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chasebeth · 4 days

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Was Any Of It True?

Pairing: badboy!Azriel x goodgirl!Reader

Summary: Modern/College AU! Az’s on-again-off-again girlfriend gives Azriel a proposition: make the new bookworm fall in love with him, then break her heart, in exchange for anything he wants. He agrees, but things get complicated when he falls for Reader for real.

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: angst, sexual language?, swearing, Azriel & friends being assholes

Word Count: 10.2k oh lord sorry besties I couldn’t shut my little brain off

“I'm telling you, Az, she's pissing me off. The professor loves her, and I saw that she got a 100 on the exam,” Claire was seething while she and Azriel lounged in his apartment, eating the pizza he'd ordered.

“Mhmm,” he mumbled around his pizza, only half listening. Claire was always complaining about something. “And what did you get?”

“98! He took two points off because I didn't answer thoroughly enough,” she scoffed. “God, I hate her. She's going to push me right off the top of the Dean's list.”

Azriel blinked. “I mean, you'll still be very near the top of the list.”

Claire groaned, throwing her napkin onto her paper plate angrily, “That's not good enough!”

He rolled his eyes and she glared at him. “Don't be an ass! This is a big deal to me.”

“Oh, I know it is. This girl is all you talk about.”

“Because I hate her. Maybe if she got laid, she’d be distracted enough to slip up once in a while,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, maybe,” Azriel said, pulling his laptop out of his backpack and setting it on the table, a sufficient signal that he didn’t want to talk about his girlfriend’s arch nemesis anymore.

No more than a week later, Azriel’s on-again-off-again girlfriend was off-again, and honestly, he was relieved. Claire’s obsession with being at the top of the academic food chain was bordering on insanity, and he was glad he didn’t have to hear about it anymore.

He was currently at a house party that Cassian had dragged him to, with a blonde girl that he couldn’t remember the name of sitting in his lap, one of her arms draped behind his neck, the other resting on his chest. She had been whispering in his ear all the things that she wanted to do to him, before Cassian interrupted, handing Azriel a shot with a grin.

Blondie scowled at Cassian, who just smirked back as the girl that Cass had been talking to earlier sidled up next to him, wrapping her arms around his middle.

Azriel knocked the shot back and handed the cup it had come in to the blonde girl. “Can you get me another one?”

She seemed annoyed, but took the cup from him anyway, striding into the kitchen.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Cassian said, settling on the couch next to him, before pulling the girl onto his lap.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Like I give a shit.”

Cassian snickered as the blonde girl came back, draping herself in his lap again, handing him another shot. He drank it, just as Claire appeared before him, her arms crossed over her chest, and her brow furrowed.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice husky.

“I have a proposition for you.”

He smirked, making a show of tightening his grip on the blonde girl’s waist. “No, thanks. Been there, done that.”

“Not that kind of proposition, you idiot. Can we talk privately? I think it’ll be worth your while,” she said, her lips turning up into a sultry smile.

“I don’t know, Claire, I’m pretty busy right now,” he said, turning his gaze to the blonde girl, squeezing her thigh. She sighed dreamily, leaning further into him.

Claire groaned. “Look, Az, I really need your help. Please?”

Azriel studied Claire, and he could see that it was true. She was wearing her most annoyed, don’t-fuck-with-me face, but her eyes were pleading. Sad.

He sighed, glancing apologetically at the girl in his lap before turning back to Claire. “Fine, we can talk.”

She led him into someone’s empty bedroom and shut the door behind her.

“If this is about that girl you’re obsessed with, so help me,” he said. She winced, and he threw his head back. “Unbelievable. Claire, I don’t want to hear about this anymore! I don’t care about your problems.”

“Just hear me out!”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.

“She actually is threatening my spot on the Dean’s list now,” she said, looking close to tears.

He looked pointedly at her. “And?”

“And I was thinking about what I said earlier… about how if a really hot guy was interested in her, maybe she would stop caring about her grades so much,” she said, smiling at him now.

“And?” Azriel just wished she would get to the point.

Claire sighed, exasperated. “I need you to seduce her.”

Azriel barked out a laugh, leaning his shoulder against the nearest wall. “You’re kidding, right? Why would I do that?”

She stepped closer to him, trailing a finger along his chest, her touch feather-light through his black t-shirt. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, “Because I asked? Because I’ll give you anything you want,” she said, her voice dropping seductively.

He held her gaze, leaning down until their mouths were a breath away. Azriel heard her breath hitch.

Then he pulled away rapidly, and she blinked. “Sweetheart, you know I can fuck you anytime I want, right? That is not going to persuade me to help you.”

Her brow furrowed, her nose scrunching up. Oh, she was furious. Azriel's mouth turned up into his calculated half smile.

“What do you want, Az?” she huffed.

“Hmm,” he said, taking his time to think. Claire scowled. “I haven’t decided yet. But when I need to call in a favor of my own, you have to promise to do it. No matter what,” he drawled.

To her credit, she really looked like she was thinking it through, trying to think of another way to push this girl off the list. But finally, she sighed. “Deal.”

He pushed off the wall, walking towards the door. “Alright, so I just have to seduce the bookworm? Easy.”

Claire shook her head, her eyes still alight with her anger. “No, if I’m going to agree to any favor you could possibly want, you’re going to have to go further. You need to make her fall in love with you.”

Azriel bristled a bit, leaning against the door now. “I know I’m an asshole, but that seems too far, don’t you think?”

“No. If she’s going to be distracted enough that her grades will slip, you need to make it seem real,” she said, and then smiled as if she had a wicked thought.

“What?” Azriel asked.

“And then you break her heart, right before exams,” she said excitedly, her eyes burning with enthusiasm now. “You tell her, in front of everyone, that it was all fake.”

He rubbed at his bicep, a nervous tic that Claire picked up on immediately. “Jesus, Claire. I don’t want to ruin this girl’s life.”

She arched her brow. “Why not? She’s ruining mine.”

Azriel rolled his eyes and Claire pounced, “Any favor, Az. Any time, you can tell me to do whatever you want,” she smirked.

He groaned, pinching his nose. “Fine,” he ground out. “Where do I find her?”

Claire beamed. “Where else would a nerd be? The library, of course.”

---

You shifted in your seat, starting to feel sore after poring over your notes for hours. Maybe you should go for a walk. Maybe. But, you still had so much to do…

Groaning, you crossed your arms on the table, laying your head down on top of them. Just a minute, you just needed a tiny break --

“Studying always makes me feel like that, too,” said a low, male voice.

You lifted your head, bewildered, and nearly choked on your own spit. The guy who was for some reason deigning to talk to you was… well, what other way was there to say it? He was drop-dead gorgeous.

His face was stoic as he sauntered up to your table, his jet black hair was just a tad unruly, his hazel eyes burning into yours. But it was his body that made the breath completely escape your lungs. He was dressed in all black, his t-shirt hugging his chest and his biceps, showing off his every muscle, and there were swirling black tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves.

All you could do was stare as he took the seat across from you, leaning back with his arms crossed like the two of you did this every day.

“What class is that for?” he asked, nodding to the textbook open in front of you, the dozens of papers scattered around you.

“Organic Chemistry,” you said, trying to sound like you were normal and not completely surprised by this handsome stranger finding you in your favorite quiet corner of the library.

He let out a low whistle, “Damn, you are smart.”

“What, did someone tell you I was?” you asked.

“No, I just figured when I saw all the --” he gestured to your cluttered workspace, “homework stuff.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Homework stuff?”

His mouth turned up the slightest bit, holding up his hands like he was surrendering. “You caught me. I’m not much of an academic.”

“Then what are you doing here?” you asked curiously.

“Now, that is an excellent question,” he said, and really did seem like he was questioning it. “Girls? Parties? Though I could get girls anywhere and I don't particularly enjoy parties.”

You nodded. “Ah,” you said. “Got it.”

He braced his arms on the table, leaning forward. “I take it you’re not into that kinda thing?”

A dry laugh escaped from your throat, “Definitely not. I’m really only here for the--” you mimicked his gesture from earlier, “homework stuff.”

He barked out a laugh, his stoic face completely transforming for the briefest of moments. You couldn’t help but stare. “You’re telling me all you do is study? A beautiful girl like you? Please tell me you’ve been to at least one party,” he said, looking at you incredulously.

You blushed. “No, I haven’t been to any.”

You braced yourself for impact, for the teasing or insults to come, but he just smiled softly. “You wanna go to one with me tonight?”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You don’t even know my name.”

The side of his mouth quirked up into a smile, his eyes dancing with amusement. “What's your name?”

Rolling your eyes, you told him.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Azriel.” He raised his eyebrows, “So? Party?”

“I thought you just said you don't like parties!”

“True, but I do love the thought of corrupting a sweet, innocent bookworm,” he smirked.

“No, thanks.” You couldn't imagine yourself going to a house party, especially not with a stranger.

Azriel's cool-guy demeanor seemed to drop the slightest bit. “Why not?”

You looked at him pointedly. “I don't know you. And I have no interest in being corrupted. Why do you want me to come to this party so badly anyway?”

He shrugged casually. “I like you.”

“You don't know me!”

“See, that, right there,” he snapped his fingers and pointed at you. “You're funny. Smart, beautiful. What's not to like?”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as a blush rose to your cheeks. “I'm not going to a party with someone I don't know. They make true crime documentaries about that sort of thing.”

He seemed to contemplate that for a moment. “Okay, you make a fair point. What do you want to do then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can pick our first date, since you didn't like my idea.”

“What date?” You blanched.

He arched an eyebrow. “Our first date? Weren't you listening?”

You studied him for a moment. For the life of you, you could not figure out what this guy's angle was.

As if reading your mind, he said softly, “Look, I just saw you and thought you were really pretty, and that it looked like you could use a break from studying. That's it,” he held his hands up again. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If you want me to go, I'll go.”

For a beat longer, you watched him, his body language, his ridiculously pretty face. What was the harm, really? You sighed, tore off a scrap of paper from your notebook, scribbled out your number, then handed it to him. “I need to study. If you text me later, I'll let you know where we're going on the first date.”

His face broke out into what might have been the first genuine smile you'd seen from him. He took the paper from you, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Can't wait.”

You were half expecting to never hear from Azriel again. But just a few hours later, as you were eating dinner in your apartment, your phone chimed with a text.

Az: Done studying yet?

It was an effort to bite down your smile.

You: Taking a break for dinner.

It was less than a minute before he responded.

Az: Dinner? Is that what our first date is going to be?

You didn’t try to hide your smile this time.

You: A little cliche, don’t you think?

Az: Oh, absolutely. So… what are we doing?

You: Meet at the tennis courts at 7 tomorrow?

Az: We’re playing tennis?

You: No, but I’m not giving you my address. And I’m not giving away the surprise.

Az: So smart. So mysterious. I’m swooning.

You: Shut up.

Az: See you tomorrow ;)

You tossed your phone to the side, forcing yourself to focus back on your schoolwork.

The following day you parked your car by the empty tennis courts on campus just before 7. It was early spring; the weather finally started to warm up enough to not be too chilly in the evening. Still, you rubbed your arms nervously. You were starting to regret this. You didn’t know this guy at all. What if it went horribly wrong?

Before you could contemplate bailing, a familiar figure rode up on a jet black motorcycle. Of course this guy had a motorcycle. You couldn't see his face underneath the helmet, but you would already recognize those tattooed arms anywhere.

He parked his bike, smoothly sliding off it and taking his helmet off before sauntering over to you. “Hey, beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes, sure that he had said that to a million girls on a million dates before.

“What? Don’t do that,” he said softly, his smile softening and his gaze raking down your body. “You are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, giving in.

“So,” he said, towering over you. “What’s the plan?”

You smiled. “How’s your mini golf game?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking a little skeptical. “Mini golf? That’s what you’re choosing?”

“Yes, it is. Do you have something to say about that?” you teased.

His eyes sparked at the tone in your voice. “Nope. Nothing at all.” He nodded to his motorcycle. “You wanna hop on the bike?”

You looked pointedly at him and he laughed. “Didn’t think so,” he gestured to your car. “Lead the way.”

Your nerves started to dim as the two of you fell into a rhythm going through the course. The two of you were just talking and laughing like it was normal. It was… fun, actually.

“Shit,” Azriel muttered as he overshot the hole. Again.

You laughed and his eyes flicked over to you, lingering a bit. “You’re good at this, bookworm,” he said as he took another shot, sinking it into the hole this time. You watched, leaning against your putter, having finished that hole two shots ago.

Shrugging, you said, “I used to go with my family a lot.”

He placed his hand on the small of your back as you walked to the next hole. You cleared your throat, focusing on your steps, on your breathing, on anything but how it felt to have him touch you so casually. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he asked as you dropped your ball onto the green.

You took your shot before you answered. The ball landed just shy of the hole. “What’s your family like?”

“My family…” he trailed off, clearing his throat, setting up his shot. He paused to look at you for a moment before he swung. “It’s complicated.”

He hit the ball and it stopped right next to yours.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” you said, as the two of you walked further down the hole.

“No, you didn’t. It’s just… I don’t really talk about them with anybody.”

You nodded, not sure where to go from here.

Azriel smiled reassuringly, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying,” you claimed, your voice an octave too high.

“You are. I can tell.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile as you sunk your ball into the hole.

“I think I’m going to need some pointers from you on the next hole,” he grumbled.

“I guess I could help you out,” you laughed.

So, when you got to the next hole, the last hole, he stepped so close that your bodies were nearly touching. You tried to control your breathing.

“You’re gonna help me out?” he murmured, his eyes flashing down to your lips for a moment.

“Okay,” you breathed.

He stepped behind you, his body pressed against your back, wrapping his arms around you, his hands covering yours on the club.

“How is this going to help you, exactly?” you asked, your voice slightly unsteady.

His lips brushed your ear as he said, “Oh, trust me, it’s helping.”

You couldn’t say anything. Could hardly breathe.

“What do you think I’m doing wrong?” He murmured.

You swallowed. “You’re hitting it too hard. Not exactly rocket science.”

“Mmm. That makes sense. I do tend to go… hard.”

That finally had you coming to your senses. You stepped out of his grasp, turning back to glare at him when you were a safe distance away.

The side of his mouth turned up into a smile. “Sorry. I couldn't help myself.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him again. “Just take your shot.”

He smirked at you for a moment, before he swung, and the ball went right into the hole.

He turned to you, his eyes wide. You laughed and he hugged you, picking you up and spinning you around.

You let out an involuntary squeal of surprise, and he laughed, gazing into your eyes as he set you back on the ground. “Thanks for the help.”

“I think you’ve been playing me this whole time,” you joked.

His smile fell a little, his eyes sobering.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. When he just stared at you, his expression unreadable, you added, “Azriel, I was joking.”

He blinked and then his natural, stoic expression was back as he took a step closer to you. “Right. I think you’re just a good teacher.”

You just looked at him, trying to decipher the changes in his mood, who he really was underneath the gruff exterior.

He smiled faintly, stepping even closer. “What are you thinking about?”

You had to crane your neck to look him in the eye now. “I'm trying to figure out what you're thinking about.”

Azriel's smile turned into a smirk. “I'm thinking… that I really want to kiss you. But I don't want to scare you away.”

Heat flooded your face and his smile turned softer as he cupped your cheek gently with a rough hand. “Would it scare you away?” He murmured.

“I -- don't know,” you said honestly.

His hazel eyes dipped to your lips and stayed there. “I think I'm gonna have to take the risk,” he said, his voice low, husky.

“I think so, too,” you breathed.

His free hand slinked around your waist, gently pulling your body into his. Your heart thundered in your chest as he leaned down, slowly bringing his lips to yours. He seemed to give you a moment to process, and you felt him smile against your mouth when you started to kiss him back, your fingers curling around his bicep, his shoulder.

You were breathless by the time he pulled away, and as the two of you drove back to the tennis courts, you couldn't help but hope that it would happen again by the end of the night.

When you parked your car near his motorcycle in the abandoned lot, he lingered, his gaze holding yours, dropping to your mouth again.

He shot you a crooked smile. “Aren't you gonna walk me to my bike?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you got out of the car, walking over to the motorcycle and settling against the fence near it, crossing your arms over your chest. “Happy now?” You asked.

Slowly, he sauntered over to you, his eyes twinkling under the stars. He raised his arm, twining his fingers in the chain link fence above your head, leaning his body towards you, but not quite touching. He gazed down at you, still sporting that half smile. “Very happy,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched and when his smile widened, you knew he heard it.

He held your gaze as he leaned down, bringing his mouth to yours again. You let yourself fall deeper into the kiss this time, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you.

When he finally pulled away, he was grinning. “Want to go for a ride before you head home?” He said, nodding to his motorcycle.

You had stepped far enough out of your comfort zone for today. “Maybe next time.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “So you're giving me a next time?”

Damn. You blushed. “I said maybe.”

“Uh huh, sure,” he said, leaning in again so his lips were barely an inch from yours. “You can't wait to see me again,” he whispered.

You shoved him away lightly and he chuckled, backing up towards his bike, but keeping his eyes on you. “Until next time, then. Have a good night, bookworm.” He winked before putting his helmet on and speeding away.

A few weeks, a few dates, and several kisses later, you couldn't deny that Azriel was on your mind quite a bit.

You had never thought that someone like him would be interested in someone like you, but he seemed to prove time and time again that he did indeed like you. He texted you flirty little things every day, making you blush in class. He asked about your day, and seemed to genuinely be listening, and he would do pretty much anything you wanted on your dates. Last week, the two of you had gone to a local bookstore and he had watched you browse, a small smile on his face. He ended up picking out a book he wanted you to read and you did the same for him. He had been sending you daily updates on his progress through the book. Slowly, you were starting to let your walls down, despite yourself.

So, when he asked you to finally go to a party with him, to meet his friends, you accepted. You still felt cautious: partying had never been something that you were remotely interested in, but you trusted him.

---

Azriel knew he had to tread this next part carefully. Things had been going well with you. He let you take control of your time together so you would be comfortable, and honestly, he was actually having a really good time getting to know you and seeing where you would take him next.

And when you kissed him… God. It was always a struggle to keep his hands on your waist, to stay PG. He wished he could explore things further with you in that regard, but he wouldn't let himself go there. Not when your broken heart was the finish line.

He rarely let himself think about it -- the deal that he had made with Claire. Being with you felt so natural that he usually forgot he was supposed to be acting. That he was supposed to be leading you to Claire’s revenge.

He had convinced you to come to a party, upon Claire's request so she could see the progress he had made with you. You had said yes, he assumed because you trusted him enough now. The thought made his stomach roll. He was really starting to hate himself for getting mixed up in this.

Azriel acted differently around you than he did around the rest of the general population. At a young age he had learned to keep quiet, to not show a single emotion on his pretty face, to be tough, or be punished.

With you… he couldn't help but smile. Couldn't stop the laughs that he usually stomped down for the rest of the world.

So, having his two worlds collide at this party…he didn't know exactly how to navigate it. Deep down, it made his heart swell that you trusted him enough to help you navigate something so far out of your comfort zone. But if his friends saw the way he acted around you, he would never hear the end of it.

This would be a mess.

If Azriel wasn't leaning against his motorcycle when you exited your apartment building, he may have fallen over. You were wearing skintight jeans and a black tank top that showed more cleavage than he ever imagined he'd see from you. His fingers flexed on his biceps. He wanted to pull you back into your apartment and spend an hour peeling those clothes away inch by inch.

He blinked the lust away, trying to maintain his stoic expression, but failed, as he always did with you. He smiled at you and you smiled back.

He could tell by the way you carried yourself as you neared him that you were nervous. “Hey, beautiful,” he drawled his usual greeting as you wrapped your arms around his waist in your usual greeting.

“Hi,” you said, a little sheepishly. His eyes must have lingered on your curves a little too long because your eyes widened a bit, and you bit your lip nervously as you pulled away from him. He nearly groaned. “Is it too much? Do I look stupid?”

Azriel placed his hands on your shoulders gently, dipping his head to look you in the eyes. “You look amazing. Seriously.”

You blushed and murmured, “Thank you.”

He had to turn away, to grab your helmet, so you wouldn't see how much you affected him. He fucking loved it when he made you blush like that.

Azriel turned back to you, holding up the helmet, his eyebrows raising with amusement. “You ready to join the dark side, bookworm?”

You sighed, shifting on your feet.

“It'll be okay,” he said softly. “I got you.”

You nodded, seeming to resolve yourself, and reached for the helmet with slightly shaking hands.

He helped you make sure it was on correctly, his fingers brushing your chin, your neck. He bit back a smile as you shivered.

Azriel held your hand as you got settled on the back of the bike, showing you where to put your feet, and how to shift your weight with him.

When you seemed at least somewhat comfortable, he slid his helmet on, smoothly setting onto the motorcycle. You wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your chest into his back. You were already holding him like your life depended on it, and he beamed freely underneath the helmet.

“Hold on tight,” he shot back at you, before he revved the engine, taking off much more gently than he normally would.

He tried not to think about the feel of you pressed into him, how tightly you were holding on. It didn't work. He wanted to drive you everywhere.

He couldn't resist reaching back to briefly squeeze your thigh at a red light. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” you said. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a smile in your voice.

Too soon in Azriel's opinion, they had made it to the party. He parked, offering you his hand to help you get down.

When he pulled the helmet off your head, he was pleased to see that you were indeed smiling.

“Have fun?” He smirked.

“I did, actually,” you said, sounding a little breathless.

“Whenever you need a ride, you just let me know,” he winked.

You laughed, glancing behind him at the house.

He took your hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. You seemed to relax a bit. “We can leave whenever you want, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and smiled nervously up at him.

You were doing this for him, he realized. Because he had asked you to. His heart constricted, guilt churning in his gut again as he led you inside, your hand squeezing his tightly.

His shoulders tightened as he led you through the crowd, making sure you were tucked in close to him.

“You want a drink?” he asked, as you made your way to the kitchen.

“Sure,” you said.

He rifled through what was on the sticky counter, trying to find something not disgusting for you to drink, making sure you stayed close to him.

Finally handing you a cup, he put your hand on the small of your back, guiding you to a corner of the living room that wasn’t yet very crowded. He took a seat on the couch and you settled in next to him, tucked closely into his side.

You smiled, leaning your shoulder into his. “Is this really it?” You asked skeptically. “You just sit here and drink around a bunch of drunk idiots?”

He laughed before he could stop himself. “I mean, yeah, that’s pretty much it,” he said, dipping his head to say in your ear. “Or we could dance. Or make out,” he smiled against your ear.

You blushed and he laughed again, kissing your temple.

Azriel wrapped an arm around your shoulders as Cassian and Rhys showed up, grinning at you, their eyebrows raised. Azriel fought the urge to roll his eyes. They had seen him laughing with you, kissing you, he knew. He had nearly forgotten where he was, why he was here with you. He loved them, but he wasn’t sure what they would say to you about him. They didn’t know about his arrangement with Claire, and he had been keeping details about his relationship with you as vague as possible.

“So you’re the one Az has been spending all his time with,” Cassian grinned.

You smiled sheepishly, leaning further into Azriel. “I guess.”

Azriel nodded to his friends. “This is Cassian and Rhysand. They’ve been my best friends since we were kids.”

He could tell you were intrigued by that. He still hadn’t told you anything about his childhood.

Before you could ask any questions, Claire showed up next to Azriel’s friends, her expression the very picture of friendship. It unsettled him so much that he held you closer to him, so you were practically on his lap.

“Hi Claire,” you smiled, and his heart sank. You really had no idea how Claire felt about you.

Claire smiled back. “Hey. I never expected to see you here.”

“I’m trying new things,” you said, smiling lightly at Azriel.

He couldn’t take it, having you so close to Claire, seeing that trust you had in him when you looked at him. He cleared his throat, standing up and offering you his hand. You took it, smiling politely at Claire and his friends as he led you through the house, out to the backyard.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, looking up at him curiously as he leaned his back against the side of the house.

“Yeah,” he said, unable to stop the smile that rose to his face as you gazed at him with your big doe eyes. He tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I just wanted you to myself for a minute.”

“Oh yeah?” you flushed, and before he could stop himself, he kissed your cheeks, feeling the heat against his lips before his lips met yours in a slow, sensual kiss.

He was still kissing you when he heard Cassian snickering close by. “Oh shit, he’s whipped.”

Azriel rolled his eyes as he pulled away from you, but kept his hold on your waist. “How am I whipped?”

Cassian’s eyes gleamed with mischief and Azriel’s heart started to pound. “Sneaking out here on your own. You’re usually content to stay on the couch to make out with your girl of the week.”

Your body tensed in his arms and Azriel groaned internally, glaring at Cassian, who smirked. “Oh, she didn’t know? My bad, Az.”

Azriel’s expression was enough to send Cassian back inside.

Your brow furrowed as you stepped back, out of his reach. “Girl of the week?”

He winced. “He’s being dramatic.”

You raised your eyebrows, glaring at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

It was kind of adorable, but Azriel reigned in that comment. He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, look. I told you when we met that I go to parties and meet girls there. But things are different now,” he said, taking a step closer to you. And it was true. Things were different. You had been the one haunting his thoughts since that first date. He had barely looked at anyone else since.

After a moment, you sighed, and he knew you wouldn’t resist when he wrapped his arms back around you.

“Cassian’s an idiot,” he murmured, his focus back on your lips that he was dying to kiss again.

“So I’m not the girl of the week?” you said quietly, your eyes on his lips now.

He smiled. “We’ve been seeing each other for several weeks, haven’t we?”

You nodded, biting your lip, before you stood up on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips. Azriel was surprised by his own relief. “Are we going back inside?” you asked.

“Not if you don’t want to,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist again.

Pursing your lips in thought, you said, “Mmm. Let’s go back in.”

“Yeah?” he said, surprised.

You smiled up at him, resting your chin on his chest. His heart melted. “I’m trying to be brave.”

He kissed your forehead, smiling faintly. “I’m proud of you, bookworm.”

You beamed, your whole face lighting up.

Azriel led you inside, his hand on the small of your back, trying to manage the swell of emotions in his chest. He didn’t have the time to process them right now.

The two of you mingled throughout the party for a few hours, and you even went so far as to dance with him for a bit, your body pressed against his, your hips swaying to the beat of the pounding music. He could hardly believe it, the way you let loose with him.

He stopped in the bathroom before the two of you left. He wasn’t gone for more than a few minutes, but when he returned, he spotted you near the kitchen, backing away from a guy who was clearly very drunk and very horny. Azriel saw red.

Before he could take a second to think, Azriel was upon the bastard, punching him in the jaw.

He heard you yelp. The asshole staggered back, swearing, his hand cradling his jaw. Azriel barely spared him a glance, his hands gently holding either side of your face, his gaze raking your body, searching for any sign that he had touched you.

Your eyes were wide, your breathing labored, but you seemed physically fine. “Are you okay?” he asked.

You nodded, your eyes still frantic.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders as he led you outside. Claire caught his eye on the way out, hers shining with delight. He scowled at her.

When you made it outside, he hugged you to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

You snorted. “You were gone for a few minutes. It’s not your fault that men are gross.”

“Are you okay, really?” He asked, pulling back to look you in the eye.

“I’m okay,” you said quietly.

He held you close to him, gazing at you for another moment before you smiled faintly. “You really didn’t need to punch him, you know.”

He winced slightly, remembering the yelp you let out when he threw that punch. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said, rising on your tiptoes to kiss him.

Azriel held you until his heart rate slowed down, until his body was convinced that you were okay.

Later, after he had dropped you off at your apartment, Azriel stayed awake, tossing and turning, so many images from that night racing through his mind.

The way his heart constricted every time you smiled at him, the horror he felt at seeing Claire play nice, the terror and rage that flowed through his entire body when he saw that creep bothering you…

Azriel knew then, that he had real feelings for you. Shit.

---

“C’mon, baby, you’ve been studying for ages already,” Azriel murmured, standing behind you as you sat at your desk in your apartment, his arms draped around your chest, his lips trailing down your neck.

Your toes curled, heat running right through you. You wanted to give in. You really did. But…

You sighed. “I’m sorry, Az. I have this big exam on Tuesday. And finals are only a few weeks away.”

For some reason, that comment made his entire body stiffen. “Oh, yeah. Finals.”

You snorted. “Don’t tell me you forgot about finals.”

“No, I just… they’re soon.” His voice wavered a bit as he stood up fully. You twisted in your seat to look up at him. His brow was furrowed, his eyes swimming with anxiety.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, reaching up and cupping his cheek with your hand. “Do you need me to help you study?” He had never seemed to care about his grades before.

He leaned into your touch for a moment, shooting you a forced smile. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I should go, and let you study.” He stooped down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I won’t distract you anymore today.”

Before you could even respond, he was out the door.

You turned back to your notes, but couldn’t digest any of the information. That was… weird.

Azriel and you had been dating for months now. Though neither of you had ever put a label on it, you both knew you were exclusive.

In the privacy of your own mind, you secretly loved that he acted so differently around you than he did out and about on campus. You felt like you got a different version of him that was saved especially for you. It made your heart swell, all the little things he did for you each day.

You were also willing to admit, to yourself only, that you were absolutely in love with him. You had known for weeks now, and had been debating whether or not you should tell him.

He had been the one that made you step out of your comfort zone, to try new things, to be brave.

So, soon. You would tell him soon.

---

Azriel had to get out of the deal. Now.

He remembered the exact moment that he realized he was in love with you. It was a random afternoon, the two of you were watching TV at his apartment. He was laying on the couch, you were laying on top of him, your legs intertwined with his, your head on his chest. He was absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair while you giggled about something that happened on the show.

And he had the thought. I want my whole life to look like this.

And he knew. He loved you.

This had scared him, obviously, on multiple levels. He had never loved anyone before, never knew what that looked like. Yet somehow, he knew without a doubt that it was true.

And then, of course, there was the deal he had made with the devil.

He had known early on that he would have to get out of the deal. He had just been putting it off, hoping that Claire’s insanity would die down throughout the semester.

But now his time was up.

He prayed to whoever might be listening that Claire would listen to reason. That she would call it off. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. He wouldn’t do it.

Claire smirked as she opened the door. “I’ve been wondering when you would show up. It’s been a long time, Az,” she purred.

Azriel stalked into her apartment, barely sparing her a glance. “The deal’s off, Claire.”

She cocked her head to the side, amused. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Because it’s insane,” he growled. “You were insane for coming up with it, and I was insane for agreeing to it. I’m done.”

Slowly, her lips curled up into a lethal smile. “You fell for her.”

Azriel blinked.

Claire cackled. “Oh, this is rich. You actually fell for the bookworm? I never thought I’d see the day. No wonder you haven’t been crawling into my bed.”

He scowled. “The deal’s off,” he repeated in the tone he used to scare people away.

She really looked at him then, her eyes bearing into his. After a moment, she finally said, “Okay.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay? Just like that?”

Claire shrugged. “You were right. It was an insane plan. And it didn’t even work,” she said bitterly. “You suck at your job. She’ll still be on the top of the Dean’s list, even after all your lovey-dovey shit.”

A swell of pride ran through him at the thought of your name at the top of that list.

“Alright,” he said, his brow furrowed, trying to figure out if there was some kind of angle here. But, there didn’t seem to be one.

He left quickly, his heart and mind feeling lighter. The guilt of how the two of you started would always be there, he knew. But now when he looked into the future, it wasn’t a hazy blur of nothingness that he saw. It was you.

---

The week before finals, there were parties everywhere. So you heard.

You had gone to a few more with Az over the past few months. It still wasn’t exactly your thing, but you didn’t mind going, especially with Azriel being so attentive to you every time you did.

Azriel didn’t seem particularly interested in going to this one, but his friends had been complaining that they never saw him anymore, so he agreed to go. And you had agreed to go with him, if only to take a break from your near constant studying these days.

You followed him through the crowd, his hand clasping yours, as always. Drinks in hand, you made your way to the outskirts of a group of people who were dancing and you joined them, Azriel pulling you in close to him, moving against you.

A laugh burst from you, and Azriel grinned, leaning down to kiss you.

You were so happy, you thought. So happy in that moment with him. You knew people watched you, as they usually did when Azriel was like this with you. You didn’t care.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he gazed down at you, his eyes swimming with affection.

“I love you,” you said before you could stop it.

His eyes sobered, and he pulled you in even closer, so your bodies were flush together. He leaned his forehead against yours, and in a crowd of people, Azriel said, a soft smile on his face, “I love you, too.”

Your heart leaped and you grinned, threading your fingers in his hair and bringing his lips to yours.

Suddenly, the music stopped, and from the TV came a voice. Azriel’s voice.

Everyone turned to the sound, curiously, watching. The video was jumpy, filming the floor, like it was filmed from someone’s pocket.

Azriel tensed, his arms still around you. “Fuck,” he said. “We need to go.”

Utterly confused, you didn’t argue as he pulled you through the crowd. But you stopped dead in your tracks when you heard video Azriel say, “Sweetheart, you know I can fuck you anytime I want, right? That is not going to persuade me to help you.”

Your blood ran cold, shock jolting from your heart down to your toes. Azriel was tugging on your arm, but you didn’t budge as you heard Claire’s voice next.

Claire. He had been talking to Claire. What did he mean, that he could fuck her whenever he wanted? You hadn’t even known that they knew each other. When was this filmed?

“Baby, please, I’ll explain everything, but we need to go,” Azriel was saying, sounding frantic.

You wrenched your arm from his grasp, weaving through the still crowd, moving toward the TV. You heard him swear, calling your name behind you, but you kept moving.

They were saying something about a deal, about him owing her a favor. You couldn’t make sense of it, not until you heard video Azriel say, “Alright, so I just have to seduce the bookworm? Easy.”

Video Claire responded, “No, if I’m going to agree to any favor you could possibly want, you’re going to have to go further. You need to make her fall in love with you.”

It was then that you noticed Claire, next to the TV, her eyes locked on you, smirking.

You couldn’t breathe, your legs were going to give out --

It was all fake. All of it.

Azriel caught up to you then, picking you up, slinging you over his shoulder. You didn’t protest, the shock setting in. You had to get out of there, even if it was him that carried you out.

When he made it outside, you pounded on his back with your fists. “Put me down, you asshole!”

“Sorry,” Azriel said, wincing as he gently set you on your feet. “You looked like you were going to pass out.”

“Like you even care,” you spat, storming away from him.

“Of course I care. Please, just give me a minute to explain,” he pleaded, following you.

“Explain what?” You stopped abruptly, spinning around to face him. “That you played me for a fool? Made me fall in love with you as a sick joke? Well, congratulations, it worked,” you said, pouring every ounce of venom that you could muster into your voice. You turned back around and continued walking as tears started pricking your eyes. You refused to let him see you cry.

“It may have started out that way, but it’s not like that anymore. From the first date, I had feelings for you. I love you. You have to believe that,” he said, right on your heels.

You knew he could catch up with you easily if he wanted to. He was hanging back, trying to give you your space. That pissed you off even more. “How could I possibly believe that?”

“Because you feel it, I know you do,” he said, finally wrapping his fingers around your wrist.

You tugged your hand free, but stopped walking, needing to catch your breath. You faced him. “What was the point?” You asked quietly. “Why make the deal?”

It didn’t matter. But you had to know.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Claire and I used to date. When you transferred, you pushed her off the top spot of the Dean’s list. She hated you for it. She said she would give me any favor I wanted if I made you fall for me… to distract you from school.”

You were so surprised that the tears you had been holding in started to fall. You angrily swatted them away.

Azriel continued, “I said no at first, but she was persistent, and…” he took a deep breath, darting his eyes away from you for a moment. They were shining with unshed tears. “I have no excuse. I agreed to it. I’m an asshole. But you made me want to be different.”

“Was any of it true?” You heard yourself saying, your voice breaking.

He lifted his hand, like he was about to reach for yours, then let it drop, thinking better of it. “It was all true. From our first date, you were breaking down my walls, making me smile, making me laugh.” He smiled sadly. “I fell for you. I love you,” he said, and now a lone tear did slide down his cheek. “I called it off with Claire ages ago. I told her I was out, and she agreed. I… I didn’t know she filmed it.”

You wanted to believe him, that he really did love you. But… “Even if you do love me, that doesn’t change what you did,” you said in a small voice.

Azriel sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. “I know. I am so, so sorry.”

Shaking your head, backing away from him, you choked out, “I don’t -- I can’t. I can’t do this right now.”

He took a step toward you, his eyes pleading. “Please. Please don’t go.”

Turning your back to him, you walked away, barely registering the pavement beneath your feet, the direction you were going.

You knew he had followed you home, not letting you walk alone at night. You watched his form retreat after you locked yourself inside your apartment with trembling hands.

Azriel called your name, but you kept walking.

You went to bed, not even bothering to change. Laying on your back, watching your ceiling fan spin around and around, you tried to identify all that you were feeling: shame, humiliation, sorrow. Fury.

Replaying all that had happened between you, all the times he was probably laughing at you with his friends behind his back about you. You felt nauseous.

How could he do this? How could he have played you for so long?

You woke up to several missed calls and texts from Azriel, all sent hours apart. It seemed that he didn’t get any sleep at all.

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

I am so sorry. I’m the worst person in the world. I know that.

I know what you’re thinking right now. I know that you’re going over it all in your head. But, it was real, baby. It was all real. I swear it was. I love you so much.

I’m hoping you’re getting some sleep. Can I see you today?

Groaning, you tossed your phone to the side, and took a long shower. By the time you got out, someone was knocking on your door.

You quickly dressed in some old pajamas and called through the door, “Go away, Az.”

“Well, at least you’re alive,” you heard him say. “Can I please come in? Two minutes?”

You threw the door open, furious. “No, you cannot come in. You humiliated me. You used me. You had your fun. What else could you possibly want?”

Azriel was standing on the threshold, his hands in his pockets nervously, his facial expression looked like you had just slapped him. “I want to apologize! I want to make things better, that’s what I want.”

Biting your lip to keep from crying, you said quietly, “Go away.”

His face fell. “I love you.”

Shaking your head, you said, “You don’t.”

He took a step forward, wedging his foot on the door jam so you couldn’t close it on him. “I do,” he said, his eyes pleading, baring into yours. “You know that I do. You know I’ve never let anybody else see the real me. Nobody but you.”

Tears spilled onto your cheeks then, and he wiped them away gently. Despite everything, you couldn’t back away. “It doesn’t matter,” you croaked. “You only went out with me so you could help her ruin my life.”

Azriel opened his mouth, as if to reply, but then shut it.

You laughed humorlessly. “See? Even you don’t have a comeback.”

His eyes softened, his rough fingers still absentmindedly stroking your cheeks. “Please,” he said again. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not enough,” you whispered, your heart breaking all over again as you looked up at him, at the pain in his eyes.

“How do I fix it?” He whispered back, tears sliding freely down his cheeks now.

“I don’t know,” you said, stepping back out of his grasp. “Please, Az. I just -- I need to be alone right now.”

He nodded, drawing his arm across his face to wipe the tears away. “Okay. Okay, I’ll umm -- I’ll see you later?”

You didn’t know how to answer that, didn’t know if you would see him again at all. He took a step back, into the hallway.

Especially knowing where that awful bet had originated, you refused to let Azriel and Claire get in your head for finals. You buckled down, spending entire days at the library studying, writing papers, finishing projects.

Without another word, you shut the door.

It was helpful, actually. You didn’t allow yourself to think about him, about all the memories you had that had become so tainted and confusing.

By the end of the semester, you had maintained all your A’s, passing every final with flying colors. And thus, secured the very top spot of the Dean’s list.

Azriel had been texting and calling every day. You left them all unanswered.

You hadn’t yet had time to think, to process through the hurt.

A new text chimed as you were packing up your car to head home for the summer.

Saw the list. Nicely done, bookworm. I know it doesn’t matter, but I really am proud of you. Looks like all that hard work paid off ❤️

Despite everything, there was a swell of emotion in your chest at his words. God, why did everything have to be so awful?

Later, you were hefting your last box into your trunk when you heard the distinct sound of a motorcycle slowing down behind you. Your heart raced. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to see him again or not.

Slowly, you turned around to see Azriel sliding off the bike, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, somewhat tentatively.

“Hi,” you said softly.

He nodded to your car, his expression grave. “You’re leaving?”

“Back home for the summer,” you said, unable to take your eyes off him. He looked tired. And sad.

A moment passed silently, the two of you just looking at each other, pain hanging in the air between you.

“I miss you,” he said quietly.

You sighed. Willed yourself to be brave. “I miss you, too,” you admitted.

Something like hope gleamed in his eyes. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I --” you started, and couldn’t bear it. “I need time.”

He looked crestfallen, like you had just punched him in the gut, but he nodded. “The summer?”

