✧.* fluff ⋆ | ˚꩜｡ series | ⚠︎ angst | ✪ g's star reads | 18+ below the cut
@daycourtofficial
꩜｡ Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one ✪
secrets threaten to swallow you whole as you work up the courage to tell Azriel about being his mate. Unfortunately, you aren’t the only one with secrets
✧.* ︎ Blessed with love, cursed with folly ✪
being mated to the Night Court’s shadowsinger is where the story should end. You have your happily ever after. Everything is fine - until the little, teeny tiny crush you had on the mated pair you live with begins roaring back to life.
@readychilledwine
✧.* Heartbeat
One bed doesn't work well for 3 illyrians and their mate.
@nocasdatsgay
˚꩜｡ A Lesson in Heartbreak
Eris and Azriel made promises they didn’t keep. When you confront them about it, Eris says some things he instantly regrets. Now him and Azriel have to fix what they broke.
⚠︎ All this? Over an Heir?
Eris and Azriel are acting strange after a meeting with the Governors that you were not able to attend. You venture to find out what happened. You are not prepared for the truth.
@steveslevis
🔞 full control
after an extremely unfortunate miscommunication, your mates decide to punish you. but then everything takes a turn for the worst when they refuse to hear you out.
@slytherin-pen
🔞 Three-Three-Three
After a night out at Rita’s, the three of you tumble into bed together.
@azrielbrainrot
🔞 Spoiled Rotten
You've had Rhysand and Azriel one after the other multiple times, but you can only imagine how much better it will feel to have them at the same time.
🔞 A Little Piece of Heaven
Eris shows you how much he's missed you.
@azsazz
🔞 Double Duty
They don't know if they both can fit.
Summary: Rhys's drunken words cut deeper than any blade, leaving Y/n questioning everything she thought she knew about their bond. As heartbreak and betrayal collide, she faces a choice that could shatter the fragile threads holding their world together.
Pt. II
The sun was setting behind the mountains of Velaris, casting a warm, golden glow over the City of Starlight. Y/N dismounted her horse with a wince, her muscles sore from the journey home. The mission Rhysand had sent her on had been grueling, stretching over several days, but she’d completed it with the determination and precision he’d come to rely on. She’d long since earned her place among the Inner Circle, proving time and again that she was more than just Rhys's mate—she was an integral part of his court.
Yet tonight, as she climbed the steps to the townhouse, exhaustion weighed heavy on her. Her bond with Rhys hummed faintly, a soft reminder of his presence as she opened the door. Laughter and the faint clink of glasses drifted from the sitting room, mingling with the scent of wine and smoke. She paused, her hand tightening on the doorknob.
The Inner Circle had gathered. Normally, the thought of reuniting with them after days apart would lift her spirits, but something about the atmosphere tonight felt… off.
She stepped inside, her movements quiet, and stopped just outside the doorway to the sitting room.
“—and she just doesn’t get it sometimes,” Rhysand’s voice rang out, slurred and slightly louder than usual. The unmistakable tone of drunkenness coiled in his words.
“She tries,” Mor said defensively, but Y/N could hear the restraint in her tone. “And she succeeds, Rhys. Far more than you give her credit for.”
“She makes everything harder,” Rhys countered, his laugh bitter. “Always asking questions, always needing to insert herself into things she doesn’t understand. Do you know how many times I’ve had to clean up after her?”
Y/N felt the breath leave her lungs. She leaned against the wall for support, her vision blurring as his words sank in.
“That’s not true,” Feyre said sharply. “Y/N has done nothing but prove herself over and over. You’re being unfair.”
“Am I?” Rhys pressed. “She doesn’t belong in this court, not like the rest of you. She’s… reckless. And it’s exhausting.”
“She’s your mate, Rhys,” Amren snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. “She’s part of this family. And you’re making a fool of yourself right now.”
Y/N’s chest ached, each word from Rhys like a dagger to the heart. The bond between them flared painfully, as if sensing her anguish. She wanted to storm in, to defend herself, to demand he explain how he could say such things after everything she’d sacrificed for him, for this court. But her body felt frozen, pinned by the weight of his betrayal.
Her hands trembled as she stepped back into the hallway, her breaths shallow. She couldn’t do this. Not tonight. She needed space, time to think, to process the heartbreak that threatened to consume her.
She turned toward the front door, intent on leaving, when a shadow shifted in the corner of the room. Azriel emerged, his piercing gaze meeting hers. His expression tightened as he took in her tear-filled eyes and trembling hands.
“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and careful.
She shook her head, a silent plea for him to let her go. Azriel hesitated, his shadows curling around him like a shield, but he stepped aside. Without another word, Y/N slipped out the door and into the cool night air.
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When the laughter in the sitting room died down, and the conversation shifted, Rhysand finally noticed the absence of a presence he hadn’t realized he’d been craving all night. He frowned, his drunken haze thinning just enough for the bond to nudge at his consciousness. It was too quiet.
“Where’s Y/N?” he asked, glancing around the room.
Silence greeted him.
Feyre’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She came home. She was standing in the hallway while you were… talking.”
The words hit him like a physical blow. His blood ran cold as realization sank in. “She heard me?”
Azriel’s dark gaze bore into him, his voice a quiet blade. “She heard everything.”
Rhysand shot to his feet, his heart pounding. He reached for the bond, but all he felt was a wall of pain and silence.
“Where is she?” he demanded, panic sharpening his tone.
Azriel crossed his arms. “Gone. She didn’t say where. She looked like she wanted to run as far from you as possible.”
Rhysand staggered back, his mind racing. The wine turned to bile in his stomach, his shame and regret coiling tighter with each passing second. He had to find her. Had to fix this.
