the latest azris x hewn!reader 😩 honestly this has me fiending a tiny bit for a part where az and then reader realize eris is genuinely a bit hurt and reader makes some small gesture like sitting next to him when she has the option or something! what do you think?
our poor little flame </3 [i wasn't supposed to post this until tomorrow but i'm bored so i thought hey what the heck]
poly!azriel x Hewn City!reader who Eris thinks he's failing [1.4k words]
part 4 <- part 5 -> part 6 | series masterlist
CW: self-deprecation, angsty internal dialogue, sad/angst and then immediate retribution
Eris is honest to gods trying to not be a total loser about the entire situation, but – if his youngest brother was to be believed at all – he’s sort of being a total loser about the entire situation.
Eris is not a good male, never claimed to be. He doesn’t think himself deserving of something as sacred as a mating bond and figures the only reason the Mother and the Cauldron deigned to give him one in the first place is because they chose the most difficult fae in all of Prythian for Eris to accept a bond with; the Shadowsinger.
And then the Cauldron went and gifted the two of them you, and it felt like a chance.
A chance to do better, to be better. A chance to prove himself; to prove that he isn’t just another ruthless son of Autumn, that he isn’t just some strategist, that he isn’t only fire and agony.
He’s pretty sure he’s failing, though.
He’s failing because he seems incapable of making any strides with you.
You have no reason to trust them, he knows that better than anyone. Not only did you wake up one day to find yourself being held captive by the Night Court and their weird additions from Autumn, but the Spymaster of the Night Court and the General of the Autumn army hardly let you breathe without their supervision. The bond hasn’t snapped for you yet, so he knows none of this makes sense to you.
Eris knows you’re probably just a quiet girl; you have no reason to trust them so you have no reason to speak to them. And he doesn’t want to underestimate you; to have grown up in Hewn means you must be fierce, and you’re clearly enough of a threat that someone out there wants you dead.
But you’re resilient, you’re a survivor; something Eris likes to think he can identify with.
So, he finds himself having to balance this desperate desire to demand answers to every question that burns on the tip of his tongue (what is your name? How old are you? Who did this to you? Where can I find them? Will they bleed the same as any of the other unfortunate souls who have dared to cross Eris Vanserra?), this overwhelming urge to protect you…claim you…care for you, and give you the space that you so clearly want; that you more than deserve.
And Eris thinks he’s failing. Failing you, by not being the mate that you need, and failing Azriel by failing to step up when it matters.
From what Azriel was willing to share with him – which wasn’t much, the prick – you felt comfortable enough to verbally respond to a question Azriel asked you. And he witnessed you all but gossiping with the shadows in the library yesterday.
So, yeah. Eris is kind of being a loser about it.
But he’s trying.
He’s accepted punishments from his father for spending his nights in a rival court just so he can be here with you, for you; just in case you need him. He puts up with the absolute buffoonery that is Cassian and the rest of the Inner Circle. He ignores the heavily suspicious looks he gets from Rhysand, Morrigan, and Feyre despite the fact that he’s proven himself nothing but loyal to their bargain and to his mate over the past year or so since the two came clean about the bond.
And he sits on a loveseat while Cassian and Feyre drunkenly argue over who fucked up the Solstice decorations last year as he stares at the amber liquid in his cup, because he’s trying.
Because of you.
Nuala and Cerridwen enter with you in tow, having fetched you from the library where they allowed you to eat your dinner in peace – much to the chagrin of the priestesses – because no one could bring themselves to disturb you on whatever research you dove into today.
Eris isn’t sure why he does it – isn’t sure why he bothers – but he straightens at your arrival, pushing over to ensure he’s only taking up one cushion on the loveseat instead of two. He does this even though there are a number of other seats available, including two empty chairs beside Azriel, just in case.
Because he’s trying.
Because of you.
Eris decides to keep his gaze locked on the tumbler in his hand, not wanting you to feel any pressure to appease him nor judged for whatever decision you ultimately make.
So, it’s safe to say he isn’t expecting your frame to cast a shadow over his view, looking up to find you staring at him in question.
Eris is sure he looks like a startled deer but he hardly cares when he’s being graced by your gaze, shifting over ever more to ensure there’s adequate room for you.
And you sit.
You sit.
You’re sitting beside Eris; out of every seat in the room, you chose the one next to him, with him.
Realizing he’s painfully rigid, Eris relaxes back into his seat once you’ve settled next to him, raising the glass to his lips just to give himself something to do.
He notices a shadow circle your wrist before it leans over to lovingly brush Eris’ knee. You try gently shooing it towards its master.
“Did you have company in the library again today?” Eris braves himself to ask, feeling his chest glow when the apples of your cheeks warm – a heat he can feel due to your current proximity – at his question. You nod your head yes.
“They don’t disturb you, do they?”
You shake your head no.
“Lucky you,” Eris hums, shooting Azriel a look as the male pretends he isn’t watching the entire interaction with baited breath. “I don’t think they like me much.”
You turn to look at him inquisitively at that, and Eris wonders how he might be able to convince you to stare at him forever.
“They’re full of secrets but they never share any with me,” he explains, answering your nonverbal question.
Your eyes flit down the shadow still busying itself with your fingers before your eyes flit over to the one who wields them; bashfulness floods the bond.
“Maybe a little bit like you,” he adds, ensuring there’s a healthy dose of humour in his tone. He’d probably try jumping off the side of the mountain, too, if he managed to offend you.
You tilt your head in an attempt to hide your smile, but Eris catches it.
You cup your hand, finding the shadow immediately nestling itself into the space like pooling water before you hold it aloft, offering it to Eris.
“Is this your way of giving me a secret?” Eris asks, delighted beyond measure as he accepts the shadow from you.
Truly, he thinks he might just vomit with excitement when you lean into him a bit.
You nod, watching him interact with the shadow that swirls through his fingers as he considers his options.
Eris hums thoughtfully. “Well if I only get one, I better make it count then, hm?”
The shadow seems to vibrate in agreement.
You watch him patiently and Eris doesn’t blame Azriel for keeping a bit of this to himself; he has half a mind of pocketing this moment too, itches to blind everyone else in the room so that no one can see you looking so sweet.
“How about your name, darling?” He whispers, almost afraid of the rejection he’s sure to come, preemptively blanching at the mistake he’s convinced he made.
Your eyes widen a fraction before flitting around the room. Your eyes dance across everyone present; Azriel, Cassian, Feyre, Nesta, Rhysand, Lucien, and Elain. But then your eyes get caught somewhere in the distance; a muscle in your jaw clenches and you shake your head minutely before you finally turn your attention back to Eris.
He’s just about to tell you to forget it, say it was stupid of him to ask, tell you he'll see himself off the cliff now when you whisper it to him like a precious secret.
It’s beautiful.
Your name, your lips as they formed the syllables, and the breath you expelled to say it; all beautiful.
Eris doesn’t even care that Azriel’s shadow has scampered off to no doubt tell its master this priceless information Eris has just gleamed, he’s too busy mentally singing your name like a mantra.
Eris is being a total loser about the entire situation, and he isn’t ashamed about it one bit.
Summary: Your mate, Azriel, notices how your eyes wander whenever a certain redhead is in the room.
Warnings: sexually suggestive content, idk if there's anything else
Words: 1k
Author's Note: I'd hoped to add some smut to this before posting day but... oh well lol. That could always be a part 2 if I feel the need. Let me know what you think!
18+ only pls
💙🧡🤍🧡💙
Your mate was perfect.
Azriel was everything you’d ever wanted in a mate, and more. He was sweet, gentle, and caring, not to mention the handsomest male you’d ever met.
And yet… Your eyes wandered.
Tonight was no different.
Eris Vanserra, the newly crowned High Lord of Autumn, had been invited to the revel in the Hewn City tonight, and your eyes were on him the majority of the time that you weren’t wrapped up in Azriel. Currently, he was off doing surveillance on your brother’s orders, meaning you were free to observe the foreign High Lord as much as you liked.
You felt a slight chill as Azriel’s shadows wrapped around you, his arms following soon after. “See something you like?” he asked lowly in your ear, nipping at the sensitive skin.
Your cheeks flushed red at knowing you’d been caught, but your eyes still stayed on Eris. “Maybe…” you whispered.
“It’s fine if you do, sweetheart. You know I want to make you happy however I can.” You twisted your neck to look in his hazel eyes, and found that he was telling the truth.
“Are you sure? Wouldn’t you be… jealous?” you asked quietly.
“Only if I couldn’t participate,” Azriel said, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I promise you that I am open to you inviting Eris into our bed.”
“You promise promise? You won’t be secretly mad at me?”
“I swear on our bond that I will not be mad, Y/N. In fact…” Azriel pulled you closer to him, your rear brushing against his hardness. “I would gladly ravish you with another male.”
Your cheeks turned scarlet at his words, heat rushing to your core as you debated the possible consequences of approaching Eris. If he said yes, you would get to have sex with your mate and the male who’s lived in the back of your mind since you met him. But if he said no, there’s a possibility your offer would get back to Rhys… Who would no doubt be furious that his little sister tried to have a threesome with Eris.
