyfriend your entire dating life. The fact you’re still hung up on the douche is just proof you need to spread your wings. And trust me when I say, Lucien is hot.” Vassa looked away, biting the corner of her mouth.

Elain smacked her arm. “You have a boyfriend!”

Vassa grinned wickedly. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes and urges.” When Elain crossed her arms, Vassa outright laughed. “You’re too easy to tease, Elain. Loosen up. Nothing has to happen if you don’t want it to. I just think you’ll like Lucien and letting someone else see you naked might help you put Graysen behind you.” She raised a brow. “Need I remind you, you’re twenty-five and you’ve been in the same relationship since your freshman year of high school.”

At the reminder, Elain’s heart squeezed. She couldn’t help it. Graysen was an asshole, no doubt about that. The veritable hoard of women he had cheated on her with was enough to label him as such, but it had only been six months since her world had been turned upside down, when an irate husband had alerted Elain to the fact that Graysen was regularly cheating on her. She had been with Graysen for a decade; it wasn’t easy to let go of the idea that she was no longer in a relationship.

However, Vassa was right. Elain was the one to come to her, after all, to let her know she was ready to move on. She wasn’t quite sure if that was the truth or not, but it was too late to turn back now, and she suspected that if she waited until she felt ready, she would just never move on.

That thought more than anything is what propelled her to nod now. She wasn’t going to let Graysen ruin her life. She was young and she was going to start acting like it.

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” She took a deep breath. “I just—”

“Haven’t been with anyone beside’s Graysen.” Vassa patted her shoulder. “I know. Just trust me that this’ll be good for you, even if nothing happens between you two.”

Elain nodded, exhaling. “Ok. Let’s get this over with.”

Vassa rolled her eyes, but hooked her arm though Elain’s and pulled her to the door. The bouncer took one look at them and let them in immediately. “See? We’re hot,” Vassa said in Elain’s ear.

The club was dark and the music was loud, the beat vibrating through Elain’s body. She glanced at the crowd and then quickly away, the sight of so many writhing bodies making her face heat. She shook head, reminding herself that she was not going to be a prude. Not that there was anything wrong with being a prude—truthfully she found that word as judgemental as the word slut—but Graysen had been so weird about making sure she didn’t draw the eye of other men that she still fell into the trap of feeling like being sexy was wrong.

Vassa shoved her way through the pressing crowd of people toward a table in the back, where Jurian was waiting. Elain took in her surroundings, determined to familiarize herself with club activities so she could stop blushing like a teenager at people doing nothing more than dancing. When they stopped, Elain finally looked toward Jurian and his friend and her heart stopped.

Jurian stood and kissed Vassa’s cheek in greeting, but Elain hardly noticed, her eyes stuck on the most gorgeous man she’d ever met. He stood, well over six feet tall with ruby red hair falling haphazardly down his back, and held out his hand, yelling to be heard over the pounding music.

“I’m Lucien.”

Elain blinked, trying and failing not to stare at Lucien’s lips as they curved into a smile. “Elain,” she said, her voice weak.

“Sorry, what was that?” Lucien leaned closer and his cologne swirled into Elain’s nostrils. God she loved men’s cologne. Graysen had never worn cologne, saying it made him feel girly.

Elain cleared her suddenly parched throat and grabbed the hand she realized he was still holding out. “Sorry,” she yelled, “My name’s Elain.”

Lucien smiled. “Nice to meet you Elain.”

Elain just barely resisted the shiver of awareness that went through her body as his hand slid against hers, sending goosebumps up her arm. She swallowed hard, not even realizing she was still staring at him and their hands weren’t moving.

“We’re going to dance!” Vassa yelled over the music. “You two should come!”

Neither of them looked over at Vassa and Jurian, but Lucien quirked an eyebrow as Vassa leaned into Elain’s ear as she passed and said, “I told you he was hot.”

Elain was glad for the darkness to hide her blush. Lucien tilted his head toward the dancefloor.

“Should we join them?”

Elain swallowed against the sudden flash of heat at the thought of becoming one of those writhing bodies on the dancefloor and nodded. Lucien took a step forward and Elain tilted her head back as he twisted his hand so it her fingers became laced with his.

“Then lets go dance, Elain.” He spoke the words hardly loud enough for her to hear, but another shiver ran through her body at the heat in his eyes.

“Ok,” she croaked and then turned around to walk to the dancefloor, pulling Lucien behind her as she wondered what on earth was going on with her. She’d never felt like this before; she felt like she was on drugs, her head fuzzy and her heart pounding along with the beat as she stepped on the dancefloor.

She made to turn, but Lucien stepped up behind her, resting his hands on her hips and his front pressed against her back and began swaying. Elain tried to move but her muscles felt stiff, aware of every place Lucien was touching, the whisper of his shirt against the bare skin of her back, the heat of his hands through the fabric of her dress.

“Loosen up.”

Elain couldn’t stop the shiver at the words breathed against her ear. She didn’t know how to loosen up when her entire body was on fire from the man behind her. Biting her lip, she did her best to let go of her anxiety and just feel, raising her arms behind her to loop around Lucien’s neck, her fingers scratching into his long, ruby-colored hair.

She felt more than heard the rumble in his chest as she closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the music lead her. Lucien’s grip on her waist tightened, pulling her hard against him. Her eyes flew open when she felt the hard length of him against her low back. One hand slid forward on her stomach, his long fingers flexing against the fabric of her dress.

“You are so sexy,” he breathed into her ear, making her shiver again. “I’m going to have to remember to send Vassa an edible arrangement to thank her for bringing you tonight.”

Elain laughed in surprise at Lucien’s wit and wondered how he could even think right now. She was more turned on than she had ever been and they weren’t even through the first song. She tightened her grip on his hair and he groaned in her ear, sucking her earlobe in his mouth. Her movements stumbled as both shock and arousal pumped through her veins. She couldn’t help but wonder how something so simple could be so damned sexy.

Lucien’s hands drifted lower until he was caressing her thighs over the dress and then drifting back up. Technically he wasn’t touching any of Elain’s hot zones, but he might as well have been, a whine leaving her mouth before she could stop it.

Some part of her tried to remind Elain they were in public but she told that part to shove it. She closed her eyes again and allowed herself to let go of her inhibitions and just feel. One song bled into the next as Lucien continued his ministrations on her body, his erection pressing hard into her back as he groaned in her ear.

At some point, he used his hands to flip her to face him. She caught his eyes and couldn’t look away as she looped her arms back around his neck, drawing her nails along the base of his scalp as they danced, not caring if they followed the flow of the music. Elain felt powerful seeing the heat in Lucien’s eyes matched her own. She had never felt this sexy before. In comparison, sex with Graysen had been a scheduled affair, something she penciled into her calendar and crossed off her to-do list. She had never felt this spontaneous urge to be crazy, the desire to forget they weren’t alone and fuck Lucien right here on the dance floor.

Elain licked her lips without thinking and heard Lucien groan before he dipped his head to capture her mouth. She felt electrified from the moment his lips pressed against hers, pressing herself closer and squeezing her arms around his neck. Lucien groaned against her lips, licking the seam of her mouth and plunging his tongue into her mouth when she opened.

Lucien knew how to kiss. God, did he know how to kiss. Elain felt her knees go weak as he slid his tongue expertly against hers. His hand felt near bruising on her waist as he gripped her, his other hand cupping her cheek and tilting her head where he wanted it as he kissed her over and over.

Time lost all meaning as they kissed, Elain now feeling drunk as her entire body heated, her clit throbbing against the dizzying kisses. After what felt like at least an hour, Lucien pulled away, breathing heavily as they stood unmoving in the middle of the dancefloor. His eyes were wide as if he too were surprised by the intensity of want between them. He looked between her eyes as if he were trying to decide something before he swallowed and leaned down.

“I want to fuck you so badly, Elain.”

Elain whimpered, glad for the loud music hiding just how much those words affected her. Her knees wobbled slightly as she bit her lip and stared back up at him. Reminding herself that she was young and carefree and that Lucien was vetted by her best friend, she dared herself to be brave.

She leaned up on her tiptoes so that her lips were right next to Lucien’s ear and whispered, “So why don’t you?”

Lucien didn’t even wait for her to drop back to her feet before he turned and pulled her behind him. Elain could hardly keep up with his long strides in her heels, biting her lip against the smile at how desperate she clearly made him. It was a heady feeling, knowing this man found her so sexy that he was power walking her to somewhere he could fuck her in private. He walked toward the bathrooms, walking straight into the men’s room.

