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daycourtofficial · 2 days

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One single thread of gold tied me to you

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 6.2k | Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, piv, foodplay (chocolate), oral (f and m receiving)

Summary: After a century of waiting, Eris and his mate finally have a few days to themselves to accept the mating bond.

Author's note: this is technically part of my gingerfucker series but it can be read as a standalone. Big thanks to @basketoffish for help with plotting the idea for it and for helping me edit ❤️ The people have been frothing and yearning for this and who am I deny such want any longer?

Eris never had good timing. Born too soon, bearing the brunt of his father’s cruelties. Born into a war he was too young to fight in, but too old to stay at home.

All of his poor timing was worth it for this perfect opportunity. Beron would be away for three days and three nights to improve relations with Tarquin, the newest High Lord of the Summer Court. Beron went alone - he perceived it as much more intimidating to go alone (perhaps inspired by Tamlin’s appearance in the High Lord’s meeting a few years ago, winnowing in completely unaccompanied). Beron failed to recognize Tamlin’s appearance was much bolder - he knew he would face scrutiny, but still made an appearance without anyone at his side. Beron merely did it because he wanted to look more intimidating.

Nonetheless, Eris was able to send word to you with enough time for you to rearrange your royal appearances to carve out this time with him - an entire three day span, just the two of you. Three days felt like a lifetime when the two of you were only able to schedule hour-long secret meetings.

Once, in a desperate bid just to have your scent on him, you two had met for a total of twenty minutes.

Your rendezvous were often short, full of imminent risk and danger of being caught. Today felt like a blessing from the Mother, as if she were granting her star crossed lovers a vacation, a peek into what life could be like - what life will be like one day.

You two just had to be patient.

Even an entire court away, Beron would know someone from the Night Court was on his land. Perhaps not immediately, but he would know before your three days were over. So the two of you met in the Winter Court, in a cabin you were gifted a long, long time ago. A cabin you’ve gone to on occasion over the years, whenever you needed to get away and be alone. You had set the trap perfectly for your family - you were getting into petty squabbles the entire week, picking fights with Cassian and Mor left and right that left the two of them reeling with annoyance.

Your brother tired of it quite quickly, clocking it for what he thought it was.

“Perhaps you should spend a weekend away, star.”

His tone was full of concern, for this was how you always were before retreating to your hidden cabin. Irritable, crabby, unable to have decent conversation with anyone without leading them into a spiral of anger.

“I’m fine,” you reply, intentionally clipping the words to make yourself seem in a much worse state than you were. “Besides, I have some scheduled meetings this weekend.”

Rhys nods, “Feyre has agreed to take over any duties you have that can’t be rescheduled.”

You perked up at that, feeling a little bad at the generosity of his mate. You hadn’t felt easy about this plan - preying upon your family to get what you wanted wasn’t a regular occurrence for you.

But you refused to let any negative feelings about what you were doing get in the way of seeing your mate.

“Are you sure, Rhys?”

He waves a hand, “Go, please only return once you feel rested and headache-free. Cassian is quite adept at giving migraines.”

You smile, “so no one will bother me?”

He sighs at your continued questioning, “no, star. I think we’d be too afraid to bother you, except for Amren. And she’s in Summer for who knows how long.”

He stands up, crossing the room to you, his long legs practically gliding across the floor. He wraps you in his arms, squeezing you tightly before kissing you on the top of your head. He gently sways the two of you as you wrap your arms around him.

“Thanks, Rhys.”

He lays his head on top of your own, “just send word if you’ll be gone longer than a week. I just want to know you’re alive out there.”

This cabin was a frequent rendezvous point for the two of you, much cozier than the large clearings and forests you two otherwise frequent. The cabin was more ideal, however Eris couldn’t deny how incredible it felt to be inside of you as he leaned you up against various trees in the forest, the leaves crunching beneath his boots as he thrusted over and over into you.

His cock twitched at the thought as he walked towards the front door of the cabin. The door groaned slightly as he entered, marking his entrance. He felt the slight magical barrier ripple as he passed the threshold. He shut the door behind him, taking in the small, two bedroom cabin before him.

The place was quaint and cozy, an insult he would use to describe Rhysand’s absurdly large and ornate homes, but for you it was a testament to how infectious the comfort you radiated was.

It permeated every surface - the walls, covered in various portraits and landscape paintings, along with shelves of books and trinkets.

His scent was stale from the last time he was here, but yours was fresh, as was the smell of some delicious meats and fresh breads. He closed his eyes and leaned his back against the door, catching a glimpse of you as you pittered about the kitchen. He crossed his arms over his chest, allowing himself a moment to think of what his life could be like if the two of you were ordinary fae.

He would come home from whatever job he had, perhaps a scholar of some kind, leaving at the same time every day to come home to his mate.

You two would clean your house together, bickering over your inability in any universe to put dirty socks in the hamper, and how in every universe feet would continue to make Eris shudder in disgust. In any other life, he would be thrilled to experience monotony with you.

But he’s not in another life, one of openness and free-flowing adoration, one free of constant plotting and scheming, earning favors wherever he can. He’s in this one - the reality where no one knows about the two of you, because once they do it will become an inter-court political nightmare. It is a life of stolen glances, hidden messages, and secret meetings under the moonlight, but it is a life that belongs to him, when for so long his life was not his own.

Eris would love you in all lives, your soul reaching to him in every iteration and reincarnation of the two of you. If the two of you were nothing but bacteria living on the same organism’s skin, he would find you. He would know it was you, no matter what shade of organism you wore.

The bond hums in your chest, tugging you to look towards the door where you know Eris is standing and watching. You continue the task at hand, not wanting anything to miss your notice. The bond deep inside of you grows more and more insistent, screaming at you to smell him, taste him, feel him, here, here, here. He’s here, in your house, and you need to look, look, look.

You let Eris come to you, just as you always had, just as you always will. You’re slicing bread, placing the pieces in the bottom of the bowls when the smell of petrichor and caramel hits your nose, a warm presence at your back.

“Good evening, my fox.”

His face burrows into your neck at the nickname, melting into everything that was you. His arms wrapped around you, hands meeting yours. His fingers pull the knife from your grip, gently placing it down on the cutting board.

“What are you doing, my evening star?” His voice is purposefully low in your ear, causing goosebumps to trail down your neck, his hands warming your fingers.

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

His soft chuckle warms your chest, the bond constricting around your heart at his amusement.

“Are you cooking?”

“Yes, Er.”

“I’m surprised your wraiths didn’t prepare anything for you.”

“They did,” you hum, turning in his arms, his amber eyes meeting yours, not quite certain of what they’re seeing.

His hands meet your hips, his touch warm on your skin, and you circle your arms around his neck, fingers raking through his hair at the root.

He hums at your touch, his face swooping down to kiss your forehead.

You look up at him under your eyelashes, his nose and cheeks littered with freckles, mapping out where home was. You point your head in the direction of two large picnic baskets, one of which was opened for Eris to see various jars of jams and breads.

“Why would you-” his words fall short, his thoughts racing through his mind. They stream by in words and bits of phrases, but no completed thoughts make their way through the whirl and swirl of mate, food, and bond.

He short circuits, not quite grasping what you’re getting at.

“I have never gotten to cook for you,” you shrug nonchalantly.

His eye twitches, still not understanding.

“You’re cooking… for me?” His words come out slow and uncertain, as if the mere concept of someone choosing to do something like this was absolutely foreign to him. You nod slowly, not used to seeing Eris so incapable of understanding.

“But if you-“

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll-“

“Yes.”

“Are you-“

“Yes.”

He stills, his thumb lightly brushing against your hip. Your eyes are open and bright, wanting to convey to him the certainty you felt. You lightly tug on the bond connecting the two of you and he rubs his chest at the feeling.

It’s quiet as the snow falls outside, unaware of the monumental decision you had decided on once Eris’s letter had arrived earlier in the week. You had spent the past few months researching traditional autumn foods, preparing for this day. You had known for quite a while you were going to accept the bond, you just didn’t know when the two of you would have the chance to spend more than a few fleeting hours together. You had sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother when you received Eris’s letter, soft prayers echoing through your mind each night ensuring this would all work.

“Is everything ready?”

His eyes peer into yours, a vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see, even you. His words come out soft and slightly timid, as if he’s worried he’ll scare you off.

