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prythianslibrary · 10 days ago

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𝐀 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓 𝐕𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Azriel x Summer Court Princess!reader

Summary: Azriel is forced to take a vacation periodically. It isn't his fault that he is allowed back at the Summer Court and Cassian isn't.

A/n: Haven't written in a few months so I am dipping my toes back in. Unsure how I feel abt this one. Also I usually don't give descriptions when it is an "x reader" but I made the reader Tarquin's cousin and she is described as having dark skin and stark white hair.

Warnings: Suggestive, Az pinches reader's ass once and vice versa, the Inner Circle is nosy (what else is new), Tarquin is soooo hot and sexy (not a warning I just thought it should be restated)

The Spy Master’s job was demanding. It required his mind and body to be focused, agile, adaptable, and strong. After centuries serving under two High Lords of Night, Azriel had seen and been through a lot. And sometimes, even the most trained of warriors simply couldn’t continue on without a break.

When Rhysand had first become High Lord, he suggested the idea to his shadowsinger.

“A simple break, every once in a while, just so I don’t have to worry that you are going to lose it and damn this court to Hel.” Rhysand had teased. He knew better than to doubt his brother’s ability to protect his court, but he did doubt Azriel’s ability to know when he had had enough, when it was in fact time for a well deserved break.

Azriel had sent a scathing look to his brother, mumbling something about not being in the mood for Rhysand’s nagging, before disappearing into his shadows.

Neither had given much thought to the idea, until a few years later.

Cassian had gotten drunk, belligerently so. Rhysand and Mor not far behind him. What had turned into an exciting trip to the Summer Court to strengthen political alliances had soon turned into a drunken revelry. Instead of tightening said relations, the Night Court’s General had gotten to drunk he had leveled an entire building, one far older than Amren herself. In the end, the alliance between Night and Summer was hanging by a thread, and Cassian had been banned from the court for the rest of his life.

Rhysand and Mor, upon hearing the news, had drunkenly promised Cassian that they would never return to Summer for any reason other than court politics so long as he was banned. While the rest of Azriel’s family pouted and begged him to join the pact, Azriel had realized the opportunity that presented itself at the end of the escapade.

Maybe he will take that vacation after all.

Many years later…

“Is Azriel joining us?” Nesta asked as she sat down, extremely late, for family dinner. Her mate, who can be blamed for the couple’s lateness, tried to nonchalantly adjust his clothing, as if the smell from the two of them alone wasn’t proof enough of what just exactly the two had been up to that had caused their late arrival.

“He is off in Summer for the next two weeks.” Rhysand replied, grimacing at the stench of sex coming from his sister-in-law and brother.

“He just returned from a mission! You are sending him on another right after?” Nesta pointed an accusatory finger at Rhys. “I haven’t seen him in almost a month, do you know how hard it is to deal with him,” she gestured to Cassian, “with no one to mock him with me?”

Cassian’s offended gasps were ignored by both his mate and brother. “He isn’t on a mission, Nesta. He is on vacation.” Rhysand answered. Nesta was always quick to accuse Rhysand of less-then-stellar decision making when it came to his family, but for once her claims were baseless.

Rhys’ answer just made Nesta laugh. “In what world would Azriel take a vacation? Much less to a place like the Summer Court.”

Cassian, still hurt by his mate’s previous comments, grumbled as he replied: “Rhys makes him take them periodically, and he goes to Summer just because he knows I am banned for life and gets a kick out of rubbing it in my face.”

That sounded more like the shadowsinger Nesta had grown to adore.

“It is not just you he is escaping from, Rhys and I are still not allowed because of that dumb pact.” Mor whined. She had justified her decision to join Cassian in his banishment from vacationing because she had thought it wouldn’t actually last for life… and because she had been so severely inebriated when she had made that promise. But 200 years later with not a single vacation to Summer since, Mor had grown to resent Cassian for his own banishment.

“If it makes you feel better, Cassian, Azriel probably isn’t doing more than staying in his room and reading. I don’t think he is one for the Summer sun.” Feyre spoke up as she tried to comfort the Illyrian.

Everyone seemed content with that answer, until two distinct laughs were heard from the end of the table.

“I think the boy is doing just fine in Summer.” Amren snickered as she glanced at Varian, who was trying to hide his laugh behind his napkin.

When neither of the two offered any more information, the High Lord spoke up.

“And what exactly do you mean by that, Amren?”

“Did you see him before you left, Varian? I can’t imagine he was enjoying the sun on the beach.” Nesta asked.

Varian gave Amren a look, blaming her for the situation she put him in, before replying: “No, I can’t imagine he was having much fun in the sunshine. But the female who was shoving her tongue down his throat certainly was.”

There were about four seconds of silence at the table before the entire Inner Circle erupted in questions. While Amren rolled her eyes at their inquisitive eagerness, she too had been shocked and equally intrigued when Varian had told her of his findings last night. She had even gone to bed with a smile on her face, imagining the scenario in which she got to drop this bombshell on her family and then give no answers to their questions.

Seeing it in person, though, was so much better than she could have ever imagined.

Two weeks had passed by painfully slow for the Inner Circle as they awaited their Spy Master’s return. Since that fateful night, neither Varian nor Amren had been willing to share any more information.

When Azriel finally arrived home, having been warned ahead of time by Varian that his family would have more than a few questions for him, Az felt all of the time he spent relaxing disappear in an instant as his family threw question after question at him.

He let their interrogation go on for a few minutes before he started to get a headache from the noise. So much for those two weeks off.

Putting up a hand, Azriel let out a breath when they all instantly shut up.

He could go about this a few ways, but he knew what his preferred method was when it came to dealing with his friends and their need to know everything about his life, especially the things he wasn’t quite willing to share.

“I have no idea what you all are talking about. You shouldn’t believe anything that comes out of the mouth of those two. They just wanted to get you all riled up.” And with that, he disappeared into the shadows.

For the next few weeks, Azriel had skirted every attempt to bring up his vacation beyond giving “it was relaxing. Maybe I need a vacation away from you all more”, until the Inner Circle eventually gave up.

“With all of that said, I believe all of us would rather be anywhere else, no need to keep torturing ourselves.” Helion said as he effectively dismissed the meeting of the High Lords and Ladies.

As the Night Court got their bearings together, ready to winnow back to Velaris, Tarquin quickly stopped them.

While they had helped save Adriata in the war, Tarquin hadn’t yet been willing to forgive Rhysand and Feyre for betraying his friendship, no matter how noble their intentions, so the entire Inner Circle had been surprised to see the young High Lord trying to speak to them.

“Tarquin? What can we do for you?” Rhysand asked, hoping he could finally win over the Summer Court fae.

“Azriel, I have a letter for you. I had told her to send it herself, as playing messenger is not a part of my duties as High Lord, but she insisted she couldn’t trust it going through other networks.” The High Lord sighed as he handed the rather bulky letter to the shadowsinger, completely ignoring the rest of the court standing around them.

Though he schooled his face, there was the slightest hint of blush on Azriel’s cheeks as he took the letter into his hand. Not waiting around for the rest of his family, Az disappeared into the shadows after giving a quick nod of gratitude to Tarquin.

When the rest of the Inner Circle had gotten home, Azriel was nowhere to be seen.

Rhysand quickly scribbled a note, seemingly delivering it to wherever Az had gone off to. A quick reply came a second later.

I believe I am owed a few more days off. If you need me, don’t. - Azriel

“Oh come on! Is he seriously having Tarquin deliver letters from whatever fae female he is having an illicit affair with? Then disappearing to gods know where? Rhys, I got to know what the fuck is going on or I’ll lose my mind.” Cassian begged.

“We all know where he is, Cassian. And if I remember correctly, none of us can visit because of you.” Rhysand replied.

“That's not fair, Feyre can’t visit because of her own actions.” Cassian replied, pointing an accusatory finger at his High Lady.

“My actions were for the sake of the entirety of Prythian, you all got drunk and made stupid decisions. They are not comparable.” Feyre argued.

Amren, who had been silently enjoying the argument, snickered from her chair.

At once, everyone turned to the small female, a clever smile adorning all their faces.

Suddenly, Amren was no longer amused.

“You” Morrigan wielded the word like an accusation, “have grown close to Tarquin through your… romantic entanglement with Varian.” Amren growled at the phrase. “Any chance you could get Cassian unbanned?” Mor asked, hope laced in her tone.

It had been another High Lord who had banished the general. While Tarquin made it clear he wasn’t ready to be friends with the Night Court, she knew that he had enjoyed his time with them before and that he was all too forgiving.

But could she ever use her amicable relationship to sway Tarquin into lifting Cassian’s banishment all so her family could torture Azriel while he was enjoying his time spent with one of Summer’s very own princesses?

…

Turns out, Amren could very well do that.

While Tarquin had needed quite a bit of convincing, he had grown to like both Amren and Azriel through their visits to see their lovers in Summer. He didn’t know Cassian very well, and while Rhys and Feyre had deeply betrayed his trust, he couldn’t help longing for the friendship they almost had.

After a long meeting, where tensions were squashed and penance was paid, the Inner Circle brought up the matter that had plagued them for months.

Tarquin laughed at their anguish as they explained what little they knew of their brother’s rendezvous with a Summer Court female, or at least, as far as they knew, a female in the Summer Court.

They truly knew nothing.

“Come to dinner at my palace in Adriata tonight. I think you will enjoy the company you find there,” was all Tarquin offered before the Night Court took their leave.

Begrudged didn’t even begin to describe what Azriel was feeling when he walked over to the dining room where he knew his family was waiting impatiently for answers he had been keeping for over 200 years.

“You are such a baby.” The female at his side replied to his angry mumbling. “Gods forbid your family knows you are capable of love and happiness.” She teased.

“They are nosy. Forgive me for wanting to enjoy you in peace.” Azriel stopped, pulling her by the waist as he kissed her.

Acting against her true desires, she pulled away after a few seconds. “I think you have enjoyed me just fine, Az. And I think you will continue to do just that, but this time your family won’t be worrying about if you are lonely or not.” She replied, turning her head before he could distract her with a kiss on the mouth again. Unfortunately, she didn’t think about the fact the action just gave him better access to her neck.

“I will stop complaining.” He said, trailing kisses down her neck. “If I get to enjoy you just one more time before dinner.” Azriel hadn’t thought he could actually sway her into arriving late for dinner, that was until he heard a gasp come from her as he found her sweet spot.

The two did make it to dinner, just an hour later than they were supposed to and with their clothes and hair rather disheveled.

The quiet chatter had seized the moment they saw the couple enter the room. Rhysand and Tarquin grimaced at the smell coming from the two lovers as they tried (and failed) to act like nothing had happened.

Tarquin shot the fae at Azriel’s side a sharp look.

“It was his fault! He distracted me. And how can you blame me when he looks like this.” The female teased, gesturing to Az.

Tarquin sighed, “I would like to introduce you all to my sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister! It’s an honor to meet you, princess.” Feyre spoke up.

“I am actually his cousin from his mother’s side. I was raised alongside Tarquin, but I’ve got no royal blood in me, so no need for the formalities. I only force Azriel to address me as such when he has pissed me off. ” The female quipped, earning a pinch on her ass from Azriel in response.

As the late arrivals sat down, Nesta spoke up: “How long have you both been…?” she trailed off, unsure of what to label the relationship between the two.

“-fucking?” “-seeing each other?” The two replied at the same time, the Summer Court princess having a far more vulgar mouth than anyone had expected from the female.

“He has been in love with me for over 200 years. We have only been fucking for about 150. I made him work for it.” She grinned, this time pinching Azriel’s ass in response.

The Inner Circle looked around at each other, undeniably delighted by the princess in front of them.

“Wait, when exactly did this happen? Where were the rest of us?” Rhysand asked.

“You three,” Azriel gestured to Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor, “were far too drunk, and far too busy getting banned from this court, if I remember correctly.”

200 (ish) years before…

Rhysand, Mor, and Cassian had disappeared to gods knew where. They had been belligerently drunk and while Azriel, far more sober than the rest of his family, should have followed them, he knew they would be fine. Hopefully.

Plus, as much as he loved his family, he was not drunk enough to deal with their antics.

In the meantime, the Spy Master sat on the beach, looking up at the stars he knew all too well as he listened to the waves. He had been so entranced by the combination that he hadn’t heard someone come up behind him.

“You must be the famed shadowsinger of the Night Court.” A voice spoke up, causing Azriel to turn. The fae female was… ethereal. Dark skin beautifully framed by stark white hair, dressed in the softest of pink Summer style dresses, Azriel found himself at a loss for words.

Unfortunately, the words he did eventually find weren’t as smooth as he would have liked.

“How could you tell?” He asked earnestly. The female just stared at him, then his shadows, then the Illyrian leathers he was still wearing. As Azriel scanned the rest of the beach, he realized just how much he stuck out.

Okay so maybe he was extremely drunk.

“A lucky guess.” She teased, sitting next down to him.

From that moment, Azriel knew it was over for him. Not many had the bravery to approach the shadowshinger, much less tease him, then choose to sit down next to him.

They had spent the rest of the night talking, eventually watching the sunrise together. When Cassian, Rhys, and Mor, who were somehow still drunk, had informed him about Cassian’s banishment and their pact, all Azriel could think was that he couldn’t afford to lose what he had just found in the Summer Court.

Then he thought how easy it would be for him to visit her now with his family none the wiser.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed. How could he be when he had found a fae like her, but he liked to keep the few good things he had in his life close, even if it meant hiding it from his family for the time being.

From then on, Azriel wasn’t as upset about his “forced” vacations

#this was so cute!#az keeping her a secret for 200 years 🤣#Azriel #azriel fluff

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prythianslibrary · 10 days ago

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me when I read there was only 1 bed:

me when “You exist,” he snaps quietly. “You breathe and I want to burn the world for a taste of you.”

Rained Out

pairing: Eris x Reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: smut, mdi, 18+

tags: one bed trope

a/n: for the 500 follower bingo! this request was sent in via comment by @lomahdu . i actually panicked for a second when i was going through my inbox and couldn’t find it like did i make this up?? but thankfully i took screenshots of the comments i received lmao

You should have known the storm was coming. The birds had gone silent and the woodsy critters vanished as if they sensed what you didn’t. But you had been focused on the task at hand—stalking game alongside the Heir of Autumn, your bow strung, footsteps silent and careful.

Eris Vanserra walks ahead of you, red hair dampening from the rain, shoulders broad and tense beneath the layered furs of his hunting cloak. You’d been assigned to assist him today and perhaps the little “he requested you specifically” murmured by your colleague before you left had something to do with how distracted you were.

You have feelings for Eris, but who wouldn’t? He is the prince of your court. Handsome and charming as he is lethal. But you are just a huntswoman working out of a small cabin on the edge of the capital village, trailing behind hunters all day and skinning animals by night. You are nothing like the pretty courtier females he sees every day. Your clothes are dirty with blood stains you gave up on removing and you don’t even want to imagine what you smell like.

The sky cracks open with a strike of lightning. Rain pours in heavy sheets, turning the earth beneath your boots to slick mud.

“We need cover,” Eris calls over the rain.

You don’t argue.

He knows this forest like the back of his hand, and without hesitation, turns left through the thickest part of the glade. You follow in his wake, heart hammering harder with each icy drop that soaks into your clothes.

Between an opening in the trees you can barely see it, nothing more than a darkened shape in the distance, but it’s a cabin Eris is leading you to. He ushers you through the door without a word.

Inside, it’s cold and dark. The living room, bedroom, and kitchen are all squished into one large room, and Eris snaps his finger to light a fire in the hearth before peeling off his soaked cloak and hanging it on the hook by the door.

You do the same, peeling damp gloves off numb fingers. You’re dripping wet, hair sticking to your face, and water trickling down your spine.

Eris glances over his shoulder. “There are towels in the closet,” he says pointing to the door behind the couch.

You grab one, toweling your arms and neck before sitting in front of the hearth. You sigh at the warmth, relishing in the way your hands grow hot, but you’re still shivering.

Eris crouches beside you, face half-lit by firelight, eyes scanning you. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” you lie.

“You’re practically turning blue.”

You scowl. “I wasn’t prepared to get soaking wet today, or else I would have worn thicker clothes.”

He huffs a laugh. “You should start carrying a bag with you. Stuff a coat in it for the next time this happens.”

He stands again, shedding his jacket and revealing a white, low v-neck tunic. You try not to stare at the pale, freckled skin peeking out, the way you can see the indent of his muscular pectorals.

“There’s only one bed,” he says eventually.

You look over. There is, in fact, only one. The couch is threadbare and barely big enough for a hound, let alone either of you.

“I’ll take the floor,” you offer.

“No, you won’t.” His tone is sharp. “We’ll share.”

Your throat dries, but you nod and take your boots off, then hover near the bed, wringing your hands.

He goes to the chest at the foot of the bed and pulls out a red tunic and black pants. “Here,” he calls, tossing the tunic at you. “You can change in the bathroom. You’re not getting my bed wet with those clothes.

You nod mutely and walk to the bathroom, locking the door behind you before you begin to remove your clothes. Eris’s tunic comes down to your knees, nearly the length of your usual night gown, modest enough that you don’t feel too exposed. When you emerge, Eris has already changed into the pants and…is wearing nothing else.

You gulp, your eyes roaming over his freckled and scarred abs before snapping your eyes back up. “I—uh—I just left my clothes hanging on the tub, if that’s okay.”

Eris dips his chin. “It’s fine.”

You both crawl into the bed, Eris using his magic to dim the fire without putting it out. The bed is too small for the both of you to keep a reasonable amount of space between an employee and an employer. You try to keep your distance, curling near the edge, but the chill seeps into your bones. You may have changed clothes, but your hair is still dripping. You can’t help the trembling. The only sound in the cabin is your chattering teeth.

“Come here,” Eris murmurs.

You freeze.

“I can warm you,” he says. “And I can’t sleep with that incessant noise.”

You hesitate only a moment before turning.

He’s already watching you.

Carefully, you scoot closer. His arm opens, inviting, and you press against his chest. One of his arms curls around you. You bury your face against him, breathing in cinnamon and wood smoke. The warmth is blissful. But then you feel it. The brush of his fingers against your spine. The way his chest rises, tense. The steady drum of his heartbeat just below your ear.

And something else.

A coil of need tightening low in your belly. You should move. You should ignore it. But you don’t. Instead, your hand slides up his chest, slow and curious. His skin is hot to the touch. His breath catches, and you feel it the moment he notices. The scent of your arousal hits the air, subtle and sweet—but not subtle enough.

Eris growls. It’s low, guttural. His arm tightens around you, and when he speaks, his voice is barely audible. “You smell delicious. Is that for me?”

You swallow hard but don't deny it.

His nose brushes your jaw. “You’ve been tempting me all damn day.”

“I haven’t done anything,” you protest.

“You exist,” he snaps quietly. “You breathe and I want to burn the world for a taste of you.”

His fingers tilt your chin up. His eyes blaze like twin embers. “I can’t pretend anymore,” he says, voice low and sharp. “Can you?”

“No,” you whisper.

His mouth is on yours before the word has fully left your lips. You don’t even try to stop it. His kiss is all heat and hunger, devouring and desperate. His hand tangles in your hair as he presses you down into the mattress, mouth never leaving yours. You arch into him, every inch of your body aching for contact.

You don’t even notice him take his pants off or pull your panties to the side. You only care that his skin is searing against yours, that his hands know exactly how to touch you. When he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow. Deep. Like he’s trying to memorize how you feel around him.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel divine.”

You can barely breathe. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he swears, voice cracked. “I could live inside you.”

His rhythm starts steady, building heat between your hips, your thighs wrapped tight around his waist. You claw at his back, chasing the fire building inside. He thrusts deeper, harder, until you’re gasping, incoherent. He murmurs praises against your throat—beautiful, perfect, mine. Each word sinks deeper than his cock, and it undoes you.

Pleasure shatters through your spine like lightning.

You cry out his name, and he follows with a strangled sound, spilling into you as he holds you through it, shaking with the force of restraint broken.

The storm outside howls.

Inside, there is only your breathing, tangled limbs, the scent of sex and sweat, and something more dangerous blooming in your chest.

Love.

He presses a kiss to your temple, lips softer now. Reverent. “You’ve always been mine,” he whispers.

You turn your face into his neck, warm and full and content.

“I know,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over the flame-marked skin of his back. “I was just waiting for you to realize it.”

Bingo 500 taglist: @nocasdatsgay

#girl i ate this up so fast #Eris #eris smut

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prythianslibrary · 19 days ago

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me after reading this bc I loved reading their courtship. Their banter and just overall interactions 😫

An Autumn Courting

Pairing: Eris x winter court!reader | WC: 12.5k | warnings: sexual tones, mentions of hunting

Summary: coming into his role as High Lord of the Autumn Court, the first thing Eris does is make a proposal of marriage to you, something you’re going to make him work for.

A/N: this has been in my drafts since October 2023, I’m so glad to let this be out in the world. Happy @sjmxreaderweek !! This is way too long but enjoy anyway

Eris Vanserra had three soft spots.

First: his mother - a female who spent her life trying to make his better. The first and perhaps only person to show him pure, unconditional love. Someone who did not balk at the terrible things he had to do and endure to survive. One of his most complicated and long lasting relationships where nothing truly made sense.

Second: Lucien. He had a soft spot for all of his brothers when they were born. Being raised by Beron sucked the life from most of them. He watched as they slowly became apathetic at best, cruel at worst. All except Lucien.

Lucien, his baby brother, who remained a good, loyal male, despite everything Beron tried to do to him. Lucien, who looked at him with wide eyes and a big heart. Lucien - his first contact leading up to his father’s death, the only person he wanted there.

Third: his hounds.

Eris adored his hounds. He spent thousands of hours training them, breeding them, and preparing for the next litter. Their kennels were a refuge for him, a place no one in the family ever ventured out to. Only a handful of servants ever got close and they merely mucked out the stalls and changed feed for the dogs. They were the first things to ever truly be his.

Eris had three soft spots. Now it was four.

Your continued presence, skirting on the outside of his periphery for years meant more to him than you could ever possibly know. The only fae willing to talk back to him but keep a twinkle in their eye.

He spent years trying to figure out why your eyes plagued his dreams, how the wind would blow past carrying your laugh. He could never quite pinpoint an exact reason.

Staying away from you during court events was the best course of action for everyone. He knew if he got too close to you, Beron would notice and insist on exploiting this weakness of Eris’s by either a) trying to arrange a marriage between the two of you, putting you under Beron’s control and driving Eris further under Beron’s thumb, or b) keep you far away from Eris.

