#~rhenysz
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Your Dead Eyes - Chapter 1
Summary: Lifeless eyes were what haunted your all your life, many people say that death was lurking around your eyes, maybe it's true. Maybe you just see things that other people don't.
Pairing: Azriel x Archeron! reader fem.
A/n: This took longer than expected and isn't even half as long as I would have liked, but I've finally finished the first book and let's get to the real story! Thank you for the positive feedback 🙌🏻 This chapter was more about the sisters' bond, the next ones will be different. I think the Reader has an emotional dependence on Feyre 😥
*English is NOT my native language, this fanfic was translated with the help of an AI, any grammatical errors please let me know*
Word count: 2.5k
Warnings: Scars, family abandonment, mentioned death.
previous x next
"Do you not think you're exaggerating?" Elain asked you with forced gentleness. The sound of her sipping tea tickled your ears. Dropping your own teacup on the living room's coffee table – causing some splashes to stain the surface – you placed a hand on your chest in mock indignation, perhaps not entirely fake.
"I'd rather be thrown to the wolves than face the conjugal bed, and I must say I'm terrified of those animals." Your lips curled downward, "Men, in this case."
Elain's eyes crinkled at the corners, and the curve of her lips lifted even as she tried to dispel the amusement she felt.
"I understand. But maybe you should consider, I bet Feyre would return in time for your wedding." She spoke with her eyes lowered to the tea.
No, she wouldn't return. You wanted to shout out to Elain. Hardly would that beast willingly let your sister go, that is if she wasn't already in the belly of those faeries.
"I have no interest in getting married, sister. And who in their right mind would be interested in someone with my condition?" Your voice was soft, not a hint of resentment showing in your features.
Having a man in your life was not something you desired. They were rough, lazy, and smelled bad. Not even the twisted relationship Feyre had with that man could make you want one too.
"Maybe... you just haven't looked in the right place," Elain commented. Looked? Have holy patience. You were hardly going to look at anything, let alone a man. Realizing her bluntness, Elain widened her eyes towards you, "I didn't mean it that way, sister, it was just a figure of speech—"
Your laughter cut off Elain's awkward attempt to apologize. Your shoulders shook with the intensity of your laughter. Elain sighed in relief and awkwardly joined in.
Feyre didn't treat you as if you were about to burst into tears.
After that interesting conversation with Elain, Nesta barged into the room, interrupting – rather rudely – to announce that a luxurious carriage was approaching.
You could hear the rustle of Elain's skirts as she tried to beautify herself even more. Despite Nesta feigning an indifferent facade, she was also discreetly arranging her hair.
Laughing to yourself, you wondered how you must look in your supposed light blue dress. A hand grabbed your arm and gently lifted you from the sofa. Nesta, you could tell the difference. Elain had rougher hands from gardening, and Nesta's hands were colder.
"Let's go. Can you manage on your own?" Nesta asked. You appreciated that she allowed you to have your own autonomy. Nodding, you reached for the edge of the sofa where your cane rested and grabbed it.
When you heard the door opening, your head turned towards the sound and you went, dragging the golden tip of the cane across the floor, which hit the furniture warning you to dodge, and slowly going after your sisters – who were walking significantly slower to wait for you.
His cane hit the front door step. Carefully, you placed your foot in front to descend. The breeze made your hair flutter, and it felt so good; the wind kissed your skin like a longing lover.
"Welcome to our home... Lady." You heard Nesta as you finally caught up with your sisters. A brief moment of silence followed, soon to be cut by an extremely familiar laughter
.Your heart raced, and your free hand crumpled the dress you were wearing. Your lifeless eyes turned, trying to find the source of the voice.
"Nesta," she laughed, "doesn't recognize her own sister?" The air was expelled from your lungs, Feyre. A burning sensation started in your eyes, and without you realizing, fat tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. No matter how or where, you would always, always recognize your sister's voice.
The crunching of dried leaves alerted you that someone was approaching, a calm breath was blown on your face. Your trembling lips also parted as you tried to find the right words. Nothing came to mind; it was as if your brain had turned to jelly.
"My snowflake..." Feyre stepped forward, using her fingers to wipe away your tears. She missed you so much while she was with Tamlin. Her chest weighed every time she thought of you, her dearest sister.
Closing your eyes tightly, you let out a sob and threw yourself into Feyre's arms. Discarding the cane without care, your hands reached the back of your sister, pulling her into a tight and emotional embrace.
Feyre staggered under your weight and laughed. She laughed as she nestled in your arms and continued to laugh even as she felt Nesta's eyes drilling holes into her head.
You couldn't physically move away from Feyre while your sisters talked with her. Your hand clung to hers in the hope that if you held on tight enough, she wouldn't leave again.
But not even all the happiness you were feeling could make you ignore Feyre's excuse. Taking care of Aunt Ripleigh? You distinctly remembered that it wasn't Aunt Ripleigh who tore the door off the old cabin.
As expected, Nesta was cautious, hovering over you and Elain as if Feyre would reveal her true intentions at any moment. She declined Elain's invitation to go to the garden, seeing Feyre there made her physically sick, so she withdrew to avoid conflicts in front of her sisters.
You were focused on Feyre and Elain's conversation, desperately wanting her to talk about what happened.
Feyre tensed when Elain casually mentioned – distracted by the flowers – that Nesta visited her at Aunt Ripleigh's. Another lie.
You felt Feyre's breath near your face: "How have you been?"
Fine. You were fine, but not well enough to disguise the suspicion in your expression. Feyre quickly noticed and stepped back slightly.
"Why are you lying to us?" You were direct, no more beating around the bush. You needed answers, and not even Elain's presence would distract you from your goal.
Feyre widened her eyes toward Elain and was relieved to see that she was far enough away not to hear. Biting her lips, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the exit, giving a brief goodbye to Elain, who was so fascinated by the new petunia seedlings that she didn't care.
You were guided through a few doors until you reached a room that Feyre considered safe from curious ears.
You crossed your arms over your chest and impatiently waited for Feyre, who ran her hand through her hair and sighed, not knowing where to start. Then she decided to start with the worst.
