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shadowhunter2003 · 15 days ago

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Sign of the Times - Chapter 7

Summary: As the Chosen Hero, the wielder of the Sword that Seals the Darkness, Lucien would be responsible for standing between Prythian and ruin. No pressure. But even that responsibility would come second to his new, primary objective: To live and die in the service of the Princess.

Read on AO3・Masterlist・Previous Chapter

"You're right, you know."

Lucien turned his head towards the princess. He wasn't used to those words coming out of her mouth, and he expected he would not be hearing them again any time soon.

"About what?" he asked.

It was getting late, and he was still lingering in her suite of the High Lord of Winter's palace. There were guards stationed outside the room, ready to relieve him so he could actually take a full night's rest, but he couldn't quite find it in himself to leave her.

He'd stayed longer than he should have, perched against the far wall to keep watch while the princess idly stroked Nelly and leaned over the book he'd lent her. Fire flickered in the hearth, casting palettes of orange and gold across her visage with nothing short of admiration. Lucien couldn't help his eyes from lingering on those places where the firelight gleamed against her skin, wondering how soft it would feel against the backs of his fingers.

She was so lovely it made his teeth ache.

Fortunately, his staring could be discredited for vigilance, and Elain ignored it all the same, her brown eyes eager as they flitted over the pages of her book. At some point she'd taken to reading aloud, and he'd let her voice carry him to a different world, where the hero knight's largest concern was his forbidden love for the princess he guarded.

If only that were the extent of Lucien's worries.

So when the princess paused to share her thought about how he was right, he was struck with a very strange and foolish fear that she could read his mind. That he was right to think falling in love with the princess would be a trivial concern, all things considered.

"The crying," she answered, dismissing his fears without realizing it. She looked down at the rabbit and sighed, scratching it gently between its long, upright ears. "I've been doing too much of it lately. It isn't as if my sorrows will improve our situation."

Lucien tensed. He'd made that joke to lighten the mood, not to dismiss her feelings.

"You're allowed to feel sorrow, princess."

Elain shook her head. "You're being kind, but these troubles are not the sort of flames I can douse by weeping. I dread to say it, but my father's right. And so were you. I need to start taking this more seriously."

The last person he wanted to be compared to was her father. But how could he explain that to her without beytraying his newfound anger for the High King? He and Elain may have shared that anger, but only one of them was entitled to it.

Choosing his words carefully, Lucien said, "You endangered your life yesterday. I dread to think how you can get more serious than that."

She was looking at Nelly, which was no different than she'd been doing since the momment he gave her the rabbit, but there was a shift in her intensity that made him wonder if she trying not to look at him.

"It's as you said." Her voice was quiet. Thoughtful. "If I let myself die before the Calamity arrives, I'll only be doing so out of fear. I need to face my destined path, even if I fail while every eye in Prythian is upon me. If I'm remembered as the princess who let the world down, so be it."

Lucien swallowed. He didn't know if it would be a comfort to her—in fact, he suspected it would be the opposite—but he said, "You know I'll be beside you either way, princess. We either both win, or we both fail. We'll be remembered together, no matter our fates, so the blame won't only rest with you."

At last, she looked up. Not to him, but to the hilt of the Master Sword poking over his back. He could tell because it began singing beneath her appraisal like a preening bird.

Her smile was sad. "Even so, everyone knows that without my sealing magic, your sword is useless. No one expects you to hold off the calamity indefinitely. If you're overcome, it will be because your princess failed you."

His princess. He tried not to get stuck on that. She was everyone's princess, technically.

"What…" He felt stupid for even asking this. It would only show her how little he knew, how ill-prepared he was for this role. But maybe that's what she needed to know—that she wasn't the only one who had no idea what they were doing. "What is the Calamity, exactly?"

From the moment he pulled the sword, everyone just assumed that he knew the prophecy and the legends. He knew some of them—the most glorified of them, and the rest he'd strung together through patchwork stitches of context and off-handed remarks.

"Is it a person?" He continued when she stared at him, her mouth parted open. "A beast? Some sort of magical curse?"

"You're teasing me," she said, the corners of her lips splitting into a smile. Then she giggled. "You almost had me for a moment, but I'm starting to catch on to your antics."

Lucien shifted. His face was starting to grow hot, and he wondered if he should just play this off so he didn't look completely incompetent in front of her.

When the princess noticed his discomfort, her grin fell. He watched her brows knit together until they formed a thin crease in the middle. "You truly don't know the stories?"

"I know the gist of them," he said, feeling a bit defensive. "Good versus evil, light versus dark. They just sound like stories, though. The kind you tell children to get them to behave. Y'know, clean your teeth or the Calamity will snatch you."

Elain's mouth twitched. He thought she wanted to smile, but when those pink lips parted open, the sigh that escaped them spoke of the same bone-weary heaviness that rested across his back.

"The last Great Calamity was 10,000 years ago, so I suppose all we have are stories. Who knows how many details have been embellished as the centuries passed? It could be that our entire understanding of the Calamity is false." She looked out towards the window, her eyes so distant it was as if she was staring towards a place far outside the Winter Court. "Those stories say that a creature of pure malice rose from the ocean and threatened the whole of Prythian. It was vanquished by a knight wielding the Master Sword and a princess blessed with the Mother's sacred bloodline. Our past lives, if the legends are true."

Lucien nodded as he digested this information. It wasn't much different from the stories he'd already heard. "So then, the Calamity is a beast? A sea creature?"

"There's a tapestry on display in the library of the castle, have you ever seen it?" When Lucien shook his head, she said, "It's the only preserved account from that time. It depicts the Hero and Princess defeating a great, horned serpant."

"A dragon?"

Elain hummed. Not quite agreement. She clearly wasn't content with that description, but he guessed it was the closest they could get.

When her gaze drifted toward the book, and she seemed to wince at whatever thought crossed her mind, it dawned on him.

He couldn't keep the smile from spreading across his as he regarded the book splayed open on the bed. "You mean, I'm destined to be a knight who slays a dragon? Like Sir Enalius?"

Elain cheeks went pink, and when she began sputtering in outrage, he knew he'd hit his mark. "Don't compare yourself to him!"

Lucien smirked. "Why's that? You find him dashing?" He jerked his chin toward the book. "You seem very asborbed in that story considering you called it—what was it?—trite?"

"It isn't as if there's anything else to keep me occupied!" Elain said with a huff. "You're about as much of a conversationalist as Nelly." He was about to joke that poor Nelly didn't deserve the insult, when the princess threw a hands up in frustration. "And besides! It's the princess's role that has me enraptured. The idea of sitting in a tower and allowing you to do all the work in saving the world? Oh, the luxury."

