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revasserium · 11 months

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midnight cravings

riddle rosehearts; 1,603 words; nsfw, pls dni if ur a minor; all characters depicted as 18+; fem!reader, tipsy!riddle, oral, fingerfucking, senpai!kink???... welp.

you find him with flushed cheeks and sticky fingers, his eyes honey-glazed as he looks up at you over the tray of liqueur-filled chocolates, his lips stained pink with laughter. he hiccups, tongue darting out to lick at his fingertips, his whole body swaying when you raise an eyebrow and blink.

“riddle?”

“o-oh — oops…”

“what on earth…”

he hiccups again, giggling as he stumbles his way towards you, nearly tripping over his very well-polished boots, leaning down towards you with a shy, sly kind of smile that makes your stomach twist like taffy inside you.

“hm… guess trey made them a little strong this year…” he muses, his eyes flickering from your lips up to your eyes and back down again.

“riddle… were those the whiskey chocolates that trey-senpai made for tomorrow’s holiday party?”

“mm… well, he did say i could try one… or two…”

you can’t help the smile stretching across your lips.

“or… seven?”

riddle purses his lips, his lashes fluttering as he lets out a soft sigh. you can smell the sweetness on his breath, the golden sting of whiskey, feel the closeness of his body to yours. you forget that he’s taller than you, but like this, he could cage you in easily, his eyes half-lidded, his smile knowing and lazy and distinctly cat-like.

“don’t make fun of me…” he says, his voice soft as he cocks his head.

“i — i’m not… i just…”

your breath catches as your eyes snag on the teasing edge of his smile, the way it lilts lopsided, the way he still tries to play at innocence even when the tension is palpable between you, thick as warmed butter.

“just… what? hm?”

you know you’re finished before your lips even meet, but when they do, you find yourself whimpering, the force of him startling. and sure, it’s different from how he usually is — sweet, attentive, perhaps a bit on the rigid side, but it isn’t like you haven’t seen him like this before, haven’t felt him like this before — on the occasions when he’s irked or tired or perhaps just a bite too excited. when he’s too happy or dizzy or drunk on life or laughter or you —

like this, he leaves you gasping.

“hm… i was just thinking…” he pulls back, casually swiping a thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes dark and hungry, tracking the wet trail his finger makes as it presses along the length of your mouth, dragging down your cheek till he can tilt your chin up towards him again.

“you never call me ‘senpai’… but you do with trey and cater… why’s that?” he asks, his voice just on the other side of nonchalance, his expression one of sharp, targeted curiosity, like he knows the answer but wants to hear you say it instead.

“i — i’m sorry, i’ll —”

“say it.”

you swallow, catch your lower lip in your teeth, eyes locking with his as his grin spreads cheshire-wide.

“s-senpai…”

his next breath is light, is one of laughter as he leans back down, “mm… good girl.”

you shiver as tingles rake up the length of your spine.

and then your thoughts skid through to pure incoherence as he melds his mouth to yours once more, pulling you to him, kissing you hard, kissing you hungry, kissing you like there’s an entire world somewhere beneath your tongue that he’d love nothing more than to be the cartographer for — you squeak as he hoists you up, always so much stronger than even you give him credit for, plopping you down on the biting cold of the metal kitchen table.

“y’know… i’d come down for a midnight snack originally…” he says, taking half a step back to look you over, taking in the muss of your hair, the ruffle of your clothes, your uniform collar loose and askew, your skin a tantalizing glimmer in the soft, dappled moonlight. and then, he drops to his knees and you nearly hiss in anticipation.

he trails his fingers along the bare skin of your thighs, pillowing his cheek on one of them.

“but i think i might just want to eat you instead.”

“r-riddle — !”

your eyes squeeze shut as he presses open your legs, your toes curling at the openness of it all, at the shock of embarrassment at being spread out like this, on the school’s kitchen table, no less — but riddle hums as he lets his hot breath wash over you, a thick groan rolling out of him as he tugs aside your panties and slicks a thumb through the wetness already collected along your folds.

“fuck,” he murmurs, and it punches through you, the way he says it, usually never one for such obscenities, the word slipping from him, more a prayer than a curse.

fuck, you agree, letting your head tip back as he leans in to lick a slow strip along your cunt, your fingers fisting in his hair, and on any other day, he might’ve balked at the sting, but now, tonight, he only revels in the way you pull him closer, your thighs shaking on either side of his head, the taste of you exquisite on his tongue.

“ri-riddle… please…” your voice trails off into a high-pitched whine as he wraps his mouth around your clit and sucks, leaving you a shaking pile atop the glistening metal table, still loaded to the one side with trey’s chocolate liqueurs. riddle grins, lifting his eyes to watch as you peer down at him, your cheeks dark with color, truly the sweetest, most intoxicating sight. the soft, warm, buzz of alcohol had loosened his limbs and inhibitions enough and he thinks that he likes you like this — pleading for him, shaking apart for him.

“ah… so pretty…” he muses, even as he leans up to press two fingers into you, fucking you slow, savoring the way you gasp and clench down around him, tight, and then tighter, your knees pressing together as if you could somehow keep him there. he grins.

“m-more… ah — ngh —”

your fingers scrabble for purchase you reach blindly down towards him, trying to do something, anything to get him to go faster, harder, perhaps to curl his fingers the way he knows you like. but he only catches your hands, holding your wrists still as he leans over you, his torso keeping your knees spread just so, his other hand still sunk knuckle-deep inside you.

“hehh… i don’t think you’re really in the position to make demands right now…” he runs a tight circle of your clit with his thumb and watches as your entire body arches off the table in pleasure.

“rid-dle — riddle — s-senpai — !”

his body shudders as he lets out a breathy laugh, his head dropping as he finally picks up the pace, fucking his fingers into you hard enough for you to keen before dropping back down to press his tongue back to your folds, sucking hard just to hear you scream.

“mm… look so good like this… so desperate for me, hm? what a pretty… little… pastry…” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts of his fingers, curling them inside you till he finds the place he’s looking for, the soft, tender spot inside you that has you twitching around him, begging and nearly incoherent with pleasure.

“’m s-so c-close — close —”

he moans loud and lewd against you as he pulls his fingers from inside your cunt, replacing it with his tongue, gripping your thighs as he eats you out hard enough for you to come undone right over his mouth, your body writhing over the metal table, nearly knocking the trays of sweets from their place beside you.

“aah-ahh… we’ve made… a mess…” he says, sounding rather pleased with himself as he pulls back, licking his lips, dragging a thumb across his chin before popping into his mouth, his eyes still locked with yours. you shudder as the aftershocks of your orgasm rake through you, not entirely able to shake the way he’s still watching you, as if this has done nothing to sate his particular brand of hunger.

he gives your thigh a small pat as you take a breath and force your body to sit up, cheeks flushing as you tug your panties back up your legs, smoothing your palms over the material of your skirt as you hop off the table.

“did… did you sober up a bit?” you ask, your voice uncharacteristically quiet as riddle leads you from the school kitchens, hand in hand, his gait still much more relaxed than it would’ve been in the daytime.

he peers at you from over his shoulder.

“hm… not in the slightest,” he says, and you stare up at him as he smirks.

the hallways are quiet as the pair of you make your way towards the hallway of mirrors, your footsteps echoing against the vast, stone walls.

“so… what are you going to tell trey-senpai tomorrow? when he asks you about the chocolates?”

riddle pauses for a second before shrugging.

