Astarion's Durge

Azriel the Shadowsinger fics recommedation | @peotego

Azriel the Shadowsinger fics recommedation part 2 | @/peotego

Azriel Fic Rec Library pt. 2 | @mischiefmanagers

Fic Recs | @amandamariee

Ceilings | @helionpegasus

Reader and Azriel announce they're FINALLY mated | @/helionpegasus

My angel  | @starlightandsouls

Azriel and reader are in a relationship, reader already has a daughter who adores Az, maybe one night the little girl ask him to read her a bedtime story and she says something like "I love you daddy, goodnight" and that was the first time she said those to him and he goes tell reader

Exile Pt.II | @bookish-whore

Sunlight, Shadows, and Secrets | @acotarobsessed

Puppy Love | @acotrash

City of Nightmares | @heart-defendor

Azriel longed for a mate, a love like that of his brothers. Soft and sweet and gentle. Too bad he got a citizen of Hewn City instead.

City of Nightmares Pt. 3 | @/heart-defendor

lemon tart | @azrielslostshadow

I see you | @/azrielslostshadow

lemon meltaways | @/azrielslostshadow

All Those Years Ago  | @maddithefangirl

“I’m thinking it would be very easy to love you.” & “Love can be a poison.”

headcanons about azriel’s wings | @azpizazz

Never Yours | @ladylokilaufeyson5

You’ve known Azriel was your mate for a long time, but you never enlightened him to the fact. When you find him kissing someone else you decide to take a trip to the Illyrian war camps to take your mind off of the shadowsinger. But the thing about shadows – they always follow.

Female!Illyrian!Reader

Grossly Dependent | @starcrossedreaders

tough love training | @finelinevogue

you attend defence training with the most attractive shadowsinger

family of crazy bedheads | @/finelinevogue

you and azriel spend a morning with your happy daughter

attention, please | @/finelinevogue

az wants attention and you just want to read

Ethereal | @/finelinevogue

azriel is lucky you are his

safe with me | @/finelinevogue

you say 'yes' to being intimate with azriel when you really mean ‘no', because your past relationship taught you that saying 'yes' is the only answer

bigger than all of them | @/finelinevogue

you and the girls have an extremely spicy wine evening

Reverence | @historiaxvanserra

Azriel’s love had always been rough-edged but in the soft light of morning his love is reverent, devout, almost holy.

Buttons | @luvmoo

you and azriel have gotten closer as the seasons changed, though never finding the time to talk about where your relationship stood. During a late night encounter, he finds himself trying to buy as much time with you as possible.

Heart of Ice Part 02 | @paigeswrld

Priorities | @angelshadowsinger

Azriel leaves for yet another mission, even when you beg him to stay. Little does he know, you won't be waiting for him when he returns.

Supposed to Be Together {part 2} | @/angelshadowsinger

𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 . 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵.

Dressed to Kill  (Part Two)  (Part Three) | @claireswritingcorner

You’ve been hired to kill the Shadowsinger at a party but things don’t go according to plan.

Domestic | @azrielhours

Az watches you get ready for an event. He’s never seen the process before and is extremely taken by it. It feels so personal to him and he can’t explain it.

I want you to rest | @/azrielhours

Reader has a nightmare while on a mission w the boys. Azriel comes to the rescue, brings her to his room to comfort her. She doesn’t want to sleep so he stays with her through the night. 

Experiment | @ravencoloredroses

Az is gone on a mission and two people from the past decide to pay the reader a visit to do some experiments…..

A lick of Flame | @tadpolesonalgae

reader is from Autumn, gifted with flame. You get into an argument and have to blow off steam, only to witness the shadows crack.

washing his wings - part 1 | @/tadpolesonalgae

As the oldest of the Archeron siblings, you’re used to taking care of them, particularly when they were younger. Upon taking a trip to the ground floor in the House of Wind, you bump into the Shadowsinger, just back from a week long mission away. He’s tired and the dark circles beneath his eyes are more prominent than usual.

Heartfelt reunion | @/tadpolesonalgae

reader is pregnant but is kidnapped along with Cassian. Azriel saves them and discovers reader is pregnant.

I really don’t think now’s the best time | @lalacliffthorne

battlefields are really not the right place for important revelations.

because it does have it’s perks that Azriel is running cool sometimes | @/lalacliffthorne

May I have this dance? | @florence-end

Azriel’s new mate is painfully shy, despite his efforts to get closer to her. Something shifts between them when Mor needs help with Cassian’s dance lessons.

Hurts Like Hell  Part Two |  @iamqueenpotato

Y/N and Azriel are mates, but when Azriel begins changing, it doesn't seem that love between them exists anymore. 

Shadow and Song  | @glittergelpensblog

As the second youngest Archeron sister, it always felt like it was you and Feyre against the world. You felt like you lost a part of yourself the day she left, and then came back to leave again. When she shows up at your door with three winged fae, you refuse to do anything but help her this time.

Archeron sister

Date Night | @itsphoenix0724

Gardenia | @/itsphoenix0724

winter’s frost | @svearehnn

As Kallias’ sister, you’re expected to help maintain good relations with allied courts. Your newest ally leads you to the Starfall celebration, and it ends up changing your life much more drastically than you expected.