You swallowed. “Okay,” you said. “Okay. I get the summer, and I’ll find you in the fall. We’ll talk then.”

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “Thank you for… for that. For talking to me now,” he winced. “I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you don’t,” you said, but there was no malice in it. You were too tired. “I get the summer, Az. Don’t contact me until school starts.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but agreed. “Okay. I’ll see you in September,” he said, backing up towards his bike. “Have a good summer, bookworm,” he added with the slightest of smiles, before he slid on his helmet and drove away.

---

You spent most of the summer moping around, reading books, and trying to sort through everything that happened, all the feelings you had.

For three months, you sifted through every moment that Azriel and you had shared together, picking them apart, deciphering every movement.

It may have been slightly unhealthy.

You believed that what you and Azriel had was real. You believed that he did love you. And you couldn’t deny that you loved him. That maybe you always would.

Was it worth it to deny yourself the person who had made you so happy? Who had taught you new things, who had helped you out of your comfort zone?

As September grew closer, you still weren’t sure.

---

Azriel got more and more anxious as the summer came to a close. It had been torture to not contact you at all, but he knew he was in no position to be asking you for anything, so he did as you asked.

The hurt on your face those months ago was still a clear image in his mind that haunted his nightmares. He would never forgive himself for hurting you.

Yet, he couldn’t stop imagining what would happen when he saw you again. Would you give him another chance? You would have to be a saint to even contemplate that. But then again, you were the best person he had ever known. If anyone would be able to forgive, it would be you.

Scowling, he stomped that shred of hope down. He couldn’t go into this having any expectations.

Soon, he would know.

---

It was bittersweet coming back to school. Academia was where you thrived. You felt right at home in the library, stacks of papers all around you.

And you used to feel at home with Azriel.

You sighed at the thought. The first day of classes was tomorrow. You had told Azriel not to contact you until school started back up again, and knowing him, he would take that seriously.

Deep down, you knew what you wanted to do. It terrified you, though.

Sure enough, the next morning, you had a text from him:

Hey, bookworm. Hope your first day of classes goes well.

The slightest smile spread across your lips. You knew he was probably dying to ask when he could see you, but was trying to keep it light. Leave the ball in your court.

For the first time since everything, you texted him back.

Thanks, Az. Yours, too.

He opened it immediately. After a moment, you willed yourself to send another:

Wanna meet up at the tennis courts tonight?

His reply came at lightning speed:

Reigning in your smile, you replied:

You couldn’t remember ever being this nervous as you walked to the tennis courts. There were a few people playing, so you sat underneath a tree nearby, willing your legs to stop shaking.

Right on time, a familiar motorcycle turned into the parking lot. He spotted you immediately, striding over to you with unsure steps.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said quietly.

You looked up at him, your heart racing at the familiarity you felt. “Hi,” you said, and after the briefest hesitation, you patted the grass next to you. You weren’t sure you would be able to stand.

Immediately, he plopped down across from you, his knees only inches from yours as he faced you.

His eyes were locked on yours. “How was your summer?” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

“Okay,” you said. “How was yours?”

“Okay,” he said quietly.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Okay, here’s the thing. I did a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking. And I do love you, Az.”

You paused, not sure how to word what you were feeling.

“But?” Azriel said, his voice dripping with trepidation, his eyes guarded.

“But it’s going to take some time before I can trust you again.”

Azriel swallowed, his eyes never wavering from yours.

He seemed like he was waiting for you to continue before he said anything, so you added, quietly, “I am willing to try, though. To give us another chance.”

The tautness in his body released, relief flooding his features. “Really?” he croaked, tears swimming in his eyes.

You could only nod before he launched towards you, knocking you on your back, before he threaded his fingers through your hair, kissing you deeply.

You laughed, as his other hand came up to cup your face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I swear I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” he said against your lips.

Wrapping your arms around him, you sighed into his kiss. “I know, Az. I know.”

“I love you,” he murmured, moving to kiss down your neck.

“I love you, too.”

“I missed you so much,” he groaned before kissing your lips again.

You giggled. “I missed you, too.”

He finally stopped kissing you, settling his elbows on either side of your head, leaning his forehead against yours. “Thank you. For giving me another chance.”

Smiling, you kissed him swiftly on the lips. “Don’t mess it up.”

“I won’t. I swear I won’t.”

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon in each other’s arms, going over your respective summers.

Eventually, Azriel propped himself on an elbow, gazing at you with all the love in the world.

“What?” you asked.

He grinned. “You wanna go mini golfing, bookworm?”

You couldn’t help but return his smile. “Only if I can help you again.”

Azriel leaned down to gently kiss your forehead. “It’s a deal.”

@thalia-as-blog @saltedcoffeescotch

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chasebeth · 4 days

Text

Deceptive Domestication

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 7.7k | Warnings: sexism, misogyny

Summary: The two of you have to pretend to be a married couple for a mission. Can you live with this false reality? Or will your feelings for Azriel eat you alive when it’s over?

Author’s note: started making it, had a breakdown, bon apetit

“Angel, where are you?”

Azriel’s deep voice moves on the wind, finding you at the back of your cottage. You twist the new ring adorning your fourth finger, the skin beneath it showing no tan lines, “I’m back here, just one second!”

Azriel laughs, his voice sweet and full of honey, “the wife’s an avid gardener. When we were first considering moving here, she insisted we check the soil to make sure she would be able to have her prized blackberries.”

You appear from the side of the house, wiping your hands on the apron around your dress. Azriel’s arm reaches around you, clasping you on your shoulder as you get next to him.

“He’s right, I love my blackberries greatly,” you say, reaching out to shake hands with your new neighbors. They lived in the house closest to yours, a red thatched roof adorning the black building. Delicious smells came from it, and judging by the smoke from the chimney, they were likely preparing dinner when they saw you two.

“We just wanted to come by and meet the two of you, we saw you come in last night and wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m Arben,” the male points to himself, “and this is my wife, Alija.”

You nod to both of them - they looked to be a good bit older than you and Azriel, wrinkles adorning their tanned faces. “Thank you, this used to be my Uncle Sal’s home. Since he passed away recently, he left the home to us and we wanted to leave our home village.”

“I’m so sorry about Sal, sweetheart,” he says, a sympathetic look in his eye, “he was a nice male, talked about you all of the time. Alija has to finish dinner, but we’ll see the two of you around, yeah?”

You press your lips into a firm smile, nodding before pressing into Azriel’s side and turning back to the house. His arm on your back guides you to the door of your new home, his touch a familiar warmth amidst all of the new. Once you cross the threshold, shutting the door behind yourselves, Azriel’s hand falls from your back and he immediately puts distance between you two, walking towards the bedroom he was staying in. His smile drops, the air in the room frigid. Rhys’s words clang through you, a shock to your senses.

Go to this village as a married couple. I’m unsure how long it will take.

You jolted as Azriel slammed the door behind him. Sighing, you move to your own room, taking in the bags left to unpack. You had taken great care to pack enough to last you as the season changes. The two of you were here indefinitely, marooned in a quaint village of about forty-three people.

Move in, become friends with the neighbors, find out what you can.

There was a circle of villages in the western part of the Night Court where females kept disappearing - six had gone missing in the last month. The villagers were not speaking to outsiders, but Rhysand thought a long term mission might allow the spies to get close enough to get some questions answered.

So he decided on you and Azriel.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

It had been strange seeing Azriel play this version of a spy, even if it had only been a day. You were so used to him lurking in the shadows, it felt so strange to watch him play the part of a doting husband, and to do it well. Introducing you to the neighbors and random villagers, a hand kept on your skin at all times - on your lower back, your waist, your shoulders. It was so easy to get swept up in the illusion you two were selling - even you were convinced you were newlyweds, moving for a fresh start.

Until he slammed his door, reminding you it was all fake, a farse for information.

Things between you and Azriel have always been easy. You two were the best of friends, most of your free time being spent with him since joining the Inner Circle two years ago. The two of you spent countless nights sitting together when sleep wouldn’t find you, you two had even developed a code - open bedroom doors at night were a silent invitation for the other to come in, spending most nights in each other’s rooms, wrapped up in sheets that smelled of the two of you.

All of that ended very suddenly a few months ago. Suddenly his door was always closed to you, your own cracked every night. A call to him, begging him to acknowledge you.

You started keeping your door closed a month ago. It didn’t feel right, shutting him out, but clearly you had done something wrong. Your entrance into a room would cause him to leave immediately, changes in his training schedule to avoid you, abruptly turning around when he saw you.

It was all pissing you off.

The rest of the Inner Circle were just as clueless as you were as to what happened to cause Azriel’s sudden distance. Cassian tried to interfere - making plans with both of you for dinner at a restaurant and ditching, trying to force you two to spend time together.

Azriel just left once he caught sight of you.

That was your tipping point. You stopped going to training, you pulled back from family dinners. They were his family first, and you wanted to give him whatever space he needed. Everyone protested, telling you it was his problem, and in Cassian’s words “if he’s going to be a jackass, I don’t want him around anyway.”

Still, you retreated, hardly seeing much of the family you had forged over the past few years. No matter how much it hurts you to do so.

Once you began accepting this new Azriel-less reality, Rhys had called you into his office. The high lord looked almost conflicted, your entire family aware that something weird was happening between you and Azriel. None of them dared to ask Azriel, his darkened mood making it incredibly easy to anger him, and anytime they asked you they were met with a shrug and a soft, “I don’t know.”

All of them had been scratching their heads, desperate for an explanation for the sudden iciness between you two. It had been weeks of this, and everyone missed seeing the two of you exchanging whispers in the corner or watching Azriel’s shadows wind through your hair.

Which was why Rhysand decided to insert himself into the situation. He called you into his office, and after asking you to take a seat, he began asking after your week. Your eyebrows knitted, confused about the formality of it all, when you realized you haven’t actually seen Rhysand in almost a month.

You had taken up residence in the House of Wind - since you were a scholar it lended easy access to your work, and whenever you wanted to leave, you asked Azriel to ferry you around. You tried to remember the last time you saw anyone in the inner circle that wasn't Cassian or Nesta, and it was when Cassian offered to fly you into town to get lunch with Feyre three weeks ago.

You’re not certain how to tell Rhysand the past few weeks had been filled with silence, whatever happened between you and the shadowsinger led you to avoid Cassian and Nesta, avoid training, avoid anything that wasn’t being buried in your work in the library.

You look into violet eyes, and you check your mental shields because he’s looking at you as if he already knows how sad this whole situation has made you.

You take a deep breath, shrugging. “Time is passing, I suppose.”

Rhys’s face falls a bit at just how dejected you sounded. It wasn’t supposed to be like this - they all knew there was something between you and Azriel, they all saw how you two gravitated towards each other. Neither of you would open up about whatever it was that shifted things so quickly and easily and it was pissing all of them off.

“I need your help with something.”

It was the best plan they could come up with to try to salvage things.

You woke up early the next morning, determined to tend to the garden before the sun reached its peak in the sky. You had plans later in the afternoon to meet with a few of the women of the village, but you had to get to working on this garden. There was no time table on this mission, and the two of you only had food stores to last you a few months.

If you were to be stuck in this purgatory that long, you needed new food to replenish whatever you use.

Your story to tell the villagers was that the two of you were quite young from the other end of Illyria. The two of you were extraordinarily lucky that one of the older fae males in this village happened to pass away a few weeks ago, allowing the two of you an easy in. You merely reviewed some family records, and were posing as his beloved niece, here to lead a new life with her husband.

You tended to the garden behind the house - the weeds had grown wildly in the previous owner’s absence. Your ‘uncle's absence, that is.

You spent all morning pulling weeds, making quite an improvement to the garden before you decided to go in and make yourself lunch. You came in, rinsing the dirt from your fingers, the water feeling nice against some of the minor cuts you acquired outside. After drying off, you pulled out a loaf of bread, slicing the bread to prepare some sandwiches.

You hummed to yourself, trying to fill the silence of the house. It wasn’t large - a quaint two bedroom house with two bathrooms, a nice little kitchen, and a sitting room. You were a bit surprised at how well the interior of the house had been maintained by your ‘uncle’.

Azriel was headed with the rest of the males to the war camp, spending his day training as a lesser ranked Illyrian. He was glamoured to look enough not like himself to the other Illyrians that they wouldn’t think anything of him. You had also glamoured some of Azriel’s siphons, only allowing one on his chest to remain. He was not happy about it, not wanting to seem so much weaker than he truly was. He wouldn’t listen to any of your points about it, but Rhys eventually convinced him to allow your glamour to cover six of his siphons because “it’s quite obvious who you are”.

Azriel’s refusal to listen to even your opinions on the mission was grating. You wanted to get to know the local females, and Rhys agreed with you, but Azriel kept arguing that ‘it wasn’t safe’.

Stupid Illyrians and their stupid pigheadedness, you suppose. If you’re not supposed to speak with the other females, why were you even here?

You knew this mission would be difficult for Azriel - his hatred for his own people fueling centuries of anger and resentment. You thought being trapped here was an appropriate punishment for how he had iced you out of his life.

You had just finished making your sandwich when there was a knock at the door. You brushed your hands down your dress, glamouring wings back to life behind you, breathing deeply before you answered the door.

An Illyrian woman stood in your doorway, her dark curls slightly hiding her tanned face that was turned down. She was taller and broader than you, but still small for an Illyrian. Her demeanor told you they treated her that way as well. Her wings were tucked in tight behind her and her shoulders shook lightly before you.

Her voice was weak as she told you, “we go every day, bringing lunch to the males, if you wish to accompany us.”

Wish.

You knew the reality of coming here - you knew they would give a few days of grace to settle in, set up your garden, bereave your uncle before they assigned you to a chore rotation. In communities like this one, everyone had to pull their weight.

It was just astonishing how ‘pulling your own weight’ made the females seem two to three times heavier than the males.

You nod your head to the female, closing the door behind you as you meet her outside. You had no idea where the war camp was, knowing it mustn’t be too far from the village. You vaguely remember Azriel and Rhys discussing the three villages that filtered into the camp, how all three were short walks from the villages.

Dirt crunches beneath your boots as you walk alongside the female, her deep brown eyes downcast towards the ground, shoulders hunched to make herself as small as possible as you walk. “What’s your name?” You ask, your voice causing her to flinch. Her eyes were wide as they looked at you, shock at being addressed you presumed. It was astonishing how awfully they must treat her, because her face resembled a wounded dog’s.

“Kaltrina.” Her words are mumbled, and you have to strain your ears a little to hear her.

“Kaltrina - it’s nice to meet you. Um, are you married?”

Not your usual first question, but around these parts marriage was as good as social standing. Also any unwed women over the age of 24 were considered ‘unwanted’ or ‘untameable’. This village was harsh on women - even by Illyrian standards. The males of this village made Devlon look forward and free-thinking.

“No, not married. I live with my brother, Dardan.”

Her tone didn’t suggest anything about him, but you weren’t sure exactly what it meant. She offers you a smile and a soft nod, “is your husband nice?”

You offer the same soft nod before you hear her say, “he’s quite good looking, too.”

You pause, trying to remember everything Cassian and Rhysand had told you about Illyrians to prepare for this - they told you males were incredibly territorial, treating their wives more like trophies and laborers rather than spouses. A male would take this as a compliment - one mention of a good-looking wife would be something to boast about, mentioning it more than once would be an offense.

But how did the females treat their husbands, how did they speak to each other about them? It was the biggest gap in your knowledge, but you suppose you can explain away any discrepancies on how far away the two of you came from.

“Yes, he’s quite pretty.”

She giggles at your words, and you feel a swell of pride at getting it right. She walks next to you, standing a little straighter for the rest of the walk.

The two of you made it to the war camp, joining the other females to distribute food to the males. The males look at you like you’re not much more than a piece of meat or some dirt on their boots, but your eyes scanned the crowd for Azriel, not finding him the entire time you’re there.

You do get a chance to speak with a few of the females as you all head back to the village, carrying leftover food with you. Most of them seem to welcome you - suggesting what crops grow best in the area, telling you to reach out if you need any help with anything.

The other females head off at the fork in the road, telling you and Kaltrina they would see you the next day. You breathe deeply, looking to Kaltrina once more. She hardly spoke once the two of you had met up with the other females at the war camp, keeping her distance from them the entire time.

“How’s your brother?” You ask, the innocent question causing Kaltrina to flinch.

“He’s a fine male.”

Her answer feels so dry, so rehearsed. You don’t press the issue, changing topics instead. “How will you spend the rest of the afternoon?”

“Chores.”

You listen to the birds singing around the both of you, their song a beautiful melody across the skies. You eventually pass a house similar to your own, but a bit smaller, the roof not well cared for. Kaltrina gives you a small wave before turning down the path to her house, disappearing behind the door.

You kept walking towards your own house, but you did see her appear in the window briefly, watching you walk down the road. It made the hairs on your neck stand up, but you quickly looked forward again, making your way back to the house, determined to finish unpacking this afternoon.

You had finished unpacking by the time you heard the door open, Azriel traipsing through the house.

“Hello my loving husb-“

Your sarcastic words die as you turn to see his face, a cut on his lip and a black eye. He shakes his head, trying to tell you it’s nothing, and he starts moving to just head to his room, but you’re not having it.

“We have some bandages in the bathroom.” Your words don’t have a command in them, but he heads towards the bathroom. You pick up a bottle of alcohol, dabbing some on a rag. You motion for him to sit on the edge of the tub, and he goes.

You’re a few inches from his face, the closest you’ve been in months. His scent was so comforting, you just wanted to wrap yourself in it and stay for a while. He stays silent, his face a blank slate you could slap any emotion to.

His shadows have been having fun whizzing around the house. He had told them they had to stay completely hidden if they were to come to the war camp with him, otherwise they had to stay in the house or go off wherever they wanted. They didn’t like the options, but most of them stayed with him, tucked into his boots, his pants, the hilt of his sword. Now that he was back, they scattered across the house, energetic wisps of darkness moving through the house, through your hair, against your skin.

“What happened?”

He huffed, his fingers dancing on his thighs in irritation. “I’m a new male, they’re just seeing if I can take it.”

You nod, and from the irritation in his voice, you know he’s shutting you back out. You hold the alcohol covered rag up to his lip, cleaning the blood from his face. He had healed a good bit since he received the beating, and you notice his knuckles are bloody.

Hopefully he put up a good enough fight.

“I went with some of the women to the war camp to distribute food.”

His eyes snap to yours, his wings rustling behind him. His eyes were dark, a look to them you’ve never seen directed at you. He reaches his hand up to your wrist, his grip tight but not uncomfortable.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

You’re taken aback by his tone - even if your relationship was tenuous, he never took such an aggressive tone with you. In all your years of friendship, the most strain in his voice you had heard directed at you was when you were free climbing up the cabinets of the kitchen to get to the top shelf for some cookies.

“Because Rhys thinks-”

“I don’t give a damn what Rhys thinks when it comes to you, I said it was a bad idea and to stay away from them.”

“They’re battered females, Azriel! The males treat them like dirt! And their friends and sisters and mothers have gone missing. I can help them, I know I can - that’s why we’re here!”

His hand tensed around you before he pulled his hand away from you. He looks away from you, his harsh breathing echoing through the small bathroom.

“You’ll only get yourself hurt by talking to them.”

He snatched the rag from your hand, pushing past you out the bathroom and into his room, slamming the door on your once again. You want to scream or stomp your feet at how ridiculous he was being.

“I’m not a kid you can boss around, Azriel.”

His silence didn’t make you so certain about that.

The next week goes by much like your first full day in the village - you wake up after Azriel’s gone, tend to the house (your ‘uncle’ left it in semi-decent shape, but it did need a few repairs), head with Kaltrina to the war camp to feed the males (where you were even able to meet Kaltrina’s brother and several of the female’s husbands), and spend your afternoon preparing dinner for the two of you.

You’re not on speaking terms with Azriel after his outburst while you cleaned him up - every day he’s returned with some minor cut and scrape, and all you do is point to the alcohol and provide him with fresh rags. You won’t clean him up yourself, you’re too pissed at him for that, but you still urge him to do it himself

You still care, despite it all.

Despite the ice between you and Azriel, the females of the village began opening up to you, accepting you as one of their own. You join them every day to serve lunches to the males, and several of them even invited you to their homes to help teach you how to cook with the regional vegetables.

“Your husband’s too skinny,” one said, “I’ll teach you how to cook.”

You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult, but you took it for what it was - an offering. You spent the afternoon with her, learning how to smoke pig ‘the correct way’. She had told you her name was Bora, she and her husband have lived in this village for several centuries, and she has had many, many smoked pigs.

“None compare to my family recipe.”

She was quite intimidating, and you could tell she took shit from no one, not even her husband. You were touched that she would share her family recipe with you so readily, thinking perhaps she took a special interest in you until another female stopped by and, after telling her Bora was teaching you her family recipe, she told you, “it’s how she inaugurates new females to the village’.

You were less touched and your ego deflated a bit, but you were still grateful she would spend so much time with you. The afternoon flew by, time not registering as you helped Bora peel her vegetables while the pork cooked.

You looked up, noting the dark sky through the window, dropping the zucchini. “Oh no,” you mutter, running out of the house to the road, eyes wide to find Azriel running up the road, blades drawn. His siphon was glowing in the dark, it’s cobalt blue blazing with intensity.

He was frantic, and you could have sworn you saw his shadows frantically zipping around him, moving in and out of houses. His body visibly relaxes as he spots you, rushing towards you. His arms wrap around you, crushing you into an embrace. His breathing is ragged, “I thought- I thought- you-”

His words come out choppy, but he pulls back, his hands on your face. He’s breathing hard, trying to string words together. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement.

“Is everything alright?”

Bora’s voice startles Az, and one of his shadows whips into a defensive position before you shoo it away. He quickly collects himself, moving one of his hands to the back of your head, pulling you to his chest.

“Sorry, I got worried when I got home and my wife wasn’t there.”

He pats your hair, his hands combing through them softly. “Just need her to be safe, s’all.”

Bora nods, perhaps more understanding than she should be of Azriel’s concern. “Ah, to be newly married again. She was safe,” she turns away before adding, “she’s always safe here with Bora.”

The older female waddles back inside for a moment before coming back out to the two of you, the tray of pork and vegetables on it. “Here’s dinner tonight - Bora’s family recipe.” She winks at you, and the two of you politely thank her before heading back to your house. You carried the tray, but Azriel kept both of his hands on you the entire walk back.

The walk back is mostly quiet, Azriel’s heartbeat slowing as the adrenaline leaves his body. You swivel your head around, noticing no one out in the village at this hour.

“Why were you being so nice and touchy to me out there and anytime we see the neighbors?” Your words come out barely more than a whisper, but you knew he heard them. “The men in this village hardly view their wives as more than livestock, it might be more suspicious for you to be so nice to me.”

He turned, just enough for you to see the side of his face, to watch his mouth as he said, “I could never do that to you.”

You spent the rest of the walk in silence, spending the entire time dissecting the way he said “you”.

Your house with Azriel is still quiet, the two of you living separate lives behind the oak door. Sleeping apart, eating dinner in different rooms. You two only spoke when you were outside of the house.

A few days after cooking with Bora, you and Kaltrina were headed back to the village from the camps for lunch when she offered to help you make dinner.

“I want to say thanks, for being my friend.”

Her words make you feel terrible over how strange you had found her. Maybe she was just awkward. You weren’t sure, but you knew you’d be safe inside your own home, so you agreed to let her stay.

The two of you prepare dinner, Kaltrina seeming a bit nervous as she skitters about your kitchen. You make idle small talk, but the air in the room seems so off you can’t put your finger on it.

“What will your brother be doing for dinner tonight?”

She looks a bit downcast as she tells you, “he has plans tonight, he’s eating at his friend’s house.”

Her tone tells you not to ask anymore, and you don’t press the issue any further.

The two of you eat in silence, Kaltrina’s eyes moving around your house, taking in every detail. She excuses herself to the bathroom, and you show her where it is.

In Kaltrina’s absence, Azriel makes his way through the front door, his shadows beginning to spread throughout the house in contentment. You quickly shake your head at the tiny wisps that come to you, sending them back to Azriel. You point towards the bathroom, jerking your head at the noises from behind the door trying to tell him someone was here.

The water runs, and Azriel quickly moves across the room, his arms circling your waist. Your eyebrows pinch, but you quickly relax them as Kaltrina leaves the bathroom. Her steps halt at seeing Azriel, her eyes wide at his sudden appearance.

“Kaltrina, this is my husband. Valon, this is my friend, Kaltrina.”

He nods to her before squeezing your waist and giving a swift kiss to your temple. Kaltrina’s eyes linger on the display of affection, not breaking contact even moments later. Azriel rubs your back, eyes fond as he looks to you, “I’m going to head to bed, take your time with your friend, but don’t leave me waiting too long.”

Was that a signal? You two slept in separate rooms - what did his words mean? You lean up, kissing his cheek before rubbing at his jaw and nodding. He turns his attention towards Kaltrina, “it was nice meeting you Kaltrina, my wife is quite fond of you. Have a good night.”

Her mouth is slightly ajar, her cheeks a harsh shade of red as she squeaks, “good night.”

Azriel nods at her and he slips into your bedroom, a sight that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You turn back to Kaltrina, her eyes lingering on the door to your bedroom, and you could almost feel the yearning radiating from her.

“Come on, we should clean up a bit.” The two of you head into the kitchen, cleaning and scraping the dirty dishes from earlier. You two work in silence, the only sounds in the room are the scrubbing of pots.

“Your husband seems quite nice.”

Her voice is full of want and yearning. You stop cleaning pots before you, Kaltrina’s eyes fixed on you until you look. She turns her eyes away, looking back to the pots.

“Yes, he is very kind.”

“He’s unlike any of the males around here.”

This conversation felt a bit dangerous. Azriel said it was fine, that he couldn’t treat you the way any of these males treat their wives - like servants, like cattle, like nothing. But you knew the females of the village would notice how he treated you, if they haven’t already. You start to wonder if they had noticed, discussing the odd outsiders, figuring the two of you out, getting you-

“He’s very good-looking.”

Kaltrina’s voice startles you, and you look to find her not even looking at you, gazing off to some point on the wall. Had she meant to say that out loud? The two of you finish up cleaning, although it is mostly you doing the work, Kaltrina’s gaze is lost somewhere on your kitchen wall. You quickly escort her out, wishing her a good night. You offer to walk her home, but she declines, saying she’ll be fine on her own.

You close the door behind her, taking a deep breath. Azriel was in your room - your room - the one with the unmade bed, clothes haphazard around the space. You two used to frequent each other’s private chambers, but now you can’t recall the last time he laid in your bed, perused the books on your shelves, or sat in the chair in the corner of your room at the House of Wind.

You push open the door to find him pacing in front of your bed, his shadows lounging lazily on your bed. You nod to him, picking at your fingernails.

“I think it’s Kaltrina. I think she’s the one doing this.”

“Kaltrina?” His voice is full of surprise and misunderstanding. “You think Kaltrina, that little thing is behind all of this?”

“Yes! I just.. Don’t know why.. The way she talks about you…”

“We can’t go off of silly little feelings when convicting someone of a crime, you know.” He stands in front of you, his wings blocking the light from the candles, casting shadows across his face.

“I’m well aware-”

“You have to think - where would she keep them? How could she overpower so many Illyrian women? And besides, why does it matter what she thinks of me?”

Your anger was bubbling to the surface, his condescending tone leading you to yell out, “what the fuck is your problem, Azriel?”

He looks at you, turning away quickly while muttering, “we are not doing this here.” His shadows are ever so slightly trying to push him back towards you, but he ignores their attempts, plowing through them to your kitchen.

“No, I think we are doing this right here, right now. I’ve let too much shit go by and I can’t keep acting like everything’s okay anymore.” You take in a shaky breath. “I’m tired of pretending. Just tell me whatever it was that I did that made you hate me and we can move on!”

“No.”

His curt reply annoys you even more, and you’re directly in front of him poking his chest.

“Just tell me what I did!”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s clearly not the case.”

He groans in frustration, running a hand down his face, but you are unrelenting in your pursuit for the truth.

“We were friends, you used to like spending time with me. I don’t know what happened that made you hate me-”

“I don’t hate you.”

You laugh, “well you could have fooled me. For months everyone’s been asking me what happened between us, and I have no clue! It’s like you woke up one day and decided we couldn’t be friends anymore!”

“That’s not what happened-”

“Oh, it’s not? So you were pretending to be my friend while you secretly hated me before cutting me off one day?”

“I HAD TO.”

His eyes were wide with an almost feral-like look to them. He looked almost more beast than fae.

“I had to. Those fae that were trafficking females and males, they… “ His hand shakes as he curls and uncurls it, his scarred fingers twitching with the motion. “One of my spies found your name in one of their notebooks, reported it to me immediately.”

His ferocity is turned on you, hazel eyes looking into your own, as if he was searching through your soul. “Don’t you get it? They know you, they know who you are.” His voice raised an octave, squeaking, “because of me.”

“So, what? Because someone knew that I was important to you, you cut me off?”

“No it wasn’t-“

“Oh, no, was it that someone pointed out to you that I was important to you and you didn’t like that?” Your voice was raising, getting louder, but you couldn’t care.

“That’s not-“

“I’m a big girl, Az, I deserve to know everything before making decisions. I don’t deserve my decisions to be taken from me.”

“Will you let me speak?”

His shadows were covering the windows, the doors, the walls. His chest was heaving as he tried to get the words out, tried to make you see.

“I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“So instead of explaining this to me, you cut me off like I meant nothing to you? Why couldn’t you just tell me that? Why couldn’t you tell me-”

“You would talk me out of it! Convince me it was in my head. I needed you to be safe, for cauldron’s sake!”

You sniffle, eyes catching on the door. “I have a lot to think about,” is all you say before storming out, closing the door behind you. You walk from the house, your boots sinking into the grass at your feet as you walk aimlessly around the village. Your thoughts whirled and swirled of Azriel’s words, your hands pulling at your hair in frustration.

“Hey, there.”

You whip around, fist raised, to find Dardan looking back at you. You quickly drop your fist - he could still tell the others you showed defiance towards him and you’d be in a lot of trouble.

“Oh, hey, Dardan, right? I must not have heard you. How are you tonight?”

You try to make your voice sound as pleasant as possible, as feminine as possible.

“Just taking an afternoon stroll,” he muses, “care to join me?”

You look around, noticing you’re much further from the village than you intended. Even though you were a married female to the rest of the village, it was still disrespectful towards your husband to be seen on the outskirts of town with an unmarried male.

“Um,” you start turning around, your gut trying to tell you this was wrong, wrong, wrong. “Actually, I should get back to my husband. I need to start working on dinner soon.”

You turned your head just in time for something hard and metal to make contact with it, the last thing in your vision was the ground before complete darkness.

Your head was killing you, your neck at an unnatural angle as you opened your eyes. The room was dark, but still too bright for the pounding of your head. You take a deep breath, trying to note your surroundings.

Your hands were bound behind you, some fabric you should be able to easily pull apart. You were on the ground, some dirt beneath your body as you laid on the cold ground. You began tugging on the fabric, trying to maneuver your hands to slip through the knot.

“Tug all you want, we got a talented witch in these parts.”

Your body goes cold at the voice.

Dardan.

Fuck.

You want to slam your head on something, but there’s nothing. Your breathing speeds up, your mind moving through all your interactions with Dardan.

You thought he was nice. He had been amicable to you at the war camp, you barely even thought of him during this mission. You thought it was Kaltrina. How could you have gotten things so wrong?

He smiles as he watches your brain try to figure things out. His smugness was a new look for Lee - one that made him look very unattractive. “We knew one of Rhysand’s dogs was bound to show up at some point, just didn’t think they’d bring a pretty bitch like you with ‘em. Color me surprised when my little sister brought you around.”

You snap at his words, “bitches bite.”

He goes by to sharpen whatever knife he was wielding before replying. “We got big plans.”

Dardan wouldn’t say more than that, continuing to sharpen his blade before inspecting it. Once it was to his satisfaction, he grabbed you by the hair, yanking you from the ground. You scramble, trying to get your feet on the ground, kicking at the dirt he was dragging you across to gain some footing. His pull on your hair was unrelenting, even as your arms flailed back trying to hit him.

Eventually you’re able to get your feet beneath you, trying to keep up with his steps. He opens the doors to the structure you were kept in, the light of dusk surprising you. There was no way to tell time in that barn.

“It’s almost sunset, girl.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, trying to take a big inhale so you can scream. The sound was piercing - a loud screech coming from you. Dardan just laughed. “Screech all you want, no one’s around for miles.”

Rhys’s words echo in your mind.

Stay close to Azriel.

A warning you had forgotten when you stormed off. Dardan’s tight grip brings you towards a clearing full of other Illyrians from the village you had been staying in and several of the nearby villages. You’re about to call, to beg them for help, when you notice six of the males are each dragging a female in some way towards the center of the clearing. You can’t see over the wings and heads in front of you, but the crowd parts for your eyes to land on a stone altar with ancient languages carved into it.

The crowd gave enough space for the six Illyrians to stand in a circle around the altar, each one cradling a woman by their neck with a blade pressed to it. You start fighting back against Dardan, trying to scratch him, hit him, but he throws you towards the altar where two winged males stand, catching you in their arms easily. You throw out your hand, making contact with one of their jaws, a soft “bitch” hissed at you.

You throw your bound hands into the other one’s gut, but the first one grabs your elbow, twisting harshly. You struggle in the hold, winding your head back to headbutt him, but the other one grabs your head, holding it in place. You start kicking your legs out, hoping for any kind of contact, but a male from the crowd comes up and catches your ankles.

The three males hold onto you, moving you on top of the altar. Your movements do nothing to stop them as they clamp down your feet, moving towards your hands, shackling them to the altar as well. Your pleas to be let go fell on deaf ears.

You turn your head to the left, two of the females coming into your view. Their wings twitched as their captors held them, not much fight in them. You yell to them, begging for them to fight back against the males at their backs. Tears stream down the side of your face, leaking into your ears as you watch their complacency, what they’ve been conditioned for.

Nausea rolled in your stomach at the idea of how long they’ve been aware of this fate. These girls have been missing for weeks and months of their lives, kept Mother knows where to beat them into compliance.

They stood at attention, knives to their throats, unmoving.

Your eyes water seeing Kaltrina amongst them, her eyes downcast.

It was sickening.

Dardan comes from the crowd, looking down at you over the crook of his nose. He raises a knife to your throat, your skin nicking on the blade as your breathing quickened.

“Any last words?”

You look up at Dardan, mustering every ounce of defiance onto your face as you pull back, spitting into his smug face. His face falls for a moment before wiping the saliva off. Dardan looks towards the sky, “just a moment until sundown. If only your pretty little shadowsinger could be here now, to watch you become the ultimate sacrifice.”

Breathing gets harder as the seconds tick by, knowing the sun will set at any second. You felt a cool breeze blow over you.

Not a breeze.

A shadow.

“Get your fucking hands off of my mate.”

Your heart stops in your chest, something sparking deep within you at Azriel’s growl of warning in a tone you’ve never heard from him before. Dardan’s knife is still pressed to your neck, but you’re able to move your eyes enough to see wisps of shadow pulling the knives away from the necks of the other females in the circle.

You tilt your head back, barely able to make out Azriel standing behind Dardan, his shadows angrily darting all around him. Several more of them make their way to you, almost cloaking you in the scent of their master.

Dardan’s arrogance doesn’t balk at the sight of Azriel, his grip on the knife tightening.

“You can drop the ‘mate’ act, freak,” Dardan spat out, his words causing the shadows to whirl in agitation. “We need her-”

In a flash the shadows coating you slithered up your torso, slithering around the wrist that held the blade. They pulled the wrist away, the knife narrowly avoiding slicing your throat. At the same time, Azriel moved for Dardan, his fist connecting with Dardan’s jaw causing a crack across the clearing. Dardan hit the ground, but Azriel dove after him, landing punch after punch.

In the chaos of the fight breaking out, the crowd was in hysterics, all of the males attempting to fly or flee, pools of shadows surfaced at their feet, tripping them up, their bodies slowly disappearing into the darkness. Some of them tried to crawl from the darkness, but to no avail. The crowd quickly went from about 30 males to just the six females left, all unharmed, huddling together for some form of protection.

Azriel was choking Dardan out, scarred fingers forcing the breath from Dardan’s lungs. “I will enjoy taking my time with you.” Azriel’s words hung in the air as Dardan slowly slipped into the shadows underneath him, but Azriel remained on the grass. He quickly got to this feet, most of his shadows gone, likely to keep the Illyrian prisoners in check.

He stumbles over to you, quickly undoing your binds before wrapping you in his arms, pulling you from the altar.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” are all he says, his words repeating as you feel tears fall onto your shirt. You gripped him just as tightly, finding it easier to breathe in his presence for the first time in ages.

“I can’t live in fear anymore.”

He lunged for you, capturing your lips in a kiss. It’s rushed, full of fear and trepidation.

But by the cauldron was it warm and full of life.

He pulled back, wiping spit from his mouth, his fingers covered in blood pushing the hair out of your face. “When I heard that your name was on one of those books, the bond snapped for me. I flew in a rage, killing all those traffickers. But I knew there were more like them out there.”

His eyes were full of regret, “I should have told you, but I thought you’d be safer not knowing. Then I figured this mission was my last time to actually have you, to play pretend.”

You laugh at the ridiculousness of it, pulling him in closer to you. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling that deep smell of cedar that you adored more than anything. It felt like coming home.

“I’m still pissed at you for not telling me.”

He chuckles, a deep, warm sound you haven’t truly heard in ages, “can I make it up to you? I won’t keep secrets from you ever again.”

He holds your face in his hands, his own eyes wet with tears. One of his hands pulls away, his tan skin radiant in the moonlight. You bring up your hand, interlocking your fingers with his. You keep your eyes on his, “no more secrets. From either of us.”

He nods, a bargain tattoo beginning to snake its way on your skin.

“No more running.”

The tattoo wove its way on your skin, dark tendrils solidifying where your forearms meet. When you pull your hand away, the tattoo is incomplete, missing the gaps where Azriel’s arm belongs.

Much like a one-sided duet, your tattoos look empty without the other there to complete the song that echoed in your chest, the song that hummed at the sight of him. The bond didn’t feel so much like a snap as a slow sinking, as if you had finally opened your eyes after so long.

Wrapped in his arms, the two of you had a lot to figure out - the females, what to do with the strange occult Illyrians, but the two of you could do it.

He promised - no more running.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading 💕

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chasebeth · 26 days

Text

the it girl’s spring cleaning

phone reset

delete old contacts and messages

go through social media following

delete unused apps

go through photos

set a new wallpaper

add widgets for reminders, weather, battery, etc.

delete old songs and add new ones

environmental reset

clean your bedroom (vacuum, dust, put clothes away, etc.)

sort through and donate old clothes

organize your makeup, skincare, etc.

wash or change your bedsheets

rearrange your bedroom

open your windows and curtains to let fresh air in

get outdoors

clean your home with fresh scented products (lemon, lavender, etc.)

physical reset

try a new workout routine

get some new outfits

do a face mask

exfoliate and shave

oil your hair or do a hair mask

try a new hair color, cut, or style

do your nails or get your nails done

get some fresh makeup and try a new makeup routine

do a lip mask and scrub

mental reset

start journaling or try some new prompts

do a refreshing meditation

try a new yoga practice or workout

read instead of scrolling

put a time limit on your phone usage

reset your sleep schedule

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chasebeth · 2 months

Text

carve your name

part seven — the killerverse masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of ares reader

summary: it’s the fourth of july. you try and come to terms with your weird feelings toward your best friend while he chases another girl

content: something something creator chose not to use warnings. its getting real

notes: set after the trio’s return from their quest. this is divergent from the show! after the trio comes back from their quest, luke and percy do Not go out into the woods

You’re beating Luke in an arm wrestling contest when Chris brings it up.

“You guys know that girl that just got claimed by Athena?”

Neither of you answer, too busy putting all of your energy into slamming the other’s hand into the table.

You’re winning by the slightest margin. His hand’s about a quarter of the way from the upright position, which doesn’t sound like much, but is a lot when you’ve been at a stalemate for the past five minutes.

“Someone told me she was talking about Luke.”

You begin to lose your grip on his hand, sweaty and sore. But you’re both tied with two wins in this best of five, and you refuse to even let up for a second. The muscles in your arm protest and threaten to give out for a second before you readjust your grasp.

Chris claps a hand on Luke’s back, and when he doesn’t say anything, you can tell he’s just as focused as you are.

“She wants to make a move on you, dude,” Chris says.

Luke’s hand hits the wood, a swift and decisive victory.

“Fucking finally,” you grit out, rolling your shoulder. You pick up your water just so you don’t have to look at either of them, something sick and familiar pulling in your chest. “I thought you’d never give up.”

