This is not my head canon, nor a part of my story line. This is in a scenario (AU, I guess?) that Summer Rose didn’t die and Hummingbird gets to be a family. As such, Ruby is raised by her parents and there is no secrets between them all. Life is good.
Ruby has her mom’s angry face and dad’s pout. Also learned some climbing moves from cousin and best friend Yang.
In this scenario, I’d like to think that Qrow and Summer start teaching Ruby really early on. They would rather she be well taught and prepared (luck favors the prepared) than to shelter her from the dangers of Remnant. It helps that Ruby wants nothing more than to follow in her parents foot steps and surpass dad.
By the time she is seven, she has gotten used to the odd weight of a practice scythe and trains daily with Qrow after lunch.
Also, in the Branwen household, it is not ‘piggyback rides’, they’re ‘birds-eye-view’s’.
Underappreciated Petals to the Metal moment: When Taako’s umbrastaff absorbs the shards of the arcane core and then shoots out a fireball for 160 points of damage and “The Sun basically comes out of his umbrastaff.”
…There was no way Dad would ever have been in a tree.“
Qrow chuckled. "He’s always been scared to death of heights. Raven would use his fear to beat him in the arena. She was ruthless on the battlefield. Bit of our background, I think.
"So what else?”
“I saw one of you and mom. And…” Taking a deep breath and she looked down at her empty hands in her lap. They looked awkward and out of place. Everything did at that moment.
“And… I saw the video. The one you were going to send, or did send to mom. A sunset.”
She glanced up at the man she always viewed as her uncle. As he sat with his head down, he was studying his hands as his elbows rested on his folded legs. With the oversized clothes, hanging loosely off his wiry frame, he looked like an awkward teenager being called out for sneaking out of school. In that moment, she could see Qrow at her age, uncomfortable and out of place at Beacon. Willing to be integrated into the people around him, but so different he just never quite did. Kind of like her.
“Okay.” With the one word, he steeled himself, and the unsteady teenager was gone. Her Uncle Qrow met Ruby’s eyes steadily.
“How do you want to do this? Big reveal immediately? Or do you want to know how things ended up the way they are first?”
I have been wanting to draw some of her scene’s for a while, so here is the first one that really peaked my interest. Ruby see’s Qrow at her age, vulnerable and awkward, and for some reason that just makes me feel so warm inside.
It’s always a special moment when you realize your parent, an adult you’ve known, or an idol you’ve looked up to is no different than you, except they’re so many years ahead of you.
None of this is my head canon (though we do share similarities here and there)! It is not my story! This is fan art for one of my favorite Fan fiction works and a good friend!
This is part of a series I’m working with @mariamagica (go check her out if you haven’t, she’s amazing)! Also placed under a cut because it got too long;;
I hope you enjoy this! And I apologize in case I have any mistakes, English is not my first language.
It was hot.
Everything around him felt like it was on fire, or perhaps it was just him. Either way, Zen couldn’t care less, not when his mind was completely occupied thinking about how good this felt. Jumin’s fingers brushing over his clothes, the rustling sound those made when Zen pulled to collar of the other’s suit – just because he wanted to get closer to the entrepreneur – and Jumin’s groans of protest.
It felt incredibly right. Jumin’s lips against his own, their bodies pressed against each other, and the lingering feeling those cold fingers left over his skin was driving him crazy.
If anyone had told Zen two months ago that he would have fallen and hard for the stupid CEO in front of him, he would have had a fit of rage. But a lot had happened the past few weeks, it made him realize things, learn and in the end, it got him to admit that he had, indeed, fallen for the Jumin Han.
A tug on his ponytail made him gasp, and he could feel a shiver running down his spine. That lone action brought him out of his daydreaming, and he took the chance to pull away from those hungry lips. He knew that his cheeks were flushed, Zen felt them burning, the actor was panting, trying hard to regain control of his breath.
Jumin was in a similar state, his cheeks were a bit pink, his shoulders kept moving up and down as he breathed deeply. Sweat was running down his neck, and his inner beast was telling Zen that he should do something about it, go all out. The only word to describe the look in the entrepreneur’s eyes was desire, and Zen felt proud it was because of him, that he was the only one that could make Jumin Han look like a sexy and handsome idiot, even if he already was one. Although Zen was reconsidering his opinion and thinking of a better word than idiot.
“I like you.” The man in front of him muttered, and he could feel that now familiar overwhelming feeling settling in the base of his stomach.
Notes: Short piece of fluffiness initially inspired by prompt 204: “There’s a leaf in your hair.” Thanks to @lilydalexf for the request!
