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historiaxvanserra · 5 months

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These Violent Delights | An Eris Vanserra story

Summary: At a ball in Hewn City, you meet your match in Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (brief mentions of Azriel x reader)

Word Count: 7.6k

Previously called If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power. I changed the name to adapt if from a one shot into a series.

You had been born on a night like this, you think. The storm-streaked clouds line the heavens like flowering hydrangeas as they dissolve into a black abyss and the moonlight shines like pearls on the water where the horizon meets the Sidra.

Storm-streaked they had called you.

When you were a little girl, your father had told you that you had come into this world in the same way as the old Gods had. Born from the merciless depths of some unknowable blue-darkness; cruel and beautiful, and fearless.

Now fear is all you know.

The crack of forked white lightening against the darkening horizon pushes you further into introspective thought. The visions come with the quiet; flashes of silver and gold and the icy embrace of the water. That infernal cauldron and what it had taken from. It haunts you, even in dreaming.

Of late, the days seem to pass in a state of perpetual purgatory, marred by memories and the water– an unforgiving tempest that tears through you.

The water cleanses but it also devastates.

Your father had once called you water; the salt and the sea.

You had always wondered what that meant.

But here you stand-- a storm incarnate; volatile, half-wild and isolating. And who can become the water without inheriting its violence, or its loneliness?

The feeling of harsh violet eyes on you is enough to drag you gaze from your spot near the balcony and the storm as it rages outside.

“Are you ready, Nesta?” Rhysand’s voice is velvet night as it reverberates around the small waiting room.

A chill runs down your spine when you catch his eyes, glinting and violet in the dim light. You regard Nesta cooly as she tilts her chin upwards.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Nesta’s eyes are lined with kohl and looking at her is like looking into the eye of a storm.

She always had an austere kind of beauty that left you speechless.

Rhysand only nods simply before taking Feyre’s arm and approaching the large doorway. Nesta and Elain fall into rank behind them with practiced ease. It is you who hovers awkwardly in the background for a moment before taking your place in the middle of the formation. A solitary figure amongst them.

You swallow thickly and you catch the lingering scent of a night chilled mist as you bristle. A whisper of night wraps itself around you like a cold comfort. These days his scent seems to follow you like a shadow; though, you suppose when you’ve spent every night this week wrapped around him, trying to drown out your own thoughts, there is bound to be a trace of him that lingers there.

At last, the towering doors to the throne room yawned open.

The throne room is lined with black candles and evergreen wreaths frame the doorway, and moonflowers climb up the high, onyx pillars like ivy. And on each side of the aisles there were two magnificent banquet tables, piled high with food enough to feed a city. Though it was not to be touched without express permission from the High Lord.

A ripple of dark power reverberates through the mountain as The High Lord and Lady enter the throne room. You swear you feel the mountain wail in their presence. It is a powerful thing and you feel something within yourself begin to stir with it.

A cold rage as it makes a home in your chest.

The courtiers pale as they approach, parting like the tide as their High Lord and High Lady brush through them, crowned in silver crystals and garbed in midnight black robes.

Rhysand looks beautiful you think as your eyes find him in the procession-- he stands tall against you all, his hair perfectly quaffed and the rich scent of mandarin and night-blooming jasmine seems to follow him.

All that pales in comparison to Feyre; the dress she wears is like tangible shadow. Gossamer thin silk and tulle that glitters with flecks of silver starlight, all gathered about her waist with a thin belt that accentuates the swell of her stomach.

The room beholds her with baited breath; a sense of awe and ire.

She looks like the visage of some ancient Goddess of the moon; pale and beautiful in the silvery light.

You sense a shift in the air as they approach the dias and Rhysand’s shoulders tense; he is a picture of male pride. There is a dangerous quality to it that chills you to the bone. A cold violence that feels almost kindred to you. Feyre’s full red lips part and she smiles until it seems to dampen Rhys’s anger as he reaches for her as they climb the steps of the onyx dias.

Keir’s face is twisted in a half-grimace, somewhere between astonishment and anguish. Behind him the Eris Vanserra remains fixed in place, his face set in a painfully neutral expression as he regards the High Lord and Lady.

Motion from behind you beckons you to move as Nesta and Elain fall into step with you and begin to pace the length of the aisle and approach the dias.

All three of you are dressed in Night Court black. A symbol of your place amongst the royal family. A warning of the dark power which you all possessed. Stolen and gifted from that cauldron. A reminder of your value. It is a carefully rehearsed routine as Nesta takes her place between you both, the flare of her skirts bushing against the marble floor with each long stride. You and Elain flank her sides like two wraiths.

Elain looks sallow in black, you think as you catch her eyes. A poor initiation of the coldness you wear so well etched onto her beautiful face and steely determination in her dark, rich eyes.

Nesta outshines you all tonight-- her golden hair braided into a crown atop her head and a delicate crown glints in the lantern light, slender spikes jutting forward in a dark corona. Her wicked eyes glinted like cobalt in the light. She’s dressed all in black. The gown itself is skin tight and embroidered with intricate silver brocade, twisting vines and moonflowers adorn the velvet bodice, tracing the curve of her breasts and sinking low, to her navel where the silver thread gathers about a sapphire that matches the crystals on her crown.

Nesta is a cruel beauty; enough to bring a God to his knees.

And Cassian looks about ready to sink to his knees before her as you regard him on the dias.

Nestas moves with a feline grace, expressive and smirking as she takes her place between Cassian and Elain on the platform.

Feyre and Rhysand sink into their thrones with a measured grace and from your stop between Elain and Azriel you can see all the eyes in the room as they flit from one member of the Inner Circle to the next.

But it is the strange amber gaze of Eris Vanserra that you meet in the gathering crowd. He offers you a courteous nod and the ghost of a smirk graces his full lips and you send a scathing look in his direction in return.

You hope he feels the bitter sting of your coldness as your eyes try to find anything else in the throne room to focus on.

Azriel rolls on the balls of his feet as the silence settles in the room and he inches so close to you that you feel the scarred pads of his fingers brush the exposed skin of your back.

“You look good in black,” his voice is impossibly quiet, almost inaudible as he dips low enough that he is speaking into the shell of your ear.

A cold chill runs up the length of your spine.

“Thank you, Shadowsinger,” You say simply, a feral smile on your lips as you bare your teeth to him.

A laugh sharp and cruel rings through you and Azriel’s hand tangles in the lengths of your hair tugging sharply.

“You are most welcome,” Azriel agrees, his voice is like shadow and wind as it graces your ears “most welcome indeed.”

Azriel steps back into line as Rhysand stands to address the crowd.

Your own spine straightens as though it is muscle memory by now. Obedience. To bend and break as the High Lord and Lady saw fit.

Rhysand looks like Night Triumphant as he regards his uncle with a strange union of cruelty and cordiality. Recently Rhys and Feyre had softened slightly with the people of Hewn City. Keir in particular. They can’t afford to isolate him from court politics-- in case the need arises for his Darkbringers to fight again. Hence the fact Rhysand even abides his presence at all. Rhysand’s cruel gaze lingers just a touch too long though. A careful reminder of the fate he’ll earn if he ever decided to go against Rhys.

It’s been months since you’ve been to Hewn City, longer since you involved yourself in court politics. Longer still, since any whispers of the Trove or Briallyn reached you. Though you aren’t naive enough to believe it is over.

None of the Inner Circle are.

That is why you find yourself in Hewn City tonight. Swathed in the sallow light, and painted like a pretty whore; all red lips and dark eyes, with trembling hands, wanting nothing more than to be back in that little cabin with your sisters by your side-- as you were when you were girls.

Feyre rises to her feet to join Rhys and she addresses the crowd, “May the blessings of the Winter Solstice be upon you.”

The crowd seems to hum in acknowledgement and then they bow in a show of deference.

Or blind obedience.

Your eyes meet the strange amber gaze of Eris Vanserra once more, and it is you he looks at when he kneels.

Keir slinks forward, offering your sister a low bow, “Allow me to extend my congratulations, High Lady.” His voice drips with false flattery as he dips his chin in a show of esteem.

Eris Vanserra moves like a predator as he stalks forward, offering your sister a devastating, cultivated smile that feels almost authentic. “And allow me to extend my sincerest wishes, on behalf of my father and the entire Autumn Court.”

Rhysand’s mouth curls into a wicked half smile, his eyes darken to an amethyst color as she speaks “I’m sure your father will be most pleased for us.”

The implication that hands in the air is a dangerous one and you can feel the color drain from you at the terse exchange. A few more beast of silence and--

“Music,” The High Lord calls out and the orchestra from behind the mezzanine begins to play lightly, the sounds of lyres and harps ring through the air.

Feyre once again addresses the crown, every inch the High Lady, “Go--eat--enjoy.” The crowd of silent courtiers disperse throughout the room as they aim to take their places at the tables.

Each banquet table is piled high with an obscene amount of food and you find yourself feeling ashamed of the blatant opulence before you. When once you had nothing. Now you live without wanting. It makes you feel ashamed. How your old self would resent this wasteful indulgence.

Turning away from the feasting courtiers you turn inwards towards the thrones on the dias.

Now only Eris and Keir remain standing before the High Lord and Lady. You notice how neither of the men has deigned to acknowledge Morrigan’s presence behind the thrones. She looks ethereal and savage as she smirks down at them, her lips look as though they are stained wine red.

Blood red, you think.

The Illyrain’s at either side of you and your sisters look more like beasts carved into the dark stone of the mountain than anything else. Azriel and Cassian are clad in black armor, each adorned in ruby and sapphire to match their siphons that glow faintly in the low light. The brothers look as though they are the visage of some Gods of old; statuesque and hard-faced as they regard the Autumn Prince.

Cassian in particular looks like he might invoke some of that ancient power to stop Eris from dancing with Nesta tonight. He had not objected but, how could he? Rhys was his brother and his High Lord. Obedience is easier than the alternative.

And the fate of The Night Court-- his home-- could rest on Eris’ alliance. So he will bite his tongue in the knowledge that what Eris offers is a chance at defeating Briallyn and Koschei.

From your spot you watch the Autumn Prince with piqued curiosity. He will not stop looking at you and it is infuriating.

It brings a cold anger bubbling to the skin's surface; all biting fury and icy violence.

The conversation between Keir and Rhys seems to come to a natural end and the lull in the conversation has the whole room falling into silence, waiting for their next order. Like puppets.

And your sister the puppet master, pulling the strings as she commands, her voice like thunder at midnight, “Dance--”.

The courtiers like a midnight sea part and pair off in swathes of dark silk and velvet. Even Keir retreats into the crowd and pairs off with a dark haired female.

Eris turns on his heels, the wrap of his riding boots against the floor echo through your head.

“Before you join in the merriment, Eris,” Rhy’s voice is a velvet drawl as he presents a long black box, “I’d like to present you with your Solstice gift.”

You swallow hard and step forward. Procuring the box from Rhysand you press forward, one long stride that brings you face to face with the Autumn Prince and for the first time you truly look at him.

A night-kissed wind envelops the pair of you, enough to wrap behind Eris blocking the dias from view of the dancing courtiers.

Eris Vanserra is devastating; he has a cruel sort of beauty, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones that look sharp enough to cut into you, but his eyes are soft and unwavering. He is a strange juxtaposition.

Eris arches a brow at Rhysand and you flip open the carved lid of the box. Eris stiffens, his voice low and dangerous.

“What is this?” he asks, somewhere between disbelief and wariness.

“A present,” Rhysand clarifies and you catch a glimpse of ruby and gold on the hilt of the dagger.

You refrain from grimacing at the truth you are confronted with. Rhysand and your sister want to sell off Nesta like a broodmare and her Made weapons with her.

A truly beautiful piece. And dangerous too.

Like Eris, something in you calls.

Eris’ hand hovers over the open box and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“You sense its power, then?” Feyre asks voice dripping with a sense of smugness that does not suit her in the slightest.

Eris nods carefully, his eyes flicking to the High Lord and Lady before finding yours again.

“There’s flame in it,” he says, hand still hovering over the weapon. As if something in him senses its true power. He closes the lid abruptly. “Why give it to me?”

Feyre smiles lightly and shrugs, “You’re our ally.”

Feyre rests a protective hand over the swell of her stomach, “You face enemies that exist outside of the usual rules of magic. It’s only fair to grant you a weapon that operates outside of those rules too.”

You stand transfixed by the twitch of his jaw and the bob of his throat as he considers her words.

“It is truly made then?” He asks, carefully. His eyes never leave yours and it is your voice that answers his question.

“It is, My Lord.” your voice comes out all cold and gravelly, unlike yourself.

Rhysand speaks again though the beating of your heart renders him almost mute, “From my personal collection. An heirloom of sorts.”

“All this time,” Eris’ voice is dark and thoughtful, “ all these years you possessed a Made weapon and you kept it hidden.”

“Even during the war,” Eris says more to himself than anyone else.

There is a dangerous sense of anger and skepticism in the air as Eris examines the weapon again, his hand once more runs over the length of the dagger, his fingers barely ghosting the cool metal.

“Don’t take our generosity for granted,” Feyre offers in warning, her voice quiet and threatening.

