#rhys angst

[starksweasley]

a proper apology

pairing: rhysand x reader

summary: it's absolutely impossible to resist the magic that is rhysand's face, even when you're angry with him.

wc: 1.3k+

The morning light filtering through the House of Wind's windows had absolutely nothing to do with your mood, which remained, despite the sun's best efforts, stormy.

Rhysand had done something unforgivable the night before. He'd promised (with that solemn hand-over-heart nonsense he knew always made you laugh) that he'd be home in time for the dinner you'd spent all afternoon planning. A ridiculous wager about who could actually cook a decent meal without cheating and using magic to speed things along. You'd marinated, you'd chopped, you'd burned your knuckle on the pan and refused to heal it just so you could hold the injury over him dramatically at dinner.

And then he simply hadn't come home.

Some court business with Keir had swallowed him whole, four hours past when he'd said he'd be back, and by the time he finally winnowed into the dining room, you'd already eaten alone.

You'd gone to bed and pretended to be asleep when he slid in beside you murmuring apologies into your hair, one hand splayed warm over your stomach like he could apologize his way through your skin if words wouldn't do it.

You were not currently speaking to him.

This was, you'd decided somewhere around three in the morning while glaring at the ceiling, a matter of principle. It wasn't about the dinner…not really. It was about the look on his face when he'd finally arrived, like he expected you to simply forgive him on the spot because he was Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, devastatingly handsome and devastatingly aware of it. Well. Not today.

You descended the stairs into the main room with your chin high and your resolve firmly buckled into place, sailing past where Cassian and Rhys sat hunched over a spread of papers. 

"Morning, Cass," you chirped, leaning down to press a bright, affectionate kiss to his cheek.

Cassian blinked, clearly thrown by the sudden enthusiasm. "Uh—morning?"

"Good morning, darling," Rhys said, looking up with an easy, hopeful smile.

You hummed and glided straight past him toward the kitchen with the singular purpose of a woman who had a cup of tea to make and absolutely no High Lords to acknowledge in the process.

Behind you, the silence stretched. One second. Two.

Then Cassian's low, delighted snort, badly disguised as a cough. "Oh. Oh, that's bad."

"Shut up."

"No, no, take your time, genuinely, this might be the single greatest thing I've witnessed all week—"

"I said shut up, Cassian."

You allowed yourself a small smirk as you reached the kitchen, already reaching for the kettle, already congratulating yourself on your flawless execution of Operation Ignore Rhysand Into Submission.

You heard the scrape of a chair, papers rustling with far less diplomatic care than they probably deserved, and then the unmistakable, rapid cadence of footsteps closing the distance behind you at a speed that was unfair.

You picked up your pace, aiming for the far counter like it was a finish line in some race you hadn't agreed to enter.

You did not make it. Obviously. He had wings and several centuries of reflexes and you had a nightgown and injured pride.

An arm banded around your waist, spinning you with a dizzying ease that made your stomach swoop despite your best efforts, and then your back met the edge of the kitchen counter, Rhysand's body caging you in on either side with his forearms braced against the counter, close enough that you could smell that maddening scent of his.

You squirmed. Half-heartedly. In the specific way that technically qualified as resistance on paper but wouldn't have dislodged a mildly determined kitten, let alone a male who had absolutely zero intention of letting you go anywhere.

This is, annoyingly, your favorite place in the entire world.

Still, you fixed your gaze pointedly on the small, fascinating patch of wall just past his left ear.

Rhysand groaned. "Darling."

You said nothing. The wall was really quite an interesting shade of gray.

"You're doing the thing," he said, "where you look at literally anything except me. I invented that move. You cannot use it against its creator."

Still nothing. Riveting wall. Truly.

His hand came up, catching your chin with a gentleness that was almost more infuriating than if he'd been rough about it, tilting your face up until you had nowhere left to look but directly into those wounded violet eyes.

"Please talk to me," he murmured, thumb brushing along your jaw. "I'm sorry."

You jerked your chin sideways out of his grip with as much dignity as you could muster, reinstating your glare at a slightly more aggressive angle.

He simply followed, tugging your face back to his with unbothered patience.

"Stop it!" you burst out, voice cracking with something caught halfway between fury and helpless laughter. "I can't be mad at you when I have to look at you! That's not fair, that's basically cheating, you know what your face does to me—"

Something amused flickered across his features, entirely too pleased with himself for someone who was technically still in trouble. His head tilted slightly, dark hair falling across his forehead, and he had the audacity to look smug about it. "Then stop being mad at me, you stubborn monster."

"I don't want to!" The words came out wobbly, more frustrated than you intended, and to your absolute horror you felt your eyes go hot and prickling at the edges. Not sad, just overflowing with the sheer indignity of being furious and thoroughly charmed in the very same breath.

Rhysand's expression melted instantly, all traces of smugness gone, replaced by something so soft and worried it was borderline unfair on top of everything else. "What's wrong now, my love?"

"I'm mad at you," you said thickly, glaring through the threatening tears with everything you had, "for making me mad at you. Which means it's still your fault, so don't look at me like that."

He pressed his lips together, valiantly fighting back a smile and losing rather badly. "Okay. Noted. How do I fix it?"

"I don't know!" You shoved uselessly at his chest, which accomplished nothing except reminding you exactly how solid he was, which was, again, deeply unhelpful to your cause. "Apologize properly, you overgrown bat. Grovel a little. I want groveling."

He brought both hands up to frame your face fully now, thumbs brushing gentle, reverent strokes at your cheekbones, all traces of teasing finally gone soft and sincere, that particular quiet voice he only used for you and no one else in any court. "I'm sorry I made you be mad at me. I should have known better than to behave so despicably. You're perfect, and you're never wrong, even when you're glaring at me like I've personally offended your entire bloodline. And I love you."

You glared up at him, eyes still glassy, jaw stubbornly set, fighting the traitorous twitch pulling at the corner of your mouth. A long beat passed, tense and ridiculous and entirely too fond.

"Fine," you finally grunted, like the word cost you something precious. "You're forgiven. But I'm still telling everyone I won the cooking bet."

"You didn't even finish the bet—"

"You are so—"

He didn't wait a heartbeat longer, hauling you flush against him and kissing you deeply, thoroughly, one hand sliding into your hair while the other pressed warm against the small of your back like he was trying to physically communicate every apology he hadn't managed with words. You melted into it despite yourself, despite the whole morning, despite Cassian's very audible presence somewhere behind you, and Rhysand laughed low into the kiss, delighted and relieved in equal measure.

"You ridiculous woman," he murmured against your lips, "conceding a war over one bowl of cold soup."

"It was excellent soup," you muttered back, "and you missed it."

"I did." He kissed you again, softer. "Never again."

From the doorway, Cassian's voice rang out, thoroughly unbothered by decency. "You two are disgusting, and also I'm telling Mor she owes me money. She bet you'd hold out until lunch."

