The prank starts when Steve snatches the bag from Bee, her hand frozen in its path, the chip almost at her mouth.
It ends with Bucky blocking the doorway. "You have two seconds to give that back to my baby." There's a casual threat laced in his tone, and it's as real as the knives hidden in his suit.
Steve grins, looking over his shoulder to wink at a befuddled Bee who's still trying to process what just happened. "Aren't you supposed to start with three seconds?"
"One."
Steve's gaze flicks over to his best friend. Oh, he's not joking.
"Two." He takes a step towards Steve, his hand slipping in his pocket. The silence is broken by the soft crunch of a chip.
Steve always has an exit strategy or two planned no matter which room he's in. It's an ingrained habit that's gotten him out of some sticky situations. As Bucky advances, he turns and picks up Bee, shamelessly holding her in front of him.
"Say hi to Bucky, Bumblebee." Steve waves her hand at the glowering mobster.
Bucky blinks, his eyes softening as he glances at her. "Bună ziua Bumblebee."
"Hi Papa," she sings out with a chubby cheeked grin.
Bucky's gazes shifts back to Steve, his voice deceptively calm. "You have one second to hand my child over to me and return her snack."
Even after all this time, Steve hasn't gotten used to how gently Bucky speaks to her. He never thought his friend was capable of such a thing until he witnessed it first hand.
"Uncle Stevie, I needs my chips pwease," she requests, peering up at him. "You can has one if you hungwy."
"Seriously, didn't anyone teach you about the three second rule? You always start with three." His statement is met with a blank stare.
"One."
Bucky can only sigh when the head of the Irish Mafia takes off with his giggling child.
Steve holds Bee tighter, looks down at her, and smiles. "We gotta run, Bee. I'll get you more chips once I'm safe."
The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound in the otherwise silent lab. You leaned over the workbench, brows furrowed in concentration as your fingers traced the strange etchings on the alien weapon’s surface. Tony had asked for your expertise, but even you weren’t sure what you were dealing with yet. The metal pulsed faintly beneath your touch, as if it were alive.
You exhaled, rubbing at your tired eyes. It was well past midnight, and you knew Bucky would be worried. He always was when you worked late. You smiled at the thought—your grumpy soldier turned soft for you. He was the only one who could pull you away from your work with just a look, the only one who could convince you to rest.
Just as you reached for your communicator to send him a quick message, the lights flickered. A deep, guttural growl echoed through the lab, freezing you in place. The air turned thick, heavy with the presence of something unnatural.
Slowly, you turned.
A towering figure loomed in the doorway, eyes glowing a sickly yellow. The weapon vibrated violently beneath your hand, reacting to its true owner.
“Oh, shit.”
Before you could move, the alien lunged.
The compound shook with the force of the blast.
Bucky was in the common room with Steve and Sam when the alarms blared, a cold dread seizing his chest. He didn’t need to be told where the explosion had come from—he already knew.
“(Y/N),” he breathed, already sprinting toward the lab.
The sight that greeted him made his stomach drop.
Shattered glass, overturned tables, and a gaping hole in the lab’s reinforced walls. But the worst part—the part that made his blood run ice cold—was the pool of blood staining the floor.
“No,” he whispered, voice strangled.
His hands shook as he crouched down, fingers brushing over the still-warm blood. Your blood. His vision blurred, heart hammering wildly in his chest.
Steve’s voice was distant, muffled, as he barked out orders. Sam was already scanning the security footage, but Bucky couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
She’s gone. They took her.
He’d let himself love you. Let himself believe he could have something good. And now—now he might have lost you.
The alien’s ship was located two hours later. It wasn’t soon enough.
Bucky had barely let the Quinjet land before he was leaping out, sprinting toward the structure where the signal led. The others barely kept up, but he didn’t care. He had to get to you.
They found you strapped to a metal slab, restraints biting into your wrists. Blood coated your torn shirt, fresh wounds marring your skin. You were barely conscious, eyes fluttering weakly as the alien loomed over you, preparing to strike again.
Bucky saw red.
The alien barely had time to react before Bucky was on him, metal fist colliding with bone with a sickening crunch. He didn’t stop—not when the creature roared in pain, not when Steve yelled for him to stand down.
It was only when he felt your weak fingers brush his own that he froze. Steve must have freed her when he had the chance.
