LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO
pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader
content: au, azzi is a goddess and you're a demigod, azzi's espys fit was giving me aphrodite vibes and the brain worms took over no questions at this time please, incredibly unserious (i accidentally made all of the olympians uconn alums) but i also serious-ed a few times in this fic, music theory as foreplay, fastest burn ever but fuck it, very very very slight fake dating if you squint, awful proofreading, fake dating a goddess and turning your relationship into a contract does raise some power imbalance concerns but everything is consensual do not get it twisted
wc: 11.2k
synopsis: In a city where gods and goddesses roam amongst mortals, you’re an eager, young demigod anxious for a quest from one of the Olympians to prove that you deserve a throne within their pantheon. When that day finally comes, you’re entirely unprepared to find Azzi Fudd, the goddess of love, standing at your doorstep with a hopeful expression. Her request? For you to show her how mortals fall in love. And, well, how could you ever turn her down?
notes: this was not supposed to be as long as it was but you could say that about literally everything else i've written on this hellsite. this fic was strangely difficult to write and the ending sent me into several stages of psychosis (au's always kick my ass 😞) but i think i like how it turned out. fudd nation this is for yall. im ending this drought one unreasonably long story at a time. as always though i hope y'all enjoy 🫶
As a demigod who had spent the better part of her life dreaming about the day she’d be offered a quest, you often thought about which god would challenge you and in what form your assignment would come to be.
You thought that, maybe, your quest would come from Caroline Ducharme, the goddess of the hearth, home, and family. She was known for finding demigods in need of a place to belong and assigning them a quest that usually focused on helping others. One of your friends and fellow demigod from the Academy, Kelis Fisher, was approached by Caroline some months ago and was tasked with putting together a food pantry in her hometown. Upon successful completion of her quest and once Kelis had made it through the final interviews with the rest of the Olympians, she was granted full godhood and now presides over a few aquatic domains.
If not selected by Caroline, you’d also thought that your quest might come from Paige Bueckers, the goddess of victory. She seemed to select demigods who had unshakable determination in all endeavors and hearts made of gold rather than flesh – demigods who took care of their communities and the people in it not for glory, but for the simple belief that if you could make an impact in someone’s life, then why don’t you?
The list goes on – Diana Taurasi, goddess of storms, thunder, and lighting. Maya Moore, whose realm was judicial and fair. You had options. The tricky part was that the Olympians did, too.
The Academy was designed to welcome in all demigods of varying backgrounds and lineages, aimed at being a safe space when the world was less than. Not all demigods were assigned a quest nor did everyone fully ascend. Godhood was a privilege and an honor, reserved for the demigods who’d proven themselves, whether it be through the Academy or by external merit. You were among the top of your class, excelling in academics and altruism, but you were what many might have referred to as a late-bloomer; despite possessing all of the qualities that would have favored one for godhood, you were still vying for a chance.
But, maybe, godhood wasn’t something that was in the cards for you. If godhood was something that was granted based on how badly someone wanted it rather than the content of their character, then the world would be thrown into an imbalance. You wanted it terribly, but you were also humble and knowledgeable enough to understand that you might have to forge a different path, one that had little to do with the ichor in your veins.
Still, you persisted. You used your abilities to help others, to make the Academy better, to protect the mortals who were none the wiser to the world beyond their wildest imaginations. You became less focused on whether or not you’d ever receive a quest and more on what you could do now to make an impact on the world around you. Regardless of whether or not you could ascend, you were set to graduate in the spring and you would find other ways to be you.
The universe, however, seemed to have other plans – as it usually does. It’s a warm, bright day in March and you can all but feel the shift. If you weren’t so accustomed to being near the divine, you’d miss the subtlety, the way the air hums with energy. You can only describe it as standing directly next to a buzzing electrical current, not able to stand too close to it or you wouldn’t survive the shock.
It draws your attention immediately. You were working on a project for your theology ethics class – something about whether or not it was truly ethical to inform mortals on a mass scale that the divine walked amongst them. You’d never felt a pull as strong as the one you’re feeling now and it was pretty much a universal truth that Taurasi was one of, if not the strongest of the Olympians.
You wait. Your palms are already a little damp, struck by the knowledge that there’s a god nearby and they’re here for you. To think that you were so close to finally getting a quest after all this time had you ready to run a few laps around the block.
Then, the knock comes at your door, and you stand immediately, hoping that you don’t look too disheveled. You didn’t know who it could be. You didn’t know what they would ask of you, although you really hoped that it wasn’t a “you’re the chosen one” situation where you had to save the world – not that you’d deny the quest. It would just be…really difficult.
You stand before your door with your heart in your throat. Your hand shakes as you reach out for the doorknob, and you’re keenly aware that the moment you open up, your entire life is going to change. That thought fills you with more excitement than anything else.
You open the door.
You’re not prepared at all to find Azzi Fudd, the goddess of love, standing on your welcome mat with an expression that looks shockingly like hope. She’s taller than you, which makes you crane your head just so you can maintain eye contact – the new generation of Olympians didn’t care for the drop to your knees and stare at the ground thing, and she’s wearing a gorgeous, lilac purple dress with a plunging neckline. There’s a slit at her hip, exposing a bronze, muscled thigh, and her curls, while pinned up, are loose and free, as if she didn’t have to try before she readied herself for the day.
You don’t even know if goddesses “get ready,” but that’s starting to be the last thing on your mind. If you could see your face, you’re sure that it would be something to laugh at. You hope that you don’t look too much like a fish out of water, because – Wow. Electricity can be the only fitting descriptor if the way your brain short circuits is any indication.
Azzi just looks calm. Cool. Impossibly beautiful, like she’s not ruining your entire life by standing in front of you. Considering who she is, this is probably just a normal reaction, but it doesn’t make you feel any less like a loser.
She picks up on your obvious lack of finesse. A slow, almost knowing smile spreads across her full lips, and you honest to Gods might be trembling when she says, “Hello, godling.”
Somehow, you manage to find your voice. The fact you’re able to keep it steady is impressive. “My lady,” you murmur reverently. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
If anything, Azzi’s smile seems to widen. Her perfume hits you all at once – sweet and floral, like chamomile, honeysuckle, the distinct smell of springtime air. “I was hoping you might be able to help me out with a quest,” she says, her voice soft. The request makes something unfurl in your chest, loose, unbidden hope, the knowledge that you’d been waiting so long for an Olympian to ask that of you. “I’ve never sought out a demigod before, so I hope I’m not being too presumptuous.”
