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chickenparm · 1 year

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A Good Morning - (Ilya/f!Reader)

(header art is by @drawlypsy of lil bubblegum boy Ilya. you can see the full piece HERE.)

another fic about my genshin OC because he's a tall glass of water and i'm just a little desert rodent desperate for a lil bit of hydration. if i'm going to suffer at my own hands i'm taking y'all down with me. behold.

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Ilya/f!Reader 1,095 Words - NSFW Cockwarming, morning sex, pre-established relationship, use of Dove and Little Dove as terms of endearment, mild dirty talk.

No preview before the cut on this one, it's just PWP.

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The room holds a hazy sort of ambience as the morning creeps over the horizon. It’s gray and dreamlike as your eyes crack open, struggling to get your thoughts together to take track of sensations.

There’s the warmth of Ilya at your back, his chest aligned along your spine as he cradles you. The room is a little chilled, thanks to the low temperatures of Snezhnaya. And then there’s the insistent pressure inside you, comfortable but noticeable as Ilya’s hips rock forward, his cock nudging further inside you.

Memories come back - the long night together, Ilya pulling your body close as he nudges himself inside, insistent that you just go to sleep and don’t worry about what he’s doing. Perhaps he never even pulled it out in the first place.

Ilya’s hand lies on your waist, holding you steady as his hips roll again with agonizing slowness. The silence is interrupted by your quiet whine at the gentle friction. The hand on your waist slides down, following the curve of your body to your thigh, where he squeezes gently. His voice is smooth despite the early hour as he murmurs in your ear, “Are you awake, yet?”

“Mm… barely.” You respond in a similar tone, your eyelids fluttering back closed. Another shift, his cock moving deeper, and your breath leaves your lungs in one long exhale that quivers at the edges. Ilya’s thumb draws circles against the skin of your thigh, and while propping himself up on his elbow, he looks down at you with keen eyes. Somehow, you feel more sensitive than ever before. Perhaps he’d been working you up long before you awoke, or it could just be a side effect of him warming his cock in you through the night. As your face twists with quiet pleasure, Ilya leans in to press a soft kiss to your temple. “Are you enjoying yourself, dove?”

Instead of words, you respond with a weak cry of pleasure. His hand leaves your thigh, unabashedly reaching between your legs to dip into your pussy. Ilya’s fingers find your clit with the ease of a man who has memorized your body, stroking the slippery nub with unhurried movements. Instead of starting any sort of attempt to fuck you properly, he pulls your hips back enough to completely bury himself and leave it there.

The circling of his fingers makes you tense around him, clenching and flexing with movements that only make him even harder inside. With slow movements, he kisses your cheek, then jaw, then just beneath your ear with words that betray how this is affecting him. “That’s good… so good.”

As you roll your head more to the side, giving in and letting him kiss and suck along the column of your neck, his toothy grin makes itself known with how his teeth nip at you. “That’s right, dove. Just relax for a bit, let me take care of you.”

Despite his words, he seems barely interested in making either of you cum just yet. In fact, it’s as if he just wants to bask in the feelings that build up to it, dragging them out with each kiss peppered along your bare shoulder. The tip of his cock is almost uncomfortably deep, but it only serves to make you burn with anticipation at the knowledge that no one has gone quite as far as he has.

Maybe it’s your heartbeat tricking you, but you’re certain you can feel him throbbing against your walls. An amused sound leaves him as you tense, your hips moving to get some of that friction he’s denying you. Ilya can be too much sometimes, but this morning he takes pity on the both of you.

With a little grunt, he pulls back, then sharply snaps forward. Like he was made just for you, the angle of his cock drags against the particular spot inside that pulls a sharp, broken sound from the back of your throat.

Slow, relaxed breaths center him as he digs his fingers into your thigh. “Let yourself go. Let me feel you come around me.”

Almost as if you were waiting for permission, your hips rock back against his cock, then forward against his circling fingers, and you come apart like he demands. An exhilarated expression lights his face as he watches you shatter, your back arching as he guides you through your peak, then the valley that follows. No expression crosses your face that he doesn’t immediately analyze and tuck away in the back of his eyelids to reminisce about later.

“Good, very good, darling. Now stay like that for just a moment…”

His hand on your hip squeezes once, just to emphasize that it’s time for him to do a little more. That hand travels to your knee, hitching it up until it’s hooked over his elbow. Ilya looks impossibly smug as he watches the way your eyes snap open in surprise. Despite the sluggishness of the morning, his movement snaps forward with a sudden burst, burying deep inside you once more.

Ilya’s forehead presses against the side of your head as he thrusts deep, stretching you open around his length over and over. Instinctively, your body moves in sync with him, encouraging him to fuck his cock deeper, harder, with a sudden frenetic energy that speaks of his own impending release.

“Ngh… I’m almost there, just-...” Ilya’s voice cuts off as you gather up just enough faculties in your mind to purposely clench around him, tightening until he finds it hard to even move. Something ragged and ruined comes out from the bottom of his chest, groaned against your hair. Ilya’s hips slap against your ass one more time before releasing inside, forcing himself in as deep as he can, like he’s staking some claim that no one else could hope to challenge.

Ilya whines as you grin up at him, flexing yourself around his sensitive cock that he has yet to pull out of you - again.

Letting your leg back down, he wraps his arm around your hips to pull you close once more, just as he had when you first woke up. It’s still a bit early yet, and as he lays a kiss on your shoulder and his breathing slows, you reason that you can get a little more sleep before the day truly begins.

#ilya #genshin oc #genshin ocs #ilya x reader #genshin impact #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #mind the a/n for content tags

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virtuallidol-archive · 1 year

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🌿 :: 140+ Followers event

hi!! tysm for 140+ followers.. it means a lot to me! :3 natalie is starting an event, in this event there is going to be a currency (coins) that you can get by checking in. if you want to "check in" go to natalie's inbox and say "checking in!!". if you are going anonymous, please have a signoff so natalie will know which anon you are.

you can use "coins" to get an edit! here are the prices for certain edits:

icons = 5 coins

headers = 10 coins

reply icons = 10 coins

layouts = 15 coins

full blog set-up = 20 coins

send in one of those, and a character! you can use 5 additional coins for an aesthetic. also, natalie would appreciate it if you check in once every day. this event will end on april 15th. event inspiration was from @/twisted-lies and @/cxttoncandies!

#not an edit #event

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ded-and-gonne · 1 year

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by @firstpersonnarrator || Header gif by the divine @salvador-daley || possession prompt by anon

Part 4: Somebody’s in the garden

<<———😵‍💫———>>

TW: main character injury; possession; two not-brothers flirting; my absurdist sense of humor heavily featuring a not-so-bright, omniscient-first-person narrator; a hazy grasp of Pilgrim-speak; bad gardeners; mimes.

AN: The night before Halloween is Devil’s Night, when the veil between the living and the dead is at its 2nd thinnest. After Klaus’s delightfully successful Devil’s Night prank, he’s feeling moderately guilty for scaring the shit out of Ben. So he has decided it would be best to target Ben’s vanity, and boost his not-brother’s self esteem by finally giving in and substituting ‘Evil’ in place of ‘Mean.’ Don’t worry, it doesn’t last.