You didn’t have time to decide when Eris approached the pair of you, his casual confidence and ease in your court only fanning the flames of your desire.
“I thought I felt a pair of pretty eyes on me all night,” Eris said as he stood at your left side, grabbing a flute of faerie wine from a passing tray. “Trying to spy on me for your brother, Princess?”
“No, I…” you started, but your words failed you with him this close.
“She was admiring how appealing you look tonight,” Azriel said bluntly, his amusement at your sudden shyness flooding down the bond.
“Oh? And you let your pretty little mate look at other males, Shadowsinger?”
“I let my pretty little mate do whatever she likes, so long as she tells me about it.” You gently slapped Azriel’s arm, face somehow heating even further.
Eris turned his head to look at you, a smirk sliding over his face when he saw your cheeks. “Would you like for me to take you into a secluded hallway and have my way with you?”
Your knees almost gave out at the intensity in his eyes. “Not a hallway…”
“Where then, little Princess?”
“We could show you to our rooms,” you said quietly, turning your body so that you were facing him. “My mate wants to play with me too.”
“If that is what it takes for me to fuck you senseless, so be it,” Eris said, that smirk still on his face. “Show the way, little one.”
Your heart beat faster - inviting Eris to bed and actually going to bed with Eris were two entirely different things, especially when you’d been thinking about this very moment for months. You nodded your head and pulled yourself from Azriel’s arms, taking one of his hands and heading for your room. It was difficult to not look behind you to make sure Eris was serious as you left the throne room, and even more difficult to make it all the way to your rooms without letting the both of them take you in some random hallway where anyone could see.
After an eternity of walking, you made it to the room that was kept for you in the Hewn City. You swung the door open and entered first, letting Azriel’s shadows close the door silently behind the three of you.
Standing in one of the rooms you shared with your mate, another male poised to fuck you, you grew nervous.
“Come here, little bird,” Eris cooed, his hands extended towards you. You hesitated, but Azriel gently pushed your back, spurring you into motion. You were in Eris’s arms in the next moment, heart fluttering as you gazed up at him, eyes darting from amber ones to his plush, pink lips. Eris leaned in, mouth poised over yours as he waited for you to take that final step, to be sure that you wanted this.
You pushed up on your toes, lips meeting his. They were as soft as you’d imagined, warmed by the fire running through his veins. You felt Azriel’s desire coursing through the bond as Eris deepened the kiss, one of his hands coming to tangle in your hair.
He was intoxicating already, better than the wine that was being served downstairs. Heat coursed through you as his free hand drifted lower, coming to grip your ass through the skirts of your dress. Your own hands found his hair, gripping the silky locks tightly. When he broke away for air, Azriel was behind you, turning your head so that he could claim your lips. You were dizzy with need between the two males, more than ready to be taken to bed, hopefully until the sun began to break over the mountains.
Summary: I mixed these two anon requests together, and hopefully it went alright :) "I was just thinking about Azriel beging a mate with a mother of dragons (like in game of thrones) ot would be so powerful... like, sm" and "Request! A Eris x Archeron!yn fic. Imagine a prythian where the high lords are not good and friendly with each other and are now planning a war over one another to take down the court next to them and rule over. Now after a LOT of convincing Autum Court and Night court are forced in a alliance between each other because of yn. Now imagine if one of them sabotages the alliance! What will happen? Who will yn choose? Will she be able to choose between her sisters and mate?"
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 2,901
Notes: The beginning is kinda shit but I wanted to share anyway.
_________________________________________
You sigh softly, admiring your mate in his sleep. His unruly amber hair splays across the fluffy pillow beneath his head, and the strong smattering of freckles dot his cheeks like embers, glowing in the morning light.
He has one arm thrown across his eyes, blocking the warm sun that’s peeking in the windows. You’d forgotten to draw the curtains last night, after Eris had growled at the handmaidens to remove themselves from his chambers as he took you to the bed and ravaged you all night, not having seen you for moons now.
He’d been so excited to see you, though he wouldn’t let Azriel catch him in that state, no matter if they were also connected by the bond. An unfortunate thing, that the alliance between the two courts was not stronger, and it sometimes felt as if you were the only reason the deal was made in the first place.
As if sensing your gaze on him, he blinks awake sleepily, a smile gracing his gorgeous face when he catches you looking.
“Good morning, fawn.”
“Good morning, mate.”
His smile widens at that, and he rolls over, scooping you under his body as he cages you in. You squeal, accepting the warmth of his body and the plethora of kisses he presses to your skin. You’re enjoying each other’s happiness this morning.
“I want to show you something,” he says suddenly, drawing away from you. You puff a laugh, brushing his hair back from his eyes. He’s positively giddy, an emotion you don’t usually see on your mate, but you’re thankful for his mood this morning.
“Okay,” you grin, “Where are we going?”
He presses a kiss to your mouth and pushes himself from bed, dragging you up with him. “I can’t tell you,” he answers, but he’s beaming, moving around the room like he’s just been named High Lord. “I only ask that you wear something you can walk in.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
What Eris shows you takes your breath away.
He takes you through the forest, so deep into the woods that you have to take horses, and after you tie them to a tree to wait, its still a few miles to get to where he wants.
You enjoy it though, the serenity of the woodland around you, hand tucked in the warmth of your mates, and you don’t understand why Eris is stopping you in the middle of a clearing until he’s gesturing down to your feet.
You gasp, taking a step back at the sight of three large eggs, huddled together near the edge of the clearing.
“What is this?” You ask, in disbelief. They’re the largest eggs you’ve ever seen, and you don’t recognize the coloring one bit.
Eris leans down, his hands wrapping around your waist to pull you into his body. “Dragons.”
“Dragons?” you repeat, grasping onto his forearms. But dragons are a myth, creatures that have been extinct and unheard of for centuries, millenia even. “But how—”
“I don’t know,” your mate answers, squeezing you tight. “I found them when I missed you and was wandering deep in the forest. They can help us win the war.”
Yes, yes, they would be able to help win the war. You’re over the moon excited about your mates finding, even though the creatures might be too uncontrollable and young to be such a big part of this upcoming war.
“We have to tell Az, we have to—”
“We can’t.”
You tear your gaze from the sight, furrowing your brows up at him.
“What do you mean we can’t tell Azriel?” you pull away. Your stomach twists into tight knots, and when Eris tries to reach out for you, you take a step back. His mouth firms and his hand drops to his side, sizzling in the quiet forest around you. “Eris, this could win the war.”
“I know,” he answers, voice harsh. He hadn’t shown you this to share it with your other mate, but to excite you instead, show you how much better off, how much safer you are in his court, with his smokehounds, with his dragons, and with him to protect you. None of those Illyrian swill, with their thin wings and long swords. They were hot headed creatures, more so than any autumn court general he’s seen, and he doesn’t think that Azriel can care for you as well as he can. He sure as hell knows that no one in the Night Court cares for you, they only pretend because you’re Azriel’s mate.
“What are you saying then?” you ask, voice trembling. You curl your fingers into your thick skirts, suddenly hot under the Autumn sun. You don’t like the way your mate is speaking, like their alliance won’t be honored and instead, they’ll aim for their allies. “That you’ll attack the Night Court?”
Eris stays quiet and your throat aches with emotion. Tears spring to your eyes and you try to shove them away, try to keep your betrayal from leaking down the bond to either of your mates, but Azriel always keeps close tabs on you, and he feels the ache in his body as if it’s him who is feeling all of these conflicting emotions.
What’s going on? He sends to both you and Eris. He knows something is upsetting you, that you’re hurting, but he doesn’t know if Eris is the one doing it or has the situation under control, so he reaches out to the both of you for answers. Are you okay?
Eris flinches at the sound of the shadowsinger in his head. His fiery eyes are both a warning and disappointment. He had hoped to show you this to sway you on your stance in the war, to explain to you how they could never be allies with the Night Court and never would be. That you shouldn’t risk the chance of death to be by Azriel’s side in battle, but flying high in the skies with him, nearly untouchable to the soldiers below.
He shakes his head silently, pleading with you not to let the information slip. You’d be a traitor to your mate, your High Lord, to your court.
You would be his enemy.
Tears slip down your cheeks, hot and stinging as they roll down your red cheeks. You can’t do this, you can’t lie to your mate like this, even if he is from a rival court. But as far as the Night Court knows, they have an alliance—it’s why you’re free to spend time with both mates in their respective courts. But now…now you’re not quite sure what to think, where you stand in this war at all.
I’m alright, Az, you send back to him and Eris’ shoulders slump in relief.
You know that Azriel is only responding to you because Eris is stepping closer and reaching a hand out to comfort you, but you still can’t believe him, and you step back from his grasp, inching closer to the dragon eggs behind you. Then why are you so upset, my love?
Eris’ amber gaze flickers to the precious creatures behind you, and you’re quick to respond to your Night Court mate, I can’t talk now, Azriel, there’s something I need to do. I will reach out when I can, and I love you so much.
You realize that it sounds like a goodbye, but you shut that part of your mind away, pushing him from your thoughts to focus on your other mate, standing before you.
“My fathers plans have not been flushed out yet, but I assume taking the territory of the Night Court is on the list of what he’s willing to accomplish by the end of this war,” Eris explains to you.