Kallias’ sister

This Love | @littlestarlightseverywhere

Azriel would set the world on fire if it that’s what it took for his mate believe she deserves his love

domestic bliss | @bat-boys

a series of scenes that give an insight into the domestic bliss you had built with your mate

Besotted | @/bat-boys

Rhys and Feyre have asked you to babysit Nyx for the day, meaning you get to spend the whole time enjoying one of your favourite weaknesses: your mate cuddling cute babies.

Comfort of Family | @court-of-starss

Your cycle leaves you pining for your mate.

And I wouldn’t marry me, either. Part 02 | @bluetimeombre

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

Notice me! | @heartless-tate

Azriel courting an oblivious reader.

Happy Ending | @milswrites

Azriel's brothers remind him that he deserves happiness too.

Masterlist | @kymawrites

Pure Love | @/kymawrites

A series of moments that show your blooming love for Azriel, who was too busy cultivating his own love for you to notice.

Home | @/kymawrites

Leaving your family, leaving Azriel, for two whole months following Amarantha's reign of terror was harder than you anticipated. Azriel and you cling to each other upon your return.

Blush | @/kymawrites

You really like making Azriel blush.

My Heart Has Wings - Masterlist | @/kymawrites

You and Azriel long for the love your family members have found. That longing can easily turn into an isolating loneliness, so what if you rely on each other to numb that sickly feeling? What if your chance at love has been by your side for nearly a century?

Thorns and Toxins | @/kymawrites

Azriel knew something was off the moment you walked into the training room. You brushed him off, and ended up sending the poor male into a tailspin after you collapsed while sparring.

Snap into place | @soulofapatrick

You meet Azriel and the mate bond snaps into place

like calls to like | @/sodapopwrites

you and azriel have been dancing around the mating bond for years. hiding the secret of your shadowsinger powers from your friends for years. before leaving for hybern to destroy the cauldron some secrets must come out and some remain unsaid. both you and azriel must deal with outcome.

A New Place | @acoazlove

Your birthday felt ruined until you met someone new.

Archeron!Reader

Cauldron-born | @itsswritten

When an unexplainable energy pulls the Inner Circle to barge into the Day court, they're all shocked at what they find. But it's Azriel who can't help wonder if his dreams have finally been answered.

Earth’s Song | @/itsswritten

Fairies are made for the wind & sun

Eye of the Storm (Masterlist) | @thesunloveschips

In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Next To My Wife | @randomgurl2326

The one time Azriel let his two worlds collide…ALSO…Based off of this quote from EPIC The Musical: After everything you’ve done, how will you sleep at night/Next to my wife

Maps | @berryz-writes

Azriels daughter finds his scars far more interesting than the map you're trying to show her, indirectly healing a part of Azriel he had left in the dark

Blue | @/berryz-writes

There's a large contrast between the warm and gentle Az you get to enjoy versus the cold and quiet demeanour he reserves for others

A Helping Hand | @inkedinshadows

The bond snapped for Azriel the moment he saw her, thrown into the Cauldron with Elain and Nesta. Now, he wants to help her as she struggles to cope with what happened.

Echoes of the Bond | @/inkedinshadows

When mates are reunited, Y/N grows curious about what the mating bond is, causing Azriel's brain to short-circuit.

Bound by Secrets | @/inkedinshadows

When you get caught sneaking around the Hewn City, you end up in one of the dungeon cells to be interrogated by the infamous Spymaster. But things don't go exactly the way the General and the High Lord thought.

Azriel x Beron’s daughter!reader

Pretty Boy | @sapphicmsmarvel

Azriel overhears y/n tell people her type is a pretty boy and az doesn’t believe he fits that.

mr grumpy and his miss sunshine | @/sapphicmsmarvel

Unspoken fights | @azrielstaylorsversion

Feyre wonders why Azriel and his mate aren't speaking to each other. Rhys explains about there unusual communication habits and she feels the need to fix it.

Child Curiosity | @bookwormjust

Carry by shadows | @/bookwormjust

In Your Presence : Azriel’s Quiet Sanctuary | @/bookwormjust

Masterlist | @moosesarecute

Rhysand’s sister

Paid Time Off | @/moosesarecute

you fall asleep on azriel | @lidiasloca

The Bet | @7seas-of-ryy

Who will be able to get Azriel to laugh first?

Confession | @harrystylesfan2686

your first time with azriel | @saintsuriel

Only this time, Raphael’s body in the sterilized reality doesn’t contain the slate that’s needed to save everyone. Padding him down, you check every pocket, sleeve, boot, anything you can find. But there’s nothing.

“Shit, Raph, where’d you put the damn slate?” The search spreads wider.

You rifle through lockers and under desks and chairs. You even check the bathroom. Maybe he dropped it behind the toilet? But it’s nowhere to be found and time is ticking. Shifting back to the reality colored apocalyptic horror, you find Raphael, alive and well.

“Hey, do you have the slate?”

“What slate?” he asks and his confusion has your stomach in knots.

“The one with the degaussing instructions.”

“I don't have that.”

If only you’d taken time to memorize it. The regret pools in your gut. Learning the hard way, again.

With a sigh, you thank him and head back to the sterilized reality. At the very least, you can save this version. But new questions arise in your head with the turn of events. Is it a mercy to leave Raph, protecting him from the crushing weight of being a sole survivor? Or will he slowly starve to death, coming back for you in another universe, angry and vengeful?

There’s no time to dwell. You make your choice. Scientists over Raphael.

You disengage every power interlock as quickly as you can. Power down the central control and grab the artifact.