<<———😵‍💫———>>

Start || Prev || Next

<<———😵‍💫———>>

“Evil Ben? Is it just me, or is this garden surprising?”

They’d agreed to attempt a search for a hypothetical concept called a “kitchen” somewhere in their wing of the building. It had worked. But instead of being knee-deep in champagne like Ben prefers to be, they’re off bumping, unintentionally, into creepy buried gardens, and things of that nature.

Klaus had popped wood at the mere thought of owning a secret garden. To be fair, he had also just been fondling a green man.

Now, atop a set of low, rough-hewn steps, Klaus and Evil Ben stand looking out over a broad, circular patio of stone, surveying the strangeness beyond.

A perfectly Devil’s Night-ish kind of garden lies beyond, full of dead things that had formerly been alive.

It’s clear that the flagstones had once been leveled, engraved, and polished to a high shine. But the frost heaves that bedevil New England in winter have utterly destroyed the flat perfection of the patio over time. Flagstones thrust up like fallen gravestones, with ropes of ivy pulling at the gaps between.

Sad patches of brown grass dot bald earth where once there had been a lawn. The remains of an ancient orchard have devolved into nothing but a twisted stand of five skeletons and their splintered deadfall, all of it jagged and aggressively stabby. An intricate design of garden beds has been overtaken and strangled to death by tall weeds, persistently poking through years of matted, decaying leaves. Darkness. And urns.

Ben is currently scanning with intense eyes beneath matchingly intense eyebrows, and croaks, “What?”

“Wow. Bennerino, you still don’t sound so good,” Klaus unhelpfully points out. “Huh. I wonder how your threats will sound now. Will you be miming them?”

Ben turns a face full of anger and accusations on Klaus. But he’s forced to admit to himself that he will not be picking any more tantrums for the foreseeable future. He deflates, and finally mimes *huh?* followed by *I fucking hate you.*

“No you don’t,” Klaus replies, exaggerating the shaking of his head no, as if he, too, has to mime.

Ben rolls his eyes, then nods with exaggeration, accompanied by miming, *Yes, I do. I really do.*

“This is fun! We should make up our own miming language!” Klaus exclaims. “We can use it as code when we get our first job detecting supernatural stuff and things.”

Ben mimes, *That’s stupid.*

“No it’s not,” says Klaus, once more exaggerating his head-shaking.

Ben mimes, *Yes it is. It really is.*

“We should probably discuss this when you don’t have to play charades. I hate to say it, babe, but you’re not very good at it.” Klaus flaps his hands, effectively miming *Nevermind all that.* “So, hey. Remember what I was saying before? About the surprising garden?”

Rolling his eyes, Ben huffs a deeply frustrated breath.

“Is this place supposed to have a garden?” Klaus asks, side-eyeing the vegetation.

Ben again looks to the heavens, then gives in and mimes, *I am unrolling invisible architectural blueprints with my hands, see me pointing? See me shaking my head no? There was no garden in the blueprints.*

Klaus mimes back, *You’re getting better at this, good job!*

Ben again mimes, *I hate you. I really do.*

*No you don’t.* Klaus is again exaggerating his head-shaking, when he remembers that he’s the one who can speak. “Blueprints? What blueprints? You got to see blueprints? I don’t believe you.”

Ben starts tapping his foot to indicate annoyance.

“So what was I saying?” Then Klaus remembers what he was saying, “Oh right.” He puffs himself up a bit to declare, “I, too, find this garden surprising.”

Ben slumps, indicating to Klaus that his not-brother is experiencing strong feelings of negativity, and should probably be left alone in contemplation. Lucky guess.

The entirety of the secret garden is enclosed by the building’s stone walls. Ben’s hidden excitement mounts as he descends the steps and takes in the view from a new vantage. It appears that the only point of access to this world of death and dead things is through the head of a green man.

Klaus wonders aloud, “How old is this place? Hey, Bennerino.” Ben bothers to turn and face Klaus, which is a start. “How old do you think this place is?”

*How the fuck am I supposed to know?* Ben really is getting better at being a mime. Especially the swear words. The next one’s easy: *I am feeling snarky and Evil as I ask you, ‘Why?’*

“Well, for starters, there’s the fact that this place looks really old.”

Ben’s eye rolling is just a safe assumption at this point.

“I mean, look at the walls.”

They both gaze about, mounting interest still mounting.

Klaus is correct. It does look old. Really old.

Ben needs Klaus’s attention in order to mime, so he yells “Klaus!” as loud as he possibly can. Unfortunately, that isn’t very loud. His cracked wheezing hasn’t managed to break through the sound of Klaus thinking thoughts. In the meantime, Ben is gripping his poor, damaged throat with both hands, eyes scrunched in pain, and wishing he could whimper. Self care would help, but this is neither the time nor the place.

“Did you say something, Benji?”

Ben mimes, *There are no windows.*

“Anywhere!” Klaus agrees. “I know! That’s why I asked!”

*Yes, I too would like to know why there are no windows,* is hopefully what that body language conveyed to Klaus.

“Friday,” Klaus answers.

Yeah, that one was unclear. Maybe Ben just needs a little more practice.

*Same stone,* Ben mimes, gesturing toward the patio. *All the way,* Ben mimes, gesturing at the walls. *Nobody builds stuff like this anymore. It’s probably old old.*

“Tuesday,” answers Klaus. “Kidding! Just kidding. Old old. Yeah, real old old. Like maybe even Harvard-old. Did you know that our prissy ol’ dame was founded in 1636? I’m serious, silly! First institute of higher education in America. I looked it up in case it affected our property taxes.”

*Are you shitting me?*

“No, Ben. I don’t kink shame, but no, I will not take a shit on you. Not if I don’t want to. I do not give you my consent.”

*I hate you. I reeeelly do.*

“That’s ok. I grow on people.”

*Gross,* Ben mimes. A bentacle shoves Klaus away.

Ok, what was that? Ben hadn’t been able to keep himself from doing it. Literally and precisely, he had not been able to avoid doing it. One of his bentacles has just shown free will.

Ben comes close to that realization, or pretty close, and shies away before he can take in the full impact of that truly horrorfying thought. Ben is so nauseous right now.

Rough one. Meanwhile, Klaus is blissfully unaware of what has just taken place. “Very funny, Mr. Grumpy Guts. My guess is,” Klaus strokes his beard to increase the suspense, “it never had any windows. ooooWOOOOooooo” [insert scary twinkle fingers here]. “I mean, there’s no way to know that for sure, other than tracking down the architect or the stonemason’s ghosts. How deep do you think we are?”

Ben looks uncharacteristically tongue-tied.

He keeps miming what might mean *under* or *underneath,* or even more likely, *inside,* and pointing at his nauseous bellybutton.

