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inkedinshadows · 17 days ago

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The Path To Healing

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: A glimpse into different moments of Azriel's life: from his childhood trauma to the physical healing, from his struggles and his acceptance to the beginning of his mental healing journey.

Warnings: angst, self-hate, self-consciousness, violence and blood, mentions of torture, language, fingering (brief)

Word count: 8.9k

A/N: I might or might not have cried while writing some parts of this. I focused only on Azriel's hands, and I'm sure I only scratched the surface of what his trauma is. I'm nowhere close to an expert on any of this, but I tried my best and hopefully did it justice. @azrielappreciationweek

Pain was all he knew.

His eyes hurt from crying, and he desperately wanted to rub them, but he couldn't. He couldn't, because his hands… His hands…

More tears poured down his already puffed cheeks, and his cries turned into a choked sound—sobs that tore through his chest and shook his little body, his wings a dead weight on his back.

“Shh,” his mother murmured, her voice soothing, her touch gentle as she cupped his face. “It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay, baby.”

Azriel didn't know how to believe her. It seemed to him like nothing could ever be okay again. He couldn't feel his hands anymore—they had been replaced by a blinding pain that reached up to his elbows. All he could see when he looked down was a red splotch, too red to be normal.

When his father had heard his screams, he’d called the healers. By then, it was too late, and the damage was already done. But his father had merely given his half-brothers a disappointed look and dumped Azriel in his mother's care, as if he had become even more of a burden than before. He didn't know what he had done to deserve it.

His mom began to hum a lullaby, but Azriel could barely hear it over his sobs and whimpers. She took one of his shaking hands in hers as gently as she could, touching his marred skin when strictly necessary, but even that drew a shriek from him.

“I know, baby,” his mother whispered as she began wrapping his hand in new strips of clean fabric. “I know it hurts. But I need to bandage it so it can get better, okay?”

Azriel tried to hold back his cries of pain as she worked. He tried to focus on her face and the lullaby instead, but he kept praying through it all—to the Cauldron, to the Mother, to whoever was listening—that it would be over soon. Just like he had begged and prayed while his half-brothers had burned him, but no one had come then.

Now, though, his silent prayers were answered.

“There you go, my love,” his mom said softly, placing a kiss on his forehead. “All done. See? Does it hurt a bit less now?”

He looked down to find his hands covered in white linen. The tight bandages applied just enough pressure to reduce the pain, even if only by just a fraction. He met his mother's concerned gaze and nodded weakly, watching as the corner of her lips twitched upward. It didn't help much, though, and tears still streamed down his face.

“Come here,” she whispered, gathering his shaking body in her arms and holding him close to her chest. “My precious boy. You'll get through this, Az. I promise.”

Azriel buried his face in her neck and cried until he was too exhausted to do even that. But his mom never stopped singing him an old Illyrian lullaby, rocking him back and forth as if he were a newborn baby.

She kept going long after he fell asleep.

~~~~~~

Azriel was staring at his hands, at the ridges of his new scars. He knew he should be practicing, but he could only stare.

“What is it, sweetie?”

His mother came up beside him. His father had allowed her to see him a bit more over the last few months, not wanting to spend money on healers more than once every other week when they came to check on him and his progress.

Azriel turned his hands over, now looking at the backs of them. He still wasn’t used to seeing them like this. How much time had he spent looking at them? During those long hours in his cell with no light, he had thought about them endlessly.

Sometimes, he could swear the darkness whispered in his ear, soothing his mind until he finally fell asleep.

“They're ugly,” he said. His voice was flat, as if he was simply stating a fact. Because that's what they were to him—ugly, ruined, useless. Always shaking and itching.

His mother's soft hands enveloped his smaller ones in a gentle hold. “Look at me.”

He obeyed, meeting her tender, reassuring gaze. Even at his young age, he knew she loved him. His stepmother never looked at him like that, on the rare occasions she even bothered to acknowledge his existence.

“Your hands are not ugly, my child,” his mom assured him. Her tone was calm, but there was a new resolution etched onto her features. “They've just been through a lot.”

Azriel shook his head. “They're ugly,” he insisted. “No one else has hands that look like this. They're full of scars and cuts and…”

His voice trailed off as his mom extended her wings behind her. A twinge of pain crossed her face, and she could only unfold them a few inches, but it was enough for Azriel to see the twin long scars running down their length. He didn't know how she got them, but she once told him she couldn't fly because of them. He’d felt an odd sense of relief at that, knowing his mom couldn't fly either—that her blood, like his, urged her to take off and roam the skies, yet neither of them could.

“Do you think my wings are ugly, Az?” she asked. She still spoke with that soft tone, but it was now tinged with firmness.

Azriel immediately shook his head. “No,” he answered. “No, they're not ugly.”

“But they have scars. They're ruined and useless.” How had she known those were the words he used for his own hands? Had he said them out loud? “What are wings for, if not for flying? Yet I can't fly anymore.”

He shook his head again, more firmly this time. “Mom, no,” he said, decisive and unyielding. “Your wings are beautiful. You're beautiful.”

Her face softened, a smile blooming on her lips as she gently squeezed his hands. “Then your hands are beautiful too.” She lifted them to her lips, kissing each one. “Think of them not as reminders of pain, but of strength. You've suffered a lot, but you're stronger. You're healing. And one day, it won't even hurt anymore.”

Azriel was silent for a long moment. “Is it really like that?”

“Of course, baby,” she reassured him, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair.

He knew she was lying. He saw the pain on her face when she moved her wings. They still hurt sometimes. But he believed her anyway, because he needed to.

His mother let go of his hands and picked up the pen he had discarded just a few minutes ago. “Do you think you can practice a little longer?”

Azriel didn't want to. His fingers had gone stiff earlier, the constant itching even stronger now. But he didn't want his hands to be useless, so he took the pen from her.

Almost two sheets of paper were covered with just one word, repeated over and over. His own name. Easy enough to write, yet the letters were crooked and shaky, the ink smeared where his hand had accidentally trailed over it.

With a sigh, Azriel set the pen on the paper and tried his best to keep his hand steady as he resumed the exercise.

~~~~~~

Azriel really wanted to get laid.

There was no other way to say it. Every time he heard Cassian and Rhysand talk about a new girl they had slept with, he felt a pang of jealousy. He wanted to experience it too—to know what it felt like to have that kind of connection with someone and not have to resort to his own hand whenever he couldn't ignore his need.

But he had always been too shy to approach the pretty girls his brothers chatted up so easily. His hands did nothing to help his confidence.

Tonight, though, was bonfire night. Organized twice a year, it was held on the Spring and Autumn Equinox to celebrate the new season. And this year, Azriel had every intention of going home with a girl.

His brothers were laughing and pushing each other as they walked through the muddy streets of Windhaven. He wasn’t paying much attention to what they were saying—something about their earlier fight during training. No, Azriel’s mind was already focused on his plan.

He would keep a safe distance from the fire, where no incidents could happen. But he would scan the crowd of Illyrians for a female who caught his interest, and when he found her, he would approach her, talk a little, and then ask if she wanted to go somewhere more private.

Simple enough.

He was a warrior in training, after all. He had seven Siphons. He was a Shadowsinger.

He had nothing to fear from interacting with girls.

Yet, he couldn't recall the last time he’d started a conversation with a female. In the ten years he'd been at Windhaven, it had probably happened only with Rhys's mother. But she didn't count.

Someone bumped into Azriel, and, lost in his thoughts as he was, he almost fell to the ground. He managed to flare his wings to steady himself, glaring at Cassian as he regained his balance.

“Sorry about that,” Cassian said, though his snicker didn't make him sound particularly sincere. “I've been talking to you for two minutes, but you didn't hear a single word. What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Azriel mumbled, folding his wings behind him again. “Maybe you're just not worth listening to.”

Cassian gasped audibly, clutching his chest in mock heartache as a group of children sprinted by, headed for the square where the first booms of laughter and echoes of chattering rang out.

“Don't worry, Az,” Rhys chimed in before their brother could come up with a retort. “You'll get your first taste of sex tonight.”

Azriel shrugged off the hand Rhysand had placed on his shoulder. “Don't look in my mind,” he nearly growled, checking his mental shields just to be sure.

Both his brothers halted their steps and stared at him, twin shit-eating grins on their faces.

“I didn't,” Rhys said. “But thank you for confirming my suspicions.”

Cassian nudged him with an elbow, already teasing him about girls and first times and wingspans. With a snort, Azriel shoved him away and continued toward the bonfire, leaving the other two behind to push each other around, their chuckles chasing him down the street.

How they had guessed what he was up to, he didn't know. He’d been careful not to tell them, knowing their reaction would consist of snickers and jabs that he was in no mood for.

As he turned the corner, the square came into view. Just like every year, the bonfire stood in its center, rising several feet high and adorned with little homemade trinkets meant to bring good luck and a prosperous season when burned.

They would light it soon.

The square was already packed with people when Azriel reached it. Children ran around chasing each other, their laughs and screams echoing into the night. Warriors gathered in small groups, swords on their back and knives at their thighs or hips, not letting their guard down even during a festivity.

And then there were the females. Most sat together in a corner, chatting idly and glancing at the children from time to time. But some of them—the younger ones, the ones around Azriel's age—strolled in groups of two or three.

How was he supposed to approach them if they were always together? It was difficult enough when they were alone.

Azriel spotted Cassian and Rhys from the corner of his eye and moved deeper into the crowd, choosing to stand on the opposite side of the square from them. The last thing he needed was for his brothers to make fun of him.

Someone shouted a warning, and a moment later, the pyre was lit. Azriel flinched as flames erupted, pressing himself closer to the wall behind him. Even from this distance, he could feel the heat of the fire, warming his skin and casting a flickering glow all around.

He shut it out. He shut out the memory of what fire could do to flesh, the smell of burned skin, the screams and cries of a terrified eight-year-old boy. The shadows suddenly swirled around him, brushing against his arms and neck.

Past. Gone. Gone. Just memories.

Azriel closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, letting the truth they whispered calm his racing heart.

He sensed the girl before even the darkness could murmur of her approach.

He let his shoulders slump a little and slid his hands into his pockets, assuming a more casual stance. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him from a few feet away. Her head snapped around to stare at the bonfire as soon as she realized she'd been caught staring.

Azriel couldn't suppress his smirk. He had grown accustomed to females looking his way from the moment he’d hit puberty, but it still made him feel smug every time. Never mind that they didn't approach him—or that he never approached them.

But now, though. Now he would.

Taking one last deep breath, he took a nervous step toward her. And then another. She glanced in his direction, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, but one more step and Azriel was standing in front of her.

A few inches shorter than him, she didn't back away, her big brown eyes meeting his hazel ones. Her delicate face was framed by strands of wavy black hair that flowed past her shoulders, and he stopped himself before his eyes could travel downward to the curves shaping her slim body. She was pretty. Beautiful, even.

“Hi,” he said, attempting a smile. He wasn't sure it looked right.

The girl offered a small smile back. “I'm, uh… I didn't mean to stare. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It's alright.”

For a brief, awkward moment, they just stood there, looking at each other. Then Azriel realized she was waiting for him to say something more. Right.

“What's your name?” he finally asked, silently thanking the little shadow that had curled around his ear to whisper the suggestion.

“I'm Teagan.” The girl's smile widened. “And you're Azriel.”

Caught off guard, he blinked. “You know me?”

Teagan chuckled, a clear and crystalline sound that eased some of the tension in Azriel's body.

Some of it.

“I've seen you around,” she answered with a shrug. Firelight danced on her features. “There aren't many Shadowsingers here, you know. None, in fact. You're one of a kind.”

Her initial shyness seemed completely gone now. Good. That made one of them, at least. Because if her words were meant as flattery, they didn't work. Instead, they only made Azriel more nervous.

What if she had expectations? What if she started asking questions about his powers? What if she would be disappointed now that she was talking to him? What if she—

Azriel cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind at the same time. “Thank you,” he said.

Too stiff. Too short. Not an acceptable answer. But he didn't know what else to say. How was he supposed to talk to a girl when he’d barely had any social interaction for the first eleven years of his life?

But Teagan must have found his awkwardness endearing, because she smiled, amusement shining in her eyes. “Aren't you going to offer me some food?”

A blush crept up his cheeks as he glanced over to the few tables laid with food in one corner of the square. People were already gathering around them and filling their dishes. Cassian was there too, shamelessly flirting with a girl whose hands were already wandering over his chest.