Timeline: Early Season 1. I plead willful ignorance to any and all time/continuity errors :)
Summary: It’s remarkable how comfortable they’ve become with each other in the few weeks they’ve been partners.
“Where are you going?”
Mulder asks the question as she’s putting on her coat. She looks over to where he sits at his desk. He’s still poring over the same collection of blurry photographs from earlier this morning. UFOs, he’d claimed as she entered the office, to which she’d rolled her eyes and promptly buried herself in her own work. Now, after three hours of hovering over a microscope, she’s itching to stretch her legs.
“I thought I’d take an early lunch and walk down to the Tidal Basin to see the cherry blossoms,” she replies. “They’re in full bloom, now.”
To her surprise, Mulder leaps up from his chair. “I think I’ll join you,” he says, grabbing his own jacket from the coat rack. He also reaches for the umbrella sitting next to the office door.
“Weatherman says there’s a chance of rain.” He winks as says it, like he’s letting her in on some vast meteorological conspiracy (nevermind she heard the same forecast on the radio this morning), and she thinks - not for the first time since joining the X-Files - that Mulder could stand to get out of this musty basement office more often. This will be good practice, she thinks, as they climb the stairs to the exit.
It’s nearly a mile to the Tidal Basin, but they take their time. The sky is overcast, and it’s cooler than she anticipated, but at least it’s not yet raining. They fall into a companionable silence as they cross Pennsylvania Avenue - something that’s become a habit of sorts, she realizes. It’s remarkable how comfortable they’ve become with each other in the few weeks they’ve been partners. Despite their obvious differences of opinion, it seems to her that Mulder has come to respect - even appreciate - the perspective she brings to their investigations. And unlike some of the agents whom she’s worked with in the past, he’s not once questioned her ability to do her job on the basis of her gender. Perhaps it’s for these reasons that he’s the first male colleague with whom she doesn’t feel the need to prove anything, with whom she can be herself. Sure, Mulder drives her crazy with his stubborn insistence on proving the existence of paranormal phenomena, but she appreciates his genuineness; he’s not out to climb the Bureau ladder or earn professional accolades - the Tooms case made that abundantly clear. And while Mulder seems to embrace his position as the FBI’s “Most Unwanted” Agent and willingly accepts the ridicule of his peers, he is sensitive to how her association with him affects her reputation and standing in the Bureau - a fact she appreciates, but whose importance has diminished of late.
Eventually, they reach the Tidal Basin. The threat of rain is enough to dissuade most of the tourists, so they have the path practically to themselves. The still water of the Basin reflects the blossoms of hundreds of cherry trees, giving the illusion of an endless pastel Rorschach test.
They pause at a break in the trees and she glances over at Mulder. He’s absently cracking a sunflower seed between his teeth as he stares across the water towards the Jefferson Memorial.
He’s probably thinking about those photos, she figures. She wouldn’t be surprised if she walked into the office the next morning to discover that he’d spent the night there.
From the handful of cases they’ve worked together, it’s clear that Mulder is obsessed with the X-Files. She doesn’t use that term lightly. Just the other week, she’d found herself driving to New Jersey to bail him out of jail. The cops cited vagrancy; Mulder claimed he was on a stakeout - of the mythological Jersey Devil, of all things, as it made clandestine raids on the back alley Dumpsters of Atlantic City. She called the whole thing crazy. Despite that, she’d somehow found herself choosing to accompany him to the Smithsonian to follow up on the investigation instead of agreeing to a second date with Rob.
I’ve changed, she muses, staring up at the blossoms. Something shifted when she moved into Mulder’s basement office. The X-Files, these unexplained cases deemed too strange for the Bureau mainstream, have reawakened something in her. Call it a love of intellectual challenge, the thrill of discovery, or just plain curiosity: whatever “it” is, it’s something she thought she’d lost when she made the decision to leave medicine and dedicate her life to the noble (yet admittedly more mundane) pursuit of public service as an FBI Agent. To rediscover this passion now is unexpected, but not unwelcome; it feels like a homecoming of sorts, a latter-day reminder that the world is as weird and mysterious - if not more so - as when she was a child. Mulder’s willingness to dive head-first into these mysteries acts as a catalyst; his theories are so crazy, so “out there,” that she feels duty-bound to prove him wrong. And yet, in her striving to lay out a scientific and rational explanation, she finds herself sharing in his desire and determination to uncover the truth of what they’re investigating. She recalls a certain passage from ‘Moby Dick,’ in which Ishmael describes his affection for the misunderstood Queequeg: ‘And those same things that would have repelled most others, they were the very magnets that thus drew me.’