Your stomach bottoms out. You can’t believe he’s telling you this. You can’t believe he’s going along with this.
“Is it because of Azriel?” you ask, but it's no louder than a whisper as the thought takes root in your mind. Did Eris agree to infiltrate the Night Court to try and get rid of your other mate? So that he could be your only fate?
If he does accomplish something like that, you will never forgive him.
Eris’ gaze softens, as if he knows the direction of your thoughts. “No,” his voice is gentle, like that of a crisp orange leaf falling from the trees around you. The long grass rustles beneath your feet and the chill sends shivers down your spine. Eris reaches out again, trying to take your hand, to comfort his mate in need, but you’re having none of him right now, and it stings. “It’s because of my father.”
“So kill him,” you plead, desperately, and Eris flinches. Crows flee the clearing at your screams, and your desperation grows thickly in the sunlight space. “You can’t do this to them! To us!”
Your name is a sigh of frustration on his lips and it makes you still, heart pounding in your chest as your anger flares. Eris is distraught, you can see it in the purple rings beneath his eyes, the despair in his eyes, how he runs his fingers through his hair, pulling on it as if it holds all of the solutions to his problem.
“Do you think I want this?” His voice is laced with smoke and the grass around his feet burst into flames. It makes you ache for him, but you don’t understand what’s going on, and Eris can’t seem to explain it to you. “The last thing I want is to take you from your other mate,” he gasps, but when you open your mouth to try and calm him down, to stop him from burning down the clearing around you, he continues. “I don’t care that he’s your mate too, I don’t care. I would never take him from you nor you from him.”
“Eris,” you try, “Then tell me what’s going on.”
He collapses to his knees as he tries to explain but the words are as tangled on his tongue as they are in his mind. He can’t get his head straight, he doesn’t know what to do, how to stop any of this. “I—”
He’s interrupted by the sound of cracking. It ricochets through the forest, through the grasses, and silences the both of you. You turn on your heel, staring down at the dragon eggs you’ve stepped so close to.
Eris whispers your name, calm and stern, “Come over here.”
But you don’t dare move, don’t dare to breathe as you watch the delicate shells of the eggs shatter, shifting with the movement of the creatures inside.
A green head pokes its head through blinking a few times to get its bearings. The dragon is awfully cute, bits of shell and liquid covering its tiny head as it peeks around, getting its first glimpse of the world.
It caws and leans down to nudge at its siblings. One of the other eggs rustles but the other days motionless, not yet ready to wake and enter the world.
You want to coo at the little thing, even though you know it's probably dangerous, but its bright eyes stare up at you when it realizes its siblings aren’t far from waking. It shuffles from its shell, stumbling over big paws, adorned with razor sharp claws. It squawks at you again, bounding through the tall grass towards you, and Eris whispers your name again, his hand gentle on your lower back as he tries to usher you away.
He’s in disbelief. A part of him didn’t think that the eggs would hatch at all, that he wouldn’t have to give the creatures to his father, to use them in the war, but there are no thoughts in his head when the dragon approaches you.
Ignoring Eris’ pleas to back away, you crouch down to its level. The green creature blinks at you again, and behind it, a black tail pops out of another shell, its arrowhead shaped bottom whipping at the shell to crack it further, impatient from being stuck inside its own shell.
The green dragon makes an impatient noise, flames sparking at its mouth as your attention is occupied. “Okay, okay, little one,” you soothe, bringing your attention back to the creature intrigued by you. You reach a hand out and Eris draws in a sharp breath. He looks like he’s ready to drag you out of the clearing but he’s already hurt you enough, and he wants you to be happy. “Welcome to the world.”
It sniffs your hand before nuzzling into you. Your face splits in a grin, and you reach out to pet along its scaly body. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before, and you already know that when they’re fully grown, they will be the sway in any war, let alone what side you’re on.
Its sibling saunters over, sniffing at Eris and turning its back on him with a growl. Eris deflates a little, but there’s still one more egg waiting to hatch, and maybe it will like him.
The black dragon sniffs your hand, eyeing you curiously, cocking its head. Maybe it can smell Azriel on your skin. You were in the Night Court yesterday. The green dragon nips at the other, and you wonder what their genders are, the grass too long for you to see.
But Eris can tell, somehow. He’s had experience, delivering his shadowhounds’ pups, and he tells you softly, “The green one is a male, and the black, a female.”
“They’re beautiful,” you say, completely enthralled by the two dragons before you. The green one nuzzles into you again, before catching your hand in its jaws.
You gasp as its sharp yet soft teeth break your skin. Eris swears, planting his hands on your shoulders as if to rip you away from the creature, but you stop him, planting your free hand over his own. It doesn’t hurt that badly, and it's just a curious baby, you let the dragon be.
But he’s not biting you just because he doesn’t know any better. You’re the first fae he’s seen, and he likes the smell of you, the feeling of your intentions in the air. You’d been scared, and he’d felt it inside of his egg. He knew you needed help.
He’s claiming you.
From the jaw of the dragon, green lines crawl up your arm like blood in your veins. They wrap around your forearm and you gasp at the intricacies it winds into, creating a weave of vines that stop at your elbow. It's a unique mark, you’re his as much as he is yours.
“I think he’s just imprinted on me,” you breathe as the dragon lets go and curls around your calves. The black dragon beats its tail against the ground, uninterested in what her brother is doing, and even less interested in Eris.
“What are you going to name him?” your mate asks, eyes shining pridefully at you. He’s a little hurt that the black dragon won’t give him the time of day, but there’s still hope for the last egg, which the female dragon saunters over to, nipping at the shell to rouse its last sibling.
“Zephyr,” you answer, and you don’t even have to think about it, you know that this name belongs to your dragon. He purrs in response, brushing against you.
His sibling breaks through the shell of the last dragon, waking the golden scaled creature from its slumber. It caws in annoyance, but the female is having none of it, snapping at him to get him moving from the shell.
The beautiful gold dragon gleams in the sun, and Eris knows immediately that this dragon belongs to him.
Much like yourself, Eris steps forward, letting the last sibling sniff at him, biting him. He feels his flames reaching out the dragon, feels them intertwining with his own power and the creature looks up at him in wonder. The marking by the dragon is similar to yours, a weaving of thin lines glinting gold like its scales from his elbow to hand, looking like a metallic spiderweb.
When the dragon releases him, he snaps his fingers and the three dragons make noises of shock as a flame appears in his fingers. They sniff and snap at it, but Eris is focused only on the dragon that’s claimed him, “You like that, don’t you, Rory?”
The golden dragon makes a noise in response that Eris takes as a good sign.
“Eris?” you ask, patting the Zephyrs stomach. Your mate looks at you with excitement glowing in his eyes and you soften, wondering if this will turn the tides of the war, make him change his mind about attacking the Night Court.
“Yes, fawn?” he answers, but you’re looking at the last dragon. She’s settled into the grass a few feet away, watching you both with untrusting eyes, even if her brothers have claimed you both as theirs. She hides in the shadows of the trees, and her glowing blue eyes remind you so much of the mate you have in the Night Court, with a matching set of stones lining his leathers.
It would make sense. There’s three dragons and there’s three of you, you and both of your mates. You have to ask, excitement stirring in your stomach.
poly!azris x Hewn City!reader who is apparently their third [3.9k words]
part 1 -> part 2 | series masterlist
summary: Azriel stumbles upon a half-dead fae in Hewn City when the bond snaps, rushing him to get you help. Except he already has a mate, Eris, who comes and confirms that you are, indeed their mate. Except you aren't aware of this. Except you kind of resent the Inner Circle. Except you're terrified of the Night Court and their allies. Except you're quite sure you're not of sound mind.
CW: brief mention of injuries but they're not described, reader was "beaten and assaulted" but neither are described, don't worry about the back story ok?, reader tries to yeet herself off the cliff....twice, Eris being a condescending fuck (but in a hot way), honestly this is mostly crack/fluff I think? it sounds way more intense than it actually is
“You’ve got to stop with the pacing, brother.” Cassian groans, watching dizzily as Azriel paces his one hundred and thirty seventh step into the hallway outside of the door you're sequestered behind.
Azriel merely grunts in response, continuing in his pacing. His head is a flurry of thoughts, questions, contemplation. Two mates? Two? How is that possible? Is it even possible? Has Azriel simply gone mad? Has he been dreaming this entire time and this is just the climactic finale of some torturous nightmare?
“Well,” Eris huffs out with a definitive breath as he retreats from your room, Azriel unable to even steal a glimpse of you before the Autumn heir closes the door behind him, “it’s true.”
“It can’t be.” Cassian denies immediately, standing from his position on the hallway floor and stretching his wings out after the time spent bent over.
Eris sneers at him. “Are you suggesting I’m lying, General?”
Cassian snorts, clearly on the verge of following up with some quip of his own, likely decidedly far less polite when Azriel beats him to it.
“She’s our mate.”
Not a question, but a clarifying statement; Azriel wasn’t crazy, he really did feel the bond snap when he stumbled upon your lifeless form in the underbelly of the Court of Nightmares.