“Get out.” He spoke the words with such authority that the few men in there quickly zipped up and walked out the door. When they left, Lucien turned the lock and backed her against the door, immediately kissing her.

“God, I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you,” he said as he started kissing along her jaw. Elain could only grip his shoulders, one leg rising to hook around his waist as he bit, sucked, and licked his way down her throat. “You are so fucking sexy. How the fuck are you even single?”

Elain’s throat grew tight at the reminder that Graysen hadn’t thought she was sexy enough, hadn’t felt fulfilled by her. Lucien undid the button at the back of her neck, and the halter straps fell down. He pulled back to watch as he slowly slid the straps down to reveal her breasts. He sucked in a breath, his pupils blowing wide as her nipples hardened.

“Fuck me,” he breathed before he lowered his head to suck one of her nipples into his mouth. Elain’s head fell back as he swirled his tongue, sucking hard as he pinched her other nipple, tilting her hips as the zing of arousal went south.

Lucien’s other hand went to the hem of her dress, pushing it up as he slid his hand upwards. When he realized she hadn’t worn any underwear he groaned against her skin, sucking harder as he dragged his fingers through her wetness. He popped off her breast, looking down at her as he slid his now wet fingers around her clit. “You’re fucking perfect, Elain.”

Elain wanted to say something, but she was no good at dirty talk. The last time she tried, Graysen had outright laughed and told her she sounded ridiculous. She swallowed, sucking in a deep breath when Lucien slid a finger inside her.

“I want you, Lucien,” she said, the only thing she could think of to say that wouldn’t sound cheesy.

“You have me,” Lucien said before he kissed her again, his tongue sliding in tandem with his finger and driving her mad.

She wrenched her mouth away. “No.” Feeling bolder than she ever had, she grabbed the front of his pants. “I want you to fuck me, Lucien. Now.”

Lucien’s eyes widened and the sound that came out of him might have been funny if Elain didn’t know it was because he wanted her so badly. He immediately removed his hands, pushing her dress up so that it was bunched above her hips before he quickly unzipped his pants and shoved both his jeans and his underwear down. Elain’s eyes went wide at the size of his cock but Lucien didn’t give her long to ogle before he grabbed both her legs off the ground, shoving her legs wide, her knees hooked around his arms against her sides, and filled her in one upward stroke.

Elain’s head hit the back of the door, an inelegant groan coming out of her at how full she was. Lucien was so much bigger than Graysen had been. She had assumed Graysen’s dick was average size, but if that was the case, then Lucien’s cock was something all women should hope for. The stretch was nearly painful, the length of him filling her more than she’d ever been before.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Lucien groaned, his head falling back as he started moving. The wet slap of skin echoed around the bathroom, the sound driving Elain even crazier.

“Hey fuckwads! I have to pee!” Someone banged against the door and instead of panicking, Elain groaned, forgetting that she even had inhibitions at the realization that people could hear them, knew what they were doing. When she walked out of here, everyone would know that she had just been fucked within an inch of her life by the sexiest man at the club.

Lucien was cursing in her ear, a string of praises on his lips as he reached between them to rub circles around her clit, driving her closer and closer to an orgasm.

“Does that make you hot?” Lucien asked in her ear. “Knowing they can hear you groaning? They can hear how much I make you scream? Knowing they wish they were me?”

Elain fell apart at that, Lucien capturing her lips as she screamed, her body locking up before she was hit by wave after wave as Lucien fucked her harder and faster, drawing out the sensation until he too groaned loudly into her mouth, his hips stuttering to a stop.

They pulled their lips apart, Elain’s head falling onto Lucien’s shoulder as they both gasped for air, the aftershocks of the best orgasm of her life still coursing through her. When someone pounded on the door again, Elain winced, the inhibitions she had abandoned now coming back. She lightly pushed against Lucien’s shoulders and he carefully set her down, his hands on her waist to steady her when she wobbled.

Her cheeks grew hot as she pulled down her pulled up the straps of dress while Lucien got a paper towel and began cleaning her up. She bit her lip when he threw the paper towel away and she pulled her skirt back into place. She glanced at the mirror, horrified to see the state of her hair and quickly running her fingers through it.

Lucien, seeming to understand that she needed a moment, or perhaps needing a moment of his own, stood by the doorway while Elain did her best to straighten her appearance, even as she knew she was only delaying having to walk out the door to a line of people who were very aware of what they had just done.

She jumped when someone banged yet again and then turned to Lucien. There was no getting around it. She was going to have to walk out of there. She swallowed when she saw the look in Lucien’s eyes. He walked toward her as if he were afraid she would bolt, before grabbing her hand and raising it to his lips.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he ask softly, “Are you alright?”

Elain swallowed and nodded. “Yes. Just a little embarrassed.”

Lucien stared for a moment, concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry if I was too pushy.”

Elain quickly shook her head. “No! No. Not at all.” She wished she had a glass of water to sooth her dry throat. “It was good.” She took a deep breath, her face growing hotter. “It was really really good, Lucien. I’ve just—never done something like this before.”

“Would it help if I said, neither have I?”

Elain breathed a laugh. “Yes, actually.”

When someone pounded again and yelled at them to hurry up, Lucien yelled back, “Occupied!”

Elain bit her lip but a nervous giggle still made its way out of her mouth. Lucien smiled back and her heart did a funny little flip. He took a deep breath and then grabbed her other hand and squeezed.

“How about we both go out of here with our heads held high. And if anyone says anything, I’ll let them know that they can fuck off because I just had the best sex of my life in the bathroom of the club. Sound good?”

The flush on Elain’s face now was from pleasure instead of embarrassment as she bit her lip and nodded. Lucien dropped one of her hands as he turned, tucking her other hand into the crook of his arm before walking them both to the door, unlocking it, and pulling it open.

“All yours, boys,” he said, smirking at the look on the men’s faces as they walked past. If Elain didn’t know better, she would swear they looked envious.

When they got back to the dancefloor, Vassa and Jurian came over.

“Where were you?” Jurian yelled over the music.

Elain glanced at Lucien as he shrugged his shoulders and said, “We had to go pee.”

“Together?” Vassa asked, her eyebrow raised and the glint in her eyes letting Elain know she knew exactly what she and Lucien had been up to.

Elain shrugged, “Sometimes you need a partner coming with you in the bathroom.”

Jurian threw his head back and laughed as Vassa’s mouth popped open before she bent forward in a laugh. Elain glanced at Lucien, please to see he was also laughing.

Vassa was right. Getting laid, specifically by Lucien, was exactly what she had needed.

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fic #elucien fanfiction

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velidewrites · 4 months

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Don’t Look Back

Five hundred years ago, the humans fought hard for their freedom in the Great War and won. Now, their former masters seek retribution in a rebellion that grows stronger year by year. When Elain Archeron finds out marrying Greysen Nolan might be the only solution to keep her family safe from the ancient, cruel Fae, she doesn't hesitate to fulfil her duty. What Elain doesn't know, though, is that the man with the fiery hair and russet eyes is not her fiancé, but his killer—and when she finally finds out, well…it will be far too late to turn back.

Rating: Explicit

Notes: Happy Holidays @rainbowdolphinrealm! I absolutely loved being your Secret Santa for the @acotargiftexchange and getting to know you over the past few weeks! My little elf has told me there may be some Azris angst in the background, and a surprise Azris treat is also sleighing your way soon 👀

Read on AO3 or continue for Chapter 1 below!

*Please note that for reasons beyond my control (insanity) I have given this fic way too much lore. Here is a map I've drawn!

Chapter 1: The Visitor

Elain had never thought she would be dreading the spring. It was the season her gardens bloomed, the season that melted the lakes around the manor to reflect the fluffy clouds dotting the sky above. The flowers she’d planted over the harvest would sprout to life, their sleepy buds erupting into colours Elain would dream of all winter. Two years ago, her father had gifted her the most extraordinary tulips for her birthday, the intricate paintings over the pack of seeds promising shades of violet she’d never seen in New Prythian. He’d brought them right from the fields of the Montesere province far on the Continent with a vow to bring her along on his travels next year—so that she could see their beauty for herself.

Her mother died the spring after.

Father had gone anyway, but Elain—Elain stayed. She had lost all desire to travel, anyway, especially when the circumstances of the death had hardly been expected. The Continent had assured them the Fae rebellion was not a threat to be taken seriously, and that the Governor had everything under control. Out of the eight human clans looking after their world, Lord Nolan had perhaps been the only one Elain would put her trust in. If he claimed the scattered remains of the faeries of old were entirely harmless, then it must have been the truth.

