Extensive BLM Google Doc Including Places To Donate To, education Resources, Etc

Anything for You

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: descriptions of menstrual cycles and menstrual blood, discussion of the loss of a parent

word count: 5.2k

synopsis: Fae menstrual cycles are notoriously terrible to endure, but yours seem to be especially torturous. Mor normally helps you through your cycles, but when yours comes early and Mor is away, a certain Shadowsinger steps in to help.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

You were convinced your cycle was a curse that spawned from the depths of hell. Every fae female endured painful and taxing cycles, but yours was vicious. It had been since the very first time you bled, and every cycle since for the last 20 years was laced with the same crippling agony. The same pain that had you heaving into your toilet now. 

You were a healer, for Mother’s sake, and even you could not find a remedy to alleviate the pain that accompanied fae cycles. When you were young, your mother would do her best to soothe you. She would create potent sleep tonics to lull you to sleep through the pain, but even those would last only a few hours before the pain shredded through the momentary peace. She never told you what she put in those tonics, and she never gave them to patients, and you had not yet been able to replicate it since she passed. 

When she passed five years ago, the pain of your grief only compounded with the pain of suffering through your cycle for the first time alone. The agony was unbearable, and it was the first and only time you had passed out from the pain. Before you had to suffer through another dreadful cycle on your own, you blessedly met the Inner Circle of the Night Court.

~ Five Years Ago ~

The drink you had been nursing for the last hour swirled around in the bottom of the crystal glass. You frowned at the dark liquid, having lost your taste for it tonight. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway, but tonight was your mother’s birthday, and Rita had begged you to stop by tonight to pour you a drink in honor of her beloved friend.

You were grateful for Rita. You knew she kept tabs on you, if her weekly visits to your tonic shop down the street were any indication, and you appreciated her worrying about you. It was nice to know that at least one person still did. Although, you couldn’t bring yourself to down the rest of the free drink. You were sandwiched between two drunk males at the bar, one nearly passed out and the other contributing to the deafening chatter of the crowded room. 

You were just about to stand up and leave when the splintering of wood and a heavy thud shook the room. You followed the gazes of everyone else to where two winged males were hefting another male up from the floor covered in the wood shards from a table.

You couldn’t make out what they were saying to the sneering male over the murmur of the bar, but it was clear he was belligerently drunk. You noticed a blonde female standing nearby, speaking softly to a visibly terrified female. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. Your gaze then snapped back to the two winged males, and the glowing red and blue siphons adorning their wrists made their identities suddenly dawn on you. Your eyes snagged on the blood smeared across the red siphoned one’s wing, and they widened at the sight of a large slice through the delicate membrane.

The one with blue siphons and shadows swirling around him yanked the snarling male toward him, and the two of them suddenly disappeared. The injured male and female, who you now recognized as the Night Court’s general and the Morrigan, ignored the gazes of the bar as they made their way to the back exit. You watched Rita intercept them to share a few quick words, and then they were gone.

You didn’t know what compelled you to follow them out the back door just a minute later. Perhaps it was because you were innately nosey, or maybe it was the healer instinct in you pushing you to help someone in pain. It was likely the desire to dull the throbbing pain of missing your Mother by involving yourself in a potentially precarious situation.

The wooden door to the bar shut slowly behind you as the cool night air kissed your warm skin. You took in a small breath, savoring the freedom of the fresh air, before fairly loud voices at the end of the alley pulled your attention.

Morrigan and the general were standing together, seemingly arguing. “He was clearly violating her!” the male yelled.

“I know that, Cassian!” the female hissed. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have done anything. I’m saying you should have deescalated the situation before he stabbed you and you threw him through a damn table!”

“I’m sorry!” He threw his hands up. He looked like he might have said more, but suddenly the second winged male, the Shadowsinger, appeared next to them from the shadows.

A beat of silence passed before the returned male said, “I assume she’s reaming you for acting like an impulsive brute?”

Wasn’t he right by the general’s side when that male was kicked through the table? You thought it was strange how casual the three of them were interacting with each other, even if they were arguing.

“Fuck you, Az,” the general grumbled.

The shadowsinger asked, his voice softer, “Are you alright?”

“No, he’s not alright,” Morrigan cut in, waving her hand toward his wing. “His wing has a damn gash in the middle of it.”

The general ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “We’re going to have to call Madja.”

“Are you happy now, Cas? Your bar fight–”

“Mor,” the shadowsinger cut her off quietly, and she quickly halted her verbal lashing.

A larged winged body was suddenly a foot away from you, and you yelped at the sudden intimidating presence. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice cold and hard.

You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “I–I’m Y/N. I don’t mean any harm. I followed you out here.” You glanced toward the two still at the end of the alley, now staring at you, as you spoke quickly to try to calm the menacing male in front of you. “I followed you out here to see if you needed any help. I’m a healer, and I saw your wing, but then when I came out here you were arguing and I–I froze.”

The shadowsinger seemed to believe you, taking a step back from your tense and wide-eyed form before dismissing you, “We don’t need your assistance.”

You bit your lip and glanced at the wounded male down the alley, agony slowly creeping through his resolve held up by the adrenaline coursing through him. “I know Illyrian wings are…delicate,” you swallowed. “But really, I can help. My mother–she was Illyrian.”

The shadowsinger glowered at you. “We would know if there was an Illyrian in Velaris.”

You shook your head slightly, holding his inscrutable stare. “Her wings were clipped,” you said softly, before adding, “if you can call it that. She was a teenager. Some boys in her camp ambushed her, took her wings.” You looked at him earnestly. “I don’t know how she made it to Velaris. She never told me. But she was a healer, and she taught me about caring for Illyrian wings. She always said it was important to be familiar with my,” you hesitated, glancing between the two full-blooded Illyrian males, “my culture.”

“Az,” Morrigan called, snapping his attention to where she stood with her arm now around the general’s middle. “I don’t know if we can wait on Madja. His wing, it’s already healing.”

His face was stoic when he turned back to you, but his eyes held a sense of urgency beneath his cool assessing gaze. “You know how to properly heal him?”

You nodded.

With a slight twitch of his jaw, he nodded toward the general. “Then help him.” Then, as an afterthought, “Please.”

You nodded again, gathering your remaining courage to stand up straight. “Take him to my shop. It’s just a few buildings down.”

~ Present ~

Since that night, the Inner Circle started to visit you for various tonics and treatments. Madja had vouched for you, telling them that many of the tonics she used in her clinic came from your store. You bonded quickly with the group, and even became friendly with Amren when she decided to visit your shop herself. Eventually, they invited you into their fold, hoping you could use the Court’s resources to further your tonic development and research.