Spinning and swirling and swimming in a sea of stars, the unity touches your mind, showing you the latest thread spun in your particular tapestry of fate.

You wake up, only one thing on your mind.

Sam.

Did this new decision cause a disruption or a disconnect? Will you leave Nishima and find him standing just outside the facility where he said he’ll be?

How badly is this world fucked?

Panic rises, festering and oozing out through your sweating palms. You fret and fumble, stumbling your way back to the main entrance. You don’t even bother to check up on the scientists. They’re obviously fine. Their thank yous roll off your back as you pass them by. You see the exit.

The door hisses and it feels like an eternity before they pull apart enough for you to squeeze through, eyes searching for the place he should be.

“Sam?” You call, your voice dry, rough and cracked.

But he’s not where you left him.

Your heart races. You’re mumbling “no” under your breath, over and over again, like a penitent sinner. Pleading with the heavens, and bargaining with the stars.

“Sam!” You scream.

His name is a choked back sob burning at the back of your throat.

“You better be here,” you croak, eyes searching the horizon and all the places around you.

He shouldn’t be back at the ship but what if he is? What if he’s safe? A glimmer of hope. You need to see. Need to know.

You take another step forward, the tears drying as you tell yourself that he’ll be there.

But then that little worm named worry inches in, whispering to you, what if he isn’t? Then you’ll have to explain to your crew mates. Explain to Cora.

Oh, no—Cora.

You slump to your knees, the voice of worry growing louder. A cacophony of horrible what-ifs brings your heart rate up so high your hands are shaking. You can’t go back to the ship without him. You can’t—you won’t. You know you haven’t searched everywhere. There's one last place before you’ll give in and go to the ship, to face whatever might be waiting there. So you turn around, retracing your steps back to the facility, heading up the stairs and toward the cliff edge. You pass by a tree on the right and pause to watch as the sky awakens in an ambient peach glow. It’s beautiful but it’s not Sam. You hang your head, hopeless.

“Oh Sam,” you whisper to yourself. “Where are you?”

A hand on your shoulder has you reeling around, gun in your hand.

“Whoa, whoa! You alright there, darlin,?”

Sam.

He’s okay. He’s okay! The weight lifts off you and just one look into his baby blues is enough to carry you down from that panic driven high.The air is breathable again as you toss your gun aside, throwing your arms around Sam’s neck. You cling to him, fingers grasping at the bare skin of the back of his neck, tears flowing freely down your face. “Where were you? I looked everywhere and you weren’t—you weren’t—“

Then your hands are on his cheeks, fingers to his lips as your eyes map out the entirety of his face. You wrap your arms around his midsection and squeeze, ear pressed against his chest. His heartbeat is a steady thrum inside your head.

He holds you tight, smoothing his hand up and down your back. “Shh, I’m right here,” he says. “I’m right here.”

“I thought I’d lost you.” Again.

“You haven’t lost me,” he says. “I’m here.”

He gently removes your hands from his neck and holds them, studying your face.

You grasp his hands tightly, and bring them to your lips. One kiss for each knuckle and one kiss for each scar. Then you flip his palms over and kiss those too.

The lines of his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. “You okay? Need to talk about what happened in there?”

You shake your head. You’d rather forget it all.

“I just—I need you.”

“Okay,” he says in his familiar and calming drawl. He presses his lips to your forehead. “Okay.”

You lift your chin, searching his eyes. Drink up his soft and gentle smile. Then you kiss him. Deep and devoted. His tongue slips into your mouth, hands roving your body, urgent and insatiable.

You back him against the nearby tree, out of sight for anyone that might come along. No one will, though. You’re confident of that. It’s just you and him and the wide expanse of land meeting sky embracing the two of you in a morning haze.

Your fingers are undoing his belt buckle and his hands slide up your back, to your shoulders and then cup your face. His eyes are askance of your audience.

“We don’t—you don’t have to do this.”

“It’s not a matter of obligation. But of want. Of need,” you tell him.

It’s a matter of finding some solace in the sighs you can invoke. You want to hear him, revere him, touch him. Immerse the entirety of your essence in him.

“Who am I to protest then?” he says with a chuckle.

How you’ve missed that. Missed him. Those few moments without him were just minutes but felt like days—no millennia.

His belt buckle loosens. Button unsnaps.

You relish in the soft zip mixed with the quiet hush of wind at your ear, kneeling before him as the supplicant pilgrim. He’s already shirking out of his jacket, tossing it on the ground beside you. Your fingers inch under the hem of his shirt, exploring the skin of his body and brushing over the hair of his belly. Sprawling hands out to his sides, finger pads pressing into the black inked tattoos, you rest your forehead against him.

Three deep breaths and you’re grounded for a moment.

One of his hands pets your head, soothing and calming before you press your lips to his belly button. Plant a plush path of kisses down to the elastic of his boxer briefs. Then you dip your hand past the band, tugging, and freeing his cock. Gently you massage his balls, while wrapping your other hand around his length. You pump once, careful not to pull the sensitive skin.

He murmurs something sweet, calls you darlin’ as you slide your hand down his shaft. You lick your lips as you eye his excited cock, bobbing slightly and eager. You kiss the veins and make use of your tongue, testing and tasting. Having a bit of fun.

With satisfaction, you envelope him with your lips.