“B-Bucky?” your voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. You were hunched over, on your knees.
His heart clenched painfully at how broken you sounded. He turned to you immediately, cradling your face with shaking hands. “I’m here, doll. I got you.”
You tried to smile, but it quickly turned into a wince. “Took you… long enough.”
Bucky let out a strangled laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “You scared the hell outta me.”
Your fingers curled weakly around his wrist. “Didn’t mean to.”
His throat tightened. “You're never working on one of Tony's projects again. Ever.”
You hummed softly, eyes slipping shut. Bucky panicked, shaking you lightly. “Hey, no, stay with me. You hear me? We’re going home.”
He quickly scooped you up, letting your head rest on his shoulder. Bucky's heart ached at the sight, and he subconsciously pulled you closer to him, vowing to never let you out of his sight.
Back at the compound, it was hours before you woke up. Bucky never left your side, metal fingers intertwined with yours as he watched the steady rise and fall of your chest. Steve had tried to lighten to mood by joking that Bucky was far too overprotective, that he was too much like a lost puppy; but he quickly realised that Bucky was not paying attention, and he left.
When your eyes finally fluttered open, he exhaled deeply, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.
“Hey,” you croaked, voice still weak.
Bucky leaned in, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “Hey yourself.”
“You look like hell,” you teased weakly.
Bucky huffed a laugh, but his eyes were still clouded with worry. “You almost died.”
You squeezed his hand, offering a tired smile. “But I didn’t.”
His jaw clenched, emotions warring in his gaze. “I can’t lose you,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t lose the only person I know I can trust, I know I can love.”
You tugged on his hand until he hesitantly leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. You sighed, reveling in the familiar warmth of him.
“You won’t,” you promised. “I’m right here.”
Bucky swallowed hard, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Yeah,” he murmured. “And I’m never letting you go.”
Jane Austen really said ‘I respect the “I can fix him” movement but that’s just not me. He’ll fix himself if knows what’s good for him’ and that’s why her works are still calling the shots today.
Summary: Falling in love with Azriel had never been in the cards. Falling in love with anyone other than the husband your father appointed to you had always been a far-fetched notion. And that was a truth you had lived by. 10 years ago.
Word count: 5k
Warnings: Yearning, pining, all that is longing and angst and exes to lovers <3
a/n: Guys I adored writing this so I hope you love it!! Inspired by 'We Hug Now' by Sydney Rose. I so so appreciate hearing what you think. Thank you for reading!!
Read the continuation of Warren's story here
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
You fiddled with the ring on your finger, passing it over your knuckle and twisting it back down.
Your stomach hurt, pain and nausea mingling with such severity you feared you would be sick. The thought was comical, in a way. The company at the table would be so concerned over their dresses and the obscenely expensive tablecloth that you could probably sneak away. But that would still be a feat considering the heavy palm resting on your thigh.
Warren was a nice man. He fulfilled his duties as the man you were to marry with dutiful purpose. He learned your favorite foods, how you liked your tea in the morning, and the shops you frequented. He touched you kindly, respectfully, and he was always nice to your friends. He was nice. But you were not in love with him.
In Warren’s defense, you were never going to be in love with him. Your father had decided that you should be, however, so you were promised to him from a young age. That was typical of the high fae with your family’s rank, and you had evaded that duty for some time now. Your father had given into your whims for several years, allowing you to “galavant around”, as he would say, acting as the Winter Court’s emissary until Warren’s family grew impatient.
Your return to Winter had been met with immediate wedding planning. You had been called upon for floral arrangements and the menu and to finalize the color scheme. Warren had done his best to quell his incessant mother’s demands, but the wedding was a court affair and everyone was thrilled.
Well, most were.
Before you had stepped foot in the Night Court ten years ago, you had been indifferent about the wedding. Sure, it wasn’t optimal to have to marry a man you knew so little about, but it had been an expectation since your birth. Warren may not have been your choice, but he was certainly not the worst choice when compared to the other eligible bachelors in the pool. You had left to act as emissary with a gentle begrudging that cared little for the future.
You had returned with so much indescribable longing that you had trouble speaking to others.
Every decision you made was accompanied by an inundating weight that threatened to crush you. You chose daisies for the aisle and you thought of him. You wore that ridiculous wedding dress with the high neck and drapey sleeves and you remembered how he used to touch you. You sat at this dinner, celebrating the joining of two families, and you reminisced on how it felt to sit with him, with his family, and to feel that you belonged somewhere.