You moved into the House of Wind. Cas, Az, Mor, and even Amren became your new family. Not long after you moved in, Mor had found you writhing in bed on the morning of your cycle, and for every one since then she was there to help you through it. Today, though, Mor was away in the Winter Court, and it looked like you would have to fend for yourself this time.

Your cycle was early. You tracked it religiously, given its severity, and you knew you had to prepare for it to take you down for at least a couple of days. You were always prepared. This time, though, with it nearly three weeks ahead of schedule, you had nothing you needed to get through this. No linens, no pain relief tonics, no sleep tonics (not that they did much), nothing. Worse yet, you were supposed to meet with Feyre today for lunch.

You loved your High Lady, but you still feared upsetting her, or worse yet, upsetting the High Lord by proxy. Rhys had been nothing but kind and welcoming to you since he returned to Velaris. Feyre, of course, knew no different. However, you were still hyper aware of how you had altered the tight dynamic Rhys expected to return to, and you were terrified of disappointing him or making him regret keeping you within his fold. The last thing you needed was to stand your friend, your High Lady, his mate up for lunch.

The mere thought of the pastries served at the patisserie you were meant to be at in an hour sent you hurdling over the toilet basin again, heaving as pain radiated from your abdomen. Breathing heavily, your vision swam as a ripple of pain so intense spread through you that you swore you felt it in your teeth. You slowly laid your body down on the cool tile, curling up in a ball. Tears leaked from your eyes as your vision grew hazier until eventually they closed on their own accord, darkness engulfing you.

~

“Y/N,” a deep voice drawled. The voice was muffled, and you were confused where it was coming from. “Y/N,” the voice said again, this time much clearer, and you felt heat seeping into your skin. “Please, wake up!”

Brightness flooded your vision and you took in a small gasp as you reoriented to your surroundings. You squinted at the figure above you as they muttered, “Thank the Mother.”

“Azriel?”

His thumb brushed your cheek. “Yeah. Yeah it’s me.”

You winced as pain sliced through your abdomen, rolling onto your back. Azriel shifted to give you space to do so, but your side brushed his knee he had on the ground.

“Hey,” Azriel said softly, his hand now on your clammy arm. An uncomfortable layer of sweat coated your skin that only added to your misery. “Did you hit your head?”

You furrowed your brow. “What? No.”

“Then why did you pass out on the bathroom floor?”

Mortification seeped through the daze that lingered. “I—” You swallowed and glanced down at your body, still clothed in only a nightgown. A bloody nightgown now, since you’ve been laying here for who knows how long without any linens. Your face flushed. “My cycle started,” you told him meekly. “The pain—it was too much, I guess.”

His face softened and he brushed a gentle hand over your head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He reached to pick you up, but you jerked away, mortification flooding you. “No.”

He frowned, hurt flashing through his eyes. “What? Why?”

You shook your head, looking away. Tears stung your eyes. “I’m fine, Azriel.” You weakly pushed yourself up, bracing a hand on the toilet. You quickly hunched over as pain gripped you. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re in pain,” he argued. “Let me help you.”

Your stomach twisted and a tear ran down your cheek. You weren’t sure if it was from the pain or the absolute humiliation you felt right now from Azriel seeing you like this.

“Hey,” he said softly, warmth suffusing his normally cool voice. He gently brushed away the tear rolling down your cheek. A shadow curled through your hair that was now damp at your nape. “Can I run you a bath?”

You gazed at the blood on your gown and cringed at the sight. Your hyper awareness of it coating the skin of your legs only amplified your repulsion and discomfort. Finally, you nodded reluctantly but avoided his eyes.

You expected him to get up to start the bath, but instead he lifted your chin to make you face him. His eyes were so soft, so warm, when he said, “It’s just blood.” His hand shifted to cup your face. “It’s just me. There’s no reason to be embarrassed. I’ll leave if you really want me to. I can see if Feyre can stop by after—”

Your eyes widened. “Oh gods,” you gasped. “Feyre. I was supposed to meet her for lunch. What time is it?”

Azriel shushed you. “It’s okay. You missed lunch, but it’s okay. Feyre was worried about you, but she had an art class to teach, so she asked me to check on you. Clearly, she was right to be worried.”

“I can’t believe I stood her up—”

“You passed out in the bathroom from pain, Y/N,” he cut you off. “Feyre would never hold that against you. Neither would Rhys,” he added, knowing you far too well.

Water suddenly started filling the tub behind you. Azriel smiled softly. “I guess the House beat me to it.”

He stood up, and then reached down to pull you up by your underarms. You shakily stood in front of him, hands crossing over your abdomen. Your knees started to buckle under the intensity of the pain, but Azriel quickly stabilized you by your waist. You closed your eyes and sucked in a breath, in far too much pain to keep protesting his help you desperately needed. Help you desperately wanted. “Azriel,” you whimpered, nothing else coming out.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he reassured. “Do you need help getting in the bath?”

Resigned, you nodded. “I don’t think I can do this,” you whispered.

“Okay.” He nodded. “Let’s get you in the bath then. First, we need to get this gown off you.” His thumb gently brushed your hip, and his shadows mimed his gentle touch across your cheeks and neck. “Can I?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek and nodded. He swiftly pulled the gown up and over your head, and while he turned to toss the gown in your hamper, you slid your ruined underwear off. You stepped toward the bath, but you embarrassingly tripped over your own feet. Azriel was there instantly, swiftly resting a hand on the middle of your bare back and another under your arm. “Easy,” he murmured, gently guiding you to step into the tub, stabilizing you as you sank down beneath the sudsy water.

You leaned back in the tub, Azriel releasing you. “I hate that you’re seeing me like this,” you admitted quietly.

Azriel frowned as he kneeled next to you outside the tub. “Why?”

“I hate how weak I am right now. It’s humiliating, Az. I shouldn’t need your help. I should be able to take care of myself.”

“How is me helping you any different from letting Mor help you?” he asked, seriously. 

Well, you weren’t in love with Mor, for starters.

“Mor doesn’t judge you, you know that. I’m not judging you either. I would never think less of you for this,” he told you. “I want to help you. I want to be here with you. So please, let me.”

You stared into his eyes for a brief moment, absorbing the genuine care and concern shining through the normally cool and guarded male. Here was this massive winged Illyrian warrior, adorned in armor and powerful siphons, with shadows swirling around him and a dagger strapped to his side that sent most scrambling, sitting beside you at your weakest most vulnerable state. You felt nothing but safe in that moment, and the thought made you close your eyes to hide the glossy sheen quickly forming over them. 

