When your insecurities threaten the possibility of intimacy, Eris comforts you in a way you never expected.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader
Word Count: 2.5k
Warnings: body image issues (in case that’s too triggering for some), self-esteem issues, some self loathing, angst, fluff, canon Eris trauma
A/N: This was quite literally inspired by a conversation with @harvest-bunny when I was in a writing slump so thank you for inspiring this short little fic! 💕
While similar in tone to my Azriel fic, Scars, this one covers insecurities in both reader and Eris and comes with a gentle reminder for all of you that struggle with similar issues, too.
There were some phenomena you just couldn’t explain.
One would think being fae would come with the assurance of a perfect mindset—after all fae were a pretty perfect species. At least on the outside.
You were a part of a species that were unnaturally beautiful—a guarantee that all High Fae were born with. Even the lower fae were breathtaking in their own, unique ways—many that differed from the High Fae, such as yourself.
So you’d thought you’d escape unpleasant thoughts, self criticism. At least of the variety of surface level, shallow things.
But, you hadn’t.
You and Eris had only been together a short time, but had yet to be intimate. What had started as a pull to one another, a curiosity about each other—chemistry that neither of you could no longer deny—turned into something soft, romantic, something neither of you had expected.
You had yet taken him to your bed though—had yet to take that step. You’d wanted to, but at the same time you dreaded it.
For you were insecure about your body.
Which sounded silly to you, even if the thought only existed in your mind.
But you’d never been pleased with what lay in the mirror, something that happened every time you’d looked. You’d always found your mind wandering to others, unfair criticisms plaguing your mind.
Your stomach wasn’t perfect, too soft. Your hips too much. You’d never liked the look of your thighs—or your breasts for that matter.
You constantly compared yourself to others.
To Morrigan, who was proud of her body, had the confidence to embrace it and show it off.
To Feyre Archeron, who was lithe but strong, a warrior at heart with the body to show for it. One that could be powerful but also seductive—as you’d seen in her Hewn City ensembles. Similar to Mor, you envied her ease and confidence in her body.
To Nesta Archeron, who similarly to her youngest sister, had a warrior’s body—maybe even more so, lean muscle filling out her long limbs. Not to mention she was a dancer as well, so she was also lithe and strong in her own way. As ridiculous as it sounded, you often envied her for her well endowed chest. You couldn’t imagine ever being so blessed.
To Elain Archeron, who—even while being more modest—was lovely and had a beautiful figure. The soft, feminine curves she so effortlessly possessed, seemingly unaware of how beautiful she was.
Even Amren, with her sharp and angular features, her short stature, you found yourself envious of her beauty, of her seemingly perfectly proportioned body.
You—you felt like one of Amren’s puzzles, but you’d been put together all wrong.
You weren’t tall for the fae, not nearly as tall as Nesta, yet you weren’t incredibly short like Amren.
Everything about you just seemed average—seemed dull. There was nothing spectacular about you.
You’d tried to brush it off every time you’d stood in front of the mirror, tried to stop being unnecessarily harsh on yourself. Tried to convince yourself it was ridiculous to have such thoughts, such critiques.
It never fully helped though. They still lingered.
What was even worse was you were aware of how foolish it was. How you were being too hard on yourself.
It did nothing to help your mindset though. Even being desired by someone like Eris Vanserra hadn’t been a magical cure.
Which was how you’d ended up in the situation you currently were in tonight.
You sat on the edge of Eris’s bed—a visit to him having turned more heated than you’d anticipated. It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before. Stolen kisses, shared breath, wandering hands as heat built between the two of you.
But if he’d ever noticed the way you hesitated—your breath hitching for all the wrong reasons when his hand slipped under your shirt—hands touching bare skin—he’d never mentioned it. It was as if every time he touched you, those irrational insecurities flooded to the front of your mind.
You were terrified he wouldn’t like what he’d find underneath your clothes.
So, tonight, you’d done something reckless—maybe brave—but something that also felt stupid and foolish, currently. After pulling away self-consciously, right as things had gotten heated, he’d gently questioned you. You hadn’t known how to respond to him.
You’d stood, pulling your shirt over your head in one solid movement, shedding your pants and underwear in one smooth movement until you were bare in front of him.