She was joking, he could tell. Her voice was light, and she even offered him a hint of a smile.

For that reason alone, he didn't tell her that he would take the burden from her if he could. It wouldn't be a welcome declarartion. Regardless of the pressure on her shoulders, he didn't think Elain had the heart to stand back while someone else bore the brunt of her responisbilities. He also didn't want to imply that he didn't think she could do it on her own—she heard it from everyone else, but she would never hear it from him.

"Speaking of saving the world, what's the plan now?" He asked, changing the subject. "The Spring of Courage didn't work. Do you still wish to make pilgirimage to the others?"

The Spring of Power was next, located in the heart of the Spring Court. At least that court was warm enough for her ceremonial dress, though he could do without the princess fasting herself while riding for hours on end.

Growing solemn, the princess nodded. "I don't know if the mother will hear my prayers at the other springs, particularly after my failure at the Spring of Courage. But I must try, or I don't know if I'll ever be able to face my father again."

Lucien didn't think he'd be able to face him, either. Not without the anger simmering through his veins, restrained only through years of careful practice in his composure. He wasn't certain it would hold if he witnessed the King slicing into his daughter with every one of her deepest insecurities.

"I have been thinking, though," she added in a quiet voice. As if she was nervous about sharing her thoughts. "About what will happen if I fail at the other springs. What will we do if Calamity rises and my magic is still inert?"

Lucien's fingers clenched, overcome with the inexplicable urge to feel the sword in his palm. Like feeling it hum against his skin might chase away the anxiety of that looming if. He wondered at it often himself, and all he knew was that he would fight until his very last breath, that he wouldn't let a single thing touch her until his heart stopped beating.

"Is that the way we should be thinking?" He asked. Like a hypocrite. "We haven't lost yet."

"We haven't," she agreed. "But we would be poor strategists if we placed all our fate in a horse that's never won a race. One that has always come last, in fact."

Unable to chide his superior, he hoped his glower got the point across. Don't talk about yourself that way.

Elain reached towards Nelly, stroking her over and over. Stalling, he thought. Trying to work up the courage to say, "I think we should consider other methods of sealing the Calamity. In case I fail. My father barred me from doing the reasearch—he thought I was trying to eschew my sacred duty by finding a way to pass it onto someone else. But… I've read about the miracles that the seven High Lords can perform when their magics are combined. They already have the ability to create wards, and is that not a sealing power in its own way?"

"You want to ask the High Lords to fight against the Calamity?"

"By ours sides," she rushed to add. "It would not be in our place. It would be together. The Master Sword and goddess's bloodline, and the seven High Lords. Maybe that way if I fail, Prythain will not fall to ruin."

Or all seven High Lords would be killed, and Prythian would be flung into chaos as seven nascent High Lords rose in their place and scrambled to figure out how to protect their territories from the threat. He didn't share that line of thinking with her—what was the point? If the Calamity was that unstoppable, Prythian would be flung into chaos regardless.

"It's a decent plan."

Her eyes were so wide. It was the first time he thought he'd ever seen hope in them. "Really?"

"The High Lords may need some convincing," he hedged. "The High King as well."

Elain shook her head. "We mustn't tell my father. He'll never agree to it. If anything, he'll write to the High Lords and bar them from helping."

Convincing the High Lords was one thing. Asking them to do it against the High Kind's orders?

"In that case, it will be all the more difficult to pursuade the High Lords." When her face fell, he sighed. "Difficult, but not impossible."

"I can't imagine it will feel any more impossible than unlocking my magic," she said. He could see a familiar stubborn determination creeping over her face. "But we'll have to try. We'll continue the pilgrimage and on the way, we'll meet with each of the High Lords."

Each of the High Lords. It would more than double their journey to stop in each Court. But it would also buy them some time before they had to report back to the High King with their progress at the Springs. He wondered if that wasn't partial motiviation for the detour.

Lucien bowed his head despite the dread rising in the back of his throat.

"As you wish, your highness."

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shadowhunter2003 · 16 days ago

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Months ago, @kt-reads-things , @lulufoxlainfawn , and I really wanted to do an old harlequin style romance cover with Elucien, and now we can finally share it with all of you! Elain and Lucien fit the dreamy, yet also cheesy, vibes of those “Fabio” covers perfectly. The intensity. The drama. The Tempt of the Fox 🦊

A huge thank you to @nanna.arts for seeing our vision and being an absolute blast to work with. The art, the typeset, even the addition of the aged/cracked cover feel in one version — we have been in awe working with you!

Credit to @lulufoxlainfawn for the title of our pretend Elucien novel 🦊🌷

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shadowhunter2003 · 17 days ago

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Sign of the Times - Chapter 1

For @elucienweekofficial Day 2!

Read on AO3・Masterlist・Previous Chapter

If Lucien believed the most difficult part of becoming the Chosen Hero would be vanquishing the Calamity, that was before he'd met Elain Archeron.

Serving in the Royal Guard, he'd already known her in passing. He lived and trained on the castle grounds, the same as his brothers, and often caught glimpses of the princess at a distance.

She and Lucien were similar in age—young, far too young, for the responsibilities they would be assuming—but Elain carried herself with a grace that suggested she bore all the wisdom of her past lives.

If one believed the legends, that was. Those stories suggested that Lucien and Elain were reincarnations of the same Princess and Hero that had been fighting the Calamity for thousands of years. Lucien skewed towards the skeptical, but if there was anything that could convince him, it would be the pull he felt to Princess Elain upon first seeing her, and every moment after.

But that pull could just as easily be explained by the fact that the princess was outrageously, unfathomably, forbiddingly beautiful. He doubted it was necessary to have fallen in love with her in hundreds of previous lifetimes in order to fall in love with her in this one. Otherwise, all the guards who went slack-jawed when she walked by during training would be reincarnations of the Chosen Hero, too.

And Lucien knew they weren't, because he'd watched them try, and fail, to pull the sword. He knew it couldn't be just anyone because he could list a dozen knights he thought would be better suited to the legends and had, somehow, fallen short when he hadn't.

It was still a bit incomprehensible to Lucien how he had been chosen.

And evidently, it was incomprehensible to the princess, too.

"Stop following me!"

Lucien ground to a halt when the princess whirled to face him, her braid lashing through the air like a whip he just narrowly dodged. It swung back into place over her shoulders, sitting elegantly atop a cascade of loose, golden brown curls. The style aimed to keep the unruly curls out of her face, but a few of them had already sprung loose at her temples, falling just short of her rapidly reddening cheeks.