“the truth, i suppose.”

“huh?”

he turns to you with that tell-tale grin as the pair of you reach the heartslabyul mirror, and he tugs you behind him towards his room.

“that i had a midnight craving, and… that it just had to be sated, now didn’t it?”

#riddle rosehearts #twst #twisted wonderland #twst smut #twisted wonderland smut #riddle rosehearts smut #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst scenarios #riddle rosehearts scenarios #riddle rosehearts imagines #ya nasties #look;;;;; listen;;;;;;;;;;; i saw ONE frame of riddle tugging off his tie in the comic anthology and....#this is somehow what my brain decided to GENERATE based off of that image like;;;; he doesn't even #pull his tie in this fic but somehow. we ended up here. also.#drunk!riddle is gonna haunt me. god fucking damnit.#it's truly.... degenerate hrs all up in this haus for twst.#ur kidding urself if u dont think riddle could eat out like a mutherfuckin champ.#also ! this is my first time putting a banner on a fic! and will prob be the last time HAHAHAHHA #usually there isn't a specific frame that inspires a thing but today there was so i might as well right

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haunted-xander · 11 months

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My team! Ladies <3

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duskspring · 6 months

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Undeniable - Swisstom Fic

A sequel to my last fic, though you don’t have to read that one to get the gist

Summary: Swiss’ rut is driving him crazy, while Phantom has his for the first time and doesn’t know how to act either

Content (18+): Heats/ruts, blowjob, facefucking, anal sex, breeding kink, top!Phantom, bottom!Swiss

Word count: ~1.8k

[Read on AO3]

It takes Swiss three large steps to get from Aurora’s door to Phantom’s. He settles for the space since he doesn’t even have the patience to walk down the hall to his own room.

As soon as Phantom walks inside, the multi ghoul slams the door shut behind them.

“Do you think Aurora has a new perfume? She’s never smelled so good-“ Before Phantom can ramble on, Swiss has him pushed against the wall, arms caging him in.

The larger ghoul clenches his fist around nothing repeatedly, trying to not mindlessly follow his instincts for just a moment, “We’re gonna- No. Shit. I wanna fuck you. Need it so bad. Please, say yes. Just say yes.” On his own turn rambling, Swiss is out of breath and panting the entire time, knocking his head into the wall above Phantom as he awaits consent. The half second it takes to get a response seems eternal.

“Yeah sure!” Phantom’s own rut seems to not have fully hit yet, his reaction sounding like his usual cheery self.

It’s all the same to Swiss, who instantly crashes his mouth onto the other’s, forcing his tongue into the Phantom’s mouth and nipping at his lip.

The smaller ghoul gasps through his nose in response, trying to take a good breath, when he for the first time becomes aware that Aurora isn’t the only one who smells way better than usual.

Something changes in him at that moment. No longer does he feel like simply going along with what Swiss wants. He has his own needs now.

Subconsciously he moves his hips up to grind against the multi ghoul, who throws his head back and full on roars at the electric current this sends through his body.

Phantom takes this as a sign to do it again, to which Swiss responds by stepping up even closer, erasing any semblance of distance between them. Swiss’s thigh slots in between his bandmate’s legs, while mindlessly humping away at his side.

Both their breaths are ragged, though where Swiss grunts and groans, Phantom whines. He would’ve begged had he been able to find the words.

“Oh, baby ghoul,” Swiss moves to continue making out, a gesture that is instantly reciprocated. Their tongues move against each other much like their hips do.

Phantom has had sex topside a few times before, but never like this. Every nerve ending in his body is on fire, screaming for more. He’s also still acutely aware of how nice Swiss smells, the scent comforting yet also driving him wild. Every other time he’s been with someone like this has been oh so careful, as if he would fall apart otherwise. But not Swiss, not right now.

It has clearly reached a point where he needs more. He grabs Phantom by his collar, turns around and shoves him onto his own bed.

The quintessence ghoul, meanwhile, is becoming all the more aware of how restricting his pants are, trying and failing to undo the button holding it in place with his shaky hands.

Swiss isn’t as patient, stepping up to him in two strides and simply ripping the pants right off of him. He kneels before his friend, nuzzling his face into his boxers.

“Still good, ballerina?” He looks him in the eyes and licks his dick through his underwear.

Phantom’s hips buck involuntarily, both at the sensation and the nickname he likes so much, “Please, yes. Need you.” He whines.

Swiss doesn’t need to be told twice, “Gonna take such good care of you, bug. So good for me.” He inhales the other ghoul’s scent as he pulls his boxers down.

Phantom’s dick is already at full attention. Impressive by human standards, but nothing Swiss couldn’t handle.

He wastes no further time, drunk of Phantom’s scent and the sight of precum already leaking out of him.

He licks from his balls up to the tip, wrapping his lips around it and prodding the slit with his tongue. Phantom keens, once again bucking his hips.

Swiss would normally take more time, tease more, talk more, but right now he truly cannot be bothered. He wordlessly presses Phantom’s hips down into the mattress and takes full control.

He effortlessly swallows down the entire length and starts a quick, unrelenting pace of bobbing his head up and down.

The quintessence ghoul nearly rips his bedsheets apart with his tight hold. They actually do end up ruined when Swiss hollows his cheeks.

Phantom feels like he’s losing his mind. It’s so, so good, yet somehow not enough. His instincts seem to take over for a moment when he doesn’t think twice about grabbing Swiss by his hair and attempting to thrust up into his mouth. Swiss allows him to do so, letting go of his hips, fully entranced by this new more dominant side to his usually people pleaser bandmate.

The wet slurps and occasional slight gagging sounds, as well as Phantom’s unrelenting pants and whines, echo off the walls to create a beautifully obscene song for just them. And everyone else on their floor, if not the entire ministry.

It’s not a surprise when after not too long Phantom simply can't stand it anymore. He looks down and his eyes meet Swiss’, “Swiss… Ah, ah, please. So clo-“ He doesn’t even attempt to keep his volume down when he cums, allowing himself to only focus on the pure sensation. He forces Swiss’ head all the way down on his length, holding him there for the remainder of his climax. He’s never come so hard in this life.

Swiss himself also moans when Phantom cums down his throat, dutifully swallowing it all while continuing the most thorough bobbing motion the smaller ghoul’s grip will allow, just a little longer to draw it all out.

Eventually said grip fails, Phantom’s hands falling to his sides as he tries his hardest to catch his breath.

He whimpers in overstimulation when Swiss comes up but keeps lapping at his cockhead.

“Such a good boy.” He growls.

Phantom sits up in a hurry, putting his hands on Swiss’ face and pulling him in for yet another passionate kiss. His energy levels have recovered in record time, a nice side effect to a heat he isn’t used to.

He laps at the inside of Swiss’ cheeks, wondering if he’ll be able to swallow down any leftovers from his own release.

He gasps when Swiss moves his hand to his dick once again, finding it already completely filled out for the second time that night.

“What do you want, little bat?” Swiss asks, never stopping his hand’s stroking movement.

Phantom bites his lip, hips bucking up to try and speed up his friend’s rhythm.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want.” Swiss teases, his pace slowing down to a near halt.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Phantom whines, his head thrown forward against Swiss’ shoulder and eyes shut tightly, “Wanna… wanna fuck a kit into you.”

It’s Swiss’ turn to whine at that. But he doesn’t just whine, oh no. His vision goes white for a moment and he seemingly forgets how to breathe. To his own amazement, he managed to come untouched by just the words.