Eris stills and nods in acknowledgement. He extends a smile that looks courteous enough to be genuine and once more allows his finger to run over the smooth length of the blade. “Thank you,”

“Might I leave it in your safekeeping while I dance, My Lady?” Eris’s voice seems distant and far away and it takes a moment for you to realize that he is speaking directly to you.

You look at him coldly, unable to muster the warmth of genuine affection when he is looking at you like that. It is infuriating. That someone so cruel might also be so insufferably handsome.

“Yes, My Lord.”

Feyre nods to Rhys and Eris in acknowledgement and against your better judgment you let your eyes linger over the graceful curve of his calves and up over the contours of his muscled thighs, all the way up over the broad expanse of his chest and finally becoming entangled in the unbound curls of copper hair as he sweeps it over his shoulder.

Devilishly and devastatingly handsome. Sun-blood handsome.

Feyre’s soft lilt brings you back to reality as she says “Use it well, Lord.”

Your sister's smile curves into a soft smile at Eris and extends a hand to him, “Ordinarily I would ask you to dance, but my condition has left me quite unwell.” Feyre makes a show of looking between the two sisters who stand in line with Cassian and Azriel.

Elain, at least, has the good grace to give the impression of seeming interested. Nesta though looks bored. As though she is only half listening. As though they hadn’t just given away the dagger she’d Made.

Perhaps it was the way that Nesta’s grey eyes had drifted away from the dancing sea of courtiers, or the forlorn look on Cassian’s face as he stood on the dias, but either way it made you realize something. That maybe the Illyrian General meant more to Nesta than she would ever let on. More than that dagger-- more than magic or power or court politics.

Feyre notes the direction of Nesta’s stare and then looks between you and Eris. The corners of her lips twitch in nervous anticipation as her eyes settle on you.

“My lovely sister shall take my place.” Feyre nods to you and for a moment you let the icy wrath in your stare settle over her before dipping your head to her.

Eris’ throat bobs as you assess him with that same cold gaze. A slender hand takes the Made dagger from you and you hold out a hand to him.

He extends a sculpted arm out to you, his large hand wrapping around you as you yield to him. His long, deft fingers brush against yours; his skin is warm to the touch and even in the pallid light it is clear and pale, with golden hues that compliment the warm depths of his eyes. Your chest grows taut and you feel emotion course through you with the force of a raging tempest.

You loose a breathy gasp and for a moment you exist somewhere outside of yourself. You hear Eris’ voice, a warm, low timbre as he utters your name. He offers you his arm as you descend from your spot on the onyx dias. The sound of your slippers echo in the silent chamber. Eris’s face is set in a painfully neutral expression and you try your hardest to mirror it. Hoping he will not see the storm raging inside of you. You think of Nesta and the way she moves with such thoughtful grace and so you copy it; your chin tilted high and each step becomes a glide as you reach the edge of the marble dance floor.

The eyes of the courtiers fall onto you.

You feel the heat of Eris stare as it burns into the side of your face-- you feel a pair of violet eyes on you too. A cold chill spreads through you when his talons scrape dangerously and then you see him in your mind's eye. What a dangerous turn of events.

Dangerous? You had never considered yourself as something dangerous.

Nesta might have seduced Eris, but you will bring him to his knees. Rhysand’s cold tenor rattles around your mind and for a moment you see him standing at the precipice of a cliff as the storm rolls in, and the jagged rocks below look like the opening of a Helmouth.

There is no doubt that Nesta is more beautiful. With a feline sort of beauty; long legs and a graceful neck, all angular and steely eyed. Nesta had inherited the aristocratic sort of beauty that your mother possessed. You had always been half-wild, unapproachable and--

Well, it is your mother’s voice that resounds in your head, of two sisters one is always the dancer and one the watcher.

Tonight the roles reverse as you take your place in the middle of the dance floor. You will bring him to his knees.

You catch Azriel’s eye as the instrumental music fades into momentary silence. From his spot on the dias he looks like a dark God; and he looks like he might just tear Eris to blood ribbons when his hand wraps around your waist.

Eris brings you so close to him that you're pressed against him and as the harp begins to play, high and sweet, he smiles softly at you. As if the notes of music wrap around you, you raise your palm to his flat and open, an invitation if he has even seen one.

The low stringed instruments usher in the music like a coming storm, a summons to the dance in a rushing of music, like water. You remind yourself to smile wickedly at Eris as he slides a broad hand over the curves and divots of your waist and hips. You lift your head high and, looking up into his perfect face you bare your teeth to him. All ruby red lips and pearls and he smiles so wickedly that you’re not sure who is supposed to be seducing who.

Those strange amber eyes-- so haunting in the faelight.

The harps and lyres sing so beautifully in the air and when the violins begin to play, it feels like a siren song in the air. A beckoning. As your body moves with the ebb and flow of the dancing tide.

Eris leads you into the waltz, he moves with practiced ease. He knows every note, every trough and swell of the music, each nuance and note.

Nesta would outdance you everytime. This you know. She moves like the music becomes her. And in so many ways it does. Her body bends to the will of the orchestral sound, and it bends to her too.

So you will have to play it differently.

The music sweeps you up in it’s tide, and as the music swells you decide to surrender yourself to the water. Let it wash all over you. Your body, once rigid and taut, goes pliant in Eris’ arms. You let the orchestral sound drown out your doubts and give yourself over to it. To him. His fingers ghost the line of your spine and he pushes you further still, against him. So close that you feel your heartbeat in tandem and your body bends to his will.

It is easier to bend than to break.

Better to relinquish control than have it taken from you.

Eris’ eyes widen and soften then-- as if he feels it too-- you feel his hands loosen before tightening again around you. Somehow different now. Somehow, strangely, comforting.

He moves with such grace and skill, his body reacts to every fluttering note and pause in the music. And the whole time his eyes are on you. And you can’t look away. The dark, warm depths of his eyes like a slow-burning fire that consumes all in its wake.

You find the faces of your family in the crowd and you see that their normally composed demeanor seems to have shifted, their eyes wide and jaws slack as you move with the tide.

Tonight you are the storm and the fire will bend to you.

You will bring him to his knees, you think. As the music washes over you.

Has there ever been such a haunting and mournful sound in all the world? Your name falling from Eris’mouth perhaps.

The snippets of the music Nesta had described to you, from her memory of the Veritas, paled in comparison. It flows and swims around you, filling you like water, and if you let it, it could be enough to drown you. To sink into the depths of the high-arching song.

Eris smiles again when you fall into step with him so effortlessly, like you are an extension of him.

One soul in two bodies.

His broad hand tightens over the flare of your hip, his fingers flexing before digging into the malleable flesh. The smile you give him feels much too vulnerable and genuine to bring you any sort of comfort.

Eris' amber eyes shine with feral delight and you see yourself reflected in his eyes; you look like sin personified. The dark material of your dress gathers about your waist, held in place only by velvet ribbon and a few embroidered onyx crystals. The deep cut of the dress is so low that it bares the ample curve of your breasts and your strain to catch your breath because of how tight the dress has been laced.

The person you see in Eris’eyes looks like the incarnation of some ancient deity; dark and cold, and cruel. And beautiful.

Eris’ broad hand spreads across the middle of your back, pressed firm between your shoulder blades and you burn beneath him. As the music lulls and flutters his gaze locks onto yours and flame simmers in those dark topaz eyes and a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. Cat-like and feral as he dips you low, supporting your weight in his arms. His face comes to hover over yours and you’re transfixed by his unyielding stare.

Beautiful and haunting eyes.

One hand is wrapped around his neck and the other you bring to touch his cheek with the tenderness of someone who has never truly been touched. His face falters and something akin to raw vulnerability flashes in his eyes.

Bring him to his knees.

In one swift movement Eris sweeps you so that you are standing upright, pressed so close to his chest that you feel each groove and divot of his sculpted chest. You place that same hand over his blazing heart and as the music filters into stunned silence, Eris eyes you with feral delight.

For a moment, as the heaving in your chest subsides you allow yourself to remain in his tender grasp. His fingers ghosting the curve of you hip and the small of your back, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into the skin there.

The faces of the courtiers turn upon you.

You, this once-human female, barely out of girlhood, who had been thrust into this world of dark power and politics.

Who stood before them now, coloured in the murky green hues of Hewn City.

Storm-streaked girl.

It is like being born again and the mountain trembles in your wake.

The eyes of your High Lord and Lady land on you and Eris at the foot of the dias. Rhysand rises in his seat and his violet eyes meet yours and something wicked and enchanting flashes in them. Feyre regards you with a wild smile and she laughs before tipping her head to you in acknowledgement.

And in a show of secret defiance you plunge into the deepest curtsey you can manage; your chest still rising and falling with a dramatic flare, and your skirts pool around you like inky shadows as you sink low onto the marble. You dip your chin ever so slightly, never quite breaking eye contact with the cruel violet gaze that assesses you with a dangerous glint.

A laugh of dark joy bursts from Eris beside you who in turn, offers his own small bow before capturing you again in his firm hold as the orchestra begins to play again.

Your mother had always wanted a Prince for Nesta, and yet, here you were-- beautiful, cruel and merciless, with the Autumn Prince sinking into the cold depths of your eyes.

Everyone who has ever loved you has underestimated you. But looking into Eris’ eyes you see something kindred to you.

You will bring them all to their knees.

Eris' amber eyes gleam with want as he takes you in again and you loose a shaky breath as he leads you into the next dance.

The music is soft and light, the strings sing a song so aching and mournful that you feel once again overcome with it. All of your violent coldness, all that biting fury, rendered a useless ruse as the music becomes you.

Eris might be the monster they all say he is, but looking at him now, in the soft light, you see something else.

“Trust Rhysand to keep such a beautiful creature to himself.” Eris’ amber eyes study you carefully.

You school your face to remain neutral, with just a touch of scorn as you bite back.

“If beauty is all you can see, My Lord” You say, your voice dark and taunting, “I fear you have missed the point entirely.”

“Intelligent too,” Eris chuckles darkly and wraps a wisp of your unbound hair around his forefinger, “and dangerous.”

You don’t deign to reply though Eris continues his assessment of you, his eyes trailing over you, afire with dark promise.

“I’ve seen you before though,” Eris asks as he steps into the next part of the song, “haven’t I?”

His eyes narrow on you and you think back to the last time you saw Eris Vanserra.

“At the High Lords meeting,” You say quietly, your voice thick with shame as you recall the meeting some months back.

You had been little more than a wraith then, when the dreams of drowning in that cauldron plagued you nightly, a girl gulping on a woman’s grief. Now those dreams only come with the coming of a storm. A warning or some ill-fated omen.

“The time since the way has changed you.” It is not a question but a statement.

You don’t smile at him like you should. Instead you meet Eris’ burning stare with a measured look of your own, “For the better, I hope?”

Eris thinks for a moment, as if looking for the right words to express his meaning.

“You are a Goddess.” he says slyly gesturing to the dress as the skirts brush against him, baring the slit in the thigh to him.

“Then kneel to me.” You say, not missing a beat as Eris laughs wickedly and brings his mouth to hover over the shell of your ear.

“It seems you came to play the game tonight, afterall.” Eris says, his voice a low murmur in your ear.

He spins you again, quick and violent before you crash back into him again, “don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

“But I should believe you?” You ask, arching a brow to the cruel prince.

“You shouldn’t believe anyone here, Little fox.” Eris tips his head towards the dias where Mor watches the pair of you from her spot besides the High Lord and Lady.

“The Morrigan knows the truth,” Eris insists, “though she has never revealed it.”

“Why?” You ask curiously.

“Because she is afraid of it.” Eris’ voice is tempered and quiet and he casts the Inner Circle a look of his own, “they all are.”

Your mouth twitches with the ghost of a smirk as you press yourself further into him, “You don’t do yourself any favors with this mask you wear.”

“Don’t I? I’ve managed to ally myself to this court, under constant threat of being discovered by my father-- do you have any idea what he’d do to me if he found out, Little fox?” Eris asks, the fire within him lighting and flickering in his amber eyes. “I ally myself with this court, I offer aid when I can, I placate Rhysand with ceremonies and shows of deference. Why do you think that is?”

Eris dips you again and the fan on his unbound hair brushes against your bare shoulders.

“Because there’s something in it for you.” It isn’t a matter of question. You know it to be true and you see it in the way that Eris regards you with a mixture of fondness and caution.

“Because there is something in it for me,” Eris confirms, “and tell me, what is in it for me?”

“What is it that you want, My Lord?” You ask, fluttering dark lashes at him and the music swells.

“What is Rhysand offering?” Eris counters and leads you further into the center of the floor.

“Nothing that I have the power to grant you.”

Eris laughs, the sound like silk on your skin and you shiver as he brings his lips to graze your ear, “I very much doubt that, Little fox?”

You swallow thickly and a surge of dark power pricks at your skin. You let him see it; all that cold rage, and the violence of the sea.

Eris' face twists but not from fear and a strange look of reverence shines in his eyes.

The waltz comes to a close and as the music fades into the chatter of the courtiers he whispers into your ear once more.

“They say your sister Elain is the beauty, but you are something else entirely.” His breath is hot and sacred on your neck, and a broad hand strokes the bare skin of your back and you find yourself arching into him.

Eris takes a step back from you, holding your hand above your head and turning you slowly as his eyes roam the curves and contours of your body, “You are wasted in the Night Court,”

“Truly wasted.” His voice is a low whistle as you stop in front of him now.

