#eris acosf

Which left you standing there, arms crossed, staring at the filled seats.

"Well, where am I supposed to sit?" you asked, arching a brow as your so-called friends barely spared you a second glance. Even Amren—tiny, ruthless Amren—had somehow managed to claim a spot.

Before anyone could answer, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you forward with a familiar, effortless strength. A gasp left your lips as you tumbled into a broad, solid chest, your mate's scent of sea salt and citrus washing over you as he caught you with ease.

"My lap is right here, darling," Rhys purred into your ear, his voice a velvety caress. His arms caged you against him as he leaned back into the booth, utterly at ease with you in his lap. "This seat is always reserved for you."

A flush crept up your neck, heat coiling low in your stomach as his lips ghosted over the sensitive spot just below your ear. You swatted at his arm half-heartedly, though you didn't move away.

"Get a room," Cassian groaned, shaking his head. "Or at least wait until we've had a few drinks before you start eye-fucking each other."

"Oh, please," Mor cut in, already sliding out of the booth. "Tell me about it, Cass. I'm getting a round."

"Get us doubles!" Amren called after her. "We're going to need them." She sighed beneath her breath.

The table erupted in laughter, but Rhys barely paid them any mind. His fingers traced idle patterns along your thigh, his lips still dangerously close to your ear.

"You don't mind sitting here, do you?" he murmured, the hint of amusement in his voice making it clear he already knew the answer.

You tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze, violet eyes dark with mischief. "I think you planned this," you accused, narrowing your eyes.

His smile was all wickedness and charm. "And if I did?"

You huffed, shaking your head—but you didn't move from his lap. And judging by the way his hands tightened ever so slightly on your hips, you doubted he had any intention of letting you go.

Let Mor bring the drinks. You had everything you needed right here.

Azriel

"Hi, handsome," you greet, a smile curling at your lips as you swing open the door to your apartment. The crisp scent of rain drifts in with the night air, mingling with the warmth of your cozy home. Azriel stands in the doorway, shadows curling subtly around him as if hesitant to cross the threshold.

His hazel eyes soften as he takes you in, lingering on the comfortable sweater you've thrown on, the glow of candlelight flickering in the background. He steps inside, shaking a few stray raindrops from his hair, and you close the door behind him, shutting out the storm.

"You're soaked," you remark, reaching out to help him shrug off his damp jacket. His fingers brush against yours as he hands it over, and even with the chill clinging to the fabric, his touch is warm.

"It's cold out there," he murmurs, eyes scanning the space around him. He's never been to your apartment before, and you watch with amusement as his gaze sweeps over the small but welcoming interior—books stacked in uneven piles, a few blankets draped over the couch, a candle flickering on the coffee table. A place lived in. A place entirely yours.

"But it's nice in here," he adds, his voice dipping lower as he turns back to you.

You barely have time to process his words before his lips are on yours—slow, deliberate, his hands coming up to cradle your jaw as he deepens the kiss. You melt into him for a moment, savoring the warmth that spreads through your chest before you pull away with a playful smile.

"Come on," you say, tugging him toward the couch. "Make yourself comfortable."

Azriel hesitates. It's subtle—the slight shift of his weight, the way his wings twitch behind him as he glances at the couch. It's not exactly built to accommodate a six-foot-something Illyrian warrior with a wingspan that could cast an eclipse over your entire living room.

"Uh... where should I sit?" he asks, the uncertainty in his voice so rare it almost makes you laugh.

You smirk, patting your lap in invitation. "Right here's an option."

His lips twitch in amusement, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before he makes his decision—easing down onto the couch beside you instead. His wing unfurls slightly, shifting behind you before settling around your shoulders like a warm, protective cloak.

You hum contentedly, pulling a blanket over both of you and nestling into his side. The steady beat of his heart thrums against your ear as you relax into the comfort of his presence.

"Thought you'd take me up on my offer," you tease, tilting your head to glance up at him.

His lips brush against your temple, voice low and amused. "Maybe next time."