Without another thought, still in the haze of his own orgasm, he rips his now stained pants and boxers off of his body and moves up on the bed. There he lies, face down and ass up, reaching back to spread his cheeks and present himself even further.

“Do it then,” He says in a frenzy, “Fuck a baby into me.”

Phantom, of course, doesn’t hesitate. He spits into his hand to slick himself up a little more, earning an impatient noise from the multi ghoul. He grabs his dick, releasing a small gasp at just that simple touch. He soon relents, forcing himself into Swiss without prep, lucky that the heat helps with that.

The two moan out in unison, bodies still on fire and brains begging for more.

The younger ghoul has to find how to position himself for a moment, having never topped before. Once his legs are steady and he holds a good grip on Swiss’ hips, however, there is no stopping him.

His hips move at a speed only an energetic youngster like himself could achieve. He drills into Swiss like his life depends on it, and honestly to the ghoul who isn’t used to a topside heat it does indeed feel like that.

“Harder, bug. Please.” Normally Swiss revels in having his partners beg for him, but god fucking damn does it feel good to fulfill that role himself for once.

Phantom immediately obeys his request, ploughing into him even harder, although it comes at the cost of his rhythm.

He whimpers, “Need- need it. Need- Swiss- Fuck.” His brain is complete mush, merely chasing sensation.

“Then take what you need, pup.” All of Swiss’ muscles clench in anticipation for his inevitable second orgasm. Phantom loses it when he feels the added pressure around his dick.

“Thank you, thank you, thank…” His whispers trail off.

“That’s it. Cum in me, baby. Fill me up.” Swiss rambles not much less deliriously, his hand eagerly stroking his cock in time with Phantom's thrusts.

“Yes! Yes, I’ll give you all. Please, please, please let me knock you up-“ The small ghoul nearly chokes on his spit at his final few thrusts, releasing a purely animalistic sound as his hips stir with his climax.

The first thing Phantom becomes aware of when he comes to again is the heat against his back where Swiss is wrapped around him from behind.

The multi ghoul draws lazy circles on his stomach, though the serenity of the moment is somewhat shattered by his still hard cock poking against Phantom’s ass.

“Swissy..?” He mutters, still half out of it.

“It’s alright, bug. I’ve got you. You can rest.” Swiss’ voice sounds deeper than usual, tired yet so, so sexy.

It seems Phantom isn’t the only one who needed a moment to recover post orgasm.

Still, now that Phantom is awake he wants more. He simply can’t help himself but to grind back against Swiss, who, in turn, immediately stops him with a hand on his hip.

“Are you sure about that, bug? You shouldn’t start what you can’t finish.” He warns.

The quintessence ghoul turns around in Swiss’ arms to face him. He feels like he’s never seen anything or anyone so beautiful before in his whole life. Swiss seems to bask in the afterglow of their coupling, eyes slightly tired and a lazy smile on his lips.

Phantom doesn’t say anything, only moves to give his bandmate a soft kiss on the lips. Swiss reciprocates carefully, not wanting to push things further than his friend would be able to handle.

But all of that once again goes out the window when Phantom rolls him flat onto his back and straddles his hips.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He smiles the happiest smile Swiss has ever seen anyone wear.

How could he possibly deny him?

[My masterlist]

#I realize the banner makes it look like some kind of emotional fic. get clickbaited it’s just smut #also my first bit of smut on this account. let’s hope it’s not ass #the band ghost fic #swiss ghoul #phantom ghoul #swisstom #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc

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kaiserouo · 4 months

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ref. https://twitter.com/KrypzYT/status/1738292782152679760

I literally cannot resist that. I might actually play warlock just because of that outfit...

...if not for the fact that I don't even have a single piece of armor or shader on the list. Well anyway let's see how much Xur and RNG hate me.

#like really my first thought of seeing this is “oh no i have to play titan now”#look that green piece of cloth looks just like a titan mark (?)#and the helmet #and the fur #and the scarf #(gosh this is really good looking outfit i have to say it again)#but it's actually warlock outfit #that's a bit better #(if it's hunter outfit then it would've been perfect but welp)#time to actually search for warlock builds lol #and play iron banner #(sigh) why do i have to play pvp #destiny 2 #destiny warlock #destiny hunter #destiny guardians #destiny 2 art #my art

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blushouyo · 1 year

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this has been my main experience in star rail so far lol

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valaruakars · 2 months

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We Have Chemistry (Together)

A bonus chapter/prequel oneshot for Let's Get Physical

Gen || Jayce & Viktor || 3.7k || Modern/College AU || Ao3 Link Tags: Baby frat boy Jayce, developing friendships, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort (shitty), hazing, underage drinking (for us USAmericans), alternating POV, no Beef!Reader today sorry babes

Help is high on the list of what people typically want from Viktor. Usually in class. Sometimes in the elevator beforehand or in the hallway after, or following a light tap on the shoulder in the library. All academic help, strictly speaking. But this wasn't about their lab report.

Sweaty palms, shaky hands—he’s got one shot at this. One phone call. He knows the landline and his mom’s cell by heart, but he can’t call her. Can’t let her see him like this. Can’t think of who the hell else to call—who even memorizes phone numbers anymore?—so maybe he’d better get comfortable with sleeping upright and a permanent wedgie. There are worse things, like the disappointed purse of her lips; the way she sighs and bows her head and makes him wonder if it’s his fault her hair’s already shot through with gray.

Except.

Area code, same as the rest. Dorm number. Cait’s birthday.

He types it out. It looks as familiar on the screen now as the first time he saw that string of numbers, when the coincidences jumped out at him as the patterns in numbers always do. Enough to make an impression, apparently. Just like the person it belongs to.

Who, in all likelihood, won’t be thrilled about this.

But he decides then and there that he’s just desperate enough for normal underwear and his too-firm twin XL bed—and, fuck, there’s a quiz in materials performance first thing in the morning so he really needs the sleep—to hit call.

It rings three times. He feels a hot surge of nausea two in, the rising urge to puke into his purple foam hat. It’s bitter in his throat like those IPAs he didn’t want to drink in the first place, but he’s never been great with peer pressure.

And on the fourth, above the rustling:

“Hello?”

He sounds annoyed.

He usually sounds annoyed, but sometimes Jayce wonders if it’s all in his head, because Viktor’s voice softens when he explains the equations to the girl that sits next to him and snaps her gum too loud and misses every other class. He’s heard it gently ask the professor for a letter of recommendation in the hall after lecture, and lilt into the phone—in what? Russian?—on the bench outside before it. It’s only when Viktor’s talking to him, which is already rare, does it get quick and terse.

But maybe he hears it wrong half the time because there’s part of him that’s been intimidated since day one. That first day of class, when he’d taken the last seat at the front and stuck his hand out to the guy beside him. He was nervous. It felt like the right thing to do. But those egg-yolk eyes had ticked curtly from Jayce’s hand to the professor he’d just introduced himself to, with a detour to his crooked pink bow tie. Maybe it was a little much with the blazer and ironed slacks in sweltering August. And in hindsight, yeah, maybe shaking the professor’s hand and explaining how this class fit into his three year plan was definitely too much, but Jesus fucking Christ *was it also too much to just come out and call him egotistical *for it.

Without even shaking his hand! Who does that?

Really, he’s just trying to make this feel like a good idea. It’s not.

It’s also too late to back out. “Hey—Hi, yeah, it’s Jayce… Your lab partner. From chemistry?” He’s already started running his mouth.