You wanted Azriel with you. You wanted him to take care of you. You were embarrassed, yes, vulnerable and exposed, but you knew in your bones that there was no one else on the planet who would care for you as well as Azriel.

With your eyes still closed, you asked him quietly, “Will you please help me wash my hair?”

A beat passed, then Azriel said, “Of course I will.”

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his soft ones. Then you yelped as something fell and splashed into the tub, getting water on Azriel. You winced as you leaned forward to scoop it out, finding a bottle of shampoo and conditioner. 

“You can tell the House was Made by Nesta,” Azriel muttered until his breath. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped you, earning a shy grin from Azriel.

He took the bottles from you and sat them on the floor. He slid off some of the armor on his arms, including the siphons, leaving just the one in the center of his chest. You watched him pour a handful of shampoo into the palm of his tan, scarred hand. 

You closed your eyes again as he started gently massaging the shampoo into your scalp, building a soothing lather. His large hands and surprisingly nimble fingers scrubbed every inch of your scalp, and you thought you might melt when he paid special attention to the nape of your neck. When he was done, he filled a small bowl you kept on your sink with water, then slowly poured it over your head to rinse the soap from your hair. 

He pulled a cloth from the stack of towels beside the tub, but he paused his motions after dipping it in the soapy water. Before he could even ask, you nodded your head and murmured, “Please.”

Azriel gently washed your arm and then the next. He ran the cloth over your collarbone, barely brushing the tops of your breasts, but you were too exhausted and numb with resounding pain to think much of it, and Azriel’s touch and gaze remained nothing but respectful. A warm hand on your shoulder gently coaxed you to lean forward so he could reach your back.

A shiver racked your body as he brushed over your spine, and simultaneously another sharp pain pierced your abdomen. Tears leaked from the corner of your eyes from the juxtaposition of sensations you were feeling. Azriel brushed a tear away with his thumb not covered in soap. “Doing okay?” he asked softly.

More tears leaked from your eyes. “It hurts so bad, Az,” you choked out.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said sincerely, as he finished washing your back. “I wish I could do something.”

“You are, Az.” You placed your hand over his on your shoulder, meeting his eyes briefly before he looked away. “I’ve only spent a cycle alone once and,” you swallowed the ache that formed in your chest, “And it was horrible. You just being here—it means everything. Let alone you taking care of me.”

He didn’t say anything, but he brushed small strokes against the skin of your shoulder before pulling the cloth away from your back. You took the cloth from him and said, “I can finish up.”

He nodded, and for a moment he looked unsure what to do before you said, “Az?” His gaze snapped back to yours. Your cheeks heated irrationally. “I don’t have any linens for…” You looked down at the water before going back to him. “And I don’t have any tonics.”

His eyes widened at the last sentence. “You haven’t even taken a tonic?”

You shook your head. “I’m normally more prepared than this, but this time it was so early,” you told him, embarrassed. 

“Why didn’t you ask someone to get you one? Ask me?” he asked, clearly exasperated. “Mother above, Y/N. I know Mor is usually the one who helps you, but any of us would do anything for you.”

You looked away as he sighed and brushed a hand over your hair. “I’ll get you what you need,” he murmured. “Are you okay here for a few minutes?”

You nodded. “I promise not to pass out and drown in the bathtub.”

“That’s not even funny,” he grumbled as he stood up. He put his siphons back on his wrist and said, “I’ll be right back.” He spared one more hesitant glance at you before exiting the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.

You quickly washed yourself, then leaned back against the tub to wait for Azriel to return. You thought about getting out, but the pain radiating to your thighs and the remaining lightheadedness made you think better of it. A lingering shadow swooped over your collarbone, as if agreeing with your decision. You shut your eyes, practicing some of the breathing techniques Nesta had shared with you from their Valkyrie training to distract you. 

The door creaked open and Azriel’s voice said, “If you fell asleep in the tub, so help me.”

You peaked at him through hooded eyes before fully opening them. A teasing smile adorned his face, and he held a bottle and some linen cloth pads in his hands. He sat the linens on the counter and opened the bottle, handing it to you. “Drink this.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. He left the bathroom again briefly before returning with a new gown and underwear. “Are you ready to get out?”

“Yeah,” you said, licking your lips of any residual bitterness from the tonic.

Azriel reached for a towel and held it up for you. “I have some food and water for you in the room to wash the tonic down,” he said. You shakily stood up in the tub and he swiftly wrapped you in the towel. He held you by your arm as you stepped out, and guided you over to the counter where your clothes were.

He grabbed the underwear that already had a pad in it. “Here.” He knelt down in front of you, holding the underwear out for you. “Hang on to me and step in these.”

You did as he said, and he swiftly pulled them up your legs. He followed suit with the nightgown, letting the towel drop only after it covered you. He then used your comb on your counter to detangle your wet hair, patting it dry with your towel. 

You wanted to kiss this male for how sweet he was. He presented himself as cold, stoic, and dangerous, but he was the kindest male you had ever met. The gentleness in his touch was a paradox to the career and reputation he had.

He picked you up without warning, cradling you in his arms. “Let’s get you in bed.”

He moved swiftly through your room, setting you on the bed with clean sheets. He handed you a glass of water, telling you to drink before handing you a berry scone. “You think you can stomach this?”

You nodded, not entirely convinced you could, but you were starving. Azriel sat beside you on the bed quietly while you ate your scone. You took a few more sips of water before setting it back on the nightstand. Azriel reached for another tonic bottle on the table, handing it to you. “This is a sleep tonic,” he told you. “Madja said they don’t usually work for your cycle? But I thought it was worth trying, if you want.”

You nodded. “Thank you, Az.” You drank the tonic, this one thankfully sweeter than the first one. “When I was younger, my mom always gave me a sleep tonic that instantly put me to sleep.” You smiled, nostalgia hitting you. Azriel listened intently. “I have no idea how she made it. I’ve never been able to successfully recreate it. I wish she wrote her recipes down, so I had more than just the memories of things she told me,” you said softly.

You laid down, head resting on your pillow as you faced Az. His eyes roved over you, uncertainty flickering in them. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Trepidation laced your voice as you started, “Can you just—” you swallowed hard and shook your head. “Nevermind,” you whispered, smiling half-heartedly. “I’m fine. Thank you, Az.”

