disillusioned-phantasma

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Lavender Haze

Rhysand x Rhysand's Sister's Best Friend/Virgin!Reader

Summary: Having a crush on your best friends older brother isn't ideal. Especially when he has one back.

Warnings: Flirting, sexual taunting and begging.

Word Count: 3,065

Belongs to the timeline and predates Clandestine Love

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“Where’s Ara?” you ask your dinner mate as Einar places a steaming dish before you. The savory scents of the herbs he used on the fresh meat fill your senses, and your mouth waters at its deliciousness. Vegetables swim in a thick cream sauce that looks all too delectable, and the mound of cut potatoes doused in flavor has your jaw tingling. You simply cannot wait to dig in, only able to keep yourself from diving straight into your dinner as the family cook replenishes your half drank glass of sparkling fae wine. “Thank you, Einar.”

The chef dips his head in response then spins on his heel, quickly leaving the room. A bite of guilt pinches your stomach as you watch the green-skinned, normally bright-eyed fae stalk back to the kitchen to prepare dessert. It’s not like Rhysand is that much like his father. While his personality and aura tend to lean to the more arrogant side, it’s usually attributed to the fact that he is a young, confident male, eager to bask in all of the indulgences son of the High Lord is offered.

Said male sita across from you, pinning you to your seat with searing violet eyes. His spine is rigid and his fingers are curled tightly around his utensils as he watches your gaze follow the chef scurrying from the room.

He wants to fire him, no matter how delicious his food is.

Rhysand doesn’t have a right to feel this way. He doesn’t like the rage that coils his stomach, that lights his bones on fire when your soft eyes meet those of any other male in the court. Ever since you’d worked up the courage to kiss him all those months ago, it had ignited something inside of him even he couldn’t seem to make sense of. He shouldn’t be feeling this conflicted over his little sister's best friend of all people, but even he couldn’t ignore your otherworldly beauty, the musical laughter he always ached to hear, feel those gorgeous eyes roaming down his body while you thought his attention was elsewhere. 

The following months after that fateful night had been spent in the Illyrian camps, avoiding you. He’d tried occupying his mind with training or drinking with Azriel and Cassian until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to have your lips pressed against his own, your breasts pressed against his chest, and your scent burrowing so deeply into his soul he might never forget it. 

You couldn’t be drowned by any female nor male he fell into bed with since. Rhys, as sick as it might be to admit it, had resorted to imagingin his partners were you when he couldn’t seem to get off. Horrible, he knows, but you’ve planted that seed and his feelings are an overgrown slew of vines, constricting his inner being.

And now you’re here, across from him. And he’s here, alone with you. And Ara is not here like she should be and his mother isn’t here to form a buffer and his father is away doing Mother knows what and Cassian and Azriel aren’t here to tell him how horrible this idea is, or how if he’d only fuck you it would get these feelings out of his system, at least, the former of the two would say.

Rhysand is in a dangerous situation right now.

He forces his body to relax, slumping back in his seat with the vanity only the prince of Night can convey. Masking his face into something a little more open—a little more nice—he stalls, cutting into the meat on his own plate. Blood spurts as he takes his knife to it, and Rhysand has to force himself from imagining it to be a certain chef's blood instead. “Mother whisked her into the city for dinner.”

“So it’s only you and I?” you blush, stabbing a potato with your fork. It has been so long since you’d last seen Rhysand, and it seems the few months he’s been away have made him even more handsome than you remember, even if his skin looks a little paler from the blistering winters in the mountains and the drink he hasn’t let up on since.

“It seems so,” Rhys answers, chewing.

“And no one else,” you murmur, almost breathless as your heart begins to race in your chest at the thought of what you and him could be getting into all alone, if he hadn’t decided to run from you. 

Rhysand quirks a brow, looking down the table as if looking for someone else, and replies, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Asshole,” under your breath, and Rhys fails to bite back his smirk. Both of you fall silent as you eat, only the sounds of your hammering heart and utensils filling the void in the luxurious dining room. You’re not sure how the family doesn't feel lonely like this, eating at the table built for an army. You can’t even hear Einar shuffling about in the kitchen, no clanging of pans or low curses if he creates something his perfectionist self doesn’t deem a ‘creation of the Gods.’

You can’t help but to glance at Rhysand, drinking in the sight of him. His straight nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow as he places a spoonful of vegetables and cream sauce in his mouth. His thick lashes are dark, so dark it looks like he’s let Ara around him with some of her kohl again. They’re long as well, brushing the apples of his cheeks when he looks down at his plate, and you’re envious of them.

Too long you’ve gone without seeing him. The most dramatic male you’ve ever set your sights on, running from you after you’d finally worked up the courage after months of pining to kiss him. It was after Ara had fallen asleep and you found yourself on the balcony, gazing up at the stars, his company warm and welcoming.

It had been everything to you then, the confidence you felt, the rush of adrenaline as you caught him off guard, the feel of his lips against yours, soft still, even if they were wind-chapped from the long flight. He hadn’t reacted, you hadn’t given him the time to, yanking yourself back just as quickly as you leaned in and running off to Araphel’s room, your mind screaming at you that it had been a horrible idea.

But you couldn’t ignore the emotions spilled between the both of you, the times where his hand had brushed yours or his touch lingered too long when he’d muse your hair, stroking the shell of your ear. You couldn’t ignore the heated looks Rhys shot you every time you spoke to another male, nor the way he always found an excuse to interrupt you, guiding you away from them with a large hand on the small of your back.

And maybe it was your silly little heart for wanting him. For crushing on your best friend's older brother who exudes confidence and can have any female in the court he wants. Any female on the continent, even.

The silence is damning, though, and you wish you could be how you were the night you’d kissed him, sanguine and bright with the idea that this could be your true love's first kiss. Of course, the fleeting press of his lips was enough to solidify many things for you, but you’d been unsure about Rhysand’s feelings on the matter, and by the time you’d found the courage to talk to him about what had happened, he’d already fled back to the mountains.

You’d kissed plenty of males since then, dragging Ara for nights out at Rita’s because Rhysand and his friends always raved about it. A part of you thought that he might walk in and see you in another male's arms, tear you away like the warrior-prince he is, but sadly, it hadn’t happened. 

And you have to say that you’re more than a little confused. He’d been blatantly glaring at Einar while the chef served your food. Had he heard about the kiss you shared with the young chef when Donan hadn’t allowed Araphel permission to go out one night and you spent it with the staff the High Lord kept around the house? It was all for a silly drinking game, but the green-skinned fae’s cheeks had been bright pink after the both of you stumbled back from the pantry, lips bruised and eyes shining bright with liquor. Maybe he had overheard some of the handmaiden's gossipping about it after all these weeks? Or maybe, the darkness always knows.

Now, the both of you are here, alone, staring at each other over the delectable meals prepared by the chef you’ve tasted once before. It hadn’t been anything like the peck you’d shared with Rhysand. In that millisecond of the brushing of your lips your world had shifted, body set alight with shooting stars and setting free the wild butterflies in your stomach. 

He has that glint in his eyes, the same one he always gets when he’s watching you, the one that heats your very core. And as you chew the potatoes in your mouth, you muster that confidence into yourself once more.

You will it into the marrow of your bones, rolling your shoulders as you prepare yourself to get exactly what you want. If there is no one here to interrupt, then the stage is set.

“Whoops,” you feign, allowing a drip of cream sauce to slip off the end of your utensil on the way to your mouth. It lands on the bare skin between the plunging fabric of your dress, and you catch Rhysand tracking the movement as you reach for your napkin to dab at your skin. “Spilled a little.”

Rhysnad hums, “You should be more careful, darling. Wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty dress of yours, now would you?”

“No,” you agree, ever the dream of poised elegance. You pop a vegetable into your mouth, chewing for a moment, before continuing. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my dress at all. But, if it’s meant to be, I can always have another one made.”

In that moment, you know you’ve got him. The stars in his violet eyes wink out as darkness settles in, pinning you to your chair. His look sends a shiver up your spine and you know that he is no longer hungry for the food plated before him.

Rhysand flares his wings a little and bites back a curse. For too long he’s been living at the Illyrian camps. There’s no one here he has to compete with for your attention, no one he needs to show off his wingspan to, though, by the way that your half-lidded eyes trace across the membranous skin of them, perhaps he’ll flare them wide when you’re beneath him.

It’s a line that he hasn’t crossed with you yet, one that he promised himself that he wouldn’t. You’re his little sister’s best friend for Mother’s sake, not just another female simpering after him because of his familial ties. You’re…much more than that, and he shouldn’t be thinking about crawling across this fucking table and licking that cream off of your chest and burying his head between your breasts.

“Meant to be,” he echoes, and you hum, tilting your head back with the motion. The exposed skin of your neck calls to him, even more so when you swipe a finger, capturing the sauce and popping it into your mouth to suck on. Your cheeks hollow exaggeratedly, and his cock strains painfully in his pants. He growls your name, a tenor of darkness that curls through your body like the icey patches of snow on the way into the city.

“What was that Rhys?” you ask, batting your eyelashes now. The meal in front of you is long forgotten, your hunger for this male insatiable. The way Rhysand makes you feel, despite only sharing a whisper of a kiss, well, you think you could be mates someday. “Did you need something?”

“I need you to stop doing that before I come over there and make you stop myself.”

You moan a little, legs falling wide under the table. “I think I might like that, though.” 

Rhysand’s nostrils flare as he drinks in the scent of your arousal, thick between your thighs.

“You’re supposed to be a Lady, darling. Who taught you to speak like that?” he purrs, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the table. You know that he’s only doing it to try and dispel the tension leaking from his body. You can scent it in the air, the raw, heady smell of him that threatens to send you right to your knees.

“You,” you moan in response. You can feel him creeping into your mind, watching. Waiting.

“And you always listen to your superiors, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes,” you hiss, squirming in your seat as those black claws of his rake gently across your mind. Your fingers curl around the arms of your chair, your spine arching at the soft caress. “Rhys, please…I need you to touch me.” 

It’s a simple request, one he’s always indulged you in.

In a moment he’s gone from his chair only to appear behind you, winnowing far faster than stalking around the edge of the table to reach your seat.

He looms over you like a touch of darkness crowding you in, and you revel in it. The hue of his eyes is a dangerous violet, set with lightning striking in the distance instead of stars. It lights you up, your breath turning faster, the beating of your heart thunderous in the silence of the dining room. 

You can see the war in his eyes when you tilt your head back, resting it on the back of your chair. You press your breasts out a little, and watch with rapt attention as his eyes flicker down the front of your dress before he rips them away, the line of his mouth tightening at your hidden tease of a smile.

In your head, late at night, you’ve touched him; a hand around his silky, long cock, mouth pressed to his desperately, too. He’s tasted your slick on his tongue, reveled in it, hardly able to hold himself back from crawling up your body and fucking you how he wanted.

But you’ve never had sex before, and as much as you want to, as much as you’ve tried, Rhysand has been holding back.

Maybe it’s because he’s nervous to cross that line with you. You’re his little sisters best friend for fucks sake, and he’s going to be High Lord someday. Sure, he’s slowly making his way through the camp girls, trying not to grunt your name when he fucks into them, because you’re never far from his mind. 