“Indeed.” Eris drawls, appearing bored for all intents and purposes, but Azriel knew better; could see the lingering tension in his shoulders, the way Eris’ gaze remains distant as he considers their new reality.
“So…what now?” Feyre asks aloud, breaking the silence and encouraging Rhys to straighten himself from where he leaned casually against the wall.
“Well…we let Madja finish up, first of all.” He offers with a weary sigh. “Then I guess we try to find out more about her.”
“Who is she?” Nesta starts from the opposite end of the hallway.
“Who did this to her?” Cassian continues.
“Have there been other instances of a fae having more than one fated mate?” Feyre hums thoughtfully.
“Where will she stay?” Lucien wonders, and it appears Eris feels this is a conversation worth having immediately.
“I do not want her in Autumn.” He states plainly, the determination in his tone stoked by the fire in his eyes. “I want her far away from Beron and his cronies.”
Azriel can’t help but agree and thanks the stars that Eris’ first mating bond to him would shield the scent of a new, additional one from his horrid court.
“And I don’t want her here.” Azriel concurs, Rhys turning to look at his spymaster bemusedly.
“She’s safe here, brother, I-“
“She’s too close.” Azriel growls in response, wings flaring as he glares at his High Lord, the mating bond thrumming with protectiveness in his chest.
The Moonstone Palace is too close to Hewn City, too close to the miscreants and sycophants who lurk in the Court of Nightmares, too close to whoever beat and assaulted you and left you for dead.
“I understand what you’re feeling, Az, I do. But we do not know what she’s involved in or what she’s seen. There very well could be a reason that-”
“Rhysand, if you try to stand here and tell me that there is any appropriate reason that a female should have been beaten and assaulted to the extent that she was before being left to die — least of all my mate — I will burn your entire court to the ground.” Eris replied smoothly, evenly, coldly.
“If it was good enough to keep my mate safe, it is good enough for yours.” Rhys replies darkly, standing straighter when this elicits a serpentine smirk to grow on Eris’ face as he gives Feyre a smarmy once over.
“Agree to disagree.”
“How much damage can one female on the brink of death cause your home, brother?” Cassian offers quickly, if not on Eris’ behalf then on Azriel’s; an attempt at peacemaker. “Surely no more than you and me after a night of drinking.”
“It is not the property I am concerned about,” he hisses at his General before returning his glare to Eris, “she may be your mate but this is my court and family, and right now she is a risk to us all.”
“Well, okay. But she doesn't exactly have the best odds, does she?” Lucien offers evenly. “She’s wildly outnumbered.”
“I’ve seen what fae resort to in final acts of desperation.” Rhys retorts lowly.
Eris shoots him a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Then it sounds like you’re more than well-equipped to handle her.”
“Eris-”
“Rhysand, keeping your mate here might have worked when there were few who knew of her presence, but we don’t have that luxury. Besides, if you think I’m letting that fae out of my sight you are sorely mistaken; there’s no risk here of my mate running off to trade all of your secrets to her Spring Court lover.”
Rhys takes a threatening step forward at that, blocked by both Azriel – protecting his mate – and Cassian – protecting his High Lord from himself.
“Mother above, it’s like you want to die.” Cassian sneers over his shoulder before turning back to Rhys. “The prick’s got a point, though. The situation is hardly comparable.”
“I say let them bring her to Velaris.” Nesta drawls, clearly growing bored of the conversation. “If you’re so worried about one measly female in the face of two of Prythian’s most notorious warriors, the General of the Autumn armies, trained Valkyries, two daemati’s, and…whatever Lucien is-”
“Thanks…” Lucien huffs under his breath.
“-then you have bigger concerns regarding your court.”
Rhys and Azriel hold each other’s gazes, a silent stand off between the two males.
“If you do not want her in Velaris then I will take her to one of the cabins outside of the city, but it will be far harder for me to keep her safe and thus leave her more of a risk to your court, as you’re so worried about.”
After a few more moments, Rhys’ jaw twitches. “So help me Cauldron, Azriel, if I live to regret this-”
“You can take my wings.” He agrees readily, earning him a concerned look from his mate and a raised eyebrow from Cassian. He doesn’t even know you, but he already knows he would lay down his life before letting any more harm come of you, would happily lose his wings if it means keeping you safe.
He just hopes it doesn’t come to that.
The first thing you notice as you wake up is an overwhelming sense of calm and safety.
Which is weird, because you have no idea where the fuck you are.
How were you alive? Why were you alive? Because you shouldn’t be alive which means someone made sure you survived.
The sense of calm and safety vanishes the second you open your eyes only to be accosted by the sight of an unfamiliar room. An unfamiliar, decadent room; dark woods make up the majority of the furniture and crimson stone walls were adorned with paintings and metalwork alike.
You hardly have a moment to panic before two, identical, wraith-like beings appear before you. Neither smile at you – though neither appear all that imposing, either – as they approach the bed and lift the blanket from your form.
They take quick stock of your wounds – if they’re healing properly, they do not say – before one of them turns to gather clothing for you.
If you were of sound mind, you think you might have put up a bigger fight; formulated questions, demanded answers, insisted you could dress yourself.
As it is, you do no such thing, blindly allowing them to braid your (clean) hair and dress your (bandaged) body before they escort you out into a hallway.
The walls of the hallway are hewn from the same, imposingly red stone smoothed to perfection, fae lights refracting off of the polished surface and making the high walls look that much higher.
Now, it’s important to note that – again – if you were of sound mind, you might have wondered where these twins are taking you; you might’ve been bold enough to ask them, even. Perhaps you’d even have the wherewithal to grab a heavy candelabra from one of the tables lining the hall in an effort to have something – anything – to defend yourself with.
As it is, the twins flank you on either side and silently guide you to…
A dining room?
A very large dining room; grand, opulent. But your focus is not on the gilded chandelier nor the priceless table with matching chairs big enough to seat an army of giants. No, your gaze is caught on something that simply does not compute in your brain
Large frames hold artwork so realistic, so incredibly vivid, that you can almost swear the stars dotted in the sky wink at you and the lights of a beautiful city flicker in the scene below.
And then you notice it; a large door, open, gauzy curtains blowing in with a gentle breeze.
A breeze.
This is not a wall of artwork; this is a wall of windows. Windows looking out into a night sky and a village teeming with life and-
“It’s nice to see you looking so well,” a voice startles you out of your quickly mounting panic, only to throw you into an even quicker panic when you find The High Lord of Night smirking at you from the doorway leading in from what appears to be a study, “I have to admit, I didn’t like your odds.”
“Awe, come now, brother,” a large hand lands on the High Lord’s shoulder with a resounding smack before the Illyrian General it’s attached to appears behind him, “I had full confidence in her.”
With this, who you knew to be Morrigan and the Night Court’s Spymaster materialize from another door way – son of a fucking bitch, this place is a maze.
The wraiths disappeared at some point from your side without warning or your knowledge, finding you staring down the majority of the Night Court from the opposite side of the table.
Morrigan and the Shadowsinger stand near the head of the table to your left, the High Lord and the Lord of Bloodshed standing in front of you with nothing but a table – surely simple kindling to the likes of an Illyrian warrior – standing between you.
The doorway you had just been directed through is to your back, though you aren’t keen on turning around; not sure where it would take you nor who waits on the other side of it.
The only direction left is to your right; towards the wall of windows and an open door.
An open door.
An open door to the outside. To fresh air and wind and the night sky and freedom.
You bolt.
It was perhaps a foolish attempt on your part, one made out of desperation and not much else. But, as you’ve said, sound minds and whatnot.
The Lord of Bloodshed catches you easily, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he hoists you up off the ground with little-to-no effort on his part and hangs you in air jail.
You squeal and kick and thrash with everything you have which is, admittedly, not a lot considering your current state. You’re not sure how long you've been unconscious, how long you’ve gone without food or water, nor what kind of injuries you sustained and are still healing from.
Still, you didn’t go down without a fight the first time; you sure as hell aren’t about to go down without one this time.
The General merely transfers you from one thick arm to the other, pinning your arms to your side as an invisible force holds your ankles together, exceedingly gentle despite the circumstances and the Illyrian’s ironclad grip on you.
“Cassian.” A low warning sounds from the open door you just fled through.
“Well what would you have me do, Azriel?” Cassian spits, exasperated. “Would you have preferred I let her fling herself over the railing?”
“You’re frightening her.” Morrigan sing-songs with a nervous grimace.
“D’awe I’m not frightening you, am I, doll?” Cassian asks as he jostles you in his arms, craning his neck in an attempt to meet your gaze.
You don’t – can’t – meet his gaze, keeping your eyes pointed at the endless night sky past the mountains on the horizon that you can’t see through the quickly pooling tears as your breaths come out in short, panicked spurts.
How the fuck did you find yourself in the presence of the High Lord and his Inner Circle? How in the ever loving hell did you make it out of Hewn City?
You’re supposed to be dead; you should be dead. They wanted you dead!
They wanted you dead…
Oh, gods. That’s why you’re here. They shipped you off so someone else could finish the job, wanted you to fall at the hand of Prythian’s most ruthless fae.
