hattiewritesalot

[hattiewritesalot]

the sweetest lucien fanfiction I’ve ever read 💖💖 mesmerised

Double A Misfit

Lucien x Reader Fluff

Summary: It's a snowy day in Velaris, yet you can only think about the Autumn Court male who burned a fire in your blood.

Warnings: mutual pining (can someone tell me if I'm using this term correctly idek)

A/N: This is my first ever ACOTAR piece. I'm a bit nervous about this because I knew I wanted to write, but there was nothing in my brain really.... yeah. Also, I know this is way past the holidays, but it's snowing here so.

•--•

Gentle. The fall of the snow outside of your window was gentle. The snowflakes laid soft kisses on the ground, crowding together, a family reborn into foreign membranes. It was beautiful, a symbol of the changing seasons, uniquely precious to Velaris.

You watched alone, a fire burning in the hearth in front of you. Fire licked into the open air, searching for something to embrace its heat more closely. Though the beauty of the cold drew you in, your heart seemed to cry the same way that the fire did. Warm bodies felt cold when lonely, as yours did.

It struck you then, the same way your yearning did every winter. An intense want for the same thing your friends had. You had considered that you were simply the problem, that you never could stick anywhere. Even Amren, cold and caved in when she wasn't content, seemed to inhale the same love that everyone else did, breathing it back out into the group.

Yet, somehow, you never stuck the same.

Maybe that's exactly why you sat here, watching the snow, sympathizing with the fire, while a pile of presents sat on your table. Wrapped with a delicate hand, a bow placed on top of each, and his name written in cursive on a tiny sticker.

He left tomorrow for the Spring Court. He left tomorrow, for Tamlin, that kindness in his heart unwavering. He showed that same, gentle kindness towards you, a clone to the fire that reached out it's fingers. When his hands touched yours, a warmth spread, yet a soft chill soothed deeper than surface level.

Lucien was a dream. You had decided that the moment you met him. The hard lines of his face, cut from cinnamon and bark, yet structured through the very sun which tanned his skin. The plains of his face, sharp, but also smooth like a baby blanket. His eyes, soft in every nature, sucked you in, leaving you breathless.

Gods, everything about him was made with a precision, one that was built to make you fall to your knees.

The knock at your door was enough to startle you to your feet, brushing off the size-too-big brown sweater you wore, sleeves threatening to swallow your hands with every movement. Your blush seemed to glow brighter, ashamed at being caught in a daydream.

Socks slipping as you started for the door, you combed a hand through your hair. It wasn't usual that you were greeted so late at night.

Opening the door, a stinging cold burned at your eyes, brushing past your legs with the irritation of being denied entrance. If you didn't know any better, you would've thought the wind was trying to sweep your visitor inside as well. "Trying" ended up being a fleeing word, the lanky body standing in front of you allowing himself in before the cold could nip at your limbs any longer.

You sent out a 'thank you' to the wind, a howl against your window its only response.

"Lucien," you breathed, shocked at his sudden appearance.

He smiled at you, warming the room with the shine of his teeth. The light from the fireplace cast an orange hue onto his honeyed skin, your heart skipping a beat, every feature hightlighted by the cast shadows. The straight edge of his nose, the way his lips spread over his-

"I was thinking about you," he remarked, unlacing his boots with a calm fluidity, "I wanted to stop by before I left tomorrow. Didn't need you missing all my greatness."

You rolled your eyes, hearing the obvious smirk in his tone, even with his head down.

You stepped back to watch him, unlacing the other boot and kicking it off, standing themselves at attention on your door mat. He shrugged off his coat, revealing a green turtleneck which hugged his arms, alluding to the lean yet broad nature of his chest, tucked into black dress pants. His hair, a glowing shade of red, still had snowflakes in it.

He ran his hand through the front part of that sea of autumn, shaking off some of those flakes. You watched, lips pressed together, keeping composure as he took a few steps before plopping himself down on your couch.

It never failed to shake you, the way he was so comfortable in your place of rest. It spread a heat through you all the same, like the flames were reaching for your heart at his mere existence.

Out of everyone, he had always shown interest in your space.

In you.

You walked over, not noting the way his eyes watched you intently, sitting beside him. His one legs was stretched out across the cushions, forcing you to lift it up, scooting underneath and allowing it to rest across your lap. You never touched people much, though it was not foreign to be physically connected to Lucien.

It was a problem, as it was also a blessing.

"Usually you're happy to see me," he teased.

You rolled your eyes, again, "I am happy to see you, that doesn't mean you aren't obnoxious."

He relaxed a bit, arms spreading over the back of the couch, "There's that little spark."

A silence took over the room. It was familiar, recognizable. Except, this time, it snuck into each breath a little differently, like a hint of something else existed within that silence. Your eyes looked anywhere but his, but his laid on you, drinking in every ounce he could get.

Your fingers twitched, reminding you of the icebreaker that existed right under your nose. You snatched up the pile of presents, setting it on the leg that was laid out on your lap.

"I have presents for you. I meant to find you before you left for Spring, but I... lost track of time."

Lucien breathed in deeply, starting at the three boxes. For him. He moved his leg off your lap, at attention, sitting in a stance that was more serious than the previous. Summoning those he had left at his house in self-consciousness, presents with a shiny yellow and auburn paper sat in his own lap. Your name written on every one.

Surprise played on your features, not expecting gifts from him. You should have guessed in the end, knowing Lucien and his heart. He always looked out for you. He was one of your kind; a stray without a definite home. A wanderer that made a name for himself, as well as a family.

"You first," you whispered, handing him the top present.

Lucien held it, lithe fingers finding purchase in the folds of the present, ripping the soft silver paper, revealing a small box. Lifting the lid, there sat a broach, a deep brown with hues of orange, reminiscent of his own mother's eyes. You knew, having been lucky enough to see the woman that shared such a love for Lucien as you did. Yet, the love you gave was on another level deeper than hers. Hidden and deep-seated, thriving just to be near him, begging your hands to grab him, have him in any ways tangible.

"It's beautiful," he breathed, looking up at you, russet eye reaching out like a siren call.

"There's more," you nudged the next one towards him, blushing at the close attention he paid to every movement.

Setting aside the box that held the broach, he resumed, tearing into the present, met with another plain box. He took it apart, mechanical eye whirring with excitement as his human one flashed excitement.

"A cloak. Gods, how did you know this was the one I wanted?" he asked, smiling wide, "I just saw this in the shop the other day."

You smiled, body curling in on itself at his joy. You pushed the last one to him, feeling bad for interrupting his joy, but shyness crept in at his reactions.

Behind the layer of wrapped paper was a large shoebox, thick cardboard, without detail. He opened the lid, pushing aside the paper that surrounded what was hiding beneath. Boots. A pair identical to the ones he had complained about having to throw away months prior. They were specially designed in the Spring Court, which pushed you to travel and meet with the maker. It took a while before you had heard news of success from the man, but it came nevertheless.

You remembered his face when he realized he would have to get a new pair. You swore at that moment you had never seen a look more devastating. A vow you made yourself; you would never allow him to look that way as long as you could help it. So you left the next day, using diplomacy as your excuse.

Lucien's eyes flicked to yourself, full and beautiful. His soft, burnt umber eyelashes framing them in such a damning beauty you knew for him to die, that beauty could never exist again. Glossy, he blinked away moisture that filled the orbs beneath.

"Where did you get these?" he asked, exasperated.

You blushed. "I had them replicated. The shoemaker was flattered that they had been so well-loved."

He released a shaky breath, striking your heart all the same.

"How do you expect me to live up to these?" he asked, a shy grin taking over his face, "My gifts seem pathetic."

You shook your head, chin low, "I doubt anything you give me could seem 'pathetic.'"

His eyes captured yours again, taken from the sight of his boots. You felt important when he looked at you, like a flower in a glass case, protected and yet shining through.

He set down his boots, as if they no longer mattered, attention fixed as he placed a present in your lap. Your hands tore through, savoring the intricate design and the time placed into wrapping these. Had he thought of you the whole time, like you did while wrapping his?

Except, you had thought of him the whole time you spent wrapping everyone's gifts. You never seemed to stop thinking about him.

Similar to the one that had held his cloak, you unboxed the one in your lap, peeling back paper to see a soft cream sweater. But, holding it up, you gaze at the design. A running fox, knit in the top right of it, directly above your breast, the back holding a similar design, yet the creature sitting upright. The soft texture almost made you angry, knowing it wouldn't be appropriate to wear it every day.

"Lucien."

He hummed in response, questioning your call of his name.

"It's so beautiful," you looked up at him, love seeping from your pores.

His whole face went a shade deeper, pointy ears pulling back. He had no words, handing you another. You opened it with the same grace, finding a small box, one that left you clueless as to what it could hold. You looked up at Lucien, seeing the way that he chewed on the skin inside his cheek. Lifting the lid with a small shake, the bottom half fell into your hand, gaze drawn to the necklace inside.