Azriel frowned, and he smoothed a gentle hand over your damp hair. The motion had his cool cedar scent wafting over you, and you closed your eyes in a brief indulgence. “Y/N,” he murmured, hazel eyes glimmering with resolution as they met yours, “Tell me what you need. You say it, and it’s yours.”

Your heart skipped a beat. A few beats passed as you grappled for the courage to make your request. “Can you please just lay with me?” you asked, voice cracking under the weight of so many different emotions flooding your system.

Nearly imperceptibly, Azriel’s eyes widened. If you didn’t know him so well, you would have never noticed the shift in his breathing, the twitch of his wings. All signs that Azriel, the Shadowsinger, was nervous. You had feared rejection, but suddenly you were hit with the new fear that you had made him uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” you rushed out. “I should never—you don’t have to—”

“Hey,” he rested a warm hand on the duvet covering your thigh. “Of course I will.” He stood up from the bed and moved to the couch that rested under your window, slipping off his boots. “Just let me take some of this off first.”

You shifted to face him fully, watching silently as he removed his heavy leathers from his torso, leaving his chest and arms bare with his shadows slowly snaking across him. He removed his belt and thigh holsters, then he started unlacing his pants before he paused and met your gaze. You blushed at being caught in your ogling, but Azriel didn’t seem to mind. “Is this okay? I can go get some clean clothes from my room. I just—I know you like your bed clean, and I didn’t want to climb in with these dirty leathers.”

“It’s fine, Az,” you assured him, smiling softly. 

He nodded and slipped his pants off, leaving him in his underwear. Your breath caught at the sight of his tanned, muscled thighs, and the blush on your cheeks intensified with the impure thoughts pushing to the front of your mind. A new wave of pain quickly dissolved any thoughts of debauchery, and your wince and sharp inhale had Azriel taking quick strides to your bed.

He climbed in under the covers, the warmth radiating from his body immediately seeping into your cool, damp skin. He moved around until he was on his side, facing you, and his wings sprawled out behind him. A few tendrils of shadow flitted over to you, grazing your neck and cheeks. You grinned despite the pain you were still in.

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured, and you swore his cheeks were tinged pink. “Do they bother you?”

“Not at all,” you told him honestly. “They’re…comforting, really.”

His eyes softened, and he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. The pad of his thumb grazed the exposed skin of your collarbone, and you couldn’t help the goosebumps that appeared across your flesh. “Come here,” Azriel said softly, gently nudging you toward him.

You both shimmied closer to each other until you were fully pressed against his tattooed chest, cheek meeting the warm skin of his pectoral. You curled your arms up in between you both, letting his body fully cocoon yours as his arms wrapped around you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Growing up, my mother would always hold me. Whenever I was hurting. Whether it was because of my cycle, or if I was scared, or heartbroken,” your voice cracked as you continued, “She would always lay with me and just hold me.” You sniffed, and a tear rolled down your cheek as Azriel’s embrace tightened. “I miss her so much, Az,” you sobbed.

“I know, sweetheart,” he cooed and rubbed his hand up and down your arm. “You can always tell me about her. Anytime you want.”

You nodded into his chest, not ready to speak.

“I wish I could have met her,” he told you quietly. “She would be so proud of you, though, I know it. Imagine if she knew you followed the High Lord’s general out of a bar and demanded to heal his wings.”

You scoffed, but it sounded more like a choke. “I did not demand anything.” 

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was smiling. “True, you were too polite to do such a thing.”

“Were?”

He laughed. “But we all knew you weren’t going to let Cassian leave without you at least looking at him. Most people run the other direction when they see us, but not you.” His wing settled over the two of you softly, the added warmth and pressure a welcome comfort. “I’m so glad Cas got in that fight.”

“I am too.”

You shifted slightly so you could see the wing hovering over you. You met Azriel’s warm and watchful hazel eyes as you hesitantly reached for the delicate membrane. You paused before touching him, meeting his curious gaze, and when he didn’t stop you, you lightly brushed your fingertips across the smooth and leathery membrane. Azriel shuddered, and you quickly retracted your hand.

“Sorry,” you rushed out, your cheeks and ears hot. “I’m sorry. They’re just so beautiful. I forget how delicate and sensitive they are.”

“Sensitive, being the key word,” Az choked out.

“Sorry,” you murmured, looking away sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” he assured, pulling you tight against him again. “I don’t mind you touching them. Truly. Like I said, they’re just sensitive.”

He jostled you around a bit as he readjusted, holding you tight against him with his wing still offering an extra layer of protection. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, yeah?” His soft, near melodic voice made you aware of your eyes starting to droop with every passing second. “I’ll stay right here,” he promised.

“Okay,” you weakly rasped as you unabashedly nuzzled against him. “Thank you, Az.”

“Anything for you, Y/N,” he whispered as his cheek rested against the top of your head. “Anything.”

NEW ‘DOCTOR STRANGE’ POSTERS RELEASED!

The Lie of Windhaven | Azriel x reader [Part 2]

The Lie of Windhaven [Masterlist] here!

Summary: Azriel has dragged her into a mess she now has to do her best to survive. People show their true colours, and others drop a name.

A/N: I did iiiit!! And we can all thank @bellaskhakhiskirt for the extra encouragement that had me finish this tonight haha. Thank you guys so so much for all your sweet comments on part 1!! I got a bit overwhelmed replying to everything, so just know that I read them all (sometimes multiple times a day) and they make me so happy! 🥹🫶

Word count: 4222

Warnings: language, canon typical violence and ✨misogyny✨, brief description of SA and physical abuse

-

Previously:

“I have the right to demand her hand,” Azriel said, and her brows twitched closer together at his choice of words.

“I beg your pardon?”

The right?

Devlon swivelled around, furious that Azriel hadn’t yet dropped the discussion.

Elas scoffed. “Oh yeah? And what right is that?”

Azriel’s eyes met hers then, and the determination she saw reflected within them had her heart drop to her stomach. She knew in that moment what he was planning to do, the lies he planned to weave.

“No,” she breathed again just as Azriel opened his mouth to doom them both.

“She’s my mate.”

And just like that, every head within hearing distance turned to look at her.

-

A beat of silence.

“No,” Devlon declared. “Absolutely not.”

Azriel held her gaze for a moment longer, as though willing her to play along, but she felt her insides boil with anger as he turned back to look at Devlon, his expression as collected as ever.

“Are you questioning the Cauldron?”

She knew what he was doing. The mating bond was held above all else—untouchable by any rules or previous alliances. If Azriel officially claimed her as his mate, no other male in the camp would dare touch her, and no engagement, betrothal or marriage would stand.