That admission makes you blink, and you remind yourself to circle back around to that if you were able to find the opportunity. You swallow thickly. “Anything you need,” you confirm. “I’m your girl.”
You’re aware of how stupid that sounds, but Azzi doesn’t mind. At first, you think that she’s going to meticulously outline the quest for you – another one of your friends from the Academy, Sarah Strong, once told you about the exacting specificity of receiving a quest from Maya Moore. Azzi, however…she doesn’t ease you into it at all.
“I want you to show me what it’s like when mortals fall in love.”
You blink once at Azzi. Then twice, all of the blood immediately rushing to your ears. Your heartbeat pounds, echoing in your head, and everything slows to a halt like the scratch of a record skipping.
Over the course of several years, you’d thought about receiving your first quest. You thought about which god would honor you with their selection. You thought about how rigorous their task would have been – whether or not you would have to complete an act of charity and give back to your community on a large scale or if it would be more demanding, like taking up your sword and dealing with some sort of monster infestation nearby.
But this? Showing Azzi Fudd, the goddess of love, what it’s like when mortals fall in love? That was the last thing you’d been expecting.
“Um,” you say smartly, your head cocking to the side in overwhelmed confusion. “Me?”
Azzi’s warm, brown eyes appraise you for a few beats, as if searching for something. Her features soften, filling with understanding, and she motions to the inside of your apartment. “May I come inside?”
You almost trip over yourself in your haste to step out of her way. Azzi enters, her eyes scanning your apartment, more out of curiosity than any real kind of judgement, and you close the door behind you with a soft click. Your heart still hammers in your chest but you remember your manners as you ask, “Can I get you anything? Water, tea?”
She breaks away from where she’d been staring at a framed photo of you and a few other demigods in your Academy uniform. “Tea, please,” she responds. “With a splash of nectar if you have it.”
You just nod, not trusting yourself to respond as she continues surveying your decor. You fetch the kettle and fill it with water with trembling hands, although you take a few, centering breaths after placing it over the stovetop.
This is real, you remind yourself, locating your tea bags and the jar of nectar from the fridge. I’m about to get my first quest. Except…it’s from a goddess who, apparently, has never assigned a quest before and she wants me to show her how people fall in love. This is fine.
While the water boils, you return to your living room, finding Azzi sitting on your couch with one leg crossed over the other. She flashes you a gentle smile when she spots you. “You have a beautiful home,” she says. “Is that one of Apollo’s lyres? I’ve always loved listening to them, but I could never figure out how to play one.”
You follow Azzi’s line of sight, glancing at the stringed instrument carefully resting on a stand next to a potted aloe plant. The ease in her words and the casual interest makes some of the nerves in your body uncoil. “Yes, my lady,” you affirm, gazing at it longingly. “I’m related to him through my father’s side of the family. I got the archer and musician gene, but the healing part seemed to skip over me.”
When your eyes find Azzi again, she’s already staring at you, gentle curiosity and mischief swimming in her gaze. “So,” she muses, “no remedy for a broken heart?”
“I try not to cause them,” you offer. That draws a full bodied laugh from her, the sound so beautiful and real, and you think that you might like it better than any song you’d ever plucked. Gingerly, you lower yourself into the armchair across from her, and you study her features carefully. “So…you want me to show you how mortals fall in love?”
Azzi nods once, her gaze going somewhere faraway for a moment. Then, she sighs, carefully folding her hands over one another. “Ironic, isn’t it?” she murmurs. “The goddess of love wondering what love is like?”
“To see it and to feel it is different,” you ponder.
Azzi nods again, her expression thoughtful. “Exactly. Often, it’s like being on the outside looking in, which doesn’t make sense at all considering I have the key. But…things have changed so much since I first assumed godhood. People pray to me, hoping for good fortune before proposals. They hope for reciprocated feelings, to find someone that understands them. They thank me.” She swallows. “It can be…lonely. To hear of other’s successes and triumphs in love, their failures, to be the deity with her hand in that domain yet no hand in hers.”
Your head cocks to the side, something like understanding swelling in your chest. “You want to experience that,” you finish. “You want to be loved.”
“I do,” she confirms. Her tone shakes with something like vulnerability and it’s then that you realize how important this is to her. “I understand that this is a lot to ask of you. It’s deeply personal, and–” A fierce blush settles on her cheeks, her throat bobbing with nerves, “–and I’d never considered if you had… a lover, already. So–”
“I don’t,” you interrupt quickly, your cheeks burning, too, and the embarrassment is almost enough to make you forget that you’d just cut Azzi off.
She offers a gentle smile, her shoulders relaxing. “This doesn’t have to be anything,” she says after a beat. “Your consent matters to me, and I’m not intending for this to end with you at my side as my consort. I just want to see what it’s like to be courted, to fall in love as real people do, even if it’s temporary.”
Before you can stop yourself from saying it, you blurt out, “Why me?” You rush to clarify, not catching the openness and lack of offense on Azzi’s face. “I’m honored, my lady, that you would come to me, but I don’t…” Your hands gesture uselessly, the words dying on the tip of your tongue. “I’ve never really…dated before. I could never give you the experience you deserve.”
Azzi is silent for a few beats, clearly thinking about her words, and her tone is hardly above a whisper when she finally responds. “I think that’s exactly why I need you to help me,” she says. “I don’t want to go to someone who’s done this – courting someone – a thousand times already. That’s when it becomes performative, a role to play. I want to experience the firsts, the uncertainty, the confusion. I want the unique and the real. The messy.”
She pauses, her eyes locking with yours. “And you, godling…” she trails off for a beat, her tone softening. “There’s this light about you. There’s a kindness, a humility, a gentleness. I’ve never seen it in anyone else before, and you, your goodness, it makes me less fearful to try.”
You know that your cheeks are possibly the darkest shade of red they’ve ever been. You falter, unable to find the right words, but Azzi cuts in again. “Again, you are allowed to say no,” she murmurs. “I will find a different quest for you. I would not disrespect you by refusing to let you ascend just because you set a boundary. Or, if you need time to think about it, I can return here in–”
“I’ll do it,” you confirm, not giving yourself the chance to overthink it. Azzi glances at you, a mix of surprise and relief on her features, but surety is on yours. “I accept your quest, my lady.”
