#Eris would never | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redbleedingrose · 2 years ago

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Pretty? - Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was expected that when you become of age, as the daughter of a member of the Autumn Court, you will wed. As you enter the court as a woman, potential suitors make comments about your looks, specifically your weight, and you are devastated. Your best friend, Eris Vanserra, heir of the Autumn Court, comforts you and will always have your back.

Warnings: 18+/MDNI: men being disgusting pigs (seriously), cursing, men degrading women, self degrading thoughts, topics related to weight and feeling insecure, there is some fluff, and some minor smut? (not really in terms of the smut, but just in case yk?)

Word count: -8.7k

Masterlist

A/N: Hey beautiful people, so uhhh what was supposed to be a minor fanfic, really only a drabble, max 1k words, but then it turned into a full blown fic. This concept came to mind because of comments that have been made about my weight practically all my life, and especially these past couple of days since I came home for the holidays. I was crying yesterday morning after being asked if I am hungry even in my sleep, and viola, I was inspired to write this fic, because I just know that Eris would be a real man and would love me in any form. I hope that you know, you are stunning and the only thing that matters in reality is your heart. As always, please show some love by liking, commenting, and reblogging. It means the absolute world to me. Remember to eat something, drink a sip of water, and take your meds. Lots of love!

You didn’t mean to hear him. Your betrothed that is. A male, named Buchanan, you had only recently met weeks prior at a ball the high lord had thrown at the Forest House for the sole purposes of matchmaking. You were presented by your father as a female of the Autumn Court society, a female who was available to be wed. Your sole purpose in life, at least from what your parents had told you since you were a toddler, had been nearly fulfilled when Beron had arranged for you to be married to the male on the winter solstice.

You didn’t know much about him. Only that he was the army general's youngest son, and he was training to be a warrior. After Beron had decided you two would be “perfect” together, you tried your best to get to know the male. Buchanan did not give you much to work with, in all honesty. The male silently glared at you every chance he could get, only speaking to you with short, cold remarks. All you had learned about him came from the other females of the court, who gossiped about anyone and everyone whenever they were given the chance. They had spoken of his trysts to brothels, taking so many as three females on the same night. They had spoken of his cruel views towards females. How he believed females were only meant to be housewives and had no place in the workforce. How a female's only true duty was to tend to their household, children, and husband, and keep themselves in shape after having said children so the husband would find them desirable enough to use her whenever he pleases.

Deplorable. Every last word. And frightening.

You were frightened by the male. At first, you tried to ignore what the females had said, citing it as harsh rumors that were only bound to tarnish his reputation. But the more time you spent with the male, the more you began to believe that maybe the females had been speaking the truth. It was the complete opposite of what you wanted in a potential partner, a potential husband. And you were terrified for your future, a future that was nearly upon you, a future that was only a couple of months away.

A small part of you hoped that you would be able to change Buchanan’s mind about females, maybe change his values? Maybe, if you let him get to know you, let him see your personality and wit, let him see your love for reading and writing and learning new things, let him see your fascination with healing, maybe he would fall in love with you. And maybe he would try to be a better male for you. And so, you kept trying.

You went out on walks with Buchanan, hanging onto his arm and letting yourself lose the ‘quiet girl’ mask you usually wore in court, exposing your true self. You would invite him over for brunch, showing him your less than impressive cooking skills and offering him your favorite stories and anecdotes from your life. You took him to your favorite cafe in town to tell him your own dreams and aspirations in hopes that he would love that you wanted more out of your life than just marriage. He…

Well… he listened, you guess you could say. He didn’t offer you anything in return, never commenting on your stories or anecdotes or your dreams or aspirations. He only watched you, silently brewing in whatever thoughts he had. He never had anything to add to your conversations, and often, it was only your ramblings that would fill the empty silence. But… he listened.

He listened.

He was also polite. He would nod in greeting and would hold his arm out for you to grab onto whenever you went walking. He would move you to the inside, away from the cobblestone streets, whenever you were walking on the sidewalk. He would open the door for you, and take out your chair for you and push you into the table. He did all the things a normal gentleman would do. He was amicable at the very least. And maybe, maybe that was enough for you. Enough for a partnership or friendship. Or enough for an understanding in your marriage. At least that was what you had hoped for.

And that's why when you heard his older brother ask Buchanan what he thought of you, at the party Beron was throwing to celebrate your engagement, you halted outside the door, leaning in and pressing your ear against the stained oak, unable to control yourself from eavesdropping. Your mother had informed you with urgency that he had been dragged from the ballroom by his two older brothers so they could give him advice on, “taming a female,” and she pushed you to go retrieve him so the high lord could see his match of the season interacting in front of him.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe you were wishfully hoping that Buchanan had grown to like you, had grown to see you as more than just a match made by Beron, had grown to enjoy your presence. Because if he hadn’t, then you were too afraid of what your future would be. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“What a fucking cunt, I cannot believe the High Lord wants me to marry that pathetic excuse for a female,” he scoffed out with a harsh laugh, his words laced with acid pulled from the depths of the couldron. Your stomach was suddenly heavy with lead as it churned, your heart leapt up to your throat beating impossibly fast. Waves of nausea rolled over you, threatening you with every passing second. Harsh breaths were slipping past your lips as your lungs heaved in your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm yourself. Your brain had shifted into a fight or flight mode as adrenaline thrummed through your veins, but you were stuck. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t think. You only pressed yourself closer to the closed door, clutching your soft stomach in an effort to self soothe as your toes curled within the heels you had worn.