The urge to be sick persisted as your future mother-in-law hoisted her glass in the air, bubbles losing weight and flying up to the rim.
It was cruel—all the mundane things that reminded you of him.
“To my son,” Warren’s mother toasted, white furs puffing around her cheeks. “And his new bride-to-be. We are overjoyed that the long-awaited day meets us!”
You gritted through your smile, raising your glass to your lips. The edge hit your teeth and the sound of the impact vibrated your brain.
“Oops,” you giggled, the splattering of fae wine against cobblestone suddenly hilarious. “Who did that?”
“I believe you are the only one in this alleyway, my love.” Azriel’s smooth voice sent a pleasant warmth up your spine.
You whirled around, night air kissing your bare shoulders. It felt electric when accompanied by Azriel’s adoring smile—addicting.
“You followed me,” you mused, curling your glass into your chest and stepping closer to the Shadowsinger.
Azriel met your steps without pause. “Of course I did.” You smiled at him, light and airy. He brought soft fingers up to brush along your face as he asked, “Are you alright?”
“More than alright,” you were quick to reply. “Just needed some air. It gets so hot in there.”
He hummed, eyes tracing over your features. “Want to go home?”
“I feel that Mor would be angry with me.”
“She would only be angry for a day. Buy her those shoes she was eyeing.”
“And why should I choose to go home with you?”
Azriel pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. He moved back, only an inch, and whispered, “Come with me and you’ll find out.”
“That reminds me of when Warren climbed that icy tree in the courtyard. Oh, what a silly child he was!” A boisterous aunt clapped her hands as she shouted, snapping you out of the memory with a small jump.
Your chest ached as you breathed out a laugh and rejoined the table.
Beside you, Warren chuckled, his hand brushing lightly near your knee. “Please, do not bring up anything I’ve done before the age of twenty,” he pleaded. His eyes shone their pretty blues. His hair looked enticingly soft. “I don’t need y/n to have those images in her mind.”
He turned slightly, flashing you a small smile that spelled marital secrets and private conversations through eyes.
Where you should have felt the lightness of new love elating you, buzzing at your skin, you felt the increasing urge to cry. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t cry. You hadn’t cried since the night you left him.
“I’m sure it would only make you that much more endearing,” you teased, swallowing hard when Warren took your words as an opening to dive into a tale of the past.
He didn’t deserve this, in all honesty.
Warren was a nice man.
But Azriel—
“You are so beautiful.”
“You’re supposed to be watching, Az,” you admonished, tucking your face into his arm to hide the heat on your face.
“I am watching,” he argued. He leaned down, your back pressed to his chest, and kissed the skin above your ear.
“Not me. The stars,” you clarified.
You tilted your head slightly, meeting the crook of his elbow where it rounded your shoulders. He kissed you again and again, mapping out the top of your head with the delicate pecks. You laughed and that only egged him on. He turned you and pressed you back until your spine met the railing of the balcony, and then he was kissing your cheeks and your temple—the bridge of your nose and your brow.
“Azriel,” you tried again, but his smile was against your skin and he wasn’t listening. “You’re missing Starfall!”
“I can see it next year,” he murmured against you.
“And you can kiss me whenever you want.”
He paused, pulling back to catch your eyes. You smiled, confused at the serious moment in the otherwise light mood. He had no response to your confusion, only leaning back in to brush his nose against yours.
Maybe he had known.
You had foolishly thought this all to be avoidable, figuring your father would understand that you had found happiness. That he would have cared and given up on this unwanted marriage.
He hadn’t.
“Isn’t that right?”
You blinked, turning to your fiance with a haze in your eyes.
You hadn’t been listening.
The cake on your plate was becoming stale, its untouched state starkly contrasted with the empty glass of champagne to the left. You pulled your lips into a line, searching Warren’s encouraging eyes as he tried to help you. It didn’t work; you had no idea where the conversation was left.
“I’m sorry,” you bluntly stated, voice turned up into the posh tone your father had ingrained in you. You turned to address the table. “I seem to have been lost in my head. I didn’t sleep very well last night. Catch me up?”
Warren gave your knee a fond squeeze before removing his hand to place it on the back of your chair. He leaned down slightly, his voice lowering as he offered a gentle excuse for you. She has been so incredibly busy, he offered warmly, she’ll be even busier when the wedding is over.