[azsazz]

Destination Unknown (Part 2)

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: destination-unknown I still cannot let this one go, the best thing I’ve ever read on this app 😭 I wish he would choose us in another part // Writing this to notify you about the urgent need for pt2 of the following Rhys fics: waiting for the creation of Destination unknown

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1967

(Part 1)

Notes: It's been over 2 years since part 1 😅 If any of the OG's are here, you're troopers! ily 💙 breaking my own heart with this one too

_________________________________________

“The girl that saved us. She’s my mate.” The words rattle in your head again and again and a-godsdamned-gain.

The crinkle of the paper in your hands draws your attention to the present. You sigh, dropping the paper to the familiar deep cherry desk. The one that you’ve been sitting at for the last fifty years while the man you loved was trapped by a vicious witch under the mountain.

This place—Rhysand’s office within the House of Wind—had once been your place of solace. Your beacon of hope. You and the High Lord of the Night Court had spent a healthy amount of time in this room of the house, first as his second in command, and then as his lover. It had been one of the places you swore you could still feel him when he was prisoner beneath her reign.

You had taken over like any second would, made sure that Velaris stayed hidden and safe. There weren’t many executive decisions to be made in the last fifty years, menial things like the agreement to build a new wing of the Rainbow, making sure that the city could still deal and trade without being snuffed out.

Now, this office serves as a reminder. A reminder of what you lost. The male that you gave your heart to, the same one who’d survived the horrors of Amarantha’s reign, made it back to the Night Court safely, with another woman’s name on his lips.

Feyre, he’d admitted, violet eyes wide and haunted with not only the horrors he so desperately tried to lock away, but with shock and surprise. He found his mate, the voice in your head rings again.

As much as it tears your heart to shreds, Rhysand deserves nothing more. You’ve always had an inkling that you weren’t his mate. He’d occasionally make offhanded comments about dreams he had, visions, he’d sometimes call them. Listening to the horrors he’d been through, surrounded by the rest of his Inner Circle, those sights had made sense.

It’s been two weeks since Rhysand has been back. Recovering. Mor had taken it upon herself as caregiver to her cousin. Cassian and Azriel visited the High Lord in his wing of the house often. Amren, too. The side you couldn’t bring yourself to pay visit to.

He’s asked for you. You can’t count the number of times Mor has barged into this very office—the one you rarely leave these days—and demanded that you come see him. That you’re hurting him worse by staying away. Now that Rhysand is back, that Amarantha is gone for good and the city no longer has to hide, there are things to do, cities to check in on, damage that needs to be assessed, and courts that need correspondence.

It's given you an escape. You can’t muster up the confidence to go visit Rhysand just as he can’t do the same to visit you. You’re terrified of what he’ll say, the very thing you’ve been trying to wrap your head around since the night of his return. To accept the inevitable.

That he’s no longer yours.

You smooth the wrinkled paper out on the desk, trying to refocus. It’s late. A gentle breeze sweeps in through the balcony doors, a chill that skitters down your back. The stars and moon shine brightly in the sky, and for a moment, you envy their light, their happiness. It seems that they’re even brighter since the return of the High Lord.

You can’t help that your mind wanders. To her. You wonder what she looks like, how she acts. She must be confident, strong-willed. She must be beautiful. You hope more than anything that she’s kind. She must be, for a human to give her life to save the Fae, the same ones that have abandoned the human-realm for their own selfish reasons.

In a way, it makes sense. Of course, the female who could take down someone as powerful as Amarantha would be Rhys’ mate.

There’s a soft knock on the study room door. One that makes you freeze. It’s not Mor, because she wouldn’t have knocked, she would have stormed into the room, he bouncy, blonde hair swishing behind her shoulders and a fire in her eyes. The both of you have leaned on each other for fifty years, you consider her one of your closest friends. But not even she could convince you to see Rhysand.

You’ve tried, too. Tried to make it to that side of the house, to where, admittedly, you’d slept in his bed the entirety of his time away. When you could sleep, that is. Surrounded by the night-chilled scent of him, lingering on the pillows.

The abrupt change from not sleeping there at all has been taxing.

You stand when the door cracks, busy yourself with the papers scattered around the desk. They’re organized perfectly, but you leaf through them again. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, not even when he enters the room fully and the doors snicks behind him.

Your name is a mummer. Relief? Maybe. Sorrow. Yes. The. Sound makes your throat tighten. You never thought you’d hear your name on his lips again.

The papers in your hands crinkle again.

You don’t know what to say. Your throat is clogged with emotion and your heartbeat is a racing mess. Your knees are seconds from giving out. Your fingers are trembling. You’re not ready for this, not ready to face him again.

You can feel those violet eyes on you like you have a thousand times before. Can feel the way he’s drinking you in. Or maybe he’s comparing you to how you looked the night he left, the same disheveled hair but for a much different reason. You’re sure you look worse with the dark circles under your eyes and the way your shoulders sag like there’s a hundred pounds draped across them.

Suddenly, you feel underdressed. You should have cleaned up your appearance, taken a shower, ran a brush through your hair.

Tears sting your eyes when your sabotaging mind tells you that it no longer matters.

You stack the papers together and tap them on the desk. “I’ve kept everything as much of the same as I could.” It’s difficult to admit, but talking about what’s been going on in the City of Starlight is a safe topic. Surely, he will want to know, will want to visit soon, show that he’s still the strong and in charge High Lord he was. “You’ll read about it in my reports.”

You say it like you’re ready to resign your position. You’d hate it if you could no longer help the city that you’ve loved and spent the last fifty years managing. Your heart breaks a little in your chest.

You’ve spent every moment since Rhysand’s come home writing the report. Spent every day of the last fifty years writing it, to be honest. In case there was a day that he’d come back. You haven’t left out a single detail.

The past two weeks have been spent refining it, removing some of the more inappropriate stories and comments now that he’s found his other half.

He says your name again, louder this time. You can hear the hurt in his tone, but he doesn’t move closer.

You continue to brush him off. Your head is spinning and you can barely breathe. You don’t know what to do. It feels as if the two of you are strangers. “Now that you’re back, I need to check on all of the other cities and camps within the Court,” your voice is tired. You don’t know what to think. He’s back, and he has a mate. Someone he’s destined to fall in love with. It hurts. “I’ve sent missives. I’m headed out in the morning.”

“Please,” he begs, and the emotion in his voice gives you pause. Makes your heart break. You know it isn’t easy, to be so vulnerable after having to be so strong for half a century. Tears sting your eyes. The tips of Rhysand’s shoes enter your line of vision. “Please, look at me.”

You shake your head and swallow thickly. If you look at him, see the devastation in his eyes, worse, the hope for his mate, it will destroy you. You know it will.