One of his brothers let out a loud snort, “Damn Buchanan, speak your truth. Is she a slut?” Horror coursed through you. You were stunned. Absolutely floored. You had thought things were going at least alright with Buchanan. Your eyes began to sting, lining themselves with tears that blurred your vision. Your cheeks were burning as the heat of your blood raced throughout your body, desperately trying to send oxygen to your tissues and organs in an effort to stop them from shutting down. “Gods, no,” Buchanan replied, sounding incredulous from the disbelief. A small bit of relief coursed through you. “Have you seen the fat bitch? What sane male would ever want to fuck a female like her?”

Disgust. Shame. Utter self loathing replaced that small ounce of relief a hundred fold.

Your throat tightened shut, a lump forcing its way into your voicebox blocking off any air as you stood still. Silent tears began seeping out from the corner of your widened irises, slipping down your rounded cheeks and meeting at the chin, only to drop onto your chest forming a wet spot at your gowns neckline. You begged Mother above for that to be the end of it, for that to be Buchanan’s final words, but he only continued. Like he was on some sort of tirade. “She is not appealing to look at in any way, seriously my dick goes limp every time I have to look at her. And not only that, she is driving me fucking crazy. The cunt never shuts her fat mouth, and rambles on like an idiot any time I am near her. She keeps going on and on and on about finding happiness and love in marriage, but who could ever possibly love her?” His two older brothers roared with laughter at his rant, Buchanan’s own chortling striking straight through your shattering heart.

It was the last straw. It was your last straw. Sobs began wracking your body, you pressed your hand tightly to your lips in an effort to silence them, as your biggest insecurities were voiced by your betrothed in such a vicious way, mocking you in front of your future brother in laws and then laughing together. At you. They were laughing at you. Shuffling behind the door alerted you of their movements, possibly approaching the hallway you were standing in. Panic flooded you, your muscles suddenly snapped out of their paralysis and into action. You darted into the room across the hallway, quickly opening and shutting the door to hide yourself from them. To hide yourself from the world. Only when their footsteps receded down the hall towards the ongoing party did you let out a slight sigh of relief that the males hadn’t heard you, hadn’t noticed the scent of you in the hall, that you hadn’t been caught.

You leaned your back against the door, sliding down as loud choked sobs you were holding back moments ago began leaving your lips. Mangled breaths formed as you tried, and ultimately failed, to inhale a proper breath. Your heart was beating too fast, too hard, trying to make up for the lack of oxygen in your inhales. Your entire body was screaming from the inside, each muscle tightened and every organ twisted up inside until it felt like you were being stabbed at every inch of your skin. Pain, pain, pain.

Pain. It was all you felt. All you could think.

Your hand that had been clutching your stomach was now holding your head as you hunched forward between your knees. The wave of nausea had become so strong, that saliva had flooded your mouth in order to coat it with some sort of basic liquid before stomach acid would burn at the membranous tissue. Your vocal cords had been pulled taught, only allowing ugly wails to leak out. Self deprecating thoughts flew through your mind, throwing themselves at the base of your skull. The pounding in your head resembled a migraine, throbbing right at the base of your eye meeting your nose.

Your other hand palmed the floor, trying to find steady ground that you could sit on. Some kind of flooring to prevent you from falling over. But you were already falling. Already falling into a deep pit of hate for yourself. After a couple of minutes of letting the agony sink into you, your throat opened a little, allowing for you to finally breathe some short breaths. In and out. In and out. In and out. Over and over and over and over again. Until, finally, there were no tears. Just the streaks they left behind marking your cheeks like scars. Where the pain once reeked within you, you were now numb. You were finally able to look up from the ground, glancing around the room only to realize that you were in Eris’ private library. You weakly pushed yourself off the floor, gripping at the door to help you stand. Eventually, slowly, you made your way to the small couch at the very back of the room that faced the expansive windows facing the outside forest. The one you and Eris often laid on for hours on end, reading whatever books we could find that were the slightest bit interesting, and silently enjoying each other's presence. You slumped onto it, lifting your feet onto the coffee table in front of you, and stared out into the dark forest, the outlines of which were highlighted by the moonlight.

