TruthTeller

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

*Nesta walked past them without even knowing what it was about*

Nesta: She's right... She's right.

-

*Nesta returns from the kitchen with a cookie and walks past the two, still arguing*

Nesta: She's still right.

summary: aftercare with dick after a long night that leaves you a little out of it and him very smug (wc: 0.9k).

Dick says something, and you know this because his mouth moves, sound comes out, and he's looking at you with that patient little tilt of his head. The words themselves, however, fail to make it through the pleasant static filling your skull.

"Hm?" you manage.

"Do you want water?"

You blink at him. This time, the question filters through the haze in scrambled pieces, but you decide you’ve got the general idea and answer with complete sincerity.

"Tomorrow."

There’s a beat of silence, and Dick goes very still.

You frown. Something about his expression isn't right. He's staring at you with his mouth pressed shut and eyes wide, like he's holding something in. You can't figure out what, because your brain is still running at half speed and—

Dick breaks. He folds forward laughing, one hand braced on the mattress, the other covering his mouth, trying and failing to be kind about this. His shoulders shake helplessly, head dropping as the sound spills out of him bright and full and impossible not to love.

Then it clicks.

Oh no.

"No, because I meant yes," you say quickly. "I meant yes now. Right now."

"Right now?" he asks. "You sure? Don't want to sleep on it?"

“Stop,” you groan, covering your face with your hands.

He’s still laughing when he gently pulls them away, eyes shining.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m never letting that go.”

"That was a vulnerable moment for me."

"It was a historic moment for me."

You glare at him, but it isn't as intimidating as you think, because his grin only sharpens.

"Okay, okay," he says, holding up three fingers. "How many?"

You stare at him. "You're not serious."

"I asked you a yes or no question and you said tomorrow. I'm doing my due diligence.”

"Three, you absolute—"

"Good. What's your name?"

You tell him, flatly.

"What year is it?"

"The year I become single if you keep this up."

He ignores that completely. "Who's the mayor of Blüdhaven?"

You open your mouth, but pause for just a fraction too long.

Dick doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to.

"I know the answer," you insist. "I was going to say it."

"Sure you were."

"You did this to me." You point at him, accusatory. "This is your fault."

"I accept full responsibility." He bites down on his lip, voice strained with the effort of keeping a straight face. "I am genuinely so proud right now."

You exhale, sinking deeper into the mattress, and your exhaustion must show, because he quiets at once and his expression softens.

He leans in close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “C’mere, beautiful.”

His hand slides behind your neck as he helps you sit up against him. The movement makes your limbs feel like wet sand, heavy and uncooperative.

"Easy," he murmurs.

He steadies you, one arm around your waist while the other reaches for the water bottle already waiting on the nightstand and brings it to your lips, and you drink obediently. The cold water hits your tongue and you actually sigh.

"There you go,” he says quietly, thumb brushing once at the base of your neck. 

You hum, barely, and he presses a kiss to your temple. He reaches for the nightstand again and grabs a granola bar, unwrapping it and breaking off a piece before holding it up expectantly.

"I can feed myself."

"Can you?"

You open your mouth, and he places the bite on your tongue with a small smirk.

"That's what I thought," he says, but it's gentle.

You lightly flick at his bicep, and he only feeds you another piece.

The room glows amber from the bedside lamp. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the air still warm, the mattress dipping where he sits close beside you. Your body feels pleasantly overused, every muscle loose and humming.

Dick watches your face as you chew slowly, then swallow.

"Sore?" he asks, voice low.

You shake your head. "Just sleepy.”

He studies you for another second anyway, checking for anything you're not saying.

“You sure?”

"Promise," you reply with a little smile.

His expression eases. He sets the granola bar aside and shifts behind you, drawing you fully into him until your back rests against his chest. The blanket comes up around both of you, tucked under your arms with absent practice.

"Proud of you," he murmurs.

You huff out a laugh. "For what?"

"Persevering through adversity."

"You're unbearable."