He shudders under the sudden shock of warmth from your mouth; a flood of sensations to his nerves. You draw him in deeper, massaging him as you delight in his tip touching the back of your throat. You pull free, with a smack of tongue to lips while releasing his balls. A string of saliva catches fractals of light as you swipe it from your bottom lip, glancing up to meet his adoring eyes.

“You’re a sight to behold,” he says, voice deep and gravelly.

He doesn’t realize that he’s the true sight to behold. But you will show him. Show him that he’s all that and more.

You close your eyes, those words washing away all that worry. Lips pressed to his tip, you open your mouth wider to be filled with the entirety of him. Your cheeks hollow out as you suck. Your other hand, snaking around his ass and gripping, steadies you as he hisses a profanity.

His hand has slipped from your head to the back of your neck where he holds you tenderly. Though his cock twitches and hips jerk, begging to thrust, he remains self-controlled.

Your own arousal heightens under his strained moans and self suffocated cries. And you take more of him. More of those muffled sounds and praises that keep tumbling out of his mouth with every lick of your tongue. Every languid drag.

You quicken the pace, driven by the urge to please him and a bit of precum spills. You withdraw, lapping it up with a lewd swipe of your tongue.

Stealing another glance up at him, his eyes are closed, head falling back against the tree bark and that self control wavers with a desperate, “please,” and squeeze of your neck.

You oblige happily, losing yourself to his shudders and sighs. Ravishing his length in your mouth, setting a rhythm that pushes him to the precipice, guides him to the edge. His nails dig into your shoulder as you draw him in and out of your mouth. One great sigh and the grip of his hand loosens. Salt and warmth slide down your throat and you still your lips, gently sucking the remainder of his spend.

You swallow each and every last drop. With one last suck before release, his hands pull you away, drawing you up to his lips as he bends over you. Kisses you, urgent and besotted. After a few moments lost in the taste of one another, you break apart. Breathless. Come together again in a desperate embrace. Suspended in time, the sky brightens to almost blinding within the next hour. You never want to let him go. But the others will start to wonder. Unless—

“We should get back,” you say. “We need to check on the others.”

“Why?” Sam asks, tucking himself away and adjusting his pants. He buckles his belt.

“I had to do things differently this time—in Nishina. It’s why I was so worried I couldn’t find you. I was terrified something happened and—what if that something happened to the others—to Cora.” There’s that little flutter of panic again.

“Shh,” he says, pulling you back against his chest. “They’re alright,” he reassures.

“How do you know?”

He pulls away, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezes. “I’ve already checked in on them through the comms. They’re okay. We’re all okay.”

You can feel the moisture in the corner of your eye but you wipe it away.

“I love you,” he says, kissing your forehead, then your cheek. Finally your lips. “Immensely and totally.”

And you know this in every fiber of your being but it is a relief to have it spoken. After everything.

You snatch up his jacket from the ground and dust it off. Hold it open as he stuffs an arm in, shirking it back on. Taking his hand in yours, you squeeze it once.

“I love you Sam Coe, and when we get to a quieter place, I’m going to spend a whole day showing you just how much.”

“Holding me hostage for a day, then?”

“Make that a week.”

With a chuckle and squeeze of your hand, he says, “I’m all yours, darlin’.”

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

Your world is small, contained.

A dim operations room buried somewhere deep in the base, humming with electricity and recycled air. The overhead lights are always too soft or too harsh—never just right—so you’ve taken to leaving only your desk lamp on. It casts a warm, golden pool over your workspace, leaving the rest of the room in a kind of permanent twilight.

Screens line the wall in front of you—six in total, each flickering with different feeds: satellite imaging, drone footage, helmet cams. One is always reserved for him.

Ghost.

Though you never call him that out loud. Not really.

To you, he’s just a voice. A presence. A constant thread in your ear during long nights and longer missions.

You know the cadence of his breathing when he’s crouched and waiting. The way his voice drops half a register when something’s wrong. The quiet, almost imperceptible hitch when he’s injured but refusing to say it.

You know him in pieces.

“Talk to me, bird,” he says one night, softer than usual.

You glance at his feed. He’s tucked behind a crumbling wall, dust coating the camera lens. There’s blood—dark and drying—on his glove.

“Two tangos left,” you reply. “One on your six, slow approach. Other’s posted near the exit.”

A pause.

Then, quieter.

“You always watchin’ me that close?”

Your fingers still for half a second before you recover.

“It’s my job.”

A faint huff of something that might be a laugh.

“Right.”

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

It becomes routine.

Late hours. Your voice guiding him through shadows. His voice grounding you when the silence between updates stretches too long.

Sometimes, when the mission lulls, he talks.

Not much. Never too much.

But enough.

“You ever leave that room, bird?” he asks once.

You glance around at your little corner of the world—half-empty coffee mug, a blanket thrown over the back of your chair, a sticky note peeling off your monitor with scribbled doodles and coordinates.

“Sometimes,” you say. “I think.”

“Think?”

“It’s… easy to lose track of time in here.”

A quiet hum through the comms. Thoughtful.

“Sounds like a cage.”

You swallow, eyes flicking back to his feed.

“Not really.”

A beat.

Then, softer than you’ve ever heard him.

“Still.”

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

You imagine him, sometimes.

Not the mask—that’s all anyone ever sees.

You imagine the man underneath. The lines of his face, the thoughts in his mind, the way he probably looks at a room before stepping into it.