Maybe it’s because he’s scared, if his sister or father ever found out. Araphel might be happy for the both of you. It’s a thought he has less often than the opposite, if she’s upset that he’s stealing one of her only true friends, and he doesn’t want that. 

Maybe he’s afraid he won’t be able to hold himself back.

Your name is a growl on his lips. A warning, one you don’t have it in you to heed. So you go with your next best idea, taunting.

“I guess I’ll have to drag Ara down to the city when she gets back then,” you say with a sad sigh. You pick up your fork and force your eyes from Rhysand’s burning ones. You shrug a little, spearing vegetables with your fork. “Fuck whatever male I come across there.”

Rhysand is hardly able to hold himself back from baring his teeth. He won’t allow that, ever.

You can feel the tension roiling in his body as he stands at your back, his food long forgotten. You’re not faring much better with the ache pulsing between your legs and the dinner that’s turned to mush in your mouth. 

“I’ll turn any male that touches you to mist.”

“Are you planning on doing that to yourself, too?” you quirk a brow as you glance his way, faking your disinterest despite the way that your core goes molten at his words. 

Rhysands eyes darken in response, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

Your words are working, you can see it in the way that he holds himself back, body nearly shaking at every thought you’re planting in his mind. You know he’s on the verge of cracking, that he wants this just as badly as you do, so you continue.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t a virgin anymore. Would you fuck me then, Rhysand?” 

“What?” His voice takes on a dark tone, the stars winking out from his eyes.

“If I told you that chef Einar was the one to do it, to bend me over his worktop and fuck me, what would you say then, Rhys?” 

“I’d say you’re a liar. And that I’ll kill him either way.”

“If I spread my legs for him just like this,” you continue, leaning back in your seat and opening your thighs wide. His fingers ball into fists but he doesn’t move from his spot, still planted behind you, trying his best to ignore the way your scent hits him like a sword to the gut. “And let his hands roam down my body just like this—” You startle at the loud sound coming from the kitchen, pots falling to the floor in succession. It makes your hands that you’re dragging down your body falter, and before you can continue, your wrists are pinned in Rhysand’s harsh grip, his breath heavy against your throat.

“You should be very, very careful about what you’re going to say next, darling,” his growl sends your bones rattling, shivers wracking your spine. You wish it weren’t the harsh wood at your back but instead his warm body, holding you tight. 

“I want you to fuck me, Rhys,” you gasp, and it sounds like a desperate mewl. “I need you to fuck me.” 

Rhysand’s mouth is a whisper against your skin, a brand of night.

“If I’m going to fuck you, darling,” he purrs and your insides melt. “Everyone is going to know it.”

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Dioxazine (Part 2)

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: After Rhys invites you to his party, you find yourself attending…for research.

Warnings: Drinking, smoking, smut.

Word Count: 4,993

(Part 1)

Notes: thank you, as always, to @writingsbychlo for the help 💙

And Happy Friday my loves!!

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You make a noise of frustration, leaning back into your chair and tossing your brush into the palette beside your canvas. It bounces once before the tip sticks in the thick oily violet color you’d been trying to perfect, while the wooden handle of the paintbrush rolls into the other various shades of violet you’d been trying to blend from memory.

None of them are right.

You’ll never admit it – least of all to Rhysand should you ever see him again – but he has the most intriguing eyes you’ve ever seen. Sure, you’ve seen pretty greens and blues and caramel browns, vast arrays of colorful iris’ throughout your life, but never that striking violet that Rhys has.

Keep reading

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Dioxazine

Modern!Rhys x Reader

Summary: While at the art shop looking for the necessary supplies for your first semester of art school, you get a bit distracted by the cocky cashiers intriguing eye color.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,254

Notes: It’s 1am and now it’s Sunday so I’m posting rn so @writingsbychlo can see this when she wakes up. This one’s for you babes! I hope you love it.

P.S. Gosh I just love young, cocky Rhys so much. 😭

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You really should’ve grabbed a basket.

Your arms are stuffed with supplies: sketchbooks, pencils, oil paints, a roll of canvas, anything and everything you could need for the start of your classes in a few days. 

They’d given you a list of all of the tools needed for your first semester at art school and yeah, you could’ve ventured to the nearest chain store, but you thought it’d be better to support the local art supply in town.

That is, until you meet the cashier.

Keep reading

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Falling For You

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Ice skating with Rhys in the Winter Court.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,001

Notes: Just thought I’d kick off December with a little Rhys cuteness.

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“Why did we have to come to the Winter Court? The Night Court is perfectly fine.” Rhysand grumbles, readjusting his gloves for the third time since you’d stepped foot into the city of Glacia, the largest of the chilly Court’s territories.

You’d always wished to see the city known for its ethereal holiday decor. The largest tree you’d ever seen, glittering with faelights and ornaments so shiny and sparkly they took your breath away, the icicles of all sizes, hanging from the tops of buildings and businesses, reflecting everything like a mirror.

And of course, the ice skating.

Keep reading

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Clandestine Love

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Can you do a fic where you and Rhys’s sister are best friends and Rhys wants you but you both know it’s a terrible idea but you do it anyway

Warnings: None

Word Count: 822

Notes: Wait because I kind of love these two...fkn hell 😮‍💨

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“Ara, wait up!” You screech, fisting your silky midnight blue skirts in your hands and taking off down the corridor after your friend, who’s cackling as she races towards the staircase.

The two of you had been granted permission from the Lady of Night to head out into the city in search of gowns for the upcoming Starfall party. You’d be accompanied of course by a few sentries, as your best friend – the daughter of the High Lord of the Night Court – wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without them.

You’d ditch the poor bastards assigned to tailing the two of you as soon as you arrived at the bustling streets of Velaris, you and Araphel would make sure of that.

Her head has just disappeared down the staircase when a hand shoots out from around the corner, grasping your arm and spinning you quickly into the warm, lean body of her older brother.

Rhysand.

Your heart races with excitement as he pulls you close, pressing you up against the wall behind. Your head is still dizzy from the twirl and when he settles a palm at the nape of your neck and stares down at you with those vibrant violet eyes, your mind clears, all his.

His other hand settles on your hip as he cranes down to nose at your throat, breathing in the night-kissed scent of your skin like a drug he’s been deprived of for centuries.

“Rhys,” you gasp softly, a warning, but it’s contradicted when you clutch at the lapels of his finely pressed jacket. “We can’t be doing this.”

“Relax, (Y/N),” he soothes, his lips against your neck sending shivers up your spine, “Ara is occupied with my father.”

You should be down there, getting the same lecture the both of you always have to endure before you go out into town alone. Stick with your chaperones, do not wander from the city, and always–

“Are you going to pick me out something nice?” the lordling purrs, tongue lapping at your creamy skin. Your hand snakes up the expensive fabric of his suit and slides around the nape of his neck so you can finger through the inky black tendrils of his hair.

You scoff, pinching at the skin on the base of his head playfully, “Not every female is vying for your attention or affections, Rhysand.”

The handsome heir hums in response, clearly amused. “You come in here looking like this,” he mouths over the tops of your exposed breasts and it takes all of your self control not to release the debauched noise that's working its way up your throat. “How can I not think that you’re trying to gain my attention?”

“I know it’s hard for you young males to keep your hands to yourselves and your cocks in your trousers,” you start and he groans. He’ll never forgive his sister for telling you about what he and his brothers would occasionally get up to with the females at the Illyrian camps, “But I have more posie than that.”

“Say cock again,” he begs, hands skimming down your body, thumbs brushing over the peaks of your nipples, eliciting a breathy gasp from you. The cheeky lordling tries to hike up the bottom of your dress but little sisters always ruin everything–

“(Y/N)?” Ara yells, voice carrying loudly through the otherwise empty halls.

“Coming,” you call over Rhys’ shoulder, tightening your hold on him slightly, unconsciously. You give him an apologetic look as he straightens to his full height, lifting your chin to gaze up at him. He looks disappointed, and although the both of you had agreed to be strictly friends, there was something between the two of you that couldn’t keep you away from each other.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur and he shakes his head, thumbing across your cheek.

“Don’t be. I’ve just missed you is all.”

“Maybe when I’m done picking out my Starfall dress and Ara has fallen asleep I’ll come give your cock my attention,” you suggest, lips ghosting across his own. You emphasize your words with a sneaky caress to his frontside, Rhys’ breath catching in his throat as his mulberry eyes widen, and then darken.

You try to slip away, wanting to leave him teeming with pleasure. It will make tonight so much better, but he catches you by the neck, twisting you around and pressing his lips against yours in a hot kiss that leaves your mouth tingling and your legs clenched tightly together. 

“That better be a promise, (Y/N),” he smirks, finally backing off a step from you, leaving the feeling of his fingers buzzing on your skin, electricity in your bones.

“I suppose you’ll have to find out,” you respond with a cutting smile all your own. Rhysands eyes twinkle with excitement, and the agreement goes unspoken as Araphel meets you on the landing, her brother winnowing away into shadows and darkness.

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Late Night Talking

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Can I make a request for SBA involving Rhys? Like maybe something involving caramel apples and sitting on the highest balcony at the House of Wind and stargazing?

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 478

Notes: Soft Boy Saturday is officially here!

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“Rhys,” you squeal, trying to dodge his wandering hand, aimed straight for your plate of treats, “You already ate yours! This one’s mine!”

He pouts, an exaggerated frown on his face, “But (Y/N), sharing is caring.”

“Not when it involves the best caramel apple I’ve ever had,” you mutter, looking down at your plate. There’s only three slices left and you’re planning on eating each and every one of them, even if your mate does have the cutest sulking face.

“There’s more downstairs Darling,” he reminds you, watching your lips wrap around the juicy candy coated apple. The crunch is loud, mocking, and he can’t help himself from leaning forward to lick the string of caramel from your lips, even if you are humming loudly at the taste.

You melt against your mate, his kisses always leave you weak in the knees and you’re thankful that you’re sitting in the fuzziest lounge you own with your mate, gazing up at the clear night sky.

When he pulls back you gaze at him lovingly, the galaxy in his own violet eyes, that feline smirk on his lips as he rights himself in his own spot before popping a slice of apple into his mouth.

Your jaw goes slack in shock. That sneaky Illyrian had distracted you with kisses while he snuck one of the last slices of your delectable dessert right from under your nose.

“Rhys,” you whine, staring lamely at the lone chunk of apple on your plate. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“I’m sorry, Darling, but–”

“Don’t you Darling me,” you glare, “You owe me a slice of apple.”

And that look on your face is so adorable he can’t help but laugh. Brows furrowed and utterly devastated over an apple. You truly are the most darling female he’s ever met.

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!” It’s hard not to smile when he’s laughing like this, full bodied and hand clutched to his stomach as he sinks further into the plush lounge. You crack a smile of your own, shaking your head fondly at your mate as you watch with a loving gaze.

“I’m sorry Love,” he wheezes, “I don’t mean to laugh.” 

“It’s alright, I love seeing you happy,” you comment softly. Moments like these with your mate, you don’t think you could be any happier.

But then Rhys is reaching into a pocket world and pulling out another caramel apple, holding it out to you, enjoying how your eyes lighten at the sight.

“(Y/N), Darling, will you get sick on candy apples with me and stay up under the stars until we’re deliriously sleepy with me?” He proposes earnestly.