“What? Under? Under what? Oh, are you hungry? I gotta be honest, babe, these charades are getting a little old. A little tired. No offense.” Klaus sighs, and pats Ol’ Grumpy Guts tenderly on the shoulder. “Nevermind, I’ll do the talking. Ok, ready? 3 words, 1st word, 6 syllables.”

Klaus is taking his life into his own hands by talking. He should know that by now, but he’s still happily pushing Ben’s buttons. “Kidding, kidding! Ok, so,” Klaus begins counting, “this is the sub-sub-basement, and these walls are wicked high, so that includes the sub-basement, too. Ben, I really think it might be as tall as the basement! That’s tall!”

All Ben can do is nod.

“I know what this feels like!” Klaus crows. “This feels exactly like I’m in a box with no lid. Buried in the ground. Doesn’t it feel a little klaustrophobic?” he asks. “Now that you know we’re at the bottom of three basements?”

Ben mimes in agreement, *Like I’m at the bottom of an open grave, looking up at a rectangular patch of sky.*

Klaus scratches his beard again, trying to look like he’s ruminating on whatever it was Ben just acted out. “Ben, I’ve thought about it, and there’s never a good enough reason to mime shooting yourself in the head. That’s not funny. I’d miss you.” Klaus is 100% serious.

*No no no, that’s not what I meant. Look,* Ben mimes, and draws a knife across his throat.

“Ben,” Klaus looks hurt. “Stop offing yourself. It hurts.”

Ben goes to grab handfuls of his hair in frustration, then realizes his fingers would just get stuck in all the product. He tries again. *You, look at me. I am digging in the ground with a shovel. See me shoveling? Good. Thumbs up. Second word: I have dug a long rectangle with four sides. A four-sided rectangle. See it? Good. Thumbs up. Third word: I have two fingers that are pretending to be legs walking. But they stumble into the rectangle and look upward to the sky.*

“Huh?”

Ben continues. *All of that, see me drawing a circle, it means all of that, all of it taken together = a grave.*

“Huh?”

Ben tries to growl, and grips his throat in pain. It’s obvious that Klaus thinks he’s miming strangulation.

*No, no, no, look at me, you.* Ben tries to mouth the word ‘grave,’ skipping all the theatrics.

“To blave? To klave? A rave? What, you want to go dancing?” Klaus shakes his head in acknowledgement that that’s probably not what Ben is saying. “Nah, that can’t be it. Took me way too long to make you shake a tail feather at the wedding, why should a pit in the ground be any different. OH! Now I get it. A grave! Where?”

Ben wants to take a nap. Instead, he points at himself, then points toward the bracken vegetation beyond. It’s a wise choice, and evidence that Ben is capable of practicing self care. Maybe some peace and quiet will keep him sane while he contemplates the potential that his belly monster is sentient.

There’s something wyrd and wrong about the direction Ben has chosen to walk, but no matter how hard he squints, Klaus can’t quite make it out in the macabre gloom. Being Klaus, he naturally wants to explore it. But he also wants to naturally explore everything else, and anyway, Ben needs some alone time.

But, being Klaus, he gets distracted and addresses Ben, anyway. “Hey look!” Klaus excitedly points out a small rise to one side of the lawn. “We get our own tiny little miniature grassy knoll!” More like a lump in the lawn. A bump, a tiny mound.

Ben is past caring about something called a ‘grassy knoll.’ What the hell even is that, anyway? He’s also past paying attention to Klaus.

That happens a lot. With Ben and people other than Ben. Sometimes Klaus minds, but other times the lack of supervision suits his purposes nicely. It’s just that today, he minds. Because it’s Devil’s Night, and they have to be paying attention to each other if anyone is going to get scared. He would have thought that went without saying, but Ben seems to be playing dumb about this whole Devil’s Night business. They all had the same Dad, so they should all play the same games. Flawless logic. More or less.

Watching Ben follow a stone path off into the murk, Klaus tisks at the sere remains of their lawn. “We need a new gardener. This is just shameful.”

<<———😵‍💫———>>

Klaus is now tip-toeing through the frost heaves.

Looking about, he calls after Ben. “Would you call this a garden? Or a courtyard? Courtyard sounds way too much like the Academy, and that is not my idea of heaven, so it’s a garden. Officially. It’s an official garden. Even if it’s a court- Ben, wait, hey wait a minute.” Ben has been ignoring him, ever since he started wandering away.

“Rude!” Klaus squawks in disapproval. “Has it ever occurred to you that I might have- Hey, wa-wait! Baby, baby, stop. Ben’nuh!”

Klaus decides that the frost-heaved patio is difficult enough to walk on even without falling to his detriment. At least falling to his detriment would give Klaus a chance to take a closer look at the swooping, interlocking designs carved on the stones beneath his feet. He makes a mental note to come back and fall elaborately (so as to catch Ben’s attention), and then moves on to poke about the patio’s periphery.

Dotted at regular intervals around the edges stand five huge stone urns, and — possibly to his own detriment — they have drawn Klaus’s attention. From a distance, it looks a bit like there might once have been some kind of dense, black liquid flowing over their lips, coating the outward swell of the great pots with slow droplets of the black, sticky-looking stuff. Up close they give off a sickening sweet molasses smell. Yet a faint note of something perfumy can be caught quietly lingering beneath the brutish odor of the burnt substance. Almost as if someone set fire to flowers, consigning them to the flames licking skyward from the urns. It’s as though Klaus can see the phantom flames — an image so strong and clear that he reaches up and rubs his eyes.

“Who the fuck were these people, and why?”

Klaus has to remember where he stashed his self control, if he wants to keep himself from touching. But despite all his stupidity, Klaus is not stupid. There’s enough about this space that seems just a bit off (or a whole lot off), that Klaus decides against living his most chaotic life. Under these wyrd circumstances, he decides to lean conservative, instead, figuring now is as good a time as any to give self-conservation a try.

“Wow. These guys were serious,” he observes aloud as he walks toward the tiny little miniature grassy knoll. “I don’t know what these people were up to, but it involved five mammoth burning urns filled with fire to accomplish it.” He kicks at the weeds as he passes.

He wants to know if Ben has any theories. “Yoo-hoo, Benneriiiinooo,” he calls after his not-brother, but Ben is busy following the path to the dark side.

<<———😵‍💫———>>

Ben has set his sights beyond Klaus’s grassy knoll. It looks as if all this dead vegetation might be screening something beyond. There’s an impenetrable darkness back there, which strikes Ben as rather concerning.

He sniffs the air, and pulls back. Freshly turned earth, and a faint rotting smell. He flashes back to the Oily Darkness of Terror in Klaus’s room. The hair on the back of his neck stands up once more. He whips around, but neither Klaus nor anyone else is behind him.

Ben is coming to terms with the fact that he will be doing a lot of post-traumatic jumping from now on, whenever he gets that foreboding prickle at the base of his skull. Or his Bentacles announce they have (always had?) a mind of their own.

*Focus, Ben,* he mimes to himself.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Klaus calls out. Ben just flips him off while walking away. It’s his favorite way to end conversations. Second favorite being hanging up on Klaus, but he doesn’t get to do that much anymore.