You couldn't have guessed how much Lucien made from Rhysand weekly, but with his frequent absence, you imagined this cut a chunk. A gold, dainty chain trailed down to what was centered; a teardrop pendant, a diamond shining in the center, refracting the dim orange light that consumed the room. Paired with it were earrings, each with a matching teardrop shape that hung off the ear. They were-

"Gorgeous."

Lucien shifted, adjusting his hands only to rub them up and down the black of his pants. "Feyre had to help me pick them out."

You smiled to yourself, catching his stare. A nervousness that you didn't catch much darkened his cheeks.

You quirked an eyebrow, "Is everything okay, Lucien?"

He avoided your eyes, taking a deep inhale, his chest expanding with the breath. Watching it fall back out of his mouth, he began to speak.

"Y/n," his throat caught the way your name came out. He tried again, "Y/n. I have been... meaning to tell you this for quite some time now. I-" he took another deep breath, looking into your eyes.

"I have loved you since the very first moment I met you. The grace of knowing you fell upon me like a sword I had no choice but to use. Everything you are, and everything you have grown to become has enchanted me so deeply I don't feel I have the capacity to hold it in much longer."

Your jaw fell slack, watching as the stars in his words, in his posture, and in his confidence fell in line, brightening the world you had known.

"I can't breathe knowing you're not mine, but I know if you requested it say so, I would try to shed that part of myself to make you happy forevermore. To separate from you after every interaction is like tearing myself away from my very own soul. I do not think I can bear it much longer; the pain of not having you. I am yours, as wholly as I am my own," he bowed his head, "Without you, I feel half of myself has been lost to whatever Gods demanded you be created. And to be with you here drives me crazy, to know that I cannot hold you in my arms and share you with myself the way my body begs. I need you, and I have grown to known this. I need you deeper than just a friendship, than just a lover. I need you, in this deep string that tugs at my heart, pulling me till I come home; till I find you."

You felt it then. You had always felt it, but it had been muddy, confusing, and had misled you so many times. That fog cleared now, your mind registering exactly what it was -- that glowing golden string, existing only to keep Lucien tied to you.

It made so much sense, cleared out your mind and filled it with every memory and dream you had associated with the male in front of you.

It must've been what launched you at him as well.

Your hands cupped the face of your mate, bringing your lips to his own. Like a mould crafted to fit your own, your mouth fit like a missing puzzle piece. Smooth, warm lips embraced your own, sharing a dance that seemed to spill a power into that bond, its glow burning brighter than the sun in which Helion commanded. Every movement was met with a hunger, one emerging from the years it took you to survive the Autumn Court in which you had met and find him in the Night Court in which you not resided. Centuries of waiting, of reaching into the darkness beyond your eyelids and finding him without his casual heat.

You pulled back, slow as you let your lips cling to each other, forgetting to resist the urge to plunge back into him as you pressed another kiss to his mouth. You lost your mind in that cavern between you, balancing on that rope, folding into each other.

He murmured against your lips, "Y/n."

You only allowed yourself enough space to separate your mouths, resting your forehead against his. Your thumb stroked the scar that cobwebbed under his left eye, capturing you in it's lure.

"Lucien. I could never deny you," you closed your eyes as you nudged your nose against his, reopening them, "I have loved you; this whole lifetime, I have loved you. Even before I knew of you, I loved what you were."

He smiled, a giddy, childish smile, caging the air in your lungs. A new vow, here and now;

Gods, you'd do anything to see him smile like that again.

•--•

[hattiewritesalot]

I am obsessed with your writing it’s so so good😭 Can you please wrote an azriel x reader x Eris story? I need all the SMUT AND ANGST and triad bond goodness 🥰🥰🥵 IK whatever you do will SLAY😍

babygirl……… ask and you shall RECEIVE

Ménage à Trois?

Azriel x fem!reader x Eris

Summary: Uh oh. Y/N has found herself stuck with two (unbearable gorgeous, unbearable frustrating) mates. Whatever will she do.

Warnings: Y/N is stressed and horny and aren’t we all. Bit of angst in the beginning due to Azriel and Eris fighting, swearing, threesome (mmf), double penetration, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it guys), spanking, spanking, fire play (??), subspace, but lots of cutie pie fluff and aftercare at the end. MINORS DNI!!!

A/N: I wrote this and then Tumblr crashed and I lost it. I cried. And then rewrote it. Enjoy!! 

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The Mother, it seems, doesn’t like you much. 

Not only has she bestowed upon you two mates, two males who desire your unadulterated affection and attention, but those two males hate the other, with every inkling in their gorgeous bodies.

Azriel. Spymaster of the Night Court.

Eris. Heir to the Autumn Court.

Things couldn’t be any worse.

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You’re hunched over the kitchen counter, eyes closed, chin resting on your hand, listening to your two beloved mates argue. It’s never ending - in the mornings, they argue, in the afternoons, they argue, in the evenings, guess what? More arguing.

Nesta had been standing with you, a comforting hand wrapped around yours, but you’d quietly asked her to leave, needing to process your own thoughts.

You open your eyes. You look first to Azriel, with his folded arms and flared wings. And then to Eris, with his curled lip and clenched fists. Your eyes well up with tears.

“You’ll stay away from my mate, Vanserra.” Azriel snarls. Eris tuts, rolling his eyes.

“Our mate, Shadowsinger. The Mother may be cruel, but she’s made herself very clear.”

“Yes. Very clear, and somehow even crueller, tying me to a male like you.”

Eris scoffs. “If you’re not happy, Shadowsinger, feel free to leave. We’ll do just fine without you.”

“If you seriously think I’m going to leave Y/N in your vile hands-“

“Enough!” You cry, storming out from behind the counter. The two males jolt at your outburst, staring at you like two scolded children.

“Holy shit, you two! You’re standing here arguing over me like I’m some kind of- of dog toy for you to simply chew up and throw around and play with whenever you deem necessary, acting like I’m not even real!” You choke on a sob. “But have you once considered that I might be affected by this too!?”

Azriel dips his head, guilty and ashamed. Eris averts his gaze.

“No. Of course you didn’t. You were both too preoccupied with your feelings, and your wants, and your needs, bickering like schoolboys instead of focusing on your mate!” 

You bury your face in your hands, and Azriel moves to you, pulling you into his chest, running a scarred hand along your back. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, voice low. “It was selfish of us… to ignore you so blatantly. You lean into him, his musky scent of cedar and mist. 

Eris rolls his eyes. “Selfish of you, you mean.” Azriel growls. Eris bares his teeth back. You glare at the redhead.

He looks at you, and admits defeat, sighing and stepping closer, gently wiping your face with a warm palm. “Azriel is…” He wrinkles up his nose, and swallows his pride. “…right. We’ve been selfish. I’m sorry, beauty.” He presses the lightest of kisses to your temple.

You nod, closing your eyes again, silently trying to ignore the way being between these two men is sending electric shocks to your core, because this is seriously not the time for that.

“What can we do to make it up to you, sweet girl?” Azriel grumbles, soft and apologetic. You blink, and look up at him, and then at Eris.

Your lips twitch. Maybe this is the time for that.

“…for me? Really?” You look between them again. The heir to Autumn tilts his chin up, cocking a suspicious brow.

“Of course. Anything for you.”

You’re quiet for a moment, before you decide that, fuck it, there could be an advantage to all of this. One of your hands rubs up Eris’ chest, the other moving down to Azriel’s crotch. “Anything, you say?”

---------------------------------------------------------------

“That’s it-“ Azriel clutches a fistful of your hair, bucking into your mouth, groaning. “Shit. That’s it. Take my cock like a good girl.” You’re on your knees, needy as you suck his length, spit oozing down the corners of your mouth.

Eris chuckles from behind you, his dick so deep inside you that you swear you can feel it brushing your cervix. You’ve heard about Autumn men and their extraordinary skills in bed, and, Cauldron boil you, the rumours are true, and you’re silently regretting ever doubting them. A ring of fire is curled around your wrists, holding them behind your back as Eris’ hips drill into you. He gropes the flesh of your ass, and you moan around Azriel’s cock.

You’ve never felt so… full.

“How does she look, Shadowsinger?” He purrs, lusty voice a smooth drawl, like smoke trickling down your back. “How does our girl look, taking both of us like this?”

“She looks fucking gorgeous.” Azriel grunts, wings stretching and flaring, head tipping back, exposing his throat as it bobs. You look up at him through your lashes, and he tugs at your hair. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, getting her holes filled.”

Eris coos, landing a harsh spank to your ass that has your pussy clenching. His hips pound harder. “She feels good. Nice and wet. Such a good girl.” He spanks you again. “You hear that, beauty? You like knowing you’re all pretty and wet for your two mates?”

You moan around Azriel’s length. One of his shadows is rubbing and pinching at your clit with just as much fervour as Eris’ movements. You squeak, and your legs start to quiver, and you know you’re getting close.

Eris grins. “I think our girl wants to come. Can feel her getting all tight around my cock.” He looks up at Azriel, cocking his head. “What d’you say? Think we should let ‘er come?”

Azriel looks down at you. You bob your head, laving your tongue over his member obediently, whining around him, as if pleading him to let you come. He strokes your cheek, and then taps it, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get your attention. “Don’t know. Has she deserved it?”