You allowed your thoughts to let go of the terrible words that had brought you here in the first place, and allowed them to wander off to the irony of the entire situation you were forced into. When you were teenagers, one thing that you and Eris had always joked about is the fact that Beron likes to play matchmaker, and has tried for years and years to create pairs who would be unyieldingly loyal to the high lord, and yet, has never made a successful match. The glaringly obvious failure being Eris himself and that one female from night court. Even his own marriage was, and still is, in shambles, taking out his pure hatred and evil on his wife and children through physical, emotional, and verbal abuse. He was to be feared, the high lord. His word was the law. His matches were the law. No matter how awful they might actually be.

Beron liked to use status and power to make his matches. He didn’t care about a person's beliefs, a person's values. He didn’t care about kindness, friendship, or love. He didn’t care about partnership or finding a balance between two individuals. He only cared about whether or not the person had enough wealth to shove up his ass.

You had grown up as the daughter of the chief accountant of Autumn Court. Your father, a ruthless male, was claimed by the high lord himself, as his favorite court member and most loyal supporter. The both of them loved to line their pockets with the hard earnings of the general citizens of the court, taxing them on Tithe without mercy and creating trade laws that would only benefit the most senior members of the court, while obliterating the income of the truly hard working.

Your mother was no better than your father. Beron’s father had played matchmaker for them, evidently the role running within the family, and it had actually worked out for once. They truly were the perfect match in the worst way possible. As the only child of your mother and father, you were raised with the strictest standards and unrelenting criticism that surely ruined your self image.

Constant comments on how you dressed, constant comments on how you carried yourself, constant comments on you being chubbier than your cousins, constant comments on how you would never find a suitable match because of all of these things. The critics were never ending. They were heartbreaking coming from your mother, and mind-shattering coming from your father.

The amount of tears you had shed over your lifetime were too many to count. The amount of times you went to bed, crying yourself to sleep, loathing and despising yourself, were too much to count.

The constant comments from your family was enough to make you unsure. Unsure about your future, unsure about who would want to marry you, unsure about who would ever possibly love you. Because, surely, the way you looked, the way your stomach carried a little pudge, the way your hips had dips that made dresses fit awkwardly on you, the way your thighs were covered in stretch marks, surely it would make it impossible for anyone to ever find you beautiful enough to want to marry you, let alone, love you.

Two things had been made very clear to you very early on in your life though. The first being, you were to marry whomever Beron chose for you, and you were to be an absolutely perfect bride for your match. And you would need to shape yourself into a quiet and shy bride, beautiful and thin, who followed whatever rules her husband laid without question. That was the only way, your mother mentioned during one of her sessions of berating, that you would be pleasant enough for any male to look in your direction. Truthfully, you were just praying to mother above that whichever male Beron decided to match you with would never lay a hand on you.

The next thing being, there was only one reason you were grateful for being born into the family who had inflicted you with so much pain, so much trauma. One reason. One person. Eris Vanserra. The heir to the Autumn Court. Your best friend. Your person. Your other fucking half. You loved the male, and sometimes… sometimes you would allow your mind to dip into the thought of being in love with the male. But you would quickly yank yourself away from it, not letting yourself even daydream of what it would be like to be more than just friends.

You had met Eris at the ripe age of five. It is almost impossible in fae culture to have known someone, been friends with someone, loved someone as long as you have known, been friends with, and loved Eris. Eight hundred years of friendship never grew old, never grew tiring like other relationships had. If there was one thing your parents approved of, it was your friendship with Eris, only propelling your family closer to the Vanserra’s.

Eris… Eris protected you. He had always protected you since you had first met when he pushed the boy who had stolen your favorite plush, snatching it back before handing it over to you. You leaped into a hug, holding him close and thanking him profusely. From that moment on, you and Eris were friends. Your friendship only continued to grow as the years went on, as you became more aware of the horrific abuse he experienced on a daily basis, as he showed up to your house in the middle of the night as your parents slept, as you snuck him into your bathroom and pushed him to lean against the counter so you could clean his wounds, as you would hold him close as he sobbed into the skin of your neck, as you whispered your own traumas despite them being more emotional in nature, as you read to him your favorite book and visa-versa, as you baked pecan and cinnamon apple pies together, as you went horseback riding together, as you trained in weaponry together, as you went hiking together, as you did everything together.

He protected you against the words of your mother and father, constantly reassuring you that you would find a male who truly loved you the way you deserved to be loved. Eris had never once tried holding you back. He never once judged your expressive nature. He never judged your outgoing personality and often found himself craving your ramblings and anecdotes. He never once said a word about the way you looked, only once on your hundred and fiftieth birthday had he breathlessly whispered into your ear how stunning you looked. He never once judged you. He never once made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. In fact, he only ever adored your true nature.