You build him from fragments.

From silence.

From the way he says your name—rare, but it happens.

From the way he says bird—like it means something.

The first time something goes wrong, really wrong, your hands shake.

“Ghost, you need to move. Now.” Your voice is tighter than you’d like, eyes darting across the feeds. “They’ve rerouted—there’s a squad heading straight for you.”

No response.

“Ghost.”

Static.

Your chest tightens.

“Simon.”

The name slips out before you can stop it.

And suddenly—

“I’m here.”

Relief hits so hard it almost hurts.

“I lost visual,” you say quickly, forcing yourself back into focus. “Camera’s down. You’re blind to me.”

“Not blind,” he mutters. “Still got you, don’t I?”

Your throat goes dry.

You guide him anyway. Off memory, off instinct, off the rhythm you’ve built together over countless missions.

Step by step.

Breath by breath.

Until he’s out.

Safe.

They tell you later it was close.

Too close.

You stay in your chair long after the room empties, screens dimming one by one until only your desk lamp remains.

The silence is louder than gunfire.

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

You don’t expect to meet him.

Handlers don’t meet operators. That’s not how this works. You’re voices, not faces. Ghosts in different ways.

So when your door opens one evening—quiet, deliberate—you don’t look up right away.

“Room’s off-limits,” you say absently, eyes still scanning reports. “You’ll need—”

You stop.

Because the room feels… different.

Heavier.

You look up slowly.

And there he is.

Filling the doorway like something pulled straight out of shadow. Broad shoulders, tactical gear, the skull mask stark in the low light. Real in a way that steals the air from your lungs.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Then—

“…Bird.”

It’s quieter in person. Rougher. Real.

Your heart stutters.

“You’re not supposed to be here..” you manage.

“Yeah,” he says, stepping inside anyway, boots barely making a sound against the floor. “Got that impression.”

He looks around your space—your screens, your notes, your carefully controlled chaos.

“This where you’ve been watchin’ me from?”

You nod, suddenly very aware of how small the room is. How close he is.

“All of it,” you say. “Every mission.”

His gaze shifts back to you.

You can’t see his eyes. Not really. But you feel them.

Heavy. Intent.

“Then I figured,” he says slowly, “it’s about time I saw you back.”

Something tightens in your chest.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Wanted to.”

The words land heavier than they should.

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. Not like before. Not like the empty kind.

This is… full.

“You’re quieter in person..” you say softly.

A faint tilt of his head.

“Am I?”

“Yeah.” You hesitate. “But less… hidden.”

A low exhale. Not quite a laugh.

“Funny..,” he murmurs. “Was gonna say the same about you.”

Your lips twitch.

“Guess we’re both a little different off comms.”

“Maybe.” He steps closer—slow, deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you want to.

You don’t.

Up close, he’s overwhelming. Not just in size, but in presence. Like standing too close to a storm.

But there’s something else, too.

Something familiar.

“You called me Simon.” he says quietly.

Heat rushes to your face.

“I—thought I lost you.”

A pause.

Then, softer..

“Didn’t.”

Your breath catches.

For a moment, it feels like you’re still on comms—like this is just another fragile thread of connection stretched across distance.

Except there’s no distance now.

Just him.

Just you.

Just the quiet hum of the room that’s held your voice for so long.

“Guess I’m not just a voice anymore.” you say.

“No,” he agrees.

A beat.

Then, low and certain.

“Still my bird, though.”

When the overwhelming wave of nausea finally abated, you slumped against the hard porcelain, only slightly cringing at where you had rested your head. At least it was your own bathing chamber.

In a magic house.

You huffed a half-delirious laugh, your ribs aching and throat burning as you slowly pushed away from the toilet. Your movements were sluggish, your limbs heavy and trembling as you fully lowered yourself onto the cold floor. Your cheek pressed against the chilled tile, eyes fluttering shut at the momentary relief. You curled in on yourself, exhaustion curling around you like smoke, and you begged it to take you away.

~ ~ ~

A gentle brush against your cheek made you twitch, your face twisting as you turned away from whatever had broken through your momentary reprieve. The touch still lingered, a featherlight caress that followed along your jaw up to your forehead, pressing gently against your sweat-damp skin. Their touch was cold and soothing—a harsh contrast to the bitter chill running up and down your spine.

You tilted your head up, chasing the touch you had turned away from seconds ago. Everything felt heavy. Hot. It was so hot.

“Y/N,” a deep voice murmured. Their tone was cool like their touch, a soothing balm over your inflamed mind cascading into hazy delirium.

You sucked in a breath, your face turning toward the voice. “Y/N,” they said again, this time a little louder, firmer.

You forced your eyes open, your lashes fluttering as light from the window made you wince. It took a moment for your vision to focus, for shapes and blurs to regain their sharp lines and definition—for you to recognize the massive figure kneeling beside you.

“Azriel?” you rasped. You swallowed hard, wincing at the burn in your throat and the acidic taste clinging to your mouth. “What are you doing here?”

There was a little crease between his brows as he looked at you, his gaze otherwise eerily still. “You’re burning up.”

You huffed a pitiful laugh that sounded more like a cough, your ribs flaring with pain. “I didn’t notice.” His palm was still pressed to your forehead, and you were still lying on the floor of your bathroom. Next to your toilet. The mortification that flooded you was almost hot enough to dull the chill nestled deep in your bones. “Did one of my sisters send you?”