“And where might I be used more effectively, My Lord?”

Eris chuckles again but before he can answer--

“Get your hands off her, Eris.” Azriel’s voice is like cold death that cuts through the spell that Eris has you under. His wrath comes off him in waves that crash against you, halting your movements.

The dancing sea around you seems to cease to move as Eris and Azriel lock eyes.

Eris straightens his back and he closes his hand over yours-- gently, almost protectively-- and he locks his eyes onto Azriel.

Hazel and amber meet and shadow and light seem to dance in the air. The courtiers wait with baited breath.

“I don’t take orders from the likes of you, Shadowsinger.”

You stifle a snarl as you look at Azriel. Who does he think he is? He has no claim over you. He had made that much clear when you started this thing. A means to an end. A placeholder for another sister.

“Am I to understand that you’d like to dance, Azriel?” You ask cooly, trying not to let your violet rage show in the darkness of your eyes.

“Yes.” His voice is insistent and thick with jealousy and the promise of violence.

Before you can pull yourself from Eris’ protective grip, Azriel is tugging on your wrist and bringing you into his side.

Eris bares his teeth to Azriel and fire dances in those strange amber eyes. “Go sit at your master’s feet, dog.”

Azriel laughs darkly and his shadows become a violent wisp of dark that wraps itself around you in a possessive manner.

You swallow down the shame that you feel when Eris looks at you -- like all the power you had just moments ago has been ripped away from you, and now you are just another piece on the board to be bought and sold as your High Lord saw fit.

A pretty whore, painted like some dark Goddess.

You band an arm across Azriel’s chest as he lunges forward in a flurry of movement.

“It’s alright,” you offer Eris an apologetic smile, “I’ve taken too much of your time already.” You say diplomatically, taking Azriel’s hand in your own and pulling away from Eris.

Feyre and Rhysand had given up one of Nesta’s Made daggers in the name of Eris’ continued alliance, surely, one interrupted dance will not jeopardize it.

Eris offers you a taut smile and he bows his head to you, “Very well then, we’ll play later, Little Fox.”

Eris doesn’t so much as acknowledge Azriel as he ventures towards the dias again.

Azriel holds you in place, one hand wrapped around your shoulders and he searches you as if looking for signs of injury. His touch is cold and biting.

“Happy now?” you roll your eyes at him.

Azriel stares coldly at you, his face set like stone, as if carved into the dark stone of the mountain, “not in the slightest.”

You glance hesitantly over his shoulder and see Rhysand and Feyre each sharing a look of subtle fury. Azriel will no doubt be on the receiving end of a mental lashing. If Azriel has cost them this alliance it comes down on you too-

“He touched you and I-,” Azriel’s voice is weighted and serious at the same time you speak out.

“Whatever has passed between us,” you say gesturing between you and him, “it has to end, Azriel.”

If Azriel felt anything at all but cold indifference his face does not show it.

“Because of Eris?” Azriel asks incredulously, his tone full of venom.

“No, of course not,” You say truthfully, “because we are fools to think this will ever be enough.”

A beat of silence lingers in the air between you.

“For either of us.”

Azriel takes a moment to think about it and you see the recognition flash in his darkening hazel eyes, he looks over his shoulder in Elain’s direction. Carefully, measured, he looks at you again.

“You want Elain.” You say matter of factly, even with a hint of sadness, “don’t deny it-- and I…” your voice trails into nothing. An errant whisper of power.

“And what do you want?” Azriel asks, his voice once dark and cruel is something akin to familial.

“I’m not sure yet.” you say thoughtfully, looking back to the dias where everyone regards you and Azriel warily.

Azriel softens and he lets go of your arms and hides his scarred fingertips in the pockets of his dark colored tunic. He runs a hand over his face in regret and looses a shaky breath before laughing again.

“Rhys is going to fucking slaughter me.” Azriel says and you laugh quietly, muttering in agreement as you link arms with his and lead him through the dancing sea of courtiers to the wine table.

Azriel takes a goblet in each hand and offers one to you. The wine is dark and red and stains your lips like blood. The taste is woody and spiced, it tastes a little like Autumn. Azriel leans into the onyx pillar and angles himself away from the prying eyes of the courtiers as they dance.

You’re at his side and move so that his body obstructs the view of Rhysand and Feyre, shunning their ire.

“How pissed do you think they’ll be?” You ask grimly.

“With you?” Azriel asks, cocking a brow in confusion. You only nod and wait for him to continue. Azriel swallows a large mouthful of wine, wiping his mouth with the back of a scarred hand “not at all, you did them a favor-- practically had Eris on his knees.”

“Good.” You meet his eyes and for the first time tonight you feel as though you might just have something to offer.

“Be careful with Eris,” Azriel says gently, his hand on your arm, “not everything he says is to be trusted.”

“But I can trust you?” You ask, thinking back to what Eris had said earlier in the evening.

“Always.” Azriel says.

The orchestral music comes to a dramatic close and you see Nesta and Cassian dancing happily in the crowds. Elain remains on the dias and you catch her eyes as she watches you and Azriel with careful, wide eyes.

“Come on, Shadowsinger,” You say defiantly, pushing yourself from the onyx pillar, “time to face the High Lord.”

Azreil huffs indignantly and pushes away from the pillar, abandoning his goblet and stalking his way to Elain’s side on the dias. She smiles softly at him and you see some of the tension in Azriel’s shoulders dissolve into nothing but a contented ease.

You approach the dias with a quiet reproach and as you meet Feyre’s eyes she croons at you, her smile is once of a brilliant radiant light that spills from her. A stark contrast to the cold darkness that you carry so well.

Eris' voice is dark and serious as you approach The High Lord, his jaw tightens when Rhysand regards him with a cool violet gaze.

“I have my reasons.”

You’re not entirely sure what they’re talking about and when you take your place next to Feyre she places a hand on your arm in comfort. Though it does nothing to settle the acid churning in your stomach nor the storm that is raging inside of you.

“Care to share those reasons with us?” Rhysand asks, picking at an errant thread on his beautiful dark tunic.

For a moment his eyes glaze over, muted violet as he speaks mind to mind with the Autumn Prince.

Rhysand’s lips twitch lightly and you can see that whatever words passed between him and Eris has pleased him greatly-- at least given him the upper hand so that he doesn’t feel threatened but Eris’ commanding presence.

Eris steps forwards again and adds, “Bestides, it is a bonus of course, that in doing so, I would be getting what has been owed to me even since my betrothal to Morrigan.”

Rhysand studies Eris and then casts a fleeting glance along the line to you, standing dutifully at Feyre’s side.

Like the docile, and obedient sister he wants you to be.

A conduit of his dark power. A piece to be played in this game of power and politics.

“Anything I want-- anything at all, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me it all in exchange for the Archeron girl as your wife?”

Azriel, still somewhat territorial, lets loose a low growl that rumbles like thunder through the air.

Eris doesn’t deign to even look in his direction-- instead those haunting amber eyes linger on you. His eyes are soft and dark, burning into yours, and you find yourself caught in the unyielding, all consuming fire that is Eris Vanserra.

Eris turns back to Rhysand. “Not as far as my heir, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against the human queen? You’ll have them, and anything else you might ask of me.”

“Just for her?” Azriel’s voice is cutting and suspicious as he hones in on Eris Vanserra.

“The girl, and, when the time comes, you’ll aid me in seizing the Autumn Throne from my father.” Eris adds, his eyes shine with that slow-burning fire, “and then you’ll have all the armies you desire.”

Rhysand and Feyre share a look of pure delight, irreverent to anyone else but you see it for what it is. Feral delight at their victory.

“I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

I said bring him to his knees, darling. What dark magic is this? What have you done to him? Rhysand’s voice is like night-kissed air in your mind.

Feyre’s laugh rings through you like birdsong and you can’t help the satisfied smirk that curls onto your lips.

You’re about to speak when you catch Eris’ eyes; those strange amber eyes. And then you feel it.

A bond that grows taut and reverberates through the hall, like a ripple of power and a golden thread bridges the distance between your body and his.

“Mate?” Eris’ voice strains with the weight of it, and you feel like light goes all through you, as though you are little more than a shadow or a memory as you allow yourself to sink into the dark waters that live within your mind's eye. “My mate.”

Your name breaks apart in his mouth and in a flash of violet and murky blue you’re greeted by the storm as it breaks over Velaris. On the horizon, dark and ominous as it approaches. You reach the balcony and wade out into the violent night, waiting for the storm to stake its claim to you.

You were born on a night like this, you tell yourself. Like the Gods of old; born from the storms and the seas, to withstand the hardships of this world. To be cruel and merciless and beautiful.

You whisper it, until you feel that bond in your chest grow taut, strained with the distance between you. And as Eris’ emotions run like water into you, for the first time in a long time you allow yourself to feel.

To yield to the storm as it breaks against you with all the force of a great tempest.

#eris x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris fic #eris headcanons #pro eris vanserra #eris vandaddy #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #acotar fanfic #azriel x you #azriel x reader

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fieldofdaisiies · 5 months

Text

Eris…

Eris whispering, "I love you," before he kisses the top of your head.

Eris asking, "Will you marry me?" when he gets down on one knee, the most beautiful ring you have ever seen in his hand.

Eris crying, "It is over. We are free," when he cradles your face in his hands after he ran to you first thing post Beron‘s death.

Eris growling, "You are mine," when you consummate the mating bond.

Eris, holding you tightly, saying, "You make me complete." His tears fall onto your skin, a sob rattling his chest.

Eris groaning, his chest brushing yours, length buried deep inside of you, "You feel so good. So perfect."

Eris commanding, "Crawl to me!" as he sits in a sprawl on his throne, shirt unbuttoned, hands placed on his thighs. "And don't you dare let that crown fall of your pretty head."

Eris bending you over his lap, slapping your backside, saying. "Be my good slut and count!"

Eris bringing you close to his chest, his lips on the side of your head as he says, "It is us, forever. I will never let you go again."

Eris promising, "You are safe with me."

Eris, kneeling between your thighs, purring, "Look how wet my pretty little mate is. Always so ready for me."

Eris, taking you from behind, hand connecting with your butt, growling, "My precious little fox."

Eris, tracing his fingers down the side of your face, his voice barely above a whisper when saying, "You are so beautiful- the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen."

Eris, sliding into you, cooing, "So tight and wet and all mine."

Eris, his eyes closed, letting you ride him, whimpering, "Harder!"

Eris smirking, "On your knees, little fox, and show me what that pretty mouth of yours can do."

Eris drawling, wet lips gliding over cleavage and neck, "That’s my good girl, taking my cock so well."

Eris, a wicked smile on his lips, asking, "Do you feel how perfectly your pretty cunt is hugging my cock."

Eris whispering, his arms wrapped around you from behind, while you stand outside the Forest House, overlooking your court, "My High Lady."

Eris tapping your jaw when you give him head, "Eyes on me little fox."

Eris, pulling you to him during a meeting, seductively whispering, "I need you. I need to feel you."

Eris chuckling lowly, "I’ve never seen such a needy little slut ever before."

Eris kissing your brow, smiling, "You are the sole reason for my happiness."

Eris, threading his fingers into your hair, purring, "Take all of me. Your mouth looks so pretty tound my cock."

Eris grinning proudly and from one ear to the other, "The best High Lady Prythian has ever seen."

Eris drawling, "Aw, are you so desperate for my cock? Be a good girl and I shall reward you."

Eris ordering, "On the bed. Spread those legs. And open up."

Eris, kissing your shoulder, then your neck, lastly your cheek, whispering, "You are perfect, my High Lady."

Azriel‘s version

#eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris vandaddy #eris x you #eris headcanons

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redbleedingrose · 3 months

Note

that baby girl Lucy thing could be a drabble or headcanon or whatever ur comfortable with btw 😁 or you don’t have to do anything at all with it if u don’t want! just wanted to mention it bc GIRL DAD ERIS

GIRL DAD!ERIS AND LUCIEN RECONCILLING PART 2

A/N: OKAY YES I AM SO SORRY I GOT BUSY WITH MED SCHOOL, HAD A SHELF EXAM TO TAKE AND THEN I GOT LAZY BUT IT IS HERE!

Edit: So I started writing and realized this is getting a bit long, like I am not done with this part and I am already 2.2k word in, so this will likely be a 3 or 4 part mini-series giving y'all girl dad!Eris lore! I hope you enjoy and I am sorry I had to split it up, but it seems like I had more to this story I wanted to share!

part 1

Your first letter remains unopened, buried beneath legal documents and trade deals in a locked drawer of Lucien's desk. Each week, another one of your letters is added to the ever growing pile that Lucien can't bring himself to open.

Part of him wants to rip all your attempts of communication to shreds, throw it into the fire place and forget that you and Eris exist.

The other part of him, the one that he tries to bury deep within himself, is curious, anxious really, to know what it is you have to say to him. What is it that you continue to reach out to him?

Is it a part your duty as high lady of autumn? Are you looking to start relations between Autumn and Day? Are you trying to keep your relationship to your brother in law as professional as possible? What if you are trying to get to know him? Would that be the worst thing in the world, to get to know his sister in law? He has always wanted a sister.