Azriel turned back to Teagan and nodded, a shy smile forming on his face. “I am, actually.” He cleared his throat—as if it could help him sound more confident—then gestured to the tables with his head. His hands remained buried in the pockets of his coat. “Would you like to get some food?”

It came out too formal, and his posture was too rigid. And simply nodding toward the tables? Rude. How could Rhys do this so smoothly? How could Cassian be so bold and smug?

Teagan chuckled again, though. She looped her arm through Azriel's and steered him toward the food. “You've never done this before, have you?”

He almost choked. It was worse than he'd feared, then.

“No, not really… I…” His voice trailed off, and he had no idea how to recover.

She leaned in closer as they walked, and Azriel became acutely aware of just how close she was. Her body pressed against his side, and he could feel her breath on his neck now. He wanted to take her hand, or maybe even slide his arm around her waist. If only he had worn gloves, maybe he would have dared. Though he'd need to find the courage first.

“Am I the first girl you try to flirt with?” she asked, her tone teasing.

Try. Not just flirt, but try to flirt. He was failing so miserably. Maybe he should just give up and leave.

Azriel could only nod, his face a deeper shade of red than Cassian’s siphons.

“I think it's cute,” Teagan said, her big smile lighting up her pretty face. “I'm glad you chose me to be your first.”

If only she knew what kind of first Azriel hoped she would be… but judging by how things were going, he suspected they wouldn’t get that far.

“I… don't really know what I'm doing,” he admitted, unsure why he was even saying that. It probably wasn't a smart move to reveal it, but it was too late to take it back.

As they weaved through the crowd, Teagan stepped even closer to him, and in doing so, her wing brushed against Azriel’s. They both gasped, and though she smiled sheepishly, he didn’t miss the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I just wanted to be closer to you. I really think you're cute. And I appreciate your honesty.”

Azriel smiled warmly, his heart thumping in his chest. He could still salvage this, maybe, so that his first interaction with a girl wouldn’t be a total failure.

As they stopped in front of the tables, he stepped back slightly to face her. “I think you’re cute too,” he said, meeting her gaze. He did his best not to sound shy or awkward. “You're very pretty.”

Her face lit up. “Thank you, Azriel.”

He was about to offer her some food when a group of kids suddenly weaved through the crowd and ran by. Azriel heard them coming and tucked his wings tightly, but Teagan either noticed them too late or couldn't fold her clipped wings any further.

The children bumped into her as they sprinted past, and she sucked in a sharp breath when one of them brushed her wing. Azriel was quick to grab her elbow to steady her, and something fluttered in his chest when she smiled in thanks. But then her gaze moved to his hand, still on her arm, and her eyes widened—in horror or shock, he couldn't tell.

He pulled his hand back as fast as he could, tucking it back into his pocket.

Too late.

Teagan swallowed, and the silence that stretched between them hit Azriel as painfully as a punch to the jaw.

“So,” he said eventually, feeling beyond awkward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What kind of food would—”

“I'm sorry,” she interrupted, already taking a small step back. Her eyes darted to the pocket where he’d hidden his hand before looking at him again. No warmth shone in them now. “But I forgot I had to… do something very important with my friend. Maybe another time.”

Azriel stood there, watching her turn and walk away without another glance. The rejection left him reeling. His mother could say whatever she wanted about his scars not being ugly or horrifying, but he now knew better than to believe her.

His hands balled into fists, and he took a deep breath, flexing his fingers. Without bothering to inform his brothers—who were probably on their way to sleep with yet another girl, since their hands were perfectly normal and unscarred—Azriel left the square. He put a few buildings between himself and the ongoing festivities before taking off to the skies.

He didn't return until long after the sun had set over the horizon.

~~~~~~

Azriel wished he could say he felt at least a bit bad for his half-brothers as Rhys and Cass threw punch after punch at their jaw and stomach. But all he felt while watching the scene unfold was a deep sense of satisfaction, which only grew with every new groan.

When Rhys had told him he needed to talk to his father for court matters, Azriel had refused to go. He had no interest in seeing his father or the rest of his family again, and Rhys had understood, asking Cassian to accompany him instead.

But Azriel had followed them. There was no reason for Cass to be there too, not when he was no good at playing courtier. He doubted Rhysand's father had told him to bring Cassian along.

Hidden in the shadows in the corner of the room, Azriel watched in silence as his brothers—his real ones, the only ones who mattered, as far as he was concerned—landed blow after blow. He knew now this was the real reason they'd come here.

Cassian had been itching for a fight from the moment they arrived and he didn't do a good job at hiding it. Azriel wasn't sure Cassian even tried to hide it. Rhys looked more composed, the perfect picture of the future High Lord dealing with minor problems of his Court. But as soon as Azriel's father had left, both of them had turned to his half-brothers with pure rage in their eyes.

One of them had been either bold or stupid enough to smirk. “How's our bastard brother doing?”

Rhysand and Cassian had both snapped. Despite being a few years older, his half-brothers didn't stand a chance. A warm feeling of affection was the only thing filling his chest as Azriel watched the two Illyrians who had taken him in, taught him how to fly, and showed him what a real family looked like, beat the shit out of whom was supposed to be his actual family.

He didn't make a sound, using his shadows to conceal even his scent. They were all too busy to pick up on it, even more so now that the metallic scent of blood filled the air, but he preferred to be careful.

Azriel didn't know exactly how much time had passed when Rhys and Cass finally relented, their chests heaving and their knuckles smeared with red. They straightened their backs, Cassian’s wings still spread in a fighting stance. Rhys, on the other hand, looked more relaxed, but his cold expression betrayed him.

“Don't you dare speak of him like that again,” Cassian snarled. His voice was just slightly breathless despite the beating he'd just given. “Especially after what you did to him.”

Azriel fought the urge to look down at his scarred hands. Being back in his father's keep was enough to stir memories he had long tried to forget. Instead, he focused on his brothers, on how much they must love him to risk hurting and threatening the sons of an Illyrian lord because of what they'd done to him.

Rhys exchanged a knowing glance with Cassian, and they turned to leave, abandoning his half-brothers on the floor. But they stood with a groan, battered and bloodied, still as arrogant as before. If not more so, now that they needed to make up for their bruised ego after being beaten so easily by a half-Illyrian and a low-born bastard.

One of them, the oldest, flared his wings as if trying to appear more intimidating. “He deserved it,” he spat.

Azriel had to stop himself from lunging forward and burying his own fist in his half-brother's stomach. He wanted to make him understand, to wave his hands in front of his face and yell at him. See this? This is what you did to me. I was eight! How could I have deserved it?

But he remained still, standing in the corner with his hands balled into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms.

Rhysand held back Cassian as he tried to pounce on Azriel’s half-brothers. Cassian looked outraged, as if he couldn't understand why he suddenly wasn't allowed to fight. But Azriel could see the expression on Rhys's face and knew his brother had something different in mind.

“You think Azriel deserved it?” he asked, his voice unnervingly calm. He looked a lot like his father now—aware that he didn't need to raise his voice or his fists for people to obey.

“Well, fortunately for you, I can't show you exactly what I think you two deserve,” Rhys continued, slowly slipping his hands into his pockets. “But I can at least give you a taste of it.”

Before anyone could move, a crack pierced the air, immediately followed by a sharp cry of pain as his half-brothers both collapsed to the ground once more. Their legs lay beneath them at strange angles, the bone of one protruding where it had pierced the skin. The scent of blood grew stronger as the white tiles turned red.

His mother would have disapproved, Azriel knew that. She believed vengeance should not be sought out, and that living well in spite of what had happened was more than enough. Perhaps she was right, and Azriel was as bad and cruel as his half-brothers, after all. But as he stood there, watching them bleed and whine and scream for a healer who didn't come, all he felt was a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that they now felt a fraction of the helplessness he had felt when they burned him.

Cassian crossed his arms, a feral grin spreading across his face. “Stop crying, boys,” he taunted. “It's not like you won't heal.”

The corner of Rhys's lips curled into a smirk. “I put a shield around the room. No one can hear you or smell the blood. I think I'll leave it in place and let you crawl out to ask for help.”

With a glance to Cassian, Rhys gestured toward the door in a silent command, and they walked out without sparing the two Illyrians another glance.

But Azriel stayed a few more moments. Just long enough to see his half-brothers try to rise, fail miserably, and fall back on the floor. When they began to crawl, using their hands to drag themselves across the floor, smearing their blood over the tiles and their clothes, Azriel smiled.

He didn't care if they were spouting insults at him and his brothers. He didn't care what kind of person that made him. The sight of his half-brothers crawling and bleeding delighted him.

With one last look at them, Azriel winnowed away, his heart full of love for the two brothers the Cauldron had blessed him with.

~~~~~~

It felt like centuries had passed since Azriel had last been this nervous around a girl. It had likely been over a hundred years, if not more, since he couldn't recall the last time he went on a date. Even longer since he’d had a genuine crush. Normally, he just approached girls, or they approached him, and things quickly escalated into a night of sex. But it was nothing more than that—just fucking.

With you, it was different.

He met you a couple of weeks ago when he walked into your little bookstore to buy a present for Nesta's birthday. You were so nice and radiant that he couldn't stop thinking about you, and he lost count of how many times he came, buying books he didn't need and asking for recommendations only to listen to you talk. And then he had finally asked you out, and your smile had lit up the whole shop as you said yes.

He was standing on the other side of the street, watching as you closed up the store for the day. Your dress flew around your legs in the evening breeze, and your hair was styled in a simple bun on your head.

Azriel smiled as you crossed the street. As usual, he had to hold back his shadows as they swirled excitedly around him. “You look lovely,” he said when you stopped in front of him.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, lowering your gaze for a second before looking at him with a smile. “You're not too bad either.”

He chuckled softly. “Thank you.” Offering his arm, he gestured to the street. “Shall we?”

You looped your arm through his, and together you strolled along the Sidra, your steps unhurried.

Conversation flowed easily, and Azriel relaxed more as you talked about everything from your job to his preference for flying over winnowing. His shadows, which had lingered around his wings, vanished completely. But then you got to the little restaurant where he had reserved a table, and he grew nervous once more.

Even with your arms linked, your focus never drifted to his hands during the walk. Your eyes were either on him or your surroundings, making it easy to forget his marred skin.

Until you sat across from him and the food arrived. There was no way now you wouldn't notice his scars, which normally wasn't a problem—he'd stopped caring about strangers' opinions years ago. But you weren't a stranger, and you weren't just another girl he wanted to fuck.

You were sweet and beautiful, and he was drawn to you in a way he hadn't experienced in decades. He didn't want you to run away from him.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken you out to dinner on the first date, because now it was probably going to be the last one too.

Yet you didn't stare at his hands. You acted as if everything was normal, never commenting or asking what had happened to him. You carried on the conversation just like before, and when Azriel, hiding his distress behind a carefully crafted mask, asked you about a theater play you'd just mentioned, you launched into a passionate description of its plot and themes. His uneasiness slowly faded as he watched your eyes light up. You leaned closer over the table, so engaged in your story that Azriel found himself smiling and nodding along, only half listening, his worries about his hands momentarily forgotten.

Your voice suddenly trailed off mid-sentence, and you leaned back in your chair, tilting your head to the side. “What?” you asked with a soft smile. Before he could answer, you tensed and added, “I've done it again, haven't I? Rambling on about something you don't care about.”

Azriel shook his head, his hand itching to reach across the table and brush yours, though he held back. “Y/N,” he said, his voice quiet and reassuring. “I do care. I asked you that question. You just had that look on your face.”

Your brow furrowed. “What look?”

“The one you have when you talk about something you like,” he answered, watching your expression grow confused for a second. “You have it when you talk about books too.”

You were quiet for a moment, and then your eyes narrowed slightly. “Azriel,” you said slowly, but your lips twitched up in a smirk. “Did you ask for all those recommendations just to hear me talk?”

“Maybe,” he conceded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. His heart fluttered as your eyes met, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

He’d forgotten having a crush could feel like this—like being a boy again. Only now he knew what to do.

He’d never been much of a talker, preferring to listen and chime in occasionally, but with you, it was easy. You had your own way of involving him, asking questions or simply waiting for him to share his thoughts. Even though you barely paused, Azriel never felt like you were hogging the attention. On the contrary, you made him more at ease.