“On one condition,” you offer and he nods eagerly. He’d give you the world if you just asked. “You let me have the last piece.”

“I think I can do that for you, Darling.”

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Trying to Forget It

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: You and your mate are trapped Under the Mountain. Amarantha has no idea of the bond you two share as you and Rhys have buried it so far deep inside of you, and you're pretending to be from a different court to keep her from finding out. Rhys comes to see you one night after he's finished pleasing Amarantha.

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of/alluding to SA.

Word Count: 1,016

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You’re roused from your pitiful slumber by hot kisses being pressed against the back of your shoulder, trailing down your warm skin despite the seemingly constant chill in the air. You make a sound of confusion but a fleeting caress to the bond you and your mate have buried deep inside has you letting out a content sigh as you peek up at him, catching the back of his head with your hand, fingers burying into his silky soft hair.

His violet eyes glow in the dark of the room, shaking hands roaming your body frantically, his mouth capturing yours in a distraught manner. You can feel the anxiety and tension roiling off of him as he feverishly kisses you, rutting against you gently, and you furrow your eyebrows, immediately awake as you notice his distressed movements.

“Rhys?” you whisper, flipping over to face your mate. He lets you but he’s pressing himself down against you just as fast, burrowing his head into your neck with an unsteady inhale. “What are you doing here?”

He’s not supposed to be in your room. The High Lord of the Night Court isn’t supposed to be anywhere near you. If Amarantha finds out she’ll–

“I can’t–” his voice breaks and your heart splinters in your chest. You soothe your fingers through his damp midnight strands as you hold him closer with your other hand. He smells freshly clean, skin raw from scrubbing at it and your stomach swoops. You know exactly what this means.

You hate it. Hate having to bury the bond shared between the two of you, even going so far as to pretend you’re from another court. Hate Amarantha for what she’s doing to Rhys, what he’s doing to protect you, your family, Velaris.

If there was something that you could do, you would do it in a heartbeat to save your mate from the torture he’s going through at the hands of that bitch.

He grasps onto you tightly, moving up to catch your mouth with his again, his fingers frantically sliding up the sides of your nightgown. You can feel the hot tears escaping his eyes as he kisses you, and you count each one because you are going to make this bitch hurt for every single one he sheds, you promise it to yourself. He opens the bond a miniscule amount and you can feel his desperation, his pleading through the bond.

He needs you.

“Yes, Rhys,” you soothe him softly, “Whatever you need, Love.”

That’s all of the confirmation he requires, kicking out of his undergarments and helping you out of the shimmering golden nightgown from the Day Court Helion had given you.

His lips trail from yours down your neck, sucking softly. He knows not to leave marks where they can be seen, he’s usually so careful. You worry, trying to bury the sick feeling deep inside of you so he can’t feel it through the bond. Amarantha must have really done a number on him tonight if Rhys is disregarding his own rules as he soothes over the hurt on your jawline.

Even after nearly fifty years, nothing has changed. Many have tried but all have failed to free you from Amarantha’s reign. It’s been up to Tamlin, the High Lord of the Spring Court, but even his time is running out.

You don’t know how much longer you and your mate can take.

The things that she makes Rhys do…you’d heard about them, whispers from fae of other courts, all trapped like flies in this deep, dark mountain. He wouldn’t tell you himself, wouldn’t give up that information freely because he doesn’t want you to know what he’s going through, he feels so guilty. There’s nothing anyone can do, and over the years their words have gotten harsher, insults thrown at your mate.

You can’t ignore the burning in your gut. You’d remember each and every single one of their faces, the ones who’d spoken illy against your mate, the things he’s done not only for you and your court, but for them as well.

Sure it’s all a front, but the male pressing apologies into your skin is more sensitive than any of them know, caring far more deeply than they can comprehend.

“Rhys,” you push at his shoulders gently. You need him to look at you, biting your trembling lip so you don’t burst into tears in front of him.

He pulls back and you have to shut your eyes for a second, the rawness in his own gaze nearly cleaving your heart in two. You caress his arms gently, taking a breath of your own before meeting his violet stare once more.

The words get caught in your throat. You don’t know what you can say to him. There is nothing you can say to make any of this better, any of this okay.

But he’s your mate and he can read you like an open book.

“I will not let her hurt you,” his voice is shaky but his words don’t waver, a promise gleaming in his shining purple eyes.

You swallow thickly, brushing back some of the hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes. “But what about you, Rhys? She’s hurting you.”

And it’s that that makes him crack, sucking in a harsh gasp like the floodgates he’s put up inside of him come crumbling down. His arms give out and he collapses on top of you but you don’t care, holding him tightly to you as he buries his head into your chest, grounding him by showing him that you’re here and he’s safe.

You open the floodgate of the bond and it’s a good thing that you’re not standing because his raw emotions would have brought you to your knees. Instead they take your breath away in a whoosh that causes you to pull him closer as he sobs, sending your own emotions down the bond, silently letting him know that it’s okay to let his feelings out.

You’ll take whatever you can in whatever capacity he needs to protect him.

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Comets

Lucien x Reader [Starfall Week Day 7]

Summary: @starfallweek Day 7 Prompt: Character A and B spend Starfall in a different court, learning all of the traditions.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,339

Notes: This one also goes out to the anon who was begging me for some Lulu action 💙

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The wind brushes his copper hair over his shoulders and the sun makes the freckles dusting his nose shine. You watch your mate spread his arms wide and throw his head back, drinking in a deep breath of the crisp, fresh Autumn Court air. 

He never thought he would be back.

It has been a long many years since he was exiled from the Autumn Court on the happenstance of falling in love. Falling in love with someone that his father didn’t approve of. Falling in love with someone who wasn’t his mate. 

Lucien had every intention of marrying Jesminda, lower fae or no. His young heart leaped happily in his chest whenever she was around. They were both blind to their problems as a couple, brushing off their arguments to roll around in the grassy fields, watching the leaves change color over their heads.

It had taken a long time to get over her. He never really did, honestly. Of course, the love that had been so fiery and new, scorched him when she died. But it was nothing like how it is with you, his true mate.

Lucien turns his head over his shoulder, tears lining his russet eye. The mechanical one whirs softly, and the smile on his lips shakes a little, making your heart ache in your chest. He holds a hand out to you, wanting to share this moment with you. 

The moment he can freely cross back into Autumn Court territory without fearing for his life.

While your mate had found a new home in the Night Court, found you in the Night Court, this isn’t a moment he’d allowed himself to think about, no matter how many promises his older brother made in their passing moments at meetings or gatherings. Their father is finally dead and Eris crowned the new High King of Autumn. 

He swears he can hear it, the joy across the lands carried on the winds blowing you closer to him. Lucien smiles sneakily at that look you give him. So he used a little mixture of his Autumn and Day Court powers to sweep the wind up. He wants you in his arms, how can you be upset at that?

You reach up with your free hand, caressing Lucien’s face, wiping at the lone tear rolling down his cheek. 

“Are you ready?” you ask, with a soft smile.

His throat works around a swallow and he takes your hand, kissing your palm so sweetly. “With you? Of course.” 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

The Autumn Court is everything you thought it might be, but even more so because Lucien looks like he’s never left. 

There’s something about being in the territory that has awoken something long lost in your mate. The air, fresher than the other courts, filling his lungs with the scents of pine and sap, cinnamon and pumpkin. The black you thought he looked striking in is nothing compared to the hues of the autumnal clothing he’d almost immediately switched them out for; the olive greens and deep navy’s, crimsons and nutty browns.

Your first pit stop had been the bakery his mother always took him to when he was young. He missed their sweets deeply, and you laughed at the amount of pastries he tried buying. Lucien had hand fed you a caramel treat and your eyes widened at the burst of flavor that hit your tastebuds. There was no stopping either of you from spending a pretty coin on the treats filling your arms sky high.

“This one, my love, is a Starfall tradition,” he explains, handing you a sample of the warmed treat. It looks something similar to a Night Court treat you remember your mother making. Popping it into your mouth you nearly melt at its deliciousness. 

“Luc, we need to buy all of these,” you say in amazement, not waiting for his answer before you’re opening your mouth to speak to the worker. Lucein’s chuckle warms you to your very bones but you pout as he guides you away from the shop.

“There will be plenty more at the Woodland House tonight, my love,” he says with a grin. “My family hires a specific baker every year during the month of Starfall to make sure they never run out. Trust me, with seven boys running around, they were constantly in low supply.” 

You laugh with your mate, enjoying the shining of his eyes at the fond memory. You want to hear more of the good times he’s had in his home court. It’s not something he often speaks about, because there are more bad than good, but when you do get to hear one of his favorite memories, it always makes you smile.

“So, what does tonight have in store for us?” you ask, popping some of the chocolate and caramel drizzled popcorn into your mouth. Another Autumn Court staple. Your mate is going to turn you into a sweet-tooth yet.

“First, we have a formal dinner with the family,” Lucien explains, and you can see how the joy melts into nervousness. He hasn’t seen the entirety of his family since the day he was chased out of the Court, where two of his brothers died at the hands of him and Tamlin. He’s not sure how the remaining brothers besides Eris feel about him. Pyrolas doesn’t care about anyone’s presence besides his own, but he is the son so much like his father. Conleth never wanted problems with anyone, and Oakland was ever the rational one. If any of his brothers might have missed him, he would put his coin on those two.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you offer softly. You would never make Lucien do something that he didn’t feel comfortable doing. You’re sure there’s a nice place the both of you can hide out until the party afterwards begins. Or perhaps you can check into an inn and celebrate Starfall in the streets with the rest of the peoples of the Autumn Court.

“No,” he shakes his head and rolls his shoulders, straightening his spine. “I’ve missed out on Starfall dinners for long enough. I’m ready.”

You nod, offering him the tin of popcorn. “Want some?”

“Thank you, my love,” Lucien smiles, taking a handful. “Besides, Eris mentioned that he was pulling out all of the stops this year. Told me that it is going to be the best Starfall this court has ever seen.” 

You hum, wondering just what that sly, new High Lord might have planned.

“What happens after dinner?” you ask, trailing along a path leading up to the Woodland House. You’re not sure how far it is, but you don’t mind the walk with your mate, drinking in the scenes the court has to offer.

“Then, we’ll congregate on the outer porches and there will be drinks of all kinds,” Lucein explains, perking up again. “You’re going to have to try the cinnamon one, my love. It’s my favorite.” Your mate laughs at your grimace. Cinnamon in the form of alcohol is not your favorite. “There’s also one that tastes like Yulemas. You’ll love that one.” 

“Don’t let me drink too much, Lucien Vanserra,” you tease, “Or I won’t be able to participate in the after Starfall activities.” 

You squeal as Lucein drags you off the path and presses you against a nearby tree, dipping down to taste the taunt from your lips. His tongue brushes the seam of your lips and you part easily for him, moaning when he presses his quickly thickening cock into your hip.

You’re breathless when he straightens, feeling as giddy as ever, like the first time you and he ever kissed.

“How about some pre Starfall activities, my love?” he asks, licking the remnants of you from his lips. His russet eye glows bright and his mechanical one clicks softly.

You take his hand and pull him away from the tree, dragging him back up the path. “Come on then, Vanserra. Show me what you’ve got.”