The Shadowsinger carries enough knives on him to make it easy; fun, even. Though you’ve seen the High Lord cut down large males without even a shift in his expression. And they don’t call the male whose arms you currently find yourself in The Lord of Bloodshed for nothing. There are others in there too, waiting. You just know it. Wherever the Lord of Bloodshed is, Lady Death shan’t be far.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“My, my.” A lilting voice sings, stealing your attention away from fruitlessly trying to pry Cassian’s arms off of your form in favour of looking at the newcomer.
Striking auburn hair – two heads of it – appear from behind the Shadowsinger and the High Lord, Morrigan having disappeared back into the dining room while you were distracted.
“What do we have here?”
“An escape attempt.” The High Lord of Night huffs, though his eyes carry a softness that threatens to disarm you.
He smirks at you, and you frantically check your mental shields to ensure he hadn’t heard you; they were still up from before you fell unconscious.
“Before dinner?” The same voice adds, stepping further out onto the veranda as he considers the way Cassian is holding you aloft. You knew of him; recognized him. Heir to Autumn, Eris Vanserra. “That’s a touch rude, darling.”
“S’probably not her fault.” A female huffs as she appears with a glass of wine in hand; Lady Death. “Most do run when they see that big ol’ bat.”
Her mate merely snorts at her.
“I don’t blame her. You’re rearranging her organs with how tightly you’re restraining her.” Eris deadpans.
“And what would you suggest I do instead, Eris?” Cassian sneers. “Let her go?”
“Precisely.”
“Not a good idea.” The High Lord chuckles. “The little fae clearly has a death wish; the first attempt wasn’t successful so she’s opting to take matters into her own hands.”
Is that motherfucker in your head? No…no. Whether or not you are currently of sound mind notwithstanding, your mental shields are intact.
You notice then that Lady Death and the youngest Vanserra male had retreated back into the dining room leaving you alone with the High Lord, his General and Spymaster, and the heir of Autumn.
“You won’t run, will you darling?” Eris purrs; a trap wrapped in tissue and topped with a bow.
Your eyes flicker over to the Shadowsinger whose stoic face betrays absolutely nothing, though his shadows seem to writhe and titter around him, vibrating with an invisible energy you’re not sure you would ever associate with the spymaster.
Something about his steadfast gaze, though, gives you a delusional sense of calm and safety.
You are definitely not of sound mind.
Still, you turn your gaze back to Eris and offer him a careful nod of your head, praying to the Cauldron you appear even remotely genuine.
With a subtle nod from Eris, Cassian cautiously lowers you to the ground and releases his hold on you.
You hold your breath, standing stock still as you wait for Cassian to step away from you and give you some space to breathe.
And then, sucking in a deep breath, you take off in the direction of the railing.
Your fingers don’t even have a chance to meet the stone balustrade before you slam into a solid figure and are enveloped in warmth.
“Well, see, now you’ve made me look like a liar.” Eris tsks, turning you by your shoulders and ushering you towards the doors that Cassian and the High Lord have disappeared through, though the Shadowsinger remains, wings and arms both unfolded as if ready for a fight.
You try to dig your heels into the ground and twist out of Eris’ grasp but the male merely sighs tiredly before he hoists you up, tucking you under his arm like you were merely a sack of sugar.
“Let me guess,” the High Lord drawls impishly as the three of you enter the now full dining room; every seat taken save three in the middle, “she made another run for it.”
“Shut it.” The spymaster groans.
The second Eris tries to lower you into the middle of three empty seats, you reach for the sharpest utensil you spot only for your entire place setting to disappear.
“Very well,” Eris sighs again, plopping you down onto his left knee as the Shadowsinger sits beside you, shadows flitting forward to swipe the two steak knives set at each male's plates and disappearing with them.
Conversation pulses around you as though having a strange fae sat upon the lap of a future High Lord at dinner is a commonality around here.
Cassian tried to ask you your name.
Morrigan asked who had attacked you.
The High Lord asked why you were attacked.
The High Lady asked you how you were feeling now that your injuries were healing.
Amren asked you if you were hard of hearing or just dumb; Azriel let out a warning sound from your left.
Eris asked if you were hungry.
Every question goes unanswered. They don’t seem to mind too much, happy to talk around you and eat their delicious smelling, decadent dinner that could have fed half of Hewn if rationed properly as you stare out the windows.
Windows.
Twice throughout the meal, Eris tries to bring the fork up to your lips. The first time you merely turned your face away from him; a mistake, seeing you meet the hazel gaze of the Shadowsinger next to you.
“I know you’re hungry, sweetheart.” Eris purrs into the shell of your ear. You hitch your shoulder to shoo him off, earning you a chuckle that vibrates in his chest before he carries on with his meal.
The second time, though, you dare to swat his hand away.
“I’d be careful if I were you.” He murmurs lowly, repositioning you on his lap so your hips fall between his thighs and you are forced to lean back into his arms. “Need I remind you that you’re playing with fire?”
“Be nice, Eris.” The Shadowsinger chuckles quietly, though he seems almost…shy when your gaze turns to him.
“I’m being very nice.” Eris huffs petulantly, earning him a scoff from across the table.
“You’re not nice.” The Youngest Vanserra counters.
“I am lovely.”
Dinner carries on with a lively debate on whether or not Eris can be described as lovely, and before you (and your empty stomach) know it, the group is moving to a sitting area.
Eris stands – you still within his grasp – and moves towards a loveseat as your eyes track the doors longingly, watching Morrigan shut them with a click of finality.
Whatever end you were to find yourself in would be at the hands of the Night Court’s Inner Circle, it seems.
“Azriel, hold this for me, please.” Eris demands, holding you aloft as though he was merely passing the Shadowsinger a book.
Azriel huffs a quiet laugh but makes room for you between his legs before accepting you from Eris.
“Oh come on, Vanserra,” Cassian slurs, quickly descending into drunkenness as the night wears on, “I think she can handle sitting by herself now, no?”
“No.” Eris responds, clipped. “She’s lost her sitting-independently privileges.”
Honestly, you can’t exactly fault the male for his rather astute statement; he had given you the opportunity to prove yourself trustworthy and you had, indeed, squandered it.
You also have to hand it to him for his foresight. If given a second chance to fling yourself off the balcony, you absolutely would have taken it.
Between the Illyrian’s wingspan and the thick thighs he parted to make room for you, the entire loveseat is occupied. No one else seems to mind, though; Cassian and the High Lady even opting to sit on the floor as they imbibe.
“So, you’re seriously not going to say a word?” Lady Death snarks, her piercing gaze forcing you to look at your lap in shame.
Movement registers in your periphery and you flinch, hard. Hands rising as you cower towards the next closest thing, which happens to be the male whose lap you are seated in.
Azriel stops breathing for a beat, chest halting as his entire body turns rigid, before slowly raising his hand to accept the glass of liquor Eris was handing to him.
“No one here is going to hurt you.” Azriel murmurs softly, a gloved hand cupping your elbow before his thumb begins trailing soothing stripes against the skin there leaving goosebumps in its wake. You shiver, a few shadows slithering up from their master and weaving themselves around your arms; you start to tremble.
“They won’t hurt you either,” he promises, the warmth of his body against yours and the warmth of his breath against your cheeks so at odds with the misty tingles of the shadows along your skin.
Your eyelids grow heavy as you watch the shadows weave and wind through your fingers, up your arms, through your braid and then back again. The weight of the last few days catches up to you, and you don’t even have the time to mourn the fact that you’ve only managed to stay awake for about three hours before succumbing to exhaustion, hunger, and your healing injuries.
Azriel barely dares to move his chin when he feels your head hit his shoulder, looking down at your sleeping form in his arms.
This is his first time gazing upon you – his mate – without you being on death's door or utterly terrified and panicked. While he wonders when he might get to see you smile or even, he doesn’t know, learn your name, he can’t help but smile down at the image of you sleeping somewhat peacefully, tucked safely into his arms.
“Awe, would you look at that.” Eris comments from behind, forcing Azriel to crane his neck back as the heir of Autumn leans over the back of the loveseat, “she tuckered herself out.”
Azriel huffs a breath from his nose, the roll of his eyes accompanied by an exasperated shake of his head. “You’re such an ass, Eris.”
Eris hums in acknowledgement, gaze softening the longer he keeps his eyes on your sleeping form. “Yeah, probably.”
OMG i was so excited to see the update for azris x hewn city reader!! i love them i can’t wait to see the bond snap for her and hopefully they can help her with her powers 😭
thanks for reading!! <3
poly!azris x Hewn City!reader who travels to Day for answers [2.6k words]
part 7 <- part 8 | series masterlist
CW: hurt/comfort, some angst
Azriel isn’t really an overly affectionate kind of male.
Smiles are few and far between, touches are subtle and usually reserved for behind closed doors, and he isn’t one to flaunt his relationship status, mostly due to the nature of his work and reinforced by the nature of his and Eris’ bond.
He certainly isn’t one for public displays of affection, and there’s part of him—the diplomat—that feels he should be doing a better job at keeping up appearances when visiting another court.
Still, Azriel can’t help but preen a little bit by how close you stay tucked to his side as the two of you follow Rhysand and Feyre through the hallways of the Day Court palace.