What if you are writing out of need? For help? What if you need asylum from his brother? Gods, he hopes not. What if Eris turned out to be the exactly like his father, cruel and abusive in his marriage to you? What if he, like Beron, was ruining Autumn court with outrageous regulations and taxes too high that most of the autumn population were left in poverty?

What if you were writing to him to brag about how well Eris has done without him, that this is the only way he will receive any updates on Eris, and to not expect anything more?

What if you are lovely and kind? What are you like? Are you good to Eris? Is he good to you? Do you make his oldest brother happy? Does he make you happy? What is Eris like now? Has he changed or is he the same paranoid male who plots conspiracies?

The lack of response from your brother in law does little to defer your efforts. You continue to write to Lucien, without skipping a beat, sending a letter to him every week, giving him updates on his brother, updates on your pregnancy, even updates on the pups Eris is raising to protect your babes in the coming months. You share with him your feelings about Eris, the story of how you met, how your mating bond had snapped abruptly and without notice, how he fought against your relationship for years until he couldn't hold back anymore, how when he finally gave in, he had made you the promise of a safer home, a safer land, a place in which his father could never lay a hand on you.

You confide in him your concerns over his brother, your fears that his duties as high lord will consume him, that Eris has anxieties about being a good father, and you are scared it will paralyze him. You tell him about the things you notice about Eris, things you think Eris doesn't know about himself. That, sometimes, Er will get a distant look in his eyes when he sees young children playing together, especially when one looks older than the other. That, sometimes, Er mumbles in his sleep, how often his name comes up while he is asleep, how Er wakes up from those same dreams gasping and clutching at his chest, how it takes hours for you to calm him after. How when Eris struggles to sleep, he stares at the family portrait, with his eyes fixated on Lucien before he comes back to bed with you at your urging.

You write to him as if he is your best friend, as if he is sitting across from you and you are just talking to him. You write to him as if you have known him for centuries.

With all of Eris' stories about his beloved brother, you feel as though you have known him for centuries.

It takes a long time for Lucien to muster the courage to open your letters. After weeks of receiving letters and storing them away without a second glance, after weeks of forcing any thoughts of the letters away, after weeks of catching himself thinking about Eris, thinking about you and Autumn court, does he finally force himself sit down to read the letters. To be done and over with it. To read the letters, and never think of you or his brother again. To give closure to that horrific chapter of his life. To have this as his final goodbye.

It takes him several minutes to unlock the drawer after he slumps into his chair by the desk. It takes him a couple of minutes to open the drawer before staring at all the papers on top of the letters. It takes him 20 minutes to pluck the letters out from beneath and toss them onto his desk. Another 30 minutes is spent of him grabbing the letters and setting it onto the side table near his hearth, pacing around his office, biting at his nails, wringing his hands, running his fingers through his long auburn hair to sit in his cozy leather chair with the letters at an arms-length. An hour is spent staring blankly into the near extinguished fire, the pops and crackles from the desperate surviving flames being the only times he blinks. Another 10 minutes of delay, spent with breathing exercises while pouring himself a two, maybe three, fingers of night court imported whiskey and taking several bated sips of the hard liquor.

After almost two hours of delay, does Lucien use the letter opener the night court general gifted him during a visiting trip, to slowly and carefully, with shaking hands, tear the seal open. Deep breathing does little to stop his pittering heart as he opens the first letter, glazed eyes racing over each sentence, each word multiple times, nearly seizing as you break the news of your pregnancy. Tears he didn’t even know were leaking down his cheeks, meeting at his chin to drip down his neck began to stream. Choked sobs with a hand clutched at his chest, your letter delicately being placed to the side as his emotions crash into him.

Weeks of pent up feelings become unrelenting waves that makes it near impossible for him to catch his breath. All of grief for the time he has missed with you and his brother, all of happiness at your pride and clear love and devotion for your mate, his brother, all of sorrow and concern for what Eris turned out to be after years of torment and unrelenting abuse, all of quiet hope for the future relationship he may have with you, with his future nieces or nephews, with his older brother, all of that is almost unbearably overwhelming. The only source of respite, coming from your gentle handwriting.

“Lucien, I implore you to take all the time you need. I will patiently be waiting for a response, whether it takes weeks or months, years or even centuries. I want a relationship with you. As does your brother. And I want our children to have a relationship with their uncle. So I will wait. And if you decide that having a relationship with us is just too impossibly painful for you, then with the deepest regret and with the most profound love, will we accept that fate as well.”

It is your own hope that pushes Lucien to read all of your other letters, whiskey set aside and forgotten. Letters that have his bereaved sobs turning into silent tears of joy. Letters that have him bubbling with laughter as you express your loving annoyance at Eris’ puttering about the nursery and his great insistence that your future babes will need 15 chicks, and at least 6 baby cows to grow up with.

Letters that have him smiling softly, reminiscing in the good memories of his childhood Eris whispered to you in the dark recesses of night. Letters that have him pondering if what you say is really the truth, because you give a convincing argument that his older brother may actually miss him, may have actually loved him… still loves him. Letters that give him insight into all the years he missed, that he now almost feels a part of, like he was actually there to witness all of the events surrounding your relationship and Eris’ ascension to the autumn throne. Lucien spends hours, even as the fire in the office gives way to death and the only remaining source of light becomes Lucien’s own magic pulsating through the room, reading your letters. Over and over, in the order it was sent in and in backwards order. And by the end of it, he is speechless.

No words come to mind that can describe how he feels. He cannot come up with what to say. The only thing he knows is that he is appreciative for the time and patience that you have given him, the grace that you have shown, the honesty of the hardships that you and Eris went through, of the relationship you have formed with his brother, and of all the changes Er has gone through and has brought to Autumn Court since his escape. So, Lucien folds your letters following the exact lines you used, making sure not even a slight crease is created, before carefully placing back into the envelopes you sent them in, holding them to his chest as he walks to his room and retires for the night. Sleep, however, the trickster it is, plays the most exhausting game and evades him most of the night. His usual tossing and turning is replaced with his ember eyes focused on the letters, hands clasped tightly together resting on his chest because his fingers kept twitching with want to reach back for your messages to reread them. Lucien’s thoughts are wildly free of the endless possibilities of what might come in the future… a happy future.

Days were spent rereading your letters. Days were spent stressing out over what to do, he never had a choice when it came to his family. All things were inevitably decided for him. He was brought up to be competitive with his brothers, it was decided that he would have to fight his brothers for the autumn throne, a throne he had no desire of having. It was decided what kind of training he got, despite his lack of interest in violence. He didn’t choose to leave Autumn, he barely escaped with his life. He didn’t choose this. Having a choice… it was a delicacy he hadn’t been offered before.

Lucien knew though. Deep down inside, he knew what he wanted to choose. Going back and forth with his options inevitably landed on one outcome. He wants to try. He wants to get to know you, a sister he always wanted and now, finally has. He wants to get to know his future nieces or nephews. He wants to be a part of their lives; he wants to be the best uncle he can be. And he so achingly wants to know his older brother, wants to know his side of the story, wants to know if he was wrong to blame him for everything. It is alarming. The prospect of it all. It’s… fully… wholly… thoroughly and completely terrifying.

What if he was wrong about it all? What if he spent decades… centuries hating his own brother… someone who should’ve been blameless? Would Eris forgive him for it? What if he comes to the conclusion Eris didn’t try hard enough? Could he forgive Eris, a crimeless, unwilling accomplice in the murder of Jes? What if Eris is uninterested after a near lifetime of rejection? How will they build their relationship, beyond what it ever was? What if, even after all of that, he ends up alone? Was it worth it?

Was the hurt, the fear, the hope… was it worth it?

It took another month of Lucien’s contemplation to come up with a response, not for lack of trying. He had so many thoughts, so many feelings and emotions regarding his brother, his past, his future, you as his new sister in law, the fact that he is going to be an uncle, to work through, that he is still working through. He is afraid, afraid of what he has missed with Eris, afraid of what or who Eris has become. But one thing about the Vanserra brothers is that they have a burning courage within them. So despite the fear, he wants more. He wants to try. Every time he sits down to muster an acknowledgement to your letters, though, he chokes up.

A ball of anxiety runs rampant through his stomach, a knot in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow, that he can't seem to clear even with a rough rub at his neck. His hands quake as he readjusts the pen in his hands, over and over, feeling pins and needles at the tips of his fingers as he tries to figure out the words to respond with. Your letters had so much thought, so much effort and sentiment and zest poured into them. And all of the thoughts and feelings he had during the time he took, it seemed… inadequate. A simple letter… it wouldn’t be enough. Not with all the things Lucien wants to say to you and eventually… to Eris as well. Finally, after staring at the blank sheet placed in front of him, sweaty hands rubbing furiously up and down his thighs, does he figure it out.

So… with a shaky inhale, he brings his pen to the page.

Hello dear sister,

I apologize for my delay in responding. If I am being honest, I spent a lot of time, quite a lot indeed, thinking of your letters. Thinking of you. Thinking of my brother Eris the Autumn High Lord. Thinking of the past. Thinking of the future. One letter to tell you all of my thoughts in response to your attempts of communication feel woefully insufficient.

If you are ever so inclined, would you be open to meeting with me? I understand that your pregnancy condition may make it difficult upon you to travel to Day. I’m happy to I am set to be in Spring Court for two weeks from now for a week. Would you be willing able to meet at the border in three weeks time?

with warm wishes,

regards,

Lucien Vanserra

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thisblogisaboutabook · 2 months

Note

Wait imagine our girl and Eris getting closer and something happens that he has to put on his Heir of the Autumn Court face and not be mean, but maybe distant and cold to her? And she’s like nah I’ve seen this movie before and they have a big angsty moment alone about it and the next time he has to have that face, he includes her with him?

I am in love with your series, it’s all I think about 😭

Loved this request so much that I had to write it ASAP - the first time Y/N encountered Eris at a cross-court function after their initial hook up. A little bit different from your request but I hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless.

Bad Idea, Right? Prequel

Headcanon

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

The second meeting between reader and Eris.

Part 7 - Part 7.5 - Part 8

Warnings: Language, Smut, MDNI, not proofread

Y/N

- She felt his presence before she saw him. His scent invading her nostrils from across the throne room.

-He was walking her way. His face drawn tight, eyes intense yet unreadable. His power rolled off of him. Oh, he was on full display tonight. The fiery heir of Autumn who’d slain his own father.

- Her heart raced as he grew closer. The tension between them palpable. Could anyone else sense it? She should shy away, look somewhere else but her eyes were fixated on only him. She was the magnet to his metal.

-Was he going to say something to her? Take her hand and whisk her into a dance? What were his intentions in this show of pomp and circumstance?

-She couldn’t bare the thought of her family seeing them together. It would be so complicated but even more so, she couldn’t flee. Damn them all if he pulled her into his orbit, who was she to refuse?

- He was steps away. Her heart beat in her throat. Her shadows begging to pull him closer

-Two more steps.

- The High Lord’s cold expression only turned cruel, calculating, as his nose turned up, lip curling. A sneer in her direction before his deep, gravely tone spat. “Little Shadowsinger.” as if she were nothing more than dirt on his shoe.

- She kept her expression flat. She knew that mask. She’d seen variants of it countless times in the court of nightmares with her own family. Her heart cracked slightly though she’d never let him see.

-She was stupid to think that he was different. She’d never allow herself to be so vulnerable toward him again.

——————

Eris

- He felt her heartbeat racing through the bond as he neared her

- He shouldn’t have walked her way but he couldn’t resist. He needed to be near her if only for a moment.

-Fuck, what was he doing? He needed to keep his distance.

-It was too late, he couldn’t change direction now. It would be too obvious to the plethora of attendees with their eyes fixated on him.

-He couldn’t put her at risk like that. Couldn’t let anyone sus out the way his heart longed for her. The way that bond pulled her near.

-And her, she was so young. Had so much to experience. It killed him, he wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his embrace, kiss her softly and whisper to her that she was his. HIS. His mate.

-The primal desire urging him to spend weeks holed up with her, taking her on every surface in his castle. Seat her on his throne as he took to his knees between her soft, supple thighs.

-Wanted to whisper how long he’d waited for her. How he could care for her in ways she’d never dreamt of. Would give her the life he never thought possible until his father had been taken out of the picture.

-No, he couldn’t. Not yet.

-He’d waited this long. He could wait longer.

-It gutted him to sneer at her but he couldn’t risk her being targeted. Couldn’t risk someone sensing this one-sided bond and using her against him. Someone harming her.

——————

Y/N

-She was humiliated. She decided then and there that she would never be at his mercy again.

-He was just another arrogant High Lord, no different than any other nobility.

-She spent the rest of the evening in her shadows. There was no enjoying this function, just another odious show of power between courts.

-As the night wound down and all the noise became too much, she shrouded herself in shadow, exploring the silent corridors of the keep.

-Warm hands grabbed her. How he sensed her, she had no clue.

- “Get the fuck off of me, Eris”

- “Little shadowsinger, are you not happy to see me?”

- “Your whereabouts are of no concern to me.”

- “Are you certain? Your sweet scent and that pretty fluttering pulse told me otherwise”

- “Fuck you.”

- “My pleasure.” He crooned. “Crashing his lips into hers”

- Fuck, he felt so good. So good pushing her into an empty study. So fucking good groaning underneath her as she bounced on his thick cock. Filling her, stretching her in the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

-She felt powerful as he wholly submitted to her. Her shadows binding him. Gagging him so that pretty mouth wouldn’t spew anymore ugly words.