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Aching for Autumn

Lucien x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: May I request an SBA for Lucien? Where he’s kinda homesick and in the human lands or night court and you do the usual fall activists and turn your house into a mini autumn court to make him fell better? Like maybe apple picking, carving a pumpkin, etc.? I feel like Lucien needs more love.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,430

_________________________________________

“Hey you,” you greet gently as you approach your mate, who is leaning over the railing at the House of Wind, a half full glass of wine in his hand. You thread your arm through his, leaning your head on Lucien’s shoulder as you look down across the sparkling city below.

He’d snuck off since you’d arrived for dinner with the Inner Circle, opting for a few moments alone so he could silently brood over today.

The first day of autumn was always hard for Lucien, reminded of the court he was chased out of, but the good memories always seemed to bubble up at the start of fall. He so dearly missed picking apples and pumpkins with his mother for the Forest House decor. His brothers had always made fun of him for it but he loved getting alone time with the Lady of Autumn.

There’s really nothing quite like the traditions of his home court here in Night. No month-long festivals with enough spiked cider and cinnamon sugar donuts to make your stomach clench at the mere thought of consuming one more until next autumn. No field mazes to stumble into, one too many spiced rums, getting lost and having to call for help until a sentry arrived with a stern look and a horse to lead you back. No scorching bonfires, so tall you’d think they touched the moon, with stories to scare you from sleeping for days.

He really, truly missed it.

“Hi sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before he lets his own rest atop yours, sighing longingly. Around you he doesn’t have to hide.

You knew how he felt about the first day of autumn. You’d even told him that you didn’t have to go to dinner with the Inner Circle but he’d insisted he would be fine, they needed you there. 

He was set to go off in the morning, headed for Spring. As emissary to the Night Court he was in works of rebuilding a relationship with Tamlin, not that the High Lord knew he was working this closely with Rhysand. Some things were just better left unsaid.

You ached for him. Not only was he homesick, but he was being sent off to the Spring Court. Eternal spring. At least the Night Court’s cool breezes eased the longing he felt. If he closed his eyes he could pretend that he was in the Autumn Court once again.

An idea sparked in your mind and you perked up slightly, your mate looking down at you curiously.

“What is it?” his brows furrow, metal eye catching the moonlight, whirring softly as he tries to figure out that odd tweak of warmth you’d let slide down the bond.

“Oh nothing,” you respond, grinning up at him as you take the glass from his hands, taking a swig of the sweet drink.

He shakes his head fondly, “I don’t even want to know.”

“Good,” you laugh, taking his hand in your own and retreating towards the house, “Because I wasn’t going to tell you anyway.”

__________

Everything is perfect.

You’d gotten up early with your mate, spending the morning hours before the sun had even awoken with warm drinks in your hands and soft kisses shared between the two of you. He’d only be gone for the day, set to arrive home in the early hours of the evening, but your stomach twisted with worry anyway. 

Worry for him and worry for your plan.

With a final hot kiss that would leave you aching for him all day he winnowed off with a smirk, knowing exactly the effect his lips had on you.

You let the daze clear from your mind before you set to work.

There wasn’t much that you could do to transform your apartment into an autumn court paradise, but you tried your best, going out to the shops in the city for ingredients to make your mates favorite delicacies. You’d even found colorful hand knit sweaters down at one of the shops in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. The cream colored sweater had been displayed in the window, orange and brown trim jumping out at you. You’d gotten two, one in Lucien’s size and one in yours, perfect for the night ahead.

You’d had to make two trips to the city, arms full with supplies. When you thought you’d had everything you needed you returned to your apartment and set straight to work.

Building the fire in the hearth was no problem, and you collected your cinnamon and clove into a pot with a bit of water, setting it on the stovetop to simmer, smiling at the scent. Your mate would absolutely love this.

Setting up all of the cooking ingredients on the counter and pumpkins at the table you admired your work, but it didn’t seem like enough. There had to be something more that you could do. 

The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky and you frantically wracked your mind for any other ideas.

Perking up, you call out to your High Lady and snatch your coat, headed to the Rainbow.

__________

You wring your hands together nervously as you wait for Lucien to arrive home. Glancing at all of the things you had done to try and make your apartment feel like home to him, making sure everything was set up and ready to go, it was all you could do to keep your mind occupied while you waited.

You’d slipped into your own sweater, relishing in the soft fabric. Being from the Night Court you often wore darked colors so being in this cream sweater was startling, but you found you quite liked the way it made your eyes lighter, and it was so comfortable.

You hope that he likes his.

The door opens and your heart flutters nervously in your chest. You hear him pause in the entryway and you meet him halfway, clutching the large sweater to your chest.

His brows are furrowed, taking in the scene before him. The scent had hit him immediately, breath catching in his throat at the familiarity of it. Tears stung in his eye while the other one whirred in delight as he continued looking around the apartment in awe.

You’d run down to the Rainbow, praying to the Mother that Feyre was teaching one of her classes. Thankfully she was and she let you borrow the children for a few minutes, passing out paper in the colors of autumn, yellow, orange, and reds, teaching them how to fold it up and cut leaves from it.

They’d been delighted to help and you’d gathered all of the leaves up, thanking them profusely, and ran back to your apartment where you’d stuck them up to the walls, creating an autumn masterpiece.

He notes the bushel of apples on the counter and the pumpkins on the table, waiting to be carved. There’s spiced rum and the makings of cider, as well as marshmallows and chocolate and crackers near the fireplace for later. The hearth is raging but the windows are open, letting that cool fresh breeze sweep throughout the apartment, carrying the scent of spices around the space.

“I know it’s not much but…” you trail off, blushing as his eyes finally settle upon you.

“It’s everything,” he admits, pulling you into his arms. You hug him back just as tightly. You can feel the warming ache in his chest and his shuddering breath on your neck, the tear that drips from the tip of his angular nose onto your shoulder has you blinking back the mist in your own eyes.

“In that case, this is for you,” you offer, voice thick with emotion at the sight of how happy your mate is, holding up the matching sweater.

He laughs, slipping out of his shirt and you let your gaze linger on his body as he stretches the material up over his head. Your cheeks heat as he catches you but you’re not ashamed, he’s your mate and you’re allowed to look. 

You help Lucien with the sweater because you need to feel his lithe body beneath your fingers, and you’re getting distracted but he’s so beautiful you can’t help yourself.

He pulls you in close, kissing you passionately on the mouth before whispering, “Thank you (Y/N). For everything.”

You give him a soft smile in return, thrumming with warmth that you’ve helped him feel a little less homesick.

“You’re welcome Luc. So, what do you want to start with?”

[disillusioned-phantasma]

A Courtier’s Promise (Part 2)

Lucien x Reader

Summary: Part two of A Courtier’s Promise as requested by many :)

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,294

(Part 1)

Notes: I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long! Writers block, traveling, a terrible job lol. You know how it is.

_________________________________________

“What are you doing open this late? And on a holiday no less,” that voice that you’ve been unable to stop thinking about tuts, and you spin around on your heel, heart racing as you take him all in. Red hair as vivid as you remember, the plaited braids framing his face with the rest falling elegantly behind his back. His metal eye whirs and his other gleams with mischief, those perfect pink lips turned in a sly smile.

He looks incredible in his deep blue jacket and black pants, accompanied by the one thing he couldn’t seem to give up from his former court, his tall riding boots.

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear from where it had fallen from your messy hairstyle. As you glare, only his grin widens. You hadn’t planned on keeping your shop open this late during Starfall, but having no plans of your own you thought you’d catch up on a few things around the store while staying open for those last minute townsfolk might have forgotten solstice gifts.

You hadn’t dressed up in anything nice for the occasion, tying your hair back while you worked up a sweat cleaning around the bookstore, and you hadn’t been expecting Lucien of all people to show up tonight, figuring he’d be attending the lavish party the High Lord was holding.

“Oh–I don’t have anything to do tonight so I thought I’d use the time to finish up some chores,” you respond, his gorgeous smile doing nothing to slow the rapid beating of your heart.

Keep reading

[disillusioned-phantasma]

A Courtier’s Promise

Lucien x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: This may be a far stretch BUT how does this sound. A Lucien X reader where the reader owns a book shop in Velaris. It is a famous cozy bookstore where like everyone is welcome to read and relax(??) but Lucien goes in one day and starts reading the readers favorite book (he doesn’t realize) and he asks if reader has read the book or not and they say no, and to have Lucien tell them about it. Well this causes Lucien to come back to the store or then once to tell reader about more in the book (and to see them) and blah blah blah then are mates(?) maybe once he finishes the book and is like you knew this whole time (?!) then the bond snaps for him(??) I don’t know this is a long idea I had. Take all or none of it!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,153

Notes: So I rolled with most of what it was requested because it’s such a cute idea. Thanks for the request! Also peep the Day/Autumn Court references for Lucien I thought it was important to note. <3

_________________________________________

“Come on, come on,” you mutter, standing tall on the tips of your toes as you try to return a book to its home up on a high shelf.

You loved your bookshop, you really did. Settled in the heart of the city, it was a popular place for people to grab a drink or treat from one of the nearby cafes and stop in for the latest novel or chat with the other citizens of Velaris.

But putting books on shelves that were too high for you to reach was not your favorite task.

Especially when people were around.

Keep reading

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Equinox

Kinktober Day 29: Eris x Reader [Public Sex]

Summary: Anon Req: Ooo what about eris x reader public sex on his throne?

Warnings: Smut, oral (m receiving), dom x sub dynamics, exhibitionism, (mentioned voyeurism)

Word Count: 2,510

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Eris is thoughtful with his steps, as if he knows you’ve struggled all night in the tight, tall heels making your feet ache. You clutch the skirts of your elegant emerald dress, head turned towards the ground as you watch your steps, trying not to trip. You look nothing as Eris does, with his learned grace, gliding up the stairs how only one from a royal family would. Your cheeks burn hot with a blush, humiliated already at the fact that someone with a status just above farmhand would be his chosen for the night.

You can feel the eyes staring holes into your back. Jack—who escorted you on your fathers behalf—watches from his spot on the outskirts of the room, copper chalice brimmed with hearty wine clutched tightly in his fist. If he were a higher fae, he’d be burning this place to the fucking ground.

Peeking through the curtain of your hair, you note that Eris’ brothers have already started in on the fun. Pyrolas sits on his throne, females perched on the arm of each chair. There’s a male on the floor between his knees, and you can hear him begging the Autumn heir to unleash his cock from his trousers.

One Eris’ other side is Conleth. Third born, he’s the most docile of the group. You’ve heard him to be wicked with his fingers, drawing the string of his bow with such precision he could kill from a mile away. Even he seems to be participating in the equinox traditions, though the flush to his cheeks and gleam to his auburn gaze tells you that he’d needed the liquid courage to be knuckle deep in the naked male he has grinding on his lap. Lucky for him and his brothers, Beron has retired for the night, and they can claim whom they please.

A throne down from Conleth is Oakland. Ever the strategist like his oldest brother, he’s still scouring the crowd, searching for the perfect person to spend the evening with. He sits tall in his chair, body rigid, but not with confidence. You can see right through his façade. He’s nearly trembling with nerves, you can see it in the way his fingers are curled around the arms of his chair. 