The staff member who was leading the four of you through the halls comes to a rather abrupt halt outside of the door which sees you grab Azriel’s arm, and he knows Eris will feel the way his end of the bond thrums with contentment even from his place in Autumn.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, taking the excuse to bend down closer to your ear.
You shrug your shoulders carefully, eyeing the staff member and strengthening your hold on Azriel.
“Helion is a friend of the Night Court,” he explains in a way he hopes is soothing. “He’s friendly…maybe too friendly, even.”
You turn to look up at him in question and Azriel’s heart nearly stops; you’re one of the most precious things he’s ever had the luck to gaze upon, to walk beside.
He wonders whether telling you that you’ll see what I mean is cruel or not before the grand doors to Helion’s personal study open up, and Azriel resorts to returning your hold instead, placing his hand atop of yours where it rests in the crook of his arm.
“Rhysand! Feyre!” Helion greets warmly as the High Lord and Lady step in, prompting the High Lord of Day to stand and offer each a warm hug. “I was glad to receive your missive this morning. I must say, I do wish you’d take advantage of my hospitality more often.”
“Thank you for having us,” Feyre greets in response.
You tense when Helion’s eyes catch on you and Azriel.
“Shadowsinger,” Helion croons, watching the way you shift further into the spymaster’s side as though hoping to take refuge in his ribcage. “What do we have here?”
“This is our friend, Y/N,” Rhysand supplies for you, a hint of sympathy shining in his eyes at what it can feel like to have the weight of Helion’s attention solely on you. “She’s who we wrote about.”
“The necromancer,” Helion hums in acknowledgement. “Spectacular. Extraordinary, really. Please, come. Have a seat.”
Feyre and Rhysand do as instructed, and while Azriel tries to be a gentleman and pull your chair out for you, you don’t budge from his side.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting?” he murmurs into your ear. You merely hold him tighter.
“I wouldn’t want to let go of him either, gorgeous.” Helion agrees, shooting you a wink. Azriel thinks your cheek might leave third degree burns where it’s pressed against his bicep. “So, what is it you have for me?”
“Well, the Night Court’s libraries don’t have any content on necromancy, and we’re hoping that Day might have more,” Feyre explains. “The goal is to get Y/N to a place where she can control her powers.”
Helion hums in understanding as he considers you.
“Apparently, Amren has seen this kind of power twice before,” Rhysand fills Helion in. “She was…unhelpful as to how to manage it.”
Azriel fights the urge to wrap his wings around you, recalling the meeting they held in Rhys’ study after having you seen by Madja and given calming tinctures to help you sleep. He’s not sure he’ll soon forget the way Amren’s bob bounced as she shrugged a flippant shoulder.
“Historically, we drowned them. I doubt that option will interest anyone though, seeing as these two have decided to keep this one as a pet.”
The subsequent attempted arson notwithstanding, they were able to come up with a game plan the next morning.
“Well, as you well know, Day’s resources are infinite, and I’ve had the perfect researcher assigned to the case.”
Helion’s words are punctuated by the sound of the doors flying open and a rather harried librarian rushing in with a stack of books and papers in her arms.
She stops in the middle of the room and gawks at you.
“Iara, thank you for joining us,” Helion greets the newcomer. “This here is the High L-”
“Is that her?” Iara interrupts, jutting her chin towards you. “Is that the necromancer?”
Azriel’s grip on you strengthens before you even have a chance to strengthen yours on him.
Helion offers his guests an apologetic smile. “Yes, this is Y/N, she-”
Iara comes surging towards you so quickly that you actually let out a nervous shout, and Azriel feels dangerously violent as his shadows billow out from his side and create a wall between you and the librarian.
“Iara, I ask that you conduct yourself with some decorum in the presence of our guests,” Helion chides patiently. “You are in the presence of the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, as well as their Spymaster and their new friend.”
“I’m so sorry,” Iara breathes, looking very sorry indeed though she still can’t seem to wrench her gaze away from you. “So sorry, my Lord. Lords. And Lady. I- I’m just-”
“Excited, yes,” Helion agrees. “As am I.”
“Helion is known across Prythian as the Spell-Cleaver,” Rhysand supplies evenly to you. “He has a love for puzzles and study.”
“And that’s putting it lightly,” Helion agrees, smiling kindly at you as Iara finally places her research in front of her High Lord and takes a seat beside him. “You’re an interesting case study indeed, dear Y/N.”
You let out a nearly silent breath of frustration that the other individuals in the room don’t catch but has Azriel biting back a chuckle.
“So, most of the sources I was able to find on necromancy were archaic,” Iara begins, lighting up as she goes from seemingly zealot to academic in the blink of an eye. “Generally, fae were working to perform necromancy—to converse with the dead—rather than possessing the ability innately. But, it appears that there was once a race of fae who are said to have possessed the power.”
“Fascinating, truly fascinating,” Helion hums.
“They were particularly popular among the mortal populations who often sought them out in hopes of connecting with their lost loved ones. When promised with death more imminent than our own, it seems that necromancers brought mortals much comfort.
“There was some intermingling of the two species for a number of years before tensions between the beings began to fray,” Iara continues. “When the necromancing fae refused to enslave their human counterparts, they were killed alongside them.”
“I was able to find some first hand accounts of these fae—journals, interviews, the likes. Though they need to be translated,” Iara explains.
“We have a librarian who can handle that,” Feyre hums, turning towards you. “Would you like the journals of-”
Feyre hardly has the question before you’re shaking your head no.
“You don’t think it’d be helpful to see the way someone with your power wielded it?” Helion asks gently.
You shake your head no, and Azriel pulls you further into his side. “Why not?”
You swallow thickly, eyes flicking to the members of the group as you work yourself up to speak. “It-” you pause to clear your throat, scratching from disuse. “-belongs to someone who has… passed.”
Helion considers you. “Is that how these beings approach you? With access to a personal item of theirs?”
You shrug a shoulder noncommittally. “Sometimes.”
“But not all of the time?” Helion continues, endlessly patient in communicating with you.
“Places,” you admit quietly. “People too.”
“Very interesting,” he hums.
“What if we had Clotho translate the sources for you? Could you read a translated copy without summoning the original author?” Feyre asks.
You seem unconvinced, but sway your head back-and-forth as if saying maybe.
“I think it’d be worth a try,” Rhysand offers, smiling at you. “If you can’t read it, perhaps I can. And maybe once we learn how to control your powers, you’ll be able to read it yourself.”
“May I ask you something terribly personal, Y/N?” Helion asks then. Your eyes flit to Azriel’s before you shoot the High Lord of Day a cautious nod. “You’re a female of few words; is that because of your abilities?”
You look down in shame, offering a quick, jerky nod of your head.
“How so?”
You sigh. “I don’t always know what… is real.”
“If the person speaking to you is real or not,” he surmises with a purse of his lips.
“And that was dangerous for you,” Rhysand fills in the gaps. “To be caught speaking to a being that couldn’t be seen by others.”
“Can you summon them?” Iara blurts suddenly, stealing everyone’s attention. Azriel gets the feeling Helion is trying to figure out how to gently reprimand his enthusiastic librarian. “The dead; can you summon them?”
“Iara-” Helion begins, only to fall quiet at the first hushed syllable from your mouth.
“I don’t have to,” you murmur. Pride and grief alike taking flight in Azriel’s ribcage, finding you so brave for conversing and hating that you’ve been put in a position that you have to.
“It just happens?” Iara asks.
Azriel can feel you gathering up courage in your chest, nearly nauseous himself at the churning of your stomach and the assault of your pulse against your larynx.
“Your mother is very proud of you,” you whisper. “She thinks you should be too.”
Iara’s mouth falls open and her eyes fill with tears almost instantly. Azriel pulls you further into his side.
“Thank you,” she whispers as the first tear falls. “I- thank you. Thank you.”
Helion places a comforting hand on the librarian's arm and shoots you a warm smile.
“You possess a rare and beautiful gift, my dear,” he tells you earnestly. “I hope one day it is less burdensome for you.”
“Thank you,” you murmur, dipping your chin respectfully.
“None of that, now,” Helion laughs. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
The look you shoot Azriel says you’re not quite sure about that.
After many thanks and a round of farewells—that you reluctantly partook in from Azriel’s side—Helion suggested Azriel seize the opportunity to take you for a quick walk around his court.
Azriel could feel the intrigue stirring in your chest at the prospect of exploring, and he could also feel Eris’ laughter at Azriel’s inability to say no to you.
What reason would I have to deny her this? he asks Eris through the bond.
None at all, Eris hums playfully. It’s only that you didn’t even pretend to think about it.
She wants to see Day, he explains defensively. I’d show her the world if she asked.
Careful, Shadowsinger, Eris muses. One day she very well might.
Cauldron, I hope she does.
Eris agrees before the bond goes silent again.
You’ve since removed yourself from Azriel’s ribcage, though you’ve accepted his gloved hand and have yet to release it as the two of you wander through the streets of Day; children laugh and chase one another, bells chime above shop doors as people patron the businesses, and the two of you can hear the trickling of a fountain neither of you can see yet.
“Azriel?” you break the comfortable silence, almost startling the Illyrian as his hand tightens around your own.
“Yes?”
You swallow before continuing. “Where’s Eris?”
