Pairing: Rhysand x Reader
Angst, SMUT [+18] with subplot
Themes: Angst / Bittersweet farewell; Forbidden love; Doomed mates trope; Arranged marriage; Abandonment; Reader's and Rhysand's ancestors being idiots.
TW: Oral sex (on both parts); Thigh riding; Wax play; Light breath play (consensual); Praise kink; Switch!Rhysand; Switch!Reader; Wing stimulation; Not protected penetration (p in v). [I hope I didn't forget anything else]
Inspired by Ma Meilleure Ennemie from the series Arcan, but I kinda went on my own path
https://open.spotify.com/intl-it/track/4lriIG2vNqwDWzOj2I9rtj?si=6ff44d39d476463d
The mountains kept their silence tonight.
Snow pressed itself against the wooden beams of the hidden cabin, a hush blanketing the world outside, as though even the wind did not dare to intrude. I sat by the hearth, the fire crackling low, orange light dancing in the pools of melted wax gathered at the base of the candles scattered across the room.
I hadn’t lit them for him.
That’s what I told myself, again and again, as I waited. That this light, this warmth, was for me - for the girl who would wake tomorrow and wear a stranger’s ring, offer her vows to a noble whose kiss she couldn’t remember, whose eyes never found hers in a crowded room.
But my heart had known he would come.
And when I heard the soft flutter of wings - that unmistakable grace - I didn’t flinch. I only closed my eyes and breathed him in before I even saw him.
Rhysand stepped through the doorway without knocking. As always.
The mountain cabin was too small to pretend we didn’t fill the space just by being in it. Too still to pretend our hearts weren’t beating like war drums. He was dressed in black - of course he was - though he left his leathers undone at the throat, and a few buttons on his coat hung loose, as if he’d left in haste. His hair was damp, snow clinging to his shoulders before melting against the heat of the room.
He looked… tired. Wind-tousled. Beautiful in the way broken things are beautiful, all the more painful because they’re not yours to fix.
He only stood there, watching me from across the room like he hadn’t already mapped it in his mind, like he hadn’t kissed me against that wall three winters ago and murmured poetry into my skin until my bones went soft.
“Do you want me to go?” he asked finally, his voice a low thrum, too steady for what I knew was behind his eyes.
“No,” I said, more quickly than I meant to.
A breath passed between us.
He walked forward, quiet as dusk, and took the chair opposite mine, the one that had once been his. That felt more like his than mine, somehow. His fingers curled over the arms of it, tense.
“I almost didn’t come,” he murmured.
His laugh was soft, almost bitter. “You knew I would.”
I nodded. “And you knew I’d wait for you.”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at me like he always had, like I was the only secret worth keeping. Like he hadn’t watched me be handed away, piece by piece, until nothing of me was mine anymore.
I wondered if he could hear it, the sound of my soul pulling taut, every second stretched too long.
“You look...” He swallowed the word before it fell.
“Like someone else,” I offered.
His eyes found mine, and it was all I could do not to crumble beneath them. “No,” he said. “Like someone trying not to bleed.”
I didn’t look away. “Isn’t that what we’ve always done?”
A silence fell over us again, heavy with things we hadn’t said. Couldn’t say.
The fire cracked, sending sparks skimming across the hearthstone. Outside, the snow whispered against the walls.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging loose between them. “Do you remember Solstice in Velaris?”
I smiled despite myself. “You mean the one where you stole an entire bottle of red wine from Cassian’s private stash?”
“And you said you’d never tasted anything more vile?”
“You spilled half of it on my dress,” I reminded him.
“I took it off you,” he said, voice low.
“You burned the damn thing in the fireplace.”
“You said it was ruined,” he murmured. “I didn’t want you to be sad.”
It shouldn’t have made me ache. But it did, how much of him I still carried in all the quiet corners of myself. How even his worst decisions had been made for me.
I tucked my legs beneath me, the hem of my silk robe brushing the floor. I hadn’t worn it for him either.
He stared at it for a moment too long, and when his eyes found mine again, they were darker than before.
“I thought I could do it,” I whispered. “Go through with it. Make peace with the politics of it all. Be… dutiful.”
“I keep hearing you in my head.” My throat tightened. “Saying my name like it meant something.”
He looked away then, just for a moment. Like the weight of it was too much.
His eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes,” I breathed. “I do.”
“I could stop the wedding.”
I swallowed. “Don’t you see? We lose either way. This is the only way I can win something. My people stay safe. My family survives. The Night-your Court stays untouched.”
His hands dropped, slow and reluctant. He turned his face from mine, not in shame, but in agony.