-She would never let herself feel powerless against him again.

-No, he was hers to take when and how she pleased.

-And she knew he’d love every fucking second of it.

——————

Eris

-She was so fucking beautiful taking her pleasure from him.

-So fucking beautiful as her face contorted into that of ecstasy, only taking what she wanted. Those full, mouth-watering breasts bouncing as she rode him into oblivion.

-Her lovely moans filled the room, a symphony just for him. The song of his Shadowsinger.

-He would give her anything. Anything at all that she wanted to take from him.

-And someday, someday decades or centuries from now, she’d wear that mask of power with him. The mask of his High Lady. The true powerhouse of his court.

-Until then, he’d take whatever she’d offer him and ask for nothing more.

——————————————————-

Tags: @b0xerdancer-writes @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams

Sorry for tagging you all in two posts in one day. Some days the creative juices flow a little too strongly.

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azrielbrainrot · 6 months

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Nsfw Alphabet with Eris Vanserra

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's always really attentive with you. Wants to make sure everything was good for you. Will run you a bath if you need and cuddle you after.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's so full of himself I don't even know what to say. He just knows he's pretty. I think on you it might be your mouth.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

There's probably nothing he loves more than cumming in your mouth.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I don't know if it would be that much of a secret but he definitely had a orgy phase.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very experienced. He's the heir to the autumn court, you know he's been around.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Once again I don't know positions names my bad. But I think he's the type to like you on top of him, not in charge just on top. Also missionary is always a banger like why wouldn't he want to look at your pretty face while he's absolutely wrecking you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Definitely serious.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Really well groomed. He makes sure of it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Well when he's in a making love kind of mood everything is really intimate and sensual but I think that doesn't happen all that often.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I don't see him doing it very often when he was single and definitely not now that he has you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I think he's into more things than he would admit - at first at least:

- first things first, Eris is a dom through and through. But. He will still sub for you every once in a while and enjoy it more than he'll ever admit. By sub I mean he likes when you tie his hands to the headboard but he's always still somehow in control, he never completely lets go;

- mixes praise and degradation, to the point you don't know what's what anymore;

- still a bit on degaration, loves spitting in your mouth;

- face fucking. Just loves turning your face into an absolute mess. Besides actually fucking your face he just loves blowjobs in general. There's not a prettier picture in his mind than you kneeling between his legs with your tongue out, painted with his cum. Also likes fucking your mouth with his fingers;

- begging. Loves hearing you beg for him, it makes his already huge ego inflate even more. He usually gives in after a couple moans of his name and a pretty please but when he's in a mood he could watch you beg for hours with tears down your face, to the point you're not even begging for him to let you cum, you just want to touch him at least. That's another big one, he loves to hear you beg for his cock, his fingers inside you, his mouth on you but he could actually cum just from hearing you beg to suck his cock;

- orgasm control. Mostly edging but some overstimulation as well. Like I said, loves hearing you beg and being in control;

- spanking - it's always a good day when he gets to bend you over his lap and spank your pretty ass raw. Doesn't even try to come up with reasons for it to be a punishment sometimes, he just wants to hear your pretty little whimpers. He prefers spanking your ass but if you really piss him off he'll slap your pussy too, might even make you try cumming from it. I think he'd also like slapping your face but not hard or anything, just a few light taps on your cheek especially if it's already covered in cum;

- temperature play. This feels kind of obvious but of course he'd make good use of his powers to bring you more pleasure;

- cockwarming. I feel like I could have connected this to begging too but he loves hearing you beg for him to fuck you. Sometimes it's not even purely sexual though, he just loves feeling you in general;

- breeding. I don't think there's one fae male that isn't at least a little into breeding. Eris loves making you swallow his cum but watching it drip down your pretty spent cunt is a close second;

- bondage. Just loves having you completely at his mercy. Loves shibari too. Uses this as more of a punishment though. When you get him mad he'll tie you up and you know you really fucked up when he gags you so you can't even beg, all you can do is take whatever he wants to give you or not;

- exhibitionism. I see his younger self being really into this but maybe not as much anymore. I also see him as being really possessive so even if he did fuck you in front of other people he wouldn't really let them see you, if that makes sense. Like you'd be riding him with your back to everyone else and with your clothes on or just sucking his cock so what everyone can see is how good you are for him and no one else. Also, this isn't really possible in this universe but Eris would love having you under his desk sucking his cock while he talks on the phone at work. Would also love having you pick up the phone while he fucks you so he can watch you try to keep your composure;

- loves marking you. Again, he's possessive. It's just a shame that with fae's fast healing the marks fade so quickly and he has to keep marking you over and over, truly such a shame.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers the bedroom but he also really loves fucking you in his office.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He just loves knowing he can fuck you like no one else ever could.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't think he'd be into really hard kinks. He likes spanking you and teasing you with his fire but he probably couldn't see himself drawing blood from you. His biggest fear is turning into his father so he wouldn't want to hurt you even if you told him you enjoyed it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

If you haven't noticed I think he prefers receiving. Obviously isn't against giving at all, he'd live and die between your thighs if he could.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He's fast and rough more often than not. Of course there's a time and place for slow as well.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hates quickies but somehow it happens all the time. I wouldn't say he would just fuck you anywhere at anytime but he can't help himself sometimes. Has fucked you in his office and the throne room and any room he finds himself working. In the library, in the forest, by the lake, in the restaurant he booked so he could have a private dinner with you just to end up having you instead on the table. Always promises to fuck you properly at home.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I think he has a clear list of things he wouldn't do but he'd try anything else at least once if you wanted him to.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

I think he can fuck you for a really long time but I don't know if he lasts that long, he just recovers fast.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Again, I don't know how toys would work in this universe but he definitely has pretty ropes and ties and gags.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

So unfair. He's literally so mean sometimes.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I don't think he's that loud usually which is truly a shame. If you get him to a certain point you're rewarded with soft whimpers in you ear. Oh by not being loud I mean moaning because you know he's running his mouth the entire time.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Likes being tied up, especially after a long day of being high lord. He won't really admit it so he usually just tries to make you want to do it without actually asking for it.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

With the amount of attitude this man has you know he has to have a big dick. It'd be a crime if he didn't actually.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I don't see it being super high but he's not one to pass up the opportunity. Let's just say when he tells you he's too tired to have sex you know he's exhausted down to the bone.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I think he'd try to fall asleep after you but sometimes he would just give in. Probably just depends on how tired he is. In the beginning of your relationship he'd wait for you to fall asleep though because trust issues.

#eris headcanons #acotar headcanon #eris x reader #eris x you #eris smut #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris vanserra fic

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readychilledwine · 7 months

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Eris Week Day 6 - Arranged Marriage | AU

Happy day 6 of @erisweek2023 I wanted to give writing a head cannon a shot and figured today was a great day for that. ❤️

Marriage for political alliance head cannon-

Eris was LIVID when he found out his father was marrying him to one of his allies daughters

But now as he stood watching her walk down the aisle with her father clearly holding a knife against her back, all he could feel was sympathy.

She was terrified as she took his offered arm, her fingers were trembling.

Eris couldn't comfort her, and that killed him. This female was to be his wife, and he didn't know the first thing about comforting her.

She performed the traditional dances and the ceremony with eyes constantly on the verge of tears.

Another nail went into the coffin Eris assumed would be his disaster of a marriage.

When it came time for them to retire to their marriage chambers, he had to search for her.

Rage filled him again when he found her. She was in tears, a knife to her throat as her father drunkenly told her to be a good little wife. "Remove your hands from my wife, or I will remove them for you."

Eris held her close to him on the long walk to their new haven.

He'd ensure his bride felt safe in their room. He'd fill it with throw pillows and blankets as well as enchanting it to always be the perfect temperature for her

They fell in love slowly between stolen glances and private dinners. He courted her properly, the way his father should have allowed him to instead of forcing marriage on them so quickly.

Both of them were too afraid, too deeply traumatized to utter those 3 simple words though

Eris made sure to show her he loved her.

He memorize her favorite things. If she liked one fruit more than the other, he'd make sure the staff had plenty on hand. He knew her favorite color and commissioned a trove of gowns and jewelry in that specific shade.

She returned that favor. She had a custom dagger made for Eris. The handle was carved from the finest redwood he had ever seen. It was illyrian steel, and it had a beautiful ornate carrier. She would join him on walks with his hounds. Show interest in learning things the heir enjoyed.

Kissing had become a daily thing for them. They'd share long and slow good morning kisses. Quick in passing ones when they'd see each other in empty halls or their room. Passionate and heated ones at night when things would *almost* go further.

He found her one day cuddling with his hounds, and that's when it happened. That's when he finally told her of his love for her. Of his need to make her happy and make her feel safe.

The kiss after his long winded speech was different. The way she looked at him as she laced their fingers together and wordlessly pulled him to their bed was different.

Their marriage was consummated that night- 2 years and 300 days after their wedding. It had been the most intimate, gentle, and loving sex Eris had experienced in his 500 years of life.

He regrets absolutely nothing.

#acotar #eris vanserra #eris headcanons #pro eris vanserra #erisweek2023

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mt-jupiter · 2 months

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eris vanserra headshot !

it's been a while since i've made acotar fanart, but here's a little eris headshot i did as a warm up !

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris headcanons #acotar fanart #fanart #a court of thorns and roses #art #digital art #acotar headcanons #eris fanart

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high-queen-feyre · 9 days

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Lucien glowed once as a child while he was with his big bro Eris and Eris knew from then exactly who his father was.

It was also the day that Eris decided Lucien could never be happy enough to glow again.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #eris acotar #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #pro eris vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #pro lucien #autumn court #vanserra brothers #eris headcanons #lucien headcanons #lucien spell cleaver

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danikamariewrites · 5 months

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𝐸𝓇𝒾𝓈 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Cabin Getaway

ADHD headcanon

Riding Mishap

Sick Days

Rescue part 2

Didn’t Listen

Anything For You Fox

Birthday Wishes

Behave Little Fox

Two to Flirt

Fake Sleeper

Eris Week 2023

Starfall Revelations

Secret Tattoo

Did You Just Say No?

Characteristics hc

My Poor High Lord

Song of Death

Calling them baby hc

Guilt

Corrupt | Kisses | Romance Books

Pain

Ddlg headcanon

Lost

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #eris headcanons #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fic #eris acotar #acotar eris #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris vanserra headcanon #eris vanserra x reader #eris vandaddy #eris x you #eris x y/n

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historiaxvanserra · 2 months

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These Violent Delights | Chapter Two

Summary: A High Lords meeting goes awry and you find yourself thrust into the foxes den.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (brief mentions of Azriel x reader)

Word Count: 6.4k

Chapter 1 of These Violent Delights on my Masterlist

The Hewn City’s state rooms are ugly, you think as you stalk the emissary of the Night Court through the winding, narrow corridors of Hewn City. The palatial chambers had been carved into the dark stone of the mountain by the Gods of old; and the high, domed ceilings are held in place by onyx pillars decorated with twisted carvings of beasts and fornicating demi-gods that line the Gothic archways.

Lurid, ill-fated omens, you think.

Harbingers of your undoing.

The emissary appointed with escorting you is adorned in ceremonial robes; a fine damask tunic in a deep indigo silk that is almost iridescent in the artificial light. You fall into step with him as he approaches a set of gilded iron gates. Two armored sentries fall into rank as you cross the threshold of the council chambers and you offer a courteous nod to the sentry as he meets your eye.

The antechamber of The Moonstone Palace is plunged in a suffocating blue-darkness with only the silvers of silver faelight, like artificial stars, to light the faces of the High Lords. The atmosphere is oppressive and the smell of hemlock and moonflowers stain the stagnant air. For a few moments, while you’re lost in thought, the world is silent and still. Feigning peace. But there is no peace. Not here, where the eyes of every High Lord in Prythian are upon you.

Hewn City is a dark mirage. A metropolis of hedonistic desire and vulgar frivolity

It is here in the dark that you find yourself adrift; lost somewhere to the sea of time. You abandon yourself to the tide of memory. The happy recollections of your childhood; to the thought of home. Someplace far from here, where the sunlight touches your skin and the smell of salt from the coast becomes tangled in your unbound hair. Somewhere, in the recesses of your mind, where you know your mothers love and your fathers face is something more than a mere memory.

It occurs to you that this is a home that never existed.

Home had always been burning; the acrid smell of woodsmoke beckons you like a funeral pyre and your salt-cracked lips chafe and bleed in the wake of blistering winds from the violent sea. And that’s the thing about mothers, you and she exist as some wretched mirror or one another; as hatred and guilt.

You’ve been thinking of your mother a lot as of late; something in your dreams, the echoing of a coming storm. A fine line between love and hate. It is something strange and prophetic that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably from your body.

In a flurry of movement against the black you are brought back to the present as you take your place amongst the ranks of the Inner Circle.

The silhouettes of the other High Lords, that had been flickering wildly against the dark stone of the mountain, cease to move. Cease to be, as shadows envelop the room, melting into the darkness as Rhysand glides into the room his violet eyes glinting in the dark. His eyes shine with a cold violence that draws you from thought and the visions of a home long forgotten turn to ashes in your trembling hands. He’s dressed all in black and violet, his tan skin looks pallid in the low light. By his side Feyre’s skin looks as though it is wreathed in starlight against the backdrop of the twilight-- you catch the scent of chamomile and moondust in the air.