"And yet," he says, "still your favorite."

You're too tired to deny it properly. His hand slips beneath the blanket to rest on your stomach, palm warm and grounding. The other traces slow shapes against your arm: circles, lines, little absent patterns that make your eyelids heavier by the second.

Beneath your ear, his heartbeat knocks steady and sure.

"You know," you mumble, words starting to slur, "if you tell anyone about this, I'll deny everything."

"Wouldn't dream of it. I'll just treasure the memory forever."

"That's somehow worse."

He tucks his head over yours, and you let your heavy lids fall over your eyes, body sinking deeper into him. His fingers keep moving soothingly over your skin.

Just before sleep takes you, he speaks into your hair.

"Tomorrow," he repeats fondly.

You groan weakly, and his soft laugh follows you under.

Eris Vanserra x mate!reader

Summary: After centuries of earning trust, Eris proves his devotion through quiet, instinctive care—like warming your hands without thinking—showing everyone that being your mate is second nature to him.

Warnings: Mature themes, suggestive intimacy, mild language, teasing dialogue.

Authors note: lowkey my favorite thing I’ve written for Eris 🤭. He is such a softie in my stories and I loveeee it.

Main Masterlist:

- - - - -

You had expected chaos the moment the bond snapped into place.

Not joy. Not relief. Not the soft, aching certainty people always whispered about.

War.

Because your mate wasn't just anyone—he was Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court. And you were the little sister of Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. There was too much history between your courts, too much tension laced through centuries of mistrust and carefully maintained distance. When the bond settled into your bones, sharp and undeniable, your first instinct hadn't been to reach for him—it had been to brace yourself for what would come next.

You remembered how your power had flickered erratically that day, shadows and starlight reacting to your panic. How your chest had tightened as realization sank in. This wasn't something that could be ignored or undone. This was permanent. Binding. Dangerous.

Eris had felt it too.

You'd seen it in the way he stilled—not with shock, but with a kind of sharp awareness. Calculating, yes, but not in the way you had feared. Not predatory. Not possessive. Controlled.

Careful.

For once in his life, Eris Vanserra didn't push.

He didn't claim you. Didn't corner you with the bond or demand acknowledgment. Instead, he stepped back. Gave you space when everything in you expected him to close in. He spoke to you only when you allowed it. Touched you only when you permitted it. And even then, his restraint was almost unnerving—as if he were holding himself on a leash you couldn't see but knew was there.

At first, you didn't trust it.

You couldn't.

Not when every story you'd ever heard painted him as sharp-edged and ruthless, a male who played games with fire and never lost. But days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and the pattern never broke. He was steady in a way that didn't demand attention, didn't ask for praise. He simply... was.

And your family noticed.

Rhysand had been the most openly hostile, his violet gaze turning cold and cutting whenever Eris entered a room. There had been no disguising the threat beneath his calm—one wrong move, one misstep, and Eris would not have left unscathed. Azriel had been quieter, but somehow more dangerous, his shadows lingering close whenever Eris was near, watching, waiting. Even Cassian hadn't bothered hiding his sharp disapproval.

But Eris endured all of it.

He didn't rise to the bait. Didn't snap back or retaliate in ways that would have been easy for him. Instead, he remained composed, measured—focused not on proving them wrong with words, but with time.

And time, it turned out, was exactly what he gave you.

Years passed. Then decades. Then a century.

And still, he stayed.

Two centuries of patience was not something you had ever expected from him—or anyone, really. But he never wavered. Never tried to force the bond into something it wasn't yet. He let you come to him slowly, at your own pace, until one day you realized the fear had faded so quietly you hadn't even noticed it leave.

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it changed. There hadn't been a grand gesture or a defining event. Just a gradual shift—subtle, steady—until you looked at him and didn't see the male everyone else feared.

You saw your mate.

And when you finally accepted the bond, it didn't feel like surrender.

It felt like stepping into something that had been waiting for you all along.

Like home.

Now, the Autumn Court was yours just as much as it was his.