“Ah. I realize.”

He wrings the hat in his lap. The iron-on stars are starting to peel off. Glitter flakes cling in the creases of his wet palms. It’s delusional, isn’t it, to imagine that Viktor doesn’t hate him.

Only with a deep breath can he get himself to say, “I know it’s late…”

“It is.”

“But I really need your help.”

—

Help is high on the list of what people typically want from Viktor.

It’s what he’s good for—all those questions along the lines of, ‘Did you do the homework?’ which means, ‘Can I copy it?’ (No.) Or, ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’ which means, ‘Can you explain it like I’m five?’ (Yes, but try to keep up.) *Sometimes it’s, *‘Have you taken any of Heimer’s classes?’ which either means, ‘Can you give me the study guides?’ (There aren’t any.) or ‘Can you tutor me, but we somehow hook up and never speak of it again?’ (Depends.)

That’s usually in class. Sometimes in the elevator beforehand, or in the hallway after, or following a light tap on the shoulder in the library. All academic help, strictly speaking.

But this wasn’t about their lab report.

If anything, it should’ve been about their lab report. Because what else could Jayce Talis—who moved seats after the first day of class and made a face like a whipped animal when they were partnered for lab work last week, who pledged a fraternity (abhorrent) and has his pick of pretty friends—possibly want from him?

It feels as though he blinks and thirty five minutes of his life have just dissolved* since he hung up the call, so lost in theoreticals of *why *and *me that curiosity itself must’ve found his pants and his wallet and led him here by the hand. Rumpled, but fully clothed. This is novel and extremely necessary considering he’s standing in a squat, brutalist building at the front desk of campus security.

All because Jayce asked, ‘Can you come pick me up?’

And Viktor simply agreed.

There’s no bail, no paperwork, no real formality here. The only requirement to walk Jayce out is to be over the age of eighteen, and he clears that easily enough. The state ID he hands though the sliding glass window of reception says as much, but he still has to remind the campus cop who flips it over three times like there’s something confusing about it that it’s just as legitimate as a driver’s license, thank you.

“Time to go, Talis,” the man bellows, snapping Viktor’s ID onto the counter with thick fingers and no further acknowledgement. As he pockets it, a metal chair scrapes across the linoleum somewhere out of frame, behind a door with a decades old pin-punch lock.

“You’re a lucky one, kid,” the officer chuckles, deep and phlegmy with the sound of black lung. “If I hadn’t laughed so hard you’d be at county intake right now.”

“Do I… Um, do I need to sign something?” Jayce asks. His voice is world-weary more than ass-kissing.

“You want this on record?”

“No, sir.”

“Then there’s the exit.”

By that point, Viktor’s already tapping his way to it. Jayce will follow, and with his long legged stride, he will catch up easily. Probably to thank him with that performative politeness that drives him to say ma’am or sir *or to *shake the hands of strangers, and then they’ll go their separate ways after has Viktor served his purpose. Like whatever this was never happened.

Behind him, a hydraulic arm shrieks, the intake door claps shut, and Jayce whispers an apology to no one for rattling the lobby’s musty silence as Viktor pushes outside. The tepid night air rushing against his face, and because he’s not rude, he holds the door open for Jayce.

But Viktor gets stuck. Or maybe stunned. Perhaps it’s flummoxed, or even transfixed. There’s no one perfect word to describe why he’s stopped, blocking the door and staring, which is rude, but happens to him with enough regularity that he’s owed a pass or five, and he’s using one now.

He blinks.

Blinks again.

Once more, and yes, Jayce is still standing in the doorway clutching a cheap wizard hat in his hand and a child sized blanket around his body. It strains around the bulk of his arms, stretching, cracking the gold vinyl stars. It matches the purple beneath his eyes, complements the tawny red his face is turning, and does not, in fact, reach low enough to cover his too small speedo.

Or the knee high boots.

A cape, Viktor realizes. Not that he’s just eyed Jayce from top to bottom with enough scrutiny to notice that he’s unnaturally hairless and his thighs are ribbed with stretch marks, or that his own face is set in a hard frown like this is all somehow unsavory. (It’s… not. Definitely not.) No, Viktor simply notices that the starry patterned blanket has a collar, which makes it a cape.

And despite this revelation, the fact that Jayce is mostly naked remains unchanged.

‘Why’ is on the tip of his tongue. It usually is; its natural habitat is in his mouth. But Jayce’s eyes flit from Viktor’s down to his pointy toed boots, then back up again, and he preemptively explains, bitterly, “Nothing in the lost and found fit.” Which actually explains nothing.

Viktor nods as though he understands (he doesn’t), and forces himself to just start walking.

Jayce tails him down the sidewalk in uncomfortable silence. It’s when they pass the parking lot that Jayce picks up the pace, falling into stride side by side. The pieces fall into place too—late night, terrible costume, and now, the acerbic smell of stale beer wafting off him. Frat party.

It’s worse on Jayce’s breath. “So…” A tight, tried sort of impatience undercuts his attempt to sound casual. It’s familiar. Understandable, too, after sitting through a scared straight experience on a weeknight. “Where’d you park?” Jayce asks.

Lack of a car notwithstanding, the implication he’d ever be swindled out of eight hundred dollars a semester to park on campus is a joke. Not a laughable one. “I took the bus,” he flatly answers.

“Oh.”

For a moment, Viktor can ignore the palpable disappointment—that he is disappointing. He can even empathize with the situation. Riding public transit dressed like that isn’t exactly ideal. But then Jayce asks, “They run this late?”

“The city ones do.”

And then Jayce says, “It’s just… I don’t have any money.”

“They’re free to students.”

And then Jayce mutters, “Uh, cool. Good to know,” because he doesn’t have to know, has never had to know. And suddenly Viktor doesn’t feel so bad for him anymore, that he gets to learn tonight that need-based scholarships don’t buy cars or taxis, and that sometimes it’s slightly inconvenient when you fuck up. Perhaps that should be more obvious to someone who just lucked out with a slap on the wrist for flagrant underage drinking.

Except they stop and Jayce takes one look at the bus stop bench; notices—what is hopefully just—dried, congealed soda spilled across one side. He asks, “Do you want to sit?” because he’s ignorant, yes, but not the worst to ever live.

Viktor says, “No, thank you,” knowing what Jayce doesn’t: the bus schedule, and that up and down in short order won’t feel particularly good.

When it grinds to a halt at the curb two minutes later, Jayce pulls his student ID out of his boot and soldiers onboard with his head down. He collapses full bodied onto the seats running parallel down the center aisle the same way he'd collapsed on the bench outside: hunched over with his face in his hands. Luckily, people are sparse at this hour, and there is nobody sitting across from them. Unluckily, someone in the back laughs openly.

With so much space, Viktor leaves an open seat between them. It feels right. But in the awful fluorescence before the lights wink out, Jayce’s skin looks waxy and his shoulders rise and fall with the deep, intentional breaths, and Viktor is struck by how alone he is—how strange it is that he��s alone in this. Where are the drunk friends that should’ve been picked up with him, or the cavalry that should’ve pulled up in a dirty Jeep with Greek letters on the bumper to save him?

He sits up as the dark bus drives on, soberly tucking his cape and forearms over his stomach, and Viktor snatches his eyes away. It doesn’t add up—not really. Jayce* does not particularly like him*, and Jayce has other friends.

He should probably ask which dorm is Jayce’s or if he knows what stop to get off at, but he knows the right question now. “May I ask—?” Viktor tries.

