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clarafae · 2 days ago

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What Do You Know About Love? - (8/?)

Summary: When Elain discovers a centuries old love letter, written in secret and never sent, she decides that she's going to be the one to finally deliver it. Even if finding its intended recipient means going on a mission with Lucien Vanserra. Set post ACoSF.

Chapter 8 - A Not Admitting of the Wound

Read on AO3 ・Previous Chapter・Series Masterlist

Elain's first thought upon seeing the Day Court's Great Library was that it should never be shown to Nesta.

If her older sister were to glimpse the floor-to-ceiling shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls, there was a risk they would never see her again. Though Elain didn't suspect that the scholars, scurrying to-and-fro with their maude robes trailing behind, kept much in the way of erotic fiction.

From the outside, Elain had mistaken the lavish, multi-tiered building as another of Helion's palaces. It was certainly grand enough to be a High Lord's residence, with its carved, multicolored columns thicker than tree trunks and great marble statues that left her marveling at how an artist could manage to make stone appear so soft and fluid. Her father had been a carver, and wood was a far more malleable medium, yet his creations never seemed to capture the same amount of motion and texture.

Was it magic? Or simply artistry in its purest form, honed by centuries of dedication to the craft?

She was awestruck before she'd even made it past the fortified wall that surrounded the Great Library. Its entrance was positioned at the top of a hill just off the harbor, which aided the scholars' unending conquest for Knowledge by providing scrolls from every port on the charted maps. It also subjected all who entered to scrutiny. Helion and his scholars considered themselves purveyors of Knowledge, and they did not grant its access to any person fresh off the docks.

A beaked faerie guarded the entrance, his bird-like eyes narrowing on Elain at her approach. "State your business," he said, thrumming his taloned fingers impatiently against a thin piece of wood he clutched in his right hand.

"Oh, um." She was slightly taken aback by how normal the faerie sounded. A human voice, coming out of a bird's beak. "I'm Elain Archeron. Helion Spell-Cleaver permitted me to enter his libraries."

The male grumbled and withdrew a long feather from some inner pocket of his robe—perhaps he plucked it from his very body. When his golden beak split open to reveal a snaking black tongue, Elain thought for a dreadful moment he was about to attempt to eat her the way she'd always heard about in the children's rhymes. But then he merely slicked his tongue along the tip of the feather, coating it in dark saliva, and she realized with fascination that he was using it as ink��to scrawl a note upon the parchment clipped to the wood.

After he finished scribbling what appeared to be a furious letter, the parchment disappeared in a puff of sandalwood-scented smoke.

"And what knowledge do you seek, Lady?" He asked, looking up from the board.

"I'm— uh…" Did she feed this male the same lie she had given Helion? That she was illiterate and simply there to admire the architecture? Pinned beneath the scholar's shrewd eyes, she had the forboding sense he would be able to discern any lie spoken at these gates. With a swallow, she said, "I'm trying to learn more about the history of celebrations in the Day Court. How holidays are celebrated now compared to how they were celebrated three hundred years ago."

"Much the same," the scholar replied blandly.

"Oh, there must have been changes over time, surely," Elain protested. "Even things that may seem mundane—the guests who attend them, the drinks that are served, things like that. Do you think I'd be able to find that information here?"

The scholar looked offended. "Of course," he said, his beak clacking in irritation. "We keep an extensive record of all court events, including the ones of the more intimate variety." He coughed. "Documenting such relations allows us to track lineages and validate claims of ancestry."

Elain's brows rose. A record of everyone who'd ever publicly coupled during a Haelia celebration would be a perfect place to start.

"Do you allow… anyone to access those records?"

"Only those with explicit permission from the High Lord."

That might prove difficult to attain, given the lie she'd told Helion. Elain tried not to squirm beneath the scholar's assessment, certain her doubt was written all over her face. Was she about to be turned away?

Just as she was preparing to gather her pride and leave, a piece of parchment flitted out of thin air. She gasped in surprise, watching as it glided back and forth in wide, indolent sweeps, before landing atop the scholar's wooden board.

He frowned. "The High Lord has verified your claim. You're permitted to enter once the entry fee is paid."

"The… entry fee?" Elain repeated.

It hadn't occurred to her to bring any coin. Helion's palace was only a short walk; she supposed she could fetch her pouch if she needed to, though she'd been very strategic in leaving the bedroom while Lucien was in a meeting. She wasn't thrilled at the added chance of running into him—they'd barely exchanged more than a stiff, yet cordial 'good morning' and 'good night' the last two days. If he knew where she was going, he would volunteer his help. And Elain didn't trust herself to reject it.

The scholar pointed to a stone placard mounted above the entrance gate, which was stamped in symbols she didn't recognize.

"What does it say?" she asked, feeling embarrassed by her ignorance. "I only know the common tongue."

"The price of receiving Knowledge is to first provide Knowledge," said the scholar. "It's an equal exchange; we take and we give."

"So," Elain said, piecing his meaning together, "You want me to give you… Knowledge?"

"Knowledge which has not already been submitted to the archives."

"But how do I know what's already in your archives?"

"I will know," the scholar said, tapping the tip of his feather pen to his temple. "I have been recording every piece of Knowledge submitted at this gate since this library's inception—those which have been written on stone and paper and those which have been spoken. I am the Knowledge Keeper."

The gravity of that information sucked the air from her lungs. How long ago was this library built? It predated any of the current High Lords, which meant that this being was older than any faerie she knew. With the exception of Amren, perhaps.

"What if I…" Elain shrugged, feeling her courage shrivel like a neglected orchid. What did she possibly stand to offer a being like him, who had seen and learned and experienced more than her 24 years could ever fathom? "What if I don't know anything that hasn't already been submitted?"

The Knowledge Keeper threw his head back and chittered. It sent Elain back to the evenings she used to clutch at Mother's skirts during her dinner parties, listening as she giggled over things Elain was too young to understand.

It was humiliating how that feeling never faded, even as a grown woman. How she was always surrounded by people who knew more, who knew better, who knew a world that she was still navigating in leading strings.

The faerie regarded her, still huffing with amusement. "Then you would be a fascinating anomaly. I would record that as your submission of Knowledge, if it were true."

Elain's face heated as she searched for some facet of her life that felt important enough to be recorded in history. "I was once human, but I was changed by the Cauldron into fae."

"This is common Knowledge," said the scholar. "It has already been submitted to our archives."

"It made me a Seer," she tried. "I forsee events before they unfold."