But after one particular night, when you were two hundred something, Eris had drawn a line. Not daring to cross it out of fear of what Beron might do to you if he ever found out how either of you felt for each other. And Eris was a stubborn male if anything, so he would not let you or himself cross the fucking line. The night Eris found it necessary to make it clear to both of you that he didn’t think it was possible we could ever be more, he had accidentally walked in on you half naked, seeking out your comfort after a particularly hard night, as you were undressing yourself from some sort of function in the town your parents had dragged you to. The only garments that covered you were your panties and a corset bound so tight, your tits almost spilled out past the lacy fabric. He stopped in his tracks, standing stiffly, as you stared at each other through the bathroom mirror, frozen in each other's spots as you eyed each other up and down. His fists clenched at his sides, trying to find some semblance of control, and a flush curled up his neck towards his pointed ears. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the dark ambers in his irises light with fire as he stalked towards you, pushing you forward right up against the mirror, and pressing his entire front to your back. His quickened breath puffed into your hair, and down the expanse of your throat as he buried his face deep into your neck, picking up every last bit of your scent.

You could only watch through the mirror, your arousal slowly dripped into your panties, soiling them as you felt his taut chest move up and down, up and down, up and down against your back. One of his hands gripped roughly at your waist, feeling the slight sinch in it while the other roamed the expanse of your hips, squeezing ever so slightly at the plush before moving on to explore every inch of your covered skin. Mist from your warm exhales collected on the mirror, dew drops forming and slowly slipping down as Eris held you tightly against the glass. You felt a shot of courage, and arched your back toward his chest, rubbing your full ass against the strain in his pants, a soft moan escaping you at the stimulation. Hot energy struck through your stomach, and down to where you ached for Eris to touch you. The lordling hissed as the musk of yours and his arousal intermingled in the air that surrounded, suffocated and intoxicated you both all at once.

He lifted his head from where it had been buried into your neck, watching you through the mirror, pupils blown wide open with lust, knocking the breath right out of you. You sucked in a shaky inhale through your teeth as his fingers snuck down to the waistband of your underwear, toying with the edge, before pinching the fabric and allowing it to snap back onto your skin. He did this again, once, twice, three times. A groan of frustration was making its way through your entire body, and you wriggled your hips to get the male to do something, anything. His pink tongue poked out between his lips, lapping at the shell of your pointed ear, sneaking in a soft nibble, almost as if he could sense the growing tension within you. Your sex was throbbing, all the blood in your body had rushed down to focus in on the one area Eris couldn’t seem to bring himself to.

“What the fuck are you waiting for Er?” The taunt in your voice muddled with his favorite nickname you had gifted him at thirteen years of age… it had a growl reverberating from his chest straight into your back. His hand came down so hard on your ass, the smack echoed in the bathroom and you were sure that a burning sensation would leave behind the mark of his palm. The heir rubbed at the redness that was forming there, massaging the muscle beneath the soft, stretch marked laidden skin, “So fucking needy,” he murmured, voice raspy as the air in the bathroom dried out from the heat. He gently tugged once at the lace. Another tug, this time with enough force that it shredded the fabric lining your cunt. And then he stuffed the ripped red number into his back pocket. Your eyes had fluttered shut, unable to maintain the focused eye contact. Your nerves were on fucking fire, every cell within your body was shunting out desire that rippled in the striations of your muscle and layers of tissue, shaking you to the very core. Several missed beats of your heart had you almost worried you would go into cardiac arrest, but you didn’t care. You would die a happy female, if you died in this moment.

One of his hands, adorned with gold rings that embodied the lavish wealth of the male, wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing tenderly, but with enough pressure that your eyes snapped open. Your irises were missing, replaced by the dark depths of your pupils as they met his through the mirror. A smirk lilted his face, looking smug as ever, when his other arm snuck from behind you, brushing over the soft, supple skin of your thigh that was damp with your arousal. Strangled gasps turned into pants as the lordling finally reached your swollen clit, the pads of his forefinger pressing down firmly for a second, sending the rest of his digits through your slippery folds. The grasp on your throat tightened imperceptibly, Er bit his swollen lips, trying to hold in the croaking groan that was bubbling within him but coming up short. The beautiful sound from the male was enough to send another wave of liquid pleasure from your cunt. So much so this time, that your slick began to coat the inner-most portions of your thigh, some even daring to dribble down your legs to the tile beneath you.

You both had been knocked out from the heat of the moment when a loud crash from downstairs, reminding you that you were in your home, where your parents were present, where anyone could catch you both. Before you could say or do anything, something within Eris had snapped, ripping his fingers away from the ministrations he was making at your sex and yanking his hand from its grasp on your throat. He jerked away from your body so fast, you nearly gave yourself whiplash watching him through the mirror. When you turned your body to face him, your heart was beating so fast, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it across the room. And the butterflies in your stomach that rammed against every internal organ within your abdomen had your knees nearly buckling, as you tried to regain your composure. He had bent over, digits slick with your arousal grasping onto both of his knees, trying to catch his breath with his eyes squeezed shut, as if it had pained him to pull away. You opened your mouth to ask what had happened, why he was here, why he had stopped, but he didn’t give you the chance. He stood stalk straight from his position, giving you a once over as his face dropped into a cold mask that was usually reserved for everyone except you. The neutrality, the ice in his usual burning eyes paused you, your chest heaved for a second as shock settled in you, and with a blink, the heir had vanished, winnowing away to mother knows where.