You squeal, and moan around him in defiance. Azriel grins, looking up at Eris, who laughs, the two males appreciating such a glorious display. If you weren’t teetering dangerously close to the edge of the most intense orgasm you’ll ever experience, you’d probably clap, because they’re finally, finally getting along.

Eris clicks his tongue, and then he tilts his head at your other mate. Azriel takes one look at your fluttering lashes and arched back, and nods to Eris.

The Autumn male grips you tightly, then, pelvis drilling into you urgently, panting, taunting that sweet spot inside of you. Azriel pats your cheek again, pulling your hair, leaning his head down as he bucks into your mouth. “Yeah, you gonna come for us, sweet girl? Go on then. Come for us. I want to see Vanserra’s cock covered in your pretty cum by the time we’re done with you.”

And you snap. You’re completely gone. You don’t even compute what’s going on, eyes rolling back, vision going black as your orgasm crashes into you, hot and dark and every inch how incredible your two males are. You barely even hear Eris groan as he empties his seed into you, or Azriel hiss as he spills down your throat, just about managing to swallow his release before your muscles go slack and your conscious leaves you. Azriel mumbles something to Eris as he gingerly pulls out of your mouth, cradling your lolling head and guiding it to the pillow, before climbing off the bed. Eris releases your wrists from their fiery restraints, rubbing your spine as he eases out of you, helping you lie down on the bed.

You exhale shakily. You don’t know how you’re still awake right now. Your limbs are numb and tingling, your vision blurred, your mind swimming and swirling with nothing but Azriel, Eris, Azriel, Eris….

A cold, wet cloth is pressed between your limp legs, Azriel gentle as he cleans your aching pussy, his other scarred hand resting on your thigh. Eris’ naked body climbs into bed, pulling you into him. His skin runs hot and smells like a bonfire, and you subconsciously lean into it, frame limp against his toasty skin. His lips brush your hairline, warm hand cradling your cheek.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, beauty.” He murmurs, eyes swimming with something suspiciously close to concern. “Need to make sure you’re back to yourself before you sleep, okay? Keep those eyes open f’ me.” Despite your exhaustion, you nod. He kisses you. “That’s m’ girl.”

Azriel discards the cloth, and climbs up on your other side, hand splayed over your lower back. The three of you sit in silence like that for some time, before you blink, swallowing. The spymaster’s head tips up. “You back to us, sweetheart?”

You manage a breathy laugh, and nod. Eris, brows still furrowed, purses his lips at you. “Out loud, please, beauty. Need to hear you say you’re okay.”

Your voice is hoarse from lack of use, throat sore from being stuffed and emptied in. “I’m okay-“ You croak, and cough, trying to clear your throat. Azriel rubs your back. Eris strokes your hair. You swallow, and look at the redhead, and then the Illyrian. “I’m okay. Sore, and shaky, but okay.”

They nod, finally content with your verbal confirmation. Eris taps your temple. “Good. Now get some sleep. You’re going to hate us in the morning, when you can’t walk or talk.” He smirks.

Azriel snorts, shaking his head. You grin, eyes already fluttering, and melt into the heir’s warm skin, fumbling behind you for your other mate’s hand, intertwining your fingers. Then, and only then, are you able to succumb to sleep, sandwiched between your two males.

And the next morning? When you wake, still wrapped in their comforting embrace? Cheek pressed against Eris’ chest, hand still clutched in Azriel’s, their foreheads pressed together as they sleep, the latter’s huge wing draped over the two of you? You can’t help but smile, and settle again.

Things couldn’t be any better.

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bc let’s be real we’d all gladly take part in an Azriel-Eris sandwich

[hattiewritesalot]

I Despise You.

Eris Vanserra x fem!Archeron!reader

Summary: You despise Eris Vanserra. No, but seriously.

Warnings: MDNI!!!!!! smut below the cut, piv, rough sex, spanking, spitting, hair pulling… 😃 lowkey a bit of a plot twist at the end

A/N: This one’s been in the vault for a very long time and I’m only now posting it - I’ve literally never written smut before but here we are. Pls do not interact if you’re a minor pls and thank you.

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“I despise you.” 

Eris fucking Vanserra. You hate him, every inch of him, from his auburn hair to his russet eyes to his cocky smirk. The male infuriates you.

Your journey as a fae has correlated with your younger sister Feyre's, the two of you having been turned at the same time, trapped in the Spring Court at the same time, taken to the Night Court at the same time.

You first met Eris-asshole-Vanserra when you were running away with Feyre and Lucien, and he showed up with a few other of the Vanserra brood to try and cause you, if anything, a massive inconvenience.

He'd been disgustingly, horrifyingly, devilishly gorgeous back then. He's even more so now that you've had time to grow accustomed to his face.

He grins at you. “You flatter me, Archeron. Such a way with words.”

“Get out of my way. Go and have your meeting with Rhys, I don’t care. Just leave me be.” You grumble, pushing past him. His fingers latch around your wrist, tugging you to a halt.

“Don’t be so hasty, darling. Wouldn’t you like to stay for a chat?”

“With you?” You scoff, and bare your teeth at him. “I’d rather boil in the Cauldron for all eternity.”

His eyes darken. “Careful.” He drawls. “One day, that attitude will be your downfall. You could get in all sorts of trouble for that.”

You almost laugh. “And who are you? My fucking master?” You look him up and down, and glare at him. “Now you take your asshole hand off my wrist, and leave me be, Vanserra. My attitude is none of your concern.”

He narrows his eyes, and cocks a brow. “Isn’t it?”

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And that is how you find yourself bent over one of the tables in the library, the Autumn Court heir’s pelvis slapping against your ass, the wet sounds echoing around the empty room.

“Not so bold now, are you, sweet girl?” He breathes into your ear, words drowned out by your moans as he pounds into you, hands gripping your hips. His glorious cock, possibly the only part of him you like, is hitting that one sweet spot inside of you, and you’d be lying if you said you’d ever felt this much pleasure before. “So fucking wet for me. Shiiiiit.”

One of his hands wraps in your hair, yanking it back so his lips can attach to your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin. “Where’s that attitude gone?” He nips your pulse point. “Thought you despised me.” 

His hips slam faster. You cry out pathetically, eyes rolling back, a sob of his name escaping you. He coos. “There it is, baby. Right there, huh? You like this? You like getting the attitude fucked out of you by a male you despise?” And you whine, nodding, jaw going slack.

“Good fucking slut.” He sucks at your neck, landing a harsh spank to your ass, chest pressed flush against your back. You moan at his words, and he grins. “Yeah? Is that right? Are you my good fucking slut?” He spanks you again. You gasp, because, Cauldron boil you, you’re about to come harder than you ever have before, and he knows. Of course he does. 

He’s getting close too. You can feel it in the way his groans are getting breathier, and his pace is hastening. He hisses. “Fuck. Cauldron boil me, I love this pussy. All mine.” His hand comes down against your ass again, but this time, he gropes the flesh, growling. “Look at me, baby.”

You manage to turn your head, looking at him over your shoulder with lidded eyes. He cradles your jaw, parts your lips, and spits in your mouth. “Swallow.” He snarls, voice low and raspy. You shatter.

You barely have time to warn him before you’re toppling over the edge, a noise nearer to a shriek escaping you as your orgasm hits you like a freight train, hot and loud and the best fucking thing you’ve ever felt. Your body slumps against the desk. Good timing too, because his hot seed is coating your walls, and his grip on you is loosening, sweat dripping down his forehead as he comes down from his high. 

You stay like that for a few minutes, before he huffs, pressing the gentlest of kisses to the back of your neck, and pulls out of you. You slump to the floor, your shared releases pooling out of you, glaring at him through your lashes as he dresses.

He smooths his hair back, and looks at you. “Same time next week?”

You scoff. “I despise you.”

His eyes twinkle. He grins at you. “So you claim.”

And then he’s gone, sauntering out of the room, and you can’t help laughing, closing your eyes. 

You love these secret meetings with your mate.

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what I wouldn’t do to be bent over by Eris Vanserra smh

[hattiewritesalot]

Drowning

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

Summary: Kaz Brekker and Y/N L/N are thick as thieves. Literally. Having worked together since childhood, they understand each other to a level that almost frightens the other crows… so what happens when they have an argument?

Warnings: Mentions of the menagerie and Kaz’s broken leg, reader’s arm gets broken, reader is a pain in the ass but we love her because same, reader takes a nice little swim

A/N: this is (I think) my first time writing for Kaz ???? he’s so broody so this was so different for me lol. Also this is my third post in three days idk what’s going on

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Your feet are light, a spring in your step as you pad into the Crow Club, grinning. Immediately, Nina is tutting at you, but you shush her, and set down the string of diamonds Kaz had asked for, as well as the official certificate from their maker. “Your majesty’s gems, as per his humble request.” You curtsy mockingly to Kaz, who shoots you a look, and inspects your findings.

You still remember the day you met Kaz.

Your father is discussing business with Jakob Hertzoon, and you’re curled up on the floor, playing with dollies Hertzoon’s daughter Saskia had left behind. Footsteps enter your line of vision, and then big brown eyes are blinking at you. He points to the dolls. “Yours?” You shake your head. He sits cross-legged in front of you.