A gust of wind picks up, troubling the waters of the Basin before it reaches the two of them beneath the trees. The space around them suddenly becomes thick with pink and white petals, and for a moment, her eyes meet Mulder’s in mutual wonder. Then, as quickly as it arose, the wind subsides, and they’re left standing alone amid a carpet of fallen blossoms.
“Your weatherman didn’t say anything about it raining flowers, did he?” she asks, unable to hide a playful smile.
Mulder laughs. “No, he didn’t.”
He suddenly holds a hand up to prevent her from moving. “Just a sec,” he says. “You’ve got a cherry blossom in your hair.” She feels his fingers gently pressing on her head as he works to remove the wayward blossom.
It’s an intimate gesture on his part, one that would’ve shocked her with its presumptiveness prior to her assignment to the X-Files. But she knows better now. He might be the laughingstock of the Bureau, but if she’s honest with herself, she’d admit that she’s never trusted someone to the degree that she trusts Mulder. And if you pressed her further, she’d acknowledge that trust was gained on their first case together - when she’d gone, trembling, to his motel room, asking him to look at some marks on her lower back which she’d feared were connected to their investigation. She’d felt incredibly vulnerable as she undressed in the dim candlelight in front of a man she’d only known for two days, but Mulder didn’t balk, didn’t even bat an eye at her semi-nakedness. He’d matter-of-factly bent down to examine the marks, gently prodding the area with his fingers. And after he’d confirmed they were just mosquito bites, Dana Scully, who’d earned the nickname “Iron Woman” for her unfailing composure at the Academy, collapsed into him with relief. That seemed to have broken the ice between them; Mulder bared his soul afterward, telling her about his missing sister and what he believed had happened to her. It was a powerful moment, one they’ve never since acknowledged out loud, but whose effects seem to seep into all their interactions. Like this one.
“Thanks,” she says, brushing her hair in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “We should probably get back to work.” Mulder merely nods, and together, they turn down the path.
They’re halfway to the office when the first drops start to fall. “Told you it would rain,” he says with a self-satisfied grin. He opens his umbrella and holds up in invitation.
“Thanks for planning ahead,” she replies, ducking under the umbrella. It’s big enough to cover them both, but she finds herself walking close beside him, as if it is Mulder, and not the umbrella, that keeps the rain at bay.
“So tell me more about these alleged UFO photographs you’ve been examining all morning,” she says as they cross the Mall.
Ok dear writer, 2 things: 1)You have ruined fanfic for me. Your writing is so earth-shattering good I have trouble reading other peoples stuff. Hmm this is not ass kissing, it’s an awful truth. 2)Prompt: Clarke and Lexa’s love for each other through River’s eyes. Ok 3 things. 3) One more time thanks for all of this work. Know that it does make a difference.
Though the night was dark, the tiny feet still knew their way through the small home. Deft and precise, they padded along as the little girl pushed hair from her face, her braids were taken out at bedtime and now her hair rebelling with its freedom in her eyes and mouth. Her room was suddenly too large, too empty, too much for her little brain to comprehend. She tried to be brave, like her moms, but it was hard.
She followed the murmuring in the other room and when she reached the doorway she froze to hear it. In the dim light of the candles she saw her mother without her braids as well, watched her mom drag her fingertips through it while they spoke and giggled, and River forgot what she was afraid of for a moment. Clarke kissed Lexa’s forehead while she quietly laughed, shaking her head in disagreement. Suddenly, the little girl felt intrusive, with no where left to go other than back to her room and scary dreams.
Everything looks infinitely brighter when viewed through the soft cascade of drifting sakura petals, each moment like that of a pleasant dream, each person around him something infinite in the atmosphere of nature, sake, and food.
In a week or so, or even just days ( depending on the weather ), every last flower will have fallen from the trees… But the professor does not spend his energy mourning the loss of this, he celebrates the beauty of its nature and the happiness it brings to the people of Kanto and beyond.
A few steps away from the blanket of friends chattering away between bites of sandwiches, the Professor idles on the pathway winding towards the river. From his wallet he pulls out a picture of his grandson, barely six. It’s already rounded at the edges, creases of white stretching across the softer parts of paper. Gary bares a gap-toothed smile; un-practiced and free, and something twinges in Oak’s chest. These are times long gone yet even he wishes every now and then to go back to those moments, revel in the purity, to feel the particular joy, as he had then.