You hadn’t spoken to each other for seven months after the incident. You had worried that the moment of stupidity, the moment of lack of self control was going to be the knife that tore into your friendship, damaging it irreparably. But you needed him. He was yours, and you were his. And if that meant that you couldn’t be with him in that way, then that was something you were willing to accept. So one day, after seven months of heartbreaking silence, you marched right up to him while he was in the stables with his sixteen horses and twelve ghost hounds. You reached up and yanked him down by the collar, his eyes widened with surprise as you leaned in close, “Please Eris, lets just go back to how things were. Please, let's forget it ever happened. Please.” It came out as a whimper, not what you had wanted as you had spent days preparing a long speech on how best friends don’t abandon each other. But… it had worked.

The lordling nodded numbly at your words, before pulling you in for a tight hug. Shaky breaths misted in the cool air as you pushed your face into his neck, leaning in as close as you could while he pressed a soft kiss to your temples in apology for avoiding you. And there it was. The silent agreement. To forget. To never try again. Even if it hurt you, you could live with it. Because the hurt of not having him in any capacity was too unbearable to even think of. And now, almost six centuries later, you were stuck in an engagement with a male who apparently loathed your looks, your personality, every part of you really. And Eris was still only your best friend, never toeing the line. And he would only ever allow himself to be your friend, nothing more, with Beron still alive.

Maybe… maybe if the high lord was dead… maybe things would be different.

You had been so entrenched by your reminiscing, you hadn’t realized the lordling made his way from the party with a bottle of chardonnay, to the library in which you were seated. You heard the creak of the door swinging open, “There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you doll,” his deep playful voice brought a watery smile to your face as a fresh wave of tears appeared in your eyes. One slipped out, and you hastily wiped it away with the sleeve of your velvet dress, the dark emerald color blending into the upholstery of the couch. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want him to ask what happened, because you wouldn’t be able to hold your tears back if you spoke of it. Because you were embarrassed by the entire situation. Because telling him would involve you speaking the words Bucahnan had spoken about you. Because telling him would mean that Eris would be able to share his own thoughts and opinions. And you didn’t know if you would survive Er agreeing, even in the slightest bit, with Buchanan.

And also because Er wouldn’t hold back. When it came to you, he never could. You knew that if you told him about the nasty words Buchanan had spoken so cruelly, Er would hunt him down, rip the male into pieces, and then feed what was left behind to his ghost hounds. Literally. And Beron would not be merciful towards his eldest son, with his evil nature ruling his every decision, a punishment involving a beating would likely not suffice. And there was no way you would ever risk Er like that. So, you would just have to swallow the fact that you would be in a loveless, probably abusive marriage.

But for Eris… for him… for his safety… you would. You would do anything. Even if it meant you getting hurt.

You cleared your throat, removing the lump that had been stuck in your throat since you had heard Buchanan talking with his brothers. A short laugh was forced from your throat, even though your vocal cords were still stiff, “Here I am.” You swiveled your body to watch as he made his way to you, smoothly and swiftly. A grin that had been reserved for you and his mother filled his beautiful face, moving around the couch to plop himself right next to you, so close that his entire side was pressed against yours. The shifted one of the two wine glasses into your hand, popping the cork from the white wine, “Why is the guest of honor to this hideous party hiding herself in the personal library of the most famous, most handsome, most dashing, extremely powerful heir to the Autumn Court?” You snorted at his arrogance, slightly tilting your glass so he could pour in a quarter of the bottle. You leaned into his side and rested your head against his broad shoulders; he slumped further into the couch so you would be comfortable against him, leaning his head onto yours as he took a sip of the crisp wine, waiting patiently for your response. You took a deep breath to calm yourself. Another. Again. Another. But it had seemed the lump in your throat had lodged itself deeper into the very muscles that were supposed to sound out words. So you just sat. Hoping that Eris wouldn’t question it. Wouldn’t question you. Wouldn’t press you further.

But the lordling was a perceptive male. Nothing ever, ever slips past him. Especially where you are concerned.

The pause you gave was long enough for him to grow concerned, setting his already half empty glass on the coffee table in front of him as he rotated to face you head on. His dark amber eyes narrowed in on you, focusing and studying your figure, your face. You shifted uncomfortable against his penetrating gaze, avoiding eye contact with the male knowing that the whites of your eyes were bloodshot. “Have you been crying?”