"I– I'm in love with the High Lord of Prythian."
If you weren't already blind, you could swear your vision blurred at that moment.
And then Feyre told you, told about how the other side of the wall was breathtaking, told about the peculiar creatures that existed there, told about her frenemy Lucien, and told about how she fell in love with the beast that turned out to be so loving to her.
And to your dismay, she detailed the night of passion she had before being – gently – sent home.
"I didn't need to know that. I have a vivid imagination, and I hate myself for it." You spoke with disgust; Feyre chuckled and approached you, taking your hand and bringing it to her face.
"I haven't told you everything," you murmured for her to continue. Your fingers traced the contours of her face. She looked so different but at the same time so familiar. Perhaps she had become healthy.
"There was a male who threatened Tamlin, he was handsome, maybe the most beautiful male I've ever seen," she commented absentmindedly, "he asked for my name... Clare Beddor."
Clare Beddor, the name weighed on your tongue. Clare, your former neighbor who was killed in such a horrendous way that no one could bear to look for too long, according to your gossip source – Elain.
Feyre had given a false name to the fairy assassin. And you could swear she didn't know what had happened to that poor girl. And perhaps you weren't the most suitable person to tell her about the event; Feyre seemed happy sharing her new experiences. And you? You would allow yourself to be selfish for a moment.
"I understand."
Your sisters and your father went to the seasonal ball, and despite Elain's insistence, that wasn't your place. Your place was anywhere as long as it was far from high society. You certainly didn't fit the standards imposed by them, even though those who looked at you were dazzled.
"A beauty never seen before."
"I would die for features as delicate as yours."
"It's truly a shame…"
Feyre promised to come back early, just like you; she didn't like crowds and pompous people. Feyre promised to come back early.
So you did the only thing that was possible – you waited. Waited while eating, waited while talking to some servants, waited while invading Elain's garden, and waited until you got tired and chose the living room sofa as a great place to rest.
Inevitably, your eyes began to weigh, and before you realized it, sleep completely took you, plunging you into a deep state of peace, unable to hear the hurried steps through the house and the slam of the door closing.
Feyre promised to come back early.
Feyre hated goodbyes.
Perhaps, just perhaps, you should have already imagined that this would happen. Feyre was in love with the beast, and people in love tend to do foolish things.
That didn't ease the chest pain you felt when the next morning you were informed that she had returned to the fae lands in search of her High Lord. The feelings of betrayal and sadness walked hand in hand.
At the same time, you couldn't find the strength to harbor resentment towards her. Why would you? For the first time in her life, your sister was dedicating herself to something that truly made her happy. It didn't matter if she was leaving her family behind, right? No, that mattered to you.
Nesta hated dealing with your whirlwind of emotions; she hated that you depended on someone to be happy, and she made it clear when you woke up.
"Feyre is not responsible for what you feel. You are allowing yourself to stay in this state. Stop depending on her to live."
Despite being harsh, Nesta was spot-on with her words. Feyre was finally living her dream life; it was time for you to start living yours too, without anyone dictating how you should feel.
And thinking about this led you to where you were now, with your hands covered in clay – and probably not just your hands – trying to give some shape to that earthy mass on the spinning table in the studio.
Your mind wandered through all the possibilities of sculpture. Sculpting things your fingers had memorized or even inventing new forms to call conceptual. It would be ironic if your sculptures became famous.
Humming to yourself, your fingers gently moved over the clay's edges, shaping a small sphere; you pulled five points out and rounded the edges.
"They look like fingers." Merina's voice made you jump on the stool; Merina was one of the maids you had become close to, she had such a calm and gentle voice that, if you let her, could lull you to sleep.
"Well, I hope so. I'd be very upset if they looked like something else." You laughed, still molding your supposed fingers. Merina dragged a stool to join you, after, of course, looking down the hall to make sure no one was approaching.
She looked amazed at your hands giving life to the clay. Inevitably, her mind wandered, how? How were you capable? Feeling where your mind wandered, you chuckled softly and tilted your head in a silent invitation. Merina cleared her throat and asked:
"Why a hand?"
You subtly widened your eyes; that certainly wasn't the question you were expecting. A hum came from your throat before you answered Merina.
"It's with my hands that I see; they are my eyes to the world," you replied, licking your lips as you pondered, "I don't know how I manage it; I fear there's no logical explanation for it."
Merina didn't say anything, just grunted in response. Extending your hand, you searched the table until you found a small knife; bringing it close to the sculpture, you began making small fillets with it all along the hand's length.
Merina turned to you curiously, not understanding why you were deforming the piece. She gently nudged you with a – painfully pointed – question.
"Hmm, I've been thinking about it lately, hands with scars," you made one final cut and dropped the knife. Merina reached for an old cloth to help you clean your hands, "thank you. What would it be like to see with these hands? Would the texture of things be different? Or would the sensitivity be greater?" You rambled to her.
There were so many questions to consider, and in your opinion, you could already be considered a hands expert. That made you laugh.
Merina took the cloth from your hands and brought it toward your face, cleaning some clay splatters that had strayed there.
"I hope you don't have the answers on your own. It must be a horrible pain to have your hands torn apart." She commented, lowering the cloth.
A horrible pain? Makes sense. Whoever has hands like that must have a melancholic story behind them.
"You're right."
As promised, you lived your life the best way possible, and sculptures paved the way to your heart. Over time, your clay skills became refined, even daring to sculpt the features of your sisters; Nesta was your biggest supporter, even if she didn't admit it, there wasn't a day she didn't pass by to make sure your stock was full.
Each sister had their own shelf containing everything you thought resembled them. Elain had sculpted flowers and cakes, Nesta had books and red jewels, and Feyre had an arrow – just a sculpture, but it was the one you dedicated the most time to, whether smoothing the edges or trying to paint in the right places.
Because even though Feyre was a million miles away, you would love her all the way, and even if she never came back, you would find your way to her through the heart.
You wouldn't wait for her, but you wouldn't forget everything you had been through together.
And you might not even believe she would come back, but that tingling you felt in your fingers when you heard a knock on the door made you doubt your mental state.