You felt as if you were underwater. Your face lit up with another asinine smile and it was difficult to breathe. Not because you weren’t used to this setting—not because Warren was a bad man. This was supposed to be your life. This was what you were supposed to be doing.
There had never been any indication of a different path.
“I love you.”
You whipped your head to the side, abandoning the sketchbook in your lap as your charcoal rolled into the seat cushions.
“What?”
Azriel smiled. He leaned over the pillow separating you, tucking your knees further into your chest as he closed the space on the loveseat. “I said I love you,” he repeated, breath fanning over your lips. “I’ve told you before, but you haven’t heard me.”
You let out an incredulous huff of laughter, your gaze bouncing between both of his eyes. “When? I don’t remember that.”
“At the Sidra yesterday. Last week at the shops. Three days ago when you fell asleep on me.”
“No, you didn’t! I would have remembered.”
Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear and left his hand resting on your cheek. “You are often oblivious to your surroundings, my love. Especially when something is interesting in front of you like fish or jewels.”
You scoffed. “Not true. My father made sure I was very observant. My tutor would smack the back of my neck any time I got distracted.”
Azriel tutted, disapproval darkening his eyes as he brushed his scarred hand to cup the back of your neck. He shifted on the loveseat so you were sat on his lap, his other hand finding a home on the side of your thighs.
“That is cruel,” Azriel remarked. “Being distracted is in your nature. I don’t know if there is a time you are not distracted.”
“There are many interesting things to look at,” you mused, humming as his fingers inched up your scalp.
“I’m sure.” A pause. Azriel had the gall to look unsure. “You do not have to love me back.”
Your posture stiffened, the words leaving you before you could consider them. “I love you, Azriel. I love you, too.”
He seemed to slump against you at that, tension you didn’t know was there leaving his body. He offered you a warm smile and then kissed you—and kissed you and kissed you.
It had seemed like there was another path.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Warren announced to the table. A musician had begun to play the harp in the corner of the restaurant. “My bride and I have much to discuss tonight so we must retire. Please, continue to enjoy the night.”
Confused and disoriented, you took his gloved hand in yours and said goodbye to the correct people. You weren’t supposed to be the first to leave. This was your rehearsal dinner.
Warren guided you into the winding hall, his grip soft and reassuring. You attempted not to trip on your dress as you went, your head throbbing with an invisible pain that seemed to linger these months back in Winter.
It had been months without seeing him.
You were getting married the next day.
It would be final then.
The first step outside the restaurant was both invigorating and unpleasant, the cold air assaulting your senses. It did the job of snapping you out of your thoughts, but then you were left standing in the snow before Warren, and that was a similar form of torture.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he prompted, tugging your cloak over your shoulders. You had missed him grabbing it from the coat check. “You’ve been off since you returned but it’s worse tonight.”
Warren had known you peripherally before you left for the Night Court. You were to be married, so he made it a point to at least meet you before you were gone. He had not known you would be gone for years, but neither had you. The last time you spoke to Warren before you had met Azriel, a wilted salad sat between him and your father, the pair discussing politics and import prices.
Warren would not have known something was wrong, he hardly knew you, but he did anyway. Because he had made it a point to be a good husband.
That’s what made this even more tortuous.
Maybe, if he were terrible, it would be easy.
Your chin wobbled for a moment of breath. You’d pass it off as a chill.
“Nothing is wrong,” you smiled, cheeks already stiff from the cold. “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”
Warren closed his eyes, breath a white puff before him. “Don’t lie.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not!”
Azriel tugged his hand through his hair. His face was flushed, feet taking him in a disorganized line around the room. “You are engaged.”
“Not by choice. I don’t know him, not really. I could tell my father—”
“You would be shunned—cut off. I know how noble families are, y/n.”
The use of your name struck you, a stark contrast to the soft, endearing terms Azriel so loved to use around you. You flinched unconsciously, eyes darting around his room to find some sort of explanation for this.
“I don’t care about any of that,” you urged. You remained rooted in the doorway, unable to move. “I’d stay here. I wouldn’t go back.”
“You would leave your family? Your… fiancé?” Azriel spit out the last word. The crumbled missive crinkled in your hand as you clutched it tighter.