The Knowledge Keeper considered this. "Our record of Seers is incomplete, but we have documented their existence and abilities. Is there a future you've seen that bears memorializing?"

No, she longed to say. They're all nonsense. A box, a song, a glowing cord. It was like dipping her fingers into water and trying to guess the shape of the ice it had melted from. What good is knowing the answer to a riddle if she was never given the question?

"I saw Hybern's twin ravens before they attacked a library in the Night Court."

"This information is known."

"What?"

"Is there anything else?"

"I killed the King of Hybern," she said, grinding her teeth as she reminded herself to stay calm, stay measured. "I stabbed him through the throat with the Shadowsinger's dagger."

"Alrady entered," the scholar said with a sigh. As if her failure to supply an acceptable piece of Knowledge was starting to bore him.

Beginning to feel frustration dig its sharp edges, Elain volunteered, "I almost kissed that Shadowsingers on the winter Solstice."

"This is known."

"How?" Elain demanded. As far as she was aware, only Lucien and Azriel knew what happened that evening, and she thought they would both know far more profound information they could share with a scholar.

"The High Lord of the Night Court consults our records regularly," said the Knowledge Keeper, his voice laced with humor.

Rhysand? He knew about her rejected kiss with Azriel? And what's more, used it as leverage to gain entry to the library?

Elain crossed her arms, feeling spiteful. "Well. Has the High lord of the Night Court told you that he occupies his evenings knitting booties for his son?"

"Fascinating," said the Knowledge Keeper, before swiping his rather ostentatious quill across his tongue and scribbling a note across a fresh piece of parchment. "This fact has not been entered into our archives."

A sense of guilt crept in, realizing the enormity of what she'd just traded. It was a harmless fact, sure, but it would be submitted into the records of this library for the rest of history.

That makes us even, she thought, projecting it outward as if Rhy could snatch the thought through what she imagined was an ocean of others, in constant ebb and flow, awaiting one of those mental talons to cast forward like a net.

If Rhys heard her, which she suspected he didn't, there was no response. It was likely for the better. With centuries of daily records stored in the Great Library's archives, it was highly probable that no one but the scholar would ever uncover the trivial fact she'd submitted.

"May you find the Knowledge you seek," the scholar said, bowing his head to Elain.

The large, stone gates groaned as they slid across the stone floor, parting open for her. After all this time, Elain would think she'd become accustomed to the peculiarities of magic, but as she walked through the tall, narrow entrance, she was surprised to find there was no pulley system or operators on the other side.

It was as if the stones themselves had heard her submission, assessed its worthiness, and deemed her entry.

She paused before she made it to the other side, turning to consider the Knowledge Keeper where he stared forward towards the harbor, vigilant in his role of guarding the entryway.

"How do you know I was telling the truth?" She called to him. "You could be documenting false information."

The Knowledge Keeper didn't turn to acknowledge her. Perhaps he was offended by the question—or the implication that she might have fed him an untruth.

As she started to continue through the passageway, she heard him say, his voice amused, "The gates are spelled. They only part for those who have spoken true, my Lady."

How did the gates know? She would only wear herself out trying to make sense of it.

And when the passage fed out into a garden beyond her wildest imagination, the thought escaped her entirely. At its center was a long reflection pool with parallel paths on either side, each framed by swaying palms and bougainvillea trees that sprouted from circles cut into the stone walkways, creating archways of pink flowers

Scholars draped in robes clustered around the courtyard, some carting piles of books and scrolls, while others looked to be holding lectures in the open space, scribbling notes while they talked animatedly amongst each other.

It was a sight to behold. Elain could have spent the entire day in that courtyard, sat upon one of the many stone benches while she listened to the soothing trickle of water and felt the breeze dance in her hair.

But since she was here on a mission, she followed the path alongside the reflection pool to the great staircase at its end, admiring the statues as she went. With each sculpture she passed, she noted that they all bore a startling resemblance to Helion. Were they all statues of High Lords past? A family of tree, of sorts?

She stopped at the final pair of statues where the paths on either side of the pool converged. A crowned male stood proudly upon his pedestal, his sword raised to the sky, parried on the other side by an identical statue.

Was this the High Lord who founded the Great Library all those centuries ago? She studied his strong features, feeling the set of his mouth tug at something familiar. She only met Helion just the one time, hadn't she? It was so strange to gaze upon the face of his ancestor and feel as if she recognized him. Not just in passing, but in her gut.

Perhaps it was some strange manifestation of her seer magic? It was frustrating, like feeling an itch beneath her skin that she couldn't quite reach, couldn't satisfy. With a huff, she shook off the thought and strode up the stairs through to the pillared arches that comprised the entrance.

What she found on the other side was shelves upon shelves stacked with books and scrolls, arranged in every direction like a great labyrinth of knowledge. From the outside, the building looked as if it contained only two or three floors at most. But now, she could see the staircase in the center that led up as well as down. When she leaned over the railing, curious how far it went, she saw a spiral of stairs that led to level after level, descending into a dark center that seeped the warmth from the air the longer she stared into its depths.

It suddenly made sense why the Great Library was built on a hill. And it occurred to her that this was just one (albeit the largest) of thousands of libraries within the Day Court.

This is a good thing, she reasoned, even as she felt the beginning of overwhelm creep up on her. If there was any information about the Haelia ball the letter's author had attended, it would be here.

She just needed to find out where.

After being directed five levels below by a disgruntled scholar who clearly had not appreciated the interruption, Elain was beginning to think she'd been misdirected. He'd probably just rattled off a section at random to get rid of her.

The back of the floor had a room with a much lower ceiling. Elain was shorter than her sisters, and yet even she needed to drop her head as she wandered into the dimly lit alcove.

The air plummeted in temperature, leeching out of her as if strained by the stones themselves. There was a different gravity to them than the sand-colored stone that comprised the rest of the building. This stone was darker, older she sensed, in the way that the age of an artifact collected its own presence. As if the simple act of glancing toward the ancient stone could redirect her gaze to a time long passed, before humans and the High Fae walked this earth, before any record this library had ever existed.

Elain shivered, but her curiosity drew her further into the crevice, fascinated by this small room that the library must have been built around. This was its origin, the spring from which all water flowed.

And all it contained was a slab of stone, which was being used as a table by a male not like any faeire she'd seen before. It was as if someone had taken a human man and stretched him unnaturally tall, like a shadow elongated in the sun. His hunched posture gave the impression there was some greater force dragging him down into the earth, and his loose, puckered skin seemed to yield to that same pull, hanging from his bones like folded cloth.