Of course, he knows that this wish is nothing more than that, but he can be content that despite the sharpness of his memories have started to become less defined in his age, at least the story behind it is still with him.
Gary had been one of the last in his class to learn how to tie his shoes and threw the biggest fit. He’d been so embarrassed about it that he started crying after the third time Oak had gone over the steps. Too wounded for his ego, he didn’t talk for the rest of the day, and in the morning when it came time to be dropped off at school, he’d angrily stuffed the laces deep into the sides of his sneakers, grabbed his backpack out of Oak’s hands and dashed for the door. For the rest of the week, Oak worried. The first couple of years after the death of Gary’s parents were rough. Undoubtedly, it’d been rough for him but he also knew it’d been a struggle for Gary in ways he would never understand. Because of this, he feared that Gary’s defiance of accepting his support would turn into something irreversible. He even worried, secretly, that maybe he couldn’t be the grandfather Gary wanted or needed.
But just when the professor thought he’d finally reached a dead end, Gary had run home, bursting through the lab door. With a dirty, tear-stained face he said nothing, but pointed down excitedly at the tightly knotted laces he’d managed on his own. It’d been an epiphany for Oak. From that moment on, it no longer mattered that he hadn’t been the one to help Gary tie his shoe, what mattered is that when he finally could tie his shoe his grandfather was the one he’d wanted to show. Overwhelmed with pride and joy, Oak smiled, and then the boy who tried so hard to be a man up until now had smiled too, flashing every tooth and gap and— - that’s the Gary in this picture. The Gary that had bubbled with laughter when he plucked him up into his arms and spun him around.
( Shortly after, they realized how impossible it was to unknot the laces in order to take the sneakers off, but Gary couldn’t hold a frown despite his best efforts, so when Oak pulled out a pair of Scyther scissors, he smiled, unbothered by his help and together they cut them free. )
This isn’t a story Oak shares with others, but rather it’s a reassured lesson, a treasure tucked away in his ribcage for the days when his nights are long and Gary has been holed away doing his own research for so long that he forgets to call.
Being a parent is bittersweet; watching kids grow up and move on helps keep the perspective of time firmly in place. The Gary he loves is no longer a child. He has gone far, has traveled wide on his own pokémon journey. He has returned home, following new passions. He can think for himself, he can do for himself - he can tie his own shoes.
So in a way, he supposes that’s right: the professor isn’t needed anymore.
He’d always known the day would come. He’d taken the bad with the good; the bad had been so much loss in his lifetime that he sometimes wondered if life was nothing but pain after pain… ; the good had been Gary - some of the greatest had been Gary.
From somewhere above, a petal drifts down, landing on the picture in his hand, pulling him from his moment of reminiscing. Carefully he lifts it, and it flutters into the palm of his hand. Like viewing the cherry blossoms, life is also transient. If he’d focused on all the suffering in his life, he would have never been able to enjoy the life Gary had given back to him.
When Oak’s last petal falls and his life reaches its end, he hopes that Gary will remember to celebrate - not mourn - the life that they have shared. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll even find this tiny photograph in the professors wallet and have a laugh.
That’s what the professor hopes, because Gary’s smile, rare as it is ( even rarer in this picture ) is what he loves most.
And if Oak has anything to say of that, love is far greater than need.
Obviously, the flower is a huge motif in Jane the Virgin. It is a direct symbol of her virginity, and is specifically represented as such in countless scenes. AND Jane’s virginity is absolutely tied to marriage and true love. We have seen lots of almost-losing-it scenes, especially with Michael, where petals will fall off the flower and she immediately freaks out and stops. But we have never seen the flower tied in a negative way to Rafael. Their epic kiss: flower petals rained from the sky. The time they almost had sex in the pool: flower petals rained from the sky. And even though they were interrupted in the pool and ultimately decided it wasn’t the right move for them, Jane did not react to the petals - or the moment - the way she has with anyone else. Even after Jane and Rafael first kissed and he never called her, she is seen ripping the petals off a flower. With Jane and Michael - there’s the snow thing - and it’s cute and sweet and aesthetically pleasing. But the flower is the most important symbol in Jane the Virgin, and the only person the flower is positively tied to is Rafael.
Ok for the Elain being badly shy at first and Ect. Maybe expand (I found it very cute) (and ps I LOVE you nsfw headcanons)
*insert maniacal, crazy and sleep deprived laugh*
I GOT CARRIED AWAY AGAIN SORRY ANON so you get a collection of first times with this two cinnamon rolls, too good for this world, too pure and they can be pure how much they want it will not stop me from making them sin
A Sorta Fairytale
“What’s the name of this flower?” she asks, turning to him. He looks at the red and white petals for a moment before answering, “Whiteryver.”
