#azriel has OCD

[sizzlingstarlightsky]

Waging A Mental War

Azriel x Reader with OCD

Summary: After the battle with Hybern, your mental health declined. The OCD you thought you had control over begins to consume you. Everything is wrong. Will anything ever feel right?

word count: 1500

The morning light spilled into the room, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. It was a sight that had once brought you peace, a gentle reminder of the world's persistent beauty, even amidst the quiet moments.

But today, as you lay in bed, your eyes followed their erratic paths with a sense of dread, your mind already racing with the tasks that awaited.

You knew you wouldn't find peace in the day ahead.

Your OCD had taken over your life since the war ended, turning simple routines into exhausting rituals that had to be performed to perfection.

The nightmares had lessened over time, but the intrusive thoughts remained, a persistent echo of horrors. Experienced and hypothetical.

You sat up, your body moving almost of its own accord, as it had so many times before. Your eyes scanned the room for any signs of imperfection, any items out of place.

The sight of your sword, leaning against the wall, sent a shiver down your spine. The blade gleamed, a stark contrast to the darkness of the memories it held.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on the present. The compulsions grew stronger, demanding that you check the weapon, ensure it was clean and sharp, despite having done so only hours earlier.

The bed sheets felt like a prison, clinging to your legs as if to hold you back from facing another day. But you had to go on.

With trembling hands, you began the meticulous process of folding them, smoothing out each wrinkle, aligning each corner until not a single thread was out of place.

The scent of breakfast wafted up from the kitchen, a mix of roasting meat and baking bread that usually brought comfort.

Today, it was a call to hurry, to perform your morning rituals before the others awoke and noticed the extra time it took you.

You knew they didn't mean to pressure you, but their very existence felt like a weight on your shoulders.

How could you explain that the mere act of existing was now a battle?

Even here, in the warm embrace of your home, the whispers of doubt lingered. Were you truly safe? Would today be the day the enemy found you again?

Safety isn't real. My thoughts aren't real.

Your mind healers' words echoed through your head. Usually, it helped ground you, but today was an extra bad day.

As you descended the stairs, your heart pounded in your chest, the rhythm setting the pace for the rituals to come. Each step had to be taken with care, the right foot first, then the left, alternating in a precise pattern to ward off the anxiety.

You reached the bottom and paused, your eyes darting to the floor. A speck of dust caught your attention, and your hand twitched, yearning to wipe it away.

But no, not yet. The order had to be maintained. That would mean washing your hands again. They were already dry and flaking.

You tried to smile at the others as they greeted you, but the effort felt forced, the muscles in your face protesting against the lie.

They couldn't understand the chaos in your head, the relentless need to count, to clean, to ensure everything was in its rightful place. It was a war you fought alone, even as they offered you companionship and warmth.

Azriel looked at you with concern. His eyes, once cold and unreadable, had softened over the months you'd spent together. He knew something was wrong, but even his understanding couldn't bridge the gap between you.

"You're taking longer than usual," he said gently, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air around you.

Yoy nodded, your throat tight with the effort of keeping your emotions in check.

"Just...just making sure everything's right."

He approached, his movements fluid and silent, a stark contrast to the cacophony in your mind. He placed a scared hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding.

"Let me help," he offered, his voice filled with genuine concern.

For a moment, the compulsions wavered, and you considered his offer. But the fear of losing control was too great.

"No," you replied, your voice shaking slightly. "It has to be me. It has to be perfect."

He searched your eyes, his own filled with a mix of compassion and frustration.

"Y/N, you're not alone in this. Let me share the burden."

You pulled away, the need to clean now overwhelming.

"I can't," you whispered, the words barely audible over the clanging of pans. "If it's not perfect, if I don't do it, something terrible will happen."

Azriel's eyes searched yours, understanding dawning.

"Your thoughts are lying to you," he said firmly. "You're not responsible for everything, not every outcome."

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"They feel so real," you murmured, my voice tight with anguish. "It's like they're a part of me."

With a sigh, Azriel stepped back, giving you the space you needed.

He knew pushing would only make it worse. Instead, he picked up a plate and began filling it with food.

"Eat," he said, placing it in front of you. "You need your strength."