His head tips up as a taller boy wanders into Hertzoon’s living room. He grins a toothy smile at you, pointing. “That’s my brother Jordie.” Then he thrusts his hand out, chin tipped up. “And I’m Kaz.”

You find yourself giggling, taking his hand and shaking it eagerly. “And I’m Y/N.”

Despite all that has happened, all that has become of you and Kaz Rietveld, you’ll never forget the bright-eyed boy who’d been so eager to make your acquaintance.

“Very good, spitfire.” Kaz drawls affirmatively, brows furrowed in that analysing way you’ve seen him do so often. The nickname came from a time you once took on an Inferni, and ended up with burnt clothes and singed hair, spitting out ash. Kaz had found it terribly funny, of course he had-

“And now your arm?” He looks up at you, gaze scrutinising. You stare at him, fighting the urge to gape. You open your mouth to speak. He cuts you off.

“You walked in with it tucked behind your back, and handed me your findings with your left hand, when you always give it to me with your right, so your other can rest on your hip. Show me your arm, Y/N.”

You shoot a wary look to Nina, who holds her hands up in surrender, and then to Jesper, who’s barely hiding a snort, and then you brace yourself, and hold out your arm.

You’d taken a nasty tumble jumping from the building, the alarms blaring and the guards shouting, and you’d landed hard on your right arm. You’d ran after that, not even taking a moment to dwell on it, though, now looking at it, you’re starting to feel a bit woozy.

The bone at your elbow is sticking out at an odd angle, the flesh around it swelling and turning an unnatural shade of purple.

Kaz is on his feet instantly, shooting you a look that to anyone would be nothing but scalding, but you can detect the worry brewing beneath it. “Nina.” He says sharply, and immediately, she rushes to you, gently urging you into a chair and kneeling by your injured arm.

‘I’m sorry,’ you mouth to Kaz. He ignores you.

His gloved hand trails over the table, tapping rhythmically, the other gripping his cane. “Tomorrow,” He announces, “I’m going to need someone to break into Pekka’s office and plant these in a sufficient spot, as well as lead a trail for the stadwatch to find.”

You look up at him, and shrug with the arm that isn’t being healed by your trusty heartrender friend. “I’ll do it. I know that office better than anyone.” You grin at Jesper, who shoots you a wink and twirls a gun. “I’ll bust right in there, plant those suckers, and-“

“You won’t, because you won’t be going.” Kaz’s voice is stern. Final.

You stare at him. This mission has your name written all over it, surely. He doesn’t meet your gaze. “You’re injured, and you’ve exerted yourself. I’ll send Inej.”

“You’re kidding.” You stare at him, and stand, despite Nina’s protests. “Kaz, tell me you’re kidding.”

“Have you known me to kid, Y/N?” He scans the certificate on the table. Your fist clenches.

“Come on. You can’t be serious. Kaz, I’ll be fine. I’ll have Nina set my arm, and I’ll sleep. This mission will be a piece of cake for me.” “Are you doubting Inej’s talents?” He tuts. He’s being mean.

“Of course not.” You snarl, walking closer. “Are you doubting mine?”

Everyone has gone silent, watching the exchange. They’ve never seen you and Kaz argue, not when you’re usually so close. Is that why Kaz can’t look you in the eye?

“You’re being melodramatic.”

“Answer the question.”

He only huffs, leather-clad hand flexing around the crow-head of the cane. “I don’t doubt you, Y/N. You know that, don’t be foolish. But you’re injured, and you’ve had a long day. You’ll have Nina set your arm, and you’ll sleep, as you said, and then you’ll rest until you’re back on your feet again.”

“I am fine!” You shout.

“Your arm is broken, Y/N! You are a liability!”

“For fuck’s sake, look at me!” You snap, slamming your left hand onto the table. His words sting. His doubt stings more.

Slowly, silently, he looks up at you, glaring at you from under his eyelashes. For a few moments, you could hear a pin drop. Nina has a hand clamped over her mouth, and Wylan has one clamped over his eyes. Jesper is chugging another glass of whiskey. Matthias is quietly watching the exchange, eyes flitting to Inej, who’s perched on the stairs, face peeking through the bannisters.

“Y/N.” His voice is harsh, cold. “You’re not going on that mission whether you like it or not. You’re not a child. Stop acting like one. Leave.”

You stare at him for a long minute, trying desperately to fight back the hot tears pricking at your lashline. You swallow, and scoff, barely able to choke out a response. “Gladly.” Is all you can manage, and you storm out, boots thunking against the floor.

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You’ve been walking since, marching through the streets of Ketterdam like someone has a death wish, though you’re not sure whether it’s one of the many people you have a vendetta against, or yourself.

You’re angry, of course you are, frustrated with being rendered useless by someone you held so close and dear to your heart-

This is what this is about. You’re upset. Almost a decade of friendship and this is how he repays you. The logical part of your brain is telling you that he was correct, that he’s only trying to protect you and ensure you have a safe recovery. The emotional part of your brain tells it to shut up.

You end up on the harbour, toes touching the edge of the pier, eyes closing as you breathe in the Ketterdam air, filled with smoke and secrecy. You’re drowning in your heartache, miserable from your fight with Kaz. You don’t fight often. You bicker over books and drinks, but you don’t fight. You’re his strongest soldier, his fiercest friend, his right-hand-woman when times get tough.

“‘ello there, pretty.” The voice from behind you is raspy, like coal scraping against stone. You turn quickly, left hand moving to your dagger. The man is scraggly, ugly - one of Pekka’s men, it’s clear to see. He grins at you with crooked teeth. “Well, well, well. ‘ave I caught myself a mermaid or what?”

You glare at him. “You’d do well to leave me be.” You tip your chin up, and his eyes narrow at you.

“I’ve seen your face before. Tell me where I’ve seen it.”

“Not at the Menagerie, I’ll tell you that much. Leave me be.” You hiss, and bare your dagger, positioning yourself to disguise your injured arm. You knew you should’ve let Nina patch it up before you ran.

The man goes quiet. And then he chuckles, low and hoarse. “Oh, but I ‘ave seen your face. You’re one of Brekker’s, aren’t you? His little whore.”

You snarl, twirling your dagger, holding it to his neck. “Careful what you say to me. I didn’t get into Brekker’s gang without being good at my job.”

A lie. You blackmailed Kaz with an embarrassing crush he had on a coalsmith’s daughter if he didn’t let you into the little club he was creating.

“We’ll call ourselves the crows.” He declares. You’re both fourteen. His leg is outstretched, wrapped up as it heals from his nasty fall. One of the healers says he’ll never walk the same. Your own knees are pulled up to your chest. You squint at him. “Crows? Seriously?” He glares at you. You miss the days when he’d smile so often. “It’s symbolic, spitfire.” “Of what? Teenage angst?” He kicks you with his good foot. You laugh.

You glower at the man, who chuckles and holds his hands up, taking a step back. “A’right, a’right. You got me there, pretty.”

But just as you nod and tuck your dagger away, he sneers at you. “But if you’re so good at your job, pretty, why are you sporting a broken arm?” You don’t have time to comprehend what he’s just said. Not as he lurches forward, yanks on your bad arm, and uses it to slam against your chest. A scream of Kaz’s name barely leaves your lips before your senses are overtaken by the cold, salty depths of the Ketterdam sea.

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“Boss!?” Jesper pants, eyes wide, hands on his knees.

Kaz is, understandably, in a foul mood. He was only trying to look after you, because it’s not an unknown fact that you don’t even look after yourself. He glares at Jesper. “Have you never been taught to knock?”

“Not the time for niceties, Kaz.” He heaves, and stands up straight. Kaz surveys him. His fingers are twitching. His eyes are glassy. His throat bobs. The Bastard stands.

“Jesper?”

“Kaz.” He croaks. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

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was lowkey thinking about the out of the woods music video while writing this 😔

[hattiewritesalot]

Chatterbox

Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: A discussion between Rhys and Feyre regarding the interesting dynamic between their friends.

Warnings: Reader is a certified yapper and drinks wine, mention of Feyre’s life after the Spring Court, Feyre MEANS WELL I PROMISE don’t hate my girl 😔

A/N: in my acotar era icl girlies. I write for almost everyone so pls send requests if you have any 😛

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“They’re so different.” Is the first thing Feyre can think to blurt, tilting her head at the couple, eyes narrowed, not in scrutiny, rather in… curiosity. Rhys chuckles, petting her hand. She’s not wrong.

Azriel and Y/N couldn’t be less alike. She hails from the Summer Court, all flowing hair and bright eyes and beams of light in her smile and her words. She’s sunshine in a jar, or perhaps in a bottle of lemonade, prone to bubbling and fizzing whenever she deems it necessary. Azriel is all brooding looks and closed lips. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His shadows swirl around the armchair he’s sitting in. They weave around his mate’s limbs, playing with her hair as she chatters.

She’s curled up on his lap, kicking her feet, yapping on and on and on about this and that and who knows what. Azriel watches her, not a trace of boredom in his features, just watching her face and her mouth as she babbles on and on.