The forests stretched endlessly in hues of gold, amber, and deep crimson, leaves whispering underfoot as if the land itself were alive with quiet magic. The air always carried warmth, a gentle heat that curled against your skin, threading through you until even your perpetually cold hands found some comfort in it.

Eris's hounds had taken to you almost immediately—far quicker than they ever had to him. They followed you through the halls and across the sprawling grounds, lounging at your feet and watching your every movement with quiet devotion. He claimed to be unimpressed, but you had caught the faint curve of satisfaction in his expression more than once.

He liked that they chose you.

Just as much as he did.

You had been officially mated for nearly two years now, and the life you had once feared had become something you couldn't imagine living without. There was an ease between you and Eris that hadn't been there before—something unspoken but deeply rooted, woven through shared glances and quiet touches.

Still, no matter how much time passed, you never let go of your connection to the Night Court.

Every Sunday, without fail, you returned.

Dinner at the House of Wind had become a constant—something grounding, familiar. A reminder that while your world had expanded, it hadn't replaced where you came from.

For a long time, Eris hadn't joined you.

The tension had been too fresh, too uncertain, even as the years softened it.

But today was different.

Today, he stood beside you as you prepared to leave, his presence steady and grounding in a way that still surprised you sometimes.

"It's just dinner," you murmured, adjusting the collar of his jacket, smoothing a nonexistent crease more for something to do than necessity.

His gaze dropped to you, warm but edged with quiet awareness. "Your brother does not do anything 'just' for dinner."

A small laugh slipped from you. "You're not wrong."

His expression softened slightly, just for you. "If you wish to leave at any point, we will."

Not I.

We.

The word settled into your chest, familiar and comforting.

"I know," you replied gently.

And you did.

When you arrived, the shift in the room was subtle—but unmistakable.

Rhysand's attention snapped to Eris immediately, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp, assessing. Azriel lingered nearby, shadows coiling faintly as if they, too, were watching. But neither of them acted. Neither challenged him.

That alone meant more than words ever could.

Because Eris had earned that restraint.

Dinner unfolded with surprising ease. Conversations flowed between polite diplomacy and familiar banter, trade negotiations threading seamlessly through the evening. Eris moved through it effortlessly, every word deliberate, every expression controlled.

And yet, even as he spoke with your brothers, you felt it—his awareness of you, constant and quiet, like a second heartbeat beneath your own.

Checking. Grounding.

Always there.

By the time the formal discussions faded into something softer, you found yourself drifting back toward what had always been yours—standing with Feyre, Nesta, and Elain, slipping into easy conversation as if no time had passed at all.

The laughter came naturally. The comfort even more so.

And without thinking, without even realizing it—

You rubbed your hands together.

Cold.

Always cold.

Even in a room filled with warmth and magic, it never quite reached your fingers.

Nesta noticed first, her gaze flicking down before one brow arched ever so slightly. Feyre followed, lips twitching like she was holding back a smile. Elain just looked softly amused.

"You're freezing again," Feyre murmured.

"I'm fine," you said quickly, though your hands betrayed you—fingers brushing together, trying to coax warmth that never came.

And then—

A presence.

Familiar. Commanding. Warm.

Your breath hitched just slightly as Eris appeared behind you without announcement, all quiet confidence and restrained fire.

He didn't interrupt the conversation.

Didn't even look at you.

Instead, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his hands slid around your arms from behind, gently guiding them back—your wrists settling loosely against his torso.

And then—

Warmth.

Not subtle. Not imagined.

It bloomed instantly, curling from his palms into your skin like living flame—soft, controlled, unmistakably his.

Your fingers stilled.

A quiet breath left you, tension you hadn't realized you carried melting away as heat seeped into your bones.

Eris, meanwhile, was already speaking.

"Yes, but if you consider the border disputes—" he was saying smoothly to Rhysand and Azriel, his tone composed, unreadable.

As if he wasn't currently holding you.