The sight of him was so shocking she needed to turn away at first, feigning interest in a detail on the wall as she gathered her composure. The fae adhered to different customs, but open-mouthed gawking was rude no matter which realm she was in.

Once she was ready, Elain turned back to him with a rehearsed smile, relieved to see he hadn't taken any notice of her. He was too busy murmuring something to himself, indistinguishable to Elain. Another language, she would guess, the cadence and syllables sharp yet rhythmic, like staccato beats or a metronome.

Counting, she thought, creeping closer to see that he was drawing marks across the parchment in a language she couldn't recognize.

Elain wanted to ask what he was doing, but she feared breaking his concentration. He was completely absorbed in his task, not looking or blinking, only muttering under his breath as his quill continued its furious movements.

"You must not disturb him, my lady."

Elain turned to find another scholar, this one seemingly younger than the male at the gates, but still swallowed in the same maude robes.

"Who is he?"

"He's human," said the scholar. "Or, at least, he once was."

Elain's throat felt dry. "What do you mean by was? Is he Made, like—" like me, she almost said, as if this scholar would know who she was. As if she held that sort of significance. "Like Feyre Cursebreaker?"

"No, Lady. We call him the Timekeeper. He was a human who was cursed with immortality a very long time ago—a time which predates our records. We do not know much, because he cannot speak, but our understanding is that he was once cursed to inscribe every passing second."

“Is he in pain?”

“None he can speak of. His pen does not pause.”

“Who did this to him?”

The Scholar shrugged. “We have checked our earliest dated scripts, but history has forgotten. It's possible even he no longer remembers. Some of our scholars believe it was the Mother herself who cursed him, as retribution for coveting sacred Knowledge."

Another scholar slipped past them, folding their tall, limber body beneath the low-ceiling to perch beside the Timekeeper. Elain watched her study the marks on the Timekeeper's parchment, then delicately unfold the scroll in her hands to replcate the markings. Once she was finished, she rolled the scroll back up, and glided out of the cavern.

"We use his Timekeeping as a dating system," the Scholar explained. "He's been counting how many seconds have passed since the moment he was cursed. As you can imagine, eventually the numbers grew to such length that the time required to inscribe them surpassed one second. Now, we find it takes him up to a week to complete each number. Any of the scrolls submitted or completed this week will be sorted under this number, once he finishes it."

"How will you know once it's completed?"

"It's the only time he'll set down his pen," the Scholar said. "Then he'll begin a new page, and start again."

"He never eats?"

"Nor sleeps."

Elain felt a terrible sorrow for the old creature. "That must be horrible."

"As I said, he does not appear to suffer. The curse keeps him alive without the usual necessities."

"And no one's ever tried to help him?" She demanded. "Isn't the High Lord renown for being just that, a breaker of spells?"

"Spells are not the same as curses. And this one is ancient; older than the High Lord and more complex than even we scholars have been able to understand. Attempts to interrupt the Timekeeper's task have never turned out well for either party. He becomes very distressed—violent, even—if prevented from recording." The scholar turned to her, eyes sympathetic. "I can see that you pity him, Lady. You have a large heart. But it is for his sake as much as yours that I warn you again: do not disturb him."

Elain didn't find anything helpful in the library.

Well, she supposed that wasn't strictly true. The problem, moreso, was that she found far too many things helpful. The scholar, eager to lead her away from the troubling Timekeeper, had been all too happy to direct her to the Great Libary's historical records of the Halieia celebrations over the last three centuries.

Records so detailed, in fact, that there was an entire floor dedicated to every book, scroll, and jotted note relating to the Halieia celebration. It was a large festival that began on the Summer Solstice and was celebrated for 24 consecutive days. Elain's head hurt to imagine the logistics involved in planning such an affair.

There were thousands of records—shelves upon shelves stacked floor to ceiling, organized by date, which would have been a blessing if she could narrow her search beyond just vaguely three centuries or more ago. The ball in the letter could have been a millennium ago for all she knew, which was more books than she could skim through in her lifetime.

Her human lifetime. Which, she wasn't anymore. She was immortal, so she supposed it would be possible to read this many books, though she might end up shriveled in some corner, her own pathetic version of the Timekeeper.

Unfortunately, she needed to recruit help.

"Elain." Lucien shut his book the moment she entered the room, lifting from his sprawl across the chaise lounge. "You're back."

"Estute obversation."

"Still cross with me, then," he said with a sigh, slumping back to the cushion with a notable plop. "If it's observations you're after, perhaps try seeking a faerie with more than one eye. Doubles your chances."

That one eye—the russet one, which always grew wary in her presence—was watching her beneath lowered lashes. Meanwhile, the mechanism of his golden eye spun and clicked in a way that Elain equated to refocusing, the way one needed to adjust a spyglass.

It was mostly to satisfy her curiosity that she said, "Feyre told me you can still see out of the false eye."

"Been asking about me?" He turned to her, grin like a thistle. It told her everything she needed to know—that he was cross, too, and for whatever reason, he wanted to dig himself deeper beneath her skin. "My felicitations, Lady. That almost sounded like a question. Progress is progress. Who knows, by the time we leave this court, you might actually start asking me things directly."

Elain crossed her arms. So much for coming to him to ask for help. "Are you done?"

He clapped his hands. "Look at that, you've done it!"

If she thought she could extend a peace offering, she was deluding herself.

"You're an ass," she said, turning around. "I don't know why I bothered coming here—"

Lucien sat up again. "Wait."

Elain glared toward the drapes that functioned as the door to their suite. He would deserve it if she walked through them. This was the first time they'd properly spoken to each other since the incident, and he hadn't even bothered to show remorse.

And yet, there was still that infuriating voice that begged her to wait. To hear him out. To stay.

No one ever stayed.

That thought creaked through her like weight shifting onto an old floorboard. An ache that only surfaced when it was disturbed. It throbbed from somewhere so deep in her chest, she couldn't decide if it belonged to herself or to Lucien.

She turned toward him, unsurprised to find he was watching her, both eyes now so very guarded.

With a sigh, Lucien said, "To answer your non-question, yes. I can see things out of the false eye, but not in the same way I could before. It's more like… sensing things. If I covered my right eye—" he raised his palm of the right side of his face to illustrate, drawing her focus to his golden eye and those brutal gouge scars that stretched from brow to jaw. "I wouldn't be able to tell you the color of your hair, or whether you were flashing me that practiced little smile. But I could tell you that the person before me is radiant. Someone kind and well-intentioned. I could tell you that she is thrumming with power unlike any I've sensed before. And I could tell you that she was once mortal, because I can see her human heart still beating in her chest."