It smells like Nyx you think, smiling lightly to yourself at the thought of your nephew.

A tremor of dark power ripples through the air and you feel the shift in the atmosphere when shield after shield locks into place around each High Lord and his retinue of courtiers. The shield that Rhysand had already placed around the Inner Circle; made stronger in response. Night magic glitters in the air like stardust and you swear you can taste it on your tongue. That same cold rage and an essence of icy violence fortifies you against the hostility in the room and you school your expression to remain neutral when you seek out a pair of strange amber eyes in the crowd.

A gentle warmth burns though your chest and your eyes scan the crowd.

Eris Vanserra moves like a predator; resolute and obstinate. Amber eyes burn like fire glow in the dim light and each of his long strides are punctuated by the echo of boot clad feet on the marble. In this light, his face is almost ethereal. Unearthly even. Set in a painfully neutral expression as he slinks through the halls of the city below the mountains of Velaris. Eris Vanserra burns bright against the other Lords of Pryhtian; his copper hair, like burnished gold in the dim lights, and his eyes. Those fucking eyes. Haunting and evocative as he meets your gaze with a feline smirk.

It is a wicked, false thing, that glitters with malice.

He watches you with a wrathful sort of reverence. He is so very lovely, even in the pallid light. Even as his father and brothers flank his sides like a pack of hungry foxes; hungry and baying for blood.

You watch him carefully as Eris takes his seat at the foot of the large black table, he’s careful to make a show of the way he languidly reclines in his chair, rolling his shoulders back and angling his hips in such a way that the whole room is displayed to him at once.

It’s almost voyeuristic in nature.

That summons a storm within you; a violent, lonely, sort of thing, that washes over him with the force of a raging tempest down the scarcely accepted bond and his eyes, glittering and amber in the dying light, finding yours again. For a moment, Eris Vanserra sees himself through your eyes; for the first time in centuries he doesn’t hate the man staring back at him.

By his side Eris’ mother’s skin looks as though it is wreathed in fireglow against the backdrop of the twilight-- you catch her dark glassy eyes and she smiles softly at you. There is a deep sorrow there, in the depths of The Lady of Autumn's eyes, that feel kindred to you.

A shared pain, perhaps.

Turning as Rhysand and Feyre push further into the darkness of the antechamber, you are drawn from thought once more.

The rest of The Night Court look like some savage celestial army as they enter on a night-kissed breeze. Cassian and Nesta look like warriors hardened by war and ruin, all dressed in black and faces coloured with cold caution. They’re followed by the Shadowsinger, who is shrouded in dark wisps of shadow and his skin glows golden against the dark. His face is set in an unreadable expression, though, when your eyes meet a flash of recognition flashes in those hazel eyes.

Rhysand stops dead in his tracks when he regards the High Lord of Autumn.

Beron Vanserra; cruel and tyrannical, keens when he notes the flash of surprise in Rhysand’s violet gaze. His eyes simmer with a dim fire as his eyes land on you. Beron’s teeth are like crow-picked bones as he offers you a feral smile.

“We weren’t expecting you, Beron.” Feyre’s voice is distant and cold as she speaks to the High Lord and his sons.

Rhysand rises to his feet from his throne, waving his hand to the attendants, “Fetch the High Lord and his Lady a seat.”

The attendant presents Beron with a chair and he settles between Helion and the Lady of Autumn, neither Helion nor the lady seem to acknowledge each other but you can feel the shift in their demeanors as Beron’s ire sparks in his eyes. He doesn’t even spare The Lady of Autumn a glance before he moves on to inspecting his fellow High Lords.

You pay Beron no heed and instead your eyes find the Lady of Autumn as she settles into her seat beside her husband and eldest son. The Lady of Autumn is like one of Feyre’s paintings; arresting and darkly beautiful. Her romantic eyes are shaded in the colors of sunset; a warm amber that looks almost golden in the low light and her dark auburn hair glitters in the dying fireglow and her eyes-- so rich that you get lost in their glassy depths. Those haunting eyes. They’re Eris’ eyes you realize as they meet yours. Though she doesn’t linger long she gives you a soft smile before returning her gaze to her long slender fingers that twitch in her lap. They’re adorned with many gold rings and crystals that she wears like armor to fortify her against the hostile atmosphere.

You see something of yourself in her you think, looking down to your own attire. An opulent and finely boned corset, cinched so tight, that even breathing feels like a luxury and the heavy black damask that covers you in swathes of pleated fabric acts as barrier between yourself and the many eyes in the room that trail over you without care or warning.

“Nor was I expecting to be here,” Beron drawls, “But alas, it seems we have business to discuss.” Beron’s fire rages dangerously against the black. Torrid and angry, his face unflinching and cruel as he turns his gaze upon Rhysand. Something treacherous passes between the two High Lords at that moment and something in your chest begins to stir like a storm inside of you.

A warning of a coming storm.

“Rumor claims that your allegiances are elsewhere, these days.” It is your voice that counters and Beron croons. The High Lord of Autumn assesses you keenly, his gaze shifting-- from the darkness of your eyes-- down. To the sulk of your lips. Further still to the exposed slope of your shoulders and coming to rest on your chest, where the swell of your breasts spills over the corseted bodice of your gown. His eyes darken luridly as his eyes meet yours again. Beron Vanserra scrutinizes every minute detail of your dark armor; every errant hair, every nervous twitch of your jaw, every flutter of your dark lashes.

It’s disarming the smile that spreads across his handsome face and his eyes shine with a maniacal sort of joy that sparks a wave of fury that runs through you like water-- and you swear you can feel Eris’ own fiery rage in answer.

“And what would you know of my allegiances, girl?” The false smile he offered is soon replaced with a deep loathing in Beron’s eyes that practically burns through you.

In a way, it feels strangely comforting to feel his ire.

To feel anything at all that isn’t paralyzing dread or hirearth for a home to which you will never return.

Helion waves a scar-flecked hand in front of him, “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

The High Lord of Day glows with the radiance of the golden sun and he looks at you with such a strange mixture of boredom and curiosity that almost seems like reverence. He doesn’t dare look at The Autumn Lady in her seat though you notice the careful glances she makes towards him in those spaces between the seconds when no one is paying much heed.

“I know you met with rhe Prince of Rask.” you say and all the idle chatter in the room dies at once. “And he’s working with the Koschei, isn’t he?”

Beron opens his mouth and you brace yourself for the torrid flames of his wrath. You see the violent delight dance across Beron’s eyes and Rhysand just holds his stare. Hold it with a face like icy death. And beneath the surface you see untempered wrath as it ripples beneath his carefully curated mask. A sharp pain in your chest has you seeking out Eris at his father’s side. His face is the picture of cataclysmic rage; writhing and burning in those eyes.

To anyone else Eris Vanserra is the image of infernal rage. A righteous son to a wronged father. But to you-- all his fear comes home to you.

A warning fire.

“Never mind, we can discuss the happy news of your heir’s birth another time,” Beron smiles again at Rhysand and Feyre. It is Feyre who regards him with a snarling fury at the mention of the son she had almost died to bring into the world.

She would give her life again if only to protect him from the clutches of a tyrant like Beron. Of that you were certain.

“I believe we have business to discuss?” Beron questions again when no one responds to his taunt.

All the eyes in the room turn to you when you loose a laugh, “I didn’t realize we were in the business of discussing plans with our enemies.”

Eris Vanserra looks as though he might just vault over the table and silence you himself. His eyes smoulder in the dark and the scathing look he sends your way is enough to make you weak in the knees.

“Make no mistake girl,” Beron muses, his eyes sparking with feral delight, “I am not your enemy,”

“You are advised to keep it that way.”

In that moment you are bereft of every thought and sound in your mind as the room stills.

Rhysand and Feyre falter and look between you and The High Lord of Autumn-- and his heir.

Your mate.

Eris himself remains poised, his fingers wrapped around the arm of the chair, the wood straining under his cruel grip until his knuckles turn as pale as the sea foam that swirls atop the Sidra.

It is the Shadowsinger who rises from his seat in response, “Threaten her again, old man-- I dare you.” Azriel’s voice wraps round you like cold death and you can’t help but stare impassively as he places his body between yours and Beron. The flicker of flame is smothered by Azriel’s darkness.

Beron sits in his chair without so much as a word. Though you see the taunt in his eyes as he looks at you again. Azriel’s imposing figure still stands over you, a scarred hand that strokes languid circles into the skin of your shoulder. The bond in your chest hums violently.

“Call off your dog, Rhysand.” Eris’ voice is dangerously low as he eyes Azriel.

Rhys shrugs, smiling faintly “Very well,” he muses.

Azriel takes his seat beside you, though his scarred fingers remain fixed on the arm of your chair.

“Tell me, Azriel?” Eris laughs coldly, his voice devoid of any humor and he opens his mouth to speak, “Does it pain you knowing that both of your brothers have been given a sister as a mate?”

“And yet the Mother still deems you unworthy of a Mate -- desitined to pity fuck the spare sister.” Eris muses with a lilt of his voice when he realizes he has the upperhand.

A twinge of heat in your chest from the bond makes your scowl deepen.

Azriel blinks at first, his face twisting in rage before rising to his feet once more, barrelling over the table with an inhuman growl. Azriel grips Eris by the lapels of his emerald tunic. Coming together in flashes of flame and smoke as they struggle against one another. Eris swings a leg over Azriel’s thigh bringing them both tumbling to the floor, while the other High Lords watch on with varying degrees of amusement and frustration on their faces.

Your face heats under the scrutiny. Unable to move or speak-- your stormy facade rendered useless as the tears begin to well in your eyes.

You are a storm-- but in the face of their wrath there is naught you can do but watch and abide.

Rhysands commanding voice cuts through Azriel’s cursing and Eris’ insults. The room falls silent as the males pull away from one another. Azriel’s nose is bloodied and his hair falls around his face in messy strands. Eris’ lip is split, spilling crimson along the column of his throat. You trace the line of scarlet as the droplets stain the neckline of his white shirt. You can hear his heartbeat as it flutters wildly. His eyes meet yours and a look of resignation and shame crosses them for a moment; obscuring the perfect amber of his gaze.

Azriel wipes his blood on his leathers; wears it like armor as he turns to Eris “Something to remember me by.”

Azriel spits the words like venom at Eris whose face radiates with a dark and fiery wrath.

Feyre looks between the two males and then to you; her face softens then as she regards you. Your hands shaking wildly, and a heartbeat like an echoing war drum, the bond in your chest singing a mournful song as it rages inside you.

You look utterly devastated.

She’s not used to seeing that kind of defeat on the face of her elder sister; the sister who had weathered so much, always headstrong and ardent, who had suffered every injustice with a straight face-- she hadn’t quite prepared herself for the type of sorrow that realization would bring with it.

Taking in the scene unfolding before you-- the descent into violence and the blood that pools like rubies at Eris Vanserra’s feet you loose a shaky breath. “Enough--enough” You wave your hands between Azriel and Eris.

The males both take a tentative step away from one another and further from you.

“Who shares my bed is of little concern, I assure you, My Lord,” You insist firstly, setting your shoulders straight and facing them now with all the stormy determination you can feign in that moment, “from what I’ve heard you yourself have quite curious bedfellows.”

Beron sneers and scoffs from his seat at the foot of the table at the insult. A lie, at that. If anyone does share Eris Vanserra’s bed they are a mystery to you.

“Preferring the company of hounds - or so I am told.” Azriel adds.

And in truth you and Azriel haven’t so much as locked eyes since that night in Hewn City. After the mating bond between you and Eris had made its home in your chest you hadn’t been able to think about anyone or anything else.

Just him. And those amber eyes.

“We are here because once more someone is threatening the tenuous peace we have established here,” Helion nods his head thoughtfully and Thesan, who had remained silent throughout the whole ordeal looks at you with genuine encouragement and utters his agreement. Kallias and Vivianne remain silent and imposing on the other side of the table.

“It is our duty-- our privilege-- to ensure Prythian and its people are not ravaged by war again.” You look to Kallias then, unimpressed by the needless violence that had passed but somehow enamored by your words.

“Hyburn took so much from us-- from all of us.” You say, gesturing around the table and the High Lord’s faces are all shaded in sympathy and regret for all they had lost, “and Amarantha made slaves of you all.”

You cast a glance to your sister; who had fought and died for these great men and their courts. And to Rhysand who had subjected himself to being her plaything. Something like grief flashes in those violet eyes that sparks a storm in you.

“I will not be a slave again,” You vow and you notice then how all the High Lords seem rapt withal as you speak to them, and the storm inside you rages on, “to anyone.”

The tensions around the table seem to dissipate when Helion raises a chalice and smirks fondly at you and it seems that they see you as more than a bed warmer to a dark God or the mate of some High Lord’s heir. Talons scrape menacingly along your mental shields and Rhysand’s dark presence makes itself known to you. Bed warmer? Darling you are a storm-- everyone here knows it.

A force to be reckoned with.

The rest of the meeting seems to come to pass as intended, laborious hours of negotiating and political games as you come to terms with each High Lord in turn. By the time the moon hangs in the sky like cut quartz, almost all of the High Lords have already departed, leaving only The High Lord of Spring and The Autumn Court’s entourage.