It was strange to see her up close for the first time like this. He felt as if he was still in the sparring ring, facing off against an opponent who'd just struck him twice in the chest. First, with an unobstructed view of her soft, delicate face—the kind that spawned poetry and ballads and wars. Two clever eyes were narrowed in his direction, emphasized by downturned brows and a pair of pink, perfect lips that were screwed up into a scowl. That was the next strike, knocking him off balance before he'd even had a chance to recover from the sight of her.

Her whole body was clenched in anger, from her nose down to her fists. A small, deviant part of Lucien wanted to see if he could push her far enough to throw one of those fists at his chest, just to see how hard she could hit him.

But the sword at his back grew heavier, chasing away the mischievous thought. There wasn't time for playing any longer. The prophecy didn't exactly quantify how imminent Calamity was, but the High King and his scholars acted as if they expected it would rise with the next dawn.

Since the moment Lucien pulled the sword, he'd been thrust into a constant state of hypervigilance—even inside the castle grounds, surrounded as it was by fortified walls and an entire regiment of guards. It was… an adjustment to be surrounded by people who treated every moment, no matter how mundane, as a verge of crisis.

So when he saw a chance for levity, he wanted to take it. He ached to make a joke, to tease and whittle down the princess's staunch defences the way he might if he were to meet her in a world where they were equal rank with no looming cataclysmic fates.

But she was his superior, and the High King had made Lucien's role very, very clear.

He said nothing.

Elain stamped her foot, incensed by the silence or his refusal to move; he couldn't decide.

"I don't care what my father says," she snapped at him. "Regardless of the King's orders, I don't need an escort to walk me thirty feet to my own bedchamber!"

They'd only just left their audience with the High King. Lucien had officially been appointed as Elain's personal knight not five minutes ago, but he'd been expecting this explosion the moment he entered the throne room and saw the hostile glare she fixed in his direction.

Captain Helion (whom he now, confoundingly, outranked) had warned him about Elain's temper on their return to the castle. He had also suggested that the discovery of the Chosen Hero would be a tender subject for her.

Lucien could see that now.

"I've managed just fine in the castle for the 21 years it took to identify the Chosen Hero," she flung at him. "I think I'll manage just fine for five minutes more."

He stared at her, wondering what she reasonably expected from him. His orders were to stay by her side at all times. Did she really think he'd defy that instruction so soon after being assigned?

Elain braced her hands on her hips, some of her anger morphing into scrutiny. "Do you speak?"

That felt like a trick question. Of course Lucien spoke, but it wasn't his job to speak to the princess. And frankly, he wanted to retain his silence because he knew it would needle at her. If she was going to give him a hard time, then why couldn't he return the favor, in what small ways his rank and position would allow?

"Fine," Elain huffed, throwing up her hands. "Clearly, I'm the only one here with a mind of my own. If you want to waste your time following me around in the perfectly safe hallways of the castle, be my guest. In my opinion, it'd be better for all of us if you used what valuable time we have left to practice your sword."

Lucien clenched his jaw at the insult. He was a perfectly fine swordsman—the best, Captain Helion would claim, though he knew each of his brothers would contest. He was the youngest page to have ever been granted knighthood, though that, too, was an accomplishment his brothers attributed to their own talents, since he trained under them from the moment he was old enough to hold a sword.

So, really, it was foolish to let that offhanded comment wound his pride. But Lucien thought she was right. What was he really achieving by following her through the castle and standing outside her door? If Calamity was coming, shouldn't he familiarize himself with the weight of the sword at his back, learn the ins and outs of the way it was balanced, adjust to the feel of it in his palm, until it was an extension of his own body?

But even if Lucien was able to master the sword by dawn, his skill with it would be meaningless without Elain. As the last living descendant of the Mother Goddess, she was the only one who possessed the power to seal the Calamity away. He could weaken it with his sword, but only she could save Prythian.

If he fell in battle, the soul of the Hero would be reincarnated into the next unlucky bastard. But the power of the Goddess existed only in her bloodline, and she was the last of it. That's why his job as her appointed knight was crucial. He was expendable. She was not.

And if the rumors were true, Elain hadn't mastered her sealing powers yet. That was the crux of her dislike, he assumed. She wasn't ready, and he'd put a ticking clock on her progress by triggering the prophecy.

When Lucien still said nothing, Elain released a low, dissatisfied groan and stormed the short remaining distance to her room. She shut it in Lucien's face before he could follow her inside. He decided that was perfectly agreeable, since it kept him out of the princess's verbal sparring range.

Until she wrenched open the door. "And another thing!"

Lucien looked at her, quirking a brow.

"I like to sleep in. So don't you dare knock on my door in the morning. Not unless Calamity rises. Understood?"

He dipped his chin in acquiescence, which earned him a scoff of outrage—presumably because he didn't answer with an obedient yes, your highness—before the door slammed in his face again.

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shadowhunter2003 · 17 days ago

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Quick tips for writing kisses

⇰ the pause. THE PAUSE. like “are we doing this? oh god we’re doing this.”

⇰ looking at each other’s mouths like it’s a life-or-death decision

⇰ someone whispering “can I?” or “just once” before going for it and RUINING ME EMOTIONALLY

⇰ hands. gripping shirts. cupping faces. hovering like “do I touch?? I WANNA TOUCH”

⇰ breath hitching?? yes. shakiness?? absolutely.

⇰ that stupid moment where one of them pulls back a few inches like “wait are you sure” and the other just goes for it again

⇰ kissing like they’re scared it’ll be the last time

⇰ kissing like they’ve been waiting ten goddamn years

⇰ teeth clashing awkwardly and both laughing about it but STILL FEELING IT

⇰ one of them freezing for a second mid-kiss because the feelings just hit

⇰ the post-kiss moment of “uh. so. yeah.” where neither knows what the hell just happened

⇰ OR the post-kiss forehead touch. destroy me.

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shadowhunter2003 · 17 days ago

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𝐸𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑒𝑒𝑘： 𝐷𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡☀️

@amandapearls @melphss and I are so thrilled to be able to share this stunning artwork!

We really wanted to show something soft, sweet, and intimate for this day. Since Elain and Lucien both love the outdoors, we thought Elucien gardening together and spending the day out in the sun would be perfect!

lamonyo (ig) Thank you so much for this gorgeous artwork of Elain and Lucien!

We are completely in love with all the colors, lighting, and stunning details. Elain and Lucien look perfect absolutely enchanting together

We love their cute little smiles and the way they're looking at eachother with such tenderness!

lamonyo it's been a joy to work with you! Thank you so much for this lovely artwork and for being so sweet during the whole process!