“I still remember,” I said softly, fingers grazing the edge of his knuckles, “the first time you told me I was beautiful.”
Rhys chuckled, low and rough, like velvet dragged over stone. “You mean the time you threatened to kick me in the face?”
“You deserved it,” I replied, but I was smiling. “You said I looked like a painting and then stared at my chest for ten solid minutes.”
“That’s not true.” He paused. “It was eight.”
I laughed, the sound breaking free of my chest like a storm cracking sky. It hurt, too. Everything tonight hurt. Even the warmth.
“You had blue paint on your nose,” he murmured, eyes glittering with memory. “You were trying to blend into the mural in the Court of Nightmares, all to avoid your mother’s endless matchmaking.”
I rolled my eyes. “And then you found me. Of course.”
“Of course,” he echoed. “I couldn’t stay away, even then. Even when I didn’t know what the tug in my chest meant.”
“I thought you were the most irritating, smug bastard I’d ever met,” I said.
“And you,” he whispered, “were the most breathtaking thing I’d ever seen, like the world had finally given me something too beautiful to deserve, and all I could do was watch and hope you’d let me stay near you.”
Gods, how much I love him.
“You told me you hated art.”
“I lied,” Rhysand murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “I just wanted you to keep talking to me.”
“I still have the little sketch you gave me,” he continued, voice low, reverent. “The one you drew in the corner of my book when you thought I wasn’t looking. You sketched me asleep, and drew a crown of stars on my head.”
My heart stuttered. “I thought you’d thrown it away.”
“Never,” he said, and he meant it.
His thumb brushed my jaw. “Do you remember the first time you touched my wings?”
Heat coiled low in my stomach. I glanced away. “We said we wouldn’t talk about that night.”
“You mean the one where you dared me to race you through the Sidra river canyons and then accidentally fell on top of me while we were both soaking wet, half-naked, and full of wine?”
Rhys grinned, all teeth and tenderness. “You had your thighs around me, paint smeared down your cheek, and you looked at me like I was your last breath.”
I looked down at my lap, jaw trembling.
“Do you remember what I said?” he asked, voice a whisper.
I nodded. “You told me I was the only person who’d ever made you want to live forever.”
It bloomed between us like grief.
“I meant it,” he said. “Every word.”
The candlelight flickered. Shadows danced across his face. And I knew, in that moment, that no matter what waited at dawn — this man would never stop loving me.
I reached for his hand, pressing it to my chest. To the slow, pained rhythm of my heart.
“I used to lie awake at night,” I murmured, “and imagine us. Our home. Somewhere by the sea. A garden. You would fly in, covered in sand, carrying books and sweets and flowers you picked yourself.”
“I’d do that now,” he whispered. “Even now. Even if you only wanted one more day.”
A tear slipped down my cheek.
“And you,” he went on, “would paint me, again and again. And I’d ruin your brushes trying to kiss the color from your fingers.”
I laughed, choked and soft.
“You were always so dramatic.”
“I loved you too hard to be anything else.”
I leaned forward. “Tell me one more memory. One that no one else would know.”
Rhysand hesitated, then said, almost shyly: “You once fell asleep on my chest in the Hewn City, and snored so loudly that Keir thought I was summoning a beast.”
I blinked. “I did not snore.”
“Oh, you did. Like a little thunderclap. And I loved every moment of it. I wanted to bottle the sound.” Rhysand said softly. “Because in that moment - gods, in that moment - I believed the world might actually be kind to us.”
I buried my face against his shoulder, laughing through tears. “You’re insufferable.”
We sat like that for a long time, surrounded by shadow, wrapped in memory. The past curled around us like a second skin. And in the quiet that followed, there was no war. No marriage. No curse.
And all the moments they never got to keep.
“I hate that he’ll never know what your skin feels like after you cry. That he’ll never taste the part of your soul that burns when you lie.”
“Stop,” I begged, voice breaking. “Please.”
He stepped behind me. Close enough that I could feel the heat of his chest against my spine, the silk of his breath near my neck.
“You were never mine to lose,” he said, just above a whisper. “But I’m going to lose you anyway.”
I turned, slow, until we were face to face.
Soft. Just the brush of my lips on his, a whisper of a thing, trembling and unsure. And when he kissed me back, it was with hunger. A groan caught in his throat as his mouth found mine, opening, deepening. The taste of him was dizzying, night-kissed shadows and the phantom memory of summer wine.
His hands cupped my jaw, reverent and firm, and mine slid beneath his coat, greedy for the feel of him. His chest was hot beneath my palms, hard muscle shifting beneath soft linen.