Elain pressed her palm to her heart, wondering if he was being truthful. "You can… truly see all of that?"

Lucien lowered his palm and shrugged. "Most days I prefer the real eye. Your aura is radiant, Lady, but your smile is like the sun."

"Difficult to look at too closely?"

He laughed. "How's warm, but distant? Captivating, yet lonely?"

"I think I'd prefer if you just told me it hurts your eyes," she said tightly.

"Not my eyes," Lucien said. He didn't elaborate further. "But you've clearly not come here to discuss my woes, and as I said, you are clearly still cross with me. So what brings Elain Archeron to our shared suite at this fine hour? Did you imbibe too generously with the scholars and need to retire so soon?"

She hadn't told him about the scholars, or her plan to visit the library. Elain narrowed her eyes. Was he having her watched?

"Why would I retire here if I was drunk?" She challenged. "The Schoalrs would likely nurse me back to sobriety with far more care. They'd probably know some combinations of herbs I could stick under my tongue to cure a hangover and wouldn't, oh I don't know—"

Lucien arched a brow. "If you think they wouldn't suggest the powdered eggs, you mistake who taught me that information."

"The scholars?" She demanded. "You're lying to me."

He waved off her accusation. "Don't let their passions for order and knowledge fool you. They know how to loosen those robes from time to time. If you bring a nice enough bottle of brandy, you may even see what's beneath the robes."

The corner of his lips twitched, giving him away. Elain let out a furious groan. "You are lying to me! Why do I even let myself believe a word that comes out of your mouth?"

"I think it's very endearing," Lucien admitted, an impish smile spreading over his face. "And if it makes you feel better, Feyre was twice the gullible human you are."

"I'm not human."

"You might as well be." He said it so matter-of-factly. It didn't sound like an insult, at least. "For how little you've let yourself learn about Prythian, and how tightly you cling to the perceptions of your human life. It's not a bad thing, Elain. To be human. But it's not a bad thing to be fae, either."

"I never said it was," she protested.

He snorted. "You say it the same way you say everything you actually mean. In your subtle ways of communicating. It's not a bad thing to be fae." He made a gesture to the braids styled back from his face. "But you'll wear your hair over your ears to hide the points. It's not a bad thing to be fae, but you'll push away your magic. It's not a bad thing to be fae, but you avoid your mating bond at all—"

"Stop it," she said, throwing out her hands out as if she could physically guard against his words. "Stop… whatever you're trying to do. Whatever point you're trying to prove—it's unkind."

"How is it unkind?" he challenged.

"Because." Her eyes stung with tears. "I didn't want to be fae! I never asked for this life. This," she gestured towards her ears, hidden behind her hair exactly as he accused, "was a violation."

Lucien was silent for a moment, considering her outburst and looking as though he was choosing his next words very carefully.

She decided to beat him to it. "How long did it take you?"

He looked bemused. "Take me to what?"

"To look at your scars in the mirror without resentment. To accept them as a part of you, instead of something that was done to you."

His metal eye was so loud in the aftermath, the click, click, click marking the passage of each second.

"51 years," he said finally. "One year, perhaps, if you only count the time my face was uncovered. I'm sure you've heard that the residents of the Spring Court were once cursed to wear masks over their faces. It was done in mockery of this," he motioned toward the scarred side of his face. "And so for all that time, while the wound healed under my mask, it festered somewhere deeper, and I blamed myself for what happened to the Court. Then, when the curse was broken and the masks came off…" he shrugged. "I hadn't seen my bare face since before it was scarred. It took some getting used to, and I'd estimate it was about another year before I no longer winced at my reflection."

His confession hung heavy between them. Elain didn't know what to say. She wanted to double back into the saftey of her anger, but how could she after what he'd shared? She was stranded, not wanting to spurn him in his vulnerability but not quite ready to bridge the gap, either.

It was Lucien who moved first, lifting himself off the settee with an effort that suggested his weight had doubled since he'd fallen upon it.

"You're right," he said, coming up to Elain. "What I said was unkind. I apologize. For my transgression just now, as well as two days ago."

"You were only trying to help," Elain begrudged, feeling herself soften. "I know that. And I'll only forgive you if you promise that from now on, you'll warn me about things. And understand that if you ever put a bug in my mouth without telling me again, I'll ask my sisters to gut you."

Lucien grinned, as if encouraged by her threat. "Too squeamish to do it yourself?"

"I think you'd get too much satisfaction from it," Elain answered, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. "So, now that you've apologized… how do you feel about joining me in the Great Library to read a bunch of dusty old books?"

"I couldn't think of a more enjoyable use of my time."

#yay!#i love this fic #elucien #fic rec

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clarafae · 6 days ago

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A gift for @aldbooks for the ACOTAR Gift Exchange 2024

Rating: E/NSFW Status: WIP, Chapter 7/10 Summary: "One thing was clear to her about this predicament: Lucien was furious."

An enchanted pair of handcuffs. A prank gone wrong. A bottle of whiskey. This was turning out to be the most awkward Winter Solstice for Elain and Lucien yet.

Chapter 7: Liquid Gold - Read on AO3

Start at the beginning | Elucien Masterlist

Chapter 7 Snippet:

Her heart thundered in her chest, each step that they climbed filling her belly with butterflies, fluttering with anticipation of what would come. One would think after sharing a bed with him, she would feel less nervous about doing it again, but last night she still had her walls firmly in place. It only took a day in his presence to thoroughly tear them down, and their proximity had only made her desire to touch him grow. She was sure as soon as the moment presented to her, she would let go, finally allowing the current of the bond sweep her away. She knew that she was the master of their distance. It was a trust that Lucien carefully cultivated between them for years, allowing her to lead their interactions. For a while, she worried that he had lost interest in her, growing tired of her hesitance. But the more they spent time together, the more she could see that Lucien was good at being what she needed him to be. And in that time she needed a patient male. Tonight, however, she was done with patience.

#elucien #elucien fanfiction #tbr list

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clarafae · 6 days ago

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#elucien #ooh! soft pretty colours 😍

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clarafae · 9 days ago

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It was still sunny when Lucien, Elain and Jurian arrived back at the manor. A rare blue day in the Human Realm. The birdsong was sweet; the insects were humming... and Lucien was deaf to all of it.

Ianthe – alive?