“Autumn has written, too,” you continue, but your voice trembles so much you’re not sure you can continue. You can gallivant all around the continent, but it won’t change the fact that the male you love is back, and has a mate. Eventually, you’ll come home, and when you do, maybe she’ll be here, maybe they’ll be joyous and in love and— “They’re asking for resources, to help rebuild.”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. An unknown force drives him around the edge of the desk, and before you know it the papers in your hands are hitting the wood and you’re facing him, your chin tilting up by his gentle hands.

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and you clamp them shut before they latch onto those violet pools you know so well. You don’t want to see the heartbreak in them. You don’t want to see the remorse. You can’t. You’re not ready to give him up, because he’s all that. You’ve ever loved and—

“Please,” he says brokenly, so helplessly that you can’t help yourself.

You peek open your eyes.

And Rhysand looks utterly crushed.

His own eyes are filled with tears. Fingers trembling as his thumbs stroke your cheeks, catching the unstoppable rivers.

He looks almost exactly like he had the night he left. Older, somehow. His violet eyes aren’t lit with excitement and arousal, but burnt out with the horrors of what he’s been through. You can’t even imagine what happened to him in those fifty years, but you know Rhysand well enough to know that he would have done anything to protect his people, to help in any way that he could.

There are no words to be exchanged. You and him have always been like this, on the same page. You know exactly what he’s thinking, and you know exactly what he is.

You sob into him as he presses his mouth against yours. You cling to his arms, digging your nails into his skin. It’s a desperate kiss, too harsh and your teeth clack together in a disjointed plea. It feels nothing like you know. It feels final.

Like this is the last taste of him you’re ever going to get.

“Darling,” his voice breaks when you part. In this moment, you know. That this is all real. Rhysand is back. He’s back and he has a mate.

“I know Rhys,” your words are a wet whisper, and the smile that you try to force onto your face wobbles and falls. You clutch his arms tightly. You don’t want to let go but you know that you have to. “I know.”

[illyrian-dreamer]

Make a bargain with me

Rhys x reader angst/fluff one shot

Summary: Your unrequited love for your High Lord has seen you distancing yourself not just from Rhys, but the entire inner circle. Rhys is concerned, and confronts you.

Word count: 2.2k

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You shifted uncomfortably under Rhys’s stare, keeping your eyes fixed the night’s horizon, still with anticipation of starfall that was yet to begin.

“What’s going on Y/N?” he asked softly. 

He had sprung you from your hideaway. It was stupid, really, to think you could escape him, or that he wouldn't follow. 

Tonight on Starfall, when your family and friends were drinking and laughing and toasting to a better year ahead, you had held yourself back, observing from the sidelines, longing to partake as you had each year before.

But things were different now, you were different. It had been a stressful year to say the least – too many losses, too many sacrifices made on missions that you couldn’t come to terms with. Choices made, last words said – the turmoil of your mistakes was a constant loop in your mind, each of your missions weighing heavier than the last, a little piece of you left behind on along the way.

And where you would usually confess or turn to your family for the support you desperately craved, it was all skewed by the devastating, gut-wrenching love you had developed for your High Lord.

You wondered what your friends might say – their snorts and sorry smiles as you dreamed of a life with not just any High Lord, but the High Lord of the Night Court, who was only just finding his feet. 

It was only shy of a decade since Rhys lost his sister and mother, leaving the male to wade through the trenches of grief alone, which were only deepened by the weight of responsibility as he assumed position as High Lord of the Night Court. You hadn't known him before he recruited you to the inner circle, but in your few years of working for Rhys, he had aged, maturing into his title and proving himself as a true and honest leader.

And in those years, not once had you seen him take to a lover or celebrate romance in his life. You knew that your love for Rhys would be nothing more than an imposition – a burden for him to manage in a world where he was not ready to love again, especially not someone like you. 

But concealing your feelings had a very true affect in physicality – you were plagued with guilt, rigid  by unrequited, unconfessed love practically bursting to come out. Skittish manoeuvres to avoid his touch, aloofness at times where you were known to share and console – you had done excellent work to distance yourself from Rhys, and with it the rest of the inner circle. 

Even the blatant probing by Cassian to open up, or gentle suggestions from Azriel to join them on flights went politely declined as you assured them you were fine. And the times where your work was too much, when you needed to tell your High Lord the burdens you were baring and seek comfort from him as a friend – instead you bottled it up, unsure of what you might confess and afraid of the very real affect of someone who was not yet ready to love. 

Rhysand had been particularly observant tonight. Your own behaviour was predictable as of late, but after the first bashful glances to the ground, reddened cheeks where you used to bite back, and the distant, distracted manner in which you watched on – you felt watchful violet eyes on you all evening.

The tipping point had been Rhysand’s speech, a glass of auburn liquid raised high as he spoke to his sincere care and affection for each of you in his circle. He was thankful for all of you, for being the self-made family he could have only ever dreamed of having. But as he spoke to each of the members, starting with his second-in-charge, followed by Mor, Cassian then Azriel, you had slipped from the room before he could get to you. 

Because in that speech - he had shown that he still loved, just not in the way that you craved. And if you had learnt anything through both your career at the Night Court and from Rhys himself – it was that happiness could be stolen in an instant. 

So you fled, heart thumping as you craved fresh air – overwhelmed with cyclical thoughts and foolish amounts of fae wine. 

After a polite ten minutes, Rhys had followed, finding the flattened patch of roof you often sought out after long missions, now stripping you bare under his gaze.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

Rhys winced with worry. “I asked what’s going on with you?”

You forced a small smile, keeping your breathing as even as you could. You were trained to stay calm when interrogated, but somehow this was harder than some of the life threatening circumstances you had endured. It was almost laughable.

"Nothing at all," you forced your eyes to his, your stomach dropping at his beauty.

Rhys’s face remained concerned, completely unconvinced. 

“Is it work?”

“No.” A half-truth.

Rhys nodded, a sense of relief that his court was not to blame.

A few moments of silence, you were burning from within, cheeks flushing yet again. You allowed for a moment to imagine his reaction if you were to tell him. Imagined his face as you confessed your feelings for him – your High Lord, your employer. How ridiculous and wildly inappropriate. 

Your face flushed a deeper pink at the shame of it. Rhys’s eyes dotted to your cheeks, not missing a thing.

He leveled a look at you. “You can always be honest with me.” You felt a gentle caress on your mental shields, and it was an instinct you cursed yourself for to seize them higher at his touch.

You moved your eyes back to the horizon, sighing with frustration. He was here, he cared – perhaps you could just, try?

“How did you do it?” you asked ominously, a pained frown pulling at your brow.

Rhys shifted at your question, brows raising in surprise. “Do what?”

You cleared your throat. “How did you let yourself love again, when you know how quickly it can be taken away?”

Rhys nodded slowly, violet eyes softening with understanding.

“Would you believe me if I said it was easy?” he replied.