For now, you're more than happy with this—wrapped in the warmth of him, the scent of rain and cedarwood clinging to his skin, and the quiet, unspoken promise that he is exactly where he wants to be.

Cassian

"Babe, you in here?"

Cassian's voice carries through the library just before his head peeks around the doorway. You don't bother looking up, too engrossed in the book cradled in your hands—a detailed account of art created during the war. Nestled beneath a thick pile of blankets in a massive leather chair that practically swallows you whole, you simply lift one hand from the cocoon of warmth and wave lazily.

"Here."

He steps inside, brows knitting together. "I called you through the bond. You didn't answer."

"I'm reading," you murmur distractedly, flipping a page without sparing him a glance.

"Reading or not, answer next time. I was worried, okay?" His voice dips into something softer, more serious as he strides deeper into the room.

You hum in vague acknowledgment but don't respond, eyes locked on the words before you.

“Baby," he tries again, tapping a finger against the edge of your book.

You snap your gaze up at him, blinking as if just now remembering his presence. "Huh?"

Cassian exhales through his nose, clearly unimpressed. "Okay?" he repeats, waiting for some kind of confirmation.

Not entirely sure what you're agreeing to but wanting to return to your book, you nod absently. "Yeah, okay."

He watches you for a long moment, his broad shoulders deflating when you go right back to reading. The silence stretches between you, filled only with the soft crackling of the fireplace and the faint rustle of pages.

"Aren't you going to ask why I was looking for you?" His voice carries the weight of expectation.

"...No." You shrug, completely unrepentant.

Cassian lets out a dramatic sigh, his hope for your attention swiftly diminishing. "If you look at me right now, I'll leave you alone with your book," he mutters.

Your head snaps up instantly, locking onto his warm caramel gaze.

"Cauldron, you're determined," he grumbles. Then, in one swift motion, he swipes your book from your hands and snaps it shut.

You gasp, eyes widening as you reach for it. "Cassian!"

"You can read later. Give me attention now," he hums, looking far too pleased with himself.

You narrow your eyes at him, lips parting to protest, but then an idea strikes. You soften your expression, tilt your head slightly, and give him the biggest, most pitiful puppy-dog eyes you can manage.

His smirk falters. Then crumbles entirely.

"Okay, I'm sorry," he blurts, scrambling to return your book. He flips it open and, somehow, miraculously lands on the exact page you were on.

You blink in surprise before shooting him a suspicious look.

"What?" he says innocently, though the glint in his eye suggests he knew exactly what he was doing.

Still, you smile in triumph, sinking deeper into the chair and pulling the book back into place.

Cassian frowns at you, clearly still unsatisfied, and before you can react, he swoops in, effortlessly lifting you from your seat.

A startled yelp escapes you as he sets you on your feet, stealing your chair for himself. You huff but refuse to be deterred, standing directly in front of him, reading as if nothing had happened. Every so often, you flick a page, ignoring the weight of his amused stare.

A sudden shiver wracks through you, the realization settling in—you had been so warm under that blanket. You glance up to find Cassian comfortably wrapped in it now, looking entirely too smug.

"Give me my spot back," you grumble, crossing your arms.

"My lap is right here," he counters smoothly, patting his thigh.

You roll your eyes but don't hesitate long before crawling into his lap. His arms immediately come around you, securing you against his chest as he reclines the chair back. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against your back, melts away any lingering annoyance.

Without another word, you resume reading, far more comfortable now than you had been before. Cassian presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, fingers threading through your hair in a way that is both distracting and soothing.

You silently thank him for keeping your hair out of your face, appreciating, despite everything, that he always finds a way to take care of you—even when he's being insufferable.

Eris

The golden throne is a masterpiece—intricate carvings of twisting flames and autumn leaves adorning the armrests, the deep red cushions a striking contrast against the polished gold. But the true vision of perfection is the male seated upon it.