Lucien was shaken to his soul.

A gutless desire to lose himself to drink ran him through like a sword. He wanted to drink until he forgot her voice, her face, his shame. He’d been gifted an opportunity to kill Ianthe himself, by the thrust of his own sword, and had been denied it by his mate. But Elain wasn’t to blame, he told himself. She knew nothing of his own struggles with Ianthe. It was one secret he would not yield to her.

Continue reading on A03

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

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clarafae · 10 days ago

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I think people who think Lucien should just turn on the charm again and go back to being the flirtatious rake we knew from book one or think he's moving on from Elain for anyone, even Vassa, seriously don't understand the "Reformed Rake" sub trope and I think a lot of them have not read enough historical romance or historical fantasy.

I think they also miss the point that the rake Lucien was in book one was a defense mechanism for him. One that he seems to have tossed to the wayside since Elain came around (reminder to self to write a post on how I think Elain has helped Lucien take his first few steps toward healing as well later).

Lucien isn't "turning on the charm" around Elain for a lot of reasons, his own personal guilt over Jesminda, probably his own (unwarranted) guilt over not being able to stop her from becoming fae and feeling like he's failed her in a similar vein to how he feels he failed Jes and his mother and everyone he cares about, feeling inadequate for her ('a whole lot of nothing' line anyone?), struggling with who he is now, his own obviously complicated feelings about Rhys and the Night Court, and (and this is a big one kids) because he sees Elain isn't in a place to try and be "woo'd" by anyone, including himself.

But one thing this doesn't point to is that he's not interested in her. Because the text very clearly shows that he is. He moved to Velaris for her. He tried to court her. He moved out of Velaris for her. He remembered the one personal thing Feyre had told him for months and used that knowledge to buy her a very touching personalized gift that he hoped would help bring her happiness. He looks at her with longing almost two years after their mate bond snapped. His first questions are generally "is Elain okay? Is she healing? What can I do to help her?". This isn't the actions of someone who isn't interested in a person outside of a "forced mate bond neither of them want anyway".

Sorry try again.

#elucien #100% this

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clarafae · 12 days ago

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Birds of a Feather - Day 7 (Free)

Read on Ao3 :) [COMPLETE 7/7]

Summary : Elain wants the bond broken, and Lucien agrees to help. They just happen to fall in love along the way <3

Note : Part VII for the last day of @elucienweekofficial <3 What an amazing event, a huge thank you to everyone who took the time to organise such a fun week!!!

The golden light of the Dawn Court kissed everything it touched. It filtered through the trees, wrapped itself around the pillars, and made Elain’s hair gleam like melted gold in the sun.

Lucien did not think he would ever stop watching her.

She was barefoot, framed between two potted plants, trailing her fingers along the heads of some pale flowers as if she were coaxing them into bloom. The earth seemed to love her, and he had no doubt it would bend to her will without complaint.

Much like him.

He leaned against the warm stone of the balcony balustrade, arms crossed over his chest, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re up to something.”

Elain turned at once, eyes too wide, smile too sweet. Her hands disappeared behind her back. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You always say that when you're definitely up to something.”

Her dark eyes sparkled, not with mischief, but something softer.

Hopeful.

Her steps were unhurried as she approached, long skirts whispering against the stone, the scent of jasmine clinging to her like memory.

When she reached him, she brought out what she had been hiding. She held a small wooden plate with a thick slice of golden bread and a little dish of honey glistening like amber next to it.

Lucien stilled. Every muscle in his body locked into place, but his heart beat harder.

“Elain…” His voice barely left him, caught somewhere between awe and something older, deeper.

She offered no explanation at first, just stepped close enough that he could feel the quiet gravity of her. The bond hummed faintly between them.

Elain dipped a slender finger into the honey and gently spread it over the bread. She moved slowly, with purpose. Her hands never shook.

Lucien’s throat tightened. He knew what it meant.

She tore the slice in half with graceful fingers and held one piece out to him. “For the bond,” she said softly.

The air shifted. That golden thread between them, which had always tugged, shimmered like it had heard her too, like it had been waiting.

Lucien reached out, his hand brushing hers as he took the bread. Heat flared at the touch, something that curled through his chest and made it hard to breathe.

Biting into it felt like swallowing sunlight. His eyes never left her as she ate her half, calm and radiant, as if this moment had always been inevitable.

“Elain…” he said again, hoarse now, a question and an answer wrapped in one word.

She looked up at him and smiled, devastating. “I want you, Lucien. Not because of the bond. Because I love you.”

Every wall he had ever built crumbled. Every ache he had swallowed cracked wide open. He surged forward and kissed her.

Elain tasted like honey and home.

Her lips parted beneath his without hesitation, her breath catching softly in her throat. When she melted into him, it was like gravity shifted, like the world tilted so she could fall right into place against him.

His hands found her waist, and instinct guided him. He lifted her without thinking, holding her against him as her laughter, breathless and surprised, broke between them.

“Lucien,” she gasped, legs curling around him, her hands tangling in his hair.

He grinned against her mouth, his voice a low growl. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

He kissed her harder, slower. She moaned into his mouth, and her fingers slid beneath his shirt, skimming the ridges of his torso and the old scars along his back. Her touch was gentle and possessive all at once.

When he carried her into their rooms, it was not rushed, but it was desperate. They were already tangled, already undressing each other. Elain pushed his shirt up over his head, her eyes roaming the bare skin beneath with open hunger.

Like she was reclaiming him.

He laid her down on the bed, and her hands were already tugging at her skirts, baring skin inch by aching inch. Lucien watched, mesmerised by the soft sweep of her thighs, the swell of her hips, the little breaths she took as she slowly undressed for him.

“You’ll be the end of me,” he said, voice ragged.

“You’re so dramatic,” she murmured, tossing her dress aside.

Lucien knelt between her legs and kissed a path up her body, from her ankle, to her calf, to the inside of her knee. She shivered, arching subtly as his mouth reached her inner thigh.

“Elain,” he rasped, “you’re already soaked.”

She whimpered when his fingers slid over her, teasing the slick heat at her center. Her hips bucked, and her hand gripped the sheets as he spread her open.

Lucien lowered his mouth to her.

She gasped, her fingers flying to his hair, tangling in the strands as he began to lick slow, lazy strokes over her clit. Her hips rolled toward him, desperate and unashamed, as he licked and sucked and tasted the way she fell apart.

When he slid a finger inside her, she moaned, long and low. When he added a second, her thighs trembled, her whole body straining toward release.