“Yes, we just have to bring the food to the table.”

“May I help?” He doesn’t move towards the food, but one of his hands twitches, moving imperceptibly closer to you.

“I would appreciate that.”

It’s quiet as you two move to the food, grabbing platters and bowls to bring to the table. Once the table is full, a three course meal laid out in front of the two of you, the reality set in a bit. It wasn’t that you didn’t love Eris, but you were slightly concerned you were forcing his hand with this.

This was always ‘someday’, but now it was here and you didn’t know how he truly felt about it. That was until he grabbed your plate, placing the still warm pita in front of you. You placed a piece of pita on his own plate, and he looked at the baba ganoush before him, its texture so unlike anything he had seen in Autumn. “What do I do?”

You ripped a piece of your pita off, dipping it into the bowl, grabbing some of the baba ganoush on it before offering it to him. He inspects the piece, before doing the same with his own piece of pita, bringing the piece to your mouth.

“Eat. This might be the last time we’re rational enough for food.”

The two of you bite down on the pita, the warmth of the bread with the chill of the baba ganoush, the smoky, rich flavor exploding in your mouths. The room immediately shifted with the scent of your mixed arousals, but the two of you ignored it. His fingers lingered on your mouth, swiping at your lips before ripping off another piece of pita.

Heat was coursing through your veins, Eris’s emotions thrumming through you at a higher intensity. He felt electric in your veins.

You continue feeding each other until the pita’s gone and your attention shifts to the bouillabaisse. In similar fashion, the two of you poured the soup into the bowls with the bread before setting them down. You were thrumming, every part of you screamed to be closer to him, your thoughts having a background loop of mate, mate, mate.

“How did you know about bouillabaisse?”

Eris’s words send heat through you - his voice, soft and low, the actual words not registering with your insatiable need for him.

“Beg your pardon?”

His smirk is feline as he knows exactly why you didn’t hear him, but he repeats his question with no teasing.

“I um, found it a few months ago - I was in Dawn and a little restaurant served it.”

You could feel the sweat on your brow as you watched Eris’s fingers bring another spoonful to his mouth. You thought about all the things he could do with those fingers, that mouth, that tongue-

“Nobody in Dawn serves this. It is a regional dish, more specifically it is only found on the seaside of Autumn.”

Busted.

You take another bite of the soup, the flavors so different from Night Court cuisine, but you weren’t complaining. Several of the fish in the soup were only found along the coast of Autumn and Winter, some making it as far north as Dawn.

“I may have perused some Autumn Court restaurants when I was visiting once.”

Eris stretches out the fingers of his hand, moving his long fingers in torturous preparation before placing his hand on your thigh. His touch was so warm, you began pulling at the collar of your dress to let the heat escape, biting your lip to keep the moan from escaping.

“When were you allowed in Autumn?”

“Fine,” your voice came out sharp, the room much too hot for an interrogation, “I snuck into Autumn a few months ago trying to find something to make you for this. I tried a bouillabaisse at this incredible little restaurant and I paid them an exorbitant amount of gold to teach me how to make it and to not tell anyone I was there. I slipped back in yesterday to pick up the fish in this soup.”

His fingers dance about on your thigh, and you take a quick glance down at his pants, your body growing warmer at his cock pressing across his pants, desperate to be released. You can’t move your eyes away from it - knowing how it looked, how it felt in your mouth, how it tasted - you were about to start drooling before Eris’s hand came up and closed your jaw.

“Strip.”

Eris’s words were a demand, full of power and need.

“But we still have dess-“

Your words died on your tongue as Eris began unbuttoning his shirt, your eyes caught on his lean chest, littered with freckles. You were in need, too, practically salivating at your mate’s display of his body, and you can’t quite remember why you wanted him to finish the whole meal.

He huffs over to you, his hands grabbing the fabric of your dress, ripping it in half down the middle. You gasp as the cold air meets your skin, somehow making your nipples even harder.

You stare at him wide eyed, even more aroused than before. At this point, you knew your panties were doing very little to keep your arousal from coating your thighs.

“You took too long,” he snarls, undoing the ties of his pants.

You had begun pulling the remnants of your dress off your shoulder, but stopped to watch your mate hook his thumbs into his trousers and pull them down, letting his cock free.

You move forward, ready to jump on Eris, but his hand on your chest stops you, eliciting a whine from you. His other hand grabs the molten chocolate cake you had made, slowly lifting it out of the ramekin. He holds it delicately in his hand, the other hand on your chest moving up to your hair, tugging gently on the strands to pull you towards him.

Your chests were touching, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. He blazed with heat, his cock hard with need pressed into your stomach. His cheeks are dusted with pink and his blood was boiling inside of him, but he moved ever so slowly, his fingers meeting your chin. He looked into your eyes, the two of you the only beings in the world right now.

“My mate.”

Anything could be happening outside of the walls of this cabin. The snow could have all melted, a heat wave sending the Winter Court into chaos, and you wouldn’t know. All you would know was Eris’s gaze on you, mapping out every inch of your body so he can remember every detail correctly when he thinks about this once you two are apart. His thumb applied pressure on your chin, opening your mouth. He placed the cake in your mouth, whispering, “don’t bite, not yet.”

You moved your hands to his hips, holding onto him. One of his hands moves to help hold the cake up, his other holding onto your neck. He puts the other end of the small cake into his mouth and lightly tugs on the bond. You both bite into it, the liquid chocolate center immediately cascading down and coating both of your chests. You both make quick work of finishing the remainder of the cake, tearing and gnawing at the soft dessert until you finish it off. He catches your lips in a kiss, the taste of the chocolate a luxury on his tongue.

You jump, feet slipping slightly on the bits of chocolate that made it to the floor. Eris’s arms catch underneath your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips. He lays you down on the table, moving his lips from your mouth, down the column of your throat, down your chest. You’re pulsing with need, desperate to feel any friction from him. You thrust your hips up, desperate to meet any feeling of him against you. His arm moves across your hips, pushing you down against the table. He shakes his head as he keeps kissing down your stomach, lifting his arm for a ring of fire to take its place around your waist.

He skips over where you want him, instead moving his head down to your thigh, licking up towards your hips. His tongue was hot as it slid up your inner thigh, lapping up the chocolate that had dripped down it. Your breathing was ragged as you felt his hot tongue growing closer and closer to you, and it felt like it was getting warmer the further it moved up your thigh.

You looked down at him, his amber eyes that were full of heat all you can see of his face as his tongue finally slips between your folds. You moan at the contact, throwing your head back and hitting it harshly against the table. The pain didn’t register, not as Eris - your mate - was moving his tongue as if he knew every part of you, as if he knew exactly how you felt as he would warm and cool his tongue at his leisure. He lifted his mouth just an inch, his words slightly muffled by your body.

“You taste of desperation. It’s delicious.”

You moan at his words, and he flicks your clit with his tongue. His hands warm on your thighs, pressing them further apart. He slips his tongue back through your folds, your hands gripping onto his hair to keep his mouth on you. He grabs your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders before one of his hands disappears. You are writhing on the table, his grip on you lighting your skin on fire. The room grows heavier with the scent of his arousal, and you twitch your ears at the new sound in the room.

He was moaning into your pussy, the vibrations coursing through your body as you realized the hand that left you was wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously. The thought of him being so aroused at eating you out that he has to touch himself sends you over the edge, your thighs clenching over his ears as you finish on his tongue. Your breathing was heavy, and Eris’s tongue did not let up, lapping like a starved male. You pulled him up by his hair, bringing your face to his. Your tongue swipes into his mouth, tasting a combination of yourself and chocolate on his mouth. You grab his shoulders, deepening the kiss as you flip him onto his back, pressing him onto the table. His hands grip onto your hips, trying to push you onto him, desperate for any touch from you. He whimpers as you tug his hair, pulling him into you.

You place teasing bites as you move down his torso, leaving mark after mark in a line towards his happy trail. You purposefully rub your breasts against his cock, smiling up at him as he groans, your breath hot on his crotch.

You lick from underneath his shaft, your tongue slowly moving from the base to the tip before putting his cock completely in your mouth. He tasted like cinnamon with a little salt, the chocolate flavor on your tongue making him taste incredible. His hands move, gripping onto your hair as he chants your name - a prayer, a plea, you weren’t sure. Your hands wrapped around the base of his cock and his hips thrusted trying to push himself deeper into your mouth.