Commissioned by @amandapearls , @melphss & myself for @elucienweekofficial

Artist is lamonyo

Characters belong to Sarah J. Maas

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shadowhunter2003 · 17 days ago

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On writing sexual tension

�� standing too close. like just barely not touching. why are their shoulders breathing on each other??

⊹ conversations that sound normal but feel like foreplay. “pass the salt” has never been so loaded.

⊹ one of them says something flirty and the other freezes for 0.2 seconds like “oh.”

⊹ eyes dropping to lips and then—back up. with effort.

⊹ holding eye contact just a little too long. like... are they gonna kiss or duel??

⊹ unintentional physical contact that lasts one second too long and now they’re both broken

⊹ a hand on the small of the back. that’s it. that’s the tweet.

⊹ tension so thick that other characters start noticing like “hey are you two okay?” (they are not)

⊹ “accidental” sleepovers. “oh no there’s only one bed.” yeah. suuuure.

⊹ biting back a smile. biting back a moan. biting anything really.

⊹ one of them walks away and the other has to physically restrain themselves from watching the hips

⊹ lots of sighing. frustrated sighs. horny sighs. “i want to kiss you but I’m emotionally unavailable” sighs.

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shadowhunter2003 · 19 days ago

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"You're staring again."

For Day 5: Daylight of @elucienweekofficial, we are delighted to offer you a look of love that shines brighter than any sun. @separatist-apologist, @the-lonelybarricade, @ablogofsapphicpanic, and myself have asked the wonderfully talented @/ranadela_x to draw Elucien head-over-heels in love, and oh did she DELIVER.

Just look at him, completely captivated; and Elain's smug expression that just screams oh, I've got you right where I wanted 😏 A massive thank you to @/ranadela_x for this gorgeous art, and for being so genuinely amazing to work with!

Happy Elucien Week! Please do not repost ☀️

Art by: @/ranadela_x Commissioned by: @separatist-apologist, @the-lonelybarricade, @ablogofsapphicpanic, @velidewrites

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shadowhunter2003 · 19 days ago

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Elucien coloring sheet for @elucienweekofficial Day 6: Growth 🌱🪻🌾

Download the coloring sheet for free here!

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shadowhunter2003 · 19 days ago

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Sign of the Times - Chapter 6

For @elucienweekofficial Day 7!

Read on AO3・Masterlist・Previous Chapter

Once the princess was brought to a stable temperature and Lucien determined she was no longer at risk of losing any digits, they were presented with a new, decidedly uncomfortable issue:

Their lack of clothing.

"The High Lord of Winter has a residence not far from here," Lucien suggested. "I could winnow us there."

"The pilgrimage is supposed to be made on foot," Elain argued, studiously looking anywhere except his bare chest.

He hadn't removed his arms, still cradling her, and she hadn't asked him to. As far as Lucien was concerned, she needed the body heat, even if that meant torturing himself with the press of her smaller body against his. They'd been travelling for almost two days now, and she still smelled pleasantly of jasmine and honey—how did she manage it?

Those distracting thoughts clung to him like cobwebs, but he did his best to shake them off. To keep focus. "We'll winnow back here once we have suitable clothing. It will be like we never strayed off the path."

Did that still count? He could see Elain puzzling over that very same question. Her tutors had likely advised against exploiting loopholes in the scriptures, but he couldn't imagine they'd advocate for riding naked through the plains of the Winter Court. After sundown, no less.

"You winnow," Elain suggested. "You're not beholden to the rituals. I can wait here until you return with clothing."

Lucien gritted his teeth. "I'm not leaving you here alone."

"I won't be alone." Elain gestured to the horses waiting outside the cave. "I have Storm and… forgive me, what is your horse's name?"

"Rhea."

"Right. Storm and Rhea will keep me company."

"Absolutely not."

She huffed. "My, you're bossy all of the sudden."

"You almost died," Lucien said, hearing his voice was too sharp, but unable to soften it. "My one, singular responsibility is to keep you alive. I can't let you go outside in your current state, nor can I leave you by yourself in the wild."

Elain leaned back, studying his face. "But the scriptures—"

"Won't matter if you're dead!" He snapped, resisting the urge to shake her. "Prythian will be no better off if you kill yourself trying to unlock your magic."

Her face hardened. "At least I'm trying!" She struggled to sit up, baring her teeth in his direction. "At least if I die, I'll know I did everything I could! Better that than to be known as the Princess to a throne of nothing. The one who sat back and watched while Calamity destroyed the world."

Her carefully groomed hair had become a wet, tangled mess, sticking to her neck and the sides of her face. With her cheeks and nose still red from the cold, and her eyes splotched with tears, the agony of holding her—naked—in his arms became all the more severe. And instead of savoring the sight of her, he was arguing.

"Is that what you want?" Lucien snarled. "To take the easy way out and die a hero, so you don't have to face the Calamity and risk failing when it matters most? Let it rend the world to ash and have us deal with the aftermath?"

The princess's eyes widened, and he thought he might have struck too close, too deep. She tried to scramble out of his arms, but he caught her, dragging her into smoke and shadow until they emerged on the other side. In a palace of ice that was unburdened by cold.

"Get off of me!" She cried, pushing him away.

Lucien let his arms fall, obediently stepping aside.

Elain kept one arm clutched tightly around the cloak, keeping it from revealing her exposed body beneath. With the other, she slammed a fist into his chest.

"How could you?" Her eyes were shining with tears. "The pilgrimage is ruined!"

"It was already ruined," he pointed out. "You didn't finish the prayer. And I entered the spring."

She turned away, covering her face. "Go."

"What?"

"Go back and get the horses," she said, her voice firmer. "Find the other guards and tell them where I am."

"I'm not leaving—"

"Princess Elain?"

They both turned to see a tall male with white hair approaching them, accompanied by a pair of guards on either side. The High Lord of Winter. Elain quickly dashed her tears on the side of Lucien's cloak, then tilted her chin up.

"We're not in the wild anymore," she said. There was a disturbing vacancy to the way she spoke, reminiscent of the unflinching tone of the High King. "There are guards here to protect me. You're dismissed, Sir Lucien."

The Master Sword trembled in its scabbard, but Lucien ignored it and bowed his head. "Yes, Your Highness."

It took all night for Lucien to find where the other guards made camp—a stable, about halfway to the Winter Court capital. The stable was clearly built for travelers, intended as a place of respite for those traversing the wide winter plains, as there were no caves or other means of shelter for miles.