A phantom gust of wind buffets him and sets the dead leaves still clinging to the trees a-rattling. Like teeth. Like bones. Rattle them bones. Like a death rattle.

Ben jolts at the sound of something distinctly alive, skittering off the stones ahead of him. It’s a purposeful sound, and Ben shivers. Was that something moving out of the corner of his eye? Something too big to skitter. Much too big.

Ben refuses to be terrified again tonight. He doesn’t have any terror left to give. It’s just not going to happen, he promises himself. But he’s still unsure of exactly what he’s walking into. Particularly because the light has gone dim and heavy, and all sound from the world behind him is dulled.

<<———😵‍💫———>>

Klaus tries the Yoo-Hoo approach again. “Yoo-hoo, Bennerino!”

He descends the mound, ready to take off after Ben, like a little brother who keeps following you around, being annoying to get your attention. Exactly like that. But after only a few steps he halts, goes still, and stays still.

Klaus does not usually stfu without being told to. Ben is intrigued enough by the silent stillness to pause. Swinging around to see what could possibly have caused this miracle, Ben watches slack-jawed as Klaus is yanked backward with a jolt, heels dragging parallel lines in the dirt back up the knoll. Ben’s no engineer, but quite frankly, whatever just made that happen to Klaus’s body clearly considered the laws of physics more as suggested-guidelines-of-physics than laws.

“Klaus?” Ben’s voice sounds small to his own ears, because it is. It’s tiny, if it actually has a sound at all.

But the memory of Klaus’s prank still really gets under his nails. And anyway, he’s panicking.

*Oh, no. No no no noooo.* Ben gets his whole body into it.

*You are not doing this to me again, you. Whatever nasty little joke you have fumbling through the darkness in your skull, you can forget it. You, I’m not falling for your shit again, you Klaus.* This tirade featured pointing really hard, a lot.

Eyes glazed and oblivious to Ben, Klaus starts to sing. Or not so much singing as chanting. Picture a little kid reciting a nursery rhyme, and name him Klaus. It would be cute if it wasn’t so worrisome. Something about that flat monotone.

Somebody is in the garden

Somebody’s in the garden

Somebodies in the garden

Some body is in the garden

Some body’s in the garden

Some bodies in the garden

Ben mimes at Klaus. *This possession-face you’re trying to sell me? I’m not buying. No really, Klaus, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.* ‘Embarrassing’ is actually a rather difficult word to mime, but nowhere near as difficult as ‘possession-face’. Ben continues, undaunted. *This is sad. And boring.* He huffs and again turns to the dark side of the garden. *Whatever,* he mimes.

Klaus’s unflagging chanting is eerie, nonsensical. Every line sounds the same to Ben, like a Gregorian chant, and he can’t decide if the words are relevant, or just blather.

Ben finally digests what he’s heard. “Somebody is in the garden,” he mouths to himself. His nerves are now amped to full alert. Somebody’s in the garden?

Klaus’s phrasing is all running together. There’s no pause, now. No rhythm. As if it’s all just an infinite series of syllables. It’s fucking creepy, is what it is.

“Ok, Klaus. That’s enough!”

Klaus hasn’t heard him, because Ben can only mouth the words, stomp his foot, and hope he’s understood. Especially when Klaus with his eyes closed is a blind Klaus. And even with his eyes open, Klaus is somewhere else. In a galaxy far, far away.

It has to be said, and it has to be admitted, that Ben isn’t usually the first to jump into battle. He likes to peacock, in red leathers, and to snap at people, literally, to indicate that it’s their time to do his bidding. And the Sparrows did do his bidding. Until they quickly agreed not to do that anymore, twice. But as proven unto Oblivion, when Ben needs to step up, he does. And he’s certainly well trained.

Meanwhile, Ben is just standing there slack-jawed, and he probably wouldn’t want you to know that. Moving on.

“Some bodies in the garden some body’s in the garden somebody’s in the garden…”

Ben powers up his courage and rushes the knoll. Charging purposefully, he’s half way up when he hits an invisible wall. In the blink of an eye, Ben is dragged backward, leaving two jagged marks in the dirt just as Klaus had done. The moment he reaches flat earth, Ben is tossed aside like an argumentative drunk from a bar (which Ben has no experience with whatsoever).

Oh Jesus, that looks like it hurt. Yeah, so, Ben has just been flung into the air at a high enough height that 1. he is flying, without touching the ground; 2. sailing straight over the stabby orchard of trees; 3. into the formerly impenetrable darkness beyond which no one can see except Ben; and finally, 4. so far that he crumples painfully against a hedge. Understandably, this causes Ben to have a fear-based emotional response. Looks like Ben, acts like Ben, but a Ben with his eyes huge and round, and a permanently ‘oh!’ shaped mouth.

From between Klaus’s normally-flirtatious lips blasts a harsh, grating baritone — a blast far louder and lower than Klaus could ever achieve, not in his wildest, most depraved dreams. “The key!” it booms. This is sufficient to distract Ben from pretty much everything else in life.

*Huh?* Ben is quick and to the point when he’s buying time. Which has never been terribly helpful.

“Seek, and thou shalt findeth to this prison a key! Such key that hidest in sight most plain. Do this bidding with haste, or thy next breath shall grow weak. The next, so much the weaker. Telleth me, shall I press thee to death as thou hast hastened and chastened me?”

*Do you ever shut up?* Ben’s compulsion to snark overrules any pesky fear he might be experiencing. The ghost had lost Ben at the beginning, when the first ‘thou’ dropped.

“What am I to shut up?” Mr. Mouthy Withoutamouth is confused. “But no! I shan’t be diverted by thy Devil’s word-perversion. You speak it so recklessly, heathen sorcerer!”

No he didn’t just call Ben a heathen. But actually yeah, he did.

*What did you just say?* The ghost has crossed a line. In addition to allllll the other lines already crossed. Starting with possession. *Say that again.*

“Which part dost thou wisheth me to repeateth, heathen sorcerer?”

As Ben officially loses his shit and once again rushes the mound, the ghost expands his bouncy rubber force field beyond the mound in every direction. Ben is bounced back at the shrubbery like a ricochet from a trampoline.

Take a short break from contemplating what might be happening to Ben next, and instead take a moment to contemplate one of Ben’s key characteristics. During interrogation training, Dad had impressed upon the Sparrows that someday they might need to interrogate each other, and possibly even themselves. Ben defaults to training whenever he loses his mind. ‘First question,’ he thinks to himself. ‘How does this whoever-it-is have powers? He can’t be one of us, can he? He sounds wayyyy too old to have been born in 1989, even if he’s only talking all old-timey like that to get into character for Halloween. Or maybe for community theatre.’

The deep-voiced possessor of Klaus growls, “I pledge to thee an oath! This body shalt tear itself to shreds most small, shouldst thou tarry in thy quest.”

*I never agreed to a quest! Kiss my ass, Dusty McRotsalot.*

“Know of this McRotsalot, I do not. But of thee, Hargreeves? Thou art known to me.”