But as he winnowed into the night, desperation clawing at him, one thought echoed in his mind.
He wasn’t sure if she’d ever let him fix it.
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Rhysand searched the city in a frenzy, the bond stretched taut with Y/N’s pain and his own spiraling guilt. He winnowed to every corner of Velaris, the glow of the stars above mocking his desperation. He tried to reach her through their bond, but her end was firmly shut—a silence louder than any scream.
“Damn it, Y/N,” he hissed under his breath as he scanned the Rainbow District. The cool night air did nothing to temper the heat of panic coursing through him.
Where would she go?
His mind raced, and finally, he stopped fighting the bond. Though she’d shut him out emotionally, he could still trace her faint physical presence, the residual pull that tied them together. When he caught the direction, his heart sank.
The forest.
The place where they’d once picnicked under the stars, where she’d whispered her dreams to him like secrets she trusted him to hold forever. The place she’d deemed her safe haven.
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Winnowing to the clearing, Rhysand stumbled upon her sitting beneath the massive oak at its center. Moonlight danced across her tear-streaked face as she cradled her knees to her chest. She looked so small, so fragile, and it made his heart ache.
“Y/N,” he called softly, stepping closer.
She stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Go away, Rhys.”
Her voice, usually so vibrant, sounded hollow.
“I can’t,” he said, dropping to his knees a few feet from her. “Not like this.”
“Not like what?” she snapped, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression hard. “Not like the mess you made, Rhysand? Or not like the words you spewed about me to the people I consider family?”
He flinched at the venom in her voice. “I was drunk, Y/N. I—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off sharply. “Don’t use that as an excuse. Drunk or not, you said what you meant.”
He reached out as if to touch her, but she leaned away, her walls firmly in place. The bond between them hummed weakly, a pale reflection of what it once was.
“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I said those things. But I didn’t mean them—not the way they came out. I was an idiot, and I—”
“Stop,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You said I make everything harder. That I don’t belong. So, I’ll make it easy for you.”
His heart dropped. “Y/N, please don’t—”
“No,” she said firmly, standing up. She towered over him, her presence fierce despite the anguish etched into her face. “You wanted me to stay out of things I don’t understand? Fine. I won’t ask questions anymore. I won’t ‘insert myself’ into your precious plans. I’ll do exactly what you want, Rhys. I’ll disappear into the background, a perfect little shadow in your court.”
His chest tightened painfully as her words sank in. “That’s not what I want.”
“Isn’t it?” she challenged, her voice rising. “Because it’s exactly what you said, Rhysand. And for once, I’m giving you exactly what you asked for.”
She turned on her heel and began walking away, her shoulders trembling with restrained emotion.
Rhys scrambled to his feet, following her. “You’re twisting this! I don’t want you to disappear, Y/N. I need you. I was a fool to say those things, but you—”
“But nothing,” she snapped, spinning back around to face him. “You don’t get to need me only when it’s convenient, Rhys. You don’t get to humiliate me and then expect me to act like it didn’t happen. I gave you everything—my loyalty, my love, my trust. And you threw it in my face.”
The weight of her words was crushing, and he couldn’t bring himself to argue. She was right.
“I’ll come home,” she said after a long silence, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “Because Velaris is my home, and the Inner Circle is my family. But you…” Her breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought she might cry. Instead, she steadied herself. “You are no longer my priority, Rhysand. If you want my forgiveness, you’re going to have to earn it. Every. Single. Day.”
With that, she winnowed away, leaving him standing in the empty clearing, the bond between them a cold echo of what it used to be.
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Back at the townhouse, Y/N strode in with her head held high, her expression blank. The Inner Circle, still gathered in the sitting room, fell silent as she entered.
“Y/N,” Feyre started, but Y/N held up a hand.
“I’m fine,” she said tightly. “I just need some rest.”
They watched her ascend the stairs, none of them daring to stop her.
Moments later, Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his face pale, his steps heavy as he entered the room.
“She didn’t forgive you, did she?” Mor said quietly, her arms crossed.
He shook his head, his throat tightening. “No.”
“And she shouldn’t,” Amren said coldly, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Not until you prove you deserve it.”
Rhysand said nothing, the truth of her words settling like a stone in his gut.
As he made his way upstairs, he stopped outside their bedroom door. His hand hovered over the handle, but he didn’t go in. He could feel her inside, her grief and anger rippling through their bond.
For the first time in centuries, the High Lord of the Night Court felt powerless.
And he deserved every second of it.
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The days following that fateful night were a study in contrasts for the Night Court. Y/N returned to her duties, carrying herself with a grace and efficiency that made it impossible to find fault in her actions. She was polished, precise, and perfect—exactly what Rhysand had drunkenly claimed she wasn’t.
Rhys felt the weight of her words in everything she did, a pointed reminder of how deeply he had wronged her.
“You wanted me to disappear into the background,” she had said. And she did.
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Y/N began arriving precisely on time to every meeting, her notes already prepared, her insights delivered in a calm, detached manner. She offered no questions, no debates, just the bare necessities required of her position.
“Any thoughts, Y/N?” Rhys asked one afternoon during a strategy meeting with the Inner Circle.
She met his gaze for the briefest of moments, her expression unreadable. “None, my lord. I’ll carry out the plan as outlined.”
The title, usually reserved for formal settings, felt like a slap to his face. Rhys clenched his jaw, watching her retreat into herself. The warmth she used to bring into the room, the way her laughter used to lighten even the heaviest of conversations, was absent.
“I think this plan could use some fine-tuning,” Cassian interjected, attempting to draw Y/N out.