You gave a small laugh, looking down at your hands. “No, actually.”

“Well it was.”

Another beat of silence. 

“Opening my home to all of you, creating this family is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, because it was meant to be.”

You nodded back. You would never tell him how easy it is for you to fall in love with him too. How quickly it had happened, how natural it felt for you.

“I would risk everything I have to have to keep you all safe and content, even just for one more day.”

His words struck you. Risk – there was too much to lose.

“I would risk everything I have for anyone I love, I think,” he continued. “I know that now, that it’s important to let go of what I can’t control, and let myself risk it all.”

He loved your family so dearly – it felt traitorous to indulge in the idea that your love could evolve past the sincere platonic form that it took now. You were greedy, spoilt.

“But that doesn’t just apply to my love for my court.”

Huh?

“As you know, anyone I care for is automatically a target beyond Velaris. My brothers, Mor, Amren.” Rhys paused. “And you.”

You looked up at him, his violet eyes unreadable as stars winked in their depths.

“I don’t want you to risk what you have for me,” your voice was barely a whisper, and you wondered if he sensed the deeper implication of your words.

Rhys wore a soft, sideways smile as he spoke. “You are well worth the risk.”

You were sure he could hear your fastened heart, no longer able to conceal your feelings. For a year your secret had lived at the tip of your tongue, threatening to ruin everything you had. It was too much to bare.

Silent tears started to run down your cheeks.

Rhys’s eyebrows clenched in concern, and he stepped towards you, reaching to brush them away with a stroke of of his cool fingers. You tried to step away, turning your face in shame – but he held your shoulders, a gentle hand pulling your chin to face him.

Violet beheld you again, and you forced yourself to not look away. Maybe you could face him, face your truth. Maybe, you could be as brave as him.

“You are so beautiful, Y/N,” Rhys said softly, his hands cupping your face as he brushed away your tears. “I don’t think I need to tell you that I’m very fond of you.”

Your heart thrummed, pulsing with instinct. Say it, out loud, risk it! it seemed to shout.

You bought your hands up to his, holding them as you took a deep breath.

“And I am fond of you.”

Rhys’s face lit up as stars twinkled in his eyes. He was devastatingly handsome, and the smile that pulled at his sharp cheek bones threatened your knees to buckle.

You couldn’t help the tears that kept running. You were given in, risking it all, and there was no coming back. 

Rhys leaned in close to your face, his fresh scent filling the air around you. He placed a gentle kiss on each of your tear stained cheeks before licking the salty liquid from his perfect lips.

You stared at him in awe, his beauty enveloping your view.

“Fond, on my behalf, is an understatement,” he murmured, tilting your chin upwards to him. 

A gentle hand snaked behind your back, pulling you against his body. The feeling of him softly pressed to you made you throb, and you continued to stare up at his face, unable to hide your own shock. 

He brushed your hair behind your ear, before cupping your jaw.

“So beautiful,” he said again, before leaning down and placing his lips on yours gently.

The kiss was soft, more attentive than you had ever experienced. You succumbed to it, letting your body relax into his hold as he pulled you in closer with the arm at your back, strengthening to hold your knees truly gave out at his touch.

You own arms naturally made their way to his hair and neck, trying to pull yourself closer.

Rhys chuckled into the kiss, inhaling as he traced his tongue along your lips, asking for permission.

A moan escaped you as you gained Rhys his entrance, his tongue sliding sensually over yours.

Your skin was alight, senses heightened and perked as every part of you ached and begged to never let go.

But a guilty conscience had Rhys pulling away from your lips, a small smirk pulling at your frustrated moan.

“Y/N,” he straightened, suddenly more serious. “I didn't come here to only confess my affection.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” you hummed, fingers on your mouth as your lips tingled with his lingering touch.

When Rhys chuckled, you swore it pleased the Gods.

“The others are just as concerned as I am. You’re withdrawn, proper sleep has escaped you for months, and–"

Your mouth twitched, before you flew up to plant a quick peck on his lips, silencing him. “And what of you, High Lord? How much do you burry in that head of yours? It is hard to know how much to burden onto you, when you are already dealing with so much.”

Violet eyes danced between yours in thought. “Make a bargain with me.”

Your brow quirked. “Pardon me?”

“Promise me, to share the things with which you need support so you may not burden them alone. And I will promise to do the same.”

“Rhys,” you breathed, honoured yet anxious at the vulnerability weaved into a bargain such as that. “Do you know what you’re asking each of us to confess?”

Rhys smiled, shaking his head. “With conditions, of course. This will be for those things that you know you shouldn’t keep to yourself, the truths you know the other would want to help with.”

You couldn't help the grin that pulled at your cheeks. “You’re mad.”

Rhys flicked your nose. “I know what it is to rot from within, Y/N. And in a world of magic and power and darkness, I will not let you burden it alone.”

“Rysand…”

Rhys all but moaned, pulling you in for a searing kiss. “Say yes,” he murmured against your lips.

With clenched eyes, you nodded, aware of the itching sensation on your neck as Rhys enveloped you with another kiss, the etching of your bargain searing to your skin. 

A gentle talon stroked at your mind then, hinting with sensuality.

You opened your eyes, forcing your shields down for the first time in years. 

Rhys growled as he entered your mind, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you deeply. And as the night sky became alive with iridescent streaks of light, the beginnings of starfall went neglected as you and Rhys explored a world of your own.

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AN: Hello dreamers, I just had to get out a one-shot, and I had a few requests to write for the most handsome High Lord! I sincerely hope you liked this, I haven't done a one-shot in a HOT minute!! So glad to be back with them. Comment to join my main tag list anytime, MWA!

[lidiasloca]

flirtatious rhysand

rhys x reader

“I booked the table…” you explained, surveying the crowded restaurant behind you. “Anne,” you finished, mustering a cordial tone as you read the little name tag on her apron.

“Your name isn’t on the list, lady…” She even cocked her head, as if thoughtfully, to make it clear she didn’t know who you were.

You had told her five times already.

“Y/N,” you reminded her. At the sight of her venomous stare, you added, “Tarquin’s second in command.”

“Who?”

You eyed her incredulously, hissing, “The High Lord of the Summer Court.”

She was unfazed. “And is your superior supposed to be on the list as well?”

Stupid, bratty b—

“Tarquin… not quite as handsome as the Night Court’s High Lord.” You turned to the elegant, smoky voice to find a somewhat familiar face.

You eyed him up and down until it came to you.

Rhysand.

Not quite as handsome as the Night Court’s High Lord.

Of course.

You remembered him from a reunion back at the Summer Court. You had only seen him from a distance, not wanting to interfere in the discussion that seemed to get the worst of your High Lord.

A stupid, narcissistic prick, Tarquin had called him when you asked in private.

“You’re shamelessly staring, darling.”

Yes. It was definitely Rhysand.