“I would do anything to be with you.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t make this my decision.”
The paper fell from your fingers. You brought your palm to your chest, ignoring the harshness of his tone. “No, I know. This isn’t—this is my choice, Azriel. I want to stay here. To be with you.”
“I can’t be the reason you abandon your family. Your responsibilities. You—You lied, y/n. You never told me about any of this,” Azriel bit out, hands curled into fists.
“I’m sorry! I wanted to—I did—but I was so afraid you would be angry. And then I fell in love with you and—”
Azriel held his hand up, abruptly stopping your teary explanation. His chest visibility heaved. “You should go.”
“What?”
“Answer your father. Tell him you’ll comply with the date.”
Tears wet your cheeks, the silence following his demand pressing them down in heavy streaks. He stared back at you and he looked so angry, his eyes a calculated cold. He had never looked at you like that.
“You’re hurt,” you spoke, voice a mess of tears. “You don’t mean that.”
He only shook his head slightly. “I do.”
“Azriel, I love you. I was promised to marry him when I was born. I don’t—”
The muscle in his jaw feathered, effectively silencing you. His shadows were going haywire, half of them wrapped around their master, protecting him, the other half twining around your chest. Did they know you were in pain? Did they know your chest wouldn’t move?
“Okay,” you relented. More tears fell when Azriel only gave you a hard stare. “Okay, I—I’m sorry, Azriel. I love you—”
You choked on a sob when he turned around, apparently unable to watch as you broke down.
And that's what made this the most torturous of all; you could leave Warren—maybe—and Azriel still wouldn’t want you back.
You decided you wouldn’t lie to Warren just as you didn’t to Azriel.
“I fell in love.”
Warren nodded, barely blinking at your admission. “In Night?”
Your brow furrowed. “Yes, but—you aren’t angry?”
“I couldn’t expect you to tie yourself to me. You didn’t know me when we were engaged and I didn’t do the best job at getting to know you when we came of age.”
“I left.”
“To meet your soulmate, it seems.”
“We had no mating bond.”
Warren’s mouth ticked up at the corner. He adjusted the collar of your cloak and dusted the snow from your shoulder. “A mating bond is not always the answer.”
Faelight from the post beside the restaurant gleamed off the bronze hues in Warren’s hair. He leaned back, hands encasing your upper arms. “I’ve missed my chance then.”
Something soft fractured inside of you—because he was right. Warren could be all things kind and loving and he wouldn’t be Azriel. No one would be.
“I’m sorry,” you softly spoke. “I never meant—”
“Don’t apologize. Go to him.”
Your lips parted. “Warren, I couldn’t. We’re to be married tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that to you. And our families would be enraged.”
“I’m hardly concerned about our families. As much as I would have enjoyed marrying you—and I would have, please do not get that misconstrued—there are several noble ladies my mother has lined up and already ready, I’m sure. And as for your family… to be honest, y/n, you came back from Night brighter than I remember you. It seems you have another family waiting for you.”
It all sounded wonderful—wonderful and so, so easy. You’d have Warren as an ally and you could return to the people you’d called home for so many years. You’d feel at home. The loss of your homeland would sting, but it was a worthy sacrifice.
But then you remembered the anger and hurt in Azriel’s eyes, and this was no longer easy.
The light extinguished from your eyes, shoulders deflating in Warren’s hold. “I can’t. He was so angry with me.”
“When?”
You met the blues of his eyes, chest hollow. “He found out about our engagement the night before I returned. He told me to go. He was—Warren, he wouldn’t want me back.”
Warren clicked his tongue. “I can guarantee that he’s kicking himself over that. He didn’t mean it. Imagine you learned he was engaged after so many years together. That can’t have been easy.”
“I know,” you mumbled, ashamed.
“But—” he continued “—if he loves you, he would have regretted that the moment you left. Go back to him. Speak with him. If he turns you away we can still be married in the morning.”
“You would still marry me?” you deadpanned, brow raised in amusement.
“It’s either you or the girl my mother surely has on standby.”
You scoffed out a laugh and pushed at his chest. He grabbed his sweater in mock pain, a charming smile playing on his face.
Despite the task that awaited you, you felt lighter. You let out a resolute sigh before saying, “You’re going to be a wonderful husband, Warren.”
He looked up at you from where he had bent his neck, peeking out from below his lashes. “Just not to you?” he asked.