I pressed my body closer.
“Gods, I missed you,” he rasped, teeth grazing my lower lip. “I dreamt of this.”
My knees gave out as he kissed down my neck, his lips skimming my pulse like a prayer. He caught me easily, one strong arm under my thighs, the other at my back. He carried me to the bed in the corner like I was something breakable.
He set me down gently, too gently.
“I want you rough,” I said, breathless. “But I want to be the one to start.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, then hunger.
I reached for him and pulled him down atop me, kissing him hard now, mouths colliding with years of unsaid things. I rolled my hips up against him and moaned at the feel of his thigh between mine, exactly where I needed it.
He stilled, just for a second, as he realized what I was doing.
And then his hands gripped my hips, firmly, possessively, guiding me.
“I’ve thought about this,” he whispered, voice shaking, “every night. You, riding my thigh, begging me to let you cum—”
“You’re not the only one who’s fantasized,” I said, breathless, as I ground down against the flex of his muscle.
He groaned, deep and low, and his lips found the shell of my ear. “Then show me, darling.”
I sat up slowly, straddling him fully now. I pushed his coat from his shoulders and tugged at the linen shirt underneath, revealing warm, golden skin and that perfect Illyrian strength: sculpted, sweat-sheened, already flushed.
I rocked against him again and gasped. Fuck, that felt good.
Rhysand’s head fell back against the pillows, eyes closing, a low moan escaping as I found a rhythm. His thigh flexed beneath me, giving me just enough pressure, just enough friction. I bit my lip and moved faster, rolling my hips again and again until heat pooled low in my belly.
His hands roamed my waist, my back, my breasts over the shirt, never once taking over. Just offering me the freedom to use him.
“You’re divine,” he murmured. “Watching you like this—”
I kissed his throat. “You feel so good.”
“Fuck, I want to taste you,” he groaned. “But I’ll let you have this first.”
I dragged my nails lightly down his chest, watching his body twitch beneath the touch. And then I reached for the candle.
“You remember this?” I said, voice low, teasing.
Rhysand swallowed, visibly. “You used to drip wax on my stomach. Just to drive me mad.”
I smiled as I leaned forward and tilted the candle slightly. A single drop landed just above his heart, and he hissed, muscles locking.
His cock jumped beneath his leathers.
“Sensitive,” I murmured, pleased.
“You’re evil,” he rasped, his eyes devouring me. “I forgot how much I liked it.”
I tipped the candle again, a slow trail of wax landing down the line of his stomach, where his shirt had been undone. His chest rose and fell fast now.
Then I unfastened the buttons at his waist.
His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as I tugged the leathers down, releasing him fully.
Gods above, he was already hard, thick and flushed and leaking. My mouth watered at the sight.
I dipped my head without hesitation, licking a slow stripe from base to tip.
Rhysand’s hand flew to the headboard.
I closed my lips around the tip, slow and deliberate, and he shuddered. One of his wings twitched, just the slightest movement.
His eyes burned into mine.
“Touch them,” he whispered, voice almost hoarse. “Please.”
I reached back with my left hand, sliding it up the inner curve of his wing.
His entire body arched. A strangled sound burst from his throat.
His hips jerked. One hand fisted in my hair, not guiding, just grounding.
“Stars,” he groaned. “You— I won’t last.”
My fingers dragged softly over the membrane again - another moan.
I wrapped my hand around his base and moved in rhythm with my mouth, letting my tongue tease the ridge beneath the head. I dragged my nails lightly down the edge of his wing, and he exploded.
He shouted my name as he came, his entire body seizing, hot pulses flooding my mouth, hips trembling.
When I looked up, he was staring at me like I was some holy thing.
“You’re going to kill me,” he whispered. “And I’ll thank you for it.”
I crawled up his body, kissed the hollow of his throat.
“Not done yet,” I said against his skin. “Not even close.”
He laughed, still breathless, and rolled me beneath him.
And just before his mouth captured mine again, he whispered:
“Then burn me, darling. I’m yours.”
His hands were on my ribs, my thighs, my breasts, but it wasn’t hurried. Rhysand touched me like a man memorizing a map he was never allowed to keep.
He kissed the center of my chest, just above where my heart thundered in its cage.
“I’m going to ruin you,” he whispered against my skin. “Mark every inch of you with my mouth until your husband-to-be knows he’ll never be enough.”
“I know,” he said, eyes on mine. “I know. But just for tonight, let me have you. Let me remember what it’s like to taste you without guilt bleeding through every kiss.”