He looks at you in disbelief. “Eris?”
You nod your head yes.
“He couldn’t come, sweetheart.”
You consider his answer, your free hand rising to rub anxiously at your chest. “Why?”
“He…is the heir to the Autumn Court,” Azriel explains carefully. “His father is a terrible male. He’s not happy that his son is mated to someone from the Night Court, one of his greatest rivals.”
You keep your gaze forward as he continues. “Though Eris is able to spend some nights in our court, his father would see it as treasonous should he visit another court seemingly on Night Court business.”
He lets you digest that for a few moments before asking, “Why do you ask?”
You look down at the cobblestone street seemingly almost embarrassed to be asked. But you must be feeling generous because you manage to grace Azriel with a response. “I thought maybe… he was upset with me.”
Azriel feels his brows stitch in the middle, slowly coming to a halt in the middle of the square. “Of course not. Why would he be upset with you?”
You shrug your shoulders, now unable to make eye contact with him.
He brings his hands up to cup your jaw and turn your face towards his own. “Eris cares for you an awful lot; we both do.”
Your eyes flicker between both of his own as though searching for something.
“Yes,” you whisper eventually.
Not an I know, not an alright, not even a why? Just…yes.
“Is that okay?” Azriel asks softly, thumb trailing the line of your jaw as he fears your potential rejection. “That we care about you?”
Azriel can’t really believe he has you like this; speaking to him, eyes searching his face, your face in his hands, the trust you’ve shown in him not only today but since the two of you met.
He decides that—regardless of your answer—he will be eternally grateful for this moment with you.
“I’m not sure why,” you admit carefully, breaking Azriel’s heart in a completely different way.
“Do we need a reason?”
“Yes,” you whisper immediately, like the idea of anyone loving you for just you is a completely foreign concept.
Azriel’s trying to come up with an answer when your gaze flickers to something over his shoulder and you go rigid beneath his touch, eyes growing distant as the bond thrums with anxiety.
“Y/N?” he asks, strengthening his hold on you. “Hey, sweetheart. What is it?”
You shake your head no.
“Azriel?” Feyre asks delicately, she and Rhys suddenly behind you. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” he ventures slowly.
What’s going on? Eris sounds in Azriel’s mind. Is she okay?
I don’t know, he repeats internally.
You don’t know if she’s okay? Where is she?
“Azriel,” Rhysand hums lowly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Is she alright?”
Azriel wants to shove his brother away from him, wants to scoop you up into his arms and fly you away where no one can ever touch you or upset you.
“Let us help, brother,” he murmurs.
“You have to ask her,” Azriel manages to grit out.
“Of course,” Feyre agrees quickly, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N, it’s okay, alright? You’re alright; can I help?”
You close your eyes in resignation and Feyre wastes no time letting herself into your mind.
Her face falls for the briefest moment before it crumples in pity.
What’s going on? Azriel demands silently.
She knows, Feyre sighs.
Knows what? Rhysand clarifies.
About the mating bond, she admits, shooting Azriel a sympathetic look. She knows the three of you are mates.
hi girlypop!! i am obsessed with you, jsyk. but the azris x hewn!reader series is quite possibly one of my favorite things i've ever read. i'm SO in love with those three and can't wait to see where it goes! also...what the heck is her power??? she's gonna have to be pretty bomb to be matched with the shadowsinger and future high lord of autumn!!
eeek! sorry to keep you waiting! hope it was worth it <3
poly!azris x Hewn City!reader who needs help [1.7k words]
part 5 <- part 6 -> part 7 | series masterlist
CW: slight angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety and internal spiralling, talk of the deceased, vaguely and briefly references the priestesses past
You’ve said too much.
There’s more of them today. They’re louder than usual.
And now they know your name.
You’re tense as shit at breakfast, hardly able to make eye contact with anyone in the room as you vibrate with nerves and swallow past your gag reflex. Azriel eventually stops asking if you’re okay, though you doubt it’s because he finds the nod (or what was certainly meant to be a nod) that you offer in response particularly convincing.
You thought it’d be quieter in the library.
You hoped there’d be less of them down here.
You were wrong. It’s so much worse.
The priestesses are beloved, brave, brutalized females who stood in the face of death and were rewarded for their resilience with sanctuary in this hallowed temple under the House of Wind.
You’re haunted on their behalf.
You clutch a book to your chest and try to make your way to one of your usual spots, eyes glued to where your boots poke out from the hem of your skirts with every hurried step you take.
You hardly slow when you get to your first spot and find it crowded. You do the same thing at the next. By the third spot, you all but toss the book onto a nearby shelf and turn to flee.
You come face to face with one.
“May we talk?”
“No,” you hiss, eyes burning and pulse racing and stomach in your throat as you try to step around it.
It follows you.
“I promise not to take but a moment of your time,” she insists. You quicken your pace, your heart follows suit.
You chance a look behind you to find the others gaining confidence at the sight of you entertaining their determined acquaintance.
“You need to leave,” you tell her.
Deirdre—the priestess who greeted you kindly on your first visit to the library—looks up from her book and furrows her brows at you in confusion.
You need to leave; you can’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. You weren’t supposed to be here. You should be dead; everyone back home wanted you dead.
Dirdre stands.
She says something to you, concern painting her features.
She takes a step towards you though halts the second you slam back against the wall in response.
She says something else; you’re okay, maybe. You can’t hear; can’t hear her, can’t hear the one who followed you over here nor the ones who followed her in turn. Can’t hear anything past the roaring of blood in your ears.
You clamp your hands over your ears anyway and squeeze your eyes shut. “Go away.”
You can’t keep ignoring us, Y/N.
We know you can hear us.
The first one crouches in front of you, you peel your eyes open from where you’ve sunk to the floor to look at her.
She’s lovely, all things considered. Onyx hair beautifully plaited, diadem placed delicately on her head and the gem dangling prettily between her brows. The blue-grey robes seem to float around her as she looks at you imploringly with clear, turquoise eyes.
“I only need you to give a message to my sister.”
“Stop it,” you spit. “Stop, stop, stop.”
“What’s going on?” Another priestess asks, stepping toward you when Dierdre merely offers her a confused shrug of her shoulders.
This priestess bends down, the perfect mirror to the priestess on your other side save the colour of her robes and of her hair. “Are you alright?”
“Go away.”
“I can’t leave you like this,” the copper-haired priestess tells you, looking back over her shoulder at Dierdre. “What’s your name?”
The beings that surround you begin chanting it. The onyx-haired priestess looks on at her mirror image with a look of fondness; the sister, you’re forced to assume.
She must sense your understanding and tries again. “Please.”
“Get away from me!”
“No one’s here,” Dierdre’s friend says. “It’s just you and me. My name’s Gwyn, can you tell me yours?”
The beings start shouting it again.
“Stop it, stop it.” You’re loudly crying now.
“Okay, okay,” Gwyn agrees quickly. “I’ll stop. I’m not going to do anything. What do you need?”
“I want to leave! I want to leave, I want to go…” Go where? Go home? Where’s home? Hewn City? The same city that tried to kill you? Or is home the House of Wind? Your opulent prison on top of the mountain you’re currently under? Under the scrutiny of the High Lord and his Inner Circle?
Where do you want to go? Where can you go? Where could you possibly go to escape this?
“I want to leave!” is all you can think to say.
“Okay, alright,” Gwyn breathes, looking over her shoulder before shouting, “Dierdre! Get Rhysand!”
“No, Rhys,” Azriel growls, standing behind you like a sentinel and looking fearsome as ever as he stares down his own High Lord currently standing before you. Eris stays silent though he doesn’t necessarily disagree with Rhysand.
“Azriel, she’s hysterical and we’re at an impasse; I won’t do anything without her consent but it’s in her best interest that you encourage her to let me in.”
“She doesn’t want you in her head,” Azriel counters.
“She is suffering,” Rhysand throws back. “She’s scared and no one else can help her. I can help her.”
Eris decides to step in before Azriel can come up with more counter arguments. “She needs help, Azriel.”
The Shadowsinger looks at his mate as though he forgot Eris was even here, the compartmentalization required to do his job limiting his entire world to his subject and the opponent before him.
“It’s Rhysand,” Eris tries then, voice calm and low for both your benefit and Azriel’s. “It’s your brother, you trust him.”
Azriel’s hazel eyes flick between each of Eris’ as he considers his mate’s words.
“Let him help her,” he presses.
Azriel’s wings twitch as he turns back towards Rhysand, whether considering Eris’ words or holding a silent conversation with his High Lord, Eris isn’t sure.
Finally, the tension in Azriel’s shoulders loosen and his wings fall slightly. He lets out a sigh and bends to your level, risking a gentle hand to your shoulder.
“Hey,” he murmurs softly, “you’re okay. Alright? It’s just us; we’re here to help.”
You quickly shake your head no, keeping your hands pinned to your head and your forehead to your knees.
“You don’t think you’re okay?”
Another shake of your head.
“Rhys can help, sweetheart, he-”
“No,” you sob.
“He can, you’re okay. It’s okay, he won’t see anything you don’t-”
“I can’t! I can’t, he can’t. He’s– he’ll kill me. He’s going to kill me.”