Azriel scowled, the crease between his brows morphing into a deep furrow, his lips forming a flat line as his eyes flared with indignation. He pulled his hand away, leaving your flushed face entirely exposed to the stale air around you. You shivered, as if your body wanted to physically remind you that it was currently at war with itself. As if you had forgotten.

Azriel’s scowl disappeared as quickly as it had formed, even the crease between his brows smoothing out as he slipped a hand behind your back. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Let's get up.”

You let him guide you up, not that you really had to let him do anything. He was so large. Even kneeling on the floor with his wings pulled tight behind his back, he still dwarfed you. Everyone here looked like they could crush you with the toe of their shoe. 

The change in position sent a rush through your head, your blood pulsing in your ears as your vision danced with spots. You grabbed the edge of the toilet as another violent wave of nausea roiled through you, heaving your body over the bowl just in time to expel whatever little remains lingered in your stomach.

Azriel didn’t leave. As much as you wished he did, as much as you wished you could fall through the floor and weather this alone, he stayed. He stayed with a steady hand on your back that rubbed up and down your spine, the thin fabric of your nightgown a weak barrier between your skin and his.

It was ugly, and disgusting, and you felt like a frail shell of yourself when the heaving finally ended and you sucked in shaky desperate breaths. Azriel brushed the errant strands of hair plastered to your skin away from your face, the tie you had sloppily pulled it back in failing at its job.

“How long have you been like this?” he asked, voice quiet and restrained, as if worried about breaking the fragile stillness that had fallen over you.

You opened your eyes, still sucking in breaths with more effort than you would have liked. You glanced at the window, the sun streaming through with bright beams. You shrugged, sort of, and answered weakly, “It was dark.”

Azriel murmured under his breath, his ministrations on your back faltering. “Why didn’t you call for someone?”

Your mouth was dry. Your throat hurt. Your head ached. You really weren’t in the mood to be chastised. “Who?” you bit out. “How? No one is here. Cassian is away. Nesta is away. You—”

“I would have come. I did come as soon as—” his words cut off, Azriel seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say. You slowly moved your head toward him, lifting your head from where it was cradled in your arm still resting on the toilet. He met your gaze, his eyes wild with emotions you didn’t have the energy to tease apart. “I gave you that pen and paper. Told you my shadows would deliver any message.”

You remembered. Remembered the pitiful safeguard your sisters had likely forced upon Azriel to give to you as a sad Solstice gift. “That’s for emergencies.”

“It’s for anything,” he argued, his voice rising a bit. He sighed, shaking his head as his hand came up to cup the nape of your neck, the touch sending goosebumps across your skin. “Are you done?” he asked, voice much softer.

You blinked at him, your mind swimming from the fever and pain and his touches and his voice and the way you just noticed his shadows licking softly at your bare feet. You grimaced as you glanced at the toilet, reaching to flush the contents away as you pushed yourself up. “For now,” you murmured.

Azriel didn’t move, barely gave you space to sit back on your heels. You felt a bit detached from your body, your limbs shaky and heart racing as you struggled to keep your mind tethered to your arms and legs that were meant to carry you through this wretched illness. 

“Good,” Azriel said, his voice incredibly close to your ear. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

You shook your head, immediately protesting at the thought of walking to your bed just to inevitably have to hurdle yourself back in here soon. “Can’t.”

“I will get you a bowl,” he said, like a man that was used to plucking solutions out of thin air without being challenged. 

Your bed would be nice. You were suddenly freezing after suffering through the wave of heat you had awoken to, and your ostentatious but undoubtedly soft mattress would inarguably be more comfortable than this hard bathroom floor. Your blankets, your sheets—

Your sheets. Embarrassment curled in the center of your chest, almost mistakable for another bout of nausea if you didn’t know better. Your sheets were uninhabitable after you had awoken from your sleep so suddenly, so violently, you didn’t have a chance to do more than throw the covers off your body before the nausea won over you. “My sheets are—”

“Clean.”

Your eyes snapped toward Azriel. “What?”

His lips curved slightly, into what might have been a smile if he was not kneeling beside you on your bathroom floor after watching you throw up in your toilet. You shivered again, a mixture of your self-disgust and the fever sending another chill through you.

His hands squeezed your arms. “Come on.”

You really didn’t want to stand up, but you did want your bed, and something told you Azriel wouldn’t leave until you got up off your bathroom floor. You nodded, head lolling a little too far forward as your vision swam and your ears buzzed.

“Okay?” Azriel asked softly.

You took a slow breath, willing the dizziness and fatigue away for just a few seconds. “Fine.”

Azriel had moved onto his feet at some point, but he was still crouched beside you as he watched you pitifully push yourself up using the toilet as leverage. Whatever blood and tension that had pooled in your head, making it feel heavy only moments ago, vanished once you stood.

You stumbled, reaching blindly for something to stabilize yourself with before two arms curled around you. “Okay,” Azriel huffed, then lifted you with startling ease. “That’s enough of that.”

He was still in his leathers, you realized, only once your cheek was pressed against the dark fabric across his chest. Where did he come from? How did he even know to look for you? Why did he care?

Your chest prickled with indignation as he carried you into your room, an undercurrent of anxiety running through your veins as you thought about just how vulnerable you were. Anyone could have found you in that bathroom. Sure, you were safe here, in this mountain you could never leave unless you asked someone. They said you were safe.