He watched you intently with those beautiful amber eyes. The eyes that held so much in them, but also knew how to miss nothing. But he hadn’t watched you with desire as you’d removed your articles of clothing. Which made anxiety churn in your gut even more, preparing yourself for the worst.
You waited for the judgement, for the disgust—even worse, the disappointment. What you hadn’t expected was the silence you were met with.
“Why are you doing this?” he finally asked.
Your heart pounded harder. You felt vulnerable in all the worst ways. You fought the instinct to curl in on yourself, to cover the body that you’d just bared to him.
You trusted him, you did.
What you didn’t trust was yourself—how you would handle his reaction to you.
He spoke your name, pulling your gaze from the floor back to his face. But you didn’t find disgust, anger or disappointment there. You found tenderness so intense that it made your chest ache.
“Talk to me,” he whispered, “What’s going on in your head?”
“I’m not proud of my body.”
The words came out in a rush—you hadn’t even had a chance to vet them. To entirely consider the implication of finally voicing your deep seated insecurities.
“Okay.”
You blinked, not expecting the statement. You hadn’t necessarily expected him to rush to console you—it wasn’t a trait that Eris seemed to portray much.
You watched as his head tilted, strands of his long red hair shifting forward over his shoulder. You focused on the way the dim light seemed to bounce off the hue of his locks, making it glow—appearing even more ethereal than he already was.
He was so perfect, so beautiful and you were just…you.
“Why?”
You were thrown off again, not expecting him to actually ask.
“I— I don’t—”
It sounded bad enough in your mind—you didn’t know how you were going to voice the ugly thought out loud. But Eris didn’t press, he waited patiently.
“I don’t like it.”
I’m afraid you won’t like it, is what you really wanted to say.
“Why?” he pressed again.
“I—I don’t know.”
His face gave away nothing of what he was thinking, though it was gentler than you’d seen it before, that tenderness still present but with less intensity than earlier. His eyes raked over your naked form and you really had to try to resist the overwhelming urge to cover yourself, shield yourself from his piercing gaze.
When he spoke it was such gravity it surprised you.
“I do not see you with the same cruel lens you see yourself.”
Your breathing deepened, not in arousal, but in anxiety as he moved closer, a hand reaching out. He didn’t touch your body though. Instead, he cupped your cheek.
“You’re not going to try to convince me otherwise?” you whispered.
You hadn’t necessarily been shocked that he hadn’t tried to soothe away your insecurities. As you well knew, that wasn’t how Eris typically operated. But still, a small part of you ached that he hadn’t rushed to reassure you, to change your mind, only furthering that insecurity in your mind.
“No.”
It felt like something in your chest deflated, your eyes stinging. You weren’t going to cry. After all, this was utterly ridiculous. There were bigger issues to life than this.
Eris must’ve sensed your change in demeanor, the way your spirit seemed to deflate even further after his simple answer. His fingers brushed down your jawline gently, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger firmly. Not enough to be harsh or to hurt, but enough to draw your attention, pull your face and eyes up to his—to hear what he had to say.
“I wouldn’t change your mind with just a few pretty words.”
His whisper was filled with meaning, the sincerity in his tone somehow a balm to wounded spots deep within you. Ones that had ached from longstanding comparison and uncertainty about yourself.
“Changing the way you view yourself is something I cannot fix for you,” he murmured, thumb brushing your jaw, “Only you can do that.”
You tried to nod, blinking back tears that threatened. You felt ashamed and naked—in more ways than physically. It hurt to admit your long buried secret, it hurt to hear the truth you knew deep down within you.
Well meaning compliments and pretty words—as he’d called it—wouldn’t help you and you knew it. You wouldn’t believe him until you believed in yourself first.
“If it helps,” he uttered, a small smile tilting his lips upwards, "The way you see yourself doesn’t change my desire for you—and it never will.”
You really did want to believe him, but that small niggling doubt in your mind kept prodding you.
You startled when Eris dropped his hand from your face and abruptly stood. You were fearful for a moment that he was going to leave. Perhaps he’d had enough of your dramatics and didn’t want to entertain this—or you—any further.
So you were noticeablely thrown off when you saw his fingers unbuttoning his shirt. Your brows pinched in confusion as he undressed before you. You hadn’t assumed things would progress tonight, especially after you’d ruined the moment.
“You’re not the only one that carries shame for what you think your body displays,” Eris said lowly.