His eyes meet yours and you flinch. You’re not used to meeting any of their fiery gazes, let alone more than one.

Finally at the top of the dais, Eris turns, sitting down in his seat. The way that he’s able to look down at you despite being taller than him makes a shiver wrack your spine, and the corner of his mouth tilts upwards. 

His fingers are still intertwined with yours, and he gives them a gentle sway, trying to gain your attention although he already has it, has had it since you’d stepped into the room for the Autumnal Equinox.

“On your knees, fawn.” His tone is rough, tightening the collar of your dress. Fires rage high in hearths, almost licking the rich curtains draping from ceiling to floor. The room isn’t stifling because of that, though, but because of the magic in the air, the powers of the Autumn Equinox in full effect throughout the Court’s lands. 

You can feel that heat between your legs, wetting your panties. Your skin itches with the need to be touched, to be claimed. Rapt music glides through the air, sensual and alluring. The sounds of gasps and moans of pleasure fill the air as others join in, and your eyes flutter at the sound. Eris’ russet gaze licks down your body in a wave of warmth, and you follow it, dropping between the split of his toned thighs, coming face to face with his cock, straining against navy trousers.

You twist your fingers nervously, a lump in your throat. You want this, want to give yourself over to the Autumn Gods on this festive night, want Eris to splay you out and take you for his own, worshiping each other like those very Gods did while they’d walked this continent. You want to worship them as the fae still do now, with bodies and souls, intertwined, half him, half you for the perfectly half light, half night of the day. The most perfect day of the year.

Eris brushes his fingers down your soft cheek, admiring you. His touch sends you reeling, the rest of the room disappearing as his skin brushes yours. His thumb slides across your mouth and you can’t help but to part your lips, flicking your tongue out to taste him.

His russet eyes flare at the sight. He undoes his belt with one hand, pulling at the ties. With his other hand, he dips two fingers into your mouth. You suck greedily, releasing a whimper at his taste that chokes off as he presses his fingers further. He shoves his pants down his legs and his cock springs up, all flushed and ruddy at the head. You clench your fingers in your skirts, saliva pooling in your mouth as he jerks himself once, twice. Spit drips from the sides of your mouth around his fingers, making a mess already.

“Like what you see?” Eris asks, knowing full well that you can’t respond with words. Not with his fingers caressing the inside of your throat. You nod, jostling his digits in your throat, your esophagus constricting as you try to swallow. “Want to taste?”

Your eyes roll into the back of your skull at his words, moan mixing with one of the fae occupying his brother’s throne beside you. You don’t dare look anywhere but at your closed lids or at Eris, nothing can draw your attention away from him.

His fingers fall from your mouth to cradle your head with a large hand. You lick your lips and he follows the motion of your tongue, giving himself a rough jerk, grunting at the feeling. When he looks at you like this you don’t care that he doesn’t know your name, that he’s calling you fawn, or that people are watching. Not his brothers, not your escort, not any of the males or females falling on their knees, pleading for a chance with one of the Autumn Princes. 

Eris guides your face closer to his cock and it’s now you see the pearlescent beads of precum at his slit. You want to collect those drops like the precious pearls they are, roll them around on your tongue, burn them into your memory for centuries to come.

You part your lips, hot breath ghosting over his silken skin. The muscles of his abdomen flex, and when you flick your gaze up to meet his, he’s a goner.

“Open your mouth for me, fawn. Need to see that tongue.”

Pressing the rest of the way forward, you find the confidence to take his cock in your own grip, swatting his hand away so you can stroke him and lift him to your lips. Brushing across his slip with a groan, his flavor bursts on your tongue. He’s entirely autumn, tasting of the musk of the earth, smoky wood and crisp breezes. You vow to yourself that this will not be the last time you taste him, he’s utterly addicting.

Eris chokes at the sight of you, drooling over the hard lines of his cock, licking, kissing, sucking your way around the sensitive skin. He hisses through his teeth, guiding you where he likes, shoving you down to lap at his balls. You follow obediently, showing him just how good you can be.

After giving him a thorough lick, Eris growls, having had enough of your errant teasing. By a fist of your hair, he’s allowing you to slide your lips down his cock, taking him in full. When he hits the back of your throat you gag, but he loves it, pressing you down further until you can’t breathe, his girth stretching your throat. 

It feels like a fire burning in your windpipe, stifling and hot. He jerks his hips, using his hand in your hair to guide you up and down on his cock. It makes tears prick your eyes, your cheeks flushed hot. Your nails dig into the skin of his thighs but it only spurs him on, loud moans echoing off of the walls of the ballroom.

“Fuck, fawn,” he pants, stare pinned to how you’re taking over, moving against him now, suckling his cock greedily. You’re a sight to see like this, covered in spit, cheeks stuffed full of his cock. “You feel fucking amazing.”

You moan in response to him, losing yourself in the throes of his cock in your mouth. You try to suck any noise that you can from him, enjoying the way they’re for your ears only, despite the lewd sounds accompanying the deep, heady music. 

With a hiss, Eris pulls you from his cock. You’re panting, brows furrowing sadly from the loss but Eris is caressing your cheeks with both hands again, thumbs sliding through the wetness around your mouth, cooing softly. 

“You did so well for me, fawn. I bet you’re so wet, gushing for me, aren’t you?” He asks, and you whine because yes, your thighs are pressed so tightly together they’re trembling, and none of it is stimulating your crying clit, either.

“Yes,” you plead, gripping his wrists, eyes wide. “So wet for you, prince.” 

If he’s not going to call you by your name, you won’t call him by his either.

Doesn’t seem to matter to Eris, though, because he’s shuddering and tugging you from the floor to your feet, spinning you around so his pale, freckled ass is to your audience, your hands planted on the arms of his chair as he bends you over. 

Your breath catches in your throat as he nudges his hips against yours, cock pressing into the soft fabric of your dress. You can feel his length against your hind, shivering as his fingers find the ties of your dress. His torso is pressed tight to your back and his breath is hot in your ear as his teeth graze your cheek.

“Do you want me to bend you over my throne, little fawn, or would you like to ride my cock?” 

It’s surprising that he’s giving you the choice, a prince so often used to his demands being listened to. This…you…you are different though. The surge of fire within him is not that of lust. It’s a slow roiling of hot coals, compact with heat. They stir, embers flaring at the sight of your exposed skin while he slips your dress further and further down your back, exposing your creamy skin.

Your body is squeezed tight; eyes shut at the feeling of his fiery touch licking down your spine, your thighs clenched, cunt dripping and aching with need. Your muscles are constricted, body shaking with anticipation. Your mind whirls, trying to make sense of his words.

“Cock,” you gasp as he palms over your newly exposed breasts. The bite of the ballroom hardens your nipples, but the warmth of Eris’ fingers soothes them. You shudder with pleasure, arching into his chest at your back. “Want to sit on your cock, prince.” 

His cock jumps at your use of his title. He growls deeply, nipping at your ear. Your whimper carries on an autumn breeze, down the line of thrones to Pyrolas, who uses his minute wind magic to listen in. Eris’ eye blaze brightly as he shoots his younger brother a searing glare. Pyrolas’ powers had come in handy often when they were young and listened in on conversations they shouldn’t have been, but now that the second born knows how to use them to his advantage, Eris is more careful than not when he speaks.

But he will not be sharing you, despite the fact that the room is crowded with courtiers and patrons under their rule. 

He will show them all who you belong to.

“I was hoping you’d say that, little fawn,” he murmurs, lips hot against your throat. Eris stands and you shiver at the loss of his warmth, straightening and spinning around on your heel, chasing him. He’s only stepped away to undress, fingers quickly maneuvering the buttons of his shirt open. It slides from his broad, freckle smattered shoulders like butter.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Eris kicks away the rest of his trousers, allowing you to get your fill. Rippling muscles line his body. He’s cut and hard like his bobbing cock, waiting so prettily for you.

He sits on his throne, one leg straight out, looking ever like the arrogant prince he’s supposed to be. His smirk only adds to his front, and he offers you a hand.

Taking it, you allow Eris to help you, parting your thighs across each of his muscular ones.

He takes himself in his hand, jerking once before he’s sliding his hot tip against your folds. You gasp, shuddering at the feeling, hips circling softly, following his cock like a magnet. Eris’ smirk turns wolfish as you chase, allowing you to sink down on his girth.

“Fuck,” he hisses, because the wetness of your cunt feels too damn good. “Trying to stifle my flames, fawn?”

You can hardly even reply, fingers curling into the meat of his shoulders as you rise. There is no taking things slow. The bite of his cock stretching your walls feels too good, the sensual music combined with the moans floating through the air and the grunts Eris makes is euphoric, the feeling of him penetrating you, cock so lengthy it hits your womb everytime you sink down. Everything feels like fire in your bones, your heart, your blood. 

You’re hot all over, messy between your thighs, but Eris seems to be enjoying himself, watching hungrily as your head rolls back on your shoulders with pleasure. When he can no longer control himself, his fingers are pressing into your thighs harshly, guiding your body faster, up and down and up and down. He leans forward, lips suctioning to the skin of your throat because it’s exposed and he’s hungry, his fires need kindling to burn brighter.

The drapes on the walls set alight as his pleasure crests. The air becomes scolding and you can hardly breathe. His touch burns your body in the best way. He’s hitting that bundle of nerves inside of you with each thrust he makes, and you don’t even know when you stopped bouncing for him, allowing him to hold you steady and buck his hips like a desperate male. 

Your body courses with heat and you cum with a cry, collapsing into him. Eris fucks you through it, your pleasure spaking his own. He follows you with a heady groan, teeth gnashing at your skin. The press of his hold, the graze of his teeth feel as though he’s trying to brand you with every part of his body pressed to yours. His hot cum between your legs sears, marking you.

Claiming you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist:@bunnymallowo@jeannineee@icey–stars@hannzoaks@harrystylesfan2686@azriels-shadowsinger @alysena2 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @impossibelle @glitterypirateduck @reading-moongirl

[disillusioned-phantasma]

In the Palm of My Hand

Kinktober Day 15: Eris x Reader [Wax Play]

Summary: After a long journey throughout the Autumn Court, Eris draws you a candlelit bath.

Warnings: Smut, oral (m receiving), wax play

Word Count: 2,420

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“Eris,” you hiss in pleasure, sliding down into the tub of steaming water. Fresh scents of eucalyptus and his spicy aroma of ginger waft around the large washroom. You close your eyes in bliss, “This is perfect.”

“Only the best for you, fawn,” Eris responds, and the lilt in his voice makes you peek your eyes open. Those amber eyes sparkle with adoration, pride, because you’re enjoying the bath he’d demanded be set up for you. It had been a long week for the both of you, traveling throughout the Autumn Court to check in on its towns and citizens, something that Beron would never do. You’d listened to more complaints than compliments, but it was a way for Eris to show that he cared, to solidify that when the time came, things would change for the better.

You follow his deft fingers as they languidly work the buttons of his mossy green shirt. There’s a smirk on his face that promises mischief and it has your thighs clenching together under the bubbly water, heat pooling low in your gut, and fingers clenching around the rim of the tub. 