It may be that besides being blind, you're also becoming deaf because hearing your sister's name from Elain's lips after so long is not a sign of good auditory nostalgia.
"Feyre?"
TAGLIST:
@dearestdaffodils @going-through-shit
@valeridarkness @wallacewillow0773638
@harrystylesfan2686 @carnationworld
@applerubyy @saltedcoffeescotch
@esposadomd @justdreamstars
@microwaveallthedemons
#~rhenysz#azriel x reader#acotar x reader#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x you#slow burn#eventual smut#eventual romance#feyre archeron#nesta archeron#elain archeron
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RULES:
° if you are underage and interact with some stories that contain 18+ I will block you!
° I'm not strict with ask but please don't make weird requests.
°I'm willing to write anything but I'm definitely against pedophilia, sexual abuse fetish and more to be added.
° I really don't care if you call me by a nickname or nickname, so feel free to interact with me, I love talking to you!
°I'm multifandom so don't be shy when asking me for something.
°Please read the warnings for each story carefully, you are on your own.
MASTERLIST UNDER THE CUT
*Indicates smut
ACOTAR
Azriel:
Series
Your Dead Eyes - Prólogo - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2
JUJUTSU KAISEN
Nothing yet
©Separator by Rhenysz
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Your Dead Eyes - 2 Preview
"You have skillful hands." His husky voice was just a murmur in the vastness of the night. Azriel stared intensely at your nape; his amber eyes followed your body with devotion as you proudly displayed your sculptures.
Your chest warmed with the compliment, yet you felt your hands becoming sticky. Your ears captured the heavy sound of his steps, so different from the silent walk before. The heat of his body behind yours sent a shiver up your spine; turning your face to the side, you felt his warm breath reach your cheek.
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As I write YDE let me throw in some fun facts about the story:
Your Dead Eyes would actually be called ACOSP, a court of snow and pain and that title is definitely not ruled out 🙏🏻
The MC would be called Bryar, but that turns into a future Wattpad, here most people prefer Reader, right?
In my original idea, the Reader would not be blind, but as the future of the story allows this change, I wanted to make it difficult for myself and change the main character 😫
Bryar has long white hair with beautiful blue eyes, as Gojo from Jujutsu Kaisen knows? But I don't explicitly add this, I want you to have fun imagining Reader. But... In the future I will add something permanent to her appearance👀
Reader's personality was supposed to be more like Nesta's, but for some reason that didn't sit well with me in YDE so it's hard for me to connect with Reader now, as I am still conflicted with the person she is becoming.
And no, this isn't just to stall you until I finish the chapter ❤️🙌🏻
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YDE is genuinely my roman empire i think about it once a day at LEAST the concept is so amazing and your writing is just perfection! please tell me you’ll continue
I'm still aliveeeee (for a short time) but! I have no intention of abandoning YDE I'm just a little discouraged. You are so kind to me 🥺 thank you for the words!
Here 👇🏻 a little piece. In chapter 3 we will have MANY things... Prepare your hearts 😌
The morning wind hit your face as you crossed the threshold, and the birds' singing passed through your ears like a sweet melody. However, as beautiful as it was, your eyebrow couldn't help but arch at your sister's haste; surely the letters couldn't be that interesting, at least not for Elain. She could barely contain herself when the matter was brought to the table. Oh, what gossip would you have today, dear sister?
"Do you desire something more from the city beyond the letters?" Her tone was nonchalant, but even the most foolish of men could see the curiosity behind her question.
Elain stumbled over something on the ground, almost taking you with her, and you were no longer so sure who the blind sister was here.
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I don't know if everyone realized it, but the reader's vision is extremely limited in Your Dead Eyes because of the Reader's blindness. She will only feel many things, which can make it a little difficult to meet someone else 🌝
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hiiii!!! I love your story “Your Dead Eyes” I was wondering when the next chapter would be out? (obviously no pressure I was just curious, you can totally ignore this if you want) ❤️
hey sweetie! I'm halfway through the chapter buuut the dreaded creative block got me. I'll try my best to finish writing this weekend 😫🙏🏻
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🫠🔫 I haven't forgotten about YDE, but I have less time to write because of my studies. If everything goes smoothly, there will be a new chapter this week.
By the way, any guesses why Azriel got so interested in our Reader? It's not what most people imagine 💀
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Hello! I just read the 2nd chapter of YDE and your writing style is so amazing :) I'm really excited to see where the story goes in the future!
(would you mind adding me to your tag list? Thanks <3)
*blushing very hard* thank you so much sweetheart 🫶🏻 It means a lot to me to know that my writing pleases you!
Yeah! I'm going to add you to the taglist 💖💖
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just saw your last post about YDE and your little dog. take all the time you need, I hope Luke gets better!!! ❤️
My puppy and I appreciate your kind words 🫶🏻
Kisses from a sleeping Luke ❤️
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Hey! I came here quickly to let you know that YDE might be a little late, my little dog got an eye ulcer and the treatment is very delicate, as soon as Luke adapts to the rehabilitation cone I will focus back on the new chapter 🙌🏻🙏🏻
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I LOVE Your Dead Eyes! Can’t wait for more ❤️❤️❤️❤️
omg 🤧 I'm so happy that YDE is getting so much love! Normally I'm very insecure about my writing but reading these comments makes me feel at ease. I'm glad you're enjoying it 💖
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hii do you know when the next chapter of ‘Your Dead Eyes’ will be posted? (no pressure ofc) I just love the story so much I have not been able to stop thinking about it ❤️🥰
Hey, I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I'm finishing writing the chapter and if everything goes well I'll post it tonight 🙌🏻 I'll hurry to finish it today, It takes a while because I have to switch to English
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Do you post weekly or when you feel like it?
My writing frequency is a bit messy but I'll try to post weekly, probably every thursday
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Your Dead Eyes - Chapter 2
Summary: Lifeless eyes were what haunted your all life, manu people say that death was lurking around your eyes, Maybe it's true. Maybe you just see things that other people don't.
Pairing: Azriel x Archeron! reader fem.