You stared at the plate, your stomach twisting in knots. The food looked delicious, but the thought of eating it without first ensuring that the kitchen was spotless was unbearable.

"I-I'll clean up first," you stammered, already moving towards the counter where dirty dishes were piled.

"No," Azriel's voice was firm, but not unkind. He took your hand and led you to the table, gently guiding you into a chair.

"You need to eat. Your health comes first." His gaze held yours, unyielding yet filled with care.

The others in the kitchen paused their work, watching you both with a mix of curiosity and concern. They had seen the changes in you, the way you flinched at sudden sounds or the way you checked and rechecked the locks at night. They had offered their support, but none of them truly understood the monster that had taken residence in your mind.

"Please," you whispered, the word a desperate plea. "I can't."

But Azriel's grip on your hand was firm.

"You can, and you will," he said, his voice a gentle command. "We'll start small. Just a few bites."

You nodded, the fight draining out of you. The others returned to their tasks, the sounds of their movements a comforting backdrop to the silent war waging within.

You picked up your fork, the metal cold against your fingertips. The food on your plate looked so normal, so innocent. Yet the simple act of taking a bite felt like defying an unseen enemy.

The first bite was torture, each chew and swallow a fight in itself.

But as the food settled in your stomach, the hunger you'd ignored for so long began to gnaw at you. With shaking hands, you took another mouthful, and another. The taste grew more familiar, less foreign with each bite.

The warmth of the food spread through your body, and for a brief moment, the obsessions receded. It was a small victory, but one you clung to with desperation.

The others had learned not to disturb you during these moments. They had seen the toll your compulsions took on you, the way they stole your joy and energy. They had offered to help, to take over some of the tasks that triggered your anxiety, but you had always refused. It was a prideful stance, you knew, but one driven by fear.

If you let go, if you allowed the chaos to seep in, you were afraid it would consume you.

But as you sat there, the weight of Azriel's hand on yours, you realized how much you had missed. The simple act of eating breakfast without first scrubbing the kitchen to an impossible standard was a small act of rebellion against the relentless voice in your head. It was a taste of freedom, one you hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity.

"Thank you," you murmured, your eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"You're welcome," Azriel replied, his thumb making comforting circles on the back of your hand. "It's okay to need help."

For a moment, you allowed myself to just be, to feel the warmth of his touch and the solidity of his presence beside you.

You took a deep breath, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. Maybe he was right. Maybe you could fight this, with his support.

"Let's go for a walk," Azriel suggested, his voice a gentle nudge. "The fresh air might do you good."

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[arizona2004]

Hey can you please do a azriel x reader where the reader is struggling with bad mental health (maybe an Ed) because I’m struggling myself rn and alsao there’s not enough of them :). I can totally understand if you didn’t feel comfortable doing it

Okay, here it is. Everyone responds to their eating disorders differently, especially depending on the ED and severity of it. I hope this has what you’re looking for, though.

Azriel x reader

Word count: 1499

Warnings: Eating Disorders! The reader struggles with an ED and some depression and anxiety and a little OCD. Please don’t read if you think reading the unhealthy thoughts of someone with an eating disorder may cause you to relapse. It is not healthy to think about food and eating in this manner. Love you all. Don’t forget to eat something and drink some water.

Waking up, I immediately don’t want to get out of bed. I pull the covers over my head, keep my eyes closed, and scrunch my legs up to my chest. When I wake up again, it’s only a little later in the morning. I still don’t want to pull myself out of bed, but I can’t fall back asleep. So I just lay there. Turning to Azriel’s side of the bed, I notice he’s not there. Well, of course not; he’s already left for work. I stare at the spot he usually occupies before finally sitting up and checking the clock. It’s 10 am.