Lucien left Storm and Rhea in the heated stable, grateful to let them rest with access to food and water while he finally had the chance to sleep.

"Where's the princess?" Sir Graysen asked when Lucien collapsed onto the bed beside him—the one which had clearly been left for her, if the pile of furs and pillows was any indication.

He was too tired to answer. At some time in the night, an exhausted weariness had settled in his bones, making them feel heavier. Stiffer. The Master Sword hadn't stopped protesting since the moment he left Elain. When he took it off, he thought he would be relieved to be free of it, but felt oddly as though he were missing a limb.

The world was too quiet. The static in his head had dissipated, and instead there was… nothing.

Nothing wasn't good. Nothing gave him too much time to think.

Was Elain safe? Would she forgive him? What if Calamity rose tomorrow and he wasn't at her side?

He didn't know how long those thoughts swirled in his mind before he drifted off, but he knew that when he was shaken awake the next morning by Sir Andras, it felt as if he'd only just shut his eyes.

"Lucien," Andras said. "Where's the princess?"

"High Lord's Palace," he mumbled. "Need to meet her."

"What happened at the spring?"

There was no way he was getting into that with any of the knights. Not after their commentary on the princess the day prior. When he didn't answer, Andras sighed.

"Will you at least tell me what happened to your shirt?"

Lucien had been so exhausted that he'd actually forgotten he wasn't wearing one. "I prefer to sleep like this." It was only a partial lie. "Grab me a new one, will you?"

While it wasn't a full night's sleep, Lucien could admit he felt better having rested. His mind was clearer, and he was already wishing he could re-attempt the last 24 hours. Approach it differently, and emerge with the princess's health and trust still intact. As it were, all Lucien could do was push the knights to travel quickly, making up lost time to arrive at the High Lord's palace by midday.

He had visited the residence a few times during his training. The High King's regiment of knights was comprised largely of High Lord sons and other High Fae with ties to nobility. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement—the High Lords would send their sons to accrue recognition in the service of the High King for a few centuries, and in exchange, the High King would dispatch his units for any number of disturbances within each of the seven territories.

Over the years, Lucien had been dispatched to the Winter Court to assist with various missions—a migoi sighting in the mountains being the most exciting. Though the time he and Tamlin were tasked with herding escaped yaks was not without its amsuements.

It was as Lucien was musing over that memory, feeling a stab of longing for a time when his only concern had been returning to the castle without yak-sized bites taken from his uniform surcoat, that he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision.

He held up a hand, signalling the other knights to come to a halt. At his back, he heard the bright, tinny song of metal as the knights drew their swords.

"Weapons down," he said, dismounting. "Wait here."

"What is it?" Andras called, but Lucien was already giving chase through the snow.

Hours later, Lucien rapped his knuckles against the door to the suite of rooms the princess was staying in.

"Who is it?" She called.

He hesitated, knowing if he said his name, he'd be turned away.

Unfortunately, his silence was just as incriminating.

"Go away, Lucien."

He'd have to do his best to convince her, then. "I have a surprise for you."

"Another book?"

No. He hadn't thought of that, though in a palace that was sure to have a few libraries, perhaps he should have.

"Open the door," he said. "It would be better to show you."

He needed to survey the room, anyway. This was unfamiliar territory, and he felt antsy keeping the princess out of sight. The palace seemed secure enough, but it wasn't nearly as fortified as the castle.

The silence stretched, leaving Lucien taut, a bowstring moments from snapping and just breaking down the damn door himself.

Then it opened. The princess stood before him, finally adequately dressed for the weather in a velvet long-sleeved dress, complete with a fur-trimmed cloak clasped over her shoulders. He never thought he'd feel so ecstatic to see a female buried in layers of clothing.

"What is it?" She asked with a prim, upturned sniff.

Lucien grinned. "Hold out your hands."

She watched him through distrusting eyes, but cupped her hands together regardless. "If it's something disgusting, I'll stab you with that sword," she warned.

"I know."

With exacting caution, Lucien reached into the satchel he'd borrowed from Sir Bron. "Close your eyes," he added, before gently removing the small, fluffy creature. The princess jolted when he placed it in her hands, and her eyes immediately snapped open to stare with parted lips at the white rabbit before her.

"It's Nelly," he said.

Her lower lip began trembling.

Lucien swallowed past the thickness in his throat, saying lightly, "You mustn't cry every time I give you a present. I'll start to think you don't like them."

For once, it was Elain who was at a loss for words. With an unladylike sniffle, she brought the rabbit protectively to her chest, stroking it fondly between the ears.

"May I come in?" Lucien asked. "I need to make sure Nelly's the only intruder."

Elain nodded numbly, stepping aside as she continued holding the rabbit like nothing else mattered more. He didn't think when he caught the rabbit that he'd grow jealous of the damn thing, but it was clear the princess was completely enamoured with it.

It made him brave enough to ask, "Am I forgiven?"

She didn't answer, but as she settled on the bed with the rabbit cradled delicately in her lap, he thought he might be.

#Can’t wait to read this after my finals!!!#Tbr #Elucien

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shadowhunter2003 · 19 days ago

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The Prythian Historical Society presents: Masquerade

For @elucienweekofficial Day 7: Free day

"In those moments alone, as my fingers trace freckles from cheek to collarbone, or as I watch the way starlight dances across skin, I marvel at how one can feel such intimacy, but also such great distance." — Colin Bridgerton

We hope you have your masks and dancing shoes on for our biggest collab yet! This has been in the works for months and we hope you love it as much as we do!

Artists:

Line art and creative direction: @jadedbugart

Background, lighting effects (and sparkles): @olenvasynyt

Elucien: @works-of-heart / vaella.arts

Background dancers: @bonecarversbestie

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shadowhunter2003 · 20 days ago

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Unfortunately, this year I only managed to finish one fic for the wonderful for @elucienweekofficial🩷, but I really really wanted to participate! I hope you enjoy it!

modern Elucien AU; Elain has a nightmare and there's only one person she knows she can call even in the middle of the night. Lucien.

read on ao3

>>>>>>

@shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop @aayo-whatt @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @thelovelymadone @berryzxx @jules-writes-stories @bookishbroadwaybish @the-darkestminds

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shadowhunter2003 · 20 days ago

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My submission for @elucienweekofficial 2025! And ya’ll get more of the Wild West AU (which is rapidly becomings its own original thing.) for Day 7: Free Day.

I redrew this image as the two cause I thought it fit. (I’ll put it under the cut if you wanna see the original photo.

I also am showing ya’ll the full character designs I came up with for them.