*I am?*

“Thou art, young Hargreeves. Thou art he who wakes the dead with screams. Thou dost dissemble in thy feigned ignorance! By the pricking of mine thumb, thine head dost now stand hexed. Hear, oh Hargreeves, thou art hexed! Be it ever so! Didst thou takest Giles Corey for a man to be so vexed?”

Most unwisely, Ben dost snarketh, *Are you done yet?*

To prove his hex genuine, the threat real, The Ghost of Giles Corey splits Klaus’s mouth as wide open as it will stretch. The spirit of the dead man gathers aether to itself, accreting his physical form in a way Ben never dreamt possible. In a feat of what can only be called magic, or possession, or the exorcist, or an exorcism, a head that is not Klaus’s head attempts to squeeze out of Klaus’s mouth. And not in the cute, messy way that Ghost Ben did. Remember? Way back in the olden days? The ghost accretes aether steadily until wispy, smoke-like hair and one eyeball try to emerge from an orifice that truly cannot open further.

Does Klaus scream? No. Does Ben scream? In his own way. Plus tears, because he’s afraid for Klaus. Deeply afraid for Klaus.

There is only one thought in his mind: getting his superhero on and saving the fuck out of Klaus.

Ben has just come to the startling realization that his damned not-brother Klaus is a light-bringer to this jaded world, even if it’s a red flashing light accompanied by sirens.

*So? What? You want me to find some key, is that it? Hey, moron!* he mimes through his tears. *I can’t find it if you don’t tell me where it is, now can I! Is it on one of the key rings?*

“Strange is thy speech. From whence dost thou come, and wherefore?”

*LA, and because it’s LA. Not for…other reasons. It’s not cuz I wanted to live here in Boston, or anything.*

“CAMBRIDGE!”

*Yeah, whatever.* Ben flips The Ghost of Giles Corey off. Or at least the Ghost of Giles Corey’s eyeball.

“Thou dost err most grievously, when thou mistaketh mine own self for a moron.”

*Do you ever stop talking? Threats, pfft.* Ben sneers in disgust. *You are talking to the only threatener in this household, Bitch Cassidy, and that’s me! See how I’m pointing at myself in the chestal region? I will be making all the threats in this house.*

“But I, young Hargreeves, I maketh good on mine own threats.”

Klaus drops to the ground, head bouncing off the dirt.

“HEY!” Ben attempts to shout. Though it comes out in barely a whisper, the eyeball hears him well enough.

Again Ben rushes the knoll, and again he flies backward into the hedges.

Ben takes a little longer to get up than he did the last time he hit shrubbery from a height. Rolling to his stomach, he catches a glimpse of Klaus.

His not-brother is on his knees atop the knoll. Ben’s eyes burn with hot tears. Klaus is digging. Klaus is digging with his fingers.

“STOP!” Ben whispers. “MAKE IT STOP!!!! Klaus! Can you hear me, too? Klaus!” he whispers with everything he’s got.

Klaus does not stop. The two wet tracks down his cheeks are enough for Ben to know that Klaus is still in there somewhere. And he’s in pain.

*STOP! Stop,* Ben pleads. He drops to his knees and mouths the words, “Please. What do you want? Some kind of key? I’ll get you the key, I’ll get it for you, I’ll do it, please, just stop!“

“I was of the mind that thou wouldst. Given the encouragement most right and good in the eyes of-”

*STOP! You got what you want! I’m helping! So stop!* Ben mimes as loud as he can.

“Why shouldst I? Verily. Let the sight serve thee as thy inspiration.”

*But you’ve given me NOTHING! NOTHING! Some key? Is that it? That’s supposed to be enough to go on?* Ben jangles two mammoth key rings.

“Such tiny things as these?”

“In this century they are!” Ben whispers.

This century.

Despite not liking history, Ben is certain that Giles Corey is not of this century.

*A skeleton key?* Ben asks, then realizes that with this guy, they might get hung up in a debate about bones. *About this big?* Ben’s back to miming illustratively.

Aaaand now back to whispering again. “Black, solid, heavy, metal. Iron? It wouldn’t be lead, would it?”

“Bone.”

Giving him Ben’s signature head bobble/shoulder wobble, Ben sneers. *Ah. Of course it is.*

The entire conversation turns to bones after all.

“AND?! COME ON! LET HIM GO! You fucking bastard bitch, sad, BORING fuckin…violence…in your face!” Ben is trying so very hard to mask the feeling of panic overtaking his body, by getting pretty bitchy.

“Speakest thee English?”

*Get talking, asshole!* Ben vibrates with rage as he mimes.

“No sane, godly man would suggest such base, vile blasphemy,” the ghost declares in horror. “To speak from thy- Thou art no sane man.”

Ben looks again at Klaus’s poor, bloodied hands, still brutally attacking the baked earth.

Ben realizes he can see bones, and finally lets himself panic. *WHERE? WHERE? WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO GET the bone key, fuckin asshole, motherfucking fuck my life, I-*

‘I can’t do this,’ is what Ben had intended to say. The feeling of inadequacy is stifling. Ben can’t breathe. For the second time tonight, Ben hyperventilates from sheer, blinding terror.

Which is not a thing that Ben would want you to know. Moving on.

“Thou art weak, heathen blasphemer. Thou art repugnant.” Ouch.

*Tell me what to do,* Ben whispers, in abject defeat.

The Ghost of Giles Corey begins to laugh.

Cold, man, cold. That’s just cold.

Two trickles of blood wend their way down from the corners of Klaus’s splitting mouth. Two trickles of tears wend their way down from the corners of Ben’s streaming eyes.

Klaus’s hands. His poor hands. Klaus. Maddening and lovable. His poor, mangled hands.

This, friends of the occult, is called ‘leverage.’

“The key, young Hargreeves. The key of Solomon ist what thou seekest. Fashioned of skin and bone, thou shalt find it in the ground amongst the bones before me. Seek, and ye shall findeth the key in the ossuary.”

“*Where?!*” Ben both whispers, and mimes. Ben is all in, raging and ready to bring this thing to an end. “*And WHAT THE FUCK is a motherfucking OSSUARY?*”

<<———😵‍💫———>>

Start || Prev || Next

<<———😵‍💫———>>

I’m kinda hoping you won’t look up Giles Corey. I’m kinda hoping you will reblog, though. 🙏

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scrollsfromarebornrealm · 1 year

Text

wayward (grand)daughter 10

She needed to calm her nerves. If she didn’t calm her nerves, the Eorzeans would notice, and they’d ask questions. She couldn’t afford questions. Pulling the hood over her head, Camilla made her way to the outer border of Broken Glass, coming to a stop next to a pile of crates. Papers were piled up under a rock on one of them, rustling every so often as a gust of wind blew by.

Think. Have to come up with a plan. She needed a plan. The last thing she had expected was bloody sweiving Sharlayan peacekeepers to show up and be do-gooders. And before then she’d been working her ass off to charm the Eorzeans, trying to ensure that she was on the next airship out of the hellhole that was currently her country. Surely they didn’t have a most-wanted list, it’d been..how long? Fourteen? Fifteen years? The bitch had to be dead, right?