A/n: Damn, I don't know what to think about this chapter but I didn't like it 100% I hope to improve next time. Cassian 🤝 Nesta: Azriel's biggest blockers
*English is NOT my native language, this fanfic was translated with a little help from a So, let me know if there are any grammatical errors*
Word count: 4k
Warnings: Fear of abandonment, distorted sense of humor and LOTS of tension.
previous x next
The sensation was as if you were in the middle of the ocean at night, the furious and icy sea pounding against your body, sending adrenaline shocks through it as your mind desperately pleaded for you to swim and stay above the waves.
It felt like you were sinking upon hearing her voice. As if water flooded your ears with the gentle melody that were Feyre's words, and at the same time, it was like the huge waves of despair were pulling your body down.
"Elain," she spoke with a husky voice. It was so different from the usual roughness, as if honey had been poured onto her vocal cords.
Your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, firm and delicate steps. Nesta halted halfway down, looking towards the door. "Mrs. Laurent, prepare some tea and take it to the office," Nesta paused and glanced at you; her trembling figure with wide eyes made her heart skip a beat, and then her eyes returned to the housekeeper, "and take my sister to Merina."
You turned your head to where Nesta's voice came from and vaguely searched for her, silently thanking her for the act. You weren't ready to face Feyre now; your sister was the specter of a ghost that now haunted your mind.
Mrs. Laurent's wrinkled hands gently grabbed your shoulders, lifting you from the sofa and guiding you towards the hallway. "Come, dear, Merina is preparing your favorite."
"Wait!"
Your head lifted at Feyre's request, and your hands clutched the dress you were wearing, crumpling the fabric. Shaking your head, you continued walking with Mrs. Laurent. She didn't wait for you. You wouldn't wait for her.
While your heart held no resentment, it harbored resentment, heavy with hurt towards Feyre. You didn't mind that she went to look for the beast to live by his side, of course not; you minded the indifference she showed towards you. Feyre wasn't obliged to anything, and if you weren't worth a goodbye from her, she wasn't worth a bit of your time either.
The creaking of the door being opened drew your attention away from your thoughts, and undoubtedly, the sweet smell of melted sugar with a touch of cinnamon caught your attention even more. Molasses pie.
With your hand stretched, you leaned on the counter, and Mrs. Laurent let go of you to pull a stool for you; after sitting down, you mumbled a thank you, dismissing Mrs. Laurent for the task Nesta asked.
With a fist on your cheek, you let your eyes close; they weighed more than the pounds of clay you carried. The tinkling of a plate being placed in front of you made your eyebrow arch, and Merina's huff was heard right after.
"You're usually excited about this pie," Merina said, and as the pie was one of her specialties, she may or may not have been upset with your lack of interest, "now, care to tell me why you look like you've sucked a lemon?"
Chuffing a humorless laugh, you rolled your eyes and groped the counter to find the fork next to the plate. With unnecessary force, you stabbed the poor pie and brought a piece to your mouth. Merina, who watched that small act against dessert, tilted her head even more curious.
"Feyre is here." Your voice came out muffled by the sweet you were chewing; who cared about good manners in a situation like this? Judging by Merina's choking sound, she cared.
"Ah..." Merina sounded distant, analyzing your face for something more. With drooping shoulders, you sighed to her, "thought you'd be happy to see her again?"
Sucking the sweetness from the fork, you raised your lips in a playful smile, "hardly ever happy to see anyone, Merina."
The cook reached out to pat your head, "Enough of blind puns; they don't work with me anymore, and stop dodging the question."
Sticking out your tongue at her, you gave up and decided to really say what was going on inside your little head.
"I guess I'm afraid she'll leave again," you said, shrugging, the fork's tip was now deforming the poor pie, "once is fine, twice is hard, but three times? I don't think I can forgive on the third."
Merina hummed in agreement and discreetly took the pie and fork from you, grabbing a piece for herself.
"I'm not saying leaving without saying goodbye was right, or that she won't leave again, but maybe—" Mrs. Laurent passed by, giving her a penetrating look that made her drop the pie, "maybe you should listen, don't need to speak, just listen, and if the explanation doesn't please you, turn your back and leave."
Your eyes trembled, and a slight headache began to spread from your neck towards your temples. To listen, you could hear her, and maybe later, grab her by the hair to explain your point of view.
Your mouth opened to verbalize your response to Merina.
"Let's go to the office."
It wasn't you who spoke. Nesta stood in the doorframe, looking at you, then at the cook, and back at you. Merina jumped from where she was sitting and quickly took your arm to lead you to your sister. Nesta is terrifyingly terrifying.
Your hand fit into Nesta's arm, and she began walking towards the office. Her other hand rested on top of yours and gave a warm squeeze; a simple touch from her meant so much. This was her wordless way of saying she was there for you.
You felt her stopping, and you stopped with her. Nesta glanced at the door separating Feyre from you, and she was sure Feyre could sense both of you through the crack in the door. Looking at you, she blinked and parted her dry lips.
"She's different. Not the same person who left here that night." She said with a stern voice.
You nodded, not really understanding what she meant by that. Different? You were almost certain everyone becomes different after spending so much time in that place.
Nesta pushed the door and entered the office with you in tow. Feyre, who was facing away from the door, turned her head to you so quickly that, for a moment, she had flashbacks from under the mountain.
With teary eyes, she took a step towards you, but a warning look from Nesta froze her in place. She waited for you to come to her, but you didn't, even after leaving your sister's embrace, you didn't move a muscle anymore; perhaps Feyre was foolish to think you would.
Ignoring Nesta's watchful eyes, she approached you slowly, but she stepped heavily so that you could hear. Just like the other time, you felt her breath on your face, a breath so cold that it gave you shivers.
"Sister..." Feyre raised her fingers to your face but hesitated, her hands were no longer human, and you would undoubtedly feel how her fingers were thinner and longer than before.
Impatiently, you lifted your head to her and furrowed your brow, expecting something better than just a "sister." Taking a deep breath, Feyre looked into your lifeless eyes and began to speak.
"I was dead," even though Elain had already heard the story, she couldn't help but hold her breath, "I was dead, and then I was reborn, remade."