They are taking a stroll in the gardens of the Spring Court, now that the war is finally over they decided that is time to properly know each other.
They are always drawn to each other anyway.
Every time he sees her, Lucien is torn between doing what his gut tells him to do and what he knows it’s right. But her smile is still hesitant and he would never risk doing something stupid and-
He knows she was about to marry a man, perhaps even loved him, and Lucien knows enough about how it feels when the person you love is forcefully taken from you and he would never make it worst, especially not to her.
So they talk, and the words flow so easily between them that he is happy for the fact that she considers him a friend enough to tell him about her past, about the guilt she feels for not helping Feyre, about the loneliness in that Cottage, about Nesta’s ever present rage.
They talk about the man she wanted to marry and how she thought that was love, but now she’s not so sure.
They talk about Hybern and he takes her hand, stroking gently.
The topic shift, and he debates on telling her about his lover, but her sincerity and how she confided in him- he should do the same.
He tells her, his voice steady and cold speaking of it like it’s just a fact, something that happened and will never be changed and that’s how it is.
Like it wasn’t the worst thing that has ever happened to him.
She grips his hand, her hold strong as he lowers his head, the shame and guilt and sadness like a rope around his neck that no matter how many centuries pass, will never go away, never loosen.
Elain moves and for a terrible moment he thinks she will go away, living him there and never look back and this time Lucien knows he won’t-
But she hugs him, hugs him so tight to her, her hands around his torso and her little hand grasping his shirt.
There’s nothing he can do to stop the sob coming out of his throat and she hugs even harder and he can’t remember the last he cried, the last he let himself be vulnerable and to feel, the last he didn’t have to hide behind a smirk.
“It wasn’t your fault”, her voice his muffled on his chest and the words hit him.
This is the first time someone tells him that.
He hugs her back, trying to accept what she’s saying, trying to not object.
“I bet she wants you to be happy.”, she whispers, and Lucien is beyond words and tears are still streaming down his eyes but they’re different from the tears he always cried for her, for what they did to her, his lover with the only fault of loving him, of not being the High Fae his family wanted her to be.
Elain moves but doesn’t leave him and he can’t help but smile when she hooks her pinkie with his.
As Lucien see the faint red staining her cheeks and looks at Elain, Elain, he sees the person that she is, this beautiful, kind and lovely woman and he knows that regardless of the mating bond, he’s falling in love with her.
He watches the sun playing on her hair and he thinks-He can let his lover go.
She will always have a place in his heart but maybe he can learn to remember her as the person she was instead of only recalling those fatal last moments.
He will build her a tombstone and him and Elain will bring her the most beautiful flowers and Lucien will learn to celebrate her life, the love they shared and he will learn to live and love again.
Lucien takes a step toward Elain and it feels like healing.
They are in Velaris, at the big celebration held for the rebuilding of the city after the war.
He got to know Rhysand and his Inner Circle, surprised by how kind they are to him since he came fully expecting the worst.
All of them are in the Rainbow and he can hear the laughter and chattering of the people around him and he can see Feyre and Rhysand walking hand in hand.
He’s happy to see how radiant Feyre is, even if the thought of her as High Lady still makes him want to laugh at how life is unpredictable.
“Would-would you like to come to a shop with me?” Elain asks him, stuttering a bit.
He nods, a little dumbstrucked by the fact that she is asking him. She could take him anywhere she wants and he wouldn’t complain, wouldn’t think of it.
So they start to depart from the others and Lucien notices the sharp movement of Nesta’s head, his blood runs cold when she looks like she’s about to open her mouth but, luckily for him, Cassian appears out of nowhere and scoops his mate in his arms, laughing at Nesta’s surprised scream.
The man turns to Lucien, giving him a smirk and a nod in Elain’s direction before he says something in Nesta’s ear, opens his wings and shoots himself and his mate in the sky.
Lucien thanks the Mother for Cassian’s general existence.
Lucien and Elain walk as she guides them to the shop, hand in hand and he’s amazed on how natural it feels, like they’ve been doing this for centuries.
So this is the Night Court, he thinks, and it couldn’t be more different from what he imagined, from what he knew.
Elain is making small talk with the shop keeper, a petite black haired woman and he loves how Elain smiles, how the words are an excited rush and so sincere, there’s no trace of the malice and hidden intent he got so used to when he was an emissary.