Damn it all to the cauldron, how had he figured you out in a matter of seconds? You again forced a laugh out, crossing your legs sending one thigh over the other, “No, Er, don’t be ridiculous.” Your voice came out shakier than you had intended, and there was no way he hadn’t picked up on it. “Don't give me that doll. The tip of your nose is red and I can see the streaks on your blushed cheeks. Who the fuck made you cry? Tell me. Right now.” The tone he had once used had changed entirely too fast, going from playful to ice cold laced with finality. A shiver ran down your spine, your mind racing to come up with any plausible excuse to account for your recent tears.

Your heart began pounding within your chest, a new onset of anxiety coursing through your arteries. You couldn’t let Eris find out, because he would do only Mother knows what to Buchanan, and Beron would do only Gods know what to him. “I was um… I was just reminiscing–” He cut you off swiftly, “Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. Tell me who made you cry and what they did.” His hands tightened into fists at his side, continuing to pierce you with his stare. You had never been able to properly lie to the male. You didn’t think you could start now.

“Don't freak out Er–”

“Mother above, Y/N, tell me. Right now.” You flinched as he cut you off once again, reading right through you. Any chance of you getting away with a half truth had been thrown out the window the second he realized you were upset. He sighed, reaching out his fist unfurling to gently tug on your wrist, “Just tell me what happened doll. You know I will always protect you.”

Leave it to Eris to say something that would make you smile, even in your darkest moments. The corner of your lips rose slightly, staring up at the heir who had burrowed into your heart. Sometimes… sometimes you thought about how if you got married, there would be no space in your heart for any other male because Eris had taken every corner, every ridge for himself. Unintentionally of course, but nevertheless, benevolently.

“Do you think I'm pretty Er?” Damn it all to the cauldron, the words had tumbled out, without permission. And there it was, sitting in the empty space between you. He blanched, “What?” The ice in his voice had completely melted into shock. Clearly, it was not what the male was expecting for you to say or ask. You would have laughed at his face if the nervousness of his lack of response wasn’t seizing you, “Well? Do you?”

He scoffed at your question, perturbed that you still hadn’t told him what had happened, “Of course I do, Doll. Only a fool wouldn’t.” His eyes flicked back and forth, locked in on yours, trying to dissect whatever it was that you were thinking. He opened his mouth again, sucking in some air, probably to continue to interrogate you on why you were crying. But you didn’t let him, “Why?”

“Why what, Y/N?”

“Why do you think I’m pretty?” This was not the way you had expected for the conversation to go. Suddenly, the topic that you had avoided for years, centuries with Eris was becoming the elephant in the room as the questions continued to stumble out. All the self doubt, all the self loathing, screaming into your brain that it wasn’t possible for the lordling to find you pretty. You were too fat, too annoying, too much. He continued to stare at you, gaping at the obvious shift in conversation.

“What is this about Y/N? Just tell me what happened.”

“No.” Simple yet final and firm. You became impassive, lifting your legs to face away from him, turning your back to him. You didn’t want to have this conversation with him. You didn’t know how to. Because even if Eris “took care” of Buchanan, there would be another male, and another, and another. And it was possible that all of those males felt the exact same way Buchanan did. The train of thought returned the stinging in your eyes, and this time, there was no holding back. Your lip trembled, pressing together to hold in the sobs, as Eris continued to stare at your back.

His tattooed arms lifted, wrapping themselves around your waist, hands pressing into the velvet of your dress. He ever so gently, with so much care and worry, pulled you into his lap. You immediately lifted yourself, trying to scramble out, not wanting to crush him under your weight. But his muscled forearms, on display from rolling up his sleeves, held you in place, not letting you budge. A hand came up to grasp your chin, softly turning your face towards him so he could look you in the eye. The immediate eye contact had your eyes dropping down to stare at the rising and falling of his chest. “Look at me, Y/N,” the seriousness of his command had your eyes snapping up to meet his, tears fell down your cheek, hot streaks pressing into the skin below. His eyes were filled with so many emotions, concern at your tears, worry over your recent questions, love and adoration that he held for you, his best friend, and burning anger at what prompted all of this.

“There are no words that can describe your beauty doll.” You huffed shaking your head, not believing a single word, but the grasp on your chin tightened, not painfully but enough that imprints of the pads of his fingers would be left whenever he would decide to let go. “Hey– stop that right now doll,” he exclaimed, putting a pause in your display of skepticism. “There are no words or expressions that I can use to describe your beauty Y/N… your beauty is not quantifiable. It is everything about you. I– I can’t– Maybe. Maybe I can try.” Desperation started to seep into his voice, his eyes flitting back and forth between yours, trying to convince you that he saw you. Truly saw you. That he adored what he saw.