Eris, legs spread carelessly, his head resting against his palm, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. His auburn hair catches the flickering candlelight, a halo of fire framing his sharp, impossibly beautiful features. His amber eyes—always so sharp, always so calculating—soften slightly as they land on you.

You shift your weight, feeling oddly out of place as you stand before him. "So... do I get a throne too?" you ask, tilting your head.

Eris raises a single brow, amusement flickering across his face. "Why?"

You blink at him. "Because this is the throne for the ruler of Autumn," he explains, as if the answer is obvious.

"Right," you say, crossing your arms. "But I just mean... I'm High Lady. Shouldn't I have a throne too?"

It feels strange, asking for something like this, but before you were even married, Eris made it abundantly clear—you are his equal in all things. He's never once treated you as anything less.

He exhales softly, watching you as if he's trying to puzzle something out. Then, finally, he shrugs. "We share a bed. Shouldn't we share a throne?"

Your lips part in protest. "It's not exactly large enough—"

But before you can finish, Eris moves. With a fluidity that makes your breath hitch, he reaches forward, gripping your wrist and tugging you toward him. A startled gasp escapes you as you stumble, catching yourself on the arm of the throne just as you land in his lap, straddling one of his thighs.

The position leaves your faces mere inches apart—your wide eyes meeting his entirely relaxed, smirking expression.

His hands settle on your waist, fingers drumming idly against the fabric of your dress. "We can get you your own throne if you really want, pretty," he murmurs, his voice a silken promise. "But what's mine is yours. So share this with me—for now, okay?"

You stare at him, still slightly stunned by the sudden shift, the warmth of him seeping into you, the firm press of muscle beneath you. His scent—smoke and crisp autumn air—wraps around you, grounding you in the moment.

Slowly, you nod.

"Good," he whispers, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to adoration before he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

A kiss that lingers, that tastes of fire and devotion.

And as you melt into him, you think—perhaps his lap as a throne was a perfectly good alternative.

Lucien

The gathering was already in full swing by the time you and Lucien arrived. The grand hall, adorned in golden candlelight and autumnal tapestries, was packed with High Fae from various courts. A long banquet table stretched through the center of the room, lined with platters of rich food and goblets of deep red wine.

You had expected a formal meeting—discussions of trade agreements, court relations, maybe a bit of posturing. What you hadn't expected was an entire buffet spread out on the table, and for every seat to be taken.

Lucien, of course, had found one easily, already seated comfortably among the dignitaries. His russet-red hair gleamed under the chandelier's glow, and he looked completely at ease, one arm draped over the back of his chair, a goblet in his other hand. He was already speaking with someone from the Winter Court, his voice warm and smooth—an effortless diplomat.

You stood at the edge of the table, scanning for an open seat. Nothing.

Lucien's keen gaze flicked to you. A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips. "Problem, darling?"

You crossed your arms, pursing your lips. "There's nowhere to sit."

Lucien took a languid sip of his wine, clearly reveling in your predicament. Then, with all the smugness in the world, he patted his thigh. "My lap is right here."

You shot him a sharp look, but he only raised a brow, entirely unbothered. His amber eye gleamed with mischief, the gold in it catching the candlelight. "Unless you'd rather sit in one of my brother’s advisor’s lap?" he mused, tilting his head toward the older men at the end of the table, who were giving you disgusting looks but thankfully too far away to catch wind of Lucien's ridiculous suggestion.

Your glare hardened. "Absolutely not."

Lucien grinned like the cat that got the cream. "Then by all means, make yourself comfortable."

You let out a long, suffering sigh before lowering yourself onto his lap, doing your best to maintain your dignity. His arms came around you without hesitation, one resting lightly at your waist while the other adjusted to make space.

“You know,” He started, lips brushing your ear. "You could have at least pretended to resist a little longer," he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you.

"If this makes a scene, you suffer the consequences."

Lucien hummed in amusement, fingers absently tracing patterns against your hip. "I think I rather like these consequences."

You were about to retort when a voice from across the table chimed in. "Comfortable?"

You looked up to find Helion watching the two of you with raised brows, his expression far too entertained.