“I trust the High Lord’s judgment,” she replied coolly, gathering her papers. “If that’s all, I’ll begin preparations immediately.”
She left the room without looking back, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.
“She’s killing you,” Mor said after a moment, her tone uncharacteristically sharp.
“She’s killing herself,” Amren corrected, her silver eyes narrowing. “But only because he killed her first.”
Rhys lowered his head, guilt an anchor in his chest. “I deserve this,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.
“And then some,” Feyre added softly, though her voice carried an edge of sympathy.
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At home, Y/N’s silence was even more deafening. She no longer sat beside him on the couch, opting for the farthest seat in the room. She no longer joined him for late-night talks, instead retreating to her private quarters with a book or a report.
Even when they shared the same bed, she was miles away. She would slip under the covers after he’d pretended to fall asleep, her body curled tightly on the far edge of the mattress. The bond between them, once a vibrant tether of love and warmth, was now a fragile thread, stretched so thin it felt ready to snap.
Rhys tried everything he could think of. He filled her favorite garden with fresh blooms, sent her favorite meals to her office, even wrote her letters apologizing for his thoughtless words.
Each attempt was met with polite acknowledgment but no real response.
“I don’t need gifts, Rhysand,” she said one evening when he’d tried to present her with a rare necklace from one of his travels. Her voice was calm but firm. “I need respect. I need trust. And I need time.”
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Weeks passed like this, each day a slow torture. The bond hummed faintly with her sadness, but it was muffled, guarded, as though she was shielding herself from him entirely.
One night, Rhys found her in the library, poring over mission reports. She looked so tired, her usually radiant features shadowed with exhaustion.
“Y/N,” he began hesitantly, leaning against the doorframe.
She didn’t look up. “What do you need, Rhys?”
“I need you to talk to me,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I need to know how to fix this.”
She finally raised her eyes to meet his, and he wished she hadn’t. The emptiness in her gaze was a knife to his heart.
“You want to fix this?” she asked, her tone devoid of emotion. “Then prove to me that I’m more than just a burden to you. Show me that I’m not some inconvenient addition to your perfect court.”
“I never thought you were—”
“Stop,” she interrupted, her voice rising for the first time in weeks. She stood, the papers in her hands trembling. “You did, Rhysand. You said it yourself. And I believed you. I believed every word.”
Her admission was like a punch to the gut, and Rhys took a shaky step forward. “I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I swear on the Mother, I didn’t mean it.”
“But you said it,” she whispered, tears finally spilling over. “And that’s the part I can’t forget.”
She brushed past him, leaving him standing alone in the library, her tears the only sound echoing in the empty space.
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The next morning, Y/N was back to her unshakable, distant self. She attended meetings, completed her missions with flawless precision, and maintained an icy professionalism that left no room for personal connection.
But Rhys noticed the way she avoided his gaze, the way her laughter no longer filled the halls, the way she barely touched the bond between them.
She was giving him exactly what he’d drunkenly demanded: distance, detachment, and silence.
And it was killing him.
One evening, Feyre found him sitting alone in the dining room, a glass of wine untouched in his hand.
“She’ll come back to you,” Feyre said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Rhys shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not unless I can prove to her that I’m worth coming back to.”
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It wasn’t until a particularly grueling mission left Y/N injured that the walls finally cracked.
She stumbled into the townhouse late at night, her arm bleeding and her face pale. Rhys was on her in an instant, his heart pounding as he helped her to the couch.
“Why didn’t you call for me?” he demanded, his hands glowing with healing light as he tended to her wounds.
“I didn’t think you’d want to clean up another one of my messes,” she said flatly, her words cutting deeper than any injury.
Rhys froze, his hands trembling. “Y/N, don’t—”
“Don’t what?” she snapped, her exhaustion finally breaking through her calm exterior. “Don’t remind you of the words you threw at me like knives? Don’t make you feel guilty for the way you shattered me?”
Her voice broke on the last word, and Rhys felt his own tears slipping free. “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” he whispered. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right if you’ll let me.”
Y/N stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shook her head, her voice soft but firm.
“I need more than words, Rhysand. I need actions. I need time. And I need to believe that you truly see me as your equal, not as someone you have to clean up after.”
He nodded, his heart aching. “You have my word, Y/N. I’ll prove it to you.”
She said nothing more, retreating to her room and leaving Rhys alone once again.
But this time, he felt the faintest flicker of hope.
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Summary: Rhysand lets you stay at the Moonstone palace after his sister's. Grieving makes sleeping harder for the both of you. He lost a sister and you, a friend. Holding onto one another makes the pain easier to bear.
Word count: 1.2k
Warnings: Grieving, discussing death (a friend, a sister, a mother), nightmare
Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears 💜
You wake up in sweat, sitting up in bed to catch your breath. Your chest is heaving rapidly, and your heart is beating so fast it feels like it might just leap from your ribcage.
Your eyes frantically look around, trying to recall where you are, what time it is. The moonlight streaming from the light purple curtains situate you in time, it’s night time. You look around the room, picking out some clues through the darkness. On the nightstand there’s a hair brush, Rhysand gifted it to you for your 17th birthday. On the vanity stands a pair of sapphire earrings, Velarie, his sister, had given them to you last Solstice. It’s the last present you’ve received from her before…
Before she died.
Your chest feels hollow as reality kicks in, slowly making you come back to the present. You just had a nightmare, one you can’t remember clearly, but one bad enough to make you wake up in such a distressed state. You wipe the sweat off your forehead. The cold coming through the window seems to cling to you now, it seeps into your damp skin and gnaws at your bones..