Until a small group of them had broken into the Merchant’s manor and killed his wife in her sleep, with magic so corrupted and vile that not even a speck of blood had left a stain on her sheets. One moment, she was deep in a peaceful slumber, and the next, she was simply…gone.

Everything had happened very quickly after that. Orders had come in from wherever Father had sailed off to, and the manor had been fortified with ash-dipped iron from Vallahan—made by the Forge himself—and spells Father had acquired from his trades with the North. All entirely legal and ratified by the Governor—according to Father, at least. Elain knew better than to ever question the Merchant.

The manor, though fortified to the teeth, had not been enough to keep Elain or either of her sisters safe. The very last order came in with the Merchant himself, a rare smile on their father’s deep-creased face as he announced it to his daughters. Elain had never seen Nesta so horrified as her older sister had been in that moment—pale as the moon, whiter than the sheets their mother had died in. For Nesta Archeron, the eldest daughter of the feared Merchant of New Prythian, was to marry.

Somewhere along his usual search for old faerie artifacts, abandoned over the centuries after the Great War, Father had found his way into an alliance that would secure his territory’s position on the island. With Nesta’s marriage, there would be no Fae slipping past his borders, no other clan opposing him—no human ruler to ever deny him whatever faerie secrets they’d been holding in their keep. It was an alliance that rattled the seas all the way to the Governor’s seat in Rask—perhaps even crooked the crown on his greying head an inch.

Nesta, after all, had been promised to none other than Tomas Mandray. To the son of the Harvester.

Every human territory had a role to play in the new world order—after the Great War, order seemed to be exactly what the humans needed. Their freedom, won by bloodshed and sacrifice, broke them free as slaves of the Fae. Elain still dreamed of the horrid images her governess’s books taught her—of humans in chains, gleaming with white-hot magic, burning spells into their skin that made any chance of escape nearly impossible. Had it not been for the courage of the six ruling queens, all hope would have been lost. Five hundred years later, it would have been Elain in those chains, her sisters, her Father, even the all-powerful Governor. Even the Harvester.

His territory—the dark, somber island of Hybern—was one Elain would never so much as think of travelling to. Pretending the work the Harvester did there did not exist made everyone’s lives a lot easier. While the Merchant dealt with old Fae artifacts and traded them across borders, the Harvester’s work involved a lot more of getting one’s hands dirty. Enchanted faerie objects, after all, were not the only things believed to have valuable properties. High Fae hearts, for example, promised a long life, untainted by illness.

And the Harvester…well, the Harvester delivered them. Amongst many others.

The marriage had taken place shortly after the summer, and neither Elain nor her father had been invited to witness the nuptials. She had simply watched the ship sail off West as she lost yet another sister.

She would not think about that right now—not when spring had finally arrived again. Soon, her tulips would bloom again, flecks of pinks and violets shining softly under the young, shy rays of sunlight. Elain would not be there to witness it—right after Nesta’s marriage, Father had left for the Continent again, and this time, Elain expected the order.

She was to be married next.

My dearest Elain,

It is with a full heart that I bring you the joyous news of our latest triumph. I have successfully docked in Saetre, and the Governor has received me warmly—as expected. As I’m sure you have already guessed, he was most pleased with the offerings I have bestowed him. You’ve seen them yourself—the old Illyrian dagger seems to be his favourite as of right now, though I have not yet even shown him the rest of the treasure I have acquired from the Wildlands. I can already imagine his eyes light up as I hand him the pair of wings your sister had sent in from Hybern. I shall convince him to display it right above his throne, I think—a testament to Nesta’s success.

Our deliberations commenced shortly after dinner—a roast turkey and the most exquisite stew, if you’re interested. I have already sent a footman along with a separate letter containing the recipe—so that you may have the maid try it out in the weeks before my return. Winters in Rask are quite unforgivable, and I must admit a hearty meal like this was exactly what I needed. Rask rears its own livestock, you know—an impressive one, too, if I do say so myself. To not be dependent on Braemar for your dinner plans—imagine that! I am growing quite tired of the Huntsman raising his prices every harvest. Ridiculous.

Anyway, I digress. Rask has consumed my attention entirely, as I’m sure you can tell. I am confident you would enjoy it here, too. Winters are rough, yes—but I remember how much you’ve always wanted to visit the provinces in the West. Just imagine your beloved tulip fields, illuminated by golden sunlight—imagine being able to see them at your whim. What a life that would be, would it not?

My sweet Elain, I am writing to tell you that it could be. You know how dear our family has always been to me—but you, my beautiful daughter, have always been closest to my ageing heart. It is precisely why I had devoted all my efforts, all my resources, into this agreement. Elain, it is one for the pages of history. A union like no other.

You see, the Governor—Lord Nolan, our very ruler himself—was so impressed with your dowry, and concerned with the fate of our family in the past year—that he had offered his son, nay, his heir, as a candidate worthy of your hand. Your hand in marriage, Elain.

Indeed, the past year has brought our family hardship unlike ever before. I do mourn your mother still, and the loss of our young Feyre continues to be a fresh wound in my heart. It is only fair we honour them, would you not agree? Your sister, your brave, headstrong sister, has already taken that first step—and look how happy she is with the Harvester’s son. She holds power like no other human in our family ever had—right now, she is perhaps the most powerful woman in Prythian. Perhaps even more than the Siren herself. Elain, with your beauty, your grace, your heart—you could outshine them both.

I am sure you were too young to remember meeting Greysen Nolan—you were only five, after all, and he only twelve—but he has grown into a fine young man, and as heir to the Governor, he is the most eligible bachelor our world has to offer. A fine marriage like this would give us the protection we need—New Prythian would never have to deal with faerie filth again. Our people would be safe, Elain—and all because of you. My beautiful Princess.

I do hope this news brings some comfort to your healing heart. Lord Nolan has bestowed his son with a title prior to your official engagement. The Visitor, as your fiancé is now called, has taken on the role of supervising all clans and their work—of ensuring their role in our world guarantees our continued survival amid the growing rebellions in Old Prythian and Vallahan. Elain, as wife to the Visitor, your dream will finally come true—you shall accompany him on all his travels, see the world as you’ve always wished! It brings me joy to know I have assured you that fate.

I am to remain in Rask until the snow melts. The Visitor and I shall set sail for home with the coming of spring, and we shall host a celebration in your honour. An engagement ball envied in the eyes of any other young lady in Prythian, New and Old!

I am told Greysen (is it too soon to address him as such, do you think? He is to be my son-in-law) enjoys roses the most. Perhaps you could show some thought and consideration and embroider a pattern on your ball gown? I trust that this letter gives you enough time in advance. You’ve always been so skilled at crafts and other projects of creative character.

Be safe, my sweet Elain. Better times are coming—and sooner than you think!

With love,

The Merchant

Elain discarded the letter on her nightstand, thinking she might puke if she so much as tried glancing upon it again. From the neat, elegant cursive to the tone of the very words, the message reeked of her Father—of the Merchant . There were so many things wrong with its contents that the anger she’d been stifling in the pit of her stomach for the past few weeks had bubbled all over again, threatening to burn its way up her throat. Elain had never been any good at art—that was Feyre, the Merchant’s other daughter the Fae had only taken a few months ago. Taken and never returned. She was likely dead, her body discarded somewhere in the Wildlands. And Father didn’t even care.

He didn’t care that it was him Elain had always wanted to travel with, not Greysen Nolan, not anyone else. He’d promised to bring her along, at least once. Now, it was too late. He would lose his final daughter—for the safety of New Prythian. Naturally.

A new wave of guilt crashed into her with a sudden force, killing the fire inside her with little effort. She didn’t want the marriage, that much was true—but, her father’s personal agenda or not, the Fae rebellion was as real as the Visitor, no doubt already sailing her way. The Fae, though very few in number thanks to the work of the human clans, still posed a very real threat—her mother and sister were the prime example of how dangerous those creatures were. Five hundred years ago, they’d nearly won the War—had nearly rid the world of all humans and enslaved whoever remained. Until the humans turned their own magic against them—and took their freedom back. They have continued to preserve it ever since.

The clans of Old Prythian had always been successful in dwindling the numbers of whoever remained—the Fae, in all their mighty immortality, could hold out for centuries, using their magic to roam the lands in secret. Three hundred years ago, most of them had been pushed far north to the Wildlands, old faerie territories Elain had read about in her studies. There was little information on the former Solar Courts and their rulers—other than that the most powerful of them had a history of cruelty that could make the Harvester himself flinch in horror. Some part of her was glad the territory had been reduced to rubble—that, at the very least, the humans’ ancient killers could no longer rely on their fortresses to lock them all up.