Luke’s rubbing at his forearm when he laughs, and your stupid mind imagines the feeling of stupid butterflies stirring in your stupid chest.

“It felt like my arm was gonna pop out of its socket. How’d you do that thing at the end?”

You take a long sip of water, fanning at your face. You wonder if your thirty minutes of arm wrestling combined with the July sun would be enough to convince them that that’s why you feel so flushed.

“You mean that thing called winning?”

He kicks your ankles from under the table. “Fuck you. I win plenty. But it was like you got your dad’s blessing just to beat me at arm wrestling.”

Your face pulls up into something that you hope looks amused. “I think you’re just losing your touch, Luke. I bet even Percy would be able to beat you and those weak noodle arms.”

It’s not meant as a dig, but Luke takes a half beat too long to respond.

He stands up abruptly, shifting the bench backward with Chris still on it. He protests at the sudden movement, catching your glass that teeters off the table.

You meet Luke’s eyes again, and his grin lets you know he’s not gonna let your joking slide. He rounds the table, his hands outstretched for you, and you nearly throw yourself in the opposite direction.

“Luke,” you say, the single word sounding like a plea. You walk backwards all the way to the edge of the pavilion, trying not to trip over your own feet. “I was kidding.”

“I know,” he says. His smile is growing wider by a second. “But you’ll say sorry, right?”

“I’m sorry!” You squeal when he lunges for you, trying not to dissolve into laughter. “And I’ll never make fun of you and your weak arms ever again.”

You know there’s really no use running. Luke’s fast, and even though you are too, you won’t outrun him. You let him rush forward and throw you over his shoulder.

Luke gets an apology from you eventually, when you’re dizzy from being over his shoulder and floating with laughter. He holds onto your shoulders during the walk back to your table even though you’re not that dizzy.

When you sit down on the bench opposite of Chris, the first words out of his mouth are, “You guys are fucking weird. Did either of you hear what I said?”

Luke takes his seat across from you, and you try not to let your gaze linger for too long.

You sound breathless. “Sorry, Chris. We take arm wrestling very seriously.”

Luke cracks his knuckles before turning to his friend next to him. “Were you talking about Callea?”

Oh. So he was listening.

Chris snaps his fingers before pointing at him. “Yep. Her. She’s pretty into you.” His eyes slide over to you before he gives his attention back to Luke. “You gonna do something about that?”

“Nah.” Luke smiles, a little embarrassed like he always is whenever he finds out someone new likes him.

It happens a lot to him. A lot more often than you think you’re comfortable with.

…If it were happening to you, of course. Not Luke. You are perfectly okay with the amount of people who fall at his feet. Because he’s his own person. His own person who’s not yours.

“You scared?” Chris jokes. You stare pointedly at the ground. How weird would it be if you just up and left? “She’s pretty.”

Luke’s amused. He slides your glass across the table between both of his hands. “Yeah, so? A ton of girls are pretty.”

Chris is about to say something, you can tell. But he laughs instead. “I’m saying you should go for it.”

He doesn’t look like he cares much, and some sick and twisted part of you feels relieved.

“I’m good, man. I don’t need a girlfriend, especially if it’s some random girl.”

You can tell Chris knows that Luke isn’t giving up anytime soon. So he turns his attention to you.

“C’mon, dude. Help me out—I know he’ll listen to you. Luke should go for it, right?”

You feel frozen on the spot. Both of the boys are looking at you expectantly, believing wholeheartedly that you’ll take their side. You swallow despite the dryness in your throat.

You want to say no.

Not a single part of you wants Luke to make a move on this girl because… The idea makes you want to vomit. It makes you want to take Luke and drag him far, far away where no one can even look at him. Just you and him on top of a mountain, far away from the rest of society.

The endless stream of girls that would constantly make eyes at him from across camp had always made you defensive, but to a perfectly normal extent.

But you’re scared now. Those protective feelings are starting to look like something different, something you don’t even want to think about.

You feel sick, and it’s all because Chris is suggesting Luke should get a girlfriend.

What’s happening to your chest right now isn’t normal. You need to cut whatever it is that’s growing inside of you at the root and shove everything into the very back of your mind. You aren’t supposed to be feeling like this. It isn’t right.

You lean onto the palm of your hand while you turn to look at Chris. You refuse to let your voice waver.

“Yeah. He should.”

The smile on his face tapers off into one of shock. His eyebrows go high for a second, and he huffs a surprised laugh. “Wait, really?”

“Really.” You refuse to look at Luke. You’re beyond scared of what he’ll say. “I mean, half of camp has been pining after him for years. What could it hurt, you know?”

There’s a beat of silence before Chris turns back to him. “Uh, well, you heard her. Two against one.”

You rub at the skin by your wrist.

At the root. At the root.

“I’m kinda jealous. If I had half as many people in love me…” You laugh, and you’re glad to hear that it doesn’t sound half as forced as it really is. “I probably would have a boyfriend by now.”

The lie feels like acid in your throat. You force your eyes back to Luke. His are just as deceptively blank as yours, the look on his face unreadable.

He looks indifferent at the idea, and it stings more than you thought it would. You’d felt physically sick at the idea of Luke having a girlfriend, and he couldn’t care less about you getting involved with anyone else.

The nausea worsens the pressure on your chest.

“And it’s the Fourth of July bonfire tonight,” you add, the hole you’ve dug for yourself growing deeper and deeper with every single word. “So it’d be a great time to do it.”

“Real romantic,” Chris tacks on.

Luke still hasn’t said a word, and the anticipation of what he’ll say might just kill you. You aren’t sure what you’ll do if he actually agrees. Probably something incredibly stupid. You’ve never wanted someone to tell you no this badly.

After a painfully long few seconds, Luke shrugs. “We’ll see, then.”

You feel like the floor has fallen out from under you.

Chris covers up his choke with a laugh. “Are you being serious?”

You’ve never felt so far apart from Luke in your entire life. For the first time ever, you can’t even begin to imagine what he’s thinking.

“Well,” he laughs, a smile you’ve never seen him wear before get plastered on his face. “What could it hurt?”

The sound of your own words coming from his mouth are enough for the sick feeling wearing away at you to grow violent. You get up slowly from the table, trying to push down everything in you that’s threatening to make itself painfully known.

“I’ll see you guys tonight, then?”

Chris scratches his head. “Where are you going?”

“I told one of the Hephaestus kids I’d help set up for the firework show.” You’re blatantly lying. A good amount of them have been weary of you ever since that fight between Luke and Max at the start of the summer. “They’re loading up the barge right now.”

Luke looks confused, but you don’t have anything to say to him. You throw a halfhearted wave over your shoulder and make sure not to look at either of them as you turn away.

(You don’t head down to the beach. You dry heave in the bathroom for thirty minutes before feeling fine enough to walk back out.)

—

You’d been beyond excited to see Annabeth, Percy, and Grover come back to camp a few weeks ago. Returning safe from a quest was no easy feat, and preventing a literal war even more so. You’d been sure to hold all three of them in a group hug so tight they’d gotten annoyed with you.

When you see the former two laid out on a picnic blanket by the sand, waiting for the show to start, you drop in right behind them.

“Hey, guys.” You smile at the way Percy jumps. “You ready for the show?”

“Oh, hey. Is Annabeth right about how cool it all is?” he asks.

It’s nice to see they’re both friends now. During Capture the Flag, he’d seemed scared of how prickly she was.

“Annabeth’s always right.” You wink at her before turning back to Percy. “And absolutely. I saw the fireworks a bit ago—they’re even bigger than last year. I think they’re doing something special.”

Percy looks impressed. He pops a grape into his mouth from the Ziploc bag in his lap.

“Hey.” Annabeth smiles at you before her eyes dart to the space behind you. “Are you okay?”

You squeeze her shoulder. “Yeah, why? Do I not look okay?”

“Oh, no. You look fine, I was just confused.”

“About?”

“About where Luke was. I have something to ask him, and he’s usually around wherever you are.”

Your face warms.

“He said he’d catch up with me soon,” you explain, trying not to read into her words too much. “But, uh… He’s back at his cabin getting ready to romance one of your sisters, I think.”

Percy freezes, a grape halfway to his mouth. You’re reminded of how he’d assumed you had liked Luke, all the way back when he’d first gotten to camp.

The little shit.

“What?” Annabeth’s brows are knit together in disbelief. “Are you messing with me?”

“Nope.” You steal a grape from Percy and listen to the crunch it makes between your teeth. “Chris suggested it. And I think I kind of encouraged him.”

The two of them share some sort of look right in front of your face.

“Hello?” You snap your fingers in between them. “Share with the class?”

“It’s nothing,” she insists, turning away from the ocean to face you. “I’m just surprised.”

You bite back your remark that probably would’ve been, That makes two of us! and let some sand fall through the gaps in your fingers. “Chris seemed surprised too. But Luke can do whatever he wants.”

Percy and Annabeth share another side glance, and you groan. You take back whatever you’d just said about being happy they’re friends.

“Okay, seriously. Spit it out or stop conspiring in front of my face, please. It’s rude.”

“Sorry,” Percy says quickly. “I mean, you already know, but I thought you guys liked each other. I didn’t take him for a guy who’d go for another one of Annabeth’s sisters.”

You can’t help but smile at that.

“Do you know who it is?” Annabeth presses. “I can’t believe so much has changed since we’ve been away,” she says, genuinely considering the thought of this. “Luke used to flat out ignore girls that liked him.”

“It’s Callea, the one who just got claimed.”

Be nice, you remind yourself. It’s not her fault you told Luke to go after her.

“She’s nice,” you add. “I remember her from the times I’d stay over at the Hermes cabin.”

Annabeth frowns. “Oh. Are they like… friends?”

It’s going to make you sound like a crazy psycho, but you know the answer to that question is no. No, they are not friends.

But you just shrug. “I don’t know.”

The kids are quiet, and it puts you on edge. Everyone seems to be especially close-mouthed around you today. There’s clearly more they want to say, especially Annabeth, but she leaves it off with an eyebrow raise and moving over on the blanket.

“Want to watch the fireworks with us?”

You love Annabeth. You’re grateful that she’s dropped it.

“Of course.”

The three of you watch the work of the Hephaestus kids in awe. The red, white, and blue fireworks (projectiles would be a more accurate term) illuminate the sky, showcasing little stories in the lights. So far, the highlights have been the Minotaur (which you make sure to nudge Percy to look at), a scene of your father in battle, and planes made out of lights swerving and shooting at other firework planes.

Sometime between the scene of the warships braving the storm and something from the American Revolution, you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You turn, searching for who you know is standing somewhere amongst the other campers on the beach.

You find him embarrassingly fast. He’s at the edge of the tree line, leaning against an oak and watching George Washington do whatever it is he does.

Percy doesn’t say anything when you get up from your spot, but Annabeth catches you with a hand on your ankle before you move off the blanket.

“Can you ask him where he left my book?” she asks. “He’ll know which one.”

“Oh.” You have no idea how she’s so all-knowing all the time. “Yeah, of course. I’ll see you later, Annabeth.”

“Later.” She turns back to watch the show, grabbing Percy’s shoulder to make him look at some sort of special spiral the fireworks make in the sky.

Luke’s face is painted in the red lights from a burst shaped like the American flag when you approach.

He’s dressed nicely. Not too overly fancy that it looks like he put effort in, but you can tell he definitely sat over his stuff an hour ago wondering what to wear.

He nudges your shoulder when you settle next to him against the tree. “Where’s your jacket?”

You tug at his sleeve. “Right here.”

He always overheats when he drinks and ends the night with ten less layers than he started with, which all end up going to you. Luke smiles at you because he knows you’re right.

“You ready for tonight?” You draw a circle with the point of your shoe in the dirt, looking away from him and the light of the fireworks.

“Absolutely,” he says, his eyes probably crinkling. “Can’t wait for you to sneak shots behind my back and get so drunk I gotta carry you back to the cabin.”

You think you might hate yourself, because the next words out of your mouth are, “I was talking about Callea.”

The light hearted air around you sours almost immediately. You can picture the furrow of his brows with weird accuracy.

“Oh,” he says, in that tone that tells you that you just caught him off guard. “Sure. Whatever happens, happens.”

The campers on the beach ahead of you burst into boisterous applause at the firework show finale: the warriors battling it out in the sky are as tall as skyscrapers.

Luke pushes off of the wall of wood behind you, slinging an arm over your shoulder.

“Go slow tonight.” He waves to one of the younger kids passing by you as you make your way towards the other half of the beach. “Can’t have you getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Don’t worry,” you say. “I’ll be fine.”

The two of you wander over the sand dunes, the little tufts of beachgrass tickling your ankles. While you walk, he talks to you about what he was doing before he showed up to the beach, and you listen half heartedly.

You can’t wait to drink the memory of this night and Luke and Callea out of your mind.

—

The number of people that have already made their way to the site by the time you get there surprises you.

There aren’t many campers old enough to go to these things. But there’s still a decent amount of people here, most crowded around the bonfire glowing bright red in the center of the clearing. It’s about twenty feet high and the pieces of wood keeping it alive are about the size of entire tree trunks.

There’s a few people standing around a foldable table that’s dirty from age and long stained with various drinks. A group of girls you know are talking around the cooler, and you find yourself moving in their direction before you can stop yourself.

The first conversation about Callea happened a few hours ago, but you’ve been feeling irritated and sick and on edge and annoyed ever since. So it really isn’t your fault that the second someone hands you a can of hard lemonade, you’re cracking open the tab and tipping it down your throat.

It burns on the way down and really isn’t that good. Most of the cheap stuff people get for these things aren’t, but you still find yourself hoping every single time. You let the sting in your throat replace the sting of the mean mix of emotions in your head.

“Hey.” The can pressed against your mouth is lifted clear over your head, spilling a few drops of sticky lemonade onto your shirt. “What’d I say? Slow down.”

“You’re no fun sometimes,” you complain, but you feel an out of place sense of relief.

Luke’s still here. With you, not someone else.

“It’s been forever since I’ve had one of these.”

“Is that why you downed half the can in fifteen seconds?” Luke asks, squinting into the opening at the top. His eyes find the flavor printed on the side of the can, and you stare as he puts his mouth over the spot yours had just been and takes a long swig.

He makes a face at the taste. You swallow around the dryness in your throat.

“I still don’t get why you like this stuff. Pure sugar.”

He uses the edge of the table to pop off the cap of the cheap beer that his brothers always buy, and you wince just imagining the bitterness of it. He tosses the cap into the trash bag tied to the end of the table.

(You all take trash disposal very seriously at these bonfires. You’re all still a little scared from the time a nymph threatened to snitch on you all when she found a discarded can by the edge of the woods.)

“You know the drill though. I’m not cleaning up your vomit again.”

“You’re going to have to stop bringing that up one day.”

Luke gives you a lopsided smile. “But you get so embarrassed when I do.”

“Gods, who wouldn’t?” you shiver. “I couldn’t look your brother in the face for weeks after that.”

He mimes himself tumbling out of bed and then vomiting onto what you know is supposed to be the foot of his brother’s bed.

You hit his shoulder, tugging your drink out of his hand. “Asshole. We get it, all your siblings were there—”

“Luke!”

The two of you spin in the direction of the voice, off in the direction of the beach.

It’s Callea. The sight of her is enough to send burning hot jealousy through your bloodstream.

She’s so effortlessly pretty that it has you tugging uncomfortably at your own clothes. Her hair has been curled to perfection, and it's pinned back, putting every part of her insane bone structure on display.

There’s a group of people behind her, a mix of kids from every cabin. You see Chris amongst them, all of them waving you in their direction.

Callea’s smiling, and Luke looks stunned.

You take a step back without meaning to. When he turns to you, he’s smiling in a way that almost looks nervous.

You try for a smile too, feeling out of your mind. “Good luck, hero.”

The look flickers off his face for a second. He’s confused. “You’re not coming?”

You know you won’t be able to handle the sight of him and Callea together without tears pricking at your eyes. The hurt is making itself known already, and you know it’ll only get worse from here.

“I’m gonna find my friends.” You gesture vaguely behind you because you have no idea where any of them actually are. “I’ll catch up later.”

He’s not convinced, his hand settling on your shoulder. “C’mon, please? Don’t make me go alone. I feel like I’m being left to the sharks.”

You pull yourself away too fast, and it’s clear that he picks up on that too.

“Sorry.” You look away because you know you’ll give in and go with him. “An hour at most, and I’ll come looking for you.”

“An hour?” His tone is off.

You take another long sip from your drink. It’s about one-fourth of the way full now.

“Go get your girl, Luke.” The words are forced out through gritted teeth and the envy clouding your mind.

You can feel him watch you as you walk away.

—

It takes another few cans of fruity drinks and two Dirty Shirleys until you feel your face getting hot and your tongue get heavy in your mouth.

One of your sisters did something with your hair, but you’re much too preoccupied to care much about it. You’ve lost track of how long it’s been since you first got here, but the drinks have been flowing and have started tasting really good, though you think that’s just because of how tipsy you are.

It’s kinda hard to think about other things when you’re standing amongst twenty other kids cheering on a son of Aphrodite who’s doing a keg stand.

You feel someone tug at your arm. It’s Ruby, trying to drag your attention away from the boy doing a handstand on top of the barrel. She has to shout over the sound of everyone egging him on.

“I’m go— to give —s to V—t!”

The guy in the middle of the crowd lets out a roar of triumph, and everyone around you joins in.

“Huh?”

Someone jostles you around while they rush for the middle and you lose her for a second. But then she’s seizing your wrist and dragging you out of the layers of people.

“I’ll be back! I’m gonna give this to Violet.” you think she says. Your ears are ringing from the change of volume.

She shakes a can of something in front of your face, and the melted ice water from the cooler splatters onto your shirt.

“Can I come with?” you yell over the sound of someone turning up the music.

She intertwines her hand with yours as she starts singing along with whatever song they’ve put on. She seems to know exactly where she’s going, dragging you behind her as she heads in the direction of the ocean.

“There she is,” you say, pointing to someone wading in the water.

“Uhh,” Ruby squints in the direction you’re pointing in. “I think that’s Jace.”

The boy’s face catches the light when he splashes the person standing next to him, and you wonder how you’d mistaken him for her in the first place.

“Oh, whoops.”

“There,” she says suddenly, pointing in the direction of a smaller group a little bit away. “Violet!”

You nearly get whiplash from the way she changes course so fast, snapping your head to the left.

“There you are,” Violet groans, trying to squeeze her way through her dense crowd of friends. “I was starting to think you’d never show up!”

“But I’m here now,” she defends, giving the girl her lukewarm drink. She gives her a big hug in thanks, and it makes you smile. You give Ruby a hug after Violet lets go of her just because you can.

Ruby falls into easy conversation with the people standing around, but you stare out at the water, something unsettling setting in. You think you’re supposed to be doing something right now, but can’t really remember what it is.

You already gave up your bet money to the girl you’d lost to. You hadn’t forgotten to put on sunscreen earlier. You’re getting rum and Coke spilled down the front of your white shirt.

Wait.

“Oh, fuck. My bad.”

You’re getting rum and Coke spilled down the front of your white shirt.

“Oh, fuck,” the guy repeats. His hands flutter around your shirt but he clearly knows he shouldn’t try dabbing it out. “Sorry, dude. That was on me.”

“No shit,” you say, but you’re not too upset about it. It wasn’t your favorite shirt or anything.

His face is growing bright red, and he stares very solemnly up at the sky.

You frown. “Oh, um. You’re good, dude. It’s not that serious.”

“Mikey!” someone hisses as he shoves his jacket at you. “Great going, jackass.”

You look down, and see that your shirt is starting to look a little transparent.

Ha. No wonder he’d gone tomato red.

“It’s fine,” you insist, letting Ruby shove your arms through the jacket. “No harm, dude.”

He gives you a fist bump before disappearing back inside his group of friends.

“Oh, hey! Where’ve you been?” someone asks.

You think back to what you’re definitely forgetting while you wait for Ruby to respond to them. It’s on the tip of your tongue, too.

After a few seconds of your friend’s silence, you realize that person’s talking to you.

“Chris!” you greet, smiling. You throw your arms around his shoulders with so much force he nearly tips over. “What’re you doing here?”

His curly hair is looking super windswept, and you point it out to him with a smile.

He flattens the wayward strands before returning your grin. “Bradley was breakdancing over here earlier.”

A laugh finds its way out of your mouth. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“It’s been a bunch of fun over there,” you tell him, and you think you can still hear them yelling about something.

“I can tell,” he says, laughing. Then, he gets a curious look on his face. “By the way, did you go see Luke? He was looking for you earlier.”

The mention of him hits you like a truck, slamming the memories straight to the forefront of your mind.

“Oh. No. I didn’t.”

“Do you want me to take you to him? He’s sitting with Callea.”

You lift Chris’ cup straight out of his hands and finish whatever’s in it. It’s not as bad as that beer Luke likes, but it’s definitely not good, either.

It takes Chris a second to find his voice. “Are you good?”

You want to be honest. No, you aren’t good. You’re jealous and bitter and feel like you’re about to lose the only person you care about.

But you just give Chris a thumbs up while wiping away the bits that are dripping down your chin. “Well. Yep.”

That was what you were forgetting.

You really have to thank the drinks you had earlier for helping you push him to the back of your mind.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. Your eyes scan the shoreline, and you find them a little too quickly.

They’re sitting on a log by a few other people at the big fire. One of the Apollo kids is singing something on a guitar, but neither Luke or Callea are paying attention. They’re talking quietly, the two of them engrossed in whatever stupid shit they’re talking about. When Callea laughs, she leans her head back and puts her hand on Luke’s arm, and—

You look away so the bile doesn’t make its way up your throat. You sit down on the sand. Hard.

Chris settles down slowly next to you. You let your head hit his shoulder, defeated.

You’re supposed to be cutting everything off. Every single out of place feeling you have towards Luke is supposed to be gone. Gone from your mind and gone from your heart, because none of it is normal.

You shouldn’t feel possessive at the thought of Luke being with another girl. It’s not right. He deserves to be happy— so happy that he doesn’t stop smiling. So happy that he’s head over heels for a girl.

What kind of sick person are you?

You don’t want Luke to be happy with Callea. You don’t want him to kiss her, and you don’t want him to hold her hand and let her sleep on your side of his bed.

And that’s not normal. You’d encourage any one of your other friends to go after a cute girl, but the thought of Luke doing the same made you drink your weight in vodka cran and hard strawberry lemonade.

Your chest burns. Feeling this way hurts, but you can’t stop it. Your feelings for Luke are so innate, they’re a part of you.

It’s not possible to get rid of this. You know it for a fact.

Chris nudges you with his elbow. “I… Shit. I have something to tell you.”

You brush sand from the edge of your jeans. You’re not in a big talking mood.

“I only told Luke to go after Callea because I thought you’d tell him not to.”

You spin around so fast to look at him that Chris has to catch you when you fall forward.

“You did what?” you spit out after a second, trying to fight back the nausea.

This entire thing started… Because Chris Rodriguez wanted to test you?

“You’ve stopped him every other time!” He looks guilty and frantic all at once as he settles you back onto the ground. “I was so convinced you would do it again, and I just... I’m sorry.”

“Gods, Chris,” you complain. Your head is spinning. “Why?”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “You gotta promise not to be mad.”

You know he can tell how angry you are when he seems to shrink into the sand.

“Uh… I was convinced you two got together recently without telling me. And I mean, I ask Luke about girls all the time, so—”

“You thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to ask him about some girl again?” your stare is flat. “To see how we’d react?”

He shrugs, running his hands through the sand. “Yeah.”

“And you didn’t expect me to tell him to go for it?”

He shrugs for a second time, too guilty to really look at you. “I mean, obviously. But I was even more surprised when he actually agreed to it.”

You think about Luke and Callea by the bonfire, too busy staring into each other's eyes to notice anything else. The regret feels like a physical weight on your chest.

“Wasn’t really your fault,” you admit, leaning your chin against your knees. “I um… Fuck, Chris. I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud.”

You smile, and he smiles with you, but you think it’s because he’s scared you’re going to cry.

“I think I like Luke.”

It’s weird to admit that to someone other than yourself. But the words are a lot less scary now that you’ve said them out loud.

You like Luke. You have for a while.

It’s hard to trace the start of your feelings for him. There’s so much between you two, and the thought of trying to comb through nineteen years of friendship to find the exact moment where your world shifted is impossible.

You think about the way you feel around him — the way only he makes you feel. You don’t think you could explain it to Chris even if you wanted to. You don’t even know if you could explain it fully to yourself.

“And I got scared. I was trying to pretend like if I ignored it, it would go away.” You laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds. “But nothing could erase the way I feel for him. He’s just… He’s been everything.”

You know you like Luke. You think it might even be more than that.

The words sit heavy between you and Chris. He exhales as he lays back, trying to make sense of the drunk slew of words you’ve spit up at him.

It’s a lot.

But he lets you wallow for less than thirty seconds.

“Get up,” he says, conviction coloring his words. He’s staring out at the ocean, and you give him a funny look.

“What?”

He pushes himself to his feet before grabbing your hands and tugging you up. You stumble forward, still feeling the effects of the alcohol, but Chris has you stable before you even realize you’d almost fallen over.

“Stand up and get over there,” he demands, brushing sand off your shirt.

“Over there?” you repeat weakly, glancing between Chris and where you know his best friend is sitting.

He drags you even further away from Ruby’s friends. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” you hiss, tugging hard on his hand and stumbling in the sand a bit. “I’m not going to interrupt that, Chris. I told him to go after her.”

He must get annoyed with the way you’re dragging your feet, because he stops the weird tug-of-war you’re having. Chris turns to face you, fire in his eyes.

“Then, congrats. We all make stupid decisions, so welcome to the club.”

Your eyes widen. You’ve never seen him this worked up about something in your life.

“But you’re going to regret this,” he insists. He grabs onto your shoulders with so much force it scares you a little. His stare is serious. “You’re important to him. I can’t think of something he cares about more.”

With his grip on your shoulders, he spins you around to face the boy in question. Luke’s face is lit up by the fire. He’s smiling at someone else.

“You’re a daughter of Ares for a reason, dude. You’d never sit back and let this happen.” He nudges you forward. “Get it done.”

You think of Luke. Your best friend, the only person you know you want in your future. The boy who holds you in your sleep and knows exactly what you need based on the way you reach for his hand. The boy who is a part of you just as much as you are.

When you turn around, you’re met with the sight of Chris’ back as he walks away.

He’s insane.

But he’s right.

You have to stop whatever it is that’s happening between Luke and Callea, even though it’s basically your fault. You know that the hurt you feel will only get worse if something really does happen between them, and the thought of that scares you more than anything else.

You’ve been less afraid of demigod-eating monsters than you are of this teenage girl.

Luke’s talking about something, and Callea’s looking at him with stars in her eyes. It makes you stumble over the sand a little faster.

From so far away, the sight of them had been manageable. But you find unease settling in your stomach the closer you get.

The wind tousles his hair and you’re taken aback by just how nice he looks. He’s a little flushed from the alcohol, but you like how it makes his smiles just a little bit wider and his hands a little more touchy.

You’re so busy staring you don’t notice when his eyes find yours. He sits up straight.

You call his name what must be a little too loudly, because the Apollo kid playing the guitar stops strumming.

“Hi,” you say, out of breath from the hike over. He’s grinning at you, finding something a little funny. You bend down so you can wrap him in a hug, and his hand slides up your back.

You inhale his cologne and sigh against him. “Missed you.”

“There you are,” Luke says, and you almost sigh with relief. “I missed you too. You disappeared.”

“Sorry. Ruby’s sister broke up with her boyfriend. I wanted to figure out what happened, and then he did a keg stand.”

“Ruby’s sister’s ex-boyfriend?”

“No. Matt did.”

“What does Matt have to do with Ruby’s sister’s ex-boyfriend?”

“Nothing.”

He’s grinning when he says, “My bad.”

You stand up to your full height, but you let your hand linger on his shoulder. His hand slides down your leg.

“I made you a Shirley Temple with vodka a while ago,” he says, handing you a red solo cup. “Extra cherries.”

You try not to smile too wide.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

“There’s only cherries in here,” you say, confused when he hands you the cup.

He squeezes the bare skin at your calf. “Yeah, sorry. They ran out of beer, and I got thirsty.”

“Luke, who is this?”

It’s Callea. She’s smiling at you, her head tilted to the side. Her hair is still perfect despite the light breeze.

You decidedly do not like the way his name sounds in her mouth.

You introduce yourself, trying to make your smile look as not strained as possible. “I’m Luke’s best friend. Who are you?”

“Callea.” She’s still smiling at you with her perfect teeth.

“Cool,” you say, because you don’t know what else there is to say. You’ve already met her. You aren’t sure why she’s pretending not to know you.

After a second of you staring at him, Luke makes room for you on the log. You get a sick sense of satisfaction when he moves further away from her.

He’s tapping on your leg. “You wanna sit?”

You nod automatically, leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek. “Of course.”

Luke has to steady you by your waist when you sit sideways on his lap.

He’s warm like he always is, even more so because of his proximity to the fire and the drinks he’s had. One of your arms goes around his neck as you lean against him.

“Annabeth wanted me to ask you where you left her book,” you say, your thumb rubbing over a part of his jaw. There's a tiny nick there you think he got from shaving, and you tell him that too.

It takes a second for the surprise to wear off. But he wraps an arm around your waist like he always does, and gives you a wobbly kind of smile.

“I’ll make sure to give it back to her,” he promises.

You miss the look he’s giving you, too busy curling your fingers in his hair. Callea had done this earlier. She didn’t deserve to.

“Wanna go back now?” you ask, yawning. “My head’s pounding.”

He squeezes your hip, and you forget what you were supposed to be mad about. “Thought you wouldn’t want to for a while. It’s not that late.”

“I think I drank too fast. I kinda just want to go and sleep at yours.”

You think if Chris were here, he’d probably tell you you’re laying it on thick. But you really do want to go to bed. Preferably after you take Luke far away from the girl next to you.

He tugs at the fabric of your jacket. “Where’d you get this?”

“Get what?”

“This.”

You look down at your chest, and see the logo of some sports team on it. You aren’t quite sure where it’s from, but Luke probably does.

“Some guy.”

“Some guy,” he echoes.

“Ruby’s friend,” you explain. You shove your face into his shoulder, which is stiff and so unlike him you pause.

“Are you friends with him?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t really see his face. We didn’t do much talking.”

You realize just how tense he is only when he shifts you off of his lap and stands up abruptly. You sway on your feet.

“She’s drunk. ‘M gonna take her back,” he says to Callea.

It sounds like she protests, and you hear him apologize before saying goodbye.

(You choose to be nice and don’t wave at her while you walk away.)

Luke’s walking pretty fast, and you struggle to keep up with his long strides over the soft sand. Usually, you’d link your hands together at this point of a walk, but there’s too much distance between you two for it to work.

He’s weirdly prickly right now, so you keep your mouth shut the entire way back to his cabin. He can’t see you, but you frown at his back.

About halfway there, you hear him mumble expletives under his breath when a branch gets in his way, and the piece of wood, as thick as a dictionary, gets snapped in half from the pressure he uses to step on it.

You’re surprised he doesn’t blast the cabin door off its hinges with the way he shoves it open.

You follow him into the empty room. It’s just the two of you here because all of the younger kids are gathered in the pavilion to watch an old movie on a projector someone had brought back to life.

Luke’s already at his bed by the time you shut the door.

“You’re mad,” you point out, slinking over slowly. Luke could never scare you, but his silent anger is making you wary. “Why’re you mad?”

Luke doesn’t respond as he rummages around in his drawer, fishing out one of his t-shirts and a pair of pajama pants you’ve forgotten here.

“I’m not mad. C’mon, get dressed.” He says it quietly, but the clear signs of his anger give him away.

There’s the crease in between his eyebrows, for one. And the way he won’t look you in the eye. And when his fingers uncurl from the shirt to drop it into your hands, there’s wrinkles from how tightly he was gripping it.

“Aw,” you say, more amused than you should be. “You know, I thought you’d ditch me at my cabin tonight. But I think you’re a little too scared of me vomiting in my sleep and like, dying. So thanks. You’re pretty sweet for letting me still stay here. Even though you’re mad.”

“Killer.” Luke sighs when he looks away from you again, clenching and unclenching his fists. Definitely mad. “I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Not mad.”

“You won’t let me touch you,” you say absentmindedly, taking a step closer to him. He doesn’t react, staring blankly over your shoulder. “It’s making me sad. You always let me ‘cause I can’t go a second without you.”

Luke inhales sharply, and you itch to have him under your hands again.

He scoffs a little meanly. “You have to stop saying shit like that.”

“What’s wrong with what I said?” you push, pressing closer to him. Just before you can get too close, he stops you with his hands around your biceps.

Luke’s lips are pressed into a firm line. His hands feel foreign against you, and it makes you feel weird. Everything is natural with him. Whatever is happening right now is not.

“You need to stop saying shit you don’t mean.”

“But I meant it. I can’t go a second without you.”

He doesn’t say a word. He sits you down on the edge of his bed and kneels down to untie your laces.

“Luke,” you practically whine, refraining from shifting yourself forward to hug him. “Why do you think I’m lying?”

“You’re drunk,” he states, matter of factly. He wrestles with your left shoe a little bit when it refuses to slip off. He flips it upside down and taps the sole to get rid of the gritty bits of sand that snuck into it.

“You’re drunk, too,” you point out. “So does that mean you’re lying to me?”

You put your left hand on the side of his face and make him look at you. He’s annoyed, and his face is warm and red like it gets whenever he drinks.

He sighs. Then he turns his face into your hand and lets his lips brush over your palm. “I’m not lying to you.”

Your skin tingles where his lips were. You rush your next words, giddy and a little embarrassed.

“Sometimes I wish you’d kiss me for real.”

Luke snaps. He backs away, running a hand through his hair. Your vision is blurry.

“Sorry,” you say, really frowning. You know you shouldn’t have said that. “Did that freak you out?”

“You can be so fucking mean,” Luke scoffs. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“What? Luke—”

“You tell me to go after some random girl neither of us really know, and then disappear for the rest of the night,” he grits out, angry at you in a way you’ve never seen.

His words aren’t making sense. He’d seemed so happy tonight, but speaks of it like it’d been torture. Your head is spinning.

“And then you come back with—” Luke cuts himself off before he can say what he really wants to. It seems to be a trend today. “Fuck, killer. You can be so mean.”

Your eyes sting with hurt. Luke never gets upset with you, and the immediate need to fix it makes your chest constrict.

You think you feel too much for him. Too much, too fast.

“What did I do?” you ask, and the frightening feeling of your eyes pricking with tears has the words rushing out. “I don’t know what you mean, I don’t get why you’re mad, Luke. Please talk to me.”

He tugs at the curls on his head, and it makes you frown. You wish he wasn’t so harsh on himself.

He kneels in front of you again, and you meet his eyes. They’re vulnerable.

You squeeze his shoulders.

Very slowly, he puts his hands on your sides again, and you soften into a puddle.

When he speaks next, it looks hard for him.

“Where’d you get this?”

The jacket.

You frown again. You’d already gone over this.

“Ruby’s friend, I told you.”

“You could’ve come to me if you were cold.” He forces the words out so quickly you almost don’t catch them. “I was looking for you.”

You rub his cheek sweetly. “Thanks, hero. You’re always looking out for me. But I had to put it on because he spilled his drink on me. Everyone would’ve seen through it if I waited to find you.”

It takes you a second before your hand finds the zipper, but when you do, you tug it down and show him your stained shirt underneath.

“Oh,” he says. He’s looking at your shirt and not at you. “You should get changed.”

“Why do you care?” you push.

“Your shirt’s sticky.”

“I meant about the jacket.”

Luke ignores you, tugging at the ends of your sleeves. “It’s nothing. C’mon, let’s get you outta this.”

You zip the jacket back up before he can stop you. “No. Tell me the truth.”

He gives you a look, stunned at your refusal. “I was being stupid, killer. It’s nothing.”

You get up, leaving him in his spot on the floor. “Tell me so it can be over.”

“It is over. I’m tired. You said you were too. Let’s go to bed.”

“Not until you tell me.”

“No.”

“Please, Luke?” you ask, knowing it’s only a matter of time before he gives in. “Please, please, please, please, pl—”

“If I tell you, will you finally go the fuck to sleep?”

“Yep. I swear.” You nod so fast you get dizzy. “I’ll shut up and we’ll go to sleep.”

He looks exasperated when he pushes himself to his feet. It looks like he can’t believe he’s having this conversation with you.

Luke sighs one final time.

“Earlier, you’d said you and this guy didn’t do much talking.”

You nod. “Yeah. He gave me his jacket and I walked away.”

“Well, I thought you ditched me ‘cause you wanted to go suck some guy’s face.” He gestures at your chest. “And it was worse ‘cause the jackass likes Arizona.”

He’d thought you’d been off with some random guy. And he’d been… jealous?

You don’t feel like joking with him anymore.

“That’s not fair,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

“What?”

“You were the one who was actually off making out with some random girl,” you point out.

His eyes widen. “You’re angry with me about that? I didn’t kiss Callea. And even if I did, you were the one who told me to go after her. Why are you upset about it now?”

“I don’t know!” You feel like you’re curling in on yourself. “I don’t like Callea. She annoys me.”

“I only said yes to talking to her because you wanted me to,” he says, bitterness creeping into his tone. “I’m so fucking confused. Did you want me to go for her or not?”

You think about Callea and Luke. The way she would kiss him. The way they would hold hands. The way she would be his future, not you.

You already know the answer to his question.

You shake your head vehemently. “I don’t want you to have a girlfriend, Luke.” You feel like a toddler throwing a tantrum, and shame curls around you. “I never wanted you to in the first place.”

“Then why did you agree with Chris?” he asks, and you’re shocked to hear that he sounds hurt.

You don’t want to talk to Luke about this right now. Not while you’re both drunk and willing to say something stupid.

But you look at him and the hurt in his eyes and feel the urge to spill every single thought you’ve ever had.

Your voice is quiet when you press your palms into your eyes. “I was scared.”

“Why?” he presses. His hands go around your wrists so you can’t hide from him. “Why were you scared?”

Luke makes you look at him then, his face inches from yours. You wonder if he already knows.

You know that you should wait and talk about this tomorrow. The both of you are drunk, no matter how much you want to deny it.

But it’s the alcohol.

The alcohol is why you do it.

It’s why you say, “I don’t want anyone else to have you, Luke.”

In the span of five seconds, you’ve uprooted nineteen years of love. Nineteen years of feelings that have been growing under the surface and into every part of who you are.

“I’m scared of the way I feel. I feel like throwing up whenever Callea looks at you,” you admit, eyes sliding to his shoulder. You can’t handle the weight of his stare. “So I ran from everything. I told you to go after her.”

Luke is still quiet, and the words finish pouring out.

“But I don’t want anyone else to kiss you. No one else but me.”

Luke still hasn’t let go of your wrists.

He hasn’t moved either, but you don’t blame him. You’d nearly been crushed under the weight of your feelings when you’d found out, and now, you’ve cracked open your heart and dumped it all at his feet.

Luke still hasn’t let go of your wrists.

But for good reason, you decide. He uses his hold on you to drag you forward and give you everything.

He tastes sweet. Like the grenadine from the Dirty Shirley he’d made for you, and you can't help the sigh that escapes you, a shaky exhale against his lips.

Luke lets go of you to cradle your face in his hands, brushing his thumbs under your eyes like he’s trying to commit the slopes of your face to memory.

His eyes are so brown. You’ve always known, but it feels different when you’re looking at the blackness of his pupils after he’s just kissed you.

“Was— Did you…” Where he’s looking is constantly changing, fluttering from meeting your gaze to down to your lips and then back up again. “Was that okay?”

You feel like you’re glowing. You can’t even imagine a world where you wouldn’t want this.

You say yes when you tilt your head up and slot your lips together.

He kisses you nice and slow, his hands sliding down to your back. He goes nice and slow because he’s not going anywhere, and you know it.

Your hands are shaking. You’re so jittery that you have to throw your arms around his shoulders and lock your hands together behind his neck. For the millionth time in your life, you thread your fingers through the dark sea of curls on his head. You’d never ever imagined you’d ever get to hold him like this, and it makes warmth spread to every part of your body.

Luke pulls away after a bit to rest his forehead against yours. When his eyes slide open, you lock eyes, and he breaks out into a grin. You find yourself mirroring it without meaning to.

His voice is so, so soft when he says, “Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Were your eyes open?”

Oh. You’d forgotten you weren’t supposed to do that.

You’d been so wrapped up in the thought that he was kissing you, you hadn’t even thought about looking away from him.