You have spent these past months at the Moonstone palace, Rhysand has let you stay here after the death of his sister, Velia, your best friend since birth.
Your mother had met Rhysand’s mother at her shop, she had been doing business with the High Lord’s mate for centuries, offering her the best fabric qualities for good prices. Your mothers had gotten pregnant almost at the same time, so when you and Velaria grew up, you used to play together every time your mothers met. You and Velaria had been glued at the hip for as long as you can remember. Her extrovert demeanor was the perfect contrast to your more introverted one.
The happy memory of her quickly escapes from your head, leaving this deep and painful emptiness in its place.
Velia’s death has been sudden, unexpected. Life is unfair, so unfair. The Mother didn’t deserve to hold someone so precious in her hands, Velarie shouldn’t have been taken away from this world. You still need her, you haven’t got the chance to say goodbye. You still need answers, directions on how to deal with this pain, on how to fill this void she has left behind.
You aren’t a stranger to grief. Your own mother passed away nearly half a century ago. But you hadn’t gone through these painful times alone, Velaria’s mother and her family hadn’t hesitated to take you under their wing. Rhysand has always been like a second brother to you, he and his friends were always the knights in shining armors coming up to you and Velaria’s rescue whenever you two got into trouble.
Right now, though, you doubt anyone can ever rescue you from this loss. You hate to admit it, but the loss of your mother was nothing compared to the pain of losing Velaria. You knew your mother was sick before she died. In some ways, you had made your peace with her death before she even passed. You had said your goodbyes, did the things you wanted to do together before she left you forever… but you didn’t get that with Velaria. She just left, a cruel and gruesome death. Unfair. Rhysand has never wanted to tell you the details, his eyes turning haggard every time her name is mentioned.
A soft thud on your door makes you look up from the bedsheets. The door silently opens, and violet-blue eyes appear in the doorway. Her eyes Rhysand’s eyes.
Gods, will it ever stop hurting?
“I don’t know,” Rhysand answers, his voice still raspy with sleep, or perhaps he had been crying and unable to sleep. Both scenarios are possible. “Can I come in?”
You jolt slightly. You haven’t noticed your shields were down, your thoughts pouring directly into Rhysand’s mind.
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down into tears. You lie back into your bed, patting the empty space beside you to invite him in.
Rhysand complies, lifting the sheets to lie beneath them. He rolls onto his side, his body a respectful, yet comforting, distance from yours. His eyes stay open, his gaze never dropping yours.
The shadows under his eyes match yours, the evidence of the weight grief has on you. Your knees come up to your aching stomach, arms wrapping around them to offer some kind of comfort. Rhysand doesn’t move, just stays still, breathing through the heavy atmosphere.
After some time, you can’t really tell how long because time has become a hazy notion since her death, Rhysand’s voice breaks the silence.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Tears of frustration flows from your eyes, your whole body starting to shake as emotions crash into you at full force. You haven’t felt that many emotions at the same time for a long time now, it made your stomach churn, nausea creeping up to you quickly. “I wish I could just forget about her,” You snap, not sure if you meant the words or not. “It shouldn’t have been her.”
“It shouldn’t have been anyone.”
“I’m so… I’m so mad at her, Rhys. It makes no sense,” Your palms come up to your face, pressing deeply into your eyes until it hurts. “I feel like I’m going absolutely crazy, Rhys. It doesn’t make any sense, nothing makes any sense.”
“I know, I-” You hear him choke on his words. Slowly, you feel your palms being moved away from your eyes. “If you’re crazy, then I think I’m crazy, too.” Rhys chuckles wetly, the sound is like a cry of despair.
You chuckle, too. The two of you giggling like two insane specimens, tethering on the brink of madness, holding on by just a thread.
“Sometimes,” You sniffle, trying to take your breath and calm yourself. “When I look up at the stars, I ask them to help me navigate through this grief. I ask them to help me forget about her, but do you want to know what they do instead?” You ask him rhetorically, your voice cold and laced with ire. “They just fucking shine brighter and look exactly like her eyes. They were so fucking bright and- Man, they look just like yours and- it hurts. It hurts so bad, Rhys.”
You were now back to sobbing uncontrollably, Rhysand only picks out a few coherent sentences through your sobs. “I don’t know how to do it, Rhys. I don’t know how you do it.”
“It’s hard. I don’t think I’m doing it any better than you,” He shrugs, scooting just a bit closer to you.
He opens his arms, a silent invitation. You don’t hesitate, and jumps right in. You face melts into his chest, the cotton of his pajama rapidly soaked with your tears. You hold onto each other like a lifeline, Rhysand’s own tears dripping down onto your hair.
“Let’s do this together, yeah? One day at a time.”
To make it through seems like an unachievable thing to do, but with Rhysand, one day at a time…
“Okay,” You sniffle, your mind quieting, letting the exhaustion drape over you. “We’ll try, together.”
Rhysand taglist:
ACOTAR general taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover @paige0103 @princesssunderworld
Rhysand/Unknown x OC
Warnings: None
Word Count: 317
A/N; All following parts will be longer but this is only an introduction!
It had been 50 years since Anna had seen those eyes. The beautiful violet orbs that used to be the first thing she saw in the morning and the last thing she saw at night. It had been 50 years since she saw the man before her…50 years, but it only took seconds for her to realize something wasn't right.
She shook it off, so overwhelmed and full of joy that Rhysand was home. Her Rhysand was home. He was safe and from the looks of it physically unharmed, she knew that couldn't be said about his mental state. But at the very least, physically he seemed okay.
"Oh my gods, you're home!" Anna cried into his neck as he held her tight in his arms. "I missed you so much." She sobbed almost uncontrollably.