She had seen the Huntsman’s reports on recent rebel activity in Braemar, though. The faeries may have been few, yes, but those foolish enough to crawl out of the Wildlands caused problems that would usually send shivers down Elain’s spine. The Huntsman’s own daughter, stationed in the North under the Guardian’s protection, had been slaughtered no more than six years ago when their outpost was attacked. Father had told her stories of fresh, crimson blood, gleaming on the thick, white coat of snow.

For what had to have been the hundredth time in the past few weeks, Elain debated that perhaps, an alliance with the Governor’s son would not be such a terrible thing. She may not have known him—let alone harboured any affection for him—but their marriage would strengthen the clans. If she married Greysen, perhaps no one else’s daughters would be slaughtered, no one else’s mothers killed in their sleep or sisters hunted in the forests surrounding their own homes. Elain could protect them—in whatever way she could.

Either way, she had no choice.

***

The forest rippled with the sound of teeth tearing into flesh. Over the centuries, they had grown longer— sharper , which was just as well. He needed as much protection as he could get these days, especially with weapons so difficult to come by. The camp was already growing unsettled, and he could feel the tension weighing on the air whenever he returned. The past few winters had been difficult enough.

The coming of spring was a welcome change. Spring meant they could hunt—the new year brought on as many animals as it had opportunities. The prey in his arms, grasped by the claws he’d sunk deep into its skin, just so happened to be both.

And what an opportunity it was. They’d been wishing for it for decades—centuries, even, or perhaps even more. Like many others, he found himself losing count of the passing years. They all seemed the same—eat, sleep, move, hide. Kill had only recently started to disrupt his routine. Yet another change he welcomed.

He spat out the blood, nose wrinkling with distaste as if on instinct, and watched as the liquid settled into the mossy earth. The body fell to the ground a moment after, leaving a heavy thud in its wake, heavy enough that he could have sworn it echoed between the trees. He would get an earful for not being careful later. The thought made his eyes roll as he wiped his nails clean on his crumpled shirt.

He pulled it over his arms, then, letting the fabric float away with the gentle spring breeze, and took a deep, steadying breath. The small, golden rays of sunlight peering through the budding leaves warmed his bare chest, and he tilted his head up to the sky, soaking up the sensation until the quiet gurgle at his feet inevitably commanded the return of his attention.

He sighed, kicking away the arm resting on his boot. The body rolled to the side, baring the unpleasant face to his sight yet again. For what must have been the fourth time in the past two minutes, he felt himself grimace. Something so ugly should not have been this finely dressed.

This, however, was a problem he could easily take care of. Holding his breath to avoid the stench of his prey’s spilling guts, he kneeled to free it from the immaculate, navy-blue jacket, dark, charcoal trousers and boots before its blood managed to stain them. The formerly pristine shirt was unfortunately already lost to him, though he supposed his own would do just fine.

For a split second, he wondered if the body should be buried. It would take little effort on his part, and he knew it had been travelling with a party before trailing off the carriage path to piss. It would be best to not leave any evidence behind, lest any of the man’s companions decided to follow their master and look for relief in the forest as well.

He sighed again, a sound he feared was starting to become a signature of his lately. With a flick of his hand, the dirt rustled quietly, and the ground parted, swallowing the body entirely.

Good. This was good. He only wished he’d taken a good look at the man’s face before letting the worms dig into the body he’d so benevolently left open for them. He needed the memory unscathed for the spell, and right now, he could not for the life of him remember the colour of his prey’s eyes. Oh, well.

He got dressed quickly, finding the fabric a little too tight in the shoulders. Come to think of it, the trousers also seemed to be a tight fit, his thighs unusually restrained by the silken threads. He would have to walk more slowly, he supposed. Ripping his seams open in front of dozens of humans was hardly the surprise he’d spent the past two months carefully devising.

Rising to his full height, he closed his eyes then as though for concentration. The tingling on his skin was hardly pleasant, but he endured it all the same until the memory in his mind finally faded away. There was no stream nearby to look over his reflection, but he knew the glamour had worked, anyway. It always did.

To those who knew the man he’d just murdered, he would appear as Greysen Nolan—the newly titled Visitor, hell, the Governor’s own firstborn son. He couldn’t help but smirk.

It seemed that Daddy was in for one hell of a disappointment.

***

Elain could not breathe in her gown.

“Just a few more minutes, Princess,” the seamstress repeated, the sound muffled through the needle she’d clenched between her teeth.

The nickname did little to ease her nerves. The Princess was hardly her official title, but her father insisted the staff—that everyone in New Prythian called his one remaining daughter as such. She used to adore it as a little girl, though upon further reflection, she had no doubt she’d earned a few spoiled brat ’s in those years. Still, the name seemed to have stuck, and, as she always did, Elain felt her cheeks flush furiously in response.

“I’m not a princess, Lavinia,” she reminded the seamstress, trying her best not to make her tone sound too pointed.

The woman scoffed. “You might as well be, Lady Archeron. The Visitor is a titled man, and if that wasn’t enough, he is the Governor’s heir.” She adjusted the ribbons adorning Elain’s sleeve. “Our royalty may be long gone, but everyone knows the throne resides at Rask.”

Elain hummed. “There is a reason we are no longer ruled by six queens. To anoint a new monarchy would be to dishonour their sacrifice.”

The seamstress scrambled quickly, “Of course, Lady Archeron. I only meant—the Governor holds a lot of power in the realm.”

Elain sighed and looked into the mirror. “I suppose that much is true.”

“You don’t seem very excited,” Lavinia remarked, meeting Elain’s gaze in her reflection. “Surely the Visitor is an excellent match?”

“Certainly,” Elain nodded. But excellent was not someone Elain was looking for. She wasn’t looking for anyone, truthfully, and yet here she stood, watching Lavinia touch up her gown for the final time before her engagement ball was to commence. “This is good, I think. You’ve done a wonderful job—as always.”

The seamstress offered her a smile. “Try to be happy, Princess.”

“Of course,” Elain lied.

It was clear enough that Lavinia had left her alone, quietly excusing herself out of the room. Elain could hear her mutter instructions to the guards at her door—she was to be escorted downstairs, whenever she was ready. Apparently, guests had already begun pouring in, and the Visitor was to make his grand entrance shortly.

Elain hadn’t even seen Father yet. Wherever he was, he clearly would make his appearance once the public had gathered in full.

It was to be expected, but Elain felt her heart sink nonetheless. She could use a few words of encouragement right now. Usually, it had been Feyre offering them without Elain even having to ask. But Feyre was gone. Had been gone for a while.

And she wasn’t coming back.

Exhaling shakily, Elain looked into her own eyes in the mirror, ignoring the tear welling up in one corner, her expression stern.

“You’re doing this for them ,” she told herself. “For Feyre, and for Mother, and for Nesta, so that no one else has to suffer like they had.”

Her reflection nodded, the pearls in her ears sparkling with the movement. She breathed out again, one last time, and braced herself for the three quiet knocks on her door.

“It’s time, Princess,” the order sounded shortly after. Elain, of course, obeyed.

The gown was a pain to walk in. It was beautiful, to be sure—she hadn’t lied when she’d complimented Lavinia’s work—though that hardly made it a comfortable garment to wear. Elain appreciated the way the corset hugged her curves, or the way it perked up her breasts, but she also appreciated being able to take a breath without immediately choking on it. She had never squeezed into a dress so impossibly tight. The flowers—roses—crafted by the ruffles of tulle rested attached at her hips, the ribbons of her sleeves caressing them as Elain made her way down the hall. The gown spilled down her body in petals of ivory and a dusty pink, making Elain herself look like a blossoming rose, floating with every step.

She almost enjoyed the thought until she remembered Father’s letter once again—until she remembered Greysen Nolan’s favourite flowers were, in fact, roses, and the gown’s very design served to appeal to his tastes instead of her own.

Had it not been for the guard’s heavy boots sounding behind her, Elain would have entertained the idea of turning back. Would Father drag her downstairs himself? Would he lock her up in Greysen’s carriage and ship her off without second thought? Elain had never once thought her own engagement ceremony would ever feel like an execution. And yet, here she was, followed closely by the Merchant’s personal guard, dressed up like a doll for a man she didn’t even know.

The somber thought accompanied her down the marble steps spiralling down to the ballroom, consuming her so thoroughly she could hardly feel the countless stares watching her every more. Father must have invited more people than she’d thought—dignitaries from all over the island, perhaps even the Continent itself.