“Lucien—please—”

Lucien hummed, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin.

She shattered with a cry, her body clenching around his fingers as the first wave of pleasure rolled through her. He did not stop, not until she was whimpering and twitching beneath him.

When he finally moved up her body and kissed her again, she pulled him down on top of her, hands frantic as she tugged at his pants, pushing them off with impatient fingers. When he was bare above her, the world seemed to go still, the bond a persistent tug.

Lucien pushed into her slowly, his forehead pressed to hers, their breath mingling, the bond pulsing bright and real and there between them.

He filled her completely, her body welcoming him like he belonged there. She gasped his name, and he moaned into her mouth, their bodies finding rhythm, a pace that built like fire catching dry leaves.

It was intimate. Their hands intertwined, their eyes locked, their bodies moving perfectly in sync.

“You feel like home,” he whispered.

“Don’t be gentle,” she said, fierce and breathless.

Lucien’s restraint shattered like glass under the weight of her words.

He thrust harder, deeper, dragging cries from her lips. Her legs wrapped around him, anchoring him in place as he moved with raw, aching need. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard knocking rhythmically with each thrust.

She clung to him, nails scraping down his back, her lips at his jaw, whispering his name.

When he found her clit again, rubbing her in time with his hips, she broke for the second time, louder now, her whole body bowing off the bed.

Lucien groaned, the sound low as he braced himself above her, his hands gripping the sheets on either side of her head. She was still gasping, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and yet when her eyes met his, dark and wide and hungry, she gave a small, breathless order. “Don’t stop.”

“So demanding,” he murmured. His pace shifted, no longer gentle.

Their bodies met in a rhythm that was all hunger, all ownership. His hips slammed into hers again and again, the sheets tangled beneath them. He kissed her fiercely, swallowing every sound she made as he drove into her. The bond flared white-hot between them, pulsing like a second heartbeat, alive and undeniable.

Her arms tightened around him. “Lucien—”

Her breath was ragged and desperate against his throat. He shifted his angle, hitting a spot deep inside her, one hand sliding between them to find the place where she was already slick and swollen and aching for him.

“That's it,” he rasped, leaning down to kiss her. “Come for me, Elain.”

She shattered around him again, her entire body seizing as she cried out his name.

Her release hit him like a wave, pulling him under.

Lucien groaned and slammed into her one final time, burying himself deep as he spilled inside her, her name a broken prayer on his lips, every muscle taut with the force of his release.

He did not pull away. He stayed there, buried in her, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Their foreheads touched. Their chests rose and fell in tandem.

When he finally shifted, it was only enough to lay beside her again, one hand still on her waist, the other tangled with hers.

Elain smiled, eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks flushed.

The bond between them was more alive than ever.

Elain traced the scar on his shoulder, her touch featherlight. Her fingers moved in slow, idle circles. His eyes fluttered shut under the tenderness of it and he held her closer. “You always touch me like I’m worth keeping.”

“You are,” she whispered.

No hesitation. No doubt.

He let out a shaky breath and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love you, Elain.”

Her gaze met his, amusement in her eyes. “I know.”

The golden afternoon had softened into dusk, and the light spilling through the windows had turned a pretty rose colour.

Eventually, Lucien rolled to his side, pulling her with him so they stayed wrapped together. Her head rested against his chest, one leg slung over his, the bond a steady, glowing pulse between them. A tether neither of them had asked for, but had instead chosen, again and again, until it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I don’t need a ceremony,” she said quietly. “Not right away. And not anything grand.”

Lucien smiled into her hair. “Just bread and honey?”

“And you,” she said, voice soft but certain.

He tilted her chin up to kiss her again, soft and lingering, less urgent, but no less consuming. His lips moved over hers as if kissing her might be the last thing he ever did.

“I’m already yours,” he whispered. “In every way that matters.”

Lucien stroked her hair as she drifted toward sleep, and just before her breathing evened out, she murmured, “I’ll always choose you.”

“I know,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

Lucien felt the bond between them as he fell asleep next to Elain, and it did not just settle.

It glowed.

#elucien #what an amazing fic 🫶#i loved this #top tier banter

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clarafae · 13 days ago

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A Thousand Threads of Fate, Chapter 2 (Elain/Lucien)

Ship: Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra Status: In Progress (Chapter 1 of... maybe 5? That's TBD.) Rating: T Words: 3,731

Summary:

After Azriel calls their almost-kiss a mistake, Elain Archeron retreats to the safety of her room... and wakes up somewhere else entirely. Somewhere out of time, where myriad possibilities of who she is and who she could be exist. When shown all of her possible paths, which will she choose to embrace?

Read Chapter 2 here! Start at the beginning here!

Chapter snippet:

This was a vision she recognized, at least: the first time they’d met Tamlin, the High Lord of Spring, though she hadn’t known it then. “Who killed the wolf?” he demanded in a voice that shouldn’t have been able to make those sounds. Feyre stepped forward, squaring her shoulders and primed to respond, but it was Nesta’s steely voice that rang out instead: “I did.” Elain scoffed aloud as the vision proceeded to derail itself. And to think, she finally thought she was getting somewhere. “This is just preposterous,” she muttered acidly, stepping back from the scene. But before she could turn away completely, a voice made her freeze. “This was a good one for you, you know.”

Her own voice, in a tone just as snappish as the one she’d used a few moments before.

Feel free to comment if you want tagged on the other chapters! @elucienweekofficial

Tags: @elainsflowerpot, @hisnameislucien

#elucien #tbr list

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clarafae · 13 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

#elucien #wow guys!#you have outdone yourselves 🤩🤩

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clarafae · 13 days ago

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@elucienweekofficial Day 7: Free day

Elain and Lucien looking ritzy in the 1920s

Art by me (@clarafae)

A big thanks to @fierling for your art tips this week! 😁

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #acotar fanart #elucien fanart #elucienweek2025

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clarafae · 13 days ago

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𝐸𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝐷𝑎𝑦 7：𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝐷𝑎𝑦 🦊🌷

For my final post of the week I have a modern AU of Elain and Lucien ready to go to a Victorian style party. Elain snapped a photo on her phone. Thank you llibiarts (ig) for this gorgeous artwork 🧡

Art by llibiarts (ig)

Commissioned by me for @elucienweekofficial

Characters belong to Sarah J. Maas

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST

#elucien #A very elucien pose 😂😂#Love it!

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clarafae · 14 days ago

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

Download the coloring sheet for free here!