(Luke Castellan was kissing you. You, you, you.)

The tip of your nose brushes against his, your eyes finally fluttering shut. You inhale the barely there hints of his cologne and grow dizzy with it. “I just wanted to look at you.”

You expect him to laugh. It sounds stupid even to you, but you’d said it because it was true.

Luke is pretty. You could stare at him until the end of time, when you’re old and gray and your legs don’t work and you need him to carry you around with him forever.

You realize his hands have migrated over to your waist, and the feeling of him at your sides and at your back is making your stomach spin with butterflies.

You lean back to meet his gaze, and the look there catches you off guard. He’s breathing hard, his eyes completely glazed over.

You think that’s why you only half expect it when he pulls you against him and kisses you stupid.

Luke slides the jacket straight off of your shoulders, letting it hit the floor. He mumbles something, but you don’t think anything of it because then he’s doing something that nearly makes your eyes roll back and it’s forgotten in a second. You trip over the discarded fabric when he walks you backward to crowd you against the foot of his bed.

It wrings something embarrassing from your vocal cords, and he smiles against your lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, even though there’s no question there.

You feel dizzy at the feeling of him. Your hands untangle from behind his neck to slide down the solid planes of his chest, and he hums against your mouth. If he wasn’t propping you up against the bed frame, you know you’d have melted into a puddle on the floor by now.

You mumble something agreeable against him, your chest on fire. It’s not physically possible to be any closer to him, but you ache for it. You ache for him.

One of his broad hands slips up the back of your shirt and you gasp into his mouth, your fingers seizing the fabric of his jacket.

Luke is kind. So, so kind, and he licks into your mouth and you feel hot all over.

The warmth you’d been feeling earlier sets your chest on fire. You’re so frighteningly aware of the fact that you feel him everywhere. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he groans when you bite at his lower lip.

“Fuck,” he sighs out, the single word so desperate you nearly go cross eyed. “Fuck.”

You think you’re going to relive him every single time you need to take ambrosia.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Luke breathes out, his eyes shining. The look he’s giving you is making saliva pool under your tongue. “You’re perfect, did you know that?”

You don’t let him get far before you’re chasing after him again, missing the taste of him. His grip tightens around you, and you think you get black spots in your vision.

“Thought I was gonna fucking die when you came back with that dumbass jacket,” he admits. “My girl. I’m sorry I was being stupid.”

You think it’d be embarrassing if he knew just how much you’d be willing to forgive him for.

“‘s okay,” you say, your voice thick. “I was sad it wasn’t yours, too.”

You’re pleased to find that Luke Castellan treats kissing just as seriously as he treats everything else, because the way he holds you is so desperate it surprises the both of you. You can’t even feel where the bed frame is digging into your hip because you’re too focused on the way he’s pressing you against it.

You try stabilizing yourself and find that your hands land directly on his biceps. When he flexes, you feel him smile against your lips.

“Wow, hero,” you tease, voice pitching up at the end when one of his arms snakes around your waist.

You’re very lucky he’s serious about this. But it means he doesn’t hear the sound of campers rushing past the door.

Something like greed possesses him when you snap your head to your left.

He tries following you, tipping his head down to capture your lips again, but you put your hands on his chest to stop him.

“Luke,” you warn. He settles for kissing at your neck instead, and your knees almost buckle when you feel his teeth drag against your skin.

“I think— I think there’s people walking outside,” you say. Every word that comes out of your mouth is labored and takes more effort than you thought was ever possible.

“Then fucking let them come in,” he grumbles, revelling in the sound you make when he kisses you again. “I’m their counselor. They’ll have stable duty until they die.”

You’re breathing hard against him, overwhelmed and dizzy, and you feel it when the pressure of his kisses starts shifting lower. You feel him at your collarbones and nearly pass out.

“We have to— Holy shit,” you sigh out.

The struggle to form thoughts is palpable. Every single one of your working synapses is focused on the feeling of your shirt rucking up your stomach when his hand slides up the back even further.

You say his name, and he hums.

“We’re drunk. We should be… We shouldn’t—”

You know you’re right. But you want to be wrong so, so badly.

“Five seconds,” he says, and the desire there is so real he sighs into your next kiss. “And then we’ll be done.”

Your breath stutters when you inhale. “Five seconds. Yeah. Okay,” you rationalize. “I’ll count.”

It’s just five more seconds, and you honestly think you need it more than him.

You’re breathing too hard for him to kiss you properly, so he tilts your head back and you nearly see stars.

You jolt at the feeling of his mouth against your jaw, a trail of wet kisses following from your mouth to the curved bone. Your fingers curl into his hair.

A shiver wracks your body at the feeling of the first two numbers being mumbled against the swell of your throat. It’s been five seconds already. Neither of you care.

Luke is smiling against your skin.

“Your heart is racing. I can feel it.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your carotid, and it feels like your heart is going to come out of your neck. “Right there.”

“Don’t be mean,” you complain, but it sounds more like a whine than an actual sentence.

Luke’s hand goes to the junction of your neck and the back of your head, keeping you steady so he can kiss you until you lose feeling in your fingers.

You can’t believe that this is seriously happening. This feels like something you’ve thought up in a dream, the feeling of his hands on you so perfect it seems too good to be true.

You aren’t proud of the sound you make when he pulls away.

“Five,” he whispers.

You’d completely forgotten you were the one supposed to be counting.

He presses his forehead against yours while you catch your breath. Your chests rise in tandem, and you wish your lungs were a thousand times bigger just so you didn’t have to pull away.

He wipes something wet away from the corner of your mouth, and you know you’re looking up at him with a stupid look in your eye.

“Luke,” you manage to say. You tilt your head up and your nose knocks against his. “Do you like me too?”

He’s smug. “Was the way I stuck my tongue down your throat too friendly for you?”

The laugh that escapes you must sound funny because he’s joining you the next second, matching smiles on both of your faces.

“Tomorrow,” he promises. You think he’s about to kiss you again but stops an inch away, evil and mean. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You peck his cheek because it technically doesn’t count and watch red bloom there. You think it’s funny he’s blushing at such an innocent kiss, as if he hadn’t been marking up your neck thirty seconds ago. “Tomorrow.”

You feel your heart beating through your chest as both of you get changed. You’re wearing your matching pajama pants, like promised, and you have to keep reminding yourself to stop smiling.

Your heart is still racing even after both of you are settled onto your sides under his blankets. You’re using one of his arms as a pillow and your back is pressed against his chest, and you feel better about the throbbing in your chest when he mumbles something about how dizzy he feels.

You’d slept over here just last night, but it feels like this is the first time you’ve ever been this close to him. You have to stop yourself from shivering when his hand finds its way up your shirt again. And when he rubs those circles between your shoulder blades, you have to remind yourself he does this all the time.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” you say, thinking out loud.

He kisses your hair, because that also technically doesn’t count. “Me neither.”

You’re sick and tired of how you can’t see his face, so you flip around to look at him. He lets you roll on top of his chest, and you just stare, unashamed. His curls look funny because of the way you’d been pulling on them. His lips are perfectly swollen.

You’re content. “The Demeter kids are going to make us so many more cakes, Luke.”

He shifts you higher against him so your face is pressed into his neck instead of his chest. “What do you mean?”

You feel him shudder when the point of your nose runs up the expanse of his throat. “We’re gonna need two cakes to celebrate the first time we kissed. And then even more for that stuff after.”

Luke tilts his head down and captures your lips in another kiss, this one much deeper than the peck he’d smothered into your hair earlier.

You pinch him, your eyes wide when you realize what he’d just done. “Cheater.”

“Couldn’t help it, I’m sorry.”

He has to flip the both of you over because you aim to kiss his face again. You groan, flattened underneath him.

“You’re not being fair, Luke,” you complain, but you rub his back because you’re greedy.

“Tomorrow.” His mouth has made its way to your collarbones again because he likes to torture you. “After we talk.”

“After,” you echo.

The lingering effects of the alcohol are making it a little hard to think straight. But you can’t even believe you’d doubted this for a second. It was always going to be you and Luke. You think it’s been etched into the very beginnings of your souls.

Luke kisses a sore mark he left on the column of your throat, and your eyes grow heavy when he leaves another right next to it.

“After,” he confirms.

You think this must be what going to Elysium is like.

series masterlist

notes: title from dress by taylor swift. final word count at 11k which means that like twenty percent of this was just them being crazy about the other…….. goodbye LOL.

ill probably be making another post just to yell and scream about the events of this chapter. can you tell i blacked out writing it

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chasebeth · 2 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Started: 12/12/2023

Last Updated: 03/18/2024

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please comment below or message me!

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chasebeth · 2 months

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When the Morning Comes

Pairing: Modern!Bucky x Reader

Summary: An entire childhood, an entire life, and Bucky just hopes you’ll be there when the morning comes—that you’ll get tired of this town and follow him. If not, he’ll try again next summer. And the summer after that.

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: A little angsty, lots of wistfulness and pining, childhood best friends to lovers <3

a/n: Inspired by this song (and by that I mean that I only wrote this because of that song, so give it a listen if you want!!) I really loved writing this :)

Masterlist

The strap of Bucky’s duffle bag inched down his shoulder, sliding with each step he made towards the run-down motel. Leather clicked against pavement and a slight wind ruffled his clothes, but Bucky didn’t register any of that. Steve was talking to him, surely, but that was lost along with everything else.

God, it was hot here during the summer—he had almost forgotten. Summers with burning tire swings and melting cones seemed so long ago, almost as if they were crammed in the back of his mind and filtered behind pie charts and big figures and signatures on stacks of paper. A sweltering heat filled with laughs and TV dinners and Bucky had almost forgotten.

But he had felt this last summer. And the summer before that.

Keep reading

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chasebeth · 2 months

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false confessions | azriel

summary; you overhear azriel say something, and try to cooperate. word count; 4595 notes; based on this ask, that I got a little carried away with!

"I love her, I really do." Az sighed, your heart swelling a little as you listened from where you were perched within the library, Nesta at your side. When you'd heard the men come in, you'd been intent on going to see your mate, but they'd been talking, Cassian had been deep into a story about him and Nesta, and your friend had been adamant about hearing it out. So, you'd let her grab your wrist, sneaking the two of you deeper into the library, hiding away between the shelves where even Azriel's shadows had not bothered to slip away and investigate.

"But?" Rhysand prompted, your heart skipping a beat in your chest at the pause that followed, the silence seeming to drag on.

"But... she's so clingy sometimes." Azriel exhaled the words on a breath, and Cassian snickered a little in response. "I just- sometimes I want my peace and quiet, and it just feels like whenever we're together, she's right on top of me at home, we never just.. do our own thing."

Your stomach twisted, and Nesta's fingers tightened around your wrist as she was still gripping it. All playfulness was gone, though. She let go a second later, straightening up and brushing down her skirts primly, pausing only when you grasped her in response, shaking your head. You knew that your friend would defend you to the ends of the earth if you asked, but you didn't want her to. This wasn't her problem, or anyone else's, it was yours.

You were spinning, mind feeling like it was going a million miles an hour, the way it felt to fly home with Azriel when drunk after a night at Rita’s, while your stomach twisted the way it did the morning after said nights out. You weren’t sure where this problem had come from, up until now, you’d always thought Azriel liked the affectionate side of you, the part that just couldn't get enough of him. Clearly, that was not the case.

Your eyes tracked the movements of Azriel's shadows as they slithered out further, lazily, but inching ever closer to you and Nesta's position. Slowly, in an attempt not to get caught at all, you snuck backwards, taking her with you. Manoeuvring through the stacks, you stayed hidden, the two of you slipping out through the back exit and unseen, and in silence.

Only once their voices had entirely faded and you were slowing your pace between the twists and turns of the corridors did Nesta finally let a loud and obscene curse slip from her lips. "I'm gonna' kick ten tons of shit out of them all."

"No." The word was icy on your tongue, and her head snapped to you, You gave a soft wince in apology. "I'm not mad at him."

"What? Why not?"

"Because.. he's right. I am clingy, I just thought he liked that. I thought he liked when we were together, I never sensed anything otherwise down the bond, perhaps he's just good at hiding it. But, you heard him, he doesn't like it, so it's down to me to stop." You shrugged, but it didn't stop the stinging in your throat, and you slammed up walls at your end of the bond, hoping the hurt beginning to build hadn't yet leaked across to reach him.

"What I heard," Nesta muttered, ice on her own voice as her arms crossed angrily over her chest, "was my mate chuckling his smug little ass off at the comment. Jerk. He can sleep in another bed tonight." She was equally as angry, on your behalf, and you grinned a little at the affection she displayed for you.

"You don't have to do that."

"It's for me. He doesn't get to gossip about things like this behind my back. I wonder how many things I have done that irritate him that he's never told me, simply choosing to whine about it to those other bats." She hissed the word out like an insult, and you couldn't find fault in her logic. "I'd bet Feyre would agree."

"Would agree with what?" You both jumped, rather violently, approaching the dinner hall where said sister was sitting comfortably, a sketchbook and some charcoals out in front of herself, brows raised. Nesta didn't hesitate, stalking across the room and offering her daemati sister her hand. Brushing off charcoal on her skirt, she took it gently, gasping a second later after replaying the memory. "Those... those jerks!”

“That’s what I said!” Nesta burst, hands on her hips, and only the soft cooing of her nephew was enough to replace the scowl she wore with a slight smile. Your attention remained fixed on Feyre as she processed the covert conversation you’d secretly witnessed.

“No wonder Rhys locked me out, I didn't think much of it, boy talk, but this kind of boy talk?" She frowned, offering a sympathetic look your way, and the solidarity of your friends made you feel that much better. You rubbed your temples, swallowing again thickly, the weight of it all beginning to bring you down a little. "Fey, can you just take me home?"

"Of course, Nesta will watch Nyx for a moment, right?" His auntie was already leaning over his bassinet, tapping the tip of his nose teasingly as the baby babbled happily in return. With a hand in hers, Feyre took you home, a warm hug and a chastising word about their behaviour, her parting gift, before leaving you alone in the house belonging to you and your mate.

The house was quiet when you were alone, the middle of the day meaning you would be alone for quite a while yet, leaving you plenty of time to decide on your course of action. You glanced around, somehow feeling out of place within your own home. It all felt.. different, somehow.

Were you mad? No, only sad, and so retaliation didn't seem fair.

Sure, you were upset he'd talk to his friends about it rather than simply tell you, but Azriel had always struggled with 'talking about it', and had never wanted to hurt you. Emotionally inept at times, perhaps this was simply his way of trying to protect your feelings. A conversation you were never supposed to hear, a hurt you were never supposed to feel, because your mate was simply putting up with it to let you feel better.

You couldn’t have that. This relationship wasn’t supposed to be about secret sacrifices, it was supposed to be about trust and love and mutual respect. You’d sworn it when finding out you were mates, and sworn it again at the ceremony, and you tried to hold it up every day. Azriel wanted to spare your feelings, and now, you’d spare his, too.

It was hours before he returned, and you’d found yourself slipping back into your regular routine, making everything feel normal again by sticking to what you knew. You were unloading ingredients, cooking a comfort meal for yourself, when your mate returned home.

You first caught the tell-tale sign of feet hitting the ground outside from the sky, then steps got closer and closer up the pathway, before finally, the door opening and closing.

By the time you heard him taking off his boots and hanging up his coat, you'd found it within yourself to muster a reasonably convincing smile, and shake away any lingering thoughts about it. You are doing this for Azriel, to make him happy, to love him the way he’d loved you for years, without ever telling you. Your body twitched, aching to move to him like you always did, to greet him at the door with a kiss, with a hug, with something, and you firmly rooted your feet to the ground. After a pause, clearly anticipating what you now realised was an unwanted overload of affection, Azriel left the entry, stepping through the large open-arc into the kitchen.

"Hello, my love.." You only smiled, ignoring the curious tone in his voice, brushing your hands down the front of your apron. "What have you been up to today?"

"I saw Nesta."

"Oh?" He paused by your side, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, and you tipped your face to the side receiving it, but made no move for more the way you usually would.

"She gave me a couple of new books, and said she’d return the other ones." You only hoped he simply hadn't noticed that the book pile on the coffee table had not, in fact, changed at all. He didn't glance over, and you moved away, to the food laid out ready to be prepared for dinner.

"Are you alright, my love? You don't seem quite like yourself, tonight.”

You redirected your glance to the vegetables, only nodding in response, and taking a deep breath to force another smile. "I'm just fine, don't worry, just a little tired today."

He lingered for a second, before nodding himself, offering a smile in return, and a flush of reassuring love down the bond. You let it in, letting it warm you from the inside out. So, this is what he wanted, he had noticed and was already responding better. It was both relieving and painful. He rolled up his sleeves, taking another step closer to you. "What are we making? What can I do to help?"

"Not a thing, I've got it here, don't worry." His head shot up, brows furrowing once again, and your hand almost reached out, wishing to smooth that spot between on his face that had wrinkled with the frown. He noticed this time, the slight raise of your hand before you lowered it.

"But, I thought you liked it when we cooked together? You said you like how I can tell you about my day, while we make dinner." It's true, you had said that, but that was just another one of the events you'd forced upon him, wasn't it? Another act where he wanted to do his own thing, but was instead beholden to your wishes.

"I do, but we don't have to cook together every night. I'm fine here, I was just in my thoughts, is all. You could tell me about your day while we eat?” A flash of hurt travelled across his face, as though you were rejecting him, and so it was your turn to send a pulse of love down the bond to him. He tugged in response, pulling a smile from you, a real one, the way it always did when he did that.

With a kiss placed on your forehead, he left in silence a moment later. Not long after, his footsteps were on the stairs, bath filling in the bathroom, and you let out a sigh at his absence.

He returned in time for dinner, one of his shadows had been left behind, not-so-subtly lingering near the chopping boards to monitor you, and so you'd been careful about making sure to seem positively chipper until he returned. He helped carry everything through to the table, commenting gently under his breath about how good it all looked, and you thanked him as you poured wine, letting him serve food for you both onto your respective plates.

Taking opposite seats, the lull lasted not a full second, before Azriel was diving right into a spirited recap of his day:

"Rhysand and Cassian are in the doghouse." You almost slipped with your wine glass as you took a nerve-soothing sip, and Azriel was smirking as he chopped his chicken up, lifting a piece on his fork to his lips, awaiting your response.

"Oh? And why is that?" You followed suit, hoping your tone didn't give it away, already knowing exactly why they were upset. All three of you had felt a little betrayed by their conversation behind your backs.

"Not a clue. All I know is that after we finished our discussion, Nesta and Feyre wanted nothing to do with either. Rhys was all 'Feyre, darling, I was thinking we could catch dinner on the Sidra tonight, I made a reservation'," Azriel mocked his best friend's voice, and genuine laughter spilt from you, his eyes glittering a little and the bond between you humming once again. "And then Feyre said 'I was thinking I'd rather spend the evening with anyone else, right now, actually'. He was speechless. As were Cass and I."

He was so excited to share the gossip, like it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened, and the thought that perhaps this wouldn't be so hard crossed your mind. The same Azriel, the same you, just with less.. togetherness. Less touching. Perhaps, it would even make the times together and the touches even more special than you'd always thought they were. "And Cassian?"

"Even worse. He was in the midst of laughing at Rhys' shocked face when Nesta all but removed his balls in front of us." He took a swig of his wine, and you placed a piece of chicken into your mouth, excited to hear just how she'd unleashed that anger she'd been holding when you'd last seen her. "She said, 'oh, laugh it up, bat boy. See how much you're laughing when you're laying in bed alone tonight, nothing but your right hand to keep you company'."

That made your jaw drop, Azriel's deep laughter permeating the air at your reaction, and you felt proud of your friend, even if you did feel a little bad for Cassian. That's what they get for complaining behind their mates' backs instead of being honest.

"So, Feyre then proceeded to thank Rhysand for the reservation, take both Nyx and Nesta and winnow away without another word. Presumably to said reservation for a lovely sisterly dinner." Az shrugged, turning back to his food, and you sipped at your wine. Good for them. "When I left, Rhys and Cass were grumbling at the dinner table, trying to work out what they'd done wrong."

That sent a pang of pain shooting back through your chest, but you quickly suppressed it, beginning to tell him all about your own day, and your suddenly-made plans to go shopping instead of sitting at home with him all day tomorrow. He didn't object, only encouraged you.

After dinner, with plates cleared away and wine glasses refilled, you'd both moved to the living room, a quiet night planned as he settled onto the couch, book in hand, opening his action-packed thriller to the page he'd left off at as you stoked the fire idly, stocking a few more logs on.

When there was nothing more you could do to it, you stood, brushing down your skirts and leaving the room, not missing the trail of his eyes after you, or the sweep of one of his shadows, trying to curl around your ankle as you hurried through the house and up the stairs. You had planned to simply settle into bed, let your mind spin and wander, but with his watchful little trick giving you it's full-attention, you were forced to move through your preparations for bed, and follow its lead when it wrapped itself around your wrist, tugging you back downstairs.

When you returned, Azriel's glass was empty, book still open, but his gaze was on the doorway as you walked through it. "Where'd you go?"

"I thought I'd prepare for bed before reading tonight, seeing as I'm so tired, that way I can get in bed as soon as the need arises." Your hands locked in front of yourself, and dipped his head in a gesture toward your book pile.

"Will you sit with me and read for a while, then?"

"Of course." What were you supposed to do, say no? You were giving him space, but when he asked you to stay, who were you to deny it? Picking up the book from the top of the pile, you settled down into the large armchair on one side of the table, perpendicular to the couch Azriel sat on. As you opened your book, his snapped shut, and he let out a rough sigh.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm reading." You teased, waving your book at him, but he was not in such a playful mood, it seemed.

"I see that. Why are you doing it over there?"

You faltered. What now? Confess to hearing him, or continue to spare his feelings the way he had been sparing yours for years. The choice seemed clear. "Sitting closer to the fire, so I don't get cold."

"You never get cold, because you sit with me. You sit here, and if you get cold, I wrap a wing around you, and you get that cute little blush on your face and make one of those jokes about Illyrians being built warmer for those 'damn cold mountains'. So, why are you sitting over there?"

Busted. You worried your lower lip, trying to decide exactly what to say, but he beat you to it, his face crumpling a little as realisation washed over him.

"You heard us in the library." It wasn't a question, no, it was a statement. A fact, he knew it. Your mate was far too intelligent and deductive for his own good, sometimes. He put down his book, crossing the room in a flash, and removing yours from your hold too. He slipped down to one knee before you, grasping your hands in his, and he gaped for a few moments, no words coming. "I didn't mean it," was what he settled on.

"'Course you did, Az. It's okay." You squeezed his hands lightly, and he gripped back firmer, like you might pull away from him if he didn't hold on. "I was a little upset to know you'd rather tell your friends than simply tell me if something I was doing was bothering you, but you're allowed to be bothered by things."

"No, I didn't mean it, my love. Please, don't take it to heart." There was a pleading under his voice, like he thought this might drive a wedge between you both, and you pried one hand free to sit comfortingly over his cheek. His head tipped into the touch.

"Az, it's okay, really. Not everything is always going to be perfect between us, but in future, if I do something you don't like, just tell me, okay?"

"No, no, no.." He was panicking now, so much so that the fear was beginning to ripple down the bond, you couldn't just hear it in his voice but feel it ricocheting through your own chest. Cold, like shards of ice. "Everything is perfect, and that is the problem. Rhys was complaining about all the changes with Nyx. About how he loves his son so much, but lately, Feyre hasn't even wanted to touch him, and she's had such mood swings because of the sleepless nights, he's frazzled. One minute she's coming onto him, the next she's snapping at him because he didn't kiss her just right. Cassian was complaining because Nesta is so fiercely independent and he loves it, but when all that overprotective side of him kicks in and she snaps at him for going full-Cass-mode on her, he hates it. He wishes sometimes she'd just let him clean her wounds and treat her gently."

You didn't know quite what to say, confusion filling you, and he pressed on, pushed a little closer, never letting your gaze slip from his, holding you captive with it.

"Then they were looking at me, like I was supposed to say something, anything. Like, they'd been vulnerable about things they couldn't tell their mates without feeling embarrassed, as though it was my turn. I couldn't think of anything, because, baby, everything is perfect. All I wanted to say was, 'can't relate, Rhysand; maybe one day but not today. Can't relate Cassian; my girl protects me as much as I protect her, we fuss over each other'. I didn't want to upset them, and I realised what they wanted was clingy, the kind of clingy we have, the kind of clingy I love. So, I tried to tell them it wasn't all it seemed, so they'd feel better."

His thumbs soothed over your knuckles, the only sounds between you being the popping of the fire and the ticking of the large clock, until you sighed. He leaned down, kissing the hand still clutched in his own, before twisting to press a kiss to the palm on his cheek before you could retract it.

"It damn near broke my heart when you didn't greet me at the door tonight. It's my favourite part of getting up in the morning, knowing that when I come home, you'll come flying into my arms, and show me so much love, a kind of love I never thought I'd have. But you didn't, you said you were fine, though. I worried you were mad at me, too. You didn't want to cook together, I hated that, because I like being part of the things you like. You didn't kiss me, you haven't kissed me all night, I miss it. I miss it so much. You didn't hold my hand at dinner, and now you won't sit with me. I'm worried, my love. I'm scared, you have to believe me."

He raised his free hand, sitting it tenderly over your jaw, just like you did for him, swiping his thumb delicately back and forth across your cheekbone. It was an act you adored so much, something he knew brought you peace and comfort, and at this moment, it was doing just that. You could feel the fear in his words as it echoed in your chest, the desperation as he waited for your response. Lifting the hand from his cheek, his gaze tracked the movement, watching your hand hover for a split second over his head. He didn't let the half-second become a full one. He took your hand, lacing it into his hair where it had been headed, your fingernails scratching over his scalp in the soothing way he loved so much.

"Always touch me. Never hesitate. I don't care if we're at dinner or on a battlefield, but your touch, your attention, your love is everything. Never stop." His eyes fluttered closed in bliss, but he was still tense. "Just say you forgive me."

"I do not, because there's nothing to forgive." His breath hitched at the beginning of your sentence, eyes snapping open wide, and you leaned forward to rest your forehead on his. "Next time, come up with something that's not going to hurt my feelings, even if I shouldn't be eavesdropping."

He smirked at that, nose brushing yours and he laughed breathily. "Next time, I'm just going to take the teasing and let them know how utterly fucking hard in love I am."

"Well, that works too." You smiled, before he was sitting up more, raising from his one knee and pressing his hands underneath your body. "What are you doing?"

"Moving you so we can sit together."

"I'll just come to the couch-"

"Won't be close enough, now." He muttered, scooping you up enough to settle into the wing-designed chair, and situating you sideways across his lap as your eyes rolled. He left a soft bite to your covered shoulder in response. "Don't roll your eyes at me, you had me freaking out. I thought you weren't going to forgive me. I thought you weren't going to.. to be the you that I love, anymore.."

"Yes, well, that's over now." You leaned in, kissing the tip of his nose for emphasis, but uncertain eyes found yours again.

"You mean it?"

"I do." You pressed another kiss to his jaw, fingernails moving back to rake through the thick black hair on the top of his head.

"You'll greet me at the door tomorrow with a kiss?" Mm-hm. "You'll let me cook with you?" Your lips moved up to his cheek, nuzzling there sweetly as you left little pecks across his skin, mm-hm. "You'll hold my hand at the table, and play footsie, and you'll curl up on the couch with me after?" Mm-hm, your kisses reached the corner of his mouth, and you felt it twitch into a smile underneath your lips. "You'll cuddle with me in bed tonight?"

"And every other night, for the rest of our lives."

Something akin to adoration raced through your chest, filling every part of you. Despite his pink-tinged cheeks, Azriel was confident in his requests, hazel eyes shining as he looked at you. "And you'll kiss me, you'll hold me, every time you want to. Promise me, you'll never hide your affection from me, promise me you'll show me your love for as long as you feel it for me?"

"As long as you promise the same to me." He nodded, vehemently, sealing the deal with an urgent kiss, and you felt a tingling mark forming on the back of your neck, alongside the mating bond you'd made together so many years ago. Another promise formed, to be held forever.

His lips worked against your own, fingers slipping from where they sat on your cheek to smooth up, no longer running his fingers gently along your jaw but tracing soft tips over the patch on your neck. His lips became a smile in the kiss, teasing and sweet, a breathy sound slipping from you as he nipped at your lower.

“We should go upstairs.” He whispered, and your arms looped around his neck, prepared for the movement that was so come as he began to shuffle toward the edge of the seat. Raising with you in his arms, he walked a path he was familiar with, your lips beginning to trace his cheekbone the way his thumb had yours moments prior, when a sudden thought crossed your mind. You gasped, sitting up stock straight and Azriel paused at the base of the stairs, brows raising, half-lidded eyes attempting to focus at your reaction. “What is it, my love?”

“We.. we have to go and tell Nesta and Feyre we worked things out.” Azriel stared for a moment, before a blinding grin was splitting across his face. It was more than a smile, it was amused and cheeky and youthful in a way he rarely showed, only in moments like this where the two of you were truly alone, when he let himself be vulnerable. A deep chuckle followed, before he was moving again, climbing the stairs with you in his arms, smile becoming a smirk.

“So you’re the reason my brothers are in such trouble, huh?” He leaned down, nipping at the shell of your ear as he backed his way into your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind himself. Dropping you down onto the bed, enough to be able to crawl toward you as you backed up into the pillows, he didn’t let up with the wicked stare. “Let it be, we can tell them tomorrow. Consider tonight a punishment for complaining.”

“Were you not technically part of that conversation, Az? Should you not also be punished?” Your words held no threat, and he knew it too, because he only dipped his head down once he was supporting himself above you. His lips dragged over your skin, up from your chin to the shell of your ear, only to whisper;

“Oh, I think I've been punished enough for tonight. I can come up with some much more fun things for us to do..”

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chasebeth · 3 months

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The three weeks it took for Luke Castellan’s wounds to heal.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo!Reader

Summary: Luke comes back from his quest defeated and angry, and refuses to let anyone see him. But he still needs tending to. You are the lucky sucker who gets to do so.

Content: post-quest angsty luke, reader is awkward, i use the word under’t at one point because i think im shakespeare or some shit

Word Count: 7.6k

Notes: Pushing the agenda that lukes scar is gnarrly like it’s nasty !! not just some faint lil line. the boy was attacked by an actual dragon, like pls. also this hasn’t been proofread so sorry if it doesn’t make sense

part two

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

The spring that Luke Castellan spent on his quest was a strange one for the residents of Camp Half-Blood.

For years, campers knew who to go to whenever they needed advice. When they needed help. They knew who to direct the new campers to when they stumbled over the boundary line — and knew they were in good hands. Luke’s hands. He was the big brother the whole camp needed, and not just because he was older than most of them. He just had that aura — and he was undoubtedly kind to everyone he came across. Not to mention the guy was insane with a sword, and had this boyish charm that anyone would fall for. Most campers, if not all of them, looked up to Luke Castellan.

So when he left, nobody knew what to do.

It was pretty tame at first, mostly just awkward. Especially in the Hermes cabin, with Chris Rodriguez in charge in his brother's absence. A Hephaestus kid had taken over the sword fighting classes Luke usually ran, which proved to do more harm than good because he wasn’t all that great at using a sword than he was at forging them, and most of Luke’s students were already better than him.

But nothing went wrong — at least for the first week.

But after the initial awkwardness wore off, chaos ensued.

Chris couldn’t keep the Hermes kids in check — once they realised he wasn’t as authoritative as Luke, they began to use it to their advantage. Everyone got pranked, the camp store was raided three times before Chiron decided to close it down for the meantime and dishwashing duty every night was not slowing them down.

You hadn’t realised just how much the camp relied on Luke until he wasn’t there to keep things under control. Fights broke out with nobody to step in between them, and more and more kids were showing up to the infirmary with injuries that they could take care of themselves — something Luke would’ve told them to do instead of bothering you and your siblings. It was actually unbelievable how much a group of about a hundred half-gods relied on the steady hand of one seventeen year old boy.

You couldn’t wait until he got back so you could finally get some peace and quiet.

Luke didn’t return to camp for two and a half weeks, and as the days went by, campers began to get uneasy. Nobody knew what his quest had entailed, or where he had to go, so the longer they went without news the more antsy people got. You didn’t speak to Luke much — maybe a few shared sentences to be polite — but you knew what he was capable of. You tried your best to reassure the campers, as did your brother Lee and the rest of the Cabin Counsellors.

You knew Luke would come back. You knew he would stumble down that hill with his head held high and meet the group of campers waiting for him at the bottom. You knew there would be a celebration, a party, and a lot of kids out past curfew. But you knew Chiron would let it off, because Luke Castellan was back.

Except that’s not what happened. At all.

It was a warm day, and you were helping some of your younger siblings make friendship bracelets by the lake. Your camp shirt clung to the sweat on your back and you peeled it off with a grimace whenever you stood, straightening out your shorts and checking on the next kid. They seemed happy enough to be in the sun — really, you should’ve been too. Child of Apollo and all. But apparently your father wasn’t feeling the love for you today, because while the rest of your siblings were thriving, you were seconds away from jumping into the lake just to cool down — even if it pissed off the Naiads.

Thankfully, when you stood up once more and looked over the horizon, you saw your brother Aden jogging towards you. You took the opportunity to hide under the shade of the trees by meeting him halfway, and greeted him with a breathless, “Hey.”

He spoke your name with a nod and a smile, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, “Chiron needs you in the Big House. Looked serious. I’ll take over here.”

“Oh, Okay.” You nodded, turning to the kids and telling them you’d be back as soon as you could, before marching your worn converse through the grass and up to where the house sat on the edge of the hill.

Chiron was in the doorway when you reached the porch, sat in wheelchair form and wearing a grim look. You paused, worried. He nodded at you, “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Usually I wouldn’t do this, but…desperate times. Follow me.”

You followed as he led you down the hall, brows furrowing, “What's going on? Is everything okay?”

He looked at you with a serious expression, saying your name lowly, “I need you to ensure that what I am about to tell you will never leave the walls of this house. Nobody needs to know about this until we have deemed it appropriate.”

“Of course.” You said immediately, folding your arms. You weren’t so warm anymore. “What happened?”

He straightened up, and stared, “Luke Castellan is back from his quest.”

That was not what you expected him to say. Dropping your arms to your side and stepping forward slightly, “What? Since when?”

“Ten minutes ago, give or take.” He replied, brows in a concerned furrow, “Mr D has taken him upstairs. He is injured.”

“Right.” You nodded, “I’ll go and—“

“Wait, child.” You stopped, one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, looking back at him, “You must know something.”

Chiron took in a deep breath, eyes glossed over like whatever he was about to say weighed heavily on him, “He is…not in good condition. On top of his injuries, Luke is unfortunately…not in a good state of mind. His quest has affected him, and he requested quite adamantly that nobody should see him until he is ready to see them. I will respect his wishes, of course, but he will still need someone to tend to his wounds. That will be you.”

“Me?” You’d never shared a full conversation with the guy. Maybe some small talk, a polite smile here and there, but you were hardly acquainted, let alone friendly. You told him this.

“Exactly my point.” Was his reply, head held high, “Luke does not want to talk to anyone at the moment, and I’m sure if any of his friends were to be up there, they would simply coddle him. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m a stranger.” You nodded, “Of course. Right. I get that. So, you just want me to patch him up, act like it never happened? I can do that.”

“Not exactly, my child.”

You raised a brow.

“Luke’s injuries are quite extensive. He will need around the clock care until he is healed enough. He will also need someone to bring him food, clean clothes.”

“Oh, so you want me to nanny him.”

He chuckled, but it faded just as quickly as it came, “Unfortunately, he needs it.”

You pursed your lips. It didn’t seem all that hard — it was just like having any other camper in the infirmary. Only this one, everyone was on the edge of their seats waiting for, and you weren’t allowed to tell anyone he was a mere fifty feet away from them, curled up in a bed in the Big House.

No biggie.

i. WEEK ONE

Chiron had ushered you up the steps as soon as your conversation was over, and given you directions to the room Luke was in. Your steps were slow and unsure — you’d never been this far into the Big House before, but Mr D stood idly outside one of the doors lining the second floor hallway, arms crossed and face taut. The floorboards creaked under the weight of your foot when you reached the landing, and he looked up at you.

“He’s in there.” He pointed to the door in front of him, “Careful, he’s a short fuse right now. All the medical thingamabobs you need are in there already. Keep your mouth shut about this.”

Then he slid past you and down the stairs without another word, and you were left alone in the empty hall. Blinking hard to clear your head, you stood a few measly steps toward the door, stopping just outside of it and leaning your ear against the wood.

Nothing tangible. Mostly just the scraping of wood against the skin of your ear, and once you had stopped moving, there was nothing. No mutters, no bed creaks, not even a sniffle. It unnerves you, but you wrapped a hand around the cold metal of the handle and turned it anyway.

Maybe it was because he had been gone for a while, or maybe it was because you never saw him that much when he was around, but you had to blink away the shock at Luke’s appearance. Minus the obvious injuries, he just looked different. His skin was tanned and rough, his jaw taut and his hair hanging messily over his forehead, longer bits curling around his ears after going uncut for so long.

He was sitting on the edge of a bed that had been tucked into the corner of the room. There was a window just above it, but a thin curtain had been pulled over it and blocked out the sunlight that was begging to shine on you. The room was dark, but light enough that you could see what you were doing when you walked over to the desk in the other corner and started shuffling through the medical supplies Chiron had left there for you. Not much, but enough for now. You could always get more later.

Turning, you finally made your way over to where Luke was hunched over, staring at nothing. When you entered his line of vision, his dark eyes slid up to yours, and he blinked. Then he sighed, straightened his back and gave you a look that said do what you have to do and then get out.

But you didn’t move, not for at least ten seconds. Because while Chiron had told you he was injured extensively, he didn’t mention the five inch long scar that ran down the side of his face, cutting through his eye. It was jagged and gnarly, sharp edges carving a path through his skin. It was red all around, and just from looking at it you could tell it needed work. It was fairly new, but he had left it long enough for it to heal over — a thin layer of skin stopping it from bleeding.

He raised his eyebrows at you impatiently, and you nodded, scooting back to the desk and grabbing what you needed before going back to where he sat.

“I, uh…I need to get closer.” You were afraid to speak, to break the silence of the room, but you did need to get closer to his face. You waited for him to turn slightly to his left, hitch a leg up on the mattress and face his scar in your direction. Instead, he just slid his legs apart, inviting you to step between them.

And so you did, albeit a little shakily. You didn’t know Luke well enough to consider him a friend, but you’d seen enough of him to know that he never acted like this. He was never this quiet — all eyes, slow movements. He was charming, always grinning, always offering a hand. His battle instincts and ADHD made him fidgety like the rest of them, but from where you stood between his thighs, he was as still as a picture. It unnerved you more than the scar on his face did. You’d seen nasty injuries before, you’d never seen this.

You picked up a gauze, doused it in rubbing alcohol, and started wiping the area. You started on the outskirts, but when you pressed over the edge of the injury, his brows twitched and you let out a weak apology before lessening the grip. You kept your breaths thin and your eyes on your hand, but he wasn’t looking at you anyway. He had drifted off again, staring at nothing, and you were scared to break him out of his stupor again.

“He’s a short fuse.” Mr D had said. But he didn’t seem that way right now, sitting back silently and letting you do your work on his face. He wasn’t much of anything, if you had to make an assessment. You really wanted to know what happened on his quest, and why he was gone for so long, but you also didn’t want to test Mr D’s words by asking.

“What happened?” He didn’t say anything, again. You pressed on, “I sort of need to know before I reopen it…just in case something—“

“A dragon.” He murmured at once. His voice was rough, like he’d just been screaming. Maybe he had been, and that’s why Mr D had warned you. But it seemed all his anger had dissipated in the time it took for Chiron to get you and explain the situation. Maybe. “Ladon. Poisonous bites.”

So he had been to the Garden of the Hesperides. Presumably to collect some Golden Apples. What for, you didn’t know. You weren’t going to ask. You just grabbed a scalpel, muttered a quiet, “This is going to hurt.”, and started cutting down the scar, following its path across his cheek.

Luke hissed hard, not expecting you to dive in so suddenly, and his hand reached out for something to grab. That ended up being your camp shirt, bunching at your waist from where he gripped it between his knuckles. You didn’t mind it, but when you put the scalpel down and started to clean the inside of his wound, he adjusted his hand so he was holding the side of your waist instead, eyes clamped shut and feet tapping the wooden floor. You paused momentarily, but you couldn’t let him breathe or else it would just hurt more when you went back to work, so you brushed it off and continued your rampage down his face until the whole wound was free of the dirt and grime he had let accumulate inside it while he travelled back to Long Island.