Perhaps her seamstress was right—perhaps Rask was the closest they could get to royalty, and Elain truly could not have found a more advantageous match. She also could not have married at all.

But then she met her father’s gaze, and the guilt hit her with a familiarity that nearly swayed her off the stairs.

His eyes—brown, exactly the shade of her own—were shining with pride so unabashed she could not help but smile in his direction. She was doing all of this for him, too was she not? For her family—so that they may never see misfortune again. Nesta had been strong enough to proceed with her own match. Why should Elain be any different? She could do this—otherwise, watching that pride dim from her father’s gaze might just be the thing that killed her.

Slowly, she made her way up the dais to meet his extended hand. Behind them, two high chairs she supposed had been made to resemble thrones sat waiting for the Lord and Lady to be. Elain’s heart quickened in the constraints of her corset.

“This is real, Elain,” Father murmured over her shoulder, as though he could hear how loudly her heart thumped in her chest. If he did, he’d grossly misinterpreted the reason behind it. “This is truly happening.”

Elain swallowed something thick in her throat, and forced another smile as she turned to face him at last. “I know, Father.”

The white of his teeth nearly outmatched the chandeliers above. “You look absolutely spectacular,” he complimented, his smile wider as he noted the tulle roses. “Are you ready to meet your husband?”

She supposed there was no turning back now.

Father nodded to the guards. “Invite the Visitor in.”

Every single head in the ballroom turned as two, white-gloved hands turned the golden, ornate knobs and swung the doors open.

Elain held her breath—then counted to three. Four. Five.

On seven, he entered.

She’d spotted his jacket first—a deep navy-blue adorned with fine, silken thread. Fitted, charcoal trousers and boots, echoing quietly off the marble floor as the Visitor finally stepped into the light.

Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

His long hair was like molten fire, a stark contrast against the depth of his jacket. Shades of red, auburn and orange, falling down his back in waves as the firelight danced on his golden brown skin—almost like greeting an old friend. There was something raw about his beauty—he was hardly one of the perfect, polished aristocrats she’d danced with at other balls. No, there was a cruelty about him—as if he’d been crafted by the same flame that gleamed playfully atop the chandeliers warming her skin, melting every guard she’d ensured to build up, every reason she could think of that made him the worst fate the world had in store for her.

Elain could have sworn that fire sizzled in his russet eyes as he reached the dais—as he stopped before her and bowed at the waist.

When he looked up again, their gazes locked and held. “It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Lady Archeron,” he greeted, his voice smooth and deep. “My name is Greysen Nolan.”

#this looks like a cover of a reverse harem novel I PROMISE YOU IT IS NOT #there is a perfectly acceptable amount of smut in this fic #we're just going purely off vibes #and the map LOL #acotar gift exchange #elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #my writing

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shadowisles-writes · 11 months

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ACOTAR Writing Circle 3 Masterlist

The Syren, part 2, part 3 @headcanonheadcase @secret-third-thing

I Choose Who. I Choose You., part 2, part 3 @hlizr50 @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase

The Great Escape, part 2, part 3 @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship, @aldbooks @starfall-spirit

Blindsided, part 2, part 3 @bennylavasbuns, @azrielshadowssing

Peer Pressure, part 2, part 3 @azrielshadowssing @mercarimari @foreverinelysian

Tangled Cable Car Wires, part 2, part 3 @thelovelymadone, @bennylavasbuns @thehaemanthus

On the Edge of Losing You, part 2 @starfall-spirit, @thegloweringcastle

Right There Beside Him All Summer Long, part 2, part 3 @rosanna-writer @sideralwriting @hlizr50

Grounded, part 2 @writtenonreceipts, @thehaemanthus

Fictional, part 2, part 3 @mercarimari @rosanna-writer

Sailing Ships, part 2, part 3 @foreverinelysian, @writtenonreceipts @sideralwriting

Down This Road, part 2, part 3 @thegloweringcastle, @headcanonheadcase @thelovelymadone

Heatwave, part 2, part 3 @secret-third-thing, @starfall-spirit @azrielshadowssing

Someday, Today, part 2, part 3 @thehaemanthus, @hlizr50 @vikingmagic33

A Sunshine from the Ocean, part 2, part 3 @sideralwriting @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo

Cool for the Summer, part 2, part 3 @aldbooks, @vikingmagic33 @rosanna-writer

I Hate You Too, part 2, part 3 @sunshinebingo @foreverinelysian @bennylavasbuns

This One Even Blooms, part 2, part 3 @vikingmagic33 @sunshinebingo @thegloweringcastle

#acotar writing circle #acotarwritingcircle #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #gwynriel #elucien #feysand #nessian #helion x lady of autumn #emorie #gwynriel fic #elucien fic #feysand fic #nessian fic #emorie fic #writing challenge #acotar writing #gwynlain #jassa

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c-e-d-dreamer · 7 months

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Home Is Where Your Heart Is Set In Stone

A/N: Happy @lucienweekofficial, lovelies! Lucien certainly wears plenty of masks, but what about a mask of stone? ;) Our favorite foxy boi is next up for my Gargoyles series, and I hope everyone enjoys! You don't need to have read Gargoyle Cassian to understand, but it can make it more fun. Also, this fic is especially dedicated to @separatist-apologist! Happy birthday-eve! What better way to celebrate and to honor you than with monster Lucien 😇 Warnings for smut and monster-fucking and all that jazz :)

Read on AO3

As the elevator doors close, Elain slumps back against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment and letting out a quiet sigh. Despite only riding the elevator up to the eighth floor, she briefly considers sliding down to sit on the floor, wonders if anyone would judge her for it. They shouldn’t. It was a long day at the bakery today, and her feet ache.

All Elain can think about is kicking off her shoes and collapsing onto the sofa. Maybe Nesta will be okay with her locking herself away in the bathroom and taking a long, soothing bath. Maybe they can break out a bottle of wine and watch some silly comedy that Elain will only have to half pay attention to and will take her mind off of the big mother-baby group in need of mid-walk treats, off the father who needed extra last minute cupcakes for a birthday party, off the women who needed almost one of everything for a brunch.

The elevator doors ding and slide open, and Elain heaves herself out and into the hall. Thankfully, it’s just a few steps down the hall before she reaches the apartment door, but Elain has to think for a moment about which key is the correct one for the apartment door and which is for the apartment complex entrance. Is it the key on the right? No. The key on the left?

Elain tries the key on the left of the keychain Nesta had given her, but while it slides in, the lock doesn’t turn. With a frustrated huff, she yanks the key back out. Just her luck, it seems, after the day she’s had. She adjusts her grip to switch to the key on the right when a sound from inside the apartment has her pausing. A giggle. Elain is confident that the last time she ever heard her older sister giggle was when they were both still girls, but there’s no mistaking the sound, nor the low, deep chuckle that follows.

Taking a deep breath and settling her expression into cool neutrality, Elain slides the correct key into the lock and opens the door. Nesta is perched on her kitchen counter, Cassian standing cradled between her thighs and leaning against his hands either side of her hip. The sound of the door has Nesta snapping her attention toward Elain, has her tugging the collar of her tee–or more likely, Cassian’s tee judging by the size–back up and over her shoulder.

“Hey, Elain,” Nesta greets easily, offering a small if not slightly embarrassed smile. “How was the bakery today?”

“It was fine,” Elain dismisses with a shrug, going over to where her bags live and crouching down to root through them aimlessly.

With her back turned, Elain is able to relax her face. She doesn’t have to worry about hiding her pinched lips and cool expression. It’s not that she isn’t happy for Nesta. She is, truly. Even if she’s still not fully sure where Cassian even came from, her sister’s boyfriend seeming to pop up one day and the two of them suddenly in love despite Nesta never mentioning him. Ever. But, it’s clear that her sister is happy, clear that Cassian loves her and respects her, clear that he’s exponentially better than Tomas Mandray ever was. But every time Elain sees the way Cassian looks at Nesta, sees the soft adoration shining in his eyes, it has her heart squeezing painfully between her ribs.

Graysen never looked at her like that.

Perhaps that should have clued her in sooner, should have been a sign of the messy end that was to come. She had just been so sure that Graysen was the one for her, that he was her true love, her soulmate, just like the princess books she read when she was little. But clearly that was an absurd notion, and all that love she held for him only led to her being blind. It only led to her coming home to their apartment and finding Graysen in their bed with his secretary.

The memories rushing back to the forefront of her mind has rage flaring back to life within her. It burns hot on the back of her tongue, sends sparks of red skittering through her veins, and Elain clenches her fists around the fabric in her hands. Fuck Graysen. Fuck him for disrespecting her like that. Fuck him for throwing away everything they had. Fuck him for having the nerve to kick her out of their apartment after what he did.