“Darling?” you echoed, turning your attention to the waitress. You had no time for High Lords now. “The table,” you gave it another shot. “Could I at least get another one now? A tiny, stupid table?”

“You can join mine.”

You didn’t turn to his charming voice.

“Please,” you begged, but the waitress shook her head in exhaustion and moved her eyes to Rhysand.

“High Lord,” she greeted as she bowed.

Great.

“Is my table ready?” he asked with a well-practiced smile, which made Anne nod effusively.

“If you’ll follow me,” she said.

But he didn’t. The High Lord turned to you.

“My offer’s still up, darling.” You watched as his hands gracefully brushed back his black hair, his eyes glinting with confidence in your eventual agreement.

As much as it pained your pride, it was better than starving.

You didn’t so much as roll your eyes before you followed the waitress, not wanting to watch the satisfaction on his face as you said yes.

Rhys was quick behind you, and with every step you took, you could feel the winning smirk on his lips.

…

“So?”

“So what?” you asked as you wiped your lips with the silk napkin.

He chuckled, you guessed, at your hungry desperation and how you’d already eaten everything on your plate.

“So, what are you doing here, Y/N?”

“Here at this restaurant?” you inquired, trying to suppress your sarcastic smirk. It was now your turn to be insufferable.

But he didn’t give in. He even flashed you a charming, stupid smile. “Here in the Night Court.”

You extended your hand for your glass of wine and watched as he shook his head, still smiling, when you took a long sip.

He preyed on. “Business? Spying? Seeing someone—a lover, maybe?”

You chuckled. “A lover?” you echoed in disbelief.

“I don’t know.” He matched your laughter, but his seemed more forced, nervous even. “So what is it, then?”

You took your time before answering. “I’m on a mission.”

“Not secret, I suppose.”

“Ha. Ha.”

Your eyes got lost in the elegant gesture of his index finger grazing the top of his glass.

He caught you staring, so before you left any room for his flirting, you added, “I’m just here to check on the Court. To see how things are done here.”

“And are you surprised by the lack of murder, violence, and death in the actual Night Court now that you’ve seen it?”

“No. I’m surprised about you.”

At that, his grin grew bigger. “Are you, now?” he purred.

“Yes. I thought you were taller.”

And you got to see what few have: the High Lord choking on his wine. Nervously, ungracefully, and awkwardly coughing as he used his napkin to clean himself.

Checkmate.

“I’ll admit,” he started, mustering calm even at the sight of your uncontained giggles. “You caught me by surprise.”

“I can see that,” you smiled, watching this brand-new look on his face. Slightly blushed, slightly childish.

Very much real. As if his narcissistic facade had, for once, fallen.

You beheld this new Rhysand and couldn’t help the tenderness in your heart at the sight.

“You play dirty,” he snapped, pointing at you with his fork.

“I’m a High Lord’s second in command—I have to.”

At last, he laughed, and you knew it was genuine.

You pointed at him with your own fork. “And I’ll admit…I like this Rhys.”

The childish embarrassment in his eyes turned into childish curiosity as they opened, awaiting further explanation.

You smiled, thinking of how unusual it was for him to not seize the opportunity and start flirting shamelessly.

“The one that chokes on his wine when a girl makes him nervous.”

Knowing better, he set his mid-air glass down, not daring to take a sip as he chuckled. “You say you make me nervous?”

“I don’t know. Do I?” you copied his sensual, slow tone.

He held your gaze bravely. And then he surrendered, shaking his head as he beamed.

“And I like this Y/N.”

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

rhys masterlist

[jiarkives]

the 1

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ summary — if your wishes came true, you wouldn’t have been blue.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ character — rhysand ft. azriel (a court of thorns and roses)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ content — angst ; talks of wing clipping ; reader is an illyrian ; written with fem!reader in mind

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ notes — welcome to my new series, the eras collection, where i write fics and drabbles based on taylor swift songs from different albums. you may request for this series with a certain TS song and a character! also, my hand was basically on autopilot as i wrote this so idk if it makes any sense lol 😵‍💫

~

You watched as your heart felt heavier and heavier with each second that passes and the bitter taste in your tongue grew more and more apparent.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. It certainly wasn’t theirs. It wasn’t their fault you fell in love with someone who wouldn’t ever look at you like how he looked at her, someone who was so close yet so far away.

You had always been Rhysand’s ride or die ever since he had saved you from getting your wings clipped in a camp. You had been by his side even before Azriel and Cassian became his brothers.

You didn’t mean to, but he made it too easy to fall in love with him. He was everything you had ever wanted, yet he never found himself to be deserving of love.

Then, everything changed after what happened Under the Mountain. He had come back a different male, far from who he was when he left. He was paler, thinner, quieter. He wasn’t the same Rhys who left. He was broken.

But none of you commented on it. You helped him to get back up, to get back on his own feet. You let him come to you, let him speak about everything at his own pace.

Then, he did.

You thought you’d feel happy that he was finally opening up, and you were, but your heart broke further when he started telling you about her, his mate. Feyre Cursebreaker. The savior of Prythian.

You were happy for him, really, but you couldn’t help but feel envious, and angry, and hurt. But you didn’t blame them. You didn’t blame anyone else, not even the Mother, not even the Cauldron. After all, it was solely your fault for falling in love with someone who was never destined to be yours, who was destined to be with someone else.

Then you had met Feyre. And you wanted to scream as you watched how she had treated Rhys, and how he had let her.

You wanted to yell at him that you were there. You were right there as you had been the whole time, that you weren’t going to hurt him like that, that you weren’t going to treat him like she did, but you didn’t. You kept your mouth shut and swallowed the lump in your throat every time.

Then, everything had gotten better slowly. She had started getting along with him and the Circle. You weren’t being left out and pushed away in any means, but you couldn’t help but feel like you had been replaced.

It still wasn’t their fault, though. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but yours when you felt your heart breaking with each step they took away from the crowd and into somewhere more private.

When they were out of sight, you excused yourself and moved to another vacant balcony and leaned against railing as she watched as the bright stars crossed the horizon.

You sighed as you looked down at your clothes. It was blue, making you laugh at the irony.

Amren had always told you that your color was blue. At first, you thought she was talking about the clothes you were wearing at the time she told you, and so you agreed. The color blue did complement you well.

Now, you realized that she was still right. Your color was blue. It was not about your clothes, though. Maybe she was talking about how you had always felt blue as you watched Rhys, as you reminded yourself time and time again that he wasn’t yours, that he will never be yours. You had always felt blue as you watched him worm his way into and break through Feyre’s walls slowly.

Then, you felt a presence join you and you didn’t even have to turn to know who they were.

“Were you bored enough that you have decided to join me, Shadowsinger?” Your tone was light and teasing, a stark contrast to the heaviness you felt in your heart.