As if he wasn't pouring magic into your hands like it was instinct.

Like breathing.

Azriel's shadows stilled first.

Rhysand's violet eyes flicked downward—just once.

A pause. A beat.

Then a slow, knowing smile tugged at his mouth.

Behind you, Feyre blinked.

Nesta's other brow joined the first.

Elain outright smiled.

You swallowed, suddenly very aware.

Very aware that your hands were cradled in his.

Very aware that warmth still pulsed steadily, deliberately.

Very aware that he hadn't even noticed.

"Eris," Rhys drawled lightly, "is there something you'd like to share with the room?"

Eris didn't miss a beat. "If you're referring to the trade routes—"

"No," Nesta cut in dryly.

You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second.

The warmth increased slightly—subconscious, reactive.

Eris finally stilled.

Just for a fraction of a second.

Then, slowly, his gaze dropped.

To your hands.

Still held behind you.

Still wrapped in his.

Still glowing faintly with his magic.

Silence.

A rare, genuine silence.

When he looked back up, his expression hadn't changed—but there was something sharper in his eyes. Something... exposed.

Possessive.

Instinctive.

Unhidden.

"Well," he said smoothly, though his grip didn't loosen in the slightest, "it would seem I've developed a habit."

Rhys huffed a quiet laugh.

Azriel's shadows curled, amused.

Behind you, Feyre leaned closer, whispering just loud enough—

"That's new."

Nesta smirked. "Not really. Just the first time he's been caught."

Elain tilted her head, soft and knowing. "It's sweet."

Your face warmed now—far more than your hands.

Eris's thumbs shifted slightly against your wrists, almost absent-minded.

The warmth deepened again.

- - - - -

The moment should have passed.

It should have faded into the background of the evening—just another small, unnoticed habit.

But unfortunately for Eris... he was surrounded by people who never let anything go.

Dinner resumed, the long table in the House of Wind filled with conversation, clinking glasses, and the low hum of politics threading through it all. You sat beside Eris, your hands now comfortably warm in your lap, though every so often his fingers brushed yours—as if checking, as if ensuring the warmth stayed.

It didn't go unnoticed.

It really didn't go unnoticed.

Cassian leaned back in his chair at one point, swirling his drink as a slow grin spread across his face. Across the table, Azriel was quieter—but the faint curl of his shadows gave him away.

Amusement.

Dangerous, quiet amusement.

Cassian was the first to strike.

"So," he drawled casually, glancing between you and Eris, "is that a new trick, or have you been secretly playing personal fireplace this whole time?"

You nearly choked on your drink.

Eris didn't even look at him. "If you have something intelligent to say, I would suggest you say it quickly."

Cassian grinned wider. "Oh, I think I already did."

Azriel's shadows shifted, brushing lightly along the table like they were listening. "It does seem... instinctive," he added, voice calm but edged with humor. "You didn't even notice."

Eris's jaw tightened slightly.

You bit your lip, trying—and failing—not to smile.

"I noticed," Eris said smoothly.

Cassian snorted. "After we all did."

A faint ripple of laughter moved down the table. Even Feyre was smiling into her glass.

Eris finally set his fork down with deliberate precision, turning his head just enough to fix Cassian with a look.

"Would you rather I let her go cold?"

The table stilled for half a second.

Your breath caught—just slightly—at the tone.

Not sharp.

Not defensive.

Just... certain.

Like the answer should have been obvious.

You couldn't help it—you giggled softly, warmth blooming in your chest again, entirely separate from the magic still lingering in your hands.

Cassian's grin didn't falter.

If anything, it turned worse.

"Oh, I know she's always been cold," he said, leaning forward slightly, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "Especially in bed—"

You froze.

Absolutely froze.

Across the table, Rhysand closed his eyes for a brief moment, already regretting every life choice that led to this exact conversation.

Eris, however—

Eris smirked.

Slow. Sharp. Dangerous.