“Cassian made lasagna for dinner,” Nesta continues, unaware of Elain's tumbling thoughts.

“That’s alright. I have plans with Vassa,” Elain tells her, pulling out a simple sundress from her bag. “Just came back to change first.”

Before Nesta can say anything else, Elain scurries off to the bathroom. Her sister doesn’t need to know that it’s a lie, doesn’t need to know that she has zero interest in being an awkward third wheel. Again. As grateful as she is for Nesta allowing her to crash on her sofa until Elain figures out her own place, spending every night watching her sister and her boyfriend make obvious heart eyes that often lead to obvious heated stares at each other is not exactly Elain’s idea of fun.

Which is why Elain keeps up the pretense of plans with her best friend as she washes the flour from her hair and makes sure the strands fall in soft curls around her shoulders. Why she keeps up the pretense and changes into the sundress she grabbed. Why she keeps up the pretense and waves goodbye to Nesta and Cassian and walks right out the apartment even though she has nowhere to actually go.

The door closes with a soft snick behind Elain, and she lets out a quiet sigh. Now, she just needs actual evening plans. She supposes she could try one of the local bars down the road, but she doesn’t have an interest in listening to cheesy pick-up lines all night. She could text Vassa, maybe give some credibility to her lie, but then she’d just be trading in one third wheeling evening for another.

As Elain continues to contemplate her options, she hears the distinct ding of the elevator doors opening. Not wanting to be caught awkwardly in the hall by one of Nesta’s neighbors, Elain rushes away and pushes open the door to the stairwell, hiding out of sight. She presses her back against the wall and holds her breath, listening and waiting for any sounds out in the hallway. Voices coming from the stairwell just a floor below her have Elain scrambling up the stairs. She rushes up and up until the regular stairs end, until she reaches some sort of winding, rickety looking set of stairs.

Elain had almost forgotten that the apartment complex has roof access. She knew that Nesta was fond of spending time up there. Perhaps the roof could offer Elain the same escape. Testing the first step to make sure it’s actually steady and secure, Elain pads her way up to the large, metal door at the top. It takes a bit of force to get it to open, Elain having to practically throw her entire weight into it, but with a creak of the hinges, the door gives way, and she steps out into the evening air.

A quiet gasp tears its way free from Elain as she takes in her surroundings, the view. The city stretches out all around her, but it’s the sky that truly captures her attention. Streaks of pinks and purples through the clouds, the whole sky a golden orange hue as the sun sets. Elain’s feet are carrying her closer before she knows it, leaning against the western ledge to get a better look.

She reaches for her phone to take a photo, her arm brushing against something cold and hard. Elain looks to her left only to come face to face with a large gargoyle. She almost falls back on her ass as she jumps back and away in alarm. She’s not sure how she didn’t notice the gargoyle before. How she didn’t notice any of the gargoyles. Now that she really takes a look around the roof, she realizes there’s three. It seems odd to have an odd number, but perhaps it’s a lucky number?

Daring to step closer again, Elain takes a better look at the gargoyle facing the sunset. It seems to have some sort of strange carvings into the knees, and with the sun setting in front of it, the gargoyle’s face is cast in shadow in a way that’s almost unnerving. With a shudder, Elain turns away, focusing her attention on the other two gargoyles. The one facing south has large wings stretched behind its back that are just as unnerving, but the one facing east doesn’t look as ominous.

She walks over to the gargoyle and peers up at it, tilting her head as she admires the craftsmanship that must have gone into creating it. The gargoyle has been carved with almost a curtain of hair hanging down to the shoulders, and Elain realizes there’s horns too. She reaches her hand up, following the slightly ridged curve of them where they curl down toward the ears. Her fingers continue to trace a path to the face, to the lines that run like scars from eyebrow to cheek.

For a moment, Elain swears that she can hear a soft sigh on the wind, swears the stone almost seems to shudder beneath her touch. It has Elain snatching her hand back and cradling it to her chest. She spins back around to continue watching the sunset, but as the sun fades fully from view, the shadows and inky darkness of night start to creep in. Even with the full moon coming to life overhead, the darkness presses in from all around, leaving anxiety swirling in her gut.

Elain doesn’t know what it is, but it almost feels like there’s someone watching her, that she’s not alone. She wraps her arms around herself and tries to fight off a shiver, reminding herself that that thought is absurd, but she still can’t quite shake it. No matter what her rational mind says, her heart still ticks up between her ribs, the hairs on the back of her neck still stand on end.

She swears she feels the whisper of a touch along her arms, the warm presence of someone behind her, and Elain has officially had enough. She stomps toward the roof door and yanks it open, stepping back inside and into the safety of the apartment complex. She follows the steps down and down and down until she reaches the ground floor, putting as much distance between her and the roof, between that trepidation that had seized her, as possible.

She pushes out the backdoor of the complex and into the courtyard garden instead, taking in a deep breath of the sweet scent of begonias, of coreopsis and daisies. Now this is where she feels the most at home, the most comfortable. She follows the winding path deeper, toward the trees that mark the end of the courtyard and the property, and leans down to slide her fingers along the silky petals of the hydrangeas.

“My love.”

Elain jolts at the sound of a voice, at the strange nickname. She whirls around to find a man standing in the shadows just inside the tree line. He’s tall. Even from this distance, Elain can tell he must have over a head on her, and his eyes are pinned solely on her.

Elain has to swallow hard before she’s able to find her voice again. “Hello?”

The man steps forward, into the moonlight, and Elain realizes with a strike of fear that he’s not a man at all. He’s a monster. His fingers stretch down into points, into claws, and Elain notes the tail that swishes back and forth just behind his legs. Large, purple-ish horns curl up and over the deep, red strands of hair hanging around his face. He’s like something straight out of a storybook, out of a horror novel, and yet there’s something familiar about this monster, something that tugs and thrums deep within Elain’s chest and begs for attention.

Elain’s eyes dance over the monster’s face, taking in the different colored eyes. One russet and one golden. The long scars that run along the skin from eyebrow to cheek around that golden eye. It’s the scar that has Elain’s own eyes widening, realization crashing into her hard enough to steal the breath straight from her lungs.

“You’re the… the gargoyle. From the roof,” she whispers, barely believing her own words even as the truth stands right here before her very eyes.

“Yes,” the man confirms, daring to take a step closer. “I’ve waited a long time for my mate’s sweet scent to free me, and now, I will enjoy her sweet taste.”

Holy gods, he’s going to eat her. She came out here for some peace and quiet, an escape, and she’s going to be eaten by this monster.

Elain is still reeling from the fact that this is the gargoyle from the roof very much alive and standing in front of her that she doesn’t even realize he’s moved closer still until one of his arms is wrapping around her waist. Elain’s entire body freezes and locks up at that touch. His grip is strong, all but hauling her against his chest, and his skin is surprisingly warm despite him being literal stone before. For a moment, Elain swears she can hear his heartbeat thundering away, but maybe that’s just her own. With the claw resting at her waist, hand large enough to span the entire thing, the threat is clear. There’s no running.

The gargoyle leans in close, running his nose along her temple and seemingly breathing her in. He lets out a quiet sigh, grip tightening at her waist, and Elain starts trembling from head to toe.

“Please,” Elain begs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t eat me. I’ll do anything.”

He groans, his lips brushing along her temple and cheek. “Hearing you beg might be the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I can’t wait to hear you beg more, to hear you scream my name while you do it.”

Elain frowns at that. He wants her to scream out his name while begging him not to eat her? Clearly, this monster is some sort of masochist, takes some sort of sick pleasure in truly humiliating her before killing her. But still, Elain latches onto what she can. Maybe if she keeps him talking, he can’t do much devouring. Maybe, if she distracts him, he'll decide he doesn't want to eat her after all, or she can get away at least.

“And… and what is your name?” Elain asks, praying the waver in her voice isn’t too obvious.

“Lucien.”

“Lucien,” Elain repeats, causing the gargoyle to groan again. “That’s a nice name.”

“You're meant to tell me your name now.”

“Why would you need to know my name?”

Lucien pulls his face away from her hair at that, a frown tugging down his lips. His free hand reaches up toward her cheek, the tips of his claws just barely skating across her skin before her entire body tenses up, her head snapping away on instinct. The reaction just seems to confuse him more, eyebrows dipping low as he peers down at her.

“Why do you cower from me, my love?”

A near hysterical laugh bubbles up out of Elain before she can stop it. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

Lucien cocks his head, the red strands of his long hair tumbling over his shoulder. “Am I not pleasing to you?”