“I– I think you are the most divine being I have ever had the absolute delight and luck coming across.” He paused, exhaling softly, “We met when we were only five. Some punk had stolen your favorite doll, and you were fighting him valiantly, not afraid, not cowering. You faced him head on, throwing your tiny fists into his back, and I just knew. I knew that you were different from anyone I had ever met” His hand that was on your hip unconsciously squeezed once, twice, thrice at the recollection of the memory. “You know that's why I call you doll, right?” You shook your head, and his palm came up to rest against the roundness of your cheek. Thumbing away at the final tears that had dripped out. “You had this elaborate richness to you, and it reminded me of your doll. Anyway, over the years, I got to know you. Really know you. I guess what I am trying to say is that I have loved your personality, the female that you were shaping yourself into. You opened up like this flower waiting to bloom in spring, sharing every part of you with me. And letting me do the same. No one had ever done that, Y/N. No one ever listened to me, but you did. No one ever let me be me, but you did. In fact, you loved me for it.”

He leaned in closer, so close that your mind began to fuzz. His warm breath that smelled of whiskey and chardonnay kissed your lips and nose, as he continued to eye you, tracing every inch of your skin, dimples, bumps with his blazing embers. You wanted to cower, you wanted to hide. You didn’t want him to see what you saw. “When I look at you Y/N, I feel unbridled joy. Joy that I so rarely feel. All my fears, all my worries, they slip away when you look at you. When I look at you, I feel like you are my breath of fresh air after drowning. I feel like you are my warmth that shields me from this cold world. I feel like I am awake after a thousand years of coma. When I look at you, I see all of what is good in the world.” He pulled you closer than you already were, your full thighs spread apart and pressing against the sides of his, the grasp on your chin leaving, favoring running his digits through your hair and massaging at your scalp. Twisting and twirling the strands between his fingers, his next words coming out in hushed whispers as if he didn’t want anyone, not even the air between you, to listen. “I have studied the color of your eyes since the day I met you. I have gotten lost in them countless times, and I still cannot think of a way to describe them. There is nothing I could say that could ever fully encompass the depths of your beautiful irises. And Gods, Y/N, whenever you smile, this little glint appears right in the corner of your pupil before disappearing. I pray I get to see those glints. The way your eyebrows furrow, giving away every thought at a moment's notice. If I am trying to gauge your mood, I only need to look at your eyebrows because they will tell me if you are annoyed, sad, happy. And Mother fucking above–,”

“Eris,” a laugh sped out of you, trying to scold the lordling for his blasphemy.

He only smirked at you in response, “Mother fucking above, Y/N. Have you ever looked at your beautiful lips and cheeks?” He tilted his head back in a groan, “No, no you fucking haven’t. Gods, they are my favorite part of you. The color of your lips, the way your smile brightens up the room even in the darkest of days, steals my breath away. Your fucking cheeks, doll. I mean they are so adorable and sexy, all at the same time. How is that even possible? I don’t know, but clearly, your cheeks know. The flush they get whenever I tease you Y/N? Blood goes straight down to my cock.” You gasped out another laugh, slapping his taut chest and squirmed to get out of his unbreakable grasp.

He only pulled you closer.

Till your chest met his, and you could feel the beat of his heart through the fabric of your clothes. Your breath hitched, “Y/N, I could stare at you for days, for centuries, and never grow bored. It– It feels like I am looking at a goddess when I look at you. And your body, Y/N. Don’t get me started on your fucking body. Gods. It is so fucking soft, and lucious, and irresistable, and mesmerizing, and alluring, and all the fucking words one could use to create a synonym with beauty. And none of those words are enough Y/N. Gods, you don’t fucking understand how utterly perfect you are. Your tits are the perfect fucking size, and whenever you wear those necklines that fucking dip? I– I have to hold myself back from bending you over and fucking you into oblivion. They are round and full, and I daydream about touching them, kissing them, tonguing and sucking at them. Your waist, it sinches in and is my favorite place to wrap my arm around. Whenever I am around you, my arm grows heavy, begging to be placed around your waist. Your hips are wide and dip, giving these love handles that I just want to bite. Honestly Y/N, they are sexy as fuck. It– It reminds me of depictions of ancient goddesses. And it makes me think of you, swelling with a babe. My babe. And Mother above, you don’t know how many times I’ve fisted my cock at the thought.”

Tingles began erupting from the places Eris had grasped, all the way into the very cells that made up the skin, up the nerves that lined your entire body, and shot down to reach the bundle of nerves that rested at the apex of your thighs. The way the lordling was describing you with such passion, it had awoken something within you. His hand began to squeeze your hip so hard, you thought it would leave a bruise of his handprint, one that you would gladly welcome. He cleared his throat because his voice had become saddled with lust, “Your thighs are so thick, doll. They– I think about them. Wrapped around my hips. Wrapped around my waist. Thrown over my shoulders. Wrapped around my head as I savor the sweet taste of your arousal. And your ass is perfectly spank-able. Every time you bend over, I have to physically restrain myself from slapping it as hard as I can, just so I can see the ripple of your skin from where I hit you. I yearn to see the bruises that I would leave behind on it, I yearn to rub lotion into those very bruises, and I yearn to kiss and bite into them.”

