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achaotichuman · 3 months

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The Mother's Least Favourite Son

Out of spite, I have written this. Hope you guys like broken mating bond Lucien angst.

@lorcanisdabest here is the Lucien angst you oh so wanted~

Trigger warning- Suicide.

Lucien stumbled through the dark. Tripping over something thrown carelessly across the cobblestone ground, an arm shot out to grab the nearest wall to stabilise himself. Skin scraping against the cold wet stone, it burned as it pulled away, blood beginning to prick the surface.

Why?

Why did it have to-

He lurched forward, and a crate at his feet caused him to fall to the ground. Dirty water splashed across his face, ruining his formerly perfect clothing. His trousers now wet and stained. His pristine Night black jacket now half covered with mud.

Fuck-

It lurched in his chest again. Screaming like a torture victim locked in a cage. Bleeding from the inside.

Golden threads that were cut and exposed like raw nerves. His heart beat faster than it ever had in his life. His hair fell around his face. Rain dripped down from above, beginning to race faster and faster to the surface of the earth, until it hurtled down upon him.

The stars were no longer visible. The alleyway, and the darkness it provided was his only comfort or protection.

A sob ripped from deep within the back of his throat. Each pitter of rain that fell upon him he felt starkly. Like needles were pouring down on him.

Why?

What did he do wrong?

Fuck-

He asked for an answer, did he not?

He wanted to know what she wanted.

Break it, or accept it.

He offered his heart on a platter.

Like his heart would ever be enough.

He fell back against the wall behind him. Eyes tilted to the sky.

What the fuck did he do to deserve this?

The sky held no answers, nothing spoke back to him. As his skin burned, flesh bubbling under the surface.

The thunderclouds rolling in the sky tormented him. Laughing as it was split with lightning. Turning the sky to flashing works of silver. Velaris was laughing around him. The Court his mate belonged to pointed and ridiculed the outcast that thought it could crawl in and find comfort.

No home Court. No mate.

The Mother’s least favourite son. The Cauldron’s hated creation.

Her eyes had held no remorse. No care. She hadn’t even put down her knife, as she cut vegetables on the wooden board. She looked up to him. Those soft brown iris had never looked harder.

“Please, just an answer.”

The Inner Circle stood around him. Feyre flanking Elain’s left, and Nesta on her right. Rhysand picked a piece of lint from his jacket, eyes laughing even as his mouth was firmly straight. Cassian however looked fully and utterly amused at the situation. Azriel stood behind Elain, eyes dead on Lucien. Waiting like a trap to be sprung.

“Then here’s your answer.” Elain whispered into the space between them.

Then it broke.

And Lucien screamed.

Cassian practically dragged him out. His legs unable to hold him up for long periods of time. They let him fall to the ground. Rain starting. There was no sympathy in his eyes, not even a hint of pity. Just laughing amusement as the door slammed shut.

Even from out there, in the cold of the night with the door separating the Fox from the inside, he could hear the cheering and the celebrations.

Chest heaving, skin too tight, fire burning and burning and burning.

Through a window he saw the form of Azriel, shadowsinger, wrap his arms around his rejected mate.

Lucien had run.

Run and fell across the floor, scraping his arms before he ran again.

Another wretched cry was torn from his throat, as he screamed to the sky, “Why? Why fucking me?”

What did I do wrong?

Hated son.

Exiled. Outcasted.

Were mates not supposed to love each other more than sun or moonlight?

Were they not supposed to rather give themselves up then each other?

Where were the stories? Where were the tales? Why did he not get that?

Fucking why?

The cold rain dripped from strands of his hair, down his face, and disappeared down his neck. His body began to shiver, wishing, begging, to draw up fire to warm himself. He let his body shudder and quake, barely feeling the cold pressing in under the weight of the bond now floating out in nothing.

Darkness edged in, spreading from some place in his chest through the rest of his body. Until he felt hollow, unseeing. Lucien could barely hear anything at all.

A sharp pain shot through his side, and he looked up to see a male with green hair and purple skin. Wide eyes, all black, glaring down at him.

“Beat it kid, no loitering around here.” He snarled.

“Sorry, I’m, I’m sorry.” Lucien said quickly, voice quivering.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” The male said, as Lucien got to his stumbling feet. As the Fox made for the mouth of the alleyway, he heard him mutter, “Stupid kids.”

Stupid kid.

Stupid kid indeed.

Lucien left the alleyway. The rain pounded down harder, the thrum resembled the beating of drums. Lightning forked, and thunder cracked the sky. A familiar song, a dance that had followed him since the day Jesminda had been slaughtered in front of him.

He had spent his days running from the song. The beating that would never cease, howling through the night, hurtling towards him.

Death did not come silently.