Elain rakes her eyes over Lucien's form, finally really taking him in, and well, she supposes there are worse ways to go. If she's going to be eaten by a monster, at least it's an attractive one. With no shirt to be seen, it leaves the expanse of golden bronzed skin on full display, the shadows of the night around them cutting into the lines of lean muscle that make up his arms and chest. His torn linen pants hang low on his hips and hug tight to his thighs, leaving little to the imagination in the best way. His hair falls in a cascading waterfall of red around his horns and face, framing a strong jawline, framing those golden and russet eyes. Even with the scars slashed across his skin, he's beautiful, and Elain's fingers itch with the urge to reach out and gently trace the lines until he's shuddering beneath her touch.

“You have not answered my question, my mate,” Lucien says, breaking Elain out of her staring.

“You keep saying that: my mate. I don't know what it means.”

Lucien leans in close again, pressing his lips to her cheek. “It means you are mine.” He moves to kiss her other cheek. “And I am yours.” He shifts again until his lips are hovering just over hers. “It means that you have freed me.”

“Oh…” Elain breathes, already pressing up onto her toes, already leaning into him, almost subconsciously.

“Tell me your name,” Lucien requests quietly, his breath a whisper across Elain's lips.

“Elain.”

“My mate. My love. My Elain.”

Maybe it's because no one has ever spoken of her like that, with so much reverence, like they really, truly mean it. Maybe it's because deep down she is still bitter and hurt by what Graysen did. Maybe it's because for a moment, Elain swears she feels something golden and strong wrapped right around her heart, tugging and urging her on. Whatever it is, Elain reaches her hands up, burying her fingers amongst the strands of his hair, and yanks until the space between them vanishes.

Elain's not sure what she expects kissing a gargoyle, but kissing Lucien sends heat skittering down down spine, her toes curling in her shoes. Lucien seems to radiate heat every place that he touches her, as though fire burns just beneath his skin and in his veins. And he kisses like it too. His lips slot and slide against her own, his tongue pressing past the seam and into her mouth. Even with his claws, he cradles her face so gently, bending forward to keep their lips firmly locked together despite the height difference.

Before Elain knows it, her back is pillowed amongst the grass and the dirt of the garden, Lucien settling above her. His hands trail across her shoulders, down her arms to her wrists, pinning her hands up above her head. He tears his mouth away from hers but only to press a line of kisses along her jaw and throat.

“Shouldn’t we… um… should…”

Elain’s words trail off as Lucien scrapes his teeth along her pulse point, any and all thoughts eddying out of her mind. Her entire body feels like it’s blazing, a familiar heat that’s been missing for longer than she cares to admit. Even before she and Graysen broke up, Elain wouldn’t say she had a lot of experience with passion with her ex-fiancé. But it’s hard to think of any other man when Lucien is sliding the strap of her sundress down and aside, the path of his lips moving down along her collarbone.

“Oh, gods,” Elain moans quietly, arching up against him as Lucien mouths hotly at the swell of her heaving breast.

The trail he’s tracing barely seems to pause, Lucien continuing down along her sternum, across her covered stomach. He slides down until his shoulders are cradled between her spread thighs, Elain pressing up onto her elbows to watch him. The sight has her breath catching in her throat. Lucien’s hair hangs around him like a fiery halo, a wild expression on his face, and in that moment, Elain swears she can see an actual flame sizzling in his gaze.

“Does this mean you're not going to eat me?”

The smirk Lucien settles her with is downright devilish. “Oh, Elain. I most definitely intend to eat you. I intend to have you falling apart on my tongue and my fingers until you're begging to fall apart on my cock.”

“Right,” Elain somehow squeaks out, swallowing hard. “But. We’re outside. In public. We should…”

But Elain doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence. They should what? Go upstairs to her older sister's apartment? She knows that Nesta has adventurous taste in romance books, she’s certainly seen some of the titles and covers on her sister’s shelf, but this feels like a step too far. Walking through the door with a literal monster in tow? Elain can already picture Nesta’s shocked face, and Elain has a creeping suspicion that someone of Cassian’s size would probably try to protect her, try to fight her gargoyle. Besides, where would they even go? Fuck on Nesta’s sofa?

“I cannot wait another moment for a taste of my sweet mate,” Lucien argues, his hands sliding up Elain’s thighs, pushing up the hem of her sundress with them until the fabric is bunched around her waist. He presses two fingers against her still clothed cunt, drawing a gasp out of Elain as he traces a line upwards. “Are you already wet for me, my love?”

Elain whines high in the back of her throat when Lucien starts to draw tantalizingly slow circles over her clit, bucking her hips up against his touch. “Lucien, please.”

“Did you need something?” Lucien asks lightly, his too innocent tone not fooling Elain for a second.

“Stop teasing.”

“Use your words, Elain. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to keep your word,” Elain snaps with a huff. “What happened to not being able to wait another moment?”

Lucien’s smirk only seems to grow at the quip, something like excitement sparking in his gaze. Something like pride. His claws finally hook in the waistband of her panties, tugging the fabric down her legs and off. The clothing item is barely discarded before Lucien’s mouth is pressing along her inner thigh. His teeth nip at the skin as he traces up and up, heat curling in Elain’s gut as he gets closer to where she really wants him.

Elain opens her mouth, ready to complain about his teasing again, but any possible words are cut off with a loud moan when Lucien licks a thick stripe over her, tongue swirling on her clit when he reaches it. The vibrations of Lucien's answering groan against her has Elain’s hips bucking up to press closer to his mouth, but his hands curl around her thighs, claws digging in the barest hint and holding her still.

Graysen certainly had little interest in ever going down on her, and Elain had started to suspect that no man particularly enjoyed the act, but with the way Lucien devours her, she’s beginning to think perhaps she was wrong. With the way he keeps groaning against her, his hands flexing as he works his mouth over her, it seems like there’s nowhere else Lucien would rather be.

He keeps alternating his pace, what he’s doing. Slow, thick licks. Fucking and curling his tongue up into her. Swirling over her clit and sucking it between his lips. It has Elain’s head swimming, dizzy with the pleasure that courses like sparks beneath her skin with every change up. She can do nothing but grasp onto Lucien’s horns and hold on, can do nothing but let him draw every moan of his name past her lips.

Elain can feel herself cresting higher and higher, feel that heat coiling tighter and tighter in her gut. As if he can sense how close she is, Lucien turns all his attention to her clit, one of his hands sliding across her hip, up over her stomach, and to her breast. Without missing a beat, he tugs down the scoop neck of her dress, palming at her breast and tweaking at her nipple. It sends her tumbling over that ledge, Elain hips jolting up against Lucien’s hold as her orgasm tears through her.

She expects Lucien to pull away then, but he only seems to bury himself deeper, tongue continuing to lap at her. It has another round of aftershocks crashing through Elain, a whine torn from the back of her throat even with the overstimulation. She shifts one of her hands from his horn to his hair, tugging at the red strands, but the gesture merely makes Lucien groan again, Elain shuddering at the vibrations.

“Lucien,” Elain somehow chokes out, tugging at his hair again.

Lucien finally pulls back, and just the sight of him has Elain swallowing hard. His red hair is tousled and messy where it hangs around his face, an almost wild expression to his golden and russet eyes. And she can see the remnants of her release smeared around his smirking lips. It’s absolutely sinful.

“Did you enjoy that?” Lucien asks, sliding his thumb across his bottom lip before sucking the digit into his mouth.

“Did you?” Elain fires back, daring to raise a challenging eyebrow.

Part of it is because of the underlying teasing tone to his question, but the other part is to see if the reaction she garnered from him before was a fluke or not. Graysen had never hesitated to tell Elain when she was being bratty, when she was being a bitch. He never hesitated to remind her that she should be quiet, that she should be docile, the perfect, meek little housewife that he wanted. Never raise her voice. Never speak back. Never get her hands dirty.

But the way Lucien’s eyes spark, the way he keeps smirking, it has Elain’s heart pounding in the most dangerous way.

Lucien raises himself back above Elain, aligning their hips and rocking his still clothed hardness against her. “You tell me.”

Lucien closes the distance between them, kissing her hotly and pressing his tongue into her mouth. Elain whimpers against his lips, able to taste herself on him. She tugs more meaningfully against his hair, keeping him close to her as she rocks her hips up against him and chasing what friction she can.