He knew which one was worse.

You had known Eris for centuries, a tenuous friendship due to his lack of trust and your uncertainty as to where you stood with him. Something inside of you always felt there was more to him than the mask he wore to the public, but you could never truly be certain if it was just naivety and hopefulness.

Years of seeing each other at inter-court events, culminated in the two of you finding each other, having occasional moments that left you wanting to see more of him. You could never linger together for too long, lest Beron catch on to how his eldest son’s eyes bore into yours for a second longer than appropriate. Every meeting, dance, or word shared between you two always left you flustered, every moment shared was dissected at length afterward.

One night, while under the mountain, Eris took a risk and found you in your chambers. He had to know that you were okay - as okay as one could be in such an environment. He was used to this environment- he knew how to play the game, how to endure the atrocities in front of him. But you didn’t.

Eris had pushed his way into your chambers, quickly shutting the door behind himself. The intrusion had left you so flustered, you ran to him, prepared to chastise him.

Instead he grabbed your shoulders, quickly spinning you before he rested your back against the door, ensuring no one could burst in without his knowledge. He caged you in with his arms on either side of you, his amber eyes roaming your face, inspecting for injuries.

“I don’t have much time. But if this ever ends, it will not be long until I put the pieces into place to better my position.”

You understood the meaning behind his words, ones too worried to utter the real truth out loud.

He was going to kill Beron. Or someone was.

You knew he was concerned about ears in this place, so he didn’t speak freely.

“I cannot promise you much, but if you wait, I will do things properly. But I would not hold it against you if you cannot wait.”

He hung his head, his long, red hair falling into his face before taking a deep breath and slipping out the door before you could say anything.

So, you waited.

You had survived the atrocities that happened under that cauldron-forsaken mountain and helped your brother Kallias rebuild the Winter court.

Then the war with Hybern happened. You continued your work trying to provide security and sanctuary to your citizens, but it was hard and draining.

The years carried on, until one day Kallias was called off quite quickly by mail, leaving you and Vivian quite confused but not for long. News of the death of Beron Vanserra traveled quite quickly through all of Prythian.

Kallias had returned for mere minutes before a letter arrived in front of you, a second one appearing in front of Kallias a moment later.

The envelope was sealed with the Autumn Court insignia, one that you’ve admired for many years now: a fox curling around a fire. It felt homey.

It was the Court’s official crest - and the Vanserra family’s familial crest resembled it. You broke the seal, reading the letter.

Fawn,

It is my hope that this letter finds you in good spirits and good health. I am writing this as a formal declaration of my intentions.

With your agreement, it is my intention to court and wed you, making you the Lady of the Autumn Court. It would be my honor to serve my court as your husband with you at my side.

This decision lies solely with you. I have, however, written a similar letter to your high lord, Kallias, so he will not feel blindsided should you accept.

Take your time over this decision. I will be busy in the coming weeks, adjusting to life as High Lord, however I will make whatever time is necessary for you shall you wish it.

Yours,

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court

You smiled at the title in his signature, sure that this was the first time he got to write it out.

Your eyes glanced up to find Viviane and Kallias’s peaking glances at you as they read the letter Eris had sent them.

“It would appear as though you’ve caught the eye of Prythian’s newest High Lord.”

It was no question that you would attend his coronation. Autumn was a direct border to Winter and Kallias had been waiting decades for Beron to die to potentially work with one of his sons on building better relations. He had always hoped it would be Lucien, the easiest and most diplomatic Vanserra. The two had a working relationship and he would be a lovely neighboring ruler.

During the whole affair, Eris’s eyes hardly strayed from yours. They followed you, not straying to any of the hundreds of fae gathered, not to the other court nobility that had arrived.

Just you.

His eyes had followed you as you lingered after the ceremony, finding Lucien just as the letter had instructed. You kept his gaze as you spoke to the youngest Vanserra, giving him the answer to Eris’s letter. You nodded just enough for the new High Lord to see, and his posture immediately relaxed. You stood taller knowing on a day all about him, he clearly had only been thinking of you.

You had written back to Eris after the coronation quite quickly, much more quickly than a proper lady should, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Excitement coursed through your body, almost impossible to sit still.

Corresponding with Eris was more fun than you had anticipated. It took a few letters, but he began opening up more and more, telling you stories about his day or some memory long forgotten. Most letters include some story about Lucien, but they felt much more relaxed than the version of him you knew at court events. He even stopped signing them with his full name, shortening it to just ‘Eris’ eventually.

You had made the mistake of mentioning to Kallias about Eris’s intentions. Your brother had been upset at first to find out his sister had caught the eye of a Vanserra - he had never trusted the family, always on guard in their presence. But when he heard the words ‘courting’ and ‘traditional’, you swore his eyes danced with amusement as he plotted something.

Official courting was very similar across Prythian, with minor details changed for each court. For members of nobility and highly esteemed families of the Winter Court, it was usual custom for the betrothed pair to visit each other’s villages. Time spent partaking in the customs of each village was essential - life in Winter could often feel very insular. Villages less than a day’s travel from each other could be quite different, even language differences occurring. Holidays across the court looked similar to outsiders, but traditions held a wide range of activities.

Kallias would allow you to do as you wished as long as you weren’t tricked or coerced into anything. However, your brother would make Eris regret his exact words of a ‘traditional courting’.

Eris had agreed to the terms, but sent many letters about his brother in forewarning and to not take him seriously. Having met the youngest Vanserra on several occasions, you were well prepared for what he might do.

An agreement was formed - Eris was to spend two weeks in Winter before you would spend two weeks in Autumn. At that point, you would provide some form of answer. You had some idea of what you would say - you wouldn’t be wasting everyone’s time otherwise. But it would be foolish and rash to wed without spending any time alone with the male.

Eris was set to arrive in a week’s time, coming to your home, coming to Winter. It felt surreal, not quite allowing yourself to believe it until the male was standing before you. A week was nothing for a High Lord - Kallias’s visits to other courts usually required several months of notice. But seven days still felt too long after seeing him at the coronation. You did anything to make yourself busy - planning activities for the two of you, reassuring your brother once again that this was what you wanted, trying to showcase Winter in the best light.

Still, every night when you laid in bed, everytime you closed your eyes, you were brought back to the coronation, how his eyes followed you across the room. A room full of the most powerful and important people in Prythian, and his gaze never left yours.

You hardly slept the night before he was set to arrive, waking with the sun as if it would bring Eris here more quickly. The morning went by at a snail’s pace, the palace unhurried for the day. You had bathed, dried your hair, paced around, tidied your room. You did anything you could think to keep busy, to keep your mind off the clock.

Eventually enough time passed for you to make it to breakfast, sitting across from Kallias and Vivianne’s amused glances. They chatted idly, amused smiles directed at you that you pretended to ignore. You only pushed the food around on your plate, watching the sun through the window, trying to will it to move faster.

“Something wrong?” Kallias’s question made its way through the fog, the only words he had spoken you had been able to make sense of.

“Sure, sure.” You waved him off with your fork, eyes moving to the entryway to the dining room every so often. He laughed, amused at how little you were listening to them, but you had tuned him out once more. Doubt crept in as each second passed, your anxieties certain something would keep the two of you apart. Had he changed his mind? Was it all in the chase for a hunter like him?

As if your doubts had conjured him, he was striding through the entrance hall, his red hair practically melting the walls as he went past. Over the years, you had seen Eris in a variety of wardrobe: deep reds ranging to bright green, a variety of embroidery threads on every piece. He made every color his own, gravitating towards richer, earthier shades. The dark blue jacket that hung from his shoulders made the color seem so new and exotic, despite being a significant portion of your own wardrobe. The depth of color popped beneath his pale skin somehow, unjustly proving there truly was no color he couldn’t make his own.

The piece looked like anything you would find in Winter, but somehow like nothing you had ever seen before.

He had looked so sure of himself at the coronation, steadfast in a way a High Lord needed to be. In the few weeks since, he had somehow grown even more into himself, standing tall and sharp. His hair was much shorter now than it was under the mountain, the weight of that place chopped off with the fiery locks.

Eris stopped before you, smiling as he took you in, a bit of shock mixed in with the delight. Too caught up in your wandering eyes, you completely forget to even pretend to courtesy until it’s too late and you fumble a short bow. His face lit up with amusement, and you hoped he'd ignore it. Your prayers seemed to be answered until he leaned in and asked, “see something you like?”

The question sent chills down your back, your spine straightening. Your mouth became too dry to respond, and even if you could, you couldn’t think of anything to say. This thing with Eris, however mutual it may be, had alway been fleeting - small conversations, loose promises. No matter how your heart pulled to him, you still knew so little about him.

Kallias cleared his throat from behind you, his focus completely on Eris. The males only nodded to each other, not even attempting small talk. Kallias had been on edge ever since the first letter arrived - you heard him pacing at night, sure that the Autumn male was planning something. But those concerns hardly made it to your ears, your brother staying tight lipped about his reservations.

You didn’t think there was any validity to Kallias’s concerns for even a moment, especially not as he stood before you, a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.

“I didn’t think you would allow this. I expected to be thrown out of Winter.” His voice was soft, the usual sneer or jestful tone gone, leaving room for something more vulnerable.

“Do you take me for a liar, High Lord? Not a good look for a new bride.” The quip sent him slightly off balance, surprise or pleasure at the change in your attitude.

“My apologies.” He bowed low at the waist causing you to go completely still. As High Lord, he didn’t have to bow to anyone. The other High Lords were his equals, but they didn’t deserve this level of respect.

“I’m just kind enough to forgive you, Eris.” He straightened at the sound of his name, the slight smirk enough to let you know how much he enjoyed it.

You spent the afternoon showing him the palace and the grounds, noting the amusement on his face at the ice gardens. You showed him the deep blues of the palace, listening as he compared them to his own home, the Forest House.

“I have arranged for some private dining for us. Kallias wanted some grand banquet in your honor, but I shot that down.”

“Wanted to get me alone?”

“Oh, we won’t be alone.” He waited for you to go on, still keeping stride next to you. “There are eyes everywhere in Winter. Why do you think we don’t have a chaperone?”

Eris turned in a circle, moving around the landscape, searching for anybody. There wasn’t another living thing for miles in the vast wintery expanse.

“Can you keep a secret?” He nodded, leaning his face closer to yours. You did the same, leaning up on your toes to meet him. You lowered your voice, soft as the snow fall. “It’s the animals.”

“The animals?” A mixture of shock and delight came across his face, a hint of disbelief as well. You nodded, not elaborating further. As far as you could tell, the animals in Winter were vastly different from the animals of other courts. They were larger, better at hiding, and were connected to Kallias somehow. You had tried for years to get him to explain it - why arctic foxes lingered at the palace doors, hares burrowed beneath every window. He always stayed tight-lipped about it, but he always knew things he shouldn’t. He was always the first to know your business, even if you never told him.

“I don’t really get it, but they like my brother.”

Eris followed as you led him to the west side of the palace. Light snow fell, crunching beneath your feet as you made your way down the path to the stables. You finally reached the surprise the servants had set up - a massive sleigh fronted by a team of large reindeer, stocked with blankets and food.

“What is this?”

“Our chariot.”

Eris looked over the sled, the reindeer all standing at attention, dark fur accented with lush garlands.

“Couldn’t we just winnow?”

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?”

He huffed, his breath visible in the air. He followed you into the sleigh, his body pressing close to yours. You let out a low whistle, the reindeer taking off quickly. Eris fell back into the seat, unprepared for the quick takeoff. Your hand covered your mouth, trying to hide the laugh that escaped, but you knew he heard it from the way he looked over at you.

His magic made a warm bubble around the two of you, blocking out the wind as the reindeer picked up a good pace. The sleigh glided across the snow, making fresh tracks as it moved. Eris looked around, trying to find any hint as to where the two of you were heading off to.

“What are we waiting for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

He studied you then, really focusing on you. You did the same, studying how much he contrasted the wintry landscape passing behind. His blue coat helped him blend in somewhat, but he stood out too much from the ice and snow to ever be able to fully hide.

“Have you ever been to Winter?” Your voice was louder, trying to be heard over the wind. You’ve seen him in Winter three or four times, the Vanserras never lingering long, only here to discuss things related to the border. Your father despised having them around, always tense in the days leading up to their arrival. But you wanted to hear it from him, wanted to know what your home was like to an outsider.

“Officially or unofficially?”

“Both.”

He leaned back on the seat, stretching out his long legs in the sleigh, his body still touching yours but not encroaching on your space.

“Officially, a handful of times. Unofficially, a few dozen times. I’ve snooped around the border a time or two.”

“To see the sights? Or do something a bit more?”

He gave a sharp look, some debate happening behind his eyes on how much to tell.

“I’d be lying if I said the land on the border between our courts was anything less than spectacular.”

You had never been so far north as the seasonal courts, but the lands connecting Summer, Winter, and Autumn were quite the sight. A blend of all three courts, a beautiful lake laid in the middle of the tricourt border. The wind blew falling leaves and soft snow across the water, but somehow the air was the perfect temperature to go swimming. It was a beautiful spot, popular with travelers.

“My excursions were less than savory.” His face was grim now, hard set with bad memories. Your breath hitched at how quickly the conversation had turned. It’s not too surprising to know Eris has snuck across the border - you have snuck off into Summer a time or two, emboldened by youth and recklessness.

But a few years ago, someone had done something so heinous the memory still made you gag.

“Have you ever harmed one of Winter’s citizens?” It still wasn’t known who killed those children, their deaths still a heavy tragedy for your court. Their wailing parents could be heard across the court. Your brother had long suspected the High Lord of the Night Court of it, but he had no leads.

“No. Mostly a neutral meeting site for discussions.” He seemed less than forthcoming, not wanting to linger too long, but willing to answer any questions you had. You only had one last question, needing it answered before letting this subject die.

“Did you have any involvement with the children?” You didn’t have to specify, you knew he’d know what you were referring to.

“No. I would never.” Relief washed over you. He seemed open in a way you’ve never seen before. You wanted to see more of it, let him tell you who he is in his own words.

The sled started slowing down at your whistle, halting in the middle of a barren field. The dark sky stretched on for miles, filled with galaxies of stars too numerous to count and too small to quantify. You unfolded the blanket, draping it across both of your laps, before opening the picnic basket. You passed him a small mug, filling it with hot chocolate from an enchanted kettle.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You tried for a more hopeful tone, the lilt in your voice asking to move on from the tragedy. He thought it over seriously for a few moments, watching the steam from his mug dissipate before settling on something.

“I have twelve hounds, all named after ingredients in pumpkin pie or apple varieties.”

“You have hounds?” He nodded, allowing you to continue. “I’ve only seen hounds from afar around here. In Winter, they work either with hunting or guardians. I’ve heard in Day it’s popular to keep them as pets. Are yours more pet or worker?”

“Anyone else, I’d say they’re workers. But in the interest of honesty, they are more pet.”

The mug of hot chocolate in your hands was the only thing keeping you from squealing in delight.

“Do you spoil them?”

“No.” You eyed him skeptically, not accepting his answer. “Okay, fine. I spoil them. But I make them work for it.”

“That’s so sweet. I’m sure they all love you.”

He didn’t respond, but you were sure it was the truth. You couldn’t imagine any being not falling in love with him, especially after spending years with him.

You slowly leaned into him, trying to soak up all his warmth. He turned, his face only inches from yours. His nose was a hair away from bumping into yours. Amber eyes flicked down to your lips and back up, but he stayed where he was.

You pushed back from him, catching the glimpse of color from behind his head, telling him to look up.

The sky above you, previously pitch black, slowly allowed streaks of green and light blue to ribbon across its landscape. The sky was a living painting, bright hues stretching across the blank canvas. The movements seemed random, smooth strokes looking for a place to rest. Every stroke looked intentional, every color carefully picked to complement the ones around it.

The hundreds of times you had seen it before didn’t matter - each time was brand new, never looking the same as the last. Eris was quiet beside you, the silence stretching up to the sky in appreciation of its beauty.

For a long time, neither of you say anything, but Eris’s hand slowly moved closer - first resting next to yours, each finger slowly and gently making contact, until he was holding your hand in his, gazing at this new beauty to bask in.

You smiled to the sky, thankful for whatever reason it was here. It would be the first thing the two of you would share, your shared focus on the same thing. The whole ride home would be devoted to talking about it, sharing feelings and observations, but now the two of you stared, necks craning at something that had stretched across Winter for as long as fae had existed.

On Eris’s second day in Winter, the weather was just right for an activity you were determined to see Eris try before accepting any proposals. You bundled yourself up, donning several layers beneath a coat before you bounced down the hallway. His room was several doors down from yours at Kallias’s input no doubt, but it gave you an extra moment to smooth out any wrinkles in your coat.

Deep blue skies filled the windows you passed, the day outside exceedingly bright. It was springtime in Winter, one of the warmer days that brought fae outdoors in droves, but your intended destination would be quite cold.

Your knock on his door was quick, three taps before his face greeted you.

“You’re quite chipper this morning,” he greeted.

You beamed, excitement for the day coursing through you. “It’s a beautiful day, of course I’m chipper.”

You looked down from his eyes to find his chest bare, no shirt to cover the pale skin littered with freckles. A set of two moles beneath his left clavicle caught your eye, before your gaze stuck on the red hair beneath his navel, leading into his trousers.

“I can meet you for breakfast downstairs if you wish to eat.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, a hint of arrogance lacing his words at having caught your ogling. He spared you from any other jabs at your expense, at least.

“No need, we’ll be getting breakfast out in town.”

A surprised look crossed his face before he quickly changed it for one of intrigue.

“Spare a moment so I can change.”

He came out exactly a moment later, not letting you wait too long. He stepped out in brown trousers, brown riding boots, a loose white shirt, and a beautifully decadent emerald green vest with gold detailing. He looked so autumnal, almost like a crisp apple you were dying to bite into.

Your lips puckered. “You’re going to need more clothes.”

“Oh? You seemed quite happy with the lack of layers I was wearing earlier.”

You scoffed, trying to cover the heat that was spreading up your face. “I am a lady, High Lord. Of course I am happy to see a lack of layers in my attractive guests.”

He laughed through his nose, an almost pleased snort at your unabashed comment.

“Any hints as to the day’s plans?”

“None until you get dressed.” He grumbled something as he turned back, leaving the door open before rifling through his trunks again.

“You do know I can warm myself quite easily with my magic.” He found a larger coat, probably the thickest one he owned, but it looked thin in comparison to the large, feather coats of Winter’s citizens. You followed him, standing in his doorway as he spoke to you.

“That’s cheating, though. Besides, your magic could be a hazard.” He stopped buttoning his jacket, fingers pausing mid movement.

“I thought I wasn’t getting any hints until I was better dressed.”

“You are better dressed.”

“I would never leave with my buttons undone. I’m not an animal.”

You stepped aside, walking down the hallway and away from him. His door shut softly behind him and he quickly caught up to you, matching your stride through the palace. No matter how much he asked, you didn’t let up, leading him out of the palace and onto the cool paths that navigated around the property.

You thought he would give up - it would only be a ten minute walk, after all. But he was unwavering, determined to get the answer from you, so much so he wasn’t paying attention to the upcoming view.

“We’re going ice skating!” You declared proudly, pointing ahead at the frozen lake coming into view. Figures glided across the frozen surface, laughing loud enough to be heard from far away.

“Why are we going ice skating, my ice princess?”

The nickname caught you off guard, the title not sounding as stilted as it usually did. You tried to keep your composure, a difficult task as your tongue suddenly became very thick in your mouth. “It’s tradition.”

“Is it now? Or do you just want to admire me gliding across the ice in those tight uniforms your skaters wear?”

A sigh escaped you, careful not to let him hear your laugh.

“It’s tradition in Winter for betrothed couples to skate together.”

“We’re a betrothed couple now?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You still hadn’t technically given him an answer nor did you plan to until the end of the trip. Everything was going so well, you had to ensure you liked being in his company before agreeing.

“We’re something.”

“I suppose ‘something’ is the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Haven’t you been engaged to the Morrigan?”

“I was a child. I had met her all of a handful of times before it ended.”

“So us ice skating is the most serious romantic endeavor you’ve ever been involved with?”

“It would appear so.”

“If I may be so bold, that is quite sad.” A pair of ice skates appeared in your hands, the size determined by some servants who snuck into his chambers last night and measured his shoes. You held them out to him before gesturing for him to sit on a nearby bench to put them on.

“What’s sad is going to be seeing me out on the ice and that will be the end of my most serious romantic endeavor.”

You reached out, gently pinching his cheek between your thumb and forefinger.

“I wouldn’t end things with how pitiful you look on the ice. I find pathetic males endearing on occasion.”

“I will note to never allow you near Lucien again.”

Your own skates appeared in your hand as you sat next to Eris. The two of you laced boots in tandem, listening as a few kids played a game of hockey on one end of the lake.

“You’ll probably be a little wobbly getting out there,” you warned, standing up to help him. You held your hands out, which he gladly took, helping him find his balance on the mat.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, just wait.”

You helped him waddle to the entrance, his body instinctively reaching for the short walls that had been erected around the lake. Eris moved onto the ice, attempting to keep the blades beneath his feet connected to the ice. It was much slippier than he anticipated, his feet moving at an odd angle before he quickly moved back to grip the wall once more. His eyes met yours, your face barely able to contain your grin. Your eyes shone with delight, your tone laced with wicked amusement as you held out your hands.

“Forgive me, High Lord. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a skating prodigy.”

His jaw tightened at the jab, annoyance simmering beneath his skin. Everyone else on the ice made it look easy, skating past the High Lord in pairs. One male even did a jump right in front of him.

If there was one thing that would never change about Eris, it was that he was a sore loser if he wasn’t automatically good at something.

A skater passed by, ice shavings hitting Eris in the chest. It was enough to get him to remove himself from the wall, to move out toward your outstretched hands. He looked like a newborn foal, standing for the first time on fresh legs. You suppressed a giggle, reaching out for him.

He made it halfway between you and the wall when one of the kids from the other side of the lake hit the hockey puck too hard, the black circle skidding fast directly at Eris’s feet. It hit the blade of his left skate, sending him falling forward.

A loud, boisterous laugh fell from your lips. Your head tilted back, the sun nearly blinding you, but you couldn’t contain the joy you felt in this moment.

A beautiful male fell into your arms, looking more like a fresh fawn than the high lord he was.

He clutched at you, his feet giving out beneath him as he tried to find his balance. The blades slashed the ice, cutting and churning up slush until eventually he slowed down, his feet able to stay in place long enough for him to straighten up.