Lucien didn't miss a beat. "Very," he replied smoothly, fingers tightening just slightly at your waist.

Helion chuckled, shaking his head, but said nothing more. Like father like son.

You, on the other hand, were going to murder Lucien the second you were out of sight of the High Lords.

But for now, as the night carried on, his warmth steady beneath you, his presence grounding in a way you weren't entirely ready to admit—you allowed yourself to relax, just a little.

And if Lucien pressed an occasional kiss to your shoulder throughout the evening, well... you supposed you could let that slide.

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He tilts his head to the side, a feline grin creeping up his face as he slouches into his seat. “Come on, Y/N. Try something.” 

“I think this game as been going on for long enough, brother,” Eris grumbles from the loveseat couch. He stretches like a lazy cat, then places a bookmark in his book before setting it down on the coffee table. “Come to bed now, my heart.” 

“I’m not tired yet!” You speak behind your hand, trying to stifle a yawn. 

Eris gives you a knowing look, then stands up from his seat. 

He walks the few steps separating you then scoops you up into his arms without acknowledging Lucien’s presence for one second. 

“We weren’t done playing!” Lucien whines, standing up as to stop Eris from taking his source of entertainment away. 

“You, go back to your own female. I reckon you still have some mate stuff to figure out, brother.” 

Lucien swears and blushes madly as Eris winnows out of the drawing room, leaving him behind with an unfinished chess game and the crackling fire living in the hearth. He had been courting his mate, Elain Archeron, for years now. It is fair to say that his rate of success with her as been miserable, compared to his prodigious success with chess. 

—

The familiar scent of incense and something spicy, cinamon, perhaps, welcomed you as the room falls into place. 

Eris–yet to let your feet touch the ground– sighs as he makes his way to your matrimonial bed. Gently, as if you’re made of porcelain, he lays you atop of it. 

His deft finger easily win the fight against the multiple ties and claps securing your corset onto your body, and the relief you feel as it releases you is so intense that your eyes nearly roll at the back of your head. 

“No thank you for saving your pretty ass today, my darling mate?” Eris smiles down at you, your ankle lazily resting on his shoulder as he undoes the laces of your chic leather boots. 

“Mmmh? When?” The question almost sounds like a purr, your eyes already dropping from sheer exhaustion as you let your mate ready you for bed. 

“With Lucien.”

“All you did, my love,” You grunt as you lift yourself on your shoulders, “Was ruin my fun.” 

Eris scoffs, letting your leg fall before reaching down to hook the other one above his shoulder, getting rid of your other boot. “Oh, absolutely. You were having so much fun losing,” He ticks his tongue, a sly grin on his lips. His fingers are massaging your calf to keep you quiet and content while he speaks. “If you had attacked his queen with your bishop, his king would’ve attacked it back. It would’ve left you with only your king, a bishop, and some pawn to finish this game. You were screwed, and bound to lose.” 

He sighs, shaking his head as he puts your leg down, crawling up between your legs to rest his body atop of yours. His lips find the sharp curve of your jaw, nipping at the skin as you grumble instead of assuming that, yes, he is right. “Your game was terrible, my heart.”

“Shut up…” 

“Such kind words.” He teases back.

You get rid of the extra layers of clothing remaining on your bodies in silence, then without another word, only loving kisses, the two of you slide under the soft bedsheets and fall asleep in the safety of each other’s arms.  

Eris Vanserra taglist:

The ball began after Feyre and Rhysand arrived and took their places on their thrones. You and Nesta took your places on either side of them, both wearing similar black gowns. You wore a low cut style that accentuated your cleavage, and an open back, leaving much of your skin exposed.

Eris came to greet you all, the first time you had ever seen him, having remained mainly inside the house since being Made. Though you had heard plenty about him. You knew he was the son of Beron and the heir to Autumn court. You knew he was cunning, and self centred, and deceitful, and arrogant. And of course the story with Morrigan. Your family allied with him because they needed to, but they have made it clear to you that they did not trust him in the slightest.