"Actually," he said, voice smooth as silk, "she is quite warm in bed... though I imagine that might have something to do with my coc—"

Your hand clapped over his mouth before he could finish.

"Don't you dare," you hissed under your breath, face burning.

Cassian burst out laughing immediately—loud, unrestrained, nearly knocking his glass over. Azriel looked down, shoulders shaking slightly as his shadows curled tighter, as if they were laughing too.

Feyre covered her mouth, eyes bright with amusement.

Nesta didn't even try to hide her smirk.

Elain just looked delighted.

And at the head of the table, Rhysand shook his head slowly, muttering, "I invited all of you into my home for a peaceful dinner."

"No you didn't," Cassian shot back between laughs. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

Eris gently removed your hand from his mouth, though the smirk never left his face. His fingers lingered around your wrist for a second longer than necessary, thumb brushing lightly over your pulse.

Warm.

Always warm.

"Your family," he murmured just for you, voice low enough that no one else could hear, "has a remarkable lack of self-preservation."

You huffed a quiet laugh, still mortified. "You're not helping."

"No," he agreed easily, eyes flicking with quiet amusement, "but I am enjoying myself."

Across the table, Cassian lifted his glass in mock salute. "To Eris—who apparently doubles as a heater."

Azriel added dryly, "And doesn't even realize he's doing it."

More laughter followed, lighter now, easier.

And though the teasing didn't entirely stop for the rest of the night...

Eris never once let his attention stray too far from you.

- - - - -

The cool night air of the Autumn Court greeted you the moment you winnowed back, the familiar scent of spice and smoke wrapping around you like a welcome. The world felt quieter here—softer than the lively buzz you'd left behind.

Your cabin stood nestled among golden trees, warm light glowing from within. It was peaceful. Yours.

And yet...

Eris was quiet.

You noticed it immediately.

Eris sat just inside, one hand absently stroking Smokey's head as the hound leaned into him with a pleased rumble. His posture was relaxed, but his mind clearly wasn't—his gaze distant, thoughts turning over and over.

Overthinking.

Always overthinking.

You didn't say anything at first. Just walked toward him, slow and familiar, until you slipped easily into his lap. He reacted instantly—like instinct—his free arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you close without hesitation.

Grounding himself.

You smiled softly at that.

Your fingers lifted to trace along his jaw, light and teasing. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" you murmured.

Eris huffed a quiet chuckle, the sound low in his chest. "Those are my words."

You tilted your head, studying him, waiting.

He hesitated—just for a moment—before his gaze met yours again, something softer slipping through the usual composure.

"Are you... fine with me doing that in public?"

You blinked slightly. "Doing what?"

A faint flush crept across his cheeks—and it still caught you off guard every time it happened. Eris Vanserra, heir of Autumn, blushing.

"Warming you," he said, quieter now.

Understanding dawned, and you couldn't help the small smile that followed.

You glanced down at Smokey, scratching behind his ears absentmindedly before looking back up at your mate. "You mean earlier?"

He didn't answer, but his hand tightened slightly at your waist.

That was answer enough.

Your smile turned softer. Warmer.

You leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips—gentle at first, reassuring.

"I always want you touching me," you whispered against his mouth. "And warming me up."

His breath hitched—barely noticeable, but you felt it.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, a playful glint slipping in now. "Now, I will admit my favorite way you warm me up is when you have me on your cock," you added lightly, your tone teasing more than anything else, "but I'm not exactly complaining about any way you do it."

A low sound rumbled from him—not quite a growl, but close enough.

"Careful," he murmured, voice dropping, eyes darkening just slightly. "You're testing your luck."

You grinned.

And then—because you couldn't help yourself—you slipped out of his lap and darted toward the stairs.

A laugh escaped you as you went.

Behind you, there was a brief pause—

Then movement.

Fast.

"You're bold tonight," Eris called after you, amusement threading through his voice now as he followed.

You glanced back just in time to see the familiar spark in his eyes—the one that always meant he'd stopped overthinking and started feeling again.