He shucked off the shirt and you inhaled sharply at the sight. In all the instances you’d been around him, you’d never seen him be anything other than immaculately dressed.
The sight was bewitching.
But if you’d thought that was divine, it didn’t hold a candle to when he was completely nude in front of you.
This time it was your eyes that raked over him, breathless and in awe of the strength of his honed body—the muscles, the absolute beauty of it.
He was just as freckled across his pale skin as he was on his face and it made your stomach flutter. But what you saw on his face made you pause.
He was hesitant.
The confident, sure-footed Eris Vanserra was nervous in front of you.
Then your eyes took in what you’d missed on your first passing look. Scars peppered his body, as many as the freckles on his face, his body. But these had been inflicted by horrors, by things that had happened to him.
Some were nothing but faint lines only visible at certain angles or under certain lighting—you could barely see some of them that were so thin and light they nearly blended in with his porcelain skin.
Others, though, were harsher, more jagged, like lightning strikes left on his skin—raised and ridged in such a contrast to the smooth skin.
You’d known his father was unnecessarily cruel to him—knew he’d been tortured before in an attempt to gain information, yet he’d chosen to protect his alliance with the Night Court instead. You’d never considered he bore so many of the physical scars that could be left behind. But here they were, a reminder on his skin of all the awful things he’d endured.
Eris was grimacing when your eyes lifted to his face again.
“I feared for the day you’d see these,” he said, as stiff as his posture was.
Then it dawned on you. He was as self-conscious about the markings on his body as you were about parts of your body you thought imperfect. It was then you realized just exactly why he was doing this.
This wasn’t about desire or arousal right now. This was a baring of secrets—it was a yielding to the deepest insecurities each one of you had held tight. It was showing you that you weren’t alone in your own harsh critique of yourself.
He was reassuring you in the only way he knew how to.
But, his point was made loud and clear—for as you looked at him, you didn’t see the scars. At least not in any way he feared you would.
They weren’t grotesque or unappealing to you—though the way they came to be permanently etched in his body was—their presence didn’t change anything you felt for him.
“You’re beautiful,” you breathed.
You couldn’t help as the words left your mouth in a rush, so similarly to your own confession from earlier.
You finally stood, eyes on his bare chest, fingers coming up to delicately brush over one scar just below his shoulder. It was a few inches long, one of the near invisible ones, but your fingers still traced it like it was a map.
“I know we said no pretty words,” you murmured, “But you are.”
You heard his sharp intake of breath at your touch—and your words. You peered up into his face again.
“I see what you mean,” you admitted.
His brows bunched just slightly, confused by your statement.
“You’re ashamed of them, are you not?”
His lips thinned and he swallowed hard before nodding tersely, just once.
“You shouldn’t be,” you said, other hand coming up to trace one that slashed more harshly over one pectoral.
You felt him flinch under your touch. Not recoiling, but from the ticklish and intimate caress of your fingers. A natural instinct rather than one born of insecurity.
Oddly enough, this display—his willingness to be vulnerable—had gotten through to you more than any of his reassuring words would’ve.
“I understand,” you murmured, lips coming to brush his collarbone, then over one of the raised scars, just to the left.
Your own self-doubt wasn’t going to disappear overnight, his own kind words not enough to stick until you chose to believe them. You were sure the same could be said for Eris.
“Your imperfections aren’t flaws to me,” you continued.
Your eyes locked with his as you repeated the same words he’d just uttered to you earlier.
“I do not see you with the same cruel lens, Eris.”
His eyes flickered shut for a moment as if your words were his own soothing balm his soul needed—to heal some deep part of him that was likely as weak and cracked as yours. Your arms came around his torso, bare skin meeting his own as you hugged him—holding him in your arms for comfort, just as much as you needed the comfort of him.
Your cheek rested on his chest, just under his chin, and one of his arms slid around you. His other hand lifted, cradling the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he held you close.
You felt the tension bleed from his body, his own truths and secrets laid out for you to carry—just like you knew he would carry yours.
There, bare before each other—both in body and soul—you and Eris learned an important lesson.
It was natural to have insecurities, but it wasn’t fair to punish yourself for them. Especially when they didn’t hold the same importance to others as they did to oneself. It was important not to get too caught up on those sorts of thoughts.
Sometimes it took a different perspective to truly understand.
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