He realizes he’s been staring when Elain tugs on his hand to bring him in the conversation.
The shop keeper smiles at him, as if the source of his distraction-how he could spend every damn day of his eternity watching Elain do, well, everything- is written in capital letters on his face.
They say their goodbyes to the woman and start to lazily walk across town when Elain shouts “A falling star!”
It’s not one star, they’re more than Lucien can count and they don’t exactly look like stars to him.
“I don’t really think they’re normal stars, Elain.”
He loves to say her name.
He never heard of making a wish when you see a fallen star and he knows it must be some human tradition but he-
He doesn’t see why wish on something when you can make it happen.
So he kisses her.
For a moment they both stand there but a soft gasp escapes her mouth and he doesn’t know what to do, he’s three hundred years old and he’s mind is blank.
She is the one moving, she tugs on his shirt, a tiny nearly imperceptible movement, but it’s enough.
He slowly brushes his tongue on her bottom lip and he nearly dies when her tongue meets his.
It’s a slow, gentle kiss and Lucien feels like melting.
When they part she hides her burning face in his chest and he kisses her forehead. He can feels her smile blooming on his skin.
She starts to walk in front of him, holding his hand, always holding his hand, and Lucien has the time to marvel on her radiant smile before her lips meet his again. It was no more than a quick peck on his lips but it leaves him with his eyes wide and an incredulous smile.
Elain’s cheeks are red and a little joyous giggle escapes her lips, to him it sounds like happiness.
“Elain? Can I come in?” Lucien asks, gently knocking on her door.
He hears the sound of sheets and quick footsteps before she opens the door.
Her hair are a mess and she has the lines of the pillow on her face and there’s a big smile on her face and Lucien’s heart sings at the sight of her.
“I bring food.”, he announces grinning.
“Thank you.” She answers, going on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She takes him by his elbow and brings him to her bed when she sits, patting a spot near her and he sits there.
He knows there’s no malice in this but being here, on her bed where her scent is so strong.
He can do this.
Lucien smiles at Elain and watches as she eats, taking small bites of the food.
She opens her mouth, as if to offer him food, but then retreats. He smiles at her again, understanding. If she wants more time, that’s what he’ll give her.
“What are your plans for today?” he asks, and she thinks about it for a while before answering “We could go to the Theatre, they have a very beautiful play this week.”, she places the half empty tray on the nightstand.
Not You and I.
Lucien closes his eyes for a moment, trying to leash the happiness that threatens to get out of him. He search her hands and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles, his heart skipping a bit at her sharp intake of breath.
His eyes snap open, scared he crossed a line and almost certain of it when her hand moves, her thumb gently stroking the scar tissue under his eye.
“That bitch.”, she mutters and he is stunned by the hate in her voice, the angry gleam in her eyes. It’s something that he rarely sees coming from her and always surprises him.
He is overwhelmed by the need of having her lips on his. He grips her hips, molding in the kiss and holding her a little closer and the bed moves under them.
They are so close he can feel her curves on his body the proximity of her makes him shiver.
She grips him and they both fall, their heads landing on the pillows like they slept together and are now waking up.
They laugh, their faces so close he could count her eyelashes if he wanted. They both move in the same moment and their lips meet half way, his hand in her hair.
Her hand grips his hip and the contact isn’t muffled by the fabric of his shirt, that is now rumpled up to his ribs, it’s skin on skin and he feels her touch in skin, his flesh, his bone.
He bites back a moan.
She withdraws her hand, blushing furiously.
“I’m-I’m sorry Lucien, I didn’t mean to-”
He grips her hand and places it under his shirt, in the middle of his chest. She spreads her fingers, like she wants to touch all that she can.
Lucien rises and takes off his shirt and her hand stays.
He caresses one of her cheeks with his knuckles and looks her in the eyes.
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t feel ready or don’t want to. But don’t apologies if you want to touch me, you can touch me where you please. I’m yours.”, he says and he means it.
She looks at him, a stunned look on her beautiful place. Then, her face hardens, like she just took an irrevocable decision and her arm moving above his head toward her nightstand.
There’s a cookie in her hand.
“I-I know it’s not much, but I can’t cook.”
His heart stops.
“And-and it’s fine if you don’t want it or if you want more time. I respect it. But I-I’ve tried to imagine myself without you and I can’t and more-more than that, I don’t want to.”, she says in a rush, her eyes cosed as if she doesn’t want to see his reaction, her small fingers clasped around the cookie.
“Elain.”, he calls her name again, trying to speak around the lump in his throat.