Only to be shot down with a clipped, “No,” which is strange to be on the other side of, but he’ll learn nothing from it.

Viktor nods and sits back quietly, the plexiglass window cool against his skull. The vibrations ghost shifting patterns behind his eyes. The silence is filled with the rumble of the engine accelerating, and the time with drafting a polite, impersonal email in his head to request they not be partnered together in the future.

At the next stop, two people get off, and when the bus drives on the silence is different. It lacks the subtle undertone of whispers and snickering, of other passengers entirely. Viktor opens his eyes to find there’s no one else left but the driver with her headphones in.

“Okay, fine,” Jayce suddenly sighs, like he’s been holding his breath the whole time. “Ask.”

They don’t look at each other. Viktor watches the traffic light ahead tick to green out of the corner of his eye. “Why did you call me?”

Jayce leans back and groans, pained, into his hands. “No, about the outfit. You’re supposed to ask about the outfit, or the night, or how I got caught.” He pulls the tiny cape tightly around himself again. It doesn’t contain how badly he smells of pore-distilled alcohol and nervous sweat. “Any of those.”

He considers, briefly. “Explain the night, then.”

“I went to this pledge party…”

“On a Wednesday?” admonishes Viktor, who is known to stay out at the library until they banish him at close and sleeps the minimal amount to function most days of the week; who smokes and drinks and fucks enough for at least two frat boys, just in a wholly different context. Who is, sometimes, kind of a hypocrite.

“It’s Thursday now,” Jayce corrects as if it matters, stalling for seconds. “It was mandatory, okay?” He’s embarrassed, shrinking in his seat. “They had us drink, then confiscated our phones and gave us these costumes. I was supposed to do magic—” which explains the conical wizard hat, ”—but I wasn’t doing a good enough job, so I had to go out onto campus on a special errand,” he accentuates with limp, one handed air quotes, “to, uh, get something.”

“Is that not considered, eh…?” Viktor forgets the word. It doesn’t have much of a place in his vocabulary; was never really relevant during freshman year orientation.

“Yeah, it’s hazing, but it’s not a big deal,” Jayce snaps, filling it in defensively. He deflates just as quickly, resigning to his lot. “It’s just something that happens.”

But Viktor shrugs, “I see no benefit to the situation.” That’s putting it mildly. He’d rather amputate his own leg than be humiliated and told what to do. “Quit.”

This is, apparently, an offensive suggestion. “It’s—No, it’s about the connections.” Jayce is resolute. “Networking. Knowing the right people who can probably get me in the door at the places I want to be one day.”

One word stands out: “Probably?”

“It’s not exactly guaranteed, but if it means the odds are better…”Jayce is less resolute. Like he’s trying to convince himself, confidence in his own choices waxing and waning fretfully.

“And,” asks Viktor, “you think this is worth it?”

“I don’t know,” Jayce whispers in a small, scratchy, tired voice. He knows what this means. The heinous costume; risking his academic career; having to embarrass himself in front of a classmate he hardly knows or cares about. “I just… I thought it would make it easier to make friends, but I don’t want the whole *parties and drinking and girls and ‘haha, isn’t it funny I failed that test?’ *experience.” For a moment he looks like he wants to put his face into the hat in his lap and scream. Instead, he pinches his eyes shut. “They pushed me harder than anyone else tonight, because they know I don’t belong. My grades just bring up their stupid academic average.”

Viktor doesn’t know what to say. It’s not uncommon, this helpless sensation of floundering when confided in, when faced with the enormity of things outside his ability to change or control. He didn’t know what to say when the girl he was tutoring last year told him she lost her scholarship, or when he caught Heimerdinger’s last TA sitting shell shocked on the bathroom floor after finding out their partner cheated. He didn’t know what to say when his mother told him babička wanted to go home home to die (she’s fine, just dramatic and bitter about getting old), or when she saw him changing his shirt while they were packing up the apartment and cried for how she failed him (she didn’t).

He does know that saying I’m sorry never feels right. That it’s empty, and nobody really feels better hearing it. But Jayce is smart and attractive and also, perhaps, just dramatic too. He belongs somewhere, even if he hasn’t found that place yet. “How valuable could these, eh, connections with stupid people be, hm?”

“I mean,” Jayce mutters, “it’s not that they’re stupid—”

“Don’t argue. I’m aware of nepotism and how it functions,” Viktor huffs, tempered by Jayce’s soft laugh of the same quality. “There are always other avenues to get what or where you want. Find them. Your time is better spent than,” he gestures broadly, “on this.”

“Yeah…” Jayce nods. It’s a kinder resignation this time. The troubled creases in his face start to ease away. “Okay.”

Cars pass. Silence settles, strange in that it’s easy. Or, it starts to. But Jayce takes a breath. Hesitates. Takes another one that turns into, “There was no one I could call.” He crosses his legs. Uncrosses them again. Can’t get comfortable with himself or the admission:* *“Not because they took my phone, there just isn’t anyone else.”

“Your friends?”

“Still in high school, and she’s not even old enough to drive yet.” He finds himself on the receiving end of a curious stare, and gets the why of it wrong. “It’s not like that, I swear,” he cringes. “She’s a lesbian, Viktor.” Which is all fine and good, but has nothing to do with why Jayce is speaking in singular. He asked about the plural.

“Your roommate?” he tries.

“Dropped out two weeks ago, and please don’t suggest my mom next.” Jayce rolls his eyes, and they don’t find their way back. He stares off, down at the floor, canting his head away. There’s glitter in his hair. “Trust me on this. It’s not like I wanted someone who hates me but has an oddly memorable phone number to be my one phone call tonight.”

He would’ve been allowed multiple phone calls is the first thing that Viktor thinks. The second: “I don’t dislike you.”

Another eye roll. “You gave me a look.”

“I look at plenty of people,” Viktor hand waves.

“No, a look,” he insists. “It was this ‘if we were in a Russian prison right now, I would shank you’ kind of look.” Viktor narrows his eyes, so he specifies, “When we got assigned in lab?”

“Why,” Viktor asks slowly, “is the prison Russian in this scenario?”

“Because you’re—”

“No. Do not finish that sentence.” Wildly rude and too common of an assumption, but, “In the spirit of forgiveness, I will let that slide,” he holds up a slender finger, “once.” Jayce mouths sorry as Viktor considers the sort of look his face is being accused of. “I…” But he only remembers reading the clear disappointment on Jayce’s. “Was probably thinking about something at the time,” Viktor shrugs.

“How much you wish I’d switch majors?”

“Mm, no. It was the end of class, so probably how much homework I could accomplish before work study, or how late to my next class I could reasonably be if I showed up with coffee from the dining hall.”

“Yeah, but…” He pivots in his seat. His thighs squeak on the plastic. “But you still called me egotistical on the first day of class!”

Yes, when Jayce made a painful show of ingratiating himself to the professor before class. Jayce throws that in his face like some sort of gotcha; in reality, it ranks one of his top ten social failures. “It was a question.” He was simply asking if, in hindsight, the action could be misconstrued as egotistical. “Not a criticism.”

But Jayce scoffs, “How was I supposed to think that when you wouldn’t even shake my hand?”

“It was stuck.” Viktor lifts up his right hand. Empty, but the cane still comes with it, dangling where it’s looped around his wrist. “You took yours away before I could get it out of the strap.”