“Sorry.” You finally built up the courage to say.

“S’Okay.” He breathed, “My fault.”

You wiped it over one last time before taping a bandage over the top. You cut it into two bits so he could still see out of his left eye, before stepping back from between his legs and assessing your work. Once you had deemed it good enough, you picked up your supplies and headed back to the desk, feeling Luke’s hand fall from your side.

“Uh—“ You really wanted to leave the room now, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but how long did you leave—“

“Three days.” He answered quickly. Chiron had probably already asked him that, and you felt stupid for making him repeat it.

You turned to leave, but then remembered what Chiron had said to you before sending you up to Luke’s room. You looked at him.

“Do you need anything from your cabin?” You asked, “It’s, uh, kind of my job to get that, if you do.” You turned to face him fully, “Oh, and are you hungry? Because I have to—“

“Just some clean clothes, thanks.” He quipped. It wasn’t looking like he wanted you around for much longer.

You were quick to leave.

It was hard coming up with an excuse as to why you were stealing clothes from Luke Castellan’s bunk, but you just told them there was a new camper in the Big House and Chiron had run out of spares that morning. They brushed it off, and you ran back up to Luke with the clothes bunched in your arms, and were breathless by the time you dropped them on the bed beside him.

“Did anyone see you?” He asked just as you were about to give him the privacy he needed to change.

You were facing the door when he asked, and turned to answer, but he was already pulling off the marred camp shirt he’d arrived in, revealing his very toned torso. You paused, eyes drifting, but quickly snapped them back up to his awaiting gaze. He didn’t seem to care that he was shirtless in front of you, but neither did most boys.

“No.” You weren’t sure how he would react if you’d told him the truth, even though it was harmless. He nodded and started to unbutton his cargos, and you were quick to turn back to the door and yank it open, “Okay, I’ll…uh, probably be back at…later. Bye.”

The rest of your week was rough to say the least. You had a lot on your plate, and it didn’t help when your siblings kept wondering why you were at the Big House three times a day and why you always made a second plate of food at mealtimes. Eventually, it got around that a new camper had arrived, and you were taking care of them. That's when the rumour mill started running.

“I heard they were older, like twenty or something. Apparently they’re super embarrassed.”

“Well, I heard they were injured super badly on their way into camp, and that’s why nobody’s seen them yet.”

“I heard they got violent when Chiron explained the demigod thing and now they have him locked away in the basement!”

So yeah, lots on your plate. You did little to dispel the rumours, not wanting to allude to the truth accidentally, but when you were the only one who knew the truth, it was difficult to hide from those who wanted it too.

But after a few days, you had developed a routine. Wake up, get breakfast, take food to Luke. Check his dressings while he ate and restock your med supplies if needed. Go to whatever task you were running that day, ignore anyone who asked about the new camper, go for lunch. Take lunch to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Go to dinner. Take dinner to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Lead the campfire sing-along. Check on Luke one more time. Go to bed.

It was a lot, to say the least. But you didn’t complain — if you did this top secret doctor work right, Chiron might make you cabin counsellor when your older sister Alina leaves after this summer.

And just as you had, Luke eased into the routine too. Every time you entered his room, with a polite knock, he would be perched on the side of his bed, legs open and inviting.

You wondered if he actually did this for you, or if he just never moved from that position.

Sunday morning was slightly different — as camp activities were more relaxed and you had more time on your hands. You strolled slowly to the Big House after breakfast — rather than your usual sprint so you weren’t late to Archery — and knocked politely on the door before cracking it open and heading for the desk. With a plate of food in one hand and a fresh bandage in the other, you made your way over to where Luke sat, readying yourself for another quiet twenty minutes of work. It was quite peaceful, now that you’d gotten used to it. More comfortable, less awkward.

“Hi.”

You blinked, almost dropping what you held, but Luke was there to grab the bandage from your hand as your grip loosened in your shock. He attempted a smile, but winced when it pulled at his scar, and chose to nod at you instead.

“Uh…” You put the plate down into the bedside table, straightening your shirt, “Hi.”

He’d never said hi before.

He didn’t say anything else after that, just let you do what you did, but your mind remained a whirlwind. He said hi. That’s a completely normal thing for him to do, and yet you were reeling from it.

Once you had changed his dressings, you headed for the door and allowed him to eat his breakfast. Your hand wrapped around the metal of the handle and turned it, pulling open the wooden door and stepping one foot into the hall before the voice sounded again.

“Bye.”

You chuckled this time, not looking back, “Bye.”

ii. WEEK TWO

It was an average morning, the blistering sun from last week finally fading and allowing you to walk comfortably outside. You never knew what your dad’s problem with you was last week, but you suspected that it had something to do with the cabin counsellor who slept on the second floor of the Big House with a bandage across his eye.

Like usual, you were heading up the stairs, breakfast plate in hand, ready to give your first checkup of the day. If Luke was healing like he should’ve been, you wouldn’t have to change his dressing at lunch, and you were crossing your fingers that he was.

Pushing the door open with your back, you walked in slowly and headed towards the desk like usual. You grabbed the bandage, made your way over to Luke and put the plate down next to his small lamp. Then you straightened up and put the new bandage under your arm, holding it in place while you moved to unwrap his eye.

Before you could, however, Luke was pulling the bandage from where it was trapped against your ribcage and held it in his own hands. You looked at him, and he gave you a weak smile, “Thought it’d be easier if I held it for you.”

You murmured out a thanks and smiled at him, keeping it there even as you peeled back the old dressings and revealed his still healing scar. Usually, it wouldn’t take this long for a demigod wound to heal itself, but because Luke had gone so long without nectar or ambrosia — or any form of medical help, that is — it was in worse condition. You had to scrape out the infected skin from it a few days back, and it left Luke blinking hard to try and hide the tears.

Nowadays he seemed to be better — not as broody as he seemed last week. But you always caught him drifting off, staring at nothing. You wondered if he was reliving it, asking himself what would’ve changed had he done it differently. Your guess? Not much — you’d read up on Ladon the dragon after finding out it was he who caused Luke’s pain, just in case there was something you needed to know before starting the healing process. He was vicious, not even Hercules could get past him. And while Luke was the best swordsman camp had seen in three centuries, even he would struggle going at Ladon alone.

Once you had redressed his face, you stepped back like you always did, your footfalls sounding out the same metronome as they did three times a day. You wondered if you would wear a mark into the floor from your constant repeating path — door to the desk, desk to the bed, bed to the door. You briefly thought that wouldn’t be possible, something like that would take years to indent, but then you looked back at Luke — his forlorn expression, the bandage across his eye and the bags under’t — and wondered how long it would be before he could build the courage to stand up from the bed, return to a camp that relied so heavily on his skill set, and take the weight of his failure with him.

He pulled the plate onto his lap and you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone look so sad while stuffing their face with bacon.

“Hey, uh —“ You started, hand on the doorframe in an attempt to look casual. You couldn’t just leave him like that, right? “Do you…know — uh, know where the spare practising swords are kept?” A measly excuse, but it had him looking at you again.

He swallowed his food before speaking, “The wooden ones are in these old boxes in the back of weapon storage, but I think the celestial bronze ones are kept in the Hephaestus cabin now.”

You nodded, tapping your hand against the wood. That didn’t work in the way you wanted it to, but you weren’t going to force it. So you turned, went to open the door and leave —

“Why?”

Nevermind!

You whirled around — not too eagerly! You didn’t want to scare him off, now — “Oh! Uh, some Ares kid snapped one in half the other day, we needed a replacement.”

Luke nodded. Shit, say something else. Get him talking!

“Odd weather we’ve been having.”

What?

His lips parted, and he had the gall to look amused, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, yeah.” You breathed, humiliated. You pressed your lips together, ready to give up, until a thought came to you, “Hey, you haven’t been outside in, like, a week.”

Luke nodded, shadows falling across his face like the mere mention of the fact that he hadn’t been outside was a painful reminder of his circumstances, “Yeah, I, uh, don’t think I want anyone to know that I’m back yet. Not until I’m healed, y’know?”

You knew. You also knew that probably wasn’t the only reason he refused to let anyone know he was safe in the Big House, but you didn’t say that.

“Right, but —“ A breathy chuckle, “You need, like, sunlight. Fresh air.”

“I don’t wanna risk it.”

“Ok.” And that was that. You said goodbye, left him to his own devices, and didn’t mention the sun thing again for two days.

It was on Wednesday that you finally gave in. Now that you’d put the thought in your own head, you kept noticing the effects that being cooped indoors was having on Luke. His skin, once tanned and glistening under the sun, was paling by the hour. He winced whenever he had to straighten his back, and even though his scar was healing nicely, he seemed to be more sensitive to the pain of it than he was a week earlier.

So on Tuesday night you formed a plan, and on Wednesday morning at breakfast you put it into action. It started with asking Lee — ever so casually, of course — what the activities schedule was looking like. He started yapping about their cabin, and you waited patiently for him to bring up the Amphitheatre. Then, when he said the Apollo kids were training at two, you said —

“I thought we trained at twelve on Wednesdays?”

“No, that’s Ares and Hephaestus.”

“Oh, but don’t they train at four?”

“No, Hermes and Athena train at four.”

“Then who trains at ten?”

“Nobody.”

Bingo.

Luke was halfway through pulling on a pair of shorts when you burst into the room. He jumped, yanking them up the rest of the way before turning to look at you — his face was a mix of shock and unbridled anger until he realised it was you, then it softened into something calmer. But you saw him, even for just a split second, and the animosity in his gaze made you take a quiet step back. It was fearful almost — you’d seen him annoyed, irritated. You’d even bore witness to the Carden Cross Hot Cross Bun Incident of 2002,

(Carden Cross was this fifteen year old Ares kid. He threw one too many hot cross buns at the Aphrodite table and a then-sixteen-year-old Luke had wrung him out in front of everyone.

Nobody had ever heard Luke raise his voice like that, and Carden avoided everyone for a week straight).

but you had never seen such indignation in his gaze. It was gone in a flash, and you could’ve told yourself it was never there, but it was. You were hit with the humbling realisation that whatever Luke had gone through on his quest was more damaging than you could ever imagine, and no amount of fresh air would change him back to who he was before.

That saddened you, but then you realised he was shirtless again and all morbid thoughts went straight out the window. You grinned at him, “Sorry. But we don’t have a lot of time.”

He stared at you, then at your hands that were empty of breakfast food or bandages, and asked, “Time for what?”

“For some fresh air!” You sang, throwing in some jazz hands as if they would wipe the hesitant frown that had graced his features, “Put some shoes on, let’s go!”

He said your name softly, “I can’t go outside.”

You straightened up from where you had leaned dramatically into the room and sent him a blank look, eyes still sparkling, “You can. I checked the schedule, the Amphitheatre is free from ten till twelve and it is currently…nine forty-five. If we hurry, we’ll miss the post-breakfast rush.”

Luke looked a little more at ease now, but he made no move to put his shoes on. His body twitched like he was thinking about it, but when he couldn’t come up with a valid excuse to get out of it, he sighed and nodded, “Alright. Doctors orders, I guess.”

“Awesome.” You smiled, “I’ll let you get ready.”

It took some convincing, even after you’d gotten him to follow you down the stairs, to get him out the door. But a few firm words (and a couple of threats) and he was basking in the morning sunlight just as you’d planned.

Well — more like squinting painfully. Turns out, after a week and a half in a dark room, it takes a minute to get used to the sunlight again. You ensured nobody was around and took the long way to the Ampitheatre, letting out a content sigh when you knew you were away from prying eyes. Luke seemed more relaxed already, and you could practically see his muscles getting looser.

“Damn.” He muttered, hand over his eyes, “I needed this.”

“Yeah.” You spoke over an unattractive snort, “I’m an Apollo kid, I know a Vitamin D deficiency when I’m looking at one.”

“Alright.” He rolled his eyes at you, amused, and moved towards the steps. He climbed up two before turning and sitting, leaning back on his elbows and blinking at the sky, “Think your dad made it extra sunny just for me?”

“Probably.” You smiled, standing in front of him — but still making sure you weren’t blocking the sun from his face. “After some convincing from your dad.”

Luke’s smile faded. His eyes remained closed but his hands tightened into loose fists, “I don’t think so.”

Now you were desperate to change the subject. Your eyes darted to the wall, and the rack of swords sitting in its usual spot, “Hey, wanna swing some bronze?”

“Gods.” He let out a rough laugh, and you grinned in satisfaction, “Swinging Bronze. Haven’t heard that in a while.”

You nodded, glad he was back to being somewhat happy, “We thought we were so cool.”

“We thought it’d catch on.”

You shared a laugh, and Luke peeked an eye open, looking at you, “How come we were never friends back then?”

A meek shrug, “We weren’t really friends until a couple of days ago. That's if you even count us as that now.”

He just kept looking at you, and his gaze burned into your skin. You stepped back, closer to the middle of the arena space, “We never really spoke.”

He looked at you as if he was thinking hard about what you said, and what he was gonna say next. Apparently he came up short, because seconds later he was clicking his tongue and pushing himself up, joining you in the middle of the arena, “Alright. Let’s swing some bronze.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. This was going well. He was outside, he was laughing, he was about to pick up a sword for the first time since he’d angrily thrown his own at the porch of the Big House when he got back a week and a half ago.

He handed you a wooden practice sword, and you raised a brow. Usually the wooden ones were for first-timers, or younger kids. He shrugged, you let it go.

Despite the fact that you and Luke had been at camp together for five years, you’d never actually gone one-on-one in a sword fight with him. It was rare that Apollo and Hermes were paired together for activities, since they were the two highest populated cabins, but even when Luke was running the practice he always picked the people he knew the best for demonstrations. You lingered at the back, watching.

So you were slightly nervous, but you also didn’t want to show it. Sure, on any normal day Luke would reassure you with kind eyes and that Luke Castellan Smile, but he wasn’t exactly himself right now. You swallowed down your nerves, matched his stance, and swung.

Best Sword Fighter in Three Hundred Years — not an exaggeration. His moves were swift, calculated, and he stayed calm the entire time. It was as if he knew everything you were going to do before you did it, and had three counterattacks on the back burner for when you would strike. Your swords clashed every time you made a move and suddenly you realised why he wanted you to use wooden swords — the clang of wood was a lot quieter than the clang of bronze, it was less likely anyone would hear you fighting. It made sense, but you couldn’t focus on that when he was practically parrying your thoughts with sweat dripping down his temple.

You held your own, though. You were quite impressed with yourself when you blocked his swipes and sidestepped his jabs. It was making him groan in frustration, and the edges of your mouth perked up. You didn’t realise how good you were at this.

Then Luke stumbled. He grunted, righted himself, and swung again. You blocked it, and he steadied his shoulders. You slowed, focusing on the way he heaved for breath, taking in gulps of air, while you were hardly breaking a sweat. The way he kept readjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword, and how his fingers shook on his free hand. He went for you again and you sidestepped him, making him trip up. He didn’t fall, but he did let out a long angry groan at his mistake, throwing the sword to the ground in frustration.

You flinched, “Luke.”

“This was a bad idea.” He snapped. He wasn’t looking at you, pacing up and down with his hands in his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re still recovering —“ You tried to reason, but he wasn’t listening to you.

“I’m the best damn swordsman this camp has ever seen. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I do this? Why —“

“Luke.” You stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He looked at you, “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” He gritted through his teeth, “I fail one quest and suddenly I can’t do anything anymore? Yeah, that’s typical.”

You shook your head, “You just need time to get better.”

“I was better! Better than everyone else here, I —“ He paused, a faraway look in his eyes that unnerved you for a second before he was looking at you again, “I can hear people.”

You perked your ears up. He was right, you could hear the chatter of camp if you listened carefully enough — but it wasn’t anything to worry about. They were all doing their own tasks, far away from where they were. If someone was coming, it would be more clear. You told him that, but he shook his head.

“I need to go back. This was a bad idea.”

“Hey, it’s okay, we can go —“

“No, not we. Me.” He said firmly, a hard look in his gaze that he didn’t have before, “I’m going back. You’re staying here. And I’m never going anywhere with you again.”

iii. WEEK THREE

You hadn’t seen him in five days.

Chiron had pulled you out of Archery to ask about Luke — and why he had seen him storm angrily back into his room and lock the door. You just told him you thought it was best for him to find someone else to take care of him for the time being. You didn’t think Luke would want to see you again, ever.

All you wanted was for him to be his old self again. The guy you always saw helping out someone else with a smile on his face, the one who made others laugh and laughed with them. The one who waved at anyone who waved at him. The one who was completely oblivious to the flirting and just thought they were being friendly. The Luke Castellan who everyone gushed about, who everyone loved.

That man up there, with the scar on his face and the look in his eye, wasn't Luke Castellan. And maybe he never would be again, not completely. But he could come close — he could still smile, he could still laugh.

But you’d fucked all that up just by bringing him outside.

You didn’t know who Chiron had asked to replace you, because you never saw anyone else get up after breakfast with an extra plate. You didn’t see anyone sneaking out of the Hermes cabin with a pile of clothes. You stood in the fields for hours a day, watching those thin curtains stand stiff at the window, never to open. You thought you’d seen a shadow, but maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

The weekend came and went, and you spent the whole time worrying about Luke. Did this new person know that he preferred fatty bacon? Did they know that he liked keeping the curtains closed? Or would they just bring him a plate of pancakes? Ask him too many questions about his quest? Your mind whirred — would they make him worse?

No. That’s not what you were scared of.

Would they make him better?

Would they understand him more than you did? Would they coerce more words out of him? Would they even need to coerce him, or would he be comfortable holding a conversation with them no problem? What if he was better now than he ever had been with you?

You flinched when your name was called. Looking up from the bracelet you were crafting with some younger kids and meeting the eyes of Dionysus, “Sir.”

“Our, uh, special guest is requesting your presence.” He said with a stupid look on his face, “So get off your ass and get up there, I can’t stand his whining any longer.”

You did as asked with a slight roll of your eyes that made the six year old who was next to you giggle into their hands. It brought a grin to your otherwise down expression, unsure of what Luke wanted to say to you.

The room was dark when you cracked the door open — there was no response after you knocked, but you could hear him shuffling inside, so you went ahead and opened it an inch. It was a lot darker than it used to be — or maybe you too had gotten used to the shade after spending so much time there.

You pushed it open more, and there he was, in his usual spot on the edge of the bed. Head down, hands fiddling with something by his eye. He was muttering in frustration, and you stepped into the room in concern. The floor creaked, he looked up, and you gasped.

The side of his face where his scar sat was red with blood — you almost missed the bandage he was attempting to tie around it because it had been stained pink. His fingers were shaking and he pursed his trembling lips at you, “I can’t do it.”

You surged forward, immediately taking the fabric from his hands. He let them drop into his lap as you peeled it back and looked at the damage. You winced — not as bad as the blood had made it seem, but bad enough. The wound had reopened at the top, and the blood was dripping into his eye and along the curve of his jaw.

It took a few panicky minutes, but eventually the bleeding had stopped, Luke’s face was clean of blood, and you were staring at him in shock, your own fingers still red from the damage. He was avoiding your eyes, the only other thing he’d said to you being a strained thank you when you had stepped back.

“What —“ You were at a loss.

“I tried to change them myself.” He shrugged, picking at his fingernails, still not looking at you. “I’d watched you do it so many times, I figured I had it handled. Apparently I didn’t, because I woke up and it was freakin’ bleeding everywhere.”

“Oh, Luke.” You breathed, “Why didn’t you wait for someone to help you?”

“You never came back.” He said like it was obvious.

“What — so you’ve been doing this yourself for five days?” You asked, a shocked exclamation, “Chiron never sent someone else to help you?”

“He asked me who I wanted,” He shrugged, “I said you. You weren’t an option, so I did it myself.”

“You said —“

“I know what I said, alright?” He stressed, head in his hands now, “It was stupid. I was angry, hurt, whatever. It was at myself, but I took it out on you. I’m sorry. I don’t — “ His voice cracked, “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Luke.” You murmured. You took a step closer, kneeled before him, and gently pried his hands away from his eyes so he would look at you. His expression was so…sad. So distraught. “What happened on your quest?”

And he told you everything.

iv. THE AFTER

Luke was ashamed to admit it — but he had no idea what your name was when you started looking after him.

Sure, he’d seen you around. You were one of the Apollo kids who spent more time in the infirmary than on the archery fields, but he was too good at his job to get injured. Hence why he didn’t know your name. He knew your face, he smiled at you and you would smile back. He was friendly with your brother, Lee. But that was about it.

That’s what made it so perfect.

You wouldn’t ask him about his quest. You wouldn’t try your hardest to get him to open up. You would do your job, and leave him to mope. That was all he wanted.

Until he learned your name.

And just from glancing at your smile — all awkward and nervous as you introduced yourself — he knew he wanted to be near you. He knew you were the type of person he could sit in silence with and walk away from it with a happy memory.

He thought he knew enough about you to determine who you were to him (a stranger). But he didn’t know your name, your voice, he didn’t know your touch or your smile — the real one you give when someone truly makes you laugh. Not the one he thought he knew.

He stood stiffly on the porch of the Big House — three weeks was all it took before Mr D was kicking him out, telling him to get a grip and face the music. Luke was ready; physically. His scar was nothing but that — a memory, faded into his skin forever. There was no other reason for him to keep himself hidden other than the fact that he wanted to. If it was up to him, nobody would ever bear the burden of seeing him ever again.

For weeks he told himself that his quest was pointless. He screamed it at the gods, at Chiron, at you. He cursed his dad every night for sending him on a path to failure and not even acknowledging it. He cursed himself for ruining the first chance he had at gaining his fathers pride in seventeen years — he sat in the dark, fists clenched, and asked himself what it was all for.

The five years on the run, the endless monster attacks, the relentless training, the offerings, the prayers. Would his life be any better had he just let that first monster kill him?

No. Because he wouldn’t have met Thalia, or Annabeth. He wouldn’t have seen the brighter side of being a halfblood — he wouldn’t have met his siblings, he wouldn’t have found his calling. He wouldn’t have experienced the joy of helping a new camper, of being the guiding hand he never got to hold.

But what of his quest? His mission for his father brought nothing but pain — a pointless trip, a humiliating failure, a deep jagged scar. For weeks he asked himself why he was given the quest in the first place, and for years to come he will question himself each and every day.

But each and every day he asks himself what the gods had ever given him, he would be reminded of the day he learnt your name. And he would tell himself had he not taken that trip, had he not fallen to Ladon, he never would have felt the searing touch of your fingertips on his skin.

So maybe it was worth it after all.

He stepped off the porch.

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chasebeth · 4 months

Text

In a year's time - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Angst, jealous Azriel, fluff

Masterlist of Masterlists

"But for all he knew you could have fallen for some dashing golden warrior, or found that you preferred your shiny, new friends over him - that you’d found a quieter city full of fae that stole your heart as well as your attention away from him."

Mor narrowed her eyes at the Shadowsinger, watching as he adjusted the collar of his newly tailored suit jacket and then combined his hair back with scarred fingers.

Azriel had always been annoyingly beautiful - even during their middling years when their voices cracked and they hadn’t yet grown into their long, slender limbs - and so he’d never needed to take special care of his appearance. His hair dried in perfect waves, his skin was smooth and clean despite the scars, and his training had carved out a silhouette as strong and capable as it was alluring. So why did he keep smoothing down his waistcoat like he was nervous?

Mor darted out a tongue, cleaning up the drop of wine that threatened to fall from her ruby red lips, “Azriel? What in the Mother’s name are you doing?”

His eyes barely flicked over to where she lay sprawled out on his bed. She had no intention of attending this ball sober, and if the near empty bottle of wine balanced precariously against her knee was any indication, she would exceed her goal before they even stepped outside his bedroom.

He picked up the tie - midnight blue and hand-embroidered with silver thread - and flung it around his neck.

“Getting ready for the ball.” He answered blandly.

She rolled her eyes, “Obviously,” then continued to stare at him expectantly as he finished knotting the tie, folded his pocket square, and then slid his weapons into place as a last measure, cobalt blue siphons flashing from the backs of his hands.

It clicked all at once as he strolled for the door, forcing Mor to abandon the glass and drink straight from the bottle.

“Oh my gods.” She said, mouth agape. Her shoes clicked along the marble floors of the River House like the beating of drums.

Azriel groaned internally. Even tipsy and wearing seven-inch heels, Mor kept up with his long strides easily, prodding his side accusingly with her wine bottle. It magically refilled itself with every jab.

“You’re trying to impress Y/n!”

Suddenly it was as obvious as the sun rising in the east. He’d chosen the tie you complimented him on last Starfall, despite his hatred of its fanciful nature. He was wearing the silver moonstone cufflinks you’d bought him for his birthday. He’d even combed his hair because he knew you’d notice and muss it up for him.

“Mor-” He warned, color beginning to dust his cheeks. His shadows darted around the hallway, climbing the velvet curtains and peering around the corners to watch for any potential eavesdropping.

“I knew it! I knew it!” She said, swatting him with a frustrated hand. Her red silk dress clung to her waist and thighs before fluttering out in a halo around her knees as she chased after him, aiming to slap him across the head.

Azriel stopped in his tracks and grabbed at her wrists, desperately hoping no one else in the house had left their rooms yet. If he was really lucky, the two mated couples would be making enough noise of their own to drown out Mor’s excitement.

“Mor, stop it. And be quiet.”

“You loooove her.” She crowed, dragging out the sound. Suddenly she straightened up, hands on her hips and frowning, “Is that why you’ve been so irritable lately? Because you miss her?”

Azriel said nothing, gave away nothing, even though Mor had hit the nail on the head in her drunken stupor.

It had been a great honor when Thesan offered to take you under his wing and train you personally. More than a favor to Rhysand, he’d seen your healing talent and wanted your expertise to be well represented in the Dawn Court. So a year ago you’d packed up your things and said your goodbyes.

“It’s only temporary.” You’d promised him, “I’ll be back before you know it. In a year’s time.”

But a lot could change in a year. You’d sent plenty of letters back and forth to each other, and Azriel would be loath to admit that he slept with them clutched against his chest every night so whispers of your scent would chase the nightmares away.

But for all he knew you could have fallen for some dashing golden warrior, or found that you preferred your shiny, new friends over him - that you’d found a quieter city full of fae that stole your heart as well as your attention away from him.

He was happy for you and had been the one to encourage you to move to Dawn. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss you terribly. You’d been missing from his side like a torn limb, and Azriel had been walking through life at a crooked angle ever since.

“I don’t-” He sighed, he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love you. He just couldn’t, “It’s none of your business, Mor.” He amended.

He released her wrists breezed past her, but she sprinted ahead of him, splaying her limbs out on the staircase to block his path.

“You need to tell her you love her. Tonight.” She commanded. Her words slurred out gently, the faerie wine finally kicking in when she’d wanted it to. “I mean it, Az.”

He shook his head, “I can’t tell her tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t seen her in a year! I can’t drop that kind of truth on her.”

“Yes you can!” She fought back. There was some muddled piece of information hanging at the edges of her mind, something important she needed to tell Az. But the wine held it back. Fuck. She cursed inwardly.

“No. I. Can’t.”

“Yes. You. Can.” She was practically seething, pearly brown eyes unfocused but unrelenting. She knows something I don’t, Azriel realized in a burst of shock.

“What is it, Mor? What did she tell you?”

She blinked, dropping her arms from the burnt umber railings. His heart quickened. Had his worst fears come true? Had you found someone else in Dawn worth staying for?

“I-” Damn it. She shouldn’t have finished the second bottle. She cradled it protectively against her chest, feeling the glass cool her hot skin, “I don’t fucking remember.”

“What do you mean you don’t remember?”

“I mean, I’m drunk, Az. And drunk Mor doesn’t remember shit.”

His heart quickened further, a crushing sense of guilt and loss wrapping around his chest like a corset and tightening. Mor at least was saved from further useless interrogation when Rhysand and Feyre bounded out from down the hallway, tastefully disheveled and looking sinful in Night Court black.

Rhysand cleared his throat, straightening his dinner jacket and absent-mindedly straightening Feyre’s crown for her, “Everyone ready to leave?” His eyes glazed over, calling out to the last missing members of their party.

Cassian and Nesta spilled out of their room next, the braids of her coronet slipping out and spilling over her heaving chest. Azriel tipped his head to the ceiling and cursed silently. Mother have mercy…

Nesta pulled up on the strap of her lace dress, only to find that it had been torn to ribbons.

Cassian was in no better shape - the collar of his white shirt was smeared with lipstick, although he didn’t have the same sense as Nesta to look annoyed at the interruption to their… activities. A toothy grin bloomed on his face, shoulder-length hair tangled like someone had been yanking it for hours.

“Can’t make it tonight, Rhys.” He said. He glanced down at Nes, “I’m not feeling well.”

“Me neither.” Nesta said hastily, slipping back behind the door and hauling Cassian inside with her like he weighed as light as a feather. Four months after their mating ceremony and they were as insatiable as ever.

“You’re full of shit, Cass!” Rhys called out just before the door slammed shut. A muffled Fuck you! Came from within, followed by a, Tell Y/n we’ll see her at home! From Nesta.

They winnowed to the outskirts of Daybreak Hill, landing in a field of cushiony moss dotted with pink and violet heather that stirred in the breeze like the dusk-painted clouds above.

Feyre sighed deeply, breathing in the scent of lavender and rosewater. She loved Velaris and no one could hold a candle to the beauty of the Night Court… except perhaps Dawn.

It was like someone had laid a mirror flat on the earth. Periwinkle skies kissed rolling sage green hills dotted with red-roofed villages and sank into lakes of pearl and lavender until it was impossible to tell where the sky started or ended.

The Dawn Court Palace’s twisting spires of honey marble glowed brighter than the setting sun. So brightly in fact that Mor had to help shield Azriel’s eyes with her soft hands as he carried them up through low-hanging satin clouds. Dots of scarlet and midnight black soaring through cotton skies.

His hands turned clammy and the tightness in his chest felt like a giant’s fist squeezing his heart, but he convinced himself it was the thin air that was responsible, and not the raging longing in his heart for you. Still, he had to appreciate the beauty of the red-roofed villages below, tinkering hands hard at work inside chestnut workshops filled with glistening bronze and copper.

They dove through the columns into the open-air hall, any dampness from the mist magicked away by Thesan’s careful hands as he stepped down from the golden dias to greet his honored guests. His rich, copper-colored skin radiated light, melting with the darkness that rippled off Rhysand and Feyre’s shoulders as they shook hands and exchanged the usual pleasantries.

Mor stretched her silky arms above her hands, catching the eyes of a cherub-faced female reaching to grab a flute from the champagne tower. Normally, Mor would have been flattered, but with Emerie at home and a wine-drunk haze over her mind, she was feeling more anxious than anything else. What the fuck was it that she was trying to remember?

Faelights bloomed above him, tinkered in the shapes of roses that gently pulsed, fluttering petals propelling them across the room in a sway of light.

But Azriel was barely paying attention. His eyes skimmed the crowd, searching for a silhouette he knew as intimately as the ridges of his hands.

There.

You stood across the room, half-hidden in the stone archway beside Thesan’s lover, Herades. You bowed your head towards him in silent conversation, nursing a glass of champagne in your hand to try and cool your nerves. Azriel would be arriving soon, if he wasn’t already here, cradling the walls in search of dark corners like he was bound to do. You’d been imagining all the ways you’d greet him - with a joke, with a meaningful embrace, with a kiss. You shook her head, pushing the last thought out of your mind and focusing on Herades’s story again.

Your laugh was a flare of light blooming at the end of a match. Azriel stared utterly captivated. Time moved slower than syrup when you finally met his eyes and smiled with an affection more precious than gold.

“Az!” You squeezed Herades’s arm, politely excusing yourself, and then you were off. You sprang across the room in a billow of cream fabric, like milk poured into coffee. The tips of your pleated skirts were touched with blue like you’d waded out into the night sky. The color matched the ribbon in your hair, and the siphons of a certain lovestruck Shadowsinger.

“Y/n,” He breathed out. You flowed into his arms and he gathered you into them like a bouquet of wildflowers, breathing in your familiar scent of rosemary and peppermint. Gods I missed you. He whispered in his mind, hoping that somehow you’d hear it at the end of that glowing thread.

But the hug was short-lived. Too short-lived.

“Mor!” You sang in that melodic voice he loved so much, grasping for her next, then Rhys, then Feyre.

Thesan looked on humbly, sighing faintly when Herades caught up to you and immediately slid to Thesan’s side.

“Oh I’ve missed you all so much.” You said, rocking back and forth.

“We missed you,” Feyre said into your hair. She was the one to pull away, smoothing out ribbon and giving you a once-over look.

Your time had been well-spent at the Dawn Court. Extra color bronzed your cheeks and tinted your lips a pale berry shade. You stood up straighter, smiled a little wider, and walked with an extra height to your step. You’d always been beautiful and graceful, but it was like you were aware of it now - like you’d grown the last few inches into your body.

“You look lovely, Y/n.” Feyre said and Mor agreed enthusiastically, commenting on your dress and your hair and your… well everything.

“Thank you,” You said, blushing, “Thesan’s treated me very well.”

That was an understatement. He’d set you up in his personal household, paid you handsomely (even more than Rhysand paid you if that were possible), and had had the royal seamstress sew ten dresses for you to pick from for tonight’s ball alone. It was your party after all in commemoration of the advancements you’d made in child birthing practices. You’d handled twelve pregnancies alone in the past year across Dawn and Winter, all of the children delivered safely and as plump and rosy as summer cherries.

“And you’ve repaid it to my court ten-fold.” Thesan said and held up his drink. Even Herades smiled, tawny feathers flaring out with pride. You were responsible for the safety of his sister-in-law and the birth of his nephew - hawk wings and all.

It was a flurry of activity following the Night Court’s fashionably late arrival. You dragged Azriel and Mor up to the dais after Rhys and Feyre. Traditionally the table was only meant for High Lords and their partners, but Thesan was a unique and progressive leader in more ways than one.

Herades and Thesan sat in the middle with Feyre and Rhysand, leaving you, Azriel, and Mor at one end and Thesan’s sister and her husband at the other.

Azriel was eternally grateful when Mor lunged for the center-most seat, forcing you to sit between her and Azriel. You bumped knees with him, leaning close as you whispered about the Court gossip you’d managed to overhear from the cooks or discussing the progress you’d made in the Winter Court.

Course after course appeared in front of him and disappeared, hardly touched. He wasn’t hungry for anything other than you, focusing on the crease within your brows as you tried to remember all the news you couldn’t write to him about or the twist of your perfect, flushed lips as you displayed your displeasure and your joy.

If he believed himself to be worthy of your affection he would have whisked you away hours ago, disappearing into whichever room in the palace was yours and pressing you against the wall, lip-locked until the need for air forced him to stop.

“How are Kallias and Viviane doing?” Mor asked, perking up at the mention of the Winter Court.

You smiled, your cheeks flushing with color, “I’m not supposed to say, Mor, so you must promise not to tell anyone. Anyone.” Mor locked her mouth and threw away the key. Your lips brushed against the sharp curve of her ear, “She’s pregnant.”

Mor clapped a hand over her mouth, nearly upsetting the glass of wine balanced precariously on the edge of the table. One of Azriel’s shadows darted out, pushing it safely out of the way of her swaying arms.

“Stop.” She hissed in disbelief. Her golden hair seemed to brighten with her cheeks.

You nodded, “With twins.”

Tears flooded her eyes, “That wench didn’t tell me.”

“She’s been busy, if you can imagine.”

“Still!” Mor muttered under her breath, eating her food slowly and sipping on her wine quickly. She gave up on being sober the more males approached her from the base of the dais, bowing deeply with proud, puffed up chests and asking for a dance. Word had gone around about her… preferences, and far from dissuading suitors, it seemed to have been offered up as a challenge as to who could change her mind. Thank the gods Emerie had declined the invitation to join them. She would have castrated half these males in an instant, if Mor didn’t beat her to it.

Thesan, gratefully, put an end to it once he caught onto the pattern. One sharp look from him sent them scampering back, coattails between their legs.

There was one final male though who ignored the previous warnings, humbly bleeding out of the crowd as remnants of rose cake disappeared from the tables and the quartet swelled to include twelve musicians plus a singer. Full, cream-colored wings hovered above the ground, tawny-tipped and lush. Even Mor had to admit, with his olive skin, amber eyes, and warm honey curls he was stunning. Like liquid gold poured out of the setting sun.

He bowed deeply, a subtle smile on his face. Azriel went rigid, seeing you lean forward out of the corner of his eye with a blush coating your cheeks.

Mor closed her eyes and groaned. Fuuuuuuuck. That’s what she’d forgotten about. Or rather whom she’d forgotten about.

Naemon - the golden boy who’d begun to court you seven months back. You’d dropped his name only a handful of times in your letters to Mor. Not enough times to convince Mor you were actually taken with him, but enough times for her to remember the bastard’s name.

“Y/n,” His voice was silky smooth and kind, “May I have the first dance with you?” He asked politely.

Your breath caught in your throat and you risked a glance over at Azriel. He looked… bored and unaffected. He reached for his glass, looking more interested in the faerie wine than the male who’d just asked for your hand. It was stupid of you to think he would care for you as anything more than a friend, and even more foolish of you to think he might be jealous.

You pushed away from the table and floated down the dais, taking the strong and sturdy hand Naemon offered you. The first song was too spirited and quick to reveal any true feelings. It was a blur of silks and lean arms as you wove through the sea of dancers and were gently tossed from partner to partner. But the second song was slower, more intimate. Naemon flashed a look of gratitude to the singer, who winked in return, before scooping one arm around your waist, hand flat on the small of your back. You rested one hand on his shoulder, feeling the rolling of muscle beneath his crisp linen tunic, and held his free hand.

Naemon was a kind and gentle male. After the death of his parents, he’d all but raised his younger sister Namia on his own, relying on the money he earned in the Peregryn legion to make ends meet. It was his care for his sister that had first drawn him to you - any misgivings he’d had melting away as you grew close to Namia from among the other healers. You’d supported her throughout her pregnancy, become her friend, and served as a balm to his anxieties whenever his duties took him away for long stretches of time.

You looked down bashfully, apologizing for missing one of the dance steps and crushing his toe, “I’m better at the quicksteps.” You explained.

Naemon smiled brilliantly, and you couldn’t stop the faint flutter in your chest, “I can’t blame you. The slow ones can get boring. Leaves too much time for overthinking.”

“Exactly.” Too much time for overthinking about a certain Shadowsinger.

You’d never given Naemon any false pretenses about your feelings, always reminding him and Namia that your position in Dawn was temporary. But still… It felt nice to be courted by someone as open as him. With Naemon you never had to guess whether he wanted you or not - you knew he did. The flowers he often left in the healer’s temple, or the offers to take you out to dinner or to dances like this one proved it.

A curl of guilt coiled in your stomach. Maybe now was a good time to bow out and return to your seat. Surely the slow waltz would be finishing soon. The-

“You’re overthinking again.” Naemon said, his full lips brushing against the sharp curve of your ear and heating the gold cuffs you wore. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, Y/n. If you’re enjoying yourself - if you like dancing with me - keep doing it.”

“Naemon-” You began apologetically.

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about me, Y/n.” He said honestly, “I just want to dance with you tonight. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

You stared into his eyes, finding nothing but truth in them. A portion of your nerves melted away and you found that when the cello began to hum out a simple tune, you were still holding onto him and letting him move you through the next movements.

Azriel was barely holding on by a thread. Wine glass now empty and clenched dangerously between shadow covered hands. Rhys shot him a look, and when his attempts to breach his brother’s mental shields were met with resistance, he turned to Mor.

What’s wrong with him? His eyes flashed the question.

He’s being an ass who can’t come to terms with his emotions. Mor grumbled back, sinking into her seat with a fling of yellow-gold waves.

Rhys’s eyes went from confused to wide open as he shot a look to you across the dance floor. Fuck.

Feyre followed her mate’s attention with a look of concern, and then traced Azriel’s steely gaze to the dance floor where you were smiling reservedly up at Naemon. You two made a handsome couple, weaving a clear path through the other dancers as they parted for his magnificent feathered wings.

Azriel stiffened. He’d never been particularly proud of his Illyrian heritage, but his wings… his wings were one of the few true beauties he possessed. But in comparison to the golden-boy warrior that smiled at you and brushed back a loose strand of hair with his soft hands, Azriel found himself lacking… once again.

Naemon was a gentle breeze where Azriel was blistering wind. He was a wide open door, every look he gave you filled with clear affection. Azriel was a dozen locked boxes, each one nestled within the other with all the keys rusted and thrown away. Naemon looked reserved and in control. Azriel felt completely out of it, and it took every inch of willpower to keep the mating bond from driving him mad enough to launch across the dancefloor and bruise Naemon’s high, perfect cheekbones.