After you left the restaurant, you went strolling through the streets of Velaris. Azriel was just about to answer your question about how fast, exactly, an Illyrian could fly when you let out a delighted squeal, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward a small bakery.

“Oh, I was waiting for this place to open!” You stopped in front of the window with a dreamy sigh before turning to look up at him. “I forgot it was today. Can we go in? Please, tell me you like pastries!”

Your enthusiasm was endearing, but Azriel couldn’t help glancing down at your hand still holding his larger, scarred one. You didn't seem to notice—or if you did, you didn’t care.

Your grip loosened slightly as you noticed the shift in his attention, but you didn't let go. “Sorry,” you said quietly, your eyes searching his face. “I got a bit carried away. Is this alright?”

He wasn't sure what to say. The lump in his throat made it hard to speak. That you had grabbed his hand without thinking was enough to leave him speechless, but what you were asking now… it wasn’t just that you weren't bothered by his scars. It was that you wanted to keep holding his hand. Azriel couldn't wrap his mind around it.

You probably misunderstood his silence because you started to pull back. He immediately held your hand tighter, gently squeezing it, as if to silently reassure you. “No, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his voice softer than usual. “I’m just…” Not used to it. “You caught me off-guard, that’s all.”

“I caught the spymaster off guard?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Should I be worried? Do we need to inform the High Lord?”

Azriel shook his head with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on you before he gestured toward the bakery. “Would you still like those pastries?”

Your eyes lit up, and Azriel made a mental note of how much you liked sweets. “Oh, yes, please!”

“Then let’s get you some, shall we?”

You walked past him as he held the door open for you, a grateful smile lighting up your face. Your hand remained entwined with his, and for once, Azriel didn’t feel the need to hide it.

You did not let go until he walked you home and you closed the front door behind you, and Azriel had never felt such lightness as he flew back to the House of Wind.

~~~~~~

Azriel sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands with a grimace on his face.

Someone had tried to infiltrate Velaris, likely sent from the Hewn City, and Azriel had been called to find out why. He could still recall the blood and the pleading whimpers. But in the end, he got the information he wanted. He always did.

At a cost.

He had long since learned to keep a cold expression, even in the face of the suffering he caused. He was used to it after centuries, and as long as it kept his city and family safe, he didn't care how cruel he had to become. Maybe it made him a horrible person, but his soul wasn't the cost.

The cost was his hands.

Even after all this time, being in the cells beneath the Hewn City was like being back in the cell in his father's mansion. He had to shut down every part of him that felt, bury those memories deep down in his mind, and remind himself that he wasn't a helpless child anymore.

He was a five-hundred-year-old warrior, and he had a job to do.

But once the job was done, and Rhys decided how to deal with the prisoner and the consequences, Azriel would go back to his room knowing he didn't have much time.

He would wash his bloodied hands, though he knew no matter how much he washed, he could never cleanse them completely. He had five centuries worth of blood on them. After they were clean, if he was lucky, like today, he had time to peel off his leathers before the inevitable happened.

The pain.

No matter how many times he’d been in those dungeons, no matter how many years had passed since he’d last been locked in his father’s cell, he still didn’t know how to stop the pain from returning.

It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first few times, and it was nothing compared to what he had felt while his hands were being burned and in the days after. But Azriel still gritted his teeth, a low hiss escaping from him.

He tried clenching them into fists, but the relief lasted only a few seconds before he had to relax them again. His fingers were stiff as he reached for the drawer, a fresh surge of stinging pain hitting him when he pulled it open. Shadows dove in before he could and quickly whisked up a small jar of white cream. They undid the lid, and Azriel felt grateful for the dark companions that had never once left his side now more than ever.

Willing his hands to cooperate, he scooped up some of the soothing balm a healer had made for him. It always took a little while for its effect to show, but pain was an old friend he had learned to live with.

The herbal scent filled the room as Azriel did his best to spread the balm over every inch of his hands, trying to ignore the stinging itch. Scratching would only make it worse, reddening his already scarred skin until it threatened to bleed again.

He shifted to lie on the bed, wings spread beneath him. He just had to endure the ache for a few more minutes before the balm took effect, and then he could try to sleep. He needed some rest after such a long day, if only to have a clear mind when he met you the next afternoon.

As his shadows hummed in his ear the Illyrian lullaby his mother used to sing him as a child, Azriel let his eyes drift close, flexing his aching fingers every few seconds, hoping for a faster relief.

~~~~~~

Things moved slowly with you.

Neither of you wanted to rush into anything and potentially ruin what you both knew could be the beginning of something great.

You went on several dates, and some ended with him spending the night at your apartment, snuggled up in your bed, which was too small for an Illyrian. Azriel didn’t care as long as he got to fall asleep with you in his arms.

But things had never gone this far.

When he came to your bookshop earlier, he had only planned to walk you home. You were tired from a long day dealing with customers, and he had to wake up early the next morning to leave for Illyria for a few days. Maybe it was the thought of not seeing you—even if only for a week—or the fact that you looked stunning in your simple dress, with strands of hair escaping from your messy bun. Whatever it was, Azriel wanted you. He needed you.

His lips parted from yours, both of you already breathing heavily. “I don't want to go home,” he murmured, his hands on your hips, twisting the thin fabric of your dress, wishing it weren't there.

“What do you want to do then?” you asked, amusement clear in your eyes. But there was desire there too, mirroring his own.

“I want to take off your dress,” he whispered, his fingers already moving to the straps on your shoulders. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Take it off.”

With deft fingers, he slid the straps down your arms, and the fabric slipped off your body, pooling around your feet. You stepped out of it, and Azriel swallowed at the sight of you clad only in your cream underwear.

“If I had known we'd be doing this, I would have worn something more enticing,” you said quietly. There was no shyness or embarrassment in your voice, as if you were simply stating a fact. You did have a point—your lingerie was simple, something you wore every day. It didn't matter to Azriel.

He shook his head, stepping closer to you. “You don't need to,” he murmured. His hands cupped your face, tilting your head up to kiss you tenderly. “You're always stunning, sweetheart, no matter what you wear.”

You hummed, a smile playing on your lips. “Now I want to know what you think when I'm not wearing anything.”

Azriel chuckled, even as desire coiled in his groin. A part of him wanted to toss you on the bed and fuck you senseless. But most of all, he wanted to take his time exploring your body, finding every spot that made you squirm and sigh. Only after he'd thoroughly tasted you would he bury himself inside you.

“Let's find out,” he replied with a smirk, already knowing that, no matter what, you'd always be perfect in his eyes.

He reached behind you to unclasp your bra, and as he tossed it on the chair, he felt himself harden. Your breasts were full and supple, your pink nipples so inviting that he wanted to wrap his lips around them. Yet as he lifted a hand to touch you, he hesitated.

The stark contrast between your soft, smooth skin and his scarred fingers made him pause. He had touched you before, but never so intimately. How could he do that? His hands had so much blood on them. With how they looked, it felt only fitting he would use them for horrible things—to hurt people. Not to touch the wonderful girl he was falling for. How could he be so selfish as to sully you like that? You deserved so much better than him. Someone who didn’t torture and kill for a living, who didn’t have a dark past still haunting him.

Someone good.

He took a step back, lowering his hand.

“Azriel,” you called gently. There was no sign of judgment or disappointment in your voice. You just wanted him to look at you.

Slowly, his eyes met yours. To his astonishment, a soft smile bloomed on your lips.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, taking his hands in yours. He fought the urge to pull away. “You can touch me. I want you to touch me.”

He wanted to. More than anything. He wished he could.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“Why?”

How could he explain? He never told you what had happened to him. He didn’t want you to pity him or, even worse, to drive you away. Selfishly, he wanted to keep you in his life.

When he didn’t answer, your fingers slid around his wrists. Neither of you spoke as you lifted his hands to your mouth and kissed each scarred palm. Azriel’s throat worked, his heart pounding in his chest. Without a word, you placed his hands on your breasts. You let go of his wrists, giving him the freedom to pull away if he wanted to. But your eyes never left his, and that soft smile never faltered.

Azriel swallowed hard. For a moment, he just stood there, not pulling away but not moving either. Your face was open and serene, as if his scars didn’t bother you, even now that they were touching such an intimate part of your body.

Seeing you like this, so calm and accepting, so soft and warm under his palms… his thumbs moved, brushing over your nipples. You shivered, and he couldn’t stop himself from doing it again, feeling the small buds harden under his touch.

As if sensing his impending question, you nodded slightly. “You can touch me, Az.”

Though he knew it was wrong and still didn’t understand how you could want his bloodied, scarred hands on you, he gave you what you wanted—what you both wanted.

He slid one hand behind your neck, pulling you closer and kissing you again. The other remained on your breast, kneading the soft flesh, savoring every small sigh that escaped your lips. You leaned into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, deepening the kiss until Azriel’s control hung only by a thin thread.

When you pulled back, you didn’t give him time to lower his mouth to your neck. You grasped his hand, gently moving it away from your chest, and a wave of fear tightened in Azriel’s stomach. You had changed your mind. Of course you had. He should have seen it coming.

But instead of stepping away, you guided his hand down. Between your legs.

His breath caught as his fingers brushed against your panties, feeling the already damp fabric beneath his touch.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “Are you sure?”

You were smiling again. “Yes. Please, Az.”

He didn’t know how to say no. He knew he should have, that he was unworthy of touching someone so pure and lovely. But you had already pushed the fabric aside, and he groaned as your slick arousal coated his fingertips. Before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers found your clit, drawing a soft moan from you.

The thin thread holding his control snapped at the sound, and Azriel let himself give in.

He pulled you closer, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers explored what they shouldn’t. At the first sign of hesitation or revulsion, he was ready to stop. But pleasure was the only emotion etched across your face, and he could see the desire for more burning in your eyes. Yet you were letting him set the pace, giving him time to accept your permission to touch you.

He slipped a finger between your folds, teasing your entrance before tentatively easing it inside, just a little.

Your hips bucked, and your voice came out as a needy whisper. “Please…”

Azriel hesitated for only a split second before pushing his finger all the way in. You were soft and warm, and you both groaned as your walls clenched around it. He couldn’t believe you were letting him do this, but he couldn’t stop now.

As he slowly pumped it in and out, your hips began to rock against his hand to match his movements. He watched in contemplation as your eyes fluttered close and your lips parted slightly, a breathy moan slipping out when he couldn’t resist the urge to add a second finger.

“Azriel…” you murmured. “Feels so good…”

The sound of his name on your lips sent a wave of heat through his body. His wings rustled quietly behind him, and his cock throbbed in his pants. He pulled his hand away, relishing your disappointed whimper.

You hadn’t run away from him. You didn’t let his scars intimidate you, or shape your opinion of him. You weren’t bothered by his marred fingers touching you; on the contrary, you craved them inside you. So why, despite the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t worthy of it, should he deny you something you both wanted so badly? He wanted to taste you, to make you come on his fingers, and see how much pleasure they could bring you.

“I want to do this properly,” he murmured, gently guiding you to the bed. “Will you lie down for me, sweetheart?”

Your face lit up with a smile, and you slipped out of your panties. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you spread your legs, baring yourself to his hungry gaze.