But you were still a human in the fae lands. You were a human in an enchanted house that was your only company for sometimes days on end, and you were weak and alone. You could never defend yourself if it came down to it. Let alone when you were sick and unconscious on your bathroom floor.

Azriel could have done anything he wanted. He could have—he could have touched you. He could have taken whatever he wanted from you, like the males in your village had once tried—had almost succeeded—and they were mere humans. Azriel was not only fae, he was a warrior, a spy, and he served alongside the most powerful high lord. He could—

He sat you gently on the bed, crouching in front of you as his hand came up to cradle your face with so much gentleness, his thumb hovering before wiping away a tear you didn’t know had fallen. “Hey,” he said, voice a gentle hum. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” His eyes ran over you, a little frantic. “Did I hurt you?”

Azriel would never. You knew that. 

You knew that.

A sob forced its way through your lips. Azriel’s eyes went wide, and before you knew what you were doing, you were falling into him. Your forehead pressed against his leathers, your nose inhaling the faint cedar scent that lingered around him. His arms immediately wrapped around you, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as you cried into his chest.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured.

The name weaved in between your ribs and coiled around your heart, squeezing tight as another ugly sob broke free. You wanted this. You wanted him. You wanted a life with your sisters. You wanted a mate, a love, like they had—and you never would.

“Hey,” Azriel murmured, holding you tight against him as he came up to join you on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, holding you in a way no one ever had before. Even as a child, you couldn’t remember a time someone just held you. “Breathe, Y/N,” he soothed, the words soft and gentle. “Take a breath. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted through broken and shaky sobs. “I’m so scared.”

Azriel held you tighter. “You’re going to be fine,” he murmured. “Madja is coming. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You shook your head, sniffing as exhaustion made your sobs die out, but tears continued rolling down your cheeks. “One day I won’t be,” you whispered, the soul crushing words burning your throat. 

“What?” Azriel asked softly.

“I’m human, Azriel.” You sniffed, turning your face into his chest. “One day, I won’t be here, whether because of illness, or age, or a stupid accident, because I’m human. I’m weak, and I’m alone,” you choked on the word, trembling as anxiety and exhaustion and lingering nausea scraped their claws through your chest. “I don’t want to die,” you whimpered, shoulders shaking. “I don’t want to die while everyone I love gets to keep living. I don’t want to grow old without my sisters. I don’t—I can’t—”

“Okay,” Azriel murmured, rubbing his hand over your head. “Okay,” he said again, the word sounding fragile. “You’re not alone,” he finally said, the words a soft rasp against the top of your head.

You scoffed, starting to protest, but he cut you off. “You’re not.” He squeezed you tighter. “You’re not alone, Y/N.”

“They have mates,” you argued brokenly, “I will never have that.”

“That’s not true,” Azriel assured, the words sounding a little strangled—like they might mean as much to him as they would to you. “I promise, that’s not true.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to get mad, to yell, to tell him he couldn’t possibly know that. You wanted to push him away, you wanted to hide from whatever feelings you felt toward the man—male—who currently held you in his lap. You wanted to protect yourself from another inevitable heartbreak.

But like you said, you were alone, and you so desperately wanted not to be. You were sick, and shaking, and the fever was still clouding your mind in a dense fog, even as your volatile emotions started to evaporate under the pressure of exhaustion.

“I’m tired,” you murmured weakly, head lolling against his chest.

“I know.” His hand rubbed up and down your arm, and you might have been falling into delirium when you thought he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. “Do you want to change?” he asked, softly.

You nodded, hating the thought of climbing into bed wearing the same gown you had spent hours lying in on the bathroom floor. It was also thin, and short sleeved, and you were freezing.

“Okay,” Azriel said, shifting you gently off his lap. You might have whined, or whimpered, your body aching from the movement and your heart throbbing at the loss of him. He ran a hand over your head as he left you leaning against the many pillows along your headboard. “You’re okay,” he soothed. “I’ll be right—” His breath caught, his eyes snapping toward the foot of your bed. He blinked, his shadows pulsing once, twice, and you thought his ears might have turned pink—it was hard to tell in the dim light of your room thanks to your closed drapes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said instead, the words releasing some of the tension that had held your shoulders up to your ears. He reached toward the end of the bed, a navy sweater folded neatly at your feet. “Put this on,” he told you. “It will be warmer.”

You glanced at the sweater he had lain on your lap, the fabric absurdly soft and plush against the exposed skin of your thighs. It wasn’t yours.

And as much as you wanted to engulf yourself in Azriel’s sweater, to swaddle yourself in the lush fabric that would feel worlds better than the scratchy nightgown that was beginning to suffocate your skin—you didn’t want to move. You didn’t want him to see how your arms would undoubtedly shake, and you didn’t want to use every last ounce of your strength just to change out of a single article of clothing.

“I can help you?” Azriel asked, a gentle offer with only a hint of hesitation, his hazel irises dripping with sincerity and concern that made you flush all over despite the chills still crawling under your skin. 

This was—it was too much. You couldn’t ask him to do this. He should leave. He had done more than enough for you already, more than enough just by caring enough to check on you, for whatever reason that had been. You weren’t his to take care of, and he wasn’t yours to want him to—even if you did, with every fiber of your being.

You were human.

And he—

He was—

He sat down on the bed, his wings draping gently behind him, one covering your lower leg. He didn’t seem to notice.