A fine plan in theory, only there was one problem.

It was a lie.

And to impersonate a mating bond …

Devlon had killed for far less.

The warlord’s attention still lay on her and she could see every last bit of his hatred burn bright as day in the black pits of his eyes.

“There’s no way she’s your mate,” Elas said, a deep crease between his brows as he, too, continued to look at her as though the answer would be found on her face. “She would not have accepted my proposal if she was.”

“She did not know,” Azriel said. “The bond only snapped in place for me when I saw her in the dining hall last night. It caught me off guard.”

“She cannot possibly be your mate,” Devlon said, his voice low and menacing, his eyes boring into hers.

“She is standing right here.”

Silence fell at her words. Silence so all-consuming, one could have heard a twig snap in the forest bordering on the camp’s north side.

Y/N regretted her words almost instantly, the look in Devlon’s eyes cold enough to kill, but part of her eased when she felt a presence in her back, tall enough to cast a long shadow. She didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Cassian. She could tell from Azriel’s lack of a reaction.

She hadn’t even noticed him rounding the courtyard from where he’d stood on the opposite end, but she was thankful for his presence, shielding her not only from some of the stares but also from Devlon’s immediate wrath.

“You want to be part of this conversation?” Devlon growled through barely parted teeth. “Fine. Be part of it. Come here, now.”

She did her best to maintain the slippery grip on her composure as she bridged the last remaining steps setting her apart from the three men. Cassian remained where he was, and she felt the distance grow like she was swimming further away from a safe shore and straight into shark infested waters.

Devlon never took his eyes off her, and when she stood close enough to their little group, she felt like she was shrinking beneath his calculating gaze.

“Did you know of this supposed bond?”

Her teeth clenched briefly, and in her mind, she cursed Azriel for dragging her—dragging them both into this situation.

“No, my lord.”

“And you accepted Elas’ proposal earlier today?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He hummed. “And this new … revelation,” he stated with a quick glance at Azriel. “You do not share the shadowsinger’s sentiments? You do not feel a mating bond?”

Her mouth clapped shut. What was she supposed to say to that? Of course she didn’t feel a bond. She didn’t feel it because it did not exist, but admitting to it would cost Azriel big time.

They wouldn’t kill him—he was too precious for that—but they’d punish him by punishing everyone he loved. And they’d start with Cassian.

He was powerful too, sure—powerful enough to receive seven Siphons of his own. But they didn’t adorn his armour yet, and he was neither a shadowsinger nor a future High Lord, which left him unprotected amongst his brothers.

“As of right now,” she began, her eyes flickering to Azriel for only a second. “No, my lord.”

“It did not yet snap in place for her,” Azriel said, and for the first time, a note of tension crept into his words. “Which means she cannot yet feel it. Surely, you’re aware of the technicalities, Devlon?”

“Don’t condescend to me, boy,” Devlon snapped. “I will have you whipped no matter how many shadows you wield.”

Silence settled once again, and after a long, tense pause, Devlon straightened his back, crossing his arms behind it.

“I want proof.”

Azriel remained quiet.

It was Elas who spoke next.

“You cannot mean to entertain this nonsense, my lord,” he said, his voice hard as he stared Azriel down. “She has agreed to marry me. I have her friends to bear witness.”

“Be that as it may, another has laid claim to her,” Devlon said, his mouth twisted as though every word tasted bitter on his tongue. “The mating bond must be honoured, no matter how … unfortunate a match. You will wait to wed her until I have something to either prove or disprove the existence of this bond.”

“What do you mean, proof?” Y/N said, hesitance in her words. “How would one go about proving a mating bond?”

The smile Devlon gave was cruel, and before she knew it, his hand had shot forward to wrap tightly around her arm, dragging her close enough for his breath to hit her face with the words he spoke next.

“It would do you good to remember your place, girl. You address me properly or I will have you stripped bare for a good lashing,” he growled low enough for his words to hum through her very bones. “Proof means proof. If this godsforsaken bond was real, you’d know how to prove it. For starters, our dear shadowsinger over here would feel everything you felt.” His eyes flickered to Azriel, though his grip remained bruising on her arm. “Perhaps we should test the theory right now?”

A blade flashed in his hand—one she hadn’t noticed him draw from the sheath by his hip.

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw ticked. “Cutting her will prove nothing.”

“Maybe not,” Devlon said, straightening where he stood, though his hand remained where it was. “But slitting her throat will do wonders to rid us of this little disturbance.”

“I leave for three days, and you start threatening to slit people’s throats, Devlon?” a new voice drawled, sounding almost bored.

Y/N’s eyes flickered to the side, and a wave of relief crashed over her at the sight of Rhysand standing next to Cassian. If there was one person who’d manage to get them all out of this unscathed, it was Rhys.

His wings were out, hands buried in the pockets of his pants, head tilted as he took in the scene before him. “I take it your news have not been received well, Azriel?”

The relief she felt dropped to her stomach like a stone.

Azriel remained silent, his attention resting on her.

“You knew of this?” Devlon’s eyes were ablaze as he stared at Rhys.

“Well, of course,” Rhysand said, sighing softly through his nose. “What part of ‘I can see into people’s minds’ has you baffled?”

A quiet snort sounded from the remaining crowd of onlookers, and Devlon’s face twisted with rage.

“I’m warning you now, boy,” he growled. “You might be the High Lord’s son, but he’s given me permission to treat you as I would any other soldier, so you watch your—”

“Fascinating,” Rhys drawled, picking a piece of lint from the cuff of his leathers. “But be that as it may, I can attest to the validity of this bond.”

She would throttle him.

Her eyes flickered back to Azriel and the calm gaze he kept on her.

She would throttle them both.

There was not the slightest hint of a doubt that somehow Azriel had managed to get Rhys on board with this moronic plan. Which meant that not only had he endangered her, but he’d also endangered his friends. Because if Rhys knew, she was willing to bet what little money she had that Cassian knew as well.

“He’s the shadowsinger’s friend,” Elas spat, features taut. “Of course he would say that.”

Devlon finally let go of her arm, though it was only so he could lift his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I want you all out of my sight.” He growled.

“But, my lord, I—”

“Now,” Devlon snapped, shooting Elas a look that had his mouth clap shut at once. “You will not wed her until I say so. I require proof I can trust.”

It was Azriel who spoke next. “And what would adequate proof entail if the word of a daemati does not suffice?”

Devlon looked at him for a long while then. As though contemplating whether to cut out his tongue for daring to speak.

