#myfirsttime

This is my first time posting proper fanfiction EVER. Even though I'm not very active on this site I really really appreciate everything I'm able to read, see and feel. In this world of AI generated e-mails and lives (I've sadly become a part of it), this is my small rebellion, that no matter how hard things get - it's works of the heart and mind that'll get you through.

I'd also like to thank all the fanfiction writers who have made my miserable times a little more bearable. I hope you have all the things you ever dreamed about. This is more of a dedication to this world.

I'd appreciate any constructive criticism. I don't know what I plan to do after this but I hope this gives you the moment of peace that I envisioned it would.

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It’s in these quiet mornings that Azriel feels like he’s looking from the outside. A winged male whose deep breathing indicates the kind of sleep you only get after a night of peace and love. A redhead with a soft smile curled around this male. It’s a picture of peaceful mornings. 

He’s surprised it’s so easy, so easy to fall asleep. So easy to spend a day in this bed and still feel like not leaving. Mostly he’s surprised that the love he’s been searching for all his life is right here, next to him. He’ll have to get up though. But she can sleep in and when she finally awakens his heart too will. 

—

In the nights when sleep is close, she holds his hands and never lets go. He thinks it helps ground her when she has nightmares, but he still can’t believe something so horrendous can bring so much peace. 

When she’s bored, she traces out the scars like she wishes she could undo the hurt. She traces it with reverence and awe, refusing to let him cover it -even if he tried. She’s always looking for reasons to hold it, touch it. 

— 

Azriel considered training to be a sacred place with strict regimes, the training ring was the place where resilience would be built, where he spent his sleepless nights all alone in the misery of his thoughts. 

With her, it transforms. It’s an even more sacred place. He sees a lot of her smiles here, he likes the one she shows when she’s proved him wrong. But she’s never proved him wrong. He knows that she can do anything if she puts that fierce mind into it. But nevertheless he’ll rile her up, just for a glance of that smile.

—

Hating Illyria has been so easy for him. But coming here with her, when she sees only the good this place has to offer, he finds it harder. She sings the lullabies and all at once he loves these tunes that used to remind him of a harder time. She finds the gruelling winter so beautiful but he can’t seem to understand how anything is beautiful next to her. 

She’s making snow angels. She’s holding the fallen snow with marvel and wonder. All of a sudden he can’t for the life of him understand why he hated this place. 

She sees only improvements in this sorry excuse of a place. She’s helping them. He’s been around for centuries and she’s already done something he could never imagine for this place. He can do better and for her he should, only to be worthy of the love that she shows for every part of him. Even the parts he hates. 

The kind and warm substitute, I

could only feel from a mother.

you watch me rest my head on the pavement

I hand you water and a

curb with my face written on it

It smells like a salon and we close our eyes

the stars align

the sun goes down for a 3rd time that day

I cant wake you up

and I cant keep my eyes open anymore today

“Oh well” // this is my first fake text sorry if it bad😂❤️❤️

Chapter 1

David Morrisey X Reader 

WARNINGS: LANGUAGE, SMUT, REFERENCE TO ABUSE, 

NOTE: if people like this i’ll post Chapter 2 

His eyes were blue; dark-midnight blue, like the colour of the deep ocean depths. His corneas were streaked with different shades of blue, and for a split second, I was lost within them. The stranger’s eyes were so gentle, like an ocean after a storm has passed. The booming of the club’s music brought me back to my reality and the taste of fresh vomit erupting threw me forwards into the gutter. As I sat in on the side of the road outside the club, wallowing in self-pity I realised I was reminiscing the moment the stranger had approached me. A much older man, with cheeks brimming of thick-greying facial hair dressed in an attire fit to see the queen. The touch of his soft fingers brushing against my cheek had sent shivers down my spine and a puddle between my legs. He had merely whispered two words barely audible above the thumping music in the nightclub. So young. I hadn’t seen him for the rest of the night. In the end, a bottle of tequila had made its way into my hands, and its contents into my unprepared stomach.  I shake my head, bidding the dizziness to stay at bay until I made it back to my room. The city lights guided my way home, as well as other drunken couples clinging to each other. The straps on my heels rubbed for two blocks before I gave in and leant against a lamp post. With shoes in hand, I pressed on, side stepping away from shards of glass smashed on the sidewalk by drunks. I glanced at my watch, hoping it wasn’t too late to get into the hotel. 12:46AM. Not long before the doors of the hotel would be locked until the next morning. The thought of sleeping on the sidewalk motivated me to quicken the pace. The stranger’s eyes were haunting. I didn’t stop thinking about his touch. Gentle, and kind. I focus on the pavement, wishing the journey to come to a brisk end. Shouts from up head distract me from thinking. Reluctantly I edge closer to the arguing couple. I flinch when the man’s hand collides with the women’s face. my feet become heavy bricks and I can’t move. Fear spreads goosebumps riveting over my cold skin. “What you looking at?” he shouts, as the women slips away, running down the street clasping her face. I shake my head nervously, quickly glancing over my shoulder for a friendly face. No one. “Are you deaf?” he questions, throwing his hand up accusingly in my face. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to get home, I didn’t-“I begin before his hand grabs my throat. My clutch and jacket drop to the pavement as I try to pull away his rough hands. The smell of alcohol on his breath is overpowering and fresh vomit begins to boil its way to the surface. His shout ricochets through the street as he is coated in hot bile. “You disgusting bitch”, he cries, throwing me to floor. I repeatedly apologize as he throws more insults. The alcohol works it magic and sends the scene into a blur. My head falls to the floor and my eyes closed. But still, the stranger’s eyes are staring at me. Always gentle. Always kind. Midnight blue, the colour of the sky on a clear night.