You wanted to tease him about needing to touch himself while his mouth was on you, but you felt the same compulsions as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. You resist the urge to move your fingers to yourself by digging your nails into Eris’s thighs, leaving half moon indents. His grip grew tighter on your hair, pushing your head down harder as he got closer to finishing, his moans filling the cabin as he finished, the hot taste of cinnamon filling your mouth and coating your throat as you swallow it. You pull your mouth off of him, his cock twitching again at the look you give him as you lick your lips.

He growled and you swiped your tongue up his still hard cock. He lunged for you, jumping off the table before his teeth sink onto your nipple, pulling the skin with his teeth. You gasp, pinching his nipple back in response.

“Do you think there’s something there about eating to accept the bond and what we just did?”

You waggle your brows at him, but his eyes are a bottomless pit of black. Gone are the amber hues of fallen leaves, replaced by an endless void of hunger. You lean up to kiss him, the taste of both of you swirling between your tongues. You start walking backward, knocking into one of the chairs. He catches you, one arm hooking around your waist.

His pointer finger moves up from your belly button to your neck, swiping up the chocolate left behind. He puts his finger in your mouth, having you suck the chocolate off.

“Maybe we should get cleaned up.”

You smiled around his finger, swirling your tongue around it as you looked up at him from under your lashes. You nodded, taking his whole finger into your mouth. He breathes in deeply through his nose, his eyes swirling with desire before you. His other arm loops around your waist, carrying you through the cabin. Your giggles echoed down the hallway as Eris moved the two of you into the bathroom. He doesn’t set you down, shifting instead to hold you up against the wall with one arm while he turns the shower on.

The water started cascading down the both of you, sweeping the remnants of the chocolate down the drain. Your feet hit the floor as Eris pushes the two of you forward, your back hitting the wall. The water fell over your face, making it hard to see him, but you could feel everything about him. You felt his skin on yours, your chests pushed together. You felt his emotions thrumming inside of you, bouncing everywhere, filling every available space. You had heard of the bond being accepted as an all-consuming thing, but you found any previous descriptions to be wholly inadequate. Every inch of you burned for him, thrumming with need to be near, to have him with you, to have him inside of you.

He grabs the bar of soap from the shower, lathering it onto a wet washcloth before rubbing it against your body, rubbing the chocolate from both yours and his skin.

“I never thought accepting the bond would be so messy.”

Eris’s hand guided the wash cloth across your shoulders, your sternum, before taking his time as he rubbed it against your breasts. His thigh slid between your legs, separating them. Lean muscle pressed against your cunt as you sank onto his thigh. His lips were on your mouth as you ground onto his thigh. He tossed aside the washcloth, his hands gripped your hips, harshly moving you against his thigh.

“My beautiful, beautiful mate.”

His voice was husky, echoing through the shower, further cementing that feeling he was everywhere.

“Gonna fall apart on my thigh?”

His lips move down your neck, teeth sinking into skin.

“We have all weekend for me to put every part of me to good use.”

You threw your head back, hitting the wall softly. One of Eris’s hands moves behind your head, cushioning the blow. His grip is unforgiving as he continues moving you, his thigh rubbing your clit so perfectly. Eris looked so beautiful before you, his pale skin a soft shade of pink from the heat radiating off of him.

His irises have shrunk enough for you to see a slither of the amber you love so much. You could feel him thrumming in your chest and you swore if you looked down, the room would be alight with the gold tie between you two. You gripped his shoulders as he pressed his thigh into harder, sending you over the edge.

You’re reeling from the orgasm, but Eris’s grip doesn’t let up. He uses his other leg to spread your legs again, and his hands move down to your ass, picking you up before sliding his cock into you. It feels right when he’s inside of you, the pounding in your head subsiding, the heat dissipating for just a moment before it was replaced with the need for more, more, more.

Your head moves across the tiled wall as Eris thrusts into you. You grip his hair, pulling his face to you again before kissing his mouth, needing to feel him everywhere. You’re all teeth as you nip and bite across his neck, up his jaw, on his earlobes. The shower does little to hide the whimper he lets out.

His fingers grab your face, pulling you from his ear to his mouth. He kisses you hard and passionately before pulling out of you and turning you around. Your hands press into the wall as his hands roam down the sides of your body, sending chills throughout you.

One of his hands ran through your hair, wrapping it around his hand, the other wrapping around your waist, holding your back to his chest. The water streamed down the two of you, but you hardly noticed as he kissed your neck, pushing you against the wall.

You moan, pushing your ass against his cock. He growls as one of his hands traces from your hip down to your upper inner thigh, gripping tightly.

He bit your shoulder blade, pushing deeper inside of you. The pressure inside of you kept building, the water streaming across your skin growing hotter. Your blood was boiling, you weren’t sure where you stopped and Eris began. His thrusts became harder and more erratic, his fingers gripping so tightly you were sure they’d bruise.

Eirs held you in an iron grip as he came inside of you, his release causing you to finish again. Arms braced against the wall as you panted heavily, Eris softly pulled himself out of you. His hands rubbed down your arms, and you stood up straighter, albeit on shaky legs. His eyes were roaming your body, looking over all the marks leftover from your tryst. The two of you were no strangers to rougher sex - most of the time you two were only able to satiate each other against a tree for mother’s sake. The tiles were no concern to you, but you knew Eris felt something deeper within him, guilt perhaps at how little control he had and the marks a reminder of that. Having a bond was new, but accepting the bond was utter chaos. A thousand emotions rattled through you, unsure of who they truly belonged to the most dominant ones were to protect and to fuck.

Eris slipped his arm out of the shower, his head going with it. You took the moment to gaze down at his ass, the little freckles scattered across it gave you the urge to bite the plump flesh. He came back in fully with a washcloth, and your gaze softened. You reach out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Er, I don’t care, we’ll probably be going at it again in twenty minutes.”

Despite your protests, he broke free of the loose grip you had on him. He brought the cloth up under the water, letting it get properly drenched.

“I know.”

He moved the washcloth down between your legs, his touch impossibly gentle compared with the male who was gripping your hips hard enough to bruise moments ago.

“We’ve just never gotten to have this part before.”

You think back to all the times you two have met - in the woods, in secure cabins, in closets to find that he was right. Every moment alone the two of you had counted, and neither of you were ever able to linger for long after sex.

Another thing the secrecy cost the both of you.

He looked to you, asking silent permission, and you nod. He moved the washcloth, cleaning the remnants of himself off of you. He rinsed the washcloth again before moving it across your skin - your stomach, your shoulders, your arms. He lingered, taking the time to clean every inch of you. He laughed, pointing out you still had some chocolate behind your ear. Once he finished, he reached to turn off the shower, but your hand stopped his.

His eyes are assessing as you slowly grab the washcloth from him, your own eyes reflecting his previous question. He nods, and you start your own work of cleaning him. Your eyes trail his body, taking in how vulnerable he is in this moment. You hummed softly, the tune of some song you can’t recall the name of. The sound makes some of the emotions inside of you die down a bit, replaced by a calmer feeling. Eris tips his head down as you wipe at his back, the scars there almost mirrors of your own.

The cloth moves down him, but you stop to kiss a few of the scars on his upper back. Once you’re done, you drop the washcloth on the floor, wrapping your arms around his torso. Eris’s hand reaches out, shutting off the shower, but not making any indication he wants to move.

Eris’s love sitting inside of you felt different to the love you felt for him - synonyms, perhaps. But not quite the same.

After several minutes, you grabbed some towels from the cabinets, offering one to Eris. He slings it around his hips lazily, lifting you into his arms. You had barely wrapped yourself in the towel before he scooped you up.

The two of you land on the bed, decadent in shades of blue across the massive sea of blankets and pillows. The only reminder that neither of you were in your home courts. Eris taps your chest, the reminder you felt about having to leave him leaking over to his side of the bond.

You two settle on the pillows, discarding your towels to lay beneath the large duvet. You climbed on top of him, settling on his chest. His cock grew hard again, and you moved so you could settle with him inside of you.