Feyre told everything, not omitting any details of what happened with Amarantha, with Tamlin, with Rhysand, the bat-winged men, and you listened; listened to every word attentively, feeling nauseous hearing that the damn beast ignored Feyre's suffering, turning pale when she recounted her death and rebirth experience, and dangerously trembling when she said she was no longer human. She was one of them now.
You didn't know what to say; your mouth was dry, and your hands trembled. What Feyre said wasn't an apology, but it was so much that you could barely assimilate it. She was a fairy—fae? What did that imply? She eat babies?
A hand grabbed yours, making you pull away frightened by the sudden contact. Feyre looked at you hurt by the reaction but continued firm, raising her hand to touch her cheek, and then she let you go. What you would do from now on was your choice; she knew there was much more to say, but time was pressing.
Hesitant, you ran your fingertips along her face, feeling the jaw sharper, your fingers traced the nose, the mouth, the forehead, and the eyes, and with each new change you felt, a sob broke from your chest, and tears overflowed from your eyes. Your hand opened on her face, and Feyre nestled her face in your caress, taking a deep breath, you brought your hand towards the place you were avoiding. The ears.
It was undeniably longer than a human ear, and at the end, there was a point. As you ran your finger along the edge, you felt the patterns of a fae ear; Feyre's ear twitched, and you quickly withdrew your hand.
With a choked voice, you finally found the strength to speak: "do you have bat friends now?"
Laughing, she squinted her eyes to push back the tears and grabbed your face in her hands.
"Would you like to meet them?"
Feyre went to fetch the fae after Elain managed to dismiss all the household staff, something that wasn't difficult with her charm.
While you waited in the living room, Nesta gave some blunt instructions on how to behave in front of those creatures.
"Don't smile; it shows weakness."
"No unnecessary kindness; they need us."
"Don't you dare take off the iron ring."
Three simple rules that, even if unintentionally, revealed the fear she felt of the unknown. Not that you were any braver; Feyre said they had bat wings for goodness sake, that scared anyone.
You sensed their presence before your sisters did; your heightened senses allowed you to hear three different types of footsteps. A delicate and precise one , Feyre; a lazy and imposing one, and another rough and arrogant. Funny, Feyre mentioned there were three of them.
Your steps halted, enveloping the room in an uneasy silence. Beside you, you could hear Elain gasping; could they be so grotesque as to cause such a reaction?
"My sisters, Nesta, Elain, and..." Feyre paused for a moment and with a more affectionate tone, she said your name, "S/n Archeron."
There were no greetings from them or you; Nesta's fingers tightly wrapped around your wrist discouraged politeness to the unexpected guests.
"Cassian," Feyre continued, introducing the bat- fairies, "Azriel," her shoes made a sound as she turned, "and Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court."
Again, a suffocating silence. Pulling your arm from Nesta, you raised your hand to twist a strand of your hair. What a stressful situation.
When an elegant voice cut through the silence, you jumped; it was as if he filled the entire room with his powerful timbre.
"Thank you for the hospitality... and the generosity." It was warm but seemed so fake.
Without hesitation, Nesta turned her back, announcing that dinner was on the table, and they should hurry. Elain mumbled a greeting and rushed after Nesta.
You stood awkwardly in the middle of the dining room until Feyre walked towards you with a smile on her face, "Want to get to know them better?"
"We promise not to bite," a deep voice said playfully. Feyre turned to the male and silenced him with a noise. She then turned back to you, taking your hand to encourage you to walk with her.
Nesta would be furious.
With hesitant steps, you went to them; the air around the bat-fairies was so warm and dominating, almost oppressive. Undoubtedly, they could see your hands trembling, and small beads of sweat ran down your collar and disappeared into the square neckline of your dress. Unbeknownst to you, a pair of sharp eyes followed the bold path of these drops.
"Rhysand," Feyre called, and he came to stand in front of you, extending his hand. Your sister brought the hand she held for him to take. Your hand tightened in his delicate grip. Without a doubt, this fae's hands were soft.
"You are more enchanting in person." He spoke playfully. Nodding in acknowledgment, you gave a faint smile. When pulling your hand away, you discreetly ran your fingers along the length of his palm, trying to memorize some feature. A callus on the middle finger.
Another bat took his place and shook your hand firmly. Oh, this hand was full of calluses and thick, "Cassian, General Cassian," your face paled; General? You were already starting to hyperventilate.
"Stop scaring her, bastard," a husky and seductive voice spoke, the silent fairy. Cassian laughed and stepped away from you, barely having time to breathe, the other bat took his place in front of you.
If you thought the presence of the other two was oppressive, this male's was overwhelming. Much closer than his brothers, Azriel towered over you and let his eyes roam over your body, absorbing every detail you had to offer.
He started with your eyes, a blue so light it could be mistaken for white, your lashes covering his gaze, your lips red from the cruel bites you gave. A chill ran down his spine, and Azriel didn't allow himself to wander more.
Why not? A sly shadow whispered to him.
Rhys cleared his throat, mocking Azriel. Frowning at his brother, Azriel snapped out of his stupor and took your hand in his, noticeably smaller.
Your nose twisted with the texture of his hand; did the bat have leather hands? No... as you ran your finger over his wrist, you felt the edge of what seemed – and you prayed it was – a glove. There was no way to memorize anything about this man.
"Azriel." He introduced himself, simple and with no need to add anything else. Azriel, the name weighed on your tongue. When pulling your hand away, you felt a final squeeze from him, causing your lips to stretch into a half-smile. Don't smile, the first rule of the night was broken.
A bell was rung with stress. Nesta was impatient.
Laughing softly, Feyre took your hand and led you towards the table, away from the three bats. What a peculiar situation this introduction was.
"What do you think?" She asked eagerly, seating you next to Elain, who nervously watched the males taking their seats at the table.
"Exciting, I suppose." You spoke in a tone so that only she could hear, hopefully. Feyre closed her eyes and laughed; the relief she felt at knowing that at least one of her sisters was willing to acknowledge those who were part of her new life was evident.
"Let's start this dinner quickly." Nesta cut you and Feyre off with a stern voice.