Eris still clung to you, but his face came close to your ear, whispering so only you could hear.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And you’re enjoying it.”

“Very much so.” A meteor couldn’t wipe the smug look off your face at his struggles. You pried his hands from your shoulders, holding them tight in your hands as you slowly started skating backwards. The shock on his face had you biting back another laugh, but you held him tight, gliding backwards without a concern in the world.

He slowly began figuring out how to move his feet, making short glides. Each sweep of his legs brought more confidence, but his hands still remained tight in yours.

Eris didn’t have many courtly duties to take up his time while in Winter. He had spent most of the last week preparing for this, but he only had to put up with daily updates and light correspondence taking no less than an hour a day.

You took him everywhere you thought of: nearby villages, sightseeing, trying restaurants. He was more receptive to Winter cuisine than you had anticipated, but it shouldn’t be too shocking that there was some overlap between your courtly palettes.

Today the snow came down in massive heaps, a sheet of white covering the windows, making it impossible to see past a few feet.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going out to do something like see how much snow we can catch.”

You smiled, turning from the window to find Eris looking down at you. You stood, practically bouncing the balls of your feet at the plan for today.

“I’d never do that to you and your delicate constitution.” A huff escaped his lips at your taunt, but no retort came back.

“We’re going to bake and assemble a gingerbread house.”

It was too early for yule, the ingredients necessary for the traditional dishes out of season. But you craved to showcase Winter in all its splendor.

“A gingerbread house? To live in?”

“Not for us to live in. For the gingerbread fae to live in.”

He only stared blankly, the concept clearly a new one to the High Lord.

“Do you not celebrate Yule in Autumn?”

“We burn bushes and the like, but we don’t make gingerbread.” He said it with a grimace, like the cookie was offensive.

“Well, you can help me build it and decorate it.”

A few hours later, when the cookies were taken from the oven, the two of you took a break, venturing around the palace grounds, talking about everything and nothing. At some point you were sure the cookies had cooled enough to work with, but there had been a break in the snow and you weren’t quite ready to return yet. Instead you had detoured into the nearby village, taking Eris to get hot chocolate.

“I promise, I’ve tried so much hot chocolate over the years, but this is the best.”

“Very convenient that they live so close by.” You smiled over the mug, taking your first sip, the sweet rich flavor one you couldn’t get enough of.

“I may have persuaded him to move his shop here.”

Eris held his drink, waiting for it to cool more.

“Here I thought I was the scandalous one of us.”

“It all worked out! He met his wife here and they’ve been very happy for a long time. And they have me to thank for it.” Pride was etched into every inch of your smile, to see happy citizens and watch things work out for them was a joy.

“Winter’s own little matchmaker.”

After enough time (and Eris admitting it was the best hot chocolate Prythian had to offer), the two of you had wandered back to the palace, taking your sheets of cookies into the dining room. Servants had already arranged all your decorating needs neatly onto the table: icing, gumdrops, sugar. Anything sweet your heart could desire was on the table.

“The world’s supply of sugar was dropped off in our absence.”

It didn’t take long before he was sucked into the work, determined to make a grand gingerbread house fit for a High Lord. You watched as he carefully iced one of the walls, applying windows and doors to it. His lines were perfect, a steely look of determination on his face.

This was what this trip was about. Seeing Eris for who he was at all times: relaxed, enthralled, annoyed. After a moment of watching him, you turned back to your own house, hoping a distraction would quell the butterflies roaring in your stomach. You picked up one of the tiny ginger males, picking out the perfect red icing to make his hair with.

Before long, Eris’s two weeks in Winter were coming to an end. It felt surreal to watch him winnow away, feeling juvenile over the longing you felt in his absence.

Eris would head to Autumn a day before you, so the two of you hadn’t lingered long on saying goodbye. It had taken longer than expected for him to depart, as if the both of you were unwilling to give the other up for any amount of time. The pull you had felt toward him all these years, the seemingly insurmountable obstacles keeping the two of you apart, and yet a whole day felt impossible.

Life had continued on in your whirlwind romance, but it felt different now. Two weeks away and it felt like being in someone else’s clothes, stepping into someone else’s life.

The silence felt louder, your room colder. The halls you grew up in, the room you’d known your entire life - they felt so empty now, so lifeless without a redhead blazing fires.

The next day Kallias winnowed the two of you to Autumn, somewhere about a mile from the perimeter of the Forest House. He spent the twenty minute walk probing you nonstop about if you were truly happy to do this.

“It would mean living here year round.” His arms spread out, sweeping across the landscape. It was so different from your home in the Winter Court, trees full of leaves that are about to shed, woodland creatures skittering all around, watching the two of you.

The air was always so still in Winter, but here it ebbed and flowed, carrying the scent of bonfires and apples wherever it went.

“I don’t think that would be so bad.” You failed to mention how excited you’d be to live with a certain male, not wanting to endure Kallias’s teasing or gagging noises from him.

Your brother escorted you through the woods, your arm tucked into his as you passed through the wards placed around the Forest House. The large, dark estate was tucked away in the woods, trees as tall as the sky surrounding it. The sun was hitting it just right, letting it shine in all its glory, as if even the weather was happy with the change in Autumn.

A servant had found the two of you - some guard, you assumed from the weapon at his side. He bowed quickly before the two of you, quickly turning on his heel for you to follow. You didn’t have to follow long, Eris already waiting in the front hallway for the two of you.

It was hard to decide what to look at - the male or the gorgeous interior of the home. You were set to be here for two weeks, plenty of time to ogle the decor and architecture, so you opted to keep your eyes on Eris. He looked different in Autumn, more at ease, but also brighter somehow, as if every room and background bent toward him, trying to complement his skin.

He kept his eyes on you the same way, likely figuring out how much you contrasted against the earthly shades of the court. You didn’t care, certain he would spin it in a more favorable light than you would. He eventually took his eyes off of you, turning towards your brother, reaching out a hand. Their hands met, slight steam coming off from their touch before your brother chuckled. It wasn’t until you peeled your eyes from Eris to find one of his brothers, Lucien, standing behind him

“Eris,” Kallias’s voice took on a more stern tone, one that had a groan coming from the back of your throat. Kallias’s blue eyes met yours, a silent conversation taking place while he was still shaking Eris’s hand. After a minute of glaring back and forth, he turned back toward Eris, patting his hand before retracting it.

“Eris.” It said all that Kallias wanted to. The threat hidden in the one word, the tight grip he had on Eris’s hand. Eris only nodded, a tight lipped smile at either Kallias’s rigid position or the tight grip he had on him. Kallias examined him for a moment before letting go, his arm moving to wrap you into a hug.

“Last chance,” he said quietly into your ear. You softly shook your head no as you leaned into his touch, the cool air enveloping you in such a familiar way. He patted your back before letting go.

“I’ll see you in two weeks then.” This time he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, accenting every word in a ‘I’m the High Lord’ way. You chuckled softly as he turned, nodding at both Vanserras before walking out of the house.

The three of you stood in silence for only a moment, no one quite sure how to continue on after Kallias’s departure. Lucien’s eyes gleamed with excitement, a smile full of mischief and trouble sent your way.

“Would you like to walk around the estate?”

It was an interesting sight to behold - two fae, each over several centuries old, strolling about Autumn with a much younger and louder chaperone following behind them.

“I have to say you do seem quite different since the last I saw of you in Autumn, High Lord.”

Lucien’s steps followed the two of you, his whistling an overt measure to ensure you both remembered his presence. When you had asked for traditional courtship, you hadn’t had Lucien in mind.

“Autumn is seeing a great change.”

“You may speak freely, if you wish. I understand double speak is common around here, but I am unfamiliar with it and find it tedious.”

“Autumn is doing quite well now that the blight that was my father has been taken care of.”

Lucien’s whistling stopped, an almost choking noise coming from his mouth. Eris shot a spark from his finger at his brother. Even though he couldn’t see it, he heard Lucien patting the fire out of his breeches and smiled. Your eyes caught Eris’s, unable to stop the enjoyment at seeing him so happy.

“How crass, High Lord. To speak of your departed father in such a way.”

Eris’s eyes nearly bulged from his head, an excuse sitting on the tip of his tongue until he caught a glint of amusement in your eye. He clicked his tongue, looking straight ahead toward the path.

“You sound like Lucien, my least favorite brother.”

A cough came from behind, but Eris didn’t turn to look at his brother before replying. “Chaperones are merely to ensure our innocence and chastity, not to butt into conversation.”

“Yes, we are quite innocent and chaste up here. No deflowering has occurred on your watch,” you added.

“I do love a good deflowering, but watching it happen to my brother is not what I wish to see.”

Steam practically shot out of Eris’s ears at Lucien’s quip, but your giggles broke him from his anger.

“A virgin High Lord. How noble of you, your grace. And you picked me to deflower you? I’m so honored.”

The High Lord of Autumn had half a mind to forego the frivolity of tradition. Two weeks of his brother following him around was sure to end in murder. He knew you were quite a fan of them, some romanticized notion of courting traditions in your mind he couldn’t quite bear to see squashed.

Your first night there had been enough for him to put up with meddling brothers for a lifetime. He had shown you around the Forest House per your request. He listened intently during the tour as you compared the Forest House to the Snowflake Palace, comparing your current home to what was hopefully set to be a future one. You were now comparing balconies, ones you had shown him on his tour, balconies carved in part from ice in the upper levels of the palace.

“I’m sure you could remodel here with your flames a bit.”

A chuckle made you smile, happy to amuse him over such silly imaginings.

“I don’t think they’d be structurally sound to stand on.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. A flaming throne room would really make the place shine.”

The two of you moved through the house, wandering through centuries of history. Stories flowed from Eris’s mouth - items that were millennium old, passed down through the Vanserra line carefully. Things the high lord has grown so accustomed to seeing every day he had forgotten to enjoy the intricate details of them.

At some point on the tour, Lucien had stepped away, having to attend to some matter on his own.

“I could show you where your chambers would be if you moved here.”

You stopped, grabbing Eris by the elbow to get his attention. You held his arm as you spoke, the fabric of his jacket soft in your hand.

“Eris, if I am to wed, I would rather spend my nights with my husband. It’s no fun sleeping alone.”

He swallowed harshly, needing a moment before he responded. “Noted.”

“Would that be a problem?”

“Not at all.”

“Then can you show me your chambers?” Eris swore under his breath, the direct question straining his pants.

“Lucien steps away for an hour and you’re already trying to deflower me.”

“Maybe the chaperone was for me, Eris.”

Eris was still staying in his old chambers, wanting Beron’s old chambers completely renovated before he moved into them. His room was somewhere in the west wing, the windows facing a large field that had massive stables at the end of the horizon. You walked to the window, ignoring inspecting the rest of the furniture in favor of the lush green pasture.

“Horses?”

“Hounds,” he corrected, his voice dripping with pride. It jogged your memory - the brief conversation you had earlier about his pack of hounds.

“Do they sleep in the bed with you?”

The silence stretched on for a moment before he asked, “how important is the answer to that?”

You shrugged your shoulders, squinting your eyes as you looked at the field, trying to make out any dog-like shapes. “I’m often incredibly cold during the night and a warm, furry friend would be nice.”

“It’d be a shame then to not tell you that they all end up here during the night.”

You whipped your head to him, incredulity coating your words. “How many are there?”

“A dozen or so.”

A laugh escaped from you. Eris Vanserra, a male supposedly cut from Beron’s cloth who had half of Prythian annoyed at him and the other infuriated with him, had a pack of hounds to keep him company at night?

“This is delightful.” Only a few hours into the trip and you had already learned so much about Eris.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You leaned against the wall, turning your body toward him. It didn’t go unnoticed when he stepped slightly closer, following to not let any more distance linger between you two. “The other courts think you’re the Mother’s curse upon faekind. If only they knew you liked snuggling.”

“Even cursed ones have hobbies when they’re not ransacking villages or plaguing the common fae.”

The day was supposed to end with a dinner in your honor, celebrating relations between Winter and Autumn, and a way for you to meet more people in the Forest House. Instead you had asked if you could share dinner in his chambers, citing the travels of the day making you weary.

An excuse Eris saw through, but elected not to say anything. He’d be damned to give up this much alone time with you, certain Lucien would make himself known at any moment.

The two of you ate and drank in Eris’s sitting room, not having ventured into his bedchambers. This trip was about you and he’d follow your lead, no matter how straining it became.

“We’ve been on our own for several hours now. Do you think our chaperone’s gone?”

“With any luck he’s fallen into an uncapped well or perhaps gotten lost at sea.”

“I don’t think we’re that lucky, Eris.”

He leaned back in his seat, the wood creaking as he stretched out his long legs.

“It’s night time. He’s likely off writing a letter, waxing poetry about how much he’s missing his mate.”

“You’re not concerned about any interruptions, then?”

“At this point Lucien should be old enough to know better. What he sees is on him.”

The words had barely left his mouth before you glanced down at his trousers, noting the clear outline of his bulge. You looked back up to find his searing gaze on you, amber eyes full of molten want, the air around the two of you hot enough to have sweat prickling at your neck. You patted his shoulder, trying to soothe the rejection before it came.

“Still, he only has the one eye. Wouldn’t want to completely blind him.” You wanted to - your legs practically shook with need. Something held you back from allowing him in fully, to take in every aspect of this potential relationship.

Eris had escorted you back to your room, unperturbed by the earlier rejection. He only waited as you stood across from him, not quite ready to open your door and bid him goodnight. The longer you stood here, his body heat practically inviting you closer, the more likely you were to cave into your carnal wants.

His own restraint did little to quell the ache between your legs. In fact, it made it worse. He was being respectful, never pushing or upset at the space you needed.

“I should go to bed.”

A half attempt at moving, to get your brain in gear, to retire for the evening, but as long as his eyes were on you, it was hard to pull away from his orbit.

If Eris had it his way, this whole visit would have been structured so differently. Every meal just the two of you, spending only a few hours apart for some necessary meetings he had.

But you had asked for traditional courting.

So he put up with more chaperoned walks through the garden, meals spent with others, hardly getting a moment alone with you for weeks until you slipped into his sitting room each night, recounting the time spent apart. You saw more of Lucien than you did him, his brother neglecting almost all of his duties in favor of entertaining at all hours of the day.

Eris was on the brink of wringing Lucien’s neck. Watching his eyes pop from his head would amuse him, wondering if the mechanical one would pop out too or if it would stay in its socket forever.

Most of Autumn’s rituals around love and commitment were saved for the day of the wedding or the ceremony itself. Fire night was a big event, but that was six months out and Eris couldn’t wait that long. He had been racking his brain for ages, trying to figure out something to showcase Autumn.

The proposal weighed heavy on your mind over the days you spent with him. While you were having a great time, Kallias never made you feel like you had to marry for political advantage. He actually seemed to prefer you to marry outside of it. Your brother desperately wanted you to marry any of the athletes of Winter, preferably from his favored teams.

You were having a great time being courted - finally being allowed to soak in Eris’s company was a delight. But you couldn’t quite say yes.

Eris had told you it would be an early morning and to dress in layers and to wear pants, but it was all he’d give you. You took his advice, layering well for the Autumn chill, lacing up your boots when a knock came at the door. Eris stood on the other side of the door, a tweed jacket unbuttoned, showing off a matching vest beneath it. Dark pants clung to his thighs, disappearing into the knee high boots hugging his calves. He said nothing, letting his gaze trail up the pants that hugged your thighs, a devilish smirk on his face that almost had you pulling him into your chambers.

“Ready?” He asked, extending an elbow toward you. You accepted it, letting him lead you on whatever adventure he wanted to show you.

“I thought I would show you one of my traditions.” You stayed silent, waiting for him to tell you more, but he didn’t say more, only looking forward as he walked. He guided the two of you through the house, up to some side hallway that led to the pasture behind the house. Barks came from the door at the end, either excitement or aggression you couldn’t say.

“And what is this tradition?”

“Whenever my mother would successfully give birth, I would take my hounds out and catch dinner.” He paused, one of his hands resting on the doorknob before he turned to face you.

“Would this bother you?” He fully faced you, close enough that you could almost touch him. You reached out, your hand brushing his, letting his warmth wake you up. Standing in the hallway with him felt like standing in the sun after a long, cold day, his gaze enough to warm your bones.

You shook your head, hunting for game a familiar one in Winter.

“I’ve never hunted with animals before.” The only movement was an eyebrow before his fingers held your hand. “Kallias is really into trapping.” Furs and meat were the two necessities to make it in Winter, most court citizens avid hunters.

He nodded, surprise evident on his face, but he said nothing. He squeezed your hand gently, looking deep into your eyes, fondness clear in his gaze. He looked on the verge of saying something, but only turned the knob, letting the early morning haze in, not quite clearing the lovesick haze that had settled in your stomach.

All the barking stopped immediately once Eris opened the door, the sound of dozens of paws hitting the ground thunderous in your ears. They quickly mobbed the pair of you, standing politely, tails wagging furiously. Several colors of fur tried to make their way to you, a dozen noses desperately trying to reach you. You giggled, reaching a hand out to pet one of them. You’d get to nuzzle one of their heads before another hound pushed it out of the way, trying to get your affection.

Eris gave a short, high-pitched whistle, sending the party into a frozen state, each one on high alert as they waited for his next order. It was almost terrifying how well they listened to his command, moving in tandem as if from one mind.

They all focused on him, a few with tilted heads. He let out a series of whistles, the meaning lost to you, but they understood. They moved as a group, their movements wispy and light, practically floating on air as they moved through the pasture, keeping a pace you couldn’t even dream of reaching.

“How do we find them?” Eris began trudging off after them, following the line in the morning dew they had made. From the front of the house, when you had arrived only a few days ago, you couldn’t have guessed at this large field hidden among the trees, this quiet sanctuary beyond a house containing Prythian’s greatest secrets.

“We follow as best we can. They’ll let us know when they find something.” A large crossbow was hung across his shoulder, not quite sure how you had missed it beforehand. It covered the muscles of his back, showing off his broad shoulders.

“What sort of expectations are there for the Lady of Autumn?” You had briefly met the previous one on this trip, Eris’s mother graciously inviting you for afternoon tea. You spoke for an hour with her, charmed by her while also being moderately terrified of her.

A woman married to Beron for centuries certainly had some skeletons in her own closet. You hadn’t thought to ask about her duties as Lady of the court, but rather mostly about Eris.

“There are a few, first and foremost being at court events.” Something you had expected - it would be silly to have a title and never be seen by the public. “My mother has her own passions and hobbies that take up her time, I don’t expect anyone,” he sent you a pointed look, “to do exactly as she does. Be present, be someone Autumn recognizes. Represent Autumn and see dignitaries from other courts. Other than that, it’s how much or how little sway she wishes to have.”

“Would I have to wear all green and red?” He laughed, the sound disturbing some roosting birds nearby, their wings taking flight.

“You may wear whatever color you like.”

“How often is Lucien around?”

“Not very. He comes usually for a day at a time, if that. He’s only here so frequently because he jumped at the chance to be a thorn in my side.”

Barks came from up ahead, the whole pack in an uproar, clearly catching the scent of something.

Eris grabbed your hand, the two of you running to catch whatever it was they found. You felt giddy at it all - his hand around yours, running through the trees. You felt so much younger and freer as the wind blew through your hair.

Could this be life with Eris?

The dogs had been unsuccessful. Eris did not want to admit it, but you were certain it had to do with how many questions you asked him, the chatter enough to scare off any nearby game, no matter the lead the dogs had on you.

The two of you spent the entire day outside, trying to find anything worthwhile, only calling it a day as the sun began to set. You had trudged back to the Forest House, unsure what you wanted more: a good meal or a long hot shower. Stepping inside, the house smelled divine - rich, fragrant foods that had your mouth watering.

The cooks must have heard your dilemma and answered for you. The two of you sat and ate, not much to say, too exhausted and gross to have anything of note to vocalize.

The silence gave you plenty of time to think. Eris had shown you a part of himself today, showing one of his favorite pastimes, it was only fair you did the same.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” It was the first thing you had said since coming inside, waiting until Eris was walking you to your chambers to ask it. The question clearly caught him off guard, his head lightly shaking in surprise.

“Of course.”

A rhythmic ceremony of sorts played out as the two of you prepared for bed. Taking turns bathing and changing into bed attire, nestling into bed, it all felt so comfortable and relaxing. The room smelled like him, coated in a smoky scent so thick it nearly made you dizzy.

As you lifted the covers laying next to Eris, two of the hounds jumped onto the bed, curling at his feet. You laughed, patting the bed next to you for one of them to come closer, but it only invited one of the ones on the floor to jump up.

Her brown fur was soft as it landed next to you, your hand petting her automatically. You curled around her body, an almost crescent moon shape to both of you. You felt the bed shift before Eris had done the same to you: contorting his body around yours, pulling your back flush to his chest.

The room smelled of Eris, but it also smelled like his hounds in the best way. The one in your arms, Cinnamon, nestled in for the night, and the contentment at being cocooned between their two bodies quickly lulled you to sleep.

A few hounds had made their way into the bed through the night, rotating as if in shifts to ensure they all got a turn. One or two were posted at each entrance, guarding both the bathroom and the door to his sitting room. One sat beneath a window, stationed there most of the night, her eyes on you whenever you woke up in the night.

Eris woke not long after you did, his arms circling tighter around you as he breathed you in.

“Does she sleep at all?” You asked, breaking the stillness of the morning. Eris only groaned, burying his face into your hair. His fingers dug into your hips, the millimeter of space between the two of you too offensive. He grumbled something incomprehensible into your hair, the words unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Who?” You nodded toward the dog beneath the window, her gaze already on the two of you. She had a dark auburn coat, her long hair perfect to disappear amongst fallen leaves.

“That’s Lady. Not a cuddler.”

“Not even with you?”

“She cuddles in her own way. Sits near me and I have to stay very still.”

The image was incredibly endearing - the High Lord of Autumn letting his dog come to him in her own way, accommodating her as best he could. It had your heart practically bursting in your chest. You didn’t ask anymore questions, letting the room grow quiet with laziness.

Nobody moved for a long while, even the hounds staying still as they sprawled across the floor. Eventually a stomach growled - yours or Eris’s, you couldn’t tell. One of the hounds, Clove, you think, came over and nudged his back, her long snout attempting to get him out of bed.

It took longer than the dog had wanted, reluctance in every movement from both of you, but eventually the two of you left the warmth of the bed and took a walk in the woods, dozens of paws following you around.

Your remaining days in the court went by in a blur of red hair, warm skin, and explorations of the house and the forest surrounding it. You spent your nights tucked in Eris’s arms, the sweet domesticity of sharing a bed enough for both of you.