There were so many moments over the years that Anna wanted to give up, terrified that he was dead or had been dead for years, but it was that stupid sense of false hope that had kept her going.
"Anna…" Rhysand's voice cracked as he said her name, "I-I.." Rhys broke down in that moment. All his emotions overwhelming him to a point even he couldn't control. She had always been his safe place.
"Shh, it's okay, it's gonna be okay." She tried to comfort him as he cried, as they slowly sank to the floor, Rhysand no longer trusting himself to hold them up. All she could do was hold him as he fell apart. All those years of holding it together, all those years of protecting them…
All Anna could do was hold him; she knew that there was nothing that was going to make this better. There was nothing she could do to make him feel better, nothing could make what he had just endured better…except for her.
Unfortunately and unbeknownst to Anna, the her that Rhysand needed…wasn't Anna.
A/N: Hello everyone! This series is based on the world created by the amazing Sarah J. Maas. These characters are totally hers and no hate towards any of them. I love them all. Anyways, this is the second “part” of the series, sorry it its to short. I hadn’t had time to write it but if you want more please do tell so I can keep writing :) <3<br>Ps. Sorry for my english :]
Ps2. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. So feel free to hit me up :]
Read Part One here: PART ONE
Mind Battle First Encounter.
“We need to talk. In private. Now”.
“Rhys-”, The Morrigan started.
He gave her a look that insinuated he would kill her if she didn’t shut up, so she did. I just swallowed and nodded.
The Morrigan just stared at me, confused.
I just hoped she didn’t recognize me… or I would be dead in the spot.
“Come”, The High Lord of The Night Court said, starting to walk towards a black door.
I followed him, feeling The Morrigan’s eyes on me as I did.
What was I getting myself into?
Every step I took, took me nearer to the High Lord, and the feeling inside me grew and grew…
I stopped thinking about my emotions. They were just a distraction to my current position. I glanced back just to see if anyone was following us, but nobody was even looking at me. They were all looking at him, so I glanced back at him. He was waiting for me in the entrance of the black door. His face was emotionless, but he was clearly assessing me as I walked towards him.
A predator analyzing his prey.
Unluckily for him, I wasn’t about to be his prey.
Once I got to the black door, he grabbed my arm and winnowed us out of the awful mountain we were on in The Night Court. I was suddenly in a warm room with open windows and no roof whatsoever. Once I glanced up, I understood why every single one of my friends at The Spring Court, as well as other courts, said the skies at The Night Court were a sight to behold.I’d never seen such a beautiful thing… except…
“Well?” The High Lord said as he took a seat at the end of the table that was a few steps away from where we had winnowed.
I fixed my gaze on the High Lord of The Night Court.
I sighed and walked towards the table. He was scanning my every move, and that, for some reason, made me uneasy.
As I took my seat on the table, I felt it.
His invisible talons trying to get inside my mind.
“We have matters to discuss” I said, as if nothing were wrong.
I wasn’t expecting him to be so forward, but I was surprised he hadn’t tried to get through my mind walls earlier. Nobody was stupid enough to try to get into my mind back home, yet, he was looking for a way in.
“Who are you?” he asked as two wine glasses appeared magically on the table. He took a sip from the one near him and looked at me once more, with those piercing violet eyes of his.
“That is not relevant”, I breathed.
He left the wine class on the table and leaned back in his chair.
“I have my ways of getting information”.
He smiled, but his smile was not right.
Something about it made me- I blinked.
He had tried to get inside my mind again. This time his talons really hit hard. Yet, they couldn’t penetrate my walls.
“Sometimes the things we want aren’t the things we need”, I said as I dared him to try again.
His smile disappeared.
Then I felt his true power trying to enter my mind. His claws dug deep within my wall. I could feel it bleeding. Yet, it was not enough. I was there to help him and he was trying to crush everything I was and knew. I could see his intentions clearly by the way he was looking at me. That just made me angry and annoyed.
So I attacked back.
I launched my claws at his mental shield and caressed it.
He just wickedly smiled at me once again.
He thought I couldn’t get past his walls. How sweet of him.
If my walls were diamond hard, his were pure air for me.
So I smiled back at him and phased through his walls.
He went still.
He was such a skilled liar.
Inside his mind, I could feel the entirety of it.
It almost broke my heart.
He was acting as if he wasn’t hurt by his mate’s death, but inside his mind, there was only pain. Pure excruciating pain. I felt cold inside his mind.
He was acting so composed that it truly impressed me, yet, I couldn’t expect less from a High Lord… specially this High Lord.
I know Feyre was a big part of your life, and I’m trying to help you. So please just stop this and listen to me, I said inside his mind.
Suddenly I was thrown back to my own mind so hard it took me a few seconds to acknowledge that we were both on the floor and that he was on top of me. One of his hand on my neck and the other one holding me back. I could feel his breath on my neck and much worse, his teeth dangerously close to me.
Suddenly I couldn’t breathe anymore.
He bared his teeth at me and got even closer.
“Well”, he purred in my ear “you certainly know how to get someone’s attention”.
Summary: Rhysand had felt your presence in his mind every single day since the moment the bond snapped into place. But now—now, there was nothing. And if you thought he wouldn’t tear the world apart to find out why, you had severely underestimated the depth of his devotion.
The moment it happened, Rhysand nearly fell to his knees.
One second, you were there—a familiar presence in the back of his mind, soft as moonlight, constant as the stars. You had never once closed your side of the bond. Not when you were angry, not when you were oceans apart, not even in the rare moments when you wanted space.
But now?
Now there was nothing.