“Is it so wrong to keep a lady company?” He fired back, leaning against the railing.

“Maybe not, but it’s not quite like you, is it?”

Then, your eyes caught a flash of blue. His siphons. And you realized.

Maybe Amren wasn’t talking about your clothes or your emotions, but maybe she was right anyway. Maybe blue really was your color.

[solbaby7]

Hi, can I have an espresso martini, on the rocks? Oh and don't forget to add lime 😋

you guys always give me an inch with this angst shit and i continue to take a mile but the vibe is giving a starfall one night stand😬 bottoms up

[ “kiss me like that again and i’ll start thinking you’re in love with me” + smut/angst + rhysand ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

Perhaps you were a glutton for punishment.

A feign for unfortunate situations where the odds are very obviously stacked against your favor and yet you can't help but lean into the girlish notion that everything will work out if you just believe hard enough.

You can't even count how many times you've wished on these same stars year after year, begging anyone who'll listen to just allow Rhysand to see you. To look your way and perceive more than just a kind person and a loyal friend. You wanted love proclamations, carefully curated poetry professing the same things you were too pussy to admit aloud.

Never once had your prayers been answered before.

It’s foolish to believe they’d be answered now when Rhysand saunters through and graces you with the time of day. Hope sets root in your chest when compliments drip from his tongue like honey, violet eyes roving over your figure with a practiced confidence. A ridiculous amount of money was spent on a Starfall dress and you’re positively preening by time your High Lord has a finger tracing along the bodice. “Wear this for me, did you?”

“No.” Yes.

A wicked smirk plasters itself across his face, handsome features accentuated by the brilliance of the night sky and the shooting stars decorating it—a god among common males. Your mother taught you better than to believe the senseless worship whispered when his mouth is on your neck, tongue tasting at your skin. Teeth biting and bruising in a way that can’t possibly be described as lovemaking with the way Rhysand carelessly tugs at fine fabrics to expose the soft expanse of bare skin underneath. “It certainly feels like you wore it for me. Perhaps only so I could take it off you.”

“Keep that up and your ego may grow bigger than whatever your hiding in your pants.” If that were even possible. You can feel the hard length of him lazily grinding against your belly as his hands explore the new terrain you’ve opened up to him. Nimble fingers expertly undoes your bra to toss it aside, replacing the slightly padded hold with warm palms instead.

Desperate groans tumble past your lips, back arching into his touch, hips rolling into the bulge that fuels the growing fire in your gut. “Take them off me and find out.”

How fucking long had you dreamed of this?

Of Rhysand’s hands sinking down your body, squeezing at the softness of your hips and toying with the dainty straps of your underwear. Blunt nails bite into the curve of your waist, drifting lower and lower until he’s pawing at handfuls of your ass.

Perhaps you show a touch too much of that covetous desire when lips meet, tongues touching and tastes intermingling. A haughty moan is coaxed from you as he takes the lead, chuckling breathlessly to himself when you begin to melt in his grasp. “Keep kissing me like that and I’ll start to think you’re in love with me or something.”

Somewhere deep down you know it’s just a harmless comment and yet the words hit you like a ton of bricks, weighing heavy on your chest and planting a seed of insecurity.

It’s just the way he says it—almost pitiful in its delivery.

Walls begin building its fortifications around your heart, emotions reigning themselves in to be safely tucked back in the conclaves of your ribs as your brain saunters forward with its hand outstretched.

The keys of control is handed over without fuss and your heart doesn’t bother looking back, all too familiar with this silent disappointment as it returns to its rightful place—in your chest and not offered to some pampered High Lord on a silver platter. “Your mouth has better uses than for talking,” Your voice lacks that blind devotion that usually pours free, spilling over and splashing at the shine of Rhysand’s shoes. “Or maybe I’m just giving you too much credit?”

“Too much credit?” The whiplash of your change in body language is obvious across regal features. And so is the interest that glows to life in aubergine irises. His touch is hungrier—filled with the need to please. To feed his ego with the feast of your moans and swallow you up like sweet ambrosia. “Let’s find out.”

You should be ecstatic; vibrating with anticipation when Rhys lifts you in the air like you weigh nothing. Legs are guided to rest over his shoulders, strong arms clamp around the fat of your thighs, fingers digging into the meat of your hips while his face buries itself in your sex.

This should be an everything. A dream come true.

Still, the girlish fantasy of feelings attached to such a pleasure no longer sparks with life.

After all, happy endings only ever exist in fairytales.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 8

Author’s Note: Ya girl finally got a new laptop and can get this fic back up and running! It’s a little short, but more updates to come! 😁 For a quick reminder of what happened here’s Pt 7 and the rest of the series can be found here.

Summary: Trapped Under the Mountain, you make a bargain with a certain High Lord to try and gain your freedom.

————————————————————————

“I want you to help me kill Amarantha.”

.

.

.

“Bargains don’t come for free, Darling,” Rhys rasps, voice so ragged it has you leaning in to try and get the ruined collar off him. There are open blisters, bleeding across his throat, skin an angry shade of red from how hard he’d been pulling on it. “And you don’t have anything left to bargain with.”

You huff a laugh as you inspect the rusted metal. 

He winces as it comes in contact with his skin, bleeding hands coming up to grab yours. “Don’t bother with it.” It looks like it takes all his effort to move off his knees into a more comfortable sitting position, battered body held up only because he’s now leaning against the wall. Amarantha and her guards had taken the light with her, it is hard to see just how injured he is in the dark, but that doesn’t stop you from leaning in, hands resting on his sides like you might be able to find them with your hands. His skin is flushed, dirt and sweat and what you can only assume is blood mingling into a fine film across his exposed body. He’s got to be freezing, wearing nothing but last night’s dress pants.

“I have everything I need to make a bargain,” you say carefully.

Rhys braces his head against the wall, shutting his eyes, breath rasping out of him. 

There are sure to be things listening and reporting to the evil queen this deep in the dungeons, you have to be careful with your choice of words; if Rhys wasn’t looking like he would pass out at any given moment you would have asked for him to slip into your mind, but you know, somehow, as if you can feel it, that it would be the last of his power. That close to the edge a simple slip into your head could kill him.

“She didn’t take everything,” you start.

“Not yet,” he warns.

You shake your head even though he can’t see it with his eyes closed; you’ll have to find another way to explain it.  A quick glance at the door confirms the two of you are still alone--though the shifting of things with claws outside the door is slightly concerning--and you focus your mental energy into dipping into the power well in your chest. This is not the place for a free fall, you focus your breathing, steadying yourself, willing the drop to come slower, less rushed. Darkness rises up to meet you and you reach out for it. For so long, it had been you against the thing that slept in your chest, but these last few weeks, learning to embrace it, to get to know it, perhaps it is not as intimidating as you had always made it out to be. Perhaps it was meant to help you; it deserved a chance, right? If you could give the High Lord of the Night Court a chance after all the stories you’d heard about him, you could give the thing in your chest one too.