Standing, I wrap my robe around myself and walk out of the room, refusing to look in the mirror. I practice breathing evenly and focus on my routine. I need to eat breakfast. I spend nearly 20 minutes in the kitchen, moving around, deciding what to eat. I’m opening cabinets and closing them, finding nothing satisfactory. Eventually, I decide to make some bacon. The stove is on, and bacon is sizzling. The scent of bacon is wafting toward me, and I feel like being sick. I can’t eat bacon; it’s greasy and fatty. Toast, I think, I’ll make toast. So I put the bread in the toaster and let it cook. It’s only when the toast is cooked that I start thinking about the carbs that go into it. I haven’t been exercising enough recently. I shouldn’t eat so many carbs. I throw the toast out with the bacon and decide to make scrambled eggs instead. Whisking the eggs and milk together, I turn on the stove, letting the skillet heat and butter melt on it. When I turn, bowl in hand, ready to pour it into the skillet, it slips from my hand, spilling all over the floor. Anger and frustration wash over me; I guess I just shouldn’t eat this morning.

After cleaning the mess: doing the dishes that littered the sink and picking up the mess of eggs on the floor, I walk back up to my room. My head is pounding, and everything feels like it's crashing in on me. My heart is racing, and I just want to scream. My mind keeps flashing back to last night. We went out to Ritas, and it was supposed to be fun. But I just had to ruin things for myself. I barely ate. I stopped drinking early into the night. I wish I could have forgone the entire night. I wish Mor wasn’t so perfect. She has curves in all the right places and not a single flaw; I hate her for it, I think. Passing the floor-length mirror in my bedroom, I stop to look at myself. It’s been so long since I’ve looked in the mirror and liked what I saw. Why can't I have a body like Mor or Feyre or Amren?

I sit on the floor, just picking apart all the pieces of myself I hate. Thinking about all the insulting things people have said to me. Tears are streaming out of my eyes until I can’t even see my reflection. I’m clutching my chest as I struggle for air through my sobs. Why? Why? Why?

It’s an hour later, and I’m just lying on the floor of my bedroom, staring at the ceiling. I pushed my earlier hunger away, so I can’t feel it anymore. I wish I couldn’t feel any of it. The tears on my face have dried, and I’m breathing normally again when a small piece of folded paper falls next to me.

The Note reads: Meet me at my office at 11:30?

Azriel. I turn my head to look at the clock hanging on the wall. It’s nearly 11:20: a choked sob leaves my throat. Standing quickly, I rush to the bathroom to put myself together. In 10 minutes, my face is washed, and I’m wearing enough makeup to cover any signs of my tears. And I brushed through my hair and threw on some clothes. Rushing out the door, I head for the House of Wind. In the time it took to get to the door of his office, I’ve done breathing exercises to even out my breaths and slipped on a smile.

Knocking on the door to his office, I peeked my head in. “Hey,” I say, biting my lip.

He looked up to me, a grin spreading across his face and arms opening for me. I walked in, shutting the door behind me, and sat on his lap. He wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder. He breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of me. “You smell wonderful, love,” he murmurs against my neck.

“Hmm,” I hum, holding him tight.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks, pulling back slightly to look at me directly.

“Yeah,” An unconscious fake smile blooms across my face, “why wouldn’t I be?”

He just stares at me for a moment longer, eyebrows bunching, when he asks, “have you eaten today?”

“Yes. Breakfast this morning,” I say, “when I woke to an empty bed,” I try steering the question away from myself.

He knows I’m lying, “are you hungry? We could get lunch.”

“It was a big breakfast, Az,” I say, “I’m not hungry right now.”

He grips my waist and pulls me closer, wrapping his wings around us, “What’d you eat?”

“I made toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon,” It’s not entirely a lie, I think to myself.

He puts his forehead on my shoulder, resting it there for a long few moments, “baby,” he mumbles, “please don’t lie to me. We’ve been through this before: I can help, just talk to me.”

My lips start to quiver, I’ve upset him.

“I’m with you through all the good And the bad,” he says, head still down, “please tell me the truth about how you’re feeling,” he lifts his head to look at me, and the worrying features of his face make me sob again. “Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he consoles, wiping the tears from my face, “deep breaths.”