The silence stretched between you like a jagged wound, raw and unnatural, leaving a cold, empty void where you were supposed to be.
His hands shook as he reached for the bond, for any trace of you. Gone. As if you had vanished entirely. As if you had severed something sacred.
Panic roared through him, drowning out reason. His mate—his mate—had shut him out, and there was only one explanation:
────
3 days earlier
The scent of ink and parchment filled the study, mingling with the soft glow of candlelight. You sat by the window, bathed in silver, fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea.
Rhys had been watching you for the past five minutes, unreadable. You knew that look—the one he wore when he sensed something amiss, when he picked apart every detail until he unraveled the truth.
“You’re quiet tonight, darling,” he finally said.
You forced a small smile. “Just tired.”
A lie.
He knew it. You knew he knew it.
But he didn’t press. Not yet. Instead, he crossed the room in a few measured steps, his wings rustling as he crouched beside you. His hand came up, fingers tracing along your jaw, tilting your chin until you met his gaze.
For a moment, the bond between you hummed. Open. Warm. Whole.
Then, a flicker—so brief you almost missed it.
A hesitation.
Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “Y/n—”
A knock at the door cut him off. Azriel.
A meeting. A distraction. A reprieve.
You exhaled slowly as Rhys pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering for just a beat too long before he disappeared into the night.
You barely swallowed down the guilt threatening to consume you.
He could never know.
────
Rhysand’s vision blurred as he winnowed straight into your chambers, violet magic crackling around him like a storm barely leashed.
The bed was empty. The room untouched. Cold.
His stomach twisted. “No, no, no—”
Where were you?
His hands clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling too quickly. He reached for you again, slamming against the bond—nothing. He was a male drowning in silence, suffocating in the absence of the one thing that had always kept him tethered to this world.
He stormed out of the room. His power pulsed, furious and unchecked, as he nearly collided with Cassian in the hall.
“Where is she?” Rhys demanded, his voice low, deadly.
Cassian stilled. “She left an hour ago. I thought you knew.”
The world narrowed. A single pulse of his power sent the walls shuddering.
“Where?”
Cassian hesitated. “She asked not to be followed.”
Rhys’s breath left him in a slow, dangerous exhale. “And you listened?”
Cassian’s expression hardened. “I thought she needed space.”
Space.
The word sliced through him like a dull blade.
Rhys willed himself to remain calm—to think, to breathe. You had left on your own. That meant you were still alive. Still breathing.
But why had you gone?
And more importantly—why had you shut him out?
His pulse pounded in his ears. He had never felt this kind of fear, this kind of rage—not even in the blood-soaked years of war, not even when Amarantha had held him captive.
You were his greatest weakness.
And if something had happened to you—if you were hurt, suffering, afraid—
A low growl built in his chest.
Nothing would stop him from finding you.
────
You leaned against a tree, every muscle trembling from the effort it took to keep moving.
It was too soon. You had barely even processed the truth yourself, let alone figured out how to tell him.
A child.
Rhysand’s child.
Your body wasn’t made for this. It wasn’t like Illyrian females, built stronger, sturdier. You were High Fae. This pregnancy could kill you.
The thought had been suffocating, stealing the breath from your lungs for days. And Rhys—if he knew, he would never let this happen. He would do anything, everything, to keep you safe.
Even if that meant losing the baby.
You pressed a hand to your stomach, your throat tightening. If you told him, if he saw the panic in your eyes, he would choose you. You knew it.
You weren’t sure you could live with that.
So you had shut him out.
The moment you severed your side of the bond, nausea had clawed its way up your throat. It felt wrong. Like carving out a piece of yourself, like locking a door you had never closed before.
But it was necessary.
A broken breath escaped you as you rested your forehead against the rough bark of the tree. You would only stay hidden a little longer—just until you could figure out how to tell him, how to make him understand that you needed this.
That you couldn’t let him make this choice for you.
But you had underestimated him.
You barely had a moment to react before the world shattered.
A gust of night-kissed wind slammed against the forest, and then he was there.
Rhysand stood at the edge of the clearing, his wings flared, his power rolling off him in waves so intense the trees shook.His chest rose and fell sharply, his hands curled into fists at his sides.
And his eyes—
His eyes were pure devastation.
"You closed the bond," he said, voice barely more than a whisper.
You swallowed hard. “Rhys—”
But he was already moving.
One step. Two. And then his arms were around you, crushing you against him.
“I thought—” His breath hitched. “I couldn’t feel you. I thought I lost you.”
Tears welled in your eyes. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, but your lip wobbled. “Rhys, I—”
His hands came to cradle your face. “Tell me,” he pleaded. “Tell me why.”
You were trembling.
You opened your mouth, but the words tangled in your throat. He felt your hesitation. His thumbs brushed your cheekbones, gentle, grounding.
“It’s the baby,” you whispered finally. “I was afraid. Afraid my body wouldn’t handle it. Afraid you—” Your voice broke. “Afraid you’d choose me instead.”
Rhys went still.
Then, voice hoarse, breathless—“You’re pregnant?”
A choked sob escaped you. You nodded.
A shaky exhale. A trembling hand over your stomach.
Then, softly, “You are everything to me. But I swear to you, I will find a way. I will not lose either of you.”
Tears spilled freely now. And when Rhys pressed his forehead to yours, you finally believed him.
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Summary: Rhys's drunken words cut deeper than any blade, leaving Y/n questioning everything she thought she knew about their bond. As heartbreak and betrayal collide, she faces a choice that could shatter the fragile threads holding their world together.
Pt. I
Rhysand was drowning.