They had failed to mention just how gorgeous he was. He was as if a perfect autumn leaf transformed into a devilishly handsome male. His long firey orange hair was styled neatly behind his pointed ears, freckles scattered across his sun kissed skin, and a cocky smirk formed on his lips. But it was his piercing amber eyes that took your breath away the moment they connected with yours. You both held silent that eye contact for a short moment that felt like a small eternity before he seemed to shake his head to focus back on Rhys and Feyre.

The High Lord and Lady presented Eris with a solstice gift, his eyes seeming to keep flicking over to you during the entire time they spoke. Feyre ended the conversation by explaining she could not offer her hand to Eris for a dance, due to her condition.

“My older sister shall take my place.” Feyre says to him, gesturing to Nesta.

“Actually, my High Lady… I would like to ask for (y/n)’s hand. If she would care to join me, of course.” He says overly politely before looking to you.

Feyre and Nesta both look over at you, you meet their worried eyes briefly before turning your attention back to Eris.

“It would be my pleasure.” You offer a small smile as you step towards him, deciding to carry out the plan yourself.

Cassian tries to hide his relief as Eris walks you to the dance floor instead of Nesta.

Others watched from the sidelines as the dance finished and the introductory strains of the next began, a harp strumming high and sweet. Eris extended a hand, a half smile on his mouth.

You place your hand in his. The feeling of your skin connecting sent electricity throughout your body. Percussion and horns blasted; low stronger instruments started a rushing strike of music. A summons to the dance in a countdown to movement.

Eris slid his broad hand over your waist, tucking you in close. His slender fingers seeming to warmly burn into the bare skin of your back. You lifted your chin, looking up into his face. The moment your eyes connect up close, you feel it, the tug in your chest, a strong magnetic pull of your heart towards his. The sudden wild look in his amber eyes told you he felt it too. Even the smell of him seemed to overwhelm your senses. He smelt like… cedar, and a rainy day, and a hint of something sweeter like vanilla, an addictive smell you wanted to bury yourself in.

He does not miss the heavy rise of your bosom as you take a slow deep breath trying to compose yourself, his eyes dart back to yours and the dance begins. You move to the music, becoming completely lost in it. You have always danced well, you would not consider yourself an expert like Nesta, but following Eris’s lead felt as easy as water flowing through a silent stream. You seemed to fit perfectly in his arms, like you were meant to be there. You dance together as one, moving in perfect harmony, your eyes never parting once except the brief seconds between twirls. His presence had your cheeks and ears burning red, your breathing difficult, and your heart absolutely racing.

You let Eris lead you into the next dance as a new song began. It was a lighter, easier dance than the first.

Eris’s amber eyes studied yours. “Trust Rhysand to keep you hidden away.”

“I’m afraid I am the one who has kept myself hidden away...” You respond, it was the truth, despite your families efforts you kept yourself isolated for a long time after being Made.

“Understandably so.” He says, his expression turned more serious, sympathetic. “I can hardly imagine what you went through with… the Cauldron.” The last word coming out as almost a whisper.

“Yes…” You breathed, the only response you could manage as you tried to shove those memories aside.

Eris spun you, and when you returned to him, he murmured in your ear, “Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.” His breath on your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”

Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the trust but has never revealed it.”

“Why?”

“Because she is afraid of it.”

You didn’t pry further about the details but it did make you question what you have been told about him, and that maybe there was more to the story. The man in front of you did not seem like the monster you had pictured. It made you curious about his perspective, about his life.

You chatted a little more throughout the song, getting to know a bit about eachother. Not just the facts that everyone already knows but small things deeper than that. He asked you about your favourite season and you admit it has always been autumn. When you were human you would count down the days for the chilled weather and colourful leafs. The crunch of leafs beneath your feet, and cozy sweaters, and pumpkins, and warm ciders. You have always loved everything about the season.

“It almost seems like you belong in Autumn, interesting...” Eris says with a sly smirk.