He kissed the underside of my breast, open-mouthed, then dragged his tongue along the curve. I arched. My hands threaded through his hair, tugging gently, not to guide, but to anchor myself. I needed to feel that this was real.
When his lips closed around my nipple, I gasped. His tongue swirled once, twice, before he sucked slow and firm, like he knew it would make my back arch. A sound escaped me, something utterly helpless.
“You're shaking,” he murmured, switching to the other side, kissing a slow path before taking me into his mouth again.
“I can't—” I whimpered. “You're driving me mad—”
“You haven’t even seen mad yet,” he growled.
And then he kissed down. Lower. Past my ribs, my hips.
And when he reached the waistband of my underwear, he paused.
“I want to rip them,” he said, voice dark silk. “Want you to feel how desperately I need you.”
My pulse pounded as he hooked his fingers under the delicate lace, and tore. The sound was obscene. Final.
I gasped at the cold air hitting my heat.
He groaned, like the sight of me bare and slick was enough to ruin him entirely.
“Look at you,” he said, spreading my thighs wider. “Already so wet for me. Gods, I could drown in this.”
A gasp tore from my throat.
His tongue was divine, slow and teasing at first, licking the length of me, before circling my clit with maddening precision. I writhed, one hand fisting the sheets, the other tangling in his hair.
Then he moaned against me, the sound vibrating through my core.
“I’ve missed this taste,” he said, voice wrecked. “Missed making you fall apart with just my mouth.”
He sucked, and I sobbed. My thighs tried to close, but his strong hands held them open, pinned me down like I was his prey. My hips bucked and he growled, the sound vibrating through me as he flicked his tongue over that spot again, again, again—
“Rhys,” I gasped. “I can’t— I’m—”
“Yes you can,” he said, breath hot. “You will. Let go for me. Cum on my tongue, sweetheart.”
And then he sucked hard and slid one finger inside me, crooked it just right—
White-hot pleasure exploded behind my eyes, my body trembling violently as my climax rolled through me like a tidal wave. I couldn’t even breathe, not with the way his mouth stayed on me, drawing it out, coaxing every last pulse until I was panting and gasping and boneless.
When he finally pulled away, his lips were wet with me. His eyes were near black, dilated and feral.
He kissed my trembling thigh. Then the place just above my mound.
I could taste myself on his tongue as he kissed me deeply, groaning when I bit his bottom lip.
“Turn over,” he said, voice low, steady, and full of something that ached.
I moved without thinking, my chest sinking into the blankets, the cool air brushing my bare spine.
He pulled my hips up gently, reverently, like he was positioning something precious. Then he leaned in close, his breath hot against the shell of my ear.
“This is how I want to remember you,” he murmured. “On your knees. Open for me. Letting me show you everything I never got to say.”
His hand slid to the back of my neck, not rough, not harsh. Just firm. Grounding. Possessive in the way only love could be.
A quiet whimper slipped from my lips.
“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice a thread of silk drawn taut.
“Yes,” I whispered, breaking. “Always.”
“Then tell me,” he breathed. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”
“Please, Rhys,” I gasped. “I want you. I want to feel you - deep, everywhere. I want you to make me forget the world, just for tonight. I want to remember what it means to be yours.”
His cock rubbed between my folds once, teasing, slick with precum and my arousal. I felt the thick head nudge against my entrance—
The words shattered something in me.
I turned my face into the pillow, biting back a sob.
“I love you,” I whispered. “I’ve always loved you. Even when it hurt.”
His forehead pressed to the back of my neck.
And then he pushed inside.
“Fucking gods,” he groaned, voice broken at the edges. “You feel like home.”
I could only gasp: the stretch, the fullness, the weight of him… it split me apart and stitched me back together in the same breath.
He didn’t move, just stayed buried deep inside, chest pressed to my back, one arm braced beside my head. I could feel the tremble in his thighs, the restraint in every muscle.
His lips brushed the curve of my ear. “Say it again.”
I swallowed, my heart battering like a bird in a cage. “I love you.”
One thrust, slow, deep, grinding. I moaned, a high broken sound, and he echoed it with a groan that sounded like it was torn from his soul.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmured, dragging out again. “Every night. Every goddamned moment since I let you go.”
He snapped his hips, once, sharp - I cried out.
“Of you under me. Around me. Screaming my name.”
Another thrust, another breathless cry.
“You’re mine,” he growled into my skin, his teeth grazing my shoulder. “Even if I can’t have you. Even if I lose you tomorrow.”
He reached forward, hand wrapping gently, firmly around my throat.
“Say you’re mine,” he whispered, thrusting hard.