A slow smile curls on Azzi’s lips, gratitude laced in the movement – and it’s in that moment that you realize that this is easily the most insane thing you’ve ever done in your life.
So, that was actually a lie because somehow, it got more insane.
You were very aware of the fact that in this…partnership, you were supposed to be courting Azzi. That meant that you were the one who needed to plan the first date. Truth be told, you were like a fish out of water in so many different ways. How were you supposed to plan a date worthy of the literal goddess of love?
Before she left, you, stupidly, asked for her number – then almost face-palmed because why would a goddess have a phone? Even more surprisingly, she’d just pulled out a pink iPhone to allow you to punch your own number in and you had to calm yourself down before you said something even more stupid like, “Do all of the Olympians have phones and why is the goddess of victory’s saved contact, ‘Paige (Doodie Head)?’”
Either way, Azzi left your apartment with a smile, another thank you, and a coy remark to not keep her waiting. Her perfume lingered in the air long after the door shut behind her and it took all of your sensibilities to not bury your face in your hands and scream.
But this was your quest. It was the one thing you’d spend your life dreaming of from the moment you learned that there was divine ichor coursing through your veins. Even if your task wasn’t one you’d ever considered, you hadn’t put all this work in to give up now. As much as you hated the concept of needing help, you were smart enough to know that you were in way over your head, so you opened up a familiar group chat and hit the dial button.
It hardly takes fifteen minutes, but there’s another round of knocks at your door, and you open it to find KK Arnold and Ice Brady waiting on the other side. You’d met the both of them through the Academy and you’d been friends since freshman year. KK was distantly related to the goddess of mischief, Ate, and Ice, fittingly, could follow her lineage back to the god of the north winds, Boreas, who was known for his frigidness.
If you were being honest with yourself, you’re not even sure why you called them. It would have been much more practical to ask Ayanna Patterson, who was the smartest person in your friend group (and whose wisdom probably had less to do with the blood she shared with Athena and more to do with an unfortunate consequence of hanging out with idiots) or even Morgan Cheli, who hails from Eros’s lineage. Morgan might have been the most qualified, but here you are.
“I can’t believe you finally got a date,” KK chatters excitedly, already walking inside. Ice has the decency to smile at you in greeting before walking in, too. “Like, I thought you were gonna stay locked in for the rest of your life. No time for romance.”
“Thanks, KK,” you grumble.
Ice clears her throat. “Who’s the lucky lady?” she asks. “What’s the vibe? Romantic dinner, then a cute moonlit walk through the park? Arcade?”
That’s the part where you wince slightly, a hand rising to rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “I need you guys to not freak out,” you beg. “Like…this is serious.”
“Oh, she’s in love,” KK coos, then she nods seriously. “Don’t worry, girly pop. We gon’ get you a wife.”
You sigh. Honestly, you should have known better. Deciding to rip the bandaid off, you say quietly, “It’s Azzi. Azzi Fudd.”
Ice and KK blink at you in tandem. They glance at each other, then back at you. Ice raises an eyebrow. “Like, the goddess of love, Azzi Fudd?”
You bounce on your heels. “That’s the one,” you confirm. “It’s, uh, my quest. To date her.”
Both of your friends stare at you wordlessly for a few beats before they burst out into laughter. Your cheeks burn with heat, but you’re more irritated than anything else now.
But…you also recognize that this situation is kind of absurd and if the roles were reversed, you’d probably be laughing, too.
Eventually, their laughter subsides when they realize you’re not smiling, and KK’s jaw all but hits the ground as she says, “Shit, you’re serious?”
You nod. “She wants to know how mortals fall in love,” you inform them. You don’t tell them everything else, like how Azzi confided in you and how genuinely important it was to her, so you keep it at that. “And, like, I’ve never even done that before! I’ve never dated before! How am I supposed to woo the goddess of love with my nonexistent love life?”
“Be yourself?” Ice offers hesitantly. You level her with a deadpan look and she raises her hands in surrender. “Look, what I’m trying to say is she’s probably not expecting you to know everything. She’s probably hoping for that. Mortals, and, well, people in general, they just kinda…go with the flow. They’re not perfect either, and falling in love is, like, a journey thing. Not a destination.”
“Right,” KK agrees. “There’s no right or wrong way to date. You just have to try, be genuine, and know that it’s different for everyone else. Pull out her chairs and open her doors. Listen to her. You’re you so you’re probably gonna say some stupid shit–” you glare at her, “–but that’s just part of the process.”
“And be intentional,” Ice adds. “Make sure it’s meaningful. You’re trying to, you know, fall in love without actually falling in love, so, like…do what you’d do if you were actually trying to make it to the altar.”
“Be smooth,” KK jumps in. She stands on the tips of her toes and charmingly wraps an arm around Ice’s shoulders to make a point, but Ice shoves her away from her with a look of disgust. Admittedly, it makes you laugh a little, the tension easing from your body. KK narrows her eyes at Ice, rubbing her arm dramatically. “Okay, maybe not that smooth. But treat her right.”
Ice nods diplomatically. “Just think, what would KK do? Then do the complete opposite of it.”
You crack a smile as KK gasps indignantly. Before they can break out into an argument, you gesture for their attention. “Okay, that was all common sense, but what do we do?” you point out. “How do you take a goddess out on a first date and have it mean something?”
“It should definitely be an activity the both of you can do together,” Ice suggests. “Like, something you’re interested in or something she’s interested in, but it shouldn’t be something you can’t have a conversation over. That’s why movie dates suck.”
“You also can’t go on a date without food,” KK states. “Like, if I went out and just did a whole bunch of work and my date won’t even feed me, then there will be no second date. There will be lawyers and law suits.”
Ice and KK start bickering about the types of food and whether or not BBQ is an acceptable first date option, but you think back to Ice’s statement about doing an activity that the both of you are interested in. You hardly knew Azzi besides her name and the insecurity that she’s supposed to be the embodiment of love yet she has no idea what that is supposed to look like.
Then, you remember the way she’d stared at your lyre, the interest in her gaze and how she mourned her inability to play one. You smile to yourself, suddenly lighting up with an idea, and all you know is that you need to get KK and Ice out of your apartment immediately.
You clap your hands together in finality, drawing their attention. “Okay. Great conversation. Thank you for the help. I need to plan now.”