“Not to me,” you affirmed.
~~
The air in the Night Court felt different—shimmering, somehow, although that may have been chalked up to the anxiety coursing through your veins. The crystalline silk dress still adorning your frame stood out against the dark hues of the court.
It had been a feat to get up to the house. After winnowing into the outskirts of Velaris, you had prayed Mor was home to the tune of several knocks on her door. She was—thankfully—and seemingly more than happy to see you. She had rushed through a tale of how terrible Azriel was doing without you that quickly morphed into a lecture about how pissed she was that you left without a proper farewell.
You had apologized, and she had sent for someone with wings.
Cassian appeared next, rattling off much of the same as Mor only with more shouting and less snapping. After several apologies, Cassian brought you up to the House and then promptly left to the opposite side of the House.
And so, you were left alone with an insurmountable task.
The halls of the House were painfully familiar, each step a reminder of the life you once thought to be forever. You passed your room—only used for the first few months before you made a home in Azriel’s—several sitting rooms, the kitchen; Azriel’s door was closed.
You hadn’t knocked on it in years.
You sucked in a breath, allowing it to fill your chest and then your stomach, and then you knocked. And knocked again.
“I told you to leave it, Cassian,” came Azriel’s reply. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”
His voice was rough and thick. You knocked again, listening close to the wood for the sound of footfall or movement. You only heard Azriel’s bed shift.
You knocked again.
No answer.
Well, if you were going to do this it wasn’t going to be halfway.
You turned the knob, the metal cold and reassuring under your palm. You had done that before.
Azriel’s room was much of the same. Some things were missing; paintings on the wall had been removed, the side of the bed you typically slept on looked all but bare, his curtains had been changed.
Your gaze went out before it went in, and when it went in, you saw him. Hunched over on the side of his bed, Azriel sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His fingers were threaded through his hair, his room almost unseeably dark. He didn’t look up when you entered.
“I want to be left alone,” he grunted out. He sniffed. “Tell me after she’s married and only then.”
He knew you were getting married tomorrow. He had kept track.
Obviously, that had been a possibility, but you had expected more avoidance. He was angry with you—at you. He couldn’t even look at you when you left, hadn’t told you he loved you as you packed your things and vanished. It would have made sense if he resented you. If he stayed away from all things that involved you.
“I am not getting married.”
His head snapped up at a vicious speed, hands falling into his lap just as quickly. His shadows, once in a clump at his feet, exclaimed in the air before cautiously edging towards you. He took you in, eyes roving over your figure in a panic. You caught the reflection on his cheekbones in the small amount of light filtering past his curtains. His eyes were swollen, his face gaunt.
His voice cracked as it formed the sounds of your name.
Nerves caught up with you. You closed the door behind you and stayed rooted in the same spot you had left him in, feet creating an indent by the wall. You played with your fingers at your waist.
“Um, hello,” you greeted, clearing your throat. It hurt to look at him, you realized. You tore your eyes from his ruined expression to gaze down at your hands. “I realize you told me to leave. And I did—I had every intention of following my father’s requests as you told me to do. But—um. Warren could tell something was off. I was trying my best, I swear I was, but it was hard to fall back into that role after spending so much time here. After being comfortable here. With you.”
You chewed at your cheek for a moment. A bad habit you had picked up in the months back in Winter. Azriel’s bed creaked. He’d stood up.
He was going to leave. You needed to get this out, quickly.
“I know you’re angry and I’m so sorry, Azriel. I had foolishly thought I could avoid the fate my father had set out if I just ignored it. If I just lived out my life here with you. I thought it would all go away so I never told you about Warren and—”
“Please,” Azriel interrupted. “Stop saying his name.”
You could feel his presence. Now directly in front of you, his shadows became more comfortable and had taken to sliding along your skin. Azriel stepped forward until you could hear his breath, but you refused to look up. You couldn’t.
You apologized instead. “I just came back because… I just wanted you to know that you have become my family. You had said that I was making a choice between you and my family, but that’s not true. I feel at home here. And you can tell me to leave again. You can and I’ll—”
“Look at me.”
You sucked in a breath, picking at the skin of your palm.
Azriel placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting your face up to his. The first touch of his skin against yours had warmth blooming in your gut, but it was quickly replaced with a tight ball of anxiety when his eyes met yours.