It came with war horns, riding into battle like screaming a cry. Music played in its wake. A tune no one had heard but everyone knew.

Lucien closed his eyes, as his heart fell into sync with the beat. His voice a gentle hum as thunder whipped again. As that song raised its tune.

He stuck his hands in his pockets. He looked ahead. And he winnowed.

The view of Velaris gave way to dark foliage. Oranges and reds covered one side of the earth, and the other was filled with spidering dark greens and untrained brambles.

The border of Spring and Autumn.

The rain had not stopped. The storm had spread through Prythian as if waiting for him.

It poured down upon him, until he was practically drowning on land. The ground of Autumn was practically unrecognisable as such, as the dried leaves were turned to muddy decay by the rain.

Lucien fell back and stared up at the sky.

A familiar tune.

It had been waiting for him.

The Mother’s least favourite son.

He closed his eyes.

He hoped he wouldn’t ever open them again.

***

Three years passed and it never got better.

It got worse.

So, so much worse.

Waking up and seeing the ceiling was agony. Most days he stopped bothering trying to get out of bed. Eating had become a rare occasion, so much so that Jurian and Vassa couldn’t hide their excitement when he took so much as a half bite out of his food.

He didn’t know if Prythian remembered him; he hadn’t set foot in any of the Courts since the day Tamlin found him at the border. That was at least what he was told when he woke up. Something about the rotting High lord bringing him to the Band of Exile’s manor before disappearing back to Spring.

Lucien didn’t care. All his thoughts were drowned out by mate, mate, mate, mate.

He couldn’t think of anyone, of anything else, other than her brown eyes, and curls, and red stained cheeks and lips.

There was nothing else to him, nothing anymore.

He stopped hoping she would return to him. As the darkness, the hollowness caved in. Pillars of marble in his mind turning to dust, whatever he used to know becoming nothing in the face of the broken bond.

The last time he spoke, he didn’t know. The last time he went outside, he didn’t know.

His skin was pasty, grey. His eyes deep with purple. Every bone on display, with his prosthetic eye sinking back into his socket, falling back from the shift in weight.

His body was decaying.

He stared at the ceiling.

It wasn’t worth it.

This would go on.

And on.

And on, and on, and on.

Prythian had forgotten him. His mate had rejected him. His last two friends, the last he could consider friends, were tied up with each other.

He wasn’t worth his mate’s love. He wasn’t worth being remembered.

“Might as well get it over with.” Lucien whispered to the ceiling, the first words he had vocalised in so long.

For the first time in what may have been a week or more, he dragged himself from the bed he had practically become attached to. Limbs heavy, eyes fluttering, pain struck him from all sides and he wanted to fall back down and rot.

But Jurian or Vassa would eventually convince him to a meal or something to keep him going if he stayed on the bed.

So he walked.

He walked to a dresser, where beside it laid a bag. It had all sort of provisions and things needed should he have been stranded somewhere in Prythian. He kept it packed ever since he was thrown out of Autumn.

Mother’s least favourite son. Cauldron’s hated creation.

Inside one of the back pockets was a long spiral of coarse rope. Rough against his weary hands as he pulled it out, a sudden disruption to the soft sheets Lucien was used to holding these days.

Mother’s least favourite son. Cauldron’s hated creation.

The curtain rod was sturdy and could hold a fair amount of weight, not that it mattered very much as he was practically just skin and bones. It took little to stand atop a chair by the window and put the rope over the rod. Part of Lucien wished Eris had never taught him to tie knots, if only so he didn’t know what to do now.

Mother’s least favourite son. Cauldron’s hated creation.

It was rough around his neck. He felt nothing. He didn’t want to feel anything.

It was sunny outside. The flowers were in bloom. He saw Elain in the sunshine. In the flowers below him. He saw home in the ground, in the trees in the distance. He remembered the feelings of Autumn leaves under his hands. And he remembered the smell of pollen from Spring. He remembered the chill of Night’s air.

He remembered her soft skin when he put his jackets over her arms after she came out of the Cauldron.

Lucien let go of all memory as he let himself swing from the curtain rod.

He hoped he wouldn’t remember in the Mother’s land of milk and honey.

Mother’s least favourite son.

Cauldron’s hated creation.

#acotar #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra deserves better #elucien #elain archeron #elriel but not graphically described #tw elriel #acotar au #acotar headcannons

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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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acourtofladydeath · 4 months

Text

TTBW Chapter 2

Cassian's healing journey beings, and Emerie tells her story.

New tags include discussions of cycle/period discrimination.

Start reading under the cut or on AO3!