But then the dance ended and Naemon parted from you long enough to reach behind his back and pluck a feather from his wing. A few shocked gasps scattered throughout the room. Even Thesan and Herades looked on with raised eyebrows, leaning close enough to touch.

The feather was a beauty - the length of Naemon’s forearm and such a pure white it glimmered like moonlight. You froze, staring down at the treasure he offered you with bated breath.

Peregryns were fiercely protective of their wings and rightfully so. To be allowed near them alone was a great honor. To touch them was an intimate act reserved for family members and lovers. To be offered a feather?! In some circles it was akin to being gifted a thousand roses. In other circles it was tantamount to a marriage proposal.

Both offers were completely overwhelming to you.

“Naemon-” You began carefully, backing away, “I-I can’t.”

He smiled softly, eyes flashing briefly up to the dias where the Shadowsinger had gotten up to his feet, something like desperation and longing buried deep beneath the layers of his hazel eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, Y/n.” Naemon said resignedly, “But please, take this,” He begged, spreading open your fingers before curling them again around the feather, “For everything you’ve done for my family.”

And because I love you, even if you don’t love me back - were the words he didn’t say aloud.

“Naemon-” A shadow fell over your feet, curling around your ankles and skirts and tugging you away like a child seeking attention.

Naemon, for all his relative youth and gentle disposition, didn’t seem surprised or affected by the Shadowsinger’s presence. Azriel hovered close behind you, eyes blown open and desperate.

Please don’t. He silently begged. Please don’t say yes to him.

He almost melted with relief when Naemon only dipped his head in acknowledgement and kissed the palm of your hands. Even that innocent touch made Azriel’s stomach turn.

You turned when Naemon finally disappeared into the crowd. “Azriel, I-”

You had half a mind to hide the feather behind your back, but you couldn’t do such a cruel thing to Naemon. And it wasn’t like Azriel hadn’t watched the whole thing unfold in front of him. You clasped the feather in your hands, careful not to ruffle the delicate barbs.

Azriel was no longer bored and unaffected. In fact he seemed unnaturally flustered and nervous.

He swallowed thickly, mindful of the curious stares you were attracting. Not only had you just been proposed to, but now you were being approached by a male from your past after an ambiguous response - you’d accepted the feather, but Naemon had left alone. The court gossips would have a field day, if they weren’t already.

“Y/n,” He said, his voice thin and quiet. A mere whisper among the riff raff that was steadily building up again in a crescendo, “Can we please talk?” His wings fluttered nervously, and he shot a dangerous look at a male who came too close to you, “In private? Please?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. You’d barely recovered from Naemon’s dramatic display and you were scared about what Azriel might offer next.

Still you mumbled, “Oh-um… yes.”

The words were barely out of your mouth before Azriel’s hand was on your wrist, delicately leading you through the crowd towards the archway and into the hallway beyond. Fae mingled about in their finery, happy to escape the music and the sweep of dancers.

Azriel scowled. This was hardly any more private.

“My quarters are further down this hall,” You offered, pointing down a sky bridge that connected the public wings of the palace to the private ones. Azriel exhaled in relief, nodding and following you as you cut through unfamiliar halls draped in rich reds, golds, and turquoises.

You stopped at a door of solid oak, hand painted to look like it had been lifted from the pages of a storybook. Resplendent gold filigree traced the footsteps of maidens running along hills dense with colorful flora. Water trickled down from the mountain tops, so realistic that Azriel was amazed to find the handwoven carpets in your room were dry.

You peered down the hall before closing the door with a gentle whisper. Only the songbirds nesting in the high crevices bore witness to your activities.

You hesitated and then tucked the feather into one of the empty jewelry boxes on the vanity. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

Azriel stood motionless by the door, watching as you closed the box and slid it back against the mirror.

“Did you say yes?” He whispered, hating the way his voice caught in his throat, “Do you love him?”

You turned around quickly, the length of ribbon in your hair rippling through the air to land on your collarbone. Azriel was upon you in an instant close enough for you to feel his shallow breathing, but all he did was trace the blue ribbon with his fingers and then push it back over your shoulder.

“I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You stuttered and your face burned with feeling. Azriel had asked you for privacy so he could ask you about Naemon?

Azriel clenched his fists once. Twice. “The male you were dancing with. The feather-”

You blushed deeply, turning your face away to hide your embarrassment. You had hoped he didn’t know about that Peregryn custom.

He gently gripped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, pulling your gaze back to him. You blinked in surprise. For once Azriel looked… scared.

“Did you say yes to him? Please. Tell me.”

If you had said yes he might just shrivel up into nothing on the spot. Why had he waited so long to tell you his feelings? Why had he waited so long to tell you about the bond? But if he did it now it would just be terrible timing all around. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You shook your head and Azriel’s wings dropped in relief, eyes closing as he murmured a quiet thanks to the Mother beneath his breath.

“He-it wasn’t even a real proposal. He gave it to me as thanks for helping his sister. That’s all.”

He gave you a pointed look like he knew you were lying. There was no questioning Naemon’s feelings for you. No questioning at all.

“You never answered my second question.”

You crumpled under his gaze. Gods, he looked beautiful tonight. Torturously so. It wasn’t fair. Naemon had loved you openly, never given you cause to doubt his intentions nor made you feel guilty for not returning his feelings. And yet here you were, still pining after the male who’d never seen you as more than a friend. A male whose intentions were never clear. A male who always made you question how well you knew him, and whether those small touches and reserved smiles and affectionate letters were just a polite kindness or something more.

“No.” It felt wrong of you to admit it so callously, even if it was the truth, “No I don’t love him.”

Azriel looked ready to kiss the ground and something about that set a fire within you. Leave it to Azriel to ignore any romantic advances from you, to chase after other females left and right for literal centuries, and then get upset the moment another male found you appealing.

You huffed, pushing him away harshly and crossing your arms over your chest, “It’s none of your business anyhow. I’m allowed to have my lovers and my almost lovers. And if you truly thought Naemon was proposing to me, I don’t know why you’d want to fucking interrupt it!”

Azriel flinched at the coldness in your voice, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it, Az?” You exclaimed, clearly irritated now, “Gods, you never just say what you mean.”

Azriel tried again, grasping at straws. “I would never judge you for your choices, even if you said yes to him or-I just-fuck.”

On any other day you’d be laughing. Azriel was a male of few words, but the words he did say were always perfect and calculated. Nothing about this was calculated or thought out.

“I… you’re my best friend, Y/n. And I haven’t seen you in over a year. I just…” He cringed. Hard. Cauldron boil him. He was doing this terribly, “I was scared.” He finally admitted, and rather pathetically.

“Scared?” You dropped your arms. That wasn’t the answer you’d been expecting, “Scared of what? You’re hardly ever afraid of anything.”

He shrank away, hands clasped tightly behind his back, “That you’d leave me-us. That you’d find a reason to stay here instead of returning to Velaris. And when I saw you dancing with him tonight - the way he was looking at you and the way you were looking at him - I thought… I thought Naemon would be that reason.”

Now you were confused and even more irate than before.

You stalked up to him, jabbing his chest with an accusatory finger, “You were the one who encouraged me to do this. You were the one constantly writing to me about the importance of making friends and “putting myself out there.” You were the one who practically shoved me out the door when I left-”

“Because I thought you wanted this!”

“I did! I-I do!”

“Then what was I supposed to do, Y/n?!” He cried out. His shadows, which had been held back so tightly on a leash throughout the night, exploded outward, coating the bright colors of your bedspread and the rugs and the curtains in inky black. They swirled there, as agitated and timid as their master.

“What was I supposed to do?” He whispered again. He sounded tired. Defeated. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t hold you back from what you wanted. From the happiness and opportunities you deserve.”

“You could’ve at least said something! You could’ve at least told me that you were upset with me leaving. That you were going to miss me and that you-you-”

That you love me and that you wanted me to stay. You shoved the thought out of your mind, slamming the door and turning the lock. Useless, lovestruck pipedreams would do you no good now.

“Instead you just pushed me out the door and it’s been nothing but empty letters from you since.”

“They weren’t empty.” Azriel said weakly. He’d never been a man of words or poetry, but in that moment he desperately wished he was. “And I did miss you. Y/n, I missed you so much some days it felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

You deflated, your anger slowly ebbing away like the ocean during low tide. Sometimes you forgot that beneath all those hard-won layers of shadow and muscle, Azriel was still that little boy that had been abandoned in a cellar and taught to believe he was worthless. A waste of time and a waste of space. Nothing more than an inconvenient bastard.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were all doing fine. That I’d come back and it would be like nothing had ever changed. I would’ve-I would’ve made time to visit. Or-or come back sooner.”

Azriel chuckled without humour. He had not been “doing fine” without you. He hadn’t been “doing fine” since the moment you’d stepped across the doorway and winnowed out of Velaris.

“You make it sound like I was going away forever.” You added softly.

“It felt like it.” Azriel admitted quietly, “I always worried there was a chance you’d decide you liked things better in Dawn. That you liked the people better. So when I saw you with Naemon I just…” His voice trailed off and he slowly backed up to your bed, sinking down into the pillowy comforter. Even the beds seemed softer and kinder here. Softer and kinder than him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

He felt the bed dip beside him, your knee pressing against his in a burst of warmth. The blue tipped pleats of your dress slowly waved with his shadows as they once again curled around your feet, inching up your dress and closer and closer to your hands. Now that he was looking down he noticed the shoes you were wearing - cobalt blue with matching velvet ribbons tied up your calf. Same as your dress. Same as the ribbon in your hair.

“I wanted to believe you wore those colors for me tonight.” He said quietly, aching for your touch. Your hands were so close to his he could almost imagine that-

You covered his hands with your own, smoothing the rough skin with gentle caresses, “I did.”

It had seemed like such a stupidly hopeful choice at the time - some not-so-subtle declaration of love for all the months you’d spent apart - but when the seamstress had laid out all the dresses, you’d taken one look at the cobalt blue accents and the shoes and snatched them up in a heartbeat.

Azriel’s eyes were wider, more open, than the moon, shimmering with disbelief and hope, “You did?” He whispered.

“I did. They reminded me of you.” You stopped looking him in the eyes. It felt like too much. Too much emotion. Too much feeling. “I missed you too, you know.”

Azriel stayed quiet for a long while, sorting out the myriad of feelings roiling in his chest and trying to latch onto a single coherent thought. Finally he murmured, “I guess we could both work on saying things outright.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head and wiping at the corners of your eyes, “Yes. I guess we could.”

“We could start now.” Azriel offered hesitantly. His heart hammered away in his chest like a blacksmith at his anvil until he was sure his sternum would crack.

You raised your eyebrows. Curious.

“The next five minutes. We say everything honestly. No holding back.”

“I don’t know, Az. I-”

“Please.” He begged, holding onto your hands a little tighter. His shadows had traveled all the way up to your waist now, ghosting over flesh that he didn’t dare touch. He didn’t want to lose you. He’d thought he could handle being apart from you physically - that it would be no different from the decades he’d spent quietly loving you from right by your side - but he’d been horribly wrong. And he didn’t want to risk another, better male than Naemon coming to whisk you away before he had the chance to do things properly. To do things honestly.

His hands were shaking now, gripping your hands like you were the anchor to his ship trapped in raging waters, “I’ll start.”

“Ok.” You whispered, leaning a little closer.

Azriel swallowed and tried to stop the trembling in his hands and in his voice. In this he managed quite well, falling into a rigid, flat silence.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for years now, actually.” He dared to look at you. Your lips were parted in shock and he wished he could taste them, “Is that…is that ok?”

“Is that ok?” You repeated dumbly. “Is that ok?” You repeated a little louder, “Are you serious, Azriel?”

“Y-Yes?” He was trembling again, face open and terrified. He was offering you up his heart on a platter and praying to the Mother you wouldn’t crush it beneath those velvet blue shoes. Even if you did, he would find some solace in knowing you were the one to destroy him. He loved you so dearly that it was only within your right to do so.

Your lips broke in a stuttered smile, opening and closing like you didn’t quite know what to do. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. I’d hoped you might feel that way but I… I was never sure. I…” You cradled his face in your hands, tracing the curve of his jaw and his cheekbones with your fingertips, “I love you too, Azriel. I love you so much.” Your voice cracked, silver gathering in your eyes no matter how fiercely you tried to blink them away, “Gods, Az, you don’t even know.”

He gripped you close enough enough to bruise, arms locked around your waist and hands laid flat on your back. It was a sweet pain that grew even sweeter when you kissed him, searching for breath like you’d find it in his lungs. Azriel was just as desperate, ravenous even as he tugged at your clothes and flipped you flat on the bed. He wanted your lips again. You tasted like strawberries and cream, and he was starving.

He climbed on top, slotting himself between your legs as you yanked him close.

“Your hair,” You muttered, “It’s too neat.” The next minute was all teeth from Azriel as you mussed up his hair and he grinned wildly against your lips.

“Five-” He groaned, sinking further into you when you wrapped your legs around his waist, “Five minutes aren’t-” He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at your flushed face as you gasped for breath and finally untangled your hands from his hair, “Five minutes aren’t up yet.”

“You’ve been keeping track?” You dropped your head back on the bed with a disgruntled hmph. Had he been counting the whole time he’d been kissing you?

He kissed your chest, then the sensitive skin of your neck. But there wasn’t any expectation in the brush of his lips, just quiet, honest love.

You raised your head, finding that Azriel once again looked scared. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” He said seriously. “Before… before anything else.”

You drew yourself onto your elbows, craning your neck for one more kiss, “You can tell me, Az. You can tell me anything.”

The bond sang in his chest like a songbird in a cage. It wanted to be released. To be acknowledged in words if it couldn’t be acknowledged through feeling at this moment. Because Azriel knew you didn’t feel it yet. You didn’t feel the burning he felt in his chest that made it hard to breathe when you weren’t around.

What if she doesn’t want this? What if she doesn’t want me? Azriel swallowed thickly, tears springing into his eyes. He wanted so desperately to be worthy of you - to be the kind and gentle lover and mate that you deserved. He’d been born crooked even before he’d been tossed into that cellar, before his half-brothers had set his hands on fire. But… but he was yours completely. He’d offer whatever meager, broken shards of himself that he could in hopes it might be enough.

“Az,” You whispered his name lovingly and slid a wayward curl behind his ear so gently he thought he might break apart into a million pieces, “Tell me. Please. Tell me.”

“You’re my mate.” He confessed.

The words hung in the air, unaccepted, unrejected, and you went preternaturally still.

He had no feathers to pluck out and present to you. But he had his shadows. You tipped your head curiously to the side when Azriel knelt on the ground, holding your hand in his.

“I don’t have any pure white feathers. I don’t even have a ring on me right now-”

“Az, you don’t need to-” You stilled when a shadow flickered down Azriel’s wrist onto yours. It was a small, delicate thing. Willful too. You could tell by the way it traveled confidently down your ring finger, curling there tastefully like a castle spire reaching towards the sky.

It hovered over your skin like mist hanging over wetlands. A proposal in and of itself.

“Yes.” You said before Azriel could open his mouth again. He hesitated, afraid to believe he’d heard you correctly, “Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” He teased weakly.

But this time you knew exactly what he meant, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

The bond burst to life in your chest as the shadow sank into your skin, settling there like a tattoo. Like a promise.

Azriel stumbled, actually stumbled, clenching at his chest at the wildness growing within him. He chased after you, hurtling down the bond and finding you wide open on the other side. You were anxious and surprised and so so so happy. So happy you felt like you might just die from it, and Azriel felt it all.

Hello, Y/n. He called out.

Hello, Azriel. You responded. My mate.

Azriel groaned, slamming his lips and his body against yours. You held steady as you always did, letting him press against you as if you could keep him there forever.

I am yours and you are mine. You gripped his hair again, feeling the silky strands caress your skin. With one smooth motion he pulled out the ribbon and started to undo the buttons of your dress.

Promise?

You grinned. Promise.

___________

Author's note:

Nothing like a declaration of love after a year spent apart to make my heart swoon.

But honestly I would have fallen in love with Naemon... sorry Az...

2K notes · View notes

chasebeth · 4 months

Text

Drunk Tease | Azriel x reader

Summary: Azriel rarely gets drunk, but when he does, it’s a whole experience.

A/N: This is the long promised second part to Late Nights and Faerie Wine, this time with drunk Az! (Can both be read separately) I took the liberty to tag everyone who commented on part one. There’s not a lot of plot and the ending is a bit random but please do let me know what you think!

Word count: 2741

Warnings: alcohol, language, suggestiveness (if that's a warning?)

It was way past midnight when Y/N pushed open the wooden door of Rita's pub, only to be greeted with a cacophony of voices. Warm air washed over her in a wave and immediately her icy cheeks began to prickle with the sudden change in temperature.

Her attention jumped from one table to the next, scanning faces, and bodies, and voices, though it didn't take her long to zero in on her target.

It wasn't like they were easy to miss.

Sitting in a corner booth, three Illyrians roared with laughter—cheeks heated, wings slumped, and minds so obviously buzzed that a smirk tugged at her lips when she pushed her way through the crowd to approach their table.

She'd only managed a few steps when she noticed a shadowy tendril winding its way around her forearm. Wherever she went, Azriel's shadows usually were the first to know of her presence, though naturally, Azriel was never far behind.

Even intoxicated, he must've felt the bond glow brighter and brighter the closer she got, because from one moment to the next his head swivelled to the side, and his eyes lit up as they locked on her.

All at once, the entirety of his attention shifted from his brothers to his mate, and more shadows came to circle her limbs in greeting.

She'd barely opened her mouth to speak when Azriel's hand shot out to pull her onto his lap. A surprised laugh passed her lips, but it got swallowed as soon as he pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss to make her toes curl.

His broad palm found the side of her neck, and she couldn't suppress a gasp when Azriel licked deep into her mouth with the tip of his nose pressing into the soft flesh of her cheek.

She distantly noted Cassian and Rhys complaining, but her mind fogged over at the feel of Azriel's lips, the taste of his tongue, the heat of his breath mixing in with hers. The little sounds he made. Gods, she’d always loved those sounds he made deep down in his throat when he kissed her.

She felt his hand on her skin, thumb pressing gently against her rapid pulse while he kept his other arm firmly wrapped around her waist.

Only when he pulled back did her eyes open to find his gaze flicker down to her lips every now and then, lids heavy.

"My love," he hummed, fingertips brushing a strand of hair from her face, and as though made of pure electricity, his low tone shot right down her spine.

It took her a moment to collect herself. Two, three, four heartbeats before she cleared her throat and gently loosened his hold on her to slide off his lap and into the free spot next to him to finally face his brothers.

"Well," she said, thumb briefly wiping along her bottom lip. "I see you boys are having fun."

"Azriel certainly is," Rhys said, smirking as he lifted his glass to his lips.

"What brings you here on this fine evening, sweetheart?" Cass inquired, offering her a sip of his beer.

She lifted her hand to decline and did her best to suppress a grin when Azriel nuzzled his nose into her hair, a low humming sound coming from deep within his chest. She was used to drastically increased levels of PDA whenever he'd drunk.

"Az tugged on the bond," she said, to which Cassian snorted, his mouth hanging open in outrage as he moved his attention to the shadowsinger.

"You called your mate down here to come and get you?"

She felt Azriel's lips twist into a smile against the soft skin of her temple.

"Yes," he simply stated.

"I can't believe you," Cassian huffed, shaking his head as he raised his glass back to his lips. "You don't see me dragging Nesta all the way down here to escort me—"

"Hey guys," a new voice said, and a laugh broke past Y/N's lips as she peeked past Azriel to spot the High Lady herself stand with her hands on her hips after having just winnowed to a spot right next to their table.

Cassian was flabbergasted as he stared at Rhys, who emptied the last of his drink in an attempt to hide his grin.

"I cannot believe—"

"Hello, Feyre darling," Rhys drawled, standing to loop an arm around his mate's waist and pull her in for a kiss to the cheek.

Azriel ran the tip of his nose along Y/N's right cheekbone as she watched Feyre scrunch her nose.

"You smell like a distillery."

Rhys chuckled and turned to wink at Cassian. "Don't take it too hard, brother. I'm sure Nesta would be happy to come get you. Shall we send her down here once we return to the House of Wind?"

"Screw you, Rhys," Cassian grumbled.

Azriel lifted his fingers back to Y/N's face, running the pad of his thumb along the edge of her jaw. A brief glance told her that his eyes remained trained on her lips, lids heavy and gaze distant.

"I wish you a most pleasant night, brother," Rhys smirked, swaying where he stood. He pulled Feyre a bit tighter to his chest as a way to steady his stance. In return, the High Lady tilted her nose a bit further away from his lips and shared an amused glance with Y/N.

"And you," Rhys added, turning his attention to Azriel, who could not have been paying any less attention. "Get a room."

Azriel lifted his middle finger without taking his eyes off his mate, and the last that could be heard of both Rhys and Feyre was a mix of both their laughs as they winnowed away.

It was only once Cassian continued to complain that Azriel straightened where he sat, his fingers circling Y/N's wrist.

"We'll be off then," the shadowsinger announced, ignoring Cassian's protest as he stood.

"Maybe you should go home too, Cass," Y/N suggested as she got up, softening her tone when she took pity on him. "Do you want to come with us? I'll winnow us all to the townhouse."

"Nah," Cassian muttered. "Ness is out with Gwyn anyway. She'll meet me here in half an hour."

"I see," Azriel snorted. "You give us shit for calling our mates to come get us, but in reality, you're just bitter that they showed up earlier than yours."

"Oh, fuck off," the Lord of Bloodshed muttered with something coming dangerously close to a pout.

Y/N laughed and just barely managed to wish Cassian a good night before Azriel pulled her through the crowd and straight towards the door.

Fresh air soon filled her lungs, and the famous night sky of Velaris lay before her, though she couldn't admire it properly, seeing as Azriel gave a dangerous sway beside her. Promptly, Y/N's hands shot up to support him with one palm on his waist and one on his elbow.

"I'm warning you now," she said, brows raised as she waited for the swaying to stop. "The chance that I'll be able to catch you if you fall is slim to none."

Azriel's lips pulled into a lazy grin, a teasing spark in his eye as he tilted his head. "Have a little more faith in yourself, my love."

He gave yet another sway, on purpose this time, as though to test his theory, and Y/N slapped her palm against his shoulder.

"Stop it!" She failed to suppress an amused twitch of her lips. "I will absolutely let you face plant the street."

Azriel huffed but straightened where he stood. From one moment to the next his swaying stopped, and his feet remained safely planted to the floor, his stance assured.

Her eyes flickered down his solid form, and her brows twitched together in suspicion.

"Have you been faking it?"

The lazy grin reappeared. "My love, I assure you that you'd be the first to know if I were to fake—"

"I meant did you fake being drunk."

"Oh. Well, no," Azriel hummed, then shrugged a shoulder. "But it takes more than a couple of drinks to fully incapacitate me."

On cue, he attempted to lift his wings from the slight droop they'd maintained ever since she'd entered the pub, and promptly staggered to the side.

Y/N snorted. "Are you sure about that, oh big bad Illyrian?"

A beat of silence before Azriel cleared his throat. "Perhaps I shouldn't be flying."

"Yeah, perhaps," she smirked, and then stepped closer to wrap her arms around his waist, looking up at him. "Are you going to be okay though? With winnowing?"

He inhaled deeply, before giving a single nod. "Ready."

She smiled, and then winnowed the pair of them to the door of the townhouse.

As soon as the house had taken solid form, Azriel took a step back, one hand braced on the red brick wall, while the other one found his stomach. There was a slight bend to his back, and he was taking slow, deep breaths through slightly parted lips, as though willing himself not to throw up.

"Oh, baby," Y/N mumbled, rubbing her hand along his spine. "I'm sorry. Let's get you inside."

"I'm fine," Azriel muttered, though he allowed her to guide him through the door with gentle hands on his arm. "Completely fine."

"Sure you are," she smiled. "Come on."

It was a challenge getting him up the stairs, what with his wings dropping far enough for the bottom edges to drag across the floor and the security in his step decreasing drastically the moment altitude came into play.

When they finally reached their bedroom, Azriel wrapped his arms around her waist and took her with him as he let his body drop backwards onto the bed, wings splayed out beneath him.

"Fuck, Azriel!" she laughed, as they bounced slightly.

Azriel hummed, and she felt his nose run along her throat, nudging her chin a bit higher for his lips to reach the spot just beneath her jaw he knew she liked.

She smirked when he drew the sensitive skin between his teeth.

"Az," she mumbled, hands seeking his arms in an attempt to loosen his grip on her. "Azriel. You're drunk."

"Am not." His voice vibrated against her neck, and a shiver ran down her spine. "You smell good."

She smiled. "Thank you."

"Like fresh air and daisy soap." His nose dug a little deeper into the skin beneath her jaw, and she could hear him inhaling.

She combed her fingers through his hair. "Will you let me take off your leathers now?"

He hummed again, and she could feel his lips pull into a grin. "Why of course, my love. The answer to that question will always be yes."

His words had him lose his focus for just a moment, and she finally managed to free herself enough to sit up, straddling his waist.

As he lay there beneath her, Azriel folded his arms behind his head and watched intently as she began to unfasten the many little buckles and clasps that held together his flight leathers. She could feel his eyes on her.

"How was your evening?" he asked suddenly, and she couldn't help the smile that yet again tugged on her lips. He was adorable when he was drunk.

"It was good, sugar. How was yours?"

She watched as his mouth clapped shut and delighted in the way a tinge of red crawled up his neck at the use of a new nickname.

"Oh, uhm," he cleared his throat as she opened his Siphon-covered chest plate, hands brushing cool skin with every move. "Yeah, good. It was good."

She chuckled as she stood, taking his armour with her, and tucking it beneath one arm before she reached out for the laces of his pants.

Azriel was quick to brush her hands aside.

"That's okay," he said, sitting up with a groan, his wings dragging across the mattress. "Bad idea for you to fiddle around down there unless you want to finish what it'll start."

She laughed and moved to the door to hang his chest plate on a hook instead. "And I thought I was the horny drunk."

"You are." Azriel mumbled as he did his best to focus the remainder of his fine motor skills on unlacing his pants.

"Hey!"

"What?" Azriel lifted his gaze to look at her, and she could see the amusement alighting his eyes. "Just last month you told Cassian all about how you wanted to ride me in the training ring. You're not exactly subtle when you had a few."

She was scandalised. "You stuck your tongue down my throat as soon as I set foot in Rita's tonight!"

The lazy grin returned, and Azriel tilted his head as his eyes flitted to her lips. "And I'd do it again right now if you'd let me."

She smirked when she began to undress, too. "Sober up first, you drunk."

"If I'm a drunk, then you're a horndog."

A laugh escaped her throat, and when she pulled her shirt off, she flung it at his head.

Azriel caught it with ease, grinning.

She'd just moved her hands behind her back to unclasp her bra, when suddenly he stood before her to sweep her off her feet with one hand beneath her knees, and one on her back.

She yelped as he once again dropped down on the bed, though this time winding his arms tight enough around her waist to press her to the now warm skin of his chest. It was only when his hands sneaked to her sides that she realised that he'd essentially trapped her beneath his body.

Her every muscle froze, and she did her best to put on a warning expression.

"Don't you dare."

Azriel grinned, and she knew from the look in his eyes that it was a lost cause. Next thing she knew, he lowered his mouth to the skin in the crook of her neck and blew with all his might while his fingers poked at her sides.

An undignified laugh tore through her throat as she began to wiggle beneath him in a useless attempt to free herself from his attack.

"Azriel," she panted, gasping for breath after a few minutes. "Azriel, you fucking—"

Azriel stopped and retreated enough to look at her, mouth opened in outrage. "How were you going to finish that sentence?"

She grinned up at him, and when Azriel realised that she wasn't going to answer, he gave an affectionate snort and finally lowered his lips to hers in a deep kiss, pressing her so deep into the pillows that it felt like diving into a cloud.

Still breathless from his attack, she panted against his lips as his kiss grew hungrier and her fingers began to tingle.

It wasn’t long until she felt his lips trail a line of kisses along her jaw, his words whispered into her skin. “I do love sticking my tongue down your throat.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled from her chest. “And I would really love to ride you in the training ring.”

His smile widened into a grin, his words still barely above a breath as he kept his eyes on her. “You could ride me now.”

She mirrored his grin, brushing her fingertips up the length of his side until he shuddered against her. “Piss drunk Illyrian.”

Azriel claimed her lips back in a burning kiss. She could feel every inch of his body pressing against hers. His thigh rested between her legs, his palms on her skin as he mirrored every bit of the heat she felt and laid it all into his kiss.

It was only once her resolve had almost entirely evaporated and the first whimper had fallen from her lips that Azriel pulled back, and his body vanished to leave her skin to be kissed by the cool air of their bedroom.

Her chest rose rapidly, her thighs pressed together as she watched him swagger towards the bathroom, seemingly unfazed.

She gave an incredulous laugh, and Azriel threw a wink over his shoulder just as he vanished behind the bathroom door.

"Tease," she muttered loud enough for him to hear before letting her head plop back into the pillows, smiling to herself when a booming laugh filled the air.

Tagging the lovely people who commented on part one or reblogged with some tags, just in case you're interested:

@biggestwingspan-az @experr5 @pellucid-constellations @illyrian-dreamer @littlebookbengal @dcml @brekkershadowsinger @acourtofmarvels @berryzxx @ladylokilaufeyson5 @daycourtofficial @beardburnsupersoldiers @mischiefmanagers @rpfreblog @eminvelaris @aristocrrat @lauraslibrary @chubby-unicornz @offbrandbuckley @strangereads @sugarspicelivelife @alysena2 @thefanficarchivee @bemysugarbean @xreaderbooksreads

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chasebeth · 4 months

Text

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

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chasebeth · 4 months

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the boston brute series masterlist

The Boston Brute

Pairing: NHL!Chris Evans x Athletic Trainer!Reader (female character)

Summary: When you graduated from Northeastern University, you had your sights set on the West Coast. And then you were offered a position with the Boston Bruins Athletic Training Department. And then you met Chris. A 6′3″, ruggedly handsome hockey player dead set on making your life a living hell by pushing every button and getting on every nerve. Despite your obvious disdain for each other and the ‘No Fraternization’ clause in your employee contract, you’re drawn together in a passionate, fiery love affair that seems to burn everything in its wake.

A/N: This series has smut, this is an 18+ blog. Minors, DNI. The drabbles for this series are placed under the corresponding parts :)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the NHL or with its players.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

Smut = 🔥

I no longer have a taglist! Please head over to @time-for-a-library and turn on notifications!

Part 1 - Mr. Evans (w/c = 7k)

Part 2 - Sweden Sounds Nice (w/c = 8k)

Part 3 - The First Game (w/c = 7.8k)

Part 4 - What Are You Doing In My House? (w/c = 9.1k)

Part 5 - I Should’ve Known (w/c = 8k) 🔥

Part 6 - Don’t Give Up On Me (w/c = 9.8k)

Part 7 - Maleficent (w/c = 7.7k)

Part 8 - Baby Steps (w/c = 7.1k)

Part 9 - Baby Steps Be Damned (w/c = 6.6k) 🔥

Drabble: Texts with Chris and Marlowe While You’re Sick

Part 10 - The Haunted Hollywood Gala (w/c = 12.8k) 🔥

Drabble: Unchained Melody

Drabble: Cut From The Same Cloth

Drabble: She Sounds Like A Bitch

Part 11 - Good Boyfriend Moment (w/c = 6.4k) 🔥

Drabble: Home

Drabble: Promise?

Part 12 - Welcome To Sudbury (w/c = 9.3k)

Part 13 - “Bye, Princess” (w/c = 9.3k)

Part 14 - “Is This Enough For You?” (w/c = 7.2k)

Epilogue - Pt. 1 (w/c = 1.2k)

Epilogue - Pt. 2 (w/c = 1.2k)

Epilogue - Pt. 3 (w/c = 1.3k)

The Boston Brute Character Face Claims

The Boston Brute Series Playlist

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chasebeth · 4 months

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CUPCAKE | azriel

summary; azriel loves starfall, but you? not so much.

word count; 5465

notes; I have no idea how this got so long, I honestly intended for it to be like 2000 words! but, happy starfall day number two, I hope you all love this one too!

‘cupcake’ moodboard

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chasebeth · 5 months

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daylight

luke castellan x daughter of ares reader

3.8k you and luke castellan via percy jackson

tags. the tangledinlove special (jealousy trope, best friends in love, denial of feelings etc.) and title from the tswift song

a/n. i havent written in sooo long please don’t make fun… also i kiss canon and characterization goodbye because i have not read the books since i was 7 years old

i. back and forth from new york (sneaking in your bed)

Percy Jackson has become a light sleeper.

He didn’t think it was even possible to be yanked from sleep so harshly, but finds himself jolting awake whenever the kid nexts to him so much as turns over in his sleep.

He chalks the nerves up to his new… situation. If finding out your father is Poseidon and watching your mother turn into dust Avengers: Infinity War style could be called that.

This is also the first time he’s slept around so many people, so he thinks he’s just on edge. It’s not like he was ever close enough with anyone to warrant a sleepover before.

He shuts his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep.

Until he can’t.

There’s tossing and turning from across the room, and then a muffled noise.

Someone’s sleep talking.

Percy groans in frustration before realizing he’s being too loud. Thankfully, the kid next to him seems to be desensitized to random nighttime grumblings. Which is understandable, seeing as there’s an entire classroom of other children around them.

Percy takes his pillow that’s barely thicker than his forearm and clamps it firmly over his ears. He counts sheep. He imagines them jumping over fences when that doesn’t work. And then he imagines them as Chiron when that doesn’t work either.

The grumbling doesn’t stop. But as Percy peels the pillow from his ears, he realizes that the measly fabric was able to muffle something.

The crying.

Percy squints across the room, his eyes well adjusted to the darkness by now. He can see the Thrasher now, tossing in their sheets as quiet sobs leave their mouth.

Heard what happened to you on the hill. And I just…

He can make out a dark mop of hair.

Wanted to say I’m really sorry.

Tall limbs and a red cotton shirt.

I know what you’re going through, believe me. I’m—

Luke.

That’s Luke’s bed, Percy realizes. The heroic and brave and wise boy who introduced him to camp is crying thirty feet away from him, and he has no idea what to do.

A twig snaps from outside, and Percy jolts upright. Ah, of course, how could he have forgotten about the second reason he’s feeling so twitchy? Apparently all of those mythological monsters he’d learned about are real, too. Because someone out there is plotting against him.

The memory of rain soaked clothes and the feeling of a sharp horn under his hands has Percy fumbling for his pocket, sweaty fingers closing around Riptide.

Should he wake Luke? Surely he would know what to do. But the idea sounded ridiculous. The camp was safe, it had to be. Grover had said it himself. It wasn’t possible for anything to get past that old tree on the hill.

But rational thinking was beginning to look less rational since he was alone with whatever creature was outside. Something was definitely on the other side of the wooden walls, and it was just Percy and his stupid pen against whatever monster is making its way nearer.

Whatever it is is nearly silent, making its way around with soft footfalls and quiet steps. But the wood of the patio outside creaks under their weight, and Percy thumbs the cap of his pen nervously.

The doorknob twitches, and a cold chill goes down Percy’s spine when he realizes that the door isn’t locked. The door creaks open without protest.

It’s a person.

Much less scary than previously anticipated, but a potential threat nonetheless. Percy watches in awe as the hooded figure carefully steps over the floorboard that he nearly tripped over about thirty times already, dodging limbs hanging out of beds and sleeping bags. A perfectly trained ninja in the night.

Percy pushes himself up using a forearm, concealing Riptide in his sleeve.

“Who are you?” he croaks, voice choppy from disuse. “I have a weapon, so don’t try anything.”

He winces at the way it's much less intimidating than he hoped.

The figure whips around, their hood slipping down to reveal their features. Moonlight streaming in through a window illuminates your face.

Oh. It’s you.

Luke had introduced you to him earlier in the day, and he can’t remember much about you. But he remembers the easy way Luke had been around you, a closeness that Percy hadn’t seen before.

—

You were lingering around the forge, and had gotten a front row seat to Percy nearly setting someone on fire.

“Luke, why are you giving hot tools to twelve year olds?” you’d asked as Percy shed his goggles and gloves frustratedly.

The two boys turned around to find you standing right behind them.

Percy flinched away, and Luke laughed at the face he was making. “Percy, this is—”

“Luke’s best friend,” you had proclaimed, slotting yourself against his side. Percy was on the fence with what he thought about Ares kids, but the difference between you and Clarisse could not be more clear. You were all smiles as you reached down to ruffle Percy’s hair. “Don’t tell Chris, or he’ll get a little angry.”

“Sure, killer,” Luke had said, a smile lighting up his face. He turned away from Percy to face you completely, both of his hands coming to rest on your sides. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

You saluted him seriously, but the way your other hand curled around his arm was awfully casual. “Absolutely, sir.”

He squeezed you once, sending you leaning away from his grasp. Percy felt like he was intruding on something as he watched the two of you playfully fight in front of him.

With a pointed look, Percy’d said, “Uhh. Alright. Nice to meet you?”

You at least had the shame to look a little embarrassed as you released Luke from the headlock you’d put him in. “It was nice to meet you too, Percy.” You took extra care to whack the back of Luke’s head as you left. “I’ll leave you to it!”

Luke watched you leave, a fond smile on his face as he tried to straighten out his hair. “Sorry, where were we?”

—

“What are you doing up?” you ask from across the room, keeping your voice as quiet as possible. Red Converse hit the floor softly as you make yourself comfortable in a cabin that’s definitely not yours. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

“I thought curfew was strictly enforced here.”

“It is,” you yank your tattered hoodie over your head, dropping it onto the foot of Luke’s bed. “So keep it down before you wake up Katie. She’s snitched on me twice already.”

Percy huffs. “I’m not even—”

“S-Sorry.”

You and Percy go silent.

“It won’t… I won’t—”

“Luke,” Percy thinks he hears you say. You crouch at his side, sweeping his hair away from his face. Without even a grimace, or a sign of disgust, you wipe what must be his sweat off on your flannel pajama pants. Your voice is softened with affection. “It’s just a nightmare.”

“I won’t fail again,” he hiccups instead.

Your shoulders sag. With practiced hands, you shift the boy over and settle onto the empty part of the mattress with him.

Percy knows he’s being nosy, but curiosity keeps his eyes glued to your movements. You seem to know exactly what to do, digging through a bag at your feet and pulling out a cool water bottle. Your hands go to Luke’s shoulders as you gently coax him upwards, placing the water in his grip.

Luke’s eyes are still shut when he says, “Hey, killer.”

“Hi, hero.”

“What’re you doin’ here?”

When you don’t answer, Luke tips his head back to drink before tossing the bottle somewhere on the floor. He shifts over, giving you more room to lay down. Percy freezes when you meet his gaze head on through the darkness.

“Go to sleep,” you whisper, and Percy knows you’re not just talking to Luke.

You disappear into the mattress as Luke pulls you into a hug. Percy hears quiet rumbling as you whisper something to him, and he can’t tell which one of you pulls his head into the crook of your neck.

Luke sleeps silently for the rest of the night.

ii. now that i thought of you (things will never be the same)

Capture the Flag scares Percy to no end.

A chill goes down his spine as the other team lets out their battle cries, and he begins to doubt what Chiron said about no maiming being allowed. Some of those kids look like they’re out for blood.

The nerves only get worse as Annabeth drags him off to someplace in the woods and promptly leaves him to his own devices. No plan, no help, no sense of direction. He’s honestly expecting a bear to come out of the woods and maul him half to death, but after what feels like an hour of silence, he lounges back on a bit of rocks and watches the clouds.

“Hey, Goldilocks.”

Fear launches Percy to his feet as he takes in his surroundings. Riptide slips out of his hands and clatters onto his shield, spinning around the curved piece of metal like a Beyblade.

It’s you. Again.

“Relax,” you say quickly, raising your hands to show him you mean no harm. Your sword is tucked away and you have a slight smile on your face. “I was just going to ask you what you’re doing all alone out here. Our flag’s in the other direction, if you didn’t know.”

“I know,” Percy huffs, picking up his own weapon. He rights his armor as he looks at you suspiciously. “This girl Annabeth dragged me out here.”

“Annabeth,” you say amusedly. You glance around the two of you like she’s going to jump out of a bush.

“She’s long gone. She dragged me out here just to ditch me,” he says bitterly. “You know her?”

You have a weird smile on your face. “She’s like my little sister.”

Luke had said the same thing to him, out by the archery fields yesterday. “So you and Luke, you’re like, siblings too, then?”