“Thank you,” you answer softly, toeing at the porcelain of the tub as the fabric falls from his body like butter, revealing the broad, pale skin of his shoulders, smattered with freckles. Your spine straightens as your gaze dips down the planes of his chest, those rippling abs to the cutting lines of his hips, framing his cock. His pants are low and his cock is stiff and your mouth pools with saliva at the sight.

Eris hums, toying with you more. His powers flare to life and you gasp as the candles throughout the room light as one. The faelights dim and Eris’ perfectly sculpted body is doused in shadows that only make him look stronger, more delicious as he works at the ties of his pants.

You sink into the water the lower his trousers fall. It only adds to your arousal, the warmth of the water brushing over your prickled skin. Your eyes don’t leave his actions, and the water slips over your collarbones just as his cock springs from its confines, bobbing with need. You don’t stop until the bubbly waters tap your nose. Eris drinks you in as he raises to his full height, and you fingers snake between your legs as his hand moves to grab ahold of his cock, teasing it once, twice, before the gasp you let out when you graze your sensitive clit has him making the final steps to join you in the tub. 

He steps into the water, one foot on each side of your body. You stare up at him, past the cock you so desperately want to sit forward and pull into your mouth. Precum drips at the tip, catching the light and you arch for him, nipples hardening as they poke through the water.

Eris’ eyes are ablaze and the flames of the candles flicker at your display. The water grows hotter—an unintentional slip of his power—but the rush of heat only mirrors between your legs and you squirm in pleasure. He could have you, just like this if he wanted, but Eris always wants more.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut in pleasure until Eris’ large hands strokes a gentle line around the curve of your jaw. Blinking, you meet that molten gaze of his, pressing further into his touch. He guides you up, and you really have to stretch to meet his cock straight on. It’s flushed at the tip, hard, silken lines taunting you, beckoning you like a siren. You itch to trace the point of your tongue across the vein that travels down the length, disappearing into the brush of hair at the base. 

Your gaze flickers to meet his and Eris curses low, biting his lip. You look incredible like that, droplets of water sliding down your skin, dripping down your chin and over the curve of your breasts that are brushed with blush. He pictures you like this, but it’s his cum dripping down your body, tainting the waters white. Your doe eyes are round and innocent, but he knows you’re anything but, and the slight part to your pinkened lips make his hips twitch forward, a barely there movement that of course, you catch.

There’s a question in his eyes that you ignore, because this bath is supposed to be relaxing and for your pleasure, but nothing gives you more delight than watching your mate succumb to your actions. 

Slowly, you lean forward. You don’t break his gaze, that’s becoming harder and harder as the heat of his cock sits right at the entrance of your mouth. You watch Eris tremble as your shallow breaths breeze over his cock, his eyes taking on a glow.

The only sound that can be heard is your hand leaving the waters. It splashes loudly back into the tub, popping bubbles at their aggressive patters. But your grip is light as you tentatively touch his girth, skimming your heated fingers across the soft skin. You flick your tongue out, brushing it against his slit with such a gentleness it makes Eris groan low. His hips buck but you’ve already drawn back, keeping the smirk itching it’s way onto your face hidden, in favor of looking up at him, a mask of pure innocence.

But he’s not going to beg. This is your bath and you’re in charge. At least, for right now. Maybe when he’s worked up more he’ll grab you and wrestle you around until you’re sitting right on his cock. He’ll turn on the tap and fill the tub until it’s sloshing over the sides with your frantic movements as you ride him, head thrown back in pleasure as he heats his cock with his powers and your head falls back on your shoulders—

Eris hisses, blinking back to reality as you mouth down the side of his cock. The gentle hand he has caressing your jaw slides into the hair at the nape of your neck, taking hold in a firmer grip. You hum in pleasure and the reverberations in his cock go straight to his spine. Eris’ breath hitches, abdomen contracting, and you press your legs tightly, dulling the ache of your throbbing clit only slightly.

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft before taking him into your mouth. His cock is a warm weight against your tongue and you press down, down, down, swirling your tongue until his head hits the back of your throat. Your hand jerks the rest of his length as you pull back so slowly Eris is trying his best not to follow you, to use that hand he has gripped in your hair to hold your head still and fuck deep into your mouth. 

He plants a hand on the wall, bracing himself as you work that wicked tongue down again. His cock is slick in your mouth and when you hollow your cheeks he nearly shouts. The muscles of his thighs flex and you use your free hand to trace a line, following the tremors. 

“That’s it, fawn,” he breathes when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat again. You don’t pull away this time, instead, he lets you rearrange yourself so you’re perched on your knees, giving you a better vantage point as you relax your throat, taking his cock deeper. Eris brushes his thumb across your cheek, hips leaning into you when there’s a little resistance. “Just like that.”

You keen in response, hand sliding along his body to find his own. You need to hold it, let him ground you while the air is choked from your lungs. His cock stretches your throat the deeper you take him and you can feel the way your body greedily takes him. Eris intertwines your fingers with his, holding onto you so tightly it makes your cunt clench.

Nudging against his cock, you peer up at him through the prickles of tears lining your eyes. His face goes soft but you’re bobbing again and he nearly shouts. You don’t want him to be soft on you, you want him to take, and he must see this in your movements, your gaze, because his amber eyes turn bright and he’s pulling all the way out only to cut off your desperate gasp for air with his cock again.

Your free hand slips between your legs, finding your swollen clit. The whimper that breaks from your mouth when Eris pulls far enough back again has his knees nearly giving out. You work your fingers faster, but Eris is a jealous male. He wants to be the one drawing those noises from you with his own fingers, with his tongue and cock, so with a final, deep thrust of his hips to your face, he pulls out.

The protest is cut off as Eris lifts you with ease, crashing his mouth against yours. Immediately, your hands rise to wrap around his neck. He holds you close, pressing your body up against his as he carefully eases back into the water, you straddling his hips.

His cock is hot between your thighs, rubbing through your folds with intention. He didn’t like that you were playing with yourself, if the two inch flames flickering angrily from the candles is anything to go by. But you’re too lost in the taste of him against your lips, the way he cradles your head and plunges his tongue to meet yours, the breathy sounds coming from him every time your cunt settles at the tip of his cock, only for you to slide across it again.

“Don’t play with me, fawn,” Eris’s breath is hot against yours, and he nips at your lip.

You bury your fingers into those deep, amber locks, holding him close. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing the entire time, love?” You rock against him again and it only makes him surge forward, attaching his lips to your neck, mouthing down the swell of your breast to twist his tongue roughly around your pert nipple. 

The sudden motion has you knocking into one of the candles, and you arch into Eris as it falls, the hot wax splattering up your arm. You gasp sharply, hips grinding harder against Eris’ cock as the feeling zips up your spine. 

Eris pulls away, staring up at you through lidded-eyes. He’s curious, pulling the candle from the water and examining it. Your chest heaves and excitement buzzes beneath your skin. “You like that, don’t you, fawn?” You bite your lip, blushing as you nod. The heat against your skin has always been something you’ve taken pleasure in, thanks to the safety of exploring it with your mate, but the concentrated fires of the melted wax, the prick of pleasure that accompanies it, isn’t something you’ve realized you wanted to try. Eris’ eyes are bright with an idea. “If you sit on my cock, I’ll let you play with the wax.”

You can barely contain your moan, eagerly pushing onto your knees, reaching down to align his cock with your entrance. The deep, breathy noise you let out as you sink down on him fully has Eris’ hips rolling already, and you plant your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, getting used to the stretch. 

You watch as the candle melts in his hand. Your heart picks up pace, pounding as it drips down the length of his arm, splashing into the waters below. You roll your hips at the sight of Eris covered in the milky wax, bobbing up and down on his cock in anticipation.

Heat coils in your gut as Eris brings his hand closer. Little drops of wax drip onto your skin, each patter of the hot substance pulling little mewls and moans for more. It makes your back arch into him and then he’s spilling more of it between your pressed bodies, the both of you sharing lewd moans as you dive down to kiss him. 

It’s delicious, the feeling. Eris’ cock pressed hot into your cunt, the fiery wax hardening cool on your skin. You writhe on his cock, eager for more.

He grabs another candle from the rim of the tub. The wicks are ablaze with fires high, melting the wax of the candles quicker. He loves the reactions it’s pulling from you, when he drizzles the hot substance down your back the way you tuck in closer, rubbing your chest against his. The way you’re holding onto him, digging your fingers into his skin as if he’ll save you from the burning. It makes the inferno in his heart flare, seeing how much you love the fiery parts of his soul.

Eris groans. The way your hips undulate at a pace he’s never seen before has his gut coiling, cock throbbing with need. You’re eager and clenching for more. The way that it makes your head roll back on your shoulders so he has more room to work, mouthing across your skin, wax following in his wake.

You shout his name. Your mind is a muddled mess, pliable and needy. You hardly recognize the way your body is moving, taking, and the way Eris lets you, urges you to take more, to use him for your pleasure. It wracks long shudders through your body, and the tips of Eris’ fingers are heated as he presses them to your clit.

The fires are your undoing.

You cum with a cry, body jerking, grinding against his. You hold him close, leaning into him. The candles in his hands melt completely, running through his fingers onto the skin of your hips as he takes hold of you, moving your body and drawing out your orgasm.

Eris cums right along with you, the heat that pools your body from his cum feels so good, but it’s almost too much. The warmth of the water in the bath, the temperature of the wax still dripping down your skin, the heat of his cock and cum stuffed deep inside of you. You are a puddle, melting against him.

Your chest heaves and Eris cradles you until you come to again, when the wax has cooled and there’s shivers sweeping up your back but you don’t want to move yet. Or maybe you can’t, you don’t know.

All you know is a pleasure so intense, you’ll never be the same again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist: @bunnymallowo @jeannineee @icey--stars @hannzoaks @harrystylesfan2686 @azriels-shadowsinger @alysena2 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @impossibelle @glitterypirateduck @reading-moongirl

[disillusioned-phantasma]

You Know I Always Liked Playing with Fire

Eris x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Hiii could you write a fic Eris x mate. Eris’s brother is hooking up with/dating his mate and has been seeing her for a while. Eris has never bothered to meet her. One day he runs into her and realizes she is his mate. They end up hooking up and Eris is super competitive in bed.

Warnings: Smut, slight masochism, Eris’ brother is kind of a sadist.

Word Count: 3,080

Notes: I ran with most of this idea but changed it up a little bit. I hope you enjoy it either way because I sure know I do 🥵💙

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Dinner with the Vanserra’s was always…a treat.

Everything felt so stiff and forced beneath the harsh gaze of the High Lord of Autumn, but you forced yourself to go to all of the ones you were invited to because you loved the second eldest of the Autumn sons, Pyrolas.

But you knew deep down that the molten feeling in your core was not Pyrolas’ doing, but Eris’. 

The way that he stares at you from across the table, amber eyes blazing as Pyro leans over in his chair to kiss your shoulder, not a care in the world if Beron or the other guests see.

Keep reading

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Creepy Campfire

Eris x Reader

Summary: Anon Requests: "No but like could you imagine Eris giving you his flannel cause it’s chilly in the fields and you didn’t bring a jacket? But also it smells like him and you refuse to give it up? Or carving pumpkins with Eris and you’re complete shit at it but Eris loves your design and says it’s the best one he ever saw? Or just sitting by a fire at night, telling scary and spooky stories?