“Just a little,” you whisper to it.

It threatens to overtake you like before, but you grab a mental hold of it, still focusing on breathing evenly, on learning to hold on instead of submit. It is yours to wield, not just to overtake you.

It manifests in your eyes, you feel them shift and change until you can see into the dark corners of the cell. There’s old hay scattered across the scarred stone floor, covering centuries of stains and filth.

Rhys cracks an eye open like it takes all his strength, but just can’t help but look. When he sees the shift, he pushes himself up off the wall to grab your face. “But you took the vial?” 

“And I gave what I had taken from her first,” you whisper as his thumbs stroke over your cheeks. Your fangs threaten to poke out, jaw aching under the strain of holding it all at bay. It’s a skill you haven’t yet mastered, you’ll need him for that too you suppose.

“You can siphon?”

Was that what it was called? “I think. It was an accident, I couldn’t really control it. One minute she was on top of me-”

Rhys stills, the kind of stillness you’d often seen on fae males before they became very, very aggressive, whole body tense like a predator ready to pounce. 

“She’d summoned some fire and got a hand around my throat and it was so hot..” There hadn’t been time to stop and think about it before, but recalling it now makes you shutter as the reality of what could have happened if your powers had not intervened settles in. “I thought it would kill me, and I don’t know what happened. I blinked and suddenly I had her fire in my hands and I’d thrown her into a wall.”

It’s only as you finish the sentence does Rhys release a shaky breath, hands once again stroking against your cheeks, as if he’s assuring himself that you’re ok. You find yourself leaning into his touch; it’s grounding, makes you feel more centered than you have in days.

“I thought it would disappear when I smothered the flames, but I still felt it until I took that vial.”

One of his hands slides lower, stroking over your throat to check for damage. The way he insists the wounds at his own throat are nothing while simultaneously checking on yours is not lost on you. 

“Blisters healed right up as soon as I held the flame, like they couldn’t hurt me anymore.”

“If you took enough of them it wouldn’t,” he confirms.

A useful skill you think you might need later, but figuring out how to do it again, how to wield it to your advantage is a problem for later. First, you need to get back to the matter at hand while you still have the time to do so. 

“So, with what I do have, I want to bargain. I’ll give you half of my powers-”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“I won’t take them from you.”

“Are they so terrible that you’d refuse to be responsible for them? Or is it me that’s the problem?” The words are out before you can bite them back, because despite all he’s done for you, that last conversation in his room still rings in your head. 

He growls, actually growls, the sound low in his ruined throat as he grips your face a little more firmly. “No, because I would be just like her if I took them from you,” he snarls.

The anger that had been bubbling up in your throat sours in the pit of your stomach as you put yourself in his place. Amarantha has chained and abused him for fifty years, shackled to her by the very powers that were supposed to protect him from her and even though you knew he wouldn’t use yours on you like that, the wounds she’d made would be too deep. Would only remind him every day of her and how sick it had made him feel.

“Then what do you want, Rhys?”

His hands shake as he grips your face a little tighter. With your eyes shifted like this, you can see the way his own rove over you, the way he bites his lower lip in thought. It is the same longing you had seen in the cave on Calanmai, when he’d kissed you all those weeks ago.

“I want…” You can practically hear the thundering of his heartbeat. Was he… nervous?

“I don’t care what it is,” you say softly, and you mean it. 

“Come back to the Night Court with me,” he says. “When this is over, when we’re free, come home with me.”

Back to the Court that had inspired Amarantha’s Mountain palace and the lovely court within. The stories of the Night Court had not been pretty, but could they really be worse than this place, if Rhys was their High Lord? Certainly the male sitting here on the floor with you couldn’t run such a horrific place as the stories said. Besides, when it was all said and done, could you bear to go back to the farmhouse and face your uncle? After all his lies could you bear to live with him? Could he bear to live with you either?

“You’ll help me train my powers then?”

“As best I can.”

“I want to see her head roll off her shoulders,” you saw lowly.

“I’d give it to you on a platter if I could, Darling.”

You huff a laugh, “Deal.”

A tingling sensation shoots its way through your body, clustering square in the center of your chest. The sensation swirls across your skin as it settles, angling its way over your heart. You peel what’s left of your dress back to assess your stinging skin, and half hidden by the dried blood crusted to your own skin are now whorls of what look like ink across chest and ribs. Above your heart sits a swirl of ink, of vines surrounding the blooming petals of a flower you know you’ve seen before, a cluster of three stars in its center.

“Bargains are made in ink in the Night Court,” Rhys says a little too smugly for your liking.

“Always on the chest, Rhysand?” 

He shrugs. “I thought you’d appreciate the discretion.”

“I don’t think that’s the word I was looking for.”

“I liked the irony.”

“Of what exactly?”

He traces a finger over the edges of the flower and you can’t help but shiver. “It’s datura, a night flower, it grows best in the dark.”

A flower that would grow in his court; a flower that would bloom against all odds, in secret, while the rest of the world slept. A secret, lovely thing. You did, unfortunately, like the irony. You were not going to tell him that. “This isn’t the only flower you’ve been leaving me.”

He went still again. “No. No it’s not.”

“Why?”

“Thought maybe, I could get you out.”

“Careful, you sound like you care about me, Rhysand.”

He swallows, throat bobbing with the effort. “Would it be so bad?”

Your own words. Not quite the apology you should have gotten, but you supposed, here in this place, some cruel words were the last of your worries. With the bargain in place, you were not enemies. You could put it behind you. 

“No, I don’t think it would be.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For all of it.”

You pull away to sit down against the wall, exhausted. “Tell me again when we’re free.”

He grunts as he sits down next to you. When he leans his head down against your shoulder, you don’t stop him. In fact, it’s you that slowly, dragging your hand inch by inch in the dark, takes his hand. This is a deal you can live with, a deal that doesn’t make you feel like you’ve sold your soul, but there is still an uneasiness here. You hope you both survive long enough to see it through.

——————————————————————-

Taglist: @mariahoedt , @lovelydove , @twsssmlmaa , @sleepylunarwolf , @judig92 , @willowpains , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @annnaaaaaa88 , @myheartfollower , @uniquecolorwizard , @eternallyelvish , @waytoomanyteenagefeels , @lovemesomevesey , @localfangirl09 , @isa1b2h3 , @starswholistenanddreamsanswered , @slytherintaco , @iluvyewman-blog

As always, if you wanted to be added to the list leave a comment below or shoot me a message :) Thank you everybody who commented and stuck around for the lengthy process of getting this next chapter up and running, ya’ll are awesome ❤️

[littlest-w01f]

Safe

Rhysand x Alora (See Alora here)

For @officialrhysandweek

Rhysand week 2024 Masterlist

Day 5: Survivor

Summary: Rhysand and Alora are both survivors, now Rhysand seeks comfort in the female he saved long ago

Cw: Rhysand's UtM trauma, Alora's SA trauma, hurt/comfort

The stars were shining brightly, and there was peace in the streets of Velaris, but inside the House of Winds, Rhysand sat, unfocused, staring off into the distance, he had returned from Under the Mountain just a few days ago, still ghostly pale.