You dragged your gaze away from the sight of his wing against your skin, forcing your eyes to meet his. He smiled softly, his lips turning up so gently at the corners. “Let me help you,” he nearly begged. Your eyes started burning again, and he reached up to wipe away the moisture that quickly escaped from your waterline. “No more tears,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”

You nodded, taking in a shaky breath as you stared at the sweater still on your lap. Tan and scarred fingers picked it up, setting it beside you on the bed. “It will take seconds if I help,” he said.

“You shouldn’t have to,” you whispered.

His hand cupped your face, your eyes immediately meeting his again. “I want to,” he murmured. A shadow crawled up his wrist to stroke your cheek alongside his thumb. “If you let me.”

“Okay,” you whispered.

Azriel’s hands immediately went to the hem of your gown that was already rucked up embarrassingly close to your waist. Then he paused, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for one last confirmation.

Something in your chest fractured. A fissure branching out from your heart and all the way down to your soul, another hit with the startling reality that this could be your life. If things were different, you could have had this. Him.

You could pretend to have him tonight.

You nodded, and Azriel’s lips pulled into another tiny smile as his eyes stayed on yours, and he pulled the gown up and over your head with gentle ease.

The soft sweater went over your head in quick succession, Azriel guiding your arms through the sleeves as the fabric fell down your torso and pooled around you on the bed. Only then did he let his gaze wander below your shoulders. “Oh,” he murmured, “here.” Then he gently coaxed you forward, and the pads of his fingers brushed the skin of your back as he did up one of the slats in the back of the sweater. 

Because it was his sweater. Meant for large, magnificent wings.

“There,” he said, satisfied, and then guided you to lie back into the pillows before standing up. He pulled the covers back, gently tugging them out from underneath your legs just to pull them back up to your chin as you scooted further down.

It had been a very long time since someone tucked you into bed.

Azriel brushed some stray hairs away from your face, and you didn’t even have the energy to care how you must look. He leaned down, his lips pressing to your forehead, and you were fairly certain you were not hallucinating this time—not when his kiss lingered, and he pulled away just to press a second quick peck a little closer to your hairline.

You watched him closely as he pulled away, watched how his shadows seemed to pour from his body and seep toward your bed, watched the way his wings twitched before he refolded them behind him. Watched the way his throat bobbed and his cheeks tinted the same shade of pink you thought his ears had earlier.

“You’re still pretty warm,” he murmured, the back of his knuckles tracing gently over your cheekbone, as if he couldn’t quite pull himself away.

When his touch finally fell away, and he took a half step back, panic squeezed the air from your lungs. “Azriel,” you rushed out, your panic poorly hidden in the rough and breathy words. “Please,” you said, swallowing once. “Please don’t leave.”

His face turned softer than you knew was possible, and you wanted to keep this version of Azriel to yourself for an eternity—even if your chest hurt at the reminder that his eternity would span centuries beyond yours. Tonight then. Tonight, maybe you could keep him, just until you were well enough to stand without crumbling to the floor.

“I’m not leaving,” he assured.

He kicked his boots off, soft thuds on your floor as they fell over. Then he started unbuckling sheaths and straps that held…who even knew what close to his body. “I’m not leaving,” he said again, before disappearing into your bathing chamber.

Your heart was racing. You glanced at the large bowl that had magically appeared on your nightstand, and you desperately hoped you wouldn’t need it. For the first time, you wondered if anyone else knew you were sick.

Probably not, unless Azriel told them somehow. You still didn’t understand how exactly they all communicated with each other.

You hoped no else knew, and that Azriel would stay.

He came out in a new set of clothes, his leathers traded for soft lounge pants and a plain t-shirt, his sock-covered feet carrying him back to you. You didn’t know where he got the clothes, just like you weren’t sure where his sweater you were wrapped in now came from, but you had learned to stop questioning every little thing since living here.

This time, he crawled onto the other side of the bed, his back leaning against the headboard as his wings flared out on either side of him. One of them grazed your cheek as he tried to extend it, then bumped the top of your head as he moved around. “I’m sorry,” Azriel murmured, almost embarrassed. “Do you want me to move?”

“No,” you answered a little too quickly. You shuffled closer to him, closing the distance between your bodies and making more room for him to rest his wing. “You’re warm.”

You had not meant to say that, not really, but Azriel seemed to preen from the possible half-compliment, if you could even call it that. Then his wing draped completely over you, a second cover that offered immediate warmth you were craving. The edge of his wing rested gently against your cheek, the membrane silken and smooth against your skin, and you wanted to touch it with the tips of your fingers—but you were not entirely lost to your illness, and still had some decorum, so you kept your hands tucked beneath the covers, and let yourself finally drift off into sleep as you breathed in the soothing scent of soap and cedar.

~ ~ ~

Later, when your room was darker and the sun no longer creeped out behind the edges of your curtains, you awoke with your head in Azriel’s lap, and his fingers gently drawing figures along your collarbone. His wing still covered you, an extra layer of protection from the outside world that you never wanted to leave.

Your head was spinning as you shifted around, sleep still clinging to the edges of your mind. Azriel’s fingers came up to lightly trace your jaw, the motion gentle and soothing in a way that had you melting back into him, allowing sleep to slowly creep back in.

Exhaustion reclaimed you, and you were dreaming again.

You must have been, when you murmured, “In another life, maybe you were mine.”