You blush in response earning a wider smirk from him. The dance continues on in silence, only exchanging occasional small smiles between you.

You follow his lead into a third song, this one much slower, more romantic. You sway and twirl together around the dance floor. No more words are exchanged between you but so much is said through your deeply connected eyes. The entire ball fades into the background, no one else existed in this moment. It felt like you were the only two beings in the room, in the world. Being in his alluring presence, his hot skin touching yours, his firey eyes staring into your very soul… it felt like he had you completely under a spell as you danced and danced.

The song finishes with a final twirl, then holding onto your connected hands as the other is outstretched behind you in an elegant pose. As the song comes to a close Eris pulls you back against him, even tighter than before, your bodies pressed firmly together while his fingers pressed firmer into your skin. You were so close that when you lift your head to meet his eyes again your noses lightly brush. You freeze, his tempting lips just a mere breath away. You swear you can feel his heart thundering against your body like a brutal storm, or perhaps that was your own.

Still under his spell, you lean in and almost connect your lips before the beginning of new song makes you come to your senses and pull away from him with a small gasp.

“Are you alright?” Eris asks you with genuine concern.

“Yes, I- forgive me. I… I just need a moment to freshen up. Please excuse me.” You babble before you nearly run off the dance floor and away from him before you could even hear his response.

You rush down the hallway and find a washroom, quickly slamming the door closed behind you as you let out a heavy breath. Your heart was still racing and your skin burning hot like a raging fire as you try to collect your thoughts. The undeniable connection you felt with him, even now you feel as if some force is pulling you back to the ballroom, back to him. Was he?… He couldn’t be… No. The ‘ally’ whom your family detests could not be your… mate. No.

You take another deep shakey breath before returning to the room and take your place back by Rhysand and Feyre, eyeing the dance floor in search of Eris.

“Well done (y/n). Eris is quite taken with you.” Rhysand says quietly with a smirk, the mere mention of his name causing breath to shorten again. “We were a little concerned when we saw you basically bolt out of the room but he seems to truly believe he has a chance with you.” He chuckles in a scoff.

You laugh nervously. “Yes, well, he is a fool...”

“You can say that again.” Cassian chuckles as he rolls his eyes.

The nervousness bubbles in you again as you’re reminded how much your family dislikes Eris. Then he comes into your view from across the room, his firey eyes catching yours instantly. Your heart raced at the thought of going back on the dance floor, he was pure temptation you were terrified you would not be able to stop yourself.

“I am actually not feeling too well, I think all the dancing has made me light headed.” You turn to Feyre, lightly hold your stomach. “I’m beginning to feel a bit nauseous.”

“Please, go on home then (y/n). Get some rest. You have already done wonderfully tonight.” Feyre offers a soft smile.

You offer a curtsy to the High Lord and Lady before departing. You quickly turn to leave and nearly crash right into Eris.

“Woah there, you alright (y/n)?” He asks with his usual sly smirk.

“Yes, sorry um, please forgive me... I’m afraid I am feeling rather, um, unwell, and must retire early.” You ramble as you begin to get lost in his fierce eyes once again.

“Oh, yes, of course.” He says with a serious face before turning back into his wicked expression as he takes your hand in his. “I do hope we see eachother again soon. (Y/n)…” He slowly empathizes your name in a low voice, sending shivers up your spine, before placing a kiss to your hand.

You gulp before responding. “I look forward to it. Eris…” His name rolls off your tongue in a whispery breath and you notice how it makes his breath quicken and eyes darken.

You rush through the crowd towards the exit, looking back only once to Eris who has not taken his eyes off you. You feel the pull in your chest again as your eyes connected for a long moment before you find the strength to look away and leave the palace.

The days following felt like a blur. You tried to ignore them but your thoughts remained full of Eris, somehow still deeply under his spell even though he was nowhere near you. You could not stop thinking of everything about that enchanting night, about that enchanting man, your… mate. Whom you desperately yearned to see again.

*

I imagine the final dance to this song ~

PART TWO

PART THREE