The OG photo:

@geniemillies @tired-cicada @cynthiag1022 @cedakotes

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shadowhunter2003 · 20 days ago

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The Obsession playlist -A Dark Elucien Playlist.

For Day 7 of @elucienweekofficial

This playlist is for my the girlies that love Elucien, not just in their soft sunshine era but also in their dark era as well.

It was heavily influenced by my oneshot Don't blame me and Taylor swift’s Reputation era album.

Keep reading for Tracklist.

The album cover was inspired by Tell Me Lies book cover

#Spotify #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #elucien #elucien playlist #elucien week 2025 #elucien week

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shadowhunter2003 · 20 days ago

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Don’t blame me.

For day 7 of @elucienweekofficial.

Summary: Elain has unhealthy obsession with her French professor. For him she would cross the line, she would waste her time, she would lose her mind. Inspired by Don’t blame me by Taylor swift.

I am kind of scared to post this one guys, because of how hard I worked on it, and it was first attempt at writing smut but I need to rip the band aid off and get it over with,so here goes nothing.

Thank you @temperedink for beta reading this, you are the sweetest.

Warning: Light sub/dom, mentions of stalking, teacher-student relationship.

This oneshot also comes with a playlist, here’s the link. You can listen whilst reading to get the full experience.

Read on AO3

Elain had worn her favorite pink silk mini skirt knowing it would catch the gaze of all the men in her vicinity. Knowing the effect she had on them, and that she could have any of them panting after her like lost puppies with just the right look from her soft honey glazed eyes.

Except, her effect never seemed to work on the one man she wanted it to work on.

Professor Lucien Vanserra.

She had scribbled that sacred name like a litany over and over again in her journal until there were no pages left, and she had had to get a new journal to exhaust with his name all over again.

His gaze didn’t even swing her way when she purposely walked into his lecture late, silently begging for him to notice her. But his eyes remained focused on the students he was teaching, not even glancing up once to scold her for coming in after lecture had already begun.

She hated that no matter how much she hungered for him, he never even looked at her, never saw her. No one ever did, at least not the real her that was a caveat to the simple-minded pretty face everyone thought she was.

She could still remember when she was little, and used to participate from beauty pageant to beauty pageant for any scraps of her mother’s love and affection, always trying to be this pretty perfect thing. And even then her beauty was not enough of a price for the love of the woman that birthed her.

Nothing was ever enough. She tried so hard, till one day she grew up and realized that the love she was chasing from her mother was easily gotten from anyone, anywhere, and anyhow she desired it, thanks to the beauty that her mother had once found lacking. And she embraced every minute of it, even if it caused her to lose a part of her soul, because finally, for the first time, her beauty was enough.

Until now. Until Professor Lucien Vanserra.

She had once again tried everything, failing his class woefully, passing it exceptionally, remaining blessedly average, and nothing still worked. She even randomly appeared at bars she knew he would be on the weekends, wearing her sluttiest dress. Hoping to accidentally run into him and randomly spark up a conversation. But still nothing.

And yes, she occasionally lightly stalked him, but that was only because she needed to know.

Had to know every single detail about him. Don’t blame her.

There was just something about this older man that her soul couldn’t quite shake. She didn’t know why she was so drawn to him, but each time she was in the same room as him she felt this strange electrical bolt pass through her body, her hair standing on end as goosebumps exploded everywhere.

Even right now, she should be paying attention to her Advanced French II class, but let’s face it she only added it to her courses, like the many students with flowery perfume, made-up faces, and perfectly styled hair here because of the guaranteed face-to-face visual of his rare beauty.

With his striking heterochromia eyes—one iris ringed with russet, the other ringed with gold—and the scar running down the left side of his angular face, from his brow to the top of his full lips, to the 39 freckles splattered on his nose like constellations, his features—perfect in their imperfection—were more fitted to be graced on the cover of GQ than in the pages of a faculty magazine.

As she listened to him pronounce words in French, she couldn’t think of anything else but that deep seductive voice berating her in her ears for stalking him as he thrust into her from behind.

She clenched her thighs together. She wanted him to be hers and only hers. Badly. She also wanted to know what he ate for breakfast,whether he was in a relationship, how long he took to shower, whether he preferred coffee or tea.

She wanted him to consume her every being from the strands of her hair down to the sole of her feet. And she wouldn’t rest until he did.

The memory of the day she had first passed him, their elbows almost touching, surfaced. The nostalgia of the dopamine she got from that initial hit of his soft tones of autumn and sweet vanilla like a drug to her present consciousness.

What kind of man smells like vanilla? It was almost unfair to all the long list of college boys trailing after her, buying her whatever she wanted with their allowance. They all reeked of Old Spice or suffocating cheap cologne. Not vanilla, never vanilla.

After that first hit, Elain had craved that scent to the point of insanity, so much so that when she got home that day, she forewent her jasmine and honey scented body wash and showered with the autumn and vanilla scented one she saw him buy at the Velaris supermarket. Had masturbated with that scent all over her, imagining it was him doing those nasty things to her for weeks, calling his name out like a living breathing thing, to her empty bedroom walls as she came.

She wanted the smell of him all over her so that when people scented her they wouldn't be able to differentiate between the two of them and they would automatically think he had spent the whole day fucking her into oblivion. She wanted the whole world to know he was hers.

Especially that irksome Ianthe, who was so fond of acting like the teacher’s pet and flirting with him even though it was pretty clear that he had no interest in her whatsoever.

“Mademoiselle Archeron.”

Elain froze, her name spilling out of his lips breaking her distracted spell, the sound so unexpected that a jolt raced through her spine.

“See me in my office,” he said without looking up from the podium desk before packing up his lecture materials and walking out, effectively dismissing the class.

————————————

Her pulse pounded heavily as she walked through the Faculty of Languages and Literature’s corridor until she reached the isolated door at the end of the hallway.

She knocked faintly, feeling lightheaded with anticipation, wondering why Professor Vanserra wanted to see her as she fidgeted with her hair and clothes, hoping they were presentable. She had checked herself out in the bathroom mirror twice, but she still needed to be sure.

“Entrez,” echoed his husky voice at the other end of the door.

As soon as her feet passed through the threshold of his door she was hit with the full force of chill air, sharp and immediate against her skin. She wrapped her hands around herself taking in the surroundings from the wooden bookshelf that were filled with well-worn out books, academic journals, and dissertations, to the floor-to-ceiling windows that painted the room in sharp lighting, to the large mahogany desk that was scattered neatly with graded papers, an open laptop, and a glass of half-drained iced whisky.