Each day brought a new confidence, that this was where you were meant to be, but every day something would hold you back, some new question keeping you from saying yes.

Before long, your shared two weeks in Autumn were up, your last night spent in Eris’s chambers, tangled in his arms and legs. He had held you tight all night, not wanting to let you go even as he slept.

A few hours before you were set to leave, luck had been on your side. One of the servants had let slip that Lucien had set off early that morning, some business in the Night Court requiring his immediate attention.

The sun was rising through the trees, chasing away the darkness of the night, bringing with it new life. The sun, for all its glory, hadn’t warmed up the ground yet, unable to fight the cool morning air yet. The cold in Autumn was different from Winter. It was familiar, a few details exchanged. The cold in Winter was dry and bone deep. The Autumn chill clung to you, stuck like a second skin.

Eris walked beside you, a few of his hounds trotting around the pair of you. The rest of them were out in the woods, chasing each other, investigating every scent trail they could find. The ones left behind were a guard of sort, likely expected to raise an alarm should anything happen.

The air was heavy with humidity and uncertainty, neither of you ready for what the afternoon would bring. Once you left, he’d have a busy day, ironing out the details of all the things he had pushed aside the past few weeks.

You weren’t sure when you would be back, if you would be back. Your mind was telling you stay guarded, to not give in. But you remembered Lady’s bright eyes, how she watched Eris everywhere he went, how he made time out of his day to spend a few moments alone with her, letting her come to him.

But now he walked beside you, silent and sure, unwavering as he walked over roots and bramble, a dog weaving between his long legs on occasion.

You bent over, crouching low to the ground and picking up a fallen stick. The leaves on it were still vibrant, some perfect color between orange and red. You held it up to the light before holding it close to Eris’s head, comparing it to his long, bright locks.

“They’re the same color as your hair.”

He moved one of his hands through the air, vaguely gesturing all around. The movement caught someone’s attention, a ball of red fur sitting in anticipation for the stick to be thrown their way.

“Most of them look like my hair.”

“Well that’s not fun.”

“I’m the High Lord of Autumn. It’s not far-fetched to think my lands resemble me.”

You only hummed, marching onwards, more determined with each step. After a moment of pretending to ignore the dog, you threw the stick off to the left when you figured they would least suspect it. The two of you continued in silence, the crunching of your boots crackling through the woods as four legs darted after the stick.

After a moment, you stepped off the path, looking for what had caught your eye. Quickly plucking the flower from its stalk, you hurry back to the bewildered male you left behind. You presented the flower to him before holding it next to his face, pointed so you could see the flower. The bright orange flower flared to life next to him, the perfect companion to the hundreds of freckles dancing across his cheeks.

The flower practically glowed next to him, its petals slightly bending in his direction. You’re not sure which came first: the magic or the life of the land.

“It matches your eyes.”

“My eyes are not orange.” You pulled the flower back, rolling your eyes as you did so.

“Not the petals, the eye of the flower. The center.” You pointed to make it clearer for him, the deep amber middle a perfect match for his eyes. He watched you carefully before looking down at the flower, the orange reflecting in his eyes.

He smiled, his mouth curved in a gorgeous upward tilt. He looked made of the woods, the forest around him bending to be seen by him or to catch a fraction of his warmth.

The crinkles in the corners of his eyes were enough proof you would go to great lengths to see them more permanently.

“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of your undivided company all morning? I haven’t seen Lucien running about today.”

Eris only looked ahead, picking up a fallen stick and tossing it as far as he could, two of the hounds circling you chasing off after it.

“It seems he found a new toy to play with.”

“Must be some toy to pull him away from any opportunity to bother you.”

“I’m quite skilled at bargaining when there’s something I desire.”

“It wasn’t just luck that sent Lucien off this morning, was it?”

He merely shrugged, his hands clasped behind his back, the air of nonchalance he was attempting not quite landing right.

“I’m sure my brother’s told you I’m a selfish creature.”

A coy smile made its way across your face.

“Perhaps.”

“He’s not wrong.” The look he gave you felt all consuming. Amber eyes peering through every defense, every blockade of yours. He looked down at you, more resembling his hounds on the hunt for their toys than a male. The look pierced through every defense you had, nearly crumbling at the sight of it.

You had one last meal planned with Eris, one last time to speak over everything. He didn’t ask - staying silent, waiting for you to come to him.

There was one last question you couldn’t bring yourself to ask yet. It was the one thing keeping you from saying yes. Your last inhibition. It could all end depending upon his response.

“Eris, how are you different from your father?” He had only touched on the subject of Beron your first day here. It had been in an unfavorable manner, but you couldn’t tie yourself to someone without knowing the full truth.

“I haven’t burnt anyone alive so far.”

Your fork fell to your plate, so surprised at Eris’s words all of your senses stopped working. You knew Beron was a cruel man, but the extent of the harm he was producing in his court was unknown.

“That’s diabolical.”

Eris put his fork down softly, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Forgive me, it’s a question I am asked over and over again, even by myself. It’s a bit frustrating.”

His hand reached across the table, holding yours softly. His eyes were molten amber as they looked at you, honesty pouring out of them.

“I fear becoming like my father. I fear it’s inevitable. That is why I wish to keep people around me who will keep me in check. Lucien does a decent job, but he’s an emissary. He’s not always around. My mother wishes to spend her time between Day and Autumn.

“I need a life partner. Someone that will keep me from my worst tendencies. Someone that will keep me from becoming him. Someone that I like spending time with.”

“And I’m all of those things?” Your voice was soft, a murmur amidst the candlelight.

“And more.”

“Well, for the sake of honesty, maybe you should continue on with that list.”

His smile made your heart beat wildly, erratic beats you couldn’t calm no matter how hard you tried. The incandescent glow of the candlelight made him so striking it almost hurt to look at his beauty.

“You have always seen me. And I made a promise to you all those years ago. I know you aren’t seeing anyone else, and I’m a lovestruck fool who can’t help but hope that that is because of me. That you return my feelings toward you.”

You leaned in, desperate to close the space between you.

“And what are your feelings toward me?”

“Ones of yearning and love.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his eyes pleading with you to return his affections.

“Eris Vanserra, the secret romantic.”

“Only for you.”

You reached a hand out, caressing his cheek. You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with movement. Your gaze kept flickering between his eyes and his lips, debating where to pay attention to.

All along, every decision was yours. You took the lead while he waited, letting you guide whatever this was. He did it with Lady, taking his time, putting her comfort over his wants.

“You were right. I was waiting for you.” You closed the gap between your faces, bringing your lips to his. He tasted sweet and warm, a bit of spice to it. His lips captured yours, melding perfectly to the shape of them. It felt perfect as his hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You almost fell out of the chair, breaking the kiss to squeal, but he caught you, pulling you into his lap. His lips reconnected with yours, more fervent this time. He had gotten a taste, and now he was desperate for more. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you flush to his body.

It felt right. This was the last thing you needed to say yes.

You pulled back from his lips just enough to speak.

“There’s one last thing I need to know before I can make up my mind.”

“Anything.” Looking into his eyes, you felt the truth to that one word. He would give you anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask.

“I’d never marry someone without spending the night with them.” Your low voice was dripping with innuendo. The smell of his arousal coated the air as you leaned in to kiss him once more. His hands moved down to your ass, gripping you tight against him. Too caught up in the moment, neither of you heard the door open, ana mused Lucien trying to look displeased.

“Well, well, well, High Lord. And you mocked me for needing a chaperone. I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re-“

Eris quickly pushed the door close with his magic, forcing Lucien from the room without leaving your lips.

He held you close to him, savoring the moment. His mouth curled into a smug expression, an arrogant look in his eye before he said, “I’m sure I was worth the wait.”

Banner by @tsunami-of-tears

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#how could she ever say no to the Eris Vanserra????#eris #eris fluff

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prythianslibrary · 23 days ago

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Modern au!Masterlist

Pt 2 Introduction - help guide Playlist FAQ Each link is actually part of the series, the parts just mark which are smaus and which are in-between fics All series are completed - pre-relationship half

Gojo ❥ San Miguel: bottoms up (pt 1) ❥ Staropramen: drink up ❥ Stella Artois: stella? i barley know ya (pt 2) ❥ Birra Moretti: on the rocks (pt 3) ❥ Carling lager: shaken, not stirred (pt 4) ❥ Estrella Damm: don't drink and run ❥ Peroni Nastro Azzurro: brewing fun (pt 5) ❥ Corona Extra: sobering up (pt 6) ❥ Madri Lager: drunk words ❥ Budweiser: drink up (pt 7) ❥ Cosmopolitan: sober thoughts ❥ Bloody Mary: black out (pt 8) ❥ Old Fashioned: swallow that bitter taste ❥ Mojito: bottomless ❥ Daiquiri: splash of water ❥ Still water: got all I need Geto ❥ 1923 BMW R32: put your keys in my ignition (pt 1) ❥ 1937 Brough Superior SS100: take me for a ride (pt 2) ❥ 1957 Harvey-Davidson Sportster: bumpy ride (pt 3) ❥ Ducati 350 Desmo: rev my engine ❥ Yamaha XT500: slowing down (pt 4) ❥ Norton Commando: speeding up (pt 5) ❥ Kawasaki W800: flashing lights ❥ Aprilia Tuono: halting to a stop (pt 6) ❥ Manx Norton: going over the limit Choso ❥ Fauvism: strong colours and fierce brushwork (pt 0) ❥ Rococo: aristocratic leisure (pt 1) ❥ Suprematism: pure artistic feeling (pt 2) ❥ Surrealism: exploration of dreams (pt 3) ❥ Classicism: practice strokes ❥ Arte Povera: humility and irony (pt 4) ❥ Precisionism: sharp cuts (pt 5) ❥ Renaissance: worship

#jjk x reader #jjk smau #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #choso kamo #choso x reader #gojo series #gojo fluff #binged this all day yesterday and it was 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

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prythianslibrary · 29 days ago

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— nanami vs. the flat-pack furniture .

you should have known it was doomed the moment you saw the words “some assembly required.”

but when you brought home the new bookshelf from the store—dreamy and walnut-colored, perfect for the ever-growing pile of novels beside your bed—you were optimistic.

nanami, however, stared at the box like it had personally offended him.

“this will take five hours,” he said flatly.

“it says thirty minutes on the label.”

“that is a lie, my darling.”

he was right.

two hours later, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a minefield of bolts and hex wrenches, watching the love of your life—grade one sorcerer, certified genius, practical to the bone—go slowly feral over the world’s most complicated instruction manual.

“they didn’t even label the parts,” he muttered darkly, flipping the paper upside down and back again. “what the hell is part E? they gave us six identical wooden planks and decided one is E and the rest are F? that’s sadistic.”

you were trying not to laugh. really. but the way he squinted at the tiny cartoon drawing of a screw like it had personally insulted his ancestors was too much.

“i think part E is the shorter one,” you offered gently.

“they are all short.”

“one’s slightly shorter.”

“slightly?”

you crawled over and held two up next to each other. “see?”

he stared. then, reluctantly, nodded. “this is absurd. this is an insult to engineering.”

“you fight demons for a living, kento.”

“and none of them have ever tested my patience like this.”

you bit your lip to keep from laughing and leaned against his shoulder, watching him wrestle a wooden dowel into place. after a minute, he gave in and leaned back into you slightly.

“you’re enjoying this,” he said.

“very much.”

“it’s humiliating.”

“it’s adorable.”

he gave you a look—exasperated, but fond. you knew that look. it meant: i hate this. but i love you more so i’m gonna do it anyway.

—

by the third hour, he was lying flat on the carpet, arms spread dramatically, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers.

“it’s cursed,” he declared.

“you exorcised it?”

“emotionally. spiritually. physically, it remains.”

you sat beside him, reaching out to play with his hair. “we could’ve just bought it pre-assembled.”

“pre-assembled furniture is overpriced.”

“you say that, but your blood pressure says otherwise.”

he cracked a smile, then reached up, wrapped an arm around your waist, and tugged you down to sprawl across his chest.

you let out a little oof and grinned into the fabric of his t-shirt. “giving up?”

“recharging.”

“this is nice,” you mumbled.

he hummed low in his chest. “it is. all things considered.”

“you mean the bookshelf that bested you?”

“i will burn it.”

“no you won’t.”

“you’re right,” he sighed. “i’ll finish building it, and it will haunt me forever.”

—

miraculously, in the fifth hour—powered by stubbornness, revenge, and one begrudging granola bar break—you and nanami finally finished the damn thing.

it stood proudly (a little crookedly), full of your favorite books and one very specific photo frame: a picture you snapped of nanami, red-cheeked and mildly sweating, mid-glare at the instruction manual.

he pretended not to like it. but he never took it down.

and later that night, when you were curled up on the couch together, legs tangled and shoulders pressed close, he kissed the top of your head and murmured, “next time, let’s just hire someone.”

“no way,” you said. “this was the most fun i’ve had all week.”

he sighed. “is me suffering really that fun?”

“yeah,” you grinned, kissing his cheek. “but only because you get all cute and stuff.”

“you have a strange taste.”

“i love you too.”

#they’re so cute 🤧#nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento

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prythianslibrary · 1 month ago

Note

Lu crying 😭 I’m devastated. Literally me rn:

3 with baby Eris and Lucien 👀👀 brotherly angst

Or baby Feyre and Nesta for sister angst

Broken Fox

A/N: you said baby Eris and Lucien and I took that literally lmao (it's also not exactly angsty oops)

Word count: 380

Warnings: none

3 - I trusted you (writing game)

Broken pieces of painted wood lay scattered across the floor, and a sniffle pierced the silence of the room.

“C'mon, Lu,” Eris said gently, placing a hand on his little brother's shoulder. “No need to cry. We can get someone to fix it.”

Lucien pulled away, turning his back to him. “It's not the toy.”

Eris frowned. “Then why are you crying?”

“Because of you.”

He blinked, caught off guard by Lucien's accusation. “Me?” he repeated. “I didn't break your toy.”

Lucien shook his head, but still refused to turn around. He rubbed his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, trying to stifle his quiet sobs. He was eight, after all. Father always said he was too big to cry. Boys over five shouldn't cry.

“No, but you lied,” Lucien mumbled. Eris struggled to understand his words. “You said you'd protect me from them, but Torin and Azar always play pranks on me and you're never there…”

So that was who had broken the toy. Eris sighed. Being the oldest brother didn't help much when he had five siblings who constantly picked on Lucien. Everyone treated him differently—from their father's and brothers' cruelty to their mother's deep affection. Eris tried to do his best, but he couldn't always be there for him. He had duties to attend to.

“I'm sorry, Lu,” he said, crouching down to be at his brother's level, even though Lucien still stubbornly refused to look at him. “But I was in a meeting with Father.”

“I don't care,” Lucien replied. He picked up the broken pieces of what had once been a wooden fox. “I trusted you… now I don't. Go away.”

Eris didn't really know what to say. He knew Lucien could be very stubborn for his age, and trying to make him understand now would be pointless. Lucien would avoid him at all costs for a few days, and then come looking for him when he wanted someone to play with, and every grudge would be forgotten.

With a sigh, Eris stood up. He ruffled Lucien's hair and earned an outraged scoff in return, a small hand swatting at his. He smirked, then left quickly before Lucien could get even angrier.

He needed to have a chat with Torin and Azar anyway.

Taglist: @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34 @yesiamthatwierd @lreadsstuff @littlest-w01f

#loved this ❤️#Eris #Lucien

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prythianslibrary · 2 months ago

Text

Writers cock- I MEAN BLOCK

A/N: im suffering of writers block. heres a fic of nanami (inspired by one of my dear moots)

warnings: smut, ridiculous shit, i don't even know anymore. i can't write, im losing braincells by the second

The cursor blinks.

The screen is taunting you. Flashing like a goddamn middle finger on white space, open doc glowing like it knows you're floundering. No—worse. It’s mocking you. Evil little bastard. You've been stuck on the same paragraph for hours.

Well, okay. Not stuck. That’d imply you wrote something.

But you didn’t. You haven’t. You literally fucking can’t.

And it's not just any scene. No. Of course not. It couldn’t be like… a rainy dialogue scene, or a tender flashback, or a filler chapter. Not even a fight scene. No, it has to be that scene.

The smut scene. The climax, if you will. The penultimate, long-awaited, pants-dropping culmination of twenty chapters’ worth of tension. And you’ve got nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

You’re standing in the middle of your living room like a gremlin about to spontaneously combust, barefoot, in one of Nanami's old dress shirts, hair a fucking mess, coffee mug abandoned on the floor because you got distracted when you thought of a single sentence and then immediately hated it. You're pacing. Your laptop is open on the coffee table. The TV is playing something you forgot to pause.

And the cursor keeps blinking.

Blinking.

Blinking—

You groan. “Fuck.”

(Which is ironice because that's the one thing you can't write).

You drag your hands down your face, down your neck, press your fingers to the back of it like the pressure will make your brain work harder. It doesn’t.

Your characters are right there. You can see them. They're in a bed, or against a wall, or maybe on a balcony—whatever. It doesn’t matter. They want to fuck. You want them to fuck. You just… can’t get there.

And the worst part? The truly infuriating part?

You used to be good at this. But now? Now every time you try to write something even remotely hot, your brain short-circuits like a nun in a strip club. It’s all mechanics and no spark, all “he touches her waist” and “his lips meet hers” and what the fuck am I writing, a 2008 Wattpad vampire fic?

You want it to be gritty. Visceral. A little gross. That kind of sweat-slick, breathless, mind-melting need that feels so real it leaves your skin warm while you type it. The kind of scene you reread ten times because the filth lives in the details and you fucking nailed it.

Except you’re not nailing anything. Especially not your boyfriend.

Your face burns.

That’s part of the problem too. It’s been—what? Two weeks? Maybe more? And not for lack of trying. You’re just so fucking tired. You’ve been writing until 2 a.m. every night, drinking too much coffee, skipping dinner, ignoring your vibrator like it owes you something. And Kento’s been patient. So fucking patient. But you’re feeling the distance. And it’s crawling into your writing like rot.

You groan again. Loudly. Dramatically. The neighbors are probably worried.

“I swear to God if I don’t figure this out I’m going to go outside and let a car hit me.”

And that’s when the door clicks.

Your back goes straight. Your eyes go wide. You freeze like a raccoon caught stealing trash.

“…I’m home,” comes the low, familiar voice of your boyfriend.

Kento Nanami stands in the doorway, tired in the shoulders and sharp in the jaw, a briefcase in one hand and a paper bag from the konbini in the other. His tie is loosened, his hair’s a little wind-tousled, and the second his eyes land on you—wild-eyed, pacing, braless in one of his old button-ups with absolutely no pants on—his brow creases in that soft, concerned way he does when he’s already halfway into husband mode.

“What happened?” he asks immediately.

You throw your arms up. “My brain has betrayed me.”

He sighs. Closes the door. Sets down the bag and the briefcase. You’re already ranting before he even gets his shoes off.

“I can’t do it,” you blurt, breathless. “I’ve tried everything—music, candle, rereading horny fanfiction, even pulled out my annotated smut folder—nothing is working. I’m this close to just writing ‘and then they fucked’ and calling it a day. Do you know how many people are waiting for this book? They’re going to eat me alive. They’ve waited for twenty chapters. Twenty chapters of slow burn. I can’t blue ball them. It’s unethical.”

Nanami blinks once. He’s still by the doorway. Still wearing his coat.

“…You’re talking about your book.”

“What else would I be talking about, Kento?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his eyes sweep over you, slowly, like he’s assessing something under a microscope. The shirt you’re in is unbuttoned too low. Your cheeks are flushed. Your pupils are blown. And you’re pacing like a sex-deprived ghost in an empty Victorian manor.

His voice is patient. “Have you eaten?”

You scoff. “I had coffee.”

He sighs. Again.

You’re back to pacing.

“I just—I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I used to be able to write this kind of thing in my sleep. I love writing smut. It’s fun. It’s cathartic. It gets people off, Kento. Off. And now I can’t even get through a paragraph without feeling like I’m writing bad porn with a thesaurus. I tried writing ‘he thrusts his cock’ and almost burst into tears. Thrusts, Kento. Thrusts. I should be jailed.”

He moves through the apartment like a shadow, quiet but grounded. Doesn’t interrupt. Just walks toward the kitchen, rolls his sleeves up as he listens to you lose your mind.

“You wanna know the last thing I wrote before I spiraled?” you continue, arms flailing like a madwoman, “It was ‘she whimpered into his kiss.’ Whimpered, Kento. What am I, writing for Harlequin?? It’s off-brand. It’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassing. I’m a fraud. You should break up with me before my career tanks and we have to sell your ties on Depop—”

You freeze mid-step.

There’s the soft, comforting sound of the kettle turning on.

Tea. He’s making you tea.

You stare.

“Did you…?” you blink. “Are you making me chamomile right now?”

His voice is calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that borders on deadpan but still warmer than any voice has a right to be.

“You’re spiraling,” he says. “Tea usually helps.”

You want to cry. Or kiss him. Or both. Maybe kiss him while crying. That feels thematically appropriate.

Instead, you flop face-first onto the couch.

“This is humiliating.”

You hear the sounds of mugs. The little metal clink of honey being stirred.

“It’s not,” he says. “You’re passionate. It matters to you.”

You roll onto your side. Dramatic. Limp. Tragic heroine in a period piece.

“I haven’t gotten laid in fifteen days. I counted.”

A pause.

Then, the quietest, most curious tone: “Did you actually count?”

You groan into a pillow.

He brings you the mug.

You sit up. Hold it with both hands. Sniff it, because you’re deranged and in love and want to smell the care he put into steeping it.

And when you glance up at him—tired but still composed, sleeves rolled, forearms taut, a tenderness in his eyes that no man has any business aiming so directly at you—you feel the curl of something in your gut that’s got nothing to do with writing.

“…I think I need to get railed,” you say.

He blinks.

You sip your tea.

“Not now,” you clarify. “Maybe later. Just. You know. For research.”

He sits beside you. Brushes your hair back from your forehead with those stupidly gentle fingers. Kisses the top of your head like he’s not been thinking the exact same thing for the last two weeks but was too fucking respectful to push.

“Research,” he murmurs.

You nod solemnly. “Purely academic.”

His fingers trail down the nape of your neck.

“I’m happy to assist,” he says.

And God, it’s that voice. That low, calm, reverent voice. Like he’s not offering to rearrange your organs but confessing something sacred. You shiver.

You glance at your laptop.