You traced your fingers over his freckles, connecting them with your finger. “I can make constellations out of them,” you tell him.

The roar has subsided enough for you to feel like a person again rather than a beast. You know it’ll come back, in minutes or seconds you weren’t sure, but you wanted to spend whatever time with him like this that you could.

Eris thrusts softly inside of you, watching your eyes look for patterns in the freckles across his cheeks.

“Perhaps you can make me a constellation that will always lead me to you.”

You chuckle, leaning forward to kiss him softly. Your mate. You feel the pit inside of you start to roar, but you swallow it down, opting instead to search inside of yourself, finding that golden thread tethering you to him, and pulling.

“It appears I already have.”

He flips the two of you, laying you on your back as he slowly puts himself inside of you again. He fills you up completely, reaching the base of his cock before stopping and just staying there.

“Mm, Eris.”

He smiles, his arms landing on each side of your face, caging you in. He moves a few strands of hair out of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

He smiles down at you, his freckles dancing across his face, the sunlight illuminating his hair to look as if it were made of flame.

His fingers tangle in your hair, lightly holding on.

“You are everything to me.”

His voice comes out soft and slightly shaky, as if the admission were almost painful. He began thrusting slowly, but this felt different. Anyone who had ever thought Eris Vanserra incapable of being soft should see him now.

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

His thrusts became faster with each word, but not harsher.

“I will always take care of you.”

Your fingers grip his shoulders, your thumb softly rubbing the skin.

“And I you.”

You were reaching that peak again, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t feral, the need to satiate the physicality of the bond, but rather to remind yourself that you two were bound together, forever.

“I love you, mate.”

His words have you seeing stars, and you practically feel yourself leave your body, but you hear yourself say, “and I love you,” as Eris finishes inside of you.

He collapses on you, his cock still inside of you. You both are breathing heavily, unable to get enough air into your lungs. He collapses on top of you, his arms digging beneath you to wrap you in an embrace.

No touch was enough, even as you wrapped your own arms around him, peppering kisses into the side of his head. The two of you lay there, eventually Eris peaks his head out from your neck to watch the snow fall outside the window. You think about the many lives you could lead with Eris Vanserra - how much simpler your lives could be if you were born of different circumstances.

But those Erises wouldn’t be the one laying on top of you now. They wouldn’t have as sharp of a tongue as he does, or perhaps their noses wouldn’t slant the same way his does. You could lead a thousand lifetimes with a thousand Erises, each one different from the next. Your thumb grazes his cheek, deciding that easy was never meant for you. It was never meant for Eris, either.

In those thousand lifetimes, the only edge they have on this one is the ability for you two to be more free about your love.

You wouldn’t have to return to your respective homes, glamouring the scent of your mating bond from those around you in a bid to mitigate the unwanted comments from those around either of you. Beron would be excited, an intercourt mating would come with tremendous benefits for him. Rhysand would be pissed, your entire family shocked at the secret, unable to bite their tongues from disrespecting your mate with the twisted truths.

Secrets can only last for so long. They all get spoken at some point, and one day everyone will know how you have been carrying Eris’s love for years, how it has carried you for much longer than you thought, and how it will still carry you wherever you need to go.

Even when it’s in the opposite direction of him.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx

Eris taglist: @secret-third-thing

Thanks for reading 💕

#gingerfucker #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x you

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cupid-styles · 6 hours

Text

brat (sex columnist!harry x best friend!y/n)

in which y/n is best friends with harry, a sex columnist, who needs a little help answering a reader's question.

word count: 3k

content warnings: SMUT!!!! (mean dom/bratty sub dynamic, dirty talk, pussy spanking, paddling, sir kink, degradation, slight edging, fingering)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m really not.”

“No, but you are.”

“It would be for work and work only—”

“I don’t care.”

Harry sighs as he lifts a hand to run it through his curly hair. The noisy puff of air is filled with unsaid annoyance and Y/N tries her best not to roll her eyes at her best friend’s stubbornness, instead focusing on toying with the bracelet around her wrist. Instead of replying, he quickly runs his fingertips over the trackpad on his laptop so it glows back to life.

“Can you at least hear me out?” he asks, his tone teetering on a polite plea, “You know writing about sex is my job. How am I supposed to help this person out when I can’t even offer a fair answer?”

Y/N crosses her arms and shrugs and Harry wishes he could reach across the couch and push them to her sides.

“What makes you think I have any experience being a sub, anyway?” she fires back, keeping her eyes glued on the TV in front of them.

They're currently binging the newest season of The Bachelor, but Harry was more so using the dialogue and Y/N’s periodic gasps as background noise. For the past year or so, he’s held down a job at an online publication as a sex columnist. He loves it — people write in anonymously, asking him questions about everything from premature ejaculation to open relationships. Under the pen name H.E. Bell, he gets paid to write lengthy, thoughtful responses, helping his readers with approaching whatever sexual issue they’re facing. And this week, his editor really wants him to address a particular question about a dominant and submissive relationship.

The thing is, though, is the letter comes from a sub. And Harry’s a dom.

A mean one, at that.

So while Y/N’s diving into a pint of her favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (Phish Food, obviously), and Harry’s trying his best — and miserably failing — to place himself in the shoes of his submissive reader, he knows what he has to do.

“I hate to tell you, but you scream submissive,” Harry replies, pushing his laptop off of the couch and onto the coffee table. “Don’t even try to deny it. Just… just hear me out. Please. My deadline’s tomorrow afternoon.”

Y/N lets out an irritated huff as she grabs the TV remote and presses pause. Silently, she sits back against the couch, facing her best friend, and shoots him a displeased expression; a wordless allowance to speak.

“I’m a dom and I’ve literally always been that way. You’re a sub, through-and-through. This person is asking about situations pertaining to experience as a submissive, and I can’t really provide them with the advice that they’re looking for since I’ve never been in that headspace.”

Y/N shrugs carelessly. She’s unbothered by his frank analysis of her subordinate behavior — it’s not exactly surprising that Harry, the sex columnist, is able to identify a sub, dom, or switch from 10 miles away. But that doesn’t mean she has to get dragged into his research, or whatever the hell he was trying to play it off as.

“Why don’t you just skip the question, then?” Y/N asks. “If you don’t have the right resources to offer an answer—”

“My editor thinks it’ll bring in a lot of page views,” he says, his throat bobbing with a swallow. His eyebrows draw together some, creating a small worried wrinkle between them. “Listen, I’ll fuck off if you’re totally uncomfortable with helping me, but you’re my best friend and I don’t know who else I could ask with this short of a timeframe.”

She sighs and brings her knees up to her chest.

“Fine. Read me the question.”

A grin breaks out on Harry’s face as he grabs his laptop. He taps on the trackpad a few times as he brings the email up on the screen, eyes scanning over his bright inbox.

“Okay, here’s what they said,” he clears his throat and Y/N really does roll her eyes this time, “Dear H.E.— I’ve been in a sexual relationship with my dominant for three months. Up until now, we’ve clicked really well. The chemistry is great and we always mesh really well both during scenes and aftercare. But lately, I’m worried I’ve been a little too bratty. For context, I’m a bratty sub with an attitude, but my dom knew that going into this. I fear that they’ll grow tired of my nonsense and insistent disobedience, but when I’m in my subspace or engaging in a scene with them, it’s hard for me to pull away from it. What should I do? Do you have any advice for what I can do as a sub to best help my dom?”

Y/N’s plucking at her bottom lip as Harry glances up from his computer. Blinking, she thinks for a moment before crafting a response.

“Well, it sounds like the sub needs to communicate their feelings to their dom. There seems to be a lot of insecurity.” she says. He hums, nodding his head as he types a few words on his keyboard.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he murmurs, “They said it’s hard for them not to be in that bratty headspace, though.”

She shrugs, “I mean, if you’re a bratty sub, you’re a bratty sub. That’s just who you are.”

“Do you think there are any punishments that would work, then?”

“You’re the dom, shouldn’t you be able to answer that question?”

“I guess,” he replies, running his palm over the short bit of facial hair that’s grown on his chin in the past few days. “Spanking, edging, overstimulation, types of shibari, I guess…”

Y/N’s thighs squeeze involuntarily.

“...I just don’t know what works best.” he finishes his sentence, halting the tapping of his fingertips over the keyboard. “What do you think?”