“I shall have a high priestess give her assessment.”

Once again, the blood ran cold in her veins.

No one in the entirety of Prythian knew bonds quite as well as the priestesses did. They would be able to sniff out a lie from a mile away.

“I will send for one first thing tomorrow morning and until she arrives, neither one of you is to wed this one.” His mouth twisted with distaste as he threw her a last withering look before turning to address every Illyrian within earshot. “Now, if I have to repeat myself one more time, I will have you all running lapses until the sun rises tomorrow morning. Get out of my sight!”

Y/N had just turned to catch the wide eyes of Lissa and Malina, her heart pounding, when another hand found her arm. This time, however, it was with the gentle grip of long fingers curling around the back of her elbow.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” Cassian muttered in her ear, and before she knew it, her feet were rushing to catch up with his long strides as he headed straight for the hut at the edge of the camp she knew belonged to Rhysand’s mother.

-

Her eyes were ablaze as Azriel stepped through the door of the hut, her fists clenched by her sides. Cassian stood at the small kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression grim.

Her mouth opened and Azriel knew what to expect.

“How dare you,” she breathed, and his jaw clenched at her tone. “How dare you ruin this for me. He was my one choice, Azriel. My one option.”

“He was not—”

“He was!” she snapped, her voice gaining in volume, her brows pinched in rage. “And even if he wasn’t, he was who I chose. You took away my choice and in doing so you practically guaranteed my death. I never would have thought you to be so cruel.”

“Cruel?” Azriel gaped at her. “I am doing this to help you.”

“I never asked you to!” Her voice began to wobble now, her eyes growing glassy, though her cheeks remained dry. “In fact, I explicitly recall telling you that we were over.”

“So you expected me to sit back and watch him turn you into an empty shell? A womb to be filled?” Azriel’s voice was of calm disbelief, his mask carefully locked in place to hide the burning anger that threatened to swallow him whole.

“Well, now you get to watch Devlon slit my throat once the priestess tells him that this bond is a load of bullshit, so thank you for that.” She laughed without an ounce of joy. “I hope you’re happy with that outcome.”

“He won’t kill you.”

“He will. In case you didn’t notice, he almost killed me today.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“You are not my knight in shining armour just because I let you fuck me a couple times, Azriel,” she spat, the fury now bright as day in the depths of her eyes, and Azriel swallowed at the impact of her words.

Silence settled—silence thick enough it threatened to drown him—and as he stared at her, he could see it all. He saw the deeply rooted fear in her eyes, the anger he’d caused, the desperation in the face of a bleak future, and he took a step back.

“I know,” he spoke quietly.

“Do you?” She stared at him. “Because I don’t think you do, or you wouldn’t have gone and invented a fucking mating bond.”

When Azriel remained quiet, she rubbed angrily at the tear that had escaped her left eye to trail down her cheek at last.

“I need to go,” she muttered, walking around him in an arch as big as the room allowed to head for the door. “I need to speak to Elas. I need to apologise.”

Every part of him screamed to stop her from leaving. He didn’t want her anywhere near Elas and his rage, but he’d done enough for one day. She wouldn’t allow him to touch her right now, wouldn’t listen to his requests, and so he stepped aside and suppressed a flinch as the door fell closed behind her.

A few silent moments ticked by, and when Cassian spoke, his words rang loudly through the silent hut, though his tone was uncommonly gentle.

“Did you think this through, brother?”

A joyless smile twisted the corners of Azriel’s lips. “What do you think?”

-

“Elas, please,” she said, rushing to catch up with the Illyrian’s long strides as he headed for the hut he shared with three other warriors. “I swear I didn’t know Azriel was going to do that. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, I—”

The Illyrian scoffed. “A mating bond, apparently.”

“I didn’t know,” she repeated and hated the way her voice sounded as she did so. No part of her wanted to beg Elas for forgiveness when it was Azriel who’d dragged her into this mess.

She stumbled to a halt when Elas swung around, his eyes ablaze as he loomed over her.

“You didn’t know? Interesting,” he drawled in a tone so unmatching of the fury in his face. “But you are aware that you’ve been fucking him, yes?”

“I—” she broke off, her brows twitching closer together. “We had a … fling, yes. But it was over before I accepted your proposal.”

He stared at her, unblinking, and when her skin began to crawl, she curled her hands into fist by her sides, willing herself not to cower.

“I didn’t think it would matter,” she said matter-of-factly.

“It’s obvious that you didn’t think.” His voice dropped to a hum now, his upper lip curling in distaste. “Don’t assume for one second that I would have asked for your hand if I’d known that—”

“That what?” she hissed, her teeth clenched as she took a step closer, her anger getting the better of her. “That I have a sex life? May I ask how many people you’ve slept with, Elas?”

He moved before she could react, and his knuckles where sharp as he slapped her across the face with the back of his hand.

She gasped with the impact, her head swivelling to the side, her feet stumbling where she stood, the world around her suddenly swaying. He was on her then, gripping her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze before she could even think to collect herself, and her hand instinctively shot up to wrap around his wrist for stability. 

His nose was mere inches from hers, his next words a quiet hiss.

“That I’d be marrying a whore.” She felt his breath on her face, her jaw aching beneath the hard grip of his hand. But she held his gaze with quiet defiance. “I allowed you to keep your wings intact because I thought you knew where your priorities lie. I thought we had an agreement. We could have been good together. We could have been content.”

He took a deep breath through his nose and for a brief moment, she wondered whether he could smell the fear she so desperately tried to suppress.

“I shall still wed you once this nonsense is dealt with, but do not expect a marriage from me. You’ll do for carrying my offspring, but I have no desire to give a good life to another’s fuck toy.”

She felt her throat clog up, doing everything to will back the tears that threatened to shoot to her eyes.

“I was wrong about you,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “You’re just like the others. And I’d rather die than marry you.”

Elas hummed, and when the corners of his lips curled into a little smirk, her heart sank further.

“I’m guessing your chances of dying are pretty good once Devlon has proof that this bond is a scam—which we both know it is,” he said, the words almost sensual as they rolled off his tongue. “But either way, I staked my claim. I have your word, and I have witnesses to prove it. So in the unlikely event of your survival, you shall belong to me.” Lifting the hand he didn’t keep wrapped around her aching jaw, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, the gesture almost gentle. “And what fun I’ll have humiliating you as you have humiliated me.”

His eyes moved to her lips then and she could feel her bottom lip begin to wobble with the harshness of his words and the future they promised.