“…What if I just wrote ‘he makes her tea and then fucks her into the next dimension’ and left it at that?”

He hums. “I’d read it.”

You sigh, a little softer this time. Lean into him.

And just like that, the pressure eases. The storm calms. Not gone. Not fixed.

But... quiet enough to breathe.

(You still don’t know what your characters are doing.)

*-*

You should be in horny jail.

Like. Maximum security. Life sentence. No parole. No visitation rights.

Because somehow, after the tea and the breakdown and the spiraling monologue about the unethical crime of blueballing your readers, you find yourself sitting cross-legged on the couch next to Nanami Kento—a saint of a man—and pitching him porn for three hours straight.

“And what about—wait, hold on—what if he like…pinned her hands above her head, right?” You mime it with one hand as you type with the other. “Like, just held them there, totally in control, all that delicious dominance energy. And she’s begging for it, but he’s being all patient, just dragging it out—”

Nanami hums quietly. “You mentioned something similar an hour ago.”

You blink. “Did I?”

“Yes,” he says, glancing over your shoulder, where the screen glows with paragraph fragments and open tabs of inspiration references, “You also suggested shower sex, balcony sex, and something you referred to as ‘reverse cowgirl but make it grief-stricken.’”

“Oh right. Yeah. I’m keeping that one.”

Nanami just nods. Patiently. Politely. While you—a menace with a MacBook—start into yet another brainstorm.

“And maybe—wait, okay—what if she rides him, but like…not in a hot way at first? In that slow, kind of…deliberate way, like she’s got something to prove. Like, ‘I can take it, I can do it myself.’ But then it turns messy, and she starts sobbing and he’s just watching her lose her mind and—"

“Love,” he says, calm as ever, “you’ve described seven positions. It’s almost one in the morning.”

You freeze mid-keystroke.

“Wait…what?”

He lifts his wrist, glances at his watch like it betrayed him. “Twelve fifty-six. You haven’t stopped talking for approximately…three hours.”

You blink. The cursor is still blinking back at you. You glance at your notes. There are at least five bullet points titled “HE MAKES HER SEE GOD.” Your fingers are cramping.

“I…” You squint. “Oh my god. I haven’t even written the scene.”

Nanami reaches across you—warm, slow, deliberate—and closes your laptop.

“HEY!”

“You’re clearly exhausted.”

You are, actually. Your joints ache, your thoughts are melting into soup, and your shirt (still his, still oversized, still unbuttoned to dangerous depths) is sticking to your back with sweat. But there’s so much work to do, so much to write down, and what if you forget the really juicy bit about riding his thigh and *—

Nanami picks you up.

“Kento!”

“Sleep schedules are important,” he says, already walking toward the bedroom like you don’t weigh a damn thing, like you’re not flailing in his arms and protesting weakly while your thighs cling instinctively around his hips. “If you’re not going to rest on your own, I’ll help you.”

You’re spluttering. “You can’t just—carry me off like this! I’m an artist, I have processes!”

“Your process involves vibrating with sexual frustration until you pass out,” he says, dry.

“Exactly! It’s called passion!”

He tosses you gently onto the bed. You bounce. The mattress sighs beneath you. He’s already removing his tie.

You swallow.

“Wait,” you whisper, watching the deliberate way his fingers work the buttons of his shirt, sleeves already rolled to his elbows. “Wait, what are you—?”

“You wanted to do research,” he says, calmly, his gaze dark and deadly steady. “So. Let’s research.”

Your mouth goes dry.

Oh. Oh shit.

He kneels on the edge of the bed, palms sliding up your bare thighs, thumbs brushing where his shirt barely covers you. You forgot you weren’t wearing panties.

You forgot everything.

“You’ve been teasing yourself all night,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet yours, that glint of softness always in his gaze but buried now beneath something far darker. “Talking about all the ways your characters should be touched. How they should fall apart. But you haven’t even come once, have you?”

Your breath stutters. “N-No.”

“I know.” His hands splay across your hips. “I’ve noticed.”

And then he’s got you under him. Fast. Sure. Effortless. You gasp—your shirt bunched around your ribs, wrists pinned in one of his hands while the other drags down your ribs, down your belly, lower—

“Let’s fix that,” he murmurs.

He tastes you like you’re something he paid for. No. Like something he earned.

Tongue slow. Precision exact. Hands on your hips like a scholar anchoring a page, steadying the corners of a sacred text so he can devour it one line at a time.

He doesn’t even fuck you at first.

He studies.

He kisses the inside of your thigh like he’s thanking it. Fingers brushing along the skin like parchment, reverent. There’s something devastating about how silent he is, how deliberate—how he doesn’t even make a sound when his mouth finally finds you, lips dragging across your cunt like worship, and then—

“Fuck—Kento—”

—then he moans, low and broken, as if he’s finally found the thing he’s been starving for.

And it doesn’t stop.

Not when your legs start shaking. Not when your hips buck and your voice rises. Not when your fingers curl in his hair and your thighs clamp around his ears. He wants that. Encourages it. Growls against you like your desperation is a reward.

“Don’t hold back,” he breathes into you. “Let me feel it.”

You come on his tongue like prayer. Like sin.

But he doesn’t stop. Not even when you whimper that you can’t, not even when you twitch away. He just tightens his grip and keeps going, like this is the only thing in the world that matters.

You lose count.

Two orgasms. Three. Four.

You don’t even know what time it is anymore. All you know is that his mouth is unforgiving, his voice is wrecked, and you’re falling apart.

And then he lets you breathe.

Not for long.

Because he’s guiding you up, settling onto the bed with his thighs spread wide, voice rough as gravel. “Come here.”

“Kento—”

He drags you into his lap and sets you on his thigh.

“You wanted to know what this felt like,” he murmurs, voice fraying at the edges. “So learn it. Ride me.”

Your hips jerk the second you grind down, slick already soaking his skin, and the heat of him, the thickness of that muscle under you—it has you gasping.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he whispers, hands on your waist. “You’re doing so well.”

You drag your cunt across his thigh, riding it with stuttered moans, every pass against that muscle sparking another little burst of electricity through your spine. You can’t look at him. You can’t. But he’s watching you, rapt, chest heaving.

“Good girl. Just like that.”

You come again.

Hard. Loud. Legs trembling.

He shudders beneath you, like just watching you fall apart on his thigh is almost too much.

And then he flips you, fast and fluid and impossibly gentle, and you gasp as he lays you flat and kisses the underside of your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—marks you up with a quiet kind of urgency.

When he slides inside you, he groans like it hurts.

You choke.

Because he’s so deep, and he doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, pressed all the way in, forehead to yours, breath warm across your lips. And then—

Then he fucks you like he’s got all the time in the world and a point to prove.

A slow, devastating rhythm. Your legs bent near double, his body bearing down over yours like gravity, like fate. You hear your own voice but it sounds far away. Like someone else's moans. Like background noise.

All you can focus on is the way he’s moving. The way he holds you—one hand cradling your head, the other gripping your hip tight enough to bruise. The way he says your name between clenched teeth every time you tighten around him.

"You take me so well,” he breathes. “Fuck—look at me, baby—look at me while I ruin you."

You do.

You do, and your vision blurs.

It’s too much. He knows it. You know it. But he keeps going. Keeps pushing. Keeps telling you how beautiful you are, how perfect you feel, how he’s going to make sure you remember exactly what this scene should look like.

You lose count of your orgasms.

Seven. Maybe eight. Maybe nine.

You’re not sure, because at some point time stopped existing and all you could focus on was his voice—low and thick with praise, telling you to keep going, to take it, to look at him—and his body, golden and solid and warm and unrelenting over yours.

You ride him. Again. Even when your thighs are shaking and your arms are too weak to hold yourself upright. He just holds your hips and guides you, gaze locked to yours, like he can will you through it. Like you owe it to yourself to take every last bit he gives.

When your head falls forward, he catches you. Pulls you to his chest. Wraps an arm around your waist and lets you fuck yourself into oblivion on his cock, whispering—

“You’re so good, sweetheart. You wanted to write this? Then feel it. Learn it. Memorize how full you are, how much you can take. Fuck—you’re squeezing me so tight—”

You’re sobbing.

Actually sobbing. Lips trembling. Eyes wet. Nails digging into his shoulders as another orgasm rips through you, messy and sharp.

You collapse against him.

And then he flips you over again.

No words now. No teasing. Just him, panting, sweat-slicked and gorgeous and desperate as he lays you on your stomach and fucks you from behind, hand flat between your shoulders to keep you steady, mouth at your ear as he breaks you open.

“You’re not done,” he groans. “I know—baby, I know you’re tired. Just one more. Let me see you fall apart for me one more time—fuck, I need it—”

You come with a wail, the angle, the pressure, the way he’s losing rhythm and moaning into your neck as he fucks you through it—

You’re not even sure what happens next.

Just heat. And light. And the feeling of his mouth on your shoulder, murmuring something half-shattered and worshipful as he fills you, cock twitching inside you as he finally lets go.

And then silence.

Not real silence. Just softness. The kind that comes after a storm.

You’re both shaking.

He kisses your back. Your spine. The backs of your thighs. Pulls out slowly. Gently.

And Nanami—quiet, reverent, glowing in the dim light—presses his forehead to yours and says, “You did so well.”

You’re limp. Boneless. Soup in human form.

He carries you to the shower. Washes you gently. Kisses each bruise, each bite. Dries you off with a fluffy towel and lets you wear another one of his shirts. Brushes your hair. Gives you water. Holds you under the blankets like you’re glass. Like you matter more than anything.

His voice, low and exhausted and loving, whispering thank yous into your skin like you gave him something sacred.

You fall asleep with his fingers trailing patterns on your spine and the hum of his voice saying, “Just rest. I’ve got you.”

You don’t remember falling asleep.

*-*

You wake up at 12:47PM.

But you wake up the next day with bruises on your hips, bite marks on your neck, and so much goddamn inspiration you can barely type fast enough.

Your thighs are screaming. Your hips ache. You roll over and whimper softly, wondering if your spine was replaced with a wet spaghetti noodle.

Nanami is not in bed. The smell of something savory is wafting from the kitchen.

You try to get up. You fail. You try again. Your legs shake.

“Don’t push it,” comes the voice from the door.

You blink. He’s standing there in his lounge pants, hair mussed, a spatula in hand.

“You’re not allowed out of bed yet,” he says, walking over, brushing your cheek with his knuckles like you didn’t ride his face for ten minutes last night, “You’re still recovering.”

You pout.

“But—”

He cuts you off with a kiss to your temple.

“You can write from bed.”

Your stomach flutters.

So you do.

Laptop open. Bruised thighs spread lazily under the sheets. You start to write—really write—fingers clacking fast and free, as the scene finally clicks.

And you narrate while Nanami plates brunch in the kitchen.

“So then,” you murmur, typing, “she spreads her legs for him, but instead of going straight for it, he just kisses her knee. Real soft. And she starts shaking because she knows what’s coming.”

Nanami hums thoughtfully from the stove. “Add that he holds eye contact. The whole time.”

You grin.

“I’ll dedicate the chapter to you.”

“You already did,” he says, walking back in with eggs and rice and a proud little smile. “And I’m very flattered. Write it down while it’s fresh, sweetheart. But brunch is in ten.”

You write:

“He made her come so many times she forgot her own name. She remembered it when he whispered it, kissed it, spoke it like it was a benediction.”

And then:

“She’d never written a better chapter in her life.”

And then:

“Extensive. Fucking. Research.”

A/N: live laugh love writters block, i wanna explode

Masterlist

#the ending line lol #ahhhhhhh #wish he was real so he can help me when I have writer’s block 🤧#this was so good!#nanami kento #nanami smut #nanami kento smut

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prythianslibrary · 2 months ago

Text

me after reading this

Right Hand

rhysand x secretary!reader

warnings: abuse of power, sexual themes, a million words worth of buildup, unprofessional relationships, kinda dom/sub themes , idk dude this idea has been plaguing my mind for weeks, i just needed it out

summary: Glossy hair and pencil skirts. High heels and sheer tights. Stacks of mission reports skewed across Rhysand’s desk and ink pots staining the carpets while he thanks his perfect secretary for her due diligence.

—

Rhysand’s in a mood.

Can tell by the way he’s fidgeting in his tailored suit, fingers fiddling with shiny cufflinks and constantly readjusting his tie until you’re forced to walk over and fix it yourself before he yanks it off altogether. No words are spoken but you can feel the relief beginning to ease the tense line of his shoulders when you carefully adjust the collar of his dress shirt.

You feel his eyes track you, somehow relaxed by the rhythmic clicking of your heels against rich hardwood floors and the line in his forehead completely dissipates when you saunter back over with a crystal cup filled three knuckles deep with a bourbon so strong it singes your nose. “For your nerves.” The glass is passed over with a knowing look, an easy smile growing on your face with intent to comfort. “You look like you’re getting ready for a fight and I’m not particularly interested in adding ‘damage control’ to the to-do list.”

“Fucking hate coming here.” Rhysand murmurs over the rim, barely wincing at the burn of the aged liquor.

“I know,” You’re too occupied re-familiarizing yourself with the Hewn City office; it’s barely used and lacking warmth but always sporting a fully stocked bar. Soft hair bounces with each step as you round the length of your High Lords desk, too oblivious to notice the way Rhysand’s eyes track the length of your legs in sheer tights, the rounded curve of your ass accentuated by that tight dress and those obnoxiously high heels. Manicured hands collect paperwork, being careful with freshly signed documents as the ink dries on crisp parchment.

You’re meticulous, calculated and busy as hell but you handle the hefty workload like you were made for it—makes Rhys wonder what else you’re able to handle. “If it makes you feel better the meeting with Kier is only supposed to be for half an hour if he doesn’t go on another one of his tangents.”

He grunts in response, listening but focusing on the soft flesh of your breasts that peeks from the cut of your neckline. The dress you wear is the epitome of professional but it’s tight; shows off your figure in a way that makes Rhys’ hands twitch with the need to touch and he can’t deny that the way the pretty distraction eases his tense muscles. “A male can dream.”

There's an double meaning to the words—a tone you're not quite familiar with lacing his cadence but you only have enough time in your schedule to spare a fleeting glance, brows furrowing for a fraction of a second as you take in that dark look in his eye.

The animalistic sharpness that shifts a charming amethyst to a calculating indigo.

It passes just as soon as you've clocked it, the arrogant set of his shoulders effortlessly transforming to the cocky ruler of the City of Nightmares. Some distant part of you recognizes the underlying threat that comes from the casual way Rhysand flicks his wrist, adjusting his watch and simultaneously changing the offices ambiance in its entirety. In an instant all of the firelight is sapped from the walls, any distinctive semblance of self leeched from the custom furniture.

All the while, Kier waits obediently behind the heavy double doors, grumbling discontent comments for being made to wait to the small group of personal guards that stand at his flank. His entitlement grows when it's your face that greets him; making a show of roguishly appreciating your body and chuckling softly to himself when he catches his soldiers following suit.

Ignoring him is as easy as breathing, a pleasant smile plastered across your features as you usher him inside. "Apologies for the delay," Fuck him and his stupid uniform and the ridiculously gaudy sword secured at his waist. "Had a few other matters that took presidence."

"I understand completely." He doesn't understand shit and judging by that smarmy smile that creeps its way onto the corner of his mouth—whatever conclusion he'd come to in his mind was anything but savory on the ears. “You’re worth the wait. Truly, a sight for sore eyes.”

A dry hum. Manicured nails tapping against the folders tucked under your arm as you wave him ahead, directing him through the doors and offering a seat before the High Lord.

Rhys catches the displeased set of your mouth and the mood for the meeting is set in stone.

Kier can’t even plant his ass on the chair before Rhysand begins impatiently sighing, dusting his suit jacket of barely there lint fibers.

"Are you going to tell me why we’re here or would you just prefer to continue wasting time staring at my things?" You ignore the roll in your stomach at the implication. Avert your eyes away from the fact that for some reason you aren't upset in the slightest at being categorized as one of Rhys' belongings.

His.

Three letters ring on repeat in your mind as you move about the space. Two coasters are neatly set on the desk, hands swift and efficient when providing Rhys with a fresh glass—though significantly smaller than the first—of bourbon and set a similar glass before his guest.

Notes are taken discretely, the neat loops of your cursive quickly scrawling down necessary information verbatim, circling key words and underlining comments made once the liquor started loosening the Stewards lips. Its a tedious talent, skimming through the bulk of Kier's rambling and listening to your gut when bullet pointing little comments made about 'his city', 'his soldiers', 'his new training regimine for recruits'.

Somewhere in the midst of Kier's rant, you can feel the air shift, each breath charged and full of life; full of power that was crackling at the seams. Prodding at the bars of its enclosure to test its stability. "So many ideas you have," Rhysand drawls out, his spine lengthening lazily in his chair, one ankle hooked over his knee to show off the immaculate shine of painfully expensive shoes. "So many thoughts," He watches the pompous puff of Kier's chest, the content set of his face and he also watches the moment those features falter. "I don't really pay you to think though, do I?"

Your hands seize their scrawling, ink pen capped and neatly notched in place at the edge of Rhysand's desk in a movement so familiar it’s like breathing.

This portion of the meeting wouldn’t need to be recorded.

In fact, you’d do your best to pretend it never happened at all.

Kier clears his throat. “I suppose not.” The condensation from his glass drips against his trembling fingers as he sets it back on the coaster. Nearly a thousand dollars a glass, carefully crafted, aged for decades and so much is left behind.

You don’t even have to spare Rhys a glance to know he’s rolled his eyes at such waste.

“You suppose?”

“All due respect, Rhysand—“

“High Lord,” Rhysand corrects swiftly, a smugness settling in the challenging quirk of his brow. “All this time around such squalor seems to have loosened the reigns on your manners.”

You can physically see the disgust that coats Kiers tongue when forced to swallow his pride in favor of signing his death sentence. “Yes, of course. My apologies, High Lord. With all due respect, I carefully considered everything I’m asking of you and I find my requests to be more than reasonable given the comparison of how much I truly handle while you’re…away.” Those eyes turn to you once more, lingering in places they don’t belong. “Maybe, if you let me borrow your pretty secretary, things around here could run as smooth as she looks—it’d certainly boost morale.”

You resist the urge to gag, a response clawing its way to the tip of your tongue when you’re beaten to it.

“Morale won’t matter if all of you are dead. Have you carefully considered that?”

The rough grit lacing Rhys’ controlled tone makes your thighs clench, heels nearly scuffing the hardwood with the force in crossing your legs. Logic allows your brain to understand he’s only acting this way to uphold the character he’s playing but emotion makes you desperate to see just how far he’d go to ensure your wellbeing.

It’s utterly involuntary the way your brain latches onto the fantasy and forces it to take root. Growing and growing until all you could think about was Rhys with that stern look on his face, eyes darkened by possession and grip tight around a broadsword. Perhaps it’s girlish the way you picture it slicing the tongue straight from Kier’s mouth and dangling it like a prize as he bleeds a rich ichor all over that laughably pompous armor.

A grin teases at the corner of your mouth at the very thought of watching Kier’s eyes going wide as saucers, pupils pinpricking, mouth sputtering and syllables slurring as he’s robbed of the ability of proper speech.

You all but purr like a house cat at the very implication of never having to hear another one of his roguishly unsavory comments about the smell of your hair or the fit of your clothes.

Perhaps you spend too much time with the imagery, innocent indulgences morphing into a real desire to witness Kier with a broken jaw and blood dripping rivers down his chin because by time you shift back to reality, the Steward’s being dismissed. Rhysand’s teeth grind against one another, the grating sound hitting your eardrums like nails on a chalkboard.

Standing at attention, you do your best slip back into professionalism. To adjust your neckline and urge the clasp of your necklace towards the back of your neck. Steadying the tremor of your fingers when smoothening out wrinkles in your attire but there’s no hiding the tremble in your step. “Please, sit. I can see him out myself.” Attraction forces your pristine posture to waver, ankles weak in shiny stilettos and your ever so attentive employer is quick to take notice.

“Not likely.” He retorts flatly, wrist flicking lazily at his unoccupied chair. “You wait here and grab a snack—you look flushed.

You feel it. Unbearable heat that lives beneath your skin, growing, spreading; festering just below the surface like an itch you can’t quite scratch.

It’s your own damn fault. Silently accepting blame and reaping the consequences of picturing your boss in such a light. Possessive and proud, eager to spill blood as long as it was your pleased smile reflecting from the length of his blade.

You can’t bother to ponder on how increasingly more difficult it becomes to shove the thoughts away; swatting and pushing and forcing until your shoulder aches from the weight you have to throw into it just to get that door to even budge.

Maybe, you could just ignore it.

Eyes scrunch closed, chest heaving from the deep inhale you take and release—preparing yourself for the absolute giant of restraint that was readying to test your durability. You pray for strength, pray that it doesn’t wash you up. You brace, attempt to relax; to blend back into your environment.

You settle into the chair, a pile of post meeting paperwork to your left and a sweating glass of water drawing a ring onto woods glossy finish. It’s second nature to dive back into organizing new negotiation agreements, rejecting parts of Kier’s proposals that you’re more than positive would never gain any traction. Somewhere along the lines, hidden in the shadows of drying ink—your breathing evens out. Shoulders eased of all tension and briefly, you’re blissfully unaware of the heat that burns beneath your epidermis.

But then the door opens, Rhysand enters and the shoddy excuse of a barrier fucking shatters. Dam absolutely obliterating everything in sight. Your self-control. Dignity. Small remnants of shame; just washed away.

The only thing it leaves behind is want. Need. An urge to take and take and take—then bend over to take a bit more.

“You okay?”

Every single alarm bell you have is ringing off the charts, sirens alerting from every nook and cranny of your nervous system. Fingers tighten around the quill, ink scratching deep into fragile parchment. Muscles lock up, posture pinching under the pressure. “I’m fine, it’s just…hot in here.”

Even the deep timber of his hum affects you, goosebumps prickling to life along bared arms. You attempt to ignore it—ignore him and the lethal grace he emits with each step. Instead, you focus on keeping your sentences legible, straight print shifting into curly cursive in the rush to just get it over with already.

You stop altogether when he stalks behind you, a forearm bracing his weight along the chair’s back. Breath tickles at the back of your neck, the waft of his cologne forcing your nose to flare; throat rolling with a swallow as all it does is tease the starving ache in your belly. “You handled yourself well today.” He compliments lowly, words coming from his chest and nestling itself in the nooks and crannies of your skull. “Didn’t engage in his provocations, remained professional and,” One arm reaches over your shoulder, tawny fingers pointing at bullet pointed notes and color coded highlighting but all you notice is the casual unbuttoning of his suit and the shirt underneath. “Clearly you maintained your vigilance—always so thorough, you are.”