Your arms had found their way around his neck at some point during his speech, only a hair width separating you two at this point. “And this… these words… they aren’t enough. They aren’t enough to describe your captivatingly, heavenly, beauty Y/N.” You eyed him, studying the pure sincerity, the truth, the longing in his irises. You didn’t need him to say anything more. Because… because, what he had said… it had been enough, for you at least. You tilted your head forward, pressing a featherlight kiss into his chapped lips before quickly leaning back to see his reaction. He didn’t let you get far though, adjusting his grip at the back of your head to slide down to your neck, his other hand jolting your hips down to his as he surged forward, pulling you in for another kiss. And another. And another. And another. And another. Soft pecks, slowly turning more desperate. Quiet moans escaping the both of you, the sensation of your tongues swirling, first in long, smooth strokes, and then in short, quick strokes. His body shuddered against yours, trying to pull you impossibly close. You kissed for what felt like a lifetime. It naturally slowed as you finally pulled back for a breath. Your chest heaving against his, heart fluttering, mind muddled with only thoughts of Eris.

He leaned in again, encasing your bottom lips with his in a soft final kiss. You were still trying to catch your breath when he let out, “Well now we’re fucked aren’t we?” A startled laugh left you, but the seriousness in his face had your mood dropping from elation into the ground beneath you. It all hit you. You were still betrothed. You were still to be married to Buchanan. Eris still didn’t know why you were in here kissing him, and not out there, enjoying what was supposed to be your engagement party. And you were scared. You were scared for yourself, for your future. You were scared of Buchanan. Because if he could say such cruel things behind your back while playing amicable in front of you, what else was he capable of? Would his words behind your back one day turn into words spat at you in front of you? Would his words one day turn into a hand lifted at you?

“I am terrified, Er. What the fuck am I gonna do?” He shook his head, before resting his forehead against yours, murmuring through his swollen lips, “Baby, please just tell me what happened. You don’t need to be scared, I am right here. I won’t let anything happen to you, you know that. I have said this before, and I will say it again. I will always protect you. Always, Y/N. No matter the cost. Please, Y/N. Tell me.” So, you did.

You told him. You told him everything. Heartbreakingly slowly, sometimes with muffled sobs into his shoulder and has stroked your back in an effort to calm you, you told him. You told him of your parents' abuse, their verbal lashings leaving their mark on your inner child, making it inherently difficult to believe that someone like Eris, anyone really, could ever find you attractive, could ever fall in love with you, could ever be in love with you. You told him you were dreading marriage with Buchanan, how you had tried to cultivate a friendship with the male, how you had hoped the friendship would transform into love. You told him how you were sent to look for him, and how you overheard him. You told him exactly what Buchanan had to say. You told him how his brothers laughed at you. You told him how Buchanan laughed at you. How you had hidden yourself away, trying to bury the shame deep within you. How you feared to tell Eris, knowing that he would in fact, protect you. How you feared that Beron would go after Eris, how if Eris wanted to protect you, what makes him think that you don’t want to do the same for him? You told him that you loved his friendship. How it meant everything to you. How having him, even in the form of a friendship, was enough for you even if you wanted more. How you would wait for him. And you finished by telling him how you were in love with him, and how you hoped that he was in love with you.

Er had listened to every word you had said, not interrupting once, only offering you comfort and support when you needed it. Only when you finished, did he pull you in for another soft kiss, his own voice breaking as he mouthed, “I love you, I am in love with you, I will always be in love with you,” against your lips. He hugged you close for a minute. And another. And another. And another. And another. Rubbing at your back, your waist, and hips, squeezing ever so slightly every couple of minutes as if to remind him that it was you he was holding so close to him.

You only separated from each other when you heard your name being called out by Buchanan, maybe your mother sending him after you, or your father, or even Beron who wanted to see the “happy couple” dancing before his subjects. Eris sighed irritated by the interruption, pressing a finger to his lips before he moved you delicately off his lap, handling you like you were a priceless jewel in his hands. You tried to reach up and grasp at his sleeve, silently begging for him to stay with you, to not do anything stupid, but Er wasn’t having any of it.

“He made you cry,” it came out as a hiss not directed at you, but a hiss regardless that only showcased his rage that was beginning to bubble through as he heard Buchanan again call out for you. “He hurt you. And I will kill him for it.” Determination shown through his eyes and inflection, and you knew, there was no stopping him. “We will face this together, my beloved. Fuck, when I am done feeding him to my hounds, I am finding you and taking you to the nearest temple, and we are gonna get married. Consequences be damned.” You laughed out another sob, this time, from happiness, “Promise Er?” You lifted up your left ring finger to link with his, and he brought your laced fingers up to his lips, kissing them, “I promise, beloved.” The tingle of the newly formed tattoo inking into both of your ring fingers, spreading across the dorsum of your hand till it reached up to your wrist, connecting you both into a promise-forged bond that would hold till the end of time.

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