She noted the way he exhaled through his nose in a quiet scoff, and next thing she knew, horror coursed through her veins as he lowered his mouth to hers.

His fingers pressed deep into her skin, his grip crushing on the bones of her jaw, preventing her from backing away. And when his mouth covered hers and he pried her lips open for his tongue to lick deep into her mouth, she gave a choked sob.

She pulled on his wrist, her hands hitting his shoulders in an attempt to shove him off her, but she was too weak. She was powerless, as she’d never been allowed to train. And suddenly she realised why Illyrian males were so keen on keeping their women defenceless.

There was nothing gentle in Elas’ kiss; none of the passion she’d felt heating her blood whenever Azriel had kissed her. Elas was demanding—harsh in the way he claimed her mouth and unrelenting in his hold on her jaw.

He tilted her head back, forcing himself closer to her and his tongue deeper into her mouth. His teeth scraped harshly against her lips, and when he finally pulled back, she felt the sting of split skin.

The breath was tearing in and out of her lungs now, and immediately, she clenched her teeth hard enough to hear her jaw give a crunching groan.

Elas hummed again, tilting his head with an eyebrow raised in mockery. “Yes, you’ll certainly do.”

When he finally, finally let go of her, it was with a shove that had her falter where she stood.

Her eyes were burning now. But she wouldn’t cry. Not here, not in front of him.

Elas turned around, and as he headed towards his hut, he threw snide words over his shoulder.

“It’ll be interesting to find out what it is that has the shadowsinger so wrapped up that he’ll risk losing his life over a cunt.”

She stared after him, unable to move as she let his words sink in.

It was ironic, really. In his attempt to spare her from a future he thought as bad as it would get, Azriel had only managed to guarantee her a fate much worse.

It dawned on her then. That she’d spent the rest of her life in agony. She’d spent the rest of her immortal existence utterly miserable. At Elas’ mercy—assaulted, disrespected, alone. All he’d done just then had been a glimpse into the future that awaited her.

A sob tore through her—one she could neither stop nor muffle—and just when she was about to crumble entirely right then and there in the middle of the camp, gentle hands found her arm.

“Not here,” Malina spoke quietly. “Don’t let them see.”

A gentle tug on her arm had Y/N stumble along her friend’s side, until a familiar, dusty scent filled her nostrils.

The supply hut.

Perfect.

Her eyes flickered to the table she’d sat on last night and suddenly she felt the urge to laugh in the face of all the things that had gone wrong in less than twenty-four hours. It would have been hysterical, had it not been so … final.

It was Lissa who brushed loose hair from her face. Her big, round eyes were filled with concern, and at the wetness on her cheeks, Y/N realised that she hadn’t been laughing after all.

“He’s going to make my life a living hell,” she heard herself say, her voice hoarse, her tone dull. Despite the tears streaming down her face, she felt numb. Like her mind had been disconnected from her body.

“We saw,” Lissa spoke quietly, brushing her fingers through her friend’s hair in a soothing manner. “I never would have thought him to be so … vicious.”

Y/N scoffed weakly. Because hadn’t she known him to be a vicious fighter? She realised then that it had been naïve of her to assume he’d be any different when it came to his wife.

“You won’t end up with him,” Malina stated, and she sounded almost sure enough to be convincing. Almost.

“Please stop,” Y/N spoke softly. “I can’t take this irrational confidence from you too. It is futile.”

“Only if your bond to Azriel can be disproven, and the Cauldron never miss—”

“The bond does not exist.” A wave of exhaustion crashed into her as she lowered herself to the edge of the wooden table, lifting her palms to press the heels of her hands over her eyes. Her head was throbbing. She wanted to lie down. “Azriel made it up.”

Silence fell over the dusty little cabin. And it seemed to stretch on forever.

She didn’t want to lift her head, didn’t want to see the horror on her friends’ faces as they realised the true extent of her predicament.

“We’ll have to fake it, then.”

To everyone’s surprise, it was Lissa who’d spoken the words.

“You cannot fake a mating bond,” Y/N muttered.

“Oh, sure you can,” Malina said, and when Y/N lifted her gaze, she shrugged. “Or Azriel would not have attempted it. He’s smart, darling. Smarter than all of us. And he’s obviously trying to help you, so I’d suggest you follow his lead.”

“He went behind my back,” Y/N said, her forehead creasing. “And he ruined every plan I made for myself. For my life.”

“You despised those plans.”

“That doesn’t matter, he—”

“It does matter.” Malina sighed as she propped a hand on her hip. “Look, I get where you’re coming from. But I’m thinking you need to consider your current situation and set your priorities accordingly.”

Y/N lifted a brow. “What?”

“What I’m saying is you need to focus on getting through this first. You can be angry with Azriel later. What’s done is done. There’s no going back so you might as well go with it to try and save yourself instead of wasting time on holding a pointless grudge.”

“She’s right,” Lissa said tentatively, smoothing a warm palm down the length of Y/N’s back as she sank to the table next to her. “She could have said it a little nicer, but she’s right.”

Malina snorted.

“And besides, you only need to convince one person, how hard can that be?” Malina waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’ve always been convinced the priestesses fake it anyway.”

“There are only twelve, right?” Lissa asked.

“Yes, and Devlon sent for one he can trust to be impartial.” Malina scoffed. “You can say what you want about him but when it comes to the mating bond, he really doesn’t fuck around. He’ll have her flown in and all.”

That caught Y/N’s attention. Having a priestess flown in meant that she was too far to winnow.

“She doesn’t reside in the Night Court?.”

Malina tilted her head, a glint in her eyes. “You’re trying to steal his prized shadowsinger, of course he’s going to get someone that couldn’t have been bribed by Azriel or his brothers.”

Y/N lifted a brow at her friend. “You heard him say all that?”

“Oh, yeah,” Malina said, and a smirk stretched over her face. “You’d be surprised what they let you hear when they think you’re of next to no use to anyone.”

Y/N sighed through her nose and let her face sink back into her open palms, wincing at the tenderness of her jaw. She could feel the slight swelling of her cheekbone, a smudge of blood landing on her hand where she held it pressed to her lip.

Lissa’s interest seemed piqued at Malina’s words. “I thought most of the priestesses lived in the Night Court,” she said, curiosity in her tone. “Where is he flying her in from?”

“I forgot.” Malina waved her hand again. “Some super spiritual priestess temple. I heard him say that she’s their newest member. Ianthe, I think her name was.”