“But I didn’t know yet that you—” Jayce scrubs his hand down his face, quiet until he whispers a revelatory, “Fuck.” Then a slightly hysterical, breathy, “Fuck,” and he’s smiling, gap-toothed and too brilliant for the lateness of hour.

“Eh, still a weird thing to do, though,” Viktor shrugs. He’s smiling a little too. It’s a private, wry thing. It’s a start.

And by the time they finish, on the other side of campus, on a sidewalk, at a bus stop much like the one they came from, things are very different.

For instance, Jayce has put the horrible wizard hat on. Ironically, of course.

They meander past the library, its windows tall and dark, cutting across the quad in front of it toward the residence halls. “What was your special errand, anyhow?” Viktor asks. “You never said. I’m curious.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to forget the horrors. Y’know, of getting caught trying to break into a building with my entire ass out,” he says sheepishly, catching the hat as it starts to slip. It’s not his entire ass. Only about eighty five percent. “I had to borrow something.”

There’s a word he’s avoiding. “What, exactly, were you trying to steal?”

“Borrow,” Jayce counters. “There’s this paperweight in Heimer’s office. Looks kind of like chalcedony, but it does have these faint striations, so I think it might be agate—

“I’m familiar.”

“Anyways, that. I was supposed to get that. Probably because it was impossible.”

“Mm, no, not impossible,” Viktor hums. “You should’ve called me sooner,” he says, dragging a carabiner from his pocket, stripped of paint and utterly ancient. When he holds it up, the street lights catch on tens of little metal teeth. “I have the key.”

#arcane #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #jayce talis #arcane fanfic #new fic banner who dis #everybody say THANK YOU DICAX for making all the colors match 🥰#also for beta reading with my skaderbug too 💋#they read the first page last july when i was like peak miserable and gave up on writing this #and i made these motherfuckers read it aGAIN when the rest of it fell out of my brain 6 days ago #anyways. this is so important to me for so many reasons but I'm keeping my emotional vomit to myself #goodbye

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lavendergalactic · 5 months

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☆ 　 fyodor / fyolai tumblr layouts!

day 2 of @circuswhisprs' editing event! " an edit of a character that reminds you of me " f2u w/ credit!

i don't know you that well yet so i decided to go off your rentry! which was fyodor, i also saw you love nikolai a lot so i decided to add them in the banner thingy

(thank u to my lovely boyfriend locket for helping me pick the pictures LOL)

#cherie 🍒#event #first time trying to make layouts like this #this is my first event and im having sm fun #tumblr layouts #layouts #bsd #icons #banners

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shingetsu-online · 13 days

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Why do they call it an oven when you of in the cold food of out hot eat the food?

incredible question!

#shingetsu online #ask hugh #anonymous #IVE HAD THAT MEMORIZED FOR LIKE 2 YEARS BTW. ALSO THAT IMAGE WAS MY FIRST EVER BANNER ON HERE JSHJDHJDS

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labellefleur-sauvage · 10 months

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Heat Above

In the sudden uncertainty of her life, Elain Archeron seeks comfort in an unlikely source: her mate Lucien.

For Elucien Week 2023 Day 1: Mates

The specifics of Elain's visions don't exactly seem well-described in the books, so I'm interpreting her visions (and how the end of ACOSF could affect them) and their potential ties to Lucien here. I like to imagine that Elain's visions will guide her towards her mate, and I wanted to try writing something in the ACOTAR universe for my favorite pairing, so here we are!

Thank you for everyone @elucienweekofficial for organizing this event!

Rating: Explicit. Word Count: 3.9K

Read on A03

XXX

In the span of a day, both of her sisters nearly died.

And there was nothing Elain Archeron could do to save either of them.

It all worked out in the end, they each soothed her. Nesta triumphed over those wanting to destroy her and became a Valkyrie, a living legend and feared warrior even the Illyrians idolized. Feyre survived the birthing bed—how, exactly, no one deigned to explain to her - and introduced her son Nyx to her family, everyone weeping joyously.

Everyone was safe. Everyone was fine.

And Elain’s visions had been out of control ever since.

It was as if a momentous shift occurred, like something—or someone—had altered the preordained fates the Mother lovingly crafted for each and every Fae and set everyone a new, uncertain future.

Her visions had never been regular or clear, but now they were chaotic and overwhelming. Death, blood, war, grief, terror and interlopers, interspersed with breathtaking happiness that Elain felt with her entire being: family dinners, Solstice celebrations, walks in unknown meadows, tending a garden on a bright, green hill, and holding hands with a foreign yet familiar male with flaming red hair.

That red-haired male was a frequent guest in her visions now, for whatever reason. Nearly every day she saw a glimpse of him, sometimes alone—his handsome face wreathed in sunlight, an open window behind him, a contemplative look on his face—or with someone she quickly realized was herself, such as when she saw him kissing down, down, down her body…

Elain shut her eyes. It was just like when she had been newly turned and her visions were constant, to the point where she didn’t know what was the present and what was the future, what was real and what wasn’t.

It was all too much, yet not enough. Elain wanted to turn her brain off, to have no thoughts at all, yet she craved more, needed to know what may happen.

She was alone, yet surrounded by people. There was no one who could help her.

Except one.

There must be a reason he kept appearing in her visions.

Elain leapt up from her bed and hurriedly dressed. She hoped he still kept his apartment by the river.

“Oh, hello Elain,” Feyre called quietly from the couch in the living room downstairs. Rhys was on the ground next to Nyx, swooping a toy bat over his head. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Just for a walk,” she called, gathering her shoes.

“Would you like some company? Nyx is due for a nap, and a trip in the stroller—“

“No!” Elain yelped so loudly even Rhys raised a surprised eyebrow at her. “Er, thank you, but it’s just something I need to do by myself.”

Elain let herself out of the River House with Feyre and Rhys’s gentle murmurs behind her, then made her way into Velaris. She didn’t actually know where he stayed or if he spent his time with someone else.

No, she thought resoundingly, turning down a sleepy street lined with attractive apartments, Elain knew her mate hadn’t been with anyone since that horrible day in Hybern.

She stood in front of a clean and unassuming building. Something told her this was it. But how to get in? She was just about to knock on the front door of the building and hope someone would let her in when the door opened and she saw Lucien for the first time in months.

“Elain?”

He looked good. Handsome, clean, and put together in a deep green jacket and brown pants. Two small sections of hair were braided at his temples.

Elain wondered if he would ever braid her hair, if she asked.

“Elain?” Lucien asked again, confusion and concern flooding his voice. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Elain said, remembering herself and why she was here. “I came to see you.”

Lucien paled. “I see. Would this be better handled inside?”

“Hm. Yes, I think that would be for the best.”

Without a word, Lucien opened the door and led her up a series of staircases to an apartment on the top floor. Like everything about Lucien, it was clean and quietly elegant and put together: soft curtains fluttered on either side of the windows thrown open wide to let the cool breeze in, and several tasteful chairs were arranged around a low table in the middle of the room. A simple kitchen was in the corner, and a closed door was on the opposite side of the room.

Lucien sighed. “Are you here to break the bond?”

Elain looked startled. Why would he assume that?

True, Elain had been ignoring her mate for years now, too frightened to belong heart, body and soul to any one being. After Graysen, after Azriel, after her entire world upended when she was pushed into the Cauldron, Elain couldn’t bear the thought of having another supposed constant in her life turn away from her.

But to permanently sever ties with Lucien, especially now when her visions were pointing him towards her, left an empty, hollow feeling in her stomach.