Blessedly, both Ice and KK take your less than subtle hint without any offense, and they both leave you with hugs and good luck before they head out. Then, you make a few quick phone calls, ensuring that everything you need would be available. You shoot a text to Azzi next:
You: how does 6pm on Friday sound for our first date? i can pick you up.
Azzi’s reply comes surprisingly quick, and it reads:
Azzi Fudd: Not a second later, godling. See you soon.
You try – and fail – to suppress a grin, and you send her back a heart emoji before shutting your phone off.
The days leading up to your date with Azzi had been full of half-assed attempts at studying, several hours worth of overthinking about what you would say to her and what you’d do, and even more hours spent browsing online department stores to try and find the best thing to wear for the date. You don’t think you’d ever been this nervous and excited over an event before nor do you think you’d tried this hard to get something right before, but Friday night was big for you in a lot of ways.
It was about more than your quest at this point. It was about helping Azzi out, about wanting to give her the best experience you possibly could with your own lack of experience with dating. You realized that Ice and KK did have a point – it was about the journey, about showing Azzi what someone would do for someone that they were genuinely interested in. You were going to make this date and the entire experience memorable for her. That was the one thing you could promise to her and yourself.
Azzi texts you her address on Friday morning, and you suppose getting reality checks regarding how modern the gods actually lived was just going to become something that was common. You’re already dressed and ready with light makeup done by 5pm, too anxious to have gotten much done that day, and you make sure your lyre is packed delicately in its case and tucked into your backseat before you leave.
You first make a stop at a local flower store, one that’s akin to a hole in a wall. It wasn’t very well known unless you were a demigod or a mortal with a keen eye for flora. You knew the owner of the shop, Napheesa, whose green thumb came from Demeter, and that she was probably the best person to buy quality flowers from.
You explained the situation to her – well, most of the situation as you didn’t want to make a habit of telling everyone you were about to go on a date with the goddess of love, and Phee walked you around her shop as she carefully bundled her flowers into a meaningful bouquet. Red and white gerbera for passion and new beginnings; dark, crimson roses for a classical take on love; and irises for elegance, wisdom, and faith. Phee winked at you while ringing you up at the counter and you’re pretty sure you were blushing on the way out.
With your flowers and lyre ready, you made your way to Azzi’s place – a cozy, lived in home nestled in an area that was the perfect blend of rural and urban. You tuck the flowers behind your back as you walk across the stone pathway leading to her front door. One last glance at your watch reveals that you’re five minutes early, so you take a deep breath and press your finger to her doorbell, hearing it ring out in the house.
You can hear movement from inside. You watch as the door handle turns and how she slowly comes into view as she opens the door. Your mouth dries immediately, all of the thoughts in your brain coming to a screeching halt as you take her appearance in. She’s dressed in a white sleeveless top, cut at the waist to reveal the definition in her stomach and the piercing at her navel, and a complimentary pair of dark slacks.
It’s like you’ve never seen a gorgeous woman before, but there’s just something about Azzi that makes your brain short circuit in the best way possible. Suddenly, you’re not sure if you can do this – show her what it’s like to fall in love, because you’re pretty sure that she’s going to kill you before you get to the part where you tell her that the sun rises and sets with her smile.
Thankfully, she doesn’t let you flounder for too long, smiling gently at you as she greets you with a kind, “Hello, godling.”
You don’t even register the smile of your own growing on your face. “My lady,” you say in respectful greeting. “You look amazing.”
Her features soften with something like shyness, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth as she tries to stop her smile from growing too wide. “Is this the part where you inflate my ego with pleasantries?” she teases. “It might be working.”
“That comes later,” you promise. “I like to start with the truth first…then flowers.” To emphasize your point, you reveal the floral arrangement you’d hidden behind your back, holding it out for her. Azzi’s face genuinely lights up at the sight, her cheeks flushing red. Her fingers brush against yours as she accepts the bouquet.
“These are gorgeous,” she murmurs, pressing her nose to them and inhaling. Her smile widens.
You’re unable to tear your gaze away from her as you agree, “They are.”
Azzi meets your gaze again, then opens the door wider to let you in. You follow her wordlessly. “Let me put these in a vase and then we can go.” You make a soft noise to acknowledge her and trail after her, taking in the decor. It’s…strangely normal, which is something you wouldn’t have expected from a goddess. You expected something lavish, grand, but this feels like Azzi.
She calls out to you from the kitchen, her voice carrying over the sound of running water. “Is it customary for mortals to not tell their date where they’re going or am I just special?”
You barely resist a smile as you walk a little closer to the kitchen so she can hear you. “Not that I’m disagreeing with the latter–” Azzi laughs at that, “–but it is normal. It’s supposed to be a surprise. I can tell you, if you’d like.”
Azzi flashes a grin over the bouquet of flowers as she carefully submerges the stems in the vase. “Full experience, right? I trust you to not make me regret it.”
“I’m honored.”
She wraps up with the flowers and slides into a pair of sandals as you hold the door open for her. Azzi locks the door quickly, since goddesses, apparently, aren’t impervious to burglaries, either, and you escort her to the passenger side of your car where you hold that door, too. She thanks you and you round the car to slide into the driver’s seat.
On the way to your date location, the both of you fill silence with conversation that shouldn’t feel as comfortable as it does. It’s easy to forget that she’s a goddess, not out of disrespect, but because she’s so gentle and down to earth that you think she’s more like you than you’re like her. You don’t think you’ve ever laughed or smiled as much as you did in the span of a twenty minute car ride, but Azzi is proving to be full of surprises.
You learn that she loves reading – she has an impressive collection of books back at her house that she’d spent the bulk of her immortal life acquiring. She loves the classics but is a self-admitted sucker for the modern rom-coms and horrors. You would have never expected her to be someone who enjoys Stephen King, but you find that you enjoy being surprised by her. You also learn that when she’s not tending to her domains and doing what she can to influence the love lives of demigods and mortals alike, she has a pretty nasty jump shot, which honestly blows your mind.
Talking to her comes naturally. She seems genuinely interested in what you have to say and asks you questions about your life, too – what growing up a demigod was like, how you learned you were one in the first place. Your parents thought they would be able to tell you when you were old enough to know what being half-god meant, but they quickly realized they would have to tell you sooner rather than later when they found you at six years old with your father’s bow in hand and all of the apples in the house speared to the bullseye of a target.