#elucien #oh wow

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clarafae · 15 days ago

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Daylight

For day 5 of @elucienweekofficial.

Summary: Elain and Lucien enjoy a lazy morning together.

Inspired by the beauty that is Reverie by @bonecarversbestie. This oneshot altered my brain chemistry so much so that I found myself writing my own fanfiction of it.

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

Warning: Extreme fluff and flirt. Also, Lucien has a nipple piercing

Read on AO3

The first thing Elain registered as her eyes fluttered open was the sweet scent of sun-kissed oranges, mixed with an aromatic musk of cider and sandalwood. She sighed happily, knowing that the intoxicating scent surrounding her—warm, contained and comforting, could only belong to one male.

Then, she heard the surf of the ocean, the symphony of chirping birds, and the soft, resonating heartbeat of her mate. That's when she noticed the stream of golden daylight, peeking out through the white curtains of the ceiling to floor windows in their Day Court beach house, indicating that she had slept past her usual rising time.

She normally woke up during the crack of dawn to bake or cook breakfast, before proceeding to garden or do whatever her soul called for till the sun was fully out. However, it seemed like the activities of the night before had kept her up so late that she had overslept. Again .

Something that had been happening a lot since her mating frenzy had begun. And she had moved out of the Night Court, and in with Lucien.

Not that she was complaining.

Elain blushed, remembering all the ways Lucien had made her beg for his cock the previous night, before proceeding to give it to her just how she wanted it.

The memory had her ruffling the sheets, so she could sit up and check on her assailant, expecting the breath-taking sight she was about to be graced with. But even then, her heart still got caught in her throat as she watched him. It’s totally unfair that males get to look this perfect even in bed, she thought.

Lucien, who was still in the realms of sleep, looked so serene and happy. Eyes closed and long lashes— than any male had the right to have—twitching.

Even with the brutal scar inflicted on him that showed nothing but resilience and confidence, he still looked unreal, like the mother had picked him out from her fairytale wishes as a youngling and delivered him straight to her doorstep. His beautiful, unbound red hair reflecting, sparks of light as the sun hit it, just right. His cruel beauty, so utterly fae.

She wanted to kiss his face all over, again and again and again.

“Good morning, my love” She purred, not even resisting the urge as she bent down to lightly place a kiss on his right cheek, then his left—directly on his scar, before soothing her lips with his in a soft kiss.

Satiated, she was about to get up and go to the kitchen, when she felt him stir, a soft boyish smile breaking out from his mouth.

“Come here,” Lucien whispered gruffly, pulling her back into him. His nose tracing her exposed neck, breathing in her lovely scent of jasmine and honey.

“How naughty of you to give me kisses like that, and try to escape, ”he drawled, his sleep roughened voice at her ear, causing butterflies to explode in her tummy.

“I didn't want to disrupt your sleep.” She said, and she meant it. She wanted him well rested, always.

“Nothing is more important than waking up to the blossom that you are, not even my precious sleep,” he replied, tilting her face up so their mouths could meet in a heated kiss, that had her craving for more.

She never thought much of how she looked first thing in the morning—with her mess of tangled curls, puffy eyes and swollen lips but he always convinced her, with just a look—that every waking moment of her day— she was the most beautiful being he had ever seen walk on the grounds of Prythain. And by the Mother, she believed him; heart, body, and soul .

Before she could fully savour his taste on her tongue, he was trailing kisses down her neck, his teeth gently scraping her skin. She whimpered at the shocking sensation, heat rushing straight to sex.

“Are you well, my love?” He asked softly, before soothing the bite with his tongue.

Elain could only nod her head in response, dazed and confused. How he expected her to hold a conversation while he was doing those toe-curling things to her was a miracle .

She almost moaned again, when he abruptly stopped administering his kisses

He brought their faces back together, a warm blush on his cheeks, as his glazed gaze-one russet and one gold, met her soft brown ones. The longing she knew was in her eyes reflected back in his.

Lucien nuzzled her nose. “I want to hear you say it,” he murmured., breath tickling her lips.

That was when she fully understood the weight of the question he had asked her. It was the question he asked her every morning. And every morning, he wanted to hear her say it with her mouth– even when she visibly looked okay. As if he knew she often fell back to putting on an appearance when she thought that was what others wanted from her.

“Better now that you’re awake,” Elain breathed as she nuzzled his nose back, “I missed you.” She had wasted all those years not letting him in and now that she had, she couldn’t remember a moment where she wanted to be without him—even in her dreams.

“I was beside you all night,” he said, his voice muffled, as he resumed trailing kisses down her neck. She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Your point?” She replied dryly, fighting a smile too.

He kissed her collarbone before resting back on the pillows, hands folded behind his head.

“My point is.” He smirked, his rare dimple just like the one his father had, made an appearance, flashing on his right cheek. “Who would have thought, all these years that Stubborn little Miss Archeron won’t be able to do a second without her mate.”

Elain narrowed her eyes at that statement, nose scrunching in the way Lucien always says looks cute, even though the look she is going for is menacing.

She opened her mouth, about to scold his teasing, when she got sidetracked by the jump of his left pec— the one directly above the nipple piercing she had gently sucked on, the night before. Her tongue watered remembering the bite of coolness the metal left on it.

“ Distracted? ”

She looked back at his face, catching the satisfied glint in his eye. Then at his nipple, again, as the gold ring piercing on it, gleamed under the sun, escaped light. A secret that he put on for only her eyes .

“You must be so proud of yourself ?” she chided, even as she couldn’t help herself from lightly tracing around said nipple, noting the goosebumps that exploded from her touch. Noting all the things they could be doing now instead of talking.

“Look at you,” he shuddered, his tone switching from playful to reverent as his eyes gave every inch of her body a slow, possessive sweep, that had the flock of butterflies already in her stomach, running a float.

He locked eyes with her again. “How could I not be proud?” he questioned, before drawing her closer and landing a soft kiss on her forehead.

She hummed, pulling back, her head resting softly on the pillows. “You’re so bad for my ego.”

“Well, your ego is not big enough for me,” he countered, stretching before standing and walking to their shared wardrobe, his delightful ass giving her a show.

When he turned, she caught a hickey on his left shoulder, and her mind flashed to how hard she bit it when she came.

Elain clenched deliciously, at the mark she left on him. She never took herself for one that would claim their partner in such a bold way, but with Lucien she was constantly discovering new things about herself.

“Yesterday was so fun,” she reminisced, stretching her hands over her head. “ If I knew you would be this fun I would have accepted the bond as soon as I felt you.”