“Gods, no!” you protest, your face scrunching together in disgust. “He’s just… He’s like…”

Percy watches you fumble for your words, his brow raised. You seemed pretty disgusted at his suggestion.

“He’s just Luke,” you decide on, and Percy nods, even though he doesn’t really understand. For a brief second, you look horrified again. “Did he… Say that we’re like siblings?”

“No,” he says, and watches as you smile slowly, satisfied.

Ohh, Percy wants to say. It’s like that. But he knows that you could probably tear his head off if you wanted to, so he bites his tongue.

“How long have you guys known each other?” he asks instead.

Your smile grows fond as you think about him. “Our entire lives. We were friends before either of us even knew about all of this.” You gesture to the two of you and then to the woods around you.

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t imagine this place without him,” you say thoughtfully, your gaze growing far away. “Hermes is lucky to have a son like him. He’s great.”

You talk about him so kindly. For a second, he can see his Mom in your eyes, and the adoring way she would speak about his dad on the rare occasions she would bring him up. And Percy knows it’s not nice to assume, but… He’s assuming.

Percy doesn’t phrase it like a question when he says, “You like Luke.”

A twig snaps somewhere nearby.

You’re silent for a second. “I — What do you mean?”

Percy doubles down. “You have a crush on him.”

“Alright, Goldilocks,” you say, amused. “I don’t like Luke.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t!” you insist, looking awfully embarrassed for someone who ‘definitely doesn’t like Luke.’ “And even if I did, he would never like me back, so…”

You turn to face the woods, and Percy has no doubt that your face is on fire.

“I thought you guys liked each other.”

“Percy, stop talking.”

“Like when you snuck into the cabin, I thought—”

“Percy,” you snap, your voice low.

“—you were dating. Like Jim and Pam. Or like Rory and Dean.”

You whirl back around, curious. “You’ve seen Gilmore Girls?”

He realizes what he said too late. “My mom made me watch it.”

Your smile disappears under your helmet as you slip it back on. “Good for her. And I’m sorry to leave you here, but I have to go.”

He frowns. “What? Why?” Percy almost doesn’t want you to leave. You’re the first person he’s seen in an hour, and your company isn’t that bad.

“My sister is about fifty feet away, and I’m supposed to be defending my flag that’s halfway across the woods.”

Percy perks up at this. “Annabeth’s back?”

Finally. He isn’t sure what she’d wanted him to do, because he definitely hasn’t done it.

You shove his shield into his hands as you brush past him. “No. Clarisse is.”

The words take a second to register, but once they do, Percy whips around in your direction. He finds nothing but the rustle of the leaves as you make your quick exit.

“Percy Jackson!” a voice booms from the direction of the woods.

He’s screwed.

iii. i once believed love would be (burnin’ red)

Their team won Capture the Flag.

Percy hadn’t done much, other than get claimed by Poseidon and be used as Clarisse bait. Nonetheless, he was enjoying the celebration feast.

Everyone was in high spirits — especially Chris, who had helped lead the team to victory while Percy was being pummeled by three angry Ares kids.

(Yeah, he was trying to not be too bitter about that.)

A group of campers were cheering on Annabeth for her plan that lead them to the big win. (Definitely not still bitter.) The comradery amongst their team was high, and even those that lost didn’t seem too angry about it.

Except for Clarisse and her cronies, of course. They were sitting in a corner, sending him furious looks every once in a while.

Percy made a mental note to ask someone about putting a deadbolt on his cabin door.

The other Ares kids didn’t seem to mind though, wearing any new battle wounds with pride. Percy could see you across the dining pavilion, talking with one of the boys from another cabin.

Luke did not look too happy about that.

Percy had thought he would be soaking up every glorious moment of the dinner, as he was the one who secured the flag for their team. But he had done nothing much other than sulk and push his food around with his fork.

“Who’s that?” Percy asks, once he notices where his angry glare is directed.

Luke is distracted when he responds. “Oh, uh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “That’s Max. Cabin 9. Hephaestus kid.”

Chris laughs as he takes his seat next to Luke, finally hungry after all of his celebrating. “He’s been trying to ask her out for a while now.”

“And he needs to take a hint.” Luke scoffs. “She clearly doesn’t like him.”

The two of you are sharing an orange. Max breaks off pieces for you to have, and Percy watches as you laugh at something he says, covering your smile with the palm of your hand.

The three of them are silent.

Percy’s head tilts. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Luke says, his tone steely. “She’s my… She’s my best friend. If she liked Max, she would’ve told me.”

The three of them watch as the boy stands up and you follow suit. Max tosses the rest of the orange into the fire as an offering, and the two of you head away from the celebration.

Percy gives Luke a side glance. If he had eaten anything, it probably would’ve been emptied up onto the table right now.

Luke shakes the table with the force he uses to stand up. “I’ll be back.”

His plate is left abandoned, and Chris snorts at his speedy departure. Luke’s practically jogging across the pavilion to reach you before you get too far. That old goofy cartoon running sound effect plays in Percy’s head as he does.

The boy closes the distance in record timing, stopping you and Max before you can make your way up a small hill just outside of the pavilion.

Luke must be a great liar, or just really convincing, because after a few words from him and an extended hand, you’re back at his side. You say a few parting words to Max before the two of you turn your backs on him and head back in the direction of the feast.

Unfortunately, it seems like Max is significantly unhappy with that.

He looks a little more than angry when he says something that has you and Luke whipping your heads around.

Whatever he said must not have been nice, because the next second, Luke is advancing in his direction, and the other boy is meeting him in the middle.

The small argument is beginning to attract the attention of the campers on the outskirts of the feast, with a few mixed reactions. Some look like they’re ready to jump into a brawl if need be, and others watch the argument play out, unashamed.

Percy grimaces. “Are they… okay?”

Chris gets up wordlessly to head in the direction of his friend, and Percy trails after him with not much else to do. Other campers join them, forming a bit of a crowd around the three of you.

Your voice sounds biting as you say something to the both of them, and while it seems like Max isn’t angry at you, it looks like he still spits out a snarky comment directed at Luke, if the smirk on his face says anything.

And that’s all it takes. Luke rears his arm back and strikes Max right across the face.

Something that sounds like a mix between a gasp and an “Ooh!” ripples through the crowd as he stumbles back.

That’s gotta sting, Percy thinks as Max steadies himself on shaky legs. The boy looks completely dazed from the single blow. If that’s what Luke can do with a single punch… Percy hopes he never gets on his bad side.

You shove Luke’s shoulder and say something to him, starting another disagreement between the two of you. But now steady on his feet, Max seemingly takes advantage of him being distracted and takes his own shot at Luke’s face. Percy sucks in air through his teeth as he rubs his jaw.

Luke’s on him in a second, wrestling him to the ground as he moves to probably hit him again. But you and one of the older campers rush forward to drag him off of Max just as Chiron’s booming voice sounds from the other end of the clearing.

The crowd scatters like a flock of birds. Chris drags Percy by the back of his shirt collar away from the scene, leaving you, Luke, and Max alone.

Everyone disperses back to their cabins, whispering about the events all the way up until the lights go out.

Alone in the Poseidon cabin, Percy doesn’t see the way Luke enters his own a few hours later, his knuckles sore but his heart aching.

iv. but its golden

You don’t look in Luke’s direction during Percy’s selection ceremony.

Once he’s selected Annabeth and Grover, you give him a genuine smile and squeeze his shoulder before walking away as fast as you can.

Luke calls after you, but you ignore him. The other twenty demigods at the ceremony look away in what’s probably second hand embarrassment.

Percy doesn’t see you again until much later. After knocking on his cabin door, you put a wad of cash into his hands.

“What’s this for?”

“Emergency cash,” you explain as he rifles through it. The stack is heavy. “I know Chiron gave you two hundred, but you never know. Use it only for emergencies, alright?”

“This is nearly two hundred dollars,” Percy says, shocked. “Where’d you get this from?”

“Summer job.”

“I can’t—”

“Annabeth already refused to take it from me,” you protest. “I thought you were my best bet.”

“This is a lot of money.” Percy doesn’t think he’s even held this much cash before.

“I know,” you say, before closing his fist around the money again. “But I know I could’ve really used this money on my first quest. So I’m giving it to you for yours.”

Percy was getting the impression that you weren’t going to leave his cabin with this money in your hand.

“Thanks,” he acquiesces with a smile. “Only for emergencies.”

“Only for emergencies,” you confirm, squeezing his shoulder.

“Were you nervous for your first quest?” he asks, tucking the cash into the inner pocket of his jacket.

You shake your head without an ounce of hesitation. “No. But it’s normal to be nervous, if you are.”

Percy thinks about his Mom, all alone in the Underworld. He was doing all of this for her. He was a little more than nervous.

“How were you not worried? Like at all?”

You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your hoodie. “I was with Luke. I didn’t really have anything to be worried about.”

Percy thinks about Annabeth and Grover. Could he rely on them? The Oracle’s words weigh heavy on his shoulders. Percy wished that he had someone he could count on like the way you relied on Luke.

“Are you mad at him?”

“Who said I’m mad at Luke?” You tilt your head in question.

“You ignored him in front of everyone earlier. It was kinda hard to watch.”

You look away, smiling. “Well, he was kind of being stupid last night. I’m not mad, I just needed to cool down.”

There’s shuffling in the doorway, and you don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” you mumble under your breath. Luke’s holding an old box in his hands, staring straight at the back of your head.

You give Percy one last reassuring smile. “Good luck, Percy. And I know you and Annabeth aren’t all that close, but she’s a good kid. You can count on her.”

“She’s a good kid.” Luke repeats from behind you.

You turn to face him, your gaze assessing, and Luke’s eyes widen in what Percy thinks is slight fear. But it’s like his entire body relaxes when you move forward to flick his shoulder.

“Thank you for your great input, Luke Castellan,” you tease, leaving a quick kiss on the bruise on his lower jaw.

His eyes blow wide with surprise. “Yeah,” he stammers. “Yeah.”

“See you later, hero.”

The door swings shut behind you.

Luke stares blankly for a good ten seconds before Percy speaks.

“So…” he starts. “What’s in the box?”

“Yeah, uh,” Luke repeats, dazed. “It’s a, uh. A gift.”

Percy presses his lips together, slightly miffed.

It’s obvious to him how the two of you feel about each other. He just wonders if either of you will ever figure that out yourselves.

a/n. evil boys i love u. if i ever write more luke fic itll be through one of their povs so their interactions are less restrained!! lmk if u enjoyed theyre my sillies

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chasebeth · 5 months

Text

out of left field - series masterlist

Out of Left Field

Pairing: MLB!Chris Evans x Best Friend!Reader (female character)

Summary: After 29 years of friendship with Chris, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. When he finds himself in the midst of a PR nightmare at the same time your ex-boyfriend starts lurking around every corner, you enter into a mutually beneficial, strictly PR relationship to save his career and keep your ex away.

A/N: This series contains smut and darker themes that might be triggering and hard for some people to read,18+ only!! Please read the individual warnings listed on each part and remember that your mental health matters!

All of my fics post at 5:30pm CT. TIME ZONE CONVERTER HERE.

🔥 = smut

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the MLB or with its players or with Chris in real life.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

I no longer have a taglist! Please head over to @time-for-a-library and turn on notifications!

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Part 1 - This Is Bad (6.9k)

Part 2 - I Can’t Do This Without You (6.4k)

Part 3 - Target Practice (6.6k)

Part 4 - Stu (5.1k)

Drabble: Get In The Fucking Car (1.4k)

Part 5 - Now or Never (6.7k)

Part 6 - Jealousy Looks Good On You (8.8k) 🔥

Part 7 - What A Way To Go (7.4k)🔥

Part 8 - That Old Tire Swing (6.7k)

Drabble: I Just Need You - Rewrite (3k)🔥

Drabble: For The Rest of Forever (1k)

Part 9 - Desperation (8.2k) 🔥

Part 10 - Destruction (11.2k)

Part 11 - Just Help Me (12.2k)

Epilogue Pt. 1 - Perfect (1.4k)

Epilogue Pt. 2 - Full Circle (1.9k)

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chasebeth · 5 months

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Looped

Summary: You are inadvertently trapped in a time loop without any memory of the last five years, including your relationship with Bucky. But Bucky would stay in the loop forever, explain everything again each day, if it meant getting to stay by your side.

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Word Count: ~15.2k

Warnings: memory loss, brief mention of sex (not smut, no description), angst, Bucky being self-depreciating

A/N: This was a labor to write but so so fun. Please let me know what you think!

You’re sweet and sharp, like the ripe flesh of summer fruit.

It’s the first thought Bucky ever has about you. It makes him want to know you.

You laugh loud and crack jokes that make Sam guffaw and Steve blush.

You are all honey warmth and gentle smiles, sarcasm and dripping truths. You whisper truths to him like a siren, like the call of the sea, late at night, early in the morning.

When you meet, he thinks he’d like to spend the rest of his days at your side.

It doesn’t matter in what capacity, though eventually he comes to hope for something more. Hopes maybe you could come to love him.

But friend, lab assistant, overly watchful co-worker will do too. If he can remain in your life, it's good enough for him. Bucky hopes for a more that he doesn’t deserve, and slowly, over years, more grows until it blooms love.

It’s how he discovers the give of your skin against his teeth is like the bruise of a peach, soft and tart.

It’s how he discovers your love, all of your love, is like golden light. Like a shining beacon to follow home.

It’s how he discovers he doesn’t quite mind being cared about, not if it's you, not if he’s allowed to tip it back to you, like a torch passed back and forth by children in the dark.

Your love goes down easy, like ice cream melting at the back of his throat on a hot day. It's uncomplicated, not like every other relationship he has to form and reform, shadowed by past deeds, Natasha and Steve, Sam and Tony.

He offers up his soul to you, and you pluck it out of the palm of his hand and examine it, before slipping it onto your finger like a ring.

Bucky is entirely yours.

He loves you more than he should, more than he should be allowed to.

He’s desperate and co-dependent and utterly in love.

And you don’t seem to mind at all.

Bucky starts wondering about your future, about your future together, about a house and some pets. About finding a real ring to give you and not just the imagined, misshapen rock of his soul.

Of course, when things go too well, the harder the descent is into hell, the harder the fall from grace.

Normally, usually, when the team goes on a mission, you stay back at base, at the Compound where you are safe and secure and protected. You are not an Avenger, you are Avenger adjacent. An intel analyst.

Still. You are close enough to bleed and hurt, still close enough to fall into Bucky’s toxic orbit, close enough for his being to swallow yours entirely.

But Natasha was unavailable, out on another assignment, and the threat level for this mission was supposed to be relatively low.

So, you had offered yourself up. Shiny and new, like the brass of a new minted penny. Like you weren’t all the fortunes in the world shuffled into the deck of one person.

Like you weren’t Bucky’s whole world. Like the planet of his being, the core of him, wouldn’t fall out of the sky if the universe of you suddenly dropped out of existence.

“I’m trained,” had been your only refrain, a gentle reminder to him that you were not as breakable and fragile as Bucky sometimes liked to believe. He knows that you’re not, that you are anything but breakable and fragile.

But the world so liked to rip and tear and take.

It liked most of all to rip and tear and take from him.

Bucky has never been a keeper of good things. They’re always taken from him, right when his damnably loyal heart finished stitching itself inside a new home, right when he thought this time it will be different. The world smiled and rubbed its hands together. Jackpot. There was no greater prize, no greater tragedy, than one soaked in love and loyalty and crushable hearts.

You had touched his cheek with fingers so soft he’d wanted to take a bite of you. “I’m trained,” you had repeated. “And most integrated with the team already. It will be fine.”

Steve had nodded, making the change on the tablet in front of him. “Y/N is right. You shouldn’t encounter any hostiles. Intel gathering only.”

Bucky had shot Steve a look, but said nothing.

It was like no one realized. That if something, anything, happened to you, he would shatter into a million pieces, that he would follow you into the ether, that his heart couldn’t be torn apart again. He simply wouldn’t survive it. It had been stitched together too many times.

This was his last heart and unfortunately for him, he had already given it to you.

But the mission goes fine. It’s so, so fine.

Until it isn’t.

He’s shuffling through a stack of papers in an abandoned lab when you open a drawer on the other side of the room. Just a drawer, nothing to indicate what might be inside. You’re clearing the lab together, because his stipulation to not having a meltdown about your inclusion in the mission was that you should not be separated.

Before boarding the jet he’d been staring at you silently, brooding and moody and a little mad. You had had a fond look in your eyes when you smoothed your thumb against the worried crease between his brows. “It’s going to be fine, Bucky.” He had nodded through the bad feeling clawing at the back of his throat and you had smiled.

A nasty blue vapor blows into your face. You splutter and wipe a hand across your nose and eyes, shaking your head to clear it away.

Bucky says your name, leaps across the room.

But how can he fight smoke? This is not the kind of danger he expected.

His hand on your arm, ready to catch you if you suddenly fall.

But you only sneeze, an adorable little squeak. “What was that?” You ask, rubbing your nose.

He grips your chin in his hand and turns your head to peer into your eyes but they’re clear and open as they always are.

“Dunno,” he allows for a little relief to seep between his bones, shoulders loosening as he releases your chin. You seem completely fine. You seem to shake it off. “We need to find out though. We have enough intel. Let’s go.” He presses the hard drive you had secured earlier into your hands.

His voice is gruffer than usual, demanding. Bucky presses a hand to your hip and gives you a gentle but firm shove toward the door. “Now.”

But you just smile, turn and touch the inside of his wrist where a sliver of skin peaks out between glove and sleeve. “I’m fine. It was probably nothing. Maybe just a lot of dust.”

Dust, Bucky thinks, is not a poisonous, neon blue. But he lies to himself because it’s easier, he lies to you because he can see just a hint of worry shining in your eyes. “Probably, doll.” He snags a box of files from the desk as you trundle out the door and into the hall. He swabs the inside of the drawer, where a mist of blue rings the edge, and drops it into one of the discarded sample collection tubes.

He finds you in the hall and guides you out of the dank underground lab, and when you get back to the compound and report what happened, you’re whisked away from him, swept to the medical wing and quarantined, blood drawn and tested.

The files and hard drive and collection sample are handed over to the rest of the intel team, to Stark and Banner.

Your blood tests come back normal. You joke with the medical staff and laugh like you always do, like a honey bee buzzing in his ear on a hot summer day, as he paces around the room. You seem totally and completely fine.

The only thing they can do, it seems, is wait. Wait and see if something happens.

Testing the blue vapor will take a little more time, he’s told.

So, you’re prescribed a night in bed, with Bucky as a jailer to monitor you. No one, it's reasoned, would look after you better, would notice something sooner, should something happen.

Bucky tucks you close in your shared bed, after, of course, a shower and dinner. He makes tea and hands you a bucket sized bowl of popcorn. He turns on your favorite movie and tries not to think about the thread of fear that had settled in your eyes in the med wing.

He doesn’t like seeing you frightened, even a little bit. He doesn’t like not knowing how to comfort you, how to protect you. Bucky does not like feeling like his world is fragile, like everything might fall apart at the seams.

Maybe he’s being a tad dramatic.

But strange things follow him, follow all of the Avengers team, and his world has fallen apart enough times that he’s come to expect it.

You are by far Bucky’s best reality, the best iteration of his life.

You had smiled at Steve and Helen and Stark, but it had not reached your eyes. You were worried and trying not to show it. For his sake or theirs or your own, he’s not sure.

But when you looked at him the fear melted away, eased out of the tension in your face. Like looking at Bucky, knowing he was close was enough to bring you comfort, security.

So, he holds you tight as the credits roll, you’re breathing even and slow, already lost to the world of sleep. Bucky presses his nose to your neck and inhales slowly, lets the unfiltered, raw scent of your skin anchor him to the world, feels your heartbeat through his lips, counts the beats of your pulse.

Even in sleep you clutch him close, your fingers pressed against the knot of his spine, your leg tossed over his hip, nose dipped to the hollow of his collarbone.

He isn’t supposed to fall asleep, and he doesn’t mean to, honest, but he does. Bucky is warm and safe and so cocooned with love that he falls asleep in the glow of the TV screen and you.

You’re okay. The mission went fine, neither of you even had to draw a weapon. And now, you’re home and safe, and he’s home and safe.

It feels like any other night.

The blue vapor was nothing.

Something like vapor…

was harmless.

The next morning, it happens.

Fears he didn’t know he should harbor, realized.

The first time it happens, you’re both confused.

The first time the loop resets, Y/N stumbles out of bed, your movements jerky and uncoordinated.

Bucky’s first thought is nightmare. You’ve had a nightmare. About the mission, about whatever you had inhaled, about him.

His next thought is stupid. Bucky should not have allowed himself to fall asleep. He should have stayed vigilant for this very reason.

Nightmare.

The barely suppressed fear as you smiled after the blood tests came back normal, flash through his mind. You had been afraid, whether you admitted it or not.

Your hip smacks against the bedside table in a loud thump as you stumble, only stopping when you come face to face with the bedroom door.

The sheets are warm from the heat of you, soft with your detergent, fragrant with the smell of the vanilla and peach of your body wash, your lotion, like a well-loved little cake on a warm spring day, ingrained into the fabric. The scent of butter from the popcorn bowl left on the table overnight.

He sits up, mind groggy with a hard sleep, dreamless and deep. “Hey, y’okay? ‘S just a dream-,”

You whirl when you hear the shuffle and shush of the sheets, back pressed against the door.

The room is a faint blue from the TV, but slowly lightening as the sun peaks over the horizon outside, flooding the room with the first threads of pale golden light. You’re never up so early and Bucky’s usually up earlier.

But you’re already talking, nervously chattering, not listening to him. “-s’ sorry, dunno how I ended up in here.” A nervous chuckle, weak with confusion. “I don’t remember…don’t remember coming in here. I’ll head back to my room-,”

You start to turn but freeze, your hands fisted in the hem of your shirt, his shirt, that you’d stolen years ago. It’s your favorite of his.

“What the fuck?” you whisper under your breath, eyes flicking between him and the shirt, brows furrowed like you don’t recognize the material between your fingers.

“Your room?” Bucky asks, sliding his legs from the warmth of the duvet, bare feet hitting the floor. “Why would you go to your room?” You haven’t slept in your room in…years. It couldn’t properly be considered your room anymore. None of your things were there. Your room, this is your room. His and yours together.

You don’t answer, your hands traveling surreptitiously up your body, tugging something from the collar of your shirt.

His dog tags, which you hadn’t taken off since he looped them around your neck after a disastrous date that you still kissed him at the end of. Your smile had been blinding. So happy he couldn’t look at you. You had pressed a hand beneath his chin and tipped his head up, to kiss him, to bring your forehead to his and promise Bucky, I’ll never take them off.

A picnic. He had taken you on a picnic.

It had been summer and warm and your skin had been soft against his and he had believed you.

He trusts you like no one else.

You stare at them now as though you can’t make sense of the gleaming metal. You yank them over your head suddenly, the chain dangling between your fingers. You look as startled as he feels.

Something akin to panic is starting to rake over your features.

The hardwood is cold against his toes, a chill that slowly bleeds up, seeps between his ribs to fist over his heart.

Your fingers drift down again and touch the top of one of your bare thighs.

“Did we sleep together?”

You sound shocked, maybe angry. But it doesn’t seem to be directed at him. Like you’re mad at yourself.

Bucky starts to say your name but you continue, closing your fist over his name. “I can’t remember anything. Did I go out? I don’t normally drink that much I-,”

Can’t remember anything.

The words refuse to register in his mind.

Something is wrong.

“Y/N,” he interrupts. “No. Sweetheart, I think you had a-a dream or somethin’. Come back ta bed.”

But his words don’t seem to soothe you. Your back hits the door again and you look sick, confused.

“Bucky, I think,” you start slowly, setting his dog tags down on the dresser to your left, your hand shaking just a little bit. “I think you’re confused.”

“What?”

“Look, it's okay. I’m not mad. You-,”

“Catch me up here, Y/N. What are you saying? Just come back to bed, we can sort it out after we’ve gotten some more sleep.” He’s desperate suddenly, to have you back in bed. If he can just get you back in bed, curl around you, burrow himself into the fleshy realness of you, things will make sense again.

Because something is not making sense.

But his words just cause you to reach a hand behind you for the doorknob. “Look ‘m just gonna go grab Steve and we can sort this out now.” Before he can respond, you’ve wrenched the door open and darted through the apartment and out into the halls of the compound.

It takes him a minute to gather his bearings, to slip on a shirt and sweatpants, before following you.

He hears you before he sees you.

“-think he’s relapsed or something. He seems to think we’re together. I know he has memory issues but-,” You stop abruptly, he can hear you shifting from foot to foot nervously.

There’s a long pause before Steve says, incredulous, “Seems to think you’re together? What are you talking about?”

“I mean I’m wearing his shirt, Steve. He put his dog tags on me for god’s sake.” Bucky can’t breathe as he rounds the corner into the hallway of Steve’s room. He thinks he might throw up when he hears you continue, “Like he’s claimed me. I don’t blame him, I know he’s been through a lot but-,”

“If you’re fucking around this is a really cruel joke, Y/N,” Steve says, stern, almost pissed off.

“Joke?” You ask, your voice shrill and tipped with panic. “Why would I joke about this?”

Steve glances back at Bucky when he emerges into the hall and you whirl.

“Y/N,” Steve touches your shoulder gently and you relax just slightly, like you have an ally at your back. Bucky clenches his jaw, head still spinning.

Because you don’t seem to recognize him. At least not this him.

The him that’s wholly yours. The Bucky that shared a bed with you, that used your peach body wash, that loves you and is loved by you in spades, in return, beyond all reasonable comprehension.

Steve’s frowning at the two of you, at the way you hold yourself hard and straight, uncomfortable and tugging down Bucky’s shirt to hide yourself, to preserve some kind of modesty, like Bucky hasn’t already seen all of you. Steve is starting to realize something is wrong. His spine softens just slightly, tender suddenly, careful instead of indignant.

You weren't being cruel. You’re confused and upset.

And Bucky is realizing with a slow creeping dread that being forgotten is far worse than being remembered.

His guts knot in his belly, sick threatening to crawl up his throat with a sudden surety of realization.

You don’t fucking remember him.

“Y/N,” Steve continues, cupping your elbow with one hand. “You and Bucky have been together for years.”

Betrayal flashes through your eyes. “Are you guys fucking with me? This isn’t fucking funny you know.” But the pitch of your voice tells Bucky that you don’t think it’s a joke.

You jerk away from Steve, fear that he’s never seen in you twisting your features.

He realizes he's never seen you truly afraid.

“We aren’t-,”

“Where’s Natasha?” You ask, pressing your back to the wall opposite Steve’s door, like you can’t trust either of them and desperately need an ally.

Your chest is falling and sinking rapidly.

You saw horrors everyday combing through terabytes of intel, but this frightened you.

Because to you, one of your most trusted friends has suddenly turned on you, is lying to you, gaslighting you, has seemingly given you up to his psychotic best friend.

But Steve seems to realize somehow, waving Bucky back as he takes a few steps back himself. “She’s still out on assignment.”

Your eyes are dilated with a fear that makes Bucky’s stomach curdle. To have a fear like that from you turned on him, is too much.

You’ve never looked at him like that, like he’s a feral dog about to bite.

“That’s not true,” you reply, voice a shake, like the last leaf from a tree. “We had drinks in the kitchen. I was telling her about-,” you stop yourself, eyes cutting to Bucky for a moment. “I saw her today before I went to bed,” you swallow. “In my room,” you add, with an accusatory look between the two of them. Like they planned this. Like Bucky’s the enemy.

Bucky shakes his head and replies, stepping closer to you, “No. She’s been on a mission for weeks. It's why you were on the mission with me yesterday.”

You look back at Steve, disbelieving. “He’s not lying. Nat hasn’t been here for weeks.”

You look like you want to scream. Or fall to the floor. “Bucky isn’t cleared for missions, Steve. He just got here from Wakanda. You expect me to believe we went on a mission together yesterday?”

Wakanda? He hasn’t been to Wakanda in years.

Steve is watching you, you watch back. Waiting.

“What’s today’s date?”

Bucky glances at Steve as your brow furrows. “The vapor,” he realizes with sudden clarity. The vapor had done something to you. “Fuck.”

“What are you-,”

“Just humor us, Y/N.” When you only look at him with skepticism Steve rolls his eyes. “C’mon. Everything we’ve been through together over the years? You’ve been asked stranger questions.”

You swallow and glance between them, seeming to realize you aren’t in danger, that you never were.

Slowly you nod and then whisper a date years in the past.

Bucky’s mind whirls, trying to remember what-

It was before, of course. Because here is the universe taking its just reward, ripping the stitches out of his heart. He closes his eyes as the room seems to tilt and roll, and tries not to let the sudden yawning hopelessness pull him under.

It was before you started dating, before you were even friends.

The date you name, is maybe a few weeks after he first arrived in upstate New York.

Your reaction in the bedroom suddenly made sense. To you, you had just woken up with a complete and utter stranger. A mentally unstable, sometimes inadvertently violent, one at that.

Did we sleep together? The anger in your voice for yourself, the possibility you’d taken advantage of him when he was mentally unstable. Like you’d ruined something.

You don’t remember him. But it’s worse. You don’t even know him.

“C’mon,” Steve beckons you with a jerk of his head. “Let’s get you to medical. Stark and Banner should have a look at you.” And you follow easily, stepping into Steve’s orbit.

Because of course you would. You were friends with Steve long before Bucky had showed up, long before Steve had even known he was still alive.

You don’t glance back at him once, though he follows closely.

Forgotten.

Was this what it felt like to be the one who remembered?

He tries smiling at you in the lab, once your blood has been siphoned away again.

Steve explains the year to you, the mission and that you were compromised, that you seem to have lost your memory. Or that you've been set back in the past. You accept it, when Stark and Banner confirm, Helen Cho too when she steps into the lab, iced coffee in hand. Bucky listens on, quiet and watchful of you. Steve explains the vapor in more detail, what had happened to you in the lab.

“And you were in Bucky’s room because you and Buck have been together for a couple years now.”

The look on your face is worse than shock, it's like ice water in his veins.

Not revulsion, no, you had never been cruel, had never turned your nose up at anyone. It’s disbelief, like you can’t imagine it. Not even a little.

And while he had known, he really had, that you hadn’t felt an immediate attraction to him all those years ago. You look as though you can’t even perceive the possibility.

You send him a crooked smile, apology on your lips. “I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

And how many times has he said that over the years?

The universe certainly did have a way with creating personal hells just for him.

“‘S okay, honey. We’ll get this sorted out.”

He doesn’t really believe it.

But you smile at him.

Like you always do.

You follow Bucky down the hallway back to your room.

It’s late now, nearing midnight.

A whole day spent in medical, in the lab. Now, he’s escorting you back to the apartment, so you can grab some of your things.

Clearly, you would be going back to your old room. You would sleep there.

Because Bucky is suddenly a strange man to you.

He doesn’t say anything to you, not wanting to frighten you further, even if it had been inadvertent. Not wanting to force you to interact with someone you barely know.

You surprise him though, like you always manage to do, by jogging to catch up with him. He slows his pace, so that you can walk together.

The scent of you washes over him, antiseptic from being in the lab all day, from being jabbed and having your blood drawn so many times. But underneath that, you still smell like you. Like peach body wash, the coppery tang of your blood, the fresh scent of unperfumed skin.

They’d drawn your blood so many times, you had started to become woozy. You hadn’t eaten anything since the popcorn the night before and they had taken so many vials from you.

You had been surprised at his outburst, when he snarled at lab assistant that you needed to eat couldn’t these fucking people see that?

You’d nodded at him, a tiny smile tugging at your lips, almost proud in your thanks.

“So me and you, huh?” You say now. He nods and tries not to mourn, tries not to let the pressure at the back of his eyes seize him.

He can’t look at you.

Already you feel lost to him.

They aren’t sure if your memories are gone or only hidden, if they could be retrieved or if the effects of the vapor could be reversed.

Hopefully analyzing the sample would yield something, reveal something helpful.

Something itches at the inside of his skin. The urge to bruise his knuckles against someone’s teeth, to bleed. So he can feel something else. A different kind of pain..

What would happen if your memory never returned? Would you fall in love with him again? Should you? Should he let you?

Steve slated the intel you collected yesterday as highest priority, maybe the information gathered would tell them something about what the defunct lab had been experimenting on, what it was that you had inhaled. If there’s hope, if there’s a way to reverse it, if it would go away on its own.

“Bucky?” You ask.

You.

You’re still here.

And hadn’t he been willing all those years ago to settle for any place in your life?

You were still here.

“Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart, I’m distracted.”

“Can’t imagine how hard this is for you if I…if we’re…”

You don’t seem to know what to call it. “Together?”

“Yeah. Together. I mean, last I know you just got here. You just got here from Wakanda and-,” you pause and seem embarrassed. “I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier.”

He shrugs.

Like it hadn’t hurt to see you rip off his dog tags like they burned you. Like the fear in your eyes hadn’t sliced through his ribs right into the meat of his heart.

But what else should you have been expected to think?

“It’s not your fault,” he says, gentle as he always is with you.

Bucky tells himself it doesn’t matter if you remember, he does.

He remembers all of you. He’ll show you himself again. You would know him again.

“Still,” you say.

He jumps when you press two fingers to the inside of his wrist.

It’s a comforting gesture between you and apparently one that had not been taken with your memory.

“Still,” your fingers curl against his skin, warm. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it was jarring.” You swallow. Bucky doesn’t dare look at you.

You fill every corner of his being. He’s constantly only aware of you, the slide of your skin against his, the scent of your hair when the smell of your shampoo fades, the scar along the curve of your elbow from a childhood injury.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, “you seem so much better than I remember you.” You duck your head embarrassed again. “Healthier. Not so weighed down. Like you sleep.”

He hadn’t realized you’d been watching him all day too.

“All thanks to you.”

“Seriously?” You lift a disbelieving eyebrow.

“And rigorous state mandated therapy and mental de-programming.” He says drolly.

You laugh and Bucky lets a smile curl the corner of his mouth. He glances at you and finds you already watching him.

“Oh you’re funny huh?”

“Not usually.”

You hum, “don’t think I would fall for someone without a sense of humor.”

“Yeah I’m sure it’s my sunshine personality that won you over,” he deadpans.

You laugh again, loud.

Bucky opens the front door, lets you pass before him. He watches your eyes rove over a space that should be familiar to you.

“Can I-?” You point to a kitchen cabinet, indicating you want to snoop around.

He almost laughs again.

“‘S all yours anyways, honey. You need somethin’ specific let me know and I’ll find it for you.”

“You’re very chill about all this.” You say shuffling through the mugs in the cabinet. Examining a hand painted one he had brought you back from Budapest back when you were still just friends.

Your eyes are wide as you turn it in your hands. He thinks he hears you murmur pretty under your breath before reshelving it.

He’s glad you still think so.

“I’d do just about anything for you. Including whatever this is. We’ll figure it out.” He’s not so sure, but he can’t say that. For him and for you.

“Oh,” you say, turning and pressing another mug to your chest. “This not casual then?” You joke, but something is fractured in your eyes and he remembers the disbelief on your face in the lab. Like you can’t imagine loving him. “This thing between us is pretty serious, huh?”

The mug has a peach on it. You bought it in a tourist trap shop in Georgia when a layover had stranded you in Savannah overnight.

His throat is tight. “I’d say so. You’re, uh, takin’ this in stride yourself.”

You shrug and look a bit sheepish, setting the cup back down on its shelf carefully before pulling open the fridge and glancing inside. “Well, to me…it's like nothing has changed. I don’t remember anything so there’s nothing to lose.”

Your head is still stuck in the fridge so you don’t see the way his breath hitches with pain, with loss. You don’t see the devastation rip across his face. Don’t mourn, he tells himself harshly. Y/N is still here.

But he means nothing to you. Like a total restart, a do over.

Was this the universe giving you a chance to make a different decision?

How many times had Bucky begged for a redo in his own life? Another chance to do things differently?

Only for you to be given one, in the worst way possible.

You turn, shutting the fridge and Bucky schools his face into a neutral expression. “I can look around? Maybe something here will jog my memories?” You point to the door that leads to the bedroom.

He thinks it’s a little more complicated than needing to jog memories but doesn’t say so.

“Like I said, it’s all yours.”

You start toward the bedroom but stop when he doesn’t follow.

“C’mon? Might need your help or something.”

Bucky follows, stepping into the bedroom, where the sheets are still rumpled and the TV still glows an iridescent blue.

You deftly click it off before flicking on the lamp. “Which side of the bed is mine?”

“Closest to the wall.”

“Ah, makes sense. Farthest from the door.” You smile at him and when you turn to your bedside table, Bucky slides his dog tags off the dresser beside the door and stuffs them into the pocket of his sweatpants. He doesn’t want to look at them, doesn’t want to think about the horror that had passed over your face when you realized what they were.

You didn’t know, he tells himself. The you that knows who he is, would never have had that reaction.

It still hurts, burns and sears. His chest is full of holes.

You rummage through the nightstand.

A bottle of painkillers, your glasses, a book, the long coil of your phone charger, a couple of foil wrapped condoms. Your fingers pause over the condoms before you slide them back into the drawer and pluck out the book instead.

You sit at the edge of the bed and flick through the pages quickly. The book is creased, sticky tabs lining the pages, notes in the margins. “I started reading again.” Your fingers pause, surprise coating your voice, “And annotating. I haven’t done that since high school.” Twisting to look over your shoulder at him, you hold up the book. “You must be a good influence on me, Barnes.”

Bucky shakes his head, “Dunno about that.” He sits at the edge of his side of the bed, watching you flip the book in your hands. “You - that was-,” he pauses, not sure why it's so hard to say. Maybe explaining your relationship to a person who can’t remember you is just painful. He licks his lips, finds his throat dry, and for the first time in years, he finds himself on the verge of a panic attack.

But he pushes on, pushes the hot, tight feeling in his chest down. After you left he would have to go to the gym, break his knuckles against a sandbag. He feels itchy, misplaced and unmoored, adrift. “- it was something that brought us together. When we were friends, becoming friends. We started reading together.”

He can’t decipher the look that crosses your face. Surprise, joy, despair in a quick succession. He blinks and it’s gone. Something like disbelief again. He doesn’t know what it means.

“Do we still read together?”

Instead of answering, he turns to his own nightstand and pulls out another book. This one too is beaten up, tabbed and written in, his script and yours tangling together.

His fingers brush against yours when he hands the book over. He fidgets, swallowing against the panic in his throat.

While you stare at the book, flicking gently through it with a reverence he doesn’t dare read into, he stands and shuffles through the closet to find your overnight bag.

“Bucky?” You call, his name on your lips like a balm. His shoulders droop, tension that had been puncturing wicked holes in his chest melting away.

“Yeah, doll?” He sits the bag on the bed.

“D’we read together a lot?”

“Almost every night.”

You nod and set the book aside before making your way to the bathroom.

Bucky has no way of deciphering what just happened, what it means to you, as the you from five years ago.

He hears the shower door open, hears you shuffling bottles around. He plucks some of your favorite pajamas (that aren’t just his shirts) and stuffs them into your bag, before trekking after you.

You’re holding two of the body washes, eyes flicking back and forth between them. He leans against the doorway and watches you, the tilt of your head, the curve of your mouth.

“I feel like I shouldn’t leave you,” you say suddenly, looking up from the bottles, holding them to your chest like it’s his heart. “I-I, y’know, don’t know you, but I think - my body does? I feel like I shouldn’t leave you.” You purse your lips, jaw tight, “I feel anxious.” You shake the bottles at him, “I also feel bad for taking your things.”

“‘S your stuff, Y/N,” he says automatically, deciding that’s the easiest part of your statement to focus on.

You don’t want to leave him.

Bucky shouldn’t find happiness in that, not now.

You peer at him from beneath your lashes before shuffling closer, seeming to sense he won’t tell you to stay, not after that morning and the fear in your eyes. “I changed my preferences I guess. Never used to buy fruit scented stuff.”

Bucky blinks and looks down at the plastic bottles in your hands. Peach and plum. He only ever remembers you having used - but that’s not true. When he first met you - when you started waiting for him in the mornings, making him take walks with you, when you started reading together on the couch, his thigh pressed to yours, you had smelled like tea, like cinnamon and vanilla.

“Musta changed -,”

You’ve drifted closer to him, you’re so close, he could dip his head forward and touch his forehead to yours.

It's painful.

That feeling comes back, and he recognizes it this time, the feeling he used to get all the time, like he needed to bleed, like he was losing something that he wouldn’t ever be able to replace.

You touch his wrist.

“Bucky?”

“You changed for me. I never wanted to change you.”