Y/N is one of the first people Feyre met upon coming to the Night Court. She’d been thin, depressed, a shell of herself, and Y/N had come right up to her, holding her hands and beaming, telling her just how strong she was. She hadn’t judged her when she’d bawled. She’d make food, and insist Feyre to be the first to try it, because ‘You’re the guest, sweet pea!’. Feyre hadn’t realised it at the time, but Y/N had done it on purpose, something she only noticed when spotting her triumphant smile upon Feyre gaining weight again.

She was sunshine. Complete and utter sunshine. Smiles and winks and giggles and waves to whoever would listen.

And Azriel?

Darkness personified, and not just by the shadows swirling around his feet and in his mate’s hair. He’s quiet, brooding, secretive in a way that is only becoming of a spymaster. Even when paired with Cassian, boisterous and bold, he’s as silent and as deadly as his title of ‘shadowsinger’ suggests.

Feyre pulls her gaze away, looking at her mate as he speaks. “They’re exactly what the other needs.” Rhys hums, squeezing her fingers. She purses her lips, eyes squinting, still coming to grips with this whole ‘mate’ business. Her and Rhys work. Do Y/N and Azriel? Azriel is quiet, concise, solitary. Y/N is a chatterbox. Does he not think she’s too much? Does she not think he’s not enough?

“Now, now, Feyre darling.” Rhys drawls, shooting her a look. “Play nice.” She blinks, and flushes. “No! No, I didn’t mean it like that- stop looking in my head!” She scowls, and her mate laughs.

She looks back at the pair, Y/N only taking a pause when she sips from her glass of wine. Azriel mumbles something to her, and she laughs, cheeks glowing and eyes crinkled.

And Feyre sees it then - the subtleties of the moment despite the exuberance of it all. The way Azriel watches her. The way Y/N’s fingers fiddle with his scarred ones absentmindedly. The way her face lights up as she laughs. The way Azriel’s own eyes brighten when he makes her do so.

“I think I get it now.” She whispers to Rhys. “He could never find her… overbearing. She’s his. He adores her. She adores him just as much. She doesn’t mind how quiet he is. She’s happy to fill the space.” She looks to him. “Right?”

Rhysand doesn’t respond.

“Right?” Feyre presses, brows furrowed.

Her mate shrugs. “I couldn’t tell you, Feyre darling. The truth is, I’ve never quite understood them myself. All I know is that my brother is happy, happy as I’ve never seen him before, and I’m content.”

The High Lady goes quiet, and looks at Azriel and Y/N. One of his large scarred hands is gently stroking the exposed skin of her waist, and he’s looking at her like she’s the sun that shines through his window every morning, like she’s the wind that breezes through his hair and wings when he flies, like she’s the sole purpose for his existence. His mate. His chatterbox.

She grins. She’s never agreed with Rhysand more.

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i myself am also a chatterbox so where’s my azriel pls and thank you

[hattiewritesalot]

Silence

Lucien Vanserra x shy!fem!reader

Summary: Lucien has a mate. Hooray! Lucien’s mate is incredibly shy. Booooo!

Warnings: Reader is very shy, to the point where she doesn’t talk. I know some people don’t like that but I thought the dynamic would work well with someone as suave and charming as our Lucien.

A/N: going through a very rough time atm but I’m living !!! and I love Lucien so much. Also this is set before the events of ACOTAR, hence why Andras is mentioned - he’s still alive :3

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He watches you from where you’re curled up in the library, sprawled out under the sun like a cat. There’s a pillow beneath your head, and your eyes are closed, but you aren’t sleeping. He knows you aren’t, because your fingers twitch. You’re just… being.

Lucien Vanserra is nervous. Lucien, one-eyed Lucien, the Spring Court’s clever emissary, one of Tamlin’s most trusted advisors… is nervous over his own mate.

It isn’t that simple, though.

You’re shy. Gentle, and quiet, and shy, and he has no idea to approach you, silently frightened you’ll scamper off like a little mouse. Sure, you’ve spoken before, and he’s ridden behind you when travelling, but he has absolutely no idea how to talk to you. He’s not gentle like Tamlin. He can’t read people like Andras. He’s absolutely, irrevocably, unbelievably terrified.

But this is his mate. His lifelong partner. The person whose life is intertwined to his with a golden thread of love and devotion. He’s waited centuries to meet you, to have her, to be hers in every sense of the word, and he’ll be damned if he gives it all up now. Jesminda would be bloody disappointed in him if he did.

And so, he walks in.

You don’t stir. He says your name quietly, and you squeak, jolting out of your rest. He winces. “Sorry- I-“ He takes a breath. “How has your day been?”

You blink at him. “…good.” 

Lucien stares at you blankly, golden eye whirring. Good? Good!? Mother above, he needs to keep this conversation going. This is a lot easier when the other participant enjoys being charmed. “Yeah. That’s- that’s good. Do anything fun today?” You shake your head. He’s about to hurl himself off a cliff. “…read any good books? Hey, why don’t you tell me about that one you’re reading?” He winks at you, shooting you a suave smirk.

You only blink, looking down shyly, and shake your head. His heart sinks. 

Slowly, hesitantly, he patters forward, kneeling in front of where you sit. He needs this. He needs you. Is it him? Is he the issue? “Please talk to me, sweet girl.” He murmurs, defeated and rejected. “Please. I- I just want to get to know you. Talk to you. Please talk to me.” He pleads.

And you do. “I don’t like talking.” You admit in a quiet little voice, wincing. “I- it makes me anxious. I have no idea how to- to keep a conversation going, or… talk to people, or…” You trail off, cheeks flaming in embarrassment, but Cauldron boil him, he gets it.

His shoulders sag. You don’t talk because you genuinely don’t want to. You stay quiet because it’s what most comfortable for you. All those times you’ve been by his side, silent as can be? Because you felt comfortable. He gets it now. He gets you.

He nods, and, instead of talking, he shuffles up into the spot next to you, and leans back just the way you were doing earlier, tucking an arm behind your head. You smile. This is better, you both think, you both agree. You close your eyes, still blushing shyly, and lean against his warm skin, the bond thrumming happily.

So no, he isn’t gentle like Tamlin. And no, he can’t read people like Andras. But he’s Lucien. And whether his mate needs a flirting session or utter silence, by the Cauldron, he’ll give it to her.

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Lucien is the best ACOTAR character feel free to fight me 👺👺👺

[hattiewritesalot]

yall how tf have I been on this app for three years 😭 ogs will remember my encanto phase

[hattiewritesalot]

Gevives (Beauty)

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

Summary: Jacaerys, ever the hard worker, is late to bed. Again. Luckily for him, you’re very forgiving.

Warnings: Reader and Jace have a daughter, one or two mentions of stress and overload, Jace being babygirl. Literally just fluff tbh

A/N: how’s it going lads im a little bit (very) in love with this pouty princess. I also wrote this at midnight for my sister so enjoy

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A soft sigh escapes you as the wooden chair creaks against the stone floor, rocking back and forth, lulling you and your sweet daughter as she snores, slumped against your chest.

She’s as loud as the day she was born, kicking and screaming as she was lowered into your arms for the first time, and now, thank the gods, she screams less. She has, however, taken after her father with her snoring, noisy enough to rumble Dragonstone itself. You’re not surprised - not entirely, at least. Little Rhaenyra has been a daddy’s girl since the moment Jace held her, since the moment her chubby fingers curled around his one, and he weeped into her downy head. It baffles you that that was so long ago - you can see the image as clear as day.

Speaking of your most beloved husband, he’s still not here. His tendency to overwork himself is shining through, and he’s all but locked himself in his study to sort through his papers and meetings and arrangements and everything boring that you sometimes have the urge to burn so maybe, just maybe, he’ll come to bed on time.

‘Perks of being the eldest son, my darling wife.’ He’d once grinned, amber eyes glinting in the sunlight with that twinkle of mischief you love so much. He’d kissed you, then, and slipped away to occupy himself with his duties.

You can’t be mad at him, not really, not when your heart is brimming with the love and devotion you have for your Jace. Not when you’re carding your fingers through your toddler’s dark curls as she dreams. It doesn’t stop you from being frustrated though. You hate it when he burns himself out like this, knowing all too well the way he crumbles when the day is done. You’ll always be there, though, to pick up the shards and put him back together again, knowing he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.

The door creaks open, and then it closes with a squeal of the hinges, and quiet footsteps patter behind you, Jace’s face peering around the rocking chair. He winces. “You’re awake?”

You cock a brow, shooting him a look. “Yes, I’m awake. And so are you.”

He sighs, then, pressing those full lips to your forehead and cradling your face, his free hand reaching down to stroke Rhaenyra’s hair. “I’m sorry, my wife. Everything is so… overwhelming right now. Some days I want to rip Aegon’s hair out, and some days I want to rip my own out.” 

“Please don’t. I quite like your pretty curls.”

“As you tell me so often, gevives.” Gevives. Beauty. Gods, this man has a chokehold on your heart.