As Azriel knelt between your parted thighs, he pushed every thought about his hands out of his mind, focusing only on the beautiful girl before him and the warmth settling in his heart.

~~~~~~

Azriel jolted awake, his chest heaving. He lifted his hands in front of him, the dim light of the moon casting shadows across them.

They were fine. Scarred as always, but fine.

He took a deep breath as he lay back down. It was just a nightmare—memories coming back to haunt him in his sleep every now and then. Even after centuries.

“Az?”

He cursed silently as you stirred beside him, turning to face him. He could see your struggle to open your eyes, your voice a sleepy mumble.

“Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It's alright.”

It always was with you. You never complained when his nightmares disrupted your sleep. He didn't have them as often since you'd moved in together, fortunately. Sleeping next to you helped, but it wasn't a cure.

“Did you have a nightmare?” you asked quietly. With your head resting on his chest, you could probably hear the rapid thumping of his heart. He willed it to slow.

“It's fine, sweetheart,” he sighed. He pressed a kiss to your hair, and his tone was softer when he spoke again. “Go back to sleep.”

You curled up against him, and he thought you might let it go. But instead, you continued to look up at him. “You know you can talk to me if you want.”

“I know,” he murmured. You’d always been there for him when he needed it. You had been since the moment you met a year ago, and he was grateful for it every single day. He couldn't wait for your mating ceremony in two weeks and prove once more how much you meant to him.

You shifted in his arms, and then your head was on the pillow next to his, your face only inches away from his. You reached for his hand and lifted it up to your lips, kissing his palm, his fingers, his knuckles.

Azriel watched in silence, a lump in his throat. His heart still raced, and he felt the sudden urge to cry. He didn't even need to tell you what he needed, what burdened him. You always knew. Even before the bond snapped, you'd understood him effortlessly.

“Your hands are fine,” you murmured against his marred skin. “And so are you. You're fine. They can't hurt you anymore.”

Azriel closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. He buried his face in your neck, freeing his hand from your gentle grasp so that he could hold you tighter and press his body against yours. He draped his wings over you, unwilling to let go.

Your fingers stroke through his black curls. “I'm here, my love.” Your voice was soothing and soft, and Azriel felt like the helpless child he'd been five hundred years ago—needing reassurance, care, love. Maybe he would always need those things.

“You're here with me. You're safe now.”

He couldn't stop them, then. Tears slipped past his eyelids, rolling down his cheeks and dampening the skin of your neck. But your gentle caresses and soothing words never faltered.

“It's alright,” you whispered. Your warmth seeped into him, and he felt so cared for that even the last of his walls began to crumble. A broken sob tore through him.

“You're safe, my love.” You cradled his head against your neck, lips brushing his hair. “You can let it all out.”

Azriel did. You'd helped him through difficult moments before, but he had always held back because he didn't want to feel weak. He didn't want you to think he was weak. But if he’d learned anything from you, it was that crying didn't make him weak. That letting his feelings pour out through tears was better than burying them deep down for centuries.

So, he let them rise to the surface. The pain, the anger, the grief for the childhood he’d never had, the bitterness and frustration.

He had never cried about it before, but as he did, he could see it, for the first time in his life—a small light, a way out of the endless cycle of self-pity and hate he'd fallen into.

Maybe his mother had been right all those years ago. He was still healing, even after five centuries. He didn't know how much longer it would take, but maybe he’d reach a point when the nightmares stopped, his hands didn't hurt, and he could accept his scars. And maybe, one day, he wouldn't need his mother or his mate to remind him that his hands weren't ugly.

Azriel had no idea for how long you let him cry and sob in your arms. He had so many pent-up emotions, so much he still couldn't express, words he couldn't voice. But it was a start. And as exhaustion dragged him back to sleep, the weight on his chest, on his heart and soul, felt a little lighter.

Yet you still held him close, stroking his black curls long after he fell asleep.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

#azrielappreciationweek2024 #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel appreciation week #azriel fic #acotar #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #sarah j maas #angst #fluff #fanfiction

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chaepink · 1 year ago

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DAY 19: SUCH A TEASE | COCKWARMING

teasing kageyama is always fun, especially if it has something to do with him cockwarming you.

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ PAIRING ⸻ kageyama tobio x reader

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ WARNINGS ⸻ dom!gn!reader, dacryphilia, begging, cockwarming (character receiving), edging, riding, praise, pegging, strap can be read as a dick, reader can lift him up

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ WORDS ⸻ 1.8k words

KINKTOBER EVENT

You love teasing kageyama. Whether it's palming him under the table at a restaurant, making tears brim his eyes when you continue to overstimulate him, or being blunt with your words about how you want to just bend him over the nearest desk and fuck him till he can't think anymore. All three would result in kageyama flushing red and letting out a needy whine, stuttering out a quiet response.

And today is no different. With your focus solely on the work in front of you, you almost forget about him on your lap. That's until kageyama lets out a whimper, wrapping his arms around you tighter.

"Are you alright, kageyama?" He whines at you. Here he is, fully naked and on your lap with your strap stuffing him full. The tip is just barely touching his prostate and it brushes against it whenever he moves just a little, each time making him leak out pre cum from his hard red dick. It lays against your stomach and he tries his best not to move, wanting to be good for you. He's been cockwarming you for a while now and he's lost track of how many times you've edged him.

A mere hour or so earlier you were working on stuff you needed to finish until Kageyama kept begging you to pay attention to you. So a suggestion of him cockwarming you, some edging, and teasing now has you here. The tip of Kageyama's ears burns, not thinking it his neediness would result to this.

"ah! y-yeah i-im mmph! fine!" You let out a sigh before putting your pencil down and running your hand through his hair. You suddenly grab a fistful of it and pull it back, making kageyama let out a gasp as he throws his head back. Your other hand roams down his body to grip his thigh, giving it a squeeze.

In this new position, you're able to see kageyama much better. His face is flushed red and his eyes are hooded as he looks at you. You look at his dick and how pre cum continues to leak out of it like a broken faucet. The substance continues to drip down his dick and to the base. Ragged breaths escape him and your eyes trail down to where your strap disappears into his ass. The feeling of your eyes down there makes him subconsciously squeeze around your strap, making him let out a small moan. So needy.

"Really? It seems like you're falling apart on top of me already though from what I can tell." Kageyama lets out a cry when you grab his hips to slam him down on your strap, a squirt of his cum spurting out of his dick and staining your shirt. There's no warning for him as you continue your actions.

"s-shit o-oh my god! let me cum, please!" Kageyama lets out a sob when the strap hits the spot inside him that makes his toes curl and back arch back against the desk. When you keep going, kageyama begins to think that you're finally going to let him cum and pleas and begs flood out of his mouth. That's until you stop. He cries out before looking at you with tears brimming his eyes.

"Y-You're so mean, [name]! Stop t-teasing me!" He cries at you, trying to subtly grind against your strap as he paws at your chest. It's been the same thing over and over again. You pay attention to your work for a while before finally paying attention to him. But it doesn't last long cause all you do is edge him close to his orgasm, make him think each time would be the time that you finally let him cum, before stopping altogether and ruining his release. Then you go back to your work as if nothing happened.

You coo at him, cupping his cheek. You feel him lean into your touch with a pout on his lips. How cute.

"But you just make it so easy to be mean to you, baby. You let out those noises I love so much and you're just so pretty when you cry. I can't help teasing you." Kageyama shoves his head into the crook of your neck, hiding his red face. You hear him sniffle and he grips onto your shoulders for support.

"I-I keep getting so close! It h-hurts, [name]." You begin to mark his neck, leaving bite marks and hickeys here and there. Afterwards, you admire how the colors of the marks compliments his skin so prettily. While a part of you feels bad for edging him for a while now, another part wants him to beg for it more, to make him cry.

"Don't you want to be good, though? Wanna be a good boy for me, yeah?" He whines and nods hastily. Of course he does! "That's what I thought too. Good boys do what they're told don't they? So how about you let me do it again, hm? One more time, please?" Kageyama's breath hitches in his throat. You raise a eyebrow at his hesitation.

While he wants to be good for you, the pain in his dick and being denied release a couple times now is starting to get to him and he feels his mind getting foggy. Though of course, the right answer is always clear to him. He wants to be good for you.

He nods again but you tap his cheek, wanting a verbal answer from him. "Y-Yes." You smile at him. "Good boy. Tell me when you're close, alright?"

He shivers at the praise but you surprise him when you grab his dick and begin stroking it, the pace immediately quickening. He widens his eyes, the feeling of his orgasm and the need to release quickly coming back and overwhelming him. His noises fill the room and you almost feel bad for your neighbors who would surely hear him. Almost.

He shuts his eyes close and as his release quickly returns back, he's quick to tell you about it. Even though he knows it's going to happen, he still lets out a broken whine when you release your hand from his dick, ripping his orgasm away from him.

Tears are streaming down his face by now and you have to wipe them off his face. His eyelashes are clumped together and his eyes are glossy.

"You're doing so good for me, baby. That was the last one remember?"

He swallows and nods. You admire the way tears streak down his red face. Fuck, he looks so pretty like this.

"Bet you want to cum now right, doesn't it hurt?" Kageyama lets out a quiet 'yes', pouting at you.

"Go on then, put on a show and ride me." You don't have to tell him twice as his grip on you tightens. He puts his calves on the seat and sits up, slowly taking your strap out of him until it's merely a inch away from his hole. He bites his lip in anticipation and neediness. Seconds later he slams himself down on it, the strap entering him in one smooth movement. A scream leaves his mouth as it fills him up to the brim.

He begins bouncing on top of you so quickly that it's almost like he forgot how you two are only on a chair. Sure the environment may not be the best for him to ride you but the both of you barely cares. All you're focused on is him.

You watch as he quickly falls apart in front of you once again and becomes quickly overwhelmed at the pace and intensity he set for himself. But he doesn't choose to slow down, wanting to chase his high as fast as possible. His mouth is wide open and drool begins falling from the corner of it. He looks so fucked out that you can't help but wish to take a picture and savor it forever.

You notice the bulge on his stomach every time your strap enters him and you press down on the spot, grinning when Kageyama lets out a choked moan at the feeling.

"f-feels so good, [name]." There's a teasing grin on your face. "It feels so good as you ride me, doesn't it? I'm making you feel so good, right?" He nods dumbly even though he doesn't even process what you just said. All your words just go in one ear and out the other.

Incoherent words leave his mouth and you struggle to understand what he's saying. Though you don't really need to know how he feels from his words, the amount and volume of his noises tell you enough about how he's feeling.

"[name], please," he whines. He doesn't even know what he's begging for anymore. His hole sucks in your strap so greedily as if it wants more ever time it enters him.

He can barely think properly. All his thoughts are scrambled and instead are replaced by the feeling of your strap and how it's just hitting all the right spots in him. He feels so full and warm that he doesn't even release how he's about to cum.

The feeling of cumming hits his body suddenly and he lets out a wail at the intense feeling. After being edged so many times, it only makes it better when he finally gets to cum. Cum shoots out his dick and it makes a mess everywhere. It stains his chest and also your top but you don't care. Kageyama continues to ride your strap and you realize that it seems like he's not going to stop anything soon. You don't even have to overstimulate him, he's already doing it himself!

The sound of skin on skin is sinful as it floods your ears. It along with his noises are music to your ears and you swear you could hear them forever and would never get tired of it. Praises spill from your mouth and Kageyama whines at each one.

An idea hits you and you quickly push everything out of the way on your desk. Your hands reach for his waist and when you notice Kageyama slowing down, you lift him off you and push him against the desk. Before he could beg you to put the strap in again, you do it yourself and slam it back in him. The new angle makes his eyes roll back and let out a mewl. He chokes on his spit and all he can do is lay there all pretty for you as you fuck his brains out. After being edged so many times, the feeling of overstimulation is heaven for him.

It's going to be a long night and he knows that by the morning, he won't be able to walk properly. Well, it's not like he's complaining of course.

🏷️: @Vealize21 @fabitheraven @sourissue @jksstuffposts @gallantys @tired-of-life-86 @ineedsleeporilldie @aphoneixnamed-angel @flawlessvictorymentality @wowonamo @euphiroo @saintravey @tomiokx @archer-fb @d1gitalbathh @Lifesucksweswallow @rxflen @aspengagrimlin @ilovemenwhowhimperandbeg @lamees004 @22rhianna2006 @literary-latte @cl-0-vr @qweenjx @mysicklove @uniquebeautylove1 @someonepleasesedateme @arminsesposa

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bumblinv · 2 years ago

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--- human's period ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

platonic!various x gn!human!reader