And then her gaze swung to the man behind the imposing desk, fully focusing on him. He was seated on an expensive leather chair with the fawn jacket he had earlier worn today hanging loosely on it. His sleeves were rolled up, forearm veins flexing as he wrote on a sheet of paper. He didn’t even look up when she entered.

At the full force of the sight of him, the chill she had felt when she first stepped into the room vanished, replaced by warm scalding heat that went straight to her lower abdomen.

She shivered.

And like clockwork he looked up, eyes locked on her body, giving her a slow perusal from head to toe. Lingering on her exposed legs.

She shivered. Again.

“Cold?” he asked, going back to writing. “My blood runs hot so I like to keep the room as chilled as it can get, but I can regulate the temperature on the thermostat for you.”

“No, it's fine.” She chuckled nervously. Her hands played with the long sleeve of her fuschia-blush floral top, dragging it down to her exposed fingers.

He hummed at the back of his throat in answer, otherwise remaining silent. The soft whirring of the AC was the only sound strumming in the quiet background as the air surrounding them filled with thick, unspoken tension—like the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

At last, he dropped his pen, the soft tap it made on the table breaking the silence. His gaze locking with hers as he leaned back in his chair, picking up the whisky glass on his desk, swirling it around. The white shirt he was wearing underneath his suit jacket, buttoned down enough to show a sliver of his delicious golden skin.

“Mademoiselle Archeron,” he stated, his tongue swerving on the room."You have a younger sister, n'est-ce pas?” Is it not?

A furrow made its way in between her brows. “Oui, I do?”

“The woman I started seeing knows her.” He explained.

Her heart broke into a million puzzle pieces. A woman he had just started seeing? How come she never noticed her? Or any other woman around him for that matter?“Oh. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” she replied, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

He took a sip from his whiskey, watching her over the glass as he savored the taste, then said, his voice casual,“Really? I thought you would know, considering you have been stalking me.”

She froze, heart dropping. Her brain short-circuited as a ringing sound passed through her ears.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you?” He chuckled darkly, taking another sip. “At first I thought it was simply a figment of my imagination. This doe-eyed angel with a halo of golden brown curls following me around.” He set the glass back on the table. “But then I saw you everywhere I went. The mall, my coffee place, at bars, at the gym. Parked in front of my house.”

Elain could not speak, bending her head in mortification, but also in satisfaction. Because all she could think was that finally he saw her, noticed her, even at the cost it came with.

“Why?” he asked.

She remained silent

“Look at me.” He commanded, and instantly her head snapped back up, eyes homing in on his. “Je te vois.”

I see you. Butterflies exploded in her tummy.

“Now tell me why.”

She still couldn’t speak. How could she tell him that she loved him? That she didn’t know how, but she knew they were meant to be with each other? That she would stop at nothing to make it happen?

“I will give you five seconds to respond, or I will report you to campus security.” He threatened, irritated at her silence, not even wasting a breath before he started counting. “Un. Deux. Trois—”

“Because I am obsessed with you!” she blurted out, heart racing.

Everything went still at her confession. She was sure even the glass clock on the wall stopped ticking, her heart skipping a beat as it raced through her chest.

A beat or two passed, and then, the side of Professor Vanserra’s lips started slowly shifting up till his mouth broke out into a wicked smirk, his teeth gleaming, and everything started moving again.

He stood up from his seat, dwarfing the room as he walked to the liquor cabinet, beside the bookshelf— the size of him making the walls of an otherwise big room, smaller and smaller as he retrieved another whiskey bottle, the label reading Woodford Reserve, from the cabinet.

“Obsessed with me?” Faint amusement dripped from his tone as he walked back to his seat. And even though he didn’t even come close to touching distance with her, she caught an intense whiff of his vanilla scent and inhaled deeply.

He settled in his seat again. “Why?”

“I don't know why.” Now that she had started speaking her mouth could not shut up. This was her only chance to prove herself to him and snatch him away from the woman he just started seeing, so she was going to lay all her cards on the table.

“I can’t think of anything but you, I touch myself anytime I think about you, my heart races anytime I have the chance to be in the same vicinity as you, I feel this unexplainable pull to you like a thread is pulling me by the rib towards you, and—

“I would do anything to have you as obsessed with me too.” She flushed at that last statement, but she meant it with every part of her.

He quirked, an auburn brow cocking his head to side, observing her, his gaze once again giving her a slow sweep, pausing at her lips as a breath flowed out of them, slow and uneven.

He bit his forefinger as though it were her lower lip, smirk still in place as he continued watching, spreading his legs, getting more comfortable, as if enjoying a sports match seated at his grey sofa at home.

"N'importe quoi?” Anything? he asked, eyes narrowed. A hint of a dare evident in them as he took a sip from his glass—without ice now. As if purposely leaving it bold and fiery instead of cooled and controlled.

And when she softly replied “Yes.” Her words meant more than just yes— it meant offer and acceptance of her body, mind and soul.

Without missing a beat, Professor Vanserra told her to lock the door. She did.

“Crawl to me.”

She faltered.

“Do you not understand English? Or should I speak French?” He flared his hands for her to hurry up.

“Rampe.” Crawl, he commanded again, his gravelly voice cascading through her veins like water flowing through a stream.

As if compelled by that one French word, that single syllable, Elain bent down on all fours on the floor and slowly began creeping towards him on shaky limbs, her heart thumping in her ears like a drum.

When she got to the front of his shoes, he bent down, drawing them to eye level as Lucien’s palm found the soft underside of her jaw, and he tips her face up to his so their lips are mere inches apart.

“Bonne fille.” Good girl. His words caressed her skin — a lover’s caress—like they could pass through her skin and flesh into her bones and brand themselves there.

She shuddered at the praise, her eyes falling shut as his finger slowly ghosted over her cupid bow, the tiny mole at the side of her mouth, her full bottom lip.

He was about to kiss her, she was certain—could feel his breath on her lips.

“J'ai essayé si fort de rester loin de toi, j'ai combattu tant de démons et j'ai perdu, et je me fiche que cela fasse de moi un salaud de finalement laisser cela arriver, mais je suis trop enchanté par la beauté que tu es, et tout aussi obsédé par les profondeurs de ton âme pour continuer à lutter contre cela.”

I have tried so hard to stay away from you, fought so many demons and lost, and I don’t care if it makes me a bastard to finally let this happen, but I am too enchanted by the beauty that you are, and just as obsessed with the depths of your soul to fight it anymore.

Before she could think to translate what he had just said, he was picking her up by the waist, like she weighed less than a feather, and plopping her on the desk, roughly shifting all other materials to the side.

He moved closer, and her legs instantly opened to accommodate him, her skirt exposing her inner thighs as he aligned their lower bodies together.