I should have fucking lied! Stress, that was what had made her give her real name. And she couldn’t take it back. Not without it looking weird. She already was getting side-eyes from people in the camp for not participating in the ‘rebuilding’ efforts. What the hell was there to rebuild? Movement made Camilla turn her head. Two of the peacekeepers were approaching her, talking--but she couldn’t take any chances. Camilla snatched up one of the papers being held by the the rock and held it up to her face, turning her back to the two elezen approaching. The pair passed her, deep in their conversation.

Sweiving hell. Camilla exhaled, lowering the page. Her heart was still racing, and her stomach was still twisting itself into knots. She could feel beads of sweat on her back, making the fabric of her tunic stick to her skin. It’d been days since she’d been able to have a bath, the plumbing was still broken in the settlement. The best everyone could do was warm up snow melt and wipe themselves down.

The moment I make it to that island, I am throwing myself in a bath for days. Right after she pawned the valuables she’d been able to steal. Gold and silver were still good for coin, and it wasn’t like anyone was coming back to those homes ever again. With a sigh, Camilla let her gaze drop to the paper. It looked like one of the gossip-sheets she’d used to read--both in Eorzea and in the imperial province she’d made her home in. A colorful image was the header.

Warrior of Light Dazzles At Charity Ball

Camilla snorted, letting her gaze roam over the Eorzean words. Of course she’d heard of the Eorzean champion, she was infamous in Garlemald. Fighting wasn’t her style, but she wouldn’t deny that she was jealous--the money that the Champion of Eorzea had be swimming in had to be obscene.

Where was this...oh. Ishgard. Hoity-toity elves, religion, and cold. Despite herself, Camilla’s curiosity was piqued, and she continued reading. Gossip about various lords and ladies with redacted names, and then several paragraphs devoted to the Warrior of Light and her apparent beau. Another picture was on the page, and Camila’s eyes dropped to it. Then she could only stare as recognition hit her full-force--

Lady Fortemps and Ser Wrymblood--who would have thought that the man was capable of smiling?!

Camilla couldn’t stop staring. She knew that face. Knew those eyes. That hair. A wave of memories overwhelmed her, freezing her in place.

That’s...that’s...

As ever, the lady Riven was a model of elegance and style, abit also daring. It’s not pictured here, but that divine gown exposes a great deal of back! And while it’s rare to see our dear Warrior wear jewelry, the golden hand-ornaments and cuffs were a perfect match for this exquisite piece.

She’s dead. She’s supposed to be dead. Kari had fallen off a cliff. Food for the fish. She was dead, and Camilla’s plans had been ruined, all her hard work for naught. She’d had to flee, run all the way back to Garlemald, a place she’d sworn she’d never return to, and start all over--

It is expected that the two will be staying for a fortnight here in the city, though if they’ll be attending another ball is anyone’s guess!

Here she was, homeless, cold, no money, no friends-and Kari on the page, dressed in gold and jewels and fine fabrics with a man on her arm-- Blood was roaring in Camilla’s ears, and then she heard a strange squeaking noise. Tearing her eyes away from the page, Camilla looked down towards the source...

Only to meet the eyes of a small, brown-furred creature with bright red eyes and a gaping mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. It squeaked again, and Camilla gasped in horror.

Oh no no no no no-- It was a blasphemy, it was one of the monsters-she needed to run, she needed to scream--but Camilla couldn’t move. Images were filling her head-memories, her entire life flashing before her eyes. An unending string of failures, that’s all it had ever been, every plan she’d ever made, every attempt at a better life had been ruined--she was supposed to be the one in beautiful clothes, she was the one supposed to be adored, she was the one who was supposed to be wealthy and famous--

Ruined!! She ruined it all!! That was supposed to be my final score! I was tired of it all! I was going to finally take my proper place in society! Camilla choked-it felt like her mouth, her nose--she tasted ashes in her mouth, she could smell sulfur, the paper was slipping from her suddenly nerveless fingers, everything was now black and white--

Not fair!

“Not fair.” Camilla whined, though it was fast turning into a distorted wail as her vocal chords were squeezed and compressed, grayish-black smoke shrouding her body.

“Not fair, not fair, not fairnotfairnotfairNOTFAIRNOTFAIR!!!!! AAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!”

-------

wayward (grand)daughter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

#ffxiv #riven fortemps #estinien varlineau #wayward granddaughter #(this was all day on my screen i'm fucking posting it)#can we get a 'oh shit'

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shadowsingerofnight · 2 years

Text

Tethered | Part 3 | ACOTAR Writing Circle

Elucien College AU

header by @azrielshadowssing

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: smut, 18+, SA, violence, addiction