“Gods, I’ve missed your eyes,” he all but sighed. You backed up a step until your back met his door. He followed. “Is it my turn to talk?”
You pressed your lips together and nodded.
“Letting you leave—speaking to you like that—has been my greatest regret,” he began, the gravelly nature of his voice conveying more than his words ever could. His lashes were damp as they fanned against his cheeks.
“I didn’t tell you the truth. You had every right—”
Azriel pressed his thumb to your bottom lip and trained his eyes on the skin he displaced. He winced with a slight shake of his head. “I’m talking, my love.”
He continued. “I did not have the right. I was hurt, you were correct, but I wasn’t listening. It was unfair of me to react that way. I wanted you to come back the moment you left.”
“Then why didn’t you come get me?” you whispered.
“I thought you had everything you wanted. I figured—y/n, I have never been the best option. I’m a killer. I have hang-ups. I wanted you to have a way out.”
“I didn’t want a way out,” you stressed, gripping Azriel’s wrist. He had moved his hand back to cup your jaw. “I wanted you. I didn’t care about any of that. I was willing to throw away my entire life in Winter to stay.”
“I know.”
“And then you told me to leave.”
“I know.”
“It’s not fair.”
Azriel let out a tortured breath. His shoulders sagged and his forehead met yours, even though he didn’t ask, even though you weren’t sure who was mad at who anymore. You kept your eyes open as his closed, watching his face twist.
“Wanted?”
You drew back. “What?”
Azriel’s eyes opened. “You said wanted. That you wanted me. That you were willing to stay.”
You could only stare at him.
“Does that mean… is this irreparable?”
“Why do you think I’m here, Azriel?” A broken, defeated smile donned your face. “I don’t think we could ever be irreparable. I don’t think I’d have the strength to keep that up.”
He was kissing you, a hurried press of his lips against yours, and his sticky cheeks became wet once more as they brushed against yours. His hands found the back of your head, your waist, pulling you in closer. His wings came around to keep you in place—unnecessary. You weren’t going to leave.
He pressed harder still, barely enough air between you to breathe. He took the small amount that was there, whispering apologies and declarations against your lips.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know, Azriel.”
“Please don’t marry him.”
“I won’t.”
“I love you. So much.”
You kissed him more, softer, and he let you set the pace. At some point, his feet had guided you to the plush surface of his bed, positioning you at the head without ever breaking from your lips.
“I’m sorry,” he said again—a kiss to your jaw, one along your temple. “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Showing you how much I love you.”
“It’s okay, Azriel. I’m sorry too—”
“Don’t. Please. I played out you returning to me so many times in my head. You never apologized in them. You have no reason to.”
You threaded your fingers through the hair on his nape, eyes cast softly up as he hovered above you. “I could have been more open.”
“I’ve thought about that. I—I was foolish to think you’d want that future. You are nothing like the woman they have forced you into the mold of.”
A small smile. “So you’ve noticed?”
Azriel only kissed you once more before a seriousness cast over his face. “Were you… treated well?”
“Treated well?”
“I believe his name is Warren.”
You fought back a laugh at the way he mumbled the words. “You’re worried he was cruel?”
“Among other things. I know how noblemen can behave.”
“And when did you begin to worry about that.”
“From the moment you said his name was Warren.”
You did laugh that time, shifting on the bed until Azriel laid on his back. You rested along his side, palm flat on his chest. Like a moth to a flame, Azriel’s wings captured you in their own hold.
“Warren would have made a good husband. He is a kind man—doting, even.” Azriel tensed beneath you, but you only smoothed your fingers down the plane of his chest. “But I didn’t love him. Maybe I could have tried, before I met you. But not after.”
Azriel rested his hand atop yours, squeezing your fingers. “I will thank him then. For caring for you when I did not.”
You looked at him softly, removing your hand to brush stray hairs from his forehead. “He told me to go to you. I was at my rehearsal dinner. I think if I had opened my mouth I would have said your name.”
He responded with a hand rubbing circles into your back. You laid your head on his chest. “Things will be different now. I can’t go home for a while.”
“You are home,” he replied. “Things may be different, but I will never be different. Not when it comes to you.”
Read the continuation of Warren's story here
Just keep your head up, love, keep your head up. @youngblood199456 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
snowghoul
blakekathryn
romaincrisis
andulkaphoto
titsay
gummygunk
stormborns