“Elain, look at me.”, his voice low and gentle. She slowly opens her eyes and he dives to kiss her and then rests his forehead on hers.
“Are you sure?”, he asks. Lucien doesn’t her to have regrets, to choose him only out of the spur of a moment, to-
“Lucien, eat the damned cookie.”
And he laughs, which is strange because he is crying but it’s a new set of tears, joyful ones.
He takes the cookie from her hand with reverent grace and eats it so fast he almost chokes on it.
He feels their bond settle, he feels it as it becomes stronger, unbreakable, eternal.
Her smile is radiant and there are tears of happiness in her eyes and he hugs her and she hugs him back just as fiercely and they pass the day in her bed, cuddling and kissing, the smell of cinnamon and flowers in the air.
The problem, Elain muses, is not Lucien.
She remembers how easy it was with the boy she was supposed to marry, wanted to marry, it was simple with him and she liked him well enough to think it was love.
She could breath in his presence, think coherently and her blushing was contained to a reasonable amount, and she sure didn’t want to touch him everywhere or kiss him until her lungs cry for air.
Elain has experience, even if it surely pales compared to Lucien’s but that isn’t the problem. The problem is how she feels around him, all this feelings that are so strong .
The need to protect him that she feels-and she hopes she never finds herself in a room alone with Tamlin because nothing will stop her from slapping him across the face, hard-, how she wants to love his pain away, how she wants him.
Sometimes she surprises herself, her thoughts so improper she wonders what he would think of her if he knew. She can still feel the warmth of his skin under the palm of her hand.
There’s a flash of red and she knows it’s him, Since she accepted the bond everything that has to do with him is amplified and Elain loves it.
He smiles at her and takes her in his arms, making her swirl a bit and she’s more happy than she’s ever been.
“Hello”, he says, his hand cupping her jaw and kissing her.
Elain tries to understand when exactly she fell in love with him. With every part of him, his scars, his sorrow, his courage and selflessness.
All of it.
“Hello yourself,” she says and she knows she is beaming, but she can’t help it. He makes her happy and she wants him to know it.
He needs to know he’s loved, she needs him to know that she’ll be there, whatever happens she’ll be there, even if he had to pass through all the courts in Prythian, she’d love him, even if he had more scars, she’d love him.
She wants him to know how bad she feels when he has a nightmare and she wants to go to him but doesn’t, scared she’ll step a line.
She wants to be the person he goes to, she wants to be the person he rolls to in bed at night when he can’t sleep.
“Do-do you want to go to the gardens?” she asks. He offers her is arm “I’d love to.”
They talk, and he makes her laugh again and again with his sarcastic comments and jokes. When they reach a clearing they sit on the ground and Elain is basically perched on his lap.
“Lucien, I-” she starts. Elain takes a deep breath and his brows knit together, a concerned look on his face.
“Is something wrong?” he angles his head, looking in her eyes, “Elain?”
She takes another deep breath.
She can do this.
She wants to do it.
She gently takes his face in her hands and stroking her thumb along his jaw and look in his mismatched eyes.
“I love you.”, she says and her voice is sure and steady and she smiles.
“Lucien, I love you.”
His lower lip is trembling and his russet eye is watering
“Elain, Mother, Elain.”
He puts his hands on hers and lowers his face.
“How can you-I don’t-You can’t seriously want-” he’s rambling and the sadness in his voice, the hate he still feels for himself are things she will not stand for.
She grips his face a little harder and makes him look at her.
“No. You don’t get to tell me that I shouldn’t love you or all the reasons why you think you don’t deserve it, because I love you and you deserve to be loved and so much more, Lucien.
You can say what you want, can use all the wicked words you know but it won’t change what I feel, so accept it.”
She breaths and he looks like he is about to break, which is the last thing Elain wants.
Elain doesn’t close her eyes like she desperately wants to, she doesn’t recoil, doesn’t move an inch.
Lucien moves, taking her in his arms and he is shaking and she uses all the strength she has to pull him to her, to keep him together.
“Elain, Elain, Elain,” he’s chanting her name, “I love you too, how couldn’t I, you’re perfect-”
They kiss and kiss, a stream of love words coming out of both their mouths.
When he lowers her down on the grass, the clearing is full of flowers.
They started sleeping together a week ago, after while talking, mostly cuddling, they both fell asleep in her room.
The next night they went to sleep in their respective rooms but Elain couldn’t sleep and she knew why.
She went in the corridors in the dead of the night to go to his room only to find him in the corridor, on his way to hers.