He would 100% say how much he hates doing the usual ‘Autumn Court’ activists but secretly love them because it brings you so much joy and how can he deny you? He’d be such a softie for you and only you."

and

"Eris taking you to a bonfire, they tell scary stories which he totally didn’t plan out so he could comfort you."

Warnings: None, fluffy goodness.

Word Count: 1,072

Notes: But what if Eris and his brothers all got along 😭😭

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You really hate camping.

Every time you had been inside of the Autumn woods was not by choice. There was something about the stories you’d been told as a child that had stuck with you; the twisting vines in the canopies and floor bed below, slithering and alive, just waiting for a tiny child to wander into the forest alone.

You knew that it wasn’t true, that they were just stories parents told their young to keep them from running into the woods surrounding the cities, dangerous for many other reasons, but as you sit on a thick log next to Eris as his brothers tell you other scary lores, you really regretted agreeing to go camping.

“And it’s disfigured hands clawed deep marks into the trees in this very woods,” the second oldest brother, Pyro, explains. The flames illuminate his face in such a terrifying way, his voice crackling and low as he tells his story, those fiery eyes twisted and blazing like the creature he speaks of, “Some say that it still dwells here, survived the hunters blades and is looking for a pretty little female to–”

Hands clamp down on your shoulders and you scream, bolting to your feet. You lose your footing, slipping on the dewey leaves that had begun falling from the trees, but Eris is there, catching you close to his chest with an amused smirk as you wrap your arms tightly around him.

His rust eyes burn bright, the raging fire reflecting in his pupils, lighting up his angular face. The freckles on his cheeks look exactly like the embers dancing in the air around you. The smell of smoke is thick in the air but you catch the scent that is purely him as he holds you tightly, cider and cinnamon mixed with the tinge of the whiskey Pyro had stolen from their father’s cabinet.

“Oak,” you shout, glaring at the fourth Vanserra brother who’d just burst from the thick brush behind you, grabbing you and yelling like a banshee, “You dick!”

Eris watches you and his brothers squabble, amber eyes intense as he admires you, his little firesprite. He doesn’t relinquish his grip on you when you remove one arm from around the princlings neck to flip off his siblings, only puffs out a breathy laugh as your other hand grips the back of his jacket tighter, and his cheeks pink up at the action, praying to the Mother that you don’t look over and catch him in the act.

He definitely didn’t bribe Pyro to tell a scary story on their annual camping trip and he absolutely would never buy Oak a brand new blade in exchange for frightening you as their brother uttered the horrifying tale.

“And you,” you turn on him and he splutters, offended of how you could think such a thing, that he’d been the mastermind behind all of this. Pyro and Oak snicker from across the fire as you continue, “I know you had something to do with this!”

“Now why would I do such a thing?” he asks, trying his best to hold back from laughing or kissing that angry look off of your face, “When I know that you don’t even like camping to begin with.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “Yeah, a real angel is what you are,” you mutter, sliding from his lap back into your seat. His touch lingers like he doesn’t want to let you go and you blame the heating of your cheeks on your anger and the fire licking warmly at your face.

“Oh come on (Y/N),” Oak starts, pulling a marshmallow from the campfire. It’s a little blaze at the tip of his stick and you scrunch your nose in disgust as he blows the fluffy sweet out and sticks it in his mouth, charred skin and all. “He likes you too much to do something like that.”

You don’t believe the three foxes for a second, ignoring the look Eris shoots his little brothers, warning them to shut their mouths.

“Yeah,” Pyro adds, sly smile hidden behind the mouth of the bottle as he takes a large swig, eyes glossy with the liquor, “Eris loooves you.” He makes exaggerated kissy noises across the fire and Oak elbows his brother, snagging the bottle from his hand and washing down the sticky treat with the dark drink.

You glance at Eris from the corner of your eye, heart thumping in your chest like a drum. If looks could kill…

“You are such a brat, Pyrolas,” Eris grits, fists clenched tightly in his lap. The fire flickers before you, shooting deep into the night sky at his temper. His cheeks are hotter than the inferno he’s turned the measly campfire into, and it has you raising your arms to hide your face from the heat.

When he catches your reaction the flames immediately die out and he’s reaching out for you, murmuring soft apologies, fearful that he’s hurt you. 

“I’m alright,” you tell him gently, placing a hand over his slightly shaking one. You give him a small smile, “It’s okay, Eris.”

He shakes his head, releasing an unsteady breath. He never wanted you to be scared of him. Not ever.

“Is it true?” you whisper, all too aware of his younger brothers’ eyes on the both of you.

His gaze darts between your eyes and you’re not sure he’s going to respond until he give the tiniest nod of his head, breathing out a delicate ‘yes.’

Your serious expression splits into a wide grin, eyes sparkling at he gazes down at you like a kicked fox. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him towards you. The heir topples over, not expecting your reaction, his hands scrambling to steady himself on the log but you don’t care, pressing your lips to his in a feverish kiss.

Eris reacts immediately, shutting his eyes as his hand winds up to caress your face, sliding around to tangle his fingers at the hair at the nape of your neck, keeping you from pulling away.

Your heart is soaring, finally you were getting what you so desperately ached for but was too nervous to pursue.

You laugh against his mouth as Oak and Pyro begin hooping and hollering, so loud they’ll scare away any of the night creatures in the forest for miles.

Perhaps you don’t mind camping after all.

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Sweeter Than Pie

Eris x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Can you do something like you’re from a different court visiting autumn and like Eris is super sweet to you, and taking you to the apple orchards and teaching you his mothers secret recipe for apple pie or something?

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,356

Notes: Okay so I focused more on the baking the pie part but I hope you enjoy this nonetheless. 💙

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“Eris, it’s not anywhere in here,” you call over your shoulder from where you’re standing atop one of the expensive stools, elbow deep in a cabinet searching for the pie dish. “I swear you sent me up here so you could sneak a scoop of ice cream.”

“My Love,” he laughs, and you narrow your eyes because it definitely sounds like he’s chewing on something, “I would never.”

You humph, shoving holiday dishes aside, scouring for this specific container. “I’m not seeing it. Why does it have to be this one again?” You ask, squealing when he gives your bum a playful pinch. You nearly teeter off of the stool, grabbing onto the shelf to steady yourself and glare down at the auburn haired male with the cheeky smile on his face.

He holds his arms up to you, gesturing you downwards so that he can take a look. You plant your hands on his shoulders as he grips the back of your thighs, letting you slip down in his grasp until your feet are firmly planted on the ground once again.

“Because,” he brushes a messy strand of hair from your face, “It wouldn’t be my mother’s famous apple pie if we didn’t use the pie dish with the burgundy leaves and court insignia on it.”

He tries to dip down for a kiss but you catch a whiff of chocolate dipped caramel he swore were for you on his breath and you cross your arms over your chest instead, raising an eyebrow defiantly. “Then why weren’t you the one looking for it this whole time instead?”

He shrugs, smirking down at you. Eris gives you a tap on the hip, a silent invitation to move out of his way so he can climb up on the stool, which you gladly do because you’d love to see his muscular figure balancing on top of that tiny chair.

“Let me take a look. Why don’t you start washing up the apples?” he offers, gesturing to the bushel of freshly picked apples gleaming on the counter. You give him a pointed look, grumbling about how you are doing all of the difficult tasks while he gets to lean against the counter and eat your chocolates while enjoying the view of you up on that dreaded stool.

His muffled laughter is answer enough.

You’re starting to think that Eris has no idea where anything in the kitchen is, having had all of his meals made for him his entire life. But he swore that he’d helped his mother make this specific pie every year on the first day of fall, a tradition that has been happening for over 500 years.

But as he directs you towards different cabinets to pick out ingredients, you decide that your mate is full of shit.

He’d shooed away the kitchen staff in a hurry, reassuring them that he didn’t need assistance, that he could manage his own way around. Their shared looks were the first clue to you that Eris had no idea what he was doing.

Your gaze catches on the opened box of chocolates and you shoot him a sour look over your shoulder but he’s up on the stool, back facing you. Reaching in for a chocolate of your own you take a moment to admire the view.

He’s dressed casually, white button down tucked into navy pants, the strong muscles of his back contorting beneath his pale shirt and the curve of his ass is immaculate in them as you watch, licking the remnants of the chocolate from your fingers.

Eris lets out a whoop of excitement, holding the dish over his shoulder so you can see, “Found it!”

“Good for you,” you grumble, turning to pluck a beautiful green apple up.

“Careful Love,” his voice startling as he appears next to you, triumphant. “Your Winter Court is showing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, taking the dish from him and examining it for a moment. It has a large crack in the center of the porcelain and you’re not sure if there’s some sort of magic holding it together or why it’s cracked but it tugs on your heartstrings for as long as you look at it.

“My father tried to break it once,” his voice is soft and you can hear the hurt undertone. You ache, seeing the sad look in his eye but he’s staring at the container in your hands. “Didn’t like that I was having too much fun with my mother. Said that baking isn’t what future High Lords do. Shoved the dish off of the counter and I tried to catch it, but…” he chuckles wetly, “Had to do combat training three times a day for a week because of it.”

You’re silent, staring down at the intricate painted leaves and the Autumn Court crest stares back at you, a chip in one of the vines twining around it, missing from when it had broken. You don’t know what to say, you can imagine a younger Eris, laughing wildly as he prepares his favorite pie with his mother, before Beron had to ruin it.

He seemed to be the one ruining all of the Autumn princelings' lovely memories.

“Eris–”

“But hey, it’s fixed now, so let’s use it, shall we?” 

You set the plate gently on the counter, turning to him and tugging him into you by his shirt, hugging him close. His hands wind around your waist, holding on just as tight.

“Should we invite her?” you ask when he pulls away, meaning the Lady of Autumn. You’ve never met her before, don’t even know if she knows about your relationship with her oldest, but this is their tradition and you feel as if you shouldn’t be here.

He hushes you with a thankful kiss, “That’s very generous my Love, but she told me it’s time I show you how and that she’d love a taste when we’re done.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest. “Besides, three’s a crowd.”

It sounds as if the Lady already approves of you and her son being together.

It doesn’t take long to core and peel the ripe apples with Eris’ help, though it seems as if he’s snacking on more than he’s cutting.

“Er,” you groan as you watch him stack a piece of your chocolate caramels on a thick slice of apple before taking a bite, his eyes rolling into the back of his head in bliss. “You’re going to spoil it if you keep eating the ingredients.”

He tuts playfully, offering you the second half which you take with a winning smile. He sucks the stray caramel from his thumb and gives you his signature smirk in return. “Is that all you wanted, (Y/N)?”

“Maybe,” you mutter with a blush, turning back to the work before you. He laughs heartily and you can’t stop the grin crossing your lips. “But seriously, you’re going to make yourself sick.”

“You sound just like my mother,” he rolls his eyes, pressing the crust you tasked him with into the bottom of the dish, careful fingers gently doing their job.

“Well she’s a smart female,” you tell him knowingly as he passes you the dish to start inserting the filling while he watches from over your shoulder.

“She is,” he agrees, settling his hands atop yours so you can both place the doughy top upon the filled pie. “As are you.”

“You flatter me,” you muse, poking holes into the top of the pie with a fork.

“Flatter me back,” Eris whines playfully, taking the pie from you and placing it into the oven.