“He will not,” Eris counters quickly, clearing his throat before speaking again. “No one here is going to let anything happen to you.”
“We’re here to help,” Azriel continues, trying out your name for size. You flinch at the sound of it. “No one here is going to hurt you.”
You shake your head again.
“I’ll make a bargain with you, if you’d like,” Rhysand offers then. “I swear on the Cauldron that I will not let any harm come of you.”
You only sob.
“I mean it, Y/N, anything you want,” Rhysand promises earnestly. “What do you want?”
You remain silent for a beat as the three males give you space to consider Rhysand’s offer.
Eventually you respond. “I want her to leave.”
The three males look at each other in bemusement.
“You want who to leave?” Rhysand asks carefully.
You sniffle into your knees, still yet to raise your head. “The priestess.”
Eris’ eyes flit across the now vacant library, everyone having long been ordered out once Deirdre came to request the High Lord and Shadowsinger (and their Autumnal guest).
“Do you mean Gwyn?” Azriel ventures. You shake your head no.
“Her sister.”
Rhysand’s head snaps up towards Azriel, a conversation passing between them that Eris is not privy to.
Uhm, hello? he impatiently drawls internally, waiting until Rhysand’s eyes flicker over to him to continue. Want to fill me in on what’s going on?
Gwyn’s twin sister was killed by Hybern’s army at the temple in Sangravah, Rhysand explains silently.
She shouldn’t even know Catrin existed, Azriel adds.
With this, Rhysand pulls at the fabric of his trousers before bending to your level and lets Eris and Azriel watch as he gently knocks on your mental walls.
“Let us help, Y/N,” Rhysand encourages softly. “We’re only here to help.”
You let out another pitiful sound, but Eris watches as the curtains to your consciousness slowly rise.
The library is…full; packed with people hovering around the scene of three males hovering over you, some even calling your name.
Eris immediately steps closer to you and Azriel’s wings flare wide as though trying to shield you from the curious gaze of people only you can see.
And crouched before you, right beside Rhysand, is a priestess who bares a striking resemblance to one of Azriel and Cassian’s Valkyries.
“Mother above…” Rhysand breathes.
“What…what is this?” Eris mutters, tone sharp due to his suspicion. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve…never seen this before,” the High Lord admits, eyes glued to you with an expression that can only be described as a mixture of awe and horror. “I’ve heard legends…rumours…but,”
“But what is it?” Azriel manages to grind out, siphons glowing with protectiveness that Eris feels echoing through the bond.
Rhysand’s eyes finally leave you to look at his brother. “I…I think she might be a necromancer.”
Eris goes to ask him what that means but Azriel beats him to it.
“She can see the dead?”
Rhysand's eyes lower back to you and fall sympathetic. “Hear them too, I imagine.”
Eris takes another moment to consider the sheer number of souls who have accumulated in your psyche.
His mental walls must still be down because Rhysand hums in thoughtful agreement. “And there’s an abundance of them here.”
elle darling you know i can't not ask so would you consider a one shot with the idea we talked about? the one with Eris missing reader speaking to them for the first time and being an absolute loser about it? love you <3
hahaha yesssss, so perfect for these two <33
poly!Azris x Hewn City!reader who speaks for the first time [1.1k words]
part 2 <- part 3 -> part 4 | series masterlist
CW: fem!reader, brief mention of reader not being allowed to have knives, Cassian being the thorn in Eris' (and Azriel's by extension) side, crack/comedy
Breakfast is a quiet affair.
Partly due to the fact that Eris had business to attend to in Autumn, Rhys and Feyre had a prearranged visit scheduled in Day, and Nesta spent the night with Gwyn and Emerie.
It’s also due to the fact that you are still silent and Azriel read Cassian his rights before allowing him to join the two of you at the table.
Azriel doesn’t know if you like oatmeal, but that’s what you are served. Knives are still a no-go as far as Rhys and Eris are concerned, and Azriel was weary of even handing you a fork. So, oatmeal it is. The House was generous enough to offer honey, granola, yoghurt, and berries on the side.
You don’t complain.
He kind of wishes you’d complain.
But, at least you’re eating.
“Well, this is an improvement,” Cassian tries, gesturing towards the spoon currently half way to your mouth. You pause, discomfort flooding the bond at being perceived. Azriel shoots Cassian a warning look.
Cassian clears his throat as he attempts to recover from this faux pas. “I only mean because, well, you didn’t eat anything last night and, well, yeah. It’s not important, really. Is the oatmeal good? Nesta – my mate – is always trying to get me to eat healthier breakfasts. I hate the texture, though. Although the House never bothered offering me granola and berries with it…”
Your eyes flicker down to the fixings around your plate before you cast Azriel a wary glance. It fills him with a – perhaps undeserved – sense of pride that you’ve aligned yourself with him, even if the only other option present is Cassian.
Still, he’ll take the win.
“Would you leave her to eat her breakfast in peace?” Azriel offers, finding he misses the weight of your gaze when it returns to your bowl.
“Can she even enjoy her breakfast? Who enjoys oatmeal?”
“Well I’d say she was doing fine before you started running your big mouth.”
Cassian huffs in faux offence. “Oh, I see how it is. You spend one night in her room and now you’re an expert, huh?”
With this, one of his shadows leaves Azriel’s side to swat his brother upside the back of the head, causing Cassian to let out a petulant huff and drop his fork which lands on his plate with a clatter.
Azriel can hardly pay his brother any mind, however, when two exhales leave you in quick succession. Perhaps nothing more than huffs of breath from your nose, except they’re so much more. Except it’s the sound of humour. Except it could almost be described as a laugh.
“Real mature, brother,” Cassian huffs, shooting you a look as though saying can you believe this guy? You grin, albeit shyly, and Azriel’s officially on cloud nine.
Azriel finds that his cheeks hurt from the breadth of his smile, an inquisitive tug in his chest alerts him to the fact that his joy hasn’t been missed by his absent mate.
Truly, Azriel is so enthused that the next few moments almost go unregistered in his brain; so sudden, so exciting, that he hardly comprehends the moment until it has already passed, until he’s being grilled by his mate as to the events that transpired.
“She did what!?” Eris says for what has to be the umpteenth time since he returned to the House of Wind, pacing back and forth in Azriel’s room like a war general waiting for their soldiers to fess up to some crime.
Cassian, for his part, is loving watching Eris descend into madness.
“Your cute little mate talked to us.” He chuckles, leaning against the door frame lackadaisically as though he hasn’t just painted a giant target on his chest.
“My mate uttered her first words today and this fuck got to witness it?” Eris barks, directing his ire to Azriel as he throws a flippant thumb in Cassian’s direction.
“Don’t patronize her, Eris. She’s not a babe; she spoke for the first time, she didn’t utter her first words.”
“Oh, yeah? And did she tell you that?” Eris asks scathingly. “Did she go into that much detail, Azriel?”
“Oh yeah,” Cassian laughs, “she was performing soliloquies. She started to sing at one point, even. A little pitchy, but-”
“How much do you like that head of hair you got?” Eris asks lowly, flames dancing at his fingertips.
Azriel decides, for Nesta’s sake, to intervene. “Do you hang around Rhys’ bedroom in order to upset his mate, too? Or do you only do that to mine?”
Cassian grins wickedly. “Yours is very easy to upset.”
“Yeah and so is yours, but I do everyone a favour by treading lightly around her.” Azriel bites back, glowering when Cassian simply winks over his shoulder as he disappears from the doorway.
“Her first words.” Eris murmurs in disbelief.
“Again, I hardly think those were her first words, Eris.” Azriel continues as he sheds his shirt and moves to the dresser to gather a pair of sleep pants.
“Did she…” he starts, sounding vulnerable and unsure. “How did she sound?”
Though you had barely spoken above a whisper, Azriel’s answer is instantaneous. “Sweet. So sweet.”
“Yeah,” Eris agrees quickly, as though he suspected nothing less. “And what did she say?”
Azriel’s answering grin is almost as wicked as Cassian’s had been. “Oh, sorry. I can’t repeat it.”
Silence stretches between them for a few beats before Eris utters a disbelieving “what?”
“She said it in confidence, Eris,” Azriel chuckles teasingly as he slides a drawer closed with his hip. “I don’t want to break what little trust she’s shown me.”
“You Illyrian bastards are something else,” Eris hisses. “Absolutely something else. Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
Azriel barks a laugh.
The flames in the hearth brighten under Eris’ incredulity. “Is this a joke to you?”
“Of course not. I take my mate’s confidence very seriously, Eris. You know this.”
“Oh, I know, do I? You know what I know?”
Azriel’s still chuckling as he disappears into the bathroom.
“I know you’re the biggest fucking pain in my ass. That’s what I know. This entire court and its Inner Circle. I have half a mind of starting a war just for this, Azriel, so help me gods…”
Azriel lets Eris continue on his tirade, knowing the male will be marching in here any minute to tell Azriel all about himself just to melt under the Shadowsinger’s responding touch.
He doesn’t bother telling him that Azriel had merely reached for the honey by your place at the table and asked if you wanted to try some on your oatmeal; his question met with a very quiet yes, please before you fell back into silence for the rest of the day.