She forces a swallow to coat her dry throat. “It depends.” she pushes out.

“Well, what works for you?”

She thinks for a moment. It’s been a minute since she’s been in a proper dominant/submissive dynamic — the last few times she’s had sex have all been one night stands and quick flings, all of which don’t allow enough time to learn about hard limits, punishments, and safe words. Her brain has to float back to a year ago, when she was sleeping with Reese, a soft dom who tried his best to tame her bratty nature but came back empty every time. He was good — the sex was good, but she wanted — no, needed — more.

“I don’t think I’ve ever really had a dominant… achieve that, I guess,” she mumbles thoughtfully. “I mean, I know what I like, as far as punishments go. But it’s not really about what the submissive likes, is it?”

“No,” Harry agrees. He hums as he opens up a second tab and she watches as he types the words “punishments for submissives” into the search engine. She sniffles and attempts to disregard the way her core instantly clenches.

He’s silent as he reads through a few lists, occasionally jotting down some notes into his Google doc. Y/N swallows noisily when he glances back up at her, this time prepared with an apparent list of proposed consequences.

“Okay, can you just tell me which ones you think most submissives would be fine with?”

She nods.

“Withgoing underwear in public?”

“Mhm.”

“Pussy spanking?”

“Yeah.”

“Nipple wax play?”

“Depends on the sub’s pain tolerance, but um… yeah.”

��Paddling?”

“I actually haven’t done that one before.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise.

“No?”

She shakes her head. “None of my doms have ever had one.”

“Doesn’t sound like they were proper doms, then.”

“They’ve all been on the softer side,” Y/N explains shyly. “But… yeah. I guess it’s always something I’ve wanted to try.”

“Is it?”

She can tell by the way his eyes have darkened, that there’s something wicked stirring in that brain of his. She knows she can put a stop to this now if she wants — he’s her best friend and he wouldn’t care if she ended the conversation here and now.

But she doesn’t.

Not for a second.

So instead she nods. And she’s completely unsurprised by the next sentence that falls from his lips.

“Do you want to try it now?”

By now, Y/N’s brain is all fuzzy and melty, so she doesn’t even think before she’s nodding her head eagerly. Harry chuckles and closes his laptop, shuffling onto his knees to lean forward and pluck at her bottom lip. A smirk curves at his mouth as she leans into his touch.

“Getting quite desperate on me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, cradling her cheek into his palm. “Get naked for me then and I’ll go get the paddle. No touching while I’m gone.”

Her stomach flips at the domineering tone in his voice. All too quickly, they’ve fallen into their most intimate roles, and Harry’s carrying himself to his bedroom as Y/N continues sitting there, all gooey-eyed and foggy. And maybe he should have expected it when he returns back to the living room a few moments later to see her sprawled out across the length of the couch, her bralette and underwear still on with her fingers tucked beneath the waistband of the fabric.

“Kitten,” Harry all but growls, making Y/N shiver at the pet name, “Are you already disobeying me?”

She hums as she watches him through half-lidded eyes, soft fingertips petting at her pearled clit. His eyes glimpse down at the tented material and he instantly sets the dark red paddle down on the carpeted floor, kneeling between her legs.

“What’s your color?” he breathes, locking a hand around her ankle. Her pussy quivers just from the simple grasp.

“Green,” she answers, “I’ll tell you if anything changes. Safe word is licorice.”

Harry nods, allowing his large hands to float up her legs. They reach the gusset of her sodden underwear and he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, snapping the fabric against her swollen pussy.

“Take your hand out of your panties now and I won’t smack your pussy until she’s raw.”

Y/N doesn’t move. In fact, he thinks her circling fingers only quicken.

“I’ll give you one last warning,” he grits out, squeezing the flesh of her thighs, “I’m not a nice dominant. You won’t be able to walk if you keep going against me.”

But of course, her hand stays glued to the bundle of nerves. Instead, she breathes out a sultry response: “Think I could cum like this, having you watch me.”

In a moment, her cotton underwear is being ripped from her body and thrown aside. He’s swift in his movements as he collects her wrists in his palm, squeezing them harshly and throwing them up, high above her body. She gasps, noisy and wet.

“I don’t fuck around with brats like you for a reason.”

The first spank he issues to her puffy pussy is quick and fleeting, hardly offering a lick of pain. He’s eager to find where her pain threshold lies; if she’s all talk or if she can take the full force of his large palm. By the time he lands the sixth one, her skin now reddening beneath his smacks, he thinks he’s found it and he admits, he’s relatively impressed.

“Aw, did that one hurt?” Harry mocks, watching as her face twists in an expression of discomfort. “That’s because punishments are meant to be mean. You’re not supposed to enjoy them, little brat. You’ve had it too easy, hm?”

“H-haven’t,” she stutters out, wincing as he delivers a seventh, “I’m good, sir, I swear—”

“Oh, bull-fuckin’-shit,” he retorts. “You’re a silly little brat is what you are.”

“‘m not—”

Smack—

“You are.”

She whines until he reaches the tenth one. She’s a wiggly mess of sniffles and whimpers and he shushes her, brushing a thumb over her clit. She gasps lowly and he laughs.

“On your belly.”

This time, Y/N doesn’t defy him and Harry is admittedly surprised. She buries her face in the throw pillow and he rolls his eyes at the theatrics. Before picking the paddle up off the floor, his blunt fingertips scratch at her scalp, gentle and kind as they trail down to the nape of her neck.

“What’s your color, kitten?” he asks softly, rubbing a docile palm over her bare ass.

“Green, sir.”

“Do you still want to try the paddle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, “We’ll start with five and then see where you’re at. You know what to say if you want me to stop, right?”

“Red or licorice, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Since it’s her first time, he decides to ease her into it. He uses only a smidgen of his strength to smack the paddle against the thick of her cheek, watching as the wood ricochets. Her skin jiggles in response and he swallows, noting the way her nails already dig into the couch.

The second and third are just as light but he adds a bit more pressure to the fourth and fifth. When he’s finished, he rubs over the flush skin, slow and intentional.

“How was that?” he asks.

“Good,” she replies, her voice slightly muffled from the pillow, “I can take more.”

A hand quickly finds its way to the back of her neck and her eyes instantly widen. He shifts her head, smushing her cheek into the soft fabric so her voice is no longer dulled.

“Need to hear you loud and clear,” Harry says. “And now you’ll count for me.”

When the oak paddle makes contact with her ass for the sixth time, she grits her teeth but still calls out the number. She follows suit for the next five and, while it’s painful and harsh in the most uncomfortable of ways, she’d be lying if she said her skin didn’t feel like it was on fire. She’s burning for him, feeling her arousal leak down between the apex of her thighs with every last spank.

“Good job, kitten,” Harry announces, dropping the paddle at the end of the set. “You did good, hm? Did the bratty girl learn her lesson?”

Y/N’s bottom lip juts out in a pout when his soft palms begin to soothe her aching bum. He instantly takes notice, wrinkling his eyebrows in confusion.

“Can’t give you anymore tonight, kitten. It was only your first time.”

Instead of replying, she simply shakes her head.

“Use your words. I’m not a mindreader, brat.”

Swallowing, she lifts her head up slightly, only enough to give her a peek of Harry’s concerned expression.

“W-wanna cum,” she mumbles, blinking at him, “Will you make me cum, sir?”

And instead of immediately getting what she wants, Harry does the unthinkable.

He rolls his eyes.

“You act like a slutty brat all night, begging to get paddled, and now you want me to make you cum?”

She nods, ashamed and embarrassed.

“What the fuck makes you think you deserve that?”

“I-I took my spankings and paddlings without complaining. And I didn’t disobey you a-after that.”

“But you did defy me to begin with, didn’t you?” he pushes, weaving his hand into the hair at the back of her head. His fist tightens and he lifts her head so her neck cranes back. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And now you want to cum.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But not only do you want to cum— you want me to make you cum.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine then,” he decides, sitting down and leaning back against the couch cushions. “Come here. Straddle me.”

She forces herself onto her knees and ignores the way her ass and pussy both sting from her punishments. Right now, all she can focus on is her buzzing clit and its need for attention.

She does as she’s told and splits her thighs to fit his own legs between them. Almost instantly, he cups a hand beneath her mouth and glares at her expectantly.