I take a deep breath in and out, and he does it with me. My tears start to slow, and the shuddering breaths even out. Az is running his hand up and down my spine, soothingly and when I’m ready, I explain everything, “I guess- things started getting bad yesterday. I didn’t really like the way I looked in that dress, and I just felt… off? Gross? I don’t know,” I take another breath in, “then Mor showed up, and she just looked so good in that dress; she’s so beautiful. And she ate and drank so much,” I’m ranting now, “Does she ever gain weight?!” I stop talking, trying to calm myself, and tears well up again, but I push them back. Looking back to Az, I start talking again, “I shouldn’t be jealous. I’m a horrible friend for being mad at her, but I just can’t stand her sometimes. I’m a horrible friend.”

I’m looking down between us now, but Az coaxes me back, “look at me,” he holds my face between his hands and pushes our foreheads together, “You are not a horrible friend. You are wonderful and kind. It’s okay to be jealous. You still love her, and you’re still a good friend. Now, tell me the rest.”

I shake my head holding back my tears, “It’s just the same thing. I just- it’s everything combined. I feel like I ate too much yesterday, and I haven’t worked out regularly this week. Then everything last night. So when I woke up this morning, everything was too much. Seeing myself in the mirror and thinking about how much I don’t deserve you. I’m not pretty enough. It’s all just so much. All at once,” my breaths come unevenly again, and tears are running down my face.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment; his hands drop from my face and pull me into him. His hands run through my hair, and he just soothes me quietly for a few minutes. When he pulls back to look at me, he says quietly and calmly, “You’re beautiful, love. And I know me telling you that isn’t just gonna take all the bad thoughts and feelings away, but I need you to know: No matter what you see in the mirror or what your mind tells you, you are so beautiful. You have your ‘flaws,’ but that’s okay. You just have to learn to love them the way I do. And I’ll help you with that; I’m here to help.”

I nod, tears still streaming down my face, and lay my head on his shoulder, breathing him in and calming myself.

“Can we go eat food now,” he asks quietly. I nod letting myself feel the hunger I pushed aside and relaxed further into his arms. He lifts me with him as he stands and walks us to the kitchen.

[illyriantremors]

hey hun, I'm so sorry your feeling this way, my mom went on Prozac a couple years back and even though it did wonders for her ocd, it was just so weird - like we didn't really know her anymore and everything just felt wrong and off. but speaking from experience, this will pass and even though it fucking sucks now it does get more manageable I promise ! btw if your still doing prompts - what kind of tumblrs do you think the acomaf gang would have ?? xx

Thank you for the kind words, friend! I’m in a holding pattern now until Thursday apparently, so here’s hoping! I’ll still do the prompt for you. :)

ACOMAF Tumblrs, right...

Feyre - Probably wouldn’t care, tbh, but if she did have (excuse me while I pander a bit), she’d be @aelin: only occasionally posts text posts, but mostly just reblogs awesome art aesthetics from other Tumblrs, flailing a little at them in the tags, and then posts her own stuff once in a blue moon and everyone just *OMG FEYRE* over it.

Rhys - He’d be in the discourse blog section trying to SchoolTM the NoobsTM on politics, sexism, feminism, racism - basically, any kind of ism. He’d reblog all of Feyre’s graphics/edits.

Mor - The fashion blog and pop culture diva who occasionally reblogs Rhys’s meta on feminism and family trauma.

Cassian - The Fitblr with the full works. Gym selfies galore. Tips on getting swol af. Recipes for healthy eating. Goes around sending motivational “YOU GOT DIS BRO” asks to other fitblrs getting started. Has training services available. Sends Rhys really horrible troll anon messages. Azriel too, but Az never replies because...

Azriel - ....he doesn’t have time for this junk. And Mor is easier to keep up with on IG. But he’s still super proud that she’s amassed however many followers she has for all of her edits of the Met Gala.

Amren - Would only have and use Tumblr for like one very specific fandom, something obscure and that no one else knows her for. Like silent era cinema. Or a European talk show. She refuses to tell Cassian her handle.

Nesta - Hipster Life AestheticTM. Heavy literature discussions. Loves laying in to people for being total douchebags and then watching Rhys reblog her posts.

Elain - The one who posts like, book shelfies and mountain cabins and star landscapes and adorable pictures of kittens and then like once a month has a binge session of like dirty movie screenshots or fanfic.

Lucien - Ain’t nobody got time for that. I got knives to clean and places to go horseback riding. Takes Azriel with him most of the time.

xx