-

Taglist Part I:

@byyalady @tele86 @illyrianbitch @sleepylunarwolf @justrepostandlove @starriestarlight @tele86 @waytoomanyteenagefeels @ryekoo @azriel-shadowsingerr @amygdtjhddzvb @ohhellotherebumblebee @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @astarlitsoul @amysangel @fxckmiup @ruler-of-hades @whitewolfsbitch @threespacemonkeys @mell-bell @sillysillygoose444 @quiettuba @itsswritten @brujitafantomatico @badpvn @justrepostandlove @of-outerspace @bakananya @iamjimintrash @starseedsamurai @balsalmic-vinegar @secretlyhers @the-spine-of-the-world @lees-chaotic-brain @helloevilmuffins @cinnamonmelody @jediknightjana @acourtof-wingspan @nxgh1 @aactuaaltraash @marigold-morelli @thatsassyhufflepuff @darlingbravebelle @anxious-study @thisisew @that-one-little-soybean @brieflyclassymortal @isa1b2h3 @julesofvolterra @prettylittlewrites @i-am-infinite @thecraziestcrayon @spellbinding-snoozles

Imagine Bucky asking you to sleep together because you keep the nightmares away.

Surfing through the channels idly, you looked to the door when it opened slowly, revealing a disheveled-looking Bucky. You sat up straighter as you took him in. He was sweating and his chest was slightly heaving. You tried not to think how beautiful he looked in his white T-shirt.

“Hey,” he stepped forward. “Um…” he rubbed the back of his neck, brow furrowing.

“Is everything okay?”

“Y-Yeah, it was just a nightmare,” Bucky answered. “It’s why I’m here, actually.”

“Anything I can do to help, just tell me, Bucky,” you assured.

Bucky sighed out before he opened his mouth. “The last time I slept through the night without any nightmares, it was when you slept next to me. Can you please, maybe consider—”

“Bucky, of course,” you laughed softly.

“Really?” he brightened up.

You got off the bed and walked up to him, taking his metal hand into yours, weaving your fingers together. “Anything you want, Bucky.”

Bucky smiled, head tipping to press a kiss to your cheek. “Thank you, Y/N.”

collision course

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: A hasty escape and a wayward storm results in Azriel crossing paths with you. Over the centuries that follow, you meet again and again, gently tucked away in a corner of the world only you two are privy to. But as wars loom and time begins to erode the once carefree interactions, it seems inevitable that the tentative sanctuary built will collapse... and it's unclear if either one of you will come out on the other side.

Series Overview/Warnings: Angst, pining, fighting/injuries, slow-burn, some of the og timeline may be tweaked to better suit the story

Status: On-going

part one — genesis

Hi there! My period is hitting me like a truck, could I please request fluffy Bucky? Maybe like reader and him go grocery shopping for ice cream or something? I'm in dire need of some fluff. Thank you very much dearie 😊💕

You were in that painful and awful day of the month, lying on your stomach and hugging one of the pillows, a failed attempt to make yourself feel better but, in fact, while you were like that nothing would get better. You stayed like that until the moon came to the sky, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to make the pain go away. You heard your door open and quietly footsteps getting closer to you, the mattress lowered slightly with the weight and then you felt your boyfriend scent. He stroked your hair, taking it out of your face and kissed your head.

“Baby, do you wanna go to the grocery with me? There’s a new ice cream flavour.” he murmured quiet, tenderly smiling when you moved a little so you could look at him.

“Can you bring to me? I’m not feeling well.” you tried not to whine about your period but Bucky was always trying to spoil you. So there you were pouting and making him nod carefully.

“Sure thing, doll. I’ll come back in one minute.” Bucky kissed your forehead and then left you alone again.

You didn’t know exactly how long you waited, but when you were finally drifting off to sleep you heard Bucky come in. You grumbled sleepily as the light turned on, but soon you rested your hands on the mattress to lift and turn your body, so you could sit and lean back against the headboard. Bucky smiled sweetly, taking the ice cream pots, chocolate and Doritos from the bag and them walking in your direction. He sat in your empty side, placing the food in front of him so he could open one of the ice cream and give to you. Silently, you accepted and took one scoop of the sweet, closing your eyes when you felt the coffee and nut touch your tongue. Bucky placed his arm around your waist, pulling you to lean against him and thus let you more comfortable. You hummed happily after almost all day feeling grumpy, and you knew that you were lucky to have a man to spoil you like that.

“Did you liked the new flavour?” he whispered quietly and you just nodded, too concentred in finishing your ice cream and Bucky chuckled “There’s another one here, but do you wanna eat Doritos first? And watch some movie?”

“I love you so much… You know that, right?” you sighed, hiding for a moment your face in the curve of his neck, your cold breath causing him chills and making him giggled.

“I love you too, baby.”

(Masterlist)

dealing with the worst case scenario

your condom breaks

you feel a lump on your breast

your friends are ignoring you

you’re stranded on an island 

you got rejected by a crush

you get into a car accident

you got stung by a bee/wasp

you got fired from your job

you’re in an earthquake

your tattoo gets infected

your house is on fire

you’re lost in the woods

you get arrested abroad

you get robbed

your partner cheated on you

you’re on a ship that’s sinking

you fall into ice

you’re stuck in an elevator

you hit a deer with your car

you have food poisoning

your pet passed away

you fall off of a horse

you or your friend has alcohol poisoning

you have toxic shock syndrome

your house has a gas leak

I’m sick of people saying “they’re fictional, get over it.” Whenever I talk about a character dying. Listen here, the characters that I mourn may well indeed be fictional, however, they have taught me so many valuable lessons. Let’s take Steve Rogers for example. Steve taught me not to give up, that friendship is one of the most valuable things, and to stand up for what you believe in even if you’re standing alone or going against something bigger then yourself. Tony Stark, He taught me how knowledge is the greatest weapon, to keep going no matter what, that you aren’t your parents, and he taught me anxiety isn’t an obstacle which can’t be tackled. Natasha Romanoff taught me that your past doesn’t define you and that everyone makes mistakes but you shouldn’t judge people on that. She taught me that you can start fresh and you can become someone better then what you were. All of them taught me to keep going, to try and make the world a better place not just for everyone but for myself. I know the actors are still here. But these characters have undeniably left a huge mark on my heart, and taught me things no teacher, parent or friend has. These lessons have made me the person I am today, impacted every choice I’ve made and I’ve found myself slowly becoming the person I want to be. I owe a lot to them. Thank you❤️ (Obviously there’s more characters but I picked my top 3)

REBLOG IF YOU HAVE STRETCHMARKS

This way girls and boys can see they’re not alone. I have them and this would help me see that.