“Spit, brat. Are you dumb?”

She shakes her head, allowing saliva to pool behind her lips before spitting it into his palm. With his eyes staring into hers, he lowers his spit-slick hand down to her mound and pushes a finger inside of her. Immediately, she clenches around it, her eyes threatening to flutter shut.

“Keep them open,” he instructs, “Jesus, your cunt is already milking me.”

She swallows and forces herself to maintain eye contact with the man sitting before her. He’s merciless in his ministrations, especially when he nestles a second, then a third finger and curls them up to her most sensitive spot. Her hands form tight fists as she grinds against his hand, moaning loudly when his thumb reaches her clit.

“What a desperate little pussy,” he murmurs, speeding up the tight circles over the swollen bundle of nerves, “You like getting stretched out, don’t you? Say it.”

“I-I love when you stretch me out, sir.”

“Of course you do,” he smirks viciously, “Is your cunt gonna cum like this?”

“Y-yes, sir—”

“Ask for permission first, kitty.”

“Please sir, can I cum? P-please?”

She’s whimpery and mewling as she bounces helplessly on his fingers, the ribbon in her lower stomach threatening to unravel at any given moment. He hums, stilling the digits inside of her.

“Hold it.”

“Sir—”

“Hold it, brat.”

Her pussy clenches around him but she does. She restrains herself until he finally allows the ribbon to come undone, a slew of whines and curses sounding from her plush lips as she does.

It feels like it goes on forever but when the pleasure finally ceases, she collapses into his chest. Harry gently pulls his fingers from her center and wraps an arm around her waist, giving it a gentle, loving squeeze.

He lets her stay like that for a bit and, maybe selfishly, he enjoys having her limp, exhausted body so close to his.

“Gotta clean you up and rub some salve on your bum,” he finally manages out, ducking down to whisper the words in her ear.

Tiredly, she nuzzles her head against his shoulder. “Five more minutes?”

He swallows.

He doesn’t think she’s in her subspace, but he knows she’s sleepy and fuzzy from the mix of pain and pleasure he just instilled on her body.

And so for that, he’ll give her five more minutes.

Six, if she’s lucky.

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princessbrunette · 9 hours

Note

i dislocated my tailbone (it’s insane. i didn’t even know i had a TAIL.BONE. 😖 ?!?!?!) and it actually hurts a lot. like, very much. actual-tears-in-my-eyes and groans-in-my-mouth much. so i’m here to pretty please (with a cherry on top !!!) ask to be coddled by jonh b about it. 🤓

btw, i hope you have a great day today (and the day after. and all the days ever) !!! and take good care of your booty, princess; it’s way more delicate than what one would guess.

you’re my favorite person on this app. MWAH.

noooo i hope you recover quickly !! thank u for the sweet message i will indeed be looking after my booty ♡

𝜗ϱ. ꙳ 🦴 * ˙ ∘ 🤍 ˙ ۵ ꙳🪽

in terms of being coddled he would be such a nag about it. waking you up from a nap when you forget to take pain meds, hovering over your face whispering “hey, hey bub— gotta get up n’take these okay? you’re gonna be like, super sore if you don’t. come on bubba, coooome on.” whilst he slowly eases you up.

he’d force you to be on bed rest constantly which means no taking part in pogue shenanigans for a long time even if you really want to. if he catches you getting up and trying to nose around he’d swiftly walk you back to your bed and sit you down with a dad-like sigh, lecturing you. “look, i know okay? it must be super boring just sitting around here. but i need you to get better. can you do that for me? can you get better?” and he looks all exasperated and worried that you just can’t say no!

inevitably, you do have to get up sometimes— whether it’s because you’re hungry or you need the toilet— and even though you’re totally fine to do that by yourself, if he hears your footsteps padding around he’ll suddenly appear by your side, helping you walk. “hey, i got you.”

“john b i’m fine. i’m already healing!”

“well, you can keep healing. with my help!” he smiles simply, knowing you won’t win this one. “dont make me tell your doctor.” he threatens jokingly as he walks you towards the bathroom carefully.

“you wouldn’t dare.” you smile.

“oh i would!”

𝜗ϱ. ꙳ 🦴 * ˙ ∘ 🤍 ˙ ۵ ꙳🪽

#anon #john b prompt

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frozenjokes · 11 hours

Text

I’m Really Sorry About The Whole ‘Crush On My Alter Ego’ Thing, But We Could Still Totally Make This Work

Grian woke up early to a harsh alarm as he had every day since Scar’s.. confession..

The sun hadn’t even risen yet, but it probably would in an hour or two, so Grian wasted no time getting right on his morning routine. Which is to say. Doom scrolling for at least an hour before actually getting up. Though before choosing one of many social media platforms to waste his time with, he checked his texts, expecting to find a meme or work schedule change from Cub, and instead:

Good morning sunshine👊👊👊👊👊!!! ❤️ Time to get ready for another day of stopping crime and KICKING ASS👉👊👊‼️⚡️⚡️⭐️✨✨💥💥💥💥 I would say I hope you slept well.. but I KNOW you did and that your going to have a certifiably SLAY DAY⭐️💥⭐️💥⚡️⚡️⚡️ I just wanted YOU to know that your killing it (👊👊👊👊👊👊) and you’re awesome and very cute😳 like cUtEgUy you know and everyone loves you❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️Me included!! Can’t wait to see you today🫵🫵👊👊🫡💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥 *dhoots arrow* HOTGUY

It went on for quite a bit longer, but Grian had seen enough actually, and consequently was no longer inclined to stay awake. This would be a problem for future Grian.

Future Grian was not very happy with past Grian when he woke up a few hours later, stumbling in his disoriented state to the kitchenette for coffee. Cub was at the kitchen table scrolling through his phone, and once Grian had the presence of mind to interrogate him, he pulled up the text, shoving his phone in Cub’s face.

“What is this. Did you have something to do with this? Did you write this for him? That’s probably something you’d do. What’s your prerogative here?”

Cub took a long moment to read, a small smile creeping across his face before outright laughing, “Oh, this is great.” Cub gently took Grian’s phone to keep reading, adjusting his glasses, “It just keeps going. How long do you think he spent typing this?”

“I don’t know! I don’t care! What the hell am I supposed to do? Why is he even texting me in the first place?”

“I’m failing to see how this is a big deal. He’s probably just sorry about the Micah thing and this is how he’s chosen to express that. Oh- here. ‘You don’t have to worry about seeing Micah again because I killed him. He’s gone.-‘ several explosions emojis ‘-I also tried to kill HotGuy but when I brought it up to one of my buddies who’s in with the higher ups he said No No Definitely Not Do Not Bring This Up To Anyone Else Ever For Your Own Safety so I’m feeling a little bit more insecure about my place in the world but that’s okay! I mean I know my life has always been in the hands of government doctors but I didn’t actually think through those implications until right now. You know me though, I’ll just keep doing my best! HaHa!’ Oh god. That’s a lot more text with very few emojis. Do these things not have character limits? I don’t think he’s okay actually. This just keeps going.”

“The- Okay, how am I supposed to be upset at him after you just read all that out to me? This is not fair. Can we just put that aside for later because how the fuck am I supposed to look at Scar in even remotely the same way after Micah- You can not possibly understand, Cub, I told Micah everything. We like- connected! And it was just fucking HotGuy the whole time! The guy I can’t fucking stand!”

“Out of costume I think he prefers you just call him Scar.”

“Okay. Sure. Fine. Scar fucked my brain! How can he even expect me to look at him the same way! He just let me think for all that time he was a different guy! Do you know how crazy that is? He talked shit ABOUT HIMSELF constantly! He tricked me!” Still, after a whole week to think about it, Grian couldn’t make sense of that. That he had met someone, made a real connection with a real person, but he hadn’t, not actually, because all of it was a facade. It was just Scar. But it didn’t feel like just Scar- it felt like Micah. Micah, who was just an act. Micah who he’d never see again. And maybe that hurt the most. That he’d lost someone like that. That he’d lost a friend. Someone who he thought might be able to be more than a friend.

“If it helps I think he has serious enough issues with his identity that he was not just ‘Scar but playing a character.’ Micah was a different person to him, I think.”