When Elain wakes up she is blessed with the sight of a sleeping Lucien. His hair got free from the braid in which he keeps it at night, his pillow a sea of red. He would seem like a painting, Elain thinks, if his hair weren’t a complete mess.
She smiles, delighted by the peaceful look he has in his moment and how is body is relaxed, her eyes trail lower, to the strong column of his throat, to his muscled chest and to his toned abdomen, visible under his thin shirt.
She goes to his face in time to see a smile form.
“Good morning, love.”, his voice is low and ruff from sleep and first thing he does is kiss her, a sweet and gentle morning kiss.
Elain wants to know exactly how sweet Lucien is.
She kisses him back, then kisses his chin, his throat, and down, and down.
“Elain.” , his voice is strained and her name sounds like a question.
Elain knows she is blushing furiously, but doesn’t relent.
She only stops at the hem at the hem of his pants and looks up at him because she wants to be sure he wants it too but Lucien’s breathing is ragged when he says “I’ve already told you once, love. If you’re waiting for my permission than yes, you have it, Elain, please.”
She must admit that she loves to hear him ramble more than she should.
Elain slowly lowers his pants and he lifts his hips to help her and she can see how hard he is, straining the fabric of his underwear.
She kisses his shaft and he hisses and Elain, feeling a little bit bold, licks the full length of him above his underwear and he arches his back and he’s hands are grasping the pillow so hard his knuckles are white, his mouth, his full red lips are open in a gasp and he’s so beautiful Elain is taken aback for a moment.
She goes up to him for a kiss, her hair falling on his chest, but the kiss is short lived and she’s going down on him again and she wills her hands to stop shaking as she pulls down his underwear.
Lucien is looking at her with anticipation and wonder and when she licks him from root to tip he nearly falls off the bed.
“Oh Mother” he says, his voice breathless and she takes him in her mouth, sucking gently on the tip of his cock and he moans openly and wantonly and the sound makes her whimper around him.
She sees how his muscle s flex, how he buries his head in the pillow when he arches his back and he’s so breathtakingly beautiful.
Elain wraps her hand around his cock and pumps, up and down and he writhes as she bites softly on his hip.
“Elain, love, I’m going to come, I’m-”, she puts her mouth on him again before he can finish the sentence. His orgasm hits the roof of her mouth.
He really is sweet.
She goes to him and Lucien takes her in his arms and kisses her, his naked skin on the fabric of her nightgown.
“You nearly killed me there, love.” He says, kissing her temple.
“Did I?” she asks, her face a mask of smug innocence.
“Oh, you certainly did. You surprised me. Let’s see how well I can return the favor, shall we?”
He does it and he does it more than well.
He does it and does it and does it.
This is the third dress she tries.
The third dress to get thrown on their bed while she sighs, unsatisfied.
She tries another one, a lacy dress in a deep shade of green that is tight enough without being too revealing.
“This is my favorite.” Lucien is standing with is back on the threshold, there’s a smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes.
“You like it? I’m not very fond of it.”
He goes behind her, his hands on her stomach, pushing her into him.
“I’ll like everything as long as you’re in it.” He says, and kisses her neck.
Elain watches their reflection in the mirror, the red staining her cheeks, his mouth moving on her neck.
“But I sure would like to see this dress on the ground.”, a whisper in her ear.
She feels as he goes hard and she turns to him, to kiss him properly and she doesn’t even know how it happened but suddenly they’re on the bed and her dress is the first to go, followed by his tunic and the meeting they should attend becomes utterly trivial.
There’s no need for words, no need for asking what they both already know, no need to ask about something that grew and grew from the day Elain’s life ended and begun until it reached this moment.
Elain nods at Lucien and that’s all they both need.
She feels every inch of him as he enters her slowly and it feels like eternity, it feels like a promise.
She gasps and moans and whimpers as his thrusts hit exactly where she needs it and she feels her orgasm raising and he takes her hand in his guiding them on his heart and the only sound in the room is the one of their bodies meeting.
Hey kiss more fiercely as his thrust become erratic and she hooks her free hand around his neck and he presses his lips to hers and he moans, deep in throat as he comes inside her but doesn’t stop and after three more sharp movements of his hips Elain comes, a soft sound escaping her lips, his name.
He rolls to the side, his arms enveloping her as much as she does it to him with her own arms.
Elain is smiling so hard her cheeks hurt but she sees the same expression on his face.
She feels their bond, a living, breathing thing between them and Elain strokes it gently, lovingly and feels Lucien shiver.