“I—no, I’m not here to break the bond,” Elain replied. Lucien let out a deep breath and visibly relaxed. “I’m here to ask you why I keep seeing you.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “Seeing me? I haven’t seen you in months.”

“No, not like that,” Elain said with a slight roll of her eyes. “I see you. Constantly. In my visions.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “And there must be a reason,” Elain went on. “I see you in my mind everyday, without fail, between my… other visions.” Elain winced. “But the only good visions—if that’s what they really are, and not just some type of hallucination—only feature you. And I want to know why.”

Silence greeted her. “You came to see me,” Lucien said slowly, an eyebrow still raised, “to ask me why I keep appearing in your visions?”

Elain flushed. When he said it that way…

“I thought you previously said you couldn’t control your visions. How would I have any control over something you can’t?”

Elain bit her lip. He was completely right—there really was no good reason for her to have come here, to see Lucien and demand answers for something he had nothing to do with. But some part of herself knew Lucien was connected to her sudden violent visions—why else would she have visions of him constantly, and feel the urge to see him now, if he couldn’t help her?

“I—I thought—“

“I’m sorry Elain,” Lucien said quietly. “I don’t know if I can help you.” He looked away, a pained look on his face. “Would you like me to escort you home?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “You want me to leave?”

Lucien raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I just told you I don’t know how to help you. You ignore me for months when I give you gifts and space—I imagine you can’t stand to be in my presence since I told you something you didn’t want to hear.”

Elain glared at him. “Don’t assume to know what I want.”

“You’re right. I can’t assume to know anything about you, because every time I’ve tried, you’ve ignored me like a coward,” Lucien replied coolly.

“I’m not a coward!” Elain hissed, her cheeks turning hot.

Lucien chuckled unkindly. “I bet that’s all you’ve ever been. Hiding behind your sisters, using them as shields so you don’t have to confront anything in your life that bothers you.”

Elain grit her teeth, unable to deny Lucien. Why did she think he would help her, even if he could? Lucien probably detested her, loathed her for everything she’d put him through, and she couldn’t even blame him.

“Even if I were somehow able to help you,” Lucien went on, putting distance between the two of them, “who’s to say you’d do anything but ignore me after I somehow banished myself from your visions?” Lucien leaned against a kitchen counter, directly in front of a wide window, the morning sunlight streaming in and bathing him in light. “At least this way, I can find comfort in the fact that I’m on your mind in some capacity.”

Elain sucked in a breath. It was identical to her prior vision: Lucien, surrounded in sunlight, his red hair gleaming. His golden mechanical eye paled in comparison to the glow he gave off now. The anger and frustration she felt for the male in front of her faded away.

If this vision was true, what about the rest of them? Danger and sadness, but also eventual joy and happiness. Could one be had without the other? Was it worth risking everything to find out?

“You’ve been so cold to me for so long,” Lucien went on, ignoring how Elain was looking at him. “You ignored me, tossed me aside—“

“You’re my mate,” Elain breathed, and everything suddenly clicked in her mind. Yes, it was inevitable that there would be death and grief and bone crushing sadness in her life. They had been ever present in her life before she was turned, when she was human, and those emotions would be with her, in some way, shape or form, in her current life. The only difference was that now she had someone to weather the storm with her, and make her remember that happiness was always worth the sadness.

“What did you say?” Lucien asked quietly, looking at her.

“You’re my mate.” The more she said it, the better it felt, settling in her body and cementing her to the present. “You’re my mate. There’s only you.”

Lucien stared at her. The only sound in the room was his mechanical eye, ticking and moving faster than Elain could track.

“Don’t say things you don’t understand,” Lucien said quietly, staring at the ground. “To say that to me, it’s, it’s…”

“Admitting what we both knew and have been avoiding?”

Lucien took a deep, steadying breath. “How do I know this is real?” Lucien jerked his head to look at Elain. His eye was wide and Elain could hear the fast beating of his heart. “How can I tell if this is what you want?”

Elain cocked her head, staring at the open vulnerability sketched on her mate’s handsome face. “Because I’ve seen my future. I thought it couldn’t be real, that some things must be wrong, but…”

“But? But what?”

“They’re all real,” Elain said quietly. “Horrible, horrible, things, coming soon and also later, but great things as well. Happiness, a family—all with you.”

Lucien’s eye widened. “You’ve seen that? Us? Together?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not saying this because of what you’ve seen? You still have a choice in your future.”

She did, and her own heart sped up to match Lucien’s at the tenderness in his tone. Even now, he wanted Elain to have a choice, and wanted Elain to choose him.

“I think my visions have been urging me towards you for a long time. They know what I’ve been too afraid to admit.”

“And what’s that?”

“That I could be happy with you. That I will be happy with you.”

Lucien swallowed but didn’t move towards her, a wary look on his face. From what she’d heard about her mate from Feyre and Rhys, Lucien was never short on words, but his silence hung over their heads in the room.

Elain had already taken the first metaphorical step towards healing her relationship with Lucien—what were a few physical steps to convince him of her words?

Walking towards Lucien like he was a frightened animal, Elain stopped right in front of him. His heart was still beating fast—nerves, excitement, anticipation, she couldn’t be sure.

“I still hear your heart.” Elain took one of Lucien’s large hands in hers—he was so warm—and held it against her chest, over her own stuttering heart. “Do you hear mine?”

Lucien gasped, his eye wide and mouth open as if he could finally hear the constant drumming of his mate’s heart, like Elain had heard ever since she emerged from the Cauldron. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but she swore she saw some type of shimmering cord wrap around Lucien’s hand from where it connected with her chest and traveled along his arm—

Elain lost sight of the cord entwining them together when Lucien leaned down and kissed her, consuming her mind, body and soul.

It was blissfully silent in her mind for just a moment before a wave of images flashed before her eyelids, one after another after another, too fast for her to comprehend. It was like a lifetime’s worth of visions being crammed into the space of a few seconds and Elain gasped, overwhelmed with everything—

“Elain, what’s wrong? Breath, breath for me.”

And just as soon as they appeared, her visions fled at the first touch of Lucien’s touch, one hand on the back of her head, another on her lower back and rubbing soothing circles against her with his thumb.

“There, that’s better.” Lucien continued comforting her, and Elain realized what a fool she’d been the past years, to deny herself the sheer solace her mate provided her with just a few soft words and touches. “Was that…?”

“Yes.” Elain worked to steady her breathing. “I saw everything.”

Lucien paled. “Everything?”

Elain nodded, staring up at him. “We’ll travel… somewhere together. And Vassa will be wreathed in a crown of flame and feathers.”

“Elain—“

“Your father will rise to his full glory—”

“Beron?”

“No, the other one,” Elain snapped, massaging her temples. If only he could see. “And you’ll take your place next to him.”

“Other one? What are you—?”

“The man at the lake will fall and his birds released into the wind, but not without great cost.”

Lucien stared at Elain aghast.

“The Dread Trove will be restored, with the help of visitors from worlds so close to ours, but separated by the thinnest of veils.”

“Elain—“

“But we’ll be happy together, in the land of perpetual sun.”

“We will?”

“Yes, the two of us. You glow in the future. And we’ll have children—I’m not sure how many, at least two—“

Lucien’s lips stopped any more words from leaving her mouth. “Elain,” he chuckled against her, his lips kissing the corners of her mouth. “Let’s leave some things as a surprise, hm?”

“But what about—umph!”