It warms you to see him so relaxed, so at ease in your presence. 

You shake your head fondly, stepping into his awaiting arms, “You are far more like your mother than you know. Kind and compassionate, honest and handsome,” he blushes pink at your words and you continue, caressing his cheek, “You should let more people see this part of you, Eris.”

He kisses your palm, staring down at you earnestly, eyes sparkling, “Someday, my Love. Someday.”

[disillusioned-phantasma]

In the Foxholes

Eris x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Heyy! Can you write something smut with Eris? Like, he and the reader look at the stars near the war camp (for war with hybern) when it gets cold they go into the tent where they do what they do

Warnings: Smut!

Word Count: 2,421

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You couldn’t sleep.

Not with the screams of agony from the wounded ringing in your ears, the pleas to the Mother for a moment's reprieve, the anguished mourning, the fleeting prayers all ringing in your ears, the metallic tang of blood and death in the air burning your nostrils–

“There you are,” Eris’ voice is soft as he climbs down into the trench, jolting you from your thoughts. He settles against the hard, earthy wall you’re leaning up against, crossing one leg over the other. His face melts from worry into something softer as he gazes longingly at you, his fingers finding yours and twining together, squeezing gently.

The night air is crisp with Autumn winds, a wintery tinge hidden in the scent of slaughter as the breeze blows by, sending a shiver up your spine. The days seem to run together much like the blood red river you’d had to cross to get back to camp, filled with nothing but fighting Hybern’s troops by your mates’ side. You’re sore and tired, but everytime you close your eyes you only see the slain. Minor injuries litter your skin, you notice the way Eris takes in each and every one with those meticulous amber eyes.

It’s overwhelming, war. Not once had you stopped thinking about the injured, the lives lost both innocent and guilty, the ones that are still to be lost as the battle rages on. Tomorrow will be today all over again, marching out onto that field at first light and praying to the Mother that you’ll live to see another day.

You look away from the stars and to your mate, the smattering of freckles across his cheeks the exact pattern of the galaxy above. His thick burnished copper hair is matted down from his helmet, sweaty and sticking up in places where he’s run his fingers through it aimlessly. His creamy skin looks raw and red, like he’s tried to scrub away the blood, but there’s a ring of crimson around his hairline where he didn’t quite reach.

There’s a new scar tracing down the side of his face, pink and agitated, dipping below the collar of his armor would rest if he donned it now. The sight has you sitting up straight and tracing it softly, your mate wincing as the rough pad of your thumb tugs across the wound but he lets you. Your heart picks up at the thought of Eris hurt in battle, finally meeting his soft eyes.

He takes your hand in his, kissing your palm gently. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You have to hold back the grimace fighting its way to your face at the sight. Surely there’s blood trapped in the creases of your skin, even though you’d scrubbed and scrubbed until you broke down, staring at your reflection in the ruddy water. Frowning, you respond, “What happened?”

Why didn’t I feel it through the bond, is what you really want to ask, heart stinging at the thought of him steeling himself from you so you wouldn’t know he was injured.

The heir shrugs, shifting his gaze back up at the star–smattered sky. “Got caught off guard. He’s dead now,” he says simply, though it’s anything but.

“Eris,” you scold, giving his fingers a squeeze of warning. He doesn’t want a lecture right now so he interrupts you instead.

“What are you doing out here?”

He already knows, understands that war is a new experience for you. He himself had been in plenty, and heard of plenty more. He’d been educated, learned and listened to the songs of battle since he was young, his father drilling him on nothing less. A well–trained heir to the throne and nothing less.

You keep silent, you don’t need to say anything. He can feel the emotions screaming through the bond: anguish, fear, anger. You want to feel something else, need to feel like this is all going to have a positive impact on the courts, and you wonder when this is all going to end.

Leaning your head on Eris’ shoulder, he brings his free hand up to card through your hair. His fingers get caught almost immediately on the dried blood and mud caked in your usually silky soft strands. He snaps once and you're free from the muck, though you still feel like you’re covered in it. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to wash away what you’ve done during this war.

He catches you yawning, the familiar warmth and comfort a constant flow from him to you settles you some, eyes drooping at the relaxing feeling.

The breeze picks up, licking at your exposed neck and you shiver against him. It has the Autumn royal ushering you to your feet, which ache and hurt from standing on them all day long.

Eris leads you silently through the camp and it feels like every step is harder and harder to take. The events are heavy on your shoulders, the sights and smells and sounds weigh down on you and you don’t think that you can handle it. A squeeze of warm fingers intertwined with yours has you receding from your own mind, pulling your focus to your mate.

You don’t realize how fast the walk to your tent had been while you were spacing out, as Eris pushes open the flaps of the canvas shelter for you to enter.

You’ve never seen a sadder bed look more appealing. The small cot was obviously built for one, with its lumpy insides, scratchy blanket and deflated pillow. You’d been sharing with Eris since the war started, though he was away more often than he was sleeping in it, helping his father with battle plans and the sort. You’d cringe at your negative thoughts but you’re much too tired, slinking your way towards the bed, discarding your clothes and dropping them to the floor as you go. You’ll pick them back up in the morning and put them back on, ready for another age of war.

Collapsing on the bed face first you shut your eyes, breathing in deeply. How it smells like Eris you don’t know, if it was a trick he’d placed on it you were thankful, his scent slowly easing the tension from your body. 

Little do you know, that your exhausted display of shedding your garments and tossing them to the floor carelessly in favor of going to bed has aroused the male following you into the tent.

Eris had been terrified when the blade of his enemy had kissed his skin, splittin the delicate flesh between his jaw and neck open. He’d immediately locked the feeling from you, knowing that you were also somewhere on the battlefield, and if you’d felt his fear through the bond your own weapon would’ve faltered and he couldn’t have that happening, lest it leave someone the room to strike.

There was a part of him where he didn’t think he would make it, choking and coughing on his own blood as he parried and retaliated, his body hot with adrenaline. He didn’t want your last feeling of him to be one of helplessness or fright, he needed not to lose you.

The bed dips and he straddles you from behind, a heavy weight settling between the curve of your ass. Your eyes jolt open over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your mate who gives you an easy smile, pouring some oil into his hands and warming it between his palms.

“What are you–oh,” you moan when he sets his lathered fingers upon your skin, massaging into the tender muscles gently. It feels heavenly and you fist the sheets in ecstasy.

“Relax, (Y/N). Let me take care of you,” he soothes, kneading your taut shoulders. It hurts in the best way, loosening the tense muscles from the long battle. Tears prick your eyes at his words. Here is a male who is already carrying such a weight of the war, helping you destress. Eris really is the perfect mate.

The delicious moans and groans you make go straight to his cock and you can feel it growing against your ass, your blood heating with pleasure. It hadn’t been his plan to bed you like this, but after the scare he had today, the cold metal kissing his skin, he needs to feel you, what he could have lost.

“Eris,” you whine, and he realizes that you’ve been trying to turn over beneath him. He was enraptured by your beauty – as he often is – his slick hands sliding down your spine. It’s why he doesn’t let himself fight near you during the war, he’d be too distracted watching you slay his enemies and just the thought has his prick jumping with need. He lets you flip, spreading your legs wider for him to fit between, his length a comforting press to your thigh.

He ducks down, lips meeting yours in a burning kiss. Your fingers trail up the ridges of muscles on his exposed arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before burying them into his already mused hair. You scratch lightly – his favorite thing – and he growls against your mouth, the reverberations of this noise going straight to your groin, your toes curling in the sheets.

You forget everything, utterly enveloped in the male pressing into you. And maybe you should feel guilty as you drown out the sounds of the injured, forget about the lumpy cot beneath the both of you, but that fire licking both down the bond and over your exposed skin pulls you from the harrows of the past few weeks.

His mouth is rough as he goes, desperate to feel every single part of you pressed up against him, the female he nearly lost. He drags his lips across your pert nipple before biting at it gently, soothing it immediately with a lap of his tongue and you arch into him, the hand you have at the nape of his neck pulling him tighter against you.

“Er,” his nickname is a sigh of pleasure and he shudders, capturing his mouth with his in a rough kiss, grinding into you fully. He hadn’t heard that name from your lips for weeks, during more serious moments or when you were surrounded by his family you kept the endearment to yourself, for his ears only.

His hand snakes down your body, the warmth from his fingertips makes you squirm with delight, his fingers moving deftly, shifting his own hips and parting yours further, a featherlight pass between your folds to swirl in your slick, teasing your entrance.

He swallows your pleas. Every single one of them has him kissing you more feverishly, devouring the sounds spilling from your swollen lips. You tug on his hair and he finally relents, sliding two fingers into your cunt.

You clench around him, head thrown back into the pillow in ecstasy. Eris kisses down your neck, pleased with the new real estate, sucking dark marks into your soft flesh, pulling back to admire his work and your satisfied face.

“Please,” you whine, fingers scrambling against his skin, trying to tug him closer. Your mind is already hazy with need, your loving mate doting on you, making sure that you’re okay as he works to take you apart.

“Okay baby,” he shushes, removing his fingers he trails them up your body, his tongue trailing sensually. When he reaches your mouth he shares the taste with you, the head of his cock resting at your entrance. “I’ve got you.”

All thoughts eddy from your head as he presses into you, body going lax at the drag of his long dick sliding against your walls as he bottoms out. It’s been too long since you’ve had him like this, the war taking up most of you and your mates focus and time.

Your eyes sting with tears and you swallow thickly before admitting your thoughts. “I’ve missed you.”

Eris halts, a shuddering exhale fanning across your face as he stares down at you, brushing your hair back with a shaky hand. “It will all be over soon, my Love.”

And you trust the promise in his eyes, so earnest in the amber that you raise your head and kiss him tenderly, holding him even closer to you as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him down to rest his hips against yours.

“I love you, Eris.” The bond and his cock pulse at your words.

“I love you too, (Y/N),” he responds with a jerk of his hips, sucking the cry out of your mouth.

He makes quick work of it, sensing how utterly exhausted you are. He’ll let you sleep in as much as he can tomorrow while he meets with his father and allied High Lords, walking through the next few days of attack. 

He doesn’t know how they’ll pull this off, winning this war against Hybern, but for now he revels in the time he has with you, canting his hips into yours at a new angle, relishing in your pleasured moans.

Eris’ hand snakes down between the two of you and you hiss with delight as his skilled fingers work your clit, circling and flicking at it with determination, cock pounding into you with a grunt.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm, the heat undeniable in the pit of your stomach. He moves even faster, hips stuttering against yours as he comes undone with a breathy moan, helping you fall over into the edge of bliss with his skilled fingers, your vision going white hot as you clench around him, holding on for dear life.

You move over for him when he slides out of you, the both of you pressed up tightly in the small, uncomfortable cot. He’ll get up in a few moments and clean you up, ever the generous lover, but for now you’re content being in his arms, chests heaving together, trying to find your breath.

You tuck a fallen strand of burnt orange hair behind his ear, admiring his features in the dim light, the planes of his straight nose dusted with freckles, a rosy blush from the effort, long eyelashes resting against the apples of his cheeks. He is entrapping.

And maybe this war won’t end well in your favor, maybe Hybern will win, but at least you’re fighting with the other half of your soul by your side.

You’ll win together or go down fighting.