The dinner was unsettling; the silence was so profound that the buzzing of crickets became audible, and the lack of conversation made you think they might have left you alone and dined somewhere else. It would have been a good theory if the unpleasant noise of the anxious bat's chewing hadn't cut through the silence left by your sisters.
"Is there something wrong with our food?" Nesta asked plainly. But to whom the question was directed remained a mystery.
"No." Feyre. You rolled your eyes while swallowing another bite of roast. Of course, she would pick on Feyre. You slouched further under the table as if it were a barrier for the impending clash.
"So, can you not eat normal food anymore, or is it too good for you?"
With a start, you straightened your back, and like an eagle, your head turned to Nesta, grunting in disapproval. The clinking of cutlery was heard in the background.
"I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as before. Even better," Feyre proudly replied.
What a dinner spectacle. With a choke, you returned to your plate while controlling your laughter. The fascination and astonishment for your sister's words struggled against each other to see which would prevail.
"Don't torture me like this, I still have a blessed imagination," you addressed Feyre, who hid a smile in her water glass.
"I wonder why…" she teased, and a blush spread across your face like flames. It was a disastrous story, and just the mere memory made you want to open the window on the second floor to check if you really didn't fly and knowing you didn't have wings would be satisfactory.
But let's say that some people have no qualms about their intimacy in a private place; undoubtedly, any random alley in a market is not a private place. Someone should warn that couple.
"Hush," a embarrassed murmur escaped your lips. Gripping the fork, you brought a piece of meat to your mouth, desperately wanting to occupy yourself with something else; the other hand held a cloth under the table in case any food decided to change its destination and go away from your mouth.
Focused on the task, you dismissed Nesta grunting at someone. Just another normal day. Nevertheless, your shoulders tensed with Cassian's enraged speech about the living conditions Feyre endured. It was undeniable that he was right; you might not physically help, but it was your duty to fight for your sister, even being younger. Perhaps you could have persuaded your father to get up from that damn chair.
Elain argued some words of resentment, but you didn't listen. Frustration filled your body like an overflowing bucket, closing your hands into a fist on the table, you dropped the fork and let yourself be carried away by the guilt of not being enough to protect Feyre.
A chair scraped closer to the table. Your feet began to tingle, and a cold breeze passed through your legs in a gentle and tender caress. Relaxing your hands, you looked down in foolish hope of seeing something. All the windows were closed.
It tickled, chuckling to yourself, you kicked your feet, and the breeze followed you like a servant, tendrils wrapping around your calf and descending to your ankle with delicacy. A husky laugh was heard, and you quickly looked forward, not sure which of Feyre's friends was sitting in front of you.
"Can you really fly?" Elain beside you asked. The comforting breeze dissipated as if it had never been there. A fleeting pout crossed your lips but soon disappeared because your curiosity with Elain's question got the better of you.
"Yes. Cassian and I are from a fae race called Illyrians. We were born hearing the song of the wind," Azriel, the silent one, responded warmly.
Biting your lower lip, you intruded into the conversation:
"When Feyre said she was going to fetch the bat boys, I imagined claws and sharp teeth, not wings."
Azriel playfully smiled at you, startling Cassian; he didn't know his brother had enough teeth to smile. Cassian turned to you and looked at the side of your face since you were looking at Azriel's chest, who was he to judge.
"Don't rule out that possibility, Y/n, we might look horrifying to the eyes," Cassian joked, making you open a wider smile and turn vaguely toward him. Well, you hoped he was joking.
"Speak for yourself, brother, I'm hardly seen as hideous," Rhys sneered at his brother's words and turned to Feyre, "right, darling?"
Your sister choked, and a muffled slap sound covered by a layer of fabric was heard.
You rolled your eyes and returned to your original position. Azriel cleared his throat to regain your attention, something that wasn't difficult since you were alert to any noise this man made.
"Maybe one day—"
Nesta dragged the chair rudely, cutting Azriel's sentence, and spoke with a sharp voice:
"If we're done eating, this meal is over."
Before leaving, Elain explained to her guests and her sister where the rooms they would be using were located.
With a pounding heart and a head full of thoughts, you couldn't sleep, and for restless nights, the calm of your studio was what soothed you.
That's why you were sitting in front of your spinning table with the sleeves of your nightgown rolled up to avoid getting clay on them. Your fingers skillfully opened the stretched mass to soon pull out a cone shape. Humming, you grabbed the wet sponge and gently ran it over the sculpture's edges.
"Can't sleep?"
You jumped at the sudden question and accidentally lost control of the clay, causing it to lose its shape; some splatters of clay flew onto your face and clothes. What a mess.
"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to startle you," Azriel said apologetically and walked quickly from the doorway to you. He picked up a clean cloth lying on a countertop and pressed it into your hands.
"It's nothing," you laughed embarrassed and stood up, taking the cloth from his hands and feeling the hindrance of the glove. Moving slightly to the other side of the room, you could breathe better.
Azriel followed you with his eyes, watching you lightly clean your face and discard the cloth on some surface. He lowered his gaze and saw your sculpture undone; if it was something before, it isn't anymore. Azriel frowned, frustrated with himself, it wasn't his intention to disturb you.
"I'm sorry about the piece," his voice resonated in the room, curious; he couldn't help but ask, "what was it?"
Sighing defeated, you let your shoulders slump, and you spoke timidly:
"Wings. Your wings." Just like that, it was like ripping a band-aid off a wound. A grotesque wound and a cloth band-aid.
Wings. Azriel thought somberly; you were sculpting his wings. Swallowing hard, Azriel took a small step toward you but stopped when he heard your soft and delightful voice:
"But I'm sure it doesn't do justice to the real thing; my hands are my eyes, and as I've never touched a wing before..." you stopped before finishing; your eyelashes trembled in the flickering light of the candles.
Azriel held his breath, suffocated by the warm air that lingered in the room. With heavy eyes, he imagined being your guinea pig, your delicate fingers brushing against each tip of his wings. Azriel partially opened his wings as if he could feel your touches passing through them.
The sculpture you were running your fingertips over captured his attention; a small bird resting on a branch. Simple but extraordinary. Not knowing how to behave in a situation like this, you did the first thing that came to your mind.