So this is part 3 and the final part of this fic. I’m so happy to have participated in this project. Thank you to all the writers and to @azrielshadowssing for hosting.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Masterlist

~~~~~~

Elain heard a crack. A metaphorical one, that is. In the world itself. The cruelty in Graysen’s eyes brought back memories of that night. She hadn’t told anyone the full story, not even Vassa. But now, after this time with Lucien, the understanding of how poorly she had been treated was crushing. She felt such shame- for not saying anything, for letting it happen, for still having contact with Graysen afterwards. It was like she had faced an awful addiction that returned every time she thought she had gotten rid of it. But this time- this time she wouldn’t accept it again.

“What are you doing here?” she breathed, backing away.

“What do you mean, sweetheart? You disappeared and I was worried for you. I came to make sure everything is okay.” His features were expertly schooled in a sad grimace, but the tone was a little too saccarine to be genuine. It was striking, really- how easy it was to see through his lies now. What just a little taste of healthy happiness could do.

Her phone buzzed. Elain only had time to see a glimpse of the message Nesta had sent her, containing Graysen’s name, before he snatched it from her hands. Her sister had probably tried to warn her.

“I’m talking to you. Don’t be rude,” he spat. Flashes of his hands on her coursed through her mind at the barely hidden rage. Of that night when she had owed him a last time because she was going away, even though she couldn’t stop bawling her eyes out because apparently she didn’t mean enough to him. Enough to keep fighting for them. The night when he had convinced her that she had to do it, because he loved her and deserved at least that. It was true, he had loved her and she had loved him. So she had agreed. But even then, she could feel how wrong it was. How his fingers inside her felt like a violation, how his lips on her breasts felt more like a threat.

He hadn’t liked how tense she was and the same rage had taken him. The punch had been close to her face like she had told Lucien, yes. But just because she had dodged it.

She tried not to get lost in the sorrow, in the realisation of what had really happened to her that night. But she had already known, deep down. It was why she had never told anyone.

She bit down the sobs and cleared her throat. Panic was threatening to take her, fear was a cold sensation down her spine.

“As you can see, I’m fine.” Her voice did not break.

“Yes, I can see that.” It sounded a lot like an accusation, and it probably was. She couldn’t be fine and not get back to him in his twisted brain. “But you still didn’t answer my question so I’ll ask it again. Who is this Lucien?”

“A friend.” She felt like a coward. She knew well by now Lucien was so much more than just a friend but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Graysen. Although, it was for a different reason this time: she was so scared of what he might do.

“Your eyes told a different story when you thought I was him. He has to be quite the loser if he fucked you of all females here.”

Her blood started boiling. She didn’t care what he thought of her anymore, but the fact that he was judging Lucien rubbed her the wrong way. All the frustration she had ever felt because of this half-man resurfaced and she felt angry tears gather in her eyes. Her fingers closed into fists.

He let out a mocking laugh. “What are you going to do? Fight me?”

She wiped away her tears. “Don’t talk about him like that.” Her voice was cold- firm, all things considered. She felt proud of herself for it.

But he did not. The change on his face was clear as day. He had completely dropped the act. “So he did fuck you.” Shadows clouded his eyes, his gaze shooting daggers towards Elain, and she knew then- knew that he wanted to hurt her and it had never been an accident or a burst of anger as he had said.

She had to get away. She looked around her but it was getting late and nobody was around. She could scream, but she wasn’t sure anybody would hear her or believe she was really in danger anyway. And he still had her phone.

He took the first step in her direction and she could do nothing but back away. Graysen could definitely see the fear in her eyes because his lips opened in an evil grin and he let out what sounded a lot like a snarl. She looked around again, searching for red hair and russet eyes. She had no luck. She felt sick to her stomach, the panic a heavy weight on her whole body.

Suddenly, as a snake might attack, he grabbed her arm and said, “You are coming with me. I’ll show you what a good fuck is.” She would not. This couldn’t be happening. She would not let it happen again. So she took a deep breath and with confidence she didn’t feel, she smiled sweetly at him. It worked, he was so surprised his grip loosened. And that’s when she attacked. Nesta had made sure Elain and Feyre took at least a few classes of self defence, just to make sure. She thanked her sister for that. She placed her left leg in front of her, as if she would move closer to him but it was really just to strengthen her balance and gain momentum. Then she thrust her right knee up as hard as she could. Bull’s eye, right between his legs. Graysen was cursing her among groans of pain but she didn’t wait. She turned around and ran like hell to the entrance of her building. She tried to look back, make sure he wasn’t following, but she didn’t want to risk him catching up. It was then when she bumped into someone so hard, they both balked. A familiar voice demanded, “What the fuck was that?” Jurian. She had never thought seeing his face could be such a relief.

Elain was shaking and couldn’t quite speak. She thought she might’ve been in shock. She managed to rasp, “Just take me to my room, please.”

~~~~~~

“You have to go to the police.” Vassa had repeated that at least three times since Jurian had walked her to their room. Elain had already told her everything that had happened. She was outraged. But she hadn’t yet crooned about how she was right about Graysen, so it was clear she understood how badly shaken Elain was. Jurian said, “We’ll come with you, if you need us.” Vassa’s eyes softened and she placed a kiss on his cheek. “Yes, we will.”

“Thank you both. But right now I think I need to rest.” She had been handed some hot tea minutes after she had gotten here, but she didn’t remember anything clearly. It was like she was surrounded by a numbing haze and everything seemed blurred.

The door slammed open and Lucien stormed in the room. He was panting, his eyes were wild and he was covered in sweat as if he had run here from wherever he was. He took a quick scan of the room and his gaze locked on Elain. That’s when she noticed- he wasn’t blurred. He was beautiful and the only thing that seemed solid in the world. He stalked to the bed, where she was sitting with the forest green blanket wrapped around her. He cupped her face with both hands, brushing back strands of her hair before placing a fierce kiss on her forehead.

“Are you alright?” His voice sounded hoarse, like he couldn’t quite bring enough air to his lungs.

Jurian and Vassa silently slipped out of the room.

“Not really.” Her voice broke this time. She felt as if with him here, she could let go of some of the weight and so many feelings came rushing to the surface. Her lower lip hobbled and she couldn’t keep the tears in.

Lucien’s features set in a grimace and she could’ve sworn she saw literal fire in his eyes.

“I know. I’m here.” He scooped her up and placed her in his lap where the heat from his body seemed to soothe even her freezing bones. Then he sighed. “I’m sorry, Elain. I should’ve been there. It’s just… Things at home are so much worse now.”

“It’s not your fault.” Her tone left no room for discussion.

“I know it isn’t. But I can’t help but want to beat the crap out of him for what he did to you. Now and then.”

“You knew?”

His eyes flickered. “Not for sure until right now.”

“It’s not worth it, Lucien. He got what he deserved anyway.” She lowered her chin.

“No, you don’t do that.” He used two fingers to bring her gaze back to his. “You be proud. I sure as hell am.” The smile he gave her was breathtaking. She smiled back. “That’s my girl.”

Elain felt so tired in her bones and his warmth was so comforting, she was starting to drift away. “Thank you for being here.”

Before sleep took her completely, she heard him whisper, “Always.”

~~~~~~

Lucien had spent the night. When Elain woke up, she found him curled around her like he was trying to protect her even in his sleep. She felt her heart squeeze, so full of him. He looked so peaceful and young, like unconsciousness took away that little wrinkle of worry he seemed to always have between his brows. She thought about his words last night.

Things at home are so much worse now.

“You know, you could take a picture. So you will be able to look at me all you want at all times,” he said, voice like gravel. She let out a low chuckle. He rolled over to face her. He smiled and placed a sweet kiss on her lips. “Good morning, my Elain.” The way he said it- the emotion there, it did something to her heart.

“Good morning,” she smiled.

“What should we have for breakfast?”

“Lucien.”

He sat so fast she almost didn’t see the movement. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I just want to tell you something.” His shoulders relaxed a bit and he dragged a hand through his messy red hair. “Okay.”

“I know you might not want to, but having you here last night made me understand that sorrow is so much easier to bear if you share it. So, if you don’t want to tell me what’s happening at home it’s okay. But do tell someone.”

His eyes widened. Then he just smiled and sighed. It was a sad smile, like the ones you put on your face but it’s clear they don’t belong. “I want to share so much with you. Everything, really. It’s just hard for me to talk about it. But you are right.” She just waited, gave him time. He took a long breath, as if he was trying to bring as much air in as possible.

“It all started before I was born. My parents… My mother was a dreamer. She dreamed of a perfect family in a perfect house. My father met all her wishes, he was the perfect man. Or so I was told. Until he wasn’t. After they got married he showed his true colours. You see, my mom comes from a wealthy family and as it turned out, that’s all he was after.” He sighed and then let out a shaky breath. “He drank. Every day was a gamble, we never knew how he would act. Often we prayed he would just come home and pass out. It was the best scenario we could hope for. But it wasn’t just that, it wasn’t his addiction that ruined him. His soul was already ruined and the alcohol just made everything worse. They got divorced when my mom was still pregnant with the twins.” His smile was sad and she knew something horrible had happened to them.

“Shawn and Aiden. They were the happiest out of all of us. They never saw what we had seen. And we were all happier for it. They loved soccer, they would play for hours while my mom knitted them scarfs and beanies. Beron would take them for one day every week, even though we wanted to take that away too. We had almost done it…” A sob shook him so violently he couldn’t talk for a moment. Elain reached for his hand and interlaced their fingers. He brought them to his mouth and placed a kiss to the back of hers. “He picked them up one Sunday. We still don’t know what they did the whole day. He never told us, but he definitely drank. He was driving them back home, when-“ his voice trembled and he closed his eyes. “He drove into a building. He hadn’t strapped them in…” They were both sobbing, clinging to each other as a life line. “They were six. The bastard survived. He was in the hospital for a week and he went to jail after that, but now he’s out on parole. We don’t know how it happened, I’m still trying to figure it out. My mom doesn’t deserve this. She never fully came out of her grief and he is lurking around again. He wants to apologise, apparently. He doesn’t deserve the closure. We’re trying to keep Mom company as much as we can. This has brought to the surface so much sorrow… I-“ Elain moved then. She straddled his lap and put her arms around his neck. He placed his head on her chest. After a few moments he whispered, “Your heart has the most beautiful sound in the whole world.”

“Only when you are near.”

The look Lucien gave her said more than any words could ever do.