“It’s my job, sir.”

“I’m aware, I wrote your contract. What I’m getting at is,” His elbow rests on your chair, forearm hovering by your ear while calloused fingers toy at the curls in your hair. “You’re happy here, right?”

“I’m not interested in transferring to your Hewn office, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You huff out a laugh at the very thought. “I have plenty of perks at my current position.”

It’s not a lie. Filling the position of the High Lord secretary offers you priority at any bar in the Night Court, a cushy office fully decorated to your hearts desire and an even cushier bank account thanks to Rhysand’s never-ending generosity. You can’t even keep count of the custom gowns neatly encased in protective covers on velvet hooks in your armoire, used when the job calls for you to play his arm candy.

You never complain, content with the spontaneous bouts of luxury and endless seeds of knowledge that gets planted along the way. “I appreciate the feedback,” The words come out slow, thick, as if his tongue were dipped in honey. It reminds you of his presence, just lingering there; not quite hovering but definitely teetering the edge of monitoring. A knuckle drags alone the side of your neck, touch whisper soft—damn near ticklish if it weren’t for the way he seems to prod at your pulse. The plush pad of his finger applying just the right kind of pressure against the malleable skin above the jugular. “Though, something tells me you wouldn’t admit if you needed more either way.”

Every reaction is purely involuntary, leaning into his palm like a puppet beginning to lose their strings. Eyes flutter closed, brows softened by the pleasantness of his touch. Your body drinks him up, soaks in his essence as if it were sweet ambrosia. “Depends on what it is, really. Can’t come to you for everything.”

Perhaps, if you weren’t so pliant from his proximity you’d have picked up on the shift in the air. Would’ve seen the way he peers down the neckline of your dress like some pampered pedigree, ogling at the way your bra holds snug against your breasts. “Says who?”

“Says the boundaries of professionalism.”

“That’s a small hurdle—easy to bypass.” Rhys all but croons in your ear, enjoying himself when feeling the increase of your pulse tap, tap, tapping against his fingers. His grip tightens, thumb catching under your jaw to urge your eyes to his own. “It’s not like anyone else is here to see, right?”

You’re nodding without much resistance. Agreeing to terms and conditions that you hadn’t been enough time to skim through; signing away your rights to a male who held little experience hearing the word no. “That’s,” Manipulative. “Right.”

“So, just tell me what you need.” Liquor laces his breath, intention imbued in his touch and you sink further into it all. “Unless you’d prefer to just show me again?”

You fight to ignore the heat that claim your cheeks, the warmth that travels down your neck and spreads along exposed décolletage. "I thought it was considered rude to rustle around in my head without permission."

"I'd be more filled with remorse if you hadn't shoved your thoughts right at me." You stand, posture overflowing with defiance, irritability growing when your full height still only leaves you at his chest; forcing you to look up at him. "Hadn't realized you carried such a violent streak."

“Only when I’m frustrated.”

“Sexually?”

Breath catches, a flimsy gasp of a noise that only draws him closer. “Sir—“

“You call me, Rhys.” Always so flippant. So charmingly demanding. “Only Rhys when it’s just us here.”

Everything happens too quickly and yet still you feel every second as if it were in slow-motion. Rhysand closing the barely there distance until you feel the hard lines of his body against your own. You’re caged in, back pinned to the desk until a sturdy grip appears at your hips long enough to bare the brunt of your weight and deposit it atop glossy wood. “Rhys,” Your yelp cuts through the space. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you more comfortable,” The neat taper of his hips rests between spread legs. Shiny heels bump at the strong muscle of his calves, drags a steady line up and down the iron-pressed fabric separating skin from touching. “Isn’t this much better?”

“It’s much more intimate.”

“Good,” His voice rumbles against your eardrums, sends sparks down your body, forces your nipples to pebble at attention. For once, you’re grateful for wearing a bra, praying that your arousal is concealed by padding and lace inlay. “That’s the direction I usually go for when showing gratitude—and interest.”

You swear the lights dim. Important paperwork magically disappears from behind you and the little pot filled with ink is capped and moved aside.

Your voice shakes when you answer, thighs trembling in anticipation near his waist. “Not exactly the route I’d take when reprimanding your nosiness.”

“As cute as that is, you’re the one who started this.” The woodsy scent of dark liquor lingers on his breath, it enhances his confidence, lowers his inhibitions. Convinces him that it’s perfectly normal to keep exploring you with his hands, memorizing the softness of your skin and the quality fabric of the clothes that cover it. “I just want to finish it—maybe even feed into all those naughty thoughts you have swirling around in your pretty head while on my dime.”

You’re weak. Too weak to hide behind the boundaries of rules that prevented employees from fucking their bosses.

Instead, you lean into the weight of him against you. Press into the way his hands trace up the shape of your arms, around the curve of your shoulders just to drop down your back so he can memorize every notch of your spine. “Rhys.” It’s barely a whisper, the bass stripped away when you notice the way Rhysand’s pupils are blown with lust. "We shouldn’t. Someone will hear."

"I'm going to have you," He affirms without a shadow of a doubt. He's nothing but sure when easing the straps of your dress free from your shoulders. “And if someone hears, they’ll at least enjoy one last delicacy before death comes to collect whatever I’ve left of them.” Teeth bite into the fat of his bottom lip as fabric is worked down your body, tugged over the swell of your ass and discarded in a puddle at your feet. The lusty aubergine shade of his irises eat up the hills and valleys of your figure, groaning appreciatively at the lingerie that cups supple breasts and accentuates the feminine curve of your hips.

"Here?" You question, voice shaky.

"Here. There. Bent over this desk. Standing or crawling—you'll take me."

You lose the fight with restraint. Surrendering your worries to the Mother to deal with, as long as it meant you could close the distance and finally feel the soft plush of his lips against your own.

He groans on contact, guiding you as close to him as you’ll go without physically fusing into one being. The desk bares your weight as Rhysand explores your mouth, fingers tangling in your hair and hips digging into inner thighs. He takes a step closer, erection prodding at your sex through the flimsy barrier of cotton underwear. Heels slide away from the arch of your foot, falling with a distant thump against the rug as bare feet dig into the dip of his tailbone, urging him closer and closer until you can feel the weight of his cock through his slacks. "Please," The word hiccups out of you, chest heaving as your lungs scream for a complete breath of air. "Please, just touch me."

"I am touching you."

Your whine cuts through the space, carries past the cracked windows and sashays its way into the open air. "I want more."

His hands rake through your hair, clasps possessively behind your neck, urges you closer with a gentle pressure of his fingers cupping your spine. The wet drag of his tongue teases at the lobe of your ear, drags down the curve of your neck and alleviates the quick sting of his mouth sucking marks into the junction of your shoulder.

True to his nature, the High Lord takes his precious time exploring you, savors the taste of your skin as it meanders down your collarbones, nose inhaling the sweet smell of fragrance oils sticking to the soft swell of supple breasts.

Delicate lace and steel under-wiring is destroyed beneath his palms, remnants of your bra discarded without a care while he takes in new terrain. "You're so warm," Rhys praises, breath feather soft against pebbled nipples as he cups you in his hands like something sacred. And by the Mother, does he worship. Kissing and kneading at malleable flesh, pinching and pulling until moans sing into his eardrums. "Sensitive too."

"And growing more impatient by the second."

"In my office, you follow my orders.”

You hate just how much you enjoy the way that sounds.

How easily you comply. Opening yourself up to the lovebites loitered along your chest, tongue trailing even lower until his tongue is rimming the shape of your bellybutton. Teeth bite into the waistband of your underwear, nose tickling against your tummy before taut elastic smacks at your hips. “Take this off.”

Thumbs hook, drag and discard sodden fabric to the floor and Rhysand can’t help but chuckle at the expression you wear—this cute mix of shyness and utter need. Donning this concoction of emotions that reads like you know what you want and aren’t sure how to ask for it.

Doesn’t take much to figure it out.

His fingers search the shape of your sex, saturates his skin in your slick and fiddles about for the sensitive bits that leave your hips canting and toes flexing. “Oh, that’s pretty.” Voice rough, tongue heavy like lead; fingers parting your pussy open to watch the way you drip down the fat of your ass. “All this for me?”

Trying to answer is futile when all that breaches the gates of your lips is high-pitched whines, little whimpers and choked breaths—words ripped away with the way his fingers slip inside you.

Just one to start. Then he squeezes in another before he's already pulling them out, watching the way your pussy latches on; sucks him in closer, begging for it a little deeper before trying to take it instead with a desperate wiggle of your hips. "Rhys, please. More."

By some grace, he listens. Smearing slick down to the knuckle before sliding back inside like he fucking owned the place. Fingers carve their way inside your sex, stretching and scissoring about to make room. Toying at soft spots and squishy areas that have your eyes scrunching shut and stomach sinking back into your spine. "I've thought about doing this so many times I couldn't even keep count."

"That’s..." The noises he pulls from you dampers your ability to form a coherent sentence, voice ruined as the confession settles. "Really?"

Rhysand nods, gaze fixed on the way he disappears and reappears inside you, hands shimmering with your arousal as it leaks a puddle in his palm. Release is close, he can tell by the way your weeping hole flutters around him, clit swollen like a pearly little beacon just begging him to fiddle with. The second he does, your reaction is visceral, orgasm burning a path through your gut and bowing your spine, forcing toes to curl and eyes to roll. "Won’t ever be able to stop, you know? Fucking addicted to you now—couldn’t keep my hands off you if I tried.”

“Then, please, don’t try.” The harsh snap of ties unlacing is a distant sound when your release makes you feel like cotton has been stuffed in your ears. Your vision is just barely focused enough to acknowledge the way the waistline of his slacks loosens. How it shows off the cut lines of his abdomen and the masculine trail of hair that disappears beneath his underwear.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” Rhysand murmurs—still doesn’t stop though. Too transfixed with the way his anatomy looks sliding between your own.

Rhys shushes your choppy rambles, tuts his tongue at the way you writhe with sensitivity, leaning in for more then running away when more starts feeling like too much.

Lips are swollen under the pressure of your teeth biting into them. “I know what I want.” Brows pinch when you look up at him, hiccuping when the mushroom tip catches under the hood of your clit—rubbing meanly at exposed nerves. Makes your head tilt back, lids fluttering closed.

Rookie mistake.

Baring your throat to a starved creature. Ignoring the warnings of a beast who’d grown so tired of being tamed. One too eager to mark its claim after such a patient chase.

So, Rhys takes.

Breaching your walls and ruining them for any other male. Possessiveness gleams in the way he holds you; kisses you—marks you. Shines brighter with every moan you offer. With every choppy praise you mutter into his skin as he fucks your brain to mush. “Won’t let you go now.” His pace doesn’t falter, prick prodding at the parts of you your fingers never could reach.

Palms slide under the hem of his shirt, nails bite into the skin of his back, the heels of your feet digging into his tailbone when he hits a spot that makes you fucking sob. “Right there’s,” and “don’t stop” is all you manage chant over and over, words breaking off when teeth nip at the corded muscles above his shoulder.

“This belongs to me now.” You hear the finality in his tone. Feel the metaphorical collar slip into place when staking his claim, violet eyes flicking from your face to the space where you begin and he ends. “All mine, you understand me?”

The frantic nods of agreement is purely involuntary and yet not a speck of shame can be found when such pleasure answered at his beck and call. Hips jump to meet each thrust he offers, willing to give—to say anything he wanted if he’d just keep hitting the spot that made your thoughts blur into white noise. “Belongs to you. All yours, I promise.”

You’re too into it to see the way his brows raise in surprise at the deal you set in motion. The magic that brands a mark to your body; holding you to the pretty promises you spew when desperate for an orgasm or two.

Right there, just above your hip in dark ink.

The letter ‘R’ in perfect cursive.

#there’s just something about secretary reader x rhysand 😩#i eat it up every time #and your writing too 🖤#rhysand #rhysand smut

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prythianslibrary · 2 months ago

Text

“Little bird.”

“Kiss me.”

The Bird and The Badger

(A series of interconnected one shots)

Part 3 - I Couldn't Leave You If I Tried

Eris x OC (Bryn)

Summary - Finding Eris alone and hurt leaves Bryn in a precarious position with unexpected results.

Warnings - mentions of blood and injuries, mentions of canon compliant torture, hurt/comfort.

Word Count - 7.5k

Series Masterlist

The mild day stretched comfortably into late afternoon, the shadows lingering along the storefront stretching incrementally longer as the minutes went by. Bryn stood steadfast on the walkway in front of her dilapidated shop, broom in hand.

The customers had been sparse today - much like they were everyday. Most of the work she did wasn’t exactly the kind of work that was handled in person but more so through messenger and code passed on small slips of parchment. Still, she stood. Waiting.

She had already swept the shop floor clean. Dusted shelves and organized parts, sorting tiny springs and even tinier screws into their own labeled compartments. Tasks that had been waylaid and forgotten for Mother knew how long.

Giving one final swipe to the cobblestones at her door, Bryn scanned the street in both directions. Nothing but the usual weekday millings of the local villagers. No lithely built male strolling down the street with a glamour covering his ostentatious wardrobe. No shock of glamoured red hair glistening in the waning sun. Turning on her heel she re-entered her shop, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she admonished the hound that sat a few feet away.

The hound’s soulful eyes remained glued to her as he slipped down from his sit into an uneasy lay. He continued tracking her movement as she settled herself behind the counter and perched atop the stool there. Her own eyes dropped to the discreetly wrapped parcel tucked under the counter. The extra work that had been requested of her, ready and waiting to be passed off.

“He probably just got caught up with something,” she said more to herself than the hound. “He is the heir apparent after all.”

Busying herself with yet another menial task of cleaning her miniscule tools, Bryn brushed off the worry of Eris’ lateness by reminding herself that his usual meet up would be coming in just a couple days. “He probably just decided to wait until then,” she muttered aloud.

They had settled into a bit of a routine over the last weeks. Something Bryn had been wary of once the pattern had become clear. Patterns meant predictability, which also meant that anyone watching would have their work done for them.

“Are you sure you aren’t being followed?” She had asked him on one of his weekly stops.

“Of course I’m sure,” he stated certainly. “Shisa would alert me as she always does. Besides, I never take the same route here.”

Maybe that was it, she thought, maybe he had been alerted to something nefarious by his hound and had turned back rather than risk showing up here.

Even though she had been wary at first about Eris setting a schedule of meeting like this, she couldn’t help but feel the dip of disappointment somewhere in her chest at the thought of him being delayed. He had started showing up here under the pretense of checking on his prized smoke hound, the one still laying on the floor swinging his eyes between her and the door. Convinced that she must be unable to care for him given how forgetful and disorganized she seemed, he had taken it upon himself to assure that Darach was fed properly by supplying her with all the necessary food for his upkeep. Apparently that assurance carried over to her as well, considering Eris made sure she never missed lunch, at least on the days he was due to arrive.

The tumbling of her mind was interrupted by the grumbling of her stomach at the thought. She had fallen into the trap of predictability that she had been so wary of from the start. With an uncomfortable lurch in her gut that she attributed to hunger, Bryn shook the thoughts from her head. Glancing over at Darach who hadn’t moved an inch from his spot on the floor, she nodded her chin at him. “Keep an eye out for me, would you?”

Those soulful eyes peered back at her, with a settling sadness she noticed. Knowing that he too was probably looking forward to Eris’ arrival, moreso for the sake of seeing his mate Shisa than anything else, Bryn puckered her lips into a woeful pout on his behalf before turning on her heel and ascending the stairs.

Choosing a book with which to occupy her troubled mind, Bryn plopped herself at the table in her apartment and fed herself with the leftovers from the other night. Successful in her attempt to distract herself, one chapter turned into two and inevitably three.

As she looked up from the pages of her novel, she rubbed at her strained and weary eyes and noticed that the light of the room had dimmed considerably as the evening eked ever closer.

Making her way back into the shop she paused at the bottom of the stairs. Everything just as she had left it, everything the same. Darach lifted his head from his paws at her approach.

“Nothing?” She queried. She strode toward the door and took a quick glance out the still filthy windows, a task she had not busied herself with yet. Eyes darting in all directions, she saw nothing. Or at least not the something she was anticipating.

Just then, Darach whined. An elongated wail of a whimper that had Bryn whipping her head in his direction. He shifted up quickly, front paws braced on the warped wooden floor, body tense with something like expectation. Bryn felt her heart lurch into a pounding rhythm, swiveling to the window once more and staring outside. This was usually the signal, the way Bryn knew that Eris was near. Even though he never took the same route like he said, often circling back and winding through alleys, somehow Darach always knew when he approached. Maybe it was the sensing of his nearby canine mate or maybe it was the innate sense of his first master, but Darach always knew.

The street appeared just as it did seconds ago. Practically empty aside from a lone carriage making its way around the corner at the far end. She stood, waiting. And nothing else came. Another mournful whine pierced the room, Bryn continued scanning the street.

“I know. I heard you,” she spoke sharply, her breath fogging the glass. She ignored the click of Darach’s nails on the wood as he picked up a pace, forehead still pressed to the glass. It was only when he began scratching that she broke her trance to investigate.

Turning her gaze back into the shop, she didn’t spot the hound at first. But the scratching continued – behind the counter. Bryn marched over to the spot prepared to investigate his antics only to realize what he was scratching at.

The trap door.

The rug that normally covered the seamless door set into the floor had been shoved aside. Looking at her, Darach whined once more before continuing to gouge at the wood floor with his claws.

“Darach! Enough.” She snapped at him. “Calm down for a moment, would you?” Bryn pulled his massive body away from the closed door with a grunt of exertion. Standing back, hand gripped to the hound’s collar, she stood hunched over and listened.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for someone to approach this door that she had hidden within her shop. It was one of many connected within the underground network, spreading far and wide throughout the Autumn Court. Not every web of the overall network was connected, sometimes requiring a quick jaunt through some village alleyway or shortcut into another shopfront to reach the intended destination. The only people who knew about and protected these secret doors were involved in the same undertaking as Bryn herself was, to undermine the oppressive rule of the Autumn Court High Lord from the inside out.

Most of the time she had warning if someone was to be expected so that she could empty the shop before the intended time and lock the door. Other times, when advanced warning could not be accommodated, there had been put in place a sort of code. One quick scratch against the wood meant a message had been left and there was no need for the door to be opened. Two quick knocks meant someone needed to see her. In those cases there was an understanding that they waited for the responding signal, a scuffing of her shoe against the door seam to indicate that she had heard but needed to clear the shop.

Half bent, listening intently, Bryn stood with bated breath. She waited to hear if the signal repeated but as the clocks in the shop ticked away the seconds, none came.

“Was it a message?” She asked aloud to Darach. He had never reacted this way to the usage of the door. Even though he had only been under her ownership for a matter of weeks, it was as if he inherently understood that the door was a secret. At most he had wagged his tail lazily behind him while lounging on the floor. Just a small indication that he had heard a signal that Bryn may not have heard yet.

Bryn leaned forward and grasped the easily concealed handle of the door, pulling it up from where it sat flush with the wooden planks. As she eased the heavy door open just a crack, Darach lunged forward, shoving his nose into the space to hurry her.

“What is with you?” She asked irritably. Now that the door was open fully, Darach dashed down the short set of rickety steps that led up from the tunnel and disappeared down the passageway. Glancing quickly at the small board in which awaiting messages would be pinned she found it empty.

“Darach!” Bryn yelled after him from her place, still kneeling on the floor. In a flurry of movement, she stood. Whipping a fountain pen from its holder along the counter top, she snagged the first scrap of parchment she touched. Scrawling a quick note, she rushed to the door, tucking it neatly between the gap in the jamb and making sure the corner stuck out on the other side. If Eris were to arrive, she hoped she would at least check the note she had left telling him not to leave. Locking the door, she turned and rushed back behind the counter.

Gathering her skirt in her hands, she didn't bother attempting to close the door behind her. Hastily picking her way down the steps, she hit the hard packed dirt floor below and ran. This portion of the tunnel had only one direction to head, straight. Throwing out a small ball of faelight to follow her, she flew through the passage, calling out the name of her hound and awaiting response.

Just ahead where the tunnel bisected, she caught sight of him. Fidgeting paws danced over the ground and a single low whine escaped him before he turned down one of the avenues and sprinted ahead.

“Come back!” She panted. “Darach, I swear when I catch you –” A sharp stitch in her side cut off her threat but she forged ahead, trying mightily to keep his sweeping tail in her sight. At each twist or turn, he waited impatiently, whining in distress each time.

“What is it?” Bryn gasped, trying desperately to pull deep lungfuls of air further into her body. “Where are you taking me?”

Up ahead, she watched as the hound skidded to a stop. Before she could reach him, he faced the tunnel wall and hoisted himself up on his hind legs, tearing furiously at the dirt wall. The walls along this portion of tunneling lay thick with dark moss, patches of earth sporadically peeking through.

Darach assaulted the wall, moss and large clods of heavy compacted dirt raining down around him. Bryn paused behind him watching the action unfold as she fought to catch her breath. “Darach,” she wheezed. “Stop! Bad dog!”

She reached for his collar just as he swung his head towards her. He did not snap or even growl, but the wild look in his eye had Bryn jerking her arm back to her chest in fear. The hound carried on and in a matter of seconds whatever he was after seemed to be revealed. Falling back to all fours, he gazed at what he had uncovered, turning back to her with another pitiful whine.

At first it appeared to be nothing special other than more packed dirt, but as Bryn stepped forward cautiously she saw it. The faint shimmering bend of light that usually indicated a glamour. Tilting her head to the side she watched as the shape of the door appeared, still partially covered with earth. She inhaled sharply at the revelation and the stitch in her side from her earlier running flared to life again, pulling insistently at her ribs.

“Where does this go?” Her voice shook as she peered at the hound at her side. “We should head home, Darcach. This doesn’t feel – I don’t think it’s –”

The trembling had spread to her hands. The cramp in her side unrelenting to the point that she began to feel lightheaded. Even still, she reached out, running her hand down the grain of the long buried wood. Darach took her movement as a sign to continue. Nose to the ground he dug furiously at the bottom of the now obvious door. His insistence spurred Bryn forward, the clawing of dirt with her fingers seeming to soothe the ache in her chest even if just for a moment. She shifted to scratch away around where the hinges should be, pulling clods of earth from the frame and tossing them to the ground.