Lucien’s lips slotted against her own again, his hands cradling her jaw, and Elain let her train of thought taper off.

“We don’t need to worry about any of that now,” he whispered. “Let your mate take care of you, hm?”

Elain wanted to argue, that they absolutely should worry about what she had just witnessed, but then Lucien was kissing her again. His big hands trailed down her waist, then over her hips and behind her to cup her bottom. Whatever would come to pass would come—not admitting to her feelings and spending time with Lucien wouldn’t change that.

So Elain twisted her hand in Lucien’s shirt and nipped at his lips and smiled in triumph when she felt him gasp against her. Her victory was short-lived: with one graceful swoop, Lucien carried her in his arms towards the closed door in his apartment.

As she suspected, it was a bedroom. Elain didn’t have time to study the room in detail, as Lucien tossed her on the bed then followed after her, climbing on top of her and resuming his heated kisses.

“Is this alright?” he whispered, his lips trailing down her jaw, throat and collarbone.

“Yes!” she gasped as his lips skimmed her upper chest. She was on fire, and knew Lucien would only stoke the flames of her desire the more he touched her. “Off, off—!”

Together, they wrestled her dress off and soon, Elain was bare in front of her mate on his bed. Before, she might have felt self conscious—she’d only been with Graysen, and that was in a dark room—but she had no reason to be embarrassed, not when Lucien was staring at her like his world had just been shattered and made new in the span of an afternoon.

“Elain,” he croaked, glancing at her body before settling on her bright face. “You’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.”

Elain smiled, her chest warm and beating, before Lucien was on top of her again, his lips against hers. She threaded her hands through his long hair and moved her hands over his neck, his back, his chest, anywhere that she could, just to feel more of his body.

Lucien moved down her body, his lips licking and pecking at her sensitive breasts, her bellybutton—Cauldron, she had seen this too—before settling between her legs.

“Yes?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. Still checking on her, making sure she wanted this, wanted him. Lucien was breathing heavily, his eye darting to the curls between her legs and her heated face. He swallowed, like he was barely holding onto his restraint.

Elain wasn’t faring any better. “Yes,” she responded desperately, canting her hips towards him. Lucien needed no further persuasion: gripping her inner thighs, he wrenched her thighs apart and lowered himself between them.

The first, hot press of his tongue against her folds had Elain arching her back against his bed. The next swipe of his tongue against her clit made her grab Lucien’s head and keep him right where she wanted him.

Lucien didn’t seem to mind; groaning into her cunt, Lucien kept licking and sucking, gradually inserting one, then another thick finger inside her tight channel and thrusting. Elain moaned her approval, too delirious with pleasure to form words.

After nearly no time at all, Lucien crooked his fingers a certain way inside her, his tongue flicking her clit and his eye intense on her face, and Elain was coming. It was all consuming, but immediately her body craved more, more, more.

“Lucien!” Elain gasped, pushing his head away from between her legs, where he had been gently lapping at her swollen bud. “I need you!”

Lucien sat back on his haunches, breathing heavily but studying Elain. “You already have me, Elain.”

Elain felt her heart twist, knowing he’d given himself to her the day she crawled out of the cauldron and the mating bond snapped. But although Lucien had long ago given himself to her, Elain hadn’t yet done the same for him. She needed to reassure her mate that she wanted him.

Silently, Elain rose from the bed and helped Lucien discard his clothes. The more and more golden-brown skin he revealed to her, the warmer Elain felt; whether the heat was coming from Lucien or herself, she couldn’t be sure.

Soon, he was naked, and Lucien’s glorious body was on display. Elain felt a sudden rush of pride: this strong, clever, handsome male was all hers, and no one else’s.

“Have you…?” Lucien began when he was over her once again, the tip of his cock brushing her folds.

“Yes,” Elain responded, shifting her hips to get comfortable. He was so close to where she needed him.

“Are you sure—“

Elain stopped his question with her lips, soft and sweet, against his. Lucien was on his elbows above her, his face inches from her own. Silently, she moved her hand over the scars on his face and traced them gently, then leaned up to kiss them lovingly.

Shivering, Lucien pressed against her, working himself inside her tight channel. He went slowly, letting her adjust, until finally he bottomed out inside her.

Elain felt full. Not just from Lucien’s length, but from it all meant for her: having someone with her, always, to defend her, protect her, care for her, and support her. She belonged to someone, and someone belonged to her. She could cry from how happy she felt.

And as Lucien finally shifted his hips and began moving, his body and his heat above and within her, Elain felt grounded for the first time since she was turned. Her mind quieted, no longer tormenting her with what would happen, but blessedly blank, letting her focus on being with her mate.

Elain was thankful; she didn’t want to miss any of what she was experiencing. Lucien was thick inside her, moving slowly but steadily. He was being so polite, exactly what she expected from the gentleman Elain knew Lucien was.

But Elain was selfish, especially now, and she wanted more.

“I need—“ Elain gasped, unsure how to communicate what she wanted.

Like Lucien could read her mind, he shifted one of her legs up against his hip and thrust hard inside her. Stars exploded behind her eyelids and Elain could hear the smirk in Lucien’s voice. “Is that what you needed?”

“Yes!” Elain moaned as Lucien leaned back on his knees, her leg still propped up against his body.

“What else do you need, Elain?” Lucien crooned softly above her, increasing his pace inside her. He swiped a thumb over her clit.

“Yes, Lucien, more,” Elain begged quietly, quickly approaching her peak.

“Ask nicely,” Lucien grunted. He was fucking into her hard now, hilting his cock fully inside her. Sweat rolled down his neck and chest. “Tell me what you need.”

“Keep touching me and stay with me, please.” She hadn’t meant to say that last part. After everything they’d been through, it was too much to ask of him. Elain expected Lucien to freeze, but it only seemed to spur him on.

“Anything. Anything you want,” Lucien groaned, his thumb furiously circling her clit and like an explosion, Elain came. It was like nothing she’d felt before; indescribable pleasure raced up and down her spine, pleasure that came from not just Lucien touching her, but the knowledge that he was hers, and she was his.

Elain was dimly aware of Lucien cursing to himself before he pressed his length inside her and came, collapsing on top of her as his orgasm petered out. He rolled them over so Elain was on his chest.

If Elain thought his heartbeat was loud before, it was nothing compared to the explosive drumming now. It soothed her, though, and Elain felt her eyes drift close after only a few moments.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien whispered against her temple later that afternoon after they had woken up for a second round of lovemaking. “For those horrible things I called you earlier. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“But they were true, as much as it hurts to admit it.”

“But that doesn’t mean I needed to say them.”

Elain sighed into Lucien’s chest and twined her legs with his under the thin sheet on his bed. “If you hadn’t said them, I’m not sure we would have ended up here, right now.”

“But surely you saw this coming.” Elain could hear the grin on his face. “Surely one of your visions—“

“My visions have told me quite a bit about the two of us,” Elain admitted, her cheeks red. “But didn’t you say earlier that some things should be a surprise?”

Lucien dropped a kiss to her nose, and Elain felt his heat suffuse her entire body with that one peck. “I did say that. I may not be terribly fond of them, but if they all concern you, then I’ll gladly let each day with you be a surprise.”

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar #my fic #my fics #i have given up on moodboards #and will now be making crappy banners for fics #gRAphIc DesIGn IS mY pASSioN #like this is laughably bad lmao #anyways this fic is my first canon universe fic for these two #a court of thorns and roses #happy elucien week!

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