By the time you make it to your date location, your cheeks hurt from laughter and you have half a mind to convince her to stay in your car and just talk for hours. You promised her a date, and a good one, at that, so you shoot her a teasing look and tell her not to touch the door handle as you round the car to grab the door for her.
She thanks you with a soft brush of her fingers against your wrist and you think that you almost keel over, but you manage to remember where you are. You make sure to grab your lyre case from the backseat as you fall into step with her.
Azzi hums next to you, taking in the building before you. “Why does this feel familiar?” she asks.
The building in front of you is a large, spherical dome made of glass. It’s not necessarily a temple, but it’s a location known to all of the descendants of Apollo. It attracts the sunlight and strengthens your connection to the godly ichor in your veins, usually serving as an ideal place to study or work on your skills. Inside, it’s always the perfect temperature, warm enough to feel like a summer day but never abrasive enough to burn or make you sweat.
“This is Apollo’s Atrium,” you say, pressing your hand to the biosensor at the door. It opens with a soft hiss and you pull the door open, gesturing Azzi inside. “Well, one of them, at least.” You both step inside and you relax, feeling at home instantly. It’s warm, welcoming, and you can tell that Azzi is feeling it, too. “These places are designed for his descendants. The glass soaks in all of the sun and the building is enchanted to funnel it directly in here, which makes it easier for demigods, specifically young ones, to connect with Apollo and hone their powers.”
“And you brought me here,” Azzi murmurs, something like awe in her voice as she takes in her surroundings. You scratch the back of her neck, because, yeah. You did. It wasn’t rare for descendants of Apollo to bring other people here, but it was usually reserved for people they were close to considering the Atrium was such a sacred place. You hadn’t thought twice before letting Azzi in, though.
You don’t think too hard about that.
“When you’re dating someone or welcoming them into your life,” you say, drawing Azzi’s attention, “you usually show them pieces of you. Things that matter. And, well…this Atrium means a lot to me. I figured I’d show you a piece of my home.”
Azzi stares at you unblinkingly for a few beats. The expression on her face is unbelievably shocked, a little tender, and it makes something in your chest expand a few sizes too big and press against your ribcage. You think that you’d like to evoke this expression from her a lot – but you push that idea to the back of your mind.
“Thank you, godling,” she whispers after a few breaths. “I appreciate your generosity.”
You flash a gentle smile at her, then gesture to the center of the atrium, where there’s a blanket spread out with a basket of goods in the middle. You remind yourself to thank Allie Ziebell, another descendant of Apollo, as she was the one who helped you set this up while you were fetching Azzi from her place. “Would you like to sit, my lady?”
Azzi nods once and you lead her over. She carefully lowers herself to the ground, trying not to mess the blanket up too much, and you take a seat next to her, making sure to leave a few inches of space so as to not overwhelm her. You leave your lyre at the edge – knowing that would come later, and you reach out for the basket.
There’s a bottle of wine nestled at the top with two matching glasses, which you pull out cautiously. The basket consists of a few carefully wrapped cheeses, meats, crackers, and fruits, and Azzi watches you with curious eyes while you set out a plate for the both of you.
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” she notes, her tone appreciative and full of wonder, as you carefully pour the wine into her glass.
You hold the glass out to her, your fingers brushing in exchange, and you smile softly at her as you pick up your own. “I wanted to make it memorable for you,” you murmur, meaning every bit of it. You raise your glass to tap it against Azzi’s. “To showing the goddess of love what love looks like?”
Azzi huffs out an amused sort of laugh, the dimple in her cheek popping, and she clinks her glass against yours. “To learning what love looks like.”
The both of you take slow sips from the wine, savoring its flavor, and the goddess’s brow raises, pleased. You mentally pat yourself on the back for your selection.
You think that you could get used to this – this feeling of peace, comfort, and ease, the earnestness of two people trying something new for the first time. You think that you could get used to Azzi, too, but that’s a thought that’s dangerous. This is your quest, a date that’s also…not a date. You couldn’t fall too much for the feeling, even if the way Azzi smiles at you makes you want to.
Still, you knew you were going to make this work for her. You wanted her to know what it was like, and perhaps a smaller part of you wanted to know what it was like, too. There would undoubtedly be a few parts that you messed up or didn’t get right immediately, but the both of you were learning. Messing up is part of it.
The both of you continue to chat over the assortment of finger foods. You refill her wine, giggling when a few drops miss the glass and stain the blanket, but neither of you particularly mind it. She wipes the excess liquid from the side of her glass and slathers it on your nose, which draws an indignant squawk from your lips. You dish out payback by tossing a grape at her. It bounces harmlessly off of her forehead, but you’re both breathless with laughter, and you find it near impossible to tear your gaze off of her face.
After what feels like a few minutes but must be an hour or two, you reach out for the case next to you and gingerly pull out your lyre. Azzi’s eyes brighten at the sight. “Earlier this week you said you could never figure out how to play one of these,” you say coyly. “How about a lesson, my lady?”
She grins. “I’ll try to keep up with you,” Azzi promises, and you pass the instrument over to her.
“Wrap your left arm around the back of it,” you instruct. “Rest the bottom against your thigh.” You gesture vaguely with your hands, but she picks up on what you mean quickly, and you nod, pleased. “Try strumming it?”
She does so, and laughs when the notes ring out louder than intended. They echo in the dome, hitting your ears pleasantly, and something in your heart sings as you watch her learn the instrument that has become an integral part of your being. “Classical lyres usually have seven strings, but this one has sixteen, so it’s enough for two full octaves,” you explain. “You use a wrench to adjust the tension in the strings, which lowers or increases the pitch to different notes, but this one is tuned to a standard C major.”