“Perhaps I will find it in myself to forgive you.” You finally push up off your chair, cracking your back, groaning. “Remind me not to sit in that chair for too long.”

“I do remind you. You don’t listen.”

“You’re on thin ice, Velaryon.” 

You lower Rhaenyra into her cot, rocking it and shushing her gently when she squeaks. Jace’s hands curl around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “Our little princess.” He mumbles. “She’s perfect. Is she really ours?”

“Given that she snores like a bear and pouts all day, I’d say she is.”

He snorts. “I do not pout.” 

“He said, pouting.”

“You’re mean.” He turns you around, now, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. You love it when he’s this close, when you can count every freckle, every streak of gold and brown in his eyes, every curl. You smile at him. “You love it.”

He sighs dramatically, shaking his head, as if every word he speaks ails him. “Yes, yes I do. Gods save me from my cruel wife and her cruel ways.”

You scoff, but laughter bursts through it, pushing his shoulder and walking to the bed. “Fine. I guess you won’t be sleeping next to your cruel wife, then?” 

He’s scrambling out of his day clothes and under the covers before you can even fathom it, pulling you into his arms. He has the blood of the dragon, and runs hot when he sleeps. It’s nice on colder nights like this one, where you could bury yourself in his arms and never leave. His deft fingers trail up and down your spine, lips pressed against your hairline.

He calls you the beauty, but it is only because you are so infatuated with the man next to you. Every part of him; the sweet, gentlemanly parts, and the bitter, ugly parts; holds a dear place in the organ beating beneath your breast. Jacaerys Velaryon isn’t just your husband - he’s your best friend, your soul-mate (as the poets may say), and every time his fingers intertwine with yours, you like to think that your very beings intertwine too. You and Jace will find each other wherever you need to, for you know he is never far when he loves you so.

He sighs, nestling into your hair, and you gently kiss his jaw. “Promise me something, husband?”

He hums in response.

“Promise me you’ll take a break tomorrow?”

It takes him a long moment, but eventually, he swallows, nodding, body sagging against yours. “I’m sorry, I just-“

“Hush, I don’t need to hear it. I love you, alright? Even if you don’t show up to bed on time, even if you sometimes infuriate me with how much you put on yourself.”

He chuckles softly at that, pulling you in closer. “I adore you, my lady.”

You’re half-asleep by now, safe and content within the comfort of your lover’s arms. “Not as much as I adore you.”

You could have this argument for years, endless bickering of ‘I love you more’s, but you don’t. Not now, at least.

Now, you hold each other, falling asleep within the solidarity of your love.

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I actually like this sort of a tiny bit

[hattiewritesalot]

Jon Snow and Ygritte Best Scene

[hattiewritesalot]

you should write literally anything for jon snow, angst, fluff, whatever speaks to you 🤭🤭 — literally so inlove w that man

just a little blurb bc I'm in the mood

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"And-" Jon's deep voice comes to a halt, eyes flitting over the lovestruck expression on his wife's beautiful face. "Y/N. Darling. Sweetheart."

You blink on impact, shooting him a soft smile. "Hm?"

"Have you been listening to a word I say? This is important. If we're going to war, we need to- you're doing it again." You can't help but snort at the monotonous voice he puts on.

You don't mean to be so rude, not to Jon of all people, but... you just can't help it. He's as gorgeous as the day you first saw him, despite the changes you can spot - the main ones being his faint scars above his brows and the beard he's so effortlessly grown out. His dark curls hang loose and wet from his earlier bath, soaking the shoulders of his tunic. His dark eyes, framed by his thick lashes, scan the battle plans he's cleverly laid out, peering down the slender slope of his nose, plush lips forming a slight pout-

"A'right. C'mon, beauty, off to bed." He stands, rolling his shoulders back. Your eyes flit to the large direwolf by his feet who stretches too, slinking towards the bed.

"Are you talking to me or Ghost?"

"You, obviously. Don't be daft." He presses his mouth to yours, cradling your face. "You're the most beautiful girl in the whole world."

You can't help but smile. Jon's very good at making you feel like a teenager with a crush again. "You're one to talk."

He grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek, hands on your hips as he moves to the bed of furs, pulling you with him. "I suppose I am. Come to bed now, beauty. Maybe you'll be less distracted tomorrow."

But, in reality, you both know that that's not going to be the case. How could you be anything but distracted when your Jon is so handsome?

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this is a little bit inspired by that tik Tok audio that's like 'blah blah blah 🥰 proper name place name backstory stuff 😍' bc Jon is so dreamy

[hattiewritesalot]

i like game of thrones 🙂‍↕️ i think you’d be fantastic at writing for it !

I actually just SCREAMED I love ur account so so much 😭😭😭 id do anything 4 u boo lmk whatever u want🧎‍♀️

[hattiewritesalot]

Does anyone like game of thrones????? Should I write for game of thrones?????

[hattiewritesalot]

Awake

Azriel x fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel is undeniably furious, especially considering the fact that Y/N has yet to wake up. But, when she does, what will become of their relationship?

Warnings: Vomiting, mentions of Az wanting to kill people for his bbg, very fluffy. Bit of hurt/comfort for both Azriel and Y/N

A/N: Here is part two of Poison (which, btw, thank u for all the support I've been getting on it 😭). feel free to send in requests for acotar bc I'm bored<3

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Azriel doesn’t think he’s ever been angrier in his entire life.

He’s supposed to stay calm and collected, every inch the mysterious spymaster, but not even the strongest sedative could settle the rage brewing in his chest. His shadows curl menacingly around his limbs, the black essence seeming to share his fury.

Rhysand sighs, rubbing his temples. Feyre stands behind him, probably to offer some form of comfort. They both adore Y/N. They’ve practically adopted her with how much they coddle and coo at her, despite her loud laughter and complaints whenever they do.

Cauldron, what Azriel wouldn't do to hear that laugh right now. 

It’s been three days. Y/N is not awake. His mate is not awake.

Rhysand finally looks up at Azriel. “We’ve got answers, at least.” Before Azriel can interrupt, he keeps talking. “Beron has admitted to poisoning Y/N. He figured that if he targeted her, we’d crumble. Not because she’s the strongest, but because she’s the most… beloved, daresay. He didn’t think we’d hit back, and he thought he’d be able to crush us with this crack in our defences.”

Azriel’s scarred knuckles are alabaster from how hard he’s gripping the arms of his chair. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he just admit it?” The High Lord of Night takes a deep breath.

“He found it funny.” The noise that tears from Azriel’s throat is completely inhumane, and completely unlike him. He storms to the door, but Cassian’s strong arms hold him back, urging him to stay calm, urging him to breathe. He can’t. He’s gone past being angry, and he’s gone past blaming it on the new mating bond.

Y/N is his best friend. He’d die and kill for her, he’d steal the moon and stars if it meant she’d be happy. The Mother’s bond can go and fuck itself, because the one he’s already got with Y/N will always be stronger.

“I’ve arranged a meeting with Eris Vanserra.” Rhys’ firm voice cuts through the haze of rage. “He says he has plans, and that this event has solidified his desires. I may be unable to tell you what comes of the meeting, but I guarantee that Beron will suffer for what he did to Y/N.”

Mate. Awake. He almost doesn’t realise what his shadows are whispering to him. Awake. Eyes open. Vomit. GO. He chokes, and desperately tries to break free of Cassian's grip. He needs to see her. He needs her to be okay. “Az, Rhys just said-”

“I know what he just said!” Azriel hates the way his voice is more of a sob. “She’s awake- she’s- please, let me go to her!”

A shadowsinger shouldn’t beg. He shouldn’t grovel. He should attack.

But he doesn’t, because he knows that Y/N is far more important than any conflict he could have with Cassian right now.

And, besides, Cassian lets him go. He’s never run so fast in his life. His feet are barely on the ground, legs and shadows and wings working in tandem to get him there as soon as possible. He thinks he might be the one vomiting in a minute.

Rhys groans. “I know they’re close, but he’s going to drive me insane before I even have this meeting.”

But Feyre, ever the observant High Lady, stares at his retreating form, hand squeezing Rhys’ shoulder. “Give him time. I’m sure he’ll cool off, when he knows she’s safe.” A small smile quirks up at the corners of her lips, knowing exactly why Azriel is so worked up.

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His chest heaves as he pushes the door open, but then it’s filled with warmth. Alive. She’s alive, and upright, and very visibly pissed off but it’s okay because she’s alive.

“The one time I drink something that isn’t champagne-” she croaks out. “-and it turns out to be fucking poisoned. If that’s not my luck I don’t know what is.”

Azriel can’t control the desperate sob that bursts from his lips as he clambers onto the bed, pulling her into his chest. She’s sweaty, and feverish, and she’s just puked into the bucket next to the bed, but he’ll be damned if he cares. She’s alive. He buries his face in her hair, arms and wings squeezing her so tightly it makes her squeak.