Darach’s short bark grabbed her attention and she spun around to find him poised at the ready. There was no handle to pull, so she laid her hand against the moist wood and shoved with all her might. There was no noise, not the creak of rusty hinges or the groan of swollen wood shifting. As soon as the door was open wide enough, the hound shot through and sprinted down the exposed passage on the other side.

Bryn didn't even bother to call after him. She just ran. Skirts whipping around her ankles and chest heaving, she ran. The cramp in her side had eased its hold, now nothing more than an insistent pull. A pull forward, a pull in the direction of her hound.

The passage was thankfully short. As she reached the terminus, she saw Darach perched on a set of steps very similar to the ones under her own trap door. As she looked up she found what she expected. Reaching up she placed her hand against the planks and waited. She had no idea where this door opened. If it was located inside a shop or a home or on some alleyway far from here. And with that came the possibility of a stranger on the other side. A stranger she was wholly unprepared to face. Turning her face down to the hound beside her she hesitated, trying to decide if trusting the hound that had been hers for only a matter of weeks was enough to keep her safe. He issued a low whine as he met her gaze, no longer insisting she felt, but more of a plea.

“I trust you,” she said with a trembling voice. Darach responded with a forceful nudge to the hand still hanging at her side as he edged himself ahead of her on the steps. He made it clear he was going ahead of her into whatever danger lay ahead. Another whine echoed into the cramped space. But this one wasn’t from the hound at her side but instead from the other side of the trap door above. Immediately the scratching of paws came from the door. Bryn snatched her hand away reflexively as the vibrations traveled through her palm. Darach yipped an answer. It seemed to Bryn that he knew the creature that awaited them.

Shoving upward with both hands now, the weight of the door pressed down upon her. It was much heavier than her own back in the shop. Bracing her feet along the stairs she rallied herself and pushed with the force of her body. Bits of dirt and grass fell down on top of them both but she kept at it. The huffing breath of whatever creature was on the other side poured through the widening crack of an opening. Bryn’s view was obstructed almost immediately before she could determine what or who it was. Wiggling through, Darach hauled his body over the edge of the opening that was now filled with the low gray light of early evening.

No creature attacked as she stepped up into the chilled evening air. Just ahead of her, Darach and his mate Shisa rallied around each other in rushed greeting before darting off further ahead. Bryn didn’t immediately follow. Instead she stood rooted to the spot in wonder and shock. She knew where she was. She had been here before. The long shadows of autumn evening stretched through the branches of the towering oaks and proud beeches. The ground beneath her feet was vibrant and well manicured. She recognized the ivy covered stone wall wrapped around the garden she stood in, the door being just inside its borders. To her left she saw the structure of the kennels where she had come once before and selected her hound in payment for her secretive work.

Her lungs began to burn with her lack of breathing, but it was the forceful pain in her side that forced the air to move through her chest once more. Something was wrong. She felt it in her very marrow. Something was very, very wrong.

She took off in the direction that the hounds had bounded. Headed closer to the front of the kennels and just past the clipped back hedges, she spotted them. Noses to the ground and circling a figure laid out on the grass.

“Oh gods,” she choked as she closed in on the worried hounds. “Eris!,” she exclaimed quietly, her breath stolen in shock.

Facedown he laid, unmoving. The nudging of the hounds at his hands and sides did nothing to stir him into wakefulness. One arm was sprawled out above his head, something grasped within it. He was dressed in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and an embroidered waistcoat. His long legs clothed in dark trousers and plain shoes. He didn’t appear to be in the normally put together regal outfits he wore out into the public sphere. Where had he been headed? What was he doing out here?

She dropped to her knees on the spongy grass right beside him. “Eris,” she hissed and she bent low to check if he was breathing. Satisfied that she heard some sign of life she sat up, placing her hand on his shoulder blade and shaking gently trying to rouse him. “Eris, can you hear me?”

Just then, the icy grip of shock and fear shot through her. Pulling her hand away from his body, she realized with a sickening dread that what she thought to be delicate embroidery along his vest wasn’t a threaded design, but blood. Staring, she saw where the pressure from her touch had left the distinct shape of her hand. She watched in horror as the color slowly spread, seeping outward and beginning to stain the crisp white fabric of his collared shirt.

A forceful nudge from Shisa brought her back to the present. Turning to the hound she saw her paw at Eris’ hand that gripped a piece of parchment. Ripping it from his hold she unfurled it and quickly scanned the penned writing. His own writing.

I have been delayed. Do not wait for me. All is well. I’ll be in touch.

A note meant for her. The tiny beetle drawn along the bottom corner of the slip of paper confirmed it, styled after the recording devices she had made for him. He had followed suit after he had seen her draw the quick flourish of a hummingbird along the bottom of her own notes, never signing her name to messages that could later be damning.

She didn’t know what she expected to feel at that moment, but the anger consumed her. Hot and fast, coursing furiously through her in an instant. “All is well? ALL IS WELL?!” She seethed, hissing through her teeth once more. Shoving her hands under his ribs she grunted with the exertion of flipping him onto his back, not a thought to the injuries that lay hidden beneath his clothing.

Eris groaned as he was rolled over. Scanning her surroundings quickly, she assessed. The vantage point from the house was obscured here. The chances of being spotted from there were low. If that is where he was coming from then the most obvious implication was that whatever happened to him was the result of one of its residents. And she had a very good idea of who.

“Listen to me.” Grabbing his face forcefully with one hand she leaned in closer. “Eris, I need you to help me a bit, ok? Come on.” She held back the raging urge to slap him across his cleanly shaven cheek as she tried to hold her anger at bay.

Another groan escaped him as her fingers squeezed bruisingly tight. His eyelids fluttered, opening briefly, hazy and unfocused. Slipping one arm over the back of her neck, she attempted to hoist him to his feet.

Nothing but dead weight hung from her frame. With a muffled yelp of frustration, Bryn fell back onto her haunches into the grass. “Eris Vanserra, I swear to the Mother above if you don’t gather some wits about you and help me,” she tugged again with a grunt. “I will drag you down those steps head first, I swear it.”

Both of the smoke hounds had been circling frantically but quietly. Bryn was taking their lead and trying to keep her voice down just in case they happened to not be alone in the garden. Sensing her frustration, Shisa jumped into action. Nuzzling deeply into the crook of Eris’ neck she pressed her cold, wet nose into his ear and began sniffing hard. It sounded as if she were tracking the scent of game, hard and fast her breath panted until Eris began to stir.

“Shisa,” he slurred as he lazily swatted at her head. “Enough. Go on.”

“On your feet,” Bryn rallied with another insistent yank on his arm. Both hounds began circling once more, this time pressing their bodies into Bryn’s legs with each pass. “You aren’t helping!” She hurled irritably at them.

The flurry of action and burn of her anger seemed to set Eris into motion with the next pull to his arm. This time Bryn successfully managed to get him upright, supporting his weight with her other arm behind his back along his waist. She consciously ignored the warm, sticky ooze that met her skin at the contact.

“That’s it. Keep it moving.” Bryn propelled them both forward unsteadily. The hard effort of movement was evident in Eris’ faltering gait but at least he was moving. The distance to the passageway buried within the garden seemed much longer now that she wasn’t sprinting. Pushing through the pain of strained muscles, she was eternally thankful that she hadn’t slammed the trap door shut upon her arrival.

Stopping just before the edge of the dropoff into the tunnels, Bryn contemplated. Both Shisa and Darach, sensing her distress at how she might go about getting herself and Eris down the steps unscathed, pressed into her legs as if to keep her from attempting the task.

She felt Eris’ body begin to slacken as his weight pulled heavily at her shoulder. Hoisting him up higher with maximum effort she nudged her knee into the hound closest to her. “We have to keep moving,” she grit out through clenched teeth.

Nervously, the hounds trotted forward and down the short steps, placing themselves directly at the bottom as if their bodies might be helpful in order to break a fall.

Gripping him harder around the waist, Bryn stepped up to the edge of the buried doorway. “If you go down, you aren’t taking me with you. I will drop you, that’s a promise,” she warned.

The words seemed to rally him as he shifted to bear more of his own weight with a grunt. The first step down the short stairs had his knees buckling and his body swayed. Veering her weight backwards in an attempt to keep herself from tumbling down with him, Bryn managed to drop them both to sitting on the top step. Eris hissed through his teeth at the jostling, the pain shaking him into alertness.

“Give me a minute, would you?” He snapped harshly.

“Sure. Yes, of course,” she huffed back snidely. “Take all the time you need. It’s not like you’re bleeding profusely or anything.” The words left her sarcastically, but as she stood briefly reaching to close the door behind them, the sticky bright red smeared across her arm sobered her.

“Eris, what happened?” She asked.

He remained still, cradling his head in his hands. Only the sounds of his forced controlled breathing and Shisa’s snuffling at his side were audible.

“Eris–”

“Does it matter? What are you even doing here anyway?” He lifted his head to glare at her. She met his gaze with a searing look of her own and watched as his pupils dilated dangerously. Eyes fluttering, he tried to clear his cloudy vision and Bryn was instantly kneeling at his side.

“Look at me,” she commanded, grasping his head between her hands and bringing her face close to his. Bryn watched carefully as he tried to meet her eye but couldn’t quite seem to focus.

“Leave me,” he slurred. She had no chance for further assessment as his eyelids slipped closed and his body slumped backwards. With her hands still holding his face, she managed to keep his head from hitting the stair behind them. She could do nothing but continue to cushion the blows as his body slid down the remaining few stairs to the dirt packed floor below.

The hounds surrounded them, tails low and heads down, inspecting and sniffing. Shisa licked along Eris’ face and gave a short miserable whine. Darach moved quickly to his mate’s side, leaning against her in comfort.

“It’s alright. It’s fine.” Bryn attempted to reassure the hounds just as much as herself. “We just need to–” Her voice trailed off as she mapped the passageways in her mind back to the shop. Releasing a frustrated sigh, she briefly thought about taking Eris up on his demand and leaving him there just long enough to race back on her own and gather some supplies.

As she contemplated her next move, Darach nudged at her hand, but as she distractedly reached out to stroke his head she was met with teeth instead. His powerful jaws clamped down gingerly as Bryn sucked in a breath of shock. She had no time to react or pull away as the entire passageway seemed to tilt before it melted away.

What felt like just a blink later, the room righted itself and she snatched her hand away. Darach slunk back from her with a sorrowful look upon his long snouted face. The floor beneath her was no longer hard dirt, but the worn floorboards of her room. Just beside her, Shisa dropped Eris’ forearm from her mouth gently before she too retreated. Both of them stared as Bryn quickly shifted to her knees.

“You two can – you've always been able – the whole time?” Remembering the urgency, she shook her head and pushed away her astonishment. Drawing her attention back to Eris she found his normally pale skin now bordering on sickly as he laid there perfectly still. Placing her palm to the center of his chest she waited a moment, her own chest aching as she finally felt him breathe.

“Do you think you could help me get him onto the bed?” She questioned the hounds. Shisa approached slowly, once again taking Eris by the forearm. Watching the magic happen was much different than being a part of it. The edges of their forms smudged into wisps before they were engulfed entirely into a swirl of misty gray smoke. Just a second later Eris was deposited on the bed and Shisa jumped down to join her mate on the floor.

Bryn scrambled to her feet and grabbed his face gently between her hands again. “Eris,” she hissed, but she was only met with silence. Her mind was a flurry and she thought for a moment about calling a healer to examine his probable head injury, but how exactly was she to explain the High Lord’s son, broken and bleeding in her bed?

Bleeding. That needed to be handled first.

Flipping him onto his stomach, she gritted her teeth at how heavy his dead weight was against her. Seeing the blood spread over the entirety of his clothing, she cringed. Throwing open her side table drawer, she grabbed a pair of scissors and cut away the sodden shirts and got to work.

A few hours later, Bryn was exhausted as she hovered by the bedside, hands shaking furiously and a sick pit in her stomach. The adrenaline of earlier that evening had worn off and she felt the exhaustion creeping in. After patching up the torn mess of his back, Eris had still not regained consciousness and Bryn had really begun to worry.

She couldn’t be certain that one of the village healers wouldn’t spread rumors upon finding Eris in her home, so she had done the next best thing and summoned Gareth. A metalsmith by trade, he often made parts for the repair work she did, but he also happened to be a part of the same civilian alliance as Bryn. He had been informally adopted as the resident group healer for the various injuries that she and the others had acquired over the last few decades.

“When he wakes up, make sure he takes at least three of these,” he said as he handed Bryn a small glass vial full of tablets. “His head is gonna hurt like hell, but he's going to be alright. Should be awake here soon.”

Snapping his bag shut, Gareth stood, eyeing a sleeping Eris propped up with pillows on the bed. “Do I want to know?” He questioned.

“No,” Bryn answered curtly.

Gareth eyed her suspiciously.

“It’s not like that,” she snapped.

Nodding once, he grabbed his bag by the handle and headed for the door. “I know better than to ask too many questions,” he started seriously. “The less I know the better. But having the heir to Autumn in your bed doesn’t look good Bryn, especially given the fact that our main objective is to-”

“I know,” she cut him off quickly, irritated.

The main objective of their civilian rebellion was to undermine and eventually overthrow Beron, the father of the fae male who was currently occupying her bed. The High Lord of the court in which she resided.

“Just make sure you are covering your bases,” he said with his calloused hand upon the door.

“Thanks again, Gareth.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Bryn attempted to dispel some of the anxious energy in her body. She took up a circuiting course, pacing over the creaking floorboards. Shisa, laying in wait next to her master, watched her without lifting her head. Darach sitting guard next to the doorway huffed out a whine, picking up on her unease.

Plopping herself into the chair by the bed, Bryn attempted to quiet her mind. She fidgeted with the seam along her skirt before popping back up and continuing to pace. A few steps away, she turned back and peered over at Eris.

He was fine, mended and healing and would wake up soon, she reassured herself. Her body didn’t get the message however. Her heart was beating frantically and her palms were clammy. Her chest felt tight as she made an effort to calm her breathing but that aggravating cramp in her ribs was threatening to flare up again.

The image of his back rose to the forefront of her mind. Scars criss crossed over the expanse of freckled skin. Not just freshly opened bleeding ones but twisted and poorly healed ones too. This wasn’t a one time thing. She had seen the traces of faebane as she meticulously tended to his wounds. This was more than just punishment. It was torture.

Bryn’s hatred of Beron occupied every fiber of her being for what he had done as the ruler of this court. He had ruled far too long with a tyrannical fist, uncaring whether his people could feed their own families on meager wages as long as his coffers were full. He severely underpaid his farmers and tradesmen. He let his lands and the homes upon them fall into ruins rather than assist in their repair. He had cut off valuable trade for petty grievances with other courts.

And apparently he also terrorized his family and tortured his own son. Eris, who had been wary but kind when he could have been cruel. Eris, who had no reason to keep coming back to her shop but did anyway under the guise of feeding a hound that was no longer his.

It shouldn’t have surprised her. In truth it really didn’t, but instead it broke her heart. Every lash opened on Eris’ back, a sign of his insubordination and defiance.

Bryn shook the wretched thoughts from her head, choosing to busy herself in the kitchen. Surely it had been many hours since Eris had eaten and he would likely wake up hungry.

A while later, she sat in the chair by the bed once more, a bowl of now cold soup waiting on the nightstand. Halfway through her sandwich, Eris stirred.

He drew in a sharp inhale through his nose and released a groan, rolling his head heavily on his shoulders before pulling his heavy eyelids apart slowly. His loyal hound at his side popped her head up but remained silent.

“Eris,” Bryn voiced cautiously, leaning forward in her chair.

He swiveled his head towards the sound of her voice, amber eyes squinting even in the dim light of her bedroom. Shifting his torso, he attempted to pull himself higher up on the bed and hissed through his teeth in pain.

Leaning forward quickly, Bryn reached for the vial on the nightstand and nearly knocked over the soup in the process.

“Where am I?” He muttered, slowly taking in his surroundings.

“You’re at my shop,” Bryn offered. “Well, my apartment. Above the shop. I didn’t really have many options. I couldn’t just leave you there, you were hurt and well - I just figured -”

Shisa shifted Eris’ attention with an insistent nose to his limp hand. Stop babbling. Bryn admonished herself. Tipping the vial into her hand, she dumped the tablets into her palm. “Take these,” she said, hand outstretched.

Eris rolled his head in her direction in obvious pain. “What are they?” He eyed her face suspiciously as he grimaced.

“It's for the pain,” she said as she pushed her hand closer. His eyes dropped lower to her hand and the tablets she held, obviously wary. “They aren’t poison or anything,” Bryn insisted.

“Why would they be poison?” He croaked with a scowl.

“I just said they aren’t,” Byrn huffed. “Do you want to feel better or not?”

Eris gathered the tablets from her hand and brought them to his mouth. Bryn snatched her hand away quickly, a curious tingling needling at her palm where his fingers had grazed.

Dropping them onto his tongue, he swallowed them dry. Leaning his head back on to the mound of pillows stacked behind him, Eris sat, tired and silent, willing the medicine to work quickly.

Bryn too was silent, scanning his face. Darach nudged at her knee and she placated him with an absentminded scratching behind his ear. “Eris, what happened back there?”

Pulling his head up slowly, he looked her squarely in the eye. He noticed her brow furrow with a frown as he held his silence.

She held his gaze as she stewed. So many questions flitted through her mind, each one unlikely to receive an answer. Who did this? Was it your father? On an on her mind whirled until finally without warning, her anger exploded. “And why were you trying to lie to me?” She growled.

Eris shook his head in shock and confusion. “What? What are you talking about? I didn’t–”

Shoving her hand deep into her skirt pocket, she whipped out the paper she had found in his hand. “Do not wait for me,” she recited without reading it. “All is well. ALL IS WELL? Really, Eris? I found you bleeding out in your back garden. All is well.” She blew out a frustrated breath as she clenched her hands in her lap, crumpling the note between them.

The weight of her anger hung like a fog in the cramped space, penetrating every corner. Darach’s heavy head in her lap anchored her towards calm as Shisa eyed them both with deep concern from where she sat on the bed.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Eris remarked evenly.

“Well, I did.” She snapped back, shoving down all the questions that came with that statement. Why am I so worried? What does his safety matter to me? Why were his visits to my shop the bright spot in the solitary drudgery of my days? “And poor Darach,” she continued dramatically, the hound perking up at his name. “He was beside himself with worry too,” she deflected.

Darach took his opportunity to make himself scarce as if to say Don’t drag me into this. He trotted through the open bedroom door, his footfall down the steps to the shop sounding heavily in the silence. Shisa glanced at Eris and as he heaved a heavy sigh, she too made her way off the bed and down the stairs to join her mate.

“You should have just left me there. There was no need to involve yourself in–” he started with eerie diplomacy.

“In what?” Bryn pushed herself up from the chair forcefully. “What exactly am I involving myself in, hmm?” She picked up her pacing again, the nervous energy of her body too overwhelming. “You really expected me to leave you there to bleed out and die?” Her voice rose incredulously.

“I wasn’t going to die.” Eris responded flippantly. “My father doesn’t want me dead, just scared.”

Halting her steps, she spun around to face him, eyes wide at the confirmation of what she had already guessed to be true. Her heart was thumping wildly inside her chest and she wrapped her arms around herself, fingers worrying against the sore spot between her ribs.

Eris patted once on the bed beside his legs. “Sit,” he commanded calmly. “Before you give yourself a heart attack.”

How could he be so calm right now? He had just admitted that his father did in fact torture him, not for the first and probably not the last. And here he was sitting there so stoically that she felt she might be slightly insane.

Slowly she made her way to the bed, perching herself on the spot he had indicated. Her eyes were laser focused on him as she asked her next question. “And are you? Are you scared?”

Amber eyes swept up to meet her own. Bryn watched intently, scanning every muscle of his features until she saw it. In real time before her very eyes she saw that mask slip. The mask that he had carried for Mother knew how long, the one she had first seen glimpses behind the first time they had ever met. She had known then that there was something deeper than what he showed most everyone else.

Suddenly his eyes appeared more dull, more tired. “Yes,” he whispered. “I am.” Maybe it was the pain coursing through his body, his head pounding and his back practically on fire. Maybe it was the true worry he saw reflected in those gold flecks of emerald green. Either way, he felt immensely lighter at finally saying it out loud and his body slowly sagged in relief.

Bryn’s face fell, the corners of her mouth pulled down and her eyes pitying. “Oh, Eris,” she cooed mournfully, reaching for his hands in comfort. “You don’t have to do this alone. Your father-” she paused calculating her words. “He’s not a well loved ruler. Whatever it is you are planning, you're not alone. You're not the only one who wants him gone.”

Eris didn’t question how she must have deduced his final goal. He had never really confirmed to her what his intentions with the bug devices were. As he stared into her eyes, so soft and full of concern, he realized that she had figured out a lot more than he wanted to admit from the first day they met.

“Are you not the heir apparent?”

“I am, but the throne still belongs to my father.”

“For now.”

His palm tingled at the memory of shaking her hand that day, of the strange pull he had felt as her hand had slipped easily into his. He pressed his palm to the center of his chest, right where a deep seated ache resided. Eris wasn’t used to being vulnerable and his body seemed to be rebelling.

He could have laughed her off sardonically. He could have told her she was being ridiculous or found some nasty stinging remark to quiet her, but he was tired. So very tired. Tired of this role he had carved for himself, playing to his father’s whims.

Soothing that ache in his chest, Eris pressed his knuckles against his breastbone as Bryn cast her eyes away silently. He didn’t feel any expectation from her as he worked through his thoughts. Pressing harder, that ache bloomed, breaching past the confines of his body and into the air between them. Dropping his gaze, his breath stilled and his heart pounded, as a single filament of shimmering gold stretched out and hovered untethered.

Bryn, seeing his hand clutched to his chest and his mouth slack jawed and open, grabbed the vial of tablets from the nightstand. “Is it the pain? You can have another if–”

“Little Bird,” Eris breathed out in awe, grasping at her hand.

The silly pet name he had taken to teasing her with caused her to freeze. He had begun calling her that after seeing the rushed doodle in the shape of a hummingbird on the bottom of her notes. Except he wasn’t teasing now. His too warm hand slipped up the length of her arm, sparks dancing over her skin. Long fingers settled against the side of her face, thumb sweeping over the crest of her cheekbone. “Eris?” she breathed, still frozen.

“Kiss me,” he sighed, sounding as if he just might cry. “Please.”

His fingers twitched, urging her into movement. She didn’t hesitate, leaning forward slowly and meeting his lips with her own. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first soft contact. Eris tentatively pressed deeper with a tilt of his head, nose brushing the side of her own. He had always smelled faintly of lingering woodsmoke and evening rain, but this close to him she could scent the low aroma of something warm and comforting like warm baked pears drizzled with cream.