Azzi raises her brows at you questioningly, and you stifle a smile. “C major just means it’s a scale, or series, of notes that are natural – no pitch modifications. If you think of the scale in terms of numbers, then this note –” you reach forward to pluck the thickest string, which hums out a low C pitch, “is one, this next one is two…” You pluck each string in succession with their number until you reach sixteen. “If you modify the pitch by tuning the string to either a sharp note or a flat note, that means the pitch is being adjusted by one half-step, so the note is somewhere in between the two. For example, D and E are notes two and three, so if you raised D by one half step, you’d get D-sharp, which you can think of two and a half, right? Conversely, lowering E by one half step is E-flat, which is still two and a half. C major means there are no half step modifications, so your notes are C, D, E, F, G, A, and B, then it repeats for the higher octave. There are some notes that don’t have intuitive sharps or flats, though. E-sharp and F-flat aren’t actual half-pitches, so what you’d consider an E-sharp is just an F-natural and an F-flat would be E-natural–”
You don’t realize how much closer you’ve moved towards Azzi in the midst of your explanation until you glance up from the lyre and find Azzi staring at you with something akin to fondness, if not a little bit of amusement, too. You flush at the sudden attention. “You’re cute when you talk about the things you’re interested in,” she whispers, her smile widening when you duck your head. “You start glowing, and I don’t mean that in the descendant of Apollo way.”
“I got carried away,” you say sheepishly. Azzi giggles at that. “Let’s try a chord or two. May I?” Azzi nods at your gesture and gently, you move her fingers towards the right strings – C, E, and G. “These three compose the C major chord. C is the root, E is the major third, and G is the perfect fifth; C was the one, so it makes sense that it’s the root, or at the bottom, and we said E and G were notes three and five respectively in the scale. We can call it a 1-3-5 chord or a major triad since this chord consists of the root, the major third, and the perfect fifth.”
“So, if you tuned the lyre a different way, you could still make another major chord, right?” Azzi asks. “You’d still have the root, the third, and the fifth, even if they’re different notes?”
You nod, beaming with pride. “Exactly. Looks like I’m teaching you a little more than just love,” you tease. Azzi rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat behind the movement. “Now, pluck those three notes.” She does so. The C major chord echoes in the atrium, reverberating off of the glass walls, and her smile widens. “Beautiful.”
You’re not really talking about the music and her cheeks flush like she knows that. Something in Azzi’s gaze sparkles as she looks at you, although you’re not prepared to confront that thought head on. You clear your throat to regain some sense of dignity and gesture to the instrument again. “Another chord?” you ask. Azzi nods.
You teach her three more chords utilizing the notes from the C major scale, then re-tune the lyre to show her another scale with the half step modulations. She catches on quickly – she’s able to determine the notes of the new major triad after recalling the root, third, and the fifth, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so excited for someone else before.
It’s late in the evening. You only truly register the fact that the sun has gone down when you glance away from Azzi’s face to find the constellations sparkling in the sky. You’re not done – not quite yet. She hands the lyre to you, its weight comforting and familiar in your hands, and you pluck a few chords, harmonizing to the tune as she watches with an enraptured gaze.
You grew up with lullabies on your tongue and music in your veins. Your first words were the lyrics to an old song your parents used to sing to you and this – sharing a song with someone, letting them communicate with your soul, was one of the purest and most intimate ways you knew how to connect.
It’s early, and it’s your first date with a literal goddess, but you’re not thinking about any of that. You’re thinking about how right this feels, how you hadn’t hesitated before allowing Azzi into one of the places that was most sacred to you. You’re thinking that you’re really grateful for this quest because it’s brought you to this woman in front of you and she’s staring at you like she’s thinking that, too.
She said it didn’t have to be anything. You agreed, but that was before you knew the warmth of her hands as they wrapped around that beating organ in your chest with a level of care you’d never expected from someone who felt as though she didn’t know what love was like.
And so, you murmur, your voice steady and soft and in tune with the lyre whose strings you pluck reverently, “Why were you digging? What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?”
Azzi watches you unblinkingly, her lips parted slightly, something disbelieving and ruined and beseeching all at once in her stare. You don’t falter.
“I will not ask you where you came from. I will not ask and neither should you.”
Your eyes find hers over the top of the lyre. It’s unspoken, the way you both seem to lean towards each other, but you discover that you don’t want to pull back. You really, really don’t.
Your voice remains steady, the song spilling from your lips like nectar from a spout, and it’s with every subsequent word that it seems like Azzi gravitates just a little closer to you. “Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.”
The last chord rings out, vibrating pleasantly against the glass surrounding the both of you, and you lower the instrument. Azzi almost appears frozen to her spot on the ground, her eyes searching yours – and for what, you honestly couldn’t be sure. You swallow thickly, not prepared for how open and exposed her gaze makes you feel.
“That was beautiful,” she whispers. Just like earlier, you know that she’s not talking about the singing, and you smile bashfully.
“Thank you, my lady.”
Something charged and electric passes between the two of you, but neither you nor Azzi move. You glance up to the sky which has darkened considerably since the last time you tore your gaze off of Azzi long enough to be cognizant of your surroundings. “I should get you home,” you suggest, and she nods.
Wordlessly, you pack up the leftovers, tucking what’s left of the wine back into the basket. Azzi folds the blanket, handing it over to you, and your fingers brush during the exchange. It sends a jolt up your spine that, apparently, Azzi notices, too, and she smiles.
You lead her to the door, holding it open with your foot since your hands were occupied – Azzi offered to hold something but you shot her a look so indignant that she couldn’t help but giggle.
In the cool, evening air, she shivers, and you hardly waste any time before depositing the basket and your lyre case to the ground. You shrug off your jacket, stepping up behind her to settle it over her shoulders – because what is any good first date without the obligatory jacket moment? – and her gaze turns so impossibly tender that you feel your heart skip a beat.
You get the passenger side door of the car for her, then close it, and you tuck your belongings safely into the back seat before making your way to the driver’s side. The ride back to Azzi’s house is spent in a comfortable silence. Neither of you are rushed to fill it, content with existing in each other’s space. You rest your hand over the center console out of habit, but when Azzi’s hands find yours in a wordless question, you’re too happy to open up for her, tangling your fingers together.
Music plays low over your radio. The hum of the engine and the sound of nightlife – crickets, the breeze, the peace – are ending features to the soundtrack of a perfect day. You only release Azzi’s hand when your tires crunch over the gravel in her driveway, and she waits patiently as you turn the car off and make your way around to get the door.
You walk her to her front door, your knuckles brushing with each step, and you both pause on the doorstep. You’re not quite sure what to say next, but you also know that you don’t want this night to end, even though it must.
This was only your first date and you were going to give Azzi the full experience. There would be no evening night caps or premature sleepovers. You knew that people did relationships on their own timeline and there was nothing wrong with doing what felt right, but Azzi deserved to be courted properly. Intentionally.