He had endured centuries of torment in Amarantha’s Court, faced death and destruction in ways that would have broken lesser males—but this? This was agony unlike anything he had ever known.
Because this wasn’t just losing her. This was being the cause of her pain.
The bond was still there, a heavy, throbbing weight tethered to his soul. It twisted and pulled at him, refusing to let him forget the raw betrayal in her eyes when she left. He couldn’t block it out. Couldn’t shut down the waves of anger and hurt radiating from her, nor the faint echo of her presence that haunted his every step.
He didn’t deserve to forget.
He followed her from a distance, staying just out of sight, knowing he had no right to approach her. She had retreated to a small, snow-laden village on the outskirts of his territory, a place so quiet and unassuming it seemed designed to swallow grief whole. Rhys respected her boundaries—at least, as much as he could while still ensuring she was safe.
The villagers had no idea their little haven was now fiercely guarded by shadows. Every night, he patrolled the perimeter, silent as death, ensuring no threat could come close. When a pack of feral beasts wandered too near, Rhys killed them before they could even scent the village. He cleaned up the blood and left no trace, unwilling to let her see the lengths he was going to for her protection.
She might hate him, but she was still his mate. And he would protect her, even if it tore him apart.
But even the small things he could do weren’t enough. Not when every second without her was a reminder of the chasm he’d created between them. The cold, empty nights stretched endlessly, the silence gnawing at his mind until he thought he might go mad.
──────────────────────────────
The third week after her departure, he broke.
He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t intrude, and wouldn't push her until she was ready. But the bond burned unbearably that day, tugging at him with a force that felt like claws raking through his chest. He flew to her cabin before he could stop himself, landing with a muffled thud on the snow-packed ground.
She was outside, stacking firewood with her back to him. She froze when his boots crunched against the snow.
“Don’t,” she said without turning, her voice cold enough to make him falter.
“Please,” Rhys choked out, his voice hoarse.
She didn’t respond, and he didn’t think—he just dropped to his knees. The snow soaked through his leathers, numbing his skin, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care.
“Please,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “Please, just listen to me. I—” His throat closed up, the words catching on the lump that had lodged itself there since the moment she left. He dragged a trembling hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his desperation. “I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I—Cauldron, I can’t live like this. I can’t live without you.”
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.
“You are everything to me,” he said, his voice raw. “Everything. And I hate myself for what I did, for the way I made you feel. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right, if you’ll let me. But if you can’t…” He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. “If you can’t, I’ll still do it. I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure you’re safe and happy, even if it’s from afar. I don’t care what it costs me, as long as you’re okay.”
“How can I trust that the next time you’re drunk or angry, you won’t say something that cuts me to the bone?”
Her words hit like a dagger, sharp and precise. He bowed his head, his voice trembling as he replied, “I don’t deserve your trust, not after what I said. But I swear to you, I will never drink if it means risking your pain. I’ll stop entirely if you ask me to. Nothing—nothing—is worth losing you again.”
Her arms crossed, her shields firmly in place, though he caught the faintest waver in her expression. “And what happens the next time we fight, Rhys? What if you get angry? Will you throw my weaknesses in my face again?”
His head snapped up, anguish written across his features. “Never. I would never—” His voice broke. “You are not my weakness. You are my strength. And if I ever forget that, I want you to walk away and never look back. But I swear to you, Y/N, I will spend every day of my life proving to you that I’ve learned from this. That I will never, ever make you feel like that again.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. He could feel her battling herself, the bond between them a swirling tempest of doubt and yearning.
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he whispered, his knees sinking deeper into the snow. “I’ll spend the rest of my life earning your trust if I have to. Just tell me how to begin.”
The silence stretched taut between them, and Rhys didn’t dare move. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but edged with steel. “Prove it.”
Her shields weren’t just up—they were fortified. But he didn’t need to feel the bond to see the war raging within her.
──────────────────────────────
The days that followed were a slow, painful process. Rhys didn’t push. He stayed near enough to be there if she needed him but far enough to give her space. He continued his quiet watch over the village, eliminating threats before she ever knew they existed. He left her gifts—small things he hoped might bring her comfort. A new brush when he saw her old one had broken. A scarf enchanted to keep her warm even in the bitterest winds. And a note with every gift: I’m still here. I always will be.
She started letting him stay for longer each time he visited. They didn’t talk much at first—just sat in heavy, charged silence. But gradually, the walls began to crack. She started asking him questions, small and tentative, and he answered with an honesty that left him vulnerable and bare.
The night she finally forgave him, it was snowing.
They were sitting by the fire, the soft glow casting flickering shadows across the room. Rhys’s voice was low and steady as he recounted the years he’d spent under the mountain. The rawness of the memories was evident in the way his hands clenched and unclenched, but he forced himself to speak, each word a step toward atonement.
Y/N sat across from him, silent, her gaze fixed on the flames. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater, the movement restless and uncertain.
“You didn’t just hurt me,” she said at last, her voice trembling. “You betrayed me, Rhys. You made me feel small, like I didn’t matter.”
The words tore through him, but he didn’t flinch. He nodded, his throat tightening. “I know. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”
She looked at him then, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “How can I trust you not to run your mouth again? To not let some drink or situation make you careless with me?”
He sucked in a sharp breath, shame crashing over him. “You can’t—not yet. But I’ll prove to you that you can. I’ll prove it every single day, Y/N.” His voice cracked, his chest heaving as he lowered himself to his knees before her.
“Please,” he begged, his hands trembling as he clasped hers. “Please, give me a chance to earn back your trust. I’ll never take another sip of wine if that’s what it takes. I’ll never let myself forget the weight of what I have to lose. You are everything to me.”