Bryn’s lips parted with a soft gasp and the tip of his tongue darted in, searching. The heat of him enveloped her from the inside out, wrapping itself around her bones before centering itself in the middle of her chest. White hot, it built in intensity stealing away her breath.

Pulling back, she panted in short, quick breaths. Opening her eyes, Bryn looked directly at Eris, gauging to see if he too felt like time itself had paused. The look he wore puzzled her. Brows fully relaxed and expectant as if waiting for her to say something. Before she could pull forth any semblance of a thought, a spark of golden light caught her eye. Twisting like a vine towards light, a golden thread reached from her chest, right where that heat had settled. It grew and grew before connecting with a second identical thread, the one anchored to Eris, until they met in the middle and flared brilliantly as one twining thing.

The tight burning in her chest dissipated and with it her breathing. Swinging her face back up to Eris, she said the first thing that popped into her mind.

“Oh. Fuck.”

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#I screamed when it was the bond!!!#ughhh he’s so hot #I love them #eris x oc #eris vanserra x oc #eris angst #Eris

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prythianslibrary · 2 months ago

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❀ In which you and your husband compete to be your baby's first word

“Say ‘ma-ma.’”

Your baby makes some noise. It’s an adorable babble that induces cuteness aggression in the form of you biting her chubby cheeks and listening to her giggle, but it’s not the exact sound you want. Still, she’s a clever girl so you know she’ll pull through sooner than later.

“Playing dirty, sweetheart?”

Kento walks into the nursery, laying his folded suit jacket over the armrest of the chair in the corner, where he sits down with a relieved sigh. He loosens his tie and gives you a tired smile, two long fingers beckoning you over. Baby in your arms, you nestle in his lap, immediately engulfed in his scent and warmth. He playfully nibbles on the fingers the baby shoves in his mouth, her own way of welcoming him back, you suppose.

Fresh from a long day at work, you don’t bother asking why he didn’t change into his home clothes immediately after coming back or why he’s not taking a much needed nap – your husband has asserted multiple times now that his favourite way of recharging is with you and his little girl. Home is wherever you two are, he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, trying to distract the observant man by handing the baby over to him.

Humming as he presses a kiss to her forehead, Kento muses, “So, my gorgeous wife, who loves nothing more than coming out victorious in every competition she creates, has been behaving the entire day, withholding any and all attempts to make our darling daughter’s first word be ‘mama?’ Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

You plead the fifth and the guilty grin you give him is all the answer he needs.

“Hi, my sweet girl,” your husband coos, eyes sparkling with adoration behind his thin-frame glasses. “Did you miss dada? Dada missed you, oh, yes, he did.”

“Hey! Now you’re playing dirty.”

“On the contrary, my love, I’m simply catching up.” His smile widens at the fairy-light sounds of pure joy that he elicits from his baby girl with his nose kisses. “Dada would never resort to cheating, would he? No, not like your mother. Can you say, ‘mother?’ No? Oh, dear.”

That earns him a slap on his chest. “You are so annoying, Ken. I carried her for nine months, it’s my right to be her first word. I deserve it.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I understand, but our little love doesn’t. All that matters to her is that ‘dada’ is much, much easier to say than ‘mother.’” The 'little love' in question steals her father's glasses and waves it around with her balled-up fist. Knowing that a baby's grip is second to none, he doesn't put up a fight.

She's definitely your daughter.

“Uhuh, Kento. Keep plying her with complicated words to make ‘dada’ sound easier all you want but my girl knows her roots. She’ll come through for me." Shuffling off, you give them each a kiss on the head. "Alright, alright. I have to get started on dinner — you two have fun. Hear that, angel? Mama is going. Ma-ma is making food for your sperm donor. Can you say ‘male parental figure?’ No? What a shame.”

They share a laugh: one appreciating your quip and the other, just happy to be there.

An hour or so later, dinner’s ready and waiting on the dining table. You don’t shout, not anymore; one never knows when the baby’s asleep and when she'll next sleep so every drop of quiet is gold in the Nanami household.

Quietly then, you creep down the hallway and peek your head through the gap in the door. The twinkling of a music box plays in the background.

Remaining where you left them, Kento rocks his daughter in his arms, running a finger from her forehead down to her nose bridge, tickling her delicate skin, a trick that never fails to make her smile.

Your husband talks in a gentle, tender conspiratorial tone and your eyes narrow in suspicion — the man hides behind an air of maturity and wisdom, obscuring his penchant for competition, but he can’t fool you. “Come on, sweetpea, make dada proud. Just like we’ve been practising, hmm? Say it with Papa Ken.”

Who’s playing dirty now?

Just about to scold him for his underhanded actions, hypocrisy and double standards be damned, his next words stop you in your tracks.

“Say ‘mama.’ Can you say, ‘ma-ma?’ Don’t you want to make mama happy? I know I do.” She only blows bubbles in response, tiny hands tugging at his tie now so she can gnaw at it, glasses returned to the rightful owner. “No? Tired from a whole day of being daddy’s perfect angel, are you? Alright, we’ll try again later. Come on, let’s go help mama. She gets grumpy when the food doesn’t cook fast enough.”

The last sentence was unnecessary but you appreciate the sentiment, nonetheless.

Beyond appreciative of his never ending efforts to make you happy, dinner's spent with you giving your husband a gummy grin and he, in return, eyes you in suspicion, all while your little girl entertains herself with her foot in her mouth.

At night, baby asleep and tucked away in her room, you push him down on the bed, practically ripping his clothes off. Dazed, confused, but very pleased with the evening's turn of events, Kento rarely ever has any choice but to let you have your way with him.

And beyond content in a way he never knew he could be, in a way he didn't know he'd ever deserve, Kento doesn't realise he's smiling beneath you until you thumb at his lips, a soft look in your twinkling eyes.

"Let's have another baby, Ken."

Softly, he mutters, “Whatever you want, dear.”

#nanami is so hot for that #I don’t blame reader #this is so cute!! 🥹🫶🏽#nanami fluff #nanami kento #nanami kento fluff #dad nanami

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prythianslibrary · 2 months ago

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me reading what Hurbert had to say knowing Eris is gunna fuck him up for insulting his mates.

All this? Over an Heir?

A Neapolitan Bond’s Fic.

Pairing: Azriel/Eris/Reader | Rating: T| Word count: 3341

Master List | Read on A03 | For @sjmxreaderweek day 5 Heir.

Summary: Eris and Azriel are acting strange after a meeting with the Governors that you were not able to attend. You venture to find out what happened. You are not prepared for the truth.

Warnings: Discussion of having children, some slut shaming, off screen murder, some bigotry

A/N: I wasn’t planning on writing this but… it happens. Note the POV shift and the flashback when Eris is telling his story.

Tagging: (I am hoping I got everyone): @myromanempiree @pit-and-the-pen @lilah-asteria @crazylokonugget @st4r-girl-official @thisblogisaboutabook @paleidiot @div94 @tele86 @chaos-on-stand-bi @bobbyisbored @ysmtttty @romantasyreader28 @azrielsshadows42 @stargirlrchive @scarsandallaz @paintedbyshadows @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @acourtofbatboydreams @ninthcircleofprythian @secret-third-thing @theicarustoyourcertainty2 @hieragalbatorixdottir @daycourtofficial @prythianpages

Something was off with Eris and Azriel.

You knew their tells by now for when something was bothering them. Eris had tense shoulders and a clenched jaw even if it was subtle. Azriel’s shadows flurried more no matter how much he shooed them away. You’d been in the village all day and returned shortly before sundown, so you had no idea what transpired. You waited for them to talk about it at dinner.

Nothing.

They only asked how your visit was and told you how the governors meeting started off rocky but ended well. At least by bed they’d relaxed, but still something was off. You’d made it your mission to find out what happened. You outright asked Azriel if he was alright the next day.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” A lie if you ever heard it.

“Your shadows seemed more active is all,” you shrugged. His wings bristled but he didn’t respond.

When you went to Eris, you had to ask less direct questions. You asked about any hangups in plans for the month. Issues with the budget. When nothing worked, you asked for the written record of the meeting you missed. That seemed to get a reaction.

“I would have to find it.” Eris sighed. “It went three hours over and in a tired haze I can’t remember where I put it.”

Eris never forgot where he put things.

“When you find it, let me know.” You smiled sweetly.

You then went through the House looking for one person who could give you information. Charlotte, wife of Elden, was the biggest gossip in Autumn. She heard everything and forgot nothing. You invited her to tea under the disguise of catching up.

She was an older fae- her brown hair streaked with graying strands. It suited her, with how she pinned it up. She always had a flower in her hair to match her dress. Today it was a marigold and her dress was a velvet yellow. She greeted you with a kiss on the cheek and instantly went to chatting. It only took you a few sips of tea for her to bring up what you’d been waiting on.

“And poor Lord Hurbert, may The Mother keep him. I plan to visit his wife later today. Though I doubt she will be mourning heavily.”

“Lord Hurbert passed away?” You tilted your head. He was an elderly fae but not so old he was frail.

Charlotte’s well maintained brows arched.

“You didn’t know?” You shook your head. She made a hmph noise. “Elden said that the High Lord who, well” she let her voice trail.

“I’m sorry?” You put your cup down before your grip could break it.

“That’s what Elden told me. He wouldn’t speak of what happened. Came back from his meeting all shook up. Whatever it was, he did say Hurbert deserved it. The Mother knows the old fool had a temper.”

You sat there in silence. Eris had murdered someone? You felt a coolness against your wrist. You looked down and the shadow that followed you had curled around your wrist.

“Oh dear, don’t look so distraught,” Charlotte’s voice made you snap out of your haze. “Forty years and this is the first time the High Lord has done away with someone? Lord Beron used to make it a point to torture at least every full moon. Cauldron knows Lord Eris is better than his father. If I may speak plainly, Hubert was a dreadful male. I never knew why Lord Eris let him live when he came to power in the first place.”

That brought you no comfort.

“I need to speak with my husband,” you muttered, still in a daze.

You went to stand and Lady Charlotte stood with you. She grasped your sleeve, her dainty hand holding a tight grip on the fabric. You met her gaze and saw the panic in her eyes.

“Do not tell the High Lord I told you.” Gone was the humor and haughty tone, replaced with a harsh whisper. “I’d rather not be on the receiving end of his temper should he still have it.”

“Of course, I- I will not tell him,” you said firmly. “I am bound to learn of it soon enough regardless.”

She eased her grip and relaxed her shoulders. “Thank you, Lady.”

“Of course, Charlotte.”

You left the south parlor, your boots clicking almost too loudly on the tiles of the hall. The shadow continued to pulse on your wrist. An attempt to get you to keep your breath even. It helped but-

You went into an empty room. You could see some dust as the evening light poured in from the window. There were covers over furniture, bookcases bare along the wall. A fireplace almost pristine in appearance from being unused. Thirty years in this house and you still found secrets. You leaned back against the door after you shut it.

Eris had killed someone.

During a meeting no less.

He didn’t tell you.

Azriel knew and he didn’t tell you.

You tugged the bonds. You felt them both tug back twice. You looked down at the shadow.

“Tell them where I am please,” you whispered.

The shadow uncurled and disappeared. You waited and didn’t bother to move from the door. They would winnow in. You also didn’t care if sadness poured through the bond to them either. You didn’t have to wait long- a blaze of fire lit up the room and swirls of shadows followed next to it.

You crossed your arms when they came into view. Eris was in his deep brown riding pants and tight white shirt. You’d forgotten he was going to take his horse out. Azriel smelled like the wind, and he too wore tight clothes, leathers he used for flying. You ignored the concern on their faces and spoke before they could.

“What happened at that meeting yesterday?” You were curt and to the point. “Do not lie to me.”

Eris’s face hardened, his hands flexed at his side. He reached up and brushed back his hair from his face. It was back long enough that it fell over his shoulders again. A flame appeared in the fireplace. Without a flick of his hand, magic fell heavy over the room- a ward. He wasn’t your mate at that moment. He was Autumn’s High Lord.

“Lord Hurbert Graham crossed a line and I handled it.”

“By murdering him?” You asked loudly.

You didn’t like that Lord. He constantly made digs at Azriel. Covert ones that you could only mitigate with a stern tone. But it felt wrong. It felt wrong for Eris to have just killed him. It felt too much like the stories you heard of Beron.

“Eris did him a favor,” Azriel said darkly. His shadows flurried around him. “I wouldn’t have made it as quick.”

You looked between them both. “What did he do?” It came out as a whisper.

A flicker of emotion on both of their faces and a painful pulse in the bonds meant it had to be terrible. The fire died down but still burned in the fireplace. Thankfully Eris tampered the heat down from it. Neither of them spoke, so you asked again.

“I am your mate. I am Lady of this court- a High Lady if you had your way, Eris. I deserve to know exactly what transpired.”

A moment passed and Eris finally relaxed his shoulders.

“I am going to need a drink.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eris convinced you to go to his study and not your chambers. He would not repeat those words within the walls of his refuge. Az was tense. What transpired got to him more than he was letting on. Eris poured himself a shot first and threw it back to try and drown out the look of disappointment on your face from moments ago. He prepped your drink and Azriel’s, which he added a second shot to. It did not go unnoticed by Eris that you sat yours down to the side and looked at him expectantly.

“Tell me what happened,” you repeated firmly. “And do not coat it in sugar.”

“If that is what you wish,” He replied.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Lord Eris, may I speak freely?”

The meeting had just started and Eris was already annoyed. The annual governor’s meeting was never enjoyable, But without you- he forgot this was what it was like. Lord Hurbert had waited for a lull in the conversation to poise his question. The eldest of the Governors- save for Elden and Rafael. Hurbert was his least favorite but his loyalty to Eris while his father lived was something he respected. But that was about all Eris cared about. Even looking at him now two seats down, Eris had little care for the male. Even more so due to this interruption.

“You’ve never been one to hold your tongue before,” Eris replied smartly. Az sent a wave of humor down the bond.

“Thank you, High Lord.” Hurbert’s smile grated Eris’s nerves. “While I do not doubt we will continue to see times of peace for more decades to come, may the Mother bless us all, there is never a guarantee.”

Eris felt Azriel tense beside him. “Is there something you know that we don’t?”

He ignored Azriel. An offense Eris took note of to deal with later. Hurbert’s voice grew louder, as if he was trying to captivate everyone’s attention despite already having it.

“You’ve been High Lord for nearly four decades, Lord Eris. But you’ve taken the mantle much later in life than your- much later than the previous High Lord.“

A knot twisted into Eris’s stomach. “Do you have a point?”

Eris did not hide his frustration this time. Hurbert knew it too, with the way his beady eyes blinked and he shifted in his seat.

“You have a wife now.”

Eris felt unease in the bond to Az. He tried to send back something soothing but knew he failed.

”She is my mate and Lady of Autumn.“ Eris replied, staring down the male in a way that had him squirming again. “You will address her as such even when she isn’t here.”

“Of course, Lord Eris. We’ve had a new Lady of Autumn now for almost three decades. She is very kind and capable. Arguably she does more work than she has to; I find that admirable.”

”I’ll pass on the compliment.” Eris ensured his tone conveyed the discussion was over. “Shall we continue?”

Hurbert held up his fingers. ”Actually, Lord Eris-“

”You are testing my patience, Hurbert.” Eris could feel the flames growing in him. “If you want to flatter my mate you may do so on your own time.”

Despite the older male shrinking back in his chair, he continued.

“My point is, we simply have some concerns.“

Azriel spoke before Eris could. ”And what might these concerns be?”

There was a moment of silence. Then Kelvin three seats to the left spoke up. He looked at Eris with a knowing smile and a glint in his eye. Eris trusted him- but the male was as messy as some of the females of the court when it came to gossip and knowing secrets.”

”I want it on record that I, myself, have no concerns High Lord.”

Kelvin brushed back his short red hair. A signal to Eris that this topic had been discussed before without his presence. He felt his blood start to boil.

“Nor do I.“ Dresden added.

Elden, the second oldest male at the table, looked to be sweating nervously. He liked Elden, trusted him since he treated the tenants of his land and the lesser fae well even when his father was alive. He was staring at Hubert.

“Hurbert, maybe this topic is best suited for a different time.’ He said softly.

Hurbert turned red in the face. “We have been putting off this topic for thirty seven years.” He turned his round red face to Eris. “High Lord, you’ve been blessed with two bonds. Which is a sure sign that the Mother herself favors you. And yet-“

“Yet what?” Eris said each word slowly and with venom that had the governors closest to him pushing their chairs back.

“You don’t have an heir.”

The fireplace, which had been empty, came to life behind him.

“And what consequence is it to you?” Eris leaned back in his chair like a snake waiting to strike. “Carefully consider what words leave your mouth next, Lord Hurbert.”

”It is a valid concern.” He replied weakly.

“I didn’t realize how I am fucking my mates were anyone's concern but my own.”

That only seemed to fuel Hurbert’s frustrations. He spoke louder this time.

“The Cauldron has blessed you with a female. A beautiful, court trained high fae mate.” The glass of water started to steam from the heat Eris began to radiate at his words. “Your mother had three children in the same time frame, and she was simply a wife. The concern is that The Lady’s endeavors may be too ambitious, that she has lost sight of her courtly duties.“

Azriel was on his feet, shadow whirling. His knife was already in his hand. “Watch your mouth.”

Hurbert rose to his own feet. Gone was the semblance of weakness he had with Eris. His face skewed into pure disgust as he looked at Azriel.

“What would a low born Illryian understand about the importance of an heir?”

Eris stood as well. “You’re out of line Graham.” His High Lord voice boomed throughout the room. “This is the last warning I will give you. Silence yourself before I make you.”

Hurbert, somehow redder, looked at Eris with sneer. “Am I out of line? The truth is that so called Lady of Autumn slinks around the house fucking that animal where ever they please like a whore.

He pointed to Azriel. Then he pointed to Eris.

“Maybe it is you who has lost sight of the duties to this court, High Lord. If she spent half the time on your cock as she does his, you’d have an heir by now. Or do you plan to follow your father’s lead by letting another breed your wife instead.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“And then,” Eris paused for a moment. “I set him ablaze.”

Az watched you carefully the whole time Eris spoke. He was attuned to every subtle shift in your expression. He sent extra shadows to help keep you calm. But you were surprisingly a statue, still and enraptured with every word Eris spoke.

“I do not remember much of it. I was too enraged to think.’ Eris continued, his tone turning cold. “He was a pile of ash in an instant. I then commanded everyone else to answer if they had so called concerns or comments about my mates. None of them did.”

“If they had, they would have been mine to deal with,” Az muttered, more to himself than for you to hear.

Eris sighed. “I did not want to tell you, love. But you are correct. You deserved to know.”

You finally blinked, your face still expressionless as you tilted your head slightly.

“Do you want a child?”

Az knew Eris paled without even looking at him. Children were not something they had discussed with you. Even worse, Az remembered when he and Eris talked about it. Eris had said he was actually thrilled his mate was a male. He didn’t want younglings- he didn’t want to risk becoming like his own father. Nothing Az said deterred him of that opinion.

Then they found you.

But Azriel also knew what you weren’t saying. You left the bond open. All your emotions bubbling under the surface were pushed to him. He could feel you question your own worth. That this is what the court really thought of you. He could envision your embarrassment at the comment that fae had made about you and himself. How people must whisper behind your back for how brazen you were. Az tried to push back his love for you even if it felt like it wasn’t working.

“It isn’t about what I want,” Eris finally answered.

“If the court wants an heir, should we not try to give them one?” you ask slowly.

Az felt his blood boiling. “It doesn’t matter what the court wants.”

“I am not a fool, Azriel.” You looked at him with so much sadness in your eyes. “If it is important to the citizens of Autumn, then as their Lady it is important to me.”

“It was one male,” Eris snapped. “A foolish one who clung to the rules of my father. This court doesn’t need an heir. Nor will anyone force you to carry one.”

“But what if I wanted to?” You whispered.

Az finally looked over to Eris. He was as pale as he expected. His gaze dropped to the hand around his drink- Az was shocked Eris hadn’t broken it yet. Eris didn’t reply and he felt you turn your gaze to him.

“And you Az?”

“Out of the question.” He winced at himself for how harsh his tone was. And how you recoiled. “It’s too risky. There is half of a chance the babe would-“

His voice cracked and he swallowed back tears. Images of Feyre slowly dying flashed in his mind. He could hear Rhys’s screaming and a flash of Nyx, so tiny and unresponsive in Mor’s arms.

He took a deep breath.

“The baby could have wings. I won’t risk your life like that. I can’t do that to you.”

A pause. Then you asked, “so neither of you want children?”

“Do you?” Eris asked.

A mix of emotions flickered in the bond from you.

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your hands. “Not right now. But if neither of you want a baby then does it truly matter?”

“It isn’t,” Eris paused again and took a long swing of his drink. He sighed. “I would need time. I am open to children but I would need time. I do not want my past to haunt my children.”

“But if,” another flood of emotions came through from you. Feelings of worry about Azriel.

“I would treat any child we have as my own,” Az said firmly. He pushed it through both bonds as well. “You are both my mates. A baby doesn’t have to be of my actual blood for me to love them. I mean that.”

“Okay.”

You stared down at your hands. Moments passed and the emotions from earlier resurfaced in the bond.

“Does everyone really think I’m a whore?” You whispered and your face crumpled.

“If they did, they would not be alive long enough for it to matter.” Eris’s words were sharp and venomous. “I commanded the governors in that room for a reason. That male said what he did because he thought he could get a rise out of me. But he forgot I am still a Vanserra and he suffered the consequences of that.”

“He should have suffered more,” Az hissed.

He was still just a little put out Eris didn’t allow him to end that male’s life. That male had undermined Azriel since the beginning. It was an honest surprise that it took him this long to say something that crossed the line for all of them. Az understood that Eris lost control, but it didn’t make it easier.

“The people of this court adore you,” Eris said softly and drew Azriel out of his thoughts. “There is not a person in his House who thinks ill of you.”

“I know but,” you wiped your eyes and a laugh escaped you. “I probably have fucked you both in every room of this house.”

“Not every room,” Eris said.

His statement broke the tension, you bursting into a laughing fit over it. When things settled he and Eris promised to not withhold information this severe again. You were right; you could handle it. Even if Eris and Az both felt you shouldn’t have to.

#Eris is so hot for that #pun intended #Az’s ‘if they had they would’ve been mind to deal with’#love that 🩵#protective mates 😩#neapolitan bonds #🤍🩷🤎#azris #azris series

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