!! in my hc, na'vi women doesn't menstruate !!

jake and your friends takes care of you during your time of the month. basically just period comfort with momma jake

part 1 part 2!

"they. peed. blood"

spider's terrified screech brings jake one thought;

periods.

and he was dammed right.

the moment he stepped into your marui, he found the kids circling around your bed. their faces contorted with worry yet suffers from cluelessness because they could only watch as you curl yourself into a ball. hand clutching your stomach as you cry into kiri’s lap.

his eyes darted to the blanket under your legs, wich were soaked with blood. jake clicks his tongue with sympathy, "poor baby"

your friends moved back, forming a circle behind jake as they watch him kneel on your bedside.

“this your first period?”

“yes. my... my second day, sir” you whimpered out a weak answer.

“they never left their marui until noon, and we found them like this”

“i never knew periods could get this worst”

“did they got shot?”

you were overwhelmed.

the staring, the murmurs, your marui being crowded. having to experience all of that stimulations mixed with your cramps, made you shake. jake could feel it once he puts his hand on your upper arm.

“will they die?”

“they wont, spider”

“bro, how do you know?”

“shh!”, finally neteyam hisses

even neteyam understand that their questions were all honest, yet stupid that jake doesn’t even spare them any care. his full attention is fixed on your vulnerable state.

“no, kiddo. don’t curl yourself up like that”

“it hurts", you groaned. another wave of pain shakes your entire body.

“baby, squeezing your stomach like that wouldn’t make it any better. lay normally”

“they would move if they can, dad”

kiri's words made his gaze soften. he could see your tiny body jerks slightly with every wave of pain that goes through you. you were sobbing, yet no sound comes out of your mouth

“im gonna help you, okay sweetie?”, jake gives your upper arm a comforting squeeze, “we’re gonna get through this together”

the warmth he offers makes you nod weakly. jake smiles, satisfied with your response. then he turned his head towards his daughter,

“do you have medicine for muscle cramps?” the girl looks at her father, clueless. but the confidence in jake’s voice sounds like he knows what he was doing. with that, kiri nods surely.

“i could come out with something”

“good”

kiri waves her hand at tsireya, signaling her to come closer. ever so gently, the beautiful metkayina moved your head to her lap so the sully could run off and complete her father’s demand

jake puts his other hand on tsireya's shoulder, “you stay to help them clean up, okay? and neteyam” his head turns towards his eldest, “get us warm water, son”

“yes, sir”

“what can we do?” lo’ak asks as his brother went running

“you boys could help, by giving them space”

your watery eyes met with jake's, whispering a weak thank you as your marui, at last, went quiet.

if jake had let them inside longer, you would’ve broke down because even with them being outside, their noises still fills your head

“what is this period? a disease?”

“you see spider, the female human body-”

tsireya could only sigh, “they are good friends, worrying over you like that. but they were being too loud"

"you're right kiddo. now its all quieted down, lets get you cleaned up, yeah?”

"yeah..."

not long after you could feel his warm hands coming down. lifting you up by behind your knees and back. you might think that your weight would have weighted him down, but to jake, it was like carrying a mere child

“tsireya, please get the blanket for me. oh good, the blood doesn't soak up your bed”

“i put the blanket there so when i leak, my bed doesn’t get soaked”, you grin

“great thinking”, tsireya chuckles. but her laugh quickly died out.

you were whimpering in pain.

jake was only settling you down on your bed, yet you look so hurt. “sorry sweetie”, jake whispers after you flinched some more. the man was just straightening your stiffen limbs

the girl approaches you, giving your hand a comforting squeeze.

“everything’s sore, hm?” jake tucks your bangs behind your ears as you nod helplessly.

“i guess i'll wash my blanket after i get better”

“no, you stay here” he ruffles your hair, standing up and grabs your bloody blanket from tsireya’s grasps.

“jake, you don’t have to”

he laughs, “kiddo. if you’ve raised 4 children, you’ve cleaned worst”

“but its gross”

jake looks at you with confusion. why do you have to bring yourself down like that, for something as natural as breathing? he bites his lip. he remembers someone who would insist that he doesn’t need to help wash her ‘dirty’ bloody blankets.

oh how you remind him of her.

he went back to his previous position, kneeling beside you. golden eyes fixed on yours.

“baby, what’s dirty could be cleaned. after all, what’s so dirty about blood?”

you went silent.

“period blood are as natural as snots, tears, and other body fluid you have. so, no biggie, yeah?”

“no... biggie” you repeated after him. a small smile on your lips

“atta girl” jake grins, his hand went up to wipe away your last tear. “i'm gonna wash this. and while i'm gone, tsireya will help you get cleaned up, okay?” and with your nod, he smiles and walk off.

he was about to step out to the beach, but tsireya’s worried call stopped him.

“will they be okay?”

“they will, kiddo" jake shoots her an assuring smile, "they are in good hands”

and he was right.

the second he walked back to your marui, he couldn’t help to stop on his tracks. your marui was filled with joyful chatter, meaning you were getting better. and he could hear laughing too. your laughs

“bro, i thought you were dying”

“oh please”

“no offence, but you do look like you were dying” jake recognize that voice. it was spider’s

then rotxo’s iconic snickers was heard,

“when ya called jake, what was the shit ya told him? somethin' bout them peein’ out blood?”

“spider!” you exclaimed, voice full of embarrassment

“oh, cmon boys. leave them alone”

jake’s chuckle startled all of you.

your marui went silent again. even rotxo shuts his mouth.

you never knew why, but the sudden awkwardness coming over every time jake steps in is unbearable. maybe it happens because none of you were used to the usually strict man being so loose.

“i... uh, i’ve washed your blanket. should dry by tomorrow”

“thank you” you smile at him. jake returned your smile.

your friends are around you, again. but this time, you didn’t seem to bother. you were enjoying they company, even. they were all sitting down near your bedside with empty bowls around their feet.

good, they had feed you

his eyes drift to your side where he found neteyam, pressing a small water sack on your stomach. presumably filled with warm water. but the ceramic mug you were holding catches his attention the most.

the mug was filled to the brim with liquid that smells almost sour. he recognize it. and its strong yellow color, brings him back home.

“kiri made them drink pee”

“i did not, ao’nung”, the girl rolls her eyes as rotxo’s ugly snort-laugh filled the room.

“hey, i know this”

their laughter died out.

jake kneeled beside you. he was looking into your mug with his gaze so soft and loving, you were afraid he was taking a liking to it.

“there’s tamarind and turmeric in it, right?”

kiri’s mouth went agape, “never knew you know herbs, dad”

“i’m not. but i’ve made this drink all my life”

“when?”

“you see, kid,” he looks at his son with a loving smile he rarely gives. his hand went up to squeeze neteyam’s shoulder.

“back on earth, your uncle tommy and i would make this drink for your gramma, when she was on her period” his golden eyes shows such softness as he gazes back into your drink.

it was just some mere drink, yet it was able to make the former toruk makto and olo’eyktan so soft.

“but of course,” he snickers, “we don’t need to boil real turmerics nor tamarinds. they sell it on instant packages”

no one laughs.

there was one question filling their heads, yet even rotxo’s loud mouth does not dare to ask.

where is she now?

lo’ak cleared his throat. “the period, was she in pain too?”

“yes, her whole body would turn so sore she couldn’t move. my dad was never really around, so tommy and i would be the ones running errands”

“oh, so the whole cramp thing is normal?”

“right, kiddo. that’s why you need all the support you can get during your period” he ruffles your hair, making you giggle.

“i need you all kids to take care of them, you got me? its already hard having periods on earth, its even harder when you are the only one having them, in this whole village”

“yes, sir”

“good. its turning dark. they needs rest" with jake’s words, the boys gives you an acknowledging looks before one by one steps out of your marui. not forgetting to bring their dirty dishes from their previous dinner. the girls however, are squeezing the life out of you with their hugs.

“come to me when your stomach’s all messed up. i would make you that drink again”

“yes, i will kiri”, you giggle.

“you know, if its hurting you too much”, tsireya starts, “maybe i could ask my mother to try to stop your periods”

you laugh, shaking your head at the thought of loosing your uterus, “no, reya. i will not, but thank you”

one last hug and the girls were off

“well, i guess my job here is done” neteyam smiles. he was the only one left beside you. his hand still pressing a water sack to your tummy,

“your trusty hot-water-sack-holder needs to go”

his smile turns brighter when you laugh.

“we should hang out tomorrow, teyam”

“yeah”, he whispers as he press his forehead on yours. a soft smile on his lips. your moment was quickly cut off by muffled laughs, your face went bright red as you realize the rest of them were all still standing near your marui

even his dad.

jake cleared his throat, “cmon, son, lets go”

their laughter broke as soon as neteyam approached them with burning cheeks, and was met with lo’ak’s playful swats on his shoulders that even the tips of his ears went flushed.

they weren’t so far away when you could hear spider’s voice,

“jake, when will i get my period?”

“men doesn’t get periods”

“ah shit... can i though, if i try hard enough?”

“just hold your shit in for a week, then you’ll get a period”

“that’ll be my ass bleeding”

their laughter broke once again. you too, couldn’t help but giggle. upon them, neteyam’s roaring laughter stand out the most. he was just glad they had stopped teasing him.

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ultravioletrayz · 10 months ago

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a request? what about your edging miguel and so you let him cum since he begging it however we continuing to do it? and so what about this but with cumplay ? you know,and he.....like into it,like you playing with he cum, on his body.thigh. abs, idk anywhere and just licking it idk?

so a kinda dom/sub!miguel x fem!reader

yea im crazy for a whiny men whos loves anything we do and espically whimper and beg

you with me girlie?

Yes yes yes, totally with you.

The plot for this was inspired by this ask, btw!!

@ce3stvu tagging my bby girl <3

Pairing: sub!miguel o’hara x dom!f!reader

Warnings: 18+, handjob, edging, cumplay, cum eating, dacryphillia if you squint, themes of jealousy

Summary: you remind miguel who he belongs to

A/N: i love dom!migs, but something about imagining that big man all whiny and crying is sooo hot

Word Count: 1K

It’s all that stupid bitch’s fault. The thought is swirling around in Miguel’s head on repeat as his hips pathetically twitch and spasm upwards to try and loosen the grip you have around the blushing tip of his cock. Still, you merely apply more pressure, squeezing his poor head so hard your fingers act as a makeshift cock ring, making it impossible for Miguel to acquire any sense of relief as your other hand fondles his heavy, aching balls with little skill, your only goal being to tease him.

This was a much better way of reminding Miguel of your loyalty to one another than talking it out. Frankly, you didn’t even know how to approach discussing the topic. You were supposed to be Miguel’s angelic, bubbly little girlfriend. You didn’t want to cause a fight over some random spider-woman from work.

Instead, you smile from ear to ear as you watch the beads of tears that cling to Miguel’s gorgeous, thick eyelashes as he sobs and begs to cum, after you’ve denied climax after climax with your possessive grip around the thick circumference of his dick.

There’s no doubt in your mind that other spider-people can hear Miguel’s unapologetic whines from outside his office, and the thought makes your mind a hazy fog of lust and pride. Hopefully, that new girl that Miguel was training, the one that kept running her grubby hands all over his arms and back like you were an idiot and wouldn’t notice her blatant flirting.

You had initially felt guilty when you pulled Miguel away from his sparring session with the girl, leading him to his office with one goal in mind: reiterating that Miguel is yours and yours alone.

But now that he's been forced into becoming this mess of desperation and sticky pre-cum, your worries and shame have vanished. Only your touch can make Miguel feel this way, making him lose all of his self-control and dignity. And he does the same thing to you. Sure, an outsider would probably say all of this jealousy and possessiveness is toxic or overbearing, but you and Miguel can't help but cling to one another. You're each other's soulmates. That new girl could never compare.

"Hah- ah, fuck! M-Mami, por favor… need- ah! need to cum. Please, please l-lemme cum-!" Miguel begs, his tear-stained cheek squished against the smooth material of your spider suit that conceals your tits, but the warmth of his face seeps through the fabric, his breath causing your nipples to perk up at the subtle contact as you lean over him and giggle.

You keep your fingers squeezed around his tip, rubbing his swollen head in circular motions as your other hand cups his balls in the comfort of your palm. The tension around Miguel’s tip is almost torturous, making him curse and thrash around in his office chair as he desperately attempts to make your hand slip even slightly so that his dick can breathe again.

The thick, chocolate-brown hair that adorns the tan flesh from his belly button down to his base caresses your forearm each time Miguel fails to push through the restraint of your fist and thrust into your closed hand.

You feel bad for taking your insecurities out on your poor, unsuspecting boyfriend, who was just trying to be a good boss and do his job, so you decide to give him a break.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me, guapo?" You coo teasingly, releasing the pressure around the leaky head of Miguel's cock and instead starting to pump his shaft, your pace fast and sloppy as you make up for the time spent prohibiting Miguel from having any kind of release.

Miguel's climax hits him like a freight train, his back arching drastically and his claws digging into his seat as his rock-hard cock spurts bucket loads of cum up into the air, the gooey strands of his devotion to you hitting his toned abs and coating the hair on his thighs and stomach, creating a pooling mess of semen, sweat, and tears as he slumps back in his chair and splutters.

You watch with wide eyes as Miguel's cum decorates his tan skin, like an abstract painting of your composition. And you couldn't be more proud of yourself. In a hypnotised state of desire and devotion, you scramble to your knees in between Miguel's spread thighs.