Elain feels a pressure curl around her thigh, and for a moment, she’s confused. She can feel Lucien’s hands cradling her face. But when Lucien pulls away from the kiss, she glances down and realizes it’s his tail that’s holding her open and keeping her hips pinned to the ground. As if it has a mind of its own, the end of the tail slides teasingly up and down along the inside of her thigh, sending a shiver skittering up Elain’s spine.

“Beautiful.”

The whispered tone of Lucien’s voice draws her attention back to his gaze, and Elain supposes she shouldn’t be surprised to find him staring intently at her. But she doesn’t expect the softness that’s taken over his expression. She doesn’t expect the tender way his thumb skates across her skin over the blush she’s sure is spilling across her cheeks. Words die in and clog the back of Elain’s throat, and she can do nothing but pull Lucien down into another searing kiss.

“Please,” Elain begs against his lips. “Lucien, please. I need you.”

“I made you a promise, Elain,” Lucien tells her, his teeth nipping into her bottom lip and tugging. “And I intend to keep it.”

Lucien’s hand slides down her front, tugging her dress down even further until it’s merely a belt of bunched up fabric around her waist. His lips follow the same path, nipping and sucking at her skin, laving attention to each breast in turn. His hand continues the downward trek, but it’s clear he’s done teasing.

Elain gasps as he sinks a finger into her, clenching hard around the single digit. She doesn’t know what to pay more attention to, the way he pumps his finger or the way he swirls his tongue around her nipple. Either way, Elain can already feel herself cresting higher again dangerously fast.

“Fuck, Lucien,” Elain moans, digging her nails into his shoulders, down his arms. “Don’t stop. Gods, please don’t stop.”

“So beautiful. My beautiful Elain,” Lucien tells her, sinking a second finger beside the first and curling them until Elain is keening. “But you’re even more beautiful when you come, and I’d like a repeat showing.”

Lucien increases the pace of his fingers, his tail sliding further up her thigh until it presses against her clit. Another curl of his fingers and Elain arches up off the ground, coming with a shout she just barely has the foresight to cover up with a hand to her mouth.

Elain is still coming down from the high of her release when Lucien shifts above her. He discards his pants and aligns their hips, sinking into her inch by inch. He’s larger than Elain expects, stretching her in a way that has her toes curling, in a way no one ever has, in a way she’s not sure she’ll ever get enough of. At least, Lucien seems just as affected. He buries his face in the crook of her neck with a groan, one of his arms stretching beneath her and grasping tightly to her waist, keeping their chests pressed flushed together.

“I think I might be addicted to your sweet cunt,” Lucien murmurs against her skin. “I don’t ever want to leave.”

“So don’t.”

Elain rocks her hip up, encouraging him to move. Lucien lifts his head and smirks down at her, and Elain worries that he is truly going to make her beg for it, going to tease and make her use her words again. But then Lucien pulls his hips back just to snap them back forward again. Each rock into her is deep and hard, setting Elain alight until she dissolves into a litany of moans and Lucien’s name.

“That’s it, Elain. Tell the whole world who you belong to,” Lucien breathes hotly against her lips before stealing another searing kiss, the pace of his movements picking up. “Gods, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Lucien’s hand snakes between their bodies, finding her clit with ease. His fingers traces circles across it in time with his thrusts, and the dam breaks. White spots dance behind Elain’s eyes as she orgasms again, her entire body feeling weightless as she arches up into him. She’s half aware of Lucien stilling above her, of warmth filling her deep. She sinks back against the dirt, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

“Have I tired my sweet mate out?”

Elain opens her eyes to find Lucien peering down at her, amusement dancing in his own gaze. It has fire sparking anew in Elain’s veins. She hitches her legs up higher on Lucien’s hips, pressing her thighs in and using momentum to flip them over. Lucien lets out a quiet sound of surprise as he goes sprawling on his back into the dirt, Elain astride across his hips. His hands reach for her waist, to steady her, but Elain is quick to capture his wrists in her hands, pinning them up by his head and leaning down so her nose brushes against his.

“Who said anyone was tired?”

Elain begins to circle and rock her hips until Lucien is groaning beneath her, until she can feel him hardening again. She sets a hard and brutal pace, using her hands on Lucien’s chest as leverage as she rides him. Every press down of her hips is an overstimulation to her clit, but it’s still not enough, and Elain tosses her head back as she chases her pleasure.

“Gods, I’m the luckiest male ever. Look at you.”

Lucien shifts beneath her, planting his feet, and then he’s snapping his hips up to meet her every movement. It only takes a few more thrusts before Elain is clenching hard, her whole body practically shaking with her orgasm. Lucien groans out Elain’s name as he follows her over the ledge, both of them riding out the aftershocks together.

Elain slumps forward against Lucien’s chest, sighing happily when she feels his arms wrap around her and holding her close. She lets her eyes flutter closed, smiling softly when she feels his lips press against her hair. With her head nestled against him, she can hear the steady beat of his heart just beneath her ear, her own an answering echo between her ribs.

When Elain opens her eyes again, she’s surprised to find her dress has been readjusted to cover her again, that she’s been moved beneath the shade and cover of the treeline. For a moment, she almost wonders if she imagined everything that happened before, if she fell asleep in the gardens and it was all some strangely vivid dream. But when Elain shifts, she finds Lucien sitting beside her, his elbows resting on his raised knees as he stares out at the flowers around them, at the way the early morning light before dawn breaks paints everything in hazy golds.

Elain sits up as well, hooking her arm through Lucien’s and pressing a sweet kiss of greeting to his shoulder. Lucien shifts his hand to lace their fingers together, and Elain realizes that no longer does he have claws. In fact, he looks perfectly human now, no horns or tail to be seen.

“My love,” Lucien greets her quietly, bringing their joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“You don’t look like a gargoyle anymore.”

“No. You freed me from the curse that was placed upon my village, that made me into that. Cursed to be locked away in stone until the day my mate came to me on the night of a full moon.”

“So, I’m still your mate?”

“You will always be my mate,” Lucien assures her, turning so he can slide his free hand across her cheek. “And you will always have my heart.”

Elain can’t help but blush at his words, but she leans forward and closes the distance between them. As Lucien kisses her back, something warm, something so incredibly right, blooms in her chest, settling like roots between her ribs. That golden thread glows brighter, grows stronger, where it’s twined around her heart, and Elain is sure that she’s never felt happier.

~ * * * ~

“Elain.”

Elain paces back and forth across the small space. She tugs at the hem of her top and then her hair, letting out a quiet sigh. It’s fine. Everything will go just fine.

“Elain, my love.” Lucien’s arms curl around Elain’s waist, tugging her closer and into his chest. “You need to stop worrying.”

“Easy for you to say,” Elain huffs against the fabric of his shirt. “You were literal stone a week ago. Now, go through the story again.”

Lucien sighs, even as he drops a sweet, soothing kiss to her hair. “Elain—”

“I don’t need my sister thinking I’m crazy. Go through the backstory again.”

“I was a regular at the bakery,” Lucien begins dutifully. “And I always had a crush on you. When I heard that you and that absolute piece of shit—”

“Graysen.”

“—broke up, I decided to finally ask you for drinks, and you agreed. And now we are madly in love and you can’t get enough of me,” Lucien finishes with a devilish smile, reaching his hand down to squeeze Elain’s ass and haul her closer still.

Elain bats Lucien’s hands away with a fond roll of her eyes just as the elevator doors open with a ding. She steps out into the hall, Lucien capturing her hand in his and lacing their fingers together as they walk the short distance to Nesta’s apartment door. Taking one final deep breath to steady herself, Elain raises her fist and knocks.

“Elain,” Nesta greets when she pulls open the door, stepping back to allow them into the apartment. “And this must be—”

“Lucien! Gods, it’s so good to see you again.”

Elain can do nothing but gape, nothing but blink in surprise, as she watches Cassian pull Lucien into a big bear hug, slapping him on the back with a wide grin. She doesn’t understand what she’s seeing, doesn’t understand how this is possible. Cassian is greeting Lucien as if he knows him, as if they are old friends, but Lucien was a gargoyle before.

And then it hits Elain.

Cassian seemed to come out of nowhere, Nesta never mentioning him before he moved in with her. Much like how Elain announced her new boyfriend along with her new apartment she’s renting with Lucien. And when she had first gone up to the roof, she had thought it strange there was not a fourth gargoyle to make it an even set. But that would mean…

Elain snaps her attention to Nesta, her older sister’s eyes wide and the barest hint of a blush coloring the apples of her cheeks. As if she too has come to the same conclusion, has realized the implication of Lucien and Cassian clearly knowing each other. For a moment, there’s just awkward silence hanging in the air between them, and then Elain can’t help it, she laughs.

—

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