“Where did you find this one, Rhysand?” Tamlin asks, his tone measured and light.

Rhysand looks between Feyre and you smiling lightly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I heard they found her in a Hyburn cell, after the war was over.” It is Beron Vanserra’s voice that cuts in, “what was left of her anyway.”

“Perhaps we should be asking where your loyalties lie?” It’s the middle Vanserra brother that speaks. His russet curls glow warm in the dim lights and his stare is cruel and malignant as he hones in on you.

“Hyburn whore” It’s whispered, accusatory, on an inhale of breath.

They way it is uttered with an air of repulsion and venom reminds you of those stories told in human villages; of woods women named ‘witch’ by those who do not understand.

People fear what they do not understand.

It seems that Fae are no different than mere mortals in that respect.

“You’d be wise to bite your tongue, brother.” Eris’s voice is a cold echo as all thought and sound eddies out of your mind. Flashes of black and gold as the visions come back to you; those days spent cowering in the darkness of your cell, your feral anger directed at any man who came too close-- all biting fury, canines and claws, and the screams they tore from your like the howling wind over a violent sea.

A fury spreads through you, taking root in the dark caverns of your chest, slowing your heartbeat to a dull aching thud as you lose yourself to it; give yourself over to the tempest of emotion that courses through you. You try to fight it as the first ebbs of that dangerous storm embrace you. Lest you surrender yourself to the tempest; let it open you up and pour out into the world in floods of ravaging power.

It brings forth a storm the likes of which the world has never seen; a thing of ugly rage.

You were born angry, your mother had told you once.

But rage is a learned thing. Your rage. It had been your mother’s first, before that it had her mothers, and her mother before her.

It is an inherited curse; a wicked and wretched thing.

It is a storm enough to drown in.

A howling wind whips around you and for a moment you are standing at a great precipice. From the cliff’s edge, peering down at a violent sea as it coils and breaks against the jagged cliff face of some distant shore, where the world looks as though it is dappled in fireglow, the smell of woodsmoke and bonfires wafts from inland. The sea-soaked wind is so palpable that you taste its salt-kiss on your lips with the ardent fervor of the most savage lover.

There is something sacred in salt, you think.

For a moment you consider what it would feel like; to plummet into the watery abyss. How the sunlight would look as it fractures and splinters on the water's violent surface.

How it might cascade into the murky green depths. A secret held between you and the sea.

“My Lady,” It is Eris’ voice, practically feral and dripping with an aching desperation as he all but vaults around the corner of the dark wood table, parting his brothers with a rehearsed type of brutality as he claws his way to you. His commanding aura draws you closer to him and his pale hand offers a strong and comforting weight on your arm as he takes your trembling palm in his rough hold.

“You’re bleeding,” Eris says, cupping your palm into a fist with his own, applying light pressure to the wound while he assesses it. Turning it over in his tentative grasp. Through your lashes you take a moment to assess him as he towers over you. He’s tall and much broader than you remember but he moves with an inhuman grace. His nose is long and straight and his jaw strong and regal. His amber eyes linger dangerously over the hand cupped in his own. You hadn’t even realized you had stood up. Nor had you registered the blood you had drawn from your own palms until you see the crescent moons, indented in the tender flesh, like a taunt as they stain Eris’ fingertips scarlet as he presses the fabric of his handkerchief to your grazed hand.

“It’s nothing, My Lord,” You say softly, your voice low and you feel his eyes burning into yours; it is a slow, searing ache that almost feels like a kiss. A fragile thing, full of reverence and a strange tenderness. A vein of hurt throbs through you, quickly soothed by the press of his palm to yours.

Eris Vanserra holds a power over you; commands you in a way that should feel unpleasant. The knowledge that you would give yourself over to him if only he asked.

“It is only a little blood.” The words live and die on tongue, they fizzle out just as soon as they are uttered before he is calling for Rhysand -- his voice is swallowed by the din and your heartbeat echoes like a wardrum in your ears and the sound of the violet sea breaks against you and you feel your body go lax.

You wait for the dull ache as your body meets the cool marble of the floor only it never comes; instead your weight is suspended in the embrace of Eris Vanserra’s arms, you vaguely hear your name from his lips before the world turns to darkness.

You feel like lull of his heartbeat as he brings you closer against his chest.

The smell of cedar and smoked bergamot follows you into the abyss.

The room seems to come back to you like the tide; swiftly and cruelly as it materializes before you. It comes back in flashes of the dark; the oppressive pillars of dark marble that hold the domed, onyx ceiling in place, the silver fae lights like pallid stars and the visage of contorting demons and chimera’s like half formed ghosts.

“What happened?” You ask looking around the darkened council chambers; once filled with the idle chatter of courtiers and High Lord’s and their entourage now only the Inner Circle is gathered in the darkness contained between these walls.

And Eris.

He burns golden against the black.

“Well one thing is for certain,” It is Morrigan who stands over you, her shoes shine like rubies in the low light, “You know how to make a scene.” Her voice is light and jovial, laced with concern.

“You fainted,” Feyre says plainly as she sinks to her knees before you. It is then you feel Eris’ solid frame as he radiates warmth behind you, where you are propped against his chest. Your body feels foreign and unlike your own as you move, transferring your weight from his arms and into the arms of Feyre who helps you stand on uncertain feet.

“I’m sorry,” You say earnestly to both Rhysand and Feyre and turning to Eris again to mutter your thanks. He looks displeased at that. The distance between your body in his, the unfamiliarity you regard him with as if you hadn’t just allowed yourself to revel in the feel of his arms wrapped securely around you. “I’m sorry.”

“You should return to your father, My Lord.” You laugh humorlessly, using the hand that isn’t wrapped tightly around the lip of the chair to smooth a hand down the pleats of your gown reflexively.

A knock, resounding and resolute echoes through the chamber and the Inner Circle seem to bristle at the intrusion. Through the blanket of the dark a figure emerges; Keir stands tall with an air of arrogance about him as he steps into the antechamber. His hair is dark and graying and his face, though handsome, has begun to show signs of age. His eyes glitter menacingly as he finds you amongst the inner circle.

“My apologies for the intrusion, High Lord.” Keir says, his voice full of dark promise as a second figure steps from the shadow, “but it appears there is a rather urgent matter that has come to our attention.”

The rooms seems steeped in solemn silence as Beron Vanserra reveals himself through the din; dressed in fine merlot robes and embroidered with gold threads and leaves. He looks like Autumn personified. All fire and wrath as he stalks into the room.

“It appears you have been keeping secrets from me, Rhysand.” Rhys takes a step forward approaching Beron with little regard for the fury that burns behind his hazel eyes. The High Lord of Night laughs cruelly as Beron advances further into the room, seeking out his son, who reaches for you almost without thinking. His fingers flex around your forearm and push you further into Feyre as he steps in front of you both subtly.

Beron looks suspiciously between the three of you.

Beron smiles.

It is not a thing of fondness or affection-- It is dark and laden with malevolence. A whisper of amusement lights in his golden irises and Eris feels like a boy again; alone and afraid as the shadows of his fathers wrath descend upon him.

“You knew,” The High Lord of Autumn charges forward, tearing through Azriel and Cassian, as he raves. His voice is dangerously low and full of malice as he advances towards Eris. His eyes blaze against the dark as he casts his wicked gaze upon his eldest son.

“You knew,” He repeats frantically, “That whore is your mate, and you lied to me.”

Accusatory.

Without thought or care, Eris lunges forward and takes one long stride so that his body shields yours from Beron’s grasp as his fire burns vengeful and angry as it bands around Eris’s arms. The putrid smell of burned flesh brings bile rising in your throat and you feel Rhysand’s shields fortify around you and the rest of the Inner Circle in response.

You wait for someone to do something, but as is the nature of these things Rhysand is not permitted to interfere in the affairs of other courts. And whether he likes it or not, Eris is subject to his High Lord and father.

And as it stands he is a traitor to both.

Eris falls to his knees before you and you feel the bond die in your chest; his scream is something akin to dying. It sears through you, burning like fire until you feel like a phoenix rising from its own ashes as your body moves of its own volition.

“Stop, stop!” You plead with Beron advancing a pace towards him as you pull away from Feyre’s secure hold. Not even Cassian dares hold you back when you claw your way from the safety of his arms, “Please, he didn’t know.”

Beron pays you no heed as his wrath brings Eris to his knees.

“Please.” you beg, your voice aching and angry as you address the High Lord, ignoring the warnings of Azriel and Cassian, “He didn’t know.”

“W-we hid it from him.” Your lie desperately, your voice though strained comes out in violent waves of anger as Beron continues to inflict his fire upon Eris.

Your mate.

In a desperate bid to spare him you beg once more.

“Please, whatever you want, you can have it, I swear it.” And all the fire ceases.

Eris heaves a heavy breath and he collapses in a swath of burnished gold and emerald, strewn lazily against the marble. You sink to your knees beside him, his hands, though shaking, are firm against you as they grasp at the many layers of your skirts as he hoists himself up. Even on his knees he towers over you. His hair drapes like spidersilk over one side of his sculpted face as he peers down at you with dark amber eyes. Despite all the eyes in the room Eris brings a tentative hand to cup your cheek and all his remorse and grief flood down the bond that runs golden and brilliant from your body to his; as if to say no use hiding now, little fox.

Eris rises to his feet before his father who looks on with a mixture of feral delight and complete apathy as Eris’ pain subsides.

Keir retreats into the shadows and with him the air shifts; the room, once shaded in the smell of hemlock and moonflowers, is tainted with something more. Something darker. Earthy.

The smell of wildflowers; smoke-kissed juniper and foxglove, all undercut with the smell of salt and iron.

It occurs to you then that it is the smell of your mating bond.

Beron loses a dark laugh and approaches you slowly, like a predator circles its prey. Deliberate and calculating as he takes your chin in his bony fingers and commands you to look at him. His eyes are much darker than Eris’, so dark that they almost look black in this light and even in his age you admire their depths, haunting and arresting. Beron cuts an intimidating figure, you think as he flashes you a smile that is all Eris.

You sometimes forget how alike father and son are; though Eris is undoubtedly more striking; with his strange amber eyes and baring a broader physique than his father, with strong arms and shoulders and that beautiful copper hair which he had inherited from his mother.

“Anything I want?” Beron muses deathly quiet as he brings you closer to him, so close that the heat of his breath against your face causes chills to rise along the skin of your arms and neck.

“Anything, that is within my power to give.” You clarify, unwilling to be tricked into a more heinous bargain than you had prepared yourself for. Feyre protests loudly, calling your name, begging you to see reason though her pleas are useless against the thunder of your heart in your chest; like the sound of a storm rolling in from the sea.

Rhysand holds his wife by her forearms as she attempts to fight her way to your side.

A bargain offered of your own volition cannot be undone or unmade.

All that’s left to do is come to terms.

Beron smiles again, a saccharine smile that turns your stomach as his free hand cups your hip harshly, his brows rise in question and you realize how he’s looking right through you to his son who stands defeated behind you.

“And if I want you?” You swallow hard as his hand on your hip tightens to a bruising grip.

The High Lord of Night protests and a dark ripple of power separates you and Beron, you stumble backwards until you’re pressed up against the dark wood table as it cuts into the backs of your thighs. Beron laughs playfully and raises his hands in mock surrender to Rhysand. Keir smiles with a sense of sick satisfaction as Beron nods for Eris to join him.

Eris joins his father on the side of the room and Beron inspects him in carefully; scrutinizes every furrow of his brow or the tick of his jaw as charred flesh gives way to pale unblemished skin.

Beron claps a hand over his son's shoulder and offers his half-hearted explanation.

Filling his ear with poison.

“Your mate has deceived you, my son; she is yours by right,” Beron preens like an over-satisfied cat, offering a wave of his hand as he gestures to you, “Is she not?”

Eris swallows thickly and through the bond you can feel his wrath as it burns silent and deadly through you. His fire burns ferocious and wild. Dark and untamed. It ignites a similar storm in the pit of your stomach as Eris regards you with feigned malice much to the appeasement of his father.

His gaze, once soft and vulnerable, is cold and predatory as he takes his time to trail over the swell of your chest and the curve of your hips like a hungry animal.

“She is,” His voice is sharp-edged as he nods impassively to his father, the glimpses of his true self now little more than a trick in the light as he adorns his facade like a suit or armor to spare him his father’s fire.

“You mean to claim her?” Eris questions pointedly. Eris’ eyes move around the room with a careful, almost pensive, precision.

He can’t pretend that he doesn’t want it. Some primal, territorial part of him wants it more than anything. It’s animalistic and carnal.

Wholly perverse.

He wants you, terribly; he aches for you in a way that he has never ached for anything.

And you want him.

But not like this.

Not as a pretty pawn to bring him to heel.

“She will do well in Autumn,” Beron says in lieu of an answer.

Rhysand and Feyre stand firm against the hostility in the room even as Beron approaches them once more. “An alliance between our two most ancient and noble courts,” Beron says in a celebratory manner, his arms outstretched in a show of arrogance, “made strong by the oaths that you will swear to my son and my court.”