He had asked to be alone from his Inner Circle not sure how he could face them after what he had been through, he had tried to sleep but he couldn't, he had thrown up everything he had eaten for the past days, at least he had been able to appreciate the taste of it when all he had eaten for fifty years was bland scraps.

He pulled on his pair of velvet sweats and made his way out to the balcony, looking up at the sky, free, he was free, he reminded himself.

As Rhysand stood on the balcony, the cool night air caressed his skin, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat that was there Under the Mountain. He closed his eyes, letting the sound of the city below lull him into a state of calm. The memory of Amarantha's touch, her cruel laughter, still lingered, but he pushed it away, focusing instead on the freedom that now belonged to him and his people.

The wind whispered in his ear, carrying the scent of flowers from the gardens within the house. Rhys breathed deeply, savouring the sweet aroma. Moments like these reminded him of the beauty that still existed in the world, despite the darkness that often threatened to consume it.

The pain, the humiliation, the feeling of being completely powerless against Amarantha's cruelty. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to suppress the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

He tried to calm himself and he then knew where he had to go, he put on the matching shirt to his sweats and made his way to the library, he knew everyone would be asleep as he was quiet with his movements, not wanting to spook any Priestesses. He winnowed into the room of one of the oldest that had been there.

A 300-year-old High Fae, asleep in her bed, her strawberry blond hair a mess as she slept peacefully. Rhysand couldn't help but smile, seeing her so at peace.

As Rhysand approached the sleeping form of his beloved Priestess, Alora, his heart pounded against his chest, his relation with Alora was a long one, but he just considered her daughter like. The sight of her peaceful slumber brought a sense of comfort to him, something that had been missing since his return. He studied her delicate features, her fair skin glowing softly under the moonlight that filtered through the window.

He moved closer, his hand hovering over her shoulder before gently laying it down. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, her breathing steady and rhythmic. Rhys felt a pang of guilt for disturbing her rest, yet he needed her presence more than ever.

He leaned down, whispering her name softly. "Alora…" His voice was barely audible, filled with affection.

Alora awoke with a start, looking at Rhysand through sleepy eyes, "Rhys?" She sat up, "Are... Are you alright?"

Rhysand smiled warmly at Alora, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm fine, my dear," he reassured her, his voice gentle. "Just needed someone to be with." He sat down beside her on the bed, taking her hand in his own.

Alora's concern softened into understanding, and she nodded. "Of course, Rhys. Anything you need, I'm here for you." Her fingers intertwined with his, providing a comforting warmth.

Rhys looked into her eyes, searching for the right words to express the turmoil within him. "It's hard to believe it's over," he said finally. "After all those years, trapped in that hellhole…" He shuddered, remembering the darkness and cruelty of Amarantha's court. "Sometimes, I wonder if it was all just a dream."

"I used to think that too..." Alora frowned, as if reliving her own assault, her heterochromatic eyes filled with sorrow, "I... I used to wonder if my mind was playing tricks on me... That I'd wake up and be right there in that cave... I'll always be here for you, however long you need." Alora held Rhysand's hands, looking deep into his pained eyes.

Rhysand squeezed Alora's hands, drawing strength from her unwavering support. "Thank you, my dear," he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers. "Knowing that you're here, that we have each other, makes all the difference... I don't think anyone else would quite understand... And I'm not open to talking to just anyone."

He let out a slow breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. "It's the little things that haunt me most," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "The taste of rotting flesh, the stench of decay, the feeling of Amarantha's touch…" A shudder ran through him, and he closed his eyes, recalling the horrific memories.

Alora's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of his hand, offering comfort without words. When Rhys opened his eyes again, they shimmered with unshed tears. "I just want to forget, she touched me... And the way my body-" he paused, his voice breaking.

"Shh, Rhys," Alora whispered with a soft tone, holding onto his hand, "It wasn't pleasure... You were not feeling pleasure." She cupped his cheeks, making him look at her. The male in front of her had helped her through her own hurt, her own pain, and said the very words that she now said to him when she told him how disgusted she was at her own bodily reaction. "Your body was just protecting itself from more pain..." Because what those males had her believing, what Amarantha had him believing, simply wasn't true. "And this won't last, you will heal, in spite of everything that happened to you."

Hearing Alora's reassuring words, Rhys managed a small smile, though it was clear the pain was still etched deeply into his features. "You're right.... I know you are. I was right when I said it for you." he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "But sometimes, it feels like its going to swallow me whole."

He leaned in closer to Alora, resting his forehead against her shoulder. The tender gesture seemed to soothe both of their troubled souls. "Your presence means more to me than you'll ever know," he admitted, his voice barely audible.

Alora hugged Rhysand, both their faces pressed into each other's necks. "You're my anchor," she whispered, Rhysand's eyes closed as he savoured the warmth of her touch. "Without you, I don't know how I would've survived those years here."

He opened his eyes, gazing up at her with a mix of gratitude and adoration. "You're my home, Alora. My safe haven." His voice trembled with emotion, she was all that was left of his family, she was his oldest family at heart, revealing the depth of his feelings for her. "I love you," he said simply, the words spoken with a sincerity that left no room for doubt.

"I love you too." Alora than sat up straight, leaning onto the bed, moving slightly to make space for him, "Come now, you should try to get rest, I'll be right here."

At Alora's invitation, Rhysand slid into the bed beside her, his body tired but his mind still racing. Despite the turmoil within him, being near Alora brought him a measure of solace.

He turned towards her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. The familiar scent of her, the warmth of her body, it was enough to chase away some of the shadows haunting him.

"Thank you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. It was a simple act. Alora pulled him gently over her, rocking him to sleep, just as he had done for her. As Alora gently rocked Rhysand to sleep, her thoughts drifted back to the night he had saved her. The memory of his strong arms holding her, his soothing whispers, it had been a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.

Now, as she cradled him in her embrace, she felt a deep sense of gratitude and love for this male who had become her rock, her protector, her everything. She stroked his hair, watching as his eyelids fluttered closed, his breathing slowing until he slipped into slumber.

Alora remained awake for the night, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her own. In this moment, surrounded by the silence of the night and the warmth of Rhysand's body.

She stayed up when he woke up panicking, she stayed through him screaming, through the shadows covering them both in eerily stillness. Because she had gone through this, the memory of it faded but never fully gone, stuck with her forever.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

{Rhysand Taglist - @yeonalie}

{RhysandWeek Taglist - @andreperez11}