With a smile on your face, you lick a fat, sloppy stripe from Miguel's pelvis up to his juicy pecs, gathering his cum on your flat tongue and swallowing. He tastes divine.

No other bitch would treat him like this, using her hands and mouth to worship him like you do. You lap up every thick glob of shimmering cum from Miguel's panting body, not even able to savour it due to your desperation to taste all of him.

"You taste so good, Mig." You moan, eyes fluttering at the salty, decadent flavour of Miguel's cum flooding your senses. Your hand keeps pumping him slowly, milking every last drop of his delicious cum from his cock as you worship his body and devour his essence as it glistens on his stomach and thighs.

Your free hand scoops up some of his mess to watch how the strings make your fingers stick together, before shoving your digits in your mouth and sucking the cum off your fingers.

Miguel chuckles and moans at the sight of his pretty girl so desperate to please him, all to ensure his loyalty. The fact that you're more willing to drag your wet tongue up and down his cum-covered, shivering body than have a conversation about your feelings is a little odd, but Miguel's not complaining. It's sweet to see how much you love him, and how much you hate that new bitch for thinking she stands a chance against you.

Miguel holds your chin in his hands and stops you from feasting on any more of his cum, directing your gorgeous face upwards so that you're staring into his eyes. You rest your tacky hands on his thighs, making him tremble ever so slightly at the way your skin sticks to his, binding the two of you together.

Breathlessly, Miguel whispers to you, his girl, his one and only, the love of his life, with a crooked smile on his sweaty, fucked-out face.

"Sólo para ti, hermosa."

sick and tired of miguel being depicted as the “jealous and possessive” one in the relationship. If I had a man like that, I’d be just as crazy

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princessbrunette · 10 months ago

Note

jj eating out reader while john b is talking her through it and stroking her hair :(( -🪞

˚୨୧⋆｡

you feel hot all over, like there’s a million hands on you when really there’s four, and a tongue — a smooth and skilful tongue that belonged to none other than jj maybank.

he circles the wet muscle around your clit before sucking on it, three fingers plunged into your hole this time making you cry and squirm around the stretch. it felt so good you would have full on hyperventilated if it wasn’t for john b’s warm body pressed against you, thumb stroking your cheek as he talks you through it. come to think of it, you’re not sure if that simply just made things worse.

“damn she’s messy.” jj comes up for a millisecond to breathe, choosing to comment to no one in particular about just how turned on you were. you whine in embarrassment, though the blonde had no intentions of making it sound like a bad thing in the slightest. to make matters worse, john b chimes in.

“you hear that, pretty girl? you must really need it today, like really really need it.” his warm, deep voice carries a tinge of rare cockiness which only serves to make your clit throb harder against jj’s tongue, a tear wobbling at the precipice of your eye.

“i do.” you try to say, and it comes out a mere whisper — as if you were having all the air punched out of you, making you hollow.

“thats nice. i like it when you let us take care of you, you get so cute when you’re about to cum.” you wonder how john b knows, but maybe the telltale sign was the way you were gasping for air, jj wrestling your thighs to hold them open as he pushes himself further up the bed determinedly, his tongue speeding up.

“oh— oh god!” you sob, hands clutching the brunettes tanned arm, digging in your nails to leave half moon shape indents that he’ll never complain about.

“nope, not god. juuust jj.” john b smirks, clearly enjoying his own commentary — especially as you’re briefly aware of his own hard on pressed against your side. “and me, of course. i’ll get my turn once you have your fun, puppy.”

and like clockwork — the puppy nickname takes the reign each and everytime, making you explode against the blonde half of your boyfriends mouth, whining and whimpering your heart out.

“thaaats right. let it out bubba.” john b cooes, and it seems jj assumes the command is also directed at him as he lets out groans of his own, grinding his cock against the mattress.

˚୨୧⋆｡

#🪞 anon #jj x reader x john b

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seungisms · 2 years ago

Text

🖇️📁 𝐒𝐊𝐙 … 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐗

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, do not interact if you’re under 18

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, oral (both male and female receiving), overstimulation, edging, use of sex toys, slight humiliation kink with minho and jisung idc it’s hot

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: been extremely feral over the thought of dom!jisung recently so you guys are just gonna have to deal with that until he gives back my sanity ! also, half of skz are soft af in this and the other half *cough* seungmin and minho *cough* are the biggest meanies ever so beware :( reblog for a kiss, feedback much appreciated!

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍

such a softie :( gets a little carried away though and often finds himself pounding into your pussy so hard until you’re a sobbing mess beneath him - no thoughts swirling around in that pretty head of yours except finally finding your release on his dick. loves it so much that he’ll drag out your orgasm just so he gets to see those cute tears staining your cheeks. claims he doesn’t do it on purpose but the feeling of his cock twitching against your plush walls begged to differ 🥺 however in his softer moods he’ll be sososo caring and attentive towards you. won’t notice your soft cries at first cause he’s too busy fucking up into your cunt, distracted by the feeling of your heat closing in around him. normally loves how vocal you are when he’s stretching you out nice and slow, but as soon as he catches a mere glimpse of those glassy eyes and that soft pout adoring your lips istg he’ll literally melt. will still deep inside you, ignoring the throbbing of his dick against your walls begging to continue fucking you into the bed - before kissing away the tears staining your cheeks - muttering the sweetest words against your heated skin. will literally refuse to continue until he knows you’re okay and even then he’ll be so slow and gentle with the rut of his hips, trying not to overstimulate your sensitive heat even further.

“oh baby, too much for you?”

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐎

literally so cruel! practically laps up the tears falling from your fucked out eyes and it’ll only encourage him to fuck into you even harder and deeper - loving the feel of your toes curling against his leg and the lazy hump of your hips eagerly meeting his own. always say you ‘look the prettiest when crying for his cock’ 🤒 very much into edging and will stretch you out with his fingers, fuck you with his tongue and drag his cock teasingly slow against your fluttering walls, bringing you to the brink of orgasm again and again before ripping it away from you just as you’re about to spill onto him - just so he gets to see the sight of your pretty eyes well up with tears. by the time he’s done with you he’ll have you covered in spit, cum and crying for release and he swears it’s his favourite sight. defiantly intends to fuck you so hard until you’re crying each and every time, he gets such a kick out of it and won’t hesitate to mock you for your cute whimpers, but there’s no denying he absolutely loves it. will make you clean up his cum afterwards cause he finds the humiliation that washes over your face soso funny, the dried tear stains on your skin and the sight of your tongue lapping up his cum being all he can focus on.

“look at you, so cute. i know you can take more.”

𝐒𝐄𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍

very much a switch but when he’s domming you then you bet your ass he’s gonna be domming you hard. sometimes forgets how small your pussy is compared to his cock and absolutely loses his mind every time he sinks into you - the stinging stretch of your cunt fitting snugly around him making you cry out against his flushed skin. soso proud of himself that he’s able to fuck you so well that you’re practically limp on top of him, your sobs only getting louder as he continued to thrust up into you - desperation sinking into every fibre of your being while your nails tugged on his dark locks, the sounds of your wetness coating his dick with every rut of his hips almost making you hide your face away in his neck from humiliation if you weren’t so focused on finally creaming on his thick cock. your little whimpers gets him off so much and will only tip him over the edge of filling you pretty pussy up with his cum, the warmth of it coaxing one last whine from your lips. will do a complete 180 once he finally slips out of you and be so attentive and caring, letting you slump in his strong arms before kissing away your tears and telling you how well you done for him !!

“so pretty when you cry.”

𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍

another meanie the gets such a kick out of your tears. thinks your clit looks prettiest when it’s all puffy and sensitive, overstimulating you until you’re on the brink of tears and will work your pussy until he gets to see those very tears run down your cheeks in the cutest possible way. can promise you rn this man will coax those sobs out of you until you have no more to give, spent and completely fucked out in every possible way. also the most condescending asshole ever - even when he’s working your wet cunt with his lips he’ll still be soso mouthy !! leaves long, fat licks up your pussy lips as you lazily buck your hips up - blubbering something about not being able to handle anymore but you’re still tangling your fingers in his hair and pushing his head even further between your spread legs. lets out the most obscene groan ever against your heat when he catches sight of your glassy eyes, mouth still busy sucking on your slit and there’s spit and cum everywhere and he swears he could die right here with his head buried between your plush thighs and he’d go a happy man. big fan of continuing to overwork your cunt once you finally cum, spitting onto the swollen folds and fucking his salvia into you with his long fingers, tongue going back to sucking on your nub just so he gets to hear those cute cries some more. defiantly the type to hump the bed while eating you out, your tears doing nothing but making him want to finally bury his cock into you - but he’ll always make you work for it first.

“look at those pretty tears, tell me you deserve to cum and i’ll think about it.”

𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆

normally the one to be crying during sex cause he’s just such a brat and challenges you so much in bed - to the point where he gets too in over his head and before he knows it he’s laying fucked out on the bed with your hand working his throbbing cock that’s been edged more times than he could count, crying out that he’s sorry :( so to say he’ll be so goddamn smug when he finally makes you cry is an understatement. such a big sucker for fucking you in public and likes the humiliation that takes over your pretty face when you have to show your face again and talk to everyone as if you weren’t just getting railed and filled with cum moments ago. felt especially mean one night while you were both out for dinner with the rest of the boys, getting fed up with your teasing and fleeting touches to his clothed cock. has no problem pulling you into the fancy ass restroom and bending you over the sink, knowing full well everyone that walked past could hear your pretty little cries for release as he drove his dick into you. says shit like ‘you think that was funny huh? that little stunt you pulled out there? sure aren’t laughing now.’ tugs your hair back and forces you to meet his eyes in the reflection of the mirror just above the sink counter he was currently fucking you over. this man literally feels himself swell up even more inside of you at the sight of you trying to keep your tears from spilling over onto your cheeks - only for them to do so when he ruts against you even deeper, your plush walls hugging his cock so nice and tight as his hips stutter against your ass. becomes such a cheeky shit once he fills you full of his cum and in future will do all in his power to make you cry more often during sex (9.5/10 chance hell end up being the one with tears in his eyes though <333)

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗

overstimulation king but in the softest possible way!! will coax orgasm after orgasm out of you no matter how fucked out you claimed to be - despite covering his fingers, tongue and cock in your cum each and every time. the type to be like ‘are you okay sweetheart? i’m not going too hard on you am i? 🥺’ once he notices your tears, as if he didn’t have his fingers buried knuckle deep in your pussy. desperately wants to be the soft and caring boyfriend everyone views him as but he really does get such a kick out of your cries. will kiss your tears away while muttering ‘almost there baby’ and ‘just hold on a little longer’ - this mf will literally coo down at you as you continue to blubber beneath him, his cock reaching the deepest parts of your cunt with every thrust he inflicted onto you. no matter how much he likes to make you sob on his dick he’ll still be so attentive to you, kissing your wet cheeks while cumming deep inside of you and squeezing your hand in his oh so affectionally once you recover from the dicking down he just gave you. grins down at you with the prettiest smile ever and in that moment you find it hard to believe that this man, this literal angel, was just tormenting your abused cunt for hours on end just so he could see the sight of your glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. crying during sex will be a rare occurrence with felix but ask this man what his favourite sight is and he’ll answer without even thinking: you covered in cum that he couldn’t even tell was his or yours, sobbing beneath him yet still begging for his dick. probably has a few polaroids of you in this exact position <3

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍

pls he’ll mock you so much if you show even the slightest hint of breaking down during sex. gets off on it so much though and defiantly becomes one of his main goals while working you on his dick. degrades the fuck out of you, will say shit like ‘aw is my pretty baby gonna cry? haven’t even given you my cock yet and i’ve already turned you into a little crybaby slut’ while fucking you knuckle deep, curling his fingers against your pussy walls while pressing the pad of his thumb hard down on your clit - the throbbing feeling of being oh so close to cumming eating away yet again, already losing count of how many times this night he dragged out your orgasm just to rip it away from you at the very last minute. loves seeing those cute little tears of yours while pressing one of your pretty pink vibrators into you, filling you up so nicely but not being enough for you to actually finally spill. hovers over you with such a mean grin on his face, watching the tears trail down your frustrated face - chest heaving as the vibrations of the toy stimulated your cunt. definitely calls you a ‘cute dumb whore’ once a loud cry rips out against your throat when he suddenly pulls the toy from you, hips following the movement and slipping into you just as your pussy missed the feeling of being full for a split second. this mf would laugh straight in your face at the sound of your pathetic whimpers if he wasn’t so focused on the feeling of your heat closing in around him. makes sure you feel the curve of his cock kissing against your womb with slow, deep thrusts - filling you with a warmth that some useless plastic dick couldn’t provide. defiantly one of his favourite sights and he’ll be sure to fuck those tears out of you each and every time no matter how much you fight to hold them back, he’s so mean istg :(