I gasped, voice caught, my pulse pounded under his fingers.
“I’m yours,” I choked out. “Always, Rhys, always.”
He growled and snapped his hips harder, faster, angling just right - and stars bloomed behind my eyes.
“Good girl,” he rasped, tightening just slightly. “Such a good fucking girl.”
I was unraveling again, I could feel it, the heat coiling tight in my belly. But then he pulled out suddenly, leaving me whimpering and empty.
“Turn around,” he ordered. “I want to see your face when I make you cum again.”
I obeyed, dizzy and wrecked. He kissed me hard, filthy, wet, and then sank back in, eyes locked on mine.
His rhythm was slower now, not teasing, but worshipful. Deep, dragging thrusts that hit every nerve ending. I clung to him, nails raking down his back, his shoulders, my thighs wrapped around his hips.
“Touch me,” he rasped, panting.
“I want you to break me.”, he begged.
I slid my hands down, fingers trembling, until they brushed the base of those dark, powerful wings. Rhysand shuddered. His eyes rolled back as my hands traced the sensitive membrane, trailing up the curve, fingertips grazing the place he was most vulnerable.
He howled, hips jerking wildly as his thrusts grew erratic.
“That’s it,” I gasped. “Let go. Cum inside me.”
“I’m close,” he groaned, mouth open, chest heaving. “Don’t stop—”
And then I pressed hard at the center joint, and Rhysand shattered.
His entire body bowed, a cry torn from his throat that sounded more like grief than pleasure as he spilled inside me, pulsing hard, wings flaring wide. I held him through it, still stroking, kissing his jaw, his cheek, while his mouth was moaning my name like a litany.
We lay there, tangled and gasping, for what could’ve been minutes or hours.
Rhys’s hand stroked my spine. My fingers traced the curve of his wing, softer now.
“I love you,” he whispered. “More than any court, any law, any future.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“I know,” I said. “That’s what makes this so cruel.”
He didn’t reply. Just pressed his forehead to mine, breathing me in like it was the last time. Because it was.
Then he kissed me, not with hunger, not with fire. But with goodbye in every soft, shattering brush of his lips.
I must have fallen asleep in the silence that followed, lulled by the ache of him, the scent of him still clinging to my skin.
But when I reached for him at dawn, I found only cold sheets.
No note. No sound. No trace.
Just the echo of his name in the hollows of my ribs. Just the ghost of his fingers on my skin.
And the bond - that sacred, fragile thing between us - didn’t break.
It simply… quieted.
Like a song unfinished.
Like breath held forever in the lungs, waiting for a release that would never come.
Late spring, nearly summer, that liminal time when the world exhales, caught between the bloom and the burn. The breeze danced through the long grass and the open windowpanes, humming a song I no longer dared to name.
A child’s laughter rang out across the stones.
I turned from the window, from memory, and stepped barefoot into the sunlight.
He was sitting cross-legged on the blanket, hair dark and windswept, curls in need of cutting. He had my eyes, but everything else… everything else was him.
That angled jaw. That proud, mischievous mouth. That glint in his gaze when he smiled too wide. The tilt of his head when he listened to the world.
His wings wide open. Power thrummed beneath his skin like the ocean beneath ice. And every time he looked at me, I saw the man I couldn’t forget.
“Look, Mama!” he called, holding up a wooden carving. It was crooked and awkward, a winged creature with two too-big eyes and a lopsided grin. “It’s a bat!”
I smiled, though something in my chest cracked.
“It’s perfect,” I said, kneeling beside him. “He looks just like someone I once knew.”
He tilted his head. “Was he a bat?”
He nodded, very serious. “Did you like him?”
I froze. Not from the question, but from the knowing way he asked it. That strange, ancient wisdom that sometimes lit his features. As if he carried pieces of a soul too old to belong to a child.
I didn’t answer. Just looked at the sky.
The wind curled around us. Gentle. Like wings.
He came sometimes, I thought. Not in body, never again. But in dreams. In the way my son’s shadow stretched long at dusk. In the midnight songs the stars sometimes whispered to us, just before I woke.
I loved him. I had let him go.
In the small hands that clung to mine.
In the sharp, radiant boy who would one day change the world.
And so I leaned down, kissed my son’s brow, and held him close.
And far above us, in the high stillness of the wind-swept mountain air… I swore I felt someone watching.
A pulse.
A tug.
A quiet echo of the words we never got to keep.
A/N: hope you guys liked it, because I didn't. This is heavily unedited, I didn't have the time to double check it, SORRY!!!!!
If you liked it, let me know <333