“Very well, High Lord.” You acquiesce and Beron smiles as his words hit their mark

You swear that Eris could burn the city to ash then and something in him cools then under your watchful gaze; it burns blue under the surface and you can see it tempering to a cold unmoving stare cast in his father’s direction.

It’s grotesque, the anger that runs hot in his veins that sears its kiss into the place where your body and his are joined.

You seethe. A raging tempest that comes off of you in violent waves of temper that threaten to swallow the room whole. And Beron Vanserra with it. It is almost enough to bring you to your knees before him as your skin burns under his rising fury.

Your eyes meet the strange amber eyes of Eris Vanserra at his father’s side and you think then, that you will happily suffer his fire if burning always feels so profound.

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #pro eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris fic #eris headcanons #eris vandaddy

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

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This may not quite be a headcanon request, but: how would the bat boys, Eris and Lucien wake you up and greet you in the morning ❤️👀

oooh I love this ❤️ here we go:

Rhysand

our High Lord of the Night Court is most mornings already awake before you wake

he will always stay in bed with you, letting you sleep with your head resting on his warm solid chest

Rhysand does not wake you, he lets you wake on your own

but he looks into your mind to make sure you are not having a nightmare - obviously he is filled with purely male pride when he finds you dreaming about him

but when you finally wake and start moving a little he will not waste a second to press his lips onto yours (he couldn't care less about morning breath)

he kisses you softly until you blink open your eyes "good morning, my beautiful darling"

you love his voice in the morning, it is hoarse and raspy and dances over your skin like a feather

it takes you a little moment to take in your mate in all his glory, lying naked (the sheets only covering close to nothing of him) next to you, his hair ruffled, his eyes aglow

you talk a little about the day ahead, your plans and dreams

later you either have breakfast or your stay tangled in the sheets for a moment longer

Cassian

Cassian loves holding you in his arms, his is this big bear and he loves nothing more than having his mate sleep in his arms

but Cassian is also one who cannot rest too long, or stay too long without moving

so he tells himself to not wake you and give you your well-deserved rest, but if he is awake long before you he will start moving lightly

in an attempt to wake you softly he will start pampering your exposed neck and shoulder with gentle kisses to your neck

his large hand will move your hips closer to him (your whole body actually) so he has better access to you skin

the general kisses your neck, your shoulders, your shoulder blades, your jaw, your ear, your cheek, your brow

and then you slowly start to wake up, having to giggle when his hand dances over your belly, circling your belly button, tickling you slightly

you wake up with a smile on your face, giggling softly an the first thing you will see is Cassian leaning over you

his dark curls topple over his forehead, sleep etched into his features, but he looks stunning

Cassian always lean down and kisses your brow, your nose and lastly your lips "good morning, sweetheart. I hope you slept well."

many mornings the soft and gentle kisses lead to a little more

Azriel

Azriel could sleep next to you for hours (the only time he really finds rest)

and he could also just lie next you for ours

your cheek is pressed into his palm while you sleep with your beck pressed against his front

Azriel is fully at ease in those moments

he has one arm crossed behind his head, a beautiful smile blooming on his face while he silently regards you

Azriel is also humming lowly, some sort of love song that you adore

you wake up to it, to the sweet humming of your mate, his chest softly vibrating behind your back

you often place a kiss to his palm and Azriel knows you are awake

he will remove his arm from behind his head, to curl it around you and pressing you closer to him "Good morning, beautiful. I hope your night was filled with wonderful dreams."

Azriel kisses your ear softly, then your cheek and lastly your lips

he always used to worry about morning breath until you told him you did not care one bit and love being woken by him kissing you

and so most, basically all, mornings start with you and Azriel sharing some soft, slow but nevertheless passionate kisses

Azriel takes his time devouring your, his hand softly stroking you while he tastes your mouth, making up for the time you have missed together

sometimes it turns into more, sometimes it also just stays with the kisses and you both decide to get some breakfast which you will often eat in bed

Lucien

just like it is with Azriel, Lucien also loves nothing more than having you sleep in his arms

it is the most peace and comfort he can get to have you sleeping right there in his arms

he knows he can protect you there and keep you safe and that brings him happiness

Lucien will never grow tired of admiring you and when you sleep next to him, in just the skin your were born with, he cannot stop himself from being in utter awe about how stunning his mate is

you are the most beautiful female he has ever seen, stunning and imperfectly perfect

Lucien will softly brush his hands over your skin, gently letting his finger tips dance over your skin

he loves it that the sheet has moved and slipped in the night

and he also loves to admire you, knowing how when you are awake you will always blush

Lucien also cannot stop from tickling you softly and then starting to pamper your skin with small pecks

he always starts at your belly, placing kisses to your skin, in a circle around your belly button

you will mostly like wake up then, giggling softly and your hand trying to find your mate before you even open your eyes

Lucien loves catching your hand and kissing the palm, then the back of it

you open your eyes when he sits up next to you, smiling from one ear to the other "good morning, my sunshine, I hope you are ready for the day ahead."

Lucien is one to love a good breakfast and who wants you to have a decent breakfast, for him it is the most important meal of the day and there is nothing better than sitting at the table with you, having breakfast and chatting about the day ahead, what you have planned and what you will do

Eris

when Eris allows himself to sleep longer he will mostly sleep as long as you do

he often gets woken by you either moving or shifting next to him

and if you accidentally shift away from him, he does not like it

so Eris will pull you closer again, making your snuggle up against him while burying his face in the crook of your neck

this mostly leads to you waking up and you find yourself in the warm comfort of your mate's embrace "rise and shine, my little firespike."

you have to giggle when you feel your mate's soft lips on your neck and a loud yawn parts your lips

Eris' chest rumbles behind you when he chuckles lowly

for a moment you stay entangle, talking a little about Eris' High Lord business for the day and what your plans are

Eris will pull the sheets further up just when a knock sounds from the door

just like every morning he has breakfast brought in, so that the two of you can eat in bed

actually Eris does not really like to have crumbs in bed, but for he does not care one bit

he loves sitting in bed with you, enjoying a soft and slowly morning

you will share many sweet kisses while munching on all the delicious dishes that have been brought in

#azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #cassian x reader #eris x reader #lucien x reader #acotar x reader #headcanons #azriel headcanons #eris headcanons #cassian headcanons #lucien headcanons #rhysand headcanons

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yearning-for-autumn · 3 months

Text

Eris NSFW Alphabet

A/N: Ok, this is very self-indulgent...leave in the comments who you would like next! Also any other headcanons you have for Eris. I literally live for comments.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Eris loves aftercare because A. deep down he’s an exhausted mother hen and B. he’s touch starved. Basically it’s more for him than it is for you. Just let him fuss over you and he’ll be happy. After a particularly intense session, he has a deep need to know you are ok, that you feel safe and cared for. He can’t bear the thought of you not feeling like the princess you are, and if you ever experience subdrop he would absolutely panic and be very much not chill about it.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Eris is fond of his hands, he has long fingers (wink wink). He likes to compare his hands with yours to see the size difference.

On you, Eris is a tits guy through and through. He’s never really grown out of the teenage obsession, and thinks any and all boobs are great. Small boobs, perfect to hold. Big boobs, perfect to fuck. All boobs are good to suck on. I’m not going to say anything about Mummy issues but I’m sure you can catch my drift.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

On the subject of tits, Eris loves to cum on them. There’s something about claiming you with his seed that gets him worked up. Whenever he cums anywhere on your body you know you’re about to go for round two, he can’t help it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Eris has this fantasy of dressing you up in a collar and having you act like his little pet all day. He keeps this under wraps and probably always will unless you’re down to clown. But there’s something that gets him so worked up about the thought of having you down on all fours, a collar with a tag that says his name on it, lapping at his thighs for a taste of his cock whilst he coos, talking about how sweet you are, what a cute puppy…yeah…

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think Eris is probably quite experienced. He had an adventurous youth, behind his fathers back of course, and he definitely knows how to fuck you right. When he’s finally free of his father though, and is able to have a proper relationship with someone he loves, I can imagine him getting nervous that he’s not experienced enough with anything long term, but this is his inner critic talking, I don’t think you would be complaining.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Eris wants you on your knees, whether that’s all-fours, on the floor, riding him, etc. He’s a big big fan of reverse cowgirl because he can watch his cock driving into you in exquisite detail, and he can pull out and paint the small of your back with his cum so easily.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Eris isn’t really a goofy guy, his humour is more dry and sarcastic which doesn’t translate great to sex. He tends to be pretty serious, and the only humour involved is one sided, with him amusing himself, degrading and teasing you (but let’s be honest, you love it).

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The carpet matches the drapes, 100 percent. He has a happy trail down his perfect v-line and keeps things well-groomed, he’s a male that values his appearance.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Eris doesn’t really go in for romance, he swings one of two ways, hard dom or super soft dom. Depending on his (and your) mood, he can be an arrogant, degrading ass, or sweet and gentle yet teasing. He’s very good at reading your mood and always knows exactly how to play things, this man is an expert in body language.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Eris prefers if you’re the one getting him off, honestly he would ask for a handjob everyday if he could (he probably does). But if either of you are away, he’s not exactly going to not masturbate to the memories of you, cock drunk and drooling as he fists your hair and takes you in his chair right in front of the window so all of Autumn can see.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

DDLG - When you’re both in a certain mood, I think Eris likes to baby you a lot. He wants to look after you, in the small things as well as during sex. He loves it when you act all shy and innocent, it only makes him want you more.

Innocence - More on that topic, I feel like Eris has a bit of a virginity kink. He would definitely want to be the one to take your virginity if possible, and if not don’t worry because he’s down to role-play.

Pet-play - Eris wants to own you. He wants a collar around your neck, and he wants you to obey his every command. He also thinks you look absolutely adorable with little puppy ears clipped into your hair, it makes him want to absolutely ruin you. Call him Master, better yet call him your King.

This is going to come up later as well, but I don’t think Eris would want to switch with anyone other than someone he was extremely comfortable with, so before you he would have never tried it. That being said, he does have a bit of a Mummy kink (yes im british sorry) and I think he would be down to explore this, but he’s definitely more comfortable in the dominant role.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Eris is a bit of a fan of public sex but only when you are involved. He doesn’t really want to put himself in a compromising position, but he’s more than happy to show you off. More than anything he wants people to see your submission to him, not necessarily sexual, but imagine sitting next to him in a meeting and all of a sudden you’re pulled onto his lap so that he can kiss your neck whilst listening to some boring courtier.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. You get him going. Because he’s horny. No but he’s sooo turned on if you sink to your knees, bat your eyelashes, ask him if you can make him feel good. He’s so going to cum all over your face.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Eris likes to degrade you, but if he ever gets comfortable enough to sub for you he can and will cry if you try it. Don’t degrade him. His self-esteem is on the ground as it is, there’s no need for that.

He also doesn’t really want to do anything involving feet, I just have a silly headcanon that he really dislikes them. Like it’s bordering on a phobia for him. He hates seeing them. Who knows why, I definitely don’t and I just made it up.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

This man can make shoving his cock in your mouth feel like he’s the one giving you a treat. Like is it really giving, no, but do you appreciate it, yes.

He is an all-star pussy eater though, he’ll probably eat you out quickly and efficiently as part of foreplay most days to make sure you are thoroughly soaked and open for him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Eris fucks rough. Let’s be real. He fucks with fire in his veins, I doubt that means slow and romantic. On your anniversary though, he’s going to light candles, and he’s going to drive you absolutely out of your mind, fucking you slow and hard, whispering praise and cruel teasing as he fucks you into the bed.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Eris loves a quickie honestly. Oh, he’s got a meeting at 10? Time for a quick fuck. Oh you’re late for work? But you have 15 minutes for a blowjob right?

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He is down to experiment, I mean he’s quite kinky really and has experimented in the past, but he’ll be a bit nervous to scare you off or go too far when you’re early in your relationship. He has some trust issues he’s working through, but he really does want to try everything with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Mmm Eris lasts a long time, and he wants to go multiple rounds. He just has so many positions he wants you in that he can’t just choose one, he has to try a few out right?

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Eris love love loves to dress you up, i’m talking collar, garters, lingerie. He’s very much into toys, for both of you, and thinks anything that enhances your pleasure is worth it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s a tease, he’s a degrading tease. ‘Aw baby you like that? Stupid slut, drooling around my cock, does my pretty baby want more? Hm? Well you’re not getting it.’

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I think at first he would stick to dirty talk, and try not to moan too loudly. But after you express your interest he lets go completely. He’s feral, he’s loud and he doesn’t stop talking. You could probably cum from just his words to be honest, he has a filthy mouth.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I think the first time you ever try pegging Eris he cums literally immediately. He won’t let you bring it up ever, and he’s insanely embarrassed by it, but deep down he knows you only care about making him feel good and would never tease him in bad faith. It takes him a little while to try it again though, because our poor baby is repressed.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Eris has such a pretty cock. It curves upwards in just the right way, it’s the prettiest shade of pink at the tip and blushes deep red when he’s needy and desperate. He’s longer than he is thick, and it hits all the right spots.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Eris is a horny horny boy, but he’s quite good at hiding it. He tries his best not to overwhelm you with how much he wants you, but realistically you want him just as much, I mean how could you not.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Eris physically cannot fall asleep until you are asleep. He will fuss over you for as long as it takes, and no matter how much his eyes are drooping shut, he needs to know you are tucked up and comfy first.

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