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍

he doesn’t mean to make you cry, he swears !! he just gets so carried away from the pretty view of you on your knees before him, sparkling eyes spilling over with tears while he fucks into your mouth - hips rutting forward to feed his cock down your warm throat and you were just as eagerly sucking him in like the good girl you are for him. how was he not supposed to lose it? >:( tried to be so soft with you to begin with but as soon as he feels your tongue licking up his shaft before pressing it hard down against his the slit of his tip he fucking loses it. tangles his fingers in your hair and pushes your head down deeper onto his dick until your nose was practically pressed against the trimmed patch of hair above his cock - chuckles through his nose as he watches you struggle to breath but continue to sick him off. defiantly will cock train your mouth a lot and claims its to work on your gag reflex - but really he just likes to see you choke around him with tears and mascara staining your face. the type to brush his thumb under your eye to catch a stray tear so softly, as if he wasn’t currently fucking your throat with no mercy. also really likes the little cries and whines you make around him, the sound pounding around his cock and only encouraging him to grind his hips into you even deeper. defiantly the type to bring it up in future just to see the cute little flush that takes over your face (also, he likes bragging to the other guys that he fucks you so well that you end up sobbing on his dick but he’ll never tell you that)

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vegan-peppermint · 13 days ago

Text

Dating the creeps would include

See the other creeps here

Character: Tim/Masky

CW: creampie, mean masky

SFW and NSFW prompts

Tim/Masky

Tim wasn't really intrested in you, or anyone for that matter

He knew his baggage well and was sure he did not want to involve anyone in all that mess

Especially someone so pretty as you

But you kept reappearing in his path

In line at the gas station, walking in the park, at the coffee store- he couldn't get away from you

You started smiling and waving at him after the third or fourth coincidental meeting

He finally decided to buy you a coffee after couple months of running into each other

Tim is actually a pretty good boyfriend

He tries his best to treat you right

He sets reminders every week to bring you something: flowers, chocolate, a plushie

Showing up for you is where he's lacking

More often than not he disappears for days, ghosting you on every platform

Causing you to show up to a restaurant reservation alone or having to explain to your friends you're not sure where your boyfriend is or if he's even coming to the hangout

He puts you through a lot of embarrassing situations

Then he comes back to your door steps with takeout and that stupid grin

God, you love that stupid grin

He lies to you, and you know he's lying

His parents were sick, his phone broke, he fell down a goddamn rabbit hole

It all sounds the same to you

However you never once suspected him of cheating

He's the kind of man that loves you with his whole being

And you feel how dedicated he is to you

In the kisses he overwhelms you with

The gentle touches, soft pulls at your sides

In how well he knows you- things you cannot even remember mentioning to him

He knows you whole.

So you let him in every time

Physical touch:

He wanted to take it slow, not trying to rush the physical part

Which got you very frustrated, as you wanted to rush the physical part

You noticed his shoulders from the first date

He leaned in for a hug, and you immediately felt overwhelmed by his size

You couldn't properly reach all the way across his back, so your hands settled on his shoulders and upper arms

Which only made it worse- you were made aware of the size difference, with a sense of vulnerability and safety

You just wanted to see how sturdy this man really was

It took Tim long enough before initiating

He was worried, scared maybe? He did not want to hurt you

But you were so cute whenever you tried to get him in the mood

Doe-like eyes and pouted lips- such a gentle invitation for him

The first couple times he tried to be on his best behavior

Kissing you softly, hands squeezing your tits lightly while whispering praises in your ear

But he cannot deny that dark, primal part of himself, especially when you trigger it with a mere touch

His hand would slip on your neck, almost hesitant

His teeth would barely scratch your skin

He was good, he'd tell himself, he's doing a good job taking it easy

But you just had to moan like that, you just had to whimper his name so breathlessy

His mind goes wild, getting those sounds of you is the only goal

His teeth sank in deeper, almost drawing blood

He angled his hips in such a way he'd pound into you deeper than you could even imagine

"F-Fuck, you're so needy for my cock-"

Your eyes roll in the back of your head, you grab desperately at his back leaving red marks

You did not recognize your sweet boyfriend in this violent, yearning man

But did this animalistic side of him transform you in a sobbing, wet mess

"Just take it, take it- you fucking whore,"

His thrusting pace increased, pounding you ruthlessly

He was just too big, pushing into you deeper than before

"Fuck~ Ngh~ Tim, please, please, please," you cry, the tension in your stomach growing

He's sinking completely inside your gummy walls. He grunted, your walls tightening around his dick, milking him shamelessly

Heavy panting from both of you

You got tears forming threatening to spill, you were so overstimulated

He kept himself inside making sure you don't spill one drop

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl.”

#masky x reader #masky #creepypasta proxy #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta scenarios #creepypasta fanfic #masky mh #marble hornets #masky marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #masky x you #masky fanfic #masky x y/n #masky prompts #creepypasta prompts

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 6 months ago

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 8

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 4.2k

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The world spun around you in a blur of black and gray, and your stomach tossed, rolled, and turned as though you were on a sailing ship. You felt your body rip apart and come together over and over again, every inch of your skin momentarily existing independently from the rest. Your mind was awash, tumbling through space until you finally landed, leaning back on your forearms, on a cool marble floor. Once it felt as though your stomach had settled back into place, the reassuring hands that had grabbed you released their hold. You rolled to your side, placed your hands on either side of you, and emptied the contents of your stomach onto the black and gray floor. Your nose and throat burned as the stew from earlier came up, looking much the same as it had on the way down. Tears stung your eyes as you coughed and hacked.

“It’s okay,” a familiar voice reassured you. “Let it out.”

You continued to spit and hack, your hair falling into your face as sweat poured down your body. A hand came down to rest on your back, and without thinking, you quickly crawled away from it, a fearful whimper escaping you. You whipped your head back to see Azriel, crouching, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. It seemed that’s where his hands always went when you saw each other. Your legs weakly trailed behind you as you pulled yourself to the wall, clutching your knees to your chest. You wiped your mouth with your sleeve, pointed at him, words failing to leave your mouth before the tears overflowed again, and you sobbed out a wailing cry that echoed through the marble room.

Azriel merely looked at you, unsure of what to say as he tried to piece together what had happened. He inched closer to you, still crouched, as though you were a wounded animal who might lash out. “Y/N,” he whispered, extending a hand toward you. As he reached out, you curled tighter into yourself.

“Get away from me!” you screamed at him.

Azriel's hand retracted to his chest. You barely heard the sounds of doors opening and footsteps hurrying up the hallway. You buried your head in your knees, choking sobs making your pants damp and hot.

“What happened?” a female voice rang out, melodic and wavering with concern.

Azriel spoke, “I—” he started, but he was interrupted by a deeper male voice.

“Who’s that?” the voice asked.

Azriel paused, stammering a bit before light hands caressed your shoulder. “Hey,” a female voice cooed. You almost leaned into it but you swung your arm out pushing into the voice, pressing the figure behind you back.

Heavy footsteps rushed toward the female now sitting behind you, having fallen to the ground when you knocked her. As the footsteps approached, the female voice said, “No, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

A different male voice, slightly less deep than the first, spoke with cool collectedness, “Azriel, can you tell us what’s going on?”

Azriel, still stammering over his words, simply said, “She’s from Frostvale, she was attacked.”

Your sobs continued to rack your body, pain shooting through your left side.

The deeper voice replied, “Frostvale is under attack?”

“No,” Azriel replied, “Just her.”

There was a pause, filled only with the sound of your crying as you struggled to suck in suffocating breaths.

The female voice spoke again, “Leave us be. I’ve got her.”

Azriel seemed hesitant but was quickly silenced, and the three sets of heavy footsteps retreated, the doors shutting behind them.

The female remained with you, and you could hear the shift of her clothing as she shuffled herself in front of you. “Hey,” she whispered again. At her voice, you buried your head deeper into your arms.

“You’re safe,” she whispered. “No one is going to touch you or hurt you.”

After a moment of your continued silence, the female shifted a bit more, coming to rest her back against the wall a few feet from you. You must have sat in silence for fifteen minutes as you cried, the female content to be near you. Your sobs began to wane, turning into whimpers as the last bit of your energy seeped out through your tears. You finally found the strength to look up and take in the face of the fae female who had sat with you. Her skin was a soft cream color with light brown freckles dotting her nose and down to her full, pink lips. Her cheeks had a slight pinkish hue as if she had been out in the sun, and her blue-grey eyes softened as she looked at you. Her hair framed her face in soft brown waves, which she pushed behind her pointed ears as she took you in as well. You were sure you did not look nearly as clean or put together as she did.

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice a soft lilt. Your lip trembled slightly. “It’s okay,” she whispered again.

You looked at her, still trying to take her in. She wore only a dark blue sweater and a pair of black linen pants, her feet bare as she sat cross-legged against the wall, her head turned towards you. “You’re not alone,” she crooned.

You wanted to speak but felt the words get caught in your throat, stuck beneath the lump formed by your tears and sobs. The female looked at you, her eyes seemingly searching and digging through the sorrow in your own. “You’ve been through a lot,” she said finally.

You only nodded, feeling childish in front of her. Sensing your struggle to speak, she said, “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know you’re not alone.” She nodded to reassure you, and you nodded back. “My name,” she put her hand to her chest, “is Feyre.”

“You’re in Velaris, in a safe house, where no one can get to you.” She placed her hands on the wall as if to show its strength. “We have food and water,” she continued, “and beds. We have doors that lock, and showers, and no one will touch you or speak to you if you don’t want them to.” Her eyes, seemingly full of care and compassion, locked onto yours. “You can control what happens to you.”

With that last statement, more tears rolled from your eyes. Your fear was overtaken by incredible sorrow, and the sounds you emitted shifted from those of pain to those of profound sadness. “This moment won’t last forever,” Feyre continued. “These feelings are temporary.” Yet they felt as if they would consume you.

“Can I move closer?” Feyre asked, and you nodded slightly.

She shifted closer, close enough that your bloodied, mud-stained toes could brush against her pants as she looked ahead, away from you. “We can stay here as long as you like,” she noted.

You continued your quiet tears as she sat, not looking directly at you but occasionally glancing over. She placed her hand on the floor next to you, her clean skin a stark contrast to your dirtied hands. After a few moments, you reached out, your fingers barely touching hers. Feyre shifted her hand slightly closer, covering your hand with hers. Her touch was cool and seemed to center you. Your tears continued to fall as she lightly brushed her thumb over the back of your hand, your other arm still pressed to your forehead as you cried. Time passed, although you wouldn't have known it, and at some point, so overcome with exhaustion, you finally let sleep take over.

You didn’t even dream.

______________________________________________________________

When you awoke, your eyes burned and were puffy from sobbing, and your face felt sticky from dried tears and snot. You shifted your weight slightly, the bones in your rear sore from the hard floor. The hand that rested on top of yours shifted, and you looked up to see Feyre, still sitting next to you, her eyes shut and head resting against the wall. You swallowed and moved slightly, causing Feyre’s eyes to flutter open and turn to you. “Morning,” she noted.

You glanced around the hall, now illuminated with the soft morning light coming in from the arched windows on the other side. The sparkle within the grey lines of the marble crept through like fingers of a river, reflecting the soft pinks of sunrise.

“Morning,” you croaked back, your voice raw.

Feyre stretched, arching her back slightly, raising her hands above her head, and scrunching her nose before looking back at you. “Breakfast?” she asked.

Your stomach growled, although you felt no hunger. “Or would you like to stay here longer?” she inquired.

You considered it. You felt you deserved to shrivel up and rot here, condemning yourself to sore bones and joints, but your body ached for something softer. You shook your head no.

“Would you like to eat?” she asked. You shook your head no again.