“Alright big guy, I’ve just been sick, let’s not try and go for round two.” Her tone is teasing, joking, but the moment he pulls away, her face falls. “Az…” she murmurs, moving her fingers up to wipe his tears. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he spits, sobbing again. “What’s wrong!? You were fucking poisoned! You’ve been puking and coughing and writhing and screaming ever since you got here, and you’ve been out for three days. Three whole days- where- I didn’t know if you were dead, I didn’t know if you-”

“Az.” her tone is a bit firmer now, thumbs pressing against his lips. “I’m okay. I’m gonna be okay. I’m here, I’m breathing, and I’m going to be fine. Breathe.” 

He heaves a deep breath, clutching her so tightly his fingers make indents on her skin. If she notices, she doesn’t care. “You’re… okay.”

“I’m okay.” She smiles. Her lips are cracked and slightly discoloured, but he’s missed her little smile so fucking much. “Come on, Az, you know me. Tough as nails.” She flexes her arms, and Azriel snorts.

“There’s nothing there. You should really stop skipping training.” “No! You’re always a dick to me in training!”

“Yes, because Cassian’s about as mean as a wet sponge, and it isn’t potty training, it’s battle tactics.” She scoffs. “Whatever, whatever.” And he grins, and hugs her again, trying to engrave the memory of her wrapped up in his arms into his brain, just to keep there forever. “Azriel?” He hums in response. “I- so, you know a couple days back? When... this... happened, and I was just about to fall asleep?” She swallows. “I think I felt something… snap.”

His heart pounds in his chest. “The bond? You felt it too?”

“Uh- yeah.” She looks up at him, big eyes blinking up at him like a doe, her face so sweet he wants to coo. “Are you disappointed? That it’s me?”

That makes Azriel frown. How could he be disappointed? She’s everything and more, anyone can see that. Even if he pushes aside the fact that she’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s got a brain to match it. She’s quick and clever and sassy in a way that rivals even his own spunk. If anything, she should be the disappointed one.

“No.” he says, brows furrowing. “Y/N, sweetheart, you mean the world to me. How could I be disappointed?” He wants to catch all of the butterflies in his stomach and lock them away forever, because they're making him woozy. “Are- are you?”

“Am I?” her tone is confused, almost shocked. “Az- Az, I’ve been into you for, like, forever. I’m not disappointed. I could never be disappointed, not with you.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, blinking, suddenly coming to terms with the fact that this bond has, for lack of better wording, startled them. They’ve always prioritised everyone else over them, always considered others' needs and benefits above their own, but they’ve never had the chance to fully acknowledge themselves. Maybe that’s what made them so alike. Maybe that’s why the Mother paired them together, knowing that amidst the sarcastic comments and teasing touches, the sturdy roots of their relationship came from their unwavering trust and care for one another.

Azriel’s hand moves to Y/N’s clammy forehead, softly pushing the hair away from her face. Despite everything that’s happened in the last few days, she’s still her, and he’s still him. Nothing is ever going to change that.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers. She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got a raging fever, I’m drenched in my own sweat, I just threw up and you’re calling me beautiful?”

He laughs, oh, by the Cauldron, he laughs. “You could be a corpse and you’d still be the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“That’s necrophilia, Az. Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“You’re hilarious, sweetheart.”

“Is that why you fell in love with me?”

“Okay, who’s saying I’m in love with you?”

“Me.” and she grins, nudging her nose against his. “Because I am not only hilarious, but also very observant.” He lets out a little hum in response, scarred fingers still twisting in her hair. Everything’s perfect, because they’re not. Their imperfections are intertwined, just like their souls, and the knowledge the other will always be there to love them is all they've ever wanted.

Azriel’s eyes flit down to her lips, and then he’s leaning in, and she’s doing the same, and-

She pulls away, wincing. “I puked about five minutes ago. I don’t think you want to kiss me right now.”

He rolls his eyes, tipping her chin up. “Y/N L/N, I have waited at least two centuries for the opportunity to kiss you. Don’t stop me now.” And he presses his lips to hers. It’s gentle, soft, sweet. Everything he feels around this girl.

“You’re gross.” She mumbles.

“That’s what love does to you.” 

“And you’re a sap.” She grins. “I suppose you’re lucky I love you, even if you are going soft for me.”

“Shut up, sweetheart.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

@topaz125 @starryhiraeth @nahminae @quiettuba @thecraziestcrayon @honeywithemoney @marvelsmylife @sunny1616 @lilah-asteria @emryb @i-am-infinite @st4r-girl-official

my loves ty for ur support! :)

[hattiewritesalot]

am i allowed to cry?

Eris Vanserra x fem!reader

Summary: After a particularly harsh punishment from his father, Eris is left choking on his own emotions, and the guilt that comes with them. Pain is weakness, until it comes to his mate, Y/N. Set before the events of ACOTAR

Warnings: parental abuse, mentions of Beron 🤢, lots of angst, lots of hurt/comfort. unedited lol

A/N: I’ve had this idea in my head for ages and I figured I should finally write it (title is from guilty as sin by Taylor Swift)

———————————————————————————

Eris’ shaking hand clutches at the cloak he’s wrapped around his aching form, stumbling and limping back to his chamber, desperate to get somewhere private before, Cauldron forbid, any of his brothers see him.

The lashes on his back sting with the force of a thousand needles, the prickly pain curling around his spine and puncturing his muscles.

They’ve never hurt like this before. Maybe he’s getting weak.

Eris Vanserra would rather die than be known as weak, but right now? With gory gashes up his back? With bitter tears pooling at his lashlines? With a broken heart to match the shattered fragments of his childhood? He’s nothing but weak.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

He’s a dishonour to his family, to his court, to his people- to his mate. His precious mate, with her soft hair and sweet smile. She’s always been too good for him. His father himself had uttered it under his breath the moment he’d introduced Y/N to his family.

He hopes she isn’t in their chambers.

He hopes she’ll never see this weakness that has possessed him.

He shoves the heavy door open, eyes darting around the vacant room. Thank the Mother, Y/N must still be on her evening trip to the library. He moves quickly, tossing the bloodstained cloak on the floor, and turning towards the mirror.

The pale skin of his back is torn, the crimson of his blood coating just about every inch of it, covering the splashes of freckles and old scars.

Eris can’t control the tears that start to trickle down his cheeks.

This is dreadful. Not the gashes, those he’s used to. But the tears. He’s not allowed to cry. When did he become so weak!? When did he let himself become so susceptible to the raging emotions that have taken hold of his soul? When did-

“There you are, I was wondering when you’d be back-“ Y/N walks out of the bathroom, a bright smile on her face, but she’s too quick for him to hide.

Her face falls. She sees the blood. She sees the wounds. She sees the tears.

She sees the weakness.

Eris can’t speak. The only thing that comes out of his mouth is a loud sob.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

But then, her gentle voice fills his ears, and her hands cradle his face, lips kissing away the tears on his cheeks. “You’re okay.” She murmurs. “You’re gonna be okay, honey. I’ve got you.” He sobs harder. She fetches a cloth, hastily soaking it with cold water, and starts to swipe at the blood on his back, letting him bawl into the crook of her neck like a baby. “I’ve got you. Let it out, Eris. You’re allowed to cry.” No, he’s not. He’s weak. Weak, weak, weak-

“You’re so strong, baby.” She whispers.

…what?

“You’re so strong, so brave. You’ve been holding this in for so long.” She kisses his hair, continuing to gently wipe the blood away. “My strong mate, I love you so much.”

“No-“ He chokes out. “No. I’m weak.”

“Why do you think you’re weak, Er?”

He frowns. Isn’t it obvious? “I’m crying.”

“You just got beaten by your father. I’d be surprised if you weren’t crying.”

“But still, I shouldn’t be crying. I shouldn’t be weak.”

“I cry. Do you think I’m weak?”

He gapes at her. “N-no-“

“Exactly. Case closed. You’re not weak either.”

He’s silent for the next ten minutes while she treats his wounds. He watches her pretty face, pondering what he did to be so lucky to be her mate.

When she’s done, she pulls him down on the bed with her, positioning him to lie on his stomach between her legs. She twists his red hair in her fingers. “So strong.” She repeats. And the heir to the Autumn Court says nothing, nuzzling his nose into his mate’s neck. If she thinks he’s strong, then by the Cauldron, he supposes he is.

———————————————————————————

i am an eris vanserra stan first and then a person

[hattiewritesalot]

PLEASE TELL ME THERE‘ll BE A SECOND PART TO POISON???!! I loved it!!!!!!

im gonna be so honest I did not expect ppl to love poison as much as they did 😭 but ty ty ty!!!! I'm getting right to it as we speak<3

[hattiewritesalot]

Poison

Azriel x Reader

Summary: At an event hosted by High Lord Beron, Azriel's closest friend Y/N seems to be incredibly wasted. The only problem? Azriel knows that she doesn't get drunk. Ever.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, poison, vomiting, a drunk love confession, a bit of angst but it is all in all quite fluffy

A/N: So this may or may not be inspired by the scene in Wicked King where Cardan gets poisoned... enjoy!! :3

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N is, as always, on high alert as she follows Rhys into the ballroom. Something combined with her dislike for social events and her lack of trust for the High Lord of Autumn meant her eyes and ears were everywhere, keeping constant watch over everything. Azriel’s large hand gently splays over her bare back, the rough fingers a gentle reminder that he’s there, and possibly to tell her to stop being so tense. She shoots a glare at her best friend, who responds with a badly-concealed smile.