Exactly what you'd wanted.

Your laughter echoed softly through the cabin as you disappeared upstairs—

With Eris right behind you.

You barely made it three steps up the stairs before he caught you.

A startled laugh left you as Eris's arm wrapped around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off your feet. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him, your hands gripping his shoulders as he pulled you flush against him.

"Got you," he murmured, voice low and satisfied, breath warm against your ear.

Your heart was already racing, laughter still lingering as you leaned into him, pressing a quick, breathless kiss to his lips. "Took you long enough."

His eyes flashed, amusement and something deeper flickering together. "I let you run."

"Liar," you whispered, smiling against his mouth.

He huffed softly, adjusting his hold on you as he started up the stairs again, far more controlled now—but no less intense. Every step felt deliberate, unhurried, like he was savoring the moment just as much as you were.

Your fingers slid lightly along the back of his neck, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the steady strength beneath your touch.

"You were overthinking," you murmured softly.

"I was," he admitted without hesitation.

You leaned back just enough to look at him, brushing your thumb along his cheek. "You don't have to with me."

"I know," he said quietly. "Doesn't mean I don't try."

Your expression softened, something deeper settling between you as the playfulness eased into something more intimate—quieter, but just as strong.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he didn't set you down right away.

Instead, he paused, holding you there, his gaze steady on yours.

"You're sure?" he asked again, softer now. Not about earlier. About everything.

You didn't hesitate.

"Take me to bed," you said simply.

Something in his expression shifted—just slightly, but enough.

Then he finally stepped forward, carrying you the rest of the way as your laughter faded into something softer, something warmer—

And the door closed quietly behind you.

- - - - -

The night blurred into something soft and endless.

Wrapped in warmth. In him.

Sleep came in pieces—slow, drifting moments tangled between quiet laughter, soft whispers, and the steady reassurance of your mate beside you. Eris never let the chill touch you for long; even in the stillness, even in rest, his warmth found you. It always did.

By the time morning crept in, pale light filtering through the windows and painting the room in gold...

You were deeply, comfortably asleep.

Which, unfortunately, meant very little to the hounds.

A wet, insistent lick dragged across your cheek.

You groaned softly, turning your face away—only for another to follow immediately after.

"Absolutely not," you mumbled, half-asleep.

A low, amused huff sounded beside you.

Eris.

You barely had time to register it before his arm shifted, gently but firmly nudging one of the hounds away. "Out," he muttered, voice rough with sleep.

The hound huffed in protest.

Another lick.

Right across your jaw this time.

You let out a weak, sleepy laugh, eyes still closed. "They've chosen violence this morning."

Eris exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed, but there was no real bite to it. His hand slid over your side, then up—warmth blooming instantly beneath his touch, slow and deliberate.

Comforting.

Familiar.

Your body melted further into the bed without thinking, a soft sigh escaping you as the warmth wrapped around you again, pulling you right back toward sleep.

"That is cheating," you murmured faintly.

"Mm," he replied, entirely unapologetic.

Another nudge. Another quiet command.

The hounds retreated—

For all of two seconds.

Because, as always, they simply circled back.

The mattress dipped slightly as one—and then another—made themselves comfortable anyway, pressing against you with stubborn determination. Warm fur, soft weight, quiet contentment.

Eris went still beside you.

You could practically feel his internal debate.

Then—

A resigned exhale.

"They're insufferable."

You smiled sleepily, eyes still closed as you shifted slightly closer—not away from the hounds, but into them... and into him.

His arm tightened around you again, warmth returning just as easily, just as instinctively.

And this time...

He didn't push them away again.

The room settled into something quiet. Peaceful.

Your breathing evened out, sleep pulling you under once more, cocooned in heat and softness and something that felt achingly like home.

This was your life now.

Slow mornings. Warm hands. Annoying, affectionate hounds. A mate who pretended to be irritated by it all but never truly was.

And as you drifted deeper into sleep again, surrounded by all of it—

Art by moon.lit.erature