“Would you like to go lie down?” she asked.

You nodded slightly. Feyre gave you a soft smile as she brought her hand back to yours. “Do you think you can stand?” she asked.

You nodded again as Feyre slowly stood, brushing down her pants. “Do you need help up?”

You pressed one hand onto the wall, the other into the floor, and pushed yourself upright. Your legs faltered slightly. In a moment, Feyre grasped your arm to catch you before you fell. “Steady,” she crooned. “One step at a time.” You nodded, your dirty hand smudging the white wall. “Can I put my arm around you?” she asked.

“There are a few rooms just through that door at the end of the hall with beds,” Feyre said. “If you need to stop, just let me know and we can take a break.” You nodded as she smiled slightly. The two of you took small steps forward, yours more of a shuffle than a step, until you were down the hall and through the dark wood doors at the end. The next hall was darker, with no windows, but the soft, plush carpeting was a welcome relief under your feet. Feyre guided you into a bedroom; with the curtains drawn, it was hard to make out anything. With sure footing, Feyre brought you to a bed, sitting you on the edge as she turned down the sheets, urging you to pull your feet in. The soft, clean, cool silk sheets met your legs as she pulled them up around you, your head coming to rest on a pillow of the same fabric. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked.

You shook your head no, though you secretly did. “I won’t be far,” Feyre noted. “If you need anything, just make any noise and I’ll be here.” You nodded, fighting down the growing tears again. “The door locks. Do you want me to lock it for you and leave you the key?” Feyre asked, and you shook your head no. You didn’t feel the need to protect yourself anymore. The worst had already been done.

“I’ll be right out there.” Feyre pointed, although the darkness of the room shrouded her gesture. Without saying anything else, you heard the soft patter of her bare feet as she exited the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The darkness was a welcome comfort as you pulled the sheets tighter around yourself, silently hating the amount of dirt and filth you were bringing into the clean space. Your mind raced, though nothing specific played in it—just the sounds of Anthea’s echoing sobs, your own screams, the sound of a knife through flesh, and blood hitting the leaves on the forest floor. So much blood. How could one tiny female produce that much blood? You squeezed your eyes shut, a tear escaping. You shouldn’t be here, you thought. You left her behind. If you had forced Anthea to come with you, if you’d pulled her from the ground and made her run, she might still be alive. If you had just done more, been brave enough to fight back more, she would be here right now. You abandoned her. You should have brought her along in your escape. You left her, knowing the fear she had living deep inside her. You watched her hide the entire time you were there; you saw her scurry among the males with a hollow look in her eye, and you chose to leave without her. You were no better than the male who slaughtered her. Those thoughts continued to ring through your mind until a sly voice echoed within.

“Baby?!” the voice sounded, frantic and fearful—your mate. You clenched your eyes shut, trying to close down the bond, but your mind was too weak, and too many voices were taking up space to shut it. “Baby, are you okay?!”

You didn’t respond, only allowing him to continue his frantic panic. “I lost you. I couldn’t hear you, couldn’t even see the bond anymore. I thought you were dead. Are you alright? Where are you?” His words came in a jumble as though he was sending them as quickly as they came into his mind. “What happened?”

You didn’t respond.

“Baby, listen to me,” he said. “I love you. I miss you. I was so worried about you. I haven’t eaten or slept since I stopped feeling you.” He sounded as though he were crying, his concern apparently quite real. “I just—” he paused, “Please tell me where you are.” You let your eyes blink slowly as you listened to his pleas. “Just come home, baby.”

A pause, “I can feel how you hurt,” he said. “Something happened, and I know that you’re hurt. I can feel it.” He paused again, “Let me help you, baby. You don’t have to do this alone.” You continued to listen to his ramblings, his false promises mingling with your own internal monologue of self-hatred. “Don’t shut me out, my love,” he pleaded. “Please.” You couldn’t shut him out, even though you wanted to.

His pleas, the sweetness of the fruit he offered, were tainted by the venom in his lips. It seemed a fitting punishment for the selfishness that had caused an innocent female to die. “Just come home,” he kept repeating over and over, but your thoughts of home were filled with nothing but bruises and bloodshed. You had no home. Not anymore. The only home you had was within your own skin, which was so bruised, so bloodied, and dirty that it mirrored the feelings you held within. It was a temple of destruction, used by others for their own needs—a body, a home for everyone you hated.

You swallowed, tears no longer wanting to flow as your mind continued to race. You fell in and out of weary sleep, his voice still crooning to you, beckoning you to give him a piece of where you were. Finally, you fell into a restless sleep, his voice an unwelcome lullaby.

______________________________________________________________

Flowers, a field of flowers, and the warmth of the sun kissing your cheeks as you wandered out of the treeline and into the expanse of summer colors. Purples of snowbells intermingled with the oranges of fire lilies, pinks of edelweiss, and the yellows of leopardsbane all swayed in the breeze as you walked barefoot, feeling the softness of the meadow grass under your feet. You tilted your face to the sky, basking in the afternoon heat, breathing in the fresh mountain air. Summer. Summer bliss.

You continued through the meadow, unsure of your destination, following paths made by the wildlife before you. The light linen, cream-colored dress you wore skirted down to your midcalf, its fabric soft against your skin, dancing in the wind. The air felt full, and each breath came easier than the last. As you reached the middle of the field, you saw your mate as he was when he was young, lying in the grass. His brown summer pants were tied loosely around his ankles, his feet also bare. The cream linen shirt he wore lay open on his chest, rising and falling in time with your own breaths. He sat up as you approached, curling one leg up to rest his chin on his knee.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He held his hand out to you, strong and powerful, and you took it. His warm, calloused fingers wrapped around yours as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“My love,” he whispered, placing another kiss on your skin, “my life,” he pulled you closer, running his hand up the length of your leg, lifting your dress as he scaled your soft, supple skin, “my mate,” he whispered as he exposed your thigh, pressing a tender kiss near your knee. You closed your eyes, your mouth opening slightly as you let out a breathy sigh. He pressed more soft kisses into your leg, pulling your foot to rest on his knee, his hands grazing over your skin. “Come here,” he whispered, his hands trailing up to your hips as you lowered yourself into his lap. You draped your arms around the back of his neck in a lazy hold as he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes meeting. The sun beat down on your hair, warming you, the soft breezes still pulling the flowers to and fro. He pressed his hand to your abdomen, his thumb tracing lines up and down as he kissed you softly, urging a gentle moan of delight from you. He tasted of sweet summer wine, and you craved another as you pulled him back in.

Your mate pulled back, your eyes still shut, mouth parted slightly as he grasped your face between his soft palms, his thumbs brushing your hair back from your face, blown in by the gentle summer wind. “Look at me, my love,” he urged. Your eyes fluttered open, and you saw his face, now more similar to the way he looked in the present, no longer the young male you had fallen in love with so many years ago. “We can make this right,” he urged. “We can spend our summers in the meadows; you can pick wildflowers and press them into books.” He looked deeply into your eyes as your stomach churned. “We can spend days at the river like we used to.” He released your face, placing one hand on your abdomen. “We can have a family.”

You pressed your forehead against his, whispering softly, “You can’t promise me that.”

He whispered back, “I can. I was scared, I made mistakes—”

“You can’t. You can’t do this, it’s not in you,” you whispered, shaking your head against his as you ran your thumbs over his hair. “You hurt me.”

“I know, baby,” his voice wavered with tears. “I know I did. And I can’t take that back. It kills me to know what I’ve done to you.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, “Don’t call me that.”

He sniffled as you continued to rub gentle circles over his hair. “You can’t do this anymore. You can’t pretend to care.”

“It’s not pretend,” he pulled back, his eyes red with tears. “I love you.”

You looked at him, your hands dropping to your lap. “You can love me and not care for me. Just as I can love you and despise you.”

His eyes grew heavy, darkening slightly. “You can’t say that.”

“You don’t get to control what I say.”

He looked into your eyes, his hand finding yours and pulling it to his heart. “My heart beats only for you, Y/N, just as yours for mine. We were blessed to find one another, to be mated. Do you know how rare that is?”

You gulped down tears, refusing to let them fall. “The Cauldron can be wrong. The Mother can be wrong.”

“How can you say that when so many go their entire lives without ever finding their mate? Spend centuries searching for them, never knowing their faces. We found each other.” He crooned, his hand pressing to your heart. “We belong to each other.”

You pushed back on him. “I am not your property.” You stood, smoothing down your dress. “I am not something to be used and discarded when you see fit just because of some predetermined destiny.” You threw down at him. He looked up at you, anger lining his eyes.

“You are my mate,” he said, calmly but losing his composure.

“I am no one’s.” You bit back. “If my mate is to be feared, to hurt me over and over, to strip me of everything I care about and everything I am, the Mother and the Cauldron can burn in hell.”

Your mate pushed himself upright, standing in front of you, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you are just poison to everyone you meet.” Your mouth opened slightly as storm clouds rolled in, shadows darkening. “Like that poor female you left to die.”

“You know nothing of that,” you said.

“Oh, but I do,” he continued. “When you let me back in, I sifted through your mind, your memories. Such a sad image, that poor girl. So young and skinny.”

“You don’t get to speak of her.”

“Then you shouldn’t have shared her with me.” He smiled. “That’s your problem. You think you can control everyone around you, and when you can’t, you run. You didn’t get your way with me, so you ran. You couldn’t convince this poor, innocent female to stand, so you ran, and she died for it.” You turned away, trying to walk away, but he gripped your arm. “You can’t run from this,” he said.

When you turned around, over his shoulder you saw the bloodied, battered body of Anthea standing in the shadows, her body red from head to toe and her head nearly severed from her neck, hanging to the side. “You can’t leave,” her mouth whispered from across the field. A scream caught in your throat, and before it could escape, your mate pulled you into himself. “You’re safe with me. You can make this right. Just tell me where you are.”

The storm clouds rolled in as you stared wide-eyed at that poor female across the meadow, stuck to the shadows of the treeline. The wind picked up, the colors of the flowers fading as the sun was overtaken by clouds. Your eyes never left Anthea, and in a crack of lightning, she was gone. The world seemed to boil around you as wind picked up and rain poured down on you and your mate. He held you, whispering softly, “Just show me.”

______________________________________________________________

You awoke in a dripping sweat and hurled yourself from the bed, your body aching as it collided with the floor with a thud. Vomit rose in your throat as you spotted a soft light coming from another room. Picking yourself up, you hurried over, opened the lid of the toilet, and released bile into it. With nothing in your stomach to vomit, you hacked, coughed, and spat. You closed the lid, sitting back and resting your head on the toilet as you tried to catch your breath, slamming down the bond. The sound of your heartbeat echoed in your ears.

“You okay?” The voice startled you. When you turned, Feyre was standing in the doorway, now dressed in a simple linen gown that ran to her knees, still barefoot.

You gulped back, your chest still heaving. “Yeah,” you said, “just nightmares.”

Feyre nodded slightly. “Can I bring you anything?”

You ran your hands over your eyes and face before declining.

Feyre hesitated slightly. “You need to eat something.”

“I’m fine,” you responded.

Feyre bit her lip. “From the contents of what came out of you, I would disagree.”

You turned to look over your shoulder at the empty bowl. “I’m fine, really. Just tired.”

Feyre crossed her arms, lightly rubbing them. “Azriel told me what happened.”

You crossed your arms, looking down. “It was a terrible thing, what happened to her.”

You only nodded, your eyes feeling as if they would overflow with tears. “And what happened to you,” she continued.

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve. “Nothing happened to me.”

Feyre leaned against the doorframe. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“I’m fine,” you bit back slightly, turning to her. “It’s not your problem.”

“You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to feel that all of this is unfair.”

“It’s not��” you started and paused, “just—just stop. Please.” You pleaded.

Feyre nodded, sighing out. “If you want to wash up, the shower works. And I will bring up some fresh clothes for you.” Feyre turned, taking one more second to look at you before disappearing back into the dark room.

You took in your surroundings, a marble bathroom with columns in each corner. In front of you was a magnificent vanity with a small bundle of fae light at the top of the giant, curving mirrors, in front of each sink and basin. To your left, an open-air shower with intricate tile work swirling through the floor, and across from it, a large bathtub with columns lining the corners. The room itself was larger than your cabin’s living room and kitchen combined. You considered taking a shower, almost melting at the thought of the dirt and blood draining off you, cleaning the debris from the forest floor from your hair. And then you remembered how Anthea would never be clean again, would never feel the warmth of that water, and you pushed your own wants from your mind. You instead stood, walked back out into the room, and sat back on the bed, the darkness surrounding you as you stared into it.

Thanks again to those who have asked to be tagged in this fic:

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28

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