Lucien shot her a raised brow, chuckling. "That good, huh?”

He picked out his undershorts, pulling them on—sadly covering her second favorite part of him. Her first being his entire face—his abs and biceps flexing. As if wearing shorts really required that much strength.

“You know I always do my best to fulfil your every desire, my lady,” he said, bowing—the courtier in him coming out to play—before sending her a wink, his russet eye glinting.

He looked so smug. So infuriatingly smug.

“You’re so insufferable,” she chastised, rolling her eyes, even as she delighted in his smugness.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Lucien shot back, picking up his white day court pants and putting it on.

Oh. Oh. He did not.

“I am a lady.” She feigned, hand on her chest, fawn eyes blinking up at him innocently. “And I don’t know what you speak of.”

His metal eye clicked, narrowing in on her, as he zipped and buttoned up his fly. “Really, fawn eyes ? Because I vividly remember you going something like—”

“Don’t you dare,” she interrupted.

“Ohhh Lucien, you’re the best I have ever had. Please don’t stop, pleasee! ” He threw his back, moaning, ignoring her warning.

“You did not!” Elain huffed, her mouth falling open in offense.

She was going to smack that smugness right out of him.

“Firstly, I don’t sound like that,” she corrected, crawling closer to him so she could get a good shot.

“Secondly, you couldn’t have just let me have that one, could you?” she asked, giving him his last chance to surrender.

He cocked his head to the side as if thinking. “ Nope .”

That’s it. She picked up a nearby pillow and threw it at him. But with her luck, it only lightly grazed his shoulder.

Lucien looked behind him, at the pillow.

Looked back at her.

And then he smirked, sinful and predatory. The look in his eye promised nothing but trouble, it made the pink silk-lace negligee she had on feel like it was on fire.

“Ouch ,” he drawled sarcastically , s talking to her in slow and deliberate movements.

“You're going to have to pay for that , my lady. ”

Just as the sweet sound of him calling her, my lady settled in, she realized how much delicious trouble she was in.

Elain didn’t even try to fight the inevitable, squealing as Lucien suddenly dragged her to the edge of the bed, before picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

He lightly spanked her, causing Elain to let out an excited gasp as he walked out their bedroom door.

“That’s for the pillow.”

He spanked her again. And a shiver went through her spine straight to her core.

“That’s for staring up at me with those pretty eyes expecting me not to do something about it,” he said as they passed their corridor heading down the stairs to their kitchen.

He spanked her again. “And that’s for trying to escape before I woke up to make us breakfast, even though we talked about that.”

Elain grimaced, trying not to cringe at the reminder of that one little habit that she had picked up from staying in the night court.

It wasn’t like it was anyone’s fault, but while she was there, everyone was constantly busy, trying to improve the state of Prythian — forgetting that she existed and that she could help too.

Struggling then to grasp her powers, she felt useless. So useless, that she decided to at least do something, even if that something was in the form of baking and cooking breakfast for everyone, before the crack of dawn.

Though it wasn’t a problem, at first . It started to become a problem when it formed into a bad habit she couldn’t quite break.

She did it, even when she was exhausted, even when she was sick, even when she didn’t want to, even when she moved out of the night court, and a rumpled sleep ridden Lucien woke up at the crack of dawn, and caught her in the kitchen, exhausted and frantic trying to put breakfast together for them.

“My wife is not useless, if she doesn’t wake up before the sun is up to make breakfast,” he affirmed, dispelling her thoughts, as they entered the kitchen.

Wait till she finds that out herself. She thought, a warm heat curling in her lower belly as his large palms gently massaged her ass to soothe all the spanks he had bestowed.

“ Oh . She would.”

She pouted. Of course, she said that out loud.

They reached the granite counter table, and he slid her off him, her body rubbing delightfully on his, nipples pebbling as he dropped her softly with a light plop on the side stool, and walked behind the counter, rummaging through the white style cupboard.

“Now you’re going to sit back, relax, and watch me make breakfast for you ,” he told her, dropping fresh blueberries on the counter.

Elain looked at the blueberries, noting the other ingredients he was putting down, as he grabbed the flour from the cabinet below.

He was making blueberry pancakes, she realized. Her favorite.

“And when I serve you,” he continued, as she watched him skillfully break eggs into a pink bowl. “You're going to do that cute little dance you do when you're about to eat something you like .”

She bit her lip, resisting a smile at his commanding tone. Trying not to squirm in pleasure.

It seemed like that bad habit was going to leave her body whether her mind wanted it or not.

They made idle talk as Lucien prepared breakfast, with her stealing blueberries here and there, and him working while she eyed the flex of his biceps, veins peeking through like vines on his arms.

And, when he was done, he served her like a queen, in his palace. The Breakfast tray he placed in front of her was beautifully decorated with the crystal amethyst vase—amongst the numerous gifts he had gotten her for her birthday on summer solstice— and filled with sunflowers. Also her favorite.

She thanked him, doing a little happy dance in her stool like he said she would. Heart bursting with overflowing love for her mate, as she dipped her finger, and brought it to her mouth to lick off the whipped cream that coated the top of the stacked pancakes on her plate.

“Anytime, dove,” Lucien replied, giving her a kiss on the mouth, tasting the whipped cream on her lips. “Delicious.” He moaned lightly, leaving her lips with a sweet, prickly feeling as he pulled away to allow her to dig into her food.

Once again, entranced, Elain’s eyes followed his form, watching his delectable ass, as he moved to his seat.

Surprising herself, she instinctively reached out and spanked him before he could sit.

Lucien froze, blushing, and she did the same, her eyes widening at the sound of the loud smack and the after effect it left on her tingling palm.

She couldn’t believe she had just done that. But, even as the action registered, all she could feel was satisfaction.

Now that she thought about it, she loved what she had just done. Not only was it hot, but it was the perfect payback for his mock performance of yesterday’s event.

“And that’s for trying to mimic my moans,” she mused. A smug expression on her face.

In answer, Lucien only threw his head back laughing, his laughter was so contagious that it had her immediately joining in. Both of them doubled over on their stools, laughing for what felt like hours.

When they could finally catch their breath, the first words out of Lucien’s mouth were, “ Much better. ” His eye sparkled with happiness, skin glowing like he was indeed the son of day.

That spark in his eyes, that golden glow on his skin, the fact that she could not take her eyes off him—had Elain deciding she was going to spank him back, every chance she got.

The End.

#elucien #fic rec #😚🤌

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