“Yeah.” Grian’s shoulders sagged, the idea not much of a comfort, “That. I got some idea of that. He was asking me a lot of questions about alter egos when-“ Grian cut himself off to groan loudly, “This is so stupid. This is so stupid. He needs to go directly to therapy for weeks at a time so I don’t have to see him for at least another month.”

Cub shrugged, “Maybe it would be good for you to see him. Maybe you should go in today.”

“How would this help me.” Grian glared, but Cub wasn’t looking up, still reading-

“I don’t know,” Cub said, setting Grian’s phone down on the table to return his focus to his own coffee, “I just kinda want you to.”

“Seriously.”

“I do. You’ve both been a bit of a wreck all week, maybe this’ll clear the air. And unless you plan on never speaking to Scar again, which is not practical for your work or your home life, you’re going to have to tear the bandaid off at some point. If he wants to apologize, you should let him say what he has to say at the very least. You don’t have to forgive him.”

“You- Are you in on this? I think you’re in on this.”

“I didn’t know about the text. Honestly, the majority of that message comes off as very.. in the moment. I don’t think that was planned. But he has a plan. No idea what. He wouldn’t tell me. It’ll probably be funny though.”

“So do you want this to fix me or do you want to laugh at me?”

Cub waved a hand dismissively, not looking up from his coffee. “I want to laugh at Scar.”

“Great.”

“You should go to work though.”

“I know your motives, Cub.”

Cub only shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m also just curious. I want to know what he does. Don’t you? Wouldn’t it be sad if he planned some sort of big I’m Sorry event for you and you never showed?”

“This is extremely appealing to me.”

“But then you’ll never know what it was. Or if it even happened at all.”

“Scar will text you.”

“He might not.”

Grian scoffed. “If you want to see what Scar has done so badly then you can go and see it for yourself.”

“You think security would let me in?” Cub looked a bit too excited by that idea, the kind of expression that crossed his face holding Great Intention. Always a terrifying look on Cub, and definitely not something to be encouraged lest he get himself arrested.

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

Cub deflated (a great relief), but didn’t budge on his prior sentiment. “You should go.” Grian rolled his eyes.

“Well I am going, I want to go, but I'm not trying to see any of Scar. If he wants to talk to me he can chase me down. I’m not playing into anything he has planned.”

“Oh,” Cub blinked, then looked back at his phone, “Great. My job’s done then.”

“You are in on this!”

“I maintain my innocence. Hope it’s a good day though.”

“It won’t be.”

“If you say so.”

Grian rolled his eyes, taking his coffee off the maker and heading back to his room. He dressed in his underclothes, grabbed his bag, then headed out with a passing goodbye. Cub’s focus was elsewhere anyway, getting ready for his own work. One day Cub would be able to quit that damn job. Now that Grian had he means, he was going to make sure of it.

…

With the ample warning, Grian made sure to steer completely clear of his and Scar’s offices. He intended on lingering here as little as possible, only dropping in to change and collect a radio.

Apparently Scar had anticipated this.

“Well hello there!”

Grian didn’t catch more than a glance of him before slamming the public office door closed, but had to open it again seconds later because what the fuck was Scar wearing.

Scar had laid himself out over the center desk, dressed head to toe in the most garishly abhorrent green crop top, booty shorts, and sparkly jewelry Grian had ever seen all on top of his uniform. ‘IM SORRY’ was written across the chest in neon pink fabric marker chicken scratch, a miserable failure at matching CuteGuy’s colors. The entire outfit clashed so horribly that Grian couldn’t help but stare, for a moment too long apparently because Scar took this as an invitation to continue speaking.

“CuteGuy! I had a rose for you, but you took your sweet ass time getting here and I got bored, so I ate it instead. You know how there’s rose flavored candy and shit? Does not taste like the flower. Would not recommend. Actually!” Scar rolled over onto his stomach, kicking his legs, and Grian choked on a snort when he saw the text across Scar’s ass said ‘WHORE.’ “I was trying to spit it out, you know, and I’m pretty sure my saliva is purple now. It turned my water purple. I might have poisoned myself.”

Grian found himself stuck between bafflement and a laugh, but he refused to show Scar he was any amount amused by this display, his voice stilted in suppression when he finally spoke. “Give me. A radio.”

“Sure thing!” Scar plucked one off the dock, spinning it in his fingers before tossing it across the room. Grian caught it, turning on his heel to leave. “Hey! Where are you going?”

Grian didn’t feel the need to answer, shutting the door behind himself as he went, but it wasn’t long because he heard the tip-taps of Scar’s boots behind him, not running, but certainly trying his best to catch up.

“Did you see my message this morning?”

“I saw it.”

“Did you see the part where I asked to take you to lunch?”

“No.”

“Do you want to go to lunch then? Later, obviously. You don’t even have to go with me!”

Grian scoffed through a chuckle, rolling his eyes. Ridiculous. “No thanks.”

“I thought so. That’s okay! Maybe another time! I’m going to go now, but it was nice to see you, CuteGuy!”

Grian frowned, not responding or turning around. If Scar wanted to dress like an idiot, that was his prerogative. Grian wasn’t going to be the one to stop him. He had actual work to be doing.

…

Grian liked how often he got to fly in this line of work. CuteGuy the villain didn’t fly anywhere; he laid low, he scouted the streets from roofs of buildings, he stuck to the shadows. ‘Grian’ didn’t fly much either, not without a reason. Sometimes he’d fly just like anyone would go for a walk, but he liked doing something, he liked having places to go. As much as he loathed superhero culture- and the whole damn city for that matter- he loved this.

It wasn’t unusual for a crowd to gather at the scene of a fight or crime, but maybe Grian should have known that a crowd this large, this dense, was a red flag. It had been a couple hours since he’d set off into the city, so his guard was down, he was in the zone. He had just assumed someone was hurt. That people were trying to help or panicking. Clearing the crowd revealed otherwise.

Scar was laying on the sidewalk, still wearing his clashing clothes, signing a book from a fan before shooing them away while looking distinctly like the two of them were in on some sort of inside joke. He.. didn’t have his legs.

“CuteGuy!” Scar swooned, drawing a gloved hand across his forehead, “I have fallen and I can not get up! I need a handsome and capable superhero to assist me!”

Grian cringed, but despite the majority of people having backed up, no one seemed to actually have left, encircling the both of them in a tight barrier. Scar knew plenty well how their fans felt about the two of them, (Grian had stumbled upon some.. choice pieces of fanart before) and he’d never miss an opportunity to tease under the scrutiny of eager eyes. Though, there was something beautifully normal about that; the teasing, the invitation of banter. The kind of normalcy you long for, even when things aren’t well. (Even when Micah was never real, even after you lost a friend.)

“You’re plenty capable. This is a severe waste of my time.” Grian flapped his wings, not intending on leaving, just needing more space from the onlookers.

Scar watched him carefully, delight dancing across his face when he realized that Grian was going to stay. “Well of course, of course, but going all that distance walking on my hands? No no, I don’t think so! I don’t even want to think about the kinds of calluses I’d get! And it would take hours.”

“Serves you right. Did you make sure that call only wired to me?” Grian huffed, making a grand show of his annoyance since Scar couldn’t see the roll of his eyes. And.. well.. he couldn’t quite help himself with the crowd. Everyone gets a kick out of dramatics sometimes. “Where’d your legs run off to anyway?”

“Oh! Funny story! The Goat took them.”

“You paid him to do that?”

“That would have been a really good idea! But no. He just happened to see me, and after laughing at me for like ten minutes he said ‘iF yOu aRen’t uSinG thEsE tHen I wiLL’ like he does, you know him. It was a little ominous actually. I’m a bit worried. My doctors are going to be pissed when they find out, so personally, I would rather be delivering this news with legs in hand.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah. It’s not ideal. If it wasn’t already clear, I’m going to need help getting them back.”

“I hope you know how unbelievably a ‘you problem’ this is because I am not helping. Good luck hunting him down. First I’d recommend calling someone to bring you your chair.”

“No!” Scar jolted upright, proving just how capable he was of not laying pathetically on the concrete, “I want you! Look, look at me. Listen. Close your eyes.”

Grian made a face, scoffing to hide the hint of amusement that was threatening to show in his expression. “Do you want me to look at you or do you want me to close my eyes.”