Her lip trembled as she stared at him, the rawness in his expression and the desperation in his voice cutting through her defenses. “I’m terrified, Rhys. Of trusting you again. Of getting hurt again.”
His thumbs brushed over her knuckles as he held her hands tightly, his head bowing. “I know. And if I ever break your trust again, I’ll deserve every ounce of that fear. I’ll deserve to lose you. But I won’t. I swear to you, Y/N, I won’t.”
The bond between them hummed faintly, like a whisper of what it once was, and it pulled at her even as she hesitated. She reached out, cupping his face with trembling fingers.
“You have one chance, Rhys,” she whispered, her voice heavy with both hope and caution. “One.”
He exhaled a shaky breath, pressing her palm to his lips. “I won’t waste it. I swear to you, I’ll never waste it.”
When she finally leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively, as if he could shield her from every hurt in the world—including himself. The bond sang louder, fuller, and in that moment, they began to mend what had been broken, piece by fragile piece.
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Summary: Rhysand was the most powerful High Lord in history, but when it came to you—he was nothing but a male on his knees, willing to destroy worlds just to touch you again.
TW: Rhys with a thigh kink?
A/n: I got a little spicy with this one, enjoy ;)
Rhysand had never been a patient male.
Especially not when it came to you.
He’d always been obsessive—possessive in a way that was dark and all-consuming, though he never restrained you. No, he was never one to cage you. He worshipped you too much for that. He wanted you wild, untamed, powerful. But gods,did he love knowing that no matter where you went, no matter who you fought alongside in the ring, no matter how many eyes followed you when you entered a room—you belonged to him.
And since you’d started training more with Cassian and Azriel, since the hours spent in the sparring ring had sculpted your thighs into something stronger, firmer, Rhys had only grown worse.
It had started subtly. The way his eyes would burn with an intensity that made your breath hitch whenever you moved—whenever you stretched after training, whenever you slid into his lap, whenever you so much as existed in his presence. Then came the possessive touches—the way his hands lingered on your thighs longer, the way his fingers traced along the muscles, the way he gripped them when he kissed you as if he needed proof that they were real.
Now?
Now, he had no restraint at all.
The moment you stepped into your shared chambers after another brutal training session, sweat still clinging to your skin, leathers molding perfectly to every curve of your body, Rhys was already moving. Already reaching.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you.
"Take these off," he rasped, his fingers curling over your waistband, voice rough, almost desperate. "Now."
You arched a brow, amused despite the molten heat pooling low in your stomach. "No hello, no how was training, darling?"
Rhys let out a dark, low growl, his violet eyes flashing with something primal, something almost dangerous. "Take. Them. Off."
A slow smile curled your lips. "Make me."
Something snapped in him.
In an instant, he had you pinned against the nearest wall, shadows curling around your wrists, trapping you there—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. Enough to claim.
"You’ve been torturing me for weeks," he murmured, pressing his body against yours, his voice dark silk. "Strutting around in these damned leathers, training like a goddess forged for war, letting these thighs—these fucking perfect thighs—taunt me, knowing exactly what they do to me."
His hands skimmed down your sides, slow, deliberate, before grasping your thighs in his palms, thumbs pressing into the muscle like he was savoring the way they flexed beneath his touch.
You shuddered, biting your lip.
"Tell me," he purred, dragging his mouth over your jaw, "do you have any idea how many times I've watched you in that ring, fists clenched, trying so hard not to drag you away?"
His fingers tightened, squeezing, stroking.
"Do you know how many times I've imagined dropping to my knees in front of everyone, right there in the training ring, worshipping these thighs the way they deserve?"
Heat flared through you, a sharp, unbidden gasp escaping your lips.
His smirk was wicked. "Oh, you like that, don’t you?"
You refused to answer, refused to give him the satisfaction, but Rhys was relentless. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. "You like knowing that I’ve barely had a coherent thought for weeks because all I can think about is you—" He dragged his mouth down the column of your throat, biting, soothing, marking. "All I can think about is the way these thighs flex when you move, how strong they are, how fucking perfect they feel around me."
A low, needy whimper escaped before you could stop it.
Rhys groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. "Say it," he rasped, his hands gripping your thighs harder. "Say that they're mine. Say that you are mine."
"Yours," you whispered, and Rhys shuddered.
In the next breath, your leathers were gone—ripped apart by shadows and raw hunger. You barely had time to gasp before Rhys was dropping to his knees before you, his palms running over your bare thighs, his lips pressing reverent, open-mouthed kisses to the muscle.
"Perfect," he breathed, voice wrecked. "So fucking perfect."
He squeezed, kissed, licked, bit, reveling in the way your body responded to him, in the way your breath hitched when he nipped at the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh.
"I need you," he murmured, looking up at you with violet eyes that were glazed with something dark, something devotional. "Right now."
You dragged a hand through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp, watching as his eyes fluttered shut from the sensation.
"Then have me," you whispered.
A guttural sound tore from Rhys’s throat, and then—
Then he devoured you.
His lips, his tongue, his hands—all of him—worshipping, praising, ruining you against that wall. His grip on your thighs never loosened, never wavered, holding you in place as if he’d never let go. As if he couldn’t let go.
And when you shattered, when his name fell from your lips in a broken, desperate cry, he pressed his forehead against your stomach, panting, shaking.
"Mine," he murmured, voice hoarse. "My mate. My everything."
You sank to your knees, cradling his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his with all the love, all the devotion, all the longing that had been burning between you for weeks.
"Yours," you whispered again, softer this time.
And when Rhys gathered you in his arms, carrying you to bed, there was no more teasing, no more games—
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