"You have skillful hands," your hoarse voice was just a whisper in the night's vastness. Azriel looked intensely at your nape; his amber eyes followed your body with devotion as you proudly showed – accidentally – your sculpture.
Your chest warmed with the compliment; at the same time, you felt your hands getting sticky. Your ears caught the heavy sound of his steps, so different from the silent walk before. The heat of his body behind yours sent a shiver up your spine; turning your face to the side, you felt his warm breath reach your cheek.
"Maybe–" he stopped and reorganized his thoughts, clearing his throat; he spoke in a lower voice, "maybe I can help you with the sculpture."
You perked up at the prospect of feeling him without any barrier, turning slightly to him, feeling the weight of his gaze on your face. You opened your lips to speak.
"Am I interrupting something?" Azriel closed his eyes tightly upon hearing Cassian's mocking voice, damn opportunistic bastard.
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#~rhenysz#azriel x reader#acotar x reader#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x you#yde#eventual romance#eventual smut#feyre archeron#elain archeron#nesta archeron#rhysand#cassian#acotar#slow burn
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Your dead eyes
Prologue
Summary: Lifeless eyes were what haunted you all your life, many people say that death was lurking around your eyes, maybe it's true. Maybe you just see things that other people don't.
Pairing: Azriel x Archeron!reader fem.
A/n: I'm very excited, I had this idea in my head for a year and it's finally going in the right direction. English is NOT my native language so I asked an AI for a little help, please if you see something wrong let me know! I'm also very insecure about this, I hope you can read it. Good reading.
*I kept switching between Y/n and You, I'm confused about what to use.*
Word count : 2.1k
Warnings: Nothing yet
Next
The cold wind cut through the entire house; the windows, made of old and worn wood, could no longer contain the icy air. Each breath was held to alleviate the hunger sensation that coated your stomach.
Stay strong. That was all that echoed in your troubled mind as your dull eyes aimlessly wandered through the house. Yoir hands were clasped together, trying to gather as much warmth as possible near the fireplace where Nestha had seated her on a rickety chair with numbered days.
Your sister stood by yor side, posture resembling that of a true queen, a face sculpted in marble, pure disgust in her eyes for the man seated next to her. While Nesta displayed her discontent with their father, you preferred to pretend that his existence was null.
"Feyre." Elain's soft, hushed voice made her turn her head towards the sharp creak of the door. There was Feyre, the youngest of the three but older than you. "Where did you get this?" Hunger was so intense that Elain didn't even inquire about the blood covering her sister or the apparent fatigue on her face. Only pure interest.
"Where do you think I got it?" Her sharp words in her hoarse voice did nothing to diminish Elain's widened eyes, directed at the deer carcass in her arms.
"Will it take long for you to clean it?"Not her not Nestha, and certainly not Y/n – only Feyre. Taking a deep breath, you stood up, feeling for the chair and taking slow steps toward Feyre, but stopped upon hearing her father's rough and worn voice.
"Feyre, how lucky you were today to bring us such a feast." Nesta by her side only chuckled maliciously, as she did at any word that came out of the man's mouth. Pure scorn.
You extended your hands to find the worn table where Feyre had placed the deer. Feyre, your sweet Fey, straightened her back while casting a brief glance at Nesta and then focused her young and tired eyes on you.
"Hungry?" with pale and cracked lips, Feyre asked, a hint of a smile appearing. Your lifeless eyes sparkled for a second, your dry lips parting in a half-smile.
"And when am I not?" It should have sounded like a joke, but it wasn't. It was the reality. There were nights when you lay next to Feyre, praying to anyone who would listen, begging that tomorrow would be another day they'd go to sleep with full or at least not starving stomachs.
Feyre laughed humorlessly at the miserable situation they found themselves in; her little sister didn't deserve to live with the uncertainty of tomorrow – whether they would go hungry or cold.
Pressing your lips together, you reached out to Feyre, who quickly grabbed your hands, bringing them to her face. Your warm and gentle hands traced the contour of her lips, feeling the cracks, moving to her forehead, running her thumbs there and applying gentle pressure to her temples. Feyre nestled her face in your warm hands and let out a relieved sigh; Y/n had magical hands.
"Come on, Feyre, you need to rest." You was concerned for your older sister. Even though you couldn't help Feyre with hunting, you tried to provide relief in other ways. Silly as it may be, at the end of the day, the moment Feyre looked forward to the most was when Y/n would gift her with your those sweet hands – be it on her shoulders, back, or neck. Anything was wonderful for her tense muscles.
Feyre let out a long sigh she didn't know she was holding and, with tenderness, kissed the palms of your hands to move them away from your face, already missing your sister's touch. "Later, we need to eat." Feyre looked around and frowned. "Where's the firewood?".
You mumbled in discontent, letting your arms fall to your sides. You turned your head shyly in another direction because, even without seeing, you could feel Feyre's questioning eyes. "I tried to make her chop wood, but…"
Nesta, who was cleaning her nails, stopped and looked at both of them."I hate chopping wood. I always end up with splinters."
You shrugged with your older sister's voice. Nesta always missed the opportunity to stay silent. "Besides, Feyre, you're much better at it than I am."
Feyre gritted her teeth, making an unpleasant noise that assaulted your ears. Desperate to end the tension, you reached for Feyre's tattered clothes and pulled like a child trying to get their mother's attention."Tomorrow morning, I'll do it myself, Fey." You couldn't. It was easier for you to cut off your fingers than to hit the wood accurately, and both Feyre and Nesta knew that.
"No."
The voices of your older sisters were firm in denying you. Closing your eyes, you sighed. It has always been like that. Every time you offered to help with something around the house, you were turned down and scolded. You may be blind, but you were not defenseless, even though chopping wood may not be your strong suit.
"I'll chop, and you stay here." safe,Nesta wanted to continue, but the word got stuck in her throat, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Since when did this cabin guarantee any safety?
Dinner was silent, only the noise of utensils and chewing, occasionally interrupted by Elain trying to start a conversation about how cold it was that morning or how nice it would be to have a new blanket to ward off the cold winds.
When dinner was over, Feyre delicately took your arm and led her to the room they shared, seating her on the bed while changing her ragged clothes for potentially cleaner ones.