Tensions were high outside Cassian and Nesta’s room at the House of Wind. Emerie, Azriel, and Rhysand had been sitting in the hall over a day as Madja and a team of her best healers worked on their friend’s mangled wings. Nesta refused to leave his side. Madja allowed her to stay in the room only as long as Nesta agreed to follow all instructions and stay out of the way, which she had. There was no time to fill anyone in on his status. While the camp lords had not intended to kill Cassian, the combination of the paralytic, faebane, and the shock to his system from trauma and blood loss had caused his body to shut down quickly.

Rhysand had never seen Madja call for so many extra healers. Typically she brought along an apprentice or two to train. On particularly bad occasions, like after the King of Hybern had shredded Cassian’s wings and Azriel had been stabbed by Jurian, he and Morrigan had lent a hand. Madja called for six additional highly trained hands, and specifically refused the help of any apprentices or the Inner Circle. Such a thing was unheard of.

As they waited, Emerie leaned against the wall, arms folded and one leg kicked back. Rhysand had slid down the wall several hours ago. Now his legs were bent up to his chest, elbows rested on his knees, and his head hung heavy in his hands. Azriel stood rigid by the window, unable to break his stare from Cassian’s door. Emerie watched him flex his hands and knew what ran through his mind. She knew what he must be reliving after what Cassian had endured because she was reliving it too. Their scars ran deep.

Loss, damage, physical, mental, and emotional pain that no amount of training could prepare anyone to live through. This was trauma in its purest form, and Cassian was not the only one injured. Emerie shut her eyes tight as she tried to push away the memories that had threatened to consume her from the moment Nesta had recognized the agony in Cassian’s wings through their bond the night before. The images and phantom pains that Emerie still fought back daily had only gotten stronger after what she’d witnessed in that tent.

Hours later the door to Cassian’s room opened and Madja, exhausted and flecked in more blood than anyone was comfortable acknowledging, entered the hallway. Rhysand was instantly on his feet. Azriel remained still, but Emerie took a step off the wall, arms still crossed and wings held in tightly to stave off the pains. Rhysand quickly approached the healer, expectation written across the wrought lines of his face.

Madja stared down at the floor. This healer, a female whose skills went beyond all others, one of the only people in all of Prythian who could order the High Lord around, could not meet his eyes. Rhysand’s eyes bore down on her. Emerie tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, tried to remember that he was in pain, but she did not like the way he looked upon his master healer.

With a deep breath, Madja raised her head and squared her shoulders to address Rhysand. Her face was schooled in a practiced calm as she began to speak with a steady voice. “We have stopped the blood loss, and managed to prevent amputation. His organs were shutting down and we almost lost him, but I am now sure that physically he will survive this.”

“His wings,” Rhysand cut in, voice hoarse from lack of use and water. As he continued to speak his tone was harsh as he asked the question Emerie already knew the answer to. “Will he fly again?”

“No,” Madja said, voice firm and sure though it sounded like she did not want to be. “His wings were too damaged and there was noth-”

“You have to do something. He can’t not fly,” Rhysand said, voice rushed and angry as he took one step toward the healer. “He has to fly, Madja. You have to do something. His wings have been bad before, and you’ve always fixed him.”

Emerie watched as some small part of the healer permanently broke, and she stepped forward to try and prevent the crack from growing further. “Thank you, Madja, for saving his life. We are so thankful. Is there anything that you need us to do?”

Madja looked gratefully at Emerie for a brief moment before she responded. “No, thank you dear. Nesta has all the instructions and we will visit again soon. He needs rest before we work again.”

Emerie smiled warmly at the female as she kindly nodded her response. Madja ushered the healers, all in various states of dishevelment, out of Nesta and Cassian’s room before they left the House of Wind together as one with Morrigan as their guide. Em watched them leave as she used her body to create a barrier between the healers and the High Lord. Azriel still had not moved from where he stood, eyes locked on the door that was once again shut. When they had gone and she was certain they were out of ear shot, Emerie turned angrily upon the males behind her.

“Are you proud of yourself,” Emerie spat at the High Lord, who was still fuming mad about the now undeniable fact that his friend would no longer be able to fly.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Rhysand retorted as anger rolled off of him in dark waves.

Emerie cocked an eyebrow at the High Lord, her hands on her hips. “Oh yeah? Nothing wrong? You do know that your words have an effect on people, correct? You had no right to guilt her like that.”

“I did no such thing. I simply asked-”

“No,” Emerie said back. She wanted to shout, but she knew that Cassian and Nesta did not need to hear this right now. To try and preserve their peace, Emerie worked to keep her voice low, yet strong. “By bringing up the past times she was successful, you just confirmed to Madja that you believe this was likely her biggest failure to date. And it’s not. There’s no way to recover from the wounds he received. He’s lucky to be alive right now.”

Continue reading on AO3.

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