She deserved flowers during random times of the week, not meant to be anything besides just because. She deserved gentleness and commitment and perfect firsts because she’s waited so long for the right person to come along and show her what those looked like. She deserved your patience and compassion and you knew you would do anything to give it to her the moment she asked you to show her how real people did it.
Azzi stands before you, her eyes appraising your features, the softness in how the moonlight illuminates the contours of your face. A soft smile spreads across her lips, etched with gratitude and fondness that she knows you’re feeling, too.
Hopefully, she whispers, “Is this the part where you kiss me goodnight?”
You crack a coy smile, your hands reaching out to pull the lapels of your jacket tighter around her shoulders. “That depends,” you murmur.
Her head cocks to the side. “On…?”
“If I’ve earned a second date with you,” you respond. “I can’t kiss you without knowing if I’ll get to do it again, my lady.”
Azzi huffs out a quiet laugh, the sound amused and wrought with fondness, and her hands cup your cheeks as she leans in to kiss you. Her lips are soft, sure, and she tastes sweet like wine and pure like song. Warmth spreads across your body from head to toe, your hands sliding down her torso to rest against her waist, thumbs pressing into her skin.
When Azzi pulls away from you, her forehead resting against yours, you can almost taste the smirk on her lips as she asks, “Is that enough of an answer for you, godling?”
It is. You wish her a goodnight and she smiles at you one last time before you walk back to your car. When you situate yourself in the driver’s seat, turning the ignition on, your phone lights up with a text message that you can’t help but grin at.
Azzi Fudd: Get home safe tonight. I expect you to really impress me next week.
Challenge accepted.
Over the next few weeks, you and Azzi become closer. With finals looming in April, you’re the busiest you’ve ever been – studying for classes, tying up loose ends on final semester projects, and keeping up with other Academy duties ranging from outreach events to community service.
Azzi, similarly, finds herself unable to escape from her godly responsibilities. Spring was slowly beginning to bleed away into summer, and the rising temperatures combined with more people having breaks away from school and jobs meant that there were a lot of opportunities to find love.
It was a little hard to fully wrap your mind around the limits of her domain. Azzi was the goddess of love but the divine usually upheld a strict do not intervene rule, although it seemed that rule was a little looser for Azzi. She didn’t necessarily meddle, but she did have the power to push people closer and to encourage them to chase after what their heart desired. How much control she held over love and its many branches was something even less clear to you. Diana, for example, could turn a beautiful, sunny day into a crackling thunderstorm depending on her mood.
You also weren’t aware of just how vast her realm was – how vast love was. It was less about the active, hands-on aspect of what she did on a day to day basis and more about what she was subjected to. People prayed to her all the time, ranging from platonic to romantic love, to pleas for any sort of tangible connection with someone, to cries to be loved a little less. That wasn’t something she could turn off. She heard it constantly – she heard everyone constantly, and it was so heavy and wrought with grief and meaning that it can be hard to find who you are in the midst of people asking so much from you.
When you were both able to find some downtime together, it took a lengthy conversation to make her understand that if she was burdened, then you had two shoulders broad enough to bear the weight, too. It wasn’t an empty promise you made to her because you were supposed to be showing her the partnership aspect of being in love, but it was a real promise because at the end of the day, you genuinely wanted to help her, and if there was anything that either of you were supposed to take from this quest, it was that the both of you would have a friendship long after its completion.
And so Azzi confided in you. She told you about how exhausting it was, to be constantly subjected to everyone’s thoughts and wishes all at once. She was always listening and perhaps, from a mortal’s standpoint, it could be comforting to know their prayers didn’t go ignored. From Azzi’s standpoint, however, you recognized how taxing it could be – the nonstop noise, but also being forced to listen to the uglier sides of love, too.
She’d once told you that being unable to intervene was one of the most difficult parts of being divine. To have all of this power yet forced to be powerless lest she destroy the cautious balance of the world was a lesson she was still learning to grasp centuries later.
You listened. You let her speak, let her voice the weight of other’s tragedies, let Azzi be the one who sought out guidance and be listened to for once. You let her sink into your skin and latch onto your bones, aching for connection and patience and gentleness that you would learn how to give her. For as godly as she was, there was still the heart of a girl beating in her chest, and you knew better than anyone else that the mortal part of you was ineffably persistent no matter how much ichor coursed through your veins.
That day brought you both closer. You and Azzi made concerted efforts to see one another, even if it was late night phone calls as she tells you about a wedding she’d blessed or as you celebrate the full marks you’d gotten on your ethics project. When you find the brief moment to sneak away from your work, you find yourself at her doorstep with carefully curated bouquets of flowers, or Azzi shows up at yours with a bottle of wine and something tender in her gaze.
When you’d accepted her quest, you obviously wanted to help her. That was just the kind of person you were, although you couldn’t deny that you wanted to fulfill the quest so you could ascend. Godhood had been your dream and that was the point of the bargain, anyways: show Azzi what falling in love was like, and in return, she would do her part in getting the rest of the Olympian council to grant you godhood.
But now? Ascension is the last thing on your mind. You don’t care about the eternal life waiting for you once your job is “finished.” You weren’t expecting to fall so hard for Azzi – let alone expecting to fall for her at all. She was a goddess, untouchable by nature, and you were just a demigod blessed by the sun.
Still, it was inevitable. Falling for her. Letting this be something, letting it mean so much to you in the short amount of time you’d been dancing around each other. You weren’t sure how possible the both of you were, if you’d be able to truly be together, but you think that as long as you had her, you would be okay.
You were both bonded by something inexplicable – being each other’s firsts in so many ways. You were sure that Azzi had previous partners in her life – mortal or immortal – but it had been so long that the sort of relationship she has with you is new, and fresh, and something that she’s come to care for deeply. You were the same way. To come from opposite ends of the mortal spectrum yet still experience something for the first time together…that means something. You were both intentional, you’d chosen each other in every sense of the word, and now, you were both so impossibly rooted in each other’s lives that it would be hard to go back to any sense of normality.
Love was something that you weren’t all too familiar with before her. You’d always been dedicated, ambitious, perhaps a little apathetic in your endeavors. You had friends and family but you’d never had something to call yours. For a while, that hadn’t bothered you. You were so convinced that you’d eventually receive a quest one day and so you were content in branching out or falling in love after you’d accomplished your goal.