"How is my drawer?" With your head tilted, your voice cut through the silence with the question. When it was just the two of them alone, it was easier; there were no constant quarrels between Feyre and Nesta, and, as cruel as it may be, there was no Elain. It was just the two of them in their little happy world.Feyre threw herself on the bed next to you, releasing the air from her lungs, and turned her face to admire her sister's gentle profile.
"Missing ink to finish." Feyre then looked at the drawer and described it with the utmost care so that her sister could visualize it. "There are two spirals in white, one descending and one ascending on opposite sides, looking like smoke perhaps. Also, there are two stars on each side with some smaller ones around."
The younger one hummed in agreement and opened the blanket to lie down, making room for Feyre to lie down too. Facing each others you felt safe, the love they had for each other creating a warm and cozy atmosphere even with the wind making the roof tiles roar.Running your tongue over your lips and trembling your eyes, you timidly asked, "And me? How am I?"
Opening a wide smile, Feyre pulled you into her arms and showered your head with several joyous kisses, eliciting laughter from the younger one. "You look wonderful, Y/n."
In the best of words, at least for Feyre, Y/n was gentle, not a naive and immature gentleness, but a softness that made her seem wise and older. Someone she could whisper her secrets to, tell jokes in her ear that were often so bad they made them laugh until their stomachs hurt, and then warm up in the cozy embrace of her little sister.
"Turn around." Y/n lightly pushed Feyre's shoulder, indicating she should let her go. Groaning, Feyre accepted defeat and did as her sister requested. Massage time.Sitting on the bed, your hands pressed on Feyre's shoulders, easing the tense muscles.
Feyre murmured, "Oh my..." You chuckled quietly, proud to offer your sister a bit of relief. Then, still somewhat distracted, Feyre muttered again, "I killed a wolf."
Your hand recoiled, and her dull eyes widened.
"You what?"
The next morning, Feyre and the other sisters had already left for the village with the wolf's leather to sell, while you stayed home with your father.
"How about gloves?" Feyre asked, singing with bright eyes, like a little puppy.
"No. I want nothing for myself. Go and buy yourself something and please," You exhaled and squeezed between your eyes, "don't let Elain sway you with her complaints."
Feyre's shoulders slumped in defeat, and she nodded, but soon verbalized her response for you to understand."Alright... no gloves then."
The day passed painfully slowly with no one to entertain her. Your father was not the most suitable for such a task and seemed content to sit by the fireplace with the wood Nesta had chopped, after much fuss.Despite all her strong personality, Nesta was great for you, in her own way, but she was a great older sister for you.
The day passed slowly . Your sisters returned in the early evening, and despite all of Y/n protests and grumbles, Feyre gifted her with a small object.
"A hairpin?" You asked with a faltering voice. "Fey..." a pout formed on your lips, and your eyebrows furrowed.
"It was cheap! And I couldn't resist; it was calling to me and saying so enchantingly," Feyre held her sister's face and continued with a laugh, "take me, take me, I would look beautiful in your sister's hair. Convincing, isn't it?"
"Not at all."
Feyre threw your head back and laughed."Well, I thought so. Now stay still for me."
Wrinkling her nose at the veiled order, you obeyed your sister. You disjointed thoughts ceased as you felt Feyre's fingers pulling a strand of your hair and securing it with the hairpin. "A little snowflake lost in your golden curls."
The rest of the afternoon went well, or well enough for another normal day. Y/n spent most of the time with Nesta, listening to your older sister murmur the same story from her old and worn-out book for the umpteenth time.
At dinner, Feyre joined you at the table, enjoying her warm presence and casual conversations.
A deafening roar cut through the conversations, and the sound of the door being brutally ripped off its hinges made your bones tremble along with the walls of the house. Fear flooded you in a petrifying way, turning you legs into jelly.
"ASSASSINS!"
The creature's voice dripped with cruelty and rage. Slim hands grabbed your shoulders and pushed your body toward the wall opposite the voice. Elain crouched with you, holding you in her chest, pressing your ears protectively to muffle the voices.
Being blind was never something you resented; there was no reason to lament something nature decided before was born. But in that moment, in that peculiar situation you found herself in, all you wanted to do was see. See who was directing such anger at your sister, see Feyre's bravery confronting something immensely more powerful than her, and see the exact moment your other half was taken away from you.
You shouted for your sister, shouted until yor voice became hoarse and worn out, shouted until you succumbed to exhaustion, and when you had no more strength, you lamented being the only one who remembered your sister.
Time was relative with Feyre's absence. Some days passed quickly with a good pastime, while others dragged painfully. There were also days when neither happened, and those were the worst.
On those days, you could hear Elain babbling throughout the house about her engagement, Nesta commanding the house – no longer falling apart – like a general, and, worst of all, you could hear the damn noise of that fancy cane you got from your older sister.
"I don't need this." Nesta frowned at the denial, considering it childish.
"Others will ask, and I don't want anyone looking at us like we're animals because you're clinging to the walls to walk," though her words were cruel, Nesta stood firm in her point.
You pressed your lips into a thin line, you fists clenched the white silk dress that adorned your body, baring your teeth like an animal, you snarled, "I'll use it outside. Inside, I refuse."
It didn't happen. You was indirectly forced to use that piece of wood inside the house as well. The servants whispered malice when they saw you hitting the new furniture; the number of bruises you gained while trying to memorize the house left you worse than a bruised tomato, and you didn't want others to think you suffered abuse from your's sisters.
In addition to the obvious discontent with the cane, you also hated the balls; that's where most comments about her condition happened. It was so funny and miserable how men and women made remarks about your blindness.
A compliment that quickly came with a false pity for you, and you unfortunate disability – "It's truly a shame such a beautiful face is wasted."
Hypocrites.
You would bet a finger that those who judged you were as horrible as the monsters Feyre invented for you.
Feyre...
#azriel x reader#acotar x reader#azriel x you#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#feyre archeron#nestha archeron#elain archeron#fluff#angst#eventual smut#eventual romance#azriel#azriel x y/n#~rhenysz#Archeron!reader#nesta archeron
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