And god, he’s always associated you with fruit. You were peach trees and sunshine and eternal summer.

“‘s just body wash.”

But it's not. It never is.

You’re too close. Far too close.

You’re familiar to him but he’s not familiar to you. Bucky wants to kiss you but instead he looks away. “Maybe it's just body wash but, you liked something else before-,”

Maybe I’ve taken something from you, he wants to say. Maybe I’ve taken more than just this.

“Y’know, maybe I don’t have my memories of the last couple of years. But I do know myself. I’ve never done a thing I didn’t want to. Besides, if someone doesn’t change over a five year period, something is probably wrong.”

He ducks his head, “Guess that’s true, doll, I just -,” Bucky meets your eyes, wide and clear, waiting, “this is just really hard for me.”

“Think you’re doing okay.”

“Yeah?” He laughs without humor, “Not how it feels. It’s hard not to be -,”

“Familiar?” You supply.

“Yeah,” his shoulders drop.

“Then be familiar,” you smile. “I’m familiar to you. It’s okay.”

You're so close, he can see flecks of light in your eyes. “I have this weight in my chest telling me not to leave, telling me to be honest with you.” You say, “It's telling me to be familiar too.”

He closes his eyes. You’re doing it again. It’s like falling in love all over again. It’s like the first time he admitted himself, his feelings, to you all over again. The truths, honesties you whispered like a siren. Your call is as potent to him as any drug.

You’re heat in his cheeks, wind in his hair, honey bees in spring.

“I should trust my gut, right? Natasha would have castrated anyone that mistreated me, right?”

“Right,” he says tightly.

“Do you want me to go?” You start to take a step back, “Am I making it worse?”

Bucky reacts on instinct, hand flashing out to grab yours and keep you from pulling away.

He hasn’t touched you all day, your skin is warm and soft as it ever is under his. Like the give of satin beneath his touch. “No. No, you aren’t making it worse.”

Worse, worse is when you aren’t around.

And because you seem to be encouraging it, he tugs you closer and lets his forehead fall against yours.

You touch his cheek, sliding your thumb along the arch of the bone, the pink that rises to the surface of his skin. You exhale softly, shakily, your breath cool against his skin. He wonders what it's like for you, to have feelings in your gut that your brain can’t make sense of, doesn’t have memories to connect to.

Probably a lot like when Steve talks about their childhood to him.

“I want to tell you,” You say suddenly, pulling back a little to meet his eyes, “that you’re so different from the you I know. You’re…seems kinda silly to say maybe but, I’m proud of you. For me, y’know, a huge step was that yesterday you let me drag you out on a walk around the compound with me for fifteen minutes.”

He doesn’t say anything, can’t find his voice.

“How did we get together?”

That’s easy.

“We became friends,” Bucky says, tucking one of your hands inside his. “We were friends for a long time.”

“Did I ask you or did you ask me?”

“I asked you. Took you to Coney Island, bought you ice cream and won you a stuffed bear.”

“That’s so cute,” you giggle.

He’s glad you think so. “It was until I kissed you.”

You stop laughing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, indignant and offended for another version of yourself. “Am I a bad kisser?”

Bucky snorts, “No, nothing like that. Just, I guess I didn’t make it quite as clear as I thought that we were on a date.”

“Oh.”

“Mm.”

“So I was surprised? Good or bad surprised?”

“Good I would wager since you let me keep kissing you after you punched me.”

You gasp, “I didn’t.”

“You did,” He tries to hold in a laugh, “On my left arm so you nearly broke your knuckles. And we had to find someone to give you ice while I explained myself.”

What he doesn’t tell you is that there were fireworks that night. That you lied together on the beach that night in the still cooling sand and kissed him until the world went gray and foggy and peaceful.

You’re smiling at him, “Bucky can I stay here with you tonight? I have questions.”

His chest seems to cave in with the pain that ripples outward, like a stone into a pond. “‘Course. Like I said, it's all yours anyways.”

“What is?”

“Everything.”

The second time the loop resets, it's better for you.

It's worse for Bucky, because he finds out its a fucking loop.

He stays up all night with you, talking, sharing his best memories from the last five years with you.

You’re enamored with him. Bucky thinks you tell him things that he would have never known otherwise.

“I always had this fantasy as a nerdy little girl. Of, like, reading with someone, someone I really loved. Sounds so stupid, right? But, it’s true. I had this image of listening to someone read, or reading to someone.” You look over to the pile of books you had pulled off the shelves in the living room, all tabbed and worn and scribbled with your writing and his. “Guess I got it.”

Maybe he had made you change your body wash scents but he’d also made a wish he didn’t know you had come true.

Bucky hadn’t known, you’d never told him.

You only fall asleep on the couch once the sun starts to peak over the horizon.

Bucky tucks a favorite blanket of yours around your shoulders, kisses your temple, and even though things with you are going well, he still feels out of control, like his life is flashes he can’t control.

So, even though he’s exhausted and hasn’t slept, he changes into gym clothes, stops by the lab for a progress update (nothing on the sample yet), and heads to the gym.

The first solid punch he lands against a punching bag is so satisfying he almost groans. His mind empties, the only thing he needs to focus on is the swaying bag in front of him.

Bucky doesn’t have to think about you. About you fascinated by him, trying to relearn him, even though you know everything about him already. He doesn’t have to think about you inching closer to him on the couch.

He doesn’t have to think about how he misses you so bad, the you that knows him, and it’s only been a day.

It all becomes worse, though, when Steve rushes into the gym. “Y/N reset.”

“What? What the fuck does that mean?”

“I mean…Y/N came into the lab and had no idea what was going on.” He explains that he had asked you the date again, and that you had answered with the same date you gave yesterday. When questioned, you did not remember the previous day at all. “No memory of anything that happened yesterday.”

And that’s how they discover that you weren’t just reset five years into the past, you’re on some kind of self setting loop.

“So, Y/N is stuck? Will it reset every day-? I-,”

“We don’t know. I guess we have to wait until tomorrow and see if it happens again. I explained everything again. Probably best if you come to the lab, explain yourself.”

Bucky nods, looks down at his bloody knuckles, his hand is swollen from the abuse and shakes.

Again.

He would have to explain to you again.

And what if you looked at him the way you did yesterday?

Not revulsion, but disbelief.

He imagines the disbelief as disappointment.

It can’t possibly be anything else.

“Want me to wrap your hand before we go up?” Steve asks, nodding to the blood running rivulets down his arm, concern crossing his face before he peers into Bucky’s eyes. “Did you sleep?”

“Y/N had questions, I-,” He swallows. “I can wrap it. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

They don’t make you stay in medical all day.

Stark and Banner have samples of your blood and samples of the vapor. Steve considers going back to the abandoned lab, to poke around again.

But no one wants anyone else set five years back into a seemingly unending time loop.

You don’t seem to despair about your situation.

“Stranger things have happened,” you say, smiling like you always do. You wrinkle your nose at Steve, “Could make friends with an ice man from the ‘40s after all.”

Bucky is exhausted but he still hoards you like a dragon with treasured gold, insists on explaining to you again.

You look surprised this time, when you're told of the relationship you have with him. He thinks maybe this time, you have a curious tilt to your head.

But it's there again, that disbelief.

He almost wants you to say it. Whisper, “How did that fucking happen? Where did I go wrong?”

In the apartment, you look through the same cabinets you did yesterday. You touch the hand painted mug from Budapest, the Georgia peach mug. You smile at the all pink cookware.

This time, maybe because it's so early in the day, you run your fingers along the bookshelf checking the titles, examine the stack you don’t remember leaving on the coffee table the night before, you unfold the blankets from their basket at the end of the couch and examine them, you flick through Bucky’s record collection next to the player.

Today, you find your phone tangled in the sheets of the bed.

You flick through the pictures, smiling at some of them.

“Wow,” you say. “We’re really in love, huh?”

You pause over a picture, your breath hitching in your lungs. Bucky can’t see the screen, so he doesn’t know what makes you click the phone dark and set it aside.

You discover again that you read together almost every night.

Bucky makes sure to tell you more this time, now that he knows it's so important to you. How did he not know before? “Usually you read out loud,” he says. “You curl up real tight next to me, with your head on my shoulder, sometimes you sit between my legs, and you read.”

“And the tabs?”

“If I have a comment you make me take a note,” he says, watching your eyes as he pulls out the stack of post-it notes, sticky tabs, and colored pens. “You always make me do it in my own handwriting so we know who thought what.”

And this time, the look that crosses your face is like he hung the moon and stars. You look away from him, nodding to yourself, just a little bit shy.

“You’re a dreamboat, huh?” You tease.

“Oh, yeah, sweetheart, a real ray of sunshine.”

“You seem like it,” you rag on him. “‘S a little weird to wake up with-,” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

“What?” He flops back on the bed horizontally, closing his eyes.

You’re on the other side of the bed looking through your nightstand again.

God he’s tired. It’s been a long time since he’s been awake for such a long period. There’s you to thank for that he supposes. He always sleeps when he has you next to him.

You touch a curl of his hair and he jumps. Bucky curses himself when your hand darts away.

“Dunno. Guess with a person,” You say. “You seem to care about me a lot. I’ve never had a relationship like this one before. That seems so serious and real.”

He doesn’t flinch when you touch his hair this time, fingers threading through the short strands. “When did you cut your hair?”

“Years ago,” he says, opening his eyes to look at you. “You never told me that. That you never had-,”

“Feels silly to be scared to tell you things. Maybe before I was scared, didn’t know what would happen, or if something would scare you away. Maybe I was afraid of saying too much. Besides, I won’t remember it anyways right? I get a redo tomorrow.”

“We don’t know that. Maybe tomorrow you’ll remember.”

“I’m sure. A one time loop reset.” You pause in threading your hands through his hair, “Feels so weird. To feel connected and have nothing inside to connect it to.” You had said something like that yesterday, but he doesn’t tell you so. “Was it like this for you? In the beginning?”

You lean over him, your face upside down. “Hard to tell,” he reaches up and touches your temple. “But I think so.”

Maybe if you can tell him things, he can tell you something too. He knows what it is to be afraid to be too much. He hadn’t realized it was possible for you to feel the same.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, “you think this is weird. To me it's…like-,” Bucky hasn’t been good with words in a long time. For you, he’ll try. “-like-like-its devastating.” Your hands flatten along either side of his head, thumbs against his stubbled cheeks. He doesn’t look away. “You’re my whole world.”

You smile, “Do you normally tell me that?”

“No. Like you said. Afraid to be too much.”

“Do I know how much you love me?”

You seem to have a clarity of the feelings between you, that the other you doesn’t.

“God, I hope so.”

“Start telling me. It won’t chase me away.”

You flop down beside him, legs hanging off the opposite side of the bed, and Bucky turns his head to keep you in his field of vision, still upside down to him. You stare up and Bucky stares at the curve of your jaw. He inches closer to you. “I can tell you with all honesty, you are not too much. You’re…strangely perfect.”

He chuckles, “Expecting more of-,”

“A murderous maniac? Nah. Yesterday,” you lift one arm and draw shapes in the air against the canvas of the ceiling, “we went on a walk together. It was the first conversation I ever had with you. You were so quiet and withdrawn. Lonely, like the world swallowed you up. It was nice.” You drop your hand and turn to look back at him, “I thought you were very pretty. I have - had I suppose - a tiny little crush on you. I’m glad it all worked out.”

“Crush huh?”

“Don’t go getting a big head, Barnes,” you smile. “Told Nat about it and everything. She made fun of me so bad.”

The drinks you mentioned having in the kitchen with Nat. You’d been telling her, maybe gushing to her, about a walk with him.

He remembers thinking you’d never look his way again, that he was too broken to remember how to have a conversation. Still, he’d managed to catch you in the common area again the next day and ask you what you were reading. You’d smiled and patted the space next to you, I’ll show you.

It was the first time he’d been late to therapy. You made him late.

Bucky had only wanted to be your friend then, hadn’t had much capacity for anything else.

The love he felt for you had come on slowly as he recovered, like ocean stilt between his bones.

It feels odd but good, something like pride swelling in his chest, that you had talked about him, had a crush on him.

“S’okay. I’ve never stopped having a crush on you,” he answers.

You try to hide your smile and fail miserably and lean forward instead to press your forehead to his.

Bucky closes his eyes and swallows.

He can do this.

“The effects of the vapor should wear off on its own eventually,” Bruce says to the team, gathered around a conference table weighted with stacks of documents and cups of coffee.

“Should?” Bucky asks, incredulous.

It’s already been two weeks, and guesses are no longer good enough for him.

“Yeah. To the best we can tell. Obviously we’ll keep looking for an antidote in the meantime. It looks like it was developed for-,” Bruce stops, his eyes cutting to Bucky. “To be blunt it looks like it was meant to be a redo on the Winter Soldier program.”

“That lab wasn't connected to Hydra,” Steve says.

“Apparently they were. Or at least contracted by someone Hydra adjacent.”

“How long will it take to wear off?” Nat asks. She’d arrived back in the compound that morning, and as a result Y/N had spent most of the day with her, much to Bucky’s displeasure. “Without an antidote?”

“They were obviously going for durability, so maybe a couple months. If they were planning on icing Barnes again then one dose would be enough for years depending on how long they left him out for hits.”

Bucky digs metal digits into the flesh of his right hand until he breaks through skin, to the meat of his palm. Blood drips onto his jeans.

You shouldn’t encounter any hostiles. Intel gathering only.

He supposes there were no hostiles that day because he was supposed to have become one.

Before he can stop himself he’s out of his chair and putting space between him and that room, between him and what could have happened that day had he breathed in the vapor and not you.

Putting space between him and the notion that you might not remember for months.

Months.

For months you could be stuck in a loop of endless time, losing a real span of your life to waiting.

Would he have to explain to you every morning?

What if Banner’s wrong? What if it doesn’t wear off? What if you never come back? What if they stop the loop and you still don’t remember anything?

Y/N is still here, he corrects himself viciously.

You are here.

He’s so busy scowling and stomping that he doesn't notice the red trail he leaves behind him.

Bucky wants to rip the world to pieces, but he can only settle for his own mangled body.

He stalks to the gym, changes at the facilities there, before beating the shit out of a sandbag with a raw hand. The old wound splits open immediately, blood flecks the canvas fabric. Bucky doesn’t really give it a chance to heal these days.

When the punching bag swings off the hook, he growls and turns toward the treadmill instead.

Hours pass, the sun fades from the sky.

Despite the tales about him, he is human, and eventually he collapses.

He lies panting on the floor of the gym, his hand stained red, when he hears your voice. “You normally go psycho like that?”

God.

He hadn’t really gotten to talk to you today because of Natasha and this will be your only impression of him. Bucky swallows dryly. “No.”

“Good because it looks like it hurts.”

“Worried about me, sweetheart?” Bucky snaps. He means to be playful but his voice comes out like a punch, like a wounded animal snarling at the wind. He hears his words thump down around your ankles.

For a long moment, you don’t answer.

Then he hears your feet shuffle away.

“God-fucking-damnit,” he mutters.

He won’t even be able to apologize to you, if he doesn’t see you again today. And how could he apologize to you tomorrow when you won’t remember today?

Bucky groans and sits up, ready to track you down, just to apologize for his outburst. He won’t have anything bad between you, whether you remember it or not.

But before he can stand, you burst back into the room, dropping down beside him on the mat. You hold out a hand.

He stares, “What?”

“Hand,” you point. “Now.”

Gently, he sets his right hand in both of yours. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

For a moment you don’t speak, carefully lowering his hand to your lap so you can rip open a couple of alcohol pads. He grits his teeth while you clean the wound in the center of his hand, his bruised, bloody knuckles.

“You left a trail of blood in the hallway.”

“Oh.”

You snort, “Oh? Is that all you have to say? I may be confused and not remember you, but I don’t like seeing you bleed out all over Tony’s expensive floors.”

He sighs, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“You should be,” You say hotly. “According to Nat we’re like some kind of freaky soulmates so please try not to bleed to death while my memories take a vacation.”

Now he laughs, glancing at you and finding your eyes already on him. “Seriously, Bucky, promise me you’ll let this heal. Even if I can’t remember.”

The words stick in his throat, a fist around his neck. “Why do you care? You always care. Every day you…you don’t know me but you care anyway. I-,”

You shrug, and look down at his hand in your lap. Slowly, you start to wrap gauze around his palm and knuckles. “My body knows you, I think, even if I don’t. It's like reaching for something you’re so sure is real but it turns out to be a mirage.” It's the third time you’ve said some iteration of that. “We took a walk yesterday,” and you repeat the story he’s heard several times now. But he doesn’t interrupt you.

Your fingers circle his wrist when you finish bandaging his hand. “I don’t remember feeling this…affinity for you yesterday. But I do now. Suppose that’s the five years of memories stored up in my DNA but, I dunno I-I just don’t want you to hurt.”

He turns his hand to squeeze your fingers. “I promise, honey. I’ll let it heal.”

“Even if I don’t remember?”

“Even if you don’t remember.”

It’s quiet for a moment and Bucky isn’t expecting you to hug him. He’s damp with sweat and you’re supposed to be upset with him. “I just want to say I’m sorry.”

He buries his nose in your neck, circles his arms around your waist and tugs you close because god it seems like it's been forever since he’s gotten to properly hold you. It's only been two weeks but it feels like decades.

You go jellylike, molding yourself against him.

“God for what?”

“You’d think the universe has made you suffer enough, Barnes, but you seem to be her favorite victim. I’m sorry I don’t remember and that you have to. Can’t imagine what it's like to explain everything everyday.” You exhale against him, breath hot against his skin, “Have you tried not talking to me?”

He jerks back so you’re forced to look into his eyes. “Now why would I do something like that?”

You shrug, “You could get a day off. You’re stressed, I mean, you just had a fistfight with a punching bag and lost.”

Bucky scoffs but pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “That punching bag is the one lying on the floor.”

“Yeah,” you snark back, sarcastic, “but you’re the one bleeding.”

“You fixed me up pretty nice though, huh?” He says, curling metal fingers around your wrist so you don’t move away, holding out his flesh hand to examine your bandaging job.

For a moment you don’t respond, absently patting the back of his metal hand. “Seriously, Bucky, one day where I don’t know, so you can get some rest, won’t kill me.”

But he’d rather die than be away from you, than have you forget him entirely, even for one day. And Bucky’s sort of afraid, afraid that if he lets you forget for even one day, you’ll never get your memories back.

That if he lets you forget for one day, you’ll remember everything else and forget him entirely, muscle memory and all.

“Darlin’,” he says gently, cupping your face against his palm because you let him, may even lean into it a little, “no matter how much it hurts, being away from you, not seeing you, is worse. I would stay in this loop forever, if it meant I got to stay with you.”

“You really mean that too, don’t you? Like, it's not just empty words. You really would.”

“I promise.”

Bucky has never been one to break promises.

Bucky keeps his promise and lets his hand heal.

He tries not to be destructive, and finds it just a bit challenging.

Since you aren’t sleeping with him at the moment, he goes out and practices vigilantism when he probably shouldn’t.

Steve and Sam frown at him, but don’t stop him, don’t comment when he comes back to the compound bruised. He feels better and he can keep his promise to you even if you don’t remember it.

He sleeps for short bursts in the wee hours of the morning, before he goes to find you and explain everything again.

Most days, you’re shocked but take it in stride.

Some days, you take some convincing.

But that’s okay. It gives him more time to spend with you, to reveal moments of your relationship to you, like peeling back the skin of an orange to show you something ripe with potential. He tells you things about those moments, the feelings he had had, that he never would have mentioned otherwise, that he would have been too afraid to admit to.

He dreams about you, in the few hours he gets.

Bucky dreams of the first time you made love, of the way summer sunshine had played against your skin and the sheets, dabbled and fleeting, swaying with the trees outside.

You had smelled of honey, your skin so soft he wanted to bite into the warmth of it.

God, you had smelled like sunshine.

Sunshine shouldn’t have a smell, but against your skin, it had. Warm, like shea butter and coconut.

He really hadn’t thought he could love you more, thought that his capacity for love had already overflowed, but that morning proved him wrong. It proved that the sun was a burning force, that you were the sun, and that he wouldn’t mind being consumed whole, burned alive.

Bucky always breaks from the dream in a sweat, heart pounding, because it feels like it's an omen, like he should relive it because he’ll never get back to that moment.

This morning, he slips out of the dream and into reality like he always does. The sun is just peaking over the horizon, you’ll be up soon.

The timing is perfect, after weeks of practice. You open your front door, spot him waiting, new as the morning dawn, looking so different to you with short hair, a bruise across his cheek, and no peaceful sleep. “Mornin’, Y’N, I need to talk to you about something,” he says, like he does every day, like he would for the rest of his life if he had to.

You’re looking through the pictures on your phone again and this time Bucky can see the screen, though you don’t know that.

He can see the picture that gave you pause in a couple of your other resets.

To him, it's an ordinary picture. The two of you tangled together in bed, a selfie you’d snapped when he wasn’t paying attention to what you were doing.

Bucky is staring at you in the photo, a serious look on his face.

He can’t remember what he had been thinking about in that moment.

And he has to wonder what you’re thinking about it now, why it's captured your attention consistently throughout your resets.

He has to wonder if you’re disappointed. You admit to your crush on him, almost every reset, and it means everything and so little simultaneously.

The look on your face from that first time haunts him.

Disbelief.

He still doesn’t know what it means.

Probably, that you were disappointed. That a little crush could shape your whole life, bend it like a wire hanger to the shape of him.

Bucky clears his throat and you immediately lower the phone, a panicked look on your face.

He only smiles and treks around the couch with a cup of your favorite tea.

You take it from him and ask, “How long has it been? How many resets?”

“It's been six weeks. So forty-two resets in total.”

The look that crosses your face is one of grief. Bucky clenches his jaw and looks away, surely you would blame him for the lost time, the forty-two days you don’t remember. For not protecting you better, for letting you go on the mission in the first place.

But you set your mug on the table (he made sure to give you the Budapest one) and turn to him, one leg lifting to tuck in the space between you so you can lean close. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“Sorry?”

“I think I would have lost it already, if I had to do what you’re doing.”

Bucky stares at you, his jaw aching from how hard he’s clenching it, like his mouth is suddenly razor wired shut.

You reach out and touch the inside of his wrist. “Are you doing okay? That’s a lot of days to do this.” With your other hand you gesture to the blooming bruise on his cheek. “Steve told me you’ve been sleeping little and fighting in the evenings after I go to sleep and forget again.”

“You shouldn’t worry about me,” he finds his voice. “You’re the one that-,”

“Barnes, listen to me,” you say sternly, and it reminds him of when you first started hanging around him, not balancing on your toes and treating him like already shattered glass, like he might cut you if you weren’t careful. He’s still sharp and pointed to you, you don’t know that his edges have been rounded out over the years, though you can probably guess. “I don’t remember anything. This is all new to me. Every day I guess it is. You could be lying to me and this could really be day one million.”

You squeeze his wrist. “But everyday, you have to do the same thing. And you have to remember the day before and I can’t think of anything more heartbreaking.”

Bucky sets down his own cup on the coffee table and takes your hand.

He wonders, if after you take the antidote or the vapor wears off on its own, you’ll remember all your past resets. Maybe you’ll forget everything and think it's that first night again. Maybe you’ll get stuck in the past and remember nothing.

Either way, he knows tomorrow you won’t remember, and so it makes it easier for him to say things he’d otherwise hide from you.

He tells you something that he’s said in none of your other resets. “I miss you. You’re here. I didn’t lose you. I keep telling myself I could have lost you, forever. It could be…worse. It could be so much worse. But I still miss you anyways.”

Your fingers are tight on his. “But you did, in a way. We’re…really close, like, so close. In love kinda close. We live together and we’re best friends. You did lose me. I’m still here but everything else is gone and maybe that’s worse.”

The spaces between your words are silent as caverns, as tombs beneath the earth.

Because you’re right, of course.

You usually are.

“So, I’m sorry. Have you thought about taking a day off-,”

“No,” he interrupts. “No. You-you’ve suggested that before. I won’t do it.”

“God, Bucky, why?” You peer into him, leaning ever closer, consuming his field of vision.

He takes a breath, “Sweetheart, it's painful, I won’t say it's not. It's been so fucking hard without you. But everyday I also get to - I get to tell you everything that made us, I get to tell you how we fell in love. I - and maybe it’s disappointing to you - but that’s been-,” Bucky doesn’t know what to call it and so he stops.

Bucky can’t very well say it's been good, because that isn’t quite right. But watching you puzzle through your life together has been fascinating, has made him love you even more, appreciate what he doesn’t deserve.

“Disappointing?” You frown. “Have I ever told you in any of my resets that I have a crush on you?”

Bucky licks his lips, carefully doesn’t move when you press your forehead to his, your eyes still open and peering into his. “Yeah, doll, you tell me every time.”

A teasing smile lifts the corner of your mouth. “Good. Then you know this is like a dream come true. To find out your super hot crush eventually likes you too and you - well you get a very perfect life.”

He snorts, “Wouldn’t say it's perfect -,”

“Ah, maybe life isn’t but this is. You.”

“Honey-,”

“Seriously, Bucky.” You pull away but it just forces him to really look into the heart of you, into the center of your conviction about this. Something tells him its the memories stored up in your DNA, the remembrance of something with no name, and he knows you really believe what you say. “I don’t know if you know this, but most people wouldn’t do what you’re doing. Forty-two days? That’s extraordinary.”

In almost every reset, you touch his wrist, the curve of his cheek, a lock of his hair.

But he hasn’t held you, hugged you close since the reset where you made him promise to let his hand heal. Almost four weeks ago.

He hasn’t kissed you since you fell asleep that first fateful night.

You wrap your arms around him, sliding easily against him like he wasn't a veritable stranger to you. It feels so good, to have your weight against him, that it's everything he can do not to break down.

“So why would I find anything disappointing?” He feels the curve of your mouth against his shoulder, the contours of your shape against his.

He presses his nose to your hair and inhales.

Peach.

Though he had made sure to find your vanilla and cinnamon stuff and put it in the bathroom in your room.

Still you had been choosing peach, though there was no way for you to know that you had changed scents.

“Dunno,” he says and then because he’s already spilling his guts he explains your reaction that first morning. The look that flashed over your face, the look that continues to flash over your face when you look at the books and the photos. “You just looked like you couldn’t believe it. About me and you.”

“Well, Bucky, I mean, c’mon, I probably thought you kidnapped me or something. Why wouldn’t I have that reaction?”

“You didn’t see your face.”

You laugh and rub your hand slowly up and down his back. “I was probably scared. But not for the reasons your mind is telling you. I promise. I know myself. And I can tell you now that I feel disbelief because apparently I get the chance to love you. That’s so strange to me. It’s not disbelief that it happened but that I got the fucking chance.”

Bucky squeezes you tighter when he feels you start to pull away. “You took my dog tags off.”

Your voice is so soft when you answer, “You gave me your dog tags?” When he doesn’t say anything you whisper, “I’m sorry I took ‘em off. But it doesn’t change anything. I get the chance to love you.” You repeat.

He doesn’t answer, throat tight.

This time you’re insistent when you pull away. “Bucky,” you touch his cheek. “I promise. No part of me, any me, is disappointed. Or upset. About this, about us. Okay?” He nods against your hand but finds it hard to believe anyways. “Do I change much each reset?”

“No,” he says. “You’re just you every time.”

“So I’ve probably wanted to kiss that sad little smile every single reset.”

You’re poorly hiding a smile, and Bucky doesn’t think as he cups your cheek and brings you in for a kiss.

The taste of you is like coming home, like the world ending.

And only slightly like the cinnamon muffin you had for breakfast.

You both sink to the side against the couch cushions, shoulders loosening, lips still connected. Bucky tries not to feel like he’s consuming you, tries not to let too much longing slip into the kiss.

But you hook your legs over his lap and cup your hand against the side of his neck and it becomes very hard to think, especially when your thumb digs into the hinge of his jaw.

Bucky presses his cheek against yours when you pull away, and listens to your panting breaths, his nose nudging against the curve of your ear.

“Wow. What a first kiss.”

He chuckles just a little, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“The other you had to wait three years.” This time he doesn’t mention the punch, the ice pack.

You gape at him, “Three years? Why’d it take so long?”

“I think,” he says, pressing his flesh thumb to the center of your chin. “We would have rather stayed friends than risk-,”

You’re nodding before he finishes speaking and kissing him again quickly after that.

“Why do you use the peach scent?”

“I thought you liked it better? You lean in when I use it and-,”

He kisses you a third time, because you shouldn’t remember something like that.

Maybe things will turn out okay after all.

Your memories fracture back into each of your resets after that, though you don’t seem to realize that they’re things you shouldn’t remember. Confusion has started to reign in you, when you can’t sequence events in your mind.

The day that Stark and Banner finish a solution that could possibly work as an antidote, you exit your room as you do every morning but with a confused look on your face.

It's day sixty-three.

Bucky is waiting for you like always, with hair still wet from the shower and a bruise over one eye, but healed hands.

Before Bucky can launch into his well practiced speech, you press a closed fist to your chest like you’re gripping something there. “Did you take your dog tags back? I can’t find them, I-I didn’t mean to lose them.”

You don’t give him a chance to answer, instead pressing your hand to your forehead, looking terribly confused. “I…but why would you have given them to-,”

“You want to wear them?” He asks.

“Of course,” you answer, indignant. “You gave them to me. I promised to never take them off.” Your voice fades again, “When did that happen? I feel-,”

“Hey,” Bucky strides forward and takes your hand, curling his fingers around your wrist. “It's okay. I have them right here. Got some things I need to explain to you.”

He pulls them out of his pocket, not having had it in him to start wearing them himself again. They didn’t belong to him anymore, they belonged to you. Bucky was just waiting to give them back to you.

You bow your head and Bucky slips them around your neck.

You take a deep breath and smile at him, like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

“What did you need to tell me, Buck?”

“We don’t know if it’ll work and there’s not really a way to test it,” Banner says later that day. “It’s up to you whether you decide to take it now, since your memories seem to be coming back. You could just wait it out.”

“But I could wake up tomorrow and know everything again? Remember everyone?”

“That’s the hope.”

Bucky grits his teeth and says nothing from his place across the table from you. “How many days has it been?” You ask.

“Sixty-three today.”

You swallow, and look like you might cry.

But before Bucky can reach out to you, Natasha has an arm around your shoulders, you blink and the tears are gone. “I’m sorry,” you say and meet his gaze before quickly glancing away. He’s not sure what you’re sorry for. “I want to take it.”

“Maybe you should think about it-,” Bucky starts but you scoff and the room goes silent.

“So I can forget again? So you can live another sixty-three days like this? And now I’m…I don’t like feeling confused. I don’t like not knowing what happened or when, or what’s real.”

He wants to scream. Instead he clenches his jaw and leans forward, staring you down across the table. “And what if it makes you forget everything? What if you’re reset one last time and start over five years in the past? And that’s it? You never get anything back? At least this way we know you’re getting your memories back.”

“You wouldn’t explain everything to me one last time?”

Bucky closes his eyes, presses the heels of his hands against the sockets until stars appear in his vision. Of course he’d explain it to you one last time, he’d explain it everyday for the rest of his life if he had to. All he settles for instead is repeating, “At least this way you can get all your memories back.”

“I’m not putting you through this anymore. Not when I don’t have to.You think I can’t see how much it hurts you?”

“Can you at least think about it for today?”

“Fine.”

With that the rest of the team departs the conference room as quickly as possible, sensing a coming storm. Bucky and Y/N stay seated until everyone is gone, staring each other down from across the table.

His dog tags glint at him from around your neck when you reach up to fist your hand around the name plates.

“Why do you want to keep being tortured?” When he doesn’t answer, just keeps staring at you, you lean back in your chair and cross your arms. “Don’t be stubborn about this Bucky.”

“I would rather go through this while you get your memories back, than risk you losing them altogether,” he says. “I want you to remember those moments. I know better than anyone that having someone tell you about something that happened doesn’t hold a candle to actually experiencing it. Especially when it's something you did.”

You take a breath, “Buck, listen, I can tell you’ve been running yourself ragged.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does!”

“Why aren’t you more concerned? Do you want to forget? Do you want to forget about me?” He stands, paces back and forth, before forcibly stopping himself and dragging his hands through his hair instead. He doesn't look at you, can’t.

So he stands there, clenching his jaw and staring at the wall like an idiot. You wait, not saying anything for a moment, until his shoulders relax.

“I don’t want to forget. I know how important memories are to you in particular, but seeing you hurting hurts me. Especially now that the reset memories are surfacing.”

Bucky still doesn’t turn to you, listening to the clank of the metal plates around your neck slide together and apart.

“I just don’t want to…I can tell you again. I always will if I have to. I just - I just don’t want to lose everything. I don’t want you to lose me.”

And that truth settles in his bones.

So, Bucky repeats it. “I don’t want you to lose me.” He turns and looks at you, meets your steady gaze. “I don’t want you to lose whatever feeling you had the first time I kissed you. Or the first time we made love. Or the exact thought you had when we - it doesn’t matter. I know only what I thought. I can’t tell you the whole story. I’m afraid we’ll never be the same. I don’t want to lose you, but god, honey, even if it makes me selfish, I don’t want you to lose me.”

You nod when he finishes, your lips trembling just a little.

When you answer, it's with a little gasp in your voice, “And maybe it makes me selfish, but I just can’t watch you do this. I can’t stand to keep forgetting you.”

Bucky knows better than most the fear of forgetting.

“I’m with you either way.”

You keep your eyes on his, entirely focused on him, “It will be fine, Bucky.”

But hadn’t you said that the last time?

And oh, the world did love to rip and tear and take.

You swallow the antidote all in one go, with your nose pinched and an uncomfortable look on your face.

You wince when it's all down and then smile at Bucky and tell him again how it's going to be fine.

He hands you a glass of water, which you down, and then just like before he’s tasked with watching you.

Bucky wouldn’t have let anyone else, wouldn’t have left the med wing were it necessary for you to remain there. So you walk together, this time to your rooms, just like the last time.

While you take a shower, he makes tea for you both.

It will be a long night for him, but hopefully you’ll sleep. Hopefully, you will sleep and tomorrow you will remember him.

If you come out of the loop but with memories missing and gone, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

Explain to you again, he supposes, and work from there.

Listen to your many stories for the hundredth time like it's the first.

Show you everything you don’t remember.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he should start again, maybe that was the point.

But he thinks of you never knowing about the way he’d kissed you on the sand at Coney Island, about how there had been fireworks, the roaring sound of the ocean in his ears, how he would have gladly drowned in you.

He needs you to remember.

The mug in his hand, a plain white one, fractures as he grips it. “Fuck,” he murmurs, tea dripping down his arm and onto the tiled kitchen floor.

You appear then, in a cloud of peach and mango, fresh and dewy from the shower. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“‘Course, honey,” he says, setting the cracked mug into the sink, sliding the unbroken cup toward you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He crouches with a paper towel to wipe the spilled tea off the floor and when he straightens you’re there, incredibly close, eyes peering into his.

“I mean with me. Lay with me.”

“No. I’ll stay on the couch.”

“Bucky,” you say. “I want you to.”

But you don’t know how you looked at him the last time you’d woken up in a bed with him. Confusion that had bloomed into fear. “No. It's best if-,”

“Please? I’m, y’know, kinda scared. If you don’t - I’ll just stay in the living room then, you can’t stop me.” You lift your chin, defiant, before you continue, “I have a weird little memory, of the first time you ever stayed over.”

You look confused saying it, time and events smashed together and reconfigured in your mind. You touch the dog tags around your neck and continue, “You didn’t want to stay with me then either. But I remember it's the safest I’ve ever felt.”

“Fine,” he concedes, pressing a guiding hand to your back. “It's just because you have a crush on me.”

You wrinkle your nose and mumble, “Pretty sure it’s a little more than that.”

In your room, he lowers the lights, tugs back your duvet, and lets you settle first.

It's quiet for a long time after that, as you settle down, sipping your mug of tea which you pointedly share with him, scrolling mindlessly on your phone.

Bucky thinks you believe yourself sneaky, inching closer to him until you’re pressed against his side, your head coming down against his shoulder.

He wraps his arm around you, tugs you closer.

You bring up the photo, the one of the two of you in bed together. You hold your phone so both of you can see it. “What were you thinking about?”

“Honestly? Don’t remember. Probably something self depreciating.”

“Like what?”

“How I don’t deserve you.”

You set your phone aside and close your eyes. He imagines you’re listening to the sound of his heart, counting the beats. “Maybe I was thinking about how much I love you.”

“Do you?”

“Is there any doubt?”

“No,” you murmur, voice slurred as you slip into sleep. “It's very clear when you love someone, Barnes. Even when you think it isn’t. You wear your heart on your sleeve.”

Bucky doubts that very much, but doesn’t say so.

Maybe you just know him.

Maybe in the morning, things will be fixed, or maybe they’ll be at square one again.

And then, like a new fighter in a ring, a new fear rises up.

What if you remember everything?

Every single moment of your life together and all of your resets?

The things he’d told you, the fleshy inner parts of himself he’d revealed. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too much, too many feelings, too much rawness to encapsulate.

Bucky tightens his arm around you, pulling you infinitely closer, and begs the universe to let him have this good thing.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does.

Just like last time.

Running on little more than a couple hours rest for months on end, and without you, hasn’t exactly lent itself to his exhaustion.

With your weight against his chest, the duvet tucked around both of you, and the sound of your soft breath in his ears, sleep had been unavoidable.

He wakes to your hand against his chest, fingers tightening in his shirt. Bucky snaps awake, but doesn’t move, carefully let’s you come back to yourself. Your eyes peak open slowly, blinks that take so long he thinks you’ll fall back asleep.

But then you peer up at him through lashes thick with still dispelling sleep.

For a long moment you just look at him and he looks back, Bucky waiting for the look of disappointment or despair, confusion or horror. Your hand slides up his chest, cups behind his neck. You tug and bring his forehead to yours.

“Bucky,” you murmur. “James fucking Barnes.”

“Do you-?”

“I remember everything. Every second.”

Fear pierces his lungs, along with elation.

He pushes you back, back into the pillows and sheets, to hover over you and anchor his hands on either side of you, before he leans down to kiss you breathless and hard. You taste sweet and sharp. “Fuck, I missed you.” Bucky says against your mouth. “God, baby, I missed you so fucking bad.”

A tear escapes and you knock it away.

You hook a foot behind his knee. “You have been holding back on me. How dare you not wax poetic to me about love, our love? How dare you keep your thoughts hidden from me. You feel so much and you never say anything.” You pinch his side, cup his cheek in your hand, run your fingers inside his shirt and up his spine, counting the vertebrae. “How dare you wonder if I could love you back when you would tourture yourself for sixty-three days?”

“Had to get you back. Would have done it forever,” he presses kisses down your neck, over the edge of your jaw. Your skin is soft and you smell like the detergent you use on your sheets, like cotton and new life.

He wants to bite into you but settles for kissing you again, sliding his tongue along yours, tasting you.

Maybe he’s trying to distract you.

From memories of him trying to describe -

“Bucky?” You fist your hands in his shirt and push him away just far enough that you can properly see his face. “I fucking love you. Okay? I’ve loved you back the whole time. I had a crush on you before you even knew what a crush was. I punched you the first time you kissed me because I was so scared to be…I was just the first person you got close to. I was so afraid to crash and burn but you…you looked at me like, y’know, like I was about to kick you for kissing me. But I was afraid you were only kissing me because I was there and I decided it didn’t matter because you said you cared about me, that it was supposed to be a first date. And I thought, it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t last, at least I will have gotten to be in your orbit.”

He tries to interrupt you, but you just keep chattering, “And I remember that picnic when you put your dog tags around my neck and I promised to never take them off.” You curl one hand around his tags, the other curving back to hook around his wrist pressed into the mattress beside your shoulder. “That day was a disaster. You were so pissed off because the wine bottle cracked and the sandwiches got wet and you forgot the blanket and the bees wouldn’t leave us alone. But all I remember from that day is thinking you looked like my future, you looked like a son of the moon. I wanted to devour you, I was so hungry for you, the love you showed even if you didn’t tell me. I would have gladly eaten those soggy sandwiches if it meant I could keep being that fucking happy.”

Bucky can only look at you.

You squeeze his wrist and Bucky turns his hand so he can squeeze his fingers through yours, hoping to never let go again.

“So how dare you, how dare you be afraid I would never find my way back to you? How dare you be afraid to escape the loop so I could come back to you, fully?”

“You really think you would have fallen in love with me again?”

You look like you’re going to cry but you smile so big your cheeks look like they might split, “Honey, I have news for you. I fell in love with you over and over, sixty-three different times. Every reset I fell in love with you again. I have fallen in love with you sixty-four different times.”

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