She’s dressed in black, they all are, as is custom in the Night Court. Her dress is floor length, the black satin offering a nice hold around her figure, the neckline a low plunge, and the slit on her left side allowing her some freedom. The fabric is littered with silver threads and diamonds, meant to represent constellations, and also to match the sparkly heels on her feet. She looks pretty. She feels it.

A servant welcomes them warmly, almost immediately offering the group a drink of champagne, which she takes. Cassian snorts, and teases her for taking the only glass that the poor servant had, but she rolls her eyes and takes a sip.

She rarely drinks. She doesn’t like it. She’s seen enough of the boys’ drunk shenanigans to be put off it for a lifetime. She usually stays sober, if not tipsy, whenever they go to Rita’s, opting for escorting a stumbling Rhys back to Feyre rather than being the one stumbling.

But one drink won’t hurt. Not tonight. Tonight, she’ll need it.

The Inner Circle split up around the room, Azriel hot on Y/N’s trails, scarred fingers just barely tracing her bare shoulders. She sighs, leaning against a wall, him doing the same. “Time check?”

Azriel snorts. “You’re the one with the watch.”

She clicks her tongue, and checks the time, leaning back with a groan. “Two more hours of… this.”

“Always a ray of sunshine.”

“Says the shadowsinger.” she grins. Azriel was the first person she’d met in the Inner Circle, and coincidentally, her closest friend. They’d been attached at the hip the moment she’d introduced herself. They know everything about each other, inside and out. 

She’d never admit it, but her heart longed for the Illyrian. He was always so clever, so considerate. And, not to mention, his sharp features and hazel eyes made heat rise in her cheeks; hot, blissful, lovestruck heat.

“I think Cassian wants me for something.” Azriel muses, tipping his chin towards where Cassian was very unsubtly gesturing for him to accompany him. Y/N narrows her eyes at the redhead he’s standing with, and laughs. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that were Eris Vanserra. Good luck, Az.”

Azriel groans, playfully tugging her hair as he walks over to his brother.

All alone, now. She drinks her champagne, downing it almost immediately. She liked champagne. It never got you too drunk, never made you too irrational. “Enjoying the festivities, Y/N?” Beron’s voice purrs out from behind her. She forces a smile.

“I’d say yes, but it appears I’ve run out of champagne.” The High Lord cocks a brow at her words, and offers her another glass with a different, more vibrant liquid. “Try this. It’s exclusive to the Autumn Court. I believe you’ll enjoy it, it’s not too strong.”

She eyes the glass, before taking it, taking a sip. It’s a subtle flavour - fruity, slightly bitter. “Thank you, my lord.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he walks away. 

Cauldron, this drink is good. She drinks every last drop, and places it down on the table next to her, looking for a bottle of the same-

Oh. Oh. This is fun. Fun, fun, fun!

Why isn’t she having fun! Tonight is amazing!

An uncontrollable giggle tears from her throat, the sound throwing her off slightly as wave after wave of lucid dizziness hit her. She laughs, clutching her chest. This is so fun!

Where’s Azriel? Is he having fun? Oh, she loves him. Loves him so much. Where is he!?

-----------------------------------------------------------

Azriel cracks his neck, obviously not wanting to engage with the eldest son of the High Lord, who clearly would rather be anywhere else. Cassian is long gone, with the excuse of seeing Nesta, and now Azriel has been left to deal with Eris. This could not get any worse.

Until it does.

Y/N beams at him, tripping over her feet to get to him, stumbling as she slumps into his arms, snorting and giggling. He freezes. Eris chokes on a laugh. Her hands reach up to grab his face and tug at his hair.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, taken slightly off-guard by her strange behaviours.

“Azzy!” she squeals, laughing and kissing his cheek. Eris cocks a brow. “Looks like your little Y/N’s had too much to drink.” His words echo around Azriel’s head. No, that can’t be. Y/N doesn’t like drinking. And why would she get drunk here of all places? And why-

His heart sinks. Her pupils are dilated. Her body is trembling. Her skin is turning clammy. 

This isn’t alcohol. It’s poison. 

His eyes go wide as he pulls her form into his arms. “Y/N?” he mumbles, a little firmer now. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, silly!” she squeals. Eris laughs again, and Azriel’s head whips towards him. “What the fuck did you do to her!?” The eldest son’s eyes widen at his harsh, almost growling tone. 

“Me? I’ve done nothing. She’s just drunk, shadowsinger.” He sneers at him down his pointy nose. Azriel clutches Y/N closer, ignoring all of her babbles as she squishes his cheeks and tugs his dark locks like a child. 

“I love you!” she squeals. “I love you sooooo much. So much. I wish we were mates.” she slurs. Azriel takes a shaky breath at her words, and Eris gestures to her flailing form. “See? Drunk.”

“She’s not- she’s not drunk, she’s- fuck, where’s Rhys?” His tone is desperate as he searches for the High Lord. Y/N’s knees start to buckle, but he wraps her arms around her thighs. “Stay with me, sweetheart, you’re gonna be okay.” He manages to catch the attention of Rhys, whose eyes go wide at the sight of Y/N’s slumped form, and he rushes to them. “What-”

“She’s been poisoned.” Azriel chokes out, panic surging in his veins as he hugs his girl as tightly as he can to his chest. “We- we need to get her out.” Rhys takes a breath, and seems to send a message to Feyre, because she starts to round everyone up. “She’ll be okay, Az, just calm down-”

“I’m not going to calm down! She could die!” He snaps. Rhys backs off at the protective gaze in his brother’s eyes. “Get her back to the Night Court, I’ll sort out here.” Azriel hooks one arm under her knees and the other on her back as he closes his eyes, winnowing back to Velaris. 

She squirms, shoving herself onto the cold floor of the Moonstone Palace, and she pukes, gasping and gagging. He shushes her gently, his shadows swirling around her and stroking her hair back as she retches. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Get it all out.”

As she vomits, his mind can’t help but flick back to what she said in the Autumn Court. ‘I love you!’ ‘I wish we were mates.’ His heart flutters at the recollection, but he silently growls at it to shut up. She’s been poisoned. Her head isn’t right. She was probably just saying words for the fun of it. She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t mean it.

But still…

No, heart, stop it.

He pulls her up against his chest when she’s finished, gently rubbing her back. She sobs, slurring unintelligible words. He kisses her sweaty temple and carefully carries her up to her room, murmuring sweet nothings to keep her calm, but her body thrashes. Her eyes are rolling back. His hands are shaking. 

He just about manages to get her writhing form onto the bed when Rhys arrives, Madja hot on his trails. “She’s been poisoned?” she asks. Y/N screams in response. Rhys winces at the noise, but the expression worsens at the fury on Azriel’s face.

“Azriel-”

“Go on.” He growls. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t storm back in there and kill them all.”

“Because first of all, that’ll be a lot of paperwork for me, and second of all, I don’t think Y/N wants you to leave.”

Rhys is, frustratingly, right. Y/N has taken it upon herself to latch onto Azriel’s arm, clutching him and mumbling profusely, cheek squished against his bicep. He sighs, and gently pats her hair, shooting a glare to the High Lord of Night in the process.

He sits with her the entire time Madja treats her, his fingers tightly intertwined with hers. The healer concludes that she’ll be okay, but not without side-effects. She says he was clever to get her home so quickly. It wasn’t out of intelligence, it was out of fear.

She gives Y/N a sleeping draught, just so her aching body can get some rest, and then she leaves. Azriel stares at his best friend’s face, and figures he should do the same. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, smiles at her fluttering eyes, and moves to leave.

Standing in the doorway, however, his eyes flit back to hers, the hazel of his irises connecting with her soft hues.

And then he feels it.

Like a string pulled taut, it snaps within his chest, flooding his veins with the pure bliss of finally having something to protect, to care for, to love. It roars throughout his body, his heart burning with the golden flames of the bond.

Mate.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

PART TWO HERE!!

lol hmu I write for acotar now

[hattiewritesalot]

Everything ✨I✨ Have in Common With the Six Crows

KAZ BREKKER:

✨panic attacks✨

wears gloves literally all the time

in love w inej<3333

weirdly angry??? 24/7???

INEJ GHAFA:

hopelessly in love w kazzle dazzle

cutie patootie

names all of prized belongings

puts everyone else b4 herself

JESPER FAHEY:

iconic✨✨

banging sense of style

loves his dad

good at starting fights he can’t finish

WYLAN VAN ECK:

sad n gay

aggressive flute music

broke asf lmaoooooo

v much youngest child

NINA ZENIK

hot girl fr

food >>> boys

flirts with everyone

adores matthias helvar for no reason he’s just there??? idc he’s my little princess

MATTHIAS HELVAR

blonde.

tall asf like what ur beanstalk looking ass doing here??

absolutely irrevocably understandably in love with miss zenik

dead.

CAN WE ALL JUST BFFR FOR A SECOND THIS GIF IS KILLING US SLOWLY