But now that you knew what it was like to be with Azzi, even if the very notion of being with her wasn’t as real as your feelings had proven to be, you weren’t sure if you wanted to give that up. You wanted her – every piece of her. It wasn’t possessive or territorial or even jealousy. You wanted that kind of closeness that came with knowing every part of someone, the good and the bad, and choosing to love it all, anyways. You wanted the days where she was joyous, the ones where she ached so horribly that she was mute, the days in between where neither of you could be sure where you ended and where she began. You wanted to be interwoven in the very fabric of her life and you wanted to stitch her into yours forever.
You loved Azzi. You love her – in the present, in the future, in the pieces of your past where you’d yearned for something more in the dark of your room and didn’t allow yourself to dream for it because you thought you wouldn’t have space to give. You love her like real people do – messily, completely, with every ounce of your being and then some.
You never ran out of space for your dreams. There was space for both her and ascension, but your time with her has taught you that your dreams were flexible. You can be you and still be hers and, perhaps, the good thing about immortality is that you’d have eternity together to find new ways to love her.
When she texts you late one night, days before your graduation, asking if she could see you, yes feels like the only reasonable response you could muster. You busy yourself with straightening up your apartment even though it’s virtually spotless, feeling as though you need to impress her still. You fluff a throw pillow on your couch. You wipe away a ring of condensation left behind on your coffee table by a sweating glass of water. For good measure, you light the scented candle in your kitchen, breathing in the scent of chamomile and hibiscus.
You hear the knock on your door ten minutes later and you force yourself to walk slowly to it, giving yourself the time to gather yourself. In what’s becoming far too common for how often you and Azzi see each other, your heart all but falls out of your chest the moment you come face to face with her. Her face is bare, her brown curls pinned up at the back of her head. She’s dressed simply; a cream, cashmere sweater hanging off of one shoulder to reveal a defined clavicle and dark leggings. She’s dressed mostly for comfort, but she still takes your breath away every time.
“Good evening, godling,” she says softly, her voice twinged with something like guilt. It makes your heart stutter in your chest, already fearing for the worst. “May I come in?”
Nodding shakily, you step to the side to allow her inside, and you shut the door behind you as she makes her way to sit on your couch. With concern etched on your features, you can’t bring yourself to sit across from her, not even when she gestures towards the spot next to her. You’re too nervous and not entirely ready to hear what she has to tell you.
Azzi stares at you for a long moment, almost as though she’s trying to memorize the way your face looks. Something in her expression cracks down the middle. “Please,” she begs. “Sit down.”
Unable to deny her, you lower yourself to the couch cushion next to her, hoping that you don’t look as fearful as you feel. You watch Azzi’s throat bob as she swallows, apprehension on her features, and you have to strain your ears to hear the softness of her voice as she speaks. “I came here because I wanted to tell you that you have completed your quest,” she murmurs. “And that we cannot do this anymore.”
Your lips part, but no sound comes out, and all you can do is blink in disbelief at her. It feels as though the ground beneath your feet has splintered and you’re moments away from disappearing into the chasm. But Azzi does not pause in her words.
“Do not think for one moment that you’ve done something wrong,” she says, finally meeting your gaze. “That was never it. You did everything right. You were perfect.” Azzi hesitates for a moment, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and she inhales, though her hands tremble. “You showed me what it was like to fall in love as real people do, but…in doing so, I fell in love with you.”
You think that your ears are ringing, your brain horribly caught up on the confession. I fell in love with you. It simultaneously heals and destroys something in you – you hadn’t realized how long you had been waiting to hear that from her, but it sounds like she’s breaking up with you at the same time.
“I could not keep this up,” Azzi murmurs, “when this was an arrangement. You agreed to help me, and you did. I could not take advantage of you when you were fulfilling an obligation to me–”
“My lady–”
“–and I could not continue to play into this…this fantasy, when it wasn’t real at all,” she continues, voice shaking.
“Azzi–!”
“It was wrong of me to ask this of you in the first place,” Azzi states. “It was inappropriate and unfair to both of us, and I cannot, in good conscience, continue doing this with you when I know the truth of my feelings. It’s a gross misuse of my power and your trust, and I am sorry–”
“I love you,” you blurt.
Azzi pauses, breathless, and the two of you stare at each other for several, achingly long moments. Her eyes are wide, disbelieving, like she hadn’t been expecting you to confess, either. You swallow, your voice softening as you confess, “It was real to me, my lady.”
“Do not say things you do not mean.”
You shake your head, desperate, and you’re reaching for Azzi’s hand before you can stop yourself. You press it to your chest, letting her feel the thump of your heart under her palm. “It was real to me,” you say again. “It is real to me.” Her gaze softens like she’s finally hearing you, her fingers twisting in the fabric of your shirt. “I wasn’t expecting for this to mean so much to me, but it does. I want this – you, every piece and every part of you. For as long as you’ll have me.”
She still doesn’t look convinced, her lips parting as she tries to grasp the weight of your words. “Are you certain?” she whispers.
You study her features, the warmth of her gaze, the furrow in her brow, the dimple in her cheek that you’ve thought about pressing a kiss to more times than you’d care to admit. Something in your chest settles, like realizing this was where you were supposed to be, like realizing that nothing else matters as much as this does. You’ve never been more certain about anything else in your life.
Before you even truly register it, you’re closing the last few inches of space in between you and Azzi, slow enough to give her the chance to pull away if she doesn’t want this, but she stays rooted, exhaling shakily and pressing closer until your noses brush. Still, you meet her gaze, one last unspoken question passing between the two of you. Her nod is all the confirmation you need.
You don’t think you’d ever tire of kissing her, the way she feels when she pulls you firm against her. You don’t rush her – you never do, not one to ask her for more than she’s willing to give you, but she breathes a sigh against your lips and you’re sure that it makes your head spin.
She pulls back, breathless from the kiss, and you have to stop yourself from leaning back in. You try for a smile instead, murmuring, “Is that enough of an answer for you, my lady?”
She grins, not only because she knows what you’re referring back to, but also because it is enough, and it would be enough for the eternity she plans on spending with you.
(Godhood, for the record, was nothing like you’d ever expected, although not much changes. You’re still you. Azzi is still Azzi, and while the realm you have control over is limited, it’s yours. That’s enough for you.
But if the sun shines a little brighter on brides in autumn, and if the birds warble a song in tune with the wedding accompanist in spring, then you and Azzi would just consider that a team effort.)