Her head went back in a soft moan, her insides melting to liquid when her sex aligned with his.

“Show me,” he rasped low at her ear, not touching her, his hands stretched behind her, the only connection between them their lower bodies.

“What?” she asked, in a trance, rubbing herself on him to relieve her ache.

He looked down, tsking.

“None of that, my angel, not here,” he admonished, pulling back, putting enough space between them. She whimpered at the loss as his back hit the wall, his elegant but strong tall physique merging with its surface.

“Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me,” he whispered, clarifying. “Montre-moi comment ce sera quand je te baiserai.” Show me how it will be when I fuck you.

Even as her blood went hot at his words, she blanched. Elain had never touched herself before in front of anyone, and she was especially skeptical about doing it in front of him.

She watched him as he watched her. The only evidence that he was affected by their interaction were his pupils, dilated almost to the point where he looked drunk, high on the sight of her.

She craved the effect she was having on him now. The possibility that she could drive him mad, that he could finally experience how mad he drove her too, had her hands going to the skirt and slowly pushing it up to bunch it at her waist.

His breath picked up speed, chest heaving as she fully exposed her lower half to him, her hands going to her midriff touching it lightly, teasing herself. Then going down to her panties, her knuckle tracing up and down her slit, leaving a visible wet spot behind.

He regarded her with that wicked smirk.

“Take these off,” he instructed, shooting her white lace panties a lethal stare. The heat from his mismatched irises felt like it could burn the fabric protecting her modesty into a crisp.

Elain did as she was told, pulling the fabric down, and dropping in on the floor.

“Ecarte tes jambes.” Spread your legs.

She bared herself to him and he faintly sucked in air. “Chaque partie de toi est belle.” he whispered in awe, as if this time he was not in control of his tongue, and the French unintentionally rolled off it. Every part of you is beautiful.

Her sex pulsed, reminding her that it was begging for something, desperate for it. So she took her fingers straight down to her clit, massaging it gently, soothing the keyed-up ache she had felt there since she stepped into his class and saw him. She closed her eyes in pleasure, imagining he was the one touching her clit.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and her eyes instantly flew open to catch his gaze once again.

Elain tried to move her fingers into her opening while still massaging her clit, but he halted her movements with a glare. She was so attuned to him that she could understand what he was saying with just a look.

“Do you know why I just stopped you?” he asked.

She shook her head, half delirious.

“That was the consequences of your actions.” He moved from the wall, walking all the way to the side of the desk. “First you stalk me in those distracting short skirts, then you show up to my class late.” He had moved behind the desk and was whispering in her ear now. “Then I call you to my office, and your only defence is that you are obsessed with me?”

She tried to look at him—fingers moving a bit faster on her clit—but his large palm went to her neck, circling it and gently pushing her face back to stare at the wall.

Goosebumps appeared on her skin as his mouth gave the part of her neck that was not wrapped around his palm punishing faint kisses till he got to her ear.

“I know you want to fill where you ache the most, but I am not going to let you do that until you apologize for being so naughty,” he whispered in her ear.

“I am sorry,” she apologized right away on a whimper.

“And you promise to be a good girl from now on?”

“I promise.”

“Promesses, promesses,” he hummed, depriving her of his touch as he moved back to the wall to lean against it. “We shall see.” The way he said that last statement made her feel like he enjoyed her being naughty, and like she should continue playing the games that had landed her into this trouble in the first place.

“Put a finger in yourself,” he said, grabbing his forgotten whiskey and taking a sip, then dropping the glass down.

She did as she was told, inserting a finger in herself. She was so wet that it went in in one smooth push. She quivered, her mouth falling open in a drawn-out mewl, as her sex clenched on her finger.

“Shhhhh, I know, my angel,” he soothed. “But we have to be quiet, remember?”

Elain was so lost in herself that she did not at first understand what he meant. Then she remembered that she was fingering herself on her professor's desk—a man who was 10 years older than her. Yes, she checked. What kind of lover would she be if she didn’t know his age, date of birth, parents’ hometowns, and his 7 brothers’ names.

The forbiddenness of it all felt so good. She had always been the exemplary daughter, always had perfect grades, didn’t smoke or drink, no tattoos—no bad company or deadbeat boyfriends.

She strived to be perfect, was perfect, but this one thing was her dirty secret, for both of them alone, and she loved it.

She closed her thighs together as she moved her finger— in and out, curving it against that special spot in her walls, the pressure above her sex building and building.

“I don't remember telling you to close your legs.” She heard his voice somewhere in her head, the remaining clear parts in her otherwise fuzzy brain interpreting his words as she opened her legs again, obediently.

Her eyes broke contact with his to stare at the impressive bulge in his pants. She wanted it inside her so badly. If her fingers made her feel this full, she could only imagine how full his cock would make her feel.

A shiver went through her spine at the thought, her sex making wet noises with each thrust as she climbed and climbed higher to the finish line.

“Do you know all the things I could teach you? All the ways I could show you pleasure?” He edged her on darkly, eyes still fixated on hers, as if he wanted to memorize what her face looked like when she came.“Have you mindless with it, helpless for it, until you are a writhing, sobbing mess beneath me.”

That dirty soothing vow was all it took because one second she was trying to stay lucid and the next she was blacking out, her thighs instinctively coming back together again as she shattered.

When she came back again, tired and sedated, he was carrying her bridal style, placing her on his expensive leather chair, then standing up and walking into the toilet. After a few minutes—longer than she thought he would take—he came back out with a damp towel.

He knelt down in front of her, his bulge looking like it had cooled down, it was still there but less angry—his heated gaze on her swollen sex feeling like he was actually touching her there.

“You did so good, my angel,” he soothed as he cleaned her up. And when he was done, he passed her her lace panties to put on, leaning back on his knee. “Je t'appartiens. À partir de maintenant, tu es à moi et je suis à toi.” You own me. From now on, you are mine and I am yours.

Her heart bursted with happiness as she felt like she was floating on cloud nine. At last, he was hers.

But then she remembered something he had said earlier and her smile dimmed.

“What about the woman you just started seeing?” she asked.

And for the first time, he smiled. Not the usual uptick of his lips—that she had come to treasure—but the one that lit up his entire face. Her breath caught in her throat at that smile, her sex clenching on empty air, like she wanted more just from seeing that smile alone.

“I’m looking at her,” he replied, his devious eyes gleaming like that of a sly fox.

The End.

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elucien fic #elain x lucien #kamwrites #elucien week #acotar #elucien smut #elucien week 2025 #elucienweek2025

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