~~~~~~

Weeks had passed. Elain had reported Graysen, Lucien and Vassa had accompanied her. It turned out Lucien knew the Commissioner of the police. Like the head of all the police in the whole city. Cassian something. She had actually met him. Cassian was a very handsome man, all hard lines and easy laughter. She had imagined him and Nesta in the same room for some reason, and she was convinced her sister would most likely rip him apart. The thought made her laugh.

“What are you laughing about?” Vassa was sitting next to her.

“Nothing, you snoop.” She laughed and Elain felt happy. Happy to have Vassa and happy that life was good. Lucien was amazing and she was sure she loved him. She just needed to tell him. Organic biology was about to end and she would have lunch with him. Maybe she’d just blurt it out.

Suddenly, the alarm was blaring and panic was spreading in the room.

“What’s going on?” Elain demanded of nobody in particular.

“We have to exit the building. Maintain the order!” Everybody stood and filed out of the classroom but Elain felt something in her gut. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew something was happening to Lucien.

In front of the building, Cassian was waiting surrounded by at least seven other agents.

“What is happening?” she demanded again, this time directly of the Commissioner. His gaze found her and softened. “We found Graysen.”

“Where,” she breathed. But she knew exactly where he was. She heard that crack again. But it was in her ears this time. If something happened to Lucien she couldn’t bear it. And it was all her fault.

“Don’t worry, girl. He knows what he’s doing.”

“He knows-“

“You can come in.” Lucien’s voice sounded from Cassian’s phone.

“That’s my boy.”

And just like that all the agents went in. They came out after a few minutes, Graysen in cuffs and Lucien in tow. Graysen’s gaze found her and it was full of hate. But she couldn’t care less.

Elain ran to Lucien and when he took her in his arms, the world started spinning again. Then, she slapped him. Her palm left behind a red mark. He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“It’s not funny, you jerk. You know how worried I was?”

“You were?” he teased. “And why was that?”

She lifted her chin, proud as ever.

“Because I love you.” Then she added, “You jerk.”

His eyes flickered and his whole face lit up. “Finally. I thought I’d have to pry it out of you.”

She slapped his arm, but Lucien just kissed her sweetly and said, “I love you, my Elain.” She couldn’t explain the tears that came then. They were happy tears, and relief tears.

“Is it truly over? What happened?”

“I was bait. I noticed some time ago that he was stalking me. And since he wasn’t stalking you, Cassian and I decided we couldn’t risk him getting away again. I had people watching me the whole time. And you.” He brushed back her hair. “We understood he wanted to make a move today, so I pretended to go to class as always. Except every student in there was an agent undercover. So, when he walked in with his gun, he didn’t stand a chance.” Her heart seemed to stop dead. “He had a gun?”

“Yeah, that’s why we needed so many agents in. Being friends with the Commissioner has its perks.” He smirked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because he didn’t deserve your worry. Not even a thought from you.”

“You should’ve told me. The fact that you were in danger…”

“I wasn’t. We were watched by agents.” He looked behind him. “We’ll talk more.”

The Commissioner asked, “Are you ready for the briefing?”

“Yes, just a minute.”

Lucien faced her again and kissed her. “I’ll be back.”

And watching him walk away, she was certain of one thing. She never wanted to spend a second without him in her life.

~~~~~~

Spring break had arrived quickly. Elain and Lucien had great plans for their free time. She had met his mother, the sweetest woman ever.

With Cassian’s help, Beron had been brought to jail once again. Everything seemed to fall into place. They had planned a trip home- they would leave tomorrow and Lucien would meet Nesta and Feyre. Elain was really excited to see her sisters again, and she was sure they would like Lucien. He had the innate ability of charming everyone.

But now, they were getting ready to go to bed in Lucien’s room. She had spent most of the night here lately, leaving her room free for Vassa and Jurian. They hadn’t complained at all.

She finished brushing her teeth and returned to his room. When she opened the door, she found him waiting on the bed. Candles shone around the floor and a bouquet of sunflowers lay on the table.

“Do you remember what today is? he asked, smirking.

She pretended to think about it. “No, it doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Then let me remind you.”

Elain didn’t even have time to gasp before he scooped her in his arms and they both landed on the bed. He kissed her with such fierceness it would’ve taken her breath away if she had any left. Lucien interlaced their hands and pinned her arms above her head, while trailing kisses down her neck and chest. The sensation was delicious and frustrating because she wanted to feel it on her whole body and clothes were in the way. She freed herself and grasped the hem of his shirt. He chuckled. “Still bossy.”

She smirked back before taking her own shirt off. Then, she just stared at him. His eyes were wide, taking her in. His nostrils flared and it was just seconds before they were both naked. He ran long, slow strokes down her hip and leg while resuming his work on her neck. He was driving her crazy, the desire burning in her lower belly.

“What do you want, my love?” he teased. But two could play this game.

“I want to feel you inside me. And I want you to fuck me so hard, I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” His heavy-lidded gaze went wide and then, suddenly he had a finger inside her. She gasped very loudly. “Then let’s get you ready for my cock, shall we?” He added a second finger. She arched her back from the immediate pleasure it gave her. But she wanted to see that wild expression again, so before he could do it himself she reached between her legs and circled her clit with two fingers. His breath caught, his eyes following her every movement. Release was already gathering at the end of her spine. “I think you’re wet enough for me, now,” he mumbled.

“Aren’t I always?” That seemed to be his breaking point. He moved so fast, she almost didn’t get to feel the loss of his fingers before he replaced them with his cock. Elain could see he was restraining himself to let her adjust. The size of him stretched her walls deliciously. She lifted her hips, desperate for friction. His breath caught again and then he started moving. His thrusts were slow but powerful. They were both panting and moaning. He bent over and whispered in her ear, “I told you then and I’ll tell you now. You are mine.”

“Tell me forever.” she replied.

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