“Listen. Imagine. HotGuy and CuteGuy: Dynamic Duo-!”

“This sounds awful.”

“-I’m up on your shoulders, we’re infiltrating The Goat’s home base together! You’re punching bad guys and I’m shooting my bow from above-“

“And how do you think you’re going to hang on, huh?” Grian interrupted, tapping his foot.

“Obviously I’d-“ Scar moved, seeming to realize too late he didn’t have the legs he was planning on using. This did not deter him, a sharp smirk splitting his smile, “Velcro!”

Grian snorted despite himself, “Yeah. That’d be perfect, wouldn’t it. I foresee zero issues.” With a great irritation that gripped him out of nowhere, Grian was suddenly aware of other voices, the crowd, speaking loudly amongst themselves. Someone started to chant his name. Another chanted ‘Velcro!’ That caught on much faster. Grian flapped his wings far more aggressively when the crowd began to close in, hitting civilians out of his personal bubble, but this didn’t seem to be very effective, anxiety crawling under his skin as the attention started to be too much. Scar seemed to notice, but despite his efforts to control the onlookers, they were too rowdy, too caught up in their excitement to listen.

“Goodbye.” Grian hissed, straining to be heard, and Scar half-shrugged, a possible attempt at apology.

“So that’s a no, then? You’ll fetch my legs at least, will you?”

“No.” Grian beat his wings hard, forcing civilians out of his way and prepping to take off.

“Oh! Okay! Have a nice day then!”

Grian was gone before he could hear another word, before any other body could brush the backs of his wings. Anger painfully out of proportion boiled in his stomach, spilling out and staining the rest of his insides in its pulsing fire. He wasn’t angry at Scar. Well. He could certainly blame Scar, luring him around and speaking like that, stoking the fire of fans who adored the both of them, but Grian hadn’t minded the show, he hadn’t even cared all too much that he’d been tricked, not when the resulting interaction felt so.. normal. He liked an act. He liked being CuteGuy. So why was he so upset? And maybe that was it. He was just angry for no reason, and that made him angrier, because despite everything, despite trying so damn hard, he was still broken.

He could punch someone about it. He wanted to punch someone about it. Cub wouldn’t want him to.

So he flew instead. Flew like he liked, fast and far and high until the air was too thin, then let himself fall, playing games with his life as he hurtled through the sky before catching himself under spread wings and doing all of it over again. Eventually he got tired. Eventually he had to stop. But the aftermath of a senseless episode still buzzed under his skin, nearly as unpleasant as the burn that caused it. Grian could feel it. He could feel it under his skin. He wanted to tear it out. He wanted to fly, exhaust himself until he couldn’t feel anything at all, but he was too tired, so instead he found himself gliding to Cub’s workplace. He didn’t know where else to go.

“CuteGuy-“ Cub’s manager was frightened by his sudden entrance, stumbling through the front door aggressively enough to rattle the attached bell into senseless noise.

“Hello Diane.”

“How do-“ but Grian cut her off with a frustrated groan, not caring to listen as he dragged himself to the back. Cub looked even more startled to see him than his manager did, though surprise quickly melted into concern when Grian collapsed into a pile of cardboard boxes. He grunted. They were not as soft as they looked.

“Ah CuteGuy, friend of HotGuy who I am friends with and know for this reason- it’s fine Diane, it’s fine, let me just- I can handle it.” Grian heard the soft arguing from the doorway, but didn’t care to say anything. He didn’t care to think. He just wanted to be better.

Eventually the door closed.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Cub’s hand flew to his shoulder and Grian viscerally cringed, lips parting in silent discomfort until the hand was swiftly drawn back, “I’m sorry. Do you need me to call an ambulance? Are you okay? You’re not okay.”

“I’m not hurt,” Grian mumbled, narrowing his eyes against Cub’s panicked expression in his peripherie. “Angry. Stupid.”

Cub jolted in his recognition, gears shifting immediately. “Scar, then. Was it Scar? I mean, I can’t say I haven’t been keeping tabs on the news- social media, the like. I’ve seen more than a few videos- people are going kinda nuts over nothing in my opinion but- It was too much. I’ll tell Scar to stop bugging you, he’ll stop.”

“It’s not Scar. I don’t care about Scar.”

Cub made a bit of a face, enough for Grian to tell he wasn’t so sure about that, but Cub didn’t voice the thought, instead asking, “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Nothing.”

“Is- I’m struggling a little with the tone, man.”

“I don’t know! I was fine, I was kinda having fun and then I just wasn’t and out of nowhere everything just sucked and I was so mad and that’s not supposed to happen to me! Nothing happened and I wanted to rip out my hair and punch things and I didn’t, but now I just feel stupid! Why is my brain so fucking dumb.”

Grian let his head drop, face down in a pile of cardboard, but Cub didn’t move, intense in his silence. Eventually he sat down, right on the floor. “I need to break these down anyway,” he hummed, almost subconsciously as he leaned to grab something off his desk. The next couple minutes were filled with the sound of a boxcutter against tape and cardboard. It wasn’t awful.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Cub asked, not much more than a whisper. Not like he was sad or anything either, just focused on the task at hand.

“Okay,” Grian mumbled, the word coming out entirely indecipherable as anything but a noise of assent.

“I think you were nervous this morning. I think maybe you had an alright day, but got overwhelmed near the end. You can be having a good time and still get overwhelmed. There were a lot of people around you from what I could tell; it looked kinda claustrophobic.”

“But I didn’t- I didn’t care. It was like a switch in my brain just flipped! No build up!”

“Sometimes that’s how it happens. Sometimes there is build up and you just don’t notice until it’s too late. It’s not always so simply defined. There’s not always a reason. And there doesn’t have to be. You’re not regressing because you had a bad day, Grian. You’re not stupid.”

“I feel awful.”

Out of the corner of Grian’s eye, he saw Cub nod. “Yeah. I get it.” Cub continued with the boxes and Grian didn’t speak, only shuffling a little to grant easier access to the few he was laying on. But Cub stopped almost abruptly after breaking down one box, the room blanketed in a meaningful silence. “Have I told you yet? How damn proud of you I am?”

The question jolted Grian out of his daze. He didn’t know what to say. How to respond. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Of course you have. You’ve been dealt a pretty shitty hand of cards, but you haven’t stopped working with them. You haven’t given up. And you have your moments, you have bad weeks, bad months, but you still pick yourself back up at the end of today. I think you’ve grown. I don’t think Grian from a couple months ago would have walked away from the crowd and taken his anger somewhere better. I don’t think Grian from a couple months ago would have come to me. I respect you, Grian. You’ve come so damn far. I’m proud of you.”

Grian shook his head. “I haven’t done anything. It’s all you. I don’t pick myself up at all, you’re just pushing me back on my feet.”

“I haven’t known a single person that overcomes any of these kinds of challenges without support. That doesn’t make you any less capable, Grian. You’re still standing on your own two feet. I am proud of you.”

Discomfort burned in Grian’s chest. Cub didn’t get it. He didn’t understand. “It’s all for you. I’m only here because of you.”

“Having a strong motivator doesn’t discount all the hard work you’ve put in for yourself. You want to be better, Grian. You give your blood, sweat, and tears to make it happen. I’m not just dragging you along. You go to therapy and work your ass off. You keep track of your meds. You make the decision to walk away when all of you wants to haul off and kick someone’s shit in. You do it. You. And maybe most impressively, every time you fail, get arrested, relapse into old behavior, you peel yourself right off the concrete and try again. And there’s nothing harder than that. So that’s why I’m proud. That’s why I will always be proud. You’re a good man, Grian. You’re good.”

Grian didn’t know what to do with that. A soft chill rippled through his form, shaking him in his entirety despite its gentle nature. All of him felt so heavy. His lungs were full of lead.

“Can I have a hug?” A meek question, but he didn’t care.

“Of course.”

Cub’s touch sent another wave of coolness riding through his veins, contracting his muscles, making him sick and heavy and limp. And then, slowly, a steady march that began in his chest and spread outward; warmth. A soft, perfect warmth. The kind of love that could make anyone believe they were something to be proud of.

#hermitcraft #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #hotguy #grian #cuteguy #cubfan135 #scarian #desert duo #convex #convexian #hermitshipping #hermitfic

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